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

Of Mice and Men

"Awake, Regina!" bellowed Tremaine as the Council of Rogues stalked through the corridors of the bastion, today's brood of villains partially depleted given Fisk's recent hospitalization and Hook being stuck at the boys' home. John, she noticed, was suspiciously missing again too, though she had more to worry about than the whereabouts of her hired hand. Regina's mind was racing almost as quickly as her heels carried her beneath the bell tower. Though she'd left the scene at the courthouse with the air and countenance of one completely in control, she was anything but calm. It was confirmed. Her precious status quo was destroyed. People were awake in the curse, perhaps dozens by now, and there was no true way to tell who. Snow and James were safe guesses, and Adam certainly, whom they'd never been able to successfully put under in the first place. And if Adam was awake, so was Belle, and perhaps even Thomas? And Cinderella? And at the center of it all – the very person prophesied to have released them all in the first place. The savior – Emma Swan.

"Yelling at me right now gets us nowhere, Rodmilla," she barked as they continued their trek past the council meeting room, through another set of heavy doors and down a flight of stone steps, deeper into the caverns beneath the town square. Why had she been so stupid? Why hadn't she immediately recognized the threat in its true form when it drove into town in that ridiculous yellow buggy? Regina had been so overcome with the standard worries of a mother in this world, frightened at the prospect of a birth mother returning for her adopted son, that she ignored what was blatantly obvious about Emma from the start. In 28 years no one had ever been able to enter Storybrooke and stay there. Emma broke through those boundaries with ease, in the exact year she'd been prophesied to do so. Like clockwork.

"Perhaps not, but I can't help but point out that had we foiled their initial application for a license in the first place—"

"Oh for God's sake!" Regina turned on her reluctant ally, scowling at her beneath the blue sconces alighting the tunnels. The rest of the group halted too: Tremaine, Circe, Gunlief and Ursula, all heading towards what they hoped to be some sort of massive base of operations or armory from which they could attack their respective realms. In twenty-eight years, it had never occurred to them that there was more beneath the old bell tower than the few chambers in which they'd gathered. After all, there had never been any need to act beyond sending an invitation from the Mills manor to share in a bewitching slice of apple pie or, in rare cases, restoring Graham Humbert to the curse. "Ella and Thomas, Tremaine? Really? Their wedding is your only concern right now? Don't you see how much further this goes? Do you think you might give up your petty little class war for a moment and look at the bigger picture here?"

"My petty little war? How about your life-long quest to make one princess's life as miserable as possible to the point where—"

"Enuf!" cried the head troll, still disguised as Mister Bridgeport, though Regina could see glimpses of his true state peeking through the human veneer – his eyes were turning yellow, and his hair was thinning out. "We all agreed on dese terms yers ago," he huffed, using his big hands to push the madams away from each other. "All uv us 'ave our own vendettas and grudges and we all sed we'd pool our magic tagither ta make sher all of 'em sufferrd. Fightin' 'bout it now won't change dat and it sher as hell won't bring dat no good prince charming any closer to the sharp edge a my knife! Now," he cleared his throat, glaring down Regina. "What is it you got in mind, yer Majesty?"

Regina gulped. Never had a troll, not even Gunlief, asserted such authority in her presence. Were she at full power she might have hurled him across the cavern with the wave of her hand and slammed him into the damp rock for even daring to touch her. Had she truly lost her grip on everything?

… I am sure it will severely bruise your ego, but you don't have, nor have you ever had any control over the fate of this curse…

Regina tried to shake Gold's taunt from her mind, but his impish voice continued in her head…

…You operate as if you control the spell. Dearie…you are its most valuable pawn…

No, she thought. No, she'd show him. She'd show all of them. Steeling herself up and squaring her shoulders erect, she turned toward the last set of double-iron doors without a word and yanked them open. Charmed torches lit ablaze along the walls of the semi-circular vault as the rogues stepped inside. Even Circe gasped in amazement as they beheld a trove of artifacts stored in small square cubbies along the wall. There was magic here; they could feel it – the queen's reserves. And in the center of the room stood an enormous golden chest with hundreds of little drawers. To their left was a stone staircase that seemed to go nowhere, though Tremaine surmised there was likely another entrance from somewhere on the surface. That didn't matter here, however. None of them needed explanation of the power they now beheld, and the seductive lure of such power had them each salivating at the mouth as Regina stepped up to stacks of golden treasure boxes and called forth a particular drawer. It opened and Regina delicately removed a glowing, beating, human heart. "What I have in mind, Gunlief," she said steadily, turning with the precious organ pulsing between her fingers, "is what we planned from the very beginning."

Gunlief gulped, licking his lips from the sheer excitement of what she'd just suggested. "Y-you mean it's—"

"We all knew this day would come," she said to them all. "And you all know what to do." She gave the heart a light squeeze, a warning to the poor soul whose heart she held and a portent for more pain to come. The act was a frightful reminder of just how dangerous the queen could be and seemed to restore a little of that fear she so loved in others' eyes as she leaned forward and said sternly, "Now get moving."

…

"Hey Pal," called a soft voice from beyond the tremulous abyss. Henry's eyes started to twitch though they remained shut. "Oh Pal, hey, wake up!" it said again, high-pitched, urgent, full of compassion. In the space between sleep and awake, the young New Gaian prince thought it might have been Snow or his mom calling to him. "Henry, come on Pal. I can't do this by myself!" Finally Henry's eyes fluttered open and focused on the ceiling above him. Shadows danced across its textured surface, and the iron rods of the bed frame beneath the hard mattress on which he lay squeaked as he shifted his weight and propped himself up on one elbow. "Mom?" he called out in a small voice, and then instantly remembered where he was…or rather, where he wasn't. He wasn't in Storybrooke any longer. That was for sure. Where he'd been taken? That was a different story. "Pssst. That's it Henry. Way ta go, Pal!"

Ok, the voice was definitely not his mother. Emma's voice wasn't that high-pitched, and it was frankly much less…perky.

"Hey! I'm down here!" cried the voice, and it was only then that Henry realized that it was sounding not out loud, but in his head…it was an animal.

Swallowing hard, Henry fisted the coarse wool blanket beneath him and peered over the edge of the mattress. In the dim light spilling from the crack beneath the doorway of this strange little cell, Henry's eyes fell upon a tiny hole – a mouse hole, chewed out of the wall, and beneath what Henry could only guess was the little entrance to his home stood a tiny, grey mouse.

"Well it's about time!" the voice cried in exasperation, though his tone was sweet and jovial.

"Leave me alone," Henry mumbled at once, and rolled back over on the bed.

"Can't do that, Pal," replied the mouse, and the boy heard tiny paws scurrying across the wooden floor.

"I mean it, rat," he replied, shaking his head. "Beat it. You don't wanna hang around me."

By this time, the little mouse had climbed one of the bedposts and padded across wool blanket.

"Aww, that's not true, Henry. Not true at all. In fact, I've been waitin' for ya!"

"Yeah well," Henry slammed his hand against the side of the mattress and hoisted himself to a sitting position. "You waited around for nothing, ok?" The abrupt motion sent the mouse flying back down to the floor, though he landed gracefully as a cat and didn't at all seem put out by the mini-tantrum. In fact, he brushed himself off rather patiently and shook the dust from his fur. Henry huffed, refusing to glance any longer at the persistent rodent. Instead, he tried to focus on his surroundings, taking a mental inventory of the room despite it being so dark. It was a small chamber, barely the size of Regina's walk-in closet at home. The iron bed was on the wall opposite the door. In the far left corner of the room stood a small table with a matching stool and a few crumpled up pieces of paper. In the other corner lay what looked to be the remains of another table and stool, or possibly a short hat rack, for there was an old fashioned cap lying among the debris. Large rods and dowels lay in a collapsed heap as if someone had thrown one of those weighted softballs at a carnival game and clobbered some strange wooden tower to shreds. Finally, beside the bed on the cold, stone wall was the mouse hole, just big enough for his unwanted friend.

