Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“All of us are done for”

-Don’t Panic, Coldplay

It was no secret Killian Jones lived a charmed life. How could it be when his handsome face was plastered across glossy magazine covers and splashy websites on a daily basis? Dark hair carefully tousled to look as if he woke up that way. An athletic figure always encased in the latest fashion and, more often than not, topped off with black leather. A smile said to cause an increase in heart rate for those lucky enough to experience it firsthand. And perhaps the most defining feature, one gossip columnists and celebrity photographers waxed lyrical about, impossibly blue eyes that could charm or chill in equal measure depending on his mood. 

He inherited his father’s roguish good looks and, fortunately for the world, his mother’s better nature.

As he rolled out of bed early one fall morning, it was with the deep sense of well-being one could only achieve from a pampered existence, free of the stress and worries normal people carried like millstones around their necks. He walked through a hallway laid with Italian marble liberated from a Renaissance era villa to a bathroom featured in Architectural Digest as the most luxurious in the world, causing an Arabian prince and a Russian oligarch to accuse him of sleeping with the journalist who produced the piece. 

He had, of course. But that didn’t mean the title wasn’t deserved.

He stepped into an enormous shower that provided an expansive view of skyscrapers and the ocean beyond through the one-way windows forming the walls of the room. It was one he was so familiar with he didn’t even notice it anymore. As he washed off the lingering scents of the night before—stale cigarettes, spilled booze, and expensive French perfume—he rolled his shoulders under the perfectly calibrated water pressure of his rainwater showerhead and let the massaging jets work their magic, precisely hitting all the important hydrotherapy points as they had been designed to do. 

Stepping out, he wrapped himself in towels of the softest Egyptian cotton embroidered with the Jones family crest. As his father always said, just because they were in the colonies, it didn’t mean they had to forget where they came from. Never mind that the colonies hadn’t been colonies in well over two hundred years. His family had always preferred to live in the past.

Killian’s father was also keen on never forgetting who they were. As if such a thing would even be possible when all articles about them started with a brief reminder their roots could be traced back as far as the monarchy and noted they were in possession of a bank account rivaling the tech giant nouveau riche of the vast city quite literally laid at his feet every morning. 

Although, it should be noted his father would never be so tasteless as to discuss money. Comparing bank accounts was the province of those who didn’t have enough. No, the elder, esteemed Mr. Jones preferred to simply let his massive wealth speak for itself, silently scorning those who had less while appearing to think nothing of it. And why should he? It’s not like he had done anything to earn it other than being born into the family. 

Generation after generation passed down entitlement and piercing blue eyes like they had patents on them. His father offset his lack of the most noted Jones feature by putting his blue blood on full display whenever possible.  Some might even accuse the head of the family of overcompensating. 

The truth of the matter was, Killian was the product of a long line of smug snobs so it was amazing he had turned out as well as he did.

Or perhaps not so amazing when you considered his mother had been a stranger to this world of glittering privilege. That’s not to say she was completely without resources. In the real world, she would have even been considered wealthy in her own right. But in the Jones sphere of reality, the general view was his father married so far down the ladder, he was practically romancing pond scum instead of a clever, beautiful soul who devoted her life to helping others and raising her two sons. 

Killian realized at an early age it was, in fact, his mother who could have done better.

His parents had been an odd couple that never stood a chance. While no one would ever know for sure, because the only thing worse than talking about money was talking about your feelings, the general consensus was when his father saw his mother exiting the courthouse one day it was love at first sight. She was leaving her latest case as a Human Rights lawyer and he was coming from being the defendant in a string of slumlord lawsuits. 

His father had always appreciated a pretty face, a trait he definitely passed down to his youngest son, and his mother could never resist the chance to save someone. Even if it meant losing herself along the way. Even, and perhaps especially, if the person didn’t want to be saved.

Doomed from the beginning.

Shaking off the odd sense of melancholy that threatened, he threw his towel into the corner and walked unashamedly into a closet so large it could easily house a family of four with room to spare. It was a grand space, two stories softly lit by Baccarat chandeliers and filled floor to ceiling with custom clothes tailored to his exact, and enviable, measurements. 

Another longstanding family expectation was to always look your best. Nature had been kind to the Jones clan but it never hurt to play up what you were blessed with. Clothiers practically threw garments his way knowing they would reap the benefits of a timely paparazzi snap. The three piece suit he wore when he proposed to his fiancée sold out within seconds after the picture went viral and the designer currently had a two year waitlist for his creations. 

The pressure of being a trendsetter never bothered him. Honestly he couldn’t care less what people thought of him. Being universally adored did wonders for your confidence. 

The same could not be said for his estranged older brother. While Killian received the lion’s share of swagger, Liam had inherited their mother’s self-righteous streak with none of her sweetness to temper it. He was a chore to be around at the best of times so it was no surprise barely a year after the death of their mother, and only a few months after his graduation from university, Liam proceeded to thumb his nose at centuries of Jones tradition by defying their father and enlisting in the Navy thereby renouncing any claim to the family fortune. 

He hadn’t even had the decency to join Her Majesty’s Naval Service. In a complete break with the family, he visited the nearest strip mall and was recruited by some of Uncle Sam’s finest.

From that day forward, their father insisted he had only one son. Liam was painted out of family portraits, his name stricken from the family tree, his signature removed from the vast network of accounts and properties. Killian still remembered the last time he saw him, laughing as he waved from the backseat of a cab, looking as if the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders.  

It was the only time he’d ever been jealous of his brother.

Now, more than fifteen years later, he often wondered where Liam had landed. If he was still laughing or if the harshness of a world without means, without the Jones family name to soften any and all blows, had crept up on him. The abandoned boy, the one who had watched from a spotless mansion window as his best friend and hero walked away without a second glance, hoped so. But it was a mean, half-hearted wish. Hidden beneath layers of hurt, the reality was he would never want any harm to come to his brother. 

Deep down, he wished he had followed him out the door.

Selecting a black suit and contrasting tie at random, he started getting dressed. Normally, his valet would be on hand to smooth wrinkles and polish off his look. However, the man had taken a long overdue vacation to tend to his ailing mother. Killian wasn’t so far removed from the real world he couldn’t dress himself for a few days but the sense of being out of sync wouldn’t dissipate. 

He couldn’t account for the feeling. Admittedly, this time of year was harder than most. It never failed that autumn brought falling leaves and personal loss. First his mother, then his brother. To complete the trifecta, a vision of a blonde with a guarded smile filled his mind, green eyes flashing and chin tilted up in challenge. 

With a ruthlessness that was completely unnecessary, he tugged his tie in place and risked a glance in the mirror for the first time that morning. Or maybe it had been months. Carefully cultivated nonchalance stared back at him. He wondered when he had lost the fire in his eyes and how long it would be before he gave a damn about something again. 

Perhaps it was easier this way. 

And perhaps if he kept taking the easy way, the next time he saw his reflection he wouldn’t recognize himself at all.

—

It was with some surprise he found he had thirteen missed calls when he bothered to check his phone. While his social media accounts were heavily trafficked, there were few who had his number and even fewer who actually used it in this day and age. The fact all the calls originated from a single source—his best friend of sorts—made it even more shocking. 

There was a time when it would have been rare for Robin Locksley, heir to an ancient title and completely bankrupt estate, to be awake before noon. What was the point really when all you had to look forward to was crippling debt? That all changed when he settled down and started a family only to lose his wife less than two years later.

Normally he would have given into his curiosity and returned the calls but for once, he had someplace to be. The family’s legal and financial advisors recently called an emergency meeting and requested his presence in addition to his father, who normally handled these types of things. It was an unusual move to say the least but his father assured him it was because they wanted to talk him out of a risky investment. Misguidedly, they thought his son might get him to see the sense of their arguments.

Killian could have told them not to bother. His father no more listened to him than he did anyone else. Still, it was nice to feel wanted for something other than a free ride so he cleared his non-existent schedule and took one of the family’s fleet of limos to the tastefully understated brick mansion serving as a headquarters for their business ventures.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had bothered to visit. Honestly it seemed like everything ran a lot smoother if he didn’t get too involved. This laissez-faire type of leadership was the only way men of his class ran things. Anything more would be a disgrace to the honorable name of Jones. Or at least that was what his father said. Since he didn’t have any real interest in the day-to-day runnings of their portfolio and numerous acquisitions, it worked out well for everyone. The fancy business degree currently gathering dust somewhere in his penthouse could have been wallpaper for all the use it got.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized his time would be better spent at the yacht club or with his eminently suitable fiancée. She had been inexplicably absent the prior night and hadn’t returned the texts he sent to check on her. He was sure she would breeze into his arms at some point today with a perfectly absurd excuse and be delightfully motivated to make it up to him. The faint wave of nausea presenting itself at the thought was immediately dismissed as the result of too much caffeine. 

He mounted the steps with a level of trepidation he normally reserved for babies and churches. The hard facade suddenly seemed imposing and it occurred to him the only vehicle in the cobblestone driveway was the one he arrived in. He would be joining the meeting as it started so the absence of his father’s preferred antique Rolls Royce was disturbing to say the least.  Mr. Jones prided himself on his punctuality. Truly, it was his only redeeming virtue. 

Shrugging inelegantly out of his overcoat, he knew he wasn’t imagining the brief look the staff exchanged when he crossed the threshold. Tension, an infrequent visitor in his cosseted life, formed in his shoulders, muscles bunching under the clean lines of his suit. He made his way unaided to the second floor, pausing on the landing when he heard the emotionless drone of some random news anchor echo down the hallway. It wasn’t until he heard his name fill the space his feet started moving of their own accord. He reached the boardroom at the tail end of the story but it was enough to get the gist of it. 

There on the television, the ribbon running the details even as the reporter gleefully narrated it for an rapt audience, was a picture of his father. Time had been kind to the senior Jones, his hair still dark and falling in wavy perfection around his handsome face. Dimples winked charmingly as dark eyes twinkled with a sense of mischief that was totally an illusion. He was a hard man who had petrified after the death of his misunderstood, but nonetheless cherished, wife.  

‘Anonymous sources reveal Brennan Jones, widely considered one of the richest men in the state, fled from authorities last night...’

Tearing his eyes away from the screen, he noted everyone was focused on his reaction, or lack thereof. Those brave enough to face him head on would notice the twitch of muscle in his cheek, a nervous tell the people closest to him knew was a sign of deep emotion. He felt like he stood there for days before someone stepped forward. It evidently fell to Marco, a friend of the family who had the distinction of being the only advisor hired by his mother, to be the messenger. “Killian, I’m so very sorry.”

Not sure what this man had to apologize about, he asked with a bemused grin, “Whatever for?”

Shuffling nervously, Marco stared at him again. Looking around the room at the shell shocked faces, he didn’t resist when the older man took him by the arm and led him back into the hallway. “I guess you haven’t heard. Of course, we had no idea it would come to this. I wish I could give you happier news.”

Mind uncomprehending of the scope of tragedy waiting for him, he said, “I would settle for any explanation at this point. Why was my father on television this morning?”

“Oh Killian, my boy, you probably should sit down...”

“I prefer to stand,” he murmured, internally bracing himself. Marco had always been one of the least annoying of the host of advisors employed by his family. The unassuming man had the kind of face that made you think of grandparents and unconditional love, or at least that’s what Killian thought when he was a child. Now he knew while grandparents were real enough, unconditional love was a fairy tale.

“Your father raided the meager funds left in the family coffers and left the country to avoid prosecution for wire fraud and tax evasion.”

“Meager funds,” he repeated, feeling lightheaded. “I’m not sure I understand. The last time I was at one of these little get-togethers, we had over half a billion dollars in assets.”

“That was many years ago, my boy. Your father made some poor investments and he never was the best at curbing his lifestyle to fit his income.”

Swallowing thickly, Killian ran his hand through his hair and forced himself to remain calm. If what Marco said was true, poor investments was the understatement of the century. In a pale imitation of a joke he offered, “So what? We’ll have to sell some property and maybe a couple of the yachts? Start sharing a helicopter with another family?”

“Unfortunately, the situation is more dire than that. Most of the property is already gone. The only yacht left is the one he stored in Maldives, probably in anticipation of his getaway.” With a kindly hand on his shoulder, Marco gave him an apologetic look. “I’m afraid it gets worse.”

In disbelief, Killian shook his hand away and propped himself against the wall. It was an artful pose that didn’t hint at the real reason he was leaning, namely he needed the hard surface to keep from sinking to his knees. “How could it possibly get worse?”

“The family money wasn’t the only thing he took. Your fiancée went with him.”

—

Killian was surprised to learn the hardest part wasn’t listening to the substantial inventory of assets already lost. It wasn’t seeing the short—far too short—list of property still in play that would be offered in a fire sale to end all fire sales. It wasn’t the fact people he thought of as friends were already circling like sharks, ready to take a piece of the family prestige home with them at a fraction of the cost. 

It wasn’t the media demanding answers to prying questions every time he left his building. It wasn’t the news cycle replaying the details of his embarrassment over and over again on an endless loop. It wasn’t that somehow his name had become a punchline overnight, cannon fodder for late night talkshow hosts and comedians. 

It wasn’t watching his family home, the last tangible thing connecting him to his mother, being emptied out.  Observing the gentle landscape surrounding it being surveyed in an attempt to siphon off parcels from the main section to try to bring in more money at auction was surreal but unavoidable considering the circumstances.

It wasn’t the hushed conversations that followed him, fracturing into silence as soon as he was within earshot. Nor was it the pitying glances the staff gave him when he had to dismiss them with excellent references but a fraction of the severance they deserved. 

It wasn’t crawling into an empty bed and pulling cold sheets over his head every night. It certainly wasn’t missing his fiancée, a woman he had committed to but, in hindsight, hadn’t liked all that much. If he was being completely honest, her leaving was the only silver lining in this particular rainstorm. Although her manner of leaving left much to be desired.

It wasn’t even the sudden lack of everything. His whole life he had been comforted by possessions he used as a replacement for love. Every article of clothing a substitute for the affection he never received, every priceless piece of art a proxy for family photos never taken much less displayed, every impressive technological gadget a surrogate for the support sorely missing from his life. His six car garage was now empty, a willing sacrifice in order to compensate the slate of advisors needed to carve up what was left of his life and repay the debts of his father. 

Now that the clutter was gone, he actually felt a certain freedom in the emptiness.

No, the worst part was the silence. The feeling of being utterly and completely alone despite doing everything in his power to keep it from happening. With the shock of a lifetime to provide perspective, Killian realized now he had twisted himself into someone he didn’t know in a misplaced attempt to please a man who would never be proud of him. He let go of all the things that made him happy—the people who made him happy—to try to meet some unattainable standard of perfection in the eyes of the horde he had mistaken for loved ones. People who had abandoned him the second he was no longer the darling of their social stratum. 

Still, he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the buzz. He knew it was meaningless but the constant hum of activity gave him the illusion of being a part of something. 

He knew some of the silence was his own fault. He had turned off him phone and frozen all his social media accounts. It seemed wise given the shit show that was currently his life and all the expensive advisors agreed laying low was the best course of action in situations like these. 

Luckily, his dwelling and a few pieces of furnishings were his outright, bought with the small trust he inherited from his mother so at least he wouldn’t be living on the street. He had a comfortable cage to crawl back into every night. A lonely place to be sure, but no one could take it from him. It was a lot more than most people would ever have and a lot less than he wanted.

For the first time in a long time, he looked out over the city and truly saw it.

He had no idea how long he had been standing there lost in thought when the elevator bell rang. Someone made it past the doorman and the front desk. Trying to figure out how his visitor managed to get all the way to the penthouse was a welcome distraction from his gloomy musings. The ringing kept up a steady pace but he didn’t make any effort to key open the door. 

That is until the noise took on a familiar tune.

The unmistakeable though slightly off-kilter sound of Hooked on a Feeling rang out in the harsh meep of the doorbell. With something approaching wonder, Killian ran over to the security pad and punched in his code. Instantly, the elevator opened revealing a sight he never thought he’d see again. 

Staring back at him through blue eyes identical to his own was the face of his long lost brother. Through the intervening years, Liam grew his hair out and it now curled in a way that made him think it was probably raining outside. Faint scores of wrinkles defined the areas of his profile showing Liam had continued to find joy in the struggle of life. Completing his perusal, he noticed his brother had bulked up, muscles replacing the softness of an idle life, probably a side benefit of his years in the Navy. His clothes were of the outdoor variety, navy utility pants topped with a gray fisherman sweater and pea coat, and they made him look like he stepped out of a travel magazine catering to ecotourists.  “Liam, I...how did you find me?”

“Finding you has never been a problem, little brother. You don’t exactly fly under the radar. Reaching you on the other hand...well, I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to find a different way in since you won’t answer your damn phone and there isn’t a lock to pick on this contraption,” Liam explained, looking Killian over with a worried expression that gradually gave way to a bright smile. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Good to see you too,” Killian answered sarcastically, still trying to get his bearings. While Liam had changed in a few superficial ways, his determined expression and uncompromising attitude seemed unshakeable even after all these years. The bruised ego and hard feelings of their long separation faded away like it never happened and he was fifteen again, basking in the glow of a beloved brother. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you think? I’m rescuing you from your ivory tower.”

“I don’t need to be rescued,” he scoffed. Times made be bad, but it wasn’t like he was starving. He still had his pride and it forced the next words out of his mouth before he could stop to consider if they were true. “Certainly not by a man who acted like I didn’t exist my entire adult life.” 

Stiffening, Liam advanced into the room, taking no notice of the breathtaking view or the recently minimalist design. Suddenly Killian was engulfed in a fierce embrace, pulled into his brother’s strong hold. He heard Liam say in a gruff voice, “Our father has a lot to answer for but know this, I thought of you every single day since I left.”

A little piece of him broke, even he couldn’t have said if it was his resolve or his heart, and he felt tears well up. Uncomfortable with the stir of emotions, he joked as he hugged Liam with equal intensity, “Aye, serves you right you bastard.” 

“Too right,” his brother agreed, pulling away to clap him on the back. Barking out orders in a way that gave Killian a glimpse of the other man’s military background, he didn’t even argue when Liam said, “Pack your bag. I’m taking you home.”

Chapter Text

“Think I’ve figured out how

How to think about you without it rippin’ my heart out”

-If the World was Ending, JP Saxe and Julia Michaels

Killian woke the next morning to a sticky finger poking him in the cheek and the loudest stage whisper in the history of the world ringing in his ears. “I think he’s a pirate.”

“Don’t be daft.”

“Dad told you not to call me daft, Iris. You’re going to be in big trouble when I tell him. And he is a pirate. See his beard?”

“Of course I see his beard, Aster. I have eyes, don’t I? That’s how I know he’s not a pirate. It’s not fully black. There’s red and, see there, that’s gray.”

He may be down and out, sleeping on his brother’s couch with two extremely loud children passing judgement on his general state, but he drew the line at gray hair. With a moan, he risked a quick peek through his lashes to see in addition to the two hellions prodding him awake, there were bonus children at his bedside. Fenced in by four curious faces lined up in a row, all topped with the same pale blonde hair and in possession of the Jones blue eyes, he surmised these were the children his brother mentioned in passing during their mostly silent coast-to-coast plane trip home.

Home, it turned out, was Storybrooke, Maine. 

Arriving in the middle of the night, he wasn’t precisely sure whereabouts in Maine this sleepy little town was located but he couldn’t say he was surprised. Obviously, his brother went as far away from their father as possible without leaving the country. Besides, Liam always loved being near the water and they had summered at their Bar Harbor estate more often than not growing up. 

Some of his best memories happened in this state. Some of the worst as well. And, funnily enough, they all involved the same woman.

Before being ushered in the back door the prior night, he got the impression of a stately, white columned house encircled by maple trees already turning vibrant shades of red and orange in the cool autumn air. Liam had pressed countless blankets and pillows on him with a mumbled apology about the sleeping arrangements and a promise he would have a bed to call his own by the following night. 

Not that it mattered to Killian. He would have pitched a tent in the backyard if it meant he didn’t have to return to his penthouse with its million dollar price tag and empty walls. 

If the last time he was in Maine plagued his thoughts more than was comfortable, he would just have to deal with it. The unpleasantness of a lost love and the certainty it was entirely his fault had been his constant companion for nearly a decade so he should be used to it by now anyway.

Shying away from painful memories that served no purpose other than to make him wonder if his downfall was some kind of karma, he took in his newest relatives and realized it behooved him to set the record straight. “I’m not a pirate, lass, and I don’t have gray hair. But if the beard bothers you, I’d be happy to remove it this very morning.”

Giggling, the one girl who was a bit braver than the others reached out and stroked the carefully tended stubble that was part of his signature look. “It feels like sandpaper. What do you use it for?”

Thoroughly baffled by the motley crew currently scrutinizing him with interest he wasn’t sure he could live up to, he teased, “To start conversations with beautiful women, my little darling. Now, who can I thank for waking me at this early hour?” 

Sitting upright, he was instantly surrounded, his nieces scrambling on the couch and jockeying for the seats next to him. Sensing trouble fast approaching, he stood and stretched as an excuse to put some distance between them all. With a wariness he would deny if questioned, he then surreptitiously moved to place the coffee table between him and his admiring rabble.

“It was Aster,” spoke the tallest one, who he guessed was around eight years old. Her hair was pulled back in a polished ponytail and her authoritative expression would have clearly announced she was Liam’s daughter even if she didn’t look like he spat her out. Which she did.“She has a nose problem.”

His attention swung to the curious prodder—Aster—and tried to figure out what was the matter with her nose. It looked perfectly normal to him, a smattering of freckles kissing the skin and trailing across her rosy cheeks. “A nose problem?”

“She doesn’t know how to mind her own business,” the talker continued. “Dad will be back in a minute. He’s thanking our neighbor for watching us while he fetched you. Are you really our uncle?”

Not sure how he felt about the term fetched when it was used in regard to himself, he studied the girls and had to admit they were cute in a scary, overpowering kind of way. Ignoring the question, he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tic that had only recently developed. He looked at the wee ones and said, “What about them?”

The talker shifted her attention to her younger sisters and echoed in confusion, “What about them?”

With a vague wave, he gestured to the youngest of the bunch who were probably only four years old or so. They were dressed in identical navy blue dresses, their curly blonde hair styled in lopsided pigtails and their hands clasped as if they were afraid of being separated. “Do they speak? What are their names?”

“Oh, yes, they even have their own language. It drives our mom crazy.” He guessed by her stature and forthrightness this one must be the oldest and consequently the natural spokesperson of the group. “That’s Lily and Linnea, that’s Aster, and I’m Iris. Mom named us after flowers.”

“What did your father have to say about it?”

“They had a deal. Dad gets to name the boys,” Iris responded, jumping down from the furniture and advancing toward him. He was a little ashamed when the back of his legs collided with the armchair behind him. He hadn’t realized he was retreating from the pint-sized leader.

“There are more of you?”

“Not yet, but Dad says he has four names picked out and he doesn’t want to waste them. Are you our uncle?” He could tell already she wouldn’t let him ignore her question again.

“It would appear so,” Killian answered gravely. His confirmation was greeted with excited shouts and a fair bit of jumping, even from the the previously silent twins. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone was thrilled to be connected to him. Probably because it never happened before. 

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the weight of his predicament and the strange conviction he would not live up to his nieces’ unnamed expectations, he turned away. Seeing a door on the opposite side of the room, a welcome escape route, he announced awkwardly, “I’m just going to head this way...”

Rushing away from the flock, because honestly they moved as one entity to follow him, he tried his best not to look back and encourage them. He had nearly gained his freedom when he chanced a look over his shoulder. As luck would have it, that was the exact moment the door swung open toward him.

Temple throbbing from where the door caught him, he let out a quiet ‘oof’ and fell flat on his backside. “Bloody hell!”

Running through the now open door, Aster took off toward the kitchen. “Dad! Dad! He said a naughty word!” 

He tried to ignore the way her voice echoed around the room and reverberated through his damaged skull. Hand drifting up, he covered his face as he made sure his jaw was still intact. He heard the clamber of running feet and sensed he was surrounded again. He could tell his brother had joined the throng, his voice unruffled as he guided Killian to lay down. “Naughty words are fine if you’re bleeding when you say them, dear heart. Go get the first aid kit from the bathroom like a good lass. Lay back, little brother. We’ll fix you up in a jiffy.”

Allowing his brother’s calming tone to penetrate through the roaring in his ears, he rested against the cool wood floor while the restive sound of more footsteps approached. The indignity of his position wasn’t lost on him. It had really come to this. Knocked cuckoo, a shadow of his former glory.

It was then he heard a voice he never thought he would be fortunate enough to hear again. “I’m so sorry! I heard the girls screaming and I thought someone was hurt. I had no idea anyone was on the other side of the door.”

Closing his eyes against the tide of emotion threatening to pull him under, or perhaps it was the concussion he was sure he sustained, he forced himself to take a deep breath. Of course it would get worse. Of course she would be there, standing in his brother’s living room.

Screwing his courage to the sticking place, he greeted the woman he pushed away a lifetime ago in a voice much calmer than he felt. “Hello Emma.”

—

Thirty minutes later, his head finally stopped bleeding but his heart was still in profound danger. Sitting at the island countertop, he watched covertly as Emma moved around the kitchen making breakfast for the hungry brood in an attempt to atone for almost killing their newly found but already adored uncle. He knew he wasn’t imagining she was avoiding his gaze, acting like he wasn’t in the room while simultaneously apologizing over and over again for hitting him with the door. He wasn’t quite sure how she managed it.

He supposed it would have been too much to ask that as his world was falling apart, he could have caught a break. But no, fate had apparently decided his father’s betrayal, his fiancee’s faithlessness, the loss of nearly all his worldly possessions, not to mention the mental breakdown he felt surfacing, wasn’t punishment enough. It had to put his greatest regret right in his path. And it had to be now, when he had nothing to offer and his past mistakes were so sharp in his mind it felt like stepping on shards of glass every time he looked at her.

Not that he could stop himself from looking. Even under Liam’s watchful gaze, he followed her graceful movements around the kitchen like a drowning man who had just been thrown a life-preserver. 

Being knocked for a loop didn’t keep him from noticing Emma Swan was more beautiful than he remembered, a fact he wouldn’t have thought possible. The image of her in the fading light of summer was one that got him through many a trying time so to be presented with an updated, inexplicably more gorgeous version would probably be the death of him. Or maybe the making. It all depended on how he handled the next few moments. 

No pressure then.

In the years since he last saw her, she had matured into the beauty that so discomforted her as a teenager. Long before he crossed her path, his prickly swan decided she would rather be an ugly duckling. She settled into her role as a loner nursing a chip on her shoulder with relish and refused to acknowledge the attention constantly thrown her way due to her striking appearance. It had taken him months to slip past her tough facade and one night to ruin everything.

Placing a full plate in front of each of the twins, Emma seemed unsurprised when they started talking to her in some form of gobbledygook. He watched as she beamed at the pair and responded without a hint of irony, “Yes, I totally agree.”

Her hair was the same, a long mass of waves catching the light and glowing around her shoulders. However, the green eyes that always reflected skepticism and stubbornness were gentler now, especially when they landed on one of his little nieces. The thick framed glasses that made her so delightfully geeky were gone, most likely replaced by contact lenses or rendered useless by surgery. Her smile, which had been guarded and hard to coax out, was open and nearly omnipresent. 

Allowing his focus to wander down her form, he shifted uncomfortably on the stool. Her legs were still a mile long and hugged by dark denim that must have been spray painted on, quite the change from the loose babydoll dresses, tights, and combat boots she used to favor. The soft white sweater she wore clung to her body in a way that had him remembering what it felt like to hold her in the moonlight all those years ago. 

Wearily, he ran his hands over his face, momentarily forgetting his wound until his fingertips grazed the cut along his hairline and he let out a quiet groan. He became the center of everyone’s attention immediately and Iris ordered, “You need to stop touching it.”

Lips twitching into a grin at his daughter, Liam agreed, “Excellent advice but let’s try to help Uncle Killian by speaking very softly.”

It was such an odd waking nightmare. Sitting in his estranged brother’s kitchen, being lectured by a girl less than a third his age, having breakfast with the woman he had wronged and never truly gotten over. He was so lost in his musings, he didn’t register at first when she asked in a quiet voice, “Blueberries or pecans?”

Looking at her straight on for the first time, he felt his heart lurch. He wanted to tell her to forget the damn food. He needed to grab her by the hand and take her somewhere quiet and hold her for hours. He knew it was the head injury making him believe she would actually welcome his arms around her. 

Instead, he replied, “Blueberries please.” 

He should talk to her. Explain what happened and apologize for being an ass of the worst kind. Somehow he had to make her understand he regretted everything he didn’t do and every promise he broke. 

If only she would look at him.

Finished with her penance pancakes, she gave each of the girls a light kiss on the crown of their heads and then patted Liam on the back as she rushed toward the door. Just when he thought she wasn’t going to say anything to him, she paused. He saw her shoulders heave under a sigh and when she partially turned in his direction, her expression was a tangled mess of indecision, hurt, and anger. In a husky voice, she repeated once more, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”

With those last words, she left quickly before he could respond. Not that he knew what he could possibly say to clear her face of the heavy emotions he caused. Years later, she was still upset by his actions and it killed him.

He deserved whatever happened to him. Hell, at this point, he welcomed it.

—

Killian knew before Liam opened his mouth his brother was going to meddle. The overcast fall day did nothing to tame the pulsing pain in his head, neither did the black coffee Liam offered when he joined him. The girls were playing on the large playground in the yard but their shouts were far enough away the sound only caused him slight twinges. 

He had barely waited for Emma to close the door before he was off his stool and in pursuit. By the time he followed her out to the back porch, she was already halfway across the flat lawn separating the houses. He watched her climb the steps of a pretty shingle style home that looked entirely too large for one person. Immediately, it occurred to him perhaps she didn’t live alone. With a grim look, he dropped into one of the many rocking chairs lining the back wall of the Jones home.

Which is precisely the moment Liam chose to butt in.

“It appears you’ve met Emma,” he murmured, keeping his face carefully devoid of emotion. Both of them avoided making eye contact and it felt so similar to every family dinner they had growing up that Killian’s stomach turned.

“Aye,” he answered, sipping the proffered coffee and refusing to elaborate.

“Well done, little brother. You’re exploits are legendary according to the tabloids but I had no idea you made your way this far north on the eastern seaboard.” 

Nettled by his brother’s teasing, after all where did he get off waltzing back into his life and acting like he knew anything about him, he ground out, “It wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like then?”

“None of your business.”

“The fact she ran out of my house as if her life depended on it makes it my business, I’m afraid. She is my wife’s best friend and the girls love her so if it’s going to be all awkwardness and ice between the two of you, the least you could do is give me a warning.”

“You don’t need to worry. I plan on apologizing,” Killian answered after a few seconds of silence stretched between them. His gaze kept drifting back over to her house, looking for but fearing he would actually find evidence she shared her home and her life with someone.

“Oh, well, I’m sure that will make it all better,” Liam replied mockingly with a snort of laughter. “How’s the head?”

“I’ve had worse. Maybe it knocked some sense into me,” he joked, leaning back into his chair and attempting to relax. With a cocked eyebrow, he looked over at his brother and asked, “You read the tabloid stories about me?”

“Indeed. You were quite the media favorite. Fancy parties, beautiful girlfriends, flashy cars. It made me wonder what you were trying to prove.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s all gone anyway. What little remains is floating on a yacht in the Indian Ocean.” In his mind’s eye, he could see his father decked out in sailing regalia, living a life of leisure with the woman he was supposed to marry in a matter of months. Bastard.

“You don’t need the stuff, you know. It’s a distraction that keeps you from realizing what truly matters,” Liam pointed out. Then as if he could hear Killian’s thoughts, he added, “But I know it’s different to choose to walk away than to have it stolen from you by your own father. He’s a nasty piece of work.”

“Yes, he is.” Morosely, he thought about Emma’s gutted expression and worried if the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. The more distance he got from the situation and his father, the more aware he became of how close he was to following in his footsteps. For the first time, he had no plans, no options, and no idea of what to do. He had always drifted through life to a certain extent but this was different. This was frighteningly real. “I’m not sure what comes next.”

“No one knows, little brother. But you’re welcome here for as long as you want to stay. Elsa will be home tomorrow, thank goodness, and we’ll shift the girls around tonight so you can have a bedroom to yourself.”

“It’s fine, I can sleep on the couch. I wouldn’t want my nieces to start resenting me already.”

“Don’t be daft, Killian.”

He barely kept from pointing out he had it on good authority you shouldn’t call someone daft and instead marveled that Liam had managed to make a little clone of himself. His attention was drawn out to the yard and he watched the girls play with the reckless abandon of children who were loved and protected like the treasures they were.

“You’re the best thing to happen to them since Christmas morning. Every little girl wants a cool uncle and I was informed by Aster you’re the coolest. Consequently, she requests you walk her to school tomorrow morning so she can show you off to all her classmates. Oh, and that you wear the leather jacket you packed.”

More pleased than he wanted to let on by the compliment, he didn’t even question the fact his nieces had apparently gone through his bags and simply nodded his agreement. “Thank you for bringing me here. I’ll try not to muck it up too badly.”

“No need for that. It’s the least I could do. I...that is…you have to know I regretted leaving you behind. If there had been any way to bring you with me, I would have.”

“I’d say we are even now. Or we will be if you tell me you have a well-stocked liquor cabinet somewhere in your house.”

“I’m sure we can scare something up after you’ve recovered from your head injury.”

“So responsible,” Killian teased. They fell into silence and if Liam noticed his brother’s attention kept wandering to his neighbor’s house, he had the good sense not to mention it.

Chapter Text

“You’re just a lost cause

(She said)

I know how people like you end up”

-lost cause//, KennyHoopla

Killian wasn’t sure why his nieces took an instant liking to him. Perhaps they were easily pleased. Maybe it was because they didn’t see too many new faces in this backwater town. Possibly his hangdog expression put them in mind of a real dog and they decided to make him into the family pet. 

All valid points as far as he was concerned. 

However, as surprising as it may be, they managed to worm their way into his good graces in less than twenty-four hours. Their infectious high spirits helped him get out of bed on what would have otherwise been a horrible Monday morning. He could have blamed the time difference for the way his body rebelled against his attempt to get moving. After all if he was at his penthouse, it would be four in the morning. Not to mention the fact his head felt like it had been split open and his brain placed into a blender for a twirl. 

Jet lag and concussions would have been wonderful excuses. Unfortunately, the truth was he barely slept because his mind was filled with images of Emma then and now. 

Seeing the girls lined up in an exact replica of the prior morning, only this time with the little ones’ foreheads hardly clearing the top of the mattress, he pushed past his natural inclination to go back to sleep. “Good morning! How’s my little garden today?”

A chorus of greetings called back to him enthusiastically. It didn’t even bother him that when the twins said his name, it sounded more like Knuckle Kill-Yon. He rolled his legs from under the colorful quilt onto the floor and wished he had thought to pack his slippers. Having taken up residence in Aster’s room, his senses were assaulted with varying shades of pink ranging from bubble gum to neon. Unicorns and rainbows covered most surfaces and the gauzy, glittery white curtains may have made him feel like a fairy princess but did little to keep the early morning light out.

“We need to leave in fifteen minutes so we’re not late, Uncle Killian,” Iris reminded him. She had firmly established the timeline for their commute several times last night but he didn’t blame her for worrying. When he caught sight of himself in the gilded vanity mirror, he knew he didn’t look like a man who would be ready to go in such a short period of time. 

“Then I better get to it,” he mumbled. Tousling hair as he gently herded them out of the room, he closed the door with a sigh. He couldn’t contain the slight grin that emerged when he heard Aster’s dulcet tone carry through the barrier, reminding him to wear his leather jacket.

Foregoing a shower for the sake of timeliness, he pulled on black jeans, a charcoal sweater and the requested jacket. Padding down the hallway to the large shared bathroom, he tried to ignore the way Disney characters seemed to stare at him from the shower curtain, shampoo bottles, and toothpaste tubes filling the room. Focusing instead on trying to tame his hair, he was a little concerned to find his toothbrush was already wet when he grabbed it off the countertop. God only knew what his nieces had been up to with the apparatus. Shaking off his fears because he didn’t have a choice in the matter, he finished getting ready with a mere two minutes to spare.

He pulled on his boots and jogged down the stairs to find Iris and Aster waiting, matching backpacks slung across their small frames and Wonder Woman lunchboxes dangling from their hands. Liam joined them a moment later, the twins trailing behind him with tears in their eyes. With a concerned look at them, Liam correctly interpreted and answered his unspoken question. “They want to go to school with you too.”

“Ah, well, maybe next time.”

“They won’t be old enough until next year,” Iris pointed out, a grimace showing her exasperation at the emotional distress throwing off her carefully crafted schedule. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

Resisting the temptation to roll his eyes at the tiny tyrant, he opened the door and said, “Right you are! Which direction is the school?”

“We have to pick up Henry first,” she answered, grabbing his left hand while Aster reached for his right one. With one last glance at Liam’s amused face, they were off.

Unexpectedly bookended by his nieces as if they were trying to prevent him from backing out at the last minute, he agreed, “Of course. We wouldn’t want to forget Henry.” Whoever the hell that was.

To his extreme mortification, he realized they were heading straight for Emma’s house. Of all the days to skip his normally meticulous morning routine. Slowing down so much that Iris tugged on his hand so he would keep up, his voice felt like it was coming from outside him when he asked, “Is Henry Emma’s son?”

