Hello Oncers! The title of this one is pretty self explanatory. 24 hours in the life of Storybrooke's Sheriff Swan and Deputy Nolan, with a healthy dose of family angst and Emma/Hook romance thrown in.

Standard disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, but I did write this story for no money.

Needy authors love reviews...

Storybrooke PD – A Day in the Life

'Sheriff.' Emma barks into her phone. It's early and she is exhausted.

Neal might be the cutest baby since Henry, but he has a set of lungs on him and he's not afraid to use them. Last night he woke their mother at two expecting to be fed and that meant that David and Emma were up too.

David and Mary Margaret seemed to be thrilled to be woken up at frequent intervals of the night by a crying baby. She figures it's the novelty. They never got to do the two in the morning feed with her.

And Henry somehow managed to sleep through the whole thing, so it's only Emma who is grouchy.

She's never done well without sleep and so her capacity to deal sensitively with early morning stalker reports that she knows will turn out to be skunks is seriously diminished.

There are two call outs to deal with this morning. Skunk patrol and reports of a guy selling snake oil. Literally snake oil, like no one knows it's a long standing metaphor for scam. Neither case has her excited; she decides to flip her Dad for them when he gets off the phone with her Mom. He'd called to check on her and Neal the moment they arrived at work.

'Can you put him on the phone?' David asks and Emma smiles and rolls her eyes in fond amusement.

'Hey kid, it's your Dad,' he says gently. 'Are you having fun with your Mom? I miss you Neal, I love you.' He turns and catches Emma's eye, smiling sheepishly. 'So are you going to stop by later?' He asks, and obviously Mary Margaret is back on the line.

'Great. I love you. Kiss Neal for me.'

He hangs up the phone and turns to Emma. 'She's bringing Neal and Henry here at lunch time.' He explains.

'You are so into being a Dad, aren't you?' She grins.

He shrugs and smiles, 'True love and a family are all I ever wanted.' He replies simply and she returns his smile. It really is that simple for him.

'Ok, back to work, we need to earn our lunchtime baby cuddles. Heads or tails?'

'Tails,' David calls as Emma tosses a quarter.

'Ok, you get the skunks. I get the snake oil swindler.'

'He was very convincing,' Tom Clark tells Emma. 'He even wanted me to try it myself, you know, for my allergies. But I'm not an idiot. I may have got my pharmacology qualification from the first curse, but Regina was very comprehensive. Snake oil! I told him it wasn't possible for the same product to cure baldness, depression, allergies, diabetes and arthritis, and that even if it was possible, that product would not be rendered snake fat.'

Emma nods, taking notes of the various claims the conman made about his product.

'I don't suppose he gave you a number, or a business card? Told you where he lives?'

'No. He said his name was Dr Lyman but if he's a real doctor, I'll eat my white coat. I told him to take a long walk and not come back, so I couldn't tell you where he is.'

She talks to two shop owners who did buy the snake oil and are thrilled with their purchase.

'Look at the shine on that leather!' the shoemaker exclaims. 'Beautiful. I bought half his stock and if he comes back this way I'll buy a whole lot more.'

'You know he also tried selling it to Tom Clark as a cure for baldness and diabetes,' Emma warns him.

'Well I don't have diabetes,' he replies equably, 'But I'll give it a try on this bald patch,' he rubs the shiny, hairless crown of his head.

She moves on to the garage.

'Cleans up an engine better than anything I've seen except cola,' Michael Tillman says. 'It's no good me buying cola though, because the kids always drink it before I get to use it on the engines.'

'Well, keep this stuff away from the kids!' Emma replies in alarm. Goodness knows what it would do to a child's digestive system.

Figaro the barber is not so happy with the so called cure for baldness. 'It gave one of my customers a rash. Came up in hives the size of magic beans! I had to give a full refund and pay out for skin cream. If I see that quack again...!'

'You'll call me,' Emma says pointedly. 'And I'll pick him up and give him a whack with the statute book.'

'Right,' the barber replies unconvincingly and while she persuades him to describe the suspect, Emma knows if this fraudster comes back this way she's going to be called in to break up a brawl.

She heads back to the shoemaker to warn him against trying the snake oil on his bald patch, before heading to the hospital to find out if there have been other bad reactions.

'You've treated a bald man with hives, I hear?' Emma asks Whale.

'Yeah, poor guy did a bang up job disguising his bald spot,' Whale replies sarcastically with a somewhat cruel grin. 'It'll heal though. I'm more worried about the people this quack's got drinking the stuff,' he goes on, more serious now. 'I've had a couple of people come in after violent vomiting.'

'What were they taking it for?'

'One of them for a stomach ulcer. Really not good that he had something making him acidy enough to throw up like that.'

'Is it really dangerous?'

'The lab is looking into what's in the stuff,' Whale tells her. 'We'll know more in a few hours. Nobody's died yet, but I can't rule it out. If it was given to someone really frail... Well, let's just say it would be better if you catch up with him before that happens.'

'Right. Thanks Whale.'

'It wasn't a skunk,' David announces over the phone.

'Oh yeah? What was it? Not a real stalker?'

'No, she's a gnome, her name is Dandelion. She'd set up home in Mrs Potts's garden and she was picking the roses to make scented candles. She didn't mean any harm, but she was kind of being a nuisance. Anyway it's a big yard so Mrs Potts has room for her and she likes the candles, so we all had a chat over nettle tea and set up some ground rules about where she's allowed to camp and which plants are off limits. I left them discussing compost so everyone seems happy enough. How was the charlatan?'

'I have a name, Lyman, and he's claiming to be a doctor, but that seems unlikely. I haven't found him yet. I've tried all the places he's been spotted but I think he may have heard I'm looking for him. I'm going to try another couple of leads and then maybe head back. My feet hurt. You on your way back to the station or do you want to join the search?'

