AN: SO sorry this has taken much longer than I wanted. I rewrote a few parts, a few times, and then second guessed myself, but this is how I want it to go. I know it's still kind of mixed up, slow then fast, but I swear, I have a plan, and all of this is relevant, eventually! :) I want everyone to know how much I appreciated all the reviews I received. They're so motivating, this definitely might not be here without them, so thank you :) The stuff in italics are meant to be flashbacks, in case there's any confusion.

"Daddy, tell me a story."

The little girl's bright round eye's were often too much for him to deny, despite how tired the fieldwork of the day had made him, or later on in years, the schoolwork he juggled as he helped raise her. He would find time, no matter what, to sit down beside her on her small bed, curled up with a soft bear and cream wool blanket, to tell her the stories she so longed to hear.

Tonight would be different though. Tonight, it would change.

He began as he usually had, with a story of a bandit on a horse and a sad, lonely young man waiting to meet the woman that would change his life. She sat rapt with attention until he got to the wedding at the end. Usually, content with how the story ended, she'd flop back against her pillow and allow him to pull her covers up to her chin and place a kiss on her head. This time, though, she frowned.

"Did they live happily ever after?"

His body went cold. He chuckled haltingly, smiling at what he believed to be a 6 year old's misguided naivete. "That, my love, is a story for another night."

She rolled her eyes, a quirk he had noticed she had picked up as of late to illustrate just how irritated she was with him. "No! The movie said they lived happily ever after, but you don't. I want to know what happens after."

He didn't know which movie she meant, and he made a note in his head to look it up. He knew that fairy tales existed in this world, much like tales existed in their own, used as cautionary stories to teach children lessons, but he had admittedly never really sat down and read them. She didn't waffle though, her gaze boring holes in him. He swallowed.

Should he lie? Should he say yes, that Snow White and Prince Charming ruled happily over their kingdom forever and ever? Or did he tell her that the Witch had interrupted the happy day, that she was not gone and that no, not quite yet did the family have the happiness they so deserved?

"Daddy." She whined, grabbing out for his hand. "There's no school tomorrow, I want to know."

He had never been one to be able to deny her anything. He could not hide the grin from his face. He led with the evil Queen confronting the court during the ceremony, he inserted a scene of pure joy when the Charming's realized they were expecting their true gift, and haltingly, finished with the story of the good Prince climbing in the wardrobe with the baby, escaping to a scary new world. He supposed, on some strange level, he wanted her to understand, even if he knew that she could not at such a young age; that at such an age, he didn't want to burden her with this task.

She frowned. "I don't like that ending as much as the movie." She informed him with a frown.

He laughed. "You don't, do you? Well, it's just the ending to the first part. The next part has yet to be written!" He tapped her underneath the chin and she giggled, shaking her head and making her blond curls dance. When she finished, she clutched her stuffed animal closer.

"But won't she be sad? She's all alone." She frowned. "That's not how a princess should be."

His face clouded over, and it felt as if his heart had dropped into his stomach. His wife's pained screams echoed in his head once more, supposed scenes with the Witch from his nightmare's coming to the forefront of his mind. He swallowed hard, the tangy hint of bile at the back of his throat. He cleared it. "I think she would be too. But...I think you have to remember, she believes in her true love and her daughter very much. And she loved her enough, loved them both enough, to sacrifice herself so that they could be safe and save everyone one day." He grabbed his daughters hands, very serious now as he looked down at her. "If you believe anything from that story, believe just how much Snow White loved her baby."

Her gaze was empty as she looked up at him, and his heart clenched further as he realized she could never understand the gravity of his words. He forced a smile. "How about, you think really, really hard about it, and make up your own happy ending for the princess? I bet she would appreciate it."

"Really?"

He smiled softly. "Absolutely." He whispered, bending down to lay a kiss on her hair's crown. "Now, go to sleep. I know you'll be up early to watch your cartoons." He arose from the bed and walked to the door, first bending to turn on her nightlight on a bookshelf before shutting off the light. "Sweet dreams, baby. I love you."

"I love you too, daddy." She whispered back sleepily, her lashes already skimming her cheeks. He smiled at her one last time, before retiring to his own room.

