She, of course, notices he hasn't been sleeping well for weeks.

At first, she chalks it up to the obvious—the fact that they had to bargain his soul out of hell being a glaring answer.

But it nags at her as it goes on, because it's more than restless sleep; it's the way he sometimes worries his lip between his teeth when he looks at her son, how he always finds an excuse to avoid taking Henry to school with her.

Briefly, Emma worries he's stressed about fatherhood, about whether he has second thoughts about Henry as being part of the package, about joining their ridiculously complicated family. She banishes the thought as quickly as it comes; if nothing, he's proved to be more than invested in that regard.

After all, did he not pick this obscenely large house for a reason? There are three more bedrooms than she knows what to do with (really, she does know) (it terrifies her as much as it excites her). That can't be for nothing.

Unable to sit with her fears any longer, she catches him one morning after breakfast, not long after Henry has gone to school, pulling him into the kitchen with the promise of coffee.

"Good morning, love," he greets, dropping a quick kiss onto her lips before sliding into his chair and wrapping his hand around his mug. For a moment, he looks so blissed, it nearly blinds her. "What's on the agenda for today?"

It's one of those ridiculously simple domestic moments that catches her heart in a net, the reality that he's back, he's here, and all he wants to do is talk about their day. When was the last time she had such a luxury?

It almost makes her want to skip the conversation she has planned altogether, but then she notices him running his fingers along Henry's math textbook with that same faraway look in his eye and she can't take it anymore.

"I wanted to talk about whatever it is it's bothering you," Emma says plainly. She never was one for subtlety.

Killian pauses, then shifts in his seat to face her. His face is withdrawn, his eyebrows in knots. Then, suddenly, it's smoothed out, and a placating smile has returned to his features. "Nothing is bothering me, Swan." He reaches for her hand and squeezes it, but she knows it's a deflection. "What could I possibly have qualms with, after everything we've been through?"

She doesn't let go of his hand, but she does roll her eyes. "Don't lie to me."

His eyes flit across her face for a long moment before he drops his head with a sigh. "It…doesn't paint a pretty picture of me."

She just cocks her neck at him, fixing him with a dubious expression. "Really? I ran you through with a sword and you're still worried about how you'll look?"

His lips lift in a soft, amused smile. "Mm, but I do believe you repaid me for that. In more ways than one," he adds, waggling his eyebrows salaciously.

"Killian."

He huffs again, and frees his hand to run it through his hair. "I'm just…not sure I'm ready to revisit this part of my past." He chances a glance back down at Henry's things. "Not yet."

"Okay," she replies after a moment. After everything, she doesn't want to push him. "When you're ready."

.

He comes to her a couple weeks later, once again right after Henry had left for school.

He'd stood by the window and watched him get on the bus, and after, marched straight to her.

"I have a brother," he says suddenly, without preamble.

She looks up from her morning paper, pen still in her mouth. Quickly, she removes it, and flashes him a smirk. "Yeah, I know. Liam."

He shakes his head quickly, clearly a bit rattled with nerves. "No, no, love, I have another brother. A young brother. And I think he might be in Storybrooke."

Pacing the whole time, Killian launches into the tale of finding his father again, of the anguish and heartbreak he'd felt at the idea that he'd been replaced, that he hadn't been good enough, that he thought his father was going to abandon his new son too, how it made him do something terrible, how he'd lashed out in the worst way, how he'd orphaned his brother.

Emma has the urge to wince at that, but somehow doesn't, for his sake. He's obviously been holding this in for weeks, ever since his father's memory was dredged up in his once-final-hour, and she knows what it means that he's sharing this with her.

And it makes sense, the way he's been so jumpy around Henry—it wasn't her kid, it was his school, the idea that Killian would have a brother somewhere around Henry's age that he could run into.

She rises from her seat to embrace him, and he immediately folds into her, exhaling deeply. "I have to make it right, Emma. I have to find him," he murmurs into her hair.

She leans back and grips his arms, staring into his eyes. "We will, Killian. Because that's what we do in this family. We find each other."

