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.

21. Chapter 21

Killian Jones

November

The words leave her mouth on a shaky exhale, her shoulders tensed up around her ears. He wants to ask her to repeat what she'd said, but his mouth won't work. All he can do is stand there and stare at the back of her head as the ensuing silence wraps itself around them each in a comforting cocoon.

He doesn't know how to proceed now that she's confessed her feelings, but thankfully, his body seems to have a very clear idea of what his next steps should be. He drops the spatula, eggs splattering everywhere and takes two steps in her direction. She turns from the garbage bin just then, probably to check why he's not talking. Her mouth falls open on a gasp when she finds him mere inches away and he takes full advantage.

With one hand cradling the back of her head, the other settles at the small of her back, his lips finding hers. The kiss is electric, pleasure sparking over his skin in waves. There's a ringing in his ears that only grows louder as she moans into the kiss, her hands tangling in the front of his t-shirt. She tastes like sugar and vanilla creamer, the sweetness on her tongue enhanced by her recent declaration -

"I'm in love with you."

He walks her backward a few shuffling steps until she bumps into the island. Needing her wrapped around him, he grips her waist, preparing to lift her up onto the counter when she stops him. Her hands settle on his wrists, her mouth slipping away. She laughs unsteadily, resting her forehead to his.

"You're gonna burn the eggs again."

"You just said you love me," he says in a breathy, awe filled whisper. When she nods to confirm then blushes profusely, he grins and lifts her, saying, "Sod the bloody eggs."

The backs of her bare thighs smack the granite countertop and she shrieks in alarm. "That's fucking cold, Killian!"

Lifting her legs up to disengage from the granite, her hips widen and he surges forward, hands wrapping around the backs of her thighs. He tugs her none too gently to the edge of the counter until he's resting in the apex of her thighs. He encourages her to wrap her legs around him, forcing her to balance on her ass.

"Better?" he asks, bringing both hands to her jaw and moving in to claim her mouth before she can answer. She doesn't seem to mind, her fingers digging pleasantly into his biceps.

They indulge in long kisses and intense petting, her body soft and warm, mouth so sweet. It's only when the eggs do begin to burn that he finally pulls away, giving her an appreciative squeeze before he tries to rescue their second attempt at breakfast.

"Bloody hell," he quips, lifting the skillet and inspecting the burnt edges of their omelet before tossing the batch into the bin with the first.

"That bad, huh?" she asks, grinning with an amused tilt of her head. His gaze falls from her bright green eyes to her kiss swollen lips. Setting the pan in the sink, he returns to her. Bringing her even closer to the edge of the counter, her prompts her to wrap her legs around him once again. "How about a bowl of cereal instead?" he asks, chasing her mouth when she tries to lean away.

"How about a shower and the driveway?"

"Huh?" He's confused, his intent clearly on enjoying Emma for breakfast if he can. It takes her several attempts to disengage him. A few pushes on his shoulders and a sweet kiss to his cheek gets him to back up and allow her to slide off the countertop. When she turns away to get breakfast started again, he reaches out for the hem of her borrowed flannel, giving an imploring tug.

"Emma?"

He sees her tense, watching her shoulders come up around her ears again. When she turns back to him, those stunning green eyes cause his heart to trip in his chest, the wariness he sees in them devastating. This is by far the most important moment of their relationship, Emma finally admitting that she cares for him and she's already pushing away. It's frustrating as hell.

One step forward and two steps back, he thinks.

"Yeah, you heard right - I love you," she says, chin lifting defiantly, daring him to make a bigger deal out of it than he already is. He'd told her once that he loves a challenge and with his lips tingling from her kiss and her "I love you" echoing in his ears, he reaches for her again. She stops him, hand over his heart. Smiling apologetically, she says, "It doesn't change the fact that I'm still processing all of this, okay? I need time to figure out what this means. And time to forgive you for lying to me."

He blanches at that. It's a fact, he had lied to her, but the words still sting to hear. Straightening his spine, he decides to take whatever punishment she deems fit for his sorry ass. Besides, she loves him and she's said it, not once, but twice now. There's no way he's about to let a little thing like forgiveness keep them apart - not when he knows she's finally let him into her heart.

"Forgiveness, like patience, is a virtue, love," he tells her, eyes intent upon hers. She seems unable to look away, her mouth falling open in surprise as he adds, "While you work on your forgiveness, I'll work on my patience. Won't we be the virtuous couple?"

Bopping her nose, he moves away with a grin. Grabbing bowls, spoons, and a box of Cheerios, he asks her to get the milk and join him at the table. His body is still thrumming from her kiss, his heart still racing with her admission, but he dutifully restrains himself. They eat in near silence, commenting only on the snow and the state of the roads. He would much rather push the cereal bowls aside and have her there on the tabletop, spread wide like a feast, but he behaves, setting that particular fantasy away for later.

She loves him. She loves him. She loves him.

He can't seem to stop grinning and she finally calls him on it, giving him a quirk of her brow as she asks, "What at you smiling at?"

"You, of course."

"Why? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, love," he says. Staring into her eyes, his giddy smile morphs into one awestruck and earnest. Reaching across the table, he captures her hand and with his lips brushing her knuckles, he admits, "I'm smiling because you love me."

He looks up to find her staring at him warily, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. The air crackles with tension, as it always has between them, but the voltage seems higher now, more intense. God, he wants her. Everything inside him yearns to be consumed by her once more, their passionate lovemaking the prior night exceeding every expectation he'd had about being with her.

He still holds her hand in his. Turning it over, he leaves a kiss in the very center of her palm trailing his thumb over it then down to where her pulse rages in her wrist. Gooseflesh rises on her skin and he gives her smallest tug, hoping she'll allow him another kiss.

"Don't," she breathes out on a shaky exhale. She slips her hand from his and stands. Looking up, he tilts his head, taking in her blown pupils and the stubborn jut of her chin. "I'm not going to fall into bed with you every time things get difficult between us. You can't get me to forgive you with sex, Killian."

"I wasn't trying to get you to forgive me, Swan," he says with sincerity.

She stares down at him, arms crossing under her breasts. A look of wary trepidation settles into the lines of her expression and he's reminded of her skittish reaction to him the day they met - that she was like a cat ready to jump at the slightest provocation. Giving her a relaxed and easy smile, he stands and says, "I'll not deny that I want you, but I can wait to be welcomed back between your thighs. I'll not push you, Emma. You know that."

Having said his peace - a promise of sorts - he takes their empty bowls to the sink. Washing them, he sets them aside to dry. Wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he turns to find Emma still standing where he'd left her, a flush high on her cheeks and her forehead wrinkled in annoyance.

"What's this?" he asks, sauntering over to her, a grin teasing the corners of his lips. "Have I rendered Emma Swan speechless?"

"Hardly," she retorts, watching as he sways closer.

When he's mere inches away, he tentatively lifts his hands to her hips. It's a casual intimacy that a few months ago he never would've tried, but things have changed and he's not willing to go back simply because she's skittish. He takes it as a positive sign that she does nothing to pull away, even moving a little closer when their bodies begin to sway in a teasing approximation of a dance.

"You really don't give up easily, do you?" she asks, eyes on his mouth.

"Not usually, no. Especially not when it comes to something I want and I want you, Emma." Her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as she processes his declaration. Perhaps trying to detect a lie. His heart flutters when she finally gives a faint, half smile, one of her hands coming up to rest over his heart, palm covering his heartbeat and fingers splayed wide.

"It's never felt like this," she confesses shyly, keeping her eyes lowered.

"What's never felt like this?" he asks quietly.

"This," she whispers, pressing her hand tighter to his heart. She glances up, blushing prettily when she finds him staring, captivated. "It's like your under my skin or something. I can't breathe, can't think straight when you...look at me like that." Trepidation settles into the lines of her face, her thoughts growing visibly more oppressive as she tries to work through them.

Seeing that she needs a break, he decides to change the subject. Pandering to her emotional fragility is not a sacrifice, especially when he knows how beautifully his patience pays off where she's concerned. He curls his hand around hers, lifting it to place a kiss on her knuckles before dropping it altogether.

"You said something about shoveling. Is that the plan for the day then?" he asks. She looks up, eyes dancing between his. He gives her a bolstering smile, taking a symbolic step back to give her space.

"Um, yeah, we should clean a few paths and put down some salt." She tilts her head to the side, warily watching him. She's obviously confused by his restraint and he finds it adorable. He has to force himself not to kiss her nose. Instead, he turns on his heel and makes his way to the staircase.

"I'll jump in the shower quick," he says, pausing with one foot on the stairs. Thinking better of leaving in the middle of the conversation, he turns back to her, wanting to make his intentions clear.

She's still standing where he'd left her, forehead wrinkled, arms wrapped tight around herself. Seeing her like that, defenses up, body curled in on itself, he's confident that pushing her to talk right is too much. But he'd learned his lesson with Milah. Holding back his feelings to spare Emma will do neither of them any good.

"Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"I've all the time in the world, love. When you're ready to talk, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." Her forehead wrinkles even more and he sighs, giving her a soft, sad smile before ascending the stairs.

He's good on his word, taking a quick shower then dressing in jeans and a sweatshirt. It's only when he walks past their bed that his steps slow at all. There's a hint of sex in the air, a combined musk that makes him flash back to their amorous activities of the night before. The blankets are tangled, evidence of their time together dried on the top sheet. He flushes when he spots it, remembering the way she'd begged him to come inside her. He's hard in an instant, wanting her with him, whispering that she loves him as he slides home.

Groaning, he rips the sheets away, throwing them into the washer before remaking the bed. Memories of Emma haunt him as he works. He can still hear her moans of pleasure, still taste her on his tongue. He'll never tire of her, he's positive of that.

He's smoothing out the duvet when Emma tops the stairs, pausing when he looks up from his work. Their eyes connect, hers dropping down to the remade bed. Flushing bright red, her eyes flick back up before she hurriedly makes her way to the bathroom. He curses low as the door clicks shut behind her. Running his hand through his hair in frustration, he contemplates knocking on the door, but he knows she needs her space. Though it might be one of the hardest thing he's had to do where she's concerned, he walks away, the shower a melancholy soundtrack to his retreating footsteps.

Shoving his feet into a pair of boots, he grabs a hat, gloves, and scarf. With his sweatshirt and thick winter coat, he feels overdressed, but the thermometer reads twenty degrees. Hat pulled over his ears, he wraps the scarf around his neck and zips the jacket closed before stepping outside.

