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

Yes

"What happened?" James asked as Thomas sidled into the opposite seat of Garçon's only booth. Such startling revelations couldn't possibly be expounded upon in detail at the bar. So once the game had ended and the crowd thinned, Thomas had called a cab for the drunk couple near the window and told James to wait.

James watched rather impatiently as the young prince updated everyone's tab, offered the remaining patrons a free round, and then joined him.

"You tell me," he countered, slapping something down on the table. "One minute I'm sitting next to Ella by the well. I go to fetch her some water and the next thing I know, I'm in some strange hospital room, she's had the baby and she's calling me Sean!"

James blew out a sigh, sinking against the red cushioned headboard of the booth. "So," he pointed at his friend. "You've known since the hospital?"

But the prince shook his head and leaned forward. "Known what?" he whispered fiercely. "James, what is going on?" He pointed to what he'd lain on the table which James now noticed was a copy of the newspaper heralding 'David Nolan's' miraculous recovery. "I would've gone to see you but this said you couldn't even remember your name."

James glanced down, staring at the image of a man he truly didn't recognize. He'd only been 'David' for a short time, and he resented the very name itself and all it represented.

"Is this 'Stiltskin's doing?" Thomas asked.

James blinked. "What?"

"The plan. When we entrapped him with that quill. Did it…did it backfire?"

James covered his mouth with his hand and then slid it up to his forehead, cradling his head in his palm. "'Stiltskin, oh no…Thomas no, this has nothing to do with 'Stiltskin. At least, not directly," he shook his head and added, "we don't think."

"We?" Thomas perked up. "You-you…you mean there are others?"

He took a deep breath. "Just Snow," he said, then gestured to his friend with a cocked eyebrow, "that we know of anyway."

Thomas's eyes rolled toward the ceiling, and collapsed into the leather seatback. "So that was Snow who came to the house last night. Ella told me the town schoolteacher paid us a visit. I thought about going to the school today to see her but I just…I didn't know if it was coincidence, or if she knew or—"

"Yeah," James nodded. "Yeah she knows." He noticed the relief in the younger prince's face, but James was still perplexed. "She told me she'd seen Ella and the baby but—" he cleared his throat and froze as a customer stumbled by, pausing right by the booth and openly coughing and hacking towards the floor. The man was short and portly, wearing brown hobo gloves and a tattered brown and black checkered scarf around his neck. A scratchy black beard peeked out from beneath a dull, matted, flannel shirt and his face was half hidden by the ball cap dipped low on his head. Thomas took out a handkerchief and handed it to him, patting him on the back as the man continued to wheeze. Only when he turned to hand it back to the prince did James get a better glimpse of the sickly man's face. When he saw who it was, James nearly lunged out of his seat.

"Easy," Thomas whispered, thrusting his arm out to stop the elder prince as the vagrant moved slowly toward the door. They watched him go and Thomas looked warily back at his friend. "I've been…keeping an eye on him."

James had lost his voice and felt quite paralyzed as the man doddered away from them. Helpless, the prince could do nothing but watch…as Dopey left the bar. His throat went dry. "Where…" he croaked, swallowing hard. "Where does he go?"

Thomas frowned. "There's a shelter a little ways down the street. Sometimes he goes there."

"He's homeless?" James cried.

"Shh," Thomas pleaded, darting his eyes back and forth between James and his patrons. "Technically, no. He's not homeless. He's in assisted living, but it's a volunteer place. So he's not required to stay there. He just..." he sighed, glancing back at the door. "He just…wanders."

James's hands tightened into fists and he clenched his teeth with renewed fury toward the queen. He didn't trust himself to speak for he knew the next words out of his mouth would be far too crass even for Garçon's. Dopey – alone and uncared for. Snow would go out of her mind.

Thomas waited patiently for his friend's temper to cool. Glancing back at the clock, and sweeping his gaze across the room once more, he took a deep breath and forced James to re-focus. "You were saying?"

The anger only slightly ebbed from his glare. "What?"

"About Snow."

James blinked a few times, and then finally sighed. "Right…She mentioned seeing Ella and the baby but she didn't tell me that you…well, I don't think she realized that you and Ella were…you know…yourselves."

At this, Thomas's face fell and he stared blankly at the paper in front of him. "We're not" he muttered. "At least…she's not."

James's eyes slid shut as Thomas confirmed what he'd already feared. Tell me about it, his friend had said before. It's been sort of like…getting to know your wife all over again. No wonder there were trace lines of aging and fatigue etched all over the young prince's face. He leaned forward. "You mean you're awake but Ella's not?"

