~Wonderland~

"So she knew," Clara breathed, her hands stilling at his neck. "The whole time, she knew, and she tricked you into coming here."

"Yes," Jefferson rasped from where he lay on the table, his body still immobile without his head completely reattached. "I underestimated how knowledgeable she really was about my hat, and once she had her father restored, I was no longer of any use to her."

Slowly, she shook her head. For the past half hour, Jefferson had relayed to her the account of how he'd come to be in this land, not to mention Regina's deception—and ultimate betrayal of his trust. "It's because of her that you're trapped here."

"The only thing that mattered to her was escape. For them. My fate was of no consequence to her."

She's the reason you can't get back to your daughter…She huffed an exasperated breath. "What is it with the insidious queens of these realms?" She muttered rhetorically, bringing the needle back to his flesh.

"Wait!"

At his insistent plea, she stopped, her eyes locking with his.

His lower lip quivered. "Please talk to me," he rasped.

"About what?" She replied just as quietly.

"Anything. I don't…I don't want to lose myself yet. Just…talk to me. Please."

Her heart swelled painfully. Lose himself; to the madness that would inevitably consume him once Clara had finished the job. By now, stitching him back together had become a weekly occurrence, and while doing so still had a tendency to make her stomach churn…she'd also discovered that they were the only times that allowed her to truly talk to him. To learn more about who he really was; the man he'd been before coming here. A temporary peace for them both, her mind dared to admit. And apparently, even he was aware of what would become of him once her task was done.

Sighing through her nose, she retracted her hands, and the evident relief in his features had her jaws squeezing briefly.

Talk to him. About anything…

"You mentioned that you've been here before," she said carefully, "and that's why Regina sought your help in the first place. But when you speak of Wonderland, there's clear disdain in your voice, and I can't help but wonder: what is it about my world that makes you despise it so?"

He closed his eyes, but she waited patiently, giving him a chance to gather his thoughts.

"All I wanted," he finally said, opening his eyes, "was to give my wife and daughter the kind of life that they truly deserved; to provide Grace with a future that held far more promise than uncertainty. From the moment I first held her in my arms, I knew I would do anything to give her just that, and it wasn't long before an opportunity presented itself in the Clock of Evermore."

Clara's eyes widened. "You went to the March Hare's estate?"

Jefferson sniffed. "You know of him?"

"There are few who don't. The Queen appointed him Warden of the Western Border shortly after her takeover. He's as sadistic about killing innocent creatures as she is about beheading her enemies."

"Sadistic is an apt descriptor," he muttered. "My life hasn't always been what you'd consider a righteous one. Thieving can allow you to live quite comfortably for a time, which makes it a difficult profession to walk away from. But my wife and I…" He hesitated, sighed. "It wasn't a way of living we wanted our child exposed to, so we did just that: walked away from everything we'd known in order to give our daughter a life free from the crimes of our pasts. But there's nothing I wouldn't do for the sake of my family, and if that meant resorting to old habits, then it was a risk I was willing to take." His eyes squeezed shut. "Fates, I was a damn fool!"

"What happened?"

"I ended up being held captive on his grounds, and eventually, it was my wife who came to my rescue. Regardless of the imminent danger, she'd managed to find her way to Wonderland in order to save me, but…" Tears fell down the sides of his face. "She refused to leave my side, and for that, she…she ended up being mortally wounded by one of his guards; struck with an arrow from behind."

Her lips parted on an intake of breath. No...

"My wife, my—my heart," he sobbed, "—sh-she died in my arms, right here in Wonderland. Because of me! Because I was too proud to listen to her!"

Pushing aside the sorrowful ache in her chest, Clara grabbed a nearby square of gauze, bringing it to dab away the tears from his cheeks. He gasped at her touch, but didn't object, sighing as she continued to dry his eyes. It was no damn wonder he harbored such animosity towards her world, and she looked at him sadly as he bit back another sob.

"I lost her," he wheezed. "I lost her in this…this place."

"I'm so sorry," she said softly. Honestly.

He appeared to swallow. "S-so many times she'd warned me against returning to thieving, saying it would do nothing but tear our family apart. And she was right. It's my fault that she's gone. It's all my fault…"

"Your actions may have been misguided, but you were only trying to give your family a better life. There's no shame in that, Jefferson."

His lower lip quivered. "I promised her," he rasped, "as she was dying, I promised my wife that I'd always take care of Grace, and…I promised I would never leave our daughter again." Another tear slipped free. "I promised her…"

She felt her heart break for him all over again. And now you're trapped here, her mind whispered. A promise he'd been forced to break because of Regina's selfish motives. You poor man…

Reaching over to cup his cheek, Clara gently turned him to face her, knowing he couldn't move his head of his own accord. For the longest time, her eyes held his, trying to convey a sense of calm to his thoughts. She sighed quietly. Her punishment truly was nothing compared to the suffering he was enduring at the hands of two queens, and for the first time since her imprisonment, she could feel an acute steel in her resolve. Minor, perhaps, but enough to give her a renewed sense of purpose in her otherwise dire situation.

