Episode references: S1E17—Hat Trick.

Chapter 47

"So," Neal said evenly, keeping the gun trained on Jefferson, "since Henry's book isn't the fiction everyone says it is, who are you?"

Jefferson chuckled. "I don't know that I'm in it. I've worn many hats in my time: adventurer, thief, mushroom seller, father… But I never slew a dragon or fought an ogre. I didn't make my fortune with a talking cat or get cursed to be a frog until a beautiful princess kissed me. I'm Jefferson, and the Queen's Curse neither stole away my memories nor changed my name. That's my curse," he added bitterly.

"Why?" Neal asked. "If the Curse gave everyone else false memories, why would it spare you?"

"It didn't," Jefferson laughed bitterly. "It just didn't take away the truth. I have two sets of memories and that, my dear deputy, is more than sufficient to drive any man mad, especially one who was already more than halfway there to start with."

"Explain," Neal said.

"In here," Jefferson said, motioning to a closed door. "I need to open it."

"Okay," Neal said, watching closely.

"I've been trying to find a way to get home for twenty-eight years," Jefferson said, turning the knob and pulling the door open. "Unfortunately, that path has eluded me. I'm hoping the Savior will have better luck, because if she can't get it to work…" He flicked the light switch and Neal's eyes widened. "…Then my Grace and I can't ever be together again."

Storybrooke wasn't on Google Maps. Storybrooke wasn't on any map. Normally, Emma found that annoying. She'd watched enough Gilligan's Island reruns to accept that there might still be some 'uncharted desert isles' left, but how the hell did you have an uncharted coastal town in New England? She'd read somewhere that cartographers sometimes stuck nonexistent town on maps—paper towns, as they were called—almost like a watermark so that they could prove it if someone copied their work illegally. Storybrooke was practically the reverse situation.

Unfortunately, Emma wasn't entirely sure where Shaughnessy Drive was. At this hour, there were few cars on the road and no pedestrians walking in this part of town. Neal's message had unnerved her. She didn't really know that he was in trouble. Maybe the person who he wanted her to talk to was just really nervous and Neal had been trying not to spook him. Maybe she'd read too much into his tone and her imagination was running wild.

She considered. She didn't really fancy turning on her police lights and frightening some poor motorist when she only wanted to ask for directions. Regina would have a field day ranting about 'abuse of police powers' or something, if the person she stopped turned out to be the kind of person to lodge a complaint with the municipal government. Not to mention that if Regina asked her to explain why she'd been looking for the street in the first place, Mary Margaret's escape was likely to come out. Emma was still hoping that she could find her friend and convince her to return before anyone was the wiser. She gritted her teeth. She was already in a hole, here, and she definitely didn't mean to dig herself in any deeper!

She pulled over to call Neal and ask for directions, and shook her head when the call went to voicemail. It figured. And now she was getting worried again. Think. That whole super-calm tone he was using? He was using it because he didn't want me to panic. I have to stay calm or I might just drive past the right street sign without noticing it. It's not like I haven't checked the town out before; I know I've passed Shaughnessy Drive before. I just can't remember where! She heaved a sigh and started driving again. Sooner or later, she'd either find Shaughnessy Drive, or she'd find someone on the road that she had legitimate grounds to pull over. And if they could point her in the right direction, she'd be happy to forgo writing a citation and let them off with a warning!

"M-Mister Gold," Mary Margaret stammered. "I-I was only… I mean… I mean, it's not what it looks like. I…"

"You're taking your daily exercise in the dead of night with neither police escort nor ankle monitor?" Gold asked dryly. The car door opened. "Inside."

Mary Margaret obeyed unthinkingly. "I… I…"

Her lawyer shook his head. "Where are you running off to, dearie?" he asked gently.

"I don't know," Mary Margaret admitted. "Out of town, I guess."

"And then?"

"I…" She shook her head. "I haven't thought that far ahead."

