22 October, 1996

Static filled the one bedroom apartment given to David as part of his assignment. He stared at the ham radio he had been speaking on. Weeks had passed since he had last made a connection. Normally he found himself chatting ball with other nearby Pirates fans. However, talking with Misty was decidedly the oddest call he'd been on for a while. Her predictions for the Yankee's, which seemed entertaining as he glanced up at the telly replaying the highlights, were the last of his concern. However, she had been adamant that William's performance would turn the tide. Misty recited her prediction with precision. In the back of his mind, he pondered the worth of a flutter on what she said. Yankees hadn't won since his own childhood, not that the Pirates had recently trumped the Yankees. In fact, the New York team had trashed Storybrooke's resident heroes the last time they met.

It wasn't until the end of the call when anger filled her voice that concern rose. His name seemed to bother her in a way it shouldn't. How many David's in Misthaven's were there? Yet it struck an angry chord.

People were strange. He of all people knew that.

He took a long drag on the cigar he'd been chewing on through the conversation. His eyes fell on the Backstreet Boys cassette covered in cellophane next to the radio. He had talked it out of Graham Humbert what Emma was into these days. His life undercover didn't permit his contacting her for fear of exposure but he kept his word over the secret messaging system with Emma. She used it less now she was older. But it didn't mean he wouldn't uphold his end of his end of the bargain. Especially on her birthday. Humbert's veiled warning about going back to the house sat with him but bringing up Emma with the impatient Misty only strengthened his resolve.

Besides, he was close now. It wouldn't be long before all this would be over.

He picked up the cassette and rolled it over in his hands a few times before heading to the meagre kitchen. He pulled out the empty coffee canisters he saved for his messages to Emma. He shoved the tape in as he switched off the TV with his hip in the middle of a murder report.

The drive to Tenth Street from his downtown dive didn't take long. The half light of the dawn made his labour easy but he was conscious of Snow waking up to find him there. He made quick work of the hole thanks to the rainfall over past couple of days - so bad it had delayed the start of the World Series. After dumping the wet mud back in its hole, David stepped back to pick up the flag he had left just out of reach.

The small stars and stripes fluttered in the soft breeze of the morning. He watched it for a moment, not wanting to do this. Every time he plunged the little flag in the ground his heart broke remembering Emma's cries begging him not to leave. It made so much sense at the time.

A car went passed, forcing David out of his reprieve. He looked at the watch on his wrist. It was nearly seven meaning Snow would be stirring anytime soon. He chanced a glance up to the window of Emma's room. It had been two years since he had last seen his daughter properly. Fleeting glimpses was all he was afforded in moments where he could tear himself away for his work. The three-month gig had stretched on far longer than it ever should off. He dashed back to his car, parked on One-Hundred and Fifteenth East, and hunkered down as the neighbourhood came to life.

At eight, kids started pouring out their houses. Long time neighbour, August barrelled out his house, waved off by his ageing father and headed down to knock on Emma's door. The two had been firm friends since Kindergarten.

Snow appeared with a warm smile on face, offering him a wrapped up package that seemed to be a little ritual. She turned back to the house, no doubt calling on Emma. In the years since he had left, Snow had cut her hair into a short pixie crop thus hiding away the tumbles of black hair of her fairy tale namesake. She placed her hands on her hips as she stepped back in the house, but Emma hurtled around from the back with her knapsack on clutching at the coffee can he had buried.

Emma had grown into a beautiful child with golden hair streaming out behind her as she ran to join August. Snow looked at her daughter clutching the muddied can. Her eyes flared as Emma shoved the can in her hand while setting out with August, running off to join the herd of children making for the elementary school.

David hunkered down further into the battered seat of his car as Snow looked out. her eyes searching the street for her missing husband. Her expression was cold, biting down on her right cheek as she shook her head.

Meeting for drinks was no easy endeavour for an undercover cop still trying to keep tabs on his roots. Luckily for David, his marks moved in Misthaven and Arendelle District freeing up other area's of Storybrooke to meet Graham Humbert. The Golden district in the south of the city offered for a safe haven to share a drink with a fellow officer. But they still had to keep it discrete.

The dingy dive bar offered the game on a crackly little screen overlooking the tables. The commentary was speculating on the overall demise of the Yankee's to the scattered sound of cheers and jeers. The Bookie in Misthaven had practically howled with laughter when he put down twenty on the Yankees winning. Yet Misty had been so certain, he was sure of it. Besides, what was twenty if they lost?

Graham passed him an opened Bud. David silently toasted his mate before taking a long sip.

'So, what do you think about these Nightingale murders?' David asked as he swung the bottle from his thumb and forefinger.

Graham shrugged, but the tension had built on his shoulders as soon as he said 'Nightingale'. 'It's a bitch, I know that. The top brass is already in a tizzy about it. Press are already likening him to Zuso.'

David screwed his face up in disgust. 'He's targeting teacher's isn't he?'

