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This chapter is relatively short, one of the shortest ones I've ever written, but I figured it was a nice place to wrap it up and give ya'll an update rather than make it longer and push updating back. I'm working on this and Days of Future's Past at the same time so like I said before, updates to this one will be sparse.

As always, enjoy, and reviews/favorites/follows feed the muse!

Chapter 2: Of All the Gin Joints…

"Son of a bitch!" Emma cursed, hands tightening on the wheel so hard they turned white. Quickly surveying her surroundings she sighed in relief that she didn't see anyone through the pelting rain that could have witnessed her run in with the town sign. Was this day going to get any worse? Muttering to herself about blasted Irish roads and town signs she threw the car in reverse and quickly left the scene of the crime, making a point to keep her eyes firmly locked ahead to avoid any further run-ins. Through the rain she saw the shops start to pop up around her, their structure more modern than she had been expecting. For some reason she thought the town would be nothing more than thatched roofs with chimneys by the way Graham had described it.

Then again, it had been over ten years since Graham had lived here.

As she slowly made her way through the town she quickly realized there was no way she was going to find the cottage by herself in this weather and at night. The cottage Graham had set her up in was one that had belonged to his family and she knew it was a good 15 minute drive outside town overlooking the ocean. Suddenly a dark wooden building with bright lights caught her eye through the rain, the parking lot in front and to the side of the building filled with cars. Slowly pulling her rental car into the only parking space available she read the simple sign above the door written in elegant script:

O'Donoghue's

She didn't have to be a genius to know it was a pub and if there was one thing she knew from Graham it was wherever there was an Irish pub, there was someone bound to help. Or at least point her in the direction of someone who could help. Pocketing her phone and car keys into her jeans she cursed herself for not getting her jacket out of her suitcase at the airport. Taking one last, deep breath she pushed the car door open. She was immediately soaked to the bone, the rain biting at her exposed skin. Walking briskly, not wanting to chance slipping on the unfamiliar terrain, she carefully made her way to the small over hang above the pub's door.

"Really?" she moaned as she shook from the coldness of her wet clothes and skin. She was really regretting traveling in nothing but a pair of jeans and tank top at that moment. With a deep sigh she quickly pushed through the heavy door. She was immediately hit with a rush of warm air, the sound of the rain drowned out by the loud chatter of the patrons and the soft, lilting background music of flutes and some kind of pipes. The pub was fairly large, an open room that housed a dozen or more tables and a few booths along the left hand wall. The packed bar was along the back wall with a small stage off to the right hand side. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, calling to something deep within her she didn't even know existed.

"Oh my God, you poor thing!"

Emma started, half turning in the direction the voice had come from. A beautiful, petite woman was making her way toward Emma with a tray full of glasses balanced in her right hand. Her features were delicate, dark blue eyes staring at her with compassion and long brunette locks held back from her face by a simple headband. She wore a long sleeved black shirt tucked into a gray skirt that fell to just above her knees, the material swishing with every step she took. A simple brown belt accentuated her trim waist while black tights encased her legs.

The girl was clearly a waitress but wore sky high black heels, an observation that had Emma raising an eyebrow. While she had worn her fair share of killer heels while chasing people she had also worked enough shifts in Granny's diner to know the toll waitressing took on your feet. Whoever this woman was, she was one brave soul.

"Are you alright?" the brunette waitress asked as she came to a stop in front of Emma.

"Yeah, I was just hoping someone could help me find Fairy Cottage?" Emma replied, her teeth chattering slightly with every word. The momentary warmth the pub had offered couldn't compete with the chill that had settled through her damp clothes and skin.

A spark of recognition ignited in the woman's blue eyes. "Oh! You must be Emma!" At Emma's confused look the woman waved her free hand at herself, breaking out into a large smile. "I'm Belle. Graham contacted me a few days ago about getting the cottage ready for you - oh but where are my manners! You are completely soaked! Come on in, we'll get you into some dry clothes before you catch a cold. Alice!"