Thomas took a deep breath, shaking his head and lifting his gaze to meet his friend's. Slowly and almost begging this time, he splayed his hands out in front of him and asked, "Awake…from…what? James, what is going on?"

James sighed, fully grasping – finally – just how awful it had been for the young prince. Thrust into this wretched world without a single ally, relying on newspapers and casual observation to make sense of a world that, quite frankly, was without sense. He sucked in a breath and folded his hands atop the table. "Do you remember when I told you of the threat leveled at us by the queen?"

"At your wedding?"

"Yes." Thomas nodded. "We didn't know at the time what she was planning so we…" James paused, not wanting to admit what came next. But the young royal deserved to know, if only in order that he protect his family. "We brokered a deal with Rumpelstiltskin to find out the queen's plan."

"What?" Thomas shouted and this time, heads turned.

James waited on edge for the onlookers to return to their conversations before continuing in hushed but firm tones. "Believe me, it wasn't my idea. But Snow insisted. And that's when we learned of the curse." Thomas listened intently, ignoring the seething hatred that twisted in his gut as he thought of Rumpelstiltskin holding power over yet another person he held dear. When the tale was told, the depth and magnitude of the curse struck him as quite unfathomable.

"That's not possible," he hissed. "One person can't wield that much power."

"I agree. Which is why Storybrooke is in even more danger than we originally feared. As I told Snow, it must have taken a great deal of dark magic to affect this curse. So—"

"The queen isn't working alone."

James nodded. They were quiet for a few moments and he could see the wheels turning inside his young friend's mind as Thomas rested his chin thoughtfully in the heel of his palm and nervously drummed his fingers on the table. "What?" James asked.

He glanced up, halted the drumming and then slid his hand back with a sigh. "It's just that…I don't understand how you and Snow can be…awake." He was struggling hard to keep the envy from his voice, but couldn't help the cruel sting in his heart as he muttered the rest. "You've both been able to break the curse but…my Ella. She still sleeps."

James shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, pushing his back against the tough cushion as he tried to stretch out his cramping legs. "Snow and I restored our happy ending."

"And we haven't?" Thomas sprang forward, his youth showing through more and more as he glowered indignantly. "James I…I came back to her. 'Stiltskin's contract tore me away but I still found her. We're together again! And still she thinks she's this…this Ashley person. We—"

"When did you awaken?" James cut in, working to keep both their tempers and their voices in check.

"I told you, at the hospital."

"Yes but when exactly? At what moment?"

Thomas huffed and stared at the ceiling, leaning back as he revisited that glorious day in his head. Slowly, a gentle smile lit his face and he answered wistfully, "When I held my daughter." He glanced down again at James. "When Ella put Alexandra in my arms. That's when I woke up."

James's breath hitched, a knife-like twinge piercing his heart as he remembered the first and only time he'd held his baby girl. But he pushed it out of mind as quickly as he recalled it. "That's it then," he said. "Reunited with your family, safe and whole. That's your happy ending."

"But not Ella's?"

"Obviously not."

Thomas threw his hands up in the air. "What then? I can't stand seeing her like this, James. She…she's so…meek." He shook his head, the pain of knowing how much spark and spunk had gone out of his beloved wife overwhelming him too much to elaborate further. James reached forward, giving his friend's arm a supportive pat before withdrawing. Though he had not met 'Ashley' as she existed in Storybrooke, he had seen enough of what the curse had done to Snow's vivacious spirit in the shell of Mary Margaret. He could only imagine how the curse had reverted Thomas's already modest and humble wife to the timid, shy little thing Snow had described. "Snow seems to think," he offered cautiously, "that it has something to do with your father."

Though the comment was intended constructively, anger flashed in Thomas's eyes the likes of which James had not seen in the young prince since they first talked of plans to capture Rumpelstiltskin. "My father?" he seethed.

James physically jerked back from the table. He eyed his friend carefully, cocking an eyebrow. "I take it there have been…problems?"

Thomas actually, audibly snorted. "Oh no, no problems," he snapped. "Except that this curse of your queen's turned my father into a dick."

Despite Thomas's obvious anguish, James chocked back a laugh. "You uh…" he cleared his throat. "You certainly have a handle on the vernacular, your Highness."

Thomas waved him off dismissively. "The perks of working in a bar, James," he countered, gesturing toward it. "The expletives here are far more accurate." He shook his head in disbelief, staring at the tabletop. "The things he said…the things he called her."

