Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or Once Upon A Time - the trolls Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz do. If I did, I'd make them canon faster than lighting.


Killian was trying really hard not to grimace, opting to take generous gulps of his rum instead of pondering and examining every word he had jus exchanged with Humbert. His mate had come over to him while he had been trying to get the bartender's attention in order to get his drink, and Killian had to admit begrudgingly that it hadn't been such a warm welcome as he was used to share with his fellow, the memory of him kissing Emma during their acceptance speech still making him want to whirl on his heel and leave, curl up in a ball, sleep and forget that it had happened right in front of his eyes. Graham had apologized, and repeated over and over again how of course it had been all a show for the awards, and that both him and Emma agreed that it didn't mean anything at all.

Of course.

Even if his words were meant to be comforting, Killian had never been too keen on these kind of speeches, and he just knew he would need time to come to terms with the bitterness that clogged his insides and stopped him from gracefully accepting his apology - an apology completely unnecessary, now that they were at it. Emma could kiss whoever she wanted, she didn't owe him anything.

Thus, the rum.

Suddenly, a girl sidled up to his right, too close for Killian's comfort, who spied her from the corner of his eye distractedly. When she made no attempt to move at all, he barked, "You lost, love?"

She grinned, pearly white teeth flashing against the dark skin of her face. "Not at all - that'd be you, right, Lost Boy?"

He gave her a tight-lipped smile. Like he hadn't heard that before. "Funny." In a swift movement, the girl's hand had picked up his drink from where it had been sitting over the counter. She took a generous sip, not tearing her gaze from his as she did. If she was trying to be flirtatious or cocky, he would have to tell her she was not succeeding at all. He was not amused by her stealing his beloved rum: he was definitely in no mood for this. "I don't remember giving you permission for that."

She faked-gasped, arching an eyebrow at him. "Oh. What? Is your ex going to be mad at you?"

"Well, look who's up to speed," he replied, fighting the urge to snap at her. He had to keep some kind of composure in here. They were in public, after all. It'd be of no use to start a row in the stupid after party.

She tapped her painted nails against the cool glass of his drink, fixing him with a challenging smile. "I'm a quick learner."

"Then you'd know I'm definitely not interested."

She stepped closer to him then, her chest nearly brushing his, and his body instantly jerked away from hers, like it had burned him. It felt all kinds of wrong, her trying to feel him up, the unabashed flirting... everything. "Maybe not right now... give it a little time."

She didn't back down, did she?

Oh, well. She hadn't known the jerk he could really be...

Closing his hand over hers, as if he were about to caress her fingers, he stared down at her, trapping her gaze with his for a couple of seconds until she was completely transfixed. "Darling, read my lips: not. interested," he uttered firmly, and with a final tug he snatched his glass back from her grip.

To his surprise, she didn't look too dejected by his rejection. In fact, he would say she even appeared interested, her expression carefully guarded before shrugging lightly, calling over her shoulder as she spun on her heel and left his side. "I'll check up on you later - just to make sure you haven't changed your mind."

He turned back to the bartender to ask for a refill after chugging the remains she had left, already forgetting the exchange and shaking his head, a sarcastic retort making its way past his lips without him even noticing. "I can't wait."


He had no idea where he was. What was he doing? What was that sound - that beat? Was that music? Where was he sitting? It was comfy. It was nice. It was soft to touch. He let his hand run over the material, marveling at its texture. His head leaned over the side, eyes unblinking, a million lights dancing in front of him.

Woah.

There was a girl sitting there with him. Oh God, her skin glowed, sweat mixing with her dark color, giving it a glistening complexion that he itched to caress.

Yet he couldn't for the life of him explain what he was thinking at the moment, his brain a confused and jumbled mess where every idea ran and flew around, making it impossible for him to follow from one to another.

And he ended up spouting things just like this.

"Your skin looks like coffee. Does it taste like coffee too?"

Emma hated coffee.

He thought he heard the girl muttering something angrily under her breath, but he had no way to find out - nor was he too interested to be completely fair, rapidly deciding it was a way better idea to lay on the booth instead. Before he could change positions, though, he was jerked upright violently and a livid voice cleared minimally the haze in his mind. "Killian, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"He's with me." A feminine voice. Coffee girl voice?

"Get the hell away from him. Now." Oh, male voice.

Wait. He knew that voice.

Jeff? Was that Jeff? Why was he yelling? Was he mad at him? Killian hated when Jeff got mad at him - he had quite the temper, and so did he, and they both usually had rows about the pettiest things from now and then, but they usually forgot about them in no time. He hoped whatever had sent him off this time would pass too. He would have to write him a little poem to ask for his forgiveness if he stayed mad for too long.

Wait, why was he mad?

Why was Jeff there anyway?

Where were they?

"But..." The girl who was sitting beside him - on him - what was even going on? - tried to protest against his friend's attempts at prying him away from her and the booth he had claimed as his bed. It was too comfortable in there.

"I said get your greasy paws away from him. Got it?"

Killian wanted to tell him that coffee girl's hands were all but greasy paws - though that glow he had noticed on her skin earlier could lead to confusion as to greasy. Maybe sweaty? Who knew really? But they were definitely not paws. That was just rude. Jeff was so rude.

But no words came out, even if he tried to smack his friend on the arm, only managing a half-arsed and pathetic pat.

Coffee girl talked once more before getting up and leaving. "Fine. Tell him we had the best time, and that we can have a second go whenever he wants."

"Sure thing."

Bored with the whole exchange - or, to better phrase it, completely confused, as he had been since he could remember with everything surrounding him, - Killian tried to talk then, his feet failing him as he tried to put one right after the other. "Jeff... I..."

His friend didn't seem so intent in letting him speak, though, setting Killian's arm over his own shoulders and wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him upright, half-dragging him along the throngs of people around them. "Shut up, we need to go. Through the back; I bet it'll be swimming with paps and whatnot everywhere but we need to try. August is waiting for us there."

Killian could feel wetness on his face, and he was panicked to realize he had no idea if it was due to sweat or tears at his inability to fucking do anything at all - he could barely think straight. Fear was starting to paralyze him and he couldn't stop it from clogging his throat. "I... I can't... move..."

He noticed they stopped. He felt hands, cool hands grabbing his face and tilting it towards a face, hazel eyes meeting his. "Hey, it's okay. We got you."

And after that, darkness welcomed him like an old friend.


There were voices.

Voices calling for him.

Was he dead? Was this Heaven?

"Killian?" A beat. Two. Three. Then, the voice resumed calling for him, and he decided this was definitely not Heaven, or the voice would belong to someone else. "Killian please, say something."

It was August's.

Passing his tongue over cracked and dry lips leisurely, he managed to mutter under his breath a word just to let them know he was indeed awake. And alive. And his brain, apparently, worked. Or so he thought at least. "Groan."

He heard them let out a nervous and somewhat shaky laugh. He opened bleary eyes, blinking profusely against the light streaming down the window and focusing on the silhouettes surrounding him. His four fucking guardian angels, each one of them standing at the sides of his bed.

"That's funny. At least your mojo seems to be intact." Jefferson whirled around and picked up a cup, holding it out to him. Killian propped himself against the pillow, a slightly trembling hand taking it from him and managing to take a couple of gulps. "How are you feeling?"

He cleared his throat, and winced visibly when he heard the raspy edge of his voice when he answered. "Like a truck ran me down. Several times." He paused for a moment, looking at himself and wondering why in hell he felt so awful and yet appeared to be clear of bruises or whatever scar that may give him any clue as to why he felt such discomfort and haziness. "What happened?"

The fact that neither of them seemed to be willing to offer him any kind of answer wasn't sitting too well with him. Considering they were more than open and vocal to tell him off whenever he had gone a little too wild, this was not going according to plan.

Killian's insides froze. Reluctantly, he rose from his chair and turned to face the four of them. They shuffled on their feet, picked at the edge of their sleeves and overall were clearly avoiding to acknowledge him. "What happened? What did I do?," he repeated, panic lacing his tone now and the shaking of his limbs reaching higher levels in seconds.

It was Victor who finally got up from his bedside and, fishing a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket, lit it while fixing him with a piercing look. "What's the last thing you remember?"

That would be a nice place to start, now that he thought of it.

