Following Killian's slightly skewed instructions, Emma made her way through south Boston after dropping off Henry and was asked to stop in front of a bookstore. Innocent but mysterious patrons came and went in slow patterns. "We'll have to walk the rest of the way," Killian whispered, his eyes focused on the street ahead of them. The sun had gone down and the lamp light that they parked under made a halo around Killian's face. Emma squeezed her fingers around the steering wheel not knowing how to prepare for what was next.

"Are you ready?"

Emma nodded emphatically. "Yes. And no. Yes."

She released her grip and reached behind her for the bag, pulling out her father's pistol. To Killian's surprise, she rose her skirt up slightly, revealing a garter slip fit perfectly for the revolver. He squirmed in his seat, averting his eyes just enough to assure her enough privacy. "Now, I'm ready," she confirmed in the dark, unexpected content settling in her mind at the sight of blush rising in Killian's cheek. Not even the shadows could hide his true thoughts.

"Right then," he muttered, opening his door and walking out into the warm night. Emma lagged behind, her curls losing some of their vervor. Killian stuck his elbow out, offering his arm to her. She rolled her eyes but took it. She would have to play a part for now. "There's a lass," he said jokingly, his smile lighting up his entire face even though the brim of his fedora hid his eyes. "Now, the King's goons are in this pub up ahead. I've used my overflowing charm to develop some trust with these men, so just play along and…"

"Look pretty?"

"Well you've already accomplished that, darling." An unexpected fear ran through Emma's spine and at the sense of the unknown in her familiar town ticked away in the back of her mind. Killian, sensing her distress, lightly touched her hand resting on his arm with his own. "If you need a little liquid courage, feel free to ask. I've come prepared." He tapped his coat pocket.

"Courage isn't the problem. It's risk of disappointment. For all I know, you could be one the King's henchmen, leading me to my doom and here I am, choosing to believe you."

He noticed that she didn't say fear. She was not afraid of a battle. The threat of someone else letting her down took over any and all feelings. Killian remembered the beanstalk and a warmth flushed into his face. "Don't worry, love. You can trust me, I give you my word."

"Words waver. We made a deal, Jones. Prove it in your actions or I'll take you down with me."

Killian looked up and saw one of the King's bodyguards walking towards them. His chest and hips were ballooned out on all sides, a fuming cigar lingering between his sausage fingers. He walked with feigned determination and a heavy breath. He couldn't see her, not yet. Killian pulled Emma to the wall of the building, pressing her back against the brick. Her breath escaped her and Killian placed his hand beside her head, his face leaning in toward her but his eyes were monitoring the goon walking behind. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he whispered. His breath lightly smelled of sugared rum. His hips lingered dangerously close to her own and she felt a fire rise through her chest and up to her face. Emma looked up at him and smiled faintly, watching the large man through the corner of her eye. He was more than a block away from them when Killian finally lifted himself away from her. His red tie grazed her collarbone as he pulled it in towards his chest. The nearness of her made him fidget. He cleared his throat to push the feeling down as she dusted herself off. "Now then, His Majesty awaits."

They walked closer to the club entrance, the lantern lights on either side of door flickering. The sign, distressed of its original gold shimmer, read The Swinging Wheel. Emma blew out a breath. She had been there countless times, never a thread of evidence in sight. "Jones, this is pointless. I can't tell you how many efforts have come up short with this place. There's nothing here to see."

Killian put his hand on her waist and brought her in close to him, her forehead dangerously brushing against his stubbled cheek. "Ah, but it's all in what you don't see." He cocked his eyebrow at her, a hint of promise in his tone.

They walked in through a veil of smoke, Killian leading the way. Small, round tables covered the perimeter in a half circle, leaving enough room for a few couples to dance. A young singer wearing an enveloping emerald dress belted out the notes of a recent Hoagy Carmichael hit. Lovers and dreamers swayed in syncopation while onlookers and drinkers stared in envy and smoked their cigarettes. The room was solely lit from candles on the tables and two chandeliers made of gold and glass.

They weaved between the tables and reflected light, heading to the backstage door. A guard nodded at Killian, opening the door while stealing a lingering glance at Emma. She felt a tinge of disgust in her stomach. She had snuck behind backstage before, seduced a couple of ne'er-do-wells in an attempt to get through the door, but even thorough exams of the area came up short.

The room had a large cellar, liquor in various bottle shapes stacked on dusty shelves like a witch's apothecary. Killian led her through the aisles, passing by suspecting men working behind the scenes. The room was dark and damp, save for a couple of flickering, hanging light bulbs that cast shadows on the gray, concrete walls. Emma began to grip Killian's arm that much closer to her but kept her chin straight ahead. She looked for any crack in the walls, any loose floorboards, anything new that had crept its way in or that she may have missed in a hurry. She found it hard to believe that this stranger, this criminal to be sure, would find something so simply when she had looked her entire career. Killian stopped in front of the back door, a streak of light from the lamp outside coming in through the dusted window, illuminating his profile.

"Here we are then," he said confidently.

"You're kidding me. This is a door out to the alley. I should know, I've been kicked out of it once or twice." Killian rose an eyebrow in skepticism. "Okay, maybe four times."

He laughed under his breath at the confession. Emma's heart twittered for a fleeting second, in anger and surprisingly, trepidation for the unknown. He lowered his head to her ear, the bristles of his hair tickling her forehead. "Use a little imagination, love." He let go of her arm and took something out of his coat pocket-a small vial filled with a shimmering green powder.

"What's that?"

Killian looked around, making sure that the space had cleared out. "A key."

"A key? What are you going to do? Dirty the door to death?"

Killian poured the powder into his hand. To Emma's surprise, it had started to crackle, sucking in the pressure in the room. A dizzying feeling swirled in her head and she tried to steady herself in the sight of it. Killian brought his hand to his mouth and blew the powder at the alley doorway. A thick plume of green smoke erupted, covering the entrance and enveloping them both. In seconds, it had settled, but Emma couldn't see the alley outside anymore. In its stead, a gold, arched doorway lay before them, no windows to the outside world to be seen. Emma gasped, her eyes focused on the iron door knob just inches away from her. Killian was patient, didn't rush her or coax until her gaze turned to him. "What…?"

"Time for you to start believing again, Swan." Without breaking her stare, he leaned forward and turned the knob open. Soft music sneaked out from the hidden space. The familiar scratch of a phonograph beckoned Emma in. Her stomach dropped to the floor but she was ready. The Emerald King was hers for the taking.

The door swung open, unveiling a small ballroom. An uplifted stage with a faded ruby curtain lined the back of the room, the bottom edges skirting the dusty wooden panels of the stage floor. The phonograph sat on a wooden stand by the stage, the song it had whispered had long since ended. The skipping made the room haunting, Emma could practically feel the eyes of ghosts around her. There was a lot of history here. The sound of her heart beating echoed in her ears. Killian stopped in his tracks, jutting out an arm across Emma's body. He looked over to the side of the ballroom. A burly man was walking towards them. He looked like the same goon that had crossed their path on the street-the same dull demeanor, the same body shape-they must have been twins, Emma thought. The only difference was that this one was carrying a rather large tommy gun on his shoulder, his large fingers clutching the handle. He waddled over to them and stopped, the tommy gun falling into the palm of his other hand. The cigar he had been holding in his mouth dipped towards the ground as he smiled, yellow and pointed teeth snarling. Emma didn't move more than an inch before he opened fire, bullets heading straight towards them.