I seem to be losing followers for the story - am I doing something wrong? :S

I still don't own anything.

Ten years ago

Emma giggled as her boyfriend appeared out of thin air.

"Do it again! I'll catch you out this time, I promise!"

Neal shook his head, laughing - "No you won't!" - and vanished again.

Emma groaned. Ever since Neal's revealation about his gift, she's been trying to crack it, to catch that exact blink-and-you-miss-it moment when he disappeared. So far, she's had no luck. Neither did the police.

"Boo" - a voice speaking behind her into her ear startled her. She jumped and swatted lightly at what appeared to be air, but judging from the "Ow!" she received, she's hit her target.

"Yes!" - she whooped as Neal materialised in front of her again.

"We make a pretty good team, you know" - he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders. - "The Lie Detector and the Unnoticeabe."

Emma chuckled.

"You know" - he continued - "I bet you already know so much about liars, you'd be a pretty good one yourself."
"I don't know about that" - Emma blushed, but she was secretly pleased by the compliment. - "I mean, I can play the innocent victim fine, but actual lies? I don't know if I'm any good."

Neal laughed. "Come on! Go on, try it on me. Tell me a lie and a truth - something I don't already know about you."

She smiled. "Alright. Well... " - he raised his hand to stop her.

"Em, you can't think about it! You're making it too easy! Lies should come naturally!"

Emma nodded.

Remember how other people lie? They make it look easy don't they?

"My parents come to me. In my dreams I mean. They talk to me, we have this sweet reunion scenes, like in the movies.. But I can never remember their faces.."

Neal nodded. He was looking at her intently, trying to figure out if she was telling the truth. "And the other thing?"

"I was kicked out of school because I used my superpower on the Principal."

He laughed, pulling her close. "My poor little rebel" - he murmured.

"So? Did you guess which one was the lie?" - she asked, eager to discover if she's gotten better at lying since last year.

He booped her nose. "I'll tell you this time tomorrow. Remember, parking lot, 9 o'clock."
Emma pouted a little but kissed him softly. "Can't wait" - she whispered.

But she never got to find out whether or not Neal thought she was a good liar. And until she got out of jail a year later and Booth began training her, she hasn't been able to tell a single lie.

Present day

Regina Mills hasn't noticed Emma yet - she was too busy staring at Mary Margaret and David Nolan. Emma thanked her lucky stars for that - if her old principal was looking right at her, she would undoubtedly have recognised her old student.

"You alright, lass?" - Killian Jones asked her softly. He seemed to notice the way her hands were shaking and her facial expression mirroring that of a young child about to be beaten with a belt.

"Lass?" - he called out again gently and touched her shoulder hesitantly. That seemed to have done the trick. Emma turned around swiftly.

"What? Course I'm alright" - she snapped. Killian frowned but chose to refrain from calling her out on the lie.

"Do you know her?" - he asked instead.

Emma, you can lie better now. He may be perceptive but you have the power of a lie detector. You can fool him.

"I don't" - she replied. - "Should I?"

Killian shrugged. - "If you're from here. She's the Mayor of this town."

Oh God, Emma thought. Principal Mills now has an entire community of people to steal from and enough power to bully everyone and their mother?!

"I have got to get out of here" - she muttered to nobody in particular and proceeded to complete her task, ignoring Killian's puzzled expression. As soon as she stepped out of the room, she began to run. She ran until she's reached the parking lot behind the Sheriff's station. She spent about two minutes trying to open the door in her car - her hands were shaking and her heart was beating like it wanted to jump out of her chest. Finally she got the door open and fell onto the driver's seat.

Her thoughts were a mess. How did Regina...

When did she even...

Did she recognise...

But Emma couldn't form a coherent idea in her mind. Every single thought in her head was getting interrupted by the ringing in her ears and the sound of her own breath. The air felt like it was compressing itself around her, trapping her. Ensnaring her. She dropped her head into her hands and began to sob. The obnoxious voice of her tough personality she's worked so hard to cultivate over the last decade was yelling into her ear:

"Emma cut the bullshit! You've put hundreds of people like her in jail and only gotten richer because of it! Just because she's part of the past of a stupid little girl, you're letting her get to you? Pathetic, Emma Swan! Absolutely pathetic!"

That voice, that knowledge, only made her cry harder. That stupid little girl Emma tried so hard to bury deep inside her was crawling upwards again. She pulled her knees up to her chest so as to make herself smaller and stop that girl somehow. But it didn't help. She was still sobbing, her lips were trembling each time she breathed out, her chest was rising and falling every two seconds as she gulped down every breath of air with difficulty. Her entire body was shaking as tears poured down her face.

