"Mom?"

Henry's puzzled inquiry draws their attention away from each other, and Emma forces a weak smile for her son. "C'mon, kid, let's get out of the way." The urge to bolt is strong, but she can't very well take off running with Henry right there.

"Emma!" This time it's not a broken plea, but an order she tries to ignore and can't. She turns just in time to see him throw his reins to David and swing out of the saddle with a grace she can't help but admire – but hasn't that always been the case with him?

He jogs over and Emma struggles to breathe, to not dig her nails into Henry's shoulder where her hand rests protectively. "Do you truly intend to just walk away again?" Killian demands, his voice hoarse and eyes wild.

"I walked away? I wasn't the one who…" Emma stops, takes a deep breath and glances down at her son. He's old enough to understand too much, and she won't have this conversation in front of him. "I need to make Henry's dinner. Henry, go wash up. I'll be there in a minute." He looks like he wants to argue with her, but he's a good kid and he goes.

"I'll wait," Killian says once Henry is out of earshot, his arms folded defiantly across his chest. He's planted himself to the spot, stance wide and stubborn. The fire in his eyes reminds her of how he used to look at her, not with barely contained rage as he is now, but with passion and longing.

Those eyes of his could burn her from across a room, once. Nothing about that has changed.

But everything else has.

She sighs to cover her churning emotions, gesturing toward the stable David has led both horses into, struggling to conceal the tremor crawling along her arm. "Did you and David come in one car?"

"Aye, but…"

"I don't have time to drive you back, and I'm sure he needs to get home to his family." Emma's lips form a thin, hard line as she stares at the dirt at her feet, praying her voice doesn't shake as badly as her hands.

What are you doing?

It won't work. You learned that the first time. Better to send him away now. You barely survived this time. You have Henry to think about.

"I'll come back later."

"It's almost a two hour drive. Each way."

"I'm aware."

She looks up then, really looks up into his eyes. They're filled with determination she's seen before, and she knows come hell or high water, he's going to make her have this conversation. It doesn't matter how many excuses she comes up with – eventually he'll corner her.

"You really want to drive back out here tonight?" she finally asks, a last ditch effort as she shoves her hands in her pockets. She stares over his shoulder at the long shadows on the paddocks cast by the late afternoon sun, avoiding his gaze.

"What I want is to go back to that hotel room in Inverness and do it all over again. What I want is for you to have called me back one of the hundreds of times I bloody tried to reach you after you left. But aye, I will settle for driving back here tonight so we may have a conversation that is a damnably long time overdue." Tension radiates from him, a simmering anger burning just below the surface of his words. He's watching her when she looks into his eyes, intense as she's ever seen him. "I won't let you disappear again, Emma. Not without giving me a bloody good reason."

"You don't get to let me do anything. I don't belong to you anymore," she says quietly, glancing over her shoulder toward the small cabin she and Henry call home. She refuses to belong to anyone but herself these days. Being a mother means putting her son above everything, and to do that, she can't be anyone's but Henry's.

"Look me in the eye and say it."

Her eyes snap back to his, and she takes a deep breath, struggling with the words because she can't do this again. She can't get wrapped up in him and his beautiful words and his beautiful life; she can't fall into a million jagged pieces when it all goes wrong. "I…I don't…"

"You've always been a miserable liar," he says when she's let the silence drag too long, his words sharp. He scrubs his palm over his face, following her eyes to where David is lounging against the side of the barn, clearly intending to give them whatever space they require. "I should be back around ten. Will the lad have gone to bed by then?"

"Yeah." Emma sighs in defeat, gesturing to the cabin Henry disappeared into. "That one's ours."

"Promise me you won't run off before I'm able to return."

Of everything he's said to her in the last ten minutes, that's what breaks her heart the most – the fear and frustration she hears in his voice – and the certain knowledge she can't give him what he wants.

She couldn't do it before and she can't do it now.

