Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Once Upon A Time,

There was an enchanted forest filled with all the classic characters we know.

Or think we know.

One day they found themselves trapped in a place where all their happy endings were stolen.

Our world.

This is how it happened."

Emma Swan had to admit, of all the things she thought could happen when she blew out her birthday candle, this was not it.

Her son, whom she had given up for adoption—a closed adoption, mind you—was prattling on about fictional characters and curses, not even a foot away from her.

This was too much. Everything was too much. He was too much.

Too much like his father, with his brown hair and eyes. Too much like her, with an innocent hope that his mother was finally here and going to stay and make his life better.

Ah, the naive optimism of childhood. How it did nothing but irk her in this moment.

“Kid, kid – listen –” Still, he paid her no mind. “Kid!” Finally, the car descended into silence, now tenser than before, child and adult slumped in their respective seats.

“I'm hungry. Can we stop somewhere?”

Emma shook her head, hands tightening on the wheel. “This is not a road trip, we're not stopping for snacks.”

“Why not?”

“Look, quit complaining, kid. Remember, I could've put your butt on a bus. I still could,” she snapped.

“You know, I have a name. It's Henry,” he said, watching as her knuckles started turning white, the leather bunching between them.

She remained frozen for a moment, before sighing.

“What's that?” she eyed his book.

“Oh, this?” He looked down, trailing his fingers over the book's lettering. “I'm not sure you're ready.”

Emma huffed. “Ready for some fairy tales?” The “Yeah, right” was left unsaid.

Henry smiled, a small fleeting thing, promising secrets. “They're not fairy tales. They're true. Every story in this book actually happened.” He spoke as if making a mundane observation: The sky is blue. Fairy tales are real.

Emma couldn’t help but let out a huff, a half-formed laugh dying as soon as it achieved freedom. “Of course, they did.”

“Use your superpower. See if I'm lying.”

Her eyes flicked over to him again before shooting back to the road.

She shook her head.

“Just because you believe something doesn't make it true.”

Henry laughed, eyeing his book more carefully. “That's exactly what makes it true.” He turned his head and stared at her, assessing her.

Emma shivered.

“You should know that more than anyone.”

“Oh yeah? Why's that?”

“Because you're in this book.” His hand curled into a fist and knocked, the rap echoing through the car, seeming to drown out the rain for a moment.

This time, Emma chanced a look to stare into his eyes, trying to fully take in the person claiming to be her son. “Oh, kid. You've got problems.” She flinched, her tone coming out more serious than dry wit.

But instead of tears, or even being upset, his smile just got wider.

“Yup. And you're going to help fix them.”

It was sometime later that they arrived in Henry's hometown. As they passed the welcoming sign, a chill ran down Emma's spine, a visceral sense of wrongness settling over her. It was like the eerie sensation of being watched while alone in the dark, where you can't see anyone, but you can feel an unseen presence lurking just beyond the edge of your perception.

This pervasive feeling of not being alone, of eyes invisibly tracking her every move, made every hair on her body stand on end. The unease gnawed at her, a deep-rooted instinct warning her of potential danger. Yet, she couldn't discern if this presence was truly a threat or just an echo of her own anxieties. Either way, the sensation wrapped around her like a cold, unsettling fog, sending relentless shivers through her.

Trying to pull herself together, she watched as a seemingly cursed town looked ordinary, right from the cars parked on the curbs down to the normal-looking shops and signs.

The streets were lined with quaint storefronts: a bakery with fresh bread displayed in the window, a florist with vibrant flowers arranged neatly, and a diner with its neon sign buzzing softly in the evening light.

Despite this, there was an unsettling stillness. No people walked the sidewalks or lingered in doorways; the town was eerily devoid of life.

Emma took a deep breath, trying to dispel the eerie feeling that clung to her, reminding herself that she was used to the bustle of the city. “Okay, kid, how about an address?”

“Forty-four, not-telling-you street,” Henry replied with a smirk.

The old car screeched as Emma slammed on the brakes, the tires skidding on the wet pavement. She stepped out abruptly, flinging her door closed with a sharp thud.

She exhaled deeply, the cold air biting at her skin.

She clutched her red leather jacket tighter for warmth, cursing herself for being so unprepared. All she had were the clothes on her back and no plan for where to stay the night, aside from her car that had clearly seen better days.

“Look, it's been a long night, and it's almost”—she glanced at the clock tower, her face scrunching in confusion—“eight-fifteen?”

Henry followed her out, pulling his striped scarf tighter against the chill. He shoved the storybook back into his worn brown leather bag and closed his door, the bang echoing in the silent street, earning a reproachful look from Emma.

He walked around the car to stand beside her, their breaths visible in the cold air.

Together, they stared up at the clock tower looming over the town. “That clock hasn't moved my whole life. Time's frozen here,” Henry said, his voice tinged with a solemnity that seemed out of place for a child.

Emma glanced down, trying to catch his eyes, searching for some hint of mischief or joke, but he remained focused on the clock, his expression serious.

"Excuse me?” she asked, her voice uncertain as she tried to grasp the gravity of his words.

He nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “It happened with the curse. Everyone from the Enchanted Forest was taken here.”

“Wait a minute. Hang on. You mean to tell me that someone sent a bunch of fairy-tale characters here, of all places?” Emma asked, her disbelief evident in her tone.

“Yeah. And now they're trapped!” He insisted, his eyes wide with conviction.

“Frozen in time, stuck in Storybrooke, Maine. That's what you're going with?” she replied sceptically, crossing her arms as she looked around the deserted street.

Henry's head snapped around, offended by her doubt. “Hey! It's true!”

“Alright, then why doesn't everybody just leave?” she challenged, moving to the middle of the road and pointing back in the direction they had come from.

He shook his head and stepped towards her. “They can't. If they try, bad things happen.”

Emma opened her mouth, probably to protest, but before she could speak, a red-headed man and his dog briskly walked over, cutting through the eerie stillness of the town.

"Henry! What are you doing here? Is everything all right?" the man called out, his concern evident as he hurriedly approached them, his spotted Dalmatian wagging its tail beside him.

Henry smiled placidly, maintaining a relaxed yet guarded expression. "I'm fine, Archie," he replied casually, casting a brief glance at Emma before turning his attention to Pongo and scratching behind the dog's ears.

Archie nodded uncertainly, watching Henry, who seemed unperturbed by his scrutiny. He then shifted his focus to Emma, sizing her up with a touch of suspicion.

Drawing nearer to the young boy, Archie asked cautiously, “Who's this? I don’t recall seeing you in town.”

Emma noticed the man's apprehensive glance and instinctively took a small step back from Henry. Despite her gesture of peace, she stood her ground, her hands held out in a non-threatening manner. “Just someone giving him a ride home,” she explained calmly, trying to ease Archie's wariness.

“She's my mum, Archie,” Henry interjected, his attention still fixated on Pongo who was revelling in belly rubs.

Gobsmacked, Archie swiftly turned his attention to the boy, who appeared more focused on petting the dog than engaging in the adults' conversation.

“Oh... I - I see,” Archie muttered, his attention now shifting to Emma, who stood defensively nearby.

She looked as though she might prefer to throttle her ‘son’ rather than be in this awkward situation.

Meeting Archie's gaze, she could sense his attempt to piece things together based on appearances alone.

Emma knew it would be futile. Henry’s dark brown hair starkly contrasted with her own blonde locks, and his deep, dark eyes stood in stark contrast to her light green gaze.

Observing Henry from the corner of her eye, she noted they might share the same nose, and perhaps even face shape, but his was still surrounded by baby fat, softening his features compared to her more defined jawline and cheekbones.

Now that she could see him clearly under the streetlamp’s glow, Henry appeared younger than she had been at his age, with a brightness in his eyes that she struggled to recall having in her own youth, or even in his father's when she first met him.

With her panic subsiding, Emma could admit that Henry resembled his father far less than she had originally thought. His grin was sharper, exuding confidence and mischief, while his eyes revealed a intelligence beyond his years. His hair, a rich, deep brown, cascaded in loose curls unlike his father's close-cropped style.

In truth, if Emma hadn’t spent years fixating on her memories of his father and trying to find traces of him in Henry, she might not have recognized Henry as his son at all.

Brushing a hand through her hair, Emma tried to push aside her thoughts and refocus on the conversation at hand.

“You know where he lives?” she demanded, her voice edged with impatience.

Surprised to be on the receiving end of her sharp tone, Archie spluttered, “Oh, yeah, sure, just, uh, right up on Mifflin Street. The Mayor's house is the biggest one on the block.”

Henry shot him a sharp look, then stood up, leaving the dog to whimper in protest. Archie shrugged apologetically and pulled his dog back towards him.

Emma, lost in her own frustrations, missed their exchange. She rubbed her hands over her face, cursing her luck. “You're the Mayor's kid?” She glared at Henry, her eyes narrowing.

Henry forcibly shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking backward on his heels. “I suppose you could say that.”

Breaking the tense standoff between mother and son, Archie awkwardly stumbled forward, his dog tugging desperately at the leash to get closer to Henry. Both turned to him as he struggled to control the excited animal.

“Um, hey. Where were you today, Henry? You missed our session.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Henry grinned like a shark, his demeanour mischievous. “I went on a field trip.”

“Now, er—” Archie crouched down to get face-to-face with the young boy, trying to look firm in the face of Henry's deceptively innocent look. “Henry, what’d I tell you about lying? Giving in to one's dark side never accomplishes anything.”

Emma stepped forward, reaching out to Henry before quickly changing direction to grab her door handle. “O-kay! Well, I really should be getting him home.”

Archie rose to his feet unsteadily as Henry made his way back to the passenger seat. “Yeah, sure. Well, listen—have a good night, and, uh, you be good, Henry.” He waved as he walked away, the dog dragging behind him.