The snow is up to the top step of the porch. He whistles, looking out over the landscape in wonder. The sky is gray and thick with ominous clouds, prompting him to pull out his phone to check the weather. A mostly clear day with the promise of snow tonight, another possible seven inches. Based on the forecast, they may be stuck here for longer than a day.

The thought has appeal. He can keep Emma safe here. They can spend time just the two of them. Maybe figure out what the hell they want.

The thought of Emma's safety has Killian opening an app on his phone to check the security cameras, watching as the feed moves from one camera to the next. Milah had told him that someone knows a way around the cameras, but he can't do much about that right now. Glancing out at the landscape again, he prays that the snow keeping them stuck here will also keep away potential threats.

The door behind him creaks open and he turns to find a fresh faced Emma stepping out onto the porch. She's bundled up in her warm winter coat, the hood pulled up over her beanie.

"Oh, wow," she says, coming up beside him, snow crunching beneath her boot heels.

"There's more snow in the forecast," he tells her. Putting his phone away, he slips his hand into his glove and says, "Better get shoveling, eh, Swan?"

They each grab a shovel and start on the porch steps. With both of them working, a path quickly forms. The snow is heavy and wet, the work backbreaking. They barely speak, their breath in crystal clouds before their mouths. Killian works ahead of Emma, shoveling large clumps of snow off to the side while she follows and cleans up the edges, removing what he'd missed on the first pass.

It doesn't take long to clean the stairs and create a path to the driveway. They also make a path to the garage door then tromp around the house to the back, where they clear the stairs up to the deck. Luckily, he'd stored their split wood under the deck, so they don't have to worry about chopping more if the power goes out.

That task completed, he joins Emma clearing the dock. It's not needed, but they both seem to need an outlet for their pent up energy. They've been so busy lately that their runs have been few and far between. The hard work feels good, his shoulders and arms burning from the effort. They clear the dock all the way down to the deck chairs and fire pit. He cleans off the pit, inspecting it for damage while Emma brushes off the chairs with her mittened hand. She settles into one, her cheeks pink from the cold.

"Well done, Swan," he says, sitting in the chair opposite hers and giving her a fist bump.

Turning to the snowy landscape, he marvels at the fierce duality of Mother Nature. Last night, the world had been shaken up like a snow globe upended and now, all he can see is beautiful calm. The lake is still, its surface like mirrored glass, reflecting the snow-covered trees and mountains. A snowflake or two floats in the air, drifting lazily to land and melt on their upturned faces.

It's perfectly quiet here, the snow muting everything, even the cry of an occasional bird flying past is dulled. It feels as if no one exists in the world but them - just Emma and Killian.

Needing to break the silence and the tension lingering from this morning, he rolls his head and asks, "Wanna build a snowman?" She snorts, fighting to keep her mouth turned down in a disapproving frown. He waggles his eyebrows and the frown wobbles then curves upwards, dimples appearing. He grins, mission accomplished. Shaking her head at him, she turns back to the water and gives a deep sigh, her smile sitting pretty on her lips.

"It's really beautiful out here," she says wistfully.

The yearning in her voice, the desire for the simplicity of this snow covered world with only the two of them to enjoy it has him wishing for the same. He continues watching her, warm affection making his heart skip a beat when she glances over and catches him staring. With his own wistful note in the low tenor of his words, he replies to her earlier observation, directing it not to the landscape, but to her.

"I've never seen anything as beautiful as what's before me now."

She doesn't look away, something in his gaze keeping her captivated and it's only when he gives her a hopeful smile that she turns away. They continue to sit there, Emma looking out over the water and Killian watching her, not a word spoken as the earth slowly revolves around them.

He stands when he sees her shiver. Holding out his hand, he wiggles his fingers until she rolls her eyes and finally clasps it. He tugs her up, rather forcefully, causing her to brace herself against his chest. It's a tense moment, the silence growing heavy the longer they stand there not speaking. Her eyes rove over his face, taking stock of various features - his forehead, the scar on his cheek, his ears (inexplicably), his beard - before finally resting on his mouth, where she lingers.

Hesitation and wariness turn to hunger as he watches, but despite how much he'd like to feed their insatiable desire for each other, he resolutely turns her toward the cottage. He'd told her he would be patient and he means to keep his word. Unfortunately, such resolve doesn't lesson the tension in his chest and he kicks at a clump of snow, grunting when it turns out to be a snow covered rock.

She shuffles along behind him, dragging both her feet and her shovel over the ground. Killian sighs, heart frustrated over this impossible woman. This impossible woman that he loves. He can feel the tension in her hand around his, feel her annoyance at his patience and her own impatience as she grips his fingers tight. Wanting him as never been an issue, he thinks, it's wanting him despite his flaws that seems to be throwing her at the moment.

"Graham really did pick a wonderful spot for this place," he says, searching to break the stifled silence. He slows his steps when she does and turning to look at her, he finds her frowning, deep in thought.

"What?" he asks.

"When you mentioned Graham...I don't know why I didn't think of it before."

"Think of what, Swan?"

"His notes. We should look at his notes again. Actually, we should go over all our notes, to see if we've missed anything important. Now that we have more information, it might put things in a different perspective. Maybe we can find something we missed?"

"Good idea." Thinking again of the security cameras as he glances behind her to the lake, he adds, "I want to see if I can find the plans for the security system as well. Perhaps find out who installed the cameras."

She nods, continuing them forward. He ushers her up the stairs first with a hand on the small of her back. She glances over her shoulder at him, giving him a tentative smile at his touch.

As they make their way up the stairs, he glances once again at the lake, a gust of wind biting at his cheeks. He shivers, gaze sweeping across the peaceful landscape. Finding nothing, he follows Emma into their home, seeking the warm sanctuary held within its four walls.

---

They remove their snow covered boots, leaving them by the back door to dry. Emma hands Killian her coat, hat, and gloves then moves into the kitchen to make them a hot beverage. Killian hangs their winter gear by the front door then joins Emma as she makes her way down to the hidden office with two steaming mugs. He punches the code into the security panel for her, listening to the pneumatic hiss of the door unlocking before pushing it open and stepping inside the dark room beyond.

Flipping the overhead light on, he glances around the space then moves to the bank of monitors along the back wall. The room is exactly the same as it was when they'd first moved in; the only change is the picture of Emma in her wedding dress on the desk, replacing the one Graham had there. Emma hands Killian his tea then settles on the couch, pulling one of the two laptops closer and booting it up while he does the same at the desk.

The computer screen brightens and he enters the password to login. He can hear Emma tapping away behind him, doing the same. Spinning in his chair, he takes a sip of tea and asks, "Where do you want to start, Swan?"

She's pulled her hair up into a messy bun and wears no makeup, but she's still as beautiful now as she was the day she'd walked toward him in her fake wedding dress. Thinking of that day, of her smiling at him in her gown, has him shifting surreptitiously in his seat. He'd wanted her so badly that day, had even tried to get her to spend the night with him. Looking at her now, in her baggy sweater and her stretched out yoga pants, he wants her even more. Screw their research, all he wants is to kiss her senseless and tell her again that he loves her.

She glances over at him, taking in the interested glint of his eyes then looking quickly back to her computer screen. "Let's start with the dossiers David pulled together and update those as we review. Then we can go over Graham's notes. Sound good?"

She's all business, but he can see the way she fiddles with her wedding rings, twirling them nervously around her finger. He drops his chin to his chest with a smirk; neither one of them is very good at ignoring the ever present attraction between them.

Clearing his throat, he shifts in his seat again then turns back to his computer. He pulls up the files they've amassed over the past few months. After receiving the paper dossiers from David, he'd scanned everything, saving it all on a secure server. Each suspect has their own file that details the facts of the case and their role in it. Any surveillance photos taking over the course of the investigation are attached, including those taken prior to Emma and he moving to Storybrooke.

"Let's start with August, shall we?" he asks, barely able to keep the disdain from his voice. Emma either doesn't notice his tone or doesn't care to acknowledge it, simply humming her agreement. She pulls up the same file that Killian has open on his screen and begins reading aloud, Killian updating any outdated facts as they go.

He adds in the gambling debt and Teach's blackmail as well as August stealing the jewels from The Triton after returning from Phuket. He keeps his comments to himself as she reads, his fingers flying over the keyboard to update the dossier. When they get to the end of the file, Killian turns his chair around and gives her a look.

"What?"

"Well, this process begs the question, love. Is August still a suspect?" She leans back into the couch cushions, thinking over his question. He appreciates that she's taking time to really think about her response; if she'd immediately jumped to a "no" there would've been a contentious conversation to follow.

"Milah told you that Gold is head of the smuggling ring." Killian drops his eyes to stare at his feet. Guilt fills his chest at the mention of Milah, guilt he hasn't processed yet. Lifting his eyes back to Emma, he swirls his hand in the air as a prompt to continue. She does, the corners of her mouth dipping into a frown. "We don't have any proof that what she told us is true, but I don't believe she had a reason to lie, especially since doing so led to her death."

Killian is the one frowning then, his guilt threatening to choke him. Emma stares at him, sympathy in her eyes as he struggles to process his emotions. He says nothing, a rare moment of speechlessness for him that leaves them both unsettled. Hesitating, she clears her throat and adds softly, "Based on what Milah said, August isn't a suspect any longer."

"Aye," Killian affirms brusquely. Knowing he may be pushing his luck, he asks the next logical question. "Do we remove him from the suspect list for the smuggling ring, but add him to the 'Currently Out to Kill Emma list' then?"

"Killian - "

"Emma," he admonishes her, cutting off her likely protest. Raising his eyebrow at her in question, he waits, wondering where she'll land on this one.

Her fingers rest on the keys of the laptop and as he watches, she begins to pick at them with her nails. Lip caught between her teeth, she worries the flesh, finally saying, "Since we don't have any idea why I'm being singled out, it's hard to say for sure, but I don't get the sense that August is out to kill me. He's been alone with me any number of times since he came back to town. He's never done or said anything to indicate he's intent on carrying out a homicide."

"Maybe wanting you dead isn't the point," Killian suggests and when she looks up at him in surprise, he shrugs. "Milah said you were in danger, but she never said it was because someone wanted you dead. Nefarious deeds don't always end in death."

