October 2011

Every year, Emma told herself wasn't doing this again.

And every year, Emma found herself stopping at some bakery for a single cupcake.

A yearly ritual, because every deserved something sweet on their birthday, but she could never bring herself—and honestly, she hadn't always had the funds—to purchase an entire cake for a single person. For one thing, that was slightly depressing. For another, she would probably eat the whole thing in two days and that was really depressing.

Each year, Emma tried a different flavor. Never chocolate. This year's flavor was lemon cake with buttercream icing. The assistant at the bakery claimed it tasted like a "bright, little piece of heaven". Emma had scoffed, but she bought the little cupcake anyways and headed home, to her dark, empty apartment. Yeah, a real cake would definitely have been too depressing, she thought as she stumbled through the door, kicking her shoes off. The arches of her feet sighed in relief. She knew she should change out of her dress, try salvaging it, but a dry cleaner would have more luck with the wine stain than she would. Instead, Emma headed to the kitchen and pulled out the little box of star candles that had traveled from place to place with her for the last eight years.

The match flaming to life made her smile and she leaned down once the candle caught, watching the flickering light for a moment.

"Another banner year," she said.

I wish I didn't have to be alone today.

The wish surprised her. She hadn't made a birthday wish in ten years, not since her first and only birthday wish went so horribly wrong. Quickly, before the memories could catch up with her, Emma blew out the candle.

And then the doorbell rang.

That never boded well.

Emma left the cupcake, smoke still curling above the blue star and went to deal with whoever was bothering her at—she glanced at the microwave—nine o'clock.

Steeling herself to dispatch this intruder into her solitude, Emma opened the door with her resting bitch face already in place. At first, she thought someone had pranked her, but as she debated whether chasing the perpetrator down the hallway would be worth it, a clearing throat brought her attention down.

A shaggy haired kid in a blue jacket and striped scarf stared up at her, lip caught between his teeth.

"Uh…" Emma probably would have been less surprised by the Great Pumpkin showing up at her door. She wracked her brain, trying to remember if this kid belonged to one of her neighbors. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Emma Swan?"

Emma didn't think this could get any stranger.

"Yeah. Who are you?"

He rolled his lips together in a gesture that seemed vaguely familiar.

"My name is Henry," he said, a shy smile breaking across his face. "I'm your son."

The words blind-sided her. Everything stopped as her brain tried to process the words.

It's a boy, Emma.

I'm your son.

What. The. Hell.

The kid—Henry—ducked under her arm, bringing Emma crashing back to the moment.

This was a mistake. This had to be a mistake. There was no way this kid was—

"Whoa. Wait, kid!" She grabbed for him, but he was already past her and into the living room, taking in all the unpacked boxes that had been sitting there for over a year. "Kid! I don't have a son. Where are your parents?"

Henry turned to her, lips pressed tight again as he studied her.

"Nine years ago, did you give up a baby for adoption?"

Emma couldn't deny that she recognized him. The shaggy brown hair, the shape of his face, the way he saw right through her automatic reaction—it was exactly how she'd imagined Killian as a child. Which she absolutely hadn't imagined once in their whole year together.

Henry had her eyes though.

"That was me," he said.

Emma felt woozy. Fall down? Or throw up? The jury was still out on that one.

"Give me a minute."

She practically ran for the bathroom, though her stomach had settled by the time she closed the door behind her. Her thoughts? Not so much. She was already over how much he looked like Killian. Of course he looked like Killian, he was Killian's kid too. What bother her was this kid showing up at her door with no parents. Why? Things were supposed to be better for him. Hadn't that been the whole point of giving him up? The thought hit her in the gut and she grabbed for the sink to keep from falling to the floor. Breathe, Emma. She had given him up so that he wouldn't have the life that she'd had and he was standing in her kitchen. A runaway.

Just like she had been.

But why?

And what did she do about it?

"Do you have any juice?" His voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Nevermind. Found some."

Emma needed answers.

And then… Then she would figure out what to do.

