I know I have a million thousand fics in the works, but my attention span is zero, so I need to have a million thousand different things going at the same time so I don't get bored. Fear not, I plan to finish all of them, as well as get to all the requests you guys leave me! I promise I will!

"I'm sorry, Neal."

He stared at her in disbelief, blinking rapidly as he struggled to understand what was happening. Tamara looked down at her hand and slowly removed the engagement ring from her fourth finger.

"I guess you'll be wanting this back now," she said quietly. Neal dropped his eyes to her hand: the diamond twinkled as she held it out to him. Take it, a voice in his head urged him. Take it. But he couldn't. He couldn't do anything. He was frozen: frozen with shock, hurt, betrayal, disbelief; frozen with the realization that the plan he'd been building for his life, the future he'd envisioned, had just crumbled in his hands and he was left holding nothing but dust.

"Why?" His voice was strained with the effort of holding back all the emotions rising in his chest. They were too much to deal with, he couldn't face them right now. He could barely face Tamara right now; and yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away. He just stared at her, completely lost, heartbroken.

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Sorry?" Neal stepped toward her on unsteady feet. "That's not an explanation."

"I don't have one," she said simply. "Goodbye, Neal."

She dropped the ring in his hand, bent down to pick up her purse, and turned away, walking out the door without so much as a glance behind her.

"Wow." Killian stared at him with wide eyes from across the table. "That's rough."

"I know," Neal said dully, tracing his finger around the rim of his mug.

"And who did you say it was with?" Killian snapped his fingers, frowning at the ceiling as he tried to remember. "I want to say 'Paul'."

"Greg."

Killian's eyebrow shot up. "Greg? The bald one?"

"Balding," Neal corrected. "But yeah. Greg. Of all people, she cheated on me with Greg."

"But…" Killian blinked at him. "But he's—"

"I know."

"And you're—"

"I know."

"And they don't—"

"I know."

"Well, this is really sad now. You're going to need something stronger than—" he leaned across the table and turned the glass, sniffing at the contents—"what is this, beer?"

"Get your face out of there," Neal complained, taking his glass back. "I'm drinking that."

"No, you're not," Killian said firmly. "You need something stronger."

"Not all of us use alcohol as a coping mechanism, Kil."

"Well, you can't just keep repressing your problems, Neal!" he said exasperatedly. "You have to drown them at some point!"

Neal raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, that sounds healthy," he said.

"Neal—" Killian made an impatient noise. "I know what I'm doing, okay? I get my heart broken every week, I've got more than enough experience dealing with this kind of thing."

Neal stared at him incredulously. "You don't have any experience, you idiot!" he said. "You've never been engaged! Hell, you've never been in a relationship that's lasted longer than a week!"

"Hence the weekly heartbreak," Killian said, nonplussed. "Come on, let's get you a good, strong drink and find you a rebound."

"No," Neal said, shrugging away from him. "I don't want to end up like you and just keep jumping from rebound to rebound. I'm not a manwhore."

"I'm not a manwhore. I'm just…" Killian bit his lip, trying to think of something; then apparently gave up, because he exhaled and said, "Yeah, okay, I'm a slut. BUT—" he held up a finger, raising his eyebrows at Neal—"I'm still your bestest friend in the entire world and I care about you and I want you to feel better, and this is how, mate. You've got to get Tamara out of your head. So give me this—"

Neal protested as Killian reached into his pocket and swiped the ring.

"—and get up from this table. Come on." Killian climbed out of his seat and seized Neal by the elbow to pull him to a stand. "There you go. And now, we're going to get you a proper drink, and the next girl who walks by after that—" he snapped his fingers and pointed at him—"that's your rebound. Got it?"

"Kil…"

"Good." Killian clapped him on the shoulder and guided him to the bar, weaving their way around tables in the dimly-lit bar. Neal sighed as Killian sat him down on a stool and leaned across the counter. "Oi!" he called, drumming his hand to get the bartender's attention. "Two shots of vodka—"

"I don't like vodka."

"No one likes vodka. Two shots!"

The bartender gave him a thumbs-up. Killian dropped into the stool beside Neal and immediately swiveled around to survey the rest of the bar, leaning his elbows on the counter behind him.

"All right," he said. "Next one who comes along, that's your girl."

Neal rolled his eyes as he turned in his seat. "This is a bad idea," he said. "Nobody wants to be a rebound. She's not going to be interested in talking to me, and I don't feel like getting rejected again…" He trailed off as Killian silently raised his finger and pointed at the blonde woman walking to the bar.

