Killian blinked sleepily, the pitch blackness of his living room giving way to dark grays as his eyes adjusted to the night. He groaned and turned over, punching his pillow into some semblance of submission before squeezing his eyes shut and trying to fall back into the dream. It was a good dream; he and Milah and a picnic lunch on the Jolly with no one around and nothing to do. It had been a nearly perfect Saturday, the wind not quite enough to fill the sails but they weren't going anywhere anyway. She'd been smiling easily, the burden of being Robert Gold's wife the furthest from her mind. Milah had just leaned in, whispering-

He jolted awake again, this time to the sound of scratching, then the lock on the front door sliding open. Reaching over his head, Killian grabbed his weapon and slid it out of its holster, thumbing off the safety. He never took his eyes off the front door.

"Whoever you are," he announced when the light from the hallway sliced through the darkness, "you're breaking into the home of a police officer."

Instead of the scurrying of feet he expected, Killian was surprised to hear, "And what would you say if I told you I already knew that?"

Swan.

He lowered the weapon immediately, storing it safely away before standing a bit too quickly, swaying back before crossing to the door. There had been something off in her tone, something guarded in a way that he hadn't heard in weeks. The light stabbed at his eyes, making him blink several times before her face came into focus.

"Bloody hell," he breathed out, trying not to let his jaw drop in shock. Swan was a bloody mess, her left eye already swelling shut and blood flowing freely from a gash in her hairline and both nostrils. She was shaking a little, from stress or chill he wasn't sure, but Killian yanked his hoodie over his head and offered it to her.

"Always the gentleman, aren't you, Jones?" she quipped sarcastically, but accepted the sweatshirt and pulled it gingerly to her chest. It looked like she was trying to soak in the warmth of it like a child would a teddy bear after a nightmare.

"Come in, please," Killian urged, ignoring the sarcasm and ushering her beyond the doorway. Once he'd locked the door again, he turned to lead her to the couch. "What on earth happened, Swan?"

Emma shrugged painfully, struggling to pull the sweatshirt down and biting back a whimper.

"Emma..." he trailed off at her glare, nodding to the couch he'd been sleeping on a few moments before and heading for the bathroom. He changed tactics as he walked. "I'll get some ice and the first aid kit."

Fully stocked as always thanks to Liam's insistence, the first aid kit was easily accessible under the sink in the bathroom. Killian dampened a washcloth as well before stopping in the kitchen for an ice pack. By the time he'd gotten back to Emma, she was slumped into the corner of the couch, completely dwarfed by his sweatshirt and looked ready to fall asleep.

"Stay with me for a few moments, lass," Killian whispered, trying not to startle her.

It didn't work. Emma jumped, trying to stand quickly and failing. There was an audible whoosh as her back collided with the couch. She was still for a moment before shaking her head - Killian recognized the move as trying to shake off dizziness.

"Hey," he tried again, waiting until she looked up at him. "Do we need to get you to a-"

"No!" Emma interrupted, too loudly if the accompanying wince was any indication. "No, I'm fine."

Killian looked at her skeptically. "Are you sure?"

Emma held her hand out impatiently, practically swiping the washcloth from his grasp and rubbing it under her nose with a wince. The bleeding didn't stop, so Killian sat down on the coffee table and started digging through the kit for some gauze. "You want to tell me what happened now?" he tried again.

"Not particularly," Emma replied, crossing her eyes as he waved the gauze in front of her face. She sighed and took the materials, swapping it out for the washcloth. "It's nothing I didn't expect, although Gold's men are a little more… thorough than I'm used to."

Killian saw red.

"Quit imagining yourself as my knight in shining armor, Jones," Emma snarked when she caught his gaze.

"I much prefer dashing rapscallion," he retorted weakly, not quite ready to be as blasé about the whole thing as Emma was. He didn't want to believe that members of his department were responsible for the marks on her face, but couldn't deny that Gold was that sadistic. A man who could orchestrate the murder of his wife for finding love elsewhere could certainly convince some of his men to make sure that an Internal Affairs detective knew she was unwelcome in her meddling.

"Who was it?" he asked, already knowing that she wouldn't tell him.