'I would but Doc collared me as I was walking back to my truck. Someone vandalised his Miata again. I said I'd go check it out.'

'Ok, check in if you need me.'

'Sure, and I'll keep an eye out for this Lyman guy.'

'Great.'

'Later then.'

'Yeah. Only a couple of hours until Neal cuddles,' Emma teases.

David laughs. 'I'll make you a deal. You keep the mocking to a minimum and I'll let you have first cuddle.'

'Gee, that's a tough choice, but I'll go with door number two, first cuddle.'

'Deal.'

Emma decides to stops for coffee and five minutes of taking the weight off her feet at Granny's and manages to stop Ashley giving the tonic to Alexandra for teething pain, then places a frantic call to Mary Margaret.

'Mom, if a guy stops by trying to sell you a tonic for the baby, just say no, ok?'

'He did stop by. He said it cures diaper rash. I told him I wasn't letting my newborn anywhere near anything to do with snakes, dead or alive!' Mary Margaret replies, scandalised at the very idea.

Emma heaves a sigh of relief. 'So how are you and Neal doing?' she asks, more calmly.

'We're great. Is it weird though that he just burped up his milk and I thought it was the cutest thing ever?'

Emma laughs, 'I'm sure it's normal this early on. In a week or so baby vomit will have lost its lustre. So Dad says you're stopping by the station at lunch.'

'Yeah. You know your father just melts my heart with how he is with Neal. Did you hear him talking to the baby on the phone?' Mary Margaret gushes.

'I heard,' Emma replies, trying for weary exasperation but secretly agreeing that it was kind of adorable. 'Dad and I have a deal. I get first cuddle when you bring Neal.'

'I take it you mean first cuddle from Neal, and not me?' Mary Margaret replies, feigning offense. 'Don't worry; I'm only the mother, I know I'm old news. What did you have to give him to get that?'

'I promised to try not to tease him so much about being sappy with Neal.'

'You promised to try! You really have your father wrapped around your little finger don't you? He usually drives a much harder bargain than that!'

'They're doing it deliberately,' Doc says in a peevish tone. 'They miss Snow because she's spending all her time with the baby and they're acting out.'

David nods, although privately he's not sure bluebirds would really be vindictive about defecating on cars. He's not even sure bird poop meets the legal test for vandalism. He can't arrest a flock of birds.

'Why would they single out your car?' he asks in an effort to introduce some logic to the situation.

'Probably they know I was the one who delivered Emma, so I started her on the slippery slope. Plus they're attracted by the colour,' he opines. 'That's why they're not going for Whale's car even though he's the one who delivered Neal.'

So, no go on the logic. Poor Doc's car got totalled when Anton ravaged the town, then it got smashed up again when Zelena and Regina threw down on Main Street, so David knows his beloved car is a bit of a sore spot for Doc. Still, David feels if the bluebirds really were waging a campaign due to Mary Margaret's perceived neglect, it's likely his own truck would be bearing the brunt. He is, after all, Emma and Neal's father, and Mary Margaret spends a fair amount of her time with him too.

'Are you sure it's just the bluebirds?' David asks. 'No other types of bird?'

'Every time I come back to the car there's a damn bluebird nearby and another pile of poop on my car! I need you to stake them out, catch them in the act and do something about them!' Doc's face is burning furiously at the injustice of it all.

Do what about them? David wonders. Shoot them? He wonders if maybe Doc needs some quiet time with Archie. Maybe it's not just about the birds.

'I'm not sure our budget will stretch to a stake out for bird poop Doc, but I will look into it and I'll tell you what, Mary Margaret is stopping by the station for lunch, so I'll ask her to have a little chat with the bluebirds. How's that?'

'Ok,' Doc nods, slightly mollified. 'But it had better work, otherwise I'm taking this to the top. I'm going to go down to that station and give the Sheriff a piece of my mind!' he warns, jabbing a finger at David's chest.

'Your highness,' he adds as a semi-respectful afterthought as he turns and marches off down the street.

'Ok,' David sighs to himself as he heads back to his truck.

'Hey,' Leroy announces to the room at large as he strolls through the door.

'Hi Leroy, what can I do for you?' Emma asks from behind her desk.

'Nothing, I was passing, thought I'd stop by in case Mary Margaret was here. I wanted to ask her something.'

Emma smirks. 'Funny the number of people who just happen to be passing by whenever my mother is rumoured to be anywhere with Neal. She'll be here soon. Be warned though, there's already a queue for quality hug time with Neal.'

She may take delight in teasing her father, but she's missing Neal too and she's going to enforce their deal.

Leroy humphs as though insulted that anyone would suggest he'd go anywhere intentionally to see a baby, but he pours himself a coffee and parks himself comfortably at David's desk nevertheless.

'Hey,' David greets them as he enters a moment later, unsurprised to find Leroy in his chair. He sits on the sofa instead. 'Leroy, what's the deal with Doc? Is he all right?'

'Oh man, is this about the bird crap?' Leroy rolls his eyes.

'He seems pretty upset about it.'

'He's lost it, is what it is!' Leroy growls, far less tactfully.

'What's this?' Emma asks, mystified.

'Doc's vandalised car. He thinks the bluebirds are targeting it because Mary Margaret is ignoring them. He wants us to stake them out to get to the bottom of it.'

'Stake out, huh? Wait a minute, why would they target his car if they're pissed at Mom?'

'Good question. He thinks it's because he delivered you when you were born.'

'Huh,' Emma says. 'I don't follow.'

'He thinks it's bird logic,' Leroy explains, though this doesn't really shed any more light for Emma.

