Emma groaned as she cracked her eyes open, even the muted gray of the cloudy morning torturously bright. She groped on the nightstand for her phone with her eyes closed, cursing when water sloshed over her hand. "What the hell?" she mumbled to herself, blearily opening her eyes once more. She never left anything liquid on her nightstand for a reason.

But this morning, the small bedside table held the remains of a glass of water and a bottle of Advil placed within her reach. Frowning, she rolled over to grab the painkillers, her head throbbing as the room spun. She usually wasn't so prepared for a hangover, and the thought tugged at something deeper, something else hovering just beyond her reach.

"And there's the phone," she muttered as it dug into her hip, still in the pocket of her jeans.

Why am I wearing jeans? I don't sleep in jeans. Or a sweater.

She quickly finished the water with the pills, momentarily setting aside the question to soothe her parched tongue. Blinking in the too-bright light, Emma glanced around the room, taking note of her boots carefully placed against the wall. She wasn't that tidy.

Oh no.

"What the hell did you do?" she asked herself, her memory rushing back and heating her cheeks. Wincing at the tilting room, she flopped back on the pillows, pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes and willing the dizziness to pass.

It subsided, but her profound embarrassment only grew. She drank too much – way too much. How had it even gotten so bad?

You know exactly how.

Coming home, she'd been frustrated with the case and anxious about spending time with Killian outside of work. Ever since that afternoon at his apartment, it had been harder than ever to deny that something lived between them, a simmering kettle of desires that was liable to boil over, and soon. Her skin had tingled all afternoon cooped up in the conference room with him, her body practically vibrating with tension. Time and again, she'd forced herself to look away, to stop wondering if his lips were as soft as they looked, if the scruff on his cheeks would burn against the inside of her thighs or tickle.

And maybe she could have handled that. So what if they had an...unsavory...past. Killian was still an attractive guy – but that intangible something wasn't just lust. Lust didn't fuss and make tea and walk a girl to her car. And Emma couldn't handle that. Not now. Not with him.

So she'd poured a drink to help settle herself while she showered and dressed. And it had been okay at first, the scotch helping her push the frustrations of work out of her mind. Somewhere toward the end of the first glass, she'd traded one sweater for another, and then poured another glass while she fixed her makeup. Had there been a third? One more to calm the unexpected jitters that had flared up when she'd looked in the mirror? Her eyes had already been bright, her cheeks warm, and her sweater showing off her curves – and a tiny, tiny part of her she didn't want to acknowledge was already anticipating the look on Killian's face. Yeah, there had been a third, but it hadn't made her forget her nerves – it had only lit the tinderbox of emotions inside her when it came to one Killian Jones.

Emma groaned at the flood of memories, flinging her arm over her eyes. She had been late to Graham's, and her behavior with Killian in front of her friends…

Which didn't even begin to touch the way she had behaved once they were alone. She cringed at the very thought – pressing herself against him on the sidewalk, telling him he wanted to, of all the damned things, take her to bed, admitting what she'd known deep down to be true about that night at Gold's…and worst of all, kissing him. What the hell had she been thinking?

She had practically offered herself up to him as Gold once had, and what had he done? Stopped her. Stopped her and kissed her forehead in a move so tender the memory left her chest tight.

Stopped her despite it being obvious how little he wanted to, how very much he would have liked to keep going. The kiss was a hazy memory, but the flashes that stood out – his weight pressing her to the mattress, the soft groan as their lips had met, the way his hand had tangled in her hair and then started to move over her – those moments were so vivid Emma couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like if Killian wasn't so...Killian.

What the hell am I going to do now?

Pretend it never happened. It's worked before.

Not with him.

Rubbing her thumb across her lips, Emma lifted her phone to her face, squinting at the screen. It was already midday, and she had messages from both Ruby and Killian. Ruby's message was sure to be easier to swallow, so she read that first and quickly replied, assuring her friend that she was fine and she could handle the hangover. She ignored the implied question in Ruby's far-from-innocent you were wearing Killian's jacket when you left.

Emma's thumb hovered over the screen after she hit send, dread welling up in her stomach. What must he think of her? Had she lost all of his respect? Why the hell had she kissed him in the first place? Of course, he had kissed her back, and then there was that forehead kiss, and god dammit, Emma, what have you done?