Emma just shook her head before pulling the gauze away from her nose and making a show of inspecting it. The bright red soaked into the material, but hadn't yet saturated it. When she turned back to him, Killian saw that she was still bleeding, but not quite so badly anymore. He made a show of folding the washcloth before reaching out slowly to dab away the crusting blood from her upper lip. She flinched at the contact, but allowed him to continue, unable to meet his gaze. Some of the blood was more stubborn, clinging to her skin and making him use a little more pressure to erase it from her skin. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do to allow himself to feel as though he were helping her.

When the blood under her nose was finally gone, Killian refolded the cloth to find a clean bit and reached up towards her forehead. This time Emma turned sharply away before taking a deep breath and turning back to him. A slight tremor coursed through her entire body when he reached out again, slower this time, but she allowed the contact and closed her eyes under his ministrations.

He worked to stop the bleeding at her hairline for a moment, trading out the washcloth for a pad of gauze to put pressure on the gash. It wasn't gaping, but it had split open enough to concern him.

"I don't think this needs stitches," he whispered to keep the silence from overwhelming her - overwhelming him - as he worked. "A couple steri-strips and you'll be right as rain, Swan."

Emma scoffed. "Gonna take a lot more than sticky bandaids to put me back together," she said, turning panicked eyes towards him before her gaze flitted away again. Killian knew exactly how that felt, and he had a feeling she hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Aye, luv, maybe. But at least your head has stopped bleeding for the time being," he agreed, letting her off the hook.

Emma smiled gratefully at him before taking the washcloth out of his hands and swiping it under her nose again. No fresh blood dripped out and she slumped back into the couch cushions again, closing her eyes and letting out a stuttered breath.

"I didn't know where else to go," she whispered.

Killian nodded, though she couldn't see it. "You can always come here, Swan. Always."

She tilted her head, the only acceptance she could give that declaration, and dropped the washcloth to the floor.

Killian snapped it up immediately, pulling a wry grin from Emma. "Neat freak," she whispered.

"Sloven," he shot back without heat.

Emma smiled, her eyes blinking slowly, still dazed.

"How's your head?" he asked cautiously. "Any dizziness or blurry vision?"

She shook her head 'no'. Killian wasn't sure he believed her.

"Are there two of my handsome faces asking you ridiculous questions?" he tried to smile genuinely when she glared at him.

Emma rolled her eyes and clearly regretted it. "One of you is far more than enough, Jones."

Killian smiled dryly, but relaxed a little and leaned back with his hands supporting him on the table. "All the same, luv, I'd feel better if you stayed here tonight."

Emma eyed him warily.

"You can take my room." Killian waved over his shoulder towards the hallway. "I just changed the sheets this morning."

"You don't have to do that," Emma muttered, staring intently at her nails. Killian started to insist, but she cut him off. "I'll stay if it's that important to you, but I can sleep on the couch. God knows I've slept in worse places."

Killian scoffed his opinion of that. "My brother would have my hide if I let a woman - an injured woman at that - sleep on our couch when there are perfectly serviceable beds available. He's up north at our cabin, so I can sleep in his room if you're worried about my delicate sensibilities." He didn't mention that he'd been sleeping on the couch when she'd broken in.

No need to tell her that there were too many memories in that bed sometimes for him to fit comfortably, too.

Emma stared at him for a long moment, studying him intently before she nodded reluctantly.

"Excellent," he crowed, slapping his hands on his thighs and making to rise. "I'll just-"

"Stay for a bit? Please?" Emma asked in a whisper, almost breathing the words instead of speaking them. "I just… I don't want to sleep just yet."

Killian nodded, moving slowly until he was sitting on the couch next to her. There was still a respectable amount of space between them, but he wanted to be far more comfortable if they were going to be there for the foreseeable future. "What shall we talk about then, Swan?"

Emma was silent for a while, lost in her own head. He wondered if she was falling asleep when she mumbled, "Tell me about the cabin?"

Killian smiled genially, settling back into the cushions. "It's not much, or at least it wasn't when we bought it. But it's ours." He realized he'd said something similar about the Jolly Roger when he'd introduced her to Emma, but it was true. He and Liam hadn't had much in life, but what they called theirs they took pride in.

He went on for some time, waxing on about the renovations and improvements they'd made in the years since they'd signed the paperwork. He spoke about Liam's obsession with the roof and how one summer, they'd spent every weekend and day off tearing down the chimney and rebuilding it brick by brick.

