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.

18. Chapter 18

Emma Swan

November

The sound of Killian singing infiltrates her dreams, his voice unfurling like ribbons along the edges of her subconscious. She grabs at them, a sense of calm settling over her as she wraps the ends around her hands, allowing them to lift her up and out of her slumber. His dulcet voice echoes off the bathroom tiles, reaching her ears as she slowly wakes. Keeping one eye screwed shut, she cracks the other open, giggling when she finds Wendy curled up on Killian's pillow beside her.

"You better hope Killian doesn't catch you sleeping on his pillow, cat," Emma says. Wendy turns her head at the sound of her voice, a rumbling purr starting in her chest as she peers at her owner with her mismatched eyes narrowed to slits.

Smiling fondly, Emma luxuriates in a full body stretch with pointed toes and arched back. Giving a contented groan, she props herself up on her elbows to look outside. She finds a cerulean blue sky complete with massive white clouds floating past the mountains. The trees that surround the lake are bare now, but the empty limbs do little to detract from the beauty of the landscape. She sits up, hugging a leg to her chest and resting her chin on her kneecap as she stares outside, soaking up the bright morning sun.

Killian continues to sing in the next room, his voice going slightly off key as he tries to hit a high note. Pressing a smile to the top of her knee, she fights back a giggle when he goes again for the note and fails. He continues on, blissfully unaware of his audience. He has a good voice, she thinks, her smile slipping away as she closes her eyes and listens to him. The song changes, the words he now sings making her heart ache.

"I'll be good, I'll be good

And I'll love the world like I should

Yeah

I'll be good, I'll be good

For all the times that I never could"

And it's in that moment, when she hears his truth reflected in the song lyrics, that she embraces her own truth...she's in love with him. Completely, one hundred percent, head over heels in love with Killian Jones. And so deeply drowning in it that she can barely breathe.

Flopping backward, an arm thrown over her forehead, she lands on her pillow, startling Wendy. The cat gives a disgruntled squeak, jumping to her feet as Emma looks over at her. She settles back into the pillow, blinking at Emma in silent judgement.

"Sorry, cat, but your momma is a mess."

The water shuts off in the next room and Killian's voice trails off to the occasional hum. She can hear him turning the faucet on and off in the sink, can hear drawers opening and shutting as he gets ready for the day. She, on the other hand, contemplates the high ceiling above her, her stomach in knots.

Before meeting him, she'd had very little reason to smile. She'd been lonely, on the outskirts of everything and she'd convinced herself she was okay with that - was happy with her fate as loner. Then she'd met him and everything changed. He's given her more reasons to smile in the past few months than she has experienced most of her life. She never anticipated feeling the way she does about him, a man who chooses to be a villain. One who lies and cheats and steals by his own admission.

A man who looks at her like he might change all that if she'd only give the word.

She can sense how desperately he wants to do the right thing, the yearning in his eyes to belong to something good. Perhaps that's the reason she's opening herself up to him more and more each day, staying by his side regardless of the shadows that lurk in his eyes. Or the way he tells her nothing is bothering him when that's clearly a lie.

Wendy gives a squeak from her pillow and Emma looks over, finding the cat staring at her plaintively, her mismatched eyes glowing. Reaching over, she wiggles her fingers until Wendy leans forward and delicately sniffs her hand, her pink nose brushing lightly against Emma's palm.

"Hungry, darlin?" she asks.

"I've already fed her, Swan. Disregard any demands she makes for food," Killian says from the doorway of the bathroom. She looks over, eyes widening when she spots him. Wrapped in just a towel and a few stray water droplets, he saunters into the bedroom, throwing her an absentminded smile as he moves to the dresser in search of a pair of jeans.

Even the man's back is gorgeous, she thinks, turning onto her side and propping her chin in her hand to continue unabashedly watching him. It's clear that he takes good care of himself, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing even with small movements. The towel is slung low over his hips, revealing two dimples right above the top of his perfectly rounded backside. A slow smile spreads across her face when he untucks the towel, removing it to dry his shoulders and chest, oblivious to the fact that his ass is now on full display.

Lifting the towel, he rubs it over his head before dropping it to the floor. He's glorious, body lit by the November sun, his dark good looks offset by all the white that surrounds him. It's difficult to describe, the intense physical reaction she has as she watches him. Little pinpricks of electricity heat her skin, congregating as a deep throbbing pulse in her core. She shifts against the sheets, hips undulating as she catches a glimpse of his manhood resting in a thatch of black curls between his strong thighs.

Sucking her lip between her teeth, she worries the flesh, weighing the many emotions warring inside her. She's in love with him, but she's afraid to admit it, afraid to give into it, to him. Add to that her insatiable attraction to him and everything inside her is in turmoil, her heart and body at war with her mind.

Killian slips into a pair of boxers then his jeans before turning to her, his chest still bare. Her eyes linger on the planes of his stomach and chest before moving up the column of his neck where she imagines sucking on his pulse while riding him, the decadence of the thought causing her to curl her hands in the sheets. When she finally reaches his eyes, her body is taut with want, her natural reaction to him undeniable as their gazes lock.

"Alright there, love?" he asks, smirking as she blushes furiously. In an effort to cover it, she sits up and lifts Wendy into her arms, burying her nose in the cat's fur. She's not used to feeling shy when it comes to men. She's attractive and intelligent, desirable. It's always been easy for her to take what she wants when it comes to the opposite sex, but with him...with him everything is different.

Killian seems to sense her discomfort because he drops the smirk and says, "I believe it's customary to watch the Macy's parade on Thanksgiving, is it not, Swan?"

"Oh!" Emma sits up straighter, her eyes going wide with excitement. Wendy protests the movement, wriggling so much Emma sets her down on the bed. Rising up on her knees, Emma grins at Killian. "I love the parade!"

Killian returns the grin, her enthusiasm tickling him. He moves to the side of the bed, his large hands tilting her head up. Her breath catches at the emotion in his eyes, the obvious affection. Leaning over, he places a tender kiss to the tip of her nose then stands straight.

"You like watching the parade?" he asks. She gives him a solemn nod, his hands warm on her skin, grounding her, easing the ache of her attraction.

"I watch it every year and have since I was little," she replies. "I could always count on the parade being on and some years it was the only part of the holiday I had to look forward to, so no matter what, I make sure to watch it."

A shadow falls over Killian's face, his brows coming together, a wrinkle appear between them. He feels sorry for her, she thinks, and she doesn't want that. That's not why she'd shared the information with him. "It's okay," she reassures him quickly, lifting a hand to wrap around his wrist. "It's a happy memory, one that makes me smile. Promise."

He takes in what she's said, his blue eyes frantically searching hers before he gives her a smile, one tinged with sadness before leaning down to kiss her. His nose presses into her cheek as he settles his lips over hers and when he pulls back, the tip of it brushes her in a touch so tender it makes her heart flutter. She searches his eyes, finding an emotion there that worries her, one that looks suspiciously like regret. It leaves her unsettled and grappling to understand what he's hiding.

"Killian," she starts, tightening her grip around his wrist, eyes locked with his, "tell me what's bothering you."

"Emma," he sighs, her name a trembling plea that she doesn't understand. He lifts his eyes to the scar above her eye then steps back, his hands falling from her jaw. She's still holding onto him, though, and she prevents him from leaving completely. His gaze fall to their hands, his jaw clenching as he glances at Graham's bootlace tied around her wrist.

He grimaces then pries her grip loose. She drops her hand into her lap, watching as his blue eyes darken as if a storm brews behind them.

"Killian - " she starts, rising up on her knees and leaning forward, reaching for him.

"It's nothing," he cuts her off, giving her a pained smile. "Go and get your shower. I'll start breakfast." Another kiss, this one more perfunctory than passionate, is placed on her forehead. He leaves her, grabbing a dark blue dress shirt then taking his leave, moving as if she's chasing him down the stairs.

She watches him leave, her forehead scrunched with concern. She's really getting sick of him telling her nothing is bothering him when she can read the lie in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Something is clearly wrong and has been for days. It doesn't feel like it's related to anything she's done, but she's not ruling that out at this point. Maybe she's offended him somehow?

Or worse yet, what if he's pulling away, changing his mind about getting involved with her? It's happened before, only she'd been too naive to recognize the signs. Is she setting herself up for the same heartbreak?

She's strong; she'd survive if Killian decided he didn't want to pursue a relationship with her. But knowing that doesn't make the thought of losing him any easier. Her chest aches and she rubs at it with a fist, her knuckles pressing right over her heart, bone digging into bone.

She closes her eyes, breathing deep and forcing her fists to unclench. Pushing up from the bed, she determines then and there to make the most of today, Killian's odd mood notwithstanding. This is her first Thanksgiving in something that feels like a home with friends around her and she's not going to let anything ruin it; she's worked too hard to make it special.

Besides, who knows if she'll ever have a holiday like this again after their investigation is over and she moves back home to Boston.

Boston.

It's funny, but when she thinks of home, Boston doesn't come to mind. Storybrooke and this cottage are what she pictures, her heart beating happily at the thought. Maybe she could stay, after it's over? David and Mary Margaret could rent her the cottage - Graham did build it for her, after all. David could surely use another set of hands at the station.

(But would it still feel the same without Killian here with her?)

They have nowhere to be today, so she takes her time in the shower, enjoying the way the sun makes the water sparkle as it falls around her. She turns in a slow circle, eyes closed as she lets the relaxing warmth of the water untangle her thoughts, washing them down the drain.

The water starts to cool and she finishes up, stepping from the stall to move through her morning routine. She blows her hair dry enough to braid it, pulling it over one shoulder and trying it off with a hairband. Dressed in her most comfortable pair of yoga pants and an off-white sweater that's a touch too large, she leaves the bathroom to find her slippers and grab her phone before making her way downstairs.

There's a fire burning in the fireplace and the television is turned to the parade. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and bacon has her stomach growling. Killian is at the stove, hovering over two pans as he turns the bacon and keeps an eye on the scrambled eggs. Glancing up at her, he gives her a grin and waves her over with the spatula.

She notes that his eyes are clear, whatever storm that had been brewing in them before now gone.

"Hurry, love, the parade will be starting soon." She moves to pour two cups of coffee. Leaving one black, she adds two spoonfuls of sugar and creamer to the other, sipping at the overly sweet concoction with relish.

