A/N: This took a while. My apologies. Real life required my full and prompt attention.

Belle had never wanted a bachelorette party. In her own words, it wasn't really her thing. Maybe it would have been Lacey's, but not hers. But from the first moment that she had walked into Granny's Diner with that huge rock on her finger that marked her as the future Mrs Gold, Ruby had taken it upon herself to ensure that the single girls of Storybrooke had at least one night of fun before their number reduced by one. And she wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Single? Aren't you with Whale now?" Emma had asked, when Ruby had stopped by her booth while she had been otherwise preoccupied with her scrambled eggs, to issue an invitation to said disaster-waiting-to-happen.

"Pshaw," Ruby waved a perfectly manicured hand. "I mean, yeah, we're seeing how things go. But curse or no curse, he's still a little bit of an asshole. I'm hedging my bets."

Fair enough, Emma thought.

"And what about you, with your hot baby daddy?" Ruby smirked. "I saw you two having pancakes yesterday."

"Yeah," Emma responded blithely. "With Henry. It wasn't a date."

Using Henry as a go-between served many purposes. Not only did it make Henry happy, to spend time with both of his birth parents, it also distracted Neal from his desire for one-on-one conversations of the intense variety. That and the both of them still had an awful lot to catch up on, where Henry was concerned. A few weeks of him living in the loft didn't even begin to make up for ten lost years.

But spending all kind of serious time with Neal was... confusing. She knew there were plenty of reasons she'd fallen for him all those years ago. Even now, twelve years later, she still caught glimpses of them. She may have been young and naive when they'd met, but even then she'd built up walls. Walls he'd scaled only too easily with his warm smiles. His mischievous grins. His street smarts. The way his voice would get soft and low when he was serious, the way his eyes seemed to betray a wisdom beyond his years. That last one made sense in hindsight. How old was he again? She'd thought of him at the time as an old soul. Yeah, no kidding.

Emma shook herself from her thoughts when she caught Ruby raise a single eyebrow at her, more with concern than disbelief.

"So if it's only "single" women, does that mean Mary Margaret isn't coming?" Emma asked, spearing her next mouthful of eggs with her fork.

"I..." Ruby trailed off, considering.

Having read Henry's story book, she knew that Red and Snow has been better friends back in the Enchanted Forest than Ruby and Mary Margaret had ever been. But she wasn't sure they'd really had the chance to reconnect since they'd recovered their memories, what with living from one crisis to the next.

"I..." Ruby started again, and faltered. She looked down at Emma, who was trying too seem as inconspicuous as someone can be with a mouthful of scrambled egg. "Would you... be okay with that? If she came?"

Emma took her time swallowing down her eggs, giving herself a moment to school her features.

"Why wouldn't I be okay with that?"

Why indeed. It's not like the transition from best friends/roommates to mother/daughter had been traumatic at all. What with the breaking of a magical curse, and finding out that the woman who you thought had given you up for dead was actually a fairytale princess. And then there was the portal-hopping. The rescue missions. The realization of her own latent magic. The Neal thing. The Hook thing. The Neal thing again.

Not to mention the fact that her parents were now trying for a new royal baby. One they could actually raise. One they could actually... One which by the sounds of it, they'd seemed to be trying for when she'd stumbled downstairs that morning, which could have explained her sudden desire for a Granny's breakfast.

Ruby was giving her a funny look now.

"What?" Emma asked, wiping her face with her napkin in a hurry. "Do I have something?"

"You're good. Just..." She wasn't sure if it was a wolf thing, or what, but she didn't like the way Ruby seemed to be reading her. Like he did. "If you need to talk, I'm around. Okay?" The offer was sincere. Emma could tell. She gave a small nod in thanks, the ghost of a smile.

"And you'll come to the party?" Ruby asked, her words straining with undiluted hope.

Emma had begged off the last "girl's night" citing Sheriff business. That seemed like forever ago now. Before the curse broke. Before... a lot. She could do that again. Ignore everything and concentrate on work. There was always something going on in this town, after all. But something about the way Ruby was so excited about it tugged at her. Being around Henry and his puppy dog eyes had clearly softened her up.