"It's an escape, luv, as much as it is a place where we've always fallen back on to lick our wounds. Liam…" he trailed off, unsure if he should continue. But Emma still looked a bit too wild-eyed to sleep and Killian wasn't ready to let her out of his sight yet, either. "Liam goes there a lot, now. I think it helps him deal with… well, it's an escape from the City and what he's lost. He makes sure it's always ready if we need it, no matter the time or reasoning."

Emma nodded slowly, as if she weren't really paying attention. He continued to tell her about it - the fishing hole they'd found one summer and the family of raccoons that had made their home in Liam's bedroom one winter.

"You should see it sometime, Swan," he told her when he'd finally run out of things to describe.

"Mmm," Emma mumbled in response and Killian was surprised to find her half-asleep on his shoulder. He'd been so caught up in painting the scene around the cabin for her that he'd barely noticed her moving.

It was nice, he decided as she snuggled in closer to him. He'd forgotten the comfort of a woman asleep at his side. Killian allowed himself a few minutes to bask in the sensation before he gently shook Emma back to wakefulness. She'd likely not remember this in the morning. He hoped she wouldn't anyway. Emma was starting to open up to him, starting to trust him. He had a feeling, however, that she wasn't quite ready to be that vulnerable with him.

"Come on, Swan," he coaxed. "Your bed awaits."

Emma mumbled something unintelligible, but grasped his hand when he offered it.

Only to pull it back with a stuttered cry as she cradled her hand against her chest protectively. Killian could see the fight or flight response taking shape in the hunch of her shoulders and the flaring of her nostrils. He raised his palms in supplication before telegraphing his movements to reach out and gently take her hand in his own.

He counted it as a monumental victory when Emma let him.

The fight leeched out of her quickly as Killian turned her hand over to inspect the damage that had gone - as yet -unnoticed. The back of her hand was mottled in blacks and blues, the knuckles nearly lost in the swelling the puffed up her fingers right down to her wrist. He thought he could make out a boot print in the dim lighting. Her palm was abraded and lacerated - one of the cuts deep enough that Killian thought it might need those stitches he'd mentioned earlier.

"Swan," he muttered, looking up to see that she'd nearly fallen asleep again, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused. She tracked his movements as he reached behind him, but Killian could tell she wasn't really paying attention.

At least, she wasn't until he doused her hand with a liberal amount of the only alcohol he'd found - Liam's rum - hidden under the med kit.

"What the hell is that?" she shouted, trying to pull her hand away from him again.

Killian held on tight, dropping the bottle on the table and reaching for some roller gauze to cover the wounds. "It's rum, and a bloody waste of it," he retorted with a smirk before tying off the gauze in a neat bow.

Emma's snarl not doing much to deter him, Killian unwrapped a new Ace bandage before winding it around her wrist up to her fingers and then popping an ice pack for her to hold. "Good as new," he mumbled as lightly as he could, trying not to let her know he was still seeing red when he thought of what she must have gone through.

At his inability to protect another woman from Gold's machinations.

"Thank you," Emma muttered, cradling her hand again with a shudder. "Although, you know that rum isn't exactly a good disinfectant."

Killian scoffed. "Says you and half a dozen medical organizations. I like it just fine for cleaning out scrapes."

Emma smiled tiredly, but there was a gleam in her eyes that set Killian at ease. "Come on, luv, let's get you settled."

Emma followed him readily down the hall. Killian counted it as a win when she didn't try to argue with him again about the sleeping arrangements. He really didn't mind letting her have the room; Liam had taught him long before dress blues and badges how to be an 'Officer and a Gentleman'.

Killian switched on the bedside lamp before turning to rummage through the closet for a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt. "These will probably be too big, but at least they're clean," he offered, holding up the clothes.

Emma looked down at her shirt for perhaps the first time, finally realizing just how much blood she'd spilled onto the material. "Oh," she whispered dumbly, plucking the shirt away from her chest.

"Aye," he agreed with the unspoken sentiment. "I'll leave you to it, luv. The bathroom's the next door down the hall if you want to get cleaned up. There are fresh towels in the linen closet in there."

Emma managed a small nod before accepting his clothes and looking anywhere other than into his eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.

Killian smiled gently. "I'll be in the room across the hall if you need anything, Swan. I'll see you in the morning otherwise." He left the room before her cheeks could turn any redder.


Light filtered through the curtains and Emma rolled away from the intrusion before sucking in a startled breath. Everything hurt. Everything smelled wrong.

