Chapter Two:

A Call from Storybrooke & a Plan to Adventure.

"No, no! The adventures first, explanations take such a dreadful time."

Lewis Carroll

Everyone's eyes had shifted around the whole of the room, but mostly shifting towards to Dr. Brennan; she looked at the hone with a innocent but quizzical look, all as the clock had just stroke midnight for when she made her wish.

"Okay," Booth said slowly, eying the phone much like some bomb that was ready to go off any minute, "What did you wish for?"

"A hot date on the other side of the phone?" Angela asked. She waggled her eyebrows jokingly, Brennan rolled her eyes and somehow Hodgins just laughed at his colleagues antics. Cam straightened up, her eyebrows a criss-cross line of worry.

"Someone should answer it," Kate said calmly.

"Put them on the line, so we can hear it too," Ryan suggested helpfully.

The phone kept ringing and ringing, Brennan still looking at it. And slowly, with all the eyes in the room following her hand cautiously, Cam reached for the phone. Looking around, she huffed and put a hand on her hip with one hand still clutched around the phone. Honestly guys, her eyes said for her in one glare, it's just the phone ringing. Pressing the speaker button, Cam took a breath and opened her eyes. "Jeffersonian Institute Department of Forensic, you have the whole team here, how may I help you?"

"The whole team?"

Everyone's eyes widened. Brennan was expecting the district attorney over to gain evidence. Hodgins was thinking of a criminal, a serial killer on the phone ready to leave a hint. Angela thought that a date, some handsome man that Brennan probably dreamed of. And Cam just expected the judge over, considering Cam herself had told him to call her over the details of the trial. And over the phone, back in New York, there were five more ideas bubbling in Ryan, Esposito, Lanie, Beckett and Castle's minds.

"Is Dr. Brennan, Dr. Hodgins, Miss Montenegro, Dr. Saroyan and Agent Booth there?"

It was none of those things. That didn't mean it was a complete surprise.

Angela looked around all of them. "Um, yes, we all are…"

"And the rest? Detective Beckett, Detective Ryan, Detective Esposito, Dr. Parish and Mr. Castle? Are they too?"

"Uh, yeah, we're here too," Castle said, his voice unusually slow. "You know how?"

"Just do."

"And you are…?" Brennan asked. Her eyes were wide, pulling her shrug around her slender form as if the room became colder, looking at everyone. No one seemed to have a clue in what the hell was going on.

It wasn't the judge, a serial killer, hot date, attorney or five different other people. It was a little boy over the phone, probably around 10 or 11 years old as Brennan suspected. "Henry Mills," Henry said knowledgably, "Henry Mills from Storybrooke."

Now, 10 hours away from Washington D.C and 7 hours away from New York, Henry was on the phone with the New York Police Department and Jeffersonian Institute. While in his mom's office back in the town hall (he found the keys in his mom's wallet and replaced them with the keys to the pantry; the pair were so similar that it wouldn't be the first time his mother got confused between the pair of them). On her computer, on her email; thankfully, he wrote down Richard Castle's personal email address and the Jeffersonian's email. All while he balanced the phone on his shoulder.

"Storybrooke?" Dr. Brennan (he thought) said questionably. "Never heard of it."

"You probably haven't," Henry said. He knew outsiders couldn't get in, not unless the Curse desired them to. If anyone got in, questions would be raised and soon, people would discover magic and break the Curse. They, Henry hoped, could. "It's in Maine," Henry said helpfully, "and it's pretty small but not too small. Just right."

"Okay… this is Detective Beckett here," Detective Beckett said, Henry listening, "I need to ask. Why are you calling over here? Why do you need all of us?"

"School project, kid?" someone else (Ryan, unknown to Henry) suggested, rather brightly, kind of like he had no problem. His voice was different from Detective Beckett's voice; his seemed nicer, a lot more casual. But to the detective's voice, Henry found it sounded a little bit like his mom; demanding authority, precise in her words.

"Well, if so," another man said worryingly, (Hodgins), "Henry, you should be in bed. Your mom will probably go ahead and kill you if she finds out you've being calling us at midnight when you should be in bed. But," the man suggested kindly, "we wouldn't mind you calling us tomorrow, so good-"

"Wait!" Henry cried. He was getting a map of town from the town website and onto the box of the email, very close to it. "Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes?" Her voice was quizzical.

"You had a sister? A sister named Emma?"

He could hear her gasp. And it was silent. Just for a few heartbeat moments did Dr. Brennan not speak, like she was letting the truth sink into her heart, letting herself go over what Henry said. "Like… like Emma… Emma Ruth Leopolda Brennan? That Emma?" Her voice was so shaky, her voice would've have being glass if one could make her voice into an object.

He nodded, finally getting the map into the email. "Well, it's Emma Ruth Leopolda Swan now. She changed, from her last foster family… I think, or she just thought it was pretty and chose it for her last name." Henry wondered if Emma knew that she was named after her grandma and grandpa, Ruth and Leopold. "You were her adopted sister? Right?"

