A/N: Some dialogue lifted from S1E8: Desperate Souls

Chapter 27

Emma swallowed hard. "Yeah, I guess," she said, "I'm just not in a hurry." If her criminal history meant that she couldn't get a room at Granny's, it probably meant she couldn't be sheriff anyway. Hell, in most places, a felony conviction meant you couldn't be in law enforcement period. And yet, while Regina hadn't exactly been thrilled that Graham had deputized her, the mayor hadn't told him that he couldn't. Plus, Graham was the sheriff. Had been the sheriff. He'd known about Emma's record and hired her anyway. Maybe, just this once, the weirdness in this place could work in her favor. What the hell was she thinking? She wasn't sheriff material. She was barely deputy material. But she hadn't made a botch of anything yet, not really. Maybe she could, but… No. No, she wasn't qualified for this. She'd keep doing her job until some… committee… got around to appointing a real sheriff, but for now, she was going to thank Gold for his kind words and head back to work.

"I have his things," Gold said, before she could leave.

"What?"

"The sheriff," Gold replied. "He rented an apartment that I own. Another reason for my call, really; I wanted to offer you a keepsake."

Because there was a small chance that she'd forget Graham? She didn't want to go through his things; it felt ghoulish. But when Gold suggested that whatever she didn't want ought to go to Mayor Mills, Emma felt her hackles rise.

Gold smiled. "No love lost there, I see," he said. Then, more gently, "Look. I feel that all of this stuff is headed for the trash bin. You really should take something. Look. His jacket."

Emma didn't want it, but when Gold pressed her to take the walkie-talkies, she felt herself weaken. Henry probably would get a kick out of those. In fact, they looked like exactly the kind of thing he'd want for his 'Operation Cobra' thing. In the end, she took them.

"You enjoy these with your boy," Gold told her, and—for once—Emma didn't feel like he had some angle she wasn't seeing. "Your time together is precious, you know? That's the thing about children – before you know it," he went on sadly, "you lose them."

Out on the street once more, Emma shook her head. "Wonder what that was about," she murmured, as she shifted her grip on the walkie-talkies and headed back to the station.

Emma called Neal that night. "Henry was really down," she said. "I haven't seen much of him since Graham died and today, I found out he's been avoiding me."

"What?" Neal asked. "Why?"

Emma sighed. "Because he thinks trying to get me to break this… 'curse' is what got Graham killed."

He's not wrong, Neal thought. But all he said was, "That's rough."

"Yeah. I…" She took a breath. "What did this lawyer say?"

"Same as the last four," Neal sighed. "It's doable, but it's going to cost us a lot. My cut from bringing in Scanlan helps, but if the adoptive mother hires a good lawyer, it could drag on for a year and half or longer. And since neither of us have a steady income and we're not exactly in the safest line of work, and Henry's had a stable home life for more than ten years… We might win, but it's not cut-and-dried and a battle like this is probably not in Henry's best interests either, unless we can prove abuse or neglect or something."

"Henry's not happy," Emma said slowly. "But as awful as Regina's been to me, I don't believe she's been abusive." She knew Henry didn't think he needed therapy and hated having to go—though he did like Archie—but the kid was convinced that his book of fairy tales was true, that Regina was the evil queen, that his teacher was Snow White, and that she was Snow White's daughter. She might not like Regina, but she also didn't think the mayor was wrong in getting Henry professional help!

"Maybe," Neal said slowly, "we ought to talk to some lawyers in Maine, too. Since that's where Henry lives, that's where the trial would be. Anyone we find in Boston to take our case would either have to have passed the Maine bar or have associated local council."

"You mean work with someone who passed the Maine bar," Emma groaned. "There's probably, like, just one law firm in Storybrooke and I bet Regina's got them on retainer!"

"Well, maybe there are two of them," Neal sighed. "Anyway, see what you can find out. We can go together once I'm there."

"Okay," Emma said. "And… do you think our odds might look better if I were the town sheriff?"

There was a long pause. "What?"

"Yeah," Emma said. "It seems if I've been filling in as acting sheriff for two weeks or more, it stops being 'acting' and becomes the real deal."