He bit his lip, hanging his head and willing himself to focus. The after party. The bar. Asking for rum with all the intention of getting incredibly pissed in order to try to forget about Emma and Graham kissing up there. Or her expression when they sang their new song.

"I talked to Graham in the after party. Saw Swan with Red Lips. A girl tried to talk me up," he recalled the girl, amusement clear in her eyes as she smiled wickedly at his his not-so-inviting attitude. He frowned, his headache choosing to come back full force at that very moment, and he pressed his hands against his temples warily. "...everything's hazy or gone after that. Just flashes... Jeff yelling... a... girl undoing my shirt?" he paused, the memory somehow flashing in his mind but not willing to give him anything more, no clue of what had followed, not even the features of the girl clear in his mind. Which wasn't good news at all. He let his head fall over his knees, completely helpless. "Oh, God, I screwed up, didn't I?"

He heard a sigh, and he didn't even try to guess who it had been from - for all he knew, they all wanted to strangle him. "You did screw up, but for once, it wasn't your fault."

He looked at them in surprise. That, he hadn't expected. "What?"

Victor stared at him dubiously for several seconds before responding. "Here's the thing, Jones. We're going to make a nice deal. We'll tell you what happened last night if you tell us what the hell is going on, because God this is getting out of hand."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" He felt his heart stop for several moments as he waited for his answer, not sure if he was really ready to hear it.

Even if another part of him wanted nothing more than to find out what he meant, the need to know if he was somehow not guilty this time of messing everything up once more and ease his troubled mind almost killing him.

"You promise to tell or not?", August pressed him.

"I..."

"Sharesies, Jones!"

Something inside of him seemed to snap, his fist banging against the surface of the bedside table and knocking over the lamp that had been precariously hanging over the edge. He didn't mind at all, ignoring the pieces now cluttering the floor and staring daggers at his bandmates. "Look, I can't! okay? I really can't!"

No one talked for a while. The tension filling the air could have been perfectly cut with a knife. Killian was too upset, too mad at himself, at the world, at everything to try to explain himself or even come up with some lame excuse for his behavior.

He hated lying to his friends.

As if on cue, August sighed, and Killian braced himself. It was always him doing these inspiring speeches whenever they had 'talks' - maybe because he had this way with words. Who knew, really.

The fact that he usually managed to soothe him didn't have anything to do with him being the one conducting these 'interventions' of theirs. Not at all.

"Killian, we have let you do your thing for far too long. When Emma came along... we stopped worrying. You had changed, and everything was different. You were like when we first started." He flinched at this. God, this was a fucking nightmare. It felt like a neverending cycle: first, he broke down after being blissfully happy with Milah. Then he was even higher, in cloud nine when he met Emma, and now he had fallen, down, down, down. He had touched the sun, fingers already grasping it, but of course it had been too bright for him.

He had never felt more for Icarus than he did then.

"We know you didn't break up with her willingly. There must have been something there you were not telling us - if by how miserable you two were was any indication. But we didn't pry, knowing that there must have been a reason behind all of it. But this? This is spinning out of control." August bumped his shoulder with his twice, until Killian met his eyes and stared back at him. "We are your brothers. You can tell us anything. We want to help you."

Killian took in the hard set of his friend's jaw along with his blazing blue eyes and thought, not for the first time, that August Booth, for all that he looked like the good kid of the group, was a force to be reckoned with. He stared hard at him for a minute, and then set his gaze over Philip, Jefferson and Victor, their expressions identical as the keyboardist.

Worried.

He let out a shuddering breath, fingers tugging at his disheveled hair - not helping to its current state but oh hell, who cared. It wasn't like he was being photographed right then. "I couldn't even tell Emma, and she probably hates me for it; not can I tell you guys either. Those were the terms. I'm doing this to protect us all." His voice dropped then, recalling the past few weeks, how he had spent night after night by himself researching, reading, looking for anything and everything he could find about Milah and his husband, the least bit of information that could give him some leverage over her to help him get some level ground. A futile attempt as for now. "I can't fight back until I have something to bargain with. Then, I'd go to you. And not until I was 100% sure she'd be safe of all this mess, I'd go to her."

His friends appeared to be at a loss of words, but to his surprise, they didn't question his cryptic words. Instead, they shared a look and, by some silent accord, Jefferson took something from behind his place on the seat he was occupying and offered it to him, a sarcastic smile sent his way as he looked at him take the magazine, inspecting the pictures with hooded eyes. "Well, considering someone went to the lengths of drugging you - probably so there'd be pictures like these and to drive Emma to do this and this - I bet we have something to bargain with?"

His heart was beating so fast that he thought it would soon explode out of his chest. Apparently there was a whole fucking special about the after party of the awards, or so it claimed the cover of the paper. There were two small pictures that stood out from the rest, and he didn't have to read the tiny letters in vibrant white to know who it was, the blond tresses giving her away. In one of them, she appeared to have an empty glass in her hand, in all her flushed glory, as if she had been yelling at the woman who stood in front of her. The second one made him him sick to his stomach: there she was, in a corner of the club, standing inches away from Graham's face, for all purposes looking like they were about to kiss - or already had.

Before he could start formulating possible scenarios as to how to beg for Emma's forgiveness, or find out plausible excuses for the situations in the pictures, he recalled his friend's words. Drugged?

He had been drugged?

"What the fuck happened while I was out?," he managed in an strangled voice, his hand gripping the magazine mightily, wrinkling the paper in the process, photographs morphing to a parody of their true selves.

His mates shared a silent conversation as they stared at each other for several seconds. Killian had always wondered how some friends managed to get to that point where they could probably have mental exchanges between them. They could, at least for the important stuff. Finally, Philip shook his head and addressed the rest, as if ignoring Killian's presence. "Let's hope he'll spill after we tell him."

Jefferson got up and snatched the magazine from his hand, a rustling sound startling him and making him fear he had teared the pages. The drummer ignored it, though, passing them with ease with his fingers until he got to the one he appeared to be looking for. He shoved it at his face, and Killian had to pull back to focus on the photograph displayed on it. "Do you remember this chick?"

His mouth dropped open. What...? When...? There he was, sitting on a booth - well, more like slouching on it, his head propped against the leather and his arms sprawled over the seat's edges, eyes nearly closed and a hazy expression on his face, looking for all that was worth like he was about to go to sleep.

Or have a fucking orgasm too.

And the fact that there was a girl sitting all over him nuzzling his neck may have helped to choose the second option instead of the more innocent one, of course. He pressed the heel of his hands over his eyes, despair slowly creeping up on him at the implications of this new course of the developments. "Wait - I just talked to her! When did this even happen?"

Jefferson studied him carefully and nodded before answering him. "I was keeping an eye on you and noticed her being too interested in what you were doing. It looked like she was monitoring your every move. I believe she slipped something in your drink, but I couldn't be sure. It wasn't until later when I saw her practically sitting on your lap that I guessed that had been the case." He paused, and Killian by this point was sure all blood has left his face. Something in his drink? What the bloody fuck?

"Do you remember anything weird?" August insisted, eagerly sitting on the edge of his chair, and he noticed how all of them were holding their breath for him to explain.

God.

He raked his brain, trying hard to recall that moment he had spent with the dark skinned girl in the bar. He remembered her jesting about his name and his band, and trying a little bit too hard to get his attention, promising him that she'd look for him later when she gave him back his glass...

His glass...

He gasped, shaking his head, astonished. "Wait - she did take my drink and held it for a while."

Sneaky bitch.

"Do you have any idea why she'd want to mess with you?"

Suddenly his eyes caught the other photographs that his mates had shown him earlier, and he picked the other magazine up, staring carefully at that picture of Emma and the drenched woman she had spilled her drink on. He had a suspicion of who that brunette might be.

And of course, one more precise and close look, and it was all he needed to know.

He should have seen it coming.

Recalling his friends were still waiting for an answer, he exhaled loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose before answering. "I had never seen her before... but I think I know who she works for." There was another long pause as he seemed to process this. Silence enveloped the five of them for a while, and he belatedly realized how his finger had been tracing Emma's outline in the photograph, softly, delicately, almost like a ghost caress over her skin. A tremor ran down his spine at the thought. "What happened to her?"

