Mead, rum, ale; Emma Swan smelled of all of them. Her cotton skirts wore the stains of tankards spilled by accident or drunken exuberance. The dress that had been freshly laundered just hours earlier now clung to her skin and beneath her apron the purse heavy with coins from her toil hung from her belt by a thick cotton cord, each swing against her hips reminding her of why, in spite of the difficulties, she had continued to work in the tavern these past few years.

But by god it was hot; even more so than usual for a spring evening.

Sweat soaked the fine strands of blonde along her hairline that had escaped the braid she had made so hastily that morning. They stuck to her forehead and she found herself regularly pushing them out of the way in between filling glass after glass with ale and liquor. It was always like this at The Rabbit Hole when a ship came into port, which during the spring was almost every other day.

The tavern was the closest to the docks, with the swinging sign clearly visible from the wharf. So sailors, thirsty for a drink - and usually something more from a willing lass - flooded the small establishment almost every evening. They brought with them their loose lips and wandering hands and a woman had to be light on her feet to avoid their clutches.

Yet Emma had never sold herself. She was no angel, but that was a line she would never cross, even when she saw other women gleefully clutching purses full of coins at the end of the evening. Even though she needed the money badly and she was always aware of the lingering eyes that gazed at her curves as she worked. She didn't have much, but she had her pride. And that was worth more than it's weight in gold.

So, she toiled and sweated, smiling when she wanted to scream, though not afraid to offer a quick crack of her hand against the face of those who took liberties. But the sailors tipped well enough, those full of ale and merry to be on land even more so. For every bite of her tongue and every ache in the arches of her feet she thought of the pile of coins growing in the wooden chest that lay locked at the foot of her bed. This was good honest money and ultimately what would take her away from this life.

"Emma!"

The sound of her name being called startled her.

Looking up, she saw the source of the request. Mae 'Granny' Lucas was the stern faced widower who had run The Rabbit Hole since her husband's premature death so long ago that his name had been forgotten by all but the most grizzled regulars. Her age was indeterminate, her hair the palest grey yet her skin was a fresh and glowing as a woman not long out of her teens. Regardless, she had been called Granny for as long as anyone could remember and Emma had accepted this as easily as she accepted the stern (but kind) woman's offer for employment, despite Emma's lack of job experience at the time. The older woman stood behind the worn wooden bar that ran across one side of the tavern, her arms crossed defiantly and a frown on her face.

"Coming!" Emma cried in reply as she slammed a pitcher of mead onto a small table occupied by three cabin boys who didn't look old enough to shave, never mind drink. Not that things like that mattered around here.

Quickly wiping her hands on her apron, she picked her way across to where Granny stood.

Granny's lips were pulled into a thin smile, her chest puffed up and her eyes narrowed through the tiny round spectacles that perched on the tip of her nose. The publican nodded in the direction of the door. Emma grimaced as she saw the cause of Granny's displeased expression.

Pirates.

To some it may have appeared to be just another group of men fresh into shore. Yes, their dark linen shirts and jangling swords marked them out as not your typical sailors. But it was the look in their eyes that gave away their profession. Their steely eyed gazes that scanned the room, mild threat in their posture as they assessed the occupants of the tavern. Giving Granny a quick nod in reply, she made her way towards the newcomers.

"Gentleman, welcome to The Rabbit Hole," she said, planting her hands firmly on her hips and stretching to her full height.

One of the men looked her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. "Pleasure," he drawled, in a thick accent. The captain, she presumed due to the rich fabric of his clothes, his heavy brocade coat almost sweeping against the sawdust smattered board that made the floor of the tavern. He wore a black tricorn hat in a glossy velveteen material and a heavily jeweled pendant hung low on his chest, glinting rubies and diamonds catching the scant lantern light that flickered around the room.

