DISCLAIMER: I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

This is a what-if story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

In the shadow of the toll bridge

The Status Quo

"Oh, don't worry dear. In a few moments, you won't remember you knew him, let alone loved him."

"Why did you do this?"

"Because this is my happy ending!"…

Regina started awake, arms outstretched and hands splayed open as they had been when she'd stood before Princess Snow and her dying prince, reveling in the torrential winds and cyclones that swept through the highest tower of King Leopold's summer palace as The Dark Curse assailed them with deadly force. Her mouth curled into a wicked smile and she licked her lips, stretching her arms up over her head and yawning like a kitten napping in the afternoon sun. Last night had been an evening of many triumphs. Predictably, dinner had gone off without a hitch, erasing any trace of the prince she'd seen bleeding through David's psyche. His disgustingly sweet display of affection toward Kathryn by the end of dessert was evidence enough of her success, for Regina knew that Snow's annoyingly virtuous and honorable Prince Charming could never have brought himself to betray her so openly. Yes, the queen's curse-laden apples had done the trick once again, eliminating the risk that 'David's' amnesia posed to the status quo. That part of the evening went exactly as planned and alone would have been enough to satisfy the queen. But she'd never imagined the extra bonus of having resolved an issue brewing with Graham – an issue of which she'd not even been aware but had quelled practically before it truly became serious. His midnight return to her bed last night was confirmation enough that all was well in Storybrooke. And while she still intended to find out just how Graham seemed to have briefly recalled some memories, Regina actually found herself whistling through her morning routine and all the way to her office.

Climbing the white, pristine colonial staircase at city hall, Regina felt more confident and more at ease than she had since Emma Swan first arrived in town. Emma herself seemed just a minor nuisance now, and despite her early worries, seemed completely oblivious to the fact that any of Henry's mutterings were in the slightest bit true. Her son continued to be simply, a pitied, over-imaginative boy – just as Regina liked it.

Yes, things were going (to quote a particularly vicious associate of hers) swimmingly. So as she briskly arrived at her second floor office, punched in the security code on the alarm pad and keyed into her room, she was not at all prepared for what greeted her on the other side.

"G'morning Madame," came a deep voice from the corner of her office, lurking in the shadows behind her bookcase.

Though the evil queen was hardly one to shriek in terror, the unwelcome visitor startled her and she whirled around, her hands raised instantly to the offensive, poised out of habit to unleash a deadly torrent of fire from her palms.

"Ah ah ah," the voice 'tsked' as the figure stirred from the shadows and a thin man emerged from his haven. "You know better than that your Majesty," he continued. "Your magic…works differently here."

Finally recognizing the sly figure of a man before her, Regina lowered her hands at once, rolled her eyes, and continued to her desk as if the intrusion were as trivial as having found a mouse under the mat. "How did you get in here?" she muttered, pulling off her leather gloves and tossing them carelessly on the desk.

"A man of my talents may pick any lock, my queen," the lean man replied. "A fact of which you are well aware else you would not have conscripted my services."

Her eyes narrowed but she found herself ill-equipped to argue. "Very well," Regina muttered, gesturing for her visitor to have a seat in the tall-backed chair opposite her desk. "What news do you bring from the West End, and I warn you—" she paused, whirling on him before she took her own seat, "—I have had a very pleasant morning, so what you have to say had better not upset me."

The man grinned, pressing a finger to his pursed lips and cocking his head to the side as he laid his other hand on the back of the guest chair. "Now how does that old adage go? Something about…oh…killing the messenger?"

"Get to the point," she snapped. "Is it the boys?"

The man sighed, shaking his head. He was thinner than he'd been when Regina had last seen him, but not unhealthily so. His face was pleasant enough: still youthful, with angular features, a long sharp nose and jet black hair slicked back on his head. In his hand was a cane, though not one required for medical or therapeutic use. It was merely a style choice, one that normal people in normal times might have thought outdated or out of place. People in Storybrooke, however, didn't know any better. Regina watched as the man delved a slender hand in his pocket and withdrew a pocket watch, equally anachronistic, yet acceptably fitting with his countenance. He compared the readout on his time piece to the clock on Regina's wall, nodded, and snapped it shut. "No, it's not to do with the boys," he shook his head. "Although, as we had feared when the clock started moving, a few of their voices have dropped, and two of them have been caught entertaining ideas about…leaving."

The queen leaned forward, her hands pressed tightly against the surface of the desk. "And what did you tell them?"

The man waved her off with a dismissive, yet confident grin. "The truth, your Majesty," he replied, enjoying the suspense he knew he was creating. "That if they ever escaped, they would be killed."