"I've no idea how you drink that. It's more sugar than coffee," he says, his comment a mix of affection and exasperation.

"It's what makes me so sweet," she replies, handing him his coffee with a hesitant smile as she searches his eyes for any signs of darkness. What she finds in the blue depths is nowhere near dark. It's light and honest and makes her smile grow, her hesitation forgotten.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that, love?" he says. He wraps his arm carefully around her waist, his hand heavy on the small of her back. She shuffles closer, eyes on his lips, the anticipation of his kiss making her giddy.

Surely he wouldn't want to kiss her if he was no longer interested in her?

She offers him her lips, needing him to ease the ache of doubt in her heart. It doesn't take long for her worries to fall away, his tongue dancing over her bottom lip, seeking entrance. She opens for him, sighing at the tranquil glide of heat as he takes her. It's sensual and tender and she shuffles closer, pressing a welcoming sigh into his mouth.

He tastes like toothpaste, his mouth slick and warm. He explores her, brushes over the ridges of her mouth, trails along her teeth, dances against her own tongue. When she reaches down to slip a hand into his jeans, grabbing his ass and tugging him into her, he growls, the sound temptation wrapped in sin. When he finally lifts his mouth away, he leaves little puffs of heated breath on her lips as he watches her, the want in his eyes undeniable.

A man who isn't interested would definitely not kiss her like that.

"Sweet enough for you?" she manages to whisper.

"Bloody perfection," he murmurs, eyes on her mouth before he lifts them to meet hers. The ever present attraction between them is stretched taut, the tension making his cheeks burn. Her knees feel weak, her core aching for the relief of his body finally merging with hers. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he slides his arm from around her waist. Eyes blazing, he gives her a stern nod, jerking his head in the direction of the table.

"Be gone with you, woman. I'll burn breakfast with such sweet distractions keeping me from my work."

"Sorry?" she says, although she's really not sorry at all.

She heeds his request, moving to the table and trying to get her raging hormones under control. Plopping down into her usual chair, she alternates between watching television and staring at the view outside their window. The sky is an indescribable blue, reminiscent of the bluest eyes she knows. Smiling a secret smile, she looks to the mountains, white-capped and stoic and to the lake that mirrors the scene above it. It's almost as if the water has fallen in love with the sky and having no words to express such love, reflects back the perfect beauty that is the heavens. The thought makes her smile wider, her chin propped up on her hand as she gazes out at the perfect vista, her heart feeling full while her lips tingle with the memory of Killian's kiss.

He brings over two plates, setting one before her then sitting in his chair. He's made eggs, bacon, and wheat toast that she slathers with orange marmalade. They eat and watch the parade, Emma pointing out her favorite balloons, bouncing in her chair when they appear.

"Snoopy!"

"I finally get it," Killian says as he leans back in his chair, eyes dancing with humor as he watches her.

"Get what?" she asks absentmindedly, eyes glued to the screen. It's clearly windy in New York today; Snoopy's handlers struggle to keep the balloon level as he weaves and bobs above their heads, the leads that keep him from floating away gripped tightly in their hands.

"When I lived in New York, I never understood this damned tradition. It was a nuisance, the streets shut down and the traffic bloody murder the day of but," his smile deepens, "seeing your face right now, I completely understand the appeal. You're glowing, Swan."

She blushes, turning from the television to find him staring, the look in his eyes making her heart race.

"That's it. It's decided," he says, slapping his hand on the table, startling her.

"Um, what's decided?"

"Next year, you and I will be one of those lunatics sitting in the very front with a thermos of hot coco to share." He grins at her then finishes his eggs, following it with a swig of coffee.

"Oh," she says, not sure how to respond to such a statement. He'd said like it was a done deal, like there was nowhere else they could possible be a year from now, but spending another holiday together. And Emma knows there's nowhere else she'd rather be than with him, happy and safe... actually together and not simply pretending.

He doesn't seem to realize the effect his words have, standing and gathering his empty dishes while she tries to process what he'd just promised her.

"Finish your breakfast, Swan, then come help me cut up the vegetables for later, yeah?" She nods, eyes on her plate as he walks to the sink. She follows with her own, handing them to him before moving to the fridge and pulling out the fresh vegetables.

She begins to cut carrots, broccoli, cucumbers, and peppers into manageable bitesized pieces, placing them on a serving tray she'd found in one of the cupboards. Dishes rinsed and in the dishwasher, Killian joins her at the counter, deciding to plate the cheese and crackers while she continues to tackle the veggies. She cuts all of them, bagging the extra for later. Placing the homemade dipping sauce Killian had made yesterday in the very middle of the tray, she covers it and slides everything back into the refrigerator.

Contemplating their menu, she grabs the sack of potatoes next, deciding she can peel and cut them to save time later. She goes to work, Killian joining her once he's finished with the cheese and crackers. They work quickly and efficiently, dividing their time between peeling potatoes and watching the parade. Once they're all peeled and sliced, Killian covers them with water and sets the heavy pot on the back burner of the stove.

They move next to the green bean casserole, Emma grinning over the dish as he turns his nose up at the cream of mushroom soup.

"It's good, I swear," she promises, to which he simply shrugs, watching as she pops the casserole dish into the oven to bake. "We can heat it up later. We'll just add the last of the dried onions then, so they stay crisp."

"Whatever you say, Swan," he says, turning to look over their menu. "I do believe we can do the yams now as well." He gets to work, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his forehead wrinkled with concentration. They prep everything they can and soon enough, they've run out projects.

Emma moves to the couch as Killian wipes down the counters one last time. The cottage smells wonderful, the turkey roasting in an oven, the green bean casserole cooling on the counter. The fire crackles in the fireplace, its heat warming her feet as she stretches them toward it. There's a wonderful ball of contentment in her chest, the relaxing ease of the morning washing over her as she listens to Killian finish up in the kitchen.

Emma lifts Wendy into her arms as Santa Clause appears on the television, signaling the end of the parade and the start of the Christmas season. Killian brings over a cup of coffee, settling beside her with his own.

"We can go out tomorrow and get the Christmas tree, if you want," he tells her, blowing air across the surface of his coffee before taking a sip. His eyes are on the screen above the mantel, not her, so he misses the look she gives him. One filled with deep affection and disbelief that the man is even real.

"Really?"

"Sure. Why not?" Killian turns to her, surprised at her disbelief. "I promised you a Christmas tree, Swan. Did you doubt me?"

"Never," she says solemnly, which makes him smile.

"We'll have to get lights and ornaments, too," he points out. "And it wouldn't be a tree without an angel. Or perhaps you'd prefer a star?"

"Which do you like?" she asks, genuinely curious.

"Well, I already have an angel with me here." He winks, eyes twinkling with mirth and she rolls her eyes, snorting inelegantly.

"Oh, whatever." He laughs, a rich booming sound that pleases her.

"Honestly, Swan," he finally says, "it's whichever you prefer. Whichever will make you happy." He presses a smile into his mug as he takes another sip of coffee, tendrils of steam curling around his cheeks. His hair is a floppy mess over his forehead, the dark strands in wild disarray. He definitely needs a haircut, she thinks, the hair at the back of his neck curling into little flips.

As she watches him, she compares the man before her, with his too long hair and his flannel shirt, to the sharply polished, cold man in the dark blue suit she'd first met in August. She can't help but stare, his causal appearance revealing more than she would've thought possible. He feels comfortable enough with her to stop hiding behind a fancy suit and a debonair smile. He's himself with her. He reaches out to scratch behind Wendy's ear, smiling softly when he looks up to catch her staring.

"What is it, love?" he asks, his voice caressing the term of endearment. Somewhere along the way, his calling her 'love' has come to mean more. It had annoyed her at first and when she'd called him on it, demanding that he stop, he'd simply smirked and said, "I call everyone love, love. Don't take it personally."

And she hadn't, writing it off as one of his quirks, but over time, something had changed. She's not quite sure if it's the way he says it or if it's the way she hears it, but it's no longer a weapon to be used to ingratiate himself with her. It's become his way of telling her, even when surrounded by others, that he knows her, sees her when no one else can. It makes her feel grounded amongst the lies.

And when they're alone, like they are now, and he says it, it never fails to have her aching for him. She had never known until him how wonderfully sinful one little word could be or how sweet it could sound when whispered by a man who looks at her like he is now. There's a change in the inflection of his voice, a little catch that twists at her gut, makes her want. He says it in so many ways, caressing her with the word, if such a thing were possible. It's become one of her most favorite words, especially when spoken in his clipped accent.

"Nothing," she finally manages to say, blushing at how tongue-tied she's become. She shifts so that she's facing him, Wendy protesting the movement. She stretches across Emma's lap with her belly exposed, her head falling back as her front paws push toward Killian. He chuckles, scratching her stomach and earning himself a purr of contentment.

"I don't think she's going to let you up much today," he observes, "and rightly so. It's been a while since you've had a day off."

"You, too," she remarks, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the worry lines that seem to be permanently etched into his forehead these days. "It's nice to have a few hours to relax and be home."

"Aye, it is nice," he agrees. They stare into each other's eyes for another minute then they both turn back to the television, Killian's hand slipping from Wendy's belly to Emma's thigh.

The parade is over and there's a pre-football talkshow on, four large men in dark suits sitting around a desk, discussing the upcoming game. David had already put in a request for which games they'll be watching, which is fine by both her and Killian, since neither of them follows football. Although, to be fair, since they'd attended the homecoming game, Killian has shown interest in learning more about the sport.

"Uh, Swan?"

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow, after we pick out the tree, I have an errand to run."

"Okay. Do you want me to go with you?" she asks, glancing over at him and noting that he seems intent on watching the flames in the fireplace and not her. Unease settles over her, but he looks at her then, smiling when he sees the expression on her face. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to her jaw, his nose tracing the apple of her cheek as he pulls back.

"No need, love. It'll be a quick trip to the docks, no more than an hour or so. I have a few reports to finish and submit. You'd be bored if you came with me." His eyes are clear and blue, the sun streaming in through the windows highlighting them. The unease in her stomach loosens, his smile open and sweet and she ignores the lingering doubt in her heart. They sit for a while longer, drinking their coffee and going over the rest of their plans for the day.