Henry could hear her swallow. "Yes. For a few years I was until… until I entered the foster system, yeah."

"So…that makes you my… adopted aunt? I think? I'm adopted too but you were Emma's adopted sister - "

"Wait, what?!" Brennan nearly screeched over the phone. Henry had placed the phone at arms length away from how loud it was. He looked around, making sure that his mom was not around.

"Holy shit, Brennan, you had a adoptive sister?" Hodgins whispered, his voice a mere buzz on the phone.

"When the hell were you going to tell us? This Emma was-"

"Henry, you are my adoptive nephew? How? What the hell, is this a joke?" Dr. Brennan interrupted Angela, demanding answers. The fairytale book was in Henry's lap, lying on the last page with all their names on it.

"I know when Emma was 8, she came into your home as a foster kid but after a few months, your mom and dad decided to adopt her. But after four years," Henry recited from memories, "your mom and dad had went missing and Emma was 11 when she was made a foster kid again. She was taken to Boston and you were put into foster care, far away from Emma. And you never heard from her again. Ever."

"And you need all of us, how?" Detective Beckett asked, still somehow calm and professional in spite of it all. Right now, Henry could hear desperate whispering over the phone, immediately cut off by Brennan's shushes.

"Because Emma needs help," Henry said. He knew right now, he was going to lie. And right now, he was thankful he was not Pinocchio because the lie he was going to tell would probably make his nose grow as long as the length of the room. "There's being a murder is Storybrooke, someone from New York."

"Someone from New York," Detective Beckett muttered to someone else, "that would make it our department. How would the Jeffersonian be involved in this?"

"My mom, my adopted mom, the mayor, she said the body was a skeleton. And don't you guys investigate skeletons? My mom, Emma," Henry said quickly, "said that we would need a team of forensic experts to see it, right?"

"Um, true, kid, really true," Booth said. "But Storybrooke, none of us know where Storybrooke is."

"That's why I'm sending you over a map," Henry said brightly, typing down the email addresses, "so you can find the way and help Emma. And maybe you can see Emma again, Dr. Brennan. Or," Henry asked himself curiously, "should I call you Aunt Temperance?"

"Wait, kid, what," Castle asked, "when did all of us ever say that we would actually-"

"I'll see you over at Storybrooke!" Henry happily said. And pressing a button, the phone call was ended.

Henry looked around, shadows dancing in the midst of the darkness that occupied the Mayor's office. It flew over the interior palette of ink blacks and snow whites, shrouded by the midnight moonlight that was gone in a second and back in a minutes span. He found the chair was comfy, Regina just down at the hospital sorting out the funds for the ICU, the light of the computer hurting his eyes.

He clicked Send. And in a small noise, Microsoft Outlook gave the herald that the email was finally sent. All of them would probably get the email within a few seconds or one minute, depending on how well the internet service was. But now, he'd focus on having to get home. Pushing himself off the chair, Henry quickly fetched his coat. Pulling his arms into the sleeves, he looked around, groping the desk for his flashlight. But with it, his arm brushed a few papers down to the ground. Crap, Henry thought to himself. Quickly, he gathered the pairs and arranged back into a neat mess upon the desk, looking somewhat similar to how Henry seen them first in the office. This time, after a second attempt, his hand finally found the torchlight.

With a flicker, the flashlight was on and Henry looked around, much like a scout. From the stories, Henry knew that Snow was always smart enough to scout around when she was on the run. Feeling around his pockets, he drew out the keys to the office, silver grey glinting in the yellow electric light. He ran towards the entrance, running around the centrepiece table and then running trough the door, turning around and closing it with the keys. And turning around, he looked around, listening for movement. Slowly and carefully, Henry made his way down the creamy and dark-shrouded corridors, counting his lucky stars that he decided to wear rubber-soled shoes that night when he made his way down the stairway.

After ten minutes of carefully making his way around rooms, Henry had thankfully made his way down to the entrance of the town hall. Almost sprinting, he stopped at the door and slowly, with the utmost precision, Henry opened the door and carefully stepped out, closing the doors and looking around for anyone, drew out the keys and locked the door.

Henry was safe. The moonlight hide his small form, the old worlde streetlamps giving him the chance to make his way back home before any of his moms found him. Looking around, seeing it was a Thursday night, it seemed like the impending weekend air had gotten to everyone is Storybrooke. And quickly, running under the silhouettes of the tree branches, the dew-wet rain slick under his shoes, Henry finally found his feet pounding on concrete ground.

Down the pavement he would go, back home to before he –

"HENRY?"

He froze. Someone called out his name, loud and concerned. "Henry, what are you doing out here at twelve o'clock at night?"

