Waking the next morning was something like coming to shore – sleep pulling Emma back, clinging to her, dripping from her until she wasn't quite sure why she was fighting it so hard in the first place.

Then someone shifted beside her, and awake suddenly wasn't a problem.

It always took her a moment to orient herself in the mornings, which she used as an excuse for why she hadn't immediately noticed Killian's arm warm and heavy where it was draped over her stomach, or the way her feet were wedged between his calves and the mattress to chase the small sliver of warmth in the cool morning.

Or the way she was so comfortable in that position that she knew she had been there a while.

Before she could think too much about it, she drew a foot gently out from under his leg, but he stirred beside her before she had moved more than an inch, his arm tightening around her and drawing her closer, and she froze. It was a tense moment as she waited for him to say something about her still being in his bed, or to realize what he was doing any let her go, but when he didn't move any more, she shifted again towards the edge of the bed. This time he moved with her and she could tell from the clumsy way he slid across the mattress that he was still nearly asleep.

"Don't." He mumbled, his face finding the back of her neck. "Too early."

She stilled and he sighed deeply, his breath warm and heavy and the rush of air a happy sound in the quiet room, but he didn't pull away. Almost unbidden, her fingers danced softly against the back of his hand where it curled at her waist, barely touching him at all, and there was a thrill to it – to the warmth of that hand and the sleep-heavy weight of his arm around her and his chest at her back. She ghosted the tips of her fingers across the ridge of his knuckles, but before they could make the full journey he twisted his hand to twine their fingers together.

She could feel his lips move against her skin as he breathed, "Stop." And she could tell he was nowhere close to meaning it.

"It's 7:30." She whispered, and she knew she should be pulling away or there should be at least a hint of reservation in her voice, but all she could hear in her words was a faint regret because as much as the clock on his bedside table was flashing a reminder in harsh red numbers – a reminder that she should have been out of this bed and several rooms away long ago – all she wanted was to stay. "We can't open late two days in a row."

"We could." He grumbled, but as he shifted she could tell that he was awake.

Then he somehow pulled his hand from hers and was sitting straight up in bed and a foot away from her, all of it so fast that she was still lying on her side, twisted to accommodate the shape of a phantom body against hers. She only had a moment for a bitter resignation to start to edge its way in – of course he would stop once he realized –but his voice, brittle and wild, interrupted.

"Gods, I'm sorry." He said, raking a hand through his hair and using the other the gesture between them. She was only half paying attention because as she sat up to face him she could very acutely feel the cool air against the back of her neck, tracing the shape of the word he had whispered against her skin. "Emma, I really didn't…I was asleep and when I asked you to stay I didn't mean for this…"

"Hey." She stilled the hand he was waving between them, resting two gentle fingers against the back of it, and his blue eyes were frantic as she caught his gaze with hers. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't mean to…" He dropped his other hand from his head to gesture between them again, and offered her a helpless grin laced with the panic that was still in his eyes. "Intrude."

What?

It took Emma a moment to catch up, to fill in the hanging ends of his earlier sentences not with the inevitabilities that her mind spun for her – Emma, I really didn't want this. I didn't mean for this to happen. I think you'd better go. –but what suddenly struck her as the truth: she had drawn a line between them, and he was trying very hard not to cross it.

"Killian…" She dropped his hand and combed her fingers through his hair, smoothing down the wild tangle of it while she brought her other hand up to cup his cheek. He tracked the movement with his eyes, then met her gaze again, his expression helpless and confused. She was sure he saw in her eyes the mess of words she was trying to put together. They had somehow gotten to this place without her knowing – this place where she woke with his arm warm and right around her, where she held his face in her hands and he let her, where there were too many words for her to be able to speak them all – and even though there was still a constant fear pressing at her chest, and even though her veins thrummed with run, and even though there was the ever-nearer inevitable end to all of this creeping up on them both… "I'm the one who stayed."

"All night." Something in his eyes shifted to a barely-concealed incredulity, but she only got to register the look for a moment before he tipped his forehead against hers, his hand coming up to rest on the back of her neck, and the heat of his skin reminded her so much of the way he had pressed his face to that very same spot that she had to close her eyes a moment because this was such a dangerous thing to want. "Do you know how long it's been…" He started, but cut himself off as his voice grew thick and heavy with the weeks and months and years behind those words.

"You don't have to –" she started.

"I do, Emma." He whispered, voice rough and bare. But he didn't have to say anything – it wasn't her trying to spare him that made her say it. There were no words that would speak more truth than the sound of his voice as he tried to put together a sentiment that couldn't be spoken, or the way his hand trembled slightly where it held her.

