Emma dreamed of dwarves and little birds working together to sweep the floor. Disorienting to say the least, especially when she woke and the whistling from her dreams kept going. Her eyes snapped open as she sought the source of the noise. Through metal bars thicker than her finger, Emma caught sight of the man in the other cell.

The whistling cut off mid-note. "What are you lookin' at, sister?" he demanded. Even slouched against the wall, Emma could make out his stocky build, topped by a bald head and a thick, black beard with graying patches at the corners of his mouth. His forehead appeared permanently furrowed.

He glared at her.

"Hey, Leroy!"

Emma's head whipped toward the new voice. It belonged to another bald man, though this one was considerably older with a ring of white fringe above his ears that matched the goatee on his chin. He wore a clean, grey uniform like you saw on mechanics in TV shows. The name "Marco" was stitched in curly, black letters on his name badge. He stopped whatever he was doing in the cupboard and came a little closer to the two cells, his wrinkled eyes fixed on Emma's cell mate.

"Manners. We have a guest." He did funny things with his vowels as he spoke, stretching them out in a way that sounded vaguely European, like someone from Spain or Italy. Smiling at Emma, Marco went on, "So you are, uh, Henry's mother? How lovely for him to have you back in his life."

Emma pressed her fingers to her pounding head. "Actually, I was just dropping him off."

Leroy rolled his eyes. "Tch, don't blame ya. They're all brats, who needs 'em." He shrugged.

"Well, I'd give anything for one," Marco said, lowering the little canteen cup in his hand as he shot Leroy another dirty look. Sadly, he smiled at Emma. "My wife and I, we tried for many years. But, uh, it was not meant to be."

"Well cry me a river."

"Leroy!" The sheriff strode in, flipping through keys on his key ring without even look down as he approached the Leroy's cell. Emma couldn't help noting that he was even more ruggedly handsome in the morning light. If she wasn't so pissed off, she might appreciate that a little more. Graham unlocked Leroy's door. "If I'm going to let you out, you need to behave. Put on a smile and stay out of trouble."

Leroy bared his teeth in something more grimace than smile as Graham opened the door, sauntering out of the cell with heavy footsteps.

Emma leaned against the bars of her cell, scowling at Graham. "Seriously?"

"Regina's drinks are a little stronger than we thought," Graham said, turning back to her. He fidgeted, tapping his keys against his other hand.

"I wasn't drunk. There was a wolf standing in the middle of the road."

"A wolf. Right."

Graham looked like he would say more, but at that moment, heels echoed down the hall.

"Graham!" Regina strode into the room, a large, black purse in her hand. "Henry's run away again. We have to…" The woman froze as her eyes locked on Emma, her pace doubling. "What is she doing here? Do you know where he is?" she asked, her pitch rising with every word.

Emma straightened, grabbing hold of the cell bars. "Lady, I haven't seen him since I dropped him at your house. And I have a pretty good alibi."

"Yeah, well, he wasn't in his room this morning."

"Did you try his friends?"

"He doesn't really have any," Regina said. "He's kind of a loner."

Emma found that hard to believe. Henry seemed like the kind of kid that could make friends with a lamp post. "Every kid has friends. Did you check his computer? If he's close to someone, he'd be emailing them."

"And you know this how?" Regina asked, tilting her head.

"Finding people is what I do." Emma took a step closer, resting her chin on the cross bar. Maybe she could work this situation to her advantage. She might be a crap mom, but she was one heck of a bail bonds person. "Here's an idea. How about you guys let me out and I'll help you find him."

Fifteen minutes she sat in Henry's room—it was a nice room, Emma couldn't help noticing, she would have loved having this much space when she was a kid—with Graham crouched at her shoulder while Regina wore holes into the carpet with those sensible, black heels of hers. The kid didn't have a password, so Emma thought her job might be easy until she clicked on his email.

Empty.

"Smart kid. Cleared his inbox," she said. With a sly smile, she pulled a USB drive out of her pocket. One of the nice things about always being ready to roll out was that she kept the tools of her trade close at hand. "I'm smart too. A little hard disk recovery utility I like to use…" She slid the drive home, sitting back as it worked its magic.

"I'm a bit more old fashioned in my techniques," Graham said as the device booted into the system. The screen went black. He was close enough that Emma could smell his cologne, not too much, not too little. Just right. "Pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, that sort of thing."

