A/N: Episode references and some dialogue from S1E13, "What Happened to Frederick?". A brief passage is quoted from S2E22, "And Straight On 'Til Morning".

Chapter 39

Emma was not having a good morning. To begin with, less than forty-eight hours after she'd taken Gold into custody, he'd been released on bail. Forty thousand dollars cash bail, and Gold had paid it without blinking an eye. On Emma's last case before coming to Storybrooke, the man she'd had to track down had defaulted on a bond for half that amount, and his wife had posted it for him.

Gold's parting smile had been almost warm, as Emma cautioned him not to leave town.

"Perish the thought, sheriff," he'd replied lightly. "If I were to do that, I'd never be able to call in that favor."

Emma had only glowered.

Mayor Mills had also been at the proceedings and she'd made a point of coming around to congratulate Emma on the speed with which she'd arrested 'the perpetrator'. There had been nothing wrong with the Regina's words, and her tone had been perfectly affable, but Emma had detected a note of smugness there, as though somehow, her actions had played right into the mayor's hands, and she couldn't see how.

She'd gone to grab a coffee at Granny's after the proceedings, only to find Storybrooke's newest visitor's motorcycle parked outside. As she made her way up the walk, its owner had emerged, and tried to talk her into getting the drink he'd mentioned a couple of weeks earlier. At least, her refusal to accept dates with people who failed to properly introduce themselves had garnered her a name, and confirmed Neal's story: this was August W. Booth. 'W' for 'Wayne,' he'd informed her with a smirk, as though the disclosure would neutralize all of her reservations. Still, Emma had agreed to let him buy her that drink at some point in the future, if only because—at least, according to Neal—he might hold some key to her past. Of course, she didn't know if she could trust anything he'd tell her, but if it came down to a choice between believing a story told by someone who claimed to have known her once and believing a story in a book of fairytales, she'd pick smirking stranger over storybook any day.

She was still mulling that over as she sipped her hot cocoa (funny how she'd thought she was getting coffee right up to the point when she'd actually placed her order), when Mary Margaret came into the diner at a breathless run. "Emma!" she exclaimed in a loud whisper.

Emma set down her cocoa. "What?" she whispered back. Then, puzzled, "and why are we whispering?"

"Because I don't want anyone to hear!" the schoolteacher exclaimed, sliding down into the chair across from her. "It's David," she said, whispering again, but more softly now. "He's telling Kathryn!"

Emma's eyebrows shot up. "Everything?" she asked, all thoughts of the morning's earlier events vanishing in the face Mary Margaret's bright eyes and incredulous smile.

Her friend nodded vigorously. "Everything!"

"He did what?" Neal asked.

Emma sighed. "He wanted to take me out for a drink. I mean, it's not the first time I've gone out on a date for 'business'. It's just that this time, the business is," she winced, realizing how this was sounding, "kind of… personal. If he knows something about my past… Neal, you know how long I've been trying to find out who I am and where I came from and," she sucked in a breath, "why my parents chucked me on the side of the road."

Neal shook his head. "And you think some guy who was a kid in one of your foster homes has that information."

"I don't know!" Emma exclaimed. "One thing Ray taught me when he was training me for P.I. work was that I have to investigate every lead, no matter how out there it sounds. If he knows anything and I let him slip away." She shook her head. "I know. Part of me is saying that this is all some… wild goose chase, and if my birth parents abandoned me, then maybe I'm better off never knowing who they are. I know. But I still feel like I have to pursue this." She winced. "Am I making sense, yet?"

Neal sighed. "Yeah, you are. And I understand. I guess, maybe I just wish it had been some girl who was in foster care with you, showing up now."

"You're jealous?" Emma asked, with a tiny smile.

"No! I trust you," Neal said. "One hundred per cent. But just in case he gets any ideas about this being more than a… business meeting… Hang on." He dashed back into the bedroom. Emma followed him, her eyebrows shooting up as she watched Neal pull his carryon bag out from under the bed.