She found him drinking the juice straight out of the bottle when she exited the bathroom. Yeah, he was definitely her kid. Emma approached cautiously, she wasn't entirely sure what to do with this strange kid. She didn't know what kind of baggage had brought him here.

He was nine for crying out loud.

But she knew what kind of baggage a nine-year-old could carry too well.

Henry spoke first. "You know we should probably get going."

Emma crossed her arms. What game did this kid think he was playing? "Going where?"

"I want you to come home with me," he said, smiling at her like it was the most natural idea in the world.

Emma was starting to entertain the very real possibility that her kid was on drugs. She'd seen younger. Snatching up the phone, she hit the call button.

"You know what, kid, I'm calling the cops."

"And I'll tell them that you kidnapped me."

Damn it. Most definitely her kid. Emma let out a breath. "And they'll believe you because I'm your birth mother."

"Yep."

"You're not going to do that."

"Try me." He smirked at her.

Most definitely Killian's kid too.

Emma tapped the phone against her palm. She was long past the days when a smirk could work on her, especially not a smirk from a nine-year-old. He had at least four more years before that one would work on any girls. Though, she had no doubt that it would probably as big a hit as his father's had been.

"You're pretty good," she said, leaning down to meet his eyes. His smile died and a little part of her died too, but she needed to get this kid back to the people he belonged with and she couldn't do that until she had information from him. "But here's the thing—there's not a lot that I'm great at in life, but I have one skill." She smiled. "We'll call it a superpower: I can tell when anyone is lying and you, kid, are." She hit the call button again.

Henry's voice cut over the dial tone. "Wait," he said, big, green eyes shining up at her. "Please come home with me. Please."

His smirk might not be fully mature yet, but the innocent kid routine? Oh, he had that one down pat.

"Where's home?" Emma asked before she could think about the words coming out of her mouth.

"Storybrooke, Maine." Henry gave a hopeful little half smile.

"Storybrooke?" Her gut clenched. She hadn't heard that name in ten years. "Seriously?"

Henry nodded.

Emma almost asked him to repeat the name, just in case she heard him wrong. Of all the places he could be from, he was from the one place she'd tried so hard to find…and the one place she'd given up on.

She thought Killian made it up.

Would he be there?

Emma shut that thought down. No way. He'd just been spinning her another fine story all those years ago to get what he wanted. She had no doubt that he'd moved on, found some other unsuspecting blonde to team up with and lead on until he got tired of her. A quiet town hadn't sounded like Killian's style then and no way was now.

Besides, all she had to do was get the kid back to Storybrooke and then she could head back to Boston.

Back…here.

"Alrighty then," she said. "Let's get you back to Storybrooke."

# # #

Henry wasn't a bad kid, as far as kids went. He waited patiently while she changed, asked where her bathroom was before they left—judging by what was left in the juice bottle, that was a good call on his part—and buckled his seat belt without her having to ask before settling against the window and pulling a giant, hardcover book out of his bag. Emma caught a flash of gold foiling on the cover, but didn't get a chance to read the title before Henry flipped it open and settled against the door, tilting the book to catch the street lights as they drove.

A real mom would have told him there wasn't enough light to read by.

Emma Swan was not a real mom.

That had been the whole point of giving him up for adoption.

"I'm hungry," Henry said as they pulled onto the freeway. "Can we stop somewhere?"

"This is not a road trip. We are not stopping for snacks." That sounded stern and vaguely parental. Hell, just being in the car with him was vaguely parental.

"Why not?"

"Quit complaining, kid. Remember, I could have put you on a bus." Emma shot him a glance and regretted it. He looked up at her with those happy, hopeful eyes. She needed him to understand this was a one-time thing, this was not a promise to stay. After this, she was out of his life. "I still can."

Henry scowled. "You know, I have a name. It's Henry."

Emma held in a groan of frustration. Her kid was apparently the kind of kid that took candy from strangers. Although, if this town was as quaint as the name suggested, he probably didn't know what a stranger was. How had he gotten this far?

"What's that?" Emma asked as Henry settled back against the seat.

