A/N: I am very sorry to say that this chapter will not pick up exactly where we left off. I'm still fairly new to writing for others, and there are some things I'm just not comfortable writing about just yet. Furthermore, my best friend reads this, and there are some things about the inner workings of my mind she doesn't need to know. This story really is just M for the swears, mostly.

Motherfucker.

Ahem.

But yeah, they totally did it.

Good talk.

"Alright, I have to ask." Emma rolled over to face him, gathering the sheets to her chest. "What's with the shirt?"

"Shirt?" Killian groaned into his pillow.

Emma reached underneath his naked torso and pulled out a rather large rumpled black T-shirt, and held it out in front of him, one eyebrow raised, the "I Heart NY" logo clearly visible stretched between her fingers. "This monstrosity?"

"Ah." Killian plucked it from her grip with a smirk, leaning his weight onto his elbow so that he could face her. "That shirt. This monstrosity, as you so deem it, was for you, darling. I'm afraid I didn't pack much in the way of spare clothes, and I thought you'd rather sleep in that than your day clothes. However..."

He tossed the offending garment onto the floor beside the bed with a dramatic flick of his wrist. "I can't say I regret your alternative choice in sleepwear..." he said, voice thick with undisguised want, letting his gaze linger over her form, a thin white sheet she'd gathered around herself protecting the last remains of her modesty.

Emma unconsciously tightened the sheet around her, feeling an unbidden blush warm her cheeks, and spread down her neck.

"Come now, Swan. No need to be bashful," he said, reaching out to trace the curve of her shoulder with his fingers, his smile soft. "I think I've made it quite clear, I'm a fan of every part of you."

Emma shook her head, burying herself into her pillow to hide the goofy grin she could feel spreading across her face. The man had just gotten laid. Twice. And here he was, still laying on the charm, thick as molasses.

"Sure, cowboy," she said, peeking out from under the pillow. "I'm still trying to reconcile the fact that you had time to pack a bag, and buy a train ticket, but not enough time to call David and tell him you were going out of town?"

"What can I say, darling?" he said, pulling the pillow away from her with a wicked grin. "Maybe I'm just a terrible employee?"

Emma leaned forward, brushing her lips with his. "Oh?"

"Or maybe..." he punctuated his words with an answering kiss, "I just didn't want..." Another kiss, "anyone dissuading me from my plans?"

Emma placed a hand on his chest, to stop the next kiss, her eyes narrowed. "Your plans, or Henry's plans?"

Killian shrugged. "Let's split the difference and call it a... group effort," he said with a flash of teeth.

"He is so grounded," Emma mumbled, leaning into Killian's chest, feeling his arms close around her.

"And here was I thinking you were quite satisfied with the outcome of these machinations, love?" He leaned back to gauge her reaction. "Or no? Will the third time be the charm? There's still the shower to-" Emma cut him off with a slap to his chest.

"You're such a cocky son of a bitch."

A beat. "Was that a no to the shower, then?" Emma just rolled her eyes, tucking herself back into his chest.

Emma wasn't going to lie and say she hadn't ever imagining this scene playing out. She'd definitely thought about it. But she'd never expected that for one second she'd stick around for the aftermath. She was not the cuddly type. An interest in self preservation had meant her last few encounters had been uncomplicated, anonymous, and necessarily brief. She was the type who already had her boots back on before the guy could come back from disposing of the condom.

Most guys hadn't minded. Killian wasn't most guys.

And this wasn't just another hook up.

This was... comfortable. She was spent, sore. Basking in the heat of him, in his languid, content smile as he traced lazy circles into her skin with his fingertips. Leaving was the furthest thing from her mind.

"Killian?"

"Mmm?" He was too busy planting a lazy kiss to the curve of her shoulder to respond fully.

"If David hadn't warned you off me, would we have done this five years ago?"

She held her breath as his lips stilled against her neck, wishing she could see his face.

"You wanted to ask me that before," he said quietly. "But you stopped yourself."

