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

Moonlight, Mayhem and Mistletoe

Leroy wanted to know as little as possible about what Mary Margaret and her friends were doing. His interest in this little errand extended only as far as Mary's guarantee that it would royally piss off Regina Mills. For as long as he could remember, that bitch seemed to spend her hours looking for excuses to have him thrown in jail. Granted, a few of these infractions might be considered legitimate, but there was a time when all Regina Mills had to do was look at him and her little errand-boy-sheriff would come out of nowhere and clamp down the cuffs.

Eventually Graham convinced him to take this job at the hospital – a job that was a bit more respectable than Marco Collodi's grunt in Regina's eyes – which lessened the frequency of nights spent in jail, but Leroy hadn't forgotten the many "favors" he owed his dear mayor. If this little mission of Mary Margaret's pissed off that witch, it would be well worth another night in the slammer. Besides…he hated that syrupy Christmas festival at the Emporium. Too much cheeriness in one place.

As soon as the four of them walked inside, Leroy led Rose French and Ashley Boyd immediately down a corridor he was fairly certain would be empty this time of night. It led only to a service closet and storeroom with cleaning supplies, and the cleaning ladies will have already made their rounds. However, when he opened the closet door, they all jumped back, and Ashley shrieked as a man who'd clearly been leaning up against the other side of the door spilled into the hallway.

"Walter!" Leroy spat, recovered from his initial shock. He glanced down at his coworker, a short stocky fellow not much taller than himself who was constantly falling asleep on the job. He gestured toward the closet and chided, "Again?"

But before Walter could reply, Ashley suddenly squealed, "Sleepy!"

Leroy and Walter both turned to glare at her as she cupped her hand over her mouth. "Yeah?" said Walter. "So I'm a little sleepy, what's it to you?" he asked in a high nasally voice, pausing to yawn in between words.

Ella stammered. "Uh…uh nothing. Sorry. Nevermind." Then she darted a glance over at Belle's questioning gaze as if to say 'later'.

'Whatchyou even doin' here Leroy?" asked Walter. "you're not even workin' tonight!"

"Pickin' up your slack, looks like," he replied coldly, pushing past him and grabbing a fresh pair of nurse scrubs off the shelf. "Here," he tossed Rose the scrubs as Mary Margaret had instructed him to.

"Hey, you can't just give those out to anybody," Walter spat, grabbing Leroy by the collar.

"What're you gonna do about it pal? Squeal on me?"

"I might."

"And risk me telling Whale you were snoozin' your shift away in the broom closet? Again?"

"Boys!" cried Ella, holding her hands up and wincing against all the arguing. She had never heard any of Snow's dwarf companions speak in such biting tones – Grumpy included. And certainly not to each other. "Please," she begged them, placing her hands on each of their shoulders. "There's no reason to fight. We're all on the same side."

This time, both men turned to stare at her. "Side?" said Walter. "What side would that be?"

"Yeah just what are you ladies trying to pull off here?" asked Leroy, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

Ella glanced warily over at Belle who shrugged. She didn't realize how hard this would be: being the only one 'in –the-know' after splitting off from Snow.

Rose cleared her throat, feeling strangely sorry for the girl and yet also relying on her as well. She was, after all, the only one here truly awake. "She just means," Rose started slowly, "that we're not…adversaries here."

The two men stared at her blankly.

"It means enemies, boys," Ella rolled her eyes with a smile, "and we're just trying to help some people who are…in trouble."

"What people?" asked Walter.

The girls shared another hasty glance. "Well, one," Ella said slowly, "we think is being held here against his will."

"Ashley," Rose scolded. That was hardly being subtle.

"What?" Ella hissed back. "We're gonna need their help and I'm…I'm through with lying to people who are important to me."

Rose was about to object when Walter cut in again. "Who, us?" he said, utterly perplexed by the young blonde who struck him as wise beyond her years.

"Yes," Ella wrinkled her nose, "you. Both of you are important to me." She gave each dwarf an affectionate shoulder pat. "Look, I know this'll sound…weird. But we were once…good friends. And I know we can be again. So if you're up for it, we could really use some help."

Rose held her breath, in awe now of the young princess as she watched the two men consider her proposal.

Leroy, of course, was already on board simply to cause trouble. But as he stared at Ashley Boyd, an odd bit of deja-vu came over him. He had the distinct impression that he'd been here with her before. A vision flashed in his mind – he'd seen that expression of hers somewhere. Somewhere just like this: a narrow hallway? No…not just like this. A tunnel? A…a cave?

Walter too had been moved to silence, and no one breathed a word until he reached toward Rose and snatched the scrubs out of her hand. "Here," he said gently, exchanging the small pile for another set on the shelf. "That was a double XL," he chuckled with a teasing glance at Leroy. "Would've have even fit him."

Leroy rolled his eyes but nodded. "So," he folded his arms. "What's the plan?"

…

"There," said Joe as he finished assembling the new splint. "That should take care of the pain and swelling." He'd switched out the hardened cast for a slightly more flexible splint. And though this visit was simply pretext for Adam's escape, Snow had to admit this brace felt a lot better than the cast. "Thank you so much, doctor," she flashed him a smile.

"Joe," he insisted for the second time that week.

"Joe," Snow rolled her eyes. "I know."

"You're welcome. Now remember, you need to stay off of that like I told you the first time."

Snow smiled wryly. "I'll do my best."

Joe gave her a stern look but eventually grinned as well. He rinsed hand wiped his hands, then turned and gave the split a satisfied grunt. "Well, all done here. Time enough to get to the festival for a cup of coffee?"

"If you like that sort of thing," Snow shrugged, casually reaching down for her purse.

Whale started. "You don't?"

"Bunch of homebodies gathering around the emporium pretending that they love this town's tired traditions and singing Koombaya by the Christmas tree? Hardly."

Her biting remark shocked him…thrilled him. He was fairly certain Mary Margaret Blanchard had been a faithful and enthusiastic participant in the endless caroling that always followed the tree lighting in years past. In fact, he recalled seeing her face amidst a crowd of cheery townsfolk polkaing around the tree and remembered thinking her the epitome of lameness. But that was the old Mary Margaret. The bland Mary Margaret. This new, feisty Mary Margaret even looked sexy in a leg brace. He ran his gaze up and down her form, taking note of the tight black leggings she wore (stretched up the one calf of course, baring the tiniest bit of skin) and her shimmery red sweater that fell to just above the knee with a black belt hugging her waistline. He shivered in anticipation, imagining how sweet the payoff could be tonight if he played his cards right with this lady in red. "So are you just…headed home then?"

Snow took a deep breath, having not missed his wolfish gaze appraising her. This was it. The perfect in. "Actually," she cocked her head to one side, "I'm gonna stop off in the cafeteria for a piece of their pie."

Whale's brow creased. Of all the places in town, she was headed to the hospital cafeteria? "There's plenty other places to get—"

"Join me?" she cut him off, slinging her purse over her shoulder as she stood.

Joe reached for her crutches and handed them over, still a bit confused. But after a brief pause, he gestured her toward the door and shrugged. Why not? he thought. Cafeteria now, his place tonight.

…

Having had very few Storybrooke memories himself, James was incredibly impressed by the cacophony of sounds, the tapestry of lights, and the all-around merriment of the tree lighting festival. As he looked out over the railing of the Emporium's upper terrace, he couldn't help but wonder how or why the queen could allow such a joyous festival to take place in a town designed to hold them all prisoner. Surely this celebration inspired too much happiness for Regina's liking. Then again, it was entirely possible that the festival was shrewdly designed to keep the townsfolk in their place and prevent them from lamenting their broken lives too terribly. This scenario was entirely plausible: offer Storybrooke residents brief, fleeting moments of joy and entertainment so no one would ever wish too much for anything more.

