Despite being in a bar, getting drunk was the last thing on her mind.

Her definition of irony? When a minor detail you've forgotten pops up at just the right moment to bite you in the ass.

That was probably why she was sitting sideways on a dirty bar stool, staring at her phone screen in disbelief.

Hey babe, something's come up and my dad's flying me to Ireland for the weekend. Nothing serious, don't worry, it's business. Dinner's on me when I get back.

Neal never spelled his words right in any of his texts. It's why she suggested he sleep with a dictionary under his pillow. Not that he took her seriously, of course. He kept auto-correct off and continued to gleefully misspell at will.

Heaving a scoff, Emma Swan threw back the shot of rum she had ordered, wrinkling her nose at the sting in her throat. Her boyfriend was hopping on a plane to Europe just like that. No good-byes, no apologies. Excuse me, sweetheart, but here goes three grand while I whittle away the time in luxury suites and expensive buffet brunch meetings.

His message was five minutes old.

She was still dumbfounded that he hadn't invited her along for the trip. After all, she was kind of responsible for his reunion with his father and the fact that he'd returned to the family business.

Mr. Gold was an expert antiques dealer with contacts across the globe, with a backed guarantee to sell anything that came into his collection for its right value. It was why he had such a high-standing reputation and everyone with old junk to spare came flocking to his firm. Neal's feud with his dad went back to when he was a teen. Their argument over his mother, who had gone off and left the both of them years before to make a life for herself in Ireland, was absurd.

Emma couldn't see the sense of it. The woman was grown and could decide for herself and hey, it wasn't like she belonged to her husband ― that would be a creepy standpoint ― so if she did the wrong thing and abandoned her family, that was her choice. Nobody was responsible for what Milah Gold did and did not do.

Which was why Emma had seen the ad in the newspaper and begged her stubborn, obnoxious boyfriend to please reconcile with his father. She had argued that he should consider himself lucky to have family who loved him and wanted him back. People like her...they didn't get that. Ever.

Fencing those watches all those years ago had worked beautifully for their savings. But money got spent and with expenses piling up, what had been an extended vacation in Tallahassee became a one-way move to Boston, with nothing but two suitcases, the Bug, and new dreams. They made their way through college and got into business school, which was the most they could afford at the time. From penniless thieves to penniless students, Neal would joke. Then the whole meeting with Mr. Gold mixed their lives up again.

For the first time in his life, Neal had an honest job and found out he was pretty good at being an art agent. He knew how to sell, how to buy, and how to win while doing both. Emma, on the other hand, had paid the price for his newfound confidence.

Before, it had been just her and him against the world. Now he was busy all the time, working late hours in his father's store, going over the fine print of would-be contracts, and slipping off to look at whatever new item came in. But life was hard and she understood the power of hard work. She was busy as well. Being a bail bondsperson didn't come with a lot of days off.

But understanding that life wasn't fair didn't make her feel less lonely, less forgotten, or less worried about being left behind. Like she was this very second.

Milah was a sore spot for Neal. With his faint memories of his mom and how attached he had been to her as a child, he was about to do something rash. Emma could sense it. He had never forgiven his mother for leaving them and if she had a new family over there in the Land of the Leprechauns, heaven help that woman. Neal was bundle of nerves and raw emotion. He spoke first and thought later. Seeing the truth of Milah's situation, right in front of his eyes, would make or break him.

Again, she tried to convince herself that it was out of concern for her boyfriend that she was even considering this.

She needed to be there for him. He couldn't do this alone.

Plus, there was the other side of the scale. He would see his mom and maybe want to stay with her. Emma wasn't prepared to say good-bye if that happened.

"Hi."

The man with the absurdly euphoric face gave her another toothy grin. Was he high or what?

She tried to smile back, but it was more of a grimace than anything else. "Hello."

Short enough that his feet barely reached the stool's rungs, her admirer was decked out in a moderate suit and tie, restless as he fidgeted. He looked down at her legs, then up at her face, then down again. When his eyes rested on her chest, Emma stopped her efforts to be part of the conversation. Another horny weirdo.

"Can I, uh, buy you a drink?"

She tossed her head. "No, thanks ― couldn't afford mine."

The man slapped down a twenty dollar bill, waving at the bartender. "Happy, give the lady whatever she wants and then make it a double ― I'll have what she's having."

Happy wasn't looking too thrilled. "Don't fall asleep on my bar again, lightweight," he grunted before refilling Emma's usual shot of rum and then filling up another.

"Hey, it's epilepsy ― I don't fall asleep suddenly for the heck of it," the stranger snapped back. Then his expression brightened, and he gave her another hopeful glance. She got more confused. "Oh, he's my brother. My nickname's Sleepy for a reason."

Emma felt herself nodding mechanically, all while wondering why she always attracted all the deadbeats.

