CS Genre: Rival bakers au

Emma sprinkled the crumbly topping over the apples and cinnamon in her pie shell, then using her thumb and index fingers, perfectly crimped the dough around the edges. Stepping back she surveyed her creation and nodded in satisfaction.

It was a masterpiece.

Her famous Dutch Apple Pie was sure to win the Storybrooke Fall Festival Apple Baking Contest this year.

Emma chuckled to herself as she set the oven to 375 and then poured herself a cup of coffee as she waited for it to preheat. Imagine her, former bail bonds woman who barely found the time to make instant oatmeal, entering a baking contest!

"Morning Emma. Looks like you're up and at 'em early this morning."

Emma turned to smile at her foster brother, David, as he and his wife, Mary Margaret, emerged from the curtain that separated their bedroom from the rest of the loft's living area.

"Morning," Emma said, handing David a cup of coffee. "Hope I didn't wake you two. I just wanted to give myself plenty of time to finish my pie for the festival."

"No, you didn't wake us," Mary Margaret said, absently rubbing her distended belly. "Your nephew did that all on his own."

David chuckled. "That little guy's got quite the kick. Even I could feel it this morning."

"At least his little feet aren't aiming directly at your ribcage," Mary Margaret said with a grimace.

"Well you don't have too much longer now," Emma said, soothingly, handing her sister-in-law a mug of decaf. "Your due date's what? A month away?"

"Thirty-three days to be exact," Mary Margaret said. "Not that I'm counting down or anything."

The oven beeped, and Emma slid her pie in and then set the timer before taking a seat at the table. "So what's the plan for today?"

"The festival starts at one," David said, "so I told Killian to be here at around noon for lunch, and then we can all head over together."

Emma groaned. "Killian's coming with us? Really?"

"Come on, Emma," David said with a grin. "He's my best friend. It won't kill you to spend an afternoon with him, will it?"

"Jury's still out on that one."

1 year ago…

"Emma, are you sure you're ready for this?" David asked, pacing restlessly in front of her desk in the bullpen as Emma put her gun in her holster and snagged her jacket. "If you want, I'll take the call. You can ease back into it on something more routine."

Emma rolled her eyes. "David, you've had me on desk duty ever since I started two months ago. If I don't get back out in the field soon I'm going to go nuts. Besides, this is a routine b & e. I'll be fine. Stop fussing."

"Are you sure, though?" David persisted, "your wound…"

"Is healed," Emma finished for him, walking purposefully toward the door. "Got a clean bill of health from Dr. Whale two weeks ago, if you remember. Look, I'll be fine, but if it would make you feel better, I promise to call for backup if things get sticky."

David grumbled but finally stopped protesting, and Emma made her get away before he could change his mind. As she climbed into the patrol car and started the engine, Emma absently rubbed her side, pleased to feel nothing more than a faint twinge.

The "date" that had changed her life had happened eight months before. She'd been using her standard first date trick to catch her latest scum of the earth skip, and all had been going according to plan until he ran. She'd followed him resignedly back to his car, where she'd installed a bright, shiny boot.

She'd used this play a thousand times. Lure the scumbag in with her tight, slinky dress, let him know she was onto him, follow him when he inevitably tried to run, handcuff his worthless ass and toss him in jail. It worked like a charm.

Until this particular night when her cornered skip pulled out a gun and put a bullet in her side.

After an extended stint in the hospital, Emma'd been left with a bit of a conundrum. She'd still need help during the remainder of her convalescence, and she had no one. No one in Boston cared if she lived or died.

In the end, her foster brother, David, had ridden in like Prince Charming and offered her a solution.

"Come stay with us," he'd insisted. "I know Storybrooke isn't as exciting as Boston, but we'd love to help you out while you heal. We've got an entire loft bedroom that's just collecting dust. You'd be doing us a favor."

"I don't want to impose…"

"Don't be silly, Emma," Mary Margaret said, with a gentle hug, "we'd love to have you. Stay for as long as you want!"

And she had.

Emma thought she'd miss the fast paced life of the city, but to her surprise, she thrived on small-town Storybrooke life. It was refreshing to live in a town where everyone knew everyone else and everyone genuinely cared. Three months after moving into the loft, Emma decided to stay and make Storybrooke her home.

David and Mary Margaret had been overjoyed at her decision, insisting she stay with them at the loft for as long as she wanted, forever wouldn't be too long as far as they were concerned. David had gotten her a job as his deputy at the sheriff's station, and everything, for once, seemed to be falling into place.

Which brought her to today, the first day David had consented to her request to go on active duty. It had been a quiet morning, like most mornings in Storybrooke, until they'd gotten the call. Mr. Robert Gold had gotten to his pawn shop that morning to find the door smashed in and the shop trashed.

Emma pulled up to the curb and made her way to the still-open door. The first thing she noticed were the raised voices. The angry, threatening raised voices. Emma pulled her gun as she silently entered the shop.

"Where is it?" a man Emma'd never met demanded in a crisp, clipped British accent. "The shawl. Where is it? Hand it over or I swear I'll gut you like a fish."

Emma sprang into action, rushing forward, avoiding the broken glass and overturned display cases as she raised her gun and pointed it at the man who had Mr. Gold pinned to his counter with a….was that a fish hook?...to his throat.

"Drop the weapon!" Emma said. "Drop the weapon and put your hands up!"

The man turned suddenly. "Stay out of this, love," he growled, face like thunder. "This doesn't concern you!"

Emma reached into her pocket with her free hand and flashed him her badge. "That's where you're wrong, buddy. You're under arrest. Drop the weapon. I won't ask again."

For a moment they were stuck in a stalemate, Emma with her gun trained on the man, him frozen in place with his hook to Gold's throat, his eyes wild and furious.

Finally he backed down.

The change was instantaneous. His face cleared, fury replaced by a flirtatious grin. Dropping the hook onto Gold's counter, he sauntered toward her, moving with the grace of a cat, his gorgeous blue eyes sparkling knowingly as she gasped.

He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, with his messy black hair, smattering of scruff, thick chest hair peeking out of his blue button down shirt and black leather coat. For a moment, Emma was frozen, mouth gaping, eyes blown wide.

And then he chuckled, the sound low and sinful, and the spell was broken. Emma shut her mouth, narrowed her eyes, and trained her gun on him. "Hands up, buddy."

He complied, both hands raised before him as he continued to saunter her way. "Hello beautiful," he purred, "I don't believe we've met. Killian Jones, at your service." He bowed smoothly, and she rolled her eyes, holstering her weapon and pulling out her handcuffs.

"Yeah, don't care," she said, roughly grabbing his arms and cuffing them behind his back. "You're coming with me. Now."

He tossed her a smoldering look over his shoulder. "No need for the violence, darling. I'd go with you wherever you want, though we can certainly make use of the handcuffs."

He winked at her, a positively indecent gesture that had her heart racing and her breath catching in spite of herself. When he waggled his eyebrows at her, clearly seeing her reaction written across her face, she growled, shoving him toward the door and her cop car.

"You have the right to remain silent," Emma said through clenched teeth. "How 'bout you exercise it?"

He'd flirted outrageously with her all the way to the station.

Emma knew guys like him, knew them all too well. Guys who were hot and they knew it. Guys who seemed to think their charm would get them whatever they wanted. Guys who expected women to fall swooning at their feet.

Well it wouldn't happen with this woman. She'd seen enough scumbags in her day. She wouldn't fall for this one's charms, no matter how hot he was. All she had to do was toss his butt in jail, and then she'd never have to see him again.