There, he closed his door and locked it. Roger and Ruth were asleep, and they wouldn't disturb him even if they weren't, but he still felt the need for precaution. From his closet, he removed a wooden box and removed a sketch pad from it. As he sat down on his bed, he began to flip through it.

By now, he had drawn hundreds of sketches. Hands, feet, half a face, a pair of eyes...delicate lips. Sometimes he sketched her face, her body, anything he could remember, just so he would never forget; he was afraid, after so many years, his mind would fail him and that he may see her on the street one day and not know her at all.

It was a tad bit creepy, he knew, which was why he kept it hidden. How could he explain away the beautiful woman in his pictures? Even if he did, and someone believed him, to speak of her, to tell their story and to have someone in this realm-A Land Without Magic-would be impossible. They would declare him insane, and maybe even take away Emma. He couldn't risk it.

He let his fingers travel over the charcoal marks on the page. He focused on them as a lone tear skirted it's way down his face, forcing himself to remember her voice, her laugh, her smell. All he could think of was the Witch, the what if's, but if he could maybe just soak all of her in, then maybe he wouldn't have those nightmare's tonight. It had been five years, and now they only came occasionally but he didn't want to chance it.

When he was through, he slipped the parchment back in it's box and slid it into it's hiding place. As he climbed into bed, and closed his eyes, willing himself to dream of something other the Witch's evil grin, he thought he could hear a voice from far away in the darkness, muffled and desperate.

"There is a town..."

"...Dad?"

David looked up sharply at the voice that pulled him from his nap, the momentum of his movement causing the recliner he lay in to rock backwards and made him claw at the arm to regain his balance. His now adult daughter grinned back at him mischievously, tying her hair up in a messy ponytail as she flopped down on the couch next to him. He playfully scowled at her.

"Trying to be the death of me, are you?"

"Something tells me it would take more than a wobbly lazy boy to take you down." She grinned at him, pulling her knees to her chest. "You packed and ready to go?"

He nodded. "I am. You seem more excited than usual. Is Elliot coming with this time?"

Her expression became stormy and she rolled her eyes. His heart seized for her. At 27, she was far from an old maid, but he wanted her to be happy, and to be in love; to maybe one day have children of her own but he worried sometimes. He worried that he, at his old age and living alone, was holding her back, keeping her from living a fulfilled life. He worried that maybe something else was looming, something that would ruin everything he'd built for them in this world.

The years had passed too quickly for David, if he were honest. The 28 year sentence had been daunting at first, to be alone with a newborn in a strange place, but now that the year seemed upon them, he grew uneasy at the possibility of it all being true. For one, Emma had grown too fast; they had had their rough patches to be sure, yet he was still reluctant to give her up to whatever lay ahead. But then, he wasn't even sure it was still real.

He had been studying the tarnished gold band on his ring finger more often lately, spinning it as he got lost in his thoughts, his mind wandering. Had that world ever truly existed? He still dreamed of it, though less often now than ever. Now, his dreams involved his family-Emma, Roger and Ruth, may they ever rest. All of the people he had grow to know and love here. He still held that fervent love for Snow inside of him, but the thought of tearing Emma from this life, from people she cared about as well and thrusting her into a possibly very dangerous other one was daunting for him.

If it even was real.

Sometimes, he wondered if it was made up, a fantasy borne of a great tragedy, a figment of his imagination due to a heartbreak too great to bear. Maybe his wife really had just left, and in his grief, the delusion was born.

But his sword was still very real. And so were the clothes, the blanket that Emma still kept. The scar on his shoulder that still ached from time to time, reminding him of the fight to the wardrobe to beat the Witch's men. No, no...it was very real. He had to keep himself aware of that, if only to keep him sharp for when the time came to return.

"...he was just so boring, you know? And I just...I mean, he was nice enough, but I just didn't feel like I should stay with him...Dad, are you even listening to me?" She sounded annoyed, her voice pulling him back to the conversation. She was speaking of Elliot, he knew, a neighboring farmer's eldest son down the road who was recently divorced and had been dating her for a few months. He was kind enough, but he was content with the life here on a small farm in a small town, and as much as he had tried to stymie it throughout the years, Emma had a wild soul; something she inherited from her mother. That, he would maintain at least.

