A/N: Hi guys. I'm so glad you were interested in the first chapter, so here is the second from Emma's POV. There's a shift in writing style from the first chapter because I wanted to show how different Emma and Jefferson's thought processes worked-Emma's thoughts being much more logical and Jefferson's basically all over the place^^ Hope you like and please forgive me for errors. Commas and apostrophes are my worst enemies.

Emma paced back and forth in front of Jefferson. Her leather jacket had all but been abandoned, tied recklessly against the swell of her hips while her black boots trudged through the dead leaves of the forest floor leaving a thin trail of footprints near the base of a tree. She tangled her hands in her hair in an attempt to busy them, but quickly dropped them and spun on her heel to face Jefferson.

She frowned as she glimpsed his huddled mass sitting loosely against a giant tree root—hair still perfectly disheveled and clothes still pressed and clean as if nothing had ever happened.

Jefferson had somehow planted himself comfortably on the ground, legs crossed and hands splayed across his hat. His face had settled into a pensive twist as his nimble fingers twirled around the brim, concentrating delicately on the ebony felt. The thin chain of handcuffs around his wrists rattled as he inspected the orange lining of the hat. The circlets of metal around his wrists only served as an unpleasant reminder of what kind of crazy situation she had gotten herself into.

"It's either the handcuffs or I could point my gun at you the whole time," she had told him, hand not hesitating to pull the gun out of its holster.

"I'm not going to hurt you," was his only defense, and she was surprised at how sincere he seemed. But this was Jefferson, the person who drugged her, threatened her— the same person who invaded her apartment and now had them stranded somewhere in the middle of the damn woods. The odds were stacked exponentially against him.

Without missing a beat, she had said, "Y'know, so far your record is rather shitty." And that was all it took. He shrugged his shoulders and tightened the second handcuff around his free wrist, and soon after promptly set himself on the ground where he remained while Emma paced back and forth trying to find some logic of the situation.

Emma was fed up it with the silence. The quiet unsettled her and left her with too many unwanted thoughts about magic and curses, and as much as she would love to just march off and leave him there, sitting promptly on a tree root, she had no clue where she was, and hacking through a forest in the middle of nowhere did not seem the wisest of options—although at this point it seemed the only option—

"Are we just going to sit here?" she exclaimed, body shifting pointedly at Jefferson.

His gaze remained on his hat and his fingers continued fiddling with the contours of the brim. "From what I understood of our last conversation, I presumed you had taken charge."

She shifted, eyeing him suspiciously. "I am not the one that got us in this mess. You brought us here, now get us out."

"I beg to differ, Emma." His eyes dragged up to meet hers and she stilled. They didn't seem as mad as before, but his voice seemed flat and agitated. Strange—

She sent him a pointed look, "How exactly is this my fault?"

Jefferson sighed and stood, dusting off the top of his black jeans as the handcuffs clanked together. He gestured to her with his hat. "You're the one that tackled me and sent us hurtling through the portal."

She frowned. Somehow he had failed to mention his sudden invasion into her apartment that started this whole mess. "We did not go through your hat!" she blurted. The last thing she wanted was for him to begin ranting and raving about magic. She had heard enough of it on their first meeting, and she certainly didn't care to hear about it on their second.

"Then pray tell, Emma, how do you suppose we got here?" He took a step forward, twigs crunching under his feet—snap —His eyes were beginning to shift over the plains of her face wildly, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. Almost manic.

Emma's hands shot up in a bout of frustration. "I don't know. You could have drugged me and dragged all the way out here for all I know!" And if she were being honest with herself, she wasn't quite sure if she were joking or not.

That seemed to flip a switch. The hat dropped and his hands shot up to run roughly through his hair while his lips mumbled incoherent words under his breath. Mad—definitely mad—

"You," Jefferson drawled while pointing at her, "are missing the point." He emphasized his words with a click of his tongue and a sharp glance toward her.

He began walking slow, wide circles around her, and Emma couldn't help but feel that this Jefferson was much more dangerous. This was so much different than when he confronted her in the tight quarters of his hat room, invading her personal space— desperate. But now his actions were not limited to the confines of a room, but rather the open space of a forest. As much as Jefferson's personal space issues were unwanted, when he was in close quarters she could keep a very delicate watch on him, determine his motives in those deep eyes of his that seemed to express so much. With him so far away, and with that manic look scrawled across his face, there was no telling what he could do.

Emma felt her hand instinctively drift above her gun holster. She didn't want to use it—God knew she didn't— but if she had to, she would.

"And exactly what point are you talking about," she continued carefully, angling her head at him as he rounded her right side.

She could feel his voice from behind. "First of all, there was no drugging involved."

"Excuse me for my surprise," she intoned sharply.

He rounded on her front again and gave her a curt nod of the head, lips pulled down in a small frown. "I humbly regret that. I am sorry." Her eyebrows furled as he made his way over to his fallen hat and picked it up. Was that an attempt at an apology? The sudden shifts in his personalities— desperate, threatening, apologetic—were leaving her befuddled.

