In the Shadow of the Toll Bridge

by Nikstlitslepmur

AU: Something DID jog the memory of our favorite prince that night...but it wasn't the windmill. What would have happened if David Nolan had remembered his REAL life instead of his fake one that fateful night in Gold's shop? What would have happened if David and Mary Margaret had awoken long before anyone else and been left to deal with the monumental task of breaking the curse?

33. Kings, Queens and Pawns

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

Kings, Queens and Pawns

"Where are we going?" Adam demanded as Belle continued to drag him further and further through the woods, pausing to free her borrowed scrubs from the gnarly branches encroaching upon the path.

"Somewhere safe," she replied. Grumpy and Sleepy were behind them, having no choice but to follow the psychotic fugitive they'd helped escape. Snow had asked them to go along, to ensure they all arrived safely in the caverns beneath the forest, though she of course couldn't tell them everything. Belle was hoping not to have to explain too much, being the only one among them fully aware of both worlds, but she could sense the doubtful, suspicious glances from the hospital security guards even with her back turned. They were not comfortable with this. Not at all. And why should they be? At best, they were out of a job. At worst, they were accomplices to Doctor Fisk's beating.

"I'll not hide like a frightened animal," said Adam, tugging on his wife's arm and insisting he be heard. She turned to face his towering form, reminded all too readily of the patience and fortitude it often took to weather her husband's temper.

"We're not hiding like frightened animals," she said, trying to whisper, though she could see Grumpy and Sleepy catching up to them. "Please, try to be patient, my love. I promise I'll explain everything, but we need to move."

Adam clenched his jaw but did not argue further. He already hated this world – hated it for what had to be years. But he supposed there was also very little he understood of it too. His brilliant wife had clearly deduced more than he had ever had a chance to, and he trusted her with his life. So with a grunt, they pressed on, just as the dwarfs caught up.

"You know, I think the coast is clear," muttered Walter as the two fell in step behind the mammoth beast of a man dressed in ill-fitting scrubs and an overcoat from the hospital's lost and found. "I'm sure we could just…you know, take off."

Leroy shook his head, "Mary Margaret asked us to follow them all the way." He had his doubts, just like Walter, but there was something very familiar in helping Miss Blanchard tonight, and it had stirred something barely recognizable in his gut – pride. Helping this woman, coming to her aid, well…he was proud of himself. He knew, regardless of how insane and outrageous the night had been, helping Mary Margaret had been the right thing to do. It had been a long time since Leroy had been proud of anything he'd done – as long as he could remember really. So he pressed on. "Besides," he muttered back. "Where you gonna take off to?"

Walter shrugged. "The sheriff's office?"

Leroy stopped and grabbed his shoulder. "The what?"

"The sheriff's office!" Walter cried, "Look, we just helped a madman escape from the mental ward. Sheriff's gonna be all over this tomorrow. If we go and confess right now, maybe they won't—"

"Are you nuts?" seethed the town drunk. "If we're lucky, no one will ever remember we were there. Now quit being a numbskull and keep moving. It's freezin' out here."

The two walked in silence then, keeping a steady pace behind Adam and Rose. The bookish brunette kept glancing back, flashing them reassuring smiles and expressions of gratitude. Leroy nodded back, assuring her they were fine. Eventually, they came to a narrow path overgrown with trees and brushes. A deer came out to greet them and didn't seem to mind Walter's whining and protestations as Rose took hold of the animal's antlers and led the small party further into a cold, marshy thicket.

At last, they arrived at a wall of red rock, stretching up a steep incline. Belle waited patiently as the stag bowed his head and galloped off in the woods. She looked up, anticipating the arrival of the gray wolf Snow told her would appear. Her gaze wandered up the incline, squinting desperately through the darkness and trying to spot the wolf's red eye, but he didn't come. Something was wrong.

"Look!" whispered Adam, and Belle followed his gaze to the other side of the hill. The entire party gasped (poor Walter actually toppled backward over a tree branch) as the group beheld a shining white mountain lion, stretching her paws in light spasms and letting out a great yawn. Her coat shimmered in the moonlight as she began her descent. "Careful," said Adam, who instantly stepped in front of his wife, but Belle gazed right into the creature's eyes as it lazily stepped down the bedrock, sauntering up to them like a cat awoken too early from her nap.

"What the hell?" spluttered Walter, still flat on his back and scurrying even further away as he crawled on his palms and feet. "Leroy!"

"Shh! Shut up Walter!" Leroy hissed as he stood transfixed by the impossible image of the silvery predator trotting up to the woman whose outstretched hand betrayed no signs of fear.

"Hello beautiful," whispered Belle as the great feline purred into her palm. Seeing this, Adam relaxed. "Have you been sent in his place?"

The lion nodded and turned toward the curtain of hanging vines in front of them. Her eyes glowed as they stepped inside, and Belle and Adam quickly disappeared behind her as they entered the cave.

"Enough of this!" shouted Walter, finally pulling himself up out of the muck and dusting himself off. "I am not following a freakin' puma into a dark, dank cave. Nuh uh!"

"Don't you think if it was gonna rip us to shreds it have done it already?" Leroy argued.

"I don't know what to think. But this is far enough!"

"Come on, Walter," he pleaded. "There's," he glanced toward the vines. "There's somethin' in there. I can…I can feel it." He looked back at his companion, whose eyes were equally spooky. "And you feel it too, dontcha?"

Walter shook his head in denial. "I feel cold, that's what I feel. Cold, and wet, and…and…Leroy that was a fucking lion!"

"Looked more like a cougar," he said, "and keep your voice down."

"Keep my voice down?" cackled the guard. "Why, the top-secret- cave-hidden-in-a-swamp police might hear?"

"Get a grip will ya?"

"No!" he yelled. "Enough a this, I'm going home!" Walter started stomping back to the marsh and Leroy was about to follow, but he suddenly had another idea.

"Fine," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

Walter turned. "Fine?"

"Yup," Leroy laughed. "You go home. Good luck findin' your way back without that deer guidin' ya. I'm gonna check out this cave." And with that, he turned and walked toward the vines.

It was about 12 seconds before he heard Walter's clumsy footfalls running up behind him. "You suck you know that?" hissed Walter. Leroy laughed.

They weren't too far behind the others. Leroy could just make out the dark shadows of Rose and Adam at the base of what felt to be a wide, stone staircase. Scurrying to catch up, they regrouped and followed the lion down a damp tunnel. Gradually they became aware of the vague rumbling of rushing water echoing against the damp cavern walls. Soon, they came upon another circular decline and when they reached the end of the second tunnel, the lion turned, nodded, and scampered away.

"Hey!" said Walter, his voice reverberating off the walls. "Where's he goin'?!"

"It's a she," Belle said patiently as she felt her hands along the wall as Snow had instructed her to.

"Oh well," snorted Walter, "excuse me for—"

"Silence," bellowed Adam who knew, dwarf or not, the man's incessant whining may soon prompt him to put a fist through the cavern wall. He focused instead on the woman in front of him, his grip tightening on his wife's shoulders as she continued her search. Shrouded by the darkness of the cave, Adam let his hands drift down her back and slide around her waist. She had better find what she was looking for…fast.

Her husband's expert touch notwithstanding, Belle managed to concentrate enough on her search, and her hand finally brushed against the iron latch. "Ah ha!" she cried gleefully. She wrenched it down, heard it click on the other side, and pushed the door open. A faint blue glow spilled into the cottage, and the sounds of the waterfall intensified as the pair stepped inside. She turned into her husband, unable to resist the urge to pull his head down for a passionate kiss as she reveled in this last victory. "We made it," she said, pulling back and staring up at his devastatingly gorgeous eyes.

Adam was about to respond, but was interrupted as the dwarfs passed over the threshold.

"Hey!" cried Grumpy. He planted his feet firmly on the stone floor and spread his hands out like a ballplayer preparing to steal a base. The effect was instantaneous as the warmth of the cottage engulfed him, the dull echo of Leroy already fading in his head as he gaped at the magnificent little bungalow, still here after all these years. There was no need for flashes or visions or deep wrenching breaths. They were dwarfs after all. Who in the world was better equipped to handle the pulsing waves of magic?

"Hey…Sleepy look!" he glanced over at the former guard who had also just crossed the threshold. Grumpy watched as Sleepy blinked his eyes open and took in the view, stretching his hands over his head as his gaze fell on the familiar row of beds lined up beyond the wide open archway. It was about time, thought the grumpy dwarf. He was getting really sick of 'Walter'.

"Grumpy!" yawned the dwarf as he smiled that old sleepy smile of his, "We're …We're home!"

…

Henry paced the tiny length of his bedroom, tugging at the roots of his hair and shaking out his hands. It had grown more and more apparent as the evening wore on that he would not be permitted to speak with anyone the queen even remotely suspected. So to avoid further suspicion, he simply stopped asking and decided to wait it out. Every now and then he'd catch Pops' eye, seeing his grandfather's worried expression, but Henry could do little more than nod in reply, confirming that there was indeed trouble afoot and, unfortunately, very little either could do about it at the moment.

