The rapid thundering against her heavy wooden door still pounds in her head, in sync with the tempo of her beating heart. Emma grips the steering wheel tighter, the leather rubbing against her slick palms as she inhales sharply and pleads for the images to vanish from her brain as she rolls up to the stoplight.

She had swung open that door without a moment of consideration as to who she may find on the other end. Her glossy green eyes absorbed the dark tresses in an instant, wondering if they always appeared so dull and lifeless.

"What are you doing here?" She bitterly snapped, so desperately attempting to mask the pain still so fresh in her heart.

"Please-"

"You should have told me," she had cut her off instantly, but cringed when she heard the break in her own voice, provoking her to fold her arms protectively over her chest because her heart couldn't take another ounce of pain.

"I know," she choked out and the vulnerability stealing this broken girl's voice was enough for Emma to meet the watery eyes staring back at her. "I'm so sorry, but how was I suppose to know what we would become?"

"This was all just an illusion."

"We were suppose to be a drunken one night stand-"

"That has somehow lasted an entire month," Emma mumbled under her breath, releasing her death grip around her chest and pivoting, before stomping back toward her bed in the studio apartment. "Seriously, what do you want? I need to finish packing," she said, holding back all the emotions swelling in her throat and threatening to reveal her true heartache.

"Emma, please." The sound of the door softly clicking shut resonated in Emma's mind just as she was whirled around by her wrist, with a set of warm lips colliding brutally against hers. "Please," she gasped again, "I know you have to go," she whispered, timidly threading her trembling fingers through her golden hair to memorize her and it physically killed Emma to see the evidence. "But please, make love to me one last time," she pleaded, tenderly, molding her lips into the comfort of Emma's once again.

"I don't want to go."

"Remember me like this."

A very angry horn blares from behind her old beat up, yellow bug, dragging her mind away from the past and shoving her forcefully into the now. She blinks, the sound of her own turn signal slowly comes into focus before she visibly sees the green light before her.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going," she grumbles to herself and quickly jerks her wheel, making the turn through the intersection.

The winding road that she turns on is engulfed by monstrous evergreens on either side of the black pavement. Her eyes flick down to her phone for a split second to confirm that google maps is in fact leading her in the right direction before she sighs and continues her travel. She forces herself not to think about the past because in the end, that's something she can't control and Emma Swan is one for always being in control.

She glances down at the file resting safely in the passenger's seat and inhales another deep and calming breath. Her firm grip tightens around the leather steering wheel again as she thinks about her assignment and reminds herself why she's there right now.

Nobody could ever accomplish this job quite like she has. She can pick up her sad little duffel bag stuffed with clothes and travel wherever the hell her captain tells her to without a moment of hesitation. She easily slips into the role of whomever she needs to play, in whatever town is necessary because of her past.

Poor, little orphan. Foster kid at the young and impressionable age of five, when she was dragged out of school without her mommy and daddy and escorted to the local police station. There, some kind, young officer, with a low blonde ponytail and bright blue eyes, had taken her into a cold, damp room, offered her a hot chocolate and told her that her mommy and daddy weren't coming back. Emma had no idea what that meant at first, but her chin wobbled and her vision blurred from the hot prickly tears. When she had finally sobbed and begged and pleaded for her parents, the officer explained that they had died that morning, after dropping her off at school, in a car accident.

She's never touched a hot chocolate since.

After that, life was rough. She was shoved around and tossed aside from one foster home to the next, used, mistreated far worse than any of the hand me down toys she was forced to play with. She was always placed in a home with far too many other children to ever be seen or heard...or loved. Loved. That's a joke. Most foster parents with that many children were usually at their whits end and had lost all possession of patience.

It was her second home that changed her. She was still adapting and it had only been two months since her parents untimely passing and she was still crying herself to sleep every night. Maybe that's why the first family forced her to leave? Anyways, the foster mother had a short temper, she remembers being dragged by her pajamas across the floor in the middle of the night and shoved into a closet for all her 'whining'. She still isn't sure how long she was left in that closet without food or water before she was released.