“Sort of…he’s her foster kid.”

Something akin to longing raced through him, causing his heart to flutter in a most embarrassing manner. This interesting tidbit of information didn’t necessarily mean Emma was unattached. Nevertheless, he was somewhat reassured he wouldn’t be faced with the full force of his bad decisions first thing in the morning. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t be. 

With lighter steps than a moment ago, they approached her front door and it flew open to reveal a young boy with dark hair and an irrepressible smile. Henry made no secret of his fascination as he took in Killian with the rapt attention of someone who had honed first impressions as a survival mechanism. It was an expression he remembered seeing on Emma’s face when they met. It was unfair one so young would have to develop such skills. A moment later, he knew he passed muster when the lad asked the girls, “Is this your new uncle?” 

Aster practically glowed with pride. “Yes, isn’t he great? He’s a pirate.” 

“We talked about this, love,” he chided gently. He’d have to ask Liam where his six-year-old’s obsession with pirates and leather jackets came from. Turning his attention to Henry, he looked into the hallway on the off chance he would catch a glimpse of his former flame. When her slim form didn’t appear, he asked with only a little trepidation, “Is Emma around?” 

“Yeah, she’ll be down in a minute. She went upstairs to change when she saw you coming,” Henry said in a tone conveying he didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. “Is it true you lost all your money and you’re going to live with Liam now?”

Out of the mouths of babes. Well, he supposed it was better to know what the town was saying about his arrival. Feeling a certain amount of kinship with Henry, impressed by his direct manner and sensing he was a bit lonely under it all, he answered, “Aye, it’s true. A sad state of affairs to be sure. Since I’ll be here for awhile, perhaps you can show me around later. Give me the lay of the land.”

“Definitely! I know all the good spots,” Henry agreed happily, apparently eager to bond with the newcomer. Killian saw the storm clouds pass over Iris’s face but he wasn’t sure if it was because they kept getting further behind schedule or due to the fact he asked Henry to be his guide. Before either of the girls could protest this turn in events, Emma rushed down the stairs. 

Harried though she appeared to be, she was still a ray of sunlight in an otherwise gloomy day. Grabbing her keys off the side table on the edge of his line of vision, he watched as she gently prodded Henry through the door and locked it behind them. Not meeting his gaze, she turned to the kids and said, “I’m going to walk with you as far as the station. I need to talk to your uncle.”

While he couldn’t deny he was hoping to see her today, something about her words caused a shiver of unease to trickle down his spine. He rarely found he was in for a pleasant conversation when a woman said they needed to talk. Squeezing his nieces’ hands softly before letting go, he looked down at their disappointed faces and suggested, “Why don’t you all run ahead and wait for us at the stop sign?”

He could tell Aster wanted to argue but Henry, who was probably the oldest of the group by about two years, seemed to sense the tension and sagely maneuvered his companions out of earshot.

Not in any rush to start, they moved slowly down the sidewalk without a word. When he began to wonder if she had lost her nerve, she finally broke the silence. “What are you doing here, Killian?”

“I imagine the entire world knows the answer to that question by now, love,” he joked flatly. “My father ran off with my fiancée after squandering the wealth it took my family centuries to accumulate. What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” she replied stonily. “I’ve always lived here. Not that I expect you to remember anything about me.”

Stopping in the middle of the random driveway they were passing, he looked at her pointedly until she met his eyes. “Make no mistake, Emma, I remember everything about you. In excruciating detail, I might add. You never mentioned your hometown, not that it would have kept us from ending up right where we are if you had. And I’m not sorry for it.”

“Not sorry for it? Of all the arrogant, insensitive things to say—“

“No! I mean, obviously I’m sorry for that,” he interrupted, his cheeks flushing at the misunderstanding. Running his hand through his hair, he glanced to his side to assure the kids were making their way to the corner. 

Stepping closer, he resisted the urge to touch her, his mind drifting back to when he had been free to hold her anytime he wanted. Her nearness was intoxicating. The strength running like steel through her bones was exactly as he remembered but the vulnerability in her expression was new. “Let me remove my foot from my mouth and try again, love. What I meant was I’m not sorry to be here with you now. I’m happy to see you again.”

He narrowly avoided adding, ‘I’ve missed you every single day and I think I may still be in love with you.’ He knew he didn’t deserve to say those words to her anymore. 

“Uh huh, sure,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I fell for the lost boy act once already so you’ll have to do better than that.”

Even knowing he had earned her rancor and disbelief, he felt his hackles rise. Perhaps that’s why his next words were rushed and heated, tripping off his tongue without a thought to the repercussions. “There was no act. It was real and it meant everything. I regret how it ended but I will never regret that it happened.”

Her eyes flashed at him and it stirred his blood in a way he hadn’t felt in years.“You regret how it ended? If that was supposed to be an apology, it’s the worst one I’ve ever heard, Killian. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hear your regrets or your apologies. The only thing we need to figure out is if we can tolerate being in each other’s company so our baggage doesn’t hurt the people around us.”

Tolerating wouldn’t be an issue for him but he did doubt his ability to keep his hands to himself if she continued to look at him so fiercely. How had he ever found the strength to walk away from her? She was positively glorious and he was enough of a spoiled brat to want her even more now that she was so far out of his reach. “You want a truce then?”

“Yes,” she acknowledged with a stiff nod. “We were friends before….before we were together. Surely we can be nice to each other when we’re around Elsa and your brother. They’ve been good to me and Henry. It’s not fair to ask them to choose sides and I don’t want to lose them because they’re related to a downtrodden womanizer.” 

He rather thought that was going a bit far. In the intervening years, he spent more than his fair share of time reflecting back on their relationship. He spent the summer after his university graduation with some friends at the family estate not far from where she worked during the busy tourist season to save up for her sophomore year of college. He chased after her from the moment he first spied her in one of the multitude of dockside restaurants littering the Bar Harbor coast.

He had wanted plenty, ached with longing night and day, but quelled his lust and got to genuinely know her during those lazy, hot days. In the end, she was the one who transitioned their friendship into something more. Not that he put up a fight. No, he gleefully followed wherever she led. He whispered secrets from deep in his soul into her hair in the dead of night, swore oaths about the future as if it was his to mold, made them both believe he was the type of man she deserved. He would have done anything for her. Right up until the final few moments. 

Since then, he adopted a jaded view of relationships. He liked to think it was because he was more mature and better knew how the world worked. But the worse part about denial was sooner or later you had to admit the truth, even if only to yourself. Yesterday when he saw her again, he knew all his twisting and rationalizing was simply a dodge. In actuality, he had already found what he was looking for so many years ago and subconsciously he knew all along there was little point in pretending with anyone else.

Self-awareness wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“I am yours to command, Emma. If you want a convincing display of platonic friendship and breezy repartee, I’m happy to oblige. However, sooner or later we will have the conversation we both know needs to happen.”

“As far as I’m concerned, we just did,” she bit out with a brittle smile. 

Any retort he may have made was lost when he heard his nieces shouting at them to hurry up. Checking his watch, he realized despite Iris’s careful planning, they would probably have to jog the last couple of blocks to the school in order to make it in time. Cocking his eyebrow in challenge, he asked, “Coming, love?”

Ignoring him, she shouted a goodbye and waved at the kids as she walked away without a backward glance.

—

Apparently his tardiness was forgiven when they rounded the corner to the school grounds and were instantly beset by an entire school of eager children, not to mention several of the teachers and even some mothers from the carpool line. 

It seemed everyone wanted to see for themselves the newly arrived, admittedly handsome, and conveniently unattached uncle the Jones sisters brought to Show and Tell. The fact his life was falling down around his ears only enhanced his appeal if the libidinous glances he received from the adults in the group were any indication.  

Never one to be eschew attention, he played the part well. Flirting with ease, he left more than one woman blushing while simultaneously charming the children and making sure his nieces were by his side to share in the warm bubble of curiosity. It was clear they were enjoying their little moment of celebrity but underneath it all was the same awestruck affection they had for him from the moment he stepped into their lives. He was stunned to realize they wanted to show him off not because they craved the recognition but because they thought he was praiseworthy. 

However, they were true members of the Jones clan so the attention wasn’t humbly turned away.

He was grateful for the distraction honestly. His encounter with Emma did not go swimmingly. While a part of him was ready to crawl under a rock and lick his wounds, a well of determination sprang up within him and for the first time in a long time, he felt like fighting for something.

Energized by the prospect of earning forgiveness, he was nonetheless trying to be realistic about his goals. While fantasies of being with her again had kept him up most of the night, he knew any kind of rekindling of their romance was impossible. Some mistakes were unforgivable. Some hurts ran too deep to be forgotten. Tempering his expectations, he decided if he could regain her confidence, perhaps have another chance at the friendship he missed as much as the other aspects of their relationship, he would die a happy man.

When the final bell rang out and the masses filed away reluctantly, the girls gave him one last hug and then rushed up the stairs with flushed faces and huge smiles having exacted a promise he would return in the afternoon and escort them home. 

Burying his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he tried to ignore the inquisitive eyes following his exit from the property. Playful banter was one thing, an extended conversation with someone who was looking for an adventure in the bedroom was entirely another. 

Having no set agenda, he meandered through the streets of Storybrooke taking in the quaint houses and modest downtown area. It seemed like a land that time forgot. The normal chain restaurants and stores were completely absent and the majority of signage looked like it had been passed down from one generation to the next. He had heard jokes about New England thriftiness but it appeared the citizens here took the principle to heart.

He eventually found himself in a small oceanside park. Even knowing most residents were working or in school this time of day, it was odd to have such a beautiful view all to himself. The sound of the waves soothed him in a way few things could and the gray skies didn’t seem as bad when they were counterbalanced by the deep blue water stretching to the horizon. 

“Killian Jones?”

Surprised out of his thoughts, he turned around and saw an exquisite woman making her way over to him. Her white blonde hair was pinned up in some kind of elaborate bun but he would have known it anywhere. It would appear he was to finally meet Liam’s wife.

“Present and accounted for, my lady. I would ask who I have the pleasure of meeting but I think I see a good amount of Aster and the twins in you.”

Her laughter drifted like music on the chilly morning air. She joined him seconds later with an extended hand and a friendly smile. “I still haven’t gotten over how hard I worked to bring Iris into this world only to be greeted with the mirror image of her father. Luckily, I’m pretty fond of his face. I see you’ve found one of my favorite places in Storybrooke. Am I disturbing you?”

“You’re a welcome intrusion. When did you get back?”

“Just after you left to walk the girls to school. I hear you’re quite a hit. With them and the ladies in town,” she teased, eyes dancing with merriment. He thought it was Liam’s daughters that softened him but meeting Elsa had him wondering if she was the catalyst for the dramatic change. 

The fact she had been in town less than two hours and already heard updates on his reception by the townsfolk was an entirely different issue for another day.

“Not all the ladies,” he muttered under his breath.

“Ah, yes, Emma will be a tough one to crack but considering your history, that shouldn’t come as a shock.”

He took in her serene expression with a side-eyed glance. She didn’t appear to be angry but he just met her so he could be wrong. He guessed it made sense Emma told her best friend about him but damned if he knew what to say about the whole mess. “She mentioned our history?”

“As much as Emma talks about anything personal, yes, I suppose you could say so. But it was years ago and I didn’t have a clue you were Liam’s brother until I got a text from her over the weekend. Is that the bruise she gave you or have you bumped into other former lovers since you arrived?”

“Ha, you’re a funny one,” he observed with a straight face while she tried to hide her laughter at his stoic facade. She moved closer, her smaller frame decked out in a blue pantsuit that looked all business. Despite the brisk air, she seemed in no rush to get inside. “If you’re here to warn me away, Emma already took care of it this morning.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I won’t even hold it against you if you promise to tell me the whole story someday. I only wanted to say hello and clear the air since we’re going to be living together. Liam is over the moon to have you. He talked about you so much, even after all those years apart, I feel as though I know you. The girls are thrilled to have a new member join their fan club.”

“And you? Are you fine with me hanging around for a few weeks?”

She turned toward him studying his features with a keen intelligence practically radiating off of her. This woman, for all her laughter and poise, was no pushover. He felt like she saw straight through him and he wanted her to like what she found more than he could remember ever wanting to impress anyone. With a small smile, she reassured him, “I think we’ll get along quite nicely, little brother.”

Chapter Text

“You’re the sunlight and I am leaning”

-Sold, Mondo Cozmo

It was interesting the way time warped when your entire orbit shifts. In the past, Killian did nothing all day long and it never occurred to him his lack of industry was a problem.  Now as he watched Elsa leave for her legal practice each morning, dropping the twins off at preschool on the way most days, he began to wonder how he managed to become such a lazy, self-absorbed ne’er-do-well. It wasn’t like he set out to be useless or he liked to glide through life without making a lasting impact on anyone or anything.

It didn’t help matters that by the time he returned from his daily walk to school with Iris and Aster, Liam was already set up in his home office making the world a better place one technology solution at a time. In all his musings about his brother during their separation, what he did for a living never entered his mind. Perhaps because most people in their family hadn’t worked a day in their lives. He wasn’t surprised to learn Liam used his time in the Navy to build onto his business degree, adding valuable experience and a graduate degree in Information Technology along the way. 

The past two weeks seemed to stretch out into a long, meaningless blur. The high points were always the brief interactions he would snatch with Emma as he stopped by to pick up Henry in the mornings. Much like his nieces, the young man decided to like him in spite of the fact he was basically only taking up space, treading water until he could figure out what to do with his life. It wasn’t going to be easy considering he barely had any skills and absolutely no experience in anything other than showing up and looking acceptable.

It was in those stolen moments he would remember what it felt like to want to be a better man. 

Unfortunately, Emma didn’t seem inclined to provide him with the same motivation she did when they were younger. She thawed a bit, going so far as to thank him for making an effort to include her foster son in his outings with his nieces, but maintained her distance both physically and emotionally. It was at once totally understandable and completely frustrating.

Flipping through daytime television shows with the volume turned down low, he sighed for the hundredth time that day. The girls were attending ballet class after school and Henry was catching a ride home with a friend so he had hours of time to fill. He wondered if the mental breakdown he was constantly fighting off might take hold. 

“You’re broodier than usual today,” Liam observed from the doorway.

With a hard look at his brother, he gruffly asked, “Can’t a man be left alone to have his existential crisis in peace?”

“Is that what this is? I thought you were pining for Emma again,” he said as he moved into the room and dropped on the seat next to Killian. Rolling his eyes, he continued, “Oh, how silly of me! That’s part of your morning routine. By this time of the day, we’ve typically progressed to either resentment of our father or anger at how unfair life has been to you.”

The truth was simple really. Hanging onto his almost violent dislike of his circumstances was the only thing keeping him afloat but how in the world did you explain that to a man who had rejected the very things you were mourning the loss of. Running his hand through his hair, Killian grumbled without heat, “I forgot how sanctimonious you could be. I wonder why Elsa puts up with you.”

“I’m excellent in the sack,” Liam deadpanned. 

Unable to keep his lips from twitching into a grin, he tried to block any attempt to make him feel better. “That did it. I’m going to go jump off a cliff. Thank you for providing the final straw and putting me out of my misery.”

“Do you want my advice?”

“Not really but it’s never stopped you before.”

“And it won’t now,” Liam assured him with a cheerful smile. “You’re not miserable. You’re bored.” 

“As much as I enjoy having my emotions explained to me, you’re wrong,” Killian argued between clenched teeth, already tired of the conversation. Liam could think whatever he wanted. It didn’t change the fact he dug himself into a deep hole and he feared it would end up being his grave. 

Although if he was being honest, he’d have to say Storybrooke moved at a much slower pace than he was used to and maybe the lack of distractions was adding to the somewhat shaky hold he had on his sanity. “Maybe I’m a little bored.”

“Who could blame you? You’re used to satisfying every whim. Money, women, booze, cars, parties, ceaseless attention…it’s okay to miss it. What’s not okay is to be blind to what you’ve gained.”

When Killian snorted, Liam looked at him with irritation. “I’m serious. The media may not be hanging on your every word anymore but you have four nieces who do. Your fiancée may be cavorting with dear old dad but if the way you look at Emma is any indication, your ego is more bruised by the woman’s defection than your heart. And let’s not forget the main benefit of your unexpected destitution…the Brothers Jones are back.”

Refusing to let go of his grim mood without a fight, he corrected, “I’m not destitute. I could sell my penthouse and have more money than most people see in a lifetime. Certainly enough to keep me going for a while.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. I know you’ve been knocked down but don’t confuse that with being knocked out. You’re in fine shape. You simply need to find something else to focus on…a hobby or, heaven forbid, an actual career.”

Looking at Liam like he suddenly started speaking in another language, he asked in disbelief, “Who would want to hire an overindulged man-child without any experience in the real world?”

“Me, for one.”

Head spinning due to the unexpected turn in the conversation, Killian merely studied the other man’s profile trying to figure out if he was joking. When his brother didn’t shout ‘Gotcha’ in a respectable amount of time, he realized he must be serious. “You want me to work for you?”

“More with me, truth be told. My consulting business has expanded beyond what I can handle and I could use an extra pair of hands to do the client meetings and marketing pieces I hate. Come on, little brother. It’s time to put your handsome face and top-notch mind to work.”

“Liam, I’m flattered but I’m not sure it’s a good idea. I’m already living with you. Wouldn’t working together add fuel to the fire. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.” Besides, he wasn’t entirely sure he was up to the task. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he had anything else going on for the next decade or so. 

“Say you’ll think about it,” Liam pushed gently. “We’d be doing each other a favor. If it doesn’t work out, no harm done. But you can’t keep sitting around on the couch watching talk shows and soaps. I can hear your brain cells dying from my office. As much as I’m grateful for how you’ve taken an interest in the girls, you need to start living your life—your new life—instead of hesitating on the edge of it, trying to figure out a way back to your old one.”

Damn. He hated when Liam was right.

“I’ll think about it.”

With a pleased expression, his brother stood up. “That’s all I ask. Until you make up your mind, you can earn your keep by raking the leaves. It’s probably the last warm day we’ll have until the spring and I promised Elsa they’d be taken care of by the time she got home.”

—

Having never raked leaves before, Killian was pleasantly surprised to find it was good exercise and exactly the kind of mindless activity he needed to break out of his funk. There was something about the neat piles scattered throughout the yard that appealed to his rarely seen work ethic while also providing a much needed sense of accomplishment.

He was glad to nearly be done as the heat of the day started getting to him. While the low seventies was far from a heat wave, it was abnormally warm for this time of year and, when added to a physical workout, more than a little uncomfortable. His designer sweatshirt had already been peeled off leaving only the thin layer of a vintage t-shirt that cost him more than most people would pay for a car. He contemplated removing it as well when he felt beads of sweat gather between his shoulder blades and slowly trickle down his back before being absorbed in the waistband of his jeans. Hearing someone’s footsteps crunching through the final section of the yard left to tend to, he abandoned his plan in favor of discovering the identity of his visitor.

“Hey Killian, need any help?”

Glancing back he saw Henry looking at him uncertainly, rake already in hand. The boy seemed ready to scurry away, afraid of being rebuked, so even though he was almost finished he gave him a grateful smile and said, “Aye, lad. I would appreciate the assistance.”

With Henry’s help, the rest of the yard was completed in a few minutes. Surveying the lawn, he turned to his companion and asked with a hint of embarrassment, “What do we do with the piles?”

With stunned understanding, Henry said, “You’ve never done yard work before, have you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Killian confirmed. “More’s the pity, really. It’s actually quite soothing. Maybe I should open a lawn care business.”

Killian soon found out the job was only half done. After allowing Henry plenty of time to jump into some of the bigger piles, they resumed their work. By the time the majority of the leaves were neatly lined up in paper yard waste bags by the sidewalk, Killian was drenched and Henry’s face was red with exertion. They were so focused on getting the last few stacks taken care of, neither one heard Emma’s approach. 

“Looks like you guys have been busy,” she commented, causing them both to startle. Chuckling at their matching expressions, she handed them each a water bottle. Tousling Henry’s sweaty hair, she continued, “Nice work, kid. But don’t you have some homework to do?”

With a groan, Henry headed back to his house, turning at the last minute to wave goodbye at him with a grin on his face. Robbed of their usual mediator, Killian was a little concerned the polite facade they perfected for their young audience would disintegrate. Sighing quietly, he opened his bottle and proceeded to drink it all in a couple of gulps. Taking the bottom of his shirt, he wiped his face while noting, “Thanks for the water. I had no idea I’d work up this much of a thirst moving tree confetti from one place to another.”

He didn’t miss how her eyes trailed down to the exposed skin of his chest and stomach. She might not like him anymore but he was confident she liked what she saw. 

“You’re not the only thirsty one,” she muttered.

Hope bubbled in him at her words and just as quickly faded when he followed her glance over his shoulder and saw he had drawn spectators at some point. A few of the ladies in the neighborhood were gathered at the house on the other side of Liam’s and had apparently made an afternoon of it. They didn’t even look ashamed at being caught. 

“Better pull your shirt down before you start a riot.”

“And deprive them of their entertainment? That would hardly be neighborly,” he teased as he glanced back again and raised a hand in a lazy greeting. He didn’t bother to see if anyone returned his wave, his attention riveted on the woman in front of him. “How about you? Enjoying the show?”

Rolling her eyes, she reached out and took the empty bottle from him. He stood stock-still, observing her as she observed him. If he hadn’t already been sweating like a sinner in church, he would have started at the thorough way her green gaze studied his face. Her unguarded stare was dizzying and he didn’t realize he was leaning closer until she cleared her throat and stepped back.

It was the first time they were alone since they reached their truce and he wondered if it was his recent setbacks causing him to be nervous or if he was cursed to always be unsettled in the presence of the one woman he had ever loved. In a friendlier tone than he was used to from her, she commented, “I forgot how you crave attention.”

“Not all attention, only yours.” Internally he cringed at his silver tongue. It would be a lie to say he didn’t fall back on teasing to disarm people but he always meant every word he said when it came to her. Unfortunately, until he could get her to see how he truly regretted his treatment of her, he was only hurting his case with trifling words and carefree come-ons. 

She shook her head in disbelief as he marveled at how the low light of the sunset made her hair turn a deeper shade of gold. “Are you seriously trying to hit on me after everything we’ve been through?”

“That depends. Is it working?”

With grim resolve in her voice and a warning look, she stated, “No, not at all.”

He took a calming breath. Honestly, he didn’t expect to ever see her again. He hadn’t allowed himself to imagine what he would do if he did. Somehow, tripping over his words and fumbling with his emotions wasn’t what he would have guessed. Their history would stay between them like a wedge until he could give her a full and humble apology. Even when that miracle was accomplished, he reminded himself they would never be what they once were.

He knew they were firmly in the past, had accepted it a long time ago. Something about her still called to him though. Every time he saw her, he noticed some other feature or bit of personality compelling him to revel in being near her. Maybe it was because her presence hearkened back to happier days. Or perhaps he simply wanted to make amends. Either way, he felt lighter standing next to her, regardless of her wary glances and deliberate walls. 

“Then I must not be. Trust me, you wouldn’t be able to resist if I was.”

As he intended, his words drew a chuckle from her. She started to walk back to the house but didn’t object when he fell in step beside her carrying Henry’s discarded rake. “Your confidence is astounding. I would admire it if it wasn’t so annoying.”

Snickering, he glanced at her with a cocked eyebrow and joked, “Surely that’s not all there is to admire.”

“What can I say? I’ve seen this show before and I know how it ends. Plus, I’ve never been much on reruns.” She kicked at a random leaf like it had done something to offend her and he wondered if she was picturing it was him instead.

In a tone rife with innuendo, he asked, “What about sequels? Henry tells me they are much more involved and satisfying than the original.”

Laughing openly now, she watched him with wide-eyed curiosity. He could sense her frustration at not finding the answers she was looking for in his face and wished she would ask him what she wanted to know. He longed to explain everything but was gun-shy about blurting it out. However, the moment passed and instead she assured him, “My life is quite satisfactory already. Do you want to know why?”

Following her up the stairs to her front porch, he stopped as she pushed open the front door and turned to him. “Why, love?”

She moved closer and flexed on her tiptoes to bring herself on eye level with him. He could smell the fresh, clean scent of her wafting around him, feel the warmth radiating off her body, see the mischief in her expression. Her lips were a fraction of an inch from his when she murmured, “Because I don’t repeat my mistakes.”

Then she was gone, walking into the house with a swing in her hips that would haunt him until the day he died.

He felt like he had been run over by a train. Not quite sure what happened but certain something shifted, he was silent as the door shut decisively in his face. Heart thundering in his chest and laughter escaping his lips, he called to the closed door, “You’re warming up to me, I can tell!”

—

In a daze, he made his way back to Liam’s house after putting the yard tools away in the shed. He was lost in thought, remembering the enticing way Emma’s eyes twinkled when she teased him, and didn’t notice the shadowy figure camped out by the back door. 

“I should have known better than to think you could possibly need my help,” said a melodious voice, a vocal reminder of a different life. 

Incredulously, his hand dropped from the doorknob and he turned to see Robin Locksley rocking quietly, his son Roland burrowed comfortably in his arms. His friend was studying him with an amused smile, the gentle motion of the chair never faltering. With an answering grin, Killian teased, “My, my, look what the cat dragged in…”

Wincing a bit, Robin shushed his friend while checking to see if Roland had been disturbed by his greeting. “Keep it down, you ungrateful louse. Do you know how long it took me to get him to nap after the excitement of a plane trip and the promise of seeing our old, desolate friend Killian? Imagine his disappointment when I tell him you already managed to make a new friend. A pretty blonde one from the looks of it. You always had the devil’s own luck with women. I suppose it was too much to hope it was the money that drew them in.”

Settling into the chair next to him, Killian noticed a battered gray duffle bag and matching backpack at Robin’s feet. Bemused, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“As difficult as it may be to believe, I was worried about you.” 

Killian allowed his friend’s words to wash over him. There weren’t many people in his life who would fly thousands of miles to support him and yet this month alone, he was twice blessed. Taking in the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the ever deepening lines scoring his forehead, he wondered what specifically prompted his trip and then discerned it didn’t matter because he was glad to see him. 

After Liam left, Killian was packed off to boarding school in England in an effort to pound in his family duty and save his father the trouble of having to converse with him on a daily basis. It had been an uncomfortable time for him even though he was used to transitions. His father had unexpectedly moved the family to Seattle just before his tenth birthday. Between the relocation, his mother’s passing, and Liam’s desertion, he was scarcely more alone on one continent than another. Still, when he arrived at the doors of what was to be his home for the next several years, he was too foreign to be accepted, too rich to be ignored, and too proud to attempt any sort of fitting in. His first few months were trying and lonely. 

Then one day, Robin Locksley plopped down beside him on the school grounds and refused to leave. The older boy reminded him so much of Liam, only funnier and slightly less prone to lectures, that despite his resolution to keep his distance from everyone and everything, he found himself developing a friendship with the lad. 

Years later, they maintained a bond that came in waves. It was the sort of relationship that would go months, sometimes even years, with only a handful of conversations and then swing into a type of closeness rarely found in adulthood. They had seen each other through some difficult spots but were in an ebb since the death of Robin’s wife a couple of years ago. 

Killian hadn’t realized how much he missed the man until he saw him sitting on the porch with his smug expression and calming aura. However, it went against the grain to admit it. “Nothing to worry about. Sudden change in fortune notwithstanding, I’m doing fine. Stiff upper lip, full head of hair, keeping calm and carrying on…”

“You have it covered then,” Robin murmured with a laugh. “But seeing as I’ve come all this way, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to talk about it.”

“Does Liam know you’re here?”

“No, no one answered when I tried the front door so I haven’t had the pleasure I’m afraid. I was fairly confident I had the right place when we arrived in time to see you flirting with the neighbor but I didn’t want to wake the boy by knocking on the door repeatedly. Please tell me they have a hotel in this little hamlet.”

Scratching behind his ear, he said, “Honestly, I have no clue. I think I heard people talking about lodgings behind the diner. Surely we can find some room for you here tonight. Especially since you flew in from London—“

“In Economy class I might add,” he interrupted with a much put upon sigh. 

“Fine, flew here in Economy to check on me. You could have called, Robin.”

“You’re joking, right? Killian, when was the last time you checked your phone? I’ve lost track of the number of voicemails and texts I’ve sent since you dropped off the face of the world. You’ve been incommunicado for so long the media is speculating you’ve done yourself harm or joined your father in some country without extradition.”

His stomach turned at the idea of seeing his father again. Rather than examine the feeling too closely, he said, “Sorry, I forgot to turn it back on. But that begs the question how did you find me?”

“Lucky guess.” The other man gracefully stood, careful not to jostle Roland. “Let’s go meet this brother of yours. I have a feeling he’s a damn sight better than you.”

“Undoubtedly,” Killian agreed. “But that’s not much of an accomplishment.”

Chapter Text

“I’m useless but not for long”

-Clint Eastwood, Gorillaz

Killian was irritated to learn walking to the principal’s office as an adult was quite similar to being marched to the headmaster’s office as a teenager. He was informed by Iris’s teacher when he dropped the girls off that morning his presence was requested for a brief conversation regarding who knew what.

He followed the hall monitor, a rather self-important sixth grader who wore his limited authority like a crown, and noticed the miniature lockers lining the hallway were neatly numbered and uniform in their metal blandness. An admirable attempt to brighten the institutional neutrals of the concrete block walls was made by using artwork from some of the younger grades but it failed to completely divert attention from the sameness of the structure. 

Of course, when the last time someone had been in a school involved traversing the halls of a former castle to find his classes and room, a recent construction such as the one he was currently trapped in would lack a certain ominous je ne sais quoi. At home in drifty, rambling spaces tacked on to the main keep as the centuries marched on, the straight and carefully planned layout of the elementary school left him feeling like a sore thumb. 

He was a hot mess. Even kindergarteners had it more together than him.

As if to prove his point, the bell rang loudly and the hall was immediately flooded by hundreds of tiny people, scurrying about like they were late for important business appointments. It would have been easy to lose his guide in the chaotic shuffle of humanity but the young man raised his hand in the air, his training having clearly prepared him for all potential pitfalls. He continued to cut a swath directly down the center of the hallway and Killian followed slowly trying not to look like an oversized tourist in Lilliput. 

Stopping outside a brightly lit office in the center of the building, the hall monitor opened the door and ushered him in before shutting it with a quiet click behind him. The feeling of being ambushed increased tenfold.

An elderly woman was perched comfortably behind a low counter but either she didn’t hear him come in or was unconcerned with his presence. He cleared his throat several times before her owlish eyes shifted from the ancient desktop monitor to the doorway. When she adjusted her bifocals to get him in focus, he flashed his most charming smile and greeted her. “Good morning, lass! I believe Principal Mills is expecting me.”

“You’re a bit old for a talking to,” she observed with a kindly smile. “And I’m a bit old to be called lass.”

“I wholeheartedly agree with the former observation but respectfully disagree with the latter. A woman such as yourself will never stop causing hearts to flutter,” he flirted, taking the opportunity to study the neat, well-organized office. “I’m Killian Jones.”

“Trust me, I know,” she informed him with the same sweet smile. “We don’t get many visitors in Storybrooke, especially famous ones with handsome faces.”

“Keep it up, lass, and I’ll start blushing,” he murmured as he finished his inspection of the room. Fairly certain the woman who demanded his presence was ensconced behind the closed door to his right, he leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Any idea what the old girl wants to talk about? I swear I haven’t stolen anyone’s lunch money.”

Lips twitching in amusement, she whispered back, “What about copying someone’s homework?”

“Innocent until proven guilty.” 

“Well, we’ll hold off on calling Sheriff Swan then.” The secretary, whose gold-edged nameplate announced was Mrs. Ruth Nolan, winked at him and continued, “You can have a seat. She’s finishing up with a student right now.”

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, he tried to pick the largest chair available, which unfortunately was better suited for the school’s general population than a grown man in his thirties. Stretching his legs out, he distracted himself from the cramped position he was forced to bear by looking at the picture lined walls. Decades of graduating classes stared back at him from matching frames. The youth of Storybrooke were displayed like a visual time capsule beginning as far back as 1983. 

Giving into curiosity, his stood to get a closer look at a particular picture from the mid-nineties. He was delighted to find off to the far side of the grouping there was a tiny blonde figure with a miserable expression captured by the camera lens. 

Clearly, Emma had been as happy about entering this building back then as he was now.

Hearing the door to the principal’s office open, he looked over and found himself staring at Henry’s upset countenance. The boy’s nose and eyes were red, presenting an image of someone doing his best to keep from crying. Concerned, he moved to his side and asked, “Alright there, Henry?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he muttered, refusing to meet Killian’s eyes. “I need to get back to class.”

He watched as the boy walked quickly out of the office. When he glanced back, he was faced with a striking raven-haired beauty many years younger than he expected. Pushing aside his surprise, he demanded, “What happened to him? Why is he upset?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Jones, did I miss the part where you were Henry’s guardian?”

Practically frost-bitten from her tone, he replied flippantly. “You know what they say, it takes a village.”

“And every village needs an idiot,” she responded, not to be outdone. She raised an eyebrow,  daring him to continue their increasingly venomous exchange. Not used to being so directly insulted, he backed down and preceded her into the spacious office when she gestured for him to enter. Sensing the undercurrent of tension, she sighed and said in a more professional tone, “Thank you for coming in. I realize you were under no obligation to meet with me.”

“To be completely honest, I don’t have much going on right now. Even so, I am intrigued regarding what you could possibly want to talk about. As you so eloquently pointed out, I’m not anyone’s guardian so our topics of conversation would be limited at best.”

With a tight smile, she said, “I understand from Iris that you’re looking for a job.”

Gobsmacked, Killian leaned back in his chair and stared at Principal Mills. “My niece told you I was looking for work?”

“She insisted I consider you for one of our open teaching positions,” Mills answered with a grim look.

“Rather forward of her…”

“I try to encourage assertiveness in all of my students, especially the girls. Too often in this world, women are demeaned for having leadership abilities. Iris is one of the best students I’ve ever had. She’s focused, smart, hard-working, and fortunate enough to have a supportive environment at home.”

“She’s definitely all that and more, Ms. Mills. But you can’t be considering me as an instructor. What would I even teach? How to develop a cunning wit and condition leather?” Although, it was his valet who usually handled the leather so he wouldn’t be much help there either.

“Obviously I’m not considering it. You’re totally unsuitable.”

Ah, this was more the speed of conversation he was expecting. If he had a dollar for every time someone tried to make him feel inferior since his fall from grace, he wouldn’t have needed the family money in the first place. Nodding, he stood to leave. “Lovely chat. I’ll see myself out.”

“Sit down, Mr. Jones. Despite your lack of suitably for a job here, I wanted to invite you to volunteer at the school. If you intend to stay in our community, it will allow you to make some excellent contacts and spend time with your nieces who, for reasons that escape me at the moment, think you are a talented man.”

“Just to be clear: You’re saying I’m not good enough for a paying job but you’ll allow me to work for you without compensation.”

For the first time, real mirth flitted across the woman’s face and it completely transformed her. Gone was the severe lines of displeasure. Instead her eyes came alive with laughter, her cheeks flushed softly and her lips parted to reveal a smile that would probably turn heads if you were into that kind of thing. Recently, he was more attracted to women—one woman really—who wouldn’t give him the time of day. “Maybe there is a brain behind that face after all. Your first assignment will be to chaperone the Halloween sock hop. You should probably recruit some help as well.”

Ignoring the fact he had no idea what a sock hop was, he responded, “I haven’t said yes.”

“You will. Even if you don’t want to, Iris will talk you into it,” Principal Mills assured him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a school to manage.”

—

He emerged from the principal’s office relieved to have survived the encounter. Despite the brief show of emotion at the end of their meeting, he was half convinced the woman was some sort of evil cyborg.

Making his way down the empty hallway unaided, Killian was almost to the door when he heard a sniffle behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Henry distractedly trying to open one of the tiny lockers near the bathroom. Retracing his steps back to the young man, he leaned with careful casualness against the next section of lockers and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Henry took great pains to wipe his tears as covertly as possible but subtlety was not a natural talent for most ten-year-old boys. As extraordinary as Emma’s boy was, it seemed he fit squarely in the norm on this at least. “Are you going to tell Emma I was in the principal’s office?”

“Your secret is safe with me. I hope I can count on your discretion regarding my trip there as well. She’s quite scary and I have a reputation to protect.”

“Who? Ms. Mills or Emma?”

The lad was definitely stalling, probably hoping Killian would drop the subject. With a grimace, he admitted, “Both, I suppose. So how did you end up there?”

Coming to a decision, Henry made his way to Killian’s side and stuck a similar pose next to him. Eyes closed, in a soft voice he asked, “Did Iris tell you I’m a foster kid?”

“She may have mentioned something to that effect.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like it’s a secret. I’m the only foster child in the whole town. Anyway, some of the older boys like to remind me my parents didn’t love me enough to keep me. Repeatedly. So today, I punched one of them and he cried so hard they had to call his parents to come get him.”

“Well done, lad. Proud of you.”

“But Ms. Mills says it’s better to use your words,” Henry argued without any real conviction. Sneaking a glance at Killian, he had a hint of a smile on his face. 

“She gets paid to say those things,” Killian pointed out. He was at a loss as to what to say next. On some level, he knew he was supposed to be a responsible adult and reinforce the message of keeping violence to a minimum. However, he was never particularly good at being responsible, or an adult for that matter. “Listen, I’m not saying you should clock every bloke who irritates you. That makes you no better than the bullies. But long ago, your moth—Emma—told me something that stuck with me. My life would have turned out much better if I had heeded her advice.”

