It all started with assault.

Emma Swan watched Mr. Gold limp towards his front door as she dropped him off early Friday morning. It had been an eventful four days, beginning with her discovery of Gold's secret cabin and the recreational activities he enjoyed partaking in up there. Moe French was still recovering in the hospital from his beating. Mary Margaret visited every day, often relaying her worries back to Emma over dinner.

"He doesn't have any money, Emma. I don't know how he's going to pay off these bills. He can't work for weeks… It's a rather hopeless situation," Mary Margaret confessed over Granny's lasagna Wednesday night.

Emma stayed silent throughout the conversation. It had been a rather strange day from the moment she locked Gold up until Mayor Mills had walked in and handed over Henry. They were all hiding something. Her superpower had been on high alert since the night before, flashing in her mind that something was… off about this entire situation. It went beyond Storybrooke's normal strange disposition. There was a secret here—one that included Gold, Regina, and Moe—and Emma knew she needed to solve it. Someone was in danger, and it was her job to save them.

She visited Moe Thursday in the hospital to take his statement. He insisted on pressing charges, something about how the "dirty, crooked, no-good pawnbroker needs to pay for what he did. Let him rot. Serves him right." Quite frankly, Emma didn't know where these actions would lead him, even as she filled out the form in the small, white room. Mr. Gold had already sought revenge on Moe; both men seemed more than willing to continue this cycle of vengeance until someone (most likely Mr. Gold) destroyed the other. In any case, Mr. Gold was quite powerful, and there was no doubt that he would weasel his way out of jail soon enough.

As it were, by late afternoon, Emma received a call from Moe confirming that he was dropping all charges and that they needed to put the entire situation behind them.

For her part, Emma dawdled. She waited as long as she could before beginning the discharge process. Somehow, she turned an hour's worth of paperwork into four, and when all was said and done, there was no one available to drive Mr. Gold home.

And so, Mr. Gold spent one more night behind bars.

Now, she was watching him slowly walk towards his house, as the previous days played over and over and over in her mind. She had questions. As soon as the door locked behind him, there would cease to be any answers. And so, Emma made a decision, even before her mind registered the slamming of the car door.

She called after the surly pawnbroker. For his part, he ignored her (although she secretly would expect nothing less). Emma huffed knowing he had every intention of making this as difficult as possible. "Gold!" she yelled again, as she jogged over to him, reaching out a hand to turn him around before deciding against doing so. She desired to keep all of her limbs, thank you.

He had, however, finally stopped. He refused to turn, being the continuously stubborn man she had come to know him as. Emma rolled her eyes, even as she prayed that no one saw her doing so in her uniform. The Daily Mirror would have a field day. Sidney Glass was always looking to uncover one scandal or another, even if that scandal was no bigger than acting "unprofessional."

"Sheriff, it's been a rather long couple of days and I would like to go home. So if you don't mind, I think we're done here."

"I do mind, actually," she said as she finally stepped in front of him, halting his progress as he tried to make his escape once again. "There are a couple more questions I'd like to ask you about that night."

"And there is nothing more I have to say about it. Now, legally, I don't have to tell you anything, Sheriff."

"Then think of it as a regular conversation between neighbors."

"I'm not in the business of having casual chats like schoolgirls. Next you'll be asking to braid my hair. Now, if you'll excuse me…" And Mr. Gold pushed past her, his steps quick and light. For an older gentleman with a cane, he moved strangely fast.

"Why did you go find Moe, Gold?" She called as he reached the front door. Once again, he stopped as his hand hovered over his pocket. "Why did you go after him? What's this all about?"

He turned, slowly and deliberately, knowing that each movement spiked anxiety into Emma's heart. She tried to brush it off, but there was something so unsettling and… knowledgeable about Mr. Gold, as though he knew all of her secrets before she did.

"I told you already, Miss Swan. He stole from me."

"No," she countered, stepping towards him, "this went beyond that. This was more personal."

"He stole from me, personally."

She was shaking her head even before he finished his sentence. His eyes were narrowed slits, like he was a snake waiting for its prey to make the exact wrong move before it could strike. "I don't believe that."

"Believe whatever you wish, Sheriff. The truth remains as it is."

"Who's the girl, Gold?"

Every muscle in Gold's body coiled. He stood perfectly still and perfectly ready to strike. Emma unconsciously stepped backwards—her body understood the danger even as her mind forged ahead.

"I told you already, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop lying. There's more going on here, and I'm going to figure it out, Gold, with or without your help."

He stared at her a moment longer, before his body unraveled. Each muscle slowly unclenched and the unshakable feeling that she was his prey softly vanished.

"Let dead tales rest, Sheriff," and with that, he turned around and walked into his house, the door audibly locking behind him.

Emma stood there for several moments longer, staring up at the cold house in front of her. Just like its owner, the house appeared obstinate and stately on the exterior. However, as Emma knew, the house contained hundreds of secrets inside. She was determined not to let this one be buried.

After several minutes, she finally turned away, never noticing the swish of the curtains from the upstairs window. If Gold refused to cooperate, there were other men in this town where she might find answers.

And Moe French certainly couldn't run from her in the hospital.

So here this is. Not the best chapter in the world and certainly not that long, but it's done. I have always had every intention of finishing this story, but life always seems to get in the way. Part of the reason why I stopped was because I had no idea how to write this chapter (still don't) and for other reasons. I promise I write better than this.

Lastly, I've accepted a job in Belize for the next two years, so I'm trying to get as much of this story done as I can before then. I promise it gets both better and slightly longer.