A/N: This story takes place during episode 17: "Hat Trick" and contains some of the dialogue from that episode.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Thimbles

He had watched her through the lens of the telescope like a timekeeper watches a clock, waiting patiently for its hands to tick to a certain time. Tick tock. Tick tock. She had started the towns' clock. And she, with her blonde hair and her too-serious mouth was the only person who could help him set back the hands of time. She didn't belong in this town anymore than he belonged in this world. Jefferson knew this. He had watched her. He knew! He knew who she was.

"Emma." Her name flowed from his lips like truth and she found it hard to ignore and even harder to believe.

"You're special," he said as his intense and tormented gaze held hers, "You brought something precious to Storybrooke...magic."

And there it was, again. More truth. Emma realized that there was only one excuse for it...

"You're insane."

Jefferson exhaled a breath. A flash of carefully restrained anger sparked in his eyes. Insane, crazy, deranged, MAD! And why?

"Because I speak the truth?"

A sad, sympathetic smile formed on Emma's face like she was planning to explain logic to a child.

"Because you're talking about magic."

"I'm talking about what I've seen." Jefferson moved around the long table that separated them, never once taking his eyes from her, "Perhaps you're the one that's mad."

"Really?" Emma scoffed-out the word as Jefferson's movements obliterate the distance between them.

"What's crazier than seeing and not believing? Because that's exactly what you've been doing since you got to our little hamlet."

His face was inches away from hers, causing her pulse to quicken in fear, in anticipation...in excitement?

"Open your eyes," he said, "Look around."

Emma didn't look away from him. The raspy texture of his voice and his intimately, close proximity wrestled with her will to stay impersonal.

"Wake up. Isn't it about time?"

She did wake-up then, holding on to the part of herself that remembered her tied-up friend who was down the hall. Emma realized that there was some point behind all of this.

"What do you want?"

Jefferson stared at her for a moment longer until he let the emotion of his desperation show on his face.

"I want you to get it to work."

His hand grasped Emma's shoulder as he forced her to sit down in the chair. A rush of breath escaped from her lungs as she fell onto the seat.

"You want me to get what to work?"

A top hat with pins sticking out of it sat before her on the table. Jefferson fixed his gaze on the useless accessory that was good for nothing more than being a pin cushion. What else could he do with such a magic-less hat? As he stood behind Emma, he slowly leaned down to her ear, pressing his cheek into her hair. She smelled of honey and coffee—something he had learned when he had taken off her jacket and then taped her wrists together.

"You're the only one that can do this," he spoke into her hair.

Emma could feel his breath on her ear and it caused her heart to race. Fear or excitement? She wasn't sure, but she considered his words. Jefferson pulled away from her only to rest his chin on the top of her head.

"You're going to get it to work."

And it was an order. And he sounded so certain that, once again, Emma noted the truth in his words. He's insane. She quickly reminded herself. He's a cravat wearing, space invading, hat hoarding—psychopath! Jefferson placed a series of materials in front of her then: wooden forms that resembled the shape of a top hat, felt and silk, a needle and thread. Emma glanced up at the mad man standing beside her.

"I don't know how to make a hat."

Jefferson bent at the waist so that his eyes were level with the sitting Emma's.

"You will soon enough."

His eyes seared into hers. They were blue-gray—like the color of the sky under the threat of a storm. He rose to his full height and then walked around the table so that he could take the seat opposite of her.

"First," he began as he pulled the gun out from behind his back and casually pointed it at her, "You pin the felt to the wooden head block to give the hat its shape."

Reluctantly, Emma did as he instructed, step-by-step. Upon sewing, she poked herself with the needle and winced before glaring hatefully at Jefferson.

"You don't have a thimble?" She asked as she rubbed at her hurt finger.

Jefferson made a frown as he looked at her with fake sympathy.

"No. I'm sorry. Perhaps you should be more careful."

She scowled at him, and then went back to work. She worked until after noon, constructing the mad mans hat until he tied her up again while he made himself and his two hostages lunch. The hat making resumed once more—except for the time that Emma requested a bathroom break that resulted in a failed escape attempt. The hat was almost complete as the sun went down. Emma had nicked her hand on the too-sharp scissors, poked herself with the needle more than a dozen times, and her hands were so cramped-up that she didn't know if she would be able to use them ever again.

"Poor, sweet Emma," Jefferson purred from behind her as his hands slid over her bare shoulders.

