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 5 – It's all a haze

The bluebirds chirped happily as James scrounged around in the kitchen searching for some sort of payment. He finally settled on the half-loaf of bread that had been tossed on top of the refrigerator. Retrieving it, he tore a few end pieces into morsels and held them out to his messengers, each nipping right out of his hand before bending in unison to pick up the bouquet.

"Remember," he whispered, "only if Emma's not around." Snow would have a hard time explaining it otherwise.

The birds hummed an assenting reply and were off. James sighed as he watched them fly (in perfect formation) out of sight, headed for 'Mary Margaret's' house. How he envied them in this moment, for they would get to see her, be close to her…while he was stuck pretending to be 'David' in a house that wasn't his with a wife not his own.

Still, Snow had been right to send him away, especially considering the risk he'd unknowingly taken earlier in confiding to 'Mayor Regina' that he'd chosen someone else. It would be a bit of leg work now, tricking the queen into believing that her precious status quo had been restored. Toward that end, however, he'd discovered that Abigail – or rather Kathryn – would probably come in handy. The two women were after all…friends.

Convincing Kathryn that 'David' had had second thoughts and wanted to give it another try had been quite easy. This version of Abigail was far easier to please than her other-worldly counterpart. In fact, when forced to think objectively, 'Kathryn' was nothing like Abigail. Warm, pleasing, loving: everything a man waking-from-a-coma-having-been-cursed-into-forgetting-his-old-life needed to prevent him from asking any more questions. So when he'd shown up on her doorstep tonight and said he wasn't ready to give up on "them", Kathryn had been overjoyed and welcomed him back with open arms.

Now, in the dead of night, with Kathryn upstairs in bed, James – still fully clothed in jeans and this admittedly comfortable flannel material – was pacing the first floor, searching for clues or hints of the life he knew. Snow was right. It had been created for him. And he detected nothing of pretense in Kathryn's demeanor. So he had hoped to find something…anything of his world that might help them find their way back. So far, however, he'd had no luck. He felt as much a stranger in this house now as he did when he was just 'David'.

It wasn't long after Kathryn had retired for the night that the bluebirds arrived, pleasantly whistling a familiar tune he and Snow often had often sung to each other on evening walks through the kingdom. He was just pulling his head back through the window after sending them off with his floral reply when a voice startled him.

"What are you doing?"

James whirled around. Kathryn was standing in the kitchen, a pink terrycloth robe wrapped snuggly over her tee and sweatpants. "Uh, nothing."

She joined him by the sink, trying to peer past his shoulder. "Is there something…wrong?" she asked, searching the window curiously.

"It's nothing," he repeated. "A bird landed on the sill here, that's all."

"Oh!" Kathryn gasped and scooted closer. "Is he ok?" she cried, her voice full of worry.

James just stared at her, his mouth hanging open a bit, as he marveled at the sight of Kathryn – formerly the daughter of King Midas – showing genuine concern for a bird. "Yeah, he's fine. Just flew away." He leaned his back against the edge of the sink, gripping the countertop behind him.

"Couldn't sleep?" Kathryn asked. He shook his head. "Me either," she said, shoving her hands in the pockets of her robe. "It's funny…" she trailed off, looking past him at nothing in particular.

"What is?"

"When you were gone, I got sort of…used to you not being here," she began, and James was again shocked to detect real feeling in her voice. She leveled her eyes at his, "Now that you're back, I almost…miss you more."

James shifted uncomfortably, maintaining a bit of distance between them. "Yeah…well…" he stammered, not quite sure what to say.

Kathryn continued for him. "It's just that…you still seem so far away."

He sighed. This was beginning to feel…mean. Abigail certainly wasn't deserving of sympathy, but this woman so desperately wanted the life she'd been made to believe was hers. Her fate made him wonder again about the queen's curse. Was this her…happy ending? Having been so wretched in her old life, so full of the same kind of darkness that ruled the queen, had she been granted some sort of reward? A happy marriage as 'Kathryn' to her old betrothed as payment for the trouble Abigail stirred in their kingdom?

"Still," she said, sensing his awkwardness and seeming to wish him more at ease. "I'm glad you came back. Gives us another chance."

"Mmm hmm," he grunted.

Tentatively, she touched his arm and he tried hard not to tense it. "Would be a shame to throw all those years away."

