A/N: Episodes referenced: S1E20—The Stranger; S1E21—An Apple as Red as Blood; S2E6—Tallahassee. The collar lining of a shoe is the rim around the opening where one inserts one's foot.

Chapter 54

Neal froze. He should have known. He'd been so afraid that Emma would be angry when she found out he'd been hiding his past from her that he'd somehow managed to forget that she wouldn't believe it! Not now, anyway. "Emma," he said urgently, "listen to me. There is a Curse. That's why August wanted me to leave you behind eleven years ago. Because you have to break it and I didn't want you to."

Emma was backing away slowly, not breaking his gaze. "I'm going to get you some help," she said.

Neal laughed bitterly. "I'm about the only person in this town who doesn't need help. Except maybe Regina," he added.

"Neal," Emma said, "I need you to listen to me. Magic isn't real. There is something really screwy going on here. We both know it. But it's not magic, and it's not a curse. Do you hear me?"

He swallowed hard. Then he forced himself to smile. "Yeah, I hear you," he said. "Sorry. Henry and I spent some time yesterday going through his book and he," he winced, hating himself for what he was saying, "he really started to sound convincing."

"Yeah," Emma said carefully. "He's good at that."

"I'm sorry," Neal said again. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Emma nodded. "Okay," she said, smiling back just a little. "Just… don't do that again. You were seriously freaking me out."

"It's a deal."

"Okay," Emma said, and it sounded to Neal like she was trying a bit too hard to sound as though she wasn't still rattled. "Let's… head back to the Sheriff station. I want to see if there are any grounds that would let us take Henry into custody tonight without having to call in Social Services. There are a couple of copies of the Maine Criminal Code there; we can both go through it."

"Start at opposite ends and meet in the middle?" Neal asked. "Sure."

"I'll make some sandwiches first," Emma said. "We might be there a while."

Emma was silent on the short drive to the sheriff station. Neal glanced at her several times, but she had her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Emma?" he ventured awkwardly. "I'm sorry. It was a stupid joke."

Emma said nothing, but her head ducked down once almost imperceptibly. Emboldened, Neal continued, "I guess, I started wondering… 'What if?' I mean, if you've never seen real magic, it makes perfect sense not to believe in it, but how do you know for sure it's not out there?"

That got him a noncommittal grunt.

"C'mon, Emma," he said, as she pulled into the station parking lot. "You know me."

She parked the car and turned to face him. "Do I?" she asked. "Do I really? Because I'm finding out a lot about you lately that I never suspected. Who the hell are you, Neal Cassidy? Or is that even your real name?"

"Yes!" Neal exclaimed. "Look. I'm sorry. I've been trying to forget my past. It's not like it came up a lot. But you're right. I should have told you more about it before now." He gave her a repentant smile, his eyes pleading with her to forgive him. She'd told him once that she couldn't resist his 'puppy dog' eyes. He had no clue what she meant, or how he made his eyes look that way, or whether they always looked that way, but he hoped they did now.

Emma shook her head and a sigh escaped her, but she was smiling, just a bit. "Come on," she said. "With any luck, it won't take as long as I think."

"What are you doing?" Neal asked, when he saw Emma pull out her phone. He flipped the light switch without waiting for an answer.

"Texting Winston not to come in tonight," Emma said. "If we're going to be here for a while, he'll just be in the way."

"Good thinking," Neal said. "Uh… should I put these on the desk?" he asked, hefting the bag of food.

Emma frowned. "No, there's too much clutter. How about there?" she said, indicating the blue sofa by the holding cells.

Neal looked where she was indicating, and moved to comply, not paying attention as Emma drew closer to him, until she rested her chin on his shoulder and slipped her arm through his. Smiling, he turned to embrace her, and felt cold metal slide about his wrist. There was a soft click.

"Emma?" he sputtered, staring at the handcuff on his wrist. "What the hell are you doing?"

