Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time or any of the characters.

My Heart's On Fire

It was the beginning of summer.

In Massachusetts, even though it was far up north, the weather still got rather hot, and the sun was beating down relentlessly on two figures shooting cans outside of the Sheriff's station. It was Boston, on a Saturday; work was rather slow.

Emma slung her gun around her finger, then aimed, closing her left eye. She hit the can, smiling cockily as it flew off the fence. Pulling her hat lower, she turned to the man beside her.

"Beat that," she taunted.

Graham scratched his beard, never one to turn down a challenge. He walked ten paces back.
"If I make this, you owe me a drink," he smirked.

"Deal."

Later, they walked into the local saloon. Emma called to the bartender, Tom. "Two whiskeys, on me," she said gruffly.

Graham pulled at the bandana around his neck, wiping at the sweat there. His hair was damp with sweat as well. Emma sat at the bar, resting her hands on the oak. "Looks like another slow night," she mused.

She spoke too soon. A woman, clad in a corset and skirt, usually what the local hookers wore, came running into the saloon. "Fire!" She screamed. "There's a fire at the whore house!"

Most of the men were out of the saloon in two seconds flat. Emma rolled her eyes, then followed them. Graham was with her. "Go to the fire," he told her. "I'll go the fire station." He ran to his horse and swung himself onto the saddle. Emma turned and ran to the source of the smoke. It was a big fire, having already consumed most of the building. The air was suffocating, and she pulled her bandana up to her mouth.

"Is everyone out?" She asked the prostitute from before.

"I think so…" she counted the girls beside her. "Wait."

Emma turned to her. "What? Is someone missing?"

The girl nodded in panic. "Miss Regina, our mistress. She's still in there!" She cried hysterically.

Emma gritted her teeth. She debated her next course of action. She could wait for Graham and the firemen, but by that time it might be too late. "Wait here…what's your name?"

"Melissa."

"All right. Wait here. If the firemen get here and I'm not back, tell them to send someone in to rescue us." Emma ran to the building, pulling her hat low over her eyes. She had leather gloves that she pulled on. Thus prepared, she leapt into the flames.

It was hot. Unbearably so. She could barely breathe, focusing all her attention on rushing through the flames fast enough so she wouldn't get too badly burned. She ran, barely missing a pillar that fell behind her.

"Regina!" She called, as loud as she could. She strained her ears, but only heard the roar of the fire crackling around her.

Then she saw something move. In the corner.

Clutching the bandana to her mouth, Emma Swan leapt over a flame, making her way over to the figure. She was lying down, barely conscious. Emma felt a wave of panic, but she couldn't let herself freeze. Not now. She gently picked up the woman, then slung her over her shoulder. She felt her move; apparently she was more than a little conscious. Why hadn't she tried to get out? Did she have a death wish? These thoughts floated in Emma's brain as she dodged more flames, somehow making it out of the whore house alive.

She sucked in fresh air, greedy for it. She set the woman—Regina—down on the boardwalk.

"Set me down gently!" Regina huffed, bouncing around a little on her foot.

"Seriously? You're complaining about how I saved your life?" Emma glared at her.

She didn't have time to speak her mind, however, because Graham stomped over to her, angry as hell.

"How could you do that? How could you be so stupid, Emma? You're my only deputy! I told you I was getting the firemen!"

"I just saved this woman's life. You're welcome, by the way," Emma turned to the woman.

"You heard the Sheriff. Help was on the way." Regina said.

"Next time, Emma, wait for me. Don't go play the hero. I'd like you to stay alive."

Emma stepped back. Clearly, no one cared that she had just saved a fucking life. "Fine." She stalked angrily away from the ungrateful bitch and her stupid boss.

She lived in a rooming house on Gretchen Street, which was a quiet street quite a ways away from Main Street, where the fire was. Most of the brothels and saloons were on that street. As well as the hotels and restaurants. Main Street was where most of the businesses were situated. Emma was glad she lived away from all that bustle. The lady who owned the rooming house was kind enough; she was like a mother to Emma. Mrs. Jenkins let her pay her rent two weeks at a time, which was helpful. Being deputy didn't really pay much.

Emma had moved to Boston a year before, and had instantly caught the Sheriff's interest. Her insistence on wearing breeches and slinging guns like the men is what most likely made her stand out. He had hired her a few weeks after she'd moved here.

