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

Modern Family

Emma, Snow and James seemed hopelessly locked in a torturous stalemate, each frightfully aware that the next words spoken would determine the fate of all three. Snow swallowed hard, frozen to the ground, feeling as cold as the air around them. James's gaze darted back and forth between his daughter and wife, and he seemed on the brink of saying something, but Emma broke the silence first.

"Well?" she shrugged, her arms still crossed. "Out with it!" her tone was biting, unforgiving…as cold as it had been when she'd first arrived in Storybrooke. "Tell me what? That you guys are pretending to be Snow White and Prince Charming? That you're using my son's delusion as an excuse to carry on this-this-" she shook her hand towards them, disgusted, "whatever this is?" She shifted her accusing glare to David. "That your wife is walking around Storybrooke right now looking for you? Wondering what the hell she did wrong?"

"Emma—" James started forward. But his daughter held her hands up in protest, holding him off.

"No! Don't Emma me. I'm tired of being Emma'd!" she cried, throwing her arms up in frustration. "I'm tired of being caught in the middle of all the bullshit going on in this town and always feeling like I'm two steps behind everyone else. So please…for once…just give me a straight answer!"

They looked at each other, sharing the same thought – if only it were that easy. "Emma, I know you're upset—" James tried again.

"No!" One hand came to her hip as she sliced the other one blade-like through the air. "I said give me—"

"A straight answer, yes—We heard you!" Snow snapped, finding her voice. "But that's not really what you want to hear is it?"

"Don't you start with me," she snapped at her roommate, and she turned to walk away.

"Fine, you want a straight answer?" Snow rushed forward and came around her daughter, stopping her dead in her tracks. "I'll give you one—"

"Snow—"

"This is your father," she pointed to James, who fell silent once more. "I'm your mother, everything Henry has ever told you about the curse is absolutely true, and everything in that book of his actually happened! But you don't want to hear that, do you?" She registered the open-mouthed horror in her daughter's face but she ignored it. "What you want is a safe, rational explanation for everything that fits into your world. Well I can't give you that." Her reply clearly had her daughter shocked, but Snow pressed on. James was right. They were past the point of hints and clues and coaxing. She had to know. "You don't belong in this world," she said, pointing at Emma's heart. "None of us do. And all the 'bullshit' you think is going on here…is just us tryingto get home."

Emma didn't budge; she couldn't. She simply stared into the eyes of a woman she had gotten to know so well – a woman who, despite every instinct telling her to run, kept her rooted to the ground.

"Please," Snow implored, her tone softening, "Try to open your mind. Try to open yourself up to the possibility that the family you've been searching for…" her voice broke as she finished, "…is right here in front of you." And smiling through bleary eyes, Snow reached out to touch her daughter's hand.

But Emma recovered and snatched it back. "Don't!" she cried, her own hand trembling with the same needs, the same urge. But she denied those instincts, reason demanding that she hold back. "Just…stop."

"Emma—"

"I said stop!" she spat, her own voice cracking in the cold wind. No matter how much she wanted it to be true…it just…it just wasn't possible! "You two…" she paused, unable to look either of them in the eye as her breath came out in heavy puffs of vapor. "You two m-make me sick," she said thickly, the words turning to ash in her mouth, and she kept her eyes glued to the ground, ignoring Mary Margaret's aching cry as the woman collapsed to the forest floor. Unable to face them any longer, she turned stalked back up the path.

Snow clutched her hands to her stomach, nearly doubling over from the force of her daughter's words. James was at her side instantly, one hand on her arm and the other at her back, supporting her. But he was glowering up the incline, watching Emma fade away. James had felt a rather wide range of emotions around his daughter in the past few days…but never anger. Not until now. And though he hated to leave Snow in the throws of agony, he refused to let it end here. "Emma!" he yelled, running up the hill, dry leaves crunching in violent strides as he caught up with her. "Emma!" he called again as they both reached the road just beyond the toll bridge. He grabbed her arm and yanked her around, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Don't touch me!" Emma yelled, trying to wrench her arm free.

But James's grip on his daughter was iron-clad. "Is it really us you're mad at? Or are you mad at yourself?"

"What?" she cried, still trying to break free, though in the back of her mind somehow, she registered that it was fruitless.

"You heard me."

"Why the hell would I be mad at myself?"

"Because you finally trusted someone again."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "I have never trusted you."

"I'm not talking about me." James countered, not missing a beat. "I'm talking about the woman down there whose heart you just broke. I'm talking about Snow White."

"Mary Margaret!"

"Snow White!—Your mother."

"Oh please—"

"What, don't believe me?" he let out a bitter, humorless laugh.

"You know I don't!" she snapped, still struggling to free herself. "It's impossible—"

"For a woman only a few years older than you to be your mother? Yeah, I admit that's a lot to swallow. Believe me, it wasn't so easy for us either."

The remark seemed to deflate her a bit, for she finally stopped squirming.

"So let's say you're right—say there is no curse," he said, releasing her, for he knew now that she would not run again. "You wanna believe I'm some selfish bastard stringing along a lonely schoolteacher while cheating on my wife? Fine. I don't blame you for that. By the standards of your world, that's exactly what I am."

