The Rabbit Hole was a dreary looking building, and a little too loud for Emma's tastes. She squinted her eyes shut and blinked hard to bring her vision back into focus against the faint yellow light in the room, and she saw high wooden tables set up all around with matching bar stools, and a tiny tea candle serving as a simple centerpiece. Tonight was as crowded as any, Emma presumed – especially for a Thursday night. She never imagined there would be many out and about on an evening like this; Storybrooke never gave her that impression. She felt almost a little too underdressed, by the Rabbit Hole's standards – women in dresses or short skirts, heels that could take someone's eyes out and shirts with dipping necklines; and then there was Emma: blue jeans, red leather jacket, and her tall boots. A woman like Ruby was much more suitable for a pub like this – someone who could easily pull off the look many of the women in the vicinity were socializing in tonight.

As they crossed the room to a vacant table, Emma could feel the eyes of patrons following them – the sheriff on a date with the handsome owner of the coffee shop? No, this was not a date. Several girls Emma had never seen before were stopping James and greeting him, asking him how the shop was, their fingers grazing lightly over his arms and shoulders – whatever. He slid a seat out from under the table for Emma and motioned for her to sit.

"How gentlemanly of you," she joked, settling into the surprisingly uncomfortable wooden seat. She inched forward closer to the table, the feet of the stool scraping noisily against the floor, turning several annoyed sideways glances in their direction. Emma pushed the curls that had fallen in front of her ear and slid her jacket off – it was unusually warm in the pub, and all of the heat rushed to Emma's cheeks.

James sat across from her and leaned in close, peering around at all of the eyes watching them. "I'm always a gentleman." From his jacket pocket he pulled out a folded bill and held it tight between his fingers, waving it pointedly in front of Emma's face. "Anything in particular that you enjoy for a drink, sheriff?"

Emma raised a brow and her lips broke into a grin. "You trying to turn this into a date?" She plucked the bill from his hand and slid it across the table at him, and it landed in front of his chest. "I can buy a drink for myself, thank you." Emma had to raise her voice to talk over the blaring music, hardly able to hear herself. Their faces were close and Emma could smell the espresso on him, and she immediately drew away.

"What ever happened to the compensation we discussed not long ago?" James said with a breath of laughter, taking the money back into his grasp again. He twirled the paper through his fingers absentmindedly while watching Emma with an inquiring gaze. "You agreed when you made the decision to wait for me to close my shop."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. Emma positioned her hands on the table and stretched out her palms, pushing herself off of her chair and she made her way to the bar, leaving James behind. She could almost see his open-mouthed gasp from behind her as she navigated through the tables, more eyes landing on her. When Emma reached the bartender, she curved over the counter and spoke loudly in his ear. "One whiskey, on the rocks; same for the rum," she shouted. Emma watched as the bartender craftily poured their drinks into small glasses, reminding her of how skillfully James worked his coffee. The bartender slid the drinks across the counter to her, and Emma returned to him money from her own pocket, thanking him before venturing back to the table.

"That was rather bold, wouldn't you say?" James remarked as Emma plopped herself back down in the chair.

Emma slammed the glass down – almost with too much force – in front of his smug face and smirked. "Thanks for the coffee." It took all of Emma's resolve not to break their stares as James bit down on his bottom lip, amused.

He picked up his glass and swirled it under his nose, sniffing. "Rum…" James' smile grew wider. "How'd you figure?"

There was a pause as they both sipped their drinks, the bass of the music roaring loudly in Emma's ears. "How'd you figure I'd like cinnamon in my mocha?" she asked, grinning over the rim of her glass. "Don't pirates drink rum?"

James shrugged and watched his beverage whirl around at the bottom of his glass, the ice clinking softly. "Don't saviours like cinnamon?"

"You seemed the type," Emma told him playfully, but her smile faded as James' did, his own replaced with a confused frown.

He sat back in his seat, eyes unmoving from Emma's. "You came out because of that boy and his storybook, didn't you?"

Emma was taken-aback by his dramatic turn in character and she let her glass down slowly, careful of what she was about to say. "What? What makes you say that?"