Emma tensed under his touch and she remained stiff even as he massaged at her neck. His hands were warm, but rough from the callouses of making thousands of hats. His skilled fingers threatened to ease the tension in her back and cause her to relax, but she fought against it. Emma shrugged off his hands and looked up at him from over her shoulder.

"Do you want me to finish this, or not?" she spat.

A smile curved at Jefferson's lips and he raised his hands in surrender.

"My apologies," he said as he took a step back, "By all means, please continue."

A few more stitches to the brim and the hat would be complete. Emma sighed in relieve, realizing it, and then irresponsibly pushed the needle into her finger. She hissed at the pain and Jefferson reached out for her hand. The needle had gone deep this time—deep enough to draw a small stream of blood from her finger. Before either of them could stop it, a drip of blood fell on to the hat and the room was quickly illuminated by a flash of white light. The light that had emanated from the hat pushed both of them back in surprise, causing Jefferson to stumble and Emma to press herself into her chair. There was a moment of silence, and then—

"YES! You did it, Emma! You used your magic!"

Jefferson picked-up the hat from in front of her and danced happily around the room with it. Emma sat immobile as she stared blankly down at the table. What just happened? Jefferson stopped dancing and braced his arms on the table as he leaned across it towards his astonished captive.

"You're starting to believe, aren't you?" he asked as his lips pulled up into a grin, "It can be daunting at first, but just go with it."

"What?" Emma questioned as she looked up from the table to meet his gaze.

Jefferson smiled at her and with a quick flip of his wrist the top hat was on his head.

"Come, Emma," he said as he walked around the table with his hand held-out to her, "Let me help you."

Emma only stared at his hand. She was exhausted and this crazy man seemed to have boundless energy. She just wanted to go home. Impatient, Jefferson pulled her up by her arm and then led her out of the room.

"I'll take you into the hat," he said as he pulled her down the hallway, "I'll show you the world that we come from."

Emma tried to pull her arm out of his grasp then.

"No!" she protested, "I'm not leaving Mary Margaret!"

Jefferson waved-off her protest and pulled her into a large empty room.

"She will be fine, Emma," his voice rang with truth, "We will be coming right back. I promise."

Jefferson pushed her into the room and pointed the gun at her again to ensure she didn't try to escape. Then, with his free hand, he removed the hat from his head and bent down on one knee to place it on the floor. With another quick flip of his skilled wrist, the hat spun like a top, only, it didn't slow down—it accelerated! The hat spun faster and faster, striking up a whirlwind that made Emma run to Jefferson's side. He laid down the gun at his feet and threw an arm around Emma as the hat rose into the air, opening a portal in the ground.

"This has got to be a dream!" Emma shouted over the roar of wind that rushed around them.

Jefferson smiled down at her.

"Would you like me to pinch you?"

Emma made a face, and with that, he threw the both of them into the portal, sending them to fall through a passage like Alice had fallen through the rabbithole. Emma screamed in fear while Jefferson laughed in exhilaration. They fell and fell and fell until a floor appeared below them, approaching fast. The two of them came to a sudden halt in mid-air, dangling a few feet above the floor. It was a room—a room with many different and unusual-looking doors. Emma had stopped screaming by then, but her breathing was still panicked. Slowly, their feet were lowered onto the floor and Jefferson offered his hand to Emma. Her shoulders were still heaving from her startled breaths and she didn't give him her hand. She gave him a dark, warning look.

"Aw, come on, Emma," he exclaimed, "It wasn't that bad."

He walked towards her then.

"Let me take you to our world," Jefferson offered as he reached for her arm.

Emma jerked her arm back and yelled, "NEVER", with such power that Jefferson rocked back on his heels. He just blinked as he stared at her, thinking about how much she looked like a feral cat in that moment. Never. Ever. Clever. Lever. A mischievous smile curved-up his lips.

"Never?" he asked her.

Jefferson lunged for her arm and held on with an iron grasp as he pulled her towards one of the doors.

"Then, "Never", it is!"

Emma was pulled to a stop in front of a heavy-looking door made of weathered wooden boards. An image of a compass pointing North was carved into the surface and the knob on the door was an antique bronze. She looked up at Jefferson just as he reached for the door knob and before she could protest—he turned it. Emma winced, shutting her eyes tight as she felt herself being led further along. The ground changed texture below her. She could feel it through her boots. Two warm, rough hands cupped the sides of her face and she peeped open one eye.

"It's okay, Emma," he assured her with too much concern on his face, "We're safe here. Look!"