Gold sighed. "If I might offer some advice, to you—not as a lawyer, but, as a…" he caught her raised eyebrow and smiled self-consciously. "Well, as someone who's had to run a time or two in his life, there is a marked distinction between running away from a place and running toward one. In the case of the latter, one ceases to run once one reaches one's goal. In the case of the former, however, the running never stops. Dearie," he continued softly, "is that truly what you wish for yourself?"

Mary Margaret shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Everyone believes I killed Kathryn. Everyone knows I was having an affair with David. Last week, I couldn't get more than two people to volunteer to raise money for the convent. This week, I'm surprised that there hasn't been a mob clamoring for my head outside the sheriff's station complete with torches and pitchforks!"

"Ever stop to think that it might have had more to do with the convent than the candles?" Gold asked mildly. He chuckled at her expression. "Just trying to buck up your spirits. And I scarcely think that everyone believes the worst of you. I certainly don't. And I doubt that the sheriff or her significant other is quite ready to pillory you either. Likely not young Henry, for that matter."

"That's four," Mary Margaret said glumly. "And even you're not sure about three of them." She lowered her eyes and when she raised them again, there was a spark of anger in them.

"David asked me if I had anything to do with her murder. David!"

"After you supported him when he was accused."

"Yes!"

Gold shook his head sadly. "It always hurts when those we trusted betrayed us. Were I in your place, I daresay I might have had much the same response. Somehow, though, I did think you were made of sterner stuff."

Mary Margaret blinked. "Why?" she asked in genuine surprise. "I'm not a hero or a-a leader or anything. I'm a schoolteacher!"

"Yes," Gold nodded. "A shaper of young minds. That's a task that requires a certain strength of character; one I've never doubted you possessed. Until now."

"That's not fair!" Mary Margaret protested. "My life is a shambles, I'm about to be arraigned for a crime I didn't commit, most people think I did it and considering that Kathryn's heart turned up in my jewelry box and the murder weapon in my apartment, if I didn't know better, I'd think I did too!"

"Ah, but you do know better," Gold returned. "And so do I."

"And the arraignment is tomorrow."

"An arraignment is not a trial," Gold pointed out. "And unless you're able to foresee the future, you can't say what the outcome will be."

"Maybe I can't foresee it," Mary Margaret countered glumly, "but it's looking pretty predictable from where I'm sitting."

"Oh, come now," Gold chortled. "Surely you've not lost all hope?"

Something seemed to register on the schoolteacher's face and she flinched. "It's funny," she said slowly. "I always have seemed to hope. For love… success… a happy ending." She snorted. "Fat chance of that happening now, I guess."

"I wouldn't give up on a happy ending quite yet, dearie," Gold said with a soft smile. "After all, there's hardly any guarantee of happiness at any other point in the story. Perhaps you just need to hold on until you're past the middle, hmm?" Seeing Mary Margaret's skeptical look, he shrugged. "Well. I've said my piece. As your attorney, I can hardly counsel you to break the law. I can only assure you that, well, I'll be at the sheriff's station in…" he looked at his watch, "…precisely eight hours and fifteen minutes." He smiled at her confused look. "It's currently eleven thirty-five. Your arraignment is at eight. It would hardly do for me to come bustling in at the last moment. Now. If you're there waiting for me, we'll proceed as though this incident never transpired. And if you're not, well," a touch of sadness crept into his smile and a wistful note into his voice, "I hope you'll at least consider having some destination in mind. It truly is better that way." He sighed. "Well," he said again, "Well. I suppose you'd best be off. It'll take you some time to get where you're going, particularly as I'm sure you'll be taking pains not to be spotted by anyone else. Whichever decision you make," he continued, still smiling, "I'm sure it'll be the right one." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever it is. Good night."

Mary Margaret eyed him searchingly for a long moment. Then she leaned over and opened the door. "G-good night, Mr. Gold," she said, casting apprehensive glances in all directions before she stepped out. "A-and thank you."

"You're the Mad Hatter," Neal breathed. "Wait. Alice in Wonderland wasn't in Henry's book."

