A/N: Thank you all for being so patient with me! I'm pretty happy with this chapter, and I'm so sorry it took so long. This one is pretty simple and is mostly a lead-up to the next one (which I'm already halfway done writing so YAY!) but I hope you all like it, and where this is headed because I'm really excited about it ;)

There was nothing but silence that filled the void air while James picked up the pieces off of the floor – all of the pieces he'd built in his life scattered at his feet. Remnants of tables, chairs, glass displays and coffee grinds littered every perfectly polished inch of hardwood and he hadn't the slightest clue where he would begin. He picked up the nearest chair that he'd successfully snapped into more than two pieces and tossed it aside, questioning what he was going to do with it later. He couldn't leave it there, but there wasn't enough left of it to be mended.

He had troubles recalling a time when he had felt anger like that in his life. Before the shop, before Emma, his life leading up to now had been hazy at best. James cursed at himself below his breath for slipping away like he had with Emma – for allowing his anger to get the best of him. There was no excuse that he could magically weave together so that she'd forgive him; she wasn't going to forget, and that would be the last memory of him that she would take with her back to Boston. Emma would return home remembering that it was him who laid a dent in the wall with his fist.

James ran his fingers through his dampened hair as the sweat dripped down the sides of his face. He spotted himself in the cracked mirror that barely dangled from its hinges on the wall, but he refused to look directly at himself. He felt like he really was the man with two lives: living in the coffee shop and on that blasted ship with the faceless woman named Milah. He shook off his dreams again, but he knew they would return. Every time he thought that they might be gone, his mind only wandered back to the heaviness on his arms as her body lost all the life inside it. All he thought about was the beating red heart that had been so mercilessly stolen from her chest by the man who bore resemblance to a crocodile. No matter what he did, he couldn't forget her.

A crack under his foot brought his awareness back to the broken café. Normally, even the slightest displacement would have upset him or at the very least, ticked him off, but what he stood before made him feel nothing. He had been staring mindlessly for a long time – not even finding pieces he could salvage from the mess or trying to piece it all back together in his head, but only looking through his increasingly blurry vision.

Knock knock.

The sudden tapping on the glass startled James and he jumped to his feet after settling on a tabletop. He hadn't been expecting any visitors, but there was a small voice at the back of his mind that prayed for it to be Emma. Who he saw instead surprised him when he spun around to face the door. Mary Margaret was gazing through, her eyes squinting as she tried to peer in through the tinted glass.

This was the last thing he needed right now – he didn't need company, and he certainly didn't need a visit from Emma's roommate, of all the people in the entire bloody world. It had been hours since Emma left the shop, and the sun was already making room in the sky for the moon. There could have been time for Emma to explain everything to Mary Margaret, and if he didn't know any better, James assumed that she was there to discuss matters that were really none of her business. Heaving a relentless sigh, he dragged his feet to the door and unlocked it with a click, meanwhile debating with himself about whether this was in his best interests to grant her any sort of entry.

It probably wasn't.

"Miss Blanchard," he gaped, trying to block her from stepping through the doorway, but she slid past him away from the brisk winds that made itself at home in the shop. James had tried his best to keep her eyes on him and away from the rest of the room, but her wandering gaze must have caught onto something behind him, because her mouth fell open. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

She side-stepped him some more and gently laid her purse down on one of the lone chairs that remained. She studied the café with clear disbelief. "What in the world?"

James tried to swallow past the growing lump in his throat but it caught at the back, and he coughed. It would buy a little time for him to find the right words. "Did Emma send you?" Not what he had in mind. "I mean. . ."

Mary Margaret neither agreed nor disagreed. She simply laid her hands out on the table and leaned against it, her fingers spreading apart over the glossy mahogany, while James prayed to the powers that be that it wouldn't snap beneath her weight. "Emma didn't send me," she answered finally, and when James sighed with relief, it quickly vanished when she shot him a stern look. The kind that your mother would give you and you would immediately admit that you'd done wrong. "Emma doesn't know I'm here, but she seemed pretty upset."

Here it was. "Upset about . . .?" James inquired. Perhaps she didn't know and was playing him to pull any information out about what happened.

Mary Margaret saw straight through his dishonesty. "What happened between you two?"

