Emma Swan had never been able to sleep in a moving vehicle. She'd never slept through a car ride or dozed off on the T. This was a particularly odd when tempered with the fact that in her later teenage years she had spent more nights than she cared to remember sleeping in cars (that themselves were more often than not stolen). Still, as it was, she tried her best to make herself comfortable for the almost five hour drive to Storybrooke, Maine.

(Yes, that was a real place name. She still couldn't believe it.)

In fact, she couldn't believe a lot of things lately. Like here she was, doing her first real, bonafide field work on a huge case, heading off to middle of nowhere Maine to track down the only solid clue the investigation had yielded so far. The excitement and novelty of it all made the prospect of a long journey a little more bearable, even if the bureau-provided sedan was not exactly designed for long periods strapped into the seats.

At least the soothing hum of rubber on asphalt was helping her relax a little. The droning, white noise hid the silence between her and Killian. Though it was not an awkward or cold kind of quiet; it was in fact, almost pleasant. As they left the city, he flicked the radio onto some easy listening station that she didn't recognize. She shifted so that she could draw up her knees a little and look out of the window. An expanse of dull grey highway stretched out before them, buffered on each side by forgettable grass verges and the occasional gas station. Slowly, she let herself relax and her mind go blank until her eyelids became heavy and miraculously, sleep claimed her.

-/-

Killian Jones had only ever been to Maine twice before. Both times when working on cases and both times he was left with the lingering impression of miles of emptiness. It was such a large state but much less densely populated than the Boston area.

He'd lived in the city so long that he sometimes forgot the world outside it was quite different. The city, with its high rise buildings and endless bustle, provided comfort in the protection it offered.

Protection from himself.

Within its streets, a man could be almost anonymous: he could hide himself away amongst the crowds, the noise blocking out his inner voice. But beyond the city and suburbs, in those open spaces, he had no buffer between himself and his demons. There was no distraction for his mind.

It had been sometime since he had taken a vacation for that exact reason. He preferred to work through his holiday allowance and when forced to take a day off, he holed up in his apartment with a quart of rum. Alcohol, was another distraction of his. Though he only ever over indulged occasionally these days. (Maturity? He liked to think so.)

When Ruby had announced a lead the night before, David had ordered everyone home to sleep off the few beers they had consumed and they reconvened in the incident room at 10am. Ruby had been tight lipped when they left the bar, but it turned out they had matched some of the unidentified letters from Hyde's notes as coming from a small town weekly called 'The Storybrooke Mirror'.

"Why is this only being picked up now?" David had asked, his voice as close to annoyance as Killian presumed he could muster.

"As far as I can see the paper only digitized this past November. So the last time we checked, it wasn't part of any of our databases," Ruby explained as they gathered around the conference table.

"How quaint," Killian had added, clenching his jaw and flexing the muscles to avoid adding something less polite. All this time, there was this lead. And no one had found it.

"It's middle of nowhere Maine," Ruby had shrugged.

She was right about that.

Automatically, Killian had volunteered to drive when he and Swan - Emma , he reminded himself now they were using first names - had been instructed to get up to Storybrooke, do some initial investigations and then be there first thing on Monday when the paper's offices opened. Unfortunately, he hadn't really thought about how long he would be driving for. Three hours in and he had a crick in his neck and was growing more tired by the minute. The late winter sun was falling in the sky, just low enough to begin to dazzle him from above the horizon. He kept a pair of sunglasses in the glove box and he reached over to retrieve them as he found himself alone on the stretch of highway. He glanced at Emma as he did. She'd been asleep for most of the journey, or at least she had her eyes closed and had pulled her thick cardigan tightly around her body to cocoon herself. He envied how peaceful she looked with strands of her blonde hair falling across her face and the fading sun casting a golden glow over her features.

As he slid on the glasses, it suddenly occurred to him that he knew barely anything about her. The usual period of learning about his partner had been abruptly curtailed by the bombing. The bare facts he had gathered so far gave a vague picture of her past and left him drawing a blank on her personality beyond her toughness and the belief that she was hiding a big part of herself. He recognized that because he did it himself with just about everyone. Transparency wasn't natural to him and he sensed the same about her.