When Emma checks the time, she's surprised to see she only has thirty minutes to change before their guests arrive. She finishes her coffee, taking the mug to the kitchen and rinsing it before setting it aside to dry. Bounding up the stairs to the bedroom, she strips out of her casual outfit then heads for the closet and the dress she'd hidden there earlier in the week. Unzipping the garment bag, she peeks inside, her fingertips grazing over the skirt, the color a vibrate red that recalls the brazen start of autumn.

It has a halter top, with two gold buttons that hold up the straps to be buttoned behind her neck. The back is open, leaving a healthy portion of her skin on display while the skirt gathers and falls in modest lines to her knees. It seems completely impractical to wear a dress like this today, with all the cooking and prep she needs to do, but she couldn't pass up the opportunity to render Killian speechless.

Pulling the dress from the bag, she hangs it up, then heads for the bathroom to fix her hair. She even does her eyes, lining them carefully and curling her eyelashes, darkening them with mascara. Deciding to wear her hair pulled back, she works for several minutes on a complicated braided chignon, pinning it low on the back of her head. Giving a nod of satisfaction as she turns her head from side to side, she returns to the closet for her dress. Pulling on a pair of red panties to match, she lifts the dress from its hanger and slips into it, the gauzy skirt feeling like an angel's wings as it flutters into place around her thighs.

She's exiting the closet when she hears Killian running up the stairs.

"Emma, the Nolans are here!" he calls out. She has both hands up behind her head, pushing an errant bobby pin into place with her eyes on the floor when she hears him curse under his breath. Lifting her eyes, she finds him stopped at the top of the stairs, staring at her.

She pauses, his gaze like heat on her exposed flesh. Part of her wants to ask him if he likes the dress, his opinion important to her more girlish sensibilities, but as a strong, independent woman, she balks at the idea of needing validation from a man. She feels amazing in this dress and that should be enough. Besides, she can tell from the way his eyes have glazed over, his expression slack, that the dress had the intended impact.

Her lips curl into a teasing smile, one eyebrow arching as she saunters past him.

"Close your mouth, Jones," she tells him, her voice low and teasing. She slows enough to reach up and push his jaw closed with a finger, giving a wink as she continues past. When she pauses to look over her shoulder at him, she finds him staring after her, his eyes dark and unfathomable, electricity sparking between them even in those few seconds. Smirking, she turns forward and continues on her way down the stairs, a muttered curse that she doesn't quite catch following her as she descends.

She arrives on the first floor to find David and Mary Margaret fussing over Leo as they remove his coat. August is settled on the couch, his foot up and a beer in his hand. She greets them all, earning hugs from the Nolans and a wave from August, whose blue eyes linger a little too long on the plunging neckline of her dress, earning him a shake of her head as she passes him.

Killian returns to the living room several minutes later, his jeans replaced with a pair of black dress pants and a black button down vest over his dark blue shirt. He bypasses their guests, making his way to the kitchen with sinful intent darkening his eyes.

"That's quite the dress, Swan," he tells her, taking advantage of her position at the counter, sidling up behind her and settling his hands on either side of her. She tenses, feeling the buttons of his vest press into her spine, the heat of his body making her hands shake. Leaning forward, his nose dips down to trace along the side of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. Goosebumps flare over her skin, her back arching and causing her ass to press deliciously into him.

She suddenly wishes their guests were gone.

"Thank you," she manages to say, trying for prim and proper and sounding breathless instead. She clears her throat and pushes back with her butt in an effort to dislodge him. One of his hands comes up to her waist, holding her in place. She keeps her eyes on their guests, making sure their attention is on the television and not them.

"I only have one question, love. Do you think August knows you bought it for him?" he whispers, his accusation biting despite the teasing lilt of his voice.

She feels like she's been doused with cold water. Her eyes land on the back of August's head, her denial dying on her lips as she contemplates the situation. She should've known Killian's jealousy would rear its head with August here, but that doesn't give him the right to act like a neanderthal, staking a claim like she's some prize.

Spine straightening in anger, she turns her head slightly, forcing him to back up or risk getting smacked in the head.

"I wore this dress because I look damn good in it, Killian. Get over yourself, will you?" And with that, she rams her ass against him, forcing him to completely step away. She spins around, hands propped on her hips as he crosses his arms over his chest. His blue eyes are veiled, but the red splotches high on his cheeks give him away. Despite his obvious anger with her, he can't keep from glancing down the front of her dress.

"I don't dress for any man, Killian," she says, her voice low and vicious. She's hurt because she had picked this dress out with him in mind, but his lack of trust in her undermines that. She's not willing to let him know how much he's hurt her, though, and she works to cover the hurt with her own anger. Taking a step closer, she leans in, watching triumphantly as his heated gaze falls once again to her chest before flying back up to her mouth.

"Besides, it's not as if you're my actual husband." The words are harsh, whispered quietly so the others won't hear them. He grimaces, his eyes falling to the side, that tick in his jaw working on overtime as she spins back to the counter to continue uncovering the veggie tray.

She feels his gaze on her back, but she ignores him, asking August if he'd like her to make him a plate. When she chances a glance over her shoulder, there's a murderous rage in his eyes that has her skin tingling with warning. He dips his head and looks up at her with a sinister smile ticking up the corners of his mouth.

She suddenly worries that she may have pushed him a tad too far and she turns forward, blood rushing in her ears, heart racing in her chest.

David calls out for Killian to join them in the living room. Not turning around, she hands him the plate of food for August, which he angrily takes from her hand. He steps down into the living room, handing the plate over before falling to his knees beside Leo, who squeals in excitement to see him.

Pressing a hand over her neck, she marvels at her jumping pulse, contemplating the demon she'd just unleashed, amazed that her instinct isn't to run, but rather to face it head on and allow herself to be devoured.

God help her, but despite his irrational and possessive jealousy, she's never wanted him more.

---

"Emma, these are wonderful!" Mary Margaret enthuses, holding up a warm pepperdew stuffed with goat cheese and drizzled with balsamic vinegar. Half the tray is already gone and she only put them out a few minutes ago, David and August eating a healthy portion all on their own. Killian had declined, choosing instead to sit and keep Leo occupied while the rest of the adults chatted. She doesn't mind, the toddler seems to have calmed him down, although she keeps catching him staring at her, his blue eyes filled with a combination of anger and longing.

"Thanks. I found the recipe online," she tells Mary Margaret, smiling as she slides a glass of iced water over to her. She wears a thick cable knit sweater with a pair of leggings, the sweater stretched tight over her midsection. She seems aware of the snug fit, tugging self-consciously on the hem, a pretty blush accompanying the gesture.

She's gained a little weight, Emma thinks, watching as she returns to the couch. Her face is rounder, her sweater stretched over her chest almost as much as her mid-section. Emma's mouth slides open, realization slowly dawning. She suddenly wants to pull Mary Margaret aside and ask if she's expecting. Instead she watches as she settles on the couch, leaning into David as he presses a kiss to her temple.

Emma watches them before turning away, wondering if she'll ever be in a position like that. Her gaze lands on Killian right as he looks up from his place on the floor, their eyes connecting across the distance. He gives her a curious look and she flushes, wondering if he can read her thoughts, sense her fears. Turning away, she pushes all of that aside, focusing instead on her hope that she'll bring down the smuggling ring quickly and allow the Nolans peace to expand their family.

The rest of the afternoon is filled with teasing laughter as they watch the football game, Emma keeping the food coming as plates empty. She keeps everyone's glasses full, even bringing out the whisky and rum. Killian's mood improves, although he still manages to throw her heated looks every once and a while. Regardless of his opinion of the man, he's cordial to August, acting as the perfect host and she's thankful for that.

As the sun begins to set, Regina and Henry arrive. Everyone welcomes them warmly, Henry sitting with Killian and Leo on the floor and playing cars while Regina trades hellos with the Nolans. The turkey is almost done, the smell filling every nook and cranny of the cottage, several stomachs growling when she pulls open the oven door to baste it. It's a wonderful, golden brown, the skin crisping up nicely and her mouth waters as she checks the internal temperature. Content that the bird should soon be done, she turns on the second oven, figuring out which dishes can in go together to warm.

Killian abandons the boys, joining her in the kitchen and asking what she needs help with. She gives him a list of tasks and he takes over, allowing her to move to the table to add the finishing touches. The sky outside the windows is turning from blue to varying shades of purple, red, and orange, the sun dying and dousing the forest in darkness.

As Emma works at the table, Regina slips past her, opening the back door and stepping onto the porch, moving to the railing where she braces her hands. With her back to the cottage, she watches the drama of the sunset. There's something about the way she stands there - alone - that tugs at Emma's heartstrings. Glancing back at her other guests to make sure they don't need anything, she grabs her throw blanket from the couch, wrapping it around her shoulders as she follows Regina onto the porch. Stepping up beside her, she leans her hips into the railing, turning her head to take in Regina's profile.

She's beautiful, in a way Emma can never hope to be, with honey brown eyes and raven black hair that tumbles around her shoulders in loose waves. Wrapped in a wool coat that falls to mid thigh, there's a hint of a royal blue top peeking out from beneath the collar, the color adding a touch of elegance to her exotic beauty.

"I'm glad you and Henry were able to make it today," Emma says. Regina raises a perfectly sculpted brow, turning to look at Emma cooly.

"I'm not sure I would be as happy to have strangers join me for the holidays," she says, the rasp of her voice rich and cultured despite the bored tone she affects.

"Well, I've spent enough holidays on my own to know how depressing they can be. I wouldn't wish that on anyone," Emma softly replies, taking no offensive to Regina's cool demeanor. It wasn't that long ago Emma would've taken the same approach, her sky high walls preventing her from welcoming friendship the few times it was offered to her.

There's a pause where Regina simply stares at her as if she's trying to figure out the younger woman. Then she sniffs, turning back to the sunset.

"Yes, well, thank you, Mrs. Jones," she mutters and Emma smiles. She clutches the blanket around her shoulders, shivering a little as a breeze lifts the edges of her skirt, making it waft around her legs.

"Does Henry know he's adopted?" she asks, startling herself with the abrupt question. She already knows the answer; David and Mary Margaret had told her about his adoption when they first visited Storybrooke, but she's curious to know more about the little boy who has captured her affections. Regina smiles at the mention of her son, her eyes warming as she glances at Emma.

