Emma's giggles echoed off the walls of the bedroom as his fingers dug into her ribcage and demanded that she acknowledge he was right about the best actor to play James Bond. She was gasping between the giggles, eyes clenched shut and head thrown back as he assaulted her playfully.

"Admit it!" he bellowed, his face inches from hers. "Come now, love."

"Never," she giggled through hiccoughs. There was no fear or panic in her eyes, just sheer joy as she threw herself into the laughter and fun.

"I quite like you like this," he said, reaffirming his attack on her. Their Sunday morning attire was casual and her braless chest bounced as she writhed from his attention. His eyes were locked on her breasts, focused on the vibrations.

"Killian," she admonished as his playfulness grew to include his mouth on her. "Stop it! You'll leave a mark." She was used to it by now, the attention that he gave her at the bites and other symbols that she knew people had seen on her skin. "Killian."

His right hand climbed upward, a gentle stroke to her breast in its wake as he grasped both her wrists with his hand and held them firmly over her head. His smirk shone as she struggled against him with the same mischievous look mirrored back at him. "Not until you admit it."

"I'm tougher than I look," she gasped. Demonstrating her statement, she lifted her legs to circle round him. The leverage she achieved gave her the advantage and she flipped them so that she was now on top and straddling him. His surprised expression was lost to the light by the curtain of hair that fell as she lowered herself over him. "See?"

"My beautiful and strong lass." Letting go of her wrists and stilling his tickling, his head raised off the bed to meet her lips. He pulled away before she could even think of deepening the kiss and getting the advantage again. Using his hands on her hips, he flipped them once again and chortled at the surprised grunt that escaped her. His fingers were grazing that smooth skin at her midsection when the pounding at the door echoed through the space. "Bloody hell," he muttered, turning his face from her to the doorway that led to the living room. "You didn't invite anyone over did you?"

"No," she squeaked. "Maybe ignore it and they'll go away?" Her eyes flashed at him as her breath came in spurts. "If they need you, they could text or call."

He rocked backwards, looking down at her hands resting on his thighs. "I have to go see, love," he said. "Could be important."

Her bottom lip protruded and she huffed with annoyance. "Get rid of them," she pouted. "It's early."

He grinned at her as he awkwardly tried to roll away and walk toward the living room. His foot was asleep and his steps clumsy as he cursed under his breath. His hands were gripping the sleep pants he was wearing, pulling them back over his hips and making Emma laugh at his jerky movements.

She was still on the bed when made it to the door, her body stretching her legs against the footboard and her hands hitting the headboard. That was when she heard the familiar voices, realizing that it was Mary Margaret and David there at the door. She leapt to her feet, scrambling for the clothes that she had left over his chair and he had moved to his closet without much fanfare.

Emerging from the bedroom, she saw Killian and David already in conversation. Mary Margaret wasn't participating as much as sneaking looks around the space to discern what she could from his décor, but smiled widely as Emma emerged from the bedroom. Pushing back her hair and hoping she looked at least somewhat presentable, Emma gave her friend a hug and waited to see if David would explain their presence.

"We stopped by your place and you weren't there," Mary Margaret explained, "so we just assumed…"

Emma nodded, again wondering why her friends had not bothered with a phone. "We just thought we'd stay in this weekend." Killian snuck his arm around her waist, giving her a quick squeeze.

The four made a little small talk and eventually seated themselves in the living room. David and Killian avoided the topic of the deal and the investigation, though the topic hung in the air like the scent of smoke after a fire. Emma offered them both some coffee, which brought the couple's eyebrows up at her familiarity with the locale and comfortableness with Killian. They were both smirking as Emma poured the coffee and did not even ask how he took his.

"I'd offer you a muffin or pastry, but someone didn't think to buy flour on his latest trip to the store," she explained, filling the tray with the mugs, creamer and sugar. "I could make some toast." Turning her head, she glanced over at Killian who was standing over the stove where he was boiling water. "Did you get more bread or that awful nine grain stuff that you like?"

"If you dislike my selections so much, darling, you should shop yourself," he said, resting one hand on his hip. "I seem to recall that your refrigerator is hardly bursting with options."