"What about Boston?" Neal asked. "I mean, that's one hell of a commute. Unless you're planning on pulling up stakes and settling in Storybrooke."

Emma hesitated.

"Emma?"

"I… No," Emma said. "Not right away. That's something we need to work out together. But for now, until we do go back, well, it can't hurt. Can it?"

From what August told me about the Evil Queen, you'd better believe it can. And if Papa's there, too… But how could he tell that to Emma. "Just be careful," he said. "Law enforcement can get pretty dangerous, too."

"Yeah, but this is a small town where my crashing into the town sign was probably the most exciting thing that happened all year. It's not exactly the state murder capital."

"No," Neal allowed, "but the way you've been talking, it sounds like the mayor would be only too happy to catch you putting a foot wrong. Don't give her what she wants."

"I won't," Emma said. "What time does your flight get in on Thursday?"

"Eight-fifteen in the evening. Oh, and I did some checking. The airport is actually about twenty minutes out of town. Near Trenton," he added.

"I'll check Google Maps before I head out," Emma said. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

The next morning, Neal left the apartment at five past eight. Ten minutes later, he was almost at the bus stop, when a heavy hand came down hard on his shoulder, another hand twisted his arm behind his back, and he was jerked back into an alleyway, as a voice whispered harshly in his ear, "You can't stop Emma from breaking the curse!"

Alarm and fear melted into anger in an instant, and Neal twisted in his captor's grip, turning into the hammerlock as he delivered a powerful kick to his assailant's knee. The man released him and staggered back with an oath, but it was Neal who gasped in pain. The shock of the impact felt like he'd just hammered his own shin bone into his kneecap. He dropped heavily to his other knee, gasping. Then he took a good look at his assailant. "YOU?"

"Yeah," the other man gasped. "Me. August. And I need you to do now what you refused to do eleven years ago: leave Emma alone to fulfill her destiny!"

At the precise moment that Neal was turning the tables on his attacker, Emma was setting down her coffee. At Graham's old desk. It felt awkward, but if she was going to do this thing, she was going to do it all the way. No wishy-washy half measures. If she was going to wear the 'boss's' badge, she was going to use the boss's desk.

The sheriff star glistened on the beige blotter and Emma steeled herself to pick it up. It was as light as the deputy star she'd been wearing until now, and she wondered why that surprised her. It wasn't as though the weight of extra responsibility somehow got added to the nickel-and-brass. She hesitated only a moment before flipping the badge over. The sound the locking clasp made as she unfastened the pin was startlingly loud. She was just about to pin the badge to her jacket, when a matter-of-fact voice from behind her announced, "Oh, I'm sorry. That's not for you."

Neal sat on the ground, cradling his foot, even as he glared at August, who remained sprawled before him. "You have one hell of a nerve," he snapped. "Assaulting me? And I assume I have you to thank for my state-sponsored retreat eleven years ago?"

August nodded with a pained expression. "Uh… sorry? For both?"

Neal continued rubbing his foot. "You wearing armor under those Levis? Feels like I kicked a steel wall."

The other man sighed. "Not… exactly." Slowly, taking care that Neal could see what he was doing, he lifted as much of his pants—and now Neal could see that they weren't jeans after all—leg as he could and Neal's eyes grew wide.

"How...? Who…?" He blinked. "You're Pinocchio?"

"Surprise," August deadpanned. "Didn't get the chance to tell you last time before you stormed off, but explaining to you why I was supposed to be looking out for Emma was more important at the time than telling you who I'd been in the Enchanted Forest."

"You call sending her to jail for eleven months—sending her to jail for my crimes—looking out for her?"

"She needed a wake-up call," August said. "And it's not like she wasn't stealing. I tried letting the cops know about your Bonnie-and-Clyde act before our first meeting, but they didn't have the time, the interest, or the manpower to stake out all the gas stations on I-84, so I had to try something else."

"You are not helping your case."

