A/N: I changed the titled, because I thought the previous one didn't really fit in. This is way longer then I expected it to be. It just kept writing itself so shucks! I'm sorry if it is too long. There is mention of alcohol, and I do not drink. All the information came from a friend so if it is wrong then I do apologize. And you can tell me if i need to change it and I will.

small question, next chapter is almost done, just smut or no smut?

That is it .. enjoy :D

You find it strange how this has to start on a Friday. Nothing starts on a Friday, atleast nothing worthwhile does. It is the end of the week, everyone wants to just go home and enjoy their weekend with their families or friends. It is human nature to get used to and enjoy a routine. And that is why, you think, people don't start anything new on a Friday, because then what are Mondays for?

Emma was supposed to call you yesterday. You replay the conversation in your head more times than necessary to assure yourself she did in fact say two days. The ticking clock keeps telling you that the two days will be over in under an hour. You usually don't keep your phone off silent, it is always on vibrate mode, however on Thursday you actually do put it on normal mode. You get a mini heart-attack every time your phone rings, and that is why it is never off silent. You can't help the giddy feeling that rises in the pit of your stomach, assuming it could be Emma. And feel it drop just as hard when you notice it's not her.

The seventh time around you can't even be troubled to feel anything, so you just pick up and try to get over with the conversation as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the person on the other side is none other than your friend Katherine Nolan. You never declared her as your friend, in fact it was her that put a label to it. You figure there is no harm in actually spending time with a human, regardless of who it is.

As she goes on and on about her week, your response is either a 'hmm', or 'ahan' or 'oh really?'. Just to keep the conversation a little less one sided, you even fake a laugh or two, while drawing random musical notes on the legal pad to keep yourself from falling asleep or lashing out, whichever one has a higher chance of occurring.

You glance at the clock, realizing that Katherine has been talking non-stop for almost 20 minutes. How can someone be so oblivious to a situation like this? Then again, it is Katherine, and she is pretty much oblivious to life. Perhaps that is why you don't mind her company. Not because she is inane, or heedless. It's because she doesn't judge people. She doesn't make you feel like an outcast, or hates your for your guts (unlike the rest of the small town). She even stands up for you when she thinks you are being wronged. You are her 'friend' because you do, (really, no jokes), enjoy talking to her (unlike majority of the town who just puts up with her due to her nice nature). You both are kind of a pariah, so there's that too. Plus, it is not like you are her only 'friend', yet she takes some time out to indulge you with her life's musings. It is sort of a routine for you, so you enjoy it too. Strike that. You would if it hadn't been for a certain blonde.

Why do you have to get on my nerves all the time!? Your brain all but screams. Ugh.

"I'm sorry?"

Did I say that out loud? Yes you did! "Sorry. My secretary just placed a bunch of files in front of me. Work never stops coming in." You lie, hoping Katherine will finally take a hint and leave you alone. Bless the heavens above, because she does.

"Oh, I am so sorry to take up your time like that. Sometimes I forget that unlike me, people actually work. Even if it's at –" She quiets out, probably checking the time. "- almost 11.30." She laughs.

Why do you have to be so nice all the time? "No, it's alright. Don't be sorry. How about we meet up for coffee sometime?" Damn you conscious, damn you!

"Really?" The evident excitement in her voice brings a smile to your face. Like I said, I actually enjoy her company. "I would love to. Just tell me whenever is convenient for you."

You nod, and curse yourself because duh she can't see you nod. "Sounds great. Thanks for calling. Bye." There is an honesty in that farewell, because wow did you want this conversation to get over. She hangs up after a 'bye', and you sag further into your very big, very comfortable leather chair. You tip your head resting it on the backrest. Running your hands over your face, you let out a very frustrated sigh. What was I thinking? This was too good to be true. You hate yourself for being so presumptuous. Learning from the past should be your forte now, but the stubborn human that you are, you never do. It is like a curse, or a disease. Take a pick.

You can't take all the anticipation anymore, so you get up, put your phone on silent and off vibration (you just really don't want any human company right now), and stomp out your office. You see your secretary open her mouth to say something.