Graham gulped a few mouthfuls from his bottle. 'Elementary. For now,' he confirmed, watching David's expression. 'But Snow is going to be just fine. She's smart.'

David nodded, but he didn't feel any better. He grimaced, looking back at the label of his bottle. It peeled at the edges as he turned his mind to Emma and Snow. His wife's cold look was etched in his mind.

'How was the party?' he asked.

Graham shrugged as a gang of dolled up Braves tumbled through the door. 'Come on, Dave, you know how Snow does it. Em was smiling ear to ear the entire time.' He had to raise his voice over the flurry of sound from the newcomers.

David nodded, glancing away to disguise his remorseful expression.

'It was a nice party.'

Despite himself, David's lips hitched into a smile before he put the bottle to his lips again.

'Look, man,' Graham continued when David looked back. 'Word if you've been swinging by the house.' He paused while David took a gulp from the bottle. 'I don't know the details, but Snow asked me to ask you to stop.'

'Right.'

'I think Em is starting to ask questions, hard questions that Snow just can't answer,' Graham paused to drink from his Bud before lowering his voice. 'You've been under for three years, Dave. I wouldn't be the only happy to have you back in the real world.'

David nodded, resting his chin on his curled fist. 'Yeah,' he agreed. 'I'm working on it.'

Graham's eyebrows shot up, a smile forming on his lips. From the outset, he had been against David's foray into undercover, particularly when the process got longer and longer. But he had stood by his friend.

'When?' he asked, then shook his head. 'You can't tell me when can you?'

David shook his head, a quick expression.

'But it's good, man,' Graham said. 'Really damn good, but you've got to stay safe. They say the most dangerous time after starting is getting back out again.'

David nodded his agreement. Graham drained his bottle before clapping his hand on the shoulder of his friend. With a final smile, Graham slunk off into the crowd pulling up his collar. David turned his attention to the TV, leaning back on the bar taking note when he saw William's name for the Yankees on base.

The commentator remarked on the players as some of the crowd called for William's, who had already managed to score two ribeye's, to nail the Braves to the boo of Atalanta fans…

'… Misty, hey, how did you call that homer?' David asked when she finally answered after ten minutes of hailing her on the frequency from the night before.

'It happened twenty years ago. In Ninety-six,' came the reply.

David looked at the end of his cigar in bemusement. 'Earth to Misty, it is Nineteen-Ninty-Six.'

He sucked on his cigar as she recited her predicted outcome for tomorrow's game in Atlanta. 'Are you screwing with me,' she asked after declaring the Yankee's would run the table from the top of the tenth for the rest of the Series.

'Me?'

David half choked on his words then grabbed his open Bud.

'David from Misty. A daughter who tries to talk to Astronauts? And you aren't trolling me? God damn it.'

Misty sounded angry as the line went dead. David shook his head. 'I'm not what-ing you?' he asked at the alien phrase she had just spat out.

'Okay, David what? What is your last name?' Misty demanded, cutting him off with an imperious tone. He took another drag of his cheap cigar.

'Swan,' he said after blowing out the smoke. 'Not that it's any of your business. You know what Misty? You are weirding me out right now.' He moved to turn when Misty's voice implored him to wait. Her tone had softened back to what she had sounded like in the first part of their very early morning exchange.

'What's your call sign?'

'It's WQ2YV,' he said.

The line went dead. Only the sound of static came from the radio as he leant back in his chair, first guzzling some Bud then another drag on his cigar which he set back on the box, missing the ashtray.

'What's your daughter's name?' Desperation tinged her voice.

'I'm out,' he said.

But her voice relented as he got to his feet, turning away as she recited what she claimed was her name, the name of his daughter, his name and the address of the house he had visited earlier in the day. Misty, or Emma, claimed it had been her home since before her parents split.

However, if hearing Emma's name was enough to incite rage, hearing her address turned that into blind anger.

He slammed his hand on the transmitter button as Misty recited his method for sending Emma presents. 'Who is this right now?' he demanded, spittle flying from his lips in rage.

'In a coffee can,' she finished as he sat back in shock.

No one but Emma or Snow would know that.

Silence.

Only the sound of his breathing filled the air. There was clattering over the line. The sound of a metal chair hitting wood.

'You burnt the box.'

David looked up to where his cigar sat, ash falling on the wooden casing. 'Damn it,' he muttered.

'Tell me you did not just burn the box?'

Emma's voice wailed over his actions as he picked up the cigar and wiped it clean.

'David?'

He picked up the mike, clutching it so hard his nails dug into the palm. His knuckles went white and he could barely hold the microphone straight as he levelled his voice. 'I want you to listen to me right now. If you contact me on this frequency again, if you contact me again then so help me God, I will hunt you down and kill you if you go near my family.'

He was deaf to the pleas of his name as he switched the radio off. He sat down with a sigh as the light of the dial faded it out, but Misty's call of his name resonated in his ears until his bottle of whisky dulled his senses.