A/N: So here is Ch. 2. Again, I don't own OUAT or Hamish MacBeth. Hope you enjoy it.

Emma woke tucked within the warmth of a soft flannel blanket, stretched out on a red leather couch. A fire burned in the fireplace beside her and there was nothing familiar around her. So she was still here, wherever here actually was, with no way of knowing how she arrived, or how to get home. This wasn't a dream – she was awake and alone, save for the small dog lying alongside her.

"You're Jock, right?" she whispered, scratching his ear. The dog's tail wagged as she stroked his soft fur, the simple motion of moving her arm causing sharp pain. "Hello?" she called out, her voice hoarse and weak. Hamish appeared in the doorway holding a small glass, smoking a cigarette.

"Evenin' lass; how are you feeling?" Her furry companion jumped down at the sound of his voice, rushing to his master. She attempted to sit up, quickly laying right back down as the room spun around her.

Her eyes squeezed shut, bringing her palms to her temples. "My head hurts…my whole body..."

"I called the Doc; he said you might have a slight concussion. Do you feel nauseas or dizzy at all?" She felt weak and listless, and strangely vulnerable beneath his concerned, but no less piercing gaze. If going home wasn't an option, then all she wanted was to sleep for a week.

"No, just a splitting headache." She watched him as he made his way toward her. It was eerie how much he looked and sounded like Gold. The way the moved might be the only difference, as Hamish obviously wasn't injured. She hasn't ruled out that they're related somehow, that maybe Hamish is Gold's illegitimate son – if he ever had one.

"Here ya go…aspirin," he said, handing her the pills and a small glass of water. "It probably won' help much, but i's somethin'…" With difficulty, she pushed herself to a seated position, pulling the flannel tighter around her. If he wanted to hurt he could have and he didn't exactly strike fear in her innermost being. No, she didn't fear him, maybe it was just who he reminded her of, but she wasn't exactly eager to trust him.

"Thank you." Swallowing the pills, she handed him back the small glass. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A few hours; you fell asleep in the truck. Do you remember…anything?" He crossed his arms, leaning against the desk.

"No." It wasn't a complete lie; she had no memory of falling asleep or being placed here. As to what actually happened, there was no memory of travelling. She was in one place then the other – halfway around the world. It was all so impossible; her mind had to be playing tricks on her.

"So, do ya have a name?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Swan. Sheriff Emma Swan."

"Ah, a Sheriff? Whereabouts?" he smiled,

"Storybrooke, Maine."

"Sounds fake." He chuckled, pushing of the desk.

"That's what I thought the first time I heard of it." She said, remembering only too well the first night she met her son. Hamish sat in the chair at his computer.

"Well ya didn' have ID when I found ya, so do ya mind if I just run ya through the database?"

"Knock yourself out."

"Emma Swan…" he repeated to himself, typing as he did, on a computer straight out of the nineties – a bulky off-white monitor, an insert for a floppy disk – no USB ports to be seen. Outdated was an understatement.

"Can you spell Storybrooke, please?" he typed as she spelled, and the knot in her stomach only tightened that he couldn't seem to find it.

"I's no' showin' up." She swallowed hard, not willing to entertain that Henry's theory was right.

"Maybe you should upgrade your system…" she replied sardonically.

"I'll have you know this is top o' the line equipment…"

"Yea, if you're living in the nineties…"

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, returning his focus to the monitor. "Date of birth?"

"October, 11, 1983…"

"Ah there you are," His eyebrows met in confused suspicion and Emma was tempted to go look at his screen.

"And…your son?" he asked, hesitant and unsure.

"Henry…Henry Mills. He was born in September of 2001 when I was..." she stopped herself, not wanting him to know she had given birth in prison, "He was adopted by Regina Mills three weeks later."

He didn't even type Henry's information into the computer, leaning back in his chair with a frustrated sigh.

"Ya know, we don' have ta do this now. Doc said you might suffer from some confusion as a result of yer head injury."

Emma honestly couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "What makes you think I'm confused?"

"You said you were born in 1983?" She nodded once, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking more and more panicked with each second that passed. He was keeping something from her, that much she could see.

"Well, begging your pardon, but you don' look thirteen years old…"

"That's because I'm twenty-eight." He pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh, and then she saw his fingers moving – counting in his head.

"For you to be twenty-eight that would make the year 2012."

"Exactly…you know, of the two of us, I think you're the one who is confused." She said, no longer able to keep the fear from rising in her voice. His questions made no sense and with each reply he gave, her panic only increased.