"What?" You spit out, not stopping your steps.

"Can I go home now?" Her voice is low and tired. She can't be blamed. You did force her to coop up with you all day to meet the deadlines. You nod, walking out the door. Instead of going to your car, you walk the small distance to the bar. You could really use some alcohol to take the edge off. It had been a while (3 years to be precise) since your last visit. The place had changed considerably. You can't really be concerned with the details of change, hence your eye noticing the most obvious - everything is a few shades darker than the previous brown.

You place yourself at the corner of the bar, adjacent to the wall, away from drunk human sweat and filth. The bartend makes his way over to you. You glance at him, noting how sharp his features are. His nametag says he is called August. For a moment or two you contemplate flirting with him, letting the idea go as soon as it comes. You are a mayor, you can't give them a chance to challenge your character. In a town so small, that is usually proven to be an easier task than any. He nods a greeting at you, receiving the most genuine smile you can muster.

"And what will the lady have tonight?" He asks, sounding way too cocky then he needs to. You congratulate yourself for making the mature decision of not flirting.

"What's your strongest?" You ask, keeping your tone authoritative.

"That kind of a day huh?" He leans in. You are not comfortable with the lack of proximity, so instead you move a little farther back on your seat. He thankfully takes a hint, unlike Katherine. What? Sometimes you just don't get how your brain works.

"Try life." You reply nonchalantly.

"I don't think you should be drinking something like that." He offers, still holding that cocky sneer.

"Good I didn't ask for your opinion then?" You throw back. He just looks at you, probably wondering why his 'charm' hasn't rubbed off on you yet. "My drink." Your words set him into motion. After a few minutes he slides a shot glass your way.

You don't bother thanking him. "What is this?" you ask instead.

"Power Driver." He replies like it is the most obvious thing. He exhales, explaining further, "A mix of everclear with orange juice. Trust me this is exactly what you need."

He doesn't stand there any longer then he needs to, moving away to serve more customers. You down the shot as soon as he is gone. It burns your throat, making you feel like you have swallowed a part of the sun. It dizzies you for a while, until you notice the piece of lime lying on the plate and suck on it. Your body feels a tingling sensation making your head drop, and you slam the palm of your hand on the bar top to quell it. You haven't fully recovered yet when you see another shot glass – no wait – three other shot glasses sliding your way. You raise your head only to find August standing there, accompanied by a toothy grin. You eye him suspiciously. He nudges one glass closer to you. "Go on then." He leans against the rack, arms crossed over his chest.

"Your obituary would be one I would read with pleasure."

"I'm not dead, or are you too drunk to notice from just one shot?" He smirks.

"Don't count on it. Is this your way of getting women drunk so you can take advantage of them? If so, then let me enlighten you – you might want to think of a career change. Because with this attitude you are not getting anyone into that bed of yours."

"I would love to see you try and murder me. Also advice taken. Now quit stalling and drink up."

"Do you know who I am?" He has guts talking to you like that, you deliberate.

"Nope." He replies, popping the 'p'. "And I don't really care."

Explains a lot. "You would if you knew. But I am not here to humor you." You push the glass back, too egotistical to back down from this.

He laughs, shaking his head. "You are one hell of a woman."

You give him a lop-sided grin. "You don't know the half of it."

"I would love to." And there starts the obvious flirting.

"Nice try." You jeer.

"Atleast I tried." He shrugs.

"I am not going to give you a standing ovation for that, so I suggest you go make yourself useful somewhere else." He gives you the it-is-not-over-yet look before walking away. He doesn't go really far, just a couple of stools away, where you can clearly see him, and he definitely can see you. After serving a few customers he looks at you, then at the shot glass and then back at you.