His biting tone chipped away at her soul, and somehow – though Emma couldn't figure out why – hearing David describe himself this way…sounded utterly ludicrous.

"Judge me all you want, Emma," he said, his voice low and breaking as he pointed down the slope. "But not her. You oweher more than that. And you know it."

"Oh I know it, do I?" Emma spluttered, though with considerably less ire than she'd spoken before.

"Yes…" James grasped both her shoulders now, steadying her, and this time she didn't flinch. "You do." He gave her a tiny shake. "Think Emma. I know you've felt it. You're feeling it right now, even though your head's telling you not to." His eyes started to sting but he blinked back the tears. "You've known it all along. From the time you met her …when she was still just 'Mary Margaret' remember?"

Emma looked down toward the valley, and though she couldn't actually see her from where they were standing now, the pain she knew she'd caused her friend – again – was palpable, sinking into her gut like the frigid December air.

"Mary Margaret—" James continued in an impassioned whisper, "—the first person in Storybrooke you trusted. The first person, I'm guessing…that you've trusted in a long time."

Emma started, unnerved by the truths he was speaking, and annoyed that it was David Nolan once again who was speaking them.

"That woman loved you before she even knew who she was. Why else would she have bailed you out, no questions asked? Why else would she have invited a complete stranger with a sordid past to come and live with her?" Hope blossomed in his heart as he saw a single tear trickle down his daughter's cheek, crystallizing in the cold. He stroked it away with the pad of his thumb and whispered, "She's your mother, Emma."

Emma's breath caught in her throat, "It's just…not…possible," she choked, and though she intended it to be harsh, it came out in a helpless sob. "Th-there's just no way—no proof—"

"Faith is believing in something when there is no proof, Emma. Like you believed in Henry…like he believed in you."

Oh, low blow David! Emma couldn't stop from thinking, though there was – of course – no denying it. He was absolutely right. Henry's unshakeable loyalty to her was clear from the moment the kid walked into her life, knowing little more about her than her name and address. If she couldn't return that faith now…in Henry…in Mary Margaret…in Snow…

She forced herself to look into David's eyes, eyes that reflected her own sorrows, regrets…hopes. She reached up and clasped his wrist, just below where he still cupped her cheek…but didn't pull it away. She opened her mouth to speak…to finally let them both in, when suddenly—

"James!" they heard a shriek barreling up the hill. Both whipped around and rushed to the edge. "James! Emma!" Snow cried from below. And the two looked on in horror as they saw Snow being dragged up the other side of the valley by a man neither of them recognized.

"Snow!" James yelled.

"Mary Margaret!" Emma cried at the same time and at once started down the hill, but James thrust his arm out and held her back. "What are you doing?" she whirled on David.

"We can catch 'em faster if we take the bridge!" James said already taking off along the paved road to the bridge as Snow and her assailant reached the other side. His wife was certainly putting up a fight, kicking and clawing at the man whose long trench coat scraped the pavement and almost caused him to trip twice. But the man, whose lapels were flipped up so high and tight around his neck that they half covered his face, was too strong for her and succeeded in shoving her into his backseat and speeding away, just as James reached the other side of the bridge.

"Snow!" James screamed after them, catching his breath, but it was no use. The car was rapidly receding from view.

"Who the hell was that?" Emma gasped, catching up to him.

"I don't know," James said, anxiously looking around. "Did you drive here? Where's your car?"

Emma's mouth hung open, stupidly. "I- I uh…I kinda stalked straight here…from Collodi's," she said, embarrassed. James seemed not to notice.

"Mine's up by the path behind Gold's shop," he panted, looking back and forth between the woods and the speeding car, darting his eyes around anxiously looking for a solution.

"Did you get the license plate?"

James started, "The what?"

Emma rolled her eyes and was about to retort, when a blue ball of fuzz zoomed by her ear and landed on David's arm. "What the hell—"

"Lucy!" James looked down, about to issue a command when Lucy was suddenly joined by at least a dozen more bluebirds scurrying in from all directions.

Emma looked on, completely stupefied as the birds surrounded David, perching on nearby rocks, the railings of the bridge, drooping tree branches…and they were all jumping up and down, manically whistling. "David, what are they doing?" she cried.

But James wasn't listening. He was trying to concentrate. Snow always had an easier time understanding the animals, but he hadn't spent most of his life working as a shepherd and farmer with nothing to show for it. He was about 90% sure of what they were suggesting, but he a bit skeptical that it would work. "Really?" he asked them, dubiously. After all, he thought, what were the chances? After all this time?...They replied by whistling even louder, the pitch so high and screeching that Emma had to cover her ears. All right, if you say so, he thought and ran a few feet down the path so he was clear of the bridge. Before Emma had a chance to ask, James stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled…loud. The piercing sound far overpowered that of the dozen bluebirds stringing their little chirps together. At last they seemed content and flew off, a decided impression of "mission accomplished" fluttering out from their proud little wings.

Emma cowered as they flew right by her, shielding herself from the onslaught of blue with the flap of her jacket. When she looked up, the birds were gone and David was just standing there in the road, looking out toward the horizon. She ran up to him, bewildered by how calm he suddenly seemed. How patient. "David…" she said cautiously, "what—"

"You said you wanted proof," he said, still peering out towards the woods.

