Once upon a time, not so long ago, Neal fell asleep in a car.

He liked the yellow bug. It was a little ostentatious and it was probably foolish to steal it—a white sedan was probably a little less obvious. But he couldn't help it. It reminded him too much of those Herbie films. There was a homeless shelter in Denver that had zero movies in the rec area, save those movies, so he'd watched them all during a particularly nasty blizzard. He didn't have fond memories of Colorado, but he liked those movies. (The remake was crap.)

He hadn't been long in Portland. In fact, it was supposed to be his last night there. No cash for a motel, shelters were packed, so he slept in his car, parked in a little alley to avoid cops. He actually liked crashing in his car. It was a little cramped, sure, but there was something soothing about falling asleep to the sound of rain on his roof. It reminded him of better times.

So it was quite the shock when he awoke to someone breaking in.

The sound of the metal sliding through the window was what woke him. He watched in utter shock as the thief easily unlocked the door and got inside.

She was the most beautiful thief he'd ever seen. Golden hair caught up in a messy ponytail, dark hipster glasses (clever, to avoid detection in Portland), a small smile that indicated she'd done this before. She withdrew a screwdriver, a large rock, and started the transmission. He watched her start to drive off before finally announcing his presence.

"Impressive. But really, you could've just asked for the keys."

He dangled them for emphasis and she yelped. The squeal of shock only made her more adorable. He rested his chin on his fist and observed her. She didn't seem to know how to react to this situation (it was new for him too), so she remained silent.

Neal gave a little wave of approval. "Just drive, it's fine."

"I just stole your car, your life could be in danger!" She'd snapped, perhaps trying to regain her earlier confidence.

"Neal Cassidy," He introduced himself.

"Yeah, I'm not telling you my name," She'd fairly snarled and her irritation only made him more amused.

"I don't need it to have you arrested when the robbery's in progress," He chuckled a little.

She set her chin. "Emma Swan."

Emma Swan. A good name, and he told her so.

"So do you just live in here or are you just waiting for the car to be stolen?" Emma Swan asked sarcastically.

"Why don't I tell you over drinks?" He suggested amiably.

She turned to look at him over her shoulder in shock. "Excuse me?!"

"Eyes on the road!" Neal pointed at the stop sign Emma blew past. The sound of irate Portland drivers filled their ears. She straightened a little, probably embarrassed.

"I am not having drinks with you, you might be a pervert," She informed him.

"I might be a pervert," Neal acknowledged. "But you're definitely a car thief."

"I said I was sorry."

"You didn't, actually," Neal felt it relevant to point out. She huffed a little at this but both of them stiffened in fear when the heard the siren behind them. Emma swore a little.

Neal groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. "That's why I said eyes on the road…"

He could see her eyes flick around and he knew from experience she was judging whether or not it was worth it to make a run for it. But there didn't seem any good places to run to so Emma put on an artificial smile as she nervously awaited the officer. Neal, however, immediately snatched the screwdriver out of the ignition and replaced it with the keys.

"License and registration?" The officer's bored and patronizing tone towards Emma's bright greeting gave Neal an idea.

"Terribly sorry, officer, but this is actually my car. I'm…I'm trying to, uh, teach my girlfriend how to drive stick." He gave the officer a sheepish grin, one he'd perfected over years of conning authority figures.

"She's got a lot to learn," The cop said coldly.

"Yeah, I know, but you know…women." Neal gave a helpless shrug.

Emma gave him the dirtiest look. But he knew what he was doing. He read the cop the moment he'd walked over and looked Emma all over, condescension fairly dripping from his uniform.

"All right, I hear you. It's a warning. This time." The cop gave Emma a stern, paternal look before returning back to his car. Neal thanked him grandly and popped out of the backseat to join Emma in the front.

"What are you, some sort of misogynist?!" Emma demanded as he clambered into the passenger seat.

"You're welcome," Neal glanced over his shoulder as the cop drove off. "Oh, go. We got lucky."

"We?" Emma stared hard at him and he grinned at her mischievously. "This isn't your car either, is it? I stole a stolen car?!"