"And yet," August shifted position with a groan, "we're still sitting in an alley and talking." He exhaled. "Look. Emma's in Storybrooke now. Right where she's supposed to be. I'm betting that once I get her believing in magic so she understands her destiny, she'll break the curse, the promise I made to Papa to make sure the savior believes will be kept and my leg will go back to normal." He sighed. "Or it'll stay like it is, but at least the rest of me will stay human. I can live with that. If she doesn't… this… reverting is going to keep going and living puppets aren't exactly a thing in a Land without Magic. I'm begging you not to interfere." He locked steely blue eyes on Neal's hard brown ones. "Stay here and leave Emma to fulfill her destiny." He shrugged. "You don't want to see your father again anyway, so why not just step aside?"

Neal had been nodding along as August spoke, but now he gave an angry start. "You haven't cared a damn about me or what I want all this time," he pointed out. "It's all been Emma. Emma has to break the curse. Emma has to fulfill her destiny. Emma is the savior. And now, you're suddenly so solicitous about what I want? Well," he shrugged. "You're right. I don't want to see my father again. And once I get to Storybrooke, I'm going to do my damnedest to stay out of his way."

"Baelfire—"

"No. I've listened to you, even after you mugged me. I haven't called the cops," he dug his phone out of his pocket and held it up, "at least, not yet. But it's not just my father in Storybrooke. There's the woman I love. There's the son I've never met. And even if everyone else besides Papa is gone, Emma and Henry are reason enough for me to head over there. So… thanks."

"Thanks?" August repeated, blinking in confusion.

"Up until this moment, I was having second thoughts about going to that place. About running into my father. But you wouldn't be trying so hard to keep me out of that town if I didn't have to go there."

"That doesn't make any logical sense," August said blankly.

To his shock, a wide smile appeared on Neal's face. "I know," he said. "And that's what makes it the right thing to do." He braced his hand on the ground and levered himself up.

"Neal, wait." He struggled unsuccessfully to rise in turn. Neal watched, making no effort to aid his erstwhile assailant as he scooted toward the wall of one of the buildings that created the alley.

"You said your piece," Neal informed him. "I heard you out. Now I'm going. And unless you want me to call the cops after all, you're going to let me."

"Please!" August called after him, pressing one hand to the rough cement wall, still trying to stand.

"Don't try to follow me," Neal said coldly. Then he turned and stalked out of the alley, wondering whether his day was going to get any more exciting.

Emma was seething as she stomped up the stairs to Mary Margaret's apartment. She didn't have the credentials to be sheriff; that much was true. And she'd been prepared for Regina to throw up her juvenile felony conviction. Hell, if Regina had appointed someone—anyone—qualified to be sheriff, Emma told herself she would have yielded gracefully. But Sidney Glass? Yes, okay, some reporters did turn out to be great crime-fighters, but they usually wore capes and spandex and were sent from some distant planet just before it exploded!

Clark Kent was probably a better reporter than Sidney Glass, too, Emma thought grimly.

She didn't know that. She was probably still upset over that… hatchet job he'd done on her that first night when she'd swerved into the sign. Her not liking Sidney didn't mean he couldn't be sheriff. But Regina appointing a man who seemed to be firmly in her pocket… Well, that didn't mean he couldn't be sheriff either, but the whole setup reeked to her.

Emma thought about this morning, when Henry had told her that he wanted to stop 'Operation Cobra' for now. He'd called her good. Which had made her feel uncomfortable. Sure, she tried to be good. She didn't think she was bad. Or 'evil'. But…

She killed Graham because he was good. And you're good.

The poor kid still saw things in black and white, and Graham's death had hit him hard. Maybe his dejection had given her that slight push she'd needed to put on the sheriff star after all. And then to have Regina snatch it away from her… No, of course the mayor wasn't evil, but Henry wouldn't see it that way and…

Her anger was mounting as she turned her new key in the lock. She wasn't usually a violent person, but she right now, she really, really wanted to smash something. Or pour herself a stiff drink and maybe unload on Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret wasn't there. And when Emma opened the kitchen cabinet where the whiskey had been, the bottle wasn't there. Had Mary Margaret moved it? Or drunk it? Or spilled it down the sink? Emma yanked open another cabinet door. No bottle. Her frustration mounting, she looked wildly around the apartment for something to…

Her eyes narrowed as she crossed over to the toaster oven in two angry strides. The whiskey bottle was beside it; it just hadn't been put away yet. Good. Good… but, like her, not quite good enough. She poured herself a glass and took an angry swallow.