"Oh, I don't think that's true, Pal," said the mouse, who had returned cheerfully to his little archway.

"It is true, all right?" Henry crossed his arms tightly over his chest, staring blankly ahead. "Trust me, you don't wanna talk to me. You talk to me and you'll…" he choked back a sob, determined not to cry again, though tears stung his eyes as the painful memories of the events that had brought him here slowly returned. "You'll…get hurt." Coward, he thought. He couldn't even say it. He couldn't speak it out loud: You talk to me…and you'll die.

The mouse seemed to pause, pondering thoughtfully beneath his archway before pattering forward. "Why, Henry? Cuz of what happened to Lucy?"

The boy gasped, wrenching his gaze back to the furry critter who had quite silently (well, quiet as a mouse after all) climbed back up iron bed post and seated himself at the foot of the blanket. "You – you know about that?"

The mouse bowed his head, placing a tiny claw on Henry's worn out sneaker. "It wasn't your fault, Pal. Not by a long shot."

"H-how do you even know?" he implored, too confused to accept the undeserved pardon he'd just been offered.

"Word travels faster among the animals, 'specially us little guys," explained the rodent in an almost sage-like tone.

Henry sniffled and scratched his nose. "Why's that?" he blinked, curiosity as usual getting the better of him. "Are you…faster?"

"Nah," returned the mouse. "There's just more of us. For every one wolf or lion out there, we got about a thousand birds, bugs and rats."

"We?" Henry shook his head. "Who's 'we'?"

The mouse straightened up proudly on his haunches. "Why Critters o' course!" his squeaky voice sounded between Henry's ears. "Protectors of the Young Ones."

The boy was about to reply then snapped his mouth shut. Young One, his face fell. Lucy had called him that.

The mouse seemed to sense the source of his grief and gave Henry's shoelaces a gentle tug. "Hey," the voice sounded softly, "Lucy came to you cuz you needed help."

"She came cuz I wasn't smart enough to figure out how ta get to Snow and Emma myself!" Henry bellowed, pounding his fist against his thigh and shaking his head; try as he might, he couldn't shake the image of Regina smiting down the poor little bird mid-flight, the lifeless tuft of blue feathers crumpled up on his floor. A few tears trickled down his cheeks as he sagged his head, resting his chin on his propped knee.

"It's the duty of all critters to protect the children of Storybrooke, Henry," said the mouse after allowing the boy his outburst. "Lucy knew that. And she knew the risks." With a squeak and a twitch of his long whiskers, the mouse bounded up on top of Henry's sneaker and then scurried up his leg. The boy drew back, lifting his chin as the mouse took its place on his knee. Their eyes were almost level now, and though the mouse's were black and beady, there was a sort of wisdom and kindness about his gaze. "The important thing now is to make sure her sacrifice wasn't for nothing." Henry gulped; he'd been afraid someone would say something like that sooner or later. Good guys are always saying important stuff like that to each other. "You've got a job to do Pal, and you can't do it if you're just gonna mope."

"Mope!?" Henry cried, exasperated. He stretched his arms out at his sides and gestured around the small chamber. "I'm in a locked room in the middle of nowhere! What kind of job am I supposed to be doing exactly?"

"There are an awful lot of children depending on you, Henry," replied the mouse, ears and nose twitching like crazy, though the voice in his head had turned eerily stern.
"Oh yeah? Like who?"

"Like him." The mouse gestured to the corner where stood the broken…table? chair? hat rack? – whatever it was, and Henry strained to see—

He gasped, nearly choking from shock. The mouse pattered back down his leg and stepped aside as Henry scooted to the foot of the bed, lowered his sneakers to the ground, and rose to his feet. No way, he thought as he drew closer to the dark corner. No freaking way! But as he inched closer, it was all too clear: that pile of wooden scraps collecting dust in the corner, what he'd taken for random debris when he first awoke, was actually a small…wooden…boy.

Henry pointed shakily to the crumpled up puppet. "I-is that…" he gulped again, "is that who I th-think it is?"

"Name's Pinocchio," replied the mouse with a sort of twinkle in his eye. "Wasn't always like that o' course. Not in the beginning."

Henry continued to stare at what he now saw was a smoothly sanded face beneath the old fashioned cap that lay on the floor. "Whadya mean?" he managed, though his gaze remained glued to the wooden doll.

"He was a kid in town like all the rest," the rodent explained, jumping down to the floor and planting himself an equal distance between the prince and the puppet. "Came over with the curse like everyone else, but then he started askin' questions. Too many questions. Just like you, Pal. And eventually he started rememberin' things. So they brought him here. Hid him away with the others."

Henry started. "The 'others'?"

"The Lost Boys," the mouse replied rather matter-of-factly, though Henry's jaw was practically dragging on the floor.

"Th-the Lost Boys?!" he cried, taking a few steps back. "Like…like Peter Pan's lost boys—"

"Shhh," sounded the voice as the mouse shook his head. "Don't wanna risk the wrong folks hearin', you know?"

"Right," Henry nodded, feeling sheepish. He bit his bottom lip, trying to process everything. "Sooooo," he juddered his gaze back to Pinocchio, deciding to tackle one mind-blowing revelation at a time. "Why is he a puppet again? Wasn't he a real boy when he and Geppetto were building Snow the wardrobe?"

The mouse sighed. "He was. That's what makes it so sad." He pattered a bit further towards the puppet, shaking his head. "Regina never could figure out the fairy dust problem."

"Fairy dust?"

The mouse cleared his tiny throat. "All the kids here…well, most of them anyway, are children who were gifted with generous amounts of fairy dust before the queen enacted her curse. Regina didn't know it at the time, but enough fairy dust in your blood offers a strong defense against dark magic."

Henry's mind immediately raced through hundreds of pages in his storybook, and he shook his head in protest. "But then…the fairies themselves, and Cinderella, and the dwarves! Why aren't they—"

"They're not children Henry," replied the mouse, and in a strange way, Henry could hear the mouse smile, though his whiskers still twitched and jerked the way a normal rodent's would. "Children are naturally more immune to chaos and despair. They're also quite curious, you know, and far more likely than grownups to have an open mind about things like curses and evil queens and magic. Why do you think they brought you here in the first place?"

Henry frowned, "To shut me up."

The mouse grinned (he knew this kid was quick), then turned back to Pinocchio. "I'm afraid poor Pinoke got the worst of it."

"Whadya mean?"

"Well, the curse works a little…differently here," said the squeaky voice, "But its primary job is still the same – to undo happy endings."

"Right?" Henry swallowed hard and stared at the puppet, not sure he liked where this was going.

"Well in town, that means fake memories and forgotten pasts. But for a wooden boy who was only made real through the love of his father?"

"The curse turned him back into a puppet?" asked the young prince, looking sadly at the crumpled mess of wood.

"Once the fairy dust soaked up as much of the curse here as it could. Couldn't very well keep him a real boy and protect against dark magic. Not without Geppetto."

Henry sighed,"So long, happy ending." The mouse didn't respond, merely nodded, which Henry took as confirmation. He crept a few more feet forward, still in mild disbelief: he stood not ten feet away from the world's most famous marionette. "So is he…" Henry gulped, craning his neck to get a better view. "Is he dead?"

"Nawh," squeaked the mouse. "Just lifeless."

Henry turned. "That's…not the same thing?"

Again the mouse seemed to smile as he looked up and wriggled his tail. "Only if you don't believe in fairies." His cryptic response prompted yet another flummoxed expression from the boy which the mouse couldn't help but snicker at. "Wooden puppets don't talk or move without strings in this world Henry. Whadya crazy?" but Henry could hear the grin in his voice. "Not enough magic here…until today of course."

"T-today?"

"Sure! You know how long it's been since I've talked to a human? You're special, Pal. You've brought the magic back!"

But Henry was already shaking his head. "No…n-no, you've got it wrong mister. I'm not the one with the magic—"

"Of course you are—"

"No, that's my mom. Emma."

The mouse just chuckled. "Well, yes. You're mom's got it too – is it so hard to believe she passed a little of it on? Otherwise, how're we standing here talkin' like this?"

