Emma sighed, running her hand over her face in exhaustion. David was telling the truth, he had to be. There was no way that lie was planned material, it was just horrible. He didn't seem like a killer, anyways, he was too jumpy. Mary Margaret would be relieved that her on-off boyfriend was innocent, but for now, that just meant Emma's best lead was useless. It couldn't have been Mary, it wasn't David; that left very few people. She just had a feeling that Regina was behind this. Why? Emma wasn't sure, but she would bet her bug it had something to do with her. Regina was always trying to get to her, one way or another. She needed a break, and maybe a drink.

Getting up, Emma grabbed her keys off her desk and strode out of the station, intent on going home. She had seen Mary Margaret at the festival, which meant she would have to relay the information that David was innocent since Mary had seen her 'arrest' him. The lights still hadn't come back on after they mysteriously went out while she was talking to David, so she hit several walls on her way out, imagining that Mary's apartment would be just as dark and gloomy. A long night that was doomed to get even longer. Yay. And then there was Gold. Her enemy/ally/advice giver that could never pick a side. Actually, now that she thought about it, he did pick a side; he always picked her side. He had told her that many times, but she never really believed him. The favor she owed him made her anxious, and the answer she owed him even moreso. It was like he took her worldview, ripped it up, put it back together the wrong way, and then told her it had been broken all along, like he was doing her a favor. The smug jerk.

Though she may or may not have had something against him, she did owe him at least a thanks. Much of her success in Storybrooke was due to his quiet, guiding hand. She may never admit it, but she was thankful. A little bit. She still didn't want to look at his arrogant, stupid-arse face, but if she owed him a thank you, she might as well give him a dance. Part of her believed that he just wanted to take her out in public so that he could show her off, then reject her. Good thing she didn't care what he thought of her. She had met people like that before, men who just wanted to say 'look what I can get, still not good enough.' Well, she wasn't going through that, not with him. Because she didn't care. Because he didn't mean anything to her.

Jumping in her yellow chariot, Emma took a deep breath and made her decision. Taking on a monster was certainly not for the faint of heart, but a challenge had never scared her, and it most definitely would not now. Maybe she was doing it just to prove to him that she wouldn't back down, but that was her business, not his. She backed out of the parking lot and headed to the festival. The clock in her car read one forty-two, and the sky confirmed the time with its dark face and twinkling stars. Emma allowed herself a smile over the fact that he probably left hours ago, or never came at all. The festival probably wasn't even still set up. As nice as Storybrooke was, its nightlife consisted of a hot chocolate at Granny's and a shabby bar called the 'Rabbit Hole.'

She parked her car just outside of the empty court where lights and people had been wandering about hours earlier. There were no more lights, the tents were empty, and the trash cans were full of wrappers and uneaten food, making the place look like an abandoned teen hangout, eerily similar to some of the places she had stayed when she was younger. Emma almost drove away, but she decided that maybe sitting in one of the benches and basking in the silence and cool night air would be nice. She put the bug in 'park' and got out, locking the doors behind her; not necessary, but a habit just the same.

After walking around for a few minutes, Emma saw something in the distance. Running her hand over the waistband of her pants to make sure her gun was where it should be, she headed over in the direction she had seen two small lights. As she got closer to the center of the court, she heard soft, even music drifting through the air, like it had all the time in the world. She could just barely make out the figure that the two small lights were illuminating: someone sitting alone on one of the benches. It looked like a male, average height, slim, with long hair. Emma's hand fell away from her gun when she realized who it was.

"You waited," she said quietly.

Gold stood, leaving his cane leaning against the bench, "Indeed. I told you I would, did I not?"

"I figured you would have left by now," Emma murmured, trying her best to mask her surprise at seeing him there at all.

"I can be patient when there is something I want, Miss Swan," Gold said, his smirk practically tangible in the restful silence.

Hesitantly stepping forward, Emma asked cautiously, "And what is it you want?"

"Just a dance."