A slow smile spread across her face, and she relaxed once more against the back of her chair. "How very…honest of you…John."

"Well," said John, slipping into the chair across from her, laying his cane across his lap. "I do have a name to uphold."

"Indeed," she muttered, flipping open the cover of her laptop and watching the status bar crawl across the screen while the machine started up. "Well?" she peered over the top of the screen and glared expectantly at her fellow deviant. "What is it then?"

John propped his elbow comfortably on the armrest and took to inspecting his cuticles. "You asked to be informed if anything…unusual happened with our new friend at Garçon's."

Eyes like daggers, she glared up at him. That simpering little weasel of a royal had never given her much cause for concern in all their years in Storybrooke. But the reported rift between Sean Herman and his father had certainly been a departure from Regina's precious status quo, and when he'd shown up tending bar at Garcon's, claiming he was working to support his new family, the queen had assigned John the case at once. "Well?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

Sensing he was close to a throttling, John decided to cooperate, straightened up in his chair, and cleared his throat. "Last night a man came in who seemed to know the young prince. They clasped hands like brothers – thick as thieves they were."

Regina drew sharp breaths in and out her nose as she gripped her arm rest. "Is that…so."

John nodded. "They spoke in hushed tones and were careful not to be heard, but they talked for hours. Prince Thomas even gave his patrons a free round so that we might leave them to their discourse."

"And the name of this man?" the queen demanded.

John braced himself against the back of the chair, knowing the wrath he was sure to unleash once he'd confirmed what the queen herself had already guessed. Still, he couldn't help saying it with a sardonic grin as he replied, "I believe here he is called…David."

Every day Emma Swan spent in Storybrooke felt a little stranger, a little more surreal than the day before. In the past month or so, she had been found by her son, threatened by the mayor, incensed by the sheriff, and perplexed by her roommate. Emma was not the type of woman who stayed up all night with a girlfriend chatting about men and children and life. She was not the type to even have a roommate and yet, talking with Mary Margaret had had a calming effect on her that was at the same time unnerving. For unlike the past, when what she'd seen and observed of Graham would have simply prompted her to kick him in the groin and move on to another town, her discussion with Mary left her in this strange state of sagacity. Mary had forced her to address the feelings she'd been having for the town sheriff and helped her recognize the very subtle levels of grey where before Emma had only ever seen black and white. So when she pulled into her parking space at the station and saw Graham's brown and white squad car, the urge she might have once had to run away had been replaced by an atypical willingness to stay.

The station house was quiet as she approached her desk. She peered through the glass pane walls of Graham's office and noted immediately that he was not there. Glancing around at the empty jail cell, the wall of file cabinets and the maintenance closet at the other end of the lobby, there seemed to be no sign of him despite the presence of his squad car in the parking lot. She pulled out her cell phone to text him when she heard the doors whoosh open and the familiar clunk of his boots thud across the tile. She spun around and resisted the urge to smirk.

There he stood looking as devilishly Irish as usual, curly hair swept back off his face, his entire appearance much more…put-together than she had seen him in days. He was holding a carrying carton with two coffee cups from Granny's in his right hand and a bag of what she assumed to be pastries in his left. His sheepish expression coupled with the rather pathetic stance that begged for her forgiveness should have annoyed her. But all she could do was snort and roll her eyes. "One of those better be cocoa," she said at last.

He glanced down at the drinks, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he privately cheered that he'd remembered she liked cocoa. "With cinnamon," he added, walking over to the desk and twisting the tray on his wrist so her drink was facing her. She plucked it from the carton and took a sip.

"Thanks," she muttered. The two stared at each other with all the awkwardness of two teenagers after an angst-filled spat.

"Look," Graham cleared his throat, finally breaking eye contact as he set the tray down on her desk and dropped the bag of pastries with a soft plop. "I uh…I'm still a might fuzzy on what uh…what exactly has been going on the past few days."

Emma looked back up at him and noticed that, indeed, his eyes looked a little fuzzy – though not as glassy as they had last night after leaving Regina's. "Don't worry about it," she brushed him off and took a sip of cocoa.

"It's just that—" he came around the other side of the desk, intent on being heard— "I know I've done some pretty…inappropriate things and I would hate for us to be—"

But Emma stopped him there. "Graham, there is no us. That was pretty clear last night."

His face fell, though he did not argue. How could he? He didn't remember much…but he remembered that. All morning Graham had been trying to figure out exactly how he'd wound up at Regina's door, sharing a meal with David Nolan and his wife. The whole ordeal was a haze to him…all except for that disgusted look on Emma's face after he'd been caught, yet again, leaving the mayor's residence. "I know," he said softly. "I-I didn't mean to…hurt you."

