"…and if her cough persists after two days, call me right away so we can get her back in," Lydia advised, handing over the prescription she'd just written. "This should take care of it, though. It's a very effective suppressant for toddlers."

"Thank you, doctor," her patient's mother said, shifting her young daughter on her lap as she accepted the small slip. "That you for squeezing us in on such short notice."

"Not at all," she smiled as she stood, "just make sure she gets plenty of fluids the next few days. Kelly will check you out up front when you're ready."

As she made her way out of the consultation room, Lydia dropped her patient's chart off at the receptionist's station, Giving Kelly a few brief instructions before heading back to the copy room. Earlier in the day, Dr. Whale—one of her colleagues from the hospital—had requested some patient information from her earlier that day, and she sifted through the pages of the file he'd specified, looking for details pertaining to his request.

As she did, though, her thoughts inevitably returned to Jefferson, and her gaze became unfocused as she stared out the nearby window. It had been three days since he'd shown up at her apartment in the middle of the night, and part of her still worried that he might have sustained some sort of concussion as a result of his supposed fall. It would have put her mind more at ease if he'd come into the clinic for an assessment, but for some reason, he was still hesitant about leaving his house. Thankfully, he hadn't opposed to her making calls to him at regular intervals, and, to her pleasant surprise, he'd been quite forthcoming with answers to all of her questions. So far, he didn't seem to be displaying any symptoms typical with concussions, which had her breathing a sigh of relief. Perhaps he would even agree to her making a house call later this afternoon—

"Dr. Warner?"

Snapping her head around, Lydia saw Kelly standing in the doorway…and blinked when she realized someone was with her. Someone wearing a very distinct red leather jacket. "Sheriff Swan?"

Emma Swan—Storybrooke's newly elected sheriff in recent weeks—dismissed Kelly with a nod of her head. "I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. Warner, but I was told you'd be on duty today."

"No, no it's fine," she shook her head, snapping herself to attention. "How can I help you?"

Sheriff Swan seemed to momentarily take in her surroundings before mentioning, "I was speaking with your receptionist, and I understand that Jefferson Harris is one of your patients."

Her stomach instantly sank at the mention of his name. "Uh…h-he's one of my regulars, yes." She furrowed her brow slightly. "Why? What is this about?"

Despite the calmness in her features, Sheriff Swan's thin smile held an edge of sympathy that she hadn't been prepared for, and for some reason, that concerned her more than she wanted to admit. "Is there someplace we can talk privately? There are some things I'd like to discuss with you, and I want to make sure we're out of earshot of your patients."

Jefferson was glad he owned so many button-down shirts: it made it less of a hassle to get dressed while his shoulder continued to heal. Securing the last button at his neck, he took his time as he reached for the black silk scarf on the dresser and wrapped it around his neck in a well-practiced manner, making sure any traces of his scar were hidden from view. Once he was satisfied with his overall appearance in the mirror, he drew in a breath, released it.

That'll have to do, he mused to himself. Retrieving his sling, he recalled the instructions Lydia had given him as he carefully settled his arm back in its cradle. Though his pain had significantly lessened over the past few days, she'd advised him to keep wearing the sling for at least a week in order to expedite the healing process. It did help, and as he made one last adjustment to his strap, he stilled as he stared at his reflection. The thin, dark scab on his forehead was almost unnoticeable now, and at best, he gave the appearance of someone who'd merely sprained their shoulder.

He sighed through his nose. Despite his disappointment in her refusal to disclose information about Grace, he'd been lucky. Lucky that she'd been willing to take him in that night; lucky that she'd had the skills necessary to treat him herself; lucky that…that she was still someone who cared enough about him to simply help him when he needed her most. And after the events of that disastrous night, it became abundantly clear that she was the only one in Storybrooke he could truly trust.

Though as he glanced at the antique clock on the wall, he couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't called yet. She was typically right on time with her check-up calls, but perhaps the clinic was unusually busy on Friday afternoons—

The great, echoing chime of the doorbell sounded all the way upstairs, and Jefferson snapped his head around, hesitating for a long, long moment. In his twenty-eight years in this town, no one had ever rung his bell, and he couldn't help but feel nervous over who might be at his front door now. Swallowing hard, he exited his master bedroom, striding down the hallway to the front-facing window and glancing down at the driveway below. Almost immediately, he recognized Lydia's white car, and heaved a sigh of relief. So she was making it a house call this time.

Thank whatever gods dictate this world, he thought, already descending the staircase. He'd made it down two flights when the doorbell chimed again.

"Hang on," he called as he crossed the main foyer, and even felt his pulse race a little when he reached out to open the door with his right hand—

The instant he saw her face, his stomach dropped, those green eyes immediately piercing him with an accusatory glare.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" Lydia nearly shrieked, shoving a hand at his chest. She didn't even wait for an invitation as she backed him into the foyer. "What the hell were you thinking?"

The anger and disbelief in her voice sent his mind reeling as she continued to back him towards the staircase. "Wait a sec, what are—"

"You kidnapped Sheriff Swan?"

At that, he halted, feeling himself blanch at her words. Oh damn…Deep down, some part of him had hoped that she wouldn't find out, but he should have known better. "How do you—"

"She told me," she interjected. "She came into the clinic today because she knows I'm your doctor, and suffice to say, she was a lot more forthcoming with information about what took place here the other night. And now I know exactly how you ended up falling out that window."

