Kind Hearts and Cat Flaps

by Ooshka

Emma Swan wasn't a cat person, but she'd come to appreciate her cat. That didn't mean she needed another one hanging around, especially not a noisy, geriatric, thief with no appreciation of personal space. And she definitely wasn't sure about the cat's owner, Killian Jones. But just because everyone leaves in the end, does it really mean you can't be happy now? Modern AU.

4. Chapter 4

A/N Well, here I am again, and, no, this is still not going to be the last chapter of the main story. Honestly, I should just give up trying to predict the story length, shouldn't I? But the end is in sight, and I hope you all enjoy this instalment :D

Disclaimer: I do not own the recognisable characters.

Killian was discharged from the hospital after two more days. Emma had visited him each night and he'd been growing increasingly restless. She suspected that Dr Whale would be glad to be rid of him, to be honest, although officially he was only allowed out because Emma was supposed to be keeping an eye on him, while he stayed in her spare room.

She'd grown quite fond of him; nearly as fond as she was of Mr Smee. And Mr Smee had all but moved in, so it only made sense that she let his owner hang around as well. At least, it kind of made sense to Emma.

She wasn't entirely certain it would make the same sense to other people, like David. So she hadn't exactly broadcast the news she was moving Killian into her incredibly small spare bedroom. Although, to be honest, David was a little bit wrapped in Mary Margaret's pregnancy at the moment. The whole buying a new house plan made sense to Emma now, and she wondered how she hadn't seen the signs sooner. Maybe she'd been just as wrapped up in her own life as they had been in theirs?

And it gave her a little thrill to think that, for once, she had a few things worth being wrapped in. Even if they were only trying to get Mr Smee's medication down his throat, and whether the bedding on the spare bed was actually in a fit state to be used by a human guest.

She'd told Killian she'd pick him up after work, but made one stop first to fulfil a promise to Mr Smee. Any Given Sundae was empty when she walked in, the bell over the door sending Ingrid Gundersen from the back of the store to greet Emma. "Oh, hey Emma! You after some Rocky Road?"

"Um. No. I'm here to pick something up for a…friend…" Emma wasn't sure she could explain what she was doing there and still manage to sound like a rational human being. She hoped that Ingrid wasn't going to question why she was suddenly ordering something completely different.

"Ah, Mr Smee's frozen yoghurt!" Ingrid said, holding up a finger. "Because it's today, isn't it?"

"What's today?" Emma was increasingly worried that Ingrid was going to inform her that today was Mr Smee's birthday.

"Killian's getting out…you're picking him up, yes?"

"Um. Yes. How did you know?"

"Oh. The usual. Anna, you know my youngest niece? She went to school with Aurora Stefanovich…I think she's been looking after Killian in the hospital. So Elsa told me…when I popped into the bakery this morning on my way to open here."

"Right. Yes. OK." Emma wasn't quite sure how to feel about her business, or maybe Killian's business, being passed through so many of Ingrid's family members.

"He's doing well then?" Ingrid asked.

"As well as can be expected."

Ingrid nodded, and started filling a small container with vanilla frozen yoghurt. "Well, tell him all the best from me. Mr Smee is one of our most popular customers."

"Popular?"

"Uh-huh. Killian gave me a photo of Mr Smee eating out of one of our containers and I put it up on the store's Facebook page. It got 15 likes, but I think a lot of those were from my family. Since my sister Gerda discovered the internet things haven't been the same. It's hard to get her away from it. I know Elsa was talking about getting her an iPhone for her birthday, but I think that might just make it worse."

"Oh…OK." Emma was never sure how to react when people just dropped details like that into the conversation. Was she supposed to commiserate with Ingrid or just what exactly?

"Of course," Ingrid continued, not really noticing Emma's reticence. "She's nowhere near as bad as my other sister Helga. For her, it's all internet shopping. I'm getting a little worried about how much she's buying. Of course we only know because Kristoff…Anna's fiancé…is the UPS driver, and he's been keeping Anna updated. I mean, I know Helga likes to look good, but it can't be prudent to be spending that much money."

Ingrid shrugged and went back spooning frozen yoghurt. Emma stayed silent but felt the same mixture of horror and fascination she always did when confronted with a situation like this. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be part of a big family, always knowing that the details of her life were passed around from mother to aunt to sister.

What made it worse, somehow, because it certainly made her feel more complicit in the whole thing, was that she knew the details Ingrid had left out. How it was Gerda's cancer treatment that left her house-bound and dependent not only on her daughters, but the internet as well. And she'd also been party to the fruitless attempts to persuade Helga to file charges against her ex-boyfriend, now known only as Weasel-Face, when he'd absconded with her savings about six month's back.

And while Emma would hate more than anything to have someone just airing her private business in a store, she worried that if something like that happened to her - if she was sick, or even just out of pocket - then who would rally to her aid?

"Still, it's a terribly bad business about Killian," Ingrid said, suddenly, and Emma was glad for the change in subject. "Hard to believe that someone would just drive straight on after that. Although people should hardly surprise you, I guess? And there's always been something a little strange about those woods. I remember when I was a girl…really young…someone left a baby out there. Just left it, and walked away like it was nothing."

Ingrid's eyes were wide as she handed the container to Emma who was less than pleased with the turn the conversation had taken. "Um…yeah. I did hear something about that…so how much do I owe you?"

"Oh, it's on the house." Ingrid smiled broadly. "I can't tempt you with some Rocky Road for yourself while you're here?"

"Nope. You know what? I'm good. Just, uh…thanks, for this. Killian'll appreciate it. And Mr Smee."

"Anytime. You just look after him, OK?"

Emma waved over her shoulder and didn't bother asking which 'him' Ingrid had meant. Probably Mr Smee. He was the customer featured on Facebook, after all. And, quite frankly, Emma just wanted to get out of there before Ingrid attempted any further conversation.

It was probably a good thing that Emma did hustle to the hospital, as Killian was looking anxious to leave when she got there, perched on the bed with a bag containing the belongings Emma had brought from his house beside him.

"Ah, there you are, love," he said, standing with a wince that he quickly tried to hide. "Let's get going, shall we?"

"Hold your horses, I just need to get instructions from Dr Whale." Emma looked back over her shoulder wondering where the doctor was.

"I'm fairly sure we could dispense with the formalities and just leave?" Killian looked hopeful and Emma wondered what the rush was, surely another five minutes wasn't going to kill him?

"Hang on…just wait here." Emma pointed a warning finger at Killian, who, rather reluctantly, lowered himself back onto the bed, before leaving to track down Dr Whale. She found him at what she assumed was the nurses station, surrounded by a handful of women all listening to him recount the plot of a TV show that had been on the night before.

Luckily he was disposed to stop his conversation long enough to give Emma the prescription for Killian's pain meds and a quick run-down on how he should keep applying cold packs to his ribs.

"OK," Emma said, when Dr Whale seemed to have finished his list. "I think I should be able to handle that…I mean, he can't be more trouble than his cat, can he? And Mr Smee…the cat…he's got thyroid problems, so, you know. I've had to take special care of him."

"Oh. Right. Well, I'm not really a vet…but OK. You'll be fine though, I'm sure he'll be in good hands."

"Well, it's only temporary," Emma continued, still hoping to get a bit of commiseration from someone over the trouble she'd had with Mr Smee's illness. "And then, I guess, he'll be gone pretty soon, so I won't have the bother anymore. It's not like I'm keeping him."