Emma left her horse at the livery stable, then walked the rest of the way to the rooming house. She opened the door with the key she had and carefully crept up the stairs. She almost made it, but was called down by Mrs. Jenkins.

"Emma! You smell like smoke. Don't tell me you had something to do with that fire."

Emma cringed and walked sheepishly back down the stairs. "No! Of course not. I'm a deputy, not an arsonist." Emma chuckled, hoping Mrs. Jenkins would let her go upstairs, take a bath, and get some sleep.

"You're covered in soot. Obviously something happened." Mrs. Jenkins frowned at her, tapping her foot, waiting for an explanation.

Emma felt like a child for the second time that night. "I saved a woman's life tonight. But does she thank me? Nooo. Instead, she acts like it was no big deal. I hate uppity women."

Mrs. Jenkins laughed. "You don't regret saving her, do you?"

"What? No, of course not. But she could have been a little more polite."

"That's a first. You, talking about manners." Mrs. Jenkins sat down and picked up her needlework. "Okay, young lady. I've kept you up long enough. Go take a bath and get some sleep."

Emma smiled. "Good night." She bounded up the stairs, grabbed the wooden bath tub and walked back downstairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door. The stars were twinkling brightly as she made her way to the well. She filled the tub up, then lugged it close to the house. She stopped, out of breath. That fire had taken more out of her than she thought. Normally, she'd pull the tub into the house, but tonight, she was far too exhausted. She looked around. No one was lurking around the street. Emma decided it was safe enough. She pulled her soot-covered shirt off; she'd have to wash that tomorrow, after work.

Emma stripped her leather chaps off next, her boots, then her cowhide breeches. She slunk down into the cold water, shivering a bit. It was a warm night, so the cold water was a definite contrast. She began to scrub her neck, shoulders, and face, dipping her head into the water.

"You missed a spot," a deep, yet feminine voice stretched through the darkness.

Emma's neck snapped up so quickly, she was sure she'd have a sprain later. Droplets of water covered her face, clouding her vision for a moment. She wiped at her eyes and turned her body, which was hard to do in the small tub. She took in the figure of Regina, the woman she'd saved. She grimaced. What did she want?

"You're here to criticize how I bathe? It wasn't enough that you nit picked me on how I saved your life?"

Regina smirked, stepping closer to the tub. Emma became suddenly aware of the fact that she was naked. She quickly moved her arms to cover her breasts.

"I just wanted to thank you properly."

"And you couldn't do that before?"

"I was a little shaken up. You see, that fire wasn't an accident. A man who claimed he paid too much for one of my girls'…services was arguing with me. He set the fire."

"Did you tell Graham?" Emma asked.

"Yes, I gave him his name and description. So, thank you, Deputy Swan, for saving my life, even though it seemed to get you in trouble with your boss."

Emma smiled. From the light in the kitchen, she could see the shape of Regina's face, and the way her eyes seemed to sparkle. She really was beautiful. She wondered, for a fleeting moment, how much it would cost to bed her for the night. Emma guiltily shook the thought away.

"Well…you're welcome, Miss Regina…?"

"Mills. Regina Mills. Good night, Deputy." Regina turned and left as Emma watched her.

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The next morning, Emma showed up at the Sheriff's station, tying Mo, her horse, on the post. Graham was questioning Mr. Bryant. Emma assumed it had something to do with who had set the fire.

"You're sure you haven't seen Eddie since yesterday afternoon?" Graham asked.

"Yes, sir, Sheriff. He and I played cards at the saloon, then he left."

"All right, thank you, Mr. Bryant."

The man left, nodding at Emma on his way out.

"So…what's your plan?" Emma asked, leaning against one of the jail cell bars.

"My guess is, Eddie Tyler left town. I need you to track him down. I'll stay here, in case he comes back. But I know you're good at finding people. Just last week you caught the little boy that was stealing bread from Mr. Littlepage's bakery."

Emma smiled at the praise. Apparently her boss wasn't too mad about what happened last night. "That might be true, but that was easy. The kid literally left a trail of bread crumbs. I have no idea where to look for this man. He might have hopped on a boat and gone to New York, or England."

"I highly doubt he's rich enough for that. First, ask around town. See where he usually liked to spend his time."

"From the sounds of it, he liked the whore house," Emma answered.

"Start there then."