He was terrified to ask, but he needed to know. He didn't lift his gaze, choosing to ignore another silent conversation between them, and kept outlining her picture, the golden tresses, the flowing lines of her dress. It was Victor who spoke up next. "...she saw you. I'm not sure what went down there - not even Ruby would tell me, - but we guess she-brunette baited her or something. And we all know Emma's finest move is throwing drinks at people's faces."

His mouth twitched for a second, memories of that first Gala and his first exchange with her replaying in his mind. Her wet dress, the fire in her eyes when she lashed back at him. Those first paparazzi pictures surprising them while they argued.

His eyes went to the other set of photographs, and he couldn't help his stomach from lurching at the sight. He hadn't been ready for that. Seeing her with someone else - it had been hard enough with that kiss in the Awards, even if he knew it had been all an act and that most winners always shared a kiss when they went up to pick it up, but this was another story altogether.

Yet knowing that she had seen him with that girl, it was no surprise she had chosen to go to anybody to forget.

Forget about him.

"And... with Graham?," he asked tentatively, not really sure he was ready to find out.

Another pause. He should keep count on all of the telepathic exchanges there had been since he had woken up. "We really don't know buddy. No one has gotten a hold of either of them. Sorry," August said feebly, pity clear in his voice.

He tried to appear collected, a stoic mask taking place over his face even if he could feel his hands shaking, his pulse racing at the thought of Emma never forgiving him after this.

His heart breaking.

He squared his shoulders and raised bleary eyes towards his mate. "It's okay. She doesn't owe me anything, she can do whatever she wants."

There was a loud groan and he lifted his head in time to see Victor huffing and pointing at him with his thumb while he spat at the rest of the band, "If he starts with the drama queen martyr act, I'm killing him."

He shook his head adamantly. Suddenly, his eyes widened as a new idea struck him. He turned to address Jefferson. "Not at all. I know now who is behind all of this. But either way, have we got any proof about me being drugged at all?"

He found his emotions in turmoil. The idea of having something to hold over Milah's head, to counteract her threat made his head spin and nearly dizzy with relief.

Jefferson tilted his head to the side and nodded, a curious expression stealing his features. "Lucky for you we were there. Even if we suspected what had happened - you couldn't even move or talk, it was quite ugly, - we didn't want to take you to the hospital. Everybody would find out about it in no time. Your glass had mysteriously disappeared so I could not take it to use it as proof. So we called Blue - you remember her?"

Blue...? That was a name?

Oh wait - he thought he remembered a petite woman, with soft features, almond-shaped eyes and thick, dark lashes whom they had teased mercilessly when the band all came to the hospital to visit him after he had broken his ribs.

"The nurse?," he asked, a disbelieving frown marring his forehead at the thought.

They all nodded. "Yeah, her. We asked her to please come to check up on you, and she did. She took some samples - that was the girl taking off your shirt by the way - and ran some tests on them, and - voilà. There was something in there to render you practically numb for a couple of hours. A tiny dose really, that wouldn't have shown in any kind of test in maybe 8 hours from what she told us when we got the results, but it was enough for you to doze off in that way."

Victor agreed, letting out a puff of smoke. "You were a muppet for all purposes, dude."

He bet he had been. Whenever he had been drunk, he at least had some idea of what had happened; but from the previous night there was absolutely nothing. Not leaving the club, not the pictures, not the girl. Nothing. Nada.

He had been just a fucking puppet. Something to play with.

God.

"She drugged me." He said to no one in particular.

"That, she did, buddy."

"She fucking drugged me. Just to make sure Emma and I stayed apart, in case I had told her and she'd have no way but to dump me." His fingers itched to smack someone, break something, and he could feel a scream perched under his chin waiting to be let out. "That fucking bitch. I can't believe this."

Philip got up from his ottoman and walked over to him, sitting by his side on the bed. The rest of them mimicked him and huddled closer to him, sitting either on the edges of his bed or on the floor in front of him. "...okay. Now we need to know." He paused, and Killian could make out the worry lacing each of his words, the need for him - for all of them - to share what was plaguing him. "Please, Killian. We want to help."

Killian glanced around the room, taking in the sight of his exhausted and disheartened friends, and there must have been something in his eyes, that very fear he had been shoving down inside him for all of their sakes after his encounter with Milah that made August, still on his other side, put an arm over his shoulder, patting him warmly.

"You don't have to do it all alone," he said, voice barely a whisper.

Killian looked him directly in the eyes, and a rare moment of understanding passed between them. He then cracked his neck to stare at Jefferson, Philip and Victor, who gave him encouraging nods, and the sudden threat of tears crept up on him.

That stupid whatever it was Milah's sidekick had slipped him must have this idiotic secondary effect, because Killian Jones didn't cry.

He caved, finally, and with a final nod, he muttered, "Okay."


He didn't know how long they stayed discussing and explaining what have happened, but all he knew was that the deafening silence that washed over them was positively driving him nuts.

But it was his mates' reaction what really took him by surprise.

"We're taking that bitch down," Victor had growled under his breath, and they had all agreed, all mutters and knuckles cracking, unbelieving glances exchanged and comforting pats to his back. He couldn't believe the anger etched to their faces, teeth gritting and clenching uncomfortably and burning glares whenever he had mentioned Milah during his retelling of the story.

But now, after they had all calmed down to an extent, they were actually chipper.

How, he'd never know.

Maybe they were all bipolar. Who fucking knew at this point.

"That'd make one hell of a bonus track for the album," Jefferson pointed out, and they all managed a chuckle, eyes glinting.

Philip snorted. "She could be the Wicked Witch of the West."

And, like they had somehow orchestrated it, rehearsed it and memorized it, they did it.

"Ding! Dong! The witch is dead!"

As always.

Philip turned to look at him, and with a reassuring grin, he told him, "Everything will be fine. You'll see."

And at that, the grin that pulled at Killian's lips didn't feel so forced anymore.


"Mr Jones! What are you doing here? We weren't expecting you..."

Killian didn't even bother to stop, his feet carrying him along the extremely posh-looking halls in the building he had first met Milah all those weeks ago, his brain managing to obscurely remember the way to the bureau she had met him in. "Get the hell away from me. You won't like me if you come any closer, Mendel," he all but growled at the guy that, now that he knew, had been the one responsible of recording his conversation with Gold and bringing it back like a dutiful dog to his mistress, giving her the means to fuck his life royally.

Yeah, he was not happy at all to see the bloody pounce.

"But..."

Ignoring him once more and not caring to even knock, he opened the door and made his presence known to the woman sitting behind the mahogany desk with a mock bow and a wave of both of his hands, like a magician that had just showed up on stage.

Show was about to start indeed.

"Why, hello there, lass. Missed me?"

Milah blinked at him in confusion. "Killian? What the hell?"

"Oh, don't act so surprised. After all, we do have mutual friends as of late, huh?" Killian acknowledged, as his smirk widened. He had caught her by surprise, and it pleased him to no end.

She tensed on her seat, palms gripping the edge of the desk in a tight grasp. "I have no clue what you're talking about," she said, but Killian merely shrugged, unfazed by her challenge.

He sat on the chair sitting opposite to hers just like he had done the las time he had been in there. With a sigh, he took the folder he had brought and dropped it carelessly in front of him, papers peeking from the corner. He spied Milah furrowing her brows as she stared down at them, and he had to fight the urge to cackle. "Really? 'Cause apparently, this lovely Tamara, even if her record says she's a genetic engineer and researcher, actually works for your company. For you." He tilted his head, his lips curling in a smirk as he delivered his next piece of information. He had done his homework alright. "Oh, and she is romantically involved with your guy out there. Greg Mendel, was it? If you didn't nickname him Beanie you're losing your touch, I'm afraid."

Seriously. The guy was called Greg freaking Mendel.

Seriously.

"You're delusional," said Milah with a dismissive wave.

"Am I?" Killian asked, arching an eyebrow challengingly. Oh, how the tables had turned. The last time he had seen her, he had been absolutely desperate, cornered, wishing for the ground to swallow him or someone to wake him up from that nightmare he seemed to be drowning in. Now, here he was.

Holding the power had never felt so sweet. He nodded his head grimly towards the stack of papers he had brought under his arm and propped them towards her with his hand, invitingly, mockingly. "You're not the only one with friends who can hack computers and make little creepy investigations, my dear."