She locked the second cuff around one of the bars of the holding cell. "I'm sorry," she said, sliding her hand into his pocket and withdrawing his phone. "I… I… I can't."

"Can't what? Emma!"

She sucked in a breath. "I can't take a chance that you're not under this same… mind control thing… that almost everyone else in town is under. I can't risk trusting you now. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Neal repeated. "You're sorry?"

"You've got food. And water. I'm sorry you can't lie down on the couch, but you can, at least, sit down. I just need a head start, that's all. Once Henry and I are out of here, I'll call Mary Margaret and tell her where you are." She held up the handcuff key and laid it carefully down on the main desk. Then she set his phone beside it.

"I'm going to get help," she promised him. "There is no way that I'm abandoning you and everyone else here, but I can't stay either. If they could get to you, then they can get to me and I don't know if I can fight them for long. Not if you couldn't hold out. I have to call in the cavalry."

"No," Neal exclaimed. "You don't! You can stop this yourself! You're the only one who can!"

Emma shook her head. "I wish you didn't believe what you were saying," she said, blinking back tears. "But you believe every word." She took a breath and squared her shoulders. "I'll be back."

"No!" Neal shouted, as she walked away. "No! Emma, wait, wait! EMMA!"

She made it back to Herbie before she broke down.

Henry was already asleep, but when the walkie-talkie under his pillow emitted vibrated and emitted a short burst of static, his eyes flew open at once.

"Code Red, Code Red," Emma's voice came through. "Henry?"

He reached under his pillow and had the device in his hand in an instant. "Emma?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you." His mother's voice was tense and, to his ears, she sounded freaked out.

"About Operation Cobra?" he asked her hopefully.

"No," Emma said immediately. "About us. Meet me downstairs."

He tweaked the curtain on his window and saw the yellow bug parked below. He grabbed his coat and put it on over his mismatched pajamas before hurrying to the front door. He remembered to turn off the burglar alarm, before stepping outside and climbing into the car. "If my mom sees me out here talking to you," he warned, "she'll get really mad."

Emma was barely paying attention. "Henry," she said, "I need to ask you something very important. Do you want to get away from Regina? Do you want to come and live with me?"

Henry blinked. "More than… anything," he said. "But—"

"Okay," Emma interrupted him. "Then, buckle up. You ready?"

Henry tilted his head quizzically at her. "Why?" he asked, fastening the seatbelt automatically. "Where are we going?"

Emma turned her key in the ignition to start the motor. "We're leaving Storybrooke."

Nobody was coming, Neal thought glumly. Not for a few hours, at least. Damn. If she hadn't cancelled the night cleaner, then she wouldn't have as great a head start, but as things stood, once she left town, he'd have his work cut out trying to track a woman who knew exactly what tricks to use to stay out of sight.

He yanked futilely on the handcuff chain, but while the other cuff clinked and rattled against the cell bar, it didn't loosen. His eyes narrowed. There had to be some way to get loose. He couldn't reach the key, but maybe… His eyes fell on the penholder on the desk. There was an idea. If he could just manage to snag that blue pen, the one with the metal clip…

Neal frowned, thinking. Then he carefully brought his left foot down on the collar lining of his right shoe. It took a little doing; he normally tied his laces tight, but eventually, he was able to ease his foot out of the shoe. That done, he brought his stockinged right foot down on the collar lining of his left shoe.

The next bit was trickier. It was not easy to get the shoes to where he could pick out the laces and he was actually sort of glad he didn't have an audience for his work, but with some effort, he was able get the shoes onto the arm of the blue sofa by pressing each one between his ankles, gripping the cell bars, and levering his legs up. He hadn't had to try these acrobatics in years, and it was nice to see that his body hadn't forgotten how. Still, it was more than an hour before both laces were in his hands. After that, though, even with one hand restricted, it was a simple matter for him to tie the laces together and make a slip knot loop at one end.