Emma gulped. She'd have to see Regina again. She wasn't sure if she was comforted or bothered by that. Not saying this, she simply tilted her head and walked out of the station. She'd have to ask around for Regina's address, because now that the brothel was burned down, she wouldn't find her there.

She got the address from one of the girls at the saloon, who said she usually spent her days alone. She didn't usually have visitors.

Emma bore all of this in mind as she walked up to the modest house on Mifflin Street. There was a white picket fence around the property, and the shutters were a dark green color. It was a cute house, but knowing who lived there gave it an oddly imposing nature. She wiped her sweaty hands on her leather chaps and walked up the porch steps. She knocked on the door with conviction.

Regina opened the door, dressed in a green silk dress, complete with a tight bodice and a bow at the back of the bustle. Emma blinked, trying to match the woman she saw to the one she'd saved last night.

"Hello, Miss Mills. I just came by to ask you some questions about the man who set the fire last night. May I come in?" Emma asked, remembering her manners.

"Yes, of course." Regina stepped aside, allowing Emma inside her house. The walls were bleached white, with few decorations on the walls. Even though there was furniture, and an oriental-looking rug on the wood floor, the house felt strangely empty. Emma stepped into the living room, afraid she'd dirty something.

"Please, sit." Regina gestured to the beige couch.

"I just…I wanted to see if you knew more about Eddie," Emma said, sitting down. "How often did he come to your…place of business?"

"He came to my brothel about once a week. He'd always want Marjorie, I believe he fancied her. This week, however, Marjorie wasn't there, so he had to settle for another girl. He claimed he'd been stiffed."

Emma nodded. "Did he ever hurt you or any of your girls?"

"He grabbed my wrist last night, when he was arguing with me. Other than that, no."

Emma got up. "Thank you, Miss Mills, this has been very helpful."

"He's left town, hasn't he?" Regina asked.

"Yes, most likely. Graham wants me to track him down. Do you know where he'd go?"

Regina deliberated for a moment. "Chicago," she answered.

Emma frowned. "Why there?"

"That's where Marjorie is."

Emma smiled inwardly. She had a lead now, all she had to do was follow it. It wouldn't take long to pack all her things, then say goodbye to Mrs. Jenkins. She'd be on her way to Chicago by nightfall.

"I could come with you," she heard Regina say.

She turned around, unsure she'd heard right. The look on Regina's face said she had.

"No, that's all right, Miss Mills. Tracking people is what I do. And I'm sure you want to start your business up again. So thank you, but no. Goodbye." Emma backed out of the front door, trying to push the guilt of her rude exit down.

She walked to Mo, patting him on the nose. "Don't look at me like that," she protested. "She'd only slow me down."

Emma climbed on her horse and rode back to the station, to tell Graham of her new lead.

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The miles rolled under her as the train sped down the track. She could hear the pistons chugging, and it was oddly comforting. For most of the ride, she'd pulled her hat over her eyes, and caught some shut-eye. She opened her eyes to find a woman sitting across from her in the compartment. She shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, folding her arms over her chest. The woman smiled at her, and Emma slowly smiled back.

"Where are you headed?" The woman asked.

"Chicago. How about you?"

"New York. I'm getting married," she beamed, holding out her hand, which sported a gargantuan rock on it.

"Wow…congratulations," Emma said, trying to sound sincere.

"Do you have someone back home?"

"Uh…no. I'm not really the marrying type."

"That's what my friend Ruby said. But six months later, she got hitched. She and August are happily married now."

Emma couldn't help but smile. "I'm Emma. What's your name?"

"Mary Margaret. I'm from Boston, but David wanted to get married in New York."

Emma smirked. "Small world. I'm from Boston too."

Mary Margaret beamed. "Well, maybe after our travels, we'll see each other again, Emma."

Something about Mary Margaret made Emma feel safe. She seemed like a trustworthy person, and Emma found herself trusting her, which was unusual. Emma hardly ever trusted people, especially strangers she met by chance. But part of her hoped she would be able get to know her better.

"Yeah, maybe we will."

She and Mary Margaret talked until the latter drifted off to sleep, and Emma fell asleep soon after. When she woke, it was mid-morning, and they were arriving in New York. Mary Margaret gave Emma an impulsive hug, which was secretly appreciated by the blond deputy. Then she was gone.

Next stop, Chicago.

