Maybe it was just the effects of living a thief's life for so long, but Emma was by far the noisiest traveling companion Neal had ever suffered.

"This is so exciting!" she kept squealing, traipsing clumsily after him. Branches snapped against her shoulders, leaves crunched beneath her feet…Neal cringed at every sound: stealth and silence were habits he had long developed, so he could move through shadowed hallways and treasure rooms like a ghost. Emma seemed determined to do the exact opposite. It was a wonder the palace guards hadn't already tracked them down.

"Keep your voice down, okay?" he muttered.

"Why?" she asked immediately.

"Because—" Neal struggled to think of an excuse, not wanting to give her the opportunity to lecture him on the evils of outlawing—"because there's wild animals in here! Dangerous ones. Very dangerous."

Emma raised her eyebrows skeptically. "What kind of animals?"

"Wolves," he said promptly. "And probably, bears."

"Well, then," Emma said, looking extremely unconcerned as she swung her frying pan around her finger. "I guess we better pick up the pace before we run into any wolves or bears."

Neal grimaced as she scampered ahead of him, louder than ever. Initially, he hadn't thought it was that bad a deal, their little arrangement: a little sightseeing in exchange for his safe passage out of a kingdom that would hang him for robbery, given the chance. But that was before he'd actually done much in the way of traveling with Emma. She chattered incessantly, taking care to remind him that she disapproved of his outlaw lifestyle; she was loud and clumsy, and completely unapologetic for it; and she seemed to have boundless energy that pushed her to do things like race ten feet ahead of him to climb a tree and study a robin's nest. Why she did that, Neal hadn't the foggiest idea: he assumed it had something to do with being cooped up in that tower. She'd been so cut off from the outside world, she didn't realize the things she was getting excited about were all quite normal and extremely boring—hardly justification for the delighted squeals that kept escaping her throat.

Even so, it was beyond annoying at this point. Some disillusionment was in order.

"Hey, you know what?" he said, catching her by the shoulders. "I'm starving, are you starving? You look starving."

"I could eat," Emma shrugged. "But I'm okay."

"No, no, let's stop," Neal insisted. "I know a nice little hole-in-the-wall around here. It's only a little ways down the road. Ten minutes, tops."

Emma looked unsure. "It won't take us out of our way?" she asked. "I don't want to waste time."

"It's right on our way," Neal promised. "Besides, you've got to keep your strength up, don't you?"

"I guess," she said dubiously, though her eyes drifted longingly ahead, where the castle turrets were just barely visible. "I wanted to make it before nightfall."

"We will," Neal assured her; she still looked rather unconvinced, so he added, "Think of it this way: it's all part of the kingdom experience—exploring the edges, meeting the riffraff in shady bars—"

"The what in the what?" Emma repeated in alarm.

"They're not really riffraff," Neal amended quickly. "They're more like…artists."

"Artists?" she frowned, looking suspicious.

"Starving artists. Free-thinkers. Rebels…" Neal considered her warily, wondering if she was buying it. "They're not bad people, it's just that…nobody understands them."

Emma's expression cleared. "Well, that, I get," she said with a little sigh, her shoulders slumping. "My parents don't understand me, either."

"Mmm." Neal shook his head sympathetically. "So you do understand."

"Yeah," she said softly, the frying pan tucked under her chin, staring sightlessly ahead. "I guess I do."

"So…maybe we could drop by the tavern?" Neal suggested. "It's a great place, you know, full of creative spirits like you." Probably the most terrifying place your little blonde head could imagine. "Artists, free-thinkers…" Murderers, thieves… "People who just need a second chance." They'll eat you alive, with dipping sauce and a side of fries. "I mean, don't get me wrong, if you're scared, we'll skip it. But if you can't handle this, I don't know how you're going to handle the kingdom…"

Emma frowned, and snapped her head up. "Of course I can handle it!" she said haughtily. "Lead the way, Cassidy—we've got a tavern to get to!"

Neal's eyebrows jumped at her sudden enthusiasm; he put up his hands cautiously, and said, "O-okay, let's just relax, Blondie. You're at a ten—I'm going to need you to take it down to, like, a four."

"Onward!" she insisted, flinging her pan forward.

"All right, shh!" Neal clapped his hand over her mouth, ignoring her muffled protests. "Look, sweetheart, I know you're excited, but I wasn't kidding about the wild animals. You've got to keep your voice down, or we're not going to make it to the kingdom at all."