She had. Back in their office after she'd first found out about David's... interference. She'd been curious to know then how much that had dictated their relationship for the last five years. And the way things stood now, she really needed to know. And why didn't it surprise her that Killian knew this about her?

"I think deep down you know there has always been some interest on my part, Swan." Killian began, his breath against her neck causing a shiver to ripple down her spine. "Maybe not... always laden with the best of intentions. Especially in the beginning," he admitted, chuckling lightly. "So I can't say I entirely blame the man for stepping in when he did. And you've since revealed you actually kind of hated me at first, so perhaps he merely saved me the trouble of getting my arse handed to me by a very irate Swan?"

"I probably should amend that." Emma corrected, leaning back in his arms so that she could see his face again. "I don't think I ever really hated you. Not really. I thought you were frustrating, and brilliant, and far too cocky for your own good."

"You forgot attractive," Killian prodded, with a bump of his shoulder to hers.

"Oh yeah! And how could I forget? My usurper was pure liquid sex, wrapped in a leather jacket. Just my luck." She gave a dramatic sigh.

"Liquid sex?" The stupid grin on Killian's face was growing wider, and more cocky by the second.

"Yeah, yeah, I think you're hot. Is that really news?" Emma asked, brushing a bare leg against his own, illustrating exactly how much she clearly didn't mind being so close to him.

"Perhaps not." He frowned, thoughtfully. "But a man likes to be told."

"Certainly this man," Emma mumbled, a trace of teasing.

"Okay, that's it," said Killian with an air of finality, rolling away from her and getting up from his side of the bed, no apparent need for modesty.

"What are you doing?" she asked warily, sitting upright. Killian crossed to her side of the bed without a word, and gathered her into his arms, Emma squealing in surprise as she clutched at his arms.

"What are you doing?" she repeated as he crossed the room, her voice a few octaves higher, although she was forming a fairly good guess at where this was heading.

He lowered his face down to hers, blue eyes gleaming with intent.

"We're having a shower, Emma. And we may be some time." And with a few more steps, he reached over to turn on the overhead light, kicking the bathroom door shut behind them.

It wasn't technically snooping. Not when he had specifically instructed her to search his bag for toothpaste. The night had faded into that strange time stuck somewhere between too late and too early, and even the sounds of the city outside the window seemed dulled. She was wearing the godawful t-shirt, and a smile that said she had been too thoroughly fucked to care. A smile that faded somewhat when her fingers came into contact with something in the pocket of his duffel that was decidedly not toothpaste.

She drew it out, tracing the edges with her fingers. It was the same crumpled photo she'd carried around for days. Killian. The younger, less scarred version. A tiny trace of invulnerability to his smile which had since faded with youth.

"Swan?" Killian's head peered around the bathroom door, shortly followed by the rest of him, clad only in a towel, slung dangerously low on his hips. A distracting enough sight, until she looked up and saw him stop short, when he realized what she was holding.

"Ah," he said, drawing closer, a hand coming up to scratch his left ear. "I meant to throw that away."

"But you didn't."

"But I didn't," he agreed. They shared a meaningful glance.

"I was wondering..."

"Swan?" He took a step closer.

"I was wondering if you'd let me hold onto it?"

Emma wasn't stupid. She knew the man in that photograph wasn't hers. He was Milah's, and frozen in time as he was, he always would be. But maybe that was okay. She had plenty of ghosts of her own, after all, and she still had to make awkward small-talk with one of them on a semi-regular basis. And if Killian could accept that part of her would always reluctantly care about Neal, then she could accept this too. Protect it, even.

"You want to... keep it?" He looked as if that's the last thing he expected her to say.

"People have photos of their boyfriends in their wallets, right?" she asked blithely, smoothing it as best she could between her fingers. "That's a thing. I'm sure that's a thing."

"Boyfriend?" He raised a single eyebrow, his concerned expression quickly morphing into something else entirely.

"Yeah. I mean..." She lowered her gaze. God. It was so pathetically high school of her. "If you want."

