A/N: Thank you so much for all your reviews, favs and follows! I loved reading all your screeching comments last time. I'm not really a big fan of angst, but perhaps if we all hold hands we'll be able to get through it together? ;)


When Emma wakes up Saturday morning, she's struck with an alarming sense of deja vu. Her initial thought of "Shit! What did I do?" followed with a sour pitch in the pit of her stomach when she thinks of Killian and what he might be feeling or thinking right now seems to be awfully similar to how she remembers waking up last Saturday, only her current level of torment is about ten times worse than it was before.

She rolls over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling while she rubs at her jaw. Her sleep was fitful at best, several hours spent fraught with worry before she was finally able to pass out from sheer exhaustion. She must have been clenching her jaw hard while she slept because the muscles there are tight and aching, pulsing up into her forehead where a wicked headache is forming.

God, she's a fool. "Do you trust me, Emma?" She should have known, should have suspected there was reason for his query. But no, she'd been deceived and distracted by his tender voice and his agile hands - hands that had stroked her to oblivion over and over while she'd given herself to him. It had begun with pure want, an attraction she knew she could no longer resist. But when they'd finally come together, it was so much more than that, the connection they have pulling at her heartstrings and taking her deeper than she thought herself capable.

It felt an awful lot like falling in love.

Red hot anger shoots through her veins as she swipes at the tears forming in her eyes. Fucking asshole was playing her the whole time, and she should have known it. He was just so charming and sensitive, she stopped seeing him as a suspect and started treating him like an actual love interest.

Emma chokes on a wail as she clutches a pillow to her chest. What a fucking mess, and she has no one to blame but herself. Angry, violent tears threaten to overtake her, but she pushes them back, fighting for control as she focuses on her anger, on the pain of being misled once again.

Neal's face enters her mind, the way he used to look at her so affectionately, all the while plotting behind her back. She can still remember the way he'd looked so surprised when she told him she loved him, as if it never occurred to him that she would, and the way they used to chant, "Tallahassee!" as if it meant something, as if it would ever really be their home. Then there was the way he'd said, "I want you," when she'd asked him if he was sure about settling down. All culminating in his final act of betrayal. When she'd gone out to the bug - all frenzied and full of conspiratorial energy - to tell him the cops were on their tail, she'd searched and searched for him, calling his cell phone over and over before she finally accepted the agonizing truth: he'd left her, just like everyone else had. The pain of that heartbreak is still lodged in her heart like a shard of glass, and she can feel it as her chest heaves, gasping for air.

I'm over it, she tells herself. I'm better now, stronger. I'm a fucking FBI agent, and I will not let Neal or any other man ruin what I've become! She'd forget the whole night if she could, if the evidence of their love making wasn't there to remind her in the form of soreness between her thighs. The worst part is, if she accepts his words as truth she has to come to terms with his other statement as well, "I've fallen for you, lass." She can still hear it, the low whisper in the dark coupled with his other admittance that sent her spiraling out of control.

With an angry groan, she tosses back her bedcovers, anxious for a cup of coffee to help clear her head. She stalks into her kitchen and fills the coffee machine, hitting the "on" button a bit more forcefully than necessary. While she waits, she notices her phone sitting on the kitchen counter and picks it up, both scared and anxious to see if she has any messages.

The screen flashes to life and her breath catches in her throat when she sees that she has 2 missed calls and a voicemail from Killian. Shit. What could he possibly have to say to her after waking up alone? Was he angry, or just more upset that she left? Only one way to find out.

She takes a deep breath, but her heart is racing as she hits the play button and puts the phone to her head. His rich voice fills her ear and she's lost for a moment, hypnotized by his deep tenor, laced with concern and frustration.

"Swan, it's me, Killian. Look, I don't know what I did to scare you away again, but I'm sorry lass." He pauses for a moment, and she can picture him alone in his apartment trying to find the right words. He always seems to know exactly what to say.