He could see the blazing in her eyes, the sudden rage simmering inside of them as she stared him down, a sneer sent his way as she growled, "Do you think this changes anything? What will you do? Tell everybody someone sent a girl to hit on you?"

Killian's jaw muscles twitched with suppressed anger, but he managed to keep his temper in check. "Not just someone. You."

He felt the need to point at her as he said that, too. He was all for dramatics that day.

Milah let out a cold laugh, shaking her head at him, fixing him with an almost patronizing smile that did nothing but piss him off even more. She was looking for it, alright. "If you haven't told about us yet, you never will."

He picked at his nails, appearing for all that was worth the picture of ease. "In fact, I wouldn't mind at this point. There has been so much crap written about me already, this would only be the cherry on top." He stared at her, hard. "But actually, that wasn't my plan. See, I have a deal to make."

She glared right back at him, a clear incredulous and, dare he say it, insulted expression stealing her features. "What makes you think I'd agree to anything you tell me?"

He bared his upper teeth at her in a feral manner, leaning forward in his seat. "It sucks, huh? Been there, done that. Not so fun being controlled and manipulated now, is it?"

"You haven't even explained yourself."

"Oh, that," he began, and he let himself slump against his seat, tilting his head against the leather covering the chair and staring at her with hooded eyes. Bring on the big guns. "Have you ever heard of GHB?" he said maliciously.

If he hadn't been inspecting her as closely as he had been when he said that, he may had missed the barely visible flinch of her shoulders or the pinching of her brows, and the slight intake of breath that resonated in the silence after his statement. Gotcha. "Lovely experience. You should try it someday, or ask someone to slip it in your drink and leave you completely powerless, numb and with no way to fight someone's advances, or make sure no one sees you or takes pictures of you in such a state." His stomach gave a familiar lurch when he recalled the events from the few weeks before. He had stood by and done nothing while Emma had been mocked and taunted by the woman sitting in front of him, then gone to Graham to surely seek comfort after seeing him completely out of it with a girl who all but dry humped him while he was passed out over a dark corner of the club. He couldn't help the bite in his voice as he taunted her. "It's loads of fun, sweetheart."

He wanted to give himself a fucking golden star for that performance. Hell, if Victor had been there, he surely would have hooted and slapped his thigh in admiration, it had been that good, if he said so himself.

"You're out of your mind." Milah was on the edge of her seat, her fists clenched in self-righteous fury.

Killian was enjoying too much seeing her squirm, one of his usual smirks gracing his lips, and he just knew that her hand was positively twitching with the urge to smack it right off of his face, the thought making him nearly giggle right there.

Alas, it was not the moment.

He opened the folder, fishing one of the sheets and in an almost bored manner letting it fall right before her so she could read its contents. "That's not what my medical record from last week says," he tsked. At the grimace that adorned her face he couldn't suppress a dark chuckle at last. "The look on your face. See, you said I had nothing on you, but now? Now you're going down."

There was a pause in which she tapped her finger against the desk, her wedding ring clinking against the polished wood the only sound interrupting the silence that surrounded them, covering them like a warm blanket. "What do you want?"

"I should really be thanking you for this fucked up, crazy stunt of yours - it gave me something to fight you with." He shook his finger at her, as if she were a wayward child, even if he could feel his temper rising. His hand moved on its own accord, creeping along the surface of the desk until it stood right before her own, and he curled it into a fist, banging it soundly once before stating his conditions. The sudden sound made her jump once, startled, and he took a sick pleasure of her sudden fear. "I want you to stay the hell away from my life, my band, my family, Emma. Everybody I care about. And I want you to sign on it and to swear never to try to harm them or me again. Not so difficult, on my opinion. Most people can accomplish it."

He had to give it to her, she had carefully cleared her face of all expression or feeling, a mask of indifference and control in place. "Do I have to do it now?"

He shrugged. "You can take a week if you want. Leave your affairs in order. I don't think you'll have much trouble with it - not after going to the lengths you did to make sure I was miserable," he snapped, scowling at her. Immediately she bristled, her eyes flashing at him.

"I had to! How could I trust you hadn't told her about it otherwise?"

He got up from his seat in a heartbeat, face heating and temper raising, completely unrestrained. The nerve of this woman - how the hell had she become such a psycho? How could it be that this was the same woman he had once fallen for, being so devoted to that he had almost let it all go to hell for her? How could she even begin to excuse herself? And how did she think that he would ever put Emma at any risk at all? "Because I love her! I'm in love with her! I would never jeopardize her well being in any way!"

His breath was leaving him in rapid gasps, and he could see his hands trembling yet again. He willed himself to calm down, and all energy seeped out of him, like it had been drained from his body all at once, sucked right in one go. His shoulders dropped and he pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other making a motion to the papers sitting between them. "Just sign the fucking thing and disappear from my life already."

She pulled back like she had been smacked in the face. She appeared completely horrified, and then just bloody furious.

"She won't go back to you, you know. Not after all of this. She told me you left her and you chose the consequences of that decision," she claimed with a defiant jut of her chin.

Killian could find nothing to say in response to this. He knew, grudgingly, that everything she had said was true. By leaving Emma without talking to her about his decision, he had demeaned her intelligence, and her ability to think for herself. The only thing he didn't know was where to go from there.

It was surprising, and almost frightening, how their relationship had evolved from passionate and loving, to broken and silent. Memories and emotions kept plaguing his every waking moment - and his dreams. Some of them pleasant, good times shared during their time together. But of course not all of them were touchy, happy nor pleasant ones.

He recalled with a wince the morning after he left, when he had lain in his own bed after returning home and refused to get out of it, because then it would make it real. The pain crushing him as he imagined her, alone, surely hiding in her place after he was gone. The worried glances exchanged between his friends when they questioned him what had happened and he could only come up with noncommittal answers and excuses.

Unconsciously, his hand had gone to rub the tattoo on his forearm.

The last one he had gotten.

He let out a loud sigh before addressing her accusation, a wary hand mussing his hair tiredly. "If that's what she wants, then I'll stick to it. Because if you do love someone, that's what you do. You respect their wishes. You want them to be happy." He paused, and the accusing, painful tone of his voice was difficult to mask as he added, "Exactly the opposite of what you did, even after you claimed you still loved me." With a final sigh, he signaled over the stack of papers lying between them. "You can keep those, I have loads of copies just in case."

He let the threat hang between them. No funny business - he was definitely in no mood for any more games. He was done. So very done with this. Leaving the seat in a graceful move, he reached the door leading to the hallway and out of that damn bureau in a couple of strides, Milah's perfume overwhelming the space and fogging his brain. Before he left, though, he stopped, a hand gripping the handle and looking over his shoulder, meeting her conflicted gaze for a couple of seconds before leaving for good. "A week."

How was that for theatrics, anyway.


He didn't even wait for Ruby to greet him before he was asking, his eagerness to know how she was getting the best of him. His hold on the phone was so tight while he waited he was faintly afraid of crushing it with his bare hands, Hulk-style. "How is she?"

Ruby's sigh carried over the line. "You know. Not really well. Bitchy. Short-tempered. Sad. Angry. Like she were on a constant period." She paused, and he could picture her biting her lip. Probably staining her teeth with that damn red lipstick she couldn't live without. "She's worried though, and that's what has me on edge."

He internally flinched, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the counter he was leaning against, trying not to picture how Emma would be feeling right now.

He had been fixing himself some breakfast in the kitchen, foregoing the need to go out to Granny's and choosing to do something himself for once - a faraway corner of his mind chastising him in a very Swanish manner about how he should learn how to look out for himself or he'd probably starve if the diner decided one day to close its doors. Thoughts of the new album, his run in with Milah, the ache to see Emma and Henry again had been keeping him way too distracted, for he nearly missed the words coming from the TV he had left on in the other room, where some lame celebrities and gossip special show had started right after the news he had been absent-mindedly checking out earlier. It was the name Cassidy that made him drop the spoon he had been using and run to stand in front of the TV, pictures of Emma and Henry - hell, even those of the three of them walking down Nana were being shown again, - in the background while the presenter prattled on and on about how Neal Cassidy, Emma's past lover, was fighting the actress for the custody of their child, Henry Swan.

That fucking wanker.