Her outrage was palpable and hilarious. He beamed unrepentantly and cocked his head.

"Now how about that drink?"

It had hit him like lightning. It wasn't merely attraction or companionship. It was something far greater, something he hadn't understood at 23. His father—before he became the Dark One—had always spoken sadly of love, had seemed almost wary of it. As the Dark One, he'd been mocking towards it. Though even he had apparently been caught up in its magic, with this mysterious Belle character…but no one had prepared Neal for it. He'd fallen in love at first sight with Emma Swan.

She had been understandably apprehensive of him, but charmed too. She expected him to take her to a dive, somewhere they wouldn't check her ID. He took her out for cocoa instead and brought her to one of his favorite spots—a deserted amusement park. He'd never forget the utter delight on her face when he turned the lights of the carousel on. It was at that moment he wanted to do nothing but make her eyes sparkle like that for the rest of his life.

They'd sat together on that carousel and talked. She'd asked him his story and he was tempted to say, "Which one?" He'd lived so many lives across the years he sometimes wasn't even sure who he was anymore.

She'd asked about his past and he'd admitted to her his problems with his father. He had shoved his fear and hatred for Rumplestiltskin in a dark place in his heart; it was unbelievable that he was sharing it all with her now, even confessing how he missed having a home.

Their gaze had met and for the first time in a long time, Neal felt like he had a home. Wherever Emma was…was home.

And that night in the sheriff's office, when she kissed him, something in his heart settled and Neal felt like coming home again.

Everything in his mind went blank. There was only Emma, only how right it felt for her to be in his arms once more, the feel of her soft lips against his, the tangle of her golden curls in his fingers. This was right, this was real, this was home, and he was never going to let it go again…

The phone rang. They were abruptly ripped back into reality and Emma dove for the phone like a drowning woman would grab a life preserver. Panting a little, she answered the phone.

"Hello?"

Neal watched her, his fingers twitching. She glanced at him, the color in her cheeks rising.

"Yeah, fine. I'm…I'm going to get her. And then I'll question her. Yes, I'll let her know you'll be present. Okay. See you then."

She hung up the phone. She stared at her desk like it would reveal her fortune and Neal cleared her throat. She straightened and looked at him.

"That was Regina. She wants to be present when I question Mary Margaret."

He nodded. They stared at each other, unable to vocalize what had been lost. The moment was broken. Neal desperately wanted to snatch it back. But did he have any right to?

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm…I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," Neal broke in immediately. "You didn't do anything wrong."

She laughed harshly. "I kissed you."

"Yeah, well, I kissed you back."

There was another long pause while Neal pondered what to do next. Emma wiped her chin absently and Neal tried to reclaim his frazzled mind.

"I should—I should go," He said finally. "Get some sleep. You should too. I'll…I'll call you tomorrow morning, okay?"

She nodded but did not meet his gaze. He quickly strode out of her office as fast as he possibly could.

Running away again, coward?

Neal ignored the hateful thought. He thought vaguely that perhaps he ought to do as he'd told Emma, go back to the cabin and sleep. But he had more important business. He turned the corner and heaved a sigh of relief.

The light in Mr. Gold's pawnshop was still on. He strode forward and banged on the door.

Sweat beaded his forehead. He exhaled again when he heard the slow footsteps of his father approach the door and open it. Gold said nothing about the lateness of the hour, Neal's frazzled appearance.

"Mary Margaret needs your help," Neal said without preamble.

Gold leaned against his cane. "Oh?"

"It's—it's Regina. I'm sure of it. Regina is setting her up, framing her for the murder of Kathryn Nolan. You have to help her. Mary Margaret needs a good lawyer and fast."

Neal felt dizzy. He was actually asking his father for help. Was he insane? Whenever his father helped him, people died! But the heat from Emma's kiss, his fear for what would happen next, everything scrambled his mind.

"I was already intending on offering my services," Gold said smoothly. "Pro bono, of course. I know what I charge her for rent, after all."

Neal stilled. "You were going to—why? What do you get out of it?"