Jefferson shrugged. "I would imagine that just like anything else, when you're crafting a story, a fair bit gets edited out," he gestured toward the scraps of fabric that littered the ground, "left on the cutting room floor." He frowned. "Just how is it that you're so quick to accept what every sane person dismisses?"

Neal smirked. "You're assuming I'm sane." Seeing Jefferson's irritated look, he sobered. "Let's just say," he continued carefully, "that there's enough going on here for me to think that there's a chance Henry could be onto something. I'm not ready to swear to it, but I'm not ruling it out either. So, convince me."

"You're already convinced or you wouldn't have recognized me."

"I recognize who you believe you are," Neal said, lifting up a top hat from a display head on one of the shelves. "I'm not saying you're right. Not saying you're wrong either. Just… need more to work with."

"Yes, well if your sweetheart does what I require of her, you'll have it," Jefferson returned. "It would be better if she does what she's meant to for everyone, but I'm self-centered enough to be satisfied if she helps me. The rest of the town can keep on as it is; once my Grace and I are free of it, I don't much care." He glared at the old-fashioned cuckoo clock on the wall. "How long does it take for her to get here?"

"Want me to call her again?" Neal offered.

"Probably a good idea," Jefferson nodded, and Neal pulled out his phone. He had to take his eyes off Jefferson to turn it on and bring up his contact list. He was pretty sure he knew Emma's cell number by heart, but it was so much easier to just press her name on his touchscreen.

"I don't know if she'll be able to pick up," he admitted. "If she's dri—"

The scuffing of a boot made him look up, just in time to see Jefferson charging toward him, a wicked pair of sewing shears thrust out before him like a dirk knife.

"No way," Emma muttered, when she realized where the lights she'd seen through the trees on the road had been coming from. "Have I been driving in circles?" Sighing, she pulled into the parking lot of Granny's Bed and Breakfast. Would you like a forest view or a square view? Emma heard Mrs. Lucas's voice clearly in her mind asking her that question, the night she'd decided not to drive back to Boston after all. Naturally, if you could see the forest from the motel, there was a pretty good chance you could see the motel from the forest.

She parked the car and headed up the steps, hoping that they hadn't locked up for the night. Based on her past experience, front desk clerks and gas station attendants could almost invariably be counted upon to give good directions!

It wasn't the first time someone had come at him with a blade, and Neal would lay odds that this time, he didn't need to worry about dreamshade. Still, the techniques he'd learned in Neverland for disarming an assailant without getting himself stabbed—or nicked—in the process were still hardwired into his reflexes and it was no time at all before Jefferson was on the ground, Neal's knee on his chest, his elbow on Jefferson's wrist, and the shears lying harmlessly several inches out of Jefferson's reach. "Want to try again?" Neal demanded, pressing down hard with his knee.

Jefferson grunted and shook his head.

"What the hell was that about? I'm trying to help you, dude! Or at least, I was," he added. "Before you tried to kill me!"

"I wasn't trying to kill you," Jefferson gasped. "Just incapacitate you until she gets here." He grunted again and Neal eased up the pressure somewhat reluctantly. "I already lost half the leverage I thought I had; I couldn't risk your walking out of here before she gets it to work."

"Gets what to work?" Neal demanded in exasperation. "What is this place—some kind of… of hat-making sweatshop?"

"It's a workshop," Jefferson managed. "All for the purpose of creating one, very special hat."

"Keep talking."

"I'm a portal jumper. I need the Savior to craft me a working hat. In this land, she's the only one with a chance of being able to do so!"

"The savior?" Neal blinked. "You used that term earlier. Are you talking about Emma?"

"Don't play the fool with me," Jefferson snapped. "You know who she is; I can tell. And yes. This is a land without magic, but the Curse is magic and the Savior is the only one who can break it. That makes her the only person in this land with magic and magic is what it will take to get my portal to work!"

"Portal," Neal repeated.

"My hat! But I can't get it to come out right. Only she can. And she must!"

"Jefferson," Neal said carefully, "Emma doesn't have magi—Ooof!" All at once, Neal found himself on his back and incapacitated. Jefferson quickly reached into Neal's pocket and retrieved the small handgun.