"I'm not sure you're ready," he said, like he was the adult.

Emma glanced at the book. He had the cover at an angle, and she could see enough of the title now to guess what it said.

Once Upon a Time.

"I'm not ready for some fairy tales?"

Henry quirked an eyebrow, pity on his small face. "They're not fairy tales. They're true. Every story in this book actually happened."

"Of course they did."

"Use your superpower," Henry said. "See if I'm lying."

He had her there.

Emma sighed. "Just because you believe something, doesn't make it true."

"That's exactly what makes it true," Henry said with more conviction than she'd ever heard coming from an adult.

This was normal for a kid, right? Some of the most resilient kids she'd known in the system posssessed the best imaginations. Nothing bothered them for long, they could go into that world in their head and just hang out there when things got bad. Or maybe it was a family trait. Killian had never been one to talk about his past, not beyond the few vague details that slipped during the months she lived with him, but she still remembered the stories he spun on the nights the nightmares kept her from sleeping.

I'm pretty sure that's not how it went, Killian.

And how would you know, Swan? Were you there?

Emma bit the inside of her cheek. It took a long time for her to escape the pain from those memories and she would not start reliving them now.

"You should know better than anyone," Henry said, drawing Emma's attention back to the present.

"Why's that?"

"Because you're in this book too." His earnest eyes met her startled glance.

This kid had one hell of an imagination.

It worried Emma. Such a vehement dismissal of reality couldn't be healthy even for a nine-year-old.

"Oh, kid, you've got problems."

"Yep," Henry replied beaming up at her. "And you're going to fix them." He returned to reading, leaving Emma alone with the silence.

Starting another conversation tempted her. Silence meant time to think and time to think meant thinking about things she wanted left in the past. However, it appeared conversation held just as many dangers as silence. Learning more about the kid—and about that world inside his head—would only make it harder for her to let him go and that was the whole point of this escapade, wasn't it?

A look over at Henry made Emma's decision for her.

He was asleep.

Time with her own thoughts it was, then.

Emma focused on the road, Maine was a long way away and she needed to stay sharp.

# # #

Maine was apparently far enough away that it was subjected to whole different weather pattern than Boston tonight. The rain started pounding on the roof as they crossed the state line, loud drumbeats that roused Henry from his slumber. He sat up, his book sliding from his lap and thumping on the floor of the car.

"Good," Emma said, "I was going to wake you up soon anyways. I need directions."

"Um," Henry said. "It's near the coast?"

"Really, kid?" Emma said. She loosened her grip on the steering wheel. Henry was nine, she shouldn't be too hard on him. "You don't have anything else? Do you remember any road signs? Any other stops?"

Henry screwed his face up, rubbing at his eyes as he thought. "We stopped in a place called Belfast not too long after Storybrooke."

"Belfast? Isn't that in Ireland?"

Henry shrugged, a helpless grimace on his face. Emma resisted the urge to grumble. Instead she gestured to the glove box and pulled the car over on the side of I-95. "Hand me the map and the flashlight, kid."

Henry obeyed.

Emma searched for Storybrooke, but couldn't find it. She did however find Belfast and they were off again. Henry dozed off again after about fifteen minutes and Emma decided she could let him sleep. That was a mom thing to do, right? Then again, why did she care? She wasn't here to do mom things, she was just the delivery girl. Someone probably waited right now, doing very mom things as she wondered where her nine-year-old was.

At least, that was what Emma hoped.

She hoped he hadn't ended up in a home like she did. Or worse, ended up bouncing from home to home. When she gave him up, she knew that was a possibility. But he was a baby. Babies got adopted fast.

You didn't.

Emma bit her lip.

Nine years and not once had she questioned her choice. Until now. Until she met Henry.

Belfast came and went. Emma woke Henry, asking him more questions about where they were going. He provided little help and Emma had decided to pull off at the next town and find somewhere to get directions when she saw the sign that said "Welcome to Storybrooke".

"Well, I'll be damned," Emma said.

