Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Milah!"

He screamed, his eyes opening wide with fear. He sat up straight, panting, with a heartbeat racing at the pace of a high-speed train.
His body was covered in a sheen of cold sweat that he had worked up in his state of dreaming, making his shirt stick to his skin, his hair clinging in strands to his forehead. Every night, the same damn terrifying dream. No not a dream, a nightmare. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the images. He should have pushed for morphine or at least half a bottle of sleeping pills when they discharged him. But then again it might aid his suicidal tendencies. Even if he had asked, the chance of actually getting them had been slim to none.

Rubbing his hand over his eye, another method to erase the images, the feelings, of course failed as well. He checked the clock radio on the nightstand and groaned when the red numbers indicated it was only a few minutes past 3 A.M. Sighing he got out of bed, steadying himself against the wall before he slowly moved to the bathroom. Sudden movements, such as changing altitude, still made him dizzy. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, straining his neck in the process. Yes… pain, physical pain, nothing better to change his train of thought. He ignored the mirror as he passed it. In a fit he had touched it with his fist and he couldn't be bothered to replace it. It showed nothing more than a distorted figure. It matched his very soul and though it wasn't something he could gaze at endlessly, he had kept it. He couldn't be bothered to fix it or dump it out with the trash because it showed him how he had been ever since she'd been gone.

He shimmied out of his pants, leaving it forgotten on the floor in his wake as he positioned himself underneath the showerhead and turned on the water. A spray of heath cleansed his body, chased away the clammy feeling his nightmare had left him with. He could feel the water hit his shoulder blades, cascade down his body, and erasing the tension. Nevermind that the water was borderline scalding, leaving a reddish hue in its wake, it gave him relief. Because physical pain… it's what really did the trick when he needed to clear his head.

The doctors had said that the stiffness in his neck was normal. Normal for someone who had survived an attempted suicide-by-hanging. He was at the end of his rope when they found him, quite literally so. Still jerking around from having only just taken the leap and Smee and Jefferson had done everything they possibly could while calling 911 and waiting for their arrival.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"My friend just hung himself, what the hell do you think?!" Jefferson had never been a cool-headed person, especially not after his wife passed away.

Smee had taken over though, explaining the situation, meanwhile telling Jefferson to try certain tricks to find out whether their friend was still alive, and giving the address. 4 hours later the doctors told them that Killian would live. He'd have a sore neck and wouldn't be able to fully use his vocal chords for a few days but Mr. Jones was an extremely lucky guy for having two friends showing up when they did.

Killian hadn't agreed.

He had cursed them in what little voice capacity he had left. Cursed them for intervening, not letting him leave. Not letting him go to his sweet, dead Milah. But while incapable of voicing the –no doubt- colourful curses that sprang to mind, he did have a good pitching arm. Throwing at random every loose object he could find at his two friends.

Dressed in sweatpants he made his way to the kitchen, passing the rope he'd so deftly hung from the ceiling of his living room only a week ago – he had refused to take it away - and started his preparations to make coffee. He could definitely use a cup. He sighed as his thoughts strayed to that day again. The day his happiness was taken away from him. It shouldn't surprise him; his mind hadn't given him rest from that horrid day for the past 5 years, why should he expect it to be different after his failed attempt at rest? He felt a sharp pain in his left hand, making him drop the cup he was holding in his right. He carefully rubbed the stump. Phantom pains… Even after 5 years he can still feel it throbbing. Not always of course, but the occasional feeling would leave him with more than the daily dose of grief he had signed up for. He sighed as he looked at the broken cup on the kitchen floor. It was going to be one of those days… "Screw it." he murmured, forgetting all about the coffee he was planning on making and reached for the half empty bottle of rum he'd left on the kitchen counter the day before.

________________________________________

"Damn it Jones, Wake up!" a voice yelled at him, shaking him violently and pulling him away from the empty darkness.

That very comforting darkness that hadn't been so easy to find in these past few months. His slight stirring had apparently gone unnoticed as he quickly received a slap in the face. His eyes shot open, adjusting to the light that was now streaming through the windows, indicating that time had indeed moved forward. He hadn't been too sure about that lately. He glared when Jefferson's face came into focus.

"Bloody Hell Jefferson, a simple 'Oi get up' would have sufficed."

"Jeezes Jones, you can't just pass out on the floor like that. You scared me half to death."

He cursed and sat down on the bar stool.It was something of a joke when Killian first bought it. The apartment had a half-open kitchen, and because the sink was at the wall it resembled a bit of a bar-atmosphere; so he bought some bar stools. He'd be kind of like a bartender. Also it saved space, no need to buy an actual kitchen table when you could eat at it as well, and it left more room for the pool table he'd always said he'd wanted when he was still a kid. Nothing beats owning a pool table. He looked at his friend and saw his hands shaking a bit. Which wasn't normal, Jefferson had a steady hand given his profession.

"I got up at 3 A.M. Jefferson. I just fell asleep again."

"On the freaking floor with the help of a bottle of rum." Jefferson added in aggravation, raking a hand through his hair. "I know you said it was a lapse in judgement but the matter of the fact is that you tried to kill yourself a week ago. Lapse in judgement or not… You can't pull this shit anymore without scaring the crap out of people thinking you did it again."

"For your information mate…" Killian started annoyed as he got up from his position on the floor, his back protesting after its rendezvous with the floor. "It was half a bottle. And what are you implying?"

Jefferson eyed him sceptically. The man hadn't been the same since he found Killian hanging. After his wife's so-called suicide Jefferson hadn't been able to deal well with losses. If he would've lost his friend… he mentally shook his head to erase his train of thought. He wouldn't go there.
The point is that Killian hadn't died that day. The point is that he'd be okay in the long haul and Jefferson wouldn't have to explain to his daughter why another person in their lives took a permanent departure.

"I made you an appointment with a therapist." Killian groaned while rolling his eyes and knocked his head against the cool surface of the wall.

"I'm not going back to that Hopper guy. The bloke is a bleeding sap, I don't care how many diplomas he has." "It's not Doctor Hopper. I called him… he said he knew a therapist that would better suit your… state of mind. Look here's the address. I have to go and pick Grace up from school. At least consider the idea." Jefferson said after he left his seat to put the piece of paper on the pool table. He put his hand on Killian's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. It was enough to make Killian roll his eyes once more. Ever since the attempt Jefferson, even though he was still a guy's guy, was giving those reassuring squeezes.

"Seriously Jefferson, none of that touchy-feely self-help crap." Killian couldn't figure out if it bothered him because it just wasn't Jefferson-like or because it showed him that someone cared. He shouldn't hold it against him; he knew that his attempt had brought back memories of his wife Alice. And the man had gone through hell and back because of that. Maybe he should have thought of that... Killian wondered. But suicide is a selfish act. A selfish act for a selfish man.

Bloody hell….

"Fine… fine. I'll look into it."

He uttered finally before Jefferson could disappear behind a closed door. He nodded and closed the door behind him. Killian sighed and took the piece of paper into his hand. He sighed as he took in the time on the microwave.

"Time to get ready then." He had an appointment to attend to.

________________________________________

With much reluctance and apparently a less enjoyable after-taste of his encounter with the bottle of rum at 4 in the morning he had followed Jefferson's advice and made his way to the shrink. Perhaps it was some sort of guilt he felt toward Jefferson that had made him accept in the end. Just one appointment, he said to himself. At least he could have said he tried. It would certainly get Jefferson of his back.

When he entered the waiting room he found one of the chairs already occupied by a rather gorgeous blonde. He moved to sit two chairs away from her, she nodded at him when he passed her. Being a gentleman he nodded back. It is only polite.

Sitting down he rubbed his hands over his jeans, 5 minutes before he had to go in and there was another person waiting before him. He was annoyed, he would be stuck in that waiting room all day, he could feel it. He glanced around, the room was sober, safe for a plant that he was pretty sure was a fake, a few carefully picked out abstract paintings adored the wall.

He looked at the blonde. He never was ignorant to beauty when he saw it. And there, in that chair, was a fine example of it.
Her hair was donned in a high ponytail, black rimmed glasses perched on her nose and she was softly chewing on her bottom lip as she read an article in the magazine she was holding. Her left foot was softly bouncing up and down as it dangled over her right leg. Despite her attempt at comfort she didn't seem at ease in this environment, he felt it difficult not to chuckle. You and me both, lass. She suddenly closed the magazine and tossed it on the table in front of her and took note of the time from her cell phone.

"Running late?" Killian spoke up, he still held a rasp in his voice, but according to Whale the girl at the diner loved it.

She looked at him and nodded, "Yes."

"Well if this bloke keeps us hanging for much longer, we can always go find comfort in a glass or two, wouldn't you say." He said, with a subtle movement of his brows and a sly smile adorning his lips.

Was he actually flirting? Before she could say anything though they heard the patter of footsteps and the door opened. She stood up, turned to him, "This will only take a few minutes."

When the door fully opened Killian was surprised to see a young boy with a goofy smile on his face exit the room.

"Alright, all done. You get three tries." He said and Emma smiled.

"Per object or three for three." The boy seemed to mull it over, "Three for three. You are welcome to guess as well sir."

He said when he noticed Killian in the other chair.

"It's his first visit Kid." She replied before he could get a word in over his confusion.
"Maybe another time."

Killian frowned. How did she know this was his first visit? Was his reluctance of being here that obvious?

"Let's see…The swan again Kid, really?" "You didn't even look!" he said annoyed. Killian was waiting for him to stomp his foot in annoyance as he took in the entire scene.

"Alright I'll look." She said and glanced at the room before turning back to the eager boy.
"The swan, the fairy tale book and my keys. Which should be in your pocket. Come on."

"How do you do that?!" he exclaimed, a mixture between annoyance and wonder.

"I'll tell you another time; Now off to Granny's." He gave her the keys and quickly engulfed her in a hug. Killian noticed how she tensed at the gesture.

"Bye Emma. Bye mister!" the kid said and with his backpack slung over his shoulder exited the waiting room.

"Mr. Jones, Sorry for the delay, I hope you didn't set your heart on those drinks. You may come in now."

________________________________________

"So you are the one that's going to save me?" he asked and he closed the door behind him as he entered her office. He heard her chuckle as she messed around with some things. Probably the ones the kid had disorganized.

"God no. But if it's saving you want, there's a church not 2 blocks from here."

He didn't know whether to be amused by this or just heavily confused. What use was therapy if not for saving the ones in need of?

"I'll pass on that, thanks."

"Please sit." She said as she took place in the chair across from the one she appointed to him.

"So, I understand you tried to decorate your living room." She said before his behind even touched the fabric of the chair. His eyes immediately moved to her. Her facial expression was one of those that stated 'strictly business'. She offered him a quirked eyebrow though, as if expecting an answer.

"Subtlety seems lost on you lass." He said, licking his suddenly dry lips, "or tact."

"I'm sorry. If you want the sensitive soul-searching I'd recommend returning to Doctor Hopper. But the way I see it…" she readjusted her seating position. "You don't want the white walls and the 'how does that make you feel' package. If you weren't feeling like the crappiest man on earth you wouldn't have attempted that little stunt in the first place."

He blinked, well this certainly was a much livelier approach than the one Doctor Hopper had used. Her honesty was rather refreshing in contrast to the carefully placed words he had been hearing for the past 5 years – and which had been more frequent after his suicide attempt. He was certain though, that this kind of honesty would backfire in the long haul, but right now… Right now he was relishing in it.

"Quite perceptive aren't you."

"Well it is my job Mr. Jones." She looked him over. As if trying to see his deepest and darkest secrets.
He wanted to snort. Good luck with that. He heard her sigh and she removed her glasses. Did he actually snort out loud?

"Look Mr. Jones. I'm not like Doctor Hopper. I'm not one into forcing people to talk about their experiences; If you want to talk about it, you talk about it and I'll be here to listen. And if you don't… well then you don't."

"Then pray tell, what is the point of all this then?" he asked, genuinely intrigued it seemed.

"I believe that a fixed point can be enough to start the so-called 'Healing Process'. Forcing a person to open up about something he has clearly kept hidden in the confines of his mind often has a reversed effect. One goes to therapy to get over walls, not to stack them higher." She chewed her bottom lip again, an action that did not go by unnoticed by Killian. Subconsciously or not, the woman knew how to keep his attention focused on her lips, which both terrified and fascinated him.

"Look, I have a proposition for you." She said and leaned forward in her chair.
"We'll meet twice a week, one hour sessions. If you can't make it I expect a call at least 2 hours before hand. Now, Doctor Hopper told me that you actually have to attend these sessions as part of punishment for attacking the medical staff."

"I didn't attack them. They got in the way while I was hurling a pitcher at my friends." He explained which earned him an amused smile on her part.

"Still it is enough reason to put you on a mandatory therapy, sure only 6 hours but knowing this I'd rethink the whole 'quitting while ahead' routine. Also…" she said and looked him straight in the eyes. They were a nice shade of green, he noticed. "I don't tolerate lies. Lying to get out of these sessions is false progress. I won't have any of it. So… if you can find these terms agreeable I'm sure we'll get along quite nicely."

He looked her over and couldn't help the grin that spread on his face.

"Quite passionate, Swan."

And that… was basically how he found himself spending two hours a week in the company of miss Emma Swan.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2.

It was cold out. She shivered slightly and rubbed her hands over her arms. Of course she had forgotten her coat. She cursed herself. “Smartest move of the damn day, Emma.”

When she had first stepped out of her building she had not minded. In fact it had been wonderful to feel the cold air around her because her office had become too small, too stifling. So with a hurry she had taken off, needing to breathe, but of course… without her coat.

She thought she was able to handle anything life thought to throw at her. Because of the life she’d had. Apparently she was mistaken. And once again because of the kid.

When Henry had come knocking at her door six months ago and introduced himself as her son she’d been surprised, took a few deep breaths and offered him something to drink before driving him back to his adoptive mother. Who was apparently unaware of her son ever even having left his room. To say that she was less than pleased had been an understatement. It wasn’t hard to imagine how she would have reacted if they had actually explained to Mrs. Mills that her son had snuck out to find his biological mother, instead of ‘the capable psychologist’ that would help him deal with ‘recent, unpleasant affairs’.

Finding Mrs. Mills at her office the next day hadn’t surprised Emma in the least, in fact she had anticipated it, and it had nothing to do with booking an appointment for little Henry Mills.

But today… Today was something she- albeit could have expected- wasn’t prepared for.

He’d called her mom, gave her a rather strong hug and skipped out of her office as if he’d just discovered that he’d won a golden ticket and thus a trip to the Chocolate Factory.

She was a mom now. And to be honest, that was a more frightening thing to face than anything she’d had to go up against in her past. So, naturally, that was the time the walls of her office decided to move in on her. Finding her escape in the cold weather, aimlessly walking a few blocks, she tried to gain control of the sudden spectrum of feelings that made her want to throw up every last, nauseating one of them.

In fact, she had been so engrossed with the feeling that comes with the revelation of being a mom – as unconventionally as it was being applied now anyway- she hadn’t even noticed that not only the wind had picked up, but clouds had gathered in the sky.

The downpour was quite the shocker, and it put a grimace on her face.

“Really?” she deadpanned. Today was not her day.

She took in her surroundings in search for a place to shelter from the downpour and smiled when she saw where her feet had taken her.

“The Snuggly Duckling.” As unconventional as bar names can go, was quite the contradiction. The bar had often dealt with this town’s law enforcement but it was still a better place to go to than ‘The Rabbit Hole’. The lighting was dim; the music… dependable on the day a pleasant background noise, but it was all in all a cozy pub with the occasional crappy client – hence the brush with the law.

Flynn, the owner and part-time bartender, was a good guy. She’d helped him out when two brothers nearly decapitated him when he tried to close their tab. After that she had been welcome to as many free drinks as she liked. It was a perk that her previous job had brought with her. Even when she stopped being a bail bondsman Flynn would still slip her the occasional free drink. With that thought in her mind, because like her coat, her purse had also been left behind, she hurried out of the rain and opened the doors. She sighed in contentment as she was met with that same dim-lighted bar she fell in love with a few years ago. It was a Tuesday and only 3 pm so naturally it wasn’t at all crowded. Only four other people occupied the chairs. . Good, she thought to herself, easier access to the bar.

“Well, look at what the cat dragged in.” Flynn spoke up when he noticed Emma sitting down at the bar. “More like the weather. Was this even in the forecast?”

She grumbled as she gathered her wet tresses in her hands and wrung them of the excessive water. Flynn gave her a disapproving look before sliding a shot glass in her direction.

“I’ll clean it up.” She said and downed the shot. Instantly feeling the alcohol burn its way through her, she felt the warmth spread through her, reviving her frozen limbs. A towel was tossed in her direction, again courtesy of Flynn who was pretty much the perfect bartender. He was gifted in the art of knowing what a person needed. A dream of a bartender indeed, and that judgment was only influenced for 30% by his insane looks; an unruly mop of brown hair and those grey-green eyes that never seem to lose their intensity.

“So what brings you here?” He asked. He knew what he could ask of her. She was in fact a very closed off person, small-chat had never been her forte, especially not when it was used as a warm-up for the invasion of her personal life.

“As you can see, a change in the weather.” She said drily before gulping down another shot Flynn had already poured. “Could you get me a beer?”

“Do you really want one?” he asked, surprised that she doubted his serving choice. “If I had my wish I’d take at least three more. But I still have places to be and I can’t really show up three sheets in the wind now can I?” she said, giving him a curt smile as he turned to fetch her beer.

She was nursing her second beer when a presence showed up beside her.
“Heya girly…” She blinked and glanced at the man next to her. She had been so absorbed in her own thoughts that she hadn’t even noticed him. Taking him in… she realized why.
“Yeah… no.” Emma wasn’t superficial, but when a man reeking of alcohol, thinks he has a shot when she’s sober, even if he was graced with appeal it would still be no. She busied her fingers with the label of her beer bottle, she had made great progress in pealing it away, littering the bar with the small pieces of paper.