Turning around, Henry spotted one familiar man walking down the pavement. Archibald Hopper, or Archie as people around the town knew him better as, was the town psychiatrist in all of Storybrooke, besides the hospital psychologist and so on. One of the most highly respected men in all of Storybrooke, there was (probably) no person in the whole of Storybrooke that didn't know him and there was no person that, even on one time, Archie didn't see in his office for a session. Beyond the office, Archie Hopper was a man of old-fashioned mannerisms and quiet charm, usually seen with his dog or with Marco and Violet, or sometimes, more often these days since the clock had first began to move in what seemed like years, close to the beach. And of course, Archie was easily recognized around Storybrooke; his bright red hair, his gangly height of 5'11, the bright eyes of blue, his usual signature fashion of wearing suit vests, crisp shirts and tweed jackets.

"I was looking for my mum, Archie, at the office but she isn't there," Henry said, fiddling with the buttons of his jacket. The best excuse that Henry had at the time, considering the other excuse, 'exploring', wouldn't hold up seeing it 12 at the dead of night.

"Why? Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Archie said kindly. He kneeled down on one knee, a cherry-red leash wrapped securely around his forearm, the long least connected to the navy-blue collar of his dog Pongo. Speckled with inky black dots upon his snow white coat, Pongo was a well-muscled and often playful Dalmatian that always seemed to accompany Archie wherever he went. He always enjoyed a good brisk walk every morning, loved a good scratch at the back of his neck and sometimes when Archie took Henry out to the park, Pongo adored a game of Frisbee – or simply love a game of how many squirrels he could chase up a tree.

"Um," Henry said, trying to think of any type of excuse he could think at the moment. "…Nightmares."

Archie's eyebrows came together in a concerned expression, cocking his head to one side. Smiling gently, his hand came onto Henry's shoulder and squeezed it firmly. "Nightmares, eh? Well, nightmares can be pretty scary, I admit. So you went to the office because you wanted to see your mom?"

"Um, yep."

"In the middle of the night, on your own? Walking here on foor?" Archie's voice reached a new octave, still keeping his voice low. His blue eyes drilled into Henry's, keeping his head low. Henry never meant to scare Archie like this, and he never liked making him unhappy, seeing he was one of the few people who believed the Curse. To the last question, Henry gave a slight nod and Archie paled. "Henry," Archie murmured, "I know Storybrooke's a safe place, but bad things can still happen even if you're the mayor's son. And you know your mother would be heartbroken – I would be heartbroken – if something happened to you, right?"

Henry shivered in the midst of the midnight cold. "I'm sorry," he whispered. And you know what? In spite of it all, having never regretted calling the Jeffersonian and the NYPD, there was one thing he was sorry for. Sorry for scaring Archie and, in spite of all things deep down inside, he was sorry for scaring his adopted mom.

Archie huffed. "Well, we better get you home, Henry. Your mother's going to flip if she finds out at this hour at night."

Henry gathered his bag around his shoulder, the weight of the storybook in his bag against his shoulder was one thing of the many that Henry adjusted to, compared to the therapist he seen ever since he were 7 actually having being Jiminy Cricket or his teacher being Snow White and his grandmother and most of all, to his horror and anger (and once upon a time, to his heartbreak) that the mother who loved him was in fact an Evil Queen who stole everyone's happy endings (because in the end, the weight on his shoulder from the book was nothing to the weight on his heart from the truth. Because Evil Queen's couldn't really love someone, could they?) "How are you going to take me home?"

Archie seemed to think about it carefully. "I'd take the bus. It's faster and right now Henry, you're freezing." And apparently Pongo agreed with one little bark, Henry scratching him at the back.

"Okay," Henry said. Archie made the way first, Henry following him naturally while Archie gave Henry a chance to walk Pongo, making sure (at least three times) that Henry had the leash safely wrapped around his forearm. It was five minutes that they found a bus stop and just right on time, a bus came rolling in as the rain came rolling down.

The pair didn't speak, but kept close to each other, close enough for the unknowing passerby to think that Henry was Archie's son and Archie Henry's father biologically (but emotionally, you didn't need magic to uncover to know). Fifteen minutes passed by, fifteen minutes had slipped away as the bus stopped just three blocks away from Henry's home. And as Archie hugged Henry goodbye and the bus doors closed on the frosty night, Archie thought of the dreams that made his linger on such long hours ever since the clock came alive.

(A woman with the brightest copper red hair and eyes of aquamarine twirled and danced and glided through water and in the midst of a chaos spun from living puppets, gold-spinning imps and brooms that almost made a room into a ocean, stabbed him right in the heart with a long dagger of silver. And yet, for a reason he could never understand, he didn't care at all. All as the image of the beautiful girl – angel or monster hiding as one, he could not decide – glided into his memory and slipped to the back of his eyelids as he woke up in a cold sweat.)

