It was dark when he pulled in the driveway. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the house came into view around the bend. It'd only been a few weeks since the work was completed and he'd moved in, the home that had started as a germ of an idea during a late night conversation with Belle in the week they'd first opened their firm. That conversation was years ago now – its fruition all broad windows and dark wood and steel set into the woods, the water of the bay beyond just visible from where he sat.

What he hadn't expected to find, however, was the flash of yellow in his headlights as he pulled around the last curve. Emma hadn't said she was coming, he'd have headed home earlier if she had. Killian glanced down at his phone to make sure he hadn't missed a message but there was nothing – no missed call or text to say to expect her. He hadn't even had a chance to cut her a set of keys yet, but he should have known that wouldn't have deterred her.

The house was dark when he entered, the only light was that which filtered in through the windows from the dim lamps spread along the railing of the back decking. He ducked his head into the guest room but found no sign of her. Assuming she was outside on the dock, he made his way to his own room for a change of clothes. What he found instead was Emma curled up on top of the covers in the center of his bed. She was still fully dressed, shoes and all. He sat down by her feet and slipped her shoes off, then did his best to pull the duvet out from under her to tuck her underneath.

Once he was sure he hadn't woke her, he took a set of sleep pants from his dresser as quietly as he could and padded to the bathroom to change and ready himself for bed. When he returned he briefly considered going to sleep in the guest room, but shook his head at himself before slipping in behind her and pulling her to him. She mumbled as he wrapped an arm around her waist, but didn't wake, and after a few moments he drifted off as well.

When he woke the next morning, he found himself alone and sprawled at his usual angle across the bed. He wondered if Emma had left with as much noticed as she arrived until he heard the dull murmur of music coming from the living room, a sure sign she was still there. As he made his way from the bedroom there was no sign of her. However, in the kitchen he found the coffee pot full and an empty mug waiting for him beside it. He smiled as he poured himself a cup and brought it to his lips.

He began to worry when he finished the first cup without any sign of her. He poured himself a second and made his way out to the deck, stretching out against the railing as he scanned the water below. He finally spotted her at the end of his dock, one leg dangling off the edge, skimming her toes along the water's surface.

He set his mug on the table behind him and made his way down the stairs to join her. When he came up behind her she didn't turn, but she scooted over to make room.

"Hi," he said as he sat and then stretched his arms behind him to lean back and enjoy the last of the season's heat against his face.

"I can see why you like it out here," she said softly.

Killian shifted to look out across the water, taking in the rolling line of pines on the far shore. "I missed the water." Turning his head to glance over at her, he caught her wry smile.

"Because there isn't enough open water in Portland?"

"Not like this, love," he replied with a kick of his toe out towards the water. "Not with this view."

She let out a deep breath. "I know." Then after a beat she continued, "Still not sure I can forgive you for moving so far away."

He laughed. "David and Mary Margaret are down the road in town. You're here more weekends than you are in Portland. I don't think you're in any danger of not seeing me."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Come now, Swan," he said, lifting a hand and gesturing back towards the house. "Think of it as your own bayfront retreat. People would kill to be in your position."

She snorted.

"Fine," he drawled. "You can continue to crash at the loft with the two of them doing gods know what while you're trying to sleep. Far be it from me –"

"Ugh! Stop! I'm still scarred," she said with a push to his shoulder. "I don't think my psyche has ever recovered from that."

Killian relented and they fell into silence for a while. He laid back and closed his eyes, letting the sound of the water lapping at the shore lull him. Eventually Emma stretched out and joined him, shifting to rest her head on his chest, and he felt himself drifting off with his hand curled around her arm. Just as he thought he might fall back asleep, she whispered, "I ended things with August."

He struggled to keep his breathing even and his heartbeat in check, not wanting to give her an excuse to pull away. He squeezed her arm to give himself something to focus on, hoping his silence would encourage her to continue. It had been months since their conversation at the bar after her ER visit earlier that summer. He'd been reluctant to push on her obvious stalling, not wanting a repeat of the months of deafening silence from her.

"Not that there had been much to end," she continued with a small shrug.

Killian rolled on his side to pull her into a real hug. He itched to ask what had tipped her over the edge, what beyond August's callous inattention was enough to get her to act. "I'm sorry," he whispered instead as he tangled his fingers in the ends of her hair.

"No, you're not."

He pulled back and curved a hand under her chin to get her to look at him. "I may not understand what you see in him, love. And there may be no love lost between us, but don't think for a second that I ever want to see you hurt."

He leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead.

"Thanks," she said against his collarbone. They remained like that for a few minutes, curled against one another, her breath fanning against his chest and the warmth of the rising sun settling into their skin. Eventually she pulled back and asked, "Can I stay the weekend?"

"Stay as long as you like," he replied without hesitation.

She smiled up at him. "You may live to regret that offer."

"Not likely," he said, smiling back.

"You sure?" she asked, squinting at him.

He nodded and she shifted her hands to his chest. And he'll forever blame the fact he left his second cup of coffee on the deck rather than finishing it for not seeing what she was up to when she suddenly rolled and pushed him off the dock with a triumphant cry.

He sputtered as he surfaced, grateful for the relative warmth of the water in early September. He lunged to snatch at her wrist where she still sat crouched on the dock. When he missed and she stood back, he grinned.

"I advise that you run, love."

Her eyes grew wide and she stepped backwards before sprinting towards the house. He threw his head back and laughed before swimming back to shore to give pursuit.