Storybrooke, Maine

David Nolan was an optimistic person. You could argue that he shouldn't be, after all the crap he'd been through. The loss, the family separations, the curses, the coma. But even after all of it, he still believed in happy endings and refused to give up even when most rational adults would have become jaded and cynical.

It helped that his wife was the embodiment of brilliant, sunshiny hope and determination. She'd had it even worse than him over the course of her life, if that was possible. Having two babies ripped from her by unspeakably evil forces on the days of their respective births 30 years apart should theoretically do irreparable damage to a mother's sense of fairness. But somehow, by some magic inherent in her spirit, she remained unbowed, always looking ahead and expecting better days.

David and Snow drew strength from each other, and they survived not only those calamities, but countless others with their hope and belief in tact.

He sighed sadly as he sat down in the desk chair in the empty sheriff's office early on Monday morning. He placed his coffee and muffin next to the computer keyboard and started up the ancient PC.

Maybe, he considered, it was because they had been enjoying these last few years of peace so very much that this particular calamity was turning out to be the thing that wore down his optimism.

Things had just been so good for so long. Never in David's wildest imagination did he think that he'd still be this young and be surrounded by such as family as he had. The wife he adored. The son who kept proving he took after both of his parents in unique and surprising ways. The daughter who, thanks to a time-freezing curse years ago, was a friend and an equal who he could still comfort like she was a little girl when she needed it. The grandson whose intelligence and creativity was only matched by his faith in his family. The son-in-law who had systematically dismantled every supposition and prejudice David had about him when they'd met and was now his dearest, most devoted friend.

And then there was his granddaughter. He may have been a touch biased, but he looked at her like she was some kind of miracle. Somehow, the universe had managed to bundle together all the light and joy of his wife with the unparalleled strength of his daughter and infuse it with a hefty dose of the charm and rakish sense of humor of his son-in-law.

And David knew that a little bit of himself was mixed in there too. In tiny Hope Swan-Jones, he saw reflected back at him his own capacity to love so deeply and completely that each member of his family had become a part of him on a core, cellular level. He loved them all so much that he felt like his heart would break over the smallest injury or injustice suffered by any of them. And he knew that Hope felt the same way about the people she loved.

David pictured Hope's beautiful little face. The way that she took everything in and felt it all so deeply. The way that perfect face had creased with deep lines of worry, and how her little lip had quivered when a few months ago, his son (her uncle) had taken a soccer ball to the face and staggered off the field with a bloody nose. How, once he stopped his son's bleeding, David had looked up to see Hope standing close by, gripping her own father's lone hand tightly with her tiny white knuckled one, but not shying away from the sight of blood. She had just needed to see that Neal was okay.

His heart twisted at the thought of Hope, that perfect, funny, innocent child who had become a target. Another angel, barely more than a baby, who had been sought out by evil because of what she was.

He sighed again as he stared at the computer that was now ready for his command. Knowing that, as usual, he would be too distracted and worried to update the Storybrooke PD case file he was supposed to be updating that morning, he didn't even bother opening it and instead launched his Internet browser.

He started his search with "Emma Swan," as he always did, and each time he followed it with his meticulously created list of the rest of their names. Every possible variation.

Emma Swan-Jones

Emma Nolan

Killian Jones

Henry Mills

Henry Swan-Jones

Hope Swan-Jones

Invariably, he got the same useless hits each time, but he still pored through the results as if the answer might magically appear way down the list of news items involving people with similar names.

Today, however, like a miracle, something new popped up. And he'd only had to search for "Emma Swan."

"Huh!" David cried, tears springing to his eyes. He looked away from the screen and around the empty station as if there would suddenly be someone there to tell. His daughter the sheriff gently chiding him about how he looked like he'd seen a ghost. His son-in-law, her deputy, making an off-color joke about pure, wholesome David needing to stay away from the shockingly prurient content of the "magic box."

But the station was empty, of course, so he jumped out of his chair, ran to his truck, and drove to Storybrooke Elementary.

David was an early riser, and he'd been in the office by 7:30, so he still made it to Snow's classroom before her students had started filing in for the start of the school day at 8:30.

He must have stomped noisily into the room, because Snow looked up from her desk with a worried frown as soon as crossed the threshold.

"David, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? Did something happen? I JUST dropped off Neal at his classroom. Is he all right?"