"I don't know what there is that I can possibly do," she told him, "but I want to help you escape."

His eyes never moved from hers. "What?"

"I can't stand by knowing that you were manipulated and wrongly imprisoned here," she brought her hand to rest on his shoulder, "especially when there was no malicious intent behind your motives. You need to get back to your daughter, and if there's anything I can do to help make that happen…then consider me an ally."

The disbelief in his features was something she'd never forget. "But I am nothing to you. Why would you bother helping me?"

"Because I know what it is to lose everything," she drew in a breath, "and in coming to this land, you've lost everything. I don't wish for you to know that kind of pain, so at the very least, I set things right by trying to send you home." Then she hesitated. "I just…don't know where to start," she admitted.

"Magic," he rasped. "W-we need magic."

Her brow furrowed. "Magic?"

"To make one of the hats work. As a portal. Without magic, a hat's just a hat; nothing more."

Hearing this had her discreetly squeezing her jaws. Magic would not be easy to come by within the confines of the Queen's dungeon…but in the back of her mind, she had to concede that it wasn't a complete impossibility. Not with what she'd come to know about the layout of the palace over the years. Releasing a quiet breath, she bent down closer to softly say, "Then we'll find it."

The gratitude shimmering in his eyes warmed her pleasantly this time, and she was unable to ignore the strange way her heart suddenly skipped a beat.

"It was your family?"

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

"You said you know what it is to lose everything. You meant your family, didn't you? What happened to them?"

Just like that, her stomach sank at his inquiry, and for a long moment, she could only stare at him, feeling her walls rise up once more.

"Clara?"

No, her mind whispered. Exhaling quietly, she brought the needle to his neck once more.

"What are you—"

"I have to get you back together," she pulled through another stitch.

"No, wait. Why—"

"You have to continue your work," she interjected, "so we can get you back home—"

"Clara, please!" He insisted, prompting her to look at his pleading blue eyes yet again. "Please. There's so much I need to know."

She looked at him sadly, placing a hand on his shoulder yet again. "It'll be okay," she assured. "Grace is waiting for you."

Seeing the effect those words had on him made it clear that her decision was the right one, and as she completed her final stitch, she brought the shears to snip the thread at his throat—

There was nothing she could do to stop it: the instant the magic passed through them, Jefferson's reanimated arm struck out with such force that Clara's hand flew back, and a sudden slicing pain had her gasping in shock.

"Ahhh!" She cried out, dropping the shears as she stumbled backwards to the floor, clutching her wounded shoulder protectively. The wet warmth beneath her palm had her whimpering quietly, and as she looked up at Jefferson's towering form, any trace of lucidity that had been present in his eyes was clearly gone. A prisoner of madness once more. Such a thought that absolutely pierced her heart.

Jefferson, she thought, holding her breath as he crouched down beside her, retrieving the shears that were stained with her blood.

"Get it to work," he uttered, and as his eyes met hers, Clara couldn't stop the tears that fell down her cheeks. For a moment, he seemed to regard her…and then he was reaching for one of the nearby fedoras littering the floor.

"Get it to work," he repeated, and though she reflexively curled into herself, he simply placed the oversized hat atop her head. "That is my task."

She could only stare at him, the throbbing pain in her shoulder becoming more pronounced with every passing second, and as he eased back away from her, she released a shuddering breath of relief.

"Get it to work," he echoed as he returned to his work table. "Have to get it to work…"

Bowing her head to conceal her face beneath the fedora, Clara let her tears flow freely, feeling the blood gradually seep through her fingers.

~Storybrooke~

Beneath the collar of her shirt, Lydia's fingers absently stroked over the scar on her shoulder, and she released a gentle sigh. Jefferson had remained at the forefront of her thoughts since yesterday, and despite feeling justified in confronting him over his actions…she couldn't ignore the ache she'd felt in her chest since then. He'd risked everything for the sake of a false hope, and that was what upset her more than anything. After all they'd been through, he'd been so willing to throw it all away, even for the most unpromising of chances, a thought that hurt her more than she wanted to admit.

Because you've come to care deeply for him, her mind whispered, and she closed her eyes as that ache automatically intensified.

Lifting her eyes once more, she gazed out the sliding glass door, her eyes slowly scanning the expanse of her backyard. The sky's hues of pink and orange were gradually darkening to purple, indicating the ever-approaching arrival of night, and part of her wondered if she might ever catch a glimpse of him out here again…

A sudden knock had her head turning towards the front door, and she exhaled through her nose before crossing the living room to answer it. She wasn't expecting any company tonight, but perhaps her neighbor's kids were going door-to-door for another one of their school fundraiser—

Opening the door, she froze, her lips parting on an intake of breath when she saw Jefferson standing on the other side.

