Killian flattened himself against the side of the shop as the sheriff's car pulled up to the curb, holding his breath and unsure which frightened him more, the idea that Emma saw him skulking in the space between the Crocodile's shop and the hardware store or the idea that she had business with the Crocodile. He doubted the former would go well for him, but the latter had far more disturbing conclusions.
He listened as the car door slammed and Emma's boots crunched over the concrete. The jingle of the bell above the door and the slam of wood on wood brought no relief. With a long exhale, Killian hurried around the corner, peering through the window as best he could while staying out of sight. Of Emma that was, he had no idea what those watching from their shops thought of him, nor did he care. They would forget him soon enough.
She stood in the center of the shop, back to him, her hair a golden cascade of curls against the red leather of her jacket. Since the night at the hospital, their interactions had been few and far between. She was always terse and dismissive, her determination to push him away doubled. Their last true conversation had been at the sheriff's funeral when, without meeting his eyes, she thanked him for going with her to the hospital. Mary Margaret stood behind her on that occasion, lips pressed disapprovingly together as Emma stomped off with her hands shoved into her pockets. Her own thanks for the foresight Killian showed in summoning her to the hospital that night were much less begrudging.
Now, Emma jingled her keys in her hand, shoulders thrown back, the old bravado sitting comfortably on her shoulders again, as it had since the funeral. Though Killian could still see the fresh wounds in her eyes, he doubted anyone else would know how deeply Graham's death had cut her.
Her voice echoed against the glass, the words fading into each other so that he only heard their shape. She waited, leg jiggling before she strode through the curtain behind the counter.
Killian fought the urge to charge in after her, but Rumplestiltskin already suspected something and he was loathe to confirm anything. He had to trust that Emma could hold her own if the Crocodile tried anything overt. Still, his hand found the dagger at his belt, ready should he hear anything amiss.
Emma reemerged, following the pawnbroker to a cardboard box sitting on the counter.
Killian loosened his grip on the knife, taking his first deep breath in minutes.
# # #
Gold's shop was nothing like Emma expected.
From the crisp, clean cut appearance he put on around town, she figured his shop would be just as tidy, but there was crap everywhere, so much she barely knew where to look. And no sign of the proprietor anywhere among it.
Tightening her grip on her keychain, she called out, "Gold! You in here?"
A murmur caught her attention, drawing her eyes to the curtain hanging just behind the cash register. Assuming—since he told her he'd be in the shop all day when he called to say drop in at any time—the noise was Gold, Emma strode through the curtain, stopping short when she got her first good whiff of the odor back there.
"Whoa!" she said, not even trying to hide her grimace. "What is that?"
Gold looked up from his work, brushing what looked like rubber cement onto some woven item. He smiled. "Oh, this is lanolin." He gestured to a small can with the brush. "Used for waterproofing."
Emma took a step back, finally putting a finger on what the smell reminded her of. Once, while doing a stint at a home in Wisconsin, Emma had attended a state fair and right now this room smelled exactly like the over-crowded animal exhibit.
"It smells like livestock."
"Well," Gold said, returning to his work, "it is the reason why sheep's wool repels water."
"It stinks," she said bluntly. The stench overwhelmed the room, not even breathing through her mouth helped. Emma glanced at the door. "Um, if there was a reason you called the Sheriff's Department… If you want to talk about that quickly or outside—"
"Yes." Gold sat back, pulling of his gloves. He rose, his cane barely making a sound against the hardwood floor as he rounded the table and crossed to her. "I just wanted to, uh, express my condolences, really." He leaned heavily on his cane, offering her a sad smile. "The Sheriff was a good man."
Emma swallowed, afraid of reliving that awful night all over again. She had been, every night in her dreams. Wondering what she could have done, if there was anything that would have made a difference. The rational part of her mind knew she bore no guilt whatsoever in Graham's death. And that part of her didn't like talking about Graham, for the very reason that it brought up feelings like these. That part of her liked to say, I told you so, in the small hours of the night.
Gold looked down, pointing at her belt with one bony finger. "You're still wearing the Deputy's badge."
Her hand flew down to the badge, thumb stroking the already familiar leather as Gold look back up at her.
"Well, he's been gone two weeks, now," he said matter-of-factly. "And I believe that after two weeks of acting as Sheriff, the job becomes yours. You'll have to wear the real badge."
"Yeah, I guess," she replied, cringing at how unsure that sounded. Like she was hung up on Graham like some lovesick puppy. "I'm just not in a hurry. So, um, thank you for the kind words."
She cleared her throat as she left the back room, hoping that might clear away the feelings as well.
"I have his things," Gold said, the fabric swishing behind him, closing off the back room and the noxious smell.
Emma froze. "What?"
