A/N: Some dialogue taken from S1E8: Desperate Souls, and from S1E19: The Return.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I will not panic, Emma told herself. I will not panic. The force of the heat flung them both backwards. Emma got to her feet, noticing at the same time that Regina wasn't following suit. A slatted piece of wood, probably some sort of banister or railing, had landed squarely on the mayor's leg. I will not panic, Emma repeated her mantra. If she panicked, they were both dead. The flames seemed searing on her cheeks and smoke stung her eyes, and she started to cough. How could she not have smelled it from the stairs? How could Regina not have noticed how warm the door handle was? Either Regina and me were really so deep in sniping at each other that we were oblivious, her blood suddenly ran cold, or that door was booby-trapped! Had the blast been caused by some sort of bomb? Wait. I remember learning about fire safety in school. When you open a door on a fire, you give it a rush of oxygen and it gets a lot stronger really fast… I think. Or… Less thinking, more moving! There would be time to think once she and Regina were out of here! "We have to get out of here," she told Regina, grabbing hold of her arm.

Regina half-rose and then sank back down. "I can't move!" she cried. "You have to get me out!" That piece of debris had clearly hurt her more than Emma had thought. She looked at the hallway before her and through the flames, she saw one of the most welcome sights she believed possible. Getting there would be risky. Staying here is risky too, she reminded herself. Pick your risky. 'Risky' wasn't impossible. In fact—Emma looked over the flaming room before her and felt her fear subside slightly—if she was careful, and the flames didn't grow too much fiercer, and the ceiling didn't fall in on her, she really thought she could make it. And, she thought as she took two steps forward, it wasn't as though she could abandon—

Regina seized hold of her arm. "You're just going to leave me," she said, her voice thick with anger.

For a moment, Emma was tempted. She always got her back up when someone ordered her to do something she'd been planning on doing anyway—or assumed the worst of her right when she'd been trying her best. The moment passed. She shook loose of Regina's grip and made her way through the smoke and fire, keeping as low to the ground as she could as she tried to reach the fire extinguisher.

The shock in Regina's eyes when she raced back, spraying flame-retardant foam over everything she could see on the way, was quickly surpassed by relief and gratitude. As Emma took the mayor's arm and helped her to her feet and out the door, though, she saw those emotions yield to annoyance, followed quickly by anger. Still, she allowed Emma to guide her through the now-weaker flames and out the door, where they could hear sirens in the distance drawing closer.

A flashbulb popped in Regina's face and she whirled on Emma. "Ow! My ankle," she snapped. "Set me down gently!"

Granted, people lashed out when they were angry, but, "Seriously? You're complaining about how I saved your life?"

"The firemen are here," Regina pointed out. "It's not like we were really in danger."

"Fine," Emma shot back. "Next time, I'll—" She caught herself. "You know what? Next time I'll do the same thing. Because that's what decent human beings do. That's what good people do." She stalked off toward Henry, as a paramedic approached Regina with an oxygen mask and guided her to a stretcher.

Regina lay there for a moment, but when she heard Henry asking in awe whether Emma had really rescued her, her joy at hearing Henry call her his mom was quickly overtaken by her realization that this move could only work in Emma's favor in the upcoming election. "Enough!" she said, springing up, just as Sidney rushed forward with his camera.

"Nice shot of the victim?" he asked.

Regina seethed.

Neal was sitting in the loft waiting for his father with Mary Margaret. Mr. Gold, he was repeating to himself in his head. Not my father. Definitely not 'Papa'. Mr. Gold. Get that into your brain and don't you dare slip up. "He said 'half-nine,'" Neal remembered. "Is that halfway to nine or halfway past nine?"

Mary Margaret shrugged. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "But you're welcome to stay as long as you both want to; you know that, right?"

Neal nodded. "But I'm sure you want your privacy back, still."

"Well," the schoolteacher sighed, "maybe just a little. But I must admit that it's nice not coming home to an empty house. Even though Chatham Street is only a couple of blocks from here." She smiled. "I suppose that's one nice thing about living in a small town: everyone is just a few blocks or so from everyone else.

"You smell smoke?" Neal asked suddenly.

Mary Margaret frowned. Then she walked to the open window. "It's coming from down the street," she said. Then, more excitedly, "and two fire trucks are passing by right now!" She walked to her door and held it open. "Maybe someone below knows what's going on."