School, he thought as he continued to pace, trying to calm himself by converting the madness into a Cobra mission. I'll wait until school. Once he was back at Storybrooke Elementary, he could tell Grandma Snow all about it, and they could figure everything out together. He could tell her about the three villains in the hallway: the scary lady with the long black hair, the tall doctor, the skinny man with the cane. He could tell Emma what he'd heard about Michael Tillman (the ramifications of that little reveal still making the poor boy nauseous). He could warn Pops about Thomas – Henry gasped. Thomas. He couldn't wait until school tomorrow. It would be too late. Maybe it already was too late! Oh why didn't he try harder at the festival? Why didn't he just make a break for it and sprint over to Pops? Cuz then she'd know Prince James was awake for sure doofus! he scolded himself as he had been doing all evening. The constant back and forth bickering going on in his head was a bit unnerving. Could a person go crazy if he not only talked to himself but answered himself too? School, he thought again. It'll have to wait till school. But that still wouldn't help Thomas. How was he ever going to—

A soft tapping pulled his attention toward the window. It was pitch black, and at first he thought it might be the branches of the tree just outside his room. But when he turned to look, hope leapt into his heart. It was Lucy! Lucy, of course! He had a superpower now (why did he keep forgetting that?!). He could send Lucy with a message to his family and Regina would never know. Bounding over to the window, he slid it open quietly, ushered the happy little bluebird in from the cold and then closed the window behind her. "Lucy!" he whispered happily. The little bird chirped in response. "How'd you know to come?"

"You were in trouble young one!" squeaked the tiny voice inside his head.

"Great!" he said, pressing his palms together and nearly bursting with excitement. "Look, tell Mom and Pops that I overheard my mom, that is my evil mom, talking with these other evil people – like three of 'em. One of 'em was a doctor in the hospital! He was really tall and looked a lot like one of the bad guys I saw in the book. I can't remember the story though. Anyway it was him, and the queen, and this dark lady along with this guy who had a cane, but it wasn't Gold – or, er – Rumpelstiltskin. This guy was younger. And they were all talking about Thomas and how the doctor was going to kill him! And they mentioned Michael Tillman too, Lucy. I think he might be—" he cut himself off as he regarded the little bird staring up at him curiously. Her head tilted from one side to the other, but he heard no voice in his head to match. "You…didn't really get any of that did you?" he asked.

Lucy let out a chirp. "Too fast, young one. You talk too fast."

Henry sighed but grinned. Having a superpower was fun, but he wished he could work out the kinks a little quicker. "I'm gonna write a letter instead, all right?" he said. Lucy bounced up and down, signifying her support of this new plan. The young one's message would certainly have lost a lot in the translation. "Wait here." He set the bird down on his comforter and tore into his desk to retrieve supplies. He was halfway through scribbling his salutation, the graphite scratching furiously against the paper on his desk, before he remembered something. Glancing back at Lucy, Henry grabbed his backpack and retrieved a packet of sunflower seeds that Grandma Snow had given him that morning. "Here," he said, tearing into the little bag and dropping a handful of seeds on the bed next to her. "Thanks, young one!" she tweeted happily and dug into her dinner as Henry began his letter.

…

"He's gone?!" Regina roared, raising her hand as if to slap Honest John across the jaw. John did not flinch however, and Regina was too disgusted to follow through. She brought her hands up instead to clutch her hair and tug furiously at the wild strands. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"Gone. Escaped. On the run. Flown the coop. Joined the bird gang—"

"Enough!" the queen growled impatiently, again resisting the urge to throttle her young errand boy who seemed actually to be enjoying the delivery of this news a bit too much for Regina's liking. "How did it happen?"

John related the details as best he could, though his information was sketchy. After all, he'd left the hospital that day not long after Regina (after disabling the alarms, of course, that would have alerted the first floor nurse's station to any serious scuffles breaking out in any exam room…but he wasn't about to tell Regina that).

"And Jafar is now in intensive care?"

"The last I heard, your Majesty," said John, "and I believe he was taken from Thomas's room babbling about a woman masquerading as a nurse."
Regina gaped. "What?"

"A pretty brunette. Disguised as a nurse, your Majesty. Jafar seemed to think that Adam had help."

"Of course Adam had help! You don't break out of the psych ward without help you moron," she seethed, pacing the length of her long foyer and shaking her head. "No doubt it was that wretched wife of his. I knew it was too good to be true – Jafar's boasting that Belle had yet to return to the hospital. Little bitch was clearly planning an escape all along." She whirled back to John. "For all we know, she's been awake the entire time!"

John gave her a helpless shrug. "I suppose this is one of those three happy endings then," he suggested.

"You think?" she bellowed, moving toward her living room, head pounding as she sank into a plush, cream-colored chair. "What about Thomas? Did Jafar at least finish the job before he was…pummeled?" she spat.

John sighed as he braced his right hand on the archway and leaned into the wall. "Well considering that 'Sean Herman's' status was changed from critical to stable a few hours ago, I highly doubt it. I believe the fight woke him up."

"Dammit!" Regina cried, lunging back out of the chair. She moved across the living room to one of two tall bookcases that flanked the fireplace. She clutched one of the shelves and gripped the edge until her knuckles turned white. "That will be the second ending, no doubt," she said. "With Thomas awake, that will change everything between Ella and Christopher." She turned back to John who remained against the archway with his cane held casually in his left hand, digging into her hard wood floors. "Any idea who the third might be?"

John opened his mouth to reply but a heavy knock thudded on the front door and both started at the intrusion. Regina moved immediately to the front window and peered through the cracks in the curtains. "Shit," she muttered and headed for the foyer. "It's Graham."

John straightened up and swung his cane toward the door. "Kind of a bad time for one of your late-night trysts, wouldn't you say, your Majesty?"

"Shut up!" Regina wrenched open the door to reveal the rather surprised Irishman on her doorstep.

"Regina?" Graham eyed her cautiously for she had that look of rage in her eye that always meant trouble.

"What are you doing here?" she barked, not at all concerned about how frazzled she looked.

Graham meanwhile had noticed John, who remained casually in the foyer with his hand tucked in his pocket and the other clutching his cane. "I…thought you might want to know that there's been…an incident at the hospital tonight," he answered in as tempered a tone as he could muster, all the while glaring at the man with the cane. It was him – the one who had led him to the boys' home in the forest – the one who had taken the Zimmer children.

His glare did not entirely escape Regina's notice, but her impatience and paranoia had certainly dulled that eagle's eye she once had over her puppets. She closed the door as the sheriff stepped inside and came to stand beside him. "Graham?" she said hurriedly, "I don't believe you've met…John Foulfellow. One of my…political associates."

Graham bit his tongue so hard he was sure it was bleeding as he extended his arm and nodded. "Pleasure, Mr. Foulfellow," he managed, though he knew his voice was strained. Concentrate! he scolded himself. For Emma's sake. For all their sakes. He must not tip his hand.

"Pleasure's mine," said John with ease, amused by the man's poor attempt to conceal his recognition. How much did he remember, John wondered. The drive through the forest? The screaming boys? The dark cell as the Captain re-administered Regina's curse? Were he a much better man, John thought he might actually have pity on the poor bloke. The queen had certainly – what was the colloquial phrase here? – put him through the ringer? "What kind of incident, sheriff?"

Graham gripped John's hand and shook hard before turning back to Regina. "I'd…prefer to speak with you in—"

"It's all right Graham, I've already been informed," Regina waved her hand impatiently.

Graham's eyes widened in surprise. "You…you have?"

"Yes," she huffed, "a patient at Storybrooke General escaped the psych ward after beating up on one of his doctors. I'm sure Sydney is over there reporting on it right now."

The sheriff nodded slowly. "That's…right."

"So I have to wonder why you're wasting time coming here when there's a psychotic fugitive on the loose you could be looking for!"

"Emma and I will start a search tomorrow," Graham explained. "There's no use in looking now."

"Oh! Emma's on the case!" she yelled, throwing her hands up in the air. "Well I'm so glad to hear your fearless Emma is on the case! That will make everything better!"

"Regina, are you—"

"Mayor Mills has had quite a tiring evening, Sheriff," said John, stepping forward and settling the queen's arms at her sides. "What with the pressure of the tree lighting and now one of Storybrooke's most prominent doctors in intensive care?"

Graham looked between the two and couldn't for the life of him figure out who deserved to be trusted less: The evil queen whose actions had been the catalyst for all this madness in the first place, or the smarmy errand boy who now seemed to be pulling her strings. Still, he was undeniably faced with two villains instead of one and knew it was probably best to get away if he could manage it. He feared the smarmy man had already gleaned too much from Graham's less than stellar performance upon greeting them. "Of course," he nodded and turned down the hallway. As he opened the front door, he glanced toward the ceiling and said, "Say g'night to your lad." Then he was gone.

Regina sighed, pinching the ridge of her nose as she tried to clear her mind. It was as if every piece of news were slowly suffocating her – from her nightmare last night to her disturbing visit with Gold, to tonight's shocking turn of events at Storybrooke General. And if Thomas was indeed awake now, it certainly wouldn't be so easy to kill him – especially with her only hospital operative having been beaten senseless by Ebonshire's notoriously hot-tempered royal.

"Well," said John, his mood annoyingly unchanged. "I think we've found our third happy ending."

She spun around. "What?"

John nodded toward the door. "I'm assuming you noticed the way he looked at me."

Regina glanced back at the door and then at John. "So?"

"He recognized me, your Majesty."

The queen's heart dropped to her gut. "Impossible," she denied it.

"Plain as the ruggedly handsome nose on his face, my queen."

"No," Regina shook her head and marched toward the kitchen. "No, we know what Graham looks like when he wakes up. We know how he reacts." She flung open her pantry door and yanked out a loaf of bread along with Henry's Iron Man lunch bag on the top shelf. "He would have been babbling incessantly about his wolf and the woods and having visions of me in black, lacy—"

"I beg you not to finish that sentence, my queen," John smirked as he watched the mayor prepare her son's lunch. The act of course reminded him of his real reason for coming here, but he would get to that soon enough. "And yes, that has been Graham's experience in the past, but we also know that comes from not being fully awake. After all, on many of those occasions, you were able to fix it with that delectable pie of yours."

