Fragile Design

by XerxesRises

David Nolan is out to protect his family, in any way that he can. He enlists the help of Emma Swan and Killian Jones to help uncover the crime boss currently living in his sleepy town of Storybrooke, ME. Two stubborn and damaged souls now have to come together as partners to solve a murder and maybe even save each other in the process. Fake marriage; modern AU.

17. Chapter 17

Killian Jones

November

The shrill ringing of David's ringtone breaks into his dreams, Emma's warmth shifting away from him and leaving him bereft. He feels the bed dip when she leans over too far, hears her grumble as she catches herself on the nightstand to keep from toppling out of the bed. Reaching out to help, he grabs her hip and tugs her backward. Eyes shut tight and still half asleep, he curls around her warmth once more, tangling their legs as she mumbles into the phone.

Her shriek of 'what!' causes him to wince, his body involuntarily clenching around hers. She struggles against him and he loosens his grip, allowing her to bolt from the bed.

"Bloody hell," he grumbles. She flicks on the bedside lamp and he squints up at her, watching as she paces back and forth, phone pressed tight to her ear, listening to David on the other end of the line.

As he watches her, his heart starts to race, dread burning in his throat, carried there on a wave of bile. Spots of darkness color her cheeks, rage burning in her eyes and he sighs, settling back into his pillows as he waits for her to end the phone call and tell him what he already knows - the jewels have been taken, stolen out from under her and David's noses.

He's been dreading this, has lived the past few days in a state of forced denial over the discovery's eventual arrival. Everything changes now, he knows. He'll no longer be able to passively keep things from Emma; he'll actively be lying to her from here on out, deceiving her about his role in the theft and his pending involvement with the smuggling ring in Storybrooke.

He can only hope that when she finally finds out what he's done, she'll forgive him as easily as she has forgiven August Booth his indiscretions. The name makes him grimace, jaw clenching as he turns his eyes from Emma to the ceiling. She's raging as she paces, firing question after question into the phone. He should be paying attention to her conversation, needing to know how much they've discovered, but all he can think of is Emma and August and their budding friendship.

It hardly seems to matter that she'd tried to convince him she only wants him, using her body as testament to that fact. Their mutual attraction has never been in question, electricity sparking between them even before they'd formally met each other. No, it's not her body's response to him that he's concerned with, it's her fickle heart, the camaraderie she's found so easily with August in direct contrast with the painstakingly built relationship he's spent forming with her. It had taken him months to gain the same ground that August has covered with her in mere days.

The bed dips and he looks up to find her sitting next to him, shoulder pressed to the side of her head to keep her phone to her ear while she struggles into a pair of jeans. He sits up, watching her dress with alarm.

"David, I'll be there as fast as I can, okay?" She mutters a goodbye, tossing the phone to the bed and reaching down to yank her jeans up her legs, standing and wiggling into them before racing to the dresser to grab a shirt.

"Emma?"

"The jewels, Killian, someone took them!" He scrubs his hand over his face, shaking his head to clear it of his jealousy and the remnants of slumber that hold on tenaciously despite the lights and her loud agitation.

"Where are you going then?"

"To the station. David is there right now."

"Emma, it's the middle of the night. What can you possibly hope to accomplish by going over there?"

She turns, shirt in her hand as she stares at him in disbelief. Her jeans are still unbuttoned, the waistband gaping wide and revealing a pair of lacy black underwear low on her hips. Her arms are bare, a black bra only recently snapped into place over her breasts. Even with sleep lingering in the corners of her eyes and her hair a wild mess, she's easily the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. He leans back against the headboard, giving her a hungry look as his gaze travels from her face to her barely clad body.

Bloody hell, he wants her, even though she's about to leave and discover his sin...and perhaps that's exactly why he wants her so badly. The minute she walks out the front door, everything changes. Perhaps he simply wants to hang on to some of their happiness for a while longer. Or it could be because she's a bloody gorgeous woman, half dressed and ready for a fight. Either way, he does nothing to hide his interest. She gives him a look, hands falling to rest on her hips as she glares, lips pressed together in annoyance.

"David needs me," she tells him. He shrugs indifferently, clearly not concerned about David Nolan at the moment. She frowns at that and he sighs, knowing she's not going to give an inch on this.

"Well then, if you insist on going, I'm coming with you."

"You're what?"

"I'm coming with you," he replies matter of factly, moving to throw the blankets off his legs. She's beside him in an instant.

"The last thing I need is you following me. I'm a cop, Killian. Or least, everyone in this town believes that I am. I can't have you keeping tabs on me. It's bad enough you showed up at August's trailer with David a couple of weeks ago."

Now he's the one frowning, the memory of storming into August's trailer to find Emma covered in blood one he'd rather forget. His gaze moves to the scar above her eye, hand clenching the sheet he's still holding.

"Emma, I'm your partner. I'm only looking out for your best interests, love," he says. She sighs, hands falling from her hips as she moves to the side of the bed.

"I know you are and I appreciate it, but you're also my husband. You can't chase after me every time I go out of the house," she huffs in exasperation.

Staring up at her, he waits for her to realize what she'd just said, a smirk twitching in the corner of his mouth. When she flushes deep pink in embarrassment and opens her mouth to correct her statement to something other than 'my husband,' he reaches out to grab her hand, tugging her off balance. She has to sit on the bed or tumble into his lap.

"Killian, I don't have time for this."

"Do you have any idea how absolutely gorgeous you are when your ire is up, love?"

"My ire?" she asks.

"Mm-hmm," he says, reaching up to trail the backs of his fingers over her cheek, smiling when she leans away.

"You're trying to distract me."

"Come on, Swan, it's cold outside. It might even snow. Wouldn't you rather be here with me, safe and warm rather than out there in the middle of the night? I promise I'm a better date that Sheriff Nolan." She snorts at that, rolling her eyes before standing back up, their hands still linked despite her attempts to get away.

"I have no idea why you're being like this, Killian, but I have to go and you know it. Our only lead in the case is gone. I have to find out what happened. And no," he opens his mouth to protest, but she stops him, pulling her hand from his and placing it over his lips, "you are not coming with me."

Leaning back against the headboard again, he crosses his arms over his chest, turning from flirtation to business, knowing he's not going to get anywhere when she's like this.

"Did they take anything else?"

She finishes zipping up her pants and pops the button into place at the top, smoothing the waistband with hurried fingers. The long-sleeved shirt goes over her head; it's thin and white and he can see her bra through it along with the flat planes of her stomach. Her shoulders are set, tense, the chords in her neck standing out and he glowers to see it.

He put that tension there. He caused it and is causing it still by keeping his mouth shut about what he'd done.

"The safe was cleaned out. David thinks it happened days ago," she throws over her shoulder as she grabs a hairband from the top of the dresser. He keeps his face purposefully blank, forcing his body to keep still as she pulls her hair up in a haphazard bun, twisting the hairband around it to keep it in place.

"I have to go. I'll be back as soon as I can," she says, stepping back to the bed to press a kiss to his forehead.

"Emma," he blurts out, grabbing her hand once again and holding on for dear life, "be careful, love."

"You know I will," she promises, pausing as she stares into his upturned face. "You okay? You're being all weird about me leaving...and you look like you've seen a ghost or something."

"No ghost, love, just a goddess in blue jeans," he tells her, quirking his mouth up in jest, but meaning every word. Her blush is back and she leans over to kiss him, hands on either side of his face as she gives herself over to it. Pulling away slowly, her eyes flit back and forth between his, a wrinkle between her furrowed brows. He keeps his face passive and after searching his eyes for several seconds, she finally pulls away.

Standing to her full height, she gives him a shake of her head and then she's gone, the smell of apples and cinnamon lingering in the sheets pooled around his waist. Glancing at the clock on his phone, he's sees it's only midnight. He has no idea how long it will be until she returns and there's no way in hell he's going back to sleep until she's beside him, safe in his arms once again.

It's going to be a long fucking night.

Flopping onto his back with a snarl of annoyance, he stares up at the ceiling, a knot of guilt so heavy in his chest he feels weighted to the bed, not able to get out from under the heft of it. It's been years since he's felt true guilt for anything he's done, but since meeting Emma it's become a common occurrence. The past week has been bloody torture, his decision to steal the jewels from the police station filling him with remorse. He's tried to reason with himself that taking the jewels is an honorable act, one born out of his need to protect, but the more he tries to convince himself of it, the less he believes it.

Reaching up to scrub at his beard, he winces at the thickness of it. He needs a trim; people will start to think he's a bloody lumberjack. Emma seems to like it, though, her touch often gentling over his jaw as they kiss. He likes having her hands on him, having her show affection, especially when it's just the two of them, none of it forced or for show. Securing her trust has been a hard won battle and the idea of losing it has the guilt gnawing at him incessantly, leaving teethmarks on the edges of his conscience.

Tossing and turning for hours, he finally gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen. Pulling a bottle of rum from the cupboard, he grabs a glass as well, sitting wearily at the table. It's been a while since he's sat in the dark and drank like this, but his demons are hard on his heels and his head is pounding with the chase. The first two swallows, he simply wraps his lips around the bottle, forgoing the glass altogether. Hoping for oblivion, he then fills the tumbler, setting the bottle aside as he turns to stare out the darkened windows beside him. The cottage is quiet other than the scrape of glass sliding over wood as he pulls the tumbler close.

