A/N: My muse came back for this story that I love, let's hope she sticks around! Can't wait to share more.

Updated Tags: This story contains cheating, mentions of alcoholism, and mentions/implied physical abuse.

It took Killian the entirety of the time spent gathering his belongings and finding his own door, the next one down from Emma Swan, as it turned out, to place the feeling in his chest – it was one he hadn't been forced to confront in many years, and one he wasn't too keen to examine further.

Instead, he unlocked the door and stepped inside the place that would be his home for quite some time, flicking on the lights and taking in the lines of the furniture and the soft, neutral tones. Everything looked as it had in the listing, save for his tired countenance staring back at him from the expanse of glass that took up most of the opposite wall.

Gods, he was exhausted, and the memories slipping to the surface from long ago certainly weren't helping.

He dragged shaky fingers through his hair and rested the weight of his head against his palm, the urge to down a glass of rum and crawl into bed washing away the excitement he'd felt only moments earlier. Shoving his bag to the side with his foot, he headed into the open kitchen and found a glass, running it beneath the tap and downing the cold water in a few heavy swallows. It would have to do until he went for groceries.

The sound of the glass tapping against the counter rang through the apartment, making the silence seem all the more impenetrable.

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled his cell out and pressed a few buttons, holding the phone eagerly to his ear as it sounded. His footsteps echoed as he ranged down the hall, finding the bathrooms and bedrooms as he expected them, his feet eventually taking him back to the living area as the the call went to voicemail, Milah's familiar, melodic voice teasing him to leave a message.

He hung up.

It was probably around seven in the evening there, and perhaps she'd already gone out for the night. Left with no company to ease his thoughts, he found himself stretched out on the sofa trying to keep his mind from slipping into the past.

He wasn't sure the alternative was better when the first images it conjured up were of his new coworker, her long, toned legs and that soft look of surprise on her face when she'd stood up and met his eyes – the way her hands had clutched at his chest as she fell, bracing herself, her golden hair flying up into his face and bathing him in the scent of cinnamon and honey.

No, that definitely wasn't any bloody better.

Of course he noticed beautiful women, as any red-blooded man would, but he could honestly say that up until this point, they'd never lingered, passing from his thoughts just as quickly as he passed them on the street.

Until now.

The thoughts of Emma, they were thoughts he shouldn't be having, and they inevitably led to the less then ideal way they'd parted, someone he could only assume was her boyfriend stumbling in completely inebriated and interrupting their conversation. He'd seen the look of absolute horror fall across her face, though she hadn't met his eyes again and hadn't seen the understanding in his own.

While Killian was used to spending his time around any number of drunks, they were rather a staple at Hollywood parties and the places Milah liked to frequent, it had been some time since he'd met one that reminded him so strongly of someone he never liked to remember

The way this Neal had hovered on the steps, his body swaying as he made his way toward Emma, her shoulders bowed and her eyes on the floor – he could still see his father coming home after days missing, reeking of whiskey and smoke, his mother sick and worried on the landing as he passed by her, berating her for one thing or another before he'd even set foot in the flat. He could still feel Liam's arms around him as he crawled into his brother's bed, looking for something safe and warm as his father railed beyond the doorway.

None of his memories of the man were good ones, and he'd hated seeing the same shadow, that desire to sink into the floor and disappear, in someone who had moments before seemed so bright and full of life.

The moon was bright enough to illuminate the room as he lay there, thinking thoughts he'd rather drown in alcohol, but it was also peaceful. Things were changing, he could feel them. Even with memories of his childhood haunting him, he'd never felt quite as hopeful about where his life was headed.

He just didn't want to do it alone.

His fingers brushed against the phone lying on his stomach, and for a minute he contemplated calling Milah again, but knew he wouldn't reach her. Instead he sent her a quick text letting her know he'd arrived safely, and that he'd try to call tomorrow, hoping she would see it at some point.

Knowing the next day would be a long one as he sunk into the new show and meeting everyone, he dragged himself from the couch and into the shower, letting the hot water wash away what it could before he slipped between the cool sheets in the bedroom.

His dreams led him down the papered halls he used to play in as a lad, his mother's broken smile disappearing as she closed the door behind him, leaving him chasing after another woman with sad eyes who always seemed to be just out of reach.

