Some would call Killian Jones a hopeless romantic. He'd call himself a fucking glutton for punishment.

Ten years had passed since he'd danced in this very same gym with Emma Swan, kissed her and taken her home. Ten years since he'd lain with her in his bed, limbs tangled with her head resting on his chest in post-sex bliss. Ten years since he'd woken up alone, a single, scribbled sentence on a piece of paper breaking his heart.

He'd skipped graduation, wholly unable to be in the same room as Emma, picked a fight with Liam and left town, driving across the country to San Diego and the Naval Training Center. Throwing himself into his career, letters and phone calls home had been sporadic, especially after he shipped out with Special Ops at the age of twenty-four. It had been hard for the military to track him down when Liam died, the news finally catching up to him at the massive cave complexes at Zhawar Kili in Afghanistan a week after his brother was already in the ground.

The job was all Killian had left until a joint op with Army Special Forces went horribly wrong and leaving him permanently disabled, doctors unable to save his left hand. He found himself medically retired at the age of twenty-six, too much loss hardening him.

His brother.

His hand.

Her.

He'd returned to Storybrooke and the house Liam had left him, still paying the mortgage as he'd done since learning of his death, but letting it fall into disrepair as he drowned his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle, living off his savings and disability pay.

A knock on the door one day pulled him out of one of his lighter benders, a second, more insistent pounding coming after he'd invited the unexpected visitor to fuck off at the top of his lungs. Killian pulled the door open, expecting a pushy salesman, but it was Mary Margaret standing on his porch. She'd brought him bread and homemade chicken soup – soup, for fuck's sake – and she completely ignored his protests, pushing herself past him, carefully hanging her coat and scarf on one of the hooks by the door.

If she was offended by his dismal housekeeping or the odor of the closed up house, she didn't show it; just busied herself with opening curtains and windows in the kitchen, and running a sinkful of hot, soapy water in order to clean a bowl and spoon. He tried protesting, insisting he could take care of himself but withered under her glare, sitting at the kitchen table instead of the couch to eat for the first time in a long time, as she washed the mound of dishes he'd let pile up and took out the overflowing trash.

Mary Margaret sat across from him, saying nothing until he asked about her ring; ashamed he knew nothing about the life of one of his oldest friends. She'd married David not long after high school, no kids yet, but he could see the longing in her eyes. She invited him over to their loft for dinner and he tried to beg off but she wasn't having it, swirling out of his house and leaving behind a cloud of sweet floral perfume and an air of hope.

The two of them helped him find his new normal; a slightly modified version of the man he'd always been: hardworking, loyal and quick to laugh. Some of their old group had stuck around town and Killian found himself invited to brunch and holiday dinners, extending his own invitations to their tight-knit group for outings on the boat he had found and painstakingly fixed up with David's help.

It was one night on the water that Ruby dared them all to attend their upcoming high school reunion and Killian had agreed, thinking he could get through a night of nostalgia with little more than a tiny squeeze of his heart. But once he'd made the rounds, shaking hands and bussing cheeks of classmates he barely recognized and hadn't thought of in ten years, it was almost too much to bear to be in one of the last places he'd seen Emma.

A makeshift bar had been set up in the corner of the gym next to the DJ booth-slash-stage where the stalwart and ever-predictable Grumpy was still spinning outdated tunes. Killian ordered a rum and Coke and nursed it while surveying the crowd

The turnout was bigger than he'd expected. Groups crowded the barstools in an increasingly tipsy ebb and flow until liquid courage coaxed the vast majority onto the dance floor. Ruby caught his eye and did a little shimmy, gesturing to Killian to join them. There was a flash of blonde over her shoulder and he did a double take before assuming his eyes had just played tricks on him. He pointed to his watered-down drink and tried to wave Ruby off, hoping she'd occupy herself with the same on again/off again boyfriend who reminded everyone he was a doctor now with annoying regularity.

Nice wish. Ruby and Mary Margaret pulled Killian off his stool and dragged him onto the dance floor, his ears ringing after spending too much time in close proximity to Grumpy's state-of-the-art speaker system; he'd clearly upgraded his set up over the years, if not his playlist. It was that ringing that made him almost miss Ruby's deafening screech and he was unceremoniously elbowed aside as she and Mary Margaret rushed someone just ending a hug with David.

It was her.