Telling herself not to be a coward, she brought up Killian's messages, holding her breath.

I suspected you might be a tad under the weather this morning. There are bagels and coffee outside your door. Eat the bagels, sop up the scotch. I knocked but I believe you were still asleep.

There was a second message, time-stamped forty minutes later.

If you're avoiding me, there's no need. We needn't discuss last night if you don't wish to. I'll add it to the list.

Emma groaned, noting the second text had been sent twenty minutes ago. She knew Killian well enough to sense the bite in his last sentence. It was plain from his behavior at his apartment the afternoon she'd lost it that he wouldn't allow her to run from everything and everyone. He may have granted her a temporary reprieve, but he wouldn't forget the evening, and he wouldn't let it go until she explained why she'd turned up already well into the scotch.

He definitely wouldn't forget her admitting her part in what had happened at Gold's.

Drunk Emma had always been a more honest Emma, and as she lay in her bed trying to summon the energy to get the coffee Killian had left, she forced herself to examine what she'd said to him. She had been pushy that night at Gold's – the awfulness of the situation had made her angry and resentful, and she'd lashed out. She was damn lucky Killian had turned out to be an undercover cop; if he really had been Charles Ellis, she might have ended up dead for some of the things she'd said.

And last night…last night she had thrown herself at him. All the pretending in the world didn't change that she knew he wanted her, even after everything between them. And Emma…Emma didn't know what she wanted. He was sinfully attractive, all dark hair and bright eyes. She'd caught him staring at her before, smoldering with desire before he wiped his expression clean. He hadn't pushed her away at Graham's, not when she'd leaned into him or laid her hand on his thigh or brushed up against him as she passed.

And he hadn't been sober, either. She vaguely recalled him sharing a bottle of rum with Graham. He had tasted of it when she kissed him, slightly spicy and sweet. She didn't know many men with enough self-control to walk away with their own inhibitions lowered.

Graham hadn't.

Dragging out all the ghosts this morning, are we?

Needing to get out of bed, Emma forced herself to her feet, grabbing at the wall for balance as the room tilted madly. It was slow going, and when she finally got the door open, she was half-afraid she would find Killian waiting to ambush her.

But the only things she found were the promised bagels and coffee.

The coffee had gone lukewarm. Emma drank it anyway, nibbling at a bagel despite her uneasy stomach as she collapsed onto the couch. She was halfway through the coffee before she realized Killian had fixed it exactly how she liked it, pausing to stare down into the creamy liquid with a groan. What the hell had she set in motion last night? The sudden certainty that some doors, once opened, could never be closed again descended with alarming speed.

Killian had left her jacket folded neatly over the back of the couch, and the sight dredged up the memory of wearing his coat. Why the hell had she done that? Even drunk Emma had to know the difference between black and red. Her motivations lost, all she did remember was the coziness of being wrapped up in Killian's scent, curling her fingers into the too-long sleeves and not wanting to give the jacket back. And then there had been the walk back, Killian's arm around her, his breath on her cheek, and…

Stop. You and Killian…there is no you and Killian. There never will be a you and Killian. Even if you wanted to – which you don't – but if you did, there's too much history. Neither one of you will ever forget what happened at Gold's. You can't build a relationship on that.

Except hadn't she just admitted that she knew they were both in a bad situation that night? There hadn't been a way out for either of them, not without compromising their covers. Neither had known the other's true identity, and admitting to being undercover could have gotten them killed if they were who they were supposed to be.

Not to mention Rose. Emma winced at the thought, thankful for once she had no family to speak of. She was hell-bent on avenging a friend she'd lost over ten years ago – Killian's niece had been missing in the moment. If she'd been chasing after Lily, where would she have drawn the line at what she was willing to do to save someone who meant that much to her? If she were in an honest mood, she wasn't sure there was a line when it came down to it. Why would it be any different for Killian?

Why you expect me to behave any differently, or accept less than you would, is a bloody mystery.

In the time she'd known him, he had showed over and over the depth of his emotions when it came to the people he cared about. She had never expected to find him in that stairwell as upset as he was, nor had she ever expected he would be willing to talk to her about it.

