Hello everyone.

I'm so sorry this has taken me longer than expected to finish, but, on the bright side, it's still February!I had intended this sequel to roll out like Holiday Interlude, but since you've had to wait, and it's a week over the intended post date, I'm posting the complete thing today.

Hope you all enjoy it. Remember, kindness means payment with reviews.

A huge, huge, HUGE, thanks to ilovemesomekillianjones. You are been so awesome since we started down this road some months back and it been beyond amazing to have done this with you.

February 12th

Emma hurried through the streets of her small home town just east of Tallahassee, on her way to her second job, a job she'd been persuaded to after the last skip she'd chased slipped through her fingers, literally.

Will Scarlett was a two bit hustler, on his third skip, and Emma had been on his tail since the new year. She finally tracked him down to an area in Econfina River State Park. She'd had him in her grasp when, as she reached for her restraints, he'd wriggled free, tossing her over his shoulder in the process, and she'd landed in a thorn bush. Unable to follow him, she'd given up, and hobbled back to town. Her boss had come down on her hard for her mistake and she didn't mind admitting he'd become a bit of an ass since Christmas. Apparently, his other half had walked out on him during the holiday and now it seemed he had an ax to grind with every female he met. Including her. He'd given her less and less skips, forcing her to find additional work to supplement her less than stellar wage. Now she worked part time at the Blue Diamond, a tavern-like pub run by Leroy, affectionately called Grumpy by all who knew him, and Jefferson; as well as a local diner.

When had her life become so boring? she snorted to herself. Did she really consider her day to day life as living? No! She wasn't living… she was merely existing.

She existed, her hair and nails grew, but she felt as though she wasn't alive. She'd felt that way since the moment she turned her back to the one good thing in her life, the one thing she knew was right in a sea of wrongness. She felt this way since she boarded that damn airplane and left Killian alone in Boston the day after Christmas.

She sighed to herself, shaking her head as she mentally added another morning to the list of mornings she'd counted since she left her heart in Massachusetts. That meant there had been 48 days since she woke up without Killian by her side, 48 lunches she ate alone, and so far, 47 evenings she went to bed alone. Valentine's Day was just around the corner, and she was planning to lock herself in her tiny apartment and hold on tightly to her Pirate bear.

She burst through the doors of the diner, A Dash of Magic, trying to remember why she was working in this grease pit. Oh, right, she huffed, because Neal was a prick and had taken half her money to L.A. with him, when he had left with the bit of trash she had found him with. Add in the fact her boss had given the latest skips to her two colleagues, she knew he hated her, she was desperate to find money to make her rent.

On the upside, she no longer felt anything toward Neal anymore, other than pity. The man hadn't been particularly good at anything, and he was an even worse criminal, and his move to L.A. hadn't changed his talent or lack of luck in the slightest. She wouldn't be surprised if he eventually came back to town, knocking on her door and begging for her forgiveness, but she had moved on completely, and there wasn't a chance in hell he would ever warm her bed again.

She waved to Walsh, the owner of A Dash of Magic diner, a fairy tale themed diner in the heart of Perry, as far away from anything magical as possible. She always thought whoever had dreamed up the concept of this diner was trying desperately to cash in on the moneymaker, Disney World, approximately 200 hundred miles away. Unfortunately, this small diner fell short of the magic of Disney, that was why Walsh also owned the furniture store across the street from the restaurant.

"You're late, Emma," Walsh berated her good-heartedly. She hustled past where he was standing behind the long counter, and through the swinging door made to look like a fairy door, entering the employee's area by the kitchen.

"I know, I'm sorry, Walsh," she smiled as he followed her through the door, using his infatuation with her to her advantage as she hustled around the break room and gathered what she would need for her shift from her locker, including her pale pink apron, an order pad, and a ballpoint pen. Each waitress had a character costume as a uniform and Emma hated her Princess one with a passion. "No excuse, I overslept this morning," she explained as she shrugged out of her coat, hanging it haphazardly on the communal coatrack that resided next to the metal boxes where workers kept their belongings. She didn't say she overslept, again, because she was plagued with dreams about a certain pirate-like man. He'd certainly stolen her heart.