If she'd been beautiful at eighteen, she was downright jaw dropping at nearly thirty. As Mary Margaret held Emma at arm's length, he could see a form-fitting red dress and leanly muscled shoulders. Her legs looked impossibly long in sky-high heels and gone was her customary ponytail, blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders.

Killian started to panic, eyes darting around looking for an escape route but it was too late. She was already stepping toward him cautiously and he was overwhelmed with emotions. Did he want to ignore her? Yell and scream? Drop to his knees and ask why she'd left him?

He settled for a casual, "Hey, Swan."

Emma looked relieved as she smiled.

"Hey, Jones."

When Ruby and Mary Margaret called out to usher Emma away, the need to touch her just once crashed down on him and he leaned forward to kiss her cheek, immediately regretting the uninvited show of familiarity until he realized she'd moved in to do the same. It resulted in an awkward kiss that was more corner of the mouth than cheek and as she was pulled away, his fingers came up to touch his lips and he huffed out a breath and a muttered fuck me.

The next time he saw her, the blonde curls were somewhat less bouncy and the heels had been abandoned in favor of bare feet. Emma's eyes were shining; her tongue loosened by a few trips to the bar for legitimately and legally poured rum punch. She dragged him away from the bleachers, begging him to dance with her and even with their complicated history, Killian found he couldn't deny Emma anything, twirling her around on the way to the dance floor just to hear her giggle.

He tried to ignore the fact that the couples had paired off and Emma was currently shaking her delectable ass just inches away from him. Actively willing his body to not respond and praying to a god in whom he'd long since stopped believing was going to ever deliver when it came to matters concerning Emma Swan, he breathed out a sigh of relief when the song ended just as she caught both of his hands – completely unfazed by the tactile difference between real and prosthetic – and brought them around her waist tight enough to bring his hips flush against her.

Killian's relief was short-lived.

He registered that the tempo of the music had changed and that Emma had turned in his arms but it took a second for the song to register.

Every moment returns again in time

When I've got the future on my mind

Know that you'll be the only one

"Emma, I can't." Killian was surprised at how broken his voice sounded as he tried to back away.

Her arms came up around his neck, fingers threading into his hair as she drew him close despite his protest.

"Please, just stay. Just for a minute."

Her tears were soaking the collar of his shirt and as much as part of him wanted to bolt for the nearest fucking door and fire alarm be damned, Killian found himself pulling her toward him, burying his face into her hair as they swayed to the music.

She sniffled near his ear so quietly he wondered if he'd imagined it, and Killian pulled his head back just enough to smooth away the few blonde strands caught on the scruff of his chin. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ruby jerk a thumb in their direction and for a split second he thought she was drawing attention to them. When he realized she was pulling their group back to give them privacy, he mouthed "thank you" before tightening his grip on Emma and tucking her head beneath his chin as the song came to an end.

When Emma straightened up she had wet smudges of mascara under her eyes and she poked at a spot on his collar, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the next tune.

"Shit, I'm- dammit. If it doesn't wash out, I'll replace the shirt."

He caught her wrist to stop her from rubbing the stain in any more and shot her a look.

"It's not the worst thing you've done to one of my shirts. At least this one isn't a rental."

Emma's head dropped back and she laughed, loud and long. It was as infectious as it had always been and he found himself smiling at her when she composed herself.

"So it's gonna be like that, Jones? Just ripping the Band-Aid off?"

Killian shrugged and gave her a shit-eating grin that was cut short when her hands started wringing together.

"Youwannagetoutofhereandmaybegotalksomeplace?"

The music cut off just after "you" and everyone within earshot heard her ask if he wanted to get out of there at top volume before the school's ill-tempered DJ came over the microphone, calling the King and Queen of their graduating class up. Emma clapped her hand over her mouth and turned bright red, the blush rushing prettily down her neck and onto her chest.

Killian laughed long and loud, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her through the sea of bodies to the coat check. Despite the chilly night, she hadn't brought a jacket and Killian didn't think twice about holding his out for her to slip her arms into, or reaching past her to take her heels from the person working the counter when they were offered along with her purse.

"Killian, you don't have to," she protested but he was already down on one knee in front of her. Emma braced herself with a hand on his shoulder and stepped into one shoe first then the other. When Killian stood, they were the same height and he waggled his eyebrows at her.

"It's a good look for you, Swan. Red and leather." He placed a hand on the small of her back and led her out of the building, stopping short when he remembered he'd third-wheeled it with Mary Margaret and David. "I don't have a car here. Do you?"

