AN: I have no idea where this is coming from. I was hanging out with a friend waiting for dinner and saw this guy trying to hit on a woman in a bar. She seemed disinterested until her friends arrived and then boom she seemed to want them to see her with him. So I played with the idea slightly and came up with a new AU fic. This probably won't be that long, but I thought I'd get it out there.

"Your aim is a little off on those last rounds," David Nolan said, barely looking up from the magazine he was reading. Leaned back against the wall, his chair only had two legs on the ground. She almost hoped he would fall on his butt, but that wouldn't be very sheriff like of him to do.

"I need to adjust the sights on the gun," she muttered. If there was one thing that Emma Swan hated, it was being corrected. She knew that people judged her as the only female law enforcement officer in the town of Storybrooke, Maine. They saw her as weak or not as good as her male counterparts. She hated them for it.

He grunted his reply as she jammed her hand against the cold steel and lifted the weapon back into position. Using her elbow against the red plastic button, she reset the target and waited for it to stop swinging. She squinted her eyes in the direction of the paper man and squeezed the trigger, firing off a succession of shots. When she was finished, she placed her weapon on the ledge and waited for the target to come closer. A small smile spread on her face as she saw that each of her shots had hit just as it should.

Whipping around, her blonde ponytail fanned out and brushed the glass of her booth. "Look at that," she said boastfully, holding the sheet out for him to see. He was not impressed.

"You really think a perp's going to wait for you to adjust your sights, Emma?" he asked, lifting his magazine closer to his face. "You'd be dead before you even got to fire a shot."

She scowled at him, ripping off the ear protection and goggles as she marched toward the nondescript door to the changing area. "I was freaking spot on, David," she said, frowning at the sample of her accomplishment before she threw it to the ground in front of him. "I am a rock star." Without waiting for an answer, she pushed her way into the room and away from the other members of the Storybrooke Sheriff's Office. She hoped they would contain their laughter until after the door slammed shut so she would not hear them. They didn't.

However, the conversation did hold off until then.

"She's actually pretty good, mate," one of the other deputies Robin said of the blonde woman. "I haven't hit at over 90 percent since…well, ever."

"She's arrogant and that leads to mistakes," David said, lowering his chair legs back to the ground and leaning to pick up the target. He inspected it, a smile spreading on her face. "She's pretty fantastic when you piss her off."

Robin chuckled, knowing that David had pissed her off more times than most men. The relationship between the sheriff and deputy was a contentious one that was best described as brother and sister. Emma, who had no parents of her own, had broken into Ruth Nolan's house at age 14. Lanky with long blonde hair and a fiery personality, she had told the older woman to send her to jail rather than back to a foster home where rumor was she had been hit and beaten on an almost daily basis. Ruth did one better. She took the girl in and gave her a home. David had been 17 at the time and taken the young girl under his wing. Though there was no official title for their friendship, everyone looked at David as her older brother. "Bet you wouldn't offer her that compliment to her face," he said, eyeing the pride on David's face as similar to his own when his son did something new.

"Of course not," David said, folding the target up to put in Emma's file. "I can't have her knowing I actually see her talent."

***AAA***

Emma's apartment in Storybrooke was on the small side, but she liked it just fine. After all those years in group homes with bunk beds stacked high, she had a place that was her own. Even at the Nolans' home her bedroom had been sparse. So what if the furniture didn't match or if the dishes she owned were cast offs of various pattern? It was hers and she was happy with it. She could walk around naked if she wanted to or watch reruns of her favorite sitcoms all night long while filing her nails. She could eat standing over the sink, ignore the phone, and sing along to 1980s music while dancing in her underwear. It was hers.

While she had told Mrs. Nolan that she was only stopping through for cash on her way to Boston or New York, she'd stayed in town and created her closest thing to roots. Two years ago, after graduating from the Maine State Community College with a degree in Criminal Justice and about $200 to her name, she had thanked the older woman and said she was going to do this on her own. The apartment was her first step toward a new life, a fresh start in the town that everyone she knew called home.

There were offers for roommates, but Emma wanted a place of her own. She loved her friends dearly, but she wanted to opportunity to get to know herself. It felt important.