Everything hurts. His head, his heart, his very soul. He'd tried desperately to come clean with Emma, telling her about Smee's arrival in town and while he hadn't told her all of it, he'd made strides. But then she'd told him about the jewels and his mind, his devious mind, had instantly spotted an opportunity, leading him to break into the Sheriff's station to steal them. The instant he'd had the bags in his possession, the guilt had set in, not even waiting until he had exited the building to paralyze him. He'd contemplated his plan and the other choices available to him in those few minutes, staring at Emma's empty desk with his jaw clenched and regret winding around his heart.

Ultimately, he'd decided to go through with it, climbing into bed after passing the jewels to Smee and whispering an apology to her as she'd slept.

Reflecting on it now, he drops his chin to his chest, the alcohol making his limbs heavy. He can only hope that when he explains to her why he'd done what he'd done, that she'll see him as an honorable man trying to do the right thing by her and by the Nolans. A large part of him fears that she'll never understand, that she'll see him as just another man in the long line that have lied to her.

Betrayed her.

He groans, suddenly nauseous. He's no better than that bastard Neal Cassidy - taking advantage of her emotions to get what he wants. At the end of the day, that's the only truth she'll be able to focus on. It won't matter that he stole the jewels to save Eric Prince nor will it matter that he's going to use them for leverage against Teach. It won't matter that he's going to use that leverage to enter the smuggling ring himself, going so deep undercover that even David won't be aware of it - all in an effort to keep Emma Swan safe.

No, his stubborn lass won't understand any of that. She'll see him as a traitor, a man no different than the one who broke her heart all those years ago.

Planting both elbows on the tabletop, he buries his face in his hands and fights back an anguished sob, tears filling his eyes as he struggles with his decision. Long moments pass, Wendy wrapping herself around his ankles in an effort to soothe his frazzled nerves. Not able to tolerate the gesture of affection, he pushes violently away from the table, cursing as Wendy squeaks in protest. He stalks to the windows, peering out into the black night with his tumbler of rum clutched in his hand, shoulders tight with tension.

He can hear the wind howling around the cottage, rattling in the eaves and making the house creak and groan. He should feel safe here, but everything is so precariously balanced that it feels like with one strong gust of wind, the house and all his carefully constructed lies will come down around his ears.

Tossing back the rum, he slams the glass on the table and turns for the back door. Not bothering with a coat or shoes, he punches the security code into the panel on the wall then yanks open the door to step out onto the porch, careful to shut it behind him to keep Wendy inside. It's freezing, the wind biting and stinging as it hits him from multiple directions at once. Moving forward, he braces himself against the railing, trying to make out the outline of the mountains in the distance, the sentinels that have been guarding their fake marriage since the beginning. Barely able to make them out, he drops his head, eyes slamming shut as he curls his fingernails into the railing. The wind roars in his ears, the sound covering up the click of his teeth as they chatter. He feels as if he's standing on the deck of a ship, riding out a tremendous storm, his body swaying with the gale that ebbs and flows around him.

Everything inside him is screaming to tell Emma what he's done, to open the door and let her in, but he's petrified. He has wanted to change his life for so long now, although he would've been hard pressed to admit it even to himself and the instant Emma's hand had touched his, hope had taken flight within him. She is the catalyst he needs, his inspiration and his dream - the thought of losing her after how far he's come is unbearable.

He would do anything for her, her goodness the tether he needs to pull himself free from the darkness. He can only hope he doesn't lose her in the process of freeing his soul.

It starts to rain as he stands there warring with himself, the drops like icy needles pricking his flesh. The false warmth the run had provided is gone and his body shakes with cold, but he refuses to move, tilting his head back and forcing his eyes open as the rain drives down into his face. Giving a feral grin into the darkness, he opens his arms wide, daring the storm - daring fate - to steal his happiness. He's known evil in his life, has been at the root of it more often than he cares to admit, but he can feel the change in his heart now, can feel the light within him. It's so close, his happy ending; he'll not give up until it's his.

He loves her. With every breath in his body, he loves her. She's his savior and he can only hope that when the time comes to reveal everything, she'll be as forgiving with him as she has been with August Booth.

Decision made, he returns to the cottage, locking the door behind him and bending to lift Wendy into his arms.

"What say you, darlin'?" he whispers, leaving a kiss between her ears. "Clean up before your mum comes home and scolds me for drinking alone in the dark?"

The cat squeaks in protest, wiggling against him until he's forced to put her down.

"Fickle beast," he mutters, wobbling on his feet as he grabs the glass and the rum bottle from the table. He removes any trace of his midnight drink then heads for the stairs, guilt still heavy in his body and soul, but his course of action decided.

---

Emma doesn't return for hours and the empty space beside him feels like a gaping wound. When she finally does climb into bed, he feigns sleep, not ready to talk about what she and David have discovered. While it's been a while since he's played the role of thief, he's a master at it, knowing how to come and go without leaving a trace. He knows he left no clues behind for them to find.

After only a few hours sleep, he wakes to hear the shower running. Guilt instantly rams into his chest, making him curl in on himself as he stares at the bathroom door. Emma tends to leave it ajar as she gets ready for work, the steam from her shower spilling out into the bedroom. Unlike most mornings, though, she's not singing with the radio this morning. All he can hear is the sound of water hitting tile and the occasional curse as Emma knocks over shampoo bottles in her haste to get ready.

This could all be over so quickly. He could end it right now by getting up and telling her what he'd done and why. It would relieve the pressure on his heart, let the guilt ease, but it would do nothing to further their cause against Teach and get them no closer to discovering the ringleader of the smuggling ring. He needs to infiltrate the organization and if it means keeping Emma in the dark in order to do it then so be it.

His guilt is a small measure to pay to end all of this and keep her safe.

"Killian?"

He blinks in surprise, flipping onto his back to find her standing in the doorway of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her. She frowns as she walks over to the bed, sitting down beside him. Her hair hangs in long, wet tendrils around her shoulders, water from the ends dripping onto the bed.

"You okay?"

"Aye," he whispers.

"You sure? You look pale," she observes, leaning in closer. The sun is already up; they've overslept by the looks of it. Her skin glows with the dawn, her eyes luminous and warm as she watches him. Even like this, no makeup, hair soaking wet, she's bloody magnificent.

"I'm fine, just tired. I couldn't sleep without you next to me," he says and at least that's the truth. He smiles, breathing in the scent of her apple body wash. Sitting up, he tugs her close, trailing his nose along the curve of her shoulder. She's still warm from her shower, water beading on her skin. "Mmm...you smell wonderful, love. Like apples in fall."

"It's almost time for me to switch to my winter scent," she murmurs, fingers scratching through his hair.

"No more apple?"

"Nope. Vanilla. It's this specific scent they only have at Christmas. It's a special treat for the holidays." She pulls back as she says it, smiling shyly, looking at him from under her lashes. He feels like someone has punched him in the gut, hard. Lifting his hand to cup her cheek, he wonders what's causing her to gaze at him like that...so hopeful and innocent, so wonderfully sweet.

"What is it, love?"

"I was thinking maybe we could get a Christmas tree? You know...if you want?" She looks down, gaze falling to where her hands play with the hem of his t-shirt. Fingers pressing on her jaw, he lifts her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his once again.

"Have you ever had a Christmas tree?" he asks, voice gentle with curiosity. She shakes her head, biting her lip and he can't help it, he leans in to kiss her, his heart beating so hard he fears it may break through his chest to land in her lap. It would be fitting, he supposes. He would simply be returning it to its rightful owner.

God, he loves her. Loves her strong and loves her vulnerable...loves every scar, every imperfection, loves everything that makes up Emma Swan. When he pulls back, she's flushed from his kiss, pupils blown wide with desire. Licking her lips as if she can still taste him, she fights a grin and he does the same, his thumb moving to trail over the dimple in her chin.

"Of course we can get a tree, Swan. Although, we'll have to keep an eye on Wendy. She might try to climb the trunk, devil beast that she is," Emma giggles, fingers curling into his shirt and she tugs on it in her excitement. He gives her a huge grin, marveling at the lightness in his chest at the sound of her laughter. "Now, off with you, woman. We're running late as it is and you're too tempting by half. If you continue to sit here in just that towel, I'll be forced to help you remove it."

She stands, her fingers brushing over her lips as if she can't believe the kiss he'd bestowed upon her. He knows the feeling; his own mouth still tingles from the intensity of it. Looking dazed, she moves to the dresser to gather her clothes for the day, retreating to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

He lays back, heart racing. The look in her eyes...hope and wonder and the faint gleam of imagined disappointment that he might say no to her request...that's why he's doing all this, why he's keeping secrets from her. He wants her happy, wants her safe and out of harm's way. He'd like for her to see him as a hero. That would be nice, yes, but he knows to get there, he'll have to be the villain for a while longer. He can only hope that she'll understand the choices he's made, that she'll find forgiveness in her heart.

He's coming to believe his very sanity depends upon it.

---

His day on the docks is busy. He spends the majority of it cleaning the deck of his refurbished transport vessel. As harbormaster, he needs his own boat for patrols, but the one he'd inherited from his predecessor had badly needed repairs. Only recently mended, she bobs merrily in her berth, the hull skillfully patched and a state of the art radio now installed. She's only big enough for a few people to board at a time, but she's fast, cutting through the waves like a dream.

Now that she's seaworthy, she needs a name. Killian thinks he'll ask Emma for one, the idea pleasing him as he climbs over the ship's side. Glancing at his watch, he checks the time, looking for an excuse to put off the call he's been dreading. Turning to the horizon, he contemplates the dark clouds as he tries to talk himself into dialing his brother's number.