Emma played solitaire for most of the trip, just to occupy the time. If she got bored of that, she'd stare out the window, watching the hills go by. The scenery got more beautiful with each passing mile, and Emma was glad she got to see it. She had traveled a lot, back when she was a bounty hunter. She'd usually ride her horse, though. And having to worry about robbers and thieves on the trail took away the opportunity to relax and really notice the natural beauty around her.

She was in the middle of a dream when she heard the distant voice of the conductor call "Next stop, Chicago! We'll be reaching Chicago in fifteen minutes!"

Emma pulled her head up, drawing in a deep breath. She groggily gathered her belongings; a trunk and a carpet bag. She knew she'd have to travel light. She planned on finding Eddie and bringing him back, with no problems. It wouldn't take her more than a week.

She stood up and walked out of the compartment, pulling her luggage behind her. A lot of people were getting off, and she bumped into a few of them.

When the train reached the station, Emma noticed how crowded it was. Stepping off the train, she noticed the streets were too. This would take some getting used to. She reached for her wallet, and her stomach sank when she felt the depth of her pocket.

"Oh, shit," she moaned.

She'd been pickpocketed.

She didn't have any money for food, lodgings, or transportation. She was broke, with a trunk and bag full of clothes.

She decided to sell them. She pulled her trunk and bag over by a street corner and started calling out to passersby, and by the end of the day, she had enough money for a few nights at a hotel, and a couple meals.

She wandered around the city, looking for a livery stable. She finally found one, after what seemed like hours of walking. She asked the stable boy for directions to the nearest hotel, then tossed him some coins for the horse. The city streets were bustling with carriages, and Emma had to weave carefully around them. She almost ran over some boys playing in the street, and winced as one of them yelled at her, scared for his life. "Sorry," she muttered lamely. This city was definitely a change of scenery for her.

She finally got to the Hotel Grande and tied her horse up. She walked in, getting strange looks. She figured it was because she was dressed as a man. Some of the women gave her lingering looks, and she smiled right back at them.

Her room was rather small, but that was fine. She wasn't going to be here long. Her first plan was to find where Marjorie worked.

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Regina walked to her new place of business—it was a building right next to the barber shop and it had been up for lease for a while. Her girls were rather nervous to go back to work, but the demand was always there, and the business was soon booming again. She ran her business professionally; she made sure that her girls were safe. She'd hired two strong men to take care of any situations in which a man got too intoxicated or violent.

Regina knew that many people judged her behind her back. She was the mistress of a brothel, a prostitute. She was done feeling guilty about it. She was comfortable enough in her awareness of human sexuality to know it was nothing to feel bad about. Desire was never wrong. She pushed open the door to the brothel, noticing one of the girls flirting with a rather handsome young man. He had blond hair that fell in curls out of his hat, and for a moment, Regina thought it was Deputy Swan. She blinked, her focus coming back. Emma was in Chicago by now. Good riddance.

Emma had turned down her offer for help, rather blatantly. She had saved her life, sure, but when Regina offered to help her, she'd squashed her like a bug. And Regina did not like to be squashed.

She hoped Emma was starving, without a clue as to where to find Eddie. She smirked evilly at the thought.

In reality, she wasn't too far off.

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Emma trudged through the streets. It was dark, but Emma didn't care. She'd made sure to fill the round in her pistol. She was well protected. Her gunmanship wasn't too shabby, and if any man got frisky, she'd just pull out her gun and threaten to blow his balls off. She had yet to meet a man who wasn't worried about the integrity of his testicles. She walked through the streets, hungry and tired, but she didn't want to go back to the hotel yet. She'd been in Chicago for three days, and still had no clue as to where Eddie Tyler was. She had visited some brothels, in the hopes of meeting Marjorie—the only lead she had on this woman was that she'd worked at Regina's brothel back in Boston. For all Emma knew, she could have come to Chicago and found different work.

Emma was starting to wonder if maybe she wasn't as good as bounty hunting as she led people to believe. She sighed and leaned against a brick building for a moment, ready to go back to the hotel. Obviously she wouldn't find any leads tonight. She heard a sound to her right—some men were coming out of the doorway to the building, two women on their arms. Inspiration came to Emma in that moment. She'd been going about this all wrong. A woman walking into a whore house, demanding answers, wasn't as well received as a man doing so. Quickly, Emma pulled her hair up, stuffing it inside her hat. She pulled out a handkerchief and stuffed it in the front of her pants, hoping the bulge was big enough. Taking a calming breath, she swaggered into the building.