"Yes, he knows. He went through a phase where he tried to find his birth parents."

"What happened?" Emma asks.

"I helped him as best I could, but the adoption was closed. The mother didn't want to be found and she never provided a father's name on the birth certificate," Regina shrugs. "We never found her and after a while, Henry gave up. I think he still hopes she'll come looking for him, but for now, he's content."

"It must have been hard to know he wanted to find his mom." Regina smiles and shakes her head.

"Not at all. I love my son and if it would make him happy to know where he came from, then so be it. It still wouldn't have changed the fact that I'm his mother."

"He's a lucky little boy to have you," Emma says, wistfully. She would've given anything to have someone love her when she was a child like Regina clearly loves Henry.

"How did you know he was adopted?" Regina asks, turning to prop her hip against the railing, her attention focused solely on Emma now. Crossing her arms under her breasts, her red leather gloves stand out against her coat and Emma finds herself staring at them.

"Mary Margaret told me," she replies, "and I wondered about it, if he knew he was adopted. I grew up in the foster care system and I just," she shrugs, biting her lip when words fail her.

"I see," Regina replies, her voice sympathetic. When Emma glances up at her, she finds understanding in her eyes. She smiles softly, turning to look into the house, seeking out Henry. "He's the best part of me, Mrs. Jones. I know people think I'm cold and unfeeling, but there's a part of me that's warm and caring, that enjoys sharing my life with others. That's all due to that little boy in there."

Emma follows her gaze, smiling as she watches Henry gesticulating wildly as he talks to Mary Margaret. She thinks over what Regina has said, turning to look not at Henry, but at Killian. He's talking with David in the kitchen, dimples flashing in his cheeks as the two men laugh together.

She thinks she can understand what Regina means, how loving someone can turn a closed off heart into an open one. She knows what it's like to let down her walls to experience love at its fullest, to want only the best for the person that helped remove those walls, brick by brick. She turns back to the lake and mountains, the chill of the gloaming making her long for Killian's arms.

"This house is beautiful," Regina comments, pulling Emma from her thoughts. "Did you know the man that built it did it for a woman? He was madly in love with her and wanted her to leave her life in the big city to settle down here and live a simple life."

Emma's breath catches in her throat. Tilting her head back, she watches as stars begin to appear above her, dotting the black sky with crystal shards of ice. Her cheeks warm at the mention of Graham, but they'd decided long ago to keep to the truth as much as possible, knowing that lies only complicate matters more, becoming cumbersome and impossible to keep straight.

Taking a deep breath, she dives in head first, hoping for the best.

"I actually did know that," she replies. Clutching her blanket, she glances at Regina and then away. "It was me, actually."

"Really?" Regina asks, the word stretched out slowly. "He never told me your name, only that he was in love." The statement gives Emma pause and she shifts against the railing to look at Regina. Her face is mostly in shadow; it's hard to make out the expression in her eyes.

"You and Graham were friends?"

"I'm not sure if "friends" is the right word," Regina replies, head tilting to the side. She suddenly leans forward conspiratorially, her voice lowering. "I'm sure you were aware the man wasn't a monk, Mrs. Jones. He liked to pretend he was above the more carnal desires of this world, but he was the same as any man." Her voice goes back to its normal range, stage whisper ending. "He came to me more than once when you had rejected him. Although, of course I didn't know who had scorned him at the time."

"Oh," Emma says, not sure what to say. There's no lie in Regina's words, her gut confirms it for her. She keeps her gaze trained on the other woman as she says, "I didn't know."

"Yes, well, I suppose it makes sense he wouldn't share the details with you," Regina replies. When she speaks again, there's sadness in her voice. "Graham really was very sweet. I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Jones."

"We weren't together," Emma says, turning to watch Killian lean over the open oven, reaching in with the baster as David peers over his shoulder and says something that has them both laughing. "Graham was a good friend and he wanted things to be different, but when Killian came into my life, all bets were off. I wish I'd had the opportunity to tell him myself before he..."

Her voice trails off and she turns back to Regina.

"I'm glad he was able to find comfort with you. I'm sorry it didn't work out for you both."

"We weren't in love with one another, Mrs. Jones. My pride took the hit at not being who he truly wanted, not my heart." She sniffles, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. "He really did do a marvelous job with this house, though. If you and your husband ever want to move closer to town, I'm going to talk to David and Mary Margaret about selling. It would make a nice retreat. Henry would love to learn how to sail."

"My husband sails. He'd be happy to teach him, if you want," Emma offers, both women turning to the house and matching their steps as they walk across the deck together.

"I just might take you up on that, Mrs. Jones," Regina says, holding the door open for her. They're greeted with raucous shouts to close the door and keep out the chill.

Killian looks up from the turkey he's taken from the oven, watching as Emma removes her blanket, revealing her red dress once again. His eyes burn bright, his gaze sliding over her before he looks quickly away. She's still angry with him, but she wants to stop fighting. Moving to his side to help finish up the dinner preparations, she presses up on her tiptoes, leaving a kiss to his cheek. He gives her a questioning look, obviously confused, but Mary Margaret joins them and his opportunity to ask questions is lost.

Thirty minutes later Killian calls everyone to dinner. Emma leaves her apron on the counter, folded neatly as she joins Killian. David helps August to the table where he sits on Emma's right, earning a scowl from Killian. Mary Margaret settles Leo into the portable high chair they'd brought, his happy squeals joining the cacophony of voices. With David and Mary Margaret on either side of their boy, Regina and Henry settle next to them, across from Emma. Killian takes the chair at the head of the table, a seat he seems hesitant to take until she gives him an encouraging nod.

"This is quite the spread, Swan," he comments, turning an appreciative eye on the table she'd set.

Foregoing a tablecloth, she'd found placemats instead. Running down the center of the table, she'd set little gourds in various colors, oranges, yellows, and whites. Two fat candles rest on a plate in the center of the table. At each place setting, she'd used white plates with silver edging, a plaid napkin resting in the center, no two alike. The colors rage from deep red to purple to bright green and electric blue, bringing the otherwise neutral table to vibrant life.

Scattered over the tabletop are the casseroles, serving spoons cutting gaping wounds into the surface of each dish, steam curling into the air. The turkey is cut and on a platter at Killian's elbow, heaps of homemade stuffing piled high beside it. Emma's mouth waters and she wonders if she should go and change into her yoga pants, doubting her ability to eat much in the dress she's wearing.

"Everything looks amazing, Emma," Mary Margaret says, her green eyes sparkling across the table. Emma blushes as more voices join in, offering compliments as Killian begins to dish out the turkey.

"Well, thank you, but wait until you taste everything before you give me too many compliments," she admonishes, handing her plate to Killian for a slice of turkey. "Killian helped, too. He's a much better cook than I am. Really, if left to my own devices, you all would've been eating grilled cheese for dinner."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, love," he says, brushing aside her praise and sending her an adoring smile. Despite their earlier frustrated words, it doesn't take much for her to fall back into the lie of their faux marriage, mindful of Regina, Henry, and August at the table.

The food is wonderful, which she knows is primarily due to Killian's skill in the kitchen. Most everyone goes for seconds, August complaining heartily that between this dinner and his broken ankle, he's easily gained ten pounds in the last couple of weeks. She giggles, earning a sharp look from Killian. In an effort to get Killian to stop glaring whenever she shows the slightest bit of interest in their scruffy guest, she tells Henry that August is a writer. This starts a round of questioning that has them all captivated as August talks about the story he'd started to write when Emma had returned his typewriter to him.

Thinking of the typewriter has Emma frowning; they still don't know who stole the jewels they'd recovered. It rankles to know that someone had broken into the station and stolen them so easily. They have no leads on who took them, although at least they know who they were originally stolen from. Hopefully, with Killian wearing the wire and talking to Eric Prince, they'll be able to find out more information.

Not wanting to ruin the holiday with her frustrated thoughts, she turns her attention back to August, listening as Henry asks him about the protagonist in his story.

"Where are you staying these days, Mr. Booth?" Regina asks when there's a lull in the conversation, an eyebrow arched in August's direction.

"St. Michael's," he replies, obviously not worried about giving away his location to the mayor. Emma shoots Killian a look, her initial concern about Regina attending this dinner seeming valid. Killian shakes his head slightly at her, dark brows down as Regina continues with her questions.

"A church is a strange place to convalesce, isn't it?" she asks.

"The nuns were gracious enough to offer me a room until I could manage on my own. Living alone out the woods isn't really the easiest, not with the crutches. Besides, I don't have a lot of money coming in at the moment. I can't afford to rent a hotel room," August replies, sending Henry a smile.

Emma sighs in relief when Regina turns to Henry and says, "You see Henry, being a writer means no steady paycheck and no health care. If you were hurt like Mr. Booth, you'd have to live in a church." She's clearly hoping to dissuade her son from pursuing a career as a writer.

"Being waited on hand and foot by doting women?" Killian says, waggling his eyebrows as he looks over at Henry. "Doesn't sound all that bad to me, Madame Mayor." Henry laughs while Regina merely glares at him, her lips pressed into a disapproving line. Emma hides her smile behind her napkin then turns to Killian with a stern look.

"They're nuns, Killian. Behave yourself."

"Yes, my love," he replies, turning to her and she's instantly breathless from the gleaming white grin he gives her, the accompanying half wink doing her in completely.

They finish dinner, everyone chatting and laughing. Emma groans as she looks over the messy table. The candles are almost burned completely down, the casserole dishes are half empty, and everyone's plates are licked clean. Pushing away from the table, she waves off their offers of help, shooing them all to the living room to watch the end of the football game. She manages to move most of the dishes into the kitchen, tying her apron around her waist once more as she steps up to the sink. She turns the water on and begins to rinse the empty plates, joined several minutes later by August.

"Why don't you let me do that?" he asks, watching as she adds a plate to the dishwasher before straightening.

"You should sit. Put your foot up," she says, frowning as she glances at his cast.

"I sit around all day. It'll be good for me to stand," he replies. "Please, Emma, it's the least I can do after you invited me into your home and fed me so well." She smiles, making room for him in front of the sink.

"Okay, you rinse and I'll load."

"Deal."