"You're spending the night at Granny's to protest?" she asked sarcastically.

"No," Neal said, unzipping one of the outer pockets. "No. Now," he said slowly, "I know a lot's happened in the last few months, but before I went to Alaska, I asked you a question, and you said 'yes'. And," he withdrew a small box from the pocket, "I had every intention of giving this to you as soon as I got back, but by the time I did get back, you'd taken a surprise road trip and were up to your ears in an election campaign, and after that, well, this may just be the busiest sleepy little seaside town either of us has visited before, because the timing never felt right, and I'm not sure it does now, but," he was running out of air and he paused to take a breath, even as he held the box out to her. "What I'm trying to say, Emma, is… will you marry me?"

Eyes wide, Emma flipped back the lid of the box and gasped. The band was rose gold, set with a one-carat opal, which was surrounded by three diamond side stones on each side. "It's beautiful," she whispered, awed.

"I know I promised you a diamond," Neal said, "but this one took my breath away, too. And I know opal's one of your birthstones," his gaze strayed to the promise ring he'd bought her seven years ago, and which she still wore. "Plus, technically, I got you a whole bunch of diamonds. Small ones," he added.

"Neal," Emma said, drawing closer and clasping her hands behind his neck, "stop talking." Then she pressed her lips firmly to his.

Neal pulled her in closer, as he kissed back. As their lips parted, he asked, "So, was that a yes?"

Emma smirked back. "It's a yes." She looked at the promise ring on her left hand and smoothly transferred it to her right.

"Here," Neal said, plucking the engagement ring from its box. "If you'll let me…?"

Emma nodded.

"Now," Neal said, as he slid the ring along her finger, "hopefully, if Mr. Booth had any non-platonic ideas, this'll squash them."

Emma shrugged. "And if it doesn't, I will."

"Police brutality?" Neal bantered back. "What happened to due process and upholding the law?"

"I'm also a convicted felon," Emma smiled, leaning in for another kiss. "You never know when I might revert…"

Stopping in at Granny's for a late lunch, Emma wasn't sure when she realized that the buzz of conversation around her was all focused on one topic.

"She didn't!"

"Right across the jaw. You ask me, the tramp had it coming."

"She always seemed so… demure, that one."

"And we're trusting our kids to her?"

"Hey, they're both adults; it ain't like she's Mary Kay Letourneau!"

"How long do you think it was going on?"

"Well, David Nolan woke up less than six weeks ago, so not that long."

"Unless she did… you know… while he was in a coma…"

Emma half-rose from her seat, her eyes glittering dangerously. "Go on," she gritted through clenched teeth, as all eyes at the adjacent booth turned toward her. "Unless she did… what?"

The speaker, Emma realized that it was Walter from the hospital, shook his head. "Nothing, Sheriff," he said, lowering his eyes. "Nothing I saw, anyway."

"And you've been paying closer attention to the cameras since we spoke last," Emma said, still keeping her tone pleasant.

"Yes, ma'am."

Emma nodded curtly and turned to go. But not before she heard Walter add, "Of course, Mr. Nolan was awake by then, and I couldn't help but notice that Ms. Blanchard was so much chummier around him whenever his wife wasn't about."

She didn't make it outside in time to miss the laughter that greeted that comment.

"Hey!" Henry called a greeting, as he pedaled up to the open double garage that functioned as Marco's workshop. Neal looked up from the cabinet he was sanding down and smiled.

"What's up, Henry?" he asked, straightening up.

Henry dismounted and leaned his bike against the side of the garage. "Where's Marco?"

"He had a repair job near the cannery," Neal said. "You're here to see him?"

"No," Henry grinned. "I wanted to talk to you. But it's probably better if he doesn't hear us," he added, lowering his voice. "Or are you busy?"