Henry's mouth hung open. What the heck was going on? It just wasn't possible…was it? This little guy did seem to know an awful lot. And the rat had a point – Henry did have the gift of communicating with animals. But then again, so did Snow. And Snow wasn't magic…or was she? Henry squeezed his eyes shut. This was too confusing. When his grandma told him about his gift, he'd joked that it was his own 'superpower', but he didn't think that meant actual magic. He'd just figured he was like one of those cool characters on TV who also had strange "gifts" – like reading minds or talking to ghosts. But…real magic? He looked down at his hand and was shocked to find it trembling at his side. No, it just didn't make sense. Emma was the one with the magic. Emma was the savior.

"Search inside yourself, Young One," came the mouse's reassuring voice.

Henry sighed, feeling worse. "Young One," he said softly. That's what Lucy called me."

"That's right, Henry. And she wanted to be there. She wanted to help you. And she did." Henry turned to him questioningly, crouching down before the mouse whose compassion and empathy suddenly seemed to fill the room. "Her sacrifice brought you here." Henry looked back to Pinocchio, heart pounding out of his little chest as the mouse hopped up on the boy's thigh and pattered up to his shoulder. "It's time to stop reading about heroes Henry. It's your turn to be one."

He swallowed hard, straining his neck back to look the little mouse in the eye. "Who are you?" he whispered.

And again, he heard the mouse grin. "Why I'm the Head Critter o' course. But you can call me Mick."

…

"I think it's best if we split up," said Snow as she hobbled in her front door, throwing an overly stuffed tote of school materials and books on a nearby chair along with the coat she hadn't even bothered putting on. She headed straight for her bedroom nook at the far end of the room and started furiously pulling open drawers and throwing supplies into a duffle bag. James entered slowly behind her and closed the door. "Frederick said he could take care of Archie and Geppetto on his way home from the school," Snow continued, "I suppose one of us should go to the hospital and get Ella, Thomas and Mitchell. Do you think we should alert Doc too? I know he's not fully awake but—" Snow looked up to find James still standing beneath the small light bulb that hung just inside the entranceway, hands shoved in his pockets, with that pensive look in his eyes that she sometimes found charming. "What?" she asked, a little edgier than she'd intended.

"Hmm?" James started. "Sorry. No, I don't think we need to worry about Doc just yet."

Snow rolled her eyes, mildly irritated by the way her husband always seemed to know exactly what she'd been saying despite seeming a million miles away. "James, what is it?" she demanded.

He shook his head again. "Nothing."

She tilted her head to the side, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's Emma isn't it," she said. "Worried about her going to Gold's?"

At last, James's eyes seemed to fully focus on his wife's and his mouth curled into a half-grin. "No it's…it's not that. I'm just—"

"Then what is it?" Snow cried, feeling even more anxious now that her husband didn't seem at all to be joining in her panic attack. "Come on. Why are you not—" she spread her hands apart, each one clutching some item of clothing – "freaking out?"

James actually laughed, which might have irritated his wife even more, had he not immediately followed it up with an explanation. "She…" he shook his head with a shrug, "She called me…Dad."

The way his voice shook a little as he said it gave Snow pause and she slowly lowered her things to the bed. "James—"

"I know," he sighed, moving towards her, "I know that I should be…freaking out more. And I am very concerned about what may or may not happen at Gold's, and I am very worried about Henry and where Regina put him, and I know we have miles to go before we sleep but…" he glanced toward the ceiling now, letting out another sigh as he came to stand in front of her. "But I don't know, Snow, I also have this—" he clutched his stomach as he held her gaze – "this feeling that somehow, someway…we're all gonna make it through this. As a family."

Snow stared up into his crystalline gaze and tried to smile. After all, it was a wonderful moment between father and daughter, a testament to the strong bond that had developed between them. But…though Snow shuddered to admit to such a petty, trifling bit of envy, it had been James's moment with Emma…not hers. And it didn't change the dire circumstances that currently enveloped her family, most notably Henry, whom all agreed Regina would probably never harm but whom the queen would make damn well sure no one else would ever be able to reach. In such cases as these, Prince Charming's unwavering optimism rarely improved her mood. "James," she started, placing her hands on his forearms as he reached for her. "And I know you know this," she added as he wrapped his arms around her, "but we can't just rely on faith here—"

"I'm not," he replied quickly, staring down at her. "I know Emma…and I know you. So I know that no matter what happens," he continued, tightening his grip at her waist, preventing another objection he spotted forming on the tip of her tongue, "no matter how much worse things may get—" he paused then, and looked around. Snow's brow furrowed in confusion as she watched her prince pull away from her as if suddenly remembering an appointment or errand he needed to run. "I need to show you something," he said instead, and moved from her side.

"What?" she called after him, limping a few feet beyond her bed. "James we need to go—"

"I know, but it's something you need to see," he called back to her as, inexplicably, he pulled open her front closet and rummaged around behind some coats and beneath a bunch of excess blankets she usually stored there.

"What is it?" she asked.

At last, he pulled a square box from the great abyss of her closet, kicked the door shut behind him and walked it over to the couch. "Your Christmas present," he said with a grin.

Snow gaped. "My Christmas present?!" she exclaimed, now unable to mask her impatience. "Darling, we don't have time for—"

"On the contrary, I can't think of a better time," he countered, setting the box down on the couch. "In fact, we probably won't have another chance for quite some time so – " he gestured to the package. "Open it."

She stared at the brown packaging and then glanced back up out of the corner of her eye. "How did you even get it in here?"

He shrugged. "I had Emma hide it for me."

"In my own closet?"

He chuckled. "Curse or no, dear, nothing's changed about the way you stuff a closet."

Snow rolled her eyes, but couldn't very well argue. She stared back at the box and frowned again. Time certainly was a-wasting right now, and her husband always did pick rather strange times to turn sentimental on her…then again, it was never without good reason. Whatever was in that box, Snow knew, was something she needed to see. She looked up to see him standing patiently, a soft grin on his face, and at last she relented. In moments, she'd ripped off the packing tape and folded over the flaps to reveal a small silver hook peeking out from beneath a box full of packing peanuts. At first glance, it might have appeared to be a hanger of some sort, but Snow knew better and gasped when she saw it. Eyes instantly welling up, she gently clasped the small hook and lifted out a child's mobile from which hung a couple dozen very familiar crystal blue unicorns. "James," she whispered. Emma's mobile: the item responsible for bringing her husband back to this world. He had told her all about it of course – that night he'd walked into Gold's shop as David and emerged as Prince Charming. She knew they were both indebted to that which Geppetto had so intricately crafted for their little girl. Seeing it had restored James's memory which in turn restored hers. But Snow had never imagined that James would have gone back for it. There was no need. Nowhere to put it now. After all…it was meant for a room that was never used. "It's…" she croaked, swallowing thickly, the exquisite crystal clinking together as the individual unicorns settled at the ends of their strings. "It's—"

"It's a promise," James rasped, stepping closer and taking her free hand in his. She gazed up at him as a stray tear trickled down her cheek. He reached up with his other hand and brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. "A promise that someday, when this is all over…we'll have a place…a reason to hang it again."

Her stomach tightened, knotting together all the hopes and dreams her husband clearly shared as she looked back and forth between the mobile and her prince. There was so much…too much that needed to be done. So many hurdles left to jump, and yet – as always – amidst the most unlikely circumstances, James had managed to say exactly the right thing, at exactly the right time. They would make it through this…as a family. "James," she struggled, her breath hitching in her throat. But James took hold of the mobile himself and lifted his other hand from hers, wrapping his arm once more around her waist. "I said I'd always find you, Snow, and I always will. And the same goes for Henry, and Emma, and," he nodded to the mobile, "whoever else may come along. Because true love like ours Snow? It just. Doesn't. Lose."

Snow couldn't stand it any longer. She snaked her hand up around his neck and pulled his head down to hers, sealing his lips with a kiss as she feathered through the hair at his neckline.

