19th February, 1942

.

.

"Do you really have to go?"

"My brother needs me, Emma."

"But you could die."

"He could die too."

The blond girl chewed on her lower lip, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

"I don't want you to go," she finally murmured, leaning against him.

"I will be back," he said.

She turned her head and looked up at him, her green eyes meeting his blue once.

To his surprise she was holding back tears.

Emma Nolan was his neighbor, had been for all of her life. She was fourteen - six years younger than him - and she was kind and sweet, like her mother, Mary Margaret, charming like her father David.

She was a lovely girl, Killian had watched her growing up.

That was why, when he looked at her, he still saw little Emma Nolan unable to see the young woman she was soon going to be.

"Promise?" she still asked hopefully, even though they both knew he probably wouldn't return.

He turned his head, wrapping an arm around her small shoulders and pulling her to him, their legs still dangling in the air.

"You know I don't make promises I can't keep," he told her and she stopped, turning in his arms, hugging him.

"Then promise you'll try."

"I will," he murmured in her hair.

"When do you have to go?" she murmured, a hand fisted tightly in his shirt.

"Tomorrow morning."

"I'll tell my parents. They'll want to say their goodbyes."

"Will you be there tomorrow?"

She shook her head.

"I hate goodbyes."

With a deep sigh Killian cupped the back of Emma's head, his fingers tangling in her hair.

"Then why are we here?"

The blond laughed and moved away from him, brushing the tears from her face quickly.

He still saw them.

"You are my friend, Killian. I had to say goodbye," she hesitated briefly. "Besides I'll make it quick and I'll be gone in a minute, dinner's almost ready anyway."

Emma reached for his hand, pressing something into his palm before getting up from her seat next to him. He watched how she got up and brushed the dust off of her simple light blue dress without opening his hand.

The smile on his face as he looked at her was too bright, he knew that but he still hoped she would be fooled by it.

"We'll meet again, Killian," she said, her voice optimistic.

He nodded, the false smile still on his lips. She turned around and he watched her go, his smile slipping from his features.

He opened his hand, his gaze falling on the token she had given him.

Her favorite pendant, a swan.

With a sigh he looked out at the lake before him again.

"Goodbye, Emma."

.

29th October, 1945

.

.

Lieutenant Killian Jones had entered the war in February 1942. Captain Killian Jones returned from war in early October 1945.

But it wasn't only his title that had changed.

He had changed.

The lieutenant had been vivid and sweet and kind.

Emma didn't recognize that snarky, cocky, sad captain he was now.

The fact that he had lost his left hand in war didn't bother her but what bothered her was the way he treated her and everyone else in the neighborhood.

He acted cold and distant, as if he didn't care about them.

He probably didn't.

Maybe he had seen too many people die in war and was afraid to let anyone near him now - that was at least what Emma thought.

His distant behavior was also what stopped her from ringing his door bell right now.

Taking a deep breath Emma lifted her hand and pressed her finger to the door bell.

This should be easy.

They had been friends before...

Before war.

Before he lost his hand.

Before he changed.

But Emma wasn't the same either. She had changed. A few days ago she had turned eighteen and she was glad she could leave the past year behind because even though she hadn't been in war her last year had been no bed of roses either.

She had fallen, she had fallen hard, she had been broken, screwed over and fucked up.

She had hoped once Killian returned - because she had never doubted he would - they could talk and somehow everything would be okay again.

But obviously she had been wrong.

He hadn't even properly talked to her.

Still she hoped that he would come over now, Ruby and Victor Whale - who lived two houses next to her parents' house - were throwing a party to celebrate the return of everyone who had come home from war alive - including Victor, David and Mary Margaret (yes, her mother had also been in war. She was a strong, determined woman and Emma had supported her parents as they wanted to go [back then she had believed everything would end well - now she knew not everything did]).

The door swung open and suddenly she found herself face to face with Killian.

He looked tired, exhausted - as if he hadn't slept in days.

"Nolan," he stated, arching one of his black eyebrows at her.

"Killian," she replied, a tight smile on her lips.

He ran his hand over his face, his fingers scratching over his stubble, Emma's eyes following each move he made.

"What do you want?" the captain asked roughly.

Blinking Emma gazed at him, opening her mouth once, twice, then she cleared her throat.

"I wanted to invite you to Victor's and Ruby's return party," she finally said.

To her own surprise her voice was steady and not shaky at all.

"Well, then you can tell them that I'm sorry, but I won't come over."

"Are you serious?" she asked, pursing her lips at him.

"Bloody am," he growled already closing the door again but Emma was fast.

She suppressed a groan when his door hit her foot.

"No, you are not. You are not going to lock yourself up in your house and stay away from everything. No matter what you've been through, you are here now! You know, you are not the only one who has been fighting. My parents were over there too, they have seen terrible things but they made it. And even though they are still grieving the friends they have lost they appreciate the fact that they are alive. So please come over. You don't have to stay for long."

In the end of her speech she was panting, her green eyes burning with passion (and a little bit anger because he was shutting her - and the world - out again and she was getting pissed).