"The Sheriff." Gold rested his hand on a cardboard box sitting on the counter. A battered brown thing, like something you might find in someone's basement or shoved in a city hall closet. "He rented an apartment that I own. Another reason for my call, really. I wanted to offer you a keepsake."
Emma shook her head. "I don't need anything." The shoelace she tied around her wrist two weeks ago felt heavy, holding her in place even though she wanted to run far from this conversation. Graham was gone. Nothing would change that. Time to move on.
Gold nodded. "As you wish." He glanced down at the box. "I'll give them to Mayor Mills. Seems like she was the closest thing he had to family."
"I'm not sure about that," Emma scoffed.
"No love lost there, I see." Gold chuckled, but his mirth was brief. He flipped the lid off the box. "Look, I feel that all of this stuff is headed for the trash bin. You really should take something. Look—" He grabbed the item on top. An article of clothing Emma recognized very well. He held it out to her. "His jacket."
Emma already knew that was a bad idea. It smelled like aftershave and wood smoke. In other words, like Graham. She was not the type of girl that laid in bed staring at the ceiling while clutching some pointless keepsake. Sentimental girls did that. Emma never had privilege of being sentimental and she was better for it.
"No."
Gold put the jacket aside without comment. "Oh. Well, look…" He dug through the contents with a purpose, plucking out a pair of old, short-range walkie talkies. "Your boy might like these, don't you think? You could play together."
Emma swallowed, Henry had barely said a word to her in the last two weeks. "I don't—"
He cut her off, offering her the radios "No, please. They…They grow up so fast."
Something in the way he looked at her pulled Emma forward, prompting her to pick-up the walkie talkies. They weren't as heavy as she expected.
"Thanks," she said warily.
"You enjoy these with your boy," he said, wagging a finger at the radios, his voice growing even softer. "Your time together is precious, you know?" He smiled tentatively. "That's the thing about children, before you know it, you lose them."
Emma nodded, thanking him again, before gathering the radios into one arm and heading for the door. The bell chimed as she left, the sound cut off abruptly as the door swung shut. She wished she could turn her thoughts off as effectively.
"Everything alright there?"
Emma groaned. She had managed to avoid Killian for the last two weeks, despite Mary Margaret's pestering over him calling Ruby that night. She already thanked him for that, it was over and done with. He was a problem that she did not need right now, she had enough on her plate with being a full-time deputy and dealing with Regina and worrying about Henry.
He could help you bear that last burden, a traitorous little voice said as she looked from the radios in her hand and straight into the brilliant blues eyes smiling at her.
"Swan?"
Emma's narrowed her eyes. "Are you stalking me?"
"If I were, Swan, I assure you we would meet far more often." He lifted a paper to go cup between their faces, giving her a good look at the 'Storybrooke Coffee' logo before he gestured to the shop across the street. "Small town, remember? I was going out on the boat and I wanted something hot to hold off the chill. It's a bit nippy this late in the year. Granny's had a line." He shrugged. "I don't suppose you'd care to join me?"
Emma expected his trademark smirk, maybe even a suggestive eyebrow or a sway into her personal space. All of which she was so not in the mood for today. Hell, she wasn't in the mood for any of that ever.
His face remained carefully neutral though as he said, "Might help take you mind off things," like he knew exactly what she was going through.
Not that she was going through anything.
And she knew exactly what he meant when he offered to take her mind off things.
"I've got something I need to do," she said, glancing at the walkies again.
Killian chuckled. "I think the town can afford a bit better than second hand equipment."
"They were Graham's," Emma says before she thinks to stop herself. "Gold gave them to me."
Killian's face had softened slightly at the mention of Graham's name—strange that he showed such nostalgia now that Graham was gone—burst into a glower, something almost rabid lighting up his eyes.
"And what price did he want for those?"
Emma took a step back. "Nothing."
Killian snorted. "I've known the—" He stopped, pressing his lips together and taking a deep breath. "I've known that man a long time, Swan, he never gives something for nothing."
"Yeah, well, this time he did. It's not like they were his in the first place." She clutched the walkies a little tighter, for no reason she could discern, like she was afraid he might try to take them from her. "He thought Henry might like them is all. Maybe he was feeling nostalgic, I got the impression that he lost someone."
"His son," Killian said.
"Oh," Emma said. "Well, that explains why he got so sad."
Killian scoffed. "I doubt he's sad about it. He was hardly innocent in the matter." He looked away from Emma, the muscle in his jaw clenching. "It wouldn't take much to be a better parent than he was."
Anger flared up deep inside her. "And what would you know about that?"
"I told you, I've known him a long time. Let's just say, I would have made very different choices." Before Emma could laugh in his face, he stepped in close. "Emma, please listen, no good ever comes of being involved with that man. Stay away from him."
She could have sworn his eyes were burning and she hated what his obvious concern did to her.