He had made it a point, because of that spirit, to keep her engaged in her youth. When she was still a child, she had learned of far off lands across the oceans in her classes, and he decided early that they would experience it together, as much as they could. Every year, they tried to take a trip; either in the country they lived in or otherwise. His favorite, personally, had been Europe; the castles in Germany had made him ache something awful for home, especially Neuschwanstein, which resembled their own at home quite a bit. Emma had been taken with Europe, as any girl in their early teens were, but he knew that trip had been marred by events that took place shortly thereafter. They didn't speak much of Europe anymore.

Now, upon the eve of her 28th year, they prepared a drive up to Maine, to enjoy a week at a B & B and to do some apple picking. With it being decently late in the year, they were able to take a little more time than usual to relax and just enjoy the outdoors-horseback riding, fishing and some great hiking in the area. He had let Emma plan it, as it was for her birthday, and she had surprised him with choosing the place, but she had shrugged.

"I dunno, it just...sounds kind of remote. I could totally do remote for once."

"So you're ready to get going then?" He asked her, pulling the lever at the side of the chair and letting it drop so he could stand. She nodded and looked up at him as he moved around the living room, heading to his room and emerging with a packed bag. They made their way out of the home, the mid afternoon light warm at their backs. Their harvest had recently come to an end, so they were able to enjoy a few weeks without work and they had a farmhand who could check on things as needed. Emma was also a veterinary tech for many of the large animals in town, but as much as she would be missed, they could certainly do without. The orchards awaited them.

He drove first, and he was amazed at how quickly her eyes closed and breaths evened as they hit the road. He glanced at her often in the trip, her body curling in on itself, face pressed against the cloth belt. She'd frown a bit in her sleep, her eyelids twitching as she muttered something unintelligible before shifting once more. It made him laugh quietly; she had always been one to sleep somewhat discontentedly, although she never seemed ill-rested. Snow was the opposite; she had slept heavy and long, and granted, had been pregnant for most of his memories. The idea saddened and worried him at the same time.

What happened, if sometime soon, they came to find themselves back in the land of fairy tales? He had no idea what Rumpelstiltskin had meant by Emma breaking the curse her 28th year. Would they return home first, and then it would begin, by some magical turn of events? Either way, these past few months, he had been prepared for something that had not yet come. His sword sat in the trunk under the floor of it, tucked away in a sheath wrapped in linen in case Emma would discover it. Those were questions he didn't want to have to answer.

It was sunny and cool on the fall day they buried Ruth in the ground, out near an oak tree on the family plot next to Roger and their daughter. For the second time only in his life, David had gotten to see their other two grown sons, both stock men from the city down state, both checking their watches as if they had somewhere better to be. Emma had sat on a white folding chair alone, a black dress down to her knees as she stared at the dirt floor, unmoving. His heart ached for her.

She was 15 at the time. Roger had gone 5 years before, in a winter when pneumonia had claimed him. He had sat at the old man's bedside when his other sons were en route, claiming winter storms stopped them and they were doing the best they could. They had only made it after their father had slipped into a coma, and looked upon David with a strange envy that angered him. They could've been there all along, but had not; he wondered, briefly, if it had more to do with Rogers' will than with anything else, but he only thought it for a moment. Of course they would've mourned their father; why would they not have?

Roger had gone quickly, and relatively painlessly, with a nurse in the home to aid them. Emma had hidden behind corners and door frames, peeking in when she thought no one was watching and crying herself to sleep when she thought no one could hear. The day he died, David scooped her up and held her for awhile as she sobbed, but Ruth was still there, a pillar in the home and when David had things to tend to so Ruth wouldn't have to, the two grieved together and Emma having that female figure in her life at least had helped her so.

But then, at 15, sometimes when a girl needs it the most, the woman was gone and David was at a loss of what to do. He started getting emails, then actual signed letters from teachers that Emma was skipping class, and not participating as she would usually do. She wasn't turning in assignments, and she was barely passing with her C minus's. She was disagreeable and sometimes mean, anti-social. They were concerned, they advised him to speak with her, to help her, but by the Gods, he didn't know how.

He had tried, of course. He had sat her down and told her that it was okay to be sad, that it was okay to miss Ruth. That if she ever needed to talk to anyone, she had to know he would always be there to listen. And that was when it had gotten worse.