"I hope it wasn't my promise to make you pancakes that sent you running. I'll have you know I'm actually quite adept in the kitchen," he continues with a self-deprecating chuckle, and she smiles despite herself, running a hand through her hair.

"Look, whatever it is, I'm certain we can sort this out, if you'll just talk to me." He sighs, and there's a soft muffled noise, like he's running his hand over his scruff. He takes a deep breath. "I'm here, Emma….When you're ready, call me." She can feel her chest tighten at his words, and tears threaten to spill over once again.

The message ends, and Emma chucks her phone back on the counter, glaring at it as she crosses her arms over her chest because he's so convincing she can almost feel herself being taken in again. Another thief, another liar. None of his beautiful words mean a damn thing, and she needs to keep reminding herself of that, not when he told her himself, "You're a fool to trust me."

But as she wraps her arms more tightly around her body, feeling anxious and alone, she can't deny that a small part of her still aches to be there with him, lying wrapped up in his strong arms and forgetting the rest of the world exists. A tiny, fragile voice surfaces from the back of her mind whispering dangerous words…maybe he meant something else. Maybe he has another secret that has nothing to do with being a thief and a liar. She clings to that tiny thread of hope, all the while admonishing herself for even going there. As much as she feels angry and betrayed and confused, she still wants and she's going to have to find a way to reconcile those opposing emotions.

Killian Jones - tall, dark and all kinds of sexy - is a suspect in her case, and he's most likely a criminal guilty of enough crimes to put him in jail for a long time. She was stupid to let her guard down with him, and now she has to deal with the consequences. She pours herself a cup of coffee - strong and black - and takes a large swallow.

The coffee is blazing hot, and it burns the back of her throat. Coughing and sputtering, a plan begins to form in her mind. Emma Swan is going to do what she does best: she's going to run.


Pulling into a spot on the street along Ocean Ave, Emma steps out of her yellow Mustang, slamming the door shut. She adjusts her sunglasses on her nose and walks towards the beach through Powerhouse Park. She's driven up to Del Mar, where she knows she's not likely to see Killian or the other guys and where the beach is a long wide swath of sand perfect for a run. She needs to sweat out her problems, get the tension out before it completely overwhelms her, and also come up with a new game plan.

The day is bright, the blue sky flecked with gauzy white clouds, and as she trudges over the sand to get down by the water, she's drawn in by the azure color of the waves. She suddenly finds that she longs to be in it, to hear the roar of the surf in her ears as she balances on her surfboard, mastering mother nature. The impulse surprises her, though it probably shouldn't. She knows the pull of the ocean is a lure that's captured the hearts of sailors and surfers both, the way that sirens capture their victims. That constant rise and fall plus the thrill of the surf can be addicting, and it seems she's already gotten herself hooked.

As she begins her run, each step grounding her as she pounds out a steady beat, she gazes longingly at the seagulls, soaring freely above the water. She aches to have that kind of freedom, to float away on the breeze and leave all her troubles behind her.

About 100 yards along, she spies a guy and a girl surfing together. The girl is blonde and the guy has thick, dark hair and facial scruff. For a second, her heart speeds up as she wonders if it could possibly be Killian with Tink, but as she gets closer, she realizes they are strangers and she blows out a harsh breath. Still, the sound of their laughter echoes in her ears for a long time after she passes them.

The pangs of jealousy she feels only serve to strengthen her resolve, however. She needs to get back to what she was assigned to do in the first place: take down a ring of criminals who have so far made a mockery of law and order. Every time they find another piece of the pirate flag, it's a slap in the face, an arrogant calling card functioning as a F-you to the Feds and anyone else who might be on their tail. She needs to focus on the task at hand and stop letting her pesky feelings get in the way.

Maybe now she can. She can thank Killian for that, because his middle-of-the-night utterance served as a wakeup call for her. If he's a guilty party in this operation, and he purposely lied to her and misled her to believe he was worthy of her trust, then he deserves the same treatment. It's time for Emma to show him what she's made of and that she will not be so easily manipulated. It's time she stops playing his game and he starts playing hers.