Emma didn't take her eyes off the screen. "You're on salary. I get paid for delivery. Pounding the pavement is not a luxury that I get," she said, watching the white text scrolling up. A few other things flashed across the screen and then, Bingo! Emails restored. Emma leaned forward, scanning Henry's inbox. She clicked on one that looked promising, scanning the contents quickly. "Huh. His receipt for a website – . It's expensive. He has a credit card?"

Regina leaned in over Graham. "He's ten."

"Well, he used one. Let's pull up a transaction record." Scrolling down she found the inevitable receipt copy and clicked view. "Mary Margaret Blanchard… Who's Mary Margaret Blanchard?"

Regina's mouth tensed for a minute before she answered, "Henry's teacher."

# # #

Regina proved a difficult woman to keep up with. It was only at Emma's insistence that the woman allowed Emma to accompany her to Henry's school. And the minute they were inside the school, Regina took off, clacking at full speed down the hallway, though her tight black dress and tailored gray blazer making her seem out of place. And on top of that, they arrived just as the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Emma managed to keep Regina in her sights, but the sea of children streaming out of the classrooms set her back a little. Though, she didn't miss much. Regina's strident voice echoed down the hallway as Emma navigated through all the small bodies.

"Where's my son?"

"Henry?" a light, low voice replied. "I assumed he was home sick with you."

Emma finally made into the room just as Regina slammed her bag down on one of the little desks. It made a satisfying thwack. The teacher's eyes flicked to Emma as she entered, and then back to Regina, who still spoke.

"You think I'd be here if he was? Did you give him your credit card so he can find her?"

The teacher—Mary Margaret—glanced uncertainly at Emma again. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"I'm his… I'm his…" The words stuck in her throat. She couldn't get them out. He was her kid, she was his birth mother, nothing would ever change that. But still, somehow saying the words…made everything real. It was one thing to have it thrown in her face by others and a completely different thing to say it herself.

Regina harbored no such qualms.

"The woman who gave him up for adoption," she said, still squared off against the school teacher.

Mary Margaret gave a little sigh, immediately pulling her purse off of her shoulder and starting to dig through it. Emma recognized that look. She'd seen it on more than a few faces when she tracked down bail jumpers who had started new lives.

"You don't know anything about this do you?"

"No, unfortunately not," the teacher said, pulling her wallet out of the bag. Pressing her lips together, she displayed the inside for Emma and Regina. Her ID was still in the little windowed pocket, but the other side of the wallet was conspicuously empty. Mary Margaret shook her head. "Clever boy…I should never have given him that book."

"What in the hell is this book I keep hearing about?" Regina demanded, her voice echoing through the room, making Emma jump.

"Just some old stories I gave him," the teacher said, remaining soft spoken even in the wake of Regina's ire. She met the mayor's eyes without wavering. "As you well know, Henry is a special boy. So smart, so creative, and as you might be aware, lonely." Mary Margaret's voice dropped low and she paused, letting the silence hang between herself and Regina. Emma had to give her credit, this petite woman had nerves of steel. "He needed it."

"What he needs is a dose of reality. This is a waste of time." Regina spun on her heel, her handbag knocking a stack of books off a desk as she strode toward the door. She shoved past Emma without even looking at her, her voice tight as she said, "Have a nice trip back to Boston."

Emma crouched down at the same time as Mary Margaret, reaching for the books nearest her. "Sorry to bother you."

"No it's… It's okay," she said. "I hear this is partially my fault." She offered a small smile. Mary Margaret was nothing like any of the teacher's Emma ever had. With her dark pixie cut and sparkling green eyes. She didn't dress like any teacher Emma had ever seen either. Well, maybe the pretty gray cardigan fit the bill, but the soft white top and gray A-line skirt would have looked more at place in a garden party, despite the muted colors.

"How's the book supposed to help?" Emma asked as Mary Margaret took several books from her.

"What do you think stories are for?" The teacher gave her a look, like she expected Emma to supply the answer before standing and carrying the books over to a cabinet. "These stories are classics," she said as she put the books down and came back to Emma. "There's a reason we all know them. They're a way for us to deal with our world. A world that doesn't always make sense. See, Henry hasn't had the easiest life." She followed Emma out the door, her hand clutching the strap of her purse.