Emma was forced to look as Jefferson stepped out of her view. There was dark brown dirt below her boots and the walls around her were made of earth that dozens of tree roots had broken through. There were tree roots even hanging over her head. She took a step forward, noticing how the room was lit by lanterns and filled with worn wooden furniture. A large chair sat at the end of the room, looking like a throne. Emma's legs carried her towards it and her eyes squinted as she saw that a name was curved into the back of the chair. She stopped as she came close enough to read it: "Peter Pan". Emma's eyebrows raised and her lips parted. Definitely a dream. Just a crazy ass dream! Her eyes fell on to a wooden bucket that was sitting beside Peter Pan's throne. The bucket was filled with shinny metal objects. Emma bent down and reached for one of the trinkets. What she pulled back in her hand only added to her befuddlement. A silver thimble sat in the palm of her hand as she held it out before her.

"A kiss!" Jefferson exclaimed and Emma turned to see that he was standing right behind her at his usual too-close proximity.

Her lips were still parted as she gazed up into his blue-gray eyes and her palm was still open with the thimble laying there. Emma was thoroughly dazed. Jefferson was thoroughly pleased.

"I guess I do owe you a kiss for making my hat work."

Jefferson tilted his head as he lowered his face to hers and his hand took the thimble from her palm.

"A kiss for a kiss," he whispered as he leaned down and pressed his full lips to Emma's parted ones.

Emma's eyes flew open even wider upon feeling his soft, warm lips against hers. A miniature fever quickly spread throughout her body and he pushed his lips a little harder to hers as if he knew it. Slowly then, oh so slowly, he pulled away until the air that touched her lips, in the absence of his, sent tingles all through her. Jefferson took a step back from her then, licked his lips and grinned.

"Here," he said as he put the thimble back into her hand, "Maybe you should hold on to this. Put it in your pocket, even," he suggested and Emma did it, "You can keep it as a souvenir from your trip to Ne—"

A commotion sounded from behind Emma and she spun around to see what it was. Jefferson pulled her a few steps back just as a hidden door opened from behind Peter's chair. Half-a-dozen boys fought their way into the earth-caked room and froze upon seeing Emma and Jefferson.

"PIRATES!" The boys yelled as they pulled-out their sling-shots, their sticks and their clubs.

"Time to go!" Jefferson added as he ran for the portal door, pulling Emma along.

A rock from a sling-shot hit Emma in the back at full force and she cried-out.

"KILL THE PIRATES!"

"I thought you said we were safe here!" Emma spat just as Jefferson pulled her through the portal door.

The door closed behind them as they stumbled forward into the room with many doors. They could no longer hear the boys' shouts or battle cry's. Jefferson righted himself and smoothed out his waistcoat before turning to Emma.

"Now, do you believe in Henry's stories?"

Emma's lips formed a hard line as she pressed them together and she looked as skeptical as always.

"I believe I'm having a weird dream."

Jefferson's jaw clenched as he stared at her, and then, with a frustrated groan he grabbed for her arm and pulled her across the room towards another door. A DREAM? He thought angrily. Dream. Ream. Scream!

"You're in denial, Emma," he growled as he tugged her roughly behind him, "Denial is the worst form of madness!"

Jefferson stopped in front of a black painted door and was met with resistance as Emma refused to move any further.

"Denial. Dream. Whatever. I am NOT going into another one of these doors!"

Jefferson pursed his lips and exhaled an aggravated breath.

"This," he said as he thrust his free arm out towards the black door, "Is the only way back to the magic-less world you love so much! If you don't go through this door your friend will die tied to that chair, and you, sweet Emma, will never see your Henry again."

Emma pulled away from his grasp and glared at him.

"You expect me to believe you?" she questioned, "You're INSANE! For all I know you'll just take me into another room where more fictional characters try to kill us!"

Insane. Jefferson scowled at the word. I'll show her INSANE! In two long steps he was standing just inches away from her. A wicked smile spread across his face and he wiggled his eyebrows as his hands gripped the tops of her arms, pulling her against him. With wild eyes, Jefferson began to chant something and he spun Emma around in time with his words, moving together in a mad sort-of dance.

"Follow me down the rabbithole to places you never have seen.

Where below your feet the grass is blue and the sky is white and green.

Turtle-slugs and hippo-flys will greet you on your way.

Come with me down the rabbithole, and you'll always want to stay!"

Emma stared at him with wide eyes and her shoulders heaved with her pounding heart as Jefferson stopped their dizzy dance.

