Thank you for your wonderful response to the last chapter.

Where did you get that?

Emma's hands were trembling so badly as she typed out the message that it took her four attempts to get every word right. She couldn't tell if it was her anger at the idea of some stranger having a copy of her photo op or if it was nerves that this really could be Killian Jones, reaching out to her. After all, he was the only other person that she knew had a copy of that picture.

She watched the screen of her phone waiting for those three little dots to appear again. But instead, it just faded to black in her hands. It was another twenty-three seconds before it flashed once more.

I should have known you'd never believe me.

This was stupid.

Sorry.

Forget about it.

Emma had every intention of just blocking the guy and doing that. But something inside of her wouldn't let her hit that button. So instead, she tapped out another reply.

Please, that picture is very personal to me.

I just want to know where you got it.

The three little dots appeared quite quickly that time and Emma leaned over to flick on the bedside light, knowing she wouldn't be getting any more sleep that morning.

I took it on my phone during the autograph signings.

I thought you knew.

So he was still playing that game. Emma fixed on her most determined face, even though she knew he couldn't see it, before sending a reply.

If it's REALLY you, then you won't mind proving it to me?

Take a picture of yourself with today's date, and the time you first messaged me, written on a piece of paper.

Emma waited ten minutes before she locked her phone and slid out of bed, heading for the bathroom. She felt like she'd won a small moral victory. Of course he couldn't provide what she'd asked for. There was no way he was the real Killian Jones. She'd block his creepy ass as soon as she got back into bed.

When she slid back in and picked up her phone, her heart began hammering once more at the notification that appeared there.

He'd sent an image to their chat.

With shaking hands, Emma unlocked her phone and pulled up the app once more.

"Oh, fuck me," she cursed, taking in the image that now filled her screen.

It was pornography.

There was absolutely no other word to describe it.

He was lying in his bed. She could see the rumpled sheets and pillows in the background of the image. His hair was a complete mess, either from sleep or because he'd been worrying it. A light grey t-shirt was stretched tightly across what she could see of his torso, highlighting every bump and ridge of muscle concealed underneath it. (Muscle she'd already felt in person, she reminded herself). And on top of that, he'd laid a single sheet of white paper. The date and time stamp from his first message clearly printed on it, with his perfect signature underneath.

"Fuck me," she repeated.

Emma wasn't sure how long she had been staring at the image but she jumped a little when her phone vibrated in her hand.

Did I pass your test?

She took a few deep breaths to try and clear her mind, before tapping out a reply.

Yeah.

You passed.

She wasn't really sure what else to say. All logical thought and reason had flown out of her head at the sight of that image on her screen.

I've spooked you now, haven't I?

I knew this was stupid.

Sorry.

It's not stupid.

Emma hurried to reply.

I'm just a little stunned.

I mean, why are you messaging me?

Emma watched as those three little dots appeared again, before disappearing. There was a few seconds of nothing, before they flashed once more.

I don't know.

That wasn't quite the response she had expected, and she was at a loss for how to reply.

You didn't post any of your pictures from the weekend to your page.

Now she was more confused than ever before. Why had Killian Jones taken such an interest in her Facebook page?

Some of my friends don't know where I was.

Ahh.

So you're a closet fangirl?

Emma finally admitted defeat and swung herself out of bed. If she was going to stay awake for the rest of the morning, she might as well make herself some coffee to help.

Not exactly.

I just don't feel comfortable posting everything about myself on social media.

You never know who will accidentally stumble across your page ;-)

Yeah.

That wasn't really an accident.

She had expected as much. Emma had set most of her social media accounts to private to contain her personal information. Far too many people, from her past, that she'd tried too hard to forget had tried connecting with her again that way.

I kind of guessed.

So, what's with the name?

She made her coffee to her liking, and began whipping up a small pancake batter while she waited for Killian's reply. Drinking too much wine always left her hungry in the mornings.

It's my middle name.

Killian Jack Jones.

I use the middle and then initial to try and avoid detection.

Huh.

Maybe I should do the same? :-P

Sorry.

I didn't mean to violate your privacy.

I guess you just got stuck in my head, after the weekend.

I know that feeling well.

Emma was a walking zombie that morning. She had never been more grateful for living in such a small town as she was then. Besides some paperwork that she'd been putting off all month, there was nothing else for her to do at work. So, she gathered up her files, and decided to work from home. With a few naps thrown in for good measure.

She heard nothing else from Killian all day. If it hadn't been for the chat log, she'd have sworn that she had dreamed the entire thing. She'd considered sending him a friend request, but then felt paranoid about the few pictures of Neal that she had on her own page. Neal didn't have his own, so he wouldn't notice if she removed them – but their friends definitely would.

Neal finally returned that evening at around seven pm.

"Hey Babe, how was your weekend?" he asked, dropping a kiss onto her forehead as he dropped his bag behind the couch.

"A little boring. Had a girl's night on Saturday though, with Ruby and Mary-Margret. How was yours?"

"Fantastic. We played some golf, hit some clubs, and just let off some steam. I really needed it." Emma watched as he dropped down onto his favourite armchair, before propping his feet up on the coffee table. "Grab me a beer, would ya?"

Emma sighed a little as she pulled herself up to grab him a drink. He was closer to the kitchen than she was, but it never really mattered.

"Are you going to put your bag away?" she asked on her way back, almost tripping over the handle of it.

"Gimme a second will ya? I just got through the door. I'll do it later."