Regina slammed a peanut butter laden knife on the counter. "So what are you saying? You think Graham is fully awake? And you're basing this all on a look he gave you?"

"He seemed awfully cooperative."

"He's always cooperative!" she bellowed. "He's a pawn remember? He's conditioned to—"

"Obey you, yes. Eventually. But I do recall your frequent frustration that the sheriff is not always as forthcoming or prompt with important information as your huntsman was. Tonight he seemed especially…eager to report it."

Regina's eyes narrowed to slits as she slapped some jelly onto a fluffy piece of wheat bread and wrapped the sandwich in wax paper. "Leave now," she mumbled. She loaded the bag with fruit, cookies, carrots and an assortment of Christmas candy left over from the festival, and then tossed it in the fridge.

"Very shortly, your grace," John bowed his head, "but I beg that you indulge me a few moments more? It concerns your son."

Regina slammed the fridge closed and stalked past the pesky rogue. "What about him?"

"I wish to know what your plans are for Henry, ma'am."

The mayor froze in the middle of the hallway, glanced up at the ceiling to where she knew her son to be asleep, and then glared at Honest John. "My plans for him?"

John adjusted his stance – business-like. Formal. The true purpose for his visit had come and he must not screw it up. "Yes, your Majesty. Your plans. For though I admire the carefully thought out lunch you just prepared for him, you surely aren't planning on sending him to school tomorrow, are you?"

Regina's jaw clenched so tightly and her lips pursed so thinly together, John thought her whole face might explode. "And where else would I send him?"

"To the home of course. With the boys."

Slowly, the queen advanced on her minion. "How…dare you even suggest such a thing."

"Now hear me out, your Worshipfulness," John quipped, though her icy glare broke his brow into a nervous sweat. "You were, I'm afraid, less than…subtle tonight at the Emporium, with your boy clutched tightly by your side."

"So what!" she spat.

"Well," he said, placing the tip of his cane back on the floor, "I know that not everyone has so keen an eye for dominance as I, your Majesty, but I assure you I wasn't the only one who noticed. You refused even a harmless chat with the therapist you insisted he visit. If your aim is indeed to keep him as far away from Miss Swan and…everyone else she associates with…then the time has come I'm afraid."

Though John spoke with the same easy, cajoling tone he'd always used, his words pounded into her like nails driving into her skull. She hadn't had the best relationship with Henry of late, but this? This would ruin any chance of…oh, who was she kidding? "I…don't think it's…come to that," she mumbled, uncharacteristically subdued.

John chanced a step forward, risking another jaw-socking by getting so close. But he knew he must appeal to that tiny shred of motherhood if he was to get her to agree. "We've had his room ready for months, your Majesty. It really is the best thing for him."

She looked up, hating the tears that stung her eyes as she thought of how much more Henry would hate her if it came to this. "Not yet," she shook her head, still denying the inevitable.

"It has to be now, your Majesty. You know it," he thunked his cane with vehemence, emphasizing the urgency of the matter. "Before your enemies have the chance to take him from you." That would do it, he smiled in his head. "For if I noticed your overbearing behavior from afar, you can be sure that Prince Charming did as well…standing right next to you on that balcony—"

"All right!" she yelled, dropping her hands to her side. It's for his own good, she told herself, knowing deep down that she was lying. It was for her own good…not his. But bitterness had blackened her heart, and the darkness that consumed her would never again allow her that moment of clarity. "I'll…I'll go tell him."

…

…Whatever you do, be careful around the queen now. Like I said, I'm pretty sure she knows something. I'm gonna stick around here to get some more intel, but DON'T try to see me till I say so, got it? Don't worry Mom, Pops, Grandma – Operation Cobra can't fail, and good can't lose!

Love,

Henry

Henry finished signing his name with a flourish of his pen, feeling important and wishing he had a quill. He'd written down everything, checking on Lucy every so often to ensure she was well fed and content for the journey. "All right," he said, folding it up into tiny squares.

Lucy flapped her wings and chirped. "No no, young one. Roll it up so it may fit in my beak!"

"Oh!" Henry slapped his forehead. "Right, of course." There was no way a clumsily folded square would fit in her tiny mouth. With care, he smoothed out the letter and began again, starting at the very edge of the paper and carefully rolling it into a tight, compact tube. "There," he said and held it out to her for inspection. "Good?"

In reply, Lucy chomped down on the paper and secured it inside her beak. "Ready!"

Henry smiled, quite pleased with himself as he took a few seconds to admire his work. His first message. He could just see the proud look on his grandma's face when it would arrive at the house and Lucy would hop down on the kitchen island, hungry for more seeds (and maybe some of Grandma Snow's caramel corn for dessert!). He held out his palm, watched as Lucy jumped inside the perch and moved to the window. Seconds from lifting the screen, his bedroom door cracked open.

"Henry?" called the queen.

So startled by the intrusion (he hadn't at all been keeping an ear out for movement or creaking on the stairs as he usually did) Henry stumbled backward into his desk chair which toppled over and landed the boy right at his adoptive mother's feet…with Lucy still cupped in his hand,. "M-mom," he cried, desperately fidgeting to free his left arm from having been tangled in the straps of his backpack hanging on the chair. In a futile attempt to hide what could not be hidden, he managed to cover his hand over Lucy whose wings were flapping wildly and nervously.

"Henry what in the world—"

"S-sorry," Henry scrambled to his feet, still clutching the bird close to his chest. "I-I didn't hear you come in. Y-you scared me."

But the queen was not fooled. Her beady eyes stared right at his enclosed hands, a tiny tuft of blue feathers peeking out from between his fingers. "What are you hiding, Henry?" she demanded, holding her palm out for inspection.

"N-nothing," he said pitifully.

"Henry?!" she said sternly, "hand it over!"

The boy's pulse skittered to a stop, chest heaving in huge, panicked breaths. You need to fly past her, can you hear me? he concentrated his thoughts toward Lucy as best as he could, but he had no idea if the telepathy worked both ways. I couldn't get the window open, so you gotta fly out of my room and find another way out, ok? There was no response in his head, but he could tell the bird was scared, hopping up and down, tickling the sensitive skin of his palm.

"Henry—" the queen bellowed, but before she could come any closer, Henry launched the bird in the air and watched as she zoomed above the head of the queen, circling high above her, avoiding her clawing hands.

"Go Lucy!" Henry cried, reaching out to yank the queen's hands out of the air. He struggled with her, trying to keep one eye on Lucy as he scratched at his evil mom, pulling on her sleeve and kicking at her shin.

"Ow! Henry!" Regina cried, trying desperately to grab hold of the bird. She knew all too well Snow's preferred method of communication. And she had already spotted the suspicious presence of a rolled up piece of paper in her beak. "Get—er—r-off!" she cried, wrenching her arms from her son's grasp. But she was too late. Lucy finally made it past her and out the door.

"Yes!" Henry jumped in the air, knowing he was about to be severely punished, but he didn't care. Lucy had made it out. She would get the message to Mom and Pops and Grandma. They would be able to save Thomas. They would find out about Tillman, about the three villains, about—

"Did you lose something, your Majesty?" came an amused, devious voice from the second floor banister. It was then that Henry realized Lucy's chirping was getting closer, not farther away. To his horror, as Regina trapped her son against her hip, the sly man with the cane walked into his bedroom…with Lucy caught in his grasp.

What was the sly man with the cane doing in his bedroom? What was the sly man with the cane even doing in his house, and how could he have possibly missed it? No! he panicked, watching little Lucy struggle in the sly man's grasp. Why wasn't I on the lookout? Why didn't I hear them downstairs? Hear the queen coming? A thousand 'what-ifs' crossed his mind as he chastised himself for his carelessness. He'd been so consumed by his letter, he hadn't even been aware of the second villain in his home!

"Leave us, John," said the queen, struggling to keep Henry's little fists at bay.

John, Henry thought, instantly hating the name. That's right. John W. Foulfellow.

"Of course, Madame Mayor," replied the man. "And, what shall I do with his…" he paused and held up the bird, squirming furiously in his grasp, "friend?"

Regina hesitated, knowing how traumatic it would be for Henry to see this. "Take it outside," she ordered, still holding Henry down, "and…deal with it."

"No!" Henry cried, knowing all too well the tone in her voice. "No please," he turned to her and begged, "I-I'll take care of her. I promise. I'll…I'll keep her in a cage. I'll even—"

"John!" she bellowed over her son, trying to drown out the strain in his voice.

John nodded and turned to leave, but at that moment, Lucy dropped the note from her mouth, angled her little head toward her captor's thumb and jammed her beak hard into the flesh.

"Ah!" cried the sly man, and Henry's heart leapt as he watched Lucy launch herself from John's grasp and expertly avert his attempts to recapture. She swooped down with wondrous grace, plucked the note from the floor and headed back to the door. That's it, Henry prayed, go Lucy! Go!

But Regina knew what that bird represented, the threats they faced should whatever her clever son had intended for Snow or Emma be allowed to reach them. No, the bird had to be stopped. There was no other way. With the same steady hand she once used to rip apart people's hearts, Regina plucked a hard-cover book from Henry's shelf, aimed for the fleeing bird and struck her down with a mighty blow.

The room stilled as the book made a soft thud, landing on the plush carpet of Henry's bedroom floor. It was Henry's old copy of Swiss Family Robinson, falling open to a charcoal illustration of the Robinson's grand tree house… next to the open page lay Lucy's tiny, lifeless form, her eyes dull and black, her wings still. Henry collapsed to the floor. He had seen enough in his lifetime to recognize the body of a bird whose neck had been snapped after crashing into a clean window or flying in the path of a moving car. Lucy the bluebird…was dead.