She never expected to care about what he had to say. She'd been determined to hate him from the moment she found out Regina wanted him on the investigation, determined never to let him forget what he'd done to her. But that wasn't fair, and she knew it. In the aftermath, she'd been too angry and humiliated, standing in front of an entire police squadron wrapped in a sheet, to really think about it, but Killian had been just as uncomfortable with the whole situation as she had been, maybe more so. And yet, once it became clear they were going to have sex one way or the other, he'd made an attempt to give her something from the encounter.

And for a moment, it had almost worked. To her surprise, her body had responded, and in the seconds it took for shame and horror to catch up, she had wondered what it might have been like if Charles Ellis wasn't a drug runner and she wasn't pretending to be Gold's whore.

If anything, that one moment had made her even more determined to hate him, to correct the wrongness of her body's response to him. Killian probably knew it too, but he'd still fought to protect her. He'd covered her without hesitation in that alley, and his quick thinking and coolness under pressure likely saved them that night. He was a man willing to fight for the people he cared about, and somehow, Emma had landed herself in that category.

She was someone Killian Jones cared about, whether she wanted to be or not.

She never should have let Ruby talk her into going to Graham's. They didn't need a night off – they needed to catch Gold. It was bad enough she'd accepted the invitation, but to get herself mixed up in personal drama with Killian too? He was a distraction, and distractions were not going to help her with the case.

Killian wasn't the monster she'd let herself believe he was, but distractions got people killed.

Determined not to think about him anymore, Emma dragged herself into the shower. By the time she had eaten, showered, and downed another cup of coffee, she almost felt human again. Her eyes were a little red, but otherwise she looked normal enough. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and her keys from the counter, Emma headed for the office.

Days off were distractions, too.

-x-

Killian picked up his phone for the fifth time in as many minutes, growing progressively more frustrated with the dark screen. It had been hours since he'd dropped by Emma's, and still no response to his messages. He could rationalize her not answering the door, as it had been a tad on the early side. But hours later, well beyond when she would have woken, there was only one conclusion to draw.

Not that he wished to accept that conclusion.

"What's going on with you today?" Across from him, David pointed at the phone with the french fry in his hand. "It hasn't left your hand." His frown gave his opinion on the matter quite clearly.

"Nothing to trouble you with." Killian shoved the phone in his pocket, turning his attention back to his lunch. He'd been tempted to decline David's invitation, but he hadn't seen his boss and friend much with everything else going on. He'd known David would see through him in an instant – the man knew him better than anyone – and constantly checking his mobile wasn't going to do him any favors.

"Something to do with Emma Swan?"

Killian's head jerked up, regarding the other man. "Why would it?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

David shrugged. "You tell me."

"Alas, there's nothing to tell." Killian painted his face in innocence, silently counting off his breaths and keeping his shoulders loose. He really did not want to discuss anything having to do with Emma and what had happened between them, either last night or at any other time. Not with David, anyway.

Maybe with Emma. If she would answer her bloody phone.

His friend leaned back in the booth, arms crossed firmly over his chest and brows drawn. Killian stopped himself from groaning aloud just in time. He knew that look. It was the same look David got before interrogating a suspect.

"Try again."

This time, Killian did groan, running one hand through his hair. "The lass had a bit too much to drink last night, and when I went to check on her this morning, she didn't answer her door." It was the truth, after a fashion.

"You went to her apartment?"

"I walked her home last night. She was…impaired." Killian winced, realizing how terrible it sounded, but David cut him off before he could clarify.

"Something happened." It wasn't a question, and Killian cursed the man for being able to read him so well.

"I'm insulted you think so lowly of me," he deflected, ignoring that something had happened, and he was certain it was the reason for Emma's silence. She wasn't the most talkative correspondent, but she usually answered texts within a few minutes. Killian scowled, reaching into his pocket and checking his phone again, David be damned. Still no response. "I walked her home and put her to bed with some water," he finally added when David continued to merely stare at him, waiting for an explanation.

But his boss only continued to study him, and just when Killian thought he was satisfied, David started in again. "Something is off. There's more you're not telling me. You talked my ear off about Robin when you were first partners. Yet this woman, with all your history, not a word." He spoke as though reciting a list of facts in a case, and Killian fought the urge to tell him to sod off.

