#ouat ff

And she does. After a few frustrating failures, where she manages to spot her mistakes right after she made them, she finally gets it right. She holds the slender silver arrow in her palm, taps it three times… and watches it turn to point towards the feather-shaped pendant lying on her writing desk.

Triumphant, she slips the pendant onto a silver chain and sweeps out of her room.

It occurs to her as she reaches the main doors of the castle that it’s a bit ridiculous to go running straight to Robin like a kid who’s eager to show off her school project. It’s not like she won’t see him sooner or later anyway.

But it’s too late now to turn back, because now she has stepped out into the main courtyard, and it would look stupid to turn around and head right back inside. Instead, she lifts her chin and makes her way towards the ruined east wing.

The Merry Men have set up camp in the ruins, tents and makeshift huts built beside and against the castle walls. It’s chaotic and it smells like forest and wood smoke, and she’s always avoided it until now.

She spots Robin at once, a tall figure in a dark green tunic, hanging clothes on a line strung between a half-broken high window and a hook in the far wall. Little Roland is nearby with a little girl who might be a year or two older than him. They’re playing a game that involves an old barrel and a lot of shrieking and laughter, and Regina can’t help smiling at them.

Roland notices her first, and calls her name. He crawls out of the barrel and asks, “Can we go see the rabbits?”

Robin turns to look at him, then follows his gaze to Regina.

“You’ll have to ask your father,” Regina tells the boy, and tries very, very hard not to notice that she just said the stereotypical co-parenting phrase. It doesn’t count. She isn’t Roland’s parent.

Roland shoots a glance at his father, and Robin must have managed to make an impression after the forest incident, because the boy doesn’t even bother asking. He just says “okay” in a dejected voice, and turns to crawl back into the barrel.

Regina can’t suppress her smile. He’s just too damn cute.

“Hello, your Majesty.” Robin is leaning against the wall, one arm braced on the high windowsill, all nonchalant irreverence. “How may I be of service?”

His tone makes it clear that he has no intention of being of service. Regina almost snaps back something sarcastic, but she manages to bite her tongue. She’s not here for a fight.

“I have something for you, actually.”

His eyebrows rise. “A job?”

“A gift.” She holds out her palm, where the necklace and arrow are nestled together.

Surprise, caution, and confusion war on Robin’s face. They all look good on him, which strikes her as rather unfair. “What’s this?”

“I’ve enchanted them,” she says. “The arrow will point towards this necklace, if... I thought it might be useful. For Roland, since he keeps wandering off.”

Robin is staring at her. His eyebrows are raised, but other than that, his expression is calm. Expectant.

Handsome.

Damn it.

“I know there’s a line between protective and overbearing,” she hurries to add, because he’s looking at her and she doesn’t know what he’s thinking and maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe this is something Cora would have done. But on the other hand... “It’s just, with the Wicked Witch and her monkeys around, it really is dangerous, and I just thought...”

“No, of course,” Robin says. He frowns slightly at the pendant in her hand. “How does it work?”

“He wears this,” Regina says, holding out the necklace and trying not to notice the relief spreading through her. “And if he goes missing, you put this in your palm,” she holds up the arrow, “and tap it three times, and it’ll point towards the necklace.”

Robin shakes his head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“That’s because I just made it,” she says impatiently. “Look, do you want it or not?”

“You made—yes, of course,” he says hurriedly. “I didn’t mean—sorry.” He offers a rueful smile. “Thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

She waves that away as she hands the two items over. “Just, y’know. Make sure he wears it. The enchantment should last about two years, maybe three.”

Robin is still smiling as his hand closes around the arrow. “That’s perfect. Hopefully by then he’ll have learned to bloody tell me where he’s going.”

“Right.”

“Thank you,” Robin says again. “You have no idea—well, actually, you do, don’t you,” he corrects himself with a wry little laugh. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have thought of it. I really appreciate it.”

He means it. She almost wishes he didn’t. His sincerity makes her want to squirm.

The moment stretches between them, waiting for her to say something, but she can’t think of a single thing.

She clears her throat. “Right. Okay. Well. I’ve got work to do, so I’ll see you later.”

And she leaves before he can say anything or before she can say any more, feeling both relieved and foolish. What is it about him that has her scrambling for words like that? Unless they’re arguing about something, that is. And it’s not that she wants to argue, it’s just that he’s got that reckless streak, and he won’t back down, and he just has to be in charge even when his plans are idiotic…

But he didn’t throw the necklace in her face. It wasn’t a bad idea. He took it, and thanked her. That feels like a good step.

Towards what, she doesn’t know. It’s not like she’s trying to be friends. She knows better.

(Or maybe she doesn’t.)

*  *  *

The weather grows noticeably colder as the Scarlet Hawk makes her way northwest towards Misthaven. The days are warm, but the evenings have begun to carry a chill, and Killian knows they will likely run into snow before the journey is over.

“Good thing we got this,” Emma says the day she pulls on the coat she bought back in Azar.

Thinking of the tailor makes him think of Blackbeard, and the ship, and he feels his jaw clench as he pushes the thoughts away. He focuses instead on the way the dark leather coat fits over Emma’s tunic, and it’s easier than it probably should be to get distracted by the way she looks in it. With her blond hair in a windswept braid and the coat over her breeches and boots, she looks like she belongs on the ship.

In his world. Something about that still strikes him every time.

Not to mention that she’s bloody gorgeous as always. His hand is itching to reach for her hair, to tug at the braid and loosen it just to make her glare at him—to look at him—and maybe even retaliate. For the first time in his life, Killian truly understands why some boys pull girls’ pigtails. It’s bloody tempting.

Instead, he affects surprise and says, “I thought you were set against black leather.”

She knows he’s provoking her, of course, and she scrunches up her nose at him. It’s endearing as hell when she does that, not that he’ll ever say so. “It’s not black, it’s dark brown.”

She’s right, of course, but he just shrugs. “Looks black to me.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugs, a sly sort of grin creeping over her face. “You make it look good, I thought I’d try it out.”

His surprise is real this time, and his grin automatic. He knows that Emma finds him attractive, but she’s never said so before, not even in a roundabout way. “Well, you look ravishing.”

She flashes a sarcastic smirk, as if he was joking, and splays out her arms as she bends her knees.

He stares. “What was that?” The question is out before he can stop it.

“A curtsy?” She’s scrunching up her face again, as though she’s not at all sure that what she just did was, in fact, a curtsy.

And she’s right to, because it wasn’t.

“Bloody hell,” he says. “We ought to have worked on that before now.”

She winces again. “That bad?”

There’s really no way to say it diplomatically. “It’s just that… given who you are…” he begins.

“… I should know how to do that,” Emma finishes. “Yeah. We should’ve thought this through more.”

She has a point. He’s normally better at this sort of thing, but after all the unexpected twists they’ve had to adapt to, it’s perhaps more amazing they still have a cover story at all. “Not to worry,” he says. “It’s not hard.”

And as a very amused Henry watches, he teaches Emma how to curtsy.

Of all the things he might have expected to find himself doing, this certainly was not one. If anyone told him as little as a year ago that he’d be teaching the princess of Misthaven how to curtsy, he’d have thought it a joke or the ramblings of a lunatic. But he doesn’t mind, not with the way she laughs at herself, the way she curses under her breath and sets her jaw in determination to get it right.

It might not be entirely honourable to enjoy it so much. But when she stumbles sideways, he has to catch her, and he doesn’t care one bit that he’s demonstrating curtsies of all things when it leads to this. Her scent wraps around him, seawater and sweat and the jasmine and lemongrass soap she bought in Azar, and he’s leaning into her before he can stop himself.

It might be a little pathetic, how focused he is on her. But they mean something now, these moments. He’s seen the way her eyes linger, the way her smile brightens for him. Even the way she grabs him for support now, without hesitation, is a far cry from how things were a few weeks ago.

He’s not imagining it. He knows he’s not, because he’s been trying very hard not to imagine it.

“No, we’ll have none of that now, love,” he says, mock-admonishing, as he pushes her back on balance. “Sweeping you off your feet comes later.”

She rolls her eyes at him, laughing, and swats him on the arm. “You need practice with that, huh?”

He grins. “Couldn’t hurt. Especially if you’re willing to help me practice.”

“Stop that.” She shakes her head and looks down at her feet. “Let’s try that again. My left foot goes… here?”

She gets the hang of it very quickly after that, to her apparent surprise.

“You’re a princess, Mom,” Henry says, exasperated. “Makes sense that you’d be good at it.”

She glares at her son. “Shh!”

Killian is well aware that she isn’t just concerned with keeping their story straight. Emma has never been particularly enthusiastic about her royal status, to the point where Killian often forgets about it himself.

“Whatever the reason, milady,” he says, smiling when her eyes flash at the title, “it appears you’re a natural.”

She responds with the most sarcastic curtsy he’s ever seen, and for a moment, he can’t breathe. She moves with natural grace, her posture straight, and it makes for a hell of a combination with her practical clothing and windswept hair and irreverence. Want sweeps through him, sudden and fierce and far too familiar.

Henry’s laughter breaks the spell, and he joins in, shaking off the moment.This is not the time for those feelings, and Killian has been realising that if a man can’t control his own feelings, he can control nothing at all.

*  *  *

He estimates that they’re a few days out from Glowerhaven when they make a stop in a small cove. The Hawk drops anchor, and Ria and a few of the crew make ready to row to shore, where a small village nestles beyond the beach.

Ria assures them it’s only a quick stop for supplies, but Killian notes that he, Emma, and Henry are carefully manoeuvred out of the way as the crew make their preparations.

He makes sure not to watch them too closely, nor to ask any questions. Ria might trust him more now, but if he pokes his nose into her smuggling, his newfound favour is likely to disappear. He’s not sure why they’re bothering to hide it; he already knows that Ria is a smuggler. Perhaps she’s paranoid about Emma finding out, given her alleged status as a lady of the royal court.

“So,” Emma says casually as they sit on deck in the sunshine, waiting for the others to return. “Do you know what we’re smuggling?”

He bites back the instinctive denial; he isn’t responsible for any of the law-breaking this time. Besides, she knows.  Princess or not, Emma has a significant amount of criminal experience herself. “No,” he says. “And we aren’t. They are.”

“Isn’t it kind of obvious?” Emma asks. “I mean, a big ship anchoring in this tiny bay?”

“Who’d see it?” Killian points out. “The locals likely all benefit from it one way or another, and it’s a long way to the earl’s castle.”

“I guess.” She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “I keep forgetting that everything works different around here. What usually gets smuggled? Drugs?”

“It depends,” Killian says. “Arendelle has strict laws about magical artefacts, so those fetch a lot there. Corona and Misthaven used to have very high taxes on fabrics, especially silk, but I’m almost sure that changed years ago. And picking it up out here… it could be anything.”

Emma is silent for a moment, thinking. “Do you think they’re smuggling for the rebellion?”

He smirks as Emma’s words bring the answer to him. “Actually, that would explain her attempts at secrecy. She wouldn’t want me to know that she’s taking sides. Scoundrels like us don’t do that, after all.”

Emma smiles at that. “Yeah, well. Sometimes people change their minds about stuff like that, don’t they?”

He feels his face warm, and fights it back with a burst of irritation. He’s not going to blush. “So I’m told. Still, it usually takes some…” He lets his gaze linger on her, deliberately, because if there’s going to be blushing, it’ll at least go both ways, damn it. He’s rewarded with a little eye roll and a smile she tries hard to fight back as he finishes, “… incentive.”

She loses the fight with her smile and laughs, shaking her head. “You are so…”

“Charming?” he suggests.