A slender woman suddenly appeared amid the crowd of patrons, her light brown hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Belle quickly handed the tray loaded down with drinks off to the other woman and then ushered Emma toward the back of the pub, the sea of hard bodies seeming to part for the petite woman.

"I don't want to impose—"Emma began.

Belle looked over her shoulder and threw Emma a kind smile as they came to an open doorway with steps leading up. "You aren't, at all. I promise. Any friend of Graham's is a friend of mine."

"So you ah, know Graham?" Emma asked as they started up the wooden steps, the sounds of the busy pub slowly growing fainter the higher they climbed. Belle's laugh was light, her black heels clicking with each step they climbed.

"It seems like a lifetime ago but, yeah. He went to school with my older brother and we've kept in touch through the years. Have you known him for long?"

"About ten years," Emma replied as Belle opened a door at the top of the steps, breezing into what Emma soon realized was a small apartment set above the pub. The room was sparsely filled with nothing more than a full sized bed shoved into a corner, a couple of book cases crammed with books of varying size, a wooden dresser, and a metal desk covered in papers. A small window lay above the bed, the curtains pushed back to show the torrential downpour still happening outside.

Belle made her way to the dresser, pulling open one drawer and rifling through it before going into another. When she turned around Emma saw that she had a pair of black leggings and what looked like a dark blue men's dress shirt. She handed the dry clothes to Emma, motioning with her head toward a door to Emma's right.

"Bathroom is right there. You can just hang your clothes up on the shower to dry. The leggings are mine. I always try to keep a clean pair here in case of emergencies. No shirts, unfortunately, but my brother won't mind lending one of his to keep a girl from catching a cold."

"Sounds like a gentleman," Emma mumbled as she accepted the dry clothes.

Belle grinned at her. "You have no idea."

To say they were packed would be an understatement. The sudden and cold spring storms always drove people into the warmth of the pub, local and tourist alike. He had to call Belle and Tink in on their nights off – the latter had sweetly agreed, the former had given him a ten minute long rant about how she was snuggled in bed and sixty pages from the end of a suspenseful crime novel and he was a bastard of a human being for even thinking of calling her in on a night like this. That was his sister. Belle Jones could be the sweetest human being on the planet who would risk her life to save a stray animal but get in-between her and a book and she had no problem lashing you with that sharp Irish tongue she had inherited from their grandmother.

Jefferson hadn't been pleased either to be called away from his gorgeous girlfriend but a quick reminder of a lost poker game had gotten his American friend into the pub. Thank the Gods because there was no way Smee could have handled the demand on the kitchen with the crowd they had tonight. He couldn't remember the last time they were so busy that they needed all hands on deck. He hadn't moved from behind the bar in the last two hours, filling drink orders left and right. The combination of the crackling fireplace and warm bodies had his flannel shirt soaked and he was positive he had what his sister oh-so-lovingly referred to as a rats nest going on for a hairstyle.

He filled three drink orders simultaneously while carrying on a conversation with two of his regulars, Roy and Mike, about the improvements that had been made to the docks. The renovations were long overdue, really. It had been eight years since the late summer storm off the Irish Sea had done significant damage, cutting into the local fishing and transportation industries.

Not that he had seen the renovations. He hadn't set foot within sight of the docks since…. He shook his head, quickly interrupting that train of thought before it completed itself. No need to get side tracked on one of their busiest nights over something he had never been able to control. He was refreshing Roy's third glass of Guinness when he heard the pub door open. His eyes raised out of habit, expecting to see yet another local meandering into the warmth of the pub.

But what he saw instead took his breath away.

She was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, an angel who had fallen into his pub. Her features were delicate with a slender jaw and full pink lips that just begged to be kissed under every circumstance. Even from this distance he could see her eyes were a bright green, reminding him of the rolling hills that defined his country. Long blonde hair hung in damp waves down her shoulders, no doubt caused by the late spring storm. Rain drops clung to her exposed skin, the pub's soft lights creating the illusion that her alabaster skin was glistening as they rolled down her body.