"I've reported back with…" he tried, but David wasn't having that excuse either.

"No one said you weren't doing your job, Jones. Regina Mills hasn't sent you packing yet, so that counts for something." David sighed, unfolding his arms and leaning across the table on his elbows. "Look, man, it's plain as day you're into her. You need to get over it. I won't have you on this case with your judgment compromised."

"My judgment is not bloody compromised!" Killian's hand slammed down on the table, rattling the silverware.

David raised an eyebrow at him as if to say his point had just been proven. Killian muttered an apology, returning to his meal.

"If that changes, you're off the case."

"Understood, Sergeant." Killian knew David hated his title, especially with old friends and off-duty. His glare said so, but he let the subject drop. Killian steered the conversation toward baseball, an easy topic with which to engage Dave, a lifelong Red Sox fan. Killian didn't particularly care about baseball, with the exception of the fact it was a perfectly acceptable place to have a beer in the middle of the day, but he'd much rather discuss batting statistics than Emma Swan. He forced himself not to check his phone again for the remainder of the afternoon, clenching his fingers around it in his pocket until they parted ways.

The moment David turned the block to head for his apartment, Killian pulled out the phone, frowning at it in the fading gray light. No messages.

Frustration mounting, he decided he was done with texts. "Come on, Swan, pick up," he muttered as he listened to the phone ring. A sliver of worry had worked its way into his thoughts as the afternoon wore on – what if she wasn't avoiding him at all? What if she'd fallen in the night and something was truly wrong? And even if she was avoiding him, it was a little bloody ridiculous. They still worked together.

It wasn't like he'd been foolish enough to accept the blatant invitation to her bed. He didn't deserve to be ignored.

You have reached Special Agent Emma Swan with the FBI, Boston. If this is an emergency…

Growling with irritation, Killian hung up. He hated her voice on the recording, cold and detached. Despite his resolve not to, he sent another text. I'm worried, Swan. Pick up your bloody phone.

When his phone rang a block later, he didn't bother checking the call ID before answering. "Oh, so you are aware how the contraption works?"

"Catch you at a bad time?" It was Belle's voice that greeted him, tentative in response to his gruff hello.

"No, not at all. My apologies. I thought you were someone else." Reaching the corner, he stopped to wait for the light to change. "Just walking back from lunch with Dave Nolan. Is everything all right?" Killian hated himself for even thinking it, but every time Belle called these days, he was on edge, waiting for terrible news.

"Yes. Actually, I'm calling because I think I might be able to help. Well, not me. But Rose. She's…remembering some details. Do you think I could bring her by tomorrow to talk to you?" She sighed, weariness slipping into her voice. "Maybe helping catch the guy will give her some peace."

"Do you think it best she talk to me?"

"You're her uncle."

"Is she still skittish around Will?" Belle's silence confirmed his fear. "Perhaps a woman would be a better choice. There are several female agents…"

"Would Emma be willing to talk to her? You said she'd been working on this case for a long time. You trust her, right?" There was a desperate edge to Belle's words, a plea for him to keep her little girl safe. He didn't have to ask to understand why she wanted Rose to talk to someone he knew. "She was there that day with Rose, and I just thought…"

Killian hesitated, the thought of Emma stirring up a tangle of emotions all over again. She was on edge these days, and he wasn't sure he wanted to subject either Emma or Rose to a rehashing of the details of Gold's den of iniquity. But then again, maybe whatever Rose had remembered would be the break they needed and would pull Emma out of her mood. "Of course. Why don't you come by the FBI's office tomorrow morning? Around ten?"

And hopefully Emma will be there.

"Yes, that will work. Thank you, Killian." Belle paused. "Are you sure everything is all right? When you answered, you sounded…you never answer your phone like that."

"Everything is fine, love. You know how it can be trying to get some bloody people to return your calls. Informants are handy, but terribly unreliable." He winced, knowing the lie was a pathetic one as it left his lips. Belle knew enough cops to know his personal number wasn't the one he gave out to the various useful degenerates in the city – but she had enough problems without his personal issues with Emma, especially not when she was putting her trust in the woman to help Rose.

