The rain crashed against the windows as Killian grabbed a bottle of water and gulped it down. There had been enough rum for the night.

The room was dim with an occasional flash of lightning piercing the air in sharp fragments. Emma rubbed her finger along the rim of her glass nervously and looked up at him. He didn't have his usual grace when he walked–the couple of glasses of rum had taken that away from him. But what he lacked in balance, he still carried with charisma. He put a vinyl on the record player. A slow, bluesy number; just a voice and a few trickles of piano notes and trumpet melodies. Killian ran his hand through his rain-drenched hair, intentionally messing up his locks knowing that it drove her crazy. He looked over at Emma and waved his hand, beckoning her to his corner. Emma, hypnotized by the music, walked over and took his hand with apprehension. One arm immediately went to her waist, closing in the distance between them. His hand glided up her arm slowly, released the glass from her hand and interlocked her fingers with his. He let out a low, grunting sigh that made her knees waver. His head lowered and he leaned in, so that his breath exhaled right above her ear. Despite the slight smell of the bar, he smelled more of rain and salt water. He bent his knees, dipping her hips low to the beat of the music and back up again in an aching rhythm. His face crept closer to hers, his cheek on the corner of her lips. He was humming, the vibrations in his throat and chest tickling her senses.

It was Emma's turn to sigh. She felt the thunder shake her and she caught a brief taste of him. His hand that was on her waist slid up her back (his fingertips making sure to catch each vertebrae) and touched the back of her neck; her soft, loose curls prickling her skin in combination with his touch. And as quickly as it was up there, his arm went back down, instead sliding it on the cusp of her face, his palm under her chin. His hips were still swaying, finding his footing. Before she knew it, his nose pressed against hers. She closed her eyes, nervous of what was coming. His breath became hers, his jaws clenched, the sharp jaw bones protruding from the soft lines on his face. "KIllian," she whispered. "You, we've both been drinking."

"Aye," he managed to mutter, his accent sweetly tainting the soft syllable. "But I've never seen things more clear."

"We can't do this. It's not the right time. I'm with someone else now, I–"

"Emma, this couldn't be more right." With that, he couldn't repress it any longer. He pressed his lips fiercely against hers, both hands on her face and neck, propelling her backwards into the wall. She welcomed it at first, all thought fleeing from her mind. She felt him take off his leather jacket, pressing his cotton T-shirt into her torso. Her hands, now moving independently from rational thought, jumped straight to his belt, her fingers tugging on his pant loops and pushing him closer to her. He was all that she ever wanted, for more than 5 years, but she had given up. He was on the road, playing with his band, and she rarely ever saw him. She had found someone else, but every time he had come back, that piece of her heart always managed to peek out from the folds and flutter. Awareness woke her up and broke the kiss.

"Killian, please."

"Emma," was all he rebutted. He looked at her, his eyes a luminescent sapphire in the dark. He licked his lips, drops of rain still coming down from his hair. He closed his eyes tightly, his breathing heavy. His arm straightened, palm against the wall, trying to keep his balance–or his frustration–intact. Emma's face was wet now with tears. He leaned into her face again but she lowered her head. He stayed put and resigned, resting his forehead against hers. He straightened his body and wrapped his arms around her. He softly kissed her forehead as she let out a sob. "I'm sorry, love. I'm a bloody idiot." He let her go and grabbed his jacket from the floor. He still wasn't looking at her, instead looking out into the storm.

"I'm sorry, Killian. It's…after all this time, you can't just pretend that we can do this, when you never wanted it."

"I never said I didn't want it, Emma."

Emma furrowed her eyebrows at his statement. "When I tried to make something happen, you said no. You did. Not me. I've always lo–, I've always had feelings for you. I still do. But I can't just drop everything to be with you now. You missed your chance and I refuse to be your 'reminder of home'."

Emma could tell that those last three words twisted something in him. He seemed taken aback, fighting the words to spill out. He threw on his jacket instead. He walked up to her and softly put his fingers on her chin. He looked into her hazel eyes, illuminated by the peeking moonlight and wished that she could understand everything. Why he did the things he did, why he said the things he said. She never realized it was all for her. Everything. He took in one last scent of her before moving the corner of his mouth into a sad smile.

