A/N: So this took longer to get up than most chapters. And that is because it was only about halfway written before this week, as I had skipped over it to write 11 and 12 because they were more fun, coupled with me moving last week.

Also, Taylor Swift announced a little while back that Wildest Dreams will be the next single released off 1989. I hope you all think of me/this story whenever you hear it on the radio :)

Chapter 10: I hope these memories follow you around

During his senior year of university, Killian had worked as a teacher's assistant. It was an ideal job—it looked good on résumés, paid decently, in part worked around his schedule, and was right on campus. Killian was overjoyed when he learned he had been assigned to TA for Professor Milah Spinner; she had been one of his favorite professors early on in his education. Milah (who was progressive and insisted all her students called her by her first name) was lively, loud, and an amazing lecturer. Killian had had a huge crush on her his freshman year, along with half of his Management 104 class—it's amazing how that happens when a professor is relatively young and good looking.

When he started working for Milah, he realized his crush hadn't gone anywhere. If anything, he'd become more infatuated with the professor. The two of them grew close; Killian could tell her anything and she listened and advised him or just let him vent when need be. Somewhere during the countless hours they spent curled up on chairs in her office on either side of the large stack of papers which needed to be graded, Milah started returning his affections.

Killian was an honorable young man and Milah was his boss. His married boss. So despite the soft smiles and conversations that were too personal for a professor to be having with a student, he kept his hands to himself. They never spoke about whatever there was between the two of them, just continued working through the sometimes awkward tension between them.

One evening, Killian noticed faint bruises on both of her wrists. His stomach dropped, but he didn't say anything. He figured Milah would tell him if she was in trouble. The bruises could have been from any number of things—he shouldn't immediately villainize her husband just because he was in love with her.

But a week later, Milah arrived to the university only half an hour before her class was to begin, rather than an hour early so she and Killian could go through the daily lesson plan. When he'd caught sight of the bruise-like bags under her eyes that were very clearly holding back tears, he had closed the distance between them, wiping at the one stray tear that escaped her and asked what was wrong.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," she'd said, ignoring his question completely. "I can't teach today, though. It's too late to cancel, so is there any way you could teach class? You only need to go over the requirements for their next paper and review what they have learned the past two weeks. I'm so sorry to throw this at you with such short notice."

He reached down to grasp her trembling hands in his. "Hey," he said softly, "don't apologize. I would be happy to teach the class, you stay here, drink some tea and just relax until I get back, alright?"

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, then quickly bowed her head and nodded. "Thank you, Killian," she'd whispered.

After he let the introductory class out (ten minutes early), he practically sprinted back to the building where her office was.

There were streaks through the makeup Milah had applied that morning, obviously due to tears. He grabbed a tissue off her desk and wiped the tears from her face. When he realized what he'd previously thought were bags under her eyes were actually black eyes, he stopped breathing. "Milah," he whispered, unable to say anything else.

A sob broke from her chest and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. "What happened?" he asked as he pulled her closer to him.

"Robert," she sniffled, "my husband. He's been under a lot of stress with his job lately. I promised him I would pick up his dry cleaning last night and clean the house before he got home from his business dinner, and I was here late grading papers so I didn't do either of those. He came home drunk to a messy house with nothing to wear and snapped at me, called me worthless."

He didn't say anything, holding still despite the rage burning in his chest, stroking her hair and silently encouraging her to continue.

"He shoved me towards the kitchen, telling me to look at the mess I'd made and I slipped and fell. It's my fault. I promised him I would take care of things at home, then I just completely mucked it up and got nothing done. I would be fine if I had caught myself before I slipped," she mumbled into his sweater.

Killian gently pulled her away from him and tilted her chin up so she was looking in his eyes. "You are never at fault for someone else's violence against you," he said with conviction. "Do you need to go to the hospital? I don't know much about the medical world, but I think having two black eyes can be a sign of a broken nose."

She sniffled but shook her head. "I'm okay, just a bit shaken up. I'll be fine. God, I can't stop crying, this is ridiculous."

"Come home with me," he suggested. "You can't go back there, especially not so soon. I'll take care of you. You can sleep in my bed, and I'll even take the couch if it would make you more comfortable. Milah, darling, you deserve to be treated like a queen. You are smart, and beautiful, and kind, and strong. Anyone who doesn't recognize how amazing you are has no place in your life."

