November 2011

"So, how was work today?"

Emma paused by the door, a little startled by Mary Margaret's question. The idea of sharing a home with someone—hell, the idea of having a home in the first place—still felt foreign and she often found herself taken aback by Mary Margaret's presence. Making coffee before work. Loading the dishwasher after Emma went upstairs. Or getting up to use the bathroom and get a glass of water in the middle of the night. She'd get used to it eventually, she supposed. If she stuck around long enough. Emma never thought too hard about that, because if she did, she would have to face the fact that for once in her life the idea of running hurt more than the idea of staying. And that scared the hell out of her.

Emma closed the door, leaning against the wall as she undid the zipper on her boots.

"Fine," she said. And then, because it was clearly the kind of thing roommates did, she asked, "How was the hospital?"

"Oh, I resigned last week," Mary Margaret said, suddenly very interested in the birdhouse she was finishing. She twisted the eye screw, her tongue caught between her teeth in false concentration.

A better person—someone who knew people better than Emma did—might have asked Mary Margaret why she resigned, even though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer. A better roommate would know what to do to help Mary Margaret deal with…whatever she was dealing with. But Emma didn't have comforting advice to give. She didn't have any stories to prove it would get better, only stories proving things got worse.

She shrugged out of her jacket, switching the bag of food she'd picked up at Granny's from hand to hand.

"I got dinner," Emma said. "As promised."

"Hmm," Mary Margaret said, still feigning complete focus as she turned the eyelet one last time. "There, now it's ready." She held the little birdhouse at arm's length, taking in her handiwork. She turned to Emma with a grin. "Care to help me hang this after dinner?"

Emma shrugged. "Sure."

"Is that grilled cheese I smell," Mary Margaret asked, raising a disapproving eyebrow. "Really, Emma, do you even know what a vegetable is?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mom, I know what vegetables are. They're those gross things you insist on feeding me all the other nights of the week." She set the bag on the table, the paper rough against her fingers as she reached in for the two Styrofoam containers.

"You, young lady," Mary Margaret said with mock severity, "are going to die of a heart attack before you're forty if you keep eating like this."

"Only if I move out. And as good as your cooking is, I think you're stuck with me," Emma joked. She handed Mary Margaret her food. "Don't worry, I got you a burger."

"That's not much better than grilled cheese."

"It has lettuce and tomatoes and onions."

"Oh my." Mary Margaret shook her head, but accepted the food. Despite her complaints, she flipped the container open and popped a fry into her mouth.

A familiar rap sounded at the door.

Emma groaned. She was so not up to this after a long day at work.

Before she could reply, the doorknob turned and Henry's head popped in. "Do I smell onion rings?"

Emma sighed and held one out.

Henry tromped over, dumping his back pack by the table's leg, and took the onion ring, chomping down on it like his mother never fed him. Which, Emma happened to know, she did. Very well. He was always complaining about some healthy thing or other that Regina insisted was good for him. And they ran into each other at Granny's even when Operation Cobra business was slim. Which it had been since the incident with the mines. Much to Emma's relief. As much as she l—enjoyed spending time with her kid, she also enjoyed the reprieve from the fairytale obsession.

She had a feeling that was all over now.

Henry leaned in and confiscated half of her grilled cheese without asking.

"You'd better plan on eating whatever it is Regina's feeding you tonight," Emma said, "because if she comes after me about sabotaging your dinner, I will plead the fifth."

"We're eating at the party," Henry said.

"Party?" she asked, sharing a look with Mary Margaret across the table. To Emma's surprise, she didn't seem intrigued by the information. "What party?"

"The one I'm supposed to invite you to," Henry said, his words slightly garbled by cheese.

Emma snatched the remaining half of the sandwich, taking a big bite before Henry could lay claim. She glanced at Mary Margaret again, trying to see if the teacher knew anything. Her roommate's face was a study in careful neutrality, if Emma didn't know any better, she'd say Mary Margaret was trying to bluff her way past a bad poker hand.

"I repeat," Emma said, "what party?"

Henry swallowed and reached for an onion ring. Emma slapped his hand away.

"Hey, this is my dinner, not yours. I don't have eggplant lasagna or whatever waiting at home."

Both Henry and Mary Margaret made a face.

"Now that is a crime," Mary Margaret said and she pushed the rest of her fries toward Henry.

Begrudgingly, Emma transferred another couple of onion rings in the container as well. "So tell me about this party…" She leaned in. "It's not one your mom is throwing is it? Cause if there's eggplant lasagna, you're on your own kid."

Henry rolled his eyes. "My mom's helping Mrs. Nolan throw a coming home party for Mr. Nolan and she—Mrs. Nolan, not my mom—wanted to make sure you guys knew. Since you helped find him and all."

"Okay," Emma said. "When is it?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yep, at seven."

Emma looked up at the clock. It was five thirty. "Gee, kid, it's awful late notice and I have to work tomorrow…"

"Please," Henry pleaded, turning on the puppy dog eye routine and damn it if that didn't put a great big dent in Emma's resolve. "It's going to be all adults. And they're boring."

"Hey, I'm one of those adults," Emma protested.

Henry kept staring at her with those puppy dog eyes, begging without saying a word.

"Fine," Emma relented without malice. The truth was she missed Henry. Between work and Regina's meddling, the only real time Emma got with Henry was their walk from Granny's to the bus stop in the mornings. "I'll be there."

"Great," Henry said, bouncing a little as he turned on Mary Margaret. "You'll come too, right?"

Mary Margaret, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet through the exchange, started picking at the fries left in front of Henry with renewed interested.

"I really shouldn't," Mary Margaret said softly.

"Ms. Blanchard you have to come."

"No," Mary Margaret said, standing quickly, grabbing the napkins and Styrofoam containers and paper bag. "No, I don't have to come." She pulled out a voice that was instantly recognizable as her Teacher Voice. "What I have to do is finish this month's lesson plan." She shrugged. "Maybe if I knew earlier, but oh well."

"But…"

"Hey," Emma said. "Isn't your mom going to start missing you soon?"

Henry made a face. "She dropped me off at home, she's coming back to pick me up around six."

"Well, then," Emma said, "it's getting awfully close to six."

"It's only…"

"Henry, home, now. I'll see you at the party, okay?"

Henry sighed, nodding. "Okay." He leaned closer to Emma. "See if you can't change her mind. She's totally lying about the lesson plan thing. She spends the last weekend of every month planning at Granny's."

"Maybe she's running behind," Emma whispered back as she ushered him out the door. She gave him a gentle shove, waving as he tromped down the stairs. As soon as she shut the door. "He was right about the lying thing."

Mary Margaret snorted. "Right. Your superpower."

"No," Emma said, hands on her hips. "I know you finished because you told me last night."

Mary Margaret sighed. "It's been a long day, Emma, that's all." She offered a tired smile. "Not that Henry would understand, but I just want to sit at home with a cup of tea and a good book." She glanced back into the kitchen. "And maybe tidy up a little."