Without breaking eye contact, you raise the glass to your lips, downing this just as fast. You hiss. He quirks a brow, and you can see how much he is enjoying this. He points at the lime, challenging you. You reach out for it, changing your path midway to grab another shot. His smirk impossibly widens. You both stare at each other, not willing to back down. As if on cue, both your eyes flick to the last shot glass sitting on the table. You can feel your brain buzzing, the burning still alive, and alcohol now taking charge of your body. Your hand makes its way towards the glass in an excruciatingly slow pace. To August it might look like a drunk woman trying to regain her composure (which entirely isn't false), but you are deciding if you should go for it or not? The mature decision would be to let it go, but isn't one mature decision a night enough? Oh screw it.

You are just about there, when a hand on top of yours stops your progress. You spin your head around (which by the way was a very bad idea), you see nothing but a blurry human. As your brain refocuses, you groan when you notice its Emma - the reason why you are in this state right now. The absurdity of the situation doesn't escape you. You are mad at her for breaking a promise, and you want to slap her, really hard. However here she is stopping you from whining over her (unknowingly so). But you know the state you are in, you will both miss and make a fool of yourself, or wobble and fall down, again making a fool of yourself. Either way you don't seem to be the winner.

You turn your head away, trying to avoid Emma's 'what-do-you-think-you-are-doing' gaze, and try to wriggle your hand free. She is too strong, or you are too drunk, so you aren't really that successful. You groan loudly and let yourself go limp. She leans down, closing a little bit of gap between you two. Unlike with August, you don't seem to mind this. You in point of fact like it.

"How much have you had to drink?" Her breath tickles you, and you raise your shoulder to lessen the tingling.

"Not much." You say sheepishly.

"How much August?" She inquires, not looking away from you. You feel a little jealous. Why does she know him? Why does he know her? Why does she come here? But then again the mixture of alcohol, and Emma's body head radiating towards you doesn't let you form coherent thoughts. You are failing so miserably at practically everything today. That has to be a record.

"She was going for her fourth." The volume of his voice suggest he is standing closer now.

"What!?" Emma's eyes widen in disbelief. "Four freaking shots really?" She is scolding you now. You feel your eyes water. You shouldn't feel like crying. Not like you have done something wrong. But Emma's tone is the same your mother used when she was disappointed with you. You feel like you have let Emma down, or broken some cardinal rule, one of the two for sure. You gulp in an attempt to choke down the oncoming tear storm. It works, though another dressing-down and you will be making a fool out of yourself.

"Sorry." You hear yourself whisper, hoping Emma has heard you, not in a mood to repeat your apology. Ego issues, but whatever.

You see Emma's fingers curl around your hand, her thumb stroking the side. Leaning in closer she says, "No I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so harsh." She tucks your hair behind your ear, running her thumb over your ear. "Let's get you home ok." You nod and as you try to get up, you wobble a little and fall back on the stool. (So you were right before.)

"Let me help you with that." Emma says placing her palm at the base of your spine. A shivering sensation shoots up your spine and crashes into your brain like a wave hitting a rock. Suddenly you feel dizzier then before, sure that even if not intoxicated to begin with, it would have had the same effect. Your eyes close of their own will. "Just give me a few seconds." You slur. Emma waits patiently beside you, her stroking carrying on. "Ok, let's go." You decide when you are entirely sure that you can move. Thankfully Emma's hand moves from your lower back to your side, giving you the much needed support. The journey to standing up isn't an easy one. For the second time that night you congratulate yourself (internally of course), that you actually achieved as much with the blonde almost attached to you in addition to the alcohol running in your stream.

"You ladies enjoy your night." Augusts contribution to the situation comes packed with a smirking grin (that is a thing right?) and a wink. You want to punch him, and you are thisclose to doing it, but bar & wobble & fool & etc. You get the point. So you dismiss it with a wave of your hand and Emma mutters a 'whatever' as she slams down a few bills on the counter. You make a mental note to return the money.

As you both start the walk, Emma gripping your side a little tighter than before, your body automatically starts to lean into hers. (Yes, on its own ok.)

"What exactly did you drink that has you tranquilized in just three shots?"

You huff. "Not everyone can handle alcohol like you. And it was something like ever something."

"Everclear!" You nod against her shoulder. "You couldn't start with something lighter?"

"Trying to take the edge off." You state the obvious.

