Wishing On a Shooting Star and Thinking that a Heart Can't Lie
Now I'm long away and very far, from gazing at an evening sky
From wishing on a shooting star, from thinking that a heart can't lie
This world is gonna wear you thin, knot you up and spin you round
This world will take its aim, call you every name, trying to bring you down
—Mary Chapin Carpenter, "Hero in Your Own Hometown"
A/N: Some dialogue lifted from S2E6: Tallahassee
Timeline: November 2000, Portland, Oregon
Chapter One
Neal felt his heart thunder as he read the single typed line of text. It stood there in black ink, stark against the white paper that gleamed in the light from the outdoor lamp. "Okay," he said nervously. "I'm listening."
August took a breath. "There's a curse," he began. "And," he continued quickly, "it needs to be broken. Emma? Is the key. I was tasked with keeping her on track and you, my friend, just got caught in the crossfire. Now, I'm going to tell you a story. And, at the end of it, you're going to have to make a decision. Will you do the right thing, or not? So… Are you ready?"
Neal swallowed hard. "I guess so," he mumbled. His brow furrowed. "Did I… know you? Back there?"
The other man shook his head. "No, you were gone long before I was bor… born," he finished firmly.
Neal noted the slight hesitation, but decided to let it slide for now. "Then how—?"
"We don't have a lot of time," August cut him off. "And this isn't my story or yours. It's Emma's. I'm going to explain to you exactly who she is and what she needs to do and why it's important that you step aside and let her. So I'm going to ask you again: are you ready to hear it?"
He wasn't. Not really. But he had to admit that this stranger had him curious. And if this really was as important as August seemed to think, then… He let out a breath. "I guess I'd better," he replied. "Okay. Talk."
Twenty minutes later, Neal's head was spinning faster than his father's wheel ever had. This wasn't possible. If he'd known who Emma was when he'd met her, he would've bailed out of the car while she was driving it and hoped there wouldn't be any other vehicles on the road coming up alongside! But he hadn't known. And now…
He looked at August. "So, Emma's going to break the curse."
The other man nodded. "If you get out of her way and let her fulfill her destiny."
He started to nod back, but then a new thought struck him. "And once the curse breaks, my father's going to come looking for me, isn't he?"
"Um…" August suddenly looked nervous.
"So, if Emma doesn't break the curse, then I don't have to worry about him turning up on my doorstep one of these days."
August swallowed hard. "Baelfire—"
"Neal."
"Uh… okay. Neal. Look, I get where you're coming from, but it's not just your father under that curse. There's a whole town up there. Hundreds of people, maybe even thousands who don't know who they really are or where they come from."
"Then they're better off than I am," Neal shot back. "Because I do know. Every night, when I'm trying to fall asleep, the memories come crashing back. I've been trying to shake them for more than a hundred years and they still won't fade!"
August raised his hands in a gesture clearly intended to be placating. "Look, I get that you're upset. It's a hell of a lot to take in. But Emma—"
"Emma's going to be just fine," Neal replied. "With me." He whirled on his heel and started on his way.
August hurried to catch up. "No! Please," he exclaimed, grabbing Neal's shoulder. "You can't stand in her way. She's got to break the curse! It's her destiny!"
Angrily, Neal reached up and gripped his hand. A moment later, August found himself on the ground, gasping for air, his hand still locked in Neal's. "Look," he snapped, "I'm warning you. Stay out of our lives! I'm sorry, but I don't know those people and I do know my father. There is no way that I'm going to let him back in my life and there's no chance I'm going to let the best thing in my life go so that she can free him to come find me!"
"But—"
Neal released him. "Don't try and follow me," he warned. Then he hefted his attaché case and strode off into the night.
August struggled to his feet, his eyes on the rapidly-receding figure. He took a few steps in the same direction before his gaze lit on a phone booth. "I don't have to," he murmured, approaching the booth.
A moment later, he was dialing a three-digit number. "Uh… Police, please. Yeah, I want to report a crime…"
Emma wondered what was taking Neal so long. She traced the face of the watch on her wrist and hoped nothing had gone wrong. She was reaching for her cell phone when she heard the sound of running feet. She smiled partly in greeting and partly in relief, when Neal raced up.
"Sorry, Babe," he said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "I got sidetracked for a few minutes. But we're all good now."
"Not exactly," a harsh voice called out in the night.
Neal and Emma turned as one to see a stubble-haired police officer several yards away pointing a gun at them. "What's this about?" Neal demanded.
"We had an anonymous tip about an old case, phoned in not fifteen minutes ago," the officer said. "Hands above your heads, please."
"Wait, what?" Emma replied, not quite processing, yet, but obeying automatically. "Why?"
"Possession of stolen goods." He took a good look at Neal. "Sir, may I see your ID, please?"
Neal's hands were on his head as well, but he sighed and seemed to shrink a bit. "It's in my inside jacket pocket," he said. "I can show it to you."
"Got it," the officer replied. His partner had joined them by now and he approached carefully. He found the wallet and rifled through it. "Neal Cassidy, huh?" he said.
Neal sighed. "Yeah."
"You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. If you decide to answer questions now without a lawyer present, you have the right to stop answering at any time. Do you understand these rights, sir?"
Neal groaned. "Yeah. But listen up. You got me dead to rights. We both know that. But Emma," he jerked his head in her direction, "she's got nothing to do with it. You can let her go."
The first cop lifted Emma's wrist. "Stolen property," he said again, taking out a pair of handcuffs with his free hand. "You're both coming with us. C'mon. Let's go."