And as the frost and rain and shadows chased Henry into the glided doors of his home, up the winding staircase and into the warmth of his bed, Henry himself slipped into a dream in the midst of the frost-edged darkness . Of snow capped mountains where dragons melted snow with one fiery breath, lands of ice where snow queens ruled and mirrors shards in eyes could twist an image or reveal an ugly truth, deserts of red hot sands where carpets flew and genies in lamps could grant three wishes of your hearts desire, seas that pirates sailed upon in search of adventure and treasures and underneath the waves did mermaids sing songs that could capture any mans heart, forests where princesses thieved and where at day was one a red-hood girl but at full moon night did one became a beast, and a radiant palace built upon a mirror lake where Henry was a knight and he had a ebony-haired, snow-skinned princess and his grandma, a blue-eyed and lionhearted king as his grandpa, a golden-haired and brave saviour-princess as his mother and a icy-eyed, autumn-haired and clever anthropologist as his adopted aunt.

But back in the Jeffersonian, everything was far from a dream.

As Henry dropped off the call, a shock-wrapped silence had stolen everyone's voices and dipped the air into a sense of stress. Like one word and everything would break like glass and everything would go straight to hell. Hodgins was the first to say what everyone was thinking:

"Holy shit."

Brennan breathed in, breathed out. People always tell you to breathe when you're under stress. What was stress? Stress was water that trickled into her lungs and became an ocean of memories, nearly drowning Brennan and sinking her down to an ocean floor that never existed. Stress was a monster that curled up to your heart and sat upon it, a little monster called truth that was on all days was Brennan's friend but today became her enemy. Stress was a corset of rib bones that pulled against her lungs and tightened until she could she could feel her desperate heartbeat against her skin and under her sternum.

Emma Swan. She breathed the two words in and out. Emma Ruth Leopolda Swan. Two names, Emma's middle names were added, Brennan breathing the name into herself, into her air and into her blood. Brennan knew Emma's full name ever since she first came, seeing she was cheeky enough at age 11 to steal the foster files and go over Emma's details.

And Emma knew her whole name too. Temperance Minerva Brennan. One day, one summer day where Brennan was 12 and Emma was only 9, when the Emma was unfortunate enough to have gotten meningitis from Rena Evans, Brennan's mom suggested seeing what their names meant. Back in the days of old, Brennan's mom said as Brennan recalled, a name held powerful magic and could determine your fate. Apparently, Emma meant 'universal', Ruth ' friend' and Leopolda 'princess of the people'. And sadly, to her dislike, Temperance was a virtue meaning 'moderation' and Minerva was the Roman goddess of wisdom, the name meaning the same.

So if destiny was to say something, Emma would one day become a princess, princess of the whole world and be friends with everybody in her school and everybody she met and Temperance would one day become the goddess of wisdom but would always be moderating herself from eating sweets all the time; something that Temperance pouted out. But according to destiny, as Emma pointed out and Brennan once promised, since the pair shared the same surname 'Brennan', they would always be sisters. But apparently, through meaning, would their surname be a curse. Because Brennan, a Irish surname, carried the meaning of 'sorrow'.

How ironic, Brennan would think 20 years after that day.

"Brennan," Angela started, looking up from her lap and right into her best friend's eyes, "you have a sister? A little sister?"

"Why, why didn't you tell us anything? She could have helped you with finding your mom and,-"

"Guys, lay off." Castle quietly interrupted Booth, Booth looking at the phone in utter surprise, still standing over at the glass doors and close to the corpse. Right now, Brennan would give up everything and anything to be that mummy. "Tempy, doesn't need to explain things to you. Her secrets are her secrets, and shes allowed to keep them if she wants to."

"I have a nephew." Brennan began to speak after what seemed like almost hours of nothing but silence, the words soft but clear. "My adopted sister had a son. And she's… she's probably 28, my god, she had a son…"

"And she's in Storybrooke," Castle reminded her. And as if the fates was listening, there was that tell-tale bing. Angela rushed from behind Hodgins and Cam and made her way over to her unit, candlelight set on the tables and glinting on the screen of the large computer, the home of Angela's three-dimensional holographic computer system. The desksaver of moving fish and transformed back into a windowless desktop, with one click did Angela bring up the Jeffersonians Forensic Department email.

"Did any of you get an email from…." Castle quizzically asked.

" .au?" Cam completed the answer, coming over to Angela clicked the email:

Title: How to get to Storybrooke – Henry here!

To: Forensicsdepartment .au, FireflyFanForever .au

From: .au

Attached:

Dear Mr Castle, Detective Beckett, Detective Esposito, Detective Ryan, Dr Parish, Dr Brennan, Dr Hodgins, Dr Saroyan, Agent Booth and Miss Montenegro,

I sent over a map, which is directions from Boston and to Storybrooke, the only map you're going to find to Storybrooke. The time from Boston to Storybrooke will take four hours on a car; you can't take a train or a cab because they won't know. I'll explain to you when you get there. It's pretty big and looks really nice, so I think you'll like it. It's kinda like Main Street USA, except without the big Cinderella Castle from Disneyworld, I think you'll like it.