Emma watched Archie and the dog disappear into the distance, the dog's tail wagging energetically.

She let out a frustrated sigh, opening her car door. Glancing at Henry, who was already buckling his seatbelt, she noticed his expression—the picture of youthful defiance.

“So that your shrink?” Emma's voice was edged with sarcasm.

Her tendency for insensitive questions was something she blamed on the circumstances, but deep down, she knew it was just part of who she was.

Growing up in foster homes, Emma had learned to isolate herself after every disappointment. This habit made her slightly inept at social cues or conversations, a trait that only worsened as she became more reclusive in her adult years. With no friends or personal attachments, except for the occasional colleague she bothered to remember the name of, Emma was truly and utterly alone.

When you’ve only got yourself to talk to, there’s no need to filter your thoughts.

Henry rolled his eyes, pulling on his seatbelt. “I'm not crazy,” he muttered.

Emma raised an eyebrow at him, clearly doubtful.

“You gonna drive me home, or should I stay with you tonight in your tin bucket?” He challenged defensively.

Emma narrowed her eyes, her fingers gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. “Watch it, kid! This isn't a 'tin bucket' - it's a great car! I've had it longer than you've been alive!” She started the engine with a defiant turn of the key, her eyes cutting to him.

Her hand went to her neck, her fingers just barely touching the necklace that hung around her throat before she jerked it away, an angry expression clouding her face as she brought her hand back to the steering wheel.

Henry looked around the front of the car, taking in the rust lining the seams and the botched leather peeling from the side of his seat. He glanced back at her. “Yeah, sure, great car,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

Emma shot him a glare, her eyes flashing. “And I didn’t say you were crazy,” she snapped. “Just—he doesn't seem cursed to me. Maybe he's just trying to help you!” She huffed, trying in vain to say the right thing.

“But he's the one who needs help. Because he doesn't know,” Henry insisted, his own frustration mounting.

Emma scoffed “That he's a fairy-tale character?”

“None of them do. They don't remember who they are!”

“Sure, that’s convenient. All right, I'll play along,” she humoured him. “Who's he supposed to be?”

"Jiminy Cricket, duh. ‘Giving in to one's dark side never accomplishes anything,’” he repeated, widening his eyes earnestly as he spoke with a tone of sophistication.

“Right, the lying thing. Thought your nose grew a little bit.”

“I'm not Pinocchio,” He deadpanned.

“'Course you're not,” she rolled her eyes. “'Cause that would be ridiculous.”

Henry turned his body to face her, leaning forward with his arms resting on the middle console and the dashboard. “Look, I know you want to drop me off, so you can just take me to the docks.”

Emma couldn't help but let out a short laugh. “You really think I'm going to drop you off at some docks at night?”

He kept his gaze fixed on her, his expression expectant. Emma's laughter ceased abruptly.

“Of course I'm not going to drop you off at some docks at night! It's near pitch black! Not to mention that you’re the Mayor's kid! What do you want to happen to me?”

Henry flinched, his hand instinctively moving to rub his ear. “Gods, no need to shout,” he muttered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emma take a deep breath, evidently gearing up to respond. He hurriedly raised a hand.

“I don’t exactly plan on going to the docks. What do you think I'm going to do at nearly one in the morning, buy fish?” he quipped, pausing briefly before continuing to explain.

“There's a path near the beach that’ll take me straight home.”

“Home!” she snapped, her hands subconsciously tightening on the wheel. “I’m going to take you to the Mayor's house, where your real home is according to ‘Archie the shrink,’ not some beach. I need to go to - you know - Boston. I don’t have time for this!” Breathing deeply, she watched as Henry sat back, slumping further than she thought possible with his seatbelt still on.

Feeling a little bit bad, she spoke more softly, though her voice shook for reasons she would not think about. “I'm sure you have parents that are worried sick about you.”

Henry nodded rapidly, his anxiety evident as he reached into his satchel. He fumbled with a flip phone, repeatedly attempting to turn it on without success. With each failed try, his desperation seemed to worsen, until he finally slumped back into his seat in defeat.

Looking up, he pointed to the left. “Turn left here, then right, and another right at the end of the road. The house is in the upper west side.”

Emma hadn't stopped watching Henry since she last spoke. His reaction to her mention of his parents had her worried—she recognized the signs of avoiding a question.

“So... your parents just let you wander around the docks at night and take buses to Boston on what did you call it - ‘field trips’? You do this often?”

Henry shot her an unimpressed look. “You're not being subtle, like, at all.” He fiddled with his phone one last time before giving up and stuffing it in his pocket. Leaning back, he lazily rolled his head to look at her.

“My dad's really good at getting information from people. You need to be good at that kind of thing in his line of work. He's the best, really. You’ll probably meet him in a minute.” Henry explained, rubbing his temples before raking a hand through his hair. "As for my mum... well," he chuckled bitterly, "let's just say she's not exactly easy to get along with. You'll see."

He pointed towards a sprawling white mansion with imposing pillars and expansive windows. The grandeur was offset by the unsettling sight of flashing red and blue lights, making Emma involuntary shiver.

As the car rolled to a stop, Henry winced at the sound of a sharp, high-pitched voice echoing from within the mansion.

“Don't let her get to you," He cautioned. "She has a way of doing that—snide comments hidden behind a polite smile. Staying calm is the best way to go, don’t let her see that she's affecting you.”

Emma attempted to interject, but Henry rolled his eyes, dismissing her attempts to protest.

“She will get to you,” he said, waving away her objections. “She has a way of smelling weakness. The only one who doesn’t seem to be intimidated by her is my dad. Honestly, nothing could intimidate him. I think even Thanatos would think twice," Henry joked with a wry grin. "Come on, time to face the music. We're lucky Dad's here. Otherwise, who knows how this would play out."

Shaking her head, Emma stepped out of the car, feeling the weight of the night's events pressing on her. She followed Henry down the path leading to the mansion, the voices growing louder with each step.

“We’ve been doing this for hours! And yet you still haven't found him! Do tell me why I keep you employed, Jones!”

The voice sliced through the evening air like a sharpened blade, sharp and furious.

“Good Gods, woman! I’ve had to put up with your blabbering for going on four hours. If I must endure a second more, I might just have to arrest myself from pulling your head out of your own ass and putting my boot up there instead.”

A male voice retorted with biting sarcasm, tinged with frustration.

“You can't speak to me like that, you filthy degenerate! It's your fault he's gone!”

The response bristled with indignation and accusation.

“My fault? And how did you make that informed leap, Your Majesty? I seemed to be under the impression that Henry was with you today. In fact, every time I phoned your office, you told me how great Henry was getting along without me being there to corrupt him. And then I get a call at near 9 o'clock at night, telling me that you haven't seen him all day! I wonder if this should be added as a child neglect case.”

There was a cold edge to the voice, laced with parental concern and authority.

“Perhaps we should all calm down.”

A another male voice tried to interject, aiming for reason amidst the escalating tension.

“Shut up, Deputy!”

The sharp rebuke cut off any attempt at mediation.

“Even when you're bumping uglies, she still treats you like dirt. When's the wedding? I won't go unless there's lunch provided - it's always good to have a full stomach when you're violently sick.”

The tone turned mocking and irreverent.

An enraged exclamation followed, full of venom and fury.

“Bastard!”

The man's retort was lost in a yell of frustration and pure adulterous rage that echoed through the doorway.

It was clear he had responded, whether by words muttered under his breath or by silently raising a rude hand gesture, remained unknown to those standing outside.

The door was abruptly yanked open, revealing Emma and Henry standing on the porch.

Henry's hand lifted in a nonchalant wave, his grin mischievous as he stepped onto the porch. Behind him, Emma remained frozen, her expression caught between astonishment and apprehension.

“Henry!”

Ignoring the man who swung open the door, Emma craned her neck to peer into the house.

Inside, two figures with jet-black hair caught her eye: a man lounged against the entrance hall wall, arms crossed and a smug grin on his face, thoroughly enjoying the scene unfolding before him. Just inches from him stood a woman, her face twisted in a furious snarl, cheeks flushed with anger, and eyes burning with intensity. The tension between them was palpable, yet the man seemed unfazed, even relishing the confrontation.

Emma couldn’t fathom how he could stand being so close to her, especially amidst such hostility.

It was clear these were the voices from earlier, now visible in the doorway where another man stood awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route.

He was undeniably handsome, his chiselled jawline framed by a scruffy, brown beard. His well-proportioned face boasted a strong nose and a mop of curly hair, neatly trimmed at the sides, while full lips completed his striking appearance.

However, despite his efforts at professionalism he appeared slightly dishevelled, as under his brown leather jacket his grey waistcoat was partially unbuttoned, and his blue tie was loosened, hanging away from his neck. Moreover, his hair looked damp with sweat, tousled as if he had been running his hands through it.

His gaze settled on a parked police car, his yearning evident before visibly relaxing upon seeing Henry. Completely disregarding Emma, he seized the opportunity to intervene, grabbing Henry’s arm and pulling him inside like an unwilling sacrifice.

"Look, look—Henry's here! Safe and sound, no harm done!" he announced in an Irish accent, nudging Henry forward, though the boy shot him a dark look in response.

Henry promptly yanked his arm away, rubbing it with irritation as he shot the man a glare. He then let out a sigh and dropped his bag unceremoniously to the ground.

However, a grin quickly spread across his face as he dashed forward with renewed energy.

“Henry!” the now frazzled woman exclaimed, stepping away from the man with her arms outstretched. But Henry bypassed her, shouting in excitement.

“Dad!” He crashed into the man, wrapping his arms and legs around him with an audible thud, before the man lifted him, spinning him around.

Lowering the boy's scarf and pulling him close, the man closed his eyes momentarily, holding his son tightly before setting him down gently.