"Poor little orphan Emma. You've been naughty haven't you" - Regina Mills' bored drawl was sounding as if she were nearby. Perhaps subconsciously, Emma knew that her old principal couldn't be that close to her, but she was too powerless to understand that properly. So she just cried harder.

Emma had no idea how long she's been crying for, when a tap on her car window startled her. She pulled her hood over her head and didn't look up.

Tap, tap, tap.

"Go away!" - Emma tried to yell but her words came out in a hoarse whisper.

Tap tap tap tap.

She groaned and slowly raised her head. It was getting dark outside, and her vision was obscured with her own tears, but the tall dark silhouette was unmistakeable.

Killian Jones was tapping on her car window. And he didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave.

Emma groaned again and rolled her window down. At once, Jones stuck his hand in and opened the door from the inside, taking a seat beside her.

"Breathe into this" - he said gruffly, handing her a paper bag, to which she was too stunned to react. When she didn't reach for it, he grabbed her hand and placed the bag into it.

"Breathe" - he repeated. - "It'll help."

Was it his stormy blue eyes that seemed to calm her down every time he looked at her? Or was it his accented voice, sending calming waves all over her? Whatever it was, it made her listen to him. She brought the bag up to her face and began to breathe heavily into it.

"That's it. In and out" - he was speaking to her, but his words didn't have an impact nearly as strong as his tone of voice, his calming demeanour, his... charisma?

After a minute, Emma put the bag down.

"Thanks" - she said grudgingly, sneakily wiping away the stray tears from her cheek. Killian handed her a box of tissues, which she accepted, fuming at herself for letting him see her cry.

"Alright?" - he asked when she wiped off the last of her mascara off her cheekbones. She nodded, sniffling.

"I'm fine, Jones." He snorted.

""Killian" will do".

"Well, thanks, Killian. You can go now." Emma had no desire to prolong her humiliation even further. All she wanted was to get to the hotel and spend hours on research into Regina Mills.

Killian cleared his throat. "Emma, you're in no state to drive and judging by the way you sprinted out of the hospital towards this car park, your plans clearly involved driving somewhere. Let me buy you a cuppa, it'll help."

"Well first of all - no thanks. Second of all - what my plans may or may not be isn't any of your concern. And thirdly - how do you even know who I am?!" - Emma's patience was running low. Killian shrugged, unfazed.

"You told me when I was signing books for you. I trust your friend enjoyed the gift?"

Emma frowned. "What makes you think I was buying them for a friend?"

"Please. You are so not the type to enjoy fantasy" - he scoffed. She rolled her eyes.

"And you would know this how?"

"Easily. You can't stand made-up stuff. Must be sad."

"I can't... stand made-up stuff?"

"Because of your gift" - he explainedcalmly.

"What gift? You keep mentioning it, but I really don't know what you're on about" - Emma replied just as calmly, placing what she was hoping was an innocent smile onto her face. He shrugged again.

"Course you do. It's obvious. And for what it's worth - I quite admire you for handling it so well. I'd take my hat off if I were wearing it right now" - he added the last part with a soft chuckle, but Emma didn't relax.

"Who are you?" - she hissed. He laughed again.

"You know who I am. Killian Jones, writer of fantasy novels. That's all there is to this persona" - he replied, gesturing to himself.

100% truth. Sneaky bastard. What are you up to?

"Having trouble, love?" - he leaned back on the passenger's seat, lights from the sunset dancing in his eyes.

Emma was lost. And confused. Not once in her life did her power malfunction. When she was younger, she used to have trouble with calculating how much, and which part, of what a person was saying was lies. However, she has never failed to spot one. Even a tiny white one.

Killian Jones was baffling. She wasn't completely unable to get a read on him, but it was like... like she was catching glimpses of him through white noise. Or like his words were spoken through a telephone with a really bad connection. Emma could not tell what the problem was. And she didn't like it.

"Try something new, darling" - she heard him speak. - "It's called trust."

"Could you quit with your terms of endearement? I know you're British and all, but they are annoying" - Emma snapped automatically. Killian shrugged.

"Sure. Now how about that tea, eh? There's a place not far from here called Granny's, I can grab us some. I gather you don't feel like being out and about in Storybrooke right now, am I right?"

He was, and Emma hated to admit it. She waved him away.

