A/N: Some dialogue lifted from S1E12: Skin Deep.

Chapter 37

Neal was glad he'd walked to the council meeting. He needed time to think, and while the town hall wasn't that far from the house, it was far enough for him to feel like he was getting his head together. Damn. Emma had warned him that Regina wasn't averse to dirty tricks. He doubted that she'd hit upon the truth of his background, but, he admitted to himself, she didn't need to. All she had to do was raise up some doubts in Emma's mind, and if they disturbed her enough, well, superpower or no superpower, she was pretty good at spotting lies and he wasn't very good at coming up with convincing falsehoods on the spot.

Long ago, he'd been relieved that she hadn't asked too many probing questions about his past. He hadn't wanted to talk about his. She hadn't wanted to talk about hers. The problem was that once her suspicions were aroused, Emma could open up to him about her past easily enough. He wouldn't be able to do the same. And he didn't know what Regina had turned up on him. She might have nothing. She might have uncovered everything there was to uncover. Unfortunately, during those early days back in this land, he hadn't kept track of the cover stories he'd told.

In Victorian London, he'd spun whatever sob story had got him enough coin to eat that day. A drunkard father who'd turned him out of doors? He'd got tuppence for that one. A shopkeeper who'd fired him as an errand boy when he'd been too ill to come to work and now he'd been turned out of his lodgings for not having rent? He'd not only gotten a loaf of bread, but a sixpence for a day of odd jobs. He'd even thought that the work could lead to something more permanent, until the wife of the man who'd hired him had declared that a lad that 'dirty and scruffy' would put the wrong face on the business. "And he'd like to rob us blind besides!" she'd exclaimed, not caring that Bae could overhear. If he thought it would get him a place to sleep under a bridge with a gang of child thieves, he claimed (not erroneously) to be one of them and a cutthroat (highly erroneously!) to boot. It had been easier then. There had been far less that one carried in the way of identification.

Problem was, when he'd escaped Neverland and ended up in Portland, Oregon, he'd also tried telling whatever stories he'd had to in order to get food and shelter. His cover hadn't solidified until he'd managed to acquire some personal identification—though without a valid birth certificate, he'd had to rely on a forged facsimile. The paper looked official enough, but if anyone investigated further, the ruse would come to light. Even while he'd been acquiring the necessary paperwork to function in the world in which he'd now lived, the story he'd told others had changed quite a bit in those early years, as he'd become more familiar with the way things worked. Doubtless, there were numerous conflicting accounts in his records. Regina hadn't called him out on the discrepancies, but he wondered whether it was simply that she hadn't found out everything yet, or whether she already had, and was waiting until some later date to confront him over them.

He wasn't going to get out of this without help, and he didn't know where he could go to obtain any.

Didn't he?

No. No, it was out of the question. There was no way that he was going to talk to Papa about this. If Papa had arranged for the Evil Queen to bring several thousand people here under a curse for over a quarter century just to find him, what would happen once they were reunited? Suppose Papa made him a virtual prisoner here, just as he'd done back in their village, and all in the name of love and protection?

Suppose he revealed himself to Papa, only to find that Papa was still under the curse and had no idea who he was?

Neal was pretty sure that Papa was awake, but he wasn't certain.

And asleep or awake, he already had Emma owing him a favor—and he'd never told her what that favor might be. That was absolutely the most dangerous kind of agreement to enter into with Papa—Awake Papa. Somehow, Neal didn't want to gamble on an agreement with Cursed Papa being any safer. Neal wasn't ready to bind himself to any contract where he didn't know all the terms!

He needed more time to think. And if there was any possibility that he was going to approach his father…

…He was going to need some sort of, well, no, not leverage… but some kind of advantage.

Now, if he could just figure out what that might be.

In the middle of the night, Neal suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. Beside him, Emma stirred and reached for him. "Neal…?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Nothing," he whispered. "Just… gotta get up for a sec."

"…kay," Emma mumbled, already sinking back into the pillows.