"We've already been over this, Hook," she said, feeling like ground the words out. "No part of my life is any of your business."
He took a step away. The anger flashed again and fizzled. "Just be careful. People always end up owing him more than they have to give."
A sharp breeze cut between them and it took every ounce of Emma's willpower not to shiver, but she would not show any kind of weakness with him standing there. His eyes held hers another moment before he turned away, heading down the road. She swallowed pushing away the thoughts about time and regret and all the things Graham's death had her contemplating. She looked down at the walkie talkies, biting her lip.
She couldn't remember the last time she and Henry had a good, quality moment. Not since Graham's death for sure. Regina was keeping him closer than usual it. But it was technically still working hours and Emma knew Henry hated hanging out at the office for hours on end.
Today was quiet, she could afford a bit of a break right now.
Emma got into the squad car, heading for the beach on a hunch.
Sure enough, a familiar figure sat in the wooden playground kicking at the air. Her heart swelled at the sight of him and she realized with a start how much she missed him. And it didn't terrify her. She threw the car into park and grabbed the radios.
Henry either didn't notice or ignored her approach, his head stayed bowed as Emma made her way up the creaking steps.
"Brought you something," she said, placing one of the radios into his lap and sitting next to him. She studied him as he fiddled with the buttons. It felt like ages since he smiled at her. "Thought we could use them together for Operation Cobra."
She thought that would perk him up at least a little, but Henry just stared at the walkie in his hand.
"Thanks," he said.
She bumped her shoulder against his. "Oh, come on! What's up? You've been ducking me for weeks."
Henry bit his lip. "I think we should stop Cobra stuff for a while." He sighed, looking off into the distance. "You don't play with the curse. Look what happened to Graham."
Emma's stomach plummeted. She knew Graham's death hurt him, but he was a kid, kids were supposed to bounce back. For a brief flash, she wondered if he'd been taking this as hard if Killian was a bigger part of his life, but she shook that thought away. Henry did not need that complication in his life right now.
"Henry," Emma said softly. "I told you they did an autopsy. It was totally natural causes."
"Okay, whatever. You don't believe. Good. That should keep you from messing with it." He blinked up at her for just a minute, giving her a clear view of the regret in his eyes. "And getting killed."
Her heart twisted in her chest. He was so young and yet, sometimes it felt like he was the older one. "You're worried about me?"
"She killed Graham because he was good," Henry said, his voice rising. "And you're good."
She wasn't sure whether she should start with the her being good part or the part where none of this was his fault. Maybe she needed to pay a visit to Archie. He'd know what was going on in Henry's head.
She just wanted him to be okay. "Henry…"
"Good loses," he said, those big, green eyes of his never wavering. "Good always loses. Because good has to play fair. Evil doesn't. She's evil." He spoke calmly now, with a defeated tone that sounded painfully familiar. "This is probably best. I don't want to upset her anymore."
He handed back the walkie, swinging his bag over his shoulder as he left.
Emma stared at the black radio for a moment before setting it aside. She watched as he ran across the grass and down the path. A part of her said go after him, walk him home like she used to do before she had a job that kept her busy when he was coming and going from school. How long had it been? Just a few months ago she hadn't even known his name and now…
She missed him.
She straightened, jumping down and scooping up the second walkie. She did have a job to do.
After a quick pit stop at Granny's for some coffee, Emma headed back to the station. Today was quiet so far, might be a good day to get caught up on paperwork.
Or at least that's what she thought until she walked in and saw Graham's badge sitting on the desk.
This wasn't a new development.
It was sitting there when she left for Gold's shop, just like it had for the last two weeks, but Emma couldn't get those words out of her head. She stared at the badge for several minutes. Her keys clinked as she set them down next to her coffee and picked it up. Was it just her, or did this badge feel heavier than the one on her belt right now?
Gold was right. The job was technically all hers now, but could she do it? Could she, Emma Swan, the person who'd barely spent more than a year in any one place, actually be someone the people of Storybrooke could count on? That was a lot of responsibility. She wasn't sure she wanted it that much.
As she stared at Graham's old badge—fighting the lump that rose in her throat—she thought of Henry.
Swallowing, she turned it over, thumbing open the clasp as she pinched her jacket with the other finger.
"Oh, I'm sorry," came a voice from behind her. Regina stood in the doorway, dressed for the weather in a severe black turtleneck dress and gray coat. She pulled one hand out of her pocket, pointing at the badge. "That's not for you."
Emma didn't have the energy to fight her right now, so she kept to the facts. "It's been two weeks. Promotion is automatic."
"Unless the Mayor appoints someone else within the time period," she said with a self-important smile. She stalked past the desk, her tread even as she passed the spot where Emma stood as Graham died. "Which I'm doing today."
The hard metal bit into Emma's palm as she closed her fist around it. "So, who's it going to be?"