"You didn't," she replied briskly, though she shivered a bit at the pain in his eyes. Mary Margaret had been right. That blasted woman's pull on the sheriff was stronger than the poor guy even realized. "Look, you clearly weren't…yourself the past few days," she offered.

Graham nodded sadly, "Doctor Whale told me I had some sort of rare 48 hour bug."

Emma scoffed. There was something about Doctor Whale she didn't trust. Then again, Mary did say Graham had looked feverish and disoriented. "Let's just forget about it," she said, plopping down on her swivel chair, snatching the bag of pastries off her in-tray and retrieving a powdered doughnut.

He blinked a few minutes, unsure what to say next. Nervously, he scratched the back of his neck and sighed. "So…you're gonna…stick around?"

She whirled on him. "What?"

"You…aren't gonna quit?"

Her brow creased. "Why would I do that?"

Graham released a sigh, realizing for the first time that he'd been holding his breath. "Well, I wouldn't want you…to be…uncomfortable."

Emma stared at him, unblinking. Was he serious? "Graham," she stood up again, leveling his gaze. "I don't pretend to understand whatever this twisted thing is between you and Regina—"

"It's not what you—"

"And frankly, I don't care," she added. Graham's face fell but he didn't continue. "I'm here for Henry," she said pointedly. "So whatever this—" she shook her hand back and forth in front of him – "thing is with you two just…keep it out of the office. Got it?"

Graham stood rather stupidly in front of her for a few moments. This was not how this conversation had gone in his head this morning. Then again, he wasn't sure what he was expecting really, or what he wanted. He supposed it had been too much to hope that they might…start over. He certainly remembered the feel of Emma's lips against his. That was a memory this dreaded virus apparently hadn't adulterated. But everything after that point was quite cloudy in his head…and he could still feel Regina's pull, her desires. Inexplicably attuned to her urges, he'd found himself once again returning to her bed late last night. Try as he may, he couldn't shake her. And perhaps it was for this very reason that he ultimately decided to just be thankful for Emma's truce and reprieve. After all, what more did he have a right to hope for? "Deal," he said at last, and turned toward his office.

The morning passed quite without incident after that with both sheriff and deputy fielding calls and filling out reports on various nuisances throughout Storybrooke. Graham and Emma were just reviewing an agenda of sorts for the day, dividing up the complaints each would investigate…when the mayor herself burst through the doors.

"Graham, I need a word!" she barked and then started, seeing Emma seated on her chair with the sheriff perched on the desktop beside her. Regina recovered quickly, though she was still having trouble remembering that the dreaded girl now actually worked here.

"Regina," Graham jumped to his feet, his face flushed with embarrassment given the 'deal' he'd just made with Emma few hours before. "What's uh…what's the problem?"

The mayor glanced between the sheriff and his deputy. "I need a word—" she gave Emma thin smile— "in private."

Emma shook her head in mild disgust, swiveled out from behind her desk, and started walking away.

"Emma, wait," Graham said. "Regina, is this sheriff business?"

Regina had the gall to act offended at the implication that it might be anything else. "Would I be here otherwise?" she sneered.

"Then whatever you have to say you can say in front of my deputy. The business of this office concerns her too."

Emma turned slowly back to the pair, eyebrows raised as she looked up at Graham. He glanced sideways at her and gave her a slight nod which for some annoying reason, made Emma smile. Both then turned to the mayor who, somewhat taken aback by Graham's ballsy retort, was glaring at him contemptuously.

Any other day, she might have dragged the sheriff by the ear back to his office and threatened his very livelihood, but the danger Regina's visitor portended this morning left little time or room to object to the pest problem that was Emma Swan. Besides, she had a feeling that this woman was just as distrusting of men as she was, which would serve this particular errand well. "Fine," Regina waved her hand dismissively. "I suppose she will have to help you with this anyway."

"What happened?" Emma asked, folding her arms over her chest.

Regina glared at her, then – pointedly – turned fully to Graham. "I'm here at the request of Kathryn Nolan."

Emma's whole body went stiff. "As in David Nolan?" she asked, her interest piqued.

Regina turned. "Yes, Miss Swan. I want him followed."

"What?" Graham asked, incredulous. "What for?"

"Mrs. Nolan is quite concerned for her husband. He was spotted in West End last night."

"The same chap who was at your house for dinner last night?" asked the sheriff.

"Spotted by who?" Emma added.

Regina rolled her eyes. "Does it matter, Deputy? A close friend of both mine and Kathryn saw him late last night wandering into Garçon's bar, dealing with some highly…suspicious characters. She's very concerned that he will lose his bearings again as he continues to recover his memory, and she cannot keep track of him all the time."

