"Let her out quick, kid. She hasn't peed the crate yet and I really want to keep that tradition going."

Emma stuck her foot out to catch the door as Henry shuffled forward, his open umbrella tossed to the side of their rain-slicked porch as he stepped inside and stomped the rain off his shoes. Her arms were otherwise occupied by grocery bags that were begging to be put down thanks to a grocery clerk who didn't seem to know how to distribute heavy things evenly to save her life, so she made a hasty beeline for the kitchen the second Henry's waterlogged sneakers hit their worn little welcome mat, hurrying to set the heavy plastic bags on the countertop before her son could let Tinkerbell loose. The rapid thump of a bushy tail and restless jingling of a pair of tiny dog tags told her she'd barely gotten her arms free in time. Henry hadn't actually let Tinkerbell out of her crate in the mudroom yet, but the second he did a noisy blur of fur and frenzied feet would be slipping across the kitchen tile to say hello like her life absolutely depended on it. Tinkerbell spent her first night in the house seven months ago, but she still greeted them the same way every time. It was sweet, but God, it was tearing the wood floors to pieces.

Emma wiped her hand across her face, longingly eyeing the coffee maker. The rational part of her knew drinking cup number three of the day wouldn't replace the sleep she needed to finish out the work week, but the alluring scent of coffee beans was beckoning the rest of her closer. She gave it one last lingering glance before putting the rest of the groceries where they belonged, determined to get dinner cooked on time for them this week no matter how much homework Henry had to finish. Dragging his work out until it was too late to cook and she offered to order pizza instead was a good trick, she had to hand it to the kid, but that kind of trick only worked so many times without her catching on to him. Emma heard the back door open and shut as he ran outside with Tinkerbell on the lead, knowing the banging of the door would be followed by one of her favorite combinations of noises in the world: a chorus of shouts and squeaky barks and the squish of boots and paws in the mud.

Seven months ago, those noises weren't so rare. She and Neal had been divorced for a while by then but there were no more clenched hands beneath the dinner table, no heavy looks sent her way when he said goodbye and offered her a one-armed hug at the door, no more questions from neighbors about what Henry's father did now that they had the house. It was almost easy to see him when he came over for Henry-mandated family dinners.

You're still friends, her precocious son had insisted after he left for the first time. He still wants to see us.

He'd called ahead that Friday, claiming in hushed tones that he was going to need her help with a surprise for Henry, that it had to happen before they ate, and the excitement in his voice had been so unexpectedly palpable that Emma couldn't help but play along with whatever he had in store. He'd pulled her out to the sidewalk with her eyes shut before he opened the back door of his car and handed her a bundle of fur that barely weighed ten pounds, the puppy's large, lopsided ears making up for at least half of it. Her name was Tinkerbell, Neal explained, and as of that afternoon she belonged to them. She was grey and brown and black all over except for the freckles around her paws and nose, and Henry fell in love with her instantly.

At first Emma was furious; she couldn't believe he thought it was a good idea. It was too much, considering how little free time Emma already pieced together during her loaded work week, and it was too spontaneous a gift not to mean something. She cornered him the second dinner was over that night while Henry busied himself with giving Tinkerbell a tour and made him explain himself. They weren't exactly intimate anymore, but they'd loved each other long enough for her to know when something was off.

Emma Swan met Neal Gold when she was twenty, at the peak of what her mother still liked to sugarcoat as her rebellious phase. Neither of her parents had ever heard the full story of how she and her first love met — shoplifting could have ended up being a night in jail for the both of them, but after running six consecutive blocks from the convenience store with him in tow it had felt whole lot more like a date. The voice in her head warning her it was a bad, bad idea was squelched every time it had to fight against Neal's easy charm and the happy rush of adrenaline that flooded her each time they got away. For some stupid reason that Emma still couldn't quite name, the thrill of it got to her, right up to the day they got caught.

Neal's father was a well-known and powerful prosecuting attorney in his hometown, so it wasn't surprising to anyone that his son had managed to get his charges cleared after a slap on the wrist. Emma didn't need to see the disapproving sneer on Robert Gold's face to know she wouldn't be so lucky. One month of jail and two little pink lines later, she realized just how much trouble she was really in.