Watching the clouds gather, he steps to the end of the dock, shivering against the bracing wind. Reaching up, he tugs the collar of his new jacket higher before shoving his hands into the deep pockets. He'd finally caved and switched out his thin leather for black wool, choosing a coat reminiscent of the one he'd worn as part of his Naval uniform.

Thinking of his time in the Navy has him thinking of Liam and with a resigned sigh, he pulls his phone from his pocket, taking the coward's way out and sending a text instead, putting off what is sure to be an awkward conversation. He types out a greeting, asking when his brother will be free for a chat then shoves the phone back into his pocket. Blowing warm air into his cupped hands, he turns again to the horizon, worrying over the gray clouds building there. His mind wanders as he breathes in the salty brine of the sea, his thoughts inevitably landing to Emma. Strong, beautiful, courageous Emma who had finally shared her loss with him. His stomach clenches to think of her story; he can still hear the tremble in her voice as she'd told it to him...the pain in her tear-filled eyes. And when it was over, she'd allowed him to pull her into his arms and hold her through the sobs that followed.

Her confession has made all of this even harder for him. Sharing the details of her miscarriage, opening up in that way, is proof that she finally trusts him. The fact that he's taking advantage of that trust makes him hate himself. He gives a harsh sigh, chin dropping to his chest as he turns from the sea.

Lost in his dark thoughts, the buzzing of his phone startles him. Pulling it out, he stares in surprise at Liam's response, letting him know he's awake now if he has time to speak. It takes him a moment to decide, his thumb hovering over the screen before he unlocks the phone, going into his contact list and pulling up Liam's number.

He rolls his neck to relieve the sudden tension, reminding himself to breathe as he lifts the phone to his ear. It rings a few times and he takes the opportunity to turn and look out over the surrounding dock. There's no one nearby, this particular section of the docks home to his ship and no one else's. He's alone for this conversation, although that knowledge doesn't keep him from constantly searching the area, eyes roving restlessly as he waits for Liam to answer. He picks up on the fourth ring, his gruff hello letting Killian know that he may not have been asleep, but he certainly should be, weariness and strain obvious in his voice.

"Liam," he says by way of greeting, "sorry for the lateness of the hour, brother."

"Jack's been up with the flu the past few nights. It's my turn to man the trips to the head. Been awake for hours."

"Anything serious?" he asks. Jack, his youngest nephew, reminds Killian a lot of himself at that age, headstrong and brash, right down to his dark mop of hair and flashing blue eyes.

"He'll be fine, although a call from his favorite uncle would do much to cheer him."

"Aye," Killian agrees, hand clenching at his side in frustration. He hates not seeing his nephews, has hated it since he'd moved to the States, but neither Jack nor his older brother, Devon, need their uncle's criminal influence in their lives. It's better this way; it keeps them safe and keeps Liam out of the sordid details of his life.

Although, if all goes according to plan, he'll be able to return to England some day soon, the sinful weight of his past far behind him.

"'Aye' as in you agree, but will fail to call or 'aye' as in you agree and you'll be Skyping with Jack and Devon tonight?" Liam asks, bitterness and judgement discernible in the question.

"Perhaps not tonight, Liam, but soon. I promise," he replies. There's a pause on the other end of the line as Liam swallows back whatever negative observation he wants to make about the value of Killian's promises. Killian admires his restraint, but then again, Liam had always been the more levelheaded one. Cooler heads will prevail and all that.

"Whenever you can manage to squeeze them into your busy life, Killian," Liam eventually mutters.

"Liam, look, I didn't call to argue with you about the boys. You know it's better for them, for you, that I'm not around," he says on an exasperated sigh. He grinds his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he does it. "Look, you're right. Of course you're right. They both deserve better than me as an uncle - "

"Killian," Liam cuts him off, his tone severe, "you are the uncle my boys deserve. I just wish you would believe that as much as I do." Killian's throat tightens, fingers clenched so tightly his nails dig into the tender flesh of his palm.

"Liam - "

"What do you need, Killian? I know you didn't call me for a guilt trip, as much as I'd love to give you one." Lifting his head, Killian looks out over the docks, breathing deep to get his emotions under control. He's about to answer when Liam slides in one more question. "Does it have anything to do with your new wife?"

Ah.

He hadn't told Liam much about his move to Maine, just that he'd been unavailable for a while, but he would call when he could. He'd never mentioned Emma or their nuptials. It was all a ruse anyway, a fake marriage for their undercover operation, so he hadn't seen the need to inform his brother of it. He'd been a fool to think Liam wouldn't keep tabs on him and find out on his own.

"I'm beginning to think spying should be listed on your curriculum vitae, Liam," he replies, hoping to deflect Liam's justifiable wrath at not being clued in to his marriage with some self-righteous anger of his own over being spied upon by his own brother.

"If you won't tell me what's going on in your life, I'll find out on my own. I make no apologies for that, Killian."

"You're my brother, Liam, not my keeper," he replies back harshly, the words so familiar he can barely keep from spitting them out. Hadn't he uttered the same thing to Liam when he'd shoved proof of Milah's deception under Killian's nose? Thoughts of those black and white photos of Milah and Gold wrapped around each other infuriate him even now, as does the remembered humiliation of having his older brother be the one to expose the truth. He suddenly feels very warm despite the cold temperature, a flush heating his cheeks. Even the tips of his ears burn.

"Of course I keep track of you, you git! I'd do anything to keep my family safe, Killian, and as much as you hate the fact, you are my family. Even when you refuse to share your life with me," Liam says, heated. There's an awkward pause, both men reining in their emotions. When Liam finally speaks again, his voice is softer, calmer. "Her name is Emma, your wife?"

"Yes, Emma Jones," Killian replies, his own anger calming, her false name falling easily from his lips.

"Are you happy with her, Killian?"

"Aye."

"And she's good to you?" Liam asks, causing Killian to chuckle at the unsubtle way his brother tries to ask if she's like Milah.

"She's...she's amazing, Liam. I've never known anyone like her. Good down to her very core. You'll love her," he says, chuckling before he continues. "Well, you're both bloody stubborn, so I'd wager it'll take you time to warm up to each other, but once you do, you'll love her."

"She wants what's best for you?" Liam presses, needing more reassurance. Killian can't blame him for that...look what had happened with the last woman Killian had sworn by.

"Look, Liam, she doesn't want my money. She signed a prenup before the marriage. She has no claim to it or to Devon and Jack's inheritances."

"Killian, that's not - "

"It doesn't matter if that's what you were getting after with your questions or not. It's the truth and you deserve to know it. I was careful before I invited her into my life, Liam." He drops his head in embarrassed defeat. There's something humiliating about having to reassure your older brother you haven't made the same mistake twice when it comes to the women you invite into your bed.

"I was careful," he repeats, adding quietly to himself, "this time."

"If you're happy, Killian, then I'm content," Liam finally says and Killian pushes out a sigh as he continues. "I have a feeling your lovely wife isn't why you're calling me, though, is it?"

"No, that I'm not."

He explains to Liam about his relocation to Storybrooke, telling him that Emma had been offered a job opportunity she couldn't pass up and that he was able to secure a job as harbormaster once they'd moved to town. Liam seems impressed, commenting that it's a good fit for him. Killian keeps the details of Eric Prince's predicament at a minimum, saying only that the young man needs an honest job and a ticket out of town, asking if Liam might have use of him.

"He's a fine captain with potential to become a great one with the right mentor. Sailing is in his blood."

"Sounds familiar," Liam comments and Killian mutters an 'aye' of agreement. They'd grown up by the water, always under foot as their mother had run the family shipping business, learning the ropes from the best of the best, sailing nearly every day of their young lives. There's no place else the Jones boys were meant to be except on the water.

"Do you have a place for him?" Killian asks, turning to search out The Triton's berth, only a few slips over from where his small transport bobs in the water.

"I always need good men familiar with US shipping laws on staff," Liam replies. "Do you trust him, Killian?"

"Aye. He's had a bit of bad luck recently, but with the right opportunity, he'll rise to the challenge. You won't be disappointed."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Liam?"

"If you say he's worthy, Killian, then I trust you," Liam clears his throat, his tone gruff as he adds, "You've always been a good judge of character."

That causes Killian to blink in surprise, especially because he can detect the honesty behind the statement. Liam truly believes that Killian is a perceptive man, despite how wrong he'd been about Milah.

"I trust you," Liam repeats, the matter clearly settled. "Send me his contact information and I'll reach out."

"I have an important business meeting that I need Prince to attend next week. I'd like to fly him over to meet with you after that. I'll take care of the travel plans. I think he'd like to bring his girl with him, show her London."

"He doesn't need to fly all the way over here to accept the job, Killian. I can video chat with him."

"I know, but it'll be good if he gets out of town," he says. There's a pause, Killian tensing, concerned he has said too much.

"Killian, you're not involved in anything criminal, are you?" Killian rolls his eyes at the question. If you only knew, brother, he thinks.

"It's better if you don't ask too many questions," he finally replies, hand and jaw clenching in agitation. There's another one of those awkward pauses, after which Liam agrees. They smooth out a few more details then chat about Devon and Jack, Killian asking after his sister-in-law, Elsa, a sweet woman with warm blue eyes and a shy heart. They're about to wrap up the call when Liam once again grows quiet.

"Liam?"

"Look, Killian, I've debated telling you this, but I think...I think you deserve to know."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Liam sighs, clearing his throat before continuing. "It's Milah and her husband." Killian's entire body tenses, his eyes searching the surrounding area as if the mere mention of his ex-love has the power to cause her to appear.

"Spit it out, Liam," he mutters, dreading what he's about to hear.