"You've never dated." She pointed out on night at dinner, pushing her asparagus around her plate. He was halfway to the sink with an empty dish, and it stopped him in his tracks. "You've never dated, you've never even looked at another woman. It's because you're still in love with her, isn't it?"

Oh Gods, was this it? He had wondered, panicking. There had been moments throughout the years that Emma had brought up the subject of her mother in passing, innocent questions that bordered on becoming serious so he had changed the subject. Perhaps he should've been more candid about her mother, been more open about the impossibility of their situation without being too explicit. He did not think, in a world without magic where fairy tales were merely stories, she would have believed him; nor did he want to hinder her life and childhood with the weight of expectations adulthood would bring. And so he had stuck to the stories, told them to her as often as he could to make Snow White real to her, to hopefully make her sympathetic to the plight of the Prince and his wife. And she had been...as a child.

He didn't tell her stories anymore, hadn't for many years. She was older now, a fan of pop music he could not understand her liking and TV shows that, although he told her not to watch them, knew she did when he wasn't around. With Ruth, she had been a happy, goofy teenager, but the melancholic mood she had been stuck in these past few weeks seemed to be about to come to a head. With his back still turned to her in the kitchen, he grabbed at a towel, wiping his hands as he turned, taking a deep breath into his lungs. When he opened his eyes, she met his from her seat at the table, glaring at him with red rimmed lids.

How had it gotten so bad, so quick?

He tried to explain to her at first, reason with her. "I know losing Ruth has been hard on you..." He began, taking a seat across from her and trying to reach out a hand. She snatched her's away, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"This isn't about Grandma Ruth." She snapped. "You've been clinging to that woman for years. You've never even been on a date or anything."

"You wanted me to remarry?" He asked, his tone skeptical, and Emma scoffed, rolling her eyes. She stood abruptly, storming over to the sink and practically tossing her dish into it. "Hey, don't get violent now."

"You don't get it do you? It's not about another woman. You still love her." She said the word with a venomous bite, her eyes growing tearful. "I see you looking at your ring, I know you think of her all the time. Sometimes, you're looking into nothing and I know you're thinking of her."

"And why is that so wrong? Does it upset you that your mother and I loved each other..."

"She left us!" She snapped, her tears shining now, ready to fall. "She ran away, and she's never coming back, but you miss her, like it doesn't matter that she abandoned me!"

And there it was. He heart grew heavy in his chest, a lump forming in his throat; he reached his hand to steady himself on a dining room chair and Emma stared at him so accusingly. She wanted him to choose a side. After a few moments, he trusted himself to speak. "Is that what you think? That she just left?" He asked softly.

"It's not like she fell into a magical vortex that she couldn't escape from!" She snapped. "Yes, she just left. Obviously, she just left. Obviously, she didn't love us...or maybe just me, as much as you always say she did."

He had to choke back a laugh from her sardonic retort at the beginning. By the time she had finished the sentence though, his heart had stopped feeling so heavy and had began to race.

"Make sure she knows I loved her...that if there was anything I could've done, I would've gone with her..."

"Emma," He began brokenly. "That's not true."

Her face paled and he realized he had messed up. He had said the wrong thing, and in her mind, taken the side of the woman that had abandoned them years before, never to look back. "Emma, no..."

"You're just as bad as she is. Do you know where she is? Does she just not want me to know? Was she just some whore that you-"

"That is enough!" He roared, turning on her immediately; he had never felt such anger towards his daughter. He felt like he wanted to shake her and scream all at once, though he never would. She cowered away from him all the same, the outburst coming from a father who never yelled startling her. He forced himself to pause for a moment to collect himself, walking to the hallway's entry to calm himself down. When he felt his anger ebb, he hung his head, his back still to her. "Whether you want to believe it or not, Emma, your mother loved you very, very much. And if she could be here with you, she would be."

"Then why isn't she?" She asked broken, extending her arm down her side, clutching it at the elbow with her free arm. "What did I do that made her not want to try?"

And for all his fury, his heart was breaking again. He turned to face her, and at the sight of her tears, decided he was going to do whatever he had to in the moment to get those tears to stop. He was going to tell her the truth; she was perfectly old enough to hear it now, and he had to stop sheltering her from it, especially if it was going to lead to confrontations like these. "Do you remember...Emma, do you remember the stories I used to tell you? Of Snow White, and Prince Charming, and their baby?"