Neal shook his head. "I am," he admitted, "but you can talk while I sand. I'd like to finish by the time he gets back. What's up?"

Henry hesitated. "Before I went to Boston, Ms. Blanchard gave us a family tree project. I couldn't fill it out then, not really. I mean, Regina told me who her parents were, but it wasn't the same. Anyway, she asked me about it today, so I was wondering if maybe you could help me."

Neal swallowed. "I-I can try. Thing is, I don't really know much about my family. I grew up on the streets."

Henry nodded. "Well… do you know your father's name?"

Back in the Enchanted Forest, he would have had that answer, but here, he'd never heard anyone call Papa anything other than 'Mr. Gold'. And even if Papa had told Regina his true name, Neal wasn't about to give Henry that information. True or not, Henry just couldn't turn in a family tree listing his grandfather as Rumpelstiltskin! It would make him a laughing-stock and probably net him a failing grade on the assignment! Neal shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "He was always just 'Papa' to me. I'm not sure I'd recognize the name if I heard it now. Just put, uh, 'question mark Cassidy,' I guess."

Henry considered for a moment, and then jotted something down on his notepad. "Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"

Neal shook his head. "It's been a long time," he said. "I don't think I know who he is anymore."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't entirely true either.

"How about your mother?" Henry asked next. "My grandmother."

Neal frowned. Papa never had spoken her name to him, and he'd been little more than a toddler when she'd gone. But years later…

…Not a single day went past where your mother didn't regret leaving you, Baelfire. We talked about going back for you when you were old enough. Perhaps fate brought us together to make good on those plans. We can live the life that Milah wanted for us, as a family…

"Milah," Neal said softly. "I-I think her name was Milah."

"All right," Emma said, as August Booth pulled up in front of Granny's. She'd taken a few moments to collect her thoughts after hearing the buzz inside. Damn. She liked Mary Margaret. Small town gossip could be merciless; she'd learned enough of that during her years in Arizona. On the plus side, everyone knew everyone and if a baby was born or a job lost, neighbors were lining up with casseroles and fundraisers. On the minus side, everyone knew everyone and if somebody messed up, the news travelled at the speed of light. Mary Margaret was about to find that out, and as much as Emma wanted to be supportive, she had to admit that she'd been expecting something like this for some time and she couldn't help but believe that her friend had brought down this grief on herself. She didn't want to judge. She was doing her best not to. But Mary Margaret had been fooling around with a married man. What exactly had she thought was going to happen?

It was while Emma was trying to parse the current situation and figure out how she could be supportive without condoning what had transpired, that August had arrived, and Emma realized that maybe she needed a bit of a distraction now to help settle her thoughts. "All right. You win. Let's have that drink."

August broke into a broad smile. "You got it. Hop on."

Emma's eyebrows shot up. "Wait. What?"

"I never said I wanted to have that drink here. Get aboard."

Sure. She was going to hop on the back of the bike of the guy who'd been stalking her for eleven years and, if Neal was right, had landed her in juvie. "You expect me to ride that. With you."

"That's what 'Hop on,' means," August said glibly.

"How about, if we're going somewhere, I drive?" Emma suggested.

"How about you stop trying to control everything and take a leap of faith?" August countered. "You promised me a drink. Hop on. I know a good watering hole."

"If you don't, I will," Granny announced from behind her and Emma started.

She took a breath. "How do I know I can trust you?"

August held up a hand. "I solemnly swear that I am not up to no good." In a more serious tone of voice, he continued, "Neither am I a murderer, a rapist, or any other kind of violent criminal. Now, here." He tossed her a helmet and she caught it on reflex, but she was smiling.

He hadn't tripped her superpower. And he was at least familiar enough with Harry Potter to misquote it to effect. Maybe he did know something about her past that she didn't already know, but even if he didn't, she thought she could at least trust him to bring her back in one piece. And if she was wrong, she thought, patting her hip and feeling the contour of her service revolver under her jacket, between her firearm and her self-defense classes, it wasn't like she couldn't defend herself.

