DISCLAIMER: I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

This is a what-if story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

In the shadow of the toll bridge

Chapter 3 – Tell no one…

James and Snow resumed their walk along the stream, sharing in memories no longer forgotten. Reminiscing felt a little better than dwelling on the obstacles they still must face, and so they indulged in a few rounds of remember when's. In fact, James had already resolved to return to the pawn shop first thing tomorrow and reclaim the crystalline mobile hanging from its unworthy ceiling. It belonged with its owner, his raven-haired bride for whom he'd had it commissioned. Even this memory, however, inevitably led him back to the present as he wondered about the old man behind each carefully crafted unicorn. As 'David', he'd seen nothing yet of Geppetto.

Snow, likewise, had begun cataloguing images of Storybrooke's citizens in her mind. Having seen many more of them than her husband, and knowing first-hand the troubles plaguing their once prosperous subjects, the task of freeing them now overwhelmed her. There were so many unhappy people. So many hopeless cases. Granny and Red barely spoke to each other. The brave huntsman who'd spared her in the forest was, as far as she could tell, still the queen's lackey. She wouldn't know where to begin looking for Jiminy Cricket among the wild animals here, few of whom responded to her in this world as they had in hers. And there had been absolutely no sign of Pinocchio.

This last recollection disturbed her most, for it pained her to think of how unhappy Geppetto must be, having been returned to a childless state without a son to teach and guide and love. Childless, she thought, unable to prevent the connection in her mind from Geppetto's loss back to her own. Her hands instinctively came around her middle, hugging her now empty womb. It had been 28 years since she'd said goodbye to her sweet girl. And yet she suddenly felt as tender and empty as a woman who had just given birth.

"We can't tell her right away," James said aloud, cutting into her musings (for which she was grateful). He too, it seemed, had gone back to thinking about Emma, and Snow smiled as she squeezed his hand just a little tighter, pleased to see that her prince still had a knack for reading her mind.

"No we can't," she agreed.

"And you're right, people will think we're crazy if we start running around town telling people who they really are."

Snow nodded. "And we have to be careful who finds out that we know. There are…certain people we don't want remembering," she paused, her voice full of resentment, "and others who can't know that we do."

"Like Rumpelstiltskin," James grunted, thinking again on the pawn shop.

"And the queen," she added.

James sighed, remembering something. "That will be…challenging."

"What will?"

"Keeping our reunion from the queen. She's already on to us."

Snow nodded, "because you left your party last night?"

"And because she knows we're here."

Snow stopped dead in her tracks, her hand falling limp in his. "What?"

James started at her reaction, having honestly forgotten that he'd told her nothing of the queen, 'Mr. Gold', the shop or anything else that had brought him here tonight. "She stopped me in the street as I was on my way to find you. As 'David' I got a little turned around."

"And you told her you were coming to meet me?"

"Yea—well, no, not exactly" James's brow creased in confusion. "I said I was meeting someone," he struggled to remember, but honestly he couldn't care about any one soul less than he did about 'Mayor Regina', so he'd all but forgotten her pathetic attempt to steer him in the wrong direction. His wife, on the other hand, seemed to think this information quite critical.

"James!" she said, her voice stern and chiding.

"What?"

"She knows about us?"

"No—I said someone—"

"Yes, but she's not an imbecile."

"I beg to differ."

"Be serious!" she scoffed and swatted him on the arm. "You told the queen that—"

"I didn't know she was the queen—"

"That doesn't matter. We have to assume since it was her curse that she is the only one here who knows about it. If she thinks there's even a chance that we're together, she'll—"

"She'll what?" he challenged. "She'll come after us again? Curse us again? She'll—"

"She'll kill you," she said quietly, and her certainty alarmed him. The effect was quite sobering and James resisted the urge to keep their characteristic banter going. Snow was trembling now, as if her fears threatened to engulf her. "The whole point of this curse was to strip away the happy endings," she whispered. "If she finds that it has failed, she'll…just…kill you. No revenge would be sweeter to her than to see me…" she closed her eyes, unable to meet the love and concern in his gaze as she finished, "…than to see me lose you again."

James gathered her up in a fierce hug. She was right, of course. A woman evil enough to have killed her own husband, poisoned her step daughter, and enacted this curse would stop at nothing to keep it going by eliminating those who dared to overcome it.

Snow took comfort in his protective embrace, but then forced herself to push him away. "You have to go," she said quickly, before she could change her mind.

"What?" he stumbled backward.

"Now!" She glanced up at the town clock which was, by now, in plain view. "It's almost 9 o'clock. An entire hour has passed already."