Neal nodded and followed on her heels. Once out on the street, Mary Margaret collared the first person running past she could. "Leroy? What's happening?"

"Terrible news!" the hospital janitor exclaimed. "There's a fire at the town hall!"

Mary Margaret's jaw dropped. "What?"

There was a strangled noise from behind her. She turned to see that Neal had gone white. In a horrified voice, he whispered, "Emma was heading over there."

When Mary Margaret and Neal arrived, they were both relieved to see that the fire appeared to be out and Emma and Mayor Mills were outside on the grass, being attended to by paramedics. As the two hurried toward Emma, they were startled by a flash of light directly in front of her. It took them a moment to see that it had been caused by a camera.

"Sidney!" The mayor's outrage carried clearly over to the newcomers. "What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to hand this election to her?"

Neal shot Mary Margaret a questioning look. "That's her opponent?"

"That's Sidney," Mary Margaret nodded. "He's not going to let personal interest get in the way of tomorrow's headlines. C'mon."

Snatches of conversation swirled about them as they drew closer and by the time they'd crossed the short distance to the lawn, they thought they had the gist of it. Mary Margaret's eyes were growing wider by the second, and, as soon as she caught Emma's eye, instead of asking whether her friend was okay, she blurted out, "Did you really rescue Regina?"

"She did!" Henry exclaimed. He was beaming, turning to include Neal in his excitement. "The firemen said it. They saw it!"

Neal slung an arm about Henry's shoulders and looked at Emma. "But you're okay?"

"Uh… yeah," Emma nodded. "I didn't breathe in much smoke, and once I got my hands on the fire extinguisher, I was able to push back on the flames enough to get Regina out." She frowned. "I guess. Seriously, it all happened so fast, I barely remember doing it." Her nose wrinkled. "Phew, it stinks here."

"Yeah," Ruby said. "Probably be a few hours before the smoke dissipates. Hope the wind doesn't blow it toward Granny's; my room faces the square." She shook her head. "But enough of that. Emma… you're a hero."

Mary Margaret looked thoughtful. "I wonder if anyone got a picture of the actual rescue."

"We could use that," Granny nodded. "It would be perfect for a campaign poster." She turned to Ruby. "And if the wind's uncooperative, take one of the forest-side rooms for the night. Lord knows we haven't got any guests right now."

Archie was nodding his head as the others spoke. "Wait, he said, so if we're making up posters…"

Emma, one hand clasped in Neal's the other in Henry's was barely paying attention and scarcely noticed when the crowd drifted off. She smiled at Henry. "This is how Good wins," she told him. "You do something good, people see it, and… they want to help you." It still smelled here. It wasn't just the smoke. There was something else, an odor she knew, but couldn't place.

Henry didn't seem to notice. He smiled. "Maybe you're right," he allowed.

"Of course she is," Neal said, ruffling Henry's hair. He looked at his watch. "Hey, you cleared to leave or do they want you to go to the hospital for observation or something?"

Emma looked around. The paramedics seemed to have vanished along with the rest of the crowd. "Looks like I'm good," she said.

"In that case," Neal said, "believe it or not, it's only a quarter to eight. If we hurry, we can be back at Mary Margaret's when Mr. Gold shows up with the lease for the house."

She'd almost forgotten. But Neal's mention of Mr. Gold reminded Emma of exactly what that mysterious odor had to be. Slowly, she moved over to a pile of debris and looked down. Her smile vanished, as she plucked out a charred rag.

"What's that?" Neal asked.

Shaking her head, Emma handed it to him. "Smell it," she said.

He could from here. An odor that was at once painfully foul and achingly familiar. "Lanolin?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

Emma nodded. "Lanolin. This fire was set. And I think I know who by."

Neal hated having to play dumb. Part of him hoped she didn't suspect the same person he did. But it wasn't as though this would have been the first time Papa had used lanolin to start a blaze…

Mr. Gold came by at a quarter to ten apologizing for the late hour. "Promptness is a value to which I generally adhere," he said, "but with the commotion earlier, I wasn't entirely certain that Ms. Swan would be here. And as, alas the Storybrooke telephone directory does not as yet include your contact information, I waited until I felt sure that you were at home."

It sounded plausible. At least, to a point: Emma couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a telephone directory. Maybe Gold just meant four-one-one-dot-com. Emma, though, had other things on her mind than his tardiness. She held up the charred rag she'd found earlier. "You set that fire."