She wasn't in her room.

Emma sat straight up, looking around, searching for anything she could find: a clue, a weapon, anything. It only startled her further when one eye remained stubbornly shut. Her hand shot to her face, gingerly feeling the bruising around her eye. It all started to come back to her in bits and pieces. The threats in the alley, the beating, stumbling down the street to her car, driving to find safety.

Getting to Jones.

Jones's apartment, right. That's where she'd ended up when she hadn't known where else to go. She hadn't wanted to be alone, not with a headache and blurry vision. So she had come here, not wanting to frighten anyone else she knew. She'd knocked on the door several times, but he hadn't answered. Emma knew he was there, she'd parked next to his car - the contrast between her Bug and his Chevelle making her laugh in spite of herself.

What were you thinking last night? she wondered angrily, remembering suddenly that she'd used her lock picks to gain entry. God, she'd gotten far too comfortable with Jones in her life. The only other place she'd dared to break into like that since escaping the foster system was Ruby and Dorothy's place. And they knew when she was going to do it.

Now, she could hear him puttering about somewhere beyond her… beyond his bedroom door. There was the unmistakable sound of a microwave running and… God, was that him singing? Emma was torn between feigning sleep until he'd finished in the kitchen and needing the caffeine she knew was beyond the door.

The decision was made for her a few minutes later when he knocked gently on the door. "If you're awake, luv, there's coffee in the cabinet over the machine. I'm going to hop in the shower."

He was gone before she could answer.

Emma waited until she heard the bathroom door close before throwing back the blankets and setting her feet on the cold, wood floor. A chill shot through her and she resisted the urge to huddle back into the warmth of the bed. It smelled like him, the scent lingering in the pillows though she remembered him telling her that he'd changed the sheets.

She needed to get out of there.

Emma forced herself to stand up, biting back a wince and a groan when the movement made everything start to hurt again. She gingerly lifted the hem of the shirt he'd leant her, staring in amazement at the spectacular array of colors splashed across her ribs. One of the men had gotten in a few good kicks to her ribs before his accomplices had pulled him off.

"Sorry, luv, I just wan- bloody hell!" Killian interrupted her perusal of her injuries.

Emma looked up, startled, still holding the shirt just below her breasts. Killian's eyes were slammed shut, the tips of his ears and his cheeks stained pink. The clear embarrassment was endearing.

"It's all right, Jones," she called, dropping the shirt. "I'm decent."

His eyes opened slowly, trained intently on her socked feet. "Your ribs. They're…"

"Bruised, not broken I don't think," Emma self-diagnosed. "I've had broken ribs a few times and this isn't nearly as painful."

"Still," Killian insisted, "we should get you to urgent care, just to be on the safe side."

Emma scoffed her opinion of that. "I already work a desk job, Jones. What are they going to do other than give me a scrip for Ibuprofen 800 and tell me to take it easy?"

Killian shrugged, still looking sheepishly at her feet.

"My eyes are up here," she snarked lightly. She was rewarded with his piercing blue eyes traveling up her body before boring down on her.

"I think I have some of my last prescription leftover if you'd like some," he responded, still staring at her. "I know it's against our profession, but I don't think anyone will throw the book at us for glorified Advil."

Emma laughed in spite of herself, clutching at her ribs as she did so. "I promise not to arrest you if you'll sweeten the deal with a glass of water."

He came back with the pill, water, and her clothes from the night before - clean and smelling of fabric softener. Emma took them with a small smile of thanks before retreating into the bathroom. It took her only a few minutes to strip down and lose herself to her thoughts under the hot spray of water. She didn't have the luxury of wallowing in her injuries; she had a case to solve.

They had a case to solve. Emma had to keep reminding herself. She wasn't alone anymore.

Medicated and showered a short time later, Emma took a better look around the bedroom. It was clear that there was no woman living in the apartment, but it was also surprisingly neat and organized. Emma supposed she shouldn't have assumed differently, based on what she'd seen of Killian's desk and the Joneses' boat.

"You want to tell me who I should be on the lookout for?" Killian interrupted her cyclical musing.

She smiled dryly at him. "If you think that was clever, Killian, you should never do undercover work."

Killian sighed at her. "I didn't think I needed to be clever, Swan. I'd hoped that we had moved past that."