James gulped, shuddering at the fact that the curse had been powerful enough to drive a wedge between Thomas and the king. He had never seen a father so close, so dedicated to his son's happiness as Christopher.

"I had not thought my father capable of such contempt…such…filth." Thomas added, his voice quieter than before though no less seething. James didn't dare ask what exactly had been said about Ella. The prince's rage was explanation enough. "As soon as I...woke up, I went to him. Told him about Ella and the baby. Tried to explain everything as best I could."

James nodded. "But?"

"Well I didn't really understand what was going on yet, did I? And he wasn't listening anyway. Kept prattling on about how that girl is 'ruining my future'." He leaned forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his forehead. "Since when are our children not our future, James?" he cried. "What kind of world is this? Where children are seen as burdens and the women who bore them accused of debauchery and…and deceit?" James cringed. Had the king truly intimated that Ella was some sort of wanton harpy looking to trap his friend? Thomas continued, curling his palm into a fist atop the table. "Siring a child here at my age? They call that a mistake. And my father actually wanted to pay someone else to deal with that 'mistake'!"

"It's not your father, Thomas. It's the curse," James urged, his low and steady voice an intended warning that they were getting too loud.

"Isn't it though?" he asked. "We're all the same basic people. You didn't turn evil did you?"

"No but neither did Christopher," James countered. "The curse seems to suppress our strengths while enhancing our weaknesses. You said so yourself. Ella is different."

Thomas let out a sort of inaudible grunt but nodded.

"Think," James continued, leaning forward again. "Did your father ever, even in the minutest sense, express doubt or concern over your marrying a commoner?"

Thomas rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Of course he did. Everyone did," he paused and then nodded to his friend. "Except, well…you…and Snow."

James gave him a grateful smile.

"But I'm telling you, that all went away when he met her. My father loved Ella. He could see that she made me happy and he loved her as if she was his own daughter."

"But he did have doubts," said the elder prince. "Those doubts are what the curse has clearly amplified. That's what we need to overcome."

Thomas was about to ask how when the swinging door arrested their attention. He twisted around and James straightened up as a sudden gust of late November wind blew through the door, heralding the entrance of a beautiful young woman. "Sean, I'm back!" she said, out of breath, and pulled off her white wool cap. James gasped.

Though her features were half covered by the waves of brown curls tumbling around her shoulders and the feathery blue scarf around her neck, her face – and more significantly her voice – was unmistakable.

"How is he?" Thomas was asking while James could do nothing but gape.

The woman walked over to the booth, unknotting her scarf and unzipping an old, smudged white parka. "A little better. Thank you so much for letting me run home," she shook her head and, for the first time, glanced at Sean's new friend. "I can't believe I had his pills in my purse," she laughed at her blunder, looking back and forth between the two men.

Thomas finally remembered an introduction was warranted and cleared his throat. "Oh, sorry. Ja – uh – David," he recovered as James shot him a glare. "David this is Rose. Rose? David Nolan. Storybrooke's resident—"

"John Doe, of course," Rose nodded with a smile, pointing at the paper still lying on their table. "We read all about you."

"Everyone has," James managed, finally finding his voice.

"Lovely to meet you," she said, pulling off her scarf and thrusting out her hand.

James grasped it immediately and was not at all surprised to find that she still had a firm and confident handshake. "Likewise."

She held his gaze for a moment, and James saw the beginnings of that vague glassy 'Storybrooke-curse-look' he was growing accustomed to. But she shook her head, dropped her hand and turned back to her coworker. "I see the game ended."

"Yeah," Thomas glanced around. "I gave everyone left a free round."

"A free round?" she snorted, shrugging off her coat. "I bet Jack's gonna love that."

Thomas scoffed. "He can take it out of my pay for all I care. For once, they've been quiet." Rose glanced around the bar and confirmed the status quo with a nod. "Well, thanks again for covering," she turned toward James. "My father's been sick and I left the house with his medicine in my purse."

"Is he ok?" James asked.

Rose looked down with a sad smile. "He has…good days and bad days."

James glanced at Thomas who confirmed his friend's suspicions with a nod. "Have you uh…" James continued. "Have you been working here long?"

She heaved a tired sigh and gave a sort of half grin. "Yeah. For years. As long as I can remember really." She seemed saddened by this admission but then shrugged. "It pays the bills though." She turned to her fellow bartender. "Go home," she ordered. "You were supposed to be off twenty minutes ago."