"If you say so." She plainly didn't believe him, silence stretching between them as she waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she sighed into the phone. "I guess we'll see you tomorrow, then. Ten o'clock?"

"Aye. Call me when you arrive, and I'll come down to fetch you."

"Okay. Bye, Killian."

Killian hung up after wishing her a good night, staring down at the screen. Emma had finally answered him while he'd been talking to Belle, but her words did little to reassure him.

Thanks for coffee. Not avoiding just tired. See you tomorrow.

The words were perfectly polite, but cold. Emma's texts were usually short, but she loved her bloody emojis, and this message was completely devoid of them.

He was of half a mind to show up on her doorstep once more, but if he wanted the woman to trust him, he couldn't go behaving like a stalker. Resigning himself to a long night and an awkward morning, he resumed his trek home, stopping at the liquor store for a fresh bottle of rum.

Through the night, the misty gray gave way to a full on downpour. The rain tapped against the windows like ghosts begging entrance, and not in the mood to listen, Killian poured another glass of rum. Eventually, exhaustion and liquor pulled him under for another restless night spent on his couch.

The rain hadn't let up by morning, and Killian was soaked by the time he arrived at the office. The wind made an umbrella bloody useless, and though his leather coat did a fine job keeping out the water, his jeans were plastered to his legs and his hair dripped icy drops down the back of his neck.

When Emma's eyes lingered, he couldn't decide if he was flattered or more irritated with her than ever.

She didn't explain herself, and she didn't apologize. After he caught her staring, she rose from the table with flushed cheeks, immediately darting through the open door. Ruby raised an eyebrow at him across the table, giving a subtle shake of her head in warning not to follow. And usually, Killian would have ignored Red's suggestion and gone after Emma, but he was knackered and wearing wet jeans and utterly out of patience. He needed Emma to pull herself together and help his niece.

Working himself up to tell her just that, he was surprised when she returned with a towel. She dropped it in his lap as she passed without a word, and his temper flared all over again – until he realized she'd gone to the coffee pot in the corner and was pouring him a cup. She returned with it and one of the chocolate glazed donuts he favored, setting them both down on the conference table in front of him. His hand shot out when she silently turned away, grasping her fingers. Her skin was warm against his own, chilled and damp as it was, and he felt her shiver.

Waiting for her to finally look at him, he held her hesitant gaze. "Thank you," he said softly, releasing her hand before she could tug it away.

Emotion warred on her face, and for a moment he thought she might smile – but the flicker of warmth disappeared like it had been shut off. "You're dripping on the carpet," she said, stepping away from him. "Graham is at his desk if you want to borrow one of his shirts."

"Shirt isn't the problem, love." He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over the back of his chair to let the water run off. Other than the slightly damp neckline, the shirt was fine. The jeans on the other hand… "Don't suppose you've got a spare set of jeans?"

Emma sighed, rolling her eyes at his overly hopeful tone. "I can grab you a pair of sweats."

"I suppose FBI pants are better than soaked pants."

His joke fell on deaf ears. "Do you want them or not?" she snapped.

"I'll get them," Ruby interrupted before Killian could say anything. "Killian, come with me." He caught an indecipherable glance between the two women, but Emma backed off, turning back to her laptop.

"So…what happened after you left the other night?" Ruby asked the moment they were out of earshot. Even from the corner of his eye, Killian could feel the weight of her stare.

"What makes you think something happened?"

"Because Emma is being…Emma. I wasn't positive it had anything to do with you until just now. But I know her. That awkward, embarrassed, and pissed off woman you just saw is Emma when she feels backed into a corner by her own actions. So I'll ask again. What happened?" Ruby stopped in front of a door, looking up at him expectantly.

Killian scrubbed his hand over his face, avoiding Ruby's eyes and scratching behind his ear as the silence lengthened. "I really don't feel it's my place to…"

"Did you have sex?"

The blunt question startled him, and his face grew hot. "No. Bloody hell, you saw the condition she was in when we left. What sort of man do you take me for?" It rankled that she was the second person to insinuate he'd taken advantage of Emma.

"Emma can be very persuasive when she wants something."