'But she's busy because of Neal, not me. Whale delivered Neal.' She argues.

'Yep. Bird logic. He thinks Whale's car is camouflaged. It's black, so he thinks they can't see it against the asphalt. Plus he figures he's the one that started the whole thing by delivering you. Whale's just second fiddle.' Leroy elaborates.

'Riiight. And how come they're not crapping on David's car, or mine? Other than Neal, we're the ones taking up most of Mom's time. What's he thinking?' Emma asks.

'Hey, what am I, his shrink?' Leroy snaps. 'When's Mary Margaret getting here anyway?'

David checks his watch. 'Not long. Emma's first, then me. You get third,' he says pointing at Leroy, under no illusions that Leroy showed up to talk to him or Emma, or even Mary Margaret.

Emma huffs a surprised laugh under her breath as she realises her mother was right, she does have him wrapped around her little finger. David plans to honour their deal, but he won't defer to anyone else.

'Look, I think there's more to this for Doc,' David continues. 'I think maybe he's feeling the stress of it all.'

'What stress?' Leroy scoffs.

David shrugs. 'Zelena's gone now. Before her we had Pan, before Pan it was Greg and Tamara, before them it was Cora. And Tiny. I mean I know it wasn't his fault, but he really did cause a lot of damage. Then it was Spencer, killing Billy and framing Ruby. There was the wraith. Before that it was Regina and Gold. But now everything's quiet. Maybe he's just waiting for the next thing, and if the next thing is birds crapping on his car, well that's kind of manageable right? It's not life and death.'

'You think he has, what, battle fatigue?' Emma asks incredulously. As far as she knows, Doc hasn't really been near any fighting. Except for getting his car destroyed twice he's come out of all this unscathed.

'I don't know. I just know Doc is usually not the kind of guy to get so worked up over something so trivial. I'm going to ask Mary Margaret to talk to the birds, see if they're willing to take it someplace else, but I think I'll talk to Archie too. Suggest he has a talk with him.'

'Knock yourself out,' Emma says, taking a sip of coffee.

They fall silent for a few minutes and Emma finds herself wondering about her father. She's seen his bravery in a fight and she's beginning to appreciate the depth of his devotion to their family. This is a new side. A side that quietly and patiently mediates petty disputes; that sees a ridiculous situation and reacts with compassion for a friend.

She figures being a good deputy sheriff isn't much different from being a good prince and while he wasn't born to leadership, he had it in him because he cares so much, because he never thinks as a prince he's above his people. He serves them.

Killian shows up next and at least Emma isn't chopped liver for him. He might have been intending to horn in on their family lunch, news of which it appears has spread throughout the town over the course of the morning, but while he shows more interest in the baby than she would have predicted, mainly he wants to see her.

David goes to check the oil in the cars with Leroy while Killian makes her remember why she voluntarily let his Zelena cursed lips take her magic. When they break apart any residual grouchiness from her sleep deprived night is magically gone too.

'Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?' she smiles.

'Making up for lost time,' he murmurs into her ear, tickling her neck with his warm breath. 'You were in New York for a whole year.'

He kisses her again and then moves down to pepper gentle, stubbly kisses across her neck.

'I can't imagine what could have kept me there so long,' she replies, her voice soft and low and he moans quietly at the vibration of her voice against his skin.

'Hey Emma, Killian,' Mary Margaret's bright, cheerful voice brings them out of their private moment.

Mary Margaret smirks as Killian steps back, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment while Emma meets her eyes unapologetically. Mother and daughter mirror one another's single raised eyebrows and Mary Margaret knows this is just payback for the number of times Emma has unexpectedly walked into the apartment to the discomposing sight of her parents locked in an intimate moment.

'Where's your father?' she asks.

'I think he said something about checking oil?' Emma replies, half a statement, half a question. Killian had been very distracting at that moment.

'I bet he did,' Mary Margaret says archly, knowing how disconcerting David finds it to think of his little girl as a grown woman, especially one with a healthy love life.

Emma gets first turn with Neal as agreed and her parents watch their two children and their grandson out of the corner of their eyes as David explains the situation with Doc to Mary Margaret.

'I'll talk to them,' Mary Margaret promises. 'I guess I might as well do it now, since Neal's dance card is full.' She finishes her sandwich, kisses her husband and heads out the door.

'Pretty sight,' Hook observes, moving over to stand near David. Like her father, he can't take his eyes off Emma, her baby brother in her arms and her son leaning against her either.

'It is,' David replies, making a huge effort not to have words about Hook's passionate kiss with Emma that he had to escape from witnessing in its entirety earlier.

It's still hard for him to accept that a pirate can actually be a good man and though he recognises all the good Hook has done, and won't forget that Hook saved his life, he also remembers that he has a lot of darkness in his past and he can't help but worry about his daughter. Not to mention the fact that Hook knocked him out. Twice. Still David can see that this pirate is good for Emma. He's never seen her so happy or relaxed.

'Well it turns out they were targeting Doc,' Mary Margaret explains when she returns from her conversation with the bluebirds. 'But it wasn't about him delivering Emma. The first time was an accident, then after that they thought it was funny that he got so mad.'

'It's kind of a mean joke,' David observes, looking up from his baby son, cradled in his arms. He's only just managed to persuade Emma to give Neal up.

'Bird logic,' Mary Margaret says. Apparently there is such a thing, Emma realises.

'We've got phones here so they have nothing to do anymore, no messages to carry,' Mary Margaret continues. 'They've promised to stay away from Doc's car, but the fact is they're bored. We need to find them something to keep them busy or they're just going to come up with new ways to make mischief.'