Emma glowered at him over his hand, but she gave a reluctant nod, nonetheless. Neal smiled briefly before releasing her, and put his hands on her shoulders to turn her around.

"All right, let's go," he said. "Keep close, Blondie."

"It's Emma."

"…I knew that."

The Ugly Duckling.

That was the name of the tavern Neal had lead her to. The Ugly Duckling.

She didn't know where they got "duckling", but it was definitely ugly, that was for damn sure. Even before they walked inside, the grimy walls and dusty windows set her stomach churning. And the door! Her eyes widened at the dark stains on the moldy wood, and she tightened her grip on the frying pan.

"I-is that blood?" she whispered to Neal. "Does that look like blood to you?"

"Oh, sure," Neal said cheerfully. "It really adds personality to the place, don't you think?"

Before she had a chance to argue, he flung out his hand and pushed the door open. "Barkeep!" he called out confidently. "Your finest table, if you don't mind! And maybe a free drink for the birthday girl?"

Thirty pairs of suspicious eyes switched in their direction. Emma stumbled back, colliding with Neal.

"You okay, Blondie?" he asked, catching her around the shoulders. "Not too scared, are you?"

Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the blood-spattered walls; the splintered wooden planks; the grimy candles lighting the grimier tables; the clientele of shady, hardened, blade-wielding men in ragged, rum-soaked clothing. One of them leaned back in his seat, regarding them with glaring blue eyes, the hook on his left wrist digging deliberately into the table.

"I'm not scared," she managed, barely above a whisper. "I'll be fine."

"You're sure?" Neal said in her ear, guiding her further in. "I mean, look at this place, it seems kind of shady—and this is a nice bar. Look at those guys over there! They've done time—hard time, I bet. And that bartender? Ten ducats says, his wife is buried under the floorboard."

Emma looked at him in alarm. "What?"

Neal grinned, and opened his mouth—

A snap! cracked, and a voice growled, "Get him."

Two thugs came from behind them, clapping their hands over Neal's shoulders and hauling him up. Neal sputtered indignantly, flailing his arms, Emma frantically tugging on his boot.

"Let go of him!" she pleaded. "Please—please, I need him, he's my guide!"

"Get off!" Neal demanded. "Blondie, help me out here!"

"I'm trying!"

"Where's the frying pan?"

"Don't bother," the hook-handed man drawled, motioning his thugs forward. They obeyed, bringing the struggling Neal with them; with a decisive thud!, they dropped him into the opposite chair, keeping firm hold on his shoulders.

"Stop it!" Emma pushed her way forward, ending up between the two men. "Please let him go?" she appealed to the hook-handed man. "You don't understand, I need him."

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, keeping his eyes on Neal. "But your boyfriend here is a wanted man, and his capture is going to pay for the mahogany engravings I've been wanting for my ship."

"Okay, let's just get a few things straight here," Neal snapped. "One—mahogany engravings are overrated and adding new embellishments to an old ship is just going to make the rest of it look even crappier. Two—I'm not her boyfriend, that's completely ridiculous, and I demand an apology."

"Hey," Emma frowned.

"You're right," Neal nodded; then looked back to the man, jutting his head at Emma. "She gets one, too."

The hook-handed man smiled blandly. "You're not in a position to argue with me. Especially, if you are who I think you are."

"And who do you think I am?" Neal scoffed.

He drew a piece of paper out his coat with a flourish, and pinned it to the table with his hook so hard, it rattled. "Neal Cassidy. Wanted for robbery, breaking and entering, and obstruction of justice." He flashed a wicked smile. "A thousand crowns for your capture."

"That's it?" Neal said, affronted. "I've lifted at least half a million crowns' worth, all I'm worth is a lousy thousand?"

"Captain Jones," one of the thugs grunted. "Can we hit him now?"

"Not yet, Derek," the captain replied. "I'm still working. But once I'm finished, yes—you may hit him."

"No!" Emma objected. "Sir—captain—please just hear me out?"

Jones flicked his eyes over briefly. "You're wasting your time on a fugitive, darling," he said. "Go home, I'm sure your parents are worried."

It was the wrong thing to say. Instantly, Emma thought of Graham and Regina: hovering over her, suffocating her, trying to keep her behind those impossibly tall stone wall, locked in that jail cell they called a bedroom!