"That's why you agreed to come with me." James was peering at her through his long dark lashes, and Emma spotted a glimmer of concern in his deep blue eyes. His voice broke with disappointment – Emma was disappointed in herself, really. After all of the not believing or not wanting to believe, after everything August had told her and put her through – the second guessing and the responsibilities – Emma had wanted no more to do with it now than she had in the past. So why, after all of it, was she still here? Why was she so drawn to this stranger she'd just met, who her own son believes to be the cursed Captain Hook? What had happened to the doubts she had clung onto for so long, afraid that all of it might be true?

James' voice was stern and the coldness sent shivers up and down Emma's spine when he spoke up, low over the music. "If you didn't want to come for the drink, why not just say so?" His brows wrinkled together in sadness. "Why do you need ulterior motives to remove your sheriff's badge for once and let go?"

"I took up the offer because you offered," Emma snapped, taking on the same hardness in her voice. "I'm not going to lie and say that none of this had anything to do with the curse, but I figured that it's my duty as the sheriff to get to know everyone in this town." For someone who could proudly say that she could sense fiction when she heard it, sometimes she doubted even her own ability to lie.

"Do you know them?" James asked sharply, noting the couples that were seated across from them, and Emma glanced over her shoulder to check.

"Well, no…"

"Best you be getting to work then, sheriff."

Emma closed her eyes and inhaled a deep sigh, sipping her whiskey again – this time with a far greater gulp. He was finally getting under her skin, and she would need another glass or two if they were going to go on much longer, but the jingling of her car keys on the table as she set her drink down indicated to her that perhaps it would be best not to. She felt the burn rush down her throat and the warmth spread through her chest. "What do you know about the curse?" Emma avoided his statement entirely, not having an effective quip to throw back at him.

For a while, there was no response from James. Instead, he stared tacitly at the liquid at the bottom of his cup, perhaps contemplating an answer. Emma caught herself eyeing him more than once, so she resorted to people-watching instead – she watched a couple whispering in one another's ears before taking their belongings and leaving the pub. The silence was much louder than any deafening music or resonant voices, and Emma shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"What I do know is that this is most definitely not the place to discuss such matters, love," he said finally.

The sudden resolution surprised Emma. People could barely hear them – hell, Emma could barely hear herself – so she didn't think twice about the fear of being overheard. "Oh," she sputtered, and sipped her drink to kill the blossoming awkwardness. "It's alright, I was just curious."

James shook his head and made a humming noise through his tightly pursed lips. "No, clearly this is an important matter to you." He moved in closer over the table and Emma did the same. "All of this is important to you because you are the sheriff now, not Graham." As if James had realized what he'd just said, his eyes turned down to the table. "Good lad, he was."

There was a sudden pang of sadness in Emma's chest as she remembered Graham – his light brown curls, his Irish lilt and his beautiful blue eyes. The last thing Emma recalled was his smile before he had fallen to the ground, his body lifeless. Everything was gone in a flash and Emma still, to this day, regretted never believing in him. She had let him in, and just like everyone else in Emma's life, he left. No warning, no chance for goodbyes – just gone. Looking back up at James, she saw something in him – whether it was a second chance to do something for someone or a reminder of a man she had taken her walls down for, she didn't know – and Emma blinked back the tears. "You know what, let's just forget we even talked about any of this."

James could read her; she could see it on his face. "Perhaps it would be prudent to discuss things in a more private manner," he said again, tilting his head. "If you'd really like to discuss your curiosities about this… curse… then I would be more than happy to oblige, you know that." He motioned to Emma's finished drink and she stared at him, a tear almost falling down her cheek. "I am simply trying to tell you, sheriff, that maybe this isn't the most prime place to talk of curses and alternate or lives past?"

Emma looked at the watch on her wrist – almost eleven o'clock. "Why even bother, then?"

He had a point, though, Emma thought. They hadn't been there for long, but she didn't raise any objections to leaving. It was now a matter of where they would be headed. Emma swung her coat over her arms and shoulders and followed James out.

"I was under the impression that I would be buying you the drink, love," he said sternly. The pub door swung shut behind them, muffling the music that Emma had very quickly grown tired of. The rain was still coming down, ripples in the puddles all along the street reflecting the light from the streetlamps.

Emma clutched her jacket closer and zipped it up to shield herself from the cold of the mists blowing up from the winds. James' umbrella opened with a mighty swoosh as he held it over them, and Emma smiled to herself as they stepped off the curb. "If you paid for my drink, that would make it a date," she laughed.

