Ruby opted not to tell him and promptly left. Something about tracking down Elsa and interrogating her. So, now they walked, the sky darkening, the stars coming out and it was so quiet. Emma kept her hands in her pockets, the cold breeze almost too much, cutting through the fabric of her leather jacket. It was definitely cooling down, as it does in early September. They walked quietly, nowhere in mind and he wasn't talking, which was odd.

"You're being quiet." She said softly.

"So are you."

"We should talk about something."

"Like?"

"I don't know."

"Alright." He shrugged, "Let's talk about what happened earlier."

"We alr-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked the question softly, and she bit her lip. She didn't know, she just knew he'd get angry.

"I didn't want to upset you."

"He hurt you, why wouldn't I be upset?"

"It's fine, I'm fine."
"It's not just you, I'm worried about." He stopped walking and looked at her and at first she was confused and then she realized who the other person he was talking about was.

"He did it in front of your son." He said, "That can't happen." She knew Henry was there and she did her best to keep him from seeing it, make it look less like he pushed her and more like she stumbled, kept her body in front of the car window to keep him from seeing the way he grabbed her. He was there, she couldn't stop it.

"I tried to...keep him from seeing it…" She hated that they were having this conversation, hated that Henry had to be there while it was happening and that it happened at all.

"One of these days he's going to see it, and he's going to want to intervene."

"I don't know what you want me to do."

"Do something, Emma. File a restraining order, report him for assault, you have the bruises to back it up. If you don't do something, I will." He started walking again, pulling one of her hands from her pocket and linking their fingers together. She didn't want to think about what he'd do, so she just walked with him.
"I'm sorry."

"For what?" He asked.

"You have to deal with...all of this."

"It's not your fault, don't apologize." He said softly as he squeezed her fingers gently. "Now, where are we going?"

"I don't know."
"Poor planning, love."

"Shut up." She said. So, they walked, nowhere in particular and talked about Neal and how he wasn't always violent, how he was nice to her, made her feel special in a way no one else had before everything exploded and he went a little insane. She was in the middle of asking him a question when he grabbed her wrist and gave a sharp tug, motioning for her to speed up and keep up with him.

"What?" She asked as he fell utterly silent, tugging her along like she was a child refusing to go somewhere with her parent. He just glanced over at her, tugging her to the side of the road and pressing her up against side of the library. "Wha-" her small protest was cut off by his lips crashing into hers. She blinked, straightening against him, it was dark but they were still in public. If someone walked by right now, well, she didn't know what she'd do. She wasn't complaining however, the man knew how to kiss. It took her a hot minute to realize his hand had come up to rest on the back of her head, fingers curling in her blonde curls and good god what brought this on? He pulled away, breaking it and she was breathless.

"What…" She started, "Was that for?" He simply shrugged and pulled her along to walk with him.

"I was bored." He said with a smirk, "come along." She should bore him more often. They walked in silence now, only sound was their shoes hitting the sidewalk and the buzzing of streetlights. She should head home soon, it was almost time for Henry to go to bed and she promised she'd read him a story.

"I should go home soon." She said softly moving a piece of hair behind her ear as they walked. He simply turned them around, not a word being uttered. What was he thinking about? "Hey" She said softly and he looked at her.

"You're quiet." She said.

"Sorry, love. Would you like me to yell?"

"No, but talking is nice."

"What would you like to discuss, this fine evening?" He asked, a smirk on his lips. She shrugged.

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever done?" She asked and he had to think about it for a second and when he thought of it, he began to laugh.

"Well." He started, "It involves Milah."

"What did you do to her?"

"There you go again, making assumptions."

"Just answer."

"Alright." Killian smiled, "She got in car accident one summer evening, never really figured out what happened, however she insisted it wasn't her fault. So, the car was totalled but she came out unscaved."

"That's good."

"So, insurance covered most of it and she was able to purchase a new car, very nice and shiney and new and she was so very happy." He sighed, "One evening in the dead of night while she was asleep, I went out and wrapped the entire car in bubble wrap."