"I told you," Thomas insisted, leaning forward. "It's not a problem."

She smiled gratefully, draped her coat over her arm, and turned from them. "Nice to meet you," she called back and disappeared to the stock room.

Jaw dropped and eyes wide, James slowly turned back to Thomas who was nodding…sadly. "She works in a tavern?"

"Oh it gets better," Thomas cringed, as if he'd been holding off on admitting this particular truth all night. "Guess who owns this place."

For a moment, James couldn't guess. But the young prince's leveled gaze spoke volumes and the answer crashed into him like a tidal wave. "No!" he cried. "'Jack' is—"

"Yep."

"She works for him?"

Thomas nodded.

"Is he here?" James pointed down at the table, prepared to fly to his feet and search out the bastard that had caused their friend such hassle.

"No," Thomas said hurriedly. "No not tonight."

He relaxed only slightly and shook his head, glancing back at the bar where Rose was now seeing to the remaining customers' tabs. "I gather her father is sick again?"

Thomas nodded. "For as long as…" he stopped himself, then rolled his eyes as he realized the curse-born phrase coming out of his mouth, "for as long as she can remember."

James folded his hands in front of him and he worked to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as he asked the next necessary question. "I don't suppose you know where…or even who Adam is?"

Thomas shook his head. "I haven't seen him." He nodded toward Rose, "and she hasn't mentioned anyone like him either." He paused, his own unspoken fears about their friend's fate also coming to light. "I'm…I'm scared for him James. This curse…it seems to send people…backwards. Ella is a maid again. You…you're with Abigail."

"Yeah?"

"So if it's done the same to Adam then…then he could be—"

"A beast again, I know," James acknowledged the same fear and sighed. "Which means he could be anyone or…really anything for all we know."

Thomas glanced up at Rose and sighed. "We have…a lot of happy endings to restore."

James also looked back at the young brunette. "Rose," he said thoughtfully. "That's…oddly appropriate."

But the younger prince jerked back and crossed his arms. "There's nothing 'appropriate' about Belle working for Gaston."

"I know, I just meant—"

"Or Ella being afraid of my father. Or Dopey living without his brothers—"

"Thomas!" James hissed, grasping his wrist across the table, stilling the outrage that had been brewing inside his young friend all night. Glaring into his hurt, frustrated eyes, it pained James to think of what Thomas had been forced to bear solely on his shoulders. And he wondered, not for the first time tonight, who else in Storybrooke might also be awake and completely on their own, unsure of who to trust. "We have work to do, yes," he said, affecting a calm and steady tone despite his own worries. "But remember what I told you when we were waiting in the trees for Rumpelstiltskin."

Thomas glanced up, glowering but quiet.

"Good can't lose."

"Right," he scoffed. "And right after that, the contract was sealed and I was ripped away from Ella."

"Yes and you were returned to your wife's bedside with your baby girl in your arms and her whole life still in front of her," James countered in a voice so sharp that Thomas started and, for the first time, realized that James had not said a word about…his own child all night. James sucked in a deep breath, slackened his grip on Thomas's wrist and began again. "We're going to fix it. We're going to fix all of it," he promised. Thomas held his gaze, staring doubtfully, but at last acquiesced and sank back once more. "Now tell me more about your father," James continued. "I think I have an idea."

…

Thomas arrived at his home on Barbarac Lane in higher spirits than he could ever remember being in Storybrooke. His had been an exceptionally trying journey, for he was still trapped in limbo, bound by Rumpelstiltskin's contract, when the queen enacted her spell. Condemned by his own fateful words that night in the mines, he had sworn to Ella, should there be a price to pay for using the magic they intended to wield, that he would be the one to pay it. And pay it he did, for the kingdom had searched high and low for their prince for many weeks after his disappearance, ceasing only when the curse was imminent, and all their fates were similarly doomed.

The curse, however, had clearly nullified 'Stiltskin's hold over Thomas, pulling him from the sorcerer's clutches and plunging him into the persona of Sean Herman. Yanked right from limbo, he had been especially susceptible to queen's magic, joining Storybrooke almost zombie-like, the mere shell of the strong, young and confident royal he had been. Rumpelstiltskin's power colliding with the queen's had wreaked havoc on the poor prince's constitution, reducing him to one of the weakest, dependent young men in the community, catering to the every wish and whim of his father, and wholly without backbone as 'Sean'. So when Thomas had emerged in the hospital, awoken by the poignant and cathartic reunion with his wife and daughter, the disorientation was acute and – unlike James or Snow – Thomas didn't fully remember the entirety of his existence as 'Sean' right away. Gradually, he pieced together recollections of the whole of Storybrooke and, with each memory, grew more and more disgusted with himself for his alter-ego's behavior toward Ella.