She knew all too well Walsh had created the managerial role especially for her when she was down on her luck back in January. She was just a glorified, highly-paid waitress, but she appreciated his effort and kindness. Part of their agreement was she would never work the evening shift so she could work a second job at Leroy and Jefferson's tavern.

Walsh was a strange kind of man. It was almost as if he had two personalities at times. Mostly he was charming and kind, always willing to lend a shoulder for Emma to lean on, but there were times he was a little creepy, like the way he would watch her when he thought she wouldn't notice. It was obvious from when they first met he'd developed a crush on her, but that spark was never there for her. In her mind, he was a friend and would never become anything more.

Leroy, by contrast, was mean-spirited, hard to please, and completely earned his 'Grumpy' moniker. But, he was also kind hearted, something not a lot of people saw from him, and Emma tended to think of him as an uncle figure. He was always offering her his thoughts on things, and didn't hold back. He was the first to give her the 'I told you so' speech when Neal had taken half her money and split.

When she came back to town after Christmas so down on her luck, both men were more than happy to offer her some work to keep her on her feet. Along with Jefferson, who also worked at Leroy's, she knew she'd certainly lucked out with the friends in her life, no matter how weird they were.

Jefferson was completely different. He was more her own age, and her surrogate brother. She and Neal had met him when they first arrived in Perry years earlier, and they became fast friends. They got drunk together, and complained about their lives together, they'd even shared a drunken New Year's kiss years earlier.

Walsh was wisdom, where Jefferson was goofy. Walsh was reason, where Jefferson was reckless. Leroy was stable, while Jefferson was crazy.

"Anytime today, Emma," Walsh's voice broke through her reverie, and he handed her a tiara style headband that completed the outfit, which she hated with a vengeance. She rolled her eyes at him as she took the offending headgear from him.

"How is it possible that this is my life?" she complained as she pushed back through the door, tying her apron around her waist and checking that her order pad and pen were in the pocket. Twenty-six years old and she was still working at the diner that had provided her with much needed cash when she first arrived in Tallahassee at seventeen.

She pushed her thoughts away as she headed over to a table full of construction workers waiting for their morning meal before starting their work day.

"Swan, I'm beginning to worry about you, ya know?" Jefferson's smooth voice interrupted her thoughts later that evening as she sat at the end of the bar, haphazardly peeling the label on a bottle of Hook Pale Ale. His friend was not the same since her return from Boston. He thought her impromptu trip was to get over Neal, that prick of a boyfriend who she finally kicked to the curb, but she came back a thousand times worse than before. Clearly, something happened in Boston, but she wasn't speaking about it.

He knew there must be a man involved in this situation somewhere, but whenever he tried to talk to her about it, she clammed up, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, and he hated to see her cry, so he endeavored to make her laugh instead. And that was getting harder to do each day. He wished Elsa would come home soon. Elsa had been called away for an 'emergency' a week ago, only to find that emergency was Anna had some kind of panic attack over her upcoming wedding to Kristoff. Elsa had decided to say in Norway to help with some wedding organizing, leaving Jefferson to deal with an emotional devoid Emma.

"I'm okay, Jefferson," she returned slowly, registering he had spoken to her.

"Did Walsh the Freak ask you out again?" he asked with a slight smile.

"He's not a freak, Jefferson," she chastised, but it was clear her heart wasn't in it.

"Sure, he is," Jefferson grinned. "All that talk about flying monkeys. It's ridiculous. Not to mention his infatuation with you… That's freaky just in itself."

She looked up at him sharply. "You think because a man finds me attractive, he must be a freak?" she asked.

"No. Not at all, Ems. You are a gorgeous woman, you know that," he chuckled a little before adding. "I mean, c'mon. Do you even own a mirror!"

Despite herself, she let out a sigh. "At least there's someone interested."

"Are you telling me the next time he asks, you're gonna say yes?" Jefferson asked, his eyebrows raising in shock.

"No," she answered lamely. "Walsh knows he will never be more to me than just a friend."

"Didn't stop him from creating that job for you, though, did it?" Jefferson answered with a knowing smirk.

"Well, if Leroy let me have more hours here, I wouldn't need that job, would I?" Emma countered with a teasing grin.