Making long strides past him toward the passenger door of a nondescript dark sedan, she motioned him around to the driver's side and dug into her clutch.

"Do you mind driving? I'm under the legal but don't take chances." She held up a clunky plastic keychain he recognized was from a rental company and tossed it at him over the top of the car where he snatched it out of the air. "Nice reflexes."

It took a few seconds to adjust the seat and mirrors to his liking, and reach into his old bag of tricks to tease her about her height. Emma flipped him off with one hand as she reached for the seatbelt with the other. Her legs were crossed and angled toward him to keep her knees from hitting the underside of the dashboard thanks to her shoes. Killian tried not to let his eyes linger on the generous length of bare thigh that was exposed thanks to the further hiking of her already short dress when she sat down.

The radio blared when the engine turned over and Killian beat Emma to the volume button.

"Some things never change, huh, Swan? Still riding around town with the music blasting." He hoped the dramatic eye roll hid the second peek at her legs. "Didn't your ears suffer enough during your 'Promiscuous Girl' phase?"

"Whatever. Don't pretend you didn't appreciate all of the time I spent trying to learn Nelly Furtado's belly dancing moves." She body rolled in her seat and smacked his arm when he dramatically let his head fall back, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"Tsk, tsk. Such violence. Now where to?" He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"I – I mean, we can go to your place if you want. I'm just at the hotel downtown."

"Not my house," Killian said quickly. He was already having a hard time dealing every creepy, history-repeating parallel to the last night they were together. There was no way in hell he could handle that one.

"Yeah, sorry. I shouldn't have suggested – we can head to Granny's for pie and talk there if you want. If the hotel makes you uncomfortable."

Emma looked serene, ethereal even with her high cheekbones and straight jawline, gazing through the windshield but a slight hand tremor gave her nervousness away.

"Do you want to go to Granny's? Her baking has suffered somewhat in her advanced age and the apple pie you love so much is a bit crunchy these days."

"So the hotel it is." She said it as a statement and made a gesture to mean ever onward.

As Killian drove out of the parking lot – hauling ass over the speed bumps to jostle her around like old times – he saw her shooting sideways glances at the unmoving yet completely lifelike custom silicone prosthetic draped across his lap. Being a stubborn asshole had worked in his favor when he lost his hand. Against his doctors and physical therapists' suggestions to make his life easier, he'd made few concessions when it came to specialized equipment. He became adept at crossing his remaining hand over to the left side for anything that required dexterity: headlights, window buttons, door handles.

Refusing to live a largely altered life helped him heal mentally and emotionally from the injury, and the normalcy cut down on the number of stares and pitying looks thrown his way. That, in turn, cut down on his anger and overwhelming need to pick a fight in the early days, not that it erased it completely. That had happened with one look from Mary Margaret after Killian had returned David to her with red pouring out of his nose and bloodied knuckles sustained when Killian's mouth had written a check it couldn't cash in the alley next to a bar.

These days it was as close to a non-issue as loss of limb could be for someone and he easily turned the engine off, shut down the lights and opened the door when they reached her hotel before Emma could even rearrange her legs to get out.

He followed her through the lobby, allowing his eyes to get their fill of her unbelievable ass until she caught him gawking in the reflective doors of the elevator. Emma shook it at him a little and laughed when he mimed a heart attack, pushing him into the small space and making a show of doing her own ogling. In another time and place he might have entertained her with a few Chippendales-esque dance moves but the higher the elevator climbed and the closer they got to her room, the more Killian became lost in a rush of thought wondering what Emma wanted to talk about and what she would say.

The room was standard and smelled like her hair. He eased his jacket off her shoulders and tossed it over the back of the utilitarian desk chair, watching as she kicked off her shoes and walked into the bathroom.

Emma came back with a black elastic between her teeth, hands working to scrape her hair up into a ponytail and he swallowed hard at how young she looked with it pulled back. A bottle of amber liquid and some Solo cups were produced and she jerked her head toward the small table in the corner.

By the time Killian sat and realized it was the same brand of rum they used to steal from his brother, Emma had poured a measure into three cups. She handed one to him and took the other, leaving the third between them untouched.

As she raised her cup, fingers ran over the top of his prosthetic hand until she came to flesh and blood, squeezing his arm above the wrist.

"To Liam," she said, her eyes shining with tears just ahead of his own as the weight of the gesture hit him.