Neal slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He did some of his best thinking there sometimes. Besides, if Emma did come fully awake, finding him there wouldn't invite the kind of conversation that finding him sitting at the dining room table at two in the morning might. He locked the door behind him.

"Leverage" had definitely been the wrong thought. After a lifetime of being forced to bend his knee and bow his head to all and sundry (and on one horrifying night, to kiss a knight commander's boot and be kicked after doing it!), as soon as he'd acquired power, Papa had made it clear that he was no longer anyone's dogsbody to order about. He'd bridle and balk at anything that smacked at coercion. However, there might be a better way.

A passage he'd read in Henry's book had come back to him a moment ago, a passage, Neal thought, that just might hold the key…

But the Evil Queen had lied to the Dark One. The maiden yet lived. Shut away in a tower cell in her castle, Belle continued to hope for a rescue that would not come. For her people believed that she was yet with the Dark One and the Dark One now believed her dead. So who was there who might think to search for her? Only with the coming of the Dark Curse would she leave her cell, and then it would be to a new imprisonment. For freedom would only come when the Savior returned to break the Curse…

That was all Neal could remember, and he wasn't sure whether he had it all word-for-word, or whether some of what he thought he recalled was just his mind trying to find likely words to fill in the gaps. It happened that way sometimes with songs on the radio. But whether he had the passage memorized precisely or not, he knew four things:

First, Papa had fallen love with a woman named Belle (who might or might not have an animated counterpart in a musical film that involved singing furniture).

Second, Papa had tried to fight his Darkness, however slightly, for her, just as Papa had once fought it for him.

Third, Papa believed Belle to be dead.

Fourth, assuming that Belle had still been alive when the curse had been cast, she was here. Somewhere.

Papa's love for him hadn't been enough to stave off the Darkness. And in the end, Papa's love for Belle hadn't been enough either. But if he could find Belle, assuming Papa was awake, maybe standing face to face with the two people he truly cared for would be enough reason to fight to become the good man Neal could just barely remember.

He had to find Belle. He just didn't know exactly what she looked like or where to start searching. Hey, he told himself. You're a bounty hunter. You found a total stranger in freaking Alaska! And it's not as if you never saw the movie. It's not as if you don't have some picture of her in your head!

Yeah. He had a picture of a brunette Barbie doll in either a blue dress and white apron or a yellow ball gown. What if, under the curse, she'd dyed her hair red and now wore it in a spiky mohawk? Would he recognize her if she went around in maintenance coveralls and safety goggles these days? Or dowdy sweaters and thick glasses…?

"Neal?" the doorknob rattled. "You gonna be much longer?"

"Uh… no," he called back. He counted to ten mentally, then flushed the toilet, ran the sink, and turned off the tap thirty seconds later. His gaze fell on the air freshener. Not knowing how long Emma had been standing on the other side of the door, he used that too. Then he opened the door. "Sorry."

"S'okay," she murmured, stepping into the room as he left it.

Neal yawned and stretched, before making his way back to bed to try to get some sleep before daybreak.

"Hey," Neal ventured at breakfast, "when you arrest someone, what happens next?"

Emma blinked. "I book 'em and put 'em in a holding cell, I guess. It hasn't happened since I took over as sheriff. I… guess most people probably get released on their own recognizance; according to Henry, you and I are probably the only flight risks in town. Otherwise, there'd be a bail hearing and then…" she shrugged, "a court date. Why?"

"Just wondering," Neal said. "I mean, there's no prison here, right? So what happens if someone gets jail time?"

Emma shrugged again. "Beats me. I guess they'd go to county. But seriously, this is a small town. Leroy getting drunk and disorderly is about as rough and rowdy as it gets. Mostly, being law enforcement here is pretty dull, honestly, which is kind of a good thing." She frowned. "Why the sudden interest?"

"I dunno," Neal replied. "Just trying to figure out how it works if nobody can leave town."

Emma laughed. "You know I was kidding about you and me being the only flight risks, right? I'm… pretty sure that if someone like… like Regina or Gold were facing charges, they'd be locked up until trial and then shipped out to wherever."

Neal waited a fraction of a second too long before chuckling in response.