Emma shook her head, trying to make sense of anything that had happened in the past few minutes. Proof of what? Who was that man? Who would want to kidnap Mary Margaret? Where had he come from?...and what was with these birds? But she had no chance to voice any of these questions for in moments, she heard it – a thunderous rumble coming from the trees. And just as her eyes darted sideways at David, a massive black stallion burst through the tree line and charged toward the bridge. Emma swore under her breath and ducked behind a large boulder on the side of the road, but David remained remarkably still, and she looked on in horror as the monstrosity of a horse galloped right up to him and kicked his front legs in the air, neighing furiously. "Watch out!" she screamed to David as the beast's legs looked to be coming down on top of him, but David simply waited for the beast to steady, and then grasped its reigns and bridle. Only then did Emma notice…this horse was fully saddled.

"Thank you, Cain," James whispered in the horse's ear, as he thrust his foot in the stirrups and mounted, hurling his leg over the horse's massive back and settling into the familiar seat. He barely had time to register how good it felt to see his old steed again – how thankful he was that Cain was alive and unaffected by the curse (as all the animals seemed to be). Regina clearly thought as most ignorant folk did – that animals were stupid and needn't be bothered with in enacting the spell. Her ignorance of such things would continue to be her downfall, he thought absently. But first things first – they had to save Snow.

He gave Cain a light kick and galloped over to Emma…who now stood in the middle of the path with her jaw dragging on the ground. "Come on!" he shouted, extending his arm toward her. She didn't budge. James looked worriedly down the path. The car that had taken Snow had long since disappeared, but he knew that on Cain, they had a chance of catching up. "Emma, come on!" he begged. "You gonna help me or not?"

Emma gulped. She hated horses. She hated wildlife period. Trees, rocks, birds, snakes, deer, horses, wolves…the woods could have 'em. Emma's idea of 'enjoying the outdoors' extended about as far as staring at pictures on National Geographic's website. But she knew none of that mattered now. Mary Margaret – Snow – whatever! She was in trouble. And she'd be damned if she let that horrible conversation be the last words they ever shared. Without a moment's more hesitation, she stepped forward, thrust out her arm and gasped as David effortlessly hoisted her up behind him. "Hold onto me," he ordered. And Emma instantly complied. "He's fast."

Without any more warning, Cain kicked into a wild gallop, charging down the road toward the fleeing car, carrying father and daughter deep into the night.

…

Emma couldn't remember the last time her legs ached so much. She'd only ever been on a horse once in her life, when her foster mom took her to a state fair and plopped her down on a pony…and she didn't like it then either. She wrapped her arms around David's waist for dear life, taking in breathless gulps of air as the wind whipped by her face and they raced past God-knows how many trees, tearing after the car.

After a time, the road became a dirt path and soon turned to gravel as they galloped across the varied terrain, approaching a faint light in the distance which Emma took to be the assaulter's intended destination. In the infinitesimal moments when she wasn't scared out of her wits, she noted that…David wasn't kidding. This 'Cain' was indeed, unbelievably fast, and – as with most things revealed to her tonight – seemed completely improbable, since she was fairly certain cars were designed to move faster than just one horse.

David never once slowed down though, and she had to admit she was quite impressed by how well he handled the horse. Despite the absurdity of it all, the beast did seem to know him – making it less and less possible by the minute for Emma to deny what Mary Margaret had said: everything Henry has ever told you about the curse is absolutely true…which meant at this moment…Emma was on a mission…with her father. This realization was far too confusing for her to process, however, so she chose to remain focused on the task at hand.

Their ride took them straight through an area of woods with which James was unfamiliar, and only his steadfast determination to protect his family carried him onward, for he was frightfully aware of the fact that no one – not even Thomas – would be able to track them if they got lost…or worse. The forest seemed to stretch on for miles and James found himself growing nervous that their journey would take them beyond the borders of Storybrooke. Should that be the case, there was no telling what might happen given the fact that, well, as Henry had been warning them all along: no one leaves Storybrooke.

Eventually, to James's relief, the car slowed and turned onto a concealed drive that curved itself along a circuitous path. The dim light they'd spotted earlier turned out, as they drew closer, to be emanating from a few dozen porch lights, illuminating the perimeter of an elegant mansion. James slowed to a trot and tucked Cain behind a tall hedge, peering through the cracks in the pines. He judged them to be about 100 feet from the front porch over which a lavish canopy was erected. The assailant pulled the car just under the awning and they watched in horror as he slammed the driver's side door closed, circled around to the other side, and pulled his now limp and unconscious captive from the back seat.

Emma gasped behind him and he instinctively covered her hands with his own, urging her to remain calm as they watched the man carry Snow into the house. It was a good thing she wasn't riding Cain alone, for the brute didn't take kindly to nervous riders and certainly would have given them away by now. Once the front door of the house crashed shut, Emma immediately slid from the saddle, holding onto his arm as she lowered herself to the ground. Once she was safely down, he too dismounted, gave Cain an affectionate pat on the rump and sent him back into the night.