'We could use them, us kids I mean,' Henry says. 'A lot of the parents in Storybrooke are pretty old fashioned. They won't buy cell phones for their kids. They'd probably let us send messages by bluebird though.' Henry is one of the few kids in Storybrooke who does have his own phone, but that's only because until a few weeks ago he and Emma thought they were ordinary people who lived in New York.

'Great idea, Henry!' Mary Margaret beams at her grandson.

'Well that sounds like case closed to me,' Emma says, ruffling Henry's hair. 'Good luck figuring out a rational way to write up that case report though,' she teases her father.

Archie, Marco and little August stroll in a moment later, each carrying a Tupperware box of lunch. 'We heard there's a pot luck party and Neal's receiving guests,' Archie says as they find themselves a perch.

Emma shakes her head disbelievingly; it really is turning into a party. She's not sure how she and David are going to get any work done for the rest of the day in all this chatter, but she's having fun and she can't bring herself to care.

She can't help but compare this with her life in New York; the life that she'd thought was so great. Yes, Henry had had friends to hang out and play video games with, but he didn't have this, a room full of people who would do anything for him. And yes, she had thought it was love with Walsh, but even before he'd turned out to be a liar and a vicious flying monkey, there had been something missing because even though she'd convinced herself to accept his proposal, a big part of her had wished he hadn't asked. She knows it has taken a while to accept her family's love and whatever she has with Killian and decide on Storybrooke as her home, but now she has, there are no reservations.

They do manage to make a virtue of the disruption though, as David is able to take Archie aside for a quiet conversation about Doc, and Emma is able to get some leads on where Lyman, the snake oil grifter, could be holed up.

Lunch is about over when Granny stops by, Ruby and Belle in tow.

'I wondered where all my customers were,' she teases. 'I left the new girl in charge of the seriously diminished lunch rush.'

'Sorry! We didn't mean to steal your business!' Mary Margaret replies.

'Not to worry. I come bearing gifts,' Granny says, handing a gift bag containing two packages wrapped in silver paper to Mary Margaret, who unwraps them.

The first is a knitted dragon, complete with knitted fire breath. The second is a knitted sword and shield with their kingdom's coat of arms.

'Oh my goodness, they are so wonderful, thank you!' Mary Margaret exclaims, wrapping Granny in a bone crusher of a hug. 'They're just perfect!'

David is smiling from ear to ear as he holds the sword out to Neal who instinctively grabs it by the hilt and brandishes it about, coincidentally hitting the dragon which Henry is flying in front of him.

'Our son is a natural!' David tells Mary Margaret, whose grin matches his and whose eyes are filled with happy tears.

Emma's not usually moved by cute, and she doesn't think that Neal throwing up milk would do it for her, but this is pretty much the cutest thing she's ever seen.

Eventually the party breaks up. It's nap time for Neal and the others drift off back to their jobs, or whatever they do to keep busy. Henry ditches baby-sitting duty with Mary Margaret in favour of spending the afternoon fishing with Killian and Leroy, and finally David and Emma are alone again.

'I mentioned to Doc that Mary Margaret was stopping by with Neal at lunch time and it turned into that,' David observes ruefully. 'Maybe tomorrow we'll suggest joining her at Granny's for lunch,' he adds.

'I guess we can't have a party here every day,' Emma agrees with regret in her voice. 'It was fun though. Can you believe Neal with that sword?'

'I know, Henry got some pictures on his phone,' David smiles. 'You know Henry's going to be good enough to help us teach Neal with a real sword when he's old enough.'

It used to freak Emma out when her parents would casually include her and Henry in plans for the future, but now she feels thrilled at the idea that her Dad wants her and Henry to help him and her Mom to raise Neal.

'So, you want some help with tracking this swindler down this afternoon?' David asks, a steely tone in his voice indicating that he'll be coming anyway. Lyman tried to peddle his snake oil tonic for his son after all.

'Let's go,' she replies.

Lyman isn't at the White Rabbit bar, attempting to fleece inebriated rubes. Nor is he hiding out at the cannery or in any of the seedier alley ways, but all day people have given a similar physical description of the guy, and it's giving Emma a very bad feeling. She's working herself up to sharing it with David when he asks the question.

'Emma, are you ok? You seem, I don't know, like you're asking questions to verify a suspicion. Do you know who we're looking for?'

'You noticed that, huh?' she replies.

David just waits for her to speak.

'In New York, when Hook gave me the potion and I remembered everything, I was going to tell Walsh that I couldn't... that I had to leave. That's when he...'

'Became a flying monkey,' David completes the sentence and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

'Sounds crazy, doesn't it? So much for my normal life.'

'I know how you feel,' David empathises.

'You do?'

'I was a shepherd. Then Rumpelstiltskin appeared out of thin air and recruited me to pose as my long lost dead brother the prince and slay a dragon.'

'Ok, you do know.' She pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath. 'The guy everyone's describing sounds just like Walsh,' she says and it feels like a confession.

'Ah. And so now we know it was Zelena who sent him to keep an eye on you,' David says, trying but realising that there's no way to say it gently. 'You're thinking maybe he's in Storybrooke?'

'Maybe. I pushed him off the roof of our apartment building and it looked like he evaporated or something when he hit the ground. I thought he was dead, but he totally conned me about everything, so maybe that's his deal. He's the conman.'

'I'm sorry.' David says. He can't fault Emma's logic, but he wishes he could offer another explanation, one that doesn't involve Emma having to face her ex and arrest him. Then he thinks that through and fires a broad smile at his daughter.

'My heartbreak is amusing to you?' she asks.

'Emma, how many people get to punish their ex's betrayal by tracking them down and throwing their ass in gaol?'

