TRIGGER WARNING: From here on out, situations that written into the story that deal with abuse, or other things along those lines, will be marked off with the bolded KEKEKEKEKE.

Emma bolted upright in the bed she shared with her fiancé, panting, a cold sweat blanketing her skin. She tries to recall the nightmare that she so suddenly woke from, but the only image that she can conjure up in her head is one of piercing blue eyes, and a ship. She hears a groan from beside her, and feels the bed shift.

"Emma, go back to sleep. That, or stop thrashing," Neal's voice, gruff with sleep ordered. With a sigh, she eases herself back down, and closes her eyes, resting her hands on her swollen belly.

In The Storybrooke Hospital

"Someone page Doctor Whale! And hurry! He's lost a lot of blood!" a young nurse calls, running with the paramedics pushing the man on the stretcher. She's never seen anything quite like his injury. Along with some small cuts, and a few minor bruises, his hand is missing. The cut is clean, like it's been sliced off with an extremely sharp knife, or maybe a sword. She shook her head, trying to clear the notion from her thoughts. A boating accident, she thought. They found him at the marina. It was a boating accident. The man kept mumbling something, over and over again. It sounded a lot like, The fates continue to try to unite them. She shook her head. Not only was he about to bleed out, but he was delirious. How perfect.

KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEK

Five Years Later. Time Passed in Storybrooke: None

Emma Swan meandered down Main Street, looking in every window, but not really looking for anything. Neal had kicked her out of the house again, and she'd left willingly, making noise about taking the kid, and never coming back. They both knew she would. For her safety, and that of her unborn child, she had to. But he needed time to cool down, and she needed time away from him. So she walked, not really going anywhere, but going all the same. She passed The Rabbit Hole, ignoring the leering stares of the men whom frequent its dark, worn down bar. She heard fast paced footsteps, trotting up behind her. She had just reached for the pepper spray she kept in her purse, when the sirens of the town's one police car blared, the light's flashing in the corner of her eye. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, and nodded to the man in the front seat. He touched his fingers to his brow in response. But what really caught her eye, was the man in the back seat, his hands, or hand and—a hook?-cuffed together in front of him. He shot her a knowing smirk, making a blush rise in her cheeks. What the hell Emma, you don't blush. She turned away quickly, but not before his strangely familiar eyes met hers. They were blue. The color of the ocean on a calm day. She kept walking.

KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEK

"Oi Humbert ole' pal you just can't resist playing the knight in shining armor can you?" Killian sneered at the man, who was very obviously pining after the pregnant woman with golden hair and beautiful emerald eyes that reminded him of—Stop it Killian. You don't even know who she is. You wouldn't be good for her anyway.

"It's Sherriff to you Jones," Graham growled, his hands tightening around the steering wheel.

"Aren't you in with Regina anyway Sherriff?" Killian mocked as Graham pulled the car into the station parking lot. With a huff, he exited the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. Killian smirked as the incredibly pissed off man threw open the door to the backseat, roughly grabbing him by the elbow, and the shoulder, yanking him out of the car. His smirk was soon replaced by a grimace of pain as Graham slammed him against the side of the vehicle, resituating the cuffs so his hand and his "glamorous accessory" as he so fondly called it, were restrained behind him, the band of metal encircling his remaining appendage, just tight enough to be painful.

"I'm sorry Jones, I couldn't hear you over the sound of me locking your ass in jail, again," Graham spat. A mischievous grin graced Killian's features.

"Oh that's okay, I was just talking about you goading after the poor pregnant girl when you're probably about ten years older than her and ball deep in—"

"Madame Mayor what a surprise!" Graham interrupted, his tone polite, his voice a little louder than it would've been in a comfortable situation. Ignoring the prisoner, the mayor pulled Graham into his office for a little "chat". Killian shuddered involuntarily. Soon enough though, thoughts of the girl he had seen on the street today distracted him from the Sherriff and the Mayor's activities. She had been so familiar, the sight of her almost comforting. He knew he had seen her around, but he just couldn't place her. She seemed, different than everybody else in this God forsaken town. She wasn't happy-go-lucky nothing's wrong with my life or the people in it. She was, real. His mind drifted to the way her shoulder's hunched in, the long sleeve blouse she wore in the middle of August, and the slight discoloration of her face, that could've been mistaken for a shoddy makeup job. It may have fooled everybody else, or maybe they just refused to see what was really there, but Killian knew better. It was actually a pretty damn good makeup job, but underneath it laid this girl's dark, maybe even dangerous secrets. He was interested, to say the least. She was just, so lost. She reminded him of himself, and something, deep down inside of him, made him want to save her. You're not a hero Killian, he thought to himself. You're a worthless drunk with no money, no home, and no friends. But then another though occurred to him. If I can save her, then I can save myself. As soon as he made his decision to seek the girl out, the hands of the clock tower started to move.

Time Passed In Storybrooke: 57 seconds.