It was dimly lit, with women everywhere. Emma knew she'd come to the right place. This was the place to find anyone who partook in the solicitation of sex business. She looked at each of the women, then walked up to the bar.

"Does a Marjorie work here?" Emma asked gruffly, giving her voice a rough edge.

The bartender turned to look at her. "Yeah, she started just last week. You…you want me to get her for you?"

"Sure, thank you."

The man smirked at her, then walked out from behind the bar.

Emma watched him go, knowing that she'd have to take the women to a private room. That was okay; she'd have more time to ask questions, without prying eyes. She'd also have to pay the woman, even though Emma sure wasn't planning on having sex with her.

The bartender came back, a red-headed woman with him. She smiled at Emma salaciously.

"Hello there, cowboy. Danny here tells me you want company tonight?" Marjorie leaned close to her, placing a hand dangerously close to her breast. Emma shifted a little.

"Yeah, that would be wonderful. Can I take you to one of the rooms upstairs?"

"Indeed you can."

Marjorie pulled her across the room, and Emma could feel women's eyes on her. She grasped Marjorie's hand tighter, not quite believing this was happening. What was she going to do once she got to the room, and they were alone? If she pushed Marjorie away, asking about Eddie, she'd get suspicious, for sure.

Marjorie went to the first room they reached, and pulled Emma inside. Once the door was closed, she pushed Emma up against it, aggressively, and began kissing her.

It was wet, sloppy, but nice. Emma hadn't been kissed like this…ever. There was no tentativeness about it, no innocence. It was all desire, and heat, and a little bit of alcohol. Marjorie snaked her tongue in her mouth, swirling it against Emma's, and Emma moaned in spite of herself.

She pulled away, taking a breath.

"Do you do this with a lot of guys?" Emma asked. Stupidest question ever to ask a prostitute, but she had to get the ball rolling somehow.

"I get paid for it, sweetheart. So yes."

"Danny told me you just started last week. Where are you from?" Emma asked, hoping it sounded flirtatious enough.

"Boston. But I left because…a creep kept bothering me."

"This creep go by the name of Eddie?"

Marjorie stepped back, sexual mood officially killed. "How did you know that? Who are you?"

Emma decided the truth would be best. At least, part of it. "I'm a former bounty hunter. Now I'm in law enforcement, from Boston. Eddie burned down the brothel there, and I'm trying to find him. I think he followed you here."

"Oh shit," Marjorie breathed.

"Yeah. So if you see him, or hear anything, you come tell me. I'm staying at the Hotel Grande."

"No. I want you to stay here."

"That's a little forward…"

"To protect me. I can't handle that guy on my own. If he's as psychopathic as you say, I'll need someone to be there. I'll pay for your meals, and housing."

That made up Emma's mind. She nodded, then before she could say anything, Marjorie reached up and pulled her hat off, the golden locks tumbling down.

Emma bit her lip, ready to get slapped. But it didn't happen. She opened one of her eyes, her face still contorted in a grimace.

Marjorie smirked. "Please. I'm not that stupid. Your lips are way too soft to be a man's. And just so you know? The hankie didn't fool me for a second."

Before Emma could sigh in relief, Marjorie's lips were on hers again.

The next morning, Emma woke, nestled beside Marjorie. Her hair was a bright red, and it fell in curls around her shoulders. Emma smiled, kissing the girl's shoulder blade.

"That really was something," she said, when she felt Marjorie shift.

"Yes, it was."

"You've done it before…with a woman?"

"Yes. Let me let you in on a secret, if you don't already know…" Marjorie turned to face Emma, still keeping the bedclothes wrapped around her. "It's better, with two women," Marjorie whispered conspiratorially, making Emma smirk.

"No argument here." Emma brushed Marjorie's hair out of her face gently. "I'll have to get up soon, though. I still have a man to catch."

"Right." Marjorie sat up, walking to her dresser. "I'd let you borrow some clothes, but I doubt you want to wear what I have." Marjorie picked up a corset, and Emma wrinkled her nose.

"I'll just wash my clothes from last night. Where's the wash bin?"

Marjorie pointed to the corner, and Emma set to work picking up her off-white shirt up off the floor and scrubbing it with soap.

When she was done with that, she decided to go to the telegraph station. Graham would want to know that she finally had a lead on Eddie Tyler.