Having Henry’s complete attention now, he hoped he was doing the right thing. He had no idea how much of Emma’s past she shared with her foster son and he would hate to break any confidences, even though it could hardly make things worse between them. “She said sometimes you have to punch back and make the world see you for who you really are. Never forget, Henry, you’re not the only foster in Storybrooke. Emma was one too and look at how great her life has turned out. She’s a respected sheriff, she has more friends than she has time to spend with them, and she’s got you to make sure she eats a vegetable every once in a while.”

Hearing a watery chuckle from his companion, he nudged Henry softly. “What is it the kids are saying nowadays? Don’t let the haters get you down.”

“It sounds weird when you say it,” Henry criticized.

“It’s the accent,” Killian joked. “Everything sounds weird when I say it.”

Picking up his backpack, Henry took a deep breath. “I guess I should go back to class before I get in trouble again.”

“Do you want me to walk with you?”

“No, I’m good now. Thanks, Killian. I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to have a friend.”

Watching his small form until he turned the corner, Killian wondered why his chest felt like it expanded to twice its normal size as he made his way back home.

—

Walking into the kitchen, a scene of chaos unfolded before him. Liam and the twins were supposedly showing Robin and Roland the best way to make a cake and the results were disastrous. Broken eggshells littered the floor, there was flour on every surface—including the ceiling and the children—and one of the twins was currently stirring sugar into the can of chocolate frosting Elsa bought for the occasion. 

“Bloody hell.”

“Welcome home, little brother. We have quite the situation brewing and we need all hands on deck,” Liam shouted over the sound of the mixer Robin and Roland were using in the corner. 

Trying to remind himself he had thought silence was the worst part of his dire straits, Killian rolled up the sleeves of his blue button down and made his way over to Linnea. Plucking the girl into his arms, his scowl turned into a grin when the little one flashed him a disappointed look. His mother used to make the exact same expression. Liam just may be the luckiest man in the world. “Darling, what kind of cake are you making today?”

“Sugar cake,” she answered as if it should be obvious. 

“Excellent, that happens to be my favorite kind,” he replied with mock seriousness. Linnea proceeded to smear sugar-laced chocolate frosting into his beard as he looked to the adults in the room and asked, “What exactly are we trying to accomplish here?”

“We’re practicing,” Liam said by way of explanation as he took a pan away from Lily. 

“For what? The apocalypse?”

His questions went unanswered as Roland, or perhaps it was Robin, changed the setting on the mixer and a shower of half incorporated cake mix splattered over everyone in the room. Like the true hero she believed him to be, Killian curled his niece away, taking the brunt of the sweet blast himself. 

Slipping and sliding through the mess on the floor, Liam valiantly fought his way to the corner and pulled the cord on the offending kitchen appliance. Before anyone could say a word, the back door opened and Elsa walked in with the poise he was beginning to think she had trademarked. Taking in the scene, complete with abashed adults and delighted children, she rolled her eyes and muttered, “So much for a quiet lunch with my husband.”

Jumping into the fray with grace only she could exhibit, it was merely ten minutes later that shining, happy faces were properly settled in booster seats at the kitchen island, floor scrubbed, countertops spotless, and two layers of yellow cake placed into a preheated oven. She hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Killian thought he may be a little bit in love with her.

“I hope it goes smoother this weekend,” she observed with a wry look at Liam. Leaving the adults to tidy themselves up with the wet wipes she threw on the counter by the sink, she walked to the refrigerator and pulled out leftover roast chicken and a salad. “We could always order a cake from the diner.”

“It was going fine, love. We will make you proud at the party.” To make amends for the mess she walked into, Liam began to plate up lunch for everyone. 

Killian assumed it was the heated glance the two shared that made Robin smirk as he asked, “What party?”

“Emma’s birthday party,” Elsa replied as she poured milk into plastic cups. 

“And Emma would be?”

“Our neighbor, who happens to be Killian’s ex-girlfriend.” 

Never mind, he wasn’t a little bit in love with her anymore.

The way Robin’s eyebrows raised left him concerned they would disappear into his friend’s hairline. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to retreat now, he settled in for what was surely going to be an extremely tedious conversation. 

“Ah, I see. Would she happen to be a stunning blonde?” 

“You’ve met her already?”

“Just spied her across the way,” Robin said through a grin. Looking at Killian with a sly side-eyed glance, he added, “I’m sure you’ll all have a rousing good time. I do hope there will be plenty of fireworks.”

“You should join us,” Liam offered as he took the stool between the twins. “It’s usually only our family and Henry so the more the merrier.”

“Go if you want, Robin. I can watch Roland if you need a break,” Killian murmured. The truth was even though he knew her birthday was approaching, he hadn’t been aware of a celebration and he wasn’t entirely sure he would be welcome. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Killian, you have to come. It’s not like you to slink away,” Liam argued, completely aghast at the idea. 

“I’m not slinking away. I’m simply not forcing my company on someone who would rather not have it. Consider it my birthday present.” If he grew morose at the realization he had never spent a birthday with her, it was nobody’s business but his own.

“I don’t know,” Robin observed thoughtfully while he cut Roland’s chicken into small pieces and poured a frankly obscene amount of ranch dressing onto his own salad. “It didn’t seem like she minded your company the other day on her porch.”

“Oh, I haven’t heard this story,” Elsa said, propping her elbows on the countertop and looking at Robin with interest. “Do tell.”

“Nothing to tell,” Killian interrupted with a warning glare at his friend. The last thing he needed was his family getting the wrong idea about something Robin took totally out of context. “She was thanking me for helping out with Henry is all.”

Elsa studied him as she popped a grape tomato into her mouth, still resting her head in her hand as if sitting up straight was beyond her abilities at the moment. “Well, you won’t be able to get into any porch shenanigans at the party. Walsh is coming.”

Mirroring Elsa’s stance, Robin asked in a melodramatic whisper, “Who’s Walsh?”

Behind Elsa, Liam rolled his eyes and started mouthing his answer to Robin’s question, something appearing suspiciously like Prat.

Unamused, Elsa said, “I can see your reflection in the oven, Liam. Walsh is the man Emma is dating.”

Heart dropping, Killian focused on shallowing his bite of food which had suddenly become a difficult task. He wasn’t surprised. Not really. It would be much more shocking for a woman like Emma not to have someone in her life. The only part he couldn’t figure out was where the hell the guy was hiding. He’d been there for nearly three weeks and hadn’t seen him once. Kicking himself for asking but unable to stop the words falling from his mouth, he muttered, “How long?”

With a resigned sigh, Elsa said, “About a year I guess.”

“That’s not dating. It’s a relationship,” Robin pointed out. “What’s the matter with him?”

Once again, Liam was mouthing insults about the man behind Elsa’s back. She turned around and swatted at him with her napkin. “Honestly, what kind of example are you setting for the kids?”

“They don’t know what I’m saying,” he responded, face shining with innocence. “He’s just…I don’t know. He’s the kind of guy you never notice and never miss but he still annoys the cra—crayons out of you.”

“Really, Liam? Crayons?” Giggling, Elsa started collecting plates and stacking them in the sink. “Besides, you don’t have to like him. You’re not the one dating him. He’s good to Emma.”

“There is more to love than being good to someone, sweetheart. You can’t tell me you’re a fan.”

“I’m not not a fan. He’s a little vanilla for my taste,” she answered slowly. With a teasing grin at Killian, she added, “But she’s definitely dated worse.” 

“Hey, that’s my little brother you’re insulting,” Liam retorted defensively. Turning to plead his case with the other men, he said, “Now you both have to come to the party so you can see for yourselves.”

Chapter Text

“I ain’t frontin’ my intention

Got your man outlined in chalk”

-Sit Next to Me, Foster the People

Killian still wasn’t convinced he would be an acceptable addition to the party of the century, as the family referred to their garishly decorated outdoor celebration. The crisp air was bordering on cold that night but it didn’t bother the Jones girls as they joyfully strung rainbow colored balloons and streamers from the lower branches of the nearly bare maple trees growing in the space between the two properties. 

Unable to find a single reason for skipping out, other than the hard feelings and broken hearts of a decade ago, he resigned himself to setting up for the event while dreading the unavoidable moment he would have to meet the man Emma was dating. He wasn’t sure if the fact Liam disliked Walsh the Prat made it easier or harder to handle.

Henry arrived a few minutes early and made himself useful by helping Killian shift the picnic tables to the place Iris thought would be best. Robin and Roland had yet to join them after moving to Granny’s Bed ‘n Breakfast for the remainder of their indeterminate stay in Storybrooke. 

He wasn’t sure why his friend decided to stick around, other than the real possibility he was in exactly the same boat as Killian. Namely, he had more time than funds and Storybrooke was nothing if not affordable. Robin’s family had been drowning in debt for as long as he had known the man, getting by on their family name and occasional influx of cash from distant relations. A great aunt sponsored his time at the exclusive boarding school where they met and it was his late wife’s inheritance that kept their estate off the chopping block. However, it was a money pit. Every time Robin got ahead, something would break or taxes were due or rights to land needed to be defended in court. 

Killian asked him once why he didn’t sell the place and be done with it. Now, having walked out of his family home for the last time, he thought he better understood what tied his friend to his ancestral land. But it didn’t keep him from noticing the signs of weariness clinging to Robin. He was as jovial and good-natured as ever but there was a restlessness in his eyes that worried him.

Perhaps they both needed a reset.

Iris approached holding her little sister’s hand and an armful of bright yellow plastic tablecloths.  Examining their placement critically, she commented, “Maybe we need some glitter.”

Rolling his eyes, Henry took the tablecloths from her and started spreading them across the tables. “It’s going to be dark soon, what we need are flashlights. Why are we having it outside anyway?”

“It’s more magical outside.”

“It’s a birthday party, Iris, not a fairy tale.”

While he admired Henry’s straightforward manner and he wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment of keeping this festive rather than romantic, he saw the hurt flash across Iris’s face and realized she had taken the words as a criticism. Knowing her tough exterior hid a soft heart, after all this was the girl who lobbied her school administrator to put him on payroll, he felt the least he could do was praise her hard work. Putting aside his own angst over the evening to come, he complimented, “You’ve done a great job with the decorations, lass. I think I remember yellow being Emma’s favorite color.”

“Always nice to make an impression,” came a soft voice from behind him. Making her way over to the girls, Emma hugged Iris and Lily to her side and confirmed, “It’s still my favorite color. This may be the best birthday party yet.”

A grin spread across his face with absurd ease when she winked at him. He was joking when he said she was warming up to him but lately she was more at ease in his presence. He wished he could say the same for himself. While he craved her nearness, he couldn’t deny his tongue was tripped, body wracked with longing and guilt, and heart firmly on his sleeve more often than not when it happened. It was hardly a recipe for adult conversations and smooth interactions.

Watching as she walked back with the girls to Liam’s house, he could hear Lily telling her about the grilled cheese sandwiches they would have for dinner. He took advantage of the low light of dusk to appreciate the way her black jeans and red leather jacket accentuated her svelte figure. He was a fan of her combat boots of yesteryear, a fan of every part of her truthfully, but there was something about the knee-high boots she was wearing tonight that did funny things to his heart rate. 

He hoped he got her out of his system soon. For both their sakes. 

Within minutes, Liam had a portable grill fired up next to the tables and Elsa roped Aster into helping her set camping lanterns on the tables so they would be able to see the food when they ate. The piece de resistance of the party, the multi-layer, heavily sprinkled cake, was painstakingly carried through the yard by Robin, who looked completely calm even with the added pressure of keeping an eye on Roland as he chased the twins through the gathering shadows.

Killian was so busy discussing the most efficient arrangement of ingredients with Liam and Robin he almost missed the dreaded arrival of the last guest. Despite the waning sunlight, he was able to take the measure of the man quickly. Walsh appeared to be a couple of inches taller than him although his guy-next-door persona made him easy to overlook. His floppy brown hair gave the impression of a man much younger than his actual age, which was probably mid-thirties. He had a ready smile for everyone but no one other than Emma and Robin showed much eagerness to greet him. With the lean frame of a marathon runner, he was dressed as though he was headed to work and not to a casual party with friends. 

He didn’t miss the way Emma smiled openly at her boyfriend but ducked out of his embrace before the man could greet her properly. The way her eyes cut over to him nervously made him wonder if it was out of deference to his presence at the party. Whatever the reason, he was grateful. 

Having been designated as Liam’s helper at the grill, which consisted mainly of buttering bread and handing over cheese slices, the next several minutes were filled with shouted orders and the normal chaos of having six children wound up over the prospect of dessert. The fact he was now familiar with and ready for said chaos showed he was evolving.

Since his duties as sous-chef didn’t require half a brain, much less the entirety of his attention, his mind was free to ponder the change in atmosphere accompanying Walsh’s entrance. The children took no notice, even Henry went about his business after politely greeting the man. It was hard to say for certain with his guarded reaction, but Killian guessed the boy was indifferent at best to his foster mom’s boyfriend.

Elsa and Robin joined Emma and Walsh at the farthest table while also keeping an eye on the kids. The golden light from the lanterns bathed their faces with flickering beams making their features come alive in the nighttime. The faint breeze died down but there was still a nip in the air that would probably become more noticeable the further he moved away from the grill. He knew if he was the one sitting next to Emma, he would have already folded her into his side and wrapped her tightly in his arms. He began to seriously dislike Walsh for taking her for granted and not trying harder while also thanking his lucky stars he didn’t have to witness any affection between the two.

He could tell Elsa had already mentally checked out of the conversation, whatever it may be, but Robin was doing his best to keep it rolling. When their eyes met, Robin mouthed Prat and smiled.

Chuckling, Killian looked away before anyone noticed their silent communication.

—

“Then Jones throws back a swig of rum, tosses off all his clothes and streaks down the middle of the street,” Robin finished, hardly able to speak for laughter as everyone else at the table joined in. They had long since put the children to bed, full of cheese and cake and so tired they could hardly move even with the added excitement of an impromptu slumber party to end the night.

As Henry and Roland built a pillow fort in the living room, the girls were drowsily led up the stairs to fall into bed still in their party clothes. The adults cleaned and returned everything to its rightful place before bundling themselves in blankets and settling at the picnic table on the back porch to enjoy the brisk night. Also helping to fight off the chill and keep the party going were a couple bottles of wine. 

“What is it with you Jones men and running around in your birthday suits? Liam did something similar outside my aunt’s ice cream shop the summer we met. Needless to say, I agreed to go out with him shortly thereafter,” she explained archly. 

Killian shook his head at the idea of his stodgy older brother doing anything resembling what Elsa described. “A wager is a wager, lass, and I wouldn’t have lived it down if I backed out. But I can’t imagine what would have driven Liam to such extremes. He was always the sensible one.”

“I didn’t have a choice in the matter. One of my shipmates thought it would be funny to steal my clothes and I couldn’t be late getting back from shore leave. It was the dead of night so I did what needed to be done. Besides, it all worked out. The Jones charm never fails.”

Out of nowhere, Walsh decided to join the conversation in a most unwelcome way. “That’s where I know you from…it’s been bothering me all night.” 

Suppressing the urge to tell the prat what had been bothering him all night, Killian braced himself for what was coming. A hush fell over the group as the tension mounted. He felt a swell of sympathy at panicked expression on Emma’s face. The party was going so much better than he hoped for but all magic comes with a price.

“You’re the guy whose father swindled all his friends and took off with your fiancée,” the other man continued, completely oblivious to the fact that no one wanted him to. “Tough break.”

“Well, you know, I’ve had about a month to get over it. All water under the bridge,” Killian muttered into his wineglass. He should have known better than to think that would be the end of it. The man was already a thorn in his side so why wouldn’t he be a clueless ass as well.

“I can’t imagine going through something like that. I think I’d probably kill myself. It must have been so humiliating.”

“Walsh, c’mon—“ Emma interrupted, grabbing the man’s hand as if to physically stop the stream of words that kept coming.

“Mate, I think a change of subject is in order,” Liam said at the same time. His tone was friendly enough but Killian remembered it well from childhood so he knew Walsh was about one sentence away from getting the stuffing knocked out of him.

Finally realizing he was out of line, Walsh fell quiet. To make up for causing a kerfuffle, he offered with a sheepish expression, “If you need any help, I could give you a job at one of my shops.”

Somehow, the awkwardly offered charity was ten times worse than having his private life paraded on tabloid covers and cable news. This odious man extending him a pity job while Emma sat in shocked, embarrassed silence felt like rock bottom. Killian took his time finishing the last sip of his wine as the entire table did their best to avoid eye contact with either man.

It was Elsa who spoke, taking one for the team. “Would you look at the time? Emma, can you help me carry the wineglasses in?”

The ladies left without another word. Within minutes, Robin followed with the excuse of checking on Roland, dragging Liam with him to explain the security setup he installed in the house including the motion detectors, cameras, and intercom system controlled from an app he created. He could tell by the worried glance Liam flashed him on his way inside his brother feared the night may not end on a pleasant note. Perhaps not even without bloodshed.

Sighing, Killian had to admit the fears weren’t unfounded. In his younger days, his temper and recklessness were well documented. If he thought it would do any good, he would release all his pent up anger on the man who managed to mar the night beyond repair. Deep down he knew Walsh wasn’t worth further damaging his fledging friendship with Emma. 

And, heaven help him, he didn’t want his nieces to get a hint of the kind of man he used to be.

“Listen Killian, I’m really sorry. I’d blame the wine but I haven’t had a drink in two hours. The truth is Emma told me you two used to be close and I’m not sure what I was expecting but you weren’t it.”

Grimly, Killian wished they had left at least one of the bottles of alcohol. He may not want to punch the prat’s lights out anymore but he wasn’t quite ready for a heart-to-heart either. He certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of the night reassuring the other man his intentions were honorable or that he and Emma were only friends, barely even that truthfully.

Those may be the facts but if given the slightest encouragement, he would woo her away without a kernel of remorse. Once he had her in his arms again, he was never letting go. 

Instead, he said, “It’s fine.”

“Thanks for understanding, man. You’re a decent guy. My offer stands. If I can help in anyway, let me know. It’s the least I could do for one of Emma’s old friends.”

—

A grueling hour later, Killian was finally alone. He knew he should go to bed like everyone else but he was too busy replaying the lows of the last month to be able to rest. It had been a long time since he had a sleepless night but apparently Maine brought out the worst in him.

As if conjured by his sleep-deprived and slightly tipsy mind, Emma’s form took shape in the moonlight. Her hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders, skin milky in the low light of the last quarter moon. Not fifteen minutes ago, he watched from the same seat as she said goodbye to her boyfriend. Relief at the man not spending the night faded when he had a front row seat to their farewell kiss. 

She didn’t say a word as she climbed the stairs and took the chair next to him. His mind drifted back to the last time he was with her at two in the morning. He probed the memory like a sore tooth, flinching as he remembered how her skin felt under his wandering hands. The echo of her whispering his name tore through his entire body and left him feeling bruised.

“I’m ready to listen.”

Cocking his eyebrow, he stared at her in the darkness. Her gaze was fixed on some point in the distance, thoughts turned inward. “I’m at your service. What would you most like to hear?”

Her lips tilted into a small smile. “I could get used to this polite version of Killian Jones. You used to be much more difficult to handle.”

“You would know, love. No one ever handled me better,” he admitted softly. It was inky enough he couldn’t see the blush across her cheeks or her eye roll but he knew both happened regardless. Some things never change.

“Your apology. I’m ready to hear it. Before you start, you should know I forgave you a long time ago. It was harder than it should have been. But as painful as it was, it probably worked out for the best. We didn’t make sense and if you had shown up that night, it may have briefly prolonged the inevitable but we would have crashed and burned anyway. You saved us from wasted years and endless torment.”

Silently, Killian disagreed. He felt his desertion caused exactly those things. At least for his part. “Then perhaps instead of offering an apology, I should be accepting your thanks.”

“Hmm, there’s the Killian I remember.”

Uncomfortable he was trying to nettle her when he should be making things better, more so when she didn’t rise to the bait, he gave a self-depreciating chuckle. “Old habits die hard, I’m afraid, but you deserve the best version of me. You always have although I wasn’t always able to give it to you.”

“Your apologies are getting better.”

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started yet.” Taking a calming breath, he dove straight into the deep end. “I was an idiot. I let people get in my head and I—“

“Hey, I don’t know if I’m ready to rehash all the gory details. I’m not sure we need to really. It’s enough to know what we had, short-lived and jarring as it was, wasn’t a game to you. There was a time when I was convinced I was simply a pretty blonde distraction and you had a girl like me in every port.”

Solemnly he swore, “There have never been any girls like you, Emma. Of that I can assure you.”

“Good.” They fell into silence again but this time it was peaceful rather than unnerving. Minutes or hours later, she said, “I guess as long as we’re confessing things in the dead of night, I should admit I figured out pretty soon after I met Liam that he was your long lost brother.”

“Did you now? And you didn’t immediately run screaming from town?”

“I was here first,” she explained with a hint of the bravado he always found so appealing. “Besides, I figured since you hadn’t seen him in more than a decade at that point, there wasn’t much chance of us stumbling into each other. Little did I know…”

“Would it have changed anything if you knew we would eventually? Stumble into each other, I mean. Although I think it was more you running into me like a freight train. I’m fairly confident I will have the scars to prove it.”

He sensed her cringing next to him and would have regretted his teasing if not for the snicker that followed. “I’m not going to lie. Cracking your skull did provide a level of satisfaction I didn’t anticipate ever getting. To answer your question, I’m not sure. Sitting here with you now, I feel like this was bound to happen. Maybe we should have gotten it out of the way sooner and moved on with our lives.”

Not wanting to upset the fragile peace between them, Killian bit his tongue to keep from contradicting her. Moving on was even less of an option now than it had been an hour ago. Everything about this woman drew him in and he had no intention of walking away. Not again. 

He wouldn’t trouble her with his attentions, he was under no illusions her olive branch was an open invitation to renew his addresses. However, he was in this for the long haul. He could wait for her. His foolishness in the past and his timeless feelings for her were clear to him, so he knew he would always wait for her. If he were the self-reflective type, he may have realized some rebel corner of his soul had been waiting for her since the night they parted.

With the chance to avow undying love off the table, he felt he should steer their hushed discussion in a safer direction. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“It’s not my birthday anymore.”

“I guess that means I will have to hold on to your present for another year.”

Even in the dark of night, he could see her head whip around at his statement. “You got me a present?” 

He wasn’t sure if her shock was at him actually having something to give her or if it came from everyone being under the impression he didn’t have a cent to his name. He couldn’t blame them, he complained about it frequently enough. It was a mark of how entitled he was that his definition of penniless didn’t have the literal meaning most people associated with the state. “Yes. Liam gives me an allowance if I do all my chores. Lucky for you, I decided to break open the piggy bank and get you a tiny token to mark the occasion.”

“Well, were is it then?”

“So impatient. I’m afraid I may have built it up too much.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to you disappointing me.”

“Ouch. It’s bad form to hit a man below the belt when he’s laid himself bare for you. I’m not sure you deserve it now,” he joked as he reached into one of the pockets of his jacket and pulled out a small package. The shiny wrapping paper was muted without any light to reflect. He was surprised at how eagerly she took the gift from him. His delight at her enthusiasm didn’t keep him from noticing how his hand tingled where their fingers brushed during the exchange. He wished he had thought to turn on the porch light so he could see her expression when she opened it. It was a calculated risk when he bought it but considering the reconciliation they were working towards, he felt like it would be received in the spirit it was intended.

The sound of paper being torn and discarded filled the otherwise quiet night. With a laugh, Emma admitted, “I can’t see it.”

He heard her shuffle her position and shortly thereafter, the torch on her phone illuminated her lap. 

“It’s my Bug,” she whispered. “I loved that car.”

“Aye, I have quite a few fond memories of it as well. Some of the best times of my life occurred in that piece of junk.” Even with the added light from her cell, he was surprised when he felt her slap his arm. “What? It’s the truth. That car was a legend. What happened to it?”

“I totaled it a few years ago.” He saw her caress the painted metal of the keychain. It caught his attention when he was buying the twins some candy at the Five and Dime. Seeing her pleasure at the simple offering, he was glad he had given in to the impulse to buy it for her.

“Thank you, really. This is… it’s perfect.”

He felt his face warm under her praise and he knew he wasn’t imagining the way the dim light reflected in the unshed tears in her eyes. “No thanks necessary.”

“You’re different, Killian.”

With a shaky exhale, he grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I’m trying to be.”

“That’s all anyone can do,” she observed as she squeezed his back. “And with that, I should be getting to bed. I’ll see you at breakfast I’m sure.”

“Right. Good night, Emma.” It was at this point the old Killian would have pressed his advantage and tried to extend her obvious gratitude into something more. Instead, his gaze followed her path as she left him. Unable to let her go just yet, he called out, “Oh, there is one more thing.”

Turning back to face him, she asked with a smile in her voice, “What’s that?”

“What the devil is a sock hop?”

Chapter Text

“Open the window,

Let some air in”

-Left Behind, Aqualung

Killian didn’t spend his days in Storybrooke mourning the loss of his massive closet and all its wonderful contents. At least not in the last week. That’s not to say he didn’t devote quite some time this particular morning to bemoaning the limited choices presented to him by two suitcases and a duffel bag. 

It wasn’t as though he could raid his brother’s closet either. The man dressed like he was on a safari half the time. A sense of the outdoors was hardly the image he wanted to project at his first business meeting as a full-fledged partner of Jones Technology Consulting. 

The fact he had practically been goaded into accepting the position by Walsh, who in his mind was demoted from prat to wanker, was something neither of the Jones brothers spoke about. If his options for employment in this corner of the world consisted of being the public face for Liam’s company or a salesman for his mortal enemy, his brother was going to win every single time.

All in all, Killian would prefer raking leaves and being paid in loose change for the rest of his natural life over hocking designer furniture knockoffs for the simian boyfriend from hell. 

Luckily, the man didn’t come around often. He learned from Elsa that Walsh recently expanded his chain, Wizard of Oak, and it kept him on the road three weeks out of every month. While Killian couldn’t fathom picking a trip to Nowhere, New Hampshire over a night in Emma’s arms, he was grateful the other man hadn’t sorted out his priorities. With stores in every medium-sized city in the northeast and a home in Portland, he wasn’t likely to see him again until Thanksgiving. 

Finally, something was going his way.

Shrugging into the jacket of his blue suit, he surveyed himself in the vanity and was surprised to see his reflection smiling back at him. Perhaps it was the cheery rainbow stickers adorning the mirror or the fact the Maine air seemed to agree with his complexion but he thought he actually looked happier than he had in a long time. 

Also, blue was a good color on him. He wondered why he didn’t wear it more often.

Grabbing a tie, he carelessly knotted it as he galloped down the stairs to meet Liam in his home office for a pre-meeting discussion. It was probably good his brother was going to fill him in on what exactly he did for a living since he hadn’t bothered to learn the nuts and bolts of the company before accepting his offer. 

“Will I do?”

“Granny Lucas will undoubtably be in good hands,” Liam answered as he kicked out a chair so Killian could join him at the large surface serving as both a desk and conference table. He tossed a small folder at him and started brewing two cups of tea with the help of a small electric kettle he powered via a USB cord hooked up to his laptop. 

You could take a geek out of Great Britain, he supposed, but you couldn’t take the British out of the geek.

Paging through the packet of information, Killian saw mock-ups of a website, the basic outline of a project budget, and a contract page complete with a proposed timeline. Absorbing what he could, he was relieved it wasn’t filled with technical jargon and lines of code. He was learning after their long separation you could never really be sure with Liam.

Returning with their drinks, his brother asked, “Any questions?”

“Only one. What if she wants to modify the plan or go in a completely different direction from what you’ve proposed?”

“Then take notes.”

“That’s it? You aren’t afraid I could overcommit and back us into a corner where we may not be able to follow through?”

“Killian, this is Granny Lucas we’re talking about. Her granddaughter has to program numbers into her cell phone for her. All she wants is a buildout of a website for the diner capable of handling online orders. Unless she expects us to provide robots on hoverboards to complete the deliveries, I think I can handle whatever she throws at you.”

Amused despite his nerves, he sniped, “Fine, smartass. I’m trying to take something seriously for once and this is the thanks I get. Maybe I’ll add the hoverboards on for free just to spite you.”

—

As it turned out, his anxiety was for naught. Granny, as she insisted on being called, informed him before he could start his pitch that he reminded her of her childhood sweetheart. She then used most of their allotted time regaling him with stories of the trouble the two used to get in before he was deployed and they lost touch. 

With only ten minutes left, Killian did his best to steer her toward some of the high level details they needed to go over but she simply patted his hand and said, “I trust you. Where do I sign?”

Unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face, he teased, “Darling, that is a good way to lose everything. Believe me, I would know.”

Indulging him, they spent the next few minutes going through the contract. Her only request was to have sound effects when someone added something to their cart, explaining it was her favorite part of shopping online. Putting a note on the bottom of the paperwork, with very little fuss he sealed his first deal. 

Before he could leave, she shoved a plastic-coated menu under his nose. “What do you think of that?”

“Think of it?”

“Yes, you’re one of those big city types. Do you think it looks quaint or tacky?”

With a quizzical look he scrutinized the menu, the columns of plain black font printed on the front and back occasionally broken by a hand-drawn picture of a highlighted item. “Do you get many big city types here?”

“Not really.”

“Then I would say if you like it, keep it. No use trying to appease a market that doesn’t exist.” It was a little quirky but it got the job done. Continuing to review it, he added, “But you should consider raising your prices by at least fifteen percent.”

“My customers would never step through the door again if I did.” 

“No offense to this charming town, but where else would they go?” He watched her tilt her head to the side in thought, gratified she was actually mulling over his suggestion. “I’m not sure the last time you evaluated your margin on these but I guarantee you could make a tidy profit without robbing your clientele blind. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a nest egg set aside for a vacation or perhaps early retirement?”

“I’m about a decade too late for an early retirement. Can you add that to the contract too? The profit margin review?”

“I’d be happy to do it off the books if you agree to have lunch with me,” he offered with a wink. “I want to hear more about that cad I remind you of…”

Flustered and smiling, Granny took his arm as they left her small office and exited to the dining area. She settled him at a table with a view of Main Street and then headed back to the kitchen to order their lunch. 

He had never understood people who enjoyed working. He understood the need for it, of course. Not everyone had trust funds and deep pockets. In the circles he ran with, he would occasionally come across a person who was passionate about doing something with their time. They were usually the do-gooder charity types who earnestly appealed to his better nature to be a sponsor of this event or a guest at that one. If he was bored or going through a run of particularly unflattering press, he would sign on as long as it didn’t inconvenience him in any way.

Sitting in a retro diner in a tiny town and watching the none existent traffic pass by, he thought he got it now. There was something energizing about achieving a goal. He was far from being an unsung hero. However, he felt a stirring of pride at using his knowledge to provide assistance to someone. 

“You look respectable today,” Emma said from behind him, dragging him from his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how she always managed to sneak up on him when he felt as though he was hyperaware of her. 

“Damn. I was going for dashing rapscallion.” She looked gorgeous in her ubiquitous skinny jeans and jacket but he saw dark circles under her eyes like she had a restless night. He wondered if he could invite her to join them without offending Granny. Before he could ask she rolled her eyes and started to move toward the counter to place an order. 

His body moved of its own accord, trailing after her like it was attached by an invisible string. Settling on the stool next to hers, he said, “How about scoundrel then?”

”Ah yes, now I remember reading scoundrel was the new business formal and blue is the new black.” 

Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from admitting he thought she was adorable, he asked, “How goes enforcing the law today?”

She seemed surprised he had any interest in her work. He wasn’t sure why. He was enthralled with every detail of her life and couldn’t imagine she hadn’t picked up on his interest. She had always been able to read him like a book.

When he first heard she was the sheriff, he couldn’t say it was a shock. She was made of stern stuff, unwilling to back down from a fight and with a soft spot for the underdog. It only made sense she would pursue a career in line with her natural talents and spunk. The not insignificant amount of time he devoted to fantasizing about the trouble they could get into with the handcuffs she surely had at her disposal proved that while he was on the road to becoming a better man, he still had quite a ways to go.

With a groan, she relaxed against the back of the stool. “It’s already been a long day and it’s only ten o’clock.”

“Really? I must not be hanging with the right crowd. Storybrooke hardly seems like a hotbed of criminal activity.”

“It’s not. But we have our drunk and disorderlys like any other place. Almost always Leroy. I had to pick him up at the Rabbit Hole in the middle of the night, which means I had to drop Henry off at Regina’s house. Honestly, I locked Leroy up for his own protection. I’m pretty sure Regina would kill him given half a chance. She doesn’t like missing out on her beauty sleep, even for Henry.”

Unless there were two Reginas in town, he assumed she was talking about Principal Mills. “I didn’t realize she was at all associated with your lad.”

“She’s not really. But it’s difficult for a single woman in a dangerous line of work to be approved as a foster parent. Regina and her husband Daniel, who was the mayor until he passed away a couple of years ago, pulled some strings to get me through the approval process. She helps out from time to time when duty calls.”

“There’s no need to drag Henry out of bed. Come get me next time. I’ll watch him until you are done saving the world.”

“I wouldn’t want to disturb you. Leroy goes on a tear at least once a month.”

“If I minded I wouldn’t have offered, you of all people know I’m selfish to the core,” he told her, enjoying the way her skin went faintly pink under his gaze. Her eyes flickered over his face like she was trying to figure out if he truly meant it or not. It was times like these he struggled the most. When she was vulnerable and unsure and seeking reassurance. She was so strong that seeing the tiny fissures breaking through the surface when she let her guard down undid him completely.

Back when they were first together, her walls were nearly unscalable. She was interested from the beginning, they both knew it, but wary of his open admiration. She never rebuffed his advances completely but danced just out of his reach so often it became a running joke with his friends. Bets were placed, insults were traded, teasing had ensued. Still, he was undeterred from his pursuit. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and, as he learned over the course of their summer together, she was also the bravest. 

One tiny revelation at a time, he gathered the nuggets she let slip and realized his lovely Swan, his darling Emma, was a force of nature. A product of an imperfect foster system, abandoned by everyone, she thrived nonetheless. Working multiple jobs to afford her independence and education, he marveled at her and was ashamed he did so little and had so much. 

He learned quickly, however, she had absolutely zero interest in being his kept woman. Not that he had been so vulgar as to suggest such an arrangement or to think of her that way. Dates were always Dutch, expensive presents immediately rejected, and any attempt to help with expenses dismissed outright. It frustrated him at the time. Made him so mad he could barely see straight when he watched her work her fingers to the bone knowing he could have made her life so much easier if she would only let him. 

Perhaps for the first time he understood her as well. He thought he did before but while he had admired and loved her, he hadn’t really known what it was like to have to stand on your own two feet. For a person who was forced to do it since birth, how could someone who was coddled and catered to possibly relate?

“What’s the matter?”

Her question made him surface from his epiphany and it was like he was seeing her with new eyes. He cleared his throat and scratched behind his ear. “What do you mean?”

“You get lines between your eyebrows when you’re upset. What’s on your mind?” Her finger reached up to trace the telltale lines. Then, as it dawned on her what she was about to do, her hand dropped heavily to the counter.

“Oh, nothing. I only just realized you were always too good for me.”

Since they were reunited, it was her normal reaction to shake her head in disbelief at his heartfelt revelations. This time was no different. Taking his confession as a joke, she retorted, “Took you that long to figure it out?” 

“Aye. Luckily what I lack in intelligence, I make up for by being devilishly handsome.” He wagged his eyebrows at her, hoping to get another grin before she left to go about her business. Making her smile was his main goal in life now and he was getting better at it every day. 

“Sure, tiger. Keep telling yourself that.”

The warm scent of hot cocoa with cinnamon drifted to them seconds before her order arrived. It was one that never failed to pull him into the past. The unrealized promise of their last day together and the white hot anger and despair of the last time he saw her all swirled together in a memory cocktail sure to leave him hungover with regret.

“Are you trying to steal my lunch date, Sheriff?” The older woman stared at the pair of them with a knowing smirk as she delivered Emma’s signature drink. Her gaze no doubt took in Emma’s flushed cheeks and his own inability to look at anyone else when the blonde woman was around.

“No way, Granny. A man would be crazy to give up time with you. I’ll simply take my drink and go. Try to behave yourselves. I’m hoping to sneak in a nap at the station and receiving a call to report public indecency would ruin it.”

—

Truth be told, despite his predilection for daytime television, Killian managed to avoid any glimpse of news since he arrived in Maine. Between his phone being off and the cocoon he built around himself, he wasn’t sure if the media fervor over his father had died down or if the disappearance of all members of the Jones clan had merely whet the appetite of an industry built for sensation.

While the disconnect helped him stabilize over the last month, it occurred to him he should probably follow up with the pricey advisors on the auction of nearly all his earthly possessions slated to occur at the end of November. The fact he didn’t feel like he needed to pop a couple of antacids or down half a bottle of rum to make it through the call was a testament to how much better he was doing.

After delivering the contract for Granny’s website to Liam and debriefing over how the meeting went, he decided he had enough time to get changed and call Marco before he picked up the girls and Henry from school. While the old Killian would have insisted on grabbing Robin for a celebratory drink after his first day of honest work, he thought inviting his friend and Roland to join them all for ice cream would be a better use of his time. 