"After due reflection, Sidney Glass."
"Sidney from the newspaper?" Her nose scrunched up, the crease at the side of her mouth deepening. She hadn't met Sidney, but she remembered his name. He was the one that wrote the smear article when she first came into town. And she'd read his name more than once while perusing her morning copy of the Mirror. "How does that even make sense?
Regina shrugged. "Well, he's covered the Sheriff's Office for as long as anyone can remember."
"And he'll do whatever you want him to." Emma sighed, apparently she was not getting out of this without a fuss. She found she did have some fight in her as Regina crossed her arms, barely containing a smug smile. "You just cannot stand the fact that things have been getting better around here, can you?"
"Better?" Regina's eyes narrowed, a sneer marring her face. "Are you referring to Graham's death as 'better'?"
Emma's heart plummeted to her feet, hearing her words exactly as Regina must have. "No."
"He was a good man, Miss Swan," Regina said, her voice tight. "He made this town safe, and forgive me for saying it, but you have not earned the right to wear his badge."
Dumping the badge back on the desk—the better to resist stabbing Regina in the eye with it—Emma turned back to her, shoulders thrown back, head held high.
"Graham picked me…" she said, pausing just long enough before clarifying, "to be Deputy."
Regina didn't miss a beat. "He was wrong."
"No." Emma pushed her jacket back, propping her hands on her hips, refusing to yield. "He knew what he was doing. He freed this office from your leash. You're not getting it back."
"Actually, I just did." She didn't hold back the smile this time. "Miss Swan, you're fired."
Emma was still processing the way those words made her go cold all over as Regina stepped forward, snatched up the badge, and stalked out of the room.
# # #
Two hours, half a glass of whiskey, and one broken toaster later, Emma's blood was still boiling. The loud rock music blaring from her iPod probably wasn't helping her calm down, but calming down was the furthest thing from her mind right now. She slammed a toaster against the counter, trying to get the levers to unstick. A pointless endeavor, considering she mangled the outer casing while trying to get it off and pretty much demolished the electrical cord as well—which was why she felt completely safe digging into the toaster with a butter knife again.
Her music cut off suddenly.
Mary Margaret watched her with an expression that was too neutral for disinterest.
"Toaster broken?" she asked.
Emma sighed. "It wasn't when I started with it. Pretty sure it is now." She tried again with the knife, almost stabbing herself in the eye when it slipped against the smooth metal. "Just needed to hit something."
Mary Margaret set her bag of groceries down on the counter, eying Emma warily. "What's going on?"
"Regina fired me so she could put one of her own puppets in as Sheriff." A good, solid glare was the only facial expression Emma had any interest in making right now, so she glared at Mary Margaret and hoped her friend understood it wasn't anything personal. "It's my job."
"I never heard you so passionate about it before. What happened?" Mary Margaret started unloading her groceries, pulling out gross things like vegetables and those muffins she liked with organic blueberries.
"I don't know, I just…" Emma gave a particularly vicious stab at the toaster, feeling vindication at the chink metal made on metal. "I know I want it back."
Her roommate rocked back on her heels. "There must be a reason."
Emma slumped against the counter at the knock on the door, she really wasn't in the mood for any guests right now.
"Maybe I just want to beat her," she said, going answer the door, knife still in one hand and the toaster a solid edge pressed into her hip.
Mr. Gold stood on the other side, a massive binder under one arm. He gave her his signature, polite not smile. "Good evening, Miss Swan. Sorry for the intrusion. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."
Emma looked back at Mary Margaret, hoping she had a reasonable excuse to turn Gold away.
"I'll let you two talk," her traitor roommate said, retreating so quickly you'd think the kitchen was on fire.
Emma sighed.
"Come on in," she said, realizing after the fact that she was brandishing the butter knife in the poor man's face.
"Thank you," Gold said. "I, uh… I heard about what happened. Such an injustice."
Emma shrugged, deciding she needed to put the toaster down. "Yeah, well, what's done is done."
"Spoken like a true fighter." A slight note of reproof rang in his voice, making Emma regret inviting him in even more.
"I don't know what chance I have," she said, throwing the knife down next to the toaster. "She's Mayor and I'm, well, me." Because she had yet to hit her quota for the day, she shrugged again and propped her hands on her hips.
"Miss Swan, two people with a common goal can accomplish many things," he said, condescension still coloring his voice. His hair flipped back from his face as he turned to her. "Two people with a common enemy can accomplish even more. How would you like a benefactor?" He smiled again, a sly thing this time, his gold tooth winking at her.
"A benefactor?" She was pretty sure the only time anyone talked about benefactors was in one of those boring ass Dickens novels. She wasn't exactly some ragged street urchin running around the back alleys—not anymore at least—so she wasn't sure how a benefactor would help in this situation.
