I'm sure this has been done before but I've never come across one. Imagine if Hook was cursed to live in Storybrooke during season one. This chapter starts off right where the Pilot episode ends.

"Welcome to Storybrooke," the innkeeper said as she handed the key to Emma.

"Come on," the brunette said, "I'll show you to your room." Emma followed her up the stairs until she stopped in front of a room marked with a 4 on the door.

"Thanks, … uh-"

"Ruby," the pretty girl said with a smile. "Granny runs the place but I help her out so if there's anything you need just ask!"

"I think right now I'd like to know where I can get a drink," Emma said.

"Well, there's a diner downstairs."

"Anywhere … darker?"

Ruby smiled and Emma thought to herself how much prettier she could be without all the heavy makeup. "There's a place not far from here called the Rabbit Hole. I think it's more what you're looking for. It's close enough to walk to."

"Thanks," Emma said. She put the old fashioned key into the lock. "Don't see keys much anymore."

"Granny likes to keep things classic around here," Ruby explained. She turned to go back down the stairs. "Maybe I'll see you later."

"Oh, is that where you're going tonight?" Emma asked after her.

"It depends how my date goes," Ruby said with a wink.

Emma was sitting alone for 15 minutes in her the small, cozy room before she got up with a huff and went in search of the bar Ruby had told her about. She had been right; it was close enough to walk to which was nice considering there wasn't much to do in the rented room.

The Rabbit Hole was just what Emma was hoping it would be – dark and nearly empty. It was a Monday night and with no television screens this was not where the town congregated to watch the football game. There was a couple at the pool table that looked like they were more interested in each other than the balls that had clearly been forgotten.

The bar itself was dark wood and impressively stocked. Emma slid into one of the empty stools surveyed the selection of bottles trying to decide what she wanted to order.

"What's your pleasure?" a deep voice with a British accent interrupted her pondering. She turned towards the voice that had just spoke and was not prepared for the man that was tending the bar. He had hair so dark it was nearly black and his chiseled jaw had just the right amount of scruff. Even in the dim light Emma could see that he had startling blue eyes.

"Whiskey. Neat," she said, pleased that her voice didn't betray her.

"Any particular kind?"

"Something strong," she said. "Surprise me."

He regarded her for a moment before flashing a smile and turning away towards the liquor selection. She watched as his right hand passed over a few bottles before settling on one and pulling it off the shelf. He put it on the bar and as he reached for two glasses she noticed that his left hand was prosthetic. She quickly averted her eyes as he placed the empty glasses on the bar.

"I probably shouldn't even be serving you," he said as he began to pour them each a healthy serving of the dark liquor. "I heard you had a little trouble with the law last night."

Emma rolled her eyes. "News travels fast."

"Small town, love."

"I suppose you're going to report back to Regina that I was in here drinking tonight? It seems like the mayor has quite the long reach in this town," she said as she swirled the whiskey in her glass.

"Not me, darling. You can trust that any secrets I learn are kept." He picked up his glass and held it out. She clinked hers against it and they both took a sip. Whatever he had poured it was not cheap and Emma savored the burn she felt in her throat.

"Well, you won't learn any secrets from me," Emma said.

"I'm a bartender, love. You don't need to tell me your secrets for me to find them out," he drained his glass and she found herself slightly mesmerized by the way he swallowed. "I'm quite perceptive and you, my dear, are easy to read."

"Am I?" she asked as he poured himself another drink.

"You decided to stick around this sleepy little town because you are worried about the boy," he said matter-of-factly before taking another sip from the glass.

"That's not perceptive, that is just listening to town gossip," she said. "No doubt the whole town is aware that the horrible woman that gave up her son is in town."

She suddenly felt very self-conscious as the bartender observed her with cool blue eyes for what seemed like an eternity. "You could have just dropped him off and left but you wanted to stay," he said. "To see if he was okay."

"You got me," she said with a smile. She cast her eyes down to her glass and watched her fingers trace the rim.

"Because you don't want him to have the same terrible childhood that you did," he finished. Emma's eyes darted up to meet his. For a moment she was tempted to tell him that he was right; that she needed to see if the kid she gave up was having a better life than she could have given him. His eyes were searching hers, waiting for her to tell him what he had already guessed.

But Emma let the moment pass. She could have poured her heart out to the bartender just like they do in the movies. Instead took another sip of the whiskey and smiled. "So what brought you here?" she asked.

"Into my bar?" he raised an eyebrow as he asked. "You mean besides the overwhelming crowds?" He waved his hand towards the nearly empty room.

"I mean to Maine," she said. "Between you, the sheriff and Mr. Gold I've heard more accents today than I normally do in Boston."

"It's a long story," he said. His expression changed subtly but enough that Emma noticed. "But you'll find that the sheriff and I have very little in common. And Mr. Gold and I even less."

"Sounds like there's more to the story there," Emma said in a teasing tone.

"Nothing of consequence," he said sharply.

Emma took the hint. If she wasn't going to talk about her life it really wasn't fair to ask him about his. She took another long sip of the drink he had poured.

"This tastes expensive," she commented.

"It is," he replied casually. "But you needn't worry about that. This one's on the house."

"Nice try," she said as she finished the glass and stood up from her seat. "I'll pay for my own drink, thanks."

"If the lady insists," he said with a mocking bow. "You owe me $40 for that glass."

"Next time I'll be more specific about what I want," she said as she pulled out her wallet and tossed the money onto the bar.

"Until that time then, love," he replied. "I think you'll find that I have anything you could possibly want right here."

He paused for a moment and then waved his hand in the direction of the bottles. Emma rolled her eyes again but couldn't help a small smile as she headed for the exit.

Emma stopped in the diner for a late night grilled cheese before heading back to her room. Once the door was closed she tossed her red leather jacket onto a chair and peeled off her jeans. She was awake for hours thinking about Henry and the strange set of events that made her stay in this town. Once again she silently promised herself that she was only here to make sure that he was okay and hopefully even happy.

She finally drifted off to sleep and that night she had the most vivid dream of sailing on a pirate ship. She was in the middle of the ocean with the wind in her hair and a smile on her face.

"You'd make a hell of a pirate."

Emma turned to see who had spoken and just before she could see who it was she awoke in her room with a start. Sunlight streamed into the room and Emma went to the window to see that the town was already bustling with activity.

She needed coffee.