Emma bit back a sharp reply. Now was not the time for her usual instincts to come into play. As much as she yearned to scowl and recoil in disgust, instead she smiled and tilted her head, looking straight into his inky black eyes. "We have no weapons in this tavern, so if you would please leave swords, daggers and pistols at the bar." She gestured towards Granny who was keeping a steady eye on the interaction. The older woman may have looked harmless, but Emma knew she had a ferocity that was rarely matched.

The captain took a step forward. "Oh pet, what's the harm of blade at a man's side?" He leaned forward, close enough for her to smell the rum on his breath and the lingering odor of sweat that clung to his clothes. "There are all sorts of dangers about. A man ought to be able to protect himself."

Pirates were so predictable.

With a quick breath, she dragged up her skirt to retrieve the dagger hidden inside her boot. Before the captain had a chance to react, she had an arm wrapped around his shoulders, the blade of the hidden knife pressed against his jugular. Immediately, his men drew their swords and pointed them in her direction. She was vaguely aware that the din of the tavern had dissipated as the patrons turned to stare.

"The only danger in this place is my dagger, pet," she purred, her heart racing as she waited a tense moment for his response. Her stomach clenched, her knuckles turning white as she pressed the blade closer to his skin, almost close enough to pierce it. She held her breath.

And he laughed. A deep bellied, rousing laugh that echoed around the low-ceilinged bar room.

Emma swallowed hard.

"Do as the lass says," he barked, his men looking at him in confusion until he repeated his order and they one by one handed their weapons over to Granny. Only then did she loosen her grip and pull the dagger away from his neck.

Slowly, he turned, locking eyes with her as he undid the buckle of his belt from which the leather frog holding his sword hung, tossing it onto the bar without looking away.

"Better?" he quipped. She nodded, sliding her blade back into her boot and replacing her skirts to cover her ankles. The tension in the room began to ease, the onlookers turning back to their drinks.

Emma dampened her lips and lifted her chin. "What can I get you?" she asked.

"Oh, I can think of a great many things," the captain laughed. "But a round of ale for my men will be a good start."

With a curt nod, Emma turned away to the barrels that held their stock, slowly counting to ten as she willed the tension in her shoulders to ease.

You see, it never got any easier. Indeed, she had perfected the appearance of toughness and bravado - had done so since she was in her teens. But that wasn't how she felt inside. Deep within herself, every time she stood up to an unruly customer or went toe to toe with an adversary, she was just a little girl, pretending to be brave. Emma Swan was very good at pretending.

After nodding to another serving lass to take over the requested ale, she stepped behind the garnet-colored curtain that separated the bar from the private area that housed the living quarters. Behind it there was a staircase to her left which led to the upper level with its bedrooms and kitchen area and in front of her a small parlour. She entered, relishing in the cooler air, her eyes adjusting to the darkness as she stepped towards the small table and chairs that were pressed against the wall beneath the tiny window that looked out onto the small lane behind the building. Upon the table was fresh water and the a basket of breads, cheeses and fruit that the girls would take from when they were taking a rest from their duties. She picked up an earthenware cup and poured herself some cool water. Slowly she sipped it while closing her eyes and letting herself drift away for a moment, to somewhere far away-

"Em?"

Emma's eyes flashed open as she heard the voice of Ruby Lucas - the proprietor's granddaughter and one of the other women who kept the patrons well stocked in ale. The other woman had taken Emma under her wing when she had stumbled into The Rabbit Hole. They were similar in age, though Ruby wore a worldly expression on her face that Emma had never quite understood. It was like she held some secrets inside. Emma never asked her about them. If Ruby wanted to tell her, she would. Of at least that's what Emma told herself. She had secrets enough of her own. And she guarded them fiercely.

Despite Emma's attempts to keep to herself, Ruby had became the closest thing she had to a friend. Not that Emma had much experience when it came to companionship.

"I'm fine," she promised as she turned around. Ruby's eyebrows raised. "I am," she insisted.

"Okay," Ruby said as she filled another cup with water.

"And that's it? No cajoling me to share my feelings, no interrogation?"