The road remained in the shelter of the trees for another mile or so before it rolled around a bend and all of Storybrooke lay before them, a perfect view of the sleeping town and the harbor afforded by the sloping of the hill. Emma caught her breath. No wonder Henry believed in magic. If she'd grown up somewhere like here, she might too.

She drove into town, past all the honeycombs of small streets and the houses with their white picket fences and kitschy garden decorations. The streetlights cast glimmering reflections off of the rain-soaked streets.

Yeah, no wonder Henry was so trusting. He probably knew everyone in this town, by sight if not my name.

"Okay, kid, how about an address?"

"Forty-four Not-Telling-You Street."

Emma hit the brakes so hard she was lucky they didn't spin. Henry stared straight ahead, the stoic look on his face so infuriating Emma wanted to shake him. She got out of the car instead. Water splashed up over the toe of her boot as Emma slammed the car door shut and took several deep breaths, resisting the urge to kick the tire. She probably would have if Henry hadn't gotten out of the car and trotted around to her side.

"Look. It's been a long night and it's almost…" Emma paused, staring up at the tall clock tower. The old-fashioned kind, the kind she had imagined when she'd watched movies like Anne of Green Gables as a kid, three stories up, the large black numbers easily visible against the stark white clock face. "8:15?"

Henry nodded. "That clock hasn't moved in my whole life. Time's frozen here."

"Excuse me?"

"The Evil Queen did it with her curse," Henry said with the same innocent, earnest voice he used when he said she was in his book of fairy tales. He tugged on the end of his scarf. "She sent everyone from the Enchanted Forest here."

Emma crossed her arms. It had to be past midnight and the damp breeze cut right through her jeans. "Okay," she said, hoping if she played along she might get something useful. She just had to imagine her kid was a bonds jumper—a very short bonds jumper. "The Evil Queen sent a bunch of fairytale characters here with her curse."

"Yeah, and now they're trapped."

"Frozen in time. Stuck in Storybrooke, Maine. That's what you're going with?" Emma couldn't help it. It was late, she was tired, and her jeans were sticking to the place on her thigh where the wine bled through her dress. And Henry was making this far more difficult than he first let on.

"It's true!"

"Then why doesn't everybody just leave?"

"They can't. If they try, bad things happen."

Emma had to hand it to the kid, he knew this story inside and out. She knew professional cons that weren't this good. Before she could come up with a new tack to wring information out of Henry, someone called out his name. Emma found a tall man in a long coat hurrying toward them. Despite his height, he didn't feel threatening, not with his plaid scarf and thick-rimmed glasses. Even with the massive umbrella he looked more like a frazzled professor than a midnight mugger.

A frazzled professor out for a walk with his dog.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked in a rough, slight nasal voice. "Is everything alright?

"I'm fine, Archie," Henry replied. The Dalmatian whined, snuffling at Henry's jacket. Henry's quick response told Emma the two knew each other well.

"Who's this?" Archie asked with a tentative smile and Emma's approximation of Storybrooke's population shrank.

"Just someone trying to give him a ride home."

"She's my mom, Archie," Henry said before Emma could steer the conversation to a more constructive topic. Like where his real mother (or father or both) lived.

"Oh. I see." Archie's smile faltered a little, his face shifting to perfect understanding far too quickly for Emma's liking. A million questions flashed in his eyes.

Emma beat him to the punch. "You know where he lives?"

"Yeah, sure. Just, ah, right up on Mifflin street," he said, gesturing and then nodding up the street, like he wasn't sure Emma saw him the first time. "The Mayor's house is the biggest one on the block."

Emma turned on Henry who suddenly found his sneakers enthralling. "You're the Mayor's kid?"

"Uh, maybe."

"Hey, where were you today, Henry?" Archie asked, cutting in on Emma's first real scolding. "Because you missed your session."

Henry fidgeted, bouncing on the balls of his feet and swinging his arms. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I went on a field trip."

A blind would spot that lie. Archie sighed, hiking up his slacks a little as he crouched down to Henry's level. Emma was impressed, most adults didn't usually take the time to talk level to level with a kid.

