Emma didn't like finding herself in Mr. Gold's shop, and yet it was happening far more frequently than she would have ever preferred. He had a way of pulling people back in, it seemed. Perhaps, as far as the town was concerned, Emma had stood up to him, but she was nowhere near beating him. Something made her feel as though he had her tightly by the scruff of the neck, despite it all.

And here she was again, needing to ask him a favor.

"Sheriff Swann," he greeted in his own eerily pleasant way. "Fancy seeing you around here. I'd rather thought you considered me a thing to be avoided."

"I do," she said tersely, keeping her distance. "But I'm not here for me, today. I need to talk to you about your daughter, Rachel."

She could see his face fall slightly and become a bit stern. It was the most genuine emotion she had ever seen him express.

"And how did you meet Rachel?" he asked, coming around the counter.

"Bookstore, where else?"

He chuckled a bit under his breath. "Forgive me, Sheriff, but you don't exactly seem the bookish type. Don't tell me you were just in browsing."

"It's not important what I was doing," she said defiantly, hoping that a mention of her underlying purpose could be avoided. "What's important is the state your daughter is in. Mr. Gold, I'm deeply concerned about her. There's obviously something wrong, if not a few things, and I really think she could use some kind of therapy."

"You're suggesting I put her in it?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "I'm not suggesting, I'm telling you that it's what she needs. Don't you care enough about your daughter to see to it that she gets proper care?"

"I give her everything she could ever want or need," he said matter-of-factly. "She wants for nothing and when she does, she tells me."

"Mr. Gold," Emma sighed. "Your daughter is a grown woman. She should be allowed to get some things for herself."

"If you deem that so important, Sheriff, then why aren't you encouraging her to find some access to health insurance on her own? Could it be because you know she can't?"

Emma stilled, at a loss for anything to say in response.

"I know what my daughter needs. I really don't need you or anyone else giving me helpful suggestions."

He then shifted over to one of the figurines on the counter closest to him -which Emma thought looked like some sort of gold music box- and began to rather absently inspect it.

"Besides, I know you're not here just because of her," he continued. "You want something and you want to find a way to get it without my help. I'm afraid trying to go through Rachel is a poor avenue, Sheriff."

"I already owe you one favor too many," Emma said through her teeth. "I'm done making deals with you."

With that, she turned on her heel and left, determined to find someway to help Rachel, with or without her father's assistance.

Deep in the forest, Geppetto and his son, Pinocchio, maneuvered through the wilderness with an axe, a cart, and an elderly donkey. They had been on a mission for good, sturdy wood for toy and furniture making and now that they had a cart-full, they were on their way back to the village to resume work.

The problem was, they were lost. Geppetto had made the decision to go a bit deeper into the woods this time for the purpose of seeking out better material. He noticed that the trunks of the trees got thicker and sturdier the father in one went and, interested in having only the best for his merchandise, he urged them onward. He knew it was a risk. At a certain point, the woods were no longer public domain and became territory of the Queen. To go farther in meant possibly crossing over into her area and being caught by a patrol, and if they were caught maiming her trees, well...that would be the end of them for sure.

Now, however, Geppetto wasn't quite sure what part of the forest he was in. It looked like nothing he had seen in his sixty-five years of life and that fact worried him more than if he had been in her area. He knew his way back from there, at least.

"Papa, look!" Pinocchio cried, pointing towards a clearing. "I think I see a tower!"

Geppetto squinted his elderly eyes to try and see what his son was talking about. Sure enough, he could make out the faint outline of what was clearly a very tall stone tower in among the trees.

"Do you think we might find some help there, papa?" Pinocchio asked.

"Yes, my boy, we might," Geppetto said, petting his son's head proudly. "Thank goodness for your youthful eyesight, otherwise we might be caught in this forest forever."

They made their way quickly towards the clearing, but Geppetto felt slightly disheartened to see that the tower was rather old with vines crawling up the side. It was likely, he thought, that no one had lived here for quite sometime, given its state of disrepair. He considered, perhaps, going in the tower himself to see if there wasn't some clue of their whereabouts (a map, for instance) but he could see no door or stairs or any evident way in.

"Very strange," he said as they stopped at the foot of the tower. "Very strange to build such a high tower in the middle of the wilderness like this, and with no way in or out, it would seem..."

The two were silent a moment as they deliberated on what to do next, but the silence was soon broken by Pinocchio exclaiming,

"Father, look! There's a girl up there! I saw her, father, I swear it!"

Geppetto would have no hope of seeing her, not with his impaired eyesight and the glare of the sun inhibiting him further. Nevertheless, he knew he could trust his son to tell the truth, as he had come to learn the hard way what trouble lying could get a person into.