She shakes her head again, pressing her tongue against her top teeth as she considers him, her eyes sparkling. “Full of it.”

She’s right, but he’s not about to admit that. “I’m merely pointing out that people usually have a reason to… get involved.”

“Yeah.” She pokes him gently in the chest, just above his heart. “It’s called a conscience.”

His heart, as if on cue, has begun to pound rather harder than usual. “Best be careful,” he tells her, trying to ignore the drum in his ears. “You’re giving me an awful lot of credit. I might start thinking you actually like me.”

She just laughs again—and it’s not an amused scoff at the notion of her liking him. No, she gives him a wry look and laughs as if her not liking him is the joke.

And he knows he’s inclined towards wishful thinking where Emma is concerned, so he really needs her to scoff or tell him he’s full of it again, to restore the balance here and remind him where they stand.

But she doesn’t. She just laughs, and the laugh fades to a smile, and then she says something about smugglers and rebellions and Star Wars that he hasn’t a hope of understanding, mostly because his thoughts are still tangled in it’s called a conscience and that bloody laugh.

He needs to make another glib remark, or pay her a compliment, or preferably combine both of those to try and make her blush again—but he can’t, for the life of him, think of anything to say.

So much, he thinks ruefully, for control.

*  *  *

Ria is gone for a few hours, and by the time she returns, night is falling.

“We’ll anchor here tonight,” she says. “There’s an issue with one of the—supplies, so we may as well wait.”

Killian is careful to keep his expression neutral; Emma’s only reaction is to glance at him, a knowing look that Ria misses.

“Excellent,” Wes proclaims with a grin. “Cap’n, permission to go ashore—”

“Everyone stays on board,” Ria cuts him off, and her knowing look is clear for all to see.

“I only meant, to get some decent food,” Wes tries.

Inga rolls her eyes. “We just got supplies. That includes food. Idiot.”

“Oh,” Wes says, looking momentarily abashed. “Yeah.”

Killian resists the urge to shake his head. Expert smugglers they may be, but their acting abilities leave a lot to be desired. And whatever talents in that area Wes Carswell might have, he suspects that the man uses them mostly for acting the gentleman and telling the ladies what they like to hear.

Even so, Killian is just as glad to go along with the ruse. If they’re busy hiding their true activities from him, they’ll be less inclined to suspect that he and Emma are hiding something from them.

At least they aren’t lying about the food: there are fresh vegetables and meat from the village, and an argument over who will do the cooking ensues. Eventually, Lynch insists that even with one arm, he’s still a better cook than the rest of them, and Emma volunteers to act as his hands again.

The food is delicious, especially after so many days of hard tack and fish.

“Excellent food, prepared by a beautiful woman,” Wes says around a mouthful. “Nothing better.”

Killian can’t help rolling his eyes at that. Thankfully, he’s not the only one; several of the crew do likewise, evidently both used to and fed up with Wes’s flirting.

Emma only exchanges an amused glance with Lynch. “I think he means you. He call you a woman often?”

Lynch nods seriously. “Yeah, he gets things confused a lot. Explains why he keeps flirting with me.”

Wes makes a rude hand gesture at him. “You wish. You can’t hold a candle to the lady.” He winks at Emma.

Emma just shakes her head, still looking amused. There’s a general chorus of exasperation among the crew—from all except Jim, who is watching Wes and his flirting as if taking notes.

Killian fights back the comment he’s dying to make. He’s here because he owes Emma’s husband a debt, and his feelings go no further than that. It won’t do for anyone to begin questioning that, or anything else about their story. If he makes a comment, he knows damn well he’ll only sound jealous.

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to. Because Lynch narrows his eyes at Wes, and makes it for him.

“I’ll hold a candle to you if you don’t shut up.”

Killian smirks and takes another bite of his pork chop.

“Do not set people on fire on my ship,” Ria cuts in, sounding tired. Before Wes can thank her for defending him, she adds, “Wait until he’s off of it.”

Wes sends her a betrayed look while the others laugh.

“The wind should pick up again tomorrow morning,” Ria says, turning to Emma. “So it won’t be a big delay. We’ll get to Misthaven on schedule.”

Emma nods. “That’s fine. It’s not like we’re on a timetable here.”

“Right.” Ria is casual as she says it, but there’s a fraction of a moment where her eyes are a bit too sharp. As if something in what Emma just said has raised some suspicion.

Killian tries to think what that might be, but the conversation is already moving on and it’s hard to keep track as it is.

“Is your dad gonna be there?” Jim asks, turning to Henry. “To meet you?”

Henry turns to Emma in mute appeal, and Emma answers for him. “I don’t know if he’ll be there,” she says. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t exactly know we’re coming.”

She smiles at Jim as she says it. Jim blushes scarlet, and manages a weak, “Oh, right.”

Killian tries to hide his amusement. He’s noticed the way Jim tends to avoid Emma—or rather, the way he prefers to look from a distance. The lad is all of fifteen; old enough to notice, too young to know what to do about it, and far too young for Emma. And now here he is, the sole focus of a smile from the woman who has probably inspired more than one daydream lately.

Poor lad.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Jimmy,” Wes says, the devil glinting in his eyes. “Her husband’s a Navy man, you want to watch out.”

Jim shoots him a glare, still scarlet. “I’m not! That’s not—I was just asking.” He turns to Henry again, clearly determined to push past the embarrassing moment. “You didn’t tell me your dad was in the Navy! Did he go after smugglers?”

Henry looks around briefly, shakes his head. “No.”

“Is that where you learned to sail?” Jim asks. “You said—”

“I don’t want to talk about my dad!” Henry jumps to his feet. Without another word, he makes his way across the deck to the hatch that leads below.

There’s a moment of silence—Jim looking confused, Wes concerned, everyone else somewhere in between.

Emma presses her lips together as she watches Henry go. Killian wants to say something, some explanation, but it’s not his place.

And Emma’s got it covered. “It’s been difficult,” she offers. “Complicated. His dad wasn’t always around as much as… he wanted to be.”

She’s good. It’s not the first time Killian has noticed her skill at staying close enough to the truth to sell the story, without giving the actual truth away.

“It’s tough on a kid,” Stavros says with an understanding nod. “Even if his father’s got a good reason for being gone, it’s tough.”

“Yeah.” Emma gets to her feet with an apologetic smile. “I better go talk to him.”

*  *  *

Emma finds Henry in the cabin, sitting almost in the exact spot where she comforted Killian just a few days ago. Emma sinks down next to him, feeling strangely reassured by the memory. “Hey. You okay?”

Henry looks up at her. “I didn’t know what to say. Did I blow our cover?”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Emma shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t think we’d have to pretend for this long.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Henry admits. “I really don’t want to talk about him. It just slipped out.”

“It’s okay,” Emma assures him. “I explained that your dad wasn’t around much and that you’re kind of mad at him right now. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Henry heaves a deep breath, a very adult gesture. “This spy stuff is harder than I thought. It was a lot easier back in Storybrooke.”

“We didn’t have a whole fake backstory in Storybrooke,” Emma points out. “I’ve done this before, and it’s hard for me as well. You’re doing great.”

“It’s…” He trails off, thinking. “Mostly it’s easy. I can say some things. I can tell Jim about Grandma and Gramps. But sometimes… sometimes…”

Emma puts a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes you want to tell him about…?”

“Mom.” Henry almost whispers the word.

“Oh.” Yeah, that’s an awkward one. Regina doesn’t really slot neatly into anything resembling a normal family dynamic.

“I miss her,” Henry says. And then he glances up at her, almost worried. “I know you’re here, and you’re my mom too, but—”

“Hey, I get it.” Emma puts an arm around him and pulls him close. “Of course you miss her. I miss M—my mom, too. And I know Regina misses you.”

“I miss everyone,” Henry admits, his voice muffled now. “I wish we could send a message. Like you guys did with the mirror, in Neverland.”

Emma thinks of her magic, still trapped in the ring she wears hidden under her shirt, and fights back a pang of regret. Then again, even if she still had it, she has no idea how to send messages with it. She’s thought about it, even talked to Killian about it, because she hates knowing that her parents think they’ll never see her again. She knows how they feel, because she knows how she’d feel.

But the fact is that any message they could send wouldn’t get there before they do, and it’s far too risky. “Yeah,” is all she can say. “Me too.”

“When are we gonna get back there?”

“I’m not sure,” Emma says. “You’d have to ask Killian.”

Henry hesitates. “I don’t want to keep asking him.”

“Why not?” she asks carefully.

“He always feels bad when I ask. I can tell. I think it annoys him.”

Her empathetic little boy. Emma gives his shoulders a squeeze. “He just feels bad because he can’t make the ship go any faster.”

Henry frowns. “That’s dumb. It’s a sailing ship, you can’t make it go faster.”

Emma smiles and makes a mental note to mention this to Killian. “Yeah, sometimes he’s a little dumb.”

Henry laughs.

“You’re not annoying him ,” she goes on, more seriously. “It’s just that he wants us to get home as fast as possible. He wants to be able to tell you we’ll be there tomorrow, but he can’t, so then he feels bad. It’s not because of you asking. It’s okay to ask him. Or any of the others.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He’s silent for another moment. “Do I have to come back to dinner, or can I stay here for a bit?”

“Whatever you want.” She lets go of him. She wants to stay, to cheer him up, but she has a feeling that’s not what he needs right now. “Want me to leave you alone?”

He nods, but he looks a lot happier already, and she silently awards herself a mom point for getting this one right. “Okay.”

*  *  *

By the time Emma gets back on deck, everyone has finished with dinner and dispersed. Killian is fiddling with one of the fishing nets, and catches her eye when she emerges from the hatch. “All right—” he almost calls her “Swan”, catches himself just in time—“milady?”

She mirrors his smile. “Yeah.”

“How’s the lad?”

“He’s okay, just needs a little me time.” She sits down next to him, arms draped over her drawn-up knees. “Oh, and he wants to know when we’ll reach Misthaven, but he doesn’t want to ask you.”

“A little over a week, if the wind holds.” Killian eyes her, unsure of whether to ask, but unable not to. “Is there a reason why he doesn’t want to ask me himself?”

She shakes her head. “He says it makes you feel bad when he asks.”

Killian huffs out a surprised laugh. He didn’t see that one coming, although perhaps he should have. “He’s a good lad,” he says softly. “I do wish I could get us there faster.”

“That’s what I told him.”

That’s another surprise, that Emma would speak up for him that way. And again, it shouldn’t be, because of course she would explain things to her son. She always does. He just isn’t used to people being so thoughtful. “But he needn’t be considerate of me. I’ll tell him—”

“No,” Emma cuts him off firmly. “Look, you’re not gonna get him to stop caring. And I wouldn’t want him to.”

She sounds fierce, pride in her voice. Pride in her son for being so considerate. And there’s another note there, too, the same one he heard when she told him that it has to go both ways between them.

Like she wants Henry to care about him—not just for the boy’s sake, but for his, too. Another startling thought.

Trying to cover his surprise, he inclines his head. “Fair point. I just don’t want him to be afraid to talk to me—for any reason.”

“You might have to work on hiding your reaction a bit better,” she says, in a conspiratorial tone that tells him she’s speaking from experience. “He’s too damn perceptive sometimes.”

He grins then. “I wonder where he gets that from.”

And she smiles, like it pleases her to hear that her son takes after her. Killian has never wondered before whether she ever questions that. Henry reminds him of Emma all the time—his quick wit, his bright smiles, the way his eyes twinkle when he’s being mischievous, that indefatigable sense of optimism and determination—but he’s suddenly not so sure that Emma sees it.