Sliding down onto the couch in her favorite pair of sweat pants and fuzzy socks, Emma practically growled at the door when she first heard the knock. Nobody disturbed her on Thursday nights. It was her night to veg out with Netflix binge watching, buttery popcorn, and cold beer. It was the one night when she could not be disturbed or dissuaded from her plans by her friends and their well-meaning interference. She sank lower onto the leather sofa, as if the person on the other side of the door could actually see inside. Her television muted and the lights off, she hoped that her breathing would not give her away.

"Emma!" the voice on the other side of the door wailed. The blonde realized immediately who it was and jumped to her feet with another silent lecture on her mind. Mary Margaret Blanchard was notoriously unaware of anyone's private time when it came to her own crisis. But Emma could not really complain. The woman was so sweet that nobody could hate her. She was always there for everyone else, from being that designated driver to being the one who had tissues in her purse when the breakups got too bad to take alone. So if Mary Margaret needed her, Emma was going to return the favor.

Flinging open the door, Emma smiled sympathetically at her friend and ushered her in with a quick hug as she kicked the door back shut. "What did he do?" Emma asked, not bothering to identify the who she was talking about. Everyone knew that only David Nolan was the only one who sent the normally calm Mary Margaret into hysterics. The two had been in love since they met five years earlier; but between his father disliking her and a crazy ex-girlfriend, there were moments when it seemed it would never work.

"His father invited Katherine to join the family on a ski vacation. He didn't tell me or invite me." She sobbed loudly, covering her face with her hands. Emma took that moment of privacy to text an emergency message to their other friend, Ruby Lucas.

EMMA: Get your ass over here now. MM having a break down.

RUBY: One bottle or two?

EMMA: Bring the bar.

Emma had managed to get the tears to stop flowing by the time the raven haired waitress arrived, two bottles of tequila in hand and her loud voice echoing in the hallway. "Never fear, Ruby's here!" she announced, dropping the bottles onto the counter and running over to hug her friend tightly. "What did the bastard do?" she asked, eyeing the pixie like brunette carefully.

Emma grabbed one of the bottles and began to pour into the mismatched shot glasses. She'd told Ruby before that they had to be careful about what they said about David. Mary Margaret was going to end up married to the man someday and they would probably be her bridesmaids. It would be awkward if they kept referring to him by derogatory names. However, everyone's nickname from Ruby was derogatory but endearing.

Mary Margaret explained the story again, telling how David had not told her that under his father's invitation his ex- fiancé was invited on this family gathering. Emma clucked sympathetically, not pointing out that as a one-time foster sister of David's she had not been invited either. It was Mary Margaret's issue not hers. She was used to being left out.

"Are you honestly thinking that he's going to do something with that woman?" Ruby asked, downing her shot in a single gulp and then shaking the glass at Emma as if to ask for more. "It's not really a good plan. Break up with the one girl your father approves of to date another just to cheat on her with the first one? I know I've accused David of being just another pretty face, but seriously. It can't be that bad. The man was in the honor society. He has to have some intelligence."

Emma nodded, ignoring Ruby's demanding request and just handing her the bottle. "It's Katherine," she added. "The woman is plain and just boring. He has been there and done that."

The short haired brunette stared hopelessly into her still full glass. Her sniffling made her shoulders jump in reaction. "I trust him," she said pitifully. "I just don't trust her."

"Good!" Ruby said with an affirmative nod. "You shouldn't. Women can't be trusted with other women's men. It's a known fact." She poured herself another shot, which she quickly downed. Ruby, who was probably the best known of the three friends around Storybrooke, was the granddaughter the famed restaurateur Granny Lucas. The older woman had a new line of pasta sauces and frozen dinners with her face on them. Ruby worked at the empire's flagship restaurant, a diner in downtown Storybrooke that was a throwback to the 1950s. She was still wearing her version of the uniform that she had altered to reveal more skin and sit tightly across her hips and bust.

"You realize that is patently untrue and closed minded," Emma said, grimacing at the way her friend characterized women. "We're not bad people just because we are women."