“Now don’t be like that girly.” The man persisted and out of the corner of her eye she saw him move his hand to her thigh. In a flash she had two of his fingers bend backwards which elected a yelp from his lips and alerted the other occupants.

“Now… I don’t know, nor care how much alcohol you have decided to consume but when I say no…” she said and put more pressure on his fingers making him basically fall through his knees and a little push made him stumble backwards. “I suggest you leave me alone, before I get angry.”

She turned back to her beer bottle, catching a glance of an amused Flynn. She might have said goodbye to the life where she had to fight her way through every obstacle but that did not mean she had forgotten all the ways to make people hurt.

She signaled Flynn for another beer when she saw his expression of amusement change to one of discomfort. The scuffle she heard behind her indicating that the man was rather stupidly persistent.

But before she could even turn around to face the intoxicated annoyance and really put her years of knowledge into practice she heard the man yelp again and hit the floor.
“I do believe the lady said to bugger off….” She rolled her eyes as she recognized the voice.

“Ello Lass.” Tempted to smile, but suppressing it she turned to her savior.

“Mr. Jones.”

They had been seeing each other in their weekly session for 2 weeks now. 4 sessions in total, yet the man still had to utter a single word about his attempted suicide and it’s reasons behind it. Emma had learned to be patient when it came to these matters. Some things just don’t spill as well as soup. And she would wait until he was ready to talk. But when they had first met she had tried to get a read on him. Of course… that had proven to be difficult, yet she had acknowledged the hope that the man would at least mention something in relation to it.

She had been mistaken. So 4 sessions later the only thing she knew about him, was his name, his attempt and that he flirted whenever he felt that something would touch too close to home. It was a deflecting mechanism, one that had probably worked quite well over the years with other women. She was actually quite annoyed that he knew this bar, that he’d probably visit this bar quite frequently. This meant she had to find a new bar to drink at. A relation with a client should always be kept professional.

In the mean time he had taken a seat on the stool next to her and slightly turned to her. “Won’t you buy me a drink?” he asked with a grin. His face was ridiculously handsome; she had noticed that from the beginning. But this had actually been the closest they’d ever been and it made her notice some details; the blue of his eyes was laced with silver, the small scar on his right cheek that was a bit darker on the side of his nose, and a little bald spot in his otherwise nicely groomed scruff.

Emma did not see harm in this observation, she always did enjoy the sight of a pretty thing.

“Now why would I do that?” she replied after her observing, sideway glance.

“Well I did just save your honor.” He replied, nodding his head in the direction that the intoxicated man had stumbled.

“Well aren’t you a hero…” she deadpanned and took another swig, the bored reaction made him smirk, “I could’ve handled that myself.”

“Oh I don’t doubt you could Swan. But it was the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“So now you’re a gentleman?” she nearly scoffed and her brow quirked in disbelief. As if to challenge him. And by the look of things, the man did love a challenge.

“My dear Swan, “he said while leaning forward, “I’m always a gentleman.” He moved a bit closer, his breath tickling her cheek. “Unless asked otherwise, of course.” He moved back with a wink.

She blinked twice at his proximity and the way his voice had dropped to a huskier tone. The smell of alcohol did not escape her. But that wasn’t the thing that made her smirk and shake her head. She was amused, and considering the day she had… she was glad for that.

“Alright Captain Innuendo. Flynn… the savior of my honor is demanding a drink.” “Now no need for resentment love.” She rolled her eyes and brought her attention to her beer once more.

Flynn came towards them and slid a glass of – if her nose and eyes did not deceive her- straight rum and placed another beer bottle in front of her.
“Always the chivalrous sod aren’t you Killian?”

“Part of the charm Ryder. How’s the wife?”
“Visiting her parents before she bloats to the size of a whale – don’t look at me like that Emma, that’s a direct quote I’m using.”

“You should’ve told me you’re becoming a dad. Congratulations.”

He smiled but shrugged none the less, “You really didn’t seem to be in the mood”. He stated which made her roll her eyes, she came to realize she had picked up that habit, and used it quite frequently, ever since meeting Killian Jones.
“Now that’s just absolute bull.” She answered, hoping the person next to her wouldn’t be too keen on picking up on that little information. He was disturbingly observant.

“Hey Flynn.” Some guys who’d entered the bar called for him and Flynn excused himself to fear his new costumers.

“So how do you know Mr. Ryder.” Killian asked and she’d half the mind to ignore him. She had known the minute he sat down the conversation would slip into personal waters. Considering she wasn’t in the role of therapist right now, he’d have every right to inquire about her life. Of course it was still her own choice whether or not she’d reply.

“I helped him out once. You?” He pressed the glass to his lips before glancing at her sideway, “I helped him out… once.” And then he let the liquid touch his tongue. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes once more; she needed to stop doing that. When she had met Flynn he had just given up the need to add sins to his criminal chart. She had a few good ideas as to how Jones had helped out Flynn before. Sneaking another sideway glance she found that his glass was quickly returning to its original state – empty. It amazed her considering it was straight up rum and nowhere near happy hour.

The man had had some practice it seemed. And with the sideway glance she noticed – because of the different lighting- that he actually had bags underneath his eyes.

“Something interesting Swan?” she got caught.
“Just wondering.”

“About my devilishly handsome looks I reckon.” The tone of his voice dropped back to the one he used when flirting. He knew she had noticed his tired appearance and he knew that whatever she had been wondering would hit close to the truth.

“How have you been sleeping lately?” If he had been surprised or annoyed by that question he didn’t show. He smiled in amusement. “Why Swan, is that a proposal I hear?” he waggled his brows to add mischief to his expression.

Captain Innuendo indeed. He played the part well, especially when he wanted to get a reaction out of her. But that was all it was, a played part, with so many unknown, private layers underneath. She found herself eager to work her way to them.

“Actually, “she said in a small voice, fully turning to him her knee accidentally brushing his upper thigh. “I’m wondering whether you need to alcohol to sleep, or if you’re just a recreational drunk.”

His grin disappeared into a grim line and if his icy look could kill, he’d frozen her with his glare. She sighed, too bold a move Swan.

“Do I appear drunk to you Miss Swan?” There was a bite to his tone. She hadn’t heard him like this before, so defensive. She sighed and got of her chair, her wet jeans not cooperating in the slightest.

“Of course not. Look Mr. Jones, whether it is to help you fall asleep or to drown your demons, I don’t care. But sooner or later your demons will learn how to swim.”

With that she passed him and made way to the exit where Flynn materialized next to her, an umbrella in his hand. “It’s still raining.”

“Thanks Flynn. Hey could you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

She smiled in gratitude, “Make sure he gets home in one piece.”

“Why Emma, you care?” an amused glint struck his eyes and a chuckle escaped her.

“Whatever gave you that preposterous idea?”

She was happy about the cancelation that came in today. It meant she could go home early today and because she was still reeling from Henry’s little surprise she hadn’t been able to keep her thoughts with her clients. Although she had to admit that a certain blue eyed annoyance wasn’t a stranger to her thoughts either. Perhaps it had been a bit too bold when she had asked him about his coping mechanisms but she had learned firsthand how alcohol could be a refuge. But whatever one was trying to hide from, it would get to you in the end.

She shook her head. She shouldn’t be bothered by it. And if he was, she would probably hear it in session the next day. If and when he would show up that is.

She closed the door behind her, making sure it was locked and turned to walk to her car. The beaten up yellow bug was, unfortunately, nearing its end. But she didn’t have the heart to part from it. Before she could reach it though, she felt a hand on her shoulder. On instinct she grabbed the hand, twisted around and slammed the attacker to the wall.

“BLOODY HELL Swan!”
“Mr. Jones?!” she released him instantly, taking a few steps back.

“Oh don’t you Mr. Jones me lass, I’m not a bloody Aqua song. What the hell was that?!”

She didn’t know whether to laugh at his pained expression as he rubbed his wrist or just be annoyed with him and kicking his behind for scaring her like that. She opted for yelling at him.

“What the hell were you thinking?”
He looked at her as if she’s sprouted two heads. “This is my fault?” She should’ve gone with the ass-kicking.

“Of course you idiot; you don’t just grab an unsuspecting person in the middle of the damn street.”

He moved forward, to cuss at her no doubt, but he staggered and she had mere seconds to brace herself and hold him up to keep him from falling.

“Christ, you smell like a distillery. I’m going to kill Flynn.”

“Yes what was the idea behind the babysitter anyways? “He said struggling out of her grip to stand on his own. “I’m perfectly fine.” “Yet the slur in your words would suggest otherwise.”

He lost his balance again, and reached out the first object he could find, to steady himself. What he didn’t expect was the rather strong right hook to his jaw.

“Bloody hell!”

“I don’t care how drunk you are. You keep your hand to yourself.” She seethed, embarrassingly rubbing the boob where his hand had put a rather hard pressure. At the same time he leered at her while rubbing his cheek. The woman had a mean right hook.

“Where’s your phone?”

“I don’t have one.”

He noticed an exasperated look on her face, “How can you not have a phone? EVERYONE has one.”
“Well I don’t.”

She was about to scream in frustration. Being home early my ass.

“Just get in the car.”

Chapter Text

When the shrieking sound of the alarm pierced the cloud of silence in the room, it- surprisingly- only lasted mere seconds before Emma turned it off. She moved her hand back to wipe away some stray tears that had escaped her eyes. At the same time cursing herself for it. It had been a while since memories of a past rather forgotten had invaded her dreams. She had become quite apt at avoiding them. But recent events had managed to bring them back to the surface. Her, cuffed to a bed, while giving birth to a son with whom she would never have parted if only the circumstances had been different.

She shook her head to rid her of the memories, her blond tresses falling in a mess around her, and she stubbornly suppressed the fresh wave of tears. A shower and a large dose of caffeine was what she needed.

Emma padded through her apartment, barefoot. It wasn't the picture perfect home you'd find in an Home Improvement Catalogue, or an Ikea. When she had moved in a year and a half ago she had told herself it wasn't much more than a temporary solution. She had never felt the need to settle, not even now. Blame it on the constant change of homes while in foster care. No, she actually felt better with the idea that she could up-and-move whenever she saw fit.

That didn't mean she lived out of suitcases and boxes , not at all, it meant she had invested in owning the necessities and held little value to the sentimental. Safe for the baby blanket her parents had left her when they dumped her on the side of the road, and no… she wasn't even going to go near that one with a ten foot pole today. Aggressively brushing through her hair made her change her train of thought, that and the loss of a few strands of hair that were yanked out with the action.

No, she would not dwell on it, not today.

She'd grown accustomed to the routine she'd started a month after moving in. Waking up, meeting Mary-Margaret for cinnamon hot chocolate at granny's, going to work.

When she arrived, Mary-Margaret was already waiting with two cups of hot chocolate with a hint … okay a rather strong hint… of cinnamon. They had met just because of it, ordering the same while at the counter, and neither ever having heard of anyone liking it that exact way. She was a schoolteacher, in fact, she was Henry's teacher. Always kind and smiling, but like any good teacher, stern when needed.

"I expected you earlier, so, sorry if it isn't your usual steaming hot anymore." She apologized, which made Emma shake her head. "No problem, I burned my tongue with coffee this morning, no need for a repeat."

Mary-Margaret smiled and sipped her hot chocolate, reveling in the taste. Something Emma had learned was her insatiable love for everything sweet, and her dislike for apples, something about choking on one when she was little.

"So… I have to ask, did he tell you?" Mary-Margaret asked, excitement evident in her voice as she awaited Emma's answer. Emma couldn't help but narrow her eyes. There was only one person in Emma's life to whom Mary-Margaret could refer and Emma didn't like it.

"What do you mean?"
"Henry of course." She all but shouted. The woman was too chipper in the mornings. When realization dawned on her, Emma narrowed her eyes even further and Mary-Margaret's smile slipped off her lips.

"You pushed him didn't you? Damn it Mary-Margaret I told you to stay out of it."

"Emma…"

"No, you had no right." Emma concluded in a hushed voice, she was all but finished with this conversation. But discussing the matter at Granny's was pretty much accepting the rules and agreements of a paparazzi contract: Everything is public information.

"I thought it would make you happy." Mary-Margaret said softly. Reminding Emma of how desperate her friend was for a family of her own. And here she was, not accepting the fact that she was a mom.

"I have to get to work." Emma said, wanting to get out of there as fast as possible, the white lie would be forgiven. Her first client wouldn't be there for another hour or two. "We'll talk about this later." With that Emma stood up and left Granny's, leaving an untouched cinnamon hot chocolate cooling on the table in front of a deeply hurt schoolteacher.

Emma cursed herself. Of course Mary-Margaret would push Henry. Because she had lost her mother when she was Henry's age, she had always clung to the concept of family. She and David had been trying for a while now, but so far they had not yet received positive news. Emma could only imagine the frustration they both felt. Or how Mary-Margaret's heart was silently breaking when she would see Emma and Henry. A son wanting a mother, but a mother not ready to have a son. Emma would apologize later. Right now she was in dire need of another coffee, because this morning had already been too emotional for her taste.

When Henry showed up for his daily session after school he looked sad. Emma did not need to guess why but decided to ask anyway.

"What's wrong kid?"

"You shouldn't be angry at Miss Blanchard." He said and Emma sighed. "Kid…"

"No really. You shouldn't." he looked out of the window before his eyes turned back to her. "I've wanted to call you mom for a while now. But I didn't know if you would like it… so I asked Miss Blanchard… But I'll just call you Emma. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Henry's statement was loaded with sadness and disappointment. It made her heart bleed, knowing that his disappointment was her fault. He had a gift of pinpointing the underlying subtext though. It did make her uncomfortable. She wasn't used to being responsible for anyone but herself, she wasn't used to having anyone looking up to her. She would have smiled at the thought of how Henry's 'Gift' would become a pain in the ass when he'd hit puberty. But she didn't dare to. If Regina would change her mind about these visits she wouldn't even see him reach that stage, she wouldn't be able to see her son. Losing him twice would be the death of her she realized. And that scared her even more, that in such a short time, she was already completely attached to him. Considering Regina's reputation – basically going by the town's gossip – she was surprised it had lasted this long already.

"Okay Henry, we promised we would always tell each other the truth, yes?"

Henry, slightly smiling because she had called him Henry and that was pretty much a first since they had met, nodded in agreement.

"You surprised me. Also… because of your mom, because she doesn't really like me, I'm afraid that if you would start calling me mom as well… she won't let me see you anymore."

"But that's ridiculous."

"Henry… you are the only thing she has left. She lost her father and her husband, your … grandfather and your father. Even thinking she would be losing you… it would break her. I know you love her Henry, but you can't be selfish." Emma reasoned and he was just sitting there, taking it all in. Knowing him he would react in a responsible way, for an eleven year old boy, he was very mature.

"Can I still call you mom when it's just the two of us though?" He'd asked so innocently, how could she not smile at her son. She was quickly learning that, just like his father – curse his ass- he had a certain look that combined cuteness with desperation, and it would let him get away with murder.

"Okay... But never in front of your mother okay." She said and before she knew it he was rummaging in his blue and grey backpack and fished out two walkie-talkies.
"We can use these if we want to talk. I always want to tell you so much but I always remember after our sessions "

Emma leaned back in her seat, strangely at ease as Henry was bursting with excitement over their new found agreement. She was nowhere near prepared for being a mother, being responsible for his well being. But if she could make him happy by talking through walkie-talkies, using code-names and maybe even trying a secret language – although she knew that that plan was D.O.A.- she would do just that.

Killian Jones was patiently waiting for Swan to finish up with her current session. Usually he was placed right after the kid, Henry, he had introduced himself a while back. It was a polite lad, always disappeared right after the little game him and Swan played. Killian still didn't get the point.

He knew he was early, but after his visit with Flynn left him with no indication of how he'd gotten the purple bruising on his face he decided the walk to Swan's office would be less waste of time than going back to his place only to immediately leave again.

After Flynn had put him in a cab he didn't remember much. But the throbbing in his cheek made it rather obvious that something had happened. Also the 'Get a Cellphone' written in elegant handwriting on the back of Emma Swan's business card made him assume that she was the last person who had seen him.

The door opened, two laughing people exiting. Killian noticed Swan had a nice laugh.

"Don't worry. You're doing great mom." Henry said and gave her a hug, much like that first time she tensed but kept quiet. Or so Killian thought, he stopped paying attention when he heard the kid call her mom.

Emma Swan… a mother. Well if that wasn't a revelation to shock him into silence, what was?

It was apparent that she hadn't noticed him when she came out, because when she turned to move back into her office, she froze at the sight of him.

"Jones." She tried to act unaffected by his sudden presence, but he could see the thoughts swirl in her head. Had he heard?

The smile that graced his face was laced with smugness as he got up and leisurely strolled to her. "So, let's get to it… Mom." And when she paled 3 shades – which in his honest opinion was thought to be impossible- he took place in his usual seat. If anything had come to light in these sessions it was this, he liked to rile her up.

Emma wasn't thinking – except for her arsenal of colorful curses she had enlisted while growing up- her mind was blank.

He knew. And going by that smug look of his – which she would gladly slap away if she could get away with it … again - she was certain that, him knowing this was not a good thing. She wasn't one to share personal details, let alone with clients. Then again…. up until the night before she had never treated one to a drink either.

"So… you treat your son." He spoke up when he felt the silence had dragged on long enough.

"He's not my…." She started, it was instinctive, a force of habit to deny she had a kid. To deny she was a mom. But he had heard it loud and clear from Henry's mouth. All because he was early. Why had he been so damned early, she wondered.
"Yes." She answered and sat down, trying to gain control of her thoughts. Reminding herself where she was, and what she was doing. But most of all, reminding herself of who she had seated across from her.