"Henry, what did I tell you about lying?" Archie tilted his head, eyes still on Henry who stared up at him sheepishly. "Giving into one's dark side never accomplishes anything."

"Oookay," Emma said, cutting off the lecture she heard coming. It was late after all. "Well, I really should be getting him home."

"Yeah, sure. Well, listen. Um. Have a good night and, uh, you be good, Henry." The man adjusted the leash in his hands before reaching out to give Henry's arm a quick pat. He smiled affectionately as he left, heading down the street.

"So that's your shrink."

Henry pouted. "I'm not crazy."

"Didn't say that." Emma shrugged, looking at Archie's retreating back and his now umbrella bobbing gently in time with his steps. "Just, he doesn't seem 'cursed' to me. Maybe he's just trying to help you."

Henry shook his head. "He's the one who needs help because he doesn't know." The earnestness returned, making Emma half wish that she believed him.

"That he's a fairy tale character?"

"None of them do. They don't remember who they are." He gave her an exasperated look and returned to his side of the car.

Emma chuckled. "Convenient. Alright, I'll play. Who's he supposed to be?"

"Jiminy Cricket."

"Right, the lying thing," Emma said, pulling her door open. "Thought your nose grew a little bit."

"I'm not Pinocchio!" Henry emphasized his declaration with the thud of his car door, leaning across his seat and looking up at Emma with reproachful eyes.

"Course you're not. Because that would be ridiculous."

Emma was starting to think 'ridiculous' was Henry's favorite word.

He definitely got that from Killian.

# # #

Henry's house loomed over the street, the sprawling, white Victorian structure visible over top the massive shrubs blocking the yard from view. Whoever this mayor was, he or she liked their privacy. The knot in Emma's gut loosened a little, seeing where her kid had grown-up. At least, he grew up better off than her in at least one regard.

"Please don't take me back there," Henry said, trudging dejectedly next to her.

"I have to. I'm sure your parents are worried sick about you."

"I don't have parents. Just a mom and she's evil."

Emma stopped, turning to Henry. "Evil?" she asked. "That's a bit extreme, isn't it?"

"She is," Henry said, sticking his hands in his pockets and kicking at the ground. "She doesn't love me. She only pretends to."

Emma heart stuttered in her chest, the unease returning full force. Henry had to be exaggerating, the kid owned the most active imagination Emma ever encountered. Probably, he was just pissed about too many chores. He had to be wrong. She needed him to be wrong.

She bent down, trying to catch his eyes. "Kid… I'm sure that's not true."

As if in answer to all her questions, the door opened.

"Henry!" An elegant woman in a form-fitting, gray dress paused for a moment in the doorway before rushing forward. The look on her face stabbed Emma with guilt. Why hadn't she thought to have Henry call his parents before they left Boston? Moms—real moms—were supposed to worry about you and lose sleep when you stayed out too late…or trotted off to another city. Henry's mom ran down the walkway, her perfectly coiffed hair bouncing with each click of her high-heeled shoes. The woman looked the picture of a professional mom, the kind of mom that killed at PTA meetings. Throwing her arms around Henry, the woman asked, "Henry… Are you okay? Where have you been? What happened?"

The concern in her voice wiped away any of Emma's doubts. Henry was wrong, this woman loved him.

Henry jerked away from his mother. "I found my real mom," he spat before ducking past her and running into the house.

Emma cringed. Henry's mom stared at the ground, her shoulders caving a little and Emma's guilt doubled. Along with her frustration with Henry. Here he had a good parent who worried about him and noticed when he went missing, but he went searching for Emma and then used her like a weapon against his mother.

Dodging around the tall, lanky man that stood behind his mother, Henry pelted into the house. Had mom gotten a new boyfriend? That made sense considering Henry's behavior. Kids always challenged changes in the status quo. Maybe he felt left out.

Henry's mom studied Emma as if seeing her for the first time. "Y-you're Henry's birth mother?" she asked, her voice wispy like she still hadn't caught her breath.