Fully recovered and at last himself, Thomas became determined that Ella never again be made to feel unwanted or unloved. She had been through enough of that with her step mother and sisters, and had certainly endured more than her share of grief in the 28 years she'd spent as Ashley – the unwed, pregnant maid. It still sickened Thomas to think about it to this day, but he'd resolved to make things right again. And now, with his dearest and most trusted friends also restored, he finally felt he might actually have a chance.

So it was with a lighter heart and an extra bounce in his step that he pushed through the front door of their tiny home that night after concluding his meeting with James. "Ashley?" he called out softly, though deliberately (he'd spent the entire drive home mentally reminding himself to call her 'Ashley' after an entire evening of referring to her as Ella). There was no answer and the house was dark, though when he halted in the door frame and listened, he could hear little Alex squirming and shifting against the soft vinyl lining of her playpen as she dreamed. Gently, Sean closed the door, shrugged his jacket off into a nearby chair, and crept across the living room, crouching down beside the playpen and peering over the bar to gaze at his sleeping babe. She was…perfect. Tiny. Precious. And theirs.

As he watched her little chest rise and fall, her tiny hands curling tightly to the edge of an old Winnie The Pooh blanket, he laughed at himself, remembering a time not so long ago when children and wives and families held zero interest for him. His father had insisted on throwing him that ball upon his return from his travels; he had been quite prepared to sneak out after the first minuet. And then…she showed up.

As if on cue, a door quietly creaked open behind him. Thomas turned toward the short hallway beyond the kitchen and caught his breath. Standing before him, looking blithe and willowy in a teal chiffon dressing gown, was the very picture of an angel. "You're home," she whispered in relief as she stretched and yawned. "I was starting to worry."

Perhaps it was the confidence he had in James's plan; perhaps it was the glorious thought that his wife might soon be fully restored to him…or it could just be those doe eyes of hers, pools of love and affection swimming with concern over the lateness of his arrival. But whatever the reason, Thomas suddenly could not contain his adoration, and in one swift movement, he straightened up, crossed the living room, cupped her face between his palms and kissed her.

Shocked by the sheer speed with which he'd moved, Ashley's eyes flew open and she froze mid-stretch as Sean slid his fingers into the soft blonde curls at her nape and deepened the kiss. In the few weeks since they'd been back together, he had been gentle with her…almost too gentle actually – handling her as though she were as fragile as a china doll. She had told herself that he was respecting her space, being cautious and patient, allowing her time to grow accustomed to his being around again. They had, after all, been separated for her entire pregnancy, and he was not the kind of man to be presumptuous. But in truth…it had frustrated her. And she had spent several lonely nights, while he worked late at Garçon's and she cared for their daughter, fearful that the pressures of fatherhood and bread-winning had dulled the passion and fervor he once felt for her.

Now, those doubts were quickly evaporating and, recovered from her initial shock, she closed her eyes and melted against him. He captured her lips again and again with his own, alternating between long, heated kisses and soft brushes at the corners of her mouth. She sucked in a breath and whimpered as she relaxed her arms against his chest and slid her hands up to grip his shoulders.

Her familiar moan ignited him all over again and he moved to wrap his arm around her waist, his firm grip keeping her upright for he could tell her knees had gone quite weak. She was positively trembling with need, and he was panting like a youth at a maypole festival when he finally pulled away, catching her wrist in his other hand and holding it to his heart. Kissed senseless, it took a few moments before his Ella opened her eyes again.

"What," she said breathlessly, finally blinking her eyes open, her lids heavy as if she had just woken from a dreamy sleep. "What was that for?" With her free hand she clung to him and wondered, indeed, if she was dreaming.

"For—" he rasped, his voice catching in his throat. He struggled for the right thing to say. Everything he wanted to reveal to her, he knew he couldn't. Not yet. It wasn't time. And James had warned him to be patient. Still, gazing into the loving eyes of his wife, the mother of his child, he felt as if a tightly coiled spring had just burst free in his heart and he could no longer contain his ardor. "For taking me back," he said finally. And he was rewarded with a grin.

"Mmm," she purred, whispering against his cheek. "I did that weeks ago."