Gold's first two steps towards her were slow as he tried to right his gait without a cane to lean on, but he corrected it quickly and walked to her swiftly and, yet again, silently. If she believed in that sort of stuff, she might even think he was gliding just above the ground. The music was still playing, rhythmic and mellow, as he stretched his hand out to her with barely noticeable trepidation. Emma took it uncertainly, not really knowing what to do next. He slid his hand along hers until their position was to his liking, placing her free hand on his shoulder, and tentatively placing his own free hand upon her hip. She nearly flinched away, but the fact that he felt as nervous as she did made her feel more comfortable, even just slightly so. She could feel how tense his muscles were under her fingers, and it made her want to squeeze his shoulder to loosen it a little, but her hand stayed only loosely held in place. He stepped deftly to the left, urging her to follow his movements. She tried her best, stepping as he did, letting him nudge her foot into place. He repeated the motion, and again, she followed to the best of her abilities. Gold seemed to be completely ignoring his leg as he guided her along, the music playing calmly in the air. They went in circles, keeping it simple, and yet doing it with him felt so elegant. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, catching the faint scent of something crisp and spicy. It was nice, not even close to overpowering, and the wind carded through her hair methodically. For just a minute, with her eyes closed and her feet occupied, she felt like a princess. She felt like the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming being twirled around an extravagant ball room in a castle fit for fairy tales. She opened her eyes and let that dream melt away, though. She wasn't in the arms of a dashing, strong, noble prince who was planning on whisking her away to a kingdom of his own. No, she was in the arms of a charismatic, two-tongued, vicious beast who was waiting to steal her deep into his lair. She wasn't in a charming castle, but a cruel mockery of a perfect town. She wasn't a princess, she was just a girl who was lost and was too afraid to admit it. Lost little girls always turned to monsters for help because the smiles and touches were so cunningly caring. She wasn't with Graham, as she wished she was; she was with Gold, a hollow substitute for who she dreamed she could have.

Breaking away quickly, Emma backed up as far as she could, nearly tripping over herself. Gold stumbled, but quickly gained balance again. He gave her a confused look, looking around as though she had been stung by something.

"Miss Swan, did I hurt you?" Gold raised a questioning brow.

"No, no, but I - I need to leave," Emma breathed, "Thank you, for the advice, really, but I have to go."

"Did I do something wrong?" Gold looked almost hurt at her sudden dismissal of him.

"No, it's not you, it's just that you're not. . ." Emma was glad that the night covered her blush.

"I'm not Graham," he finished in a whisper.

This time, Emma could plainly see the hurt in his eyes, but his features hardened so fast her head spun, and he was Mr. Gold again. The lines of rejection smoothed into an indifferent sneer as he bared his teeth in a feral smile. He looked predatory with the two candles - one presumably for her - casting daunting light on his animalistic features.

"Why trade a hunter for a spinner, right?" Gold hissed manically.

"W-What?" Emma stuttered in confusion.

"I suppose it's foolish to think I would be anything but a downgrade, yes?" he smirked like this was a sick game, and he was about to take her piece off the board.

"That's - that's not what I meant-" she tried, but he cut her off.

"That is what you meant, dearie, but I was under no illusions. I know you would trade me for him in. . . well, in a heartbeat," Gold smiled at his quip, not quite amused with himself, but perhaps poking for a reaction.

"That's not fair," Emma's voice wavered as he stepped closer to her.

"Oh, it's not fair, is it?" Gold snarled, "Not fair that he's dead? Or that you had to watch it?"

"Shut up," Emma whispered.

"Why? Because you don't want to think about it?" he smirked, "Because every night your bed is cold, you can't help but think that it's the same temperature as his body?"

"Shut up!" Emma pushed him, making him stumble backwards.

He scowled, but didn't pursue her when she ran away, to the safety of her car. She heard the sound of wood cracking against wood somewhere behind her as hot tears slid down her face. She only stopped when she was in her car, panting and sobbing and angry. She hit the wheel again and again until her head was resting against it in resignation. He was dead. He was gone. She was alone. . . in a heartbeat.