"Quiet passionate, Nolan," he said, then he kicked her foot and shut the door.

For a few moments Emma stood just there, her mouth slightly agape, then she turned around, stomping off his property, muttering some very unladylike curses.

"Weren't you gonna wait for the guest of honor?" a voice yelled after her and she spun around, finding Killian closing the door behind him, catching up with her with a few large steps.

"You're gonna come?" she asked in surprise, looking up at him flabbergasted.

"After you asked me so nicely?" he smirked.

She shook her head, a smile dancing over her face.

"Even though that probably was sarcasm, I'm glad you're coming."

He softly bumped her shoulder and when she looked up at him this time she swore she could see a glimpse of the Killian she knew in him.

"How could I ever say "no" to you, Emma?" he smiled.

Cross her heart and hope to die, her heart skipped a beat.

.

.

Emma Nolan had grown up since he was gone. The small girl he once knew had become a woman.

And she was beautiful.

If he had been the same man he would have asked her out.

He had always liked her after all and now she was old enough for him to be with her.

The first time he would have taken her to a diner.

They would have laughed, they would have danced, they would have been happy.

He would have taken her home and he would have kissed her hand to say goodbye.

After their second or third date he would have kissed her properly.

It would have been perfect.

But the lieutenant was gone.

Here he was, Captain Killian Jones - the one-handed survivor, the cripple, the broken man - drinking his sorrows away.

Or, well, he tried - and he failed.

He was standing in the corner of the Whales' large living room, watching Emma and her family, feeling left out without really wanting to change that.

He didn't belong here.

He belonged to the dead.

To his brother, to his wife.

Milah, his beautiful, strong Milah.

Killed by the enemy, because his nurse had thrown herself in front of him.

Stupid woman.

Stupid, brave, perfect woman.

He had lost too much, didn't know how to go on anymore.

He felt out of place.

And he felt drunk.

Probably because he was.

Well, another drink wouldn't hurt.

He was walking - stumbling but whatever - over to the bar the Whales had in their house for the day when a soft hand curled around his upper arm, steadying him.

His vision was blurry as he turned his head and found himself face to face with Emma Nolan.

"What the heck are you doing?" she growled, sniffling once only to scrunch up her nose in disapproval.

"Gettin' drunk. What else?" he slurred back.

"Yeah, you smell exactly like that," she grumbled.

"The real question is what are you doing."

She shot him a death glare and tugged on his sleeve.

"Taking you home. You're doing nothing but embarrass yourself."

"Thanks, Emma, you're a doll," he drawled and she rolled her eyes.

"Just- Let's get going, Jones."

He let her drag him out of the room, then out of the house and to his, all without saying a word.

In front of his door she stopped, grabbing his arms and pushing him against the door, keeping him in place.

He sneered down at her.

"Regretting having brought me to the party?" he smirked.

She glared up at him.

"No, I don't regret bringing Killian Jones. I regret bringing you. You're nothing but a shadow of the man I once knew," she hissed.

The smirk fell from his lips and he bowed his head towards hers, his breath ghosting over her lips.

"War changes people. I am not the same."

She looked straight into his eyes as she slowly pressed her body against his.

"Neither am I," she breathed against his lips.

His gaze dipped down to her mouth and as his eyes shifted back to hers he saw something familiar in them.

Hurt.

Pain.

Loss.

He saw a broken girl.

And then there was determination.

Emma tilted her head up, pressing her lips firmly to his.

He responded to her kiss almost immediately, his mouth slightly open beneath hers as their eyes fell shut at the same time.

It had been almost two years since he had last been that close to a woman.

Two years ago Milah had died.

Two years ago he had died inside.

But still...

With her lips against his he felt more alive than he had felt in years. That was why he didn't pull away and returned her kiss instead.

It didn't last long though, she broke away from him only a few seconds later, leaning back and away from him.

"I'll come visit you tomorrow," she said, turning away from him. "And I expect you to be sober!"

She didn't look back but he still felt her body pressed against his, still felt her presence, still felt alive, still felt good.

Quickly he shook his head, unlocking the door and entering the house.

That had to be the booze.

.

.

She had to ring his doorbell for two full minutes before he opened the door.

He looked tired - hung-over to be more exact. He had bags under his beautiful blue eyes, his dark stubble still covered his cheeks - back in the day (you know, before the war) he had always been shaven, shirts all buttoned up but now...

Now he didn't even bother wearing a shirt, only a white top covered his chest, dark hair peeking out.

It suited him though, he really looked... good. Handsome even. In a very roguish kind of way. She wouldn't tell him though.

"What do you want?" he growled.

"Is that your new way of greeting me?" she replied, brushing past him and into his house. "It smells in here," she grumbled, scrunching up her nose.

"My apologies, love, I didn't exactly expected your visit," Killian drawled out, shutting the door behind him, following Emma into his living room.

"Nolan, what do you want here?" he repeated and she turned around, crossing her arms in front of her chest, causing Killian's gaze to drop down, even though the huge shirt she wore hadn't that much of a cleavage.

"I just wanted to check in on you."