"When the storms pass and the clouds roll…" he began. It was a short poem he had written for her as a gift when they were younger, their way of saying goodbye whenever they parted.

Emma mustered the answer in between her shaking nerves. "…I'll keep you, darling, close to my soul."

"I'll see you soon, Emma." He leaned in and softly kissed her flushed cheek. It left a scorching burn.

-/-

Months passed.

Killian had come into town a few times since their meeting, but she never revealed her presence at his shows. Each time, she caught a glimpse of him searching, wandering to the place where she often sat. The place where, during songs, he would specifically point at her and smile before blaring out a climactic verse. Instead she stayed in the outer wings, watching the people sing along to his words, watching the world pass without her. And at the end of the night, when the crowds had dissipated, she put on her coat and walked out of the venue with her head down. One time, she had noticed him outside with the rest of the band meeting fans and reveling in the night. She swore that one time, she had heard her name and the sound of running footsteps but they were false hopes.

And then, a year and a half later, when he had come back from overseas for another venue, she took her stance by an upstairs beam, camouflaged by party goers and young groupies. She felt cold and squeezed her coat close to her, a glass of his favorite rum swirling in her hand. Her toes curled inside her boots. The lights dimmed, and as the crowd yelled, she rested her head against the beam and watched him walk out with the confidence she had known for what seemed like a lifetime. Something was different though. He was worn down. Circles under his eyes, but still dashing as ever. She smiled as he greeted the crowd and began clapping to get the song rolling. She was calm and reserved for most of the night.

But then came her song.

The one song that he always pointed her out. But instead of pointing at her seat, the spotlight shone in specific sections, urging the audience to repeat the verse. She watched the light travel from side to side like a police helicopter, then all of a sudden, the light shone directly in her eyes. She brought up a hand as her section chanted but when she looked down at the stage to Killian, he was looking right at her. Her soul was bared. In those few milliseconds, she felt like she could burn until there was nothing left. He paused then continued the song as if nothing had happened.

She deliberated between staying or going. He would find her after the show if she stayed, she thought. No, better not take that chance. She pushed her way through the crowd and down the stairs, but as she finally spotted the exit door, she heard her name over the loud speaker, or at least thought she did. She turned around and glanced at the stage which now seemed miles away. Killian had taken out his guitar and sat perched on a stool, telling his usual story of his lost love…the love he never could bear to admit but never gave up on. It was all so typical of him…every band had their "swoon worthy, unrequited love" lines they would pull to bring the audience to its knees. Emma used to call them idiots, never revealing that she could get caught up in it too. But once he started messing with the arrangement, and the notes poured out of him, she felt something flutter in her heart. It was hard to hear–the speaker and screams were so loud–but she managed to hear one line from the song:

"I'll keep you, darling, close to my soul."

Emma let out a trembled gasp. She looked down and seemed glued to her place. People kept pushing her out of the way but the only thing she could do was try to comprehend everything. Could it be true? It couldn't. After all these years? Was she really that gullible? She turned and scrambled towards the door and pushed with all her strength to leave.

The night was crisp and cold with the promise of rain to come. She saw a bench far off towards the parking lot and ran in between all of the groups of people to get to it. She struggled to keep her breath. Anxiety consumed her. She felt her chest heave, the force of an anvil on top of her. She scouted out her car but realized she had parked on the other side of the lot, the distance seemed almost unattainable. She sat for a moment, gathering her senses when she realized the concert must have ended from the exodus of people leaving the building.

Run or face him?

Both options seemed so distant to her but she didn't want to do either. So she sat quietly in her safety zone of the bench, breathing in and out. She watched some of the fans gather outside the side door waiting for the band to exit. Minutes seemed like hours but Emma never turned her gaze away. Finally, the side door opened and Killian came out. He donned his usual black leather pants. dark blue collared shirt and open black vest. The rest of the band quickly followed. He heard this name being called from the door and someone stepped out to give him his leather jacket. A young, beautiful, female someone. Someone that he rested his arm over her shoulders with. And hugged and kissed her hair in thanks with. Someone that smiled brightly at his touch and he returned the favor. The option now, seemed obvious. She broke her gaze and looked down at her shoes. A drop of water splashed on the toe and the wind stopped to signal the arrival of the storm. She closed her eyes tightly and wished the storm to come, to wash away her embarrassment and her dismal hope of confronting him tonight…of letting him know that she had dropped it all for him.