Neal cast his makeshift lasso and discovered that, while it was long enough to reach the desk, snagging the pen wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped. His first cast went wide. His second fell short. The string was too light, he realized. Air resistance was messing things up. Stop making excuses, he told himself firmly. Pan wouldn't listen to them in Neverland and they're not going to help you here. Get on with it.

His next cast almost caught the penholder and he reminded himself that if he yanked that off the desk, the pen he actually needed was going to end up on the floor and almost certainly where he wouldn't be able to get to it. Still, it was the closest he'd come yet. Neal willed himself to relax and readied for another attempt.

Henry didn't say anything until they were halfway to the town line and he glimpsed the duffle bag in the back seat out the rearview mirror. "Is that all your stuff?" he asked.

She'd gone back to the house before signaling Henry, jamming clothes, toiletries, and non-perishable food items into the bag. Last of all, she'd grabbed her baby blanket. It hadn't fit in the bag, but she'd spread it out over the seat and laid the bag on top of it. "All I need," she replied tersely.

Henry's eyes grew wide. "Wait. You want to go now? We're leaving now?"

Emma nodded. "Uh-huh. I'm getting you out of here. Away from all this. Away from her."

"What about Dad?"

"I can't save him now," Emma said, her voice nearly a whisper. "I have to get help. The situation, what's going on here… I don't know how many people I'll have to talk to before they think I'm not crazy." She smiled a bit sadly. "Guess you can relate," she added.

Henry didn't smile back. No," he exclaimed. "No. Stop the car! You can't leave Storybrooke. You have to break the curse."

"No," Emma said, "I don't. I have to help you and your father and everyone else."

"And you will," Henry insisted. "Once you break the curse. Emma… you're a hero. You can't run. You have to help everybody."

"I know," Emma said. "That's why I'm running. To find help."

"But… you are the help," Henry said desperately.

Emma took a breath. "Henry, I know it's hard for you to see it, but leaving now, getting you out of here is doing what's best for you. That's what you wanted when you brought me to Storybrooke."

"But the curse…" Henry replied. "You're the only chance to bring back the happy endings."

"Henry…"

Henry gave her one pleading look. Then he lunged sideways and grabbed the steering wheel.

"Henry!" Emma cried out in shock as she fought to control the car. The wheel seemed to twist beneath her hands as the car veered into a ditch. She took a moment to assure herself that they were both uninjured, before whirling on her son. "Henry! What were you doing? You could've gotten us killed!"

Henry was sobbing now. "Please! Please, don't make me go! We can't go! Everything's here… Me, your parents, your family. Please, Emma. They need you. Your family needs you."

Emma eyed her son searchingly for a long moment. Then she sighed. "Come out," she said, giving in. "Help me get the car out of the ditch. With any luck, I'll have you back at Regina's before she wakes up."

It was after two when she dropped Henry off in front of his house. Emma breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the house was dark. Regina hadn't awakened to find him missing. She shook her head. The way everything seemed to turn the mayor's way, doubtless Regina was sound asleep and dreaming happy dreams.

On the other hand, Emma didn't think that she was going to sleep tonight. She loved Neal, but until she could find a way to break whatever… conditioning… or brainwashing he'd been subjected to, she couldn't be near him. What if he'd been programmed to report on her activities? Or worse, snap her neck if she asked too many questions? She also couldn't leave him handcuffed to a holding cell indefinitely.

Until he was free, she couldn't go to back to the sheriff station. And once he was free, she wouldn't be able to go back home.

She had to find help, but she had no idea who would believe her story. Maybe…

She pulled out her phone and called a number she hadn't had occasion to use since she'd left Arizona. Her own voice greeted her.

Hello and thank you for calling Ray Manuel Investigations. The office is closed right now. Please call back during normal business hours and we will be happy to assist you. Or leave a message at the tone.