James bit down on his lower lip. The last person he expected to be having a conversation with was the elementary school teacher – he would have imagined Dr. Hopper or even Ruby first – but here she was, swaying from side to side from one foot to another, waiting for his explanation. "It's really none of your concern what transpired between me and Swan." He had already had enough of this discussion.

She didn't appear to be taken-aback by his sudden bitterness. "It's my concern because she is my fam–" There was a pause, like she wasn't allowed to say it. "Friend. She's my friend."

There was something strikingly familiar in Mary Margaret that reminded him of Emma. It wasn't how they looked – although, Emma did have her chin – but in their mannerisms and their outlook on many things. They had the same strict posture, with their arms folded neatly in front of their chests with their legs stiff and straight and their faces hardened in similar ways, like the tight lips and the relaxed brows. While Emma was never quite as optimistic as Miss Blanchard, although James partly attributed that to the fact that Emma was the sheriff and Mary Margaret an elementary teacher, they were certainly in similar spots. Neither of them had family that he knew of, and their sense of family seemed rather dim. "Yes well, you won't find your answer here, love," he told her at last after carefully studying her similarities.

"She told me she's going back to Boston," Mary Margaret said – the very words that he was hoping not to hear.

"And I suppose you've ventured here today to tell me that she's leaving at my fault?" How badly he wanted to tell her to leave the shop, but he couldn't not defend himself against such accusations. As if there wasn't enough Emma wouldn't forgive him for already, telling her friend off would only fuel the flame. "I already knew."

Mary Margaret pursed her lips together and gazed at him through a concerned frown – a frown that made him squirm uncomfortably. "You told her how you felt, didn't you?" she asked, and her voice suddenly softened. "And she's running away from that."

"Perhaps I did," James muttered. Her level of intuition was staggering.

"And you're just going to let her go?"

James ran his fingers distractedly across the table, taking a trail of dust off of the polished wood. He didn't want to let her go, but what else was there to do? Physically prevent her from leaving the shop, or Storybrooke? There was no way Emma would let that happen, and her fists would likely enforce that. "Of course I am," he snapped again, feeling the anger peak in him again. "What would you have done?"

A weak smile broke through her previously steely demeanor. "I made the mistake of letting go once," she said. "I made the mistake of not fighting because I thought it would make everyone happier . . . because it was right." He noticed her fingers had wrapped around her finger, and she was twirling something around it. A green gem on a band that she held tightly in her grip. She didn't seem to notice that she was turning it but her eyes seemed to glaze over for a fleeting moment.

"So you're trying to tell me then . . ." James started slowly. "That I should be going after her because it's what I want, despite it being far from what she has clearly stated she wants?"

Mary Margaret laughed. "What's the harm in trying?"

James didn't know what to believe anymore. Not long before Miss Blanchard showed up, Emma had made it as clear-cut as possible that she was leaving, and he wasn't to follow. That she didn't want to see him again. Even after all of the things James had said in their dispute, he was afraid to even envision what she would have done had he chased after her. Now, he was being told by her best friend that he should be fighting for her? This was becoming a bigger mess in his head than it needed to be.

In that moment of silence, with the air heavy between them, there was a ringing noise, followed by vibrating coming Mary Margaret's purse. For a second, James thought that it was coming from inside of his head, but he spotted the name on her caller ID as she dug through her bag and yanked it out. In big, white, glowing letters, was Emma's name with a picture of her and Mary Margaret that took up most of the screen.

There was a beep as she held it up to her ear, but before she could give out a greeting, Emma's voice came out loud and clear enough on the other end for James to hear.

"Mary Margaret!" she was shouting. Her breathing sounded loud and frantic, and she seemed to either be in a panic or hurry. James hoped that it was the latter. "Where the hell are you?"

"Is everything alright?" she asked. "I'm with Ja–" She was interrupted again by Emma's cries and if James didn't know any better, he would say that she had broken out in sobs on the other end.

"Henry! It's Henry!"

James' hearing sharpened and he listened with a keen ear now – something was very, very wrong.

"He ate this . . . this apple turnover and collapsed!"

Mary Margaret jumped upright and she was throwing her bag over her shoulder carelessly, trying to force it over bulky coat sleeves while she held her phone between her ear and opposite shoulder. "Where are you?" she breathed, headed for the door. James followed her in desperation and she seemed to notice, because she paused and beckoned him along frantically.