"Oh. OK." There was a pause while Dr Whale frowned at her and Emma wondered whether she'd inadvertently insulted him by discussing the welfare of a cat with someone who, presumably, had a medical degree pertaining to people.

But then Dr Whale suddenly widened his eyes in understanding. "The cat!" he said emphatically and Emma wondered what on earth he thought they had been talking about.

And then she realised.

"Well, yes, uh…I mean. I'm not keeping Killian…or anything. It's not like that."

Dr Whale's expression suggested he found that statement even odder than the ones she'd made about Mr Smee and his medical problems. Emma was half-tempted to try to defend herself again but gave up. "I should let you get back to work. Thanks, though. For helping him."

"Sure. You…well, take care of yourself then, Emma. Sounds like you might need to." With that another nurse Emma didn't recognise turned up and handed Dr Whale a chart, throwing an apologetic smile Emma's way. Emma took that as her cue to leave.

She walked back to Killian's room bristling with indignation at Dr Whale's insinuation that just because she wasn't prepared to make Killian stay with her she'd be lonely and regret not throwing herself at the best prospect she'd had in years. But all that faded away when she saw Killian sitting on the bed, fidgeting just as much as before. More to the point, she noticed that he'd pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and the Milah tattoo was clearly visible, and suddenly it all clicked into place.

It was blindingly obvious as to why he didn't want to hang around a hospital any longer than he had to, that Emma was annoyed at herself for not realising earlier. Suddenly it made sense why he'd been constantly asking her what was happening in the world outside the hospital, or why he'd asked Dr Whale repeatedly when he could be discharged. He'd spent enough time in hospitals, and hadn't brought away any happy memories from the experience.

"Hey, so…quick trip to the pharmacy downstairs and then we're out of here, OK?" Emma said, and she watched as Killian stood awkwardly, wanting to help him but not wanting to overstep her boundaries. In the end she settled for shouldering the backpack that was sitting on the bed next to him, and walking very slowly down the corridor towards the elevators as a few of the nurses came over to say goodbye and wish Killian luck. And really, why shouldn't they? It was none of her business if he'd been in here making new friends.

When they made it to the first floor of the hospital it was a mission getting Killian to even stop at the pharmacy, let alone sit patiently on the seats outside while Emma went inside. But when it was done and she had the paper bag containing all the pills she was supposed to dispense to him, all that remained was to actually get Killian home to her cottage.

And Emma realised that perhaps the most difficult part of the day hadn't even begun yet.

"I really don't think we needed to bother with these," Killian said, as Emma handed him the bag from the pharmacy after she climbed into the driver's seat. It was a blatant lie, because he'd gritted his teeth noticeably as he'd lowered himself into the passenger seat of her VW bug, but he clearly wasn't admitting to any pain now.

"Well, as long as you're not as bad at taking your medication as your cat is we'll be fine." Emma started the car and reversed out of her parking space. "If I have hold you between my thighs and push the stuff down your throat I don't think either of us will be enjoying it."

Emma drove slowly towards the parking lot exit. There was silence for a moment, and then Killian gave an odd sort of cough. "I don't know, love. There are aspects of that statement which do sound almost appealing."

Emma sighed loudly and almost managed not to look over at Killian, but she couldn't stop herself from briefly glancing over her shoulder and the raised eyebrow and smirk she viewed told her all she needed to know.

"Yeah, I'm not one of those nurses you can charm into giving you bed baths, or, or…whatever you've been doing in the hospital. This is strictly just a short-term thing so you don't, you know. Fall over and just lie there for several days until Mr Smee eats your face or something. I wouldn't put it past him. He seems like the type to weed out the sick and injured pretty quickly."

"I'm not sure whether to be more offended that you think I've been using my injuries to gain some kind of sexual favours from student nurses, or that you think I'm about to keel over and get eaten by a cat."

"You're not offended on Mr Smee's behalf because I think he might eat you?"

"No, I'm fairly certain you have him pegged correctly." Killian shifted slightly and Emma felt, rather than saw, the resulting wince.

"Well. We have been spending a lot of time together." Emma shrugged, as she turned the car off Main Street and headed towards her cottage.

"And now you're just making me jealous, love. Because while there have been a distinct lack of bed baths in my last few days, I suspect that Mr Smee has been enjoying your hospitality wholeheartedly."

Emma was not, was absolutely not, going to respond to that remark because it took her back to all the things she'd tried to shut down a discussion on mere minutes before. Clearly Killian was not getting the memo and she was beginning to wonder if taking him into her home was a good idea at all.

At least Mr Smee she could pick up and move off the bed when his snoring and his desire to lie right on top of her feet got to be too much. She wasn't certain if she'd be able to do anything of the sort with Killian.

And, more worryingly, she wasn't sure she'd even want to. All that temptation was a dangerous thing at the best of times but to invite it into her home could just be the biggest mistake she'd ever made.

Still, Emma reflected as she pulled into her driveway, she was unlikely to attempt anything physical while Killian was still recovering from his injuries. And, sure enough, she was then faced with the dilemma of whether to help him out of the car and risk wounding his pride, or just standing there while he struggled and huffed and was, clearly, in pain.

In the end she settled for offering him a hand as he carefully stood up from the car. A hand, which, with only a little reluctance, Killian took, giving her a half-smile as he did so.

Inside the cottage Emma suddenly felt a little shy. The reality of having Killian staying with her was far more daunting than the prospect had been. "You, uh…just have a seat in the living room. I'm going to give Mr Smee his frozen yoghurt before it melts any more than it already has," she blurted, dropping Killian's backpack and all but scuttling to the kitchen.

If Mr Smee thought her haste to abandon her new houseguest was a little rude, then he didn't say anything. At least not anything that didn't sound like a loud complaint about how hungry he was, followed by a rusty purr that made him sound like he needed a serious tune-up when his face was finally buried in a bowl of frozen yoghurt.

Still, the purr did the trick at calming Emma. She stroked Mr Smee's back a couple of times, feeling his spine sticking through the rather worn fur and took a deep breath before heading back to the living room.

"Sorry! I just didn't want it to get too drippy." Emma shrugged, and waited to see what happened next. Killian was sitting on the sofa now and turned and gave her a smile, but it was clear his attention was really on something else.

"Is it just me, or has Mr Smee acquired a new blanket in my absence?"

"Ah. Oh. Well, the other one got a bit yucky, and he kept getting his claws stuck in it. Plus, that one was on sale. I think it's meant to be a baby blanket, but I mean who's really going to buy leopard print for a baby? But it won't show up all the fur he sheds…not as much, anyway. And I got Tinkerbell a green one, with her namesake on it, but she's a bit annoyed I put it on her pillow in bed. She doesn't seem to like it."

Emma paused, having realised that, although Killian hadn't made a comment, he was giving her a rather amused look. "You bought Tinkerbell a blanket with Tinkerbell the fairy on it?"

"I just…OK, but don't worry." Emma held up a hand in front of her. "Yours is blue."

"Mine?"

Emma winced internally, realising she'd said too much. "I meant the one on the spare bed is blue. You know, where you're sleeping."

Killian nodded and looked away, and Emma wondered if he thought she was reminding him, again, that this wasn't some kind of desperate attempt on her part to lure him into her bed. Really she just hadn't want to spell out that the bedding on there was new because she'd decided that Killian's stay gave her the perfect excuse to replace the worn-out, hand-me-down, passed-on to her by kindly acquaintances bedding that was all she'd had before when there hadn't been anyone who wanted to come and stay with her.