"Hi…"

"I'll just go…check on the lad," Mom's mystery man said, interrupting the loud silence hanging between Emma and Henry's mom. "Make sure he's alright."

Another beat of silence passed before Henry's mother offered Emma a tight smile. "How would you like a glass of the best apple cider you've ever tasted?"

"Got anything stronger?" Emma asked.

The woman smiled. "Oh, believe me, I think you'll find my cider quite strong enough."

She turned on her heel, striding toward the door with a confidence that Emma wished she felt right now. Despite the invitation, Emma felt like an intruder as Henry's mom gestured for her to enter. The inside of the house loomed just as large and pristine as the outside, the vaulted ceiling high over Emma's head. A staircase curved up to the second floor. Hardwoods floors gleamed beneath her feet and Emma hoped there wasn't dirt on the bottom of her boots.

"Regina Mills, by the way," the woman said.

"Emma Swan."

Regina nodded. "Give me a moment, I'll get you a glass."

Emma waited, shoving her hands in her back pockets as she resisted the urge to fidget. She wanted to go. Get back in the bug and drive through the night until she got back to her apartment and her bed and her life, but she also wanted to make sure Henry was alright. She needed her doubts soothed, needed to know that for once in her life she did the right thing.

"How did he find me?" Emma asked when Regina clacked back out, two stout glasses in her hand.

"No idea," Regina said. Ice clinked as she prepared their drinks, the stopper on the decanter making a dull pop. "When I adopted him, he was only three weeks old. Records were sealed. I was told the birth mother didn't want to have any contact."

Emma shifted her weight. "You were told right."

"And the father?"

Emma took a breath. She never really thought of Killian as the father of her child. Oh, Henry wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. It took two to tango and all that, but he wasn't any more Henry's father than she was Henry's mother. He gave up that right when he left, just like she gave it up when she gave Henry up. Henry deserved better than both of them.

"There was one," Emma said, desperate to leave this subject and all the pain that came with it behind.

Regina set the decanter down, staring at her own reflection for a moment before asking, "Do I need to be worried about him?"

"Nope. He doesn't even know."

Regina turned, both drinks clutched elegantly in her hands. She appraised Emma, one eyebrow quirking up as she approached with the drinks.

"Do I need to be worried about you, Miss Swan?"

Emma accepted the drink Regina offered her. "Absolutely not."

Unsure of what else to say, Emma sipped her drink. Thankfully Regina's mystery man chose that moment to reappear.

"Madam Mayor, you can relax," he said. "Other than being a tired little boy, Henry's fine."

"Thank you, Sheriff."

The Sheriff. Now that Emma could see him in the light, the shiny gold badge was hard to miss. So not the boyfriend. The man hesitated a moment before nodding to Emma and striding from the house, pulling the door closed behind him.

"I'm sorry he dragged you out of your life," Regina said, leading Emma to another room. A library. Filled with shelf after shelf of books, the musty smell of old paper permeated the small room. "I really don't know what's gotten into him."

Emma shrugged. "Kid's having a rough time. It happens."

"You have to understand, ever since I became mayor, balancing things has been tricky."

The door closed behind Regina with a snick as Emma took a seat on an ivory sofa. Regina walked past her, though Emma didn't see what she was doing. She took a sip of the cider, trying not to fidget. This room was very much not her type of room.

"You have a job, I assume?"

Emma glanced back, setting her glass on the table. "Uh, I keep busy, yeah."

"Imagine having another one on top of it. That's being a single mom." Regina sank gracefully to the chaise across from Emma, giving a little tug to the hem of her skirt as she smiled tightly. "So I push for order. Am I strict? I suppose. But I do it for his own good. I want Henry to excel in life. I don't think that makes me evil, do you?"

If Emma didn't know better, she might suspect Regina had eavesdropped on her conversation. The comment was that specific. And yet, there look on Regina's face spoke earnestness. Emma hadn't caught her in a lie yet.