There were few people with whom he felt comfortable being his true self. Namely, his brother and Robin. Robin had his own worries, being a single father and Liam's leave pattern rarely left the brothers with a chance of meeting up more often than once a year. So the shell of toughness and the appearance of indifference he had perfected became more and more used.

He wondered what it would be like to be free of that. To be himself.

(He wondered who he actually was sometimes now.)

He wondered what had caused Emma to do the same.

-/-

It was almost seven by the time they finally pulled into Storybrooke. The use of a green welcome sign was quaint and clearly announced they were in Small town, USA. Another ten minutes along a woodland road brought them to the main street of the town where the inn that they had been booked into was located. After parking around the rear, he gently nudged Emma.

"Sw- Emma, " he whispered.

Automatically she yawned. A moment of disorientation followed where the day and time evaded her, until she remembered and felt the bite of the seatbelt across her chest. Damn , she actually had fallen asleep. Her eyes fluttered open before focusing on Killian's face. It was lit by the dim light in the car - the street outside was already dark.

Her stomach groaned as she pushed the button to release her belt.

"Sorry, I fell asleep."

"It's fine," he insisted with a little nod.

"But you had to drive the whole way."

He sighed and shrugged, "Good thing I like driving then."

Emma held back a grin as the two exited the vehicle, retrieving their bags from the trunk and walking up the footpath to the only accommodation in town.

"Don't they have a Holiday Inn or something?" she grumbled as she eyed the ruffled drapes at each window. It was just too… personal. She liked the anonymous nature of the big chains where no one was really interested in who you were and you could just get on with your business. Inns and B&B's came with owners and owners came with personalities. Nosey ones usually.

"Apparently not. Ashley said this was the only place within 20 miles."

"Great," she drawled.

The sign above the door was an old fashioned painted one, with swirling gold letters on a crisp blue background announcing, 'Granny's B&B and Diner'. "At least we won't have to go far for breakfast," he pointed out as she opened the door.

"Yeah."

It took a ring of the brass bell waiting on the small reception desk and a couple of minutes for the proprietor to arrive. She had silver-grey hair swirled up into a bun and little round spectacles perched on her nose. Her muted lilac plaid dress was just about as granny-like as Emma could have expected, given the business's name.

"Ah, yes. Jones and Swan?" she smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "Are you really from the FBI? My granddaughter took the booking and she likes to try and play games with me."

Killian and Emma gave side glances at each other, Emma smiled at the woman's curiosity while Killian pulled out his badge. The old woman took it, pushing her glasses up as she squinted at the gold-plated shield, nodding her approval before handing it back.

"I don't suppose you can tell an old woman just what you're here about? Storybrooke is a pretty quiet place. Not much goes on."

"Sorry ma'am, it's a sensitive case," Emma explained.

"Hmm, well if you need any help, I know almost everyone in this town. The name's Lucas, but just about all folks call me Granny. Hence the name." She gestured to the 'Granny's' logo on the rate card that was displayed in a small gold frame.

"We'll be sure to," Killian promised, while in equal parts eager to get to his room and freshen up and also not insult the kindly woman by brushing off her offer.

She turned her back, looking over the row of heavy iron keys that swung from hooks behind her. She selected two and then placed them on the desk before giving them a curious look.

"Two rooms?"

"Yeah," Emma nodded, reaching for the keys, feeling a prickle of self-consciousness. She was suddenly overly aware of how close Killian was to her. The rhythm of his breathing. The way the old woman was looking at them both expectantly.

Granny Lucas gave them a dimpled smile. "You'd make a cute couple."

Emma's cheeks flared suddenly red.

"Well we aren't," Killian quipped, scooping up the keys from beneath Emma's hand as she furiously blushed and thanked the woman.

Damn she was thankful that Killian took the stairs first. She'd not felt so embarrassed in a long time. Though she couldn't quite work out why she was so affected by the woman's innocent enough comment. Usually, she would just brush off something like that with some wise-ass comment. Instead, she was left tongue tied. She chalked it down to tiredness.