Emma works as the town deputy in Storybrooke, with Sheriff Graham. But, she mostly comes to Granny's Dine, which is on Main Street of Storybrooke as you drive in. You'll want to take money over to get rooms at Granny's Motel; as far as I remember, I think its 60 dollars a night. I'll get my mom and explain the details of the murder to you. All I know is that he or she is a skeleton, my mom Emma is working on it and the body came from New York.

Please come over as soon as you can. Hopefully tomorrow. Please.

From,

Henry Mills

P.S Don't reply to this email. Instead, reply to Grade4email .au so I can see it. I'll just say it's a science project. :P

"So, I'm guessing he really wanted us to come over, eh?" Hodgins suggested.

Brennan walked over, looking over at the phone. "Henry mentioned he was adopted, so he's probably using his adopted mother's email to contact us."

"Then, if he's adopted," Ryan said curiously, "why is Emma in the same town?"

"Henry did mention it was a pretty big town," Esposito suggested.

"Or it may have being a case of Henry being placed into a open adoption," Cam said sagely. "It would explain why he knows so much about his mother and her job, seeing the biological mother often has a part in raising the child."

"Question is," Booth asked, "why didn't the Mayor decide to contact us?" Suspicion played upon his face, his hands upon his hips and right eyebrow raised. Brennan had seen it one too many times to know that it was a face that conveyed worry, that sense that not all was not quite being told.

"She probably wanted to rely on local authorities," Kate said. Everyone raised their eyebrows. "Guys, remember," Kate muttered exasperatedly, "Henry's adopted mom is the Mayor. Probably explains why Henry doesn't want us to reply to this email."

"Mayor's kid and the deputy's kid, too." Hodgins smirked, rocking on the balls of his feet with a smirk. "Kind of like being the president's kid on a smaller scale. And double the trouble, for using the mayor's email."

Brennan looked over the email, thinking. It was clear that by description, this was under the authority of her team and Kate's team; there was evidence of the corpse being a New York citizen and the corpse apparently was 'a skeleton' as Henry (her adoptive nephew) described, meaning that the corpse was beyond normal forensic recognition. It was their business.

"So," Brennan authortively said, "I suppose someone should reply to Henry and perhaps, make our way to it."

Brennan made a twist and made her way out of the room.

"But what about Emma?"

Angela's voice called out. Brennan stopped, turning around to see her best friend. Brennan walked back in, looking over all of their best friend's faces. There was Hodgins, full of so many questions, almost looking betrayed. There was Cam, her professional face forgone and waiting for an answer. And there was Booth and Angela, full of concern and yet so full of love, it nearly made Brennan's heart tear to her seam. As if it wasn't torn in more ways than one now.

Angela walked over, Brennan turning her head away, darkness shrouding her expression. The room was a work of chiaroscuro, with the candlelight and the darkness of midnight. "Brennan," Angela put her hands gently on her shoulders, "Henry and Emma live in Storybrooke. Your nephew and sister, your adopted sister." Brennan turned to face Angela, her eyes portraying her struggle between her mask of perfected coldness and flood of tears ready to roll in. "You could see her again. You could see Emma, you could be…"

"Be a family again?" Brennan's voice was a croak, her vocal chords mixed in-between of a sob ready to be born, a frightened whisper and a bitter mutter. Sorrow, fear and bitterness. Those walls, built brick by brick with every heartbreak and every letdown and every passing day that Brennan's parents never came to take her home, were clearly there. Except in all those times, there was that crack, right down to the epicentre.

"We can never be a family again." It was a statement, her voice unsteady and low. "Not after Mom… Mom and Dad left." Brennan put her nose in the air, much like how someone dipped their nose in the air to stop blood from a broken cartilage in their nose dripping into their mouth. Even there, there was that unusual brightness in her eyes that could be seen.

"But you looked for her."

This time, it was Castle. His voice was gentle and slow, Brennan hanging onto every word, his voice a lighthouse in the midst of the storm just brewed minutes ago. "Remember? Ever since you were 19," Castle recalled, everyone on the end of the pone quiet, " ever since I first met you, you always looked for her. The first time I met you," Castle tenderly recalled, Angela raising her eyebrows again and Booth suspiciously flickering his eyes between Brennan and the phone, "You were in New York, studying in Colombia University. I was running to pick up Alexis from daycare,-"

"-Because you had to stay behind to sort out your studying habits in your Creative Writing degree." Brennan completed the sentence. Her voice still unsteady. But this time, Angela could spy, to some degree of relief, a small smile.

