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 4 – A mother's wisdom…

It was not difficult for Snow to find her way out of the forest. Despite the absence of certain structures (most noticeably the entrance to the mines and the dwarfs' old cottage), the woods themselves, it seemed, were largely unchanged. She decided to leave by following the stream back up to the river basin that once encircled their palace. Except of course, the palace was no longer there. It had been reduced, she thought bitterly, to a child's playground structure, built in the vague shape of a castle with a few red pennants fluttering almost mockingly in the wind. A cruel joke, she thought, though she decided not to allow the ever-growing rage toward her step mother to consume her. The few lonely platforms looked especially small to her now, much more so than they ever had when she was just Mary Margaret, observing her students at play. Observing Henry…Henry, she thought wondrously. No wonder she had felt such an intense connection to the boy. He was as much a part of her as Emma. Her grandson, she realized, though the thought of it made her shiver. Grandmother? Dare she ever claim that right? Could she when her own daughter had no idea who she was and had – on more than one occasion – insisted she was not here to claim Henry as her own?

Snow hugged herself against the wind breezing briskly through the night sky, and longed for her husband's arms around her once more. She had made the right decision, but it was indeed torture to have found each other again only to be forced apart by the circumstances of the curse. There was too much to be done to risk exposure yet. They must work quietly, secretly. They must slowly bring the town out of its haze before daring to take on the queen. The thought of her eventual demise though strengthened her resolve, and with a firm nod, she turned from the dilapidated castle structure and headed for Mary Margaret's home.

When she arrived, the house was dark, and she fought against her gut instinct to feel alone and abandoned. Remembering her life as both Snow and Mary Margaret was confusing as hell, for she had lived a miserable existence here for so long, and was beginning to realize just how much of that time she'd spent wallowing in self-pity, self-doubt, and lonesomeness. She hated herself for that, for not being stronger, for being too afraid to take chances or seek happiness as Mary Margaret. But she hated the queen more, and she knew the hope and fire James had rekindled in her would combat and defeat those weak and pathetic traits to which Mary Margaret had resigned herself far too easily.

She glanced up at the cuckoo clock on her wall as it happily chirped the quarter-hour and Snow was suddenly struck by how much this place looked and felt like…her. It was rustic and homey with pastoral murals decorating the brick walls and archways. Assorted pots, floral china and homemade ceramics decorated every corner and hanging just outside the parlor window were a half-dozen birdhouses each with its own occupant happily settling in for the night. Remembering these dear friends, she practically leapt across the kitchen and spread apart the white curtains, leaning out across the sill. "Little one," she whispered softly to the night air. She heard nothing but the breeze for a moment and then, with a rustling of feathers and a happy chirp, a tiny bluebird peaked its head out of one of the houses and met her eyes. Snow broke into a wide grin and reached her arm out the window, extending her finger as a perch as she had done so many times in both worlds. After a few spastic twitches, the bluebird immediately hopped onto the makeshift perch and whistled sweetly.

Snow carefully brought the bird into the house and laughed at the soft tickling of its tiny claws bouncing up and down on her finger. "It's been a long time, hasn't it little one?"

The bird whistled back, its happy twittering music to Snow's deprived ears.

"I know, I've been gone a long time, but don't worry. We'll all be all right now." Again the bird whistled back and Snow continued her quasi tour around her own place, stopping to examine an assortment of tea cups behind a glass cabinet. "Perhaps you and the others can help," she resumed her conversation. "Do you know what became of Jiminy?"

This time, the bird did not tweet back. Instead, it spread its wings as wide as it could and flapped them maddeningly, though its claws remained clutched to her finger.

Snow frowned and her face fell. "As I suspected," she said. "Keep an eye out though, all right? He must be in the forest somewhere."

The bluebird cheeped at her once more and Snow reached inside a horse-shaped candy dish, retrieved a few sunflower seeds, and held them out to her blue companion. It gobbled them up in its beak, chirped gratefully and rewarded Snow with a short, merry tune.

"Do me a favor?" she smiled and winked at the bird. Seeming to understand implicitly, the bird gave a barely perceptible, almost human nod and then flew out into the night air.