"Are you windin' me up?"

"Am I what?"

"Kiddin', are you jokin' around?"

"No, what is your problem?! I don't even know how I got here; I just want to get home to my child!" he sighed heavily, avoiding her gaze. An overwhelming silence settled between them as the questions and emotions flashed across his face. She didn't understand any of this, and all she wanted was to wake up from whatever nightmare had taken over her mind.

"I'm sorry; this must all be terrifyin' for you." He breathed at last, but he still couldn't meet her eyes, "It's not 2012, Emma, it's 1995."

And there it was. The statement that she had been dreading, the most impossible of all scenarios. She was tempted to laugh at the absurdity of it all; still grasping at the idea this could be some cruel game on his part.

"You're lying." She whispered bitterly. And his eyes finally lifted to meet hers.

"I'm not…" he stated simply. The longer she held his gaze the more she realized that he was telling the truth.

"No…it's not possible." She couldn't understand – couldn't even begin to process what this actually meant. She sank back to the couch, unable to catch her breath, "Oh, god…Henry…hasn't even been born yet."

He stepped towards her, but didn't touch her, backing away just as quickly. She could sense his feeling of helplessness, a feeling she was currently drowning in. She couldn't tell what she wanted to do more: scream, cry, or break everything in sight…or all of the above simultaneously. What she does know is that next time she sees Regina…

"Hamish!" a man's panicked voice echoed through the house, until a tall man in a plaid skirt burst into the room. It took all her energy not to laugh as the three stared at each other.

"For god sakes, John, what is it?" Hamish asked, rubbing his hand over his face. John's anxious and suspicious gaze glanced in her direction, before addressing Hamish again.

"I sensed somethin'. Some kind of…karmic surge comin' out o' yer house – somethin' goin' down." The tall man looked impishly between them, "I thought you might be in some kind of trouble…"

"Does it look like I'm in trouble?"

"Well, no, but…" the man's gaze drifted to Emma and he stepped forward, extending his hand, "Good evenin', lass. John McIver, but everyone calls me TV John."

"Emma Swan." She grasped his hand lightly and let go almost as soon as tightened his grip.

"Pleasure to meet you, Emma."

At that, Hamish stood and made his way to his friend. "Actually John, now that you're here, can I have a wee word?"

"No, whatever you're going to say to him, say to me." Emma demanded, standing once more. "I know you saw something…" Hamish looked like a deer caught in headlights, his gaze drifting between her and John.

"I don't know, I can't even explain…" he began, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Just start with what you saw." She prodded, having lost any and all semblance of patience.

"You fell out of the sky…" he blurted out, focusing intently on the ground, "…more like materialized out of thin air."

"Then what?" John asked.

"I brought her here and she said that she was born in 1983, which would make her thirteen years old. She said she has a son, Henry, who was born in 2001." Once more, John's gaze settled on her, and she prepared to hear the laughing, the label of crazy and insane. But it didn't come. Instead, his eyes widened and broad smile formed on his lips.

"Fantastic…"

Definitely not the reaction she was expecting…

"John! Have some compassion…"

"I beg your pardon, lass, I didn't mean that how it sounded. How about some tea?" he didn't wait for a reply, excusing himself to the kitchen. Hamish forced a tight smile as he crossed his arms, looking beyond uncomfortable in her presence.

"Do you have anything stronger than tea?" Emma asked. He smiled.

"What would'ya like?"

"Whiskey if you have it." He walked to his desk, retrieving a bottle of whiskey from the drawer and poured her a shot. It must be nice living and working from the same place. Regina would have Emma's badge is she ever found whiskey in her desk.

"You'll have to forgive him; he's not quite right in the head."

"I heard that." Said John, returning to the room, "What Hamish means to say is that I can see things, premonitions if you will – glimpses of the future. I get feelings about things. He doesn't believe me; thinks I'm crazy."

"Once, I wouldn't have believed you either." She admitted softly.

"But now?"

"I'm starting to reevaluate my definition of crazy." She took another shot of whiskey, wincing as it burned its way down. "Wanna hear a crazy story?"

She didn't wait for their reply, or even look at the as she told them everything, no longer caring about the risk of being admitting to a mental hospital. She told them of the Evil Queen who cursed an entire realm to be frozen in time, that her son believes she is the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming – their Savior. She's still not sure she believes all that, but there is no other way to explain how she arrived here, nearly twenty years in the past.