They get to work, August leaning against the front of the sink, crutches propped under his armpits to keep him steady, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He rinses the dishes then hands them to Emma to add to the dishwasher. They spend the time chatting about their Thanksgivings as children. It's probably not the most joyous sharing of holiday memories, but they find they can laugh over their pasts now, both of them acknowledging how special today is in comparison.

She can feel the heat of Killian's gaze on her back, but she ignores it, concentrating instead on August. When the only dishes left are the casserole dishes, she insists that he return to the couch. He doesn't put up much of a fight, trying and failing to hide a grimace as he shifts his weight under himself before returning to the couch. Going back to the dishes, Emma unearths their tupperware stash and puts the leftovers in them, sealing and stacking them before putting them in the fridge. She has just enough room to add the last few casserole dishes to the dishwasher before turning it on.

Drying her hands on her apron, she pulls the pies from the oven where they've been warming since dinner, the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon filling the air as she sets them on the stovetop. She finds extra plates and enough forks for dessert, grabbing the vanilla ice cream and cool whip before asking for orders. Everyone groans, rubbing their stomachs, but they each make a choice, Mary Margaret coming over to help slice and plate the pies, adding cool whip to the pumpkin and scoops of ice cream to the apple.

They pass out the plates, Emma sitting at the kitchen table with her, joined by Mary Margaret and Leo. Settling the toddler in her lap, Mary Margaret tucks into her pumpkin pie as Emma digs into her own.

"Thank you so much for inviting us over, Emma. We've really had the best day," Mary Margaret tells her, her cheeks pink with happiness. Emma smiles as Leo grabs at her pie. She slides the plate out of his reach, clucking her tongue before lifting her fork to his mouth, both women laughing as his eyes widen with delight as he tastes pumpkin for the first time.

"It was Killian's idea. I'm not usually one for celebrating holidays," Emma says gently as she looks over at the man who has turned her world upside down. "I'm glad he did, though. The day has been really, really special."

Reaching over, she latches onto Mary Margaret's wrist and gives her an affectionate squeeze. "I couldn't ask for better friends than you and David. I'm really happy you're here." It's more than she's ever said to either Mary Margaret or David about how much she cares for them and she means every word.

"Oh, Emma," Mary Margaret says, dropping her fork onto her plate and turning her hand over to hold Emma's. "You're family. You know that."

"I do know that," Emma replies, ducking her head before removing her hand from Mary Margaret's. She's gotten better about other people's physical displays of affection, Killian helping with that tremendously, but it's still hard sometimes. Mary Margaret knows her well enough to not take it personally, patting her hand once before picking her fork up and going back to sharing her pie with Leo.

They finish their desserts in a companionable silence, Emma sipping at her coffee, her heart feeling as full as her stomach.

Killian collects the empty dessert plates, washing them by hand as the dishwasher continues to run. Henry dozes next to Regina on the couch, his head lolling back. Killian, August, and David try changing the channel over to more sports, grumbling when Emma insists they find a movie to watch instead.

They settle on The Wizard of Oz, the movie showing on one of the classic movie channels. Knowing she can't avoid sitting beside Killian any longer, Emma leaves her slippers at the end of the couch before sitting beside him and nestling into his side. His arm is over the back of the couch, a beer held in his free hand. He grins as she leans into him, pressing a kiss to her temple that she returns with a lingering one on his cheek.

"Happy, love?" he asks, the question spoken low so only she hears him. She nods, tucking her feet up under her dress, her shoulder notching itself under his armpit. "Good," he replies, sounding incredibly pleased.

She grows drowsy as they sit there, each of them falling silent as the movie plays and Dorothy is swept up in a raging tornado. Emma's head falls to Killian's shoulder, her breathing slowing as her eyes fall shut. She hovers in a comfortable, hazy semi-sleep, coming awake when she becomes aware of people moving around her. She opens her eyes to find David and Mary Margaret on their feet, their voices low as they pack up Leo's toys. August is by the front door, leaning on his crutches as he waits for the Nolans.

"Let me up, Swan," Killian says, shifting her so he can help. Emma forces herself to her feet as well; she'd boxed up pie for them to take home and she retrieves it from the kitchen, making sure to give the apple to Regina since it seemed to be her favorite.

The Nolans and August leave first, David and Mary Margaret taking Leo and their bags to the car before David returns to help August down the steps. As he waits for David, he turns in the doorway, giving Emma a wistful smile. She steps forward, her hand coming up to rest over his heart.

"I had a great time, Emma. My best Thanksgiving yet," he tells her, blue eyes bright and happy.

"Mine, too. I'm glad you came." Pressing up on her toes, she leaves a kiss on his cheek, then watching as David helps him down the steps to the waiting car. Waving them off, she turns to Regina and Henry, accepting a handshake from the mayor and an enthusiastic hug from Henry before they take their leave as well.

She closes the door, the chill of the night air causing goosebumps to erupt over her flesh. Rubbing her hands over her arms to warm herself, she turns to find Killian leaning back against the island with his arms crossed over his chest, one leg crossed casually over the other. He looks up from under his lashes, his eyes dark, the blue hidden by swirling black.

The lights in the kitchen have been dimmed, the television muted. The silence is loud after a day surrounded by noise and Emma feels strangely bereft. Shuffling forward on her bare feet, she moves to Killian, needing human contact and knowing he'll provide it.

"I learned something new today," she says, thinking over what Regina had told her about Graham. It's probably not relevant to their investigation, but she refuses to keep the information to herself, no matter how much her pride smarts at the news.

"And what's that, Swan?" he asks, voice low, gaze traveling slowly over her body. She realizes she's inadvertently pushing her breasts together, her décolletage visible between the gaping straps of her dress. She blushes, but refuses to cover up simply because he can't be a gentleman.

"Regina and Graham used to be a thing," she says, watching his reaction. An eyebrow shoots up and he lifts his gaze to hers. "Did you know? Did...did Graham ever tell you about them?"

"What's the matter, Swan? Jealous?" he asks, his eyebrow climbing higher on his forehead. He flicks his tongue against the back of his teeth, popping his jaw in amusement as he continues to watch her.

"No, I just - didn't know, is all," she replies, but she's suddenly uncomfortable. She truly hadn't been jealous before, but as she thinks over the idea of Graham sleeping with Regina all the while professing his love for her, well, it smarts. On the other hand, they hadn't actually been dating. She hadn't made any promises and neither had he. He was free to seek out comfort elsewhere, which apparently, is what he did.

"So," he says, "the perfect Graham Humbert not the white knight you were imagining him to be, eh, Swan?" She flushes at that, Killian's comment hitting a little too close to home. She uncrosses her arms, resting her hands on her hips. He tracks the gesture, then moves suddenly as if to grab her wrist. Thinking better of it, he pulls back, darkness swirling in his eyes as he lifts them to hers.

"What?"

"You're not wearing his bootlace."

"It doesn't go with my dress," she replies, cocking an eyebrow in confusion as their gazes lock. He stares at her, the emotion she finds in his eyes unreadable. His next question completely throws her off.

"Would you be with him now, if he were alive?" Where in the hell does he get off asking her that? How should she respond? Does she have an answer? Does it even matter?Graham's dead and she's in love with Killian, a fact that she still holds like a closely guarded secret. Admitting how she feels could change everything, could push him away and she can't handle the possibility of that. So, she focuses on the anger simmering beneath his question, stealing it to twist for her own purpose.

Using it to protect herself.

"That's an unfair question and you know it."

"Humor me."

She glares at him, her cheeks heating with obstinate anger. How fucking dare he say such a thing? She's just about to let him have a piece of her mind when he lunges forward, his hips connecting with hers as he pushes her back into the counter. His lips slant over hers, punishing and bruising and god, all she can think is that Graham never would've kissed her like this. She can't breathe, but she doesn't mind as he wraps an arm around her waist, using the other to hold her steady as he lifts her onto the countertop. He never breaks contact with her mouth, pressing her head back slightly as he steps between her splayed thighs.

She's not ashamed to admit that she spreads them wider to make room for him.

Then he's pulling his mouth away, panting harshly, his forehead pressed to hers as those unreadable blue eyes pierce hers. She moans, actually moans, twisting her fingers in his shirt to yank him closer, but he doesn't allow her to kiss him again, chuckling darkly as he hovers his lips over hers.

"Did you let him kiss you like that, Swan? Let him have a sip from your perfect lips until he was hard for you?" he pants, his chest rising and falling rapidly against her.

She opens her mouth to respond, but he takes advantage, bringing a thumb up to hold her kiss bruised lips open. The gesture is tender despite the wrath she feels radiating off him. She's still struggling for breath, her chest rising and falling to match his. Her nipples ache as they rub against the material of her dress, the points hard, a fact he doesn't miss when he flicks his eyes down over her. He gives her a lecherous grin, one that heightens her arousal, making her want with a deep throb of desire. He trails his thumb from her lip to the cleft of her chin, dancing it there then moving lower, his nail brushing delicately over her collarbone on his way to her breast.

"Did you ever harden for him like this, love? Let him taste you here?"

As the word here leaves his mouth, he presses that damnable thumb over her nipple, a greedy moan leaving his lips when he feels the hardened peak through her dress. With his free hand, he reaches up and undoes the buttons at the back of her neck, the straps falling to expose her bare chest. She lets him look his fill, her hands clenched in his shirt. He gives her another salacious smirk then dips his head to tongue at a pebbled nipple. When he lightly nips her with his teeth, she can't help the involuntary arch of her back, one of her hands sliding from the front of his shirt to the back of his neck, feathering through his hair.

He tugs her closer to the edge of the counter. It causes him to nestle right between her thighs, her dress sliding up as she wraps her legs around his hips. He's hard and hot; she can feel him even through the layers that separate them. She lifts up enough to undulate against him, his hand sliding down to cup her ass as she moves.

"Hmm...that's a love," he encourages, giving her another quick bite before admiring his handiwork, his thumb trailing over the wetness he leaves behind. "Gorgeous," he mutters, shaking his head as if he can't believe the veritable feast she presents. He pays careful attention to one breast than the other, wrapping his warm palm around the heft of it, sighing as she arches for him again.