"Hey, sister," Leroy's gruff voice came from further down the bar. "You know if we could afford it, we'd have you here every night, but I just can't get the numbers to work that way."

Jefferson nodded his agreement, instantly wishing he could do more for his friend.

"Yeah, I know. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm grateful for what I have," Emma smiled weakly, though her expression changed again, and the loneliness crept back into her.

"Speaking of," Jefferson said with fake enthusiasm. "Isn't it time you got to work or something?"

"I guess," she mumbled as she pushed herself from the stool and swallowed the last of her beer before reaching behind the bar for her short blue apron, a hundred times better than the one she wore at A Dash of Magic, in her option.

As she headed out into the crowd, the main door opened, and a woman with a pixie haircut bustled in.

Her eyes wandered the room, and she almost reluctantly moved over to the bar and sat on a stool there, looking around the bar and its décor with an amused grin as she took in the faux-cowboy decorations hanging around the interior.

"Hey there," Jefferson greeted her. "What can I get you?"

"Erm, I'll just have a beer, thanks," she returned with a shy smile.

"Anything in particular?" Jefferson asked and watched as her eyes wandered the bar before landing on the bottle Emma had left.

"I'll take one of those," she answered with a nod of head in the direction of the empty longneck.

"Sure," Jefferson returned and removed the empty bottle before placing a fresh one in front of her.

"Thanks," she answered as she lifted the beer and took a slow sip.

"Just passing through?" Jefferson asked her, taking in her intriguing green eyes, and his gaze automatically lowered, and he sighed when he saw the wedding band on her finger.

"How can you tell?"

"I know everyone in this town, so you must fall into one of two categories. Either you're new here or you're passing through. And since that ring on your finger tells me you are married, and I see no husband by your side, I conclude just passing through."

"Quite the detective, aren't you?" she grinned to him.

"I have a friend who taught me a few tricks," he smiled back.

"Well, maybe you can help me, man-with-a-friend?"

"I go by Jefferson these days," he laughed.

"Okay, Jefferson," she countered, nodding as she brought her chin to rest on top of her hands. "Do you happen to know Emma Swan?"

"Emma?" he asked. "What do you want with Emma?" He looked suspiciously at her sideways before asking hurriedly, "Did Neal send you?"

"Like I would do anything that dick asked me to."

"At least you know who Neal is."

"Yeah, she told us all about him when she came to Boston."

"Boston," he drawled slowly. "You met Emma in Boston?"

"Yes, I run the bed and breakfast where she stayed."

Jefferson looked down again at this small woman.

"Mary Margaret Nolan," she finally introduced herself, sticking her hand out in a way of greeting. "So, you do know Emma?"

"Yeah, I know Emma," Jefferson answered, taking her small hand in his and giving it a slight shake.

"You think you can tell me where to find her? It's pretty important. I went to her apartment, and her neighbor said I should be able to find her here."

"Can I ask something first?"

"Sure," she smiled

"What the hell did you do to my friend while she was with you?" he asked, a hint of anger creeping into his normally friendly tone.

"What do you mean?" Mary Margaret shot back, amazed at this man's sudden change in tone.

"When she came back, it's like she was broken or something, defective, and I can't get her to snap back out of it."

A slow understanding smile crossed Mary Margaret's face. "I didn't do anything to her, but I know someone who did."

"Tell me who he is so I can kick his ass," he demanded.

Mary Margaret laughed at that, shaking her head at the barman's offer. "Killian Jones is the man you need to see, and trust me, all we have to do is to bang their stupid heads together, lock them in a room, and everything will be okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Mary Margaret sighed. "Did she not tell you about him?"

"Emma has hardly said a word about her trip to Boston, but I wondered who the guy was," he countered, shrugging.

"How did you know there was a guy?"

"Well, for one thing, that stupid bear of hers," he started. "It has a man's voice. And the other big giveaway is all the sappy songs she listens to, and the fact she's lost her love of life vibe," his voice trailed off for a moment. "With everything that girl has been through, it's only now she seems broken."

"You should have seen them together," Mary Margaret said with a shake of her head and a wisp of a smile. "I have never seen two people connect so easily and so passionately, and that includes me and my husband."

"Yeah, really?" he said in surprise. "Emma's not usually eager to give her heart away."

