Emma Swan didn't do bars, they just weren't her thing. She'd prefer taking a full bottle of whiskey up with her to bed and curling up with a book. It was comfortable, it was normal, it was Emma. But alas here she is, sitting on a bar stool downing her third shot of rum – which seems to be a delicacy here at the Hidden Treasure. The place wasn't packed, surprisingly; given it was a Friday night. She would just assume that had to do with it being one of the newer bars in town. It would take some getting used to.

She turned in her seat at the thought, studying her surroundings. It wasn't a big bar, it was actually quite comfortable. There was a stage, most likely built in, but a stage nonetheless. Of course that was deserted, holding a few similar bar stools and a pool table. And in front of that was a small floor, accompanied by tables and chairs and enough room to get a dance or two in, if you so pleased. Her eyes studied that the most, watching as random couples fumbled and fell over each other trying to keep in time with the music. It was amusing, but she was starting to get a headache, so she turned back around.

Emma hadn't even noticed the bartender slipped her another shot, as well as her receipt, which she felt a little ashamed to be getting so early. She knew she hadn't been there that long, and if this place had a drinking limit, well, she definitely would try and avoid it the next time she felt the need to get away. Her eyes searched the counters and walls in front of her for some sort of sign that would sate her curiosity, but when she came across empty she frowned, and checked her watch for the time. It was not even midnight yet, and that alone upset her far more than anything. It had been a long and shitty day, one she came here explicitly to try and forget, and here she was, allowing herself to pull her mind back in to that black hole she called thought.

It wasn't enough that Neal wanted shared custody of Henry, no, he wanted back in her life as well. And God only knows if she hadn't have been forced to change her ways and grow up, she might have let him. But things have changed, she had changed, and she couldn't just erase the history they had. No amount of apologies or efforts to make up for lost time were ever going to be good enough - were ever going to change the fact that it did happen. All she could do was try to forgive, and move past it all, maybe with even a bit of her dignity left intact.

She didn't even want to get in to losing her job not even six hours ago due to "excessive absence." It wasn't as if she ever intended to miss all of those days, and it wasn't like she had been out screwing around or blowing off her loyalties to them. She had a son to worry about, and it wasn't her fault if the kid decided to use his imagination and wound up falling out of a tree. Or, woke up at three a.m. and decided to go out in zero degree weather and build a snow castle. And even then it wasn't his fault; he's a ten year old kid. She was just thankful he even wanted to go out and be adventurous; she prided herself on being able to rub that mentality off on him. A small dose, however, nothing like the crazy stuff she'd used to do. No, Henry would not be doing any of that.

And, not to mention being asked that morning to be the Maid of Honor in her roommate's wedding. That was just the icing on top of a craptastic day. It's not as though she isn't happy for her, and she would admit on more than one occasion to admiring Mary Margaret's relationship with David. They were the closest thing to a real family she had, aside from her son – and sometimes, Regina – but Emma doesn't do weddings. It's overwhelming and far too fairytale-ish for her liking. And yes, she would be referring to the fact that Mary Margaret on more than one occasion, has referred to David as her true love, her "White knight." Or at least, as White Knight a man can get.

Yes, Emma Swan had a lot to want to forget. Or at least push aside for the time being. Which is exactly what she planned to do, whether the bartender liked it or not. Emma brought the glass before her up to her lips and tipped it back, swallowing it down with practiced ease before setting the glass back down on the counter. She then lifted her hand, snapping in protest trying to catch the man's attention. He was down near the end of the bar, leaning against the mahogany with ease. She'd admit – through no fault of her own, no, she'd blame the alcohol – that he was attractive. With his raven like hair, blue eyes and five o'clock shadow. It was practically unfair, and if she remembered correctly, he had an accent, an Irish accent. Something she had a thing for, apparently…who knew?

After what seemed like hours of trying, she pulled her hand back with a scowl. Emma's eyes sifted the area in front of her, shaking her head when she finally took notice of the fact that he was the only bartender around. Of course he is. She mused, taking in a deep breath. She really was not in the mood for this. Without any more thought, she stood up and made her way around the counter, dragging her hand along the top. There were thousands of bottles of varying liquids behind the stand aligned beside each other, ranging from smallest to largest at that. Emma's eyes widened when they landed on what she was looking for, and with a smug little smirk she reached out for it, only to be stopped by a firm hand.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

Emma looked up then, catching his gaze almost instantly. Those sea blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes, it was doing the worst of things to her. And yes, she will most definitely be blaming the alcohol for that.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Clearly you have better things to do than say, I don't know, your job?"