"Okay, not a pleasant thought." She goes back to biting her lip, thinking long and hard about what he's said then shaking her head. "I don't think it's August, Killian. I've never gotten any weird vibes from him."

Tilting her head, expression curious, she asks, "Have you?"

He really has to force himself to stop and think about it, to set aside his jealousy and objectively answer the question. If he's honest with himself, despite his misgivings about August's intentions toward Emma, he's never gotten the impression he wants to do her harm. Giving her a rueful smile, he shakes his head and replies, "No, Swan. He may be a fool, but he's not one that wishes you ill."

"So, we take him off both lists?"

"Aye," he agrees. It helps knowing she has no feelings for the liar beyond those of friendship; it soothes the jealous beast that roars to life every time she utters his name. But he'll never trust the man when it comes to Emma's affections. Never.

"On to Teach then," Emma says, sitting up straighter and pulling her laptop closer. Killian turns back to his computer, opening up the dossier on Teach. He begins to type as Emma reads aloud, adding in any new details they've discovered. When she's done, he asks the same question he'd asked about August. They promptly remove Teach as the leader of the smuggling ring, but linger over adding him to the 'Currently Out to Kill Emma' list, a name he really wishes he hadn't come up when Emma starts using it with gusto.

"It's hard to remove him from the list when I don't know why someone is after me," she mutters again, tapping angrily at the keyboard.

"Aye," Killian agrees, staring at the photo of Teach pulled up on his screen. He has yet to meet the man in person, but there's something about his smirk that annoys Killian.

"Have you ever seen him before?"

"No."

"He's never come up in one of your cases? In Boston?" Killian asks, grasping at straws.

"Nope. I've never seen him before coming here and getting involved in this case. What could he possibly gain from hurting me?" She bites her lip, staring at the photograph of him pulled up on her laptop. "I mean, if nothing else, he's a person of interest. He may be able to give us some insight into Gold and the smuggling ring, maybe give us a way to take him down. And he may know who killed Graham, confirm if it was Gold?"

"Right." Killian updates Teach's suspect status, moving him to a person of interest and then closing the file and opening the next - Regina Mills.

"I feel like Regina is still an unknown," he mutters, glancing over his shoulder at Emma. She nods absentmindedly, opening a few documents on her laptop then beginning to read aloud. They update the file with the information they've gleaned about Regina; they don't have much to add, other than the fact that she was sleeping with Graham.

"I'm sorry about that, love," he tells her, remembering the information she'd learned about her would-be lover at Thanksgiving. He also remembers sipping from the sweet elixir between her legs that night, wanting to show her that his level of devotion far exceeds Graham's. He'd fallen before her on his knees, worshipped her as a goddess on high. The memory has him shifting in his chair again, body ever hungry for hers.

Emma is still focused on updating Regina's file, her fingers flying over the keyboard, unaware of Killian's wayward thoughts. "It's okay," she replies offhandedly, but as he watches, her brows furrow and her fingers slow until they come to a stop.

"What is it, love?"

"I didn't know Graham as well as I thought I did. I mean, we weren't officially dating and we certainly didn't have any agreements about being monogamous, but he always made it seem like he had true feelings for me, that there wasn't anyone else for him." She frowns, staring at her hands and looking for all the world like a lost little girl.

"He kept it from me as well," he admits, adding, "I assumed we were closer than we were, I suppose."

"All the time he was telling me he wanted to be with me, he was running around with Regina and I..." Her voice trails off, then she shrugs as if to say it doesn't hurt that Graham had lied to her, took advantage. He knows differently. Betrayal like that has been all too common in her life and guilt bubbles up inside him once again, this time due to the lies he'd told her to cover his own selfish behavior. Watching a hardness he hasn't seen in her eyes for a while now forming once again, he struggles to explain Graham's actions as well as his own.

"We all hide the worst in ourselves, Emma. Perhaps Graham was ashamed of himself."

"Maybe," she sighs, adding softly, "but he shouldn't have been. I mean, Regina seems nice enough. She's a little prickly around the edges, but it has to be hard being the mayor and raising a child all on your own. I would've understood if he wanted to pursue things with her or even if he just told me they'd had a fling...I would've at least understood."

"Do I detect a hint of sympathy for the evil queen?" he asks playfully, trying to ease the tension. She shrugs again.

"A little. She seems...I don't know...sad? She has her son, but I don't get the sense she has a lot of other people in her life. She doesn't really know how to be anything other than strong, so even when she's hurting, she keeps her walls up. It makes her come across as a bitch."

"Speaking from experience?" Killian asks.

"Something like that," she says, voice small. "I just wish Graham had been honest with me and that he hadn't taken advantage of Regina's loneliness like that."

"To be fair, love, we don't know exactly what happened between them. From what you've told me about your conversation with the mayor, Graham was very clear about his affections for you. Regina was aware that he wanted to be with you and only you."

"I guess. Still...it wasn't right." Emma's eyes harden again and Killian curses Graham, wondering at the man's utter stupidity.

Sensing that she's done talking about Graham and his indiscretion, Killian turns back to the business at hand, saying, "We can remove Regina from the primary suspect list, but we need to do more digging to confirm she's not out to get you."

"I can't see why she would be," Emma replies. "I've never come into contact with her before and there's nothing in her past to indicate that she has any connection to Teach or Gold or me. She's just...well, a bitch and nothing more than that."

"I think you're being too hasty, Swan. I know you feel a kinship with her, but there's one very obvious reason why she should stay on that list."

"What's that?"

"Graham." Emma furrows her brow as she stares at Killian. He waits for her to catch up and when she finally does, her mouth falls open in surprise.

"You think she was jealous of his feelings for me? That she's out to get me because she was in love with him or something?"

"It's not completely out of the realm of possibility."

She shakes her head then slows the motion, biting her lip as he continues to stare at her. "I mean... do you really think she has it out for me because Graham wanted a relationship with me and not her?"

"I've no idea, but love can be used as a weapon in the hands of the jilted."

"She told me she didn't love him, that they weren't in a relationship based on feelings...it was sex and nothing more." He tilts his head to the side, giving her a skeptical look.

"Didn't Milah lie to me in much the same way, love? She told me her feelings were untrue when they were the exact opposite. People lie to get what they want. They do it all the time." Emma sniffs at that, crossing her arms under her breasts and glaring at him. "Look, Emma, I like Regina. I have since we met her, but I'd hate to take something off the table simply because you don't want

to believe she's involved. Until we know the why of this situation, it's hard to rule anyone out."

"Milah implied that she knew the person out to get me, right? That she knew them well enough to have them tell her how to get past the security cameras. How in the world would Regina and Milah have crossed paths? How would they have met?"

Killian thinks that over carefully. There's a note of bitter disgust in his answer. "Gold."

"How do you mean?"

"Gold is the type of man who likes to make himself known to the most powerful people around. Regina's the mayor, she oversees the town he wanted to take over. He'd want her to know about him and if there was any way he could manipulate her into helping him, he would do it. It's a stretch, but I can see a partnership between the two of them. One founded on their joint dislike of you and I."

Her eyes widen at that and he gives her a grim smile. "Spurned lovers coming together to bring us down."

"I'm suddenly feeling very naive about human nature," she says. "Where does that leave us?"

He takes his time answering, knowing neither of them is going to like the answer. "We've gone through our current suspect list and removed August and bumped Teach down a peg as well as Regina. I suppose we need to start a file on Gold now."

"David was going to email me some stuff on him," Emma says, clicking around on her laptop, checking her secure email account. "Yeah, here it is. I'll save it on the shared drive and you can pull it into your files. He attached the recording of your conversation with Milah, too."

They work in silence for a while, Killian creating Gold's dossier, pulling in the information David had obtained from various police databases on Gold's criminal organization, including the FBI. He adds personal details from his own dealings with the man, including a section on Milah. Writing down the details of their relationship and the fallout is difficult, but he forces himself to focus on the facts and not let his emotions overwhelm him.

When it comes to Milah's confession on the Queen Anne's Revenge and her murder, he starts and stops a few times, cursing his fingers for stalling when regret burns in his throat. He manages to write down every last detail of their encounter then continues with the rest of Gold's file, his mind swirling with memories and emotions he'd rather leave behind.

He's surprised when Emma bumps his elbow with her hip. He'd been so absorbed, he hadn't heard her get up and join him at the desk.

"Hey. You okay?"

His fingers still on the keyboard as he tries to formulate words to explain what he's feeling. She seems to understand his hesitation, moving to stand behind his chair. Sliding her arms around him from behind, she rests her head on his shoulder and offers him silent comfort. It's clear she's reading over his shoulder and he lets her, wanting to share his struggle, even if he can't speak it aloud.

Her hand seeks his when she gets to the part about Milah. He reaches up, letting her tangle their fingers together. When she finishes reading, she drops a kiss to the whorls of his ear, her breath caressing his cheek when she says, "I'm sorry about Milah. She seemed like a really strong, amazing woman."

"I didn't realize until yesterday just how strong nor how amazing," he says with deep regret.

Emma presses another kiss to his ear, her hand squeezing his as he thinks over his time with Milah. His memories of her have haunted him for years, but now he's thankful to have them. He finds a measure of peace knowing that her love was true, that their happiness was fact and not just a figment of his imagination. Knowing that makes his infinite sadness over the loss of her easier to process.

Slowly turning his chair around, he peers up into Emma's face then tugs on her until she sits in his lap. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, his eyes move between hers, the sympathy in her green gaze a comfort.

He thinks over everything he's learned in the past couple of days and two facts stand out to him. Firstly, Milah had loved him, had done everything in her power to protect him. She'd gone so far as to condemn herself to life with a madman in order to keep him safe. And secondly, Emma loves him. Even though their relationship is up in the air, he knows she cares deeply for him.

Two brave, amazing, strong, goodhearted women loved him, did love him, do love him and knowing that makes him question everything he's believed for the past five years. Perhaps he is worthy of a happy life, one without violence and regret. Perhaps he's not a villain doomed to live a degenerate life, but a man worthy of love.

Such a man can surely have a future and a real relationship...perhaps a family. It's a sobering, but wonderful thought.

"I guess we're both learning that the people we cared about aren't what they seemed, huh?" she asks, lifting her hand to card slowly through his hair. She's warm and soft, smelling of vanilla and tea. He swallows hard, head tilting to the side as he leans closer, eyes on her tempting pink lips.

