The roar of a motorcycle ripped through the otherwise quiet streets of Storybrooke. Sheriff Emma Swan raised an eyebrow as she scribbled her name on a parking ticket. It was rare that any newcomers stumbled upon the naturally sleepy town in Maine. In her years there she had met but a handful of travelers; most were simply campers and fisherman passing through on their way up the coast. She watched as the motorcycle slowed in front of Granny's Diner, and slapped the ticket on the windshield before strolling back to her yellow Volkswagon Bug.
"Hey!" a voice yelled, emerging from Dr. Hopper's office, "I can't help it that the shrink made me stay and talk to him." It was Mayor Regina Mills, looking incredulously at Emma.
"Even the mayor needs to feed the meter, Regina. It's the law," Emma replied, sinking into the Bug without another word, and moving in the direction of the diner.
Ordering a hot chocolate with cinnamon, Emma glanced over her shoulder to search for new faces. The dark leather and brooding posture gave him away. 'Shit, he's handsome,' she thought. Granny walked over with a steaming cup topped with whipped cream. Emma dipped a finger in it and raised it to her lips, licking the sweet cream from her thumb.
"Lovely view on the horizon today," Ruby the waitress crooned from the other side of the counter, eyeing the stranger at the end of the bar with a sly smile befitting a wolf on the hunt. Emma smirked, but couldn't argue with that observation; she turned her head to find the handsome stranger gazing at her with crisp blue eyes. His tousled hair and unshaved face darkened him in a way that had her taking a deep breath as she looked away.
She could suddenly feel him moving toward her, hearing the coffee cup slide down the counter. "Ah, the lady Sheriff," he said, in an accent she would not soon forget, "Might I inquire as to the accommodations available in this precious little town?"
"Planning a stay in our little town, stranger?" Emma retorted, staring straight ahead and sipping from her hot chocolate.
"Where are my manners? Killian Jones," he continued, confidence in his voice only growing despite her flat remark, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Sheriff Swan. You should ask Granny about a room. She also owns the B&B."
"Swan," he breathed, and smiled, "And Granny! You ladies run this whole place, don't you?"
Emma looked up to see the stranger, er, Killian, wink at Granny, who stared at him with a look of disbelief. She was still watching him when he looked back at her, and before she could avert her eyes again, she wished that a whole would open beneath her stool. A smile warmer than the mid-morning sun almost drew one from her own mouth, and she opened it to say something, but somehow words failed her. There was a familiarity about his face that she could not explain, and she found herself stammering, "So… what… brings you to… our.. Storybrooke?" she mumbled.
"Think of me as a sailor on leave, Sheriff," he laughed, "Just looking for a place to rest for a bit before I ramble on and attempt to decide where home is."
"You sail?" Emma raised a brow as Killian took another sip of coffee.
"Not exactly. There's a stark difference between a sailboat and the USS Roger."
"You were in the Navy?" Her right brow rose to meet the height of the left.
"Aye," the sailor nodded, "Spent a few months back in Dublin after my last tour. Thought I'd go revisit my roots before I spread my wings."
Emma stared, dumbfounded, at this handsome stranger who had somehow made his way to Storybrooke after traveling to other parts of the world. She vaguely recalled her younger years, traveling from place to place. She'd never had many roots, just wings, until Storybrooke.
"Emma!" a familiar voice called from behind her, and she turned to feel a pair of lips against her cheek, "How's your morning? I just dropped Henry off at school," Neal said, plopping in the stool on the other side of her. Then he noticed Killian, still sitting next to her, "Hey, man…"
She cleared her throat, "Hey, Neal… this is… uh…"
"Lieutenant Jones," Killian said, oozing confidence as ever, "Or Killian, if you're so inclined." He stood and shook hands with Neal. It was then that he noticed the small engagement ring on Emma's left hand, still cupping the half-full mug of cocoa, whipped cream melted down into the chocolate.
"Neal Cassidy," he replied shortly.
Grabbing his mug and drinking down the last of his coffee, Killian tossed a couple of bills onto the counter and turned to Emma, "Thank you for the welcome, Sheriff Swan." He leaned forward and nodded, almost as if bowing, and sauntered out the door.
Emma's eyes followed with interest until she realized that Neal was still sitting there.