"You," Emma breathed, breathlessly, angrily, "YOU—"

With a roll of his eyes, Jefferson bent before her, wrapping a arm around the backs of her legs and then slinging her over his shoulder. Emma pounded on him with her fists, yelling out expletives, but Jefferson kept a straight face. He walked up to the door as Emma kicked and yelled, putting up a good fight.

"I'm going to take you home, Emma," he said as he placed his hand on the door knob, "But, before I do, I want you to know one thing..."

Emma went silent and hung motionless over his shoulder as she waited to hear his "one thing".

"After all that you have seen," he spoke as a gloomy look was cast over his features, "If you can't believe now—I fear that whatever it takes to finally make you believe will come at a great cost."

Emma pulled a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she considered his words, but ultimately, his words didn't matter. She was convinced that this was a dream...either that, or a delayed hallucination from the drugs he had slipped into her tea. Jefferson didn't wait for her response and Emma shut her eyes tight as he moved forward. Jefferson pushed open the black door, and just like that, they were back inside of his house. He leaned forward then, and set Emma on her feet as he walked passed her towards the top hat. Emma opened her eyes and they slowly adjusted to the lighting change—just as if she had woken up. Her heart gave a start as she noticed the gun laying at her feet, his gun. Quickly, Emma picked up the gun just as Jefferson bent down to retrieve his top hat. Emma ran up behind him, her heart pounding with adrenalin and she raised her arm high, clocking him hard in the head with the barrel of the gun. Jefferson collapsed to the floor with a thud and Emma sprinted from the room, tucking the gun behind her into the waistband of her jeans as she ran towards the door Mary Margaret was imprisoned behind. She pushed her way into the room and her bound-up friend called-out to her through the gag in her mouth.

"Hey! It's alright!" Emma cried as she freed Mary Margaret from her muzzle, "I'm gonna get you outta here. It'll be okay."

Emma knelt down beside the chair her friend was tied to, removing the binds from her hands and feet. Mary Margaret's eyes widened as a figure shadowed the doorway, and then, in one swift, smooth movement Jefferson lunged forward, pulling the gun from the back of Emma's jeans. Jefferson stepped back as he tucked it into his own waistband, and then strolled into the room with the top hat on his head.

"I thought we were all passed this, Emma," Jefferson commented as he came to a stop behind the chair Mary Margaret was sitting in, "You gave me what I wanted, so now, you and your friend are free to go. There's no reason to get violent."

At his words, a surge of anger fueled Mary Margaret to stand to her feet. She spun around fast as lightening and gave him a powerful kick to his chest that sent him flying through the glass of the window behind him. Jefferson fell several stories down into the darkness of the night and as Emma and Mary Margaret rushed forward to see him—there was nothing but blackness. Emma stared at her friend, shocked at what she had just done, and then she turned away, saying: "I have to go check for him!"

Emma flew down the stairs to the first story of the house and then around to the alley he had fallen into. There was no sign of him or his gun or his hat. The broken glass on the pavement was the only proof that he had actually fallen through the window. Baffled, Emma walked around to the front of the house where Mary Margaret was waiting.

"There's no sign of him anywhere."

Mary Margaret wrapped her arms around herself, feeling unsafe.

"Who was he, Emma? Do you know?"

With a sigh, Emma shoved her hands into her pockets as she thought about him. She blinked as her hand came in contact with a round, metal object and she quickly pulled it from her pocket.

"Huh," Mary Margaret voiced her interest as she looked down at Emma's palm, "A thimble. That's funny."

Emma swallowed as she looked away from the thimble and glanced up at her friend, curiously wondering what was funny about it.

"We've been reading J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan in class," Mary Margaret explained, "In the story, Wendy wants to give Peter a kiss, but he doesn't know what a kiss is. So, instead, Wendy gives him a thimble as a sign of her affection."

Emma turned away from her friend and looked out into the night, searching the shadows for the mad man. In her dreams, she had made a magical hat that had opened-up a portal to Neverland, and while there, she had been kissed by a man who believed in her son's stories. Emma glanced back down at the thimble in her hand. He had called it a "kiss". Emma closed her fingers around it, feeling it press into her palm. It was as real as Mary Margaret, who was standing next to her. Had it all been real? Emma gave a dry laugh and shook her head. Funny. She found it funny how a tiny metal object could make her question her reality, but after all, it was just a thimble and Neverland, of course, was just a fictional place.