"I already know." She breathed. He shifted slightly then, leaning back slightly, and she only had time for her eyes to open a fraction – enough to catch the edge of his gentle smile and a flash of his too-glassy blue eyes – before he was leaning back into her, closer, and his lips were on hers.

She hadn't been expecting it so she fell into him slightly, the leading edge of the kiss deep and insistent and almost rough, but he put a hand on her shoulder to steady her and the solid weight of his other hand grounded her as it slid from her neck to card through her hair, and then it wasn't so much about the fact of him kissing her as it was about him still trying to tell her something even though his words weren't enough. His lips were a gentle brush against hers, soft and whisperweight and somehow honest, and the rose-gold light of the early morning painted the backs of her eyelids, and even if she hadn't already known the words he couldn't seem to say, in that moment they were never clearer.

—-

Something shifted between them that morning, and it carried from the gentle cocoon of the house down to the garage. Conversation still bloomed between them as they worked in their respective bays, the soft strains of the radio filling in the gaps when one or both of them was concentrating and silent, but she caught him more times than she could count just looking at her with that same slightly incredulous expression and that same soft smile she had caught the corner of earlier. And she knew he caught her, once or twice, studying his hands as they coaxed a new air filter into place on a sturdy Chevy or the way he bit his lip as he tried to thread a small nut onto a bolt without losing it in the bowels of the engine block. It was the same garage it had always been, but today it felt like its own little world with just the two of them in it.

Throughout the course of the day their separate work on either side of the garage slowly bled into Killian working on Emma's car while Emma herself hovered behind him to watch him install the new fuel injector. Somehow, though, late in the day she found herself pressed against his chest again with his arms wrapped around her, his hands guiding hers as they finished the one-person installation as a unit.

They were still standing there together, admiring their work while he explained the next steps in a low voice, when a set of steps fell on the concrete floor.

Killian turned to face the customer first, and before Emma saw the man standing in the open doorway she fire burst to life in Killian's eyes as his whole expression slammed shut.

She felt her features shift to a similar expression when her eyes adjusted to the late afternoon sun shining through the doors and she could make out Marcus Johnson standing before them.

"You can go." She said, resting a hand on Killian's forearm as she stepped in front of him. "Right now."

"I suppose I deserve that." Johnson said, raising his hand in what could have been either a half-wave or an attempt to hold of an attack. "But I wanted to tell you–"

"We've already heard." Killian said. His voice was strung tight and it sounded like a violent promise, but he stayed a step behind Emma and didn't shake off her hand.

"Tell me what you've heard and I'll tell you if you're right."

"How about," Emma cut in, her voice pure venom. "You turn around and go back to your shop while it's still an honest business."

"Ah." Johnson pulled off his hat and scrubbed a hand through his hair, a strange twist of a smile on his face. "I know what you heard."

"Of course you do." She said. Killian's hand clapped down on top of hers then, anchoring it to his forearm, and whether it was to keep himself from doing something rash or to keep herfrom surging forward, she didn't know.

"I think it would be best if you left." Killian said. His voice was icily calm now, and she couldn't look at him because she knew the intensity she would see in his eyes would have her across the garage with a fist in the other man's face, Killian's hand on her arm or not. "I'm sure we'll be seeing plenty of each other soon enough."

"I'd like to explain something for a moment, if I may." Johnson said instead, taking a few steps towards them. Even though he was crushing the bill of his hat in his hands, he didn't falter even though Emma knew neither she nor Killian was wearing the most welcoming of expressions.

"How about you start with why you agreed to come into this town at all when we both know you're doing fine with the shop you have now." Emma said. She could hear the snarl in her own voice and Killian's hand tightened on hers as he heard it too. "And for what? Just to ruin this place?" She ripped her hand out from underneath Killian's and took two steps closer to Johnson. She pitched her voice low and the space around her narrowed to the few feet between her and him. "You have no idea what it means. To him." She cut her eyes to the side even though Killian, still feet behind her, was nowhere near in her field of vision. Then she looked back at Johnson and the intensity she could feel in her own expression almost scared her. "To me. And what now? Are you going to rub it in? Is that it?"

"I'd…" He swallowed once, darting a glance up at Killian and then back at her. "When I started out – when we did, my wife and I…we had nothing. Less than this. The garage attached to our house and our driveway. That's how we started." He turned slightly to look down the gravel drive and to the road, and a smile crept over half his face. "If we hadn't had the loyalty of our friends and neighbours, we wouldn't have made it a year, and now we're in a place where it makes sense to grow."