"I didn't peg you as a mom."
"I'm not." She replied, again in denial. Old habits die hard and she thought she knew enough about Killian Jones' nature by now, to know that his curious side - the one that needed to be sated just so he could use it to rile her later on- would want an answer.

"You just said you were." He said raising his brow. The woman was trying to confuse him, to make sure he dropped the matter. But she wouldn't shake him so easily, he thought. Therapist or not, if she wanted to pry in his life, he'd be damned if he wouldn't learn more about her.

She sighed, "You'd think you'd grant me the same courtesy as I grant my clients." He simply shrugged. "What can I say, you intrigue me Swan." Again he flashed her that mischievous smile that had probably charmed many a skirt off.

"Curiosity killed a cat." She warned.
"I'm more of a dog person anyway." He easily offered, his facial expression serious yet his eyes twinkling like that of a kid excited for a present. She shook her head, just get it over with Emma.

"He is my son yes. But I gave him up for adoption when he was born. He found me 6 months ago."

"His adoptive parents must be thrilled." He replied dryly.
"How's the cheek?" Emma asked instead. Wanting to change the subject, she was not open to discuss her further relation with Henry and his adoptive parent with Killian-'I won't talk about anything private '-Jones.

"A bit sore. I take it by your sudden gloating I can hold you responsible for it?"

It was her turn to smirk now, finally. "You deserved it."
"Care to enlighten? The mind is a bit foggy with the details." She snorted, which earned her an eye roll.

"Well you did reek like a distillery. I'm surprised you were still standing."
"I have a high tolerance." He boasted.
"That I noticed. You know your way around Rum. I'm still waiting for that answer by the way." She was steering the topic of conversation away from her personal life and it made her extremely happy. Even when she saw the amusement fade from Killian's face and change to the usual passive look he wore whenever she approached a subject he did not want to discuss. Basically every time she inquired about something that did not relate to his saucy behavior.

"It is stupid to ask questions to which you already know the answer Swan." He replied and then gestured, with a slight nod, that it was her turn to answer.

She bit the inside of her cheek to refrain the triumphant smile that threatened to grace her lips, to break through. It was the most honest, personal thing he had said so far in their session together.

"You got handsy."

"I would never." He said in an outraged tone but the look on his face was as mischievous as ever.
"Lie." She said and he feigned shock.
"Miss Swan I'll have you know I am a perfect gentleman." He uttered in a playful matter, but he was rather serious about it. He saw her shake her head with a small smile on her lips, he did not miss the fact that it was the first one she showed ever since he found out she was Henry's mom. He would see to it that it wouldn't be the last. Perhaps it would stop her inquiries for a day.

"But, one must always take advantage when such situations present themselves of course." And then she did roll her eyes, leaving a pleased Killian staring at her. Oh two could play it like that, she thought.

"You had trouble keeping balance, so you grasped whatever was near. But I do tend to get the urge to hit someone when they grab my boobs without permission." She said, intently watching his reaction. She saw his eyes lower to aforementioned body parts.

"Up here Jones."

"Apologies Swan. Though I must admit I am sorry I wasn't sober enough to remember." He said cheekily.
"Of course you are." She deadpanned, he really was cranking up the flirting. She was suspicious… what was he hiding today?

Her reaction brought another satisfied smile to his lips. The woman had zero tact but she did manage to entertain him during these sessions. He would not have put up with her otherwise. Especially not this long.

There was a comfortable silence after that. Killian occupied himself with trying to find the similarities between the kid and Swan. While Emma was thinking about whether or not, she would take advantage of his seemingly good mood. The question had been burning on her since session 2, but she had pushed it to the back of her mind when he appeared to be less cooperative than anticipated. The question, however, had returned when she had felt his prosthetic hand on her breast the other night.

"How did you lose it?" she asked, before she could regret it. Killian's eyes flashed straight to her face. No warning signs with her, Killian should've known that by now.

"An accident." He replied after a while.

"Lie." She immediately responded.
"How would you know?"

"Told you." She said and tapped her nose, "I have a gift – most would describe it as – sniffing out the bullshit."

He raised his brow, seemingly disbelieving. "Alright, let's test that theory then, lass." Killian offered, hoping it would make her forget the question, or at least make the time pass by faster. She wouldn't be dragging an answer out of him when the session ended.

He noticed something akin to a spark in her eyes , once more it surprised him in a good way. Swan loved a challenge it seemed.

"Beer is better than rum."
"Obvious lie."
"I got attacked by a dog once."
"Lie."
"I quite fancy you."Emma eyed him and hesitated before she stated it was a lie.
"You tolerate me at best." He snorted at that.

"Now you've had your fun. Care to tell me the truth?" she gave him a pointed stare before letting it drift to his prosthetic. He had unconsciously moved his good hand to it. It did the job… decent enough he thought. But it could never replace his real hand.

"Punishment for my crime." He said, using a tone that left her distraught. She observed him as he seemed to vanish into his past. The hand on his prosthetic slowly moving over it, testing it for feeling it seemed. But what troubled her was that she couldn't get a read on him, if he wasn't lying …

"But you don't see it that way."
He didn't look at her but the saddest smile she'd seen on a person appeared on his lips, indicating he'd heard her.
"No… no I don't." After all, he thought, it wasn't stealing when she came willingly.

They remained silent. Killian stuck in memories of Milah. How she had asked him to take her away. How the light left her eyes as she went limp in his arms. Emma noticed how his hand was firmly gripping the prosthetic, his knuckles turning white. He was in a dark place.

She quickly reached for her cellphone to check the time. She had sworn off watches ever since that day. No, she could not think of that right now. She pocketed her phone again.

"Mr Jones, it seems we're out of time." Emma spoke up, dragging him away from the painful memories. He wanted to curse her, hurt her for having him think about the past again. He was having such a good day.

"You know, I still don't understand it." He started as he stood up. Emma eyed him warily.
"What's that."
"That you of all people would give up your son." She froze at his words while under the gaze of his pretty blues. They'd turned stone cold.

"Careful Mr. Jones, you're threading on thin ice."
"Too close for comfort Swan?" he leered, "Interesting it is though, you knowing firsthand the sense of abandonment and all."

"How…" it had escaped her by surprise and it sounded weak. If there was anything she wasn't, it was weak.
"There's a certain look in one's eyes, and well… you are something of an open book lass."

Emma's throat went dry, completely caught off guard, but her glare intensified. He was angry with her for making him remember. He was attacking her because of it. But this… this was hitting too close to home, her sense of professionalism flying right out of the window.

"A look you recognize undoubtedly from staring at your own reflection I'm sure. But after which abandonment I wonder." She stood up and opened the door, he needed to leave. "Good day Mr. Jones."

He fixed her with an intense glare that matched her own before he walked out; she slammed the door behind him. The force reverberating throughout the office, just like his words reverberated in her mind.

Chapter Text

Killian Jones was furious. How dare she… He wanted to march back into that office and demolish everything she owned, starting with that stupid Swan figurine which so prominently decorated her bookcase. He wanted to destroy something, anything really, if only it would numb the current feelings that woman had triggered within him. He'd been having such a good day.

The thought of why her words could rile him so much only fleetingly crossing his mind before the urge to imbibe a large amount of alcohol overruled his senses. He was aware of how low his supply was at his apartment so he made fast progress to The Snuggly Duckling.

Flynn's brows rose high when Killian barged in, with the ferocity of a bull in search of the red flag, he purposefully took angry strides to the bar.

"Jones." He greeted, this time forgoing the usual 'greeting with a drink' and just eyed the man in front of him.

"Rum. Leave the bottle." Killian seethed, he needed alcohol, he needed the burn, he needed oblivion.

"Jones…" Flynn started but he was fixed with a glare that made him swallow his words.
"Rum. Leave the bottle." Killian repeated, "If you won't serve me I'll just go some place that will."

Flynn knew better than to disregard that threat. He had known Jones for a while now; this brought him right back to when he first met him, the menacing man with the brooding stare and force that could put a superhero to shame, but most of all, a man of his word. It was best to serve him instead of having him go some place where the bartender wouldn't blink twice if Killian would grab for his keys in the up and coming Rum-induced state.

He had no idea what had caused the sudden mood swing inside his friend but he didn't trust the way it had him reaching for that bottle.

Killian downed two fingers, the liquid leaving a burning path down his throat. The familiar feeling not even settled before he downed a larger quantity. Destroying himself would do just fine at the moment.

Killian was playing pool, hoping to weasel some cash from his opponents. He was running low since the last job had been near a month ago and the rent was due. He wasn't sure that he could cheat the landlord another time.

He was about to bag another 500 – you go big or you go home- when she walked in. He wasn't one to believe in love at first sight, or the comparison to angels like those romantic comedies always stuffed down your throat, but when she walked in….

Her dark curls were framing her face and tumbling playfully down her back, her black trench coat hugging her curves quite nicely. But what struck him most from across the dimly lit room, were her eyes. So bright and blue , or were they green? He wanted to keep his mind from wandering but she did carry the look and grace of an angel as she made her way to the bar.

It was safe to say that he lost the game. His angel distracting him from his winning shot and thus he saw the much needed 500 dollar disappear right out of the window. Or in this case, a bottle of scotch for the victors.

He looked at the woman once more. She'd taken a lonely seat and despite his loss he felt rather bold, bolder than he'd ever felt in his 23 years of life and walked up to her, taking the available seat right next to her and accusing her of making him lose the game.

"And what would you have me do about that?" she answered with a slight lift of the corners of her mouth.

"For starters, you can buy me a drink."

Her eyes were evergreen.

Killian winced and quickly downed another amount of rum when he escaped the reverie. He didn't want to remember today, he didn't want to remember period. Not even these happier times.

"Stupid Swan." He mumbled.
"Got in a fight with Emma then?" Killian looked up to see Flynn still close to his place at the bar, his brow raised in question.

"You still here." Killian groaned, which earned him a chuckle. "It's a Monday and not anywhere near happy hour…" Killian just waved his hand in dismissal but Flynn stayed put.

"You know you have to forgive Emma. She doesn't have the greatest people skills." Flynn said in her defense but Killian wanted to hear nothing of it, instead he poured another glass of Rum, this time the liquid only a finger away from overflowing its small container, and he took no time in emptying it.

The burning sensation numbing pretty much everything, but the memories of Milah. The way she smiled when he told her a joke that wasn't even all that funny, or the way she looked so peaceful and content with her dark curls fanned out on his pillow. How her touch would make his worries disappear, how one of her soft sighs would mean that he was being an idiot but that she loved him all the same. How she would stare at him in his sleep only to have him wake up to one of her sketches, something she did when sleep evaded her but he would be dead to the world.

He swallowed the bile in his throat, one that wasn't caused by the rum but the sickening feeling of all those happy moments. He didn't want to remember, but he did, because of Swan.

"Whatever…. I'm done with her."

"We are done." Milah said, removing her hand from his grip and turning to his door. But Killian wasn't good at his job for no reason. He glided beside her and with a speed she didn't know he possessed – although she should have known judging by how fast he could undress her – blocked her path and took hold of her wrist again.

"No we're not. You're going to explain to me what this is all about. You were happy an hour ago and now you're ready to storm out of here with your tail between your legs. What happened?"

He was worried for her and as she gazed into his pretty blues and saw so many emotions swirling in them she couldn't fight the tears. Killian wrapped her in his arms as she held on tightly. He kissed the top of her head while whispering reassuring nothings into her hair. What had happened to his fierce love?

"It'll be alright love." He said to which she ripped away from his embrace and glared at him with tear-filled eyes.

"It won't be alright. It will never be alright. You know why we are over Killian? Because my husband found out!"

That was pretty much when Killian's world shattered, once more."You… you are married?"

Milah rolled her eyes. "No Killian I'm just making up something like this. I have a husband and he found out about us and if I don't go to him now he'll take away my son."

"You have a son… Why haven't you…"

"Oh please Killian, wake up and smell the roses. You are nothing… You are just a way to pass my time. Now get out of my way or do I have to physically hurt you as well?" Milah threatened. He knew it was empty but he let her pass him anyway. There was a kid involved. He was breaking up a marriage.

Time passed, he didn't hear from Milah. 4 months of pure bliss, 4 months filled with laughs and secret kisses, soft caresses, screams, moans… he had fallen head over heels for her and she was married. He was just a toy to pass the time. And even though he loathed admitting it, it had broken him.

Smee was looking at Killian from his seat behind the computer. He sighed as he saw his friend stare ahead of him, anything but aware of what was happening around him. Smee sighed, he had warned him, warned him to not get involved with that woman and if he did to take care. He had known Milah's antics. Knew that once her husband returned, she would vanish from Killian's life. But it was the happiest Smee had seen his friend, who was he to deny… to prevent?

"Killian." He looked up, when his name was called, Flynn standing in front of him.
"You up for it tonight?"

Smee smiled, Flynn had asked Killian to help him on a job, his last job before he left them. One last job before he became an honest man and married the love of his life.

"Of course. I'll be right back." Killian said and stood up excusing himself and walking to the men's room. Killian sighed as he saw his reflection in the mirror. What had he been reduced to… because of her, a woman he had loved so dearly yet he didn't know her. He didn't know her at all. He splashed water in his face, after this job he would have a big meal, a warm shower and at least 10 hours of sleep.
No more of this sad, pathetic mess, he told himself. He swore never to be as pathetic as he was when Liam left. And no woman would bring him there.

"Do you remember…" Killian started, automatically assuming Flynn was still near his side of the bar, "that job we did… that flower crown."
Killian looked up at Flynn, his hand tracing the rim of his – once again- empty glass. Flynn was indeed still trying to busy himself at this side of the bar, it was a slow Monday indeed. Flynn smiled at the memory.

"How can I forget? You nearly got us thrown in jail."
Killian chuckled, "Only because you didn't switch off the bloody alarm."
"Because you blew our cover. Starting a fistfight with the night guard before we even got the crown, I still don't know what you were thinking."
"That the guard was the only form of security, at least according to your scouting rapport." Killian answered and found himself smiling as he looked at his glass. They had made a good team. It was a shame that it was Flynn's last job. Jefferson wasn't as finely tuned when it came to improvisation, something that used to be crucial to Killian and Flynn's mode of operandi.

"So I missed the weight-trigger… really if you hadn't punched the guard I would've gotten to the alarm… we still got the crown and I was able to finish the job without having Ros bailing me out in the morning, it was a good last job." Flynn said, and Killian gave an amused laugh, remembering how Ros had been waiting for Flynn at the office. Smee a nervous wreck because they were taking longer than planned to get back with the item, and Ros – petite blonde that she is- was actually very intimidating when angry or annoyed.

"Smee was shitting himself when we came in; me with a nose bleed and a busted lip while supporting you because of your limp." Killian was laughing out loud right now, surely influenced by the amount of rum he'd already consumed but Flynn couldn't help but smile at his friend. It was good to hear him laugh like this, like he used to. And it really was an improvement to his earlier mood. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew though that once the effect of rum would wear off, Killian would be back to his introvert, sad, moody self.

"You know Ros, she probably threatened to cut off his balls if I didn't get back in one piece." Flynn grinned but mentioning Ros seemed to have been a bad idea, because Killian looked forlorn once more, drowned in thought, his hand automatically reaching for the bottle and filling the glass to the brim.

"You're lucky…" he said, bringing the glass to his lips but not yet tasting his salvation. "… to have someone that cares."

She loved him. She came back to him. She loved him.

"I love you." She whispered once more in his ear as they lay in bed, utterly spent. His arms protectively wrapped around her and his head resting on her chest. He would not let her go again. Not ever.

"How do we go from here?" Killian asked, softly brushing his fingers up and down her side, goose bumps forming on her flesh. "I can't be without you Killian. I tried… god I tried." She sighed, her hand raking through his hair. The love in his bedroom was overwhelming, he would do anything she asked, anything.

"Take me away from here." She said. He leaned on his elbow to look at her, confused. "What about Bea… " She visibly swallowed. How cruel was her husband that she would chose him, a thief, over her own son.

"All that matters is you. You and me. Take me away Killian. Let's see the world like you told me, on your brother's boat."

He looked at those green eyes, they were pleading. Who was he to refuse this beauty?

The next day he told Smee he would quit the job. He was leaving… leaving with her.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into Killian."
"I don't need your advice on this matter Smee. I'm just informing you. By tomorrow we'll be far from here."

Smee was beyond pissed, the redness of his face almost an exact replica of that damned cap he was wearing.
"You're not the first she's sought attention from Killian. Whenever he was out of town she was down at the bar, looking for entertainment. She always went back, what makes you so sure she won't this time?" Smee snapped.

"Because she bloody loves me!" he shouted, silencing Smee's protest.

"She wants to be with me because she loves me, and I love her. We're leaving tonight, I'll keep in touch. I promise."

"You do know her husband is Gold right? He'll never stop until he finds her, until he finds you."
"We'll be ready for him. Goodbye Smee."

"Take care Jones."

They left town in the middle of the night and even though they had to be careful as to not reveal their location (they only paid cash and didn't stay long in the same place) they felt the happiest they could be. But they would soon learn once more, happiness is always sweet but fading.

He was awakened when they barged into their hotel room, Milah screaming as one of them constricted her movement, the other one wrestling with Killian to gain control. With a headbutt Killian's resistance weakened and his attacker – twice his size – made sure he couldn't get out of his hold. Killian was struggling against the hold of the man dressed in black. He knew their attackers now that he got a good look at them. Of course he knew them; he had seen them a few times before, at Smee's office. The Stabbington brothers.

"I thought there was honour amongst thieves…" Killian spat as they tightened their hold on him.

"Don't be ridiculous Jones, the highest bidder takes all." One of them replied.