"Hate to break it to you Madam Mayor, but that is more like ripping the edge off."

"Haven't had the best day."

"Couldn't have been that bad."

You scoff. "Where are we going?" You inquire as you notice that the path leads neither to your office nor home.

"My place." Now that wakes your senses up a bit.

"What? Why?" You panic a little trying to straighten yourself. But Emma's grip tightens further holding you in place.

"Relax. I'm not kidnapping you. I noticed you didn't have your bag on you. So you probably left it in your office, which is now closed. That doesn't leave us any choice other than Grannys or my home. And trust me, Grannys isn't the most comfortable."

The flutter in your stomach is not something that butterflies can cause, so you settle it on being pixies. Pixies in your stomach, sounds legit. You nuzzle in ridiculously closer and feel Emma shiver under you. You give yourself a mental hi5 for being able to extract such a reaction from the blonde. You smile goofily as the two of you walk in pure silence.

It feels nice, and calm, like taking a stroll on a beach. It is so cheesy, it's not even funny, so you giggle. Obviously. But wait, did you just giggle!? You know Emma finds it strange too, because her 'what?' is laced with strange. (Excuse the extensive use of terminology.)

"Nothing." Emma doesn't question you any further and before long you two fall into an easy silence again.

"Emma" you hum, after about 2 seconds of silence.

"Hmm?" the vibration of her throat against your face calls for you to shiver. You oblige as goose bumps make their way to the surface of your skin.

"Your eyes are green." Emma laughs giving you the over-used 'no shit Sherlock'. "Like my ring." You finish. Emma raises the hand she is holding (which, for your kind information, she hasn't let go off since the bar.)

"It is." She whispers into your hair while examining the ring. You make the bold choice of intertwining your fingers with hers, just a little at first to see her reaction. When she doesn't pull away, you go the full distance, liking how they perfectly fit together. It sounds stupid because you felt the same with Daniel, but you don't know any other feeling, content with settling on a stupid one.

'Things always happen for a reason' people would tell you. You never once believed them, knowing that nothing just happens, it is always a series of events. Today though, you believe. In the past three years you haven't really been tempted to enter that bar to release your stress, the alcohol at your house being enough. Then again, you consider, you haven't truly been this down. It's all very correlative and confusing.

You wouldn't be sitting at the bar if it hadn't been for Emma, which wouldn't have happened if she wouldn't have promised to called, which wouldn't have happened if you didn't have all these feelings for her. So yea, they happen for a reason but only because something previously happened to make it occur. Or something like that. You believe, but remotely.

Silence takes over again. Your body is getting really, really tired of walking, because it starts to fidget. "Just a little bit longer." Emma has probably sensed your unease, her fingers starting to trace soothing patterns on your side. You stop fidgeting, but jerk when one of her finger grazes your skin.

"What's wrong?" Emma stops, eyeing you worriedly.

"Nothing. I thought I saw a rat." You lie, not wanting to sound like a hormonal teenage boy.

"Oookaayyy." Emma draws out the word, not believing you, letting it go nevertheless. "Come on lets go. It's not that far anymore." You resume your position, not missing how Emma had never really let go off you.

After what feels like (and you are 100% sure you are right) an eternity, you reach your destination. Climbing stairs had never proven to be a tenuous task before, but somehow, with Emma's help you make it to the second floor. She props you against the wall. You whine at the loss of contact, earning a chuckle from Emma. As Emma fumbles with her keys, your hands raise (of their own accord of course), tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You're beautiful" you breathe out. The fumbling stops, as Emma turns to you. For a few quiet moments you two just look at each other.

You reason it's now or never, so you inch your way closer, giving her enough time to react. You are not sure how your drunken self is keeping itself calm. Your faces are millimeters apart and as soon as you know she isn't going to pull back, your finger traces a line across the side of her face, stopping at the edge of her lips. Her eyes flicker down to your lips, lingering there for a second or two before returning to your eyes. You trace a line along her lower lip and feel her breath hitch.

