A/N: As always, thank you to all who have read this story. I can't tell you how happy each review, follow etc. makes me, and your amazing response to the last chapter completely bowled me over.
OnceUponAChloe: Yes, it was David's house. More on that in the next chapter...
Dad.
It's been six years since Emma saw him. Six years. Six years of growing up and falling down, of thieving and job-hunting, of loving and losing and failing. But none of that seems to matter right now.
She is five years old again, Daddy reading her stories in his tired, rough voice after a twelve hour shift, weaving tales in the night to chase away her nightmares.
She is twelve years old and she duels with her father, their movements lithe and powerful after years of practice, Nicko and Eva watching from the shadows.
She is thirteen-almost-fourteen and Dad drives her over to a classmate's party. Later, when Emma comes home with tear-filled eyes, he draws her into his strong embrace, threatening to take out his sword and confront the lot of them and telling her that she's better than they'll ever be.
She's fifteen and she watches her parents drive away. Emma smiles. They'll be back soon.
She is eighteen again and has just killed a dragon, has seen her dead brother and sister and met her unknowing mother. She presses her lips to her father's forehead and stares into the Queen's murderous eyes, fire burning through her veins.
And still, impossibly, amazingly he's here.
Alive and awake and here, and suddenly Emma doesn't feel so afraid anymore, suddenly she isn't alone.
And she's also so scared; Emma, Dad said as he stood in front of her. He remembers, doesn't he?
She doesn't know. She can't tell.
Please let him remember.
Please.
She won't be able to bear it if he doesn't. Something will crack, and she's already so broken, already such a fragile shell held together by threads of loss and determination and guilt that she will shatter and fall, and it will be another age before she's able to put herself back in one piece again.
Please let him remember.
(But if he remembers, he'll ask about Nicko and Eva. If he remembers, she'll have to tell him they died.)
That doesn't matter, she tells herself. All that matters is that Dad is awake.
She takes a hesitant, disbelieving step towards the bars.
Her mouth opens. A trembling, broken whisper is all she can manage.
"Da-"
"Oi," Graham shouts from the back of the station, interrupting her, covering the last whisper of the word as it fades into nothing. "What's got into you, Nolan?"
Dad doesn't respond, doesn't break his gaze. He's staring at her like he can't believe she's here, like he doesn't believe she's here, and Emma knows that she's wearing the same expression, wary and vulnerable and full of fragile hope.
"David?"
Graham walks over to them, eyeing her father worriedly.
"She familiar or somethin'?"
Her father turns to Graham like he's heard him for the first time and looks at him with uncomprehending eyes.
"What?" His voice is hoarse.
Graham sighs and rubs his hand roughly across his face before blinking at his deputy wearily. "Do you know her?"
"I-"
Before he can respond, Emma jumps in. "No. He doesn't."
Both men turn to her but Emma keeps her eyes on the sheriff, afraid of seeing her father's face after what she just said. She forces a smile, even though it feels like the most difficult thing she's ever done."
"Aren't you going to let me out now?"
Graham looks at them both suspiciously, clearly picking up on the fact that at least one of them is not telling him something.
"Well, now -"
"Let her go, Graham."
Emma freezes, glancing over at Dad. He's looking at Graham, his expression hostile. For the barest second, he glances over at her. His eyes are empty.
And her heart drops.
But then he nods.
It's a tiny movement, an up-and-down shake of his head that only she can see, and she knows.
He remembers.
He remembers, and he's helping her out, saving her from herself, saving his daughter from anything that would threaten her, saving her from the entire world.
Like he's been doing since the moment she was born.
He remembers.
She smiles and ducks her head, a tear slipping down her cheek.
It'll be alright now. Everything will be alright.
For one second, she allows herself the weakness of crying with relief, of finally seeing a small part of her broken family again. But then she wipes her face on her sleeve and straightens, her mask back in place.
This is a battle now. Dad and her, everyone who remembers against everyone who doesn't, and they have to win, can't afford to lose.
Soldiers never go to war without their armour. Her mask is her armour. Her walls are her armour. The red jacket and the delicate keychain hanging from her neck are her armour.
Now, she needs them more than ever.
Graham rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably.
"I can't just do that; she knocked over the town sign in that car of hers."
"She can't drive a car; she's not old enough."
Emma bites her lip as Graham stares at her father sceptically.
"Course she is," the sheriff says.
Dad turns to her, a disbelieving expression on his face.
Emma winces.
She never thought about the consequences of moving ahead as her family remained frozen - and here's the biggest one of all. The one that hurts most.
With every second that bled into an hour that turned into a day, she grew; every experience in the last six years of her life helped shape her into someone new, someone who was both lesser and better than the person she used to be. But she was the only one. Everyone else remained frozen, unchanging and unmoving and believing that the rest of the world was doing the same.
Dad still thinks she's fifteen.
To him, she is fifteen.
And now, she's going to have to tell him that she's not.
(She's going to have to tell him so much more than that, but this is one of the lesser evils and seems like a good place to start.)
"I'm twenty-one," she says softly. Almost too softly too hear.
Dad hears though.
Something flickers across his expression, so fast that she doubts it was ever there at all.
"See? She's well above sixteen."
She covers for Dad then. He is frozen, staring at her like he's finally taking in that she's different, she's not the innocent daughter he left behind all those years ago. Her mask shifts into a nonchalant smile and she turns to Graham, mirth lighting up her hollow eyes.
"Yeah, and I'd really appreciate being allowed to leave now," she says, acting the part of an irreverent stranger.
While Graham says something like That's not going to happen right now, Ms Swan, Dad walks over to the desk and tosses her the ring of keys.
"Hey!"
"No need to yell, Graham. I'll wager you let Leroy out with only a warning today. Again."
"That's not like this. She's a criminal."
"Why, thank you," Emma mutters as she tries to find the right key.
"She's not a criminal. And even if there's any serious damage done, I'll help cover it."
There's a short silence during which the only sound is the clinking of key after key in the lock to her cell.
"Fine," Graham huffs. "But don't tell me you can afford it. What with your other -"
"I'll manage."
Emma looks up curiously, but the other two have apparently finished.
"Third key from the bottom," Graham calls out grudgingly, staring at the number of keys she's already tried with some amusement.
"Thanks."
The door creaks open and Dad steps forward to pull her into one of his hugs. Emma's panicked eyes flick over to Graham - he won't understand, he can't know or else Regina will too - but Dad is already way ahead of her. He catches the door of the cell and lets her walk out without Graham suspecting anything.
She turns to face Graham. "So, am I free to go?"
The sheriff grins ruefully. "Yes. No thanks to me, though."
"True." She grins back for a second, but then Dad coughs. She looks at him cautiously.
"I'll show you to your car," he says evenly, but his eyes betray all the questions he has.
"Sure." She shrugs, still acting, still wearing her mask, and walks behind him as he exits the station.
As soon as they're out, she turns to him, her eyes shining, the walls slipping away, the armour folded down. Does Mom remember too? What happened to Regina? She has so many questions, so much to say and until ten minutes ago, she thought she would have to fight this battle alone, thought she would have to carry the weight of saving a thousand souls by herself. But not anymore.
Dad doesn't look back. His eyes remain fixed straight ahead, his face folded into a frown. Without turning, he holds out his right hand.
"David Nolan," he says calmly, not noticing her dawning horror at the words. "I'm the deputy."