"I was running ike hell and at the time, I was in the midst of writers block. And then, like fate wanted it to happen," – Brennan's smile gotten bigger at the memory – "I crashed right into you, coffee in hand, completely drench your coat and Emma's birth documents. 19 years old, just a intern, and as far as I know, you spent almost all your wages and nearly drove yourself homeless on trying to find Emma."

Brennan closed her eyes. From the memory, she could already smell the frosted air of New York winter that melted thirteen years ago and the smell of coffee and hot dogs on sale, the crunch of green slush underneath her feet and the feeling of the manila folder containing Emma's birth records.

Emma Ruth Leopolda (had no registered surname until adoption by the Brennan's according to notes) was found as a newborn, according to forensic evidence, only two hours old at the side of a road in Maine by a young boy around the age of ten and ranaway from social services before they could discover his identity. (but in Brennan's heart, she would always remember that boy as Emma's saviour when her parents left her to fend in the world. One thing now they had in common.) She was rushed to a nearby diner, social services in Maine were alerted and Emma was placed into foster services with August.

That was all that private detective Nydia Lynch could discover. 19 years old, Brennan was in Columbia as a graduate from Honour's Roll and a intern in anthropology and after a couple of months, Brennan was able to afford a private detective who could help her pick up the pieces after the foster system separated the pair of them. Separation of siblings, foster system policy said, increased the chance of families being more willing to take in children within the foster system and must likely take them in as adoptees. Brennan had a lot of words she wanted to say to that statement; all were foul and would make a sailor look tame.

So, as she remembered, it was a winter afternoon and right at the steps of the library was reviewing the witness report of the couple (Lydia and Freddie Stiers, she read, sophomores out on a date) that seen the boy and Emma. That was until a young Richard Castle, or who she more dearly remembered as Richard Rodgers, suddenly bumped into her. Coffee went flying everywhere; including the birth records she spent $230's on recovering from sealed foster files. She had to sleep with five layers of blankets that night since she was already in debt seeing it nearly cost her everything to hire Detective Lynch in the first place.

Here's what happened next: Brennan swore up a storm. Richard just stood there and tried to say he was sorry. Brennan swore even more, probably looking like a mad woman. Richard tried to wipe the coffee from her coat. Brennan bitchslapped him in the face, thinking he was trying to grope her. And Richard ended up with a bleeding nose, all while even more late to getting Alexis from day care.

But, as Brennan remembered, it gotten better, thankfully. Castle offered to replace the files for her, seeing his mother, Martha, was pretty wealthy. And seeing she was desperate, Brennan accepted; something that even today, she would never change, no matter how high her pride was.

So, Brennan accompanying him to Alexis's day care, one question had transformed into many, Brennan finally getting a feeling of how her anthropology professor felt now and ever since then, gained some degree of compassion for him. At first, sharing her life with Emma was a wall that Richard would never pass, not a chance. Other things came up instead, the questions transforming into more comfortable questions. What degree was she studying? Where, from what state, did she come from? How high was her IQ? How did she get that strong in being able to cause a nosebleed in one slap? Her answers were; Anthropology, Burtonsville, 165 and she learnt from self-defence textbooks when she could and once was a ballet dancer.

And apparently, Richard couldn't get enough of her. Because when Brennan and Richard walked themselves over to the day care, just as Richard checked his daughter out and scooped little three year old Alexis into his arms, Richard asked to come with him and Alexis to McDonalds.

"I'm a vegetarian, Richard," young, 19-year-old, world-hardened-and-toughened Temperance Brennan said coldly, the coldness in her voice never reaching the girl's eyes as she watched little flamed-haired Alexis nestle into her fathers arms.

"There's veggie options. And toys with the fruit cuts if I remember," young, 20-year-old, sweetly-innocent-and-childish Richard Rodgers suggested brightly, a small playful smile playing at his lips, Temperance wondering if he was even real.

"And you'd want me there, why?" Temperance Brennan asked.

And he smiled. "Because I still want to ask you a few more questions." As if it was the answer to everything. And for a reason that Temperance could never remember, she followed along.

"I remember every part of it," Brennan said to Castle, right now in the present as the shadows hid her and the candlelight showed the dust dancing in the air, "the questions, Alexis, you taking me to McDonald's…"

"Just like yesterday."

"Just like yesterday," Brennan repeated from Castle.

"And ever since that day, I know that you wanted to find Emma, for the whole decade that I knew you," Castle said, sure of himself. Angela was clearly thinking of how he knew her, pondering between platonic or more; Brennan was thinking of much more. The years they spent trying to find her, even when at Detective Lynch's wise words, there was nothing else to look for. Emma Ruth Leopolda Brennan, having being placed back into the foster system at the age of 11 with the disappearance of Christine Brennan and Matthew Brennan and Russel Brennan having placed both Temperance and Emma into foster care, was put into five more foster homes. It was in her last foster home within Boston after a violent attack from her foster mother, that Emma had runaway at the age of 16 and social services was unable to track her. All to Temperance's despair and Castle's reassurances that somewhere, Emma would pop back up.