.

It turns out to be much easier than planned, given that all it takes is one well poised question to Mary Margaret.

"Liam?" Mary Margaret repeats, looking up from Neal, swaddled in her arms. "Yeah, I know him. I had him last year, in a couple grades below Henry. He's one of the only kids in class who goes by his real name now instead of his Storybrooke name. Said it's the last thing he has of his father."

Killian flinches, and Emma reaches for his hand.

Mary Margaret narrows her eyes, suddenly picking up on their tense body language. "Why? Is someone looking for him?"

"Aye," Killian nods, "me."

"We have reason to believe that this kid might be Killian's brother," Emma supplies when Killian looks unable to.

"You have two brothers named Liam?" David comments from the loft kitchen, raising an eyebrow. When that doesn't get a response, Mary Margaret shifts in her seat, as if realizing the implications.

"Oh. Well, I have to be honest, I don't know much about him. He's a very nice boy. So bright, but very quiet…" Mary Margaret takes a sharp inhalation of breath. "I do believe he lives with the fairies at the old nunnery."

What she doesn't say is the orphanage, but they all hear it anyway.

Emma maintains her grip on Killian's hand and laces their fingers together, turning to look at him. This is good, she thinks. It won't be as complicated if he comes to live with them.

She doesn't dare say that out loud, not yet, because that type of hope is tender and fragile and she just isn't her mother, parceling out lessons of hope like it's nobody's business.

She knows what it is to love a child without even knowing them and yet be unable to admit it, because the risk that it could all fall apart would be too great to bear.

She looks to him and sees as much swirling in his eyes, doubt and fear clouding the smallest shred of hope.

But it is there.

.

They walk hand in hand as they approach the nunnery—they held hands often before the whole mess with dark magic, but ever since she's gotten him back, she holds onto him more than ever, needs to feel his fingers between hers, needs the constant reminder of his presence.

It soothes her, and by the way he looks at her now, she knows it soothes him too. "Are you ready?" She asks, just before she's about to knock.

"No," he admits ruefully. "What if he hates me? What if he…knows? What I did?"

She faces him, running her hands up his arms. "He might," she allows. "But there were so many times with Henry that I was convinced he was going to realize that he hated me for giving him up, times where I thought he'd never get over me lying about his dad, times where I was terrified he was going to see the real me and want nothing to do with me.

"But Killian, he did see the real me. He saw past my walls and forgave it all. And I see the real you, past everything you've done, no matter what, and maybe Liam will too. But you'll never know if you don't give him the chance."

He exhales shakily, watching her with the smallest of smiles, as if he can't believe he's so lucky to have her. And then, finally, "Okay, love."

.

He decides he has to do this alone, and she is left to observe from behind a parlor window as he recounts his brother through the story.

He looks just like him, of course, all dark hair and blue eyes. There's no doubt these two are brothers, and Emma can't believe she's never made the connection before, even though she's seen Liam around the school once or twice. He's younger than Henry, probably around 10, the age Henry was when he found her in Boston.

Emma watches them sitting on opposite sides of the room, watches as Killian's hand wraps around his forehead, watches as Liam bolts upright and begins to pace around the room, clearly yelling.

She winces and wants to rush in, wants to soothe it, wants to explain how much this has eaten Killian up inside, how much he's changed, but Liam is bursting out of the room and stalking past her before she can even form the words.

It is beyond brave, she realizes, how honest Killian must have been with his brother, how Emma had never had that courage when she first met Henry.

Killian comes up against the doorframe with a defeated sigh, clearly holding back tears. He offers up an incredibly wistful, incredibly sad smile and holds out his hand, silently asking for her to take it. "Come on love. Let's go home. This was a mistake."

She resists the urge to push it because she can't stand to see him like this, and instead opts for a nod, letting him lead them away.

.

A few days later, there's a knock at the door just before dinner. At first, Emma wonders if Killian has forgotten his keys, but it's too early for him to be back already from the walk to Regina's. Maybe Henry left something here, she thinks as she goes to answer it.