These thoughts culminate in one last push, a final sprint back to the park now that she's doubled-back along the beach. She slows to a stop, gasping as her heart pounds in her chest. She's sweaty and tired, and it's exactly what she needs to diffuse the ticking time bomb that wants to go off in her brain and render her inept.

The drive home is long because she decides to go all the way down to Mission Beach to visit Cheesy Express, her favorite place for grilled cheese sandwiches. Unfortunately, they don't make onion rings, but she settles for fries today. Munching as she drives, her lunch is crispy, greasy and delicious - comfort food at it's finest.

When she gets home, she takes a long, hot shower and rinses off any remaining traces of her rendezvous with Killian from her skin, scrubbing herself clean. Afterwards, she's so tired she lies down on her bed for a moment clothed only in her robe and promptly falls asleep, wet hair and all.

The sound of her phone's new message tone on the nightstand wakes her, as she tries to remember where she is and what the hell she was doing before she passed out, her brain fuzzy. Her first thought is that it's Killian, and she grabs for her phone, suddenly alert.

When she pulls it up, however, she sees that it's only Mary Margaret, and she realizes she's late heading up for Saturday night dinner.

Mary Margaret: Hey Emma! Pregnancy cravings are taking over. Would you mind bringing more of those yummy brownie bites? I can't stop thinking about them. :)

Emma texts her back a quick reply, letting her know she's running a bit late, and hurries to her dresser to find some clothes. She needs to do something normal, something that will ground her, and dinner at the Nolans seems just the ticket. She only wishes she didn't feel a bit like she's going to be doing the walk of shame in front of them, like somehow they'll just know what she was up to last night. Taking a deep breath, she resolves not to let that happen.


Being with the Nolans is automatically comforting, and when she collapses into Mary Margaret's embrace a bit longer than usual, she finds David looking at her with a concerned expression on his face.

"Everything alright, Emma?" he asks as they break apart.

"Yeah, sure, why wouldn't it be?" she answers with a tense smile and a shrug.

"Pasta's almost ready!" Mary Margaret announces as she walks over to the stove to check on it. "David, get Emma a glass of wine."

He pours her a glass of wine and hands it to her, as she grabs a cracker off the plate Mary Margaret's left on the kitchen island.

"What've you guys been up to?" she asks.

"We were at Babies'R'Us getting our baby registry started. That took a few hours this morning," David tells her with a grimace.

Mary Margaret is quick to counter with a cheerful quip. "Oh, Emma, you should have seen all the newborn clothes! They're so cute and tiny, I can't stand it. I want them all."

Emma smiles, the thought of a baby and all it's tiny little accoutrements taking her away from her own problems for a moment. She's happy for her friends, she really is.

Just then, David's phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket to look at it.

"Excuse me for a moment, I have to take this." He walks back towards the hallway, leading to his office most likely, and Emma doesn't give it much thought as she samples some lemon-artichoke spread with another cracker.

She and Mary Margaret chit chat until he returns with a hard edge to his face that wasn't there previously.

"That was Regina," he says, looking towards Emma. "There's been another hit. A painting from a private home this time. The owners are out of town and the thieves were able to get in and out past a very advanced security system. It took the local authorities awhile to figure out anything had even happened until someone reported the owner's dog was on the loose. I guess it escaped when the thieves left the home." He shakes his head.

"Wait a minute - when did you say the heist took place?" Emma's heart rate starts speeding up as she considers the implications.

David shrugs. "Last night, I guess, but they haven't pinpointed the exact time yet. They need to get into the security system. Why?"

Emma tries to cover her sudden outburst by being nonchalant and giving David a small smile. She's not about to tell him what happened last night - he'll be furious, especially if he knew how it all ended. She's unable to control her feet from shuffling, however, and the eagerness in her voice. If she was with Killian when the heist took place, then that might mean...

"Oh, just curious. Where was the victim's house?"

David's frown disappears and she breathes a sigh of relief. She knows exactly how that conversation would go. He'd probably call Regina back immediately and try to get her taken off the case, and she can't let that happen now, not when she's gotten this close.