James grinned back. "Does it never occur to you that maybe there is a man who exists out there who perhaps wants to make it a date?"

"Where are we going?" Emma asked, disregarding his previous statement, but that didn't stop the redness surfacing on her cheeks.

"I think it may be a tad late now. If you would like to talk about it some other night, come to my shop round ten."

He walked Emma to her car and she paused, her key in the door. It's okay, really." Emma had never felt so frightened before; scared that if James discovered anything about the curse, or if someone discovered his awareness of Henry's theories, he would meet the same fate Graham had, and she was not going to let it happen again. "I'll see you around." Emma unlocked the door and stepped into her yellow bug, giving James one last glance before slamming it shut.

"Aye," she heard him utter through the pattering of the rain, and Emma turned the key in the ignition.

xxxxx

It had been a couple of days in between since Emma had last given James and his coffee shop a visit, and Emma began to wonder what the twisting in her stomach meant when she reminded herself of it. It's not like he meant anything to her, except for his delicious mochas – better than Granny's even. She thought that it was about time she paid Henry another visit instead, and it was that afternoon when school had ended that she parked her yellow bug across the street.

He managed to spot her as he roamed outside, and the bright smile that broke out on his face made Emma grin. She swung the passenger door open for him as he crossed behind the car. "What are you doing here?" he said, pleasantly surprised to see her.

As Henry pulled the door shut, Emma put the car into gear and drove off. "What, I'm not allowed to come pick you up after school now?" she joked, although it could be that it's true. Regina had attempted to avert their interactions before, so it wouldn't shock her. "It's not like you have anywhere you need to be right now, is there?"

After some consideration, Henry shook his head.

"Good. Then you're down for some of Granny's hot chocolate?"

"Always am!"

It was Ruby who greeted them from the counter as they entered the diner, the bell jingling as the door opened. She gave Ruby a quick nod of acknowledgment as they chose their seats in a booth, Henry settling across from her comfortably. Ruby didn't need telling what they had come for – Emma and Henry had been there enough by now for her to know immediately. She brought them both their hot cocoas and cinnamon sprinkles atop a mountain of whipped cream. Emma smiled down at hers; reminiscing of the first time James had slid her cup across to her… how he had simply known… no, that's enough, Emma.

Henry sipped delicately at his hot chocolate, the cream forming a white moustache of froth over his mouth. "So why the sudden urge to come for hot chocolate?" he asked, and he folded his arms across the table. The penetrating stare Henry was giving her made Emma shift uneasily and the leather squeaked beneath her. "You went to see James again, didn't you?"

At once, Emma's eye contact broke with his and she gripped her cup tight between both of her hands, the warmth diffusing through her cold fingers. "What? No!" She cleared her throat, avoiding Henry's accusatory observation – he knew she was lying – as she fiddled with the handle of her porcelain cup. "Okay, maybe. I just wanted to ask him a few questions. I'm the sheriff, that's my job, Henry."

"Your job to ask questions about what?" This kid was reminding Emma more and more of herself – vigilant and excellent at pulling information from others – perhaps she did spend too much time with him. "You probably didn't have much of a reason to go back there…" He crooked over the table, a smug 'hmmm' escaping from behind his closed lips. "Unless you really do believe in the curse, and that he is Captain Hook?"

"I never said anything like that," Emma protested. "I just feel like I need to get to know as many people in this town as possible."

"But you don't know everyone in this town, nor can you, really," Henry snorted.

"Suspicious people, then."

"You think James is suspicious, or good-looking?"

The pair scowled at one another, her glower a meager attempt to wipe the satisfaction from Henry's face, but he didn't yield. The sides of his lips twitched and Emma swallowed, annoyed. "Henry, I don't think any of those things." She licked the whipped cream and cinnamon from her lips, her next excuse forming in her head. "His coffee is really good, and we got to talking, and someone has spoken with him before about this curse."

Henry glanced down at his drink and his fingers fidgeted around it innocently. "Well, he's cool, and he listened and asked questions," he grumbled with a shrug.

"I know, Henry. This is supposed to be a secret, remember?" she cautioned, the desperation in her voice slipping out. If Regina unearthed their plans and constant pursuit of this 'curse', she would be on them like a hungry lion on its dinner, and Emma frowned at that prospect. "That's why we call it Operation Cobra, right? To keep it a secret."