She looked tense and a little panicked. They were back to that now. The easy life full of only minor, normal life worries they'd enjoyed for the four years after the Final Battle was gone. Now, they were always on the razor's edge waiting for the next tragedy. The next set of bad news.

"Yes, no, well, yeah," he sputtered as he walked in front of her desk and placed the piece of paper down where she could see it.

It was the printout he'd made before leaving the station. The Facebook page for a business called Max Cherry Bail Bonds in Boston, MA had apparently added the information of its new bonds person.

It included only her name and cell phone number, but her name was Emma Swan.

"What?" Snow squealed, jumping out of her chair. "David, you found them!"

He winced at the word "them," knowing that his wife's optimism was in full force, but his wasn't quite that strong yet. Maybe because of the guilt he still felt from the day of their departure.

Still, he could use a little of that optimism right about now. "It's gotta be her, right?" he asked Snow.

"David, of course it's her! A bail bonds person in Boston named Emma Swan? It's her! She just went back to what she knew. That's all. It makes perfect sense!" Snow stood and hurried from behind her desk to wrap him in a tight embrace.

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy it, to appreciate the comfort this sweet, enthusiastic woman always provided, before he brought them back to reality.

"But they haven't called," he said sadly. "They haven't found any way to get in touch with us."

"That's okay," Snow reasoned. "They're hiding! They didn't want to risk the dark fairies intercepting the message and figuring out where they were."

David hated this. Hated having to bethe one to reel her back in whenshe was being hopeful. She had been so worried about all four of them since they left. She barely slept, and she jumped at every phone call hoping that it would finally be Emma or Killian trying to get in touch with them.

They had all agreed that taking Hope to the land without magic was the safest option until they could defeat the fairies, but they hadn't counted on being attacked at the town line, or on the fact that the line was cursed. And now, they faced every day not knowing what had happened to Emma and the others after those chaotic moments when David was cornered by a malevolent fairy and Killian had jumped out of the car to help him.

David still didn't know exactly what had happened, but it seemed like Henry had taken over the driving while Emma covered David and Killian by shooting bursts of white magic at the attacking fairies. But when she ducked back into the car to dodge another attack, Henry must have panicked and driven himself, Emma and Hope over the border. Killian sprinted behind them on foot after he made sure David was safe, but the rest of them had no idea what happened after that.

The fairies had continued to fight, but halfheartedly. Eventually, they disappeared.

They hadn't been seen in Storybrooke since.

David wanted so badly to let Snow believe that Emma, Killian, Henry, and Hope were together, safely laying low until the dark fairies and that witch they recruited were defeated or lost interest. But, like his daughter who took after him so closely, he had learned to trust his gut. And right now his gut told him that something was very wrong. That they'd played right into the fairies tiny hands by having Emma and her family leave Storybrooke.

And now they were in Boston, unaware of what was after Hope.

"But why would she post her name and number?" he asked Snow quietly. "Why would she be so careless if she were hiding? She could have changed her name, her whole identify. Emma knows how to do that. Right now, she's out in the open where anyone could find her."

Snow's face fell a little, but not all the way. "Maybe because she knows they're not in danger there?" she replied. "Because Regina's theory worked, and there's no way for anyone to steal Hope's magic in the land without magic." Her voice broke a little when she said her granddaughter's name, and he knew her hopeful resolve was cracking. He felt rotten, so he did the only thing he could and wrapped her in another embrace, this one more comforting than celebratory.

After a few minutes, it was Snow who spoke. Her voice was clear and loud, but there were tears beneath the surface of it. "So, we still think it's a memory curse, right? That crossing the town line took their memories again?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense," David said sadly.

"Okay, but that doesn't mean they got separated. I mean, they were in the car together."

"Emma and the kids were in the car together," David reminded her sadly, guilt twisting his gut as he remembered the resolve on the face of his best friend as he ran away from his family in the yellow bug in order to come to David's aid.

"But after you were safe, Killian followed right behind them," Snow argued. "Even if they don't have their memories, they might have still ended up together. We always find each other, remember? You can't keep beating yourself up about this. Emma and Killian wouldn't want you to."

"I know. Maybe it's okay. Maybe they're all together. I just...what do we do? We can't go to them unless Regina and Zelena can find a way to break the curse. We can't leave town."