"Second of all, it was a portal," he continued, briefly preoccupied with picking a stray leaf off the top of his hat. "Did you completely miss the part where the giant purple dervish sprouted up out of your kitchen?"

Still a smartass, though, she thought.

She did recall a flash of purple in the middle of her living room, a tussle in a swirling darkness, and then a hard landing on an even harder chest—but there had to be an explanation. A logical explanation— although it was escaping her at the moment—

A dream, she concluded. It must all be a dream.

"Thirdly, we're stuck here."

Emma stared at him. A beat passed.

"What?" Emma glanced around, trying to wrap her mind around his words. They were in a forest. They could just walk out of it and go home, right? She cut her eyes back to him. "Come again?"

"I said we're stuck here." His eyes were piercing, and even across the distance she could feel their intensity as if he were standing mere inches away. It was unsettling. And intriguing.

Emma gestured around her, to the giant canopy of trees and the natural foot paths at their bases. "We can just walk back home. I'm not sure where we are but I'm sure it's within walking distance of—,"

"How many times do I have to tell you, we are not in Storybrooke anymore! We came here through the hat. You saw it yourself!" His voice was cracking. Desperate. Frantic.

Emma gritted her teeth. "Well just spin your damn hat and get us home! If you did it once, do it again!" She mentally kicked herself. Giving into his magical fantasies wasn't going to get them anywhere.

He looked taken aback. "I can't! That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Jefferson was growing ecstatic again, pacing back and forth in front of her, speaking more to his hat than to her. "Something's wrong. It's broken. We shouldn't have landed here first—it should have been the Hall of Doors but instead we're here and now it won't work. Not enough magic."

Get it to work her mind yelled.

Emma watched in silence as he spun the hat on the moss covered ground. And it was just that, a moss covered hat. No sign of a giant purple smog lifting up out of the opening, no dervish, no magical properties—just a hat and nothing more—

Her heart almost clenched in disappointment.

Jefferson clung over the hat that was just a hat, mumbling under his breath and Emma could have sworn he heard him mutter the name "Grace."

She sighed.

Enough was enough. She had spent enough time chatting up this mad man. It was time to go home one way or another, magical hat or not—preferably without. "Come with me. Now. And walk in front," she demanded.

Jefferson glanced up, and Emma waved him over. "We're getting out of here. Now let's go."

"But the hat, how—"

"Oh for God's sake, Jefferson," she started, noticing him stiffen at the sound of his name. His eyes were not as manic as before, but they seemed sadder almost. "Forget about magic or your hat for one second, and let's get out of here the old-fashioned way."

"And that would be," he questioned, rising from the ground and steadily walking toward her. She poked him in the chest when he got just a little too close, and gently pushed him back. She was going to have to work out his personal space issues.

"Wandering around until we figure out where the hell we are." Emma grinned for a fleeting moment, when she saw a flicker of hope pass across his face.

He pursed his lips in mock agreement, "Sounds like a well thought out plan, Ms. Swan."

"Better than sitting here," she retorted.

Jefferson paused, comically pursing his lips. He nodded. "Touché," he agreed.

They stood for a moment, gathering their things, deciding on which direction to take. By the thick upper canopy, it was hard to tell what time it was, but Emma decided it probably didn't even matter. They would just settle on a direction and walk. East, she thought, East seems like a good direction.

Which way is East...?

Jefferson broke the silence and innocently held up his wrists, handcuffs dangling delicately between them. "Any chance you could take these off. They're not exactly convenient for a hike through the woods."

The key burned hot in her front pocket but she shook her head, "What's convenient for you may not be so convenient for me."

"That's not fair."

"Last I checked the person with the gun was in charge." She sent him a smart look, hitching an eyebrow, in which he replied with an equally smart hitch of his own.

"In a land of magic, Emma, a gun will not get you very far."

"Just watch me," Emma stated, re-tightening her jacket around her waist while trying to ignore the mention of magic. When she glanced up she couldn't help but notice the faint hint of a smile paint across his face and quietly linger in the dimples of his stubbled cheeks.

"That you will, Emma," he said, flipping his hat on top of his head and striding off into the dense willow of trees in a direction she could only presume was East.

Emma stood for a moment, lingering on Jefferson's fading figure elegantly walking among the trees—dark blue vest, black slacks, cravat wrapped neatly around his neck, and that damn hat—and for a moment everything seemed ethereal— magical—

She shook her head. Nope, no magic. Just a crazy guy with a hat. And in the split second it took her to snap back into reality, she realized just how far ahead he had walked. Shit.

"Hey, where are you going?" She ran quickly after him, stumbling on unearthed tree roots. "I'm the one in charge here." A tree limb smacked her in the face and leaves tangled in her hair.

"You did tell me to walk in front. Did you not?" She could swear she could hear that damn smirk in his voice.

"Yes—no—just keep walking," she grunted, ducking under a low hanging branch, stopping short just a few feet behind him.

I'm in charge, Emma huffed to herself.

Another branch smacked her in the face. She heard him chuckle from a few paces ahead.

Please tell me what you think :D