The raven haired beauty threw her hands up. "Not another lecture," she moaned. "I'm here to help pick up the pieces of Mary Margaret's crumbling relationship, not answer to your view of the world and all that's in it." She pursed her lips, still thickly painted as usual. "And if Mary Margaret would grow a spine when it comes to Prince Charming, I'd move on to your lack of a love life, Emma."

Emma sighed dramatically, used to the pressure from Ruby to hook up and live a little and from Mary Margaret to settle down with some nice guy and buy real estate and/or have babies. Despite the small population of Storybrooke, Maine, Emma knew of few men who Ruby had not slept with at least twice. It made for a horrible selection of men for anyone else when Ruby could recount in detail each escapade.

"Ruby has a point. It's been 10 years since…" Mary Margaret blushed, which combined with the flushing from crying made her look vaguely like she had a tomato as a head.

"I've had dates and sex since Neal," Emma said grouchily, hating that the conversations about her dating life always turned back to a brief fling with Neal Cassidy. She would rather he not be the man by which all her relationships were judged.

"If you hadn't, I'd be worried," Ruby chimed in. "More worried than I am now."

Mary Margaret was not like Ruby in the way she dressed. She was wearing a simple a-line dress with a soft cardigan over it. Her hair was short but curled at the edges giving a very feminine vibe to her. She wore sensible heels rather than stilettos and her skirts always hit at the knee or lower. "Maybe we could set you up with someone," she added, looking at Ruby hopefully. "I can't think of anyone, but maybe Ruby knows…"

"No," Emma said firmly. "I'm not getting set up by my friends."

"Please," Ruby said examining her freshly painted nails that changed color from red to black and back again. "I know someone. He's not even someone I've slept with. His name is Walsh. He's a furniture buyer or designer or something. I don't know. It has to do with furniture."

"Oooohhhh!" Mary Margaret squealed, feigning excitement over the prospect. She had not actually looked at another man since David had chased her down after she accidentally picked up Katherine's purse thinking it was her own. "That sounds like Aiden on Sex and the City." She gave Emma a hopeful look. "You liked him."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I don't do blind dates."

"He's harmless," Ruby insisted. "He's a workaholic, but you know that's a good thing. It means he won't be clingy. Go out with him once and we'll see where it goes. It could be fun? Let me set it up. He's going to be in town Friday. I'll call him."

"No," Emma said, wrinkling her nose. "I have a date Friday anyway." It was 24 hours away and she had no date, but Emma was not going to let them think she was actually considering a date with some guy Ruby hadn't even found attractive enough to sleep with yet. Something was obviously wrong with him.

"You?" Ruby said as though it was the most absurd thing she had ever heard. "You have a date? With who?"

"Whom," Mary Margaret corrected. "But that's beside the point. You have a date, Emma? You never go out."

"I'm not a wall flower," Emma protested, her blonde braid falling to her back. "And he's just a guy. Nothing special. He's meeting me for a drink. That's all."

"Where?" Ruby asked suspiciously. "Where is this mystery man taking you for a drink?"

Emma bit down on the inside of her cheek, hating the feel of the lie on her tongue. "What? I'm not telling you. You'll just show up to see who this guy is and try to embarrass me. A girl can keep some things private."

***AAA***

Emma knew she was screwed when the ladies left, having talked through Mary Margaret's problems, Ruby's desire for a vacation to meet more men, and Emma's mystery date. She made up a few details such as that he was tall, dark haired, and charming. If they were suspicious of her lack of details, they should have expected it. Emma was not known for her openness. She preferred keeping people, including her friends at arm's length. It took her two years before she even told Ruby her middle name.

Retying the end of her braid, Emma glanced at the clock and wondered if she would ever get used to the quietness of living alone. Sure there were the noises of her upstairs neighbors, the occasional car door slamming and the muffled conversations of other residents. But none of them were directed at her. None of them affected her life in any way. There was no one to bother her with incidental things, but by the same token there was no one to share things with either. She was alone.

She knew that Ruby had a point. Her dating life was absolutely on the low end of the spectrum. She'd had a date or two, usually drinks and excuse before it turned into dinner. One night stands were preferable to the alternative. She couldn't remember the last time she'd talked with a guy late into the night or received a text that made her smile. Butterflies in her stomach were something she missed.