Killian had missed the funeral, the toasts and moments of silence for his brother all taking place while he was deployed. The condolences had dried up due to time and his advanced status as a shut-in, leaving him to wonder in more maudlin moments how the hell his life could be so completely changed without Liam while the rest of the world spun merrily around, no worse off with the loss.

He thanked her, maybe more with his eyes than with his voice, and swallowed hard around the rum, coughing at the unrefined taste.

"Fucking hell, this shit is terrible."

Emma's hand was fanning her face, tongue comically tasting the air like a dog with a mouthful of peanut butter.

"So awful. How did he even drink this crap?" She picked up the bottle and stared at the label critically.

"Yeah, well, the joke is on us. I found Liam's stock of the good stuff hidden in the garage a few years ago. He knew we'd sneak some and kept the cheap stuff where we'd find it. Want another?" Killian waved vaguely toward her cup.

"Hell, no. God, he was an asshole sometimes." Emma said it fondly and with a fresh shine to her eyes.

"That he was. Although I did manage to get the lion's share of that particular trait when God himself handed it down to the Brothers Jones." He blew on his knuckles and buffed them on his shirt, the movement causing a faint jingle.

Before Killian could stop her, Emma reached out, hooking his tags with the slightest of brushes against his chest, and pulled them out, bending her head to examine them.

"I've never seen black dog tags like this before," she said, turning them over. "And why is one in almost perfect condition and the other beat to shit?"

"The military issues these to Special Forces when they're behind enemy lines to blacken all insignia." He held up his prosthetic. "They were the last set I was issued before I left. Wore one tucked into my boot and the other around my neck."

Emma dropped the tags and placed her hand on his knee. She was still close to him, leaning forward in her chair and far enough into his space that Killian couldn't breathe. There were creases at the corners of her eyes that hadn't been there before, along with a few more freckles. He found himself intensely jealous of whoever had the privilege of sitting in the sun with her, putting laugh lines on her beautiful face, and his fist balled in anger behind his cup.

"I heard about your injury and how the Navy let you go. I'm so sorry."

Stifled by both her nearness and sympathy, he shoved himself back and stood, options limited in the small room, pacing a few strides before deciding the looking out the window and a grand view of the back parking lot was his best bet for air, even if it was only metaphorical.

"Is that why I'm here, Swan? So you can what – pity me? Offer condolences? Raise a glass to Liam, pat me on the knee about losing my hand?"

Killian couldn't keep himself from leaning forward, pressing his forehead against the coolness of the glass, the sound of blood rushing in his ears keeping him from hearing Emma walk up behind him. He startled at her touch but almost immediately relaxed into it, his reaction pissing him off and confusing him even further.

Not enough to move, though.

He let her arms slip around his sides as she'd done so many times before, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. Years ago, it would be to steal his warmth, invading the pockets of his jacket after refusing it when he offered on a chilly night, twining freezing fingers with his. Killian had taken their casual intimacy for granted back then. Over the years there had been no one other than the occasional woman to scratch the proverbial itch with no extra time wasted on affection or familiarity, and he found himself suddenly craving it.

Emma made a small huffing noise when his hand came up and closed over hers, and he felt her cheek nestle more firmly against him in contentment.

"Why are you here?

The minute the words were whispered into the room, Killian wished he could take them back. It sounded pathetic to his ears, and that was before taking into consideration their history included his woman walking out of his life and never looking back ten damn years before. His fingers tightened over her wrist, irritated at his own impulsivity and even more so at the faint ribbons of hope laced through his soul.

She shrugged her shoulders, the motion strong against his back, in a way that some would interpret as dismissive but he knew better. It was often Swanspeak for impending revelation, and he decided it wasn't worth the gamble.

"Forget I asked."

"I'm here for you."

Their words mingled together, hers coming out in a rush and his breathed against a windowpane.

"Do – did - you love me?" Killian choked on the words.

Her admission was simple and, at the same time, wholly complicated.

"Yes. I do. Since I was fifteen years old."

In a heartbeat he turned them until Emma was flat against the glass, caged in by Killian's hand next to her head. He stared into her eyes, watching them glitter in the dim light, searching for a lie or more of the truth.

All he found was the latter.

A moment passed as Killian experienced his own five personal stages of what the fuck: a wildly cocked eyebrow, confusion, disbelief, an overwhelming desire to have his hearing checked and desperately wanting to call bullshit so it wouldn't hurt as much when she inevitably took it back.

