{jefferson ff}
Bridget Hare is a resident of Storybrooke, a town where all fairy tale characters are trapped in a curse created by the evil queen.
She does not know she is trapped but her husband is well aware of the fate of his family and watches...
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STORYBROOKE
Taking the material from the table, Jefferson gestured to the scissors and half-completed hat that sat in front of her, "make one like that."
"You want me to make a hat?" She scoffed, glancing over her shoulder where there were shelves lined with identical black hats. It seemed that this task was pointless and she didn't understand why he was forcing her to do this, "you don't have enough?"
"Well, none of them work, do they? Or else you wouldn't be here. Now make a hat and get it to work."
Emma carefully picked up the needle and thread from the desk but her face scrunched in confusion, she had never made a hat before and had no idea what she was doing, "I don't..."
"You have magic, you can do it." Jefferson snaps, sitting in the seat opposite her own and watching her intently.
Emma didn't seem to realise that she was being watched as she allowed her eyes to drift around the room. She was piecing the puzzle together and things were starting to make sense, not so much in reality but at least why this man was acting in the way that he was.
"The hats, the tea, your psychotic behaviour. You think you're the Mad Hatter."
The man shifted at her words, he didn't think he was anything, he knew who he was. He knew that he was Jefferson, someone who used to have the power to jump through portals and explore lands only dreamed of. He knew that he had a family out there and he was going to get them back, even if they didn't remember who he was.
"My name is Jefferson," he retorts, his hand rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.
"Okay, you've clearly glommed onto my kid Henry's thing. They're just stories, the Mad Hatter is in Alice in Wonderland, a book – a book I actually read!"
"Stories. Stories? What's a story?" He questioned, pausing and then asking further, "when you were in high school, did you learn about the Civil War?"
She sighed, not knowing what this had to do with their conversation and folded her arms over her chest, "yeah, of course."
"How? Did you read about it, perchance, in a book? How is that any less real than any other book?"
"History books are based on history," she argued, knowing that she was right in this situation and didn't quite believe what Jefferson was trying to get her to realise.
"And story books are based on what? Imagination? Where does that come from? You know what the issue is with this world? Everyone wants a magical solution for their problem and everyone refuses to believe in magic," he takes his gun out and points it in her direction, "now, get it to work."
"Here's the thing, Jefferson." She paused, narrowing her eyes at him and not seeming scared of the threat of the gun, "this is it; this is the real world."