Killian took that last step forward, using one hand to lift her chin to look back into his eyes, which were traced in amusement. "Are you asking me to go steady, Emma Swan?"

"Would that make you feel less easy for putting out before the third official date, Killian Jones?" Killian chuckled, grasping her left hand in both of his own.

"I would be honored, Emma," he said, before turning her hand over, and sealing his acceptance with the press of a kiss to the inside of her palm that left her whole arm tingling. It felt intensely personal, like a promise.

Emma smiled, twirling the photograph between the fingers of her free hand.

"To both?" she clarified.

"To both."

He continued the quest for toothpaste on his own, and a pair of sweatpants, whilst Emma slipped the photograph into her wallet, beside her picture of an 8 year old Henry riding his bike, a wide smile revealing two missing front teeth. She stared fondly for perhaps a bit too long, because before she knew it, Killian was waving Emma's new toothbrush in front of her face, already laden with toothpaste. It was pink. Glittery. And utterly ridiculous. Shiny, said an unbidden voice. She didn't comment, just raised a solitary eyebrow. He shot her a wink in the bathroom mirror.

"Can we go to sleep now?" Emma asked wearily, this scarily domestic scene drawing to a close. For all of her attempts at a caffeine overdose during the day, Emma was beginning to feel all of those sleepless nights of the last few weeks begin to press on her eyelids, not to mention the night's other, more eventful, developments.

"Oh, gods yes," Killian replied, leading her back to the bed, where they collapsed together, a tangle of tired limbs.

"Did you have a nice birthday, Swan?" He asked absently, as he reached across her to turn out the lamp.

"I did," she smiled in the dark, pulling him back towards her.

"And you'll still respect me in the morning?"

She reached for him, tracing the outline of his face, before patting his cheek affectionately. "We can only hope."

Emma awoke to the sound of thunder cracking open the sky, the shock of it enough to have her sitting bolt upright, the sound reverberating through her tired brain. She stretched out a hand, but the other side of the bed was empty. Cold.

"Killian?" She asked, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.

"Here, love."

With a flood of relief, Emma rolled over to the edge of the bed, to see Killian's form in the gray light, sat down on the carpet by the bed, dressed only in sweatpants, watching the progress of the storm over Midtown through the window.

He was still there.

Groaning, Emma rolled off the edge of the bed, landing with a small thump on the carpet beside him, adjusting the "I Heart NY" shirt she'd gotten twisted up in during the night.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, bringing an arm around her shoulders to draw her to his side.

"Morning," she replied, nuzzling into his shirt, still fighting off the last remnants of sleep. "Storm wake you up, too?"

"Aye. Albeit a little earlier than you. It's been raging for quite a while now. Lovely weather for ducks."

"What's the time?" Emma couldn't tell, in this stormy half light. Everything looked gray out the window, filtered through rain-splattered glass.

Killian consulted his phone, which lay on the carpet beside him.

"10:13am." Emma felt something inside her lurch uncomfortably.

"Oh shit!" She stood up. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit."

"Problem, Swan?" He seemed almost amused at the way she was began to pace in front of the window.

"I promised I'd have brunch with Mary Margaret and Ruby today. At 11!"

"In Boston?"

"Yes, in Boston! Where I'm supposed to be!" She couldn't believe she'd forgotten.

"Well," he examined the time again, "that's clearly not happening."

"I'm going to be so late." Even skirting traffic laws, she wouldn't get home for hours. Especially not in this weather.

"Or... you could just stay here..." He said, using the side of the bed to pull himself up to his full height. "With me."

"This is all your fault to begin with, buddy!" She aimed an accusing finger at his chest. "With your designer jacket, and your full honesty, and your come hither eyes."

"Come hither eyes?" He repeated, the smugness creeping back.

"You know what I'm talking about!" He didn't deny it, just shook his head mirthfully.

Emma rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. "I can't believe I'm one of those girls!"

"One of those girls?"

"The kind of girl who ditches her friends at the first opportunity as soon as she lands a guy. I hate those girls."