And if that didn't spell desperate, she didn't know what did.

"So…food," Emma announced, trying to move on to less embarrassing things. "You just stay there, and I'll get you something, OK?"

"No, look. I'm not an invalid. I don't expect you to wait on me hand and foot."

"Oh. Yeah. OK." Emma led the way back down the kitchen where Mr Smee was finishing up his yoghurt.

"I see he's distraught by my absence," Killian commented.

"Well…I'm sure he is on the inside." Emma started opening cupboards and trying hard to think about what to make. She hadn't really planned this very well; sure she'd bought new bedding but groceries would have been a welcome addition.

"Humph. I'm not certain I believe you, love. I think he's quite settled here."

"Look, I'm not trying to steal him from you, if that's what you think," Emma replied, feeling a little on the defensive and not entirely certain why. "I mean, I said this was temporary, and I know it is. Cat and everything, you'll be gone soon. That's OK." Emma gave, what she hoped was, a rather nonchalant shrug.

"Right you are, love. All just…temporary." Killian sighed and Emma went back to trying to find something to eat before he lost patience with her entirely. She wasn't cut out for nursing anyone, or having houseguests or just…anything really.

She almost wished he would decide to go back to his place, but at the same time desperately hoped he wouldn't.

In the end she settled on canned tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, confident that she had enough provisions for that at least. And concentrating on making the food was easier, even with Mr Smee underfoot and Tinkerbell sticking her nose into the kitchen and demanding some form of food-related tribute, and Killian just sitting there at the table, staring at his hands.

Emma wondered what he was thinking, but was far too scared to ask.

When they sat down to eat Mr Smee assumed an invitation had been extended and he spent a while trying to manoeuvre himself onto the table, finally stealing a crust of sandwich that Emma had left unguarded on her plate.

"I have to say, Emma, you're not instilling much confidence in me that you'll be able to protect me from Mr Smee's rapacious appetite if I find myself arsed over on the floor."

"No. Well, you'll just have to leave a pile of cat treats in the corner of the room and hope he goes for that instead."

And just like that it was easy again, no fixating about when Killian was going to leave, or worries that she was fooling herself into thinking they could be friends. No trying to ignore the odd little looks Killian cast her way, or pretend that she didn't like it when he called her 'love'.

Nope. This was far, far easier. Just sitting around, making jokes about being eaten by a cat.

The comfortable feeling stayed through cleaning up dinner, watching a little TV and even through Emma insisting that Killian followed Dr Whale's orders and iced his ribs. "Honestly, love, if you wanted me to take my shirt off, you could have just asked."

"Yeah, yeah. And you'll be sorry if you find yourself seized up in pain in the morning and Mr Smee accidentally suffocates you because you can't get out of bed."

"You think he'd really abandon your bed for mine, love? I can't imagine anyone making that rather poor choice."

"Well, we'll see. Now just put the damn ice on your ribs and take the pain pills."

Emma thought she did very well at remaining impassive when Killian removed his shirt, despite the undeniable fact that Killian removing his clothing did very little to dampen her attraction to him. Sure, the bruising wasn't pretty but it in no way diminished the overall pleasing effect of lean muscle and dark chest hair. Emma sighed, louder than she intended, and when Killian lifted his head sharply to catch her eye, covered it by coughing into her hand, and then turning away.

Afterwards Emma showed him to the tiny bedroom off the hallway. "It's, uh…well I think the people who used to live here stole some of the space to make the bathroom bigger. But it's still a pretty small bathroom. And some of the cupboards aren't hanging right, and one has a loose handle. But…I hope you'll be comfortable. In this room…not so much in the bathroom. Although, you know, feel free to use it."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Killian assured her as she placed his bag in a corner of the room and then realised that to leave again she'd have to walk past him in the narrow space, beside the bed with the brand-spanking new bedding that she'd carefully picked out because she thought it would match Killian's eyes and the whole thing was just ridiculous really. How exactly did she end up here, again?

"Well, just try to keep it down. You know, because you snore. Despite what you told me before, you do, actually, snore." Emma tried for a nonchalant look as she squeezed herself past Killian towards the door.

"And how exactly did you come by this information, love?"

Emma turned and could feel her cheeks colouring. She had intended it to be a throwaway comment, another attempt at lightening the mood, but now she felt like some kind of crazy stalker, which, she supposed, made a nice change from crazy cat-lady, but didn't really help her self-esteem any.

"Um…in the hospital. First time I came to visit you…we were talking and then you just…fell asleep. And you snored. Honestly. Ask anyone. Aurora would tell you exactly the same thing."

"Well, I do apologise love. I hope I didn't miss anything important."

Emma's cheeks burned a little hotter at the thought of all the half-whispered confessions she'd made to Killian that night. "Nope. Not at all. Think it was just about Mr Smee…and, uh…frozen yoghurt. I said I would get him some. And I did."

Killian gave her a smile but there was something in his eyes that still looked as though he was appraising her, trying to figure out just exactly what she was hiding from him. "Thank you, love. Thank you for all you've done for Mr Smee. He's been very lucky. We both have."

"OK, so just repay that by keeping the snoring down and not hogging the bathroom, OK?" With that Emma left and walked into her own room, where both Tinkerbell and Mr Smee were waiting for her.

When she woke up in the morning, she was alone in the bed; not even Tinkerbell occupied her usual spot on the pillow next to Emma's head. Emma rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling for a moment, and then realised that although it was early, the house wasn't completely quiet. There were sounds coming from the kitchen. She could hear plates being moved, and a cupboard opened. A chair scraped on the hardwood. And Killian was talking, in a deep, low voice, saying words that she couldn't quite make out.

As tempting as it was to adopt the habits she'd assumed when she'd lived in shared houses in the past, to hide in her room until she was certain the coast was clear before venturing forth to use the bathroom or the kitchen, Emma decided that this was her house and surely she could be confident enough to just walk out there and see what was happening.

Still she continued to lie there and listen for a few moments longer until she struggled upright and pushed herself out of bed, grabbing her glasses from the nightstand on the way out of the room.

In the kitchen Emma found Killian sitting at the kitchen table, spooning something out of a bowl and watched, closely, by a not-very-patient Mr Smee. At first Emma assumed that Tinkerbell wasn't around, having perhaps eaten her breakfast and gone out to start her day, but then a small grey head popped over the edge of the table and Emma realised that, not only had Tinkerbell not retreated outside or to the top of the cupboards, but that she was actually sitting on Killian's lap as he ate.

All of a sudden she felt rather surplus to requirements and was tempted to back right out of the room, only that was the moment that Killian turned his head and saw she was hovering in the doorway. "Morning, love," he said, cheerfully.

"Uh. Yeah…" Emma had never been a morning person and dredging up the right words from her sleep-thickened brain seemed like a lot of effort. Most of the effort had to go into choosing words that were pleasant and didn't give away the fact that she may have been a prickly person at the best of times, but in the morning she was decidedly cranky. "Morning. I just, uh…I see I'm late to the party."

"Yes, sorry love. I wasn't sure what time you'd be up. I figured I'd let you sleep and I had company, anyway."

"Yeah. You do. Tinkerbell doesn't normally get that friendly. Not to the extent of sitting on people, anyway."