After that, she learned very quickly to blend into her surroundings and adjust to any living situation just to ensure her safety. She played the part well, fading and blending into the background, so she didn't cause trouble and more importantly to guarantee that nobody would lay a hand on her again. Never again.

That's exactly why she can play any role so well, she was trained at a young age to be whomever the people around her needed her to be. That's exactly why, not one person has ever sniffed out her scent during one of her undercover operations. She is perfect for the job; strong, reliable, smart, no family or friends to consider and a freaking chameleon in this world. And she never gets too attached to anything...except for one, but she isn't thinking about that right now.

The forests on either side slowly breakaway, opening up to a quaint little town. Welcome to Storybrooke, is hand painted in swirling script against an old brick building and Emma can't help but snicker at the sight. Her foot eases up on the gas as she slowly drives through Main Street, memorizing the buildings for future reference. The town has this warm and fuzzy feeling and for a split second, something similar to home pulsates in her chest, before she forces the sensation away.

The townsfolk are out this warm fall evening, the streets are scattered with happy families and couples and all her eyes insist on, are wandering back to that folder. She nibbles on her bottom lip obsessively, wondering how the hell this case has sent her here?

"In one mile, turn right on Castle Way."

Green eyes flick back to the road ahead, noting the end of Main Street just ahead. Her fingers flip on her turn signal as she glides into the turn lane and very closely memorizes her path along the way. She absorbs every landmark, every detail, every inch in case of an emergency as she rounds the corner.

"In one hundred feet turn left on Mifflin Street."

"Alright Captain, no more shady city apartments?" She muses to herself as she drags her turn signal down and turns left like the gps instructed.

Thick, rubber tires slowly roll against the hot pavement below, eliciting every sound of crunching rocks or gravel below. Her eyes quickly sweep along the mailboxes, counting the numbers as they ascend.

100. 102. 104...

"Destination."

"106 Mifflin," she exhales slowly and slumps back against her leather seat.

She fights against the stick, aggressively shoving her car into park while she takes one more calming breath before her new case. She eyes the folder again out of her peripheral and sighs, because truthfully, this is the only time in her life that she really didn't want to take a case. She groans, scrubbing her hands down her face and summoning all the energy she has left from the long road trip to move inside.

She kicks open the door, wincing at how loud that old creak just is, but it's drowned out by a basketball bouncing on the driveway next door...right next door. She rolls her eyes to herself, because she hates small towns and their too close, cookie cutter homes. She's accustomed to the city life; always on the go, everyone always too crabby to take interest in the neighbors and that's where her boss usually sends her on assignments.

She slowly climbs out of her vehicle and reaches across the seat for her file before shoving her seat forward and retrieving her duffel bag in the back. She kicks the door shut while her eyes roam over the enormous house for just herself. Wow, is all she can really think of because this place will be like a freaking mansion for just her.

She crinkles her eyebrows when she notices the peace surrounding her. Slowly, she peeks over her shoulder to find a curious little boy blinking up at her with his basketball firmly squeezed between his palms. She's immediately scanning him, assessing him, judging that he can't be more than eight years old. Medium length brown hair, sweeps in his eyes, check. She squints, maybe hazel eyes, check again later. No scratches. No bruises. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact that he won't stop staring and isn't bombarding her with a million questions like some detective at her station.

"Can I help you?" She incredulously blurts out a little harsher than she intends to, but he won't stop staring.

And in what could only be described as slow motion, she watches as the round ball slips from his grip before time picks back up to normal speed and the kid is charging up his driveway.

"Kid! Wait...your..." she distinctly hears the door inside his garage slam shut before she can even finish, "ball."

She groans, sliding her duffel bag off her shoulder and placing it on top of her folder before jogging into the street after the jumpy kid's ball. It bounces a few times until it hits the curb on the other side of the street and slowly rolls down the road. She chases after it, down another house, until she can reach it. She bends down and easily catches the ball before it has the opportunity to run away any further and when she's leaning back up, she hears a dinky bike bell and a gust of wind blow against her head.