"Where would I go?" It's barely a whisper, and she doesn't even mean to say it aloud, but the blistering stare she receives in reply tells her he has opinions on the matter. Emma starts to turn away, unable to stand the look he's giving her for another minute. "David is waiting," she says, gesturing toward the barn with her eyes on the dirt.

"Aye." He turns to go, and she doesn't know if it's a promise or a threat, but she nods anyway.

He's gone two steps before he turns back to her, a curse on his lips, his eyes molten. She should step back, should walk away, but she's frozen to the spot as he lunges for her, his hand twisting into her hair and keeping her in place. He hauls her up against him, and she knows in that split second what's coming, but she still isn't prepared for the brutal kiss he delivers. He's holding her too tightly, his grip on her hair almost painful, but she's powerless in his arms, responding instantly. She tries to keep up, but he's a man possessed, his teeth nipping at her lips. She presses closer, his other hand sliding from her hip across her bottom to keep her anchored against him, and they must be giving anyone watching quite the show but she doesn't care.

He breaks apart from her as suddenly as he grabbed her, and she's struggling to catch her breath as he steps away. "That's the first bloody thing I should have done." His voice is ragged, but there's a trace of the old bravado in his smirk. "Later, Swan."

This time, there's no question – it's a promise.

She just nods, her fingers on her nearly bruised lips as he walks away. She turns back to the cabin and tries not to think of any of what's just happened – or what will happen, when he returns.

Killian's hands are clenched so tightly at his sides he nearly expects the bones to snap. He stalks toward David, every muscle in his body tensed against the desperate urge to return to Emma's side, to tell David to go home without him, to stay until she bloody listens to him.

To not let her out of his sight until he's certain she won't disappear the moment he turns his back.

"Ready to go?" David eyes him as though he's a bomb about to explode, and Killian doesn't trust himself to speak. He nods in response, pivoting toward the car. He shouldn't, but he glances over his shoulder at Emma, her messy braid swinging between her stiff shoulders as she walks away.

She's only walking toward her cabin, but panic claws at his throat anyway.

Swallowing thickly, he throws himself into the passenger seat of David's truck, folding his arms over his chest and pressing his head back into the seat. "Did you know she was going to be here?" he demands as soon as the door closes behind David, the key not even in the ignition. "Did you set me up without any bloody warning? I swear to you, Dave, if you–"

"I didn't know," David cuts in, leveling Killian with a look that's half contempt and half sympathy. "C'mon, man, if I knew she was here this whole time I would have told you."

Killian grunts an unintelligible response, and David has the good sense not to say anything, turning on the radio and keeping his eyes on the road.

But it's a long drive.

"Are you going to see her again?" David finally asks, his tone cautious and his gaze still firmly on the freeway before them.

"I'm going back tonight."

"Tonight?"

"That's what I bloody said."

David scowls at him, his fingers noticeably tightening on the steering wheel. "Look, I'd be pissed too, but if you can't be civil to me, how the hell are you going to be civil to her?"

"You're an irritating sot. Emma is…" He stares out the window, the mountains in the distance hazy in the fading light. It's a struggle to pick the words he wants, and in the end, all he can say is, "I love her."

"So getting back together is the goal?"

"I just bloody said I love her. What else would the goal be?"

"Considering how pissed you are…"

"Let me remind you of your if she would just stop leaving the tea mugs everywhere rant of not one week prior."

"That is not the same." David pauses, then adds, "And it's a bad habit. Leo is going to be walking soon, and if he knocks himself in the head with one of those things…" He sighs, making a vague motion with one hand. "Never mind my marriage. If you want to fix things with Emma, you've got to calm down. You and I both know pushing her won't get you anywhere."

"She left. Over a bloody argument. She just left. And now she's been back in California all this bloody time and never said a word." Killian forces himself to stop, his temper rising. "If she disappears again…"

"Yeah, like I said, I'd be pissed too. But for what it's worth, I don't think she's going anywhere this time."

"Your crystal ball telling you that?"

David ignores the jab, gesturing toward the open freeway. "Look, you can go back out there guns blazing and argue with her. But, and I'm repeating myself here, it won't get you anywhere. That girl is still terrified and it's all over her face. And she has a kid to look after now."