As she watched it go, her eyes fell upon a pile of stacked boxes in the corner. Emma's boxes. Emma, she thought, cautiously approaching the corner. She remembered Emma unpacking a few of them days before: how fragile she had looked when Snow had casually asked if there were any more arriving or in storage. Thoughtless, she scolded herself. Making her daughter feel as if what she owned wasn't adequate. A part of her felt ridiculous even thinking it. As Mary Margaret, it was unfathomable to her that she should have a daughter her own age! But as Snow White, this odd bit of fate made no difference. Emma was her daughter. Hers and James. And she would make sure the young woman knew the comforts of home, family, and love.

With a determined nod, she decided she'd make up a pot of cocoa to be ready when Emma returned. She was just about to put on the kettle when something caught her eye. Another group of Emma's things, a pile of clothing she'd unpacked that morning (when looking for something different to wear than that horrid red jacket), was lying on one of the kitchen chairs. Most of it was clothing, but peeking out from beneath it all was something very…very…familiar…

Snow felt it pulling her, and inched toward it slowly as if it would disappear if she moved too fast. Slowly, she reached toward the pile and pushed most of the modern apparel out of the way…revealing a tiny, knitted blanket with the name 'Emma' embroidered lovingly in purple script across the front. The blanket they'd wrapped her in…to send her through. "Emma," she whispered as tears flooded into her eyes and she wept silently, clutching it tightly to her chest. "My sweet girl."

At that moment, footsteps came pounding up her front hallway and Emma herself flung open the door.

Both women were a bit startled to find each other standing there, Snow so close to the doorway and Emma halted in its frame. A quick glance told Snow that her daughter was upset, for her cheeks were flushed, her dirty blonde hair flopped wildly around her shoulders, and she had that steely glare in her eyes – the same glare Snow had seen in her when she'd discovered that Doctor Hopper had betrayed Henry. "Emma," she croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Are you all right?"

Emma looked sharply between Mary Margaret and the blanket she was holding before responding. "I was…just going to ask you the same thing," she said warily, her hand still on the doorknob. It was not what she had expected – finding her new friend standing in her house crying, holding an old baby blanket to her chest. "Why are you even here?" she asked, stepping into the house and slamming the door behind her.

Snow jumped as it crashed shut and she all at once realized what a sight she must be. Not the ideal way she'd wanted to greet her daughter. Then again, nothing about this situation was ideal. Hastily, she rolled the blanket up around her wrists and tossed it back on top of the pile. "Me? Well," she fumbled. Lord, why was she suddenly shaking? "I live here," she forced a chuckle, wiping her eyes and running her sleeve across her nose.

Emma's eyes narrowed, "Yyyyyyeah but…weren't you s'posed to be meeting David?"

Snow stared at her blankly for a moment, and then remembered. "Oh! Right…umm…" she scrambled, feeling quite the fool, for she had completely forgotten she'd told Emma about her…rendezvous. She was trying to think up an answer when—

"He didn't!" came Emma's icy tone. Snow looked up in surprise.

"What?"

Emma's hands went to her hips and she stared her friend down incredulously. "That bastard," she spat, shaking her head. "He backed out on you didn't he?"

"W-whadyou mean?" she stammered.

Leaving one hand on her hip, Emma gestured up and down with the other as if appraising her. "Well, it's not even 10, you're here, David's not and you're crying over a baby blanket. You don't need a calculator to figure this out. He changed his mind didn't he?"

Snow's mouth hung open. She seemed to have lost all ability to form coherent words.

"Men!" cried the angry blonde, throwing her keys down on the table and shrugging off her blue motorcycle jacket. "Why are they all such assholes?"

She watched as Emma crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to one leg. Snow froze, for in that moment…she looked just like James. "It's not…" she stepped forward, following her through the dining room, "it's not what you think—"

"Lemme guess," Emma flopped down into an easy chair, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward. "He thought it over and couldn't bear the thought of hurting his wife again."

"Well he's—"

"After having spent the last week and a half chasing you all over town saying how much he wants you."

"It's not that simple—"

"Bullshit!"