"I thought he had recovered his memory," he countered, remembering the jubilant blonde at the manor last night, simply bubbling over with excitement that her husband had finally remembered their wedding day.

"He has, but only in part."

"So you want me to follow him," Graham angled his head thoughtfully, thumbs tucked through his belt loops, his brow still furrowed in confusion.

"Yes," she hissed as if her request were perfectly reasonable.

"Regina, I can't justify tailing someone simply because his wife doesn't want him hanging out in a bar. She'll need a private detective for that."

"The charter states," she countered shrewdly, "that this office is charged with the responsibility of protecting the citizens of Storybrooke, is it not?"

"Protecting them from what, alcohol?" he asked with a slight chortle. "Unless there's suspicion of wrongdoing, we can't harass an innocent man."

Regina started to fume. "For God's sake, Graham," she spluttered. "I don't want you to arrest him. I don't even want you to talk to him. Just follow him and make sure that he's…where he should be." She was not accustomed to this much opposition from the sheriff. Privately, she wondered if she should have offered him another slice of pie.

"Is there suspicion of wrongdoing?" came Emma's voice into the middle of the quarrel.

Regina started and, for the first time, really looked at Emma. What she saw surprised…and then impressed her. Emma was…curious – no, she thought. On alert. Could it be they shared a common enemy in 'David'? "No," she treaded carefully. "But in the case of police protection," she turned back to Graham, "it is ordered when one is a danger to himself or to others. And is he not a danger to himself if he's wandering around West End where he doesn't belong?"

Graham looked between the two and was startled to find no opposition or doubt in Emma's expression. Sensing suddenly that he was outnumbered , he threw his hands up in surrender and conceded. "Fine. We'll tail him for a few days and report any…sordid activity."

"Good," Regina replied. Without another word, she spun on the heels of her black stilettos and clacked out of the station.

Graham shook his head, blew out a sigh, and picked up the clipboard on which he and Emma had drawn up the day's list of complaints. "Looks like you'll have to handle all of these today."

Absently, she took the clipboard, but was staring in the direction where Regina had just stalked out. "Why?" she asked, leaning against the edge of the desk.

"You heard the mayor," he grabbed his keys and pulled on his jacket. "I have to spend my entire day following this poor chap around."

Emma glanced down at the clipboard in her hand, tapping the edge of it against the crease of her palm. "You don't think it's strange that he ended up in West End?"

He shook his head. "It's a pub, Emma. Men like pubs."

"But you said he'd regained some of his memory last night. Don't you think he'd rather be at home with his wife?"

He looked at her, increasingly curious at the singular interest Emma had in this case. In fact, now that he thought of it, she'd prickled up as soon as Regina mentioned David's name. "Emma, the guy's just come out of a coma. He's confused, sure. But he's not a 'danger' to himself. Regina's just…overreacting."

Finally, Emma looked up at him. "You think so?"

He sighed. "Yes. Regina doesn't have…many friends. In fact, Kathryn Nolan is probably the first real friend she's had since—"

"Since you?" Emma countered, unable to help herself.

Graham looked down, though he wasn't surprised by the comment. He certainly deserved it. "She's just…over-cautious."

Emma continued to mull it over in her head. The expression on Regina's face didn't look over-cautious. In fact, she looked downright pissed, and seemingly threatened by news of David's activity in Garçon's. Perhaps she too had seen David with Henry and worried what his motives might be. As much as she hated to admit it, she and the mayor, it seemed, shared the same trepidation over Storybrooke's recovering amnesiac. "I'll do it," she pushed herself off the edge of the desk, coming to a decision.

Graham blinked. "What?"

"I'll do it. I'll tail him."

He simply gaped at her. "Are you joking? You'll be bored out of your mind."

"So?" she reached for her bomber jacket and shrugged it on, shoving the clipboard back into Graham's hands. "No more bored than I'll be checking Roger Edgar's wrecked Christmas display or the graffiti on Anita's porch."

But Graham wasn't fooled. "You really think there's something to this, don't you?"

She sighed. "I don't know. But I wanna find out."

"I don't see why you can't at least speak with my father before you ask for a job from a man who might not even have one for you," Kathryn gestured up at the big black lettering above Collodi's front entrance.

James let out a frustrated sigh, clenching his hands into fists inside the pockets of his coat, as white puffs of air hissed out from his nostrils. Winter had arrived virtually overnight, just in time for the beginning of December. And while snow had not fallen as of yet, he could already smell the crisp coolness of it in the air. "Kathy, we've been through this," he said, trying not to appear too annoyed with her. "Banks and investments just…aren't me."

