A/N: I do not own Once Upon a Time or its characters, nor do I own Plunkett and Macleane and all of its genius.

Now on with the Show.

Prologue:

This was her fault. As she kneeled on the cool, muddy ground her yellow dress pooled around her knees. The silk soon became damp but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She opened her arms and Macleane handed his comrade off to her as gently as the dead weight would allow.

This was her fault. She stroked the hair away from his face and rubbed her thumb slowly along his cheek, taking the dirt off little by little and wiping the remnants on her dress. The hand that wasn't cradling his head reached down and took his hand, lacing their fingers. "Perfect fit, right?" she said softly with a smile, before it vanished and grief overcame her. While biting her bottom lip, the very first tear slipped down her cheek as she laid her forehead on his. There was no one left to be strong for. No one left that cared.

At the tears, Macleane turned outward to the dissipating crowd. With Rebecca in the crook of his arm he glared at the townsfolk, noble and peasant alike, daring anyone to interrupt the two lovers kneeling in the mud.

"This is my fault." She whispered against his cheek as rain began to fall and thunder rumbled quietly in the distance.

Chapter 1:

"Tosser." Macleane mumbled under his breath as he mounted his horse and spurred it into a canter after double checking his rucksack was secure on the saddle. Plunkett grabbed hold of his own reigns and slowly shook his head. Let the pup say what he likes. His partner in crime had a nasty habit of becoming bitter the morning after a bad night around the card table. His mood usually improved in half a fortnight, if they were lucky. But until then Plunkett would have to whether the broody storm.

Plunkett grabbed the saddle horn and pulled himself up, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth before the trusty animal lurched forward without so much as a kick. The sun was on its way down the horizon and they had a lot of new ground to cover in order to be ready for the night. This road was new and they had to learn the ins and outs of it before they attempted a robbery. Apparently, they currently traveled a highway that lead from the city to the small town of Davenport and to the even smaller, and oddly named, town of Winkler. Both small, but both wealthy. The elite of England used both towns as sort of summer estates. From Davenport, it was a short carriage ride to the sea and the expansive farmland of Winkler offered seclusion; the perfect place for the moral-less aristocrats to bask in the sun and hide from the sins of their daily lives.

"When you're done brooding, note the clump of tress due west of the fork. I don't right feel like getting captured because you galloped head on into a branch." Plunkett chuckled as his horse caught up to Macleane's and they slowed to a steady walk. Despite the mocking tone of his voice, he'd be damned if Macleane's insolence got him caught. He pulled lightly on the reigns and slowed even more, noting the dip in the road and steering around it. When his partner didn't respond to his halfhearted quip he looked to his right and raised an eyebrow. "Exactly how much did you lose to Rodchester and his dogs last night, eh?"

Macleane continued to look straight ahead but his grip tightened on the saddle horn, turning his knuckles white. He mumbled a response through his teeth.

"Didn't quite catch that," Plunkett replied as his stomach sank in thinking about the amount that Macleane laid down on the table to easily every night. They were far from their goal of gold that would get them to America, but every little bit helped and if Macleane was losing more than Plunkett had allotted for cards and drink then they would have a bigger problem on their hands than Macleane and his hurt pride. Through gritted teeth, he dared to ask again, "How…much…Macleane?"

"I lost the lot," he paused. "As well as the reserve for next week." He ducked and pulled his horse up short as his partner took a swing at him. Nearly slipping from the saddle, he dropped the reigns and held onto the animal's mane, lowering himself as much as possible.

"And I'm the tosser?" He swung again and landed a firm slap upside Macleane's head. "You're a ruddy git you know that? Do you know what that is fo-…"

"America! I know, I know." He paused as they began their walk back on the road as he muttered with as much remorse as he could muster for his friend. "It won't happen again."

Plunkett nodded and made a noise expressing disbelief before clicking his tongue again and starting back on the road. Now was not the time to be at odds with the lad, tonight if everything went their way, they would be sitting on a nice pile of coin by this time tomorrow.

But, one step at a time. He backed the mare into the edge of the woods so he was facing out towards the road and Macleane followed suit. The sun had dipped beyond the horizon and dusk had fallen over the road as well as the surrounding glen. Off in the distance the reigns and wheels of a carriage rattled along the bumpier section on the highway. Both men reached back in almost perfect unison, grabbing their masks and slipping them over their faces, making small adjustments for optimal eye sight. This was it, their first heist of the night. Plunkett let out a deep breath, in through the nose and then out through the mouth. Slow and steady. His breath crystallizing in the evening air ever so slightly. He was entering the place his subconscious went before a hold up. This place was quiet, closed off from the rest of him. It enabled the drive within that wasn't afraid to point the gun between the eyes of a nobleman and pull the trigger. It was them or him. This calm place inside his mind was not filled with self-righteousness but rather self-preservation. He pulled the gun from the holster at his waist, transferred the reigns to the other hand and looked to his partner.

"Stand and deliver?" Macleane said quietly with a smile that was only noticeable by the slight movement of the cloth on his cheeks.

Plunkett smiled back, despite their previous conversation, he couldn't help it. He nodded, "Aye, stand and fookin' deliver." With another click of his tongue, the mare galloped forward out of the woods and into the night.