Maybe she would good out on Friday, she thought. A drink at the Rabbit Hole would be a good way to wind down after a hard week of work. Emma had been working at the Sheriff's Department since moving to Storybrooke. It had been David who had offered the job as a deputy, having known her since her early teen years when his mother had taken her in. She had called him after graduation and several failed interviews, begging him to consider her for a position. He had relented, though reluctantly at first. Still, she had proven herself. She was an excellent interrogator and even more skilled with her investigative skills. He'd been giving her more assignments lately and even taken her off several of the more menial tasks like traffic detail.

So maybe drink would be good. She could have one and that way it wouldn't be a complete lie when she told her friends that she had met someone for drinks. She'd have one. Maybe she'd even say hello to a guy – someone besides Jefferson who owned the place. That would assuage her guilty conscience.

***AAA***

The Rabbit Hole was not exactly on Zagat's list of the finest establishments. It wasn't even a tourist spot, but the drinks were strong and cold and the music loud. That was the foundation of any good bar. The bass of the music thrumming through the dimly lit space so loudly and powerfully that Emma could not even hear her own heels on the wooden slats of the floor. She'd been there plenty of times, as the guys at the station loved the cheap beer and the chance to out brag each other about their manliness. She could drink most of them under the table, but that was not exactly a point of pride for her.

Slipping out of her jacket and taking a seat on one of the cracked but sturdy barstools, Emma signaled to the bartender and ordered a beer. "Whatever you have on tap," she said waving off the long explanations of taste and country of origin. She didn't care. It was a beer and that was enough for the time being.

She curled her hands around it and tried to concentrate on the silent television over the collection of bottles, ignoring the men next to her who were clearly sopping up the liquid courage to hit on her. She was good at reading that, but even a blind woman could with the way they were acting. The leering glances and louder than appropriate jokes that bordered on obscene. It was hardly a way to a woman's heart, but it was typical of that kind of place. She was immune to it by now.

"Is the tap here as weak as they say, love?" a heavily accented voice said from the other side of her. She had been so busy ignoring the two frat boys that she hadn't seen the man slip onto the stool next to her. Turning slowly, she looked at him, not recognizing the dark hair or stunning blue eyes that shone back at her with something between curiosity and amusement.

"I've had better," she said, her words a bit labored as she tried to regain her footing. "Do you have a favorite?"

He smiled, a grin that seemed to grow across his chiseled features. "Are you asking me to buy you a drink?"

"Suggest one, not buy one," she answered. "I don't go around asking for men to buy me drinks." That was the truth, as she was not the type to swoon over the free gift of cheap beer or overly sweet cocktails.

"Aye," he said, wrenching his gaze from her to the plethora of bottles behind the long wooden bar. He pointed to one, a shrug coming up his shoulders as he did. "I think you might like that one, but I don't really know you, lass."

She took another sip from the plastic mug, licking the remnants off her lips. "I could ask why you think that," she said, "but I'm not sure I'm that interested in the answer."

He grinned again, holding his bottle out as if expecting her to clink it with her own mug in a toast. "I'm not sure I really have an answer that would amuse or interest you."

Her pinched laughter rang out as she held her hand out in greeting. "I'm Emma," she said.

"Killian," he responded. "I suppose I could ask that question everyone hates about how often you come here or if you're meeting anyone. But I have little doubt that you will shoot down my attempts. Perhaps I should retreat now while I am still in good graces?"

"Perhaps," she said, her own smirk shining. There was little doubt the man was good looking. She might even have an attraction to him, but he was probably just as much of a jerk as the rest of the men in the bar that night. He was probably a jerk. The accent tended to hide things like that, or at least distract you from them.

"Can I ask what you're doing here?" he pursued, looking directly at her rather than at the drink like she had been attempting to do. "That's a harmless question, right?"

She smiled at his approach, definitely more subtle than she was used to in a bar. "Avoiding my friends, actually. Or at least avoiding a bad blind date they wanted to set me up on." She rolled her eyes to show what she thought of bad dates and the like. He probably had never had a bad date or friends who seemed to monitor his sex life. "My friends kind of suck."

