I apologise for the long wait, I've had a lot of stuff happen, a lot of changes in my life. Hopefully things will settle down now, and I will try my best to finish writing this!

rainbowGraham x

Henry was normally the sort of boy who obeyed his mother's wishes. When she, at eighteen years of age and stuck in prison for a crime she didn't commit, became pregnant; she could have refused. Given up. But no, she raised him, the best way she could, moving from job to job, flat to flat, useless boyfriend to useless boyfriend. The only true constant in her life was him. Growing up in a neighbourhood such as Mattapan, with all its danger and death, his one true protector was his mom. She was everything. So, unlike many other boys his age, Henry believed, in fact, knew, that doing what his mother told him would keep him safe. Of course, there was the odd occasion he decided to do the opposite, where he rode his bike without a helmet or secretly slipped his meatloaf in the bin when she wasn't looking. But this time, this was different. Ever since Ruby had given him the tour about a week ago, before his mom had started complaining about the nuisance it was making, Henry had wanted to go into the Jolly Roger Bowling Alley. The last time he'd been bowling was Owen Flynn's birthday party. All the other kids had laughed at Henry when he used the bowling ramp, called him a baby to his face. He was glad his mom hadn't been there, or god only knows how she would have reacted.

It was 4pm. His mom wouldn't be home for at least another two hours. That was plenty of time. Henry had the money. He could get a milkshake, play in the arcade. He'd told Ruby he was doing homework at a friends. Ruby was new to the game, and hadn't bothered to ask any specific details. He could do whatever he wanted for an hour, at least. Then he'd leave and nobody would be the wiser.

Henry put on a coat, grabbed some change and slipped through the door.

The smell hit him instantly. The irony scent of blood mixed with day-old vomit and a hint of cigarette smoke. He could see dark, glistening patches of wet on the pavement. Someone had had a fight in front of the flats, and not for the first time. Twice he'd been walking home with his mom, who had insisted on walking him to and from school for safety reasons, and he'd seen men brawling across the street. Bald men and thin men and skinheads and druggies, people with scars and prison tattoo's, with limp cigars on the corner of their mouths, men wearing vests that showed the dark, sweaty curls of chest hair. Not to forget the women, either. With their short skirts and ripped stockings, their greasy hair like rats tails, silver puffer jackets covered in grime and condom wrappers sticking to the bottom of their thigh high boots. Pretty Woman made prostitution look glamorous. Men were brutal, they pounced on you with brute force. The women were different. They screamed like peafowl, got up in your face, slashed away with concealed knives.

He went for the diner first. Sat down in a booth by the window, watching people passing by. He ordered a milkshake, chocolate, with cream and cherries. The waitress eyed him suspiciously. Her name tag read Ariel, and she had red hair to match, pinned back in a bun. Her hazel eyes smiled at him from under long, black lashes. Henry thought she was beautiful. He blushed when she bought him his milkshake, she in turn smiled; sweetly.

Henry glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 16:20. Finished with the milkshake, he pushed the glass aside, his change bouncing in his pocket, as he walked to the arcade. He set his sights upon the Pac-Man first, and then Guitar Hero. When his wrist-watch read 16:53, Henry fished around in his pocket for more change; and discovered that he had used it all. Sighing, Henry slumped out of the arcade and bumped into Cyndra DeWillis, an obnoxious and fickle girl in his class. Cyndra was standing with five teenage boys, one of whom had the same auburn curls as Cyndra. Her older brother Maxi, Henry guessed. "Hi Cyndra." Henry said. Cyndra shrugged her shoulders in response. Three of the teenage boys were busy wolf-whistling at Ariel the waitress, who flipped them off, whilst the other two begged the bartender to supply them with liquor. He didn't look too happy to be bothered, ignoring their pleas. Henry watched as he made the mistake of turning around, as one of the boys stuck his hand behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of vodka and hid it in his hoodie.

Henry knew better than to tell anyone. There were five boys and only one of him, and Cyndra was there to tell the whole school that he was a rat. He looked to Cyndra, who was apparently too busy biting her nails to care about her brother and his idiot friends. Suddenly, as if she sensed him looking at her, she stopped and stared at him. "Wanna come bowling with me? My brother and his friends will be there too, but they're buying the cheesy fries, so it's all cool." Cyndra asked. Henry nodded, not wanting to seem rude.