Besides, he needed to soften him up before he asked him to chaperone the elementary school dance that weekend. Elsa and Liam laughed in his face when he begged them to help and he didn’t quite have the nerve to broach the topic with Emma, who was the only other person he knew in town.

Pulling on his jacket, he grabbed his cell phone and with a steadying breath flipped it on for the first time since the scandal broke. It was no surprise his voice and email boxes were full. Deciding to tackle those later, if at all, he opened his messages and his eyes were immediately drawn to her name. 

He wasn’t sure what he expected from the woman who left him without warning for his own father but over a hundred texts which became increasingly irate the longer she was ignored should have surprised him more than it did. She had always been a drama queen. 

When they met two years ago at a house party in LA, he had no idea she would come to dominate so much of his life. She had the kind of presence that made people catch their breath when they passed her on the street and a wild streak outrageous enough to distract from the shallowness of her character. 

Never having to worry about pleasing anyone but herself, being the only child of a dynasty rivaling the Jones family, she set her sights on him from the beginning. Perhaps it was inevitable they would find themselves thrown together or maybe she orchestrated it, he would probably never know for sure. All that was certain was the more they bumped into each other the more speculation circulated until one day, without him realizing when or how it happened, they were a couple. 

For the only time in his life, his father approved of him and he was too much of a coward to admit he had stumbled into a relationship rather than deciding to have one. He soon found out, and even admitted it to himself in the quiet moments where he couldn’t drown out his conscience, falling into a relationship was not the same as falling in love. Truly, it was nowhere close and he began to dread every interaction, every moment in her company, even the very sight of her. 

He ached with the knowledge it wasn’t supposed to be so draining. He knew how love felt, had nearly burned alive with it when he met Emma. It was pleasure and pain in equal parts. Gut-wrenching, soul-lifting, beautiful and terrifying. The feelings had been so immense and new he had been tempted to try to outrun them until he realized the only thing worse than feeling that way would be to not feel that way.

It didn’t leave him empty. He had been full to overflowing.

So he knew whatever he had with She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—a vague attraction twisted around a family obligation if he had to define it—was not love. As was so often the case though, he allowed himself to be carried along on a tide of other people’s expectations. Then with an all too familiar hollowness, he felt it had gone on too long to cut ties. She wasn’t what he wanted but it seemed cruel to end it after all that time and he accepted deep down he didn’t truly deserve what he wanted anyway.

In his kinder moments, he thought maybe she sensed his growing disinterest and thinly veiled annoyance and decided to seek comfort with someone else. Then he remembered she was probably carrying on with his father long before their public getaway and decided they deserved one another. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

The journey between the house and the schoolyard went unnoticed as he continued to stare at the messages, trapped by the bitterness of the past. Incredulity at the nerve of the woman and how quickly she escalated from contrived reassurances to outraged accusations mixed with anger at himself for continuing to scroll through the vitriol.  

That saying about train wrecks was true. It really was hard to look away.

Having only made it through about half of the texts, he forced himself to turn off his phone and put it away. Despite the temporary satisfaction he would get from purging his inner demons with a few well-earned messages of his own, another epiphany washed over him as he watched his nieces and Henry race to meet him under the massive oak tree they favored as a meeting place.

It may not be how he envisioned it happening, but he got exactly what he needed. He was free of her. Free of a life that was killing him by inches. Free to be part of a family that didn’t hinge their love on blind obedience and perfect appearances.

Marco could wait. The real world would find him soon enough. For now, he was going to have ice cream with some of his favorite people in the world and celebrate a job well done.

Chapter Text

“I see trouble on the way”

-Bad Moon Rising, Creedence Clearwater Revival

“Wear your leather jacket, Uncle Killian.”

“Aster, darling, I love that you take such an eager, albeit unvaried, interest in my wardrobe but I thought I would try to look a bit more serious and responsible tonight. This is my first community event and I want to represent the family well.”

“It’s an elementary school dance, Killian. You could probably wear your pajamas and fit in perfectly fine with the other chaperones. They’re going to be sleep-deprived parents who couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough to get out of it,” Liam commented absentmindedly as he attempted to pull Aster’s uncooperative hair into a high ponytail. Under his breath, he added, “How the devil does your mother get it to stay put?”

“You have to stick the pins in, Dad,” Aster explained patiently as if she were talking to one of the twins instead of the man who helped bring her into the world. “Mom can do it when she gets home.”

“No, I’ve got this.” It was clear to both Killian and Aster he didn’t have it but neither wanted to be the one to break the bad news. Instead they watched in fascinated silence as Liam continued to wrap the holder over and over again until finally he stretched it too far causing it to snap without warning and fly to the other side of the room. 

Never had Killian felt more in tune with an inanimate object.

“Well…perhaps a braid. I’m better at those, it’s just like tying rope.”

Somehow he felt like he should intercede before Aster’s hair ended up looking like a monkey fist knot. “Move over, Liam. Let me try before you rip it all out.” 

Ignoring the grumbling sounds his brother made as he vacated the space directly behind his daughter, he met Aster’s gaze in the mirror and grinned at the nervous way she eyed him. While she was usually the curious one of the garden, full of ideas and questions and eager to try new things, her face was pulled into a serious expression much too glum for a first grader about to attend a dance full of her friends. Trying to distract her as he studied her mess of hair with something akin to anxiety, he asked, “Why do you have a dog on your skirt?”

“Because that’s what you wear to a sock hop. Haven’t you seen any movies?”

“I’ve seen some in my day but never one with dog skirts,” he retorted playfully. Having decided showing fear would only make the situation worse, he pulled her hair back in two fistfuls and started taming it into one semi-smooth ponytail. While he would never admit it, it was harder than it looked. Like a doctor in surgery, he carefully anchored the hair with one hand and extended the palm of his other out before demanding, “Band.”

Liam looked on critically but didn’t hesitate to provide the needed equipment for this dicey operation. The room was so quiet you could have heard one of the dozens of Bobby pins currently waiting in reserve drop. He carefully twisted the band in place while moving the mass further up Aster’s head. When he reached the appropriate height, she gave a little nod of satisfaction. Unfortunately, the motion nearly killed the entire thing. They both froze and Killian spoke softly as if the vibration of the words in the air would bring failure. “Pins. Quick.”

Liam was a man used to performing under pressure and it showed. Before he could even finish asking, the pins were in his hand. As if diffusing a bomb, the Jones brothers moved with exaggerated care to place six pins through the band and then carefully back away with bated breath. When the coiffure didn’t immediately collapse, Killian shared a triumphant smile with his brother.

Aster seemed less impressed. “There are bumps.”

“Then it looks like we’re here just in time,” Elsa announced from the doorway, her expression so amused it made him wonder how long she had been there. And she was not alone, standing next to her was Emma.

Only not Emma as he had ever seen her before. She had always been a bold woman and it typically translated into her clothing as well. Her palette veered more toward black and white with dramatic pops of red. Fabrics tended to be denim, wool, and leather. Her no-nonsense, forget the frills approach only enhanced her natural beauty. 

However, that’s not to say he couldn’t appreciate a different aesthetic if she wanted to change things up a bit.

Now she stood before him a vision in a pale pink dress falling around her curves like it had been made only for her. The strappy sandals added a couple of inches to her height, an impractical choice for the cold evening but one he appreciated when he realized they nearly stood eye to eye. Her ponytail, complete with a gentle poof at the top, made him realize why Aster was so disappointed with hers. For the first time in his life, he was speechless.

“Emma, you look…”

“I know,” she teased, her eyes dancing with laughter. Moving to stand next to him, she smiled at Aster. “Not bad for a first attempt but I think your dad and uncle should keep Henry company downstairs while we work our magic.”

Unwilling to leave her side, though it occurred to him he was still in his pajamas from an afternoon lounging on the sofa and learning all about paternity tests from his favorite show, he frantically searched for a reason to stay. “But how will I learn if I don’t practice?”

“I guess you will have to rely on your other charms to impress the girls because we don’t have time for a lesson,” she replied, carefully pulling out pins in an effort not to hurt his niece. “Chaperones have to be there early so we only have a few minutes.”

“We? Are you volunteering too?” Suddenly he realized there were benefits to selflessness. Or at least perks to being cowed by authority in the form of one bloodcurdling school administrator.

Meeting his gaze in the mirror, she explained, “Henry said everyone else turned you down. I can only be there for the first half but I thought I owed you one for the birthday present.”

“Emma, it was a gift. No need to repay me.”

“Fine, you’re right. Let’s just say you’re trying so I’m going to try too.”

Liam cleared his throat and it broke them out of their conversation. He became aware they were being observed by three interested Joneses. Aster was beaming with happiness, a distinct change from the serious expression of a moment ago. Liam and Elsa were harder to figure out but he was sure he would face an inquisition later from that quarter.

“Right. Guess I better get ready,” he said awkwardly, still loath to leave but unable to stand the scrutiny one second longer. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Sure.” She turned away with a small grin but before he could make it out of the door she added, “And Aster is right. You should definitely wear the leather jacket.”

—

It appeared as though Emma was the pied piper of chaperones. While his brother and sister-in-law had turned him down flat, once they learned Emma signed on, all of the sudden he had an entourage of adults to help him man the entrances to the sock hop. With a quick phone call to a teenager who lived down the street, the twins were happily settled for the night and they joined the group with wide smiles.

He’d like to think it was because they reconsidered and realized they wouldn’t only be helping him out but also the community by supporting their daughters’ school fundraiser. The truth was they probably changed their minds because they wanted to see him make a fool of himself over Emma. 

He couldn’t even blame them really. He knew the lovesick image he presented, his eyes following her around the room as she talked with children and adults alike. Perhaps this would be his penance for breaking her heart, to be stuck on the sidelines of her life, a spectator who could only cheer her successes from a distance and wince at her setbacks without being the shoulder she wanted to lean on.

It seemed a fitting punishment.

The dance was well underway. The school gymnasium decorated with black and orange streamers and cutouts of jack o’lanterns and friendly black cats pasted to every flat surface less than five feet tall. The disco ball hanging from the scoreboard provided a swirling kaleidoscope of lights that bounced across the empty floor. 

“I didn’t realize sock hop was a literal reference to lack of footwear. Furthermore, I thought there would be more dancing,” he murmured to Elsa. Having never been to a school dance, although he had been to his fair share of parties since his own school days, he was nevertheless under the impression there would be movement of some kind.

“They’re children, Killian. I’m pretty sure most of them still think they can catch cooties from each other,” she replied, sipping on the fruit punch Mrs. Nolan was handing out at the refreshment table. 

Since he wasn’t entirely sure what his duties as chaperone entailed, he stayed off to the side with his family observing the scene with morbid fascination. There were a fair number of children there, mostly from the younger grades although Henry was playing rock-paper-scissors with a few boys from his class in one of the far corners of the room. He didn’t think it was arrogant to acknowledge his nieces were not only the cutest kids there but also the best dressed. Their pink dog skirts—poodle skirts as Iris had corrected him on the walk over—and matching hair ribbons making them easy to pick out in the crowd. 

He didn’t miss the way Aster was surrounded by friends the second they walked in or how Iris settled against a wall and wore an expression of resigned boredom. He was about to go keep her company when Principal Mills and Emma joined them.

“No one is dancing, Mr. Jones,” the principal told him critically.

“I noticed.”

“What do you intend to do about it?”

He assumed by her tone that ‘nothing’ was an unacceptable response. Honestly, the woman was terrifying. He needed to figure out a way to counterbalance the murderous rage she had in droves for his own safety. Moved by some devil he didn’t understand, he offered, “I suppose I could ask you to dance to start things off. I believe you are a big fan of leading by example, are you not?”

Satisfied at the shocked look on her face, he tried not to be impressed at how quickly she recovered her wits. “I’m a bigger fan of not having my toes smashed. Find a partner and get these kids on the dance floor.”

She walked away without another word. He was relieved she took a position next to Mrs. Nolan on the other side of the room. He was going to have to do something about her. She might be getting too used to ordering him around. With a sigh, he turned to Liam and half-jokingly asked, “Brother, may I have this dance?”

“Bugger off, Killian.”

Winking at Elsa, he smiled at his brother’s discomfort. Liam was born a wallflower. Truly, he had an almost pathological fear of dancing when they were younger. Given his reaction now, he guessed that hadn’t changed. With a roll of his eyes, he turned to Emma. He knew he didn’t stand a chance but carried on anyway. “Swan, I’ve been shot down twice already. Please say you’ll join me on the dance floor so I will survive the wrath of Principal Mills. I would hate to think of her going home tonight and putting some kind of hex on me.”

Unsuccessfully trying to smother a laugh, Emma placed her hand in his outstretched one and said, “What the hell. I’m going to have to leave in a minute anyway.”

Delighted at her acceptance, he led her to the front of the room. Some travesty of a pop song played through speakers that had seen better days but when he pulled her into his arms, none of that mattered. It was like they were transported back in time to a night ten years ago when they danced until the wee small hours of the morning. The way she felt in his embrace was exactly the same, perhaps even slightly better because he was mature enough to know what a gift it was to have the opportunity to do this again. “Where are you scampering off to after your shift?”

“Oh, um, I have a date with Walsh. It’s our one year anniversary.”

It was all he could do not to falter in his steps. His jaw clenched tightly and he searched his mind for something to say. Realizing there weren’t any words to accurately convey his emotions at the moment, and even if he was fortunate enough to find them he had no right to say them, he settled for twirling her expertly and was rewarded with a smattering of applause from Aster and her friends. “Do you need me to watch Henry tonight?”

“No, thank you. Walsh said we’d have to make it an early one because he has a meeting tomorrow morning. I’ll be home before the dance is over.”

Their eyes met then and held. The flickering light of the disco ball illuminated her face and made her dress glow white. He wondered what kind of relationship Walsh the Wanker was playing at. An anniversary celebration finished by 9:30 didn’t seem like the stuff futures were built on, not that he should complain. He simply felt like she deserved better and even if he couldn’t be the one to give it her, he still wanted her to have it. “Are you happy, Emma?”

Stopping in her tracks, she blinked uncomprehendingly and ended their extended gaze. “What? Why are you asking me that?”

Glancing around to see if anyone noticed their pause, he gathered her in his arms more tightly and started to move her around the dance floor again. In the back of his mind, he registered several dozen children were dancing now, if you wanted to call the jumping and random body contortions dancing, separated into boy and girl groups here and there. Laughing at himself, he confessed, “I’m not sure but I want to know all the same.”

“Let’s just dance,” she begged, her eyes firmly shut and her hand resting softly on his shoulder. 

“As you wish.”

The song came to an end and was replaced by a slower ballad while they were talking. Knowing he upset her somehow, he frantically tried to think of a way to mend what he had broken before their time together was over. Not caring about tempo or rhythm, he twirled her again, much to the delight of the gaggle of girls who had drifted closer to them, and dipped her playfully. Winking at her, he explained, “Have to give them something to aspire to in their old age.”

She was grinning up at him but there was sadness in her eyes. Neither one noticed the man approach until his shadow fell over Emma’s face. Within seconds, he tapped Killian on the shoulder and asked, “May I cut in?”

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he righted Emma and used every ounce of his strength to step away. Although his words were directed at Walsh, his heated stare never left her face. “Of course. I need to get back to work anyway. Have a lovely evening.”

Walking away when every fiber of his being wanted to wrap her in his arms and continue dancing, he rejoined Liam and Elsa. Most of the kids had joined in the fun now so he trusted Principal Mills would leave him the hell alone for the rest of the night. 

“I thought your father forbid you both from dancing,” Elsa remarked when it was clear he had no intention of talking about what happened. She was studying his face to see if he was okay. He appreciated the concern but could have done without the careful examination when he thought his jaw might break from tension. 

“You were misinformed. Liam was the only one subject to that decree.”

“Why?”

“Because it brought shame on the family, made dogs whine and angels weep,” he joked. “He’s an awful dancer. Let me know if your disappointment is too much to bear. I’ll happily run away with you.”

“I’m standing right here,” Liam said gruffly, watching Walsh awkwardly sway with Emma in some inexperienced version of a waltz. 

Surely the man must have one redeeming quality buried deep within him. Someone as special as Emma wouldn’t suffer fools and yet Killian couldn’t fathom what Walsh brought to the table. Well, other than an actual end table of which Emma seemed particularly fond.

“Oh.”

Elsa’s quiet exclamation caught his attention and he followed the direction of her gaze back out to the dance floor. There, in the middle of an elementary school gymnasium, Walsh was down on one knee. They were much too far away and the horrible sound system blaring too loudly to know what was being said but the singular position and the massive rock glittering in the dizzying light told the story just as well.

“Bad form,” Liam commented. 

“He might as well have peed on her leg,” Elsa agreed heatedly. “It’s like he doesn’t know her at all.”

Killian barely heard them over the thundering of blood in his ears. His vision telescoped on the pair as if there was a spotlight pointed directly at them. Walsh’s smile began to falter as the seconds stretched out without an answer to one of the most important questions a man will ask in his lifetime. Luckily, the students seemed oblivious to what was happening in front of them having finally gotten in the spirit of the dance. 

It was Emma’s expression he couldn’t decipher. She had yet to say anything, of that much he was certain due to Walsh’s growing distress. He watched as she stepped back. Then turned and rushed out of the gym. Within seconds, Walsh was up and following her.

He made to move as well, his own body tense with he need to get to her but Liam reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Steady on, little brother. She doesn’t need your help making this decision.”

His mouth set in a grim line, he turned to see them both watching him with something like pity in their eyes. Feeling a wave of helplessness wash over him unlike anything he ever felt before, he said, “What if she makes the wrong one?”

“Have some faith. You’re worth ten of Walsh.” 

Liam’s attempt to bolster him did little to quell the fear growing in his heart. She couldn’t tie herself to that man. Walsh was all wrong for her. Talk about wasted years and endless torment. Emma’s light would fade under her misplaced loyalty until she was a shadow of what she could be. “But I haven’t told her anything yet. She doesn’t know she has options.”

With a snort, Liam said not unkindly, “Killian, the whole town knows she has options. You aren’t exactly subtle. I’m sure that’s what led to this rather dramatic and completely out of character proposal.”

“You’re right. Whether he knew it or not, Walsh was sending a signal,” Elsa said sagely, “probably brought on by all the yearning looks. They’re hard to miss.”

“Or the way Killian lights up like a bloody Christmas tree when she walks in a room,” Liam offered helpfully. “Que sera, sera little brother. Emma’s a smart woman. In the meantime, why don’t you ask Iris to dance?”

“Why don’t you ask her, Liam? She’s your mini-me,” he muttered in reply. He wasn’t averse to dancing with his oldest niece but he was getting tired of everyone barking orders at him. He didn’t get out from under his father’s thumb to have it replaced by his brother’s. Or the principal’s or any other random citizen of Storybrooke either for that matter.

“Because if I do it, it will look like no one but her father wants to dance with her. And lord knows, we’d probably make a scene if I tried. You’re the belle of this ball so use your powers for good. It’s not easy constantly being upstaged by a younger, more popular sibling.”

Shocked out of his misery, Killian surveyed his brother’s rueful smile out of the corner of his eye. He wondered if Liam was referring to Iris and Aster or alluding to them. As usual, he played the part of victim, only thinking of how he was left behind and cut off by his brother. It never occurred to him Liam may have harbored negative emotions or disappointments about their relationship. And it certainly never dawned on him his childhood hero felt eclipsed by him.

Searching the room for his nieces, he saw Aster was in the middle of a large group of kids and dancing like no one was watching. That’s the thing about free spirits, people were drawn to them because they didn’t care if anyone approved. Iris had drifted to one of the chairs pushed against the raised platform of the stage. Her little face bravely soldiering through the night. 

Forgetting Emma and Walsh—who was he kidding, it was more like pushing them out of the forefront of his mind where they would return to haunt him later—he saluted his brother and Elsa. “If you insist. Uncle Killian to the rescue.”

Doggedly making his way through the crowd, he reached Iris quickly. The grateful look she gave him was perhaps the single most precious gift he had ever received. “Come along, my little flower. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

Chapter Text

“And I will wait here awhile

Just long enough to be

Sure that you

Didn’t make a wrong turn”

-Wrong Turn, Jack Johnson

When you didn’t work, every day felt like the weekend. Even though he was now employed, his schedule was so light he may as well have not been working so the principle held. 

However, that didn’t mean Killian was unfamiliar with the concept of waiting for the weekend, working for the weekend, Monday blues, and so on and so forth. Unfortunately, since he came to Storybrooke and tumbled head over heels for Emma again he found himself dreading this most sacred of times. 

Especially this weekend.

The reasons were simple really. During the week, he had two chances to run into Emma every day since Henry joined them on their transit to and from school. But on the weekends it was a crapshoot honestly. If he was lucky, he spent hours of uninterrupted time with her while she visited her best friend and his nieces. Then some weekends he didn’t see hide nor hair of her. Those were the hardest times.

Especially this weekend.

Honestly, would it have killed her to pop over and let them know if she was engaged or not? Didn’t women normally want to gush or commiserate over their relationships? Surely she wasn’t so busy she couldn’t tell them what happened after she ran away from the man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

Well, one of the men who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. 

Her boyfriend. Wanker extraordinaire. Maybe fiancé now. 

Since he apparently lacked subtlety, he didn’t bother to conceal his interest in the comings and goings at their neighbor’s house from his family. They were wise to him anyway so what was the point. The absence of Walsh’s car was noted, and celebrated, when he walked the kids back from their Halloween dance. Since then, he hadn’t seen the man or his vehicle or Emma dragging an obnoxiously large diamond behind her when she left for work. 

He kept reminding himself these were all good signs.

“Did you know one of your friends hit on her every time your back was turned?”

“Honestly, the only part that shocks me is there was only one who tried,” he replied, switching his focus away from the window to his sister-in-law. Elsa looked more rumpled than usual. Her long hair was down, perhaps for the first time since he moved in with them, and she was still in her pajamas despite the fact it was almost dinner time. She was sick most of the night with an upset stomach and the smell of eggs at breakfast that morning was enough to send her running to the bathroom all over again. She slept most of the day, leaving Liam to run the girls to all their practices. 

When his brother asked him to stick around in case Elsa woke up and needed anything, he happily complied. All the better to scope out the neighborhood, or one neighbor as the case may be. Although his sister-in-law hadn’t left the bedroom, he brought her a cup of mint tea and a few crackers around lunchtime. The quiet of the house made him wonder how he had lived in his silent penthouse for so long.

She sank on the other end of the couch and stretched her legs out until her feet rested in his lap. “I feel terrible. Distract me before I puke again. Tell me a story.”

“A story? Darling, I only know tragedies. Perhaps we could play charades instead.”

Leaning her head back against the arm of the sofa, she watched him through narrowed eyes. She looked worse for wear, pale and weak from the unknown illness. Taking one of her feet between his hands, he began to massage her arch. Softly, she picked up on her earlier comment, “I think his name was Chipper.”

“Aye, that makes sense. He was a bastard.” Absentmindedly, he continued to knead her feet, alternating between the two until he thought she may have fallen asleep. When he glanced over to check, he found he was still the focus of her undivided attention. 

“Tell me what happened. Why did you leave her?”

“Determined to hear a tragedy, then,” he remarked without humor. “Fine. How much has she told you?”

With a hint of a smile and a roll of her eyes, she joked, “You know Emma. Something along the lines of ‘There was a guy, I thought he was different, turns out he wasn’t.’”

“She’s always had a succinct way of getting to the heart of the matter,” he observed, staring at the wall and getting lost in the memory festering in his mind like a wound that wouldn’t heal. He wasn’t sure where to start. How do you relay the depths of heartache and broken trust that brought about the end of the happiest time of your life?

“It was fate when we met,” he murmured. “Of course, she said it was coincidence and no deeper meaning was at the root of it. We agreed to disagree. She was working a summer job at a dockside restaurant catering to tourists, not the rich kind summering there like me and my friends. It was a kitschy place complete with fake fish mounted on the walls and plastic sharks in their cocktails.”

“The kind of restaurant you normally would never have been caught dead in,” Elsa supplied. 

“Too right. It was raining and I got turned around on my way to the yacht club. It had been a couple of years since I traveled to the US and honestly I was still having a hard time keeping to the right side of the road most days. I planned to duck in long enough to ask for directions when I saw her running out into the squall to fight down the patio umbrellas so they wouldn’t take off in the wind. She was wearing this awful Hawaiian shirt that was plastered to her like a second skin and I remember thinking she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.”

Her eyes drifted closed but she teased quietly, “Hawaiian shirts are a well known aphrodisiac.”

Laughing, he nodded. “I didn’t go a full day without seeing her after that. She led me on a merry chase. The competition was fierce, everyone looking for a summer romance to create memories they could take home as a souvenir and a woman like her was the object of many a wishful thought. It took me days to learn her name and weeks to get her number.”

“Poor thing. It must have been quite trying.”

“It was, thank you for noticing,” he said with mock sincerity. “Despite what you may think, or whatever barmy stories Robin may have shared with you, I had never pursued anyone before. When you’re young, filthy rich, and handsome, you don’t really have to work for anything. It usually falls in your lap. Everything changed when I met Emma.”

“Was it about the novelty then?”

“Maybe at first. Although I would be lying if I said attraction wasn’t the greater contributor. Even now, longing will punch me in the gut from time to time so I can’t say it wasn’t a factor then. It started as an amusement, quickly became a frustration, then morphed into a fascination I’m still not over. I’m not sure how long you’ve known Emma but she wasn’t always as open as she is now. She rarely smiled and when she did, it was usually a pretty imitation meant to appease or deflect someone. When I earned my first real one, I knew I was a goner.”

“How did you earn it?”

He hadn’t thought about it in a decade. Had made himself forget the beginning because it would inevitably lead him to the painful end. He shouldn’t have repressed it. The image of her looking up at him from the side of the road, dirt on her cheek and eyes flashing, was something to be cherished. “I let her change my flat tire.”

“How chivalrous of you…”

“I never said I was a catch. You asked for this story,” he reminded her. When Elsa flashed him an apologetic look, he continued. “It was the gateway to our first date. She didn’t think of it that way of course. I was strictly in the friend zone. But I have a tendency to grow on people and she was no different. I made her laugh and she made me feel. She was my best friend before she was anything else.”

“A best friend you wanted to see naked,” she accused with a snort.

“I’m sure you’ll find, in general, that is more common than you’d think.”

“Men,” she mumbled sleepily. “It doesn’t make any sense. If you were so close, how could you just leave?”

“I didn’t just leave.” He wished he didn’t have to skip over the middle and go straight to the end. For some reason, he wanted Elsa to know they had been happy. It didn’t last forever. Hell, it didn’t even last a second season, but it was more than a swift trip from lust to leaving. It was the deepest connection he ever experienced. 

“We became serious more quickly than either of us could have imagined at the outset but we were still young. She wasn’t out of her teens and I had the emotional maturity of a toadstool. But I knew…I was determined she was the one. So I asked her to run away with me. To elope.”

“Wait a minute, so Walsh wasn’t the first guy to propose to her? I’m going to kill her. She never even hinted—“

“You’ll do no such thing.” He wasn’t surprised Emma never mentioned it, though he told everyone who would listen at the time. To his own detriment, as it turned out. After it ended, he doubted he had uttered her name once, much less given a detailed account of the rocky relationship. Until now. “It was a spontaneous thing. We were at a fair on one of the piers near her restaurant splitting a funnel cake and I knew I never wanted to be parted from her. So I tried to make sure I didn’t have to be.

“We agreed to meet after her shift the next night. I wanted to fly to Scotland but she didn’t have a passport. For that matter, I didn’t have a ring. It’s all a little surreal now. Seems like it happened in some cheesy movie I watched years ago rather than my own life. Only the movie hero wouldn’t have flaked at the last minute. It would have had a happy ending.”

Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for the worst bit. “My father found out somehow. I’m sure one of my friends told someone who told someone else until it reached his ears. He flew across the country and demanded I break it off. Said men like us were free to find our pleasures where we wanted but carrying on the family name was a responsibility that should only be shared with someone who could understand the importance of it. Not orphan waitresses who were in it for the money.”

He expected anger or disappointment from her. Instead, she whispered sadly, “You listened to him.”

“No, not at first, and never about Emma being in it for the money. I’m an idiot but I’m not blind. It wasn’t until he said he regretted marrying my mother and seeing how miserable she was in our world I started to doubt. I didn’t want to doom Emma to a lifetime of cuts and mistreatment from people who thought she was beneath them. I loved her but I knew too well it wasn’t going to be enough, had seen it play out with my own parents. I wouldn’t have been able to protect her completely and I couldn’t condemn her to my mother’s fate. She deserved better. They both did.”

Almost shyly, Elsa asked, “Liam never talks about your mother. What was she like?”

“A lot like you, honestly. Even the same profession. She was beautiful and gentle with a lion heart who never stopped fighting for the right things. Liam shouldn’t make her a stranger to you and the girls. She is worthy of being remembered.”

They both fell silent and he was mortified to feel the prick of tears. She switched positions, moving to lean against his side, so he wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders and relaxed into the embrace. He had never held a woman like this, the closest thing being in the final days of his mother’s life when she was too sick to sit up by herself. Shaking off the memory, he was glad Elsa didn’t feel like she was running a fever but he could tell there was something off about her.

“It was Emma’s decision what she deserved, Killian. You should have talked to her.”

With an exasperated tone at odds with the comfortable way they were huddled together, he blurted out, “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I realized my mistake about ten minutes after it was too late. But I wasn’t thinking clearly then. I didn’t have the strength to face her. I knew my resolve would cave if she put up even a token resistance. I’ve always been a selfish man and I took the easy way out. I walked away without a word because it was less painful for me.”

He shuddered to think about it now, how he did the one thing he repeatedly promised Emma he would never do. “It was the worst kind of betrayal. I knew everything about her past, every broken promise and abandonment, yet I still walked away. The fact she will speak to me at all is a bloody miracle.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to wallow in misery, love her from afar and hope Walsh chokes on his own table legs.” It was a sound plan. He had already put it into motion and was getting exactly the results one would expect.

She chuckled softly then groaned. “Don’t make me laugh, it makes the nausea worse.”

“C’mon love, I have some experience with making women nauseous. I think some ginger ale and dry toast will have you feeling better in no time.”

—

“You truly think she said yes to such a bumbling proposal?”

Nursing his drink, Killian wondered why his friend looked so amused at his distress. He’d never been cruel in the past but the way he shook his head and smiled ruefully across the table carried an air of superiority out of place for the conversation. “I don’t know, Robin. But if not him, it will eventually be someone else.”

“They really did a number on you, mate.”

“In their defense, I don’t think I can take their relationship as a personal affront. Emma was dating him for a year before I came back into her life.”

“Not Emma and Walsh. Your sorry excuse for a father and ex-fiancée.” He stilled under Robin’s direct stare. They hadn’t talked about the situation beyond the barest of mentions since his friend arrived. He couldn’t say he was particularly interested in talking about it now either. Picking up his glass and gesturing toward him with a sense of bewilderment, Robin continued, “Where is the famous Killian Jones confidence? Why are you standing idly by? Emma is a woman worth fighting for but you refuse to even toss your hat in the ring.”

“You don’t know our history. I had my chance and I blew it.”

“Are you mad? I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Whatever the history, it is far from being buried and in the past. If you messed up that badly, this is your opportunity to make a brand new ending…a happy one this time. Don’t waste it. Apologize, tell her how you feel, show her you’ve changed. Faint heart never won fair lady.”

Rolling his eyes, he was about to correct his friend’s misconceptions when a figure stopped at their booth. The barely concealed dislike he felt oozing out of their visitor gave him an inkling of who it was before he looked over and saw the perfectly coiffed raven hair.

“Mr. Jones, a moment please?”

Sighing, he debated whether resistance would do any good. He had obviously lost his mojo and was at the mercy of the fates now. “Principal Mills, I’m in the middle of something. Perhaps we can have another tête-à-tête in your office tomorrow.”

Sliding into the booth next to Robin, who hurriedly shuffled to the side to avoid having a tightly wound woman in his lap, she said, “Now works better for me.”

“Then by all means, don’t let us inconvenience you,” Killian muttered under his breath. To his horror, Robin was grinning at the woman like she was a new shiny toy he couldn’t wait to play with. “Principal Mills, this is my friend Robin Locksley. Robin, meet Regina Mills, the bane of my existence.”

“Forgive him, Ms. Mills, he’s always been a surly drunk. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

With a slow smile, Regina made no effort to hide her thorough perusal of the man who shared the vinyl bench. Extending her hand gracefully, she spoke in a breathless voice dripping with raw interest. “Yes, I believe it may end up being a pleasure.”

Clearing his throat to break the tension, although he would be hard-pressed to say if he was more amused or disgusted by it, Killian watched them jump apart as if he had doused them with cold water. “What do you want?”

“I heard you’re building a website for Granny’s Diner.”

“You heard wrong. I only negotiated a deal to build a website. My brother is actually developing it. Have a nice night.”

“Killian, mind your manners.” Robin’s eyes were pleading with him to behave, probably in some misguided effort to impress their third wheel. Knowing he would regret it, he leaned back and waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Thank you. It’s refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t underestimate how appealing civility can be.” As she turned back to Killian, he was amazed at her ability to insult him while simultaneously flirting with Robin. “I want to hire you to redesign the school’s website. I have several ideas for increased functionality and a detailed vision for the overall look and feel. You can drop by tomorrow to get the information from Mrs. Nolan.”

Standing up to leave without waiting for his response, she added, “Whatever Mrs. Lucas is paying you, I’ll only agree to half since I’ve done most of the work already. Good evening.”

With that, she swept away regally. 

“Where have you been hiding her? She’s enchanting,” Robin murmured after polishing off his drink. His eyes were still on the door as if hoping to catch one more glimpse of her.

“Hiding her? She probably crawls back to her lair when the sun comes out to avoid being turned to dust. Trust me, you don’t want that kind of trouble in your life.”

“She is exactly the kind of trouble I want.”

“Whatever, mate. It’s your funeral. Just remember to pack some garlic and maybe a crucifix or two on the first date.”

—

He took his time walking home that night. After they finished dinner, simple fare prepared by Granny Lucas herself with the help of Roland who had taken quite a shine to the older woman, there wasn’t much more to say. Robin seemed determined to ruin his life with the forceful brunette who had a knack for pissing him off and he was just as determined to be miserable over the unsettled state of affairs with Emma.

The most disturbing thought of all was perhaps it was already settled but he didn’t know. That there was nothing he could do but spend a lifetime regretting it. 

Reaching the house, he stopped on the porch. He could hear the girls running around wild inside and while he had missed them this weekend as they went about their packed schedules and prior commitments, he was going to need a minute to regroup and put on a happy face. They didn’t deserve the brunt of his gloom and doom attitude.

“Killian.”

Her voice was quiet and so longed for that at first he thought he imagined it. It wasn’t until he saw her hesitate on the step he allowed himself to believe she was actually there. “I’m glad you’re here, love. I’ve been worried about you.”

It was the truth, although not the whole truth. He was as worried about her answer to the question hanging over his head like a knife.

“I’d like to…that is, I’ve been thinking.”

She was agitated. He could tell by the halting meter of her words and how she hadn’t met his eyes once since she arrived. His gut twisted in preparation for hearing the unwelcome news she would be lost to him forever. “Nothing wrong with that, Emma. It would seem you have a lot to consider.”

“Right. Can I just…” Her voice trailed off and she froze in front of him, her entire body tense. He wondered if it was as hard for her to tell him as it was for him to hear it. Somehow, he doubted it.

“It’s fine, love. Say whatever you need to say.”

She gave a huff of frustration and he thought he heard her mutter something and the next thing he knew, she grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him to her. Before he could draw a breath, and heaven knew he needed one because he was pretty sure shock knocked all the air out of his lungs, her lips were on his and then he moved on pure instinct.

He had dreamed of this moment for ten years. At times he wasn’t sure if it was a fantasy or a haunting. The memory of her body against his, the way her fingers would comb through his hair, the rush of emotion that flooded him when she looked at him with desire nearly matching his own, it was painful to endure knowing he would never experience it again.

But to experience it again. Well, it was a different kind of pain. The piercing combination of love and lust threatened to make his knees buckle. Wrapping her tightly in his embrace, his right hand wound in her hair and his left moving to cradle her face, he kissed her with the pent-up emotion of a man who had been banished from the promised land only to be allowed a brief return. 

Robin was right, only an idiot would waste this opportunity.

The kiss deepened and he advanced them slowly until her back pressed against the wall of the porch. He couldn’t get enough of her. His lips caressing hers in a way achingly familiar and yet excitingly different. The years had added experience for them both but the underlying emotion was the same as always. Her hands were in his hair, a little moan he felt before he heard it escaping her mouth. 

Without realizing what he was doing, his hand drifted down her leg, gently lifting it against his hip and rocking into a closer position. Blood thundered in his ears and he was fairly certain his heart was going to explode in his chest. In all honesty, that wasn’t the only thing on the verge of exploding. 

Suddenly, the high-pitched giggle of one of the girls broke through the night and burst the heated bubble surrounding them. With a shaky breath, Killian pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. His hand still held her leg in place against him, the fingers of his other tracing the silky skin of her cheek. “I’m not complaining, love, but what are you doing?”

“Thinking,” she murmured, her hands dropping to his shoulders and lowering her leg to the ground but otherwise remaining pinned against him. She watched him with hungry eyes and he knew this was everything he wanted in life. He would have to tread carefully or risk losing her again. Not that he was entirely sure he had her now. 