He grabbed his back and stomped heavily up the staircase before waiting at the to. He was annoyed at the innkeepers comment. The unexpected consequences of having a female partner were becoming apparent.

He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

"Rooms 11 and 12," Killian noted as Emma reached where he stood and he looked at the two keys. "Looks like we're neighbors."

She tugged her bag up and over her shoulder. Killian held out the key and her fingers brushed against his as she took it from him. She tried to ignore the little shiver that went down her spine.

"Then I hope you don't snore."

His soft smile was one she hadn't seen him wear before. It suited him. She turned to scan the hallway and find her door when he spoke again.

"Uh - Emma, it's early and I haven't eaten since breakfast. Care to join a bloke?"

Surprised, she spun on her heel. They'd agreed to be more civil and give each other another chance as professionals. Work colleagues could eat together under these circumstances, couldn't they? Maybe it would help them to move on and learn to be civil with each other.

"Well I am a little hungry," she admitted, just as her stomach growled again to remind her that a grande latte from a Starbucks drive through was not sufficient sustenance for a whole day. "This place has a diner too, right?"

He smiled and ran his hand through his hair, in that unconscious-self conscious way he had. "Actually, Google tells me there's a pub nearby that serves food. How about it?"

(And her decision to nod and agree had nothing to do with the flicker of attraction that her reckless mind was beginning to feel for Killian Jones.)

/

"I love shepherd's pie," Emma sighed as she spooned the last mouthful of the dish into her mouth. She'd been surviving pretty much on take out for the past couple of weeks (aside from a couple of Mary Margaret's home cooked delights) and the simple food tasted practically gourmet to her deprived palette.

"And they say British food is dull," Killian laughed, tossing his napkin onto the table.

"I never said that," she smiled, "Fish and chips, bangers and mash… I love it all."

He raised his eyebrows in amusement as he watched his partner relax into her seat in the cosy booth they had managed to commandeer at the back of the curiously named 'Rabbit Hole' pub. "Maybe you should have been born there. I've always been more partial to a burger."

"Wouldn't the queen have something to say about that?" she teased.

"Well, I've lived in the States longer than the UK, so I don't think she'd mind too much."

"That long?"

He nodded as the waitress removed their empty plates and then swung his bottle of Sam Adams in front of him. "I barely even remember living there. It's strange."

The memories were there. His home, with its red bricks and little garden out front where his mother grew sunflowers and cabbages, much to the amusement of their neighbours. His old school, the itchy uniform in particular that he was so thrilled to get rid of. His father. Fishing out on the coast with him. Playing football with Liam in the park across the road from the pub his dad used to frequent.

He had all the memories, but they were fading over time. They were losing their color. Each image was becoming less clear. Sometimes it felt like he was looking back at someone else's life.

"Memories are strange," Emma agreed. She lay her head back against the green leather of the seat, picking at the label of her Bud Light with the fingernail of her thumb, debating whether she should tell him a little bit more about her beginnings. After all, she did know one of his personal tragedies. Maybe it would even the score.

"I grew up in foster care," she said, glancing up to see his reaction. He seemed a little lost in his own world, but after a second he caught her eye, his head tilting as if to show he was listening. "Most of my childhood is fuzzy memories of people whose names I forgot a long time ago. Like a dream almost, if that makes sense," she went on.

"I understand completely," he replied. "The mind is a funny thing." He hesitated, before adding, "And I'm sorry to hear about your childhood."

Shrugging, she took a quick swig of her beer. "It was my reality. You live with what you have, don't you?"

"Aye," he nodded, feeling all the honesty in that statement. "My own childhood wasn't all that great. We actually moved here when my dad disappeared."

He saw Emma narrow her eyes.

"I mean he left my mum… left us. Me and my brother. I was thirteen and the only reason I didn't go completely off the rails was Liam was there there keeping me in check. Mum had too much on her plate to worry about me."

"An older brother?"

"Yes, five years. He's in the British Navy now - has been for some time. Made captain a few years back."

"Wow," Emma smiled, "That's amazing."