"And the witch?" She asked, a small smile making it's way to her face. "You haven't told me those stories in years..."

"You haven't wanted to hear them." He smiled back, amazed at how effortless he slid through a myriad of emotions with her. "They're true, Emma. The stories are true."

Emma's face contorted for a moment, as if she hadn't heard him right. "I...I don't understand..."

"We..." He grabbed for her hands, settling her in a dining room chair as he clenched them firmly. "We're not from here. We came through..."

She shot backwards almost immediately, shaking her head as she pulled her hands from his with a laugh. "You're insane. Oh my God, are you seriously...is it that bad? Was she that bad of a person that you have to make up a ridiculous...you want me to believe that you..." She scoffed out a laugh, crying again. "That my mother is Snow White. Are you crazy?"

"Emma, please..."

"I can't believe you would make up some sick, crazy fairytale...I mean, at least make it something original and not something a bunch of German's have been reading for hundred's of years!" She backed away from him, shaking her head. "I'm going to my room. I can't..."

"Emma..."

"No! Leave me alone!" She snapped. "I hate you. And I hate her, and I don't care anymore why, because the reality of it is obviously something awful if you were willing to try and make up a story to pawn it off on."

He stood still in the hallway well after he heard the door slam and the music blare from behind it, and basked in the feeling of knowing he had failed. He had failed Snow, and the kingdom, and most of all, Emma. He had done this all wrong; maybe he should've told her everything from the beginning, trained her and made her understand. He buried his face in his hands, and shut his eyes, trying to push it all away, then walked to his room, leaving the dirty dishes behind him untouched for another day.

"Ermergsh..." He held back a laugh as he watched his daughter shift in her seat out of the corner of his eye, wiping a hand at her mouth as she sat up blinking rapidly. "Oh god, how long have we been on the road?"

"Long enough." He sighed, pulling into the rest stop. The slowing speed of the car had stirred her awake from her two hour nap, and she welcomed the sight of old vending machines and bathrooms bathed in the dusk light.

"You want me to take over?" She asked as they emerged from the vehicle, stretching out their limbs as they walked around. He nodded, grabbing empty cans and bags of snacks from the car and taking them up near the bathrooms before walking in. Emma watched him go, deciding after being curled up so awkwardly that a bit of standing would do her good.

Her father had always puzzled her. He was the kindest man she could've ever asked to have as one, but there always seemed something beneath the surface, something reserved that he never let her, nor anyone else, see. When she thought back to her roughest years as a teenager, there had been moments-specifically one she could harken back to-that she felt something peeking through only to disappear later. She had always suspected him of lying to her about where they were truly from, who her mother was and for the longest time, it was something she just couldn't forgive him for. But things had changed after high school...after she had come home. She shook her head; it was her birthday, and it wasn't the time to think about the sad times.

Still. Sometimes, she caught him looking far off at nothing, and she wanted to shake him, to demand that he tell her the truth, that he let her help him, cause he looked so damn sad. And every time, it hurt her just a little more that he couldn't.

"You ready to go? I don't think we have much more time. We should be there around 7:30, 8." He offered, unfolding a Rand McNally his had folded in his hands. She rolled her eyes.

"Dad. We have a TomTom in the trunk, why do you insist on using those things?"

He scowled. "I don't need some disembodied woman telling me, or you where to go. Your instincts are perfectly sound, and you never know when you're going to need to understand how to read a map. What if the batteries run out?"

"If the batteries run out, it will be because the car battery has run out and if that happens, then were in bigger trouble than the GPS not working." She pointed out, climbing in and buckling her belt.

"If you insist then, bring it on up here..."

"No, no." She held up her hands mockingly. "We'll use your map. It's not like it's a difficult route. If we just stay on this road for another 100 miles, I think it's an exit or so after that. We'll be fine."

"...Use the map, you said. We'll be fine, you said."

"Actually, if I remember correctly, if was you who said we'd be fine." David pointed out to his now exasperated daughter, who's fingers gripped at the steering wheel off and on, a clear sign of agitation he knew well. They had stopped about an hour into their drive, realizing they were not anywhere they needed to be on the map. Believing they had probably just taken an exit mistakenly, David had climbed in the back of the SUV and fished out the TomTom only to find that the signal was anything but strong and it could not pinpoint their location. He had stifled a laugh at that, with Emma huffily admitting that he may have had a point earlier.