"Is this the now that I'm a father speech you've been saving up?"

David shrugs. "It changes you."

"You truly believe she won't run?" Killian asks after a lengthy silence, the hope he's been trying so very much to keep at bay making his chest tight.

"The two of you…you're stubborn. But she looks at you the same way she always has. I don't know how you fix it. I love my wife, and hell if I even know how to make her happy all the time. But you know Emma."

"Yeah," Killian mutters. David is right, annoyingly enough. Emma won't respond to a display of temper. The woman has always tried his patience, but she's been worth it.

He spends the remaining hours in the car reminding himself of that, and by the time he turns down the ranch's long driveway, he's managed to swallow enough of his anger to believe the night will end much better than the day began.

Henry eyes Emma suspiciously when she enters, playing a video game on the couch. "Did he leave?"

"Yes," she says quietly, struggling to keep her composure in front of her son. She only gave him the barest of details when they were in Boston, but she can see how curious he is now. She's not even sure if Henry recognizes Killian – most of his movies haven't exactly been kid friendly.

"I can't believe you dated Killian Jones, Mom. I know you said famous but…" Henry shrugs, turning back to his video game.

Well, that answers that. "How do you know who Killian Jones is?" she asks with a nudge. "I'm not sure his movies are entirely appropriate for you."

Henry spares her a glance, and she can't help but smile because that little side-eye smirk is a look he gets from her. "No one paid attention to what I watched in Boston. I've seen R-rated movies before." He pulls a face, and she can't quite tell if it's for her or the game. "He doesn't seem so bad."

Emma sighs, plopping on the couch next to him and grabbing a controller. "He's not."

"So why did you break up? Is he here because he wants to get back together?"

"What's with all the questions, kid?"

Henry shrugs, his attention back on the game as Emma starts shooting aliens along with him. "He seems nice."

"Yeah," Emma mumbles, her eyes glued to the TV. She tries not to think about Killian coming back, tries to just focus on the video game and dinner and her nightly routine with Henry.

Can't I just stay up a little while longer?

No, you've got school.

But Moooooom.

Henry. Bed.

It's just shy of ten when she sits down on the porch steps, wrapped in a thick sweatshirt against the chill in the spring night. She's armed with a beer in her hand and another sitting beside her should Killian want it, dread churning her stomach. Something stronger would be preferable, but she doesn't want him driving home soaked in rum – or finding an excuse to stay.

It took some getting used to, the stillness and silence of the ranch at night. They're so far from Los Angeles that the light pollution doesn't interfere with the endless stretch of stars above her on clear nights like tonight. There's a light breeze, and she can hear the rustle of the grass, the occasional nicker of the horses settling down for the night. A screen door creaks open and bangs shut, but then it's perfectly still for a moment before she hears the crunch of tires on gravel.

She tries not to flinch when the headlights sweep over her, knowing it's him even in the darkness as her pulse pounds in her ears. She squints as he cuts the lights, her eyes once again adjusting to the night as he gets out of the car and makes his way toward her. "Hi," she says quietly, offering up the beer without getting off the steps.

"Hi." He eyes her for a minute, like he wants to say something else, but in the end he simply takes a seat on the step beside her. Their thighs brush against one another as he drinks from the bottle she's handed him, and she bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep her gasp from escaping. He's changed into jeans and a T-shirt as though the night air doesn't bother him, and his hair is sticking out every which way, like he's spent the duration of the drive tugging on it. It's so familiar her heart aches, and she tightens her fingers on her beer bottle to keep from reaching for him. "Is your boy asleep?"

"Yes. He shouldn't wake up – the kid sleeps through anything."

"Aye." He's quieter than he was this afternoon, less angry, but there's pain in his eyes when he looks at her. "Are you happy?"

It's the last thing she expects him to ask, and it throws her. "I'm not unhappy," is the best answer she can come up with, once again staring off into the night rather than look at him.