Gold said nothing. He watched him and picked up a silver chalice. He polished it carefully and Neal watched the methodical movements in frustration.

"What are you trying to do?"

For some reason, the question cast a shadow across Gold's face. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared, but Neal, who was an expert at his father's expressions, felt very cold. All of this was a chess match to his father. He was placing different pieces on the board, arranging his surroundings until the moment he would strike. To trap a queen—but which queen?

Neal turned and walked out of his father's shop.

XXXX

Neal did not call Emma. Instead, the two of them gave each other a very wide berth as Emma conducted her investigation. He trusted that she would call him if she needed any help. But he needed to figure out what exactly Gold was up to.

What did Gold want? The obvious answer was power. But didn't he have power here in Storybrooke? Aside from occasionally going toe to toe with Regina, but overtaking her didn't seem to be a priority of his. But if he remembered who he was…what else would he want?

The answer struck Neal like lightning as he entered Granny's diner. Gold would want magic.

But this world had no magic. So how on earth could he—

Neal stiffened when he noticed August talking to Henry at the counter. He marched over and snatched August's shoulder.

"What did I tell you about talking to my son?" He growled.

August sighed dramatically. "Always so suspicious! I was just offering Henry a little friendly advice."

"Dad, he believes in the book!" Henry said excitedly. "He could help with Operation Cobra!"

"He can help by getting the hell out of here," Neal said very softly, in a tone uncomfortably reminiscent of Gold's. August well remembered Neal's fists and hastily made his exit.

Nolan took the newly unoccupied seat. "Henry, I want you stay away from that guy."

"But Dad!" Henry complained. "We need all the help we can get. And he's right. He said we need proof to help Miss Blanchard and we do."

"Emma is working on finding proof," Neal nodded at Granny in thanks as she filled him a mug of coffee. "We have to trust her on that."

"Yeah, well, we found a big knife in Miss Blanchard's heating vent," Henry informed him loftily. "And my mom obviously planted it there. So we're finding proof in the other direction."

"Does Emma believe the knife belonged to Mary Margaret?"

"Of course not!"

"Then trust her to find the truth. That's something Emma's really good at," Neal took a long sip of coffee. "In the meantime—I mean it, Henry. Stay away from August. He's not a good guy and he could get you into trouble."

Henry sized his father up. "How do you know him?"

Neal hesitated. He didn't want to keep secrets from his son. Rumplestiltskin lived in secrets and darkness; Neal wanted his relationship with Henry open and honest. But how could he tell his son such a thing? That August had played upon his insecurities, frightened him with his warnings of Emma's destiny and the Enchanted Forest—and had convinced him to leave her? Could Henry ever forgive such weakness?

"Look," Neal put his hand on Henry's shoulder. "I just want you to trust me on this one, okay? Stay away from him. Promise me?"

Henry's brow furrowed and Neal was strongly reminded of Emma. After a long moment, Henry nodded.

"I just want to help prove that Miss Blanchard's innocent," He sighed and pushed his now cold hot cocoa away.

"I know it's frustrating," Neal acknowledged and ruffled Henry's hair. "But trust me, kid. Emma knows what she's doing. And I'm looking into it too. If Regina is setting her up—"

Henry's eyes lit up. "I've got it!" He crowed.

Before Neal could ask what he was talking about, his son hugged him fiercely and dashed out of the diner as fast as his short legs could carry him.

XXXX

Neal wasn't able to catch his son the day after, to find out what exactly had inspired his outburst. But he learned that Mary Margaret had accepted Gold's help and her arraignment was scheduled for the following morning. At the very least, Neal had confidence in his father's talents. He would keep Mary Margaret from being arrested. Not everyone could nearly beat a man to death and persuade (or blackmail) a judge to ignore the matter.

The rest of the day was quiet but very busy. Jefferson nearly overwhelmed him with odd jobs the entire day, so much so, that by the end of the evening, Neal almost decided to crash at Granny's inn rather than make the long trek home. It was still freezing and nothing seemed more unpleasant than a cold, windy walk back to the cabin. It hadn't been the first time he'd crashed at Granny's. And he could check in at the sheriff's office first thing in the morning. Maybe bring Emma some coffee…

But he still hadn't talked to her about that kiss. Did she even want to see him?