"Well," the hatter said grimly as he trained the gun on Neal once more, "for your sake and mine, you'd best hope she finds some."

Mr. Gold sat in his Cadillac for a long time after Mary Margaret Blanchard had disappeared into the night. The frightened spinner he'd once been was berating him for not offering more reassurance to a fugitive on the run. He was no stranger to terror and alienation. He had a fairly decent idea of the thoughts that were doubtless running through her head.

On the other hand, he could hardly have told her that Kathryn Nolan was alive, well, and shut up in the basement of 115 West 10th Street, a Nantucket-style heritage house that was currently uninhabited. He'd been trying to unload that white elephant for close to thirty years, he thought with dry humor, though his inability to do so was proving useful now.

At any rate, Mary Margaret was hardly in any real danger. When the right time came, Gold knew that he would produce Kathryn Nolan and the schoolteacher would walk free, exonerated in the eyes of all. Unless, of course, she'd decided to do something foolish like cross the town line of her own volition now.

Gold fervently hoped that she had not. He doubted that the Curse would allow it; something was bound to happen that would force her to turn back before she stepped over. While he didn't imagine that the 'something' would be lethal, once the schoolteacher had made use of the key Regina had slipped into her cell, he'd taken it upon himself to give her a gentle nudge in the right direction. Or, at least, the direction he wanted her to take.

A wry smile spread his lips. Ms. Blanchard would be fine. After all, she was a Hero. That sort always did manage to triumph in the end.

It had been fortunate that he'd decided to call on his client this evening, or at least, to see whether she'd made use of the skeleton key that Regina had planted in her cell. Had he not done so, he wouldn't have ventured out in the night, this close to the town line, in order to ensure that matters didn't get too far out of hand. Now, however, he had one more errand to run. He glanced over his shoulder at the to-go box from Granny's in the back seat. Kathryn would be waking up in less than an hour, if he'd calculated the proper dosage of sedatives in her last meal. He needed to ensure that the food behind him would be waiting for her—and similarly doctored—when she did.

He turned his key in the ignition, sent a brief look skyward as though Fate was up there reading his mind, and commenced the drive back into town.

"You're not going to do anything," Neal said quietly, as Jefferson roped him to a chair. "Emma knows I'm here now and she's definitely not going to help you if I'm dead."

"I'm not going to kill you," Jefferson sighed. "Not unless she—or you—leave me no choice."

Neal shook his head. "I've known killers. Tracked a couple. You're not that type."

"As a rule," Jefferson said, "you're probably right. But everyone has a breaking point and after twenty-eight years of watching my daughter living her life in someone else's home, happy, laughing, totally unaware that those aren't her real parents and I'm barely ten minutes away and she's completely forgotten me?" His voice had been rising in pitch and volume as he spoke and now, it was nearly a shriek. "I'll do what I have to."

"No," Neal said, his voice clear and confident. "You won't."

The doorbell rang then, and Jefferson caught up a cloth handkerchief, brought the square's opposite corners together, and began rolling it into a gag. "And what makes you so certain of that?" he asked, leaning over to press the fabric between Neal's lips.

For answer, Neal brought his hands up to Jefferson's neck, a loop of rope still dangling from one wrist. "Because…" he grunted, "I know a thing or two about creating slack in a cord!"

Jefferson's eyes bulged and he brought his hands to Neal's forearms trying to loosen them. Then, all at once he went limp. Neal froze. He didn't really want to kill the guy after all! "Hey," he said, relaxing his grip slightly. "Hey," he slapped Jefferson's face lightly. "You okay?"

Jefferson groaned. His eyelids fluttered open. And then, without warning, he swung his fist directly into Neal's eye. Neal roared and stumbled back, releasing him as he crashed into the chair. The chair toppled over, and Neal toppled on top of it. He struggled to his feet, only to see Jefferson climbing onto the broad window sill. "Hold it!" he yelled, charging for the window.