If Emma was a better roommate—and better with people—she might have pushed Mary Margaret. But the thing was, she had a feeling she knew why Mary Margaret was avoiding the party and why she quit volunteering at the hospital. And in Mary Margaret's shoes, she would want to be left alone. Emma Swan didn't need to talk her issues out with anyone. And, of course, neither did Mary Margaret. She just needed time to figure things out for herself.

So Emma decided to give her space for now. Poking at the problem might only make it worse.

# # #

The instant Emma entered the Nolan's house, Henry grabbed her hand and hauled her into a hallway. Not that Emma complained. She didn't see David or Kathryn and the only other person she recognized off the bat were Regina and Doctor Whale. There was no Marco or Graham or Archie.

Or Killian.

She figured that out right away. Over the last week, Emma had developed a habit of scanning for him any time and every time a door opened. Sometimes he was there. Sometimes he wasn't. They had run into each other a half dozen times at Granny's. Each time, he greeted her with a smile and when time permitted he would ask a polite question, but he was true to his word. He didn't force his presence on her. She wanted to trust that, wanted to stop tensing at the thought of running into him, but she couldn't thinking that the next time would be the time he stopped her and asked the one question she didn't want to answer.

Her initial scan revealed no Killian and she gave herself permission to relax, plopping down next to Henry on a cushioned bench. Leaning against the staircase, she joined her son as he watched people mill about in the next room. Henry had chosen well. They had a great view into the room and anyone who came in the door had to pass by their doorway.

They couldn't have missed David's entrance if they tried.

The door opened and his nervous face was the first one through the door, his wife close behind him.

He looked different in jeans and his navy jacket, a leather duffel in his hand. Until now, Emma hadn't realized how frail he had looked in the hospital gown. Now, he gave off the air of someone used to hard work in a grey tank with a blue button down hanging open under his jacket. Kathryn wore a patterned dress, her golden hair swept back at one side to highlight her pretty cheekbones. The clack of Regina's footsteps from the kitchen drowned out the soft shush of David's boots on the carpet.

He flashed a tentative smile at Emma and Henry as he passed them on his way to the next room.

Everyone cheered and applause broke out. Kathryn jumped into introductions immediately and David followed along, reaching out perfunctorily to shake hands.

As he ventured into the main room, Emma waited for Regina to snap at Henry, but the woman just nodded as she spun on her heel, returning to the kitchen.

The doctor from the hospital, Whale, appeared from a hidden corner, a drink in his hand and shook David's hand as well, murmuring something softly.

Henry watched it with wide eyes and Emma had a feeling he didn't miss much.

"You know why he doesn't remember?" Henry whispered, leaning closer to Emma. "The curse isn't working on him yet."

"Henry…" Emma said before she thought better of it. "David has amnesia."

"Which is preventing the curse from replacing his fairy tale story with fake memories." Henry gave her the patronizing look he reserved for she was being especially doubtful, pressing his lips together and lifting his eyebrows, waiting for her to see the light.

And with last week's near disaster still fresh in her mind, Emma was in no rush to contradict him. After the incident with the mines, she decided she could let him have this a little longer. She could be patient and wait until the right opportunity presented itself or until Henry matured a little and started to see the world as it really was. One of those was bound to happen eventually.

"Right," Emma said, trying to sound like she was the one coming out of temporary amnesia. "Because everyone here has fake stories that prevent them from remembering who they really are." She hoped she wasn't laying the nubile believer on too thick, she wanted enough to sound like she was listening, but not so much that she sounded like a full convert.

"Right." Henry's eyes sparkled, a sure signal that Operation Cobra had a new plan. "And now's our chance to help him. We just have to get him to remember that he's…"

"He's Prince Charming."

Henry nodded, looking way to serious for someone still in the single digits. "We just have to jog his memory by getting him and Miss Blanchard together."

"Didn't we just try that?" Emma asked, because she needed to put the brakes on that plan real fast. Mary Margaret was having a hard enough time after their last attempt. Humoring Henry only went on as long as no one got hurt, and this? This would definitely hurt her roommate. And a whole bunch of other people to boot.

"And it woke him up," Henry said, with a sly grin.

Damn. Of course, that little success was going to last for who knew how long. Another reason Emma was willing to play along for now. If she did try open his eyes again, she needed to be sure that it wasn't going to backfire like that did.

She was saved from further argument by the gentle shush of shoes against carpet. David came over, hands hanging loosely, a gentle grin on his face.

"Hey," David said, his voice echoing in the small hall. "You're the ones who saved me, right?"

Emma stood, hands going automatically to her back pockets as she replied, "Oh, yeah. I guess."

"And," David said, glancing behind him, he slid his own hands into his pockets. "Uh, you're also the only ones I know here." He bounced a little on his toes as he spoke and it took Emma a moment to realize that the gesture reminded her of Henry.

Probably a boy thing, she thought.

Emma chuckled softly. "You can hide with us."

"Fantastic." David made a soft, surprised sound as a server came from the kitchen on his left, a platter with cheese and celery and other things arranged on it. David picked up a toothpick and skewered a boiled carrot—really, who served boiled carrots at a party—murmuring his thanks to man before stepping out of his way.

"So," Henry said, tilting his head up so he looked David in the eye. His grey cardigan bunched up a little as he folded his arms across his chest, looking like a tiny, dark-haired Mr. Rogers as he questioned David. "You ever use a sword?"

David grinned, amused more than befuddled. "I'm sorry?"

Emma meeting his eyes with a little sigh and a shrug, like, Kids say the darndest things, right?

David gestured to her with his boiled carrot. "Emma, you live with Mary Margaret, right?" When she nodded he kept on, "You know if she's coming tonight?"

"No," Emma said with an apologetic smile. "She couldn't make it."

"Oh." David nodded, like he understood, but disappointment still leaked through.

Maybe Mary Margaret wasn't the only person that needed protecting from Henry's schemes.

David smile again. "Well, tell her we miss her at the hospital. Or, they miss her." He chuckled. "This'll take some getting used to."

Emma nodded. "I'll do that."

Taking a bite of his carrot, David walked off, milling about the room and smiling politely at people when they spoke to him.

"Alright, kid," Emma said. "Let's see what the food looks like at this party."

"Well, with my mom involved, you know there won't be any onion rings," Henry muttered, kicking at the carpet.

"Maybe there'll be some good, old-fashioned potato chips though."

Henry made a doubtful face, but he followed Emma into the living room.

"Emma!" Doctor Whale smiled a bright, plastic smile. The ice in his drink clinked as he separated from the person he had been speaking with and approached the pair. "Good to see you."

"Thanks," Emma said, a little surprised by the doctor's cheeriness.

"You live with Mary Margaret, right?" Whale asked.

"Uh, yes," Emma said, glancing down at Henry.

He shrugged, as though déjà vu were a common part of his life, and sat on the corner of the coffee table. A real mom would have told him that tables were not for sitting on. Emma, however, saw no reason to abide by this rule and left him be.

"We miss her at the hospital."

"Yeah," Emma said, "David was just mentioning that."

"Listen." Whale took a step closer. "I don't mean to be that guy, but if she's worried that what happened between us might make things awkward, she doesn't need to be. She's a good volunteer and I promise I will be nothing but professional."