James returned in kind, slanting his mouth more fully over hers and tilting her head to the side. Gently, he settled the mobile atop the packing peanuts, then cupped her cheek in his newly free hand, massaging the back of her neck with his fingers. She groaned in response, smoothed her hands down his chest and fisted bunches of his shirt to pull him closer, letting out a small gasp as he pressed her against him by the small of her back. "James," she breathed against his cheek, knowing full well they couldn't possibly take this as far as they both ached to. She drew back from him and peered up into his gaze. She longed to say something meaningful, something that would return the favor of the faith he kept renewing in her heart. But he'd said it all.

"You know," she said finally with a mischievous grin. "Christmas isn't for another three weeks."

"Darling…Since when do we do anything by the book?" he whispered and kissed her again.

…

In all the years she'd spent in Storybrooke, Belle could honestly say that she'd never seen such a sustained and lively level of merriment as that which now warmed the air of the dwarfs' old cottage. With all seven brethren successfully awakened and united under one roof, the place was alight with music and laughter and joy. Even Grumpy, who, as Belle heard often, behaved fairly true to his name, was grinning from ear to ear as he and Sleepy chatted wildly about what a 'hoot' it was to have hated each other so much as 'Leroy' and 'Walter'. Doc was busily preparing Dopey's first good hot meal in a long while, and Happy and Sneezy had set about making the cottage livable while Bashful played the heck out of their old organ. Whistling while they worked, the dwarfs had maximized every conceivable space in the place to make it more comfortable for future guests, pulling the remaining covers off of furniture, unwrapping silver and chinaware and setting the table for a traditional dwarf feast. The scene was one of sheer bliss and well deserved given the rather dull lives she knew most of them to have led. Happy especially, her trusted bookseller, could finally embody his name, and indeed the only remaining point of contention between any of them had been a rather comical argument over whether or not to surprise Snow with the news of their awakening by jumping out of the bushes or hiding under the desks in her classroom.

Of course, these festivities would not last. Snow herself had just confirmed that on the phone. The cat was out of the bag up on the surface and everyone who might be in the slightest bit of danger was headed down to the caverns. She had luckily just gone up to grab some firewood when her phone rang. She doubted very much it would have gotten service in the caves. Heading back through the cottage now, and nodding to the dwarfs as she passed, she wished very much she could join in their joy, but there was one current inhabitant of the cottage very noticeably missing: her husband.

In just a few short hours, Adam had already grown restless and frustrated with the current state of affairs. Belle knew they couldn't keep a seasoned war veteran in one place for very long with so many of his friends in danger, but so far he seemed to at least accept (if not fully understand) that his presence in town would do more harm than good. Thankfully, when the dwarfs had returned with their seventh member, Grumpy had alerted them to a private back entrance which, they quickly discovered upon busting apart the barricaded doorway, led directly to another portion of caverns where they could finally see the underground grotto and waterfall they'd all been hearing. The space wasn't much bigger than the main sitting room of the cottage itself, but it provided a healthy retreat for the legendarily aloof prince, and it was seated upon a large stone slab overlooking the blue, dimly lit pool of the waterfall that Belle found her husband, chucking stones into the basin and watching the water ripple out to the edges. "It was getting a bit…crowded in there," he said, sensing her approach before he even turned around.

Belle smiled as she perched on the stone next to him. She plunged her hands into the cool, fresh water and dried them on an old apron of Snow's she'd found in a cupboard. "Not interested in a good ol' fashioned dwarf fiesta?" she teased.

He threw her a sideways glance. "Not interested in this world at all as a matter of fact."

She sighed and looked toward the waterfall. "I know there's much you haven't seen yet, my love—"

"There's not much I plan on seeing," he said tersely. "I have no use for a world that holds its royals captive and turns its worst villains into martyrs."

Belle drew her eyes sadly toward her prince and scooted a bit closer, knowing how frustrating last night had been for him, knowing how much of this world he would never understand. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but even if we don't get back to our world—"

"There's no 'if' Belle," he turned fully toward her, his eyes as blue as ever. "I can't believe more of an effort isn't being made to—"

"Adam, that's all anyone has been trying to do since being awakened." He shook his head and turned back to the waterfall. "You have to understand that while you've been awake all this time…we have not. To us, this is all still…new."

He continued to stare toward the basin, entranced by steady cadence of the ripples from the center. But eventually his shoulders dropped and he heaved a sigh. "I know…I'm…I'm sorry."

She covered his hand and squeezed, enjoining him to look her way. "And I promise, there are some things you will like about this new world."

He grunted, but managed a half-smile. "Such as?"

"Well," she beamed, placing both of her hands over his. "For starters, there are thousands more books here."

At this, Adam grinned broadly, his wife's intense passion for literature never ceasing to enrapture him. "I suppose that's a start," he granted her. "And perhaps if the dwarfs ever make up their minds to go surprise Snow, you might get peace and quiet enough to read one," he mumbled, glancing back.

Belle shook her head. "I wouldn't count on that just yet, my dear. It's about to get even more crowded."

Adam straightened up. "What?"

"I just spoke with Snow on the phone. Something's happened up on the surface and they need to hide everyone who is suspected of knowing about the curse."

"In that tiny cottage?" he pointed toward the hovel where the sounds of the waterfall weren't quite drowning out the irritating organ music blowing from within.

Belle sighed. It was certainly a change from the massive castle corridors her husband was used to. "We're just going to have to make do, Darling," she said, trying to keep her tone light.
But Adam shook his head, stood up and began to pace. "We shouldn't have to 'make do', Belle. We should be up there, taking back our kingdom. Not cowering down here like caged birds."

"Soon, my love," she tried patiently. "Soon."

"And you shouldn't be worrying about anything," he rounded on her, returning once more to her side. "You should be safe in your suite, attended by Madame Bouche and Mrs. Potts," he took her hand in his, stroking it gently.

Belle leaned toward him with a teasing grin. "And since when have I ever allowed anyone to attend to me?"

Adam sighed. "You know what I mean. It's not right for…I'm just worried that you—"

"This baby isn't due for another five months, Adam. I won't even start showing until January. And I'm not about to take a seat on the sidelines while the rest of you—"

"The sidelines?" he pulled back, puzzled.

Belle halted mid-sentence and then rolled her eyes. Of course he wouldn't know that. "It's…an expression – a reference to a game of sport here."

"Called 'Sidelines'?"

She grinned. "It's called football." She paused and then rose to her feet. "You'd like it actually."

Adam leaned back as she slowly sidled into him, coming to stand between his legs as he pulled her the rest of the way. "Oh really," he rumbled, a devilish smile curling into his lips.

"Absolutely," she grinned, walking her fingers up his chest and then looping her arms around his neck. Even sitting down, his eyes were level with hers. She leaned into him and pressed her forehead to his. "Eleven men lining up together on a field for the sole purpose of knocking down as many opponents as they possibly can."

Adam shivered beneath her touch as she pressed a kisses to his forehead, temples, and the corners of his eyes, and he felt a renewed resentment toward the seven singing and dancing idiots inside the cottage, eliminating all possibilities of privacy for a man who hadn't been with his wife in almost thirty years. "Sounds a lot like war," he rasped as his fingertips traced up her thighs and under her apron, smoothing along the blue gossamer scrubs she still wore from the hospital.

"Very similar, I imagine," she grinned, murmuring against his cheek.

"Fascinating," he said, securing a tight grip around her waist and crushing her to him. His lips captured hers in a searing kiss before she could make the final move. Belle's fingers tunneled right into his hair, playing with those long locks of his that almost shimmered silver under the blue lighting of the waterfall. He moaned and slanted his head to one side, cradling her into his right shoulder as he brought his other hand up to cup her cheek. Then he dipped her back against his arm and rose to his feet.

Belle gasped into the kiss as she felt herself nearly lifted off the ground, the tips of her sneakers barely touching the floor of the cave as her husband now towered over her. She supposed his dominating height always served well to intimidate his enemies in battle, but it did nothing but excite her as he lifted her into him. His lips parted hers, and he drank in the intoxicating taste of her as she allowed her tongue to explore the contours of his mouth before finally coming up for air. She whispered his name, holding his handsome face between her hands.