"I imagine so."

"You imagine?" Ruby shook her head, lifting her ID to the door and holding it until the light turned green. The door unlocked with a click, and she pulled him into a supply room after her. Vests and jackets hung neatly against one wall, several shelves filled with T-shirts, sweatshirts, and sweatpants along the other. She gestured to the pile, taking a seat on a crate. "There should be a few in every size if you want to grab whatever."

"Thanks, Red."

He hadn't even crossed the room when she resumed her questioning, and Killian silently cursed the perils of having law enforcement for friends. "So you didn't sleep with her, but something happened. You might as well just tell me. She'll crack eventually. But if you tell me now, I might be able to help you navigate the boatload of crazy Emma will work herself into."

"I can handle myself."

"Did you kiss her?" Killian grit his teeth, thankful his back was to Ruby, little good it did him. "You did kiss her."

"She kissed me," he finally said, yanking a pair of pants free and nearly toppling the whole stack.

"Just a kiss?"

"Aye, just a bloody kiss! She kissed me, I knew she was well into her cups and wasn't certain she would even remember it in the morning. It was one kiss. I fetched her some water and Advil, and I went home. Satisfied?" Killian was surprised to find his breath had grown short, the words racing out of him and his hands clenched at his sides.

"Yes, actually." Ruby smiled up at him from her spot on the crate, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You'd be good for her, you know. I like Graham and all, but that was never going to work." She paused, tilting her head to the side and narrowing her eyes at him. "Though you might not have known that."

"I guessed something passed between them." He managed to keep the words even, though jealousy raged through his veins at the confirmation. The fact that Ruby didn't think it would ever work did little to soothe the green monster.

"It was a long time ago." Ruby rose, heading toward the door. "I'm not supposed to leave you in here, so I'm giving you two minutes to change your pants before I come back in if you're not out."

It took him a moment to register she'd truly gone after everything she'd said. Ruby's words landed harder than many punches he'd taken, but he forced himself to shake it off. The jeans would take ages to dry, and he didn't relish sitting around in wet trousers the rest of the day.

Even if he did look positively ridiculous in FBI sweats with his boots and shirt.

"That's a good look for you, Jones." Ruby did a poor job of hiding her laugh when he emerged. "I bet your BPD friends are super jealous."

"Aye, it's every detective's dream to be clad in FBI attire."

"I can take them back."

"That won't be necessary." He sighed, gingerly holding his soaked jeans out from his body as they made their way back to the conference room. "Maybe it will make my niece laugh, at least, since you find it so amusing."

"Your niece is coming in?"

"Aye. Her mum called me late yesterday and said they thought Rose may have remembered something. Belle thought perhaps Emma could talk to her."

"Do you want me to ask?"

"I can handle Swan."

Ruby hummed her agreement, her eyes filled with suggestion as she grinned up at him before striding into the conference room. Killian ignored her, grabbing the towel Emma had left for him and rubbing his hair with it before attempting to blot some of the water from his jeans.

Across the room, Emma was doing her very best to appear as if she didn't care he was there. She kept her head bent over her laptop, but her body language gave her away as she shifted toward him.

Killian let her be, gulping down the now lukewarm coffee and donut before checking his phone. It was just before nine, which gave him hopefully enough time to convince Emma to talk to Rose before Belle arrived with the girl in tow. Steeling himself for an argument, he got up to throw out the paper coffee cup and slid into a seat next to Emma on his way back. "Rose is coming in," he began without preamble, hoping to draw her attention by avoiding their personal situation. "Belle and I were hoping you could talk to her. She's beginning to remember things when speaking with the therapist and…"

"What time will she be here?" Emma cut in, all business. She might as well have been asking him where he'd been last night between the hours of two and four am.

"Belle said ten."

"All right. I'll reserve one of the smaller conference rooms. I assume you'll be sitting in?" She looked at him expectantly, her expression devoid of emotion.

"Do you think that wise? I thought perhaps she would be more comfortable with you."

Something in Emma softened, her eyes filling with a deep sadness he couldn't immediately place. "No matter what happened to her, you're still family. She loves you. She knows you're not a threat to her, even if she can't remember that yet." She squeezed his arm, seemingly surprising herself with the action, but she didn't immediately pull away. "But if you think it would be better for me to talk to her alone, we can do that."