"Oh my god!" A man hollers as she stumbles back, just barely missing the collision.

"Shit!" She ducks back again, even though she knows she is safe and winces.

"I'm so sorry!" The man cries out, but he's not slowing down because his bike is being pulled by a very large Dalmatian. "He's just so fast!"

"Asshole," she grumbles under her breath and makes sure to look both ways before she crosses the street this time.

Emma jogs back to the driveway, where she frightened an eight-year-old and carefully places the ball inside the garage. The second she steps out of the garage, the door is closing, persuading her curious mind to peek over her shoulder. She locates the same little boy, watching her closely through the side kitchen window. She's awkward and doesn't really know how to interact with children anymore and she's mortified at herself for offering a weird little wave.

Thankfully nobody else is around to witness her tragic altercation with a child before she gathers her stuff and heads to her new, temporary home.

XXXXX

Quite frankly, she hates the house. Her entire body deflated like a sad little balloon at the end of a birthday party the moment she stepped inside. Should she start with the smell? Sure. Her nostrils twitched and caused a permanent scowl on her face from the first breath she took. The air was thick, like maybe a window hasn't been opened in the last decade or so, mixed with a very pungent aroma of old lady's perfume. And that was just the beginning.

The plush pink carpet was an eyesore, and that's putting it kindly, but on the positive note, it matched the flowery wallpaper that decorated every inch of every godforsaken wall that the home had to offer. She was sure her Captain was playing some sick and twisted game on her when her eyes roamed over the old furniture that certainly was from the late eighties, maybe early nineties.

That's about as far as she ventured on before whipping out her phone and calling her boss.

"I swear to god," she doesn't bother with simple formalities such as hello, at this point, "if some shriveled up lady croaked in this house and was found several days later after her cats had a field day, I will drive my ass back to New York and kill you."

"Why are you always so radiantly positive? Do you sneeze in rainbows?"

"Is that a gay joke?"

He chuckles, the kind of heartfelt, carefree rumble that forces her mouth to twist in amusement. "Ah, it should've been, right?" He's shuffling around papers and she can only assume his phone is tucked between his ear while he attempts to do a million things at once. "The lady is safely living with her daughter and son-in-law in Portland...with the cat."

"I knew it," she grumbles, her feet shuffling forward since no evidence of human remains will be discovered. "And what, you couldn't spring for new furniture?" She mocks, finding her way into a kitchen that actually is updated with a modern decor. She hums to herself, rummaging cabinets and checking out the upscale refrigerator.

"We didn't have time, but we did swap out the bedroom. That's all fresh and clean for you," he states matter of factly as she slams the fridge shut and moves on to the stairs, so she can investigate her bedroom.

"So, what's the catch here, Nolan? How did I get screwed into this Mayberry dimension? You know city life is my game."

"Come on, we have been through this one hundred times. You're the best. This guy is slick."

"He better be for how many times he's pulled this same scam," she mindlessly mumbles as she finds a massive master bedroom, that much to her surprise, smells lemony fresh. "You cleaned the room I see?"

"Just the upstairs. Hire a cleaning service for the downstairs if you want. We really didn't have much time, we needed to act fast."

"So, this guy, who we have no idea what he looks like, starts these little businesses, people order from him and he just closes shop and disappears. Stealing their money?"

"Yeah, last place was a paper company, for business cards and such, time before that was an embroidery shop...the list goes on and on..." her Captain rambles and she just knows he's searching for the file again, but she memorized the entirety in the last two days. "There's been different faces every time in the storefront so..."

"So, sneaky suspicion, this guy is great at hiding his face. He has employees working for him while he remains safely hidden in the shadows?"

"My best girl."

"Mmmhmmm," she hums, plopping down on her queen size bed, another bed that will never be hers. It doesn't even phase her anymore. "So, the investigation has lead to here, with some random ass kid, Gideon, right?"