"Well," Snow replied calmly. "Now we're certain that it's a memory curse. Maybe if Regina and Zelena can narrow their focus to breaking memory curses, they will have more success in fixing it so that we can leave. Then we can go get our family back."

"Maybe," David conceded reluctantly. "But, we've had the memory curse theory since week one. Regina didn't seem too optimistic about being able to break it without the curse caster being here. And she didn't think that she could create protection against it without Gold here to share all the work he'd done way back when."

He hated the way the tears sprung to Snow's eyes. But, Snow being Snow, she just nodded her head and jutted out her chin with her characteristic resolve. "Well, then, in the meantime, we'll just call Boston bail bonds person Emma Swan. We'll warn her, tell her to be extra careful."

"Snow..." David had about seventeen arguments on the tip of his tongue about why that didn't make sense. But when his wife looked at him with those hopeful green eyes, none of them seemed to matter.

"Okay," he replied, sighing. "We'll call. As soon as we figure out what the hell we're going to say."


Monday morning came early for Emma. She'd barely slept at all, even after Hope finally settled down and snuggled sleepily against her in Emma's bed. The little girl seemed to find a few hours of restful peace, but Emma was too stressed and heartsick to sleep.

The nightmares were back and worse than ever. Emma shuddered to herself, and her stomach twisted as she remembered seeing Hope's near-catatonic state while suffering from whatever terror was in her mind.

Emma's children had been sick before with all the usual childhood illnesses, and there was a certain helplessness that all parents experienced when they had a sick child. But usually, you could give them medicine, keep them warm...do something to at least feel like you were helping. With Hope facing the return of these nightmares, Emma felt like there was NOTHING she could do to make it better.

She resolved to call Dr. Li as soon as office hours began to see if she could move up their next appointment. They had barely scratched the surface of the subject of Hope's dreams when they first met the psychologist, but maybe she could find a way to get the little girl to open up more in their next session.

Emma was also fairly certain that Hope's worries about Killian's injury must have contributed to her nighttime anxiety. Maybe after Hope saw that he was okay, when she'd had the opportunity to give him a hug or joke with him, that fear would go away.

As she laid there awake with Hope breathing steadily against her side, she tried to calm herself and allowed her mind to wander. Emma grew up without parents, and the families she lived with never cared enough to come to her at night and comfort her when she was scared.

Since having Henry, Emma had become a much lighter sleeper, listening for every whimper or cry and going to him, and later Hope, when they needed her. When Henry was very small, she'd always wanted to bring him back to bed with her and Neal when he'd had a bad dream, but Neal didn't allow it, making the excuse that it would create bad sleep habits for the boy. But Emma knew deep down that there was a selfishness to Neal, one that didn't fully go away even after he'd had a child. The bed was his and so was Emma, and he didn't want to share them at night, not even with Henry.

After Neal died, Emma let Henry sleep in her bed for months so that they could cling to each other and grieve together. After Hope was born, Emma never denied the little girl comfort when she needed it, even as exhausting as it was being single parent. She loved her kids with her whole heart, and she'd be damned if she didn't let them know that every second of their lives, especially when they were afraid.

Her thoughts drifted back to Killian, and she wondered what it would be like if they were together. If he lived with them. If this were their bed she was lying in instead of hers alone. She just knew, like she just knew so many things about him, that if Hope cried out in fear, he would run to her room, scoop her up in his arms and bring her back to snuggle between them. She let herself fantasize about how magical it would be if he was there every night to help her comfort Hope with that preternatural ability he had to soothe the little girl. He was so wonderful with words. What kinds of fanciful and comforting stories would he tell Hope to get her mind off of her terrible dreams?

Emma finally gave up on trying to sleep a little after 5:30, and she went to the kitchen to start coffee. She was anxious for Dr. Li's office to open so that the could call and try to move up Hope's appointment, and she really hoped she'd hear from Killian soon about when they were discharging him.

In the meantime, she logged into her work email and started a to do list of everything she needed to check up on for the two outstanding skips they were tracking. She was going to have to tell Max that wouldn't be in today. She planned to let Hope skip school so that the girl could accompany her to pick up Killian, so the chances of her getting any meaningful work done were slim.