"You mind?" He gestured to the table, the creases in his forehead deepening with his quizzical glance. When Emma made no objection, he pulled back one of the chairs, sitting as Emma did. "You know, it really is quite shocking how few people study the town charter." He settled into his seat, hooking his cane on the edge of the table before holding the book up for her perusal.
She wasn't impressed. She never got much help from big books with pristine white pages. "The town charter?"
"Well, it's quite comprehensive. And the Mayor's authority?" He leaned forward, his weight on both hands as he let the sentence hang between them. Sitting back, he flipped the binder up, the pages rustling as he turned them quickly. "Well, maybe she's not quite as powerful as she seems." He landed on whatever he was looking for so quickly, it felt like he might have rehearsed this, especially when he added, "Aha!" He spun the book around, tapping a paragraph as he slid it toward Emma. "Take a look at that."
Feeling even less confident about this whole exchange, she grasped the book, pulling it toward her and putting her finger next to the section Gold indicated. She read over it. She read over it again. There were a lot of words in that small paragraph, a lot of jargon and legalese, but she thought she got the gist.
She looked up at Gold, eyebrows shooting up. "She doesn't get to decide who is sheriff."
He laced his fingers together, his grin widening. "It appears not, Ms. Swan. I assume you know what you need to do now?"
# # #
Emma arrived at the mayor's office bright and early the next day, her red jacket a comforting weight on her shoulders. She had debated going with something a little less…vibrant, but decided against it. She needed her armor today, more than ever. The office was pretty empty this early morning, or at least, it seemed until she heard the murmur of voices coming from Regina's office, most of them covered by the clear, confident delivery echoing through the frosted glass.
It sounded like she got here just in time.
Emma seized the handle, pushing the door open just as Regina declared, "Please welcome your new Sheriff!"
"Hang on a second," she interrupted, her voice muffled by the crowd of reporters. She stood a little straighter as every eye turned on her.
Regina froze, her hands hovering over her stooge's lapel, and turned to Emma. "Oh, Miss Swan, this is not appropriate." She shook her head, disappointed rather than angry, a mask for the reporters most likely.
"The only thing not appropriate is this ceremony." Emma cut through the crowd, holding Regina's gaze the entire time and putting some swagger in her step. She stopped directly in front of Regina, hands going behind her back. "She does not have the power to appoint him."
Regina gave her a patronizing look, also addressing the crowd without looking at them. "The town charter clearly states '…the Mayor shall appoint—'"
"A candidate," Emma cut in. "You could appoint a candidate. It calls for an election."
"The term 'candidate' is applied loosely," Regina said, fiddling with the badge in her hand.
"No, it's not." Emma dropped her voice, pissed at Regina's exploitation of the system. "It requires a vote. And guess what, Madam Mayor? I'm running."
For a moment, it looked like Regina might argue. Instead, she smiled. "Fine. So is Sidney."
"I am?" the man that must be Sidney said. He was older, with deep lines carved into his dark skin, especially around his eyes and mouth and curling hair nearly the same color as his gray business suit. Everything about him was understated and controlled, even down to the navy tie—a safe choice if Emma ever saw one. Yeah, he looked exactly like the type cut out to be sheriff.
Regina turned around and a look passed between them.
Sidney lifted his chin, speaking with confidence this time. "I am."
"With my full support," Regina said, a broad smile stretched across her face and forced brightness in her voice. "I guess we'll learn a little something about the will of the people."
"I guess we will," Emma said, spinning on her heel and striding right past all those nosy journalists with their flashing cameras.
And then Emma went home and pulled a Mary Margaret—as in cleaning the entire apartment from top to bottom because she was currently jobless and her current career plan ruled out getting blackout drunk. And she figured damaging one appliance this week was enough. She was pretty sure Mary Margaret would kick her out if she started on the electric tea kettle or the blender. She had her head in the fridge and half the vegetables on the counter when the phone rang. And rang. And rang.
Throwing the sponge in the drawer she was cleaning—penance for the toaster—Emma grabbed the phone from its cradle.
"Yeah?" she asked a little harshly.
"Hey, Emma?" a vaguely familiar voice said.
"Speaking."
"It's Ruby." There was a pause. "Um, look, nothing urgent, but you might want to get down to the diner."
"Something wrong?" Emma asked, suddenly intrigued. Was someone causing trouble? Storybrooke was technically without a sheriff, maybe Ruby didn't know who else to call.
"Possibly," she said. "Look, just, Henry's here and I think you want to talk to him, okay?"
The other line clicked, leaving Emma staring at her phone. "Well, that was cryptic and unhelpful." She shoved her phone into her back pocket, leaving the vegetables where they were as she donned her jacket and headed out the door. Ruby was right about one thing, she did want to talk to Henry.