James couldn't hear what Emma said next – he was grabbing his own coat and slipping his arms into them while the worry on Mary Margaret's face only grew.

She threw the door open and motioned urgently at James to hurry. "On the way!" she reassured Emma and hung up the phone. "Get your coat on, let's go!"

He zipped his coat up to his chin and braced himself for the cool air that was already slipping its way in through the open door. He followed her out of the shop, paying no mind to locking the door as they bolted to the street where Mary Margaret's truck was parked on the curb. As he climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him, he turned to her. "Where are they headed?" he asked between breaths.

"The hospital." She turned the car on, switched gears and slammed her foot on the gas faster than he'd ever seen anyone manage.

"What the bloody hell happened?"

"I don't know, but whatever did happen can't be good."

James' stomach twisted unnervingly. If it wasn't him that was the problem, it was something else. Emma could never catch a break, and he wanted to kick himself for treating her as he did earlier that day. As if it couldn't get any worse, their argument was only the cherry on top of the cake. James couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get much grimmer, but his knack for being pessimistic was not going to help any situation, this one especially.

The hospital wasn't a far drive – although nothing in Storybrooke was – and it didn't take long for Mary Margaret to pull up in front, setting her car into park after she carelessly pulled up where she probably wasn't permitted to. They both climbed out and ran up the front lawn to the main doors, and tripping over themselves as they skipped steps in the stairwell – the elevator would have taken far too long.

James heard his pulse in his head, feeling like his heart would beat out of his chest as he shoved through the stairwell door. Everything is going to be alright, he wanted to tell Emma. It wasn't enough to put her mind at ease, and it was a complete lie. He didn't know if things were going to be alright, and saying nothing at all was better than giving anyone a false sense of hope.

xxxxx

If Emma hadn't had an ounce of self-control that remained in her, she knew that her fist would have made its new home in the side of Regina's face, but with her son's life at stake, she was aware that she couldn't take that risk. This was not going to be over. They were going to save Henry's life, so help her God, but this would not be their last discussion about that apple turnover.

All of this was far too much for Emma to take in. It was a sleeping curse that knocked Henry out, which had somehow been woven into the pastry with magic . . . or something. The word 'magic' left a sour taste in Emma's mouth and she cringed when Regina uttered it. Saying it only made it more real.

"It was supposed to put you to sleep!" Regina flung Emma's hands off of her and she fell back, feeling weak. Emma's legs were shaking beneath her and she could barely keep up with her breath.

"What's it gonna do to him?"

Regina shook her head hopelessly. "I don't know. . ." she said, a tear falling from her eye. "Magic is unpredictable here." She sounded just as helpless as Emma did and the heavy fear lingered in the storage room as both mothers suddenly realized the ramifications of their actions.

Sure, if Regina hadn't poisoned the apple, none of them would be here but Emma couldn't unburden the realization that if she had only believed in Henry from the start, when he had been so adamant about it, they would not have landed in the hospital. If Emma had listened to everything he said, and even broke whatever cursed this town, they would still be in Mary Margaret's kitchen leaning over the same bowl of ice cream, fighting over who would have the last bite.

"So he could. . ."

"Yes." Regina shut her eyes and took in a deep breath.

The air felt thin in the closet now, and Emma felt like all of the oxygen she had left in her lungs had been blown out. She gasped for air, trying to push away the nervous twisting in her stomach. "So what do we do?" In all of the days that she had spent in Storybrooke, Emma hadn't imagined she'd ever need to ask Regina for help. She had no other choice, and neither did her majesty. Emma was prepared to do whatever it took to save their son, and if that meant working with the one woman who made her skin crawl and her blood reach boiling point, then it needed to be done.

Regina paced through what little room there was left in the closet. "We need help," she said, sounding defeated. Emma could see a sudden revelation appear across Regina's face as she turned back to face her. "There's one other person in this town who knows about this." Regina's voice suddenly darkened. "Knows about magic."

It took Emma several seconds to reach the same conclusion. If there was another in Storybrooke who knew anything about weird things . . . there was only one. "Mr. Gold."

"Actually he goes by Rumplestiltskin." Regina sounded so matter-of-fact, as if this was normal.