Her tone was soft and soothing, and as he narrowed his gaze at her, he again had the sense that she was being completely sincere. He offered her a sort of half-smile, hoping that she would continue to read his discomfort as nothing more than the effects of amnesia – and then something she'd said struck him as odd.

"Kathryn—" he started, allowing her hand to remain on his arm.

"'Kathy'" she cut in.

His brow creased in confusion, "What?"

She hung her head sadly for a moment and then looked up. "You…you used to call me Kathy." She moved passed him and leaned back against the small corner created by the edge of the refrigerator and stove. "When we first met, I would talk about a mile a minute and you called me 'Chatty Kathy'." She smiled more to herself than to him as if reliving the memory. "It stuck for a long time but then…" she trailed off and James gaped as her eyes actually started to water. "Then we had another stupid argument and I told you I hated the name…and always had…and so y-you stopped using it." The memory – however false – was clearly real to her…and painful. James gulped and searched for something to say.

"What uh…what was the argument about?"

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "My father," she said bitterly.

James clenched his fists tighter and sucked in a breath. "Your father?"

She nodded, "You'd turned down another offer and he was angry."

"What offer?"

"He was after you to join the company again. As a member of the board. And I was…" she hung her head again in shame, "I was trying to get you to agree."

"To join your father's company," he repeated, his mind swimming. Kathryn's father certainly sounded an awful lot like Abigail's as he thought bitterly of the merger King Midas had once forced upon him. If they were indeed one and the same, where wasMidas in this world? Why hadn't he been at his daughter's side during 'David's' recovery? But these were hardly clarifications Kathryn could make so he calmed himself and began again. "Ok then," he said. "Kathy." The woman broke into a wide grin and her eyes glistened with tears still unshed. James ignored this as he decided to proceed with his original question. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

He crossed his arms over his chest and wandered to the archway between kitchen and hall. "How long have we…known each other?"

The woman stared at him for a moment, blankly, and then continued to smile as she replied, "Oh years!"

"Years."

"Yes, years and years, God…it's been so long."

"Yes, but how long?"

Again, he was met with a blank stare, and the smile on her face turned a bit…plastic. "Such a long time. As long as I can remember really…Yeah, it's all kind of a haze."

James stood glaring at her, searching for any sign she might be lying. But she seemed entirely guileless and her vacant expression sent an icy chill up his spine. "Ok…" he tried again, "and what about our wedding?"

"Our wedding!" she clasped her hands over her heart at once, bouncing up on her toes a bit as the warmth returned to her face and she smiled radiantly. "It was so beautiful, wasn't it? Do you want to see the pictures?"

But James dismissed her with a wave, "No I've seen the pictures. I'm just wondering…when was our wedding?"

She stopped bouncing and her face once again fell expressionless. "When?"

"Yes, when? Like, what year?"

She looked downright vacuous as she replied, "Oh we've had a wonderful marriage. A nice long marriage. I know it hasn't seemed like it lately but, we've been happy…so happy…for so long." She shook her head and he saw sweat trickling down her forehead. "So long it's kind of a—"

"A haze?" he finished for her quickly, sensing her discomfort. Her face lit up once more and returned to its blithe and youthful state. James let out a tiny sigh of relief. It would not do to have her feeling uneasy and relate this rather oddquestioning to the queen.

"A haze!" she said excitedly. "Yes exactly! You too?"

He gave her a smile and tried to mimic her enthusiasm. "Yup, definitely a haze for me. I mean we've…we've been together so long, right?"

Without warning, Kathryn flew across the kitchen and slipped her arms around him in a fierce hug, burying her head in his chest. "Oh you're remembering!" she said, and the absurdity of this remark staggered him.

His arms were sort of frozen awkwardly away from her as she squeezed tightly to him. Then, with a shudder, he decided to return the hug, feeling it would be suspicious to do otherwise. Together they stood there in' David's' kitchen as Kathryn sobbed softly into his shirt. "You're remembering," she said again, "you're figuring things out."

"Yeah," he said. She had no idea how right she was. "Yeah I am."

...