Killian knew manipulation when he saw it: of course Cassidy, seeing his case against Emma was poor as it could be, would sell his story to some lame paper to try to get the attention needed for him to gain something from the situation - if not the profits he'd enjoy from the childcare he'd get if he indeed ended up achieving some kind of custody over Henry, then showing up in whatever sensationalist show or magazine to earn whatever he could from trashing Emma.

He could only hope karma would bite him in the ass soon enough.

Murdering scenarios still burning behind his eyelids, he gritted his teeth in an attempt to focus back towards the conversation he was trying to maintain. "She shouldn't be. Remind her of what Archie said: no matter what Cassidy tells some shitty magazine, she will win this thing."

Ruby huffed in response. "I know that. We all do. But too many things can go wrong, and we can't deny it..."

Yeah, he definitely knew that. Especially for the last few months - life hadn't been too kind to Killian Jones, why lie about it.

He fiddled with the spoon he had previously let go of, nervously tickling the linoleum in an uncoordinated rhythm. "Where is she now?"

"At Regina's. She needed fresh air and Daniel offered to let her unwind riding his horses. She and Graham used to ride during the shooting of their movie, so she accepted."

The mental picture of Emma riding a horse momentarily brought a smile to his lips. That'd be one sight to behold, for sure. If they were still on speaking terms, he would tease her about her more that probable approaching funeral, maybe suggesting for her to order some plaque including 'cause of death - trampled by a horse' due to her clumsiness. Though at the same time he couldn't help but believe she would be amazing with the animals. Surely Daniel had trained her well enough for her to do her stunts in the movie, and from what he had seen, she had been magnificent in those.

The sudden thought that they could have gone horse riding at least once saddened him. For all that was worth, they could have done way more many things together, enjoyed each moment they had spent together, making plans, creating new memories - and they had. But of course, it never felt like it was enough. He craved more, everything from her, and it wasn't being easy at all figuring his life out without her.

Who would have thought, that he'd admit he needed her - a woman he had barely known, that he had spent just months with, not much more - and here he was, pinning for her like a schoolboy with a crush.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

He really didn't want to ask, he knew he had no right, and wasn't even sure he wanted to know the answer, but he heard himself asking anyway. "Did Graham go with her?"

And of course he should have expected the brunette's reaction.

"I'm not telling you about Emma and Graham." She had sounded a little outraged even, like the possibility of her sharing whatever was going on between those two was completely appalling - girl code, they never spilled the beans to boys, or some crap like that, he guessed, - but as she continued, her tone softened considerably. "You'll have to wait and see. You hurt her, so bad I thought she wouldn't snap out of it. Graham is helping her, but that's all I'm telling you about it." There was a pause in which neither of them seemed to know what to say, until she spoke again, uncertainly, curiously. "Are you ever going to try to go back to her?"

That was the question, right?

He debated momentarily if he should feel offended by the doubt she was clearly displaying. Had he not shown how much he cared for Emma?

Though he knew he was being unfair, after all that had happened between them in the last weeks.

"I intend to, but not until everything is 100% clear."

She appeared to be measuring what he had told her, and after releasing a big sigh, she addressed him once more. "I have no idea what the hell happened, but Victor told me you had a good reason for what you did and that you were trying to fix it, so I'll give you a chance. Can't speak for Emma, though."

The fact that Victor hadn't even shared all that had gone down the past week nearly did him right there. God, he was going soft - he kept fighting the urge to break down, to pray and thank whatever deity, whatever angel sent to loom over him for giving him such people to look out for him.

Knowing that he would have to fight tooth and nail for Emma to hear him out, though, only made him gulp loudly and bite his lip in anxiety, even if he had known it would come down to this in the end.

"Thank you, Ruby," he finally exhaled, and tried to muster all his gratitude and respect into his words. As vivacious, spontaneous and fun as she could be, it was at times like these when she was not crazy-as-hell Ruby that he considered how she indeed was someone worth having your back.

He heard her stifling a laugh. "You didn't call me Red Lips."

Huh. He guessed he hadn't. "I know." He cocked his head to the side, grinning wickedly even if she couldn't see him at the moment. "Are we acting... adult?"

When had that happened?

"Yuck."

They both laughed, and Killian let himself relax for a moment, embracing the small moment of peace, the light banter that always came when dealing with Emma's best friend. No wonder they were inseparable. He was fiercely glad of the fact that Emma had her, keeping her in track whenever she needed along with the rest of her family.

Before he could spout some more randomness as was their routine, the doorbell rang, and he frowned, disconcerted. He wasn't expecting anybody.

That he remembered of, of course. He couldn't be sure now - his mind had been wandering too much lately, and dates, appointments and what not slipped from his thoughts too often.

"Hey, Ruby, someone's at the door. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Fine. Be a good boy," she taunted, amusement clear in her voice. He didn't disappoint in keeping the laughter out of his own tone.

"Always am."

"Uh-huh."

He hung up, throwing the phone over to the cushions and trudging up to the door, where the bell had kept ringing insistently after he had not answered the first time. God, who was it? If it were the guys who had come to pay him another visit he'd have to kick their asses - they had been showing up at his place at the most random moments to keep him company, six packs under their arms and guitars slung over shoulders with the seemingly innocent purpose of 'hanging out'.

Yeah, right. Biggest euphemism ever to 'we're just making sure you're alright and trying to keep your mind off things'.

But he appreciated it nevertheless.

And the free beer, of course.

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips and a witty greeting ready when he opened the door, all previous good spirits sniffing out in a moment. "What are you doing here?"

Milah rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest indignantly. "Oh, sure, I would love to come in, thank you."

He wished he could slap the sarcasm out of her voice. After all that she had put him through, her acting like a condescending bitch was the last thing he was willing to put up with at the moment. But as he studied her closely, he noticed the way she was carrying herself: shuffling on her feet, eyes wandering from him to her sides or the ground, lips thinned out.

She looked completely shaken.

Which could mean only one thing: she was caving in.

He opened the door wider and invited her in with a wave of his hand. Even if she had been indeed the wicked witch of the west for all purposes, he was not about to let his gentleman manners fly out of the window - not even dealing with women like her. She followed him to the kitchen where he had been talking on the phone earlier before she interrupted him, and he settled on one side of it, her staying on the other. Not one to wait around, she brought her purse in front of her and fished out a folder. He immediately recognized it as the one he had left for her to read and agree to the last time they had seen each other.

"Here."

"I hope you don't mind if I read it thoroughly." He smiled at her, and by the way she looked at him he knew it was probably downright scary.

Good.

She flinched slightly, but shook her head at him. "You don't have to worry about it, there's no trap."

Ha. "Says the woman who drugged me. Right." Killian snapped, running a hand through his hair.

"I wasn't thinking straight."

No shit, Sherlock. "That's an understatement," he growled, glaring at her, ignoring the embarrassed flush that had crept over her cheeks.

"I didn't mean for you to get hurt." She sucked in a long breath, and looking absolutely resigned, admitted under her breath, "I'm sorry Killian."

He shook his head, giving her that look he had so often given her throughout the time they had spent together - that 'I can't believe you're telling me this now' look. "It's a little too late, Milah."

"I know, and I cannot apologize enough. I just... I was so furious. That you had moved on from me. That you didn't need me anymore." She actually sounded wistful, which was also not something one witnessed very regularly. Killian knew her well enough to know that the words she had said for once were true. He pinched his brow, feeling like going to bed and ignore everything going on around him. He was so bloody tired of everything, God.

"I was willing to do everything for you. I loved you. But you weren't about to go the same lengths I would have for us. We both know it'd have been a mistake one way or another in the end."

It had been maybe a year, a year and a half since their breakup. That deep void he had felt after he had realized they were done, their relationship merely whispers, secrets that no one would ever found out and he would mourn by himself was now merely a hazy memory, long forgotten.

How everything had changed in the course of one year. Especially in the last months.

She nodded solemnly. "I do. Now." She reached up with one of her small, delicate hands to tuck a stray curl out of his eyes, gazing up affectionately at him, and he had to fight the urge to jerk away from her - though he knew she had noticed how still he had gone at the motion of her even daring to touch him. "You were - still are - very special to me, you know. And at least I see you will be with someone who deserves you."

When she pulled back her hand from him, he studied her carefully with hooded eyes. Something didn't click. "Why this sudden change of heart? It doesn't make sense," Killian said, adding a measure of steel back into the velvet voice. Even if she looked like she was being sincere and she had indeed signed the papers, agreeing to leaving them - him, Emma, - in peace, he was not so easily convinced of her innocent charade. He had been burned too many times already. He was not about to fall for another play of hers again.

