Sorry for the delay. I had a major case of Captain Swan-induced ADD after the finale!

Emma was exhausted. Her lower back was aching, her feet were killing her and even though it was nearly midnight, Neal was still texting her, refusing to take a hint. Slipping into her apartment, she closed the door and leaned on it, kicking off her heels with a heavy sigh. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten in about 12 hours. She dropped her head back with an audible thump, pondering whether or not she had anything edible in the house and if it was worth the effort to check.

Thinking about that was a nice distraction from remembering her own epic screw-up: namely, the fact that she had basically escorted a master thief through her own security, thrown herself at him and let him steal a family heirloom right off her neck. The worst of it was, if she wanted to report her necklace stolen, she'd almost certainly have to tell her father what she'd done.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She glared down the dark hallway, remembering that he must have broken into her place at some point and read her journals. There's no other way he could have come up with all that stuff about her parents, their kingdom and Killian Jones.

She tried to ignore the voice in her head reminding her that he knew things that she'd never written down anywhere.

None of that was real. It couldn't be.

Heaving another sigh, she plodded down the hall toward the living room, planning to collapse on the couch and forget for a little while that this night had even happened.

Unfortunately, the couch was already occupied.

Jack Rackham-slash-Killian Jones —or whatever the hell his name was — was sprawled on her couch like he owned it. He'd tossed his jacket over the back of the couch, lost the tie and unbuttoned the shirt an indecent amount, showing off the dark hair curling over his chest. He was reading a book — she couldn't see what it was — and drinking a beer, which he used to salute her just as though he hadn't stolen from her a couple hours before.

"Swan, I thought you'd never get here. The gala's been over for hours. You work too hard." He sat up, tossing the book on her coffee table while she stood frozen. He sat the beer next to it on a coaster. He might be a thief, but at least he's considerate, she thought, only slightly hysterically.

He stood, and the motion released her from her own momentary paralysis; turning, she ran for the door. She never even heard him behind her until he caged her, hands planted on the door on either side of her, body pressed against her back. She tried to stomp on his instep — which would have been much more effective had she still been wearing her heels — but he anticipated the move, pulling his foot out of the way and pressing her more firmly into the door.

"You bastard," she hissed, trying — and failing — to access more of her self-defense training. What was next? A sharp elbow to the gut? She didn't even think she had room to try that.

"Swan. Emma. I'm not here to hurt you," he said. "We just need to talk."

He sounded sincere, but that evening had made it crystal clear that she couldn't trust her instincts where he was concerned. Before she could decide how to react, she saw something flash out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head to find him dangling her pendant in front of her face.

"Look, I've brought your necklace back. A peace offering?"

Taking a deep breath, she turned slowly around, gritting her teeth as her body brushed his on the way.

Interestingly, she saw him swallow hard and take a half-step back so they weren't touching anymore. She held out her hand, and he dropped the pendant into it, slowly letting the chain follow until he folded her hand around the whole thing.

"I'm sorry, love," he said in a low voice, running his thumb over her knuckles before releasing her hand. "I simply thought if I took the necklace and then returned it, you might realize that you can trust me."

She laughed shortly. "Fool me once …"

"Look, when I took this job, I didn't know who you were." He held her eyes with his, as though begging her to see the truth in his words. "I didn't remember anything. But now I know, you're my … princess. I'm supposed to protect you, Emma. I'm supposed to help you break the curse."

"The curse." She nodded, smirking. "Right."

"I know how it sounds. But it's the truth."

"Okay, if it's honesty hour: Were you there for my necklace all along?"

He sighed. "Aye. I was hired to take it. But I was planning to keep it for myself, if you want the whole truth. I've been dreaming about it for years, and I thought it might help me remember my past. Instead, you helped me remember; it all came back when we kissed."

She frowned at the mention of the kiss, then focused on something less personal. "Why would anyone want you to steal this? The emerald is probably worth something, but most of its value to me is sentimental."

He took her hand again, still curled around the pendant. "It's magic, Swan. Can't you feel it?"

She definitely felt something, but she was pretty sure it was more about him and less about the necklace. She mentally kicked herself. The guy was a thief. He'd stolen from her and broken into her apartment. He'd physically prevented her from leaving. She should be afraid — or at the very least, angry. She should be using his distraction to kick him in the junk and get away, grab her gun, call the police.