She hissed, pulling her hand back from his grasp and back to her side where it belonged. Her eyes found their way to the end of the bar where he was not only a minute ago, and eyed the girl hanging half way on top of it, apparently still entranced by the bartender. Emma shook her head, placing both hands on her hips. He must have caught wind of her gaze because his lips curled up in to an unruly smirk.

"Is that jealousy, lass? I don't even know you."

He tilted his head then, leaning his weight against the bar. Emma rolled her eyes in response; he didn't give her enough time to retort before opening his mouth again.

"What's your name?"

"…what?"

Was all she could manage, she was still in a bit of shock that he hadn't kicked her out yet, or at the very least told her to find her seat. She began to wonder why she hadn't done either on her own.

"Your name, I'm assuming you've been given one. What is it?"

She shot him a sarcastic smile, crossing her arms over her chest – a gesture she soon came to regret when his gaze followed. Her mouth then opened to reply, but was interrupted by a prissy little side voice before she could.

"Ma'am, can I get a vodka martini? I've been waiting here for the past ten minutes."

Her head turned, following the voice directly, mouth falling open at the request. She couldn't tell if she was more offended by the insinuation – although standing behind the counter might give someone that impression – or the fact that she called her Ma'am. That was definitely a new one; this woman didn't look that much younger.

"Yeah sorry, I don't – "

"Oi, you heard the woman," The bartender interrupted, pulling his weight from the mahogany, "Get to work, Ma'am."

He put extra emphasis on the last word and Emma turned her head back with a glare. Just a little more than confused with his tactic.

"What the hell are you doing? Why are you – "

She was cut off by a shaking hand in front of her face, the same hand that had a hold of hers only moments before. Her glare was still present when she smacked it away.

"Clearly the lass is still recovering from her double shift," He started, "I'll get that to you in a minute, milady."

Emma eyed him carefully, stepping back as he began to put the drink together. She wasn't even trying to comprehend his choice in defending? her. She reached in her back pocket and pulled out the money necessary to pay her tab, and left it by her empty glasses. Emma only hoped some desperate drunk didn't snatch it away before the insufferable bartender could get it, but she really didn't care enough to glance back and check as she exited the bar.

Emma was instantly hit with a cool gust of wind; it spread across her body in a matter of seconds. Hitting her cheeks in a way she felt she much needed then. Still, what she wouldn't do for a nice cup of cocoa, extra cinnamon, and maybe a warm bath. The walk to her car wasn't very far, thankfully. She pulled her keys out and opened the door with ease, smiling as she slid in and moved the keys to the ignition. Luckily – and much to her surprise, especially in this cold – the car started. But her joy was short lived when a familiar voice called out beside her. Emma rolled her eyes with a sigh; of course it wouldn't be that easy, he didn't seem the type.

"Oi, what the hell do you think you're doing now?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm going home."

He chuckled; crossing his arms as he finally got to her car and leaned against the door frame. Casually at that, like he belonged there. She sat back in her seat and copied his stance, slowly letting her eyes go up to meet his. If looks could kill, hers probably would.

"Aye, I gathered as much… What I meant was what the hell do you think you're doing behind the wheel? I did cut you off for a reason, but perhaps you forgot about that on your little endeavor behind my bar."

He was speaking with his hands now, gesturing back towards the building. And she rolled her eyes, remembering the irritation she felt when he slipped her that receipt – and seriously, did he really think he was doing her a favor?

"Wait, your bar? This is your place?"

She asked, finally catching on to what he said, eying him as he leaned in…a little too close for comfort.

"Aye that it is, rather cozy wouldn't you say?"

"You're insufferable."

She muttered, and he smiled at that and pulled his weight from the frame. She realized right away the smile he held in place didn't reach his eyes, at least not quite. It was confusing to say the least, but she'd blame a part of that on the alcohol. Speaking of –

"Look, I don't live very far. It's midnight, there is no one around, and I'll be fine. I've never had a low alcohol tolerance, but thanks for the concern anyway."