She never stopped. She never did, even now at this year, Brennan always kept checking, looking for Emma. Talking to Emma's social worker, going over files. Checking over police reports, checking with police officers over Emma Brennan's status; always still a coldcase to all of them. Months turned to years; Brennan was no longer 19 but 32. She set almost a whole decade. And now, Brennan was just in the beginning of accepting Emma as another part of her past that was thrown into the wind.

Until now.

"You have a chance handed right to you," Hodgins chimed in, "use it. Please, for all of our sakes, you need to find her."

"We could turn the trip into you and all of us, going to Storybrooke and being with Emma,. Finding your family," Angela offered. Behind her, Hodgins seemed headstrong at that idea, the pair only having to exchange eye contact to create another plan.

"And we can be with you," Hodgins added. "Once we finish investigating the murder, we can stay in Storybrooke for the three months of the Jeffersonian holidays. And Henry here," – gestured to the email with a small, thoughtful smile – "Henry said that the place is like Main Street USA. And somehow, something tells me I'll like the place."

"Wait." This time, Lanie was speaking, "you have a three-month holiday too?"

"Yes, we do," Cam said. "The Jeffersonian Institute has a private holiday for members of the forensic team, where a emergency team is put into place and we go on holidays from June, July and September. Just much like some team members," Cam recalled, "in the homicide department back in New York get a three month holiday, in honour of their services. You gotten it?"

"Everybody in our team has," Kate said, subtly impressed at her recall of memory. "You've got a good memory, I give you that."

"Well, there's a reason why I'm the forensic pathologist and Head of the Forensic Department," Cam said clearly.

"Perhaps, we could come over Brennan?" Castle suggested it, clearly hopeful that Brennan would say yes. "Yes, the murder in our district but Brennan, it's being three years since I last seen you. I could introduce you to my friends, and I could bring over Martha and Alexis. It's being three years since you last seen them too."

Brennan felt her heart tremble at her name. Alexis. The red-haired girl could be found in every memory she thought of within New York, a thousand memories for every year that Brennan knew her. Three years old, munching happily on fries; five years old, dancing around Castle's apartment in a Ariel costume; eight years old, looking around the New York battery park for human bones like the ones that Brennan herself dug up; ten years old, watching Mulan and the Little Mermaid in her lap with a bowl of salty popcorn; twelve years old, trying on her makeup that she sneaked from Brennan's bag. Thirteen years old, not quite a girl and not quite a woman, begging Brennan not to go.

That memory stung.

"Do you actually think, she'll be happy to see me?" Brennan softly said.

Castle actually made a surprised sound. "What do you think? She'll be happy to see you, overjoyed! Once she sees you, she'll be over the moon!" Castle laughed. "Man, I can't wait to see her face when she sees you, after three years! Ha!"

Brennan herself was unsure if she wanted to see her face after this time, her reaction to her.

"And all of us?" Ryan asked.

"As said," Esposito chimed in, "Castle would like us to meet you and the others."

"Please?" Ryan added, his voice close to the edge of begging.

Brennan huffed. She looked around everyone, Angela enthustically nodding. And not far from her view, Brennan could almost see Cam pleading with her eyes. "It would be wonderful to see them again," Cam whispered.

Brennan sighed, seeing a decision had being made. "Fine. Yes, all of you can stay in Storybrooke, after the murder has being investigated." Other the phone, Brennan could hear Ryan and Esposito slap hands and Kate make disapproving sounds. And Cam, right behind her, made a small jump of excitement, something that almost everyone but Brennan noticed.

"Booth," Hodgins said excitedly, clapping his hands together and clasping them in front of him, gesturing to the phone, his voice now serious "How are we going to get to Boston and then to Storybrooke?"

Hodgins came behind him, shrugging his head. "I've got the hired bus ready. It can take up to ten people, very comfortable. We," – Hodgins gestured to all of them, – "can use the van and drive over into New York, and pick up the four of you and then, drive up to Boston and then drive down to Storybrooke. Angela," he turned to her, smiling, "you've got the computer. Can you tell us how much time it will take on car to get to Storybrooke?"

"My pleasure." Angela typed down the route from Washington D.C to New York and then Boston, a map conjured up by computer system. It only took a matter of seconds to get the estimation. "Well, guys," Angela said, "to get from Washington D.C and to New York, it will take up to 3 hours and 47 minutes. And from New York to Boston, it will take 3 hours and 44 minutes. And consulting up from the map," Angela drew up a window of the map that Henry attached to the email, "it will take 4 hours to get to Storybrooke. So, the total hours it will take to Storybrooke is around eleven hours."

"Well, it's half a day," Brennan noted. "Why don't we get going tomorrow? At 1 PM? We'll all be in Storybrooke at 11 PM, check in at Granny's Motel as Henry told us and get some sleep and settle into Storybrooke."