Nothing about this screamed normal to Emma; it was far too much for her to process in mere minutes of each other. First the turnover, then the curse and Mr. Gold was Rumplestiltskin? Talking about all of this in a storage closet in the hospital of all the places to be. Emma possessed neither the time nor tolerance for this. Their son was lying in a hospital bed unconscious and quite possibly dying with every second they wasted arguing through broom handles. She tried more deep breaths to see if they would help, but they stopped just sort of the brink of relief, and Emma's chest tightened again. "Let's just save our son," she sighed and left Regina, going back to Henry one last time before they paid the Pawnbroker's shop a visit.

"Emma!" The voice was familiar and soothing between all of the panic. Mary Margaret whipped around the corner and ran to her side, giving Emma a reassuring squeeze on the arm, glancing between her and Henry. She was in shock as her eyes fell upon the pale boy on the bed.

It wasn't Mary Margaret's sudden entrance that made Emma's heart stop in its tracks. It was the way he said her name as he carefully slid into view, taking small and cautious steps toward her. What was he doing here? Emma's jaw fell open at the strange revelation that befell her then, and it made her sick to her stomach that it would even cross her mind. "Wait, where you two . . .?" She cast Mary Margaret a bewildered stare and she reacted immediately.

"What!?" she interrupted, shocked that Emma would even dare accuse her of such a thing. "No, of course not!"

Not that Emma cared. She instead caught herself staring at James like she hadn't seen him in years, and he eyed her the very same way. "What the hell are you doing then?" Now was not the time to apologize for what he'd done earlier, and it wasn't Emma who owed anyone an apology. "Now is not the time, James."

"I came because I was worried about Henry," he snapped indignantly, clearly taken-aback by her allegation, and that stung Emma more than it should have.

She chose to ignore James and spun around to face Henry, sliding her hands nervously into her pockets. He looked whiter than before, Emma could have sworn, but it was probably the lighting and emotions playing with her meager ability to rationalize. "Everything . . . the curse..." she started, not knowing where to begin. Emma opened her mouth again but she only managed a breath before she was disrupted by Regina.

"We had better get going," she ordered, her heels clacking noisily on the floor. Regina glossed over the presence of Mary Margaret and James, both looking at Emma like she was out of her mind, waiting for an explanation. Emma probably was but was there really a choice? Regina gave them both a roll of her eyes impatiently before turning and leading the way out the door.

"I'll explain everything later," Emma whispered to them and she followed close behind Regina, passing Dr. Whale on her way out. "Take good care of him." It wasn't a question nor was it a request – it was an order, a threat of sorts. That were he to be any less than successful, Emma would have something to say about it. As if the poisoned apple turnover wasn't enough for her, it was the entirety of the curse that threw her out of her element. That Emma was going to pay Rumplestiltskin a visit with the Evil Queen to obtain the last bit of magic that might be left in this bizarre town.

If she was willing to do anything for Henry, she had to do anything.

At the speed they walked, it didn't take long for them to reach Gold's shop, but Emma's heart sank the moment she spotted the closed sign dangling in the store window. She could see that still faint yellow glow coming through the curtains, but they were pulled shut. None of it threw Regina off of her course – the Mayor charged forward, standing as tall as ever, and wrenched the door open.

Gold was standing at the front counter, and his attention was captured by the jingle of his little bell. He was wiping down a long, slim leather case that was locked tight, but he looked to be expecting visitors, despite the sign that told them otherwise.

"Do my eyes deceive me or is that the look of a believer?" he said with that wide grin on his face – the one that said he wasn't at all surprised.

"We need your help." Emma didn't hesitate and she stopped in front of him, scared of what he might say next.

Gold only continued to smile, and Emma squinted at him suspiciously, wondering what was lurking behind that glint in his eyes. "Indeed you do. It seems quite the tragic ailment has befallen our young friend." His eyes shot to Regina who'd just come up beside Emma. "I told you magic comes with a price."

"Henry shouldn't have to pay it," Regina said defensively.

"No, you should but alas we are where we are."

Emma didn't have time for this. "Can you help us?"

There was the smirk again. "Of course," Gold said, and after a pause he went on. "True love, Miss Swan; the only magic powerful enough to transcend realms and break any curse. Luckily for you, I happen to have bottled some."