Milah chewed at her lower lip for a few seconds. Then she stared up at him, a look in her face he had trouble identifying. "To be completely honest, it wasn't until I read that that I signed those."

He followed her line of sight to one of the papers that littered his kitchen counter. On top of them sat the article that they had been discussing on that show - after he had heard about it, he had run to the store to see if there had actually been crap written about it already. Indeed, Cassidy had spewed his lame story to one of those shitty magazines that no one usually gave the time of the day, but alas, his plan seemed to be working for now.

He furrowed his brow. What did anything of that have to do with Milah...?

He hesitated and sat down on the edge of the counter. "I'm not following."

There was no hesitation or artifice in her response, which was almost as unsettling to him as the reply itself. "I'm a mother too. I knew she had a son - I saw those pictures of you with them, perfect little family poster card material. That was another thing that made me see red, to be honest: realizing that, if I had wanted, you could have had that with me. But you found it with her." With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the colorful pictures displayed on the magazine, Emma and Henry's smiling faces almost taunting the conversation. "I cannot imagine how afraid and impotent she must feel right now. I didn't know she was coping with her ex trying to take her son from her. If I had..." She stopped herself, chewing her bottom lip in distress. Long ago, a lifetime earlier, he would have slapped her hand away, maybe kissed her knuckles and tried to joke about him being the only one allowed to bite it.

Now, he just waited for her to keep going.

"You knew about it, right?," she finally asked, her tone conflicted, eyes haunted as they searched for his. He didn't know what he looked like right then, but he would bet that his expression was pained, recalling the moment Emma found out about Neal, her breakdown, their first meeting with the father of her child, her tears after they were back home.

"I was with her for the whole thing until you made me stay away from her," he answered testily at last, gaze lost, mind far away from there. Closer to her.

Milah, however, didn't look intent on letting his mind wander towards Emma, though. She looked pained, hands wringing together over the counter as she stood in the other side of it, eyes pleading at him. "I am so sorry. I truly am." She turned and he frowned when he saw her examining intently an object sitting on the corner. He followed her gaze until he realized what it was: a crinkled photograph of him and Emma. In the picture, chocolate stains covered her face, her hands and even her chest, and she had him in a headlock while she laughingly tried to feed him a spoon full of ice cream. Killian grinned at the memory. Emma and he had had several photographs taken since the very first day they had met, either from the premieres or those fake dates - both from paparazzis and journalists in arranged events, with the two of them standing in elegant poses in scenic locations or caught wherever they had been spending time together around the city. But he had always thought that those other photos weren't an accurate portrayal of their relationship. The way they were portrayed in the one he was staring at - this was them as they had truly been, bickering and teasing each other relentlessly, but caring for each other the entire time.

Milah seemed to agree with him. "Now I see I have to let you go."

Killian abruptly shook himself out of his reverie, only to find that he had ground the spoon he had failed to let go of since he had been talking to Ruby into the surface of the counter, scraping it and bending the metal in the process. "Thank you," he acknowledged in the end with a curt nod.

He expected their brief tête-à-tête to come to an end, and he waited for Milah's inevitable cue to leave but, to his surprise, it never came. In fact, she appeared to be focused on his forearm, which was bare for her to inspect as she pleased.

The tattoo.

Her head had risen slightly, and she seemed to struggle with whatever it was she was about to say next. Killian was immediately intrigued. She was rarely unsure, even when she knew she had been obviously wrong. It was part of what made her such a potent personality. Her hand moved towards him and before it made contact with his skin, she had the good measure of asking first. "Can I?"

Well, he guessed there was no danger in that. At his tiny nod, she took his wrist, bringing the design closer to her eyes, studying the added bird now adorning his skin carefully. "Pretty."

The corner of his mouth rose slightly. "Thank you. It was a gift."

Milah stared at his arm with an odd expression on her face – he thought it was a mixture of annoyance, amusement, and perhaps a small measure of respect.

"She's something else, isn't she?," she added, cocking her head to the side as she studied him under her lashes.

Oh, she had no idea.

"Aye, that she is."

And the memories of a smaller, softer and paler hand holding his in a tight grasp as he got done the second tattoo swam through his head, bringing a sad smile to his lips.


He was in front of her door. He was there. He was doing it. And boy, was he terrified, his heart fluttering so fast, too fast, fast like a bird's inside his chest. He even was afraid he'd suffer from cardiac arrest right there, at her fucking doorstep.

He willed himself to stop being a drama queen - or at least wait to die after he finally saw her. It would be utterly embarrassing if he made all the way down there to kick it right before he could stare at her one last time, now, wouldn't it?

Well, he thought, as far as last sights go, I could probably do worse.

He heard her footsteps, and not long enough for him to prepare himself - hell, would he ever be ready, for all that mattered? - she was opening the door.

She was there, at arm's length. He could touch her if he wanted. And he did want. He really did.

Killian waited, hands thrust in his pockets, his chin raised unflinchingly as she stood right in front of him. He had to admit he had not expected her reaction at all: he had wondered since he had come to terms with him coming here to her probably readying herself to slap him as soon as they met. Or yell at him. Or shoot him a glare and close the door in his face. He would have gladly stood there and accepted it, whatever it was she was planning to deal out to him.

Instead, she looked completely startled, a slightly panicked expression in her face as she looked over to the window seat she used to spend hours in relaxing. He wondered why she would be freaked out by him finding out she had been there. It wouldn't be anything he hadn't known before - hell, he had spent more time he'd admit on that same place with her too. He considered it something akin to their place.

Maybe the fact that he had showed up when she was in 'their' place was what got her so flustered...?

"Hi" said Killian, finally breaking the silence.

The dazzled look on her eyes lifted, and she shook her head lightly. "Hey"

He shot a look towards the window seat and the direction of the living room dubiously, just in case there was someone with her and it had turned out it was not the best moment for him to show up there. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Her eyes snapped back up to his face. "No, no, just - I was not expecting you."

"Right," he muttered, his hand curling into a fist unexpectedly. Of course she wouldn't be expecting him to turn up at her door after what he had done to her. He shuffled on his feet awkwardly, suddenly afraid to look at her in the eye. "May I come in?"

That seemed to catch her by surprise - even more, dare he say. "What for?"

"I want to talk to you." He paused, and met her eyes once again, attempting to halt his beating heart at the sight of them, so open, so vulnerable, so afraid. "I need to talk to you."

There was a silence for a while in which they just stood there, motionless, a drawn line on the ground separating both of them, him waiting for her to speak, to move, to sigh, to do anything. To let him in. Not only into her home, but in. Again. Though he knew it wouldn't be an easy feat - not by a long chance.

The silence was broken unexpectedly, a gunshot against the quiet. "I don't think that's such a good idea," Emma said quietly, staring down at her hands.

He frowned, and raked his brain for a plausible reason for her to not let him inside. "Is Henry at home?"

"No, but..."

His hand was itching to act on its own accord and grab her wrist, touch her skin, run his knuckles over her cheek - to touch her, - but he stayed put, not knowing how well she'd take him actually grabbing her. Or having any kind of skin contact, for that matter. "Please, Emma. You said you'd listen. That you'd wait. Itching to slap me as soon as I'm done but first you have to hear me out."

The way he said it - adamant, needy, desperate, - must had caught her off-guard, because she just let out a small sigh and, averting her eyes from him, stepped away and motioned silently for him to come in.

"Thank you." As soon as he entered the room and waited for her to invite him into the living room, Nana showed up, almost knocking him off his feet in her eagerness to greet him. He kneeled in from of her, and for the first time since he had left his place to get here, he laughed, pleased - a real, hearty and clear laugh. "Hey girl. I missed you. Did you miss me? Did you? Dad definitely missed you, you fluffy ball. I'm sure you behaved this whole time, or mom would not be happy with you, now, would she?"

As soon as he said it, he wished he could retract his words. He spied Emma's expression falling, her face paling almost comically as he petted awkwardly Nana's furry head, a tight-lipped grimace marring her mouth.

He was such an idiot. He was too used to talk to the dog as if she were their daughter and them her parents, and he hadn't even stopped to wonder how him using their former pet names would sit with her.