"Were you, before? With me? Were you…happy, with me?" It's a tentative question, and she can hear his breath catch on the words.

Bloody hell, Emma. We said no fucking lies. I have never lied to you!

"Yes," she whispers, her hands shaking as she takes another drink from her beer, struggling to hide the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She doesn't want to be like this with him, intimate and fragile and honest, but she can't seem to put on the cool mask of indifference that's always served her in the past.

And she can't lie.

"Do you think you could be happy again?"

She does look at him then, searching his tense jaw and troubled eyes for something, anything that will give her an answer. "I don't know," she finally says, turning away before her face gives away how badly she wants to be happy with him again. "My life is different now. I have Henry. I can't just think about myself."

"Do you know why I left that day?" He pauses for barely a second, not waiting for her to shake her head before he barrels on. "Milah – Gold's wife – when I met her, she never told me she was married. It wasn't until we were so far…I was in love with her. And then it was revealed she had a son and a husband, and a whole other life she was keeping hidden from me. She never intended to leave her husband – I was just a bit on the side, something to entertain her when he was too busy with his magazines." He stops, takes a deep breath and another long drink from his beer. "None of which you knew, and perhaps I should have told you. To discover you also had a son you never told me of…"

"I'm sorry." Her hand falls on his thigh, squeezing gently. "I wanted to tell you. I thought about it so many times. I just…" She shrugs, starting to draw her hand away, but he grabs it back, weaves his fingers through hers and squeezes.

"I wish you had stayed but another hour. We could have avoided all this."

"You left. It seemed appropriate to do the same."

"I went for a walk to cool off, Emma. I needed a bit of air to collect myself before I said something in a fit of temper I would regret. I didn't get on a plane and disappear into thin air." The anger creeps back in as he says it, but he doesn't let go of her hand. "I need to know why. You owe me that much."

She's silent, and he begins to think she won't answer, that he'll leave this ranch more broken than when he arrived. But softly, slowly, the words come.

"I'm going to tell you this once, and once only." She stops, eyes flickering to his as he nods his agreement before she continues. "You know I have no idea who my parents are. I grew up in a combination of foster homes and group homes. Some weren't so bad. Some were awful. It's part of why when I found out that Henry…"

She stops then, squeezes her eyes shut tight, her breaths uneven. He doesn't push, his thumb rubbing a soothing stroke over the back of her hand as he waits. The moment he lacked patience in the past cost him everything – he won't give into it now.

"I told you about Neal and the watches and how I went to jail. I didn't tell you I found out I was pregnant a month into my sentence. I gave Henry up, because I figured he would have a better shot at things without me. There was a family lined up, ready to take him. It wasn't going to be like it was for me, just dumped into the system. How he ended up where he did…" She trails off again, and he struggles not to let his fingers curl into a ball like he wants to. He hated the man before, this monster who hurt Emma, but to know the full truth of it makes him want to hit something.

Hard.

"Anyway, people have been walking out on me my entire life. I accepted Regina's offer because the money she wanted to pay me was a ticket out of a life where every day was a struggle, where maybe I could afford to buy myself a home, and even if it was just me, I would have a shot at happiness. I didn't count on…I didn't mean to get…" She wipes at the moisture that escapes her eye, an unsuccessful attempt to control her tears. His heart aches to reach for her, to pull her into his arms, but there is nothing about the stiffness of her shoulders that makes him think it would be welcome. "When you walked out of that hotel room... I tried to stay, to wait, but that hour went by, and you didn't answer your phone, and all I could think was not again."

"I didn't have my phone with me. It was still on silent from when Regina kept calling. I forgot it on the bed." It's difficult to keep the words quiet, to swallow the hurt and the anger that wants to let them be sharp as a knife. He sighs, scratching behind his ear before taking another swig of beer. "I tried to call you the moment I realized it, and I must have called a hundred times more. Why didn't you answer my calls? I left you message after message." His temper flares all over again at the memory, the desperate attempts to reach her over and over, her infuriating silence.

"I know. I deleted them. I couldn't..."