"Be sure once you've completed section 1 to go back through and identify all the adjectives in the sentence," Miss Blanchard instructed her students as she passed out the worksheet she had prepared the night before. It seemed an age since she'd developed this lesson – in reality a mere hour or so before she'd left for the toll bridge to meet 'David' – so arriving at her classroom this morning had been more than a bit surreal as she was forced to truly see, for the first time, her students for what they really were. A tremendous sadness overwhelmed her as the haze continued to lift, and she realized that she had been teaching the same students…for 28 years: the children of her kingdom, offspring of her father's subjects. They had been unable to grow old, prevented from truly learning anything or experiencing the joy of living. Her heart broke every time she recognized one of them. There was the smith's boy, the miller's daughter, and a half dozen other children of palace staff and attendants – all in all she could only identify about half of them, but her heart ached for them all.

As they busied themselves with their work, gathering their little desks into small groups and scooting chairs together, her eyes inevitably fell on the one boy who chose to remain separate. The boy who, as far back as she could remember, had always been alone. Henry Mills. Her grandson.

As Mary Margaret, she had always felt for the boy, but as Snow it was all she could do not to weep for him. No wonder he had become obsessed with that book of fairy tales. No wonder he had voraciously searched the town for clues about its secrets, had stolen her credit card and hopped a bus to Boston to find their savior. He was the only boy in this school actually growing up! She could now remember the day Henry had transferred into her class. How strange it had seemed to her then for a child to be moving up from a previous grade…Snow shuddered. How awful it must have seemed to him – always asking questions to which no one had real answers. She watched as he worked quietly in his desk seated beside the row of shelves against the windows, yet seemingly undisturbed by his solitude. Her mind drifted back to her reunion with James by the bridge, and her heart filled with gratitude toward their grandson. How much did they owe him already? How many more people would his actions eventually help? With a few minutes left before the bell rang, Snow approached him with as much nonchalance as she could muster and stood by his desk.

"Hey Henry," she said, leaning up against the bookshelves and hoisting herself up to perch on top of them.

He looked up and instantly broke into a wide, toothy grin. "Hey Miss Blanchard," he replied.

Snow's eyes widened. His eyes…she'd never noticed it before, but his eyes…were crystal blue. "Are you um…understanding everything?"

Henry glanced down at his worksheet. "Oh yeah. Adjectives are real easy," he said casually.

Snow frowned. Of course adjectives were easy. She wondered how many times she'd taught adjectives to these children. An intense dislike for the rules of grammar shortly followed. "Good," she said, shaking it off. "Henry, I was wondering…if you could do me a favor."

This time Henry's head turned slowly, almost sneakily, and it startled her. It was almost as if the boy knew her favor would have nothing to do with these same old parts of speech. "Yyyeah?" he asked and she could tell he was suppressing a grin.

"Do you still have that book?"

His eyes brightened, "Of course!"

"Do you have it with you?"

At this, his look turned incredulous and Snow had to laugh. "I always have it with me. I can't leave it with –" he stopped himself and then looked back down at his desk. "I can't leave it at home."

Seeing his face fall, Snow was overwhelmed with the urge to envelop him in a big, protective hug – to tell him he would never have to go back to that…witch. The thought of it made her blood boil – her grandson under the care of one of the most dangerous, vindictive beings in all the realms. But she took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. If there was one thing Regina had proven over the years, it was the lengths to which she would go to protect Henry. He was safe with her – Snow begrudgingly admitted – for now.

"Henry," she touched his shoulder. "Would you mind if I…had it back for a while?"

His looked up at her again, this time somewhat confused. "Wwwwell…" he thought for a moment. "Sure, I mean it is your book…" he trailed off, peering thoughtfully out the window.

She leaned forward a bit. "But?" she asked, sensing his doubt. And she knew why. Regina had made it more than clear a few weeks ago that she was tired of Archie indulging Henry in his fairy tale theory. Consequently, the boy had been a little more careful when mentioning it or bringing the book out in public.

"Well, you already woke up Prince Charming. Besides, don't you already know all the stories?" he asked warily.

She smiled. "Most of them. But I was…thinking about reading some of them in class and—"

"Miss Blanchard!" Henry hissed in a panic, "you can't read these to the class!"

Snow pulled back, "Why not?"

Hastily he looked around, as if making sure the coast was clear. "I haven't figured out who everyone is yet. If one of your students is someone's kid…someone bad—" he paused and whispered, "we don't want the queen knowing what we know."

