David Nolan let out a sigh as he poured himself another cup of coffee.

What a day to come back home.

Around the kitchen table, Greg Mendell, the supposedly architect he had just hired, looked like a cornered dog. Neal Cassidy, the son-in-law he never got to have due to a most unfortunate turn of events, seemed to be positively annoyed, and suspicious.

He liked Neal.

If it weren't for the unexpected scene from moments ago, the two of them would be in the lounge in the basement, shooting pool and having a few beers...

He knew his daughter. And if she had indeed fired her former fiance, then things had probably been nasty.

Sadly, though, that matter would have to wait.

"So you're not an architect," he said at last.

"I'm not."

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a food critic."

"A food critic?"

"Yes."

He watched as Neal frowned, taking another sip of his coffee. He was probably wondering how on earth he had managed to hire an architect that was not an architect. He was a cop, after all. That kind of thing didn't usually fly under his radar.

"Let me guess," said David, trying to hide his discomfort as he shifted on his chair. "Greg Mendell is not your real name."

The man rubbed his eyes, and took off his beret.

"No. It's Owen. Owen Flynn."

"Who do you work for?"

"Nobody."

"Nobody?"

"Nobody."

It was Neal's turn to shift on his chair. His slightly bloodshot eyes were gleaming with anger, and he was flexing his fingers over the table. If there was one thing David knew very well about that man, other than his undying love for his daughter, was his short temper.

"You're telling me..." David continued, leaning back on the chair and crossing his arms, "that you managed to get all these reference letters... A fake ID... Documents... All by yourself?"

"No, not by myself."

"I thought you'd said you were working alone?"

"I didn't say I was working alone. I said I was not working for anyone," Greg replied, a cheeky smirk curving his lips. "If you want the right answers, you've got to ask the right quest-"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence, though. Neal had stood up after knocking off his own chair, locked Greg's arm behind his back and twisted his hand upwards, while forcing his head against the table with a very loud thud.

"Gods!" Greg spluttered, wincing as Neal's elbow connected to the back of his neck. "He did say you were a brute!"

David realized Neal's grasp seemed to slacken for a moment, his eyes going strangely vacant before he was once again slamming the man against the table.

"The video. How did you get it?"

"Not telling"

"You'd better," Neal hissed, twisting the man's arm harder, "unless you want a broken limb."

"I'm not afraid!"

"You sure?"

One glance at the enraged man behind him seemed to make Greg Mendell falter in his resolve.

"M-Maybe I am," he stuttered, trying to maintain whatever dignity he had been left at that point. "Just a little bit. But I'm still not telling!"

"You said you are a food critic, right?"

David's voice made both men turn their heads - Greg, not without a certain amount of struggle.

"Then I suppose you know what this is?" he said, holding out a small brown paper package sealed with a a golden insignia.

Greg squinted for a moment, his head tilted in a strange angle since Neal's elbow was still pinning his neck against the table.

"I do!" he exclaimed, eyes wide at the sudden realization. "How did you get it?"

"Just returned from a holiday in Europe. Got it from the Johannsons themselves," said David, carefully breaking the seal to reveal the contents of the package. "It tastes like heaven."

"I'm sure it does..." Greg muttered in response, his gaze following the brown paper dreamily. "It's one of the most exquisite kinds of cheese in the world... A very rare treat..."

"That's correct," said David. "How about this: you talk, and it's yours. You don't..."

He broke the tiny piece of cheese in two, and threw one of its halves on the garbage bin.

"Nooooooo!"

Greg's eyes seemed about to pop out of his skull when he screamed, and Neal looked positively baffled by his reaction.

"Dude, it's just cheese!"

"It's not just cheese!" Greg's face was scarlet when he snarled, trying to break free from the other man's clutch. "This is moose cheese, you brainless, uneducated thug!"

"Hey, what's with the name calling?" Neal replied, after finally releasing the man's arms. "And who told you I was a brute?"

"What, as if that needed telling!" Greg grunted, straightening his coat as he rearranged the beret on his head. "Your manners, sir, speak for themselves!"

Neal was about to throw a punch that would hit the man in front of him square on the jaw, but David was quick to restrain him.

"Gentlemen, please, can we not?"

"H-He started it!" moaned Greg, pointing an accusing finger at his counterpart.

"No, actually, you did," David responded, as soon as Neal got himself together and walked towards the sink. "Now, who are you working f-... with?"