"Why in the world would he ever settle for her when he could've had all this?" he mutters to himself. It's on the tip of her tongue to tell him that Graham never would've enjoyed the liberties he's now taking, but the words are cut off when he bites down roughly. Her vision goes white, her clit giving a tremendous throb as she arches against him yet again.

He soothes the bite, flicking his tongue over and over her peak until she's nearly sobbing, head thrown back as she unabashedly rubs the apex of her thighs against him, seeking relief. He realizes that she's quickly rushing towards an orgasm because he moves his hips away, giving her a feral grin and a quick, angry shake of his head.

"Not like that, love," he admonishes, and then he's kneeling before her, pushing her dress to her waist as he looks up at her with hooded eyes. "I want to taste it when you come."

He catches sight of the scrap of red lace that covers her sex, her arousal making the material damp. He licks his lips then trails his thumb over her, his cheeks reddening even more when he discover how wet she is for him.

"Did Graham ever get you desperate like this, darling?" He glances back up her, leering as he adds, "Does August?"

She whimpers when she sees the rage boiling in his eyes, her heart racing. He leans closer, keeping his eyes on her as he blows a puff of heated air over her core. Smiling, he trails his thumb once again over her, asking as he does so, "Did you let Graham taste all this sweetness? Did you want him between your thighs as much as you want me?"

"Bastard," she manages to pant out, to which he gives her a grin. She has half a mind to push him away with a foot planted on his shoulder, but he moves quickly, that devilish grin disappearing between her thighs as he presses his lips against her.

"Hush, love," he tells her, lips moving over her followed by the hot drag of his tongue. The guttural groan that leaves his mouth as he tastes her does something funny to her insides and she sucks in a shaky breath when he slides her underwear to the side, revealing her to his hungry gaze.

Her hands drop to the edge of the counter; she needs to hold onto something for this.

"You look quite fetching in red, Swan, but you in pink is a bloody revelation," he breathes out, the air from his lungs hot against her bared flesh. His thumb slips between her folds, pressing over her hooded clit, his wedding ring sliding over her inner thigh, digging into her flesh.

"Such a lovely shade of pink," he murmurs and then, just when she thinks he's going to keep teasing her, he presses the edge of his thumb down, slipping inside her, sliding the tip lazily in and out as he leans closer, his lips closing around her clit with purpose. She sighs then, the ache in her body easing as he strokes her. Her legs splay wider, her head falling back as she revels in the sinful decadence of his touch.

"Oh my god," she breathes out and he chuckles around her clit, the vibrations doing wicked things to her. She lifts her head, about to warn him off when she pauses, the sight of his dark head between her thighs profoundly sexy. He's hunkered on his knees before her and she can't help but remember the teasing proclamation he'd made to her weeks ago,

"If you truly require me to get on my knees for you, Swan, I would be only too happy to oblige."

"Killian - " she starts to say, losing her words when he slides his thumb deeper, his lips glistening with her evidence of her arousal. He peers up at her, forehead wrinkling with concern as he catches her look.

"If you want me to stop - "

"Don't you dare," she cuts him off on a shaky gasp and he grins before slipping back into position, the flat of his tongue sliding over her once more.

She loses herself to his skill as she rolls herself against his mouth. He replaces his thumb with one thick finger then a second, both of them moaning when he slides easily inside. It's not long before she's coming, her body twitching out of control, fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick granite counter. He groans to feel her, his eyes on her face the entire time. When it's over, everything inside her is warm and loose, her legs aching from the way she'd braced them against the cabinets. Her ass hurts from where the counter had dug into her.

She slides her eyes open, peering down at him, expecting to see a smug grin on his lips, surprised to find him staring up at her in awe, his whiskered cheek resting against her inner thigh as he watches her. When he finally stands, he adjusts himself carefully then steps into the cradle of her thighs. She can feel him trembling against her as he buries his face into her neck.

"I'm sorry, love, I shouldn't have...shouldn't have done that." It's honestly not what she expected him to say and she grips the back of his neck, holding him tight.

"Hey," she whispers, "you didn't do anything I didn't want you to."

He shakes his head against her, but says nothing more. All the anger and tension that had been fueling him has drained away, his body heavy as he leans into her. She's at a loss, knowing that he's sated some insecurity within himself by helping her achieve release, but also sensing that he's holding something else back.

"We should go to bed," she murmurs, turning her head so that her lips brush his temple. "It's been a long day."

He doesn't move at first, holding her a while longer before finally backing up and helping her hop off the counter. Her skirt falls around her knees and she lifts the straps of her dress back up to cover herself. Killian keeps his eyes respectfully down, moving his hand in a sweeping gesture to encourage her to climb the stairs before him. He follows, a steadying hand on her waist as she tries to find her balance on legs that still tremble, her knees weak from his attentions.

He lets her use the bathroom first. She cleans herself up, washing the makeup from her face. Running her fingers through her unpinned hair, she lets it hang down her back, the pleats from the braided chignon causing it to contort in bumpy waves. Returning to the bedroom in a white camisole and black tights, she finds Killian sitting on his side of the bed, staring down at his hands.

Not sure what to say, the silence and his sudden melancholy such a contrast with his prior passion that her head spins. She putters around the bedroom, hanging her dress in the closet, deciding against tying Graham's bootlace back around her wrist before finally making her way to him.

Kneeling before him, she forces his legs apart, his knees resting on either side of her as she peers up at him.

"Hey," she says softly, hands resting on his upper thighs. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Whatever do you mean, Swan?" he asks, trying for humor and failing. He realizes it, grimacing when the statement falls flat.

"Look, I know something has been bothering you lately. You get this sadness in your eyes that I don't know how to fix. Then today, with August, you went all crazed jealous monster and I don't - I don't know what to do with that."

"'Crazed jealous monster?'" he repeats, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth up. She rolls her eyes, huffing in annoyance.

"You know what I mean."

He sighs, leaning forward to kiss her forehead before flopping backward on the bed. She follows, climbing in beside him and propping herself up on an elbow to stare down at him. His eyes are focused on the ceiling and she knows he's trying to figure out what to say. Allowing him the space he needs to find the words, she rests her hand over his heart, her eyes glued to his face.

"It's complicated," he finally says, turning his head to look at her. She waits, fingers drumming against his breastbone. He gives a frustrated sigh, shaking his head in guilty frustration. "I don't know what else to say, love."

"Neither do I," she says, staring at him for a few more seconds to see if he'll add anything else. When he doesn't, she sits up, not sure what else to do to help him. "Fine, Killian, wallow in whatever it is that's trying to drown you. Just know that when you want to talk, I'm here."

She climbs to her side of the bed, weary after the long day, emotionally wrung out after the ups and downs she's experienced with the man lying beside her. Shutting off her bedside light, she pillows her cheek on her folded hands, waiting for him to say something, anything. He stays silent, getting up and moving to the bathroom, shutting the door and staying inside so long, she worries he may try to sleep in the tub.

She's wide awake when he finally returns to the bed, moving carefully in case she's asleep. His breathing evens out fairly quickly, letting her know that despite whatever is bothering him, it doesn't prevent him from falling asleep. It takes her a while to do the same, her confused thoughts keeping her awake long after him.

---

The nightmare crashes into her, the painful images it conjures moving too quickly for her to process. When she wakes, her body hurts like she's run a marathon in her sleep, the dream fading quickly as consciousness breaks.

Killian lifts his head off his pillow, his hand reaching for her as she struggles for air. "Okay?" he asks, his voice startling her from her panic, grounding her.

"Yeah, just a bad dream," she mutters, sitting up and running her hands through her hair. At least she woke before she started to scream.

Needing a moment, she scrambles out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom. Stepping inside, she eases the door shut, breathing against it as tears burn the corners of her eyes. Flicking the lights on, she moves to the sink, leaning over it for several minutes before finally looking into the mirror.

She doesn't recognize the woman who stares back at her, eyes red, bottom lip trembling, panic written into every line of her face.

"Get it together, Swan," she mutters, shaking her head and bouncing on the balls of her feet like a prizefighter psyching herself up for the next big battle.

As she often does after these dreams, she lifts the hem of her camisole, peering down at her belly in search of some sign that a child once grew there. It's still flat, the rounded bulge that had been her son long gone, but she notices something else this time - faint scratches zigzagging across her abdomen, like she'd tried to claw herself. The sight has her sobbing against the counter, her hands up over her mouth to stifle the screams she holds inside.

"Emma? You okay?" Killian's hesitant question on the other side of the door is followed by a soft rap of his knuckles. She wipes the tears from her face, sucking in deep lungfuls of air in an effort to calm down.

"Be out in a second!" she calls out, hoping he can't hear the tremble in her voice.

She washes her face, the water cold and bracing. Before lifting her head, she holds her cool hands to the back of her neck, forcing herself to breathe slowly, deeply. Hoping that some of her ghosts have made their way down the drain with her tears, she finally stands and dries her face and hands. Shuffling back out to the bedroom, she climbs quickly into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

When Killian holds out his hand to her, she doesn't hesitate to move into the circle of his arms, his solid warmth seeping through her camisole and leggings, comforting her.

"Want to talk about the dream?" he asks after a while, his chin rubbing back and forth over the top of her head.

"Don't remember it," she replies, tucking herself into him even tighter.

"You were with Leo and Henry today," he says softly, an observation that holds no judgement. She sighs, opening her eyes to watch her fingers dance over his t-shirt, the hair on his chest poking through the soft cotton and snagging on her skin. "It's no wonder you had a dream tonight."

"Is it always going to be like this?" she wonders aloud. She thinks back to those moments in the bathroom just now, the desperation of her tears as she'd cried alone. Will her memories always hurt so much? Will she never find peace?

"Wounds made when we were young tend to linger, love. I wish I could tell you they'll get easier over time, but," his voice peters out and she rolls her head to look at him, only able to make out the blurry edges of his profile in the dark.

"But, what?"

"Now Swan, hear me out," he says, pleading that she listen to what he has to say before going completely off the handle.

"I'm listening," she says when it becomes clear he's not going to continue until she promises.

"If you never deal with what happened to you, I don't think the dreams will stop," he pauses and it's a measure of how much she trusts him that she allows him to continue, despite how she's already dreading what he'll say next. "I know it's hard for you to open up, but have you ever thought about talking to someone? A professional might be able to help you manage your feelings around it, perhaps process your loss?"