Of course, his own ability to enjoy said festivities was an entirely different matter. While he could objectively note and appreciate the general good nature and humor inside the Emporium, where nearly every citizen of Storybrooke had come to sing and shop and laugh, James himself was decidedly anxious. While he stood here, waiting for the mayor to present him with this ridiculous commendation, Snow was over at Storybrooke General, trying to break Adam out of the psyche ward with only Belle, Ella, and an extremely cynical night guard for help. And with a broken ankle no less!

"Any word?" a voice muttered from behind. James turned to see Abigail coming towards him. He cracked a small smile as she hooked her arm through his, prepared to play her part for the evening. "No, but it's early yet. Snow's appointment wasn't even supposed to start until 6:30." Abigail nodded. "What about you?"

She shook her head. "Frederick and Marco are keeping their eyes open. Watching for any sign of trouble, but the whole town is here tonight, James. It's a lot of ground to cover."

James sighed. "I know, I know. Gods, I hate this." He leaned over, gripping the edge of the railing, and bowed his head. "I never should've let her go."

But Abigail gave his arm a sharp squeeze and pulled him back. "You couldn't have stopped her and you know it," she said with a chuckle. "Face it, it's one of the reasons you love her so much."

Armed with the truth, Abigail was a tough one to argue with. "I know," he conceded with a half-grin. "I just…I have a really bad feeling—"

"James," she said, her voice hushed, "Even if something does go wrong, it's still gonna all work out."

He let out another sigh, "And how do you know that, princess?" he teased, though his tone was still etched with doubt.

Abigail stepped forward and straightened his tie, taking a few moments to brush some stray lint from his sport coat. "Oh, because the fate of your true love is at stake," she said with a grin. "It's a battle we can't afford to lose."

This time, James broke into a genuine smile, recalling – as had Abigail, obviously– the night he'd freed Frederick from Midas' curse. Generally, James disliked having his own words used against him, but there was no debating the woman. "Works for me," he said, offering his arm once more, and Abigail hooked on.

A short while later, Archie joined them on the terrace. "Hey, have we heard anything?" he asked on approach, hands shoved in his pockets and glasses pushed all the way up his nose.

James shook his head. "Not yet. It's early though. She's gotta go through with the whole appointment before she can even try to—"

"Well well well, Doc 'opper," a man's voice sounded rather obnoxiously from across the balcony. It was Mr. Bridgeport, owner of the Emporium and unofficial host of the indoor portion of the evening. Townspeople came to his two tiered complex to check out the latest merchandise and holiday sales in preparation for the season. The Emporium itself was actually more of an indoor marketplace, filled with tiny carts and entrepreneurs, each vying for a little bump in business. At the very center of the structure, under a magnificent glass dome, was an impressive marble fountain shooting out spurts of water choreographed this evening to pre-recorded holiday tunes, and at each end of the fountain sat the base of the grand staircase that curved together at the second level terrace – tonight's stage for Mayor Mills's speech and presentation. James had been informed earlier by one of the festival workers that he and Abigail were to make their way up to the veranda by 6:30 for the start of the ceremony.

"Mr. Bridgeport," Archie said, squeezing through James and Abigail and moving to shake the man's hand. "Happy Holidays," he nodded.

"And 'da same tah you," grunted the portly gentleman in the oddly fitting top hat.

"Mr. Bridgeport, I don't believe you've met David Nolan?" Archie brought James forward with a firm grip on his shoulder.

Gunlief turned to James, his shoulders immediately tensing at the very thought of interacting with the man responsible for destroying his entire clan. But the queen had been adamant that he continue to play his part. "Only in passing. Glad tah know ya," he thrust out his fat hand and leveled his gaze.

James, who had been trying to figure out all day who this man was, clasped his hand and studied his face. There was some definite tension there, but he truly didn't look at all familiar. "Same here, Mr. Bridgeport."

"Oh please, no need da be standin' on ceremony," he shook the prince's hand but was unable to resist squeezing tight enough to break it. "Call me Edwerd."

"Uh sure," James winced, yanking his hand from the emcee's grip. "Edward."

"Well this sssertinly is an excitin' affair, you bein' honored as a hero," he tipped his hat, looking out over the veranda at the throngs of people below whose purchases translated into more money in his own pockets.

James noted Bridgeport's bitter tone, but before he could respond, they were interrupted again.

"I agree Mr. Bridgeport," came a chilly voice as Regina and Henry Mills ascended the grand staircase and joined them at the top. "An exciting affair indeed."

James's gaze darted at once to his grandson whose face was a sort of pale, sickly green. "Evening Regina," he said, though his eyes remained on Henry.

"Evening David. Kathryn, Archie," said Regina tersely. "I believe we're about ready to get started, Mr. Bridgeport. If you would signal Mr. Collodi with the lights please?"

"Sure thing Madame May-er," said the portly man before he slinked away.

Henry, certain by this point that there would be bruises on his shoulders from how tight the queen's grip was, hazarded a glance up at Regina. "Hey, Mom?' he squeaked. "Do you think I could show Mr. Nolan my new—"

"Not now Henry," she snapped as she guided her son toward the edge of the balcony overlooking the lower concourse.

Henry glanced back at James again, but couldn't even manage to mouth a warning before Regina forcibly positioned him right up against the railing. He knew why of course. Since the hospital, she had not let him out of her sight. Those other villains had it in for him, the cruel-looking doctor especially. In his entire (albeit short) life, he had never seen his adoptive mother looking over her shoulder so often.

Abigail felt the tendons in James's arm tightening so hard, he nearly crushed her wrist resting in its crook. "James," she whispered, tugging her hand free of his vice-like grip. "James!"

"Hmm?" he turned to her, then looked down and slackened his grasp. "Oh…sorry," he mumbled before turning right back to his grandson. Henry hadn't looked this scared since the night of that awful dinner. James glanced sideways at Archie. "Are you seeing this?" he whispered fiercely.

Archie, who was peering at his favorite patient over the rims of his glasses, was already nodding. "Let me," he whispered. "Regina," he cleared his throat, his soothing tone the auditory equivalent of a white flag. "Is um…is everything all right?"

"Fine, doctor." Though, of course, she was anything but. Rumpelstiltskin's warning, Henry's eavesdropping, council members threatening to take matters in their own hands, not to mention the nightmare that had prompted all this worry in the first place. She didn't know who she should be more wary of: Emma Swan or Dr. Fisk. She took one more crucial scan of the concourse and then tried to mask her nerves as she turned to Archie. "Are you ready to be officially proclaimed a hero, Dr. Hopper?"

Archie leaned forward for a glimpse of Henry whom the mayor was practically guarding. Henry looked up at him, but then immediately shook his head as if to say don't make it worse. "Uh, you bet," he said. "How are you Henry?"

"He's fine," said Regina, glancing down at her son and feeling almost guilty at the fear in his eyes. "We're both…fine."

The lights dimmed and she took a deep breath. It was time for the show to begin.

…

"Emma!" Graham yelled as he pushed through the clusters of people milling about just outside the Emporium. "Emma! Wait up!"

Emma stopped, but not because of Graham. She spotted a tall, brown-haired man picking out a scarf at one of the sidewalk vendors' carts. He had a girl hanging on his arm so Emma peered harder, but when the man turned more fully into view, Emma's face fell. Wrong guy.

"Would you just wait?" Graham said, catching up with her. "'Scuse me," he mumbled to a rather stout (and now peeved) woman as he pushed past her. "We called the number they gave us at the firehouse, and you left a message. Why can't you just wait for him to call back?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Because the whole town is here tonight, so chances are he is."