"It was more than that," Mary Margaret returned, confused a little at his cryptic words

"More than giving your heart away?" he queried, confused. How could there be anything more than giving your heart away to someone else?

"It was more like…" Mary Margaret paused, searching for the right words before lowering her voice to a hushed whisper. "It's like giving your soul; your very being."

"Wow," Jefferson answered simply. "And that's what has Emma acting the way she is now?"

"Yeah," Mary Margaret nodded wistfully. "She and Killian both."

"Well, that explains the lifelessness, the sulking, and the depression."

"Yeah, and you should see Killian. He has the monopoly on brooding. I think he could be a world champion," she joked before shaking her head, letting out a disgusted snort of laughter, and becoming serious again. "It's not pretty, though, and it certainly is not fun for his employees."

Jefferson was called away to serve another customer and Mary Margaret took the opportunity to look around the tavern. Whoever had devised the décor had tried to go for an old world pub feeling, and she thought, at some time, it had worked. Now it looked out dated and in need of an overhaul.

She did a double take when she spied Emma, moving from a table with glasses on her tray as she tucked a pencil behind an ear. She looked just as she had during Christmas, but Mary Margaret noted there seemed to be something missing, something that was explicitly Emma.

She turned back when Jefferson reappeared. "She's lost some weight," she observed, recalling she thought the same when she first saw Killian again since Christmas.

"Yeah, tell me about it. You just don't know the hoops I have to jump through to get her to eat."

"Believe me, I know," Mary Margaret returned with a light smile.

Mary Margaret's mind drifted back to her first meeting with Killian after his Christmas vacation earlier that week. They were only days away from introducing his new beer, and Mary Margaret and David had driven to Storybrooke for the launch and after-party. What they found encouraged Mary Margaret's impromptu trip to Perry.

A few days earlier in Storybrooke, Maine.

"Damn it, Regina. Where the bloody hell are those papers?" a gruff voice called from behind the double doors of the office across the hall.

The offices were in the upper portion of an old cannery beside Storybrooke docks, which had been converted to house The Storybrooke Brewing Company a few years ago, when the business really started to take off. Now there was a purpose built brewery beside the cannery to accommodate the ever-growing business, leaving the old cannery as an administrative building with rooms to hold functions in the lower section.

The décor of the rooms was simple; rustic, bare brick walls with sturdy wooden doors and furnishings, proclaiming a predominately male zone. The only room to show any sense of femininity was Regina's office, which she had decorated herself.

"How long has he been like this?" Mary Margaret asked the statuesque raven-haired beauty, her brows raising at her friend's tone. Regina was dressed immaculately, as always, in a white tailored trouser suit, her hair flicking sassily at the ends, and she always managed to make Mary Margaret feel slightly inadequate somehow.

They were sitting in Regina's office, Regina behind her large L shaped desk, which ran across the front of her and down to her left, and Mary Margaret in a comfortable leather chair opposite. Regina's office was across from Killian's, a lobby area separating the offices where a personal assistant who served both of them was stationed, along with a large seating area for anyone waiting to see either Killian or Regina.

"Since he got back from visiting you," Regina snorted. "What the hell did you do to him? I thought the whole idea of him going to Boston was to relax, not coming back worse than he was before he went."

Mary Margaret looked toward the doors again, knowing full well what was wrong with her friend, but also aware he would not appreciate her sharing this information with Regina. It had been six weeks since Killian was in Boston for the holidays, and six weeks since he last saw Emma. Mary Margaret hadn't seen Killian since he left Boston to return home and to his business, but she spoke to him on the phone as often as she could, and she knew from his monosyllabic answers and the dead tone to his voice, that he was taking his separation from Emma hard.

She was still amazed at the level of his feelings for a stranger he met at her and her husband's Bed and Breakfast. They had known each other for less than a week and now, six weeks later, he was still in a deep depressing hole because of this girl. Mary Margaret had also spoken to Emma a few times on the phone since then, and the blonde never failed to ask how Killian was doing. Every time, there was a hitch in her voice as she stumbled over his name. Mary Margaret often wondered where these two would be now if Emma hadn't left Boston or if Killian had the balls to follow her to Perry.