It had begun to rain, though, with trees for miles and fog rolling in. Emma squinting as the wipers worked, her frustration having an inverse affect on her patience. David kept her calm, repeating reassuring words to her throughout.

"We're going to be there for a week, Ems. If we're a day late, and we have to stop somewhere for directions, it's no big...Emma, watch out!"

A wolf in the middle of the road had appeared, it's tail resting limply between it's legs; there was something eerie about the way it didn't seem to spook or try and run away, but just stared at the incoming headlights. Emma, in a panic, slammed on her breaks, trying to stop to avoid hitting it, but the road was slick and she had not eased into it at all. The car began to fishtail wildly, and David held one arm out to brace her back against her own seat while holding another arm out to brace himself against the dash. The car spun as the heavy back end went too far to the right at one point and flew towards the side of the road, stopping with an abrupt crash, throwing him into his passenger window and Emma over the console and half into his lap. Keeping still until they realized the car had stopped and they weren't quite dead, David looked up quickly despite a pain in his head.

"Emma, are you alright? Emma?"

"I'm okay, I'm fine, what about you, are you...oh my God, Dad, your head! Your head is bleeding!"

David didn't seem to care. He had looked up after making sure she was awake and speaking, his eyes darting to the road. He looked for the animal, but it had vanished, presumably now escaped into the woods. His temper rose but he swallowed it down. He had to make sure she was okay first, and then they would figure out the rest of this mess.

"You're sure you're okay?" He asked, fishing his phone from his pocket. Now he had even less than one bar and a roaming signal; fantastic. "Piece of junk." He muttered.

"Dad, seriously, you're like, you're bleeding from the head..."

He brought a hand up to feel the wound, then flipped the blinder to check the mirror. "Oh, it's fine. It's barely a scratch. Is the first aid kit still in the back?"

They retrieved some band aids and another bag they kept with flashlights, walkie talkies and other items that may come in useful in case of an emergency. They stepped out of the car gingerly, testing their shaky limbs as their feet touched the ground. David flipped his on as Emma did the same, but turned her attention to the car. He immediately looked up to see what they had hit.

"Welcome to Storybrooke."

He scoffed out a laugh. He knew the northeast was reknowned for some interesting names, and this was no different, the sound of it conjuring images of a vintae hideaway much like the town that had been featured in some movie Emma had loved as a girl; Pleasantville, if he were remembering correctly. He stared at the sign though, something about it intriguing to him enough. There didn't seem to be anything in sight, although he doubted it would be little more than a mile before they began to find some sign of civilization. He walked over to where Emma was crouched by the wheel. The frown on her face wasn't a good sign.

"Bad?"

She clicked her tongue. "I think the impact might have done something to the suspension, but I won't be sure til we get it looked at. Hopefully someone in this town can do it, but we're probably going to need a tow. Does your cell have a signal? Mine's roaming like crazy and has one bar."

"Same." He shrugged, standing up with her as she turned toward the road ahead, shining her light as much as she could. "You want to try to walk into town and see if anyone can help?"

"Do we really have a choice?" She asked with a grin. He smirked back at her smart mouth, walking to the passenger side to gather their bag of supplies to toss over his shoulder. He had a bandaid on his head that had stopped the bleeding for now, but he was starting to feel a bit woozy; if anything, it was probably only a concussion and he knew what to do for that. He wouldn't say anything to her though.

They began to trudge along, making sure to lock the doors and leave a note with their numbers in case anyone found the car before they could make it back. They hoped that maybe someone would eventually drive by and be able to give them a lift, as they did not truly know how far they had to go. David had removed the walkie though long before, setting it at a frequency most police used. Within about a half mile of their trudge, the signal crackled.

"Hello?" David spoke into it. "Hello, is someone there?"

The voice that answered back was hesitant, and slow, as if almost disbelieving there was someone contacting them. "Eh...this is the Sheriff of Storybrooke. Is there eh...is there something I can do you for you sir?"

