AN: After that first chapter I found I had to put in something lighter before I took the story further. It might get a lot darker after that or be in the tone of this chapter or get altogether smuttier. I don't think I've decided yet, but I'll let you know as I go along ; )

…

Emma followed the man Jones into the woods without asking questions, without really being worried at to what was going to happen to them. Past learning that her husband was not the man she thought he was – was quite possibly the leader of a criminal organization whose range of crimes didn't shy away from murdering his own wife – it didn't really seem absurd to just take the hand a complete stranger offered. Even as the forest around them got darker and darker, as the high grass tickled her bare legs, the alive air of the woods filling her lungs, no wake-up call came, nothing to draw her back to reality –

There was no reality anymore, no solid ground to return to.

There was just the man's warm hand around her forearm, no comfort but an absence of fear that was even more astonishing.

"You okay, love?" He asked at some point.

It might have been hours that they'd been walking. The forest near Adam Gold's house was no joke. Your typical North American labyrinth of wilderness. Maybe they could spend an eternity here without making this realm of nature familiar, recognizing each tree, each rock as if it were pieces of furniture in their living room. Why would she think a thing like that? Almost as if, because she'd just lost her home, it'd make sense that she and the stranger stay there for the rest of their lives. Never coming out for air. Never going back.

"Sure."

"You can tell me if you need a break."

"I'm okay."

"Good." He cast a look at her behind his shoulder without interrupting their walk. Just a brief glance, the flash of a smile, and he was back to making their way through the trees. "We're almost there, anyway."

It was the first time Emma thought to ask. "Where are we going?"

Though he didn't turn around again, she could make out the curve of his smirking mouth. "Believe it or not – we're going to unbury a treasure, sweetheart."

…

She hadn't really taken this to a literal meaning until Jones stopped walking and, letting go of her hand, crouched on the ground, sheltered by the dome-like branches of neighboring trees, and started digging at the soft earth with his hands.

"Um –" Was the only reaction she found a voice for.

"You can help if you like. It's buried pretty deep. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to do it myself, spare your dress – but I'm afraid it's already ruined."

Emma lowered her eyes to what she was wearing, the fabric indeed torn in several places where brambles had got in the way. As time passed, she was beginning to feel more and more herself, the numbness of shock washing off.

She realized the stranger was chuckling, and maybe she wasn't the butt of the joke but she sure as hell wasn't in on it.

"Would you mind letting me know what it is you're after?"

"Well, what sort of thing does a man dig for in the middle of the woods, love?"

"If you're making fun of me –"

"Oh no. That's just plain old me, showing humor in the face of dangerous situations." He sighed, brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead, leaving a finger-imprint of dirt. Emma's heart started to beat very fast at the idea that this was really happening – I've just run off with a self-avowed criminal in the middle of the night. Fear mingled with a hint of excitement.

No more of this domestic life she thought suited her. Why was there such an odd relief at the thought that life as she knew it was over? Over completely, irrevocably.

And now the man Jones was back to digging and she was smiling – God knew why on earth – she was smiling.

"Is there an actual treasure down there?"

"I'd love it if you could think so for the next few minutes." He joked, raised his eyes to her. Tired with the effort and ever-mischievous. "At Halloween, as a kid, I always dressed up as a pirate."

"You don't say."

What he did recover from the ground was ultimately disappointing – a mere brownish bag that would probably look black if you shook off the dirt. Not big enough that you'd mistake it for the Boogeyman's satchel but still too big to be concealed beneath a man's coat.

"What is that?"

"That," he answered, "is the reason why your husband wants to kill me."

Emma raised her eyebrows. "Please, tell me, what was worth the trouble?"

"Money."

"Figures, but how much?"

"Oh, nothing so bad as you'd imagine. A hundred thousand. Hey, I could have gotten away with a lot more. It's just part of a strategy, you know, to take little from multiple giants so they have better things to do than putting too much effort in going after you. 'Cause that's nothing to such a monumental crime corporation, right?"

"Hum – right?"

"Anyhow. Your husband took it personally."

"That sounds in character."

"Yeah," Jones sighed. "And that's on me, too. I always do my homework about the people I'm going to steal from – that's a basic rule of thieving. It was just my mistake to think even a man like Adam Gold – a man who's known for paying his debts and getting what he's owed – wouldn't bother going after me in earnest just for a hundred thousand bucks. Well, let me tell you, I've been looked for before, Emma, but I've never been hounded. You might as well know that's what expects us."

He threw the bag over his shoulder. From where she was standing, in the dark, with his black dirty clothes and the apparently unshakable grin, Emma had to admit he actually looked like a pirate.

"When your husband cornered me in these woods, I buried the money somewhere I'd know how to go back to."

"Is that another rule of thievery one-o-one?" Emma asked. "Knowing your way around the woods?"

He made an exaggerated wince. "Not really. I was a boy scout."

Emma laughed before she could help it. Laughing was magical, a little frightening, like she hadn't laughed in years.

"Anyway. Running from your husband's going to be difficult enough – but without money, just short of impossible."

"Why not just give it back?" She shrugged. "When you were in that basement, when he was beating you –"

"Oh, but that wasn't about the money. Like I said. That's nothing to a man whose organization is worth something in the range of nine digits –"

"You're joking."

"Never."

Emma rolled her eyes at this.

"It's just a matter of principles, I'm afraid. Even if I did give back that money, every dime, your husband's men would still be searching for my ass all over the States – and now, I take it, yours too, which is a pity. So much lovelier and less guilty than mine is."

It felt natural to protest yet Emma never found the will to. Appraising the dirty bag with her eyes, it didn't really feel like she was looking at the end of their troubles. Though she hadn't had time yet to give thought to it before, now it didn't make sense to think her husband – ex-husband, she mentally corrected; however unofficial, the divorce between them was undeniable – would stop at anything to find her or the man she was with. Even if she was his wife, maybe especially because of that. First and foremost because she'd gotten away from him, because she had seen too much.

Though she knew little of his work in general, Emma doubted he was extremely lenient when it came to liabilities.

The look on Jones's face had turned more serious. "They won't think we've gone for the woods," he said. "Not when the city was just a mile away, shining its lights at us, giving us an opportunity for a quicker flight. What I'm saying is that I don't think we're in immediate danger. Quite possibly as safe as we're going to get for some time. So if you need a moment, Emma, you just say the word."

"A moment to what?" She asked, throwing in genuine ideas. "Cry? Scream?"

"Well, maybe nothing so loud. We're not that safe, darling."

It was a wonder he could look anything but ridiculous, with that bag thrown over his shoulder. Emma thought, suddenly, that she should be afraid of him – she used to be very afraid of strangers as a girl, always imagined they might assault or murder her for no reason, when she was alone in a car with them, or when walking down a particularly empty street.

But not this one.

No.

Maybe precisely because they were alone – actually, Emma had this feeling that they were completely alone in the world.

"I can keep going," she only said in the end.

He answered with a tame enough smirk. "There is a good side to this, honey. At least we have each other."

…

End Notes: would love to read your reactions. Please let me know your thoughts : )