Neal found out about Henry through the mail after she gave birth behind bars. She hadn't expected much from a man who was still so stuck under his father's thumb but he ended up surprising her completely, actually crying when he met his son for the first time. Something seemed to change in him after that, after he proposed to her during one of their quiet meetings in the visitor's center of the women's prison, after he milked his status as the DA's son to try and secure her a job working as a bail bondswoman when she got out. None of the restless nights in her cell could have prepared her for the fact that she was about to have a future paved out for her, a sleepy little town in Maine to call her own, a family.

Walking out of prison and getting married against his father's wishes soon after that were high points in Emma's life, second only to getting to tuck her son into his crib at night and promise him that out of all the mistakes she'd ever made, he was not going to be one of them. Whatever life decided to throw at her little family, that would never change.

But here she found herself eight years later, standing in the laundry room that used to belong to both of them, demanding to know what was really going on with Neal, why he'd brought a puppy home when he wasn't the kind to show off with big gestures. His hesitation set off louder warning bells than the puppy did, and Emma steeled herself against the washing machine in preparation for the news.

She's going to keep you both company when I'm gone.

When I'm gone.

Gone.

Life as she knew it fell crashing down in the time it took him to say those ten words. Neal had a heart defect, something that couldn't have been predicted, and he couldn't keep it a secret from his family any longer because his time was running out. The bigger Tinkerbell grew, the weaker Neal got, and Emma couldn't understand for the life of her how she was supposed to raise a son and a puppy that would barely listen to her. Neal already left her once, and that had been hard enough to recover from. How could she go through it and survive the second time around?

She had blamed the dog at first. Tinkerbell was the by far biggest and most obvious reminder of Neal that she still kept in the house, besides Henry, and sometimes coming home to a hyperactive puppy was just too much to handle. Days blended into weeks of late shifts catching bail skippers, early mornings dropping Henry off at school and the constant upkeep that came with keeping a smile plastered to her face. Yes, Henry was doing all right. No, she didn't need any more meals sent to the house. She didn't think she could stand the reminder of him running around her house and chewing up the legs of the kitchen table but anything was worth seeing a real smile light up Henry's face. Some days she even calmed down enough to sleep quietly at her feet while she answered work emails on her phone, and Emma would be lying if she said she didn't fall in love with the little floppy-eared girl too.

Emma grabbed Tinkerbell's towel and stood ready at the door as Henry climbed up the back porch stairs. He was holding her by the collar, which made it infinitely easier to get her into the house. Coaxing Tinkerbell indoors was hard enough on most days, but after a rainstorm it was harder than taking down bail skippers in heels and a tight skirt. Emma wrapped both sides of the towel around her legs, dropping her knees to the floor. Tinkerbell squirmed and fought against the strong legs around her but Henry held the leash tight, and eventually she had no choice but to relent.

"Oh, don't act like you're not having fun," Emma grunted, rubbing the towel under her belly. Tinkerbell lolled her tongue in response and grinned up at the two of them, shoving her paw against Henry's leg in a halfhearted attempt to wiggle out of reach. "I swear she likes this better than the actual getting wet part."

"At least we kept her in the mud room this time," Henry chirped, scratching the underside of Tinkerbell's chin. He'd shucked his raincoat off and hung it up before leaning down in front of Emma again, distracting his puppy enough for his mom to finish toweling her off. She huffed a reply as she let Tinkerbell go free and tossed the towel back into the washing machine, not even bothering to think about how much laundry she needed to get done. Dinner was first on her priority list anyway, and she was already running late.

"How much homework are we doing today?" Emma wondered, fanning her pot of water with a wooden spatula so it didn't boil over. She looked over her shoulder as she stirred rice into the pot, watching Henry's expression change while he worked on his math assignment. From the looks of it, the kid had a whole packet to finish, and he wasn't exactly thrilled about it. She smiled at him anyway, endlessly proud of her son and how he'd kept his grades up over the year. More often than not, Henry felt like the one thing she was doing right. Turning the burner down to medium, Emma walked over to wrap an arm around his shoulder, sliding her hand up and down his wiry arm.