"We need to go over Graham's notes." She reminds him, leaning back a few inches. He sways even closer, ignoring her attempt to pull away, but right when she closes the gap between them, he smiles and straightens. As much as he wants to taste her again, he's not going to be the one to break first.

"Just have to add one more thing to Gold's file," he says, keeping a triumphant grin to himself when Emma slumps in disappointment. He turns the chair around with her still perched in his lap. Reaching around her with both hands, he types that Gold is the number one suspect in their case, unconfirmed at this point as they have no proof other than Milah's testimony that he's the head of the smuggling ring.

With his fingers hovering over the keyboard, he hesitates before adding one more line. Emma watches as he types it, stiffening in his hold as he writes that Gold is the primary suspect in the threat to her life. He presses a kiss to the back of her shoulder in apology.

"Milah said it wasn't Gold."

"Aye, love, but Gold is apparently obsessed with hurting me. You're my wife, at least as he believes, and that makes you target number one."

"Oh," she breathes out, sagging against him.

"Yeah," he agrees, wrapping his arms around her. She leans back into him, fingers trailing over his forearms, tickling him. "I'm rethinking our plan to convince everyone I'm madly in love with you, Swan."

She snorts, scratching her nails over him to relieve the teasing touch of her fingers. "David and Mary Margaret warned me about that, you know."

"Did they now?"

"Hmm. They said that falling for your partner is dangerous because if someone really wants to hurt you, all they have to do is take advantage of that. That they can get you to agree to anything in order to keep the one you love safe."

"Aye, they can," he agrees.

It hadn't mattered when he'd agreed to this ruse, the thought of someone hurting his partner had meant little. Back then, he'd known if a situation came down to saving Emma or saving Storybrooke, he would've chosen Storybrooke and she would've done the same if the situation was reversed.

Things are different now - he's madly in love with her and if her life is threatened, he'll save her, Storybrooke be damned.

Lifting his hand, he presses his palm to her jaw, thumb brushing her chin. She smiles, eyes watery as she whispers, "I guess we'll need to solve this quickly then and put away whoever is coming after me."

"Exactly," he agrees, dropping his forehead to press into her collarbones. He listens to her breathing, the rhythm beautiful and reassuring.

"Exactly," she repeats, the word lost in his hair when she presses a kiss to his head.

She finally pulls away, standing and avoiding his eyes as she asks what he'd like for lunch. She leaves, returning with soup and salads. They break long enough to eat then return to work, turning their focus to Graham's notes. They start at the beginning and it takes hours to comb through them, Killian insisting they compare his notes with David's official police records for consistency.

Graham had been meticulous, not glossing over anything, no matter how insignificant. As detailed as his notes are, though, there's nothing new to be gleaned from them. Hours of research and nothing to show for it.

They're both frustrated when they get to the end of Graham's notes, Emma flushed with anger, green eyes positively snapping. Her lips are pressed together in two thin, determined lines, the corners turned down. Glancing over at her and then back at his screen, he scrolls down the page, reading the last line of Graham's notes, feeling like his friend is slipping away all over again.

"That's it. That's the end," he says softly, leaning back in his chair, defeated. Emma is quiet and when he turns to face her, he finds her staring hard at her screen in consternation.

"There has to be something else...something we're missing," she mutters. They sit in silence until her eyes light up and she grins, smacking her hand on the couch.

"The recordings! Where are they?"

Graham had recorded many of his conversations, storing them in a locked filing cabinet here in the office. Killian had transferred all of them to his computer early on, but since Graham had typed them up as well, he'd never bothered to listen to them. Emma's right - it would be a good idea to do so. There could be something that didn't make it into the transcripts.

He opens the first recording, his cursor hovering over the play button. Glancing at the clock, he notices the time and decides against listening to them today. They've been in the office for hours and he wants time to talk with Emma about their relationship, not the investigation. As it is, they're both exhausted and emotionally raw right now. He needs to give them a break to enjoy a few quiet moments.

Rotating his chair around to face Emma, he gestures towards the clock on the wall. "It's late. Perhaps we should listen tomorrow?" he suggests and Emma gives a halfhearted nod.

"It'll be weird."

"What will?"

"Hearing his voice after all this time."

"I can do it," he offers. "If you don't want to, love, I can." She thinks over his offer then shakes her head.

"No, I...I need to do this. There's so much at stake, my life for one. It'll be fine." He gives her an encouraging smile then turns back to his computer to log off. His cursor hovers over the list of sound files, his attention drawn to the names.

He'd used the same naming convention Graham had used when saving the files to the laptop. It was easier than trying to rename them since there were so many. He hadn't really paid too much attention to Graham's system at the time, but looking over the names now, he notices a pattern.

Each sound file starts with a two letter code, a dash and then a date. It's the two letter codes that catch his attention now. It hadn't registered before, but they're initials - he even spots his own in the list, KJ. He focuses on those, comparing the dates after each KJ to confirm that they correspond with visits he'd made to Storybrooke. Bringing his finger to the computer screen, he trails it over the list of codes, stopping when he comes to an ES - Emma Swan - and a date eight months prior.

"Emma? Can you come here?" She hums in response, taking her time setting the laptop down and giving a stretch before finally joining him at the desk. She looks over his shoulder and he points out the line he's looking at, watching her face.

"What is that?"

"A recorded conversation. Between you and Graham, apparently."

"Are you shitting me?" She's obviously surprised to find that Graham had recorded their conversation. Leaning a little closer, her eyes follow the path of his finger over the screen, taking in the number of times her initials show up in the list.

"It appears Graham recorded several of your conversations."

"Well, that's just creepy," she says. "I don't get it. Why would Graham record our conversations?"

"I've no idea. Although, to be fair, it appears he was in the habit of recording his conversation with everyone," Killian mutters. He trails his finger down the list and several more initials stand out - DN for David Nolan, RM for Regina Mills, MMN for Mary Margaret Nolan.

"That doesn't make it any easier to stomach," she says, leaning further into his shoulder. "Okay, I'm feeling less and less guilty about turning the guy down for a date."

"We'll have to listen to them along with the others," he tells her. She gives him a look. "I know you don't want to, but we have to, love. Graham obviously thought they were important enough to keep, so there must be something of value in them."

"I don't see how there could be. We never talked about anything even remotely related to his investigation. It was mostly texting back and forth, him sending me stupid jokes of the day or telling me about his work on the cottage."

Her statement about Graham and the cottage reminds him that he wants to locate the plans to the security system. Minimizing the sound files, he goes in search of any files related to the cottage, searching Graham's emails and the computer's hard drive. He finds nothing.

Frustrated, he pushes away from the desk, moving to the filing cabinet. It's a metal monstrosity with a security panel attached to the side. He punches in the code David had passed him then slides open a drawer. It's filled with hanging files, Graham's neat handwriting on each tab. He leafs through them, trying to find anything related to the security system, coming up empty once again. There's no contract for installation from the security company, no plans for the layout of the cameras. He makes a mental note to ask David, knowing Graham had often talked over his building plans with the sheriff. There has to be a record somewhere...maybe they were included with the deed to the cottage. Surely, David kept all that paperwork after Graham's death.

He goes back to the top drawer of the cabinet, searching for a file on himself. He'd found ones for David and Mary Margaret, Regina, even Ruby and Granny - there has to be one on him, too. He finally finds it, but his blood freezes when he finds it not under Killian Jones, but under Captain Hook.

No one knows that moniker. No one except Smee and Gold.

He opens it, dread making his hands shake. Just like all the dossiers the man had kept, this one is neatly organized, a photo of Killian clipped to the top page. The photo is old, a publicity shot from L & K's Shipping's website right after he'd first left the Royal Navy. He'd looked impossibly young back then, hair cropped short and chin free from scruff.

Still devilishly handsome, though, he thinks with a smirk.

Moving the photo out of the way, he starts to read, growing heartsick with each word. There are pages and pages on his activities as Captain Hook, his devious life as a notorious pirate and smuggler captured in black and white. All of his sins are laid bare, making it extremely difficult to ignore. There's even a section on Milah, a small photo of her taped to the sheet where her name is typed as the heading.

Not able to process how Graham had managed to find all this out (he's paid extremely well over the years to keep his connection to Captain Hook buried), he hastily closes the file and slips it back into the drawer.

He's about to close it and lock the cabinet when Emma's name catches his eye. Graham had a file on her? What does it say? Did he know about her time in prison? About Neal and the miscarriage? Emma had said she'd never told anyone about it, but did Graham manage to find out, like he'd managed to uncover Killian's secrets? Did he keep it from her exactly like he'd kept his affair with Regina?

Glancing over his shoulder, he spots Emma fiddling with his computer, unaware of what he's found. Turning back to the file, he debates with his himself, ultimately deciding against opening it. It doesn't matter now, does it? Graham is dead, his sins buried six feet under, along with any of Emma's secrets he'd managed to uncover. He slides the drawer closed and punches in the security code, the panel giving a beep to indicate that the lock has engaged.

"What's up?" he asks as he turns back to Emma.

"I'm changing the passwords on the laptops," she explains, fingers flying over the keyboard. "We haven't changed them since David handed them over. We should probably change the code to the security system, too. Maybe call the company tomorrow and have them reset it?"

"Aye."

Finishing up with his computer, she returns to the couch and picks up her laptop. While he waits for her to finish, he pulls out his phone, opening the security system app and watching the feed rotate through each camera on the property. All he can see at each location is snow, except for the cameras pointed at the front and back doors of the cottage.

There's something about the cameras that has been bothering him since yesterday, but he can't put his finger on it. Squinting at his phone, he tries to populate a mental map with each camera's location, but it's hard to do with a total of twelve cameras arranged over an extensive plot of land. He needs a topographical map with each camera's field of view plotted out before he can properly assess the lax in their security.

He mentions his concerns to Emma as they walk upstairs.

"I'd wondered about that when you mentioned Milah being on the property. She told you someone knew how to get close to the house, which means there's a way to beat the cameras, right? It's the only way she could've gotten close to the cottage without being noticed."

"Aye," he agrees, his hands in fists at his side. He can do nothing about his concerns now; the storm has kept him from checking the cameras in person and with more snow in the forecast, he doubts he's going to be able to address them for a while. He repeats his earlier thought to Emma that hopefully the snow keeping them in the cottage is also keeping everyone else out.

It's their only saving grace.