"Oh, alright," she relented with a groan. "Why not? David did a pretty good job as Sheriff, right? He can cover for a night."

Ruby practically squealed, earning her a scowl from Leroy, who was sitting with some of his brothers at the next booth over, and looking not nearly caffeinated enough for his liking.

Ruby hurried over to re-fill his coffee cup before he made a scene, shooting Emma a victorious grin over her shoulder.

"And don't forget to wear something hot!" she called back, with a wink.

Emma pretended she hadn't heard her, eyes cast firmly back onto the morning edition of the Storybrooke Mirror, but feeling the stares of the other customers on her anyway.

And then she actually bothered to finally read the headline, coffee spilling across the Formica tabletop as she rose from her seat in a hurry.

"Son of a bitch!"

So it turned out that when you tried to introduce a tribe of conniving orphan children, who are accustomed to a certain standard of violence, into a little slice of 21st century America populated by fairytale characters, chaos ensues. How about that.

Honestly, Emma wasn't sure what she had been expecting. The Lost Boys had seemed so cute and innocent on the trip back from Neverland, snuggled into the hammocks in the crew quarters of the Jolly Roger, listening intently as Mary Margaret told them a bedtime story. So docile they'd seemed.

She should have known better.

They wanted mothering, sure. They needed mothering. But they were still the same kids who'd been under the sway of Pan for who knew how many centuries. Who'd killed for him. She'd found local families willing to take them in, but it wasn't going to be a straight shot onto the honor roll at Storybrooke Middle School.

And then they'd laid siege to the place.

Of course they had.

Javelins from the Athletics Department had been commandeered as spears. The faculty had been barricaded in the teacher's lounge, with an axe wedged under the door. There had been a bonfire on the football field, fueled by a small mountain of homework assignments. There were teenagers running wild down the streets of Storybrooke wearing war paint and throwing rocks through store windows.

It was pandemonium.

All because Sidney Glass had taken it upon himself to write an op-ed on how the citizens of Storybrooke shouldn't be "harboring the lackeys of an evil sorcerer" without trial, and plastered it across the front page. As if he himself had not been Regina's loyal lapdog for who even knew how long?

The Lost Boys had seen the way the wind was blowing. Centuries of arrested development in the jungle hadn't left them at all equipped to deal with an onslaught of rejection, just when they were beginning to fit in. Emma knew the feeling. It was the same moment she'd experienced with every new foster family when things inevitably went south, and you knew you were going to be in a new school by next week, and all you were left with was the sinking realization that nothing good ever lasted. So they did what orphans do when they see the end coming. They struck first.

The next time Emma saw Sidney Glass she was going to punch him in the face, first amendment or no first amendment. Just as soon as she got all the spot fires out.

It took hours to round up the last of the Lost Boys. Even more to clear up most of the debris. A deal was struck with the fairies, so that the boys could bunk in the convent, until a more permanent situation could be found. Mother Superior promised she would keep a sharp eye on them. Oddly enough, it was the bargaining with the townspeople that proved the largest challenge of the day.

They'd all been worked up into a lather over it, of course. A contingent of dwarves, led by the Leroy (of course) proposed sending the kids over the town line, to try their luck in the world outside Storybrooke. A few others suggested corporal punishment. A great number instead chose to place the blame for the destruction squarely at Emma's feet. And with one raised eyebrow from Regina, who stood to the side of the hall where all the irate townspeople had assembled, she knew which camp she fell into.

They were right, of course. Bringing the Lost Boys back had been her idea. She was pretty sure if it had been left up to anyone else, they never would have never left that island. But it had still been the right thing to do. Emma still believed that, even if no one else did.

To his credit, David had stepped forward in full Prince mode, and gave a little speech about second chances, which seemed to calm the masses enough to put away their torches and pitchforks. Mr Gold, as the chief property owner in town, made some noises about "damages", but Regina sniped back something about the Dark One being unable to repair a few broken windows, and he slunk out soon after, scowl firmly in place.