"N-no," he sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he stroked the tiny feathers of his little friend. Lucy. Lucy, who not ten minutes ago had been tweeting cheerfully and eating sunflower seeds on his bed. Lucy who had helped him unlock the secrets of his superpower. "Noooo!" he whirled around to face the evil queen, whose own expression was an odd mixture of sadness and regret for so…heartless a woman. "How could you?!" he cried.

Regina tried to ignore the pain in her son's eyes, the look of utter betrayal in his face. It's for his own good…for his own good, she kept telling herself. And before she could stand it no longer, she picked her son up off the floor, ushered him away from the bird, and walked him out the door. "You're right John," she said gravely as the two of them led Henry downstairs, through the foyer, and up to the garage door. The boy made little effort to fight it. He was, it seemed, far too brokenhearted to resist her further. "It's time."

John nodded, tipping his hat and gesturing for the kid to climb into his car. "He'll be well taken care of, your Majesty," he said. "I promise."

…

"I want him out of there," barked Emma, pacing in front of the kitchen island. "Out of there. I don't care about the curse or Operation Cobra or – or gathering 'intel'. I don't care if it blows our cover, I just – I don't care! I want him out. If Belle and Adam can hide out in the cottage then so can Henry!"

James and Snow exchanged glances from either side of the room. Emma was hovering in front of the stools while Snow perched against the back of her living room couch and James leaned against the archway. "Ok," said James with a simple nod.

Emma started. "O-ok?" she turned to him, having anticipated such vehement objections that she'd practically started spewing out counter-arguments to her father before she realized he'd agreed. James nodded and then Emma turned to Snow who also grinned. "'Ok'? Really?"

"He's your son, Emma," said Snow. "What you say goes." It was the end of a very long night, and though the last thing Snow and James wanted to do was give their daughter anything more to worry about, both agreed that keeping Regina's suspicious behavior with Henry from her would be unwise. Emma deserved to know if her son was in trouble. And as Snow looked across the room to her husband, she could already tell that James whole-heartedly supported Emma's decision.

"R-right," said Emma, as if waiting for another shoe to drop. But there was no catch. "Right," she said again, this time more confident. "So…" she glanced back to her father. "H-how do we do that?"

Still grinning, James unfolded his arms and pushed himself off the wall. "Well," he paused to think, then glanced at Snow, "whose class does Henry have first: yours or Frederick's?"

"Frederick's," Snow replied.

"Good, tell Frederick tomorrow morning to send Henry to your classroom as soon as he gets in." Snow nodded and James turned to his daughter. "As soon as Snow's got him, we'll sneak him out of the building before school's even over. Regina won't even know he's missing until long after he's hidden."

Emma blinked. The plan was simple – in fact, it seemed a bit too simple given the night each of them had just been through. By the time Emma and Graham made it back to the festival, Henry and the mayor had already left, Bridgeport's Emporium was closed, and what was left of the Christmastime revelers had gathered in small clumps around the square, huddled around mini-bonfires that had sprung up from metal cans near the gazebo as the Andersen sisters finished their final set. Graham had departed not long after their arrival on the square to respond to an emergency call from the hospital. Since he and Emma had been in the woods at the time of Adam's escape, the sheriff hadn't received the message until they got back. Fortunately with the huntsman now awake, Snow was able to fully inform Graham of what really happened at the hospital, what to check for, who to check on, and how to cover.

"Ok," Emma sighed, hands on her hips as she considered her father's plan. "Ok, yeah. That's…that'll work." She bit her lip, but didn't go on.

"Emma?" asked Snow, casting a worried glance over her daughter. "Are you ok?"

Emma looked up, swiping her palm along her forehead and up to clasp her ponytail. "Yeah, I'm just," she paused and looked between her mother and father, then sighed. "I'm just…worried."

"We're gonna get him out, Emma," Snow tried to assure her. "It's as good as done. First thing tomorrow—"

"No, I know," she said, "It's just…it's a lot."

Snow nodded, seeing so much of her own concerns mirrored in her daughter's eyes. They hadn't yet had time to debrief the entire evening, but she had a feeling that Emma had braved some fairly complex emotions tonight if Graham was fully awake. Snow remembered the catalyst for the last time Graham woke up, though she wasn't about to bring it up in front of James.

For her own part, it was a rushed and bittersweet reunion for Snow White and the huntsman, for the two barely had the opportunity to share a glance before he had to rush off. Years ago – decades now – Snow made a promise to herself that if she ever saw the brave huntsman who had sacrificed his life to save her own, she would make every effort to prove to him that his gift had not been wasted. Snow still hoped to make good on her promise. There was so much she wanted to tell him, to thank him for. But tonight was not the night.

"I know," said Snow as she joined her daughter in the kitchen. "There's…a lot going on."

Emma heaved a sigh and plopped down on the stools, feeling that same weight-of-the-world burden she'd had ever since Jefferson's. Jefferson, she thought sadly. Still trapped in Wonderland. She'd practically forgotten.

"You know what though?" came her father's voice as he stepped over to her other flank. "A lot of it is…good." He peered at his wife over the top of his daughter's head as both women turned to him, a bit perplexed.

"Like what?" Emma snorted. Henry was likely trapped in his room, clutching Captain America comics to his chest and worrying about the queen. Graham was awake now but no less trapped by the Regina's pull. And, though Thomas's awakening would certainly shed light on his original attacker, Emma wouldn't likely be able to get an official statement until the morning, so Shane Pilfer – whoever he was – would indeed have to spend the night in jail, caving to the ultimatum clearly pressing on him from one of Regina's allies. What of any of this was good?

James smiled and shook his head. "Like Belle and Adam? Awake and headed for safety? An attempt on Thomas's life thwarted? Ella? Geppetto? Jiminy? Grumpy and now Sleepy? All at different stages of awareness, but all on our side." Emma shrugged, a vague acknowledgement at least, though lines of worry and fatigue still etched her brow. James thought for a moment and then remembered something else. "Oh! And guess what else we figured out tonight."

"What's that?" Emma asked, wrapping her arms around her middle as Snow moved around the island to set some water on the stove.

"Your instincts were right about your friend, Matt Clancy."

Emma straightened up on her stool. Matt Clancy! She had almost forgotten about the rugged fireman and his partner, Trent. Had it really only been this morning that she'd visited the firehouse? "What about him?"

"Clancy is actually King Philip – good friend of ours," he explained, "and definitely an ally."

The deputy's brow creased. King Phillip. King Phillip…which one was he?

Snow leaned across the counter, cocking one eyebrow, and smirked. "He was the prince from the Sleeping Beauty story, Emma," she added. It was a good thing 'Mary Margaret' was an elementary school teacher.

"Sleeping Beauty?" James turned to his wife. Snow nodded. "Seriously? She was under that spell for maybe a day. Maleficent barely put up a fight."

"And to my knowledge, you and I never sang love songs to each other near a wishing well, darling," Snow laughed. "This world has many versions of our stories. Most of Aurora's just happen to focus on that one aspect."

James rolled his eyes. The more he learned about the way this world had embellished what few truths it had managed to get right about their lives, the more annoyed with it he grew.

Meanwhile, Emma mentally reviewed what few fairy tales she knew from her atypical childhood and recalled the old movie. Philip. Aurora's prince. Matt Clancy was another of these iconic princes with the classic dragon-fighting, epic battle, damsel in distress motif. Why, she wondered, didn't that make her feel better? "A prince, huh?" she asked nonchalantly, trying to mask her inexplicable disappointment. "Do we um…do we know who Aurora is?"

Snow shook her head. "Neither of us has seen her. She's blonde though, pretty. A bit taller than me."

Emma shook her head. This town had hundreds of women taller than her petite mother. "I'll keep my eyes open for a pretty blonde woman hanging around Matt then," she said. To her left, she heard her father scoff.

"That probably won't help much," he chuckled. "Philip has um…reverted to form you might say." The image of the young king's eyes brightening upon the mention of Emma tonight still irked him in a very fatherly sort of way. He wasn't too worried though; Emma was far too sharp to fall for his friend's old lines. "He had a certain…reputation before he married Aurora," James said in response to his daughter's quizzical look.

"Even after he met Aurora, actually," added Snow whose water had reached a boil and who was now spooning cocoa mix into two generous mugs. "They were betrothed as children, don't forget."

"A reputation?" Emma asked.

"A flirt," Snow replied, bluntly. To Aurora's eternal consternation. But not even James knew the extent of her friend's history with the notorious Braemarian heir, and Snow wasn't about to go into it now.

"I see," said Emma who was now revisiting her early morning connection with the young fireman in a slightly more cynical light. "So…who does that make Trent?"

Snow looked to James. "Trent?"

"'Matt's' partner," he replied, turning toward Emma. "Not sure. What'd he look like?"

Emma sighed. "A lot like Matt – or Philip I guess. A little shorter, same build, same color hair. Seemed a bit…annoyed with him actually."

Snow and James gave each other a look and then said together, "Lucas."

Emma started. "Lucas?"

"His cousin," explained Snow. "A travelling companion for some time before Philip married and succeeded his father's throne. After that, he returned to Glowerhaven."

"Glowerhaven?"

"One of Philip's provinces. As queen Magdalena's nephew, Lucas was named Duke of Glowerhaven and was apparently a very effective ruler."

Emma gave her head a violent shake. She felt like she was the only student in a European history class and hadn't yet done the homework. "Well he's…apparently Matt's partner now." She turned to her mother. "They were the ones who brought Thomas to the hospital." Snow gasped. "This morning Mat-uh Philip told me he was sure that someone else had gotten there first and saved his life. I'm almost positive it was Shane, but I can't prove that until I talk to Thomas."