"Emma." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "They're your friends. They'll understand."

"Yeah, but-"

"Do you regret last night?"

"No, but-"

"Nor do I. Sometimes we just get caught up. And sometimes it's worth it." He gave her a very direct look. The kind that made her insides melt a little, when she didn't look away.

He made a convincing case.

Emma groaned, leaning forward to brush a kiss to his lips.

"I have to make a call."

Out of any other real options, dressed as she was in her highly glamorous get-up, Emma barricaded herself in the bathroom, phone clutched in her hands as she balanced carefully on the edge of the bathtub.

She'd been praying for voicemail, so naturally, Mary Margaret picked up after two rings.

"Emma! You're just on speaker. Ruby's here. We're just in the car now." Two for one. Even better.

"Happy Birthday! Late Birthday! Kind of Birthday!" Ruby shouted from the passenger seat.

"Thanks. Listen, er... guys. That's what I'm calling about. I'm really sorry, but I'm not going to make it. I'm ... still in New York."

"Are you kidding?" Ruby. Of course Ruby.

"Oh." Mary Margaret's disappointment was more tempered, but no less apparent.

"I am so sorry. I swear I'll make it up to you. Both of you. Henry made me stay for a birthday dinner, and then with the storm I..."

"Oh." Uh oh.

"Oh?" She heard Ruby ask.

"Does this have anything to with a certain call David got last night?"

"Call?" Even Emma didn't believe the innocence in her voice.

"About a certain Irishman following you to New York..." Fuck. Did those Nolans have to know everything as it happened? They were better than CNN.

"Oh my god, what?" Ruby at least sounded pleased. "Please tell me you finally got some. Please."

"Umm..."

"You did! She did!"

Emma debated her response. But what were friends for, if you couldn't share in the little victories?

"May possibly have got some," she finally admitted, before she was drowned out with Ruby's squeals of delight. She heard the unmistakeable sounds of a high five, and possibly the beep of a horn of a frustrated fellow motorist. Dear god, please don't let them get into a car accident over this.

"You worked things out?" Trust Mary Margaret to ask the real questions.

"Yeah, we worked things out."

"I'm really happy for you, Emma."

"Thanks."

"Congratulations on the sex!" Ah, Ruby.

"Aaand... I'm hanging up now."

"We'll reschedule brunch. Have a good weekend, Emma. Say hi to Killian from me."

"And me!"

Emma hung up, smiling ruefully at her phone, before walking out to the bedroom. Killian was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling a blue sweater over his head.

"Ruby and Mary Margaret say hi," she announced, sitting down beside him.

"Oh, I heard." Of course he did.

"Does this mean you're staying?" he asked, hopefully.

"I'm staying." He grinned victoriously, leaning across to kiss her, morning breath and all.

"Hungry, love?"

"Starved."

"Room service?"

"God yes." The idea of leaving the room for any reason was torturous.

"Good thing. You'll be needing your energy, Swan."

"You don't have to come up with me, you know?" Emma said, as they bundled into the elevator.

"Oh, I know. But I kind of want to see the look on the lad's face when he realizes his devious plan worked."

"Fine, but do you remember what I said about Neal?"

Killian sighed, and recited his lines back. "Punching is bad. Glaring is fine."

Emma tapped him on the nose with the tip of her finger. "You're so smart."

"I'm not just a pretty face, Swan." He winked, before the elevator shuddered to a halt on Neal's floor.

"I'm serious." Emma reminded him, as she left him down the corridor. "I don't care if he opens the door wearing a sign on his forehead saying "Punch Me." He's getting married in a week. If he has a black eye in his wedding photo, I will never hear the end of it."

"I've got it, love," he said, as they came to a stop outside the apartment door. "Ready?"

Emma nodded, and Killian leaned forward to knock on the door.

The door swung open, revealing a beautiful woman in a Lacoste jogging suit. Tamara. The inner calm she normally exuded somewhat tempered by the fact her usually immaculately straightened hair was standing up at odd angles, and a ballpoint pen was tucked behind one ear.