Neal offered to be a mediator between the town and the tribe, and Emma accepted gratefully. She couldn't be sure whether the offer was a sincere one, or if he was simply trying to get back into her good graces. Either way, she'd accept the help. Whilst it hadn't exactly been smooth sailing, Neal had once made the transition from Lost Boy to 21st century man, after all, and lived to tell the tale. Emma could relate to the Lost Boys, but she couldn't charm people the way he could. She couldn't always get the words out, the ones people needed to hear.

It was best to let him handle it, while she worked on getting them back into their homes, back into school. Which was easier said than done. The faculty most definitely held a grudge now. And the families they'd been staying with had been shocked out of their happily ever after daydreams, and forced to confront the reality that the kids they'd been sheltering were real teenagers with real problems, and it wasn't all going to be sunshine and rainbows.

Emma had hoped to have Mary Margaret on side, to try to talk to the Middle School faculty, teacher-to-teacher, but as they made their way back to the loft after the meeting, she could see there might be some problems with that plan.

"I don't know..." Mary Margaret said, pausing outside the door to the loft. "What if staying in Storybrooke isn't what's best for them? I mean, living with Pan all these years..."

"So you think we should have just left them in Neverland, with the poison trees and the mermaids?" Emma responded hotly.

"Of course not!" Mary Margaret hastened to add, placing a hand on Emma's shoulder. "You did the right thing in bringing them back with us. All I'm saying is, what if we aren't equipped to handle them?"

"Equipped?" Emma shrugged off Mary Margaret's hand. "In our magical town with our magical mayor and our shrink who used to be a talking insect, you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Emma," she chided.

Emma had thought her mother's optimism knew no earthly bounds, but apparently, it did. Its limit was unruly teens. No wonder she taught elementary school.

"They're teenagers. You can't cure years of rejection with a bowl of hot soup and a bedtime story! It takes time. Rehabilitation takes time. For some longer than others." Emma knew a little something about rehabilitation. "I know that's hard. But where else could they go? The only people to ever escape Neverland alive are in this town. You think anyone out there," Emma waved her arm, "will better understand what they've gone through? Will know how to help them?! I know your first instinct as a parent is to just send them away, but..."

Emma bit her lip, watching Mary Margaret's face crumple in on itself as Emma's hasty words hit home. What she wouldn't give to take them back, as she watched her mother's eyes fill with tears.

"I'm sorry," Emma said quickly, in a much softer tone. "I didn't mean..." Mary Margaret held up a hand, and Emma's apology trailed away.

"No," said Mary Margaret, her voice choked with emotion. "I know what you meant." And without another word, she turned around to open the door to the loft, and disappeared inside. Emma stayed out on the landing, her insides burning with shame.

She hadn't meant it.

Not really.

She understood why her parents had sent her through the wardrobe, even if she still resented it. But after the way she'd given up Henry, could she really claim the moral high ground? They'd done what they thought was right. And she'd done what she thought was right. And now here they were, all living with the consequences of all of those good intentions. The road to hell was paved with them, right?

The idea of following Mary Margaret into the loft after that catastrophe wasn't an appealing option. Spending a few hours down at the Rabbit Hole in her company to celebrate the upcoming wedding between a dark sorcerer and a sweet librarian who was way too good for him had also lost its luster.

So Emma pulled out her phone right there and texted her apologies to Ruby, citing Sheriff duty. The stream of emojis she received in response were not happy. She stuffed her phone back into her pocket, even as it kept buzzing every time Ruby found a new picture to express her feelings, and pulled her jacket more tightly around herself as she headed back outside onto the rapidly darkening streets of Storybrooke.

The Sheriff's station was quiet. So quiet you'd never guess there had been something akin to a riot on Main Street a few hours earlier, if it weren't for the large stack of files sat by the ancient desktop computer, and the constant buzzing of Emma's phone in her pocket, before the calls diverted to voicemail.

A Granny's to-go bag took up the remaining desk space, containing the last few onion rings Emma had bribed Henry to pick up for her, in order to avoid a run-in with Ruby. But whatever energy reserves the food had given her at first were now long gone, her eyelids growing heavier as the words on her computer screen began to swim before her eyes.