His deep blue eyes bore into hers as he drew one hand from her waist and smoothed his palm over her not-yet swollen belly. Suddenly, as if realizing all over again that she was, in fact, carrying their child, his eyes turned sad, and he looked down to where his hand hovered. "Darling," he murmured softly. "How have you borne it?"

"What?" she blinked, her brow creasing at the abrupt change of subject.

"Nearly thirty years?" he said softly. "With child?"

"Oh…" she stammered, her stomach tying instantly in knots. "Umm, well I only found out…" she twisted out of his grasp and took a few steps back toward the pool, "a few days ago."

Her withdrawal startled him, though he supposed it was not without good reason. Perhaps under the curse, people were more willing to accept the impossible? "Still, I'm sure just the past few days has been…well, confusing to say the least?" he asked, stepping towards her again.

"Effects of the curse I guess," she said quickly, turning back to him, though her hands were fidgeting. Why did he have to go and bring this up now?

Every muscle in Adam's body tensed as he perceived the tension taking over his beloved. Something about his wife now was most definitely…off. "You mean in all that time, you never once wondered…I mean, you never thought it odd that—"

She gulped. Not really, she thought to herself…hating herself. I assumed the child was Gaston's! "Well, I—"

"Belle!" they heard, and both whirled around to see the wisest (and thankfully the most tactful) of the dwarfs standing in the back doorway.

"What is it Doc?" Belle asked as Adam huffed and turned away.

"We'd better get going if you want to be back here by dark." Adam looked up again as Belle nodded and Doc disappeared.

"Where are you going?" demanded the prince, unfolding his arms.

Belle sighed. "To get my father," she explained. "His health is already fragile, and I don't want the added worry of my absence to cause further stress. Plus," she looked away, all the worry now coming back to her as the warm, passionate echoes of their embrace retreated completely from her heart. "With so many of us exposed, I'm worried for his safety."
"Does he…" Adam frowned as he too remembered the frail but kindly Maurice. "Will he know me?"

"I hope so, in time."

Adam shook his head. "I don't want you to go alone."

"I'm not. Doc will lead me back through the woods—"

"That is not what I mean—"

"I know what you mean, and you know that it's impossible. You're a wanted criminal up there—"

"And you, my accomplice. So what?"

"Adam!" Belle shouted, clenching her fists tightly by her side as she took a deep breath. "I know that there is much here that frustrates you. I know you don't…do well standing still. But you must trust me."

The sounds of the rushing waterfall behind them seemed amplified now in the wake of this new wall between them. On the one hand, it was wonderful to see that his Belle had not lost her strength, would not hesitate to put him in his proper place or stand her ground. On the other hand…"How can you ask that of me when I know there's something you're hiding," he asked soberly.

And this time, Belle had to look away. She stared into the blue basin, wrapping her arms around her middle. "What makes you say that?"

"It's still me, Belle," his low voice rumbled again as he came up behind her. "I can sense your fear even if we're miles apart. What are you afraid to tell me?"

Belle closed her eyes and shook her head. She couldn't tell him. Not now anyway. She understood that her relationship with Gaston here had been an effect of the curse, that as a weaker version of herself, 'Rose' caved to temptation and gave up all hope of finding true happiness. She knew also that keeping it from Adam was a burden she couldn't possibly bear much longer. Her betrayal of him was eating her alive and she knew he deserved to know. And yet…

"Belle," he murmured behind her and she tensed as his hands closed around her shoulders.

With a deep sigh, she turned to meet his penetrating gaze. "You're right," she whispered, taking his hands in hers and holding them at her sides. "There is something I'm not telling you. And it does scare me to think of confessing it." She saw his eyes flood with worry, with hints of anger and fear, but she pressed on; for though she knew that confessing the truth would make her feel better, telling him now, just as she was about to jet up to the surface, wasn't right, and wasn't fair. He deserved to know…at the right time, in the right way. "I'm asking you though, as my dearest friend. Please don't force me to reveal it now. I assure you—" she added quickly— "it's not life threatening, and I'm not in any danger. But I need to see to my father now. Then I'll return, and I promise I will tell you everything."

Remnants of a beast that had been boiling to the surface eased back down as he read the hurt, the loss in her eyes. He was right. There was something terribly wrong. And though the confirmation of it once might have prompted the war lord to demand a full confession here and now, he respected his beloved bookworm too much to object. "Very well," he said as he lifted a hand and curled his fingers into her soft, brown hair. "Be careful." He looked down to her womb and squeezed her other hand. "For all of us."

…

80 hours. 80 hours to complete his fieldwork and then he could apply to the board to enter the process of becoming a certified M.D. It's not as if Trent Davis disliked being a medic. And he'd certainly enjoyed putting out the occasional dumpster fire in Storybrooke with Clancy this past year. But for as long as he could remember, he'd felt called to something different. Something that would put him in contact with more of the community than just those in a state of dire emergency. So when he'd begun the necessary coursework to complete his degree, he knew he'd made the right decision. He'd felt it was the right thing to do. The service hours available to him at Storybrooke General combined with his paramedic experience were the perfect training grounds to satisfy his ambitions. He'd had the next ten years of his life completely planned out. He'd accounted for everything…everything, except for her.

When Trent Davis first laid eyes on Dawn Charles, all those years ago now – when, exactly, he couldn't quite say now– he was completing his first round of fieldwork for his degree. Dawn was in her first year of nursing at SG Hospital and the two of them had shared an almost instant connection. Over the next four years, Trent had lost count of how many cases they'd consulted on, late night pizza runs they'd done for each other and how many times they always seemed to cross paths in town. But as often as they bumped into each other, Trent never could muster up the guts to, as Matt confirmed this morning, make a move. Something prevented him. Something he could never quite explain. It wasn't as if they were awkward with each other. They always had plenty to chat about. But regardless of how much Clancy pestered him, regardless of the way his throat constricted and his heart pounded out of his chest whenever she was around, Trent never could quite find the words to ask Dawn for a real date.

"Davis!" came her sweet, pleasant twang as he approached the nurses' station. He took a deep breath as he laid eyes on her, looking beautiful as ever with her blonde hair pulled back in a half pony-tail and pale blue scrubs decked out with Christmas beads and office flair. "Long time no see," she teased.

He smiled, tossing his canvas bag on the counter. "Well you know, tryin' to finish up those hours."

"You have to be getting close by now," she said, glancing down at a pile of charts in her hand and then looking back up. "How many do you have?"

"Oh, I think I'm uh…" he cleared his throat, "you know, gettin' close. Need an extra pair of hands today?"

"As a matter-a-fact," she let out a slightly satirical laugh, "we're a little short on doctors at the moment, so yeah. We could absolutely use the help."

"Whadya mean?"

Dawn looked around then gestured toward the locker room as the two headed away from the station. "You haven't heard? Jeez, news like this usually flies through Storybrooke. Sydney Glass left here hours ago."

"What happened?"

"Dr. Fisk was attacked by one of his patients last night."

"What?!" Trent nearly dropped his bag to the floor. "No!"

"Mmm-hmm. Adam Black. Broke out of his restraints, found Fisk in Sean Herman's room. Nearly pummeled him to death."

"Jesus," Trent blew out a sigh. "Who stopped him?"

"No one knows. The guy escaped right after. The fight actually woke Sean from his coma though. Maybe that threw him enough to run off."

"Wow," he ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"Yeah and to top it off, no one's seen Dr. Stone since early rounds," she continued as they pushed through the doors to the locker room which also doubled as a small coffee and break area. "He came in, saw a few patients, disappeared into his office and no one's seen him since."

"Holy sh—" he cleared his throat as the ever-watchful matron of the nurses' station, Maeve, breezed through the door and headed straight to for the coffee maker— "'smokes," he caught himself. Dawn wriggled her nose and winked. "Anything else?" Trent asked as he removed his firehouse polo and exchanged it for the top portion of a set of spare hospital scrubs hanging in an extra locker.