Neal turned anguished eyes on Emma. "Emma…"
"It's okay," Emma said, fighting to sound brave, as the officer drew her hands behind her back and secured them. "It's okay."
August had no sooner hung up than he began wondering what the hell he'd done. Baelfire was a distraction that Emma did not need. She needed a chance to take a break and take stock of her life and a stint in juvie was—at least, to his way of thinking—exactly what the doctor ordered.
Harsh? Sure, it was harsh. But it wasn't on the level of being kidnapped and forced into show business, or turned into a donkey, or…
He knew what it had taken to get himself back on the right path, at least back home. The lessons hadn't stuck as well as they should have, but he didn't know what other option he had. Leaving things alone and trusting Fate to have it all come out right didn't appear to be working. From what he'd seen of Emma over the last few weeks, she would exactly be open to hearing, "Hey, I'm Pinocchio; you're the daughter of Snow White, and in about eleven years, you need to go to Maine and break a curse."
Right now, scaring her straight—or, at least, getting the Dark One's son out of her way—felt like her best chance.
Only Baelfire wasn't cooperating. On the one hand, the way he'd reacted to August's story was proof that Emma needed to get as far away from him as possible; the last thing the guy wanted to do was meet up with his father again. On the other hand, he had no way of knowing that Emma would be okay and everything would be peachy once she and Baelfire parted ways. He hoped that would be the case, but he couldn't shake the feeling that because he didn't trust Fate to handle things at the right time, he was smoothing a path… so that Fate could handle things at the right time.
Maybe he'd just made a huge mistake.
He quickened his pace, heading toward the parking structure, where he knew Emma was waiting for Baelfire. Maybe there was still time. Maybe he could at least try. Sure, Emma wouldn't believe him, not at first, but maybe something about Baelfire's reaction would tip her off that there could just be something to his story, crazy as it sounded. Maybe—
He approached the structure just in time to see a police officer helping a handcuffed Emma into the back of a police car, as another cop steered Baelfire toward a second car parked in front. His shoulders slumped as he watched the doors slam shut and the cars drive off.
Looked like he'd have to trust Fate to take things from here after all.
Emma couldn't believe that any of this was happening. Not the photographing or the fingerprinting or the officers who kept asking her the same questions over and over, just phrased a little differently each time. Finally, they'd bundled her into another squad car and driven her to a different building. It had been too dark for her to get a good look at the exterior, but once inside, she'd seen a sign welcoming her to the Donald E. Long Juvenile Detention Center.
A woman in a slightly different uniform had escorted her to a small room with pastel-painted cinderblock walls. It was a less depressing cell than the holding cells she'd seen on TV, but it was still a cell. There was a bed—a mattress on a ledge built into the wall, really. Also a metal wedge bolted to the wall, and a stool bolted to the floor—obviously some kind of desk-and-chair setup, plus a toilet and sink.
By that point, she'd been so exhausted that she'd kicked off her shoes, stretched out on the mattress, and fallen asleep within minutes.
This was a nightmare and she wasn't waking up. Or at least, when she did, it was to find herself back in the detention center. She'd never been in one of these places before, though she'd heard of them. In the past, getting arrested had meant a call to her foster home, being collected at the station and, more often than not, her social worker turning up within twenty-four hours to whisk her off to another placement.
Somehow, she didn't think that was going to happen this time.
The door opened, and a woman in a tailored suit walked in accompanied by a second woman in the same uniform Emma had seen the night before. "Breakfast," the uniformed woman—Emma didn't know if she was a guard, or 'only' staff—announced, setting a tray down on the bed beside Emma.
"Thanks." Emma looked at the tray. It held a bagel with what looked to be egg and cheese, a sausage patty, a fruit salad, and a cup of juice. It didn't look disgusting, and it wasn't gruel or bread and water. And she was hungry. She took a tentative bite out of the bagel. Yes, definitely egg and cheese. And if it wasn't great, she'd definitely eaten worse.
The other woman cleared her throat. "Hello, Emma," she said with a friendly smile. "May I sit down?"
Emma shrugged.
"I'll leave you two alone for now," the maybe-a-guard said, retreating.
Emma heard the door lock behind her.
"I'm Michaela Tanaka," the woman introduced herself.
"A social worker or something?" Emma asked, once she'd swallowed.
"Actually, I'm your Juvenile Court Counselor—JCC for short," Michaela explained. "You'll be appearing before a judge a bit later today, and I've just been going over your arrest report to get an idea of what you're facing."
"What am I facing?" Emma asked. She took another bite of the bagel.
"Possession of stolen property and accomplice to theft at the moment. It's possible that other charges will be filed before the hearing."
"Wait. You said I'm going before the judge today," Emma said, setting down the bagel. "I thought lawyers or… JCCs were supposed to know about the charges before the trial." Maybe JCCs were different, she thought, but Michaela was nodding.
"That's right," she agreed. "But that's not what's happening today. You see, Emma, you may have been arrested in Portland, but the watches were stolen in Phoenix, Arizona. Because of that, it's almost a given that you'll be sent there to answer charges."
"But I've never been to Arizona," Emma protested blankly. She reached down to the tray without looking and her hand came up with something lukewarm and greasy. Without really thinking, she lifted the sausage patty to her mouth and took a large bite.
"Unfortunately," Michaela replied, "that's not likely to be relevant. Your appearance in court this morning is really more of a formality. The merchandise was stolen in Arizona. Today's hearing is to determine whether an interstate extradition is warranted. Based on the information in your file," she went on, "it's almost certain it will be."
Emma nearly choked on the sausage patty.