He didn't know if he'd call her "beautiful", but she certainly drew the eye in a way most women didn't. Maybe it was the way she seemed to be completely bored and yet, extremely aware of everything happening around her; maybe it was the way she looked like she could punch you into next week, if she so desired. Or maybe it was because she just had very pretty green eyes.

She seemed to feel their stares on her because after a minute, she glanced at them sideways. "Hi," she said awkwardly; when they didn't respond, she blinked and slid her eyes back to the front.

Killian elbowed Neal. "Say something," he hissed as she ordered her drink.

"What do I say?"

"I don't know, but you better hurry up," Killian muttered back, looking her up and down. "Because if you don't, I will."

Neal kicked him under the counter. "Dude, you're supposed to be my wingman."

"Yeah, that was before her." Killian let out a low whistle. "I mean, holy shit."

The bartender set a glass down in front her. "There you go."

"Thanks," the woman said as she picked it up. She glanced over at them again, before turning away and going back to her table.

"Oh, my God…" Neal closed his eyes and pinched his forefingers around the bridge of his nose, completely humiliated: he must have looked like a real creep, just staring at her without mustering so much as a How's it going?

Killian didn't seem to have any qualms about it, though. He grabbed one of the vodka shots he'd ordered for Neal, downed it one gulp, and got up from his seat. Neal eyed him warily as he smoothed his hair back, his gaze fixed on the blonde woman.

"Oh, God…You're not serious, are you?"

"Dead serious," Killian said, and clapped him on the back. "Wish me luck."

"Break a leg," Neal called after him, and added under his breath, "Or your neck."

He watched as Killian strode over in the all-too-familiar way he did every time there was a pretty girl in the room. A confident swagger, a few winks and smiles, then a few drinks…Neal was very well-versed in Killian's tactics. He had seen countless girls fall for it, week after week after week—going all the way back to their high school days. Neal still remembered sitting in the library, watching with half-lidded eyes as Killian chatted up the library assistant, an hour after breaking up with his girlfriend. It was a habit that had continued all the way through college and three years later, it was still going strong. In fact, it was a wonder there was anyone left in the city he hadn't slept with.

Killian Jones, ladies and gentleman.

And now, Blondie was going to fall for the same tricks: she'd be lured in by the accent and the blue eyes, stay for the charm, and leave when she realized he wasn't much more than a shallow manwhore. And then, the cycle would start all over again next week.

Or maybe not, Neal thought in surprise as Killian started making his way back to the counter—alone. "Hey," he said when he reached him. "What happened?"

"Turned me down," Killian said shortly. "Give me that vodka."

Neal wordlessly passed the second shot over to him, still staring in disbelief. "She turned you down?" he said as Killian drained the shot glass and slammed it back on the counter with a grimace. "Seriously?"

"Yes, Neal, seriously," Killian snapped. "Now order me another drink."

Killian was thoroughly drunk by the time they stumbled home, his arm slung over Neal's shoulders as Neal dragged him up the stairs and down the hall to their apartment.

"You are hammered," he sighed, propping him against the wall so he could search for the key in his coat pocket. "I'd be impressed if I wasn't so worried you just destroyed your liver."

Killian groaned, his head lolling back against the wall. "I don't handle rejection well," he murmured.

"Clearly."

Where was the damn key? Neal frowned as he dug his hands in his pockets, fumbling frantically for the little piece of metal. Maybe it was in one of the inside pockets? He flipped his jacket out, rummaging for it, but he came up with nothing. "Shit," he muttered. "Shit, shit shit."

"Neal," Killian said suddenly, and grabbed him by the elbow. "It's her."

"What?"

"It's her," he hissed. "The girl from the bar. It's her."

"What are you talking about?" Neal turned around, looking over his shoulder to where Killian's wide-eyed gaze was frozen on…Blondie.

She was walking down the hall, her eyes locked on her phone as her thumbs flew over the keyboard. Neal cursed as she walked further down the hall, getting closer and and closer. Perhaps she heard him because she looked up from her phone.

"Oh." She stopped, blinking at them "Oh, shit, it's you guys."

Neal gave her a strained smile. "Yep. It's us."

She didn't return his smile; she shifted uncomfortably, glancing between them and the door. "So…you guys live here."

"Mmm-hmm."

"And now…I live here."

"Mmm-hmm."

