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AN: Don't forget to check out Kiss My Gentle Burning Bruise to not miss out on an epic tale!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADUE:

SO PAINT IT BLACK AND TAKE IT BACK

"So why do you take this,

Conquer and dismay this,

Peaceful sanity of mine?

Your attempting to bore me,

Shatter and destroy me.

It's worthless,

It furls my gain.

Maybe we're all insane?"

The Eyes of Tomorrow by Broken Iris

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Chapter 3: The Eyes of Tomorrow

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Boston, Massachusetts

Peter sat crossed from Emma as they watched each other for a couple of moments. It had been a couple of years since they had seen each other last. Both going their separate ways once they had enough of the others presence. He couldn't believe that she was in front of him now. The last time they were together he—didn't really leave their relationship in good terms. Not that whatever they were had ever been on the good side of things.

"So" Emma stated to the air, collapsing the rooms fluidity.

"So," He also replied, eyes never wavering from hers. He could see the change in them…more now than ever. He could see the walls thick; yet…could see a weaker spot that was beginning to shatter from—something. That's good, he thought confidently, someone's getting through to her…somehow, "how are you?" He questioned when he saw that she wasn't going to move on the front of conversing with him.

"Seriously? That's what you ask me?" she accused him.

It was a lame excuse of conversation starters but Peter just smiled at the woman, "Well, I have more time dealing with criminals and witnesses then friends." He shook his head.

"We're not friends, Peter," She tilted her head while her eyes trained on his face, "We never were." She spat the words out like it was poison in her mouth.

"That's right," Peter sighed and just nodded along to her statement, "We're not friends. We are technically brother and sister." There, I said it, he thought, just doesn't feel like it after what I put her through.

Emma's chest tightened at the thought of the Bishop family, "No," her voice wavered but held strong to her will power, "we're not." They couldn't be, not anymore.

"Yes. Walter," He avoided her eyes, looking down at the cup surrounded by his hands. He chuckled at the news he had found out when he had finished calling her this morning, "seemed to have forgotten to," he scratched the back of his ear, nervous of how to approach the subject, "mention that part. He had wanted you to join the family—in fact, you are legally part of the Bishop family. Which is quiet surprising actually—"

"What are you saying?" She cut off his rambling. She mouth twitched with remembrance of Peter's father doing the same thing—going off on tangents. Walter—she remembered—was always going on about something that should never be touched, or messed with—or even be possible.

He sighed, "He adopted you…before you—disappeared." He eyes trailed up to her face, expecting a shock look, but only gotten a cold stare back, "you don't believe me?" he stalked out, shocked by her—in more way than one.

"You aspect me to believe that?" she shot back at him, before scuffing, "Can we get to the point of me being here?" she threw out into the air, for she didn't want to talk about what happened back then—she wanted to talk about the now.

"No." He was firm in the word, "We need to talk about this, Ems." He didn't want her to turn away from this—the only family she had really started (and liked after her first family betrayal and the second to thirds—) to like and know, "I want us to be your family." He reached over to the woman's hand to comfort her. He needed her to know that—and that Walter was out of the asylum. The last time he brought him up to her in the past, she avoided the questions and statements like the plague, "But I can see that you're not ready," not giving her enough time to speak, "there's another thing…Walter's out." From past experiences with the woman before him; he knew that being direct was the only way to get through.

Emma sat there. Sat there thinking as the words sunk into her brain—twisting and configuring in different paths, "He's…" she paled a little bit tugging her hand out from his. The last time she had seen Walter was when he put her back into the system. What Peter was telling him was false, "No…none of this is true. He—put me into the system again. I didn't run away—why would I run away from the best thing in my pathetic life?" She tried to explain. Walter didn't adopt her…no, not at all.

Peter looked confused, "No—"

But Emma was quicker, leaning over to him, "You didn't know half as much you think you do about what your father was into, Peter. So I won't go into it—but in no way would that man ever let me stay with his son. I was just part of the twisting experiments, Bishop. We all were." She leaned out of his space, to sigh.