Emma nodded. "I see."

So this was Bad Date Guy from Emma's second night in town. She supposed she should thank him, if it hadn't of been for his horrible manners, Emma might still be sleeping in her car.

"Tell her that fo—"

A flash of light and dark distracted Whale, pulling Emma's gaze with his as Kathryn approached.

"Have you seen David?" she asked, glancing quickly to either side, like David was waiting to jump out from behind on of them.

"Um, he…" Emma trailed off. David had been back by the doorway, chatting with the blonde with the bob, but he was nowhere in sight.

"No," Whale said decisively

"Oh, well, thank you," Kathryn said, her eyes scanning the room one last time. "Maybe he just stepped out for some air." She brushed her hands down the front of her dress and headed for the door.

Emma had a feeling that David had stepped out, and she didn't doubt he wanted to escape all these strange faces, but she had a feeling Kathryn wouldn't find him chilling on the front porch. Kathryn's disappointed face when she returned inside confirmed that suspicion. Strangely, Kathryn was the only person who seemed to miss David's presence. Everyone else went about their business, wandering in and out of the two main rooms, the groups constantly rotating and changing. Not once did Emma hear anyone but Kathryn ask after David.

Emma took pity on the poor woman, looking forlorn and lost by the doorway.

"Thanks for having me," Emma said as she passed by on the way to the door.

"You're going already?" both Kathryn and Henry said, Kathryn's soft voice a pleasant undertone to Henry's near whine.

"My choices at the station were either early mornings or overnights," Emma said. "I chose early mornings over dealing with a drunk Leroy at 2 a.m." She smiled at Henry. "I'll see you soon, okay?" Ruffling his hair, she headed out the door. She might not be the type to out her roommate, but she could definitely deliver a swift kick in the pants to David for bailing on his wife without warning, even if he was completely out of his depth.

It wasn't until she sat in front of the bug outside the apartment that she thought about what she might be walking in on. Mary Margaret didn't strike her as the affair type and from what she'd said, it didn't sound like she and David had gotten too familiar—he had been in the hospital after all—but still…anything could happen.

Thankfully, Emma didn't have to wonder long. A shadow in the yard moved and David appeared from behind the tree, his eyes trained on the window one story above them. He turned away from the apartment, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, shoulders slumped, head bowed in thought as he trudged down the street.

Emma waited until David rounded the corner before she got out of the car. Gravel crunched beneath her boots, the stairs creaked, the hinges on the door protesting as she slipped inside. Despite all of this, Mary Margaret didn't even notice Emma's entrance.

She stood at the sink, her sleeves pushed back past her elbows and her hair haphazardly pinned away from her face, her complete focus devoted to the plate in her hand as she scrubbed with concentrated but, frantic devotion. From the sound of the squeaks emanating from plate and sponge, whatever Mary Margaret attacked had washed away long ago.

"You might want to ease up," Emma said. "Or that brillo pad's going to press charges."

Mary Margaret's head jerked up, surprise lighting her face briefly. "Dishes were just piling up…" she said, her focus returning as she dunked the plate in the soapy water.

Emma smiled, feeling a certain comfort in Mary Margaret's denial of the situation. It almost reminded her of her.

"This have anything to do with David stopping by?" Emma asked, removing her jacket as she approached the counter. She chuckled at Mary Margaret's shocked expression. The proverbial kid with their hand in the cookie jar. Not that Emma had ever seen a cookie jar as a kid. "I saw him sulking away as I pulled up."

Mary Margaret became even more interested in the dishes as she rinsed them and placed them in the rack to dry. "We just… Uh… He just…"

"Yeah, I know," Emma said, leaning into the solidness of their little counter. "You're both 'just'. And you did the right thing."

"He made a pretty compelling case…" Mary Margaret said, still refusing to look at Emma.

"But he's still married," Emma said, thinking of Kathryn's sad face. "I know—I was just at the party."

Mary Margaret stilled, water sloshing around her fingers. "What do I do?"

"You need to stop cleaning," Emma said. "And have a drink." She headed straight for the bottle of MacCutcheon, grabbing two cordial glasses before she headed back to the table. Eyeing Emma like she expected her to bite, Mary Margaret joined her, the chair squealing against the wooden floor as she drew it back from the table.

"Here's the thing," Emma said, the cap on rasping against the bottle as she unscrewed it. She started pouring. "I don't know a lot about relationships, other than having many that failed." She let that sit for a moment as she set the bottle aside. She decided against sharing any more personal details, Mary Margaret didn't need anecdotes, she needed reassurance that she had done the right thing. Emma sat down, toying with the stem of her glass. "But generally speaking, if you think something you want to do is wrong, it is. So…" Emma lifted her glass. "You got to stay strong and he has to figure out his life."

Mary Margaret swallowed, but she nodded, her fingers wrapping around the stem of her glass and raising it to meet Emma's. The two glasses clinked as they tapped the rims lightly.

Emma smiled. "Cheers."

# # #

Killian had kept to his word since the incident at the mine, backing off, letting Emma have her space. He didn't want to. Even such brief meetings, the hospital, the diner, the mines, her sudden appearance at the docks, set him craving her company like a man on a desert island craves water. But he could not in good conscience follow her around, so he unearthed his old obsession: searching for the Crocodile's weakness.

For the past week, Killian had been keeping an eye on Rumplestiltskin, hoping that something would click. He knew of the dagger. He doubted Rumplestiltskin let it far from his possession, but he was wary about moving before he knew he was looking in the right place. He hadn't survived hundreds of years on Neverland by being hasty. He survived by knowing his terrain, by knowing the moment to strike.

So far, despite a near constant vigil outside the Crocodile's shop, Killian hadn't discovered anything he didn't know. He was starting to get impatient.

And he was starting to get hungry.

The bell jingled, snapping his attention to the pawn shop across the street from him. Killian took a step back as Rumplestiltskin locked up, leaning heavily on his cane as he walked down the street. He waited a few moments, then set out after him, curious. The Crocodile wasn't exactly an afternoon stroll person.

Something deep inside him flared, stoking the burning rage that lived inside him. It rankled that Rumplestiltskin could walk free in this world, that he would still have the power to threaten someone Killian cared about when far better people were miles below the ocean's surface in another realm.

It was slow going, down two blocks, the man's limp making him easy to keep up with, but hard to stay behind. More than once, Killian had to admire a display in a shop window to keep from catching up. At last, Rumplestiltskin entered the bakery, the bell jangling loud enough that Killian heard it all the way across the street. He stepped off the curb with purpose, crossing the street, checking through the window before he entered. The Crocodile didn't even turn around when the bell announced Killian's entrance.

Inside, the clerk, a portly older man with sparse fringe of hair and a pair of round spectacles, bumbled around behind the counter.

"It's here somewhere," he murmured in an adenoidal voice as he ducked behind the counter.

Rumplestiltskin tapped gently on the handle of his cane. "Come now, dearie, I don't have all day," he said in his raspy accent, the vowels sagging slightly as he spoke.