And somehow, the vulgarity in her daughter's voice gave Snow back her own. "Emma, it was my decision."

Emma started and glared in shock. "What?"

Snow sighed and perched herself on the armrest of the chair next to her daughter. "I told him to go back to his wife," she said with a sad smile. Technically it was the truth, however misleading. But she knew she must say something to avoid suspicion. She wouldn't dare reveal anything of their real identities without James here. And besides, the queen's curse apparently hadn't robbed her of mother's intuition. Something else was bothering her daughter terribly.

"Why would you do that?" she cried.

"Because it was the right thing to do," Snow insisted. "H-he needed to give that life a chance."

Emma scoffed. "Didn't take much convincing, I see," she said flippantly, with no less indignation toward James in her voice than before.

"Emma, that's enough!" Snow startled both of them with her scolding and the two glared at each other in a sort of eerie silence as the denouncement hung uncomfortably in the air. She knew she had no right to yell. Emma certainly wasn't aware that she was criticizing her own father. But it was for this reason Snow did not regret snapping back. She would not have Emma thinking badly of James. "I said it was my decision," she said in a voice she hoped was a little less hostile. "Please…" she added, "please respect that."

Emma held her glare a moment more and then rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she mumbled. "It's your life."

Snow closed her eyes. This was most certainly not going well. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I um…I was just going to boil some water for some cocoa. Want some?"

She shook her head. "No thanks," she grunted. And before Snow could reply, she pushed herself off the couch and started pacing back and forth in the parlor. "You know who really bugs me?"

Snow stood up and retreated to the kitchen, pulling the kettle off the stove and bringing it to the faucet. "Who's that?"

"I mean really bugs me?"

"Who?"

"Regina," she said defiantly. "Regina Mills. Regina bugs the hell outta me!"

Snow stifled a laugh. She couldn't agree more. "I know what you mean," she muttered.

"I mean seriously, what is her deal?" Emma cried joining Mary Margaret in the kitchen and pulling up a stool on the opposite side of the island. "She's nasty, a complete control freak, she's got her hands—" Emma shook her own hands apart in a frenzied, almost psychotic spasm as she let out a biting laugh, "—in everything! In the entire time I've been here, I haven't met a single person who even likes her and yet, people keep voting her in as mayor!" She said the last bit directly at Mary Margaret who seemed determined to keep her eyes focused on the task of boiling water. "What is wrong with this town?"

Snow lit the burner and let the kettle fall on top of it with a soft clang. "I think it's a little more complicated than that."

Again, Emma let out a humorless laugh. "It must be, cuz I'm sure as hell missing something."

Snow sighed and placed her hands on the countertop between them. "What happened?"

Emma hesitated, trying to decide if she even wanted to get into it. Instinct told her to do as she had always done: to retreat and deal with it on her own. But there was something about this woman…something that made her want to talk about…things. Her mind flashed back to the first few days in Storybrooke when Mary Margaret showed up at the jail with Henry to bail her out. I uh, I trust you, she'd said in that tentative way she had about her. Staring across the island from her now, Emma decided to return that trust.

"You know Graham asked me to work tonight," she said, folding her arms across her chest again.

"Yeah?"

"Remember why?"

Snow squinted, glancing up at the ceiling and remembering, "Something about a…a shelter?"

"An animal shelter," she confirmed. "The doctor got sick," she said, emphasizing 'sick' in air quotes, "and he had to feed the dogs."

"Why are you using air quotes?"

"Because it's all crap!" Emma nearly shouted indignantly. "I was driving along in his goddamn cop car and who do I see climbing out the back window of Regina's house?"

Snow closed her eyes.

"Graham!"

"Oh Emma…"

"Graham!" she repeated, her cheeks flushed in a rage, her eyes fiery and passionate. "He's sleeping with her! The sheriff is sleeping with the mayor! I sure hope she's not into any corrupt shit around here cuz he sure as hell'll never arrest her for it!"

"Maybe it's not what you think," Snow tried, reaching for the kettle as it started to whistle.

Emma shot her a 'you've-got-to-be-kidding-me' look that so reminded Snow of her husband she nearly snorted. "It's exactly what I think. He made me work tonight so he could go shack up with Mayor Mills. And with Henry in the house too!"