There's a flare of tension in her body, a burst of angst at the thought of opening up to a stranger, but she forces herself to calm down. In an effort to distract herself, she slides her hand from his chest to his stomach, dipping a finger into his belly button, stroking him through the thin cotton. She hears his swift intake of breath, hiding a smile in his chest at the way his heart beat speeds up.

He doesn't allow her to distract him, though, capturing her hand in his and linking their fingers over his stomach to prevent any further teasing - forcing her to think over his suggestion.

She's honestly never considered the idea. Emma doesn't trust people naturally, as Killian is well aware, and the idea of going to a stranger and opening up to them about the most painful moment of her life holds no appeal. The problem is that it's been years since the initial trauma and her nightmares haven't lessened. If anything, they've gotten worse, especially after she spends time around children.

She'd be a fool to ignore the implications of that.

"I've only ever told you. And the Nolans," she admits.

"There's strength in asking for help, love. More than you know," he whispers, his lips ghosting over the top of her head. When she lifts her head up to peer at him, he reaches up to cup her cheek. "Have you ever thought about having another child someday?"

She doesn't know where the question comes from and he winces once the words leave his mouth, almost as if he's expecting her to rail against him for asking. She swallows hard, slowly shaking her head from side to side, lip trembling as she tries to respond without completely collapsing.

"I...I've never allowed myself to think like that," she finally manages to get out. "I think maybe that was my punishment, losing my baby. I don't...I can't be a mother." A tear that she's not able to control slips down her cheek, dripping from her chin to his chest.

"Oh, Emma," he whispers, tugging her into him completely, her body resting on top of his as he holds her close. "You'd be an amazing mum, love. And you're allowed to want that for yourself."

She allows herself to cry - just a little bit - sniffling into his t-shirt as he tightens his arms around her. When she finally stops, simply breathing against him, he holds her against his heart as he says, "I've made mistakes in my life, Emma, and I've come to regret many of the choices I've made, but if there's one thing I've learned since meeting you is that there is hope, even for the most hopeless of us all," his voice trembles as he speaks, a fervent note of passion in his voice that makes her chest ache. "I'm the first to admit that telling your darkest secrets isn't easy, but if talking to someone will bring you a measure of peace, I think it's worth it, don't you?"

She sniffles, burrowing herself closer into his side.

"Can't I just talk to you?" she asks, cringing at how like a petulant child she sounds.

"I wish I could be the one to help you shoulder this burden, love, but I feel I would fail you somehow," he whispers.

"Holding me like this helps," she replies. He's warm and solid beneath her, the strength in his arms comforting.

"I'll gladly hold you as long as you like, but something has to give, Emma. I know you want to be strong for everyone else, be the capable one, but strength doesn't mean that you have to do this alone. I simply worry that in pushing others away in an effort to be strong, you'll be the thing that gives out." He sighs then, making a few tendrils of her hair tickle her cheek.

"Even heroes need help sometimes, love. There's a lot of strength in admitting that."

He doesn't say anything further. They lay in the dark, each wrapped up in their thoughts. It's near dawn before she drifts off, anxiety keeping her awake until daylight breaks along the horizon.

---

Emma wakes first, eyes opening to find Killian still asleep, his arm flung between them. Turning on her side, she watches him as he slumbers, taking advantage of his state to unabashedly admire him. The scar on his cheek is a red slash, standing out in relief against his tanned skin. Impossibly long lashes brush the tops of his cheekbones, trembling as his eyes moves back and forth behind the lids. His hair is a dark mop over his forehead; she has to curl her fingers into her palm to keep from reaching up and brushing the strands aside.

Glancing down, she finds his hand splayed between them. Flicking her eyes up to his face to make sure he's still asleep, she slides her hand towards his. Lifting a solitary finger, she reaches out, lightly touching his wedding ring, tracing the metal with the barest of touches.

It's a symbol of their vow to always have each other's backs.

"You and me," she whispers with a soft smile, her eyes lifting back to his face.

Whatever else may be going on with him right now, this remains the same. They're partners and she's going to stick with him. She'd promised him that. Besides, she can be damned tenacious when she needs to be and right now, it really feels like she needs to be.

She's not going to give up on him.

Mind made up, she gets out of bed, careful not to disturb Killian. It's another gorgeous day, more endless blue sky than seems possible in this little corner of the world. It's a breathtaking sight, one that calms her as she stretches before the windows, working out the kinks after a restless night of sleep.

Stepping into the bathroom, she once again inspects the scratches on her stomach. They aren't deep, but she can't deny the fact that they're there, the skin tender and red around the marks. Sighing, she thinks over what Killian had told her the night before.

Maybe he is right; maybe the only way she'll ever get over what happened is to talk about it with someone. She's kept so much of her past bottled up; even now, she holds back when it comes to discussing her emotions - her feelings for Killian and her inability to tell him that she loves him are a perfect example of that. But maybe it's time to start working through those issues. At this point, she doubts her nightmares can get any worse...she's literally beating up on herself when she has them. Punishing herself for something she knows, logically, was not her fault.

That's a disturbing new development, to say the least.

Deciding she'll think about it more, she undresses and steps into the shower, where she lingers, enjoying the warmth of the spray. When she exits the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and hair dripping wet around her shoulders, she finds Killian awake, a yawn cracking his jaw before he rolls his head to the side to smile at her.

"Such a lovely sight," he tells her, propping his chin on his hand to watch her.

"What's that?" she asks, pulling a flannel shirt from the dresser, throwing a distracted look over her shoulder.

"Why, you, of course. Water droplets on your skin, sunshine on your cheeks. You're quite breathtaking." He gives her a grin as she watches him, his eyes pausing at the edge of the towel, his tongue poking into the corner of his mouth as he appreciates the amount of skin on display. Despite the tension of the prior day, the moments of anger and hurt between them, she's irresistibly drawn to him, her feet moving her to the side of the bed where she stares down into his face.

Making sure he's paying attention, she untucks the edge of her towel, allowing it to puddle at her feet. His eyes widen comically, but his initial stunned reaction doesn't last long; he curses under his breath then sits up, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her into the bed with him. She finds herself sprawled over his chest, limbs akimbo as he directs her mouth to his for a good morning kiss, one she wholeheartedly enjoys. Giving a contented sigh as they make out, she thinks about how much she'd miss this if he were suddenly gone from her life, the thought of moving out of this cottage and back to Boston to her lonely apartment making her tense in his arms.

"Emma?" he pulls back, brows coming down with concern, one of his hands settling on her cheek as he peers at her. He's always able to read her so easily; she's the one who's supposed to be the human lie detector, but he's perceptive to an annoying degree when it comes to her.

Tossing her head, she wiggles out of his arms, standing to grab her clothes and dress.

"I'm okay."

"You're not," he contradicts, sitting up to watch her dress. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"A little," she replies, slipping into her thick, black tights then reaching for her camisole and flannel shirt. Finally dressed, she sits on the edge of the bed, reaching up to brush her fingers through her hair, pulling it over one shoulder and weaving the strands together into a loose braid. Not ready to talk to him about what happens once this investigation is over, she chooses instead to acknowledge her other thoughts from that morning. "I was thinking maybe you were right...about talking to someone."

"Aye?"

"Yeah, I mean, I've never really talked about it, but maybe...maybe it's time I do."

Finishing up the braid, her hands fall to her lap. She picks at the hem of her shirt, forcing the oranges, reds, blues, and purples of the design to fight each other as she twists the material around her fingers. Killian leans forward, wrapping his hand around hers, forcing her to stop. Giving her an encouraging smile, he leans forward, forcing her eyes up to his.

"That's a brilliant idea, love," he whispers, his gaze warm on her face, "and not just because I suggested it to you." She snorts at that, playfully pushing him away as she stands and gives one more luxurious stretch.

"I'll go down and start some coffee. Can we go and get the tree after breakfast?" she asks.

"Of course, love," he says. "Go on, get breakfast started. I'll be down shortly."

Emma makes her way downstairs, turning on the coffeemaker and pouring a bowl of cereal before sliding onto one of the stools at the island. By the time Killian joins her, she's finished her breakfast and is halfway through her coffee, lip caught between her teeth as she stares out the windows at the marvelous view.

With his hair mostly tamed and his beard neatly trimmed, Killian's eyes sparkle a devastating blue as he sits beside her with a plate of peanut butter toast and a cup of coffee. He digs into his meal as they talk about their plans for the day. He reveals that it's been a long time since he's had a tree for the holidays, but that while his mother was alive, they always had one. He tells her about the special ornaments he has boxed up back home, heirlooms passed on from his mother that are older than he knows.

She listens, the pang in her heart a small one, knowing that she doesn't have the same memories to share with him. It's nice to share in his and she smiles as he tells her how Liam and he used to fight over one particular ornament, the honor of hanging it on the tree each year a matter of true sibling rivalry, with Killian often resorting to dirty tricks to claim that right for himself.

"Your brother sounds like he's a stickler for playing by the rules," she comments, standing and taking care of their dirty dishes while Killian finishes his coffee.

"Oh, aye, Liam believes in good form," he replies, smiling fondly. Emma comes back to collect the empty mugs, but he wraps an arm around her waist and traps her at his side. "I forgot to tell you - I spoke to him."

"To Liam?" she asks, her voice rising in surprise. He nods, smiling and ducking his head, those blue eyes sparkling once again, this time with pride. "How did it go?"

"It wasn't a perfect conversation, but it was a start," he says, tipping his head back to look up at her. "He wants to meet you."

"Me?" she asks, surprised.

"Aye, he caught wind of our 'marriage,'" he says with a smirk, "and wants to meet you. Well, video chat with you, more specifically."

"Oh." Emma bites her lip, contemplating him thoughtfully before continuing. "Do you think that's a good idea? I mean, I don't want to lead him on. Or your nephews."

"We're leading a whole town on, Swan," he says, a wrinkle forming between his brows as he frowns up at her. "Why is Liam any different?"

"It's just," she sighs, thinking over the best way to explain her hesitation, "he's family, Killian. Liam and your nephews, your sister in law...it feels like a much bigger, uglier lie if we build it up too much to them. I don't want them to get attached or anything." Killian thinks over what she's said, frowning when he realizes she's right.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"No...no, you're right. Of course you're right. I guess I got a little carried away." He smiles bitterly, releasing her from his hold. "It was just nice. Being able to share happy news with him for once."