Ruby smiled in that particular way of hers, the one that made her naturally deep red lips curve at the edges and her brows arch. "I know you better than you know yourself, Emma Swan."

Emma rolled her eyes.

"You try and hide behind that tough exterior, but I know you're something altogether gentler underneath."

Emma finished the water, relishing the way it cooled her throat.

"If it makes you feel better, you keep telling yourself that," Emma replied with a tight grin.

"Sure Swan!" Ruby called as Emma walked away back to the bar.

The new patrons had settled themselves at the back of the place, in the darkest corner where only a few candles provided illumination. The previous occupants of the table must have scurried away. This may have been a dockside tavern, but clientele were still savvy. Better not to mess with pirates. Unless you had to.

The local tarts had already started to filter in, as word always travelled fast among their ranks when a rich haul came to town. Emma pulled a grimace on her face as she approached them with the ale. They'd already been served, but she knew she needed to keep them in place with a firm reminder of her presence.

Gritting her teeth, she made in their direction, taking another pitcher of ale from the bar as she moved

"Gentlemen," she said, nodding her head as she reached them, topping up the offered glasses as she watched the wenches brush up against the men and fawn over them with a dedication that Emma could only begrudgingly admire. She had never been that desperate. Close. But not quite.

Her life had never been easy. And at times she could have called it incredibly difficult. But she was scrappy, as Granny Lucas had told her many times, she knew how to kick and punch her way out of life's dead ends and come out fighting. She had to.

"Won't you join us?" leered the pirate captain, patting at a spot next to him on the bench. Emma raised her brows.

"I don't mix with the patrons," she said, "Against the rules."

"Well, these ladies seem to not have a problem with it. I'm sure the landlord will see you free for a while. Let me make up for our chilly meeting."

Emma placed the jug on the bench and leaned in.

"I didn't say it was a tavern rule, it's my own."

The edge of his lip rose in a crooked smile. He reached beneath the table and she tensed - anticipating a weapon to be drawn. But it was a purse heavy with gold coins that he placed in front of him.

"I would compensate you for your time," he leered, leaning closer.

She placed her hand on the table, shoving the money back towards him.

"I'm not for sale."

"Everything is for sale, for the right price."

A sad expression flickered over her face as she thought how much she hoped that was true-

"Not me," she said, filling up his tankard and then walking away. With perhaps a tinge of regret, as she thought of how much closer that purse of coins would bring her to her goal.


Dusk had painted the sky a burnt pink by the time the last drunk had been tossed into the street. The women moved quickly around the tavern with practiced ease, extinguishing candles and lanterns, wiping the tables down with soapy rags and counting the coins they had earned with weary eyes.

Emma could barely stifle a yawn as she made her way up the staircase behind the velvet curtain and into the small room that had been her own for as long as she had worked for Granny Lucas. After she untied her purse from her belt she shimmied out of her apron and dress, leaving on her chemise as she sat on the bed and poured the coins she had earned out onto the soft, blue blanket.

Enough, yet not enough.

The small silver pieces she had earned from the pirates were the most valuable and almost made her interactions with them bearable. Quickly she added up her haul before slipping to her feet. Around her neck she wore the key to the trunk in which she kept her most treasured possessions. She opened it, locating the smaller wooden box which held all the money she owned in the word. After slipping the new coins into it, she sighed. It would be perhaps another year at this rate to raise what she needed. And even then there was no guarantee it would be enough.

Before she closed the trunk, she reached further into its depths and pulled out a faded picture, one that had run through her hands many times. The boy in it was small, with a mop of dark hair. He was smiling, the happy smile of a child who had only known good in the world. His oversized woollen tunic was held tight with a thick leather belt and he sat in a meadow filled with buttercups and daisies. Her heart swelled as she glanced over his familiar features.

"Soon," she whispered to herself as she kissed the photograph and locked it away. Hidden in the darkness, like all her secrets had to be.