The thought had occurred to him as he'd been drifting back to sleep for the second time: if Regina had kept Belle locked up before the Curse, maybe she was still keeping her locked up. She'd been Papa's student; she had to suspect that if Papa wanted her to cast the Curse, he might have some way to protect himself from forgetting who he was. And if he was awake, then the moment he saw Belle walking around, even if she didn't know who she was, he would. Neal didn't think that the queen would want to risk that. If Belle was here in Storybrooke, she was almost certainly shut away somewhere. And wherever she was imprisoned, Neal was reasonably sure that it wouldn't be in the mayor's basement, or anywhere else that an inquisitive ten-year-old might stumble across her.

But if Storybrooke didn't have a prison, where might that be?

Neal didn't have a clue right now, but he knew he had to try to find out.

Sitting behind her desk at the sheriff station, Emma found her early morning conversation replaying. What exactly did happen to lawbreakers in this town, if the law they broke mandated a penalty somewhat greater than a fine or a night in jail?

Small towns generally did have lower crime rates. Emma remembered one bail-bonding job that had sent her to a place called Wayland in Middlesex County. She'd reached out to local law enforcement, thinking that if she had to nab her quarry off the street in broad daylight, it would be helpful if they knew the whole story. The officer she'd spoken to had laughed and told her it was probably going to be more excitement than they'd had in over a year.

"You have to understand, Ms Swan," she'd said, "the beauty of living in a place like this is that everyone really knows everyone. We may get the odd traffic violation. Sometimes we catch a kid spray-painting some graffiti on the side of a building, but we're more likely to give them a lift home and tell their folks what they've been up to than bring them in and book them."

"So, no robberies?" Emma had asked and the officer had laughed again.

"Please. The minute anyone tried to sell off what they'd taken, or shown signs they'd come into a bit more money without a reasonable explanation, we'd be all over it. Life in a small town may be something like a goldfish bowl. It's definitely not for everyone. But if a fellow loses their job or a family's house burns down, folks are lining up with clothes and casseroles before the final paycheck's cashed or the embers are cold. Now, it's tourist season and we are right up by Cochituate," she named the state park less than five miles away, "so we're getting a few more strangers at this time of year, but if that photo's recent, you can show it to some of the businesses on Main Street. Guarantee you someone's seen your guy."

The officer had been right; she'd made the collar less than eight hours later, and gained a new appreciation for small town living. Thinking back about it now, Emma didn't believe that Storybrooke was much bigger than Wayland. Crime probably wasn't a major concern. Still, even Wayland had had a larger law enforcement department than one lone sheriff.

And even if crime was virtually non-existent, there had to be some kind of infrastructure or procedure or something.

She went over to the reference shelf and took down the policy binder, flipping the plastic-sleeve-encased pages and skimming each one. She found nothing. It was as though Storybrooke existed in some self-contained bubble with no outside contacts. She really thought she would have noticed if she'd driven past a prison. Unless the two holding cells in the station's main area were the only lockup area in town. She frowned. That couldn't be right. It couldn't be possible. Unless the town really was some kind of an artificial environment, like an experiment.

She didn't want to believe it, but when she tried to come up with another explanation—besides Henry's idea of 'fairy tale characters brought here by a dark curse'—which was even less plausible, she couldn't.

"It's got to be that there's no real crime here, so there's never been a need for anything more long-term than a holding cell," she told herself. "If there ever was anything worse, then of course we'd have to transport lawbreakers to… to… county jail or wherever." She frowned. What county was Storybrooke in, anyway?

She couldn't find that information in any of the manuals either, and Google was—surprisingly—no more helpful. Weird. Or maybe not so weird, if this place was some government testing sight. Frowning, Emma slid her phone back into her pocket and resolved not to use it to look up anything else on Storybrooke, just in case her searches were being monitored.

Henry was at the new playground in the forest and smiled when Neal approached. His smile grew even broader when he heard what Neal was asking. "So, you believe me," he said. "About the curse?"

Neal hoped his son didn't see him flinch. "I don't not believe you," he said. "I mean, it's a lot to take in."