So Geppetto decided instead to call up to the person in the tower, hoping he could procure a response.

"Miss! Miss! Please, Miss, answer us! We're in need of help! We're lost in the forest! Do you know a way out? Please, Miss, it will be dark soon and we must get out of here before the wolves come out!"

He still couldn't see, but Pinocchio informed him that the girl had reappeared. This was confirmed when she called back,

"W-what is your name, sir?"

"Geppetto! This is my son, Pinocchio. We've been out chopping wood and have gotten lost. Can you help us in any way?"

The girl apparently paused a moment there in the high window and then disappeared. Father and son were almost certain all hope was lost until, suddenly, a silky, yellow-golden rope that looked strikingly like human hair tumbled down from the window to where they stood.

"Climb up!" she called.

Geppetto and Pinocchio exchanged skeptical looks, but seeing as they had no other alternative, Geppetto allowed his son to climb up the rope first.

"Tie your cart to the end," she said. "And take your donkey with you. We can haul them up when you've gotten up here."

Geppetto thought it strange that she'd ask them to bring all of their possessions with them when he could have easily left the cart and his donkey at the bottom, but he ultimately decided she probably had a good reason and decided to do as she asked.

It was when he arrived at the window and hauled himself into the tower with the girl and his son that he realized the rope was, in fact, the young woman's hair. He marveled at this as he and his son helped her haul up the cart of wood with her long locks.

"How interesting!" he exclaimed when they were finished. "A tower in the middle of the wilderness, occupied by a young woman with longest hair I have ever seen!"

She nervously smiled at him, seemingly shy and almost fearful.

"My name is Rapunzel," she said softly.

"Have you lived here your entire life?" Pinocchio asked.

"Yes," she answered, clearly endeared to him. "My father has kept me up here since I was a baby. He has always told me he does it to protect me from the outside world. He says it's a dangerous place filled with people who will hurt me. If he knew I had let you both up here, he'd be very upset, I'm sure..."

She then paused for a moment to regard the both of them with her large blue eyes.

"It's strange, then, that you two don't seem dangerous. In fact, you seem quite pleasant and kind."

"We are," Geppetto assured her. "I am but an honest toy-maker and all I ask is for a way back home. Do you know of one?"

She nodded. "Yes, I can help you. But first...would you both like something to eat? You look rather hungry..."

Geppetto knew for a fact that he was and that at any moment his protesting stomach would betray him, but it wouldn't be long before the sun would disappear and they'd have only the light of the moon to travel back home with.

"I'm afraid we cannot stay, though it is very kind of you to offer. It will be dark soon and it is never a good idea to travel through an unfamiliar wilderness at night."

"You won't have to travel!" she said. "I can have you back home in the blink of an eye, trust me. Won't you stay and eat, just for awhile? I'd love to hear about your home and the toys you make!"

Geppetto was very unsure of all of this, but it seemed a good enough excuse for his son to plop down at her small table and begin regaling her with stories of their town and their work. She listened intently as she began to prepare a soup, of sorts, in a cauldron over the fire. He eventually came to the conclusion that she must be some kind of generous enchantress who would do them the favor of transporting them back to the village. With that idea in mind, he sat down with his son and allowed himself to enjoy the supper she made for them.

They all talked and ate happily and Rapunzel was visibly opening up the longer they all spoke. Geppetto wondered if she had ever really interacted with other human beings before. Her distinct, overt curiosity for everything they told her seemed to suggest that if she had, it was very seldom and infrequent. He also wondered what kind of a man be so selfish as to keep his daughter locked away from the world? Certainly, he understood the need to protect a child, but making it so they could never see or speak to anyone or experience anything for themselves was taking it to unhealthy extremes.

As she told them more about her life spent in the tower, Geppetto began to feel increasingly indignant and tempted to invite her to leave with them. She deserved to see more than this tower. She was a grown woman, after all.

He had made up his mind about it when she eventually rose from the table and began to take something out of the floor.

"What are you doing?" Pinocchio asked, intrigued.

"I have to get my paintbrush," she said simply. "Or else I won't be able to make your portal."

They didn't ask any questions as she retrieved the brush and her paints and went over to the one spot of wall that was not covered in some kind of painting or mural. She then began to paint -miraculously fast- what Geppetto could only guess was some sort of scenery. As the picture developed, Pinocchio exclaimed,

"Father! She's painting the village!"

He couldn't make this out until she had fleshed it out a bit more, but when she had it was nothing less than an exact image of their home. When she added a few finishing touches, the picture actually became real, as if staring through a window.