"Which you can do tomorrow morning after you get some sleep," said James who felt like his own brain was going to explode. He couldn't imagine the information-overload his daughter was experiencing. He picked his jacket off the kitchen counter, leaned across the island and kissed his wife. "I mean it," he said, stepping over to Emma as he shrugged on his coat. "You've done enough for one day. Let it all sink in for now and start again fresh tomorrow."

Emma rewarded her father with a weak smile, but she had no intention of calling it a night. She was wide awake now – there were simply too many questions she needed answered. "I will," she lied, casting her mother a sardonic grin. Snow smiled back, but neither would deny James a smooth exit. Of the three of them, he had perhaps suffered the most agony tonight simply by being forced to the sidelines.

"G'night Emma," he said softly and leaned forward to kiss the top of her head.

A flash of light ignited before her eyes and Emma felt something yank at her stomach. At once she felt as if she'd been wrenched backward, the world spinning before her like a vortex, lifting her away from her parents. Her eyes slammed shut and she could hear nothing of the world in which stood her mother's tiny kitchen. Instead she was thrust into a strange room, octagonal in shape, with deep oak trimming along the walls and an opulent light fixture hanging above her head.

"The wardrobe," she heard from a far corner. Emma turned her head and gasped as she beheld a couple nestled together on a large bed beneath a sheer canopy. It was her parents! James and Snow, looking weathered and exhausted as they hunched over a small bundle in Snow's arms. "It only takes one," said Snow.

Pain slammed into her gut as she felt a force almost pulling her against her will towards the bed. Her mother had long, wild black hair curtaining down her back. Her father was dressed in what her confused mind could only interpret as 'princely apparel' – a loose white tunic, black pants and leather boots. "Then our plan has failed," he said hopelessly. Neither of them seemed to notice her as she approached. They were engrossed in each other, in the baby resting in her mother's arms – the baby Emma only vaguely realized must be her, though her warped mind couldn't fully comprehend it. "At least we're together," said James, resigning himself to their fate. Only then did Emma become aware of the violent pounding outside these walls – sounds of intrusion, of a siege on the palace getting closer and closer outside the door.

"No," said Snow, a look of steadfast resolve steeling over her tear-stricken face. "No, you have to take her. Take the baby to the wardrobe."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"No. It's the only way. You have to send her through."

"No-no-no, you don't know what you're saying!"

"No I do. We have to believe that she'll come back for us!" cried Snow. Emma stood right before them at the foot of the bed, watching in acute agony as she witnessed this painful memory. She had read about it of course in the book. These were the very first pages Henry ever gave her – the pages he'd torn from the book to protect her identity from the evil queen. But that was months ago – long before she'd realized it was all true, long before she believed these brave souls before her were her parents. "We have to give her her best chance," said Snow, her voice so resigned, so sad – but absolutely certain it was the right call. "Goodbye Emma," Snow whispered, and Emma's heart bled for the sight of it.

She watched as James gathered baby Emma in his arms, kissed Snow with a passion reserved only for fairy tales, and left her side. Emma gasped as James passed right through her – she was a phantom here, a silent observer. And as she turned to watch James pull a sword from the rack near the door, bid his wife one last look as if they too were saying goodbye, and then disappear down the hallway, Emma felt herself slowly pulled forward again, transported back through the vortex, and plopped right back on 'Mary Margaret's' kitchen stool.

James drew back from Emma and chuckled softly at the look of absolute shock on his daughter's face. Honestly, it was just a kiss on the head. The girl was just going to have to start getting used to a little affection from her father. He patted her on the arm, nodded to Snow, and headed out.

Emma blinked as the door closed behind him. Had that really just happened? She whirled around and looked at Snow, but her mother had returned to her cocoa making and was retrieving her trademark cinnamon sticks from the cupboard. Had the two of them not just seen her…what, disappear? Fly away from them? What the hell had just happened? She'd just witnessed the first and only time she'd ever spent with her parents as a child. She had to have been standing in that bedroom for at least 5 minutes.

"Emma?" asked Snow, her voice still seeming a bit far away as Emma tried to readjust to reality – if this really was reality. But her head was spinning so much it was hard to tell. "Emma are you all right?"

Emma looked up, her mouth hanging open a bit, but she managed to recover enough to nod and close her hands around the warm, tangible cup of cocoa Snow slid across the counter. "Yeah um…just…just tired. Didyou…" she paused, glancing around her, rechecking her surroundings. "Did you just…hear something? See something?"

Snow rested her elbows on the island, bringing her own steaming mug to her lips. "Like what?"

"I don't know a…a flash or…someone pounding? On the door?"

Snow's brow creased. "James stomps pretty loudly down that front stoop," she suggested.

Emma shook her head. Her mother truly had no idea what she was talking about and, on the off chance that she was losing it, decided not to push it. "Never mind," she said. "Maybe James is right. I um…I think I need a rest."

Her mother smiled, reaching across the counter as she set her mug down on a coaster. "It's been a long day," she admitted and covered her daughter's hand with her own.

At once the same wrenching in her gut yanked her backward. Bracing herself as she flew through her vortex, she expected to open her eyes to the same scene again – picking up where she left off with James rushing out of the room, but the palace bedroom never appeared. Instead, she was still in Mary Margaret's kitchen…except the lights were dimmed, and Snow was alone, bustling around the apartment, gathering Emma's things, half of which were…still in boxes? She was moving swiftly too, almost singing to herself, and it took Emma a second to realize that she was not limping. There was no cast on her ankle. No crutches in sight. "Snow?" she said, her voice tiny and hoarse. But her mother did not hear her. A soft chirp sounded at the window sill; four bluebirds perched along the window's edge, propping up a small bouquet of Michaelmus daisies sprinkled with baby's breath. Snow broke into wide grin and hurried over to the window, taking the bouquet from her friends. "James," she whispered, patting the heads of her tiny blue messengers as she set a candy dish in front of them to feast on. Gathering the flowers close to her, she took a deep breath and padded over to the kitchen to retrieve a vase. After spending a few minutes arranging them in water, Snow stepped back and smiled at the bouquet. Then, silent as a mouse, she glanced up at the ceiling and whispered, "Sweet dreams, sweet girl…your father says 'goodnight.'"

Emma knew where she was now, or rather when she was. This must be that first night: the night after Snow's fated rendezvous with James at the toll bridge when their love broke through the curse. She recognized the outfit her mother was wearing, the suspicious vase of daisies that had just "appeared" the next day. And almost as soon as she deciphered the vision, Emma was removed again through her vortex and plopped once more back on her stool.

Snow withdrew her hand from her daughter and narrowed her gaze. "Emma?" she asked again. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Emma juddered her head back and forth. "Why?" she asked resolutely. Perhaps this time her mother had seen something.

"You just," Snow hesitated, "you had a kind of…faraway look for a second."

Emma blinked. A second? Try fifteen minutes this time. After all, her mother had taken quite a long time to tidy up all of Emma's things. "No I'm…I'm ok," she said. About as ok as long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs! But Snow seemed just as oblivious as James had moments before. Something very strange was happening to her. Either she was having visions of her family…or she'd finally gone off the deep end. "I was just…thinking of that first night I came back remember?" She managed to fake a laugh, "when I thought your date with 'David' had…ended badly?"

Snow, who had removed herself to the sink and was rinsing out her cup, dropped her spoon with a clatter and spun around. "That's so strange!" she cried. "I was just thinking of the same thing."

Emma drew back from the counter, hopping off the stool and backing slowly, though she hoped casually, away. "Really?" she said.

Snow shook her head, smiling at how in sync she and her daughter had grown to be. "Well…" she wrinkled her nose and winked, "'Great minds' and all that."

Emma purposefully kept her distance as Snow readied for bed. Both visions had erupted the second each of her parents touched her, and Emma didn't think her stomach could take one more nauseating trip to the past. She supposed a part of her felt guilty keeping this little development from them, but until she understood it herself, she was too scared to bring it up. Perhaps this was some fairy-tale sign she was going crazy. Some indication that she was – Emma shuddered – afflicted with some degree of madness like Jefferson. The thought terrified her, and she didn't want to risk her parents giving her that horrible look of pity she'd faced so often in orphanages and foster homes when government care-takers mumbled about how "unfortunate" it was that she was such a trouble-maker.

As casually as she could manage, Emma retrieved Henry's storybook from the coffee table and told her mother she was going upstairs to read. Snow nodded and said goodnight, still completely unaware of anything out of the ordinary. Emma closed the door to her tiny loft, breathing a sigh of relief as she lay back on the bed, clutching the book to her chest. Why was she having visions? And why were they suddenly starting now? She wondered if there was anyone in Storybrooke who might know, and she briefly thought of going to Archie. But Archie himself wasn't truly awake and was simply following 'David's' lead until their adventures led him to his own happy ending.

Feeling safe, or at least shielded in her room, Emma resigned herself to the fact that whatever the nature of this strange new development, she would not solve it tonight. Haunted by the vision of her father's grief-stricken face, her mother's unfathomable sacrifice, Emma gripped the edges of the book even tighter, longing for the burnt pages which told the story of those final minutes before she was placed in the wardrobe. She'd read them so long ago, she wished she had them now to compare.

