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

NOTE: So I think I'm going to stop promising things that are coming because these characters keep changing their minds and deciding otherwise. Believe me, James and Snow will keep their Sunday night rendezvous. I even hope to have it done before the next episode. But bear with me a little while longer. In the meantime, enjoy the following:

Losing Faith

Cooking was a chore Snow had actually gotten very good at (despite her humble protests at Ella's) when she'd kept house for the dwarfs, but it wasn't something she'd had to do often since she and her seven brethren spent many evenings dining at town festivals, gallivanting with the villagers, or taking supper with Red. So over time, it became something she did when she was nervous or antsy; it was nearly midnight by the time the timer dinged on the stovetop and Snow removed the tray of brownies she'd started from the oven. It was far too exciting a night to go to sleep, and she was simply bursting with anticipation, waiting for her Emma to come home and tell her all about the Zimmer children's meeting their father.

Her mood now of course was far improved from what it had been; Snow was simply sick with worry over the fate of almost every member of her family, and had spent much of the evening pacing her small house, trying not to let the Zimmers see how concerned she was. She'd fully intended to trust Emma in handling everything at the shop, but when she'd come back in and asked Henry to come with her – to Mr. Gold's– Snow hadn't been able to help herself in calling James. She'd have gone herself if she hadn't been watching Ava and Nicolas. But Rumpelstiltskin was not a man to be trusted. And though she knew Emma herself was wary of the pawn broker, Snow knew her daughter couldn't possibly understand how much danger she was really in.

So when her daughter had breezed through the door an hour ago, reporting that 'David Nolan' of all people had helped her get the information she'd needed to find the elusive plowman, it was with complete and utter relief that she watched Emma gather up the children and prepare them to become part of a new family. And though her body was exhausted having spent most of the day with Belle, her mind was simply abuzz with excitement. Emma was, at this moment, reuniting Hansel and Gretel with their long lost father: Children who – if Snow was remembering the story correctly – the queen had perversely enjoyed separating from each other. Their reunion was sure to further put a dent the curse, and maybe – just maybe – continue to open Emma's mind to the reality that…she also had parents very eager to claim her again.

Humming to herself while she worked, as was her oldest habit, she took a spatula to the pan and started lifting light, fluffy chocolate brownies onto a serving plate when she saw the faint glow of headlights shine through the side window and heard the slamming of a car door outside. She's home, Snow thought gleefully and started to move toward the door when it swung open with a crash and in walked her daughter…with the Zimmer kids racing in behind her.

"Hey—" Snow started to say and then barely skirted out of the way as Ava stormed up the bedroom stairs with Nicolas following close behind. They flew by so quickly, that she barely glimpsed either of them, but even at a glance, she could tell they'd been crying. Ava's face was red and swollen with tears and Nicolas looked almost nauseous. Her heart sinking into the pit of her stomach, Snow almost didn't want to turn back to face her daughter whose seething anger she could feel from across the room. When she finally did turn, she couldn't keep from gasping. For the look on her sweet girl's face was beyond furious…the kind of look that went beyond flushed cheeks and clenched fists. No, this was something different. Something more. And Snow swallowed hard as she realized, finally, the only other time she'd seen that look: in her own mirrored image – that awful night she'd fallen victim to Rumpelstiltskin's potion – a potion that had stripped her of almost every human feeling…save for vengeance.

"What…happened?" Snow gulped, approaching her cautiously, for Emma had yet to look her in the eye.

Emma stood frozen in the doorway, her hand gripping the doorknob so hard, Snow felt sure she'd snap it right off. In her other hand was a small sheet of paper, clutched so tightly it was practically disintegrating in her fist. With what looked to be a tremendous amount of effort, Emma slowly turned her head and at last made eye contact – her eyes dim and grave. "He left," she rasped. Robotically, she raised her arm and handed Snow the note.

Snow took it and held it up to the lamp just inside the door. It looked to be a bit of company stationary. In the top left hand corner was a small logo: a yellow tire-shaped ring with a green pick-up truck driving through it. Underneath it was typed "Tillman Trucking" and a phone number. Snow scanned down the page, smoothing out the wrinkles so she could read the light pen markings scrawled across the sheet:

Dear kids,

I know the deputy promised you a father, but trust me when I tell you I'm not it. I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn't listen. I'm sorry it has to be this way. I know she's on her way to pick you up right now. But I'm just -I'm not-You don't want me as your dad, ok? Trust me, you're better off in a place with people who can actually take care of you.

I'm sorry.

Someday, I hope you'll understand.

-Michael

With every word, Snow's stomach twisted into tighter and tighter knots. To have written something to his children so rushed, so callous and impersonal was bad enough. But for Emma to have brought the children into that house expecting to find a family…and instead finding this…

Her heart breaking for them all, she crushed the paper to her side and glanced up at her daughter. "Oh, Emma," she whispered.

"Their…" she mumbled, still staring straight ahead in shock. "Their faces."