Rewind.

Neal was a good guy. She was with a great guy.

Bars brought out the worst men, that's all.

"So, what's a lovely lady like yourself doing here, all alone?"

Ah, in for the kill, girl. She smiled sweetly. "I was actually waiting for my boyfriend."

Sleepy chuckled as if he didn't believe her. "Well, where is he?"

"Was supposed to meet me after work, but he couldn't make it."

"Poor you." He paused. "Look, I know this sounds forward―"

"More forward than buying a stranger a drink?"

"You're not a stranger. You're..." His gaze darkened when it roved over the tight fit of the pink dress she was wearing. "You're beautiful."

She toasted the rest of her drink. "Thanks a bunch."

"I mean it. Someone like you deserves attention. What's your name?"

Clearly, he was not going to leave her alone. Emma almost wanted to laugh. She gets dolled up to catch a thief on the run, but the best she gets afterwards is one of the Seven Dwarves asking her out. "Name's Emma."

He extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, Emma. I'm Mike."

"Sleepy."

He shrugged. "It's a family joke."

"Look, Mike. " She stretched a bit. "I really do have a boyfriend. His name is Neal. I'm sorry, but I'm not interested."

His shoulders slumped. "Well, a woman comes to a place like this, dressed like that... You can't blame a guy for trying."

Emma let out a long sigh. "It's okay." She could be gracious to the poor guy.

Mike sidled up a little closer. "I own a drug store. It's not much, but... How about you? What do you do?"

"I'm more or less a bounty hunter."

Most of the time, that confession did the trick and scared off any asshole messing with her. But not this time. If anything, Sleepy here looked wide awake and definitely intrigued.

"Wow." He whistled. "That's impressive. You're one tough lady."

Shrugging, she leaned back on her chair. "Yeah, but it's tough work."

"Of course." He eyed her up and down again. "You're probably pretty assertive ― you go after what you want, and all that... Pretty straightforward, too."

Okay, enough of this game. If his eyeballs had hands, they'd be groping her.

"Emma!"

It was somewhere between a shriek and a banshee cry. That meant it could only be...

"Ruby, hey. Where's Graham?" She smirked at how the girl's face turned a shade of red to match her name. Short skirt and extremely high heels combined, Ruby Lucas defined the meaning of first impressions. Waitress by day and bounty hunter by night, she was "tough as nails" and disarmingly clever. She also was rather shocking when it came to romance. Like how the mere mention of her cute boyfriend could make her blush to pieces.

Provocative and romantic, Ruby was something else altogether. Mike's eyes were now bulging out of their sockets as he took in her appearance. Her dark hair was in complete disarray (on purpose), her makeup was perfectly applied, and her dress was a deep maroon, matched by black stilettos on self-manicured feet.

"He's got the late shift tonight." She took a seat on Emma's left. "And how about you ― did you get your man?"

"Busted ."

"Hell yes ― congratulations. That one was a piece of work. Where's Neal?"

And here she was, facing the same dilemma again. They'd barely just moved into the best apartment in Boston and made a real home. Was it asking too much if they could take their relationship to the next level and start a family of their own, instead of fighting over the past?

Ruby seemed to finally notice how riveted Sleepy was by the new conversation. "You ― who are you?" Her eyes narrowed.

"I'm a friend," he stuttered. "I'm―"

"Well, be a friend and scoot off. I need some girl time with Emma here ― alone." She almost bared her teeth at him.

With a dejected wave, Mike carefully stepped down from his stool and scrammed. Most likely to make a round of the bar before circling back to see if she was by herself again and Ruby was gone.

Hah, not going to happen, buddy.

Her colleague had hoisted herself onto his empty seat and was munching on the leftover snacks from happy hour. "You had dinner last night."

Emma toyed with the tips of her hair. "Yes."

"And he gave you something big and shiny?"

"Yes."

"Aw," she squealed, clapping her hands together.

"Earrings. Big, shiny, diamond earrings."

Ruby's wide-eyed stare transformed into a glare in mere seconds. "No ring? He calls it a special occasion, he doesn't cancel, he buys a new suit, and then there's no proposal?"

"Maybe he's just taking things slowly?" she offered. Her voice sounded weak to her own ears.

"Slowly? Slowly? Emma, you've been living together for over ten years. If that man doesn't marry you soon, I'd be happy to death-threat him for you."

She chuckled at the vehemence in her co-worker's voice. "No better way to compliment a girl than proposing under pain of death."

"I'm serious. What is up with you two lately?"

The question Emma was asking herself all the time. She couldn't ignore the signs anymore. Neal was pulling away from her.

"I don't know," she whispered. "It seems like he finds all the right reasons not to be with me."