---

It's dark when they reach the living room. They'd spent hours in the office, working until late afternoon with barely a break. Wendy squeaks as they make their way into the kitchen, winding through Emma's legs and nearly tripping her. Killian moves to the fridge, suddenly starving, the soup and salad they'd had for lunch no longer keeping him sated. Opening the door, he peers inside and takes stock of their provisions. Grabbing the leftover turkey from Thanksgiving, he leaves it on the counter then goes back for more supplies, humming a Christmas carol under his breath.

"What are you making?" she asks. He doesn't mind that him cooking is a foregone conclusion. Emma is a limited cook, although she's improving under his careful tutelage. Anything too complicated doesn't usually end well, though, so he takes over the harder recipes.

"A turkey potpie," he declares, twirling his hand in the air with a flourish. "It's the perfect way to use our leftovers, including the extra pie crust we bought in case the apple pie didn't come out."

Emma offers to help prep and he asks her to chop the vegetables and turkey into bitesized pieces. Killian works on the roux, stirring the flour, butter, and milk until it reaches the constancy he needs. Once the pie is assembled, he shoves it into the oven, setting the timer.

Emma scratches Wendy behind her ears, muttering sweet nothings to the beast before feeding her. She then moves to the living room, standing before the Christmas tree with her hands on her hips. He joins her, staring not at the tree, but at her. The lights are soft against her skin, pale greens and pinks dancing along her cheekbones. It reminds him of last night, the way the Christmas lights had painted her body as they'd made love.

"Dinner won't be ready for a while, right?" she asks, pulling him out of his sensual thoughts.

"An hour or so."

"How about we finish decorating the tree? I could use a break from," she swirls her hand in the air, "trying to figure out who wants to kill me." He frowns at the casual way she talks about being in danger. She turns to face him, hands still on her hips. "Hey! None of that. I refuse to see any frowns while we decorate. It's simply not allowed."

She gives him a smile so sweet he can't help but return it, his gaze mapping the happiness she beams at him. If she needs a respite from talk of danger and illusive threats to her life, then he'll gladly provide her with it as long as she keeps smiling at him like that.

"I'll grab the ornaments if you make us some hot chocolate. I think there's some peppermint schnapps in the cabinet," he tells her.

They'd left the rest of the tree decorations in the little used front sitting area. He retrieves them, unpacking the boxes and stacking them neatly next to the tree. Emma makes their drinks, adding the schnapps and liberal amounts of whipped cream to each mug before joining him. He lights a fire in the fireplace and reaches for his phone, finding a station that plays unlimited Christmas music before plugging it into the portable speakers on the mantel. Emma hands him his mug and they step up to the tree together.

"Where do we start?" She sounds unsure and he remembers that she's never done this before.

"Hmm," he says, gripping his chin as he contemplates the tree. "What we need now is a plan of attack, Swan."

She'd done a pretty good job with the lights, but stepping back, he squints at her work then asks her to shift the strands until they're evenly parsed out. Then he turns to the ornaments, opening the first box and lifting out one of the delicate bulbs to hand to her. The tree can be seen anywhere in the cottage, so they have to completely fill it. Thankfully, they'd gone overboard at the store and have more than enough bulbs.

They leave the glass cat he'd picked out for last and Emma hangs it in the front, a place of honor. When she steps back to inspect their work, she gives an adorable hop, her eyes bright and shining.

"Oh," she exclaims. "I almost forgot!"

Reaching into the last bag, she removes the tree topper she'd picked out. Killian retrieves the small step stool they keep tucked away in the kitchen. He places it as close to the tree as he can then gives Emma his hand to hold as she climbs up to place the star. It takes her a minute or two to angle it the way she wants. When she's done, she plugs it into the top strand of lights, setting the star aglow. He helps her off the stool then takes it back to the kitchen. Turning off the overhead lights, he returns to Emma's side.

It's beautiful, but nowhere near as beautiful as she is. She stares at it with childlike wonder, her hands clasped under her chin and tears sparkling in the corner of her eyes. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he presses a chaste kiss to her temple, breathing deep. She smells like sugary sweet vanilla. It's intoxicating.

"Mmm," he hums, his lips drifting over her temple. "You smell good enough to eat, love." She snorts at that, but doesn't push him away. He's about to lean down to test his theory when the timer on the stove goes off, their dinner done. He sighs, grumbling something about being thwarted by the buzzer, earning himself a giggle as he leaves her side.

Flicking on the kitchen light, he removes the potpie from the oven, setting it on the stovetop to cool. Mixing together a salad, he asks Emma to set the table and pick out some wine. She does so after turning the music up a little louder, the soft sounds of Christmas jazz drifting through the cottage as he plates their dinner. He pours the wine then sits in his usual spot beside Emma, Wendy weaving her way between their legs as they eat. Emma exclaims over the pie and goes back for seconds of both it and the wine.

She offers to clean up while he finds a Christmas movie to watch. It's easy enough to find one now that the Christmas season has officially started. He settles down onto the couch, reaching for the tumbler of rum Emma brings with her when she joins him. His head is already fuzzy from the schnapps and the wine, but he takes the glass, swirling the liquid around before taking a sip. Emma curls up beside him, cheeks flushed. One hand cradles her glass while the other props her chin up, arm resting along the back of the couch. The movie starts, but several minutes in, he finds her watching him and not the screen.

He grows extremely self-conscious with her eyes on him, not something he's used to. When he glances over at her in question, he finds a silly grin on her face. Instead of turning away after being caught, she continues to stare and he blushes, ducking his head.

"What?" he asks, shifting to face her, embarrassed that even the tips of his ears burn.

"You're just really attractive," she says on a dreamy sigh. She blushes as well, but doesn't look away, her gaze falling to his mouth. He can almost see her pupils dilate when he licks his lips, a knowing smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. A hunger he understands only too well blooms in her pretty eyes, the usual clear green gone dark.

"Well, thank you, Swan," he says, lowering his voice. She lifts her eyes to his then, their gazes clashing and he feels held captive with one look from this woman. "It pleases me to know you think so."

"It does?"

"Of course. What man wouldn't want to know that a beautiful woman finds him attractive?"

"Oh."

"It makes you feel good to know I find you attractive, doesn't it?" he asks, voice lowering even further, almost a purr as he slides closer. His own gaze falls to her mouth, watching as her tongue slips out to wet her lips. He bites back a moan, remembering how wonderful that tongue feels on him, how hot and demanding her mouth can be.

"I don't need validation from you regarding my looks," she breathes out.

"Of course not, love, but still...isn't it nice to know you drive me to bloody distraction?" He slides closer still, their knees bumping, his arm resting along the back of the couch behind her.

"I do?" she asks, her eyes widening innocently.

"Oh, Emma, how can you not know how absolutely wrecked I am for you? I live each day to see a smile grace these lips," he whispers, lifting his hand to brush his thumb teasingly over her bottom lip. "These sweet, completely kissable lips."

Her eyes go fully black, pupils blown wide and the next thing he knows, she's straddling him. He manages to keep his glass of rum aloft as she finds his mouth, any further praise caught in the back of his throat as she kisses him for all she's worth. She tastes like rum, her mouth slick and sweet. He moans, cursing the fact that he hasn't kissed her for hours. Not knowing how he's managed to keep his hands off her this long, he curls his free hand around the back of her neck, his thumb tracing the hinge of her jaw in a prompt to open wider.

"Careful of the rum," he murmurs when she pulls back to breathe, one hand around the glass in her hand, the other gripping the front of his shirt. She yanks on him, impatient to have his mouth on hers again and he chuckles, eyes coming to rest on her kiss swollen lips. It takes her a second to figure out how to deal with the issue of the alcohol, finally tipping her glass up to her mouth and swallowing the two fingers worth left in the glass.

"You're well on your way to drunk."

"Maybe," she replies, leaning over to set her glass on the carpet with his free arm around her waist to keep her from falling out of his lap. She looks pointedly at the glass in his hand when she rights herself and he catches her drift, lifting it to his mouth and swallowing the last of the rum, humming at the smooth heat of it. She grins, taking it from his hand and setting it beside hers. He wraps both arms around her as she rights herself this time, cupping the back of her head and directing her mouth back to his.

"I'd like to point out that you initiated this," he whispers, lips trailing down her neck. "I'm not trying to distract you from big, meaningful conversations with my body." She snorts at that, chasing his mouth.

"Noted," she whispers before their lips meet again.

It's not long before he realizes his prediction about her being drunk is accurate. She's sloppy with her kisses, her movements in his lap uncoordinated. Breathing seems to be difficult and when he leaves her mouth to kiss along her neck or jaw, she gulps in lungfuls of air before going back for more. She's not in the right frame of mind for this, he decides, stilling her hips and peering into her face.

"Hey," he says, softly, concern making him frown. "You okay, Swan?"

"I'm dandy," she replies, giving him what he thinks is supposed to be a sultry smile. It ends up lopsided, her eyes heavy lidded and hazy. It's cute and he gives her a quick peck, shaking his head in amusement.

"You're drunk," he declares, laughing when she rolls her eyes and ends up making a ridiculous face in the attempt. He wishes he had a camera to capture it. "I stand corrected. You are very drunk, sweetheart."

"I'm fine," she mutters, words slurring as she tugs on his shirt again. "Come on, tiger, kiss me."

"No. I don't think I will just now."

"No?" she asks, lip jutting out in a pout.

"Nope." He bops her on the nose then maneuvers her back onto the couch. Standing, he picks the empty glasses up from the floor.

"Where are you going?"

"To get some water. We, my dear, are going to sit here like two adults and watch this Christmas movie until you sober up."

"Why, though? I'm fine...just a wee bit tipsy," she says, holding her finger and thumb up to show her measurement of "wee." He has to bite back a laugh as he moves behind the couch and into the kitchen.

"As cute as I find you when you're "just a wee bit tipsy," I won't take advantage of a lass not in possession of her facilities."

"Cause you're a good guy," she says, mumbling into the couch cushions as she watches him over the back of the couch. His heart becomes lodged inexplicably in his throat and he has to focus intently on not dropping the glasses as he carries them to the sink. Turning on the faucet, he begins to wash the glasses. He can just make out his blurry reflection in the window over the sink, the couch visible over his shoulder. Clearing his throat, he speaks to the blurry image, saying, "Thanks for that."

"It's true. I know you don't believe it, but it's true."