"He took you where?" Neal asked, incredulously. "Uh…" He turned to look at his boss.

"Sorry, Marco. Are we done here, or is there something else you need me to take care of?"

Marco shook his head with a tolerant smile. "You're all done, my boy. Have a good evening and I'll see you at the workshop bright and early tomorrow."

Neal grinned and waited for the older man to drive off before he turned back to Emma. "Sorry."

"It's okay. And," Emma snorted, "you heard me the first time. He drove me to this well in the woods, and no, that's not the name of some pub; it's a literal well, and gave me some story about how if you drink its water, something you lose will be returned to you." She shrugged. "I drank and… surprise, surprise, my parents didn't show up."

Neal winced. "I know you weren't seriously expecting them to, but I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Emma said, smiling. "I was sort of expecting it to be a waste of time anyway."

"So, he didn't tell you anything about your past?"

"I didn't ask," Emma said. "Guy likes to get off on being all mysterious and acting like he knows stuff you don't, the last thing I want to do is play into that. If he knows anything about me, he can damned well tell me what it is. Otherwise, I'll find the answer some other way." She shook her head and her expression faltered. "Could we just… head home now? I don't want to talk about it anymore tonight."

Neal nodded. "Of course."

"I parked in the next block," Emma said. "It's windy and with you guys doing a roofing job, I didn't want any shingles landing on Herbie."

"Asphalt shingles probably wouldn't dent anything," Neal said. "Probably."

"Why does 'probably' sound like 'happens more often than you think' to me?" Emma grumbled.

"Your carefree happy nature?"

Emma made a rude gesture, and Neal laughed, as they walked toward the car.

"Hey," Emma said, when they were still some twenty yards away. "What's that under the tire?"

"Well, we know it's not a boot," Neal grinned, quickening his pace to keep up with her. "Seeing as you're currently the only one in town with the authority to stick one of those on."

"Got one my second day here," Emma said. "It didn't look anything like that." Seeing the look on Neal's face, she rolled her eyes. "Regina wanted to get my attention, okay? Graham basically did what she wanted back then." It almost didn't hurt to think of Graham now.

"Hey," Neal said. "I know you liked him. I mean, not liked him liked him, but… liked him."

Emma sighed. "He kissed me. I didn't want him to. I shoved him away as soon as he did. But yeah. I liked him. As a friend."

Neal nodded. "I know." He reached into his jacket pocket and handed her an envelope.

"What's this?"

"It was slipped under Marco's door last week, addressed to me," Neal said, as Emma opened it. "And relax. I know your body language and there's no way that was mutual."

Emma stared at the photo. That night when she'd stormed out of Granny's and Graham had kissed her on the street, someone had been there to capture the moment. Shock and fury battled with each other for a moment. Fury won. "I do not freaking believe this!" she hissed between clenched teeth. Had Sidney done this? She'd bet good money on it, but without a shred of proof, she wasn't going to go hurling accusations around like… like… Like whoever sent this photo wanted Neal to do. Someone is trying to rattle us. Or split us up. Regina's the obvious choice, but maybe she's too obvious. It could be Gold. Or… August wasn't here yet, but maybe he's got someone on the inside. Or… I'm betting Sidney took the photos, even if I can't prove it, but was it on his own behalf, or did someone pay him to? Like whoever's behind whatever's going on here, who might not be Regina or Gold, or… She took another breath. "How long have you been carrying this around?"

"A few days," Neal shrugged. "Like I said, I know the kiss wasn't mutual. I wasn't even sure I should bring it up, but if I had any lingering doubts, your reaction squelched them."

"Thanks for that," Emma said. "I mean it. But when I think that someone's been following me around town, or was back then, taking... photos... Argh! I feel so violated!" she finished furiously.

"I would too," Neal nodded. "As it is, I'm more insulted."