"Of course they are!" she replied with a disbelieving laugh. "David, you were going for an M.B.A. before your accident. Banks and investments are certainly more your thing than this. You don't know the first thing about fixing a car."

It was a true enough argument and James had to really think for a moment how to counter it. She was right, unfortunately. He still hadn't gotten used to those infernal machines, and – without ever having had David's memories of this world – could barely drive them let alone fix them. Interest in cars, of course, was just a cover though. He needed a better pretext that would allow him to work closely with Geppetto and Thomas. And he couldn't very well reveal that to Kathryn.

Softening his approach, he stepped forward and smoothed his hands down her arms. "Look," he said warmly. "He's a good man and can do so many things. I like him and I think there's a lot he can teach me."

She frowned up at him, but didn't reply, glancing back at the sign above the door.

"Besides," James continued, lifting her chin to meet his gaze again. "I think we both know that me working for your father is a bad idea."

At this, Kathryn struggled to suppress a knowing grin and eventually failed completely as a radiant smile lit her face. "I think that's the most you've sounded like yourself in weeks," she said, her eyes glistening. She pushed herself up to him on her tip-toes and kissed him fully on the lips.

James was a little shocked by the advance but had gotten quite good at counting to five and then gently releasing her without revealing any sign that he detested the feel of Abigail's lips on his own. "Go on. You'll be late for work."

She flashed him mock pout and then another grin. "Well…good luck sweetie." She gave him another quick peck on the cheek and then scurried off. James watched her go and was careful to preserve the display of affection he hoped enough people walking about on the square could see. He was getting more than a little nervous about the prospect of just how many poor souls in Storybrooke were the queen's eyes and ears. The more Kathryn and David Nolan were seen in public, the better.

Finally, he turned toward Collodi's entrance and clasped the metal handle, ready to pull. But just as he was about to step inside, something prickled at the back of his neck and he whirled around, sensing someone behind him. His head darted up and down the street but there was no one there. He turned back to the door but the feeling remained, and again he peered across the street, noting a couple parked cars along the square, though they were pulled up next to meters and without occupants. All seemed as it should be in Storybrooke. Shivering slightly, attributing it to a chill in the air, he pushed through the door, walked up to Geppetto's counter and rang the little bell.

"I'm sorry my friend, but you have me confused with someone else," Marco insisted as he continued to stare, wide-eyed at the sketch in front of him. "I wouldn't know the first thing about how to craft something like this." The old Italian could barely believe how he even ended up in this silly debate and shook his head – half frustrated, half amused.

Seeing David at the counter this morning, Marco had assumed the young man was there simply to retrieve the exquisite mobile he'd left for repair. And he did, indeed, pick up the package. But within the span of an hour, this increasingly perplexing (though entirely charming) John Doe had convinced Marco to hire him on as an extra pair of hands. David had noted that the hanging shelves in the corner were piled quite high with orange-tagged items and, though he admitted to having absolutely no knowledge of automobiles, assured Storybrooke's resident Mr. Fix-It that he could be useful in helping Marco out with the repairs. Given that Marco had been thinking just this morning that he was stretched too thin between the garage and repair shop without a true apprentice, he took David's offer as a godsend and hired him on the spot.

Now, a few hours after lunch and flanked by his new hire and his part-time garage-hand Sean, Marco gaped at the mind-boggling drawing of an item Sean was trying to commission. The young man had arrived late that afternoon as was their arrangement on Saturdays so that young Sean could wait for Ashley to return from the morning shift at Granny's and take Alex off his hands. Usually, Sean went straight to work in the garage, helping out Leroy with the various oil changes and tune-ups that were scheduled. But today, he'd walked straight up to Marco, seemed to need absolutely no introduction of David, and had slapped down this incredibly peculiar sketch in front of the old man's eyes. "I know you have it in you, Marco," Sean was saying now, placing a supportive, though firm hand on the man's shoulder. David, resting his folded arms on the countertop across from them, concurred whole heartedly.

"If anyone in town can do this," James added, "it's you."

"But as I told you before gentlemen: I am not a craftsman."

Thomas looked up at James and flashed him a sardonic smirk. "Nope, I'm not buying it, are you David?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Mr. Herman—" Marco tried.

"After seeing the work you did on this?" James gave the box which held Snow's newly repaired unicorns a gentle pat. "Not a chance."

"But that was a repair," Marco insisted. "I have never built anything from scratch. And if I did, I certainly would start with something like this. I don't even think it's possible, Sean. This—" he thrust his forefinger at the charcoal drawing— "is the stuff of fairy tales."