"I think she expects something as a reward, but I'm afraid that I normally let Mr Smee polish off the milk from my cornflakes in the morning." As if on cue, Tinkerbell strained her neck forward and took a big sniff of the contents of the bowl, watched by a rather possessive-looking Mr Smee.

"Right. OK. Yeah." Emma managed to focus long enough to get a look at Killian. He looked far brighter than he should have, sitting there wearing the same t-shirt and pyjama pants combo she'd seen him in when she'd gone to complain about Mr Smee. She was struck with the sudden, odd thought that it might be nice to crawl into his lap too, or, at least, run her hand through his hair and try to smooth it down for him.

In the end she settled for stroking Mr Smee's sparse fur before checking the coffeemaker in the hope that Killian had felt the need to make some. Half-way to the counter, she stopped and turned. "I have cornflakes?"

"Oh. I popped across the road. Checked on the place. All seems alright."

"Uh-huh." Emma had resumed the check of the coffeemaker, but, sadly, it sat empty and quiet on the counter. Sitting next to it, though, was a mug of what looked like steaming black tar.

"What's, uh…this?" she asked, leaning over and sniffing.

"Tea. I just have to let it steep for a while so it's drinkable. The tea in this country is a little on the weak side for my tastes, love."

"Oh. Yep. OK." Emma was still struggling with the conversation part of the morning. It was all a little overwhelming, this suddenly having a kitchen that was full of people and cats…well, a person. He seemed to take up a lot of space in the kitchen though. And there were strange mugs of tea just sitting around and her cat had developed a taste for cornflake milk and Emma never ate cornflakes so how did Tinkerbell even know she would like it? Was it just because it was Killian's cornflake milk or did she get some kind of feline peer-pressure from Mr Smee? Cats were meant to be solitary, after all, so perhaps Tinkerbell thought she should be competing for all the available resources even if she didn't really want them.

Emma's brain was buzzing but she wasn't saying anything and was, in fact, staring at the kitchen countertop, a fact she only realised when Killian's voice suddenly asked "You alright, love?"

She turned to face him. "Just great. Just…not really a morning person."

"Well, why don't you go and have a shower and I might try figuring out that coffeemaker you've been staring at so longingly so it'll be ready for when you come out, yeah?"

"Um. OK. That'd be…nice." Emma was almost to the door before she thought of something. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you though. I mean, that's the reason you're here."

"Mmm, I don't think making coffee is going to send me back to hospital. And, Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"I like your glasses, love." Killian fixed her with a smile and managed to effectively block Mr Smee from stealing the cornflake milk with his hand, without even looking in the cat's direction. Emma was quietly impressed at the co-ordination he could muster this early in the morning.

"OK. I need them to see," she said, knowing it was kind of redundant but unable to think of a better response, and then she left to take her shower.

Showered, dressed, and with her contact lenses in Emma was awake enough to realise that the tank top she'd slept in was a little skimpy and perhaps she was lucky that Killian only commented on her glasses and not on anything else. Still, she felt considerably better and more ready to face the kitchen and maybe even Killian himself.

He was alone now, presumably the two cats had received their treats and gone off to…well, whatever cats did with their mornings. Perhaps they were napping, or just lurking and hoping that a really slow, fat bird landed nearby.

"Coffee?" Killian offered, holding out a mug towards to her.

"Thanks." Emma accepted the mug and took a sip. "It's good…so, uh. Thanks for this. And, uh, for being nice to me this morning. I'm, well…notreallyamorningperson." She mumbled the last part, feeling a bit ashamed of her inability to really function when she first got up, but Killian laughed it off.

"Oh, you're not the first grumpy woman I've dealt with in the morning, love."

Emma's heart dropped. Shit! The wife! Of course he wasn't new to this whole sharing a kitchen in the morning situation, and now she'd just gone and made him sad to boot. Crap. She was really bad at this whole being with other people thing. Cats were so much easier. God knows how many people Mr Smee had lost and never once had she accidentally mentioned his litter-mates and caused him to stare off into a corner for an hour or something.

She bit her lip and looked down into the mug of coffee, hoping Killian would just leave and go and be sad by himself, or something, but he didn't. Instead he said "It's OK, Emma. I don't mind talking about Milah. In fact, I spent so long trying to force myself to forget her that I actually find it a bit of a relief."

"You do?" Emma was surprised at that, talking about painful things just seemed like hurting yourself on purpose as far as she was concerned.

"I do. And I don't want you to feel…uncomfortable in your own home, after all. Alright?"

"Yep. No, that's…that's fine. Thank you…for, uh. Well, just being nice this morning."

"My pleasure, love. OK if I use the bathroom now?"

"Yep. You go right on ahead!" Emma said, a little too brightly to cover up the confusion she felt. Luckily Killian didn't appear to register any of it and he left the kitchen without a backward glance.

Emma was thankful for that because she couldn't quite make sense of it all in her own brain, so trying to justify her actions to anyone else would be hopeless. After all, it was just coffee. She got David coffee about seven times a week and that never confused her, unless he suddenly decided to go dairy-free again and forgot to let her know.

But this was somewhat unsettling, the way Killian just effortlessly fit himself into her morning routine and made it better. He promised her coffee, and he delivered it, and didn't want anything in return.

And the fact that it felt like such a rare occurrence in her life just made Emma feel sad and kind of broken, like she was some pathetic creature likely to beg Killian for whatever scraps he might offer her. She wouldn't of course. She had too much pride; or, at least, she hoped she did. But all the same her reaction worried her because she feared that it just wasn't normal.

Emma decided that she wasn't going to dwell on it any longer, and she went to work where at least she'd have something to occupy her mind. And she did, for a good few hours anyway, while she and David carried out the usual round of routine checks, paperwork and dealing with the people who just wandered into the station looking for help.

It wasn't until the afternoon that she allowed herself to think about Killian again, and she felt a bit bad for the way she'd abandoned him that morning. After all, she'd invited him to stay so she could look after him? Maybe she should check on him?

So she fired off a quick text message asking if he was OK. In response she received a picture of what appeared to be Tinkerbell clinging precariously to Killian's legs, with an orange fuzzy blur in the background that was most likely Mr Smee asleep in his chair. Emma decided to turn a blind eye to the fact that Killian's feet were clearly resting on the coffee table and be thankful that at least he wasn't overdoing it on his first day out of hospital.

In fact the picture made her kind of happy, although she didn't realise she was smiling until she looked up and noticed David giving her a bemused expression. "You get something funny?"

"Oh. You know. Just cat pictures and stuff." That was not a lie and Emma refused to feel guilty about it. At all.

David looked like he expected her to show him and Emma was worried that he might hold his hand out to take the phone, but he nodded instead and she tucked the phone safely away in her pocket. It wasn't that she thought there was anything wrong with having Killian stay with her, but she just wondered if perhaps she'd end up defending the decision when she really didn't want to. Not when it was temporary. Not when Killian's very presence in Storybrooke was temporary. It was hardly worth the bother.

David could be annoyingly perceptive at times, though. Or maybe just blindly lucky in the questions he chose to ask. "So, your neighbour…friend. That guy. He out of hospital yet?"

"Ah, yep." And then, desperate to change the subject, Emma asked how Mary Margaret was doing, which led David into a long explanation of how her sickness, which was more all-day than morning, was starting to wane, but she was incredibly tired. It probably contained more details than Emma really needed, but it had the desired effect of moving David's thoughts away from Killian.

