Chapter 4

Emma and Mary Margaret walk side by side through downtown, both with a Starbucks cup in their hands. Emma had just told her friend about what happened and the fact that her friend hasn't said a word is killing her. They keep walking in silence, which only makes the blonde feel more and more nervous.

"So," Mary Margaret finally says, "why didn't you tell him?"

"About us? About how we met?"

"Yea."

"Because that's the past. The part of my past that wasn't so... Pleasant. I'm grateful for what you and your family did for me, but thinking about it reminds me of what I had to go through. And you know what happens."

The brunette takes a sip of her coffee and sighs. "Emma," she said softly, "you know, it's not a bad thing to let some people in. I know you're just protecting yourself, but you shutting them out in the process. I know you just met him, but give Killian a chance. David has told me about him and he seems like a great guy. So let him in."

Emma doesn't respond; she just looks down at her coffee and chews on her bottom lip. "What if it's too late?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we've been texting. A lot. Like pretty much everyday. But ever since that night, he hasn't replied to me. I've texted him a few times, but still nothing."

"How long has it been?"

"Three days."

"Maybe he's busy."

"Maybe..."

Mary Margaret hooks her arm around Emma's and pulls her close. "Don't worry, Ems. Just give him time." She gives the blonde a grin, getting a weak smile in return, and the two women continue to walk along the streets of downtown.

.

It's been four hours since Emma got home from her coffee break with Mary Margaret and she's only graded one paper. She can't concentrate, not after what Mary Margaret said. She stares blankly at the paper in front of her and grumbles. There's no way in hell she can think about Atticus and Scout's relationship in the book when her mind is so jumbled up. She sets the pile of essays on the kitchen counter and slides out if her seat to pour herself a glass of wine. She takes a sip, walking over to the speakers in her living room to play her favorite Ed Sheeran songs on repeat, and falls onto the couch. (She's done it so many times in the last few years that she's perfected the art of not spilling her beverage of choice while falling.) Emma closes her eyes, the words of Mary Margaret still on her mind as she begins to relax a little.

Her moment of relaxation is interrupted when the doorbell pierces through Ed Sheeran's voice and a growl escapes her. She pulls herself off the couch and trudges over to the door, opening it to find a surprise, yet again.

"Are the papers really that bad?" Killian says with a chuckle, glancing over at her glass before meeting her gaze again.

Emma feels herself gawking at him and quickly snaps out of it, shaking her head and trying to figure out what to say. "No. It's just one of those times."

"Something on your mind, love?"

"Nope." He raises an eyebrow at her and she rolls her eyes and grumbles. "Why didn't you reply to me?"

"What?"

"I texted you, like four times. You didn't reply. I was-"

"I was reading your book. I wanted to finish before responding to you."

"Wait, you finished?"

"Aye. Twice."

"You read the book twice?"

"Aye, the first time for the story and the second time to get the themes. Does that surprise you?"

"Yea," she admits, running her fingers through her hair, "I don't know many people who actually do that."

"Well, lass, now you know that I am one of those people. And I can help you with all those bloody papers," he says with a smug grin as he walking in, sitting down on her couch and patting the spot next to him. "Come. Walk me through grading eighth grade essays."

Emma rolls her eyes, grabs the stack, and sits down next to him. Together, they read several papers, not to mention their many random conversations here and there and the playful banter. (Oh, and the rum. The alcohol is definitely needed for some of the papers that are just awful.) As the night progresses, Emma teaches Killian the tricks of the trade to grading eighth grade English essays: making sure they get the main points, put enough detail, and have correct grammar, spelling, and punctuation, but not grading too harsh since they are only thirteen and fourteen year olds. He actually enjoys reading and grading her students' essays, not seeing it as a cumbersome task that takes up so much time. But she has to admit, he makes it much more enjoyable and time flies by when they're together. They read parts of the papers to each other, whether it's nicely written or sounds like a wordy wreck. They help each other, from asking for advice to debating on what grade to give. By the time the last paper is finished, it's only ten at night.

"Tell me, love," Killian says, throwing the pen on the coffee table, "what do you do for fun? You can't possibly be working all the time."

"My life is pretty boring," Emma replies, tracing the rim of her empty glass with her finger. She looks back at him and forces a smile. "You really don't want to know about my life."

"Perhaps I would like to."

She snaps her head up, her eyes meeting his. He looks so sincere; he looks as if he actually cares. Like he wants to open up to her, help her, be there for her. Her breath hitches in her throat and she tears her gaze away from his, grabbing the bottle of rum from the coffee table and taking a swig from the bottle. "Are you sure?" she whispers, suddenly insecure, "it's kind of a long story."