"What makes you think I don't believe it?" he asks, trying for nonchalance and failing.

"Because I'm not the only one in this relationship that's easy to read. I see the look in your eyes, the self loathing, the desire to do good, to be good. I heard what you said last night when you told me about Milah, about what you did when you thought she didn't want you...the man you became. You were hurt and you gave into the pain, but it doesn't change the fact that you're a good man underneath it all."

"Emma - "

"No." She stops him, voice brooking no arguments. He shuts the water off, bracing his soapy hands on the edge of the sink as she continues. "A truly evil man wouldn't question his choices, wouldn't try to change. You told me I was the catalyst for your decision to lead a different life, but you made the choice to help David and Graham long before you met me. You wanted a different life for yourself, to be a different man. And you wanted it all on your own."

Her words linger long after she finishes speaking, echoing in the tension that follows. His heart is racing and he feels lightheaded. He can see her in the window, just over his shoulder - she's staring at him, hair like a golden halo around her head, his angel spewing alcohol fueled truth. He's not entirely sure he believes her, but she has him wondering if he might actually be worth saving.

After all, Milah had loved him and Emma...Emma Swan loves him.

She breaks the moment with a loud hiccup, slipping down behind the couch cushions. He can just barely see the top of her head now, her messy bun bouncing as she tucks her throw blanket around herself. He uses the reprieve to pull himself together, taking several deep breaths until the world feels stable again. When he walks around the end of the couch to join her, he finds her curled in on herself, knees tucked up to her chin, eyes closed.

"Emma?"

"Hmm?"

"You should drink some water before you sleep."

"I'm good."

"You need to stay hydrated."

"See?" she whispers, opening one eye and squinting at him. "Good guy."

God help him but he blushes for the second time tonight. She smiles affectionately even as her eye slips closed. The movie is still playing, but he finds watching her fall asleep far more entertaining. Settling down beside her, he loses track of time, only knowing that the credits roll and the next movie starts while he watches her beloved face.

An idea occurs to him as she sleeps, one he can't shake. When he's convinced she's not going to wake any time soon, he retrieves his phone from the mantel and does a quick Google search. Finding what he needs, he bundles up in his winter gear and leaves the cottage, hoping Emma doesn't wake until he's returned.

---

The fire in the hearth has burned down to glowing embers, the room chilly. She has the blanket pulled up to her nose, only the upper half of her face visible. Hunkering down beside the couch, he shakes her shoulder gently, whispering her name.

"Emma."

"Hmm?" Her eyelashes flutter against her cheek as she slowly opens her eyes. The Christmas lights are reflected in them and he smiles, reaching up to trace his thumb tenderly over the scar above her eye. "Sorry to wake you, but I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Aye. Feel like going on an adventure?"

"Sure," she says, giving a stretch. He has to advert his gaze because her moving in such a sinful, sensual way has him questioning his plans to have her put on more clothes. She peers up at him, eyes clear, assuring him that the worst of her drunken stupor is gone.

"It'll require you to make your way outside. Still game?"

"Of course," she replies, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the couch. He stands, fetching her thickest jacket as well as her gloves, hat, and scarf. He hands them to her then grabs her boots, taking them to the back door for her. She joins him soon enough, zipping up her jacket and lifting the hood in place. Using his shoulder to help keep her balance, she puts on her boots then stands and gives him a brilliant smile.

"Ready when you are, Jones." Pulling the glass door open, he lets her through first. She takes two steps outside then stops, a small gasp of surprise escaping her. He closes the door, chuckling, then presses himself against her with his hands on her hips.

"Killian," she breathes, her voice full of wonder. Candles - luminaries, more specifically - light the path they'd created earlier that day, marching all the way down to the dock, where the fire pit and the chairs sit. He's built a fire in the pit and the flames leap up into the sky, brightening an otherwise stark landscape.

"Feel like roasting marshmallows?" he whispers in her ear.

"You didn't have to do all this! We could've done that inside," she exclaims. He grins, giving her a squeeze and a quick kiss before grabbing her hand and tugging her down the steps.

"Where's the romance in that, Swan?"

"We have marshmallows?" she asks, stumbling a little behind him. It's freezing, the air filled with the promise of more snow. He steps carefully as he leads her down to the fire, watching for icy spots.

"We do have marshmallows. There were some left over from the candied yams you made at Thanksgiving," he tells her, leading her to one of the chairs. He'd cleaned off all the snow and covered the chair with thick blankets, creating a nest for her to snuggle into.

Once she's settled in her chair, he wraps an extra blanket around her lap. Two mugs warm on the rim of the fire pit and he pours hot chocolate from a thermos into one. Handing it to her, he smiles at her stunned expression, pouring his own coco into the empty mug and adding a touch of rum. She holds out her mug, giving him a look. He adds the rum with an exasperated lift of his brow. He's careful to add only a little, mindful of how much she's already had to drink.

Emma properly pampered, he sits and props his boots on the edge of the fire pit. Resting his head against the tall back of his chair, he breathes deep of burning wood, the fire heating his face.

"This is very sweet of you. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," he tells her, reaching over to clink their mugs together in a toast. "To the loveliest creature I've ever set my eyes upon." She snorts at that and rolls her eyes.

"Smooth, Jones."

"I do try."

"You don't have to, you know," she replies earnestly. Her eyes search his and she smiles, soft and sweet. He finds himself at a loss for words, wondering at this creature who seems so willing to overlook his darker deeds and forgive him. How in the world did he get here? He flushes, wondering if she has any idea what she's doing to his heart. She doesn't appear to, dropping her head back against the chair and looking up at the stars, oblivious to his stare.

"Wow."

"Something to behold, isn't it?" he asks, mirroring her position, staring up at the firmament. Millions of stars twinkle down at them, like chips of ice set in black velvet, their beauty rivaled only by the woman beside him. Peace settles over him, the quiet of a winter's night and the crackling fire soothing him. It's a perfect evening and he longs for it to never end, his happiness a tangible thing that he clings to tenaciously.

It's a while before either of them speaks.

"Look, Killian, about last night," she starts and he's the one to snort this time, rolling his head to look at her. "What?"

"I've found no good conversation ever starts with that phrase."

"Yeah, well. It's a conversation we should have, don't you think?" She waits, eyes still lifted to the heavens. His gut twists with apprehension. It's been an emotional couple of days - she's found out he's been lying, they've both made declarations and have crossed a line in their physical relationship, they've found out her life is in danger. It's a lot to process and he can't help but think that this might be when she puts the brakes on in their budding romance. He tenses, forcing his concern into the frigid air.

"Is this when you run?"

"I can't get up the driveway, Killian, where am I going to run to?" she asks, giving him a pointed look over the rim of her mug before taking a sip.

"I suppose you're right," he concedes, but he doesn't feel better - just because she can't run, doesn't mean she wouldn't if given the opportunity.

"Look, I'm not good at this stuff. You were right last night, the only relationship I've ever been in was based on lies - "

"Emma, I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean - " He tries to apologize, but she refuses him.

"It's okay, Killian, really. It's the truth that the only thing of value I learned from Neal was how not to trust. I don't...I don't want that to be the basis on which we build...whatever this is," she says, using the mug to gesture between them. "I guess I need to know what this is to you? Just sex or do you want something more?" she asks, the question soft and hesitant.

He doesn't have to think about the answer - he wants a life with this woman, wants a family and a real marriage - but this is Emma and Emma runs when things get too intense. Maybe not physically, but emotionally she takes off for the hills. He doesn't want to push her away, not now, not when they're so close to becoming more than merely partners in a fake marriage.

When he doesn't answer right away, she sets down her mug and reaches for the bag of marshmallows, as if needing something to do while the silence lingers. Ripping the bag open, she grabs one. She stabs it with the skewer, the action violent. Holding the stick over the fire, they watch as it ignites in a bright orange fireball. He can hear the flame singe the marshmallow, turning it into a black, gooey mess. She lifts it away from the fire and blows out the flame, her face momentarily brightening before shadows fall once more.

She uses her index finger and thumb to pull the burnt marshmallow off her stick. Popping the sticky mess into her mouth, she then sets about licking the remaining goo from her fingers. He stares, all other thoughts eradicated as he imagines her mouth wrapping around his cock the way it's currently wrapped around her fingers. He groans, pulling her eyes up to lock with his.

Whatever she sees on his face has her swallowing hard before she asks, "Are you ever going to answer me?" He has to force himself to respond, not because he doesn't know what he wants, but because all the blood in his body has moved south, taking his ability to speak with it.

"I want you," he tells her slowly, the words loud in the stillness of the night.

"So...just sex then?" she asks, her head tilting as she sucks her thumb into her mouth, teeth sliding first over her skin followed by her tongue and he swallows back another moan. Bloody minx knows exactly what she's doing and it's incredibly hard to be a gentleman when she looks at him like that.

"Not just sex, no, but at the moment all I can think about is having you on your knees in front of me."

"What? Out here?"

"Aye, out here." Her grin turns naughty, hand sweeping out toward the lake and mountains.

"Anyone could see us."

"I highly doubt anyone is out on a night like this, love."

"We're out," she observes, voice lowering with promise. He gives her a slow nod, his heart starting to race at the direction they're taking this conversation.

"That we are, love."

The tension between them grows thicker. Killian is hesitant to make the first move given what Emma had said earlier about not using sex as a distraction from difficult conversations. It feels as if he waits forever, but finally she sets aside her skewer and stands. Shuffling forward, she closes the distance to nudge his knee with her own. The prompt forces him to drop his boots to the ground and she takes advantage to stand between his splayed thighs. Hunkering down, she rest her hands on his knees and peers up at him.

"You could get frostbite if I give you a blowjob out here, you know that, right?" He snorts, hand coming up to cup her jaw, thumb trailing over her bottom lip. Even through his glove, he can tell she's still sticky from the marshmallow. He leans forward, capturing her lip and sucking gently until the remnants are gone.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," he murmurs, pulling away to rest his forehead on hers.

"Well, I'm not. I happen to be fond of your cock, Jones."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really." She giggles breathlessly then surges forward to climb into his lap. Straddling him, she rests her arms on his shoulders, mouth hovering over his. He slides his hands to her ass, cupping the plump flesh and giving a squeeze. "In fact, I'm wondering how long it would take to get up to the house where you can ravish me."