Stepping back, he scrutinized Henry's face, running his hands down his arms. “Are you okay? Gods – you scared the Hell outta me!”

Emma's heart swelled as she witnessed the genuine love and concern the man showed for Henry—a stark contrast to her own upbringing. It was reassuring to see that Henry had found the love and care he deserved, though Emma couldn’t shake her curiosity about the woman Henry had run past.

The woman's fleeting glance at Emma revealed a flash of anger, quickly smoothed over by a polite smile.

The woman's fleeting glance at Emma revealed a flash of anger, quickly smoothed over by a polite smile.

Henry's earlier words in the car came to mind, and now Emma understood why he had mentioned people being intimidated by her.

She glanced to her left at the man standing beside her, who was looking at her with clear fright.

The woman, composed and graceful in her smart attire, abruptly turned her attention to the father and son duo who had moved from hushed tones to a serious discussion, judging by Henry’s bowed head.

The specifics of their conversation eluded Emma as Killian kept his voice low.

Sensing all eyes were now on them, Killian shook his head and placed a reassuring hand on Henry's shoulder. “We'll discuss this later,” he said firmly.

Henry nodded silently as his father stepped forward.

“Killian Jones, Sheriff,” he introduced himself, extending his hand. “I just want to thank you for bringing Henry back safely.”

Shaking his hand, Emma introduced herself. “He’s quite the character. Very persuasive, too.”

As they shook hands, Emma felt the callouses and scars on Killian's hands. Pulling back, it became evident that both of his hands bore heavy scars.

Numerous marks crisscrossed his knuckles, hinting at a history of violence.

Killian chuckled softly, the sound echoing with a blend of affection and amusement. “Ah, yes, I'm familiar with his persuasiveness. Though I've only myself to blame for that,” he admitted with a wry smile.

“If you are done flirting, Sheriff,” the woman stalked forward, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Her gaze was piercing as she locked eyes with Emma.

Dressed impeccably in a sleek blazer and pencil skirt, her demeanour exuded authority, yet her smile held a sharp edge that contradicted her polite tone.

“Are you waiting for a formal announcement, or are you going to enlighten us as to who you are to Henry? I assume you're not just some stray he picked up.” Her words cut through the air, each one dripping with thinly veiled disdain as her eyes bore into Emma.

Killian rolled his eyes. “I thought it was obvious, but if you need me to spell it out for you, Regina, Swan here is Henry’s birth mother.”

The other man and Regina exchanged incredulous glances, their faces a mix of shock and disbelief as they scrutinized Emma's face.

“What?” Regina snapped, her voice laced with fury.

“Good Gods, I don’t have the time nor the crayons to explain it to you. Surely you know how children are made, Your Majesty,” Killian mocked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Regina turned sharply towards him, her hands clenched into fists. “Of course I know how children are made! But I suppose the better question is how you knew who she was, you—”

“Careful, Madame Mayor, little ears listening in,” he interjected, covering Henry's ears with his hands and feigning a scandalized expression.

“Henry!” Regina barked. “Upstairs. Now.”

“But—” Henry began to protest, only to be silenced by a gentle shake of Killian's head and a reassuring tousle of his hair.

“Go upstairs and get your stuff. You're coming with me tonight,” Killian instructed firmly, his voice carrying an unmistakable air of authority.

Regina swiftly redirected her glare from Emma to Killian. “He is not—”

“Yes, he is,” Killian asserted calmly. “You couldn’t set aside your own pride to call me and inform me that he was missing in the first place. Gods know what could have happened if he hadn’t been found. He'll be staying with me. But if you'd like, we could discuss this further, perhaps even consider a case of child negligence?”

If glares could kill, Killian Jones would have been six feet under. To Emma's mild surprise, Regina made no move to stop Henry from leaving.

“I’ll... just... go and check on the lad, make sure he gets everything,” the other man interjected nervously, inching closer to the stairs. Hearing no objections or signs that Henry's parents had acknowledged him, he quickly ascended the steps and disappeared from view.

The tension in the room was palpable, the animosity between the adults almost tangible.

Emma could feel the weight of the room pressing down on her, the hostility making it hard to breathe.

"How would you like a glass of the best apple cider you've ever tasted?" Regina's voice cut through the tension, her gaze locked onto Emma.

Before anyone could respond, she turned and walked purposefully into what appeared to be a dining room, disappearing around a corner. Moments later, the sound of a door opening and closing echoed to where they stood.

Only the clinking of glasses could be heard.

A different kind of tension seemed to fill the entranceway as Emma and Killian appraised each other.

Killian Jones exuded a commanding presence, draped entirely in black from his leather jacket down to his jeans and boots. His attire emphasised his intimidating stature, accentuated by his height and broad shoulders, with his clothes clinging subtly to his muscular frame. His deep black hair cascaded in unruly yet deliberate waves, framing his face alongside a neatly trimmed beard that added to his rugged allure.

His eyes, a captivating blend of deep blue and green, were encircled by a ring of gold that shimmered with an otherworldly intensity, suggesting both ancient wisdom and youthful mischief. Scars etched his features—a prominent one slashed across his left eyebrow, crossing over his eye and trailing down his cheek, while another marked the right side of his jaw, partly hidden by his beard yet still contributing to his fierce appearance.

Beneath the first two unbuttoned buttons of his shirt, amidst dark chest hair, faint hints of tattoos peeked out, their intricate designs trailing beneath his clothing.

He exuded an air that seemed more outlaw than lawman.  

His grin, a lopsided curve that softened his features mirrored his son's, yet his canines seemed unnaturally sharp, and his eyes gleamed with a disquieting depth of knowledge that unnerved Emma.

It felt as if he could see through her, penetrating the façade she wore.   

"Shall we?" he gestured for Emma to go first.

Emma's face settled into a blank mask with practiced ease, though she had the unsettling feeling that it didn't matter to him.

His smile twitched and grew wider, as if he could read her thoughts.

She nodded curtly and walked away, feeling the weight of his lingering gaze on her back.

The room sprawled before her, an elegant tableau of black and white décor accented by dark wooden furniture.

Mirrors were strategically placed around the room reflected the elegance back upon itself, creating an illusion of boundless space. In fact, each one seemed to hold a different angle, offering glimpses of the grandeur from multiple perspectives.

Lamps with ornate bases cast warm, inviting glows, while vases brimming with deep red apples added vibrant splashes of color against the otherwise subdued room. Amidst this refined setting, a grand wooden dining table commanded the centre, drawing all attention to its imposing presence.

Regina occupied the heart of the room, seated with an air of calculated poise, her gaze fixed on a glass of what must have been cider.

"Got anything stronger?" Emma ventured, breaking the silence that hung in the air.

Killian's chuckle from behind caught both women's attention.

Leaning casually against the ornate, white archway, he gazed at Emma with a look of genuine fascination.

Regina's response was a strained smile. "I'm sure you'll find the cider satisfactory," she replied evenly, handing Emma a glass with a flicker of irritation aimed at Killian, though she kept her composure, barely containing her simmering frustration.

Emma shifted uncomfortably, trying to mask her unease, though it didn't escape the notice of those present.

"How did he find me?"  Emma finally mustered, her voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

"No idea," Regina responded with forced calm, taking a sip that did little to hide her tension. "When I adopted him, he was only three weeks old. Records were sealed, and I was told the birth mother didn't want any contact," she added pointedly, her gaze darting briefly toward Killian before returning to Emma.

"Though, I suppose if you knew who she was, you must have been told something different," Regina concluded, her voice tinged with accusation.

In response, Killian offered a disarmingly charming smile, causing Regina to tighten her grip around her glass.

Breaking the staring contest between them, Emma finally spoke up, her arms now defensively crossed over her chest. “You were told right.”

“And the father?” Regina prodded, clearly aiming to elicit a reaction.

However, Emma stood her ground. “There was one”.  

Setting down her glass with deliberate precision, Regina rose from her chair, locking eyes with Emma. “Do I need to be worried about him?”

Emma shook her head firmly. “Nope. He doesn't even know.”  

Closing the distance between them, Regina's steps seemed to echo her intent, until they stood face-to-face, mere inches apart. “Do I need to be worried about you, Miss Swan?”

“Absolutely not.”

They stared at each other for a long beat.  

“Well!” With a decisive turn, Regina exited the room, shooting a pointed glare at Killian as she passed.

Her voice carried back. “I'm sorry he dragged you out of your life. I really don't know what's gotten into him.”  

Emma followed suit, sparing a brief glance at Killian before making her way back into the entrance hall.

“Kid's having a rough time. Happens,” she remarked nonchalantly.

“You have to understand, ever since I became Mayor, balancing things has been tricky. You have a job, I assume?” Regina asked, her tone edged with condescension.

Emma's expression tightened, but she responded with forced politeness. “Uh, I keep busy. Yeah.”

“Imagine adding another full-time job on top of that. That's being a single mom,” Regina explained, her tone sharpening slightly. “So, I push forward. Am I strict? Perhaps. But I do it for his own good. I want Henry to excel in life. I don't think that makes me evil, do you?”

Emma couldn't help but notice that despite the Sheriff's role in Henry's life, Regina still considered herself a single parent.

It was then that Emma spoke, her arms now crossed defensively over her chest. “Evil? I don’t know about that. Though, I'm sure you have help from the Sheriff,” she added, observing how Regina's forced smile teetered between anger and disgust.

“I'm sure he's just -”

Suddenly, Killian Jones appeared behind Regina, catching her eye and swiftly signalling her to stop talking with a subtle hand gesture to his neck.

“You know what, it's none of my business. He’s your kid. And I really should be heading back,” Emma interjected, nodding in Killian's direction, who subtly repeated the gesture of thanks.

While Emma knew she had to avoid getting too attached, in this instance, she trusted Killian's judgment over Regina's, as she had to wonder what would cause any child to spurn one parent while obviously favouring another.