"Emma, please," he said, exasperated. "Look, we've done enough for one day. Let's just wait for 'im to return your message and then—"

"If you want to go home, Graham, no one's stopping you," she said, turning back into the crowd and marching off again.

"Wha— Emma, wai—just—will you hold up a minute? For the love of—STOP!" he caught up again just as she'd reached the Emporium's front entrance and snatched her backwards. "Listen," he said, spinning her to face him. "I hate to tell you this, but even if this fireman chap of yours somehow knows Shane like you say, that doesn't mean he can get 'im to talk any more than we could."

"And what if he can? Do you really want your buddy spending the night in jail just because—"

"He's already spending the night in jail," Graham countered. "By his choice remember? This case is not goin' to be solved in one bloody night!"

Emma huffed and shook her head, but she couldn't deny the points he made.

Graham stepped a bit closer and softened his approach. "Give yourself a break, all right. And hey, look around you," he gestured to the groups of people scattered about, singing and shopping. "It's your first Storybrooke tree lighting."

Emma blew out a sigh but humored the sheriff who, she had to admit, had been trying incredibly hard to make her feel better ever since they'd left the station. Graham hadn't said a word about it, but Shane's comment about all the 'strange shit' happening since she'd come to town was hitting really close to home. He couldn't know how close of course, but it shined an incredibly unforgiving light on Emma's role in this mess. Like it or not, she was the catalyst for everything happening around here, good and bad. Perhaps indulging in what seemed to be Storybrooke's only joyful tradition wasn't such a bad idea. "Yeah…" she mumbled. "I guess."

Graham sighed in relief. "There you go, see? Find your boy, buy the lad some cocoa, and just enjoy yourself."

She cocked an eyebrow, still feeling as if she should keep searching for Matt Clancy, or Michael Tillman for that matter. But the look Graham was giving her prompted her to stay put. In fact, she realized as he laid his hand on her shoulder, he hadn't looked at her like this in a while. Not since that night. The night he—

"Hey sheriff, whatcha waitin' for?" someone hooted just inside the concourse. Both of them turned to see the man Emma had briefly mistaken for Matt Clancy. Head-on, of course, he looked nothing like Matt but had a pleasant enough demeanor, and the girl still hooked on his arm was swatting him playfully on the shoulder.

"Oh leave them alone," she muttered, though she seemed quite tickled with amusement herself.

"No way, look where they are," the man replied, and by now the two of them had drawn a small crowd around the doorway. "Hey, I know you're new here deputy, but don't tell me you don't know what that means," he said, pointing above them.

Graham and Emma looked straight up at the doorframe and to their horror discovered a rather gaudy sprig of mistletoe. "Oh, give me a break," Emma said, starting away immediately. Graham's feet meanwhile had frozen stupidly to the floor.

"Oh, I don't think so, missy," came a warm, robust voice next to her. Emma stumbled right into Granny who, catching her completely off guard, ushered her back into place beside Graham.

"This town is one big cliché, you know that right?" Emma muttered to the sheriff, face flushed and fuming, and she glared up at Graham as if this were his fault.

"Which is why we should just get it over with," he mumbled, feeling a bit queasy. Of all the ways he'd imagined kissing Emma again, this was certainly not among them. "Otherwise they'll probably tie us up with tinsel…trust me."

God, how juvenile, she thought, but sensed on some level he was right about their impromptu audience. She took a deep breath and leaned in, closed her eyes more by reflex than anything else, and brushed her lips lightly against his. His mouth was soft and pliant as he kissed her back, but she could tell he was uncomfortable, almost apologetic. Before either could go any further, she pulled away and turned to the Granny-led crowd. "Good enough?" she challenged them. The group quickly dispersed, for the lights in the concourse were dimming. "Honestly," she shook her head, looking back to Graham…and then she froze.

Graham's face had gone stark white, his jaw slackened, his eyes bulging. He looked downright petrified, as if any moment he would start drooling, and he seemed to be staring right through her. "Graham?" she cried in alarm. He didn't reply. His eyes darted back and forth, searching his surroundings as if he wasn't sure where he was. "Graham, what is it?" His head snapped back to her, glaring at her now with such focus it almost stung. A handful of oblivious customers pushed passed him for a better view of the ceremony about to begin, and Graham threw himself back against the door frame as if reacting to serious danger rather than a few passerbys. "Graham!" she said again as he continued to stumble away from her.

"Emma?" he wheezed, sporadically locking eyes with her while still trying to get his bearings. "I…can't…what's happening…where—"

"Graham, look out!" she shouted, and the sheriff almost collided with another group of people. In anguish, he turned into the cold, staggering against the outside wall of the Emporium as he felt his way along the pine hedges. The further away from the crowd they got, the blurrier the images became. His deputy's cries sounded far off. She was shouting his name, running after him, but her calls were barely echoes. Pictures filled his head: Emma. Emma outside Regina's house. Kissing Emma. A wolf. A wolf with red-grey eyes. Mary Margaret. A storybook. They're not dreams Graham. They're memories. Emma again. Regina again. David and Kathryn Nolan. Graham, please. Stay for dessert. Then we'll talk about that…other matter. I promise. Outside the drug store. Emma's son at the drug store. Two more kids, orphans: Ava and Nicholas. Mary Margaret. I'm sorry, we can't wait any longer. A long drive. Someone…someone in the road. Flagging them down. A cop? Couldn't be; he was the only cop. A city worker? They were too close to the city limits. A man. A man with a cane. Graham watch out! screamed the children. Slight change of plans sheriff. Follow me. There's room in the Maine home for boys after all. What about the girl? She'll be well taken care of sheriff, you have my word. Where's the paperwork on this? I demand to see the headmaster. An old man. An old man who walks with a limp. Who walks with a limp and is missing…a…a hand? Certainly, sheriff, right this way. A dark room. A dungeon. Cries of a dozen boys calling out to him as he's dragged deeper, lower. Very dark. Pitch black. What are you doing to me? Where am I? Where are the children? Emma? Emma!

"Graham!" Emma practically screeched his name, but it was no use. His mouth opened and closed like a fish but no words came out. Every second that passed, he seemed to grow less familiar with the world around him. By now the two of them had lurched and swayed down the sidewalk that wrapped around the emporium to the back service driveway. One solitary streetlamp lit the area with a streak of light that shined unforgivingly upon the sheriff's haunted stance. Emma was mortified. She barely recognized this man who appeared to be sinking into an invisible abyss. His head twitched left and right, juddering and jerking like a broken animatronic. Why, Emma hadn't seen Graham this disoriented since—

She gasped. The kiss. True love's kiss. Last week after she caught him outside Regina's, he'd kissed her. Kissed her and then disappeared. She spent all day tracking him down, running into people who said he'd been talking crazy. Talking about magic, wolves…fairy tales. Of course! We've always said 'true love's kiss is the most powerful thing of all'… what if love really is…magic? Her father's voice rang truer in her mind now than it had that awful day at the mansion. She couldn't say for certain that she loved Graham. In fact, she was pretty sure this wasn't love. But what if that didn't matter? She was magic right? Love made into magic? And if Graham loved her…

Letting instinct take over, Emma rushed over to him, ignoring his incomprehensible mumbling as she approached, and yanked him up by the lapels of his coat. She steadied him, forced him to stand up straight and meet her gaze. And then she kissed him. Hard.