After all these years, Ray hadn't changed the after hours voice message, Emma thought, as the tone sounded. She took a breath. And then she hung up the phone. She'd call back, she promised herself. She'd call back as soon as she could get her thoughts into some sort of coherent order. By then, the office would probably be open. And since driving usually helped her settle her mind, she had a feeling she knew what she was going to be doing for the next couple of hours or so.

Mary Margaret normally had no trouble grading schoolwork at home, but tonight, she found her television calling her. She tried to ignore it, even as she remembered that Roman Holiday was on and she was missing it. She'd always had a thing for Audrey Hepburn movies. Maybe it was the pixie cut; she'd often thought that with her own hair cut in that style, she actually resembled the famous actress somewhat.

Still, the papers needed grading, and the temptation was strong. But her pupils had worked so hard on those projects and they probably wanted to get them back as quickly as possible. She had to do the right thing!

With a supreme act of will, she gathered up the scrapbooks into a bundle and headed toward Granny's. As she was walking past the sheriff station, she was surprised to see the door open and a shadowy figure step furtively outside. An instant later, she recognized him. "Neal?"

Neal froze. Then he approached her slowly. "Did Emma call you?" he asked.

She blinked. "No. Why?"

"That's not important," he said. "Look, we… had a misunderstanding. She needs some space and I want to give it to her. Got any ideas where I can hole up, where we probably won't run into each other?"

"What happened?" Mary Margaret asked. "Can I help… smooth things over?"

"No," Neal said. "I have a feeling all this needs is time. Do you know of a place?"

She nodded slowly. "How well do you know the woods?" she asked. "I mean, the woods around where… where you found me when I was running?"

"I know them, I guess," Neal said. "At least well enough to avoid meeting Jefferson again, I hope."

"There's a cabin," Mary Margaret said quickly. "About a quarter of a mile before his mansion, there's a dirt track, a hiking trail. I was trying to find it when Jefferson caught me that night. I thought maybe I could lie low there for a day or two, until I knew that nobody was watching the town line, but it was dark. I didn't have a flashlight and I probably would have been afraid to use it and risk someone else seeing it anyway. I couldn't find the trail at night, or I don't know, maybe I would have if he hadn't found me first. Anyway, David and I used to meet there," she added, looking away with a wince. "If it belongs to anyone, we never saw them. It should be okay."

"A quarter of a mile before his house?"

"If you go through the wilderness park, look at the trailhead map at the entrance. It's the red path—I think it's off of Trail Number Three, maybe? There's a dirt path that leads to it branching off from that trail after the troll bridge, but before the well."

Neal nodded. "That helps. Thanks, Mary Margaret. Hey, and, uh… if you could maybe not tell Emma you saw me?"

Mary Margaret smiled. "Don't worry, Neal. Your secret's safe with me."

Emma was sitting in Granny's nursing a coffee and trying to decide her next move when Mary Margaret stalked in and sat down across from her uninvited and set a pile of folders down on the table. "You're up late," Mary Margaret said tightly. The folders started to slide apart and she quickly pushed them back into a neat stack with a sigh of annoyance.

Emma took a sip of her coffee. "Got a lot on my mind," she said.

"I walked by your car on my way in," Mary Margaret continued. "I didn't mean to snoop, but I couldn't help noticing all the bags in the back seat. Are you going somewhere?"

Emma winced. "I'm not sure," she admitted.

"Will you be back?" Mary Margaret asked with icy calm.

"I hope—"

"Because Neal seems to think that all you two need is time. Please tell me that if you're breaking things off with him, you at least told him to his face.

"Whoa, wait." She was too tired for this conversation and her coffee wasn't strong enough. "You saw Neal?"

"He loves you, Emma. How can you hurt him like this? Or…" Her anger seemed to ebb. "Wait. Did he hurt you?"

"Wha—No, no, nothing like that. No, I'm just… starting to feel like…"

"Like what?"

"Like this town is… I don't want this. Any of it. I never asked to be sheriff. I don't want people relying on me. I have a life back in Boston. Or at least, I did," she added.