After that, she talked with Marjorie about how to lure Eddie into a trap.

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Graham sat in the Sheriff's station, his feet propped up on his desk. He'd been busy the past couple of days, breaking up fights at different saloons across town. Without a second-in-command, he'd realized just how big Boston was. It was a booming town, and he couldn't be the sole harbinger of the law. So, in Emma's absence, he'd hired Leroy Jenkins, Mrs. Jenkins' brother-in-law. He was an alcoholic, but Graham hoped that giving him a sense of purpose, and some duty, would help break his drinking habits. At least during work hours.

"Sheriff," Leroy opened the door, looking sober enough. "I was just down at the telegraph station. Looks like Emma sent you something." Leroy dropped the envelope on the table, and Graham picked it up a second later.

It read:

I HAVE A LEAD. STOP. TRYING TO GET EDDIE OUT IN THE OPEN, MAY TAKE FOUR OR FIVE MORE DAYS. STOP. WILL TELEGRAPH AGAIN IF ANYTHING CHANGES.

-EMMA. STOP.

Graham smiled. He knew he'd hired Emma for a reason. She was a definite asset. He knew a little of her background; she'd been a bounty hunter for several years before landing in Boston. He just hoped she'd be able to bring Eddie back, with no trouble.

Leroy sat down at the table with him, lighting his cigar. He had nothing better to do, at least until night patrol. Graham grimaced at the smoke. He never did like the smell. "Leroy, you think you could smoke outside?"

"Yeah, I could." Leroy didn't move, just kept puffing on the damn thing.

Graham rolled his eyes. Emma better get back soon. Boston had enough trouble without having a homicidal sheriff on its hands, but that's what would happen if Graham had to keep putting up with Leroy.

A knock at the door shook Graham out of his musings. Not many people were polite enough to knock on the station door, and he crinkled his brow in curiosity as he went to answer it.

Regina Mills stood on the boardwalk, a young girl with her, probably one of her employees.

"Good day, Sheriff," Regina greeted.

It had always amazed Graham how Regina managed to keep a ladylike decorum, despite what people said about her and her profession. He had ears; he knew a lot of people thought Regina had wasted her potential by becoming the owner of a brothel. He knew better than to judge someone like Regina. If he wanted not to be on the receiving end of one of her withering looks, he'd just stay out of the gossip-mongering.

"Hello, Miss Mills. What can I do for you?"

"Candy here told me something interesting last night, in regards to Eddie Tyler, and the fire." Regina stepped inside, gently guiding the girl with her. She was probably in her early twenties, and she looked nervous. "Go on, Candy Tell them what you told me."

Leroy snorted. "Candy? What kind of a name is that?"

That seemed to snap the girl out of her nervousness. "It's short for Candace," she spat.

Leroy didn't know when to shut up. Graham stepped behind him, giving him a smack against the back of the head, all the while smiling at Candy. "You'll have to excuse Leroy. He was born with a birth defect rendering him tactless and stupid."

"Ouch." Leroy grumbled, both from the slap and the insult.

Candy took a breath. "I was with Mr. Gold at the brothel last night. He got rather drunk, and started bragging to me about how he was the one who paid Eddie to burn the brothel down. And he kept calling me Belle, and crying about how he missed having tea with me."

Graham sat down at the table, processing all of this. "Thank you for telling me, Candy, you've been very helpful."

Regina turned to the door. "Go on back to the brothel, Candy, I'll be there soon."

When the girl left, Regina turned to Graham. "Emma is in danger. Gold is more powerful than anyone in this town, and if Eddie gets caught, he'll just appeal to Gold for help."

"Yes, I know." Graham said, worriedly. "I have to warn her. Leroy, go back to the telegraph station. Send a telegram warning Emma that she might not just be up against Eddie. Go now."

Leroy left, actually helpful for once.

"If you're organizing a posse to go after her, Sherriff, I want to be one of that number."

"No. I don't want to put you in danger—"

"Enough with the sexism. Just because I am a woman does not mean I can't help you, and keep you out of danger. We're not all dainty creatures, Sheriff. You should know that; Emma is a prime example." Regina didn't add that she thought Emma was a barbarian—that wouldn't do well for her argument in this case.

Graham sighed. She had him there.

"Fine, you can come with us."

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Regina didn't like riding horses. She wished they could have taken the train. But, as Graham pointed out, a group of ten people—nine men and one woman—traveling on a train was sure to attract attention, and this mission depended on being inconspicuous.