Emma stuck her hands in the back of her pocket. "Yeah, she's kind of a hardass."

"No, it's more than her," Mary Margaret said, shaking her head. The footsteps echoed through the hall, a rather colorless little set up, melding into the general noise of the main hallway as Mary Margaret walked with Emma to the main door. "He's like any adopted child. He wrestles with that most basic question they all inevitably face – why would anyone give me away?" Mary Margaret sucked in a sharp breath, turning to Emma, a grimace on her face. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean in any way to judge you."

"It's okay," Emma said quietly. She pushed away the feelings Mary Margaret's words stirred up. Not any guilt over Henry. That still was the right decision, even if Regina was a bit strict for her tastes—no, Emma knew what Mary Margaret spoke of far too well.

She didn't like thinking about it.

"Look," Mary Margaret said, her eyes still on Emma. "I gave the book to him because I wanted Henry to have the most important thing anyone can have. Hope. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing."

"You know where he is, don't you?"

The teacher nodded. "You might want to check his castle."

# # #

Henry's castle turned out to be a faded wooden playground, complete with a red metal slide and four "towers" with uneven shingles. Henry sat, kicking his legs over the side, right where Mary Margaret said he would be. He didn't acknowledge Emma as she trudged up the three steps and circled round to sit next to him, holding out the book.

"You left this in my car," she said.

Henry took the battered old book without looking at her. The salty air stung against her face as she followed his gaze. His perch afforded a good view of the clock tower, which still read 8:15.

Emma pulled a lock of hair out of her mouth. "Still hasn't moved, huh?"

"I was hoping that when I brought you back, things would change here," Henry said. He sounded stuffy, probably from sitting in the chilly breeze all day. She needed to get him home before he ended up sick. "That the final battle would begin."

"I'm not fighting any battles, kid." Emma sighed.

"Yes, you are," he replied, finally looking at her. "Because it's your destiny. You're going to bring back the happy endings."

Every word rang with conviction. Emma's stomach plummeted. She wished she was worthy of this kid's faith, that she could live up to the idea of her he'd constructed in his head. He wasn't making what she came here to say any easier.

"Can you cut it with the book crap?" Her tone bit more than she meant it to. She was trying to do the right thing. Trying to give him the answers she would have given anything for at his age.

"You don't have to be hostile," he said. And Emma hated that a nine-year-old sounded more reasonable than she did at the moment. He gave her a half smile. "I know you like me – I can tell. You're just pushing me away because I make you feel guilty. It's okay. I know why you gave me away. You wanted to give me my best chance."

Henry's words stole the breath right out of her, pulling it out to mingle with the smell of old seaweed that always hung around beaches. Emma looked away, unnerved by how well Henry could read her thoughts when they were such a jumble inside of her.

"How do you know that?" she asked, staring at the sleepy town.

"Because it's the same reason Snow White gave you away."

That brought Emma back to reality real fast.

"Listen to me, kid," she said, trying to sound stern. Her voice still wavered a little, she was angry. On top of being stubborn, this kid was poking at feelings Emma thought she shut away a long time ago. "I'm not in any book. I'm a real person. And I'm no savior. You were right about one thing, though. I wanted you to have your best chance. But it's not with me." She paused, watching that sink in. She hated doing this to him, but the sooner he stopped seeing her as some magical solution and realized she would only let him down, the better. "Come on, let's go."

Emma jumped down from the little bridge, her boots sinking in the sand.

"Please don't take me back there," he said, scrambling to his feet. The old wood creaked underneath his feet as he pounded down the steps and came after her. "Just stay with me for one week. That's all I ask. One week, and you'll see I'm not crazy."

"I have to get you back to your mom," Emma said, hands on her hips.

"You don't know what it's like with her. My life sucks!"

"Oh, you want to know what sucking is?" Emma nearly shouted. The words spilled out, her voice rising with each one. "Being left abandoned on the side of a freeway. My parents didn't even bother to drop me off at a hospital. I ended up in the foster system and I had a family until I was three, but then they had their own so they sent me back." Henry's lips pressed together, his chin wobbling as he listened. Emma felt guilty all over again. He hadn't asked her to dump all her baggage on him. She reeled her emotions in before she made both of them cry—and before she told him things he was better off not knowing. Taking a breath, Emma braced her hands on her knees. "Look, your mom is trying her best. I know it's hard and I know sometimes you think she doesn't love you, but at least she wants you."