"Yeah, he's always been an overachiever. He stayed in the UK to join the service when we moved to the States. My mum's sister was over here and I guess she wanted a fresh start, even if it meant having to leave Liam."

"Makes sense, I guess he was pretty much an adult by then?"

Killian nodded. "And, well, it all turned out for the best, I suppose. He's living his dream and I'm… here."

Emma wrapped her round around her bottle and pulled her elbows onto the table in front of her. She sipped her head, balancing her chin on the mouth of the bottle. She fixed her eyes on a point across the bar.

"It's funny how life works - all those little things that send you on a path. I mean, I don't even know who my parents are. They left me in a car seat by this little strip mall in Minnesota. But that's what set me on the path to becoming who I am."

He opened his mouth to offer a few sympathetic platitudes but she sat up, holding up her hand to stop him.

"It's okay, I dealt with that a long time ago. But I guess what I'm also trying to say is that I know what it's like to have those who you should be able to count on, abandon you."

This time, he didn't attempt to say anything, instead he picked up his bottle and tipped it against hers and they both took a long draw.

Suddenly, Emma felt self conscious about how much she had revealed of her sad past. Was it too much? Did she need to tell him? She didn't tell many people for a reason. Licking her lips, she made to stand. "Another?" she asked, pointing at his beer, waiting for his nod before she stood and went to the bar.

She tapped her toe as she waited for the drinks to be served, adding them to their tab as she smoothed her hair behind her ears.

It had been years since she had told anyone new about how she was found.

(How she'd been left .)

It was the judgement she feared the most. In grade school, some kids had been so cruel.

'Your mommy didn't want you.'

'Loser foster kid.'

'You're nothing - no one wants you.'

When you're little and just seeking acceptance in the world, those words leave deep wounds. Even as an adult, it was the pitying glances she hated the most.

Still, she'd made it. She'd survived. She needed no one's sympathy.

Back at the table, Killian watched her linger at the bar a few moments longer than she needed to. He wasn't quite sure what had caused her to get up so abruptly. He felt the chasm between them open a little wider. He valued what she had shared but didn't want to make her uncomfortable by drawing out the conversation.

Finally, he watched as she turned around and strode back to their booth.

"Thanks," he whispered as she handed him the beer, hands brushing against each other again, Killian gasping softly at the skin on skin sensation which was so rare to him nowadays, even on such an innocent level. Their eyes locked for a brief moment. "And not just for the beer. Don't think I am not aware how hard it is to share like that," he added.

Emma gave a perfunctory nod. She wasn't ready to say much more about her past right now, but she felt they had reached some kind of understanding about just what had made the other who they were. And that maybe they had a little more in common than she had anticipated with their messed up youths.

Wanting to break the film of tension that had formed, Killian tried to think of something to say. But then she looked up at him with her reddening cheeks and his mind went blank. So instead he tipped his bottle against hers one more time.

"To your first case."

"Yeah," she smiled, grateful that he hadn't asked anything else about the 'sad childhood of Emma Swan'. She was surprised, for sure. She'd expected him to at least pry a bit more about the details. Most people would. Then she began to wonder if any of her first impressions of Killian Jones would remain by the end of this assignment. Because the aloof, defensive man she had met that first morning in Regina Mill's office, seemed as much of a construction of her own prejudices, as it was a reflection of his initial behavior towards her. And right now she wasn't entirely sure what to think.

-/-

The next morning was crisp with the bite of sea air from the nearby docks. Emma pulled on a pair of woolen cigarette pants and a thin sweater that she topped with her favorite oxblood leather jacket. She did miss being able to wear jeans every day. Clothing choice hadn't been a big consideration when working in bail bonds.

Not that she would give this up for anything.

After a quick breakfast of the best pancakes she had tasted in years, the pair headed over to the newspaper offices where they met the editor Sydney Glass. He was a kindly older man who told them he ran the weekly paper pretty much single handedly as editor and main writer. He was able to look at the lettertype that had signaled the match and confirmed it was a unique font that the paper had been using since its founding almost 100 years prior. He was also able to tell them that the Mirror had an intern that past summer who had set up a website for the paper and begun the process of digitizing past editions.