“Yeah,” Emma said, that note of pride still in her voice, “that’s definitely not from his dad. I mean…” She thinks about it. “Neal can be perceptive. Kind of. I don’t know, it’s weird.”

Killian nods. He doesn’t want to speak ill of Neal, has been very careful not to, but he knows that Emma still questions her own instincts at times. She needs to hear that she’s right. “I think he’s… inclined to see what he wants to see,” he says. “Or not, as the case may be. Not always, of course, but when he’s… shall we say, emotionally invested.”

Emma stares at him like he’s just said something absolutely brilliant. “Yes! That’s what he does, right? He sees what he wants. And when he doesn’t want to see something, it’s like he just ignores it. He does it with you, too, right? He doesn’t want you to be—well, anything but a villain, so he won’t see it.”

“Well, that’s—complicated,” Killian says carefully. “He has his reasons for seeing me like that.”

“He’s got reasons for seeing you as not like that, too,” she points out. “Y’know, helping to save his kid, saving him…” She thinks about it. “Twice. God, it makes so much sense, why—you know, I always had this feeling, but what you said—”

She seems to be having some kind of epiphany. Killian puts the fishing net down and cocks his head to the side. “I take it this has been… an issue of contention?”

She scoffs. “He said that’s what I was doing. Getting things wrong because I was emotional. Everyone kept saying it. Oh, you’re emotional, Emma, you’re not seeing things clearly, you’re just jealous. Except I was right, about Tamara, and about magic, and about—it had nothing to do with jealousy, he’s the one who—ugh.” She finishes with an annoyed sound in the back of her throat.

This has been bothering her, that much is clear from the anger flashing in her eyes. And if it goes back to Tamara, it predates Killian’s… involvement. He was working with Tamara back then, against Emma and Neal.

Killian suspected, after Neverland, that Emma wouldn’t simply let Neal back in. He could only guess at her reasons back then, had little more than his gut feeling to go on, but the more he learns, the more he realises that he was more right than he knew. He knows some of the reasons now, and they’re far more serious than he guessed. They go far beyond a simple lovers’ tiff, or misunderstanding, or bruised pride at having been left.

And they have nothing to do with him.

He realises just how much guilt was still weighing on him when it lifts in the wake of that revelation.

The weird thing is, for a moment as Emma looks at him and he at her, he would swear that she feels exactly the same.

*  *  *

Emma feels almost dizzy, vindication sweeping through her, along with a tingle of anger. Killian’s words have finally made something clear to her that has been clawing away at the back of her mind.

She’s not less perceptive or less capable just because she’s got feelings. Neal is the one who’s been seeing things the way he wants, who refused to listen to her about magic, who trusted Zelena because she validated him.

The nerve of the guy.

But she’s not as angry as she might have been just a few weeks ago. Instead, it’s almost a relief.

“You aren’t like that.” Killian says it as if he’s stating a simple fact, almost dismissively. “You’ve never struck me as someone to get blinded by her feelings. And as someone who’s very much inclined that way,” he offers a rueful smile, “I think I’m quite well-placed to judge.”

She shakes her head. “You’re a hothead, but it doesn’t blind you,” she says. “You see everything. You just ignore it if it’s in the way.”

He looks surprised, then narrows his eyes at her. “See? Perceptive.”

She laughs, feeling more of her annoyance fade. She doesn’t much want to talk about Neal, or about feelings, but she needs this right now.

The conversation with Henry dragged up some things that she knows she’s been pushing away. She’s been trying not to think about Neal and everything that happened and what it might mean. But hearing Henry say that he doesn’t want to talk about him…

It left her feeling a strange mix of relief and guilt, wishing things were different but kind of glad that they’re not. Does that make her a bad mother? She has no way of judging that. If Snow were here, she might ask. But she doesn’t have her mother here right now.

She’s got Killian, though. Who has been telling her about his brother, and about his Navy days, and asking about Henry. And for all his irreverence and flaws, she knows that he doesn’t judge. She takes a breath. “Can I ask you something?”

One eyebrow pops up. “By all means.”

“It’s more an opinion thing, really...”

“Out with it, Swan.”

“Am I terrible for feeling... kind of relieved?” she says. “I mean, I wish none of it had happened, and I know Henry’s upset about it, about what Neal did, but then I can’t help thinking that maybe now—” She pauses, but she’s started now, so she forges on. “You know, after I told my parents about what Neal did, they got off my back about him, and...”

She doesn’t know how to go on. Every way she can think of to phrase this really does sound terrible.

But Killian has caught her drift. “And now you can’t help hoping this will do the same for the lad? That he’ll no longer want you and Neal to be together?”

It sounds worse when he says it. She grimaces. “That is kind of terrible, right?”

“Let’s call it understandable,” he says with a shrug. “Given the way you worry about what everyone else wants, it’s not surprising that you’d be relieved when they stop asking things of you that you don’t want to do.”

“Hey, I don’t do things I don’t want to do.”

“No, you don’t,” he agrees, and then he smirks. “But you do feel guilty about not doing them.”

“Only sometimes,” she says, hearing the defensive note in her own voice. “I just feel—well, I felt like I... maybe I owed it to Henry, you know? To try. He’s a kid, of course he wants his parents to be together.”

Killian gives a dramatic wince, his smirk still lingering. “I’m afraid I may be a little biased here, love.”

The reminder sends a little thrill through her belly. She does her best not to let on.

“But,” Killian goes on, “I don’t think you’re letting him down. In fact, I suspect that Neal’s recent actions might have hit him harder had you two been a couple.”

“Fair point. Although...” She hesitates. “Maybe Neal wouldn’t have done any of it if we were together.”

She knows it’s a stupid thought the moment she says it. It’s not like it’s the first time he did something that hurt her in the name of “helping”. It’s not like their being together made any difference the first time around.

“All things considered, I doubt it.” Killian says. “But we could debate the ifs and maybes of it all day. In any case, if you’re relieved at the idea of not having to be with him… well, biased I may be, but that doesn’t sound as though you want to be with him.”

He’s got a point there. “Yeah. No.”

“In which case, you wouldn’t be doing the boy any favours no matter what,” Killian says.

“I guess.” Emma has seen plenty of cases where the kids would have been better off if their parents had called it quits. “It’s just... y’know. He wanted his parents to be together. That’s the fairytale, I guess.”

“Aye.” A shadow has settled over Killian’s features, and Emma suddenly knows that he’s not just thinking of her and Neal anymore. He’s thinking about Neal’s parents. “But I don’t think he’d be better off if you were miserable. I think… I think the important thing is that you’re there for him. Both of you.”

Emma nods, wanting to say something, unable to think of anything.

“All of you, I should say.” Killian clears his throat, and the shadow passes. “May I offer a counter-thought?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Henry already had two parents who were not a couple, before Neal came back into your lives,” Killian says, and now there’s a little gleam in his eyes that has her wondering where he’s going with this. “I don’t recall anyone making a case for you and Regina to be together.”

Emma has a mental image of herself living in Regina’s spotless house with her condescension and her haughtiness and her fire balls, and makes a face. “Now there’s a thought.”

Killian grins. “Indeed. My point being, the boy has three parents now, and grandparents who are the same age as his mother. It may not be a conventional situation, but the important thing is that you’re all there for him. That’s what he needs.”

“Fair point.” Emma has thought about that before. Her family is never going to be normal, and much as she’s wished for some normalcy at times... it doesn’t matter. She just wants them back.

“And really,” Killian says, “when you think about it, there’s just as much of a case to be made for Neal and Regina giving it a go.”

Emma laughs. “Please suggest that to Regina sometime.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You want me to get set on fire, do you?”

It’s her turn to grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll stand by with a bucket of water. And maybe some popcorn.”

“So kind of you,” he says, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I’m so glad you’ve got my back.”

“Anytime,” she assures him, still grinning.

And if she means it… well, she doesn’t have to say that.

*  *  *

As the sky and the sea begin to turn golden red, Stavros shows up on deck carrying a fiddle. He’s joined by a man Emma knows only as Hogan, who takes out a flute. Janssen and Inga join them, their chatter and laughter mixing with the first few strains of the fiddle.

Emma thinks that it might be time for Henry to come out of their cabin.

By the time she follows him back up on deck, most of the crew is gathered there, and Stavros and Hogan have begun to play a lively tune. Janssen’s wife, Inga, is keeping the rhythm by slapping her palms against the deck, swaying from side to side. As the Serena Hawk drifts lazily in the dark water, Aileen sings a short song in a language Emma doesn’t recognise.

Killian is leaning back against the railing a little apart from the crew, shooting a smile at Emma when she catches his eye and inclining his head to invite her and Henry to join him at the railing.

“What’s going on?” Henry asks as they reach him.

“The evening’s entertainment.” He tips his head to indicate Stavros and the others. “The next best thing to going ashore for the night.”

Aileen’s song ends, and Stavros and Hogan strike up a new tune. Janssen grabs Inga and sweeps her into a dance as the others cheer, twirling her around the deck.

“Emma.”

Wes is striding towards her, a wide smile on his handsome face. He holds out a hand. “Do me the honour, milady?”

Startled, she glances at Killian, then at the dancing couple. “I, uh—I don’t know—”

“You’ll be used to court dances, I s’pose,” Wes says. “Not to worry, this isn’t hard. I’ll show you.”

She looks at Killian again. He says nothing, just returns the look with amusement twinkling in his eyes and his eyebrow slightly raised as if to say, this is your problem.

“All right,” she says, because she can hardly back out when Killian is giving her that look. “But if I step on your feet or something, remember I warned you.”

Wes just laughs as he takes her hand and leads her out on the deck.

It’s not as bad as she expected. In fact, after the initial few missteps and stumbles, it’s fun. The steps, it turns out, don’t matter exactly; it’s more a matter of staying in the rhythm and being willing to jump around in time to the music. Wes whoops as he twirls her—the one move she’s actually familiar with—and Emma laughs, the last of her embarrassment sweeping away.

She laughs again as Aileen launches into a song warning a young woman against getting involved with a sailor. Killian plays along with it, giving her admonishing looks as she dances with Wes. She stumbles twice from laughing too much.

“Uh oh,” Wes says, grinning as he glances over at Killian and back to her. “Think I better watch my back?”

“More like your hands,” Emma tells him drily, and he laughs.

“I wouldn’t have pegged him as the protective sort.”

This time, it’s Emma’s heart that trips, not her feet. Killian’s supposed to be here to repay a debt. Nothing personal. “You think that’s protective, you should see my dad.”

Wes laughs again. “I’m pretty sure your father has a slightly different motivation.”

There’s nothing in it to suggest that he might suspect that she’s not who she claims, but he’s clearly not buying that Killian’s only interest in her is to repay a debt. Damn it. She’s going to have to warn him about that.

She can see his smirk if she brings that up. And he’ll probably say something ridiculous like I can’t help it, love. And she... doesn’t hate the thought.

“He’s just trying to keep me safe,” is what she says.

Wes’s grin turns wolfish. “I’m no danger to you.”

She gives him a look. She knows that grin, and she knows the look in his eyes, too. “Uh-huh.”

He winks at her as he takes her hands, pulling her deliberately closer than before.

“Navy husband!” Lynch calls out from the sidelines. Somewhere between working on the lines together during their escape, and cooking the meal together earlier, he’s taken her under his wing a bit. She suspects that having an excuse to rib Wes is part of the reason.

“Far away!” Wes shoots back, still with that unashamed grin on his face.

“You’re a menace,” she tells him, and he laughs like it’s a compliment.

When she insists on a break a few minutes later to catch her breath, she finds Killian teaching Henry the high kick she’s seen the others do. Henry is all for it, eyes bright as he leaps into the air, and Emma gasps as he goes for it, one of his feet kicking up almost as high as his head.