"You didn't listen to any of them?" he interrupts, her words tearing the wound open all over again. "Bloody hell, Swan, I left you dozens of messages. I begged, and I…" He forces himself to stop, forces himself to loosen his grip on her fingers as he realizes his grip is likely crushing them. All the late nights, the frantic calls...

"Why?" he asks, clenching his teeth to keep his voice level. "I didn't just call you one bloody time and give up. How did you not know I was desperate to talk to you?"

She starts to pull her hand away, but he only tightens his fingers on hers, staring intently at her when she looks him in the eye. He's not willing to let her go so easily this time, and the sooner she understands that, the better.

"I… I knew if I listened to them, I would… I would cave. I would get back on a plane and go back to Scotland. And I would be terrified every minute of every day that you were going to walk away from me again, and my son would still be god only knows where. So I deleted the messages." She takes a deep breath, staring down at their entwined fingers. "Then the press got a hold of my number, and I had to get a new phone. I needed to focus on Henry, so it seemed best not to look back." She smiles, a poor imitation of the real thing and takes another sip of her beer, looking away to hide the shimmer of tears in her eyes. "I did try to call you once, on Christmas."

Killian winces, remembering the unavailable missed call he had assumed was a wrong number or some sort of telemarketing call. If only he had answered – if only they could have put this all behind themselves months ago.

"You didn't leave a message." He doesn't mean it to be an accusation, but it comes out that way, anyway. If he had but known… if she had given him the chance, he would have flown to Boston for the three day break in filming, would have gotten down on his knees and begged instead of drinking himself into a stupor.

"I tried to reach you several times through your attorney, but she was...very protective of you," he finally says when it becomes clear she isn't going to answer him, isn't going to defend her decision.

"She was. I...I wasn't in a place where we could have had this conversation."

"She said you ripped up the check I sent."

"I did." There's a flash of irritation in her eyes, and he can feel the tension ratchet up with her body so close to his. "Of all things...why the hell did you do that?"

He shrugs, taking another sip of his beer to avoid answering immediately. "I was desperate. I thought perhaps the money would help you with Henry, or that you would understand I still wanted to be a part of your life…"

"By paying me off?" she cuts in, bitterness making the words sting. "How could you not know things between us...it hadn't been about the money for a very long time. My feelings for you were real."

"Were?" He forces himself not to choke on the word, to watch her carefully as she picks at the label on her beer with her thumbnail. "Did you not...do you not feel we should be together anymore?"

She doesn't answer right away, avoiding his gaze with her eyes firmly on the bottle in her hands. "I did think about it, after the case was over," she finally says, and he swears her voice is shaking. "I put Henry to bed that night, and I thought to myself, maybe there's a chance. And then I woke up, and there you were, kissing another woman."

"That wasn't real. I wasn't..." He struggles to keep the hurt out of his voice, rage at Gold, at the tabloids, at himself rising to the surface once more. "How could you imagine that I would…" He stops again, staring up at the endless expanse of sky as though the answer is somehow written in the stars. "We had to rehearse the scene because I couldn't get it right. I couldn't do my job because it required kissing another woman. Bloody hell, Emma, she told me to think of you and–"

"So you kissed another woman while thinking of me? What the hell?"

"You are twisting my words. I only meant that–"

"It doesn't matter," she interrupts again, pain in her eyes for the split second she looks at him. "We weren't together. We aren't together. You moved on. I don't have any right… it's all right."

"It is most certainly not all right. I haven't bloody moved on! I have thought of little else but you these long months. How could you even think…" He stops, gritting his teeth and fighting to breathe evenly before he begins again. "That photo…Gold used that, made it look like something it wasn't." He sighs, attempting to rein in his temper, remembering all too vividly how difficult it had been to focus on his job when all he wanted to do was get on the next flight out of town.

"Well, it's over and done now," she says after a long silence, her voice strangled as though the words stick in her throat. They've been apart for months, but he still knows her – still knows the sound of her voice when she's trying to convince herself of something as much as him.