"Emma—" Snow reached out to her daughter, but Emma snatched her arm away.

"Don't!" Emma snapped and finally, she looked to Mary Margaret whose face was pale as a ghost. On some level, she registered and regretted Mary's surprise, but she did not apologize. "Just…don't."

Snow looked nervously between Emma and the staircase where the children had disappeared. Already sounds of muffled crying could be heard. "Where…" she fumbled, swallowing down the lump in her throat as Emma finally closed the door behind her and moved passed her into the room. "Where do you think he is?"

The shock on Emma's face shifted to disdain as she whipped her head around and stared at her roommate. "Where he is?" she snapped. "Didn't you hear me? He's gone. Skipped town! Out of Storybrooke."

Snow reeled back. "Skipped town?" she cried. "But that's not—that's not possible!"

"Oh, I beg to differ," Emma laughed bitterly which sent chills up Snow's spine. "It's completely possible. Typical in fact."

"No—Emma I—"

"Typical!" she continued, snatching the note from Mary Margaret's hands and crumpling it up. "I can't believe I didn't see it coming!" In a fury, she tossed the note aside and ran her fingers up through her hair, fisting clumps of blonde locks in her hands. "He said exactly what I wanted to hear and then…then…" she shook her head, trying desperately to block out the image of Ava and Nicolas, listening as she'd read the note, their faces absolutely crushed and soaked through with tears. "How could I have been that foolish? That gullible?"

"Emma," Snow tried again, alarmed now for a whole different set of reasons. "There's gotta be an explanation—"

Again, Emma whirled on her with contempt. "Are you not listening? I gave you the explanation. He even sent off an email to Marco telling 'im to find someone else to do all the towing. Something 'came up'," she shuddered with air quotes, "and he had to leave Storybrooke."

Snow shook her head. "But that doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Emma countered, throwing her arms up in the air and then plunging her hand into her pocket to withdraw the compass. "It's a father running out on his kids," she spat, staring down at the trinket. "Makes a hell of a lot more sense than…than this crap." Unable to stop herself, she hurled the compass across the room and sent it crashing into the wall, the glass covering cracking as it fell to the floor with a thud.

"Emma!" she cried, having just barely ducked out of the way.

"I brought them there!" she cried, her voice suddenly pleading, helpless, begging for Mary Margaret to understand just how devastating the night had been. "I told them they were going to meet their father and…and…" at last the numbing rage in her face seemed to break as tears started to fall and anger was replaced by pain. Unable to finish, she simply collapsed to the couch, holding her face in her palms and shaking her head. "How could I have missed it?" she whispered, more to herself than to Mary Margaret.

Snow stood quite inert, at a loss for what she could say or do. The timing couldn't be worse. Just when her daughter was starting to show signs that she might believe – believe in good things, happy endings, family – this ordeal ripped her apart, sending her crashing back to her reality, to a world that had never once been kind. It was enough to make a woman weep and her heart bleed, and yet at the same time, Snow also couldn't shake the feeling that something…wasn't quite right. She knew her daughter well enough now to know that Emma did in fact have a penchant for reading people. With the happiness of two orphans hanging in the balance, two kids with whom she so clearly identified, she wouldn't have brought the children to Michael Tillman's house if she hadn't been absolutely sure of his intentions. And more still…no one left Storybrooke. So either way…Michael Tillman was in trouble.

"Emma," she took a deep breath, practically tip-toeing over to the couch where her daughter still sat, her head cradled in her hands. "I know things are…pretty bleak right now. But you don't—I mean…you…you can't—"

"Oh, stop ok?" Emma groaned, looking up as she slid her hands off her face. "Just…stop."

Snow held back. "Stop what?"

"Just stop…doing that," she gestured up and down her form and waved dismissively. "The – the 'what-ifs'. The 'other explanations'."

"I wasn't –"

"Look, brownies and cocoa aren't gonna make this go away Mary Margaret!" She was spewing venom, she knew, and the accusation tasted like bile on her lips, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "Maybe that's how things work in your little world, but not this one."

"Emma!" Snow exclaimed, finding her voice and shifting to the defensive. "I would think you'd give me a little more credit than that," she crossed her arms, her voice stern and…well, motherly.

Emma noticed the shift too, for Mary Margaret's tone prickled at her spine, and she found herself straightening up in her seat, a little chastened. "I'm just saying—"

"I'm just saying that there might be more going on here than we think." Snow stood her ground, for suddenly this argument didn't feel at all different from those she'd had with James about the queen or Rumpelstiltskin.

Emma sighed, squeezing her temples between her thumb and forefinger. "More going on?" she huffed impatiently. "That letter was pretty clear, Mary," she said, pushing herself off the couch and rising once more. "And I combed through that house looking for anything suspicious. Believe me, I've already done the whole 'this can't be right' thing. His room is picked clean of clothes and valuables, his computer is missing a mouse and external drive which means he ditched the desktop but took all his files, the furnace is off, his truck is gone and the stuff that's left is—" she paused, closing her eyes and shivering at the thought of just how familiar she was with the ins and outs of skipping town. "Is stuff you never mind leaving behind."