He opened his mouth, closed it, not really sure what to say. Or how to say it. There was no point in denying what she obviously knew to be true, and he wasn't about to insult her intelligence by trying to give her some lame excuse. So for the longest time, he just stood there, a tense silence between them as his eyes remained locked with hers. She was still wearing her white smock from the clinic—obviously forgetting to remove it in her rush to confront him—and he happened to catch the blue cursive writing over the left breast pocket: Dr. Lydia P. Warner. Funny: he'd never really focused on what her middle initial was until now. And still, her hair was pulled back from her face, giving him a full-on view of the disappointment in her features, which stung more than he wanted to admit.

"Jefferson," she said at last, her voice quieter now.

Something about that caused the ache in his chest to intensify. "Is she going to arrest me?" He asked, taking a step back. "Is that why you've come?"

Pursing her lips, she said, "I asked her as much, but that doesn't seem to be her intent." At that, he breathed a sigh of relief. "However, she felt obligated to warn me about your behavior and the dangerous situation you put her in, and honestly, it put me in an awkward position when she asked if I knew your current whereabouts."

He clenched his jaw. "And did you tell her?"

With a sigh, she slowly shook her head. "No. I'm doing my best to act in your best interests, but damn it, Jefferson: holding a member of law enforcement hostage?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, "Your actions could potentially cost me my job, so you had better come clean with what was going through your head that night."

Yes. He did owe her that much. Considering the lengths she'd obviously gone through to protect him, it was the very least he could do. "I thought she might be the answer."

Her brow furrowed. "To what?

"She didn't tell you?"

"She was pretty lax on details pertaining to a motive."

Of course she would be. Exhaling audibly, he turned away. "Grace," he said, lowering himself to sit on the third step of the staircase. "After you refused to help me, I thought she might be the only other option I have to get her back."

"Why would you think—"

"She's the reason why we remember."

At that, she went quiet, and he looked up to see the confusion in her eyes.

"Think about it," he said. "The tower clock didn't start moving until after she arrived, and that's when you started having dreams, wasn't it? That's when everything around here started to change, and you began to remember your life in Wonderland. And it's because she's brought magic to Storybrooke."

Her lips parted on an intake of breath.

"I was desperate," he went on, lowering his gaze. "It may only be a matter of time before Grace regains her memories, and the thought of her hating me for abandoning her all those years ago…" He slowly shook his head. "I couldn't bear it; I just couldn't. So I wanted her to use her magic to provide me with a hat that finally works."

"Jefferson—"

"One that could take us back home," he pressed, not caring that his voice wavered. "Away from here so we can finally be together. But…"

"It didn't work."

He sighed, closing his eyes. "No. No, it didn't. And I don't know what I'm going to do next."

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, "Magic." He lifted his eyes, seeing her rub at her forehead before looking at him. "That's what it always comes back to, isn't it?"

The skepticism in her tone had his brow furrowing. "I know you sensed its presence that night. Magic can only be counteracted by a stronger magic, which accounts for why we managed to break free from Regina's spell."

"I'm not denying that," she countered, "but I think you sometimes forget that magic is how you ended up in this situation in the first place."

He blinked, unsure how to respond to that.

"And honestly," she continued, "what did you expect to happen? That Sheriff Swan would just go along with whatever you told her to do, no questions asked? An outsider who knows nothing about our pasts? Jefferson…as far as we know, we're the only ones in town who remember anything, and we have to be careful about what we divulge to others."

"I had to at least try, Lydia. Grace is all I have, and I will do anything to get her back," he tightened his right hand into a fist. "Anything."

Those green eyes held his. "And if you'd been arrested, then what?" She fired back unexpectedly, causing him to stiffen. "Even if your daughter does regain her memories, do you think any judge in their right mind would grant you custody of her given your behavior? Or if you'd been shot that night, or ended up being killed in that fall—what happens then? You would risk leaving her fatherless after everything you've gone through to find her? Did you think ever stop to think about how your actions could impact her?"

He swallowed thickly, a pang of guilt digging into his chest. No; his heart had been so hell-bent on getting Grace back that he really hadn't considered consequences of his actions, and the realization had him squeezing his jaws together.

"I figured as much," she sighed, "and this obsessive idea that you have to have magic in order to get her back…" Giving a bare shake of her head, she bent down slightly, keeping her eyes locked with his. "I don't know if Paige really is who you say she is, but you need to understand that she's an innocent child in all of this. I want to make very clear that my stance hasn't changed: I will do whatever is necessary to protect her, even if that means protecting her from you."

A burning pain swelled beneath his chest, though whether it was due to frustration or shame, he couldn't say for sure. All he could see was the anger in Lydia's eyes, and it was absolutely directed at him. Before he could think of a reply, though, she'd already turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him behind without another word. As she yanked the front door shut behind her, Jefferson let his face fall into his hand.

Fates be cursed! He hissed to himself. He'd thought for sure that Emma Swan's magic would be the key to getting his Grace back, but that had backfired spectacularly in his face. Even with the presence of magic, nothing had gone the way he'd hoped, and now that Lydia knew the truth about what had happened that night…How could so much have so gone wrong in only a matter of days?

Worst of all, how could he go on knowing that every time he closed his eyes, he would be haunted by the disappointment he'd seen so clearly in hers?