She opens her mouth to apologize again, feeling horrible at having hurt him. He doesn't give her the chance, though, standing and whisking their empty mugs to the sink. She can see his disappointment in the way he holds his shoulders bunched up around his ears, but when he turns back to her, he gives her a smile as if nothing is wrong.

"Let's get on the road, love. Lots to accomplish today." She's not willing to let him brush off his hurt so easily. Needing him to understand that she'd only been looking out for his relationship with his family, she steps into his personal space, resting one hand over his heart and the other on his hip as she smiles up at him.

"Some day, Killian Jones, you'll be able to share good news with your brother again. And you'll be able to hold your head up and look him in the eye when you do. When we crack this case, you'll be able to tell him how you saved a whole town from a terrible fate." She smiles, shuffling closer, their toes bumping together as she repositions herself. "He'll see the good man I see then. I just know it."

She can't describe the look in his eyes then or the way the blue smears as he stares down at her. He manages to blink away the wetness before leaning down to press his forehead to hers, breath warm across her cheeks.

"Thank you for that, love," he whispers, his mouth finding hers in a slow and gentle kiss, one that speaks of gratitude and devotion.

---

They head first to Tiny's Christmas Tree Farm on the outskirts of town. As they always do when they go out in public, they remember to fall into the lie of their fake marriage, stepping into their roles as besotted newlyweds as they exit the vehicle together. Her gloved hand finds his as he falls into step beside her. It's hard to link their fingers with their gloves on, so they clasp hands instead, swinging their arms between them.

The day is the coldest one they've had yet, the wind stinging their exposed faces. Despite the temperature, the day is beautiful, the sun just strong enough to highlight the red in Killian's beard. He grins over at her, cheeks pink from the cold, his eyes a perfect reflection of the brilliant blue sky above them. Emma returns the smile, tucking her lips into the scarf around her neck as they head to the roped off section where the pre-cut trees are arrayed.

It's early yet and the farm is empty, most folks out completing their Black Friday shopping. As they begin their search, a large man with curly hair falling to his shoulders comes out to greet them. He gives them with a shy, tentative smile as he bobs his head hello.

"Do you need any help looking for a tree?" he asks, shaking both their hands and telling them his name is Anton, but that they can call him Tiny. He's hardly tiny, she thinks with a smile, either in height or weight, but he's sweet. She likes him immediately.

"We've never picked out a tree before. I'm afraid I haven't a clue what to look for," Killian states, removing his hand from Emma's and sliding it her along her shoulders. He tucks her into his side, sheltering her from the frigid wind.

"Well, we have two different varieties to choose from, Douglas-fir and balsam," he tells them, leading them forward and pointing out the trees he means.

"Which one smells the best?" Emma asks, leaning forward to sniff them, smiling when the fresh pine hits her nose. While she never had a tree growing up, she's been around enough to know how lovely they smell.

"They both smell wonderful, but the balsam tends to keep their scent longer," Tiny explains. "This half of the lot are the balsams. Do you know what size you're looking for?"

Killian pulls out his phone, removing his glove to swipe at the screen. He reads out the measurements he'd taken earlier. Emma wanders off, letting the men discuss size and girth, using her eyes to guide her to the perfect tree for their home. Home. Her home with Killian and Wendy.

She wanders around the lot, stopping now and then as she contemplates their options. Tiny and Killian follow her, pulling out trees for her to inspect. It takes her nearly forty-five minutes to finally pick one, but they have Tiny to themselves and the trio have a good time, laughing with each other and stamping their feet to keep warm.

They stumble on the tree by accident. It's hidden in a corner, blocked by another tree. Emma only catches a glimpse of it, but when she does, she stops and cranes her neck to get a better look. Taking a step closer, she leans forward, her weight balanced on her tiptoes.

"Swan?" Killian asks, stepping forward. She can see the shape of it, see the perfect triangle of its full limbs and when she leans forward a little more, the scent of fresh pine fills her nostrils, making her smile.

"That one," she states, pointing and looking over her shoulder at Killian. She gives him a happy smile, her tongue clicking on the back of her teeth with excitement. He goes in after the tree, pulling it forward for Emma's approval.

She walks around it slowly, Tiny whistling with appreciation as they all get a good look at it. One side is flat, but Tiny confirms that once the branches drop, the flatness will disappear. The tree is tall, nearly seven feet, but there's more than enough room in the cottage for it. The branches are thick, no bare spots or holes and the trunk is ramrod straight.

"It's perfect," she breathes, coming to a stop beside Killian. Pressing up on her tiptoes, she kisses him, his lips cold against hers.

"You're perfect," he whispers when he reluctantly ends the kiss. She stares into his face, the expression she finds there warming her from the inside out. Tiny clears his throat, giving them a shy smile when they glance over him.

Killian chuckles good-naturedly, sending Tiny a grin before saying, "Sorry, mate, my lovely wife is quite the distraction. This is the tree. We'll take it."

"Great!" Tiny says, grabbing the tree trunk in one massive hand and picking the whole thing up as if it weighs nothing.

After cutting a few inches off the bottom to give it a fresh cut, Tiny wraps the tree in netting then secures it to the roof of the jeep with bungee cords. Killian pays while Emma warms up in the passenger seat, holding her hands over the vent, the heat turned on high. When Killian gets behind the steering wheel, he hands her a large wreath, complete with bright red holly berries and real pinecones.

"For the front door, love."

They stop next at a small hardwood store in town, asking after the Christmas lights and tree stands. Killian grabs boxes of lights, probably more than they'll need for the tree, telling Emma they can string them up around the house. She likes that idea, thinking of all the places they can hang them. They also pick out boxes of generic ornaments in various colors and sizes. Emma gets a little carried away, realizing she's emptied half the Christmas display by the time they're done.

She really doesn't care.

They check out, Killian adding a small glass ornament to their purchases, giving her a grin when she sees it's a miniature version of Wendy Darling. She gives him a smacking kiss of thanks, causing him to scratch behind his ear in embarrassment as the clerk smiles at the two of them.

"You are the cutest couple I've ever seen," she says as she rings up the boxes of lights and ornaments. "I see lots of folks coming through this place, but I've rarely seen people more in love than you two."

Emma blushes, fluttering her eyelashes as she tucks herself into Killian's side. She tries to convince herself it's all for show, but nothing in her life has felt more real than this. Killian thanks the clerk for her kind words, telling her he's the luckiest man in the world to have a woman such as Emma Jones in his life.

And she thinks as he says it that she's the luckiest woman in the world to have a man such as Killian Jones in her life.

They get the tree home, stopping along the way for grilled cheese and tomato soup from Granny's. Tiny had told them to set up the tree then allow the branches to drop overnight before decorating it. They pick out the location and set up the stand to mark the spot.

"I want to be able to see it first thing in the morning," she tells Killian, "when we come down the stairs." The wistful look he gives her as she tugs him back out to the jeep makes her heart tremble, her hand shaky in his as she pulls him forward.

They work well together, maneuvering the tree into the stand, Emma holding it straight while Killian turns the screws to secure the trunk. Getting to his feet, he turns the tree until the perfect side is facing out and they step back to look at it together.

"Alright, Swan?" he asks, his hand finding hers. She nods, turning to throw her arms around his neck in excitement. He laughs, lifting her so her feet hover over the ground for a moment or two before he sets her back down.

"I wish we could decorate it today," she says as they sway back and forth in each other's arms. "Or, maybe not," she says when a yawn cracks her jaw.

"You need a nap. You didn't get enough sleep last night."

"That sounds wonderful," she sighs. "You could run your errands while I sleep. When you get back, we can put on a Christmas movie and have hot coco by the fire."

She doesn't know what it is about the suggestion, but his eyes darken, his face falling into frown lines. He tenses against her, his jaw clenching tight. A ball of anxiety rolls around the bottom of her stomach and she suddenly wants to ask him to stay, wants to cling to him until he promises not to leave.

Telling herself she's being ridiculous, she lets her arms fall to her sides when he pulls away and heads for the front door. She turns around, pretending to inspect the tree as he grabs his coat and boots. She refuses to turn around, her heart in her throat for some inexplicable reason, hands shaking as she reaches out to press her finger to one of the tree's needles, the end sharp as it stabs her flesh.

"Emma?" Killian calls out.

Forcing herself to turn, she smiles brightly, not wanting him to see how concerned she is; it's not as if she has a reason.

Does she?

The next thing she knows, he's taking long strides across the floor, his jaw clenched and blue eyes raging. He returns to her side with furious purpose, his arms pulling her into his chest as he kisses her. Her knees go weak at the force of his mouth on hers, at the way his hand comes up to cradle the back of her head as he demandingly plunders her mouth.

She can't hold back a whimper, the sound swallowed by his mouth. When she needs air, she separates from him, gasping. He takes the opportunity to slide his mouth to her cheek, pressing a kiss there that holds only tenderness, his passion sated as their bodies sway together.

"What was that for?" she asks, feeling him tremble against her.

"I just wanted to tell you that I," his voice trails off, caught on a sharp intake of breath before he slowly blows it out, their cheeks pressed together as he continues, "I'll be back soon. And when I come back, I'll tell you everything. I'm tired of hiding, Emma. I just hope that after I do, you'll still look at me the same way - that you'll still see me as a good man."

He pulls back, eyes frantically searching hers, a question in the blue depths that has her heart racing.

"I'll be here," she reassures him, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere. It's just you and me, remember?"

He smiles at that, leaning forward to press a kiss to her mouth once more, pulling back to rest his forehead to hers for the briefest of moments. When he steps away completely, she has the sense that there's more he wants to say, something else he wants to tell her, but he stays silent, squeezing both her hands before he turns to leave.

"I'll be back soon, Swan," he tells her as he looks back at her from the doorway. His eyes hold a promise of happiness to come and she focuses on that, refusing to acknowledge the dread building in her gut at his departure.

---

The song at the beginning of this chapter is "I'll be Good" by Jaymes Young. Give it a listen. It is such the Killian Jones' song. Next chapter is from Killian's POV and more than a few secrets will be revealed. Fun fact - the scene on the counter was written a year ago and has just been kicking around, waiting for its debut.