"Temptress," he mutters, moaning when she rolls her hips over him, the warmth at the apex of her thighs heating him through two layers of clothing. "I thought you wanted to talk about last night, love. Figure out what the hell we're doing with each other."

"I would think it's fairly obvious what we're doing with each other."

"Swan - " He tries to redirect her back to her earlier question, he truly does, but what she says next completely eradicates his resolve.

"We do need to talk, but right now I want your cock more." Bloody hell. Bloody fucking hell.

He wants to have this conversation, too, wants to know what thoughts are running through that head of hers, but the thought of having her again is too tempting. He can't do anything but give in to her so eloquently worded request.

"Up, Swan," he tells her, barely giving her enough time to stand before he's on his feet. He hands her the empty mugs and the bag of marshmallows, giving her a gentle push towards the house. He douses the fire, making quick work of it. Smoke fills the air, obscuring the few stars visible through the quickly building storm clouds.

Turning, he watches Emma climbing the stairs leading to the deck, picking her way carefully up them. She's steady on her feet, assuring him that she's sober and able to decide for herself what she wants to happen next.

The house is warmly lit; the kitchen lights on and the Christmas tree bright in the living room. When standing in the house, the floor to ceiling windows make it feel as if the cottage is hovering mid-air, the scenery a part of the ambiance of their home, but such a view comes with a price, he realizes. He's never truly appreciated how easy it is to see inside the house, how much of their private life is on display.

While there aren't any houses nearby, he's not daft enough to think people don't frequent these woods. Milah had been proof of how close someone could get, how easy it is to spy on their life together.

Clenching his teeth in agitation, he turns in a slow circle, eyes trained on the forest. It's too dark to see anything, of course, but it doesn't stop him from checking again, gaze trained on the dark periphery. Taking a quick glance back up at the house, he does a double take, mouth falling open as a desire laced groan falls from his lips to echo in the night.

Emma is standing in the kitchen, back to the windows as she shimmies out of her yoga pants. Her gorgeous, lean legs appear, skin pale and perfect, her ass barely covered by a pair of dark underwear. Tossing the pants aside, she lifts her borrowed flannel shirt over her head, throwing it in the same direction as her pants. Standing there in just her bra and panties, she reaches up and releases her hair from its bun, shaking it into messy waves down her back.

His world seems to slow, or at least his awareness of it. She glances over her shoulder, then turns in a graceful circle, like a dancer pirouetting for her audience of one. Raising her hand, she presses it against the glass. She's a bloody vision up there, calling out to him without uttering a word. When she takes her hand and slides it over the flat planes of her stomach, fingers catching in the waistband of her panties, he growls low in his throat. Grabbing the blankets from the chairs, he hurries after her, cock rising despite the frigid air.

Entering the house, he throws the blankets on the table and toes his boots off. He faces her, their gazes locked. His hands are shaking, making it hard to remove his jacket. She watches his efforts, a teasing grin on her lips and a brazen challenge in her eyes.

Taking advantage of the time it had taken him to walk up from the dock, she'd removed her underwear and now stands before him, gloriously nude with a hand pressed to the glass to hold her balance, her feet mimicking a ballerina's pose. He drinks her in, eyes gliding over her body, his hands pausing in their work. She's a marvelous contradiction - hips and breasts luscious with curves, stomach, shoulders, and legs corded with lean muscle.

His thoughts cloud with desire. He tries to focus on her face, but his attention moves from the flare of her hips to her flat stomach to her breasts with their rose tipped buds that his mouth waters to taste. His cock gives a pulsing jump; he feels lightheaded, all the blood in his head rushing south and he knows if he tried to walk right now, he'd trip over his own feet.

She saves him from the challenge, removing her hand from the glass to walk slowly, gracefully to him. Avoiding the puddles of melting snow on the tiles, she rises up on her tiptoes before him.

"Anyone can see you," he manages to whisper, voice strained with longing.

"So what if they do? We're two consenting adults, two married consenting adults for all anyone knows, indulging in our passion for each other. Seems pretty normal to me." Shuffling closer, she presses herself into his chest, licking her lips as she asks, "What do you say, tiger? Wanna give 'em a show?"

"Emma," he breathes out, hand coming up to cup the back of her head as he searches her face for any signs of hesitation. There's something in her suggestion that has his cock throbbing harder, the very idea of her on display as he takes her speaking to something primal within him. He loves her, would never hurt her, but the idea of her allowing him such latitude has him dipping his head and groaning his desire into her mouth. He grinds into her soft, pliant body, seeking friction and groaning again when he finds it.

When he pulls away from her mouth, hands cupping her jaw, he stares into her eyes and wonders at the passion he finds there. It's not any wonder they've found themselves here once again, their attraction pushing aside all logic and reason. He knows they should talk, she knows they should talk, but what she's proposing is too much for him to turn down.

"You sure?" he asks. She nods and begins to help him undress. It's not long before he's as nude as she, clothes thrown on the table and cock bobbing mercifully free.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure," she whispers, her small hand wrapping around him as she licks her lips. Giving him a twisting stroke, she lowers her eyes to watch. Pleasure sparks across his skin, his cock jumping in her hand. She bites at her bottom lip hungrily. "Yeah, I definitely have a thing for this. So beautiful."

He snorts, hands coming up to rest on her upper arms to keep himself steady, his legs growing wobbly the longer she strokes him. "What?" she asks.

"I've never heard a cock described as beautiful before."

"Oh. Well, it is. You are. So thick and..." Her voice trails off, eyes glued to where her hand works him. Each glide of her hand is tender, with the perfect amount of pressure to make him grit his teeth. They both watch her and he begins to whimper with each stroke, the pleasure intense.

"God, I love the noises you make," she whispers, glancing up into his face. She blushes to find him watching her and then, in a move that nearly brings him to his knees, she lifts her free hand to her sex. Touching herself in time with her strokes, she hums her pleasure, eyes falling shut as she gives herself over to it. He digs his fingers into her biceps, holding on for dear life, the sexiness of what he's witnessing threatening to drive him mad.

"Bloody hell, love," he whispers.

If he thought he was on the brink before, the words that tumble from her lips next nearly cause him to come then and there. "You go so deep when you're inside. It's all I've been able to think about. I want to feel it again. I want to feel you, Killian, please."

Eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, she opens her eyes and stares up at him in entreaty. With her cheeks flushing a brilliant red, she whispers, "You won't believe how wet I am for you."

He growls at her confession, the sound raw and desperate. His hand comes up around her wrist, stopping her sweet torture. She gives him a questioning look, unsure and he returns it with a heated look of his own. Chasing her mouth, his kiss forces her to take several shuffling steps backward. Her hands come up to his hips for balance as he steers her over to the windows.

"You are bloody amazing," he whispers against her lips, cradling the back of her head as he presses her into the glass. She yelps and when he pulls back in question, she laughs breathlessly and tells him it's cold. "I'll warm you up soon enough, sweet. Promise."

They make out pressed up against the glass. He can only imagine what it must look like from the outside, her delectable ass pressed against the window. He hums into her mouth, reaching down to grip the back of her leg and lifting it to rest on his hip. With his free hand slipping between their bodies, he groans when he finds her arousal coating her upper thighs. She hadn't been exaggerating about being wet, he thinks hazily, thoughts stuttering to a halt.

Bloody hell.

"How long have you been thinking about this?" he bites out, mouth falling to trace her jaw then her neck.

"All day," she admits, her head falling back against the glass. He drops to his knees, propping her leg on his shoulder as he murmurs, "Have to taste, love."

It's wonderfully intimate, this view. Reaching up, he tenderly parts her folds, finding her sex glistening. Her scent is thick on the air, making his mouth water. Humming when he discovers her treasure, he leans forward and flicks his tongue tenderly over the swollen bud. Her hand comes up to rest on his head, her fingers gripping his hair. When he glances up, she's watching him, eyes glittering like green glass.

He loves oral sex, always has, and sharing this with Emma is just about the best he's ever had. Her essence is sweet, so sweet that he can't get enough of her. Eyes falling shut, he loves her with his mouth, slipping a finger inside and groaning to feel her ripple around him. He laves her, gliding over and over her clit until she's begging for release. His mind wanders back to last night, to the way she'd gripped him when she fell. Feeling her body begin to ripple around him, he stands, needing to lose himself in the midst of her pleasure once again.

He kisses her, moaning as she sucks her flavor off his tongue. This woman will be the death of him, her wantonness a pleasant surprise. He likes to think he brings it out in her, this desperate, hungry desire that she gives into so easily with him.

Thinking again of her body being on display like this, he pulls away from her mouth and prompts her to turn around. With a hand between her shoulder blades, he has her lean into the glass with her ass angled back. Stepping between her splayed thighs, he grips his cock in one hand, his free hand sliding down her spine to her hip. She's panting, puffs of breath fogging the glass and she trembles in his hold. She'd been on the verge of an orgasm when he'd lifted his mouth from her sex; it won't take much to push her over the edge now.

"Ready for me, darling?" he asks. He'd be an insensitive clod not to ask. Her body, no matter how willing, has to be sore after last night and he refuses to hurt her.

"I'm good," she pants against the glass, reaching down to lace their fingers together at her hip. "Please, Killian."

With their hands linked, he slides them to her stomach, prompting her to angle herself backward more. He probes the tip of his cock between her legs, searching for the gates of heaven as he whispers, "You sound so sweet when you beg, Emma."

He can see her face in the glass, the flare of indignation in her eyes. She opens her mouth to argue with him when he thrusts deep, stealing her words. Her mouth closes abruptly and he chuckles, watching pleasure bloom across her features as their bodies merge. She takes him all the way, his hips coming to rest nestled tight to the rounded curve of her ass. His laughter turns into a breathy moan.

"Bloody hell, love, you feel amazing," he manages to say, voice strained and gravelly.

"Shit," she mutters so eloquently in response. Her forehead lands on the window as she leans forward slightly and he follows, not wanting to be separated even an inch from her sweet sheath.

Her nails dig into his palm, holding him in place as they both take a moment to adjust. Breathing through his pleasure, he finally untangles their hands to grip her hips. Wanting to watch her body take him deep, he looks down and when he pulls his hips back, he can see her essence glistening on his flesh, the sight causing the beast in his chest to roar with pleasure.

"Okay?" he asks breathlessly. She nods, forehead still resting on the glass and he begins to take her harder, their mutual groans filling the air.