It wasn't a romantic kiss by any means. It wasn't gentle. But neither was it unwanted or forced as others had been. She fused her lips to his, kissing him with raw, unfathomable energy coursing through her as it had back at Jefferson's. Passion flowed through her veins as the coarse stubble of his beard scratched against her cheek. Passion, yes. But love? She didn't know. Couldn't know. But she cared about him; cared about the man suffocating under the queen's control, fighting to be free. God, she hoped that would be enough.

Her eyes were still wide open, staring into his as the force of the kiss shocked them both. He blinked in disbelief, glaring wildly as she held him there, still kissing him. The effect was earth-shattering, for the pictures in his mind were still flashing rapidly before him and yet, the feel of her lips against his kept him firmly rooted to the ground. The images: He could make sense of them now. He could discern between them. He could remember.

At last they jerked apart, panting and sweating despite the biting cold. Thick vapors of air puffed from their mouths as they stared at each other, searching each other. Graham, no longer shrinking from her, registered the faint sounds of the festival in the distance, but they were drowned out by the beating of his own heart. Emma searched desperately for some change, some new development, though she wasn't quite sure what she was looking for. They stood there, frozen in time, waiting for each other to speak. But there were no words.

No words to describe the hurt, pain and suffering he'd witnessed. No words to explain the incarceration of two orphans he had not in fact driven to Boston. No words for why he had memories of the Zimmers he knew were false: images of them happy, even smiling in their new boys' and girls' homes in Massachusetts that never existed.

"More," he whispered, breaking the silence at last.

Emma blinked in surprise. "What?"

"More," he said again, his voice rough and impassioned. "I need to know more." And before she could stop him, Graham cupped her face between his palms, pulled her to him and kissed her again. Emma's eyes shot open, and she immediately clamped her hands over his wrists. But his eyes slid shut and he deepened the kiss, coaxing her lips apart with surprising ease. His tongue dipped into her mouth, hot and possessive, and she groaned against her will. She wanted to push him away. She needed to regain control. It had been over 10 years since she'd allowed a guy to take control like this, and she tightened her grip on his wrists to yank him off of her. But something stopped her, enticed her, excited her. Gradually her eyes fell closed and her hands trailed the length of his arms and then up around his neck. Graham's hands slid into her hair and then down her shoulders, curving around her waist and then palming up her back. Emma leaned in closer, clinging to him with a sudden need to match his intensity and, giving into it entirely, tunneled her hands up through his wavy brown locks and arched against him.

In a flash of white light, more images careened into Graham's mind: A deer – a noble kill. The wolf. Two guards holding him captive. The queen dressed in red. An apple. Snow's apple. Snow White. Her tears. His dagger. Her letter. The queen's vault…his heart.

And he knew what it meant. He knew what all of it meant. He kissed her hungrily, tears streaming down his face as his entire identity was restored to him, continuing his pleasurable assault as every memory was returned. When at last there was no air left to breathe, he tore his mouth from hers and stumbled backward. Again they were panting, and again they held each other's gaze. But this time, Emma found her voice.

"Graham?" she said, hating how meek she sounded. But he'd literally stolen her breath away. "A-are you ok?"

"I remember," he rasped as the tears continued to spill.

Emma gasped, now blinking back her own tears. "You remember what?" she asked, hopefully.

With eyes suddenly as sharp and piercing as a hawk's, the huntsman gazed down at her, brushing a tear from her cheek. "Everything," he said. "I remember everything."

…

Snow quite clearly remembered the visit from Agrabah's newly appointed ambassador. Every royal in every realm had thought Sultan Rushdi's choice a bit odd at first: an ex-genie newly freed from servitude. Genies were notorious tricksters, and there were several in the land (one very close to home) with terrible reputations. But it was plain to see within minutes of his arrival in New Gaia that this genie was different.

Princess Jasmine had assured Snow in her correspondence that Genie was not only warm, caring and funny, but played an instrumental role in saving their kingdom and helped convince Rushdi to let her marry Aladdin. Married to a former pauper herself, Snow could certainly understand how that might win her favor (Snow still couldn't wait to meet this infamous street rat who had managed to win Jasmine's hand – Jasmine the 'princess with a heart of ice' as most of her suitors called her).

Genie of course lived up to his reputation during his stay in New Gaia. He helped broker contracts, fix some of the mills that had been damaged during their recent season of storms, and even managed to teach James a thing or two about slight-of-hand before he left. Snow never mastered the technique quite as well as her husband, but she learned enough. Enough to get her through this evening and ensure the mission's success.

As soon as she and Joe Whale reached the cafeteria, Snow insisted he march straight up to the counter and get two slices of apple pie. She was afraid at first that he might object and ask for a different flavor, so she was prepared to improvise, but it wasn't necessary. Whale was so wrapped around her little finger right now, she could have gotten him to eat a watercress and liver casserole for all he cared. He was back at the table in a flash, chattering away about his new attending status, rotten hours at the hospital (not that he was counting this appointment of course, ha ha ha) and the gym he belonged to which— "by the way, has a great physical therapy program. You should think about joining once you're ready for that."

"Well, I'll definitely look into it. Thanks," she said, feigning interest while she watched franticly for the opportune moment. Any minute now, he'd take a bite of that pie and if she couldn't switch it out beforehand, the whole plan was ruined. She was seconds away from pointing somewhere behind him and crying "hey what's that!" when they heard a big bin of dirty pots and pans clattering to the floor and a buxom cafeteria lady start screaming her head off at the poor guard who had tumbled into her. As soon as Joe whipped around to see what had happened, Snow reached forward and made the switch, exchanging the cold cafeteria pie for the piece she had stowed in Tupperware inside her purse: A gift from Abigail earlier that evening – the same pie James had saved from his dinner with Regina last week…the queen's pie.

"Well," Joe chuckled, turning back around. "Wouldn't want to be that guy."

Having made the switch, Snow could now glance past him to see what happened. The lady was still muttering to herself, picking pans and pots off the floor, and the guard had stooped rather sheepishly to help her. Snow was about to turn back when the guard lifted his gaze right at her and grinned. Snow gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. It was Sleepy. Sleepy! The former dwarf had purposely triggered the distraction! Sleepy reached up and tipped her an imaginary hat before returning his attention to the mess he'd created. Snow was so moved, her eyes welled up and she had to fake a coughing fit to justify it.

"Hey," Joe said, reaching forward to pat her on the back. "You all right?"

"Fine," she coughed again and cleared her throat. She glanced back at Sleepy – one more ally into the fold – and grinned, "Just fine."

"Well," Joe forked a piece of pie and held it out before her. "Bottoms up!" he joked, and slid the dessert in his mouth.

Snow also took a bite of her regular piece, but watched Joe intently, looking for signs of the 'Storybrooke haze.' James had thoroughly explained his impromptu experiment with Abigail the night they came home from Regina's. As Henry had warned them, Regina's apples seemed to be laced with remnants of the enchantment, a sort of extension of the curse designed to restore minor breaks or infractions in its fabric. After James further speculated that a person already fully under the curse might be extra-susceptible to suggestion, had had implanted in Abigail a fake memory of 'David' and 'Kathryn's' first date within minutes. He felt a bit guilty about the deception now of course, having since discovered Abigail was an ally, but it certainly worked. It was Snow's goal tonight to implant an idea in Joe, one that would grant Belle access to the psych ward and ensure a smooth escape.