She should really get some sleep. She didn't even have to go back to the loft right away, and face the recriminations. There was a cot in the holding cell that would do just fine for the night. She'd slept on it before, her first night in Storybrooke, though that seemed like an age ago now. It was surprisingly comfortable, even if the blanket was a little scratchy. But she'd had worse.

She was broken out of her recollections by the sound of the outer door slamming shut, followed by muffled cursing. No longer alone, Emma reached down for the desk drawer where she kept her gun.

"Who's there?" she called into the darkness, hands closing over the metal.

"Not really the trusting sort, are you, Swan?" came a familiar voice, and Emma relinquished her hold on the weapon, slamming the drawer shut and standing up to confront her late night visitor.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, arms crossed over her chest as Killian Jones strode around the corner with a swish of leather and a devil-may-care grin, still looking far too attractive for a man trapped under fluorescent lighting.

She'd seen him earlier, in the middle of the fray outside the hardware store, holding off a Lost Boy brandishing a hockey stick, as she sped past in the patrol car after Curly, who'd somehow managed to commandeer Moe French's Game of Thorns delivery truck. David had mentioned Hook had helped flush out the stragglers, who weren't coming quietly, but he hadn't been at the town meeting after.

"I merely came to drop off some paperwork," he said brandishing a manila folder Emma hadn't originally noticed. "I'm to understand that in order for the ships in port to be adequately compensated for the Lost Boy's latest temper tantrum, a member of law enforcement is first required to sign it off as an act of criminal malfeasance. And I believe that as Sheriff..." he placed the file down on her desk with a flourish, "...that responsibility falls to you."

"They wrecked the Jolly Roger?" She wasn't sure exactly when she'd come to care, but for some reason, the idea of anyone messing with the ancient ship rubbed her the wrong way.

"Over my dead body," he blustered. "The Lost Boys are frightened, but they haven't entirely lost their wits. They wouldn't dare." Emma rolled her eyes at his bravado. "A few of the smaller fishing vessels were not so lucky, however, and it is on their behalf that I've been sent on this errand."

"Wait just one second," Emma said, her mind racing, raising her hand to halt his forward movement. "Errand? You're the new harbormaster?!"

"Well, seeing as the last one is now sporting scales and is lost to your Atlantic Ocean, thanks to Cora, it seems there was an opening, and I without a lawful preoccupation. Seemed like providence, no?"

Emma was still trying to wrap her head around the idea. "You've... you've got a job?!"

Captain Hook, a card-carrying, tax-paying resident of Storybrooke? It did not compute.

He shrugged, leaning against her desk. "I confess, it isn't particularly challenging work. Because of the isolation afforded by the curse, there isn't much in the way of trade. Or any, to be more precise. But it does feel good to be a productive member of society again," he said with an overdramatic sigh, and a stretching of his limbs.

He almost had her. "You're so full of crap," she said, punching him in the shoulder.

"Aye," Hook chuckled lightly, rubbing his shoulder. "But I am the new harbormaster."

"Captain Hook, scourge of the seven seas, is making an honest living?"

"Is that what they call me in this land?" Emma didn't miss the way his eyes glowed at the moniker, or the way his chest puffed out with obvious pride.

"No," she corrected herself quickly, before his ego swelled too large to fit back through the door. It didn't deter him, if the wicked grin he shot her was any indication.

"Scourge of the seven seas," he repeated, letting the words fold over his tongue like an elixir. "I rather like the sound of that."

Emma snorted. "Yeah, I'll bet."

And then something occurred to her. Something that should have occurred to her sooner. Something that settled into the pit of her stomach like a stone.

"So you're really staying then? In Storybrooke. Like, permanently?" Her words were softer than before, but she didn't quite manage to keep out the tone of surprise. Her eyes flew up to his face, to gauge his truthfulness, but she was surprised to find him averting his gaze, his hand coming up to scratch behind his ear in his signature tell. He was uncomfortable. But why?

