A/N Hello everyone! Reviews are awesome, so thanks to everyone who takes the time to leave one.

At Nouqueret: Thanks for the idea of involving Ruby, and for the complement about Twilight! I've never read it or seen it, but I know it's very well-received. Ruby will have a part in this fic, but a small one as I think the vampire/werewolf thing is a bit overdone.

Love to you all who follow and fav!

Chapter 7

Freshly showered and relaxed, Emma and Killian sat on the main deck of the Jolly Roger, leaning against the base of the foredeck, legs outstretched, watching the stars peek out one by one. He was wearing a clean pair of worn leather pants and white shirt, perfect for lounging. Emma had on a longer white shirt, meant for sleeping, her legs uncovered. When Killian had seen the goosebumps on her skin from the chill night air, he had loaned her his black jacket. She then understood why he wore it so often; the comforting weight and soft leather molded to her body completely. Their quiet conversation tinkled in the soft breeze, occasionally punctuated by soft laughter.

He was holding her hand, their fingers interlaced, and he felt like he was in a dream, listening to his sweet lass, everything good and perfect in the world around them. Killian couldn't remember the last time he had been so content.

For all the fireworks earlier that afternoon, Emma couldn't remember the last time she had felt so safe. She never shared this much personal information with anyone, not even her mother, whose heart was softer than anyone she'd ever met. He listened, interjected appropriately, asked questions, and was really all the gentleman he claimed to be. He told her stories about his past too. She learned more about Milah, how they'd met and the circumstances surrounding her flight from the Crocodile. He discussed his childhood, growing up in his brother's intimidating shadow and how much he strove for Liam's approval. Emma leaned her head on his shoulder as the night wore on, neither of them wanting it to end.

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Katrina had been monitoring the fisherman for two weeks. That was her rule, to watch someone for enough time to know their routines, and learn about any family connections or close friends. She always picked someone isolated, with the exception of the drunk, who she chose precisely because he was well-known.

Lonnie Anderson lived in a shanty about thirty minutes from the city center. He owned his own boat, taking it out every day except Sunday when he stayed inside and watched television all day, getting up only to replenish his beer. He was home every night without a visitor or a phone call. There were no pictures on the walls of his home, no keepsakes, no mementoes. He lived the life of a hermit, and made the perfect victim. With so many fishermen in the harbor town, she seriously doubted he would be missed, and Katrina knew he would never be found. Working at the morgue had its advantages.

She arrived at his house early, observed his evening meal. Every night was the same: he ate two boxed microwaveable dinners and drank three beers, watching television until he fell asleep in his dingy chair. He would wake up in the early morning and then finish out the night in his bed. That's when Katrina would strike, doing the pour soul a favor by liberating him from his miserable existence.

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Emma and Killian's conversation waned the sleepier they became. Even though the day had been more fun than either had experienced in a long time, it had still been a long day, and they were physically tired.

Killian shifted after a particularly long break in the conversation, looked at Emma and noticed her eyes growing heavy. He groaned as he stood up, stretching his back, and then bent down to give her a hand. He felt as old as he was, his knees cracking and his joints popping with the motion. She took his offered hand and stood up sleepily. He began to lead her below deck.

Hesitating when she realized the direction they were moving, she quietly stated, "I don't think this is a good idea."

He placed his hand on her cheek, stroking her face with his thumb, "We're both fatigued, love, and I don't want to spend the night on the deck again."

She couldn't argue with that one, as sore as she'd been the other day. Head down, she vacillated between staying and going, her heart torn by the consequences of either action. She glanced up at him then, his intense blue eyes looking so hopeful, and she knew… knew without a doubt that she could trust him with her heart… knew that he was in love with her, would fight for her and never hurt her as long it was in his power. Throwing caution to the wind, she allowed him to tug her to his cabin.

Killian couldn't believe his luck. He was dancing a jig on the inside, although he kept his expression and body language calm and serene. As she followed him into the room, he felt his heartbeat quicken with the anticipation of spending the night curled up around his Swan. Looking over his shoulder at her, he picked up the hem of his shirt silently asking if she minded if he took it off. She shook her head and he quickly removed it, throwing it to the floor. Figuring he wouldn't risk asking if his pants could go too, he kept them on knowing they would be uncomfortable under the blanket, but worth the aggravation to keep her there. Shrugging out of his jacket, she climbed into bed, and he longed to trail his fingers up her long legs, under the hem of the shirt… He had to focus on something else or he wouldn't have the self-control that this night was going to require of him.