“Henry!” Killian's voice echoed, causing Regina to startle and spin around to glare at him, though he ignored her. “Come down here, we need to leave. I’ve got work in the morning, and you still have school.”

Footsteps hurried downstairs, with another set close behind.

Henry appeared looking annoyed, followed by a flustered deputy who kept glancing nervously between Killian and Regina.

“All cleared up then? Everyone ready to go home?” the man haltingly asked. There didn’t seem to be much of a difference between the two now, and the first time he retreated upstairs.

“Henry,” Regina moved toward him, crouching to meet his gaze. “We're going to talk when you get home, understand?” The boy nodded, allowing her to pull him into a hesitant hug. After a few awkward seconds, he reciprocated with a tentative pat on her back, a shaky half-smile following their separation as he returned to his father's side.

“I think it's time we left, don’t you?” Killian glanced between the deputy and Emma. “Wouldn't want you to miss your beauty sleep, Madame Mayor,” he added with a mocking tilt of his head in a semblance of respect, leading the way toward the door.

“Goodnight, Mum,” Henry waved, quickly following his father, with Emma close behind. 

The deputy glanced nervously between the retreating figures and Regina's darkening expression, swiftly making his decision.

"Goodnight, Regina," he called out, swiftly closing the door behind him as her enraged scream threatened to erupt. Opening his eyes moments later—having shut them in anticipation of the outburst—he found himself face-to-face with the others.

“You can head home now, Graham. I might be a bit late tomorrow,” Killian told him.   

Graham nodded hastily and wasted no time in speed-walking to his police car, disappearing in under a minute.

“What's up with him?” Henry asked his dad, who barked out a laugh.

“Let's just say that he couldn’t take your mother and leave at that."  

“What, like her attitude?” Henry questioned, bewildered.

Killian laughed again, and ruffled his hair, his smile growing, “Yeah, let's say that”.  

Both then turned to Emma, though Killian watched as Henry looked imploringly at her.

“If you could just stay for a week! If I could just get to—” he sighed, his voice tinged with dejection. “You're leaving for Boston right now, aren't you?”

Emma nodded, shrugging her shoulders uncomfortably. “You don’t need me here, Kid. I'm not someone who's going to fix things. Sometimes—fairy tales don’t come true.”

Henry bowed his head and nodded slowly. “It was nice meeting you, I guess. All things considered. Dad? I'm going to the car.” He pulled his bag higher on his shoulder and walked away, his steps heavy with disappointment.

Emma and Killian stood on the porch together, the cool night air swirling around them as they watched Henry open the police car door and begin to reshuffle things in his bag.

The distant hum of the town was the only sound, filling the silence between them.

“Look—I can’t—I can’t—I’m not a mother. I don’t know how. I don’t know what he wants from me. I can’t be that person,” Emma rambled, her words spilling out in a rush. Her eyes were wide with panic, her breath coming in short, frantic bursts.

Killian glanced back at the house, then gently grabbed her sleeve to get her attention. He nodded toward the path, and they walked down it together, the gravel crunching under their feet, the gate creaking softly as they closed it behind them.

“I know. Trust me, I know,” he said, scratching behind his ear. “Gods, when I first had Henry, I was stumped. I had no idea how to be a dad. And it's not fair to ask you to come into his life now and be a parent. He has unfair ideals about you. I think he’s put you on a bit of a pedestal, actually. You see, Henry and Regina's relationship is not the best—it hasn’t been for quite some time really—but I think it's not really a mom he wants.” He stared directly into her eyes, his expression earnest. “It’s a saviour. He thinks you can save us—all of us folk in town.”

He turned to walk away, his boots scuffing against the ground. “It was nice meeting you, though I don’t suggest traveling tonight.” He looked out toward the darkened town, the shadows deepening as the night grew late. “In my experience, weird things happen at night.”

“You don’t think he wants a mom?” Emma asked, her voice trembling slightly; she coughed, attempting to conceal it.

Killian laughed softly, the sound carrying in the quiet night. “Oh, yeah, he wants that too. Though Henry’s a bright lad. He knows you're not ready for that yet. Probably not ready to be a saviour either, though—who is?”

“Who put the curse on the town? Henry never told me,” She asked as he was just climbing into the car, her curiosity piqued.

“Why, the Evil Queen of course! Our very own elected Mayor!” He laughed harder at that, tapping his nose twice before saying, “You know, I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you soon, Swan. Probably sooner than anyone would like.” He held up two fingers to the Mayor's mansion before winking and driving off.

She turned back to glimpse a furious Regina in one of the windows before the curtains closed with a sharp snap.

She huffed, shaking her head at his nerve, and got into her car to drive away, the engine purring to life as she pulled out of the driveway.

“Sorry, Jones. But you won't be seeing me for a while yet,” she muttered to herself.

As she neared the town sign, she chanced a look to her left, half expecting the young boy’s face to be looking back at her. Instead, she saw the book he had been reading—the book that he said contained the fairy tales and lives of those in the cursed town, lying on the passenger seat.

“Sneaky bastard,” she muttered, shaking her head. As she turned back to the road, her eyes widened in shock—a large, ominous wolf stood right in the middle of it, its eyes glowing in the headlights.

She gasped, frantically turning the wheel. The car spun out of control, crashing into the ‘Welcome to Storybrooke’ sign with a deafening thud.

Instead of her head hitting the glass, her body slammed backward, defying gravity. She hit the headrest and then was propelled forward, her head bouncing off the steering wheel, rendering her unconscious.

The force of the collision caused the passenger door to break its hinges and fly open. The other door shook violently but remained closed, its hinges snapping with a loud crack.

In the middle of the road, the wolf howled mournfully.

Inside the car, the storybook had fallen to lay open on the floor, its pages fluttering in the wind. They flipped past Alice in Wonderland and other tales before finally settling on the story of Snow White, stopping at a page depicting Geppetto carving the enchanted tree trunk.

Thunder crashed, and the wind howled as rain began to pour from the sky in torrents, soaking the ground instantly.

And Killian Jones knew, as he closed his son's door, leaving it open just a crack and watching the rise and fall of Henry's chest, that Henry had found their saviour.   

[---------------]  

Emma awoke on a cot, her eyes fluttering open groggily before snapping shut against the bright overhead lights.

It took several disorienting seconds for the sounds around her to make sense, and when she dared to open her eyes again, she had to squint, shielding herself from the blinding glare.

Her first sight was of steel bars.  

Sitting up hastily, panic surged through her, causing her head to swim and her stomach to churn violently.

She blinked rapidly, taking in her surroundings.

Though she was in a cell, it didn’t resemble the typical prison cell she expected.

Directly across from her lay another inmate—a slightly smaller man who was whistling casually as he reclined on his own cot. He wore a dark grey work suit, the shirt unbuttoned to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. His head was bald on top, with a fringe of hair at the back, and he sported a thick black beard.

Outside the cells, another man paced methodically. He was older, his hair a grizzled grey that matched his age. He wore green work clothes and a scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, giving him an almost artistic appearance.

“What are you looking at, sister?” her cellmate asked gruffly, his voice rough and unfriendly.

Emma thought she might be more inclined to respond if her entire body didn’t ache and she wasn’t on the verge of vomiting the meagre dinner she had the night before.

“Hey, Leroy—manners! We have a guest!” the older man scolded, pouring himself a drink from a thermos lid. “So, you’re Henry's mother. How lovely for him to have you back in his life”.

The sick feeling intensified, and Emma knew she had to say something, even if it risked her throwing up. “Actually, I was just dropping him off,” she snapped, her irritation seeping through despite her best efforts to remain calm.

Her head throbbed painfully, and she hissed, rubbing her forehead in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

Leroy nodded dismissively, letting out a small sound of annoyance. “Tkh. Don’t blame ya. They’re all brats. Who needs 'em?”

The older man walked forward, holding the makeshift cup. “Well, I'd give anything for one,” he said, his voice tinged with a deep, heartfelt longing. “My wife and I, we tried for many years, but...” He trailed off, turning to stare out the window. “It was not meant to be.”

Emma furrowed her brows, looking around the room. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of empathy for this man, who clearly longed for a family, while she had given up her own chance.

“Well, cry me a river,” Leroy muttered sarcastically.

Just then, Graham—the man she had met the day before—entered the room. He seemed less nervous now, moving with purpose as he approached and unlocked Leroy's cell.     

“Leroy! I'm going to let you out, but you need to behave. Put on a smile and stay out of trouble.” He held the cell door open, but Leroy paused before leaving, flashing a false smile and tilting his head mockingly.   

“If you go out there looking like that, you'll be picked apart by a mob when you encounter children. The funny thing is, don’t you need to go through the park to get to work, Leroy? Perhaps you should go out like that. It'll be great crack when I get Humbert to peel you off the pavement” Killian entered, carrying a few coffees in one hand, and set them down on a desk, running his fingers through his hair.   

Emma noticed he was still wearing the same outfit as yesterday.

“Suck it, Sheriff,” Leroy muttered.

“Sorry, small objects are a choking hazard,” Killian quipped without missing a beat.

The older man snorted, spilling his drink on the floor.   

“Oh, Killian—I’m sorry—I’ll clean it up,” he stammered, searching for something on the desk.

Killian waved him away, patting his back. “No harm done, Marco. Easily fixable, see?” He grabbed some paper towels and layered them on the floor.

“Uh, shouldn’t you wipe it all away? They don’t look like they’ll be enough,” Marco observed, noting that the towels were merely soaking up the liquid without fully absorbing it.

Killian peered closely at the mess and nodded. “You’re right, that won’t work at all.” He picked up the thermos lid from the desk and tilted his head. “May I use this?”

Marco nodded, brows furrowed. They all watched as Killian poured the last few drops from the thermos onto the towels.