"Do I have your word you're not calling the cops if I tell you everything?"

"I am the cop, Greg. I mean, Owen."

"Still. Are you going to arrest me?"

"For lying about your qualifications? Not sure that is a crime."

"I'm sure he's lying about a lot more than that..." said Neal, after getting himself a glass of water.

"The cheese." In the meantime, Greg had pulled out a chair and taken a seat. "I wanna try it first."

"Be my guest..."

After placing the miniscule piece of cheese on the center of the table, Neal and David pulled out chairs and waited as the man between them poked the tiny yellowish ball with reverence.

"Leroy. The man's name is Leroy. That's whom I got the video from."

David scratched his nose in a clear attempt to hide his surprise. Could it be? His own informant selling privileged information to other people? How come he hadn't gotten his hands on that video before?

"Wait a minute," he said at last. "Was he the one that told you about Neal? How's-"

"We might have had a few drinks in the past," Neal explained, with a careless shrug. "That is, if we are talking about the same Leroy, that is not exactly a rare nam-"

"We are talking about the same Leroy alright," Greg interrupted, once again glaring daggers at the dark-haired man in front of him. "The dwarf, the one that goes by the alias Grumpy."

"I have no idea what you're tal-"

"Bullshit! He told me you've been doing business with him for ages."

"Business?" asked David, only to be met with one of Neal's trademark scrunched up faces.

"My oh my, looks like the former gang member is in hot water!"

Again, David had to restrain Neal, who seemed ready to tear out Greg's vocal cords with his bare hands. Former gang member, yes, he knew that about Mr. Gold's son. He knew the tragic story of that family, he knew Neal's motivations had to do not only with Emma but with Killian Jones as well. But that kind of info was not that easy to obtain, not even in the black market.

"I swear, I'm gonna kill that dwarf!"

"Who are you working for?" David asked, as soon as Neal calmed down and no longer had a gleaming, murderous look in his eyes.

"Nobody," he replied. "I'm in it for personal reasons. You know why."

"You're not with an agency?"

"No."

"Federals?"

He saw Neal fidget with his car keys before speaking again.

"Nah. I don't like people telling me around," he answered, looking uninterested. "I'm on my own."

"Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?"

"What d'you mean?"

"I bet your father would say the same thing."

For a moment, the two of them were so caught up in their own thoughts that Greg Mendell could have sneaked out of the kitchen - and out of their lives, for that matter - without being noticed. But he took a minute too long to take action, and by the time he had pocketed whatever had been left of his cheese and tip-toed towards the door, David was already grabbing the collar of his shirt.

"We're not done with you yet," said David, after pulling him back towards the chair.

"I held my end of the bargain! You wanted to know who had given me the video, there you go."

"That is not what I asked."

"I think that's exact-"

"I asked you who you're working with."

"Mercy me, and isn't that what I have just told you?"

"Leroy alone wouldn't have gotten you fake docs, I'll tell you this. It's not his specialty."

Neal's gaze shifted from Greg to the older man by his side.

"How do you ev-"

"Later, Cassidy."

David Nolan hardly ever looked pissed. But when he did, and when he started calling people by their last names, it was wise not to argue.

"Yes, sir."

"I have told you everything I know!" Greg whimpered.

"You'll have to do better than that."

"I'm telling you the truth!"

"No," David tightened his grip on the man's collar, his eyes alit with a silent threat. "You're not."

"Fine..."

Aware he really had no option but to spill the beans, Greg rubbed his eyes, his beret firmly secured in his sweaty hands.

"Look," he said, his eyes darting around the kitchen as he spoke. "You have no idea how hard I had to work to get this far, if you ruin it for me, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Neal interrupted, crossing his arms with a raised eyebrow. "Slap us with your beret?"

Greg's jaw dropped.

"Is that the best taunt you can think of?" he asked, with a disdainful smile. "Really?"

"I don't like you."

"Looks like we have something in common, because I don't like you either."

"I'm glad you both are on the same page, then," said David. "Now get to the point."

After throwing Neal a dirty look, Greg took a long, deep breath as he prepared to tell his tale.

"Right. Years ago, my father and I went on a camping trip. But the weather was bad and we had to seek refuge in a hotel. The Regal, it was called."

"The Regal?"

"Yes. The one you're thinking of. The one..."

"...that belongs to Regina Mills," Neal completed.

"Yes. Well, to cut a long story short, Ms. Mills got rather... attached to the two of us. When the day for our departure came, she... She wouldn't let us go."