Gold looked from Emma to Neal. They appeared to be in accord on the matter. Either her young man was completely enthralled by his love, or he'd come to his own conclusion. It would be interesting to know which, particularly since the method he'd employed wasn't one that many would have recognized. Emma, of course, had good reason to; in fact, he'd planned for her to make the connection. Well, for now it mattered little that she wasn't the only one. Still… curious.

He tilted his head, opening his eyes slightly wider, trying to feign confusion. "I was in my shop, Ms. Swan," he said mildly.

Emma held the rag closer to his nose and he couldn't help wrinkling it slightly. "Take a whiff," she ordered. "It smells like your sheep crap oil. Turns out it's flammable."

The internet, Gold had to allow, was quite the useful tool for finding out uncomfortable facts. That it did not exist in the Enchanted Forest was somewhat of a mixed blessing. Still, he did his best to act innocent; it would scarcely do to confess now and she'd be all the more suspicious if he did. "Oh," he said. "Are you sure? There's some construction going on at City Hall right now and they do use a number of flammable substances in that sort of work."

"Why would you do something like that?" Neal asked, speaking for the first time. Gold blinked. There was anger in that voice, yes. But there was also, as much as the young man was trying to hide it, a note of anguish that clutched at him.

No, Papa. No. Please, Papa. Don't. No, Papa! Papa!

He blinked again, more rapidly. Why was that memory haunting him now? He took a breath to recollect himself. "If I did it," and his voice came out as calm and steady as he'd meant it to, "If I did it, that would be because Ms. Swan has no hope of winning the election without something big. Something like…" he shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Being the hero in a fire?"

"How could you even have known I'd be there at the right time?" Emma demanded.

Gold shrugged again. "Maybe Regina's not the only one with eyes and ears in this town. Or maybe I'm just intuitive. That's… if I were involved, of course."

"I could've just run and left her there."

Gold shook his head. "Not the type."

"I can't go along with this," Emma said, speaking slowly, incredulously.

He saw Neal's quick approving nod, but ignored it. This was between himself and Ms. Swan, and Mr. Cassidy might well be a party to their conversation, but not a part of it. "You just did," he pointed out. "Think of it as the price of the election."

"No," Emma said. "That's not a price I'm willing to pay."

As he'd hoped she'd respond. "Okay," he shrugged once more. "Go ahead. Expose me. But, if you do, just think about what you'll be exposing and what you'll be walking away from and, oh yes… um, whom you might be disappointing."

"You… bastard." Neal said in a low tone.

Gold chuckled. "Would you believe you're not the first person to have called me so today?" he asked mildly. He sighed. "I take it that means you won't be taking the house, after all?"

Neal and Emma exchanged a long look. Finally, angrily, they both faced him again. "You own all the real estate here, right?" Neal asked.

Gold inclined his head.

"So, whether we pay Mary Margaret part of her rent or pay you directly, it still goes to you in the end," Neal summed up bitterly.

"As do a great many things," Gold assured him.

Another look exchanged. Finally, Neal sighed in resignation. "Fine, give us the papers. We'll sign them. After we've spent a few hours going over the fine print."

Mr. Gold chuckled. "Prudent on your part. I'd scarcely have expected less. Well then. I suppose you'll be spending at least one more night here?"

"Looks that way," Emma said, her voice no less furious for its even tone.

"Very well," Gold said, opening his briefcase and extracting a thin sheaf of papers, "In that case, I'll bid you a good evening. Oh, but I'll ask you not to keep me waiting. There aren't many people in this town looking to move house at any given time, but should I be approached, well, I'd hate for the two of you to miss out. You know, you really do make quite the lovely couple." With that, he touched his hand to his forehead in what might have been a salute, and walked calmly out of the apartment.

Emma and Neal glared after him.

Papa hadn't changed. Magic or no magic, memory or no memory, he was still Dark. Lying beside Emma in the loft later that night, Neal's fists clenched the coverlet as he continued to seethe in silence.

As he lay there, he found himself wondering whether it would have been any different had Papa leaped with him all those years ago. One part of him felt certain that it would have been. Papa had been new to his power then. It had been less than a year since its acquisition that the Reul Ghorm had given him the bean. Surely, with less than a year, Papa would have—

—I can't make him the man that he was before, but I can send him someplace where he won't be able to use his powers.