The comment hung in the air between them like brick wall pulsing with tension and sadness. Hoping to break through that wall, Snow took a deep breath and tried one more time. "I can't imagine the…the pain you've gone through tonight. All of you," she nodded upwards toward the guest room where the kids were sobbing themselves to sleep. "But…Emma…" she whispered, thankful for the minor victory in Emma at least letting her rest a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Please don't give up." Emma looked out at her from beneath her brow, eyebrows creased in doubt. "Truly, we may still…have a chance."

Emma pulled back from her, staring incredulously. "At what?"

Snow ignored her resistance. "At bringing them together."

She rolled her eyes. "Mary Margaret—"

"No one leaves Storybrooke, Emma. We may still find him."

Emma actually had to blink several times to be sure of what her roommate had just suggested. "Are you—you're kidding me, right?"

The derision in her tone was unmistakable, and Snow's stomach churned again at how much her daughter had regressed to her former, hardened, cynical façade. "Well I mean…" she said, though she felt as if she were losing the battle. "Henry's right about that much. No one ever—"

"Oooook," Emma stood up and pushed passed her. "Let's get something straight here. I'm fine with the whole play along with Henry thing? But this is not a fairy tale." She advanced on her roommate, her voice simply seething. "What happened today? That's not some 'evil queen's' curse, ok? That's a father…doing what fathers do best—abandon their kids!" And without waiting for the school teacher to reply, Emma swiped her keys off the table, spun on her heel, and walked back out into the cold.

...

"I don't understand," Ashley shifted little Alex in her arms and adjusted the wet nap on her shoulder as she called down the hallway. "Why would she even care?"

Thomas came out of the bedroom adjusting his belt and reached their small kitchen. "I'm not saying she will for sure. But come on, you know how tight she is with everyone in my father's circle." Thomas reached for the coffee pot and poured himself a generous car cup before turning toward his fiancée. "It's a regular aristocracy that group."

Ashley frowned, patting Alex's back as the girl coughed up a bit of spittle. Sean's slandering of his father still bothered her, but she supposed she couldn't fault him for accuracy. Mr. Herman definitely thought of himself as a certain class…one that didn't include herself. "Ok, but I don't think that'll stop the mayor from issuing us a license. And either way, we'll both have to be there to actually complete it. I'm just gonna make the appointment," she added with a small grin. "I'm sure I can handle that without you."

Thomas sighed and offered her a small smile in return, but his fears were not quelled. The queen's displeasure upon hearing of their engagement last night had been perfectly clear, and Ella's announcement this morning that she was going to stop by City Hall tomorrow on her way to Granny's and apply for a marriage license had sparked quite a bit of alarm in the young prince. He couldn't help but think that somehow Regina might use that as an opportunity to sow seeds of doubt in his young bride's mind about the wedding. From everything James told him about the queen, the marriage of two people, a celebration of love, would pretty much be the worst thing for the curse. So much happiness all in one place was sure to be seen as a threat. But he couldn't very well communicate that to Ella. As far as 'Ashley' was concerned, Regina was simply mayor of Storybrooke.

"Or…maybe you think I can't?" she said softly. Her sobering tone startled him and he looked down at her affronted glare.

"Of course not," he recovered, mentally kicking himself. Way to go Thomas. He grazed the backs of his fingers along her cheek and brushed a blonde curl from her face before resting his hand on her shoulder. "You carried our baby to term and practically gave birth in Deputy Swan's car! You can do anything."

Ashley studied him for a moment, rubbing Alex's back as she coughed and cooed. She really didn't understand Sean's hesitation over her intended errand, but the look on his face now certainly confirmed it wasn't from lack of faith in her. She narrowed her gaze, teasing him a little longer, and then smiled. She tip-toed up to him, their daughter squirming between them and whispered: "Then stop worrying."

The simple, feather-light touch of her lips against his cheek sent an electric thrill through his body. God, he loved this woman. It seemed inconceivable to him now that some version of him had shunned her – abandoned her. The thought of it filled him with rage toward the queen, but he tucked those feelings away, refusing to burden his bride with any further signs of them. She started to pull away, but he grasped her arm and pulled her back, gazing down and admiring her beauty with as much awe and ardor as he had that first night of the festival…only now their little girl was sandwiched between them. Thomas looked between the two, stroking his hand delicately over Alex's soft little head before leaning in and capturing Ella's mouth with a kiss. "Who's worrying?" he teased when he pulled away, grinning at the hazy, heated look in her eyes.

Shivering in delight, Ashley practically had to force herself away, reaching over their small counter for her bag. "Good. I'll see you tonight," she said as she hitched Alex up a little higher on her hip, grabbed the car carrier and headed out the door.