She jogged all the way to the diner, half afraid her kid's sixth sense would kick in and teleport him away before she got there.
At the door, she paused, taking a deep breath so it didn't seem like she had rushed here to see him. The better to play the cool adult. The door opened and shut with the usual jingle of the bell, Ruby pausing as she cleaned a table to smile at Emma and nod toward the booths. Emma had spotted him already, hunched over the table and reading a newspaper.
She plopped down next to Henry, bumping him with her shoulder. "How was school?"
"Okay." He shifted away from her slightly, eye glued to the paper.
Emma sighed, praying for patience. If he was this bad now, she couldn't imagine what he'd be like as a teenager. She promptly ignored the part of her that asked if she planned to stick around that long.
"You're reading that paper pretty hard."
"Sidney wrote it." Her son flipped the paper over, sliding the afternoon edition in front of her. Plastered across the front in bold font was 'Ex-jailbird Emma Swan birthed babe behind bars'. "Is it a lie?"
Emma unclenched her jaw. "No."
"I was born in jail?" He looked up at her briefly before going back to making short tears in the edge of a napkin.
Emma swallowed. The answer was technically no. He had been born in a hospital, but her ankle had been cuffed to a bed for the entire excruciating process. In the end, the distinction didn't really matter.
"Yes." She flipped the paper back over, so that her picture wasn't staring back up at them. "These records were supposed to be sealed," she said, but the excuse fell short even on her ears. So much for being the cool adult. "Tell me you're not scarred for life."
"I'm not." He gave her an odd twitch of the lips, somewhere between a smile and grimace. "Well, not by this."
"Good. Then, let's throw this out," she said, folding the paper in half and pressing in a good crease. "And we will get our news from something more reliable. Like the internet."
"This is what I've been trying to tell you," Henry insisted. "Good can't beat evil, because good doesn't do this kind of thing. My mom plays dirty, that's why you can't beat her. Ever."
"I have a new ally," Emma said, glad for the change in subject, even if it was the same old argument. "Mr. Gold said he's going to help."
"Mr. Gold?"
She hadn't thought Henry could look any more angst ridden, but somehow he managed it, small furrows appearing across his brow.
"He's even worse than she is. You already owe him one favor. You don't want to owe him anymore. Don't do this."
Emma looked down at the paper, unable to help skimming over some of the words, names and places jumping out. She sighed, pushing away the unease his sincerity stirred in her gut. She was the adult, he was just a kid with an overactive imagination. Regina could be beaten. Gold could help her. That was the important thing.
"I have to, Henry," Emma said. She put her arm around him, squeezing him close to her. "Don't worry, I'll be careful. I can do this." She waved Ruby over, ordering two hot chocolates with cinnamon.
Nine times out of ten, Emma would have ignored the jingle above the diner door, but something about this time, something about the violence of the bell or the tread of the footsteps that entered pulled her around.
Her stomach plummeted to her feet.
In her anger at Sidney and Regina and her embarrassment at Henry discovering her sordid past, she forgot one very crucial part of the equation.
Killian stared at her, the white visible around the blues of his eyes.
Shit.
"Ruby, throw that on my tab," she said, jumping up from her seat. "Henry, I forgot I have to take care of something." She raced across the diner, reaching Killian before he gathered his wits and hauling him out the diner by his bicep. She got halfway down the walk before he wrenched his arm away from her.
He spun, forcing her to turn back to the diner to face him.
"Bloody hell. It's true, isn't it?"
Emma didn't know how to breathe, let alone answer him.
Anger overtook shock. He stepped closer, leering down at her. "Is that my son?"
"Yes."
His breath expelled in one fast whoosh, hot on her face. The pure, raw expression on his face filled Emma with regret for not telling him the truth the minute she found out he was in Storybrooke.
"Hook—"
"None of my business, eh?" He shoved something—the newspaper—at her, pressing it against her chest. "How the bloody hell can you say that, Swan?"
She grabbed his arm again. "Not here."
He resisted, but she refused to let him go. She had to make sure they were on the same page before he barged into the diner.
"Please, Killian, don't do this here."
For a minute, she thought he was going to do as he damn well pleased anyway. He yanked his arm from her grasp, leaving her fingers stinging, and stalked down the walkway. He paused at the street, turning to her and gesturing to the sidewalk in front of him.
"Shall we?"
# # #
Emma ushered Killian into her apartment, leaving him to close the door.
She stalked straight to the little kitchenette, slapping the newspaper down on the counter. While Killian's anger calmed during the brief walk to the apartment, it seemed Emma's temper had ignited. He sidled up to the bar, pulling out one of the stools and sinking down on it, still a bit light-headed over everything. He had a son.
Bloody hell.
And not just that. It was Henry.
Of all the children in the world, it was Henry.