But she didn't take it back. And she didn't waver. Emma simply traced his cheekbone with her thumb, waiting for him to say something.

"You never told me," he said dumbly.

"I didn't know how."

"Using actual words would have been a good start, Swan."

It came out with no small amount of sass and when she laughed it was contagious. Her head dropped onto his shoulder and they swayed together, giggling like a couple of kids who just heard a dirty joke. When Emma lifted her head, Killian reached up to smooth back the few strands of hair framing her face, fingertips whispering against her jawline and thumb dipping into the shallow cleft of her chin.

"You don't know me anymore. What if you don't like what you see?"

Emma made a show of pushing him back enough to look him up and down, tongue touching her upper lip with a sly grin on her face, unapologetically stealing his moves as she took her fill of him standing there in dark blue flat front dress pants and a crisp, tailored white dress shirt with an extra button undone and the sleeves rolled up above his wrists.

"Have you seen you? Jesus, you were hot in high school but this," she gestured up and down, "is fucking ridiculous. And I bet you pet dogs on the street and make cute faces at random toddlers sitting a few tables over at Granny's, too."

Killian didn't know how to talk about his feelings – his own or hers. The progress he'd made crawling out of rock bottom and opening up didn't include lessons on how the hell to deal with the lost love of his life coming back into the mix. It was easier to make it physical; to cage her in again, this time leading with his hips, pressing her against the window, savoring how Emma's eyes glazed, her breath hitched, and how she arched slightly to seat herself more firmly against him.

"Are you saying you find me devilishly handsome, Swan? If so, I hope you've saved some of that admiration for yourself. Because you always were beautiful but this," he trailed his fingertip down the strap of her dress and let it dance lightly over the cleavage peeking out of the neckline, "this is more than just about any man can take."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not looking to be taken by just any man, isn't it?"

Muscle memory put his prosthetic up behind Emma's head a split second before it would have bumped the glass from the driving force of his kiss. She didn't miss a beat; fingers moving through his hair as her tongue slid against his. When Killian could no longer breathe, he skimmed his lips to her neck, cupping her jaw and exposing a long column of skin begging to be tasted. A sharp nip of his teeth below her ear earned him two hands running over his ass and the subsequent soothing of the bite with his tongue, a slide of her palm between them and over his hardening cock.

Not to be outdone, Killian ran his hand up her thigh, fingertips finding the smallest scrap of satin imaginable and bypassing it completely to find Emma wet and wanting. His head dropped when her grip on him tightened as he slid a finger inside her, mouth fusing to the soft swell of her breast and sucking a mark before moving back up so he could hook her knee over his elbow and whisper in her ear.

"Is this what you meant by talking, love? Hearing me tell you how fucking gorgeous you are?" Killian slipped his finger nearly all the way out, teasing her with the faintest of touches as his thumb brushed her clit, and back in again. "How tight you feel? That I can't wait to make you scream as you come around me?"

Emma's fingers scrabbled on his shoulders as she balanced, his firm, rhythmic incursions leaving her gasping.

"No, but it'll do for now – dammit, Jones!" The last part was hissed, her displeasure at the withdrawal of his hand clear but only momentary when saw him reach for his belt. Impatient fingers batted his away, making quick work of buckle, button and zipper. When she moved to slip a hand below the waistband of his boxer briefs, it was his turn to do the halting. Shoving his pants and boxers down to his hips, he reached in and pulled his cock out, unable to stop himself from indulging in a few quick strokes.

He started to speak and saw Emma watching his hand, eyes glazed over and her tongue wetting her lips.

Ducking to brush his nose against hers, he whispered, "Not this time, Swan. I can't wait and I don't think you can, either."

Dipping slightly, he rubbed his silken head against her clit and this time her eyes rolled back but the teasing would have to wait. With a few adjustments, Emma's dress was above her waist, panties pushed aside and Killian bent further at the knees, catching the back of her legs and lifting with his forearms, anchoring her bodily against the window as her legs wrapped around his waist. He was already so close, just the slightest of movements and he'd be able to slip inside her and he trembled at the thought.

Slightly taller from her new vantage point, Emma sensed his hesitation and tipped his chin up with a finger. She kissed him thoroughly and deeply then frantically and filthy, finally tearing away from him when she was breathless.

The sound she made when he lowered her onto him inch by inch was upstaged only by her whispering, "Please, Killian. Please. I need you," and it snapped whatever thin thread of self-control that was holding him together.

