It was a slow day. Lunchtime had come and gone, and not a single sorcerer, prince or fairy had come by in dire need of assistance. Emma had resorted to cleaning out her desk. Of all the things to do, frankly it was at the bottom of the list. But this was after she'd turned over the mattress in the cell, watered the plants, finally repaired the clock and finished the paperwork from that incident with the giant (there had been rather a lot of that). And suddenly there wasn't anything else to do, and she was bored.

The desk clearly hadn't been cleaned out in years. There was a magazine dated March 2002 in the bottom drawer, for god's sake. There were bent paperclips, candy wrappers, miscellaneous bits of the fluff that always seemed to accumulate in untidy places, half-used pens, a clip-on tie... the list went on. Her heart jumped to her throat when she found a glove that had belonged to Graham. She placed it almost reverently on the desk, as though to preserve his memory.

Some of Emma's own relics were to be found scattered in the drawers. Nothing important, just bobby pins and scraps of paper she'd written old information on. Nothing worth keeping...

Emma froze as she pulled one piece of paper out of its hiding place, trapped half-inside the hole punch in the top drawer. She thought she had lost it. She had meant to keep it somewhere safe, and she had lost it.

She unfolded it and scanned the scrawled handwriting within. It wasn't a long letter, barely a paragraph – yet it remained one of the most intimate things anyone had ever given her. And here it was, tucked away where she hadn't even thought of looking.

Relief at finding the letter from Jefferson washed over her, easing the guilt of having lost it. That was their relationship, really. Hidden things, debris from the past and lost treasures being found.

It had been exactly a year since they'd come together, one windy spring day in the children's playground by the school.

Emma froze when she saw Grace running up to join Henry in the playground. The kid couldn't have come alone. Jefferson would never allow it. Not when he finally had her back.

He was noticeably different since Grace had returned to him. He still looked the same, maybe a little better groomed. The real change was in his attitude. For one thing, he could actually be spotted about town nowadays – only sporadically, and always with his daughter on his arm. Nonetheless, out of his house and occasionally communicating with people. Not her, though. He had so far steered clear of both Emma and Mary Margaret. So maybe he wasn't completely mad, then.

"Mom! Mom! Look, I can go upside-down!"

Henry and Grace sat on the swings. Grace was swinging daintily, watching Henry's struggle to swing as high as possible. He was such a funny kid – wise beyond his years, but still a little boy where it really mattered. Maybe it was a good thing he seemed to get on so well with Grace. She was sensible at least.

Well, it was obvious what side of the family THAT had come from. Sure as hell wasn't the side standing so awkwardly beside Emma now, twisting his hat in his hands and occasionally shooting her sidelong glances.

Emma was the one to break the silence, which was growing increasingly awkward by the minute.

"So." She kept her gaze fixed on Henry, who was twisting himself up in the chains, showing off for a sceptical Grace. "Where have you been for the last few weeks?"

She predicts his reply immediately, but that doesn't stop that little spark of annoyance from flaring in the pit of her stomach when it comes.

"Why? Miss me?"

She can practically hear his smirk. It was infuriating.

"Oh, yeah," she said, still watching her son determinedly. "I've gotta say, getting roofied and tied up in a madman's house was one of my highlights of the last year."

He exhaled loudly. "I had my reasons. You know that now."

"Oh, right." Emma finally turned to look at him, hair blowing in the slight breeze. "I forgot, end always justifies the means, right?" She snorted. "Hope Mary Margaret didn't hurt you too bad. Y'know. When she kicked you out of the window. I'd feel real terrible about that."

There was no trace of the smirk on his face now. "So I take it you're not ready to try and get along."

"I still haven't heard an apology."

"Not even for the childrens' sake?"

"That didn't sound like 'sorry' to me."

"Okay." His hand was on her shoulder. Their eyes locked. Suddenly he seemed so… old. Older than his years anyway. Hell, how old was he? He had to have 40 years on her at the very least. Emma realised her mind was spinning, and tried to pull herself back to the present.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't in my right mind, and I was desperate. It was all for Grace, my Grace. I'd do anything for her. You know how that feels. You don't have to like me, you don't have to see me if you don't want to, but please… just for the sake of Grace and Henry?"

She wanted to believe he was truly sorry. It would have been nice to have one more ally in this stupid, messy affair.

But Emma was very good at telling when people were lying to her.

"You're saying this for Grace's sake," Emma stated flatly. Jefferson's eyes widened. He didn't say anything. "You wouldn't have approached me if she hadn't been returned to you. You wouldn't have thought about me at all."

Jefferson looked like he had been slapped. His hand fell away from her shoulder, and he opened his mouth to speak.