"Settled," Cam said. "Everyone is going to bring over their own money?"

"I'll settle the cost for the hotel rooms, everyone, don't worry about that," Castle said. "It's all on me, think nothing of it."

Hodgins smirked. "Thanks, Castle. Everyone here can get their baggage settled at 1 PM and make their way to the Jeffersonian tomorrow? Right?" Hodgins asked. Everyone nodded and said yes here and there.

"And," Kate added, "everyone here in New York can get their bags packed and over at Castle's apartment at 4 PM? Agreed?" In unison, everyone has said yes. "Alright then, I'll email Hodgins the location of Castle's apartment in the morning, alright?"

"Yes, detective," Hodgins said. "So, off to bed! It's around midnight and we need to get some sleep for the road trip to Storybrooke. Everyone have a good night!"

"And I'll write up the reply to Henry!" Castle brightly said, "guys, goodnight!"

"Have some sweet dreams, Camille," Lanie cried to Cam, the lady practically glowing with her large grin.

"See you all tomorrow, everyone," Kate responded.

"Good night, y'all," Ryan said, yawning after the sentence, clearly tired.

"See ya later," Espositio shouted over everyone's goodbyes, clearly excited for the adventure coming forth.

And soon, in replacement to their lively voices, there was that monotone sound that gave hint to the end of call. Pressing the ending button, Brennan let the phone fall silent. "So, everyone in agreement? Tomorrow, the Jeffersonian, 1 PM with all your bags for three months. Alright?"

"Yep," Everyone chimed in. And everyone made their way out. Cam made a quick walk out the place, a still bright grin on her face from thinking of Lanie, Kate and everyone back at New York. Hodgins ran out the glass doors, clearly intending on getting on with packing his bags and getting some sleep for tomorrow. But Booth and Angela stayed behind, lingering in the office with Brennan.

"Bones," Booth said gently, calling her by that nickname, "are you alright with this? Seeing Emma, seeing this Castle person and Alexis…"

"I'm fine, Booth and Angela," Brennan quickly said, cutting off whatever kind words Angela had in store for her. Right now, Brennan just wanted to get back to her apartment and be alone for a long time, to her thoughts and memories. She was so close to finding Emma, to finding some piece of her family again. Then why did all of this felt like the red sky in morning, before a storm at sea?

Brennan rushed to all of the candles, fetching the candlesnuffer from her desk. Behind her back, Angela shared a look with Booth, no words having to spoken as the worry in her eyes spoke for her instead. And all that Booth did was shrug, portraying the fact that Brennan's decisions was hers alone, no matter how large the consequences. So with that, the click of Angela's shoes heralded the disappearance of Booth and Angela.

Within minutes, all the candles were snuffed out with Brennan's trembling hand. The whole of Brennan trembled, down to her lungs where her breathing was laboured with an effort to hold in undignified sobs. Making the office as dark as the thoughts that stirred in her heart and cracked the walls she built up. So powerful was the effect of those little memories of Emma.

Henry received an email from Castle the day after the night, finding one right in the 4th grade email in library period where he was suppose to be researching up Christopher Columbus for his history project. Getting himself comfortable on the desk chair facing on the computers that lined up on the right wall of the library, a task which provided was impossible considering the fact that the chairs were made of plastic that would turn your back into a thousand cricks in a hour, he clicked on the email application and signed in for the Grade 4 email account. Only to find a new email:

Title: Science Project!

To: Grade4email .au

From: FireflyFanForever .au

Hey there kid,

When you get this email, we'll all be on our way to Storybrooke. Thanks for all of your tips on how to get to Storybrooke and for getting that map. We've all agreed to come over for three months to see you and your actual mom, Emma. Until then, see you later!

From,

Richard Castle

Henry grinned, thinking of what he would be able to tell Emma and Archie when Dr. Brennan finally came into town, just as he logged off and followed the sound of Miss Blanchard's calls to come back into his classroom. He had much to wait for when his adoptive aunt came into town with her friends. And then, Henry thought to himself, I can tell them about the Curse and finally get it broken.

Author Note:

Thank you all to everyone to favourited and followed this story! Those little emails on new followers and favourites were treasures everyday to pop up on my screen! Well, this series focuses upon connections and characters like Emma, Archie (Archie is a favourite of mine and there was so much that could be done with him, so he certainly will be seen more often!) Brennan, Cam and Castle and more will be seen. And a map from Storybrooke to Boston, the map that Henry recovered, came from the town website. Some towns have a website which gives out information on town history, places and ways to get to and from Storybrooke is there; Regina could have created a town website for the town residents to create some sense of the place not being so magical, the Curse however would have altered peoples perceptions on no one coming into Storybrooke since it was hidden by the Curse from outsiders.

Please keep on reading and feel free to review,

Nee