Gods, he hadn't been remotely prepared for this. He still felt the cold pit in his stomach from when he first saw the headline, the almost relief when the article mentioned another man, short-lived though it was. Before he finished the article he knew the numbers didn't add up. He knew the truth. Regina's fingerprints ran all over it and she wanted the whole town to know that Emma had already been with child when she took up with this Neal. She wanted to tarnish Emma's reputation.
He meant to confront Emma when he followed her into the diner, but Henry turned around and all he could see were Emma's eyes staring back at him. He should have known. How could he not have known? He was Henry's father...how could he have missed that for nine years? Perhaps it was a sign that he was doomed to repeat past mistakes…
Two solid thunks startled Killian out of his downward spiral. Emma stood on the other side of the bar, a bottle of whiskey in her hand. She poured several fingers worth of the drink into the glass tumbler in front of him, before helping herself to a slightly less generous amount.
"You look like you could use one of these," she said grimly. "I know I needed one."
Killian took a sip, letting the burn of the whiskey ground him. "How long have you known?" He narrowed his eyes. "He's why you came to Storybrooke, isn't he?"
She shook her head, a smile ghosting across her face. "He found me, actually. And dragged me all the way back here." She braced her palms against the counter, her drink remaining untouched. "But I did stay for him."
He drank again, a more generous amount than the last sip. "And you didn't think I deserved to know?"
"No." Her gaze held steady.
He slammed his glass down, the stool clattering behind him as his temper surged back. "He's my son, Swan. I bloody well deserved to know."
"You left," she spat. "You don't get to be angry."
Her gaze drilled into him, too bright, too intense, and he looked away, unprepared to see the full extent of the damage he wrought.
"I am so sorry," he breathed. "You have to believe me. I never would have left had I known." The minute the words left his mouth, he knew they were all wrong. The tension in the air wound tighter. "Emma…"
"So you'd stay for him," she said, her voice low, "but not for me?"
"No, love, that's not…" He sighed, fingers pressed to his forehead, the counter taking more than its fair share of his weight. No matter how he turned the situation, he came to the same answer. "I never should have…" And yet, could he really wish away the lad's entire existence simply to ease his own guilt? Braced for the impact, he met her gaze. The truth was written plain on her face. If she hadn't been on her own, Henry would be her son. Their son. "The moment I left, I knew I should have stayed."
"Yeah, you should have." Emma threw back the rest of her drink.
"What are we going to tell Henry?"
Guilt flashed across her face, disappearing beneath a tight-lipped stare. "Nothing."
Blood rushed in his ears. "You are not keeping me from my son."
"You didn't even know you have a son until today!"
"I've known him his entire life." Somewhere over the course of the argument, he rounded the counter, crowding Emma against the fridge and glaring down with a rage that surprised him. He stopped short, unable to walk any further without physically bowling her over. Arms crossed, she held his gaze, refusing to back down. "I am not the kind of man who can walk away from his children as though they mean nothing!"
A hint of surprise flashed in Emma's gaze. She didn't know—he never told her about his father, about being abandoned, even now, three hundred years later the wound bled—but the change in Emma's posture spoke of understanding.
"That isn't what I'm asking, Killian." Without preamble, she pushed him away.
He took a deep breath, shoving down the anger, already embarrassed to have lost his temper with her of all people. "Then what are you asking, Swan?"
"You can still be a part of his life, I'm not saying that has to stop, but he can't know who you are." She held up a hand. "Not yet. I am trying to mend things between him and Regina and suddenly having his dad come out of the woodworks is only going to make that harder. Between that and—and Graham's death, he's got a lot going on right now." She pressed her fingers to her brow. "Please, believe me, he doesn't need anything else to sort through."
The pleading softened the edges of his temper. "You truly think this is best? For now?"
"Yes," Emma said. She leaned across the counter, retrieving their glasses and dumping them in the sink. "And Killian…Don't bring this up with Regina. She barely tolerates me being around."
Killian nodded. "But we will tell both of them eventually?"
"I will tell them when Henry's ready," Emma said, her voice cutting like steel. "And I decide when that is. Got it?"
"Aye," he ground out. You left, he reminded himself, you can't be surprised at her not trusting you. "Swan…"
She wouldn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the trail of whiskey leaking down the drain from his glass, her grip on the counter white-knuckled. She didn't want him here, so he stepped away. She sighed, though whether in relief or regret, he wasn't sure. A floorboard creaked under his foot as he turned.
"Where are you going?" Emma asked tightly.
"To think," Killian said, suddenly anxious for the swell of the waves and salt air. He wanted to be out on his boat to ponder, to come to terms with what he had learned. He was a father…and had been for nine years. "Try not to get into any trouble while I'm gone."
"Gone?"
"I do my best thinking out at sea," he said with a mischievous grin. "I'd invite you to join me, but I imagine you'd like to have a few words with whoever wrote that article." He paused, grin widening. "Call if you need help hiding the body."