"He's been receiving hefty amounts of transfers in his bank account-"

"From Robert Gold, his father. I know, I read the file," she reiterates, falling back onto the mattress to stare aimlessly at the boring ceiling above.

"We checked this guy out, he's swimming in cash."

"He owns his own business here."

"Well, that's where you come in."

"I got this," she sighs, stretching out her long limbs. "I give it two weeks, tops."

"This guy is slick, you're gonna have to really weasel your way into the family. Don't be surprised if you're gone for months this time."

XXXXX

"Granny's," she laughs through her nose and shakes her head as she shoves her stick into park.

She ducks her head over the steering wheel to inspect the run-down, neon sign, that's barely hanging on by the rusty old nails. Another town, another "favorite restaurant" where she will indefinitely make new friends and pretend to be chummy with until she solves this case and heads back to New York. To her real life.

What life?

She snorts at the ridiculousness of it all and gingerly opens her door, already stepping into character. She plasters on a dopey smile, hugging her laptop safely against her chest as she begins her first evening undercover in this small town.

There's a small, white picket fence surrounding the tiny diner which leads her to the narrow brick walkway. A young blonde woman with a baby, clearly being suffocated against her mother's chest, offers Emma a wide toothy-grin. In return, she flashes a shy smile and ducks her head down to appear shy and carries on her way.

"Here you go," a man kindly says, opening the door for her before chasing after the mother and child from before.

"Thank you," she calls over her shoulder, but the couple is already rushing to their car, most likely from the explosion Emma's nostrils were just inflicted upon from the baby.

"Sit wherever you'd like," an elderly woman hollers, startling Emma by her booming voice that carries through the restaurant with asserting authority.

Emma offers another shy smile before padding through the restaurant and slipping into a booth off in the back. Along her way, she notes every customer that crosses her peripheral; from the depressing looking bald man, obviously sitting alone, to the other loner sitting at the counter, scratching his scruffy beard, to the younger couple that she will forever in her mind refer to as Ariel and Eric from The Little Mermaid, to a lanky brunette who should honestly change her serving profession into a nighttime gig that includes a different kind of tip.

"Hey, sorry but we don't have WiFi here," the skimpy dressed waitress says as she holds up a pot of coffee as a peace offering.

Emma nods, flipping her coffee mug upright and smiling softly. "That's alright. I'm actually writing, so the internet is not needed here." The waitress illuminates a thousand watt smile, her perfect teeth sparkling against her ruby red lipstick. "In fact, he's just a distraction," she playfully teases, leaning across the table for some cream and sugar.

"Well, we wouldn't want that now would we?" The woman easily flirts, creating a small smirk to tug at the corner of Emma's mouth. "I'm Ruby, and I'm sorry for being so blunt, but you're new around here."

Emma chuckles softly, shaking out her sugar packets before emptying three packets inside her coffee. "I am. I just moved here actually."

"Ah, you're the one that moved into Old Lady Callister's home, huh?" Ruby investigates further, easily making herself comfortable in front of Emma's table.

And dammit, if Emma wasn't on the job right now, she would definitely be buying this one breakfast in the morning before sending her on her merry way.

"Yeah, actually I am. It needs some lovin', but I don't mind...I was sort of in a rush to move anyways," she mutters, meekly shrugging one shoulder and increasing the waitress's interest, just like she had hoped.

"Ah, bad break up, huh?" The woman pouts dramatically, but it's too adorable for Emma not to smile softly at.

"How'd you know?" She muses, mentally patting herself on the back for dangling the bait and so easily catching this woman.

Ruby is exactly the type of person she needs undercover. A laid back chick, easy going, but definitely enjoys the gossip chain a little too much. It's a perfect opportunity for Emma to sell her undercover persona and have the word spread quickly about the divorced writer who just moved to town to get away from her cheating husband and find her inspiration again.

"I'm just a people person," Ruby proudly brags, flashing another flirtatious smile while she leans a little closer into the table and locks eyes with Emma. "What did they do?"