“Whoah, kid!”

Killian is beaming at him. “See? I told you you could do it.” He turns to Emma. “He’s a natural.”

“I didn’t know this was dancing!” Henry exclaims, grinning. “This is fun.”

And, faced with that, Emma can’t say anything except, “Awesome.”

“I’m gonna join Jim, okay?”

She nods, and Henry rushes off across the deck as Stavros and Aileen strike up another tune.

Beside Emma, Killian clears his throat. “I apologise if I overstepped. But he asked, and I didn’t see any harm in—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Emma cuts him off. “Just caught me off guard. Didn’t think he could kick that high.”

Killian shrugs, looking almost… proud? “I told you, he’s a natural.”

They watch together as Henry demonstrates his newfound prowess. It’s less a dance and more just leaping around, a way to burn off energy in the cramped confines of the ship.

“I’m glad he’s having fun,” Emma says. “I, uh—it’s nice of you. To, y’know. Show him the ropes.”

“I’m happy to do it.” He means it, and it makes something flutter in her chest.

To distract herself from that, she says, “So, you gonna show me how it’s done?”

It might sound slightly flirty. But that’s better than dwelling on the fact that Killian enjoys spending time with her kid and teaching him useful things about ships and dumb things about high kicks and everything in between.

He raises his eyebrows. “If you want, aye.”

It ends, of course, with him leading her out to join the others in the dance. There’s a moment where she’s already hunting for an excuse to stay put—but she lets it go. Everyone else is out here enjoying the evening. Just once, she wants to do the same. Surely, after the past few weeks, she’s earned it. They’ve earned it.

So she holds his hand and his hook and spins around until she forgets everything else. There’s just the music, and Killian, and then Henry’s hand in hers as Killian talks him through twirling her, and her cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much.

Afterwards, she sits on the deck while Killian teaches Henry a song that Regina will definitely murder him for, and she should probably put a stop to it, but she can’t bring herself to do it. Henry has far too much fun belting out the chorus with the rest of the crew, and Killian’s face lights up in a way she rarely gets to see, and instead of stopping them, Emma joins in. She isn’t part of the crew, but right now, like this, she feels like she belongs, and she forgets who she should be and who she’s supposed to be and is just… happy.

For tonight, at least, nothing else matters.

*  *  *

Robin stares down at the wand, then back up at the couple before him. It’s not the first time he has handled a magic wand; the last time is etched in his memory, not likely to fade any time soon.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

Will Scarlet rolls his eyes. “Answer ain’t gonna change if you keep asking, mate. She ain’t there. It’s lucky we found her wand, at least.”

Robin presses his lips together. Glinda was his biggest hope for fighting the Wicked Witch. Granted, since he sent Will off to Oz, Snow and her group have joined them and they now have several magic users on their side, but even so… “Any idea where she might be?”

“Not rightly sure,” Will says. “Ana reckons it’s a place between places. A sort of niche between realms.”

“Between realms?” Robin repeats, turning to the woman at Will’s side. “Is that even possible?”

“It’s not isn’t easy, but it’s possible,” Anastasia says. “I’ve never done it, but I know how. In theory.”

There’s no bitterness in her voice when she talks about the magic she can no longer use. Robin will admit to having had his doubts about her, but much like Will, she has proven herself.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense to me,” she goes on. “And it’s exactly the kind of thing Zelena would do.”

“But we don’t need her now, do we?” Will says. “Got a few people around now who can use magic.”

“What, the Evil Queen?” Anastasia scoffs. “Not a lot of talent there, from what I’ve heard. And the Blue Fairy is too busy being sanctimonious to get anything done.”

Robin sighs. She might be reformed, but she’s as sharp-tongued as ever. Will is hiding a smirk, shaking his head in a fond sort of way.

“Glinda might be useful, then, aye,” he says.

“And in any case,” Robin says mildly, “if she’s stuck between realms, she might appreciate a rescue.”

“Oh,” Will says. “Yeah. Right.”

“And we probably could use her help.” He might not agree with Anastasia’s assessment entirely, but he does believe in taking all the help he can get. And as he’s thinking it over, something else occurs to him. “Do you think she knows how to travel to another realm?”

Anastasia frowns in thought. “I’m not sure. Possibly. She was the most powerful witch in all of Oz, and they do magic differently there.”

Hope stirs in his chest. “So how do we find her?”

When Emma entered the parlor, she stopped short. The room was bathed in warm, golden light from a chandelier overhead, the shadows flickering softly in time with the crackling fire in the hearth. Regina stood near the center, dressed in an elegant black blouse and tight skirt, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. A record player in the corner spun a slow, lilting waltz.

Emma shoved her hands into her pockets, suddenly feeling underdressed in her jeans and flannel shirt. “Wow, this is…fancy.”

Regina arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Did you expect anything less?”

“Guess not.” Emma stepped further into the room, eyeing the setup. “So, uh, thanks for doing this. I could’ve asked Snow, but…”

“Snow would have been a terrible choice,” Regina interrupted, her smirk widening. “Charming has two left feet, and your mother is even worse.” She walked toward Emma with a fluid grace, extending a hand. “Come on. Let’s see just how hopeless you are.”

Emma snorted, though her stomach fluttered as she placed her hand in Regina’s. “Don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”

Regina’s fingers were cool and steady against Emma’s as she guided her to the center of the room. “I don’t waste time with platitudes, Miss Swan. If you want to avoid stepping on your husband’s feet during your wedding dance, you’ll listen and follow my lead.”

The mention of Hook sent a brief pang of guilt through Emma, but she shoved it down. “Got it. Lead away, Your Majesty.”

Regina stepped close, her hand resting lightly on Emma’s waist while her other hand held Emma’s in a firm yet gentle grip. Emma stiffened at the sudden proximity, her breath catching as the scent of Regina’s perfume—something rich and floral—washed over her.

“Relax,” Regina murmured, her voice softer now, almost coaxing. “You can’t dance if you’re this tense.”

“Yeah, well, standing this close to you would make anyone tense,” Emma muttered, avoiding Regina’s gaze.

Regina chuckled, low and throaty, and Emma’s cheeks burned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Emma lied, her voice too quick and sharp.

Regina’s knowing smile only deepened as she began to guide Emma through the first steps of the dance. “One, two, three. One, two, three. Follow my movements. Don’t overthink.”

Easier said than done. Emma stumbled almost immediately, her foot catching Regina’s.

“Sorry!” Emma grimaced, expecting Regina to snap at her, but Regina only tightened her grip slightly, steadying her.

“Stop apologizing. Try again.”

Emma nodded, biting her lip as she focused on Regina’s movements. The music swelled around them, the notes lilting and light. Slowly, Emma began to fall into rhythm, her steps matching Regina’s. They moved together in a gentle circle, the rest of the world melting away until there was only the music and the warmth of Regina’s hand on her waist.

“See?” Regina murmured, her lips curving into a small smile. “You’re not entirely hopeless.”

“Gee, thanks,” Emma said, but there was no bite in her words. Her heart was pounding, though not from the effort of the dance.

The smile lingered on Regina’s face as she glanced down at Emma’s feet, making sure she stayed on time. “You’re better at this than you give yourself credit for. You just need to trust yourself.”

Emma’s breath hitched. There was something about the way Regina said those words, her voice softer than Emma had ever heard it, that sent a shiver down her spine. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Emma felt an unfamiliar warmth bloom in her chest.

“So,” Emma said, clearing her throat in an attempt to break the tension, “how do you know how to dance like this, anyway? Fancy mayor lessons?”

Regina tilted her head, her expression turning wistful. “I was a Queen long before I became mayor, Miss Swan.” Her voice darkened slightly, the edge of bitterness unmistakable. “One of the few lessons I actually appreciated.”

Emma frowned, the hint of pain in Regina’s voice tugging at her. “Regina…”

Before she could say more, Regina’s grip on her waist tightened, pulling her slightly closer. “Focus, Miss Swan. You’re getting distracted.”

Emma’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she let Regina guide her, their movements becoming smoother with every step. For a fleeting moment, Emma allowed herself to get lost in the dance, the closeness, and the way Regina’s eyes softened when they looked at her.

But deep down, she knew this was dangerous territory.

The music shifted, the melody deepening into something slower, richer, as Regina guided Emma through the movements. Their steps were fluid now, the initial awkwardness gone, but with it came a tension Emma wasn’t sure how to handle.

Regina’s hand rested firmly against her waist, her other hand holding Emma’s just tightly enough to ground her. The firelight flickered across Regina’s face, softening the sharp edges of her features. She was breathtaking, and that thought alone made Emma’s chest tighten.

“Better,” Regina said, her voice low and smooth, a hint of approval in her tone. “You’re not tripping over my feet anymore. I’d almost call that progress.”

Emma grinned, trying to keep the mood light even as her pulse raced. “Careful, Regina. If you keep complimenting me, I might start thinking you like me.”

Regina arched an elegant eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Emma laughed, the sound breaking the tension for a brief moment. But then Regina spun her gently, their hands never losing contact, and when Emma returned to face her, the air between them shifted again. The laughter faded, replaced by something heavier, something that made Emma’s throat dry.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Emma asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

“Like what?” Regina countered, her expression unreadable, though there was a faint softness in her eyes that Emma couldn’t ignore.

“Like…” Emma hesitated, her words catching in her throat. “Never mind.”

Regina tilted her head, her dark eyes searching Emma’s face. “You’re overthinking again,” she said softly, her voice almost teasing, though there was a warmth beneath it. “Relax. Just follow me.”

Emma swallowed hard, nodding as she tried to focus on the steps instead of the way Regina’s hand felt against her waist. She could feel the heat of Regina’s palm through the fabric of her shirt, and it was both comforting and entirely overwhelming.

The dance continued, their movements growing more seamless with each turn. But the tension only grew, threading through the space between them like an unspoken question neither of them was ready to ask.

“You’re surprisingly graceful,” Regina said after a moment, her voice breaking the silence.

“Surprisingly?” Emma shot her a mock glare, grateful for the distraction.

Regina’s lips twitched in amusement. “I suppose I should have more faith in your abilities. You’ve proven me wrong before.”

Emma smiled, though her chest tightened at the way Regina was looking at her—like she wasn’t just talking about the dance. She tried to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks, but it was impossible when Regina’s gaze felt so intent, so piercing.

“Regina…” Emma started, unsure of what she wanted to say.

Regina’s grip on her waist shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against Emma’s side. “Yes?”

The question hung in the air, and Emma suddenly felt like the ground beneath her had disappeared. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but it felt like a line was being crossed, one they could never uncross.

The music slowed, the final notes of the song fading into the silence of the room. Regina didn’t let go, and neither did Emma. They stood there, still locked in the dance, their bodies close enough that Emma could feel the warmth radiating from Regina’s skin.

“You’re staring again,” Regina murmured, her voice soft but filled with something Emma couldn’t quite place.

Emma blinked, realizing too late that she had been. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” Regina interrupted, her tone gentle. She stepped closer, her grip on Emma’s waist tightening just enough to keep her in place. “Not for that.”

Emma’s breath hitched, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure Regina could hear it. “What are we doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Regina didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached up with her free hand, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Emma’s face. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a shiver down Emma’s spine.

“Dancing,” Regina said finally, though there was a tremor in her voice now, a vulnerability Emma had never heard before.

“Regina…” Emma’s voice broke, her hands trembling as she clung to Regina’s. She felt like she was standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to step back.

“You’re not thinking about the wedding,” Regina said quietly, her eyes locked on Emma’s. It wasn’t a question.