He grinned mischievously and nodded in satisfaction. “Aye, that’ll do it.” He pointed to the cups he had set down. “Want one? I feel bad for making you spill your drink.”

Marco smiled and nodded, making his way over to the desk.

“Shouldn’t you feel bad for saying that to me? Not the old man for laughing at it?” Leroy interjected.

Killian turned his head lazily towards Leroy, taking a sip of his own drink. He eyed him up and down. “And why would I do that, Grumpy?”   

Leroy pointed at Emma. “For ruining my dignity in front of the new girl.”

Killian snickered. “Dignity? I didn’t think you had any dignity left after becoming the town drunk. But if it makes you feel better, I apologize for telling Swan something she’ll no doubt see the next time you drink too much.” He made a pointed glance.

Leroy pointed threateningly before sighing. “You win this time,” he said, grabbing a cup.

Marco laughed. “When in all the years you’ve been here have you ever won? Even once?”

Leroy waved his hand noncommittally. “One of these days.”

Killian gestured invitingly, “You keep telling yourself that.”

“You know,” Marco said, showing the cup with his name on it, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you planned for me to spill my coffee.”

Killian smirked and turned to Emma, handing her a cup of coffee and a white paper bag.

Emma looked at him suspiciously but admitted defeat. Her head was pounding, and now that she saw food, her stomach growled. She reached through the bars and took the offered items.

“Careful, there are two aspirin on top of the coffee cup. And watch it, I might have come in late, but it’s still hot,” Killian advised.

She nodded in thanks, then showed her annoyance by looking around. “Seriously?”

“Regina's drinks must have been a little stronger than we thought” Graham laughed, though she saw Killian's eyes darken.   

“I wasn't drunk - there was a wolf, standing in the middle of the road” Emma was quick to correct, though the Deputy instantly looked like he didn’t believe her.  

“A wolf. Right” he answered patronisingly.  

She couldn’t tell if he was trying to be condescending or not but that’s how it felt. Looking to Killian she saw his face scrunched in thought, but unlike his colleague, he didn’t write her off.   

“Could you describe the wolf?” He asked.  

Graham stared at him in disbelief, his brows knitting together. "You can't believe this," he said, his voice tinged with incredulity.

He exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. "It's an open and shut case. She had too much to drink and crashed into the sign. End of story."

"Really?" Killian's tone was cool and measured. "And here I was thinking that I was the Sheriff and you were the Deputy, Humbert."

Graham clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together in silent anger.

Killian didn’t bother to acknowledge Graham's reaction further; instead, he turned his attention back to Emma.

"The wolf?" he prompted, his voice softening slightly as he sought her explanation.

Emma opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by Regina’s voice echoing from the hallway.

“Graham? Henry's run away again, we have to—” Regina burst into the room, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. She froze mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as she saw Emma.

“What is she doing here? Do you know where he is?” She stalked toward Emma, her presence a storm of barely contained rage. But before Graham could intervene, Regina slipped on the spilled coffee and went crashing into the bars, landing unceremoniously on her ass.

For a moment, the room was suspended in silence, and then Leroy exploded with laughter, clutching his heart as if he was having a heart attack. He gasped for breath, nearly spilling his own coffee before Marco deftly snatched it from his hand.

Marco’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he hid his grin behind his cup.

Killian met Emma's eyes and smirked, raising his cup in a mock toast before taking a calm, deliberate sip.

“What was it you wanted, Madame Mayor?” Killian's voice was composed, but Leroy’s laughter flared up again, his guffaws echoing in the room.

“God, it's never a normal day with you, is it, Killian?” Leroy said between gasping laughs. “I'll be remembering this for a long time. A very long time, I tell you! I'll never forget her face!” Seeing Regina's expression once more, he doubled over with fresh laughter.

Marco’s smile widened, though he cast a wary glance at Regina, whose face was turning an alarming shade of red.

Killian looked at Marco. “Perhaps you should take Leroy outside for some fresh air, Marco. It seems he can't get enough of it.”

Leroy waved his hands frantically. “No! I want to see this! Please! Just let me stay!” His pleas echoed even as Marco dragged him out, their voices fading down the hall.

“What was this about my son going missing?” Killian asked, his gaze now hard as he stared at Regina, still sprawled on the floor.

Emma seized the opportunity. “Just so we're clear, Lady—I haven't seen Henry since I dropped him off at your house when he left with Jones. And as you can see—” she gestured to the surrounding prison bars—“Pretty solid alibi.”

 “Do you need a formal invitation, or are you going to get up?” Killian echoed Regina's own words from the previous night with a hint of sarcasm.

“I am hurt, you brute. Of course, I can't get up on my own. Some idiot left spilled coffee on your floor, and I seem to have fallen and hurt myself. Perhaps a lawsuit is in order, so you aren’t as careless in the future,” Regina retorted, a smirk playing on her lips.

Killian looked at her impassively, toying with the edges of his coffee cup. “This is the second time in two days that my son has gone missing in your care. I think a look into your parenting style would be in order,” he leaned in, his voice dropping to a cold, precise enunciation. “So you aren’t as careless in the future.”

The smirk vanished from Regina's face, replaced by a murderous glare. “I have still hurt myself, and to think that you would just stand there is deplorable,” she sniffed, trying to regain her composure.

Killian rolled his eyes. "I know for a fact that you didn’t hurt anything but your pride. It wasn’t even hot.” He tilted his head, studying her. “You may have possibly bruised your backside as well, but really, the differences are so small they're practically the same thing. Though one is exceptionally bigger than the other.”

Regina gasped in outrage, pressing her hands to her sides to shield her backside from his gaze. “How dare you!”

“I was talking about your pride, but really, whichever gets you off my floor quicker is the only one I care about. I can still call in Leroy. I'm sure he'll love the show. The whole town will know by lunch.”

Emma glanced at the clock—it was 11:54. She turned her eyes back to Killian, who nodded solemnly. “He's just that good.”

With a final sniff, Regina struggled to her feet, Graham supporting her. She inspected the damage, finding her coat stained and sticky from the coffee.

Emma couldn’t suppress a snort, which she quickly covered, noting that Regina's brown coat now looked as if it had been urinated on.

Regina turned and glared, but Killian laughed outright. “Better leave that coat here. It looks like you’ve had a very unfortunate accident.” He pointed to a door on the other side of the room. “There’s a bathroom over there. You can get cleaned up, though I wouldn’t take too long. We have to find my son—again.”

Regina stalked away, head held high despite the indignity, supported by Graham. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving an echoing silence.

Emma turned to Killian, who had wheeled a cushioned chair into the room and flung himself down into it. She raised an eyebrow in question.

“Best chair in the place,” he said, making the chair squeak as he settled in. “I’d eat that if I were you,” he nodded at the cup and bag still in her hands. “Especially take those tablets. It’ll take away your headache, and you’ll need a clear head for what’s going to happen next.” He pulled out a notepad and pen. “So, before we were so rudely interrupted, this wolf you were talking about—”

[-----------------------]

“So, when did he go missing?” Killian’s voice cut through the tense air, calm yet laced with concern, his eyes sharp and focused on Regina.

Emma took a sip of the hot cocoa he had given her, savouring the hint of cinnamon. She couldn’t help but wonder how he knew her preference, but from what she had gathered about Killian Jones, he seemed to have a knack for knowing things.

The drink, combined with the aspirin, had worked wonders on her headache.

She took a bite of the cheese and ham sandwich, followed by a nibble of the caramel bear claw.

Henry was right—his dad really was the best.

Though she hadn’t voiced this, her curt thanks for the food and medicine were sincere.

As she answered his questions, she watched him write, his pen moving swiftly and decisively across the notepad.

Regina, now cleaned up and standing without her jacket, answered in a clipped tone, “Yeah, well, he wasn't in his room this morning.” She was visibly still flustered, her cheeks flushed with residual anger and embarrassment from her earlier fall, though she appeared to not be hurt.

“Did you try his friends?” Emma pressed, her voice firm.

“He doesn't really have any. Kind of a loner,” Regina replied, frustration seeping into her words.

Emma turned to Killian, raising an eyebrow.

“Every kid has friends,” she insisted.

“He has people he talks to at school, though he doesn’t really hang out with them outside of it,” he explained.

“Well, then did you check his computer? If he was close to someone, he'd be emailing them,” Emma suggested, her mind racing through the possibilities.

Regina’s eyes narrowed, and she took a hesitant step towards the cell. “And you know this how?” she snapped, her voice dripping with suspicion. The fear of another fall seemed to hold her back from getting any closer, her gaze darting nervously to the floor as if another puddle would appear like magic.

Rolling her eyes, Emma replied, “Finding people is what I do. Here's an idea: how 'bout you guys let me out, and I'll help you find him.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, underscored by a hint of impatience.

Killian smirked.  

[------------------]   

The group gathered in the Mayor's house, finding themselves in Henry's cluttered upstairs bedroom.

Emma sat at Henry's desk chair, her attention fixed on the computer screen, while Deputy Graham hovered close behind her, peering intently over her shoulder. Regina stood nearby, her arms folded tightly across her chest, glaring at the screen with a mix of impatience and concern.

“Shouldn't you be doing something to help?” Regina bit out sharply, her frustration palpable.

“Your Majesty, it doesn't take three people to watch Swan figure out where Henry went,” Killian retorted casually, lounging on Henry's bed and tossing a baseball up and down. “If you want to be productive, maybe silence would be a good start.”

“Smart kid. He cleared his inbox. I'm smart too—I have a little hard disk recovery utility I like to use,” Emma muttered to herself, ignoring the parental squabble behind her, though a smirk betrayed her amusement.  

“I'm a bit more old-fashioned in my techniques. Pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, that sort of thing,” Graham interjected from his spot nearby.