"Bubble wrap?! Why?"
"So the next time she slammed it into something it wouldn't take too much damage. That's not the best part. You see she came out the next morning and saw what I did."

"How mad was she?"

"She hit me."

"Oh."

"And then we laughed, but she hit me again when she saw the interior was also completely covered in bubble wrap."

"Wow, you really got into it, didn't you?" Emma laughed, "I think I'd slap you too."

"I don't know why she agreed to marry me." He laughed, "I'm pretty sure she hated me most of the time."

"I don't think so."

"She got me back though."

"Do tell."

"Well, I have this collection of vinyls…"

They talked for a while about the odd situations he and Milah got themselves into and she laughed right along with him and for a second he would stop and look up, a sad little smile on his lips and she'd squeeze his fingers with hers and tug him along and then he'd tell her another story about Milah. How she painted a sun on the ceiling of their home in Boston and then got in trouble because they didn't own the place. Only when they owner saw it, he loved it so much he didn't make them replace the ceiling tiles. Emma wondered what she would say to him now, would she be upset he moved on? Would she hate him for not letting her go? Would she yell at him because he told the story wrong the first time? Would she interject and tell a completely different tale? Emma found herself wishing she could know her, talk to her, know the woman who seemed to put stars back in his light blue eyes. She never would. She wasn't here now.

He dropped her at her house with one last story and one last kiss and she went inside to find Henry already in bed but not asleep.

"I have some stories for you, kid, move over." She smiled and that night as she curled up next to her son she didn't read to him, she told him about the bubble wrap and Milahs car and she quietly hoped Killian wouldn't mind her sharing this little story with her son.

Emma woke up in the middle of the night to someone knocking on her door and when she opened it, she nearly fell over.

"Liam?" She questioned. The last time she saw him, he was angry, he wanted to kill her. Seeing him standing on her doorstep, the only thing she could think of was something must have happened but he just shifted on his feet.

"I want to apologize for my rudeness the other day." He said and then reached inside his jacket, withdrawing and envelope.

"It's okay…" She said softly, he could have waited until the morning to do this, to apologize but what was that envelope he held in his hand? "What happened?"

"Nothing." He said quickly, "I know this is...odd and you don't really know me and I don't know if I should give this to you but I found it, and I…" he paused, holding it out to her, "I haven't seen it in years. It was put away, I was sure I had accidentally thrown it away, but it just showed up."

"What is it?"

"I think...it's sudden reappearance was some sort of sign. So, take it." He put it in her hand, "I was told to give it to you a few years ago."

"Me?" She didn't even know him until a few days ago.

"Not you directly." He shrugged, "just read it, you'll understand." And with that, he walked away. She closed the door quietly and went back upstairs, her head reeling. That was the weirdest thing that's happened to her….ever. In the soft light of her bedroom she turned the envelope in her hands, the paper once pristine and white was beginning to yellow. It was thick, unopened and she wasn't sure she should read it. It could be anything.

She tore it open and pulled the pages out. Thick, soft, white notebook pages with the fringes still attached to the pages. Small, delicate handwriting on the blue lines. Four pages, front and back of soft delicate handwriting she didn't recognize. She took a deep breath and began to read.

"To The Woman Who Loves Him Next,

I don't have much time left, that's what they tell me. The drugs are working, I'm lucid, I hear no voices, I see clearly. My mind no longer makes up these hallucinations that scare me. However, my scans aren't clean. I don't quite know what it all means, they aren't clear, they speak to me as though I'm a child.

I am not a child.

It doesn't matter, I have something for you, a gift if you will. Take it, go on. Listen to me.

I doubt he'll give this to you, in fact, I know he won't. I can see that he won't; even as he sleeps in the chair beside my bed. He's not taking it in. He's not letting it in, this reality, this inevitable end of me. I don't blame him, I really don't, for if it were me in the chair and him in this bed, I'd hold onto every scrap and shred of hope I could muster inside this slow beating heart of mine. It wouldn't surprise me if he never loves again, when my heart stops, his will break.