Emma felt her gaze heat up and she heard Killian take two steps forward until he was right behind her, his hand finding the small of her back to steady either her or himself or both of them. Johnson must have seen the look in her eyes too, and she didn't know how he could keep talking about his opportunities when it was his presence that was robbing Killian of the same thing.

"When you and I worked together that afternoon," He continued, nodding to Emma – she remembered the few hours he had spend here helping her with the finicky air conditioner, and regretted them instantly. "I remember thinking that it was exactly the same feeling as being in my garage right at the start, making it all work because I worked hard and because I loved it, not because it was about the money or the size of the shop." His smile spread over the other half of his face, and something in Emma's chest shifted despite herself. Right from the start, all he had ever been was proud of what he had built.

"The two of you…" Johnson said, that proud smile washing over Emma and Killian. "If anybody will make it work in this town, you'll be it." He slapped his hat back on his head and scuffed his foot along the ground, glancing down at the small arc he had created in the grit. Then he glanced back up at the two of them, and Emma knew he didn't miss the way Killian's hand was still flush against her back. "I haven't signed anything." Johnson said. "And I'm not going to."

"What?" Killian's voice was slightly strangled, and when Emma turned to glance up at him she saw a face raw with cautious hope.

"Mr. Gold and I parted ways." Johnson said, and his grin was slightly cockier now. "It seems as though we differed slightly in the way we respect our fellow men." He held out a hand, and Killian shook it with that same look on his face. Emma gave him a moment to say something else, but when it became apparent that he couldn't, she gave Marcus Johnson her most grateful smile.

"Thank you." She said, her voice ringing with it. "You don't know…"

"I think I do." Johnson interrupted, and the way his eyes lingered on the space between her and Killian – or the space that wasn't there – felt significant. He nodded once at them, shoved his hands in his pockets, and turned back towards the door. "Good luck."

"Thank you." Emma repeated, but it was a breath of a word and he had no dream of hearing it. She and Killian just stood there together, frozen in the centre of the garage as Johnson swung into the driver's seat of his truck and backed down to the road, waving at them both one last time before putting it in gear and heading back towards town.

They were silent for another beat before Killian let out a loud whoop and pulled her against him, not giving her a chance to turn around and face him before burying her face in her hair and letting out a breathless, incredulous laugh.

"What just happened?" Emma said, clutching the arms around her with both hands because she needed to hold him or dance around the garage or scream or do something.

"I don't know." Killian straightened and let her go, spinning her around by her shoulders so she was facing him, so she could see his smile stretching across his face and his eyes dancing with relief and elation and the sheer lightweight glee of a dream coming true. Then he was pulling her to his chest again and letting out the same laugh, and she snaked her arms up and around his back to clutch at his shoulders and hold him impossibly closer, and then she was laughing too because even though this morning had been perfect, a weight had been lifted and this was more than she ever could have hoped for. Knowing that this place was safe, that the tools would forever have a place in their mess against the back wall, that the finicky coffee machine would get to live out its days in the dusty office, that the house on the hill with its broken window would get to stay there with him inside as long as he wanted it, that he would have somewhere to go the nights he couldn't sleep…

She hadn't realized that the looming loss of this place had punched a hole in her chest until it was no longer there.

"Dinner." He said, pulling back and holding her at arm's length, smiling down at her with that impossible smile. "We've got to celebrate. Let's go to dinner."

"We always have dinner."

"Not here. Italian. There's a place by the river. We've got to go. I'm paying." He pushed a hand through his hair and laughed again, quieter this time. "I've still got the shop. I can pay."

"Okay." She didn't stop to think what it meant. All she saw was the smile on his face, and all she could feel was the answering gleam of her own, and if anything warranted a celebration, it was this.

"Let's go now. Let's go right now."

"Hold on." Emma's laugh this time wasn't at the relief of the situation, but at the sheer goofiness of this floppy-with-happiness Killian. "I need to run to the grocery store before it closes, and you're still wearing work clothes."

"I don't care." He did a little hop-step across the floor and into the office, and the radio was suddenly blaring, filling the garage with a clear, summery guitar rif as he returned, tossing something at her. "Here. You be quick, and I'll get changed, then we'll go."

"I'm not driving the truck six blocks to the store."

"Then don't take the truck." There was a gleam in his eye and he looked down at her hand meaningfully. When she opened it to actually look at what he had thrown her, her smile softened into a private grin. It wasn't a truck key in her hand – it was the simple, utilitarian key for the GTO.

"You're not serious."

"Be quick." Was all he said, winking at her before ducking under the hood of her car. "I'm hungry."