Maybe it was her emotional state. Maybe she shouldn't have poured something 50 percent proof down into a stomach that hadn't had any food in it since supper last night. But as her gaze fell again on the toaster, a grim smile lit her face and she raced upstairs and dove into her minimal luggage, lifting out her small home toolkit bag triumphantly. She descended once more and bore down on the small appliance still resting unawares on the counter.

Something to smash…

Breaking apart the toaster was cathartic and the radio's music blaring in her ears helped Emma's mood. Unfortunately, it also obscured the sound of Mary Margaret's footsteps coming up the stairs, and the turning of her key in the lock. She looked up, startled, when the music suddenly ceased and she saw her friend looking at her in confusion. "Toaster broken?" she asked.

It would have been easy to take the 'out', but Emma only sighed. "It wasn't when I started with it, but I'm pretty sure it is, now," she said. She probably should have felt guiltier about it, especially since Mary Margaret looked to be more concerned about her than about the appliance, but her fury toward Regina hadn't lessened appreciably, yet.

"What's going on?" Mary Margaret asked, and Emma told her.

"It's my job," Emma finished.

Mary Margaret was shaking her head, but a small smile was playing on her lips. "I've never heard you so passionate about it before," the schoolteacher said. "What happened?"

Henry acting so… down happened, but Emma had the feeling that 'I'm fighting for my job because my kid's upset' probably didn't make a whole lot of sense. Besides, that wasn't the whole reason; it was just a big part of it. Anyway, she didn't want to have a long, drawn-out discussion with someone who would probably sweetly get her to admit she was being silly and she'd end by backing off and wondering why doing the 'sensible thing' made her feel so lousy. Instead, she shrugged. "I don't know. I just want it back."

"There must be a reason," Mary Margaret probed and Emma felt like she was back to seeing that counsellor the department had set her up with after she'd run away from one of her placements. The counsellor hadn't bought, "I don't know, I just felt like I wanted to leave," as a valid excuse either, even though it had been the truth.

As she opened her mouth to answer, there came a sharp, polite, rap on the door. Saved by the bell. Door. Door knocker, she thought as she got up to answer it. "Maybe I just want to beat her," she muttered, hoping that once whoever it was now standing in the hallway had gone, Mary Margaret would be willing to drop the subject.

As she eased the door open, her eyebrows climbed.

"Good evening, Ms Swan," Mr. Gold greeted her. "Sorry for the intrusion. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Emma cast a hesitant look over her shoulder.

Mary Margaret smiled a bit nervously. "I'll let you two talk," she murmured, leaving the room.

Emma pulled the door open a bit wider. "Come on in…"

"Whoa, hang on," Neal exclaimed, when Emma called the next day. "You're what?"

"I'm running for sheriff," Emma said. "Graham got the office out from under Regina's thumb. I owe it to him, well… to his memory, to keep it that way."

He understood the sentiment. And he knew what Emma was like when she got this determined, whether it was about tracking down a bail-jumper or fighting a traffic ticket she was positive she didn't deserve. But, "Look, I get you wanting to step in when there didn't seem to be anyone else who wanted the job, but now you're campaigning? Emma, what happens if you win?"

Emma hesitated. "Well, I guess I'm sheriff then."

"Until we go back to Boston?"

There was a long pause. "I'm not going without Henry. I can't. I can't leave him with Regina. There's stuff going on here and either she's behind it, she's part of it or she can't keep Henry safe from it."

"That's… pretty vague," Neal said.

"Something stinks here," Emma said stubbornly. "I don't have to dig in the garbage pail and hold everything up to my nose to identify exactly where the smell is coming from."

"Emma, it's not your fight."

"Actually, as of this morning, when I announced my candidacy, it is. I'm running."

"Without consulting me."

"If you'd been here, you would have been the first to support me."

Neal took a breath. "I do support you," he said. "I do. And I get why you want to take this on. But, Emma, our lives are in Boston. I'm coming up for a week, but after… I want us to go back together."

Emma swallowed. "If I win this election, if I become sheriff, then once I am, I can appoint a deputy," she said. "Like Graham did with me. I can… train them to handle things while commute back and forth between Boston and Storybrooke for a while. And once I get to the bottom of whatever's going on here and set things right, once we get Henry… I'll step down, the deputy takes over—or there's another election that I won't be running in; at that point, I won't care—and we'll be together as a family."