And Emma only thought about him occasionally for the rest of the afternoon, mainly wondering if Tinkerbell had got fed up with sitting on him yet, or why she thought Killian was special enough to sit on, anyway. But whatever Emma had pictured Killian might be doing, it wasn't anything like the scene that greeted her in the kitchen when she did get home.

"Are you…making dinner?" Emma asked, although the evidence seemed pretty clear as to what was going on.

"Uh, yes. Roast beef." Killian gestured towards the oven and Emma looked through the glass door, more than a little surprised to see her muffin pan also jammed in there.

"And there's dessert?" Emma asked.

"Yorkshire puddings."

"So…dessert then?"

"No. You eat them with the meat."

"Seems a little weird." Emma straightened up and looked over at Killian, who raised one eyebrow.

"And yet in this country it's perfectly acceptable to douse potatoes in marshmallow at Thanksgiving."

"Well, sweet potatoes maybe. Alright, I'll try the pudding-cup things."

Killian sighed, loud enough that Emma could hear him. "We'll have to hope they actually rise, love. Been a while since I attempted them. Do you want some wine in the meantime?" He held a bottle up for Emma to see.

"Wine? But you can't drink with your meds."

Killian looked a little sheepish. "I bought it for you." He started to open the bottle but Emma held up a hand to stop him.

"So, this dinner…all the food and the wine, was something you went out and bought? And then you got back and made it all? I thought you were supposed to be resting. You sent that photo and you were clearly sitting in the living room. With Tinkerbell."

"Well, in my defence, they will deliver your groceries if you ask nicely…and maybe mention being injured. And when I sent that photo the roast was already on…" Killian said a little sheepishly. "So, really, what's done is done now. Just, you sit down and have some wine."

Emma started to get a sinking feeling, and it wasn't solely due to the fact that Killian had probably been over-doing it on his first full day out of hospital. "I'm just a little bit concerned that the next words out of your mouth are going to be an offer to run me a bath, or something." Emma shrugged and then there was an uncomfortable moment when neither of them spoke and Emma thought she might have offended Killian.

He put the bottle of wine back down on the table and walked the couple of steps until he was right in front of her. "You think this is all some kind of elaborate seduction?" he asked, tilting his head and looking way too seductive for Emma's liking. She wanted to take a step back and just get a little distance from him, but held her ground.

"I…no. No! I just don't want you thinking this is…I mean we agreed. Yesterday. So you know, you shouldn't have been making puddings and buying wine on my account. I'm just doing this to be a friend." Even to Emma's ears it was starting to sound like she was protesting just a little bit much. She'd said that line before, hadn't she? And she was no longer entirely certain if she kept repeating it for her own benefit, or Killian's.

"Well, Emma, I'd like to think that if anything changed, if you decided we could be more than friends then it would be because you wanted me, and not because I'd concocted some half-baked scheme to seduce you." Killian seemed a little closer now than he had even just a moment earlier, and he reached forward and brushed her arm with his hand. That shouldn't have been seductive at all, especially given the fact he'd just said that wasn't his aim. But somehow it was, and Emma had to fight the urge to just give up and lean into his embrace.

"Oh. Well. OK, then," she managed to croak out in the end once she had managed to take a deep breath and try to collect her thoughts. A moment later, though, she realised that there was the possibility that she'd just agreed that maybe they could one day be more than friends.

Somehow that kind of thing kept happening to her. Around Killian, anyway. And it was getting tiring this constant battle between what she thought she should allow herself and what she really wanted and the longer it went on the more likely it became that she just gave up trying.

But she was Emma Swan. And she wasn't going down without a fight.

Desperate to put a little distance between herself and Killian she blurted out. "I'm going to get changed and then…yeah. Pudding." She walked hastily into her bedroom and shut the door behind her, leaning against it as though she was afraid Killian might come and break it down.

She was being ridiculous. And she really needed to stop.

Emma threw on the first jeans and t-shirt she found and brushed out her hair before retreating to the bathroom to splash water on her face in the hope it would help calm her down a little more. It was only as she reached into the cupboard above the sink to find the packet of hair elastics she'd stashed in there that Emma realised the handle wasn't as loose as it had been. And the door fit better, she discovered, when she opened and closed it several times. And so did the door under the sink.

Killian had obviously been doing more with his day than just shopping and cooking, Emma reflected, as she twisted her hair into a ponytail. It was either touching, or a little creepy, and, at that moment, she couldn't completely decide.

Although she was leaning towards it being touching. And she didn't know if she was giving him a free pass or not, but, taking a deep breath and giving herself a hard look in the bathroom mirror, Emma decided she was just going to roll with it. The man had made her pudding after all.

When Emma walked back into the kitchen Killian watched her enter, and she wished she was as effective at hiding in the shadows as Tinkerbell occasionally was. As tempting as it was to take a leaf out of her cat's book and climb up to the top of the cupboards, Emma forced herself to smile and remain at floor-level. "Thanks, for fixing the bathroom cupboards, too," she said, taking the glass of wine Killian held out to her.

"Oh, no problem, love. Truth be told it got a little boring sitting by myself this morning after the cats buggered off, and it was an easy enough job to do," he replied, with a somewhat wary glance. He seemed to be waiting for her to accuse him of some kind of nefarious purpose again and it made her feel a little ashamed.

"Look…Killian. I'm sorry I was a bit, um…well I accused you of trying to just get in my pants, I guess." Emma winced, wishing she'd thought of a better expression to use, but pressed on. "But I think you are just trying to be nice…so, I'm just going to shut up and be grateful now."

Killian nodded. "Fair enough, love. Plus, the state I'm in I've no doubt you could really hurt me if you wanted to. I'm hardly much of a threat." He flashed her a smile that was all teeth and seemed far too cocky for a guy who was talking about how she could beat him up if she wanted to.

"I think that's the case whatever state you're in, but, please don't spoil the moment by saying how much you'd enjoy it if I kicked your ass. Don't be that guy."

"Darling, I would never be that guy." Killian placed a hand over his heart and looked kind of solemn, like he was making a promise to her that he intended to keep. But then his attention was pulled away by the oven beeping. "I think dinner's just about to be served; take a seat and I'll bring it over."

Emma did as she'd been instructed and was soon joined by Mr Smee, who showed his usual impeccable timing in the matter of food being served. Emma removed him from the table a couple of times and before he got the message and sat in an empty chair instead.

Dinner was delicious. Especially the puddings, which, it turned out, were crunchy. Emma ate three and then found herself watching Killian as he helped himself to another from the dish on the table. It was an awful habit, watching other people to make sure they didn't take her share, but one she found it hard to break.

Killian noticed though, and put another of the puddings on her plate. "You seem to have run out, love."

"I'd be worried that you're fattening me up for Christmas, except…" She let that hang in the air. Except you won't still be here at Christmas was what she thought.

"Except I would miss your company too much."

"Hmm. OK. Well now you're just making me feel bad for saying I might let Mr Smee eat you if you fall over and can't get up."

"You didn't say you'd definitely let him, just that he'd want to. And, like I said, I wouldn't put it past him. He's a survivor, that's for certain. Perhaps we have that in common." He cast a fond glance at the cat, who was still sitting on the chair and trying to work out the best way to launch an assault on the table. Every so often he'd raise a paw, touch the table, but when either Killian or Emma glanced his way, he'd give up and go back to waiting patiently for them to look away again.

"Well, you're not the one trying to steal food. And it's really good. I just…it's really good." Emma was trying not to sound too surprised by that fact, but whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't this.

