Awkwardly, she pulls his unconscious body from the doorway to the closest wall, struggling until a good samaritan runs to her aide, helping her set his body in a sitting position. When they do finally have him against the wall, however, Emma realizes that every eye in the room is still on her, which for some reason makes her incredibly uncomfortable.

She turns to her savior, a tall, muscular man that she knows she has seen in here before, but never had need to speak with him - the sheriff, she remembers someone calling him before. "Would you be able to help me take him home?" she asks, flashing him a small smile. "It might take a while for him to wake up, and I don't want him spending the night on the floor of the bar."

He returns her smile, hoisting the pirate up off the floor and onto his shoulder. "As long as you tell me how someone so gorgeous lives in my town and I haven't even met her yet."

He has a slight southern accent, and the honey-like flow of his words brings a flush to Emma's face as she wraps her arm around the Captain's torso, helping the sheriff pull him to a somewhat-standing position.

Once out of the tavern, he gives her a few moments to speak for herself, moments which they instead spend in silence, before he repeats his question: "How is it that you seem to have caught the eye of our dear Killian Jones, yet I do not even yet know your name?"

"Killian," she whispers, enjoying the feel of it rattling around her mouth, slipping off her tongue, but catches herself before her help questioned her again. "You're the sheriff, right, sir?" she asks.

"So you have heard of me, then?"

"I've heard Captain Jones and his men speak of you, yes. Not to mention the women that work for Miss French, with whom I have been staying."

"Only good things, I hope."

"Actually, yes. Especially from the ladies, but even from the pirates."

He lets out a breathy laugh, paired with a smile even more breathtaking now that they are out in the open, away from the crowding eyes of the tavern. "I can only imagine what Miss French's girls have to say about me, but that does not answer my question."

"Emma, sir. My name is Emma Swan."

"And you're a friend of Miss French's?"

"Yes, she and I go back quite a few years."

"You are in town to see her? A getaway of sorts?"

"An unexpected getaway, you might say. I seem to have just… found myself here one day, needing to get away from things back home."

"And where is back home, Miss Swan?"

"Philadelphia," she replies, continuing the lie she began in the tavern.

"I've heard good things about that city, but have not yet had the chance to visit. Is it anything like Boston?"

Emma thinks back on the books she has found in Belle's library, where she has researched her fictional home. "Similar, yes. But Boston has its own kind of charm, something that always calls you home, you know?"

"I know exactly what you mean. I've tried to go home a few times, but I always seem to come back here."

A few moments' silence passes between them before Emma asks, "And what is your name, sheriff? I have given you mine."

"Of course, ma'am, I meant no disrespect. Sheriff Humphrey." He turns to her, again smiling over the body slumped between them. "Graham."

"Well, Graham, I cannot thank you enough for helping me return Captain Jones to the Roger."

Just as she mentions the ship, her sails appear over the rooftops of the last row of buildings before the docks. When she sees them, she remembers the night before, her conversation with Milah, and her invitation down to the docks that very day - and can't help but wonder how it all may have gone differently, had she shown up that day. Belle called her crazy for doing so, but she still went nowhere without her pistol - thankfully, an older-looking model her father bought her her, a silver-plated revolver where most other badges carried newer-style pistols. If anyone where to really take a look at it, it would be obvious that it does not fit in the time period, but it looks well enough from a distance to fit were she ever to have to pull it on someone. She feels it in her hip holster, held up on a belt that one of Belle's girls built for her to wear under the skirts.

Could she have taken out the Dark One? She has shot criminals before, but she has not yet needed to shoot to kill - in fact, it's something that terrifies her, something she hopes she never has to come to, but that does not change the fact that she might, one day, have to. If she has seen him there, ready to attack Milah, to attack Kilian, would she have been able to protect them?

Graham must have been able to sense her uneasiness with the whole situation, for he lets them walk in silence the last block to the Roger, and it is not until they are on the deck, one that she realizes is empty, that she speaks again: "Have you been aboard her before, Graham?"

"Only once, and it was a few years back, when he first arrived in the harbor. But he hasn't given me any reason to since."

"Do you at least know where his cabin is?"

Graham looks around, hopefully trying to remember the answer to her question, but comes up blank.

They both take another look around, landing on the same door together, one that leads under the helm, and decide to try that one first, finding exactly what they are searching for. Getting his body down the short ladder is difficult, yes, but they somehow figure it out - though if you were to ask them how, neither of them would be able to figure it out.

They set him down on the bed, trying not to wake him, though Emma assumes that he is still out cold, especially given the four empty liquor bottles on the floor, which she assumed were not there before. Once he seems to be settled, Graham turns to her, holding out his arm as an escort. "Now that he is settled, m'lady, would you allow me to take you back to Miss French's?"

She looks once again at the pirate, passed out on his bed, a man who has lost so much in the past few hours, and gets the sudden feeling that here is where she needs to be, with him on this ship, until he is healed.

Graham must see it in her eyes, for he lowers his arm, raising his eyebrows at her, but says nothing.

"No, sheriff, I believe I'm going to see to him until he is better. Can you take a message to Miss French for me, though?" Emma asks, setting herself down in the captain's chair behind the desk, where she scrawls a short note to her friend:

"Belle -

I am spending the night with a friend who needs my assistance. I will return tomorrow for lunch.

Best, Emma Swan"

"Thank you, Graham," she says, and he flashes another smile that melts her insides just a little bit.

"It's my pleasure, Miss Swan. Would it be alright if I return in the morning to check on the both of you?"

Emma returns his smile. "Of course. In fact, I would appreciate it very much."

He leaves her with a kiss on the hand, climbing out of the captain's quarters and closing the door behind him, which Emma locks.

She does a quick lap around the room, taking in the maps, the candles; she has been on many ships in her life, mainly led through them by her father, but this is, by far, the most stunning one that she has ever seen, and in the most pristine condition.

After lighting one of the candles by the bed to shine some light once the cabin grows dark, Emma climbs into the bed with him, sitting against the corner wall, and rests his head on her lap. Between the rocking of the ship and his slow, steady breath, it is not long before she is asleep, resting her head against the wall.