"Rancho Santa Fe, up in the hills. You know where all those swanky estate homes are."

Emma nods, pondering that little tidbit. Not so far away that if he had awoken after she left him, he might have been able to get there and back before morning, making her wonder just how involved he is with the operations. If he's in charge, then the scenario works - the guys wait for his call, and he gives it to them after he finds out she's left his bed cold - but if he's the one taking orders, it doesn't quite add up. Unless they just called him suddenly out of the blue?

Sighing exasperatedly, she tucks her hair behind her ears.

"Emma, is there something you're not telling me?" David inquires, studying her face. She doesn't give him enough credit with his ability to ferret out the truth. Her eyes flick to Mary Margaret's face, who's also watching her closely.

She shakes her head. "No, I just get frustrated that we always seem one step behind these guys. I've been in for more than two weeks and I still haven't gotten an 'in' on their operation."

David steps closer, scratching at his cheek. "These things take time, Emma. Don't be too hard on yourself. If these guys are as good as they seem, they're not likely to give up their entire operation just because one of them has a new girlfriend. They're going to have to know that you can be trusted, and there may even be tests involved." A glimmer of concern passes over his face.

"Yeah, I think you're probably right. I just need to keep pressing forward, see what little clues I can gather, even if they don't invite me into their pirate den and expose all their inner workings," she adds sarcastically.

David grins, leaning against the kitchen island. "If only it were that easy." He pauses, before considering her again. "You holding up OK, Emma? If you get in over your head, you know, and Regina can get you out of there right away. I know it's not always easy, especially as...feelings develop."

Emma nods, feigning indifference as she digs her finger into the countertop, tracing a line in the granite. "Well, whatever feelings Jones is developing for me will only help my investigation. I can use that weakness against him when the moment is right." She flicks her eyes up to David's, driving her point home. Nevermind that she's developed feelings for him, she has plans to squash those indefinitely.

David raises his eyebrows at that and a look passes between him and his wife.

"Now you're starting to sound like an undercover agent," he says, the approval evident in his tone.

"Just doing the job assigned to me," she states matter-of-factly, but she can't deny the sense of loss she feels as she vows to treat the relationship she's developed with Killian as a means to an end and nothing more. She looks down and away from David and Mary Margaret's inquiring gazes and hopes someone will change the subject before she breaks down and tells them everything, her throat suddenly feeling thick.

"David, I just realized I left the garlic bread in the extra fridge out in the garage. Would you mind getting it for me?" Mary Margaret asks sweetly.

"Of course."

As soon as he's gone, Mary Margaret is coming around the island, taking Emma's hands in hers.

"Emma, sweetheart, are you really OK? Because it seems like there's something you're not telling us, and if it's about you and Jones, well, I can understand not wanting to share it with David. But that doesn't mean you have to suffer in silence." Her face is all concerned solicitude, but instead of it making Emma want to tell her the truth, it only does the opposite. She suddenly just wants to reassure her, tell her that everything will be OK, because she hates seeing Mary Margaret look so worried about her.

"No, it's fine," she says, straightening her spine. She can tuck her feelings deep inside, in fact it's good practice for what faces her ahead. Emma curls her fingers around Mary Margaret's hands, squeezing gently as she gives her a wan smile.

David comes back in the room, and the ladies break apart.

"Thank you, dear!" Mary Margaret chirps, as she takes the package of bread out of his hand.

She throws another concerned glance back at Emma before she gets out a sheet pan and starts opening the bread.

Not only does she have to lie and conceal her feelings from Killian, but she has to do it with her friends (and really, her surrogate family) as well. She's grown so much since she was a hard-edged foster child, and now she finds herself needing to return to that state of mind, as familiar as it is painful.

Cold, detached and calculating. It isn't how Emma would describe herself now, but if she's going to make it through this operation on steady feet, she needs to channel those feelings. Whether Killian is innocent or not, she knows he's been lying to her about something, and now she just needs to find out what.