Like the adult she was, Emma stuck her tongue out at him and sauntered back into the living room. "What?" she asked, exasperation evident as she set the matching mugs in front of them. "Is it really so funny that I made coffee?"

There was a rosiness to Mary Margaret's cheeks as David pointed with his elbow at Killian doctoring up a bit of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon for Emma. "We just feel like we've missed the wedding."

"Wedding?" Emma asked, practically choking on the word.

"David just wasn't expecting quite so domestic of a scene," Mary Margaret said. "I think it threw him." She reached for the bright red mug, the fingers of her left hand curling around the warmth of the ceramic vessel. Emma gasped as she saw her friend's hand.

"Speaking of weddings," she said, pointing to the woman's hand. "Care to explain why there is a diamond on that finger and you haven't bothered to tell me." Emma's posture was rigid, though there was not that much surprise in the news. She knew that David had been planning his proposal, just as Mary Margaret had been expecting it. However, she was still shocked to see the shining ring on a very obvious finger.

"He proposed Friday," Mary Margaret said, her cheeks a full red instead of just pink. "We were waiting to tell everyone, but I wanted you to know. That's why we're here."

Emma hugged her friend tightly, alternating between congratulating them and telling them it was about time. She dutifully admired the ring, which she recognized from David's desk drawer. After the hugging, she asked all the right questions. When would the wedding take place? Had they told his father yet? Was she thinking a big wedding or a small one?

"Congratulations, mate," Killian said as he passed Emma the hot chocolate. "You're a lucky man."

"That I am," David said proudly, pulling his fiancé into his side. "I can't wait to marry this woman."

Mary Margaret smiled happily as she reached a hand out to Emma. "I know it is early yet and we don't have everything planned, but I want you to be in the wedding. You and Ruby both." She squeezed her friend's hand with a cheerful hum.

"Of course," Emma said. "The three of us have always said that would be the way it is. I do insist on dress approval though. I don't trust Ruby not to have us all looking like strippers on a break."

David raised his eyebrows, kissing his fiancé on the top of her head. "That would make for an interesting ceremony." He made musical sounds like those from some porno and made all of them laugh.

Killian and David stepped aside as Emma is regaled with Mary Margaret's plans for a wedding that she had been planning for some time. To her credit, Emma did not remind the teacher that she was privy to her Pinterest pages and scrapbooks that detailed everything, including possible flower girls depending on the date of the wedding.

"There's no decision yet?" Killian asked, sipping his coffee and watching the two women over the rim of the cup. David shook his head no. "Bloody hell. How long does it take?"

David lowered his empty mug to the table, curling his fingers over the edge of the dining table as he leaned backwards against it. "Neal's supposedly done with the interviews. So that means I can get my office back, but no word on the audit. By the way, I did speak to Neal after your interview with him. I explained twice that Regina is the one who told me that we had the green light on the boat order. You and I had no reason to believe otherwise."

Killian exhaled noisily, the mug still at chest level. "Thank you," he said, "though I doubt it will do much good. My company is still on the line and blaming me for the loss. I never imagined this would be the outcome when I heard you were interested."

"I apologize for that," David answered. "Obviously we were both played on the issue. I'm anxious to find out who did that playing though."

"Aye, it would be beneficial to know who to punch in the face," Killian answered testily. "I can't say that this wait and see is all that easy on me. I can't imagine it much better on you with the election on the line."

David agreed that it was frustrating, as was his father's strategic planning that seemed to ignore the personal issues and focus on the object of winning the election. Though David had not followed his father's advice, the mere association with the man's plans were driving him to worry that people would judge him as his father's son.

"We aren't responsible for our parents' short comings," Killian said when David mentioned that his father had referred to Emma as excess baggage. "All we can do sometimes is overcome the DNA and hope that we live better than they have."

David turned his body from the two women who didn't appear to be paying attention anyway. In a low voice, he spoke of his concerns. "I think my father may be more involved than we are suspecting. It's not clear, but…" The sheriff hesitated, watching Killian's blank expression with interest as he realized that the man was trying not to give any sign of how uncomfortable this was making him. "I…I don't know anything yet, but I'm trying to figure it out."