Both princes shared knowing glances, each aware that the irony in Geppetto's choice of words was completely lost on the poor craftsman. Still, the phrase punctuated the lively debate with an awkward silence as Thomas cleared his throat and softened his tone.

"That's true, Marco," he said. "And that's exactly what I want for Ashley. A fairy tale."

Marco cocked his head to the side and peered at his young employee, remembering the day Sean came to him, much as David had today, and begged him for a job. "I have a family who needs me now," he'd pleaded. "I need to be able to support them." It had impressed Marco from the start how committed he was to his girlfriend and new baby girl. And he could tell instantly how much Sean truly loved Ashley. He looked back and forth between the men at his counter, each with eyes twinkling brighter than the other and rolled his own eyes, knowing surrender was imminent. With a shrug and a smile, Marco took a deep breath and gave in. "Very well, gentlemen. I will see what I can do."

Emma's eyelids were growing quite heavy as she sat parked across the square in the unmarked green sedan Graham had given her. He had mentioned that it seemed a bit overkill to go as far as using a new vehicle, but at the time, Emma insisted that David would spot a squad car and would probably recognize her yellow buggy. Knowing she would brook no opposition, he'd handed over the keys.

Now, as she rubbed her hands together against the cold and continued to stare at Collodi's storefront as she had been doing for the past 6 hours, she was starting to wonder if maybe Graham had been right all along. Maybe the mayor was overreacting (it certainly wouldn't be the first time). Glancing down at the time on the dashboard, Emma felt like an absolute fool. What was it about this man that bugged her so much? How had she let Regina of all people convince her that there was anything worth investigating about this poor guy who was just trying to put his life back together? This morning, she'd observed a perfectly normal and – actually – quite sweet exchange between David and his wife outside the store. He'd even kissed her good-bye and smiled after her. Oh yes, Emma – she'd thought sarcastically – very suspicious indeed. At around noon, she'd seen David head across the street to Tony's Deli, but had returned almost immediately after retrieving an order of sandwiches. It seemed as if the town's John Doe had gotten himself a job at the local garage, for he remained inside the rest of the day.

She was about ready to call it a day and was working up the humility necessary to go back and admit to Graham that he was right, when she saw Collodi's open up again and David step outside. She shrunk down in her seat, gripping the steering wheel as she peered through the open space between it and the horn. He had his coat on now, zipped snugly to the collar, and was carrying a box under his arm. He turned and immediately started walking, which told Emma that he was not expecting Kathryn to drive by with a ride any time soon. She continued to glare as he stepped briskly along the sidewalk, turning down a back alleyway that, Emma knew, was a shortcut to Granny's. She groaned, for this was an alley down which no car could squeeze. Pulling on her gloves, she flung open her car door, jogged across the street and stopped just short of the alley. He was almost to the other end, and Emma carefully sneaked a look around the corner, using the dumpster parked along the side wall to shield herself from her view. Pulse quickening, she watched as David halted in the alleyway, turned back toward the street and stared in her direction. But Emma was not worried. She knew she could not be seen. And eventually, David spun back once more and turned around the corner and out of sight.

With a light chuckle, Emma took the opportunity to follow David's path down the same alley. He had turned right which meant he was probably going to Granny's. This was the lucky break she'd needed for she could allow herself to be seen in Granny's under the pretense of grabbing some coffee. Perhaps she might even strike up a conversation with him and find out—

"Looking for someone?"

Damn.

The voice came from behind her as she emerged on the sidewalk. Her whole body jerked in surprise but she didn't turn around right away. Slamming her eyes shut, mortified by having made such classic, amateur mistakes, she slowly turned and cringed.

There he was. David. Leaning his back against wall, one knee bent with his shoe propped up on the brick behind him. He was smirking at her, but the expression in his eyes was deadly serious.

With a deep breath, she regained her composure and noted the box still tucked protectively under his arm. "What's in the box?" she asked.

He glanced down at it, seemed to consider the matter, then looked up again. "A gift."

"For who?"

Again, he paused and seemed to think. "My wife," he answered.

Judging from his behavior with Kathryn earlier, Emma supposed this was possible. But there was something deceptive in his tone, and her pulse quickened with excitement at the renewed thought that he really was hiding something. "Mind showing me?"

"Why are you following me, Emma?" he asked, not taking his eyes from her as he pushed himself off the wall and approached.

Emma gulped and cleared her throat. His gaze was intense and had prompted that same unsettling feeling she'd felt when they last spoke – like he could see right through her. "The um…" she fumbled for a moment. "The sheriff's office has been asked to…look afteryou. Make sure you don't end up on the…wrong side of town while you're still getting your memory back."