Emma settled under the blanket, her tired body melting into the soft mattress. Killian trailed behind, the mattress dipping a little under his weight. Firmly establishing himself next to her, their arms touching side by side, she heard him whisper, "You're on my side, lass."

She grinned, grateful for the break in tension that had been growing since her decision to stay. Slightly nervous about being so close to his warm, naked torso, she picked up the thread of the earlier conversation and said, "Tell me more about Liam."

He recounted a story about how they'd once fallen in love with the same lass, causing a rift because she chose Liam, and how Liam had valued his brother's feelings over the girl's. He spoke about how honorable Liam was, how trusting and loyal.

Killian Jones' soothing voice lulled Emma to sleep better than any mother quietly singing to her child. The still air was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a very unladylike snort, and Killian stopped his narration to look over at her. She was passed out, her face completely relaxed and worry-free. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek and followed her into the land of dreams.

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Katrina sat on an old tree stump outside the fisherman's house clad in her dark red dress that fell to the ankles, her black cape tossed aside. In the forest she could dress as she pleased, there was no one to see her. She listened to his rhythmic snoring, marring the magnificent sounds of the forest at night. For as much as she loved the taste of human blood, she hated humans themselves, thinking they were nasty creatures, dirty and loud, messy and absurd. She found nothing to redeem them in her sight, even if she had once been one so many years ago. She liked her enhanced self, and without a thought regarding her own culpability in murder, she thought she was doing the race a favor by slowly diminishing it.

At the sputter and cough of the reeking man, Katrina knew this was her moment. Although she had taken thousands of victims, she thrilled in anticipation of the satisfaction she knew was inevitable. Every time was like the first.

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The sunlight shone through the open window of Killian's quarters, gently nudging Emma awake. The comforting presence of Killian's warm body pressed against her back, and arms encircling her waist, encouraged her to snuggle deeper into the thick blanket.

Feeling her stir, Killian opened his eyes. He had been awake since daybreak and had been listening to his lass's quiet snoring for a few hours now. He had kept his word, ever the gentleman, only snuggling with her, frightened she'd bolt if he withdrew the feelings that seemed to spark her magical glow. It took more self-control than he knew he possessed.

"Good morning, love. Sleep well?" He knew the answer, she hadn't stirred all night.

Stretching a little and cupping her body tighter into his, she moaned, "Mmm hmm."

His arms tightened around her middle and she turned to face him, tracing the outline of his face with her thumb, splaying her fingers in his chest hair. He threw a leg over her and they stayed in each other's arms for what felt like the longest and shortest five minutes of his life.

Suddenly she sat bolt upright. "What time is it?"

Still lying down, immediately grieving the loss of her soft warm body, he answered, "I… I don't know, lass. Somewhere around ten, I imagine?"

Swinging her legs over the bed and standing up, she shouted, "Crap. Crap. Crap! I was supposed to meet Neal to pick up Henry half an hour ago. And as it is I have to go home and change first. How am I going to explain the way I'm dressed to my family, and half the town?" she cried, "I walked over here and now I have to walk back!"

Chuckling at her distress and hiding his own sorrow at her admission that she still felt she needed to hide their relationship, he stood up and stated, "Your clothes are probably clean by now, lass. I threw them in the laundry while I was waiting for you to finish your shower."

"The harbor has a laundry?"

"Not for everyone's use, mind. But I befriended the harbor master and he said I could use his washer whenever I wanted. It's a small room off the back of the showers and I have a key."

Donning a shirt, he said, "Wait here, and I'll be back as quick as a wink."

Amazed at his thoughtfulness, Emma watched him disappear from the room. She looked around at his cabin, taking in the ordered chaos around her. He had books and charts covering his desk along with an unopened package of pens. He had small mementoes of his travels placed in niches all around the room, giving it a homey feel.

He returned and handed over her jeans and tank top, freshly laundered and folded. "How did you…? I mean, you never left my side…? How did you get them out of the washer and into the dryer?"

"Can't tell you all my secrets, lass." He kissed her cheek and closed the door behind him, allowing her privacy. His demeanor caused her to relax and she smiled in spite of her anxiety at being late.

Walking back on deck, she found him looking out over the water. Before she said a word, he turned and pulled her into his embrace, holding her close as though afraid he might not have another chance to do so.