She felt guilty about that, and then she felt extra guilty when she saw that Max had sent an email over the weekend that he'd added her name and number to the business's modest Facebook page, so that clients and prospective clients could get in touch with her directly. In his note, he'd sounded proud and excited to have made the change. She felt awful about having to write him back that she needed the day off. She promised to call him later in the afternoon to check in and explain further.

Henry woke up around seven as usual and greeted her with a tired smile before sitting down to his bow of cereal. Emma sat down at the table to keep him company and offered to let him skip school, too, since she and Hope were playing hooky to be with Killian.

"Hmm, pretty tempting," he said thoughtfully.

"See," Emma teased. "Don't ever try to tell me I'm not a cool mom."

"I wouldn't dream of it!" he replied. "But I have a quiz in pre-calculus today that I don't want to miss. The teacher gives a different, harder quiz for kids that have to miss and do a make-up."

"That's diabolical!" Emma gasped with feigned outrage.

"Tell me about it!"

Henry stood to gather his jacket and backpack. Before turning to leave, he asked Emma about Hope. "So, you're just going to let Hope sleep until she wakes up?"

"Yep, I figured she could use it. Sorry you won't get to see her."

"That's okay. Just give her extra hugs for me."

"I will," Emma replied, her heart full and ready to burst with love for the incredible young man before her. "Can you spare one for your mom before you go?"

He rolled his eyes but complied, pulling her into a strong embrace. "She's going to be okay, Mom," he said. "Seeing Killian today will help I bet."

"I know, Kid," she replied, releasing him so that he could head to school.

Hope finally padded out to join her shortly before eight, and Emma was sad to see that the little girl still carried an air of exhaustion and something that seemed like defeat.

"Hi, Mom," she said, entering the kitchen and giving Emma's legs a perfunctory hug before she sat down at the table, slouching as if she carried the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders.

Emma poured some juice, prepared Hope's Cheerios, and brought them to the table. She sat down next to her daughter and rubbed the little girl's back gently.

"Hi, baby," she said. "I'm sorry that was a tough night last night."

"Yeah," Hope said sadly. "Me too."

"Do you want to talk about your bad dreams?"

"Not really," Hope replied.

Emma decided to push a little harder this time given the intensity of the girl's terror the night before. "Are you sure, sweetie?" Sometimes it helps to talk things out. It makes them less scary.

Hope sighed in annoyance. "I don't know. It's hard to remember. It's like before, with the big bugs flying around me. It feels like they're sucking something out of my chest. I hate it. They won't go away."

Emma kept pushing. "Was anyone else there this time? Me, or maybe Killian?"

"No, not this time. I was by myself. It was scary." She scrunched up her adorable little face for a moment, then seemed to remember something. "Mom, is Killian home now? Can he come over for breakfast?" Hope asked excitedly.

"No, honey," Emma replied carefully. "Remember he was hurt yesterday, and they took him to the hospital to get better."

"Oh yeah, I remember," Hope replied sadly.

"But," Emma continued. "How would you like to skip school today and come with me to visit him and hopefully bring him home?"

Hope began to bounce up and down in her seat excitedly as she agreed that sounded like a great idea. Emma was thrilled to see that the prospect of an adventure and going to see Killian seemed to have banished the pall of sadness and worry that Hope's nightmares had cast.

For the rest of the morning, every five minutes Hope would ask Emma when they could go see Killian.

Around 8:45, Emma called Dr. Li's office and begged the receptionist to let her move up Hope's next appointment to earlier in the week. They'd had a cancellation for Wednesday morning, and Emma gratefully accepted the slot.

Killian finally texted them just after nine that the doctors had been by, and that they were releasing him around noon. She told him that they'd be down shortly to spend the rest of the morning with him and take him home.

Hope bounced around excitedly as Emma made preparations to go. The child was her eager accomplice as, per Killian's instructions, Emma retrieved his keys from his messenger bag and entered his apartment to get him some things he'd asked for.

As Emma found the gym bag he'd mentioned at the bottom of his very neat closet, Hope poked around his sparse bedroom.

Emma went to the tall chest of drawers and opened them in search of the sweats he'd requested. She found a T-shirt, underwear (boxer briefs, she noted with approval, not that she was supposed to be approving things like that) and socks. After thinking for a moment, she grabbed a casual, long-sleeved button down shirt from a hanger in his closet. She thought that a button down might be easier for him to put on and take off with his injured ribs. Although, she also mused to herself that button down shirts couldn't have been particularly easy at any time for a man with only one hand.