And Gods what a body.

He wasn't a superficial man by any means. Beauty was only one of the components he looked for in the fairer sex. He admired intelligence, a quick wit, a woman who could laugh at herself and the world around her. He needed someone he could hold a conversation with, someone who challenged him outside the bedroom just as much as inside. But he was still a man and he was certain the look he gave while his eyes roamed her body was nothing short of hungry.

Her white tank top was soaked through, doing nothing to hide the black lace that lay underneath. Wet jeans clung to shapely legs, aiding his imagination in picturing what those legs would look like wrapped around him or thrown over his shoulders…..

"Oy! Ya gonna drown the whole bar in Guinness, mate?"

Startled by his best-friend's voice he looked down to see the pint of Guinness he had been pouring for Roy over flowing. "Shit," he muttered to himself, tossing the wasted alcohol into the sink and placing the wet glass in the dirty bin before starting a fresh one. Sliding the new glass to Roy he started cleaning up the rest of the spilled Guinness, looking back toward the pub door. The blonde angel was gone though. His eyes quickly scanned the familiar and non-familiar faces but she was no were in sight.

Shaking his head he went back to filling drink orders as people placed them, half listening to Roy and Mike's conversation that had turned to the upcoming spring festival. Every now and then his eyes drifted back toward the pub door hoping to catch a flash of her. When it was clear she was no longer in the pub, or had never really been there, he motioned for his best-friend to cover his end of the bar while he made his way to the kitchen to check on Jefferson.

Lord knew if left unchecked in the kitchen that man would go completely mad hatter.

Quickly taking off her tank top Emma groaned as she realized her bra had not been spared from the rain. Faced with leaving the cold garment on to soak through the dress shirt or go braless she opted to take the bra off, hoping the low light in the pub would hide the fact she wasn't wearing one. Thankfully her underwear had not met the same fate she found as she stripped out of her soggy jeans. After draping the wet clothes over the shower rode she turned to look at herself in the small mirror over the sink.

What was she doing here? She was in a foreign country with no one she knew, currently dressed in nothing but her black lace underwear in the bathroom of a pub. How was this finding herself? Jesus she was going to kill David and Graham for this. Grabbing one of the plush white towels off the counter she started to vigorously rub her body dry. As she did a flash of black on her inner left wrist caught her eye.

Sighing she gently traced the delicate lines of the tattoo. She had gotten it shortly after the Neal debacle, wanting something permanent in her ever shifting life. Deciding what tattoo to get had been the easiest decision of her life at that point. She knew she didn't want to waltz into a tattoo parlor and simply pick a design off the wall. She wanted it to mean something to her, something personal that spoke to her very soul. She had chosen her favorite quote, the irony of the Elvish marking her skin not lost on her in that moment.

She looked back to the mirror and wondered if everyone else could see the haunted look in her eyes, the emptiness that was swallowing her whole. Did they see the shell of a woman she had become? Did they see the lost little girl beneath the hard exterior she projected to the world? David didn't even know the full depth of how much her soul had been shattered. His life hadn't been one fuck up after another like hers. The bruises from Walsh had long ago faded but she could still see them, still feel were they had marred her skin.

But that was why she had come here – to forget, to put herself back together, to find within herself whatever she had lost, or never had. Because she didn't want to be this woman anymore. She wanted to be complete, to know who she was, to finally find her happy ending like David had. All happy endings begin with hope, Emma. Her sister-in-law's words, whispered in the dead of night over glasses of wine echoed in her mind. Hope… it was such a foreign concept to Emma, the years of never being good enough for someone to adopt had robbed her of the ability to hope. But Mary Margaret was right. If she wanted this to be a fresh start to find herself, to finally have something go right in her life, she had to have hope. Hope in what she wasn't sure but she assumed she'd know it when she found it.