Henry ruminated, his head clearly running with ideas. His smirk expanded from ear to ear, and Emma sat back, waiting patiently for the revelation. "Why don't we make James a part of Operation Cobra? Like another operative?"

That was the last thing Emma expected from him. Her jaw fell open and she was silent, the only sound managing its way out was a single stunned gasp.

Henry nodded to himself and took a pleased drink of his hot cocoa. "Yes, that's brilliant! We could always use more help, don't you think?"

The complete disregard for Emma's own opinion unsettled her, and she drummed her fingers on the leather seat. This was just what Emma needed – more time spent with James, and him being an influence on Henry. Not that he was a bad person, but the thought of those meetings made Emma's head hurt. "Look, I know you're very excited about the idea of bringing James on board…" She stopped to let Henry snicker, Emma only just realizing the unintentional pun she'd made. "I just think that it's better if we keep it between the two of us. How do we know we can trust him?"

Henry didn't hesitate. "Because he is Captain Hook, he will do anything if it benefits his cause."

"What is Captain Hook's cause?" Emma asked, confused.

Suddenly, the pride that was once on Henry's face vanished only to be replaced by a sad frown, and he puckered his lips together as if to suspend the secret from escaping them; he breathed in deep and exhaled. "Well, he doesn't remember…" he began slowly, but he quickly cut himself off.

Emma's eyes narrowed dubiously and she spun the cup on the table. She had essentially forgotten about her drink until now, but the way Henry stirred worried her. "Remember what?"

"What if you just read the book and found out yourself?" Henry avoided answering her entirely, and he looked at her through his long lashes. Emma responded with a slow shake of her head.

"No, you're going to tell me what it is he doesn't remember."

"He wants revenge on Rumplestiltskin – Mr. Gold." Henry swiveled in the seat to ensure that no one was within earshot, but not once did he maintain his eye contact with Emma, perhaps afraid of her reaction to the news. "He wants to kill Rumplestiltskin."

She mulled this information over long and hard, not being able to fully understand what Henry had just divulged. As if the entire idea couldn't grow any more ridiculous, now the flirty, handsome barista who ran a small coffee shop at the edge of town sought revenge on Rumplestilt – Mr. Gold? "So how would bringing James onto Operation Cobra benefit us? Or even him, if what you say is true."

"I don't know," Henry admitted.

For real…?

"Maybe we can help him – you can throw him off course!" he shouted aloud, and several heads turned to them. Emma hissed an aggressive 'shhh', his sudden excitement frightening those around them, Emma included. "I mean, maybe you can save him; teach him that revenge is not going to get him anywhere."

"He doesn't need saving, Henry," she sighed violently. "He doesn't remember anything." Her fingers were tracing small circles on the table – she couldn't believe she was about to say it. "But if I did do it… Do you think that it would stop him from killing Gold? That it would turn him away from this revenge and he could be happy in other, less… dangerous ways?"

Henry was nodding energetically, and Emma couldn't help but smile. She remembered why she was doing this – it was what Henry wanted. It wasn't about Emma's beliefs, or her motivations, but what Henry was passionate about. Emma believing in Henry, and him knowing that she did was important. Emma couldn't bear to conjure ideas of how many years he'd lived stressing over people never having faith in him. It was time for Emma to be the mom she couldn't be for ten years.

"Well, how about I go talk to him and see what he thinks, and then I'll tell you what he said?" Emma downed her hot chocolate in several sips, the last few gulps with that extra sweetness. It seemed an appropriate conclusion to their conversation, and Henry plucked his backpack from the seat and slid to his feet.

"I like that idea!" he said with a burst of energy.

While Henry ran ahead to the car, Emma brought a ten dollar bill to the counter to Ruby, who, for reasons unknown to Emma, was wearing a large smile on her red lips. "What?" she asked as she slipped the money across and Ruby replied with a giggle.

"I hear someone had a date with James the other night," Ruby teased.

"It wasn't a date," Emma said flatly. "We just talked over a drink."

Ruby swayed side to side on her heels while she completed their transaction, the register dinging as the drawer slid open. "That's not what I heard."

Had Emma drunk more glasses of whiskey than she remembered? Did more happen that night that she was ignorant to? As they said, ignorance is bliss, and it rang very true in this case. "Well, whatever you heard isn't true. Nothing happened between us, and nothing ever will."