Dawn caught her breath as she watched him change but turned her head away in time before he could catch her blush. "Besides the usual chills and runny noses that follow the Storybrooke Tree Lighting festival?" she grinned, slapping a few charts in his hands. "Nah. You can join me on my rounds and if we get into anything tricky, we'll page an attending."

Trent smiled as he pulled on a lab coat. "Sounds like a plan."

The two continued to make small talk as they usually did, becoming an effective team as Dawn walked him through the entire floor of patients which today consisted of two fractured wrists, a violent flu bug and a little girl with a slight fever and a nasty cough. Dawn watched, enraptured by the medic, as he eased the girl's fear of hospitals and stethoscopes with a rousing chorus of 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.' As the girl finally allowed him near enough to listen to her lungs and take a throat culture, something familiar tugged at Dawn's own heart – almost as if she'd seen him do this before. This scene was definitely not new, she realized as she studied the girl's face, wondering if they'd treated her in the past. But for the life of her, nothing clicked.

"Here's the throat culture for the little Webster girl, Charles," said Dr. Paulsen a few hours later when she and Trent were back at the desk. Paulsen handed Dawn a stack of test results that he'd signed off on but Trent had really recommended. "Looks like you were right, Davis. It's a bad strain of strep."

Dawn smiled and glanced up at Trent. "Good catch, Doctor Davis," she said as the two headed for the child's exam room.

Trent shrugged, feeling a blush creeping up his neck. "Not a doctor yet."

But she shook her head as she scanned the chart. "Good enough for me. That didn't present at all like strep."

"I had a hunch."

The two spoke briefly with Alice Webster's mother and handed the woman a prescription. After following up with a few more patients, they returned to the nurses' station where Maeve had just gone on break. "You're very good at all this, you know," he told her as she started straightening up Maeve's messy work space.

"So are you," she said as he came around the counter and hopped up on the desktop beside her. "You were great with that little girl."

Trent glanced down the hallway, a small crease in his brow. "Yeah, I dunno. There was just something…familiar about her."

Dawn jolted up. "There was?"

"Yeah," he glanced down and started at the intense look in her eyes. "Yeah why?"

"I dunno I just…I thought so too. She…" she trailed off, looking between Trent and the corridor. But the sensation soon ebbed away and she shook her head. "Maybe I've just nursed so many little girls back to health here, they're all starting to look the same."

Trent chuckled nervously, gulping down a lump in his throat as she continued to move lithely about the station. "You know um…I've gotta be headed to the firehouse soon."

"Aww," she turned toward him with an exaggerated pout. "Off to save more lives?"

He rolled his eyes, "More likely off to play solitaire." She laughed outright, her hazel eyes twinkling as she finally plopped down on Maeve's chair and rolled over to him, resting her hands right beside his thigh. "But I was wondering," he swallowed hard, chest constricting as it always did when she got this close to him. Clancy's taunts echoed loudly in his head. Why didn't he just go for it? Why didn't he ever make a move? She clearly enjoyed his company. They'd spent a great morning together. When are you just gonna come out and admit it, Davis…You're crazy about her. Always have been… He cleared his throat. "If you get off early here, you think you might—"

"Davis!" someone called boisterously down the hallway and both whirled in shock as, sonuvagun, Matt Clancy himself came barreling toward the desk.

Trent's eyes might as well have bulged out of his sockets. "Clancy, what the hell—"

"Matt?"

"Hey Dawn," Matt hastened a greeting as Trent came around the desk to meet him. "I need to talk to you."

Abruptly, Matt grabbed hold of Trent's collar and yanked him toward an empty corridor. "Matt, what the f—"

"Listen, I need you to cover for me with Chief," said the firefighter, as he glanced up at the clock on the wall.

"With chief?"

"Yeah, I already got Rossy to cover my shift, but Chief is convinced I'm just fighting another hangover, so he's probably gonna ask you today when you get in. I told him you could vouch for me getting sick last night at the tree lighting."

"I didn't go to the tree lighting ya freak," Trent huffed and yanked his arm out of his partner's frenzied grasp.

"Yeah, but Chief doesn't know that."

"And you're not sick. What the hell's gotten into you?"

Matt shot a look at the desk to where Nurse Charles was glaring, quite perplexed at the two of them. Matt lowered his voice and turned back to Trent. "You know how the new deputy came to see us yesterday? Asking us all those questions about the Sean Herman case?"

"Yeah—"

"I saw her this morning, man. Right after I ran into you. She was—" he paused. How much exactly, should he tell? He trusted Trent implicitly, but the guy was much more of a Boy Scout than he was. And Matt could barely believe he'd even let her go this morning. "She…fought with the mayor."

Trent's eyebrows darted down. Had Clancy completely flipped his lid? Lots of people in this town argued with the mayor. Nothing ever came of it. "Umm….ok? Sooo…w-why do we care—"

"Look, I know you're not gonna believe me, but I think it's all related."

"What's all related?!" Trent hissed, looking back toward Dawn. Christ, she probably thinks I'm crazy too.

"Everything. Emma Swan, the case with Sean, that 911 call—"

"Ah, hell Clancy. Not the goddamn 911 call again—"

"Yeah yeah, like I said. You don't believe me, and that's fine." Matt waved him off impatiently, "I got a feeling anyway, all right? And I need to check some things out. So please, just cover for me?" Trent sighed and shook his head toward the ceiling. "Davis," Matt gave his shoulders a shake. "Come on."

Trent threw his hands up in the air. "Fine."

"Beautiful," Matt gave him another nod and then dragged him back to the desk. "Dawn," he said, turning his attention on the now rather perturbed nurse. "What room is that kid in?"

"The kid?" she crossed her arms.

"Sean Herman. The kid we brought in the other night? Where is he?"

Dawn looked over to Trent who shrugged and rolled his eyes behind Matt's back, mouthing 'I don't know'. "He was discharged a few hours ago," Dawn replied. "His father took him home."

Matt slapped his hand down on the station counter. "Damn," he muttered. "Ah well, he probably can't tell me much anyway. All right, you two take care and—" he glanced up at Dawn again…and froze.

Dawn jerked back under his gaze. "What?"

But Matt shook his head, transfixed by her face. Something…something wasn't…did she look…different? He looked over to Trent and started again. He looked different too. What the f—

"Clancy?" Trent nearly bellowed, totally flummoxed by his erratic behavior. Should they admit him to the psych ward in Adam Black's place?

Matt meanwhile juddered his gaze between Dawn and Trent, and then back to Dawn again. Why did she seem so…familiar? No, familiar wasn't the word. He's known Dawn for years; it wasn't that. But then again, he felt strangely like he was looking at someone he hadn't seen in ages. A childhood friend from decades past. "Did you…" he scrambled for something that made sense. Something that wouldn't sound crazy. "Did you…change your hair?"

Dawn's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she grinned brightly. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "It's a bit shorter, actually."

Trent snapped his gaze in her direction and gaped. Son of a bitch! Her hair was different. Why hadn't he noticed that?!

Matt looked again between the nurse and the medic, still not convinced, but couldn't think of any other explanation. "Yeah…y-yeah that must be it." He shrugged at last and then tapped the counter once more. "Well, it looks good," he said briskly and then turned and sped back down the corridor. "See you guys later." Then he was gone.

"Wow," said Dawn, staring down the hallway. "Matt Clancy noticed something above my shoulders. Who'd've thought huh?" she chuckled and looked over at Trent. But he was glaring down the hallway too, a strange faraway look in his eyes. "Trent?" she said quietly, reaching up to touch his hand, but he pulled it away.

"Yeah," he said lamely. "Yeah who'd've thought."

Dawn chewed her bottom lip. "Anyway umm…" she glanced up, still hopeful. "You were…saying?"

"Huh?" Trent looked down and Dawn could already tell the moment had passed.

"You were asking me something," she reminded him but couldn't keep the disappointment from her voice.