—Not a jail. I want to be with him. Like it used to be.

—Not a jail, young man. Just a place without magic.

Those months with Papa after he'd changed, that eternity in Neverland with a teenaged tyrant who never lied outright but always seemed to be promising something and nothing in the same breath and always, always making you think you were getting what you intended until you didn't… Had the Reul Ghorm really promised that coming here would cure Papa? Or—

—Can you do it? Can you leave everything behind… for the unknown?

—If it means I get my father back, then yes.

—You're a very good son, Baelfire…

She'd never promised him anything. Maybe the Papa he'd known and loved had been too far gone even then. Or maybe he hadn't been. Maybe the Reul Ghorm had played him, manipulated him, just as much and as badly as Pan had. As Papa could have, but never done. Maybe she hadn't been sure, but just wanted Papa gone. He thought back to the conversation he'd had with Henry at breakfast and the things Emma had told him on the way to Granny's about how down their son had been since the death of the previous sheriff. Henry was convinced that Good couldn't fight dirty to win, and maybe that was how it ought to be. But maybe if it was for a good purpose…

He was thinking like Papa.

But he was also thinking like the Reul Ghorm. At least, maybe.

Damn it, she was probably here in this town, but even if he found her, he couldn't ask her now! And what kind of answer might he expect to get from her, even if he could ask?

"Can't sleep?" a weary voice mumbled beside him.

Neal sighed and rolled over to face her. "Thinking."

"About tonight?"

Neal sighed again. "Yeah. Look. Whatever you decide to do about Gold's stunt, just so you know… I've got your back."

For a moment, there was no reaction. Then Emma's arm curved about his shoulder blades as she slid closer to him and rested her head on his chest.

A soft smile came to Neal's face as he caressed her hair. "I've got your back," he repeated, and she smiled and slept.

Mary Margaret frowned worriedly at them across the breakfast table the next morning. "Do you have to go?" she asked. "The place is going to be kind of lonely without you."

Emma smiled uneasily. "It's just a couple of streets over," she said. "It's not like we can't still hang out. But I think Neal and I just… need our space."

"I went over the rental agreement," Neal added. He smiled at Mary Margaret. "Thanks for letting me see your lease so I could compare the two; I checked against a copy of the one on our apartment back in Boston, too and it all seems legit." There hadn't been any fine print about signing away their first-born anyway, Neal thought dryly. Then the half-smile that had been forming on his lips died before it became recognizable. They'd already done that part, he thought with a pang.

"I understand," Mary Margaret nodded, oblivious to the thoughts going through Neal's head. "But," she went on, turning to Emma, "I'm going to miss you. Even if I am going to be seeing you at the debate tonight," she added with a little laugh.

Emma winced. "I'm trying not to think about that."

"Emma!" Mary Margaret exclaimed. "You don't have to worry. After last night, I think at least three quarters of the town must be on your side! You're going to be fine up there. Just… be yourself."

"A felon who had a child in prison?"

"A hero."

Emma felt Neal squeeze her hand under the table and she did her best to smile, even as she thought to herself, Some hero.

Several hours later, Emma was sitting on a stage at the Storybrooke town hall, peering through the curtains at Henry's grinning face. He and Neal were definitely hitting it off, she thought, as Henry noticed her and sent a friendly wave in her direction. She smiled back, right when Regina approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. Henry looked up, rose at once to his feet, and followed the mayor to the seats she'd picked out, several rows closer.

A few feet away, Archie—who was going to be moderating the debate—was nervously rehearsing his opening remarks. Sidney was sitting in front of a lighted mirror, touching up his… make-up? Stage make-up, she realized, wishing she'd thought about that. The overhead spotlights were probably too bright; she was going to look pale and washed-out. Wasn't that how Nixon had lost the debate against Kennedy? She vaguely remembered hearing something about that in history class. Or maybe it had been some other class and the teacher had just mentioned it in passing. She didn't really remember much about either man. Kennedy was the Cuban Missile Crisis and Dallas. Nixon was… the end the Vietnam War and Watergate.

I am not a crook.