"Mom said the same thing," Henry admitted.

"Yeah," Neal nodded. "Not surprised. But… hypothetically, where would the Evil Queen keep people locked up here?"

Henry frowned. "I don't know," he admitted. "I-I mean, the curse is how she's already punishing people. Nobody knows who they are, so why would she need to lock them up on top of that?"

Good point. Neal swallowed. He still didn't want to disclose too much. Or, more to the point, he didn't want to explain to Emma why he was encouraging Henry's 'fantasies'. He knew Emma was playing along for now, but it was more like she was humoring him until he figured out for himself that none of it was real. If she were to learn that he was taking Henry's belief seriously, she'd want answers. Unfortunately, given Henry's convictions, Neal could easily picture his son running up to Emma and exclaiming, "Dad's starting to believe me now! Maybe he can make you see!"

He didn't want to be in that position, especially not with Regina digging into his past. If she found out that he was taking Henry seriously, she'd start suspecting something far more alarming than a shady past from him.

"Are you positive nobody remembers?" he asked. "Or, more to the point, was she when she cast the curse?"

"I… I don't understand," Henry said with a puzzled frown.

Neal took a deep breath. "Okay," he said. "I only read the book once before it went missing, so maybe I don't remember everything, but… Rumpelstiltskin wanted the Evil Queen to cast the curse so he could follow his son to a Land without Magic, right?"

"Yeah…"

"So, if he knew the curse was coming, and he didn't want to forget everything, maybe he fixed it so he'd remember."

Henry frowned. "Maybe," he said slowly. "My book didn't say anything about it."

"I don't remember if it did," Neal said, "but whether he did or didn't, if the Evil Queen thought he could have, well, he thinks Belle is dead, right? But the Evil Queen took her prisoner instead. So…"

Henry's eyes opened wide. "You're right," he said. "The Evil Queen can't let Rumpelstiltskin know she's alive. She's gotta be somewhere. Maybe in her vault. Or… or in the mine tunnels. Or maybe she built a tower in the forest—"

"Uh, she's Belle, not Rapunzel, right?"

"If Rumpelstiltskin can also be the Beast, Belle can also be Rapunzel," Henry said decisively. "And the Evil Queen did lock her up in a tower."

"That's…" Neal stopped. He couldn't think of a single reason why Henry's theory couldn't be true. "Have you come across any towers in the woods?" he demanded. He looked behind him at the turret crowning the playground slide. "I mean, besides that one?" he asked, pointing at it.

Henry looked deflated for a moment. "Not yet," he admitted. Then brightening, "but I haven't been looking yet. And her hair was pretty long in my book…"

"If there is a tower," Neal said slowly, "it probably wouldn't be on one of the marked trails. What if a hiker found it? And if you stray off the trails, it's easy to get lost."

"But you know about the woods, right?" Henry asked.

"Not these woods," Neal said.

"I know, but if you know what's safe to eat and what plants are good for medicine and all… Do you know how to make sure we don't get lost?"

"I usually stay on marked trails," Neal said dryly. Then, in a sharper tone, "We?"

Henry grinned. "We can go on Saturday after I see Archie. As long as I'm home for supper, Mom won't know. If she asks, I'll just tell her the truth: I was walking in the woods. She won't have to know it was with you, or that it wasn't on the trails."

"Henry…" Neal looked into his son's expectant, hopeful eyes and felt his heart sink. "Sure. Saturday sounds… good."

"Great!" Henry got up and started for the path back to town. After he'd gone a few yards in that direction, he ran back and flung his arms about Neal. "I knew you believed me," he proclaimed. Then he released his father and took off down the path again.

Neal watched him go and wondered what the hell he was getting himself into and how the hell it had happened so quickly.

The smoke alarm jolted Emma out of a sound sleep the next morning and she leaped out of bed, following the smell of smoke toward the kitchen. This is probably stupid, she thought as she sped down the hallway. I'm supposed to be running away from the fire, aren't I? Neal hadn't been beside her, she realized, and she called out his name.

"Here!" he shouted back. "Sorry! It's all under control."