Hope continued to explore the bedroom, rifling through a change dish and a small wooden box on a low dresser.

"He doesn't have a lot of things," the little girl commented.

"Well, honey, he hasn't lived here very long, so maybe he's planning to buy more stuff for this apartment." As she folded the clothes neatly and placed them in the bag, she continued absently, "Plus, he doesn't have kids, so he doesn't need nearly as much stuff as we do."

Hope didn't reply to that, and Emma looked down in time to see that the little girl was staring at the floor with a furrowed brow. She was either concentrating or annoyed, Emma couldn't tell which, and she didn't have time to delve in further. She headed into Killian's small but neat bathroom and gathered the toiletries he'd requested before retrieving Hope and heading back to their own apartment.

By ten, they were parking in a pay lot near Mass General. Killian had insisted that he didn't need anything besides his clothes and toiletries, but on a whim, Emma stopped in the Dunkin Donuts next to the lot and picked him up a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. She hoped that if they were releasing him, it meant his nausea had abated. She hated to think of him having been stuck with only hospital food for the past fifteen hours.

Emma found her way back to his room, holding Hope's hand tightly so that the little girl would walk quickly. Children of patients were allowed to visit, and Emma wasn't worried about anyone questioning them, but she did want to protect the young child from seeing too many sick or injured people on their walk.

Just before they reached his room, Emma stopped and reminded Hope that Killian might look a little hurt and tired, but that he was going to be absolutely fine.

"Okay, Mom, I get it," Hope replied impatiently, bouncing on her feet and pulling Emma along.

When they reached his door, Emma peeked her head in and knocked, grateful that he was in a private room. "Good morning!" she called as cheerfully as she could.

He was sitting up in bed, looking bored and a little tired, but no worse for wear save for the small bruise on his brow. When she saw him, she felt a huge smile of happiness and relief spread across her face. She didn't even bother trying to suppress it.

When he smiled back at her it was with gratitude and a healthy dose of knowing charm, but his face softened as his eyes dropped down to take in the little girl at Emma's side.

"Good morning, Lady Hope," he said happily. "Thank you so much for coming to rescue me!"

Hope smiled shyly and giggled at his joke, but then her face fell a little as she looked around the room. She seemed to take in the sight of the complicated bed, Killian in a hospital gown, and all the weird machines and tubes against the wall. The little girl had never been in a hospital room before, and Emma realized quickly that seeing Killian in a place for sick people had thrown her. Emma put Killian's gym bag down on the floor and placed the Dunkin Donuts bag and coffee on the tray table that was down by the foot of Killian's bed.

Just as Hope's little lip began to quiver, Emma picked her up to comfort her. Killian looked at them worriedly as Emma prepared to cradle and soothe Hope, whose emotions had clearly caught up with her. But, instead of throwing her arms around Emma's neck as Emma had expected, Hope reached out toward Killian in the bed, wanting to go to him instead.

Emma turned to him, and he reached out his arms in return. She noticed that he'd put on his usual brace and hook once again in preparation for going home. Still, she worried about his ribs.

"Killian, are you sure? I don't want her to hurt you."

"Nonsense," he replied, shaking his head. "I've carried crates of fake tea heavier than her." Despite the joke, his voice was thick with emotion, and Emma saw the sheen of tears in his eyes as she carefully handed Hope to him. He took her and placed her sideways across his lap, supporting her back with his left arm.

The little girl seemed to know to be careful. She gingerly placed her arms around his shoulders and hugged him gently, sweetly patting his right shoulder with her hand, as if to soothe him. He hugged her back, closing his eyes for a moment and seeming to just take her in, accepting the comfort she was offering and holding her in his strong arms to let her know that he was still whole. That he was there for her in return.

"I'm glad you're okay, Killian," Hope whispered.

"Thanks, bean. Me too," he replied softly into her hair.

Emma gasped quietly at his use of the nickname, one that she had used herself just yesterday after not saying it for years. Moreover, Emma had thought she was prepared to see them together again. She had known that, after the traumas each of them had suffered the previous night, they would be thrilled to be reunited. But this was more than she'd expected. The relief and emotion that radiated from them could only be matched by that between a parent and a child.

Emma caught herself shaking her head again in wonder. How could this be, when they'd only known him for a few weeks?