He takes the bottle from her hands and takes a drink. "I meant what I said before," he gives offers her a small grin, "I love a challenge."

Emma smiles and glances down at the pile of grades essays. She puts them on the coffee table and looks at him again. "Alright. But, every time I tell you something about me, you have to tell me something about you."

"Deal." Killian holds out his hand and she shakes it. "You can start wherever you'd like."

She takes the bottle, takes a sip, and sets it down, trying to figure out what to say. "Well, you asked what I do outside of work. Let's see, I read. A lot, actually. And sometimes I have my friends over for a movie."

"Is that all?"

"Yep. That's it, really. I told you my life is pretty boring."

"What? A beautiful girl like you doesn't go out once in awhile?"

She laughs. "No. That's my friend, Ruby. I'm sure you saw her at the wedding. She's the party girl out of all of my friends. She's changed though, ever since she started dating Victor."

"People can change, lass."

Emma head races with memories when Walsh hurt her, and she grabs the rum bottle and takes a sip. "Not everyone." When she looks back at him, she can tell that he feels pity for her. Before he can say anything she changed the subject. "So, tell me about your band."

Killian laughs and rubs the scruff on his chin. "They're an interesting group to be around. I've known Robin since college and Tink since high school. We all loved music and we all decided to become a band one night. We were pretty drunk, but somehow Tink remembered our decision and put things together. She sings, Rob plays the drums, and I, as you know, play the guitar. We've been playing together for awhile now."

"Oh cool. Does Tink write the songs or something?"

"No. That's what I do. Rob sometimes joins me."

"Oh."

There's a pregnant silence between them; Emma keeps her eyes glued to her hands as she twiddles her fingers while Killian just stares at her. She desperately wants the quietness to disappear, but she has no idea what to change the topic to.

He clears his throat, bringing her attention back to him, and he scratches behind his ear before breaking the silence. "I don't mean to pry," he starts quietly, "but have you ever been in love?"

She stiffens at that question, and her head filling with unpleasant memories of Walsh again. She squeezes her eyes closed to try to shut out the pain. She looks back at him, waiting a long time before she answers. "I was. Once."

"May I ask what happened?"

Emma shifts in her seat, adverting her gaze back down to her hands. "You really don't want to know. Plus, I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it."

"Sometimes talking about it can help heal the heart," Killian tells her, "however, if you don't want to talk about it, that's completely understandable."

She knows he's right. That's what everyone has been telling her, Mary Margaret, Ruby, David, hell, even Regina. She knows holding it in isn't going to help her. But am I ready? Emma's eyes meet his, there's sadness mixed with understanding and sincerity in them, and it breaks her. "His name was Chris. Christopher Walsh. We dated for two years and I fell in love with him. Clearly he didn't feel the same way, because he left me a year and a half ago for some younger woman." She grabs the rum and talks two very large gulps, feeling the alcohol burn her throat.

"I know that feeling all too well."

"Who was she?"

That's when he avoids her gaze, putting all his focus on his fingers playing with the necklace hanging at his chest. Minutes pass, the silence filling the room again, but then he looks up at her and sighs. "Milah, my first love. We had so many plans together. But then she found someone else. An older, richer man. She told me it would've never worked out. That she couldn't love a musician." Killian shakes his head and beckons for the bottle. She hands it over as she watched him down the caramel colored liquid.

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't make enough for her standards."

The two of them sit together as time flies by, passing the rum back and forth between them while arguing about which Firefly episode is the best and competing who can quote more lines from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. (The topics came up during a very intoxicated discussion about how great Joss Whedon is.) By the time it's midnight, the conversations die down between the two and silence overcomes them again.

"Well," Killian says, slapping his hands on his knees before getting up, only to lose his balance and fall back down on the couch, "I should go."

"You can barely walk," Emma laughs, "how the hell are you going to drive?"

"I am a very talented driver."

"You're going to get pulled over."

"You doubt my skills."

"I doubt your skills because you're drunk."

"Am not."

"Are too. You drank most of the rum." She gestures to the empty bottle on the floor by his feet.

"Really, love," he gets up again, managing to remain on his feet, "I'm fine. I'll get off your back for the rest-"

"Stay," Emma suddenly blurts out, grabbing his wrist. Killian stares at her, his blue eyes studying her before they quickly flick down to her lips and then meet her gaze again. "Please," she says, "can you?" God, why am I so awkward? "Stay with me?"

He looks slightly shocked at her request, but nevertheless, he smiles. "As you wish."

She stands up, picking up the rum bottle before moving out of the way to let him lie down. He ungracefully plops down onto the couch, landing face first and mumbling a curse. Emma smirks, grabs a blanket, and throws it over him. He pulls it up to his chin and gives her a nod in gratification. She leaves his side to turn off the lights, looking forward to sleeping in her bed.