Let's pretend for a second that he did give this to you, that someone gave this to you. I write this in hopes you will see it. Perhaps, I'll give it to Liam, he'll get it to you, he'll understand why I write this, he'll know how important it is to me that you see this. Now, this, dear, is the gift I spoke of earlier. This is to you, to have and to hold; to read what I write carefully. Whether it be on your wedding day, or just a day. I hope you hear me. I hope you listen.

Hush now, let me tell you what other gift I wish to bestow upon you. This one, you need to be sure you take good care of. This is to you, to the woman who loves him next.

To you, I give my greatest love, to you I give My Killian. Take care of him, help him breathe, help him thrive.

He's beautiful and charming and imperfect, oh so imperfectly perfect. I love him, I loved him. I can't love him anymore, not here. Not physically. I hate that I have to stop, I hate to leave him when we have so much unfinished business. Perhaps you can give him the life I couldn't. Do that for me, and I will cherish you as much as he cherishes you.

Now, woman whose name I will never know, some things you must know that my love is too stubborn to admit. There are sides of Killian, good and bad, between, a mix. He is passion. He is fire, the passion of the flame, he can turn you to dust with one touch and my god, will he make sure you know you're loved. He'll marvel at your beauty as he traces small circles in your delicate skin and grazes every inch of you with his lips, soft like feathers; as the sun peeks in between the curtains of his bedroom window.

Then comes the fierceness. The bad, the good, the mix. He can be hotheaded. One of the things I love about him is the will to protect what's his and if you're reading this, that means you are his. Be proud of that. If someone hurts you or tries to, oh my dear, he'll take their life if given the chance. That can often get him in trouble. You'll see one day, tell him, when he gets in over his head and you need to get him to be okay again, tell him. Tell him to look at the stars.

He'll know what that means. He was mine once.

He can be a little overwhelming. Some might say he's too much. I would say, not enough. I didn't get enough time with him, I long for more time with him. That can't happen. So, listen to me, should he wake you in the middle of the night for no reason in particular but to walk outside and look at the stars or the ocean or just to walk. Go. Don't yell at him, don't roll over and go back to sleep. I don't want you to regret it, I don't want you to long for more time.

Do that for me.

I want to tell you, the thing he won't admit, even if you point it out. He will deny it, I never did tell him that this whole time I knew. Don't you dare tell him.

He's insecure. I know, I know, we're talking about Killian here. Killian Jones but I know it to be true. My love is afraid. Afraid of himself, maybe because of what his father did. He doesn't want to hurt you, no matter how much you tell him he won't, he knows he can. He has his father's temper, beware of it. Tread lightly, he wouldn't dare lay a finger on you, but he can destroy you with his words. I feel that's just as bad.

He doesn't want children. He told me it's because he didn't see himself being a father, he didn't like children. He is a dirty liar. He lights up when he interacts with children, they are innocent, they have yet to feel the cold and cruelness this world has to offer and he loves them. Has a strong need to protect them. I never said it out loud, never told him. If you love him, truly, you can see it just as well as I could. He's afraid he'll be like his father, afraid he'll hurt them. You know, you know that's not the case, certainly by now you see it. I can tell you with the utmost sincerity he is not like his father.

I want you to promise me something, it's okay, I don't ask the impossible from you. I need you to do something for me. I need you to show him how good he can have it, show him the kind of man he can be. I tried. I ran out of time.

You love him with every ounce and fiber of your being, you do it, please. He needs you, he needs you to breathe the life I am taking with me, into him. Show him how unbelievably and undeniably worthy he is of you. I must go now, I am very tired, I think I'll sleep. He's waking up, I think I hear Liam down the hall.

He was mine, he's not mine anymore. Take this gift I give to you and hold it close. He's yours now, go on then, take him. Take care of my fragile, fearfully fearless love. Take care of Killian.

With Death,

Milah Jones."

Next to her signature she drew something, a small swan in black ink, that's a fun little coincidence. Emma took a shaky breath, completely unaware she was crying. She wiped at her eyes and folded the pages back up, placing them in the envelope and into her nightstand. She didn't sleep much that night.