This, of course, was the reason James was so nervous about the plan in the first place. Too much relied on a theory hatched after one isolated incident (not to mention the fact that the pie had been sitting in the Nolans' refrigerator for almost a week). Snow studied the doctor intently, scrutinizing every detail of his face, peering into his eyes. But nothing seemed to have changed. He was now extoling the various perks of his gold-membership status at this gym, hinting quite boldly that he could arrange private swim hours for himself and a guest. Snow's heart sank. Nothing was changing. Doctor 'Flirts-a-lot' hadn't missed a beat, and prattled on boorishly as if—

Abruptly, he stopped, his hand halted in the middle of setting down his fork. Snow looked at his plate: he'd already finished the entire pie! She straightened up with renewed hope and met his gaze again. The doctor's eyes were cloudy and unfocused; it was as if the entire dose of poison hit him all at once.

"Joe?" she said.

"Hmm?" His face was utterly blank.

"You umm…you all right?" she asked. James had warned her to be subtle, to take it slow and test the waters.

"Yeah sure," he replied almost robotically as he set his fork down.

"You know, I never got a chance to thank you," she said with a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

Gradually, some recognition returned to his gaze. "Thank me?" he asked with a nervous jerk of his head.

"Yeah you know, for helping out my friend Rose."

"Oh," he muttered. "Uh, sure."

Snow took another bite of her own pie, trying to maintain the normalcy of an ordinary conversation. "It's not every day the ER attending helps a girl secure her very first nursing position," she said as casually as she could muster. Joe did not reply and Snow's pulse started racing. She glanced up, trying to read his vacant expression.

"Her um…her first what?"

"Nursing, you remember," she said, striving to keep her voice from shaking. "Rose French, your new nurse? She just started today?"

"Oh," said Joe after more dead silence. "Yeah uh, right. No…n-no problem."

Snow resisted the urge to cheer. After all, she was only halfway done, but it was a good sign that the doctor didn't immediately reject the idea of an out-of-work bartender starting today as a nurse. "Yeah I talked to her a little while ago, and she said with the exception of her faulty ID card, she had a great first shift."

"Faulty ID card?"

"Oh yeah, you know how it goes. Technical difficulties." She was talking a mile a minute but strained to maintain James's voice in her head, urging her to stay calm, to keep it casual and relaxed. Otherwise the suggestion wouldn't take root in Joe's mind, and he would quickly figure out he'd been conned.

"What um," Joe shook his head, still trying to clear the fog. "What difficulties?"

"Well," Snow said with a slightly exaggerated laugh. "It's kinda hard being assigned to the psych ward team without actual access to the psych ward, don't you think?"

"Oh uh…right."

By now Snow could feel her heart pounding all the way up into her throat. Doubt crept into her head: No way, she thought. There's no way this is ever going to work. But she pressed on. She had to. Adam's fate lay in her hands. "I guess you were right about old Dr. Stone," Snow said, polishing off the last of her own pie which sat rather heavily in her stomach.

"Oh?" Joe's head shot up, instantly intrigued. "How's that?"

"Oh, you know. Very handy surgeon," she replied. "But I guess not so bright with the techy stuff. Rose asked him to fix it for her, but he had no idea what he was doing." She loathed the way criticism of Doc sounded from her mouth, even completely fabricated malarkey such as this. It felt downright treacherous in fact, but her baiting had the desired effect. Joe's lips had curled into a cruel, smug smile.

"Oh well, don't be too hard on the poor fellow," Whale defended him, though so condescendingly it made her ill. "The old timers can't always keep up with the new gadgets."

"Yeah," she purred, and this was the part she'd dreaded the most. But it had to be done. "I guess we can't all be young, tech-saavy…sexy ER attendings, now can we?" Delicately, she reached across the table, brushing the pads of her fingertips ever so lightly along Whale's forearm, barely grazing the skin. He could hear his breath catch in his throat and when she looked up, his eyes were blazing. Snow decided this was also a good sign: focusing on her kept him from concentrating too hard on the idea she'd just implanted about Rose.

"No," Whale replied, taking Snow's hand between his own, smoothing his fingers over her skin with the same light caress as she had. "No I suppose we can't."

Snow wasn't sure whether she felt disgusted or victorious. Whale had fallen for every line, and the new fake memory seemed to be holding. But…well…he was stroking her. "Well whadya say you head upstairs and get Rose's card squared away before her shift ends," she reclaimed her hand and picked up her purse, "and then you and I head back to your place?"

Considering the fact that he was already mentally undressing her, Joe Whale was an instant fan of this idea. He practically leapt from his chair and scooted around hers to retrieve her crutches. Sweating at the very thought of his moment of conquest drawing so near, he coyly gestured toward the door with one of her crutches and murmured, "after you."

…

Ella peaked down the hallway and scanned the main nurses' station. So far so good: a fairly dead night as James and Snow had predicted. 'Walter' mentioned that most of the typical staff were down at the festival, so especially for so early in the evening, there was very little traffic down these halls.

Nervously, she glanced to the right, where, opposite the nurses' station, Thomas's exam room was. Grumpy had gone in a few minutes ago under the guise of having a message for 'Mitchell Herman' from the front desk. Snow and Whale had just gone down to the cafeteria, so she had a little bit of leeway time, but not much. "Come on, Grumpy," she muttered, watching the door and willing it to open. After a few more minutes, it did.

Ella ducked back into the service hallway and listened as the dwarf's footsteps drew closer. Within seconds, Grumpy appeared around the corner, followed by her father-in-law.

"Ell—, uh Ashley!" Christopher gasped in alarm. "What're you—" he looked straight at Grumpy. "I thought you said this had something to do with billing."

"Mitchell," she said meaningfully, "this is—" she paused, glancing down at 'Leroy' who despite agreeing to fully support their little jailbreak here, still had no idea who he was. "This is Leroy. He's a friend." Christopher glanced down at him (and Ella resisted a laugh, for she only just realized that her father-in-law had never actually met Snow's unlikely band of allies). He looked back up at Ella and nodded. "Ok? What, um—" he glanced back at Thomas's door, "What's going on?"

"We're here to help a—" she paused again. Sheesh this was hard! "Another friend. Adam."

The king's eyes widened. "Adam?" he spluttered. That was a name he did recognize.

"Yes," she nodded. "And Leroy here is going to help."

"So you two aren't really at each other's throats," Leroy muttered, his sardonic gaze darting between them.

"No we aren't," Ella said. "But it has to look like we are," she turned back to Christopher and led him a little further down the hallway out of earshot. "Snow's here too," she whispered, "and we don't have a lot of time. But I'm gonna use that time to try to wake up Thomas."

Again, the king started. "How? The doctors said—"

"Just trust me, ok?" she shook her head, regretting having to cut him off, but it couldn't be helped. "Remember when we said we'd have to keep…playing our parts?"

"Yes."

"Well that's what we're here to do. In a few minutes, Snow should appear at that nurses' station with Dr. Whale. I can't tell you everything now, but she may need us to create a distraction. If that happens, Leroy will give you the signal and when he does, come back in to Thomas's room and…and make a big scene, ok? You know – 'get the hell away from my son' and all that."

Christopher cocked an eyebrow and looked from her to Leroy. This was quite possibly the strangest conversation he'd ever had, but he nodded in agreement. If it helped wake up his son, he'd try anything. Ella smiled gratefully at both of them, took another quick glance down the corridor, and then headed into Thomas's wing.

Stomach churning with butterflies, she opened the door. She'd seen him like this before of course, but only as Ashley, and it killed her that their official reunion had to happen this way. The door swished closed behind her, and she grew instantly bothered by the brightness of the room. The florescent light buzzing from above seemed to exaggerate her husband's frailty and the effect irritated her so much that she immediately snapped off the switch.