Smiling softly, he pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “An important woman like you must have many things on her mind. Perhaps it would help if you thought about them some more.”

He kissed her tenderly, allowing himself to savor the feeling of being close to her. Unhurriedly, he brushed his lips across her forehead and pulled her to him in an embrace somehow more intimate than the near ravishing that had just occurred. Her head fit perfectly under his chin, her arms wrapped securely around his waist as if she too was afraid of falling.

“Why did you have to come back? I was happy. I could have been happy.”

“Darling, I’m sorry. For so many things. I would leave tomorrow if you asked me to…I’d do anything for you. I know I don’t have any right to comment on your life but despite my admittedly vested interest in the situation, I only want your happiness. You won’t find it with Walsh.”

“I could have. You ruined it.”

He grinned into her hair at her stubbornness. He loved how the fighter in her was never dampened, never repressed. “Blame me all you want as long as you tell him no.”

She pulled away and swallowed hard, clearly trying to come to terms with what happened between them and visibly retreating behind her walls.“I already have. He wants me to take some time to reconsider.”

“Trust your instincts, love. They are impeccable.”

“He’s a good man, Killian. He would never hurt me. He would make sure Henry and I have a good home. It should be enough.” Her voice filled with frustration and maybe some anger. Knowing her like he did, he knew she was regretting the impulsive act that led to this conversation. 

“It won’t be. The emptiness of a mismatched relationship will consume you until you don’t recognize your own reflection. Don’t do that to yourself, Emma.”

“We’re taking a break. We’re going to meet at Thanksgiving and talk it out. So this,” she said gesturing between them with a hand that shook, “whatever this was, can’t happen again. I’m sorry I gave into the impulse. I’m not sure what came over me. It was a one time thing, got it?” 

It scared him how quickly she was slipping away but a pesky hope rooted in him and he refused to cede the ground he had won. He needed to earn her trust and her love. It wouldn’t be easy but the idea invigorated him. “Whatever your heart desires but I’m not going anywhere. When I win your heart back Emma, and I will win it, it won’t be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me in your life as badly as I want you in mine.”

His hat was officially in the ring and nothing was going to stop him.

Chapter Text

“Don’t lose your faith in me

And I will try not to lose faith in you”

-Be Here Now, Ray LaMontagne

Emma was avoiding him again. He expected it but the anticipation of something didn’t make it any easier to bear. She had been uncomfortable with his direct pursuit before and apparently that hadn’t changed in the intervening years. He told himself he could play a long game if needed. He just wished it wasn’t needed. He already wasted so much time and the knowledge she returned at least some his feelings, conflicted as she may be about it, had urgency coursing through him. 

It physically hurt to be near her and not pull her into his arms. Though her visits to Liam’s house dramatically decreased in the last week as a result of their blazingly intense encounter, she couldn’t completely disappear without Elsa and the girls making a fuss. There was a million different reasons he was grateful to have the Jones women in his life but selfishly that was near the top of the list.

He knew she hadn’t told Elsa about their kiss or the ensuing discussion. The lack of questions from his sister-in-law proved it was their little secret. The problem was he didn’t want it to be a secret. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. He needed everyone to know despite his mistakes and shortcomings, they found their way back to each other. If other people believed it, maybe it would help him believe it too. Because right now, even in a holding pattern with more questions than answers, he desperately wanted to believe.

Unfortunately, he was unlikely to make any progress this weekend.

Most of his family left early that morning for a trip to Portland. Although Elsa was still having trouble keeping anything down, the twins had a soccer tournament and she insisted she wanted to travel with the team in spite of Liam’s entreaty for her to rest and let him handle it. He had contemplated joining the caravan to see if his individual coaching with the girls had paid off but decided against it when Liam chose to stay home at Elsa’s urging. So it was the Brothers Jones were sitting quietly on the back porch fighting over the sports section and drinking coffee while the women of the house were off galavanting in the city. 

“I told you she wouldn’t say yes,” Liam said smugly without looking up from his newspaper. 

“Actually, you didn’t.”

“I implied it.”

“Hmm, yes. Liam Jones, Master of Maybes. We should all bow down in awe of your ability to imply things that might happen,” he muttered. Having lost the tussle for the best section, he tried to content himself with the headlines. It was a different experience reading the newspaper hoping he didn’t merit a story. In the past, the only time he cracked open printed media was to see if they caught his good side in the pictures from some society event or other.

“Fine. How’s this for a prediction? I think Elsa is pregnant again.”

Cocking an eyebrow at the pleased expression on his brother’s face, he teased, “Do we need to have the birds and the bees conversation, Liam? There are ways to prevent this from happening. If you need me to explain—”

“Why would I want to prevent it? We need the tax break, especially since we took in a stray,” he joked. 

Killian wondered if there was some truth buried in the words. Not about the tax break, he knew between Liam’s inheritance from their mother and the thriving business he ran, they were doing fine. That wasn’t even taking into account the funds coming from Elsa’s private practice, which could very well exceed the income Liam made. 

Rather he thought there may be a hint in the stray comment. He extended what was to be a brief stop off into a long-term stay. He was now a fixture in the household to the point Elsa asked him earlier in the week if he would like to redecorate Aster’s room. 

“About that…perhaps it’s time I look into moving out. I’m sure Iris and Aster would like to have their rooms back and this was never supposed to be forever.” 

“What are you on about? We would love for you to stay with us permanently. You’ve been a great help with the girls and the business. Why do you want to leave?”

“Liam, if you truly think you have another baby on the way you won’t have enough room for everyone. Besides, with all the business we have coming in, you need to invest in office space and real employees in addition to another bedroom or two for your growing brood.”

“Why do you want to go back to that empty place of yours, Killian? What do you have waiting for you in Seattle? I can’t believe you’re even considering it.”

“Whoa, hold on. Who said anything about going back there?” Clearly, Liam’s powers of foresight were failing him. Not to mention his brother’s eyes if he didn’t see how deeply Killian was rooted in Storybrooke now. Beyond the romantic hopes currently situated just a few hundred feet away, this was his home. His family was here and he was building a good life with people who looked at him as more than a meal ticket or the heir apparent to a failed legacy. “I’m staying here. Honestly, you’ll probably have to blast me out of town at this rate.”

“Oh. So you simply want your own place? I suppose it is difficult to sow your wild oats surrounded by an overbearing brother, an all-knowing sister-in-law, and—what is it you call the girls—your little garden.”

“Trust me, my oats have all been sowed. Too widely truth be told. I merely think we could all use more space.” He wasn’t going to tell his brother he had plans. Big plans involving Emma and Henry and happily ever after. Better to keep those quiet or Liam may get funny ideas about helping out. He could only imagine the disaster that would be.

“If you really want to move out, I won’t stop you but I don’t understand why after our long separation, you’re so eager to add distance to our relationship again.” 

“Storybrooke isn’t big, brother, and we work together so I’m not sure how much distance will be possible. Besides, you went more than fifteen years without seeing me, surely a few hours here and there won’t damage anything.”

“I may not have seen you but I had eyes on you.”

“Right. The tabloids.”

“Not just the tabloids.”

Curiously, Killian watched his brother’s ears turn red. It was a nervous tell Liam should have outgrown years ago. Before he could explore what had the normally composed man shuffling in his seat, he heard a scream drift across the backyard and his blood ran cold. 

Only the fact he vaulted over the railing rather than running for the stairs had him a couple of steps ahead of his brother as they both raced across the lawn separating them from Emma’s house. Killian reached the door prepared to kick it down if need be. The scream hadn’t been repeated and the house was now quiet taking his mind to places best left alone. 

The door whipped open before his hand could twist the knob and Henry ran right into him. His eyes wide, he took in Killian and Liam and relaxed slightly. “Killian, Emma told me to get you.”

“I’m here, lad. Where is she? Is she alright? What happened?”

“There’s a man. He was in her bedroom and he says he knows you. She’s got him upstairs now but she’s not letting him go until you tell her to. She said she thinks he’s telling the truth.”

“Not bloody likely. I’ll tear him limb from limb,” he swore, his long stride eating the distance from the entrance to the stairs and then taking them two at a time. He heard his brother’s stern voice warning him to calm down but didn’t heed it. If there was some voyeur wandering around Emma’s house and trying to use him as an excuse there would be hell to pay.

If he wasn’t seeing red and plotting murder, he probably would have enjoyed the image greeting him when he charged into Emma’s bedroom. The pale green walls, dark-stained wood floors, and crisp white bedding gave the overall impression of a soothing retreat. Or it would have if his eyes weren’t fixated on the way Emma was standing in the doorway of her master bathroom wrapped only in a towel, hair falling in damp disarray around her bare shoulders, and holding a gun on a figure cowering in the corner of the room. 

Clearly, she had the situation in hand. He probably should have known better than to think she needed rescuing. No one was more capable then his Emma. Now he was left with plenty of time to imagine licking off the water drops clinging to her skin and drying in the cool air drifting in from the open window in the bathroom. She was perfect, her milky complexion glowing pink from the heat of the shower. The towel concealed enough to be considered modest but it was more of her than he had seen in years, legs gleaming in the bright light, creamy chest heaving over the top of her makeshift covering, sculpted shoulders and arms tense from her predatory stance. And if her expression was anything to go by, she was still able to read him like a book. Equal parts exasperation and amusement dueled in her tone as she ground out, “Easy tiger, we have company. Get your mind out of the gutter and tell me if you know this man.”

Forcing himself to look away from what would surely fuel his dreams for the rest of his life, he became aware of a familiar voice pleading, “I’m so sorry. I got the wrong address. I thought this was your house, Mr. Jones. I would never have barged in on the lady if I had known.”

With a wide grin, he chuckled. The man was a sight for sore eyes. As he heard Liam and Henry come up behind him, he said, “Welcome to Storybrooke, Mr. Smee. I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

—

Smee continued to sheepishly avoid looking at Emma, who regrettably was once again fully clothed and dispensing pop-tarts to the table full of men who occupied the breakfast nook of her kitchen. Henry had decided his abrupt wake-up call on a Saturday morning earned him a bit of a lie-in. His groggy goodbye and heavy footsteps echoed in the airy space and left silence in their wake.

More bewildered than uncomfortable, with some wayward part of his brain wondering exactly how much of an eyeful his valet managed to get before having a gun pulled on him, Killian sipped his fourth cup of coffee of the day and struggled to find a reason for Smee’s presence. He was glad to see him, the cheerful and oddly turned man having long ago progressed from an employee to more of a confidante. However, he distinctly remembered leaving his former valet a voicemail prior to turning off his phone outlining the circumstances of his release and offering best wishes for future endeavors.

“Smee, I must admit I’m jealous of your welcome from Emma. It was much more delightful than the one she gave me. Fewer scars too,” he teased, taking in the way her leggings and oversized sweatshirt made her look like the teenager he first met. Her hair was beginning to dry in long ringlets down her back as she padded through the kitchen as if taking the empty chair next to him would signal a lifelong commitment she wasn’t ready to make.

“You mean other than the mental ones I’ll have from staring down the barrel of a gun. It’s the stuff nightmares are made of,” he countered with a grimace. 

“That wasn’t all you were staring down,” she retorted, her tone warning further talk about the surprise visit should be left for later when they could all laugh about it.

“Those memories won’t give me nightmares,” he muttered under his breath.

Must have been quite the eyeful, then.

Picking at the radioactively bright sprinkles topping his strawberry pastries and trying not to be jealous of his erstwhile employee, Killian sighed and asked, “Emma, if I promise to behave myself will you stop pacing and sit down?”

She studied him through narrowed eyes but did as he requested, dropping woodenly into the chair beside him. “Sorry. My adrenaline is still pumping.”

“Perhaps the sugary breakfast will help,” Liam observed with a dubious look at the pop-tart she was currently stuffing in her mouth. He was remarkably reserved about the excitement of the morning. Refraining from comments and jokes, his brother kept to the background once assured Killian wasn’t going to kill anyone. It was suspicious to say the least.

“I’m waiting for someone to convince me why I shouldn’t lock this man up for trespassing and unlawful entry,” Emma reminded them. “What kind of valet knows how to pick a lock? For that matter, how often does one wander into a bathroom while the shower is going?”

“Miss, picking locks is an innocent enough skill set,” he argued, her huff of disbelief showing she wasn’t buying it. “It is. Nothing would be worse than forgetting the keys to your employer’s luggage and having to call a locksmith. The lady at the diner said this was where Mr. Jones was staying so I thought I would let myself in and make things comfortable for him since he’s had a rough couple of weeks. He’s rarely up before ten o’clock so I didn’t want to disturb him by knocking. As far as going into an occupied bathroom, Mr. Jones likes his towels folded a certain way so they are easier to grab when he’s getting out of the shower.”

With a roll of her eyes, she muttered, “Oh for the love of—“

Sensing these revelations about his high maintenance preferences were hurting his reputation more than helping, he interrupted her. “Mr. Smee, as nice as it is to see you, I’m at a loss as to why you are here.” 

Smee and he went back many years. Shortly after things had fallen apart with Emma—after he destroyed them—his father insisted he start acting like the man he was meant to be. That included wearing the right clothes, going to the right places, and hiring the right kind of people. A gentleman, he was told repeatedly, wasn’t really trying unless he had a valet in his employ. 

The other man answered the discreet ad placed with an exclusive agency who specialized in finding servants for the ultra-elite echelons of society. Having no experience as a valet, he was a long-shot candidate Killian immediately took to in the interview. Perhaps it was because the other applicants all had dour faces and voices dripping with condescension or maybe it was to spite his father in his own passive way, but he had hired Smee on the spot and never looked back.

Since then, barely a day had gone by when Smee wasn’t smoothing wrinkles or dispensing advice. It was a wrench letting him go, his presence missed more than his services, which had never been traditional.

“I know you fired me, Mr. Jones, but after all you did for me and my mother, I felt like I owed you.”

Squirming in his seat, uneasy as he always was with genuine praise and gratitude, Killian waved off his speech and hoped the others would let it drop as well. “I didn’t fire you, Smee, I let you move on to greener pastures. I’m afraid the limited wardrobe I brought with me doesn’t require much in the way of valeting. How is your mother doing?”

Taking his red knit cap off and fidgeting with it, the man’s face lit up with excitement. “Much better thanks to you, sir. The treatment seems to be working. I’m in your debt for giving me that bonus and the time off to take care of her.”

Feeling Emma’s measuring glance and his brother’s apprising one, he hastened to change the subject. “You earned both, my dear man, by putting up with me for the last several years. Now, I beg you to use your freedom and find yourself a better employer.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick around and make myself useful.” 

Unsure how to convince the man he had no need of him, he bit into his pop-tart and floundered for what to say next. It wasn’t as though he could make Smee leave. Maybe he was good with children. Perhaps he could suggest he help with Roland. 

“On that subject, I thought I would start by giving you a warning,” Smee continued. His portly form looked somewhat cramped on the bench seat against the wall, the table hedging him in like it wanted to keep him from causing any more trouble. “I spoke with your father’s valet yesterday. He said the elder Mr. Jones will announce his engagement this week. The couple plans to wed before the end of the year.”

“Bully for them,” Killian mumbled sarcastically. “She must have quite the collection going. I hope she has room on her finger for another ring since she never gave mine back to me.”

“Killian, say you didn’t give that woman our mother’s ring,” Liam piped in, his voice thick with disappointment. When his brother walked away, the family money and reputation weren’t the only things he lost. Though their mother specified in her will Liam was to inherit her rings for his future bride, their father decided they should revert back to him since he had been the one to give them in the first place. Liam ended up with a modest trust fund their father could never figure out how to get and too few years of memories as his only inheritance from their mother. 

It wasn’t right and it certainly wasn’t fair. Elsa was a much more deserving recipient for those treasures. Hell, sticking them in a plastic container and putting them in one of those claw machine games Iris was determined to defeat would have likely found a more deserving hand than his ex-fiancee’s perfectly manicured one.

“No, but that doesn’t mean he won’t,” he answered miserably. Longing for some rum to go with his coffee, he looked out the window and wished for the hundredth time he wasn’t such an idiot. If he hadn’t allowed himself to be pulled along on a tide of meaningless expectations and hopeless relationships, none of this would have happened. 

“We should get back,” Liam said quietly. “I didn’t bring my phone and Elsa may need me.”

Standing as they started to shuffle out of the kitchen, Emma grabbed their mugs and called over her shoulder, “Mr. Smee, if you pick another lock in my town, I will throw you in jail.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

“Good. Killian, can you wait a minute?”

Nodding for his brother and ex-valet to go ahead without him, he made his way over to the sink and waited patiently for whatever censure was coming. He doubted it would be anything that cast a good reflection on him or the lost visitor he was responsible for bringing into her bedroom uninvited.

Comparison was said to be the thief of joy. However, standing in the cheery yellow kitchen with Emma made it impossible for him not to be thankful he was in Storybrooke rather than floating on a yacht in the Indian Ocean. Even if he was about to be chastised.

He tried not to think about She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, his own shame over the connection making him want to writhe whenever she crossed his mind. The strong, beautiful, kind woman who was currently filling their dirty dishes with soapy water was miles ahead of the spoiled creature he asked to be his wife.

What the hell had he been thinking? Why had he been so willing to sacrifice his happiness by proposing to a woman he could barely stand to be around?

Even if things never worked out the way he wanted with Emma, he knew he was a better man for knowing her. He felt like maybe that man was already within him, buried under layers of selfishness and despondency, but he would never have seen the light of day if not for her.

“You took care of Mr. Smee’s mother,” she said nonchalantly, her eyes fixed on the sink as she continued to clean. 

“No, I made it possible for him to take care of her. Totally different.”

“Not to him, obviously.”

“He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed as evidenced by this morning’s activities,” Killian joked, hoping to divert her attention away from this line of questioning.

“You helped Granny bring her pricing into the twenty-first century,” she continued as if reading out charges on rap sheet. Still not looking his way, she sighed deeply. “You saved Iris from being a wallflower. You taught the twins how to fake and take. You attempted to fix Aster’s hair. You took care of Elsa when she was sick.”

“Love, I’m not sure what you’re accusing me of but I’ll apologize for all of it if you never make me eat a pop-tart again.” Needing to keep his hands busy before he did something foolish like caress the shoulder slipping out of the oversized neck of her sweatshirt, he grabbed a dish towel and started to dry one of the mugs she placed on the counter. 

“You rushed over here, heedless of your own safety, to rescue me.”

“An exercise in futility to be sure. Never was there a person less in need of saving.”

Chuckling at his observation, she finally met his gaze.“You comforted Henry when he got in a fight and was sent to Regina’s office.”

“The lad wasn’t supposed to tell you about that,” he whispered, mesmerized by the way she was watching him. She never looked at him like this before, full of wonder and admiration.

“Ten-year-olds can’t keep secrets,” she whispered back. She took the towel out of his hand and proceeded to dry hers while deep in thought. “You know, I thought not having parents was a terrible way to grow up but I’m starting to think having a father like yours would have been worse. I’m sorry for what he did to you. You deserve better.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t, love.”

“Stop doing that. Whatever crimes you think you’ve committed, I’d say you’ve been punished enough. You aren’t alone, Killian. You’ve had people come from all corners of the world to support you but none of it matters if you push them away because you can’t let go of the past. You need to learn to forgive yourself.”

Her words were like a balm to his soul although he had trouble believing them. “I’m not sure that will be possible for a very long time. Besides, your forgiveness is the only one I’m worried about.”

Turning to him, she scoffed, “Looks like Mr. Smee isn’t the only dull knife in the drawer. I already told you it’s ancient history.”

“Not for me. I’ll never stop trying to make it up to you.”

“I’m not sure you can, no matter how much we both want things to be different. It doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate how much you’ve changed or the man you’ve become.” Flexing on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek softly. “Now get out of here. I think your brother is up to something, he was entirely too meek earlier. I expect a full report if you ever figure out what’s going on there.”

Chapter Text

“Girl, with you the answer’s always yes”

-Chasing After You, Maren Morris & Ryan Hurd

It had been many a year since Killian pulled an all-nighter for something other than a party or his latest conquest. In fact, the only time he could remember being up this late completely sober was when he crammed for his Greek final during his third year at university. Now as he reviewed and beta tested the new web portal for the parents and students of Storybrooke Academy, taking notes about sluggish load times or less than ideal formatting, he wondered if he was getting too old to greet the sunrise with bleary eyes. 

His plan had been to do his final touch-ups in the afternoon but when the twins begged him to take them to the park to play, he found he couldn’t tell them no. Once they started kindergarten next year, they would be in school every day rather than alternating ones for preschool and he didn’t want to miss a moment. Honestly, he thought Elsa and his brother must be heartless to ever turn down any of his nieces. They were perfection personified. 

Slowly drinking his lukewarm Earl Grey, he was pulled from his musings by a faint noise. It sounded like pebbles hitting the window but he dismissed the notion, deciding it was probably some animal in the tree outside his room. 

When it happened again seconds later, he put his pen down and walked to the window frowning. Unable to see anything but his own reflection, he reached over to turn off the lamp on the writing desk he commandeered as his home office. In the bright light of the full moon, he saw Emma standing in the grass below. His heart raced at the sight, excited at the unexpected pleasure of her visit but worried about what had prompted it. 

Forcing open the window, which groaned from disuse, he called down quietly, “Alright there, Emma?”

“You really need to get a phone.”

“I have a phone, I just don’t use it.” Reassured by her wry tone there wasn’t another visitor lurking around her bedroom in the dead of night, helped by the fact he knew Smee was happily situated at Granny’s Bed ‘n Breakfast, he leaned against the sill and appreciated the lovely picture she made in the moonlight. His cheek still felt warm from the sweet kiss she gave him days ago. He was getting his hopes up, looking for meaning in the simplest of gestures, but he couldn’t help feeling like he actually stood a chance.

Exasperation in her voice, she replied, “As fascinating as your life choices are, we’ll have to discuss them later. I need you to watch Henry. Leroy’s at it again. Can you come down?”

Deciding to press his advantage while he could, he answered, “On one condition: You let me make breakfast for you and Henry later.” 

“You know how to cook? Or were you planning on calling in Smee to crack the eggs with your favorite silver spoon and arrange the toast in geometric patterns on your plate?”

“Charming, Emma, but I await your response…”

“Fine. You win.”

Smiling as he watched her turn to leave, he grabbed his jacket and walked calmly downstairs when all he wanted to do was sprint through her door before she could change her mind.

—

It wasn’t ten minutes after Emma left to collect Leroy from the local watering hole that Henry awoke. He found his way down to the couch where Killian was scanning through hundreds of channels looking for something decent to watch until sleep claimed him. 

“Hello lad, what are you doing up?”

“I thought you were Walsh.”

Insulted but not wanting to offend Henry by saying so, he merely nodded and continued to change the channel hoping to find something to distract him from asking if Walsh was a frequent overnight visitor. It was none of his business anyway. It didn’t stop him from wanting to break the man’s fingers though.

“I’m glad you’re not. Can I stay here for a while?”

“It’s a school night and although I’m new to this babysitting thing, I’m fairly confident I should ask you to go back to bed.” Smiling at the boy to let him know there was no heat in his words, he found a cricket match on some random sports channel, adjusted the volume to low and tossed the remote down. “But I suppose no harm could come from keeping me company until you grow tired again.”

Relief flooded the lad’s face and he plopped down on the couch next to him. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Intrigued at Henry’s serious expression, he twisted in his seat until he was facing the young man. He couldn’t fathom what he wanted to talk about but knowing Henry, it was probably something wise beyond his years. The lad was more mature than all of his friends and acquaintances from his old life, himself included. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“Walsh keeps calling and asking to stop by. I can tell Emma’s getting annoyed with him but she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. I was thinking if you told him to back off, he would leave her alone.”

Sorting through the tangle of emotions Henry’s revelation brought, he stared at his hands for a few seconds to collect his thoughts. “I’m not sure it’s my place to interfere, lad. Emma is a strong woman, she can handle anything life throws at her.”

“Maybe you could make it your place, Killian. Strong people need friends too.”

“Henry, your mother—Emma—is dearer to me than anyone else in the world. But things are complicated between us. She wouldn’t appreciate me jumping into the fray, even if I was only trying to help.”

The lad’s disappointment was tangible. “Maybe you don’t have to talk to Walsh. Aster and I were thinking maybe there was another way. Like, maybe you could date her. Then Walsh would go away and you could stay in Storybrooke and be close to your family. It would be a win-win.”

“You and Aster have talked about this?”

“Yeah, she’s good at coming up with ideas.”

Amused at the image of Henry and his niece playing Cupid behind his back, after all he couldn’t ask for cuter wingmen, he asked, “Have you talked about this with Emma?”

“Not exactly. But I’m sure she can like you if she was able to like Walsh. She just thinks you won’t be here for very long.”

Ashamed at himself for prying but unable to stop, he replied, “Why does she think that?”

Shrugging slowly, Henry yawned and stretched out across the middle cushion. “She said some people have a hard time staying and it was better to let them go.”

Pulling a blanket off the back of the couch, he tossed it over Henry. He weighed his next words carefully. As much as he would like to enlist the lad’s assistance in his campaign to win back Emma’s affections, he didn’t want to use the boy for his own gain. “I’m not going anywhere, Henry. This is my home now. That doesn’t mean Emma and I will be together though. It’s her decision as much as it is mine. However, I can promise I’ll be there for both of you, no matter what.”

When he didn’t receive a reply, he looked over to see Henry was sleeping peacefully, the weariness and caution so commonly displayed on his face falling away so he looked like the ten-year-old boy he was. With a wave of of fatigue pulling on him, he soon followed.

—

A gentle shake yanked him out of his dreams, a swirling chaotic mess of images full of him losing everyone he cared about. The hopelessness lingered as the dream faded making him feel like he was drowning. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath.

“Killian, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

Eager to put the nightmare behind him, his eyes flew open and he saw Emma leaning over him with a concerned look on her face, her hair falling around her so it almost brushed his skin. Needing to ground himself in the real world, he reached out and covered her hand with his own, trapping it against his shoulder. 

Slowly returning to his senses, he took in his surroundings. Henry slumbered beside him, having shifted until he rested against the corner of the sofa, one leg hanging off the side. The television was still playing but the cricket match had ended and was replaced with a bunch of talking heads making predictions about the American football season. It provided the only light in the room, leading him to think it wasn’t quite daybreak yet. Emma hadn’t moved, her eyes worriedly observing his drowsy movements. “Apologies, love. I must have drifted off. What time is it?”

“Nearly four o’clock. Did he keep you up?”

“No, not at all. He was barely awake for half an hour after you left. How is Leroy?”

“Sleeping it off in his normal cell,” she answered. “Thank you for watching Henry. You should go home and get some rest.”

“I’ll help you get him to bed,” he insisted, squeezing her hand. Standing, he shook his left foot a few times to relieve the numbness from sleeping at a weird angle. He was sure his back would make him pay for the rest of the day as well. One of the many joys of being in your thirties and no longer living a life of luxury.

Over her quiet protests she could wake him long enough to walk to bed, Killian gingerly picked the boy up and carried him to his room. Pulling the door shut with a muted click, he made his way back to join Emma in the living room. To his surprise, she had two cups of coffee ready leaving him to wonder how long it had taken him to get Henry settled. 

It could have always been like this if he hadn’t run. The thought was heavy in his mind.

“You’ve got a fine lad, Emma,” he noted, taking the offered mug and settling next to her. “I’m sorry if this is overstepping but why haven’t you adopted him? It’s clear you’re a family in everything but legal documentation.”

Sighing, she leaned her head against the back of the couch. “It takes a while to adopt, especially since the wait times are longer for a single parent. The fact he’s been my foster for so long helps so maybe by next year we can get through the process.”

She looked as tired as he felt but she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Broaching the topic with care, he said softly, “He mentioned Walsh was bothering you.”

“Bothering is a strong word.” She picked at the fringe of the blanket resting in the space between them. “But it’s probably the right one.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Snorting, she shook her head. “Because that wouldn’t be awkward at all. Running away from him and turning down his proposal wasn’t enough for me, I had to prove it was the right decision by mauling you on your brother’s porch. Well done, Emma.”

He reached over to playfully tug on her hair and chuckled. “I don’t know, I rather enjoyed it. I would definitely say it was well done. Between that and our lovely Smee drama, you have provided fodder for my fantasies for years to come.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone else to occupy your thoughts soon enough.” She took her time drinking her coffee, neither moving closer nor further away. He wished he knew the words to make her realize she was it for him. There could be no others. Her next statement was said so softly he almost couldn’t make it out. “I think love is a racket.”

“That’s oddly reminiscent of the old Emma. Are you regressing, love? Is it this sorry business with Walsh? I thought you had turned over an optimistic new leaf since our parting.”

Shifting next to him, drawing her legs under her and facing him, she said earnestly, “No, not Walsh. He was always more of a practical choice than a romantic one. I know that sounds harsh but it doesn’t mean I didn’t care for him…that I don’t care for him.”

As far as a mixed bag, her words took the cake. While he was glad to hear she wasn’t starry-eyed over the wanker, the fact she still cared for him wasn’t exactly music to his ears. “You would make each other miserable. You’re doing him a favor.”

“Like you did for me?”

“I made a mistake, Emma. A horrible one I will regret forever. It’s not even remotely the same thing.”

Smiling sadly, she said, “Agree to disagree.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “I was talking to Leroy tonight.”

Seizing on the change of subject since he wanted to kiss her until she admitted they belonged together, which would be a decidedly pleasant way to pass the hours but not particularly effective, he sagely commented, “Nothing like the ramblings of the town drunk to enliven an evening and make you question your own existence.”

“He wasn’t always like this, you know. He used to be happy, cheerful even.”

“What happened?”

“He fell in love.”

“Ah, I think I’m beginning to see where your mood is coming from…”

“Her name was Nova. They were a memorable couple. I don’t know any of us would have thought this vivacious, crystal-wearing stranger from Sedona would fall in love with a grizzled miner who never stepped foot outside of Storybrooke.”

“Doesn’t sound like something that would drive a man to drink. What happened?”

“She died and took his heart with her,” Emma revealed. “He’s a shadow of the man he used to be. Destroyed by a loss he did nothing to deserve. I’m not sure it’s worth it. I bet he doesn’t think so either.” 

It was a sad story, even more so when told in her straightforward manner forcefully devoid of the emotion he knew simmered beneath the surface. His Emma liked to talk a mean game but he knew she wanted to be loved as much as the next person. “Mourning lost love, and the loss of the person you were when you had it, can be tough. But I wouldn’t trade those happy memories for anything. The thought of you carried me through some difficult times. Even the ghost of you made me a better man when I needed it the most.”

“Killian, you need to stop saying things like that. It’s over. We can’t go back to what we had.”

“I’m not trying to.” He paused at her look of disbelief. “Okay, in a general sense, I would like to recapture what we had, but we’ve both changed so it wouldn’t be going back. That part of our lives is over. It doesn’t mean we can’t move forward together. But my real point is love is worth it. It will always be worth it. You will always be worth it. So in the name of all that is holy, don’t settle for less.”

“You make it sound like it’s easy. Like you didn’t tear out my heart and rip my self-esteem to shreds when you left.”

Wincing at the brutal honesty of her confession, he reached out and tipped her face towards him with a light finger under her chin. “Hey, that’s all on me. I didn’t deserve you then and I still don’t. Sadly, we’ve already established I’m a selfish bastard who wants things he has no right to expect.”

Staring at him, her voice was anguished when she said, “Trusting people has never been my strong suit, Killian. I can’t give you what you want. I’ll break your heart. I won’t be able to help it.”

“You won’t. I’m doing this to myself, just like I did last time. It’s my heart to break however I want. If my choice is to risk it trying to win you back or to let it shatter without you because I was too scared to try for a second chance, I’ll risk it every time. I’d rather have a day with you than a lifetime of regret. I’ve learned my lesson. I learned it standing in the shadow of the pier, watching you in that red-flowered dress you loved waiting for me to show up. I was a coward—“

“Wait, are you telling me you were actually there that night?”

Realizing what he let slip, he nodded unsure of what her reaction would be. He never told anyone, not Robin, not Elsa, certainly not his father, that he went to their rendezvous point the night they were to leave. He couldn’t help himself. He had to see her one last time. As the minutes ticked by and he watched her collapse in on herself as it became apparent he wasn’t going to come, he felt his heart freeze and knew he was the worst kind of man. Even his father didn’t compare. Whispering with something like fear, he admitted, “You waited for two hours, far longer than I thought you would.”

“I loved you, you idiot. What amount of time would have made what you did to me acceptable? If I left after five minutes, would it have been better?”

“Darling, you can yell at me all you want later but the lad is sleeping,” he begged softly, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “I was a fool who didn’t know a good thing when he had it. I’m not sure if this will make it worse or better but I had to be there, even if you didn’t know it. I couldn’t let you be alone. I know you felt like you were but you weren’t. If I’m being completely honest, a part of me hoped it was all one-sided and you would shrug and move on quickly. It was bittersweet torture to know you returned my feelings.”

“I can’t believe you,” she muttered, pushing his hands down in frustration. “I tried a thousand ways to justify why you didn’t show. I worried you’d been in an accident, that there had been an emergency with your family. I half expected you to turn up at the restaurant with an excuse. But you didn’t. No calls, no visits, not a single word. The next time I saw you was in a newspaper story about you destroying a bar in Paris.”

“Aye, that sounds about right. I don’t deal with disappointment well. I was a broken man for a very long time.”

Her voice was hushed when she next spoke. “What changed your mind? Did you come to your senses and realize we were too young or was it something else?”

“I wish I had a good reason. My father talked me out of it.” To forestall the obvious next question, he explained, “It wasn’t his objections to you that persuaded me, darling. Despite his warnings of a left-handed marriage, I knew we would make it if the world left us alone. It was his reminder of my mother’s unhappiness that did it. The jackals of my world tore into her on a regular basis and left scars even love couldn’t heal. You had enough scars already. I didn’t want to be the cause of more.”

“Except that was exactly what happened.” With a chagrined expression, she murmured, “To think you were there the whole time. All you had to do was step out of the shadows.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do now, love. Better late than never,” he joked weakly. “Listen, I know I have to earn this after I threw it away. All I’m asking is for you to give me the opportunity to do so. If you want me to back off, I will. Make no mistake though, I’m going to be there for you Emma. As a neighbor or a friend or something more, you get to choose, but please don’t shut me out completely.”

“I think it would be impossible to at this point. Henry is attached to you, you’re my best friend’s brother-in-law, and if you plan to stay in Storybrooke—“

“I’m not going anywhere.” He knew he would be repeating the words over and over again. He could only dream he would always be near enough to say them. Emma would sooner believe he loved her than trust he wouldn’t leave. Her abandonment issues weren’t entirely his fault but he had probably been the final nail in that particular coffin.

“Right, then I guess we’ll have to let this thing run its course.” No doubt seeing the joy in his eyes, she was quick to clarify her thoughts. “I’m not saying we jump in where we left off. We’re both different people and while I think you’ve changed for the better, it doesn’t mean we would suit each other now.”

Killian resisted the urge to tell her they were soulmates and no matter what changed, they were destined to be together. She never believed in his nonsense, as she used to call it, and she was so close to opening herself to another go with him, he didn’t want to derail her with philosophical discussions about love and life. “I think you’re right. We should go slow, get to know each other as adults.”

“Yes, then we can tap the brakes if it’s not working for either of us.”

“Precisely. No pressure, just two old friends getting reacquainted over dinner, maybe a movie or walk in the park.” Every night. For the rest of their lives.

Letting go of a breath he hadn’t been aware she was holding, she smiled. “I think I could do that. There are a couple of things I need to handle first before we start taking it slow though.”

“Oh?” He was captivated by the way she was looking at him. It was a unique mix of mischief and admiration leaving him breathless. He had scarcely moved since their conversation started, afraid of breaking the tenuous peace between them. Now he realized she was inching closer to him and he sincerely hoped it was because she had something on her mind that required close proximity. 

“I have to give Walsh his ring back. I was going to on Thanksgiving but I think it would be better not to wait.”

“I can handle it for you.” She kept advancing but the idea of her being with Walsh made his skin crawl, even if it was to end things once and for all. He didn’t doubt her resolve. She wasn’t weak like him, bending to the whims and wishes of those around her, but he didn’t trust the man to go quietly into the night. He knew he wouldn’t if it had been him.

“I can clean up my own messes. I’m a big girl, Killian.”

Voice thick with innuendo, he murmured, “Believe me, I’ve noticed. Anything else on this To Do list before we can move on with our plans.” He shivered and it would be difficult to say if it was from the feel of her pressed against his side or from the knowledge they had made plans together.

“I need you—“

His eyes dropped to her mouth, licking his own lips when he saw her bite her lower lip. “About bloody time—“ 

“To take this walkie with you so I don’t have to throw rocks at your window anytime I want to talk to you,” she finished with an impish grin, reaching behind him to pluck the handheld device off the table. 

With an amused glance, he placed a quick kiss on her cheek before she could move out of his reach. “It’s not nice to tease, darling. For that, there will be no bacon with breakfast.”

Chapter Text

“Cause we are all miracles

Wrapped up in chemicals”

-Wonderful, Gary Go

He had his mojo back. 

There was no other explanation for how wonderful things were going since his early morning discussion with Emma. Sure, they hadn’t moved into the dating phase he was so looking forward to but the loaded glances and flirty smiles they exchanged on a regular basis did wonders to restore his confidence and reassure him he wasn’t a complete failure. 