Hamish poured himself a shot of whiskey. "This is insane."

"Aye, but that doesn't make it untrue." John chimed in.

"Don' tell me yer buyin' this?!"

"You saw it with your own eyes."

"I don' know what I saw." Hamish shouted. John huffed, shaking his head.

"Honestly, the two of you – something is revealed right before your very eyes and still you doubt and call it impossible. That's insane." John said, looking between them, "I felt a karmic surge of energy unlike anything I've ever felt before, and I still feel it. If Emma has magic as her son claims…"

"The son who hasn' even been born yet?" Hamish interjected sharply.

As they argued, all Emma could think of was Henry…and Back to the Future. Particularly, the photograph of Marty and his siblings. The longer he stayed in the past, the more his brother and sister faded from the photo. Eventually, he started to fade from existence just before time had been set right again.

"Will Henry…" she struggled for the words, the thought alone enough to make her want to puke, "Will he cease to exist in the future if I'm in the past?" Both men stopped to look at her, Hamish looking extremely guilty while John just looked nervous and apologetic.

"I don't know, I don't think so. I'm not too sure about time travel, but I think he has a few years at least. But if you're not there to meet his father…" his voice trailed off, the implication of his words a heavy weight on her heart. "We just need to get ya back before then."

"Is there a way to get back?"

"I can't be sure, but first thing tomorrow Hamish will take me to where you arrived, and I will see if there is any karmic energy leftover." Emma nodded as the tea kettle whistle blew. "Ah, tea is ready."

Her gaze trailed after them as Hamish followed John to the kitchen. Both men were sincere in their desire to help her, but she knew she was fighting a losing battle. But TV John and his premonitions may be her only hope. It wasn't a comforting thought in and of itself, but at least she wasn't alone and they weren't calling her crazy.

"Miss Blanchard, thank you so much for watching Henry." Gold said, entering his shop. She glared daggers at him as Henry rushed toward him.

"Did Regina tell you anything?" Henry asked.

"She didn't say much," Gold lied, "But I can assure you that Emma is still alive, and I am going to find her." The boy smiled, and for once, didn't look afraid of him. Mary cleared her throat, resting her hand on Henry's shoulder.

"Henry, get your things, I'll take you home."

"No, I'm not going back there. She just tried to kill my mom."

"Henry, I know this won't be easy lad, but you have to go back. I already told your mother that you saw Emma vanish. Go home, and keep your eyes and ears open to anything that can help us."

"Mr. Gold!" Mary shouted.

"Get your things, Henry. Go on…" Gold said. Henry stuffed his hands in his pockets with a defeated sigh.

Once Henry stepped through the curtain, Mary leaned in and whispered, "I don't know what kind of game you are playing but Henry is a child. Blaming Emma's disappearance on Regina and feeding into his psychosis is wildly inappropriate, not to mention dangerous." Gold smiled, leaning closer.

"You best open your eyes, dearie; I know you were beginning to suspect Henry was right when you woke Mr. Nolan."

"Yea, but I never fed into his delusion."

"But you wanted to." Her gaze turned incredulous as she stammered for a reply.

"Fairy tales aren't real, as evidenced by how Mr. Nolan and I ended. He not only left me for his wife but he actually believed me capable of killing her."

Well that was interesting – she never told him that while he was her attorney…

"Why?"

"What?"

"Did he tell you why he believed you had killed her?"

She faltered, shaking her head as she replied, "He said he saw me – what does this have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, and you're right, fairy tales aren't real, at least not in this world. But in our world, they are very real indeed. Emma is your daughter and she alone can break the curse."

"You're sick…" she whispered, horrified.

"I'm ready." said Henry, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Great! Let's go." Mary couldn't get the boy away from him fast enough, not even looking back at him as they practically ran from his shop.

He watched them drive away. Clearly Miss Blanchard wouldn't be much help in retrieving Emma. If Emma wouldn't be here to break the curse, then he at least needed someone who could slay the dragon and retrieve the potion to bring magic back to this world. It was risky, but then he could at least find Emma and bring her back. And with any luck, she would break the curse upon her return. He needed someone to wield a sword, someone like Prince Charming…he needed David Nolan to remember who he was. It was a longshot, but it may be their only shot.

Again, I hope you enjoyed it! :)) I know these chapters are short, but the first three chapters are mainly set up, so soon the fun will begin. Feel free to review. :)))