She pulled her hat lower over her brow. She'd refused to wear a cowboy hat, and so the hat she was sporting was a black velvet one she had bought in New York when she visited once. It had red and brown feathers in it, and it was Regina's favorite hat. She didn't care if the men snickered at how she looked; it was a fashionable hat, and wearing it made Regina feel more in control of the situation.

They passed beside a river, and her horse bent down to take a drink. The riding gloves she wore were getting hot. She peeled them off and stuck them in her satchel, then picked up the reins, kicking her horse forward to catch up with the men.

She kept going over in her mind the reasons why she was doing this; to avenge herself, and to bring the shady businessman that she had come to loathe over the years down. It wasn't for Emma. She barely knew the woman, after all. And what she did know about her didn't really encourage her to want to get to know her better.

The few times they'd happened to pass each other on the street, before she had saved her life in the fire, they'd look at each other strangely, like they were from different planets. While Regina wore corsets and silk dresses with puffy sleeves—the height of fashion—Emma would walk around town cussing and swearing and wearing breeches and gambling. They could not be more incompatible if they tried.

And yet here Regina was, on a rescue mission to save the deputy.

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Emma placed her hands on Marjorie's shoulders, trying to keep calm. "You remember what to do?"

"Yeah. Calm down, Emma, this'll be a snap."

"Tell me that when it's over," Emma muttered.

Marjorie gave her a reassuring smile and walked out across Haberford street, to the corner where Marjorie had sworn she'd seen Eddie a couple days earlier. If Emma's plan went well, then she'd have Eddie in handcuffs by the end of the night. It was dark, but because of the light pollution, Emma couldn't really see the stars at all. That made her miss Boston and her quiet rooming house even more.

She looked considerably more masculine now; Marjorie had given Emma some facial hair that she'd had from when she did Vaudeville shows dressed as a man. Emma readjusted the mustache, resisting the urge to pull it off and itch her nose.

She crept up by the building tha Marjorie had gone to seconds before, then, pulling out her gun, and shifting her bandana above her mouth, she ran out.

She stuck the gun in Marjorie's back, and Marjorie screamed bloody murder. She smirked for a moment, breaking character. Marjorie was a good actress, but all Emma could think of was how she'd made Marjorie scream last night.

A man's rough hand on her shoulder brought her to the present. He pulled her violently off of Marjorie, knocking the gun out of her hand with ease. He was big—at least 6 feet tall. From how Marjorie had described Eddie, she'd been picturing a guy maybe a few inches taller than her. She'd planned on taking him out, no problem.

But the reality of her situation was, there wasn't just one man. There were six of them, maybe more, surrounding her, ready to rip her to shreds. She looked past them, to Marjorie, who had a panicked expression on her face. The man who Emma assumed really was Eddie was beside her, smirking. He had on a pinstriped suit, looking like the typical gangster type. Emma could not be in more of a sticky situation. All she could do was curl herself up in a ball, and hope that when the guys beat her up, they didn't break anything.

That's what she was about to do, when a voice cut through the crowd of men.

"What's going on here?" It was Graham. Emma could have cried in relief.

And he wasn't alone, thank God. He had some men with him—and Regina. Emma frowned, wondering what Miss Priss was doing with her boss's posse.

But that was a question for another time. Emma watched as Eddie stalked up to Graham.

"Your deputy was about to hurt my girl," Eddie said. He turned to Emma. "Yeah, the disguise was terrible, Deputy Swan. Really, it was transparent." Emma glared at him, but his men were blocking her path.

"You burnt down this woman's brothel," Graham said, gesturing to Regina. He was somehow able to keep a cool head.

"So? You need a warrant to arrest me if I'm out of state."

"Done." Graham held up a piece of paper, signed by Judge Wallis, a close friend of his.

Eddie grumbled. With a tilt of his head, his men moved, letting Emma out of the circle. She shoved one of the guys just for fun, then rushed to Graham.

"I'm not the hugging type," she said. But she hugged him anyway.

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Emma walked up the steps of the rooming house, glad that she was back home. Mrs. Jenkins first glared at her, then scolded her for leaving town without a word, then cried and hugged her. Emma just stood there awkwardly, letting Mrs. Jenkins fuss over her. She'd have to get back to work tomorrow, but right now, it was nice to relish in the moment. She'd brought down an arsonist, made sure he was locked behind bars. The next piece of the puzzle was bringing down Mr. Gold, but that would be hard given all his pull in the town. He owned a lot of the businesses; he was a realtor as well as a lawyer and a pawn shop broker.