"Well lass, who is to say what is or what is not permanent in this life?" He began. "But yes, I intend to make Storybrooke my home. I think I could be happy here." His eyes wandered up to meet hers then, and for a beat or two, their gazes locked, Emma seeing more than she wished to reflected back by his blue eyes. Things she thought buried back in the jungles of Neverland. But surely that isn't what he meant. She was reading too much into it.

Shaking herself loose from the thought, Emma snatched the file Hook had left on her desk, and took a few steps back. "Well, you can consider your errand fulfilled. I'll type up the police report and send it over tomorrow. That should satisfy the insurance company."

"I'm much obliged to you," he straightened, bowing in a manner that was completely over the top, and annoyingly typical, but he didn't leave.

"Was there anything else?" She asked, after an awkward moment of silence.

He dropped his shoulders, his eyes growing softer. "You seem troubled, Swan."

Damn him and his you're-an-open-book stupid powers of perception.

"Yeah, well, the town was just set upon by Lost Boys. It's not exactly been a day at the spa."

His brow furrowed briefly at "spa", but his all-seeing eyes didn't look away, as they considered her. "It's more than that," he said carefully. "There's a celebration, down at the Rabbit Hole, in honor of the Crocodile's upcoming nuptials. All of the heroes are there. But not you."

"I've got a lot of work to do," she protested. He merely raised a single eyebrow.

"And... I'm not in the mood to celebrate," she admitted.

"Care to elaborate on that, Swan?" He asked, taking a careful step closer.

God, he was relentless.

"Yeah, I'm not talking about this with you," Emma sighed, as she collapsed into her desk chair, dropping the file back onto the desk and swiveling around to face him again. "You're hardly an impartial observer."

"Is that so important?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Uh, yeah."

"Well," he shrugged, "What I lack in impartiality, I make up for with libations." He pulled his flask from the inside pocket of his long leather coat, offering it out to her.

She shot him an unconvinced look.

"I'll have you know I make an excellent confidante, Swan. And besides, who else are you going to tell?"

He had her there.

Who else indeed. Who were her friends in Storybrooke, again? The people she'd thought she could count on? Graham was gone. August was a real boy again. And Mary Margaret... yeah. Now she had a 300 year old rum-soaked pirate with a penchant for leather and a hook for a hand.

She took the offered flask, savoring the burn of the rum as it trinkled down her throat. He took the opportunity to shift the stack of files over, and perch on the edge of her desk.

"It's just a thing," she waved a hand dismissively. "A difference of opinion with Mar- my mother got out of hand. I said something I didn't mean. She's upset. And now I'm avoiding her."

"I see," he said gravely, taking the flask back, and taking a swig for himself. "Well, I don't envy you that. I've seen the Lady Snow take out an ogre with a single arrow. She's not one to be trifled with." The tone was teasing, and Emma didn't think he was giving the situation quite the gravity it deserved. "On saying that," he continued, more seriously, "I think it's quite normal for children to disappoint their parents. And you've got years of that to catch up on."

"You know what?" Emma said, snatching the flask back from his grip. "You're really not helping."

"I didn't promise you sage wisdom, Swan," he reminded her, grabbing the flask back once she'd drunk her fill. "Just rum."

"Well, I suppose that's not nothing," she muttered darkly.

"Might I inquire as to what the disagreement was about?" he asked delicately, stuffing his flask back into his coat.

"It doesn't even matter," Emma shrugged. "We don't agree on anything anymore. She used to be my best friend in this town, and now it's like she doesn't know me at all. She's too busy trying to fit me into this mold of what she thinks her daughter should be, to realize that I'm not like her. I don't see the sunny side. I don't communicate via forest creatures. I don't like frilly dresses. I'm not supposed to spend the rest of my life with the first guy I ever lo-"

Dammit.

On a list of things not to talk about with Hook, the Neal situation was top of the list.

On the other hand, she couldn't talk to Henry about it. Ditto her parents. Their minds were awash in fairytale ideals like true love. Which was fine, if you lived in the Enchanted Forest. But Emma lived in the real world. She knew that not every frog turned into a prince, that time did not heal all wounds, and not all love lasted a lifetime.