Fist clenched so tight his fingernails bit into his palm, Killian turned to the display case, pretending to be engrossed in the cookies, donuts, and other pastries there. Also there, not five feet from Killian, stood the sheriff, surveying the offerings with very real interest.

"Oh, here it is," the clerk squeaked, popping back above the counter with a roll of money in his hand.

Rumplestiltskin took the cash, the edges rustling under his caress.

"It's all there," the clerk said.

"I'm sure it is," the Crocodile replied. "If it isn't, well, I know where to find you." With a nod, he limped back to the door, his cane thudding dully on the tile floor.

Killian tensed, but Rumplestiltskin spared not a glance his way.

"Sorry about that, Sheriff," the little man said, hurrying back to the display.

"It's alright," Graham said. "It's been a slow day. I'm not in any rush."

With the Crocodile no longer on the premises, Killian should have walked right out the door, but something about the way Graham studied the pastries behind the glass held his interest. The sheriff did not particularly strike him as a frequent visitor of this establishment. A special occasion, perhaps? But that seemed unlikely. It only took a moment for Killian to land on a far more likely answer.

"Not that I'm an expert on such things," he said, "but that looks suspiciously like a bribe."

Graham tilted his head, one eyebrow raised. "And what need would a humble officer like myself have for a bribe?"

Killian snorted. "Anyone who has known Emma more than a day knows that food is an effective way into her good graces."

"Ah, yes," Graham said, crossing his arms. "I forget that you are old friends."

Killian grinned at him. "You could say that."

"Though she doesn't seem particularly fond of you," Graham continued. "If the other day is anything to go by."

"At least I'm honest about my intentions," Killian spat out.

The clerk looked exceedingly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot as they argued. "Sheriff, what else would you like?"

Graham didn't take his eyes from Killian. "Oh, whatever is most popular. We're not particular."

Killian tapped gently on the glass. "He'll want a bear claw if he's trying to romance the fair Lady Swan."

"I assure you, this has nothing to do with romance," Graham said.

"Oh?" Killian smirked. "That's best I suppose. Tell me, does she know about your dalliance with the mayor?"

Graham inhaled sharply, jaw clenching. "My personal life is hardly her business."

"You mean to make it her business," Killian shot back. "If the other day is anything to go by."

"So, is that a no to the bear claw?" the clerk asked.

Silence tensed in the store for a moment. Graham's eyes narrowed. "I suppose it's no loss if he's wrong."

Killian snorted. "I won't be wrong." His smirk widened. "And no need to thank me."

"Quite generous, you are," Graham said. The hand on his belt tightened.

Killian took a step closer. "Another thing I won't be wrong about, if you want to remain in Emma's good graces, don't let her find out about your little affair from other sources. She won't be pleased." He saluted Graham mockingly. "Good afternoon, sheriff."

"Wasn't there something you wanted?" the clerk called as Killian strode toward the door.

"Already have what I came for," Killian threw over his shoulder as the bell jingled one last time.

As he made his way back down the street, ready to take up his vigil once again, the smell of fried food drifted toward him. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten lunch yet. A bit late in the day now, but food was food whatever time it was consumed. He turned sharply, long legs carrying him to the door of Granny's. Due to the odd hour, the diner was sparsely populated, but Killian had no doubt that at the end of the business day, the booths and tables would be crowded. Counting himself lucky, Killian sidled up to the counter, debating whether he should get something to go.

The diner's only other notable occupant—there was a youngish couple in the corner that Killian didn't know—was the mayor's lad, perched on one of the stools, a massive book lying open in front of him.

"Here you go, Henry," Ruby said, sliding a mug toward the boy.

"Thanks, Ruby," the lad replied, small fingers curling around the cup. The whipped cream was piled so high, it touched his nose as he drank, leaving behind a white film and a dusting of what looked like cinnamon to Killian's practiced eye.

He smiled, it seemed Emma was rubbing off on the lad.

"Hook," Ruby said, eyes going wide. "Um, what can I get you?"

"Everything alright?" Killian asked, glancing around, thinking perhaps he missed someone entering the diner.

"Yeah," Ruby said, scooting down the counter. "Perfectly fine. Just, you're a little late today. I wasn't expecting you."

"You are a horrible liar, Ruby," Henry quipped, picking at the corner of the book with a fingernail.

Ruby opened her mouth, snapped it shut, and spun on her heel, tromping back over to the window and haranguing the cook about something. Killian watched her go, intrigued both by her quick exit and her short shorts.

"Grown-ups are gross," Henry grumbled.

Killian snorted. "Give it ten years, see if you think that then."

Silence settled over them as Killian waited for his coffee, which Ruby seemed to have forgotten momentarily. He glanced down at the boy and his storybook, open to a rather daunting section with small text on one side and a masterful illustration on the other of a young man with short, dark blond hair.

"Ah, is this the infamous book?" Killian asked.

"Yep," Henry said.

"It's wonderfully drawn. May I?"

The lad blinked up at him, lips parting in shock. Just as quick, a mischievous grin spread across his face and he slid the book over in front of Killian. Carefully, Killian flipped through the pages, paying little attention to the text. He recognized Regina right off. There was no mistaking the haughty tilt of her head or the dark glint in her eye. Others were harder to recognize, but he found the blond man again, this time with a gash on his chin. And there was a dark-haired woman, with green eyes he would have recognized anywhere.

"You say everyone in this town is in this book?" Killian said.

Henry nodded vigorously. "Except for you."

"Yes."

"So, Snow White…" Killian tapped the page with his index finger. "Who is she?"

The boy's eyes narrowed. "You believe me?" Setting his cocoa down, he turned to face Killian fully.

"I am intrigued," Killian said. "I'd like to compare."

The answer seemed to satisfy the lad. "She's my teacher, Ms. Blanchard—well, you would call her Mary Margaret cause you're an adult."

"Ah," Killian nodded. "Emma's roommate. I know of her."

In the background, the phone rang. Ruby rushed over to answer it, distracting Killian, but not Henry. The lad had pulled the book between them and he was rifling through the pages until he found a picture of a couple. Snow White and the blond man Henry had been studying earlier.

"That's Mr. Nolan," Henry said. "He's Prince Charming."

"The coma patient?" Killian looked back down at the picture. The one of Snow White looked accurate enough from what he'd seen of her, but he had yet to see David Nolan around town. He had heard a thing or two though. "I thought he was married."

The boy shook his head emphatically. "That's just the curse keeping them apart. The Evil Queen hates them, she wants them to be miserable."

"Really…" Killian knew of course. He'd been in and out of the Evil Queen's domain for a bit, tracking down things for Pan and a few things for himself. The specifics were hazy—he'd probably been drunk—but he caught wind that Regina was looking for him and he was wise enough to know that if she was looking for him, it could hardly be to ask after his good health. He finished his business and high-tailed it back to Neverland. Pan hadn't sent him back to the Enchanted Forest once the curse was cast. Probably a waste of time.

"You are way cooler about this than Emma is," Henry commented, his small hands wrapping around his mug again. "She's always rolling her eyes and fidgeting whenever I bring this up."