"Your parents didn't leave you on the side of a freeway. That's just where you came through."

"What?"

"The wardrobe," he said, his voice vaguely chiding, like they'd gone over all of this before. And maybe they had, she just hadn't been listening. "When you went through the wardrobe you appeared in the street. Your parents were trying to save you from the curse."

Emma laughed. That was it. She couldn't do this anymore. It was time to get this kid back home to the mom that worried about him and get on with her life. Far away from this sleepy town.

"Sure they were. Come on, Henry."

She turned back to her car, not checking to see if Henry was following. If he didn't, she knew where to find him. All it took was a trip to the sheriff's station and a call to the mayor. Emma heard his small shoes pelt down the path beside her and then the warmth of small fingers slipping into her hand. She almost lost her step as they started down the slight hill. Henry squeezed her hand and Emma couldn't find it in her to let go.

She could give him this.

# # #

Henry ran up the brick walkway ahead of Emma, his eyes on ground the entire time. He didn't say a word as he slipped past Regina, just like he hadn't said a word to Emma the whole ride back to his house. His mother watched him, a mixed look of relief and consternation adorning her face as her eyes tracked her son through the door and up the stairs behind her. She followed him a few steps, then turned back to Emma.

Regina smiled slightly, hands finding the bottom of her jacket pockets. "Thank you."

"No problem."

"He's seemed to have taken quite a shine to you."

Emma chuckled. "You know what's kind of crazy?" she asked, pounding her fist lightly against her thigh. God, she fidgeted worse than Henry sometimes. "Yesterday was my birthday and when I blew out the candle on this cupcake I bought myself, I actually made a wish. That I didn't have to be alone on my birthday. And then, Henry showed up." Emma couldn't help it, she smiled too. Maybe she wasn't the miracle Henry was looking for, but he certainly had been hers.

Regina nodded. Her eyes went sharp and steely. "I hope there's no misunderstanding here."

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't mistake all this…" Regina gestured vaguely around them, "As invitation back into his life."

"Oh…"

"Miss Swan, you made a decision nine years ago." The woman planted her hands on her hips, leaning ever so slightly forward as she stared Emma down. "And in the last nine years, while you've been…" Regina shrugged. "Well, who knows what you've been doing. I've changed every diaper. Soothed every fever. Endured every tantrum. You may have given birth to him, but he is my son." Her voice dropped dangerously low.

Emma took a step back. "I was not…"

"No!" Regina cut her off, stepping down off the porch, her chin jutting forward as she approached Emma. Emma almost took a step back, she'd seen behavior like this before. In some of her foster homes, when the biggest kid was asserting their territory. "You don't get to speak. You don't get to do anything. You gave up that right when you tossed him away. Do you know what a closed adoption is? It's what you asked for. You have no legal right to Henry and you're going to be held to that. So, I suggest you get in your car, and you leave this town. Because if you don't, I will destroy you if it is the last thing I do." Regina nodded. "Goodbye, Miss Swan."

Emma watched her head back inside, forcing her feet to remain in the same place as she called, "Do you love him?"

Regina paused. "Excuse me?" she asked, her voice shooting up on the last word.

"Henry," Emma said softly. "Do you love him?"

"Of course, I love him," Regina replied. She slammed the door behind her, leaving Emma on her own outside.

# # #

Granny's, the bed and breakfast that Sheriff Graham suggested last night, took two drive-bys to find. Turned out, the actual B&B was hidden behind a fence and a tall hedge and the only reason Emma found it without directions was because it was attached to Granny's Diner and the glowing neon sign caught her eye. Emma pushed past overgrown shrubbery and crunched up the walk.

The B&B looked like someone doused a little woodland cottage with Miracle-Gro and forgot about it. Some of the siding was missing and the paint looked like it had once been dark green, but had faded to a sickly gray. The wind blew through the yard, skittering leaves across the steps and making the sign that hung above the door swing as Emma crossed under it. Still, lights shone through the window as she reached for the door handle.

Raised voices greeted her as she stepped inside, drowning out the creak of the door.

"You're out all night, and now you're going out again," a deep, matronly voice called.