Emma reached for the glass of cider again. Regina was right, it did have a bit of kick to it.

"I'm sure he's just saying that because of the fairy tale thing."

"What fairy tale thing?" Regina asked, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

"Oh, you know. His book." That statement provided only more confusion, so Emma elaborated, "How he thinks everyone's a cartoon character from it. Like his shrink is Jiminy Cricket?"

Regina's confusion intensified. "I'm sorry. I really have no idea what you're talking about." She shook her head, delicate earrings swaying with the movement of her head.

Alright, time to get out of this house and away from this woman who was so well put together she made Emma feel like a child. Her questions about Henry's well-being disappeared with every passing moment. She had no reason to stay and meddle.

Emma shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. "You know what? It's none of my business. He's your kid. And I really should be heading back." She lifted the glass to her lips, eager to finish off the cider.

"Of course," Regina said, rising immediately and going to the door.

Emma threw back a quick swallow, taken aback by how quickly the other woman reacted. It was late, Emma reasoned, Regina probably wanted to go upstairs and fall asleep herself. Emma couldn't blame her. She wasn't looking forward to the drive home, she'd need to find a gas station or a 24-hour truck stop before she got too far.

With one last "Thank you", Regina saw her out and the door thudded shut behind her.

The house seemed a little too quiet as Emma crunched back down the path to the street. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Someone was watching her. She found the lighted window almost immediately, the small, dark head visible for only a moment before Henry disappeared and the light turned off.

Bye, kid.

"Sweet boy, wouldn't you say." The voice nearly scared Emma out of her skin. She whirled, keys already clutched in her fingers to find the Sheriff leaning against her car. He nodded, shoving his hands further into his pockets. "I'm Graham, by the way."

"Emma," she replied. "I have a long drive ahead of me, so if you could find somewhere else to …"

"I think it might be better if you spent the night." Graham uncrossed his long legs, impressing Emma with the way he kept his eyes on hers, instead of driving home his meaning by a long, lingering glance down her body.

"That's kind of forward," she said.

The sheriff shook his head. "I know Regina's drinks, I'd hate to get out the breathalyzer." He gestured up the road with one hand. "There's a quaint little B&B up the road, Granny's, it's a lovely place."

Emma was tempted, by more than just the idea of a bed and good night's sleep before she drove back to Boston. Graham was easy on the eyes and Emma almost asked if he'd like to join her in that room at "Granny's", see what it felt like to run her fingers through that dark curly hair of his. The perfect thing for her, one night and she would never have to see him again. Something about him reminded her of Killian though. The accent maybe. Or the way he'd called Henry lad. Or maybe just Henry showing up tonight and dredging up all her old demons.

No, she needed to get as far away from this place as possible. Away from her kid and away from her memories.

"I hate to disappoint you, but I only had one drink," Emma said, stepping closer, shoulders thrown back, doing her best to convince him that he didn't want to mess with her. "I'd blow a .06 right now. Well, below the limit."

Graham nodded, moving out of her way and heading to the squad car parked behind her. "Drive safely, Ms. Swan."

"Thanks," Emma said, sliding into the seat and starting the car.

She drove down the street, so intent on getting out of this town that she missed Henry's book on the passenger seat until she almost reached the town line. A glint of light drew her eye and she glanced down to see Henry's story book lying on the seat. Emma sighed.

"Sneaky bastard."

Before she could contemplate whether or not mailing it was an option, she glanced up.

A shaggy, white wolf stood dead-center in the road, staring her down with strange eyes. Emma jerked the wheel aside on instinct, the headlights flashing up on the "Welcome to Storybrooke" sign as her car's bumper crunched against it. The force threw Emma forward and her head slammed into the steering wheel.

# # #

The stars shone especially bright tonight.

Killian knew all of them by now. A proper sailor should always know the stars of whatever realm he inhabited. Luckily for him, he had plenty of time and—thanks to the abandoned library—the means to learn the ones in this realm. Some of them sported stories he recognized, even if he hadn't know the constellations at first. After all, any mythical pirate worth his salt knew of Pegasus—though the bloody constellation above him looking nothing like a winged horse in his opinion.