After what felt like hours of quiet contemplation, she cracked open the book, anxious for a distraction, and started sifting through its pages. She skimmed the earlier chapters of her parents' story, smoothed her hand over the oil paintings depicting their first encounter and subsequent meetings. She held her breath, half expecting another vision to flash before her as she touched the pages, but nothing happened. Sighing in relief, she paged through and re-read a few excerpts about Thomas and Ella, smiling in spite of her tumultuous evening, for she knew they were both awake now, their family renewed and whole. She leafed through several chapters of text about Belle and Adam, marveling at how epic and downright mythological their tale clearly was from the pictures alone…and then the book fell open to a new story. One she had not yet read…

Philip, the heir of Braemar, and his cousin Lucas, Duke of Glowerhaven, were in no great hurry to reach Agrabah as they dutifully trotted their horses along the ancient paths…

Emma straightened up on her bed, throwing a pillow against the headboard and leaning against it as she focused more intensely on the story…

Companions since birth, Philip and Lucas were Braemar's most infamous bachelors, gallivanting throughout the realms, winning tournaments, crashing parties, disguising themselves as mere villagers and challenging unknowing knights to pointless duels…

Gallivanting through the realms? Infamous bachelors? Challenging knights to pointless duels? James wasn't kidding…

"Have you learned nothing from our adventures, Cousin?" he tsked, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"On the contrary, I have learned a great deal! How else would I know to keep an extra flask of rum in my tunic so that I might have something left to trade when the Badland gypsies steal our horses?"

"A valuable lesson that belongs in every Braemarian schoolhouse, to be sure," Philip replied with a satisfied nod. "But I was referring to our one and only rule."

"Which is?" Lucas prompted him, though he mouthed the answer along with the prince.

"Never follow the rules."

Emma laughed out loud at the amusing banter and was thankful for the unexpected levity in her evening. She liked this Philip. She found herself picturing Matt Clancy speaking these words – they suited him. And the meticulously detailed illustrations above the prose removed any lingering doubts. Just as her parents suggested, Philip and Lucas were the spitting images of Matt and Trent…

Philip nodded and turned to mount his horse when an arrow zoomed past his ear and struck the trunk of a nearby tree. "Your Highness!" shouted the duke, throwing himself over the prince and knocking him to the ground just as another arrow flew toward his head.

"Gypsies?" Lucas asked, inspecting the surrounding woods that had considerably thinned at the forest's edge and yet still managed to conceal their aggressors.

"Highwaymen," said Philip…

Emma devoured the pages, fairly certain this had never been part of the Sleeping Beauty story. In fact, Lucas's whole character had never been part of the Sleeping Beauty story now that she thought of it, though after reading just a brief snippet of their relationship, she couldn't imagine the one without the other…

"Gods and demons," spat Lucas, jumping back from the man groaning beneath him. The brute was wearing a dark green tunic, brown breeches and faded sash wrapped around his waist. His head was practically covered in hair, a red bushy beard growing over his entire mouth and thickset eyebrows covering his drooping eyes. "Robin's men?" Lucas asked.

Philip used his boot to flip the man fully on his back. "Maybe," he said, glancing down at the small fox crudely embroidered in the sash. "Certainly the right insignia."

"Imposters," came a voice behind them, and the two men whirled around, swords raised in expectation. "Robin's men only attack land jobbers and tax collectors," said the stranger who wasn't at all alarmed by the outstretched swords. "These men are just common thieves looking to trade on Robin's name."

Confident this man was not an immediate threat, Lucas sheathed his sword and stepped forward. The man was fairly dark-skinned, his sharp nose and angular jaw distinctly Arabian, though his dress reflected their own local apparel. He held a long, slender bow in his left hand strung with silver horsehair. "And you are?" Lucas asked.

"Passing through," said the stranger…

Emma turned the page and gaped at the image before her. "Holy shit!" she whispered, mindful that her mother was probably sound asleep by now. The illustration was a little fuzzy – a wider shot from a sideways angle, but even so, she was sure she recognized the stranger next to Philip. She read on, laughing when the effortless thief stole the prince's flask, when the duke chided his cousin for making friends with the stranger instead of reprimanding him. Emma flipped ahead a few pages, hoping for a clearer illustration, and soon found one. She was positive now. The stranger was Shane!

"What's your name, son?" asked the Prince, holding his hand out for the flask.

The thief hesitated, glancing between the prince and his companion before he sighed and handed it over. "Aladdin," he said at last…

Aladdin! Shane was Aladdin?! She definitelyknew that story, and now that she thought about the warm, Mediterranean features of their resident jailbird, she wondered why she'd never thought of it before. Her son's voice popped in her head: "I think things'll get a lot easier for all of you if you just read the stupid book!" Emma grinned. The kid was right…as usual…

"Never seen a man from Agrabah handle a bow like that, Aladdin," he nodded at the quiver strung to his back.

Aladdin shrugged, tugging on the strap. "When you're on the run, you have to adapt, your Highness."

"On the run?" Lucas joined in reluctantly, having calmed down his charger and returned to the clearing. "From whom?"

"From the sultan."

"The sultan!?" both men cried together.

"Well," amended Aladdin with a grin, "from Razoul, his chief guard."

"Oh," said Philip, slightly less impressed.

"There's a price on my head," he went on to explain. "And he's got the entire Imperial guard on the lookout."

"What did you do?" asked Lucas, stroking the pelt between Wellington's eyes as he fed the beast a carrot.

Aladdin grew quiet, folded his arms over his chest and looked away. "Nothing new," he said softly. "Just…got caught."…

Her fascination with Philip quickly gave way to ravenous curiosity over the street rat. If Shane was Aladdin, there was no possible way that he'd attacked Thomas. And if Aladdin really had saved Philip's life, it was a safe bet that 'Shane' was the kind of person who would have saved 'Sean…

"You don't enjoy making a living like this Al," Philip continued, "You help those in trouble and you take only what you need. Please," he extended his hand again, all joshing and cleverness aside. "You saved our lives. Let me help clear your name"…

At long last, the thief looked up, grasped Philip's hand and gave it a firm shake. "All right," he said quietly. "Take me home…"

No wonder 'Matt' felt so strongly about the voice on the other end of that 911 call. Without realizing it, Philip had connected with someone very important from his past. Perhaps they were both on the paths to their happy endings now, just from that one shared experience of Thomas's attack! She read on, surrendering herself to the narrative as the book enticed her to continue…the way any good book should…

It didn't take long for Jasmine and Lucas to find each other once the official greetings, negotiations and obligatory ceremony for welcoming foreign guests were completed. And the sultan certainly had no objections to Jasmine's seeking out the duke for private conversation. Unfortunately the old king chose not to listen to his daughter as she insisted many times over that she and Lucas had not the slightest inkling of romantic affection for one another. Jasmine swore she would never marry, and Lucas…well the duke's heart was forever bound elsewhere.

Still, it didn't prevent the two from meeting and sharing stories as friends, and Jasmine was most anxious to discern what adventures had led to the small party from Braemar arriving with one of Agrabah's most noted public enemies in tow – and requesting a full pardon on his behalf no less! What Lucas revealed about the boy, Aladdin, proved to be most enlightening…and useful. From the duke's account, Jasmine learned that having fled Agrabah after the failed raid on the treasury, Aladdin spent his days learning the traditions, customs…and combat styles of their neighboring kingdoms. In fact, though the thief would not admit as much out loud, Lucas believed that Aladdin may have spent a considerable amount of time with Robin of the Hood…from Nottingham.

Now, as Jasmine peered around the mammoth base of the indoor colonnade, her pulse skittered along excitedly as she watched the young thief pacing the gold marble floors of the throne room, waiting anxiously, no doubt, to see why he'd been summoned here alone so soon after his pardoning. He could be it. He could be the key to her troubles. The answer to her problems as well as her father's. And she had a feeling he would accept. After all…she'd been a long-time admirer of his work.

"So," she shouted, her voice echoing in the large chamber as she stepped out from behind the giant pillar and walked toward the center of the room. Aladdin spun around. "You're one of the Forty Thieves who raided our treasury last year."

Aladdin tilted his head to the side, his brow immediately furrowed in suspicion. "I…don't believe there were forty of us, your Highness," he said cautiously, "but yes."

Jasmine shrugged, strolling casually across the marble, her teal satin slippers making light footfalls as she drew nearer to him. "I know," she said. "But forty thieves has a much nicer ring to it than twelve, don't you think?"

Again, Aladdin gave the princess a wary look. "I suppose so."

"And yet," Jasmine crossed her arms beneath her chest, standing defiantly, "you're the only one to date whom my father has pardoned. In fact," she paused as she started to pace a very slow, almost predatory circle around him, "I'm pretty sure you're the only thief my father has ever pardoned. Now how in the world did you ever manage that?"

Aladdin peered at her through the ever-narrowing slits of his eyes, but as he observed her lithe movement and tuned to the sing-songyness of her voice, he realized he'd been cast in a curious game of cat and mouse, no doubt to satisfy some flirtatious, shallow whim of the spoiled princess. He didn't at all believe the rumors about her supposed escapades to the market place, disguising herself as a commoner to expose the injustices of the kingdom. Philip was the first royal he'd ever encountered who actually seemed to care for the common man beyond making sport with him. Stories about Snow of New Gaia and Thomas of Seven Gales, he was fairly certain, were exaggerated. "I rendered a service to the crown of Braemar, your Highness," Aladdin replied, mimicking her movements as he joined in her game. "Prince Philip saw fit to recommend me." The response, he knew, was unnecessary. She was toying with him, and so he humored her in return. Princess Jasmine had been present for his pardoning; she knew full well the reasons for it.

"Well congratulations," she gave a slight nod as the two continued to circle each other, Jasmine inching them closer to the open veranda that overlooked the kingdom. "You clearly made quite an impression on Prince Philip."

"Saving a man's life'll do that, Princess," he smirked.

"Yes, I suppose it will," she conceded, coming to stop right before him and then gesturing toward the veranda. Aladdin followed suit, accepting his role as her playmate…for now. "I do wonder though," Jasmine continued as they passed through thick scarlet curtains to the balcony, her voice instantly softening as it left the echoing chamber, "whether my father pardoned all your transgressions…or just this latest one?"