Ruby crossed her arms over her chest. Her red lips formed a classic pout. "Then get him to own up. Corner him."

"This isn't one of our bailers, Ruby―"

"It doesn't have to be forceful. Just...stand up for yourself. Go to him, instead of waiting for him to come to you. Propose yourself."

"But what if he has doubts? If he's not ready?"

"If he's not ready now, he'll never be ready." Her brown gaze flashed fire. "Come on, Emma. This isn't like you. You're not afraid of anything."

She gulped down all of the insecurities that rose to her throat, wanting to be voiced. "Neal isn't here right now." The perfect excuse.

"When he comes home then."

"He...uh...he's actually overseas. Flying there, apparently. He's gone to Ireland."

"Ireland?" Ruby wolf-whistled. "Nice. Daddy paid his fare?"

"Ruby..."

"Oh please. Don't get me started. Neal is Daddy's little boy and he knows it."

Time to get out of this scene. Emma clambered down, wobbly on her heels. Ruby followed, but not before stuffing the remaining mini cheese and cracker kebabs into a napkin and slipping the little bundle into her purse.

"Why didn't he invite you?"

She groaned, pushing hard on the wooden door of the pub. "It's for work."

"And?"

The cool nighttime air was a relief. This girl would track her back to the apartment until she got answers, so it was better to make the most of it. "I think...he wants to find his mom."

Ruby looked skeptical. "Um...he couldn't ask you to do that?"

She in turn raised a brow. "Europe's got its own privacy laws?"

"Ugh, okay ― so maybe he needs to do this on his own. But that doesn't mean you couldn't surprise him."

"With what, exactly?"

Her grin was all teeth. And toothy smiles and Ruby meant big trouble. Like her mouth was about to spout an idea that Emma would regret listening to. "This year is a leap year, right?"

"Yes..."

"And Leap Day is coming up, right next week."

She could feel it ― the craziness was coming. "So...?"

Ruby jumped up and down, quite a feat for high heels. Oh no, this one was a whopper for sure. Enthusiasm of this size required equivalent brainpower. "So it's tradition ― centuries and centuries before, women have proposed to their boyfriends and whatnot on a leap day in Ireland. You could ask Neal the big question and save yourself the trouble of waiting. Then it's happily ever after."

Emma snorted at that. "Look, I'm not a big conservative here, but a woman proposing to a man when he doesn't want to propose himself. That just sounds wrong."

"Wrong? It's not like you're extorting something from the guy," she pouted. "I mean, the worst that happens is he turns you down. We're not living in the nineteenth century."

"Yeah, but..."

"No buts ― it's perfectly feministic and a tad liberal." Ruby's bright smile diminished. "Emma, come on. Fight for something for yourself . If you want this...want Neal...you need to tell him. You can't push back because you're afraid he'll leave when it gets serious."

"He almost did once," she whispered, remembering a very frightened girl who did wrong things to keep ahold of her boy. "Reuniting with his mom...it might change things. He's restless. What if I am not what he wants?"

"It's part of the risk of proposing, but your belief in your love has got to be stronger than that. Right?" Ruby nudged her. She stayed silent. "Right. So here's how it gonna go: you're packing tonight, I'm buying you that ticket with my frequent flier miles.

"And you, Miss Swan, are going to Ireland in style. Tomorrow."

The bed and breakfast wasn't much to look at. Dingy tavern that covered half the base floor, six small bedrooms upstairs that constituted the "bed" part of the place. "Breakfast" was that oversized room behind the bar called the kitchen, which was the most sensibly designed of the lot.

The bathroom was a fucking travesty.

But Liam Jones had loved the house all the same. And Killian Jones had kept it because he loved his brother.

Not because the goddamn shack had been in their family for generations and dear old Pa had left it to them since everyone else was long dead.

Too bad the sorry bastard hadn't paid off the mortgage as well before bequeathing it to his only sons.

It was why Killian had spent endless hours in his miserable closet of an office, pouring over bills to and from The Jewel of the Realm. Well, this certainly was no bloody jewel of an inn. It was awful, forcing the wankers that came in and out-drank their tabs at the bar to actually pay for all those bottles of whiskey and beer. He'd had to break more than a few noses to see coin. On the other hand, foreigners who came in for a brief stopover, usually to visit relatives in town or see the few local sights, made for a convenient, confirmed payday with all their lovely credit cards on file.

Like the very winsome lass currently parading around his establishment, cursing enough to make the wizened sailors in the corner blush and chortle through their shots, spilling rum everywhere on his recently wiped counter.

Not to mention that she was spilling water on the floor he'd diligently mopped the past hour.

A few choice words to taunt her American accent, high-heeled shoes, and perfectly curled hair had sent her scurrying to the telephone booth by the door, plunking out change to feed the machine. Drying the glasses he just washed, Killian watched her out of the corner of his eye, listening to her hurried whispers and frantic nodding. He couldn't make out what she was saying, but she sounded desperate.