"They've left England. About six months ago. It was in all the papers here, Gold packing up his business and moving to the States."

"Ah," Killian sighs, loosening his stance. He'd known Milah and Gold were in the US; he'd seen them in New York before he'd left the city to meet up with Emma. He squints against the weak sun, shrugging before remembering that Liam can't see the gesture. "I don't really care where she is now, Liam. Her life is her own."

"I know," Liam sighs deeply on the other end of the line. "It's just that you've never really gotten over her and knowing there was a chance you may run into her - "

"I know you've never been here, Liam, but this is a fairly big country. The likelihood of me actually coming into contact with either of them is - "

"I know, I know," Liam chuckles self-deprecatingly, making Killian feel guilty. He had, after all, encountered Milah, hadn't he? "I guess it's hard for me to let go of looking out for you, little brother."

"Younger brother," Killian automatically corrects, shaking his head with fondness. "I appreciate you letting me know, but I've moved on, Liam. Milah is in my past. I'm happy now...with Emma."

"And I'm happy to hear it. It sounds like she has your best interests at heart. That's all I've ever wanted for you, Killian." Killian sighs, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

"Liam, I've been wanting to thank you. It was hard for me to admit at the time, but I know you were only looking out for me, trying to keep my stubborn arse out of trouble. I was too proud to want to understand it then, but," Killian pauses, swallowing over the lump in his throat, "I know it now. Thank you for what you did. Truly."

"You'd do the same for me. I never meant you any harm, Killian. You know I've always been a bit self-righteous when it comes to you, but it's only because I care so deeply for you. I may have overstepped my bounds as a brother, but it came from a good place."

"I know that, I do. And I'm sorry for ever thinking otherwise." They finish the call, Killian once again promising to contact the boys for a video chat soon as well as to introduce Emma to the family.

As he shoves the phone into his pocket, he gives a sigh of relief. It'd gone far better than he'd thought it would, only a few tense moments arising, all of which they'd managed to work through, more or less. And as with everything good in his life these days, he immediately wants to tell Emma. He can hardly wait to return home and share his success with her, to thank her for her insistence that he reach out to Liam.

It's just one of the many ways she's helping him shut out the darkness and return to the light.

---

The next morning he takes off for work early, leaving Emma in bed, disheveled and lovely with fresh coffee in her hands and Wendy Darling curled up at her feet. He stops at Granny's on his way to the harbor, ordering two cups of coffee and flirting shamelessly with the Widow Lucas as she prepares them. She asks after Emma, telling him, yet again, that his beautiful wife is much too good for the likes of him.

"Don't I know it," he mutters, dropping payment on the counter and taking the paper cups from her. Giving a wink, he waves off his change and nods to the tip jar next to the register. "Don't spend it all in one place, lass."

Making his way to his jeep, he takes a moment to look over main street, breathing in the scent of dead leaves and frozen ground. It's early yet, the sun not up and the street lights are still on, bathing everything in an eery, artificial yellow glow. It's so different than any place he's lived, the small town vibe contrasting with the hustle and bustle of cities like London, New York, and Boston.

It would be idyllic if he didn't know what lay simmering just underneath the surface of the quaint little town.

Glancing left and right, he steps out into the street, his boot heels heavy as he crosses to his jeep. Placing one of the cups on the hood, he reaches into his pocket for his keys, pausing when he catches a familiar scent on the air. Lilies. Bristling, he turns, eyes roving back over the empty street. He keeps his back to the jeep, gazing across the street to Granny's, half expecting someone to be standing in the courtyard, watching him.

He finds nothing.

Moving quickly, he unlocks the door, grabbing the coffee before getting behind the wheel. Shaking his head in annoyance, he pulls away from the curb, telling himself that he's imaging things, that it was merely the discussion with Liam that has him smelling Milah's perfume. What other explanation could there be?

He parks in the harbor's parking lot, pushing thoughts of lilies and deceptive women from his mind as he exits the vehicle. Knowing Eric likes to watch the sunrise from the deck of his ship, Killian carries the cups of coffee to the berth where The Triton is moored. Calling out a hello, he waits until Eric waves him aboard before stepping onto the gangplank.

"The day promises calm seas," he says by way of greeting, handing one of the cups to Eric. They sip at the beverages, Killian stepping up to the ship's railing and leaning his hip against it, the water soothing his frazzled nerves.

"What brings you out so early?" Eric asks, eyes on the horizon.

"I've a favor to ask, mate."

"Ah," Eric says nothing more, looking down at the cup in his hands, making the plastic lid twang as he picks at it. There's a mottled brown and yellow bruise high on his cheek, a small cut at the heart of it. It's not new, a couple of weeks old by the fading color and that means Eric is due another visit from Teach's men soon. Killian tears his eyes away, looking to the horizon as he wonders how much more the man can take.

"My wife stumbled across the jewels stolen from your ship," he finally says, waiting for Eric's reaction.

"What?" Eric tries to stand and Killian places a retraining hand on his shoulder, pushing him down and warning him with a look to settle.

"She and Sheriff Nolan discovered them. They know they were stolen from The Triton."

"Oh god," Eric sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"I've managed to convince them they shouldn't be the ones to question you, that it should be me. They've agreed, on the condition that I wear a wire, which means they'll be listening in on our conversation."

"Oh god," he sighs again, dropping his head and rubbing his forehead with a shaky hand. "How much do they know?"

"They don't know any of what you've told me. I've kept my word. I think it would be in your best interest to put it out there, though, so they know you're a victim in all this."

"This is a complete mess. Teach's men are following me, I know they are! He'll be back in town soon, demanding his jewels and if I don't have them - "

"Don't worry about that," Killian says, waving off the rest of Eric's concerns. "I have that under control. You and I will meet him together, give him back his jewels and when that's over, you and Ariel are getting on a plane to London. My brother will meet you there. I've told him about you, but it's up to you to impress him. He's tough, but fair."

Eric looks up, eyes wide, disbelief replacing panic.

"Why are you helping me?" he asks, the rising sun highlighting his face and making him look inexplicably young. It tugs at Killian's heart, convinces him that he's doing the right thing by helping this man. Needing to hide this unprecedented rush of emotion, he takes his time answering, lifting his coffee cup to his lips to take a long swallow.

"It's in my best interest to help you, mate. The minute it no longer is, the help will end," he says, hoping the statement sounds sufficiently vague and threatening enough to stop any further questions. "I'll let you know in advance when I'm wearing the wire. You can be frank with me, but leave out the meeting with Teach. I want to keep that part kept under wraps. Think you can handle that?"

Eric nods, his eyes falling away from Killian's. Needing more reassurance that that, he bends at the waist, forcing Eric's gaze back up to his with a demanding look.

"If you can't handle it, Prince, my wife and the Sheriff will be the ones doing the questioning and they aren't likely to go easy on you. You're the only lead they have into Teach's organization and they're both bloody tenacious. Speak up now if you don't think you can do this."

"I'll be fine. I've survived this long, haven't I?" he says with bitterness, tearing his gaze from Killian's to look back out over the water. Killian straightens with a sigh.

"It's almost over, mate. The end is in sight and once it arrives, you can take your lovely girlfriend to England and escape all this for a while. I'll keep an eye on The Triton while you're gone."

"Thanks," he mutters, the hard lines of his face softening at the offer. "Do you think I'll ever be able to return here? It's the only home I've ever known."

"Someday, after all this has blown over, yeah." Killian slaps Eric on the shoulder one last time then turns, leaving the captain sitting on the prow of his ship as the sun rises in the sky.

He finds Smee in the office, head bent over his laptop. Killian hangs up his jacket, commenting on the chill in the air as he pulls his desk chair out and sits, sipping at the dregs of his coffee. Smee turns in his seat, his bulk dwarfing the desk chair they'd found for him. He's wearing his red knit hat despite being indoors, the back of it hanging off his head and swinging as he shifts in his seat.

"I have an idea," he says by way of greeting, his eyes sparking maniacally. Killian feels his stomach drop. Normally, Smee's idea benefit him; the man is always up for taking a bigger pieces of the proverbial pie, which usually means more for Killian. But here in Storybrooke, his greedy predilection for more means he could disrupt Killian's endgame.

Leaning back in his chair, Killian props a hand on his desktop, fiddling with his wedding ring as he waits to hear the grand scheme his second in command wants to propose.

"The package you handed me?" Killian nods to show he understands to what Smee is referring. "Why don't we sell it? Make off with the profits? There has to be at least a million in profit there, if not more."

It's a logical question. Especially considering that's exactly what Killian would have done only a few short months ago. He would have sold the jewels to the highest bidder, then made sure that Teach knew who had schooled him. But he's not that man anymore. He has a different purpose now.

He stares at Smee, knowing that if the man believes he's gone soft, he'll turn on him so quickly Killian won't know what hit him. Smee is a loyal man, but he has a greedy heart. Killian has no illusions over where his true loyalties lie. As long as Smee believes Killian possesses a similarly dark heart, there's no need for concern.

He hardens his expression, tongue sliding over his bottom lip as he carefully chooses his next words.

"Did it ever occur to you, Smee, that I have a plan I've not shared with you?"

"You...you do?"

"Have you ever known me not to have one?"

"Ah, no," Smee seems to realize his error in questioning Killian quickly, shaking his head so hard his jowls sway with the motion. "Right. Ah, well, it was just an idea."

"I find no fault with your ideas, Smee, as they usually tend to earn me money, but do remember your place. I don't like anyone questioning my motives, not even you. When and more importantly, if, I choose to share my plans with you, I will do so. Is that understood?"