Later turned out to be three days later - when Emma finally got fed up of stepping over, or around it, and unpacked the bag herself.

"Do we have to watch this shit?" Neal moaned, as Emma settled herself back into the sofa. Fairytales was returning after a short break, and she couldn't wait to see what would happen next on her favourite show.

"You get to watch your sports, why can't I watch my shows?"

"Because sport is far more interesting than this shit is. Come on, Emma. You're nearly thirty now. Aren't you a little too old for fairy tales?"

Emma picked up the remote and hit record on the DVR, before throwing it in Neal's direction. "Fine. Watch what you want. I'm going to the station."

"It's Sunday night. What can you possibly have to do on a Sunday evening?" he called out, watching as she aggressively shoved each arm into her favourite leather jacket.

"Paperwork. A ton of it. And we're expecting a delivery tomorrow of new computers to update the system. I'll be gone for a while. Don't bother waiting up for me."

As she shut the door to the apartment, she allowed herself a moment to blink back the angry tears that had been gathering in her eyes, before brushing them away. If she hurried, she'd just make it to the station in time to catch the episode that evening.

As she made herself comfortable on the most uncomfortable sofa in the world, with an old sheriff's jacket thrown over her legs to chase away the chill, and some lukewarm coffee, Emma felt happier than she had all week. She knew most people thought her obsession with the show was childish, but Emma couldn't help it. The idea of fairy tales being real was something that had caught her heart from the start.

Growing up in foster care had never been easy, but the one constant in her young life had been Emma's beloved collection of fairy tales. She'd received a copy of them from her first foster family for Christmas one year and since then, she'd taken them from home to home, using them as her escape when things got a little too much for her. She still had the book, tucked away in her safe. The pages were dirty, torn and tear-stained, but it was still one of Emma's most prized possessions. The show had become something of an extension of that book for her.

Emma was pulled out of her memories when a twitter notification came through from Killian Jones, promoting the episode.

She would never know what possessed her to do it, but she opened up her messenger app and took a quick picture of herself, covered in the old brown sheriff's jacket, hair a mess, and sent it to him.

This is the closest thing I have to uniform.

Looking forward to the episode tonight.

Emma set her phone down so she could focus on the first part of the show. She hated interruptions during her first watch, so it was probably a good thing that she'd left the house. She'd tried once before to watch the show with Neal and he laughed and talked over the entire thing, insulting the plotlines; the acting; the costumes; the special effects; and the writing. Emma had hated every moment of it.

At the first commercial break, she stood up to stretch her legs a little, and make some more coffee. While she was waiting for it to brew, she checked her phone.

That's exactly what I was picturing!

Why is it so big?

You look like you could camp under it.

She chuckled a little at his messages before firing back her own.

It belonged to the guy who was sheriff before me.

I only ever use it for keeping warm in here.

Emma had never been so happy to see those three dots as she was when they flashed up then.

Had he been waiting for her reply?

I have to admit, the red leather suits you far better than old, dusty, brown.

Why are you working so late on a Sunday?

Because crime never sleeps?

She chuckled at her own bad joke before fixing her coffee to her liking and then making her way back to the sofa.

Really?

I Googled Storybrooke.

You don't exactly have terrifying crime statistics.

Should I be concerned about just how much you seem to know about me?

I'm pretty sure you probably know more about me than I do about you.

He had her there. She was definitely one of those fangirls. But right then, Emma couldn't bring herself to care.

Touché.

What else would you like to know?

She set her phone back down as the commercials ended, turning her full attention back to the show instead. She felt a little bad for leaving Killian hanging the way she had, but she was sure he'd work out what she was doing.

Emma let all of her stresses and tensions melt away as she watched the next part of the show. She always forgot just how much she loved it when it was off air, but now, with a fresh episode back on her television, Emma was fully absorbed in the world that had been carefully created over the past five seasons.

At the next commercial break, she picked up her phone, eager to see if Killian had replied.

I don't want to overstep.

How about, how did you become a sheriff?

You seem awfully young for that role.

Or if you're not comfortable talking about that, it's fine.

I completely understand.

Sorry.

Emma hurried to tap out a reply as she realised that Killian really didn't know that she'd been too distracted by the show to reply.

Sorry. I never look at my phone while I watch the show.

I kind of fell into it.

When I came to town, I was only a teenager. The sheriff offered me a job doing the admin, as a way to help me out.

I loved it.

And he taught me everything I know.

Phew.

Thought I'd offended you for a moment there.

I'm glad you enjoy your job.

So, what do you think of tonight's episode?

It's good.

I forgot how much I missed the show.

But it is seriously lacking in some Hook time :-P

You're gonna make me blush.

But I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Makes the long days worthwhile when you know people out there are enjoying what you do.

Fair warning, I'm putting my phone down now to finish the show.

Don't panic.

Enjoy it, Emma.

When Emma made it back to the apartment, Neal was fast asleep on the sofa, snoring away. Some of her anger returned at the sight of all the empty bottles and cans around him, that she knew she'd have to clean up the next morning, and the television still on the sports channels. So, instead of waking him as she usually would, she decided to head for a shower and then bed.

She hadn't been lying when she said she had a delivery of new computers arriving the next morning, so she'd be up early to receive those. When she switched the light off that night to settle down to sleep, she didn't feel guilty at all for leaving Neal out in the lounge.

She definitely slept better without his snoring.

Thanks for reading.