"How long ago was that?" asked David.

"25 years ago. I was just a boy."

"Aah... That's a few years after Mary Margaret and I had Emma... Regina did seem rather distraught that we had a child and she didn't."

"You tell me! Before I knew, she was buying me clothes," Greg's eyes went wide, as if he was revisiting a rather scary nightmare. "Offering to help me with my homework - and that was because I was on school break! But what really scared me was the day when she offered to brush my teeth..." the man shuddered, and his next few words were nothing but a whisper, "...and then asked me to call her 'mommy'!

"Well, anyway. One day we decided to dress like the hotel housekeepers and run for our lives. But she caught us. My father stayed behind to give me a chance... And that was the last time I saw him.

"Weeks later, I read it on the paper he had died after choking on his morning cereal..."

"Regina's trademark excuse," David exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table and making both men jump. "She poisoned him."

"Yes!"

"Trademark excuse?"

"The same happened with Mary Margaret's father. 'Choked on cereal' my ass. Problem is she uses some kind of poison that is untraceable..."

"Regina Mills killed Mary Margaret's father?"

"Later, Cassidy."

"Yes, sir."

"So there you go," Greg continued. "Needless to say I spent a lifetime looking for ways to send that woman to jail.

"One day, I was in Vegas when I spotted the two of them together, Regina and Killian Jones. It was only a fleeting encounter, but I decided to follow him from that day on. And then the letter came and I just-"

"Wait, letter?" asked David. "What letter?"

Too tired to actually get into another argument, Greg simply took out an envelope from an inside pocket in his coat, and handed it to the man by his side.

"Dear Mr. Flynn,

I applaud you on the initiative in attempting to track down Regina Mills and Killian Jones.

You should realize, however, that you are not remotely qualified for that job. Therefore, please take this letter as an offer of support in your quest - you and I do share the same goal, after all.

I am attaching a few items to this letter, including documents that might come in handy. The resume and reference letters are bound to facilitate your participation at the selection process at the Nolans (see map on the following page).

Once you get there, you will be surrounded by five other people who have equal reasons (maybe stronger reasons, even) to be working against the Mills-Jones duo. Make use of that opportunity.

In time, you'll be hearing from me again.

Kindest Regards,

Six."

"Oh well..." whispered David. "Now that puts an interesting spin on things..."

"Six people infiltrated under your own roof, David? How the hell did that happen?"

"Can I go home now?" asked Greg, whose shoulders seemed to slump more at each passing minute.

"Two of them do not surprise me at all," answered David, while putting the letter back inside the envelope. "It's the other four that worry me..."

"What other four? I think your math is off, since three of those people are sitting around this table."

David raised his eyebrows at Neal's words.

"Was I that obvious?" he asked.

"You're in law enforcement. You guys are not usually subtle, are you?"

"I've been on a tough spot since Killian saved my life... You know? When your father sent him a bouquet of roses wrapped in... What is the name of that plant?"

"Dreamshade," Neal muttered, his annoyance showing on every line of his face.

"Exactly. The one I ended up collecting by mistake. Truth is that Killian was the only one who knew what the antidote was."

"He only saved you because he wanted to impress Emma... And that he did... So much she ended up marrying him."

"You are unbelievable..." Greg snorted, staring at Neal as he spoke.

"What is it now?"

"Oh, nothing, don't mind me…"

Neal frowned as he looked at the man by his side. There had to be some sort of reason for all that animosity. It couldn't be only because he knew nothing about cheese!

"So what's in it for you?" asked Greg, turning to look at David once again. "I'm doing it because I want Regina behind bars, homie here wants Killian out of the way to get your daughter back..."

"What the fuck is your prob-"

"… but what about you? Why are you doing it?"

That was a fair question. Why had he, David Nolan, been sneaking up on his son-in-law, while trying, at the same time, to gather evidence against Regina Mills? There was nothing to be gained from it – except for a pissed off daughter for his prying on her husband, and a pissed off wife for his prying on her stepmother, who she insisted on forgiving despite all the atrocities that woman had committed.

"I want to see Regina pay for her crimes as well," he answered. "And Killian. The two of them harmed people I care for," his gaze shifted to Neal for a brief moment. "I want justice."

In the meantime, Greg Mendell had taken the cheese out of his pocket and was now looking at it with a smirk.

"Justice…" he muttered. "Oh well. Aren't you Prince Charming?"