He sipped on his drink, pausing to consider that for a moment. "I'd wager they care a great deal about you to want to see you happy," he said, interpreting her words carefully in his head. "Though you're probably quite perceptive and can tell that this broke they want to set you up with is not your type. I doubt you're the type to want to waste time on someone who you don't fancy."

She gave a silent laugh and looked back at the oversized screen. "I guess you think you're pretty perceptive too?" He was handsome, but most men that good looking were trouble. They knew of their looks and felt more entitled somehow. She weakly turned her body away from his, hoping he would take the hint.

"I've been told that, love," he said, leaning a little closer. "In addition to the line that I'm devilishly handsome." If he was turned off by her laughter at his boasting, his smile did not show it. He chuckled along with her.

"So, Killian?" She hoped she was remembering his name, something she normally struggled to do. "What is that you do other than offer advice on drinks in a bar?"

"My occupation is not that remarkable," he said, sighing in a bit of relief. Maybe he was expecting her to throw the dish of free peanuts at his head. "I work in the fishing industry."

She eyed him carefully, taking in the plaid shirt and the softly worn jeans that were faded and beginning to fray at the edges. "A fisherman? Like raincoat and hat?"

His chuckle was such an easy sound as he lowered his eyes a bit, almost embarrassed as he scratched behind one ear. "No, I'm in the boat business. I sell boats and parts to the fisherman. It's my vocation rather than a passion, but we can't have it all."

"I see," she said, tipping her beer for a last swallow. "And what would be your passion?" She cringed inwardly as she said it. She didn't want to have this conversation, but for some reason she seemed determined to continue it. What was wrong with her?

"I've always had a penchant for sailing," he said, rolling his shoulders back as though he needed to reinforce himself to say the words to her. "It's a love I've had since I was a child. So selling boats allows me to delve a bit into that. What about you? What makes Emma light up?"

"You assume that something or someone does make me light up," she said, raising an eyebrow when he silently motioned for the bartender to bring them another round. "I don't know if I've found that yet." The honesty of the statement shocked her, causing her to laugh it off. "I work for the sheriff," she added hastily. "I guess I've always had an interest in that."

"Quite admirable," he said, offering her another smile. "And these friends of yours don't think your career is enough?"

"They…" She was about to admit they worried about her, wanted her to have more than a badge and gun. However, the words flew out of her head as she caught sight of the dark haired woman she had come to consider one of her best friends. Ruby stood there at one of the pool tables, her smile bright white against her even brighter red lipstick. She was the center of attention, as was usually the case. However, her attention was not focused on the men who were talking to her. Instead, she was unsuccessfully trying to steal stealthy glances at Emma. "Shit!"

Killian's amusement grew as he watched the woman in front of him blush and grow more flustered. "Is there a problem, lass?"

"One of those so called friends is over at the pool table right now," Emma said, turning on the stool so that her gaze did not trail in that direction. He was less obvious, leaning to catch a glimpse.

"Ruby?"

She should have known. A handsome man who was single would have to know Ruby Lucas. Everyone did. "You know her," she said, hoping that she did not sound accusatory in her statement.

"Aye," he admitted, a faint smile playing at his mouth. "By reputation only, mind you. I have never…"

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. He was clearly trying to make her understand that he was not a playboy. That was probably a red flag, but his sincerity threw her a bit. Most men were proud to say they had had the pleasure with Ruby. Here was a man throwing it out there that he was not among that list of admirers. "She's not your type?" she asked. She knew he was Ruby's type, but Ruby was freer with that information than most people. She had no qualms about love and sex. It was something that Emma secretly admired, as she had never quite mastered the art of separating the two. She'd tried, but something always felt off.

His head tilted as though he had never really considered Ruby an option. "We all like who we like, Emma," he said, her name sounding better in his accent than it normally did. "So she is the one who wanted you to go on this blind date?"

Emma nodded, not wanting to say anything at that moment. She closed her eyes momentarily and wondered how to get out of the situation. Ruby clearly saw her and saw that…wait…Emma thought. Ruby saw her talking to a nice looking guy and having a drink. Isn't that what she said she was going to do? So what if she had just met him? He would fit the bill for a few more minutes. "Want to help me out?" she asked, holding her head a little closer to his.

Thoughts?