Still, they were a nice sight as he lay stretched on the deck of his boat.

It took him months, when he first came to Storybrooke to choose one.

At first, he feared getting caught by the owners of these vessels, but he noticed right off that few people ever came down to the docks. Just the harbormaster and the few fishers, and he quickly figured out which boats were theirs. The rest of the boats were woefully neglected and Killian hopped from boat to boat, finding occupation in caring for them. And as if turned out, he needn't have feared the harbormaster noticing.

After his first month in Storybrooke, the man approached him and handed him a slip of paper, claiming it was his pay. That threw Killian through a loop, and not just because he wasn't sure what to do with a bill of exchange in this realm. The man talked as though Killian had always worked at the docks, caring for the boats—none of them qualified as a ship in Killian's opinion.

After a year of hopping from boat to boat, determining which ones best suited his preferences he finally chose a little ketch that had seen better days, but sported blessedly few modern contraptions for him to deal with when he went sailing. It did have a fully functional head which pleased him, even if the shower was a little cramped. Nothing compared to the Jolly Roger, but it had a kitchen and a bed and he could fall asleep rocked in the embrace of the ocean. The name of this boat, however, was a bit unfortunate and Killian groaned to think how clever whoever came up with the name Miss Guided thought they must be.

Tonight the sea was still despite the earlier rain. He'd thought to seek some comfort staring up at the stars, but he found little. Today had been the day. In an uncharacteristic move, Killian spent all morning, afternoon, and evening in town waiting and watching. Considering that Emma owned no magic bracelet to weave her into the fabric of Regina's spell, he expected her arrival to cause some disturbance.

The only disturbance he noted was some business with the mayor's boy, though Killian hadn't bothered to find out what it was.

And then, like he did every year on October 18th, Killian returned to his boat and got blindingly drunk. Fall into the ocean and drown blindingly drunk, though he had escaped that fate so far. Drunk enough he could remember Emma without remembering that he remembered her in the morning. It was the one day of the year that he allowed himself to think about her and about how walking away still haunted him.

He told himself he was upset because he buggered his chance at revenge when he left her behind.

This drunk though, he admitted that was a lie.

"Happy Birthday, Swan," he said, raising the bottle of rum and knocking back the last little bit. He hoped she had a good birthday. That she'd found someone more worthy of a princess' affections, who would truly cherish her and keep their word. She deserved that.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would be done with this waiting.

To hell or high water, he'd get his revenge and that would be the end of it. Whether the Crocodile remembered or not.

He'd waited ten bloody years for this.

Bloody good waste of ten years.

Bloody good waste of time you could have had with Emma.

He shoved those thoughts away as he stumbled below deck. Emma held no sway over him anymore. She wasn't a part of his life in any way. He waited for her to show up so that he could have his revenge good and proper and she didn't even have the decency to show up to fulfill her destiny.

And he hardly ever thought about her anyways. He was just moping because he was drunk and it was her birthday and the starkest reminder of the year he had spent—wasted—with Emma.

Tomorrow.

Yes, his wait would be over tomorrow.


Woohoo! We're into the real story now! I'll warn you now, these first few chapters are going to involve a sad amount of Killian and look almost exactly like the the first few episodes. Killian doesn't really start to affect the plot until we get to episode 5 or 6, but it has been interesting to see how Emma' motivations become even stronger with him involved. It's been a fun thing to navigate.

Also, for anyone worried that Killian's going to repeat all of Neal's mistakes. Don't worry, Killian gets to make his own. Neal still gets to be Neal. I hate to give anything away, but I'll warn you, if you don't like seeing Emma with ANYONE besides Killian, this might not be the story for you. Emma and Emma's feelings are stubborn and complicated. When I said slow burn, I meant slooooooooowwww burn. But if I do it right, it'll be worth it (I have reasonable confidence that I'll be able to do it right).

Anyways, please let me know what you thought! And than you for everyone who is following.