Well, that explained why the search was only now picking up the connection to The Storybrooke Mirror . Emma showed Mr. Glass the blurry security footage that was the only (possible) image of Hyde but he shook his head apologetically.

"Sorry, I don't get much traffic holed up in this office and most of the stories I cover are community things - bake sales and town hall meetings. I can tell you I don't recognize him from the locals and everyone here pretty much knows everyone else."

Frowning, Emma had slid the pictures back into the evidence file they had brought with them. It was so frustrating, they had driven all this way for seemingly no purpose. The editor had nothing further to add to what they already knew.

"Is there anyone else in town you can advise us to speak with? We have driven a long way."

Jones question was quickly answered with a nod. "Why yes, Belle French, our town librarian. She runs the archives too."

They thanked Mr. Glass and left the newspaper offices, then headed straight for the town library which was conveniently located across the road.

"Small town," Killian had shrugged as they approached the wood and glass entrance… which was firmly locked. Emma groaned in frustration.

"Small town," Killian repeated, this time with a smile that she couldn't help but reciprocate.

Turned out the library didn't open until 1pm on Mondays, which Emma found odd but who was she to judge the customs of this place? She looked at her watch. That meant almost an hour to wait.

"Coffee?" Killian shrugged.

"Yeah," she agreed, hoping that a milky coffee might soothe the headache that had started to swirl behind her eyes.

Luckily, Granny's did take out cups. The ten minute walk back to the diner was spent discussing what angle to take with the librarian and running through a list of questions they could ask. Drinks in hand, the pair sat outside the diner and enjoyed the bright morning sunshine. The lack of clouds had given the day a cool breeze but had also provided a stunning blue sky alongside it.

"It's so quiet here," he observed a few minutes after they had sat.

"Small town," she teased, and he smiled into his paper cup. "Kinda reminds me of the places I used to live as a kid. I got bounced around a lot of different homes but most were in little towns like this - where you wouldn't go unless you had good reason."

"Do you prefer the city?" he asked with genuine interest, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the small metal table between them.

She took a deep breathing, thinking on his question. "I like the anonymity. I'm a pretty private person and living in Boston makes it easy to keep that up."

"Same," he nodded, remembering having those exact same thoughts on the drive here. "I'm not overly fond of everyone knowing my business."

"I hear you there," she hummed, lifting up her coffee in agreement. "I mean, not that I have much business to tell."

"Oh?"

She blushed, not having quite intended on turning the conversation personal. "You know, work, eat, sleep, repeat. That's my life. Not very interesting."

His breath caught in his throat. What was she revealing to him?

He couldn't help himself but ask-

"So no special someone?"

"No," she laughed, shaking her head. "No men for a long time. A long, long time."

"Same," he nodded, which made her raise her brows. "I mean women. I'm not gay… not that there's anything wrong with being attracted to the same sex, it's just I-"

"Calm down Killian, I was just teasing."

He bit his lip and nodded softly.

"Has there been anyone for you, you know, since…"

" Milah ? No. No one." He shook his head firmly, his brows pressing together. "And for good reason. I'd make a terrible partner-" he looked up and tipped his head, "In the romantic sense."

Those words made her start. Why would he think that?

"Well, I think maybe you're shaping up to be a good one in the FBI partner sense," she confided.

"Really?"

"Hey now, don't get cocky. We're still on thin ice here. But let's say maybe my first impression of you was a little off."

He hummed and raised his brows.

"Same, Swan," he replied, with an enigmatic smile.

They were quiet again as they finished their drinks. Something having shifted a little as they delved into personal matters without the cloak of darkness or alcohol.

She was thankful when she looked at her watch and saw it was almost one.

-/-

With Belle French, they finally hit some kind of traction.

Emma wanted to kiss the softly spoken librarian when she looked at the fuzzy picture.

"Hmm, well I wasn't here seven years ago… but he kinda looks like a guy who was here a few weeks back. He didn't speak much or give his name...never checked anything out,, but was here every morning for about three days."