Snow closed her eyes and smiled. Clever boy. Incredibly clever boy. "I understand Henry. I'll be careful. And I promise if I do decide to read them out loud," she pat his shoulder reassuringly, "I'll be sure to check with you first."

This seemed to convince her grandson, and he opened his backpack immediately, pulling out the thick volume of fairy tales, and handed it to his teacher. The bell rang and as the other kids rushed to grab their coats for recess, Henry stood and looked at the book sitting in her lap. He gave it a weird smirk, seemed to consider something, and then shrugged. "It's probably better off with you now anyway. Now that Emma's living with you, maybe she'll read more of it."

Again, Snow smiled. "Maybe she will."

Henry's look turned serious and Snow started as he quite unexpectedly placed his hand on top of her own. "Don't worry, Miss Blanchard," he assured her in a voice so much older and wiser than his age. "Emma'n I are gonna bring everyone back. We'll help you remember. We'll help both of you," he added with the most adorable wink. "You'll have your prince charming back soon."

And with that, the precocious little boy pulled on his coat and gloves and was bounding out of the classroom, leaving a – slightly stunned – and incredibly moved Snow White behind. Reverently, she turned the book over in her hands, smoothing her palm across the gold lettering embossed on the front: Once Upon a Time. Indeed, she thought. Once upon a time…before the queen enacted her curse, before all their hopes and dreams shattered down around them…

She carried it back to the desk and set about leafing through the pages. The last time she had looked at the book had been as Mary Margaret. So examining its effusive pages now was almost akin to reading a diary long forgotten. She had just reached the point of Snow White's meeting Prince Charming when—

"Good morning."

Snow jerked her head up at the door and then smiled. There he was. Prince Charming himself.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you," he said with a grin as he weaved his way over to her through the students' desks and chairs.

"G'morning," she replied as he reached her, and she slipped her hand in his with ease.

James leaned against the front of her desk facing her chair and tossed his jacket on the activity table behind them. "What's that?" he asked, eyeing the book.

Snow grinned. "A story," she said cryptically.

James stretched his neck to one side, straining to read it right side up. "About what?"

"Us." He looked up at her curiously as she shifted the book's orientation on the table and scooted her chair to match his angle. "See?" she flipped through a few pages and revealed a beautiful rendering of Snow and Charming staring at each other across the troll bridge. Snow ran her finger down the page and stopped right beneath a line. "Look."

James squinted and read the line: I told you I have a name…it's James. He gaped at the pages. "That's…that's us," he said, rather dimly.

Snow's hand came to rest on top of his. "It's what I was reading to you when you woke up."

He looked at her and sighed, reaching up to caress her cheek. God she was beautiful. This secret identity thing was going to be hell. "How's Emma?" he asked, letting his hand drop again.

She grinned. "Good I think. She had a…rough night at work but when she got home we talked for a while and we…"

"What?"

She beamed at him and her eyes glistened. "Nothing we just…we talked."

James smiled back, understanding. For the first time since Snow had kissed baby Emma goodbye, she'd been able to speak with her daughter.

Determined not to succumb to maternal blubbering, Snow straightened up and gave her husband a mischievous grin. "How's Kathryn?"

James rolled his eyes and leaned back. "You mean Kathy?"

Her brow creased, "Kathy?"

He took a deep breath, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he related the story of his conversation in the kitchen. "It was the eeriest thing I've ever seen Snow," he said as he finished. "She couldn't tell me a thing about where we'd met, how long we'd known each other, when we even got married? But she had, down to the smallest detail, an entire account of this fight we'd had about her father's company."

Snow sighed. Her elbow propped upon the desk, she rested her chin on her palm. "That is eerie."

"And her answer every time?" James crossed his arms over his chest and glanced back at the door before continuing, "Every time I asked her how long it'd been or when we moved into that house? Her response was the same: 'It's all a haze.'"

"A haze?"

"Yes," James rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "A haze. And she'd say it with this really…" he glanced up at the ceiling, searching for the right word. "Almost glassy look on her face. Like she wasn't even there. And she never once seemed to realize that she'd been saying it all night."

Snow glanced worriedly at the door as well, and decided if they were to continue this discourse, it was best to be extra careful. She held up her hand, motioning for him to pause as she got up, crossed the room, and pulled the classroom door shut. Recess wouldn't be over for at least another twenty minutes. Once their privacy was assured, she returned to the desk.