Emma opened her mouth to argue, to say something—anything—but no words came out. She couldn’t lie, not when Regina was looking at her like that.

“I didn’t think so,” Regina said, her lips curving into a sad smile. “You forget how terrible you are at hiding your emotions.”

Emma huffed out a shaky laugh, though it was tinged with something like panic. “Guess you know me too well, huh?”

Regina’s smile faded, replaced by an intensity that made Emma’s knees weak. “Yes,” she said simply, her voice low and steady. “I do.”

They stood there, frozen in the moment, the fire crackling softly in the background. Emma could feel her resolve slipping, crumbling under the weight of the tension between them. She didn’t know who moved first—maybe it was her, maybe it was Regina—but suddenly their faces were inches apart, their breaths mingling.

“Emma…” Regina’s voice was barely a whisper now, her hand brushing against Emma’s cheek.

Emma closed her eyes, her heart pounding as she leaned in, the space between them disappearing. The kiss, when it came, was soft at first—tentative, hesitant, as if they were both afraid to break the moment. But then it deepened, passion and longing spilling out in a way neither of them could control.

Time seemed to stop as they clung to each other, the world outside the parlor forgotten. The kiss was everything—gentle and desperate, filled with years of unspoken emotions finally given a voice.

The fire crackled softly, the flames casting flickering shadows across the walls, but Emma barely noticed. All she could focus on was Regina—her lips, her eyes, her hand still gently brushing Emma’s cheek. The silence between them was deafening, broken only by the sound of their breaths mingling in the small space left between them.

Emma should have pulled away. She knew it. She should have stepped back, made some awkward joke, and walked out of the room. But she didn’t.

Regina’s thumb traced along Emma’s cheekbone, her touch so soft it sent a shiver down Emma’s spine. “Emma…” Regina whispered, her voice trembling with something Emma couldn’t quite name.

Emma swallowed hard, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out every rational thought. “Regina, I—”

Before she could finish, before the words could tumble out and ruin whatever this was, she leaned in. The second kiss, sudden and desperate, their lips meeting in a collision of heat and emotion. Emma’s hands flew to Regina’s waist, gripping her like she was afraid she might disappear.

This kiss was different from the first—there was no hesitation, no restraint. It was fierce, raw, and filled with every unspoken word they’d never had the courage to say. Regina responded immediately, her arms winding around Emma’s neck, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

For a moment, nothing else existed—no wedding, no expectations, no consequences. Just them.

But then reality crept back in, cold and unforgiving. Emma broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, stepping back as if the distance might help her breathe again. “I—I can’t,” she stammered, her voice trembling.

Regina’s lips parted, her breathing uneven as she stared at Emma with wide, vulnerable eyes. “Emma…”

Emma shook her head, her hands trembling as she raked them through her hair. “This isn’t supposed to happen,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m getting married, Regina. I’m supposed to be with him.”

Regina flinched, the words landing like a blow. But she didn’t step back. Instead, she straightened, her shoulders squaring as she took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Then why are you here, Emma?”

“I don’t know,” Emma admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I just—I couldn’t stay away.”

Regina’s gaze softened, and she reached out, her fingers brushing against Emma’s once more. “You couldn’t stay away because this—us—means something. You know it does.”

Emma’s chest ached at the truth in Regina’s words, but she couldn’t bring herself to agree. She wanted to, God, she wanted to, but the weight of her responsibilities—of the life she’d built with Hook—pressed down on her like a leaden weight.

“I can’t just throw everything away,” Emma said, her voice cracking. “People are counting on me. He’s counting on me.”

Regina’s expression shifted, her vulnerability replaced by a fierce determination. “And what about you, Emma? What do you want?”

Emma’s breath hitched, the question hitting her like a physical blow. “I don’t know,” she said again, the words feeling hollow even as she spoke them.

Regina shook her head, a faint, sad smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, you do. You’ve always known. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

“I’m not scared,” Emma said, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Regina stepped closer, her hand reaching up to cup Emma’s cheek again. Her touch was steady, grounding, and Emma found herself leaning into it despite the storm raging inside her.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Regina said softly, her voice a whisper that wrapped around Emma like a balm. “Not with me.”

Emma’s resolve crumbled. Before she could think better of it, she surged forward, capturing Regina’s lips in another kiss. This one was slower, more deliberate, but no less passionate. It was filled with everything Emma had been holding back, everything she was too afraid to say aloud.

Regina responded instantly, her hands tangling in Emma’s hair as she kissed her back with equal fervor. For a moment, Emma allowed herself to get lost in it again—the taste of Regina’s lips, the warmth of her body pressed against hers.

But reality was cruel, and it didn’t let her stay in that moment for long. She broke the kiss again, her chest heaving as she took a stumbling step back.

“I can’t,” Emma said, tears welling in her eyes. “I can’t do this, Regina.”

Regina’s expression faltered, her composure slipping as the vulnerability returned. “Why not?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Because it’s easier to settle for something safe? Because you’re afraid to want more?”

“That’s not fair,” Emma snapped, though the words felt hollow even as she said them.

“Isn’t it?” Regina shot back, her voice rising. “You think I don’t know what this is? You think I don’t know what you’re feeling? I see it, Emma. Every time you look at me, I see it.”

Emma shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, okay? I don’t know how to handle this. But I can’t just… walk away from everything.”

Regina’s gaze softened, her anger fading as she stepped closer once more. “I’m not asking you to walk away, Emma. I’m asking you to choose. Choose me. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s what you want.”

Emma’s throat tightened, her vision blurring with tears. She wanted to say something, to give Regina the answer she deserved, but she couldn’t.

“I—” Emma started, but her voice broke.

Regina nodded, her jaw tightening as she stepped back, giving Emma the space she so clearly needed. “I won’t beg,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “But I won’t let you pretend this doesn’t matter, either.”

Emma didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Instead, she turned and fled, the sound of her boots echoing through the silent mansion.

Regina watched her go, the tears she’d been holding back finally spilling over as the door closed behind Emma.

The wind howled outside the mansion as Emma leaned against the closed door of the parlor, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Her head swam, her heart a tangle of emotions she couldn’t untangle no matter how hard she tried. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to calm down, but the memory of Regina’s kiss—of both kisses—refused to fade.

Regina’s words echoed in her mind like a relentless drumbeat: Choose me.

Emma pressed her palms against her eyes, her heart aching as guilt and longing battled for control. She felt pulled in two directions, torn between the life she’d built with Hook and the life Regina had promised with that single, desperate plea.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, trembling and lost, but the sound of footsteps approaching snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned, half expecting to see Regina standing there, her expression guarded but her eyes full of hope.

But the hallway was empty.

Emma let out a shaky breath, her hands falling to her sides. She couldn’t stay here. Not like this. She needed air, space to think. Without another glance back, she pushed off the door and hurried down the corridor, out of the mansion and into the night.

The docks were quiet, the waves lapping gently against the pier as Emma sat on a crate, staring out at the dark water. Her hands were shoved deep into her jacket pockets, the chill of the night doing little to calm the storm inside her.

She’d thought coming here would help, that the familiar sights and sounds of the harbor would ground her. But the sea breeze only carried more questions, more doubt.

The sound of boots on the wooden planks made her tense, and she turned her head to see Killian—Hook—approaching, his dark coat billowing slightly in the wind. His expression softened when he saw her, his usual swagger tempered by concern.

“There you are, love,” he said, stopping a few feet away. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Emma forced a smile, but it felt hollow even to her. “Sorry. I just… needed some air.”

Hook studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing. “You’ve been distant lately,” he said, his tone careful, as if he were afraid of pushing too hard. “Is everything all right?”

Emma opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. She wanted to tell him the truth, to lay it all out and let him decide what to do with it. But the weight of it all felt too heavy, too messy to put into words.

“I’m fine,” she said instead, the lie leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Hook’s gaze lingered on her, doubt flickering in his eyes, but he nodded. “If you say so.”

He reached for her hand, his touch warm and steady, but Emma flinched, pulling away before she could stop herself.

Hook’s hand fell to his side, and his expression shifted, hurt flashing across his face before he masked it with a forced smile. “It’s the wedding, isn’t it? You’re nervous.”

Emma nodded quickly, latching onto the excuse like a lifeline. “Yeah. It’s just… a lot.”

Hook stepped closer, his voice softening. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Emma. Whatever’s weighing on you, I’m here. Always.”

Emma’s chest tightened, guilt twisting like a knife in her gut. He meant it—she could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. And yet, it wasn’t enough to quiet the voice in her head, the one that whispered Regina’s name over and over like a prayer.

“I know,” Emma said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I need some time to figure things out. Can you give me that?”

Hook hesitated, his jaw clenching slightly, but he nodded. “Of course,” he said, though his voice was strained. “Take all the time you need.”

Emma offered him a small, grateful smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you.”

As he turned and walked away, Emma felt the ache in her chest deepen. She hated hurting him, hated the way his shoulders slumped as he disappeared into the night. But she couldn’t ignore the truth any longer.

She didn’t belong here, not with him.

***

The mansion was dark when Emma returned, the only light coming from the faint glow of the fire in the parlor. She hesitated in the doorway, her heart pounding as she saw Regina sitting by the hearth, a glass of wine in her hand.

Regina didn’t look up, her gaze fixed on the flames. “Back so soon?” she said, her voice cool but not unkind.

Emma stepped inside, her boots scuffing softly against the floor. “I couldn’t stay away.”

Regina’s lips twitched, a faint, humorless smile crossing her face. “That seems to be a pattern with you.”

Emma took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she stepped closer. “You were right,” she said, her voice breaking.

Regina finally looked up, her eyes guarded but shining with a faint glimmer of hope. “About what?”

“About everything,” Emma admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “About me, about him, about… us.”

Regina set her glass down, standing slowly. “What are you saying, Emma?”

Emma swallowed hard, her heart pounding as she met Regina’s gaze. “I’m saying that I choose you,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not because it’s easy, or because it makes sense, but because it’s what I want.”

Regina’s breath hitched, her eyes wide as she stared at Emma. “Do you mean that?”

Emma nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stepped closer. “I’ve been running from this for so long, and I’m tired of running. I don’t want to live a life that’s safe or expected. I want you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then Regina closed the distance between them, her hands cupping Emma’s face as she kissed her deeply, passionately, pouring every ounce of emotion into the kiss.

Emma melted into it, her arms wrapping around Regina as the world faded away. This was where she belonged—here, in Regina’s arms, in this moment that felt more real than anything she’d ever known.

When they finally broke apart, Regina rested her forehead against Emma’s, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that,” she whispered.

Emma smiled through her tears, her heart full for the first time in what felt like forever. “I think I do,” she said softly.

The call arrives just after 2 o’clock, which is lucky because there would be a whole other emergency if someone stopped Emma Swan from getting her grilled cheese. 

Ruby is supposed to be on phone duty but there is an anniversary dinner to plan and she doesn’t want to be responsible for Mulan having an underwhelming night due to her wife’s rushed planning. So Emma is covering the phones when it rings.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static greets her on the other side of the line, tensing her body unconsciously before a voice rings out. “Help, I-I fell-” It’s a strange panicked voice she’s never heard before, an accent not common to their small town of Storybrooke, Maine. She feels a tingle in her spine all the way to her hands. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir,” Emma takes a deep steadying breath. “Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” His guttural grunt of pain weighs on her chest and she feels like she’s having difficulty breathing. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she feels his panic in her veins. “I can barely hear you, sir,” Her knuckles are white as she tightens her hold on the phone, pressing it harder against her ear as if it will make it easier to hear. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River,” His breathing becomes panicked and she knows she should keep him calm, urging him to take shorter breaths but she’d feel like a hypocrite. “I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

The call cuts off and she is left with the sounds of her fast breathing. “Sir? Sir?” 