Ruby hummed at Emma, much like Henry had earlier, as she stomped off, thanking Ruby as she swung the diner door open. Whoever had been spreading lies may be meeting her fist soon. She hopped into her yellow bug where Henry was waiting without much else to say – everything had already been discussed. Instead, they drove in almost complete silence, Henry seemingly satisfied with himself.

"See you around, kid," Emma said as they pulled up to the mayor's house.

"Don't forget to tell me how it goes!" Henry slammed the door shut and ran up the front sidewalk to the porch – as always, leaving Emma with no room for a retort. She laughed to herself, his mannerisms reminding Emma of her again, and she drove off.

xxxxx

It wasn't until two nights later when Emma pulled to a halt in front of The Bean. The clock on her car stereo switched to ten o'clock when she turned her car off, just like James had instructed. She spotted him through the window working at the counter, helping the remainder of his customers of the night before he could close up. Emma waited until they were gone before she climbed out of her car and stepped inside. The bell on the door caught his attention and he spun around, happy to discover her there. There was something different about him tonight – she noticed that his beard was gone, his jaw clean-shaven and smooth, glistening under the dim light as sweat traced its way down the sides of his face. She was surprised at how good he looked, but Emma kind of missed it.

Not that it mattered.

They smiled at one another as she entered. "Good evening, stranger," he said merrily, tossing a dish towel over his broad shoulders. "Do me a favour and lock the door, will you, love?"

Emma turned the lock and it clicked loudly against the calmness of the shop. The music had been turned down, the sounds of a piano playing softly in the background as Emma navigated her way through the setup. She stopped and stood in the middle of the room, her hands resting awkwardly on her hips, waiting for James to finish his work on the other side of the counter. She watched him wipe everything down with the rag before giving it a simple toss into the sink.

He then prepared two cups of hot chocolate as Emma lingered, swaying side to side on the balls of her feet. He topped them off with whipped cream, and he certainly hadn't forgotten her love of cinnamon. James carried the cups to them, settling down at two large leather seats situated in the center of the room. "So what brought about the decision on tonight, darling?" he asked finally. "Did your boy convince you to come? Never thought I'd see you again, I was terribly disappointed." He didn't look disappointed to her – that smile said otherwise.

Emma seated herself across from him, and he crossed his arms against his knees, bending forward.

What did Emma want to talk about? She hadn't thought much of it. Perhaps it was something Henry had said – or didn't say – that had brought about certain urgency to find out more about this man, and about the curse. Her mind was blanking. Maybe she did want it all to be real, and maybe she wished to believe that her family was in this town, their memories locked away in the furthest depths of their consciousness. No, this is ridiculous. All of this was, and here Emma was – sitting in an empty coffee shop with the man her son believes to be Captain Hook.

It was spiralling out of her control.

Emma laced her fingers together uncomfortably, the palms of her hands balmy against each other, while James waited meekly, and drawing shapes on the table with the tip of his finger. "So what do you know about the curse?" she inquired at last, and James rested against his chair, sinking deep into the cushion.

James blinked several times, not saying much of anything before he brought his drink to his lips, the same foam moustache Henry wore now on James' lips. He licked it away and Emma spotted his fingers tapping nervously against the cup, his hand tightening around the handle. "The most I know is that your boy believes me to be a pirate," he began to explain. "How he managed that conclusion is far beyond my comprehension, love, but that's all I can tell you."

Emma relaxed her chin against her hands, propping herself up on one elbow against the arm of the chair. "Nothing about your story, or something that explains who you might have been pre-curse?" Why this mattered so much, Emma didn't know. All of these questions were hammering away at her head, and she hadn't the slightest clue as to how they got in there. Her lack of interest from the past was dwindling, being rekindled as an insistent and pesky curiosity.

James shook his head. "He seems to believe that my hook is hidden in Mr. Gold's pawnshop, but I didn't humour the idea and look. I tend to stay away from that man – he rubs me the wrong way."

"So you do know who you're supposed to be?"

"Well, the boy doesn't come often, but from my understanding, I'm Captain Hook; pillager and plunderer of the high seas, and feared by all of Neverland," he laughed.

"Did he ever tell you why he thought that?"

"Perhaps the biggest giveaway is my lack of a proper hand." James lifted his gloved hand and waved it at Emma, prompting her to blush, the guilt of asking showing on her face. "I've been told I also have mannerisms similar to those of a pirate." He pouted intently and sat back again. "Interesting arguments, to say the least, but I simply run a coffee shop in a small town. There isn't much more to it than that, really."