—-

She thought about refusing his offer for a fraction of a second as she stood before the black car squatting low and rough behind the shop. She thought about it, then she remembered the raw sound of the engine on their short trip to the harbour that night almost-forever ago, and she stopped thinking about it and slung herself into the driver's seat.

The car responded with a snarl when she turned the key, and if it had been exhilarating being in the passenger seat of this car, it was nothing compared to feeling it shudder beneath her feet as she let it idle, adjusting the mirrors slowly to draw out the anticipation. When she finished, it was slow torture to ease down the driveway and onto the road, to feel the raw potential of the car beneath her and not go screaming down the road for the sheer fun of it.

She saw Killian watching her from the doorway, and she could have sworn the smirk on his face was because he knew what she was thinking.

The drive to the store was short, but in the three minutes and six blocks it too her to get there, she fell hard for the GTO. It was coarse and loud and spit heat out onto the tops of her feet as the engine snarled, but it was eager and responsive and demanding she ask it for more so it could answer tenfold.

She didn't want to park it, but she did.

She only needed a few things so the trip to the grocery store was short, and despite a slightly longer trip to one of the other stores on the main street, she still got back to the car with plenty of time to get in trouble with it before dinner. As she strapped herself in, she silently cursed Killian because he had to have known what he was doing when he gave her the keys.

She wondered if he would know if she took a slightly longer trip back home.

She wondered if he would care?

She heard his voice say We need to celebratea moment before he threw her the keys.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she was pulling out of the parking lot and turning right, not left – towards the opposite end of main street and away from the house. She crawled along main street, overcompensating for the rush of speed she could feel in her veins, for his voice saying Be quick running through her mind on repeat, until she was a block away from the very last building on main street.

She asked the car for more, then, and it didn't hesitate.

Her car built her excitement as it reached for speed, as it climbed through the gears in a steady line, her anticipation growing and growing until it met her at three- or four-thousand RPM and they tore down the road together.

The GTO didn't give her time to anticipate – it was already where she wanted it to be before she even asked. Objectively she knew it built to its speed too, but it felt like the space of a breath before she was pressed into the seat by the force of it. She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face as she flew down the road, her mind scrambling to trace her route on a mental map as she took a corner too fast and found herself on a straight stretch of road bordered by empty fields. It sang with possibility and nothing about this car said no or I can'tor you shouldn't.

She screamed down the bare length of it, the feel of the road coming through the steering wheel and feeding straight into her hands, her arms, her everything. There was something about it that felt invincible and she suddenly thought of another similar drive in an entirely different car and Killian's hand on her knee holding her steady.

She knew even before she took the next turn how the back end of the car would swing around at this speed, knew how she would have to correct it to keep going without stopping, knew where to slide the gear shift to get the one she needed on the first try. Ten minutes of driving, and oh did she know this car.

The fields stretched on in infinite streaks on either side of the car, lush and green then tall and yellow and finally the soft gold of the dry grasses that led home. This fast, it was only moments before she saw the shape of the house on the hill, then the garage squat and expectant and waiting. She cut her speed in half, albeit reluctantly, and wondered if he would notice that she had completely avoided the main streets on her way back.

She parked the car behind the shop, the doors already closed and the lights already off, and by the time she walked up the hill to the house her heart had stopped beating quite so fast. He was at the kitchen counter when she walked in, scrubbing grease off his hands, and when he turned to face her he smiled a smile that said he knew exactly where she had been.

"It's something, isn't it?" He asked, and of course it had been intentional. She was speechless for a moment because she hadn't even been thinking about the stretch of open roads or the rumble of a car beneath her, but he had given it to her anyways.

"Yeah." She said finally. "It really is."

—-

It only took her half an hour to get ready for dinner, but he was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs when she came down anyways. He had the TV on, watching it absently as he stood, so she saw him before he saw her, and it was probably a good thing she did. Yes the man could pull off dirty sweatpants and greasy coveralls and those jeans of his with the holes in the knees, but this…this was something else entirely. This was a pair of dark jeans that had never seen the inside of the garage, a suit jacket that looked like it had been made for him, and a red shirt that was making herthink thingsdespite herself. He had left a few buttons open at the top and his hair was an intentionally unintentional mess, and it struck her suddenly that he had asked her to dinner.

All things considered, she was glad she had made that extra stop after the grocery store.

She wasn't paying attention so she hit the squeaky step at the bottom, and his eyes snapped over to her as if the TV had never been on.

Then his eyes were on her and she didn't know if he could have looked away.

"Swan, you look…"

"So do you." She said, flashing him a soft smile.