"I'm just glad that the Yorkshire's rose and the meat's not overdone," Killian said, with a shrug. "I haven't done anything like this for a long time."

Emma took a bite and thought about the conversation they'd had that morning and decided that perhaps Killian hadn't been giving her permission so much as asking for her help. And, fine. If he wanted to talk about Milah, she could do that.

"So you used to cook for your wife?"

"Some. Not at first…when I met her my cooking skills ran about as far as beans on toast." He chuckled, ruefully. "But, uh, Milah taught me. She was much better than I am, but I picked up the basics."

Emma nodded and went back to eating, wondering if she'd now done what she was supposed to. That was how it worked, didn't it? Normal human interaction with another human being. You asked a question and they answered it and you moved on.

Only why did she feel like she should add something else, share something from her life? More to the point, why did she want to?

Before she could lose her nerve Emma blurted out "No one really teaches you to cook when you're a foster kid. In the group homes, it's just too busy and they just want to get food on the table. Maybe you'll get to chop some vegetables, but that's about it. And when you're in someone else's home, they're not going to waste their time on a kid who'll be gone soon, plus, you know, they're hardly going to let you loose in the kitchen when they think you'll just steal everything that's in there."

Emma lifted her eyes from her plate and risked looking over at Killian. He nodded, briefly, and carried on eating. Emma supposed it wasn't so bad, this sharing thing. Maybe. With Killian at least.

And it seemed like a small recompense for such a nice dinner.

After dinner, after the dishes were washed and Mr Smee had been plied with several small pieces of beef, which he informed them loudly were not enough to really satisfy his appetite but he'd eat them anyway, Emma found herself sitting on the sofa next to Killian again, feeling a little drowsy and replete after stuffing in so many Yorkshire puddings herself.

And she felt braver now, after the conversation at dinner. A little braver, anyway. She still couldn't quite find it in herself to ask the question she really wanted to, which was "When are you leaving?" Emma didn't think she could handle the answer to that one. But, perhaps, she could ask something else that she wondered about. If the ending was too painful to contemplate, perhaps she might do better with the beginning.

"Why here? Why Storybrooke…I mean, it seems a long way from where you started?"

"Are you asking for my life story, love?" Killian's voice was low and quiet and Emma knew that if she turned her head to look at him, rather than the TV, then she'd be close enough to see the individual bristles on his cheek, to make out which ones were a lighter red-blond, and the way the skin crinkled at the corners of his eye. But she wasn't going to do that, she was just going to listen and not let herself be distracted by cataloguing all the features she found so appealing on Killian's face.

"I just…I was just curious," Emma confessed. "I mean, I know so much about Mr Smee, but very little about the person he lives with."

"He's not been spilling my secrets to you?"

"No, he's been remarkably tight-lipped."

Killian sighed, and shifted a little and Emma found herself sliding closer to him, her head ending up almost on his shoulder. She thought she should straighten up, put a little distance between them, but she couldn't find it in her to move from where she was warm and comfortable.

"I, um…well, after Milah died I just wanted something new. So I signed on to crew some billionaire's super-yacht for a while. We went as far as New Zealand, then back up to San Francisco. Ended up on this coast in the end, just moving around. And then I found Mr Smee, or, perhaps, he found me, and I kind of went where the work was, as long as it was somewhere I could go with a cat."

"Like Storybrooke?"

"Like Storybrooke, indeed."

"But you still have family in England? You'll go back there one day?" This time Emma did twist her head a little, just in time to watch something dark and painful pass over Killian's face.

"I don't have any family really. Not now, anyway."

Emma pressed her shoulder closer to Killian's and he laid his hand over hers in response. "I guess that's something you and I have in common, then," she said.

"Kindred spirits," Killian replied.

"Waifs and strays."

There was a pause in the conversation, the television still murmured in the background and Killian's finger traced patterns on Emma's wrist in a way that was almost hypnotic. "Want to tell me about them?" she asked.

"Well…my mother started out as my brother's babysitter," he replied in a tone that was far too flippant for the subject matter.

"OK."

"His mother was hit by a drunk driver who mounted the footpath one afternoon and somehow missed the baby buggy she was pushing…maybe she pushed it out of the way, saved her baby, but couldn't save herself. She died before she made it to the hospital. But that's about all I know of her. My mother was the girl my dad paid to look after Liam…my brother. And, then, I guess, something happened. And I can only assume really, because she's not around to ask, but I would think that it's one thing playing house when you're only there part-time, and something else entirely finding yourself at 19 in a grotty flat with a baby and a small boy and a man who's barely there, in body or in spirit."

"That does sound tough."

"Uh-huh. Must have been." Killian's voice was terse and cold. "So she left and I don't know much about her either, apart from what Liam could tell me, which wasn't a lot. He liked her. Apparently she was very free with the biscuits…you know, cookies, when there were any in the house. I guess that appeals to a small boy. And then it was just the three of us."

"Is it still?" Emma asked, almost dreading the answer. Killian's hand had stilled against her own and she moved slightly, flipping them over so hers was on top, palm to palm, her fingers sliding into the gaps between his and holding him firmly, as though she was afraid he might just float away on a sea of painful memories and never make it back to her again.

"No. Liam died when I was 16. He was 20. Spent a weekend away with some friends and they went swimming in the river not realising that it wasn't as safe as it looked. He went in to save a friend. The friend lived, Liam didn't." Killian sighed. "He was always a bit reckless at the worst of times."

"And your dad?"

"Last I saw of him he was off to Brighton for a job, or a girlfriend…or something, anyway. Told me to get a train down in a couple of weeks and he'd meet me. But he didn't and I couldn't find anyone who'd seen hide nor hair of him. I think…I think it just got to be too much for him. Too many people had disappeared out of his life and he gave up; couldn't find it in him to care anymore and he just…buggered off God knows where. So I drifted around…tried to keep out of too much trouble, best as I could, anyway. By the time I was 18 I washed up near Portsmouth and ended up in Milah's B&B, one she'd inherited from her parents. I was skint, she let me hang around as long as I did something to help out. Eventually she said she wasn't that interested if I didn't get my act together, so I found a more permanent job, working for a company that built yachts."

"And you just stayed?"

"I did. Until Milah wasn't there anymore and I had nothing to stay for." Killian sighed. "She was good for me though; a little older, more settled. I hate to think what it might have been like if I hadn't met her. She was the right person for me, at that time. The person that I needed and I was lucky to find her." Emma nodded as best she could without lifting her head from its resting place against Killian's shoulder. She didn't have to imagine what it was he'd so narrowly avoided, not with knowing what her own life had been like at 18.

"You loved her a lot," she said quietly, despite the fact that, and it hurt to admit this even to just herself, she did feel a little jealous. Not just because Milah had been loved by Killian, but because she'd been loved at all. Emma didn't think she'd ever had anything like that, or was ever likely to. She'd never been the right person for anyone.

"I did…do. It's a little different now she's been gone a while. At first I was so angry that I couldn't keep her, but maybe my life isn't over just yet." Killian sighed. "And at least everything that happened with Milah taught me one thing. I'm nothing like my father."

Emma wasn't certain how to respond to that; there was nothing she could say that would change any of what had happened to him. "What about you, love?" Killian murmured, in the end, his other arm slipping around her shoulders and the fingers tangling in her hair. Really, she should move, Emma thought. Move away and get some distance, a little perspective. But she was going to be selfish, and stay just where she was.