Oh. She hadn't thought about it like that.

"That's not… I'm not trying to…" she stopped trying to speak before she thought and took a deep breath. "You have to work with them everyday. Until we have proof to take down Gold, it's better if they think they won. It's better if they think I'm cowed. If you go in tomorrow and… I don't even know what, but it will blow everything we're working for."

"I don't bloody care!" he shouted, clenching his fist and clearly trying to wrestle his temper under control.

"Killian…"

"I don't care, Swan," he told her, calmer this time. Emma could see the fire in his eyes, but it no longer reflected in his tone. "We'll take Gold down; you know I'm not going to stop until that bloody bastard is rotting away somewhere, no matter what it takes. But they shouldn't get away with this. With hitting a woman, hurting you."

"They won't," she assured him. "I won't let them get away with it and neither will you. But not yet. Not yet."

Killian sighed. "You think that little of yourself?" he asked and Emma could hear the defeat in his tone.

She shrugged. "A few bumps and bruises are worth it if, at the end of everything, Gold is behind bars."

"I think that's supposed to be my line," Killian quipped with just a hint of sarcasm. "All right, Swan, we'll do it your way. Just promise me that they'll pay for this."

It was the easiest promise she'd ever made.

"Now, I'm going to hope that you're not as English as you sound and have some coffee in this place?" Emma asked, trying to change the subject, though he'd already offered coffee. There was something about how vehemently he'd wanted to defend her, how readily he'd been willing to risk the Gold investigation to get justice for her, that scared her. It scared her how much she realized she wanted him to keep being offended that she didn't care about the beating. It scared her how much she wanted him there the next time it happened - either to help her stop them or for her to come home to afterwards. It scared her how much she wanted him around.

"Aye, luv, in the kitchen," Killian nodded over his shoulder. "I trust you know how to work an ancient drip machine? Afraid my brother and I are a bit old fashioned; no Keurigs here."

"I wouldn't have survived my first year in IA if I didn't know how to make a pot of coffee, Jones," Emma snarked. "Hope you like it strong."

Killian stepped into the room, crowding her against the end of the bed. She tried to deny to herself what his presence did to her that close. She tried not to be affected by the way he towered over her - strong and sure but not menacing.

She failed.

"I think you'll find that I like it strong and hot," he breathed, the look in his eyes nearly smoldering.

Emma gulped, looking up into his eyes and seeing the desire in them. "Please," she deflected, "you couldn't handle it."

"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it," he shot back moving impossibly closer. Emma could smell deodorant and shampoo and something else, something that reminded her of that day on his boat.

Emma didn't know how else to respond. She grabbed onto the lapels of his button down shirt, hauling his head down towards hers and slanting her lips over his. Killian took barely a moment to respond, his hands coming up to tug on her hair and change the angle of the kiss. He growled under his breath and shifted closer once more, nearly toppling them both back onto the bed. Emma stepped forward into his space instead, her fingers leaving his shirt to scratch through his hair. He hummed appreciatively, wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck and squeezing lightly.

Emma broke away from him for just a moment, trying to catch her breath and maybe her thoughts. Screw it, was all that flittered past before she pushed up on her toes to kiss him again. She nipped his lip, begging for entrance, grinning when he granted it to her. They battled for dominance, giving and taking until the need for air won out.

Slowly, Emma dropped back down, taking a step back until the mattress stopped her. Then she looked up and saw him; he looked utterly wrecked, touching his lip gently where she'd bitten him.

Oh God, she thought, this was a mistake. He's not over Milah.

"That was…" he trailed off and Emma was sure he was coming up with a way to apologize, to let her down gently.

"A one time thing," she muttered, trying to let him down before he cut her knees out from under her. Emma couldn't look up again, couldn't see the relief on his face. She needed to- "I've got to go. Don't follow me, I'll… I'll see you at the station later. Or maybe at the Jolly."

Killian sighed and she nearly looked up. She couldn't do that. If she did, she might not leave. Instead, she pushed past him and fled for the door. She only just managed to make out what he said before she wrenched open the front door.

"As you wish."


Killian watched the door close, baffled by what had just happened. Not Emma running, he wasn't surprised by that at all. And not the kiss, no he understood how that worked quite well, thank you very much. Emma Swan was good at everything she did, it seemed, and this just added to the list. No, what he didn't understand was what he was feeling now: not regret, not guilt, but… but lust. Hope. Happiness.