"Five minutes and I'm leaving."

She blinked and he was gone. She could see his retreating form running down to the diner and actually found herself smiling. If she were honest with herself, tea did sound pretty good right now. Or coffee. But he was, after all, British.

"Did I make good time?" - she gasped for the second time that hour. Sure enough, the writer was back, and he was handing her a tall paper cup.

"Careful, lo.. Emma. It's scorching hot" - he warned her, catching himself in time in the middle of saying "love". Emma nodded gratefully and took a sip of what turned out to be boiling hot green tea.

"I thought coffee wasn't the best idea right now" - he offered, almost shyly. - "So, did I make good time?"

"Yeah.. Thanks.." - she replied. - "For the tea, I mean. And for being nice."

"'Nice' is my middle name" - he winked. - "Well actually it's Liam but my point still stands. Is it good?"

Emma nodded. She wasn't a regular green tea drinker - coffee was more up her alley - but Granny's tea was admittedly nice and it did have a calming effect...

"So..." - Killian began, apparently unsure if he should ask a question.

"Yeah?"

"Want to tell me about that gift of yours?" - he asked. Emma sighed. She was hoping to avoid this. Oh well, she wasn't the only one with secrets.

"Do you?" - she fired back.

"Do I what?"

"Do you want to tell me about yours?"

His face darkened.

"I don't have any gifts. Only a talent for making words into well-crafted sentences."

Ok, this is getting ridiculous. I know for a fact you have a... something, so how are you concealing the truth?

"Your abilities won't help you this time, Emma" - his voice was now devoid of the teasing edge he adopted earlier. He sounded serious.

"Fine" - she conceded calmly. - "Want to tell me about whatever it is yourself?"

He sighed.

"Put it this way" - he began. - "I was telling the truth when we met. I do have a talent for writing, and I always have. I see no need to be modest about that."

"However..." - he turned away from Emma, facing the floor - "I do also carry a curse with me. A curse that happens to be a polar opposite of your gift."

"I don't understand?" - Emma was both confused and thrilled at the potential prospect of another person like her.

"Short version - you can make people tell the truth, whereas I can make them believe lies."

"Huh?!"

"You weren't wrong when you wondered about my books pulling people in. I write fantasy because... because it makes it easier."

"Makes what easier?"

"The burden. The knowledge that you have that power over people. It's not something I can turn off at will. I never learnt how. Writing was - is - the only way I can cope. But it will never be enough, Emma."

"You.. you have an amazing gift, you can help people! Whereas I am... "

He didn't finish. Emma understood why.

"You can.. persuade people to believe whatever you want them to believe" - she spoke after a long pause. He nodded.

"That explains why my power doesn't work on you..." - she muttered, more to herself than to the writer. He nodded again.

"I take it I was right about it?" - he finally asked.

"Yeah. I can tell when a person is lying. It took me a while to learn to control it, to apply it properly, but I can now tell the exact moment lies begin and end."

"That must've been hard when you were wee" - he whispered. Emma shrugged.

"I made do."

She didn't know why she was telling him this. Bar Ruby and Belle, she never shared her secret with anyone after Neal. Her mentor August Booth was the only other person who knew.

"Don't worry, Emma. Your secret is safe with me" - Killian whispered. She looked up at him.

100% truth.

Now that she knew that he could persuade her to think whatever she wanted, she should have been running. So why was she still here?

"Do you trust me to drive you to wherever it is you're staying?" - he asked. She hesitated but nodded. It was like Killian Jones knew exactly what she was thinking, what buttons to push. The last person she had that with has abandoned her alone in a jail cell. So why on earth was she trusting the writer?

He drove slowly, clearly having a lot on his mind. Neither of them spoke. Whatever Emma wanted to believe, there was now a sort of an understanding between them. She couldn't make sense of it - the part of her that was understanding was buried deep inside her for almost ten years, and she intended for it to stay that way.

"We're here" - Killian's voice cut through her confusion. She nodded.

"Thanks again, Killian." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card.

"If you ever need to talk, call me" - he thrust the card into her hand. - "Or if you need anything at all. I'll be in town for a while."

She nodded and he got out of the car. "I'll walk to the train station. Have a good night and don't be a stranger" - he winked and disappeared into the woods.

Emma locked her car and walked to the front porch of the hotel. She had a lot to think about.

Woah what a roller-coaster of emotions! Reviews are what I'm having for dinner (again – the life of a skint writer isn't as glamorous as it sounds) so leave me a few words :) thanks for reading!