The door opened suddenly, and Killian stalked out, crossing the small space between the two offices in three strides.

"Do you have that bloody paperwork?" he asked as he shoved the slightly opened door to Regina's office, not bothering to knock on the wooden barrier.

"It's on your desk," Regina replied calmly.

Killian cast a glare at Mary Margaret, momentarily wondering what she was doing in Storybrooke before his mind cleared slightly, reminding him of two things: One, she was born there, and two, she had been invited to the launch party for the release of his new beer. He looked back to Regina impatiently before snapping, "I've already told you: It's not on my desk."

Killian watched with narrowing eyes as Regina stood silently from her chair behind her desk and walked out of her office, with him and Mary Margaret following. She entered his office and immediately moved to his large, simple, wooden desk, shifted a few stray sheets around before lifting a manila folder, waving it in the air with a smirk forming on her lips.

Killian was at her side in an instant, snatching the envelope from her hand.

"Oh, thank you Regina for finding them. Don't mention it, Killian." Regina answered for both of them before leaving the office.

Mary Margaret watched Killian with concern. He looked like he hadn't been sleeping properly. His stubble looked ragged and overgrown, and his eyes looked haggard. His weight loss was evident even through his usual attire of black button down and jeans.

"Killian…" she started but then was interrupted by the ringing of his phone, and he quickly answered it, stopping her from saying anything else, by holding up a single finger in a stopping motion.

"What?" he bellowed down the line to the poor, unsuspecting fool on the other end. Mary Margaret took this opportunity to wander his office, picking a few artifacts up as she inspected his domain.

It had been a while since she had been in his personal workspace and Mary Margaret noted his awards and medal collection had grown since she was last here, indicating he had won some new accolades for his beers.

His large desk was dominant in the room, a separate desk for his computer behind the first and against the back wall of the room.

She came to a stop when her eyes fell upon a pencil sketch in a simple frame, the only item on a large shelf in the hutch that topped his computer desk, and her eyes widened as she took in Emma's face, tilted up, catching snowflakes on her eyelashes, and a content smile on her full lips.

Mary Margaret always knew Killian was an incredible artist, but this was the first time she ever saw something he had drawn, framed and displayed. She turned to Killian when he stopped talking, and she noticed he was watching her, clearly waiting for her reaction.

"It's a good likeness," she said to him. "I didn't realize you did this in Boston."

"I didn't," he answered gruffly. "I did it from memory." He neglected to tell her about the drawing he kept in his apartment, the one he'd made of Emma during their last night together. That picture was for his eyes only.

Mary Margaret nodded at his vague explanation, wishing she could get the two of them in a room and then proceed to hit their heads together. They were so perfect together, it was driving her insane. "Oh, and I love the name for the new beer," she grinned to him.

He offered her a weak smile, and that was all. "Listen, Mary Margaret. I'd love to stand here and shoot the breeze, but I have a million things I need to do before this thing on Sunday."

"Okay, I'll just," and she hooked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the exit.

Killian nodded as he reached for the phone again.

Mary Margaret walked out of his office, an idea turning over in her mind, and she suddenly turned back into Regina's office.

"So, Regina, do you have any contacts who can charter a plane?"

"Why?"

"Because we are bringing Killian out of his funk once and for all, that's why."

"And how are we about to do that? I'm not flying in any Playboy bunnies, ya know."

"We don't need those. We just need one person, and she is in Perry, Florida."

"Oh, the mystery girl," Regina smiled, as she leaned across her desk slightly and lifted the receiver from the large telephone on her desk. Mary Margaret nodded, a smile on her face as she listened to Regina instruct her PA to arrange a flight to Tallahassee for Mary Margaret as soon as possible.

And now here Mary Margaret was, just short of 24 hours later, standing in front of the other half of the duo that was slowly driving her insane.

She was unable to get through to Killian, to get him to make a stand for the girl he loved. When he had returned dejectedly from taking Emma to Logan airport, all she got out of him was, It was her choice, not mine. She knows how I feel. Mary Margaret had a feeling there was more to this than either of them had told her. Her attention was brought back to the bar when Emma had returned to the bar.

"I can't believe you're here," Emma exclaimed again, her face animated with her excitement at seeing her Boston friend here in Perry.