"Aye, aye," Smee gives a feeble nod and turns around in his chair, tucking his girth under his desk and hunkering down over his keyboard once again.

Silence falls, Killian turning to his own computer and pretending to work on the next issue of the Notice to Mariners. His thoughts, though, are centered on his impending meeting with Teach. It's scheduled for the day after Thanksgiving, here on the docks.

By this time, Teach must have heard of him. He's been here for months and oversees the harbor, where Teach is active. Revealing himself to Teach now feels right and if all goes smoothly, he'll soon be receiving information regarding the shipments moving in and out of the harbor firsthand. Information that he can then he can then pass to Emma and David.

Emma...

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Along with the guilt he feels over keeping his plans from her, he also feels guilty for tarnishing their public persona of happily married couple. That had been the whole point of moving them here, of convincing folks they weren't a threat to the town's way of life; they're supposed to come across as a happily married, too wrapped up in each other to notice anything around them. He's completely gone against that now, hasn't he? Gone rogue in order to tease out the criminals they seek.

Emma's not going to be the only one annoyed at his actions. David Nolan, the man trusting him with his family's safety, will not be happy when he discovers how close to the darkness he's walking. Killian thinks on that, turning over in his head how easy it would be take a step across that line, to give into his baser instincts and become once again the criminal version of himself that lingers just under the surface.

Shooting a look at the back of Smee's head, he seriously contemplates taking over Storybrooke, taking out the competition and cleaning up the disarray of Teach's minor rule. There's a larger force at work - Teach's boss who they have yet to identify - but he seems like an absentee father, at best. Teach has been left to his own devices, running small thefts and weekly poker games, using inexperienced men like Eric Prince to smuggle shipments instead of securing loyal men with years of experience to move from port to port.

Such ineptitude and indifference makes the perfect breeding ground for mutiny.

Killian can do better, has done better, building his own criminal enterprise. He's the master of his domain. He treats his employees well, rewards them for their successes and fairly doles out punishment when they undermine him. He's ruthless when he needs to be, has maimed and threatened more than one person over the years, but he's smart about it, careful and deliberate in all his decisions. It would be easy for him to take over this town, establish his own smuggling ring and do it with half the intimidation and upset that Teach employs.

Killian's thoughts move to Eric and his bruised face. Totally unnecessary, that.

"Smee," he says, pushing his chair away from his desk and walking over to the windows. He can see The Triton's berth from here. The ship is gone, Prince having pulled out for the day's fishing. "You've been keeping an eye on Prince, yes?"

"Yeah," Smee replies, leaning back in his chair to watch Killian. "I keep a distance, but I think he's beginning to suspect I'm following him."

"Well, he'll be leaving town soon, so you won't have to keep it up much longer." Killian looks over his shoulder, leveling a formidable glare in Smee's direction. "Stay out of sight. Best he doesn't get a look at your face, but if you think he's in danger, do what you can to help."

"Step in if I think he's about to be beaten to death?" Smee asks.

"Aye. Otherwise, stay in the shadows. It's only for a bit longer," Killian turns back to the window, staring out at the gray clouds on the horizon. It makes him uneasy, those clouds, dark and massive as they continue to grow.

"About before, sir?"

"What of it?"

"It's just...in the past, you would've jumped at the opportunity to make extra money. That booty practically fell into your lap. I believe you when you say you have a plan, but I fail to understand why we aren't making use of the bounty that has so readily made itself available to us." Killian turns, thumbs tucked into his belt, brows down in displeasure. Despite the look he's leveling at his fat companion, Smee continues. "What possible reason could you have for not selling the jewels to the highest bidder?"

Killian feels his blood boil at the flagrant second guessing. Taking a step forward, he leans over Smee, hands coming to rest on the arms of his desk chair. With his jaw clenched and eyes wide with anger, he stares into the startled face of his lieutenant, his affection for the man waning the longer he spends time with him.

How has he never noticed before how much of a rat the man is?

"My reasons are my own, Smee. Question them again, at your peril." He doesn't say more, the implied threat more than enough to get Smee to back down. He swallows hard, giving a tight nod of assent before turning back to his paperwork, a bead of sweat sliding from his temple to his cheek then down into his bushy beard.

Needing a breath of fresh air, Killian leaves the office, slamming the door behind him and walking in the direction of his small transport. Wanting to clear his head, he climbs aboard and gets to work, feeling the weak November sun warm his face as he cleans. His thoughts are on Smee and his insubordination, his heart calling out for Emma even as his head works out how to keep her in the dark to his plans.

---

The rest of the afternoon is spent doing inspections and following up on minor complaints, Smee at his elbow as he moves from berth to berth and converses with the various men and women that populate the docks during the day. It's bitter cold, the wind making his eyes water as it rushes around them, buffeting them on every side. Hands deep in the pockets of his coat, he yanks his scarf up over his jaw and cheeks whenever he can, Smee doing the same.

He watches as the ships that had pulled out at the beginning of the day return to their berths, The Triton among them. The men work quickly and efficiently, unloading the day's catch for transport and storage, their breath hanging in misty clouds before their faces. As cold as it's been on shore today, Killian can't even imagine how chilly they all must be after a day on the water. Most head right home, while a few stop at the Seagull's Nest for a greasy dinner. Eric leaves well after the others, head down, shoulders hunched as he makes his way to his car.

Smee follows him, offering Killian a goodnight as he closes the door behind him and heads after Prince to keep watch.

It's late when Killian finally finishes at his desk. Giving a look around the small office, he sighs when he spots a scone sitting on Smee's desk. Shaking his head, he grabs the plate and upends the food into the bin. Nothing else is amiss, both desk chairs pushed in and computers turned off for the night. Pulling on his coat, he texts Emma to tell her he's on his way, asking if she wants anything for dinner. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he exits the building, locking the door behind himself. Trudging forward, his boot heels strike the concrete, the sound bereft as he makes his way to the parking lot alone.

His scarf is pulled up to his nose, the wind making his eyes water, each bitter gust stealing his breath as it hits his face. Snow is forecasted to hit Storybrooke in the next few days; he can feel the threat of it now. It'll be December soon and he and Emma will be decorating their cottage for Christmas, setting up a tree and celebrating with friends. It's not anything he'd realized he was missing, celebrations such as these, but planning Thanksgiving with Emma has revealed much to him about how empty his life has become. He'd invited everyone over as a way to distract Emma, but now, the thought of having friends over while he and Emma play hosts...well, it warms him in a way he didn't think possible.

His vehicle is one of the last in the parking lot, the light of a stray lamp illuminating it. Pushing the button on his key fob as he walks up to it, the headlights flash as the locks release. Grabbing the handle of the door, he's about to open it when all the hairs on his body stand at attention. He pauses, hand gripping the metal handle as he curses the wind filling his ears and making it impossible to hear footsteps approaching.

He turns swiftly, scanning the area around him. Keeping his back to the jeep, his pulse races, blood rushing in his ears. The jeep is parked in the middle of the lot; no one can come up on him unobserved. Surrounding the lot, though, are numerous trees, a veritable forest where anyone could be hiding. He's tempted to call out to whoever it is because despite not being able to see them, he knows they're there and Killian Jones is not one for games.

If they want him, they need to stop this charade and come get him.

Despite his instincts to face the predator head on, he knows that Killian Jones, harbormaster and husband to Emma Jones, wouldn't provoke anyone like that, so he turns and climbs inside the jeep. Not wasting anymore time, he exits the parking lot for home, jaw clenched in agitation.

He's beginning to think he's losing his mind. He constantly feels like he's being watched and in addition to that, there's the stray scent of lilies always following him. His thoughts jump to Milah, to the way her eyes would flash when he'd hover over her with his lips brushing her collarbone as he'd breathe deep of her expensive perfume...

He surely must be losing his mind to remember such things after all the years of heartbreak that had followed in her wake.

Pulling up outside the cottage, he parks the jeep, but makes no attempt to move further. He tries to calm his nerves, not wanting Emma to know that anything is amiss. Five minutes pass before he finally moves, exiting the vehicle and making his way to the front door, his thoughts, while not completely calm, at least a little less riled. He realizes as he ascends the porch steps that Emma never texted him back about dinner. The bug is parked in the driveway, so she's home; maybe she'd fallen asleep on the couch again. They've both been working so hard lately that she often crashes as soon as she's home, curling up on the sofa with Wendy before a roaring fire.

"Emma?" he calls out as he steps into the house. "Oh...wow."

She's standing by the table, fingertips pressed to the wooden surface, an excited smile on her lips. The kitchen is a mess, pots and pans scattered over the countertops, a bottle of wine uncorked and half empty on the island. The table is another matter, though, laid out beautifully with a single candle burning in the center and two settings at the head of the table.

He quickly removes his coat and scarf, hanging both up and toeing off his boots before hustling over to her, her smile expanding when he pulls her into his arms.

"What's all this, love?" he asks, giving her a kiss on the nose before turning to look over the table.

"A surprise," she says, shrugging, her cheeks pink with excitement. "I decided I'd better practice making dinner before Thanksgiving."

"It smells wonderful. What did you make?"

"Chicken parmesan. I found a video online and watched it while I cooked. It was actually pretty easy," she jerks her chin toward the kitchen and he turns to spot her laptop on the counter. Turning back to her, he gives her a swift kiss on the cheek.

"Let me change?" She nods, releasing him and he hurries upstairs, leaving his work clothes in the hamper and pulling on jeans and a t-shirt. Leaving his feet bare, he pads down the stairs then washes his hands at the sink. Emma chatters about her cooking experience while he listens, her nervousness about the dinner she's made absolutely adorable.