"Is that really what you believe?"

"What I believe?"

"That things between us are over and done?"

"Aren't they?"

He doesn't answer, but he does let go of her hand. He can tell she's still struggling not to let her emotions show, the pain in her eyes flickering in and out, but he's done talking. He plucks the beer bottle from her hand, carefully setting it on the porch behind them along with his own.

She watches him, wary, but she doesn't stop him as he slides his palms along her jaw, his fingers reaching over her cheeks as he leans in and kisses her, a gentle, barely there kiss that is so different from the violent passion of the afternoon that his throat tightens.

It's not what he wants. He wants to crush her into his arms, brand her with his lips and never let her go. But the skittish look is back in her eyes, and pushing Emma has never ended well for him in the past.

His thumb brushes away the tear tracking down her cheek as they break apart, and it's impossible to swallow the gut-wrenching sadness in his bones. This seems too much like goodbye, and he can't have this be how things end. "I love you, Emma. I'll always love you. For me, it will never be over and done."

Emma says nothing, but she doesn't pull away, doesn't shrink from his touch as he gathers her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her hair. He can't say how long they sit there together, the night still around them, but the longer it goes on, the brighter hope burns.

"You should go," she finally whispers, pulling away. She shakes her head, like she's not quite sure she's awake, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. She shrugs off his arm, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. "I've got to be up early with Henry."

He freezes, the quiet night only amplifying the rush of blood in his ears at what is clearly a dismissal and a light snuffing out. "Go?" he repeats back, staring at her in disbelief. "How… I have no wish to go."

"You need to."

"Like hell I do." David's words of caution ring in his ears and he should stop, should bite his tongue and clench his teeth and swallow the angry words, but he can't. There's too many months of hurt that have festered into anger, a deep fury boiling over as he watches her try to close herself off, relaying each and every brick of the walls he's fought to overcome. "We have much yet to say to one another, you and I. I won't be dismissed like a naughty child. No running this time, darling. You owe me this much."

"I don't owe you anything," she snaps back, the words cracking like a whip. "You walked out, Killian. You didn't so much as give me a chance to explain. You didn't consider for a second how I felt, my life splashed across the tabloids because of your past with that asshole." Her voice is low, but there's no mistaking the cut of the words, a rage building in her eyes to match his own.

"I've told you…"

"Yeah, I know. Gold's wife had secrets. You've said." She pauses, eyes narrowing as she presses against the railing. "I told you a long time ago you had the power to ruin me. I hate that I was right. I hate that I gave you that power. I won't do it again. I can't."

"We had an argument, Emma. I expect we'll have more. You can't…"

"No," she cuts in, getting to her feet and swiping angrily at her tears. "We won't. There will be no arguments because you are getting back in your car, and you're going back to LA. I can't… I'm someone's mother. I can't afford to…" Her voice catches, a sob breaking through as she hugs her arms around herself, jerking away when he reaches for her.

"Emma…"

"No, Killian. Not this time. Go."

He stares at her, disbelief and hurt and anger rattling against his ribs in his tight chest. She says she wants him gone, and she says she can't, but she kissed him back – not only moments ago, but in the afternoon as well. "As you wish," he finally says, barely able to restrain himself. All he wants to do is push her up against the porch railing and kiss her until she stops fighting against the happiness that's slipped through their fingers once before.

She doesn't say anything, stubbornly staring off into the night in spite of the tears running unchecked down her cheeks. She's as easy to read as ever, pain and fear pinching her features when he looks back.

"Bloody stubborn woman," he mutters to himself as he gets in the car, glaring through the windshield at her as he turns the key in the ignition, cursing Gold, cursing Emma, cursing the night.

"Let's go, Henry. You're going to be late." Emma's voice rasps past her lips, hoarse from a sleepless night spent with her face pressed into a pillow to muffle her sobs. Last night her fear stopped her, but in the morning's light, she's terrified she made the wrong choice. She's exhausted, and she must sound as awful as she feels since Granny didn't so much as question her when she called to say she was sick and needed to stay in bed today.