'You know your bizarre optimism used to annoy me, but eventually it rubs off,' she replies, a corresponding smile starting on her own face. 'Maybe he'll resist arrest and I'll have to smack him.'

'See, now you're getting the hang of it,' he says, patting her on the arm encouragingly.

'But we've looked everywhere. Where the hell is he?'

Then it hits them both at the same time. 'Zelena's farm house!'

They park some distance from the house and close the doors quietly, not wanting to tip Walsh to their presence. They both pause, looking towards the looming house and both of them shudder. They don't have anything but unpleasant memories of this place, and realise that today isn't likely to improve their feelings about it very much.

David catches Emma's eye, 'You ok? Ready?'

Emma nods and blows out a breath, taking a purposeful, long stride to appear confident and held together, not for her father, who would see right through it, but so that when she faces Walsh, she can con him right back.

David falls into step beside her, leaving enough distance that it won't undermine her by making it look like she needs his emotional support or that she needs her Dad to fight her battles, a gesture that she knows is deliberate and means that he would absolutely be willing to do both but has faith in her ability to handle this.

As they approach the porch, Emma attracts David's attention with a soft click of her fingers, and indicates her gun, which she is unclipping and pulling free of its holster. She hasn't forgotten that the man she thought was gentle and loving turned on her so that she was forced to defend herself by pushing him off the roof.

David unholsters his own gun and they circle the house, trying to see into the windows but in all of the ground floor rooms the blinds are closed.

Emma heads back towards the front door and David indicates with a nod that he'll take the back door in case Walsh tries to skedaddle. She nods agreement and responds in kind when he mouths the words, 'Be careful.'

She walks up to the front door and gives David some time to get into position at the back. She cups a hand over the small square of glass in the door to reduce the glare and peers through. She can't see anyone, but this close she can hear music. It sounds like brass instruments and accordians, like fairground music and in conjunction with the obscured windows the effect is eerie. She remembers in New York, Walsh always claimed to be a fan of Green Day and Pixies.

She feels her phone vibrate and glances down at it; David has texted that he's in position.

She tests the door knob and it clicks open under her hand. She holds the door lightly against the latch and waits, steadying her breathing, trying to slow her heart rate. She's surprised at how nervous she is to possibly be on the verge of seeing Walsh again.

Satisfied that she's ready, or at least that there's nothing to be gained by waiting any longer, she pushes the door wide enough to fit through and then pushes it closed behind her as quietly as she can, trusting that the music will drown out the click.

The hallway in front of her is dingy with the light subdued by the closed blinds. She takes a moment to allow her eyes to adjust. The place is dusty and smells strange, like burning rubber and iron and there's a sickly note underneath that she can't identify, but that makes her want to gag.

She walks on the balls of her feet, her rubber soles absorbing the sound of her footfalls. The living room on her left is empty. So is the study on her right and the bathroom, the next door on the left. The music is getting louder, and seems to be coming from the kitchen.

She stands still for a moment, adjusting her grip on her weapon and taking a steadying breath. She edges forward until she's in the shadow of the kitchen doorway and risks a peep round into the room.

A man is standing over a large pan on the stove, his back to her, but in the moment it takes to measure it up, the height, the wiry frame, the shaggy brown hair, she knows it is Walsh, and she can't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed to have her suspicions proved correct.

On the table behind him, rows of glass bottles are lined up, some filled and stoppered, others awaiting their contents, with their stoppers lying next to them.

She glances to the back door, where in the gap between the blind and the frame she sees the edge of David's outline in the glass, visible from her angle, but hidden should their quarry turn his way. She catches his eye and gives a small nod, which he knows means she's seen him and she'll signal when he should come through the door.

She takes a second to compose herself so that when she speaks, her voice won't shake or croak.

'Walsh,' she says loudly, and he jumps, and spins around to face her, his expression shocked.

'Emma!' He glances at the table, realising that she's seen his products, and caught him red handed. He looks so like a cornered animal that she's forcibly reminded of the moment he transformed into a vicious creature, all huge wings and sharp teeth. Even though Zelena is gone, she wonders if he still might turn.

'Emma, I can explain,' he says in a pleading tone that she's never heard from him before and that repulses her. Ok, maybe she could understand his behaviour when he was under Zelena's control, but now he's free so this is all him.

'No need,' she replies. 'I can see for myself. You're under arrest.'

'For what?' he asks. 'People buy my tonic of their own free will. They could say no.' His voice changes, defensive now but also belligerent.

'You lie to them,' she points out. 'You've made all sorts of false claims. You've made people sick.'

'They should have read the disclaimer.'

'You claimed to be a doctor. You tried to sell it to my mother to use on my baby brother!' Emma is getting angrier and angrier as she lists his transgressions and she'd happily beat him to death with a bottle of his own tonic for putting baby Neal at risk.

'You know what? I don't think this is about my professional claims. I think this is personal. This is sour grapes,' he says cruelly. 'I broke your heart.'

'No you didn't,' Emma snorts, surprised at how little she feels at actually seeing him again, she can't believe she was so nervous. Mostly she feels revulsion for having spent time with him, knowing what she knows now.

'Come on, turn around and put your hands behind your head so I can cuff you.'

She starts to move towards him, reciting his rights, when he lunges at her, pushing her arm aside, so that her gun slams into the metal edge of the stove, and she drops it. Then she hears the door clatter open, as David enters the room, ready to back her up.

'Let her go!' he yells, pointing his gun at the struggling pair, but they're too close together and moving too much, so he doesn't have a clear shot.

Walsh angles himself to pull her in front of him, to shield himself, but she stamps on his foot hard, throws an elbow at his face and drags herself from his grip, moving towards her father, crouching to grab her weapon from the floor as she does.