"And just where am I supposed to go?"

Snow's hands came to her hips, and she stared at him as if the answer was obvious. "Back home," she implored, "back to where 'David' lives."

James's eyes widened. "You want me to go back there? For what purpose?"

"It's the life she gave you. She has to be made to think you still believe it's real."

The logic of Snow's argument was completely lost on her poor prince, for returning to that house meant returning to… "You do realize," he crossed his arms over his chest, "who she turned into my wife over here?"

She was about to reply and then snapped her mouth shut. She actually had forgotten; his safety was her only priority right now, and she knew she was right. Still…that didn't stop her mouth from curling into a wicked smile upon remembering who indeed had been cast in the role of 'David's' spouse. The grin threatened to spread wider and she tried fruitlessly to suppress it.

"It's not…funny," he warned her.

"It's a little funny."

"No, not in the slightest." She'd turned the tables on him, he realized dimly. But he did not share in this particular amusement. After all…it was Abigail!

She let out a tiny snort, and tried lamely to cover it with a cough. "You're right, I'm sorry."

"Snow!"

"I'm sorry!" she said, trying not to succumb to giggles. It was difficult though. The nag with the bad attitude. She'd found it funny then, and she couldn't help herself now.

"You do realize what you're asking of me," he said, his arms still crossed as he shifted all his weight to one leg. "You want me to pretend I've gone back to Abigail?"

"Kathryn," she corrected.

"Whatever."

"No, Kathryn," she insisted, gaining control of herself once more. She approached him seriously, her grin fading. "The queen must think that our meeting went…badly. If she senses anything—"

"All right, all right," he held his hands up in surrender, admitting defeat. She was, after all, always right. He stepped closer to her and smoothed his palms down the length of her arms. "It won't be easy you know, going back there after having you in my arms again."

Snow tried hard to ignore her body's reaction to his gentle touch. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath, determined to maintain her resolve. "It won't be for long," she rasped, placing her hands on his chest, half holding him off…half pulling him closer.

"It better not, Snow," he murmured, his voice husky as he moved closer still, their breath mingling in the chilly night air.

"'Mary-Margaret'," she whispered. "You must use—" but he cut her off, dipping his head down to hers and claiming her once more with a kiss. It was one of many that evening, but this one was different, for it came with the pent-up frustrations of more than two decades' worth of repressed passion. Snow's resolve melted as he encircled her, one arm pressing her close to him by the small of her back, the other sliding up into her hair and massaging the back of her neck. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips open with his tongue, and drank his fill of her as she moaned and swooned, struggling to stay on her own two feet. Too much, she thought sinfully …way too much… too … fast… oh… sweet… Lord… His arms were around her waist now, gripping her like a vise as he pressed kisses to the corners of her mouth… along the edge of her chin…and down…her…neck. "James!" she gasped, sliding her hands into his hair as she stared up at the stars, his exquisite torturing of her body moving her heavenward as she tried not to think about…how long it had been…

Suddenly, like a watchful chaperone, the clock tower began to chime 9 o'clock, and the interruption was enough to send Snow back down to earth. She pulled back from him panting, but still clasping the lapels of his shirt.

James groaned in frustration, touching his forehead to hers while catching his breath. "You...are...killing me," he whispered fiercely, knowing their time of parting was imminent.

"I know," she said breathily, wanting him more than she dared admit out loud. "But for now, we must be careful."

And her pleading tone at last convinced him to release her. "I'll find you tomorrow," he said, stepping back from her slowly, trailing his hand all the way down her arm until only the tips of their fingers were touching.

"Be careful of—"

"I'll make sure the queen is nowhere in sight," he assured her, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand and then forcing himself to turn from her, stalking up the short hill toward town.

She watched him go, aching to be near him, but knowing it was for the best. He must leave first, and she must follow many minutes later so as to solidify the charade, convincing any passers-by who may gossip to the queen. He was at the top of the hill now and was about to disappear from sight when he stopped and turned around.

"Snow?" he called.

"'Mary-Margaret'," she insisted again.

He rolled his eyes but nodded. "Mary Margaret," he conceded, "when you see Emma tonight…" his breath hitched a bit, and she gazed at him intently. "Make sure you say good night…for both of us."

Too moved to speak, she could only nod as her husband turned back into the fog and disappeared.

***Next-up: Mary Margaret returns home to find Emma stewing over her encounter with Graham that evening. (Remember that?) Plus…how will James react when Snow insists that they tell the mayor's son about their revelation?***

Working on it as we speak…thanks for all the reviews and favs and alerts. You are SO good for my self esteem!