"When will I see you again, love?" he asked gently, pulling back enough to look into her striking sea green eyes.

"I… I'm not sure. I have Henry this week and I don't know what my schedule looks like at work."

He searched her face and saw that she wasn't avoiding him at present; she was actually trying to figure out when she might have time to see him. "Then I'll find you, lass." With that, he kissed her gently and whacked her rear as she walked away, causing her to turn and narrow her eyes at him. "What?" he asked slyly, trying to look innocent.

Laughing to herself, she shook her head and trotted back to town.

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Arriving at Gold's shop about twenty minutes later, Emma knocked on the door, slightly winded.

"Mom!" Henry exclaimed when he opened the door. He hugged her tight and motioned her in.

"Hey, kid, how was your weekend?" She still had her arm around him as they walked into the antique shop, smelling of ancient items and dust.

"Good! Neal took me to the movies in the next town over. We saw Twilight." He buzzed with excitement, sharing so many details of the movie that Emma wouldn't have to watch it herself. She smiled at his news, happy that he was happy.

"Hi Em," Neal greeted as he walked into the main part of the shop.

"I heard you guys had a fun day yesterday." Neal was staring at her, making Emma feel slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. She prayed he wasn't going to ask her out again.

Turning to Henry, he said, "Hey, can you give your mom and me a second alone?"

With a knowing smile and a nod at his father, Henry skipped to the back of the store, presumably to get his things together.

Oh no, here it comes, Emma thought. She had felt so lighthearted the whole jog over here, now he was going to ruin it. Despite her misgivings, she looked at him expectantly.

Wringing his hands, he asked, "Have you given my question anymore thought?"

Playing dumb, she answered, "What question?"

"You know, a date," rushing on, "It doesn't have to be anything fancy, maybe coffee or lunch…" He trailed off and ran a hand through his hair, obviously nervous.

"Oh Neal," she groaned, "Can't this wait? Can't we just be friends for awhile? We just got back to Storybrooke and I want things to be settled for a bit before… before…" What was she trying to say, and who was she trying to fool? A date with Neal would never compare to the date she had just come from. Neal would never compare to Killian. He was a great guy, kind and easy going. But he wasn't going to fight for what he loved, and Emma knew she'd settle for nothing less anymore. She had a taste of something miraculous, and she wasn't willing to sacrifice it by going back to a relationship that had never been that great to begin with.

Looking appropriately chagrined, Neal answered, "Ok. I get it. I'll wait for you, Emma. You're worth waiting for." His eyes were probing hers for any kind of confirmation that he wouldn't be waiting in vain.

"Don't," she whispered under her breath, "I don't I have the energy to make a relationship work between us. I love you, Neal, and I always will, but I can't live with you anymore." And that was the honest truth. She had always been the type to pull the Bandaid off quickly. The pain was more intense, but brief, rather than a persisting, throbbing ache. She might hurt Neal now, but he'd thank her later for not leading him on.

As if on cue, Henry reappeared, brightly smiling with his bag and backpack, ready to go. "Ready, Mom?"

Emma looked over at a dejected Neal, trying to smile despite a breaking heart. She tenderly touched his shoulder as she left with Henry leading the way.

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Henry talked animatedly the entire walk back to the apartment. As soon as they hiked in the door, Mary Margaret greeted Henry and then drew Emma into a tight embrace.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in two days!" she cried, "where were you this morning?"

Her mother could be a bit dramatic, so Emma answered carefully, "I woke up early and went over to Granny's for breakfast. Then I went to Neal's to pick up Henry, although I was late getting there." Emma walked over to the kitchen to see if there was any coffee left, thankful that Mary Margaret couldn't detect lies like she could.

"Oh. Well, that's ok then," she brightened, sitting back down at the table where she had been reading a magazine.

Just then David walked into the living room. Henry ran over and hugged him, always happy to see his grandfather.

"Hey, champ. How was your weekend?"

As Henry filled them in, Emma went upstairs to her room and sat on her bed, coffee in hand. She needed a moment alone to process the last twenty-four hours. Her time with Killian filled her with hope, hope that she could love and be loved. She didn't think she had fallen yet, but knew she was well on her way, knew he made her feel sensations she'd never felt before, knew he made her feel cherished and adored. No man had ever respected her the way he did, teased her and coddled her. He was unexpectedly thoughtful and just plain… just plain wonderful. She sighed, laid back on her bed, forgetting about the coffee in her hand, and dumped it all over her.