All of the things she was hearing now were what Henry had told her, but it didn't make it that much more believable. What she needed to do was to get her hands on the kid's storybook; she needed to search through the pages pertaining to 'Hook'. "He says that you… I mean, Captain Hook… are important to the stories before the curse," she cited slowly. "Did he ever talk to you about that at all?" Emma recalled Henry educating Graham on his fairy-tale counterpart not long before he passed. The huntsman, Henry had explained, with a wolf. The evil queen took his heart from him mercilessly in place of Snow White's. She quickly shook the thoughts from her head and anticipated an answer.

James ran his fingers through his hair, the dark strands falling back into place over his shining forehead. "Look, lass, I know you've taken a very sudden interest in this curse – for what reason, that's none of my concern, but I've told you as much as I know, or that your boy has told me," he put gently, his voice low and soft.

He didn't know, it seemed. "He also says…" Emma continued gingerly, unsure of her wording. The best way is to just say it. "That Captain Hook is out to kill Mr. Gold – Rumplestiltskin." She pressed her lips together and watched for a reaction, but his face remained straight and almost too indifferent. Emma was the sheriff, and once the safety of the townsfolk was in question, it concerned her. This was surely the reason for her pursuit.

"As far as I'm concerned," he said. "I have no plans to kill anyone in this town." He didn't take offense to the accusation – if anything, it humoured him a little, much to Emma's relief and confusion. "I'm certain I'd address those affairs immediately." His eyes widened then. "Unless that's why you came here tonight – to arrest me?" A smug grin cracked his face and Emma grimaced back. Oh, please.

It was likely that Emma was ahead of herself; chasing the curse and the identities of these 'fairy tale characters'… All of these people were real – Emma was real, James was real, and Mary Margaret could not possibly be her mother. None of them lived in this enchanted land, and James most certainly was not a pirate. Then what kept Emma coming back to his world? She could feel the denial clouding her judgement again, and she welcomed it. "Well, Henry seems to think that if you joined us in Operation Cobra, it would help you – ugh, Captain Hook – to forget his hundred year old revenge."

James tapped a considerate finger against his chin. "Hundred year, then?" he chuckled. "I look pretty dashing to be hundreds of years old, don't you think, sheriff?"

Emma sipped at her hot chocolate, and it caught in her throat out of surprise. She swallowed past the lump that was forming, coughing down what had lodged in there. "Wow," she sputtered. "This is really good." She took another sip, and another. Without a doubt, this was one of the best hot chocolates Emma had ever had – and she'd had a lot. The amount of cinnamon was perfect in proportion to the whipped cream and frothy hot chocolate underneath – it wasn't too overpowering, but she could still taste it. Her face turned pink when she spotted the smile James gave her, and she looked away.

"Well, whatever it is you're doing, sheriff Swan, I must say, it is most certainly drawing me away from what revenge I may have been unknowingly plotting," he proclaimed, and Emma almost choked again.

The warmth in her cheeks was spreading and quickly growing hotter. It was only the drink, she told herself. It was hot in the shop and that must have been it – although the shivers creeping up her arm were unexplained. "I'm glad to hear that, Captain."

James lifted his cup, and she hers, and they clinked them together, giggling through their loud sips, the heat nestling in Emma's stomach. It had been an eternity since Emma felt like this – she could joke about the entire situation without any repercussions. No one was demanding that she take responsibility for the happiness of the entire town, or telling her that she was mad for not believing, or for that inkling in the back of her mind for wanting to believe.

"I would love to join your operation, Swan," he said after a while. "If that's what would make you and your lad happy, then I'd be more than willing to oblige."

Emma tilted her head at him. "You'd do that for Henry?"

"Aye, of course I would," he nodded. Emma spotted a redness surfacing on his skin, too. "If that's what would make you happy, love."

"I – that would make Henry really happy to know that you're on board," she asserted. "As silly as it sounds."

James held his cup up at her again. "There's nothing wrong with a little adventure in one's life."

"I suppose not," Emma said happily, and she took another large gulp with him. A glass of whiskey would do some good right about now.