"Insulted?" They were almost to the car now.

"That anyone would think I'd walk out on you over an obvious hatchet job like this!"

Emma's glower gave way to a tiny smile. Then she stooped down to examine her front tire. "It looks like someone wedged a block under here," she said. "Though it's hard to tell in this puddle."

"Looks like a storm drain backed up," Neal said, pointing toward a grate, from which water was steadily flowing.

"Great." Emma gripped the object with both hands and tugged. It wasn't a block. It was a metal box. The latch was down and held in place by a piece of twisted wire. One eyebrow went up, as Emma carefully untwisted it. "Tetanus shots are good for more than three years, right?" she asked, as she worked the wire, not waiting for a response. She had the lid open in a moment and her eyes widened.

"What?" Neal asked, stepping closer, so he could see too.

"No way…" Emma whispered, as Neal lifted out Henry's storybook.

"Well water, huh?" Neal murmured, but though he tried to sound flippant, neither he nor Emma was laughing.

"Hey," Emma greeted Henry. "Isn't it a little late to be hanging around school?"

Henry glanced up briefly from his handheld game. "My mom's picking me up in, like, five minutes," he said apologetically. "And I really want to beat my high score before she does."

"Gotcha," Emma said, joining him on the bench. "I won't be here when she shows." She didn't want to get into a conversation that might end with her throwing unsubstantiated accusations about who might have sent Neal that photo and Regina had a way of getting under her skin sometimes. "I just wanted to give you this."

Henry took one look at the storybook and set down the game. "You found it?" he exclaimed. "Where?"

"Under my car," Emma said. "I guess it washed into the sewers or something, and when a pipe burst on Main Street, it just… floated out somehow."

"Wow," Henry said, taking the book. "That's crazy."

"I know, but what other explanation is there?"

Henry shook his head, as he slid the book into his backpack. "I don't know. Maybe it means our luck is changing." He smiled and said decisively, "It's a sign; it's gotta be. Things are going to be better."

Emma sighed. "I hope you're right kid." Her thoughts turned to Mary Margaret. The gossip behind her friend's back had been vicious enough, but as for what people might be saying to her face… "I gotta go."

Mary Margaret almost didn't answer the knock on her door. She was positive it would be a mistake. Mentally, she ran through the list of people likely to be on the other side. David might be coming to apologize, and maybe in a day or two, she'd even be willing to listen, but right now, she didn't want to look at him.

Sidney might be there to snap a photo of the town homewrecker, hoping that a good enough shot might get him reinstated at the Mirror. She wasn't about to help him with that!

It sounded too polite to be Kathryn at the head of an angry mob come to run her out of town, unless it was all a ploy to trick her into opening her door.

There came a second knock, and Mary Margaret reluctantly dragged herself out of bed. "Who's there?" she asked, horrified to hear a quaver in her voice.

"It's me. Emma," came the reply.

Mary Margaret sucked in her breath. Then, slowly, she unlocked her door and opened it a crack. Seeing that Emma was alone, she pulled the door open further to allow her friend entry. "Hi," she said softly.

"Hey," Emma returned the greeting. "I… came to see how you were doing."

Mary Margaret's face crumpled. "Terrible," she said, her voice breaking on the last syllable.

Emma nodded. "I, uh, brought some mac 'n cheese," she said, holding out a Tupperware container. "Solid comfort food."

Mary Margaret took it. "Thanks," she said. "I'm not hungry right now."

"It'll keep," Emma said. She rested a hand on her friend's shoulder. "You feel like talking about it, yet?"

Mary Margaret shook her head. "Nope," she said, setting the container on the table behind her.

"You want to be alone?"

She shook her head again. "Nope."

Emma slid her arm around to encompass both of Mary Margaret's shoulders. "I'm here," she said simply.

Mary Margaret nodded, rested her head against Emma's shoulder, and let her friend pull her into a hug.