"Emma," she smiled in her usual polite way, when Emma gave her a small wave of greeting. She turned to Killian, considering him for a moment. "And you must be Killian Jones. Plus One. The salmon option."

"That's me," he nodded politely, with a brief shake of her hand.

"Come inside, guys. Mind the mess. Henry's just packing up the last of his stuff."

The cause of Tamara's anxieties became noticeable as soon as they stepped through the door. The living room, which had been so neatly ordered on Friday, was now groaning under the weight of all manner of wedding paraphernalia.

"Whoa," Emma couldn't quite believe it was the same room.

"Henry, your Mom is here!" Tamara called down the hall.

"You seem to have the wedding preparations well in hand, then?" Killian asked politely, motioning to the seating charts and place settings littered across every available surface.

Tamara barked out an unfunny laugh. "Oh yeah, sure. Only if you don't include a screw-up with the caterers, the church, the florist and the ring-bearer."

"Ouch." Emma had no idea what to say.

"I swear to god, I'm just waiting for the next thing to go wrong. A phone call saying my flower girl has gotten the chickenpox? A screw-up at the tailors? At this point, I'm about 99% ready to just elope."

Which was precisely the moment Neal walked into the room.

"We're eloping?"

"One more goddamn thing, Neal Cassidy, and yes, we are. Fuck the deposits, I'll take your ass right down to City Hall." Emma didn't miss the look that passed between them. Something warm, and battle-weary. She caught Killian's eye, who raised an eyebrow. Emma shook her head.

"Oh." Neal seemed to realize they had an audience. "Hi Ems." She felt his gaze slide between her and Killian, taking in Friday's clothes, the easy smiles, Killian's possessive hand on her hip. "Killian."

"Neal," Killian nodded, with something approaching civility.

"Good weekend?" Neal asked, as if he really would prefer not to know.

"Sublime," Killian answered, his heated gaze never leaving Emma's face. Emma elbowed him in the ribs, feeling her cheeks heating up.

"Right. Well as you can see, we've been stuck with wedding stuff. I think Henry will be glad to get outta here, to be honest."

"You have nooo idea," came Henry's voice, as he began walking down the hallway, dragging his backpack on the carpet behind him.

"Henry," said Emma sharply. "That's not very nice."

"No, it's okay." Tamara waved it away. "He's been a real trooper. I don't begrudge him an escape. Hell, I'm tempted to leave with you guys myself."

"Guys?" And that's when Henry looked up and saw Killian standing in his father's living room, beside Emma. "Holy smokes! It worked!"

"Holy smokes?" Neal cut in. "What the hell you been watching, kid?"

Henry ignored him, to examine the newly minted couple firsthand.

"So you guys are like, really together now?" Emma cast a glance at Tamara, who was busy trying not to appear like she was laughing, a bridal magazine obscuring most of her face.

"Uhh...Yeah."

"And you're coming home with us?" He asked Killian, eagerly.

"Hang on just one second there, kiddo." Emma clapped him on the shoulders. "He's getting a ride back to Boston with us. He's not a stray. We're not... keeping him."

"No?" Killian asked, winking at Henry.

"Don't encourage him!" She whacked him on the arm, before looking back to her son. "Henry, say goodbye to your Dad and Tamara, we'll meet you at the elevator." And then Emma dragged Killian out into the hallway, before she hit him again.

"And you thought that was gonna be fun?!"

"That was fun, love."

"I can't believe it. You might actually be worse than Henry."

"Your taste in men continues to astound, love." He grinned. "And just think, only another four hours in the car together."

"One more word, and I'm leaving you on the side of the interstate."

"You wouldn't." His eyes narrowed.

"Wouldn't I?"

"She wouldn't." Henry interrupted them. "She's threatened to leave me on the side of the road loads of times. She never does."

"Yeah, well," Emma grumbled. "In your case it's illegal."

"So," Henry looked between them. "What did you guys do all weekend?"