Hello, wonderful followers of this new fic. Glad so many of you enjoyed the first chapter :)

Dear, Jones,

I admit, admitting your exclusion from the FBI and the CIA brought about mixed emotions. I've come to conclude that your name, your most likely agreeable and pleasing accent and musical talents are far more important to me.

But only by a small margin.

Oh, and please, I urge you to encourage Victor to consider using 'Jones and the pirates'. Tell him that Ruby admits it sounds very - how did she put it again, oh yes; 'indie coffee shop boy meets guy liner and sex appeal'.

Now I feel the need to ask, for sophisticated purposes, if you wear guy liner, Jones?

I greatly appreciated your efforts of inputting Greek mythology into your letter, however, seeing as Zeus has about the same recognition as Jesus; your efforts only go so far. Consider this your amateur-worthy reward; an enclosed photograph of one of my favourite places in New York, the harbour. I often go there in the early afternoon - never at night as what bold woman would venture out in such a terror-filled society? Certainly not I, Emma Swan, merely a lonely woman seeking the comfort of the sea.

You once asked if mythology is to me, as music is to you, and the answer is partially correct, though water is my one true love. I used to swim regularly as a young girl. No matter whatever foster system I ended up in, there was fortunately always a pool nearby.

I miss it. Swimming, I mean. Not the foster homes. Most carers and children were relatively decent, but I'll let you in on a little secret; it's rather lonely, you see. No permanent home or family or place to truly call yours.

So there you have it, Jones, a small, insignificant insight into the tragic backstory of Emma Swan.

I hope I haven't frightened you away just yet. It'd be a shame if I had; I rather enjoy awaiting these letters. Though I'd never admit it to Ruby - she's convinced we'll be married by this time next year, and there is simply no way I will allow such a victory.

(She bids a flirtatious 'hello' to Victor, do pass that along for her. If your roommate is as nosy and as unashamed as Ruby, then I fear we may have created something dangerous and possibly threatening to the entire world of dating. Those two would be unstoppable.)

P.S. Hades is definitely a better man, and God, than Zeus. I suggest you watch 'Hercules' and see if your opinion shifts. Consider Disney films another Swan speciality.

P.P.S. I don't suppose I could receive a special tour around the Killian Jones life vault? If you wish to learn about my life, I see it only fair that I return the favour.

Sincerely, Swan.

Giving the letter yet another once-over, Emma shook her head, as though to visibly remove any doubt, before carefully folding it in two and sealing it inside a pale brown envelope with one final push.

She anxiously considered removing some of the rather personal statements - foster homes, the harbour, or her direct interest in Killian's life - but after a moment of uncertainty relapsed back into bravery, Emma allowed herself a brief feeling of vulnerability and sealed the letter with a small, yet intimate, portion of her life.

Words, confessions and insights had seemed to flow straight from her thoughts onto the paper. Each flick of a wrist and new line signalled a natural flow that was surprisingly peaceful. Emma had yet to feel completely uncomfortable or pained by their conversations. In fact, Killian's letters only ever brought comfort and a quiet, tender fondness that had quickly danced into Emma's life.

They'd been writing to one another for a few weeks now, and each letter seemed to grow longer, more profound in honesty, and growing bolder and daringly intimate with each signature.

During this time, Emma had only ever emitted one, small white lie to Killian. That was the omission of her definitely impressed reaction to his research skills and clear interest in her life, interests and every little quirk and bump in-between.

It, instead, had made an instant impression.

Not one guy Emma had ever dated or even so much as spent time with had been interested in her rather shameful passion. All things myths and historical were a personal joy she'd separated from dating. The fact that Killian Jones, a seemingly ordinary - though clearly charming and intellectual man - she'd only shared a handful of letters with went out of his usual way to pay homage to Emma's interests was deeply flattering.

"I see that smile, miss I-hate-dating-websites."

"Ruby."

"What? I'm only pointing out the painfully obvious fact of life."

"Which is?"

Surprisingly silent for a moment, Ruby slowly tilted her head at Emma; her dark eyes playfully alight with a child-like glee. Her grin was infectious. "That Killian Jones is your exception."