Emma tries to redial, grateful for the old technology to allow her to do so. An automated voice informs her the number is not in service and she frowns in confusion.

Maybe it was a prank.

Maybe some of the local teenagers were trying to send her on a wild goose chase so they can vandalise another section of their lovely neighbourhood. 

But the panic was real. The fear in that voice was real. The hairs on her arms are still raised as she remembers the voice, as she remembers all the alarms her body gave her.

Graham pokes his head into her office a second after. “Emma?” Her hand hurts from where she’s still holding onto the phone as if her life depends on it. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it is a prank.

The tight feeling on her chest tells her to go check it out nonetheless.

She drops the phone, with maybe too much strength, before she faces her deputy. “Are you up for a hike?”

---

It really is lucky that Graham practically lives in the woods. Emma was made for concrete roads and windows to keep the insects away. She wouldn’t last an hour alone in these woods.

The Toll Bridge crosses through the edge of the forest. The Misthaven Trail parallels the Shepherd River that flows under the bridge. It’s common to see vehicles on the side of the road - hikers leaving the last piece of civilization before venturing into the forest.

Emma parks the cruiser alongside a Chevrolet Chevelle and she’s almost sad to see it left to the whims of nature. But it probably belongs to their injured hiker. She places her hand on the hood of the car. She can still feel some warmth.

“This must be his.” She points the car out to Graham. “It’s probably been like an hour since he left. Call the hospital, ask them to get an ambulance here.”

Graham nods and grabs his phone. She lets his voice become background noise as she inspects the car. The door is unlocked, the hiker probably wasn’t expecting to be long. There’s a satchel in the back seat. She opens the door and looks inside. There’s an ID in the wallet and a buzzing in her ears when she looks at the picture on it. Killian Jones.

“They’re on their way,” Graham breaks through her inspection and everything becomes clearer. “I told them to keep their radio on.”

She nods. “We’re looking for Killian Jones,” Emma turns the ID towards him before tossing it inside the car. “Assuming he’s our hiker.”

Graham has his tracking face on as she closes the door. There’s something on the driver side floor that causes that tugging in her gut that guides her to flare up.

“It’s a good thing it hasn’t rained,” Graham points out from the other side of the car. “There are some recent footprints leading west. They’re probably his.”

“The Misthaven Trail,” Emma nods, any investigating paused in lieu of finding the injured hiker. “Let’s go.”

“Stay behind me.”

“Go get him, Fido.” Emma presses her lips together attempting to hide the smile at her terrible joke, but fails at the sight of his unimpressed look.

They follow the trail in familiar silence. Graham’s experience allows them to travel at a fast speed through the trees. They pay close attention to any sounds out of the ordinary - which is to say, anything that isn’t birds, animals or the rushing river below them.

“Emma.” 

Graham stops and she manages to stop before she runs into him. He gestures to the ground where a blanket is crumpled underneath a tree, still warm. 

“Still warm,” Emma confirms before dropping the blanket. “He must be close. Maybe he fell.”

“After all the warnings the Mayor released, there’s still people who forget to respect the forest.”

“I thought those had only been around for the past year,” Emma frowns, looking around. “I mean, you both gave me an hour-long lecture about it when I started.”

“Everyone in town knows to be cautious of these woods but there was a, uhm,” And it is the first time she’s ever seen Graham sound uncertain, his voice trembling with emotion. He clears his throat before he continues. “There was a death in these woods.”

She sees the way he looks guarded now, in pain. “Oh.”

A flash catches the corner of her eye. With a hand to cover her eyes from the sun, she turns towards it. The sunlight has caught on a metal flask within throwing distance from the blanket, she assumes. Close to it is a pile of rocks. A strange pile, each rock deliberately placed on top of the other. It must have been a while since it’s been built there according to the moss growing on them.

Emma turns towards her deputy to point that to him but sees him a few steps away looking at the ground. “Drag marks,” he points out as if he could feel her eyes on him. “He must have fallen down-”

“Help!” A weak yell cuts him off and they whip their heads to the right. 

“And ended up down by the river,” Emma finishes for him in a quiet voice, her heart beating faster at the sound of pain, as she stands next to the deputy.

Using caution, Emma follows Graham’s lead as he gets them to the river bank following the sounds of pain. Halfway down, they locate the hiker and for the first time, Graham’s confidence falters and so do his steps. A man is slumped on the side of the river, covered in dirt and blood. She can see tendrils of red flowing down the river.

“Don’t move,” Graham orders, recovering quickly, as he stands next to the victim who seems to slump at their arrival, the fight leaving his body in his relief. “We’re here to help.”

Emma kneels on one side of him and is instantly on alert at the sight of the gash in his head and the bone protruding from his leg. She looks up at Graham and he seems to read her thoughts.

“I’ll guide the paramedics here,” Graham says, grabbing the radio from his belt. “Keep him still and awake.”

She nods before he returns to the trail to guide the others to where they are. Emma places her hand on the man’s shoulder, careful to avoid hurting him further. His big blue eyes turn to her, pain and fear side by side with hope and creating a tug in her gut.

She clears her throat. “Are you Killian Jones?”

“Aye, I fell, broke my leg,” he explains in a hoarse voice. She frowns at the sound, a whole other type of tingle running up her spine. “The ground caved under me.”

There’s static in her radio before Graham’s voice rings out. “ETA is three minutes, is he conscious?”

“Yeah, conscious and lucid,” Emma answers through the radio. “Broken leg and head injury.”

“I thought I was going to die here,” Killian groans as she puts away the device. “How did you find me?”

“The Misthaven Trail is long and you weren’t exactly specific.” Emma breathes out a chuckle, her nerves slightly calmed at knowing help is coming. “But we found where you fell down. We would have been here faster but service in this area is crap. I don’t know how you called us in the first place.” She’s babbling. She does that when she’s nervous.

Killian’s eyebrows furrow together, confusion taking over the pain. “I called you?”

“Hmm, yeah, that’s how we knew to come find you.” She answers as if it’s obvious, even as a pull in her gut tries to tell her otherwise.

“I left my phone in the car,” he explains and she feels that tingle up her spine once more. “I didn’t call anyone.”

Careful footsteps and cautious voices approach them and she lets the paramedics do their job as they put Killian Jones in the stretcher and cover his wounds. Their eyes remain locked until the last possible moment before Emma follows behind the stretcher being led by Graham. 

A light flashes in her eyes once more and she looks up at it, the pile of rocks still standing proudly in the forest, a bird perched on the top stone, its deep blue wings fluttering. The hairs at the back of her neck stand in attention and she tries to make sense of what happened. 

They found the hiker exactly where he told her he’d be. His leg was broken, just like the call said - she wouldn’t soon forget the sight of the bone piercing his flesh. The voice was different, Emma noticed it right away, but there were no signs of other hikers in the area.

But if the call wasn’t made by Killian Jones, then who called them for help?

---

Loud laughter rings out from the open kitchen window. An unconscious smile stretches Emma’s lips as she looks out at the dark heads illuminated by the fire pit she borrowed from Graham. Despite being disappointed at the cancelled camping trip, Henry seemed to have forgotten all about it when she reminded him of the comforts of home camping and the awesome backyard that came with their house. 

After the day they had, Emma just couldn’t think of Henry in the woods.

“Emma?” 

Speaking of, her deputy’s voice from the phone in her ear brings her back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry.” She turns her back to the window, leaning on the counter. “I got distracted.”

“I was saying that Mr. Jones should be going into his MRI scan right now and after that, they are preparing him for surgery on his leg. The doctors said that despite the trauma his body has been through, he’s doing really well.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Emma breathes out in relief. Against her best interests, she hadn’t been able to put this strange rescue away from her mind. There was just something about the call, his voice, his eyes, that just didn’t seem right.

She feels Graham’s patient silence on the other side and she nods to herself to gather up courage. “Doesn’t all of this seem strange to you? The whole situation.”

“Emma-”

“He didn’t call the station, Graham, it was someone else, I swear,” she interrupts, her hackles raised. “He didn’t have a phone on him either, this is all just-”

“Weird,” Graham interrupts this time and he sighs. “I should have told you earlier, but I know Killian Jones, we a- were friends.”

“What?”

“He used to live here until last year. His brother, he-” Emma waits in suspense as Graham takes a deep steadying breath. “He died while on a hike in that trail a year ago, I assume Killian went there to pay his respects. I didn’t even know he was in town until we found him.”

“Y-You didn’t say anything.”

“Well, I didn’t want to believe it was him and then, when we found him, I knew I had to stay focused. I needed to do my job.”

“Right,” Emma scratches her forehead, her brain full of conflicting thoughts. This was a lot to consider. “So who called the station? A ghost?” She asks her question sarcastically to disguise how the possibility doesn’t sound too ridiculous to her.

“All I know is that we had a long day, Emma,” Graham evades, his tone placating and calm. “We should get our rest and look at this whole thing again tomorrow, with fresh eyes.”

“You’re right,” she exhales. “Goodnight, Graham. Keep me updated.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

Emma ends the call and throws the phone at the dinner table. She’s going to push those doubts away even if she needs to force them away. She’s got some happy campers to focus on. Emma pulls the popcorn from the microwave and picks up the platter she made with the components for s’mores before pushing the back door open carefully.

“Does anyone know any ghost stories?” Ava Zimmer is almost vibrating in her seat as she grabs a handful of chips Emma brought earlier. Camping is not synonymous with healthy food.

“Ghosts? Aren’t we too old for that?” Nicholas Zimmer, on the other hand, is trying to hide his fear with bravado.

“Come on, Nick, it’s almost Halloween.” Henry knocks shoulders with his friend’s and she can hear the grin in his voice. “And that means ghost stories. Besides, they’re not real.”

“Yeah,” Ava agrees. “It’s just spooky and Halloween is the time for spooky.”

“Just not too spooky,” Emma interrupts, ignoring the way Nicholas startles at the sound of her voice - no need to embarrass the boy. “Otherwise you won’t sleep tonight.”

“Have you heard the story of the Misthaven Ghost?” Henry leans close to his friends on the bench with a grin.

Emma is glad for her steady grip on the platter or there would be no s’mores tonight. “Misthaven Ghost? Where did you hear that sort of story?” She tries to keep her voice cool but even she can hear the edge in it - was she the last one to hear about this? -, focusing instead on placing the food down on the small camping table she opened.

“Mr. Booth is having us write a ghost story for class and he gave us that one as an example,” Henry answers and he must misinterpret her questioning as innocent curiosity but she’s not going to correct him. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“Would you mind if I joined you?” 

“No, please join us!” Nicholas grabs her thankfully empty hands to pull her to sit between him and his twin after Henry stands up to stand on the other side of the fire.

“You’re such a scaredy cat.” Ava teases, looking at him around Emma.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Kids.” Emma warns, holding their arms to keep them from hitting each other.

“Listen up! For I am about to tell you the story of the Misthaven Ghost,” Henry calls from the other side of the fire before popping another popcorn in his mouth. Emma finds herself smiling at her kid’s dramatics. “It was a cold night in October, the 30th of October to be exact. An innocent man is walking the Misthaven Trail, determined to beat all odds and finish the hike. He is alone, nothing but his thoughts and the animals around him,” Nicholas plasters himself to Emma’s side. “He carries only a phone that won’t work this far into the woods and his bravery. He hears a presence to his right, to his left, all around, feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand in attention and a voice whispers in the wind,” Ava holds her right arm now as Henry lowers his voice. “‘Get out of the woods’, it says, ‘get out’, but the hiker is too fearless to heed their warning. Suddenly, a boom lights the sky and the ground gives out from under him, and then he’s falling. He’s falling and he can’t ask for help,” Emma feels the shiver running up her spine and, distantly, she thinks maybe Henry should focus on this storytelling ability he has. “He is floating on the river then, his body weak and leaving him, his last thought on the family he leaves behind, a last goodbye sent to the stars he loved so much.”