Reaching down, he grips the back of her leg and lifts. Holding it up, her knee brushing the glass, he takes advantage of the new angle and begins to pump his hips in earnest. She cries out at the new depth and with two more purposeful pumps of his hips, she's shuddering from her release.

"Oh, shit, that's it. Come for me, love." He's breathless, straining against the clenching of her body. He watches her in the window, marveling at the beauty of her falling apart on his cock. He thinks it's good, if the sounds she's making are any indication. He starts to slow his hips, contemplating a move to a kitchen chair or the table, but she shakes her head, finally lifting it away from the glass.

"Don't you dare stop fucking me in front of this window, Killian Jones."

"No?"

"No." He grins, loving her wanton display.

"How about a different position? I want to see your eyes the next time I make you come, love." She flushes at that, but nods in agreement.

Slipping out of her, he turns her, pressing her back into the glass and lifting her leg once more. She grips his length, giving him a few languid strokes before helping him find her opening. Curling her leg around his waist, she balances herself, shoulders pressed to the glass as he slides inside. His mouth on hers, he groans into the heated kiss, keeping his thrusts languid.

When he finally releases her mouth, she digs her nails into his ass, trying to get him to move faster.

"Not that I'm complaining, but - " she says on a breathless laugh. He lifts his head, eyebrow quirked.

"What?"

"You're not one for a quick fuck, are you?" He chuckles, her body slipping a little, requiring him to shuffle closer, his hand coming up to grip her backside to keep her balanced.

"I enjoy my time between a woman's legs. I'll not rush the experience." Brushing a kiss over her collarbone, he asks, "Why? Do you want me to speed this up?"

"God no. It's just...there's something to be said for a good, hard fuck, you know?"

"I'll keep that in mind for future reference, Swan." With that, he lifts her up completely, prompting her to wrap both legs around his waist. "I really hope someone is out there right now, watching me fuck you," he growls, the hedonistic thought making his cock jump inside her.

"Will you...will you come inside me again?" she asks, her mouth hovering over his, their lips brushing in a teasing, tantalizing dance. He groans, his release barreling closer and closer with each thrust inside her tight sheath.

"Are you sure?"

"You know I'm on the pill, Killian." Blunt words spoken, he feels her tighten on him, the grip of her body making his hips stutter. He has to stop, gather his bearings. His orgasm is close and he finds it hard to speak, let alone think. The thought of spilling himself inside her again is tempting. It's been an extremely long time since he's shared that with anyone and last night when she'd asked, he'd done it without thought. With Emma's history, her miscarriage, he's surprised she'd allow such a thing in the first place, and to hear her ask for it again...he's simply not strong enough to deny her this. If it's truly what she wants.

"Bloody hell," he grinds out. He takes a shaky breath, staring into her lust filled green eyes. Bracing her against the window, hands on her ass, he pauses for one moment more, waiting to see if she'll take the out he offers. She doesn't, pleading with him for his release instead.

"Come with me, Killian, please."

With her voice in his ear and her nails digging into his shoulders, he gives in. Grinding his pelvic bone against her clit, he begins to fuck her with abandon, hips faltering as his orgasm sparks tantalizingly up his spine. She cries out, head falling back against the glass. She keeps her eyes locked on his, encouraging him with more whispered pleas. When he feels her body ripple over his, he growls and lunges forward to capture her mouth, whispering raggedly against her lips.

"I love you, Emma."

His vision goes white, muscle memory helping him fuck her as his orgasm rages through him and his coordination fails him. He's able to hold her aloft on his cock, but only just, arms shaking with the strain. It's over all too quickly, a bone deep weariness coming over him while Emma continues to twitch and moan against him. As gently as he can, he sets her on her feet, his sated body slipping from hers. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he makes his way to a chair and plops down gracelessly.

She watches him from the window, her hair stuck to the glass, his seed no doubt sliding down her thighs. He gives her a sleepy smile, holding out his arms and she eagerly comes to him, sitting down in his lap and wrapping herself around him.

"That was - "

"Yeah," she whispers, lips finding his forehead.

"We really do need to talk about - "

"I know."

Apparently, neither one of them is too fussed about having that conversation at the current moment because they fall silent. She nestles closer, sweat drying on their skin as they hold each other. After a few minutes, he urges her up, leading her to their bedroom. They climb between the sheets, tangling their limbs. His energy is completely sapped and he wants nothing more than to spend a quiet evening with Emma wrapped in his arms.

He gets his wish, the sound of David's ringtone waking them the next morning. Emma reaches groggily for the phone, pressing speaker as she answers.

"Em? You guys okay out there?"

"Yeah, we're fine," she replies. "Everything okay in town?"

"Well, that's why I'm calling," David says then falls quiet. Emma tenses and Killian is quick to brush a hand over her spine, urging her to relax. David clears his throat and continues. "I need you up and ready, Em. I'm about to turn down your driveway in one of the town's plows. There's been an accident."

"What happened?" she asks, sitting up, the sheet falling away to reveal the naked expanse of her skin. Killian is momentarily distracted and he has to force himself to focus on her conversation, tamping down his raging desire.

"Is...is Killian there?" The mention of his name gets his attention and Killian slowly sits up.

"Aye, mate, I'm here." There's a pause and he can hear David's sigh on the other end of the line.

"A body's been found. Female. Brunette, petite. Gun shot wound to the chest." Emma turns to him, eyes wide. She reaches for his hand, tangling their fingers. "She had identification on her. It's - I'm sorry, Killian - it's Milah." And with those words, his world comes to a grinding halt. Emma squeezes his hand, her eyes frantically searching Killian's.

"Where did you find her?" She thinks to ask.

"There was a crash this morning, right outside Storybrooke. Two car collision. The body was in the trunk of one of the cars."

"Milah?" Killian repeats, his voice breaking on her name.

"Yeah, man, I'm sorry. Em, the driver..."

"Yeah?"

"It's Teach. Looks like he was trying to dispose of the body and make off with the jewels Killian had given to Milah. The roads are still shit and he hit a patch of black ice. He swerved into oncoming traffic and hit another car. He's okay, but considering the damage to his car, it's a miracle he's not dead." David clears his throat again. "Em, I need you ready to interrogate him. This might be our one chance to get the proof we need to take down Gold. Maybe find out who's after you."

"I'll be ready," she says immediately. She takes David off speaker, scrambling from the bed as she presses the phone to her ear. Moving to the dresser, she grabs clean clothes then takes them into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.

Killian can't move, his body numb. When he looks down, he finds his fists clenched so tight his nails have drawn blood. He wants to go with Emma, but he knows she won't want him there with her. The ruse of their marriage is still in place and there's no way he would join his wife at a crime scene, but the thought of Milah treated so inhumanly has the blood boiling in his veins. He has to fight every instinct to not get up out of bed and inform Emma that he's coming with her, fake marriage be damned. When she finally exits the bathroom, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she finds him on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

"Killian?" she asks. Kneeling before him, she lifts his hands from his face. "Oh, Killian, I'm so sorry."

"I want to come with you."

"You know you can't. You need to stay here."

"Emma - "

"I know you want to help, but you need to stay here. The only thing we have going for us right now is the fact that people believe you and I are married. They don't know there's any link between you and Milah, that we're anything other than Mr. and Mrs. Jones. I know it sucks, but if we're going to get this through, we need to keep pretending. Status quo, okay?"

He stares at her, jaw clenched and temple throbbing. He finally gives her a brief nod and she smiles sadly, then stands to press a kiss to his forehead.

"Maybe you can listen to those recordings today? We need to know if there are any clues that we missed." He doesn't respond other than to reach for her hands, gripping them in his own. She's his tether to sanity, his reason and his goodness, and he's suddenly frantic at the thought of her leaving, his rage clawing at his skin, the darkness in his soul threatening to wreak havoc if he lets it free.

"Killian," she says and he looks up, staring at her with tears in his eyes. She's a goddess, skin pale and glowing, ponytail swinging around her shoulders as she kneels before him once again.

"I need you to hold on for me, okay? I'll be back as soon as I can. We'll get through this together. It's just you and me, remember?" Her soft, encouraging smile gives him hope and he tentatively returns it.

"Aye, love, I remember. You and me."

"That's right. I'll call when I can, okay? To check in."

"Aye." She pushes herself up, searching his eyes before giving him a sweet kiss and whispering, "I love you."

The words, no matter the circumstances under which they're said, make his heart skip a beat and he smiles again. She returns it and then she's gone, the front door of the cottage closing behind her several minutes later.

---

In the silence that follows, he thinks of Milah.

Remembers the way she would look at him after first waking, the uninhibited way she had of staring deep into his eyes and understanding the things he left unsaid.

She liked to draw, liked to sail under the night sky. Her laugh, so rare, never failed to lift him from his doldrums.

She was beautiful and intelligent, with a maternal instinct she tried to keep hidden. Once, he'd even entertained the idea of children, but she would always shake her head no, sadness weighing heavy in her blue eyes.

He had never understood the way she would watch him sometimes, the deep sadness that would come over her and steal her words. She'd lay in the circle of his arms, return his kisses and caresses, tell him she loved him, but would look so sad as she said it. He hadn't understood it then and after she had left, he'd thought it was a tell, a sign that she was lying to him.

Now he understands it was hopelessness, her despair at loving a man she knew she could never be with.

She deserved better than to be shoved into the boot of a car, being taken to god knows where...to die at the hands of her bastard husband after all the years she'd managed to survive him.

He showers, thoughts on his former lover. When he wanders downstairs in search of coffee, he smiles to find the blankets on the kitchen table, his clothes mixed in with them. The window is smeared with handprints. He finds one that retains the shape of Emma's palm and pressing his hand to it, he smiles, eyes falling shut.

He says a prayer for Milah, realizing that it's the second prayer he's given in the past six months for a departed soul. Strange to think a man not used to praying has done so much of it lately. Dropping his head, he falls into his memories, hand pressing to the imprint of Emma's hand like a touchstone.

---

He doesn't hear the footsteps on the tiles, lost in his thoughts. It helps that the person who looms up behind him had removed their shoes, moving toward him on bare feet. The blow to the back of his head catches him unawares. His hand slips from Emma's handprint, his wedding ring clinking against the window as he crumples to the floor.

Barely conscious, he manages to roll his head to look up into his attacker's face. His last thought as dark oblivion takes him is a hope for Emma's future, a prayer - his third - for her happiness.