Emma turned away from her roommate with a dry eye-roll, but forced a quiet cough to hide a blossoming bashful smile.

Dear, Swan,

I felt a little out of depth after reading your recent letter. Scarily, and wonderfully bewilderedly so.

There have been very few people in my life who I feel comfortable expressing platonic intimacy with, though I'd like to consider myself a fairly approachable gentleman. Words cannot express how lucky I feel that you trusted me with your past. I understand all to well that the past can not only become a consuming place, but can also bury away deep inside for years and years until it threatens to devastate not only memories, but the present too.

I enjoy the company of the sea too. The photograph of the harbour looks like something straight out of an Indie film. I hope you can take me there one day. If you'd invite me into your tiny, special pocket of the universe by the sea, that is?

So thank you, for sharing a part of your past with me, Emma. Truthfully, I searched for words that would truly and wholly express the recognition and connection I felt whilst reading it, but I felt it best to show you my understanding through a little backstory of my own.

See, loneliness and loss of family are two things I also know very well.

I lost my older brother, Liam, when I was fourteen years old. He had only recently been promoted to Vice Admiral in the British Royal Navy, and was travelling across the sea to England when the crew encountered a navigational error and crashed into an unexpected rock. The funeral was dreadful. A roomful of sailors, family and friends who knew Liam in ways that a younger brother never could. It wasn't my finest moment. I said awful things to people I love and have carried around regret for too long, and not long enough.

Forgive me, Emma. I promise I'm not trying to buy your pity or sadness. I only hope to return the same level of trust you were kind enough to share. Even if it draws you away from our talks, I'd like to be honest.

I expect you're wondering why I enjoy the sea so adequately if my only sibling died in it. Well, perhaps that is self-explanatory. It simply takes me closer to Liam. Each memory seems to linger in the water - you'll have to excuse my completely ridiculous discourse, but I find it profoundly easily to slip into Shakespearean tongue whilst armed with a quill, ink pot and paper.

(Yes, I do in fact, own an ink pot.)

(And also, yes, it's taken me many attempts to master even vaguely decent handwriting)

(But I write in ink only for you, Swan.)

Joking aside, I'm very fortunate to have had music as my moral compass after Liam died. Without it, I doubt I would be sitting here writing to you.

Speaking of music, let me move on to lighter news. The new band I mentioned before has its first recording session this week, which I am most looking forwards to. I've been working on a few songs that I can't wait to check out in the studio - yes, an actual studio. Can you imagine my excitement?

(Anchors and shipwrecks is most definitely one of those songs)

(Also, I'm afraid I must inform you that Victor is as equally intrigued by your Ruby as I am of you, my lovely, Swan.)

I feel offended that my research didn't impress you, but I'll let you in on a secret of my own; I love a challenge. Therefore I have been digging further into the mythology archives to impress you. Be prepared to be amazed and dazed by Killian Jones and his newfound knowledge.

Are you prepared, Swan?

So, welcome to Slavic mythology 101 class with Professor Killian Jones. (Also, yes; you may gain extra credits via bad jokes - I'm a sucker for literary and musical puns.)

Fact no.1: Oźwiena is the Russian God of echoes. Believe me, this lass is terrifying, Swan. If you come across her on a bad day, she can twist and manipulate words. She's known for re-creating hero's stories into lies. Sneaky little minx, isn't she, Oźwiena?

Fun fact. no.2 (and my personal favourite): Sudz - this guy is a Polish god, by the way - decides who is destined for poverty, and who for riches. If Sudz throws gold at you, then bam - you've hit the heavenly jackpot! You've won roulette Olympus!

Oh, how wonderful. I now find myself out of line space. Do not fret, Emma, my dear, for I will have more fun facts for you next time. I promise. And a Jones never breaks his word.

At a risk of sounding like the hopeless, acoustic singer-turned bashful kid hiding behind pen and paper I truly have become, I'm going out on a limb here and hoping you enjoy these letters as much as I do. If that is so, then I would like to call you, if I may.

I understand should you decline, Swan, please do not feel under any obligation to me whatsoever.

Until next time,

Jones.