Emma hadn't paid much attention to the time – how much longer she had stayed, she wasn't certain, but she didn't dare glance at her watch when they had finally gotten to their feet. The two of them talked for a while, mostly about Henry and his stories of the curse and his storybook. Emma took the time to explain who he believed the townsfolk to be. James was most shocked to hear about Mary Margaret, the modest school teacher, and that she was Snow White, the bandit, and Emma Swan's mother.

"Well, you do have her chin," he had commented, and Emma rubbed the palm of her hand against it, having heard that before.

As they crossed to the door, Emma looked back at James and jingled her car keys at him. "Need a ride home?" she asked across the empty café. It was a chilly night compared to others – though, it wasn't raining at least – and she didn't want to leave without an offer, after the free drinks he'd given her. Okay, two.

"Nah, I'll be alright, love. I don't live too far from here." James held the door for her and locked it behind them. "I live just around the corner. It's handy, living near your business." He pointed down the block. "Just get yourself home safely, alright lass?"

Emma tucked her curls behind her ear and could barely stifle that smile that forced its way onto her lips. "Yeah, you too," she said quietly, her throat dry.

The two of them remained speechless for an instant before Emma gave an awkward pat on his shoulder. "I'll let you know when the next Operation Cobra meeting is," she muttered as she unlocked her car door.

They both spun away from one another at once, Emma to her vehicle and James turned down the road. When she gave one last glance over her shoulder, all she saw was his back as he slid his hands into his pockets.

Emma was about to climb into her bug when she stopped by his familiar voice calling out to her.

"Swan!"

She whirled around toward the echo of her name, and as she did, there was a warm hand on her cold cheek, and even warmer lips on hers. He was kissing her – he was kissing her. Emma shut her eyes and allowed her arms to drop to her sides. It was gentle, soft – everything that Emma might have imagined it would be – not that she had imagined it.

As fast as it had happened, James broke free, gasping for air.

"James?" Emma tried to shout, but it barely came out.

"Did you see that?"

The pit of Emma's stomach dropped and she took several steps away. This had happened before – history was repeating itself again, and Emma felt the panic rising. Not again. No, no, no, not again. "See what?" she spat, trying to stifle the dismay shaking in her voice. The twisting of her gut told her she knew the answer to that question, but the denial was quickly building up.

"There was a ship, water… a man dressed in crocodile skins," he explained through his heaving. He was fighting for breath as if it had all been drawn from his lungs with one short kiss.

Not again. "No, not again…"

"Not again what?" James pleaded, and Emma sensed the tension. He stood upright and staggered towards her, and all she could do was to distance her further. "The bloody hell is going on, Swan?"

My walls came down, she wanted to tell him. My walls came down, and I let you in, and you're going to leave. Just like everyone else. Just like Neal and Graham. Like her parents when she was found on the side of the freeway. There was a reason she kept herself so guarded, and now that they've come down, she was going to suffer again – she couldn't let it happen. Her body longed to scream the words at him, but there was nothing. She kept stepping away, her eyes wide and unfocused on James' anxious face. "You have to stay away." Emma held up an unsteady hand as if to tell him to stop. She stumbled into her car and slammed the door, locking it immediately.

"Emma, what–"

Her fingers gripped the steering wheel and the blood left them, turning her knuckles white and numb. Without a shake of hesitation, she accelerated, leaving James on the curb, his face distressed and bewildered. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry.

With Graham, nothing about it ended well – and it all began the same. The moment there was any possibility of solving the mysteries of this town and its people, something awful transpired, as if the curse forbade any of the townsfolk to discuss it. Everything about Operation Cobra was a bad idea, and bringing someone else into it should never have been a part of the plan. How was Emma going to break the news to Henry?

As soon as she had made it around the corner, she slammed on her brakes, the tires screeching to a halt. She set her car into park and allowed herself to let go. The tears welling up in her eyes blurred the lines on the road, and her ability to differentiate between street and sidewalk vanished. This was Emma's curse – cursed to never trust, cursed to never love or be loved. Cursed to always lose the ones she could care about, and who cared for her. The sobs came full force, and the tears stained her hot cheeks as she broke down into her hands, the cries muffled as if someone could have heard her.

Emma's hands curled into tight fists and she slammed them hard against the steering wheel. She felt the pain coursing through her hand and up her arm, but she was past caring. Her fingers coiled around the wheel and she sunk her head over her lap, the tears not stopping.

Not again…