Emma rolled her eyes. "That is not going to help my bid for sheriff."
"Well, you've got my vote, love." He winked as he ducked behind the door.
As soon as the latch clicked, he leaned his head against the wall. Bloody hell. What was he going to do with a son? His hand trembled, his eyes burned. He swallowed hard. He had so much lost time to make up for.
For a moment, he debated running back down to the diner, sitting beside Henry, asking him more about the book. But would the boy seek an explanation for Killian's sudden interest in him? He took a deep breath. No, he needed to find a way to get close to Henry without violating any of Emma's rules. This required thought and finesse.
On the upside, with the amount of time Emma spent with the lad already, perhaps he would kill two birds with one stone.
# # #
Despite the fact that it was after five by the time Emma finished with Killian, the door to the mayor's office stood open, practically inviting her as she stormed in. Regina looked up from her desk, her hand poised in the midst of signing something as Emma stomped over, the newspaper brandished in front of her.
"This is abuse of power," she spat, throwing the newspaper down on the desk. The thwack was not nearly satisfying enough to please her, but it was better than hitting Regina. Again.
Lips pressed tight, Regina flipped a leather binder closed before looking up at Emma coolly. "Oh, I'm sorry. You didn't want people to know you cut his cord with a shiv?" She packed as she spoke, like Emma was hardly worth the interruption of her day.
"I don't care what people know," Emma said, trying to appeal to Regina's maternal side, "but this hurts Henry."
"He would've learned eventually." Regina shoved the binder into her bag, shaking her head slightly. "We all lose our heroes at some point."
Emma gaped at Regina's nonchalance. Sure, she wasn't entirely sure why she came here in the first place. It wasn't like she wanted to attack Regina, but she was hoping to achieve something…a cease fire maybe, she really didn't know. But here Regina was giving a whole new meaning to tough love. No, this wasn't love. This was blindness. Regina was so caught up in their little feud, or whatever, she couldn't see the collateral damage she wrought.
"He doesn't need to lose anything more," she tried again. She followed the mayor out the office door. She didn't remember picking up the newspaper, but the paper crinkled under her fingers. "He's depressed, Madam Mayor. He doesn't have any… Any hope. Don't you see that?"
"He's fine."
"He's not fine," Emma insisted as the lights went down. She slipped past Regina, who held the door for her, the perfect picture of civility even while arguing. Emma started to doubt her previous assessments. How could Regina be so cold when this was Henry they were talking about? "I mean, think about it. Watching his adoptive mother throw a smear campaign against his birth mother? You don't think that would be upsetting?"
Regina shrugged. "All I did was expose him to the truth." She paused, smiling her tight-lipped smile, the fierce cunning in her eyes sending chills down Emma's spine. "I merely gave him forewarning about…events that might come up in the debate."
"Debate?"
Regina nodded. "Yes, Miss Swan, there's a debate."
Emma rolled her eyes as Regina walked away. There really wasn't any way to make this feel more like high school was there? She focused on following Regina's words instead of thinking about how well she had performed in her high school speech classes, which was to say there was a good reason no one ever invited her to join the debate team at any of the high schools she briefly attended.
"You two can talk about jail time and penitentiary healthcare and maybe even your new association with Mr. Gold," Regina threw over her shoulder as she headed for the stairs. The stairway had an odd, dull quality that went along with the bare walls and tarp stuck to the wall with painter's tape. "He's a snake, Miss Swan. You need to be careful who you get into bed with."
"I'm not getting into bed with anyone. I'm just fighting fire with—"
One minute Emma was talking, the next a wave of heat sent her flying back, her ass connecting with landing in way that sent pain jarring up her spine. Her ears rang, the world tilted as she sat up to see the doorway in front of them blocked by tongues of flame. A few steps down, Regina coughed and tugged at a metal ladder that had landed on her. Emma lurched forward, grabbing the thing and helping lift it off of Regina.
She looked forward, looked behind. There were other ways out of the building, ones that didn't require anyone becoming the central act of a circus daredevil act.
She held her hand out to Regina. "Alright, come on—let's go! We got to get out of here."
Regina tried to stand, but collapsed back onto the stairs. "I can't move! You have to get me out. Help me!" Her voice rose at the end, a pitiful whine.
Emma stared at the door, then back down at Regina again. The other woman's eyes filled with fear and suspicion and Emma knew what she must be thinking.
She couldn't carry Regina up the stairs. The only way out was through and Emma didn't owe Regina anything.
Welp, there you go! He knows! Now I guess the big question is...how many more chapters until Henry finds out?
Thank you to everyone who has stuck through this so far, I know I don't have the most consistent update schedule. It's hard, juggling multiple WIPs AND a full length novel. So thank you to all my patient followers.