"Oh. Out of the foster system. Did some things I'm not proud of, got my heart broken." Sometimes she was almost thankful that Neal had left her high and dry, not sure where the line that signified 'too far' would have been. She was lucky she got out of the life of the petty criminal when she did, she could see that now. At the time his betrayal had been devastating. "Tried a few jobs in a few places and then wound up here," she continued. "And stayed."

"With a house and a cat and everything."

"Yep, that's me."

"But why Storybrooke, love?"

Emma twisted the hand that was holding Killian's, not quite breaking off the contact, but tempted all the same. Over the years she'd tried out a few different versions of this story, all of them outright lies. But she couldn't lie to him, or, rather, she wouldn't.

"It's where she left me. My mother. She left me on the side of the road, near where you were hit by that car. They think I was only a day or so old. And I just came back because…well I wondered if anyone knew anything or remembered anything. Someone who'd been pregnant, someone who'd left suddenly, maybe. But they didn't, at least, the people I asked didn't. They did remember the baby, though, and once they knew it was me, well they just looked at me differently after that. Like I wasn't a real person, just a curious object they'd heard people talk about. So I stopped asking, but I stayed anyway."

"And joined the police."

"Yeah. That was David's doing, really. I took a job doing some filing at the station…nothing much. I thought I could maybe ask around, see what they knew about…about how I was found. It was a dead end, though. David tried, but he couldn't turn up any leads. But he suggested I apply, and he let me meet his girlfriend, who had a room to rent, and then…well here I am."

"Here you are indeed, love." Killian's voice was warm and tender and it was like rubbing balm into an ache that she'd had for a long, long time.

"Yeah," Emma said, feeling a little drowsy and allowing herself to relax back down again. "Here's not so bad, really."

Emma wasn't certain how long they stayed on the sofa, only that after a while she felt herself being gently nudged awake. "Oh God, sorry! I was leaning on you too much…are you sore? Did you ice your ribs earlier? You should have iced your ribs like Dr Whale told you to."

"I'm fine, love. Really. But you should probably go to bed. As much as I don't want to lose your company you clearly need your sleep."

"Yeah. I guess." Emma felt disoriented, like she'd missed out on something. They'd had the heart to heart and then she'd just…fallen asleep. Which seemed anti-climactic, although she wasn't sure what kind of climax she'd expected, or even wanted. Declarations of love, passionate kisses, all would have been more exciting, sure, but they also would have complicated matters between Killian and herself. And complicated wasn't something she was looking for.

"OK. Well, goodnight Killian." Emma stood up, reluctantly, and walked towards the door.

""night, love."

And things were just as calm, just as companionable in the morning. Emma was less reluctant to get out of bed, feeling more prepared about what would greet her in the kitchen. And sure enough it was almost identical to the previous day. Two cats, one Killian and not enough milk in the cornflakes to make that equation work at all. One mug of steamy black tea-tar lurking on the kitchen counter…and one cup of coffee waiting for her beside the toaster.

"Thank-you," she said, to Killian, who was trying to fend off Mr Smee's unwelcome advances.

"You're welcome love," he replied, smiling broadly.

No, who wanted complicated when she could have this. And this was all far more civilised, more fitting of the adult she liked to think she was these days, not the scared little girl she feared she'd always remain.

She was glad of her pleasant start to the day as the morning wore on and she was dispatched to the Lucas's B&B to speak to Mrs Gold, the pawnbroker's wife. Mr Gold had been hanging around, making a nuisance of himself, and had got himself into Mrs Lucas's bad books. Emma was to see if the wife wanted anything done about it.

It was always tricky in these situations; no one ever wanted to come right out and say the person they had picked was a threat to them. Half the time the women went back, and Emma couldn't really blame them. Life without a safety net was awful and sometimes it was hard to walk away from a home, from a life, however bad it seemed on the outside. It was still something, and it was hard to throw that away on a promise of nothing in return.

So she talked it through with the woman, but they reached no real solution. All Emma could do was try to impress upon Mrs Gold that she would have support, whatever she decided. And then Emma returned to the station to catch up with David, who had been doing some follow-ups on his own.

"How'd it go," he asked.

"As well as I could expect. She says she'd like him to leave her alone, but he keeps saying he loves her, and she's wavering. Plus he's careful to avoid doing anything outright illegal. He's moved her car a couple of times as he still has a set of keys, but only about three spaces along. He's just being a nuisance at the moment, and making sure she can't just forget him. It might escalate, it might not. She says she trusts him, but who knows?" Trust seemed a fragile thing to Emma, and far too easily broken in the hands of someone careless.

"Guess we just keep an eye on the situation," David said, nodding, mostly to himself, and with a heavy sigh that let Emma know he could see where Mr Gold's actions could lead as well.

"How'd you get on?" Emma asked.

"Oh, alright. I went to see that neighbour of yours, Killian? See if he could remember anything else about the accident."

"Oh. Did you?" Emma tried to sound as casual as possible.

"Mmm. He wasn't home though."

"Right. OK. Well I can catch him later if you want."

"Oh no. I spoke to him." David broke into a smile, letting Emma know he'd been stringing her along the whole time. "He saw me out your living room window, waved me over."

"Right. Yeah. Course he did." It wasn't like she was trying to hide Killian away from everyone she knew, but, even so, it might have been nice if he'd just laid low. "So, could he remember anything?" Emma asked, hoping to keep the conversation on track.

"Nope. Nothing, really. And it looks like you're getting Shepherd's pie for dinner."

"Oh. Am I? That's, uh…that's nice."

"Yeah. I can see why you invited him to stay."

"No, it's not like that! I didn't…not because he'd make dinner. You make it sound like I've enslaved him. It's just…dinner. And I was being nice, because he's only just out of hospital."

David shrugged. "He's says he's doing OK, just a bit bored. Hence the pie. It looked good."

"Are you hoping for an invitation?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no. I mean, I understand completely why Mary Margaret falls asleep every afternoon, but, you know…" David stopped speaking and looked a little sheepish.

"You miss having someone make your dinner?"

"Yeah. Just a bit."

"Welcome to the real world. How about I get you coffee?"

"Well, that's a start," David called, as Emma walked to the coffee machine. "But it's not the same as Shepherd's pie."

When she returned with a cup of coffee for each of them, Emma hesitated for a moment, and then blurted out "So you don't think it's weird? Killian staying with me?"

"Do you think it's weird?" David asked, peering suspiciously into the cup.

"Uh…no. I guess not. Well, the mugs of tea that just lurk on the counter until they grow legs and walk away are a bit weird, but I guess I can live with it."

"Well that's OK then. Did you put sugar in this?" David took a sip and pulled a face.

"I thought you were giving up sugar? Fine. I'll get you some."

When Emma got home she could see the extent of Killian's boredom, in pieces all over the living room floor, a curious Mr Smee walking through it delicately, sniffing the odd piece. "You're, uh…busy."

"Just trying to get your vacuum to work better, love. It's not really picking anything up." He turned to watch what the cat was doing. "No, Mr Smee! We don't eat the screws."

"Yeah, I had noticed that…" Emma tried to remember when she'd last actually used it.

"I pulled a lot of hair out of the head. I think that was the problem." He held up a large ball of fluff and fur and other assorted nasty stuff.

"Really? That much cat fur?" Emma supposed it was possible. Mr Smee had been around a lot and he did shed a lot. "No wonder it wasn't working.

"No, human hair. Most of it long and blonde."