"Oh right um, I was just uh…" he sighed and shook his head. Who was he kidding? One look from Clancy and her mind was probably a million miles away. "T-try to get off early tonight. I hear it's supposed to uh…snow real hard." And with that, Trent turned and trudged toward the locker room, feeling about four feet tall.

…

When Emma first arrived at Gold's shop, she intended to slip in, get the information she came for, and slip out as quickly as possible. After all, there was quite a lot to be done in Operation Cobra after shesaved Henry and she didn't have time to dawdle. But when she pulled her yellow buggy up to the curb and saw Graham pull up moments after her and pop out the driver's side of the sheriff car, she knew that plan was moot. No way was Graham going to let her go in there alone. She had a feeling a huntsman's loyalty was as unbreakable a bond as blood.

Impatiently, Emma stalked over to him and opened her mouth to speak when the passenger door opened as well and Shane Pilfer got out the other side. "Shane?" Emma gaped. She turned to Graham. "What're you guys doing here?"

"Followin' a lead, as I suspect you are," Graham responded, nodding toward the door of Gold's shop.

She looked between the two men, Shane eyeing her warily as both recalled what had been spoken between them yesterday. Shane looked away first and things better left unsaid remained that way.

"What kind of lead?" Emma muttered, stepping over to Graham and hopefully out of Shane's earshot. The newly freed jailbird slumped over to the pawn shop window and leaned against the siding, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking aloof.

"I got Thomas to exonerate 'im this mornin'," Graham explained in hushed tones. "Was able to get 'im talkin'. He thinks that Gold will know where to find a bloke named John Foulfellow."

"Foulfellow?"

Graham nodded. "Fellow I met last night at Regina's when I went to tell her about Adam's escape," he went on. "But I recognized 'im from before. I think he can lead us to the place they took me last week. The place they took the Zimmers."

Emma gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. "Of course!" she hissed, looking over to Shane and then back again. "Where they took the Zimmers! That's probably where she put Henry too."

"Henry?!" Graham exclaimed, as Shane's eyes lifted toward their conversation.

"Yeah, Henry," Emma lowered her voice through gritted teeth. "He's missing."

"Oh Emma—" Graham started to reach for her, but Emma pulled back.

Of all the people in Storybrooke, Graham was most definitely a person she didn't want to touch right now. She'd read too much, knew too much, felt too much around him, and she wanted her head to be as clear as possible when she touched Gold. "As of this morning," she hugged herself around the middle, shivering against the cold. "And I'm betting Gold knows where."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because Gold knows everything," shouted Shane from across the sidewalk, arms still folded, expression still spacy. But it was clear he'd heard every word.

"Excuse me?" Emma came around the car, crossing her arms and clutching at her parka.

"Shane, did you—"

"Look, I'm not even gonna ask what the hell it is you two are talking about, and I sure as hell don't wanna get into whatever it is you've got going on with the mayor," Shane's eyes narrowed toward Graham, "but if there's a kid missing – " he paused and glanced at Emma, a strange sort of truce in his eyes – "then you can bet your ass Gold had something to do with it."

Emma held his gaze for a few moments, then looked over to Graham with a fresh glint in her eye. The delinquent's response all but confirmed she'd come to the right place, and without another word, she marched past them and pushed through the door.

The men followed close behind and, once inside, started inching up the aisles, making their way to the counter. Gold was not in sight, but the shop was open, according to the sign. "Gold?" Graham called out to the empty room. Shane followed at his heels, looking at the wealth of treasures stored on pegs and behind glass.

"Well well, this is a delightful crew," came a smarmy voice as Gold appeared from behind the cloth covering of his back storeroom. "Sheriff? Deputy? And my word, is that Shane Pilfer?" he pointed his cane to the man in question. "Not in handcuffs today my boy?"

"Can it Gold," said Emma. "We need information."

"How's that little artifact I gave you?" Gold asked Shane, pointedly ignoring her. "Found any use for it yet?"

Both Graham and Emma turned to glare at a flummoxed Shane. "He gave it to you?" Graham barked. Shane looked away.

"Gave 'im what?"

"Some old lamp," Graham shook his head.

Emma almost choked. "A lamp?!" she cried, turning to Shane. "He gave you a lamp?" But Shane had gone strangely silent. She looked between them, back and forth, hoping somehow that the sheriff might catch on to her meaning, but Graham seemed oblivious.

Gold however, didn't miss a beat. "My my, it seems the deputy has been doing her homework," he crooned. "Perhaps I should have given it to you. I hear wondrous things happen when you touch certain…trinkets from the past."

"All right enough. Look," Emma held up her hand, glaring at Shane, but then refocusing on Gold. "First thing's first, I know about the curse and you know about the curse, so we can all just drop the act and get down to business."

Gold gave her a rather formal bow. "Agreed."

She glanced again at Shane whose total lack awareness in the curse was undoubtedly making him anxious. Emma was banking on Aladdin's natural curiosity to keep him here even if 'Shane' didn't remember. But either way, it didn't matter; she had more to worry about than a street rat's frame of mind. "Where is Henry?" she asked.

Gold shrugged. "At school I imagine."

"Seriously?" Emma slammed her hand on the glass counter. "You think I'd be here asking if he was at school?"

"Obviously not," was the old man's retort, "though I can't imagine why you'd think I have any idea where—"

"Because you know everything goin' on in this hellhole, Gold," spat Shane, turning his anxiety on the shopkeeper, suddenly eager to join in this strange little soirée if it meant ganging up on Rupert Gold. "And a missing kid?" Shane glanced sideways at Emma, "That's got your name written all over it."

Gold, undaunted by the accusation, merely shook his head at the olive-skinned punk and tsked. "Alas, I fear I must disappoint you."

But Emma's newfound discovery this morning had given her fresh confidence in her 'superpower'. "You're lying," she said with certainty.

"Indeed not, Miss Swan. I'm afraid I can't tell you where your boy might be."

"That's all right," she ripped off her leather glove and stalked around to the seller's side of the counter. "You won't have to!" And before Gold could react, Emma's hand clamped down on his wrist and immediately, the room dissolved around her . Yes! She thought as she traversed her vortex, twisting back through time. With each trip, she was growing more accustomed to the nauseating vertigo of the visions. She could control them a little better now, she thought. After all, she'd initiated this one purposefully. Soon she would see Henry. She would get a fix on his location, a clue that would lead her straight to him and—

But to Emma's excruciating dismay, the vision landed her not in some secret cell or dungeon of Regina's but into her own past. In fact, into her own cell…almost 11 years ago. At the Flamenco Health Care Center in Arizona's Correctional Facility for Women. In absolute horror, she watched as vaguely familiar nurses and staff doctors bustled around a teenage Emma…in labor with little Henry.

"It's all right Emma. Breathe, just breathe," said that one corpulent red-head whose breath, Emma remembered, smelled like rotting paint. The woman's clammy fingers gripped young Emma's wrist while she did a failed imitation of a perky, sitcom Lamaze coach. Emma almost had to look away; this memory was all too familiar, too painful. And she already knew how it ended. As soon as Henry was born, she'd begged the nurses to take him away. Emma never even saw her baby boy.

"Son of a bitch!" muttered Vision-Emma as teenage-Emma shrieked in pain. Even in a vision – evenin her vision, Gold could manipulate the rules?

"It hurts!" cried young Emma as she shoved the red-headed nurse against the wall. "Get the fuck away from me!" Emma couldn't help but snort at the sight. Boy, she'd had a mean right hook back in her day.

"It's all right Miss Swan," said the balding doctor with the really bad goatee. "It's almost over."

"Get 'im out," moaned the young inmate. "I just want 'im out!" Forced into the role of spectator, Emma couldn't help but notice the stark differences between the pregnant teen on this exam table…and the dark-haired beauty in the Charmings' bedchamber whose bravery had saved them all. Damn you, Rumpelstiltskin, she thought as she watched her younger self kicking and screaming at the facility's medical staff. After all, she'd initiated this vision to find out about Henry and all she'd gotten instead was more evidence that she would never…ever live up to her mother.