"Goodnight, love," he calls out from the couch, making her smile.

"Goodnight," she replies, jumping back into bed and slipping under the covers. She closes her eyes and before she knows it, she falls asleep.

.

Emma wakes up with a massive headache and tries to keep her eyes shut for as long as possible to prevent the bright sun from blinding her. She slowly opens them and reaches for her phone, groaning when she sees the time. It's almost one in the afternoon and she feels like shit. Wonderful. Thank god it's Sunday.

Emma drags herself out of bed and slowly shuffles out of her room. The closer she gets to the kitchen, the stronger the smell of happiness becomes. She finally makes it there, and she can't help but smirk. There Killian is, standing over the stove and making a large batch of scrambled eggs. She spots a pot coffee and a plate of freshly cooked bacon next to him, and she feels herself begin to drool. Her eyes wander back over to him, his T-shirt tightly clinging to his broad shoulders and his biceps, good god his biceps, looking rather snug in the sleeves. She begins to look further down when the throbbing pains in her head pulls her out of her daydream.

Killian turns around and grins at her. "Morning, love."

"Morning." Emma slumps down in a chair at the kitchen island, massages her head, and lets out a groan. She hears his low chuckle and snaps her head up, cringing at the pain from her headache, and glares at him.

"You got a nasty hangover too?"

"How are you perfectly fine? You drank more than me!"

"With a couple cups of this," he replies, taking out a mug and pouring her some coffee. He hands it to her and she takes it, their fingers brushing, sending sparks up her spine like when they first met. She takes a sip and hums contently in the mug, continuing to slowly drink the hot, caffeinated beverage. Killian dishes the scrambled eggs onto a platter, takes out two plates from one of her cupboards, and serves her. "Here you are, lass," Killian hold out the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon to her with a proud grin, "breakfast is served."

Emma raises an eyebrow at him before taking the plate. "How very domestic of you." She grabs a fork and takes a bite, suppressing any sound of how much her wants to smash her face into the pile of eggy deliciousness.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing."

"It's not! Girls love guys that can cook."

"Aye. I've noticed," Killian responds, wiggling his eyebrows at her, making her roll her eyes and blush a little.

They eat in silence, sneaking quick glances at each other before focusing back to their food. Emma has the urge to break the silence, the memories of the previous night slowly coming back to her. They have many similarities, since they both opened up about their past to each other, and there's no use in denying it now. As much as she wants to ignore it, she can't. Emma has feelings for Killian. But she's scared. And sometimes, fear can overcome love.

Once they finish, Killian helps Emma put all the dirty plates and dishes in the sink and the two wash them together, still saying nothing. By the time all the dishes are clean and put away, she can't take it any longer.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. She meets his gaze, the look on his face confused for a bit, but it doesn't take him long to figure out what she's taking about.

"It's not your fault, love," he curtly replies, wiping his hands dry with the dishtowel and avoiding her stare, "if anything, it's my fault. She left me for someone else. I'm the one who's not good enough."

"Don't say that-"

"But it's true!"

"No, it's not!" That catches his attention. His head snaps up, and for what seems to be ages, they just stare at each other, not breaking the contact. Killian slowly takes a step towards her, minimizing the space between them; their faces are inches apart. Emma's gaze flicks from his eyes to lips, quickly bringing them back up to his eyes, hoping he didn't notice. Shit shit shit. No. Stop it. She watches as he does the same thing, and she has to blink two or three times to bring herself out if her daze. Before she could say a word, he pulls back.

"I should leave," he says so softy, it's barely audible, "Robin and I need to keep writing." Killian walks out of the kitchen to grab his jacket and heads for the door. Emma follows him, not taking her eyes off of him and keeping her distance. He opens it and looks over his shoulder, giving her a weak smile. "See you around, Swan." And just like that, he leaves.

"See you," she manages to choke out to her empty apartment.

Hello lovely people! I'm sorry it's been awhile. I've been so busy with studying for school and getting my college applications ready. Augh. However, I will promise to keep writing and I will try my best to update as soon as I can. I'm sure once I turn in my applications, I'll have more time for everything. Also, I'm sorry if there are any typos; I had a massive test this morning and I've been extremely tired. Anyway, thank you all so much for all the follows, favorites, and reviews. It makes me so happy when I get the email notifications. I hope everyone is surviving the return of OUAT (I barely am – THE FEELS AND IT'S ONLY THE BEGINNING) and I hope you all like this chapter. Until next time!

p.s. I was literally listening to "Stay With Me" by Sam Smith over and over and over again while I was writing this.