After another minute of quiet cuddles with Hope, Killian managed to break himself from his reverie enough to settle the little girl on the bed next to him. He thanked Emma and Hope profusely for the sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich, and Emma moved the tray table closer to him so that he could eat. As he ate, he gave her an update on his night in the hospital (not very restful) and his condition (much improved, though he had a headache and his ribs hurt when he moved.)

As Killian talked, he dutifully broke off pieces of croissant and egg from his sandwich for Hope to eat. Emma had brought her a sippy cup full of apple juice, and the little girl settled in for a nice second breakfast, giggling and snorting as Killian regaled her with horror stories about the "eggs made of rubber" that the hospital had tried to force feed him that morning.

Emma continued to watch them with something like awe. Hope's eyes sparkled with delight and laughter as Killian cracked jokes and told her funny stories. As for Killian, he looked so happy and energetic that you'd never have known he'd been loaded into an ambulance, deathly pale and unconscious, just the night before.

They were just finishing the remnants of breakfast when Dr. Okonedo popped in the room holding a folder, presumably with Killian's discharge paperwork. Emma tensed up, wondering if they'd get in trouble for having Hope in the hospital bed despite Killian's injuries.

"Hello again Mr. Jones, Miss Emma," the doctor said cheerfully. "And who might you be?" she said kindly to Hope.

"Hope," the little girl replied shyly.

"My daughter," Emma added. "I hope it's okay that she's here. She and Killian are kind of BFF's, as my teenage son would say."

"Of course it's okay!" the doctor replied. "I can tell that Mr. Jones looks healthier already thanks to his friend bringing him breakfast! I know that the food here is not good." At that, she wrinkled her nose in mock disgust and stuck her tongue out. Hope rewarded her with a genuine giggle.

"So," Dr. Okonedo continued, getting back to business. "I have Mr. Jones' release paperwork and instructions that I want to go over with you."

Emma stood from her chair and stepped next to the doctor, looking down at the printouts the woman had placed on the tray table. She listened carefully as the kind doctor reminded them of the concussion symptoms and instructed them to call if Killian's worsened or did not improve after three days.

She also instructed them to ice Killian's bruised ribs for the next two days, and that he should take acetaminophen or ibuprofen for the pain.

Emma assured Dr. Okonedo that they would follow all the instructions and call if Killian took a turn for the worse. Killian and Emma both thanked the doctor sincerely.

Before she left, Dr. Okonedo said to Hope, "Young Miss Hope, perhaps you can pick out some good movies to watch with Mr. Jones while he rests and recovers."

Hope gave the kind woman a comically exaggerated thumbs up and said, "Yep. We're going to watch Zootopia!"

"An excellent choice!" the doctor replied before winking and heading out the door.

Between the doctor's cheerfulness, Killian and Hope's reunion, and the fact that he was now free to go home, the morning had taken on a happier, more festive air than Emma would have believed possible. Although she knew she had challenges in front of her, she was back to feeling like, as long as she had Henry, Hope, and Killian with her, she could overcome anything.

"Okay, Hope," she said, getting down to the business of leaving. "We need to let Killian change so that he can get out of here." She looked at him shyly for a moment. "Do you want us to wait in the hall or...?"

"Actually, I can just change in the washroom," he replied. "I just may need a hand getting out of bed. I was up once already this morning, but I'm still a little bit stiff."

"Sure," Emma replied. She went to the side of the bed, picked up Hope, and placed the little girl in the room's only chair. Then she offered Killian her arm as he began to swing his legs around to the side of the bed. He winced in pain as he moved, and Emma winced in sympathy.

He stood with her assistance but seemed to have his balance, so Emma released him briefly to grab his gym bag. She took his left arm again (he held his gown closed in the back with his right hand) and helped him walk to the bathroom, where she opened the door and turned on the light.

When she looked up at Killian, she saw that his cheeks were tinged pink and he was looking at the floor, apparently having been hit with a wave of embarrassment at his situation.

"Hey," she said, squeezing his arm and leaning in so that he was forced to meet his gaze. "This is what we're here for, okay?"

That earned her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and a small nod as he entered the bathroom and closed the door.

While they waited, Emma let Hope fiddle with the TV remote as she cleaned up and discarded the bag and napkins from breakfast.