"And indeed I will." A third voice joined them. Milah froze in the arms of her captor and with the look of a doe that got caught in the headlights she looked at Killian.

Her husband had arrived. He looked regal, dressed in a dark suit, polished shoes and a cane with a golden head to support his frame. Killian noticed he had a limp.

"Milah, dearie, the mess you have gotten yourself into…" he addressed her and reached with his hand to touch her cheek.

"Don't you dare touch her!" Killian yelled, trying to free himself but when it came to brute force, the Stabbington brothers would always win. Gold turned to Killian, a grin appeared on his lips, revealing a large amount of teeth. A smiling crocodile, what a gruesome sight to behold.

"Ah yes Mr. Jones. I never really knew your occupation as a thief was so liberally applied to stealing humans."
"It's not stealing when she came willingly." He spat. Which earned him a good knock in the head with Gold's cane.

"Robert don't." Milah said, her eyes blurring but Gold ignored her.
"You know, when one caught a thief in the old days, said thief would lose a finger…" Gold's voice went cold as he looked Killian in the eyes. Killian found his soul freezing. For the first time in his life, he was utterly scared.

"Mr. Stabbington, if you don't mind." Gold said and nodded to Killian's left arm.

"No. Robert don't! I beg of you Robert!" Milah was screaming now as Killian struggled against the deathgrip on his arm. Gold turned the golden head from his cane until it clicked, a rapier slid out of the mahogany sheath and before Milah could scream at her husband once again, Killian's cry of anguish filled the motelroom. He cradled his left arm and crashed to the ground, pain clouding his vision, his severed hand laying in a pool of blood only a inches away from him. Milah forced herself out of Stabbington's grasp, ready to fall next to Killian, whisper it would be okay, she would get him help. But Gold stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arm.

"Don't you think this adventure has gone on long enough, dearie? Now come back home, Bea's been asking about you."

Milah slapped him with her free hand, it stung like crazy but it gave her a strange satisfaction.

"You just don't get it do you? I don't love you. I will never love you, now unhand me… you coward."

Killian looked up, tears streaming down his face from the pain, he needed to protect Milah. His vision was getting blurry, he would be unconscious soon, but he had to save Milah.

Gold's eyes flashed in rage and in that overwhelming feeling of anger he brought up the rapier and thrusted it in Milah's chest. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened to scream but nothing came out and then she slumped to the floor.

"MILAH!" Killian screamed and dragged his body to meet hers. "Milah."

"I … love you." She whispered , blood filling her mouth and he saw the light go out in her eyes.

Gold took a few moments to recollect himself, watching the pitiful scene enfold in front of him.

"Boys, it's best we take our leave." Gold said and was ready to turn toward the door when Killian grabbed his ankle with his right hand. Black spots were clouding his vision, he would be out before they left.

"I will find you and I will kill you for what you did today. I will avenge her."

"Well good luck making it out alive first."

"Jones."

Killian looked to his side to find Smee standing next to him. He shot Flynn an accusing glare.

"Did the babysitter call you?"
"Actually no, I was meeting a prospect here. You seem to have had some fun." He said, nodding to the now nearly empty bottle of rum.

"I needed to forget." He said, his speech completely slurred. Smee dared to glance at Flynn who shook his head.
"Did it work?" Smee asked, knowing well by now that if Killian actually admitted to needing his oblivion, it had not been a good day and he was far from sober. "You need to find him."Killian said. Smee's eyes widened. "sorry?"

"He took my love. My happiness." Killian turned to look him straight in the eyes. His bright blues bloodshot and brimming with tears.

"Find him, so I can take his."

Chapter Text

Emma opened the door and smiled when she saw Henry sitting in the waiting room. She noticed though, when Henry smiled back to her as he looked up, his smile was less than the joyous big grin she usually received. Emma's own demure smile was reduced to nothing as she motioned him to enter the office. She had a feeling she knew what this was going to be about but with the migraine still wrecking havoc on her head since the less than professional session she'd concluded with Jones last night, she knew she wasn't up for it. Not at all.

"Hey kid…" she started but Henry didn't even let her get to the part where she wanted to ask about his day. No the kid cut right to the chase. Perhaps a quality he inherited from her, she never did like dealing with things the long way around.

"You still haven't talked to Miss Blanchard."

Sighing Emma sat down on the couch next to Henry. "No I haven't. Something came up. I have every intention …"

"But that's what you said yesterday Emma."

He called her Emma. Of course she had made a big uneasy spectacle of how he had wanted to call her mom only yesterday, but to hear him call her Emma now was making an uneasy feeling turn in her stomach. The realization at how the kid had wormed its way through her walls and into her heart had ideas of running toward her yellow bug and driving away from this town embedding into her head. But she pushed those away and focused on her son, who was less than pleased with her.

"Henry… I am going to talk to Mary-Margaret tonight. I promise. I just need… When I'm going to Mary-Margaret I need to tell her a lot about my past in order to make her understand. It's not… it's not the easiest thing for me to do."

Henry looked at his mother and saw how the frown marred her face. Her eyes glazed over as if merely mentioning the idea of talking about her past had conjured it to her mind and was replaying like a movie. And not the kind that made you feel entertained. Henry felt guilty because of it, pushing his mother so when obviously she felt uncomfortable.

"I added a new character. Do you want to see?" Henry's questions pulled her from her reverie and she smiled.

"Of course."

Henry was a marvel when it came to creativity. He drew the people he knew and transformed them into fairy tale characters. Mary-Margaret and David had been dubbed Snow White and Prince Charming. Ruby was transformed into Red Riding hood and Granny. well Granny was Granny. Even at 10 he was a very gifted artist and it was a sight to behold. She had no idea from whom he'd inherited the gift though. She was lucky if she could manage not to screw up a stick figure and she never saw his father go near a pencil and well… she couldn't exactly pinpoint it to one of his grandparents now could she? She never did found her birth parents and never got around to meeting his father's.

When Henry turned to the page he had recently filled Emma's eyes widened a bit.

"Is that…"

"Captain Hook. I think Mr. Jones makes a great pirate don't you think mom?" she couldn't believe it when she saw Jones' face staring back at her in absolute accuracy. From the small scar on his right cheek to the tilt of the left corner of his mouth indicating he was amused. And how did she know whether THAT looked accurate anyway?

"When did you draw this?" She asked, because she knew Henry usually asked their friends if they would sit still for a few moments to get the first sketches. And the only time she'd ever see them meeting was in the waiting room when they were playing their game and it was Henry's turn to wait outside, and Jones would already be waiting to be let in for his session.

"He was at Granny's a few days back. I asked if I could draw him and he said I could."
Emma couldn't help but be amused as she imagined Jones' reaction to him being Captain Hook.
"Did you tell him you were going to turn him into Captain Hook?"
"No." Henry said feeling a bit guilty. "I didn't want to… his arm was hurting so I didn't want to make him feel more uncomfortable."

Emma smiled and ruffled Henry's head. Her son was a clever boy.

"Well he does suit the version of J.M. Barrie. Although I think you should give him a perm and a waxed mustache, even if it's just to make me laugh."

Henry smiled; if it would make his mother laugh he'd pretty much do anything.

Emma kept on turning the pages back to his previous sketches. There were still a few she hadn't seen, they didn't always discuss his fairy tale project. But he did bring it every time, for the times when they'd just catch up or when she needed to catch up on some paper work.

She frowned when she stumbled on the imagery of his adoptive mother.

"Kid… why did you put your mom as The Evil Queen?"

"Because she is." He just stated as if it was an all known fact.

"Just because she forbids you things from time to time doesn't make her evil." Emma chuckled.

"Only when she listens to the red queen. And she listens to her more often than she used to." Henry stated a bit begrudgingly.

"Kid, it's normal that she seeks the advice of her mother. She lost her father and her husband." Emma swallowed because she knew she was going to sensitive territory. Henry had loved his grandfather and his adoptive father. To lose them both was devastation for him and one of the main reasons as to why he was in therapy.

"She needs guidance just as much as you do Henry."

Henry looked up, and he smiled, for what Emma wasn't sure. But he put his book down and hugged her. This time she didn't flinch, she just wrapped her arms around her son and returned the hug.

"You know, I still don't understand it. That you of all people would give up your son."

She sighed trying to block Jones' words from her mind, but couldn't help to tighten her hold on her son. She would not give him up again.

"She bakes a lot of apple turnovers too."

"What?"

"Mom… she bakes a lot of apple turnovers and she has some disagreement with miss Blanchard. So it kind of fits you know."

Emma felt a chuckle escape her as they disentangled themselves. "Because you chose Mary-Margaret as Snow White."

"Yup." He confirmed, letting the p pop at the end.

"But I doubt her turnovers are poisoned though." She reasoned and the look in his eyes filled her with an ache for the years she'd missed.

"Last April fools… Daniel and I filled the jar of sugar half and half with salt." The joyous look in his eyes dimmed as soon as he had finished speaking. Emma smiled and noted his mood change. For his sake she didn't address it. Henry took pride in being strong, in that aspect he definitely took after her, although she was certain it was more Regina's way of upbringing than her inheritance.

"I'm still waiting on my character you know." Emma said changing the subject, not wanting to increase her migraine with thinking about yesterday's argument and how much those words had actually stung beyond belief. How much they suddenly enhanced each feeling of missed opportunities when talking to Henry.

"Mom" he whined, "You can't just ask me that." He grumbled and took the sketchbook to tuck it back in his backpack.

"Well why not? I'm starting to get jealous that you've included one of my clients before considering me." She was teasing him but he seemed to be shifting uneasily.

"I haven't gotten around to it that's all." Henry mumbled and Emma squinted a bit, knowing he was lying but she wasn't going to pry. Henry would always tell, eventually.

"So do you want to meet at Granny's tomorrow? I think we've had a sufficient amount of 'stuck in the office' days."

"I can't. It's Dad's… Daniel's birthday tomorrow." Henry said and Emma's face softened considerably. She crouched down in front of him and took his hands in hers, her free hand smoothing the hair from his face. It was a risky move because Henry always shut down when it came to his father, he wouldn't accept any kind of consolation. He wanted to be strong.

"We're going to his grave and after a visit to his parents. I don't know why mom does it. It hurts her every time."

"Kid, it's a part of grieving and Regina… Regina is being strong, for herself and for you and from what I've heard from you, strong for her mother."
"But she doesn't need to be strong for me. I can handle it. I wished she would just…"

"It's okay Henry." Emma smiled, and dropped her hand from his hair and she smiled at him. Without really knowing he was sure, he saw her smile a genuine, motherly smile. One he had yet to see from her and it was all too much. Before Emma fully well knew it, he had flung his arms around her neck and started crying.

"It's okay Henry… It's okay." She murmured into his ear, while softly caressing the back of his head as her other arm was circled around him. "It's okay"

Regina turned off the feed and fell back into her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. Henry was crying because she was strong. Too strong. She had always known Henry was too grown up for his age but this… wanting to carry the grief… Regina took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. It wouldn't do to cry. Crying is weakness. The Mills did not tolerate weakness.

Even though she had considered herself weak, when she listened to her mother;

"She will take him away from you. Turn him against you."

She hadn't been happy about Henry's quest to find his birth mom, even less pleased that he lied about it. But she allowed Emma to be his therapist, felt that he was just looking for another parent as replacement for the one he lost. If it made Henry happy for the first time in months, how could she deny him?

But Cora's whispers had clouded her reasoning with doubts, and Regina had commissioned her assistant Sidney to place a bug. Just in case. She would only listen once. In the end she listened whenever Henry seemed too excited that morning because of his hour with Emma and she found the need to have her doubts rectified. Needless to say… she listened often even though she knew it was wrong. And she did feel guilty for betraying her son's trust like that. But she couldn't lose him. She had already lost too much.

"Well I see today hasn't been a rewarding day where it concerns your bond with your son."

Regina straightened her posture as she looked at the autumn haired woman in the doorway.

"Mother." A cold greeting for a cold woman, she thought to herself. Regina had long given up the illusion that anything her mother did was done with love and care. At least not love and care for anything but herself. Perhaps it was that selfishness that urged Regina to tape her son's therapy sessions, she wasn't sure. Daniel had always claimed she was nothing like her mother. Regina sighed, times did change, especially when the person who brought out the best in you leaves you.

"Henry and I are just fine. To what do I owe this… visit."

"Can't a mother visit her daughter?" Cora asked, nothing short of showing the cold sort of motherly love Regina was used to. If love was even a term she could attribute her mother.

"Not today. Nor tomorrow. You know perfectly well what week it is and I'd prefer to share it with someone who actually cared about my husband." Regina wasn't normally so outspoken to her mother. But there were moments, days, like these, where even her mother would not be given the opportunity to boss her around.

"I cared about your husband."

"You cared about his social status, or better his lack there off. Henry and I will be away tomorrow. Now if you'll excuse me… mother. I have some work to finish before I leave."

And with that Cora smiled proudly at the bite that her daughter had portrayed and left her to her work. When she closed the door behind her Regina sighed and threw her pen back on the desk, squeezing her eyes shut.

Oh Daniel… if only you were here to get this evil out.

Emma was pacing the hallway. Two cups of hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon in hand. A peace offering. All she had to do was knock on the door. And she would, by god she would knock. At least that's what she told herself a few minutes ago, and 5 minutes before that.

She approached the door, ready to knock but before her hand would touch the wood she would pull it back, cursed herself once more and turned to pace the hallway again. They would pity her, she didn't want them to pity her.

The cinnamon had already disappeared in the whipped cream and it was already sinking into the cocoa, ready to hit the bottom. It would be useless to call it hot any more. Her peace offering – much like her resolve - had gone cold.

"Man up Swan." She reprimanded herself, glancing at the door of Mary-Margaret and David's apartment but still passing it with the cups in hand instead of knocking on it.

She froze when the door opened, revealing David, a soft smile on his face.

"Are you going to come in or not? Because the pacing is grating on my nerves." He said in good jest but it still floored her.

"Well?"

"Give me a minute, I'm thinking."

"You've been pacing this hall for at least 10 minutes Emma. I think you've have had enough time to think." He said it with the same soft smile gracing his lips. The man was an absolute treasure. But it still didn't move her from her place.

"It's… it's not that simple."

"Look Emma… She told me about the situation with Henry." Emma sighed,shifting her weight from one feet to the other.

"I'm here to apologize for how I acted. Not for what I said but perhaps the way I said it… It wasn't her place."

"Oh I agree, but she is stubborn." Emma gave him a look that clearly said 'pot calling the kettle black' but all he could do was smile a bit brighter, take her arm and pull her in the apartment. He nodded his head to the couch where Mary-Margaret sat huddled in a blanket. Taking a deep breath she gathered her courage and approached the couch. When Mary-Margaret saw her she made to stand up.

"No. Don't." Mary-Margaret halted her actions. "I still stand by what I said. You had no right to push him, to push me. But I am a bitch with a lot of issues and pretty much half of them are because of how I've been living my life since the day I was born."

Emma took a deep breath quickly looking up at her friend, wanting to see her face before pity would constantly cloud her eyes, before focusing on her feet. "I… Mary-Margaret I'm an orphan. I grew up in the system, from one foster home to another or back to the orphanage. I haven't a clue what it's like to be a mother, to be a part of a family. One hour a day does not make me a mother. I didn't know if I could handle the responsibility that comes with that word. I still don't."

Emma sighed as she continued to stare at the ground. "I just … I don't want him to get hurt because I can't be what he wants me to be. Because I'm a failure… I don't want to disappoint him."

The last bit of the confession came out as soft as a whisper and before she could get a grip on the emotions that were threatening to throw her composure she felt a pair of arms encircle her. She froze, looking up and finding a teary-eyed Mary-Margaret on the couch and to her surprise David wrapped around her.

"You are a good person Emma and the fact that you don't want for Henry to get hurt… that's parenting 101. You'll be a great mom." He said reassuringly and pressed a kiss in her hair.

Emma chocked at the words, at the faith David – the would-be-best-dad, and Mary-Margaret - world's-best-future-mom, bestowed upon her and for once in her life, she shut her eyes and actually believed it.

Chapter Text

The absolute nerve of him! Emma thought as she started the yellow bug, the engine making a spluttering sound which reminded her, yet again, of its need for an annual check-up, which she kept postponing out of fear that her car would be condemned to an 'early' retirement. She shifted the gear and set off to his place.

She had understood his absence the first time. Neither had been spouting friendly words at their last session and she understood if their confrontation hadn't been easy to digest. God knows she went through half a bottle of scotch and an intense work out to vent the anger his words had provoked, but to miss another session without as much as a warning was in violation of their agreement and juts plainly pissed her off.

She stood by those rules. She had already broken a few when it came to him, but she was putting her foot down with this. She had warned him about her confrontational approach and it had been a week since that unhappily ending session. He needed to get over it. At least that's how she reasoned.

When it had become obvious that he wasn't going to show, she had taken his file and jotted down the address and jumped in her bug. She would take the confrontation to him. If he thought she would let this go, he was sorely mistaken.

Killian Jones was lying on his couch, remote in hand as he flicked through the channels. Daytime TV was an abomination! One more soap opera with Vanessa falling for the handsome Ricardo while being engaged to the wealthy Lucas or the shopping channel promoting yet another non-stick frying pan and he was going to throw the damn thing out. Not that it motivated him in the slightest to actually move off the couch and attempt doing something else.

He had yet to hear from Smee about the status of his request. At first Smee had tried to ignore Killian's drunken plea, but Killian did not forget his decision. Eventually, Smee had promised to look in to it, but didn't want Killian to get his hopes up. They had tried, tried to find the illustrious Mr. Gold, but even a year later they didn't find a trace. So why would now be any different? The man had made his fortune on evading the law.

Yet despite the odds, Killian had faith. But the lack of progress had brought him once more in a foul mood. It was depressing.