…

Snow wrapped her blue coat up tighter around her neck as she shivered against the early December morning. At either shoulder stood Ava and Nicolas Zimmer, also shivering though not at all inclined to budge toward the sheriff's car, parked outside Mary Margaret's home. Graham too was hesitant to move so the sad-looking party simply stood there, Graham leaning up against the driver's side and Snow tentatively squeezing Ava's shoulder – a gesture that was ignored and shrugged off immediately.

"Mary Margaret," Graham said dejectedly, a helpless shrug implied in his stance. "I'm sorry, we can't wait any longer."

Snow strained another look down the street, praying her daughter would turn the corner at any moment. Surely she'd want to at least say good-bye. Surely she wouldn't let them just…leave. But it was getting on ten o'clock and according to the harsh rules of this world, Graham had no other choice but to transport them to the homes in which they'd been legally placed. "Just a few more minutes?" she begged.

But the sheriff shook his head sadly. "You said that 10 minutes ago. I'm sorry. I don't think she's coming."

Anger flashed through her which she immediately tried to settle. After all, it would do no good to lash out with the children present. But she couldn't help raging against how incredibly helpless she felt right now. How utterly useless she'd turned out to be. She was almost 100% certain that Michael's disappearance and the children's placement had been, in some way or another, orchestrated by the queen. But she had no proof. Nothing to work with. She couldn't trust Graham – not with him back under the queen's spell. And Emma was no longer open to talk of the curse. She shuddered to think of what would happen to the party as they neared the border of Storybrooke. No one ever leaves Storybrooke – how many times had Henry said it? And yet, there was no stopping it. Nothing that wouldn't further threaten their safety in town or blow their cover.

Her heart throbbing, she glanced down at the two children who stood staring straight ahead, almost in a trance. They were hugging their bookbags so close to their hearts it looked as if they were trying to squeeze the air out of their lungs. And Snow couldn't blame them. As awful as the discovery of Michael's note had been for her own daughter, she couldn't imagine what it must feel like for them. Graham led the children away from the curb and waited patiently as they climbed into the back seat. Then he turned, nodded slightly to the benevolent school teacher, ducked into the driver's seat and sped away.

Snow stood watching until the car receded into nothing but a tiny dot on the horizon. No one leaves Storybrooke, she thought again, steeling herself against the onslaught of fury and frustration. Oh what would Henry say? And James? How were they ever to break the curse with—

She gasped when she at last turned toward the house…and saw Emma watching from the shadows beyond the garden. "Emma!" she cried, stalking over to the backyard, ignoring the chirping, flapping bluebirds who instantly perked their heads out of their houses as Snow approached. "Where have you been?" she asked. Emma's arms were wrapped around her stomach and she was staring in the direction where Graham had sped off. In her eyes Snow saw pain, confusion, and sorrow. But mostly, she saw regret. "They were waiting to say goodbye," said Snow, trying not to sound too reproachful.

"No they weren't," Emma said mechanically, still looking toward the horizon. "You were waiting for that."

Snow knew she shouldn't hold it against her that Emma came across so accusingly. But she couldn't help how the terse remark irked her somewhat. "Emma—"

"Trust me, Mary. Those kids are doing exactly what they have to do now to survive."

"And what is that?"

Emma sighed, finally took her eyes from the horizon and turned them on her roommate. "Not setting themselves up for disappointment."

Snow eyed her shrewdly. "You mean turning into you."

Emma stared at her without feeling. "Believe me, there are worse ways of coping." Without uncrossing her arms, she turned and headed for the house.

"No I don't think so," Snow called after her and followed her in. "In fact I'm pretty sure that's not coping at all."

Emma rolled her eyes and tossed her jacket on the couch. "Mary Margaret—"

Snow swung the door shut and continued to follow her to the sitting room. "I mean it. Please—" she reached forward and grabbed Emma's shoulder. Finally, her daughter stopped and turned. "Just…listen." Emma pressed her lips together thinly but didn't object further. "I can't…" Snow closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. "I can't even imagine how you must be feeling right now. And I know this is all hitting really close to home for you—" Emma jerked a bit, as if she wanted to pull away, but she maintained her ground. "But please don't let this undo…everything."

"Everything?" she shrugged impatiently.

"Yes," Snow implored, practically dragging Emma down by the arm and settling the two of them on the couch. In the back of her mind was a tiny voice wondering why she was even bothering. But it was Emma. She refused to give up. "Just think for a second where you were about 12 hours ago. Sitting right here with your son. Opening up to him. The…the progress you were making with Henry—"

"Progress with Henry?" she scoffed. "Please tell me you're not still talking about that damn book."

"I'm not."

"Then what—"

"I'm talking about faith Emma. I'm talking about you finally daring to believe in something. Something beyond what you can already see."

"Yeah and look how that turned out for Ava and Nicolas."

"Emma—"

"No, I'm serious," Emma sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders against the woman. "That's the price of believing in fairy tales. Sooner or later, reality comes back to bite you in the ass."

But Snow shook her head. "Not always. Think about Henry. Think about the compass—"

"Jesus, what is the matter with you?" Emma sprang up from the couch, exasperated. "How can you have stood there on that street—watched Graham drive those kids away, and still be buying into this crap?"