After just a couple of minutes, Killian emerged from the bathroom wearing his clean sweats and the blue button down shirt, unbuttoned with no T-shirt underneath.

"That was fast. Ready to go, Killian?" Hope asked happily from her chair.

"Just about, lass," he replied. He turned to Emma and said sheepishly, "So the button down shirt was quite easy to get on, but when I looked down and started to button it, I felt a bit dizzy."

Emma nodded. "Okay, well, that's the concussion," she said pragmatically. "Was it severe, like you felt like you were going to pass out?"

He shook his head. "No, it was mild. Just uncomfortable." He paused, and his cheeks turned charmingly pink once again as he indicated his open shirt with his hook. "I wonder if you might assist me?"

"Oh of course!" Emma replied, then felt her own cheeks warm as she stood before him and took hold of each side of his shirt. Before she began buttoning, she caught a glimpse of the bruising on his left side and couldn't help but open his shirt more widely to take a look. Her heart sank to see that his ribs were covered in ugly, purplish blue bruises. Strangely, for just an instant, she had a strong impulse to simply place her hands on the injury and will them to heal. Like magic. What the hell was she thinking?

When she realized that she was staring, she quickly looked up at him and found him looking down at her. "Not pretty, I know," he said.

"I don't know about that," Emma teased, gathering herself and making a show of looking admiringly at the rest of him, all the lean muscle and dark chest hair that she'd just barely started to explore last Friday night on his couch.

That earned her an appreciative laugh from him, and she mentally patted herself on the back for making him smile in the midst of his tendency toward self pity. Now, as she carefully buttoned his shirt, what remained between them was the usual haze of sexual tension balanced nicely by the trust and affection they'd miraculously built in just a few weeks of acquaintance.

Their drive home was uneventful. Hope chatted happily from the backseat, and Killian listened to her carefully, engaging her with his usual keen interest and charming humor.

Getting both Hope and Killian up three flights of stairs was a challenge for Emma. Hope begged to be carried but had to settle for holding Emma's left hand as Emma kept her right on Killian's arm for support. He took the steps slowly, one at a time, wincing a bit but making it to the top without needing to stop and rest.

Emma led them inside and plunked her and Killian's bags down on the floor by the door. Killian stood in the doorway for a moment, hesitating. She saw him look back over his shoulder at his own door across the hall. He scratched behind his ear, and she rolled her eyes at how obvious his 'embarrassment' tell was.

"Killian," she said sternly. "You're spending the day here. On our couch. It's more comfortable than yours, and you need us to take care of you." She paused, gesturing to Hope who was standing next to her with her arms crossed and looking at him with an expression of determination that mirrored her mother's.

"If you need something from your apartment," she continued, "we can get it for you. Now come in."

Killian rolled his eyes, but he was smiling happily as he admitted defeat and sat down on the couch.

"Feet up!" Emma instructed.

Killian sighed. "As you wish." He toed off his shoes and carefully swung his legs up onto the couch.

Emma grinned and went to the kitchen to assemble some snacks and drinks. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Hope hand Killian the remote and then climb carefully onto his lap. She settled herself between his right leg and the back of the couch and leaned comfortably against his shoulder as he placed his arm around her. Killian studied the remote for a moment, found the Netflix button and turned on the movie.

Emma marveled again at the easy rhythm the two of them had together as she quietly set some cups of water and a bowl of orange slices onto the coffee table. Killian smiled at her gratefully, and she winked in reply.

Emma then settled down at the dining table with her laptop to catch up on work. As she worked, she couldn't help but look up every few minutes to smile at the pair on the couch, who were the picture of contentment in spite of how they each had suffered the night before.

About an hour into the movie, both Hope and Killian were sleeping soundly, and Emma was grateful that they both were making up for sleep lost the night before. She frowned as she remembered Hope's terror from the previous night, and wondered if she would get a chance to have a moment alone with Killian so that she could update him.

After she responded to emails and checked on her outstanding traces, she called Max to catch up. They'd gotten a tip on the location of one of their outstanding skips, and Max offered to take the stakeout that evening given that she was taking care of her sick friend. She thanked him and promised beyond a doubt that she'd take the next few late nights. After the call, she noticed that she had a voicemail from earlier that afternoon, around the time they'd been driving home with Killian. It was an unfamiliar number with an unfamiliar area code, and Emma figured that it might be a tip or a prospective client, given that her direct number was now on the business's Facebook page.