"Are you seriously going to lie on that couch all day?"

Killian didn't even bother to look up. He had become familiar enough with Jefferson's aggravated and disappointed facial expression to know he was wearing it now.

"When was the last time you left this place anyway? Why don't you go for a walk or something? It's like you live on that couch."

Killian groaned and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"I'm not Grace, mate, you can't just shoe me off to go play."

Jefferson rolled his eyes.

"Not what I'm suggesting mate." He sighed defeated. "Go for a walk. Or don't. Just get off that damn couch. That's all I'm asking." He said, his voice finally rising a bit in frustration.

He had pretty much had it with this Killian; the one stuck in a rut. Even in the past 5 years Killian hadn't been this bad, but ever since the attempt... Jefferson didn't want to think about that day, it brought back too many memories. Jefferson was finally able to look at his friend again without seeing the ghastly evidence of rope burn or imagining the rope around his neck.

"Go pick up Grace. She'll be out of school in 15 minutes." Killian said.

"There's some leftover Lasagna in the fridge, and before you say anything, Tiana made it."

This made Killian chuckle. Jefferson has always tried his best for Grace, but he couldn't cook even if his life depended on it. Jefferson's next door neighbour Tiana on the other hand was the resident lunch lady at Grace's school. She loved to help him out, having been a dear friend and a crutch to lean on, ever since Alice. That woman could whip up some amazing dishes. Could even make Brussels sprouts taste like heaven.

"Thank her for me." Killian said to which Jefferson smiled. Common courtesy had yet to leave his friend after all.

Jefferson disappeared in the hallways and Killian expectantly waited to hear the door close, so he could devour the lasagna. Instead he heard a very familiar voice greet Jefferson at the door.

"Is he dead?"

Jefferson blinked at the sight of the blonde before him. Her hair loosely draped around her shoulders, a warm winter jacket keeping out the cold, yet leaving a blush on her cheeks. She was actually looking serious.

"Sorry?"

"Jones. Is he dead?"

"What? No!" This broad was serious? Jefferson thought. What was she on? He looked at her as if she'd sprouted a second head.

"Something wrong with his phone then?"

"Not that I'm aware of. No." Jefferson reasoned, pretty sure that if he didn't know Killian any better, she would be one of his one-nighters gone bonkers. He was losing his patience though. Grace would be let out of school any minute now and he didn't like to keep her waiting.

"Mute then?" she tried once more, even though she knew perfectly well that it was the most unlikely of options she could have come up with.

"Afraid not love." Killian spoke up, having silently crept from the couch to the hallway to meet them. He positioned his right shoulder to the wall as he saw Emma's face, laced with annoyance, appear from behind Jefferson. Her green eyes locked on him and her annoyance morphed into a rightfully pissed off glare, but not before she let her eyes quickly scan his appearance to make sure he wasn't actually hurt, not that she would not admit to that out loud.

"Well there must be some horrid reason that prevented you from attending our session, twice," she snapped.

Killian gave her as careless a shrug as he could. He hadn't expected her to actually track him down. He certainly wasn't in the mood to reminisce about the past in her presence with her disturbingly accurate insights.

Jefferson looked from his friend to the blonde and he couldn't help but think that she was pretty much the reason why he hadn't heard Killian complain about therapy while he had been so resistant of the very idea at first.

"You are his therapist." Jefferson said, stating the obvious. She glanced at him as if only now realizing he was still there.

"The accuracy of that statement depends entirely on Mr. Jones' answer."

"Pardon?" Killian inquired.

"We had an understanding. It's up to you to decide if you want to be a part of something or not, but don't you fucking waste my time." She spat, never once taking her eyes off of him. Even though it made him angry – he was wasting her time? - he felt a slight buzz going through him when he saw the fire in her eyes, all that annoyance directed at him.

"Well no one put it quite that colourful before." Jefferson attributed, breaking the tension that had formed, probably even without realizing it himself.

"Don't you have to pick up Grace?" Killian sneered, not wanting Jefferson anywhere near the blonde fury. God forbid they'd start sticking together.

Jefferson shook his head, apologizing for Killian's behavior- before he excused himself to pick up Grace. Killian wasn't certain Swan had heard him though.

"Stop flying up in those clouds Swan," Killian started when Jefferson had left. "Damaged goods can't be a part of anything anymore."

Emma groaned at this confession. She hadn't expected it either, but it made her rake her hand through her loosely curled locks to refrain from hitting him in frustration.

"Don't make me laugh Jones. You think you're the only damaged one?"

He just kept staring at her and she did her best to stay angry, to keep that mask. Because if she really was as much as an open book as he proclaimed, and with him she didn't dare chance it anymore, she didn't want him to read between the lines.

"When you have a hole shot in your life, you can try with all your might to fill it, it remains. Everyone is damaged to some extent and you can't change that. You manage it. That is how you get to be part of something again." Emma concluded.

She felt his blue eyes on her, reading between lines, prying behind walls. It unnerved her, put her on edge, and this wasn't the first time that she had felt bare beneath those magnificent blues.

"Is that what you do? Manage your damage?" he asked, his voice mocking her, but the way he looked at her… Reading people goes both ways. The fact that he'd mask his sincerity with mocking gave way to her annoyance once more.

"Come find me when you get your head far enough out of your ass to give me an answer." And with that she walked away. He moved after her, approaching the door to close it. He rested his head against it with his eyes closed.

Manage your damage. The only thing that woman managed was the gigantic wall she hid behind.

"Hypocrite" he muttered in accusation.

Emma didn't know how it was that he could bring out the worst in her. She had perfected patience and kindness, learned to hide her annoyance, had learned to bring optimism to her work, yet she shied away from it on personal grounds. She was a good therapist, but whenever he opened his mouth to taunt about those things that were rather close to her, all those professional reservations flew right out of the window and she just couldn't.

When she returned to her office, to gather her things she had left behind in rush to give Jones a piece of her mind, she found Regina Mills seated in her waiting room.

"Mrs Mills. Is everything alright?" Emma asked.

"Can we talk?"

"Of course." Emma replied, a feeling of dread forming as she took in Regina's stoic expression. She was dressed in a black pants-suit that exuded absolutely no nonsense, pure business. Emma took out her keys to open her office and lead the way inside, Regina following.

"Is everything alright with Henry?" Emma asked , while moving to her desk. When she turned she saw Regina scrutinize the place, just like she had done the first time she'd paid a visit to her office. The fact that Emma would never win a prize for interior decorating was perfectly obvious when one would take a look at her apartment. Her office wasn't much different.

Regina seated herself at the desk as well before bothering to reply.

"Yes. Actually, that's why I'm here. I have been… re-evaluating things. I have seen remarkable improvement in Henry and in your report you'd said he'd been doing well. So I wish to cut back on his therapy sessions."

Emma's hand was gripping the pen on her desk with whitening knuckles and a cold hand grabbed hold of her heart.

"Oh?"

"I realize I need to spend more time with my son and I intend to do so. Unfortunately therapy takes away a lot of that time."

"Mrs. Mills, with all due respect, I can't just cancel his sessions because you decide to rearrange your timetable." Emma replied with as much care as she could muster, but she wasn't too sure of herself if that intention had come across. Not that Regina gave away any of her emotions, if anything she looked rather bored.

Of course that was far from how Regina was feeling. Emma's implications were anything but soothing to her rage. Her mother's words, once more, were ringing in her ears.

"Miss Swan I did not come by for your approval," Regina said, standing up and straightening her outfit.

Emma swallowed an accusation. "Spending time with Henry will only benefit his progress, I agree. But pulling back his sessions from daily to twice a week is a drastic change. Henry needs a form of stability" As much as she didn't want to admit it, she came to realize the other day she needed the kid.

"Which I plan on giving him, a stability where his time will be well spent with the people he loves."

Emma sighed trying to ignore the jab she'd dished out, Regina would not take no for an answer. That much had been a certainty when she had stepped into Emma's office. With resignation, Emma released the pen she was still holding and tried to relax her hand.

"It will be imperative to keep a close watch. The minute you notice any change in behaviour I would like you to call me."

Regina was seething on the inside. Who did she think she was anyway? Just because she gave birth to Henry…

"I know how to raise my son miss Swan."

"I am aware Mrs. Mills. But would that be with or without the whispers of your mother?"

"Excuse me?" Regina's eyes sparked with fire.

"Henry has told me some disconcerting things about his relationship with his grandmother. I'd rather not worry about the safety of my son." Emma answered, not being able to hold back. She bit her tongue the minute she had stopped talking and came to her senses; but the damage was already done.

Regina glared at her and approached the desk, standing in front of her. At a higher vantage point she was by all means the intimidating woman the rumours spoke of.

"Do not mistake my tolerance of your presence as a liberty to claim what you gave up in the first place. Henry is my son. He will come to session twice a week, be glad I even give you that much. Good day Miss Swan."

Regina slammed the door shut on her way out.

Emma wasn't aware of how much time had passed. She had however become aware, yet again, of the destructive nature of her actions when she was provoked. She should have railed in her temper. She should have known that whatever said would turn back on her time with Henry.

Stupid, stupid stupid.

The encounter had her work up a rage and the first way of venting was hearing the delectable noise of something shattering. Looking at the floor she saw that she had tossed the Swan figurine, which normally decorated her bookcase, to the floor. It lay in ruins now. A forlorn look took resident on her face. She'd gotten that figurine when her foster family had returned her to the orphanage.

"It's not that we don't love you kid. We love you very much… but we just can't keep you. We'd like to give you this. To remember us by, to know you're not alone."

Emma still remembered that speech and the older she got the more annoyed she felt by it. But she didn't get rid of it. She was dubbed Swan when her first foster family had taken her in when they had given up on having their own bundles of joy. She had resided there until she was three, when the little miracle happened. And their little miracle left Emma once again to fend for herself in the system, with a Swan figurine to remind her of how fleeting happiness could truly be. Even though she was a bit sad to see the trinket go, the sound of breaking porcelain had lessened the rage… if only a bit.

"Is this a bad time?"

Emma jumped at the sound of his voice, whirling around to find Killian Jones standing in the doorway, looking as miserable as she had left him earlier that day. She was certain she looked every bit as weary and bone tired but she could only stare at him, words not forming on her lips to reply.

"Hell Swan." He said and neared her in a speed that made Emma take a few steps back.

"What…" She couldn't end her question as a hiss escaped her lips when he grabbed her hand. For the first time she felt her hand throb and she turned slightly queasy when she saw the blood dripping into his hand.

"Fuck." She swore.

He looked around, taking up her glass which still held remnants of scotch and poured it over her hand. She couldn't even remember pouring herself one.

"Ow, ow, ow!"

"Don't be a baby Swan." He hushed her and continued his ministrations. The intensity of his gaze as he took care of her hand kept her tongue tied. Her eyes not able to look away as his calloused fingers dabbed the wound clean with a tissue he'd taken from the Kleenex box on her desk.

"Its just a lot of blood, but the cut doesn't look deep enough for stitches," he said calmly and then procured a cotton handkerchief from his pocket, wrapping it gently round her hand.

Holding her hand up with his prosthetic, he brought her hand to his mouth to help tie the knot, the warmth of his breath tickling her skin as he took the fabric in his mouth and tightened the know with his teeth. Her breath hitched in her throat and he must have noticed because his gaze was focused on her. For a moment she completely forgot to breathe.

"Well this is the longest I think I've heard you silent." He teased, "Something the matter lass? Cat got your tongue?" he grinned at this, having noticed her reaction, no doubt, and enjoying every minute of making her squirm. The mischievous glint in his eyes as he kept staring at her, his breath still fanning over her hand made her toes curl and then… the bastard had the nerve to let his tongue slide over his teeth.

She pulled her hand out of his and frowned.

"I could've done that myself you know. I have a first aid kit."

The annoying grin remained on his face as she moved away from him, gathering her bearings.

"As I said before Swan, helping out is the gentleman way."

She scoffed.

"The gentleman way wasted scotch and ruined the carpet." She scolded and bent down to pick up the pieces of her swan figurine. Sentiment was never good for her anyway, she thought.

"What are you doing here anyway?" she asked, trying to take her mind of things and not let him inquire her for an explanation.

"As you so eloquently put it earlier, getting my head out of my ass."

This made her look up. As glad as she was for that news, she didn't have the strength to hear him out today.

"Would you care to join me for a drink?" she asked instead, after having put the shards in the bin. He frowned.

"I thought you said drowning yourself wouldn't solve anything." So he had noticed that she wasn't herself, that something had happened.

"That is true." She replied, taking the bottle of scotch from the mini-bar she had so secretively installed in her desk and took out another glass to accompany hers. "But I never said that a little soak could hurt."

Chapter Text

When Regina opened her front door with a sigh that indicated just how exhausting the day had been for her. All she wanted was a warm bath before Henry got home. Her eyes shot open though at that thought and the sound of the television made itself known to her. Henry was already home.

She lifted her arm to check the time, of course he was home, it was past 6 pm. Her drive had taken considerably longer than she had anticipated.

After the confrontation with Henry's birthmom, she drove aimlessly, to calm down before changing lanes and drive with purpose. It definitely wasn't the first time that the family crypt had been her place of refuge. After all, the people who had understood her best of all were buried there.

She traced the engravings of their names on the marble plaques losing herself in memories connected to those names.

Henry. Daniel.

In a moment of weakness she had slipped down against the tombs and cried. Cried for the loss of her beloved father, of her beloved husband. How would she go on, if she lost her son as well?

The only thing that got her to her on her feet, out of her grieve, was the thought of her mother seeing her like this. Regina nearly laughed at the very thought.

"You Mills are cursed with a weak and soft heart" – oh yes, Regina could hear the worlds simply roll off her mother's split tongue. Cora would not be above ridiculing her father's heart attack.

But this very thought did steel Regina's resolve. She would not be weak. She would not lose her son.

She looked into the mirror and collected herself, she would not meet her son as an emotional wreck. So she discarded her coat, hung it in the hall closet, and entered the livingroom to find Henry. The sight ,one that made her purse her lips; slightly annoyed by the mess.

Henry was lying in the middle of the carpet, his sketchbook in front of him and an array of drawing materials such as pencils, paints, markers and others surrounding him.

She didn't know whether to cry at the mess or smile at her adorable creative son. She did have a thing for a meticulous space.

"Henry." She greeted her son after deciding to go with a smile. The sight did warm her heart.

"Hi mom." He said smiling, "I'll clean up in a second."

Always the considerate one, her boy, she thought.

"Well you've been busy. We should buy you a new one." Regina said, gesturing to the nearly completed sketchbook. The smile that greeted her made her heart soar and forget, if only for a moment, that she could ever lose him.

"How about I'll meet you at Gepetto's after school tomorrow?" Gepetto was the quaint little art shop which was well-known for its diversity of materials and good customer service. "I have some time off; we can do whatever you like. I'll make your favorite for dinner."

The million dollar smile disappeared into a frown as he sat up on his knees.

"But I have my session with Emma after school."

Regina sighed softly and sat down on the couch, patting the empty space next to her in gesture to Henry. He stood up and sat down on the pristine white couch, turning to his mother for an explanation that was sure to follow.

"Miss Swan and I have agreed that it would be best if we spend more time together. You've been doing so well in therapy lately.."

"So… I don't have session tomorrow?" He reasoned. Regina brought her hand up to fix Henry's ruffled hair.

"Your next session with Miss Swan won't be until next week. Instead of daily sessions you'll be seeing her twice a week." Regina explained and she tried not to feel as if her heart was breaking when her son's small, unsure, smile disappeared.

He looked down to his hands. Regina's hand slipped from his head to his shoulders and she could feel his intake of breath.

"Did I do something wrong?" his voice barely reached her when he asked this. But she did hear him and the effect it had made her contemplate her mother's statement on the weakness of her heart.

"Heaven's no Henry… Look." She said and slid of the couch, crouching in front of him. Her hand on his chin so she could look him in the eye.

"I know I haven't been the best mother ever since the accident. I want to work on that. I've arranged it so I'll be working less, so we can spend more time together and Miss Swan agreed to reschedule the sessions so we can make this work. I thought you'd like that." She squeezed his knee, a gesture of question, of comfort.

Henry offered a smile, but she could see it was just for her sake. He wasn't happy to see his time with Emma vanish.

"Can we watch a movie after? It's Friday after all." But he tried. Oh her baby boy was trying so hard to be strong like her, like she – albeit unintentionally – taught him.

"Of course… And ice-cream for dessert." He nodded, the smile that as only gracing his lips for the sake of his mother still present.

Henry stood up, collecting his book and materials.

"Can I go to my room?"

"Of course." Regina nodded, trying to swallow the lump that formed in her throat. He didn't want to be near her, not tonight. He disappeared down the hall and when she heard the sound of a door closing she buried her head in her hands.

What had she been thinking? Emma would plead temporary insanity if the question ever arose in regard to her haring a drink with Killian Jones, in her office.

Not a word had been spoken after she had handed him his drink and she had made her way to the couch. A seating arrangement she'd chosen specifically to indicate that this was anything but a professional encounter. And al throughout – even when he sat down in his usual seat after repositioning the chair so he could face her – he had yet to take his eyes off of her. She took another sip, blaming the heath she was feeling on the intake of alcohol.

Once her glass would reach its depleted state she'd no longer have the means to keep herself from talking to him, to point out that it was rude to stare (to read between the lines) And oh how her silence had indulged his reading.

More than enough. The words 'You're somewhat of an open book" stuck in her mind.

The very idea… the one that had scared her so much earlier at his apartment and scared her still, had her lift her glass again and swallow its contents in one go. Damn it.

She shifted to place the glass on the wooden IKEA coffee table, the action sounding loud in the silent room. He followed her action, a second glass connecting to its surface. It made her look up at him, meeting his clear blues instantly. Damn it twice.