Finally, Neal decided to walk home. He needed the time to figure out if it was even worth broaching the topic of the kiss. Emma was completely immersed in Mary Margaret's case—as well she should be. It wasn't really time to talk about the nature of their relationship. He should leave it alone. He knew better than to push Emma. No one could deny she had walls—many she'd built because of him—but breaking them down forcefully would only wreck her further.

He'd nearly reached the cabin on Jefferson's land when he noticed something odd.

There were lights on in Jefferson's house.

At any other moment, this would not have concerned Neal. Jefferson was something of a night owl and Neal had gotten used to his odd employer taking walks at 3AM, occasionally skulking around the gardens in the middle of the night, or even having an all night nightcap, which he often invited Neal to join in. But Jefferson had specifically told him that he would be out of town tonight and it was doubly urgent that Neal complete all of the errands by that evening.

Why would Jefferson have lied to him about being out of town? It made no difference to Neal. They weren't exactly friends. Neal didn't care what Jefferson did or didn't do.

Unless…had he dumped all of those errands on Neal to keep him away from the house?

The idea was paranoid. But Neal couldn't seem to escape the niggling feeling that something was off. And he'd learned at this point in his life it was best to trust his instincts. The last time he hadn't, Graham had ended up dead.

Jefferson was always extending invitations for drinks. He would go up, have a glass of beer with him, see if anything was amiss, and head back home. No problem.

Neal cast one more longing look towards his cabin and shut out the yearnings for his nice, warm bed. He trudged up the hill towards Jefferson's front door and raised his hand to knock. He then thought better of it and tried the handle.

To his surprise and unease, it yielded immediately.

He stepped inside. "Jefferson? You here?"

The house was eerily quiet. It had always been far too big a place for one person and Neal had repeatedly told him so. Jefferson always smiled an odd little smile and agreed.

"Hey," Neal called out again. "It's Neal. Everything okay? I thought you were going out of town tonight."

He continued to walk down the hallway. He thought he heard something, a scraping noise, metal against stone. He followed the sound and turned a corner—and nearly ran into Emma and Mary Margaret.

"Emma?!" Neal said thunderstruck. "What are you doing here?"

"Neal, thank God!" Relief broke over Emma's face. "We have to get out of here. Right now. He's crazy! He tied Mary Margaret up!"

"Keep your voices down!" Mary Margaret implored. "He'll hear us!"

"Neal, quick, we have to—"

They were interrupted by the click of a pistol cocking.

"Sorry, Neal," Jefferson said ruefully aiming the gun towards them. "I really didn't want you to be here for this."

XXXX

"What the hell is going on?! What the hell are you doing?"

Jefferson clucked sympathetically and pointed the gun at all of them. "You should've stayed in Storybrooke tonight, Neal."

"Put the damn gun down!" Neal moved bodily in front of Emma and Mary Margaret.

"I'm afraid that just isn't possible," Jefferson sighed. "Emma. Tie Spot back up, please."

Neal calculated his odds. He was likely to get shot if he rushed Jefferson but there was a chance he'd only hit Neal, and the scuffle would give Emma and Mary Margaret a chance to escape. But before he could make a move, Emma placed a hand on his shoulder.

He looked at her and she shook her head. After so long, how could she read him so well?

"Single file, please," Jefferson said in a bored voice. "Forward march."

They slowly walked into a small, dark room, where a trembling Mary Margaret returned to her seat. Emma whispered something to her and tied her wrists and replacing the gag. She then turned to Jefferson.

"Your telescope," She accused. "You've been watching me."

"You've what?!" Neal thundered.

"It points towards the Sheriff's office," Emma's eyes never left Jefferson's face. "Why?"

"I need you to do something for me," Jefferson replied quietly. "Neal—if you make any move towards me, I swear, I will blow Miss Swan's head off. Let's go."

He must have noticed Neal's fingers twitching. Boiling hot rage coursed through Neal's veins and he said in a low voice.