"Amazing..." Geppetto gasped. "How did you know what our village looked like?"

"Well, your description, of course! You both made it look so vivid in my head."

"But no one can just imagine something like that," Pinocchio pointed out. "Not that perfectly without at least seeing it."

Rapunzel seemed a bit confused.

"They can't? But...why not? You described it so well, after all."

"My dear," Geppetto said. "You clearly have some sort of power."

She giggled.

"Power? No, I think not. This brush is what has made the painting into a portal, not me."

"Yes, but you have some sort of a gift to imagine...I do wonder if this brush would work if anyone else were to use it...?"

The question was one of genuine, innocent interest, but Rapunzel seemed suddenly suspicious and troubled.

"No one else may use this brush," she said, a bit stern. "Father has strictly forbidden it. Come now, you must go. I've let you stay far too long."

Geppetto was at that point deterred from asking her to join them in going through the portal, but Pinocchio wasn't in the least. He gently shook Rapunzel's sleeve.

"Will you come with us, Miss Rapunzel? Please?"

She looked up at Geppetto then, wide-eyed, as if she needed some confirmation that she was truly being invited in the outside.

"It might be a good idea," he said tentatively. "There is much you should see."

She looked from the two of them to the portal and then back again, conflict evident on her face. He could read some clear kind of yearning in her and he knew that despite the fears her father had clearly instilled deep within her, she was also hungry for freedom.

It seemed, for one moment that she was going to relent and follow them through, but she eventually regressed.

"No," she said. "I musn't, I shouldn't. Father would never forgive me."

Seeming to notice the disappointment on their faces -particularly Pinocchio's- she offered a smile.

"But I should very much like to see you both again! It's rather nice to have friends from the outside for once. Here."

She scampered over to her bookshelf for a moment and searched until she withdrew the one she had been looking for. She proceeded to rip out a page and hand it over to Geppetto.

"It's a map of these woods," she explained. "As well as where you may find my tower again. I'm sure this will come in handy for more than just visits."

Geppetto smiled gratefully at her.

"Yes, my dear, it will! Thank you so much for everything. We shall be back to visit you soon, we promise!"

She hugged them both experimentally, seeming to approve of the gesture after having tried it but still a bit shy towards the action as a whole.

Geppetto and Pinocchio then stepped through the portal after a final goodbye and found themselves standing on the road leading into their village, which was just a few steps away. They turned to see no sign of the portal whatsoever, almost as if they had never left and had been on the road the entire time.

Later that night, Geppetto was tucking Pinocchio into bed when the small boy said,

"Father, I feel bad for Rapunzel. She must be awfully lonely up there in that tower by herself. I wish we could go see her everyday."

"Yes, my son, so do I."

"Do you think we could get her a friend? Maybe a pet to keep her company?"

Geppetto laughed at the idea at first, but then began to consider the prospect seriously. He could remember gaining a friend of his own when he most alone in the world and it had been that friend who had guided him through life and helped him become the man he was today. Conveniently enough, this friend lived to help others and was just the right size to live comfortably in the tower and get up and down from it as he pleased. Would he be willing to fulfill the role?

"Perhaps we can, son. Remind me to have a word with Jiminy tomorrow."

"Sheriff Swan!"

Emma dreaded visiting Archie's office. It wasn't because of him, as she had come to have quite a soft-spot for Archie. It wasn't the office itself, despite being a therapist's office and somewhat of a reminder of the many therapists she had had to see in her lifetime. It was, in fact, one person in particular that made these visits a burden and that was his secretary, Sarcelle Lutin.

Sarcelle was a sweet woman, of course, but that was the problem. She was too sweet, rather like the sweetened ice tea from fast food restaurants that taste as if they've had an entire five pound bag of sugar mixed in. She was also very energetic and bouncy (sort of like she might have inhaled that five pound bag of sugar every morning for breakfast) and it was just too much for Emma to handle in one person.

She would still plaster on a forced smile and will herself to be cordial with Sarcelle instead of just asking her to take a chill pill and leave her the heck alone- because that would be really rude.

"Hi Sarcelle," she said as genuinely as humanly possible.

"Oh my gosh, I just love your hair this morning. I wish my hair was that naturally luscious. I just can't even imagine how you're able to give it that amount of body-"

"Thanks. Is Dr. Hopper available to talk for a second? I just need to have a word with him."

"Oh yes, I should think so!" Sarcelle squeaked, seemingly oblivious to Emma's sudden interruption. "He's in between patients right now, catching up on some paper work, I think. I'll just pop my head in and let him know you're here!"