"I talked to a few people on the way over here and it's the same with all of them. It's like everyone in Storybrooke has been programmed," he said, "with just enough history to carry on day-to-day but with no real…depth."

Snow wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her shoulders. "I wonder if I sounded like that."

He glanced over at her. "Probably," he said, though his tone was comforting. "But I'm sure it doesn't sound strange if everyone's in a haze at the same time."

She shook her head sadly. "And everybody is."

James hesitated to go on, for he could already see the lines of distress etched across her face. But he had to continue. She needed to know. "That's not the worst part though."

Her eyes widened and she squeezed her arms tighter. "It's not?"

"No," he frowned, stepping closer to her and settling against one of the students' desks in front of her. He sat on the desktop so their eyes were level. "If talking with Abigail proves anything, it's that this curse is…incredibly complex. It's unlike any magic, any spell I've ever seen or heard of. And believe me, I learned a great deal about magic when Thomas disappeared." He added this last bit and seemed to look past her, remembering the endless hours of interrogation spent in the mines trying to find the young prince after their failed attempt to break one of Rumpelstiltskin's contracts.

Knowing how guilty her husband had felt about that incident, Snow stepped toward him, standing in between his legs as he remained seated on the desktop. He gathered her hands in his own and massaged her palms with his thumbs, a small bit of comfort for both in the midst of such dim predictions. "Whatever sacrifice the queen must have made to bring this about," he continued, his eyes fixed on her hands, "had to have been truly heinous. She'll be beyond the point of redemption." His voice was grave and the austerity of his face made her tremble as he looked up at her and finished. "And this curse is so powerful, she can't possibly have enacted it on her own."

Snow clasped his hands tightly, "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean she had help. Lots of it."

His wife reeled away from him, stepping back to the chalkboard, leaning up against it for support. "Help? No…we can't…you can't know that for sure."

"I'm sorry Snow, but the kind of power required to enact this much control for this long? Maintaining thousands of false memories and identities and exerting enough force at the edges of town to keep everyone here? There's no way the queen is that powerful. 'Stiltskin isn't even that powerful."

Snow's head was swimming and she shook it vigorously. She knew their task would be great, but she had only ever imagined gathering enough forces to challenge the queen. If there were other villains involved…then that meant… "How will we even know where to begin?" she asked helplessly. "I mean, if that's true, we have no way of knowing who to trust."

"Or what any of them even look like," he added, pushing himself off the desk and shoving his hands in his pockets. "I mean we have actually seen the queen, Rumpelstiltskin, and Midas. But I've only ever heard accounts of the Blind Witch and Ursula. I've only ever seen the court artist's rendering of Maleficent's dragon form at Philip's palace."

"So there may be dozens more of the queen's eyes around this town," she finished solemnly, hugging herself around the middle once more. "Oh James...where do we even start?"

He clasped her hands again and took a deep breath. "We start with who we know. Those we do recognize. If we can find Philip and Aurora, we'll be able to spot Maleficent—"

"If we wake Ella, we'll know her step mother," Snow agreed.

He moved closer to her and nodded. "And we just…we have to be very careful who we tell."

Snow was staring at the floor, her eyes darting back and forth as she thought it all through. Eventually her eyes fell on the storybook on her desk. She paused for a moment, as if coming to a definite decision, and then looked back to her husband. "We should tell Henry," she said.

James blinked. "Henry?"

She nodded with a suddenly confident look on her face as she returned to her desk. "Yes! He probably knows more than we do already. We need to tell him."

"Henry?" he repeated, following her. "What are you talking about?"

She picked up the book and clutched it to her chest. "Henry Mills! He's read all the stories. He'll know where to start. Besides," she added with a laugh, oblivious to her husband's increasing confusion, "he'll come in handy convincing his mother!" Her voice was filled with a renewed sense of purpose and excitement.

But James was far from convinced. "Snow, are you mad?" he said, pulling the book from her grasp. "Convincing his mother? Why would we want that? He's the mayor's kid!"

Snow just stared at him. "Well yes but he's also—" she stopped herself, for the look on his face said it all. She gasped and held her hand to her heart. "You don't know," she said in a whisper.

James shook his head, setting the book down again. "Know what?"

She took a deep breath. "James…Henry is adopted. Regina isn't his mother."