Oh…Though time seemed to stop all around her, beneath her chest, her heart was going a mile a minute as those blue eyes held hers. Even with his arm still in that sling, he never failed to impress with his wardrobe, the entirety of his dark outfit reminiscent of something out of the Victorian era. It suited him well.

At the same time, however, the unreadable emotions in his eyes had her audibly sighing. "Jefferson—"

"You were right about me," he interrupted, rendering Lydia silent, "I was impulsive and stupid and…" He paused, gave his head a shake. "I really didn't think things through, and you had every right to call me out on it."

She blinked, not expecting to hear that from him at all.

"You were right," he repeated, "and what you said about doing all you can to protect Grace? Even from me? I know that you meant it, and I want you to know how much I appreciate you saying so. Really." He briefly cleared his throat. "You must care about her an awful lot to make that kind of assertion."

I do, she thought, and she wouldn't argue the validity of such a statement. Opening her mouth to speak—

"Have dinner with me."

At that, her eyes went wide. "Wh…What?"

"I know what I did got you mixed up in this whole situation, and that wasn't my intent. I'm really sorry, Lydia, and I'd like to start making amends by treating you to dinner tonight."

His invitation had been as unexpected as his admission of wrongdoing, leaving her too stunned to do anything but stare. From a professional standpoint, it wasn't the best idea to be seen in such a manner with one of her patients. At the same time, however…he'd been quite sincere in his apology, and despite her apprehensions, she couldn't help but feel flattered by his request.

"I, um…" The thrumming of her heart made her sound breathless. She swallowed, tried again. "Where?"

"I made reservations for seven at The Porcelain Dagger."

She lifted her brows. The Porcelain Dagger was one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, one that catered to a particularly upscale clientele. He wanted to take her there? "Are you sure that—"

"I would enjoy nothing more," he said, "than to have your company tonight. Please."

She hesitated a moment longer, only because… "I mean, I should probably change, right?" She glanced down at her dark jeans and v-neck shirt—her usual leisure-wear on her days off. "Don't they have a certain dress code there?"

There was the faintest softening of his features as he told her, "You look perfect."

The flush that hit her face was immediate, her cheeks burning with such intensity that he must have noticed.

But then she noticed the rise of color to his cheeks as well, and the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. "I have Wesley waiting with the car out front," he offered, "he'll take us as soon as you're ready."

It took a moment, but she finally managed to find her voice again. "Um…just…give me a few minutes."

He bowed his head towards her in a reverent manner. "I'll be waiting."

Their eyes remained locked, even as she eased the door shut, and as soon as it clicked, she pressed her palm against it, heaving a long, slow breath. Did that actually happen? She thought. Did Jefferson really just…ask me out on a date? She wasn't sure if she should define it as such, but now was certainly not the time to debate such an issue. If he had reservations for seven…

Tearing herself away from the door, she opted for simplicity and pulled on her leather jacket and a pair of tall brown boots. Giving herself one last look in the mirror, she pondered whether or not to pull her hair back again, but she gave her head a shake, deciding there just wasn't time. Grabbing her purse, she slipped it over her shoulder as she made her way out into the hallway.

Upon her reappearance, Jefferson drew up slightly, and as she pulled the door shut behind her, neither one of them spoke for a long, long moment. She had to wonder if the pounding of her heart was as loud to him as was in her own ears.

And then she drew in a breath, sighing through her nose. "Okay," she finally said.

The way his eyes slowly scanned her was enough to get her heart racing all over again. Then with a subtle nod, Jefferson also replied, "Okay," lifting his right hand to gesture toward the front door.

Taking his cue, Lydia went ahead of him, hearing his steps following closely behind. Whether this was a good idea remained to be seen, but she kept her concerns to herself as they exited her apartment building and stepped out—together—into the waiting night.

~Wonderland~

Clara's shoulder still throbbed dully, and it was difficult to settle into sleep laying on her opposite side in such a manner. Quietly wiping away her tears, she sighed through her nostrils, but then tensed up when she recognized Jefferson's steps coming toward her. Keeping her back to him, she curled further into herself.

No, she thought, closing her eyes.

"Get it to work…"

Fates, please…

A gasp caught in her throat when she felt something being draped over her, her eyes opening when she recognized something soft. Comforting.

"Get it to work," Jefferson echoed, and she could sense him hovering over her for a moment. "Get it to work…"

It wasn't long before he walked away, his words becoming fainter as he returned to his work table. Sniffing gently, Clara reached down to draw the blanket of fabric he'd lain over her up to her chin, and despite the incessant chill of the cell, her heart was pleasantly warmed by this unexpected gesture on his part.