Emma took perhaps the first deep breath she had since the journey had begun and braced her hands on her knees, half bent over as she recovered. James came up behind her, placed a calming hand on her shoulder and then crouched down in front of her. "You all right?" Emma kept her head hung low but glowered up at him from beneath her brow, giving him a look that actually made James chuckle. "Deep breaths, ok? You'll be all right in a minute. And whatever you do, don't lock your knees."

"Why…" she gulped, catching her breath, "why did you send him away?"

"Don't worry, he won't go far," he whispered, peering past her to the woods. "He gets antsy with nothing to do."

Again, Emma gave him an incredulous glare, as if to say: how do you know? But she didn't ask. She didn't really want the answer.

James gave her a few more minutes and then reached up and squeezed her arm. "Come on," he said quietly, and started across the lawn.

Somewhat recovered, Emma shook herself out and adjusted her jacket, falling in step behind him as they crept along the hedge and up to the side of the house. They moved stealthily, circling around to the backyard where they spotted a cellar door, hanging open and half off its hinge. James started towards it but Emma pulled him back behind a cluster of trees. "That's a little obvious don't you think?" she hissed, crouching down.

"I know, but what choice do we have?" he whispered back. "You saw him dragging her in there. Who knows how much time she's got!"

"Relax," she said, and this time it was Emma to lay the comforting hand upon his own. The gesture startled them both, but Emma didn't pull back. "He probably drugged her with chloroform."

"With what?"

"Chloroform," Emma said again, pleased to be the one in-the-know at the moment. "Don't worry. It just knocks you out for a few hours."

James sighed, glanced back up at the house and then back to Emma. "Well, I'm open to suggestions."

She looked up at the top floor windows. All the lights were on and there seemed to be no indication of movement inside, making it very difficult to discern whether the man was working alone, where exactly he was in the house, and where he might have stashed Mary Margaret. Crossing her arms, she let out a frustrated huff. "I wish we knew more about this guy. You sure you didn't recognize him?"

James shook his head. "Not that I remember," he said. "And I don't think Snow knew him either."

She started at the name and opened her mouth to retort, but he noted her expression and beat her to it.

"Look, you keep calling her Mary Margaret all you want. That doesn't change who she is or how much danger she's in because of it."

"Whadyou mean?" she gulped.

He pinched the ridge of his nose, trying to temper his fear for his wife with patience for his daughter. "I mean whoever took her wasn't just thinking it'd be fun to kidnap a schoolteacher," he said pointedly.

With that, Emma was forced to agree and, with no other obvious access points, reluctantly decided to brave the cellar door. Silently, they crept across the yard. James descended one step into the cellar, peering into blackness. He was half-tempted to tell her to hang back, beg that she stay out of harm's way. But he knew it would be pointless. In her own way, Emma was as fiercely dedicated to her mother as he was. Even if she didn't fully believe, he knew she wouldn't let anything happen to Snow. Still, both father and daughter knew they were most likely heading into a trap, but without a clue as to the layout of the house or what they were up against, they had little choice but to stick together and proceed.

The chipped and creaking cellar stairs led them to an equally shoddy looking door. Though the rest of house seemed immaculate, the basement appeared quite neglected. This could be a good sign, James thought, though without much conviction. His heart was pounding as they skulked through boxes of canned foods and rotting furniture. But they reached the base of the steps leading up to the first floor without incident, so they continued to climb together, approaching a very narrow slit under the door where light was beaming through.

Both felt as if they hadn't so much as breathed since entering the cellar and Emma's pulse was racing so fast now, she was sure David could hear it. She stayed close as he turned the handle and heard it click open. Though it was no louder than a dropped pin, their fear amplified it into a downright clatter and both stood frozen for several minutes before David turned it any further to open it.

When at last he set the door swinging free, James was actually shocked not to find an entire brigade on the other side of the door ready to trounce them. Could Snow's kidnapper really live in this immense place all by himself? He glanced back at his daughter whose similar expression suggested she was thinking the exact same thing, for she offered a simple shrug and motioned for him to continue.

They stepped out into a…rather strange looking hallway. Yes, very strange. In fact…utterly bizarre. James had never seen anything quite like it – not in either world. The floors were laid with black and white checkered squares of carpeting along the narrow hall, but the squares were clearly cut to make it appear as if the hallway shrunk as it continued in one direction, and grew in another. The walls were painted similarly, again in a black and white checkered pattern, though every few squares bore a garishly red shaded diamond in the middle. The pattern covered the surface from floor to ceiling and it too seemed to be either shrinking or growing depending on the direction.

The effect was so disorienting for the two souls who'd just stepped out of complete and total darkness that Emma felt herself getting dizzy. She'd read about things like this – she'd seen her share wandering in and out of fun houses when jokers skipping out on bail would run out of creative places to hide. It was all illusion. It couldn't be real (even if everything David – or James or whoever - was telling her ended up being true…this was still her world…where illusions were just that...illusion). "Close your eyes," she whispered, seizing David's shoulder as he was about to tumble into the wall in front of him.