The room grew quiet once again. The air hung still like frozen in time of the moment. The morning bird's chirps muffled through the kitchen as the two stared at each other once again—neither backing down. The sun tinted through the window over the sink and the sliding back door splashing its waves on any surface it could find.

"What did he do to you, Em?" Peter whispered the question feeling as though it was a dream and anything louder would shatter it to a nightmare of his worst enemies.

Emma was the first one to look away, her jaw moving under her skin in annoyance, "Take it up with him. I'm not telling you shit…can we please just get to why I'm really here for?" She finished softly. She would go back to her apartment…yes that apartment. The one where Henry had announced himself into her world on her birthday a couple years ago. She thought it would always come in handy—and here, she was right.

"Jenson. Right." He sighed, wiping a hand over his face. It was barely late afternoon and he was tired, "He was uhh," he cleared his throat more of things his father could have done to Emma. He didn't partially like her in the beginning—but she…warmed something in him after a while. He would have to ask Walter was happened—that is if he remembered at all, "His head was cut off—clear shot like it was a mannequin." He cleared up for her, "there was only one witness—which is weird, but," he shook his head to keep on track, "what is more interesting was that he had no one around when his head rolled itself off his shoulders."

"So you're telling me," she clarified, "that his head—without using a knife to open the wound—just sliced itself off his shoulders?"

He nodded.

"Well," she sighed, "what does this have to do with me?" Not liking where this was going for her.

He smiled, "How's your acting skills these days?"

March 19, 1986

Emma watched as they talked about where everything in the house was but she paid them little mind. She didn't want to meet their son. The last one—wasn't so pleasant to be around for long. She just wanted to be left alone on by her own advices. Yet, it was impossible for her still being too young, and hated by everyone she met.

Until—Walter, of course.

"'Ello Peter," Mrs. Bishop's voice rang sweetly into her head, throwing her out of her own minding thoughts. He was descending the stairs, slowly like a scared animal not familiar with the people around him, "Peter, this Emma Swan," the woman stated, before landing her arm around Emma's shoulder—but didn't notice her flinch at contact so early in the knowing process, "She'll be staying with us for a while, maybe even more. Wouldn't that be fun?" She dazzled a smile to her son hoping that he wouldn't frighten the girl. It had been months or so since Walter had snatched him from the other universe. It was still a bumpy roads some days—but they were getting there.

Peter's eyes glanced at the girls stiffening stance and just offered her a small smile. He knew how it felt, the uncomfortable situations, "You the girl that has no known parents, right?" he questioned the girl; sealing their fate to bicker and harass each other.

"Peter!" Elizabeth gasped at her son, "You should never—"

"He's right," Emma cut through, "I don't have parents. They were bad people that left me for death. But I guess that would makes you a genius of figuring things out, since I am here without them in a stranger's house." She pointed out, leaving both adults stunned at Emma intellectual and snappy remarks. High above her education level and learning as well.

Peter smirked to himself, knowing that this was going to be fun, "Sure. Ems whatever." He dismissed the girl before turning up the stairs once again, his duty fulfilled for the day.

"It's Emma!" She shot back at him, leaving her with the last word of their non-existing conversation.

Point Emma. Zero Peter.

"Well dear."Walter watched amused by their behavior, "it seems that this is going to be fun." He turned away from them humming as he went into his study happily.

Killian

Killian didn't believe in things like luck; but he was certain that he found the jackpot of it.

When he had stormed out of Emma's apartment, he was going to find her if it was the last thing he would do. This statement is true but he had nowhere to start. So, he eventually called the help of Emma's lad to narrow it down with him. The realm was big compared to places he was once seen. They had pinpointed it to Boston, for Henry told him that when she first moved here someone packed her stuff and sent it to her here. That must have been the friend that had called this morning.