She looked up at him contemplatively, still in his arms. "You really think so?"

Of course I do, I love you, he'd wanted to say. He instead settled for a simple "Aye."

That was the moment they shared their first kiss. Killian's heart was racing from a mixture of rage towards her husband, worry for Milah, and lust, which made him dizzy. The feeling of her lips against him was everything he had ever dreamed of, despite her tears.

In the evening, when he'd convinced her to come home with him, Milah had insisted he needn't sleep on the couch, and instead had pulled him into bed with her before promptly pulling their clothes off.

In hindsight, the night after her husband had shoved her to the ground was probably one of the worst nights Killian could have possibly chosen to surrender to his body's need for her. But he was twenty-two and infatuated and stupid, so he did just that.

That night, as she laid in his tight embrace, he traced circles along her back, reveling in the smoothness of her skin. "I promise I will protect you with every fiber of my being," he'd whispered into her hair. "I love you."

Her wild brown curls turned into soft, golden waves and she turned around to face him. "I don't want you like that," Emma said, pushing away from him and stomping out the door.

"Killian!" Tink roars into his ear, effectively putting an end to his dream. "Wake up!"

"Fucking hell, what time is it?" he grumbles, turning over in his bed and pulling his comforter over his head. "And why are you here?"

"It is two, and you had planned on coming 'round to mine for lunch today, you git," she says, flopping down next to him. "What the hell happened to you?"

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face, trying to dismiss his hangover by sheer will alone. "Sorry about lunch. As you can see I was a bit preoccupied."

"Yeah, I've gathered. Too busy staying out all night drinking, I presume?"

"More like staying in. Christ, I had no idea it was so late, I'm sorry for worrying you."

"Don't worry about me," Tink retorts, waving her hand dismissively. "But seriously, what the hell happened to you? I haven't seen you like this since—"

"Don't," Killian cuts her off.

"Since Milah refused to go to L.A. with you after graduation," she finishes. He glares at her, his jaw working in anger. He doesn't want to deal with this. It's been years, but the memory of Milah insisting her husband had sobered up and changed and telling Killian she didn't want him anymore still burned. He had planned to take her with him when he got a job fresh out of university. He had wanted to take care of her, treat her as well as she'd always deserved. Instead, she implied he had only been a distraction. And when her husband cleaned up his act, she returned to where she truly wanted to be. He blinks his eyes rapidly, pushing the bitter memories of her rejection to the back of his mind. No wonder she morphed into Emma in his dream. Both of them didn't want to be with him, not for real.

"Killian, I'm worried about you. Did something happen? Was it Emma?"

"Why would you automatically assume it's a woman?" he spits.

"Because as I just said, the only time I've seen you drink yourself into a stupor and sleep well into the afternoon was about a woman. You weren't even like this when your mom died. Or Liam."

"Did you come here for the sole purpose of rubbing the fact that every person I've ever loved has left me in my face, or is that just a happy coincidence?" he snaps.

"Okay, I'm not dealing with this, tell me what happened. Now," she demands.

He sighs, knowing there's not a chance he will get her to leave him alone until he's spilled his guts. He tells her everything that's happened since he was hired (then fired) as Emma's publicist. Tink knows he has seen Emma since their weekend together—she had a good cackle when he told her he worked for the lass—but he hasn't exactly kept her up to date with the details of their growing friendship.

"So the woman you're obsessed with kissed you and you rejected her? Honestly, Killian, you may be the most brainless person I've ever met in my entire life."

"She has made it abundantly clear she doesn't want any semblance of a relationship with me. What was I supposed to do, fuck her, send her off on her way, ignore my feelings, and pretend it never happened?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, you idiot, you were supposed to tell her how you feel."

"Why would I bother doing that? As I said, she already has made it clear she doesn't feel as I do. Or even if she does, she has no intention of acting on it. I'd rather not get rejected again. There's only so many times a man can handle that before throwing himself off a cliff."

"God you are such a drama queen. What did you say to her before she left?" Tink demands.

"I told her I couldn't do it, that I didn't want to be friends-with-benefits with her."

"You didn't clarify that you wanted more?"

"I didn't have a chance! She ran out as soon as I said that, no doubt horrified of whatever it is I had to offer." He sinks down into his pillows melancholically.