"Mr. Glass said you don't get many visitors around these parts. What was he doing?"

"I'll show you."

The pair followed the brunette to the farthest reaches of the library and into a annexed area. It was filled with shelves that were each stuffed to the brim.

"This is our map archive. Storybrooke has one of the the largest collections on the Eastern Seaboard, dating back into the 19th century actually, but we still receive hard copies of all maps of the East coast when they are published. It's a bit of a pet project for the mayor's office - a way to put the town on the map. So to speak. We don't get many tourists in the town, that's true, but this collection is quite the draw in some circles."

"And you say he spent all his time here?"

"Far as I could tell."

"Can we look around?"

"Sure, we're open until four. You're free to do what you need until then. If you want any help, just let me know."

They spent the next few hours thumbing through volumes of shipping maps and tidal forecasts and unravelling heavy, table sized charts. It was a thankless task. Killian didn't know that they were looking for, but he knew that if he saw it, Hyde's intentions would become clearer.

Emma was of much the same mindset. They had came all this way, they couldn't leave without exploring every possible avenue.

But by the time four o'clock arrived, whatever links Hyde had to this town and its library were as mysterious as ever.

-/-

The walk back to the B&B was tense. Killian used the time to call David and update them on their possible lead. They'd left their contact details with Belle French, should she remember anything else pertinent, and exited the library with more questions than they had started with.

"It could be someone else. I mean, it might not even be Hyde."

"True," he'd nodded. "That photo was terrible. It is probably some completely unrelated bloke. But it's the closest thing to a new lead we have had in… years. We have to follow it up thoroughly."

"If he was new in town surely someone else must have seen him, you heard what Sydney Glass said."

"Well we are staying at the only lodgings, maybe we should ask Mrs. Lucas?"

The proprietor, however, drew a blank. The only people who had stayed for the past month were a bunch of fisherman (none of whom bore any possible resemblance to the picture) and a young couple on their honeymoon.

Everywhere they turned there seemed to be a dead end. They discussed having the newspaper print the security footage.

"We'd need clearance for that. But it may jog the memory of someone," Killian suggested as they headed back to their rooms.

"If the guy was here in the past month and he clearly had some reason to have copies of the newspaper seven years ago - maybe he has a connection with someone in the town?"

"Aye, that's a fair point. I think we need to discuss this all with Mills and Nolan in person. Whatever we do, we don't want to reveal this connection to the public too soon."

They reached the landing that led to their rooms. Emma yawned softly and stretched out her arms. Sitting hunched over a table for most of the afternoon hadn't been kind to her posture.

"So… who's driving back?"

Killian grinned before quickly rubbing at his stubbled chin. He'd been postulating over that for the duration of the walk back to the B & B. "Actually, I was thinking of overnighting it here and leaving in the morning. If that's agreeable with you."

Emma cocked her head.

"With the traffic, we'd not get into the city til after ten now. Ashley booked the us in for two nights, we could stay and still make it back to the city before lunch tomorrow."

Another night here? She had assumed that they would be returning. That maybe she'd drive and this time he'd get to sleep.

He saw the confusion cross her face. "But if you'd rather be back in your own bed-"

"No," she interrupted, placing a hand on his arm. She was tired. It was a long drive after a mentally exhausting day. And after the little bits she had learned about Killian Jones, she was kinda looking forward to filling in some more of the blank spaces. "Let's stay. I'm hungry and tired."

"Dinner?" he asked. "I've a hankering for one of those burgers they serve down in the diner."

"Sure, just let me freshen up a little, check my email. An hour?"

"Aye," he agreed.

Then with a soft smile, she slipped into her room, as she found herself pleasantly anticipating another evening in Killian Jones's company.

-/-

They halved a grilled cheese and a burger and shared a basket of curly fries between them. Turns out, the reason the diner was popular was because the food was great. And when Killian found that they served generous measures of rum, he was even more glad they had stayed.

And miraculously, Killian Jones was even beginning to relax a little.