"I hope you like it," she finishes as he pulls her chair out for her. Pulling out his own chair, he drops down beside her, giving one of her hands a squeeze as he settles. Wendy winds around his legs in welcome, her feet padding over his own as she walks where she will.

"I'm sure I'll love it, Swan," he tries to reassure her, reaching for his fork. Glancing over at her, he smiles and shakes his head as he begins to eat, starting with the salad. "You really didn't have to do this, though. I'm sure you had a full day at the station."

"I needed to get my mind off work, actually."

"Bad day?" he asks, concern making his brow furrow. She sighs, reaching for her fork and stabbing a piece of lettuce with real malice.

"Someone broke into the station and went right for the safe, which isn't surprising considering everyone in town knows where the stupid thing is." She rolls her eyes at the lack of security, then continues. "They completely emptied the thing...took the jewels and a couple of guns that were locked up from another investigation."

Killian takes a bite of his own salad, slowly chewing before speaking. "Anything else disturbed?"

"They rifled through our desk drawers, but we don't keep anything in there," she replies, using her fork to push a carrot around her salad bowl. She glances up at him and he can see the rage in the green depths of her eyes alongside the excitement over an unsolved mystery.

"You do realize I'm a suspect," he says, in an offhand tone that belies the way his heart is racing. It's a statement, not a question. He looks up from his plate to find her staring at him in surprise. "Surely you and David must have discussed the possibility, love."

"Killian." She leans forward, hand on his wrist as she watches him with wide eyes. "I know you didn't do this. David said the safe was broken into before, about a year ago. Everyone in town knows where it is. I doubt whoever broke into it even knew the jewels were there. They probably decided to check it out and got lucky."

"You don't honestly believe that, Emma. It's too much of a coincidence." He's not sure why he's pushing the issue; she clearly doesn't think it was him and he should thank his lucky stars that she doesn't, but he presses forward, desperately wanting her to find him out so that his deception can end.

"The odds are high, sure, but it feels too random to me. I...crap," she says as her phone rings and cuts her off, David's ringtone blaring from the kitchen. "Sorry," she murmurs, swiveling in her chair and getting up to grab the phone. She answers, propping her hip against the counter and speaking in hushed tones while he waits for her to finish the call.

Killian turns back to the spread before him. Along with the salad and chicken parmesan, she'd made pasta and steamed green beans. She'd gone to such lengths to make him a nice meal, but as good as everything is, he's having a hard time swallowing it, his guilt burning his stomach and throat. He reaches for his wineglass, gripping the stem as he downs the alcohol in a few desperate gulps, Emma watching him as she finishes up her call.

"You okay?" she calls out, setting the phone back on the counter then returning to the table.

"A little tired," he replies, throwing her a half smile as she sits beside him. "You've done a wonderful job with the meal, love."

"Thanks." She smiles at the compliment, the look turning curious when his drops his gaze back to his plate and forces himself to finish the last of his meal. Setting his fork aside, he wipes his hand on his napkin then pushes away from the table and smiles in apology.

"I'm going to go and take a shower if you don't mind. It's been a long day and I've a headache brewing."

"Oh...okay, I guess." Forehead wrinkling with disappointment, she watches as he stands and takes his plate to the sink. Taking a few extra minutes to clean up after cyclone Emma, he rinses the pots and pans she'd cooked with, placing them into the dishwasher alongside his dirty dishes. Task complete, he kisses the top of her head on his way past. "Thanks for the dinner, Swan. It was wonderful."

"You sure you're okay, Killian? You seem...not yourself." She reaches for his hand, gripping it to keep him from walking away. He glances down at the rings on her fingers, jaw clenching when the light catches the diamond and makes it sparkle.

He suddenly wants to sink to his knees before her, hide his face against her belly as he begs for forgiveness. Ripping his eyes from her hand and the rings he'd given her, his gaze lands on the divot above her eye, the scar an angry red as it heals. She could be taken from him so easily and he's only doing what he needs to do to keep her safe, he reminds himself. Pressing his lips together to keep his confession trapped in his mouth, he smiles faintly then leans over to press a kiss to her forehead, trying to smooth out the worry lines there with his lips.

"Nothing a hot shower and a good night's sleep won't cure, love," he murmurs then moves away, her eyes on him as he climbs the spiral staircase to their bedroom.

Once at the top of the stairs, he pauses, head dropping as he rests his hands on his hips. God, this better all pan out the way he hopes it will. The guilt is eating away at him, burning a hole in his stomach and heart the longer he keeps it inside. Not to mention that Emma is beginning to suspect something is wrong, that something more than the investigation is stressing him.

He strips before entering the bathroom and getting into the shower. Turning the water on full blast, he steps into the stall, allowing the glass door to slam shut behind him. The water is cold, but he steps under it anyway, allowing it to sting his flesh as a welcome punishment for his sins. It heats up soon enough and he sighs, steam billowing around him as the exhaust fan kicks on and pulls the damp heat outside.

He plants his hands on the tiled wall, rolling his head forward to allow the stream of water to hit the back of his neck. It feels heavenly, the pressure perfect on his aching muscles. Shutting his eyes, he listens to the drops hitting the tiled floor, giving himself over to the warmth. Time stops as he floats between wakefulness and meditation, the long day falling away as he finds a measure of relaxation.

The sound of the shower door slamming shut scares him; he literally jumps into the air before spinning on his heels to find Emma staring at him, a smile causing the dimple in her cheek to dance with mirth at his reaction.

"Well, aren't you jumpy, tiger," she giggles, stepping closer as he watches her with wide eyes. Her hair is wound up on the top of her head, tendrils left hanging around her face to curl in the heat. Her eyes sparkle a dark green, her lashes fluttering as she takes in his nude form. She smiles wistfully, her tongue slipping out to wet her lips, a hungry smile curling up the corners of her mouth as she looks her fill.

He decides to do the same, his gaze moving from her face to her body. She's gloriously nude, her fit, toned form glistening with water drops. Every line, every ripple of muscle speaks to her athletic prowess, her full breasts and the dip and curve of her slim hips attesting to her femininity and grace.

"Emma?" he says, his whisper trembling with hope and desire. She smiles softly, shuffling closer before she presses up on her toes to wrap her arms around his shoulders, her head tilting back.

"I thought maybe I could join you."

"Emma," he starts again, wanting to tell her how much he needs her goodness and affection in his life and how completely terrified he is that he's about to lose both, but the words fall away when she tugs him closer, her breasts pressed enticingly to his chest.

"Kiss me," she whispers, the request filled with breathy intent, her gaze falling to his mouth.

He lunges forward, the movement lacking finesse, his lips finding hers with enough strength to force her back a step. He can't help the growl of encouragement he gives when her arms curl tighter around his shoulders and her hips align with his. It only takes a moment for him to rise completely to attention, his cock caught between their bodies.

"You're so tense," she mumbles against his mouth. Pressing her fingertips to the sides of his neck, she rubs over the knots she finds there and he groans. It's painful, but the tension in his neck loosens with each deep press of her fingers.

"Oh, god, right there," he moans when she finds a particularly stubborn knot.

"Here, stand like you were before, hands on the wall," she orders. He wants to keep kissing her, but her hands are magic, her touch releasing the built up tension of the past few weeks. He obeys her, turning to splay his hands on the tiled wall, his head down once again and feet spread to keep him steady.

She leans forward and presses a kiss between his shoulder blades, just over his spine and he jerks at the feel of her slick skin sliding against him.

"Relax," she tells him. He does what she asks, letting his eyes close as she backs up then begins to work her hands over him, starting at his neck and working her way down from there. No spot goes untouched, no knot unattended. He loses track of time, his heart rate slowing, his entire body growing slack as she works.

Well, not exactly his entire body, he thinks as his cock gives a pulsing throb. Her hands slow then stop at the small of his back and she lingers there before stepping close once again, fingers dipping to press over his tailbone before gliding around to the front of his body. She follows the line where legs meet torso, her touch dancing there before slowly, slowly, slowly moving to his manhood.

He curses when she steps completely into him, their bodies flush. Her hips cradle his ass and he can't help but press back against her, his breathing ratcheting up as one of her small hands wraps around him and glides over his length. Swallowing hard, he watches as she touches him, the sight of her gripping him an image he wants to burn into his memory. She hugs him from behind, her cheek pressed to the top of his spine, her free hand resting on his hip.

"I want to help you feel better, Killian. Will you let me?" she asks. He gives a small groan of appreciation when she twists her hand at the top of his length, rubbing over the sensitive spot under the head. His eyelids flutter as he struggles to keep his eyes open, wanting to watch her move over him.

"Feel good?" she whispers. All he can do is nod, his eyes still on her hands as she works him. His release is already tingling at the base of his spine, his body tense once again but for a completely different reason now. Not able to keep his eyes open any longer, he squeezes them shut, hips stuttering as he begins to fuck her hand.

"Emma," he sighs.

"Close?" she asks, voice husky and low in his ear. He nods again, groaning desperately when her hand inexplicably falls away from him. "Turn around." He does as she commands, watching as she kneels before him. Reaching for his hand, she pulls him forward until his toes touch her knees. Looking up, she smiles then wraps her hand once again around his shaft.

"Oh, shit," he mutters, shuffling closer so she won't have to strain to reach him. Planting his hands on the glass wall behind her, he cranes his neck to watch her. A ragged groan tears from his throat as she licks up the drops of water that cling to his cock. "Bloody hell. Emma."