His eyes narrowed. "Who is?"

She placed her hand on his shoulder, steadying him against the shock and pain she knew she must cause him. "Emma."

His mouth fell open. "Emma?" he managed, his voice suddenly strained. She nodded, squeezing his shoulder tight. "Our Emma?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Which would make Henry…"

She brushed her other hand over his palm. "Your grandson." Beneath her touch, Snow felt her husband's entire body go numb. How she wished there had been a better way to prepare him, but such staggering news could never be dulled. He slumped down into one of the students' chairs, staring at the floor.

"My grand…my…she's a moth…she has a son?" Words at the moment were too limiting – a completely inadequate mode of expression for James as he tried to keep himself from falling apart. "She's a mother," he gasped as if there was suddenly a shortage of air in the room. "She's a mother and I didn't…I didn't even get to…to be…" he couldn't finish. It was too much. Everything Snow had felt last night by the bridge had finally, it seemed, dawned on her husband with the same intensity. They truly had missed…everything.

Snow knelt before him, squeezing his hands, willing herself to be strong for him. "He's a wonderful boy, James. He helped me save you."

"A grandson—"

"Who has your eyes," she took his face in her hands. "And your strength. He's the one who figured everything out. He's the one who brought Emma back to us."

At this, James looked up, his eyes full of tears. "H-he did?"

She nodded to the book. "He found her. Traveled to Boston by himself and brought her to Storybrooke. He's brilliant, James. Like you."

Tears streaked down his face now as he rested his forehead against hers. "Snow…" he whispered.

"We have a second chance with him, my darling. With both of them," she pulled back and forced him to look at her. "He wants to know us…to know you. You saw him at your party didn't you?"

His eyes darted to the left, remembering the boy with Emma. At the time 'David' been so fixated on the tough blonde deputy and why she seemed so familiar to him, that he hadn't given much thought to the child. Looking back now, a small laugh escaped him and he smiled. "He asked me…if I'd ever used a sword."

Snow beamed up at him, her own eyes misting a bit as she brushed the tears from his cheeks and stroked her fingers through his hair. Straightening up on her knees, she pulled him down for a kiss and then wrapped her arms around his neck.

Resting his chin on her shoulder, he clung to her, the shock finally subsiding and the ache in his heart eased by the warmth of her touch. There were so many questions he had now (not the least of which involved Henry's father) and he was about to ask them when he felt his wife go stiff in his arms. She gasped, for something behind them had caught her eye and he pulled away from her, turning to see what it was.

Though recess had not yet ended, the classroom door had been flung open and standing in the doorway, his gloved hand still gripping the doorknob…was Henry.

Snow and James were on their feet in an instant, Snow's hands clasped over her chest while James gripped the edge of the desk. The three of them stood there, no one knowing quite what to say. The boy had clearly seen enough, for Henry's jaw hung wide open as he remained frozen in the doorframe.

"H-henry," Snow finally managed, wringing her hands together, her eyes darting back and forth between her husband and grandson. "I um…we…" but she'd grown as unintelligible as James had been moments before.

They seemed destined to be stuck in this ridiculous staring contest forever, and then slowly, Henry removed his hand from the doorknob, let his backpack drop to the floor with a soft plash…and grinned. "You remember," he whispered fiercely, smiling from ear-to-ear. And before either prince or princess could reply, Henry sprinted across the classroom and threw himself into the arms…of his grandfather.

James sunk immediately to the floor and wrapped his arms around the boy. The embrace shocked him, but he hugged tightly, overwhelmed by the profound and instant love he felt for his grandson. Tears welled up again in his eyes, and when he looked up at his wife over Henry's little shoulder, the joy in her own watery gaze was almost too much for Prince Charming to bear.

"I knew it!" Henry said with delighted frenzy. "I knew if she read to you…I knew if she woke you up…" he pulled away from James but kept his arms on his shoulders. "I knew you'd figure it out!"

And James smiled, the same grin stretched across Henry's face mirrored on his own. "Yeah, Henry," he gave the boy's hair an affectionate tousle. "I remember."

***Whew! That was a bear of a chapter to write. Lots of groundwork to lay. Hope you enjoyed it! Coming soon: More between Henry and his grandparents, plus an appearance by the newest set of parents in Storybrooke. Stay tuned and Happy Holidays! ***