"And…shit, this is awkward."

Neal exhaled heavily. "Look, I'm really sorry about earlier," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to be creepy, I just…I had a rough night, so if I was bothering you—"

"It's cool," she said, though her eyes travelled to Killian, who was determinedly hiding his face in his hands. "You guys roommates or something?"

"Yeah. Heterosexually," he added for good measure. "We're not…you know, together or anything."

"O-okay." She looked back at Neal, and offered him a tight smile, jutting her thumb at the door behind her. "Well, I'm just gonna—go now, so…"

"Actually—" Neal stepped forward as she turned around. "Can I ask you a favor?"

Her eyebrows lifted. "A favor?"

"Just a little one."

"I…" She bit her lip, considering him for minute; then sighed and flopped her hand. "Yeah, okay."

"Do you have a bobby pin or something I can use?" Neal asked hopefully. "I can't find our key, and he's going to collapse in, like, a minute."

"A bobby pin?" she frowned, even as she reached behind her ponytail to pull one out. "What for?"

"Pick the lock." He smiled as she passed the pin over to him. "Thanks."

She folded her arms, watching curiously as he inserted it into the keyhole and started jimmying the lock. Neal glanced over his shoulder and caught her eye; she blinked at him, startled.

"Sorry," she said. "I was just—"

"It's fine," he shrugged. He hesitated, then stepped to the side. "You want to learn how to do this?"

She looked at him for a minute, then nodded and came over. "Seems like a useful skill," she said, bending over for a closer look.

"It is," Neal agreed. "Okay, so you just stick it in there…like that. And then turn…little more…" He closed his eyes as he fiddled with the lock, listening for the decisive click! "There, did you hear that?"

"I think so—that little click-y sound?"

"That's it," Neal grinned. "That's what you're looking for. You just make sure the pin catches on the tumblers, you should be able to feel it. And then you just push—and voila! You can get into anything. Almost."

She gave him half a smile. "Thanks."

"Thank you," he said, handing her back the pin. She took it, looking at it in her hand for a minute, then raised her eyes to look up at him.

"You're significantly less creepy than I thought," she said abruptly.

"Oh." Neal raised his eyebrows, nodding."Thank you, that's—that's good to hear."

"Yeah…" A small smile lingered on her face, and she stuck her hand out. "I'm Emma. Swan."

"Neal Cassidy," he said, shaking it. "And that's Killian. But he's a little…er, indisposed right now, so you two can get acquainted later."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I mean, since we're neighbors and all, I'm sure I'll be seeing you guys around, so…Yeah." Emma smiled at him, then looked over Killian and raised her hand in farewell. "Bye."

Killian nodded and flicked his hand up, still keeping his head down. Emma looked back at Neal, still smiling as she started walking backward.

"Bye," she said with a little wave.

"Yeah, bye…"

Killian waited until she had disappeared into her apartment, then rounded on Neal. "Okay, so we have to move."

"Here we go."

"I'm serious," Killian insisted as Neal opened the door. "I can't live like this, with her across the hall. "This is humiliating."

"Because you made an ass of yourself, or because you couldn't get her to sleep with you?"

Killian glared at him and opened his mouth in sarcastic laughter. "Ha, ha, we get it, I'm a slut. Can we get back to the actual problem on hand?"

"Relax," Neal said as Killian followed him into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. "She knows you were drunk, I'm sure she's willing to forget about it."

"Yeah, sure," Killian scoffed, tossing his jacket onto the couch. "Christ, I'm going to have the worst hangover tomorrow."

Neal shrugged, not disagreeing. "Maybe that'll be enough karma to make up for tonight. And then you don't have to worry so much about things being awkward between you and Emma."

"Maybe," he said, sounding unconvinced. He glanced over at Neal, and exhaled. "I'm sorry, mate. I've failed you. I was supposed to be helping you get over Tamara, and I turned it around and made the whole bloody thing about me again."

"No, it was good," Neal reassured him. "It got my mind off of things, it was… it was good."

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Because of me, or because of her?"

Neal stared back at him blandly. "Yeah, it was because of you," he deadpanned. "My heart only beats for you, you know that."

Killian rolled his eyes, and started walking away, headed for his room. "I'm going to bed. But if you hear anyone get up in the middle of the night and vomit a lung, it's probably me."

"Sleep tight, bro."

Reviews are greatly appreciated! And check out cynthiamonica's version, if you go more for CS! (Look through her other stories, too ;D)