Fingernails bit into his shoulders as he fucked her hard against the window, pouring into it every ounce of hurt, loss and love he could. When they weren't kissing, mouths were on every other inch of skin they could reach. Emma's teeth were closed around his earlobe when fatigue started to set in, each thrust shallower than the last and her knees slipping down his hips.

Stretching her toes to the ground, Emma put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, whimpering slightly when he slipped out of her. She advanced on him, ushering him backwards until his legs hit the bed and he toppled. Looking down, all he could see was the top of a blonde head and she made quick work of removing his socks and shoes before reaching up to scrape his pants and boxer briefs down his legs. Killian unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way and sat up just enough to slip his arms out, tossing it aside as he watched Emma stand and shimmy her way out of her dress.

Jesus, she was a sight to behold. Lean and strong in a way that spoke less of vanity and more of discipline and vocation, he was caught off guard – and caught totally staring – when something hit him. He clawed soaked satin off his face and half-assed chucked them back in Emma's direction as she giggled. There was the briefest glimpse of bare breasts when she bent over, sliding hands up his thighs and a tongue up the underside of his cock. Killian's back arched at the sensation, fingers clenching the bedcovers so he wouldn't give into the urge to twine them into her hair and see what she could do with that pretty mouth.

It was just as well; Emma clearly had other things on her mind as she knelt above him braced on one hand near his ribs, licking, biting and sucking her way up his torso. Killian tensed when her hand slipped down between them expecting to feel it close over his length and when no caress came he lifted his head to see why. The sight of Emma's hand between her own thighs was too much and he wrapped his hand around her ponytail and pulled her gently away from the mark she was sucking just below his collarbone.

After a quick simultaneous move up the bed, her knees shifting so she was straddling him, Emma sat up, rolling her hips. Bare smoothness pressed against his cock and with a little adjustment, slick wetness joined the mix. She moved along his length, pace quickening for her own entertainment as his jaw clenched and he fought to let her have her fun instead of flipping them over and fucking her into the mattress.

As a distraction from his own satisfaction, Killian slipped his hand between her legs, circling his thumb around her clit, fingers splayed up over her flat belly. She breathed his name and the sound of it wrapped in a moan as he pleasured her was something he'd knew never tire of hearing. When she lifted off him he slowed his attentions, wondering if she'd had enough but she gripped his wrist to keep his hand in place. With a small adjustment, she was sinking down onto his cock, tight warmth enveloping every inch and through the haze of toe curling arousal Killian resumed his touch.

She rode him fast and hard, head tipped back so far her hair brushed against his inner thighs. When she started to shake, urging him on with a litany of filthy words and curses, he planted his feet on the mattress and thrust up into her, the new angle mingling with his nimble fingers to push her over the edge. Her sex rippled around him, squeezing so tight he almost came himself. Emma collapsed on his chest, face buried in his neck as she gasped for air. Killian kept moving, coaxing her through the aftershocks of orgasm, hand trailing down the glistening skin of her back.

On the other side of recovery, she began rocking against him. It was slow at first as she rained wet, open mouth kisses across his chest, and faster once Killian got a hand on her stellar ass, guiding her movements. Between the feel of him inside her and the incredible sight of bouncing breasts in front of his face when she rose up on one arm, he felt a pull deep in his belly.

"Emma, love…I'm going to come."

Her other hand came up to his face, stroking over his cheek as he began to fall apart.

"Killian. Killian, look at me. I love you. I've always loved you."

He kept his eyes on hers as long as he could and when they started to roll back in his head, he circled his arms around her, crushing her to him as he came, her name falling from his lips.

Years in the military had made Killian accustomed to waking up in unfamiliar places but not even getting jolted out of slumber by incoming enemy fire caused the same panic as waking up alone after a night with Emma.

Again.

He sat up, abruptly, sheet pooling around his waist. Anger was nowhere to be found, just deep-seated despair as his chin dropped to his chest. The tears were quick to come and hot as they rolled down his cheeks. He felt numb and couldn't bring himself to look to see if there was another note left on the nightstand next to his prosthetic for him to find.

"Fuck," he said quietly, then again as loud as he could, the drawn out anguished scream reverberating in the small room.

"Fuck who? Me, I hope?"

Killian's hand clamped over his heart, as much to quell the shock of another voice in the room as to try and hold in the rush of feelings and wondering how loud he'd yelled to completely eclipse the sound of her coming in the room.