Time passed quickly now. The sun didn’t rise until after his alarm went off and set before dinner was on the table. He didn’t mind the waning daylight hours. Mainly because the darkness belonged to Emma. 

They would go days without seeing each other but since their conversation more than a week past, not a night had gone by without whispered discussions of random thoughts, the events of the day, and funny anecdotes via the walkie talkie he kept on the antique white side table by his bed. He felt like a kid again. Only his second childhood was shaping up to be much happier than his first time round. 

If there was one cloud on the horizon, it was due to Emma being out of town to officially break things off with Walsh. He knew by the way she spoke about him she had been done for a while, his own presence simply hastened the relationship’s inevitable conclusion. Still, he wished he could have talked her into letting him join her. As a man who avoided conflict and difficult conversations his whole life, he was eager to start tackling any and all obstacles on the path to a real courtship. 

Perhaps it was good he had a final meeting with Principal Mills today to walk through the website prior to the go live date the following weekend. He was surprised the process went as smoothly as it had. Anticipating resistance to every deviation from her precious work paper, Regina turned out to be surprisingly easy to please when the project got started. Going so far as to compliment the ingenuity of his brother and his own commitment to completing it in time for the holidays, she didn’t protest any tweak or redirect they proposed. 

He suspected part of the reason for her abrupt cooperativeness was a certain British rogue who was spotted about town with the widow nearly every night, many times towing a happy Roland between them. It defied logic but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially since lately he had a stable full of them.

His friend seemed blissful in the new relationship. Considering the troubles Robin carried alone for the last few years, he was willing to bury the hatchet if it meant the man could carve out some peace for himself. However, it did beg the question of what was going to happen when he went back to his crumbling estate.

It was just he and Iris making their way to school that morning. Aster had a dentist appointment and Henry stayed the prior night with Regina so Emma could pull the graveyard shift before leaving for Portland. To keep his mind off of the conversation happening on the Walsh front at that very moment, he reached down to grab Iris’s hand. “I need your help with a project, lass.”

“Really?” He wondered why she sounded so excited about the prospect. He wouldn’t have been at her age. Further proof she would accomplish far more with her life than he ever would with his.

“I think it’s time to find a place of my own but I’d like your opinion when I start looking at properties.”

She stopped walking and looked at him curiously. “Why do you want your own place? Don’t you like our house?”

“I do. It’s the first place I’ve ever stayed that actually felt like a home. That’s why I need your help, and maybe your sisters and mother too. I want to find someplace close by so I can still walk you to school everyday and come to dinner several times a week.”

“If you’re going to be there all the time, you should keep living with us,” she remarked, unaware she was once again channeling her father. “It’ll be fun to look at places though. Maybe you can get one with a pool.”

“Those seem to be a little thin on the ground in Maine,” he noted, grabbing her hand again. He adjusted his bag, nervous the laptop or presentation would magically jump out and ruin the morning. “So what do you say? Do you want to hang out with me this weekend and find an apartment?”

“Not this weekend, silly. We have our ballet recital. You have to be there.”

Amused she felt the two hour event would fill an entire weekend of time, he nodded in agreement. “Right. How about next weekend then?”

“It’s Thanksgiving, Uncle Killian, and then we have to put up all the Christmas decorations and lights. We can do it the weekend after that.”

With a feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach, he realized time had slipped away from him. The auction seemed like an eternity away when he first came to Storybrooke. Now it was only a matter of a couple of weeks and while he was reconciled to the notion in theory, the practice may be difficult to watch. “Afraid not, lass. I’ll have to go back to Seattle and settle my affairs.”

“But you’ll come back, right? You won’t disappear?”

“Darling, whatever gave you that idea?”

“Nothing. It’s just a question,” she responded but he could tell there was more to it. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to pry because they reached the school and he had a job to do.

—

“I think it was a smashing success,” Robin whispered teasingly as Roland climbed over Killian’s lap to try to play with the touchpad of his laptop. Without stopping to think about how natural the motion of subduing an unwieldy child had become to him, he lifted Roland high in the air and then settled him on his shoulders. It wasn’t the most professional of images to present but it should ensure his computer survived the morning.

Principal Mills, as he continued to think of her while surrounded by the walls of Storybrooke Academy, navigated through the sandbox, playing with the chat feature and clicking on the attendance report tab. She had yet to say anything but he sensed she was thrilled with the cloud based site. It managed to encompass all the paperwork and communications that got lost in soggy folders the students trucked back and forth between school and home.

Not bothering to hide his curiosity, he asked his friend accusingly, “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I was invited,” Robin informed him with a haughty look. “Some people value my opinion.”

“As a purveyor of technology or as a hanger-on with nothing better to do?”

“You know they say we hate in others what we see of ourselves,” he commented under his breath with a chuckle. 

“I wanted a parent’s opinion, Mr. Jones,” Regina said, not bothering to look at them as she continued to test the functions of the school calendar. 

“Roland doesn’t even go to school here,” Killian pointed out. He wondered how crazy his hair must look after two minutes of Roland pulling it into spikes. It probably didn’t matter in the long run. It was clear Regina was as enamored with the boy as she was with his father and so he could do no wrong. Humoring the little prince would probably even earn him some bonus points. 

Besides, the kid truly was adorable.

“Regina is going to give us a tour after this because I’m thinking of enrolling him for next year.”

With a comical double take, he looked at the contented expression on Robin’s face and knew he was serious. “That’s a big decision.”

“When you know, you know.”

“Storybrooke Academy does have an excellent reputation,” he teased slyly. 

With a wink, Robin concurred, “Flawless some might say.”

“What about your estate?”

“Regina helped me come up with a plan to turn it into a destination wedding and event venue. Apparently there’s quite a market for drafty old castles, especially when you include a host of ghosts and an onsite housekeeper and cook at no extra charge. We’re already booked every weekend through the end of next year.”

“Bloody hell. I just talked to you three days ago. When did this happen?”

“Yesterday. I’m flush with cash for the first time in decades. Try not to be jealous.”

“If you two are finished,” Regina interrupted in a derisive tone, “I’d like to get back to the business at hand.”

Moving Roland off his shoulders, he tossed him lightly to his father, eliciting a bevy of giggles from the boy. Getting out his notebook, he prepped himself for a rash of edits.  “What’s the verdict? Any last minute changes before we launch?” 

“It’s perfect.”

“That…is not what I expected you to say. Ever. In any situation. At least not while in the same room as me,” he joked. 

“Don’t push it, Mr. Jones. I am a reasonable woman and this is a job well done.”

“Where’s the record button on this thing,” he muttered, making a show of turning his laptop in every direction as if looking for something. “I need you to repeat that last part for posterity.” 

“Please don’t make me regret this association. I’ve already recommended Jones Technology Consulting to several other schools in the region. It would be a shame to have to add a disclaimer about the ill-advised humor the Marketing Director seems to think is charming.”

“I think you’ll miss our little meetings, Principal Mills. Who will you kowtow now?”

“Planning on leaving our town so soon after our business is concluded, Mr. Jones?”

Unsure why everyone seemed to be holding their breath for him to leave, he answered with more seriousness than the conversation warranted, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Glad to hear it. I see many, many sock hops in your future. Perhaps I could have you and Sheriff Swan offer dancing lessons to the students. Now, Roland, how would you like to see the playground?”

Eyes dancing with happiness, Robin flashed him a grin as he trailed behind Regina and Roland. Oddly at peace with the breakneck speed of change, he packed up his equipment with a grin of his own and wondered what surprises waited for him around the next corner.

—

He was fairly sure the sudden thunderstorm was conjured by his mood. The day had taken a turn for the worse when he arrived home to the news Emma was staying the night in Portland. No other details, no explanation, no updates about the outcome of her early morning meeting with Walsh. 

He couldn’t blame her for the lack of context concerning the out of the blue decision to extend the visit with her not-quite-ex-boyfriend. Actually, that was exactly what he was doing but he was trying not to really get into it. His mind filled with all kinds of disturbing images of her and Walsh staring longingly at each other over dinner, walking hand-in-hand to the wanker’s place, the idiot tenderly caressing the face they both held dear. 

Why did he think things were going well?

What possessed him to think he could turn his life around? To believe he could be the man she chose in any scenario. 

He needed a drink. 

His spirits tried to rally several times as he stared at the walls in the dead of night. She couldn’t have given a full account through Elsa. As far as he knew, the woman was oblivious to their renewed interest in each other. 

And it was hardly like she could call him since he hadn’t turned his phone on in weeks. Nor would the walkie be of much use over the hundreds of miles currently separating them. 

A flash of lightning tore the night sky as if it were right outside his window. He heard an enthusiastic yelp from outside and knew his brother was still out on the porch hoping to see the predicted thundersnow so he could share it on his blog. Liam had been absurdly excited about the prospect of experiencing the little seen weather phenomenon firsthand. He briefly thought about joining him but realized he didn’t want to talk about what put him in such a foul mood.

The boom of thunder that followed shook the house. For some reason, it also settled his nerves. He trusted Emma. Whatever the reason for her change of plans, it was a good one. 

But damn, he missed her. 

He had grown used to their nightly conversations and the sweet sound of her reluctant chuckle when he said something outrageous. One night without threw him back to a dark place filled with enough remorse and shame to make him cringe.

Another flash and boom broke through his thoughts. The light was tinged a weird orange color, a brightness out of place for the middle of the night. 

As silence filled the brief lull of the storm, he heard his door creak open eerily. Glancing over, he couldn’t make out anyone in the gloom. It wasn’t until he felt a tug on his quilt that he looked over to see Lily and Linnea staring at him with fearful expressions.

“What are you both doing up, my little flowers?”

“Can we stay with you until Zeus isn’t angry anymore?”

The words yanked him back to his own childhood. The hazy memories of his mother before her illness were something that rarely crossed his mind. The images of her last days took up much more real estate, her frail body left to the care of her youngest son and the multitude of servants at their home in Seattle. His father may have loved his mother, at least at some point, but the sicker she became, the more distance he maintained. Killian wasn’t sure if it was the inevitably of losing his wife that kept him at bay or if her physical decline made his father’s own eventual aging and death too real for the shallow man to process easily. 

Regardless of the reason, the loneliness of her deathbed never failed to fill him with sadness for his mother and the man who promised to love and protect her all the days of their lives.

Now, in the violence of a late fall storm, the gentler times flooded him. Her voice quietly singing Hooked on a Feeling, her favorite song, as he drifted off to sleep. The cool feel of her hand on his forehead when he was sick with the flu. The way she would read the classics to them on rainy days, commenting on Achilles and d’Artagnan and Mr. Darcy as if they were old friends. 

She had been beautiful, filling their lives with laughter and music and happy endings. As he got older, he better understood the wistfulness in her smile during those times. It was a silent wish her children be spared the pain and sorrow she experienced. The longing for a love she was promised but never received, at least not in the way she hoped for.

Now, it felt as if she was speaking to him through the mouths of his nieces. The girls often reminded him of his mother, their determination and playfulness restoring his faith in humanity. He pushed back the covers and in a voice thick with emotion, he suggested, “How about some hot cocoa?”

“With marshmallows,” Linnea said making the offer into a negotiation. He decided shortly after getting to know the twins better that Linnea, younger by fourteen minutes and forty-seven seconds, would most likely follow in the footsteps of her mother and grandmother and become an excellent lawyer.

“If you insist.” Grabbing them both by the hand, he led them down to the kitchen turning on every light along the way. Settling them in their normal seats at the island, he turned on the stove and poured some milk into a pot. As if the past was falling with the snow, another memory assaulted him. This one of Emma, decked out in the loathsome Hawaiian shirt, painstakingly showing him the proper way to make her favorite drink. 

He remembered her instructions like it was yesterday: A thick bottomed pot, whole milk with a splash of half and half, cocoa powder mixed with sugar, a hint of vanilla extract, and lots of patience. They had been in the industrial-sized kitchen of her restaurant after she finally gave in to his pleas to spend the night with him. 

Of course, their ideas of spending the night together were worlds apart. 

Instead of a cozy evening at his mansion, where he could impress her with his wealth and status, she snuck him in after hours and they stayed in the kitchen until the next morning eating, drinking, and talking about the future. If he had to pinpoint the exact moment his intense attraction turned into an infatuation, it was probably that night.

It was the first time in his life he had someone’s undivided attention. His brother was always too involved in the fruitless power struggle with their father and his mother often faded into some otherworldly place that offered solace from her reality. They loved him but the scars of their family made it difficult to have normal relationships with each other. 

His father was a complete lost cause.

But Emma listened to him. She didn’t poke holes in his theories or point out the flaws in his dreams. That’s not to say she didn’t hold him to account for the bizarre and skewed worldview his entitlement and privilege gave him because she did. Repeatedly and with good reason.

It was intoxicating. He had been wanted by plenty of people but he had never been accepted before then. They parted in the morning with a different tone in their voices, one filled with promise. 

It was the best night of his life until a week ago when she agreed to give him a second chance. 

“Is there enough for another cup?”

Startled, he looked over to see Liam coming in from the back porch. His huge smile hinted he got the footage he wanted. Taking the seat between the twins, he kissed them both on the tops of their heads and asked, “Did you wake Uncle Killian up, dear hearts?”

“Yes,” Lily said proudly, clearly not reading the situation correctly. The older twin was the quietest of all his nieces. She liked to be outdoors and was more comfortable interacting with the animals in town than the people. Much to the chagrin of Elsa, rarely a month went by that some wounded or abandoned animal wasn’t snuck into the house. The vet bills alone were enough to bankrupt a normal family. He had yet to witness such an event but he was quietly hoping for another stray to find its way into the Jones household soon.

“This could become a habit if they get hot cocoa out of the deal, little brother,” Liam warned through a smile. “Although your desire to move out suddenly makes more sense.”

“Don’t listen to your father, darlings. Stormy nights are meant for hot drinks and good company,” he said in a singsong voice while he stirred. After a beat of quiet, he asked tentatively, “Do you read to the girls when it rains?”

“Aye. They are partial to The Three Musketeers. Must run in the family.” 

He heard the pain in Liam’s voice. As terrible as it had been to witness their mother’s death, he wondered if the burden Liam carried was worse. Their father, either in an attempt to deny the severity of the situation or out of a callous desire to justify his own absence, had refused to let Liam be told about their mother’s illness until it was too late. His older brother received the news of their mother’s passing during midterms, having no knowledge she had even been sick.

“That’s good. It’s the one family tradition I think is worthy of being carried on.” 

“There are a few others to be sure. But it is my favorite,” his brother admitted. “Do you remember the way she used to twist her hair when she got nervous? Iris does the same thing before every spelling test. The twins are always making expressions that remind me of her, especially when they laugh. And Aster is you and mom made over.”

Surprised he saw any resemblance between him and their mother or Aster, he cocked an eyebrow while he poured the cocoa into four mugs, finishing with a sprinkle of mini-marshmallows. “How do you figure?”

Snorting, Liam shook his head. Taking a small taste, he flashed Killian an appreciative glance. “This is really good. Tastes like the kind Emma makes.”

“There’s an excellent reason,” he stated with a soft smile. “One of the many lessons she taught me in my younger, wilder days. About Aster…”

“She’s a dreamer, Killian. One who has never met a stranger. She has absolutely no fear, which happens to scare me to death. She’s eager to greet the world with open arms and wants to experience everything. Her curiosity is boundless and exhausting. Be glad you missed her ‘why’ stage.”

“I’ve never thought of myself as a dreamer,” he murmured, blowing on Linnea’s cup to cool it down before passing it along then repeating the task for Lily’s mug. The twins were starting to look tired, their eyes growing heavy as the night wore on and the disruption of the storm drifted away. They were softly conversing in their private language, something they did with decreasing regularity even in the short time he had been with them. He would miss it when they stopped, something Elsa had been assured would happen quickly after they entered kindergarten.

“Father destroyed that. In both of you. He made you feel like it was wrong to want to know the people around you, to want to understand the way things worked. Although you have grounds to disagree with me, I think it was his worst crime. If he said it once, he said it a thousand times, ‘Members of Jones family should be separate and above.’ What a load of crayons.”

“Crayons, indeed.” Lifting his mug, he saluted his brother. “To better fathers and a new generation of dreamers.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Chapter Text

“Behind your Broadway show

I heard a voice saying please don’t hurt me”

-Beneath Your Beautiful, Labrinth ft Emeli Sande

Since the ink was still drying on three more deals for Jones Technology Consulting, Killian didn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt for turning off his alarm and sleeping until well past nine o’clock. The thundersnow switched over to the regular, chilly rain so prevalent during the fall prompting Liam to take the girls to school in the family car. For the first time since he arrived, he wasn’t dropping his nieces off for their classes.

The house was quiet without his family rumbling through like a herd of elephants to get ready for the day. He took his time in the shower, confident there wouldn’t be a line backing up down the hallway to use the bathroom. 

Having no one to impress, he pulled on black joggers and a slate blue Henley, not bothering to dry his hair which had started to fall over his forehead and was badly in need of a cut. His stubble was bordering on being a true beard now and as he studied his reflection in the foggy mirror, he though he may have toned up. Perhaps constantly chasing his little garden around, carrying Roland, and raking the yard with Henry impacted his fitness level for the good. He certainly felt healthier than he did nearly two months ago when he arrived. He was stronger. Happier. 

Humming as he bounded quickly down the stairs, he didn’t hear the quiet conversation coming from the kitchen so he was surprised to march in and see Emma and Elsa, their heads bent together and talking excitedly. Freezing in place, he knew he was grinning like a madman but the warmth that filled him at seeing her couldn’t be contained. “Emma, you’re back. How was your trip?”

“Full of surprises,” she answered, her own lips stretching into a bright smile. “Although it seems there are a few here as well.”

“Oh?” Studying the ladies, he noticed for the first time the dazed expression on Elsa’s face. 

Smiling softly, her hand drifting to her stomach, Elsa announced, “Yes. I’m pregnant. Again.”

Chuckling, he poured coffee into his favorite mug, a jaunty little plastic thing Aster painted for him in art class, and went over to kiss her cheek. “I know, darling. Liam already told me. I guess congratulations are in order. And perhaps an addition to the house.”

“Liam told you? But I haven’t broken the news to him yet. I just took the test last night.”

Claiming the seat at the table next to Emma, he flashed them both an amused look. “You’ve been sick for weeks. Did you think he wouldn’t notice or just chalk it up to historically bad seafood?”

“I wasn’t sick with any of the others,” Elsa explained, genuinely dismayed her husband apparently knew before she did. “He’s going to be so smug about this for the next few months. There will be no living with him.”

“To be fair, I think he’ll be smug for the rest of your lives but it won’t have anything to do with the baby.” Grabbing a piece of toast off Emma’s plate, he winked at her and was pleased to see she had a hard time taking her eyes off him. “Maybe it will be a boy this time. Jones men do like to cause trouble early and often.”

“I can attest to that,” Emma noted in a dry tone. “A boy may be for the best anyway, Elsa. You have to be running out of names at this point.”

“No, I’m sure I could come up with one or two more.” Her voice was subdued, her mind somewhere off in the distance. 

Unable to resist teasing his normally unflappable sister-in-law, he suggested playfully, “Hyacinth?”

“Jasmine?” Emma offered, catching on. She shed her jacket in the warmth of the kitchen and the green shirt she wore was one he hadn’t seen before but it quickly went to the top of his favorites. There was something deeply satisfying about how natural it was to be around family with her at his side. Her eyes twinkled at him in their shared joke, their bodies leaning toward each other and he reached under the table to squeeze her hand because he couldn’t bear not to touch her one second longer.

“Rose would be nice,” he whispered, staring into Emma’s eyes. 

“Daisy is a happy name,” she countered, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. 

Barely suppressing the urge to moan, he squeezed her hand again before turning his attention back to Elsa who was unaware of anything but her own private musings. “Poppy is cheerful.”

“Buttercup has always been a favorite of mine.”

“How about Heather?”

“Not Heather, there was a girl in one of the foster homes I lived in for a couple of months named Heather and she was a terror.” Taking the toast out of his hand, she nibbled thoughtfully in a way that had him wishing they were alone. “How about Petunia?”

“Like the cartoon pig? No, thank you,” the mother-to-be muttered, finally surfacing from her internal world. 

“Candytuft? Goat’s beard? Love-in-a-Mist? Hooker’s lips?”

“Those aren’t real flowers,” Elsa accused him, her features losing their stunned look. 

He could tell by the way she stiffened she noticed how closely he was sitting to Emma and how accepting the lady was of his nearness. Her eyes narrowed as he watched the pieces click together. To stave off any inklings she may want to vocalize, he got up to make himself some eggs. “I assure you, they are.”

He could feel Emma’s measuring gaze following him around the kitchen. Her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “How do you know so much about flowers?”

“You’d be surprised what they teach you at Oxford.”

The conversation continued on in that vein, the ladies coming up with absurd bits of trivia to try to rival his uncanny knowledge of flora. When the topic veered into how Bigfoot was different from a Yeti, Elsa conceded defeat and went to get ready for work. 

Yesterday when he learned of Emma’s extended trip, the reasons for it dominated his thoughts. Somehow now that she was back, it seemed less important than enjoying her company. He smiled at her when she joined him at the stove, watching him with an intensity that made him burn.

“You’ve adapted to life without a cook remarkably well,” she complimented him, reaching over to brush something off his shoulder. “Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what, love?”

“The high life.”

He pushed his eggs onto a plate and thought about his answer rather than flippantly replying. Slowly his old comforts had faded from his mind, leaving room to enjoy what his new life had to offer. Idleness gave way to work, loneliness to more love than he could have possibly imagined, weakness morphed into a kind of resilience he never would have guessed he had in him. 

Did he miss it? No, not at all.

“I don’t. Storybrooke has everything I need,” he murmured with a heated glance in her direction. “I sometimes wish I still had the resources though. When I think about how I wasted them, how I wasted the time I had, it makes me sick. I could have done so much more with my life.”

“Your life isn’t over, Killian. Hopefully you have one or two good years left before old age and infirmity makes you useless to society.” 

“Perhaps, but only if I don’t attempt sleeping on your couch anymore. Did you get it at Wizard of Oak? Because it certainly caused a pain in my—“

With a loud laugh, she interrupted, “Real smooth. I assume this means you want to talk about Walsh.”

Advancing on her until her back brushed against the island, he trapped her in a cage of his arms and leaned in so his face was only inches from hers. He watched the way her pupils dilated and heard her breathing deepen and knew he wasn’t the only one yearning during their short separation. “No, darling, I want to talk about us. I’d be happy if we never mention Walsh again.”

“I thought we were going to get to know each other. Go slow…” she whispered, her gaze fixed on his mouth. 

“This is glacial compared to what I want to do right now,” he admitted, closing the distance to place a lingering kiss on her forehead. “I missed your voice. I missed the way you secretly think I’m hilarious. I missed knowing you were just a short walk away. But you’re right. I promised to give you time to trust me again. My apologies.”

Hearing her sigh as he moved away, he grabbed his plate and went back to the table. He needed to be patient. She deserved it. 

She followed his footsteps and dropped in the seat across from him. “It…it didn’t go well. He said some things that were pretty brutal. Mostly because they were true. Then, he made some accusations. Mostly untrue. Needless to say, I will cut a wide path around any of his stores in the future.”

“I’m sorry, love. As a person who never had the courage to have the tough discussions, I can’t say I know what it is like. But I can say you are the bravest person I’ve ever known. Is that why you stayed the night? Too shaken to drive back?”

Chortling in amusement, Emma gave him a disbelieving look. “It wasn’t pleasant but I won’t lose any sleep over it. No, I recently started investigating a case, sort of a side project, and I had a lead I needed to run by the Feds in Portland. My contact couldn’t meet until late afternoon and I was wiped out from pulling the night shift so I didn’t want to risk driving home. If you used your phone, I would have called you.”

“By the end of the month, I should be able to rejoin the masses who are addicted to their electronic devices. Once the auction is over, I doubt I’ll be of much interest to the media or my old set. Just a footnote in history, if even that.”

“Speaking of your old set, I need to ask you a few questions about Mr. Smee.”

“Has he been creeping around your bedroom again? You can’t blame a man for trying,” he joked, wondering what in the world his former valet had done now.

“No, he’s applied for my open deputy position. He listed you and your brother as references so I’m doing my due diligence.”

“Smee is quite resourceful but I can’t imagine a decade as a valet would translate into law enforcement. Although I could be a tad unruly at times, to my knowledge he’s never had to fight crimes on my behalf.”

Looking at him with a mystified expression, she explained, “It wasn’t so much his professional experience I was asking about. His time in the Navy will fill the requirement nicely and Liam can speak to that. Honestly, he’s probably over qualified for a town like Storybrooke. I just wanted a character reference…you know, would you consider him trustworthy? Is he a gambler? Does he have anger management issues?”

He shook his head as if to clear his ears for surely he had misheard what she just said. “I’m sorry. Are you saying Smee and my brother were in the military together?”

“Yes,” she said haltingly. He could tell by the way she went silent she assumed he already knew of their connection. “Mr. Smee served under his command for several years.”

Throwing his napkin down, he muttered, “Of all the overbearing, self-righteous—“

His temper was flaring to life, a sleeping dragon finally unchained, and he was ashamed at how good it was to give in to the head of steam he was gathering. The energy he felt uncoiling in the pit of his stomach made it impossible to sit still. Liam wouldn’t know what hit him.

“Killian, where are you going?”

“Forgive me, love. I have some family business to attend to,” he said as leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Please give Elsa my apologies.”

“For what?”

“Making her a widow.”

—

As usual, his brother refused to cooperate with his plans. Leaning against Liam’s green Forester while the drizzle soaked through his clothes, he wished he had thought to grab a jacket on his mad dash out of the house. To her credit, Emma tried to talk him out of the whole thing but when it became apparent it wouldn’t work, she offered to drive him into town. Feeling this was something he had to do himself, he politely refused and proceeded to walk the few blocks to Granny’s Diner after promising he wouldn’t throw the first punch.

Not trusting himself to face Liam in a public place without property damage, which wouldn’t go very far in romancing the sheriff or keeping his word to her, he decided to wait outside until his brother finished his breakfast. Every icy raindrop touching his skin was added to the list of offenses he planned to lay at Liam’s door. 

He felt betrayed. The man he looked up to the most in life had planted a spy in his midst. A spy who became the only person he confided in, who due to his role as a trusted employee was privy to some of his most humiliating moments and worst mistakes. Instances probably reported in all their ignominious detail to an older brother who couldn’t be bothered to pick up the damn phone and talk to him himself. Then to add insult to injury, they both kept quiet about the association despite having multiple opportunities to come clean.

He couldn’t really blame Smee, although he was beginning to regret the generous Christmas bonuses he dished out over the years. No, the man was nothing if not loyal so of course he would go where his leader positioned him. Behind enemy lines, as it were.

“Killian, what are you doing standing out here in the rain? You’ll catch your death,” Liam called out, rushing over with his golf umbrella to extend it over him. 

“This is the first and only warning you’re going to get, brother, so I suggest you heed it,” he sneered, his temper breaking out of its tight leash and his chest heaving with emotion. “You should move out of arm’s reach. I know about Smee.”

Rather than fear or shame, Liam shrugged like he had just been caught in a tiny white lie of no consequence. “Ah, well, I suppose it was bound to surface sooner or later. Let’s go to the Rabbit Hole. I’ll buy you a drink.”

Momentarily startled out of his rage, he glanced at his watch and noted, “A drink? It’s barely ten.”

“They’re always open and I think we’ll both need it before everything is said and done. Come on, little brother, let’s have it out over top shelf whiskey.”

“I prefer rum,” he muttered, wishing he could hold on to his anger a little while longer but already feeling it dissipate under Liam’s calm acceptance of his mood. Tiredness and a deep melancholy replaced it. Perhaps an early morning drink was in order. “Fine. But I’ll buy my own.”

—

They took the booth at the far back corner of the drab little club. Sadly, they weren’t the only patrons there to drink their troubles away at the early hour. The bartender already had his hands full with the solitary drinker at the end of the bar who either started before work or was still wrapping up the previous night. His slurred insults were indecipherable from a distance but his tone was raw and filled with self-loathing. 

Tracing the corners of his napkin to keep from having to look at Liam, he wondered if he was bound to always be in a loop of hurt and distrust with his family. “You were spying on me.”

“That’s not true.”

“I think it sums it up nicely, Liam. How else would you describe the situation?”

Taking a fortifying drink, his brother surveyed the empty tables around them with an interest born of discomfort. They were both ill-equipped to have an emotional conversation. Rather than feel sympathy, Killian felt a perverse sense of justice. It was good to see his stoic brother sweat a bit.

“I wrote to you every week for two years. It wasn’t until my commanding officer pulled me into his office and told me the Admiral had asked I cease my writing campaign I realized you never received a single one.”

Shocked, he murmured, “No, I didn’t.”

“I called too, of course, but that’s beside the point. Father had contacted one of his friends in Congress who passed along the message, a simple favor between friends somehow morphing into a forceful suggestion to a subordinate officer. My commander didn’t like saying it any more than I liked hearing it. Liked it even less because he was made to play errand boy for a rich aristocrat who didn’t know honor from a hole in the ground. I was prepared to tell them to bugger off. You can only push men so far before they snap, after all.”

“They ordered you to stop trying to talk to me? What odd, extraordinary lengths Father would go to get what he wanted.” He took the first drink of rum but the warmth of the spiced liquor did little to keep the chill away. 

“There was a telegraph from him. I didn’t even know they did those anymore. Leave it to a Jones to revert back to antiquated methods of communication to drive their point home. He told me if I continued to try to worm my way back into your life, he would cut you off as well. I believe he said something to the effect of tossing you out on the curb.”

“Bloody bastard.”

“Aye, he is. I wouldn’t have let that dissuade me for my part but I didn’t think it was right to make your decisions for you. For all I knew, you liked your life and wanted to keep living it.”

“That’s exactly what you did though. By cutting me off, you took away my choice for a different life.”

“Come on, Killian. I think it’s time to stop playing the victim. You were a kid when I left but there was nothing to stop you from following in my footsteps once you reached adulthood. Let’s not forget, telephones work both ways, little brother.”

Damn. He really hated it when Liam was right. Not to mention the very thing he accused Liam of doing was exactly what he did to Emma. Double damn.

“Fine, I agree I had more chances than anyone to leave. Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment because I kept going back for more of Father’s family honor and prestige crap. It doesn’t give you a free pass to spy on me.”

“I already said I wasn’t spying,” Liam retorted with a sigh. “I was worried about you. I told you I followed the news for any mention of your name. The media coverage was the only time I got to see you. It seemed like you were spiraling out of control. Trashing bars in Paris, public affairs with the wives of governmental officials in London, rumors of wild parties in Rome and street racing in Los Angeles.”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, memories of those times swarmed his mind. He had been bruised badly, his heart bleeding over the loss of Emma, the walls of the life he chose closing in around him. He had lashed out, trying to grab on to anything that would stop the free fall but he only managed to sink further below the surface. Every attempt to find his footing only led to the next mistake. 

“I could tell something had happened and I wanted to be there for you. It had always been us against the world and there you were struggling to find your way and I couldn’t even be the brother you deserved.”

Forgetting he was mad at him, he insisted, “Liam, you’ve always been the brother I deserved.”

“I’m not sure if that’s an unearned compliment to me or a statement on your low standards.” Making eye contact with the bartender, he held up two fingers and then continued, “Smee’s tour was ending and he didn’t plan to reenlist. Marco kept in touch over the years and he mentioned you were stateside again and looking to hire on full-time staff. I doctored up a resume and got him through the agency background checks and screenings. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“I’m still waiting for the part of this story that proves you weren’t spying on me for nearly ten years.”

“It wasn’t like he was sending me detailed reports of your comings and goings, Killian. The longer he worked for you, the more uncomfortable he became with the whole setup. We finally landed on him keeping you out of trouble and maintaining radio silence with me unless something happened. He would let me know you were alive, if not exactly thriving, but your secrets were, and still are, safe with him. If anything, you have his loyalty now more than I ever did.”

“He’s how you got past the front gate and the night guard at my penthouse. I bet if I hadn’t changed the elevator code, you would have been able to waltz right in,” Killian pondered, his mind drifting back to that night and the surprise of Liam arriving right when he was needed most. Turns out it wasn’t a miracle so much as a long-term covert operation. Oddly, that seemed more in character for his brother anyway. “So he wasn’t sending you pictures of me sleeping and telling you how many servings of fruit I ate every day?”

“I can safely say we both had better things to do with our time than to go over the mundane details of your pampered existence,” Liam harrumphed. “Now, am I forgiven for loving my brother and wanting what is best for him or do I need to grovel some more?”

“If this was you groveling, you need some practice so feel free to continue.”

“Shut up and drink your rum, Killian.”

Chapter Text

“I just can’t believe

The loveliness of loving you”

-Sugar, Sugar, The Archies

“It’s a tad ambitious, don’t you think?”

Elsa stared like she was torn between smacking him or trying to convince him. Killian recognized the signs of a woman on the edge, there was a time in his life when he delighted in sending a lady there, so he stepped back before she decided on a course of action. Liam was working away on one of the numerous projects on their schedule and the girls were upstairs enjoying their school break by playing Mad Scientist, a lovely game of their own invention normally requiring him to drop whatever he was doing at the time to play the part of a science experiment gone horribly awry.

It was a role he was born to play.

“It’s just Thanksgiving dinner with a few friends,” she replied, thumbing through the pages of a Martha Stewart cookbook and marking things for later. “We always have Thanksgiving at our house.”

“Do you always invite half the town?”

“I hardly think eleven adults and six children constitutes half the town, Killian. Why are you fighting me on this? Do you have romantic plans for the evening? Somewhere else you have to be?”

Sighing, he pulled the book across the island and looked at the pages she dog eared. Elaborate recipes featuring dozens of ingredients he’d never heard of cascaded one after another. He knew better than to comment but while Elsa had many diverse talents, they were not centered around the stove. Liam tended to cook more than she did. There was no doubt she could do anything she put her mind to but he had a feeling this particular endeavor was going to end in disaster. “No, you know Emma is being stubborn.”

Stubborn didn’t begin to describe the torture she was putting him though. She was always around, always being Emma. It was driving him crazy. She would smile and flirt and draw him to the brink of madness and then give him a brotherly hug and be on her way. He hadn’t realized taking it slow meant he’d be in a constant state of arousal while she lived her life unaffected and apparently in no hurry to move to the next step. 

They hadn’t even been on a real date unless you considered countless nights on the couch watching holiday movies with one to five kids between them a date. Which he didn’t, no matter how much he adored the children in question.

“I’m glad she’s making you work for it. It’s character building and heaven knows if your head got any bigger, it wouldn’t fit through the door.”

“Yes, nothing like the complete collapse of one’s life to inflate one’s ego,” he murmured, studying a picture of some kind of Frankenstein monster in the form of animal carcasses stuffed into other animal carcasses. The fact she marked the page showed she wasn’t in her right mind.

“I refuse to feel sorry for you, no matter how downcast you pretend to be,” she laughed. “Admit it. You’re enjoying it.”

“Enjoying what?”

“Your life.”

He truly was and the feeling was as strange as it was welcome. He was surrounded by people he loved, pursuing a woman who could make his heart pound just by entering the room, he’d fallen into a job he was surprisingly good at and in less than a week he would be completely free of the shackles of his old life. He grinned at her and joked, “Maybe a little but I’m sure something will come along to knock me on my ass soon enough. Will that make you happy?”

Taking a bite of her oatmeal, she studied him thoughtfully. “Depends on what it is I guess.”

“You’re quite diabolical. Does Liam know the kind of woman he married?”

“Who do you think taught me?”

Chuckling, he continued thumbing through the cookbook. He wondered if this sudden interest in being the next Julia Child was rooted in her pregnancy or if something else was weighing on her. Trying his luck one more time, for Liam’s sake more than his own, he offered, “Perhaps we could try something unconventional this year. Italian or maybe tacos…the kids like those.”

“Tacos? For Thanksgiving? No, my entire family is coming and, come to think of it, the only member of Liam’s family we claim is here for the first time too. Although most of the luster with that one has already worn off,” she said with a wink. “I’m going to make a traditional dinner.”

“This isn’t a dinner, Elsa. It’s a five course feast complete with suckling pig and homemade eggnog. I beg you, let us eat tacos and sit around in sweatpants. You’re impressive enough without standing on ceremony.”

“My mind’s made up. You and Emma are responsible for dessert but make sure to tell her popcorn with melted milk duds doesn’t count.”

—

He leaned against Emma’s countertop and watched her break apart refrigerated dough and place it haphazardly on a cookie sheet. She was already dressed for dinner, her black leather dress making his body hum with desire as she remained oblivious to his admiring stare.

“If you keep looking at me like I’m dessert, I’m going to send you to the living room to play video games with Aster and Henry.”

Maybe not so oblivious after all.

“When are you going to let me take you out to dinner?”

Though she was still focused on the cookie dough, he saw her smirk. “When you’ve earned it.”

Moving closer until she had no choice but to look up from her task, he held her gaze as he ran a hand down the bare skin of her arm. “How does one earn a dinner date? Please tell me it’s by helping you work up an appetite…”

“You’re going to Seattle tomorrow. If you come back, we can talk about dinner.” 

“If?” His caress turned into a soft embrace, pulling her away from the counter until she was cuddled against him. She didn’t resist, at least they had progressed that far, instead wrapping her arms around him and sighing. “Darling, you can’t get rid of me that easily. I wouldn’t even go tomorrow if I could keep from it.”