Tink pulls one of them from beneath his head and begins hitting him with it. "You need to go apologize to her right now. She thinks you don't want her anymore."

"Well, that is not the case. She knows I've always been interested in her." He pauses for a moment and thinks about Emma's file, her tragic backstory that had been revealed to him without her consent when he became her publicist. He read about the foster homes, the ex who abandoned her and sent her to prison, and the ex who died in her arms. He's heard her lyrics, often filled with sadness. Emma Swan is a lost girl. He's known that about her since the start. "Oh god, she does."

Tink and Killian sit on his bed in silence for a few moments. "Alright, I think this is the part where you get the girl." She stands up and pushes him off the bed and towards his shower. "First things first, let's get rid of the scent of a distillery, shall we?"

Once Killian has showered, gotten dressed, and gotten some food in him (courtesy of Tink parading around his kitchen like she owns the place), they sit down to plan.

"Why don't you just show up at her door? Bring flowers. Apologize profusely. Tell her you're in love with her, et cetera." Tink suggests.

He shakes his head. "I show up and she won't answer. If she truly thinks I rejected her because I changed my mind about wanting her in any fashion, she won't read my messages, answer my calls, or talk to me if I arrive at her door. Not to mention I don't even know if she's home to begin with. Prior to coming over yesterday, she was spending the weekend at her brother's house, and I know she has several interviews the next couple of days."

"Okay, then we do the next best, but significantly less romantic and lamer option. Send her flowers with an apology. If she's not home, they will leave a slip of paper telling her to call back when she returns, and then they'll deliver them then."

"I hate not doing this in person."

Tink shrugs and him and grabs his laptop, opening it up and starting the search for flower delivery places near Emma's apartment.

x

When Emma arrives home late Sunday evening after recording two separate radio interviews, she finds a new bouquet of orange lilies on the table among the other four arrangements that have been encompassing their kitchen table for the past week. Elsa's show opened the previous weekend and she's been receiving all sorts of beautiful flowers from family and friends who have come to see her Broadway debut. She walks right by the table bearing the bright flowers, drops her jacket and scarf on the coat rack and flings off her boots, sighing at the feeling of freedom. It's been a busy day, but spending it talking about her album and focusing on work was a nice distraction. Now, she's alone in an empty apartment with nothing to do but overanalyze her disaster of a love life or think about her album release in less than two days and panic.

Instead of doing either of those, she decides to camp out on her couch with a tub of chocolate ice cream and watch sad movies, so she has an excuse to cry that's better than a boy rejecting her.

It isn't until Elsa comes home halfway through Bridge to Teribithia that Emma bothers to take a second glance at the flowers.

"So," her roommate says by way of greeting as she swings through the doorway, "who sent the flowers?"

"What do you mean 'who sent the flowers'? You were here when they were delivered."

"Yeah, but I didn't look at the card because that would be a huge invasion of privacy." Elsa gives her a look suggesting her answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Wait. They're for me?" Emma asks.

Elsa exhales a ghost of a laugh as she stretches out her arms over her head and nods before walking into her bedroom to change.

Emma pauses her movie and gets up off the couch to check the flowers.

Swan—

I'm afraid there's been a large miscommunication. If there is any hope of reconciling some part of our relationship, please let me know. Your friendship means more to me than you can know.

—Killian

Emma laughs in spite of herself. How he can manage to portray his accent over a written message in a card is beyond her. She chews on her lip considering Mary Margaret's advice the night before. If he sent her flowers the day after he'd rejected her advances, it very well could be possible that her sister-in-law was right and he doesn't find her revolting.

She wants to call Mary Margaret to debate this new revelation, but it's past midnight and the first grade teacher is most definitely fast asleep by now. Instead she calls Ruby (who has been keeping up to date with everything Killian-related via text message since last night).

"Em! That's amazing!" her friend exclaims after Emma tells her about the flowers.

"I'm not sure," she says warily, "I really have no idea where to go from here."

"Well, I'd say go for the big romantic gesture. Show up on his doorstep and tell him you love him."

"Ruby, I don't—"

"I know, I know, the big romantic gesture isn't you. But, I also know you're not the kind of girl who appreciates apology flowers, and you haven't thrown his away. And I've seen the pictures of the two of you—granted those were from over a month ago—but it was clear in those almost creepily gorgeous eyes of his that he's crazy about you. And I got that from some blurred pictures taken on a cell phone in a coffee shop. You need to tell him you want him for real."