"Believing in something isn't crap," Snow countered, rising to meet her challenge.

"Believing in hope maybe, or-or God or something. But fairy tales? Are you serious?"

Snow gulped. This was not going well. And she couldn't very well answer honestly. If she came right out and said 'yes, the curse is real' that would surely destroy what was left of her daughter's trust. In her current grief, Emma was the least likely person to believe in anything right now, let alone a perceived work of fiction concocted by a ten-year-old boy. "Not…the fairy tales themselves—" she tried.

But Emma had had enough. She didn't come back to get lectured by an idealistic schoolteacher. "If you want to believe in some fantasy because it's easier than dealing with your own life, that's fine by me."

Snow gasped, struck speechless by such derision. But Emma wasn't finished.

"If it's easier for you to believe you're Snow White so you and David feel better about…about whatever the hell it is that's going on between you two – and yeah, don't think I don't know about that! David didn't just show up at Gold's shop out of the blue—"

"Emma, I—"

"If that helps you sleep at night, be my guest!"

"You…you don't understand…" Snow spluttered, feeling as though she'd been punched in the stomach.

Emma briefly registered the hurt in Mary Margaret's face and was instantly shamed for it. But her temper was out of control, and she couldn't bring herself to apologize. "Don't I?" she stalked past her, snatching up her coat. Why in the world had she come back here? "Look, I get it, ok? Showing a little faith in Henry's book led us to Tillman. I can't ignore that. Hell, I can't really explain that. But that doesn't prove anything beyond sheer coincidence." She turned back to Mary Margaret, expecting an argument, but her roommate had become sadly quiet. "Besides," Emma continued, trying to calm her voice, though it was close to breaking. "If I believe in any more than that, it would mean believing—" and she halted, almost surprised at how the subject crept up on her.

"Believing what?" Snow asked. Her daughter's venomous outburst had deflated her a bit, but she was keenly aware of Emma's sudden discomfort.

Emma sighed and shook her head. On the one hand, it wasn't even worth getting into. But looking up into her roommate's eyes, she felt strangely like Mary at least deserved to know. "You know who Henry thinks you are. But do you know who he thinks I am?"

Snow's pulse started racing. Of course she knew. "Who?" she whispered.

Emma huffed. "Well I'm the savior, of course," she said derisively. "The daughter…of Snow White and Prince Charming."

The pronouncement almost seemed to echo through the house…and the look on Mary Margaret's face was absolutely unreadable. In the end, it was perhaps her utter lack of reaction that wrenched Emma back on the offensive and hostile. "Snow White's daughter," she repeated again, laughing bitterly. "Your long lost daughter, Mary Margaret. That's who he thinks I am! And of course we know who he thinks Prince Charming is! I mean—" she laughed again, though her laughs were painful, pounding sharply against her chest. "Come on, have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?" She threw her hands up in the air and spun away, suddenly unable to even face her friend. "So yeah…I had a little faith before." She busied herself with shrugging on her jacket and fumbling for her keys. "Faith in something completely absurd – and Ava and Nicolas paid the price."

"Emma," Snow whispered from behind her, though she stayed rooted by the couch, unable to budge.

Without even looking back, Emma could tell Mary Margaret's face was streaked with tears. The breaking in her voice was unmistakable. And though she knew what she spoke was the truth, she couldn't help but feel strangely guilty…as if she'd somehow insulted her roommate beyond repair.

"Look," Emma sighed, finally turning to her as she zipped her coat. "I know you don't want me to…'lose hope'…but you don't know what it's like." Her voice was pleading now, desperate suddenly that Mary Margaret understand her. "You don't know what it's like to live in a world where hope constantly fails you. To have a little faith…only to have it turn around…and tear families apart."

Snow looked down, wrapping her arms around her middle as she willed her tears to stop. She wanted to be strong. She was strong. But even from across the room, she could feel her daughter's heart breaking…and in its wake, Snow could barely breathe.

"What happened last night was no fairy tale," Emma said quietly, staring straight ahead of her now. "Those kids have to live the rest of their lives with the knowledge that…their…parent…doesn't want them." Without waiting for Mary to respond, Emma rushed to the door and pulled it open. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "There's just…there's no coming back from that." Unable to bear Mary Margaret's forgiving silence, she walked out the door and slowly shut it behind her.

…

Marco Collodi was hardly the type of Scrooge who would suggest that his new and part time hires work on a Sunday. In fact, he couldn't think of anything more unreasonable than requiring it of a new father and a recovering coma patient. So it was in total shock that Marco walked through the already unlocked doors of his shop to find David Nolan and Sean Herman hard at work at one of the tool benches, trying to fix one of Mrs. Edgar's mechanical reindeers. The Christmas tree-lighting festival was just around the corner (he'd reminded his young employees yesterday) and the faulty decorations that had been sent to him for repair were of the topmost priority.