Emma wiped her hands on her jeans. She wasn't a crook. Not anymore. But… she was playing dirty. Or letting Gold play dirty, which was pretty much the same thing. Neal understood. She knew he'd meant it when he said he'd back her, whatever she decided. On the other hand, had he meant it because he trusted her to do the right thing? Or because in this case, he was willing to accept that the ends just might justify the means? They'd both done things they weren't proud of in their past and they hadn't agonized much over the morality of shoplifting and penny ante con games.

"Hey," Neal had said, "we gotta eat, right?"

She hadn't protested his rationalization. Actually, she'd applauded it. But that had been then. This was now. And now…

Now, she was trying to get her son back, she was trying to keep herself in a position where she stood a real chance of taking on Regina, and she felt accepted here in Storybrooke, in a way she never had anywhere else. She didn't want to throw that away.

Plus, even if she told everyone the truth about the fire, would anyone really believe that she'd truly had nothing to do with it? She was a known felon. What business did she even have trying to get this position? In any other municipality in the country, she'd never have even been considered for a post in law enforcement, not with her history. She wasn't qualified. Hell, when you got down to it, a big part of why she was tossing her hat in the ring was because she had something to prove. To Regina, to Henry, to herself…

Either she was about to do the right thing for the wrong reasons or the wrong thing for the right reasons.

Or the wrong thing for the wrong reasons, she thought to herself, just as a hand dangled a small stack of lined index cards before her eyes.

Startled, she looked up. Mary Margaret proffered the cards again, holding out a bottle of water in her other hand. Emma exhaled. "I'm not going to win," she murmured, hearing the truth in her voice. As the words fell from her lips, she felt a strange calm blanket her. She wasn't going to win; if she did, she was only going to lose. No matter what. Of course, if she lost, she was also going to lose, but at least she'd still be able to look at herself in the mirror afterwards. If she had a mirror; Sidney was still hogging the one backstage.

"What are you talking about?" Mary Margaret replied, still smiling. "Everyone's talking about what you did in the fire."

"No," Emma said, still feeling that eerie calm. "No, Henry's right. I can't beat Regina at this. Not the way she fights." There was only one way through this, she saw it now. "Watch and see."

Mary Margaret's eyebrows climbed. "Is this really just about beating Regina?"

It had looked that way for a while; that was why she'd been trying to quiet her conscience, but it wouldn't stay silent now. "It's just…"

"Henry," Mary Margaret supplied, and Emma felt her resolve falter again.

"I want to show him that good can actually win," she said.

Mary Margaret frowned. "That's why you want to win it for him," she said, "but why do you want to win the election for yourself?"

Because I do want to beat Regina. But if I tell you that, you're going to be… more disappointed in me than you're going to be in about five minutes. And you'll be right. Aloud, she said, "That is why. I want to show him that a hero can win." Her hands were sweating again, but her voice was steady, as she continued. "And if I'm not… If I'm not a hero and I'm not the savior, then what part do I have in his life?" Whoa. She hadn't known that was going to come out. Startled, she met Mary Margaret's eyes and sighed. "Okay," she said, just as someone whose name she didn't yet know announced a two-minute warning. "There it is."

"There it is," Mary Margaret repeated, just as a stagehand approached, making shooing movements in her direction. She moved away, giving Emma a wave and another reassuring smile. Emma returned it. Then she wiped her hands on her jeans once more, sat up straighter in her chair, and waited for the curtains to part.

"Hey," Neal rested a hand on Emma's shoulder. "Hey, you did the right thing."

Emma sighed and drained the last of her beer. "I know," she said. "I still feel lousy." She shook her head. "Not as lousy as I'd feel if I hadn't spoken up, but…" She rubbed her forehead, as Neal slid off his stool, stood behind Emma, and massaged her shoulders. "Well, at least, this is usually a quiet little town and Sidney probably won't have to deal with much more than the occasional illegal U-turn or Leroy's usual drunk-and-disorderly." Come to think of it, she hadn't had to bring in the gruff hospital janitor since Graham's funeral. Maybe Leroy had just enjoyed hanging out with the former sheriff.

"Want me to flag the server to get you another beer?"

She did, but she felt that she'd let Henry down enough already. If he stopped by to see her tomorrow, she didn't want him to see her with a hangover. Granted, a second beer probably wouldn't get her there, but it might make her feel just good enough to think a third would make her feel better. "Make it a coffee," she said. She shook her head. "Maybe we shouldn't have signed for the house, after all."