"So you keep saying," Mary Margaret laughed at the blonde practically bouncing on the bar stool in front of her.

"Hey, Jefferson, come over here," Emma waved at her best friend who was serving a customer further down the bar. "You have to meet my good friend, Mary Margaret Nolan."

"We've already meet, Swan," Jefferson called back, smiling at her. He hadn't seen her this excited in weeks.

Emma turned back to Mary Margaret. "Not that I'm complaining, but why are you here?"

Mary Margaret took a deep breath before jumping in with both feet. "It's Killian."

Emma's smile immediately dissipated at those words, the enthusiasm falling from her, and her eyes seeming to glaze over. "What's wrong?" she asked, her heartbeat practically doubling.

"It's bad," Mary Margaret continued, and when Emma's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened in shock, Mary Margaret quickly backtracked. "No, Emma, I'm sorry. That didn't come out right. Killian is fine… well, physically fine. Now mentally? That's a different matter altogether."

Emma lowered her hands and exhaled slowly. Killian was okay. "He's okay?" she voiced her concerns, her tone timid.

"That's yet to be decided," Mary Margaret returned gruffly. "He's out of control, Emma. We don't know what to do anymore. He beat up one of his friends because he suggested a good old screw would get him out of his funk."

Emma straightened at those words, her mind whirling with questions. Did he find someone to screw? Had she been replaced in his bed? Did she really have any say in what he did on a personal level?

She was the one who left him while he practically begged her to stay. Hell, he did beg her to stay, and even asked her to marry him. Her very first marriage proposal, not that she expected many, was a rushed thing in an airport, and she turned it down.

Emma looked shyly at the brunette beside her, bracing herself as she asked. "And did he?" She tried to make her voice nonchalant, but it came out more like a strangled cry.

Mary Margaret smiled knowingly at her friend. "I honestly don't know, Emma," she returned, and when Emma whimpered slightly, she added, "But knowing Killian like I know him, and seeing what you two shared over Christmas, I would say the chances are incredibly slim."

Emma exhaled again, the relief washing over her, and then she shook her head. "Not that I really have a say in who he sleeps with," she said with a wave of her hand, brushing her emotions aside with a roll of her eyes. "I mean, I gave up that right the minute I stepped on that plane, the second I refused to stay with him."

"Emma. Please. Breathe." Mary Margaret said, a gentle hand landing on the blonde's shoulder.

Emma eye's refocused on Mary Margaret, and she gave the brunette a shaky smile, "Sorry."

"Okay, ladies," Jefferson grinned as he finally moved down the bar to them. "What can I get you?"

"Tequila," Emma returned quickly. "Lots and lots of tequila."

"Oh no," Mary Margaret denied with a slight laugh. "None of that for me. I still haven't recovered from the last time I drank the demon drink with you."

"Jefferson," Emma said with all seriousness, "you are looking at a bona fide tequila virgin."

Jefferson looked at Mary Margaret in disbelief, his eyes widening at Emma's statement.

"Well, at least she was until she met me," Emma added with a beaming grin.

"The drinking was just fine," Mary Margaret said, trying to cover her embarrassment. "It was the after effects that I don't really want to repeat."

"You make her the hangover drink?" Jefferson probed Emma seriously.

"Of course," Emma returned indignantly. "I am the kind of person who looks after her hungover friends, not someone who ditches them in the middle of a forest with nothing but a pack of moist wipes and a pair of sneakers."

"Hey, we could have left you to walk home in those four inch heels you were wearing, but we gave you comfortable foot attire."

"Whatever," Emma answered with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Oh my God! Did that really happen?" Mary Margaret queried, a slow grin forming on her lips at the mere thought of it.

Emma nodded, catching Mary Margaret's infectious grin and her own lips curling up as she remembered. "Yeah, we were celebrating my first major bust."

At Jefferson's snort, Emma quickly turned back to him, her index finger pointing at him. "And you can just keep your big mouth shut."

"Sure, whatever, Swan," Jefferson smirked before turning and lifting a bottle of tequila from the shelf behind him and placing it in front of the blonde, along with two shot glass.

Mary Margaret looked at the glass and back up to Jefferson, ready to protest, but smiled instead when he placed another bottle of beer before her with a wink.