At first she might have been alright to pay the price for a drinking companion. But catching those blues made her regret that reasoning. She wanted to scold herself for being so affected and she really did blame it on the alcohol. She hadn't eaten anything that day besides a pack of skittles Henry had left her the other day, so the few glasses that were far below her limit, were having a toll.

"Your lad won't like it that you tossed the swan."

He broke the silence, she simply answered with a shrug.

"It was just something I've kept for far too long. I'll buy a new one." she said, keeping an aloof air about the whole thing, refusing to admit that deep down she was indeed a bit sentimental.

"No you won't."

She felt the corner of her mouth curl upward. Both annoyed and amused at his insight, but she was fairly certain the latter was a side effect of the alcohol.

"No I won't" she agreed softly. Maybe it was the far off look in her eyes as she took note of the empty space in the bookcase or her unconscious fiddling with his makeshift bandage on her hand ever since she put down the glass, that prompted him to inquire further, he couldn't really tell.

"Why not?"

It drew an unladylike snort from her that amused him to no end. She looked at him with a challenging smirk.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

To have insight in this person that cared enough to track him down and haul his ass back in that room? The amusement that made his eyes sparkle a bit was replaced by something else, something serious and intense and it made Emma's mouth dry up.

"Perhaps I would"

She swallowed, suddenly craving another drink but knowing that was the last thing she needed. What she needed was for him to leave. She moved from the couch and cleared her throat, this was over. Now.

"I believe it's getting a bit late Mr. Jones." She said and he saw how her fort gained a bigger wall and got the hint. He moved to get out of the chair when the door to her office was thrown open with a bang, scaring both adults out of their bubble.

"Mom?!"

Both adults turned to the door, Emma's eyes widening as Henry burst in, dressed in a jacket and what appeared to be his pajama pants. Was it that late already? How long had they been sitting here, drinking scotch? She looked up at the clock above the door but didn't quite catch the time before redirecting her eyes back to Henry

"Henry? What are you.."

"Did I do something wrong?" He was a little out of breath, probably from running from his home to her office. But the look in his eyes… She walked over to him and crouched down in front of him.

"Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Because you are canceling our sessions."

"What? Henry who told you that?" she asked, looking at him fully.

"Mom did. She said you wanted to cancel our sessions. Did I do something wrong? Is it because I called you mom? I told you I'll stop calling you mom if you don't want me to. I promise just ..."

"Henry." Emma said sternly, interrupting his near hysterical outburst. She brushed through his hair, matted with sweat and gave him the best smile she could. He was near tears and she had to suppress the urge to march to Regina and punch her until she was seeing stars.

"I'm not canceling our sessions."

"But mom said…"

"You must have misheard, kid. She wants to spend more time with you. It will be good for the both of you. That's why we're, temporarily, cutting back on the sessions." Emma smiled softly, brushing his hair back.

"Don't you want to spend time with me?" The hitch in his voice squeezed at her heart. When did she start to care so much for this little boy, for her boy.

"Don't want? Henry who else will I have to share Granny's double fudge ice cream with? Don't for a minute think that."

Henry gave her a smile of pure content and threw his arms around her. He was completely melting into her, which made her reach out her hand to catch her balance. And as luck –or some annoying deity - would have it, the closest thing she could take hold of was covered in jeans.

Shit.

She dared to look up at the man she had completely forgotten about. His eyes focused on her with the same feeling of surprise. She froze, as if today hadn't been revealing enough on her part. She let go of Jones' knee and slightly pulled away from Henry, regaining her balance completely.

"Is your mom outside?" she asked, turning back to Henry.

"No… she doesn't know I'm here."

"She'll kill me," Emma groaned and stood up. "Then you for running through town in your pajamas and then me again."

He looked guilty, or at least a fraction of it because a lilt at the corner of his lip was enough to say that he found this at least a bit entertaining.

"I'll best get going." Killian broke through their moment while standing up. Henry turned at the man, only now realizing that he was there while Emma stubbornly refused.

"Mr. Jones." Henry greeted him and Killian smiled at the boy.

"Hello lad. Didn't your mother ever tell you it's dangerous to run around this late?"

"She might have..." Henry said mirroring a grin which had Emma rolling her eyes. The boy was far too smug. Especially considering their current predicament.

"I'm going to call your mother. I'm afraid I had a bit too much to drink to drive right now."

"You should eat something then. You'll feel better." Killian added which finally made her look at him again. He did have a point.

"Do you really have to call her?" Henry asked in a small voice.

"Yes. Because… What you did was reckless and frankly I wouldn't oppose to the idea of her grounding you."

"But mom…" Henry whined, having perfected that art no doubt because it was actually working on her. Damn his doe-eyes.

"We'll meet up at Granny's; Afterward we might discuss about us spending time together because really Henry, running away isn't going to make this easier."

Henry sighed, and Killian really had to try his best not to smirk at the domestic scene in front of him. Swan was already a natural at being a strict parent, even if she didn't know it yet.

"Will you be joining us Mr. Jones?" Henry asked. Emma froze as she, reluctantly, dialed Regina's phone number.

"No lad. I'm about ready to go home. But you enjoy the time with your mum. I'm sure I'll see you soon. Henry, Swan."

He looked up to see her standing there with the phone pressed against her ear and she gave him a quick glance and a wave while informing Regina that their son was not in his room.

The phone call was short for when he closed the door behind him he heard Henry ask her about the missing Swan figurine on the bookshelf. The smile that graced his lips wouldn't leave again until he reached his apartment.

Chapter Text

Mary-Margaret sat at their regular booth at Granny's, a simple glass of water in front of her. She'd been feeling rather queasy this morning and didn't want to risk emptying whatever was left in her stomach by drinking hot chocolate when even the smell of Leroy's cup of coffee was enough to trigger her upchuck reflex; and while part of her wanted to kick herself for immediately thinking of the possibility … She couldn't bring herself not to hope. Hope was, after all, the beginning of every happy ending right?

She sighed, perhaps they should make an appointment at the hospital if she was mistaken about her sudden queasiness. To see if they could find a reason why, after a year of trying, she still wasn't pregnant. Not that right now would be perfect timing. They did plan a Summer wedding. And she preferred to not have a bump in the pictures.

Her reverie was broken when Emma slid in the booth; a smile on her face as she signaled Ruby to bring her morning fix.

"What's with the smile?" Mary-Margaret inquired, sipping her water.

"What's with the water?" Emma shot right back earning a smile from Mary-Margaret. Emma's playfulness was somewhat foreign to her.
"Unsettled stomach, I really don't want to vomit."

Emma nodded, her train of thought flirting with the same possibilities which had entered Mary-Margaret's mind but she quickly dismissed it.

"Did David cook again?" she teased, a gesture Mary-Margaret seemed to appreciate even though she tossed a paper napkin at Emma in mock-offence.

"That was the one time and you will never let him live that down will you?" Mary-Margaret mused to which Emma smiled smugly in reply.

"Nope."

"Here you go. One hot cocoa with extra cinnamon." Ruby announced in a cheery voice, putting down the mug while smiling at them both before sauntering over to the next table. Emma arched a brow.

"Is it me or are her shorts getting shorter again?"

Mary-Margaret stifled a laugh at Emma's remark.

"From what I've gathered, she's into Victor."

Emma mouthed an 'Ah' as she noticed Ruby making a detour by Dr. Whale's table before returning to her duties. Emma brought her hot beverage to her lips, mentally reminding herself to raise her bet with David on whether or not Ruby would be bringing a date.

Oh heaven in a cup. She mused, licking the excess cream off her lips.

"Not that I don't like to see you like this… smiling at this hour is a big thing for you." Mary- Margaret started, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. Because Emma's mood needed a sufficient amount of caffeine (at least 4 cups) before she could manage a mood like this.

"But are you going to elaborate or will you keep me guessing?"

While Emma had to suppress the urge of saying 'Curiosity indeed killed the cat' she did slightly frown at the fact that acting happy was considered something of a rarity for her.

"It's Regina."

Mary-Margaret blinked in surprise.

"Well, that is not a common thing to hear." She muttered as she brought her glass to her mouth and sipped some water, Emma merely rolled her eyes.

"You really need to let go of that grudge you hold against her. While I admit she has her," Emma fell silent for a moment, trying to find the appropriate word, "quirks. She's fairly reasonable."

Her friend's eye roll was telling enough; she disagreed strongly with that statement. Emma merely shook her head.

"She's letting me spend time with Henry tomorrow, only expecting him back by 9. School night and all."

"Oh Emma that's great! Do you have something planned?"

"Not really?" Emma hesitated. As much as she loved Henry and wanted to spend time together it would be the first time she'd had to fill more than a two-hour slot; and it was therapy-free. Not that they had troubles talking about things… But that's what they did: talk, occasionally eat an ice-cream or a stack of pancakes at Granny's when Henry was certain his mother wouldn't be home for dinner. She had absolutely no idea how to entertain him for an entire day.

"I was thinking of making mac 'n cheese. It's his favorite next to lasagna… Would you and David like to join us?"

If she could fall back on her friends' natural gift for social etiquette, she wouldn't have to worry about an awkward silence during dinner.

"You are cooking?" Mary-Margaret joked, raising her brow in question, a smile adding to the ridiculousness of the idea. Because for all Emma's joking about David's disastrous kitchen exploits, she knew Emma herself was hardly any better.

"I can deal with mac 'n cheese you know." Emma huffed, feeling slightly flustered. She didn't like to come off as helpless – but with Henry...

"Not that you need us, but we will be happy to join you guys." Mary-Margaret said, giving her hand a squeeze.
"Thanks."

"As for the rest of your day, you needn't worry. Henry will pretty much keep you occupied with his antics. Now," She emptied her glass of water and stood up from her seat, "If you'll excuse me, I have to go teach that kid of yours about the wonder that is the feudal system."

She gave Emma another squeeze of reassurance before leaving her to enjoy the rest of her cocoa.

-----------------------------------------------------------

"Hey mom, have you seen my textbook?" Henry yelled from his room. Regina didn't approve the whole 'yelling-though-the-house'-thing but found it inevitable with the space of the house. She , however, did not feel the need to yell back so she quickly donned her robe and made her way to his room.

"Which one?" she asked, her hair still a ridiculous mess and it made Henry look at her, smiling. For all the negative feelings he's had for her lately, this moment made her look more like the parent she used to be, when they were still whole. When she still had Daniel.

"Math. I have a test."

Regina arched her brow, "Didn't you study for it last night then?"She credited him the decency to at least look guilty.

"I forgot?" he offered.

Regina gave him her best disapproving mom look before she helped him look for the book. She was pretty certain why he forgot. The minute she'd told him he would spend his day off with Emma he took action. Packing a bag with things he wanted to show her, printing time-tables for if they would want to watch a movie – hell he'd been planning to pack an overnight-bag if Regina hadn't stopped him. She did know one thing though, and it was one more pinprick to her heart, he hadn't looked this happy in months.

She cleared her throat as she found his book underneath one or two of his sketchbooks; He turned away from the mess he'd created with a smile.

"Thanks mom." He said, pulling her down to press a kiss to her cheek before sprinting out the door; with a soft smile she shook her head and turned to his bed, smoothing down the sheets and placing 'treasure island' back on his shelf.

"You really need to work on his manners." Regina tensed when her mother's voice filled her was standing in the doorway, meticulous as always in all black pantsuit, pursing her red lips.

"He was in a hurry, that's all. To what do I owe the pleasure of your early visit?" As much as she wanted her mother's approval, her love, the mere sight of her was enough for Regina to guard herself, expecting an attack from every corner; she drew her robe closed.

"I've come to understand you are permitting Miss Swan to meet with my grandson?"

"Oh mother." Regina sighed, moving towards the door, she could really do without the upcoming headache.

"He'll reach that age soon; do you really think it to be wise to have Swan mother him?"

Regina stilled, "Are you implying that if given the choice, my son would choose her? You think me that unfit a mother? All the diapers, the ungodly hours beside him when he was sick… Eleven years of birthdays, hugs, kisses, scrapped knees and little pains. You think her to be a better mother in this… This blimp of time she has passed with him?!"

Cora shrugged – a move which seemed so beneath her. "I think nothing of the sort dear. I am merely implying that kids take everything for granted and decide on a whim."

Regina turned to look her mother in the eyes, the reflection of her defeated self staring back at her.

"Why do you hate me so?"

Cora smiled sadly, combing her hand through her daughter's hair in a comforting move before her red lips uttered the blow Regina had anticipated the moment she'd stepped in.

"I don't hate you dear. It's just your lack of ambition that makes for such a disappointment."
Regina pulled away, "Because I chose a family over a career?"
"No dear, because you chose the wrong family. Think of what I told you Regina. The boy will turn on you, eventually."

Her mother was already halfway down the stairs when she shook out of her stupor;

"Henry won't turn on me, mother. Because unlike some parents I value his happiness and if that currently lies with a handful of visits to miss Swan then so be it." And with that she stormed to her room and slammed the door, feeling once more the angered adolescent.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Well you are looking positively miserable and I have yet to say anything; Are you alright?" Emma asked when she gave Jones a once over (not like that. Maybe a little like that.) He looked paler than usual, his lips firmly pressed together and he had yet to make one of his trademark quips.

"It's nothing"

She gave him a pointed stare; that was the most ineffective lie he could have told her. He turned his eyes to the ceiling.

"Not everyone woke up perfectly happy like you today okay." He snapped in annoyance, shifting in his seat suppressing a wince. Emma frowned.

"Regina has gracefully allowed me to spend an entire day with my son; I think that in itself allows me to be happy. I am terribly sorry if that disturbs your sulking schedule."

He sighed to that, a hint of a smile – faintly recognizable by the pull at the left corner of his mouth – in acknowledgement to the news.

"Pardon lass. That is indeed wonderful news." She nodded but didn't say anything else, simply waiting for him to share the reason for his dreadful mood. When another tremor ran through his body he gave in to her pointed stare.

"Phantom pains" he said resigned, "Nothing to be done about it."

She nodded, her intuition being right, and stood up.

"Take your prosthetic off and I'll get you something for the pain."

He completely froze at her suggestion, looking straight ahead which made her falter. She sat back down, trying to get a read on him. The open book thing did work two ways… At times.

"I don't mind you know." she said softly.

He gritted his teeth. Of course she thought he wanted to spare her the sight of his amputation.

"It's not your discomfort that worries me, Miss Swan."

She eyed him, trying to recall whatever detail she might have missed, only to come to one conclusion.

"You haven't accepted it have you." It was more of a statement than an actual question but it was enough to have his pain clouded blues snap to her, bristling at her assumption.

"I have been living with this daily for the past 5 years, Miss Swan. I can assure you, I have very well accepted it."

"No. You've adapted…" she hesitated to continue, but he was aware of her methods, straight to the point.

"I want you to take your prosthetic off during our sessions."

"Excuse me?"

"Mr. Jones… The fact that you would rather suffer through excruciating pain than be seen without the prosthetic is simply a confirmation to my earlier statement. Those doctors have ingrained the need to accept that prosthetic into your brain that you can't even face what lies beneath it. It's twice a week, in a secluded room Mr. Jones. We'll take it step by step. Take off the prosthetic… it's only for 30 more minutes and I'll get you something for the pain."

Killian sighed, realizing that this stubborn lass wouldn't drop the subject.

"That bottle of scotch would do nicely." He said, only to hear her chuckle in response.

He moved his hand to the prosthetic but couldn't just take it off. It was one thing to take it off when getting ready to sleep – if he didn't slip face first into bed in a drunken stupor and forgot to take it off altogether – it was a whole other to do it in front of someone. As if sensing his doubt she offered him a glass of scotch, filled nearly half full for liquid courage. He made a mental note to thank her somewhere along the way. Although at the moment he still wasn't certain he should be thankful for her arrival in his life.

She had turned her back to him, to give him the sense of privacy while he took it off. She turned when she heard him drop it on the table, to see him cover up his stump rather quickly with his sleeve. His eyes were focused on the hand lying on the coffee table, refusing to look at her.

He was ashamed of it, she had seen it before. Doctors pressing for the patient to accept a prosthetic to make life easier, make it like before. But they never do help them deal with the fact that it's just a replacement, that even though they lost a limb, they are not less whole.

She sat down on the coffee table, taking the empty glass out of his hand and reaching for his arm. He jerked his arm away, his eyes wide and instantly focused on her.

"What… What are you…" he sounded frightened; she caught his unsettled blue eyes and gave him something of –what she hoped to be – a reassuring smile.

"My friend August lost his leg in a motorcycle accident." She said, reaching for his arm again and pushing his sleeve upwards. He was still wearing the bandage that helped against chafing. Baby-steps Emma. He wanted to curse himself for appearing weak when he noticed she noticed he was tense and trembling; holding his breath, unable to move his eyes from her as she began drawing soothing circles over covered stump. The heat of her fingers burning through the bandage.

"The mirror technique…" she started, "although efficient in most cases, didn't help with his pain and he could only take a certain amount of pills a day. He found this worked wonders at times. Massaging helps the blood circulation and all."

She continued, not daring to look at him as she proceeded with her actions. Not wanting to find out if he was angry with her, not wanting to confront herself as she continued to share this part of herself. Not wanting to find out why she was crossing the line of professionalism once again.

You are much of an open book. She shook her head to rid herself of those silly thoughts, though it still didn't explain her current actions.

"Where is he now?" Killian heard himself ask, his voice strange to his own ears as he slowly started to melt underneath her touch.

"Last I heard he was travelling through Asia; He was 15 when he lost his leg; He didn't want to let his limitations restrict his dreams, not like…" she abruptly stopped. Realizing what she was about to say, where her mind had drifted. She stopped her ministrations and stood up, realizing just how intimate this moment had been. Killian swallowed as the spell her actions, her words had had on him was broken.