She shouldn't be thinking about the kiss or how just touching his hand made her feel warm all over.

Dammit, Emma, focus.

"I don't feel anything," she lied. "And I don't believe in magic."

He frowned. "Neither did I, love, but that doesn't mean it isn't real."

When she just stared at him, he sighed, scratching absently behind his ear. "Look, Swan —" A particularly loud and insistent rumble from her stomach interrupted whatever he'd been about to say, and she blushed as he laughed. "Come on, then. You must have some food around here. You eat, and I'll tell you what I remember. Then you can decide if you're going to have me arrested or let me go."

He turned his back on her and headed for the kitchen. She had a taser within easy reach; she could grab it and take him out. She could run, barricade herself in her room (where she had a gun), call the police.

Instead, she followed him wordlessly into the kitchen.

He headed straight for the fridge and started rummaging around.

"Not much in here," he said. "Hmmm, how does a grilled cheese sound?"

Cautiously, she watched him as she slipped onto a stool at the big center island counter. "Sounds good."

It was one of the most surreal moments of her life, sitting in her kitchen watching a thief make her a grilled cheese sandwich while he told her a fairy tale.

He told her about his mother, a lovely, sad woman whose husband had left her with two sons and no money. She was ill and died when he was very young, leaving his older brother to care for him. Liam was 10 years older than Killian and had entered the royal navy at 16, leaving his brother in the care of an aunt. When Liam had died in service of the crown six months later and could no longer pay for his brother's upkeep, the aunt tossed the boy, only 6, out on the street.

Emma ate her sandwich and listened in silence, trying to ignore the feeling that she knew all this. She'd heard it before. She felt a sort of kinship with him, even if his story was ridiculous. He was an orphan, like her, but unlike her, he'd never found a home.

"Another naval officer knew about me," he said. "I guess it must have gotten back to your father, because one day a couple of the dwarves found me on the streets and brought me to him."

"My father, the king," she said.

He smiled. "Right. He said my brother was a hero, and he wanted to help me. He offered me work in the kitchens and a place to live, only so long as I always attended lessons with his daughter. You."

She pushed her empty plate away. "You understand that this all sounds crazy."

"Aye." He leaned on the counter. "The last few years, I've done some jobs for a group called the Home Office. Most of the items I've … procured for them have a certain feel to them. It's hard to explain, but it's like your pendant."

"Magic?" She didn't believe, of course, but she wanted — needed — to hear it all.

"Magic. The night after I took the first item, that's when I started having the dream. Of the last day at the castle, when the curse hit. It took a while before I remembered more details, but I can see it so clearly now."

He spoke of her mother saying goodbye, of hallways filled with the sights and sounds of battle, of her father fighting off clusters of black knights single-handedly. And she could see it all in her head, just like her memories; worse, she knew what came next. She couldn't stand to hear him talk about watching her father be stabbed, maybe killed. Though she told herself over and over that it wasn't real, the memory still burned.

"No," she interrupted. "I don't want to hear the rest."

He paused, looking at her — looking into her — before nodding slowly. "After … after everything, we went through the wardrobe. It was made from a tree, and it was a very tight fit, but we managed. There was kind of a rush … it's hard to explain."

"Like the first drop on a roller coaster," she said softly.

"Exactly like that," he said, nodding. "And when I finally opened the door again, we were in the forest. We'd no idea where we were. We could have still been in the Enchanted Forest, but it felt different somehow. And then when I saw the cars and electric lights I knew we were in a different realm."

Someone had called the police, and Killian had made up a story. "You hadn't said a word since we came through, and you wouldn't even answer me when I asked if you were all right. So I told them that I was an orphan, and I'd found you wandering in the forest alone. I said you'd only told me your name was Emma, and hadn't said another word."

He paused, as though to let her speak, but she didn't know what to say. She thought she remembered, but this part was much less clear in her mind. She'd never even tried to write these memories down.

"It wasn't until the social worker was taking us to a group home that I realized I should have told them we were siblings, so we wouldn't be separated. But I was only 8; I just told them the first thing that came to mind. I was trying to figure out how to get around that when the accident happened. I think we were hit by another car; it's not very clear. When I woke up later in the hospital, I didn't remember anything, not until the dreams, not until I met you."

