A/N: Like I mentioned in the first chapter, this story was heavily influenced by the Tarot, the idea of a journey being taken. The Magician card in the Tarot, for those who don't know, symbolizes the idea of manifestation, of ideas becoming reality. For the purposes of this fic, the Magician symbolizes Killian, just as the Fool in the last chapter symbolized Emma (and it's not an insult to be the Fool — the Fool is all about embarking on a new journey and starting a new chapter in ones life … which is totally Emma). There is something between them, something is in its tentative beginning stages, and it all starts here. This is the TRUE first chapter of this story, and I hope you all like it. It's quite a bit shorter than the Prologue was, and the next few chapters will probably not be all that long either, but don't worry, it's all leading somewhere big, I PROMISE.

Also, I am not psychic and have no way of knowing what the show-runners are planning for these two, so everything in this story can be considered AU.

And I do sincerely apologize for the use of the "Call Me Maybe" lyric at the beginning, but no other song line fit this particular chapter quite so well as that one. ;)

Chapter One
The Magician
"I wasn't looking for this, but now you're in my way … "

Luckily he hadn't gotten too far by the time she caught up with him. He was just sauntering down Main Street, as if he owned the place. "You are out of your mind if you think I'm about to let you wander around Storybrooke on your own," she hissed at him.

He fixed her with that same damn infuriating smirk that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face. "Forty-five seconds," he said, clucking his tongue and shaking his head at her.

"What?" she asked, completely baffled as to what he was talking about now.

"It took you forty-five seconds to follow me," he explained, as though he were talking to a very small child. "I thought you had a bit more dignity than all that. Thought you'd wait a few minutes at least."

She glared at him. "And let you do God knows what in my town?" she snapped. "Not likely."

"Oh, your town is it?" he said teasingly. "Shall I start calling you Queen Emma?"

"I have a gun," she reminded him.

"I thought Snow took that away from you," he replied, casting a glance to her hip holster and flashing that stupid grin of his.

Emma immediately reached for her gun, only to find the holster empty. Shit. "Oh, shut up," she told him.

"You're the one who followed me," he pointed out. "And after only forty-five seconds, too."

"I'm taking you to my friends' inn," she told him, ignoring his jabs at her so-called lack of dignity. "You'll be safe there, until you figure out whatever it is you're planning on doing." She shot him a look. "But I'm not about to let you kill someone, revenge or not."

"Emma, please," he said, giving her a droll look. "Murder and revenge are not the same thing, not even close."

There it was again, that dark light in his impossibly blue eyes, that let her know that there was soooo much more to this story. He stopped walking, turning to look at her, his hand and his … well, stump … coming to rest on her shoulders. "I'm not going to make you regret letting me come along with you," he told her, that same earnest "I'm just a poor blacksmith" look in his eyes he'd had when she'd first met him. "I know it was you who spoke up for me."

She stepped away from him, not wanting him touching her, it was hard to think when he did. "I'm already regretting it, I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered irritably, which only made him laugh. That pissed her off too.

"No you're not," he told her, tapping her chin with his finger, tilting it up so she was looking at him again.

"Will you stop touching me?" she snapped, jerking her head out of his reach. For someone with only one hand, he was really fucking grabby. "What part of 'not gonna happen' did you miss?"

He chuckled, and she tried not to stare. His smile was … Nope. Stop it.

"Someone's cranky," he said, resuming walking as though he didn't have a care in the world. "So which way to this inn of yours?"

She nodded her head in the direction of Granny's bed and breakfast. "This way," she said.

"You know, if you're so worried about what I might get up to in your absence … " he began, and she shook her head vehemently before he even finished that sentence.

"I'm not taking you home with me," she said. God, he was persistent.

"Even if I promise to behave myself?" he said with a smirk.

"Like I'd trust that," she said, fixing him with a glare. "You're a pirate."

"You say that like it's a dirty word," he said, still smirking.

"You're Captain Hook!" she hissed.

"Well, at the moment, I'm Captain Stump," he said dryly, looking down where his hand used to be. "Since someone took my hook. I want that back, by the way."

"The last thing Storybrooke needs is a man with a hook wandering around."

"Has anyone ever told you, Emma my love, that you are far too uptight?"

And now he was standing directly in her path. She tried stepping forward, but he blocked her, she tried side-stepping him, he blocked that too. He really was good at that invading-personal-space thing.

"I am not your love," she said, and then she shifted a little uncomfortably. "And I'm not uptight!"

Killian rolled his eyes. "Of course not, my mistake," he said. "Tell me, love," he emphasized the word, leaning in close again, his voice lowering to a husky whisper, "why is it you keep trying to get away from me?"

She gritted her teeth, trying to think about anything but how ridiculously sexy he was. This was the last thing she needed. The last thing. The next time she got involved with someone, it wasn't going to be because her hormones took over. She wanted something real, something like what Snow and Charming had. She might've almost had that, before, with Graham … but …

She wasn't going to find it here, not with Killian. She knew his type, and wasn't sure a man like him was capable of deeper feelings. And she needed deeper feelings.

"And why is it you keep pushing to get closer?" she asked, managing to hold her ground and not give him the satisfaction of her backing away from him again.

"I told you before," he said with a grin, kissing her forehead, then standing up to his full height, backing up a bit to maintain a decent distance. "You bested me, and not many people can claim that. Is it so hard to accept that I'd be interested in the woman who managed to do what so few others have?"

Yes, she thought, her brow burning where his lips had touched, her hands itching to pull him back. You're only interested because of the chase or whatever stupid thing they say. It's not me you want. No one ever actually wants me. "And if I say that I'm not?" she asked, voice tight as she turned away from him and started walking again.

"Then I name you liar," he said to her back, and she could hear the stupid smirk in his voice. "And I ask you to prove it."

She stopped walking, her anger snapping. He made her blood boil, and she honestly wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing. When was the last time anyone had gotten to her like this? How on earth did one prove disinterest more than she'd already tried to? Just because he was the most persistent, inexhaustible, dogged individual she had ever met …

"Fine," she sighed, turning to face him again, suddenly just tired of it. Tired of all of it. She just wanted to sleep, and she didn't want to deal with anything else right now. "Come with me." She turned, heading back in the opposite direction they'd been walking in.

"I thought the inn was that way," he said, eyebrow cocked quizzically as he once again fell into step with her. "Where are we going?"

"I'm proving it," she said, not looking at him as they walked. This was as much for her as it was anything else. She told herself it was just easier this way … if he was around her, all the time, he couldn't get himself into any trouble with the townsfolk.

Besides, if absence was supposed to make the heart grow fonder, she hoped the reverse might be true as well. "I'm taking you home."