"No doubt you will," Killian offered. "And if you don't mind, I'd love to have a whack at the man behind all this."

David shook his head, turning his body back to Emma and Mary Margaret. "You and Emma have more in common than I realized. You both like to threaten in the same way."

***AAA***

Emma hated Mondays with a passion, especially Mondays when she had to prepare documents for court. Traffic court week in Storybrooke meant half the population explaining to the judge about how they couldn't possibly have been speeding because of fill in the blank reason. She could recite most of these reasons from memory by now and had no interest in hearing them all again.

She glanced at her watch as she hurried into Granny's for a little caffeine and sugar rush that was sure to keep her at least conscious for the morning hours. The sun had barely made a dent in the dark sky and Emma was certain that there had to be at least a city ordinance against rising at such an hour. She had spent the weekend with Killian, doing nothing and everything within his four walls and pretending that the rest of the world didn't exist. And with the exception of the visit from Mary Margaret and David, they had been successful.

She was digging her hands into the pockets of her comfortable jacket when she heard him behind her. His voice clear and rolling as he ordered waffles and bacon, he was speaking to one of the waitresses in a tone she knew so well. He was part of the reason she had avoided the diner, knowing he was staying in one of the adjacent rooms.

"Em?" he asked, as if he might be confused by the number of blonde women in red leather jackets and badges that would be out at that hour. "You're up early."

"Work," she said, giving him one word instead of a full blown explanation. She was too busy silently praying that Granny was actually in a hurry that morning.

"Still have a hard time imagining you as a deputy," he mused, shaking his head toward the coffee mug in front of him like it had told him of her vocation. "Last time we saw each other you and I were lifting stuff from stores and sneaking into places to sleep or shower."

"Good times," she answered sarcastically. "Right up until I went to jail." She drummed her fingers on the counter to push the older woman along.

Neal lifted his eyebrows. "I guess I have that coming," he said. "But you know I didn't…"

She turned the rest of the way toward Granny, who was shuffling a bit with a complaint of arthritis to one of the other staff members. Emma considered asking the woman about installing a self service area for situations just like this. "There's not a need for explanations and excuses," Emma declared. "I'm more interested in the here and now. Why are you here, Neal?"

His eyes rolled upward as though he was trying to mull over the conversation and concept in his head. There was a hint of condensation in his voice as he explained that the company he worked for handled investigations into the mismanagement of money. Breaking off from that clinical description, he sighed. My boss said that I was requested on this one because I knew the parties involved and I was from this place.

She could see out of the corner of her eye that he seemed uncomfortable saying that he was from Storybrooke. She knew why. "Have you talked to your father?" she asked.

Neal laughed a bit. "No, I don't think he cares to talk to me. He hasn't been by or even called. I don't think Granny's changed the number in years. It's not that hard to get in touch with me." He laughed again with the irony that he is complaining about lack of contact with someone after disappearing from her life completely. Sipping at his coffee, he eyed her and the empty spot across from him in a silent invitation.

She refused it, wondering to herself where this fiancé of his was that morning. She was probably still asleep, Emma thought. Most sane people would be at that hour.

"Tamera wants to meet him," Neal said, reading her mind. "She thinks that he can't be that bad. I don't know how to explain it to her. How do you explain a man like my father?"

She considered telling him that the situation sucks and she wished him the best with it. She chickened out. "He's different now. He's in love. He's happy."

"Still a bastard though?" Neal asked, his lips curling upward with the question. He couldn't imagine Mr. Gold any other way.

"Always," Emma said, "but Belle makes him happy. They're married now."

"And you?" he asked, after telling her that his invitation to his father's wedding must have been lost in the mail. "The guy with the accent, right?"

She considered telling him that she was not involved with Robin, but it seemed a badly timed joke. Besides, she knew he had met and interviewed Killian. So she just nodded and said Killian's name softly.

"Happiness looks good on you," Neal offered in way of a compliment. "I mean it, Em. You're obviously doing well and getting along great. I'm glad. I never meant…"

She saw the little lines at the top of his nose and between his eyes. She recognized the expression and felt her stomach drop. "I should go," she said. "I guess I'll see you around." Her hands adjusted the scarf that she wore as she bit down on her bottom lip.