He really should start thinking before speaking, anyway.

Idiot.

Getting back to his feet and dusting his hands on his jeans, he followed her to the kitchen, and stood awkwardly by one of the stools - his stool, the one he usually sat in whenever he had been at her place, - and shuffled on his feet, raking his brain for something to say. "Where's Henry?"

"At Ruby's. They're going shopping tomorrow and Nana can't go around there, so..."

"Girls night, huh?" he smiled tentatively up at her, cocking a teasing eyebrow.

She snorted at that, but he noticed that she couldn't quite bring herself to meet his eyes. "Yeah, pretty much." She turned her head towards the window so that she was facing away from him once more. "Do you want anything? Beer, wine?"

"Sure, why not."

He couldn't help but chuckling when, as she turned and opened the fridge, Emma first picked up two cans of beer and halted herself before taking out a bottle of wine as well. Apparently she needed copious amounts of alcohol to have this conversation with him. He could have sworn that the corners of her lips twitched as well: she looked slightly less pale than she had when he had first rang her door, and there was a hint of pink in her cheeks again. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Killian certainly wouldn't call it companionable silence, but it also was not as awkward as he had expected it to be - which was strange considering that she was sitting at her kitchen table, where they had spent so many meals, had bantered, had fought, hell, she even had slapped him once in there. They had kissed there, they had made love over that same table.

It should have been the very definition of awkward. But it wasn't.

His eyes swept the length of her person, from her bare feet and her painted nails to the slightly mussed look of her hair.

The things this woman could do to him without her even noticing still caught him by surprise.

"Look, Emma..." At his words, she flinched and looked away, possibly pained by the memory of their last conversation. Killian ran one hand through his hair, wondering if he could find the strength to voice the things he wanted to say.

He wanted to tell her that he had been stupid. That maybe he had gotten Milah off their backs now, but knowing that it had been by getting their hearts broken in the process was killing him. That the idea of her not taking him back kept him awake at night. That maybe it should have been better telling her first thing, but a part of him also was glad he hadn't, seen how far Milah had gone to make sure she had him under her thumb.

But somehow, he could not bring himself to say any of these things, and so, without meeting her eyes, he instead uttered the only words he could force out of his mouth: "I'm so sorry. You have no idea how. This... whole thing. I did what I thought was best - for you, for the band. But I will never forgive myself for making you hurt."

He waited on baited breath as she stared back at him, her expression unfathomable. "Why are you here exactly?"

Killian was so frustrated at that point, he had to practically sit on his hands to keep himself from grabbing her by the shoulders and ask her to see how desperate he was for her to take him back, to forgive him, to learn that it hadn't been his intention to hurt her, that he had done what he thought was best to keep them safe. "...Apart than from begging for your forgiveness and trying to explain all this mess that got in between us?"

"I know you. You'd have something up your sleeve in case I didn't want to talk to you. So what is it?" Emma folded her arms across her chest, green eyes flashing at him.

Ouch. "Smart lass, as always." Killian pointed out.

She was too observant for her own good. Or she knew him too well for her own good.

Which may have been why they clicked.

Sighing heavily, his hand snaked behind him to fish the piece of paper neatly folded inside his back pocket. Staring down at her, he extended his arm for her to take it and, slowly, she reached out to pick it up. The moment she wrapped her fingers around it, she inhaled sharply. "Oh."

"You still have a job to do, Lost Girl." There was an awkward silence as his words reminded both of them of the night, several months ago, when they had had their bet in that club. As if looking for some sort of distraction, Killian stared down at the napkin he had just given her, studying how she fiddled with it. Finally, he spoke up once more, redirecting the topic to the present. "And I'm sure you know there's no one better for the role than you."

She sent him a curious look. "The song from the awards?"

"Yeah," he paused, wondering if he'd have the courage to inquire what he had asked himself from the moment he had had the idea for the song, all that time ago. He had kept it under wraps just to surprise her. He wholeheartedly expected her to be surprised alright, getting to listen to it during the freaking MTV Movie Awards along with the rest of the planet.

"Did you - did you like it?"

His breath was let out in a loud woosh when he heard her admittance. "I loved it. But it confused me."

Killian's gaze instantly shifted from the napkin to her face, a frown marring his forehead. What did she mean? "Why? You knew it was about you. It was your song."

"I did. We all did. But see, two hours later, you were smooching some random girl in the after party just when I was about to talk to you."

Killian found himself sucking in a quick breath of air as that last accusation drove home, making him feel as if a punch had rammed him in the stomach.

"Emma, listen to me. Do you really think I'd go kissing someone else after singing that to you?"

With a small shake of her head, she wheeled around and began walking away from him, heading in the direction of the sink, her fingers gripping the edge so tightly, he could see her knuckles whitening from his seat. "I have no idea. I believed not long ago you'd never leave me, and here we are. I'm not sure who you are anymore."

All of the breath left his lungs in one whooshing gasp, almost as if someone had kicked him in the chest.

"It was not what it looked like. It was all part from the same plan that made me stay away from you in the first place. I..." Killian replied, and an expression of shame and guilt fell over his features.

But she didn't let him end. "Please don't."

Killian stared at her, aghast.

"...what?"

"I don't want to know." she said softly, still intent in avoiding his gaze. He got up in a beat, rounding the counter and joining her side, and, still wary of touching her in case she slapped his hand away or something equally Swanish, he inclined his head to stare intently at her.

Her eyes were so full of pain and fear that it pierced his heart. She looked so lost, and it was a look that seemed entirely out of place on the face of Emma Swan, making him feel ten times worse about the unavoidable feeling that he had been the cause behind it.

"Not now," she finally added to her previous statement. Needless to say, Killian was utterly lost at that moment.

"But I thought you said..."

She interrupted him before he could go on with his confused musings. "I know. God knows all I want is to hear what you have to say and believe you and kick your ass and go back to how we were. But you hurt me. You left me. And I - I need time, Killian. I can't do this now, I'll be expecting you to run again for whatever reason and I can't cope with that anymore," Emma argued, her cheeks flushing somewhat. "I can't be with you like this. I'm a mess right now."

"I'm so sorry." He was having trouble forming the words to say, to ask, to beg. He wished just a look would share what he was feeling, and even if they both could read each other like no one else, he knew she'd appreciate him speaking them out loud, whatever it was that he wanted her to know. "Can't we just - forgive and forget?"

There was a moment of silence, during which Killian couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. For the first time since he was a very young child, he felt himself experiencing an unpleasant emotion - shame. He had admitted long ago how Emma had managed to make him experience things he hadn't in years - or possibly ever. Damn her. Damn that woman. How did she do that, he would love to know.

Finally, he made himself look up at her, prepared to face the anger, the disappointment that he expected to see in her eyes. Instead, she was looking back at him with nothing but understanding, longing, pity. And if that surprised him, her next action was more shocking yet.

With the hesitance of one approaching a potentially dangerous animal, Emma reached out and cupped his cheek with one of her slender hands. Her touch was soft and surprisingly cool. Killian found himself instinctually leaning into it, seeking some sort of comfort from the contact, dozens of ghost touches, whispered memories seeping from her skin to his with that single touch.

"I guess you know The Corrs, right, Irishpants?" she said softly. Then she pulled her hand away, leaving him feeling bereft. "They said 'Forgiven, not forgotten'. That's me right now. I can forgive you - and I do. But I can't just forget the fact that you chose to leave me in the dark about all of this crap that happened."

"Do you think you'll be able to trust me again one day?", he asked what felt like eons later, fearing to meet her eyes, afraid of what he'd see if he did.

Coward. You're being a bloody coward, Jones.

He fought his own traitorous thoughts, and he finally caved in, catching her gaze at the same time that she sought his, her expression carefully guarded, insecure. "I don't know. Maybe."

His heart fell.

Though why he was so surprised and crushed, a sudden sickness wrapping around him and making him gasp quietly, he wasn't too sure. He should have expected her not giving him a chance to explain, a chance for the two of them once more to work it out.

He had screwed up, and now it was too late. Like always.

At his crestfallen face, she tugged his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together, and offered him a shaky smile. "Hey. I said maybe."

He couldn't help himself.

Never had.

"You're gonna be the one that saves me."