His voice had been coming from the kitchen. Entering the room, Emma found him standing in front of the stove, mercilessly discharging the contents of their fire extinguisher on a blackened mess in the frying pan on the stove. He turned to her sheepishly. "Happy Valentine's Day."

Emma took in the mixing bowl on the counter, the milk, flour, and eggs beside it, and the mess in the pan. "You were making pancakes?" she asked, just as the wail of the alarm finally ceased.

Neal nodded miserably. "The first two were raw and fell apart when I flipped them," he explained. "I thought I'd leave the next ones a little longer and, I started playing Angry Birds on my phone while I was waiting. The next thing I knew…" He did a credible imitation of the sound that had awakened her.

Emma groaned. "It's the thought that counts," she consoled him.

Neal sighed. "What would you think about leaving this mess to soak in the sink until later and catching breakfast at Granny's today?"

Emma considered. "Well, she does make better Cinn-a-Stack pancakes than any IHOP we've ever tried," she said thoughtfully. "Even if she does keep calling them 'flapjacks with sweet bun filling'." She grinned. "Okay, you're on. And," she leaned over to kiss him, "thanks for getting up early to make me breakfast. Or trying to."

"Any time," Neal said.

Emma winced. "Uh… just not any time soon for a repeat performance?"

Neal chuckled.

At Granny's, Emma and Neal both tried to focus on their menus, even though they knew what they were ordering. It was a good deal less uncomfortable than watching Mary Margaret and David sitting at separate tables and insisting to Ruby that they weren't together. Emma wondered who they thought they were fooling.

Kathryn, she supplied mentally, and for now, it seems to be working. 'Seems to be' being the operative phrase. Those two had to be the least sneaky sneaks around and, Emma suspected, the only reason the gossip wasn't already spreading was because those two were just so… bad… at hiding their secret that most people were assuming things were platonic because they just couldn't be that blatant about carrying on. Emma wasn't sure if she ought to be rooting for them, all things considered. So, she told herself it wasn't her business, and she told Ruby she wanted her favorite pancakes, while Neal opted for the breakfast special.

After Ruby had moved off, David bid a warm farewell to Mary Margaret and left the diner. After a moment, Mary Margaret walked over to their table. "Okay if I join you?" she asked.

Emma and Neal exchanged a quick look. "Sure."

Something in Neal's voice must have tipped her off, because the teacher's eyes widened. "Oh, my goodness! I am so sorry. I completely forgot it's Valentine's Day!" she exclaimed. "And you two are here together having a romantic breakfast, and I'm just pushing in!"

Emma grabbed her hand as she got up. "No, really, it's fine. We… sort of came here on a whim anyway. And we've got time."

Mary Margaret heaved a sigh. "You're lucky. I've got another ten minutes or so, and then I need to head off to school." She smiled a bit guiltily. "Maybe six hours of the three R's will help distract me from my…" she rolled her eyes slightly, "…current and ongoing lack of a steady significant other."

Or not one you're ready to admit to, Emma thought. And for good reason.

Just then, a new voice called, "Six hours?" They looked up to see Ashley Boyd approaching them, while Granny fussed over Baby Alex. "You take newborns?" the teen asked Mary Margaret. "Because I would love six hours off."

"Ashley!" Mary Margaret broke into a wide smile. "I didn't even recognize you."

"Baby on the outside?" Ashley asked with a faint smirk.

Emma leaned forward. "How's it going? Oh, uh… Ashley, this is Neal. Neal, Ashley. You remember I told you about her."

"Uh, yeah." He gave Ashley a small smile and told himself firmly that it wasn't her fault that Emma now owed Papa a favor. "Nice to meet you."

Ashley nodded. "Likewise." She turned to Emma. "It's going, uh… It's, uh… I mean, baby's great, but we really haven't had time to do the whole getting married thing. So, that's been rough. And Sean's been working double shifts at the cannery."

"Well, he has to work," Mary Margaret pointed out, as Ruby came over with their breakfast and a coffee for Ashley.