"Who the hell was that?" Neal wondered aloud, motioning to Ruby to pour him a coffee.
Emma couldn't bring herself to pull her gaze from the door, and replied disconnectedly, "I have no idea," as she licked the chocolatey froth from her lips.
—
A few weeks went by, and Emma continued to see the mysterious Killian Jones around. He was always reading in the gazebo near the sea, or wandering about town as though he were deep in thought. At night, she had seen him entering the Rabbit Hole. He probably fit right in with all the leather-clad mischief makers, she told herself, though few there were. Then she made herself put him out of her mind. Another drifter. A lost boy. It didn't make sense for a naval officer, but it wasn't her business what he did as long as he didn't cause trouble for her.
One day she saw him walking along the docks, nearly pacing back and forth before a polished sailboat. She was eating lunch at a picnic bench near the sea, something she had been doing far more of lately. The air would soon be colder, and she enjoyed the fresh breeze of the early autumn; it was something she hadn't taken the time to appreciate about Storybrooke in the past, what with living downwind from the fish market.
The boat Killian was inspecting displayed a 'For Sale' sign. He rubbed his scruff pensively as he walked back and forth, cocking his head from side to side. Looking around quickly, he suddenly jumped onto the deck and began walking along the bow. She shook her head, looking back at her sandwich, and then snapped it back up. Wrapping her sandwich back up quickly, so the gulls couldn't get to it, she stood suddenly and marched toward the docks.
"Hey!" she called, approaching the sailboat, "Just what do you think you're doing?"
Killian looked up from where he was examining the ropes on the boat, and smiled a dashing, playful smile, "Shopping."
"This isn't your property, you can't be here," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"My apologies, Sheriff," he raised his arms above his head, hopping from the deck back onto the dock and putting his hands behind his back, "If you want to cuff me…" He cocked an eyebrow moments before Emma raised both of hers.
"Don't be stupid. Just call the owner and ask them to show you around next time."
She was about to walk away when he spoke again, "I don't know who that would be. Haven't been here but a month."
Had it already been a month? What was he still doing here? She couldn't blame him, having drifted herself before coming to Storybrooke. A lost girl. She'd found a home here. And she was content. Was he planning on staying too? The thought made her nervous in a way she was not familiar with, and she turned back to him, "I'll look into it," she said with a small smile, and continued back to her table, hoping that the gulls hadn't picked apart her lunch in the meantime.
—
Emma watched her son as he climbed the wooden structure of the old playground. The leaves on the trees surrounding the area had turned various shades of red, yellow and orange in the November air, and the sun shone on the crisp autumn day. Henry was gazing out over the horizon of the Atlantic, imagination likely running wild about what lay beyond it. He was thoroughly enjoying his day off school, and she had taken a break from being the Sheriff to spend some quality time with her son.
Hearing the whistling of a foreign tune, Emma glanced over at the docks. Killian Jones was tethering his boat to the dock with great enthusiasm. He had moved out of Granny's and was now living on the sailboat, taking it out most days while the weather allowed it. Soon snow would fall, and she wondered if he would consider returning to land for the winter.
Glancing back at Henry to make sure he was alright, Emma walked briskly over to the docks. "Hey sailor," she said, "How does it feel to be back at sea?"
Killian smiled brightly, "I didn't realize I would miss it so much. It just seemed right that I make my next home a ship as well. I suppose I've become attached."
"Have you thought about what you're going to do once these docks ice over? It won't be safe for you to be living on a boat in a New England snowstorm."
"Haven't given it much thought, but you make a fair point, Sheriff Swan. Appreciate the concern," he winked, and Emma felt a sudden chill, "And of course, for helping me find the owner. Leroy seemed reluctant to sell it, despite the sign, but I made it worth his while."
"It's already getting cold," she said, "I should be getting back with Henry."
Killian gazed at her warmly, "The both of you stay warm, and enjoy your day," he nodded, and Emma turned to walk back to the playground, stopping when Killian's voice sounded again, "Swan."
She turned hesitantly, and he smiled again, "It was good to see you."