She's completely unprepared for it to be Liam, and she is once again taken aback by the similarity between him and Killian. "Um, hi," she says after a moment.

"Does Killian Jones live here?" Liam asks. His voice is quiet, but steely and resolved.

"He does," Emma replies, unsuccessfully fighting a smile. "He's not here right now, but he'll be back soon. Wanna come in? I can make you some hot chocolate."

He pauses. "Okay," Liam nods. He follows her into the kitchen, but he doesn't remove his jacket. He's got that look in his eye, that one that Killian called her on so long ago, and she knows he could run at any moment. In the mean time, he's distracted, blue eyes sweeping across every wall, lingering on every picture frame.

She sets the kettle on to boil and comes to find him standing in front of a photo of her, Killian, and Henry, taken on the deck of his ship during those blissfully quiet six weeks of Rumple's banishment.

He doesn't look at her. "You're…one of Henry's moms, right? I've seen you around school."

"Sure am," she replies. "You know Henry?"

Liam shrugs. "Everyone knows who he is. You guys are always running around…saving the day, and stuff." He glances at another photo of just her and Killian. She even thinks he says it a bit fondly.

"Killian's always right there with us. He's saved me in so many ways," she says, after a moment, hoping she won't ruin this with her complete and utter lack of tact. "He's really changed…since…then."

The look he shoots her then can only be described as wry (and god, how he looks like his brother in this moment), as if he knows exactly the angle she's playing. But he doesn't bolt, which says a lot.

The whistling of the kettle saves her from any more awkward attempts at subtlety, and she hurries off to prepare their cocoa. She makes a third cup for Killian just in case he gets home soon, hoping he doesn't get distracted chatting with Robin this time.

"Your house is really nice," Liam says when she returns, bearing mugs. She doesn't want to misinterpret, doesn't want to hope, but he almost sounds…longing.

She sets the drinks on the table and he hesitantly comes to join her. He's so skittish, and she knows he's Killian's brother, but she sees so much of herself in him too, wants to reach out and tell him she gets it, she's been through abandonment and loss her whole life—but she's never been so good with her words, so she just bites her lip.

She hates herself for allowing the thought, but she can't help but remember that she always vowed to adopt, god forbid, if she could.

She rarely ever lets in that stray dream, never allows that kind of hope, but right now, watching Liam with his head bowed, she thinks of Killian and the future they dream of, the family they want to build.

Neither have ever said it out loud—but neither have to.

"I just want you to know," she says after a moment of them both sipping their drinks, "that I…know what it's like. To have been…alone. And so does Killian, and I probably shouldn't say this, but, whatever—I know he wants to spend the rest of his life making that up to you."

Liam's brow creases, frowning as he takes this in. She sees it all in his face, and knows she's made a mistake. She shouldn't have reminded him that he's only alone because of Killian, shouldn't have pushed him, shouldn't have—

"Father called me Killian once, when I'd done something impulsive and he was upset with me," Liam says quietly, interrupting her thoughts. He pauses for another moment. "He wouldn't tell me why, and he was very sad for a while after that. I always knew he'd done some bad things in life before he met my mum…that's how he got under that sleeping curse. He always wanted me to see the good in people, wanted me to know how much Mum changed him. I…I think I understand that now."

She smiles gently, but before Emma can reply, the front door opens. "Swan!" Killian bellows. "Sorry I'm late, but I come bearing onion rings! I thought you might like—" He cuts off suddenly as his eyes fall on Liam, whose back is to him. Slowly, he turns to face Killian. "Oh. Ah, hello lad."

"Hullo," Liam replies, slowly meeting his eyes.

Killian visibly fights back a smile, but it wins out, and his face breaks out in a wide, hopeful grin. "Would you…like to stay for dinner? It just so happens I recently procured quite a lot of food from Granny's."

"Okay," the boy says, after a long moment, twisting away. Emma bites her lip to keep from smiling, and when she looks up at Killian, his eyes are glassy.

.

.

Liam stays for dinner, and then stays for years.