Emma finally reached out to shut the door, and he was there once again as she did, pressing his palms against the top of her car. And she didn't know why, but his eyes just looked a hell of a lot brighter behind glass. She took in her bottom lip and rolled the window down, mentally kicking herself for allowing more cold air in than necessary. At this point he was grinning again, any confusion she felt moments ago was replaced by a sudden urge to reach out and punch him in the face. That would be something, wouldn't it?

"You're a stubborn lass, I like that."

His last words came out in a whisper, sending chills up her spine, and God what she really wouldn't give for a warm bath. Emma couldn't find the words to comment back, it's not like he left her much to reply to anyway. So she only nodded once, before buckling her seat belt and setting the car in reverse. And of course he was there again, holding his hand out in an attempt to stop her from leaving.

"Wait look, I -"

"Okay listen, Buddy," She started, holding a hand out to silence him. "I don't know what it is you're trying to accomplish here, but save it. I'm about ten seconds away from punching you square in the –"

"I want you to work for me, Swan."

He interrupted, and her eyebrows shot up in response.

"Swan?"

Was all she could think to ask, Emma could already feel her brow furrowing as she tried to remember when it was she gave him her name. Of course, it wouldn't come to her, because she didn't.

"Well I never got your name; we were rudely interrupted before you –"

"I wasn't going to give it to you."

She let out with a breath she didn't know she was holding. His eyebrows shot up in response, he seemed a little taken back by her declaration, but she was a little too out of her element to care.

"Right… Well, I settled for calling you by the first thing I noticed."

He used his hand to gesture to her chest, right where the Swan necklace she almost never forgot to wear was hanging. She opened and shut her mouth a few times. Contemplating what to say, but as luck would have it, she couldn't find the words. His eyes were set on hers, and she studied them without hesitation. The way he stared at her, it was unsettling. Like he was trying to find something, anything, that would tell him who she was. This stranger, trying to open her up and dig and it was stupid. So stupid for her to still be sitting there, listening and waiting and thinking.

"I'm not asking for your hand in marriage, love. It's a simple request; any number of answers will suffice."

She canted her head to the side, giving him a smile that she hoped would show just how unpleased she was with this entire conversation.

"I know what it is, I just can't figure out why."

"Isn't it obvious, love?"

"Would I be asking if it was?"

He shrugged, smirking once again. And he really, really, needs to stop doing that.

"Point taken," He started, tilting his head. "It's like I said, I like you."

The whispering thing again, yeah, he could stop that too.

"You don't even know me." She countered, nearly glaring at him.

"Not like that." He said, pushing off of the car and crossing his arms again. She sighed running a hand over her face, suddenly a lot more tired.

"I think you have potential. You clearly had no problem making yourself at home, and it would seem you fit in rather nicely. Of course, you have no bloody idea what you'd be doing. But, I suppose that would be where I fit in."

He's persistent, she'd give him that. And what's worse is she knew he wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted. Something they had in common, apparently. Emma set the car in park then, looking particularly hard at the dashboard before meeting his gaze. Answering with the only thing she could think of that would get him off her back. Would it work? No, but it would have to do. At least for now, while he's staring at her like that, like he wants to know her.

"And why would I accept your offer? I already have a job."

"Is that so?"

She nodded matter-of-factly. It was a blatant lie of course, and when she was met with a deep chuckle she started to wonder just how easily he could already read her.

"You'll forgive me if I don't believe you. You're something of an open book."

And if it was possible, he was somehow becoming even less attractive the more he opened his mouth. All she could do was glare at him before turning her attention back to the dash. There was nothing there to look at; but anything was better than looking at him. She couldn't think of anyone she's ever met who was able to call her on her lies, much less know she was lying. Something like sirens were sounding off in her head, telling her it was a bad idea. But she couldn't bring herself to drive off and forget he was there. Especially not his offer, if anything it was sincere. And to say she didn't need a job was a bit of an understatement. She just hated that he knew that, and that he was brave enough to even ask. She doesn't know anything about him aside from the fact that he owns the bar, and that he's too handsome and smug for his own damn good. And he sure as hell doesn't know her, not like he seems to think he does.

"Tick tock, darling, I do need to get back in there."

He said, breaking the silence as well as her thoughts. She turns to look at him once again, and pulls the back of her hand to her mouth. She knew what she was going to say, and from the look on his face he did too. She rolled her eyes and put the car back in reverse before nodding. More to herself than to him, but she did it nonetheless.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Swan."

Was the last thing Emma heard him say before she pulled away and drove off, leaving him with nothing more than the smirk on his face.