"Marco!" Sean called jovially, looking up from his work, though his voice sounded strained. David looked up too and the men grinned at him, almost as if they'd expected him to show up today.

"Gentlemen?" Marco tipped the brim of his beret as he stared, rather bemused at the comedic sight. David was planted on one side of the work bench, pulling the butt of the reindeer toward him by its hind legs. His shoe was locked up against the bottom of the bench while Sean was kneeling on top of it, bracing himself by gripping the edge with one hand while the other arm was encircled tightly around the deer's neck. It looked, quite crudely, as if they were pulling the poor thing apart but really, they were simply trying to reattach the deer's motorized "galloping" legs by a tightly coiled spring that was supposed to connect the two halves at the base. "Please," he chuckled. "Don't let me disturb you."

At that moment, Sean lost his grip on the spring which, instead of snapping into place on David's half, sprang back toward his half with just enough force to throw him off balance, sending him flying off the table and crashing into a pile of discarded packing plastics on the floor. David and Marco howled with laughter as Sean rolled his eyes and maneuvered himself out of the trash. Still chuckling, David offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. "Well that didn't work," he told his partner as Sean brushed himself off.

Marco, still laughing, walked towards them and removed his cap. "Please remind me gentlemen, why I hired you?"

David smiled and shook the old man's hand. "Because we're endlessly entertaining, Mr. Collodi. What brings you in on a Sunday?"

Not having anticipated seeing either of them today, he hadn't quite sorted out an answer to that question, and his eyes darted nervously to his back room. "Umm, well…" he cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. "I thought I'd do some work on…well, if you must know—"

Sean flashed David a very knowing look as he crossed his arms and smiled. "That thing you have no idea how to make because you're – what was it David?" he joshed, handing off the cue.

"I believe he said he wasn't a 'craftsman'?" David winked.

Realizing any level of pretense to be fruitless, Marco sighed and nodded. "Well you've clearly been snooping. So there's no point in denying it." No point at all really, since he had intended all along to tell Sean how fascinating the project was turning out to be and to thank him for providing a welcome sojourn from the mundane routine of the shop.

David nodded toward the back office. "Didn't mean to peek, Marco. But we saw the specs on your desk."

"Yeah, we can't believe we gave you the sketch yesterday and you've already sorted out how you'll do it," Sean added. "Knew we had the right man for the job."

"Well thank you," Marco nodded graciously, removing his coat and tossing it over the front counter. "But as I warned you yesterday, I have never before crafted something like this. And there's still hardware I'll need that I have yet to locate."

Sean thought for a moment, taking a rag from his back pocket and wiping off his calloused hands. "What about Mr. Gold? Have you tried his shop?" At the mention of the name, David shot his coworker a sharp look but didn't say anything. Sean started, perplexed by his friend's reaction, but he too ceased the banter and looked awkwardly back at his boss.

"The…thought had…occurred," Marco said cautiously, noting the sudden shift in mood between the two, but decided ultimately not to press the matter. He'd known plenty of customers over the years who had elected to bring their treasures here to be fixed rather than visit Mr. Gold's shop for a possible replacement. Perhaps David Nolan simply had not yet grown used to the impish pawn broker. "We'll see," he smiled. "Carry on, gentlemen. Please don't let me keep you from that…poor young buck any longer." Then with a nod and a slight bow, he retreated to his office and closed the door.

Once the door clicked shut, Thomas turned immediately to James. "What!" he mumbled, moving back towards the tool bench and further from earshot of the office. "Look, after what he did to Ella, I hate Gold as much as you, but like you said the other night, we can't touch him. He's got too much power in this town and we're not sure what side he's on."

James shook his head, retrieving the coiled spring that had flown off the table. "I know but—"

"And if in the meantime, he has what Geppetto needs, then—"

"It's not that," James hissed, checking to be sure the office door was still shut. "It's just…" he trailed off, wishing he could continue to delay this particular revelation a little longer. It wasn't that he didn't trust Thomas not to do anything stupid. It was – Well…on second thought, yes. He didn't trust Thomas not to do something stupid. "Mr. Gold is…an old enemy."

Thomas reeled back. "Who?" he barked.

James held out his hands, trying to preemptively temper the reaction sure to follow. "Rumpelstiltskin," he said softly.

Thomas, who had just picked up a socket wrench, clenched it so tightly his knuckles turned white. "What?" he seethed through gritted teeth.

James straightened up, prepared to bolt. "He's Rumpelstiltskin."

Without a word, Thomas dropped the wrench, spun on his heel and headed for the door. James was ready though and quickly slid in front of him, grasping his shoulder. "Move," Thomas said, his voice low and cold.

But James yanked him forward, gripping his shoulder tightly. "Don't be an idiot," he hissed.

Thomas grabbed James's wrist and wrenched it off his shoulder. "An idiot? That whole night at Garcon's," he said. "All day yesterday, and you didn't bother to tell me that you found out 'Stiltskin is Mr. Gold?"