He dreaded getting on the plane. Hated the idea of flying away from everyone he held dear for a whole week and returning to a place he’d rather keep in the past. However, he wouldn’t be able to move on as long as he had one foot in his old world. He needed to figure out what to do with his penthouse and the handful of possessions not on the auction block. He needed closure. What better way to find it than to physically let go of everything tying him to that life. Inspiration struck and he asked hopefully, “Why don’t you come with me?”

Pulling away, she looked at him like he had grown another head. “To Seattle? I think it’s better if I don’t.”

“Why? You have a deputy now. Smee will make sure the town doesn’t burn to the ground while you’re gone. We can bring Henry and I can show you the hedonistic life I abandoned in search of quiet reflection and self-improvement.”

“You mean the life Liam yanked you from and you spent weeks begrudging the loss of? Sounds like a lot of fun,” she said with a grimace. Grabbing the pan, she placed it in the oven and turned back to him. “Beside the fact Henry has school on Monday, I’m not sure it will do either of us any good for me to see you return to your natural habitat.”

She was worried he would revert. It was clear from the way she kept herself from being pulled deeper into this thing between them. This was a test. For both of them. She truly believed there was a chance he would be sucked into the glitz and glamour of his old ways and leave her. Again. 

Grimly he accepted she would not be persuaded into joining him. “It was a cage, love. A comfortable one to be sure but I was nothing more than the main attraction at a zoo full of wild animals. This is where I want to be.” 

Emma made a noncommittal sound but refused to look at him. He reached for her again, half afraid she would struggle against it. He lifted her chin with a gentle finger and emphatically repeated, “I’m not going anywhere.”

With a vulnerable smile, she said with a hint of a challenge in her voice, “I guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

He let her go when she stepped back. The space allowed the heaviness of their conversation to fall away and she peeked into the living room to make sure the kids were behaving themselves. Satisfied everything was as it should be, she reminded him, “Not a word about these not being from scratch. Elsa can never know. If she presses you, tell her I got the recipe from an old friend.”

“I thought she was your oldest friend.”

“Actually, I think you might be,” she revealed, her tone a mixture of surprise and amusement like this odd fact just occurred to her. “Maybe we can tell her it’s a Jones family recipe passed down generation to generation.”

“It will only be believable if you say the main ingredient is arsenic and the directions call for two dozen servants to make it,” he joked. “If you want me to lie for you, there will be a price.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she pushed him out of the way and started tidying up the kitchen. He was hypnotized by how her small, efficient movements made the hemline of her skirt inch up and down.

“Fine. I’ll keep your dirty little secret but only if you promise you’ll call me every day while I’m gone.”

“That would require me having your phone number and you actually turning on your cell. It’s quite a commitment. Do you think you’re ready for it? People might think we’re going steady.”

“As long as I can convince you we are, the rest of the world can go hang themselves.”

“Big talk from a man who hasn’t faced the real world in months,” she teased. Her expression turned serious suddenly. It was like her words had penetrated the playful atmosphere and robbed them of the ability to pretend things were normal. With a concerned look, she cradled his cheek in her hand. “You’re stronger than you know. Don’t forget it when you face the firing squad.”

“As if I could when dinner with you is on the line,” he murmured as he turned his face to kiss her palm. “I can compromise. If you don’t want to call, you can at least text. Maybe send a few pictures, preferably naughty ones.”

“Keep it up, Killian, and I’ll take back my walkie talkie.”

Less than half an hour later with the Jones family cookies, as they would henceforth be known, cooled and artlessly arranged on a platter emblazoned with a cartoon turkey saying ‘Gobble til you Wobble’, he dragged Aster and Henry away from storming the castle and bundled them up for the short trek back to Liam’s house. 

Snow started to fall in earnest and the temperature was dropping rapidly, making even the quick trip a bruising affair. Picking up Aster, more for warmth than out of any need on her part, he raced Henry to the back porch. The lad put in a valiant effort but even with the additional weigh of his niece, he was no match for Killian’s longer stride. He forced open the back door and entered laughing over Henry’s protests he cheated and Aster’s taunting that the boy was a sore loser.

Elsa’s upset face greeted them.“Well, my family’s flights were all cancelled. Every single one. They tried to get on standby for the next one but they probably won’t make it in until the weekend.”

Dropping Aster softly to the floor, he shrugged out of his coat and reached over to brush some snow from Henry’s hair. “I’m sorry, love. But there will probably be plenty of leftovers to last that long.”

“You’re right because Robin called to say Roland and Regina are both running fevers. He suspects the flu so they can’t make it either.”

Her voice cracked on the last word and he had a sneaking suspicion she was on the verge of tears. Doing his best to sound unconcerned, he asked, “Where’s Liam?”

“Trying to wrangle the twins into their clothes,” she replied wearily. “Where’s Emma?”

“It’s cold outside,” he said by way of explanation. “Every man for himself.”

“I really don’t know what she sees in you,” Elsa groused, turning her back on him to stir one of the half dozen pots currently simmering on the stovetop. She seemed frazzled, tendrils of her hair curling from the heat and her apron smudged with all manner of food.

“Neither do I so let’s not tempt fate by asking her,” he teased as the woman in question made her way into the kitchen. Her red coat and beanie were covered with snow and if she wasn’t already attractive enough, the snowflakes caught in her long lashes made it look like she had fallen straight from heaven pulling the stars with her. 

“Hey Elsa,” she greeted her friend, putting the cookies down and walking over to the stove to inhale the fragrant steam. “Can I help with anything?”

“No, I think I have it under control. Have you heard from William?”

Picking up on the unfamiliar and decidedly male name, Killian interrupted, “Who’s William?”

The two women looked at him with puzzled expressions and exchanged an amused glance. It was Emma who answered. “Smee. Please tell me you’re joking and you didn’t employ a man for almost a decade without knowing his first name.”

“Huh. Sorry, he was always Mr. Smee to me,” he admitted without a hint of shame. Liam walked in looking like he came straight from the battlefield, shoulders tense and eyes tired. He was sure the twins came out the victors of their confrontation and wondered if they would streak through any moment half-dressed and ready for round two. “Liam, did you know Smee’s first name was William?”

“No. I’m not sure it suits him. He strikes me as more of an Edward. Maybe Richard…” Reaching over, he grabbed a roll out of the basket where they were cooling earning him a death glare from Elsa. “What? We’re going to have plenty now that it’s only the ten of us.”

“Nine of us I’m afraid,” Emma informed them, her eyes drifting to Elsa as the woman looked like she had the wind knocked out of her sails. “William is responding to a traffic accident on the other side of town. He won’t be able to make it. The roads are already getting bad so I may need to leave earlier than planned if we get any other calls.”

“Fine. Great. It’s not like I went to any effort to make a nice, home-cooked meal for all my family and friends,” Elsa muttered, turning away and missing the worried glances the rest of the adults exchanged. “I guess since this is it, we should go ahead and set the table. No point in waiting.”

Eager to get out of the line of fire, for Elsa was clearly spoiling for a fight, he grabbed plates and nearly ran for the little used dining room off the kitchen. He had to admit his sister-in-law did a fine job decorating with cornucopias and a table runner bursting with autumnal colors gilded in gold. It looked like a display fit for a magazine spread. 

Liam added the extra leaves to the table earlier in the week and since they were of a diminished number, the children could now join them in the dining room rather than being regulated to the kid’s table in the kitchen. He debated hiding until dinner was served but dismissed the idea. His flight was early in the morning, if the weather permitted, and he didn’t want to miss a single moment of his first Thanksgiving with his family. Even if he half expected Elsa to call for someone’s head before the night was through.

Emma joined him moments later with wide eyes and a shake of her head. “No matter what, everything is delicious and Elsa is the best chef you’ve ever encountered, got it?”

“Darling, no need to tell me twice. What has gotten into her? I fear for our safety. Did you bring your gun?”

Laughing, she moved closer and whispered, “She hasn’t told Liam yet. I think it has her on edge.”

“Why hasn’t she told him? He already knows. He’s thrilled at the prospect and pleased at his own prowess in the bedroom.” He claimed a seat toward the far end of the table and pulled her into the chair next to him. “We need to eat fast and get out clean, Swan. There’s a storm brewing and it won’t be snow falling from the ceiling when it breaks.”

“I already have my escape route and I’ve never been more thankful for slick roads,” she pointed out. Echoing his words from earlier, she winked and said, “It’s every man for himself. Best of luck to you. Save the children if you can.”

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and went to join Henry in the living room.

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the home minutes later. Everyone was already walking on eggshells to avoid drawing the wrath of Elsa, so there was no laughter or hullabaloo to drown out the sound. The entire household ran to the kitchen with dread that was palpable. 

Killian reached her first and saw Elsa sitting on the kitchen floor, staring into the oven as if it had mortally offended her. The pieces of a broken plate surrounded her. He approached with caution, worried she may be hurt. “Love, is everything okay? Are you injured?”

She looked at him with tears in her eyes. “I didn’t turn on the oven.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The oven. I never turned it on. The turducken is raw.” She burst into tears at the exact moment the girls entered the kitchen, Henry, Liam and Emma following on their heels. Within seconds, his nieces were also crying, over what he wasn’t entirely sure. He couldn’t blame them though. He felt like a good wail would suit him at the moment too.

Like a port in the storm, Liam went to Elsa and pulled her into his arms. Whispering endearments as he held her, whatever control she had collapsed and she was gripping him tightly as heartbreaking sobs wracked her body. At a loss, Killian glanced at Emma hoping she would know what to do. Unfortunately, she and Henry were huddled by the wall like the emotional turmoil had forced them backward. 

“Mommy!” Lily cried, running toward her mother. Liam folded her into the hug, moving their group away from the broken glass without disrupting his wife or the growing horde of upset girls clinging to him. 

“Killian,” Liam’s calm voice rang out. “You and Emma take the kids to her house. Don’t come back until you get the all clear.”

“Right, away we go,” he replied, glad to have a concrete way to help as he moved to break the stranglehold the twins had on their parents. At Emma’s direction, Henry grabbed coats and hats while she steered the older girls toward the door. With one last look over his shoulder at his brother who remained levelheaded in the face of the unknown, he moved away from one storm and into another. 

—

The thin light of morning illuminated a scene Killian knew he would remember for the rest of his life. The signal it was safe to return never came, so the small band of emotional refugees had camped out in Emma’s living room, making frozen pizzas and macaroni and cheese for their unplanned Thanksgiving dinner. As the night wore on, Emma divvied out t-shirts and toothbrushes before settling the girls into a large pallet of blankets in the middle of the living room. Henry claimed the oversized chair in the corner, leaving the sofa for the two adults to share. Sometime during the night, Emma’s head had drifted to his chest, his arm wrapped around her. 

It wasn’t the best night’s sleep he ever had but he wouldn’t trade it for all the high-priced mattresses in all the expensive hotel rooms and penthouses in all the world. 

He sensed it was time to go but he couldn’t make himself leave. The snow stopped shortly after they arrived at Emma’s place. The temperature warmed enough so the roads cleared without the aid of snowplows and salt, but snow blanketed the ground so the world seemed quiet and still. The soft sound of breathing nearly lulled him back to sleep. 

He smoothly extracted himself from beneath Emma, positioning her against the arm of the couch with exaggerated care. Scrubbed of make-up and in oversized flannel pajamas, it was like sleep had turned back the clock and she was once again the teenager he fell in love with. He gently pushed her hair from her forehead and placed a kiss there before backing away. If he didn’t leave now, he probably never would and he had business to take care of so he could get back to his family.

Finding a scrap of paper Henry left on the coffee table, he scribbled out a note to Emma. Assuring her he would return, that he would think of her every day while they were apart, he wrote his number at the bottom and put it under her badge where she would be sure to find it. 

With one final glance, he left to pack his bags and face the music.

Chapter Text

“Be my atmosphere

Let me breath you in”

-I Am Yours, Andy Grammar

“Mr. Jones,” Marco greeted him with a wide smile at odds with the seriousness of their meeting. “It’s good to have you back, my boy.”

“Please, Killian will do,” he replied, taking the seat at the head of the table. It wasn’t lost on him or the room full of advisors he was sitting in the chair normally reserved for his father. Sinking into the comfort of the buttery soft leather of the boardroom wing-back, he allowed himself a moment to reflect on how much he hated this room before he got down to business. “I understand the auction is moving forward as planned. I apologize for being out of pocket the last several weeks. I had other things to tend to before coming back to wrap this up.”

Flipping through the catalog outlining the vastly diminished but still impressive collections owned by his family, the multiple estates spanning the globe, and the odds and ends that made a lifetime of memories, he did his best to give them his undivided attention. 

He had been gone five days. It felt like forever and yet he still had several days of auctions to make it through. While he wasn’t required to be on site for the events, his advisors thought it would help the sale of items if he could answer any questions regarding the offerings not already covered by provenance and catalog descriptions. Not to mention his elusive presence at the auction was sure to garner media attention and draw a crowd in its own right which would only help the bottom line.

“Killian, the auction house has estimated the proceeds to be in line with the net of back taxes and penalties owed to the IRS. There is a little matter of some private lawsuits being filed against your father to settle out of court to keep the family name in good standing,” Marco reported, looking down at the financial statements provided in the estate documents. 

“The family name is already in the gutter, my dear man, I don’t think these lawsuits are going to sway the public one way or another. How many are there and how much do they want?”

“Half a dozen of your father’s closest friends claim he misrepresented potential investments to the tune of ten million dollars. There may be enough money to break even after the auction but we’ve taken steps to protect your personal assets should it come to that.”

“I appreciate your hard work on this but if necessary, I would prefer to give them what they want as long as they sign an agreement to never bother us again,” he ordered. The last thing he needed was to have to deal with people coming out of the woodwork months and years down the line claiming his family owed them anything. 

“Very well, sir.”

Looking around the table, he fixed the real estate professional they had on retainer for over two decades with a calculating stare. “How much will my penthouse bring on today’s market?”

“Considering the location and numerous design accolades, no less than three million. Perhaps as low as two and a half if it goes at auction.”

“Please draw up the listing. I’ll give you two days to sell. If not, it goes to the highest bidder on the last day along with your commission.”

“But sir, even with a market this hot, there’s no way—“

“If someone can afford the price tag, they won’t be consulting with loan officers and banks. Two days.”

Peering around the room, he waited for someone to disagree with him. Either the chair was working its magic or the team finally realized there was a new sheriff in town. 

At the thought, he had to fight to keep from smiling. His own favorite sheriff did as he asked and kept in contact with him via text message as he packed his belongings and met with his lawyers several thousand miles west of where he left his heart. 

Showing she wasn’t to be outdone, she sent him at least one naughty picture a day. Or rather, at least one picture of the word Naughty a day. He had no idea where she found the images but preferred to imagine her pouring over magazines and books to find examples or combing through the Christmas aisle to find decorations proclaiming he’d made the naughty list. Truly, his active imagination’s tendency to circle around her was the only thing getting him through the countless meetings and endless bad news. 

He was tempted to respond in kind, to use funny pictures and emojis to communicate rather than burden her with the weight he was carrying. But his first night away, he texted how much he missed her. The next night he told her how much her presence in his life meant to him. He continued sending messages well into the night and the nights that followed, detailing his hopes for a future together and pouring out his feelings one word at a time. 

At first he was discouraged when she didn’t reply. No messages were forthcoming other than the steady stream of pictures. She didn’t beg him to come home or hammer him with questions about his day. There were no promises to wait for him or reassurances she missed him. She never wished him good morning, good night, or good luck.

By the time he awoke on his third day away he realized it was his turn to wait on the pier. He needed to put himself out there wholeheartedly without any expectation for her to reciprocate. Besides, it felt incredibly good to share everything he had been holding in since she knocked him to the floor. It was cathartic. A lifetime of suppressing his emotions, of denying what he wanted and never sharing with his loved ones how important they were, finally ended. It was like a dam broke and after the initial flood, he was left with a sense of peace knowing she would never again have reason to doubt how he felt about her.

Furthermore, he knew Emma. She wasn’t shy by any definition but she could be quite reserved about communicating her emotions. The woman he loved was more comfortable demonstrating the depth of her feelings through actions than words. So he took her inside jokes for what they were. A sign she thought about him throughout her day and was trying to bridge the distance between them the only way she knew how. 

It was more than enough. Once again she had become the center of his universe. His everything. She didn’t even have to try.

Any updates he received about life in Storybrooke came from Elsa or Robin, who also messaged him on a regular basis to make sure he wasn’t wallowing or falling back into his old ways. His best friend wished him well on his trip and asked for some positive vibes of his own as he planned to ask Regina to marry him over the Christmas holiday. 

He received news from Elsa earlier in the morning. Iris won the school spelling bee the night before and would be going on to district competitions in the new year. He hated he missed it, she was never cuter than when she was proving she was smarter than everyone else. 

Aster was sent to the principal’s office for the first time on Monday morning because she skinned her elbow and shouted ‘Bloody Hell.’ She avoided punishment at home when she pointed out it didn’t count since she was bleeding at the time. According to Elsa, Liam was so proud he seemed more inclined to buy her pony than to put her on restrictions. 

The twins had taken the news of a younger sibling better than they hoped, the youngest of the Jones clan immediately started piling their toys in the corner of the room so the new baby would have something to play with when it arrived. 

Elsa was trying to overcome her embarrassment over the Thanksgiving drama and the distraction of hosting her family during his absence helped. She still claimed it was all Liam’s fault and he, being the wise man he was, didn’t contradict her. 

He had never resented his father more than he did now for separating him from his family and leaving him to clean up the mess the man left behind. To add insult to injury, he had a meeting with the local FBI office before the auction started tomorrow to be questioned about the whereabouts of the elder Mr. Jones and to determine if he had any part in the fraud or his father’s escape from authorities. 

With the meeting concluded, he walked out by Marco’s side and watched the man lock the doors to the building for the last time. It too would be sold in a few days and he hoped the new owner would have better luck within the walls than he ever did.

“Would you like to have dinner with my family, Killian? My son is visiting from out of town and I’m making a special meal to celebrate.”

“No. Thank you for everything. You’ve been a rock for my family during several tragedies. Go home and enjoy your time without worrying over me. I hope the next time our paths cross, it will be under better circumstances.”

“Your mother would be proud of you. She was a fine lady, gone too soon from the world. She had a saying, ‘A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.’ I’m glad to see both of her sons found the right things to fight for…” 

—

Watching the movers load the last of his closet contents into the freight elevator in the service hallway, he realized exactly how extravagantly he had lived. Who needed so much stuff? It was unconscionable. Thank goodness Emma turned down his invitation because if nothing else sent her running, the three trucks the charity brought to haul off his clothes would have surely done it. 

Smiling, he entered his spartan place and felt at peace there for the first time. Perhaps it was the bare bones interior smoothing away the harsh memories of the last few months but somehow the emptiness seemed more like a new beginning than a loss now. 

His thoughts were broken by the harsh single blast of his doorbell. Wondering if the movers left something behind, he keyed open the main elevator without checking to see who was there. 

It turned out to be a mistake.

“Killian, my dear, you look positively wild.” With a cackle that made his skin crawl, he stood silent as She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named waltzed into his home like she belonged there. She reached out to touch his cheek and he flinched away, stirred to action by the wrongness of the gesture.

“Bloody hell, woman, what possessed you to come here? Did you really think you’d be welcome after everything you’ve done?”

With an arch look at the empty space, she turned to him and gave him a fake smile. “Is that any way to talk to your future stepmother, Killian?”

She made a show of pulling off her designer gloves and flashing her engagement ring in his direction. He wasn’t sure if she was expecting him to fawn over it or roar in anger but she would have been disappointed either way. The only emotions she evoked in him now were pity and a certain level of dark humor. 

“I think it’s time for you to go,” he ordered, grabbing her arm in a firm hold she couldn’t escape and moving her quickly back toward the elevator. 

“So soon, my pet? I wanted to apologize and make sure you weren’t suffering. Daddy was so angry with me when I broke our engagement, he actually threatened to cut me off. Can you imagine?” Her shrill laughter sounded hollow as it echoed through his penthouse but her claws were as sharp as ever. “What am I saying? Of course you can. Is it hard being poor?”

“Not as hard as it was being engaged to you, darling. Now what do you say we call it even? I get my sanity and you get to take care of my father in his old age and we both live our lives knowing we never have to speak to each other again.” 

“There’s no reason to resort to sarcasm, dear. That’s not what I want. Once you handle all this nasty business, your father and I will be able to come back and we can be one big, happy family,” she insisted, tossing her glossy hair over her shoulder. He could tell by the way her eyes narrowed she expected him to roll over and play dead. She wasn’t used to being told no, least of all by him.

“I think I can safely say hell will freeze over before that happens. Why are you really here?”

“I told you, Killian. I wanted to make sure you’re surviving. The news reported all kinds of terrible things…one outlet said you’d done yourself harm and, even more outlandish, someone reported you moved to Maine.”

“I’m as hale and hearty as ever.” With a snicker, he added, “You could have saved us both a lot of aggravation a long time ago by letting me know young and vigorous wasn’t your type.”

“Oh, my poor baby…are you jealous? Insults are so unbecoming. Your father is in excellent health.” 

He didn’t miss the way angry color tinted her cheeks or how her eyes slid over his form as he moved her out of his space. He struck a nerve and while a part of him reveled in it, the larger part just wanted her gone. “I’m glad to hear it. That means you’ll have many more years to torture each other. Now if you’re not going to tell me why you deigned to visit, let me get on with kicking you out.”

“Fine, if you refuse to be reasonable. There was some jewelry I was interested in buying at the auction but when I called to inquire about it, they said the items were no longer available. I wanted to try to convince you to sell them to me,” she admitted, any pretense at reconciliation gone as she surveyed him with hard eyes. “Price is no object.”

Opening the doors to the elevator, he resolutely guided her in and dropped his hand like she was coated with acid. He barely resisted the urge to wipe his palm on his pants to rid himself of any trace of her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about but whatever it is you want, I would rather toss it in the ocean than give you the satisfaction of holding it in your grasping, greedy little hands.” 

As the doors closed in slow motion, he allowed himself the final word for the trouble and embarrassment this woman caused him. To be fair, he couldn’t lay it all at her feet but she wasn’t an innocent bystander either. “If you come near me or anyone I love again, I’ll make you regret it, Nimue. Pass the message along to dear old dad while you’re at it.”

—

He wasn’t prepared for the frenzy. Perhaps he should have been but his sabbatical in Storybrooke had him out of practice for the no-holds-barred media assault waiting for him at the historic hotel in downtown Seattle. He climbed out of a taxi to the bright flashes of hundreds of cameras, people shouting questions indecipherable in the cacophony. Police had been called to block off the roads and sidewalks so traffic wouldn’t be impeded by the line of limousines waiting to drop off those lucky enough to gain entrance to the auction in person rather than submitting their bids through the website or by proxy. 

The crowd was decidedly rich but had no aversion to flaunting it. This was no reserved tea time art gallery patronage or private estate brokerage. These people were out for old money cachet and they weren’t afraid to put down a considerable amount of new cash to secure it. He wondered if their currency had even cooled from the printing press. Then he remembered it was of little consequence to him who plopped down the funds for his family’s possessions as long as he was back home before the end of the weekend.

He felt his pocket vibrate and pulled out his phone. He welcomed the distraction as he made his way through the mob into the lobby of the former gentleman’s club. Ignoring the press shouting his name and the grandeur of the architecture, he stopped at the entrance to the ballroom when he saw it was from Emma. She abandoned her running joke and simply sent, ‘I picked out a restaurant.’

He wondered if she would know the exact moment he read her message if she saw one of the hundreds of photos taken of him pausing in the doorway. He felt himself relax and a small smile cross his face, her courage once again taking his breath away. He would spend the rest of his life trying to deserve her if she let him.

“Text from Emma, I gather,” came a familiar voice from his side. Startled into looking up from his phone, he was amazed to see Liam leaning against the wall looking for all the world like he just arrived home from hiking the entirety of the Appalachian Trail. Curly hair windswept, his eyes danced with laughter completely unaware his L.L. Bean chic was drawing attention from the jetsetter crowd.

He’d never looked better as far as Killian was concerned.

“I guess I should have dusted off my Four Weddings and a Funeral suit,” he commented as he eyed a group passing by. 

Chuckling because he should have known Liam wouldn’t miss the opportunity to play big brother after all these years, he was nonetheless happy to see him. The loneliness of the past few days and the unwelcome surprise of his ex-fiancee’s return left him raw. Skirting away from emotional thanks and the heavy anticipation of the events to come, he asked, “Does it make you look like Hugh Grant?”

“It’s a suit, not a magic wand.” Pushing off the wall, his brother made his way over to him and clapped him on the back. “When I left home, I swore I would never wear one again. Unfortunately, Elsa had other ideas. My uniform got me through our wedding but we compromised early on in our marriage and I now own one suit. The only time I intend for it to see the light of day is at the weddings of my four daughters and my own funeral.”

“Lovely story, brother. Do you tell it to the girls at bedtime?”

“They’d rather hear about your leather jackets.”

“Well, you’re going to have to rethink your little nickname if you keep indulging in afternoon delight with your wife. Somehow Five Weddings and Counting plus a Funeral suit doesn’t have quite the same ring,” he murmured, eyebrow cocked and a smirk gracing his lips. It was as if he had unleashed a storm, the cameras snapping pictures so quickly the glare blinded him. He heard several voices calling out his name, demanding to know who he was talking to and what was so funny. With a derisive shake of his head, he led Liam into the ballroom. “Your face is going to be splashed over ever gossip rag in the city when they figure out who you are.”

“I don’t care. We’re going to do this together, just like Mom would have wanted. Nobody messes with the Brothers Jones.”

Damn. He was starting to like when Liam was right.

—

Before they could get to the main event, there was a little matter of clearing him of suspicion in the federal case against his father. As requested, he met the local agent in one of the smaller conference rooms set aside for the auctioneers and staff to use. At a small table in the corner, he endured question after question about his father and his knowledge of the events leading to his getaway.

Did he know his father sold false shares in nonexistent businesses to his asinine friends? No, but honestly he liked him the slightest bit more for it. He had always been under the impression his father had no imagination at all.

Was he aware of several offshore accounts opened in the months preceding his father’s escape from authorities? No, if he had been he wouldn’t be selling off the family jewels to make restitution. 

Did he know of his father’s intent to leave the country? No, although he would be eternally grateful his father took some of his own baggage with him when he snuck out in the dead of night.

Had his father been in contact since he fled? No, which wasn’t surprising considering he hadn’t spoken with his father for several months before the blessed event.

To the best of his knowledge, was his father planning to return to the country? If his father came back, he would be the last to know. 

Was he aware there was a question of provenance on a set of rings originally listed in the auction catalog?

It was the last question that gave him pause. Staring intently at the agent, he got the sense the man was studying him just as acutely. “No, I wasn’t aware it was a set of rings. Someone had mentioned there were items removed from the auction. Can I see which ones are disputed?”

With a wary glance, the agent pulled a baggie out from his pocket and set his mother’s wedding rings on the table between them. It had been years since he last saw them, the emerald and diamond setting sparkling in the subdued lighting. Reaching out to run his finger over the jewelry through the thin protective plastic, he turned his attention back to the man. “These were my mother’s rings. Who could possibly have a claim on them?”

“Emma Swan.”

Shocked to the depths of his soul, he sputtered, “That’s not...there must be some mistake.”

There was nothing that would please him more than to see his mother’s wedding rings on Emma’s hand but how she had convinced the FBI the jewelry was rightfully hers was something of a riddle. Looking at the delicate settings, the emeralds gleamed in a way reminiscent of her eyes when she was putting him in his place. What the devil was she playing at?

“No mistake, Mr. Jones. She called in a lot of favors to push through the claim before the auction.” Shuffling through the paperwork, he read out, “Looks like she submitted it on behalf of you and your brother, Captain Liam Jones. Says here your brother is the rightful owner so the rings should be exempt from the personal property liquidation.” 

Heart soaring, he had a hard time remaining in his chair. His darling Emma did this for his family. Who knows how she had accomplished it or why she bothered after the pain he caused her but it was the most romantic, thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for him. 

She still loved him. It was the only explanation. 

Wrapping his mind around it, he confirmed again, “Emma did this?”

Looking at him as if he was beginning to worry over his sanity, the agent nodded slowly and added, “After consulting with the auction house and reviewing the documents provided by your advisors, it would appear she is correct. Is Captain Jones present today?”

Clearing his throat, which had thickened with emotion, he waved at Liam to come over and said, “Aye, that he is. If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish this so I can go home. I’ve got someone waiting for me.”

Chapter Text

“For you I know I’d even try to turn the tide”

-Walk the Line, Johnny Cash

“Stop fidgeting.”

“I’m not fidgeting.”

With a pointed look at Killian’s bobbing knee and tapping fingers, Liam sighed. They boarded the plane late and their connecting flight had been delayed due to weather. It seemed like the harder he tried to get back, the longer it was taking. When they finally taxied to the gate in Portland, he was ready to open the emergency hatch and make a run for it. Instead, he remained in his seat as directed, nervous energy coursing through his body.

The auction had surpassed his advisors’ wildest dreams. The hysteria created by the one of a kind pieces and rarely seen antiques was lauded as a once in a lifetime opportunity for collectors with enough money to play the game. At the end of the day, they had plenty of funds to settle all outstanding debts and lawsuits while still having a small fortune set aside for a rainy day. 

None of it mattered though. The only thing of consequence now was seeing Emma and his family again. He texted her at least a hundred times since his interview with the FBI but she hadn’t responded beyond infrequent pictures of his nieces and Henry or the occasional scene of life in Storybrooke. It was as if she wasn’t receiving his messages full of longing and thanks. 

Breaking through the invisible line they erected, he started calling her. He needed to hear her voice, wanted to tell her how much her gesture with his mother’s rings was appreciated. He was afraid if he didn’t tell her how he felt as soon as possible, he would miss his chance.

When all his efforts to make contact failed, he called Elsa and begged her to track her friend down and demand she answer him. His sister-in-law only laughed at his desperate threats and assured him Emma was fine, simply busy with her job and getting everything ready for Henry’s Christmas.

He couldn’t understand her withdrawal. Had she reconsidered? Was she tired of him already? Did his absence during the past week highlight she didn’t need him in her life? He already knew she would be fine without him but surely she wasn’t so cruel as to condemn him to a life without her.

“Merlin’s beard, Killian, I’m going to knock you out if you don’t stop moving,” Liam muttered just as the announcement to deplane came across the intercom. 

Not waiting for his brother, he rushed to the exit. He kept from breaking into a jog, barely, but reached the concourse well before Liam. As such, his surprise at seeing a colorful, hand-painted banner proclaiming ‘Welcome Home’ and covered with rainbows and handprints went unseen by his brother. His nieces were hopping up and down and yelling as he neared, excited at his arrival. Henry and Elsa took a more reserved approach by waving when he stopped with a broad smile and happily asked, “What’s all this, then?”

“You came back,” Elsa teased. “Guess I owe Liam twenty bucks…although him going after you wasn’t part of the wager.”

He wasn’t really listening or he might have been offended at everyone’s continued belief he would leave. He spotted Emma approaching from behind the group, putting her phone away as she came closer. Seeing him standing there, her disappointment at missing the reunion was apparent. “Oh, did I miss it? Was he surprised?”

Not bothering to answer, he let his duffel fall to the ground and closed the distance between them. She was there. He wasn’t too late. Moved by an urgency he was only beginning to understand, he pulled her into his arms and said, “I love you.” 

Before she could say anything, he kissed her. On some level, he registered the giggled oohs and aahs from the kids but mostly he just relished feeling her against him. She didn’t hesitate to return his kiss, her lips melding into his and arms wrapping around him to keep her balance. As much as he would have liked to, he knew their PG audience may be scarred for life if he extended their embrace into the more fevered reunion his body was clearly seeking. As a concession to their young spectators, he didn’t deepen the kiss but he did tighten his embrace and pick her up, needing to find some outlet for the excessive emotion pulsing through him.

As the kiss ended, she slid down his body and made contact with the floor. He was surprised to see her looking somewhat dazed. Her voice was husky when she said, “I thought we were taking it slow.”

“We can circle back to that later. You can’t do something like what you did and not let me express my gratitude,” he whispered, moving her hair off her shoulders so he didn’t pull her in for another kiss. 

“So that was the way you say thank you? I have to admit, I’m a fan.” Grinning at him, she added, “But you weren’t supposed to know I had any part in it.”

“Why, love? You’re bloody brilliant. The whole world should know it.” 

“Because I didn’t want you to feel any pressure to come back…like you owed me anything.”

“Emma, I owe you more than I can ever repay but it’s not the reason I will always come back to you.” He knew they only had a few more seconds before his family joined their reunion and a public airport wasn’t the most romantic place to declare his intentions but he couldn’t stop himself from repeating, “I love you. I always have and I always will. I’m not going anywhere. Now, back to taking it slow.”

He stepped away with a wink and turned to pick up Lily and toss her in the air as the rest of his nieces rushed toward him. “I missed you all, my little garden.”

He listened to their stories of the events that unfolded during his trip, not having the heart to tell them their mother had kept him informed while he was gone. Besides, he liked hearing it in their own voices. Liam’s arrival caused their focus to shift momentarily, rushing to greet their father with similar enthusiasm. 

Taking the opportunity presented by the small calm, he greeted Henry with a smile. The younger man picked up his bag, the shoulder strap too long for his smaller form causing it to hit around his calves and threaten to drag him down. He knew better than to comment however and was pleased when the lad’s hand found its way into his. With a astonished glance at Emma, he led the group out of the airport. 

He was finally home.

—

Killian admired the pretty picture Emma made sitting across the candlelit table at a restaurant he didn’t know existed until she pulled him into it a few moments ago. Truthfully, he was under the impression Granny’s Diner was the only place to grab a bite out in Storybrooke. While he would have taken whatever he could get in regard to a date with Emma, the soft lighting and gentle classical music of the Italian restaurant was certainly more in line with what he wanted for their reimagined first date. 

He teased her repeatedly in his unanswered Seattle texts about his intent to restage their entire relationship. Insisting this time around, he would do the thing much more satisfactorily. He wouldn’t trade the escapades of their younger days for anything. However, maturity made him realize the proper way to treat a woman you were trying to woo. Not that he had put the knowledge into practice. Honestly, he wasn’t inspired to try until Emma came back into his life.

The much anticipated dinner date almost didn’t happen. It was postponed twice, once because of a situation on the outskirts of town when a mine collapsed and again when Liam and Elsa had to make an emergency trip to the hospital when his sister-in-law starting feeling pain in her abdomen. Luckily, both situations resolved themselves happily without injury or loss of life. 

Then earlier tonight, Aster drifted into his room, or more accurately hers although she hadn’t slept in it for months, and informed him he needed to wear his leather jacket. Finally giving in to curiosity, he asked why she always wanted him outfitted in the old thing. Her answer had him grinning hours later. It seemed she overheard Emma telling Elsa she was partial to men in leather jackets so his niece decided upon his arrival she was going to give him his best chance. 

He doubted the little lady knew of his affection for Emma prior to his rather public display at Portland International, although he was learning not to put anything past his little garden, but it amused him to no end she tried to arrange things so he would stay. Perhaps Iris wasn’t the only one who took after her father. Between Iris looking after his employment and Aster handling his love life, he just needed the twins to take an interest in his diet and exercise and he would be all set.

After dropping the bombshell she was playing wingman from day one, she announced she wasn’t feeling well and promptly threw up on his shoes.

Despite the postponements and less than stellar start to the evening, it was worth the wait. 

After the waiter left with their drink order, Emma gave him a shy smile and asked, “Are you excited about moving into your new place?”

“I’m excited about not having pink walls lull me to sleep every night,” he admitted. “Less enamored with how far it is from everyone.”

Turns out the Storybrooke real estate market was limited. Even with a budget landing on the extreme high end for the area, one couldn’t buy what wasn’t available. He finally settled on a medium-sized oceanfront home on the other side of town. It was further out than he wanted but the views were amazing and there was enough room to put in a pool for the girls. 

With a smirk and a shake of her head, she sipped her water. “It’s a twenty minute walk from my house.”

“Already mapped it out, love? Someone’s eager for an invitation…”

“One of my ex-boyfriends used to live there. I enjoy the view from the bedroom,” she said. Then she laughed loudly at his expression and added, “You should see your face. It was a joke. I swear I haven’t already christened your bedroom although it would serve you right if I had.”

“Aye, I suppose so but let’s keep talk of your bedroom shenanigans with other men to a minimum. I like to pretend you waited patiently for me to come to my senses.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she murmured. 

“Speaking of what helps me sleep at night…” His voice trailed off when the waiter reappeared with their wine and appetizer. The young man only had eyes for Emma. He couldn’t blame him, she did look ravishing in her skin tight pink dress. Still, one did wonder where professionalism had gone in the modern age. Clearing his throat to draw the man’s attention away from her admittedly captivating neckline, he glared at the waiter until he backed away. 

“Impressive, Mr. Jones. Did they teach you that look in boarding school?”

“No, love. Those are standard issue to men when they hit puberty.” Reaching across the table, he caressed her hand and added, “And please don’t call me Mr. Jones. War wounds and all, you understand.”