Tears welled in her eyes as she approached him, thinking about the roads and obstacles that had led to this point. She supposed in some weird way the curse had a silver lining in that it had returned Thomas from Limbo, but the price they'd all paid for the rift it had wedged between them all was immense. She drew closer, ordering herself to be brave, unable to tear her eyes away from her beloved prince. The doctors had actually removed many of the bandages from Tuesday night. More of his face was showing and, although bruised and discolored, didn't look quite as bumpy or swollen as it had before. His right wrist was also unwrapped and his left arm was no longer elevated, but his whole body appeared clammy, cold and pale, as if his very spirit had been crushed by the brute who had done this to him.

Tears falling down her cheeks, Ella perched herself on his bedside, her right hip sidled against his. Gently, she took hold of his hand and held it up to her cheek. "Thomas," she whispered and squeezed, waiting to see if he'd squeeze back. He didn't. Frowning, she laid his arm down so that it circled her waist and then slid forward, placing her hand first over his heart and then cupping his cheek. He felt as cold and lifeless as he'd looked when she first walked in, and her heart ached at the confirmation of it. "Thomas, darling," she whispered again, brushing her fingertips along his cheek and down around his bruised jaw. "I know what it is you wanted to tell me." Again, no response, but that didn't matter. Since her awakening, she'd replayed every conversation of theirs in her mind. She hadn't needed Snow to confirm that Thomas had been awake all along; she already knew. It was there in his eyes every time she closed hers. In his smile, in his words – even in his voice when he'd called her not two hours before he left Garcon's, begging her to wait up for him because he had something important to say. "You were going to tell me everything, weren't you," she said, tunneling her fingers through his hair. "About the curse, about Christopher – everything." Again, she hadn't needed to confirm this with anyone, though James certainly could have. She just knew. She knew how long Thomas had had to keep pretending to be Sean – to keep living the lie so her mousy alter ego never freaked out or doubted him again. She was aware how relatively late she'd woken up compared to the others, and how many there were like Belle who hadn't yet remembered their own lives but at least knew about the curse. Poor Thomas, she thought with a sad smile. How frustrated he would have gotten by now. How desperately he would have wanted her to know him – the real him. The man who loved her by the end of their first dance and never again allowed her to return to that awful life she'd endured under Rodmilla's roof. "I know Thomas," she leaned forward. "I know everything now. It's me…it's Ella." Again she waited for some sort of reaction: a movement of the hand, a squint of the eye. But nothing changed.

She glanced back at the door, acutely aware of how limited their time was. Any minute now, Christopher might barge in and stir things up, creating sufficient enough a distraction to draw security away from the third floor. She had to act quickly, but doubt lingered in her mind.

There were about a hundred reasons this wouldn't work, not the least of which was the fact that Thomas had sustained his injuries here. In Storybrooke. Where there was no magic save for the queen's. This wasn't a botched sleeping spell or enchantment. There were solid, medical reasons Thomas remained unconscious: a brutal beating that probably would have just killed him back in their world. But it was more than that. Despite it being 'the most powerful magic of all', True Love's Kiss wasn't technically part of their happy ending. Magic may have brought us together but it didn't create this love. Thomas had said so himself on the evening she'd revealed the extent of her deal with Rumpelstiltskin. Their love was real yes, and powerful. But could it somehow cure a bruised spine and fractured skull in the real world?

She turned back to her husband and sighed. There was really only one way to find out. With both hands, she cupped his face and gently tipped his chin up as she bent over and touched her forehead to his. "Come back to me," she whispered against his cheek, and then she kissed him. She brushed his lips with hers so tenderly, they barely touched, and she held her breath, expecting his mouth to be as cold and clammy as the rest of him seemed. But his lips were as warm and soft as always, and she relished in the memory, pressing her mouth more firmly against his. Everything about it felt familiar: the taste of him, the feeling that she finally belonged. She closed her eyes and instantly recalled that night on the terrace when it finally hit her that she would never go back to that life, that the fireworks igniting the night sky were for her. For them. The memory was so clear she could almost feel the cold, stale hospital room dissolve around her. She could almost smell the royal wedding feast below and hear the chimes of the tower bells. She could almost feel his arms tighten around her waist as he—

Ella jerked back, her eyes darting down. His arm…his arm had tightened around her waist. She looked up at his face, not entirely sure she hadn't imagined it. His eyes were still closed and his head hadn't moved, but – there it was again. The arm she'd laid down by her side had flexed, tightened again as if he was trying to hold her. She reached down and grabbed his hand. "Thomas," she said. "Thomas, I'm here. I'm here sweetheart, I'm—" and she gasped again, for his hand immediately closed around hers. "Thomas!" she cried, leaning forward. "Darling, can you hear me?"

Time seemed to stop as she waited for a response, his face still incredibly stale. Ella didn't even realize she was holding her breath until she had to inhale sharply to keep from fainting. "Thomas," she whispered again, desperate for another sign of life. "I need you," she said. "Alexandra needs you. Please come back to us."

The wait was sheer agony, and Ella was starting to fear she'd imagined the whole thing. But at last, his chest heaved upward with a labored breath and finally, the young prince's eyes fluttered open and looked up into his wife's. "Ella," he rasped.

Ella wept for joy. "Thomas!" she cried, her shoulders trembling in heavy sobs as she collapsed against his chest.

Thomas wrapped his right arm around her at once, cradling her head against his shoulder, his fingers sifting through her hair as he blinked more fully awake. His eyes darted around over her shoulder. Where the hell was he? Why couldn't he move his left arm? Why was Ella—

Ella! he gasped, prompting her to pull back so he could hold her arm's length. He searched her gaze, frantic that he might've been wrong. That he was seeing things. Hearing things. But one look at her lovely, tear-stricken face gave him all the answers he needed. She was awake. She was his Ella. "How did you—when—"

But Ella didn't let him finish. There was time to talk later (albeit not much time, but time enough) and at the moment she hadn't any capacity for speech. Amidst laughter and tears she leaned into him, running her hands back through his hair, and kissed him again. He responded immediately, intimately, his hand drifting up to cup her cheek, tunneling through the blonde locks at her nape before trailing down her neck and collarbone. In his mind there were so many questions, too many questions. But in his heart there was only Ella. His Ella. At last.

…

Christopher peered around the corner from the service hallway with Leroy huddled close behind him breathing heavily. Christopher resisted the urge to gag, for his breath smelled of sulfur, and grease, and gasoline. He remembered seeing Leroy around town from a distance as Mitchell, but his Storybrooke persona never felt the need to approach him. He trusted his daughter-in-law though. If she said he was a friend, it meant he was a foe of the queen's.

"Are they still there?" Leroy asked, bumping into him as he strained for a view.

"Yes!" he hissed over his shoulder. The smelly mechanic had him watching Snow's progress at the nurses' station. It was clear to the king that the Leroy had only a vague understanding of what was going on – Ella calling him 'Mitchell' again was evidence enough of that. As far as he could tell, Snow White and the pretty brunette he'd called 'Rose' were enacting some sort of elaborate escape plan for which they would require a distraction. At the moment, Snow and Dr. Whale were at the front desk, hunched around the small computer terminal as he fiddled with a blank key card. Rose was dressed in nurse scrubs and a white baseball cap dipped rather low on her head and was waiting patiently for them to finish. So far, no one had given them a second glance, so Christopher was fairly certain that no one was onto them.

Christopher looked back at Thomas's doorway and gulped. The room was only about 20 feet away from their lookout point, which he supposed was intentional. And Snow's signal, Leroy explained, would be three rapid taps of her crutches against the floor (or "if all hell appears to be breaking loose" he'd added with a wink).

An exit door flew open behind them, and Christopher whirled around in a panic. Another night guard had burst into the hallway, but there was apparently no cause for alarm because Leroy seemed to be expecting him.