James complied, and in an instant, the disorientation was gone. Wordlessly, he reached up to his shoulder and squeezed her hand, clasping it down at his side as he felt along the wall with the other, leading them out of the dreaded corridor. They emerged finally into a small foyer of sorts, though it didn't seem to be at all in the front of the house. It wasn't by any means a plain room, but certainly less disturbing than the hallway.

It almost had the feel of a common room, thought Emma, connecting individual dorms. She noted particularly the two small sofas bridged together by a cozy looking coffee table and mismatched floor rugs. Two tall floor lamps, one in each far corner, stood looking horridly orange with tassels hanging from thick vinyl shades illuminating rows of bookcases scattered along the walls. Two doors stood mysteriously on each of the side walls and were made of what looked to be decorative cedar, bearing some rather strange markings etched where one might ordinarily find a room number. With four doors in all, and each set of markings slightly different, it was difficult to tell which one they should open.

James and Emma split off, Emma to the left and James to the right. He smoothed his hand over the markings and tried to decipher the strange symbols, but they were unlike anything he'd seen before. Emma too started to inspect the etchings with even less luck.

"Do you know what any of this means?" Emma whispered harshly across the room.

James shook his head. "No, but I'm willing to bet they're all linked somehow. Like some bizarre riddle we have to—" but his speech was cut short by the sounds of a door opening across the room. James whipped around and gaped at his daughter who was now standing in the open doorway of one of the four rooms.

"Or they're there to distract us from…trying the doorknobs," she said with a light smirk.

James smirked too, though it made him even more nervous. That was now three doors they'd opened without incident and without detection. Too much about this was too easy. Emma was peeking her head around the corner of the door frame and then stepped back out.

"Nothin'," she said and pulled it shut.

James nodded and turned back to his own door, ignored the symbols as his daughter suggested, and gripped doorknob. Hands trembling, he gave it a twist and it too gave way, creaking open without so much as a rough push. But instead of finding his room empty, the door swung open, light from the foyer spilling into the room…to reveal his wife, bound, gagged and unconscious on a chair. "Snow!" he rushed inside at once, crouching down immediately to inspect the bindings. "Snow can you hear me?"

Emma sped over, similarly abandoning caution to the wind, to reach Mary Margaret. But her eyes instead fell on the dark man stepping out from behind the door. "David watch out!" she cried. But she was too late. Forever too late – as if in slow motion, she watched as the man cracked the handle of a gun down on the back of David's head, knocking him out cold. Frozen in place from the threat of the gun, Emma could only cry out in horror as David's body crumpled to the ground at Mary Margaret's feet before the man whirled around, his trench coat fluttering out like a cape, stepped out of the room and yanked the door shut.

"Now then!" he exclaimed with wild, red eyes and exaggerated panache. "Tea time!"

…

"So you contained the problem, I take it?" the queen barked into the phone.

"Well if I hadn't, you'd know it by now wouldn't you? I imagine the mayor would be the first person called if one of her citizens saw a boy flying by their window," John quipped into the phone, giving Regina the distinct impression that he was leaning back in a chair, inspecting the grime under his fingernails. "Although now that I think about it, Sydney would certainly have something new to write about—"

"Just—" she inhaled through her teeth, glancing across her desk at Rodmilla, who looked quite droll as she drummed her fingers on her arms rest. "Just be sure it doesn't happen again. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how…displeased I am to keep hearing about these security breaches at the home John. Are you and Hook losing your touch after all?"

She heard him take a deep breath, clearly biting his tongue before he responded curtly, "Certainly not your Majesty, though I can't vouch for the old Captain. Getting a bit tired in his old age if you ask me—"

"John!" she warned, leaning forward in her chair. "Do not disappoint me."

"Have I ever, my queen?"

He had her there. As hesitant as she'd been to bring him on board with the other rogues – given his rather limited magical powers and flamboyant nature – Honest John had proven to be a most indispensable ally…and a deliciously ruthless villain.

Knowing he could not expect an actual acknowledgement of this fact, John simply continued. "Of course it would be easier if you'd get your Irish pet out of my school," his tone turned rather superior and Regina bristled. "The longer we keep him here, the more questions they ask, and preventing them from asking questions, if you recall Madame Mayor, was the whole point of—"

"We have to keep him there until the curse is fully restored. As you are well aware, masking memories made in Storybrooke is a much more delicate process than masking those that came before. This is not the first time we've had to…purge Graham, and I would like it to be the last."

"As you wish, my queen. He'll return tomorrow morning, good as new. I, in the meantime, will continue to entertain myself with his cell phone." Regina rolled her eyes. "Anything else?" he asked.

"How are your…other arrivals settling in?" she shot another look at Lady Tremaine whose lips pursed into a thing smile across the desk.

"Splendidly," John replied with flourish. "Of course the boys are quite unused to having a girl around. I'm sure we'll find some use for her though."

"Good," was her only reply, and without another word, she laid the phone back in its cradle, folded her hands under her chin and smiled. "Well," she purred, "the Lost Boys continue to be no more than a nuisance. Would you like some more tea, Rodmilla?"

Tremaine cocked an eyebrow, "That sounded like more than a nuisance, Regina. I do wonder at the faith and trust you continue to place in that con artist."