Jefferson looked at him, and then out the window at the drop below. And then, without a word, he jumped!

Neal sprang for the window, even though he knew he was too slow to reach his target. He looked down with a puzzled frown. With all of those branches… you'd think he'd have heard something, but Jefferson seemed to have vanished into thin air. Well, that, or he was clinging to those vines outside, Neal thought, still frowning.

The doorbell rang again and he hurried downstairs to let Emma in.

Emma turned off her flashlight and shook her head. "Nobody came down here," she said. "The ground's muddy and there aren't any footprints. Plus," she turned on the light again and panned it over the tangled vines, "if anyone had climbed down, I'm pretty sure they'd have disturbed a few tendrils."

"Could he have climbed back inside through a first story window?" Neal suggested.

"Through the security bars?" Emma asked skeptically, and Neal gave her a rueful smile.

"Sorry. Wasn't thinking," he admitted.

"Yeah, well, sounds like you got a little shaken up. Are you sure it was this window?" she asked. "Because over there, where the light's on… someone did make it down. I found footprints. There's crime scene tape in the car. We should—"

"Don't bother," Neal said. "It wasn't him."

"How do you know?"

"Because that's the room where he was holding Mary Margaret."

Emma blinked. "You didn't tell me she was here."

"I was gonna. Sorta got distracted by the guy with the gun who almost stabbed me with a scissors and was going to give me some drugged tea. Anyway, he nabbed her, too. I untied her and told her to hide until the coast was clear." He sighed. "Looks like she either thought it was or didn't want to wait around for the cops to show up."

"You're the cops, too."

"I didn't tell her that."

"So she's back on the run," Emma sighed.

Neal nodded. "Do we keep looking?"

"No," Emma said. "As close as we are to the town line, if she meant to cross it, she's got to be long gone by now. I'll… head back to the sheriff's station and see what the procedure is for alerting state troopers; there's probably some… code or… id number I have to give them or something."

"Now?"

Emma pointed to the sky, where the sun was now climbing. "It's already almost seven. There's no point in going home. If Mary Margaret's running, she's a fugitive and it's time to involve other law enforcement agencies. And as much as I wish I didn't have to, if I don't follow protocols, then any chance I've got at saving my job goes out the window."

Neal swallowed. "We could always forget about playing cops and go back to Boston," he suggested in a tone that made it clear he wasn't serious about it.

"Not like this," Emma said. "Not if it means losing Henry. Not if it's because I failed. Not if it means letting Regina win."

Neal sighed. "Well, it's a good thing our rent is cheap and I've still got my day job, then," he said. "C'mon. I won't let you face the mayor alone."

"You mean I need some big, strong, guy to protect me?"

"You don't need anyone to protect you," Neal said seriously. "But if you want some support…"

Emma's somber expression lightened briefly. "I can always use some of that," she admitted. "Let's head back to town."

"You know," Neal said, as Emma slammed her car door shut, "I could go after her. I mean, just because you've got to deal with law enforcement in town—"

"Until Regi—I mean, everyone else—finds out that she got away on my watch—"

"Which isn't your fault."

Emma shook her head. "C'mon, Neal. We're bounty hunters. We find people."

"Typically, it takes us longer than eight hours to do it."

"And typically, the person in custody isn't a friend. Because Mary Margaret is, it complicates things. Regina could make a case that I let my personal feelings interfere with my ability to do the job, and I don't even know if she's wrong!"

"Unless you left her cell door unlocked…"

Emma shook her head uncertainly. "I don't think I did, but I know she's not guilty. What if I subconsciously…"

Neal put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. You didn't. And even if you did, that doesn't make her any less a fugitive."

"No, but it does make me negligent," Emma said, pushing open the door to the sheriff station. She sighed heavily. "Looks like I didn't lock this door before we tore off looking for her," she pointed out.

"I could comment on the benefits of locking the barn door after the horse is gone," Neal murmured. "But in any case, doesn't that cleaner come in after hours? Sounds to me like he's the one who forgot to lock up."