Henry slurps down the rest of his juice, grabbing his bag as Emma scoops up her car keys. He's been eying her suspiciously all morning, and she can't entirely blame him. She knows her eyes are red and glassy, her skin pale and lips chapped.

She also nearly poured orange juice into his cereal.

"Did he hurt you?" he asks quietly, stopping her dead in her tracks as she stares back at him.

"No," she manages to choke out. "Allergies, kid. That's all."

Henry clearly doesn't believe her, and she wonders if he's inherited her natural ability to spot a lie a mile away. "I heard you talking to him last night. Why did you make him leave?"

"I…" Emma stops, squeezing her eyes shut against the memory of Killian's face in the moonlight, the pain in his eyes. "It's complicated, but you don't have to worry about it. He's back in LA." She has to struggle not to wince.

It was the right decision. For Henry. For her.

He looks like he wants to argue, but she's already shoving a pair of sunglasses over her swollen eyes and ushering him out the door. It isn't until she nearly trips over her own kid that she notices the gleam of burgundy paint on the car parked outside. "I don't think he listened to you."

Relief washes over her, pure and simple relief at Killian slouched in the driver's seat, asleep as far as she can tell. She doesn't want to be relieved – she wants to be angry he didn't listen to her, angry he blatantly refused to do as she asked. But after a night spent crying over the man, the familiar sight of his messy dark hair only makes her ache for him all the more, damn the consequences.

She told him to leave and he stayed.

Emma takes a deep breath, steering Henry away from Killian's car and toward her own, parked on the other side of the barn with the rest of the staff. "We're late." Whatever Killian's presence means or doesn't, she has to get her son to school.

"But, Mom, he's…"

"Henry, really, we don't have time for this. I'll deal with him after I drop you off."

"Is that a promise, Swan?"

She whips around to stare at him, his eyes blinking against the bright sun as he gets out of the car, leaning back against it with his arms folded over his chest. He stares at her expectantly, his gaze narrowing on the keys in her hand. "I have to bring Henry to school," is the only answer she can come up with under his intense examination.

"And then you will return?"

She's grateful for the sunglasses hiding her eyes as she nods, unable to speak as the tears rise once again and she quickly turns away without another word. It's a tense ride to school with Henry's curious stare, but she grips the steering wheel and watches the road.

She is supposed to be making Henry's life less complicated, not more.

"You should listen to him, Mom," Henry says as they're pulling into the school parking lot.

She sighs, turning to face him as she pulls into the drop off. "Henry... "

"He slept in his car. He obviously wants to talk to you. Maybe….maybe he could make you less sad."

Emma's heart breaks at her son's words, impulsively leaning across the car to hug him. "I'm not sad, Henry. I like our life together." It's not exactly a lie – finding Henry and getting to know him is something she wouldn't give up for anything.

But she's not happy either.

"I'll see you at three," she calls after him as he gets out of the car. Henry waves back at her before walking over to a group of his friends. She can't help but watch for a moment – regardless of her messy emotional state, she was right when she told Killian that Henry is happy. That's what matters.

The drive back to the ranch isn't a long one, but it's enough for Emma's stomach to knot and her hands to shake. What is she supposed to say to him this morning after their conversation last night? How is she supposed to explain that no matter how relieved she was to see him when she looked up, it's fear that makes her palms sweat now, fear that he'll leave again, that she won't be enough, that Gold will do everything in his power to ruin their lives.

That he's already hurt her once and she's not sure she can do it again no matter how desperately she misses him.

Killian is sitting on the steps when she returns, his back to the railing and his legs neatly crossed at the ankles. He looks like hell upon closer inspection, his own eyes red and the stubble coating his jaw wild. "Back so soon?" he asks, a hint of sarcasm in the words, as though he expected her to avoid him for much longer.

"The school is only a few miles down the road."

"Will they be requiring you this morning?"

"I called out sick."

"You're ill?"

"Something like that," she mutters before she can stop herself.