The seven of them made their way to the bowling lanes, laughing and joking and taking secret swigs from the vodka bottle. Henry sat down at lane 12, at the very end, so they wouldn't be spotted. Cyndra sat down next to him, and started programming their names into the machine. After the boys had paid, they raced over, loudly discussing who should be in what team and telling rude jokes. Cyndra, her brother and another lad, with long blonde hair tied in a ponytail; were on one team. Henry and the other three, two black guys wearing matching gold trainers, and the brown-haired boy who had stolen the vodka were on the other team. They set about playing the game, choosing their favourite balls and tactics. Henry was nervous. He didn't want to get into trouble, and yet, there was the bottle, out on the table, for anyone to view. Maxi saw him looking at it. "You wanna bit?" he asked, taking the bottle and pushing it in his face. Henry shook his head.

"Uh, no thank you." He replied, trying hard not to breath in the alcoholic fumes coming from Maxi. Maxi laughed, hard.

"What a little bitch!" He shouted. Just then, Ariel appeared with a tray of cheesy fries and a hot dog.

"Where do you want this?" She asked Cyndra, who pointed to the table.

Where the bottle was.

They all turned to look at the bottle, then at Ariel, who started to frown. "Alright you guys-" she started, before she was pushed over, tray in her face. Maxi and the others ran for it, jumping over Ariel and dodging the security guard who suddenly came up the stairs. Cyndra shrugged her shoulders at Henry, a lousy apology, before following her brother.

Ariel sat up, lamely picking out fries from her red hair. She noticed Henry, unmoved and still in shock.

"You."

It was 6:30 pm.

Emma had gotten lucky that evening. Mother Superior, a nun from the local run-down church, had come in for her favourite: lasagna. Mother Superior had always been kind to Emma, and gave her the best tips. As if the extra five dollars wasn't enough, she'd managed to get to the bus on time, instead of waiting another ten minutes only to get stuck in traffic. That left Emma feeling happy, confident. Even walking down the street, having some idiot on his way to Unfortunate Souls wolf whistle, she couldn't stop smiling.

Then phone rang.

Ruby trotted over, picking up the receiver with a bored expression. "Hello?" Ruby said. "No, this is her friend Ruby. Hang on a sec" Ruby replied. Emma got up, slightly confused, and took the phone from her hands. "Hello, who is this" Emma asked, ignoring the frantic expressions of Ruby. Whatever this was, she hoped it was fast. She'd just gotten in the apartment, was still waiting to hear the whistle of the coffee machine. "Is this Emma, Henry's mother?" a gruff man asked. Suddenly, Emma was worried. What had happened to Henry? "Yes, this is she. Me. I mean, her. I mean ... I am Henry's mother. Why, what's wrong? Is he hurt? He's okay, isn't he?" she rushed. The man on the other end gave a rough chuckle. "No, ma'am, your son is fine. He did, however..."

"HE WHAT?" Emma practically screamed. She dropped the phone, the receiver dangling from the table by its twisted cord. Ruby rushed in with their coffee, placing it on the table with a concerned look. Emma chucked her tartan scarf back around her neck, buttoned up her coat and rushed out the apartment.

The door to the apartment building banged shut as Emma walked briskly down the street to The Jolly Roger's. She pulled its doors open with force, knocking a bewildered woman smoking underneath a faded NO SMOKING sign over. Ignoring the woman's abusive language, Emma launched herself across the building, brushing past the diner and its on-lookers, past the bar and arcade. She saw a sign pointing upstairs, where the bowling lane's were. Underneath that sign, was an arrow pointing to an area described only as 'Management'. She headed in that direction. Her trainers pounded the grimy, navy carpet, mimicking her heartbeat. She was nervous.

There were two cubicles, confined in the small space they were permitted. A beady eyed woman, wearing a denim jacket embroidered with the word 'Gentlemen' sat at one desk, the other filled with a curvy brunette wearing a denim jacket also, with 'Starkey' on the back. Emma sighed, shaking her head slightly. Some people had the strangest fashion tastes. Behind the two cubicles was an office with the blinds drawn. A stocky, pot-bellied man in a red woollen hat was guarding the door, glancing at the clock on the wall. Suddenly, he looked up and smiled. He had spotted her. Emma steeled herself, arranged her face to convey no expression other than anger. Then she was ushered into the office.

The walls were blank, eggshell and about the only thing clean in the entire building. A certificate in a broken frame hung limply from its hook, hidden slightly by a coat stand. There was a small window, looking out on to the brick exterior of the apartment building. The smell of sour milk emanated from the dirty brown carpet. Filing cabinets lined the room, a small khaki safe teetered on the edge of the largest one. A wooden desk took up most of the room, cluttered with paper and files, used napkins and McDonald's wrappers. An open laptop had been pushed to the side of the desk, presumably to make run for the cardboard box filled with ribs, barbecue sauce still dripping onto the mahogany surface of the table.