Milah's ghost was silent; he couldn't even feel her presence over his shoulder like he usually did. The only thing he could feel was the continued presence of Emma and her kiss. What the hell was going on? He thought he'd grieve Milah for the rest of his days, knew he'd never love another, that he couldn't sully the love she'd honored him with by moving on.

And yet.

And yet, he could still feel Emma's fingers running through his hair, could still smell the shampoo she'd borrowed from his shower, could still taste the mint that lingered after… God, she can kiss, he thought as his thoughts skittered away from Milah and back towards the enigmatic Swan. Killian's lips still tingled, as if she were still there and hadn't run like a frightened deer.

Don't follow me.

Bloody hell, that was exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to figure this out. He needed to find out what this meant. He had to understand.

How had she snuck up on him like this?

Killian sank down onto his bed, resisting the urge to run his hand over the sheets where she'd slept. He hadn't meant for this to happen. All he'd wanted to do was get his revenge. What would happen after that? Well, he never really allowed himself to think that far ahead. Not when all he saw was taking down Gold in a blaze of glory. It didn't really matter how, as long as the scaly little imp was dead and buried.

He didn't mean to open his heart again.

What was it about him and difficult women to love?

"Killian? Are you here? Killian!" Liam shouted through the apartment, making Killian jump. He didn't understand why his brother sounded so frantic.

"I'm here!" he called back, running towards the door before he was even fully standing. Was Liam hurt? Had the neurotoxin-

Liam was standing in the middle of the living room, eyes wild and hand reaching for his hip, scrabbling when he didn't find a holster. Liam hadn't worn a holster since the incident.

"Liam?" Killian asked, doing a visual inspection as he moved closer, just in case.

Liam's head whipped around and he looked Killian up and down. Which didn't make any sense - Liam was the one with the muscle tremors and the warnings that no one knew what effect the toxin had long-term.

"Are you all right?" Killian asked when his brother still didn't move. Liam nodded slowly, and Killian's heart rate sped up when he still didn't relax.

"The…" Liam caught his breath and Killian could see him physically shaking off whatever had frightened him. When he spoke again, a tinge of embarrassment - and something else - colored his tone. "The door was open. There was blood on the handle. With all the cases you've solved, I thought… You're not hurt?"

Killian blinked. Was that what this was all about?

"I'm fine," he said again, telegraphing his movements as he slowly crossed the room to shut the door, trying not to think about the blood on the handle. Emma's blood. Instead of sprinting down the hall looking for her, Killian made a show of locking it. "I think you've been out in the woods too long, brother. All that fresh air has gone to your head."

Liam laughed, but it was strained. "Aye, maybe that's it. But there's blood on the door."

"It's not mine," Killian tried, not wanting to explain everything that had happened in the last twelve hours. Not wanting to explain why Liam's bedclothes were rumpled and clearly slept in.

Liam just raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Killian questioned, hoping he could change the subject and suddenly, irrationally, glad that Liam hadn't walked in a few minutes earlier. They were both adults, so why did it feel as though he'd successfully snuck a girl out of his bedroom before his big brother caught him?

Because you did, you bloody fool.

Liam shrugged, finally moving from what Killian now realized was a fighting stance and heading for the kitchen. "Missed you. Got any coffee started?"

Killian followed, a little slack-jawed. I like it strong and hot echoed in his head. What the bloody hell had he been doing?

Flirting, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his brother's echoed back.

"No coffee?" Liam sounded surprised. "Having a bit of a lie-in were you? There isn't a woman here, is there? Should I go down to Dunks and come back in an hour or two?"

Killian could feel his ears redden.

"There's no one here," he answered lamely, resisting the urge to scratch behind his ear.

Liam squinted, looking for all the world like he wanted to toss his brother's room looking for clues to the contrary. "Then whose blood was on the door?"

Killian sighed. "Swan's," he admitted.

"So there was a girl. You didn't make her breakfast? Did she sneak out on you?" Liam was laughing as he spoke.

"No. And I was going to. And no!" He was pouting. Killian knew he was pouting. But it felt like he was sixteen years old again and his older and world-wise brother was interrogating him over his first date.

"No there wasn't a girl? But you just said-"

"Sod off, Liam!" Killian shouted, just as he had as a teenager, before storming out of the room. After finding Emma in the state he had and then the kiss and now this? He needed a bloody minute.