Yes, the case was making his shoulders tense and an ache was forming a little at the top of his spine, but when he wasn't being Agent Jones, when he was just able to sit with Emma and shoot the breeze, everything seemed easier. It was hard to explain, even to himself. But he didn't want to question it, just enjoy these moments of respite before the return to Boston.

"So," she began as he sipped on his two fingers of rum, "You told me you had lived in the States since you were a kid. What's up with the accent? I mean, I had a friend in high school who had moved from Germany when they were like 15 and within six months they were speaking like a true Yankee."

He nodded, popping a fry into his mouth as he thought on his answer.

"Maybe it's my way of rebelling?"

"Rebelling?" she asked, taking her own fry and shaking it at him accusatory. "Most kids cut school or shoplift when they do that. I should know…"

He lifted up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "What can I say? When we got here, mum was finding it hard, missing Liam, trying to sort out work for her visa. And I was flung into the public school system, which was an... interesting experience. I didn't really have anyone for a long time. I found the whole damn thing hard: new country, new everything. I couldn't burden my family with my woes. So I did the only thing I could think of to keep some modicum of control. I made a conscious decision to speak like an Englishman."

"So you were rebelling against...yourself?"

"Against what was expected of me?" He shrugged. "I'm not that great at explaining these things, lass. Dr. Hopper can attest to that after every one of our sessions."

"Dr. Hopper?"

His face fell at the momentary slip. "The office psychologist," he explained.

"Oh."

She stared at the table, not quite sure what else to say. He'd clearly revealed a bit more than he had intended. She looked at the basket of fries. There was only one left. Her hand crept closer to it.

Killian looked up just in time to see Emma snatch the last curly fry and pop it into her mouth.

"Hey!" he cried, "Thief!"

"You gonna arrest me?" she laughed as she chewed.

"I would," he nodded, with mock seriousness, "But then there would be paperwork to fill out, calls to make… Fry thieves do hard time here in this state."

Emma pulled a face at him.

"How about a compromise?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "I'm listening."

"There's some footie on tonight back at The Rabbit Hole. I was planning on heading there next... I could educate you on the beautiful game? I'll even buy you a drink."

He really hadn't intended on asking her. But he was, despite himself, enjoying her company and when the opportunity arose to extend the evening the words just slipped from his tonight.

"Soccer?"

"Football," he insisted. "But it is called Major League Soccer. Damn Yanks."

Rolling her eyes, she swallowed the pilfered fry and replied, "So my punishment is to watch some guys in little shorts chase around a ball? I accept the deal."

It was only when they were leaving the diner, that both parties began to question just what their motivations were.

-/-

"Why rum?" she asks during the game intermission.

('Half time," he had told her.)

"Why not?"

He was on his fourth and she on her second. He'd persuaded her to have a bit of the strong stuff after purchasing a bottle.

("A whole bottle?" she'd said. "Works out cheaper," he'd shrugged, "It's not like I have to drink the whole thing.")

"That's a lame-ass answer, Jones."

"Oh, so we are back to our Sunday names now?"

God, he was incorrigible. But she was, despite herself, enjoying his feisty way of turning almost every comment she made back onto her. It was fun.

He was fun. At least tonight.

"I thought only pirates drank rum."

"Maybe I am a pirate. I do know how to sail a boat."

"I'm sure the bureau would have something to say about that."

"We all have our secrets." He tapped the side of his nose and she laughed again.

Dammit, her laugh was infectious. He found himself inventing further ways to tease her and draw her into these ridiculous little snippets of banter that he was so enjoying.

"But, if I were a pirate, I'm sure a lass like you would be staying far away from a scoundrel like myself."

"What on Earth makes you say that?"

"Well you're… you know."

"No, I don't know."

"You're one of the good ones. You know, does things right. Keeps on the straight and narrow."

Scoffing, she tutted loudly. "Look, Captain, I am not some goody-two shoes. I thought we had decided not to judge each other."

"But you seem so… you know, with wanting to do everything by the book."

"Because I don't want to get fired! Because this is the first thing I've ever done that I'm actually really proud of. I never said I was perfect."

Irritated and just a little mellow from the rum, she let herself speak without thinking-

"I was sent to juvie when I was 17."