What the hell was going on?

xxxxx

It had been over an hour since Emma left the hospital, and between pacing restlessly and watching Mary Margaret slowly spiral further into anxiety, he had offered to take a walk to Granny's and pick up something warm for them to drink. Being in the hospital left an unsettled feeling in him that went from his head to his fingertips and down to his cold toes – it wasn't the sick or the fear of being sick, but there was something about them that he did not like. Death usually hung about in hospitals – perhaps that's what it was. In any case, he couldn't bear to sit in there for much longer and he was sure a breath of fresh air would do him good.

So he began his journey to Granny's. The simple thought of brewing a cup of coffee himself didn't sit well in his stomach, much the same as stepping foot in his shop again. Not after the thread of events that brewed themselves upon Storybrooke today. James climbed out of Mary Margaret's car and hurried along the sidewalk to Granny's, and when he walked in, he was greeted by Ruby, who was sluggishly cleaning the empty diner.

"You're looking down tonight," she noted, weaving through tables to him. She reached up and straightened a string of hair that must have been out of place. Concern washed over her face when she studied him further, and if he looked as chaotic as he felt, he wasn't surprised. "Why?" Ruby's demeanor shifted – she was no longer wearing the wide smile that she always did. She was always good at sensing when something was amiss and her instincts were never off point.

James hesitated, wary of what he should or could tell her. He knew Ruby wasn't the one who would spread what she'd heard around to others, but something in Storybrooke always made him feel like there were ears inside the walls. That somehow, even with a silent diner, the walls would be listening carefully, even if he spoke in barely a whisper. "It's Henry," he began as quietly as he could, just loud enough for Ruby to hear.

Ruby let herself fall back onto a stool at the counter, and James followed when she beckoned him to sit – more commanding than beckoning, really. She didn't stay long but instead slipped behind the counter and began to brew him a coffee, but when James shook his head, she paused. "Not the regular?"

"How much would you judge me if I told you that I wanted a mocha with cinnamon instead?" He bit down on his bottom lip and forced a smile while Ruby laughed.

"Is it to go?" she asked, not questioning his choice in drink, although her wide grin told him otherwise. The espresso machine started, and the sound of milk steaming and whirring was the only sound in the diner for a while. James nodded.

He tapped his knuckles on the counter to garner her attention again. "I'm also going to need Miss Blanchard's regular drink," he announced. "She told me you knew what it would be."

"Gotcha!" Ruby was talented at multitasking behind the counter – while the tea brewed, Ruby slid James' cup of finished mocha to him and she crossed her arms in front of her, leaning forward. "You never told me what happened to Henry. Is he alright?"

James tilted the cup in his hand, letting the warmth spread across his cold palms. He didn't know how aware Ruby was of the curse – he knew that she was told about his supposed adventures as a pirate, and how Henry believed him to be Captain Hook, but he didn't want to take any more chances with her. He didn't need another good friend thinking that he had gone mad. He played with the words in his head before opening his mouth to speak – something he should have done with Emma. "He's in the hospital," he said, glancing over his shoulders to make sure that no one had silently slinked into the diner. "No one knows what happened; the doctors are still trying to figure it all out."

Ruby pouted and grabbed the cup of tea that had just finished brewing and picked apart a drink tray for him. "Maybe you should be helping Emma rather than doing tea and coffee runs," she said accusingly.

Ouch. "She would never let me." The look on Emma's face when he carefully stepped into her sight said it all. Not only had she been surprised to see him there, but she looked equally as angry and that he was the last person Emma ever wanted to see at a time like that. He would have given anything in the damned universe to be with her, to help her in any way that he could, but unless she made it clear that she would be happy with his presence, he would keep his distance. He would be there for the simple knowledge that Emma had someone who would be there if she cried for help.

Ruby coughed at him and she stared hard through her lashes, her face stern and almost a little too harsh for James' taste. "You don't know until you try." She helped him slide the cups into the tray and James threw a five at her.

"Keep the change, lass." They both chuckled at each other as he went for the exit, and Ruby called out to him.

"Keep me updated on Henry," she pleaded. "And don't leave that kid's side, no matter what."