She clicked the 'play' button.

"Emma," the male voice said. "My name is David Nolan. I live in a town called Storybrooke, Maine. You may not know me, or may not remember me, but I know you, and it would be in your best interests to listen to me. There may be a threat out there to you and your family, somebody watching all of you, but particularly Hope. I can't tell you any more than that because I don't know who, or what this threat will look like where you are."

He paused, and she heard exasperation creep into his voice as he continued the message, "I know that this is coming out wrong, and you're probably going to think I'm a crazy person, or that I'm the threat. But I had to try. I'm sorry if this puts you on edge, but you need to be careful. If anything seems weird or wrong in your life, then it probably is wrong."

The voice paused again before continuing. "BUT, if you've met Killian Jones, even if you don't remember him, he's one of the good guys. Trust your gut feelings about him. About everything." He seemed to take a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was full of emotion, "We miss you, all of you. We can't wait to have you home again."

Emma pulled the phone away from her and stared at it in disbelief. She replayed the message. She knew that she should consider the guy on the phone to be a threat. The call was probably meant to terrorize her for some reason, but 'David Nolan' had just sounded so sincere and so nice.

Her heart sank as she considered the other shocking piece of information that he'd imparted: that Killian was involved somehow. If the guy who made the call was a threat, and he was telling her to trust Killian, clearly Killian was part of the threat as well, right? Was there some elaborate conspiracy against her family that involved this gorgeous man moving in across the hall and worming his way into her heart, into Hope's heart?

Hope.

Emma looked at her daughter, sleeping peacefully next to their friend. She felt sick to her stomach, torn between wanting to rush over there and pull her daughter away from Killian and feeling like it was ridiculous to discount their entire relationship with him because of a phone call from stranger.

Heart-racing, she opened her computer and searched for a David Nolan in Storybrooke, Maine. There were, unsurprisingly, plenty of hits on the name "David Nolan," but after fifteen minutes of searching every map website she knew, she couldn't find a single reference to a place called Storybrooke in Maine.

She slumped in her chair at a complete loss and steeped in worry as she watched Hope and Killian sleep.


Henry went straight home after school and entered the apartment to find his mother scowling at her laptop. Killian and Hope were dozing comfortably on the couch.

"Hey, Mom," he greeted Emma, placing his backpack down on a chair.

"Hey, Kid," she replied. She looked tired and stressed, and he wished that he could help.

"So, I guess everything went okay with Killian? Glad to see they're catching up on some sleep."

"Yeah, me too," Emma said.

"You should go grab a nap yourself, Mom. Last night was pretty rough," he told her.

"I know, Kid. But they're going to wake up soon, and I still have some work to do here."

He looked at her with concern. Her eyes weren't just tired, they were distracted. Maybe it was still just her worries about Hope's nightmares, but he could see that her mind was really troubled.

"Mom, it's going to be okay."

She looked up at him, and he felt like she was really focusing on him for the first time since he'd arrived home.

"It is, Henry. I know. I'm just...trying to figure everything out."

"I get it. I'll be in my room if you want to talk."

"Thanks, Kid."

Henry grabbed a glass of milk from the kitchen, picked up his backpack again and went into his and Hope's room.

He sat down at his desk and opened his laptop. He stared at the keyboard for a moment, his mind wandering back to the previous evening and the visit from Mrs. Xavier.

When Henry was younger, he had loved stories. Old fairy tales were his favorite, even ones like Hansel and Gretel, with its evil witch that probably scared most kids his age. He loved the idea that a couple of clever children could have outsmarted an evil hag.

Yesterday, Mrs. X had reminded him of another fairy tale witch, and now, he couldn't shake the idea that his bad feeling about her was connected to what had happened to Killian. To what had been happening to Hope.

He shook his head at himself. He was seventeen years old. He was supposed to be thinking about college and part-time jobs and helping his mom. He was no longer a ten year old kid prone to flights of fancy. Maybe it was even cruel of him to be thinking about an old lonely woman like she was a witch.

Still, the feeling nagged at him as he did his online research for his History paper. Eventually, he gave up and started entering some different search terms into his Internet browser. He was looking for a needle in a haystack, and he wasn't even sure what the needle looked like, but he had to try. He was good at research, and he had to do something to help his mom. To help Hope.