"Is this why you hired me? To get close to Emma?"

Jefferson didn't answer. He nudged them out of the room, indifferent to Mary Margaret's screams, and prodded them forward. He took them to a small room Neal had never seen before, lined with top hats.

"Sit down, Neal," Jefferson ordered. "Hand me that cell phone in your pocket. And keep quiet." Neal obeyed, regretfully.

"I don't know what you think you're doing," Emma burst out. "But if you hurt my friend, I swear I'll make you regret it."

"Hurt her? I'm saving her life." Jefferson said softly, walking towards her not unlike a lion stalks its prey.

"How do you figure that?" Emma demanded.

"Don't play stupid. We all know what happens when people try to leave Storybrooke."

And in that moment, it hit Neal like a ton of bricks. Jefferson knew. He knew everything. He knew about the curse, he knew who he was, where he came from…did he know about Neal?! Did he know who his father was?!

"The curse is keeping us all trapped," Jefferson murmured. "All except you two."

"Have you been reading Henry's book?" Emma said perplexed.

"Henry and his book of stories," Jefferson mused. "The ones that Emma chooses to ignore—but Neal pays very close attention to. Ever wonder why?"

Neal's fists clenched. Emma glanced at Neal in bewilderment.

"For the last twenty-eight years," Jefferson began to circle the room, like a vulture, keeping the pistol aimed high. "I've been stuck in this house. Day after day, always the same. Until one night, you two roll into town, the clock ticks, and things start to change. You see…I know what you refuse to acknowledge, Emma. You're special. You brought something precious to Storybrooke—magic."

"You're insane," Emma said flatly.

"Interesting," Jefferson bared his teeth. "Perhaps you're the one who's mad. After all, what's crazier than seeing and not believing? Ask Neal. He knows."

Without waiting for this, however, Jefferson took Emma by the shoulders and sat her down at the table across from Neal. The table was littered with sewing supplies, pins and pincushions, scissors of all sizes, scraps of fabric.

Jefferson bent and rested his chin on Emma's head, staring at Neal blankly. "She's the only one that can do it, Neal," His voice was barely above a whisper. "She's going to get it to work."

And in that moment, Neal realized who he was.

The Mad Hatter.

"The hats…" Neal sucked in his breath. Magic hats that could open a portal.

"The tea!" Emma exclaimed. "Your psychotic behavior. You think you're the Mad Hatter."

Jefferson clearly did not like to be called that. "My name is Jefferson."

"Okay," Emma set down the piece of fabric and took a deep breath. "You've clearly glommed onto our kid Henry's thing. They're just stories. The Mad Hatter is in Alice in Wonderland—a book. A book I actually read!"

"Stories…" Jefferson smiled a little. "Stories. Tell me, Neal. What do you think of these stories? In high school, you studied the Civil War, yes? You learned that in perchance a book? And what are storybooks based on? Imagination? Where does that come from? Neal—where do you come from?!"

"Jefferson," Neal said in a low voice. "You can't—you—"

"This is it!" Emma gestured around her. "This is the real world."

"A real world," Jefferson corrected. He leaned towards her, across the table. "How arrogant are you to think yours is the only one? There are infinite more. You have to open your mind. They touch one another, pressing up in a long line of lands. Each just as real as the last. All have their own rules. Some have magic, some don't. And some need magic. Like this one. And that's where you come in."

Jefferson pointed the blade of the scissors towards Emma while keeping the pistol firmly trained on Neal. "You, Spot, and Neal are not leaving here until you make my hat. Until you get it to work."

The scissors clattered as he dropped them in front of Emma. Both she and Neal jumped at the noise. Jefferson smirked a little at their tenseness and spun around towards Neal.

"I truly did not want you involved," He said apologetically. "Believe that, at least. I know who you're hiding from. And I know why. But I have to get my daughter back."

"What?" The color drained from Neal's face.

"The curse," Jefferson told him. "He did this to find you, you know. To make all of us feel what he felt. Like everyone else, what I love has been ripped from me. Look."