Henry finishes with a fluttering gesture towards the night sky. Ava and Nicholas on either side of her are gripping her arm, not willing to break the silence. 

“He had a family?” Emma asks and even her quiet tone manages to startle the twins. 

“Were you scared, Ava?” Nicholas asks as he looks at his sister, a victorious grin winning over his fear.

Ava huffs and crosses her arms. “No, you’re the scared one.”

“It’s a good story, isn’t it?” Henry asks, a bright smile on his face and a proud stance to his shoulders.

“Mr. Booth told you this story?” Emma tries again.

“Yeah,” Henry grabs another handful of popcorn, now that his story is done, eating one at a time. “He wanted us to have an example of what to write but he was probably also showing off.” 

The kids laugh, everyone in town knowing of August’s designs of being a published author and his constant promises of finishing his novel soon. But there was still something niggling at Emma’s brain.

“Did he make up the story himself? Or did he hear it from someone?”

“He says he made it up inspired by a real event,” Henry shrugs. “I told Mrs. Nolan about it and she said that, about a year ago, someone did die in those woods and that’s when the Mayor put out the announcement.” He grabs the marshmallow sticks and passes them along to his friends who are still visibly spooked. “Apparently there had been lots of reports of injuries and lost hikers on that trail before that.”

“So it took someone dying for them to actually do something about it? Figures.” Emma scoffs and Henry shrugs, unaware of the turmoil in his mother’s brain.

“Okay, can we tell less spooky stories now?” Nicholas asks, begs almost, bringing Emma back to the present. The fact that Ava doesn’t tease her brother is telling.

“Why don’t I grab my laptop and put on a movie for you?” Emma suggests, standing up from the bench.

“Nightmare before Christmas?” Nicholas turns pleading eyes towards his friends.

Ava nods and then seems to remember herself. “Only if we watch ‘Monster House’ after.” 

Her twin seems to think about it before nodding resolutely. “Deal! Is that okay, Henry?”

Henry smiles, seemingly just happy to have a fun night with his friends. “As long as it’s Halloween themed, I’m in.”

Emma grins, despite everything. “Double feature it is,” she chuckles. “I’ll set it up.”

‘This is Halloween’ drifts through the open kitchen window as the kids settle down making s’mores in the yard while Emma sits at the kitchen table. She finds Killian Jones’ social media easily enough - she wouldn’t have become one of the best bail bondsperson in the business without being able to find someone’s internet footprint with only a name and a date of birth. It might be slightly illegal to have taken a picture of the man’s ID but what is she gonna do? Arrest herself?

Maybe Emma needed to take a long look within herself if she was negotiating committing illegal acts to herself… After she got to the bottom of this mystery.

Killian Jones is even more handsome than she had previously thought. Considering the only times she’d been able to actually look at him were either a small grainy ID photo or him caked in dirt and blood, it wasn’t a high bar. 

Seeing him on the deck of a small boat, a colourful shirt open to show his chest underneath, his eyes crinkled in laughter as he holds out a beer bottle in cheers to the person behind the camera is a welcome alternative. She has to force herself to scroll past the picture. 

She notices belatedly that the last post - the Hawaiian shirt distraction - is from a year ago, September to be exact. In the middle of all the thirsty comments, she finds something interesting. ‘Don’t shut me out, Killian, I’m here for you’, was posted by one bookworm33 and it would have looked weird if it didn’t speak of desperation and worry.

Emma continues to scroll down and doesn’t have to swipe too long before she pauses at a picture of Killian Jones and a man that shares the same eyes and facial features. Her gut tugs at her and she taps on the picture once, a tag covering the man’s eyes. Bejewelled40 - whose real name is Liam Jones - aside from being a Taylor Swift fan, is also Killian Jones’ brother.

There are pictures of them in boats, hiking, and visiting foreign countries, even some that include Graham. His posts also end a year ago and the ‘remembering’ on the top of his profile is an easy explanation. Clicking on the first photo - different angles to the September boat trip, focusing more on Liam Jones than his brother - she finds another comment hidden between thirsty comments and boat enthusiasts. ‘I miss you’, written simply and it’s the lack of emojis that catch Emma’s attention. Bookworm33 was clearly important to the siblings. 

It doesn’t take her long to get a better picture of the situation. Belle French, the brother’s friend, has been a librarian at Storybrooke High for the past 4 years after a troublesome divorce made her move cities. Pictures and references to the Jones brothers start a few months after that, before there’s a significant lack of Killian Jones in her pictures a year later. 

An article in the local newsletter, an announcement in the paper and a remembrance post on Facebook spells out the rest of the story. The Jones Brothers move to Storybrooke 5 years ago and join the community, Liam as the Sheriff and Killian as the Harbormaster; Belle and Liam start their romance and become engaged two years ago. A year ago, Belle’s father passes away and she travels back home and Liam is found dead on the Misthaven Trail three days later. Killian Jones isn’t seen in Storybrooke for a whole year after the funeral until Emma finds him almost dead by the river bank.

A message notification puts an end to her research. ‘Jones is out of surgery and we should be able to visit him tomorrow’, Graham texts and she looks at the clock. Emma sighs. Two hours researching and she still has so many questions.

‘Take the day off tomorrow, Humbert, I’ll follow up with Jones’, she messages back. ‘Don’t argue with me, I’m your boss, you deserve some rest’, she sends right after, expecting the argument.

‘Alright, Sheriff, I leave it to your capable hands.’ The reminder causes her to massage her temples. She has Liam Jones’ job; could this whole situation feel more like a horror movie?

Going back to Liam Jones’ instagram, Emma finds a picture of him with Graham in a nature setting. With a squint and a zoom, she recognises the setting. She swipes to find a video with Graham’s voice from behind the camera and Liam Jones struggling but determined to take his next step.

“We’re currently on mile 5 of the Misthaven Trail,” Graham explains, a very faint hint of tiredness in his tone as he sweeps the camera over their surroundings and Emma can’t help the eerie feeling at the setting sun behind the trees. “As you can see, this area is beautiful and peaceful, a great place to be at one with yourself and your thoughts.” There’s a scoff from the right and Graham laughs, turning the camera to his friend. “Liam here is having some trouble.” He earns himself a glare from his companion. “There've been a lot of accidents in this area so this is your friendly reminder to be careful where you step and to respect the forest.”

“You’ve lectured every single lost or injured hiker we pulled out of these woods. Friendly, my arse.” Emma sucks in a breath at the sound of Liam Jones’ voice. Graham’s responding laughter and voice seems to sound from underwater as he defends himself. 

Please, help me, plea-

It’s the same voice. She feels the tingle in her spine and the raised hairs on her arms she had before. How could it be possible?

Sounds of yelps outside have her jumping from her seat, her heart beating rapidly against her chest. Subsequent cheering reminds her of her whereabouts. It’s the kids reacting to the anthropomorphic house finally meeting its demise on the small screen. Emma grips onto the kitchen counter, taking deep steadying breaths. 

She needs to have a chat with Killian Jones.

---

It’s rainy and gloomy the next day when Emma arrives at the hospital. 

Maybe the weather’s a sign. It’s not like she was ever a superstitious person but it’s hard to remain sceptical after the day she’s had. The nurse tells her he’s in room 13. Of course.

In the corridor, she sees a familiar figure. 

“I thought I told you to take the day off, Humbert.” 

Emma almost grins when he startles. Almost. She simply crosses her arms as she stares him down. Graham looks away, as if he just got caught in the proverbial cookie jar, it’s a cute look.

“I am taking my day off, Emma,” Graham defends and she raises her eyebrow. “I didn’t ask him anything that could be related to the case. I just-”

“Wanted to see how your friend was,” she finishes for him.

Graham stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and nods. “I just needed to make sure he was okay.”

“Because Liam would have wanted you to do the same.”

He looks up at her with wide eyes and parted lips. This might have been the first time she’s shocked her deputy in the year they’ve worked together.

“H-how…?”

“I did some research last night.” She uncrosses her arms to stuff her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I found Killian Jones’ social media, which led me to Liam’s, to Belle’s and then to yours. You were his deputy.”

“The four of us bonded over being away from home.” He shrugs, trying to hide the heartache over the loss. “After Liam passed, it all fell apart.”

“I’d never seen Killian Jones in Storybrooke before today, or Belle French.”

“Killian left after the funeral, said something about a family member in Boston even though I’m sure they didn’t have any family in the States. He rejected all my calls, I had no way to find him.” Graham sighs, scratching his forehead. “Belle isolated herself the first few months. After that she would go from home to work and back. She’s been trying to go out more, determined to live her life the way Liam would have wanted her to. It’s still a slow process but at least she’s trying.”

“And here you are in the middle of everything trying to be there for everyone.”

“I didn’t lose a brother or a fiance, Emma, I’m fine.” He crosses his arms and she recognises the look on his face.

“Right, if you want me to be ‘bad cop’, I will,” she threatens.

“Seriously, Emma, I’m fine, it’s been a year and-”

“Graham,” she interrupts, holding up her hand. “Go see Dr. Hopper or I’m suspending you.”

He groans and yet, it feels like a victory. “Yes, boss.” He mockingly salutes and yet it still shows his respect.

“Go home and enjoy the rest of the day off while I go and talk to Mr. Jones.” Emma pats his arm and he nods. 

“I told him to tell you everything he could remember,” Graham informs her. “I know you can do your job but he can be very stubborn so I just wanted to make it a little easier for you.”

“Thanks,” Emma smiles amusedly and watches as he walks past her. “Hey, Graham?” He stops in the corridor and she can’t hold back her curiosity. “Liam was the sheriff before me,” Graham shifts in his feet, uncomfortable. “Did you apply for the job? I’d think you’d be a shoe-in to be the next Sheriff as opposed to an outsider.”

“Nah,” He shrugs and she can actually see the weight on his shoulders. “It wouldn’t have felt right.” His lips curl up in a small smile, a grieving smile. “Besides, you are a great boss.” 

Emma rolls her eyes but her smile is wide. “Get some rest and go see Dr. Hopper.” 

“Yes, boss,” he repeats before he leaves the hospital wing all together.

With a deep steadying breath, Emma knocks at the door of room 13.

“Come in.”

She nods to herself before opening the door. “Mr. Jones, I’m-”

“Sheriff Emma Swan,” Killian Jones nods at her. “Graham told me you were coming. Didn’t expect you here so fast though.”

“As it happens, you’re my only open case.”

She stands a few feet from his bed, arms crossed as she finally takes a look at the man they saved the day before, now no-longer covered in blood and dirt. There is a bandage on his forehead all the way down to the temple, his face, neck and hands - the only things visible - filled with small scratches, and his leg is in a thick cast. He looks tired but okay.

He looks handsome too and she’s trying not to remember his boat pictures. It helps that the hospital gown and robe cover his chest and what she knows is underneath. She’s really trying. 

“Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestures to the chair next to his bed, where she assumes Graham had been seated minutes prior. “We’re probably in for a long chat.”

She should refuse, keep him at a distance. She sits down but not before pulling the chair back a few inches. Emma catches an amused smile on his lips and she wonders what else Graham told him about her. She clears her throat focusing on being professional.