"Geez, Jefferson," Emma moaned reaching for the bottle. "She's a married woman."

"Doesn't hurt, though, does it?" Jefferson replied cheekily.

"You're incorrigible," Emma returned with a shake of her head as she poured both herself and Jefferson a shot, her eyes noting Mary Margaret's beer of choice. She raised her glass, and Jefferson mimicked her movement, the two clinking their glasses together.

She tossed the golden liquid back quickly, and then turned back to Mary Margaret. "So, how can I help?" At Mary Margaret's confused look, she shifted her eyes and nodded to the bottle in her companion's hand. Mary Margaret flashed her eyes to Jefferson and then back to Emma.

"Okay, here's the deal. Killian is a basket case, Emma. I mean we are talking total full-on meltdown. He hardly leaves his offices, he's working his employees into early graves, and Regina is threatening to either quit or lead a mutiny."

Emma looked down at her empty shot, the laughter they had just shared rushing from her. "I'm sorry, Mary Margaret," she whispered.

"Don't be sorry, Emma. You shared something wonderful with Killian. I didn't come here to upset you or to bring you down with Killian's misery."

"Why did you come to Perry?" Jefferson asked, casting a concerned glance to his friend.

"To invite Emma to a party."

"A party?" Emma repeated, disbelieving, her brow furrowing at the thought. "Haven't you heard of those new-fangled things called telephones, or email, or Facebook and Twitter?"

"You're funny, Swan," Mary Margaret returned deadpan, picking up on Jefferson's name for Emma. "Maybe you could add a skit into your evening work."

Emma just huffed at that while pouring herself another shot.

"Seriously though," Mary Margaret continued. "If I had done any of those, there would be a good chance I would be ignored, brushed off, or you would come up with some lame excuse why you can't come."

"Whose party?" Emma asked, before knocking the shot back quickly.

"It's a launch party for a new beer from The Storybrooke Brewing Company."

"Wait. Hold up," Jefferson interrupted their conversation. "You know someone who works for The Storybrooke Brewing Company?" he asked Mary Margaret.

At her slight nod, he leaned his elbow on the bar counter. "Just how well do you know this person, and are they high enough within the company to get me discount on my orders?"

"Well, I know the owner pretty well," Mary Margaret said before turning her head to Emma and smirking, "but not as intimately as Emma."

Jefferson looked at Emma as if she had stolen his life savings, kicked him in the balls, and killed his puppy. "The guy you fucked in Boston is the owner of The Storybrooke Brewing Company?"

"Could you be any cruder?" Emma asked sarcastically.

"Okay, sorry, the guy you screwed, banged, nailed..."

"Alright, stop," Emma demanded, holding her hand out to him, though she was smiling.

"You have to go to that party, Ems," Jefferson insisted before looking again at Mary Margaret. "Wait, a launch party. There is a new beer coming out?"

Mary Margaret nodded.

"Emma, you get your cute ass on that plane, go and roll around with that guy, and get me a deal on my beer," Jefferson answered sincerely, and Emma was sure he would have pushed her out the door if it would help.

"Jefferson!" Emma cried indignantly.

"Oh, come on, Swan. It's not like you don't want to," Jefferson retorted.

"Well, I'm not above drugging her to get her on board," Mary Margaret told Jefferson conspiratorially.

"Oh, I like that idea," Jefferson returned, again leaning his elbows on the bar counter.

"Which is why I came in person," Mary Margaret informed him. "Jefferson, it's up to us to sort this crap out that our friends have created."

"Yeah, I don't know how many more of those sappy songs she listens to I can deal with," Jefferson countered.

"Hey, you guys do realize I'm right here, right?" Emma interrupted them after she had swallowed another mouthful of liquor.

"Hey, Jefferson," Mary Margaret said, suddenly brightening. "Do you want to come to the launch?"

Jefferson looked at the small brunette in front of him, his mouth hanging open in shock for a moment before he leaned closer to her. "This whole marriage thing between you and your husband, that's pretty solid, right?"

"Yes," Mary Margaret laughed. "I'm a very happily married woman."

"Shit," Jefferson grinned good-heartedly, before slapping his hands together and rubbing them. "When do we leave?"