"Can I?" You ask. She shudders before whispering a 'yes'. It's your turn to shudder. You close the almost non-existent gap, placing a feather light kiss on her lips, still a bit reluctant. You are worried this is how far it will go, when Emma returns the kiss with more surety. You smile into the kiss, returning it with just as much. Emma deepens the kiss, pushing you back against the wall. Her hands come up to cup your face, as your hands find the hem of her shirt, bunching the material in your fists.

You don't know how to feel. No wait. You don't understand what to feel. You feel butterflies, fireworks, pixies, fizzy drinks and what not. You are entirely too sure this feeling is just plain abnormal, but when you two break for air, and you gaze into those green eyes - that have darkened not out of lust but passion - you wish this abnormality never leaves you. Because every time you want to kiss that woman, you want to feel all that and so much more over and over again.

Second time around, it is you who lunges in, kissing her with a passion you thought you had lost. Her lips beg for entrance and you accommodate. You should battle it out, show off your dominance like you had previously with anyone else. Key word: should. You don't. All you want to do is taste her, feel her, learn her, enjoy her, melt into her. Her hands settle on your hips, pulling you closer. You both moan into each other's mouth at the increased contact and you decide that right there is your favorite sound in the whole world.

A clearing of the throat breaks the kiss. You grunt disgustingly when you see who it is: August. "I see you two took my advice about enjoying the night." His god damn annoying smirk returns. Unlucky for him the adrenaline from the kiss has cleared up your mind and you plunge at him. Lucky for him, Emma wraps an arm around your waist, effectively stopping you.

You are too fatigued to struggle against her strong sheriff arms (you could also possibly be enjoying your body being flushed against hers), so you let Emma handle it. Her way of handling: turn you around, unlock the door, pull you inside, flip the finger at August, ask him to piss off and close the door.

"I hope that is not how you handle criminals Sheriff." You lean against the table, trying to sound flirtatious. Emma's lack of enthusiasm clarifies that you sound anything but.

"I don't Madam Mayor don't worry. And he isn't a criminal, just a nuisance." She walks towards you, stopping a few steps away. Your disapproval must be evident, because she smiles, and places a quick peck on your cheeks. The touch is feather light, perhaps lighter, but your cheek warms to a 100 degrees, your heart thuds against your chest ready to burst out, your palms go sweaty and you become lightheaded. It is pathetic, if we are being completely honest here, how such a feeble gesture puts your whole body ablaze. So you think maybe, just maybe, you might be in love with this perfection of a human. Your heart has always been a fickle thing, but now its fickleness stays inside the boundaries of one called Emma Swan. One minute you like her eyes, the other her smile, then the way she laughs, then how she scrunches up her nose, then her confidence. It's ever changing, but it's all about her. You don't understand why you have been pushing all these feelings away for such a long time.

Whilst you let yourself get lost in her, she has moved you to the bed and even taken your shoes off. And there goes the giddy feeling again. You want to stop her from being your personal valet, but the child inside you wants to be nurtured. She walks over to her closet, pulling out two shirts and one pair of shorts. She tosses a shirt your way, your explicable hand-eye coordination skills rewarding you, regardless of your (mild now) drunken state.

"I would give you a pair of shorts but you being you, I doubt you would want them." She explains herself, walking towards you.

"And here I was thinking you wanted to see me naked." She blushes. You stand up to change, but it's too fast, making you fall back on the bed.

"Let me." Emma says, bending over shirt (revealing enough amount of cleavage to make your throat go dry), her hands already on the hem of your, waiting for approval. You nod, what else can you do? Her fingers graze your skin as she pulls the shirt off.

You crash your lips onto hers, the temptation weighing too hard on you. Her hands rest on your thighs, her thumb drawing lazy circles on the inside. You hold onto her strong arms for a while, digging half-moon shapes into them. Then you can't take it anymore. Your body demands more contact so you hook your fingers in her belt loops, tugging her closer. You let her elbows push you back until you lie flat on the bed. She straddles you as one hand cups your face while the other runs up and down your rib cage. It is still not enough, you want more. Your left hand moves to her hip, pulling her down, while the other moves to her shirt, pulling it higher.