"Why shouldn't I?" Regina reached for the crystal tumbler, raising the glass of water to her lips. "John has been nothing but loyal from the very beginning – which is more than I can say for some of our kind here."

"I know, but that is just what I mean. A conniving little weasel like that is bound to become a burden, liable to demand payment in return."

Regina replaced the glass on a coaster and folded her hands once more. "He pockets half of the funds the government sends to that boys' home, owns more than half the assets of Gunlief's emporium and is exempt from the curse. If he wants more…he is welcome to ask."

Rodmilla nodded, conceding the point, but remained dubious. "I suppose. In any case, as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted," she droned toward the phone, "we have worse problems brewing here."

Regina pinched her temples between her fingers and sighed. "It was a necessary exercise, Rodmilla—"

"One that failed—"

"No, one that revealed to us how strong Ella has become."

"Strong enough to defeat your poison!" the old step mother sneered, gripping both arm rests now as the real reason for her visit came to light.

But Regina held her hand up, begging for her patience. "The apples were never designed to be an absolute cure, my dear lady, only a deterrent. She's clearly far too close to happiness to be affected—"

"And so your solution is to allow them to come here today and go through with a marriage license?" she scowled. "That's putting quite the dent in my happy ending, Regina. If I must witness their union again—"

"You won't," the mayor replied firmly, still trying to maintain an ease and confidence she secretly lacked. It had indeed been distressing to discover that Ella had gained back so much of herself. "Applying for a marriage license is not a marriage. It's paperwork."

"It's a step forward for them!"

"And buys more time for us. Time to refine a more…permanent solution. Besides, the further along they get, the sweeter the revenge will be when it all comes crashing down."

"Perhaps," Rodmilla muttered, taking the empty tea cup from its saucer on the desk, then slamming it back down, remembering she'd already finished it. "Ungrateful little wench," she said. "I find it hard to believe she derives such happiness," she shuddered at the word, "from raising that bastard child."

Regina pondered that one a moment, tracing her finger around the lip of her glass, letting it ring in the air as she looked to the small portrait on her desk. "Children…have a way of changing things, Rodmilla, you know that."

"Yes but it's not just the baby!" Tremaine insisted. "I still say this has more to do with his Royal Bratness moving in! He may still be acting the part of Sean Herman, but from what I've been able to glean from Mitchell, there's something decidedly different about that boy since he left his father's house. A man doesn't go from spineless leech to breadwinner in one day, Regina."

"Relax…please," the mayor hissed, tempering her ally with a tender pat on the hand. Again, she hoped the sense of calm she tried to project seemed sincere. Rodmilla was uncannily voicing every concern Regina also had this afternoon. "We all have our…special talents. Let me worry about Sean. You just do your part with Mitchell."

Tremaine rolled her eyes. "I'm trying, but I must say I'm running out of arguments. Twice now I've had to convince him that he made the right decision. That he was right to cut Sean off and that in the end it would teach him a much needed lesson."

Regina's eyebrows raised in alarm. "Twice?"

"Twice," she confirmed, glad the mayor was finally hearing her. "The last time, I intercepted him at the market. That…little…tart was bouncing up and down like an idiot, no doubt announcing to her foolish friends that Sean had proposed; I spotted Mitchell watching them from the next aisle. He nearly walked over to join them and believe me, his expression was far from reproachful."

The mayor scoffed in disgust, sinking back against her chair. "King Christopher always was as soft as they come. It's a wonder his kingdom never went bankrupt with all the charity he showered on any wretch who brought a sob story to his throne."

"Which is precisely why we cannot allow this farce to progress any further—"

"I can't very well deny them a routine application, Rodmilla. You know that!" Regina barked. "Our manipulation must be subtle and above all plausible. Why do you think I allowed Graham to be the one to take the children? To provide him with an alibi for his absence. The magic required to reset him—"

"Takes longer to administer with the curse already in place, yes I know," Tremaine waved her off impatiently.

"Which is why 'Sean' and 'Ashley' must be allowed to proceed…for now. Otherwise, we sew the seeds of doubt ourselves. We must not leave room for suspicion."

Tremaine grunted, and turned her nose in the air. "Fine. But if you ask me, applying for the license would have been the perfect opportunity for your West End lackey to pull one of his disappearing acts. It would certainly be plausible for 'Sean' to leave a note claiming he just couldn't bring himself to make it official." Tremaine toyed with the top of her cane as she muttered the rest under her breath: "He wouldn't be the first man in the world to get cold feet."

"So soon after doing the same with Michael?" Regina countered. "Be sensible, Rodmilla. There's no one else in Storybrooke who misses that woodsman. And no one will question the dishonor of a man skipping town upon hearing he has two illegitimate children running around. Especially not, from what I hear, our delightful new deputy. But if Mitchell Herman is showing signs of yielding as you say, he wouldn't rest until he found Sean. We simply can't have people asking questions. Remember the Lost Boys—"

"All right!" the woman snapped, her face twisting sourly. The lady certainly hated to be reasoned with. "Don't say I didn't warn you though when—" but at that moment, the heavy double doors of the mayor's office burst open and in stormed Kathryn Nolan…her cheeks soaked with tears.