David' heart swelled at the sight of Emma smiling. He laughed. "Yes, oh yes, you can. We...we've had some car trouble. There was...well, we'll show you, but we're stuck out on the main stretch into town. Is there anyway you might be able to send someone out to help us? We're out near the town's sign."

There seemed to be a few seconds of silence, so quiet that David worried that he may not have heard the message at all. As he began to speak once more, the man's voice cut him off. "Give me 20 minutes, I'll be right there."

"Excellent, thank you sir. Thank you! We'll...we'll be near the car."

He scowled as they turned, wishing the walkie would've picked up the frequency before walking halfway into town. Emma, for her part, stayed chipper and sweet, trying to offer her father short anecdotes and funny stories of friends to pass the short amount of time to get back to the car. She could tell he wasn't in a terribly good mood, and that he felt bad this had seemingly gone downhill so fast, but it didn't bother her. To be honest, with them being okay, it was kind of fun to end up in a situation where they didn't know the outcome. It was...kind of exciting.

"Well, some Happy Birthday huh?" He muttered, leaning against the side of the beaten vehicle, his shoe propped up on the wheel. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him tightly and hugging him, and he responded in kind, planting a kiss on the top of her head. She didn't often do that so much anymore now that she was grown, but he liked the hugs. She laughed at his words.

"Hey, I still have like another...four and a half hours. Don't age me prematurely here."

"Oh, yes, because you are so old."

She looked up at him through her lashes, blonde curls damp under her hat with a smile that made the apple of her cheeks stand out and for not the first time, his wife's face came to mind; they looked so much alike. Now, as she jested about her age, he thought back to the once tiny infant with once green eyes, starring up at him from a wool blanket in a scary new place; them against the world, just like now. Just like it had always been, and he wondered, it would always be.

They pulled apart as the headlights of a police cruiser pulled close. They could see the rain dropping in front of them as the Sheriff pulled the car off to the side of the road and put the car in park, opening the drivers side door for a moment before slowly emerging, a MAGLITE shining in one hand, hiding the man except for the faint outline of his figure. David could see the man's hand at his holster, and he felt the hair on his neck prickle. He moved himself to stand in front of Emma, suddenly very nervous. The man had sounded hesitant and unsure of the situation, and even now still, jumpy. He didn't know if he could fully trust him.

"Aye, are you the man who was on my frequency?" He called out in the darkness, settling about 25 feet away, the flashlight still shining in the night.

"Yes, I am. My daughter and I were just trying to find our way to Augusta for the week, but it seems we got a bit off course."

The man made a horse like noise. "I'll say; you're way past Augusta. That's quite southwest of us."

David could tell from his tone he was grinning a bit, but that wasn't what had begun to bother him. No, there was something else about this man, besides his suspicions and his suddenly annoyingly lighthearted, maybe flirtatious tone-he must've seen Emma behind him. It was his voice that made his arms goosepimple. There seemed the hint of an accent he couldn't place, a brough that seemed so familiar yet so far away.

"You have any weapons on 'ye?"

"No, sir, we don't." Emma piped in, holding up her arms. David followed suit, stepping tentatively away from her, but only enough so the Sheriff could see it was only them and no one else, no weapons to speak of.

That seemed to satisfy the Sheriff. He could hear him laugh softly, letting the flashlight drop a bit as he started closer. "Sorry about that," He began. "We don't get too many strangers...well, we don't get any, actually, around here. Just a bit wary is all. Sorry you're having trouble though, i'll phone Mr. Tillman at the garage and get him out here in a jiffy to take it back to Marco's, but you're gonna want to stay the night. We have a B & B to die for."

The man was handsome, and his voice sounded like something you wanted to curl up into and take a nap with, Emma observed. His leather jacket had the collar turned up against the rain, and the scruff on his face seemed well groomed. She smiled, standing straighter and walking to him to hold out her hand in greeting. "Emma Shepherd. And this is my father, David. Pleased to meet you."

"Sheriff Graham," He nodded, taking her hand; he nodded at the older man, who didn't offer a greeting at all, but seemed to be staring so intensely that the Sheriff shifted uncomfortably. "It's...um...nice to meet you too, sir."

David didn't offer the same courtesy, because he was frozen in place. The voice had been familiar for good reason-because he had heard it before, long before Emma had even been a thought in his mind. This was not just a Sheriff.

This was a Huntsman.