Killian smiled. "Well, Emma was never the type for fairytales."

The lad's eyes narrowed.

"Hey, kid," Ruby cut in. "That was… your mom." Was it his imagination, or was Ruby hesitating. "She's working late tonight, so she said to go over to Archie's and see if he would walk you home." She leaned over the counter, plucking the mug from Henry's hands. "Why don't I put that in a to-go cup?"

"Why is she working late?" Henry protested. "She can't work late, she promised we'd work on Operation Cobra."

"Operation Cobra?"

The boy's hands went to his mouth, wide eyes on Killian. "Whoops. Sorry, I can't really talk about it. It's top secret and if the Evil Queen found out…"

"I hardly see the Evil Queen." He glanced about, though he wondered if it would be out of character to tell the lad that if he was sharing this project with Regina, the Evil Queen already knew.

Henry looked in one direction and then the other before leaning toward Killian. "She has spies everywhere, Mr. Hook."

"Here you go, Henry," Ruby said, plopping the little cardboard cup in front of the lad. "Now go, you don't want your mom to get mad." She trotted around the counter, helping him toward the door, despite his protestations. Henry had no choice but to tuck his book under one arm and pick up his hot chocolate as Ruby muttered about Regina and getting home safe.

A moment later, she sauntered back over, an apologetic smile on her face. "Sorry, he's a stubborn little kid." She slid his coffee across the counter, then rushed to retrieve a paper sack and place it in front of him. "We've been seeing a lot more of you lately, any particular reason?" Ruby asked the question like she already knew the answer, which she couldn't possibly.

"Possibly," Killian said with a wink. Cradling the food in his arm, he picked up his drink and headed outside. The Crocodile had been unattended for far too long. Time to get back to his vigil.

# # #

She heard him coming long before he rounded the corner and she buried her nose even further in the file she was reading.

Graham stopped right next to her chair, so close that the hairs on her arm stood up—but not in a bad way. There was the scrape of cardboard and the smell of yeasty goodness from his general direction and Emma looked over to find him holding a box full of donuts.

No, not all donuts. There was a bear claw.

Lucky guess.

He inhaled with a slight grimace. "Sometimes, clichés are true."

Emma sat back in her chair, elbows sticking to the tacky vinyl as she stared up at him. "Okay. What do you want?" She pressed her lips tightly together, wondering if he was buttering her up or trying to woo her with food.

Graham sighed. "Remember when I said no night shifts? I need you to work tonight." At the look on Emma's face, he hastily added, "Just this once."

"Why?" Emma whined, without caring that she sounded about five years old. Or that he was technically her boss. Or that he was ridiculously attractive. She had been looking forward to hanging out with Henry, even if it was just for the ten minute walk back to his house.

Graham sighed. "I volunteer at an animal shelter, and the supervisor's sick, and someone needs to feed the dogs."

Emma groaned. Not only was he attractive and bringing her food, but he had a good excuse too. She pursed her lips, looking at the half dozen pastries in the box.

Gingerly, she fished out her favorite. "You're very lucky you bought a bear claw."

Graham's eyes widened and he snapped the box shut, lip caught distractingly in his teeth.

As she stared up at him, Emma found it hard to breath. So she did the only logical thing, she took a huge bite of the bear claw.

Graham smiled, but just as she stepped closer, the patter of feet echoed off the brick walls. Both of them turned in time to see Mary Margaret round the corner.

She came running up to Emma, cutting neatly around Graham. "Emma, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Graham's eyes flicked once between the two women. He placed the box of donuts on top of a stack of files. "I'll just go patrol my office." He rocked back, taking long, casual steps that pulled at Emma's eyes.

"Thanks," she called, waving the bear claw like a trophy.

Mary Margaret practically danced as she waited for Graham to enter his office. The blue polka dot skirt swayed back and forth erratically behind her twisting hands. Emma sat forward, curious about what triggered all this nervous energy.

"He left his wife," Mary Margaret said on a soft exhalation. "David–he left her. He left Kathryn."

"Slow down," Emma tried, but her friend steam-rolled right over her.

"He did it for me." Mary Margaret started pacing, fidgeting with her sweater, her skirt, her purse as her words tumbled out. "He wants me to be with him. He wants me to meet him tonight."

"That's, uh…"

"I mean, I'm trying so hard to be strong, but he just keeps coming." Mary Margaret threw her hands in the air, eyes rolling into the back of her head briefly. She walked another half circle around Emma, waiting for her to swivel around. "I mean, how do I stop it? You know, how do I let him down? What would you do?"

"I'd go," Emma said before she thought better of it.

She definitely would not go, she decided half a second later. No matter what he spouted or what promises he made, but then, Emma didn't do anything but one night stands and Mary Margaret was the type that settled down.

Unlike Emma, Mary Margaret was exactly the type that probably had a soulmate or whatever waiting for her somewhere out there. And David's actions were matching up with his words.

"What?" Mary Margaret looked as shocked as if Emma had grown a third eye.

"Well he left her," Emma explained. "It's one thing to say that he wants you, but it's another to actually make a choice and now, he has." She shrugged. "That's all you can ask for."

Mary Margaret took a moment, absorbing that. She picked at the files on Emma's desk for a moment, before scooting them aside enough she could perch on the edge.

"Given her new friendship with Kathryn, I don't think Regina would be happy." She pulled at the edges of her cardigan, tucking the sweater around herself.

Emma snorted. "All the more reason to do it." And with that, she took another bite of the bear claw.

"Good Lord," Mary Margaret said, her voice breathy. "Is this really happening?"

Swallowing her bite of pastry, Emma smiled up at her friend. "You tell me."

Mary Margaret exhaled softly, a little chuckle escaping her lips. The stillness lasted for another moment before she jumped to her feet, nearly upsetting the entire mess on that side of Emma's desk.

"I have to go," she said as Emma rescued her files from toppling. Mary Margaret plucked at her dress, almost scurrying as she left the room muttering, "What am I going to wear?"

# # #

Night had fallen and except for one brief interaction with a woman who came to sell some valuable item, the Crocodile had spent most of the day in his shop. The watching and waiting grated on Killian's nerves, as it had the day before and the day before that. He wanted action. He wanted to search every inch of that bloody shop until he found where Rumplestiltskin had secreted away the dagger. Lurking in the shadows wasn't going to avenge Milah or free Emma from the bargain she made for the maid's child.

And yet, he had only been inside that shop once, when he first came to Storybrooke nearly ten years ago. He wasn't foolish, he knew he needed more information, needed at least a place to start. He'd not likely have much time to search the shop when he did break in. Better to get the lay of the land first as it were.

So far, Rumplestiltskin showed no signs of remembering his cursed self, even with Emma here and the curse weakening. Perhaps it was worth the risk.

Tossing his long empty coffee cup, Killian strolled casually across the street, as though walking home from work, hand and hook in his pockets. The block was deserted, the owners of the few cars parked on this side of town showing no sign of claiming them.

