Note: Honestly, no idea where this came from. There is definitely more to the story, and I might write more eventually.

The packed conference room buzzed with anticipation, and Emma Swan rode the wave. She could feel it in her bones; this was a huge story, probably the biggest she'd covered so far. Among the usual scattering of regional reporters she spotted a number of bigger-market colleagues, drawn to Storybrooke by the intriguing possibility of a juicy story.

Emma took another hit of coffee and exchanged a glance with her best friend and fellow reporter. Mary Margaret Blanchard was flushed with excitement, shooting her a quick smile and tapping her pen on her reporter's notebook.

Emma's phone chimed, and she rolled her eyes at yet another text from her editor with suggestions of what to ask at the press conference. She'd been a police reporter for three years now, and even though this was shaping up to be the biggest story of her career, she hardly needed Gold picking out her questions.

Another glance told her that Mary Margaret was making goo-goo eyes at her boyfriend David, their photographer, who stood near the podium at the front of the room, waiting for Mayor King to make an appearance.

It certainly wasn't every day that the mayor's son was a suspect in his fiancee's murder.

Her phone chimed again, and she groaned. "Seriously, why isn't Gold sending you suggestions about what to ask?"

Mary Margaret shrugged. "Maybe because I've never been banned from a courtroom by a judge or had the chief of police threaten to take out a restraining order on me?"

"Those were total overreactions," Emma said defensively. "All I wanted was the truth."

"Mmmhmm," Mary Margaret said, but even without looking Emma could tell she'd lost her to David's baby blues again. The two of them were perfect for each other and still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. It was equal parts adorable and nauseating to witness.

"Perhaps you're just too much woman for them to handle, Swan."

Oh, of course.

Emma gritted her teeth as one of her least favorite people on earth dropped into the seat next to her. Killian Jones, a rising star in the world of TV news, was destined for greater things than the Storybrooke market. Emma wished the walking reminder of her past mistakes would just move on already and get the hell away from her.

His striking good looks and unconventional style were getting attention all over. He rarely wore anything but jeans on air, had the perfect amount of scruff and almost-constant sex hair. The British transplant was the only reporter she knew with actual groupies; she had no doubt a gaggle of girls was waiting outside city hall to fangirl all over him as soon as he left.

The worst of it was, the guy wasn't just another pretty face; he was a damn good reporter with great instincts.

Not that Emma would ever admit it.

"Oh look, Mary Margaret," she said in an overly sweet tone. "WSTB's Ken doll is here. If you couldn't tell by the overwhelming hairspray fumes and suffocating stench of Axe Body Spray."

"Cute, Swan, but we both know you love me."

Her stomach twisted at his low voice, which hinted at some secret shared between them. Fortunately, she was used to covering up her reactions to him by now.

"I'm sorry, Jones, but this area is for real journalists. You're going to have to go sit with the other empty-headed pretty boys over there."

He leaned in closer, close enough to make her grind her teeth again. The truth was, the man smelled heavenly, damn him. "So you do admit I'm attractive, then?"

She turned to face him, jerking back slightly to avoid bumping noses. "First of all, personal space," she said, pushing him away. "Second of all, did you skip over the 'empty-headed' part?"

"My journalism degree's just as good as yours," he said. "We were even in some of the same classes, I'm sure you'll remember."

She avoided his eyes, turning to stare hard at the mayor's podium instead. Of course she remembered sharing classes with Killian Jones. And drinks. And a lot of laughs. Not to mention one night of deep, wet kisses and breathless, passionate, knee-weakening sex. As much as she tried to block it out, she could still remember the feel of his skin on hers, the sound of his voice whispering how amazing she was. She might have even had a few feelings for him, all of which evaporated the instant the girlfriend he'd neglected to mention showed up the next morning.

"Well, too bad nobody else at your station learned anything in j-school," she said. "Otherwise, your anchors wouldn't be reading news from our website like it was something you guys wrote."

She waved her notebook in front of his face. "Don't think you can just read my stories in front of the camera and take credit for my work."

"I do all my own work, sweetheart, and it'll be a damned sight better than whatever your outdated rag publishes," he said testily, and she smiled. Obviously a sore subject.

Swan - 1, Jones - 0.

"Well, I guess we'll see who gets the biggest scoop, Jones."

"Shall we make a wager, love?"

She froze, meeting his eyes again. "What terms?"

"If I get the bigger story out of this, you buy me dinner. If you best me, I'll buy you dinner."

She shot a look at Mary Margaret, who was watching with interest. "Excuse me if I'm getting this wrong," she said. "But it seems like whether I win or lose, I'd still have to go to dinner with you."

His smile was wolfish. "You're missing the point, darling. Either way, we both win."

At her look, he sighed. "Very well, Swan. If I win, you buy me dinner at the establishment of my choice. If you win, I'll never ask you out again."

"Well, now we're talking." This was one bet she knew she'd win. She had a source in the mayor's office who owed her big. "One other small detail, though. Who decides the winner?"

"I'll give you an edge, love, because you'll need it. I have a source that can't be beat. Out of the kindness of my heart, I'll allow your BFF to choose the winner." He nodded at Mary Margaret.

"Whoa," Mary Margaret said. "Don't drag me into this. Besides, I'm reporting on this story, too. What if I scoop the both of you?"

"Fair point. If you win, Swan and I will both buy you dinner." He smirked at her. "We'll make it a threesome. I hope Dave won't be too jealous."

Emma rolled her eyes, and Mary Margaret groaned.

"Ladies? Swan? Come on, M&M, don't let me down."

"Fine," Mary Margaret said with a sigh. "I'll be your judge."

"You're on, then," Emma said, shooting a cocky grin his way. She had this in the bag. "May the best woman win, Ron Burgundy."