He gestured for Emma to go to the telescope. She peered through but Neal remained rooted to the spot. He did this to find you, you know. To make all of us feel what he felt.

"Her name is Grace," The pain in Jefferson's voice was palpable. "Here it's Paige. But it's Grace. My Grace. Do you have any idea what it's like to watch her day in and day out, happy, with a new family? With a new father?"

"You think she's your daughter?" Emma asked.

"I don't think, I know. I remember. She has no idea who I am. Our life together, where we come from. I do. That's my curse." Jefferson turned towards Neal. He reached a shaking hand out and ran his fingers through Neal's curls.

"Do you understand now?" Jefferson asked quietly. "Do you understand what he's done to me? To all of us?"

"What—what who's done?!" Emma asked, her eyes flitting between Jefferson and Neal nervously.

"Jefferson," Neal's mouth was dry. "I—I'm so sorry. I didn't—I didn't ask for this. I didn't want him to find me. I never did. I just—"

"I know," Jefferson nodded frantically. "I know. You and I are the same, Neal. We will do whatever it takes to get our family back."

"That's why you want me to make the hat."

They both turned to look at Emma. Her expression was vulnerable.

"You just want to take Grace home," She exhaled slowly. "To your world."

Jefferson stared at her. "You believe?"

"If what you say is true, that woman in the other room is my mother. And I want to believe that more than anything in the world. So maybe you're right. Maybe I need to open myself up more. Maybe, if I want magic, I have to start believing." Emma stepped towards Jefferson.

"So you're—you're going to help me? You can get it to work?" Jefferson was half-begging. His voice trembled and Neal's heart broke for him.

This was all because of him. The curse, Storybrooke, all of it—all of it had been done because Rumplestiltskin was trying to hunt him down.

It was all his fault.

Emma swallowed hard. "I can try."

He backed away and turned to grab the hat Emma had haphazardly stitched together. But as he did so, Emma seized the telescope and knocked him unconscious. He fell to the floor instantly.

"Crazy son of a bitch!" Emma burst out and snatched the gun. "Neal, are you okay?!"

"I'm fine," Neal stood up and embraced her. "Are you? Did he do anything to you?"

"He drugged me, but that's it. You got here before anything else could happen. C'mon, we've gotta get out of here!" She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him along with her, but Neal stopped short.

"You get Mary Margaret out of here," Neal told her. "I'll keep an eye on the Mad Hatter here. Then come back here and arrest this asshole."

"You sure?" Emma handed him the gun.

"Don't worry about it," Neal said grimly. "I'd like to have a few words with him in any case."

Emma nodded curtly. "Here. Tie him up." She handed him scraps of fabric that would do as light ropes. Neal bent down and tied Jefferson's wrists together tightly. The Mad Hatter's eyes flickered slightly and Neal kicked him in the gut for good measure.

"I won't be gone more than fifteen minutes," Emma promised. "I have to get Mary Margaret back to her cell before her arraignment."

"I got him," Neal said, still staring at Jefferson's unconscious form. "Go."

"Neal…" Emma hesitated. "I just—about what happened the other night—"

He gave her a half-smile. "You know, I was all worried about bringing it up with you because you had so much going on. And now you're bringing it up right after you've been drugged and tied up?"

"Okay, fair enough," Emma coughed. "Raincheck?"

"Raincheck. Get out of here."

XXXX

When Jefferson awoke, he was tied to a chair facing Neal, a gun pointed directly at his head.

"Let's review," Neal said in a dangerous voice. "You hired me so you could keep a close watch on Emma and figure out her movements. You drugged the mother of my child and tied her up. You terrorized her mother and tied her up. And you tried to force her to send you back to the Enchanted Forest. Am I missing anything?"

Jefferson spat a wad of blood on the ground. "Neal…"

"Trust me, I sympathize," The dangerous glint in Neal's gaze faded slightly. "I get the desire to get your kid back at any cost. But you cross a goddamn line when you endanger my family."

"You have to let me go," Jefferson pleaded. "Before she gets back."

Neal laughed harshly. "Oh yeah? And why the hell should I do that?"

"Because I know where Belle is."