She was kicking off a pair of flip flops, awkwardly juggling two cups of coffee and a white pastry bag, chattering about the poor front desk clerk who had to send another hotel guest whose furry belly was already smeared with pancake syrup back to his room to put on something other than a pair of short running shorts before he helped himself further to the continental breakfast. It took a moment for Emma to realize he was sitting on the bed completely shell shocked and when she did, the coffee and baked goods were abandoned.

"Killian, what's wrong?" She held his face in her hands, thumbs brushing his tears away. "Did – do you have bad dreams?"

His hand came up to scrub at his face, knocking hers away. They settled in his lap, the tips of her fingers brushing over the end of his abbreviated forearm, his prosthetic taken off before they'd settled into bed for the night.

"Emma." His voice was hard. "I woke up and you were fucking gone."

The fingers offering the barest touch tightened over his arm before she backed off the bed, hand clamped over her mouth and a horrified look in her eyes.

"No. No, no, no. I'm so – I didn't think. Killian, I am so sorry, I just didn't think. You used to sleep so soundly I thought I could duck out for five minutes." She gestured toward the table where she'd dumped her continental breakfast offerings, "I brought us muffins."

It ended on a wail as Emma dropped to her knees next to the bed, face contorted as she started to cry. She reached toward him and he let her take his hand. Pressing it to her wet cheek for a moment, she turned it over and kissed his knuckles.

"I am so sorry, Killian. For everything. I didn't know how to ask you to come with me to Boston. Or how to deal with our night together." Her lips didn't stop moving against his skin. "How to love you. How to let you love me."

Killian felt his jaw flex under the stress of the war waging inside of him. It was completely against his nature to see Emma in anguish and not try to comfort her but he was pissed and reeling and completely afraid that if he interrupted her, she'd stop talking.

"I've been in Boston since I left that night but I didn't go to school. It was rough for a while until I got a job working for a woman who did bail bonds. I learned the trade and eventually went out on my own. The pay is feast or famine in the beginning and it's tough work physically. I've spent a few nights in emergency rooms after getting tossed around like a rag doll by a skip I couldn't get the upper hand with."

Head swimming with the influx of information, Killian tried to imagine Emma as a badassed bail bondsperson and it clicked in an instant. She had always been capable of handling herself, even as a teenager, and he felt a twinge of pride.

"Part of the job is tracking people. It's not against the rules to use the tools of the trade for personal use per se, but it's frowned upon from a privacy standpoint. So I probably fucked up huge by looking in on you from time to time but I just…I had to know if you were okay. And for a while, you were. And then you weren't."

She started fidgeting, abandoning his hand in favor of toying with the sheet. In her position she looked like she could be praying to absolve her sins and he guessed in a way she was.

"So much time had passed when I found out Liam died. And then when you came home from the Navy without your hand. I didn't think you'd want to hear from me, especially when things got better. Can I…sit with you?"

A gracious sweep of the arm was all it took for her to climb up next to him. Her face was blotchy from crying, head hanging low.

"Your boat is really pretty."

Emma looked at him then and Killian swallowed around the lump in his throat, wondering if she knew.

"You named it The Swan."

Fuck. She knew.

An eyebrow cocked, he tried to play it off.

"What makes you think that?"

"Instagram hashtags and Mary Margaret's habit of extensively photographing every moment of her life."

"Ah." The room fell silent, save for an occasional sniffle on her part. Eventually Killian couldn't stand it and shuffled off the bed, stopping to pull on his boxers so he wasn't free balling it on his way to get her a tissue.

"So you've been in contact with them this whole time." It sounded accusatory and he'd be lying if he said he didn't mean it as such. His head ached at the thought of Mary Margaret playing the role of Emma's agent in the field, feeding her information about him on the down low.

Emma stopped blowing her nose and said, "No! No, just being an Internet creep. Last night was the first time I've seen them since prom." She balled the tissue in her fist. "It's been just me since then. Nobody else." Her eyes bored into his and Killian understood the totality of what she was saying.

"Bail bondsperson or nun, Swan?"

A therapist would probably have plenty to say about his habit of deflecting with humor but he didn't think a session or six on a couch would heal as much of the crack in his heart as the sound of her slightly hysterical giddy laugh. He settled onto the bed, stretched out with legs crossed at the ankle and a hand extended to her. The relief on Emma's face was clear as she moved into the cradle of his arm, settling her head on his shoulder.