"Emma, I…"

She didn't hear the end of that sentence. She was already gone.

***AAA***

Emma's idea of preparing files for traffic court was interrupted not even an hour after she started. Her fingers were not even smudged with ink as she answered the incessantly ringing phone with a vague question about where everyone else was at that morning.

"She called," Elsa said, not bothering to identify herself or the she that was referred to in that two word sentence. "She said she's okay but that she can't come home yet."

Emma pinched out a few questions and tried to calm the woman's nerves at the development. "Are you certain it was Anna?" Emma asked. It was a routine question but one that always upset people.

"Of course," Elsa said hurriedly. "I know my sister's voice."

"Did you hear anything that could give a clue to where she was? A train? An announcement like at an airport? Anything?"

"I just heard her," Elsa said. "This is good news, right? It means she's alive and fine." The woman sounded desperate for Emma's confirmation.

Emma did not want to offer false hope. "I think it is," she said. "I'm going to see if I can trace back the call. Was it on your cell phone?"

Getting the necessary information, Emma went to work on the task of digging for that information. The cell phone carrier was less than helpful and it took more than a few phone calls to a state judge to get the records released. The number now in front of her, she called Elsa back and found that the woman was not familiar with the digits.

"I guess I could go about this the old way," she said, punching the numbers into her own phone. The shrill tone telling her that the number was disconnected was not a surprise. "Probably a cloned number."

"Should we be worried that you're talking to yourself?" Graham asked as he arrived for work. "It's a gin of stress or insanity or maybe both."

He'd been making himself scarce lately, taking patrols rather than office work and keeping to himself when he was there. She admitted only to herself that she missed their interaction, as he was one of the few people who didn't consider her somehow inferior to them. Robin, David, and John were great, but there was an ease about Graham that Emma would miss if he did leave.

"There wasn't another intelligent person to talk to," she chided before filling him in on the mysterious phone call from Anna.

"Definitely a cloned number," he agreed, "which probably indicates that she is not the one who chose to make the call. A woman needing time to think or get away is not going to go to that trouble."

"So we're back to thinking kidnapping," Emma said, a pen dangling from her long fingers. "And that leads to the question why do a phone call now?"

"Have you read today's paper?" Graham asked, the roll of his eyes automatic when he mentioned it. "There's a whole article saying that the lack of contact probably means she is dead."

"I don't read that paper anymore," Emma said defiantly. "I would rather read the instructions on my bottle of shampoo."

"It's the same thing," Graham grumbled. "Lather, rinse, repeat." He pulls the folded paper out of the bag across his shoulder and throws it on the desk. "Journalism at its finest."

"So the kidnapper could have felt desperate enough to give some proof. But that doesn't explain why there is no ransom demand yet."

Graham again shrugged his shoulders as if the subject bored him. "Could be he doesn't want money. Maybe if we figure out what he or she wants then we find the missing couple."

"I suppose that is one way to go about it." She had elected to eat some fruit that morning, avoiding the pastries. She pushed an apple toward him. "Take it. It's good for you."

He held the waxy red apple and stared at it before rubbing it against his rough jeans. "Have you put in for the cell records? More than just the calls. You need to…"

"I've contacted them about getting the cell tower pings," she said, taking a bite of the fruit salad that she had chosen. "It could take a day or two though. Elsa didn't hear any extraneous sounds, but she did pick up on something. Anna said something about water three times."

Fingers scratching at the stubble on the underside of his jaw, Graham looked perplexed. "Water?"

"She said that she would be home soon if the water didn't rise," Emma said, referring to her notes. "And she said that Elsa should just swim in the same direction as the other fishes and not make a big deal of her being gone. Then when Elsa asked if she was safe, Anna told her that she was fine and had taken to this like a duck to water." Her eyes lingered on the pad of paper for a moment more. "Natural assumption is that they are near the water? The creek? The marina?"

"I guess those are natural assumptions," he answered, biting off a bit of the apple. "But haven't the teams already scoured those areas?"

Emma agreed that the areas had been searched, but the water clue was too blatant to overlook. "Suggestions?"

He shook his head. "Your case, but I think you should keep an open mind on it. Sometimes things aren't like they appear."