'Down on the floor,' David orders him, but Walsh is not ready to surrender yet, and has one more trick up his sleeve.

He gives his right arm a violent shake and a glass bottle drops into his hand. Before they can react to stop him, he's thrown it to the floor in front of Emma.

'Emma!' David calls in alarm, and he steps in front of her, pushing her backwards, so that she overbalances and starts to fall, just as the bottle shatters and a powerful blast forces her the rest of the way down, her hands slamming into the floor hard. She turns her head away to protect her face and sees David thrown backwards into the wall, the window behind him shattering.

She turns back to Walsh, who is trying to make his escape through the back door, and without any hesitation, she lifts the gun in her hand and fires, taking his leg out from beneath him.

'Aargh! You shot me! You shot me in the leg!' Walsh is shouting in a high pitched voice of outrage, but it's background noise to Emma, who only cares that he's neutralised and incapacitated enough to be powerless to escape her wrath.

She coughs as she breathes in acrid smoke from whatever was in that bottle, and crawls over to David who is lying on the floor, broken glass scattered around him.

'Dad!' His eyes are closed and he's not moving and for one agonising moment she thinks he's dead, but when she reaches for his neck, she feels a strong pulse and she can see that he's breathing.

She shakes his shoulder gently, 'Dad? Can you hear me? Dad?'

He doesn't answer and she bites her lip and blinks back tears, suddenly feeling like a lonely little girl again, terrible fears racing through her mind. What if he never wakes up? What if he leaves her? What if Henry and Mom and Neal blame her for what's happened? She brought Walsh into their lives. She trusted him. She let him be alone with Henry. He nearly hurt Neal by trying to sell his potion to Mary Margaret, and now he's hurt her dad. What if they blame her and don't want her around anymore?

She knows she's panicking, she knows she needs to do something to help, but she can't think what, until her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she sees there's a text from her mother. The thought flashes through her that she can't ever face her, she can't tell her mom what's happened to her dad, but then she pulls herself together, and it's her mother's, her father's her son's voices that remind her.

She's Emma Swan, she's the Sheriff of Storybrooke, she's the Saviour, she's the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, of True Love and she knows how to be brave.

She calls an ambulance, and ignores the wobble in her voice as she explains the situation, then she hangs up and turns back to David.

She tries again, rubbing her palm on his chest above his heart, 'Dad, wake up!'

Still nothing. She taps his cheek gently, and then more forcefully, but it's not until she can hear sirens in the distance that he begins to stir.

He swallows and blinks closed eyes more tightly as though he's trying to clear an eyelash or a nightmare, or control nausea and then he opens his eyes and the first word he says is her name.

'Emma? Are you ok?'

She laughs, she laughs away her panic that he's leaving her and that she's going to lose her whole family, because the first thing her Dad wants to know is whether she is ok.

'I'm fine! How's your head?' she asks, breathlessly, but he's already pushing himself up.

He's a bit uncoordinated and groggy, so she helps prop him up against the wall, and when he goes to steady himself, she notices the blood smearing on the wall behind him.

She grabs his hand and examines the jagged cut that's opened the side of his palm, probably from a shard of glass from the window he slammed into. It's deep and there's quite a lot of blood.

'Oh damn,' she whispers.

'What?' he asks, still trying to pull his scattered consciousness back together.

She grabs his hand and holds it up between them and she can tell he's doing his best to focus on it.

'Hey, this is a touching scene and all, but what about my leg!' Walsh yells from where he's still leaning against the door, clutching his thigh in both hands.

'Shut up!' Emma yells. 'There's paramedics on the way. Until then, nobody cares about your leg!'

'Do you need to go and check on him?' David asks.

'Why? He's not going anywhere.'

'Do we want him to die in our custody?' he replies. 'I think if we're going to kill him, we should do it deliberately.'

'You know, for a man who probably has a concussion, you're making surprising sense,' she replies, trying to apply some pressure to his jagged cut. 'But let's make sure you don't bleed to death out of your hand first.'

The ambulance arrives and she takes a moment to place Walsh in handcuffs before relinquishing any residual attention to the paramedics and relieving them of some sterile bandages.

'I should have just shot him the moment I walked in,' Emma mutters, berating herself.

'I'm fine, Emma, don't worry,' David tries to reassure her, cutting off a hiss as she pulls the bandage tightly. He really doesn't want her to blame herself.

'It needs stitches,' she replies tersely, trying to blink back angry tears. Sure Walsh (or Lyman, or whatever his name is) is a conman, but how did she fall for it? Why couldn't she see that he was a liar? For eight whole months her superpower failed her. And now her dad is hurt because of her poor judgement.

'It's ok, really. I'm fine and anyway, it's not your fault, you're not responsible for him. You've spent most of the day trying to stop him.' he says gently.

Emma wants to say something, say she's sorry he's hurt, she's grateful he saved her from the blast, but instead it's a sob that comes out, and she can't stop because it's everything all at once, washing over her, overwhelming her like a tidal wave, she's crying loudly and messily and her dad his holding her, rocking and making comforting noises like she's a little girl, and she's half laughing and half crying because she said it earlier to tease him but it's true, he is so into being a dad, and that's not just about Neal, he so loves being her dad too.

She doesn't care that Walsh can see them; she couldn't care less what he thinks of her anymore, because he's nothing but a fake and this is real.

Emma tries to insist David should get professional medical care, but since Storybrooke only has one ambulance, and David insists that if he has to ride with Walsh, he'll probably punch him, she agrees to drive him to the hospital, on the tail of the ambulance, but not before thoroughly searching Walsh for further booby traps while the paramedics check that David is unlikely to keel over between here and Storybrooke General.

'You're quiet,' David observes. 'Are you ok?'