Henry sat, shoulders slumped and head bowed, in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Emma decided not to take the other one, and waited for the man sitting in a plush red swivel chair to turn round. Henry looked up at her, then back down at his fingers. Emma sighed. "What is your name?" The man asked in an English accent. Hmmm, Emma thought. English. The man had still not turned around. "I am Henry's mother. Why do you need to know my name, I thought you called me knowing my name? Is this some sort of joke?" she replied, irritated. Why didn't he face her?

"Sorry love," he began, "its just I'd quite like to ascertain whether you are indeed this young boy's mother" the man asked, rubbing his chin. He spun around, and Emma recognised him as the man in leather she had seen on moving day. He had rumpled dark hair, a short, unruly mess on top of his head. Emma wanted to run her hands through it.

She blushed, unprepared for the thought. What was wrong with her? He was the manager/owner of the Jolly Roger, and he'd just caught her son stealing. Really Emma, she thought, get a hold of yourself. "Well, my name is Emma Swan. And what exactly does that prove, anyway?" Emma replied haughtily. "I'm sorry, my lady, if I have offended you," clearly sensing her uneasiness, he said "I just needed to know". He smiled at her, flashing his pearly whites. It was a sincere smile, the kind that reached his ocean blue eyes.

Wow, Emma thought. He's gorgeous.

Not that that mattered. Emma could feel a blush rising again, and turned around to hide it. God, she must look a mess. She hadn't had time to get changed, her blonde hair scraped into a sloppy ponytail, no make-up adorned her face. She was still wearing her blue gingham dress and apron, her name tag festooned to her side like a medal of honour. She smelt bacon grease in her hair, a sticky stain that she assumed was chowder clung to her dress; her trainers were falling apart.

Emma turned back around, steeling herself. "I don't know what you think happened here, Mr-"

"Jones. But please, call me Killian. Mr Jones is my father."

"I don't know what you think happened here, Mr Jones, but I assure my son did nothing wrong. He's a good boy, he wouldn't steal."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. Young Henry here already told me what really happened."

Emma faltered at this. "Oh. He did?" She asked, suddenly unsure of her herself. She had put on a defensive front, but he had lowered it, with his kind and gentle voice, and Emma was ashamed to think about it at such a time. She rarely let her walls down for anyone, and she wasn't about to now. "Well, if that's settled, then I'd like to take my son home now."

"Of course. I won't be pressing charges, but if anything happens again I'm afraid I may not have the choice. Your son's friends assaulted one of my employee's, and I can't stand for that sort of thing in my establishment."

"Oh really?" thought Emma, memories of the past week going through her mind. "Because if I didn't know any better, I'd say that this place runs on that sort of thing."

Killian, Mr Jones; Emma mentally scolded herself, was looking a little upset. "I'm sorry love, but have a done something to offend you?" he inquired, appealing with his beautiful blue eyes. Emma could tell she had been too harsh. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her nervously.

"No. It's just... this place. Sometimes..." She waved her hands about, gesturing. Her head hurt. "I should go now. Thank you." She finished, holding her hand out. He shook it. His hand was warm and soft, and smelt like salted caramel. The handshake lasted longer than expected, neither wanting to let go, until thoughts of Henry pulled her away. "Come on, Henry." She said, as he stood up from the chair and walked towards the door.

"Just a moment, would you?" Mr Jones suddenly asked. Emma looked at him, waiting.

"I, uh, don't mean to beat around the bush here, Miss Swan, but, would you care to grab a coffee with me sometime?" He smiled.

"Are you asking me out?" Emma asked, confused, and feeling a light blush rise on her cheeks. It had been a while since she'd been asked out.

"I believe so." He replied.

"Will there be taco's?" Emma asked earnestly. He laughed. She liked his laugh. It was warm like whiskey. The thought came out of nowhere, and Emma tried to bat it away, frustrated. Now was not the time. Annoyed, she looked to Henry and, decided, turned back to Mr Jones.

"All joking aside, Mr Jones, but I don't think I'll be going out with you any time soon."

"Is that so?" he asked. He was smiling, joking, but Emma felt irritated.

"YES! In fact, Henry and I only intend to stay here till Christmas, then we'll find a new home, as far away as Mattapan and Boston and this shit hole as possible"

Emma strutted out the door, Henry in tow. She didn't stop as she walked through the offices, past the bar, arcade and diner, ignoring the curious looks. She didn't stop until she was outside, breathing in the cold winter air, with the faintest scent of motor oil. She hadn't meant to say that last part. But hadn't she always thought it? That she wanted to leave Mattapan, leave Boston, find somewhere she could finally call home? Still, the language, in front of Henry nonetheless. The owner hadn't seemed that harsh, and he could have called the police, as many others would do. He gave her kindness and she responded with cruelty. All because she didn't want him to think that he effected her. Because he had. Not that much, Emma thought to herself. He was attractive, which was unusual around here. That was all, Emma told herself.