Disclaimer: rights to ABC and Odette Beane.
Emma, Graham, Mary Margaret, and I stalked the woods for hours in the hope of finding the lost man, each of us swinging the beam of a flashlight back and forth across the trunks of trees and the thick, prickly bushes. Graham was a good tracker, and he'd managed to follow John Doe's trail for a decent distance before he lost it. Mary Margaret, I noted, seemed oddly emotional about it. I wondered what was going through her head. Most likely, she was thinking she was responsible in some way. We spiraled off where the trail ended, but we reconnoitered after thirty minutes of no success. I was about to suggest we wait until morning to resume the search, when we heard a rustling from the direction of the hospital. "Who's there?" Graham said curtly, decisively, in the direction of the noise. Without response, Henry appeared in the clearing with his trademark smile on his face. "Good lord, kid," Emma said going towards him, "your mother is going to kill me if she knows you're out here." "Have you found him?" Henry asked, looking from me to Sheriff Graham. "Sorry Henry," I said, "not yet. And Emma is right, we need to get you home." "I can help, though," Henry said, "I know where he's going." "Where?" Mary Margaret asked, "how could you know?" "I know, because I know the story already," Henry said, "come on!" He ran off before Emma could snag him by the back of his shirt, and after an awkward moment of dumbly looking at one another, we ran after him, calling his name. Fast for a little half pint, I thought, dodging left and right to avoid barely visible trees. We were all running too fast to keep a light steady on the ground ahead of us, and I only caught occasional glimpses of Henry's backpack. "Henry!" I yelled, "come on. Where're you going?" Henry still did not slow. He led us through the forest until Graham, Emma, and I emerged, panting, in the clearing at the shores of a river. Henry stopped and turned, waiting for them to gather. Mary Margaret had fallen behind, and finally emerged from the tree line. "It's the bridge," Henry said, pointing into the darkness. I looked to where he was pointing. The road that led out of Storybrooke crossed the river here, spanning it with a white and rusted bridge. When I looked back at Henry, ready to ask him what the hell he was talking about, he was already looking around near the tree line. "He's gotta be here somewhere." "Oh my God!" Mary Margaret exclaimed suddenly, hand over her mouth, "there. He's there. I see him." John Doe was there indeed. Face down in the river, not moving, his hospital gown billowing up in a cloud around him. Graham got to him first, wading into the river. He had John Doe up in a flash and dragged him to the shore, the pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt and called for an ambulance. As he spoke, Mary Margaret knelt, put a hand on John Doe's chest, and slowly leaned over his face. "Come back to us," she barely whispered. I--uncomfortable, fairly certain that the man was dead--watched grimly from above as Mary Margaret administered mouth-to-mouth. I did not what to make of it--any of it. Emma looked the same as me, glancing over towards me with a worried expression on her face. It seemed obvious what was wrong, but neither Emma or I had it in us to tell Mary Margaret the obvious. Holding John Doe's wrist and waiting for a pulse, Graham was probably thinking the same thing. And, am I crazy, or is Mary Margaret kissing John Doe? Before long, Henry was standing beside Emma, watching as well. She had the urge to cover his eyes. "He'll be alright," Henry said knowingly, "don't worry. She has to kiss him to wake him up, It makes total sense. It's not gross." "Let's hope he wakes up," Emma said, resting a hand on Henry's shoulder, "I don't care whether it makes sense or not." I could hear the sirens in the distance now; Graham, watching sadly, seemed to be on the cusp of stopping Mary Margaret. He looked up at me, and I shrugged. And then something surprising happened, something none of us expected: John Doe gasped. Henry smiled widely, and I took a few steps towards them, Henry following behind. "She woke him up!" He exclaimed. I did not know what had happened. I turned my light on John Doe's face and was shocked to see that his eyes were open, and he was looking up at Mary Margaret. "Thank you," he managed. He wiped his face, wet from the river, and looked around confusedly. "My name is Mary Margaret. Do you know who you are?" He stared at Mary Margaret, apparently trying to decide. "No," he said, "I - I don't." Minutes later, the ambulance arrived, and Dr. Whale and the paramedics loaded John Doe onto it. I watched Mary Margaret, who looked on with concern. In another minute, the ambulance had pulled away. "We should go to the hospital and check on him," Mary Margaret said to no one in particular. Emma walked up to her. "Yeah," she said, "we should. Come on." We quietly trudged up the hill, and onto the bridge. I noticed Emma grinning a bit when she saw the sign attached to the bridge. It said TOLL BRIDGE in simple black lettering. But someone had seen fit to scribble a little R between the T and the O.