Emma felt strange, almost as though there was a disconnect between her body and her mind. Everything around her slowed, except her heart, which seemed to be about to beat right out of her chest. If she accepted what he said, her whole life could change. If it was true, then her parents — her mother, at least — and the other people of the Enchanted Forest were depending on her. It wasn't a responsibility that she'd asked for, and she didn't want it, couldn't handle it. She barely had a handle on her life as it was. Henry was her priority, and her job. And what the hell would she tell her parents?

"You should go," she said, finally, staring at the countertop instead of looking at him. "I don't … I don't believe in any of this. I can't — I have too much to deal with already, I can't be responsible for your delusions, too."

He moved around the island, standing close but not touching her.

"Swan." When she didn't answer, he sighed and snagged a pad of paper and a pen she had at the end of the island. He scribbled a number on it and pushed it toward her. "I'm not going to push you, but here's my cell. Call me when you decide to accept who you are."

She didn't move from her spot until she heard the front door close behind him, then she followed his path and locked the door and deadbolt behind him. She stood, leaning her forehead against the door before she pushed away and went straight to her desk in the spare room that doubled as her office.

Digging through the bottom drawer, she pulled out the annoyingly thin file she'd used to document her failed search for her birth parents years ago. One of the first things in the file was a news article from a paper in Maine, telling of a girl found wandering in the woods alone.

She was found, the article said, by an 8-year-old orphan boy.

"No," Emma said, glaring at her ex over the table in the diner. "At this point all you're doing is pissing me off."

"But I really want him to meet my father."

"I get that. I do. But honestly? You and Henry barely know each other. He had a great time staying at your place the other night, but a week away from home, away from me, in another state is just out of the question right now."

She stuck her hand in her jacket pocket, absently slipping her fingers over the folded square of paper with Killian's phone number on it. True to his word, he had given her space; it had been four days since she'd seen him. She hadn't called, wasn't sure she was going to call, but she had taken to carrying the number with her all the time.

"Look," she said. "It's been years since you've seen your father, Neal. You said your mom left him and took you, right? Well, I don't know the details, but she must have had a reason for it."

"He had … some anger issues," he said quietly. "But he's over that now, I'm sure of it. Mom had no right to keep me from him."

"Yeah," she said carefully. "But the road works both ways, right? He could have come to see you, too."

"He couldn't really do that."

"Why not? He lives in Maine, not on Mars." She sighed. They were getting off track, and it didn't really matter anyway. "Hey, it's great that you get to see him. But you need to take this chance to get to know him again, without bringing Henry into it. If things go well, maybe he could come to visit. Or next summer, maybe you could take Henry there for a weekend or something."

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "Okay, you're right, you're right. It's just … I've kind of been seeing someone. It's pretty serious."

She felt her stomach drop. It was just a reflex, really; she in no way wanted Neal back. But the idea that he could be in a serious, happy relationship while she was still alone stung a lot. She'd loved him so much when she was younger, and she'd ended up pregnant and alone. If she hadn't had her parents' help, she'd probably have had to give Henry up. A few years later, Neal had come back to town; it was quite a shock for him to find out that he was a father, and it was quite a shock to her to find out that he was going to jail soon afterward.

"And?"

"And Tamara … that's her name, she thought it would be a fun way for her to get to know Henry."

Over my dead body.

She tossed some money on the table to cover her share of the lunch. "I can't let you take him to Maine, Neal. Besides, Friday's my birthday, and we have a family thing that night."

"Right, your birthday," he said, grinning. "Happy Birthday, Ems. Since I won't see him for a week, do you think I could pick the kiddo up from school Friday? We could get ice cream or something before I drop him at your folks' place."

"No ice cream," she said, chuckling as his face dropped. Sometimes he was just like a big kid himself. "We'll have plenty of that Friday night. But there is a great shaved ice place in the park by his school."

"Great! That'll be fun," he said. "I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. And good luck with your father."

Back in her car, she pulled the phone number out of her pocket, smoothing it open. It was already looking worn from all the times she'd already looked at it.

Even Neal was confronting his past and looking for a happy future. Shouldn't she be able to do the same?

Sighing, she refolded the paper and stuck it back in her pocket.

After her birthday, she'd spend the weekend trying to decide what she really wanted to do.