"I tried! He is the one who made it clear he didn't want me."

"That's not what I'm getting from the note on those flowers," Ruby says.

"How is it not? He used the word 'friendship'," Emma huffs.

"Have you ever heard of a man sending his friend flowers because he's sorry? No. Because that doesn't happen. Come on, Swan, get with the program."

Emma startles momentarily at Ruby's use of Killian's nickname for her. "Well then what do you propose I do? Aside from showing up on his doorstep. Because that isn't happening."

Somehow, Ruby manages to talk Emma into ordering flowers to Killian's office, to be delivered tomorrow. Emma wanted to send him another singing gram, but Ruby vetoed that. Apparently, embarrassing someone isn't the best way to make amends.

The gesture is still 'grand' enough that it makes her a little uncomfortable. Emma squirms as she picks out the assorted bouquet with daisies and some bright colors and blanches at the space provided to add a note. She ends up entering "Sorry I messed up. Friends?" and hoping that is enough for him to reach out to her. Verbal communication is not her strong suit, and she doesn't have much experience with recovering a friendship after a fight.

People usually leave her before she has a chance to mend things.

Taking a deep breath, she types in her credit card information and submits the order before she has a chance to talk herself out of it.

The next morning, Emma practically runs to Granny's diner in a panic, searching out her friend.

"Ruby, what have I done?" she blurts out the moment she's through the door.

"You sent him the flowers, right?" Ruby asks. Emma nods in confirmation. "That's great, Em."

"If it's great, why am I panicking?" she says as she slumps down at the counter, breathless from the trek to the diner and the anxiety building up inside her.

"Because you're you," Ruby answers her, pouring coffee into the cup of one of the restaurant's patrons. "Emma, you like this guy. If you didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Killian has made it clear that he's been interested in you for months now. You tell me he's not until your lips fall off, but it's just an excuse. You have an endless list of excuses why you shouldn't pursue him or something, but you have got to stop letting your fears keep you away from being happy."

Emma sighs loudly, resting her head in her hands so her hair falls around her face in a curtain. "You're probably right," she mumbles. "But I don't know how to let go of that fear or whatever. It's been with me so long. It's a part of me now."

Ruby slides a mug of hot cocoa topped with whipped cream and cinnamon in front of her. "I don't know how to let go of fear, but maybe you have to just recognize that it's there and where it's from, then try and push past it. Go talk to Killian about your feelings. You can even tell him why you're scared."

She cups the steaming mug and lifts it up to her lips, taking a careful sip so she doesn't burn her mouth. "I'll think about it," she says finally.

x

Killian has been sitting at his desk for no more than half an hour when there's a knock at his door, followed by a delivery man dropping off flowers. He smiles in thanks and pulls the vase towards him, looking for the card. He knows they're from Emma (because who else would send him flowers), but he wants to see what she has to say. He smiles at the short, unsigned message and decides he should leave her hanging just a bit. He's still angry she walked out, but he lo—cares about her a lot. He just needs to take a few hours to pause and cool down before he gets in contact with her again.

In the end, he only lasts forty five minutes.

"Killian," Emma answers the phone on a relieved sigh.

"'Morning, love," he says. "Are you busy?"

She laughs. "Well, my album releases tomorrow. So kind of."

He internally curses himself. "Right, of course. Sorry. I just meant is there any chance we could meet for lunch or dinner today?"

"I wish I could. I'm meeting with the Mad Hatter again today to finalize paperwork before I start recording the song with him on Friday. And tonight I have to go to bed at like 8:00 because I'm doing GMA tomorrow morning. Are you gonna be at the album release party tomorrow night?"

He bites at the inside of his cheek. "Aye, I will be. I was just hoping I could have a chance to talk to you beforehand. But of course, you're quite busy. I'm really proud of you, Swan."

"Thank you, Killian," she says softly.

"Anytime," he assures her with a smile. "I will see you tomorrow evening. Try not to psych yourself up too much tonight. Tomorrow, your fans will get a chance to listen to the culmination of years of work on your part, but tonight, you deserve some rest."

She laughs dryly over the line. "Yeah, if only it were that simple. I don't think I've gotten more than a few hours of sleep this past week."

"Drink some chamomile tea. That always helps me when I'm restless," he suggests.

"God, could you be any more British?"