This caused Killian to raise his brow and pause with his hand about to undo the cap of the rum.

"Just for eight months," she added, looking away sheepishly.

"I…"

Since she had told him that much, rum addled Emma decided to go all in. Kinda.

"There was a guy, he… he set me up. Handling stolen goods."

"Someone you cared for?"

"I thought I did. But what do you know when you are a teenager?"

They were quiet a moment.

She thought about Neal. She wondered where he was now. Whether he was happy. In love.

(Whether he had ever loved her.)

He quickly refilled both glasses and tipped his against hers. "To misspent youth, and all we learned from it."

Their eyes met as they both emptied the rum into their mouths. She was thankful he didn't ask any of the questions she could see flashing behind his eyes. An understanding passed between them. They were unwrapping each other, layer by layer, piece by piece. Each giving clues to the bigger mystery of themselves, but not able to reveal too much at once.

The soccer game was about to restart and Killian was thankful for the distraction. Something was hitting a little too close to home.

-/-

"I drank too much," she sighed as they approached the B&B.

"No such thing," Killian laughed, even as his own vision struggled to focus on the exterior door lock enough to insert the key given to him for after hours access. He had the rum bottle in his hand, only about a third left. He was pretty sure he'd regret that in the morning, but right now he couldn't summon the will to care. The rum had made him relax and spread a pleasant warmth through his body.

Emma watched him as he opened the door, his hand finding placing the key in the lock tricky enough to make her smile at his attempts. When it swung open, he let her step through first.

"Hey, thanks for tonight. I needed it."

"Me too," he admitted. "I don't get much time for letting off steam."

They made their way up the stairs and paused once more at the patch of landing between their rooms. They stood about a foot apart. Her key dangled expectantly between her fingers. He tucked the bottle under his arm.

"I really am sorry about being such an arse."

"Tonight?" she asked, scrunching her face up in confusion.

"No, I mean, before. When you started…"

"Now that's the rum talking," she chided him, then taking a deep breath and adding, "Bygones. Like we said, clean slate."

"Clean slate," he nodded.

"And…" she swallowed, "You may give a lousy first impression Jones, but you aren't all that bad."

"Really?" he smiled.

"I already told you, don't get cocky now. It doesn't suit you."

He pursed his lips and bit back a cheeky response.

That was the point where she should say goodnight, she thought. But the rum was pooling in her limbs and making her sway the tiniest bit. She was warm. The light was dim in the silent hallway. Killian was giving her the most peculiar look that she couldn't pinpoint.

She needed to say goodnight…

'Um, well-" he cocked his thumb at his door. "I should."

"Oh, yeah. Me too…"

It took another moment for her to move. During which time she let herself look at Killian Jones full lips and wonder what it would be like to kiss him-

That thought roused her from the rum and after another quick 'night' she was unlocking her room and almost slamming the door behind her.

Why was she thinking about his lips? About kissing him? Killian?

Emma lay back against the door her heart rate picking up, images of Killian Jones in various states of imagined undress flooding her mind. She pressed her hand against her mouth. These unexpected feelings taking her by surprise… until she considered that most of their conversation tonight could objectively be described as flirtatious. A dangerous flirtation that she had enjoyed and even encouraged.

Undressing, she pulled on her pajamas, the thin walls of her room immediately making her acutely aware of the sounds of him doing the same in the room next door. Slipping into bed, she tried to remind herself of the dozens of reasons why letting herself continue this train of thought was a very, very bad idea.

-/-

Killian watched the door shut.

That moment… she'd looked like-

Like she wanted to kiss him. Maybe he was imagining the way she had looked at his lips-

(And how her cheeks had flushed and her eyes became hooded-)

And then, he understood that he wanted that: to kiss this woman. To touch her. Hold her.

Have her.

He didn't understand where these feelings had came from. He hadn't sought them out.

He was just being a friend. A good partner. Wasn't he?

Convincing himself it was the rum talking, he went into his room and set about preparing for bed.

(Of course not imagining what Emma Swan was doing in the room next door).

A/N: Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter. And thank you to the best beta - Nickillian/Ztofan.