"You have, I'm still alive, why are you still here?"

Emma sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Stop being a bastard just this once, okay? We need to talk."

"I've found when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for pleasant conversation," he mumbled, raising an eyebrow at her. "Spill."

"It's- About- What happened yesterday."

"You really want to scold me for getting drunk?"

Emma rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I'm actually talking about the kiss and-"

She was interrupted by his surprised take in of breath. His eyebrows shot up, then he turned and sat down on the couch, running one of his hands over his face.

"Oh. That really happened," he muttered. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kiss you. I mean, of course I did but I didn't-"

"Wait a second," she grinned and he looked up at her in surprise. "Is that Killian Jones talking?"

She sat down next to him, still smiling softly at him.

"I was the one who initiated the kiss. I wanted this. But now I just want to talk."

"About what?"

"What I said before. You know before the kiss."

Killian frowned and Emma sighed.

"I told you that you weren't the only one who has changed over the course of the last few years. I did too."

"And why are you telling me this?"

For a moment Emma just stared at her hands, chewing on her lower lip before she finally found the courage to speak up again.

"I was hoping that, if I tell you about my last few years, you tell me about yours."

He arched one of his eyebrows at her.

"Why would I do that?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know. I just..."

One more shrug, more nervous chewing on her lower lip.

"Alright." Surprised she turned her head just to find him giving her a small smile and leaning back into the couch's cushions. "But you go first."

She nodded solemnly, then she started to talk.

And she told him everything.

Three years ago he went away.

One and a half year ago both of her parents enlisted.

She had moved in with Ruby and they had started to rent out some of their houses' rooms to the ones who weren't in war - for little money of course, who had that much of it back then anyway.

The Gold family had moved in. Father and son. The father had been unable to fight in war, the boy, Neal, had been too young.

Over the months Emma had fallen in love with Neal only to be left behind three months later.

He had robbed her house - stolen the few things of value (luckily the ones without any personal value) - and had run from his father because he thought the man a coward.

Not only Emma had been broken hearted that day, Mr. Gold had too - the only difference was that Emma had been stolen from too - and she wasn't only talking about the stolen goods, she was talking about a part of her heart too.

There was a long pregnant pause before Killian finally started to talk.

He told her about Liam's death.

About how he met Milah, how they fell in love, how she died in his arms.

He told her about the all the horror he had been through, about all the people he had lost.

It hurt to talk about them but at the same time she could tell he felt kinda relieved.

And so did she.

Because after all he seemed to be her Killian Jones after all.

By the end of his story there were tears streaming down his face and she leaned against his shoulder, spending him silent comfort.

They sat there for a few minutes before he lifted his left arm.

"Does it bother you?" he asked.

Her fingers reached out to his bandaged stump, fingers tracing the gauze before slowly pulling it down, revealing the nasty scar the explosion in which he had lost his hand had left behind.

"Not at all," she murmured, fingertips brushing over the scar tenderly.

They continued to sit there in silence for quite a while again before she dared to speak up.

"It felt good to talk about it," Emma mumbled eventually, raising her head from his shoulder and looked at his face.

He made an affirmative sound, turning his head so he was facing her.

Only a few inches separated them and she really wanted to bridge the gap between them but she didn't. The day before it had been a differents situation, now she didn't dare to do it.

Not until he did.

The first few heartbeats Emma was completely frozen, his lips pressing against hers softly, seeking comfort and something else she could not yet pinpoint. She started to return the kiss only a few moments later, her lips pressing against his with equal tenderness and longing.

His hand and stump slid from her side to her waist, spinning them around slowly and pushing her back into the sofa's soft cushions.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands buried in his thick black hair, messing it up even more than it already was.

His tongue traced her lower lips tentatively and she let him enter without a second thought, his tongue exploring her mouth sweetly, making her whimpers against his lips.

Minutes passed and when they finally broke apart she was breathing heavily, his hand had slipped underneath her shirt, his hand brushing over the bare skin of her stomach tenderly.

"Why did you say yes?" she whispered against his lips.

He pressed his forehead to hers, taking a deep, slightly shaky breath.

"Because around you I feel again. And I like that," he replied quietly.

She smiled, tilting her head up to kiss his lips again.

"So you're going to keep me around?" she asked then.

"I intended to."

"Good. Because I wasn't going to let you go, you know."

He chuckled lowly.

"I kinda guessed that."

.

.

12th June, 1946

"You kept it all these years?" she asked in surprise, the pendant dangling in front of her face.

The newlywed couple sat on the sofa of their house, him behind her, she leaning against his chest.

"It reminded me of home."

"Did it now?" she smirked.

He pecked her cheek.

"Maybe it reminded me of you too."

"So you say you have always loved me, Captain Jones?" she asked mockingly, turning her head.

He kissed her nose before leaning his forehead against hers.

"Probably."

"Oh," she smiled, closing her eyes.

"So you say you didn't?"

Confused she opened her eyes again, his green eyes broing into her green ones.

"Didn't what?" she asked.

"Always loved me."

She smiled, pressing her lips to his gently.

"Of course I did."