“You're on salary; I get paid by the delivery. Pounding the pavement isn't a luxury I have. Ah, here's a receipt for a website, whosyourmomma.org—it's pricey. He has a credit card?” Emma inquired, her eyes fixed on the screen as she sifted through the information.

“He's ten,” Regina reminded her tersely, as if lecturing a child.

“Well, he used one,” Emma replied, pulling up the webpage.

She noticed Killian had abruptly jumped off the bed and was now looming over her shoulder. Catching a glimpse of the name on the screen, he closed his eyes briefly, rubbed his temples, and muttered a curse under his breath just as a phone rang.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Killian pulled out a black flip phone and pressed it to his ear. “Sheriff speaking, yes – wait a minute,” he answered the call brusquely.

“So, the computer clearly shows that the card belonged to a Mary Margaret Blanched,” Emma announced, leaning back in the chair to observe the reaction. Deputy Graham glanced at Regina, whose face contorted in a snarl, her eyes flashing with anger.

From what Emma had observed and what Henry had shared, the only person who seemed to provoke such a visceral reaction from Regina was Henry's father.

Who was this woman, and why did Regina despise her so vehemently?

“She's Henry's teacher,” Killian mouthed to Emma, before focusing back on his phone call.

It didn't provide much explanation, but at least they now had a lead on where to find her.

As Emma walked into Storybrooke Elementary School behind Regina, she felt the weight of curious looks and hushed whispers from students and teachers alike.

Blocking out the attention, she scanned her surroundings. The hallways were decorated in bright, cheerful colours, with drawings and small posters adorning the walls.

Each classroom had its own distinctive door decorations, and several glass cases displaying various awards lined the corridor.

Passing by a wall of photos, Emma instantly recognized both Henry and Killian, smiling in a group with other children, and in a few solo shots where they seemed to be grinning as Henry accepted an award.

She paused, feeling a tug at her heart.

When she noticed Regina’s heels had stopped clicking, she looked away and saw her at the door of a classroom, glaring inside with barely contained hate.

Sighing, Emma tore her gaze from the pictures and walked over to Regina.

Inside the classroom, a petite woman with short, neat black hair was teaching. The softness of her heart-shaped face was complemented by a white cardigan and matching lace top, paired with a grey skirt and long white socks tucked into shiny black flats.

Her gentle aura was palpable as she cradled a tiny bird in her hands.

“As we build our birdhouses, remember—what you're making is a home, not a cage. A bird is free and will do what it will. This is for them, not us. They're loyal creatures...” The class watched in awe as she released the bird, which fluttered out to a birdhouse outside the window.

“If you love them and they love you, they will always find you.” Her voice wavered with a hint of sadness before she quickly smiled.

The bell rang, and the children eagerly gathered their things. “We'll pick this up after lunch. No running!” she called out, accepting a pear from a student with a warm smile. “Why, thank you!”

As the children filed out, Regina pushed through them into the room, her anger barely restrained. Mary Margaret, the teacher, looked up in surprise as she packed her bag, her face growing more concerned when Emma followed Regina inside.

“Miss Mills, what are you doing here?” Mary Margaret asked, her tone puzzled and wary.

“Where's my son?” Regina demanded, setting her bag down forcefully on a nearby table.

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened in confusion. “Henry... I assumed he was home sick with you.”

“Do you think I'd be here if he was? Did you give him your credit card so he could find her?” Regina pointed sharply at Emma, who stood just inside the doorway, waiting for the room to clear.

Turning her attention to Emma, Mary Margaret tilted her head. “I'm sorry, who are you?”

“I’m... I’m his...” Emma stuttered, struggling to find the right words.

“The woman who gave him up for adoption,” Regina interjected bluntly, her gaze unwavering.

Emma stared at Mary Margaret, wide-eyed.

Nodding, Mary Margaret slipped her handbag off her shoulder. “You don't know anything about this, do you?” Emma questioned as Mary Margaret rummaged through her bag.

“No, unfortunately not.” Mary Margaret opened her purse, showing Regina that it contained no credit card. “Clever boy,” she sighed. “He should have never given him that book.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What book?” Regina demanded, her voice a growl.

“Just some old stories he gave him. As you well know, Henry is a special boy: so smart, so creative,” Mary Margaret replied, her voice hardening. “And as you might be aware, lonely. He needed it.”

“Who gave him the book?” Regina growled, stepping closer, her eyes narrowing.   

“Well,” Mary Margaret shuffled nervously. “His father did. It was his, or so he told me,” she laughed nervously, her voice wavering under Regina's intense glare. “Henry doesn’t really connect with his peers. While he talks to people, he never really forms real friendships. He’s so much like Killian, so wonderfully smart. It’s no wonder they get along so well.” She wrung her hands, her voice trembling as she noticed the darkening anger on Regina’s face.

“When I mentioned this to Killian, he took it to heart and a couple of days later, instead of history books and math texts, Henry had his storybook.” She shrugged helplessly, her fingers twisting the hem of her cardigan.

“What he needs is a dose of reality. This is a waste of time,” Regina snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. She could feel the weight of the day's events crashing down on her, her temples throbbing.

Regina turned in a huff, deliberately knocking a stack of books off a nearby table as she stormed out. “Have a nice trip back to Boston,” she spat at Emma over her shoulder, her words dripping with malice.

Instead of leaving, Emma crouched down and began helping the schoolteacher pick up the scattered books.

“Sorry to bother you,” Emma said, glancing up at Mary Margaret.  

Mary Margaret's eyes were examining her face “No, it's-it's okay” she smiled nervously, her cheeks tinged with pink. “I fear this is partially my fault."  

“How's a book supposed to help?” Emma asked as they walked together out of the classroom.

“What do you think stories are for? These stories? The classics? There’s a reason we all know them. They help us make sense of our world, a world that doesn’t always make sense. See, Henry hasn’t had the easiest life,” Mary Margaret explained, her voice soft and thoughtful as they strolled down the hallway, passing students who shouted and laughed with their friends.

Emma nodded. “Yeah, she's kind of a hard-ass.”                            

“No, it’s more than her. He’s like any adopted child. He wrestles with that most basic question they all inevitably face: why would anyone give me away?” Realizing the weight of her words, Mary Margaret gasped and immediately apologized. “I'm sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to judge you…” she stammered, her hands flapping at her sides in agitation.

Emma inhaled deeply, the sick feeling from this morning threatening to resurface. “It’s okay,” she said, though her voice was stiff and cold, and she knew she was glaring at the woman.

“Look, I believe that Killian gave the book to Henry because he wanted him to have the most important thing anyone can have—hope. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing. Though, if you want a better answer, you’ll have to ask him,” Mary Margaret shrugged delicately, letting out a small sigh, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and sadness.

Understanding dawned on Emma. “You know where he is, don’t you?” she asked, her voice laced with a newfound determination.

Mary Margaret nodded, leaning in closer as if sharing a secret. “You might want to check his castle,” she whispered with a small smile.   

As Emma trudged towards the docks, the weight of the day's endless cycle of chasing leads, enduring Regina's relentless attitude, and the constant back-and-forth made her feel like she was running in circles. Exhaustion clung to her like a heavy cloak, and her patience was wearing dangerously thin.

Thinking it must not be a coincidence that Henry had asked to go the docks last night, Emma had asked Mary Margaret what was down there, and she had mentioned that Killian lived in a house off one of the nearby beaches, nestled in the small hills.

According to her, many knew of the house, but few knew how to get there.

Judging by the small frown on Mary Margaret's face, she wasn't one of them.

But Emma bet that his son would be.

As she approached the playpark, the sight that greeted her softened her frustration momentarily. Henry and Killian sat atop a large wooden structure resembling a castle, silhouetted against the lit sky.

The grass around the castle was light brown and dry, contrasting with the patches of fresh green grass visible farther away, beyond the stone path. Nearby, a stone monument stood close to the water that bordered the land.

In the background, a small beach stretched out with a large building and several boats moored in front, completing the picturesque scene.

The castle structure was expansive and inviting. Henry and Killian sat comfortably on a ledge between two facing towers on the central platform. The wood was weather-worn and stained with dirt, giving it a rustic, well-loved appearance. The castle featured four tall, triangular turrets, each topped with peaked roofs. The shingles on the roofs were patchy, with some missing and a few hanging loose, swaying gently in the wind.

Each turret had its own platform, progressively higher than the last, connected by sturdy planks and steps. To the right of the castle, a bright green slide was attached, offering a fun way for children to slide down from one of the higher platforms. The structure was effectively boxed in, ensuring children wouldn't fall while still providing an open lookout.

Henry was nestled into Killian's side, both staring off into the distance. Henry said something, and Killian barked out a laugh, pulling him closer and ruffling his hair. The boy squealed in laughter and protest, trying in vain to escape his father's grasp.

“Dad!” He screamed, his laughter echoing through the empty park.

Killian caught Emma’s eyes and stopped tormenting his son, each of them taking gasping breaths, smiling innocently at her.

For a moment, Emma wondered what it would be like to walk up to them, not as a stranger, but as someone more.

“You left this in my car,” she said, handing Henry his book.

She glared at Killian, who just continued to grin back at her.

She turned to see what they had been looking at. “Still hasn’t moved, huh?” she gestured to the old clock tower, its hands still frozen at 8:15.

Henry's smile dimmed as he shook his head. “I was hoping that when I brought you here, things would change. Guess these things take a little time,” he smiled at his dad. “Then the final battle will begin.”

“It’ll happen, Henry. I’ve got a funny feeling about tonight,” Killian tapped his nose. “This is the beginning of the end.”

Emma gave him a long stare, her eyes narrowing. "I know you put him up to this," she murmured, her voice laced with accusation.

Henry didn't seem to hear her, but Killian gave her a look that showed he did.

