HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEGAN! So I decided to do something special for you since this is technically your first birthday that I've been friends with you so, with a lot of help from some friends, we wrote you a bunch of mini fics to one shots to ficlets on a whole range of your favorite Once characters. Have an absolutely fantastic, amazing, awesome, hilarious magical birthday you lovely lady. You absolutely deserve it you Emma Swan you ;) Hope you like them!

7."Emma and Neal are two strangers, who basically fall in love at first sight on a subway. In Tallahassee. But is it really a coincidence?"

Written by: Lisa

She was swearing harshly under her breath, chanting a mantra of vile, frustrated syntax as she shifted the gear stick and pulled onto the shoulder of the road. Emma looked back over her shoulder, squinting a bit as the glasses slipped down her nose. She sat back, her heart thrumming in her chest, her head spinning a little. Everything was going blurry around the edges but she took a few deep breaths, grabbed her single ratty purse and got out of the car as casually as she could.

Tallahassee was not all it was cracked up to be.

The car was a lumbering, ancient beast of a Chevy 1970 model, the fire-truck red about as obvious and visible as they come. She was still breathing hard, forcing herself to walk as calmly as she could away from the battery-dead contraption. Other cars whizzed by, but some people were looking over as they passed. Emma walked turned slightly away from the road, her head down.

This was supposed to have been an easy steal. But of course, there were always complications. Complications that were apparently going to land her sorry ass in jail, since she was awful at taking what she needed.

Thomasville Road stretched out before her, the sun just beginning to set. A man slowed and pulled over to her. The endless stream of 'crap, crap, crap' in Emma's mind amplified. She crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive manner before she could stop herself.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked, sounding pitifully genuine. Emma wasn't looking, but she could just visualize the poor sucker's concerned face.

"Fine, thanks," she said smoothly, shouting slightly over the din of the engines, "There's a gas station just about a mile ahead, I'll get a tow truck there."

"What me to give you a lift? You look pretty cold," he remarked. Emma shook her head and thanked him, watching carefully as the sleek car sped on up ahead.

Emma came to a fork in the road and followed the cracked asphalt to a rusted sign: "Subway 6753 - Thomasville Road". She let out a shaky breath, scanned her surroundings, and headed down the old stairs to flickering lights and chipped paint: a temporary sanctuary lay ahead.

—-

"No! I'm not going to sit here and watch you throw away our hard earned money, Rich!"

"Our money? That's a fucking laugh! What do you do, Maureen? Hm? Where the hell are you gettin' money from? Which three jobs do you work back to back every goddamn day to feed some brat? I wanna hear this!"

"You can't spend it all on drinking! What are we supposed to do about our son?"

"Far as I'm concerned, he's your son."

The two women who were pressed between the warring couple to their left and the nearest exit on their right looked like they would have given anything for their stop to be that much closer.

Neal couldn't really blame them: he wanted nothing more then to get out and find some motel and forget his sorrows.

I'd rather die then end up in something like that, Neal decided as the very pierced and inked woman yelled at her hulking tower of a boyfriend. There was resolution in his eyes, a deep-seated and burning triumph. He'd made a decision, and felt decidedly liberated upon making it. He suddenly stood up and began walking away.

"Where are you going?" She demanded a bit hysterically, "Rich, what-"

"I'm leaving," he shouted, causing the whole car to go silent, "I'm leaving, Maureen, because you never loved me and you never wanted to be with me. You never wanted a kid but now you've got one and you know what? I'm not ready for that. Never will be. Goodbye." The doors slid open at Thomasville Road Station and he lumbered away without another word.

Maureen sank back down into her seat heavily. The car was dead silent. There were very few people milling about outside in the terminal, and nobody was getting in or out. The seconds that dragged by were nigh unbearable.

They were just beginning to slide closed when Neal heard a breathless cry of "Hold the door!" He grabbed them, the sensors automatically reopening the doors as a vision stepped inside.

He'd seen her before: he was sure of it. Neal would recognize a pretty face like that anywhere. She had these bright, sharp eyes and long blonde hair, and even though her clothes screamed 'I'm homeless', Neal was strangely, extremely glad that he had held the door for her.

"Thanks," she breathed, collapsing into the seat next to him. The car was abuzz with quiet conversation again, as if her sudden (life-changing) appearance had broken some sort of spell.

"No problem," Neal replied after registering that she had spoken. And oh, what a voice: clear and authoritative and brave. Everything about her was clear and sharp and bright, but there were murky depths there, too: just beyond the surface.

Then she was looking at him, and her whole expression changed to a sort of soft wonder that looked rather awkward over her layers of self-assurance.

"Hey," she said, slowly, cautiously, "This is going to sound crazy, but… do I know you from somewhere?" Her brow furrowed as she searched his face, looking for some hint that would give it away, and Neal felt pinned down and immobilized in the most wonderful ways as she took her fill.

He forgot he had to go to court on Wednesday. He forgot that he couldn't pay for electricity. He forgot that his dreams of going to New York were invariably smashed. He forgot his twisted, perverted childhood that haunted him every step of the way. He forgot his own name.

"What's your name?" He asked lamely, yet he had to know, social grace be damned. She blinked at him, her clear, clear eyes assessing, measuring, and judging him. All for but a split second.

"Ashley," she replied easily, "Ashley Jameson. You?"

"No."

She furrowed her brow at him again. God, she was beautiful.

"No, what?" She asked.

"No, Ashley Jameson isn't your name," Neal replied before his brain caught up to him. It was true, too. All the little tells gave her away. And there she went, her eyes going wide, and then a fake-baffled smile and confused look to match.

"Yes, it is," she replied, "That's my name."

"No it isn't," Neal said, "You're lying. I always know when people are lying." That was true too.

And so she watched him, blonde hair falling over her shoulders, her worn clothes snug and layered over her body, her entire body radiating clarity and exactitude and bleak, utter coldness. But also curiosity. He had her hooked, and Neal suddenly remembered that the best way to hold somebody's attention was to draw it out. So he waited, despite those few minutes being utter agony, and the chance of her losing interest suddenly like an intense phobia.

"You're lying. You're hiding your real name," Neal replied easily, "I can tell. It's… Sort of a superpower of mine."

She smiled despite her obvious nervousness. "Really?" She asked, the sarcasm heavy in her voice, "How astonishing. Then tell me this, Superman, what's my name?"

"I don't know," Neal responded honestly, "I can't read minds, I can just tell when people are lying."

And so the silence reigned. He looked straight ahead, letting her eyes look him over, her mind working like a super computer, trying to decode him and his intentions. Good luck, Neal thought, because I don't even know what I want: just that I can't let you out of my sight.

"Tonic," she said suddenly. Neal looked over to her questioningly.

"My favorite drink," she clarified, "It's tonic."

"What, like, without the gin?" Neal asked. She made a disgusted face in response.

"Gin's the devil's work, but tonic's amazing," she replied. Neal grinned.

"And… why would you be telling me this?" He asked, but he knew he'd won.

"Because: that way you can buy me a drink and tell me all about your ability, Superman. How bout it?"

Neal learned that her name was Emma Swan, and he went to bed that night whispering those two words, weaving them into his prayers.