"Regina—" she said through labored sobs, then at once noticed Tremaine. "Oh…I'm s-so sorry. I'll—"

"Not at all my dear," Rodmilla cut in, retrieving her cane and rising from her chair. "I was just leaving." Kathryn stepped aside, the way one might for a grand dame, as Tremaine (having simply no tolerance for bawling blubbering blondes) glided out of the office.

The doors slammed shut behind her without so much as a farewell to Regina, and Kathryn turned back to her friend. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think to check—"

"Nonsense Kathryn, please," she gestured for the small sofa against the wall. "Tell me what's happened." She had to admit she was distressed to see David Nolan's wife in such a state. Perhaps that element of the curse wasn't as neatly tied up as she'd been led to believe.

"I'm just so…" she wrung her hands together, pacing in front of the sofa but not sitting down. "I didn't know where else to turn. I can't find anyone from the sheriff's office and—"

"Kathryn, calm down—"

"I can't calm down, Regina!" she jerked away from the mayor's reach.

"Perhaps if you sit—"

"David's missing!"

Regina blinked, genuinely alarmed. "Missing?"

"He said he had to work late last night," Kathryn explained, resuming her pacing. "But when I went by to see if—" she hiccupped, holding back and seeming a tad embarrassed, "to see if he wanted some company," she went on, "he wasn't there—"

"Working? Where is he working?"

Kathryn started, shooting her a look as if to say what in the world does that matter! but she answered, "Collodi's garage."

Again, Regina's eyes bugged out of her head, and she struggled to maintain a visage consistent with a concerned, yet detached mayor. "Marco Collodi's garage," she clarified. Prince James was working for Geppetto?

Kathryn nodded, seeming not to notice her friend's rising fury. "And he never came home. So this morning I was driving around like a maniac looking for him and…and…" she choked back a sob— "and I spotted his car parked behind Mr. Gold's shop!"

"Behind Mr. Gold's—"

"Yes, but there was no sign of him!"

"Kathryn," Regina tried again to calm the hysteria. "Think: were the keys in the car? Did it look like there was a…a struggle?" she knew the question was strange, but her own mind was spinning. Was it possible Honest John had gone truly rogue on Prince Charming?

"I don't know!" she shook her hands frantically then squeezed her fingers together so tight her knuckles turned white. "I don't know," she cried more softly. Regina gathered her into a hug.

"Shh," she soothed, "try to calm down. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation." The frightened housewife whimpered softly against her shoulder, and Regain resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If she was to continue to play her part convincingly, she must act appropriately. She pulled back and braced her hands on Kathryn's shoulders. "You poor dear." Kathryn didn't respond, merely sniffled into her shoulder. Regina looked up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what it meant. She'd given no orders that anything was to be done with David Nolan. His Storybrooke identity had been successfully restored at dinner the other night. And from Emma's own report, he had even mentioned—she froze. Emma's report, she thought, grinding her teeth. Why had she trusted that bitch? She'd been so distracted with Graham and the Zimmer children and Thomas and Ella that…she hadn't even considered the greatest threat of all.

The mayor took a deep breath, and proceeded to test her theory. She looked down at the sniveling Kathryn and pulled her into another hug. "I'm so sorry. To think he was showing such progress the other night," she murmured. "What with you already talking about starting a family—"

Kathryn's shoulders stiffened immediately and she pulled back, staring blankly at her friend. "Wh-what?"

"You and David? I heard—" but the twit's ignorant gawp told Regina all she needed to know, and in seconds, searing hot rage prickled up her neck. "Excuse me," she said in a deep, guarded voice. "I thought I had heard that you two were…talking about children."

Kathryn reeled back. "Where did you hear that?" she cried, her fear and worry turning instantly to bitterness. "We've barely been speaking at all let alone planning a family!" she threw her arms up in anguish and resumed her pacing. "I'm lucky to get him to stay in the house for five seconds."

Regina bit her tongue so hard she felt sure it was bleeding. So David Nolan hadn't been restored after all. Not, at least, the way she'd wanted him to. And now he was missing! Still, the queen maintained her cool and adopted a truly sympathetic façade. "Oh Kathryn. I had no idea," she shook her head sadly. "I guess…" she paused and thought a moment, contemplating the possible explanations for this latest development, and decided to plant a seed. "I guess the gossip is true after all."

Kathryn blinked, wiping her nose on her sleeve as her eyes narrowed. "What…what gossip?"

Regina brought a hand to her chest in a dramatic show of sensitivity. "Oh dear, when I heard it, I didn't even want to bother you with it. I mean, after seeing you two so happy the other night at dinner, I felt sure it was just an absurd rumor."

"Regina," Kathryn seethed, with a sudden forcefulness that Regina had not seen in Abigail since before enacting the curse. "What are you talking about?"

Again, Regina continued to play her part, every movement and word simply dripping with endless sympathy and pity. "Oh dear," she sighed. "Yes, I suppose you must know now…It's been rumored, I'm afraid…that David has been having an affair…with Mary Margaret Blanchard."