“Look! Just don’t, alright! You don’t understand yet—but it’s coming!” Henry seemed excited, nearly shaking from it. “The final battle is coming!”

Emma took a series of deep breaths, glaring at Killian, then turned from him. “I’m not fighting any battles, kid,” she reinforced, looking at Henry imploringly. “Look—he’s filled your head with stories. This—” she motioned to the book sitting on his lap, “That isn’t real. I’m not fighting any battles,” she repeated, her voice hardening.

“Yes, you are. It’s your destiny. You’re going to bring back the happy endings,” Henry told her with conviction, his eyes shining with belief.

Killian sniggered, earning a dark look from Emma and an elbow to his side from his son.

“Can you two cut it with the book crap?” Emma’s expression darkened.

Killian shot her a warning look, one that sent an involuntary shiver up her spine—it was clear: don’t mess with Henry.

Henry's expression softened as he glanced at Emma, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You don't have to be hostile. I know you like me,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Killian’s stern face melted into a tender smile as he looked at Henry. “I can tell. You're just pushing me away because I make you feel guilty. It's okay; I know why you gave me away. You wanted to give me my best chance,” Henry added, his voice softening with understanding.

Emma froze, her eyes widening. “What? How do you know that?”

Killian rolled his eyes, exasperation clear on his face. “What do you think I told him, Swan?”

Emma shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “Listen to me, kid. I am not in any book. I'm a real person. And I'm no saviour.” She knelt down to get eye level with Henry. “You were right about one thing, though. I wanted you to have your best chance. But it's not with me,” she said, pointing to herself and attempting a smile.

Killian pushed himself off the wooden platform, his boots landing with a soft thud on the dirt. He turned to stand in front of Henry, smiling reassuringly as he gently combed his fingers through Henry's messy hair. “I think it's time for you to get inside. There's a chill out today, and I can't have you getting a cold.”

Henry looked like he wanted to protest, but just then a gust of wind hit, making him shiver from head to toe.

Killian laughed, the sound filled with affection. “Go to the car, will ya? I need to talk to Swan here.”

Reluctantly, Henry jumped off the platform, landing lightly on his feet. He walked closer to Emma, his eyes pleading. “Just stay with me for one week, that's all I ask! One week, and you'll see I'm not crazy.”

Emma watched as Killian closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Henry,” he warned, his tone gentle but firm.

The boy nodded, understanding. “I know, Dad.” He pulled his jacket closer around him before running to the black car parked nearby, the door slamming shut behind him.

Emma turned back to Killian, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You want to talk with me, Sheriff?” she scowled. "Maybe you can start with why you are doing this to him!" she shouted, pointing to the car Henry had disappeared into.

From the car window, Henry looked shocked, his expression quickly turning to anger. But Killian waved at him, signalling him to stay put.

Emma didn't seem to notice, her entire focus locked onto Killian.

"Mary-Margaret told me! You did this—you're filling his head with stories—to what?" She jabbed her finger into his chest after each question, her voice trembling with rage. "What do you get out of this? Does it make you happy twisting the mind of a little boy?"

"Watch yourself, Swan," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

"No!" she snapped, pushing further into his personal space.

Her face was mere inches from his, her expression intense and unyielding, attempting to intimidate him. "Henry needs help! Because of you!" She jabbed his chest again, her teeth bared, her blonde hair whipping around in the wind like a wild halo.

Killian grasped her hand firmly, their eyes locking.

Sparks seemed to fly between them.

"You don't understand," he said with finality.

Emma laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and mocking. "Oh yeah? What don't I understand? Tell me how what you're doing is for Henry's own good!" Her tone dripped with sarcasm.

"Tell me how you care about him—how you don’t want anything bad to happen to him—when you’re the one hurting him!" She yanked her hand away and shoved him harshly on his chest, shaking her head in disbelief. "God, I thought Regina was the problem here, but you? You take the cake—you scumbag!"

"Are we still talking about Henry?" Killian's voice was calm.

"Shut up!" she pointed at him, her anger palpable. "You're not changing the subject! I don't care who you think you are—I won't let you hurt him anymore!"

Killian's grip on her wrist became firm, and he leaned in closer, their breaths mingling in the cold air.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," he growled. "Everything I do is for Henry. Everything."

"Then prove it," she whispered fiercely. "Let him go. Let him have a normal life without this madness."

"You really think you can just swoop in and make these decisions?" Killian's voice was thick with sarcasm. "You, who ran away once already?"

Emma’s expression twisted in pain and anger. "I came back, didn’t I? And I’ll keep coming back, no matter what it takes."

"You talk about this as if you know anything," he shook his head. "You know nothing about this—about Henry—about me!" he stared at her for a moment, his eyes piercing hers.

They stood there, a charged silence hanging between them, the tension palpable in the crisp air.

Killian released her and stepped back, his gaze darkening. "Never say that he's crazy again, do you hear me?" he warned, his voice cutting through the stillness.

"If I won’t let Regina fucking say that, I certainly won’t let you say it either!" he raged. "You don't know what that means to him—you won’t say that again!" he commanded, his voice firm.

"What, don’t say what you're doing to him? 'Cause that’s what you are doing—making him believe in this crap!" Emma snapped back, her voice full of defiance.

"Crap?" he repeated, "God, you’re so scared." He studied her, from head to toe. "I can nearly smell it off you—this town, these people—you’re so scared."

She reared backwards. "What the hell are you talking about? Are you out of your mind?"

"You can feel it," he interrupted, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. "Can't you? That thing inside of you—it’s going crazy being here, isn't it? It can't decide if it hates it or loves it here."

Emma stepped away from him, her bravado wavering slightly though her defiance remained. "You're crazy."

He grinned at her, a sharp, knowing smile. "The craziest," he nodded. "Doesn't mean that I'm not right."

"You're going to have to decide if you’re going to leave," he reminded her. "No matter if you leave or not. Henry needs you, and if Henry’s right, we all do."

Emma glared at him. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Even if you can't be what he wants you to, you could just stay. Be in town. It might help.”

“Why do you want me to stay? I can't imagine you want another parent you'll have to share him with,” she eyed him suspiciously.

“Already thinking of yourself as a parent then?” he chuckled lightly, observing her face closing off.

“I don’t need another one.” He closed the gap between them.

“I have raised Henry since he was brought here. I don’t need any more people fighting over decisions and telling me how ‘he's supposed to be raised.’ But I need to do what's best for Henry. Even if it’s an uphill battle with you like it was with Regina these past six years. I'll fight for Henry to be happy.”

Emma sensed the sincerity in his words.

"What if Henry gets hurt because of this delusion?” She interjected sharply.

Killian looked out toward the beach and the restless sea, exhaling deeply before turning back to face her. "You really are shoot first and ask questions never, aren't you, Swan? Maybe you should find out more about all of this before you start pointing fingers."

"That's not an answer."

"That's the only answer you're going to get," he retorted.

"If you hurt him..." she threatened, leaving the rest unspoken, her eyes locked onto his.

"What will you do?" he challenged. "Tell me—really—if in some insane world I did hurt Henry—what could you do?"

Emma remained silent, her jaw clenched in frustration as she stared him down.

He sighed and shook his head, "You have no parental rights," he stated bluntly, "Henry may have gone to find you, but he doesn't consider you a parent."

Her eyes darted away from his intense gaze, a frown pulling at her lips.

He stepped closer, bridging the space between them, their eyes locked as he dipped his head to meet her gaze.

"It's called trust—you should try it sometime," he whispered softly.

She remained unmoved.

"Or you could stay to keep an eye on me" he proposed, "Find out why we believe in this curse."

They stood in silence, the chilly breeze swirling around them, carrying the scent of the sea.

Emma's gaze wavered, and she crossed her arms defensively.

Killian turned his gaze back toward the sea, watching the waves crashing rhythmically against the shore, leaving Emma to stare at him, her thoughts in turmoil.

“Were you together? With Regina?" she clarified at his raised eyebrow. "I can't imagine she’d let anyone speak to her the way you do."

“Nope, we were never together, not even friends actually.” He sniggered at her expression. “Henry was unplanned in that regard. How you can have an unplanned adoption, I don’t rightly know, but that’s what he was to me.”

“Regina,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I'm sure you’ve already noticed that she strikes fear into a lot of people. A lot of people meaning the whole town," he nodded when she did.

"She never could with me," he told her. "It caused a rift when I wouldn’t bend the way she wanted me to. Sometimes I feel like, apart from Henry, I'm the only one with free will at all in this town,” he smiled secretly.

“Of course, that’ll all change soon,” he glanced to the clock tower.

Suddenly, he turned and walked away to the police car, shouting over the wind, “Though I don’t know why you think you'll be able to leave today. Your car’s knackered. It’s missing a goddamn door for starters. You couldn’t leave even if you wanted to.”

He opened his door and turned to her, ignoring Henry’s protests that he was letting all the warm air out. “Guess you'll be staying after all.” He looked at her, gesturing to the car with his head. “You getting in? I need to get Henry back to his mother's.”

As they drove to the Mayor's house, Emma sat behind Henry in the squad car, slumped, arms crossed in frustration. “And you couldn't have told me this morning that my car was totalled?” she leaned forward to catch his eyes in the mirror.

“Did you do this to make me stay?” she asked suspiciously, her voice edged with accusation.

Killian rolled his eyes. “Yes, instead of getting your car fixed in a few hours, against all laws of physics and time itself, I decided to risk my job so that Henry could make sure that his birth mother stayed in town. All to annoy Regina. Yes, you have foiled my evil plan,” he finished dryly, adding an exaggerated evil laugh.

Henry laughed beside him.

She rolled her eyes, and ran a hand through her tangled hair. “I never mentioned annoying Regina.”