'Yeah,' she replies, trying to focus on the road, and not the bloody bandage she keeps having to remind him to keep elevated.

'Because you don't seem ok,' he prods. 'Is it seeing Walsh again? Because I have to say, I know you're a grown woman and all, but speaking as your father I was not happy about the things he said to you.'

'No not Walsh, not really... Although speaking as your daughter, I was not happy about how he knocked you unconscious,' she imitates, only half joking. She pauses and then admits, 'Mom texted me.'

'Uh-huh,' he knows he's feeling a little sluggish in the brain department, but he can't imagine what Mary Margaret could have texted Emma that was so upsetting that she'd retreat into her shell again.

'I haven't answered. I didn't know what to say,' she replies.

'What do you mean? When did she text?'

'When you were out cold.'

'Oh,' he replies.

'Yeah.'

'Did you read it?'

'No, I called an ambulance! And speaking of, will you please raise your hand like a person who doesn't want to bleed to death!'

'You know, you sound exactly like my mother,' he replies, and it's a joke, but he's suddenly seeing the resemblance to Emma's grandmother for the first time.

She almost laughs, but not quite, and it's taking longer than usual due to his headache but he thinks he knows why Emma's freaking out about the text.

'You're not worried she'll be angry with you are you?'

Emma doesn't answer and he knows he's right.

'Emma, you are the only person who would ever think you are to blame for what happened back there. Your mom will just be happy to see you safe, I promise you.'

'You think?' she asks warily.

'I know. We love you Emma, nothing will ever change that. Not even if you had done something wrong. Which you absolutely didn't.'

She glances at him, her eyes glassy with tears again, and he wishes they weren't driving so he could hug her again, but he knows she won't pull over and allow the ambulance carrying their perpetrator to continue out of her sight.

'How about I call your mom?'

Emma's shoulders relax visibly, by about six inches, and he realises that she really was terrified. It's an eye opener because up until very recently he and Mary Margaret have been used to trying to win Emma's approval and affection, looking out for the tiniest sign that she's letting them closer and putting trust in them. It's a shock to see Emma openly worried about their reactions.

'Hand me your phone?' he suggests. Sooner is better than later because Mary Margaret will be waiting for a text back and there's no point pretending everything's fine because he knows she will freak out when she hears what happened. He can only be grateful that Emma escaped without a scratch, a physical one at least.

Emma tosses the phone to him and he has just enough post-knockout coordination to catch it in the tips of the fingers of his good hand.

He laughs when he unlocks the phone and opens the text from Mary Margaret. It's a photo of Neal waving his knitted sword around, with the shield balanced on his chest and the dragon cuddled up next to him.

'What?' Emma demands and he holds up the phone for her to see. She takes her eyes off the road long enough to look and laughs out loud. She remembered it as adorable, but not that adorable.

'She's written a caption "Like father, like daughter, like son." I bet I've got the same text,' he says as he taps the screen for the contacts list and flicks through the alphabet to M, noticing that at some point since she returned from her adventure in their past, Emma has taken the time to change his entry to read Dad and Mary Margaret's to read Mom.

'Lyman?' Belle asks. 'Huh.'

'What?' Emma responds. They're passing time in the hospital waiting room while Dr Whale checks David for concussion and stitches up his hand.

Belle is holding Neal because every time Emma, Mary Margaret or Henry pick him up he absorbs their worry and starts crying.

'Well, Lyman was the L in L. Frank Baum.'

'Who?' Mary Margaret pauses in her pacing for a moment. She's relieved that Charming was capable of calling her and explaining everything, and seeing him briefly when she met him and Emma at the hospital helped, but she won't relax until she hears Dr Whale's verdict.

Still, she's trying to pay attention to the conversation, especially anything Emma says because Charming warned her about their daughter's sudden bout of unwarranted guilt about the whole situation with Walsh.

'In this world he's known as the author of the Wizard of Oz books,' Belle explains.

'Wait, Walsh is the Wizard of Oz? Henry asks.

'Well, the charlatan who pretends to be a wizard,' Belle amends.

'My mom dated the Wizard of Oz?' Henry knows he should be acting sympathetic to his mom's feelings right now, but he can't decide whether that is awesome or freaky. Probably it's both. In any case, teasing his mom is often a good way of pulling her out of any dark thoughts.

'Hey!' Emma protests.

Henry shrugs and gives his best mom-placating smile. 'You wouldn't have married him anyway,' he says.

'I was going to say yes,' Emma reminds him, and she can't believe it herself.

'Then eventually you'd have changed your mind. He's not your type.'

'Oh yeah, how's that?'

'He's right,' her mother chimes in. 'You like the scruffy, unshaven reprobates with kind hearts, not the clean cut guys with ice cold hearts.'

'Oh you know me so well, do you?' Emma replies, feigning scorn.

'Have you really missed him?' Mary Margaret challenges, her voice a little more serious.

'No,' she admits, shaking her head.

No, she doesn't miss New York, and she doesn't miss Walsh. What seemed like a great thing at the time has faded into the grey past, while Storybrooke is Technicolor, full to bursting with loyalty and honour, and friendship and, most importantly, true love, in all its forms. She puts the last year out of her mind as the door to the waiting room opens and David walks in.

They stand, and Mary Margaret darts forward, clutching him in a tight hug, like she wants to hold him so close forever that nothing can ever hurt him again.

Emma knows the feeling. She joins the hug, filled with gratitude and relief that her dad is there, standing warm and strong and alive, if a little banged up, and hugging them back as hard as he can.

'Are you ok?' Henry asks David, his voice sounding younger and more vulnerable than Emma has heard it in a while.

'Yeah, kid, no permanent damage,' David replies.