"Better?" she asked, refusing to look at him as she tried to compose herself.

Though she didn't look up at him, and all he could do was stare at her in wonder, he swallowed and nodded eventually.

"Aye, it'll get there."

Chapter Text

Looking around her apartment, Emma couldn't help but frown. Cleaning up the place had done little to improve the overall view – if not making it look more dreadful. She really needed to take Mary-Margaret up on that offer to help her redecorate (or actually decorate) the place. For now it would have to do, she thought to herself, hoping Henry wouldn't mind the simplicity of her abode as much; the kid was – after all- very opinionated and used to the wealth of The Mills.

Checking the time she grabbed her keys and put on her leather jacket while exiting her apartment. Even though she was used to seeing and talking to Henry at least an hour a day the thought to fill an entire afternoon with him filled her stomach with nerves. Being 100% mom wasn't exactly something she had taken a class for in high school. He had spotted her right away, leaning against the bug as he came running toward her; the backpack he was wearing double the size of the one he usually brought with him to their sessions, along with a plastic bag in hand.

"Hi mom." He greeted her, his smile so wide it was infectious.

"How about double fudge at Granny's?"
"Lead the way." Henry snickered as she ruffled his hair and pulled him close to her side before taking his bag and placing it in the truck.

"So… what's in the bag?" Emma asked once on the move. Henry smiled and took the item out of the plastic bag.

"We made dreamcatchers in art today, isn't it neat?"

Emma stilled at that and dared to look at the item, not hearing what else her son was saying; of course it would be a yellow one.

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"I brought donuts." She said, smiling while holding up the brown bag containing the freshly baked goods. Neal smiled and circled his arms around her waist.
"Well aren't you sweet." He grinned, kissing her lips. She pressed closer without hesitation, hoping to still the butterflies in her stomach.
"The Caddy's juts checked out and Sylvia only starts in an hour. How about we bring this to a more private venue?" he smiled lustfully, a thrill shooting through her encouraging those butterflies to work over time, as he took her hand in his, tugging her along.

With the "borrowed" keycard - it isn't stealing when you intent to give it back – they slipped into the room, heading straight for the shower, clothes forgotten on the floor.

Hands moved over bare, wet skin, the heat of the shower steaming up the bathroom. She couldn't believe that she'd fallen so completely for someone she'd only met 6 months ago.

Despite her wariness of people it was his smile, the crinkles round his eyes appearing whenever he did that lured her in. Well that and the way he smooth-talked them both into safety from the cop that pulled over their stolen car.

They thieved until they were sure that if they did any more jobs in the same city they'd be caught, and neither had a particular interest in seeing the interior design of a prison cell anytime soon.

Neal was currently working a legal – sort to speak – job, being a night receptionist at the motel. They were soon departing the town, the ground becoming a bit too hot underneath their feet to pull off another heist, but their heists hadn't put a lot of spending money in their pockets.

After their shower she was lounging on the hood of the bug. Her wet golden locks glistening in the sunlight, slowly drying while she munched on the donuts. 'All mine' she had said after Neal criticized her for being a sugar addict. While Neal was counting the money he'd earned so far, she was toying with the yellow dream catcher she'd found in The Caddy's room. She could do with less nightmares – so could he – and even though he said it would look stupid in the car, and she claimed it was meant for it because it matched, he'd let her take it; One dream catcher wouldn't exactly get them caught.

"So" she spoke up after licking the last of the raspberry jelly from her fingers, "We ready to go somewhere?"

"Well…" Neal started, putting the money away and opening the map they'd stolen from a nearby gas station when they'd entered the town. "I've been thinking."

"Oh that's never a good sign." She mused earning a poke to her side.

"Shut up. But seriously… How would you feel if we make things a bit more… permanent?"

She sat up straight on the hood eyeing him questioningly. "Permanent?"

"Emma… I've been doing this, living like this, for a long time now. I just, I really want to get settled down, live normally… I thought maybe, you'd like to settle down with me?"

Her eyes grew wide as his cheeks blushed ever crimson. Her thoughts were racing. A home. A real home… with her. Home. She slid closer to him, (nearly losing her balance on the hood of the bug but what makes a ridiculous move when he's offering her a home?), and brought her hands to his face, looking him in the eyes -always afraid she'd catch a lie. He often joked about her 'superpower' which resulted into a tickle match every now and then because she called him her sidekick. He was always very adamant in proving her wrong about that. He often hated her for it as well, never being able to trust him.

"Emma?" he breathed, his voice trembling with insecurity because he could see that she was searching but he did not tear away from her gaze.

Truth.

She smiled and pulled his face to hers, kissing him passionately. Pouring every ounce of feeling onto his lips, to the extent of receiving a few 'get a room'-shouts from people in passing.

"I take it that's a yes?" he laughed while trying to catch his breath. She smiled coyly and toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Well we do need a better place to hang that catcher." She mused and he kissed her nose.

"So… where to?"

"Wherever you want to." he let go of her to unfold the map completely and she hopped off the hood to look at it from his point. She closed her eyes and randomly put her finger on the map. She could feel him smile against her neck.

"Tallahassee it is."

---------------------------------------------------

"Mom? Hey mom?"

Emma blinked away the bittersweet memory at the sound of Henry's voice. He was standing at her car-window and she tried to figure out when exactly she had started driving and when she'd stopped at Granny's.

"Are you coming?"

"I'll be right in. You know the order?" she asked to which he rolled his eyes. Double fudge wasn't exactly difficult. The eye roll made her smile and seeing that she was okay, Henry moved away.

She raked her hands through her hair and sighed. When was the last time she'd even thought about it? She pushed the memory to the back of her mind, not wanting to think about that time any further and moved to join her son at Granny's. Their orders already on the table.

"So, what do you want to do today?" Emma asked looking up from her ice cream only to smile at the sight before her; Henrys cheeks puffed out as a big scoop of ice-cream was stuck in his mouth. She really wasn't the only sweet tooth in the family. His eagerness to reply - which made him swallow the entire bite causing her to wince at the very possibility of a brain freeze – was endearing.

He immediately started to rummage in his backpack.

"I have tons of stuff to show you and I researched the hours that some movies are playing but you know only the cool stuff."

"You mean the ones with a rating?" She said and he smiled brightly. Busted.

"Well yes but … We can watch a movie at your place of course."

She sat straighter in her chair and pointed her spoon at him.

"You, sir, still need to finish your homework before I drop you off at Regina's."

He pouted making her smile once again, while scooping a spoonful of ice cream (layered with whipped cream and caramel sauce) in her mouth.

"You are no fun." He huffed.

"Excuse you, I am plenty of fun." She countered earning a bored look out of the window as reply.
"Doubt it."

She feigned shock but was immensely enjoying this banter. As were granny and Ruby, who were watching the exchange from their places at the counter. A slow day at Granny's allowed occasional rest.

She fogged up her spoon and placed it on her nose, balancing it on the tip.

"See,I'm loads of fun."

"Wow, you are hilarious." Henry deadpanned and it made her smile even broader than before,( Henry had noticed that it was something she didn't do very often), and the spoon fell to the table. He eyed her curiously.

"You know, I said the exact same thing to Graham when he showed me."

If Henry's ears could perk up, they would. He never heard her talk much about her life before he came along. Anything about his mom could keep him glued to his seat.

"How did he react?"

Emma smiled, bringing the cocoa – which accompanied the double fudge nicely- to her lips and smiled wistfully.

"He taught me how to hunt."

--------------------------------------------------------------

Emma was just about to collect some money to pay for groceries when someone yelled rather loudly through the crowd.

"Stop him!"

This being New York, it was hard to have anyone pay attention to shouting. Being true to the city's nature neither did she, until someone ran into her, making her lose her balance and knock over a few crates of fruit. She looked up at the runner, picking up a fallen apple she launched it at the guy. It hit him right in the head, distracting him enough that he ran into the streetlight with incredible speed. She didn't see what happened after though, because the owner of the stall was demanding payment for the fallen goods. Begrudgingly handing over what was left in her wallet – by all means it wasn't even that much- she settled the debt. Her somewhat delighted mood flushed down the drain, she turned to walk away when someone stopped in front of her.

"Can I help you?"

He chuckled, "You already did. You have good aim, miss. I've been chasing that guy for days now."

Irish, she thought when she heard the lilt, was always pleasing to the ear.

"Yes… well it made me lose a lot of money in the process." She groaned, mentally scrapping off the items she couldn't afford this month.

He frowned. "Listen, I have to bring him in and after I'll see what I can do to reimburse you."

Emma eyed him warily. She was far less gullible since Neal. He apparently noticed her unease.

"I'm a bail bondsman. Listen this is my card. I'll be back in an hour top. We could meet at that Hawaiian place that just opened around the corner? Maybe?"

If she wasn't desperate for her next paycheck she wouldn't even have considered the idea. As handsome as this man might be with his tussled hair and his doe eye, she was distrusting of everyone. Especially of the ones with the most honorable of intentions.

"Sure, sure."

True to his word, when she arrived at the restaurant a little over an hour later, he was dutifully waiting for her outside. She had decided to take public transport for the meeting. It gave her an excellent excuse not to stay too long incase this meeting was a waste of time plus it saved the trip to the gas station for another day.

They settled in one of the boots, close to the exit. Something told her he did that to appease her. Quick getaways and all.

"So… thieving?"

"I'm sorry?" she started out of her thoughts at his question.

"You are scouting the place, the best booth, the exits… I know my line of work miss… Oh and you still haven't given me a name so you must have a record already."

She glared. "You think you're funny?"

"Of course I am." He said smiling, taking a spoon, fogging it up and placing it on his nose.

She couldn't help the snort she emitted but she did roll her eyes at him.
"Yes, you're hilarious. Look I'm just here for the reimbursement, so if you could just give me the money. I'll be on my way."

He dropped the spoon back to the table and sat up straighter, business is business after all.

"How about you start working for me?"

"And the jokes keep on coming." She deadpanned. She knew it would be a waste of time.

"I'm serious Miss Swan." She froze.

"How do you know my name?"

He pulled her ID from the breastpocket of his leather jacket and handed it to her. She immediately focused on the brush of his body to hers when they entered the restaurant. She could've hit herself over the head with a brick for being that easily fooled.

"You see miss Swan. We all have our talents. I want to employ yours. I'll teach you everything I know. It's a win-win situation really. You will be reimbursed, have a rather large income and I'll have a partner. Two people make light of heavy work you see."

She eyed him once more, mulling over the proposition. It did beat working at the diner and the job did have a certain thrill aspect.

"50% of the cut and we have a deal"

"Miss Swan; you are an apprentice. You will start out with 35."

She stared at him, her 'are you freaking kidding me'-look working wonders on his need for entertainment. He chuckled.

"40% and we'll see after a month. Deal?"

Graham stretched his hand forward and in mere seconds Emma shook it.

"Deal."

-------------------------------------------------------

"Wow so you were a bail bondsman?"

"Person." she corrected, "and it lasted for about a year."

"So cool." Henry practically swooned, his ice cream had already melted while he was listening intently to her adventures with Graham.

"Why did you become a therapist then? It seems too much fun to give up."

Emma grimaced reliving the painful memory, "We had a two person job and Graham was shot … he didn't make it."
The image of Graham bleeding out in her arms was still present in her nightmares.

Henry deflated at the news. He stood up and rounded the booth to give her a hug. She stiffened a little, still not used to the form of intimacy.

"I'm sorry." He whispered in the crook of her neck and she ruffled his hair.

"It's okay kid. I made sure of it. His murderer is still in prison."

"You caught him?" He asked with wide eyes, the sadness immediately replaced by wonder.

Emma smiled at that, "Yes."

He grinned and entangled from her arms, returning to his seat to drink what was left of his ice cream. Granny came by the table only seconds later, cleaning up their now empty ice cream bowls.

"Everything okay here?"

Henry's infectious ear-to-ear smile was still present on his face as he turned to the elder woman to boast about his mother.

"My mom's a badass."

Emma laughed at this and Granny shook her head before moving to another table.

"So…" Emma changed the subject, "Homework, dinner and a movie. Good?"

He nodded and repacked his bag, while Emma made her way to the register to pay for their food. Smiling softly as she traced the shoelace that graced her left arm.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With Henry occupied with homework and Emma starting on dinner she had time to let her mind wander.

Graham had asked her once why she was so cynical and distrusting for a person her age. A few weeks before their last job; she had started opening up to him, to a certain extent. She told him how her naivety had gotten her thrown in jail and how she had devoted her first year of freedom to finding Him. She only ever wanted answers, closure… the usual.

Graham had taken hold of her hand – even though she was very adamant in avoiding physical contact - and had promised he would help her find him, as long as he could get a punch in of course. She had laughed about it, asking why he would even want to do that. He told her it was because he cared. She only found out how much exactly, when he stole a kiss before the light disappeared from his eyes.

"Mom. MOM!"

"What?"

"You're burning dinner."

With wide eyes she turned to the stove, the smell alerting her of Henry's revelation. A stream of curses flew from her mouth and she dumped the pot in the sink. Quickly opening a window and using a towel to fan away the smoke. She would be absolutely mortified if the smoke detector went off.

She groaned when she saw the burned curst on the Mac & Cheese. Mary-Margaret and David were going to have a field day with this one.

Sighing she turned to Henry, who was torn between laughing at her inability to cook and looking scared for the same reason.

"Pizza?" He agreed with a smile.

"Pizza."

Chapter Text

Dress fitting… if there was one reason why Emma would never want to be a bridesmaid again it would be the fitting. While she wasn't loath to indulge her feminine side – her closet was filled with dresses and the occasional pencil skirt (restrictive but very pretty) – throwing on dress after dress after dress in shades of blue, lilac, yellow, red and green. It had taken the better part of 2 hours when Mary-Margaret finally decided on the cut alone, the color was still an ongoing discussion. While Ruby was partial to red (go figure), Mary-Margaret wasn't opposed to the lovely shade of green on Emma.

It was at that moment Emma was happy that Ruby and Mary-Margaret had already taken care of the wedding dress. Of course Ruby was in too good a mood – fashion always made her day – and Emma needed at least two more caramel macchiato's (turned Irish) to tolerate the teasing.

She'd been up most of the night, past demons hiding behind closed eyelids and dreading tonight.

"So any idea where he's taking you for the date?" Ruby teased.

And here we go.

"It's not a date Ruby. I don't do dates." Emma hissed when the seamstress was making adjustments to the dress, pricking her with a small pin. Ruby looked even more amused.

"Then what would you call tonight?" Mary-Margaret meddled, taking a few seconds to put her two cents in, in-between scrutinizing the seamstress.

"A damn insistent attempt at one… Auw!" Emma grumbled a string of curses as the seamstress smiled apologetically and continued using her as a pinprick cushion.

"You've been meeting this guy for what… the third time now? That's called dating Emma. Pick up youth vocabulary alright. Three separate dinner outings at a restaurant with a guy who's obviously head over heels for you, is called dating."

"Wrong." Emma said, keeping an eye on the seamstress via the mirror. "We never get to finish a complete dinner. So not 3 dates, just one, excruciatingly long dinner."

Ruby rolled her eyes but the glint of amusement was yet to disappear from her face, clearly enjoying the mess that was Emma's social life.

"Then why do you keep agreeing?"

Emma glared at Mary-Margaret, wishing she would just keep to the dresses instead of making things worse. And with making it worse, she meant giving Ruby more ammo to tease her with in the future. It was bad enough Ruby wasn't going to stop telling everyone about the tequila affair, she really did not need to hear a repeat of the whole Walsh thing.

"Because I foolishly promised him a 3 course meal and I make good on my word" she said in aggravation, "And for the love of god if you keep on pricking me I swear you'll look like a cactus when I'm done."

"Alright that's enough fitting for you today." Mary-Margaret pacified as the seamstress made ready to 'tut' her way in response as she rose from her kneeling position.
"Thank you Fauna. We should start on Ruby's dress now."

As Fauna disappeared to the backroom Emma stripped off her dress and sagged down on the couch next to Mary-Margaret. She took a deep breath to help reign in her annoyance in anticipation of Mary-Margaret's inquiry of Walsh, because she really didn't want to throttle the bride-to-be.

"So, red or green?"

Emma had never been more grateful.

-------------------------------------

Killian sighed as he entered his apartment, today had been a shitty day, that much was for certain. He leaned back against the closed door, pressing the palm of his hand to his eyes, willing it all away. Black spots invading his vision the moment he opened his eyes from the pressure he'd enforced. And then he stilled; his breath catching and his voice lost somewhere on its way to his mouth at the sight before him.

"I found a whole stack of these… are you ever even sober?"

He swallowed, eyes zeroing in on the… mirage that stood in front of him. He traced her form, dressed in that burgundy low-cut dress he'd bought for her because she'd looked absolutely ravishing in it. Her dark locks cascading down her back and her evergreen eyes…

He blinked once, twice, but she remained standing there, every shadow cast by the light leaving her face in perfect nuances.

"Milah…" he breathed closing his eyes once more. Counting to ten. She couldn't be here. But she was. He was going mad. His counting was interrupted halfway through when the smell of sandalwood and roses filled his nostrils.

"You're here." He sighed, his posture relaxing and forgetting all reason. It was impossible for her to be here, but he felt her hot breath on his face and the strands of hair brush against the hand which automatically reached for her. She was here. She stayed mute but inhaled him as much as he inhaled her when he pulled her close. Feeling her and Gods, he'd forgotten the feel of her. Breathing her in, memorizing her every being.

"Are you real?"

"No." she said in a tone that left no room for dispute. But he refused to believe her, bringing her closer to him to prove his point.

"Remember when you bought me this dress? You couldn't wait to pull it off me." She murmured with a sad smile adorning her lips, taking his hand and guiding it over the low cut back to her abdomen.