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with hailing from the U.K., Swan."

She laughs brightly and he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. Perhaps they'll be alright after all. "Well, that's your opinion. I gotta run, I'm entering Jeff's manager's building now."

"Right, have a good day, love. I hope your meeting goes splendidly. Let me know if you need me to talk you down from a hysterical outbreak of some sort."

She snorts. "Will do. Bye!"

He smiles and stretches out his neck. Perhaps salvaging this relationship won't be as difficult as he thought it would be.

x

Despite the fact she's worn heels more times during the past three months than she probably has for the other twenty-four years of her life, Emma's feet are aching from standing in them. The party at Delmonico's is in full swing and she's been running around like a chicken with her head cut off, trying to socialize with everyone and thank them for being there. She's thankful the restaurant is almost freezing inside, because she's pretty sure if it was any reasonable temperature, she'd be sweating through the structured, violet cocktail dress she is wearing from the combination of nerves and not standing still.

She sips a flute of champagne slowly and carefully while she chats with partygoers and poses for pictures. It's only her second glass of the evening, but she can feel a bit of the familiar feeling of alcohol swimming around in her head. Emma vaguely realizes she hasn't exactly had a chance to take advantage of the waiters walking around with trays full of bite-sized versions of their most popular dishes and hors d'oeuvres and figures her empty stomach is to thank for her low alcohol tolerance.

(And if anyone needs a drink tonight, it's Emma. She's tense and grumpy and anxious and exhausted. And she has been eying the small steak burgers that are making their way across the room on a tray. Really, she would prefer to just hang out in the back with the whole tray of those things and a bottle of bubbly, but she has business to attend to.)

"Is everything alright? You look nervous," her brother says when he comes to join her near the entrance.

"I'm just anxious. And you know how I get when I'm nervous; I am not the most personable… person," she admits.

He smiles warmly at her. "You're doing great Emma. You just look like you could use a break. Surely you get to relax, sit down, and eat something? This is supposed to be a celebration for you."

"It's almost more of a celebration of me," she counters. "I don't know, it would probably be fine for me to sit down and hang out for a bit, but I'm not sure how or when I should do that."

Really, the constant stream of people and focusing on her conversation and demeanor is helping her avoid thoughts of seeing Killian for the first time since she practically pounced on him a couple of nights ago. She's really not looking forward to it. Not because she doesn't want to see him, but more because she's terrified it will be awkward. He's becoming one of her closest friends and she will hate herself if she screwed that up in a weak moment.

A photographer tears her out of her thoughts and prompts her and David to pose for a picture. Her brother wraps an arm around her shoulders and she leans into him, smiling as she is nearly blinded by the flash. "I'm proud of you, kiddo. Make sure you take care of yourself. Ask Regina if you can have a little break."

The corners of her lips turn up in a weak smile. "I will. You go get back to your wife. Maybe if you can occupy her attention, she and Regina will quit talking and my manager will tell me to take five."

He laughs as he retreats towards where the two old friends are chatting animatedly. "I will try."

Emma turns back towards the entrance and stops breathing for a moment when she sees Killian enter the restaurant. He's dressed in grey dress pants, a black shirt, and a grey tie, his hair wild from the late fall wind outside. He hands his coat off to a man standing at the entrance and turns towards her, stopping when they lock eyes. A teasing half smile lights up his face and Emma can't help but answer it as he makes his way towards her.

"Happy album release day," he greets her, wrapping his arms around her in a friendly hug without any hesitation.

She sighs in relief at his lack of awkwardness. "Thank you. Any idea how sales are going?"

He hesitates, wetting his lips for a moment (drawing Emma's eyes, which is not helpful right now) as if he's not sure he should tell her. "Aye, from the information we have right now, it's looking like you'll sell about thirty thousand units by the end of the day, and hopefully close to one hundred thousand by the end of the week."

Emma's eyebrows go up in shock. "I thought they were projecting sixty thousand total this week?"

He grins at her in pride. "They were. But you've blown them out of the water, Swan."

She stands there and blinks at him like an idiot, unable to say any real words. She did it. Her album is actually selling. "I, uh, wow…"

He chuckles at her speechlessness and glances behind him where a small crowd of people are making their way into the restaurant. "I'll leave you to greet the remainder of your guests. Congratulations, Emma. Enjoy your success. You've earned it."