"So ah, you know the owner of the pub?" Emma asked through the bathroom door as she slipped into the borrowed black leggings.

"I'm actually one of the co-owners," came Belle's slightly muffled reply. "My brother and I own the pub but he takes care of the day-to-day operation. I run the local library and pitch in whenever I can." Emma smiled as she towel dried her hair. Elsa and Belle would get along famously, she thought.

Pulling the dark blue dress shirt on she was enveloped by the smell of sea, rum, and that unique scent that screamed male. It sent a bolt of desire straight to her belly and she would deny burying her nose in the collar and breathing deeply until her death bed. The last thing she needed to be doing was getting all hot and bothered over how Belle's brother smelled. Quickly buttoning the shirt – she would also deny the sensual way the soft shirt caressed her bare breasts – and pulling her boots on she exited the bathroom.

Belle looked up from the piece of paper she had been reading and gave Emma a bright smile. "Feel better?"

"Much, thank you."

"Let's get you down to the bar and something in you to warm you up even more."

Emma frowned. "Oh, I left my wallet in the car. I don't want to impose—"

Belle waved Emma's concern away as she headed for the stairs. "Don't worry about it. We're known for our hospitality here in Drogheda and besides, Jefferson never lets anyone leave the pub hungry. He'd feed the entire county for free if my brother let him."

"Jefferson?" Emma asked as the two women made their way down the wooden steps.

"He's our head cook. He makes the best Shepard's pie this side of Dublin."

They exited the doorway at the bottom of the stairs, the pub somehow even more packed than when Belle had lead her up to the apartment. Once again the crowd of bodies parted without a word for the petite brunette as she led Emma right up to the long, wooden bar. She tapped the shoulder of a young red headed male.

"Timothy, do you mind giving your seat up for a young woman?"

Emma shook her head. "That's not necessary, I don't want to interrupt anyone's night—"

"No problem, miss," the man named Timothy said; his smile causing the freckles speckled across his nose and cheeks to become more pronounced. He quickly vacated the bar stool and gestured for Emma to take it with a flourish. "A man's never too proud to give his seat up for a pretty lass such as yourself." Emma felt her cheeks tinge red at the unfamiliar compliment. Giving the man a small smile she sat down on the bar stool.

"Is your uncle here to give you a ride home, Tim?"

"He is, Miss Belle, but I'm afraid he's been conversing with Shawn by the fireplace for the last few hours and has indulged in one too many drinks himself."

Belle nodded knowingly, taking the young man by the arm. She looked back at Emma as she led him away from the bar. "I'm just going to get Tim here settled in a cab. Order whatever you want from the bar and kitchen – tell them Belle said it was on the house!" And with that she disappeared amid the crowd of bodies.

Emma swallowed, letting her eyes roam around the busy pub. It seemed to be a hot spot for the locals and tourists alike. A group of men who she determined to be locals sat around the crackling fire, relaxed with tumblers in their hands as they chatted animatedly among themselves, their deep laughter carrying through the room. She spotted a family of four sat at one of the tables, the camera in the wife's hand clearly marking them as tourists. The pub had that homey feel to it, the sense that you were among friends despite being surrounded by strangers. The background music had been replaced with a live band, the dark haired singer singing in a language she didn't recognize. The tune was lively and she found her fingers tapping along to the beat on her thigh as a space in front of the stage was cleared of drinking bodies and replaced with people dancing.

She found herself getting lost in the spell that the music and atmosphere created, weaving itself into that place inside her she didn't know existed. Warmth spread through her still chilled body and something in her shifted, like a piece of a puzzle finding its match. She swallowed against the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.

"You're wearing my shirt."

Emma started at the voice that was clear enough to be heard over the music and chatter of the pub. Was that awe she heard? Blinking back the tears that had started to gather in her eyes she turned toward the bar to see the most gorgeous man she had ever seen standing behind it, a pair of brilliant blue eyes staring at her intently.

Damn.

Well you guys wanted Killian so you got Killian (sort of!)

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