"I believe that would be best. Thank you, Emma." She nodded, dropping her hand back to her lap and rubbing at her wrist as though it pained her. Graham's revelation rushed forward unbidden – the bastard broke her wrist – and a cold, hard rage settled over Killian at the sight of her silent pain. He knew better than to mention it, but for a moment he wished he didn't – wished he could wrap his arms around her like he had in the stairwell or his apartment. But even if Ruby wasn't watching them from the corner of her eye, he did know better, and apprehension still came off Emma in waves.

It was impossible to determine if she didn't trust him, or if she didn't trust herself around him. Killian suspected the latter, but either way, Emma couldn't be pushed into anything, so he returned to his usual spot in a chair by the window.

The hour dragged as he waited for Belle to arrive. He'd always been aware of Emma in a room, but it was heightened by the way she stole glances at him, flushing when she was caught. Each time their eyes met, she would quickly look away, resolutely ignoring him…until the next time.

By the look on her face, he wasn't the only one who kept remembering their kiss. He'd done the right thing by walking away, but it was difficult not to wonder what would have happened if he had stayed, especially when Emma seemed just as aware of him as he was of her.

It was a relief when his phone lit up with Belle's call. His jeans were still damp, so Killian resigned himself to traveling the massive building in his current attire, hoping it would at least get a smile out of Rose.

"Abandoning BPD, Killian? David will be so disappointed," Belle joked when she caught sight of him, offering a quick hug in greeting. Beside him, Emma stiffened.

Is she jealous of Belle? She can't possibly be.

But Killian didn't have time to analyze Emma's reaction to the woman he considered a sister. Rose stood close to her mother, but when she looked at him, a tiny smile graced her lips. "Did you get dressed in the dark?"

"Had a bit of a run in with the rain and some puddles." He flashed her a grin, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. It wasn't natural to avoid touching her – Rose had always been generous with her affection, and she had rubbed off on him years ago. Even as she grew into a teenager, Rose had still sought out Killian for a shoulder to lean on when she was having a bad day. You give the best hugs, Uncle Killy, she'd confessed practically in tears over a boy who clearly didn't deserve her. Don't tell Daddy I said it, but it's true.

Killian wished Rose's tears only came from a rejection by an idiot high school boy – he would have given anything to go back to her disappointments in life being brought on by movie dates and school dances, but that ship had sailed. The only thing he could do now was help her heal and try to prove to her along the way not all men would treat her as Gold had.

"Do you remember Emma? She was…she asked you some questions the night we got you back." He scratched behind his ear, cursing the awkward reference to the night Rose had been rescued from that hellhole. Emma and Rose had been captive at Gold's at the same time – they were hardly likely to forget each other. Killian gestured to the blonde as she began signing forms to get Rose into the building. "She's going to talk to you today, if that's all right."

"Sure." Rose suddenly looked much older than her sixteen years, her eyes on the floor and her shoulders slumped. "Are you…will you be there, too?"

"No, I thought I'd take your mum to get us all some hot chocolate from that place you fancy down the block. It seems the rain has stopped."

"You're going out in public like that?" His heart broke at the forced levity in her voice, an obvious attempt to hide her relief. At least he'd made the right call in choosing to leave her alone with Emma.

"Don't worry, love, you shan't have to be seen with me." That at least drew a more genuine smile from the teenager, but it fell as soon as Emma held out her visitor's pass.

"Rose, I'll take you upstairs now, all right?" He noticed Emma was careful not to touch the girl, standing a good distance apart and gesturing instead of leading her by the arm. Even once they started moving toward the elevator, Emma kept pace with Rose so she never had someone behind her.

"Thank you for bringing her," Killian managed to choke out, his throat unexpectedly tight as he watched Rose's once proud walk turn into a shuffle. "I know it's not easy."

"No, it's not." Belle stared after her daughter for a long moment, then sighed. "C'mon, let's go before I change my mind about being seen with you."

"I was teasing Rose. I can change back into my jeans."

Belle rolled her eyes, looping her arm through Killian's. "You forget I grew up with you."