"Fractions and word problems? That shouldn't be legal." Emma chuckled as Henry groaned in response, flipping his pencil to erase an answer he'd messed up on. "Easy on the paper, kid, you're gonna put a hole in the table."

"Is dinner gonna be ready soon?" He asked, lifting his eyes hopefully to hers. "I want to try and feed Tink at the same time to see if it'll help her stop begging. I read two dog blogs that said it helps to re-direct their attention and — where is she, anyway?"

"She was supervising our dinner last time I saw her," she replied, trailing her thumb across the collar of his shirt and tucking his tag in. "I asked her to stir the rice for me while we were sitting in here and catching up."

Henry's nose wrinkled at her answer and put his pen down, not fooled for a second by his mother's sense of humor. "Tink!" He called loudly, swiveling in his seat in anticipation of her rapid approach, which reminded them both more of a linebacker than a labrador mix.

Emma waited for the inevitable scratch of tiny claws against her wood floors, but she didn't hear a thing. That was strange. Tinkerbell usually answered to Henry no matter what she was getting into. Emma rose up and walked back toward the kitchen, ready to pull her dog's nose out of the trash can and back into her crate for a time-out, but when her feet hit the tile the kitchen was empty. Her eyes cut quickly to the back door, and —

Damn it, not again.

"She slipped out the back door again?" Henry appeared right in the hallway and ducked under her hand where it was propped against the wall, peeking out the window on the off chance she'd decided to stay in the backyard this time. Their back door was ridiculously heavy, hard for even her to push open, but it refused to stay shut unless the locked the bolt. It was sitting on her list of home improvements to make, but Tinkerbell was taking full advantage of it until she could afford to replace the knob. This was the second time she'd gotten out without them hearing her leave. Tinkerbell never liked to make it easy for them when she performed her little disappearing act.

Emma went to grab her raincoat just as her cellphone began to ring on the kitchen counter. She didn't recognize the number but she was glad for the call, because it reminded her that her rice was boiling over on the top of the stove. By the time she was able to get the vent fan on and wipe all the excess water from the counter the call had gone to voicemail and she couldn't care less who the caller was because Henry was waiting for her by the door, impatiently squeaking his wet books across the floor.

"Mom, come on! She could be halfway across the neighborhood."

"I'm coming!" Emma ran out the door with one arm shoved in her raincoat and the other holding tight to what had affectionately become known as the Tinkerbell Retrieval Kit — a bag of her favorite treats, one of her squeaky tennis balls, one of Henry's old socks and, if things got really bad, a first aid kit for dogs. The rain was driving a little harder now, soaking through her jeans as they made it down the driveway and stood at the end of the street and looked for any clues of Tinkerbell's whereabouts.

Emma's phone buzzed in her pocket again and she wrenched it out, surprised to see the same number lighting up on her screen. This time she answered it, holding her puppy rescue kit in front of her head to block the rain from getting her phone too soaked.

"Hello?"

"Is this Emma Swan?"

The accent on the other end of the line startled her, and she felt Henry run into the side of her arm in surprise. For a strange, small moment she wondered how someone on the other side of the planet could have gotten her number, but then she realized the man on the other end of the line was waiting for her answer. She cleared her throat and decided that this guy, whoever and wherever he was, had about thirty seconds to convince her she needed to stay on the phone.

"Look, now isn't exactly a good time. My dog's missing and my son and I are out trying to look for her, so if you — "

"Tinkerbell?" He interrupted, and how the hell did this guy know everything about her life? "I've got her with me here now. Found her in my yard a few minutes ago and called the number listed on her tags."

"Oh, thank God," Emma muttered, turning to look at Henry. Somebody found her, she mouthed, crouching over him so they could share shelter under the plastic zip-locked bag. "Where's here, exactly?"

Killian Jones was standing at the window in his kitchen, lazily picking over a bowl of grapes he'd poured for himself once he got home from work. The rain had turned the entire neighborhood a dull grey, a bleak lazy color that made him want to wrinkle his nose until night fell. He'd gotten home from work a little earlier than usual thanks to the weather — not many people want to visit the city aquarium when the sun wasn't out — and he was reaping the benefits meant watching the rain fall through the curtains until he got hungry enough to cook.