"On Valentine's Day?" Ashley asked plaintively. At Ruby's sympathetic look, she continued, "Yeah. He couldn't get out of it."

"I'm sorry," Emma sympathized. "That sucks."

"It doesn't have to," Ruby interjected. "Come out with me. Let's have a girl's night. We can all go. Mary Margaret – Emma, too. If you leave the badge and the boyfriend at home." She grinned at Neal. "No offense."

"None taken," Neal said. He looked at Emma. "It's up to you. Not like we need a special day to tell each other how we feel."

Emma shook her head. "Nah, I'll sit this one out, but you guys can all go and have fun." She didn't know if Neal had been planning a romantic dinner on top of the romantic breakfast, but if he wasn't, then a quiet evening at home sounded like a good idea after the excitement of the last few days. And if he was, she didn't want to ruin things.

Neal smiled and clasped her hand, just as her phone vibrated on the table.

Mary Margaret blinked, as Emma picked it up. "What's that?" she asked.

Emma looked at the display and sighed. "It's the station – something's up," she replied. She leaned over to kiss Neal's cheek. "I'll catch you later."

Neal was just finishing up a roof repair with Marco for the day when Emma texted him. Hope you're not planning to surprise me with dinner. I'm going to be a while.

Neal frowned and texted back. Anything major?

The answer wasn't long in coming. Sheriff business. Looks like I'm about to find out what happens to someone whose illegal activity needs more than a night in a holding cell or a ticket.

Neal sighed. Guess confidentiality means you can't say more?

Not in an ongoing investigation for sure, Emma replied. Probably not afterwards either, but this is a small town. Word's going to get out, I bet. Love you. Sorry about working late on Valentine's Day.

Neal was smiling as he texted back, Hey. Not like we need a special day to tell each other how we feel. He followed that up with a Cupid's Heart emoji. A moment later, Emma texted him back the same and he was still smiling as put his phone away.

He'd just helped Marco put the equipment into the truck and was about to climb into the passenger seat when he heard a boy's voice calling his name. Or rather, calling him Dad. He wasn't prepared for the rush of emotion triggered by that designation. "Hey, Henry," he said. "What's up?"

Henry drew closer and motioned excitedly to Neal to step away from the truck. "He's not part of Operation Cobra," he explained in an apologetic whisper, jerking his head in Marco's direction.

Emma had told him about that. "And I am?" he asked, whispering automatically as well.

"Duh! You're my dad."

"Okay," Neal said, smiling easily, despite another rush from that emotional wellspring. "What's up with Operation Cobra?"

Henry lowered his voice another notch. "I think I know where Belle has to be!"

Neal's eyebrows shot up. "Hit me," he said.

"Well, I'm not sure. But if she's Rapunzel, then there's a tower right here in town!" He pointed to the clock tower across the street. "It's been locked up forever. But the evil queen has keys to every door in this town. That's got to be where she is! I just need to get my hands on her keyring!"

Neal hesitated only a moment, before making up his mind. He didn't want his son trying to steal from the evil queen, even if she was also his mother and probably wouldn't do anything too terrible to him. First, stealing was wrong. Second, stealing from your parent—biological or otherwise—was almost always more wrong. And third, he could be wrong about what Regina might do to Henry if she caught him, and he didn't want that on his conscience. "Hang on," he said. He walked back to where Marco was standing to tell him he didn't need a lift home after all. Then he went back to Henry.

"Okay," Neal said. "Let's have a look at that door." He started across the street. Henry followed him.

The door was chained shut with an impressive padlock, but to Neal's trained eyes, it was a normal padlock. No combinations, no electronics, and—he felt confident enough assuming—no magic. He smiled. "You don't have to go after the mayor's keys," he told his son. "Just let me know if you see anyone coming while I work on this. I should be able to get it open in about… ten minutes."

He wasn't sure if he liked the enthusiastic agreement in his son's eyes. And, as he set to work, he fervently hoped that he hadn't forgotten his old skills. And that Henry would be a good lookout. Because he most definitely did not want to end Valentine's Day being booked at the sheriff station by the woman he loved!