"Indeed you did." Killian chuckled as they made their way out of the building and down the street, the rain thankfully having tapered off to a light drizzle. As they walked, Belle chattered on about the latest books she'd gotten in at the library where she worked and about Will's job, and Killian let her. If Belle wanted to talk about the weather, he would let her – he knew what a gift it could be to think about something other than the horrors life had served up, if only for a few minutes.

He ordered Rose's hot chocolate once they arrived, extra hot so it would still be warm when she was done talking to Emma. Belle preferred tea, and Killian opted for another coffee, still chilled from his morning dousing. At the last minute, he ordered another hot chocolate for Emma, ignoring Belle's raised brow.

"Emma likes hot chocolate too?" she asked, something overly innocent in her voice.

"Aye, with a bit of cinnamon on top of the whipped cream."

"Does she drink her coffee like that too?"

"No, just sugar and milk. A lot of bloody sugar."

"I see." Belle's lips curved in a knowing smile, and Killian scowled at her.

"Have something to say? Everyone else seems to."

"I can't remember the last time you knew how a woman took her coffee, that's all."

"You hardly drink the stuff, but when you do you like three sugars and more milk than coffee."

"I don't count."

"If you say so." Killian shook his head, determined not to talk about Emma anymore. Belle accepted the dismissal, once again turning the conversation back to mundane things.

The closer they got to the office, the more Belle's words began to rush together, rambling on about anything other than what they were both thinking. He took her into the conference room next to the one he knew Emma was in after obtaining another guest pass, setting down the drinks and leaning back against the wall as they fell into a tense silence.

When they finally emerged, Rose's eyes were red and puffy, and Emma was so tightly wound Killian worried her jaw might snap if she clenched her teeth any harder. To her credit, she was gentle with Rose, speaking softly and thanking her. That Rose allowed Emma to embrace her before returning to her mother gave him hope their conversation hadn't been for nothing, even if Emma's anger was so strong the air was bitter with its taste.

"Thank you, Rose, for talking to me. You've been very helpful." Emma squeezed her hand one more time before turning to Belle. "If you ever need anything, here's my card. I gave Rose one too. My cell phone number is on the back, or you can call Killian and he'll find me."

"Thanks." Belle wrapped her arm around Rose's shoulders as her daughter returned to her side, offering Emma and Killian a weak smile. "Good luck."

Killian walked them out, Rose's fingers curled tightly around her hot chocolate. He stood in the lobby watching them through the plate glass as they made their way down the street, cursing Gold for the hundredth time that morning.

By the time he got back upstairs, Emma's rage was honed into an icy blade. She sat in the smaller conference room, the hot chocolate he'd brought her untouched as she scanned the tablet screen on the table in front of her with cold determination.

"Did she tell you anything we didn't know?"

"Yes."

"That's good. What can I do?"

Emma snapped the case closed over the tablet, rising to her feet suddenly. "Nothing for now. I need to speak to some people before we act on this." Something was off in her voice. She was too calm, too cold, even for Emma.

"I'll come with you," he insisted. Whatever was going through her head, he didn't think it was a good idea for her to be alone. Everything about Emma threw off a dangerous mood.

"No. It won't work if you're with me. Your cover is blown."

"Emma, you're not going back to Gold's by yourself. It's bloody reckless and…"

"I'm not going to Gold's." She met his stare head on, and he didn't like what he saw lurking in her eyes. "I'll let you know what I find out." She walked out before he could stop her.

He moved toward the hall, determined to chase after her, but he forced himself to stop. Whatever was going on with her, there didn't seem to be a damn thing he could say that would deter her from whatever decision she'd made. She wouldn't let him go with her, but if she didn't know he was there, she couldn't stop him.

So he followed her.


With this chapter, I'd also like to welcome evil–isnt–born to the beta fold! They'll be a slight changing of the guard as the responsibilities of life take over and kliomuse focuses on some other things. C, you were SUCH a huge help as I was writing the draft, and I so appreciate all the conversations and brainstorming. Thank you so very much for all of your help. Kick some ass this semester.

The next chapter…well, probably don't read the next chapter at work. If you're like me and have a tendency to do that. You've been warned…