P.S. I'll leave my details below, should you decide to take a leap of faith.

P.P.S. That was indeed a metaphor. Please do not hijack a boat to Ireland to meet me. However romantic that may seem, trust me, fishing boats are no place to travel long journeys on rough seas.

P.P.P.S. I do wear guy liner.

As soon as the letter was sent, Killian wished to seven hells that it could be returned before it reached Emma.

For the past few swift weeks they'd been writing to one another, he'd adopted this strange happiness whenever he was reading a new letter, or responding to one. It didn't frighten or scare Killian, but he grew anxious that it would be over before it truly began. And as someone who had lost a great deal, and gained very little, it was beginning to re-surface deeply buried emotions.

Liam.

He'd hardly spoken about him in years. In fact, Killian was unsure of whether even Victor, or their other close band mates, Robin and David, knew either.

Yet it had been easy to invite Emma into his loss.

Perhaps it was the ability to write without fear of physically participating in Emma's reactions. Though Killian was certain every word they'd both written hadn't been edited. Some lines had been scribbled due to mistakes, or topic irrelevance, but the strength of emotion and honesty lay clearly visible within in each letter.

Therefore, asking Emma to call him seemed the most appropriate course of action. It didn't force anything, merely suggested a step forwards. Killian was desperate to know whether their connection was simply platonic and friendly on paper, or that it would only grow in the reality of everyday life.

He stared at the post-box for one painfully long minute before setting his shoulders firmly straight, his chin up, and a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

No.

Oh, no.

Why did he have to...?

Emma exhaled loudly in frustration, and began to rub a firm hand in circles across her damp forehead and temple.

What the hell are you thinking, Killian Jones?

She'd paced out to the harbour as soon as she finished reading Killian's latest letter. The sea and breeze didn't offer its usual comfort, however, and Emma instead only felt the pressure of his words - despite his intentions having positive contrast - digging into every past wound and scar.

It would be easy to close the letter, change her postal address and never speak or hear from Killian again.

Listening to the sudden increase of her heartbeat, and the dampness spreading across the nape of her neck, Emma realised with a sigh that this decision would only create yet another bad memory.

She enjoyed Killian's letters. Very much so. Tending to be a pretty good judge of people, Emma Swan judged Killian through his clever, witty tone, but also through the unspoken words.

His understanding as to offer her his own number, without pressing for hers in return. Or the subtle inclusion of mythology - clearly showing interest in Emma's interests. All these small, yet recognisable details struck a happy chord in her, and she knew the next decision would, whether intentional or not, bring changes to their relationship.

It feels too easy. Far too natural and...well, happy.

She wrapped her jacket tighter. Despite the breeze thankfully cooling her burning cheeks, Emma still felt a bizarre mixture of heat, and cold. As though her indecision was reflected externally as well.

Strolling back to her apartment, Emma had more time for reflection. There were many things that, although she had shared with Killian, she still felt they didn't compare to events he hadn't been told of.

But then again, what right did he have to assume otherwise?

None. Emma declared to herself. None at all.

Her stomach clenched in protest and she groaned. Oh, hell. I should just call him and get it over with. What could be the worst thing that happens? We have little to talk about? Then we part on awkward terms and forget the entire thing. It wouldn't be the end of the world.

It was even worse to allow herself to think otherwise. That Killian may be as delightfully spoken as he was written. That they may grow fonder of each other and Emma would risk heartbreak once more.

What if he dislikes me?

I can't...

Yes, I will.

I'll call him right now, in fact.

Grabbing the phone with shaky hands, a moment of overwhelming desire to be proven wrong washed over Emma, and she clung to it with strong will. She ignored the tremble of her fingers. She ignored her heartbeat pounding loudly inside her ears. But mostly, Emma ignored every warning and constructed mental barriers and disregarded them with one clear moment of daring boldness.

Of happiness, and a delightful fear of the unknown.

Take a leap of faith, Swan - she could almost hear Killian already, and as she dialled the written number and bought the phone up to her left ear, Emma waited and waited, and then-

"Killian Jones." A low voice announced. "Who is this speaking?"

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