He flashed her a warning look and, with a playful growl, bent down and scooped her up in his arms as if she were lighter than air. She shrieked as he gathered her against his chest, and she hastened a glance over at the playpen, checking that their daughter still slept soundly through her parents'…er…discussion. "I know," Sean said, recapturing her gaze. "But I don't think I ever thanked you…properly."

Thomas could feel her shiver against him as he said it, and in her eyes she saw the same emotional release he'd felt at their embrace. He dipped his head down to hers, claiming her once more with a kiss, but this one was slow and simmering, and Ella practically went limp in his arms, though she clutched tiny fists of his tee-shirt in her hands as he cradled her. The folds of her robe had parted at her waist and draped down to the floor, pooling in soft puddles around Thomas's feet that he avoided carefully as he carried her down the hallway to their room, his mouth all the while never leaving hers. Turning slightly, he backed into the door, using his shoulder to nudge it open further. Once inside, he stopped at the foot of the bed and sat her down gently on the blue quilt folded there–the quilt that Granny and Red had given them when they first moved in. He knelt in front of her, resting his elbows on either side of her tiny waist and took her hands in his, kissing her fingertips as he gazed up at her. "I love you," he whispered.

Staring down at him, overwhelmed by the pure love in his eyes and the reverence in his touch, Ashley could barely breathe. She couldn't fathom what had prompted this renewed fire in her beau…but she wasn't about to question it. "I love you too."

Thomas took a deep breath, nervous suddenly, though he knew there was no real reason to be. The plan was simple, but brilliant. And if it worked, Storybrooke would have at least two more allies in the fight against the queen. Still, its eventual success depended upon what would be said between them in these next few moments. Bracing himself for her reaction, he leaned forward and whispered… "Marry me."

Ashley's expression went from amorous to panicked in two seconds flat, though Sean seemed undeterred by her distress. "What?" she cried, "I—"

"Marry me," he repeated, squeezing her hands, refusing to let her gaze drop.

"Sean, are you crazy? We don't have the money to get married. And your father—"

"Don't worry about that," he cut in, and the fact that his voice remained calm and steady almost shocked her more than the proposal itself. "Don't think of money or my father or—" he sighed, finally breaking eye contact and looked down, smoothing the pads of his thumbs over the backs of her hands. "I know you've been…unhappy."

She started, and tried to pull away, though he held her there. "What? No! I—"

"Because you think that I'm unhappy," he looked back up at her. Ella bit her bottom lip but didn't respond. "But I promise you," he said, rising from the floor and tucking one knee beneath him as he sat next to her on the bed. "I'm not. And I need you to believe that."

Ashley stared at their clasped hands and frowned. "I…I do."

But Thomas shook his head and lifted one hand to trace the soft curve of her jaw. "No you don't," he said. "And I hate it that I've given you reason to believe this isn't gonna last."

She bit her lip again, unable to conceal the sting of truth in his words. She had, she thought guiltily, occasionally feared that Sean might one day think he'd make a mistake in coming back to her. That he may finally be swayed by his intractable father and leave her again.

"Look at me," he ordered softly, lifting her chin up to meet his gaze. "I'm not going anywhere."

His voice, soothing yet intense, set butterflies to flight in her stomach. And for reasons she could not explain, Mary Margaret's words suddenly rang clear in her head: Sean loves you and he loves your daughter…And true love doesn't come easy in this town…what more could he want?

He leaned forward, cupping her cheek in his hand and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Do you love me?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said, her pulse racing.

He continued to caress her, pressing kisses to her temples and the corners of her eyes. "Do you trust me?" he rasped, his breath hot against her cheek.

"Yes," she said breathlessly.

He pulled back from her, his face mere inches away from hers. "Then marry me."

She swallowed hard, unable to believe the constancy of his eyes, the absolute devotion in his touch. She couldn't fathom how he'd done it…but any doubts she still had about them, about their future…were gone. She reached up and brushed the back of her hand along his cheek, her eyes glistening with tears and whispered…"Yes."

…

***Ok….sooooooo….here's the deal: I know we've been teased through spoilers about certain characters coming on the show very soon, and I intend to keep as close to canon with respect to those characters as they're revealed. But as this version of Storybrooke develops in my head, I find I can't help myself in introducing them early or differently than we may or may not eventually see them. James and Snow are speaking to me. I'm just writing down what they say!

So be prepared to see more dwarfs, more Belle, and quite possibly the whole cast of Sleeping Beauty down the line! Hope you enjoyed this little glimpse at Thomas and Ella. Stay tuned!***