"Hey!" whispered the guard, coming up to join them. He gave Christopher a strange look, but quickly figured out who he must be. "How're we doin'?"

"So far so good," Leroy whispered back. "This is Sean's dad by the way. Mitchell, this is Walter." The men nodded briefly to each other before he continued. "She made the switch I take it?"

Walter straightened himself up with a proud tug on his shirt. "Right after I sent Ethel's dirty dish bin crashing to the floor."

Leroy punched him on the elbow. "You pissed of Ethel?" he laughed. "This had better be worth it."

"Shh!" Christopher scolded them as he turned back to the nurses' station. Boy, that Snow White was resourceful. How in the world she'd managed to procure allies that didn't actually know about the curse, he would never know, but he was certainly grateful she was on their side. The doctor was now handing Rose a key card. She took it and immediately turned toward the elevators, but someone rounded the opposite corner and slammed right into her. Christopher's pulse started racing. Even from here he recognized Sultan Rushdi's old vizier. Jafar bent his knees, straining for a better view of the woman beneath her cap. Instinct told Christopher that this man must not be allowed to recognize the nurse. The king didn't even wait for Snow's signal. Without a second's more hesitation, as loudly and obnoxiously as he could, he stormed into his son's room and started yelling.

…

"Thank you so much for doing this, Dr. Whale," Rose said as she glanced nervously at the computer screen where Whale was inputting the last bit of programming to the key card. She still couldn't believe that Snow had managed not only to convince the doctor that she was a nurse, but that he had been the one who hired her. Everywhere she turned there seemed to be more evidence mounting up that absolutely everything she'd been told about this world and about magic was true, and – more frighteningly – everything about herself. Every minute that passed brought her closer and closer to the third floor. Closer and closer to him. The thought was both scary…and electrifying. Would he still recognize her? Would he be able to fill in the gaps in her memory? Would he love her even if she still weren't whole?

"There you go," said Whale as he yanked the ID card from its dock. "One All Access pass to the loony bin," he quipped, presenting it with a slight bow.

"Excellent," said Snow who was trying very hard not to beam as she stared at the card. The effect of the pie hadn't worn off at all. If they were lucky, they wouldn't need the extra diversion and Belle might slip in completely undetected. "Well," she cleared her throat, maintaining her charm. "Ready then?"

Joe was about to respond when a tall man rounded the corner. "Ah, Doctor Fisk," he said pleasantly, clasping the man's hand as if they were golf buddies. "I just took care of your little staffing snafu for you," he grinned, still showboating for Snow.

But 'Doctor Fisk' wasn't the slightest bit pleased to find Snow White hitched on to the ER attending's arm. "Excuse me?" he asked, shaking the man's hand but keeping his gaze fixed on the nurse he'd just collided with. There was something decidedly devious in her posture, in the way her face was hidden under her cap. He bent his knees, trying to identify her when—

"Security!" bellowed a voice down the east wing. "Security! I told you this woman was not allowed within 100 feet of Sean's room!"

And suddenly the Storybrooke General admin desk descended into chaos. Dr. Whale rushed down the corridor with two nurses in his wake. Snow hobbled closely behind, and Jafar's focus shifted away from the strange new nurse; he was acutely aware the disturbance had erupted in Prince Thomas's room – his first priority this evening.

Ironically enough, the only two men in earshot who actually worked for security had conspicuously disappeared from the east wing. In seconds they were beside Rose who sped away from the tall, black-haired doctor she remembered from Saturday. "You ready?" asked Leroy on her left as Walter handed her a small canvas tote he'd also "borrowed" from storage.

She nodded, but inside she was shaking. That familiar pulling in her stomach had not ceased since they'd first arrived.

"Remember, head straight for the fire exit at the end of the hallway," Leroy said. "Don't try to go back out through the gate."

"Yeah, we'll be in the stairwell waiting," added Walter.

She nodded again, but again didn't respond. And since Leroy and Walter didn't fully understand everything going on here anyway, they just shrugged at one another, took her as far as the elevator, and bade her good luck.

The psych ward was just as eerie and spooky as it had been the night she'd travelled here with Boo Radley and Atticus Finch. Dark and narrow, the corridor that led to the security gates seemed to get smaller and smaller as she approached. Clutching her newly forged ID card in her hand (that she was positive wouldn't actually work), Rose stepped up to the gate, inhaled sharply, and swiped it through the sensor strip.

A red light near the sensor box turned green, accompanied by an obnoxious buzzer as the gate slid open allowing her access. The buzzer startled her, and instinctively she turned toward the front desk, almost afraid the entire staff would turn and declare her a fraud right then and there. But there was only one nurse at the desk and no security (presumably because they had all been called down to settle the commotion in the east wing). The nurse on duty barely looked up, and why should she, Rose thought with renewed confidence. As far as she was concerned, Rose wore the exact same scrubs and had entered with a valid key card. She took another deep breath and headed straight for Adam's wing, walking as casually as she could fake. Her stomach pulled her the rest of the way, tightening and coiling up as she got closer and closer to his room. But when she walked inside, when she saw him lying on that same cot as moonlight spilled through the open window, her breath caught in her chest and the pain vanished. For the first time since Saturday, she finally felt like she was in the right place.

As she drew closer, Rose struggled to remember what Snow had told her about removing IVs and whatnot. She slid the cap off her head and set it and the canvas tote on a nearby chair, stepping right up to the railing of the cot and glancing down at the Velcro restraints. He was breathing deeply and appeared to be sound asleep, but upon a closer look, Rose noticed his face was not as peaceful or restful as she had expected to find him. In fact, his brow creased sharply in the middle, almost as if he were concentrating hard. She ran her gaze down his form, looking for some explanation of why he might be in pain. It was then that she noticed his forearm was flexed and his fist was clamped tightly around the tube feeding into his arm. In fact, if she didn't know better, she would've guessed he was actually trying to prevent the drugs they were giving him from entering his system by pinching the path of the tube.

Trembling again, she reached down, inching her hand toward his wrist. They were millimeters away from touching, and she risked another quick glance at his face before she closed her hand around his. "Adam?" she whispered.

Adam's eyes sprung open at her touch and she flew back with a shriek. He hadn't been asleep at all! "Belle?" he cried.

Rose struggled to regain her balance, her hand splayed across her chest, panting from the shock. "Oh my God," she rasped, still trying to catch her breath. "How are you—"

"Belle!" he cried again, struggling even harder against the restraints he'd been fighting against all afternoon. In fact, his wrists felt raw and tender as he started working and twisting them against the straps.

Rose returned to the cot to help him, unfastening the first restraint and then watching in awe as he used his free hand to claw at the other three. In another flash, he ripped out the IV, sprang off the hospital bed, landed his bare feet on the hard tiled floor with a resounding thud, and pulled his wife into his arms.

"Belle!" he cried a third time, rejoicing in the sound of her name as it soared through the air. "My love," he whispered, burying his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her. "My love, my life," he murmured over and over, holding her so tight he felt he might burst.

Overcome by his emotions, Rose couldn't quite get a handle on her own. The ache in her belly was gone, and she finally felt whole. But at the same time, the reality of everything she'd been doing, everything she'd been convinced of in the past 48 hours came crashing down to earth. This was a man she had seen countless times in her dreams, a man everyone else insisted was her husband. But he was still a stranger to her. A stranger in a thin blue hospital gown she'd just sprung from the psychiatric ward. What the hell was she doing?

It had been years since he'd been able to touch her, to hold her like this. How many years he could not say, but even with such a prolonged period of separation, Adam could sense the tension in his lover's arms and shoulders. Quickly, he pulled back, clasped her by the arms and gazed into her eyes. The expression there broke his heart: she was wary of him, scared even. Belle had not looked at him in this way since those first days in the castle…those days when he was still a monster.