David stopped right in front of her, the corner of his mouth lifting a bit as he cocked an eyebrow. "And Collodi's is the 'wrong' side of town?"

"Well…no," she admitted, crossing her arms defensively. "But there was some concern that you were spotted at Garçon's last night and—"

"What?" he snapped, and in an instant his whole posture had changed. "How do you know that?"

Emma physically jerked backwards then recovered. "Look, you have a whole lot of people out there who are concerned for you, Mr. Nolan. The mayor herself came and made the request this morning—"

"The mayor?" he cried, even more alarmed. Emma watched as he rolled his eyes toward the sky and shook his head. "Regina asked you to tail me."

She nodded. "At the request of your wife, yes." He sighed, glancing down at his gift as sorrow filled his eyes. His reaction continued to confuse her. She was convinced now that he was hiding something…but she wasn't entirely sure it was bad. "Look…" she took a step closer, "I'm sure your wife is just worried about you—"

"Kathryn knew I was at Garcon's last night, Emma," he replied, his gaze fixed on hers again. "She gave me directions."

Emma's jaw dropped, and she stared at him. "She gave you—then…why would Regina—"

"I don't know," he said gravely. "But I think that's a question for her don't you?"

Emma didn't reply, merely nodded as she searched her brain for clues that any of this made sense.

"I appreciate your concern, Deputy," he said quietly, and for some crazy reason, the sudden formality in his tone bothered her. "But I'm not the one who needs following." She stood there slightly stunned and he held her gaze a moment longer. Both seemed to sense there was so much more that could be said here, but in the end David gave her a cursory nod and headed off toward Granny's.

He was practically out of earshot before she finally got hold of herself and ran after him, feeling suddenly as if she'd regret it forever if she didn't. "David," she yelled. He stopped and turned. She caught her breath, darting her eyes back and forth between his eyes and the gift. He stood waiting…patiently. Almost…hopeful? Giving in to the prescient voice in her head, she asked again: "What's in the box?" She knew it was the same question as before but she had to say something. And she had a feeling that this time, she might get a real answer.

He glanced down once more at the package tucked safely against his side and then casually up the street toward Granny's. "Tell you what," he said. "Lemme buy you a cup of cocoa and I'll show you."

Emma started. "Cocoa? How did you—"

But David just smiled and, slightly hypnotized by the cryptic tone in his voice, she sighed and said, "Fine."

"David!" Emma called after him. "Do you mind telling me why we had to come out here just to look inside that thing?"

James grinned and shook his head, trudging laboriously against the currents of the winter wind that thrashed the lake against the shoreline in the distance. It had been a gamble, he knew, insisting they come out to Henry's castle after getting cocoa at Granny's. She could have very well refused and figured 'to hell with it' – a phrase he had heard quite often in this world. But James was getting to know his daughter rather quickly. In many ways, it was like talking to himself. She had the same unwavering curiosity and unfailing stubbornness as he did, and he'd seen as much in Henry as well. So though he could not be close to her like he wanted, it was comforting to know there was much they already shared. Reaching the castle at last, just as the wind died down, he set the box down next to one of the wooden posts, rubbed his two gloved hands together and blew hot puffs of air into his cupped fist. "Well, I've got people spotting me all over town now, haven't I?" he said pointedly as she reached him. She stood beside him, gripping one of the upper platforms with her right hand while her left rested on her hip. The skepticism in her face almost made him laugh – she looked so much like Snow. "Believe me," he tapped the box with his shoe, "this is not something I wanna be showing off to every passerby stopping at Granny's for coffee."

She was tapping her foot impatiently, deepening the imprint her boots made in the sand. "You know, this secrecy only makes you look more suspicious."

"Of what exactly?" he countered, crouching down to remove the tape on the flaps.

Emma opened her mouth and shut it again, realizing she had no answer.

"Uh huh," he chuckled. "That's what I thought."

"Would you just hurry up?" she bounced a little bit, squeezing her arms against the cold. "I'm starting to wish I'd never asked."

James paused in the middle of ripping up the tape. "No you're not."

She looked at him sharply. "Oh so now you think you know me?"

"I'm starting to."

"You don't know anything about me—"

"I know you're not the type to just blindly follow orders without question," he cut in, leaning back on his haunches and resting his arm atop his knee. "You and I both know that request didn't come from Kathryn this morning. So ask yourself: if the mayor isn't just helping out a friend, why would she care about me being in West End?"

The accuracy of his assessment annoyed the hell out of her, and Emma huffed out a frustrated sigh, rolling her eyes as she grasped at straws for an answer. "Because she's…the mayor. And—" she remembered triumphantly, though she couldn't quite believe she was actively defending Regina, "She was your emergency contact. Maybe she's—"

"Worried about me?" he said with a laugh. "Do you believe our mayor capable of such compassion?"