"For God's sake, keep your voice down," James warned him and nodded wordlessly toward the auto shop. With a glance back at the office, the two of them headed for the garage. "I was gonna tell you today," James said as he switched on the lights in the garage and pulled the door shut. And it was the truth. Before Marco had walked in, Thomas had just finished telling him about the queen's appearance at Garcon's; James in turn had been about to relate the events that transpired at the pawn shop. The deal he'd cut with Rumpelstiltskin concerned Thomas most immediately because their two kingdoms ruled the realm, and it would be up to the two of them to honor the deal if and when they were returned to their world. It had been enormously presumptuous of James to have negotiated such terms without consulting Thomas, but he had hoped to lead up to that part a bit more gradually than this.

"Just slipped your mind then?" Thomas snapped, bracing one arm against the wall and leaning into it, his other hand at his hip.

"I was getting there!" James countered. "Look, when I realized you didn't know who Gold was here, I deliberately didn't tell you because I knew this—" he gestured up and down the prince's aggressive stance "—would be your reaction. You can't just go running off and kill the man."

"The hell I can't," he said.

"Thomas—"

"Are you forgetting what he did? How he took advantage of Ella's misery? How he tricked her into promising—"

"Yes and the last time we took him on, we had the Blue Fairy, Grumpy, a magic quill, and the diamond mines on our side, and he still managed to come out on top, leaving your pregnant wife without a husband and you in limbo."

Thomas looked away, crossing his arms with a grunt. He did not need to be reminded of how he and his wife had been wronged by the imp.

James sighed. "You didn't recognize him here because you'd barely glimpsed him before you disappeared…And you didn't spend three months interrogating him in his cell." At this, Thomas turned, eyebrow raised. "You didn't learn…" James continued, "everything that I learned in trying to…bring you back."

The admission softened the glower in Thomas's eyes, for it had truly never occurred to him just how many people and how many hours went into finding him. And how could it, really? Time in limbo…moved twice as slowly. "And what exactly did you learn?" he asked, standing down a bit, a temporary assurance for James that Thomas would hear him out.

James stepped a bit closer. "That in order to beat 'Stiltskin," he said quietly, "you haveto play by his rules."

Thomas dropped his arms, his shoulders slumped in exasperation, as he cocked his head to the side. "Deal-making."

James nodded soberly before he turned from the younger prince and leaned up against the car Leroy had started working on yesterday. "That's…actually what I was starting to tell you before Marco walked in."

Thomas straightened up again, wary of the new shift in James's tone. "Tell me what? Did you…oh James, you didn't!" he cried. "You made a deal with him?"

"I had no choice. He knows who he is, here. And heknows that I know. He's awake in the curse, Thomas. Like us. I had to be sure he wouldn't tell the queen…so yes, I made a deal."

Thomas slapped his forehead with his palm, reeling back in horror. It felt like déjà vu all over again. Except instead of his wife about to tell him she'd promised their first born child… "What did you promise him?" he asked, not really wanting the answer.

James took a deep breath, steeling himself against Thomas's disapproval. He knew he'd receive opposition, but there was still one thing his friend didn't know…one thing he couldn't possibly understand… "Amnesty," he said quietly, and explained fully the terms of Rumpelstiltskin's pardon.

When he was finished, Thomas practically had to pick his jaw up off the floor. Amnesty. Amnesty for all past crimes committed against their realm and sanctuary in James's kingdom while they spoke on that monster's behalf for services rendered to the crown. He glared at James, shaking his head in disbelief, and try as he might, he couldn't honestly understand why the elder prince would have offered such a sum simply in exchange for keeping a secret. For surely Rumpelstiltskin himself would want to keep his own secret and was therefore not an immediate threat. No…it simply wasn't consistent with what Thomas knew about James. He'd offered an entire kingdom's forgiveness in exchange for silence? Impossible. "What aren't you telling me?" he asked, his eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms once more over his chest. "I know you better than that James. And not even Rumpelstiltskin would make a deal that unbalanced." When James glanced up at him, Thomas knew he was right. For the question did not surprise his friend. In fact, it seemed expected. "Come on…" Thomas coaxed. "What else did he give you?"

"Information," James said. "For Emma Swan."

Thomas blinked. Emma Swan? As in the sheriff's new deputy? As in the woman who got Ella to the hospital (after stopping by his father's house and giving 'Sean' a piece of her mind)? "Ok?" he said, urging James to continue.

The elder prince sighed, and looked up toward the ceiling. "Emma was trying to help these two orphaned kids find their father before they got shipped off to foster care," he began, crossing one ankle over the other as he continued to lean his back against the car. Thomas soon joined him and was listening quietly (quite a change in temperament, James noticed hopefully). He continued. "She'd traced this guy all the way back to some trinket he'd apparently bought from Gold. I got there just before she'd made her own deal." Thomas's eyebrows flew up on his head but James ignored it. "I traded amnesty for his silence, the name of the man Emma needed to solve her case…andhis assurances that he never make another deal with or about Emma ever again."