"I accept your apology," Emma interrupted. "But for Henry. Not because you deserve it."

She began to make her way towards the playground. "C'mon, kid. We can stop for ice cream on the way back."

"Okay." Henry jumped off the swing, finally earning a gasp of admiration from Grace. "See you at school, Grace!"

Emma walked away with her arm around her son, not turning to acknowledge the man standing still as a statue, watching her leave.

Something had been planted that day. But it had yet to grow roots, let alone blossom.

"You know I told you I was sorry?"

"Huh? OUCH! Oh –"

Emma dropped the scalding hot cake tin on the floor as she staggered to the sink, clutching her forearm against her shirt and employing several of her choicest swearwords. Icy water splashed everywhere as she turned the tap on with rather too much force.

"Mom? You okay?" Henry looked over from where he sat on the floor with Grace, the two of them poring over his storybook together.

"I'm fine," Emma growled. "I just learned I shouldn't try domesticity, that's all."

She shot a glare at Jefferson, who was leaning on the worktop in entirely too casual a manner, studying her with some degree of amusement. "You don't have to be here, you know," she said pointedly. "I can look after the two of them just fine."

"I know."

Huh. She had expected some smart-ass comment about the ruined sticky toffee cake on the kitchen floor.

"What were you saying, anyway?" Emma turned off the tap and examined the angry red burn blooming on her arm. It stung like a bitch.

"Huh? Oh. I was talking about that time a few weeks ago. You know. You asked me if I was sorry."

"Yeah?" Emma stalked out of the kitchen area, over to the plastic box where they kept the medical supplies. Jefferson followed, undignified in his haste. "And you said you could be sorry if it meant your daughter was happy."

"Don't put words in my mouth." He watched her select a tube of antiseptic cream. "You know, I always found dock leaves work best for burns."

"You volunteering to go out and pick some?"

"But I'm sure that stuff will do fine." He cleared his throat. "I wanted to tell you. I've been thinking about it a lot. I meant it. Not just for Grace – for you too. And for your mother."

She shared another glance with him. He was looking her straight in the eyes.

"I mean, Grace is still a huge part of it," he continued, running a hand through his hair. "I failed her once - I'm never going to do it again. I can't be the kind of person who hurts innocent people. I'm not Regina."

His hair was standing on end now. Combined with his pleading eyes, it made him look vaguely puppyish. Emma fought back a smirk at the thought.

"I'm sorry." He moved a step closer to her. It wasn't the threatening gesture it had been in his home. He was docile, submissive even. His eyes were calm. And what was more, a part of her felt it wasn't for show. "I'm sorry, Emma. I mean it."

Emma blinked. Was this the first time he had addressed her directly by name? It gave her a strange feeling, as though he really was speaking to her directly, no façade of grandeur or insanity in the way.

"Okay," she said simply, after a moment of silence. "I forgive you."

Henry and Grace were both in school, and would be for the next three hours. There was really no need for them to be spending time together.

And yet there they were, sitting rather unglamorously on a low wall by the park and sharing a sandwich. Funny how much things can change in a few weeks.

"What is that?" Jefferson eyed the sandwich Emma had made for her lunch break at the station. "It looks disgusting."

"Cheese and pickle," Emma said around a mouthful. "You never had it?"

"Thankfully I've been spared."

Emma gave an unladylike snort. "Aren't you the adventurous one?"

He didn't reply. Emma finished her sandwich in silence, wondering if she'd somehow upset him. Just as she was about to change the subject, he spoke.

"I used to be."

Emma shifted towards him slightly. "What do you mean – back in the enchanted forest?"

"Before I had Grace. Before I met her mother."

Emma frowned, her curiosity piqued. He hadn't spoken about Grace's mother before. She knew the story of the Mad Hatter, the wide-eyed lunatic with a scar on his neck who made hat after hat, alone in the Queen of Heart's castle. Who held tea parties full of empty seats, waiting on a girl who never came. She knew about the unassuming pauper living in the enchanted forest with his daughter, gathering mushrooms to survive. But the man with the magical hat? He was a mystery.

"You used to travel between worlds a lot, I'm guessing," Emma prompted. Jefferson nodded. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap.

"It's okay," Emma said. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want –"

"Alice."

His eyes were fixed on his hands, and his breathing had suddenly become rather shallow. Emma waited with her mouth slightly open, ready to… to what? Comfort him?

"Her name was Alice. She was from this world."

"Oh," was all Emma could manage.

"I used to jump a lot on my own, but when I met her she came with me. It was different then. I wasn't selfish. Then she gave me Grace and…"

His voice broke slightly. Emma prayed he wouldn't cry. She wouldn't know what to do if he cried. She was used to him being sure of himself, always mocking and making quips. This new emotional Jefferson she had been seeing since that day in the park frightened her a little.