Desperate enough to approach him at the bar and beg for a taxi driver to take her to Dublin.

He snorted. "There's no taxi service 'round these parts, lass. Unless you commission the first available bloke here sober enough to offer you a ride."

Five eavesdropping faces peered at her simultaneously, grinning like maniacs. At least half of them were already drunk off their arses.

Leroy, who could hold his liquor better than most of his brothers, was clearly enjoying the woman's distress when he snarled, "Sister, you'd have to be offering me a lot to get me ass all the way to Dublin in this weather." The way he was passionately chewing his tobacco, Killian was worried the man would forget the golden rule of never spitting on his floor. Profanity he could handle ― but not tobacco cud.

Her face brightened. Killian bit back a smile. Oh, this blonde fireball had no idea what she was in for. "I'll pay you anything! I don't have much cash on me at the moment, but―"

"Cash? Ya think I'll do it for just the cash?" Leroy glared at her. "What else are ya offering?"

Her answering pout was kind of cute. It almost made Killian feel sorry for her, the lofty American. "That's all I got."

The mischievous glint in Leroy's eyes meant trouble. He pointedly stared at her chest and crotch. "What 'bout payment in nature?"

Killian spit out the tea he had been sipping.

"Excuse me?" Her mouth dropped open. "Are you seriously suggesting―?"

"You and me. On a bed. Naked as babes." Even his smirk was dirty. "I get 24 hours with you and your diddies, then we're free to go."

She still was speechless. Killian didn't blame her ― the image Leroy had painted in his mind would have to be scoured out, or he'd suffer more nightmares.

"Diddies?" Still gaping like a fish, she was.

"It's...slang. Irish slang. Means breasts," Killian mumbled. He shouldn't be blushing ― he has touched enough breasts in his time. But seeing the lass embarrassed was making his stomach twist in knots for no reason.

He was no chauvinist, but the way she acted and talked made him feel like a bloody fool.

She said nothing in reply. However, her now tight expression and narrowed eyes suggested that she was figuring out this little game faster than he thought.

"So if I...if we fuck and I pay you, you'll take me to Dublin?" She crossed her arms over her chest. He could sense a tantrum of mass dimensions was on its way.

The group of men roared with laughter. Leroy grinned widely. "You got it, sister." Then his face froze comically from hesitation, eyes bulging and mouth hanging open. "Oh, but there is just one little, itty bitty problem..."

"What now?" she snapped.

"I don't have a bloody car."

The tavern was in an uproar, with chortles and sniggers and full-belly laughs echoing from the walls. Even Killian had a go at it, adding his chuckles to the mix.

Big mistake, git.

"So you think this is funny, asshole?" She poked her forefinger into his chest. "You know what will happen when my boyfriend finds out how you treated me?" Another fierce poke. "He'll kick your fucking asses, that's what!"

"Bloody hell, woman ― keep your bloody hands off me." That made the brothers laugh harder. The lass's face was bright crimson by now. "The lads were just having a bit of fun, is all. No harm intended. Besides, I don't see your boyfriend. Oops, is that him? No, probably not. He's not here, is he?"

She bared her teeth at him, the vixen. "What the hell is your name?"

"Killian Jones, proprietor of this fine establishment." He raised an eyebrow, his signature trademark for getting women to calm down and shut up. "And you are?"

"Emma Swan. If you won't get me a taxi, what does a person have to do to rent a fucking room in this town?"

He scoffed. "You're in luck. This is the only bed and breakfast in town."

She lifted her chin and stared down at him. "Do you have any available rooms?"

Tempted to say no, he decided against it. Money was money, after all. He needed money. Mr. Gold was pressing for the loan to be paid. "Aye." He pointed at the stairs in the corner. "First door on your left. I'll forgive the upgrade fee for having your own private bathroom, as a courtesy for any inconvenience."

"How kind." She gave him a cold, feral grin.

He couldn't help himself. Something about her just rubbed him the wrong way. "I believe the right words are thank you, lass."

Swan slammed her credit card down on the counter. "Just give me the goddamn key, Jones, and stop calling me that."

"Aye, love."

Goddamn piece of work, that one was. Compassion, my arse.

/N: This story was first posted in 2015, pulled down (voluntarily) in 2015, and now I've brought it back. I'm determined to finish it.

I removed all my work from this website years ago, and I've decided to slowly bring it back. I have 14 other Captain Swan fics I'd like to share, and while I may not have the energy to post them all up, I will do my best. Reviews are always appreciated. I'm also on AO3 under the same username, and I'm on Tumblr as 4getfulimaginator2022. I hope you enjoyed this story - see you around!