Absence makes the heart grow fonder… or forgetful.

J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Ginger spun her key ring around her finger. The air was chill and the sun above barely breaking the dense fog that drifted through the small town's streets. Unlike some of the other people about town, she didn't mind the small population. It made for peaceful living. Well, for the most part.

Shoulders back and lips pursed, she clenched her jaw as Hopper's menace of a mutt barked at her from across the street. The man lifted a hand and smiled warmly as he tightened the grip on his Dalmatian's leash. "Morning, Ms. Pisica!"

Wrinkling her nose at the dog, the redhead offered him a tight simper and a twiddle of her fingers before carrying on her way. The sound of her four inch leopard print heels scratched against the cement grated on her nerves. She loved wearing them for the cool clack they made on the salon's tiled floor; but on the cement? All Ginger heard was the shiny finish getting etched away... Along with the ridiculous amount of money she spent on them.

The keys hit the palm of her hand as she stopped. The woman blinked, considered the sight in front of her, and then blinked again. It wasn't every day Henry Mills of all people showed up at her place of work. In fact, it wasn't often that children willingly went anywhere near Scissor Me Timbers. Usually there was a lot of tears and screaming and promises of lollipops that went unfulfilled. Kids just did not like getting their hair cut.

The Mayor's son didn't seem to notice the woman or her surprise. He sat on the bench outside her salon, kicking his feet idly and flipping through his book without a care in the world. While Ginger had seen him around the school a few times, she didn't recall anything she had done that might have warranted his attention- much less a visit from the reclusive little boy.

Puzzled, but curious, the woman approached him. When he didn't immediately notice her presence, Ginger cleared her throat. "Um…can I help you?"

Henry looked up at her- and up and up and up. In her heels, the redhead easily stood at least six-foot-three. When he finally reached her face, the boy smiled brightly. "Hi, Ms. Pisica."

"Can I help you?" Ginger repeated with a hint of wariness. A hand clenched the material of her chesterfield coat at her neck as she arched a brow at him.

Holding his book to his chest, Henry got off the bench and led her over to the door. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?"

The woman resisted the urge to sigh. It was too early for this shit. There was a reason she only taught in the afternoon. Rubbing her brow with perfectly manicured fingertips, she asked, "Why?"

"Why not?"

Ginger stared at him. Squinting, she refused to fall for any of his child logic voodoo. Kids were always trying to use that on her. "Because I asked you why."

"So you're curious." The child grinned. Leaning forward, his smile turned cheeky. Ginger found it rather irksome, just like his tone, "Right? That's what you are."

Ginger peered skeptically at him a long moment before she moved to unlock the entrance to her store front. With a shake of her head, she slipped inside and left the door open for him to follow. After hanging her coat on a nearby rack, the woman turned back to him in a fitted juniper blazer. Arms crossed over her chest, she demanded "What do you want, Henry?"

His smile grew a bit forced. "I was hoping to get a haircut?"

The woman arched a doubtful brow. "At eight am?"

The boy nodded firmly. His quivering voice, however, suggested hesitance. "…Yes?"

Ginger weighed the pros and cons of messing with the Mayor's son's appearance before she asked, "Do you have any money?"

"I have five dollars."

She shook her head with a dismissive wave of her hand. Her long ponytail swayed behind her as she told him bluntly, "That's not even enough for a boy's cut."

"Oh." Henry drummed his fingertips anxiously on the hardcover of his book. "Well, maybe I could keep you company until your customers arrive."

The redhead chuckled. The idea of playing babysitter didn't exactly appeal to her- much less playing babysitter to the Mayor's son. Moving over to the large mirror in front of her workstation, she opened a drawer. "I don't think so."

"Please, Ms. P?" He begged, "Can't I just ask you a few questions?"

Ginger's hazel eyes narrowed. Tone hardening, she cocked her hip and dropped a hand to it. The black plastic comb in it was clenched so tightly it seemed to bend. "Look if this is your mother's way of checking to see if I follow health code regulations-"

"It's not, I swear! Please!" The boy clasped his hands together around his storybook. "Just a few questions?"

The woman considered a long moment. The boy would have to leave for school soon and she really wasn't comfortable sending him off by himself- even in such a quaint little town. Plus, Henry was a different sort of kid. A bit naïve and sheltered and while she wasn't technically a teacher, she was expected to look out for the brats around town. She gave him a brisk nod that jingled the gold chain that connected the ear cuff on her cartilage to her dangly earring. "I'll give you ten."

His eyes lit up as he beamed. "Really?"

"Yup." Ginger nodded again and held up a finger. "That's one."