Rose felt as if she were teetering on a very high ledge and only his strong grasp kept her from falling. "W-we…we need to go," she spluttered. "S-snow and James. They'll know what to do. We—"

"Belle," Adam shook his head, ignoring her. He lifted one hand from her arm to cup her cheek in his palm, and panic gripped his chest. "Gods above," he muttered, framing her face with both hands now and running his gaze over every inch of her, "what have they done to you?"

Head spinning beneath the intensity of his gaze, Rose struggled to hold on to some sense of order. The plan, she thought hastily, stick to the plan. "We really need to get going," she stuttered. "You should—"

"Wait," he pleaded as she started toward the canvas tote. He grabbed her hand and pulled her back, catching her other wrist as she stumbled into him. "Please just…tell me he's safe. Tell me where he is."

She blinked. "Where who is?"

Adam brought her hands to his heart and brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek. "Our son, darling. Our child."

Blood drained from her cheeks and sank to her womb. "Our ch…our child?"

"Yes, where—"

"You…y-y-you really need to ch-change. Here," she stammered, somehow wriggling out of his grasp again and moving back toward the tote.

"Darling, please—"

"We don't have a lot of time—" she rambled on, determined to ignore him. Desperate to ignore him. Their child? Their son? How was that possible? How could he know? Of all the ways she thought this night might have gone—

"Belle!" he cried, clamping down on her arm and whirling her back to him. "Please I need to know. What happened to our family? What happened to our son?"

Rose opened her mouth to respond but she had no words, only a frail squeak as he held her there, stunned into silence by all that his question implied.

"Belle," his voice was shaking now, his heart filling with dread. How could this happen? To have survived this long only to lose her now? She didn't know him. She didn't recognize him. She didn't remember they had a child! He peered into those deep brown pools welling with tears but could not see his wife. What had those bastards done to his wife! "Belle," he shook her roughly, determined she hold his gaze. "Belle, it's me!"

Instantly, a picture of Adam flared before her eyes, but he was not in a hospital gown. Belle…it's me! he said again, but he was dressed in a tattered tunic, breeches and muddy boots. Rose gasped, seeing herself atop the west wing tower, remembering the blanket of stars in a moonlit sky. Hands shaking, she reached out and touched his cheek, remembering the story she'd read at Snow's yesterday, remembering her words…her line. "It…it is you," she whispered. And as she said it, more images flashed through her head:

"When I asked you before, I was a monster. Now I kneel before you as a man. But I have loved you as both."

"Belle," said Adam, gripping her arms again and steadying her against the sensations.

"Your love didn't just transform me, Belle…You brought me back from the dead."

"That's it, my love," Adam coaxed, "come back to me."

"He's not a beast…he's a man…the only man I've ever loved."

Rose's eyes slammed shut and she careened backwards. Memories transcended mere prose on a page, for she was no longer remembering the storybook…she was re-living it. Adam's firm grip prevented her from collapsing to the floor as she continued this light-speed journey backwards through time. She saw Adam once more, this time as the beast…

"Belle…are you…happy here…with me?"

"Yes Beast. I am. Very happy."

Waves of her past streaked through her core and at last, her eyes flew open…and settled on her husband. "Adam," she breathed through a watery laugh as Belle finally, blessedly emerged.

Adam clasped her hands again and peered down at her, searching for some sign of recognition that was painfully absent only moments before. He brushed a tendril of hair off her cheek and gazed hopefully…and then Belle smiled that radiant, reassuring smile she reserved only for him. "My dearest friend," she whispered, covering his hand with hers and removing all doubt with a simple nod.

Adam came undone. He hauled her against his chest and sealed his lips over hers, capturing her in an embrace so glorious she felt she might never again touch the ground. His arms wrapped around her waist as he swept her up into the air, his mouth meanwhile never leaving hers as if years of suppressed passion could be appeased with one kiss.

Whispering his name in between heartbeats, Belle melted into her husband's embrace, exploring, searching, relearning the contours of his face, the sad creases in his forehead – brought on no doubt by over two decades of torture and incarceration. She smoothed her hands up and around his neck, running her fingers through the long, blonde strands of hair tumbling down his back. The raw passion with which he continued to caress her was damn near violent in terms of urgency, driving him to deepen the kiss as he clumsily backed her against the wall. He was desperate to kiss her, to touch her everywhere, and she let out a soft whimper as he ran hot, molten kisses along her mouth, her eyes, her cheeks, her neck, all the while tightening his grip around her waist as his hands stroked up and down her back. When at last they pulled apart, gasping for air, Adam cupped her face, pressed his forehead against hers and again whispered her name.

Goddess divine, how wonderful it was to hear her name from his lips. She would never tire of it. How could she have ever not known him? How could she have looked into those eyes before and not been sure of who he was…of who she was.

For a few moments, they just breathed together, content in each other's presence, before Adam lifted her gaze up once more. "Where…" he gasped, "is our child?"

This time, Belle rejoiced in the question, for it was one she could now answer. God, how could she ever have thought it was Gaston's? She drew back from him, taking his hands away from his face and drawing them down to her belly. With a joyful sob, she laid his hands over her womb and then covered them with her own. "Right here, my love," she whispered.

Adam's eyebrows flew up his forehead as he wrenched his gaze back up to hers. "R-right here…you mean you're…you haven't—"

"We haven't," she corrected him, leaning in to kiss him again before continuing. "We haven't missed anything."

Impossible, he thought. One of Circe's tricks! She couldn't possibly still be carrying their son after so many years! And yet, the expression in his wife's eyes left no room for doubt. He shook his head, at a complete and total loss. Could whatever magical enchantment responsible for creating this horrible place have also somehow stalled her pregnancy? Stalled indefinitely until their reunion?

But emotion soon gave way to reason, and Adam sank to his knees in front of his bride. He would worry about why another time, another day. For now, he could only weep. His child…their child. He hadn't missed it. He would know what it was to be a father.

Belle could barely breathe as she watched the tears streaming down her prince's cheeks. She pulled him close, cradling his head to her stomach, and an agonizingly wonderful ache tugged at her heartstrings as she felt him press a tender kiss to her belly through the thin fabric of her scrubs. He wrapped his arms around her again, shaking with sobs as he murmured words of love and devotion to their child.

Even kneeling, Adam's massive height still came up almost to her shoulders. Belle smiled as she gazed down into his eyes, smoothing her fingers along the damp hair at his temples. "I love you," she said as she darted her head down and kissed him again.

Adam followed her lead, rising to his feet as she gently tugged him upward, and secured his arms once more at her waist. "I love you," he murmured into her kiss. "And I'm never losing you again."

…

***Ooooooooookie dokie. Super nervous about this chapter going up but there's no sense in delaying it any further. Been editing and tweaking some of this stuff for literally a month as pretty much the last half of it was written before Chapter 30 while I was still in Italy. I know it's a pretty jam-packed chapter, but I figured we were due. Hope you enjoyed Graham's, Thomas's, and Belle's reunions as much as I enjoyed writing them. Obviously, Operation Cobra's strike team isn't out of the woods (and neither is Henry) but there should be enough in here to appease you for now.

For those of you super upset about Michael Tillman's alleged demise, I just want to say….I'm shocked. SHOCKED that you would take the word of a villain over ME! (For further detail, re-read author's note at the end of Chap 16).

I am about to embark on a huge home remodel in the next few weeks, but I do intend to keep going. Ciao for now and thanks for reading!

-Nikstl***