The voice that shouted back was higher and, if possible, angrier. "I should have moved to Boston." A young woman, roughly Emma's age with dark hair and dark clothes rushed down a set of stairs, followed by a busty older woman with her grey hair pulled into a high bun. Neither of them paid Emma any attention.

"I'm sorry that my heart attack interfered with your plans to sleep your way down the eastern seaboard," the older woman said. Granny, Emma assumed.

"Excuse me?" Emma cut in before the older woman could follow her prey into the next room. "I'd like a room."

"Really?" Granny said, staring at Emma for a moment. The other woman—her granddaughter maybe?—clipped back into the doorway, her eyes just as wide as Granny's. Like a switch flipped, Granny went from surprised to all bustle and business. "Would you like a forest view or a square view?" she asked, her fuzzy, lilac sweater swishing as she disappeared into a small office and reappeared with a ledger in her hands. "Normally, there's an upgrade fee for the square but, as friends do, I'll wave it."

"Square is fine," Emma said.

Granny nodded, dropping the ledger down on the desk. Dust flew up from the surface, but Granny didn't seem to notice as she flipped the book open and picked up her pen. "Now, what's the name?"

"Swan. Emma Swan," Emma replied as the door creaked behind her.

"Emma," a male voice said from right behind her.

Emma whirled around, surprised to find that the door opening had not been the granddaughter making her escape while Emma distracted Granny. She met the eyes of an older man, with salt and pepper—still mostly pepper—hair and a thin, hooked nose. He smiled.

"What a lovely name."

"Thanks," Emma said and dismissed him, returning her attention to Granny who was fumbling with something under the desk.

The older woman produced a roll of bills. "It's all here." Her voice sounded tense.

"Yes, yes, of course it is, dear," the man said, reaching across Emma. "Thank you. You enjoy your stay…Emma." He gave Emma a chilling, cold smile that had the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

"Who's that?" Emma asked once he was gone, intent on putting his name on her list of people to avoid while she was here.

"Mr. Gold," the granddaughter said. She clutched the end of her scarf as he peered out the window, watching Gold go. "He owns this place."

"The inn?"

"No, the town," Granny said. She stared at the door before shaking her head and patting the ledger. "So, how long will you be with us?"

"A week," Emma said. That was what Henry had asked for and that's what she would do. "Just a week."

"Great." The older woman grabbed a key from the cubby behind her, barely even looking. It was the old-fashioned kind, with an ornate key ring twice the length of Emma's palm. "Welcome to Storybrooke. Up the stairs, you're in room four. Do you need any help with your things?"

Behind her, Ruby groaned.

"No," Emma said. "This is it. Thanks." She took the key and booked it up the stairs before Granny could lay into her granddaughter again.

The state of housekeeping at the desk thankfully didn't foreshadow the state of the rooms upstairs. The room behind the black door with its shiny, gold number four proved clean and well-kept. The floral wallpaper wasn't faded and sturdy, wicker furniture dotted the room. The pastel green wasn't exactly Emma's style, but she'd slept in worse places. Like the backseat of the bug. On many, many occasions. The red patterned coverlet beckoned invitingly and Emma collapsed onto the bed, unlacing her boots quickly before falling back onto the bed.

What was she doing here?

Regina hadn't been lying.

She loved Henry, Emma was sure of that much.

But Emma had also seen enough of the world to know that loving someone didn't mean you were good for them.

Or that they were any good for you.

Emma sat up, shucking her jacket off and throwing it over the back of a chair before her train of thoughts went too far down that road. The time to think about those things was yesterday and that was only because she could never manage not to think about…those things on her birthday. Today was one of the 364 days that she did not thing about what happened ten years ago.

Although, here she was in the town he told her about, with their kid… Again, Emma reminded herself that the Killian she knew did not have the patience for sleepy little towns in Maine. It was just coincidence that Henry ended up in the same town that his father had used to seduce her. The universe having another great laugh at Emma Swan.

She was here to satisfy her curiosity over Henry. And to assuage her guilt about giving him up in the first place—even though she still knew she was not mom material.

She'd stay her week, because Henry had asked that of her, and then she was gone.

But first, it had been a long day and Emma hadn't exactly had a restful night the night before. So she stripped off her jeans and crawled under the coverlet, which looked suspiciously like it was hand sewn, and closed her eyes. Trying—and failing—not to think about what it would have been like for her to find her own parents someday.

Yeah, talk about fairy tales.