Emily knocked on the door and waited, picking her nails nervously. (She wasn't sure when she'd developed the habit, only that she'd done it for as long as she could remember...) She wasn't sure why she was so anxious – she had nothing to lose by befriending the mysterious stranger, but at the same time, it felt of the gravest importance that she did.

At her feet sat a bag of books she'd liberated from the library, a thermos of coffee, and her favourite chocolate mousse from the diner.

The door opened suddenly and she nearly stumbled back with the force of it. For a moment, the stranger studied her face as if trying to place her in his memory. "I didn't order anything," the gravelly voice remarked harshly after a moment and he started to slam the door in her face.

"Wait!" she yelped, jamming her foot in the doorway, wincing as he attempted to close the door on her foot with a little too much force. "I know..."

He paused briefly. "Know what?" he said cautiously, one brow raised warily.

"About the fire," she murmured, offering him a sympathetic, but genuine smile. "I searched the library's microfiche for old newspaper articles. Please...I just want to talk to you, to get to know you."

He looked suspicious, but eventually stood back and opened the door wider. With a slightly nervous expression, she stepped awkwardly into the house, stopping to look in awe at the grand architecture of the building. She didn't know they even made buildings like this in real life, let alone in Storybrooke.

"What do you know about me?" he asked sharply from behind her, startling her out of her awestruck silence.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to invade your privacy or anything, I was just curious because the other day when we met..." He gave her a look and she realized she was rambling. "Sorry, I tend to do that when I get nervous." She shrugged sheepishly.

"What do you know?"

"I know there was a fire and no one knows how it started. They found you burned and barely alive. I know you were in a coma for a long time and the doctors didn't think you'd make it. Then a few months later you checked yourself out of the hospital against their advice. I know ever since then you've lived here scarred and angry at the world."

He stared at her for a long time, then without a word, stomped off deeper into the house until he disappeared from sight and she was left standing there, wondering what exactly was going on. He could be heard clattering around, grumbling to himself, until he reappeared and gruffly shoved a bottle of water into her hands which she accepted, a little afraid of what would happen if she refused.

"What are you doing here?" he asked after she'd taken a sip and smiled gratefully.

"Well," she stammered, "I brought you some books..." He raised a brow, looking a little unimpressed and underwhelmed. "You know, because I figured you probably don't get out to the library all that much. I didn't know what kind of books you like to read, so I just picked out a few of my favourites and..." She paused, shook her head at her own rambling. "And I also brought coffee and chocolate, but mostly the books."

He gestured for her to hand the books to him.

As he sorted through them, she suddenly piped up, "That one's my favourite! It's Slaughter-"

He interrupted, "Slaughterhouse Five. I've read it. Chapter three is where..."

"Where it starts to get good." She smiled. "I'm impressed."

He chuckled – a raspy sound from deep in his throat. "Emily, right?"

"Y-yeah," she stammered. "How... How did you... I didn't tell you my name."

"It's a small town," he said with a shrug as if that answered anything.

"And yet, I've never seen you around," she pointed out matter-of-factly.

"It's the twenty-first century," he retorted.

She opened her mouth as if to argue further, but then closed it without saying anything, deciding it didn't really matter how he knew her, only that he did. "It seems you have me at a disadvantage then," she remarked, "Since you know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Why?"

She raised a brow at his gruffness. "Because I'd like to know who I'm talking to..."

He eyed her warily, as if debating whether he trusted her enough to give her that most basic of information. He apparently decided her worthy, answering, "Derek."

"Nice to meet you, Derek," she greeted with a bright smile, extending a hand for him to shake.

For a few moments, he stared down at her hand as if the gesture were entirely foreign to him. "Is there something you need?" he asked eventually without returning the handshake or the smile.

Withdrawing her hand uselessly, she stumbled over her words, "Umm, well, I guess I was wondering... I mean, it's a beautiful day and, well, I thought that maybe we could go for a walk together? Maybe I could show you where the library is... In case you ever wanted to borrow a book someday and..."

"Oh," he said flatly, brow furrowing as he narrowed his eyes distrustfully. "I get it now. I know what you're trying to do."

"Excuse me?" she scoffed, confused and irritated all at once.

"I'm not going to be the town's gossip fodder," he growled. "I stay here so I won't have to deal with bored housewives like you who need to insert yourselves into someone's life, trying to feel better about yourself and your privilege!"

He advanced on her, seeming to grow larger and more menacing with each step, forcing her to back up towards the door, hand scrambling for the doorknob.

"Derek, no!" Emily cried. "That's not what..."

"I don't need you!" he shouted. "I don't need anyone! Leave now and never come back!"

She stumbled through the doorway, out onto the front porch, just in time for him to slam the door in her face, hard enough to rattle the entire structure.