“I do, believe it or not.” Staring deeply into his eyes, she seemed to lose her train of thought for a moment. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

He wished there were fewer people surrounding them. He would love nothing more than to move his chair around the table and hold her close. However, she was the sheriff of this town and canoodling with her in a public forum would probably damage her respected reputation. Lifting her hand and threading his fingers through hers, he said, “I know. You weren’t the only one. My own sister-in-law bet against me and she doesn’t have nearly as good a reason as you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Emma was a smart woman. Sooner or later, she would realize every time he uttered those words, he was really saying he loved her. She filled the holes in his life he hadn’t realized existed until he met her. Twice over.

“Probably my fault. As much as she loves you, she was my friend first. I’m glad you proved me wrong.”

“There is nowhere I’d rather be, love. Especially now that I know you own that dress. It’s quite fetching. Seattle was never home, even less so after my father’s criminal getaway. Luckily, I left everything about my old life behind when I boarded the plane last week. I can’t imagine my wicked past will find me here in Storybrooke, the land time forgot.”

“But you’re so much more appealing when you’re trying to repent for your sins,” she teased with a squeeze of his hand. “After all, you had to fall very far before you thought of me as an option again.”

“Darling, I had to rise very far above my upbringing before I thought I was good enough to be an option for you again,” he corrected with a scowl. “I think we both know who got the better end of the deal here.”

The food arrived and the rest of the evening was spent exchanging casual conversation—compliments on his part, deflection and lighthearted insults on hers. He loved how easy it was, even with the rush of emotions flooding him when she was near. This woman was the best thing that ever happened to him. 

Despite the weather transitioning from the briskness of fall into the arctic blasts of winter, the night was clear and relatively comfortable. She insisted they walk home, noting they both indulged in the excellent wine recommendation from the restaurant owner. He wondered how she balanced on the mile-high heels she was wearing and using the light wind as an excuse, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer as they made their way home. 

He didn’t want the night to end. He wanted the life he walked away from on the pier. More than anything, he wanted to be welcome in a home they shared, sleep next to her every night, and build a life together. However, his promise to give her time pulled him up short at the doorstep. He had broken enough oaths for a lifetime and he was determined to keep his word this time, even if it killed him.

Which it was beginning to feel like it would.

She stepped across the threshold and turned back to watch him with expectant eyes. With a soft smile, he reached out and pushed her hair off her shoulder. “Why didn’t you respond to my texts or answer my calls? I thought I lost you all over again.”

“I don’t know if we were ever really done with each other, Killian. But sometimes you have to let people go to see if they come back.”

“So it was test. Did I pass?”

“What do you think?” She leaned into him and brushed her lips against his gently. Hunger flared in him but he banked the urge to repeat their porch dalliance of a few weeks ago. He couldn’t help but think he was still being tested and he hoped to God he earned an A+ for effort.

“I think you should go inside. Self-control has never been a virtue I admired or practiced so you are playing with fire, love.”

Laughing at his answer, she grabbed his hand and focused intently on where their skin touched. “Don’t you want to come in and have some coffee? Henry is staying with a friend so we don’t have to worry about waking him up.”

“If I come in, I would have a hard time stopping at coffee. You’re an unholy temptation and I’m not a man who is satisfied with getting less than he wants.”

“Who said that’s all I’m offering?”

His eyes narrowed, trying to gauge if her words were genuine or if she was teasing him as she loved to do. When she pulled him in and pushed his jacket off his shoulders roughly, any doubts flew out the window. 

—

Who knew being a lovesick fool was so fulfilling?

The night passed with tender caresses, whispered endearments, tangles of limbs and energetic efforts to become reacquainted with every inch of her. They both bore the scars of their long separation, physical and emotional. One night would not be enough to erase the pain but as the early morning light filled the room, he thought it might be enough to create a new beginning.

He lost track of time as he watched her sleep. Her body curled away from him but her feet were planted under his legs. She had thrown on his undershirt a couple of hours ago before they gave in to exhaustion and he admired the way his clothes looked on her slumbering form. He wondered what she was dreaming about, if he ever visited in her unconscious state over the last decade as she did in his fantasies. Her long hair fanned across her pillow and threatened to entrap him as well. He couldn’t say he minded in the least.

It occurred to him Henry would probably be home soon and while he didn’t think the lad was resistant to him being an addition to their family, he knew it would be better not to force change too quickly. Emma’s happiness wasn’t his only concern. The boy deserved to be comfortable in his own home and he was willing to go at a pace that suited the three of them. They were a team now. 

He immediately regretted leaving the warm bed but soldiered on to the bathroom. A shower would have to suffice since he knew staying next to Emma any longer was not conducive to a productive day. Pleasurable certainly, but he was supposed to meet his brother, Robin, and Smee at the storage place to start moving into his new home. 

By the time he finished and donned his clothes from the prior evening, Emma was awake and downstairs making breakfast. She smiled as he approached her robe-clad form from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck and commenting, “Something smells delicious.”

“It’s just from a box.”

“I’m not talking about the pancakes.” He continued kissing the sensitive skin of her neck, which was already bearing faint red marks from the night before. Something primal in him celebrated the fact the world would see the aftermath of a truly lovely coupling. 

“Keep it up, Killian, and breakfast won’t happen.”

“Keeping it up doesn’t seem to be an issue, darling, but I suppose we should eat something,” he joked with a final playful nip on her ear. She moaned but he wasn’t sure if it was because of his bad pun or his inability to keep his hands off her. 

With a force of will he didn’t know he had in him, he managed to eat breakfast without indulging his curiosity about how maple syrup would taste being licked off her delectable body. He had thought going slowly was his greatest test. Now he wondered if it was only the precursor to the Olympian feat of doing anything other than adoring her every moment of every day. 

Perhaps it was good he was somewhat rich again. He could probably quit his day job and focus on keeping her satisfied. 

“I know what you’re thinking and it’s not going to happen. You better get going or you’ll be late. You’re already going to catch hell from Liam and Elsa for not coming home last night.”

Pulling her into his arms once more, he whispered, “Worth it.” 

With a final searing kiss, he opened the door and the world turned to flashes and shouts. He moved to block Emma from the cameras on instinct before it even sank in that her yard had dozens of reporters camped out on the edge, littering the sidewalk like trash. These weren’t hard hitting journalists with integrity, the swarm was the familiar group of paparazzi who sold sensationalism to the highest bidder. Bewildered at how they found him and why they would want to, he remained quiet as they yelled greetings to him as if they were old friends.

“Do you have any comment on the story you were the mastermind behind the con that forced your father to leave the country?”

“Who’s your friend, Killian? Is this the woman you’re accused of cheating on your fiancée with?”

“Smile for cameras, Killian! Give us that legendary charm!”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered moving to slam the door. Why had he thought he could shed his past as easily as last season’s fashion? Now he led his baggage directly to Emma’s door and Henry was sure to be home any moment. 

Thinking fast, he grabbed his phone and called Robin to come get him. Out of all his friends, Robin was the only one well versed in handling this type of interaction. He knew the man would be able to keep his cool in the face of the relentless pressure of the mob outside. 

“What the hell was that?” Emma demanded, looking out the window at the vultures currently circling her property.

“I’m sorry, love. I seem intent on finding new and different ways to complicate your life. I’m going to leave with Robin and draw them away before Henry comes home. I understand if you want to cool it for a while—“

“You can’t be serious, Killian. We aren’t going to last very long if I get nervous every time your celebrity gets in the way. What I meant was what story are they talking about?”

“That is an excellent question, darling. One I intend to find the answer to as soon as you’re no longer at risk of gracing every tabloid in the country with your beautiful face.”

“You’re ridiculous. We have a situation here and your constant flattery isn’t going to fix it,” she muttered, moving to grab her walkie from the side table and calling Smee to come handle crowd control. She left him standing in the foyer while she dressed and despite the annoyance of the current circumstances, he couldn’t keep the pleased smile from his face as a result of her wonderfully Emma-like reaction. 

She hadn’t said the words but she loved him. She only grumbled because she cared.

Chapter Text

“I’ll think of you

Wherever you go”

-2000 Miles, The Pretenders

Killian shut the door to the relentless questions from the few lingering paparazzi hoping to get a reaction from him on the newest bevy of lies his ex-fiancée spewed. He should have known she would retaliate when he refused to cater to her every whim. With his newfound zen, he would have let it go had she not come after Emma. 

How Nimue could have known about his love was a matter that deserved some attention after he settled his debts. For now, his focus was making her pay. She would rue the day she ever crossed him.

Emma took the scrutiny of being labeled the other woman with an aplomb he admired. The papers, starved for scandal and screaming for blood, speculated on every aspect of her life from her childhood as a foster to her career in a male-dominated profession. Fed by the falsehoods Nimue relayed with a tear-stained face, a web of betrayal far from reality was printed like it was somehow Emma’s fault the famous heiress ran off with the elder Mr. Jones.

If anyone was the victim in this contrived tragedy, it was Emma. However, victim was a role she never felt comfortable playing so she carried on like being painted a scarlet woman was all par for the course. She was a marvel and he felt himself falling more under her spell with each passing day.

His offer to keep his distance was genuine but he was eternally grateful she pushed it aside. If he hadn’t been able to spend nearly every night with her and Henry over the last couple of weeks, he feared his thirst for vengeance would have gotten the better of him and he would have done something rash.

Much like the plan floating in his mind now.

At first it was only an inkling of an idea, a errant thought of an exasperated mind. Offshore accounts, wayward navigational systems, email exchanges, and meeting minutes all swirled like eddies in his brain, the beginning of a far-fetched scheme just this side of legal. Or maybe slightly on the other side of it.

He would need his brother’s help but judging from the way Liam glared at the newspapers anytime he saw the coverage of the scandal-that-wasn’t made him think he wouldn’t have to convince the other man to join in the venture. 

“Wow, beware of lurking millionaires,” came a sardonic voice from his kitchen. 

Smiling when he saw Emma’s form leaning against the entrance to the living room, he made his way over and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, love, but how did you get in?” 

“I picked the lock on the back door,” she said nonchalantly as if it were a common occurrence. “Henry made ice cream in his science class. He wanted to share with you and as cold as it is, we’re still above freezing. I was afraid it would melt if I left it outside. What were you thinking about? You looked devious.”

Ignoring her question, he moved past her and opened his junk drawer, a wonderful concept Elsa explained was the key to a tidy kitchen. One simply swept all the clutter into a single space, a drawer or closet, and no one was the wiser. He hadn’t really lived in his home long enough to be that far gone so it took only a second to pull out a key and toss it to her. He’d held onto it for weeks waiting for the right time to give it to her. “I’d hate to have to report you to Smee for breaking and entering. Feel free to use it whenever you want to drop by.” Or perhaps just move in…

He kept the last part to himself since her expression was already a little spooked at the casual way he invited her into his space. He knew she felt it was fast but he hoped if he didn’t make a big deal about their progress, she would accept it as the normal course of business between them. 

“You also left your phone at my place last night.” Coughing uncomfortably, she added, “You might want to check your messages.”

Her tone left him with no doubt she had seen something come through. He had no secrets from her—well, no real secrets other vague plots of revenge—so he was bewildered as to what could have possibly made her so skittish. Taking the phone from her hand with a cocked eyebrow, he looked down to see a few dozen missed calls and as many text messages from She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The woman seemed determined to ruin the best thing in his life. “Ah, I suppose you’re referring to the desperate outreach of a deranged woman.”

“You didn’t tell me she was in contact.”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“You didn’t think the fact the woman who is making your life a living hell with an international smear campaign is also directly harassing you was worthy of discussion,” she commented wryly. “Clearly your life is more interesting than mine.”

“You, Henry, and my family are my life and the only subjects I want to talk about,” he replied smoothly. Pulling her into his arms, he took a deep breath and relaxed as the familiar scent of her shampoo filled his senses. “Speaking of which, Henry and I are picking up your Christmas present tonight. What would you like for us to bring back for dinner?”

In truth, Henry had been helping put the finishing touches on her gift for the last week but she didn’t need to know about their partnership just yet.

“Killian,” she said on a sigh, “this isn’t going to work if we aren’t open with each other.”

“Fine, I didn’t say anything because I already dragged you far enough into this mess. The only reason I haven’t blocked her number is because I thought I may need evidence of her malfeasance down the road. It’s simple enough to ignore. I honestly don’t even notice it half the time.”

“She’s escalating, Killian. I’m not sure why she’s decided it is your fault she’s unhappy but maybe you should talk to your father. See if he can reign her in,” she suggested, her words a gentle caress against his chest. 

“Are you joking, love? If anything, he’s probably egging her on,” he retorted. Tightening his arms around her, he offered, “Let’s pretend they don’t exist.”

“She wants the money and your mother’s rings. She won’t back off until she gets them. You’re going to have to decide: Give her what she wants so she’ll disappear or fight back. Taking the high road hasn’t gotten you anywhere.”

He chuckled at her pep talk. His Swan was a fighter and she abhorred inaction. Nimue better hope she never comes across Emma in a dark alley. “You’re right. But let’s wait until after our Christmas soirée. I promise it will all be settled before the new year.”

—

The less than melodious sounds of a poor lad who only wanted a dental miracle for the holidays filled the Jones family home. He watched his nieces chase Roland around the enormous Christmas tree that dominated the living room, the LED lights burning into his retinas so the enjoyment of the lurid decorations could continue to entertain even with his eyes closed. Liam was in the corner gleefully explaining to Robin and Regina how he timed his outdoor ornamentation to match the tune of a dozen holiday classics.  

Henry and Smee were currently battling it out on Guitar Hero and Killian was surprised his old valet was so adept at hammering out rock music on a plastic guitar. He briefly thought about joining Elsa and Emma in the kitchen but decided against it. Smee had mentioned on his arrival that he needed to talk with him in private and as the Metallica song was finishing its last notes, he realized now was the perfect time. Glancing at his brother, he nodded toward his home office and made his way after catching Smee’s attention. 

Minutes later, the three men were huddled around the desk, voices low and eyes constantly flickering to the door to ensure they weren’t overheard.

“Your father broke off the engagement,” Smee announced without ceremony. “He only proposed when it seemed the fortune was gone. Now that you’ve restored the family name and bank accounts, Mr. Jones, he decided to end the association.”

Tamping down on the fleeting feeling of pity for Nimue, Killian said, “So our father only latched on when he thought all hope was lost?”

“He knew you wouldn’t go through with it and he was worried he would end up penniless. Better to bite the bullet himself.”

“I suppose it explains why Nimue is so intent on punishing the family. Although I wish she directed her ire at him rather than me,” he muttered, trying to figure out what this news meant for his plan.  

“There’s more,” Smee explained. “Nimue’s father was already upset by her treatment of you. He never liked your father, I believe he was an admirer of your mother long ago. When Nimue went to the press with the cock and bull story about your affair forcing her into the arms of another man and your manipulation of her and your father into exploiting his friends for money, he cut her off entirely.”

“Serves her right,” Liam said, his expression not the least bit troubled at Smee’s revelations. “Too bad she didn’t take Father down with her. No matter what destruction he leaves in his wake, he always manages to come out better on the other side.”

“Perhaps not this time,” Killian murmured. Seeing he had the other men’s attention he continued, “I’ve been thinking. Technically, he can’t access the funds in the family accounts since they were frozen when he left the country but then again, neither can we. That just leaves the offshore accounts at his disposal. But based on what Marco told me, those could keep him afloat indefinitely. Liam, how hard would it be to guide his yacht out of international waters into the range of a country that would extradite him back?”

“You mean tap into his navigational systems and ever-so-slightly alter his course so he anchors in the British Indian Ocean Territory?”

“Sure,” Killian responded, a little concerned at how quickly his brother glommed on to the idea. “Then a well-placed rumor here and an anonymous tip there would bring the full force of the law down on him. I’ve got a stack of incriminating communications just waiting to be handed off that should simplify the case.”

“I don’t think I should be here for this conversation.” With a rueful shake of his head, Smee nodded to the brothers as he left the room in a hurry muttering something about plausible deniability.

Giving into curiosity, he studied his brother’s face. “What exactly did you do in the Navy?”

“A little of this, a little of that…” Liam brushed him off. He supposed it could have been worse. He could have said if he told him, he’d have to kill him. “Are you certain, Killian? I know he was never in the running for Father of the Year but this could send him to prison.”

“Not a real one. It’s a white collar crime and we’ve already made restitution. He’ll get a short sentence at a facility with a golf course.” Looking at his brother, a wild mix of emotions surfaced. Was he ready to pull the trigger knowing there would be no going back? 

“Those are only in the movies. Even a minimum security place would be hard on the old chap.”

“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of this?”

“This is a big decision. I’m with you until the bitter end, little brother, make no mistake. I just want you to go into it with eyes wide open.”

“I think he would benefit from a time out,” he answered after a moment of reflection. “How quickly can you do it? I’m ready to put an end to the whole thing.”

“Consider it done.”

Hours later, the fireplace gently crackled away causing the discarded wrapping paper to glitter from every corner of the room. The children had long since retreated to their rooms to play with their new toys. Robin and Regina left over an hour ago, Roland staying behind for the night as his father took his life in his own hands by proposing to the fearsome brunette he had fallen in love with against all odds and better reason. Smee followed them out the door, planning for a night of packing and intent on catching a plane in the morning to visit his mother for the reminder of the year.

Emma and Liam were in the kitchen pouring wine and waiting for the Jones Family cookies to finish baking. He was left in the living room with Elsa, the two of them vegging out on the couch after an eventful night corralling kids and making tacos. 

Appraising him with shrewd eyes and a calculating expression, Elsa asked, “What were you and Liam closeted away discussing so intently?”

Fearing his sister-in-law may be on to them, he quickly replied, “Our escape plan if you forgot to turn on the kitchen appliances again.”

“How Emma finds you charming is beyond me,” she retorted. 

“She said that? She thinks I’m charming?”

“For goodness sake, Killian, you two are clueless to the point of it being painful to watch. Yes, she does otherwise she wouldn’t spend every waking moment with you and more than a few sleeping ones. Now can we stop talking about your love life and you tell me what you’re planning with my husband.”

“Why do you think we’re planning anything? We simply had some business to discuss,” he evaded.

“On Christmas Eve? I think not.”

“Think what you want, doesn’t change the facts.” Smee’s words echoed in his mind and he knew all his loved ones needed plausible deniability. “Did you like your present?”

“Yes, the oven mitts were lovely, little brother. I will treasure them and pass them down to one of your lovely nieces as a family heirloom. Perhaps if some future husband of theirs squanders the family fortune we can look forward to seeing them in an auction catalog at some point.”

“We can’t all be so lucky, darling,” Killian joked with a gentle nudge to her ribs. She immediately shifted her position and plopped her feet into his lap which had become her way of asking for a foot massage. Hoping his compliance would bring an end to her questions, he began his task resignedly. 

“I noticed there wasn’t a present for Emma under the tree from you. I think considering we all had to endure the months of pining and forlorn gazes, we should be able to watch her open her gift.”

“It wouldn’t fit through the front door or under the tree so you’ll just have to be patient.”

With a quizzical look, she repeated, “Wouldn’t fit under the tree? What in the world did you get her?”

He certainly wasn’t going to tell Elsa before he had a chance to give it to Emma. There was no way the woman would be able to keep it a secret and besides, no one other than Emma would understand the true meaning behind the gesture. It had taken him weeks to find it, another month to get it in working order, and a large part of his hard-earned paycheck to make it perfect for her. 

A piece of their history, restored and improved, ready for any future path they may choose to take.

He could have dipped into his trust fund or the proceeds from the sale of his penthouse once it was finalized but it had been important for him to fund this little endeavor with money he earned himself. He needed to prove he was a different man, a better man, and taking the easy way didn’t seem right in this case. 

He was confident she would love it. He was also confident she would be angry with him for going to the trouble. 

“Something to show her how much she means to me.” His fuzzy response drew a groan from Elsa, or perhaps it was the pressure he applied to the arch of her foot. 

Her groggy voice drifted across the couch. “I think you’re perfect for each other so don’t be an idiot and mess it up again.”

“That’s truly inspirational, darling. You should cross-stitch it on a pillow and give it to me next Christmas,” he teased. Unfortunately, his reply fell on deaf ears because when he looked over to see her reaction, she was already asleep.

—

“I thought you had given up being an International Man of Mystery,” Emma murmured as she allowed him to lead her into the garage at his place. Henry decided to stay at Liam’s, claiming he wanted to have the French toast breakfast Elsa promised. Killian suspected the young man really wanted to give his foster mom a chance to react to her gift without an audience. 

“The life chooses you, darling, not the other way around. Close your eyes.”

With a snort she squeezed his hand while complying to his request. The sound of the garage door clanging open kept them both silent. The automatic light bathed them in a golden glow as the metal moved slowly to reveal her Christmas present. He glanced over at her to make sure she wasn’t peeking. When he was sure she hadn’t caught a glimpse, he took a deep breath and said quietly, “Surprise.”

The grin crossing her face at his theatrics transformed into shocked awe when she saw the antique yellow Beetle parked in one of the bays. Speechless, her eyes darted between him and the car before tentatively moving closer to the vehicle.

“You got me a car?”

“Not just any car, love.”

“Wait…you don’t mean…”

“Aye. It’s your beloved Bug. Well, I should say it’s partially your beloved car. You weren’t kidding when you said it was totaled. Luckily, Billy happens to restore old cars and there is a junkyard a few states away specializing in vintage VW Bugs so while not all the parts are original to your car, they are original to someone’s old Beetle.”

He knew he was rambling but he couldn’t take the anticipation. Her reaction was quieter than he expected, much more muted than her normal exasperation with his grand gestures. Perhaps he had misstepped.

She continued to silently circle the car, taking in the flawless paint job and reupholstered interior. He could tell the exact moment when she noticed the tacky air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror, a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt scented of coconut and lime. “I know I should refuse this but I don’t think I have it in me.”

Relieved, he let out a breath he didn’t realized he had been holding. “No use, love. Even if you refuse, Henry already called dibs when he gets his driver’s license. You like it then?”

“Killian, there aren’t really words. I…I don’t know how or why you did this but thank you.”

She tore herself away from the reunion with her car and rushed into his arms, peppering him with kisses in a type of wanton abandonment that was extremely rare for her. Feeling the ecstatic energy coursing through her, he enjoyed her very physical efforts to demonstrate her gratitude. 

“Emma, I love you. I want nothing but your happiness. I would fill Storybrooke with old clunkers if that was what your heart desired.”

“I can’t be bought,” she teased with mock sternness.

“I’m not trying to buy you, darling. I’m trying to be worthy of you. And maybe promise some things too,” he explained, kissing her temple in the cold night air. “Would you like to take her for a spin?”

“Her? I’ll have you know that Neal is a he and I think I’ll let him rest up tonight before I put him through his paces tomorrow.”

“Why do I suddenly feel jealous of a car? This may have been a bad idea…”

“Shut up and kiss me, Killian.”

“As you wish.”

He poured every ounce of emotion into the kiss, hoping she could feel his sincerity. The pain of the past faded, the uncertainty of the present and the knowledge of what his brother was doing on the other side of town disappeared as he melted into the arms of the woman he loved and offered up a unspoken wish they would all find their happy endings. 

Chapter Text

“The bright blessed days

The dark sacred nights”

-What a Wonderful World, Louis Armstrong

(One Year Later)

The estate looked picturesque with evergreen wreaths and fairy lights covering the landscape. The weather cooperated with the wedding plans, the crisp air refreshing and the clear light of sunset painting the scene in a way that could only truly be appreciated after weeks of overcast skies. 

The stone edifice of the castle looked like something from a movie. White taffeta runners were draped strategically along the windows and doorways giving the impression of an elegant snowfall. The path to the garden was lined by boughs of holly and bouquets of anemones. A large gazebo gleamed in the fading rays of New Year’s Eve. 

It was a lovely evening for a wedding. Billy Idol would approve.

Killian waited impatiently for the music to start. He was eager to get through the ceremony and pull Emma into his arms to dance the night away. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Liam muttered from next to him. 

“I’m not fidgeting,” Killian gruffly retorted, the string quartet starting the instrumental arrangement and ushering in the parade of flower girls and solitary ring-bearer. His nieces looked adorable, wearing fluffy white dresses with red sashes and each carrying a basket of petals from their namesake flowers. Roland followed closely behind, dimples on full display as he charmed the whole gathering with his friendly wave.

“You are,” Robin contradicted. His eyes were watching eagerly as the music changed to announce the main event. “It’s my wedding. If I can stand the suspense, you should be able to endure it for a few minutes without twitching.”

Any further discussion was cut off as a ear-splitting peal of laughter erupting from the newest addition to the Jones clan. His youngest niece, Clementine, was going to take the world by storm. Her dark hair set her apart from the rest of the family, often leading people to mistake her for his progeny rather than Liam’s baby.

He couldn’t say he minded. He hoped to give his brother a run for his money before everything was said and done. 

Elsa did her best to quiet the infant but the small gathering who had made the trip to England for the holiday ceremony didn’t seem to mind the interruption. He caught the amused look his brother and sister-in-law exchanged and had to smother a laugh.

Even the bride had a dazzling smile for the child stealing her thunder. Regina looked resplendent in her ornate white gown. The train was so long it forced her sole attendant to walk a full eight feet behind her, ensuring the fabric didn’t get caught on anything as the bride made her way down the aisle.

Of course, he barely noticed those details as he only had eyes for the Maid of Honor. His darling Emma was wearing a gown of blood red satin. The long, close fitting sleeves and floor-length skirt would have given the impression of modesty if not for the off the shoulder design exposing an expanse of skin that made his mouth go dry with want.

God, he was a lucky man.

It was hard to believe it had been little more than a year since he thought his life was over. It was a long road to get to where he was but he was fortunate to finally learn all the best things in life were worth fighting for and that easy didn’t necessarily equate to good. 

And, perhaps most importantly, he realized it wasn’t fame or fortune or vengeance that brought the closure he needed. 

Perhaps it would be overstating things to say he didn’t derive some pleasure at seeing his father being led off a plane in handcuffs, his handsome face as proud as ever. It seemed weeks in exile did little to dampen the man’s feelings of his own self-importance. He neither asked for nor wanted any help from the sons he cast aside when they refused to fall in line and were no longer of any use to him. The knowledge his father would go to his grave convinced he was the wronged party only elicited sadness in him now.

Nor could he deny he enjoyed the way the pack of wolves turned on Nimue when a few particularly rabid texts came to light, highlighting she was the one behind the con job the elder Mr. Jones carried out. The woman schemed from early on in their relationship, secure in the patronage of her doting father and confident she had Killian well under her thumb. When she learned her intended was coming into the marriage with only his good looks and family name, she had taken matters into her on hands. Then, when she started to suspect he wouldn’t enter into a blessed union with her at all, she set her sights on the target most likely to wound and humiliate him for his forthcoming rejection. Little did she know, his father was using her for his own gain while she thought she was manipulating him.

It had felt like a new start to be cleared of any and all wrongdoing. The fact no one suspected Liam or him of having any part in the navigation system malfunction that caused his father to drift off course at the exact moment a British vessel was passing through the area was even better. He didn’t feel any remorse in bringing about the capture. He had made his peace with the fact they were forever estranged long before his hidden act of rebellion. 

Still, Killian was relieved when the elder Mr. Jones managed to bypass jail time in favor of house arrest and community service, the man having enough friends left in high places to cushion his fall from grace.

After Brennan Jones was safely in custody, his advisors worked with the government to unfreeze the stateside accounts. They had already started the process to remove his father from the family holdings and reinstate Liam’s name. Shortly thereafter, the Brothers Jones had access to a fortune. While it paled in comparison to the ledgers of their youth, Killian realized if one had a clear head and a good heart, it was more than enough to move mountains.

About the same time the media coverage expounded on the evils of avarice and entitlement, the tone of the stories about Emma became less accusatory. One was more likely to read about her work with foster children and her dedication to helping ex-convicts find employment than hints of seduction and home-wrecking. 

Although if ever there was siren fit to tempt a man to sin, it would surely be her.

He would have preferred the reporters left them alone entirely but as their family saga played out in the headlines over the following months, he knew it was a pipe dream. The best he could do was keep it from touching Henry and his nieces. Of course, it helped to have local law enforcement on your side.

Now he just needed to make sure she would always be there.

He had hoped to step away from the family legacy altogether. However, as fate would have it, he was in a position to start a new one. A kinder, more progressive agenda in line with the way his mother wanted to live life. 

At first he tried to toss the reins back to Liam. He was the oldest, and clearly the wiser, of the two of them. But surprisingly, even without their father to poison every encounter, Liam still had no interest in managing the family money. While he offered his full support, he forcefully made it known Killian was to be the figurehead of the family business. 

His first official action had been to get rid of the entire board with the exception of Marco, who he put in charge. Then the three of them moved to file paperwork for non-profit status, converting their sizable assets into a charitable foundation that provided funding for a variety social causes. Knowing the importance of trusting the people you work with, only family and close friends were offered the opportunity to serve as advisors. 

So in the end, the resolution Killian craved didn’t come from seeing his father brought to justice or his ex-fiancée outed for the villain she was. It wasn’t when the world came to view Emma with the same awestruck adoration he did. It wasn’t even the fact he was rich again because deep down he knew the moment he stepped foot in Storybrooke was the moment he gained riches beyond measure.

No, it came on a snowy New Year’s Eve a year ago as the world exploded with the story of the Jones family upheaval. Standing in the kitchen of his brother’s home, surrounded by family and friends with Marco joining via Skype, he had signed the final piece of paperwork to establish the Alice Jones Foundation. 

The last year had been one filled with hard work and equally satisfying play. The Jones name was becoming synonymous with humanitarian missions and goodwill. 

A happy life truly was turning out to be the best revenge.

As Regina and Emma joined them on the dais, he caught Henry’s eye from where the lad was standing a few feet away taking photos of the event. Regina had encouraged the boy’s interest in photography and insisted he be the official wedding photographer, presenting him with a professional grade camera and enrolling him in a beginner’s course. If they hadn’t already buried the hatchet, her faith in Henry would have sealed the deal. 

The young man had become his partner in crime in numerous projects over the last year. The two conspired to make Emma’s life magical and filled with love. Their newest venture was their grandest scheme yet. In less than a week, adoption papers would be delivered to the Swan household.

As vows were exchanged, his eyes never left Emma. Her amused smile and pink tinged cheeks showed she noticed his attention but, unlike him, she endeavored to give her full concentration to the proceedings at hand. After what felt like days, the groom pulled his new bride into an embrace and kissed her with all the excitement of a man who knew his life was changing for the better. 

He could not wait until it was his turn at the alter.

—

Killian watched from the sidelines as Emma flitted from one admirer to the next, Robin’s school friends and relatives all captivated by the beautiful blonde stranger. 

He wanted to punch every last one of them.

Instead, he danced with his nieces and waited for the opportunity to steal her away, trying to remind himself that he would be the one who got the last dance. Liam, ever the wallflower, took up a position at the head table, amusing Clementine with silly faces and funny noises as Elsa visited with the other guests. 

The song finally ending, he left Linnea with the rest of the children playing dangerously close to the wedding cake. His nieces were dancing excitedly, their fancy dresses swishing in the night. He heart nearly burst at the sight. Grinning, he deftly avoided Robin’s elderly aunt who seemed determined to talk him into investing in some sham of a charity at her favorite country club and made his way to join Liam.

“You’ve done good, little brother.”

Thinking he was referring to his signing the legal documents as the official witness of the marriage, he joked, “Well, I’ve had some practice signing my name. Although it was usually for autographs.”

When Clementine reached out for her favorite person, Liam let her leap into Killian’s arms gratefully. Clearing his throat, Liam said, “I, ah…I spoke with Elsa.”

“Oh, good. Where you able to talk her out of suing the tabloid that printed this little one was the result of our illicit affair?”

“No…I mean, yes I talked her out of it even though I happen to agree with her.” His brother shifted uncomfortably in the chair, playing with something in the pocket of his vest. “What I mean to say is, I talked with Elsa about something and we…well, we decided you should have the rings.”

He watched with a frown as Emma was swept out to the dance floor by the Baron of Idiotshire or whatever Robin’s cousin was lord over. Barely listening, he echoed, “The rings?”

“Yes, Mother’s rings.”

Honing in on the conversation, he studied Liam. He was uncomfortable, although Killian couldn’t tell if it was because he regretted the offer or he was overcome with emotion. “Liam, Mother wanted you to have them. I can’t think of anyone more deserving than Elsa to wear her rings.”

With a disbelieving look at Emma, he teased, “Really? I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you may be able to find another suitable successor.”

Following his gaze, he observed with some chagrin that the Baron of Idiotshire’s hands were drifting a bit more than he was comfortable with and then bit back a laugh as he watched Emma resolutely grab the man’s arm and forcefully put it back in the appropriate place. Sighing, he returned his attention to his brother. “Keep them for one of the girls. They belong with you.”

“No, little brother. You were the one who took care of her at the end. You were a child then but you never once shirked your duty or collapsed under the weigh of the despair that nearly killed our father. I wish you could see yourself the way I always have. I know you think you allowed yourself to be manipulated and coerced but in all the ways that matter, you were steadfast. Even when all hope was lost, deep down you held true and stayed the course. You’ve forgiven me and you earned the forgiveness of others. You gave up everything to make things right. I hope someday to be half the man you are.”

“Bloody hell, Liam. How much champagne have you had?” He joked roughly, swiping tears from the corner of his eye and avoiding staring at his brother as he did the same. Unable to stop himself, he wrapped his arm around Liam’s shoulders and brought him in closer in a side hug. “If this is really the way you feel and Elsa is onboard, I’d be honored.”

“Thank God. Let’s never speak of this again,” he replied in a voice raw with unshed tears. Digging the rings out of his pocket, he handed them over. “You better ask her before she comes to her senses.”

“Trust me, I plan on putting a ring on her finger as soon as I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

“Don’t be daft,” Liam muttered with a smile as he reached out to claim his daughter.

—

The clock was counting down but the reception showed no signs of slowing. The children had all been ushered to bed, Liam and Elsa retiring with a promise to keep the manor from burning down as the party continued. 

He wished everyone would go home. As nice as the evening was, he wanted to be alone with Emma. The rings were burning a hole in his pocket, his mind filled with images of them on her hand. 

The last year had been better than all his hopes and dreams combined. Slowly they had bridged their differences and put the pain of the past behind them while building a foundation for a future together. She was the voice in his head, always reminding him to do the right thing even when it scared him. 

He had yet to dance with her tonight though. It was unacceptable in his opinion. So without a hint of shame, he donned his best intimidating look and cut in on the handsy baron who kept finding his way back to Emma. 

“Thank God,” she whispered on a sigh. “If I had to listen one more time to him telling me how well-endowed he was, I was going to cut his tongue out with the cake server.”

“Now I’m sorry I interrupted, it would have been nice to see you mete out punishment,” he joked, wondering exactly what kind of endowment the man had been bragging about and how long it would take him to set the man straight. He looked like the blustery type so a few blows to the face should do the trick.

A flash went off from beside him and Henry smiled from behind his camera. It was past his bedtime, especially considering the time difference, but no one was going to let a little thing like that cut his first job short. Without a word, he turned into the crowd to capture more candid shots.

The music shifted to something slow and romantic. He gathered Emma closer and murmured into her hair, “Why did you give me a second chance, love?”

She rested her head on his shoulder and he felt her playing with the ends of his hair. “Because you asked for one.”

Squeezing her as he chuckled, he wondered if it had really been that simple. “All I had to do was ask? I wasted a lot of time being miserable.”

Pulling away, she studied him in the soft light. “I never thought I would forgive you, Killian. Then I thought I would never get over you. But both of those things happened eventually and I realized something. I had a good life. I didn’t need you to be happy.”

“You really know how to flatter a man.” 

“Shush, it’s story time. Surely you figured out by now that you have to be right with yourself before you can be right for someone else. I meant what I said before, if we had run away together, we wouldn’t have found a happy ending. We were both only half-formed, stumbling through life trying to figure things out.” Seeing he was about to interrupt, she held up her hand to stall his argument. “I’m not saying we wouldn’t have tried or that we didn’t love each other but we certainly weren’t ready for each other.

“Then when you came back, you were broken. I know exactly how that feels. I’m not going to lie, I wanted to hold the past against you but I couldn’t bring myself to celebrate your downfall. Not when your pain was evident in every look, every word, every movement. You’ve done the hardest thing anyone can do…you changed. Although I’m beginning to suspect it wasn’t so much a change as a reawakening. I’m glad we found each other again and we’re both at a place where we stand a chance.”

“I’d wager we stand more than a chance, love. We’re soulmates. If I had a reawakening, you’re responsible for it. I’d do anything to be the man you deserve.”

“Let me worry about what I deserve. You just keep doing what you’re doing,” she teased with a peck on his cheek.

“If the lady insists,” he said, gently caressing the skin at her neck. Minutes later, the night sky lit up with vivid bursts of color, the boom of the fireworks carrying in the clear night like gunshots.

“Wow, Robin really went all out,” she observed with a breathy laugh. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the impressive display or the way he was pressing soft kisses along her hairline and down her throat.

“Men in love do funny things.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

The last of the fireworks faded slowly from sight, everyone else left the heated tent to have a better view. All that was left was the moon and the stars and Emma. Always Emma. 

“I need to ask you something, love.”

“About time. I was hoping you would work up the nerve soon.”

It was no secret Killian Jones lived a charmed life. How could it be when he was surrounded by a loving family, the best of friends, and he was about to make sure he would spend the rest of his life with the woman of his dreams.

Smiling, he reached into his pocket.