Emma nodded, smiling curtly. She knew it was a foregone conclusion Archie would meet with her. He usually made a point of dropping everything when she came around to have a word, even if he was in the middle of session and it was for this reason she had began to suspect he might have developed something of a little crush on her- which was absolutely adorable, she had to admit. It was too bad he wasn't her type, she had thought, because he was otherwise a nice, reasonably-cute guy with a head on his shoulders and she usually leaned more towards the dead-beat, douche-bag idiot variety.

"Emma! Come on in," he beckoned to her from his inner-office. She did so, her familiarity with him at a point now where she automatically removed her coat and made herself comfortable on his couch- like she usually did.

"Nice to see you around here again," he said as he tended to organizing his paperwork on the desk. "Has 'Sheriffing' been keeping you pretty busy?"

"You know it," she said with a sigh, remembering the countless things she needed to get done before the day was through. "And Mayor Mills doesn't make anything easier."

Archie laughed, knowingly.

"She doesn't for any of us. So, did you just come to chat, or...?"

"I wish," she said honestly, steeling herself for what she was about to bring up. She waited until Archie was seated across from her and in a position to hear her concern before she spoke again.

"I actually came to...try and work out some kind of deal with you."

He titled his head in confusion.

"You...know this isn't Mr. Gold's pawnshop, don't you?" he joked.

"Yes, I definitely do, believe me...in fact, I've already been over there today. No no, this time, you're the one I need to ask for something."

He shrugged, skeptical, but clearly willing to hear her out.

"Here's the deal, Arch. There's...someone who really needs help. I'm concerned for her because she doesn't seem to have anyone else in her life who cares or recognizes that something is wrong. The problem is...she has no access to any kind of insurance or anything that could get her that help, like the kind you could offer her. I thought maybe...just maybe, you might be willing to come to some sort of compromise or deal with me or something...?"

He hesitated in answering her, seemingly to think the matter over.

"What's her name?" he asked after a time, and Emma cringed, having gotten the distinct impression that he somehow already knew.

"Uhm, Rachel Gold...?"

"I see," he sighed. "Well, I'm sorry, but there's really nothing I can do for her."

"Wait, why?" she asked, honestly a bit taken back that he hadn't even been willing to talk the possibility out. "Do you even know what's wrong with her?"

"I do, as a matter of fact," he said. "Quite well. See, I used to frequent that bookstore. Rachel and I were very close friends for awhile. I, of course, knew there was something wrong. Why shouldn't there be? Her father monitors and controls her every movement, as he has her entire life, I'd imagine. She suffers from crippling social anxiety, low self-esteem, and, yes, she has been inclined towards self-harm, but not for the typical reasons. It's sort of complex, but the point is, Mr. Gold asked me then to keep my distance and I've since respected that."

"Archie," Emma sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're going to just let Mr. Gold overpower your conscience like that? First you get Mayor Mills off your back and now you're-"

"Emma, please," he said firmly. "He can do a lot worse than she can, we both know that."

"But Rachel was your friend, wasn't she? You know she needs help. Are you just going to leave her to the wolves like that?"

A bit indignant from her implication that he betrayed a friend, he asked defiantly, "Well, what about you? What's made you take such an interest in her all of a sudden?"

Emma clammed up for a moment, wondering if she should really divulge the true reason. Her concern really didn't make much sense otherwise, she knew, and ultimately, Archie deserved to know.

"It's Henry's book," she said, reluctant. "Mary got it from that bookshop and so I thought maybe they might have a bit more information about it, so I asked Rachel when I got there and she acted like she didn't know what I was talking about but I know she's lying because-"

"Wait, Henry's book? This is all about a book of fairytales?"

Emma got up to help herself to some of Archie's whiskey, needing something to calm herself down from her passionate attempt to make him see this from her side.

"It's not just about a book of fairytales, Arch. Well...okay, it started out that way, but this woman also seriously needs help and so do we if we're ever going to get to the bottom of Henry's curse thing. We're Operation Cobra, remember?"

Archie chuckled a bit, unable to stifle it.

"Besides," she continued. "If Rachel is really your friend, you owe her your help, no matter what, especially if you know she needs it."

"You're asking me to go against Mr. Gold-"

"I'm asking you to do what your conscience tells you to and help out your friend."

Emma then kneeled down beside him and placed the hand that wasn't holding her whiskey glass over his (and it was in that moment that she considered the possibility she might have already had too much).

"Please, Archie. Please help us out."

She then smiled at him impishly before offering, "I'll buy you some Connemara!"

He laughed and shook his head.

"Yeah, well, given this favor, I'm probably going to need it."