Emma could almost feel her eyes widen as she smiled, and nodded intensely as she turned and walked double-time back to where Henry sat, waiting for her patiently. It had been, admittedly, good to see Killian too. His presence in her life was a small one, but somehow comforting. She felt connected to him; like she understood him. When she reached Henry, he was watching the sailboat where Killian still stood, looking at something in his hands but facing out to sea. "Who's that?" Henry asked.
Emma looked back over at Killian and sighed, smiling slightly, "A friend."
—
Neal and Emma strolled along the main street, holding hands, glancing into the windows in search of Christmas gifts for Henry and their friends.
"I bet Mr. Gold's shop will have some unique finds," she suggested.
"Nah, I hate that guy," Neal grunted, shaking his head, "You can go if you want, but I don't think I'll find anything I want to buy in there."
Emma sighed, "Alright, grumpy. I'll meet you at Granny's in twenty." She kissed him briefly and made her way across the street.
Mr. Gold's shop was full of knick knacks and strange objects. She walked along the counter and came across a beautiful compass, with a colored face and silver casing. She could almost see his face reflecting in it, replaced with her own. Emma wondered if Killian would be going anywhere for the holidays; if he had any family to spend them with. Having found a gift for her friend Mary Margaret, she glanced at the compass in her hand and felt compelled to buy it. 'What's the harm?' she thought, 'It's Christmas, and he's a friend.'
She payed for her purchases and trudged over to Granny's with her hands full of bags, ready to meet Neal and Henry for dinner. She stowed the gifts in the trunk of her yellow Bug and walked inside. Neal was sitting at the booth with Henry, who was sipping a hot chocolate.
"What happened to you?" Emma asked, noticing that Neal had coffee spilled all over his shirt.
"Oh, I just wasn't watching where I was going," said Neal, looking at the wall to his left.
Emma sat down beside Henry and nudged him, "How was school, kid?"
—
"You slept with WHO?!" Emma shouted, her hands shaking as she stared, wide eyed, at her fiancé.
"Emma, I'm sorry. I was gonna tell you sooner, but I didn't want to ruin the holidays," Neal said, "It's Henry's favorite time of year. It didn't mean anything! You know I love you. It was a mistake."
She had the urge to throw a plate at his head. Tamara was the shadiest person in all of Storybrooke, and Emma didn't trust her one bit. Now she knew why, and would be triumphant if the circumstances were different.
"You're sorry?! How could you do this? We have a son! We're supposed to be getting married! We are supposed to be creating a life together!"
"Listen, I ran into her again after we went Christmas shopping, and one thing led to another… you were working all those long hours with New Years Eve and all the drunk people… I didn't mean for it to happen."
She was furious. Her blood boiled and rage coursed through her veins. Her vision blurred and she felt as though she might lose control of her body, and yet she couldn't move. She'd lusted too, during their relationship - especially with the arrival of the dashing and mysterious Killian Jones - but had never even come close to crossing the line like this.
"Get. Out." She spoke through her teeth, afraid that any motion would launch her into a physical rage, in which she might break something, or hurt someone.
Neal looked at her longingly, a plea in his eyes, "Emma…"
"Leave! Now!" she shouted, gesturing intensely at the door, but keeping her feet firmly planted. He walked slowly to the door and took his coat in his hands, sighing and looking down at them, and then he was gone.
—
"Whiskey, double," she said, setting her glass firmly in front of the bartender. He nodded, not questioning the Sheriff, as she'd set her badge down for the night. 'Screw it,' she thought to herself, 'David can handle the station for a night.'
She needed a drink. Or five. Her son was at home, tucked in safely and in the company of Mary Margaret. Emma was just longing for an escape. She felt the urge to run again; run away and never return to this place that held so much of Neal and the life she had planned for herself.
He'd disappeared from her life soon after she confronted him about Tamara. Not surprisingly, the shady bitch had also disappeared soon after. Just when Emma thought she had found home, found a place to make her roots, it had all been ripped up and away like a weed in the garden. Henry was angry at his father for leaving - again - just as they were all about to become a happy family, and it broke Emma's heart to see him that way. She stared at the finger on which she had once worn the ring that now lay buried deep in her closet where it couldn't glare at her anymore. It had been over a month since Neal left, and she needed to get back on her feet, but she didn't feel strong enough. She wanted to crawl in a hole and sleep for years; long enough to forget the pain. The Rabbit Hole and Jack Daniels would have to do for now.