Henry scowled, but nodded. When she patted the chair in front of her, the boy all but ran over to it and hopped in the empty seat. As she gathered her tools for the day, he asked, "So…how do you feel about tuna?"

Ginger shot him a somewhat baffled glance through the mirror. "It's fine?"

"And how do you feel about living here?" He asked, positively radiating curiosity as he leaned forward with his chin on his hand. "I mean, being around all this water."

"The weather could be better, but it too, is fine." Ginger lifted an eyebrow at his disappointed expression. "Why?"

He ignored her question. Subtly slipping his hand into his pocket, Henry thumbed the piece of paper he had hidden away. "How do you feel about cats?"

The woman sighed and leaned a hip against the counter in front of him. Already regretting her decision, she licked her lips and replied with a curt, "I'm allergic."

"And dogs?"

"Also allergic." The woman spun a disinterested finger around her long auburn ponytail.

"And mice?"

Ginger's head whipped over to him. Hazel eyes bright and stormy, she snapped at him, "Why, did someone say my salon had mice?!"

Panicked, the boy quickly shook his head. He'd heard of her wrath only once before when an eighth grader had gotten a bit handsy during a dance class and he was not prepared to deal with Ginger Pisica's reckoning. "No! No one said anything like that!"

The woman relaxed somewhat, but her expression remained sour as she remained silent. After a moment, she turned back to her scissors and combs. With them all laid out in a pretty little row, Ginger took the time to right her bangs. When they were satisfactory, she pulled out a compact of foundation from the back pocket of her black slacks.

Henry took that as a sign to go on. Slowly sliding the piece of paper out, he hid it behind his back as he asked, "Have you ever stolen anything?"

"What are you- the moral police?" Ginger shot him a look in the mirror that suggested she disapproved, but shook her head. Dabbing the powder over her nose, she told him honestly, "No. I haven't."

He cleared his throat as he geared up to ask the more important questions. "And you were born here?"

Skillful fingers blended away some of the shadows under her eyes. "And raised."

"What…" Henry licked his lips anxiously. "What about fairies?"

The woman blinked at him. Visibly thrown by the question, she repeated, "Fairies? Like, little people with wings and such?"

Henry nodded earnestly. "You know; faith and trust and pixie dust."

A bit disturbed, Ginger turned away from the mirror to face him. The boy behind her had to be ten years old- far too old to be believing in such things. She snapped the compact shut. Pursing her lips with concern, the woman slowly she approached him and bent down on one knee. It was a surprisingly graceful motion considering her heels. Taking his hand off his book gently, the woman told him, "Sweetie, there's no such thing as pixie dust. There's no such thing as fairies."

"Don't say that!" Henry snapped at her, jumping out of his seat. Ginger was visibly startled by his outburst, but didn't get a chance to say anymore. As he backed away from her, he cried, "Don't you know what happens when someone says they don't believe in fairies?"

Ginger blinked. Frowning, she sighed. "That's ten."

Henry didn't care. Teary eyed, he told her, "Every time someone says they don't believe in fairies, a fairy somewhere falls down dead."

The woman grasped him firmly by the shoulders. Bending down, Ginger leveled her gaze at him and replied with an icy, "I don't believe in fairies."

In Neverland, Tinker Bell felt a pang in her heart.

In Storybrooke, Ginger watched as Henry ran out of the salon. It probably wasn't in her best interest to make it a regular habit to make the Mayor's son cry, but she supposed it was for his own good. She hadn't meant to be cruel, just honest. Someone was clearly coddling him too much. She didn't know whether it was his mother or Mary Margaret, but it wasn't right to string a child along with silly things like pixie dust. Or faith, or trust, for that matter. A hint of a frown tugged at her mouth. It didn't feel good though. With a sigh, she turned back to chair and fell into it.

A faint crinkle interrupted her thoughts of what a terrible of a person she was.

With a confused blink, Ginger reached under her and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper. Curious, she gently unfolded it and found a large water color picture inside. Two women were depicted, a redhead and a blonde, who were staring at one another with clasped hands with a forest backdrop. They were oddly dressed, with the petite blonde in a short, leafy green dress and the redhead in a hooded vest and tattered trousers. Their features were too undefined to make out their expressions, but their body language spoke volumes. From the slight kick of the blonde's foot to the redhead's tilted head; they were clearly two people in love.

Ginger leaned back in the stylist's chair. Her hazel eyes flickered over the picture, annoyed. Not only had the little brat pestered her, he had also felt the need to litter in her establishment. Tearing the piece of paper into quarters, she tossed it in the bin beside the chair.

She didn't believe in fairy tales.

A/N: Huge shout out to my wonderful Beta, Allison, without whom this fic would have been absolutely terrible.