Neal groaned. "How long do you think that'll take?"

"Less time if you help me."

Neal sighed. "You're still going to pick me up at the airport, or do you have some big campaign meeting at that time?"

"Thursday at eight-fifteen PM? I'll be there." Emma paused. "Neal, I… I didn't mean for this to happen. Until yesterday, when Gold reminded me that I was technically in line for the sheriff job, it wasn't on my radar."

"And Gold told you about the clause in the town charter, too?" Neal asked with a sinking feeling. Just what was Papa playing at? And what was Emma getting roped into?

"Yeah. I… guess he knows there's something shady about Regina, too," Emma said slowly.

Neal noticed her hesitation with no small relief. If she was still questioning, then maybe she wouldn't fall prey to Papa's manipulations as easily as he'd feared. "Maybe," he allowed. "But be careful. You told me he owns the town. Chances are, crossing a guy with that much power could cause… problems."

"Not exactly news," Emma said. "And I'm keeping my guard up. Right now, though, he says he wants to be my benefactor."

"That mean you'll owe him another favor?"

Emma was silent for a moment. "I don't know," she admitted. But he knows this town better than I do. Right now, I think I can use his help. I'll be careful though."

"Yeah," Neal said. "See you Thursday."

"You want to come with me to the airport?" Emma asked Henry the next afternoon. She frowned. "Hey, you're reading that paper pretty hard. How was school?"

"It was fine," Henry said. He pushed the paper over to her with some reluctance. "Sidney wrote it."

Emma's breath caught as she took in the headline: Ex-jailbird—Emma Swan birthed babe behind bars. "Henry…"

"Is it a lie?" Henry asked. "It wasn't in the letter you wrote to me."

"No. I mean… you were born in a hospital, not a jail cell, but... Yeah, I was in juvie at the time." She winced. "I guess I should have mentioned it, but I…" I was afraid you'd think badly of me. If my giving you up at birth didn't have you thinking it already. She shook her head. "These records were supposed to be sealed," she said. She realized that she was making excuses and sighed. "Just tell me you're not scarred for life."

"I'm not," Henry said. "Not by this."

"Good," Emma said. "Then let's throw this out and we'll get our news from something more reliable. Like the internet."

Henry didn't smile back. "I can't go with you to the airport," he said. "This is what I've been trying to tell you. Good can't be evil because good doesn't do this kind of thing. My mom plays dirty. That's why you can't beat her. Ever. And she won't want me leaving town with you, so… I'd better wait for you to come back." He hesitated. "So… what's he like? My dad. He's not in my book."

"Well, he wouldn't be, would he?" Emma said. "Uh… well, let's just say I haven't always been 'good'. I was in Oregon trying to hotwire a car and… your dad was sleeping in the back seat."

Henry blinked. A slow smile spread his lips, the first Emma had seen from him in days. "Yeah? Cool!"

Oh, that was so not the reaction she'd been hoping for, but she'd take it. "Well, at first, I thought he was going to call the cops and get me arrested, but as it turned out, it wasn't his car. He'd actually stolen it from someone else before I ever broke in…"

Emma's face lit up when she saw a familiar figure come through the double doors in the arrivals area. "You made it!" she exclaimed, flinging her arms around Neal.

Neal hugged her back. "Sorry we got in twenty minutes late; if I could've I would've got out and pushed, but I hear it's colder than Alaska up there." He frowned. "Or at least that's what one of my colleagues in Fairbanks told me when I complained about the weather." He looked around. "You didn't bring Henry?"

Emma shook her head. "He didn't want to tick Regina off. And," with a sigh, she handed him the copy of the Mirror she'd bought before driving out to the airport, "considering that the candidate she's endorsing wrote this hatchet job…"

"How did he uncover this?" Neal asked, his eyes skimming the newsprint.

"Don't know. Don't care. Just makes me all the more determined to win this election."

"How far are you willing to go?" Neal asked slowly.

Emma paused for a moment, before she answered him, but there was no uncertainty in her voice or in her reply: "As far as the law will let me."