Neither of them makes a move toward the other, Killian on the stairs and Emma standing in the dirt, but they can't remain here forever. "What are you doing here?" she finally asks, shoving her hands into her pockets to keep them occupied. "We agreed you would go back to LA."

"I didn't agree to a bloody thing." He's not attempting to hide his anger this morning, and the words sting. "I won't give up on you that easily, love. I won't give up on us. I don't understand how you can."

"What's different now?"

"Now?"

"Yes, now. What's so different now than it was before? I was in Boston for months. You could have tried then." She knows the words aren't fair as soon as she's said them, knows she's looking for a fight, but she can't stop herself. She can feel her resistance crumbling.

"I bloody well did try! You were the one who refused to return my calls, who instructed your attorney to tell me you were unavailable. You were the one who couldn't do me the courtesy of listening to a single message I left you." He gets to his feet as he seethes, closing the space between them until his boots are inches from hers. "What is it going to take for you to understand? I would have given it up for you. All of it."

He can't possibly mean...

He takes a shaky breath, but his eyes don't leave hers, dark and intense. "I was determined to get to that airport, to stop you from getting on that plane come hell or high water. Regina stopped me. And in the days after, I thought that my presence might somehow hurt your chance of getting Henry back. I had hoped that once you had your son back, once the media circus died down, that there would be time for us." His jaw tightens, eyes flashing with hurt. "But you bloody took off again before I even knew it without so much as a trace."

"Those photos…"

"Aye, those photos," he says bitterly, rubbing his eyes. "Emma, please…"

He's so close, too close. When he looks at her like he is now, emotion flooding his eyes, his voice hoarse, it's harder to remember all the reasons she sent him away last night, all the reasons why it isn't a good idea to fall back into things with him.

"I slept in your bed the night I went to get my things," she blurts out, her eyes burning behind her sunglasses. She's not even sure why she's telling him this, now, but the words continue to fall from her lips. "I left in the middle of the night because I knew if I stayed until morning, I would never be able to leave."

He doesn't say anything, but he does reach for her, tentative and soft as he pulls her sunglasses off, his thumb brushing away the tears she can't seem to stop. "I will always come back for you. You just have to let me."

"Why did you stay last night?"

"I feared you would run again. I hadn't made it off the property before I turned around."

Emma stares up into his eyes, the confession tearing at her heart. Her hands move of their own accord, palms flattening against his chest as she leans in, drawn to him as she always has been.

He doesn't wait for her to go any further, crashing into her. His lips are salty, whether from her tears or his, she can't be certain, but he is pure need as his mouth moves against hers, a low moan escaping him as they breathe out together, his fingers in her hair, the other arm anchored around her hips.

"I can't lose you again," she whispers, her fingers clenching in his T-shirt. "I can't…"

"You won't." He moves in again, his kiss desperate, the press of his body against hers a plea. "Inside," he mumbles against her mouth, tugging her with him as he steps backward.

Emma realizes with a sudden flush of her cheeks they are still standing in front of the stairs of her cabin, exposed to anyone who may wander by. She told Granny she was sick, and now here she is kissing Killian for all the world to see. She leans back, fighting to catch her breath and her thoughts.

He doesn't release her, his palm cupping her jaw as he waits for her decision. Opening that door won't just take them inside her small cabin – it's letting him back into her heart, taking a chance he means what he says and won't walk out on her.

A chance that she can be enough.

Her breath falters as she brings her eyes to his, sees the mingling fear and love and hesitant hope staring back at her.

He walked out of that hotel room so many months ago, and it broke her. But now, if she says no, if she pushes him away, she's going to spend the rest of her life missing this man – she's going to break them both.

"Okay."

Many thanks to onceuponsomechaos for taking time out of her vacation to beta this chapter. Thanks, darling!

I head off for vacation myself on Friday. Not sure what the wifi situation will be, so next chapter is TBD. There will likely be more missing scenes / outtakes between now and then as i work my way through the requests. The first and second ones are already posted if you missed them.

Three more chapters and an epilogue to go!