Which led him here at her old apartment building. When they had found about her still paying for it, Henry was surprised that she still had kept it paid in full all of these years. The poor lad panicked about her leaving him and StoryBrooke—for good. But Killian talked the lad down, providing that she could have just paid in full. Even if he didn't really believe it, or fully understand what that meant, he knew in his heart that was where she would go. He had taken a lot of time to travel to the city, since his boat could only get him so far—not like it did when he track her—uhmm—the Crocodile in New York City.

But nevertheless, he was here now. He made his way crossed the street being mindful of the vehicles on the road this time.

He broke into the building fast, through the back door—not wanting to alert his Swan that he was here…yet.

He strode up the stairs to her level. He breathed a sigh—controlling his excitement of seeing her …and to rifle her beautiful feathers once again. He could just imagine her face—full of shock, disbelief and anger. He counted off the doors till he met a door that was green with cursive black writing on it. Perfect for his Swan's taste.

He knocked.

Swan

Emma huffed at her luck at working with Bishop again. He had told her the plan of what she would do—with him. Nothing serious really; just being fake couple. A fucking fiancée couple—on top of that—for an art show to which she hated. She tried to pull out of it; wondering how the hell that had to deal with Jenson. He only told her that it was because she knew the most about him—since she was the one that almost captured him—she would be able to pick out who would have a grudge against him the most. But arguing didn't help get her out of it at all.

The. Worst. Excuse. Ever, Emma repeated mindlessly to herself. She knew that Peter had called her for what he found out about what Walter had gone and done. Great.

Peter also asked if she wanted to see Walter after they had finished talking about the plan. She shudder to a stop at the thought, and thoroughly declined the notion. Then she hightailed it out of there before he could think of changing her mind.

Now, all Emma wanted to do was fall into bed to sleep for days. After her conversation with Killian this morning, then Peter's confession of what could be called a big fat lie; she was mentally—and emotionally exhausted to the bone.

She grunted to the doorman, before climbing into the elevator. As the doors closed, she sighed tiredly while leaning on the back of the elevator to close her eyes for a short period. She knew once she was done—that she would go into a cabin in the woods alone to just deal with shit. Yes, that's a plan, she encouraged herself.

Once the doors opened she pulled her keys from her bag and unlocked her door. She just dropped her bags at the door to deal with them in the morning. Her headache was coming back now, full force with no small mercy—storming like a bitch. She walked down the hallway, pulling off her jacket to place it on the island in the kitchen. The lights were still dark but she had learned a long time ago to move within the dark for things.

She sighed, noticing a little too late a presence before a light was turned on from the little living room in front of her giving away to Killian's laid back form. Looking sexy as sin. A smirk was present of his face, applauding himself with breaking into her apartment and taking her off guard.

Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of him here. She stood frozen in place like a statue. He couldn't be here with her, she didn't tell—or give him any indication of where she was going. But it was broken when his Irish lit broke through, knowing there was no way that she could ever prefect his voice inside her head as it just simply states, "'Ello, my Swan."

AN: so here we meet again...old friend. Haha...wow people like this? I'm surprised. But I WOULD LOVE YOU GUYS MORE IF YOU REVIEW!?!

SPEACIAL THANKS TO: kendra2608 (my new bestie :D), and ChamberlinofMusic!

YOU GUYS ROCK OUT LOUD-IF I COULD-I WOULD GIVE YOU BOTH HUGS AND A COOKIE.

Cuz i kinda don't really bake that often.

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DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!

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SNEAK PEAK: (KEEP THIS UNDER HUSH, HUSH)

A Bell rang around them surrounding them with its ding as the brightness fade to color around them, as a building came into view.

"Love?" Killian questioned.

"Crap." Emma could only mutter to him.

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"Let go of me!" Henry screamed to the havens...to anyone...the god and the angels above. His father didn't know where he was...he knew in this moment-he should've left a note.