Ruby would have loved to have this conversation, of course, but Emma didn't really trust her for this.

Hook, well, she wouldn't go so far as to say she trusted him, but she knew she could talk to him.

"Ah," he said at last. A moment of hesitation. "Are you saying you're not so keen on the reconciliation Baelfire is so set on?"

She sighed. "No, but I feel like I should want it, you know?"

A pause. "I'm not sure it works like that, love."

"Yeah," she mumbled. "That's kind of the problem."

"Well, to be fair, the man did cross realms for you. After surviving a shot from a pistol, no less. Some may consider that romantic..." Was he playing devil's advocate?

"He also left me to rot in prison because a puppet told him to."

"That seems... ill-advised." There was an edge to his voice now.

"I gave birth to his son while I was shackled to a hospital bed." Emma continued. "And I gave him up because I was young and scared and I didn't know what to do. I missed out on ten years of his life. There's some things you can't forgive. There are some wounds that don't heal, no matter how much you wish they would."

"Aye," he agreed, raising his hook, a trace of humor on his lips. "I think I know a little about that."

The laughter bubbled up inside her before she could prevent it, and she buried her face in her hands to stifle the outburst.

"I'm sorry," she managed, her laughter choking into a sob as she tried to get herself under control. "That wasn't even funny."

"Relax, Swan," he smiled. "If that's the price for your laughter, I would pay it a hundred fold."

"Whoa, Shakespeare," Emma said, her mind clearing. "Careful with the poetry."

"Shake spear?" Hook repeated, lost. Emma felt the laughter threatening again, his confused expression a picture she wanted framed.

"William Shakespeare. Poet. Playwright. He's famous for unhappy endings and florid language. I think you'd really like him, actually."

"You think I'm partial to unhappy endings?" He looked almost hurt.

Emma considered this. "Depending on the person getting the unhappy ending..." she answered honestly.

Hook opened his mouth to reply, when the sound of the external door slamming shut again had them both jolting upright, heads swiveled to the entrance as Ruby Lucas stepped out into the hallway, her steps across the linoleum floor on her very high heels as ungainly as a baby giraffe.

"Emma!" she called, her words slurring slightly. "Emma!"

She stopped in her tracks when she looked up, and her drunken brain took in the sight of Emma in her desk chair, and Captain Hook sitting casually on her desk behind her.

"That... is not what I expected," Ruby blurted out.

Emma looked from Ruby back to Hook in alarm. "It's not what it looks like."

She caught Hook rolling his eyes, as he stood up beside her. "Ms. Lucas," he nodded in greeting.

Ruby pointed her figure at him accusingly. "Hot Pirate Guy who stole the magic bean and left us all to die."

"I came back!" Hook protested.

"Hrumph." Ruby dropped down into one of the chairs reserved for visitors, returning her attention to Emma. "Whale ditched me for a redhead with an overbite. I need you to shoot him for me."

"Oh, Ruby." Emma rose from her chair to comfort the girl.

"I can't believe I thought he'd changed," Ruby began to sob, a mascara-streaked tear sliding down her face.

Hook looked startled at this turn of events. True to form, even the most daring men of action were laid low by the sight of a crying woman. "And I do believe that is my cue to leave," he said, making backwards steps towards the door. He turned to Emma. "You'll be fine with her?" Emma just rolled her eyes, and nodded.

"Excellent." He clapped his hand on his hook. "Good night, Swan. Ms. Lucas. Should I happen upon the good Doctor, I'll be glad to give him hell." And with a final bow, he made his retreat out into the night.

Emma searched her desk drawers for a spare sweater, which she wrapped around Ruby's bare, heaving shoulders.

"So is... that the reason... you're not... back together... with Hot Baby Daddy?" Ruby asked, between sobs, motioning at the door from which Hook had just vacated the premises.

Emma sighed, tying the sweater at the front. "Not exactly."

"But it's a... factor, right?" She asked, eyes shining with tears.

"C'mon," Emma said, wrapping an arm around the girl's waist to steady her. "Let's get you home."