Henry casts a suspicious eye at David's bandaged hand and wrist, and the drying blood smears on his shirt and jeans.

'Just a few stitches,' David reassures him. 'They'll be gone in a week. Let's go home.'

'You're sure?' Emma asks. 'Shouldn't they be keeping you in? How's your head?'

'My head is like tempered steel from all the times your mom hit me,' he smiles.

Emma raises an eyebrow. He can't tease away that it took her five long minutes to wake him up.

'Charming?' Mary Margaret says, a warning in her voice that he'd better not be playing it down.

'Honestly, I'm fine. Whale gave me some painkillers and told me to go sleep it off.'

Walsh is staying in hospital overnight, having had her bullet dug out of his leg, so Emma doesn't really have anything more to do that day other than paperwork that she can do from home, but she decides to stop in and see him before she leaves.

Killian insists on waiting outside the room, just in case she needs help, which is totally unnecessary, but sort of endearing.

Walsh is lying in bed with his leg elevated and his wrist cuffed to the rail. He looks thoroughly miserable and she can't say she's unhappy about that.

'How's the leg?' she asks out of politeness.

'It hurts,' he replies bitterly. Emma refrains from saying 'good.' Just.

'What are you planning on doing with me?' he asks, getting straight to the point.

'You know you could have got away with paying a restitution fine and some community service if you'd have shown even a teaspoon of contrition. I'd have let you carry on selling your potion as long as you stopped claiming to be a doctor, and just sold it for leather and engines, and not for people. But you hurt my Dad, so now I'm going to make sure you get the harshest sentence possible. I suggest you get a lawyer.'

He looks like he's about to argue, but then he deflates, 'Are there any lawyers in this town?' he asks, a trifle petulantly.

'There's Mr Gold,' she smiles grimly. 'Although I wouldn't count on him being overly sympathetic, given you tried to sell the stuff to Belle. You're lucky she won't use anything she can't read about in a book, or being turned into a flying monkey would be a happy memory compared to what Gold would do to you for hurting his wife. What the hell happened, Walsh? Why did you do this? Why did you not go back to New York? You had a real job there, a life.'

'No. I had a cover story there. This is my job. I'm a collector and purveyor of hard to find magical objects. New York is tedious. There's no magic, the people are hopelessly mundane. I might as well go back to Kansas as go to New York. I'm trying to get back to Oz. And to do that I need the shoes I gave Zelena to cross realms, but she hid them, so until I find them, I need money to live.'

'Well, when you're done with being punished, you'd better find a new way of making a living, because I'll be watching you.'

'Can I impale him on my hook?' Killian asks her as she closes the door behind her.

'It's a bit medieval for this world,' she replies with a smile.

'Maybe, but he tried to hurt you.'

'I didn't say the idea lacks merit. You were worried about me?' she could tell by the look in his eyes when he first saw her in the waiting room and by how closely he held her. But it's nice to hear it too.

'Yes,' he replies simply. 'So how's your father?' he asks.

'He's ok. They're waiting for me.'

'Well I'll walk with you then. I need to tell him I owe him twice over now.'

She frowns, 'How's that?'

'Once for bringing you into the world in the first place, and once for keeping you in it today.'

She pulls him in for a very thorough kiss.

Emma reads over her report one more time, hits save and shuts down her laptop. She's exhausted, the stress of the day and last night's disturbed sleep finally catching up with her. It's barely nine o'clock but it feels like so much has happened, she's ready to fall into bed and sleep for days. Or at least she will be when she's checked on her family one last time.

Henry's lying on the sofa playing a video game. She finds her mother leaning against a wooden pillar, Neal in her arms, watching her father sleeping. Emma stands behind her and rests her head on her shoulder and her mother twists to give her a kiss on the cheek.

'He was out like a light the second he lay down.' Mary Margaret says. 'How are you doing?'

'I'm ready to do the same.'

'I'm not surprised. Do you want to talk about what happened? It doesn't have to be tonight, but I'm sure that was difficult, having to arrest someone you had cared for.'

'I think the anger carried me through,' she smiles. 'I'm ok, and I'm just so glad Dad's ok, that it wasn't any worse.'

'Yes, thank goodness you're both safe. Emma, I'm so proud of you for how you handled it.'

'Thank you,' Emma whispers, finally ready to believe that she did a decent job today, that nobody blames her, so maybe it's ok not to blame herself.

Emma wakes to the sound of Neal crying and rolls over to look at the clock. Two o'clock again. The kid is nothing if not regular in his habits. She sees the light flick on downstairs through the slit at the bottom of her door and hears her parents' speaking softly.

She groans at the thought of having to get up in a few short hours and briefly tells herself that she and Henry really need to get serious about finding a new place, before dismissing the thought for now.

There's a reason she has vetoed every potential apartment so far. Neal might be noisy and the apartment might be crammed full but these are the sounds of home and she's not quite ready to give that up, especially not tonight.

She could roll over and try to find sleep again, but decides instead to go downstairs and commiserate on the disturbance.

She finds Mary Margaret on the sofa feeding Neal and David in the kitchen making tea.

'I'm sorry!' Mary Margaret says in a carrying whisper and David smiles ruefully and pulls another mug out of the cupboard for her.

They chat about nothing until Neal has finished his late night snack and fallen asleep, then they all watch him in his crib for a while, until the lure of a few more hours of sleep is too much.

'Sheriff,' Emma barks into her phone when it rings just before eight thirty. She, Henry, her mother, father and Neal are all at Granny's for breakfast, surrounded by friends, all hoping to get a cuddle with Neal.

Emma hangs up the phone and smiles at David. 'Heads or tails?' She asks.

'Tails,' he replies.

And they all lived happily ever after... Thanks for reading!