"Humph." Killian was enjoying this far too much, grinning widely at her. "Well, you know, it's not like I shed or anything. Not like your cat does."

"I don't know, love. I think you might be getting your summer coat." Killian smirked and raised one eyebrow and, she couldn't help it, Emma smiled back. It was kind of funny, after all.

"It's OK, though," Killian continued. "I'm sure Tinkerbell will still let you sit on the sofa even if you do leave hair all over it."

"Yeah, yeah. You're funny. I'm going to get changed, now." Retreating to her room Emma reflected that she'd been right when she'd told David it didn't feel weird having Killian here. In fact, it felt the opposite of weird…whatever that was. It felt kind of normal now, for him to just be here, waiting for her. Kind of like Mr Smee.

Only Killian was less demanding and had nicer personal habits.

And Emma decided to just leave it at that. She wasn't really one for a lot of introspection, having learned from past experience that her life was what it was and she'd have to cope with the bad things that happened to her as best she could. So maybe she should just take Mary Margaret's advice and enjoy this happy moment while she had the chance.

Although Emma, perhaps naively, expected the moment to last a little longer than it did. She'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the fact that Killian seemed more than happy to hang around. Sure the dinners he cooked were nice, the odd jobs he made up to fill in his day were even nicer, but what she really liked was just having someone there, someone who was happy to hear about her day, play 'can cats eat this food or will it kill them?' with her, and just generally remain that same, warm solid presence in her life.

And, even Emma would admit, it was certainly possible that the fact she was undeniably attracted to Killian didn't hurt. Perhaps she was more attracted to him now that she knew she didn't just appreciate him physically. If they had hooked up then she wouldn't have been adverse to him hanging around past breakfast.

But that wasn't going to happen, although he was hanging around past breakfast all the time. And when she got home on Friday night Killian was still there, where she'd left him. Only he looked a little worried. "So, uh, what's happening?" Emma asked him.

"Well I thought I would give you a night off, love."

"Night off? I'm not working tonight."

"No, from chasing me around trying to make me take my shirt off."

"Yeah…you keep telling yourself that's why I'm doing it. But the ice is helping you. You're getting around much better now."

"Ah, and that's the thing love." Killian gave her a smile that looked a little kindly, the type of smile you'd give someone when you're about to break bad news. Emma's stomach lurched unexpectedly, which just made her feel silly, and, worse, a little vulnerable. It was hardly a feeling Emma enjoyed.

"I thought I might head back across the road tonight." Killian scratched the back of his head and looked away.

Emma got the feeling there was more to the story. Sure, she'd expected him to leave at some point. At least, she thought she was prepared for it. But to just spring it on her, seemed odd. "Oh. Uh. OK. You sure that's wise?"

"I'm sure I'll be fine, love. But if I'm going to go to work tomorrow…"

"But you can't," Emma blurted out. "You're injured."

"I'm a lot better now; you said so yourself."

"Not for work. Not for…well whatever the hell it is you do. What if you make it worse? What will you do then?"

Killian shrugged. "I'm sure I can manage. I'll take it easy…but I can't stay away from work forever, love. It's just not practical. I need something to do, and I need…"

"No, you need to just take care of yourself." Emma was frustrated now. The whole idea was just idiotic and doomed to fail. Killian had been fine, hadn't he? Just pottering around her place. OK, it probably wasn't the most exciting way to spend his days, but he was recovering, and he needed to rest. "Plus it's Friday tomorrow, what's the point of working for one day?"

"The point is that I want to."

"Well, what are you going to do if a boat falls on you or something, and you can't get up? What'll happen to Mr Smee then? You promised him you'd look after him, and you can't just dump him with me. It was bad enough when you got yourself hit by the car. I thought…I thought you were dead when I found you. And Mr Smee…he'd be so upset if that happened."

Emma's voice was considerably louder now, and even she could hear the desperation that accompanied her words. She felt ridiculous, betrayed by the emotions that had suddenly burst to the surface. After so long trying to push down the worry that Killian was leaving, ignoring the voice in her head saying she could never have a future with him, it was all just boiling over now. So much for living in the moment. As far as Emma was concerned, this moment really sucked.

Killian was giving her a strange look; part concern and part…something else. Probably he was horrified at her outburst. Emma certainly was.

"You're being a little over-the-top about it, love," he said, not bothering to hide that he was annoyed now.

And, suddenly, it was like someone poured a bucket of cold water over Emma. "You know what?" she said, in a much cooler voice than she'd been able to muster previously. "It is ridiculous. I am being totally ridiculous."

Killian narrowed his eyes and looked at Emma appraisingly. "Are you sure you're alright, love? Because something's bothering you and I'm worried it's going to cause a problem between us."

Emma shrugged, feeling much more like herself now. "That's the thing. There's no us. I don't do…anything like that." Killian looked taken aback, and started to say something, probably he was going to refute her statement. Emma carried on, regardless. If she didn't get it out now, if she didn't stop this once and for all before it completely got out of hand, then she'd only have herself to blame later.

"I'm sorry," she said, in a voice that didn't sound particularly sorry at all. "But I can't. I don't know how, and you know what Killian? You may not be like your father, but I have figured out that I am exactly like my mother, whoever the hell she was. I am not putting myself through something I will fail at. I will do too much, or too little, or just…and this is the most likely scenario, nothing, and you will end up walking away. And really, what's the point? Why put myself through it? I'm not your love, and I've never been the right person for anyone and I think perhaps you had better leave now. I'll see you round."

It was quite a speech and Emma was hoping her exit, or, at least, the retreat she beat to her bedroom would be similarly dramatic would be painlessly quick, but she hadn't counted on the fact that Mr Smee had come wandering out of the kitchen to see what had happened to his dinner and she nearly tripped over him. "And take your damn cat with you!" Emma said, as she stumbled, much louder and angrier than she'd intended.

She made it to the bedroom without further incident and then she just sat on her bed, too numb to cry or do anything. And if she expected Killian to plead with her from the other side of the door, then she was fooling herself. It seemed she'd succeeded in making her point. She did, in the end, hear him moving around in the spare room, gathering up his belongings, no doubt. And then, in the hallway, she heard him say "Come on, Mr Smee. Let's go home," before the front door opened, and then closed again.

Well, that was done.

She sat there for a little longer, until the tears threatened to fall and she decided she wasn't going to allow herself to wallow. Better to just face the empty house head-on and get on with…whatever it was she thought she was going to do now.

But when she got to the kitchen she found someone hadn't understood her message. Mr Smee was sitting in the middle of the table and let out a plaintive yowl when he saw her coming. "You can go home now," she said firmly. "I don't need you."

Mr Smee didn't seem impressed by that. He sat, making eye contact and then yowled again, with the air of someone trying to communicate in a foreign language.

"You're not mine," she yelled. "Go home! I was perfectly fine until you got here, and you ruined everything!"

Mr Smee looked at her with his ancient yellow eyes and walked a few steps to the edge of the table before sitting down again and yowling. It looked like nothing Emma did was going to get through to him.

"I don't want to pretend anymore, Mr Smee," Emma said, quietly. She gathered him in her arms, thinking she'd put him out the front door and hope he found his way home, but instead it just seemed easier to sink into a chair and bury her face in his fur. At least Mr Smee would have the decency not to complain that she was getting his back wet with her tears.

"Oh, Mr Smee," she whispered, as he started up his rusty purr. "I think I've done something really stupid."

Thanks for reading!