A wave of relief washed over Emma and she smiled at him. "You're right," she said, just as a Mercedes pulled into the lot.

Emma forced herself to smile as Regina emerged from the car and made her way toward the entrance. "Good morning, Sheriff," the mayor greeted Emma, nodding pleasantly toward Neal. "Cutting things a bit close timewise, aren't we?" She pushed past the two of them without waiting for an answer and proceeded down the hall. As soon as she stepped inside the main office, she stopped short.

In her cell, Mary Margaret lowered the morning newspaper calmly and greeted Regina with a smile. "Madame Mayor."

"Good morning," Regina returned calmly, as Mr. Gold stepped forward. His smile was polite, but carried just a hint of smugness.

"Excuse me," he said, "but my client isn't having any visitors."

"Of course not," Regina returned, still eyeing Mary Margaret.

Gold offered to see her out, leaving Emma and Neal alone with Mary Margaret.

"I'm… glad to see you," Emma admitted.

Mary Margaret nodded apologetically. "Emma, I know I shouldn't have, but I was so scared and I felt trapped, and I wasn't thinking and then I found—"

"Hey," Emma said, holding up her hands. "Save it. It's okay. You panicked, you calmed down, you came to your senses… I'm just glad you came back before things got too out of hand. We've got this. Okay?"

Mary Margaret exhaled and nodded. "Okay," she said, but despite her brave face, Emma could hear the doubt in her voice.

Neal was smothering a yawn as he and Emma arrived back at the house. "Adrenaline high's fading," he murmured. "I feel like I'm about ready to crash."

"I'm tired too," Emma said. "But glad Mary Margaret decided to come back before things really got… complicated."

"Yeah." Neal rubbed at his eyes. "I'm just going to let Marco know I can't make it in this morning. Probably not a good idea for me to be operating power tools today. You going back to the station later?"

"Yeah, probably," Emma replied. "I want to stop by the school and catch Henry at lunch, first, though."

"You mean without risking a confrontation with Regina."

Emma shook her head. "If Regina wants a confrontation, she's usually got a pretty good idea of where to find me. This town isn't all that big and, since I can't exactly knock on her door and ask if Henry can come out to play, she knows there's a decent chance that if he's not with her, he's with me. No, I…" She took a breath. "I do want to spend time with him, but I'm hoping he'll let me borrow his book again for a while."

Neal came wide awake almost at once. "His book?" he repeated. "Why?"

"Because there's more to it than meets the eye," Emma said.

"You think so," Neal said carefully, a wild hope beginning to surge within. If she was starting to believe that, then maybe she might be able to wrap her head around the truth of his past.

"Sure," Emma went on, oblivious to what Neal was thinking. "I mean, Regina doesn't want him to have it. Mary Margaret gave it to him and suddenly her life's been turned upside down. There's a stranger in town who's telling him that the stories in it are true, and last night, you just met a guy who was telling you the same thing."

"And you're starting to believe it, too," Neal said, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

Emma shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't know who my parents are, but I'm pretty sure they're not Snow White and Prince Charming."

"Then…?"

"Henry's book may not be real, but all the same there's something weird going on in this town. I don't if it's mind control, or brainwashing, or if this whole place is some sort of top-secret research base and everyone here is putting on some… show to keep me from finding out the truth, but somehow Henry's book is in the middle of it all. Maybe if I read it through more carefully, I'll find a clue to the key that'll crack this whole thing wide open!"

She hugged him. "Go on, get some sleep. I'm going to head over to Granny's for coffee; all we've got here is instant and I think I could use her cold brew." She kissed him. "Sweet dreams."

Neal watched her go with a smile that dropped as soon as the front door closed behind her. Emma's little speech had just jolted him awake far more effectively than any cold brewed coffee ever could have managed. Sooner or later, he knew, she was going to find out the truth, but until she came to that point on her own, there was no freaking way that he could tell her about his past. Once he did…

Once he did, it wouldn't matter that he'd only kept it from her because he'd known she wouldn't have believed it. Emma would never forgive—or trust—him again.