As if time had never passed between them. A song exchanged, traveling from one corner of the world to the other, making her feel less alone, making him feel closer to her. Her hand over his shooting sparks through his skin, he couldn't help his finger from moving and caress hers. At the motion, though, she let go of his hand, and he suppressed the need to slap himself. Idiot. "Anyway, I'll be gone for a while filming. Clearing my head. Thinking, you know."

Finally, Killian turned to face her again, and the look in her eyes made his heart throb painfully. He closed his own for a second, agreeing with her in a hushed tone. "Yeah."

"And August told me you guys would be busy recording the new album," she added, trying to muster some kind of cheer into her voice. She was really trying wasn't she?

And here he was, moping like a kicked puppy.

Killian, put yourself together, for fuck's sake.

He gulped loudly and nodded, attempting to sober himself up and follow her example by acting something akin to normal - if that was possible at this stage of the game. Which he wasn't too certain about, but oh well. "It's almost ready. We'll be pretty much living in the studio for the next weeks."

"That's good," Emma said quietly, avoiding his gaze. "This is what we need. Time."

He chuckled, but the sound was dry and devoid of amusement. "Silly Swan. What I need is you." He took a staggering breath and promptly stepped away from her, afraid that, if he stayed at such close proximity to her, he'd do something utterly stupid. He ran a hand over his hair, surely disheveling it even more so, and shook his head, trying to appear nonchalant. "One way or another, you can't escape this. A bet is a bet after all." He jerked his chin towards the counter where the forgotten napkin laid over the smooth surface, the scrawled eyeliner-written letters shining brightly against the wrinkled white background.

She followed his gaze and nodded somberly as soon as she caught sight of their oh-so-formal contract. "I know. I'll do it."

"Don't worry, it'll be after you come back. And after you kick Cassidy's ass in court," he said, dubiously studying her from the corner of his eyes. He knew she needed the reminder that she had this thing, that he had her back, no matter what. She would always have him, body and soul At his words, Emma let out a defeated sigh, and he could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes, but he didn't allow himself to look that closely. "Thank you."

He inclined his head in her direction, about to wave a hand dismissively - as if he deserved her gratitude. Ha. She just needed to believe in herself and stop worrying. He picked at a stain that marred the smooth surface of the table, sighing heavily at the prospect of leaving - he didn't want to be a nuisance, and wasn't sure if Emma would want to keep him around too long after all had been said and done. He was searching for some excuse to leave, suddenly self-conscious of bugging her when she probably would want to be alone - or at least not ready to spend quality time with him, not now for sure - when her sudden request caught him completely by surprise.

"Hey. Could you please take care of Nana while I'm away and Henry is visiting me?" She paused, and sent him a somewhat tender and affectionate, tiny smile. "She misses you."

He was completely unable to fight the grin that crept over his lips. He had missed that fur of ball, he would gladly stay with her for how long it took. "Of course."

"Her owner misses you too."

"Send the lad my love. I miss him terribly. He can come around the studio whenever he wants, you know it."

They had missed Henry. Grace especially of course, but Killian had grown so used to him being around, cheering him up with his stories, rather insightful ideas and random facts that he so enjoyed sharing with him that it had been quite difficult for him not to talk or see the boy on a nearly daily basis. He would never had thought he'd grow so affectionate and protective of some kid before - the only exception being Grace and Bae, of course, - as he would have never pegged himself as the paternal figure; but being around Henry and experiencing for the first time how it could be, caring for someone and protecting him so fiercely as Emma had proven to do since day one, had planted the idea in his mind.

He was violently brought to the present when he heard her voice, now lowered into something distant and heartbroken. "Her other owner misses you, too."

He lifted his head without even noticing, his eyes seeking hers. Scenes of them together swan behind his lids; her scent enveloping him, silk golden tresses caressing his skin and tickling his neck, the echo of her laughter whenever he managed to grab her or say something that she actually found funny.

Killian fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. Why did he torture himself with these thoughts? It was one thing to have Emma haunting his dreams, which he had no control over, but he should at least be able to control his mind's wanderings when he was awake...shouldn't he?

Knowing she was expecting some kind of answer, he finally admitted, "And I can't bear being away from the Swan clan for too long." The silence that crept over them was full of uncertainty, doubt and unexpressed feelings. He could see Emma fidgeting on her seat, and he decided it was time to put her out of her misery. He patted his jeans weakly, getting her attention, and he got up in one smooth movement. He threw a smirk her way while he checked his pockets and left the stool in its place - recalling distractedly how she used to mock him for being so OCD, being completely unable to leave things in other places where they didn't belong. "I guess it's time for me to leave. Thank you for the drink. And your conversation. And personality. And good looks."

The faintest ghost of a smile played across her lips, and for a moment, green eyes met blue without a trace of malice, suspicion, or anger. Killian felt his pulse speeding up slightly in his veins, and she hoped Emma didn't notice that his hands had become sweaty and they were positively shaking inside of his pockets. Just because she had smiled at one of his stupid jokes.

He was so screwed. He always had been when it came to her.

"Are we going back to the start?" she asked, cocking her head to the side, no malice, no anger, no confusion behind her question. Just an honest curiosity that made Killian's heart clench. To the start? What did that even mean?

"You'd rather not have me - not even as a friend? Would you prefer us to, you know, not interact at all?" Killian didn't see the need to soften his words. "I'll do whatever you want me to, Emma. But I admit I'd rather have you as a friend, if I can't have all of you. You're not the only one who has craved your company."

...okay, maybe he had been too intense. But God, he wanted her to understand that he did need her. He would take whatever he could from her, even if he could only throw random and silly lines at her to make her laugh.

She gave him the tiniest of grins, and Killian couldn't help but smile back at her. "Get out, loser."

After a few moments of weighted silence, he rose to his feet and headed towards the door, but paused with his hand on the handle. "Bye, Swan," he said, smiling lightly. He remembered when they had been together how sometimes, when she was berating or teasing him, she still referred to him by his last name. It was her way of trying to put him in his place, and he found it oddly endearing. Sometimes he, too, would catch himself calling her 'Swan', especially when he was baiting her. Old habits did die hard.

Now though, at moments like this, he couldn't think of her as 'Swan'. Here, with the light streaming in the window, illuminating the gold in her hair, and making her eyes shine like some kind of precious gem, she was 'Emma' to him. Once she had become Emma to him, it was hard to change back to how they had first been, what they had meant for each other.

Emma's conflicted expression softened, and her eyes carried an emotion oddly resembling longing. Such was the intensity in her eyes, Killian had to shake himself hard not to launch himself against her, never letting her go. But he had to respect her wishes. And for now, it didn't include that kind of gestures. "See you soon, Jones. Behave yourself."

"I'll try my best." His expression sobered, and he stared back at her hard for a couple of seconds before shaking his head and walking out of her place. "Take care."

He walked back to his car, gaze carefully intent on his feet in order not to falter on his step and focusing on anything, everything from looking back at her.

So he counted.

28 breaths exhaled. 47 bricks stepped on the sidewalk. 4 red cars, 5 black cars, 3 white cars, 2 blue cars parked in her street. 3 wooden doors he had passed in his way. Two white mailboxes...

And, behind his unstoppable lists, a mantra that kept repeating over and over and over, never failing to make him flinch and wish he could go back there and speak those very words to her.

I don't want to be your friend. I want to be so much more.

If he had indeed looked back over his shoulder, he might had caught Emma curled up in her window seat, sitting against the pane that looked out to the street, hugging something against her chest fiercely while Nana tried to console her tear-stained owner by leaning her head over her knee warmly.

His hoodie.


Haiiiiii you beautiful people!

How are you? Hope you're all having a fantastic summer! Here I come bringing cheer and goodies...

...or not?

How was it? did it make you laugh? cry? shout? want to punch me in the face? (in the feeeeeels?)

one way or another, that's the way it is, dearies! WE GOT SO MUCH THO.

anyway, before you yell at me for not having them together already (i love how you all ask me when they're getting back together - HA. As if I'd told you! THAT'S THE BEAUTY OF IT, KIDS!) remember there's still way to go...!

love you always, dears. Cheers and see you next chapter!

PS: load of heartbreaking songs lately tbh... "Speaking A Dead Language" by Joy Williams, "Winter" by Joshua Radin and "Everybody Lies" by Jason Walker were the winners, though. Hugely recommend them.