She abandoned all reason and took one look back at the lingering crowd. She saw him laughing, talking away, telling stories of his music and how great his home town was. What he planned to do later that night. His band called him from the bus, signaling the storm. He waved his goodbyes, gave the last hugs and autographs of the night and hopped up on the bus, his someone falling closely behind. Emma gulped down the stone in her throat, releasing it to the pit of her stomach. She felt sick but refused to cry. She just wanted to go home but at this point was in no rush to do so. She walked slowly to the parking lot, watching as the cars passed her, red brake lights in the night.

The sky had broken open and the rain began to fall. Emma kicked each individual pebble in her path, watching them fall into the streaming rivulets of water on the asphalt. She finally spotted her car a few lanes down and took a deep breath. She ran a hand through her now matted hair and clutched her bag under her arm. The rain sneaked down her arm and dropped the small purse, pouring its items over the sidewalk. She cursed loudly and scrambled to pick everything up. Her phone, soaken now, was gone she knew, her lipstick melting with moisture and her powder of no use. She grabbed her wallet, protecting the pictures and cards inside and grabbed the empty shell of her phone. She spotted something else too…an antique pocket mirror she'd had for years, the emblem of a buttercup flower shimmering in the gray. She blew away the strand of hair in her face and walked over to get it. People were running in all directions towards the safety of shelter but a set of feet had stopped in front of the mirror. The person bent down to pick up the mirror and handed it to her. Emma squinted and saw Killian. His bus was double parked in the lane, door wide open for him. The storm only seemed to make him even more handsome and she almost hated him for it.

"I knew it was you," he said, thin streams flowing down the curve of his lips. Emma tried to fathom how she could be envious of water.

"Really? What, can't even offer a lady an umbrella?" she shouted into the air.

"Inside. I know you've been coming to the shows, all of them, even though you didn't want me to see you."

She gathered her voice again, not really knowing how to respond. "How could I face you, Killian? I'm still your friend."

"No, you're not Emma."

She shook her head. "Don't start this again, Killian. I came here tonight because…well, I wanted you. Damn it, Killian, I want you. I always have. And I left everything I've known since you because of it. I've loved you for 7 years now and even though I told you you were too late, I just wanted you to know that…well, that I didn't want to be." She gulped. "But I guess I am now." She looked up at the bus, seeing peeking eyes from the comfort and warmth of the dry interior. "I love you, Killian. I'm sorry. Out of everything, you deserved to know." She turned her back and began walking again. The rain masked her sobs and her walk turned into a brisk run. She heard Killian softly pound his fist on the bus door to signal he was getting on and to close the door. She reached her car, fumbled with her keys and sat inside, feeling the warmth hit her face. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel. That was it. She looked up and saw the bus turn the corner of the street and ride up the freeway. He was going to his home, she to hers. That was the way it had to be.

-/-

Emma drove home in silence; not even the radio to match her mood. There was no equivalent. No noise but the wipers maniacally going back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Her mind went blank and her face pale. Due to the storm, she pulled up to her house an hour later. The rain had trickled down to a mere drizzle. She wanted to just strip away everything and get into bed. She wanted so much to erase the night. She wrestled her keys out of her soaked jacket pocket and felt a chill creep up her back signaling a sickness due to come any minute. She fumbled at the door. Her hand reached for the door knob, when to her gasping surprise, an arm slid next to hers and stopped her from opening. She turned around like a whirlwind, her arm pushing back the intruder, letting out a scream.

"Emma, Emma. It's okay, yeah?" Killian's face lit up in the moonlight. He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, his hair and skin still wet but he had luckily changed his clothes.

"Killian, god damn it, you scared me. What are you doing here?!"