Emma had no idea how to prove he was behind the fire.

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"So how exactly did you find me?" Emma asked, kicking up dust on the floor as she leaned against the table Graham was sitting at.

"Regina helped us. She knew a lot of the local whorehouses. She apparently lived in Chicago for a while."

Emma raised her eyebrows. "You're saying I owe my life to Regina?"

Graham nodded. "Well, it seems like a fair trade off. You saved her from a fire, and she saved you from getting your ass kicked by a gang of Eddie's thugs."

Emma turned red. She didn't like being beholden to people. "I—I have to go," she said, and Graham smiled in understanding.

She walked out of the Sheriff's office, gritting her teeth and steering herself towards Regina's place of residence. It was a sunny day in early July, and Emma was conscious of how the beads of sweat on her neck grew cool at the thought of seeing Regina again-and trying to have a civil conversation with her.

She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She waited for a minute, then knocked louder. She heard a voice call, "I'm in the back," and Emma followed it. She opened the white fence and found Regina kneeling down, in a modest skirt and apron. She'd never seen Regina in something so domestic before.

"Hi," she said, lamely.

Regina looked up at her. "Oh, hello, Deputy Swan. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Regina was all fake smiles. Emma knew she probably wanted Emma to be anywhere but here.

"Look, Graham told me that you helped him find me. If you hadn't come with him, I probably would have gotten beaten to death. So…thank you."

"You don't sound particularly grateful."

"Well, I guess now you know what it feels like to save someone's ass, and they don't really give a shit."

"Must you be so…you?"

Emma frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You and I are far too different to understand each other, Miss Swan. So I suggest, we call it even, and just leave it at that. We don't have to talk to each other. This is a big enough town. We won't see each other that often."

Emma blinked, surprised how this woman could make a total brush off sound almost polite. But still cold as ice.

"Fine. Have a nice day, Miss Mills." Emma didn't breathe until she was out of the yard, and on the street again. The woman really was insufferable. It was as if she thought Emma was beneath her, or something. Sure, maybe Regina was classier than her, and dressed better, but that didn't mean she was the fucking queen of the universe. She owned a brothel, for Christ's sake.

She decided to go back to the rooming house. In the field behind the house, there was a small barn, where Mo stayed. Emma opened the stall door, slipping the harness over Mo's head. She saddled him, deep in thought. Whenever she was mad, or sad, or hell, even happy, a ride was just the thing.

She put him through his paces, galloping across the paddock, then walked him out to the street, taking a path that led out of town.

She rode around the wooded fields, until an hour before sundown. When she got back into town, it was nearly twilight. She let Mo out in the paddock, then walked back to the house.

Mrs. Jenkins and her brother-in-law were arguing.

"Please, just let me stay here a couple days, Margaret. I promise I won't drink."

"Yeah, right. It's nothing I haven't heard before. I'm tired of it, Leroy."

"You have to trust me on this. I'm a deputy now, I'll be responsible."

Emma stepped into the kitchen. "Yeah, about that, now that I'm back in town—"

"The sheriff can have more than one deputy," Leroy interrupted. "Please, sis, I need a roof over my head. You wouldn't let your own brother-in-law sleep on the street, would you?"

Out of all of Leroy's dubitable talents (drinking a barrel of ale in ten minutes wasn't really a skill), Emma had to say, being able to look incredibly pathetic was on the top of the list.

Mrs. Jenkins relented, and Leroy smiled. It was the first time Emma had ever seen that, for sure.

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Mr. Gold knew that Eddie Tyler had been brought to justice. But he wasn't done with his revenge on a certain brunette. He'd paid the man to set the fire, but his real motivation was to kill Regina. A certain stupid blond deputy totally foiled that plan. He hadn't thought anyone in town liked Regina enough to risk their lives for her, but evidently, he'd been counting his chickens before they hatched.

He'd just have to be more careful this time. He'd have to find a way to end Regina's life without implicating himself. Eddie had told the judge that Mr. Gold had put him up to it, but he had no proof, and so the judge ignored it.

Mr. Gold was a powerful man. He would find a way to have everything.