A/N: Hi guys! New chapter! Quickly a side note about the layout of this fic. All past chapters will be in italics and will be told out of Killian's (what, Killian? Big shock, right ;) ) PoV and all the present chapters will be Emma's. Hope you like it.

20 years ago

Liam was nervous, but tried to hide it. Killian knew his brother, though. The occasional tap of his foot on the carpet, the nervous rubbing of his hands, the way he snapped when Killian wanted to play with him, the short breaths he took. All signs betraying the worries in Liam's head. It was in his nature to worry and it was in Killian's to not. He was still young, the weight of the world didn't affect him.

Several times Killian had heard how important today was. It was no ordinary day. They were here for a reason. Today was going to define the rest of their lives.

"Liam," Killian tried again, softly pulling at his sleeves. "I'm bored. I want to play."

"Little brother, I am supposed to talk to Ingrid in five minutes. I cannot play now," he stressed.

It made Liam seem older than he was, it made him seem like an adult but he wasn't yet. He was only seventeen. Protecting Killian against the outsiders, people who were not them others, had put a ban the foolishness children have. His brother was responsible for the both of them and it had taken away his youth.

Killian pouted his lips and stormed off, his quick feet stomping on the carpeted floor.

"I'm nine, I'm not little anymore!"

He didn't need Liam, he was big enough to play by himself. Knowing the way by heart, Killian drifted through the halls. Ingrid's office had a play corner, one decorated with any toy a child could wish for. It was like a miniature heaven to Killian.

Back in the group home they only had three puzzles they had to share. All of them missed several pieces; Elmo didn't even have a left eye. The three were dull and boring, after making them once, the fun was gone, but this… This room, these toys. This made him happy.

The first time he set foot in here, the bright walls and colorful chairs immediately attracted him. Killian released his grip on Liam's hand, one he usually held with everything he got, letting his brother shield him from the bad. His touch hesitantly traced the toys. It was a trap. A tool of distraction. Why be sad about not having parents when there were piles and piles of toys here?

Ingrid was nice, she smiled a lot. Her voice was calm with a soft tone. Not as soft as Killian remembered their mother's voice, but kind nevertheless. Perfect for a social worker. She could tell the worst news and still soothe you as if listening to a lullaby, drifting on the edge of sleep.

There was a girl in the room when he reached it. Her back was directed towards Killian as she played with one of the toys. It wasn't unusual for other children to be here, but never had he been alone with someone else. Quietly, he walked towards the big, brown rack standing against one of the yellow walls. His eyes skimmed along the various puzzles and bouncy balls and Lego but couldn't find the toy he picked every time.

The girl was still playing, he saw when he looked back at her. Her hair was blonde. It acted as a hiding place, her face concealed by the long tresses. She had to be around Killian's age.

"You are not taking this girl, because we are rescuing her!"

Her voice mimicked the chaos of guns and explosions while her hand lifted one of the Ninja Turtles off the wooden table.

"Sorry boys, but the only one who saves me is me," she said.

It was said with a higher pitch than her previous sentence; it sounded less grumbled and more like Killian would expect the girl to talk. More battle noises followed and Killian approached her. He wanted them too.

"Hello," he greeted her.

The girl startled, her body automatically shying away from him. It was difficult to tell if her wide-blown eyes were green or blue, but they were surrounded by thick eyelashes and they were pretty.

She protectively cradled the action figures against her checkered shirt.

"You are not going to try and steal them, are you?" she asked, eying him.

Killian shook his dark locks. He recognized the behavior, being afraid to lose the thing you have. To an older child, a bigger child or just a stronger one. If you didn't hold onto toys or food, you didn't get any. Killian had Liam to protect him, but not everyone was so fortunate.

"I'm not a pirate or anything," he answered.

"Good."

He got one of the green creatures pushed his way in an invitation. The turtle had a purple bandana. Killian smiled; the girl had given him his favorite: Donatello.

"Thank you."

The darker hairs of her eyebrows got pulled together as she frowned.

"It's funny how you talk." the blonde told him.

Killian felt a bit offended. Sure, his accent stood out between the American ones with their strong r's and their pants, but he wouldn't call it funny.

"It's not!" he objected.

There was a streak of determination to her. It was visible in the way she stood and spoke and even though she was still young, her strong mind was very visible. Vigorously nodding her head, she insisted.

"It is!"

"I'm not from here," Killian explained. "I'm from England."

She looked impressed with her eyebrows high and her mouth slightly pushed forward.

"Cool."

Her gaze shifted to the figurines and collected one back in her hand. She molded her voice back to the low one she used before.

"Come on, Donatello. We have a city to save."

"Do we have to?" Killian questioned, having embraced his role completely. "I would rather eat some pizza."

She laughed at that. A wonderful sound finding its way through her open lips and eliciting a grin on Killian's face too.

They were not in the play corner anymore, they were not in Ingrid's office anymore. They were in the place their minds transported them to. Bright colors of gemstones and clothes in Agrabah or maybe crazy creatures in Wonderland. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in Oz? Why not? They matched the Wicked Witch.