Killian leaned in, looking through the blinds. The front of the shop was still empty, but the sign on the door read 'Open'. Gingerly he tried the doorknob, it twisted smoothly and he pushed into the store, wincing as the door creaked. He paused and when that didn't bring the proprietor rushing to the front, stepping inside and carefully closing the door behind him. Still no one. He brushed his fingers over the hilt of the knife at his belt, longing for his cutlass. Unfortunately, those were not common attire in this realm.

When the Crocodile still didn't appear, Killian took his time looking around, stepping carefully lest he find a loose floorboard and alert Rumplestiltskin to his presence. Looking for a suitable excuse.

The shop was cluttered, the cobwebs in the corners attesting to how long it had been since someone cleaned the place up. The glass cases were cloudy and specked in places, obscuring some of their wares. Two grotesque puppets stared up at Killian from their place on a counter, their faces pulled into expressions of horror. He shook his head at them, not wondering that they hadn't sold.

Ceramic beer steins and a tarnished lamp cluttered another counter just above a display of a fine china tea set with pink flowers. A stained glass lamp caught his eye, a very pretty thing of green and pink glass that he rather admired. It reminded him of Emma's roommate.

The finest piece of all though, was a mobile made from spun glass. Delicate unicorns hung from fine string, some of them blue and some colorless. It tinkled quietly as Killian walked up to it, the bright glass winking at him. Whoever had commissioned this had been quite rich indeed to afford such craftsmanship. He thought those might be real rubies and sapphires threaded on the strings.

He heard footsteps and the tap of a cane from the back of the shop and something told him that he did not want to get caught staring at this pretty thing. He stepped back, casually scanning the other things stacked up against the wall, though he kept the curtained door in his peripheral vision.

The Crocodile appeared and Killian savored the look of surprise on his face at finding his shop occupied, though Killian was careful to keep his own face neutral.

"My apologies," Rumplstiltskin said, letting the curtain fall shut behind him. "I didn't hear the door. I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Not long at all." Killian faced him, watching, waiting for something, anything that might betray that the Crocodile recognized him, but now as every time before, Rumplestiltskin stared at him with blank eyes and a vaguely pleasant smile. He had expected it, had known by the words coming out of the man's mouth that nothing had changed, but it still chaffed against him. Biting down hard on the rage, Killian approached the register by the back wall.

"Well then, what brings you to my shop, Mister…" Rumplestiltskin asked, resting both hands on the top of his cane as he waited for Killian to answer the question.

"Jones." He clenched his jaw, weighing an idea in his mind. This too grated against every sensibility and yet, it was something he daren't take any chances with. "It seems we have a mutual acquaintance."

"Do we?" The shop owner tilted his head, poorly cut hair flopping over his eyes.

"Emma Swan."

"Ah," Rumplestiltskin said, rocking back on his heels. "Yes, I've come across her a couple of times."

Swallowing his pride and his rage, Killian held the Crocodile's gaze. "I'm here to settle her debt to you."

"Is that so?" The man paced behind the counter, lips pursed thoughtfully. "Well, I'm afraid it's a bit difficult to put a price on a child. They are priceless, aren't they?"

"Everything has a price with you, Gold," Killian bit out. "Whatever it is, I'll pay it. I've quite a sum saved up. And if that's not enough, I'm sure we can make an arrangement. I've hear you are quite fond of making deals."

Rumplestiltskin turned on him with a searching look. "And who is Ms. Swan to you, Mr. Jones?"

Killian sucked in a breath, cursing himself for a fool. Since the day at the hospital, he had played with this idea. Of course the surest way to see that Rumplestiltskin never called in his favor from Emma was to kill him, but Killian wasn't a fool. He had lived a long life and he had no doubt that would catch up to him at some point. Though he hoped Emma would end the curse before that happened, he had also lived long enough to know that tomorrow was never a guarantee. And if, heaven forbid, he fail to destroy the Crocodile and lose his life in the process…Well, it was better to have these things settled.

Except the Crocodile was still the Crocodile, even if he had changed his skin.

"A friend," Killian said. "An honest woman who's new to town and has no idea who she deals with."

Rumplestiltskin smirked at him. "An honest woman? I suppose that depends on how you look at it." He leaned against the glass counter, fingernail tapping softly against the glass.

"What do you care, Gold? So long as you get your money."

"I care because what I need from Ms. Swan has no monetary value," Rumplestiltskin replied, his smile turning cold and cruel. "She possesses a unique set of skills and someday I'll be in need of those skills."

Killian thought he knew the depths of his hatred for this man, but in that moment, he found new depths to pull from.

Rumplestiltskin was weak and frail. A cripple. Though perhaps Killian wasn't one to quibble on that matter—still his injuries had left him with a weapon, the Dark One had only a limp. Killian was bigger, stronger, faster. It would be no matter to kill the man right here and now. It wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't what Milah deserved, but if it kept this man from harming one more person that Killian cared about, perhaps it was worth the sacrifice. Would it matter if the Crocodile remembered the sins that he died for, so long as they were avenged?

It could be over so quickly.

Behind him, the door creaked.

"Um, excuse me," a soft male voice said. "Sorry to interrupt, but I seem to be a bit lost."

Killian stepped back from the counter, glancing at the newcomer. He was tall, with short-cropped blond hair and broad shoulders, it looked like a knight's build was hidden beneath the heavy, blue jacket he wore. The man stepped hesitantly into the shop, letting the door swing shut behind him. He was no one Killian recognized.

Rumplestiltskin regarded this stranger with the same cool indifference he had shown Killian.

The man took a hesitant step inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I seem to be a little lost."

Killian tilted his head. "Bit early in the evening for that, isn't it?" He wanted this man gone. Though he supposed it was too late for his dark business now. If Rumplestiltskin turned up dead in the morning, this man, whoever he was could place him here.

The newcomer didn't respond, captivated by the shining mobile that seemed to be the only truly bright thing in the shop. He reached out, his hand hovering beneath one of the little unicorns, a thoughtful look on his face. Closer now and in the light, Killian could make out a faint scar on his chin.

A bell went off in Killian's mind, he had seen this man somewhere.

"Charming."

The man blinked, jerking back from the mobile. "I'm sorry?"

Killian's eyes narrowed. Glancing between the man and the mobile, the scar and the gift fit for a princess. Understanding dawned. He had found Prince Charming…or rather, the man had found him.

"The mobile," Rumplestilskin continued, a floorboard creaking beneath him as he hobbled around behind the counter. His eyes never left the prince's. "Isn't it charming? Exquisitely designed, masterly crafted… I can get it down, if you like." He gestured to the rafters above them, from which the delicate gift swung gently.

The prince stepped back. "No, no. I mean, it's… It's very nice, but actually, I'm looking for the toll bridge." The dim light glinted off the folded paper in his hand. He looked down, tapping it with a finger and Killian realized he held a map. "The Mayor said there was a fork in the road by your shop, but—"

Rumplestiltskin nodded. "It seems Miss Mills has lead you astray."

"Yeah." The man chuckled. "Yeah, you would think the Mayor would know her own town."

"One would think." The Crocodile pointed with a long, bony finger. "Out of the door, turn right, two blocks you'll find a trail. Can't miss it."