"She went to Wonderland with a witch," Jefferson said. "I made a deal to get the witch mushrooms. But she was tricked. We both were. The witch brought back her trapped sister and left Alice. I – I looked for her. I found her eventually." He gave her a blank stare, his eyes perfectly dry. "Or what was left of her. The Jabberwock got her."

"I'm sorry," Emma murmured. He shrugged.

His desperation on that dreadful night had suddenly taken on a deeper meaning. To be trapped in a world your true love belonged to, knowing he as close to her and yet as far away as he could ever be...

Before she knew what she was doing, her hand was resting on top of his on the stone wall between them. It was a gesture of friendship and of comfort, nothing more.

Now wasn't the time.

So just like that, he had become her friend. Not just someone she occasionally had to meet with to arrange playdates for their children, but a real friend.

Of course it had been a gradual process, and was in some ways still ongoing. She occasionally remembers the details of the night he had drugged her – his Cheshire cat grin, the way he had sharpened those scissors... the gun. He still gets twitchy around people sometimes. More than thirty years of isolation could send a man a little crazy. But he's improving. She's understanding – not forgetting, but forgiving.

Anyway, she's more than capable of dealing with him if he ever steps out of line.

Her mind moves to the moment the relationship had escalated. A kiss, stolen from him one rainy fall day as the children played nearby. It had caught her by surprise, but she hadn't resisted. He smelled like cinnamon and citrus cologne, an odd combination that somehow worked for her.

The kiss was the first of many. It had been short and very light, as though he expected her to pull away and slap him. The second kiss had followed seconds afterwards, when she pulled him back for more, and had been broken by Henry's delighted yell.

It would be impossible to keep track of all the kisses that had followed. The latest had been that morning, quite by surprise, as they crossed paths on Emma's way to work. Emma had been running late, with no make up and a mouthful of black coffee. As such, it had been inelegant, and he had disappeared immediately afterwards, leaving Emma to swallow indignantly, and shout, "You bastard!" after him.

Their relationship was kind of like that.

Emma catches her own reflection in the office window, and is unable to contain a smirk. She had looked so damn soppy. Like a twelve-year-old writing a name on her pencil case. Ridiculous.

But she hasn't felt like this in years, and it gives her a strange kind of energy.

They had both been a little drunk the night things got serious. There was a party at Granny's, to celebrate Leroy's birthday. Everyone realised that, with the exception of Henry's, they hadn't celebrated a birthday in decades. So the affair had been more than a little over the top. Emma found herself downing shots with Ruby and Belle (who surprised everyone with her ability to hold her liquor). She managed to stop herself before she was too far gone, though.

Jefferson began the evening lurking in the corner with Dr. Whale, the two of them apparently discussing something very serious if their expressions were anything to go by. Eventually, fuelled by Dutch courage, Emma made her way over to them.

"It's a party," she said, standing behind Jefferson and placing a hand on the back of his chair. "You can discuss business or whatever any time."

"Emma," Jefferson said. Was he embarrassed? "It's fine."

"No, it isn't." Emma motioned for him to stand up. "Come on. I'll buy you a drink."

He consented. Things escalated, from drinking to dancing to a drunken heart-to-heart in one of the booths, followed by a kiss that got out of hand, leading them to leave the diner in search of somewhere more private.

And so it was that they ended up back at his home, the palatial mansion on the edge of the woods, at two in the morning, making out like teenagers on one of the living room couches.

"We don't have to stay here," he murmured, his voice so low she could feel it vibrating through his shirt. His heart was thudding against hers, beating so fast it was almost a buzz.

"Can't go back to mine, now can we?" Emma growled. They were half-sitting, half-reclining, with her leaning over him, perched precariously on the edge of the seat. His legs were draped awkwardly over the arm of the couch, one hand in her hair, the other chastely massaging her back.

She realised for the first time that he might be nervous. The guy couldn't have gotten any for at least thirty years, after all. She deepened the kiss, smoothing his hair back, trying to get him to relax and lie down properly. However, he broke away just a second later.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Just…" he laughed nervously, "a little overwhelmed."

"If you don't want –"

"I do." The statement was made very clearly, and without a moment's hesitation. Their eyes locked. Then his hand moved from her back to her face, cupping her cheek. "If you do."

Emma shook her head, a little exasperated but unable to hold back a smile. "Then shut up and relax."