"What about Henry?"

Emma looked down. "I was going to take him with me."

"Were going to…" Mary Margaret repeated. "What changed?" Her eyes grew wide. "Wait. You're not talking hypothetically, are you? You tried to kidnap him?"

She swallowed hard. "Maybe," she said, still staring at the table.

Mary Margaret's anger was back and hotter than before. "So, you don't want people to rely on you, but you took your son?" she said, her voice swooping higher and lower in her agitation. "Now, that sounds a lot to me like you want him to rely on you, but it doesn't sound anything like you'll be providing any kind of stable home for him if you're hiding from the authorities. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I want what's best for him," Emma protested, but her words sounded hollow in her own ears.

"And running is what's best for him?" Mary Margaret demanded sarcastically. "Or, is that what's best for you? I don't know what kind of person you're turning into, Emma, but I thought you were better than this!"

Emma winced. "You thought wrong."

"Well, regardless," Mary Margaret barrelled on, "you need to talk to Neal instead of just abandoning him. He thinks all you need is a little time. Emma, if that's not true, you need to be honest with him. And you have to do what's right for Henry now."

"What's that?" Emma asked, half-dreading the answer.

"Oh, I don't know," Mary Margaret snapped. "You're his mother – that's your job." She gathered up the pile of folders into her arms. "So," she fired a parting shot, "you figure it out."

With that, she stalked off, her posture radiating cold fury.

Emma took another sip of coffee and sank lower in her chair.

Back at the loft, Mary Margaret slammed the papers back down on her table. She was glad she'd run into Emma after seeing the state poor Neal had been in. And she'd definitely been right in giving the sheriff a piece of her mind! Neal clearly loved her so much. And unlike a certain person she wasn't going to mention, he hadn't been two-timing Emma. Nor had he accused her of murder!

She winced. Maybe there was more going on there than she'd known. After all, Neal had told her not to tell Emma she'd seen him. But surely, that couldn't have been the right thing to do! Those two were so right for each other that this all had to be a misunderstanding! Once they sat down and talked, they'd work things out. Emma just needed a good jolt to get her to the point where she was ready to have that conversation.

No, Mary Margaret assured herself. She hadn't done anything wrong tonight. More like the opposite. She picked up her pen, grabbed the first project, and set about reviewing it with a fresh burst of vigor.

The cabin was right where Mary Margaret had told him it would be, and the door was unlocked. When Neal pushed it open, a musty smell told him that it was almost certainly as uninhabited as he'd expected. Good. Very good.

Using his phone as a flashlight, he found an old-style pull-chain light switch by the entrance. When he tugged it, the ceiling fixture came on, illuminating the room. Neal frowned. If this place had electricity, just who was paying the bill around here? He shook his head. Whoever it was hadn't been here in a while and there was no reason to expect them to drop by now. He didn't plan to stay here for very long anyway. He just needed a place to sleep and to plan his next move.

He shouldn't have tried to tell Emma the truth, not yet anyway. When she'd easily accepted the half-truths he'd spun for her about his past, he'd been emboldened enough to think she'd take in the full story with the same equanimity. He should have known better. He'd just… forgotten. Now she thought he'd been brainwashed.

Neal sighed. There were three doors off of this main room. The first led to a walk-in cedar closet. The second opened on a bathroom that included a shower roughly the size of a phone booth. The third door led to a bedroom equipped with a queen-sized bed that took up most of the square footage, with a bit left over for a highboy dresser and night table. Neal wondered how long those linens had been on the bed, and whether anyone had slept in it recently. He regarded the dresser for a moment, before trying one of the drawers. A smile sprang to his face when he discovered that it contained neatly folded bedsheets. It was the work of ten minutes to strip off the old bedclothes and replace them. He looked around for some sort of laundry hamper and, not finding one, shoved the old linens under the bed. He could worry about what to do with them in the morning; maybe there was a washer-dryer here somewhere, but for right now, he was too tired to worry about it.