"Oh Milah." He sobbed, his mind traveling back to the exact day, the exact moment and the actions that followed the purchase.

"You have to let me go Killian."

"No." It was his turn to leave no room for argument, not while he had her wrapped in his arms. He'd been living without her for so long, how could he leave her now?
"Let me hold you like this. Just a little while more."

She pressed her hands on his, on her abdomen, and he could feel the liquid staining his hand. Tears were slowly escaping his eyes as he remembered the blood seeping from her wound all those years ago, as he remembered the light fading from her eyes.

"He's not worth your life Killian. Stop chasing him. Stop chasing me. You have to let me go."

He shook his head, holding her so tight he was sure he was cutting of her air supply but she did not complain, she merely sighed into his shoulder as she let go of his hand and brought it up to wipe away his tears, staining his cheeks red.
She moved her hand to cradle his neck, bringing her mouth to his ear. Whispering her final words.

"Wake up."

And when she turned into liquid in his hands, leaving a large blood stain on the carpet he snapped his eyes shut and startled awake, falling off the couch while still in the haze of his dream. His nightmare.

He was struggling for breath, the drunken stupor he'd brought himself in after Smee's phonecall taking its toll. His eyes snapped to the spot where he'd seen Milah in his dream, vividly remembering the bloodstain forming on the carpet.

"Argh" he groaned, gripping his stump. Just what he needed. He couldn't think straight, he needed a drink. Hell he needed an entire bottle.

Sooner or later, they'll learn how to swim.

Her words floated to the front of his brain and he cursed once more as he reached for another bottle and, eventually, his phone.

-----------------------------------------------------------

She didn't dislike him per se; Emma thought as she took another bite of her clams spaghetti and glanced at him. He had this boyish sweetness about him and a cute smile. But that was Walsh. The kind man who offered her a napkin when some idiot jerk ran into her and made her spill her coffee all over her egg white shirt half an hour before the seminar with no possible way to go change.

They shared another cup after the seminar after which he'd asked her to accompany him for dinner. She'd declined but did promise they'd meet up whenever he was in town. He was rather keen to take her up on that offer and she wasn't one to break her promise.

"How is the pasta?" Walsh asked, the small smile that revealed his dimples directed at her and Emma couldn't help but return it.

"Delicious. A bit much though." She sighed, disappointed that she would have to throw away a small portion of her rather large one.

"I can see it pains you… and we haven't even made it to dessert. I heard the chocolate cake is very good here."

Emma groaned at the thought that she'd have to skip out on dessert now that they'd finally had a chance to actually have it.

Walsh winked at her and returned to his meal. Putting down her fork and knife, deciding that she would send the plate back only half-emptied in order to manage the chocolate (always leave room for chocolate), she took him in.

Walsh was easy on the eyes and he flirted every now and then. If she had less than honorable intentions – or more than half a bottle of jack – she'd even return those flirtations and take him to bed. But she couldn't do that to him , she preferred her one night stands with no strings attached and considering that he'd become some sort of friend to her, she'd refused to let it lead to that.

The waiter came to collect their plates, and he ordered two pieces of chocolate cake. The waiter commended this "excellent" choice. She nearly rolled her eyes; this place was everything a cliché romantic movie would need.

Walsh opened his mouth to say something when her phone rang, his face instantly slipping into a mix of disbelief and disappointment.

"Sorry. I have to take this." She said, even though caller ID was blocked.

"Emma Swan?"

"They've learned how to swim." The Irish accent tinting those words made her heart clench.
"Where are you now?" she asked, not missing a beat. The fact that he'd approached her of his own volition was telling enough.

"So eager to come and save me Miss Swan?" he chuckled. It sounded all wrong.

"I'm no savior Jones. I'm just not afraid of the dark."

He kept silent and she feared he'd simply left the line open but moved away.

"I'm at your office."

"I'll be right there." She hung up before he could even respond. Looking up the annoyance was clearly written on Walsh's face.

"Let me guess, you have to go."

She smiled apologetically as she stood up, putting on her coat and collecting her things.

"Sorry."

"Do you really have to go? We're nearly at dessert."

"He's a suicide risk Walsh." He sighed, being a fellow therapist (specializing in self-help groups) he understood. But that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

"One day, we'll manage dessert." He grinned and she was thankful that he didn't make a scene. She wasn't sure if she was happy about having to sit through another dinner though. Emma moved to kiss him on the cheek and thanked him for the evening before quickly passing by the register. The least she could do was pay for dinner.

She rushed her bug to her office, certain she would get hauled to get a speeding ticket, but she couldn't give a damn. Today a man had called her, who was too stubborn to speak about anything relating his suicide attempt. Only moving around the topics in large circles, barely touching the surface. So the fact that he contacted her, was at her office, was cause for concern.

She found him inside her office, sitting on the couch. She saw no sign of a break-in which left her wondering if she'd forgotten to lock up earlier, but she wasn't careless like that.

"Why Swan…" he said pressing his tongue to his bottom lip so it peaked out through his teeth just enough to be seen– he'd mostly do it when he was flirting, or knew he was goading her into something – it was distracting and obscene and she was pretty sure it should be illegal. "You didn't have to dress up just for me."

She noticed his eyes roving her high heels, bared legs and the black leather number she was wearing.

"I was on a date, actually. How did you even get in?"

He grinned, his cheeks tinted red from the alcohol he had inhaled. He reeked of it and it seemed his eyes were glued to her. She closed to door behind her and approached her usual seat all the while feeling his eyes on her. She was sure it had turned her as red as the alcohol had colored him.

"Old habits die hard." He replied after a while, referring to his previous occupation. She had little knowledge about his past, but his acquaintance with Flynn was enough confirmation about those occupations.

"So… Your date wasn't too angry about ditching him?" he enquired and she shrugged.

"Probably was, but it's wasn't that kind of date… I don't date, like that." It's easier.

It was implied, never said, but he seemed to be able to read her even in his inebriated state of mind.

"Love has been all too rare in your life hasn't it?" he asked, and it scared her. He shouldn't be able to see so easily past her walls. He couldn't. He was drunk for fuck's sake.
"Have you ever even been in love?"

She couldn't figure out why he asked. Was he in need to find someone who understood him, like she had claimed she did? Had he thought they had built an understanding in these hours they'd spend together even without exchanging word?

"No." she glanced away from his deep blue eyes that wanted to see the truth, see her all. "Maybe… Once."

"Henry's dad." He said in discovery and her green eyes held him against an imaginary wall. How could he even?

"Why did you hang yourself?" she shot back after the shock of his revelation wore off. It was his turn to tense up and a small part of her took some sort of pleasure in it; that he wasn't the only one who could get under skin.

He stayed silent, his jaw clenching. He didn't want to talk about it. If she wasn't certain they were at a crucial point in his 'recovery' she'd kept true to her rule of consensual sharing. She raked her hand through her lose curls, an act he followed with his eyes.

"You don't strike me as a coward Jones. You hung yourself… because you feel guilty. Guilty about her death."

She had never spoken about her knowledge of his case all in the sake of the consensual sharing but surely he had to know she had his file.

"You couldn't have prevented it. It wasn't your fault."

"Of course it is!" he yelled and took to pacing the room. She watched him, hoping to have him talk about it. She hadn't expected the outburst; she had merely been planning to cut him, like he cut her by bringing up Neal. Not very professional she knew. Killian Jones had a knack to make her cross those professional boundaries she'd kept in place for obvious reasons.

"I stole her. I flaunted her… us... in his face and he killed her for it. She' six feet under because I couldn't protect her from him. I still can't." he mumbled and stopped his pacing, struggling to keep on breathing.

"You want to know why I hanged myself? Because even now she's death I couldn't protect her. He's still out there, drinking wine with his high placed friends, living his life and going unpunished for his crimes. And I can't even bring him to justice." She watched him fall apart in front of her as he sat back down on the couch, hiding his head in his hands. His normally composed self that deflected everything by flirting was starting to crumble and she realized she was getting more than she bargained for.

"He cut of my hand because I stole her. Thieves used to be punished like that for taking treasures. Well a thief can steal a life, worthless as it is…"

"You did not fail her." Her voice was hoarse as it reached his ears. He looked up, and started when he saw she'd risen from her seat, crouching in front of him. She placed one hand on his knee, the other on his cheek. The action reminding him of his dream, how Milah had wiped away his tears and left her blood on his face and it made him pull away but Emma held on.

"No listen. Whatever you believe. It wasn't your fault. Not her death, not his immunity. You are a better man than her husband ever was. She chose you because you are, and remaining that man is not failing her. Do you hear me."

With green eyes boring into blue, and her hand soft and warm on his cheek he leaned into her and despite his sobered up state he couldn't stop himself from breaking down in her arms.

It took some time before he calmed down, but wrapped in her embrace, she hoped his demons would drown again for a while.

Chapter Text

Recap: "You did not fail her." Her voice was hoarse as it reached his ears. He looked up, and started when he saw she'd risen from her seat, crouching in front of him. She placed one hand on his knee, the other on his cheek. The action reminding him of his dream, how Milah had wiped away his tears and left her blood on his face and it made him pull away but Emma held on.

"No listen. Whatever you believe. It wasn't your fault. Not her death, not his immunity. You are a better man than her husband ever was. She chose you because you are, and remaining that man is not failing her. Do you hear me."

With green eyes boring into blue, and her hand soft and warm on his cheek he leaned into her and despite his sobered up state he couldn't stop himself from breaking down in her arms.

It took some time before he calmed down, but wrapped in her embrace, she hoped his demons would drown again for a while.

Chapter 11

Killian smiled when he felt lose curls graze his bare arm. Opening his eyes he was met with the most gorgeous sight he had been privileged to behold. Her profile enlightened by the rays of sun that streamed through his window. She was gorgeous, and currently, all his.

"You look nice like this."

"Hmm, what?" she asked, letting her eyes drift away from the magazine she was reading and focus on his face.

"You look nice, love, like this." He said, reaching his hand up to tuck away a lock of hair behind her ear. She smiled and kissed his palm.

"Aren't you sweet."

He chuckled and felt a slight tension in his stomach when she moved closer to him again, the heath radiating off her making sure he was set aflame once more. He was far gone when it came to her.

"Don't tell anyone. It'll ruin my reputation."

This time it was Milah's turn to chuckle, "Oh though guy ey?"

"Of course. Why do you think I wear leather jackets?" he dared to move his hand down and she wasted little time to settle on top of him, making him groan at the contact. She drove him mad but by god, he loved her.

"Hmm… I thought that was just to drive me wild."

"Milah…" he moaned as he reached for her lips and when she opened her mouth to say something he could hear only swearing.

He stirred at the odd sound, the one he was sure had no place in this dream. He'd had this particular dream enough in the last 5 years to know by heart how it went. This dream, this memory, this tragic ending.

His dream easily resumed its normal path, straight to the arrival of Milah's husband; to the blood pooling around her as the light slowly disappeared from her eyes while he begged her to stay.

They were his own screams that brought him to this state between dreams.

"Hey, hey. It's okay Killian. It's okay."

Her voice hardly reached him, but when he felt her arms circle around him, felt her presence behind him he visibly relaxed and his screams ceased. The dissipating tension left him sagging against her as he tried to control his breathing.

Her humming filled his ears and he could feel her fingers carding through his hair. As the action was slowly moving him back to sleep, he could only think of his Milah.

The headache that announced itself rather painfully the second time he woke up, was one Killian Jones had become very familiar with in the morning after one of his drinking binges. One could say he had developed some kind of ritual for it. But first, he would have to locate the reason of his waking, the soft humming he'd heard before… if only he knew where?

He kept his eyes closed as he tried to trigger his alcohol soaked brain into remembrance. He felt warm, lightly moving his fingers as to feel the heat source covering him. He definitely did not own a blanket such as this one. And even I he had, Jefferson wouldn't have given him the kindness to wake up like this. No, he thought, Jefferson wouldn't even have bothered to help him off the floor and onto the couch – he was definitely on a couch – he would have woken him up with a bucket of water.

The humming stopped and he couldn't help but keep still. Footsteps – bare skin on parquet flooring – padding towards him. The smell of cinnamon reached his nose and it all came crashing back to him.

Bloody. Buggering. Shit.

"You can stop pretending now, I know you're awake."

Swan. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

"Have you been keeping watch Miss Swan?" he asked; his voice hoarse. So he truly had been shouting? He truly told her all of that… He fisted his hand in aggravation. Who did she think she was, affecting him so that he would spill everything in a drunken induced state?

But when he heard the change in her breathing he had to fight the smirk that wished to grace his lips; he wasn't far off from the truth. Good.

"You stopped snoring." She stated, simply as that. But he knew, even with his eyes closed that there was more to it than that. He heard something being put on the coffee table next to the couch and in seconds he had struck out his hand and was holding her wrist. His eyes wide open –despite the agony the light was causing – and held her wrist firmly.

She looked at him with wide and tired eyes. Her make-up smudged at the edges and she looked tired, still wearing that knock-out dress from the night before. But he didn't pay much attention to that, he couldn't. All he could was look into those green eyes, hoping to find a trace, a smidge of what she found out the night before.

But he wasn't finding what he wanted, what he expected to find. But then again why would he have expected to find anything at all really? She might be an open book to him, but he had already seen her stubborn walls and she was expertly hiding behind them again.

"I would like my arm back Mr. Jones." She said stoically.

With one last meeting between clear sky blue and the green of fresh cut grass the corner of his mouth curled upward, just the tiniest bit, and he released her.

Emma sat down in her usual seat, legs modestly pulled up underneath her, as she held her mug close to her. He finally moved his curious gaze away from her (and the sudden clear view of those legs) to the items she placed on the table. Water and Advil. Her action betrayed a kindness the tone of her voice and straight posture did not.

"Don't have anything else to chase that down with, do you?" he joked as he tossed his head back to swallow the given painkiller.

"I hardly believe you need more alcohol in your system Mr. Jones." She said, keeping herself from rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her cinnamon chocolate instead. Yes, he thought as he tried to tie up the loose ends of the other night, something was said, or done. Something he couldn't remember and it was something she was definitely trying to avoid.

Oh how they understood each other… walls high or not. So as she did what she does best, running from whatever happened, he would do what he did best: deflect.

"Do I detect concern Miss Swan?"

"You detect the need to not have you die on my couch. You can call that whatever you want." She quickly gazed at the clock. "If you are feeling stable enough I'd recommend you to sleep off that hangover at home. I have errands to run and I'd like a change before my other patients come in."

Killian nodded, accepting her escape route as he, very slowly and unsteady, got on his feet.

"As you wish."

If his words had caused her to tense once more, he had missed it trying to keep himself from toppling to over.

The minute he was out the door, Emma released the breath she had been holding. How could she be so stupid? The first rule she had was not to get involved. Clients were more than welcome to talk about what happened and she would be their sounding-board. But waking up on the couch with the feel of stubble on her collarbone and an arm wrapped around her waist was breaking that rule (put very lightly). Was it the obvious connection they shared? The one she would like to be able to deny for a 110%, but couldn't anymore. Not when he could read her when his entire system was soaked in alcohol.

Inwardly she had cursed up a storm that would shy away even the bravest of sailors – or the most thrill-seeking pirates - when she tried to disentangle herself from him. And then when he started tossing and turning and shouting for Milah, she couldn't stop herself from soothing him.

"When do I even soothe…" she groaned and dropped her head to the back of her chair, remembering how his hair felt between her fingers – a gesture she'd seen many a person do in movies, to soothe a troubled mind. Because… let's face it, it's not as if she had a shining example of how families, mothers, lovers, friends solved those things.

She got up from her chair, opening the window to air out the scent of him. She could smell him – spicy aftershave and rum – in her office. It would not do if her other patients thought she was running a distillery in the small kitchen next door. But she wasn't kidding when she told him she needed a change of clothes, these were hardly work-appropriate and they reeked of him.

Groaning she closed the window again – they might be in Storybrooke but that does not change the fact that an open window is still an invitation for burglary – and headed out the door, she needed to shower.

When Emma turned her key to get into her apartment the door across the hall opened.

"Oh hey Emma, good to run into you, I wanted to ask you… Why do you smell like alcohol?"

And it was right then and there that Emma felt as if she was doing the walk of shame after a one night stand and her mother had caught her. Not that she actually had any experience with it, but… if she had she was sure this was what it felt like. The way Mary-Margaret looked at her… yes… definitely getting caught by a parent.

"I… It's not what you think."

Mary-Margaret's eyes went wide before a knowing smile graced her lips.
"Not a date huh? You best see to it Ruby doesn't find out. She'll never let you live this down."

Emma groaned, of course Ruby would find out… Mary-Margaret couldn't keep a secret even if her life depended on it. She hadn't needed two weeks to figure out that fun fact when she first moved here.

"No. No it isn't that. I … I got called away. One of my patients…. But what did you want to talk about?"

Mary-Margaret blinked a few times, knowing that there was more to the story than Emma was telling her, before she broached the subject of the wedding.

"Well Ruby was supposed to pick up the dresses tomorrow but she can't get away and I have PTA meeting after school and I can't ask David so could you…"

"PTA meeting?" Emma interrupted her friend with a frown on her face.

"Regina didn't mention?"

"Regina's out of town… Cora is in charge now" Emma grumbled because it had considerably decreased quality time with Henry. "But I can get the dresses. Do you want me to keep your dress at the office? Less chance of David seeing it."

Mary-Margaret smiled broadly before moving in to hug Emma, only to stop when the smell of alcohol hit her nose. "Well… thank you. I'll see you tonight at the PTA meeting then?"

Emma smiled, "I'd like that."

"It starts at 7." Mary-Margaret yells back at her before rushing down the stairs with a broad smile on her face. Emma chuckled at the cheeriness of her friend before entering her apartment, discarding her clothing on her way to the shower. She'd pick them up later.