You both gasp at the skin-to-skin contact. You recover faster, taking the chance to let your tongue explore her mouth. She moans into the kiss, making you jittery. It surprises you how, still, your and Emma's hands haven't wandered off. It seems alright, not like you already aren't going too fast.

You two kiss like that for a long while, hands exploring everything under the chest and above the abdomen. To someone watching from the outside (hopefully not), it may seem uncharacteristic, just kissing instead of groping or sexing it up. You can't blame them for that, it makes sense. It's not like you don't want to do all those things. Oh dear god would you be stupid to not want to. You just don't want to have sex with Emma, especially not in this drunken state. What you want to do is make sweet, passionate love.

People think it is the same thing. You would like to humbly disagree. Making love is part of sex. Sex isn't part of making love. Sex, according to you, is a physical act. Making love on the other hand is the desire of giving yourself up fully to the person. By that you mean physically, mentally and spiritually. Which won't be entirely do-able if you two aren't on the same page and for that you need to get to know each other more. So yea, you enjoy what you have, not a single regretful bone in your body.

You break the kiss due to lack of oxygen, and instead of pulling her into another soul drenching kiss, your lips find her jaw placing light kisses along her jawline.

"We should," Emma breathes out "we should go to sleep." Her tone lacks conviction. 'We will' you say, before trailing your tongue along her neckline. She sucks in a harsh breath, her muscles tightening as your tongue licks a sensitive spot. You smile into her neck, your index finger running up and down her side.

"Oh god." You hear her say. "Ohk, ohk." She continues, reassuring herself of something. She retreats, her facial expression telling you how much she was fighting against it all. You whine, a 'not fair' escaping your lips. She smiles lovingly at you, eyes still a few shades darker. You marvel at how someone can look seductive yet pure at the same time. Only Emma Swan. "As much as I am enjoying this, we can't take this any further."

"I know." She sits up pulling you with her, still straddling you. Her hands cup your face, both thumbs stroking your cheeks. Your hearts warms seeing the adoring gaze she is sporting for you. You decide then and there that you will do everything in your power to make sure that look is reserved for you, and you only.

"Let's just go to sleep and talk about this in the morning."

"Ok." Your great contribution. She picks up the shirt, putting it on you. You are too busy staring into those eyes to notice that her hands are now unbuttoning your pants. Your eyes widen at the realization.

"No funny business mayor." She adds, flicking the tip of your nose with her finger.

"Ok." You have never been so lost for words. Words are your thing. You were part of debate groups, you were the valedictorian (in school and university), and you could stand in front of a whole group of people, talking for hours on anything, because words never failed you. Until now. (Yes, even Daniel did not make you feel this way). Don't get it wrong. It's not like the vocabulary has diminished. The words are running wild in your mind, your brain doesn't know how to form a sentence out of it. That is what is lost - the capability.

She gets off you, the loss of warmth making you shiver. "Lie down. I'll be right there with you in a while." She leans down, giving you an Eskimo kiss before walking away. You lie down on your side, your legs bare now. You watch her makeher way around the studio apartment, throwing a smile your way from time to time. Its domestic and calm, how scintillating.

Your eyes feel heavy, nearly closing. The dip beside you alerts you of the human presence. With your back towards her, you feel safe, your gut telling you that she will always be watching over you. Her hands snake around your waist. Your body tenses not expecting the gesture, but it soon relaxes trying to fit itself to Emma's. As if that was all the assurance Emma needed, her one leg moves to settle between your two, her chin on the top of your head. You intertwine your arm with hers, mumbling a 'good night'.

As you lie there safely in the arm of Emma Swan, you know she won't just be watching over you, she will also be there to catch you when you fall.

12:42 the clock reads. It is officially Friday, and even though nothing important begins on a Friday, in your mind it has already been highlighted as your favorite day of the week. In your head, you see your life beginning on a Friday. So as your eyes flutter close you fathom the reality of it all - not maybe.

Definitely.