Liam gave him five. "Little brother?" he tried, knocking on Killian's bedroom door.

"Aye," he answered, not moving from where he'd sat on the edge of the bed. He was holding onto the shirt Emma had worn to sleep in.

"Are you all right?" Liam asked after opening the door. Killian could see from his boots that he hadn't ventured into the room.

Killian shrugged and shook his head at the same time. He didn't know what the hell he was feeling, how was he supposed to know if he was all right or not? "I kissed her," he whispered, finally raising his head.

Liam looked shocked, but then a pleased smile crossed his face. "Good for you," he praised.

Killian didn't smile back. "Is it?"

"You tell me, Killian," Liam prodded as he sat down on the bed. "What are you feeling?"

Killian shrugged and shook his head again. Right now, he was having flashbacks to high school. But this wasn't some schoolboy crush and he hadn't had the baggage then that he did now.

"I don't know," he admitted, though from the soft noise Liam made, he already knew that. "Milah-"

"Would want you to be happy, little brother," Liam assured. "I may not have liked the situation, but I saw how she looked at you. She'd never have wanted to hold you back on account of her. She'd have wanted you to be free. You know that."

Killian had never thought about it like that. "I like her," he whispered, expecting the twinge of pain that came with the admission. He still wasn't sure about it. About letting Milah go.

"So you kissed her," Liam encouraged, fishing for details.

But Killian smirked. "Actually, she kissed me," he realized. It made him feel a little better - a little less like he was betraying Milah.

"So where is she? Don't tell me I raised you not to treat a woman well after-"

"It wasn't like that," Killian muttered, his ears turning red again. "She broke in last night. Some of Gold's bastards roughed her up."

"The blood on the door," Liam realized. "Is she all right? Who do we need to-"

"She won't tell me," Killian interrupted. He was beginning to see red again. "Some malarky about it being better if I didn't know who it was."

"Well it can't be that hard to figure out, can it?" Liam scowled, and Killian thought he was trying to suss out who was dirty in their… in his department.

Killian shook his head. "She asked me not to. I… I have to honor that. But the minute she tells me…"

Liam clapped him on the shoulder. "Then come on, I'm making us breakfast. A real English feast. Come and help me."

They ate like kings, the way they'd never been allowed to as boys. They didn't do it often, but every once in awhile it was good to remember that they'd made it - that they could choose how much and what to eat whenever they wanted.

Liam, thankfully, didn't press him for more information about Emma and their night 'together'. Instead, he let Killian sort out the evidence spiraling around in his head, trying to make sense of LeGume's death in one instance and following the breadcrumbs back to a suspect.

"Could they be connected?" Liam asked. "Your case and Nolan's?"

Killian blinked. "What?"

Liam shrugged. "Just throwing it out there," he proposed.

"The visiting professor who was dating a co-ed and the elderly proprietress of a diner? What could they possibly have in common?"

"You tell me," Liam coached.

Killian shook his head, but now that the kernel was there, it wouldn't go away. He didn't know what made sense about the idea, but he had to follow up on it. "Maybe they both saw something," he suggested.

"Okay," Liam agreed. "Like what?"

"Drug deal gone bad, a meeting between…" Killian trailed off. "What if this isn't about them at all?"

"What do you mean?"

Killian nodded to himself, sorting files and paper trails in his head. He wasn't sure how long he was lost in the evidence, but it was long enough that Liam had cleaned up the kitchen around him and was now waving a hot mug of tea under his nose.

"Come on, Killian, we've got time for one last sail before Mother Nature landlocks us."

Killian blanched. "Umm…" he trailed off, thinking about the absolute mess in the aft cabin.

"What?" Liam stopped in his tracks.

Killian grinned disarmingly. "There's something you should know about the Jolly Roger."

Liam was less than pleased with the state of his cabin. "I don't know how you can work in this mess," he complained, plucking a piece of paper off of a haphazard stack like it was covered in sludge.

Killian grimaced. "It's how Swan works best, or so she tells me."

"You're already whipped, little brother," Liam snarked, placing the paper back down neatly on top of the stack.

"I think you mean younger brother, Liam. And I am not!"

Liam chortled, pulling Killian from the cabin and locking the door behind them. "Whatever you say, brother. Whatever you say."