"Okay, maybe there were a few nobodies. Nothing serious. The last one was a depressingly long time ago."

The messy bun keeping her hair piled on top of her head tickled his nose and he craned his neck trying to find a place to rest his chin as he commiserated.

"Nothing serious for me, either."

She toyed with his dog tags, nails scraping lightly over his chest hair and Killian had to consciously work to not hum his pleasure. It had nothing to do with sex; just causal intimacy he'd been without for so long. They had been without for so long.

"What do you think that says about us?"

His arm tightened around her shoulder as he thought about it.

"Well, there's the obvious." He paused, waiting for her to get impatient and only continuing after she nudged him. "That sex last night was completely inevitable and inescapable because of your dry spell and…how did you put it? Finding my present day visage fucking ridiculous?"

The nipple twist was sudden and vicious, and Killian yelped, rolling over and pinning both hands above her head as he settled his body on top of hers to save himself from further onslaught.

"You're going to pay for that, Swan." Eyeing the chest area of her sweatshirt, he laughed as she bucked beneath him, her top riding up. Figuring he had one shot at revenge, Killian gambled and let go of her hands, ducking his head quickly and pressing his open mouth to her stomach. She screeched as he started to blow a raspberry but he was in it for the long haul, at least until the tickle became too much and she started thrashing, nearly catching him right between the legs with his knee.

They settled in a heap, sorting out limbs until they were both on their sides facing each other, legs entwined. Emma rolled her eyes at the press of his slightly thickened cock against her thigh.

"That got you fired up?"

Killian shrugged the shoulder he wasn't laying on and snuggled contentedly into the pillow they shared, eyes closed.

"It's been depressingly long for me, too. Add in friction and the fact that I've always loved you in sweats with your hair looking like fucking haystack and you get half chub."

"With that kind of sweet talk, I'm surprised someone else hasn't swept you up along the way," she muttered, and he opened first one eye, then the other, suddenly serious and desperate to convey how he felt.

"There is no someone else for me. Don't you know, Emma? It's always been you. Maybe that's weird or obsessive but I swear it wasn't for lack of trying. Moving on would have been easy. Welcome, almost. But it never happened for me. And I guess not for you, either."

He moved close enough to drop a kiss onto her mouth and kept it brief, all too aware of the fact that he hadn't yet brushed his teeth, before shifting back.

"No, not for me, either."

She fell silent again, teeth worrying her lower lip and eyebrows knit together. Suddenly caught on a precipice of uncertainty at what she was thinking, Killian scratched behind his ear absently until he realized she was staring at him with a strange look on her face. He thought he'd long since lost the nervous tic but the apprehension of the moment brought it back with a vengeance.

"What is it, Swan?" His voice sounded shaky to his ears and she must have picked up on it because her eyes snapped to his and she smiled, her entire face softening into warm sunshine.

"Let's do this."

"Again? Don't get me wrong, I'm down for morning sex but we're in the middle of something serious here. Ow!" This time, she'd thumped him in the forehead.

"Knock it the fuck off, Jones. You know what I mean. I want this. You." Emma's eyes were open and honest as she laid her heart bare. "I want us to try. Do whatever the hell normal is for once." She leaned in and rested her forehead on his chest, effectively muffling her voice but he could hear every word. "Get to know each other again. And I don't know, probably bang a lot."

"You called it, Swan," Killian said around a mouthful of food. They were cross-legged on the bed, stark naked with a pizza box between them. She was finger combing her wet hair between slices, the earlier shower an attempt to look like they hadn't fucked their way around the room all day before the delivery guy arrived but ending in an earth shattering christening of the bathroom.

"What, that we'd bang a lot?" Emma waggled her eyebrows at him and leaned forward, mouth open like a baby bird until he shoved the pizza he was holding at her so she could take a bite.

"No, wise ass, although that particular prediction has indeed come true. I like the barbecue sauce on the pizza."

"Told you," she said with her mouth full and he reached out, swiping some errant sauce off the corner of her mouth as Emma leaned back precariously to pick her bottle of vending machine Mountain Dew up off the nightstand. "I'd like to propose a toast."

Clearing his throat with theatrical properness and sitting up a little straighter, he grabbed his own soda and held it aloft as she spoke.

"To meeting halfway. Eventually."

Killian reached out and snagged Emma's chin, kissing her and tracing his thumb over the dimple in her chin before making his own toast.

"To making a new beginning of another life."