***AAA***

Emma decided that she did sort of like having a boyfriend or whatever he wanted to call himself, as the prospect of seeing him during lunch or after work seemed so much more preferable to her previous schedule. She could certainly handle being alone. That wasn't a big deal to her, as she had found it preferable in many occasions. Being alone meant not being disappointed in someone else. It meant simplicity. It meant quiet. It meant independence.

However, there was something comforting about the texts and emails from Killian that greeted her. Hearing his voice on the phone as she curled up in bed or better yet the warmth of his body next to hers. She probably would not admit that to her friends, but she rather liked the sensation of his breath on her skin or the roughness of his stubble against her in the morning as he kissed her shoulder or neck until she stumbled awake.

So her heart leapt a bit as she saw him waiting beside her car. His hands were buried in his pockets and his scarf tied around his neck as the calendar seemed to leap from fall to winter. "You're smiling," she said, stepping into his embrace and breathing in the scent of leather from his jacket. "That must mean today was not as bad as you had thought."

"I was a might lucky," he said, arms tightening around her. "It was thankfully no more than the proverbial slap on the hand. I could tell you about it over dinner if you care to join me." His smile was bright against the black of his jacket. "Italian?"

"Sounds wonderful," she agreed. "Anything warm sounds good right now."

The two of them walked the three blocks to an out of the way Italian place, dripping candles and checkered table clothes as the norm. He spoke briefly to the host at the front counter, indicating where they would like to sit and guided her there himself with a hand at the small of her back.

"Dinner in an actual restaurant," Emma said, spreading the napkin over her lap as Killian took his seat across from her. "I don't know if I should be impressed or frightened."

He looked vaguely amused as he mimicked her motions with the napkin in his own lap. "Frightened? I'm not sure why you would go there."

She smiled vaguely, lifting the water glass to take a long sip. "In my experience, when people want to deliver bad news, they do so in a public place. Much less likely to cause a scene and all that." The truth was that a public date was quite different of a concept for them, as they usually spent time at each other's apartments or with some version of takeout.

"I don't think that our setting would curb your ability to make a scene," he answered. "I just felt that we should get out and enjoy life rather than stay cooped up."

"Tired of hiding?" She knew that the hiding from people would wear thin for them. While both were truly loners, it was hard to imagine dating without at least the occasional trip out somewhere. However, the recent media attention seemed to only add to the discomfort of that.

"It has been quite enjoyable in some respects," he answered with a wry wink, "but I agree that rejoining civilization seems appropriate. And I dare say we haven't yet been run out of town." He threw a glance around the dimly lit restaurant where everyone was sipping wine or noshing on bruschetta – a trademark of the chef.

"So far so good," she agreed. "But tell me more about work. Are things better? They believe you, right?"

"David was a godsend in that department," Killian admitted after ordering wine for them. "He spoke with Eric and explained that he, Regina, and I had been led to believe that the contract was approved by all those needed. It was a matter of the deal being $14 over that would necessitate five bids. So it was an honest mistake that will be dealt with promptly at the next council meeting."

"I'm happy for you," she answered, reaching for a breadstick. "But I can't help but wonder why Sidney would make such a big deal over this. It doesn't seem to have much traction for a story."

"Aye, quite confounding."

They continued their conversation over the soup and salad and well into the entrée that Emma moved about her plate. Killian explained that his contracts would have another set of checks and balances, a precaution for the time being. He did not seem that upset about it, but before she could ask him if this was permanent or if his relationship with Eric was strained, her phone chirped in the pocket of her jacket. She looked at him regretfully.

"I told Elsa to call if she heard anything," she apologized. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he said. "Take the call."

Emma saw the familiar number on the phone and hesitated. That was not because she didn't want to talk to Mary Margaret, but her contacting her on such an evening was odd. "Everything okay?" she asked before even greeting her friend. Her face went pale as the teacher spoke and her hand clutched at the butter knife as though it was an appropriate defense. The call was ended quickly and Emma pushed herself up to standing so fast that she almost hit her head on one of the overhanging lights. She looked at Killian, less apologetically and more tensely. "We have to go to the school. Something has happened."

Another cliffhanger? Sorry about that.