"Hmm," she hums before taking him fully into the heat of her mouth. She moans as she slides her tongue over him, the vibrations causing him to curse as she bobs her head. He'd been close before, but there's no way he can hold back now.

As if rising to a challenge of sorts, she lifts her pretty green eyes to his and takes him impossibly deeper when he warns her of his impending release. He can't hold back, losing himself inside her mouth. She swallows all of it down, not a drop wasted. There's something primally erotic about that and pride swells in his chest. He grunts as he finishes, his arms shaking as he holds himself steady against the glass.

"Bloody hell," he repeats. It takes him time to pull himself together and when he finally opens his eyes again, she's peering up at him with a smug smile. Lifting his hand from the glass wall, he reaches down to cup her jaw, lightly running his thumb over her now plump bottom lip. "Such a lovely mouth."

Her smile expands with pride and he can't help himself, he hauls her to her feet and kisses her, his hand sliding from her jaw to the back of her head. He wants to kiss that smirk off her lips, swallow her happiness down and use it to replace the acidic guilt in his stomach.

"Do you find it amusing, love," he pants against her mouth, swiping his tongue along his bottom lip to taste the remnants of her kiss, forehead pressed to hers, "to know how absolutely wrecked I am for you?"

She sighs, pressing on to her tiptoes, hands clutching his shoulders to pull him closer. Their mouths fuse once again, hips realigned as her breasts dig wonderfully into his chest. His passion for her rises once more and he wraps his arms tight around her, lifting her off the ground as he feasts upon her lips.

As much as he would love to press her against the shower wall and finally claim her lush body, he refrains. He'd meant the promise he'd given her, that he wouldn't cross that line until she begged him to do so. And while he may have already broken his other promises to her, this one he intends to keep. He still has two good hands and a mouth, both of which she'd just proven to be quite effective in providing pleasure.

He nips at her, teeth sinking into the plump flesh of her kiss swollen lip, the action pulling forth a delightful moan. Setting her on her feet, he presses her back against the shower wall, giving her a smirk as he kneels before her. She literally licks her lips as she gazes down at him, spotting his recently returned erection.

"Really?" she asks with exasperation, eyes flying to his. His grin expands, eyebrows waggling as he reaches down to lift her leg up to rest on his shoulder so that her body is open to him, her lovely pink flesh on display.

"Just like that, darling," he murmurs, patting her knee in approval. "That's a good girl."

He hears her swift intake of breath as he leans forward and presses a kiss to her inner thigh. Scraping his teeth over the skin there, he earns himself a shiver and a moan. Moving closer to her sex, he follows the graceful line of her body, lips and teeth brushing over sensitive flesh. Pulling back, he looks up to find her flushed, chest heaving at mere implication of him touching his mouth to her center.

Perfection, he thinks, absolute bloody perfection.

Pressing a hand to her belly, he marvels at the way her muscles quiver, her body clenching in anticipation. He follows the progress of his hand on her flesh, wondering if she has any stretch marks from the pregnancy she'd once carried, but it's a fleeting thought that he determinedly pushes away. Wanting nothing to distract him, he slides his hand lower, listening as Emma sucks in a gasping breath when he reaches the apex of her legs. With her leg up on his shoulder, the lips of her sex are spread, the secrets of her body revealed to him. Men have been chasing riches such as this for centuries and he is no different, his body calling for hers.

He brings a finger to her distended clit, brushing lightly over the nub. She moans, calling his attention upward as he touches her. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, her cheeks flushed pink. Gently flicking his finger over her, he watches as she bites her lip and throws her head back against the glass wall, breasts pushed forward. Not able to pass up such a tempting offer, he reaches up with his free hand to pinch each pebbled nipple.

He watches her the entire time, working her to find exactly what gets her off. It's not the first time he's touched her like this and god willing it won't be the last, but he wants to make sure no man will ever understand her body like him, wants to learn her triggers so he can set them off every time he touches her.

It's not long before she's shaking, her body clenching and unclenching as she rides the waves of her pleasure. He's not ready for this to be over, though, so he changes tactics, sliding his hand further back to search for her center, groaning when he finds her hot and wet for him. Two fingers slide inside then a third, her body stretching beautifully to accommodate the intrusion. He leans forward, sucking the tender flesh of her inner thigh into his mouth to prevent himself from standing and sliding into her heat.

He slowly pumps his hand, curling his fingers to press along her walls. She jerks against him and he rests his free hand over her belly to keep her still. She's so close that another few thrusts and she'll come apart on his hand, but he wants more, wants to possess her even in this small way. Lifting his mouth, leaving a deep red bruise on her inner thigh, he removes his hand, standing up to look into her face.

"Killian?" she asks, confused as to why he'd stopped. Body trembling, cheeks flushed, she's utter temptation and he has to force himself to turn away to shut the water off. Moving back to her, he lifts her easily, laughing when she squeals and clutches at his shoulders.

"Don't worry, love," he murmurs as he carries her out of the shower, "I'm not done with you yet." Taking her to their bed, he carefully lays her down, stretching out beside her prone form. His mouth finds hers quickly, his hand coming to rest on her trembling stomach. Water drops fall to the sheet as dark blue splotches, merging to form an abstract portrait of bodies, entwined.

"It's time I made you come in our bed, lass," he murmurs against her lips, relishing the whimpering sigh she gives when his hand slides lower on her belly.

Helping her lift a leg over his hip, he finds her sex, fingers teasing her bundle of nerves before moving past to slide deep inside her once again. One of her hands curls into the sheets, twisting them as the other moves to the back of his head to bring him closer. He grins, nipping at her lip before settling back to watch the pleasure dance over her features.

"Can you come for me?" he asks on a whisper, adding two more fingers inside her sheath. She clenches around him and he groans. He can't help but lazily flex his hips, mimicking the motion of his hand between her legs. His length brushes her hip as he moves in an approximation of how he would fuck her, her skin silky soft against his flesh.

"Is this how you get me to beg for you?" she asks. He smiles, shaking his head as he trails his gaze over her flushed body, marveling at the beauty before him.

"I only want to return the bliss you so marvelously bestowed upon me, love. It was such a sweet gesture and you know what they say about good deeds, don't you?" Lifting his eyes to hers, he watches as she shakes her head, her mouth falling open on a gasp as his thumb finds her clit. "Every good one deserves another."

"Oh," she sighs, eyes falling shut as his thumb and fingers play.

He's patient, working her slowly and torturously toward her peak. He can smell her arousal, can feel it thick on his fingers. He contemplates dipping his head to drink her essence, but when he shifts in preparation to move, she stops him, her eyes shooting open in alarm.

"Like this, Killian?" she asks, her voice thready and pained. "I'm so close. I need...don't stop." He nods, pressing his lips to her sweaty temple and whispering words of comfort to her, wanting to remove the panic from her eyes.

"Such a beauty, you are," he tells her, pulling back to gaze into the storm of her passion. His desire to drown in her eyes, to lose himself in her is overwhelming. "You'll never understand how drawn I am to you, Emma, how very much I want you."

"Killian," she sighs, eyes on his as he continues.

"You blush when you're close, did you know? Your cheeks are pink with it, love. And your whole body shakes. You're so desperate to have your pleasure." As if on cue, her body gives a massive tremble and he smiles. "And I'm so desperate to give it to you. That's it, lovely. Let me see you."

"Oh, god!" she cries out, back arching off the bed as her hips widen more for him. Thumb steady on her clit, he seeks out the spot inside that will be her undoing. When he finds it, she shudders, disentangling her hand from the sheet to grip his wrist instead. Digging her nails in, she holds him there, her hips taking over as she fucks herself on his fingers.

"There's a lass," he whispers. Looking down over her body, he watches as her stomach muscles tense and her belly quivers. Even her thighs are rigid as she holds herself open for him. She strains, sweat beading on her brow. "Take what you need, love, it's all yours. Everything, anything you need, I'll give it to you."

His eyes fly back up to hers, hoping she understands that he means more than just physical comforts, that his very heart is hers, if she wants it. Keeping their gazes locked, he watches as she hovers on the precipice of her orgasm, but it soon becomes too much for her. She throws her head back, neck arched, eyes falling shut as if she can't bare to look at him any longer.

"That's it. Oh, that's it...come for me, Emma," he asks. He's desperate to see her bliss, needing to know that he's capable of giving her more than pain. "Please, Emma, come for me. Come for me, sweetheart, come for me. Come for me."

Nails digging into his wrist, her release finally takes full possession of her. He presses his temple to hers, listening as she keens, incoherent words pouring out of her. It seems to last and last, her voice giving out as her body rhythmically clenches around him, slick warmth bathing his hand. He imagines her coming around his cock like that and squeezing his eyes shut, he begins to rut in earnest against her. His own release takes him by surprise as he spills his seed over her hip and belly.

When it's over, they both lay there panting. He'd collapsed on her after it was over, his fingers still encased in her warmth. Aftershocks run through her, causing her to squeeze him delightfully. When he finally slips from between her thighs, she whimpers, her hand falling from his wrist to land on the bed. He shifts away, grimacing when he feels a burn of pain. Lifting his hand up, he finds bloodied half-moon gouges in his skin.

"Oh, shit. Sorry," she mumbles.

"I'd gladly wear any mark you leave behind if it means experiencing that again," he tells her, brushing a kiss over her still flushed cheek then another to her forehead. "I've never seen anything as lovely as you in the throws of your passion, love. You give yourself completely over to it. It's intoxicating."

Her flush deepens and she shakes her head, biting her lip as if deciding something before she speaks.