Thomas studied him carefully for a few moments as he considered the bargain further: Silence, information and that kind of guarantee? Well it was certainly a more balanced deal…but …"Why?" he asked quietly. James looked up. "Why Emma? I mean, don't get me wrong, she's a good deputy and I'm indebted to her for helping Ella a few weeks ago, but why go as far as offering 'Stiltskin a full pardon for the sake of a girl you barely—"

"Because she's my daughter."

Thomas froze, glaring at the elder prince in utter shock. "Your—" he stammered, trying to make sense of it. He had been afraid to ask James about the child he and Snow had been expecting when last they spoke in their realm, but it was because he had feared something tragic had happened to the child. He'd never considered…he couldn't possibly have imagined that the deputy…that the young woman— "But she's…I mean she's gotta be—"

"I know," James said quietly, staring down at his shoes.

"Time froze, James. Ella was pregnant for 28—"

"I know," he said again, looking up. "It's…the part I left out the other night. The reason we're all…waking up now."

Thomas's eyes grew wide as he stepped away from the car, planting himself in front of his friend. "Emma," he deduced quietly. "She…escaped the curse?"

James breathed a heavy sigh and at last, he nodded. "It was her destiny. To be our…savior." He swallowed hard, ignoring the sting in his eyes as he stared back at the floor. "She was born just before the queen stormed our castle. Snow and I sent her through to this world ahead of the curse. She grew up here…so that one day…she would come back and… and s-save us." He could barely get through the explanation and wiped both palms down his face in an effort to further stay the tears that threatened to spill. Thomas did not respond, but merely waited respectfully as James got hold of himself. With another deep breath, James finally felt he could continue. "She doesn't know who I am," he said sadly. "She doesn't even know who she is yet. But the instant I saw her, I knew her. And I can't…I won't let her sacrifice any more than she already has. Not for us." He looked up and leveled his eyes with his friend's. "So I need you to…to be with me on this, Thomas. If the worst should happen, and I don't make it back to our realm, it'll be up to you to uphold the terms of the deal. So I'm asking you—"

"James," Thomas cut in, waving him off. As far as he was concerned James's request was a formality. All he had to do was think of his own daughter, to imagine Alexandra tangled up in Rumpelstiltskin's debt. His mind flashed back to what James had said at Garcon's: You were returned to your wife's bedside with your baby girl in your arms and her whole life still in front of her. Gods, what his friend had endured…for the sake of them all. He stood before the elder prince and offered his arm, clasping James's own arm in a wordless oath. Solemnly…almost reverently…he nodded.

James nodded back. "Thank you," he whispered. And with nothing more that needed to be said, the two princes headed back for the lobby.

"Ah there you are, my friends," they heard 'Marco's' voice. They turned and were startled to find him not shut up in his office, but standing at the service desk, staring at the computer monitor. They glanced at each other nervously, but it didn't appear that Geppetto suspected them of anything or thought it strange for them to have disappeared into the garage. In fact, the craftsman was quite focused on the monitor, seeming rather dismayed. "Did either of you check the company inbox this morning?"

James looked at Thomas who shrugged and shook his head. "No. We accessed the work order on the Edgars' deer but then just got to work. Why?"

Marco shook his head. "I'm afraid we've lost the services of Michael Tillman."

"What?" James cried, rushing over to the desk. "What are you talking about?"

Startled by the young man's reaction, Marco hastily swiveled the monitor around so both could see.

James gripped the edge of the counter and pored over the screen:

Marco,

I wanted to thank you for your continued business with Tillman Trucking. You helped me get my start here and I'm grateful. But I'm afraid I have to dissolve our partnership effective immediately. Something came up and I have to leave Storybrooke tonight. Please don't ask me for further details as this news is quite sensitive. I'm afraid you will have to find a new towing service to partner with Collodi's. I doubt I will return to Storybrooke in the near future.

Respectfully,

M. Tillman

Thomas was reading over James's shoulder by the time James was through it. "Wow," Thomas said, cocking an eyebrow. "That's…really…random."

"Indeed," Marco agreed. "What a shame. I hope it's nothing too serious." With a sad shrug, Marco turned away from the computer.

As the old man bent down below the counter to search for something in the cabinets, Thomas turned and whispered to James. "I thought you we can't leave Storybrooke."

James glanced out of the side of his eye. "We can't," he muttered, still glaring at the computer monitor, his head spinning. A tiny part of him hoped that by some miracle, Emma had united Michael with his children and the three of them had somehow escaped town. But he seriously doubted it. "Michael's the man Emma was looking for last night," he hissed, mindful that Geppetto was still turned away.

Thomas started. "Michael? Michael Tillman's got kids?"

James nodded. "And from the looks of this—" he jabbed a finger toward the screen. "I think all three of 'em are in serious trouble."

…

*** This is really the first half of the GIANT chapter I had planned. Several more scenes in the works for Belle, Ella Snow and James. Hoping to update once more before Sunday. Stay Tuned!***