"I don't make promises I can't keep." James winked and returned a smile and left the diner. The brisk air bit at his fingers as he jogged to the car, carefully balancing the tray. The wind felt colder than usual, and the blanket of darkness that crept over Storybrooke looked blacker, too. Not a single sign of a glint of stars in the sky tonight, he noticed when he briefly looked up. Did the universe feel as hopeless as he did?

When he arrived back at the hospital, the seating room was empty. Mary Margaret had moved to beside Henry on his bed with a single reading lap draped over her. Henry's storybook lay open across her lap. James opened the door as quietly as he could and she didn't notice, seemingly far too engrossed in the story of Snow White and Prince Charming, and James laughed endearingly. It seemed to catch her attention because she jumped suddenly.

"You're back," she said plainly. When James approached, he saw that her eyes were glazed over with what looked to be tears. She had been crying.

James ignored the immediate instinct to ask her if she was alright – of course she wasn't, and that would have been an absurd question. He settled for handing her the cup of tea and she wrapped her fingers around it, relishing in the comfort of its scent and warmth. "You're reading him the book?" he asked instead.

"I was, yes," she muttered, grazing her fingers over the glossy page before closing it. "I just got to the part where Prince Charming wakes up Snow White." She was biting back a sob, and in an attempt to cover it, took a sip of her boiling tea.

He turned to face the glass windows, watching her reflection as she swiftly wiped a tear from her eye and giving her a moment to compose herself.

"Henry..." Mary Margaret's voice was low and shaky. James lowered his gaze to his feet, feeling like this was not the place he should be, but something was holding him back. "When I gave you this book, it was because I knew..." There was a pause and she inhaled a long and distressed sigh. "I know life doesn't always have a happy ending..." He could see her hands wrap around Henry's small ones and she squeezed them. He knew it wasn't that way, but it felt as if Mary Margaret had been speaking for both of them. James raised his head and snuck a glance at her and saw that her eyes were darting between him and Henry.

She tried to push out a few more words between stifled sobs that were incomprehensible from where James stood before the pit of his stomach fell. He whirled around as the monitors beside the bed beeped obnoxiously and Mary Margaret's eyes went wide as she got to her feet. "What is that...?" she uttered.

"We need the doctor, now." James pushed the door open as Mary Margaret shouted for Doctor Whale, who immediately appeared and rushed to Henry's side, while cries of worry came from both of them.

"Nurse, get them out of here. Now!" Doctor Whale ordered, and before James could object, he and Mary Margaret were aggressively ushered out.

Mary Margaret burst into a fit of tears as James dragged her by the arm and pulled her against his chest. "He's going to be okay," she was telling herself. He laid his hand on the back of her head and kept her there, while he watched the Doctor and nurses press against Henry's ribcage and covered his mouth and nose with an oxygen mask.

"He will be okay," he muttered, gripping her tightly. There it was – the false hope. There was nothing else that he could say. Swan, where the bloody hell are you? She had been gone for most of the night and he was quickly losing his track on the time. James could not have ventured a guess of where she might have gone or what she was doing. The only thing he could be sure of was that she was doing what she could to save Henry. There was not a single doubt that Emma would return with nothing short of a solution.

Mary Margaret lifted her head from his dampened chest and he gave her shoulders a gentle pat. "We best sit down. We don't know how much longer we'll be here."

He led her to the chairs that lined the opposite wall and Mary Margaret sat down shakily, overtaken with fear and worry. "I didn't think – I just wanted Henry to believe," she said in between weeps. "To believe that there was such a thing as a happy ending."

"If there is anyone in this world who believes in happy endings, it's Henry." He hoped that it would at least offer even the least amount of reassurance. "He leant me that book for the very same reason you gave it to him."

There was nothing from Mary Margaret after that. Their conversation seemed to have dissipated into the air and all that stayed were the sobs and yawns. James stopped counting the hours he had been awake for. When was the last time he really shut his eyes and managed a good night's sleep? He was not about to leave now, even if it took another day for Emma to arrive; he promised Ruby that he would stick at Henry's side until at least Emma came back, and that was a vow he intended to carry out. Although he did feel his eyes growing heavy as the ticking of the clock echoed off of the cement walls, louder in his head than it likely was. He would wait as long as he needed to.