"I don't know if I've ever felt this way with anyone before. I forget everything else when we're like this. It's terrifying. And addicting." Reaching her hand up to his jaw, she slides her thumb over the scar on his cheek. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you, Killian."

Breath catching, he leans down to kiss her, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her tight to his chest, tongues dancing as they drink deep. It's awhile before he pulls away, his body sated and cooled, the chill in the room making them both shiver.

"We need to change the sheets," he tells her, sliding away to stand. "We've made quite the mess, you and I."

She giggles, sliding out of the bed after him and turning to look at the spots of damp they've left behind. She helps him tidy up, picking out the white sheets with the dark blue anchors on them, righting the bed before crawling under the blankets and pulling him close.

"Are you ever going to tell me what's been bothering you lately?" she asks on a yawn, nuzzling under his jaw. He tries to keep from tensing against her, tugging her even closer to hide any involuntary tells his body makes.

"The investigation grows long, is all. I worry about your safety as it drags out." He holds up a hand, sensing a protest brewing. "I know you can take care of yourself, love, but that doesn't keep me from worrying. Teach will be back soon and you'll be speaking with him. I worry about that. I worry about the Nolans, about keeping them safe." He shrugs, biting back the confession on the tip of tongue, that he worries most about her ability to forgive him when she finds out what he's kept from her, both as part of this investigation as well as the deeds from his past that he's yet to confide.

"It's a lot to keep track of, is all," he tells her instead, nose brushing the tousled bun at the top of her head.

"It is, but you and me, we're in this together. You can't keep everything bottled up, Killian. We have to rely on each other. That's the only way this is going to work," she states, both of them falling silent, knowing that she speaks the truth. It takes a while, but she finally falls asleep, her breathing slowing as he clings to her.

"Please forgive me," he whispers, darkness swallowing his words as they lay in their fake marriage bed, bodies entwined, hearts beating in sync. Eyes squeezed shut, he prays to a god he'd stopped believing in long ago, asking for a miracle to save them both.

---

They spend the majority of that weekend cleaning the cottage, every room getting a thorough once over, even the upstairs. Killian goes so far as to clean the windows of the cottage, outside and in. It's a tedious job and a cold one as well, but it's worth it to see the light streaming into the house through spotless glass.

On Sunday, they head to the grocery store with a list, walking up and down the aisles and dropping items into the cart.

It reminds him of their shopping excursion to the home goods store all those weeks ago. Much has changed since that trip. Back then, Emma had been so reluctant to open up to him, had barely been able to allow his touch. Now she's the one reaching for his hand, she's the one linking their fingers and smiling over at him. She's not pretending to want him, not trying to convince the town they're blissfully in love, not doing all of this simply for show.

The realization has him wanting to press her up against the cans of pumpkin pie filling so he can kiss her senseless. Instead, he pulls her into his side and drops a chaste kiss to her temple, breathing in the familiar scent of apples and cinnamon as she reads the grocery list to him.

Numerous people stop to say hello, talking about everything from the weather to their plans for Thanksgiving. Emma answers more often than not and Killian is happy to let her, watching with affection as she gushes over spending the day with the Nolans. He simply can't take his eyes off her, her happiness a balm to his troubled soul.

"Emma!" a high-pitched voice calls out as they turn the corner to the produce section. They stop and look back, Emma's face lighting up when she spots Henry Mills barreling towards them, his mother slowly pushing a half empty cart after him.

"Hey, kid!"

"Wow, you have a lot of stuff! Are you making Thanksgiving dinner?" Henry steps up to the side of their shopping cart, eyes wide as he peers at their selections.

"Yeah. Killian and I are going to cook."

"Pirates can cook?" he asks, looking up with a crooked smile, his hair impossibly mussed over his forehead, eyes bright. Killian gives him a wink.

"I'm a man of many talents, my boy."

"My mom says she's too busy this year to make Thanksgiving dinner. We're going to go to a restaurant," he tells Killian. He's clearly not too happy about it, throwing an exasperated look over his shoulder as Regina steps up behind them.

"Henry, it's not polite to tell people our personal business," she admonishes. As unhappy as her son is about their plans for Thanksgiving, she's even less thrilled with him sharing the information with Emma and Killian. Emma offers up a hello, which Regina returns with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

She looks sad, Killian thinks, his head tilting as he listens to the two women make small talk, Emma pulling Henry into the conversation when she mentions visiting him in his classroom the week before. Regina smiles politely, nodding her head, but something seems off, something that speaks to the loneliness of his own heart. Stepping forward, he drops his hand to Henry's shoulder. The lad looks up at him in surprise and he smiles warmly down at him.

"Regina, Emma and I are having folks over for dinner on Thursday. You and Henry are welcome to join us. We'll have more than enough food to go around." Emma glances at him, completely caught off guard by his offer, but she goes along with it, especially when Killian snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her back to rest against him, silently pleading with her to relax and go with the flow.

"Oh, that's really very kind of you to offer," Regina replies, eyes widening in complete surprise. Henry shifts excitedly, nearly jumping in place as he waits for her answer. She looks down at him, hesitating before giving a mighty sigh of resignation. "We'd love to."

"Yes!" Henry punches the air, his little fist going straight up and down before he turns to give Killian a fist bump. Emma tells Regina what time to show up for dinner, waving off her offer of bringing a dish to pass before Henry and Regina wander off to finish their shopping.

"Why did you do that?" Emma hisses, pushing away from Killian and shrugging off his arm as she stalks forward to pick out the apples they need for their pie. "August is going to be at the house."

"So?"

"We're trying to keep his location quiet," Emma reminds him, her eyes moving restlessly around to make sure no one is nearby. Killian steps up beside her, replacing his arm around his waist as he drops his mouth to her ear.

"Henry and Regina need a place to spend the holiday and I've opened our home to them. Much the same as you did for August. I very much doubt any harm will come to him by spending the holiday with Regina Mills in our living room. Nothing will happen to your precious friend, Swan."

He knows he shouldn't be jealous, but whenever August's name leaves her lips, irrationality takes over. He can't seem to get past the fact that she gives the man leeway to make horrible choices and somehow still finds it in her heart to forgive him. Instead of providing him with hope that she might to do the same for him, it only makes him angry.

Dropping his arm from her waist, he moves over to the potatoes and yams, leaving her staring after him in confusion, an edge to the set of her jaw that cuts him from across the aisle.

---

The arrival of Thanksgiving provides him a welcome distraction from his impending meeting with Teach. Emma wants the holiday to be perfect and he wants to make it so for her; he focuses solely on meeting every one of her demands for the day. With the food purchased and the house clean, he and Emma bake the pies the night before. He documents their progress, snapping pictures while they eat pizza and slice apples, drinking wine and laughing as soft jazz plays in the background.

She comments on how relaxed he is, her eyes flicking to his and then down again swiftly when he looks over at her. Guilt twisting in his gut, he slices his apple, cutting away a piece and holding it between knife and thumb as he bites into it, watching her slice her own. The pumpkin pie is already baking and the cottage smells of nutmeg and cinnamon, the spicy scents heavy in his nose. Underneath it all is the headiness of Emma and he breathes deeply of it all, his thoughts calming as they come to rest on the woman before him.

"You're a balm to my soul, love," he says and she glances back up at him.

"I know I've said it before, but you can tell me whatever it is that's bothering you," she replies, ignoring his compliment. He watches her for another couple of seconds, the temptation to open up to her overwhelming. He's about to confess everything when she finishes with her apple, setting it aside and reaching for the next. Head angled in profile, he spots the scar above her eye and stops short, swallowing all of it back.

"I know, Emma. I know," he finally mutters, shutting down completely and missing the worried glance she sends him as he turns away.

They finish the pie, Emma pleating the crust carefully, forehead wrinkled in concentration as she works. He sits down at the island, thoughts once again dark as he contemplates his meeting with Teach. He's one step closer to his goal, one step closer to infiltrating the smuggling ring and hopefully, one step closer to finding Graham's killer.

He realizes he's glowering now, his good mood dissipating quickly and he forces himself to brush off his dark thoughts, standing to tug Emma into a hug after she's slid the pie into the oven. Turning in his arms, she presses her forehead to the side of his neck, palms sliding from his shoulders to settle over his chest.

"Tomorrow is going to be great, love. Dinner will be marvelous and we'll share our day with our lovely friends." She stiffens in his arms at that and he waits, wondering what he's said to upset her.

"Even August and Regina?" she finally asks and he sighs, his cheek pressing to the side of her head.

"Holidays are about opening your home for others, even the ones you'd rather not invite inside. It'll be fine," he manages to say.

The apple pie comes out wonderfully, the crust a golden brown, the scent of apples and cinnamon billowing around them as Emma pulls it from the oven. He takes a picture of her, grinning and holding the pie up proudly and he thinks, for what feels like the millionth time, how much he loves her, how much he only wants the best for her. He desperately wants to leave his dark past behind and step into a bright future with her, one where neither of them will be alone.

And despite his feelings of guilt over the choice he's made to lie to Emma, he knows he'd do it all again if it means securing her safety and happiness.

---

This chapter was hard to write; getting into Killian's head space as he justifies his actions to himself was rough. I tried to imagine him here like he was when he went to Rumple to get his hand back. We all know Emma doesn't care about him having one or two hands and it was heartbreaking to see him go to his mortal enemy and ask for his hand back, his own insecurities causing him to go to the one person he knows he should never trust. That type of desperation and self-loathing is what I was going for here. Killian trying to convince himself it was the right choice in order to save Emma...well, it wasn't fun to write, to say the least.

I hope I hit the right note with this.