Emma harrumphed again but didn't answer.

"Admit it," James pulled the rest of the tape off the lid. "You're not here for Regina. You're here because you're curious."

"So what if I am?" she snapped back, looking down…and then she gasped. For James had just pulled out the single most beautiful adornment she'd ever seen: a collection of glass unicorns, blue and clear, dangling from two cross-beams held together by a modest hook. It was mesmerizing, and exquisite…and familiar.

James held his breath, noting her reaction. There was no reason Emma should recognize the mobile. The poor girl had never spent any time in the lovingly prepared nursery before they'd had to send her through the wardrobe. Nevertheless, he knew it was a powerful symbol of both his and Snow's love, a love that had resulted in this beautiful, strong woman before him. It was powerful enough to wake James from his own slumber. Maybe…just maybe…

"That's…" she whispered, crouching down beside him which shielded her a bit more from the wind. "That's beautiful." Cautiously, she reached forward, lifting one of the blue unicorns against her palm as it floated toward her with the wind.

"Exactly what I said when I first saw it finished." James smiled, thankful for the swiftness of the wind, for it excused his bleary eyes.

"Where did you get it?" she asked, still marveling its shape.

"From the finest craftsman I know," James said softly, almost to himself.

Emma turned to him. "From Marco?"

He shook his head. "Not…exactly." The response was cryptic, he knew, but Emma was too overwhelmed by the gift to really notice.

She studied it for what seemed like hours, hypnotized by its singularity. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like this," she said.

James shook his head. "You wouldn't have. It's one of a kind."

Finally, Emma seemed to snap back to reality. "You remember that but you couldn't remember your own marriage?"

James frowned a bit as he gently positioned the hook over the box and guided the strands back down. "It's complicated," he said simply.

Her breath hitched in her throat as something gripped her heart, and it took a few seconds for Emma to realize what it was: regret. She was actually sad to see the beautiful gift get packed away again. She'd never in her life felt so drawn to an object…except perhaps her baby blanket. But there was an explanation for that. As she watched him handle the hook, she realized something. "Isn't that…like, a decoration for a crib?"

"A mobile, yes," James said, resealing the box. He hoisted it up carefully as they both stood once more.

"So are you and…I mean is Kathryn…expecting?" she asked.

James blinked, having of course anticipated such a question, though he'd still not thought up a reply. Honesty, he decided. And he answered. "No."

Emma's brow furrowed. "But you're…trying," she tried tentatively.

"Trying?"

"To have a baby!" she said exasperated, and her hands went instantly to her hips.

James frowned and sighed deeply. He'd been uttering half-truths all day, and it pained him to have to be so equivocating. But there was no way around it for now. "My…wife and I hope…one day…to be a family, yes."

Emma's eyes narrowed, and she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. They were silent a few moments, and she was about to reply when the CB radio she had clipped to her belt started to gargle. "Emma!" came Graham's garbled voice. "Emma come in."

They stared at each other and then David nodded toward the radio, indicating that she should answer it. So she picked up the receiver and brought it to her mouth. "What is it, Graham?"

"I think your um…other assignment will have to wait," came the sheriff's voice. Emma rolled her eyes as David chuckled.

"Why?"

"I got a report of some kids shoplifting at the drug store. I…think this is something you'll wanna see."

She sighed and looked again to David who seemed only too willing to leave her to her work. "I'll be right there," she submitted, and clicked off.

"Well," James in mock disappointment. "Looks like you'll have to continue tailing me another time." And with that, he started to leave.

"You know," she turned to him, "when Henry first knocked on my door, I warned him I had a superpower."

At the mention of his grandson, James turned back around. "Is that right?"

She nodded. "I told him that I can tell when someone is lying."

James did not reply immediately. Instead he looked away, gazing toward the afternoon sun that now glistened over the horizon.

Emma watched him carefully, still trying to figure out what he was hiding. But in his eyes…she saw only sadness.

He looked back at her and shook his head. His heart was aching and his hand twitching as he resisted the urge to reach for her. "I would never lie to you, Emma," he said, his voice raw and full of emotion. "But you're not ready for the truth." Without another word, he trudged away, leaving his stunned and speechless daughter on the shores of what should have been their home.

***Sorry this one took so long, but as you can see…it's um…really long! Thanks to KayleeThePete for the shout out in her latest chapter and to all of you who have been so good for my soul! More Belle coming up in Chapter 13 as well as my little take on Hansel and Gretel! (and of course…more Snow, Charming, Emma and maybe some Jiminy soon!)***