“Alright, Mr. Jones-”

“Please, call me Killian.” 

Emma nods, trying to look away from the soft smile he directed at her. “Killian.” His smile grows. Professional, Emma. “Do you remember what happened before we found you?”

“Aye,” It’s his turn to clear his throat at the wavering tone of his voice. “The ground slid out from under me and I fell, hit my head and broke my leg.”

His tone was distant, factual, and it sounded wrong in his voice. “What were you doing in that part of the woods?”

“I-uh, I went there to drink.”

“We didn’t find any evidence of alcoholic beverages and your blood alcohol levels were very low.” She raises her eyebrow at his half-truth. “Let me tell you a little secret.” She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “I-”

“Have a thing with lies.” There is a small smile on his lips at Emma’s surprised expression. “Graham told me about that.”

“Right.” It takes her a second to recover from the surprise. “If you know, why don’t we avoid lying or, in this case, omitting part of the story and you tell me the truth.”

“Commanding, I like it.” He smirks weakly and at the roll of her eyes, he nods in preparation, his expression turning serious. “I was there to mourn my brother, Liam.” 

“Why not go to the cemetery? I’m sure you’ve heard how dangerous that part of the woods is.”

“That’s where he died,” His voice is low and she can only just hear it over the beeping of the machines. “Graham and the others found his body wrapped around on a rock in the river the next morning. He’d bled out during the night.” 

“So he got injured the day before? How did no one notice he was gone for so long?” She doesn’t mean for her voice to sound accusing but from the guilty self-punishing look in Killian’s face, that’s how he would describe it.

“A few weeks before he passed, I went through a break-up,” he sighs, settling carefully on the pillows at his back and Emma does the same on the cushioned chair. “I had fallen in love with a married woman.” She tries to contain her surprise and apprehension but it’s like he can see everything she tries to hide. “I know, I got an earful from my brother when we started dating. But she promised that she was going to divorce her husband as soon as she could find a good lawyer so she could guarantee a joint custody deal.”

“She has a child?”

He nods and his frown is enough for her to understand his conflict. “We kept it a secret. We didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardise her relationship with her son. Liam kept telling me how reckless I was being, how naive, but I kept shutting him down. I was in love.” He shrugs. “After a while he stopped trying and I was happy.”

“Her husband found out.” It wasn’t a question.

“I got greedy, selfish,” Killian’s tone turns hard, self-loathing. “We went to a cafe in town and she was nervous but I was happy, I was out in public with the love of my life.” He shakes his head with a scoff. “Her husband walked in with her son right behind him and I considered it luck that the cafe was almost empty. The boy came up to us first, asking his mom why she was there and who I was. I didn’t know what to say and her husband was looking at me like he wanted to kill me.” Killian sighs. “She asked me to leave and that she would talk to me later.”

“I’m assuming it didn’t go well.”

He actually laughs, a sharp, terrible sound. “I had gotten myself into a state when she finally met me. We yelled at each other, she accused me of pushing, I accused her of playing with my feelings. When she finally told me that she almost lost her son because of me, I shut up. She told me she was going to go back to her husband, that he was willing to take her back after the stupid mistake she made and then she left.” He finishes with a sigh and Emma leans back on her chair, overwhelmed. “I didn’t take it well.”

“Who would?” 

His chuckle brings her eyes back to his and despite the pain behind them, there’s an amused glint in the blue eyes that definitely do not get captured well in pictures. “For the next few weeks, I started drinking. A lot. I didn’t want to see Liam’s disappointment or self-righteousness so I distanced myself. That day, he barged into my house, took one look at the half-empty bottle in my hand and went off on me.” He shifts in his bed, hissing when his leg moves wrong. “I can see now that he was scared but at that moment I was angry. We argued and I told him that I never wanted to see him again and he left my house.”

“Is that why no one filed a missing persons report?”

He nods and his eyes water. “I drank the whole night after he left and the next day, I woke up to someone banging on my door. It was Belle.” His breath shudders. “She had been trying to call him all morning. Liam had told her that he would be coming to my place so she thought he’d stayed the night, when he didn’t text her or call her the next morning, she started to get worried. That fear, the feeling that someone had gone wrong to someone you love, was the sharpest cure for a hangover I ever had.” They both shared a mirthless chuckle. “We called Graham right away and when he didn’t know where Liam was, it became a town wide search.” He takes a deep breath. “Graham found his car parked at Toll Bridge and searched through Misthaven Trail.”

“He fell.” Emma wrings her fingers as she watches the emotions in Killian’s face.

“He left his phone in the car so when he fell into the river, he couldn’t call for help.” He sniffs, staring at the wall in front of him. “So imagine my surprise when you and Graham showed up to my rescue despite the fact that I also left my phone in my car and no one knew I was even in town.” Killian turns to her, his eyes still full of pain but a curious small smile gracing his lips.

Emma tucks her hair behind her ear in a nervous move and leans back on the chair. “It’s like I told you yesterday, we received a call that helped us find you.”

“Right,” he frowns. “And as I just said, I left my phone in the car, so it’s impossible.” 

She sighs. “I’m aware of that and, trust me, I’ve spent the whole night trying to figure it out and the only explanation I have is impossible.”

“Try me.”

Emma opens and closes her mouth a few times while Killian looks on patiently. “All our calls are recorded,” she says instead, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Before I came here, I went by the station to download the recording, so I’m just gonna play it for you.” Killian raises an eyebrow while Emma brings up the file.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static rings out from the speaker and she tenses up all over again. “Help, I-I fell-” Killian gasps and she gives in to his silent request and hands him the phone. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir. Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” Killian’s eyes shine with tears at his brother’s voice, at his sounds of pain and Emma feels her chest tighten. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she is dreading the end of the call. “I can barely hear you, sir.” His knuckles turn white from where he is gripping the phone and a tear falls down his cheek. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River. I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

Killian takes a shuddering breath when the recording ends and the phone drops on the bed. She should grab the phone and give him space. She should ask him questions about it. And yet, Emma finds herself grabbing his trembling hand with hers, her whole skin tingling at the touch. He grips her hand back tighter, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

“H-How-,” he whispers in a broken tone. “That’s my brother’s voice but-but how is it possible?”

Killian looks at her, pleading for an answer, for an explanation. But she can’t give him one. Emma shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.” Her thumb moves unconsciously over his knuckles. “But if it wasn’t for this call, we wouldn’t have found you.”

To her surprise, Killian starts to laugh even as tears fall down his face, a disbelieving sound. “I can’t believe this.” He covers his face with his free hand and Emma squeezes his hand, silently asking for clarification. He sighs and looks at her, his eyes bluer than they’d been before. “I ran away after the funeral, they had barely finished covering the casket and I was crossing the town line. I knew Belle needed me to stay, Graham too, we should have mourned together, helped each other during this but I-I-”

“You blamed yourself.”

He exhales a laugh. “Aye, stupidly tried to find answers at the bottom of a bottle once again. I just kept replaying our last argument, kept seeing him bleeding out in the river and I knew I couldn’t grieve when I knew it was my fault.”

Emma opens her mouth to protest but Killian raises his hand, stilling the words she still wasn’t sure she would say. “After a night where I was almost inducted into this woman’s witchy cult,” and she really wishes she had the chance to ask about that, “I looked for help. Found a therapist, grieved. A week ago, I told him about the anniversary of Liam’s death coming up and he suggested I visit his grave, talk to him, ask for forgiveness.” He sighs. “I was on my way to the cemetery when I found myself on the Toll Bridge. I thought it was a sign when I found the marker Graham made to honour Liam. I sat there and talked to him, I didn’t realise how much anger I still felt towards him dying, abandoning me.” He laughed sarcastically. “Ridiculous, I know. I threw my flask and I felt the ground slide from under me and I thought ‘there it is, your revenge, Liam, you’re finally punishing your killer’.”

“And then we showed up.”

“And I thought that maybe you had appeared for a reason and now hearing that?” He looks at her embarrassed, shaking his head. “I sound like a crazy person but-”

“I thought I was crazy,” Emma interrupts him with a reassuring smile. “Common sense would have you think the call was a prank. But from the moment I got the call, my instincts told me something wasn’t right, that there was more to the story.”

“I’m really glad you decided to go with your instinct, then,” he smiles softly. “If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have made it.”

“But you did.” She squeezes his hand and they both seem to remember that their hands are still clasped together. She doesn’t let go and neither does he. “And if we are to believe in ghost stories, your brother is adamant that you get a second chance.” 

They lock eyes, share a soft smile and she figures professionalism has been thrown out the window from the moment she took his hand. He nods and his smile widens. She kinda wishes they could hold hands forever.  

Wait, what?

“You may be right.” His voice is soft and it feels like he’s trying to look inside her, searching. “He’d probably beat up the side of the head that it took me this long to get my head out of my own arse.”

Emma chuckles and his smile widens. “I don’t think he expected you to break your leg and your head to get the message across.”

“Well,” his lips curve into a side smirk and she’s not ready for it, “I’m guessing that the service in the afterlife is a little spotty.” She laughs, surprised at his joke, and he laughs with her. Nope, she was not ready. “My brother always gave me good advice, maybe I should follow this last one too and take that second chance he gave me.”

“Oh?”

Her heart hammers against her chest at the way he looks at her. He opens his mouth to answer when the room door bursts open.

“Killian Jones!”

Emma jumps from her seat, refusing to acknowledge how empty her hand feels now that it’s no longer holding his, to make space for the shorter brunette storming up to Killian’s bed. 

Belle French.

“I haven’t heard from you in a whole year and then I have Graham calling me to tell me you’re in the hospital?!”

But Killian only smiles, clearly happy to see his would-be sister-in-law despite the guilt beginning to take root in his eyes. “I’m so happy to see you, Belle.” And it’s clear that the simple sentence breaks something in the librarian’s being. With two quick strides, she embraces him tightly. “Careful, love, I’m an invalid now,” he complains, even as his arms hold her closer, willing to ignore any pain it might be causing him. 

“You’re in a world of trouble, Killian.”

His smile only widens and he turns to look at Emma, likely amused at the overwhelmed look on her face. Belle seems to realise that there’s someone else in the room - not that Emma blames her - and turns to her.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you, I-”

“No need to apologise,” Emma raises her hand to stop the apology. “I just needed to take Mr. Jones’ testimony.” He raises an eyebrow at her use of his last name, clearly unimpressed by her choice to be professional. “Sheriff Emma Swan,” she introduces herself before holding out her hand.

“Belle French.” Belle takes her hand, still somewhat surprised as she looks between Killian and her. “Is he in some kind of trouble then?” Her expression seems ready for a fight and Killian’s smile seems to grow.

“No, no,” Emma is quick to appease. “I just needed the full story, that’s all.” She stuffs her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I actually should go write up the report.” She takes a few steps back towards the door. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss French. Get better soon, Mr. Jones.”

She starts to walk out the door. “Emma,” Killian calls and she really should not have turned around so fast. “Maybe we can grab a coffee when I get discharged? You can tell me all about safety measures when hiking.”

Emma tries to ignore Belle’s curious expression. “I think Graham might be the better man for the job.”

“He’s been trying for years, it never stuck,” He grins and there’s only so much a girl can be expected to take. “Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

She bites her lip and focuses on the hopeful look in his eyes. The last time she trusted someone, that she gave someone a chance, she ended up in prison. She should say no. 

Maybe she can justify this leap on supernatural activity too?

“It’s a date.”

The way his grin lights up a whole room does feel otherworldly. 

Just as the door closes behind her, she hears Belle’s stupefied voice.

“Killian Jones, you have a lot of explaining to do.”