"This seat taken?" a familiar voice asked. Emma looked up to see Killian Jones standing beside her, looking kindly at her as she ran her hands through her hair.
"Nope," she sighed, taking a swig from the glass as soon as the bartender set it in front of her. Killian motioned for him to bring another, and soon he was holding his glass up to her, gesturing as though he was going to make a toast.
"Welcome to the lonely hearts club, Swan," he chuckled, "Cheers!" Clinking his glass against hers, while she sat baffled and gaping at him, it occurred to Emma that it was Valentine's Day.
"Thanks for reminding me," she said, rolling her eyes. "Oh come now, it's not so bad," he coaxed her, mildly amused by her groans. "Think about it. Now you have the power to create a new path for yourself. Things don't always go as planned, but it gives you a chance to make something new. Don't let Neal get you down, love."
Emma looked up from her glass and gawked at him. Perhaps the fact that he was so attractive made it so that she couldn't become upset with him; she didn't much mind the fact that he was talking about her situation so nonchalantly. It was annoying, sure, but had it been anyone else she might be a lot more agitated. Everyone else had simply avoided the topic around her, knowing that the Sheriff's bad side was not the one they wanted to be on.
Finally, she smiled, "Good riddance, I guess," and raised her glass to finally reciprocate Killian's toast.
—
Later, as they both exited the bar, smiling and swaying slightly after sharing a few drinks, Emma giggled, "How can you be trusted to walk aboard a boat that's swaying if you're swaying yourself? You'll fall overboard!" She had been watching him all night, lust growing as she watched him walk over and play songs on the jukebox, or watching his lips move as he talked.
"It's an art," Killian said confidently, "Tougher on a sailboat than on a large liner like the Roger, but one becomes accustomed to the waves and taking the ebb and flow in stride. It's a lot like life. Things come at you that may sway you in your path, or create curves, but if you learn to move in the direction they take you while staying true to the ultimate goal - which is happiness, I believe - then it's smooth sailing." He smiled brightly at Emma, looking so goofily happy that she couldn't help but smile back.
His charm was getting to her; she shook her head, "You have a philosopher that takes the reigns when you're drunk or something?" she joked, trying to brush off the warm feelings that his insight was giving her.
She truly did feel relieved that she hadn't had to sit alone in The Rabbit Hole all night, and that she didn't have to spend Valentine's Day alone.
"Just being honest with you, Swan," he said, looking down, almost embarrassed. It was the first time she'd seen anything but confidence on his face.
"You know my name is Emma, right?"
He looked directly at her, and almost breathed the name, "Emma." As he said it, their eyes locked. His clear blue eyes her own blurred, tired green ones and she gazed at him longingly. Not just lustfully now, because in this moment, they connected. She knew that he understood how she felt at this place in time and that he wanted to make her feel better. He'd always called her Swan, since the day he came to town, and it was both strange and delicious hearing her name on his lips. It rendered her helpless, and she stood there, tingling, and unable to move. It wasn't the paralyzing anger that held her this time; it was something else entirely. She felt like a magnet, being both drawn to and repelled by polar forces. Her eyes were still locked on his and as she finally breathed out, one word escaped her own lips, "Killian."
And then his mouth was on hers, his hands cupping her cheeks. His lips were gentle yet the kiss was filled with passion, as though it had been held back by no more than a thread all night. The paralysis wore off and the tingling intensified as she kissed back, realizing suddenly that she wanted nothing more. There had been lust between them before, sure, but this night they had connected. This man was looking for home, for roots, too, and perhaps he'd stuck around because he thought it might be in Storybrooke. Perhaps she was interested because she thought it might be in him.
Killian released her lips but held her body tightly against his and looked down at her tenderly, "May I have the pleasure of escorting the beautiful lady Swan home?"
Emma grinned, warm and tingling in his arms, and buried her head in his coat against his chest as snow began to fall around them. She inhaled and memorized his scent, knowing that doing so would bring her comfort in the near future. 'I think I might already be home,' she thought, closing her eyes and nodding against his chest. They walked on together toward Emma's apartment, and didn't let go of one another until they awoke the next morning, warm and comfortable in what would now become both their homes.