Snow shook her head, wanting so badly to confide in her daughter what she knew, understanding instantly that the queen had not ceased the practice of selfishly using as playmates those whose hearts she'd captured. Her heart ached for the brave huntsman who, in sparing her life, surrendered his own to a cold, frigid–

"Bitch," Emma muttered, and Snow suppressed another grin.

Pulling two mugs down from the cupboards and reaching for her own special blend of powdered cocoa, Snow gave Emma's cup a generous amount, poured the water over it, plucked a full cinnamon stick out of the glass jar sitting on the window sill, stirred it and set it in front of her. "Did he say anything?" she asked. Emma scoffed, rolling her eyes as she swept her cup into her hands and took a generous gulp. Snow smiled inwardly as she raised her own mug to her lips; for though Emma had declined her earlier invitation, it seemed mother and daughter shared the same weakness: an inability to resist a good cup of cocoa.

"He tried," Emma answered as she slurped up another gulp.

Snow studied her daughter carefully. How strange it was sitting here, as they had many times before, and yet it felt like she was truly meeting Emma for the first time. As Mary Margaret, she remembered the sensation of feeling as if they'd met somewhere before. But it was nothing compared to the connection she felt now. How she longed to reach forward and pat her hand, or give her a hug. She didn't dare though. Not now. Not yet…

Emma let out a frustrated grunt, "She's so irresponsible! What if Henry had woken up? What if—"

"Are you sure this is about Regina?" Snow treaded carefully.

Emma paused with her cup inches away from her lips. "What?"

Snow leaned across the counter, propped up by her elbows and held her own mug in front of her face, peering over its rim. "I know how you feel about Regina," she conceded, inwardly agreeing with her…colorful assessment of Storybrooke's mayor. "But I doubt very much you'd be reacting this way if you'd caught her with…" she searched for the first innocuous name that came to mind, "with Archie."

Emma's face twisted in disgust. "Eww."

Snow laughed as she took a sip. "I'm just saying. I think this might be more about the fact that…she was with Graham." For a moment, Emma didn't respond. She seemed to be thinking it over, as if the thought hadn't consciously occurred to her. Snow, meanwhile, felt a kind of private victory for having correctly sensed the connection between her daughter and the old huntsman. She had thought, even as Mary Margaret, that Emma had developed an especial fondness for the town sheriff. And there was nothing so revealing as a scandal to bring those feelings to light in a girl's heart.

"That's ridiculous," she said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.

"Is it?"

"Am I mad at Graham? Yes!" she said, this time with a little more defiance. "He lied to me and bribed me with donuts to get me to work late so he could screw around."

"Yes but this," she drew a kind of lazy circle in the air with her mug as if tracing Emma's entire aura, "is not the fury of a woman forced to work on her night off. This is…hurt. And believe me," she brought her cup back up to her lips, "I know hurt."

This confession, though cryptic, made Emma pause for a moment and she wondered, not for the first time, what sort of heartbreak had befallen poor Mary Margaret. Something had to be the cause of all that self-doubt and apprehension that pervaded her life. Tonight was a prime example: she had been so excited earlier to meet David at the toll bridge and then decided against it and sent him home? Emma decided not to question it though, for Mary was hitting brutally close to home right now, and she wasn't exactly sure she wanted to admit any more.

"Just talk to him, Emma," Snow soothed, reaching her hand across the counter, though not quite touching her daughter's. "Hear his side of it. I'm sure there's more to it than you know."

"Or care," she snapped, picking her cup off the counter and carrying it with her to her boxes.

Snow sighed and moved to join her, watching as she haphazardly tossed a few shirts and sweaters out of the way to retrieve a nightshirt. Snow knew she should back off, but instinct told her otherwise. "I think you do care."

"Yeah well, you're wrong," Emma muttered, not looking up.

"Am I?"

She whirled around. "And what if you're not?" She asked, finally. "What difference would it make even if I do have feelings for Graham?" She used air quotes again and Snow resisted the urge to smirk. "He's obviously quite happy with his…slutty…skanky…politician!"