He hadn't lived in the neighborhood long, a little over a year at the most. The neighbors he'd managed to meet in that time were nice enough, mostly older couples or young parents starting their children off in the first years of grade school. He woke up earlier than much of the neighborhood, though, and came home just before dusk, which didn't make for ideal conditions to make friends, apart from the early morning dog-walkers and the fitness junkies.

Killian had popped another grape in his mouth and leaned against his countertop, marveling at the way far-off thunder sounded as it rumbled through the city. He'd grown up in a small town in Ireland, off the coast of the bay, and there the thunder seemed to ripple around the countryside like a stone being tossed over water. Here it felt more like he was in the actual clouds, and he couldn't decide whether he liked it or not. This particular thunderclap seemed to be a little too close to his own house, though, and sounded suspiciously like someone was trying to wrench his gutters off his roof.

He furrowed his brow and turned toward the back of the small house, searching for the source of the noise. Going toward the front door made it impossible for him to hear the noise, wondering if he'd been imagining things, but then he heard it even louder when he reached his back door. Something was definitely tearing up his gutters, or at the very least stuck in them to the point that they were getting ripped apart in the process of trying to drain.

Sighing his way back to the front door, Killian put on his rain-slicked coat and grabbed his umbrella for good measure once he stepped out onto his porch, sincerely hoping he wasn't about to be attacked by some kind of wild creature. He'd had a job of it trying to wrestle one of the agitated injured reptiles back into his tank before he'd signed off for the night, and he didn't want his hands anywhere near another set of angry teeth.

Just my bloody luck, he thought to himself, squishing through his muddy front yard and around to the side of the house. There was in fact a creature waging war on his gutter drain, but she was surprisingly small for the racket she was causing. Killian found himself standing in the rain and staring at a puppy with soaked dappled fur and some of the biggest ears he'd ever seen, her teeth tearing at his drain work like it had personally offended her in the past.

"Just what do you think you're doing, little lass?" He challenged accusingly, catching the puppy's attention immediately. She turned and bound right for him, running up as if this was part of the routine of his life. It startled him at first, backing up and nearly slipping into a large mud puddle on the uneven ground at his feet, but he only saw eagerness and light in the dog's eyes. He found himself smiling at her then, bending down before she jumped up and tried covering him with muddy paw prints.

"A bit lost, are we?, he murmured, offering his hand for her to sniff. She seemed to approve at once, sliding her wet tongue along his palm and between her fingertips. He surveyed the damage behind her, grimacing at the shredded bits of gutter that were currently pooling on the side of his house. He'd have to replace it entirely, he figured, but that could wait for a day when it wasn't pouring down rain. Killian knew he only had two choices left to him for the time being — take this little terror out of his yard and send her along her way, hoping she lived close enough to make it back home, or let her and her drenched fur into his house so he could dry her off and contact her owners himself. She clearly belonged to someone, tags jingling from beneath her chin as he scratched her neck. He hoped they were the type of people who were worried sick over their lost pup, not the kind who left her out in the yard unattended while the downpour raged on.

Killian sighed and swept her up and under his arm, ignoring the way her fur immediately soaked through his shirt. She stuck a paw against his chest and made a squeaky noise of happiness, licking at the scruff on his chin in an apparent show of thanks.

"It's going to take more than that to thank me for my trouble, you know," he grumbled halfheartedly, keeping a tight hold on her and trying not to lose his step when she tried to shake the water off her little body. He didn't even know her name yet, having decided to wait until they were both indoors to check her collar, but he couldn't help feeling that this dog had sought out his company in particular.

Later on he decided it was the bright look in her little brown eyes. She was still young, he could tell that much from her huge paws and ears that seemed unable to stand on their own, but when she looked at him as he spoke he swore she could understand everything she was saying. Whether she listened to him, though, was another thing altogether. He'd tried putting her down and she'd wiggled to get out of his arms instantly, visions of mud-covered carpet and wet dog hair on his furniture enough to make him second-guess his strategy. Opting for the bathroom instead, he pulled the hand towel from its hanger and proceeded to scrub her dry where they stood, wiping down every inch of her that wasn't pressed to his chest.