"Thank you." The man—Emma's father—spun on his heel.

As relieved as Killian was to see him go, he couldn't help watching the prince go, searching for something, anything to tie him to Emma. The man froze in his steps, staring something near the door. Killian craned his neck, but he couldn't find anything worthy of such a reaction.

"Are you alright, mate?"

"I—uh…" He pointed at a windmill. Ordinary in every way except its size—why anyone would want such a thing, Killian couldn't fathom.

"See something you like?" came the Crocodile's dry voice.

Killian tensed. Something was happening here. Something he didn't understand, but if the way the hair stood up on the back of his neck was any indication, it was nothing good. He whipped around, almost expecting to find the Crocodile as he first saw him, with glittering skin and a menacing grin. But it was only Mr. Gold who stood there in his understated suit.

The prince took a step closer to the contraption. "Where did you get that?"

"That old thing?" Rumplestiltskin looked down, fiddling with one of the rings on his finger. "That's been gathering dust for…forever."

Emma's father approached the windmill and Killian's gut curled. He should stop the prince. He didn't know what would happen if the man touched that windmill, but he knew that it would not be good. If it had just been the two of them, he would have. But he could feel the Crocodile's calculating eyes on his back, taking in everything and tucking it away for later. If he saved Emma's father from whatever magic was being worked here, would that tip Rumplestiltskin off to the fact that he knew? So far, that was the only advantage Killian possessed. Even if the Crocodile had his memories, he was unlikely to strike as long as he thought Killian might be cursed.

Watching Killian's suffering sounded like exactly the kind of thing the Crocodile would relish.

Killian didn't move, but the prince did.

His hand landed on one of the windmill's blades, setting it spinning. "I think…" His eyes moved up and down, taking in every detail. He breathed deeply. "This belonged to me."

"Really?" Rumplestiltskin said like he was a casual observer. "Are you sure?"

"Yes…I remember."

Killian heard the man's reply, but his eyes were on the Crocodile.

Rumplestiltskin paid him little heed, smiling cruelly as he watched the blades of the windmill spin.

"Oh my god," the prince said. "I remember." He glanced back at them with wide eyes. "I, uh, thank you. I have to go." He staggered a little, leaning against the door for a moment before opening it and rushing outside.

Killian's feet felt stuck to the spot. He didn't want to leave and yet, whatever had just happened…That was Emma's father stumbling down the street. He glanced back at Rumplestiltskin, teeth grinding together and then he made his decision.

The Crocodile would still be here tomorrow.

He had to be sure.

He hurried after Emma's father.

"Hey, mate," he called halting the man's progress. "The toll bridge is that way." He jerked a thumb over toward the turn the prince had missed.

"The toll bridge?" he asked. "Oh, right, I was supposed to meet…" He scrubbed a hand over his face, covering his eyes for a minute. "I can't…I can't go there right now, I have to get home."

But he didn't move.

"Who were you supposed to meet?" Killian asked, closing the distance between them.

The prince sighed. "Mary Margaret."

Bloody hell.

For a moment, he had hoped that maybe the prince remembered his true self, that perhaps Emma's parents were that much closer to finding each other and things would work out.

"Don't do that, mate," Killian said.

"Don't do what? Go back to my wife?" He looked down the street, hand on the back of his neck, a war waging in his eyes. Killian had seen that look many times when he was in the Navy, in the eyes of sailors who left their hearts in the hands of a sweetheart on shore.

Perhaps he could still fix this.

He swallowed, fully aware that he was about to give the most hypocritical advice of his life.

"Don't leave her waiting," he said. He held his hand up when the prince opened his mouth to protest. "I've heard a bit of your situation. Doesn't sound like there are any good solutions, but at least have the courage to break it to Mary Margaret like a man. Don't leave her there wondering. She deserves better than that."

The prince bit his lip. He nodded. "Yeah, she does." He took a deep breath, offering his hand to Killian. "Thanks, uh…"

"Killian. Killian Jones." He took the prince's hand, wondering if the man would be so friendly if he knew of Killian's history with his daughter.

"David Nolan," the prince said. He clapped Killian on the shoulder, the hard, jarring blow of someone who didn't quite know his own strength. "I owe you."

David walked off with the slouch of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Killian stepped back into the shadows. He needed to know how this turned out. He hoped that David would return, arm in arm with Emma's mother. Surely that would deal a blow to the curse, perhaps even weaken it enough that people's memories began returning. And if that happened, he wouldn't have to wait any longer to destroy the Crocodile.

# # #

The night shift wasn't sucking too terribly so far. The White Rabbit hadn't called her to come haul Leroy home yet and she had a Thermos full of Granny's strongest coffee. In fact, it was kind of nice, cruising down the sleepy streets with just herself for company. For once, her thoughts were pretty quiet, leaving her to observe without inner commentary or guilt.

On a whim, she turned the squad car down Mifflin, thinking that even if she had to cancel her date with her kid, she could at least make sure that his house was as quiet as all the others.

Only it wasn't.

Emma slammed on the brakes as soon as she saw the dark figure climbing out of the second story window, heart racing. She grabbed her baton and jumped out, closing the door quietly behind her and sneaking around to hide behind the hedge. Once she was sure this guy couldn't do damage to anyone else, she could go make sure Henry and Regina were alright.

He was the worst perp Emma had ever tailed—and that was saying something—walking down Regina's driveway like he had nothing to hide. His shoes crunched loudly on the concrete and Emma had no trouble timing her strike.

She swung the baton, hitting him right across the gut. He fell with a groan, hard, without even trying to stop his fall. He groaned again, rolling onto his back and Emma's eyed widened as the street light fell over a familiar face.

Graham.

"This is volunteering?" Emma demanded, glancing back at the house. The bedroom light was still on, but the window was closed now. She sucked in a breath, all the evidence leading to one conclusion. She was going to be sick.

Graham sighed, a short, pained thing. "Plans changed. Regina needed me to—"

"Sleep with her?"

"No." With a grunt, Graham pushed himself to his feet, hand still pressed to his stomach.

"Then…" She gave him a hard look. The both knew she had caught him red-handed, though why he still felt the need to lie was beyond her. She was completely capable of handling this like an adult. "Why were you sneaking out the window?"

"Because…"

Emma tilted her head, waiting for him to come up with something reasonable, something that didn't lump him in with every other guy she knew. It surprised her how hard she wanted that.

He sighed, hanging his head. "She didn't want Henry to know."

"You did this with Henry in the house?" she hissed.

"He's sleeping" he said, shaking his head at her like she was the crazy one. "He doesn't know."

"Oh my god, I wish I was Henry right now." She took a step back, surprised the ground was still solid beneath her feet. "This is disgusting."

"I really do work at an animal shelter." He sounded pitiful, nasally, how had she not noticed that he talked through his nose?

The keys jingled as she pulled them out of her pocket. "You can finish my shift. I'm done working nights."