Emma quirks up an eyebrow from the woman's choice of word, they, and assumes Ruby's gay-dar is shrieking at her right now like a horrific scene at a car crash; lights flickering frantically and sirens blaring from every which way. And oh how she hates to disappoint...

"He," it's impossible not to notice the disappointment stealing the woman's features. "...put a dog in heat to shame. Anything that walked passed him with legs and a chest, he humped," Emma deadpans, creating the most adorable laugh to tumble out of Ruby's lips and long gone is the disheartening expression consuming the waitress's face.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm not. Good riddance, I don't care how much I have spent on this divorce, I'm just glad he's out of my life."

"So, a fresh start, here in Storybrooke," Ruby happily concludes with an exuberant smile that screams she's the spokesperson for this quaint town.

"I believe so. I think this town might be the inspiration I need to tackle my next novel."

"Oh," Ruby leans in even closer and Emma hates how in this pretend world, she's straight, because dear god this woman smells good. "Next novel?" She leans over Emma's laptop like she might actually catch a glimpse of something important. "Have you written anything I might have read? Most people don't know this, but I love to read."

"Then yeah, I think you might have, but I have a pen name. I don't usually like people knowing who I am," she timidly says, offering a remorseful smile, but Ruby just waves her off.

"That's alright...so what is your name?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Emma softly chuckles and holds out her hand, "I'm Allison Cameron."

"Well, it's nice to officially meet you and like I said, I'm Ruby, Ruby Lucas and the old lady stomping around behind us, is my Granny. She owns this restaurant."

"Well, I'm glad I have a friendly face around town now. It's intimidating walking into a small town like this, where I assume, everyone has known each other since birth and are all very close."

"I wouldn't know, I've never left this town," she confesses and Emma would be absolutely depressed by the admission if Ruby didn't appear so cheerful. "But I promise, everyone is super sweet here."

"I bet," Emma hums to herself, thinking about her true intentions with the people of this town.

"Ruby! Quit gabbing and get back to work!" Granny shouts from somewhere in the back of the kitchen.

"Well, I suppose you would like to write and I would like to keep my job. Just wave if you need anything," the waitress kindly extends, smiling brightly as she spins around on her high heels and heads toward the lonely old man.

"Thanks," Emma happily calls out and focuses on her laptop, not at all writing a novel.

XXXX

Emma quietly pulls her car into her new driveway and kills the engine. She carefully exits her car, mindful of her close neighbors and a sleeping boy next door as she gently eases the door closed, but she swear the crickets are causing more of a ruckus than her squeaky bug. When she turns around to head toward her home, she spots a glow out of the corner of her eye, because she is a cop and noticing everything is kind of her thing.

She cranes her neck to the left and finds a small window on the second floor shining in the dark engulfing the house next door. And sure enough, a mop of dark hair is the first thing her eyes land upon. The small boy has his arms neatly folded on the windowsill with his pointed chin resting on top. She purses her lips, skeptical, curious as to why this little boy is always watching her so closely and it's only the first day she moved in.

They lock eyes, inquisitive green on blank...hazel? She has to remember to check his eye color for future reference next time he's up close and personal. However, this little boy remains vacant, hollow, just a shell by the looks of his impassive expression. She would assume any eight-year-old boy would be responsive in some way, but not this kid. He's stone cold.

Slowly, his head tilts to the right and he rests his cheek against his arm, but continues to stare blankly. For a brief moment, she wonders where this little boy's parents are and why the hell he isn't in bed, this late at night?

She exhales loudly and spins around on her heels, trudging back to her home without a wave or smile this time around.

Maybe tomorrow he will leave her alone.

A/N: This is just a sneak peek at my latest story, I will start posting the chapters once a day by next week. I'm so excited for this book. I have spent so much time creating this story and I cannot wait to share it. I'm not going to say much, because I don't want ruin any of the surprises, because there will be a lot of surprises in this story. I stepped out of my comfort zone of solely focusing on the love in stories and tried something different, but we all know Swanqueen ending. I loved the concept of season one, but obviously there was wasted potential in Swanqueen, so let's take it back, shall we?