Eventually both of them were dry enough to walk freely around his home, and Killian remembered that she had a collar in need of checking. He'd been sitting and playing with her for a minute in his living room, dangling the now-filthy towel above her head as she laid between his knees, jaw snapping playfully for the corner of the cloth, but he set it aside to reach for her tags and find a phone number he could call. The little pink bone-shaped tag in front told him her name was Tinkerbell, and the golden one behind it said she belonged to an Emma Swan who apparently lived just a few houses down the way from him.

"I'd thought you looked familiar," he remarked, crinkling his nose at Tinkerbell. He'd seen a blonde woman running early on Friday mornings with the puppy keeping her pace, but only fleetingly. Knowing this was her dog — or at least guessing, since there was a chance he'd remembered her wrong — made him feel a little better. He clicked his tongue to get Tinkerbell to follow him and smiled widely at the way she followed at his heel, impressed to see that Emma Swan was doing such a good job training her puppy already. He retrieved his phone from his leather work bag and sat with her as he dialed the number on her tag, hoping to reach Emma and put her out of her worries for the dog.

The call went to voicemail the first time around. Killian frowned, because he hadn't been expecting that at all. He leaned back against the teak rails lining his stairs and continued to rub the fur under Tinkerbell's chin, double-checking the number on the tag to make sure he'd gotten it right even though he'd heard Emma Swan's voice on her voicemail. He glanced over to the front door again, wondering whether her owner was currently braving the rain in search of the wayward pup.

One more try, he decided. One more and then I'll go back out and take her back home myself.

Killian redialed and shoved his phone between his shoulder and his ear, listening to it ring while he surveying Tinkerbell's collar and gave it a little closer inspection. It was green, or it had been once, and decorated with little faded marks that looked like paw prints themselves. He was almost ready to hang up again when he heard the call connect and sat up a little straighter, listening for the voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" Asked a woman on the other end of the line. She sounded a bit frantic, and he could hear rain falling all around her.

"Is this Emma Swan?"

She paused for a moment after he asked, and Killian realized he could have gone about his introduction a little more politely. Before he could open his mouth to apologize, though, he heard her cough and catch his attention again. "Look, now isn't exactly a good time. My dog's missing and my son and I are out trying to look for her, so if you — "

"Tinkerbell?" Killian interjected, smiling as the puppy turned her head to the side at the sound of her own name. She was behaving remarkably well now that she was inside and had conducted a personal tour of his downstairs, and he couldn't for the life of him remember why he'd been so cross with her when he'd found her outside. "I've got her with me here now. Found her in my yard a few minutes ago and called the number listed on her tags."

"Oh, thank God," he heard her respond, glad to hear the relief finally seeping into her voice. "Where's here, exactly?"

"I'm in the blue house with the dark shutters down the street," he explained, mentally kicking himself for making her ask him so specifically. "Her tag says you live at 232, and I'm just in 239. Would you like me to bring her back over?"

"No, we're already outside, and you can't really get any wetter than this. Who is this, by the way?"

He smirked at the flat tone of her voice, trying to remember the blonde woman he'd seen jogging along his sidewalk all those Friday mornings. If it was the same Emma Swan he was talking to, of course.

"I'm Killian Jones," he replied lightly, as if this was a completely normal way to meet his neighbors. He was looking forward to meeting Emma Swan, even if she sounded like she'd rather be doing anything but having this conversation with him. "I'll have her ready as soon as you get here."

Tinkerbell let out a happy little yelp as Emma bade him a quick goodbye and hung up, looking at him like she knew she was about to get picked up and go home. She seemed much happier now that she was dry, just as he knew he was, and the thought gave him an idea that sent him diving back into the hall bathroom in search of more towels. When Killian finally did greet Emma Swan, he planned on having a towel waiting for her, as well as his umbrella if she needed to borrow it. He wasn't one for stellar first impressions, he knew, but rescuing her dog and offering to help her dry off had to count for something. There was no way to tell based off her voice alone, but he found himself hoping it was the same blonde he'd seen exercising with her dog in the neighborhoods.

"Tell me this, Miss Bell," he prompted, turning down to look at the puppy pressing herself up against his shins, seeking attention in the form of more chin scratches, "Is she as much a challenge as you?"