"My mates dropped me off here on the way to the hotel. I didn't want before to be the last conversation we had. Can I come in?"

Emma looked at him incredulously but couldn't say no. She threw open the door and threw her bag, jacket and keys on the side table. She turned on the kitchen light and rested her hands on the table. She looked at the cracks in the wood, beaten and rubbed down until they became one with the table. Old and new. From the corner of her eye, she saw him walk in quietly. "She's Robin's sister, Emma."

"Even better, Killian," she told him, bitterness on her lips. "You really know how to pack a punch, don't you?"

"She doesn't mean anything, Emma. I promise you that. What you saw…it was…"

"Nothing. Right." She straightened her body and crossed her arms across her chest. She looked up at him. His face reeked of apology, so much so, that he walked over to the cabinet, grabbed a glass and poured it with the nearest liquor. He swiveled the liquid courage in the glass but didn't take a sip. "What more do you want me to say? I've already poured my heart out to you. There's nothing left."

"So, that makes the both of us then?" he snapped, a bitter impatience tinging the air.

"Shut up, just shut up. I don't think I can handle any more of your bullshit."

That aggravated him. He walked straight up to her and put his hand on her arm. "Emma, you tell me I'm the one bullshitting you, but you're the one who can't make up her damn mind." She swiveled her arm to brush off his hand.

"Get. Out." She walked past him, out into the living room to the front door to open for him, but he followed suit and slammed it closed. "I'm serious, Killian. Call someone to come and get you." He backed away from her, back to the record player. He stayed quiet for a moment, his gaze on the vinyl player. It was dusty save for the spots that her fingers usually touched. He turned to look at her. She opened the door the second time.

"You were playing the record."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, annoyed and embarrassed at this point.

"The record, Emma. The one that was playing that night a couple of years ago."

Emma closed the door again. "It's a perfectly good record, Killian. I can listen to it without a reason."

"Fine then." He started it up and walked up to her, asking for her hand. "If it's really nothing, and I meannothing, then I will leave at song's end." Emma deliberated, looking at his hands and remembered how good it felt those years ago. Without the limitations, it sure would feel much different…better even. She succumbed and gave him her hand. At his touch, he pulled her in swiftly, as close as he could possibly hold her so that she practically melded into his skin. She felt his chest heave against hers and his face leaned down until his nose and lips rested on her bare shoulder. He never kissed her but caressed every inch of her skin on her shoulder and neck with his lips. Emma quivered but didn't want to give in. He traveled to her ear, taking in every smell of her. "Emma," he whispered.

"Hmm?" She had her eyes closed but tilted her head in his direction to acknowledge his question.

"Darling, you have no idea how much I want this. All of this. You and everything that comes with it."

"Everything?"

"Every. single. inch of it," he accentuated each word as he kissed her shoulder, her neck, her cheek.

"Hmm," she mumbled as an answer. She felt like giving in would be surrender. Sweet surrender but surrender nonetheless. "Killian?"

"Yes?"

"The song's stopped." They were swaying softly but Emma loosened her grip. Killian still held on to her tightly.

"How do you feel?" She pulled away from him, crossing her arms, while her hands rubbed her shoulder and collarbone where he had just touched her. She thought so hard that her head ached. She looked at his face and wondered about the past 7 years, measuring his worth and her determination. All those moments of hoping and heartbreak. The look in his eyes was genuine. There was a familiar twitch in his hands, the rubbing of his fingertips, as if he didn't know where to put them. He gave a hint of a sad smile as he scratched the tip of his ear, the same one that he gave her that last rainy night as if he expected defeat. But as she put her arms down, he raised his head high, ready to fight for her as soon as she gave the words. She turned away from him, towards the front door. He expected her to open the door wide enough that an army of him could walk through it. "Emma, please…"

Emma reached for the doorknob, slow and apprehensive. But instead of opening it wide, she closed the door tightly and turned the lock. She turned around to face him, matching his smile with a level of mischief. She walked over to him and stood on her tip toes to softly kiss his lips. With whatever breath she had left, she whispered,

"Play it again."