“Yes, well, if I had a master plan, it would be in there somewhere.” He turned off the engine and turned to Henry. “Tomorrow morning I'm going to pick you up here at 10:15 sharp - no escape plans.”

Henry nodded distractedly, then jumped out of the car ahead of them and headed towards the house.

“You trust him not to run off on you again?” Emma questioned, watching as Henry knocked on the door.

Killian shrugged, turning his head towards her with a grin. “He doesn’t run off on me, Swan. I thought you made that connection at the castle.”

She glared at being reminded that she had spent nearly all day looking for someone that he knew how to find.

“Wasted my time, jackass,” she grumbled under her breath.

Killian shrugged, unrepentant, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he watched her, seemingly enjoying her frustration.

Regina opened the door, her expression hardening upon seeing Killian and Emma escort Henry back. Henry turned and gave Killian a tight hug, then flashed a happy wave to Emma before darting inside, brushing past his mother without a word, his footsteps thundering up the stairs.

Regina's eyes followed her son until he disappeared from sight, a brief flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. She turned back to the pair on her porch, her demeanour shifting to one of practiced politeness, a thin veneer masking her true feelings.

“Thank you,” she said, her smile as fake as the potted plants flanking the doorway.

“No problem,” Emma replied, her voice steady, while Killian remained silent, his eyes locked onto Regina with a cool intensity.

“He seems to have taken quite a shine to you,” Regina remarked, stepping forward and revealing that she had changed clothes since the coffee incident that morning. Her new attire was pristine and impeccable, a stark contrast to her earlier dishevelled state.

Emma laughed softly, the sound tinged with irony, as she smiled. “You know, it seems kind of crazy. Yesterday was my birthday. And—when I blew out the candle on this cupcake I bought myself, I actually made a wish. That I didn't have to be alone on my birthday. And then Henry showed up.”

Regina's face turned cold, her eyes narrowing as she interrupted, “I hope there's no misunderstanding here.”

Emma glanced between Regina and Killian, confusion etched on her face. “I'm sorry?”

“Don't mistake all of this as an invitation back into his life,” Regina clarified, her voice sharp and unyielding.

“Oh...” Emma inhaled softly, her gaze dropping to the ground as the weight of Regina's words sank in.

“Miss Swan, you made a decision ten years ago. And in the last decade, while you’ve been—well, who knows what you’ve been doing—I’ve changed every diaper, soothed every fever, endured every tantrum. You may have given birth to him, but he is my son,” Regina lectured, her tone laced with possessiveness and resentment.

“I was not—” Emma began, her voice faltering.

“No. You don't get to speak—you don't get to do anything. You gave up that right when you tossed him away," she insulted, as Emma flinched. "Do you know what a closed adoption is? It's what you asked for. You have no legal right to Henry, and you're gonna be held to that. So, I suggest you get in your car and leave this town. Because if you don't, I will destroy you if it is the last thing I do. Goodbye, Miss Swan. Sheriff,” Regina nodded curtly and turned to leave.

While the two women argued, Killian tipped his head back, looking up at the sky as he shook his head in a mix of exasperation and amusement.

“Do you love him?” The sudden question stopped Regina in her tracks.

“Excuse me?” she hissed, her voice low.

Emma squared her shoulders, meeting Regina’s gaze head-on. “Henry. Do you love him?”

Regina's voice softened slightly. “Of course I love him,” she said, just as she made her way to the door.

But before she could step inside, Killian spoke up.

“I had thought that Henry had two parents, Regina. And though you seem to be striving to make yourself seen as a single mother—don’t forget that I was the one who raised him for years before you were in the picture. Spinning lies cannot rewrite history, no matter how much you want it to,” he smiled, revealing his too-sharp canines.

“If Swan wants to be a part of his life, then that is something that you don’t get to decide. Legally, you have no right at all,” he continued, looking very much like the cat that had caught the canary.

The door slammed shut, leaving a visibly troubled Emma with an amused Killian Jones.

[---------------------]

Laying on his side, facing the wall with his back to the door, Henry kept his eyes open, listening to his mother trying to quietly rummage around his room.   

He couldn't help but wonder if she thought he was stupid enough to leave it somewhere she could easily find it.

After allowing her a few more minutes to search, Henry closed his eyes and began to stretch. Rolling over in bed, he blinked blearily as if just waking up, yawning deeply.

Glancing around, he realized he was alone.

A mischievous smile played on his lips. 

Getting up, he walked over to his window and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the windowsill. Resting his chin on his arms, he settled in to watch the clock tower, still frozen at 8:15.  

Passing through an overgrown archway, Emma arrived at a grand, weather-beaten antique building that seemed frozen in time. Its facade blended muted greys with faded whites, casting a charming, cottage-like allure. The once-majestic roof now sagged slightly, revealing patches of missing shingles that hinted at years of neglect. Above the central peak, a row of five windows adorned the second floor, their curtains drawn shut except for one left slightly ajar.

Approaching the expansive porch, Emma's gaze was drawn to a weathered sign gently swaying in the breeze, proudly displaying "Granny's Bed and Breakfast" in elegant cursive. She tread carefully as she navigated the porch, avoiding a shattered plant pot and rain-soaked seats scattered with leaves and twigs.

Entering 'Granny's Bed and Breakfast', Emma was immediately enveloped by its vintage charm. To her left, a room displayed a collection of old crockery inside a wooden cabinet next to an oak table. Directly ahead, what appeared to be a small office was cluttered with miscellaneous items stacked haphazardly on shelves.

As she surveyed the front desk, a layer of dust covered everything—from assorted knick-knacks to brass figurines of princesses and soldiers, even the reception bell itself seemed unused.

Amidst the aging décor, Emma's attention was drawn to the sound of heated argument coming from upstairs. Descending the staircase were two distinctly contrasting figures:

The older woman, with a head of blonde-grey curls framing her weathered face, moved with surprising agility for her age. She was stout, clad in a cardigan that she hugged tightly around herself, paired with a chequered, ankle-length black skirt and a ruffled dress shirt.

In stark contrast, the younger woman was tall and striking, her long brown hair flowing over a tight-fitting ensemble of a black miniskirt and knee-high boots. Her black top featured a plunging neckline, revealing a red, lacy bra underneath. Adorned with numerous jingling bracelets and rings, she exuded an air of confidence.

“You're out all night, and now you're going out again,” the older woman raged.

“I should've moved to Boston!” the younger retorted, storming into one of the rooms and grabbing a red scarf.

“I'm sorry that my heart attack interfered with your plans to sleep your way down the Eastern Seaboard!” the older shouted back, both acting as if Emma wasn’t there.

“'Scuse me?” Emma asked the older woman, "I'd like a room?"

Both women stopped, looking shocked.  

“Really?”

Emma nodded, and the older woman went to grab a ledger.

“You must be new in town,” the younger woman, Ruby Lucas, introduced herself as they shook hands. “How’d you know to come here? The path is blocked; people normally walk past it.”

“Oh, er - Killian Jones - the Sheriff told me I could come here. He mentioned it was the only place to stay in town.”

“Killian told you to come here?” Emma nodded. 

“Would you like a forest view or a square view? There's an upgrade fee for the square,” the older woman spoke as she returned, placing the book on the standing desk, causing a small cloud of dust to form.

“Granny -” Ruby interrupted, “- She’s here on Killian’s recommendation.”

Emma didn’t know what to expect, but to have a bright smile aimed at her was unexpected.

“Killian told you to come here?” Emma nodded again. “Well then, as I was saying, there's normally an upgrade fee for the square, but as you’re a friend of Killian’s, I'll waive it.”

“No - I can’t- “ but the woman was already writing. Giving in, Emma sighed, “Square is fine.”

“Now, what's the name?” Granny smiled, putting on glasses that were hanging by a chain around her neck.

“Swan. Emma Swan.”

A man’s voice repeated, “Emma...”

Granny jumped, her glasses falling off; she looked troubled by the man's appearance. 

“What a lovely name” he smiled at her, leaning more heavily on his cane.  

He was impeccably dressed in a pressed black suit adorned with a chequered shirt and a neatly tied black tie. A pocket square peeked out from his breast pocket, adding a touch of sophistication.

His face was angular and thin, sporting a strong jawline dusted with greying stubble. Small, dark eyes were framed by long brown hair cascading over his ears and curling down to his shoulders. Thin lips stretched into a wide smile of crooked teeth as he gazed at her.

Emma could have sworn the man wasn’t there when she first walked in, but she nodded politely all the same. “Thanks.”   

Opening a drawer with a small bang, Granny removed a roll of cash and held it an arm's length out to him. “It's all here” she insisted, as if expecting a negative reaction.    

“Yes, yes, of course, it is, dear. Thank you” he smiled at her, though she didn’t return it.

Turning to Emma, he spoke “You enjoy your stay...” he looked her up and down “Emma” and left.  

“Who's that?” she looked between them.  

Ruby opened the curtains, watching him leave, or perhaps making sure he did.   

“Mr. Gold” her voice shook “He owns this place.”  

“The inn?”  

“No” Emma turned to older woman “The town.” Her face lost any happiness she had shown at Emma's visit and instead looked frightened.  

“So!” she tried to smile again “How long will you be with us?”  

Henry’s words came back to her. This was a chance, a wish that Emma could not shove away and pretend didn’t exist - not anymore. 

“A week. Just a week.”  

“Great” Granny turned to the rows of keys and plucked one. It was silver and had its very own matching tile on the end so it couldn’t be stolen.

Emma never realised that there was a swan decoration on one side.

“Welcome to Storybrooke”.  

Father and son watched as the clock tower finally moved after 28 years to 8:16. Henry grinned from his window in the Mayor's Mansion, while Killian lounged on the top of his police car in the Sheriff's department parking bay.

He raised his flask in a silent toast to the chaos about to ensue, as he could feel that the battle was about to begin.