Neal frowned at the files in front of him, running his thumb against his lips thoughtfully. Police reports were nauseatingly dull and difficult to read. It didn't help that Hook was lazily reclining in the opposite chair, his feet propped up on the desk, doing absolutely nothing.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He was hard at work, playing with his phone.

"Hmph," he heard Hook chuckle softly. Neal grit his teeth: he'd been doing that all week. At first, Neal had simply thought that pushing the buttons and seeing symbols appear was what amused him so much. He was shocked to discover that Hook was actually reading something off his phone: texts.

It was frustrating because Hook refused to tell him who he was texting; and yet, every five minutes, there would be a ping! and he would have a question.

"What is a lol?" he would ask interestedly.

"Who is Yolo?" he would frown.

"I don't think this is a word," he would say, pointing to a hashtag suspiciously.

"Who are you talking to?" Neal would ask, throwing down his pencil. Hook would only raise an eyebrow and say cryptically, "Who indeed?"

At first, he'd suspected Emma. She always got a kick out of Hook's astonishment over modern devices, and it wouldn't be out of character for them to draw out some bizarre inside joke for a ridiculously long time (they still snickered every time Jamie Lee Curtis appeared onscreen, for God-only-knew-what-reason). But that theory had been shot to hell when Emma had unexpectedly popped her head out of her office and Hook had scrambled to hide his phone, pretending he'd been working the whole time.

"Could one of you guys grab lunch?" she'd asked. "I've got a phone conference with Henry's teacher and—"

"I'll go," Hook offered. Emma had raised her eyebrows as he left the room with only a "see you later" thrown over his shoulder, not even reminding her he loved her once.

Neal stared at him now, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as Hook raised his eyebrows laughingly and muttered, "Bloody hell…"

"You know I don't like it when you speak British," Neal said, leaning back in his chair. Hook dragged his eyes away from his phone to look at Neal innocently.

"Sorry?"

"Who are you talking to? And don't say 'who indeed?'," he added. Hook looked faintly annoyed.

"Not sure that's any of your concern, mate."

"Who's concerned?" Neal shrugged. Hook smiled wryly.

"Not sure that's any of your business, mate."

"Come on," he said, spreading his arms. "What's the big deal? Tell me already. I won't tell Emma," he added in an undertone.

Hook narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to say something when Emma called from her office, "Neal, could you come in here, please?"

"Yeah," he called back, not moving. Hook stared back stubbornly.

"Neal?"

"Yeah, in a second!" he threw over his shoulder. Hook folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, smirking.

"I've got all day."

"I know. You don't do anything."

"That's not true. I brought you a bagel this morning."

Neal raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Give it up, Jones. You know I'm going to find out."

"Don't call me 'Jones', Baelfire."

Neal flinched. "Don't call me 'Baelfire', Killian."

Hook widened his eyes furiously. "How dare you speak that name!" he hissed, standing up.

"There's no line I won't cross, Killian," Neal retorted, standing up fast enough to knock his chair down. "And I will—"he poked his shoulder firmly—"find out!"

Hook looked at his shoulder, then back up at Neal. "I hope for your sake that was an accident," he said vehemently. "Because if it wasn't—"

Ping!

Hook looked down at his phone, and smiled, instantly erasing all the anger from his face. Neal tried to discreetly peek over the top, but Hook snapped it shut and closed his fist around it.

"I'm going to go pick up Emma's orange bread," he said with forced pleasantness. "Be a love, let her know for me?" He patted Neal's shoulder rather forcefully. "Thanks."

Neal watched him walk out of the station wordlessly. Okay, but seriously, who was this guy? He was different from the newly confident Hook that he'd met last week. That guy had been scary-pleasant, easy-going to a fault. This other Hook, who'd surfaced more and more as his tech skills grew, was a snarky little bastard, more cocky than confident—disturbingly similar to old Hook. And who liked old Hook?

"Neal!" Emma snapped. "Would you please get in here?"

"I'm coming!" he called back, but this time he really did go. He shoved his hands in his pockets, nudging the door to her office open with his toe.

"What's up?"

Emma turned; she'd been standing with her arms folded, watching Hook leave the station. "Where's he going?" she asked, nodding after him.

Neal raised an eyebrow. "Orange bread. What else?"

"Orange bread?" she repeated, leaning back against the desk.

"Grilled cheese," he explained. "It's cute how he still calls it that. May I sit?" he asked, pulling out her chair and helping himself. Emma sucked in her teeth, battling impatience.

"Please do."

"Thanks." Neal winked at her and tucked his arms behind his head, relaxing. "This is a great chair," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"So…"

Neal lazily opened one eye. Emma was "casually" twirling her necklace around her finger, a gesture that Neal knew meant, I know you know I'm upset about something, but we're both going to pretend I'm fine. He closed his eyes again. "So….?"

"So, uh…" Emma frowned down at the necklace. "Did you ever find out —?"

"Nope."

"Oh."

He could hear the tension in her voice, knowing even without opening his eyes that she was glaring at the floor, clenching her teeth. "Emma," he sighed. "Look…"

"Don't tell me it's not my business."

"I wasn't going to," he said, mildly annoyed. "I was going to say that I've been trying to found out all week, but he's got that phone glued to his hand."

"He won't tell me!" she said frustratedly, starting to pace back and forth.

Neal shrugged. "Maybe he's texting another—"

"Another what?" Emma snapped, stopping in her tracks to glare at him. "Another what exactly?"

He froze. "Another… sheriff?"

Emma scoffed. "That's it," she muttered, crossing the room in two strides. She yanked her coat off the rock and stalked out of the office. Neal watched her bewilderedly.

"Emma?" he called, not getting up from the chair. "Emma, what the hell are you doing?"

She yelled back a few choice words. Neal's eyebrows shot up.

"That is not appropriate princess language!" he shouted after her, following the sound of angry boots down the hall.