It was up to them. It felt amazing to control it all in a life where a lot of the decisions were not theirs to take. Of course it wasn't real but that didn't stop it from feeling like an escape. A vacation to wherever they wanted to go.

Searching a bit more comfort, they let their small bodies sag to the ground. Along the floor, their legs glid until they were both seated next to each other. The toys stood back in their original spot; it was more than enough escaping for one day.

"If you're here, does that mean that you don't have any parents either?" she asked.

"No, I don't." A breath served as a pause. He didn't know the girl next to him for long, didn't even know her name. And still he felt a connection. He recognized some traits of his in her. That was why he told her more. "My mother died and my father just left us one day."

"Oh. I'm sorry." she said, her look full of empathy. "My parents did that too, you know. Just left me when I was still a baby. It's not fun."

"It isn't." Killian agreed.

Their sighs came synchronically. It was tiring dragging a painful past along, day in, day out.

A steady thumping on the floor announced a new presence and it was followed by lighter clicks on the ground. The girl and he both angled their heads towards the direction of the drumming. Liam stepped into the playing room with Ingrid walking next to him. The stress had been removed from his brother's body and mind. There was a smile on his face which Killian hadn't witnessed since last week. It was good. They were going to be all right.

"I'll stop by every week for some time," Ingrid told Liam. "As soon as I'm assured you will do alright, those weekly visits will become monthly ones. Congratulations, Liam." Her pale hand divided the distance between them. "You are now officially out of the foster system."

Liam reached for the social worker's hand and jovially shook it.

"Thank you so much, Ingrid."

A short gesture of the head showed them that it was her pleasure and finally the both of them aimed their attention on the children sitting on the ground. Liam beamed at him and Killian smiled back.

"Emma, dear," Ingrid said, revealing the girl's name to Killian. "It's your turn."

Emma-because that was how she was called- got up from the floor, from next to him and put her hand in Ingrid's larger one. Before they completely left the room, she looked back at him with those eyes of hers and waved.

Killian loved drawing; he could even proudly say that he was good at it. For a nine-year old at least. There was one problem: all of the pretty colors always disappeared in the group home. A new batch of luxuriously colored markers and pencils would arrive and the next day only the greys and black were left. Killian was resourceful and still managed to create art with those. But Emma's eyes and her hair, they deserved more than bland grey. They deserved to be as beautiful on paper as they were in real life.

…

It was a small apartment they lived in; small and cramped but also cozy and warm. A hundred times better than the group homes they were in. They were lucky Ingrid could find a cheap apartment in her hometown. Storybrooke was exactly like Liam and Killian's flat. It was home.

Desperately needing to earn money, Liam worked at the harbor all summer. Granny, the local diner keeper and good Samaritan, was so kind to propose a solution for Killian sitting at home alone. She would keep and eye on Killian while Liam went working.

Killian didn't mind, he adored Granny and the diner. When there weren't many customers, she would hand him a coin to pick a song in the jukebox or she'd share her secret recipes. Killian was all ears for those.

The door swung open and a new stream of customers seeped into the diner. Among them was a robust man. His black hair was streaked with age. Next to him a brunette woman walked, her face slightly younger. There was a child trailing behind them. Blonde hair that contrasted that of the adults before her. Bright eyes that worked against the dimness of the man and woman. The girl from Ingrid's office. Emma.

Her eyes were sparkling over the decor of the diner, taking in every detail and enjoying it while doing so. She stumbled upon Killian and temporarily halted her sweep. She said something to the man and woman and then made her way towards Killian.

Her pink dress swayed with every step she took and Killian couldn't help but notice how it didn't seem like her to wear something like that.

"Hi."

She smiled.

"Hello," Killian responded. "Ingrid found you a place in Storybrooke, too?"

"She did. With them." With a grimace, Emma motioned towards the couple occupying one of Granny's booths. "I don't think it's going to last for long. Maybe long enough for me to go to school and force Ingrid to find another family close by."

"I hope you do," Killian said. He completely meant it. Emma's part in Killian's life had not been long role, but he already hoped she wouldn't disappear out of it.

"Emma! Come back here!" the lady with the brown hair screeched.

Emma let her shoulders down in despair and started to make her way back to the booth.

"Wait, I don't even know your name," Emma suddenly realized.

"It's Killian." He curled the corners of his lips. "Killian Jones."

"I'm Emma, Emma Sw-" Her nose scrunched in disgust. "Emma Bailey for now but call me Emma Swan."

"Swan, it is."

"Emma!" The voice demanded her presence right away and Emma bolted to the table.

"Bye, Killian," she exclaimed.

Killian felt a presence behind him and turned around to see Granny with a grin that could only be compared with that of a wolf.

"Who is she?" the elderly lady asked.

"That's Emma," Killian answered.

One of her grey brows went up.

"Do you like her?"

"Ew, no." Killian felt offended by the suggestion. "Girls are stupid," he proclaimed.

"Sure, they are." Granny said unconvinced while stirring in the batch of batter.

Girls may be stupid, but Emma Swan most definitely wasn't.

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