"It's week-to-week and we only had to pay for two weeks up-front," Neal said. "Didn't even know you could get an agreement like that anymore. And if you want to go back sooner, it's not like we're obligated to stay here a minute longer than we want to."

Emma frowned. "I don't want to leave Henry," she admitted. "Even if it's just until we can talk to a lawyer about suing for custody, he's going to feel like we're abandoning him again." She winced. "If he even wants to talk to me again after tonight."

"I tried to have a word with him after you walked off the stage," Neal said. "But Regina was watching, I didn't think she wanted me around, and I was worried that if I pushed it, it might cause a scene—"

"No, you did the right thing," Emma reassured him. "Well, I guess if I've blown the election, we can spend tomorrow asking around about a good custody lawyer."

Just then, the door of the diner opened and Henry walked in and made a beeline for the two of them. "Hey, kid," Emma greeted him.

Henry reached into his book bag and handed her one of the walkie-talkies she'd given him the week before. Emma stared at it. "What's this for?"

"You stood up to Mr. Gold," Henry said, as though it was self-explanatory. "It's pretty amazing."

Emma and Neal exchanged a quick glance. "Well," Emma said, "he did do something illegal."

"Yeah, but that's what heroes do," Henry said. "Expose stuff like that. I… shouldn't have given up on Operation Cobra."

"Operation… what?" Neal asked.

Emma grinned. "I'll tell you later," she promised as the diner doors opened again. Her grin suddenly felt tight on her face, as Regina and Sidney approached.

"I thought I might find the two of you here," Regina said primly. "With a drink. And my son."

As resolved as she was to track down a custody lawyer tomorrow, she so did not want to get into this tonight. She raised an eyebrow at Sidney. "Here to card me, officer?" she asked, as Neal caught Ruby's eye and requested two coffees when she approached.

"Not at all," Sidney returned. "Actually, I think I'll join you."

"Here?" Emma asked. "I don't know; I think they're setting up a back room for the victory party."

Sidney gave her a tired smile. "Well, you'll have to tell me what that's like," he said.

"Wait," Neal interjected, as the two cups of coffee hit the counter. "What?"

Regina sighed. "Congratulations," she said softly. "Sheriff Swan." She laid the sheriff's badge on the counter beside Emma's coffee.

Henry perked up. "You mean, she won?" he asked.

Regina gave her son a hard look. Then she sighed once more. "It was a very close vote, but people really seem to like the idea of a sheriff brave enough to stand up to Mr. Gold." As she spoke, Emma and Neal noticed that the room was slowly filling with townspeople.

Emma was still trying to process what she'd been told. "Are you joking?"

"She doesn't joke," Sidney asserted.

Regina wasn't finished. "You didn't pick a great friend in Mr. Gold, Ms Swan, but he does make a superlative enemy. Enjoy that."

It was, perhaps, three hours later that Emma made her way up the walk to the house where she was now going to be living. As she fumbled in her pocket for the key, the door opened and Neal greeted her, his expression serious.

"Sorry," Emma said softly. "I didn't mean to stay that long after you left, but everyone kept coming up and I thought it would be rude if I headed out too soon. You didn't have to wait up, even if I'm glad you did." She frowned. "What's wrong?"

Neal sighed. "I think we may have a problem. Or two," he added, moving aside so that she could enter.

Emma blinked. "What kind of problem? Problems?" she amended hesitantly.

Neal motioned for her to follow him, and led her toward the door to the basement. "Keep your voice down and careful on the stairs," he said. "I don't know if we should wake them."

"Wake who?" Emma asked, almost whispering. "Neal?"

"I just figure, well, maybe they've got a good reason to be here, and I'm worried that if we spook them, they'll run and it's pretty late, so I think we should leave it until morning." His hand was on the doorknob by now.

As he turned it, Emma whispered, "Who has a good reason? Who are we going to sp—?"

Neal put his finger to his lips and flicked the light switch. The lone bulb over the stairs came on, barely illuminating the way down. Carefully, remembering that Gold had tripped on the carpet the day before, she made her way down behind Neal, one hand on the bannister. Three steps from the bottom, Neal's arm shot out to block her progress. Then he gestured directly ahead.

Emma's eyes went wide. Not far from the messy stack of comic books that they'd noticed yesterday were two sleeping bags that they definitely hadn't seen earlier.

Each bag was occupied by a slumbering child.