That was where Emma's recollection of the night grew a little fuzzy. She remembered bits and pieces. Jefferson unzipping her dress slowly, teasingly. Rolling her stockings down her legs. Her almost tearing his clothing off in return as the heat became too much to bear. Then there had been kisses, on her neck and collarbones and breasts. Everything was warm and her eyes were closed and there was just his breathing, her own too shallow to register, getting faster and faster...

Then her back was arching as pleasure unfolded deep within her, her legs aching and kicking out, and her eyes locked with his.

"I used to hate this house, you know."

"I know."

Dawn was beginning to break outside. They had fallen asleep on the floor eventually, a tangle of limbs and long blonde hair and the plaid blanket that had been draped on the back of the couch. They'd have to move – Grace would wake up soon. Luckily her room was at the other end of the house, and Jefferson insisted she was a heavy sleeper.

Emma sat up with a groan, her vision slightly blurry and last night's carpet burns stinging on her back and thighs. "Ugh."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Little stiff." He smirked, and she swatted at him. "Shut up."

Jefferson lay back with his arms behind his head, utterly at peace, watching her as she began to gather her clothes from the floor. Kneeling in a patch of morning sunlight, her hair glowing in its rays, she began to dress.

"Emma?"

She looked up from the zipper on the side of her dress. "Mm?"

His eyes were closed, his mouth curved in a Puckish smile. "I think I can learn to love the house."

The crying stage was almost over. Emma couldn't manage anything beyond the occasional gasp. Tears had stopped coming a while back – just painful, uncontrollable dry sobbing. Her lungs hurt, her head was numb, and she felt completely dehydrated.

"It's okay. He's going to be okay," Jefferson murmured over and over again, smoothing stray locks of hair away from her damp, sticky cheeks. "He's awake. Victor says we can see him any minute now. He just needs to finish the check-up."

Emma had learned over time not to let her defences down in public. Not where anyone could walk by. This was Henry they were dealing with, the boy beloved by the entire town. Anyone could walk in on them at any moment. She had called her parents, who were doubtless rushing to the hospital as she sat there, wrapped in Jefferson's arms. The last thing she wanted was to be seen as weak, as depending on anyone.

But right now, she was grasping all the comfort she could get, holding on to this lifeline as though she'd never let it go.

"It was my fault," she said, her voice calm but flat. "I shouldn't have let him out on his own."

"He goes out on his own all the time. He's the most independent kid I know."

"Only because he has to be." Emma's voice broke. "I could've met him after school. I could have. He didn't need to be on his own. He shouldn't be crossing main roads by himself. He isn't..."

She pressed a hand to her mouth, her ribs aching as fresh sobs threatened to burst out. He shushed her gently, rubbing soothing hands over her upper arms.

"You'll feel better once you've seen him," he murmured. "I promise."

She leaned her head against his chest, the sobs calming down with the motion of his hands.

They sat in silence for several long, calm minutes. Emma closed her eyes and exhaled with feeling. Now seemed like the time.

"I love you," she said.

His hands paused for a second, and then resumed their tender work.

"I love you, too."

And there they stayed until Whale returned, with an exhausted smile and the best news all day.

"He's fine. He wants to see you."

Henry had recovered, and had taken the experience extremely well. Hell, he'd shown everyone who had come to see him the cool new scar on his shoulder. But the accident meant a few things had to come forward, once Emma and Jefferson had been seen clinging to each other so desperately in the hospital waiting room by half the population of Storybrooke.

Of course her parents hadn't been all that keen. Jefferson had, after all, been an ally of Regina's. But Emma had made sure Grace was present during their first meeting with her new boyfriend. A little manipulative, perhaps, but it worked.

And now here they were – together, formally. An Item.

Emma was startled out of her reverie by her phone ringing from inside the desk. It must have gotten buried there as she attempted to clean the damn thing out. She pulled open drawers, growing no closer to the source of the ringing. It stopped after thirty seconds or so, the caller electing not to leave a message.

"Damn it."

She found the phone eventually. It had evaded her entirely and fallen under the desk this time. Fishing it out, Emma straightened up and checked caller ID. One missed call: Jefferson.

Oh, damn it.

She drummed her fingers on the desk in irritation. Of course she could call him back... or she could go one better.

Grabbing her jacket, Emma got to her feet and opened the door. With any luck, no one would swing by the station that afternoon. Hey, it might be better if she did a little patrolling. Just check that the town was all in order. And if it was as quiet as it seemed... she could afford to take a detour.

She was at the door before realising she had left the letter behind again. Not this time. This time she would personally ensure it made it back to the apartment, where it could be kept with the rest of her treasured possessions. She scanned the short note and smiled, before folding it up and tucking it safely in her breast pocket, next to her heart.

Emma,

Thank you. I owe you everything. And I love you.

Jefferson