James surrendered to the sleep that was calling out to him, and before he could stop himself from falling further, this time embracing the sea beneath a starry sky.

xxxxx

"Henry!" The familiar voice was faint, and James wasn't sure if he was still dreaming. He tried to push his eyes open but they still felt heavy beneath the dreariness. "Henry!" she called out again, and there were two sets of footsteps that thundered past him.

When James managed to open his eyes, he blinked the harsh sunlight that shone on his face. Mary Margaret had, at some point in the night, disappeared from beside him. How long was he sleeping for? He hopped to his feet as Emma ran up to him, stopping with fear-ridden eyes. Her fingers reached out and latched onto the collar of his shirt, but he noticed that she didn't once look over her shoulder into the room. "Henry," she said, out of breath, and James felt her pull him closer with her firm grip. "Henry, is he okay?"

James dared peer over her head and he instantly felt the world crash from under him. There was nothing he could have done, and nothing he could tell Emma right now to soften the blow. He leaned forward and laid a kiss on her forehead, so lightly that his lips barely brushed against her moist skin. If, in a few moments, Emma's entirety would crumble, he could at least give her this.

Doctor Whale and Mother Superior came out of the room with their heads hung low and not an ounce of light left in their eyes. Emma turned painfully slow and stared, her hands still holding onto James.

"We did everything we could," Whale whispered.

James felt Emma's hold loosen.

"I'm sorry..." said Mother Superior, lacing her shaking fingers together. "You're too late."

He could see the life leave Emma and the sadness wash over her as she stepped away from him and into the room, leaving him behind as she pushed her way through the glass door. She gave him one last look before it closed behind her.

All James could do was watch as the mothers took it all in. Regina followed Emma while she slowly proceeded to the bed while the nurse pulled the mask off of Henry's face. Regina was holding onto Doctor Whale near the back of the room watching from afar. It was rare to see such terror on Madam Mayor's face, but James, for the first time in as long as he could ever recall, felt pain for her.

Emma was beside the bed and she delicately leaned over the boy, placing a soft kiss on his forehead just as he had for her.

It was then that something hit James and knocked him back a step. His knees buckled as he tried to maintain his balance and he looked around, everyone looking just as puzzled as he did. A burst of light pulsed through the hospital, and for a fleeting moment, the world froze as these images – no, memories – washed over him. When the light in his eyes disappeared and he could see again, it looked different. It was in that very instant that he realized that nothing would ever be the same again.

He remembered.

xxxxx

"No matter what you think, no matter what anyone tells you..." Regina leaned over with her eyes full of tears, and she gripped the sheets that spread over Henry briefly. "I do love you." She left the room with no time for a response from either. She knew what was coming, and soon all of Storybrooke would be asking where their queen was. And it wasn't going to be to commend her or offer their sympathies.

Emma searched for James on the other side of the glass and wondered why he hadn't come in since Henry suddenly awoke. He had disappeared. Not a trace of him left – he had picked up his coat and was gone. She frowned and had to remind herself time and time again that the curse was, in fact, very real. All this time, he really was Captain Hook. That would explain the missing hand. Although it didn't explain much else, and there was a fleeting pang of concern as to where he might have ventured to. In the stories Emma knew, Captain Hook was never good news, and she couldn't be sure if this man was the same.

"Henry..." Emma started, thinking out loud to herself. "What's going on here? If the curse is broken, why didn't they go back?" She had always imagined in her head that when she did – if she did – break the curse, it would send everyone back to where they came from, but that was not the case here.

"I don't know," Henry answered, equally as confused.

Emma was startled by the sudden clattering when one of the nurses dropped a tray of tools to the floor. She was frozen, staring through the window at something. "You okay?" When she didn't answer, Emma followed her eyes curiously and what she saw was... well, she didn't know what she was looking at.

Not far off in the distance, something was making its way into the sleepy town. Clouds of purple smoke rolled through the streets and wisped into the air, quickly devouring what was left of the town that Emma could see. "What is that?"

"Something bad..." Henry choked. He clutched onto Emma's jacket and she pulled him in closer as the fog tried to slither its way through the windows and into the room.

It only took seconds before everything around Emma darkened beneath the purple haze. Storybrooke vanished and something in Emma's stomach twisted and turned. "What the hell is going on?"