"I thought you didn't have any dinner clothes." He held out his hand and she laced her fingers with his, but he held her at arm's length. Considering he usually saw her in pajamas or coveralls that were technically his, she supposed she couldn't blame him for his reaction to the dress. It was tight, sleeveless, and almost the same red as his shirt, and with her hair down and in loose waves she felt like a completely different person.

"I didn't." She led the way out the door, tugging her behind him, but just as the porch door slammed he pulled her towards her until she was in his arms, his face tilted down to hers, and it felt so familiar and so rightthat for a moment she forgot how to breathe.

"You had grease on your face last time." He said, his soft smile saying that he was remembering the same moment. "I'd better check."

"You'd better." Her voice was nearly a whisper, and as he leaned in she met him, erasing any chance of this being another almost-kiss. She had half-expected it to be hungry and needing given that she was in this dress and he looked like that, but it was the same soft, already understood, gentle thing that seemed to always exist between them, and though it was short before he pulled back with a smile and tugged her down the drive and to the car, it left her feeling full in a way she hadn't in a long time.

—-

The restaurant he took her to was nestled at the edge of the water, the back wall made entirely of windows that let the entire sunset into the room as they ate. It was Tuesday so the restaurant was quiet and nearly empty, so when he laced his fingers with hers on the table halfway through their appetizers it was a private moment even though their table in front of the window was open to the entire room.

"I love Granny but you cannot beat this spaghetti and meatballs." Killian said at the end of the meal, gesturing to his empty bowl.

"You say that, but you didn't have the ravioli." Emma propped her chin in her hand, blinking slowly at him over the table with a soft smile. The sun had long since set and in the soft candle light, with a stomach full of ravioli and her hand still nestled in Killian's, there was very little Emma would have traded for this moment.

"I've had it before, love. I know."

"Do you? Because this was good – I think it's possibly the best ravioli ever made."

"If you had left one, I'd be able to tell you."

"Good try." She laughed. "Maybe next time you'll be quicker with your fork."

"Next time?"

"Yeah, I–" She realized then what she had said, and she cursed herself for the hopeful look on his face. "Killian, I…"

"I'll say this once." He said, his thumb rubbing a circle on the back of her hand, his eyes earnest on her face. "And only because it's come up, but Emma…" He glanced down and then back up. "If you…I want – need – you to know that if you wanted to try this…if you wanted to stay…"

"Killian, I can't." She whispered, just as he continued,

"I'd love to have you."

His thumb stilled its movements and they were absolutely silent as they stared at one another across the table, Emma pleading with her eyes alone that he see this the way it really was – that this was the way it had to be because if she stayed they would lose whatever this was between them and she wouldn't survive that kind of loss.

He didn't look like he was trying to say anything – he had said his piece, and now he just looked…

Not empty, but close.

The drive home wasn't awkward, but it was quiet in a way things never were between them – not comfortable quiet, not gentle quiet, but the quiet of words that needed to be said but weren't.

He followed her upstairs when they got home, shedding his jacket and tossing it into his room while he lingered in the hall. She leaned in her own doorway facing him, and there was something in his eyes that said he wasn't going to spend a full night in this house if he had to do it alone.

She had ruined dinner, but she didn't have to ruin this.

"Killian?" She said softly, waiting until his eyes met hers before offering him a gentle smile and holding her hand out between them. "Stay."

—-

All was forgotten the next day, Emma waking with her body pressed against Killian's back and her arms around him, and the day in the garage was quiet and luxurious without the threat of losing it all hanging over their heads. As it flowed gently into evening, Emma left Killian to close the doors while she went up to the house to make dinner, but she had been there maybe twenty minutes and was in the middle of defrosting a hunk of frozen peas in the sink when Killian's head popped through the door, a strange, almost sad twist of a smile on his face.

"Can you come out here for a second?" He asked. "I need a hand."

"You'll be eating rock hard peas for dinner, but sure." She abandoned the bag in the sink and followed him out, his hand clapping over her eyes the moment she stepped onto the porch. "Is this how you always get people to help you? Blind them?"

"So maybe it's a bit of a surprise." She felt him shrug, but as he silently guided her across the porch the wind shifted and carried a familiar sound with it – a sound she would have known anywhere, even in a crowded parking lot, even after more than a month of silence.

He turned her body so she was facing down the driveway and removed his hand, and she saw before her what she already knew would be there, and suddenly the sad tilt of his smile made perfect sense.

Parked in the overgrown driveway that ended twenty feet from the house was her car – bright and brilliant yellow against the setting sun, achingly familiar, growling a hello she felt in every part of her.

It was her car, here, and it was running.