Aladdin halted just beyond the velvet curtains. "Excuse me?" he choked.

"All of them, Aladdin," she repeated with an almost smug grin. "Or did he just pardon last year's raid?"

Aladdin sucked in a breath, on alert but maintaining an even strain. "I believe her Highness is mistaken," he said rather formally, now unsure of her agenda. "I had only one transgression to be forgiven."

"Oh come now, Aladdin," she said, wrinkling her nose as she approached him. "We both know that's not true. You are a career criminal," she paused right before him and added, "and now a liar."

Adam managed a small grin, despite his clenched jaw. "And what makes you say that?"

Jasmine gave the air a casual wave as she slunk away from him and returned to the balcony. "Well, I have eyes don't I?"

"In theory, Princess," Aladdin returned, "but royals rarely know how to use them."

Jasmine spun around upon the retort. "You know I could have your tongue for that remark," she bit back.

But as the former street rat had already begun playing with fire, he wasn't about to back down. "Doubtful, your Highness. You're enjoying this little banter far too much."

Jasmine bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning. "Perhaps," she granted him, "and I suppose you're not entirely wrong." She paused and glanced out over her kingdom. "There are some royals who can be…quite blind to the world around them." Aladdin started at the sudden regret in her voice. "But I assure you," she insisted, turning to face him once more, the flash of vulnerability vanishing so quickly Aladdin thought he might have imagined it. "This is one princess who has a very sharp eye. Sharp enough for instance," she stopped again, running an appraising gaze from head-to-toe, "to recognize a boy for the thief he is. You worked the southeast bazaar for two months."

Aladdin gulped. So those marketplace rumors were true. Damn.

"Why I once watched you steal two loaves of bread, a wheel of gouda, a jug of wine and a wooden beaded necklace all before breakfast," she continued, crossing her arms again with a satisfied grunt.

"I um," Aladdin stammered, running his hands through his untamed black hair. "I believe you're mistaking me for another, your High—"

"Oh I'm quite sure it was you," she said, sidling towards him again. "I never forget a face." Brazenly, she placed the tip of her index finger on the tanned chest peeking out from beneath his tunic, "Especially the face of the only thief I've ever seen working…with a monkey," she finished with a whisper.

Her touch sent thrills up his spine that, were she not the Princess of Agrabah, he felt sure he would have acted upon. "All right, Princess," he rasped and held his hands up in mock surrender. "You got me." Feeling he had nothing to lose, he took his own bold steps forward, prompting her to retreat to the very edge of the crescent-shaped balcony. "You gonna give me a head start before you run and tell 'daddy'?"

"Tell 'daddy'?" she chuckled. "Please. If I wanted my father to know any of this, you'd have been clapped in irons hours ago and on your way to the dungeon to join your eleven friends."

Incredulous, Aladdin took a step back.

"I'm more than willing to keep quiet about the whole matter," she added.

No longer amused, for there was nothing he detested more than blackmail, he leveled his gaze and spat, "In exchange for?"

"Not an exchange," she said, placing her palms on the smooth marble railing behind her and leaning back. "An offer."

The abrupt change in her demeanor from coquette to businesswoman was jarring, but Aladdin didn't let down his guard. "What kind of offer?"

Jasmine took a deep breath. He was intrigued, that much was certain. Angry, of course, but that would soon pass. This was it: her last best chance to ensure both her own happiness and her father's piece-of-mind. "I'm in need…of a tutor," she said at last.

Aladdin reeled back. "A tutor?!" he said.

"Yes."

"Surely there are far more educated men at your—"

"In this particular field of study, no," she cut-in. "The duke told me much about your travels: the time you spent in Braemar, Seven Gales…Nottingham. I believe you're the perfect man for the job." She ignored the look of utter disbelief on his face. She had no need of his approval or understanding. Only his services. "I want you to teach me…how to fight."

"To fight?" he spluttered, arms dropping loosely to his sides.

She nodded.

"What kind of fighting?"

"All kinds," she said, her voice wavering now, for there was no turning back. "How to string a bow, fire an arrow? Wield a sword? Even throw a punch. I need to learn it all."

Aladdin dropped his jaw, his chin thrust out in disbelief. He half felt compelled to check behind the curtains for the court jester or palace scribe. Surely this was some elaborate practical joke. "Why?" he asked, for it was the only word he could manage.

"Why is of no concern to you," she replied tersely. "If you accept you will stay here in the palace as my private tutor. You will have a room and, should you desire, a manservant all to yourself, and we will conduct our lessons in secret. At their conclusion, you'll be free to go. Anywhere you wish – we will pay your way." She knew she was speaking rapidly, but the intensity of his gaze was doing strange things to her nerves.

"I see," he said slowly, soaking it in like a sponge. "And if take it if I refuse, you'll—"

"If you refuse, you'll still be free to go," she said in haste. "I'll just be…disappointed." He gave her another overly incredulous look. "A teacher who is unwilling or been coerced into teaching…is no teacher at all," she explained. "And I cannot afford anything less than total commitment to the post. I would regret very much if you refused, but as I said, it's an offer, not an ultimatum."

Every word from this woman's mouth seemed increasingly unbelievable, and yet at the same time Aladdin could tell she was in absolute earnest. He considered the matter carefully, combing through her words, trying to suss out the catch. But there wasn't one. The princess really just…wanted to learn how to fight. "And you're…not going to tell me why," he said evenly.

Jasmine sighed impatiently. "As I said, it's of no concern to you—"

"The hell it isn't," he retorted, advancing on her again but this time without mockery or teasing. His remark startled her and she stumbled back against the railing. "Fighting is dangerous, your Highness. And physical. And I don't think—"

"That a woman can do it?" she hissed, incensed by the prejudice she perceived in his tone. "I assure you, I am quite capable of—"

But Aladdin's hand shot up and he silenced her, looking even angrier than she was. "Hey, let's get something straight here: In her day, my mother fought as well as any man and better than most. It has nothing to do with you being a woman. It has everything to do with you being the Princess of Agrabah."

Jasmine was utterly stunned. She had never before encountered an Arabian man who allowed for a woman to be strong. She was so shocked in fact, that she could only shake her head in reply, eyes wide and urging him to explain.

"You wanna learn to fight Princess?" he went on, inching so close to her, there was barely a breath of space between their noses, "you wanna learn hand-to-hand combat? Be thrown to the ground? Forced to fight off a man twice your weight who's pinning you to the floor?" He seized her wrist and brought her arm up between them as she curled her hand into a fist on impulse. "Then you're gonna explain why, because I'm not about to risk being caught in an uncompromising position with Sultan Rushdi's daughter without a damn good reason to show for it!"

Jasmine gasped, staring at the hot, bronze fingers clamped around her wrist. She should feel threatened, endangered by his sudden lack of reverence or decorum. But she felt only excitement. Excitement…and respect, for his concern was a valid one. And the very voicing of it meant he was actually considering her offer. "You're right," she whispered and instantly, his grip loosened though, significantly, he did not let go. "You're right. You…deserve to know."

Aladdin's breathing slowed as he continued to loosen his grip, trailing the tips of his fingers down the length of her forearm until gradually, regretfully, his hand fell away.

The princess shivered as the thief's subtle caress left a trail of fire tingling along her arm and a flutter in her heart she did not recognize. But she ignored both and drew her hands behind her back. "Please," she said, gesturing for her guest to sit down on the stone pew near the far end of the veranda. Aladdin followed her lead and the two sat an appropriate distance apart. "It's…no secret that my father has been trying to find me a husband," she began slowly.

Aladdin nodded.

"He's obsessed with the idea actually," she added, her voice directed inward with a twinge of resentment in her tone. "Anyone with the slightest trace of nobility in his blood is paraded in front of my veranda. Princes, dukes, lords, widowed kings – doesn't matter. As long as they're men and still breathing, he begs me to meet with them in the hopes that—" she stopped, realizing she had allowed bitterness to fester and carry her off…and in unusual company no less. She glanced sideways and saw in the thief's eyes neither mockery nor judgment. She cleared her throat and pressed on. "What is…less well known is the fact that the Sultan…is sick."

Aladdin sat up a little straighter. "Sick?" he asked, then shook his head. "But he didn't seem—"

"It's not a physical ailment," Jasmine explained quickly…painfully. "His mind is…weak. And he's slipping a little bit more every day. It's not noticeable. Not yet, thank the Gods, but it will be."

The princess's confession startled the thief, not only because it was so personal to begin with, but that she apparently already trusted him with such a weighty state secret. Either the woman was supremely desperate…or there was something else going on here that she hadn't yet revealed. "I'm…so sorry, your Highness."

Jasmine straightened up, adopting a very proper posture. She neither needed nor wanted his pity. "I intend to be my father's rightful successor, Aladdin," she said firmly, "and when the time comes where my father is no longer capable of ruling Agrabah with a steady hand, I will assume the throne as his rightful heir." She paused and glanced over her shoulder, peering out over the vast desert kingdom with a wistful smile. "I love these people," she said softly and Aladdin's heart broke. "And I believe I can be an effective monarch."

"There's no doubt of that, Princess," he said.

Jasmine looked back to him, surprised by the sincerity there, but grateful. "Thank you," she said. "But on one thing I'm afraid my father and I agree: the people of Agrabah will never accept an unmarried woman as their empress." She gazed meaningfully across the bench as her words sunk in. "At least, not one who…is incapable…" she grasped for the words, "who is…unprepared to—"

"To defend her throne," said Aladdin, understanding dawning at last. He inhaled very slowly, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the balustrade.

Jasmine waited anxiously for him to continue. Surely he had more to say than that. But she could not, at the moment, get a clear read on him, and it irked her somewhat how much she suddenly valued his opinion.