Dragged away almost as soon as it had begun, Emma was wrenched upward and slammed into the present, staggering a few feet away from Mr. Gold and appearing quite unhinged to the rest of the room.

Shane and Graham openly gaped, both wondering what the hell grabbing his wrist was supposed to have accomplished. But Gold…Gold's brow furrowed. He stared at his wrist…then at Emma's hand…then Emma's face…and then smiled. "Well. Well. Well," he said in that eerie, slippery voice of his. "This is an interesting development. Could our own Deputy Swan be…a Seer?"

Graham openly gasped. Shane chose to keep his own mouth shut.

"What'd you see, Princess?" taunted the shopkeeper. "Somethin' scary?"

Emma was thoroughly nonplussed. Instinctively, she thrust her arm forward to try again, but Gold yanked his hand back with reflexes far shaper than those of a limping old man's. Instead, he shot his cane out in front of him like a sword, and wagged his index finger at her breathless form.

"Ah, ah, ah," he quipped. "I think you've seen enough of the Dark One's past for today, don't you?"

Finally, Emma managed to catch her breath and took a giant gulp, steadying herself against the counter for support. "I know you know something, Gold," she said laboriously, though her voice lacked conviction. She didn't know anything anymore. Her faith in her 'brilliant' plan was shot. In its place – fear. Terror. Why in the hell hadn't she seen anything? Why hadn't her visions taken her at least to somewhere in Gold's past like they did everyone else's. What good did it do her to see Henry's birth? It didn't make any sense! "Where…" she wheezed, "where did Regina take him?"

"That's the problem being a Seer isn't it?" Gold snickered, again ignoring her question as he drew the top of his cane back up to his nose and pointedly picked at a trifling smudge on its handle. "Don't always see what you want to see, eh?"

"Emma," Graham said, nervously. "I think we should—"

"I'm serious Gold!" Emma launched herself up again. "He's just a kid! I need to find him. Just tell me—"

"Wrong!" he yelled, though he somehow kept his tone as cool and calm as usual. "What you need is to fulfill your destiny."

"Hey, lay off—" Shane stepped forward, suddenly moved by the young mother's desperate plea.

"Stay out of this, street rat," Gold seethed at the boy who was so stunned by the familiar sounding moniker that he actually shrank behind Graham. Gold turned back to Emma. "You hero types are all alike," he shook his head. "Takes you simply forever to realize that it's not about you."

"Me?!" Emma cried. "This is about Henry!"

"Wrong! This—" he waved his hand up and down her form in obvious disgust, "is about you!" he seethed. "You have to find Henry. You have to save him. Henry is right where he needs to be at precisely the moment he needs to be there."

"What the hell does that mean—"

"It means that Henry has a destiny just as you have. And believe me, the boy has understood that far longer than any of you. So you'd better catch up Miss Swan, because you're running out of time. Do you truly think your little interlude with the queen this morning won't have repercussions?"

Emma gasped and dropped her jaw to the floor. "H-how do you know about that?" she asked, trying to keep it together. But there was, yet again, too much information just haphazardly shoved into her brain. Henryhas a destiny? Henry is right where he—

"Know about what?" Graham lunged for the counter. "What interlude with the queen?"

She started over at the sheriff, observing the panic in his eyes, and realized all at once what this might mean for him. "Oh God," she mumbled, feeling sick to her stomach. "Graham I—"

"Oh she didn't tell you, I see." Gold clunked his cane along the floor and started a slow stroll around his counter. "It's really a pity sheriff," he shook his head sadly. "I was starting to like you."

Emma was about to reply when Graham suddenly cried out in pain and clutched his chest.

"Emma!" he yelped as she and Shane fell to his side.

"Graham?" Emma threw his arm over her shoulder and braced his weight against the glass casing. "Graham what is it, what's happening?"

Graham started wheezing in sharp, labored breaths, a ghostly expression steeling across his face.

"What's happening to him?!" demanded Shane, supporting the sheriff from the other side.

"It's her," Graham rasped, looking up at Emma as he sank to the floor. "She's…she's got hold of me."

"What?" Emma cried.

"What's he talking about?!" blustered Shane.

But Graham stared only at Emma. "Here," he whispered, holding his hand up before her, an offering – a gift. "See for yourself."

Emma's eyes widened, peering into his gray gaze. He nodded, giving her permission. If she was indeed a Seer, he had nothing to fear. Emma took a deep breath and clasped her hand in his. Immediately a vision swirled before her and she saw Regina, still dressed as she had been this morning coming out of the courthouse. Only she wasn't in the courthouse now. She wasn't anywhere close. There were shadows surrounding her, faint silhouettes of people she did not recognize. But the gold-plated drawers behind her? Those she recognized. The golden vault. The hundreds of storage boxes she'd seen drawn in Henry's book now live before her eyes. And in the queen's hand…was a glowing, beating heart. The vision ended and Graham slumped limply against her.

"No no nonono, you stay with me Graham, you hear?" she commanded, shoving her hip against his and forcing him to his feet. "This isn't over, you hear me? Hey—" she barked at Shane. "You stay with him, got it?" she ordered and Shane immediately shouldered the bulk of the weight.

"What can we do?" she demanded of the imp, stalking over to him and bunching his collar in her fist. "How do we stop this?"

"This?" Gold gestured carelessly toward the suffering sheriff. "I'm afraid only the queen can stop that," he chuckled.

"Enough with cryptic, maniacal laughing bullshit, all right?" she shook him violently. "Just give me a straight answer!"

"I already did, dearie," Gold maintained his smooth, steady tone despite her vice-like grip around his neck. "Fulfill your destiny."

"Emma," Graham coughed behind her. She turned and saw Shane helping him fully to his feet. He was still panting but wasn't any longer clutching his chest.

"Hey," she rushed over to him, looping her arm through his as she and Shane steadied him against the counter. "You're all right?"

"What the hell, man! You havin' a heart attack?" Shane gave him a few pats on the back. Emma glared up at him and shook her head.

"No, I'm…I'm fine," Graham said shakily. "I mean, I'm…I'm ok now…I think." He rubbed his chest, as if testing it. But the sharp, searing pain that had gripped his whole body just moments before was nothing more than a faint echo.

"I saw her though," Emma hissed. "I saw her with your heart."

Graham nodded. "I know. That's what it feels like when she does that."

"What, like a heart attack?"

"Like I'm being crushed to death…from the inside."

Emma shuddered as if someone walked over her grave. She glanced up at Shane who was staring at both of them, slack-jawed and perplexed. But he didn't dare interrupt. "So…s-so what does that mean?" she looked back at Graham.

"It means Gold's right," Graham stared up at the Dark One who stood in front of them now, leaning thoughtfully on his cane. "We're running out of time."

Emma followed his gaze, stared too at the seemingly omniscient imp, and sighed. The dealmaker was right…as usual. This was about more than just Henry. Much more. And she couldn't afford to ignore it any longer. "All right Gold," she said quietly. She spun on her heel and faced him. "I'm listening."

"Splendid," said Gold as he gestured with his cane toward his back room. "Shall we?"

…

***And my tradition of FINALLY getting the chance to sit down and update only around the holidays continues as I stop here for now and wish you all blessings for whatever Holiday in December you may be celebrating, and good tidings for a wonderful New Year. There will be a very BRIEF break however, between this and the next chapter as it is already fairly well underway and I intend to keep working on it through the night, but this one was getting long, and I didn't want you to be feeling like Emma right now – she's about to learn a WHOLE lot more about her destiny…and she's taking Graham and Shane along for the ride.

Stay tuned to what Gold has in store for her in the back storeroom as well as another Al and Jas flashback I've been saving for a rainy day. And who knows, we may see more of Clancy too before the queen unleashes her next villainous plan.

Thanks as usual to all my regulars and welcome to all newcomers. If you're at the end of this and still unsatisfied, check out "A Mermaid's Tale" by sgcycle. REALLY creative take on the Little Mermaid, and a very fast read.

Ciao!

-Nikstlitslepmur***