He was going to get a good night's sleep… Well, he was going to get some sleep, anyways, or try to, at least. And with any luck, he'd be able to plan what to do next in the morning.

It felt weird to go to bed without brushing his teeth, but he found a packet of breath mints in his pocket and he popped one into his mouth and tried not to think about the sugar.

If Emma's conversation with Mary Margaret had left her feeling lower than she already had, her visit to Archie made things even worse.

According to the psychiatrist, she and Neal had no chance at custody, Henry was retreating deeper into his fantasy world, and her battles with Regina were only making things worse. She still didn't think that her initial instinct—to grab Henry, get away from this weird place, and come back with some sort of help to determine what the hell was going on here and shut it down—was wrong. But she knew a thing or two about having her hopes dashed.

—Please, I didn't mean to push Mandy down, I…

—I don't want to hear any excuses, Emma. Your social worker is on her way. You'd best be packed and ready when she gets here.

She'd been the only kid in grade six who hadn't gone on the class trip to the Boston Tea Party Ships and Museum. Her foster might have signed the permission slip, but balked at the required fee. She'd spent her day off school doing chores around the house and trying to get absorbed in TV reruns she'd watched too many times already.

She was sure that once she alerted the authorities, there would be an investigation and the truth about Storybrooke would come to light, but what if she was wrong? What if she couldn't convince anyone to come back with her? What if this… conspiracy or whatever the hell it was ran deeper than she knew? What if it took years? And what if she couldn't find Henry the help that he was going to need to face reality and adjust to a normal life?

Emma shook her head. She didn't like the direction in which her thoughts were pointing her, but she didn't see any other way. Henry was her kid, and she had to do what was right for him. No matter how much it hurt her.

In the end, she went back to the well that August had shown her. She reread the plaque with bitter cynicism. "Power to restore what was lost, huh?" she asked aloud. "Don't suppose that applies to my inner compass or my trust in Neal or custody of my son or…" She shook her head. "No, of course not. Because that would be magic, and magic isn't real. Thanks for nothing." Some bit of dust seemed to fly into her mouth and down her throat and she doubled over, coughing. Eyes streaming, she tugged on the rope to haul out the bucket. Cupping her hands into its contents, she gulped down sweet water and sighed. "Well," she muttered, "thanks for that anyway."

She walked back to Herbie. As she got in, she seemed to feel a strange sense of clarity envelope her. All of her stress and worry and fear seemed to part before her, revealing a clear path. She didn't like where it was leading, but at the same time, she couldn't deny that it was the right road to take. She turned her key in the ignition and drove back toward town.

She felt her heartrate speed up as she turned onto Mifflin Street. By the time she pulled up in front of number 108, her hands were sweating, too. Steeling herself, she parked the car, got out, walked briskly to the front door, and knocked. A moment later, Regina opened the door, her eyes widening when she saw Emma standing before her. Before she could speak, Emma blurted, "We need to talk."

For an instant, Regina seemed uncharacteristically flustered, but she managed a smile and an almost friendly tone. "Yes," she said, "I imagine we do. I was just about to call you. Come right in."

Obediently, Emma stepped into the foyer ahead of Regina, who hung back to shut the front door again. "Do what you're so skilled at and make yourself at home," she said. Emma waited, her shoes scuffing the polished wooden floor, as Regina drew closer. "I believe you came to see me," the mayor prompted.

"Right," Emma said, not wanting to get the words out, but knowing she had to. "Look, this isn't easy. I think that this… Whatever is between us needs to end."

Something in Regina's demeanor seemed to soften. "At last," she said, "something we can agree on."

"I want to make a deal with you about Henry," Emma said.

Regina's face hardened once more. "I'm not making any deals with you-"

Desperation to be heard made her practically fling her next words out. "I'm leaving town."