She slammed her hand and frying pan on the table, making both men jump. "I am not going home!" she said heatedly. "I've been trying to escape home for eighteen years, and I only made it this far because of Neal! Look—" her voice turned desperate, almost begging—"haven't you ever had a dream? Something you've wanted more than anything your whole life?"

Jones stared at her, half-frozen with bewilderment.

"Haven't you ever felt so trapped in your own misery, you knew you'd go completely mad if you didn't get out?" Emma pressed. "Like it was your destiny was calling you, and you knew you just—you just had to do it?"

Jones blinked. "Um—"

"Please?" Emma said, biting her lip as tears (which may or may not have been fake) filled her eyes. "Please, sir…I'm desperate. I finally have a chance to change my life, and if you don't let him go…I'll never get this chance again."

Beside her, Derek sniffed, drawing a finger under his eye. Jones glanced at him; then back at Emma, knitting his brow.

"You're really depending on this guy to help you change your life?" he asked, somewhat incredulously.

"I need him," she sighed. "It's a whole thing, it's hard to explain, but…yes. Yes, I'm really depending on him."

"Oh, come on, sir," another man said. "Help the girl, we can always find another fugitive."

"Yeah," several more echoed. Emma shone a grateful smile at them.

"Thank you," she said, and meant it with all her heart. She looked back at Jones. "Please?"

"Now, hold on," Jones said, holding up his hand. "Much as I admire your fight for independence, I can't just—"

"Let the man go!" Derek objected, and a chorus of, "YEAH!" sounded behind him. "This girl's got a life to live!"

"YEAH!"

"She shouldn't have to pay for his crimes! She deserves a chance!"

"YEAH!"

Jones shifted his eyes around, looking at his crew—all of whom were staring daggers. "I mean…" he began helplessly, spreading his arms. "You're really putting me on the spot here—"

"And," Emma added, tucking her hair behind her ear with a shrug, "it's also my birthday. Just so you know."

Jones closed his eyes as his crew's voices rose in volume, overlapping as they insisted he release Neal. "Guys," he said exasperatedly. "You guys—"

"It's her birthday!"

"We've got plenty of other jobs!"

"Why don't we just go back to ambushing other ships?"

"Who needs mahogany engravings, anyway? He's right, it's just going to make the rest of the ship look cheap!"

"OI, I'M STILL CAPTAIN HERE, AND I GIVE THE BLOODY ORDERS!" Jones roared, standing up from his chair. "And I say…"

He glared around the room at his crew. Emma watched apprehensively as the crew members glared back, some of them folding their arms defiantly; others meaningfully examining their fists. The captain was ironically one of the smaller men, amongst the crew of great, hulking pirates, and in that moment it became very apparent. He swallowed, looking less confident than he had a minute ago, and slowly retook his seat.

"And I say…let the man go," he sighed. "Far be it from me to detain a young girl from following her dreams."

Neal stared at him for a minute; then narrowed his eyes, lifting a quizzical eyebrow. "What about that apology?"

"Don't push your luck, kid," Jones said through his teeth. "I've got a very limited supply of generosity to work with."

Neal raised his hands in surrender, nodding his head. "Point taken, point taken," he said. "So, uh—" he cleared his throat—"does this mean we can go?"

"I'll not stop you," Jones said, crinkling the "Wanted" poster in his hand. "Apparently—" he shot his crew a dark look—"I'll have a mutiny on my hands, if I do."

"Right." Neal scratched the side of his face, looking around curiously. "And, uh..say we wanted to hang around, have a bite…?"

"Your choice," Jones said, thoroughly irritated. "It would be extremely awkward, though, so maybe you should consider other venues."

Neal looked at Emma, raising his eyebrows. "What do you say, Blondie? Stay here—" he swept his hand, gesturing at the room of (friendly?) thugs—"which, by far, is the safest place we'll run into, out here in the real world…or go on?"

Emma slit her eyes, and set her frying pan on its side with a deliberate thud! "I think I've proved I don't scare as easily as we thought," she said icily. "So, here's what's going to happen, Cassidy: first, you're going to buy me a birthday cupcake; and then you're going to take me the rest of the way to the kingdom without trying to scare me into going back home. You want that crown? You have to earn it."

"What's this about a crown?" Jones frowned, his eyes darting between them.

"Nothing, nothing," Neal said, shaking his head as he got up from his chair. He put his hand on Emma's shoulder to guide her to the counter. "Come on…Let's get that birthday cupcake."