She tossed them. His hand flashed up, catching them like he was used to getting things lobbed at his head. Emma turned away, heading back down the street and…she didn't know where. Mary Margaret might still be out with David, so she could go home, but on the other hand, home might be exactly where they were right now. And she really couldn't stomach whatever it was they were getting up to. She thought about Granny's but dismissed it quickly, it was closed by now. She thought about the docks, but dismissed that even quicker.

Finally, she settled on the one place sure to have what she needed. Lots and lots of alcohol.

The Rabbit Hole was a fancier joint that she would have expected in a small town like Storybrooke. Pretty sizable and clean. The lighting was dim, but only enough to suit the atmosphere. Emma headed straight for the bar, waiting patiently for the bartender to finish serving a man she recognized from the drug store.

The bartender turned to her. "Deputy Swan," he said. "Has there been a problem?" He was an overweight man, with short-cropped dark hair and a kinder face than you'd expect on a bartender.

"Nope," Emma said. "Just here for a drink."

"Pick your poison then," the man said.

"Whiskey."

The bartender gave an appreciative nod and a moment later, Emma had a drink in her hand. She downed it, wanting to get halfway to shit-faced in record time. Just close enough that the bottle at home could get her the rest of the way there.

"Ah, Chester, really?" a rough voice said from behind her.

Emma turned to find Leroy, an empty beer mug in his hand and sour expression on his face.

"Look, Deputy, I don't know what he told you but—"

"Relax, Leroy," Emma said. "I'm off-duty." Her glass made a ringing sound as she tapped the rim. "You cause trouble, it's Graham's problem."

"Next one's on me," said the last—well, currently second-to-last voice—she wanted to hear right now. Ring decked fingers slid a bill across the counter. "And another rum if you don't mind."

Emma sighed. "I can buy my own drinks."

"Which is why I'm only buying you one," Killian said, sinking heavily into the stool beside her. "Rough shift?"

Emma finally turned her head. He slouched, a nearly empty tumbler in his hand. The metal curve of his hook sat on the counter for all to see, but the neither the bartender nor Leroy were fazed by it. He wasn't looking at her, though he nodded in acknowledgement, the corner of his mouth flicking up briefly. He leaned against the bar, gaze studying the dark wood, dark circles under his eyes too purplish to blame the eyeliner.

"You don't look like yours has been much better," Emma said.

Killian only grunted and pushed his glass toward Chester. There's something about the fluid motion of the gesture that makes Emma take a second look. His eyes are bloodshot. His posture possessing a looseness she'd never seen before. Not on him at least.

"Are you drunk?"

He raises an eyebrow at her as he takes his drink, but still won't quite look at her. "This is hardly the first time you've seen me partake in a few libations." And the words are there, but the crispness that she always associated with his diction is gone, his accent thickening and morphing.

The bartender came back over, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He raised it in silent question. With one last look at Killian, she nodded.

"You had a few sips from your flask, yeah," she said, elbows pressing against the edge. "But I don't remember you getting even slightly tipsy."

He threw her that rakish grin. "Well," he said, finally turning to her with a leer, "when one is in the company of an enchanting teenage siren, it's best to keep one's inhibitions intact."

Emma rolled her eyes.

His expression turned serious, he shifted, moving closer to her without leaving his stool. "I'm sorry about Graham."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Emma said. She paused, setting her glass down on the counter and staring at him. "Wait, you knew about Graham and Regina?"

Killian nodded. "They aren't as secretive as they think they are. I imagine Regina's lad is the only one in town that doesn't know by now." He shook his head. "I told him he should say something."

Her eyes narrowed. "The bear claw was you."

He smiled, tilting his head in a self-satisfied fashion.

"It doesn't bother me," she said, throwing back the last of her whiskey and pushing the glass over for more.

"So the drinks are celebratory?"

Emma shrugged. In truth, she wanted to forget the whole thing had happened. Which was ridiculous. She was an adult. Graham was an adult. They were just coworkers, there was nothing else between them. But if there was nothing else between them, why was she reacting like she'd walked in on them mid act? Her stomach dropped to her feet.

Shit.

Has she started to develop feelings for Graham?

No, she told herself firmly. She'd only know him a few weeks.

And in those few weeks, she'd started to count on him. He was steady, stable, easy on the eyes, and clearly—or so she thought—interested in her.

You would think she'd learned her lesson the first time. But no. This kept happening. She kept finding guys that she thought were one thing, guys that convinced her she could count on them. And she was so desperate she fell faster than a rock. Of course she was.

And just like the last two times, Graham wasn't who he said he was.

She should have just slept with him that first night and gotten it out of her system. No way she'd be in this situation now.

And ugh, now that thought was stuck in her head.

She took another drink.

Beside her, Killian did the same.

Emma bit her lip, studying him from the corner of her eye.

He had nearly his entire weight on the counter, his head sagging as he sipped his rum. He wasn't just a little tipsy, he was nearly drunk off his ass. A few more drinks and he probably wouldn't even remember he saw her tonight.

Switch to tequila and she'd probably be the same.

It would certainly be a good way to get the images of Graham and Regina out of her head.

Killian slammed his glass down on the counter and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and throwing another few bills on the counter. He stood, his hand resting on the hardwood surface just long enough to make it obvious he wasn't steady on his feet.

"Put the rest on my tab, Chester," Killian said. "I'll settle next time I'm in."

The bartender nodded.

For one brief, terrifying moment, Emma actually considered following him back to his ship.

And then her brain caught up with her and she rejected the thought. No, no, no. That was the worst idea. She absolutely was not letting him fool her and draw her in again. She was not a naïve teenager this time and he wasn't going to win her over with his smirks and his flashing blue eyes only to drop her again when he got bored with the chase. Once was quite often enough for one lifetime.

Instead of heading for the door, Killian staggered past Emma, back into the room, clamping a heavy hand on Leroy's shoulder.

"C'mon, mate," he said. "Best get yourself home before you regret staying. I'd hate for the lovely lady to have to call the sheriff on you."

"I'm not done," Leroy growled.

"Ah, well, how about you come with me and we can throw back a few on my boat, if you like," he said.

Leroy pursed his lips together. "You really have a boat?"

"Indeed I do. I'll give you the full tour."

That got the shorter man moving, he downed the last of his beer and stood, leaving payment on the counter as he walked out, asking Killian questions a mile a minute.

Emma watched them go, feeling a low pull in her belly. She wanted to go after them.

And that scared her. Because she didn't just want to go drown out the night's betrayal. She wanted to—to talk, to laugh with Killian like she used to. She wanted what they had all those years ago, despite the fact that she knew none of it was real.

She had had quite enough to drink tonight.

"You take card?" Emma asked.

Chester nodded.

She fished her credit card out of her wallet, waiting as Chester swiped it and handed her the receipt to sign.

Salt-scented air greeted her as she left the bar and for a brief instant, she turned toward the harbor.

Then she stuck her hands in her pockets and trudged toward Main Street, hoping that Mary Margaret had taken whatever was going on with them to David's place, wherever that was. If they hadn't she supposed the bug would do well enough. She just wanted to sleep and forget all of this ever happened. She didn't want to remember any of it.

Not Graham.

Not Killian.

Nothing.