…

"Are you sure?" Thomas asked, instantly on the alert. "You tried his cell?" The information Marco was relating was not what he'd expected to wake up to this morning. "No, he left around 6 and I know he had…um, a stop to make, but then as far as I knew he was going home." Tucking the house phone up between his chin and shoulder, Thomas grabbed his own cell phone from its cradle and punched in a text to James. "No, I can't, sorry – I've gotta get over to Garcon's this morning to receive the shipment and then—" he paused as Ashley emerged from the hallway, carrying Alexandra over to the makeshift changing table by the couch. "I have somewhere to be at 1:00," he finished, flashing her a quick wink then looking back at his cell. No reply. Damn. "Yeah, absolutely," he told Marco. "If I hear from him I'll tell 'im to call you." With a nervous sigh, he hung up the land line and continued to stare at his cell.

"Who was that, Marco?" Ashley asked, sensing Sean's frustration.

"Yeah," Thomas said, punching in another text. "He says David never showed for his shift this morning."

"David Nolan?" she asked, remembering the man she met last night. Sean nodded. "Well," she frowned, "I'll bet Marco's regretting that hire."

Thomas snapped his head up. "No, you don't get it," he grasped the edge of the counter, his other hand on his hip. "This isn't like him."

Ashley glanced up from the changing table and started. Her fiancée was white as a sheet. "Sean," she said warily, "He seems like a nice guy but…I mean…well you just met him Saturday didn't you? Maybe he's just…not that reliable."

Thomas opened his mouth to defend James, then snapped it shut. Dammit! he thought, catching himself and hating the curse. "I…I know…" he said eventually, grasping for some sort of cover. "I just…that wasn't my impression of him." He glanced up as she finished dressing Alex. "I'd like to think I'm a better judge of character than that."

Ashley hoisted the baby onto her shoulder and rocked her gently. "Of course you are," she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just…I hate to see you so worried. I'm sure there's an explanation."

He nodded, ran his hands through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. Oh there was an explanation all right, he thought frantically, just none he could postulate that would end well. He knew they'd been getting careless. James had been right. The queen must have eyes and ears everywhere. Maybe they were spotted at Garcon's. Maybe—

"Hey," Ashley said softly, touching his arm.

Thomas jerked in surprise, but recovered. "Sorry," he mumbled, clearing his throat and checking his phone a third time – still no answer.

Ashley shook her head. "Don't be. Just…I'm sure he's fine."

He nodded, forcing himself to mask the bulk of his fear. He mustn't give Ella any more cause to worry. Especially not today. "I know, I know…his…phone probably just died," he mumbled.

She smiled. "Exactly. You boys never remember to charge your toys," she teased, hoping to get at least a half-grin out of her beau. She succeeded. "I'll see you at 1:00?"

He laced his fingers through hers, instantly comforted by her warmth, and kissed the back of her hand. "Wouldn't miss it," he said earnestly, leaning in to kiss Alex on the cheek before planting one on Ella's mouth.

She sighed into the kiss, allowing it to go on much longer than her time table allowed this morning. She only had a couple of hours to run her errands before she had to drop off Alex with Granny and head over to City Hall (she'd briefly considered bringing Alexandra along with them to apply for the license, but after yesterday…well, Ashley didn't want her daughter anywhere near that wretched woman).

"Mmm," she laughed, finally pulling back. "Save some of it for the honeymoon, your Highness."

Thomas froze, locking his grip on her hand as she started to pull away. "What?" he spluttered, gaping at her, his heart pounding now for a whole slew of different reasons.

"What?" Ashley echoed, staring blankly and quite surprised by Sean's sudden look of shock. She wriggled her fingers from his grasp when Alex started to squirm so she could shift her to the other shoulder. "Why are you…staring at me?"

Thomas swallowed hard. This was just a bit too much for a man to take in one morning…even for a prince. "You just said…" he gulped, finishing thickly, "You just said 'save some of it for the honeymoon, your highness'."

"I did?" she blinked, her eyes darting back and forth as if she were trying to remember something that had happened weeks ago.

It could have been an innocent enough joke, a teasing reference to James calling him 'charming' last night… except that Ella had whispered those very words to him on the balcony of his father's palace…minutes before they'd descended the grand staircase to begin their wedding reception.

"Wow," Ashley chuckled nervously. "I don't know where that came from."

A slow smile spread across his face as he shook his head, letting her off the hook. "Never mind," he grinned. "I think I do."

…

***Kudos to all of you for successfully identifying the two cameos in Chapter 19. Bambi and Thumper were indeed the two who helped lead Snow to the cave. I figure if the writers can have Archie own a dog named Pongo, I can give everyone's favorite deer and rabbit a little "screen time"!

I have to say, the conversation between James, Emma and Snow has been in my head, in its entirety, almost WORD for WORD forever! It's so nice to be able to get it down on the page at long last. Hope you enjoyed. Plenty more in store for the Charmings as you can probably tell. I wonder how differently the Hatter might behave! :)

I really can't thank you all enough for the support. Shout outs to all newcomers as well as regulars who keep coming back for more. If you keep coming back for more, I'll keep writing it! For I have never had so much fun writing a story in my life!

Stay tuned for more intrigue. Shout out to Atomicjinx, The Pris, and sgcycle for some truly inspiring feedback***