AN: Am I the only one who wishes there was a little more information on Paige and Jefferson's relationship in cursed Storybrooke? Did they ever meet each other? Had they talked? Thats why I wrote this! I know that they weren't actually NEIGHBOR neighbors, like right next door, but that was necessary for this fic. So its not exactly canon, who cares?

This takes place about a year before Emma comes to Storybrooke, so Jefferson isn't very hopeful about his chances of meeting Paige. Poor guy. :(

Also, I may expand on this fic if I get a reaction. I already have a plan, so we'll just see what happens . . .

Paige's P.O.V.

"'Night Mom! 'Night Dad!" I yelled, closing my bedroom door. As soon as I did I flopped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. Why did this always happen? What was wrong with me?

I guess its just one of those days. I thought. But why did they have to happen at all? Other people didn't feel like this about their parents, did they?

I got up and crossed the room to the window, shoving it up so I could feel the cool summer breeze. I crossed my arms and rested them on to the windowsill, staring outside. You would think life couldn't be complicated for a ten year old, I thought bitterly. Mom and Dad are wonderful parents, really great, but sometimes something just feels . . . wrong about our family. Today was one of those days. When we were sitting around the table eating dinner, Dad talking about work and Mom about her idea for a new apple pie recipe, I just sat there. I didn't say a word the whole time, and whenever I tried to look at Dad I felt a painful tug in my chest that forced me to look back at my plate. I couldn't speak to them, I couldn't even look at them.

I closed my eyes for a long moment, trying to figure out my strange feelings. When I finally opened them again and stared at the woods outside a tic of movement attracted my gaze. I squinted a bit, trying to see through the trees.

I shifted my head to the side to look around a tree and saw the movement again. It was our neighbor, pacing in front of his window. What was his name . . .

Jefferson. A voice inside me said, and I nodded. That was it, Jefferson.

But he wasn't just pacing, I realized. He was doing something. He was...sewing? No, not sewing. He was making a hat!

I nearly laughed out loud. Our rich neighbor who barely leaves his giant house, who spends half his time watching the town through his telescope, who people call crazy behind his back. He was making a hat! A top hat, by the looks of it. It was just so absurd...but at the same time it was sad. I just didn't know why.

I looked closer, leaning forward a bit, and saw the drawn, frustrated expression on his face. He was angry, his hands flying as he cut and sewed and stitched in well-practiced motions, completing the garment in a matter of minutes. He stopped pacing right in front of the window, glared at the hat for a second, then threw it across the room. I saw it hit the wall and slide out of sight, and the plain rage on Jefferson's face. I didn't know what caused it, but it scared me. And at the same time, I was fascinated by the strange man. I had never talked to him in my life, only seen him a few times, but I felt a strange sort of connection with him.

"Paige?" Dad called. I jumped and turned around just as he opened the door. "You need to get ready for bed, sweetheart."

I nodded wordlessly, my lips pressed together so as not to let any words escape. It still hurt to look at him, though I didn't know why. A second later he withdrew from the room and I turned around again, peering out the window to see if Jefferson was still there. He was, but this time he was leaning on the windowsill and glaring out into the woods, his gaze sweeping back and forth. Suddenly it landed on me and for a second I froze. Then I smiled at him and gave a little wave.

The frustration on his face visibly melted away and after a moment he smiled back. I reluctantly withdrew from the window so I could begin my bedtime routine. But as I was about to leave the room to go to the bathroom I glanced out the window and saw Jefferson was gone, but the hat he had just made was sitting on the window ledge.

Jefferson's P.O.V.

He was pacing across the room, not really thinking about his actions. He was concentrating on the scrap of cloth in his hands that was slowly being molded into the shape of a hat. Too slowly for his liking. It had to work. He had to get it to work.

A cut here, a last stitch there and suddenly he was done. He stared at the finished creation, but even as he held it in his hands he knew it wouldn't work. It didn't have the feel to it the other one did, that little buzz of magic that set your teeth on edge when you held it.

Of course it doesn't work, He thought bitterly. Frustration and anger boiled up inside him and he threw the hat across the room wildly, not caring as it crashed into a shelf loaded with teacups. It wasn't important, they weren't important, nothing was important without his Grace...

He spun around, slapping his hands onto the window ledge and staring outside. His telescope was upstairs and he didn't feel like walking through the long, empty halls of his home right now. So he satisfied himself with the view of the trees directly outside his window. His eyes flitted back and forth until they landed on the House. Her house, where she lived now, with her new parents. Her new father. She didn't remember him. She probably never would.

But wait...was that her at the window? Yes, it was!

Jefferson stared in amazement. She was watching him. She had been watching him.

He was frozen. He couldn't move as she smiled that innocent little smile at him, giving a shy little wave. Then his mental returned and he smiled back, the irritation he had felt just moments ago all but forgotten. After a moment her smile faded and she moved away from her window, but Jefferson remained. That was the first time she had smiled at him in 27 years.

He pushed himself off the windowsill after a moment, walking over to where the hat had fallen. This one hadn't worked, but the next one would. And if it didn't, the one after that would. He would keep trying. He would get it to work, he had to.

He spun the hat around in his hands once, then placed it on the window ledge. Tomorrow. He would try again tomorrow.