Snow should have laughed at this latest – and accurate – description of the queen, but the first part of her assessment demanded immediate correction. "Trust me, he's not."

"What?"

"He's not…happy."

"How would you know?"

"Because I know him, Emma," this time, Snow did reach out and touch her arm, urging her to stop fussing and listen. "I've known him for years."

"Yeah? He been at this for years?"

Snow sighed. "You said it yourself. The mayor has her hands in…everything. She manipulates Graham just as she manipulates everyone else." Challenged with her own words, Emma had no response. And Snow took advantage of the break in the argument. "He's…" she searched for the right word, "he's lost Emma…just like you."

At that, Emma reeled back. "I'm not lost."

"Closed off then," Snow amended hastily. Then she sighed. "You're such a strong woman," she began. "But you've built this wall up around you. You've been protecting yourself. Probably for your entire life." Emma sucked in a breath but didn't answer. Snow knew what she spoke was the truth and prayed that her daughter would heed her words rather than retreat. "When you came here though, when you started opening up to Henry, you started letting people in."

Emma's arms were crossed firmly over her chest now, but she didn't budge.

"And one of those people hurt you tonight. All I'm saying is it might not be what you think. But you won't know that if you shut yourself away again."

Snow's speech hung in the air and she again studied her daughter's beautiful but tough exterior. She could tell Emma was struggling, averse to the pain and complexity of dealing with feelings as opposed to avoiding them. Snow was practically holding her breath as Emma's gaze grew distant, far off…as if remembering something. Finally, she loosened her stiff posture and shoved her hands in her pockets. "Fine," she grumbled. "I'll talk to him."

Snow's heart swelled as she broke into a huge grin. Eventually she had to turn away to conceal the tears stinging her eyes, for though this was a monumental moment for Snow as a mother, it was little more than 'girl talk' for Emma.

"Tomorrow though," Emma clarified, snatching up her nightshirt and turning toward the stairs. "Right now, I'm going to bed."

"Sounds like a plan," Snow grinned.

Emma gave her a strange, confused look, but smiled back…sort of. Retrieving her mug from the table, she climbed the first few stairs and stopped, turned on her heel and sighed. "Mary Margaret," she said.

Snow turned, "Yes?"

Then Emma closed her eyes…and really smiled. "Thanks."

Snow nodded and again choked back tears as she watched her daughter climb the stairs to the spare room. For several minutes she simply stood there, in the middle of the parlor with an empty cocoa mug, thanking the fates for granting her a second chance. She'd done it! She'd gotten through! What an incredible, yet surreal feeling it was to have strengthened that connection. To have achieved, if only for a moment, a very real and familial bond with her daughter despite their closeness in age.

Her mind still buzzing with the events of the evening, Snow busied herself with tidying up the apartment, gathering Emma's things into…well, neater piles than before. It was nearly 1 in the morning before she'd tired herself out enough to turn off the lights and head up to bed. As she moved around the house, locking doors and dimming the lamps, she heard a soft chirp at her window sill. She glanced up and gasped. She had almost forgotten! The bluebird was back with three of its friends perched along the window's edge…and between their beaks (for they were each so tiny) they were propping up a small bouquet of purple Michaelmas daisies sprinkled with baby's breath. Snow broke into wide grin as she hurried over to the window and took the bouquet from her friends. "James," she whispered, patting the heads of her tiny blue messengers as she set the candy dish in front of them to feast on. Gathering the flowers close to her, she took a deep, healing breath and inhaled their sweet fragrance as she padded over to the kitchen to retrieve a vase. After spending a few minutes arranging them in water, Snow stepped back and smiled at the bouquet. Then, remembering her promise, she glanced up at the ceiling, to where their daughter slept, and whispered, "Sweet dreams, sweet girl…your father says 'goodnight.'"

***Reactions to Chapter 3 were quite humbling. Thanks for all your support, reviews, favs and alerts!

Still to come – Snow, James, Henry…and reunions with old friends.

Hope you enjoyed this one. I'd never written Emma before, but her voice rang clear in my head as I wrote the scene. Working on new ideas for "Filling in the Blanks" but can't promise an update super soon. Stay tuned!***