"So," he treaded carefully, "you want to learn to fight…so you can defend anyone who would challenge your rule in case you don't find a husband—"

"There's no 'in case', Aladdin," she said curtly. "I have no intention of marrying. Ever." She rose from the bench with an impatient sigh and returned once more to the balcony overlooking her land. "My father can throw every nobleman he wants at me. He could coax the prince of Ebonshire out of hiding for all I care, and I wouldn't budge."

"Why not?" Aladdin asked, knowing he shouldn't, but he couldn't help the fascination building inside him over this woman. What would make a princess, one so determined to rule her kingdom, reject the only sure-fire way her people would accept her?

Jasmine spun on her heel. He was still seated on the bench, waiting for her to explain. "I won't marry a man I don't love…and I don't believe in true love." Aladdin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and tucking one hand inside his other palm. Jasmine waited for his rebuttal, but it didn't come, and she was relieved for once not to be inundated with the typical platitudes she'd always gotten from the sultan. "My father had three wives," she went on, "my mother was his second sultana. And while I believe he truly cared for all of them, I don't think…I don't believe that…" she frowned and turned from his probing gaze. "I'm just not…built that way," she confessed, and then gripped the stone railing. "And I shouldn't have to be. I don't…fall in love, Aladdin. But I love this kingdom. And I intend to lead it with a fair hand." She turned once more and was startled to find he had risen from his seat and was coming up behind her. "I can't do that without your help."

The thief settled next to her, leaning sideways against the balcony as he propped his elbow up on the railing. "One question," he said softly. "Why me?" She didn't answer immediately, but a thoughtful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You said so yourself: I'm a career criminal. I raided your treasury. Why not ask one of your trained guards to help? Or one of your father's warriors who just helped defeat the Snow Queen?"

"Because I trust you," she replied evenly and with absolute certainty.

Aladdin's eyes narrowed. "Says the woman who watched me stealing from honest men and women at the southeast bazaar for no less than two months," he replied.

"As I said, Aladdin, I have eyes. I may have watched you working the town before breakfast, but by lunch you'd already given most of it away."

"What?" he drew back.

"You don't remember?" she smiled, tilting her head. "You gave the loaves and cheese to a group of hungry children huddled along the city wall, the wine to a crippled old man and," she paused and nodded toward his chest, "I'm guessing since it's not around your neck, the wooden beads went to someone…special."

As if he could still feel it there, Aladdin brought his hand to his chest and massaged the bare skin near the dip of his neck, remembering the trinket fondly that he'd not been able to resist taking that day. "Very special," he murmured hoarsely.

Something sharp twisted in her stomach and her brain stubbornly denied it as a flash of jealousy. "Your wife?" she asked casually.

Aladdin grinned as his hand fell back at his side. "My mother," he said.

The pain in her gut evaporated. "You're an honest man Aladdin," she said, "and you steal because in Agrabah…it's necessary to do so. One of many things I hope to change once I'm empress. But I can't withstand the challenges of the court or the uproar sure to follow my ascension if I rely on men like Razoul or the thugs my father hires to build his armies. I don't believe they'll teach me what I really need to know…you will."

"You're sure about that?" he arched an eyebrow, but she could tell it was a playful tease.

"What do you have to lose?" she quipped.

"My freedom, apparently."

But she shook her head. "I told you. This is an offer…not a threat."

Aladdin regarded her carefully, mulling over her words and her confessions. This princess's heart certainly wasn't made of ice. In fact, he was willing to bet the woman before him was capable of much more love than she gave herself credit for. But her blind faith in him was more disturbing than it was flattering. She might have spent a considerable amount of time in the slums of Agrabah, trying to discern the ways of her people as she hid among them, but to assume so much with so little to base it on was concerning. Aladdin had stolen plenty of food in his time that he'd shared with no one but Abu. And though he had indeed spent an entire season with Robin of the Hood, he didn't always agree with the steadfast altruism of Sherwood Forest's merry men.

Still, her sincerity moved him, and it was perhaps because of her naivety that he was willing to accept. After all, if he didn't, she would find someone else. And he cringed at the many men who came to mind that she might similarly mistake for good souls. "All right, your Highness," he said straightening up and extending his hand. "You have yourself a tutor"…

When Emma awoke, morning light shone clearly through the window of her loft. She didn't know when exactly she'd fallen asleep, but a quick peek at the book lying open on her chest suggested it was somewhere near the point where Aladdin accepted Jasmine's offer. Jasmine – now there was a princess Emma could get behind: a warrior disguised by beauty and station, just like her mother. Suddenly she regretted not going with Graham yesterday to visit Jade Pilfer. What had happened between them here? Clearly these two were destined for romance – that was as clear as the image before her, a beautiful portrait of the two of them standing on the princess's veranda with the opulent Arabian palace towering behind them. Emma flipped the book fully open on her lap and sat cross-legged on the bed, anxious to continue, but she'd barely found her place again when her phone buzzed.

Sighing, Emma reached over and plucked it off the small desk beneath the window. She glanced at the caller ID. "Hello?" she answered immediately.

"Emma?" cried a frantic Snow White.

"Snow? What's wrong?" Emma leapt up from the bed, panicked by the very tone in her mother's voice.

"It's Henry," she replied, and Emma could practically see her tugging the roots of her black hair. "He never showed up for school."

…

The crippled man arrived at his shop very early that morning leaning extra hard on his cane, for his brief jaunt through the woods had aggravated the old wound. He didn't complain though. He had suspicions to confirm and theories to test, and a decades-old injury was not about to delay his work. Nothing had happened last night when Shane palmed the lamp, so there was still work to be done there. But the well…the well had risen from its depths, and the water it housed would no doubt come in useful as events in Storybrooke continued to unfold.

Like a scrooge, he inventoried his back room of artifacts, calculating what, when, and how objects needed to be brought to light. He supposed there were quite a few treasures that he needn't have collected over the years, but he could never be certain as to what would be needed once the savior arrived, so he'd stored it all. Now, of course, he was quite pleased to have had the foresight to salvage that fine crystalline mobile, Geppetto's old kiln, and Aladdin's lamp. Perhaps the others would come in handy sooner than anticipated.

The bell above the customer entrance jingled twice, and Gold stepped out from his back room to his glass counter. Right on schedule, the only other sly, sophisticated chap with a cane in this town sauntered up the aisle and came to a halt at the register. The two regarded each other, and to an outside observer it might have seemed as if the two were having some sort of a contest to see who had the sharper glint in his eye. "Well?" said Gold. "Is it done?"

Honest John licked his lips, his gaze sliding up to the ceiling with an artful tilt of the head. "How does that old poem go, Gold? 'The children were nestled all snug in their beds?'"

Gold cracked a grin that bared his nasty teeth. "Don't tell me you caught that infective holiday spirit bug, John."

"Not at all," he quipped, returning his gaze to his employer. "I barely got a glimpse of the festival. Too busy handling your dirty work."

The older man let the comment slide. After all, he knew John had an especial fondness for dirty work, especially that which paid five times what Regina paid to keep him happy. "And you convinced her it was the right course of action, yes?" said Gold. "She won't regret it and demand you fetch him back?"

John chuckled and placed his palms on the cold glass counter, leaning in to flamboyant effect. "She killed one of Snow's bluebirds right before the kid's eyes," he sneered. "I don't think she's got any lingering illusions about her future as his mother."

"Good," Gold replied, punching a large green button on his register. A drawer popped out and he lifted the money tray inside, reaching for a thin manila pouch. "Five thousand, as promised."

John snatched his fee from Gold's hand and tucked it safely in his breast pocket. "Not that I'm complaining, old man," he said, giving his lapel an extra pat, "but where did you get all this money?"

Gold had moved down his glass counter and was now delicately handling the golden seashell that still hung on its chain. "I made a very wise bargain," he replied, "a long time ago."

John shrugged. He'd only asked for the sake of making conversation. As long as the money kept coming, he didn't give a rat's ass where it came from. "So now what?" he said, expecting his next assignment.

"Now we wait," Gold replied, tucking the shell and chain in his pocket.

"Wait for what?"

But Gold didn't reply. John needn't know. Not now, not yet. And what he didn't know couldn't accidentally be leaked to Regina in the lad's insatiable need to have the last word.

John sighed; clearly he'd served his purpose. "Well, as always, call when you have need of me." He started toward the door.

"The Zimmers' father," Gold called out, though his eyes remained fixed on his trinkets. "I trust he is still…comfortable?"

John smirked, shouldering his cane with its tip pointed touched to the brim of his horridly out-of-fashion-though-no-less-charming hat. "Comfortable is a…strong word, Gold," he said. "But he's secure, yes."

"Ensure he stays that way," ordered the pawn broker.

"For how much longer?"

But again, Gold didn't reply. John needn't know. Not now…not yet.

…

***Well, school is basically kicking my butt, so I'm sorry it's been a few weeks since the last one. Hopefully there's enough here (in terms of length I mean…I honestly think this is the longest chapter yet) to appease all you wonderful subscribers out there, as well as all the new folks favoriting and "following!" Props to all you readers – you have kept this story going with your readership and reviews and I couldn't be more humbled by your responses.

(See how I'm buttering you all up so I don't get hate mail about Lucy?)

Honestly though, I didn't want to do it. It was all Regina's fault really. She made me. Well, her and John. What a bugger! Hope you enjoyed a little more of Al and my first scene with Jas. I was super "jazzed" to write it (ha ha…I'm going to pun hell) and I hope you enjoyed reading it.

I will get to Philip, Aurora, Lucas and more soon enough, but for now, I'm about to head into another busy bout of schoolwork so I will just say Ciao!

-Nikstl***