Killian woke feeling more rested than he had in some time, a diffuse light filling the bedroom from the large windows and stirring him from sleep. He spent so much time traveling for work that jet lag was hardly ever an issue, and even though he was three hours ahead here, he felt ready to start the day – well, perhaps after coffee.

It wasn't until he was splashing water over his face and brushing his teeth that he realized coffee would have to wait. He'd have to stock the kitchen before he could enjoy the convenience of making himself a cup at home. There being no reason to linger in the apartment – no Milah tugging the covers over her head – he quickly found some clean clothes and headed out, a smile brightening his face as he heard the door one apartment down from his click open, a familiar blonde stepping out into the hall ahead of him.

Her leather jacket was a bold red below her long hair, and after taking a second to pat her pockets, most likely checking for her keys, she started down the steps he'd watched her from the night before.

"Swan!" he called out, hurrying to catch up with her, smiling as he enjoyed the thought that she favored leather just as he did.

She was standing below by the time he made it to the top of the stairs, a broad smile on his face as he took each one carefully to where she stood. The look on her face was a little more closed off than it had been last night. He imagined she was worried he may bring up their parting, but he had no such intentions. Everyone had their burdens, some more recent than others, and who was he to ask her to share her own? They'd only just met.

"You don't happen to know a good place for coffee, do you?"

"Coffee?" She seemed almost surprised, but her face relaxed and he was pleased to see her defensive posture relax. "I haven't gotten the chance to eat anywhere yet – I was at the set most of last night – but there's a diner in town."

"Perfect, care to ride along? I have a feeling we're both heading in the same direction afterwards," he winked, striding past her and out the door toward the parking lot. "By the way, you never did say which role you've taken on..."

Emma shoved her own keys back in her pocket and hurried after Killian. He seemed far more awake than she was, and after spending a week in her own car, she wouldn't miss it for the day. She'd left a note for Neal letting him know where she'd be for the day, but he'd barely stirred when she climbed out of bed. She couldn't say she felt guilty about not leaving him Tylenol and water on the nightstand.

"I don't know, I'm thinking I should just make you wait and find out later," she joked, digging into the common ground he was choosing to focus on rather than their awkward encounter the night before. "After all, Emrys was making everyone else wait to find out just who the 'Big Hollywood Star' was that signed on...so it only seems fair."

Killian laughed, the sound making her lips twitch upward in response and heat flood her cheeks. It was a warm and open laugh, something she hadn't heard in a long time.

"Fair enough, Swan," he sighed, "I can see you're not going to spoil me as everyone else does."

"Don't count on it, Jones," she quipped, ducking into the passenger seat of his rental with a grin.

"These," Killian drawled, popping another crisp, greasy ring into his mouth and wiping his hands on the pile napkins beside him, "are unbelievable."

"Right? I mean, it's not like there's a shortage of good food in LA either, but there's just something about these onion rings. Wait, do you think they're frozen?"

"Absolutely not," he insisted, brushing the thought aside with a wave of his hand, silver rings flashing. "Can onion rings be farm fresh? These taste farm fresh, or whatever it is you Americans say..."

"You Americans," Emma scoffed, eating another onion ring. "You've lived here long enough that you don't get to say that, but I'm not talking about these. The ones back home – you know, like Shake Shack, and that fried steak truck that serves them up in heaps. Do you think they're frozen? Maybe that's why they're not as good."

"I may not be the biggest fan of LA, but that truck is a blessing, Swan. I can't vouch for the onion rings though. I've never had them."

"What? How could you not have had them? They come with everything on the menu."

"I always turned them down – Milah isn't a big fan of food trucks, and it was easier to just not go home smelling of onions and grease than explain why I preferred Frenchie's Fried Steak to wherever she had planned for the evening."

"Well, I'd say you missed out, but I guess you haven't – these are way better. Who would've thought Storybrooke, Maine wins best onion rings."

"I can't believe you convinced me to eat them for breakfast," he pointed out, washing down the last of his order with lukewarm coffee and clearing his throat.

"We should get breakfast here every day."

"Careful, that's how bad habits start, Swan."

She laughed, and it stirred something in his chest to see her relaxed and unthinking, just enjoying the moment and not caught up in worry.

"The onion rings, or breakfast with you?" she teased, not giving him time to answer, "but you're right. I'd have to fill every spare minute running if I did that – and I definitely don't have the time."

Killian nodded, the conversation drifting into work territory as they compared their itineraries for the day and talked quietly about expectations for the show. It was clear that Emma was just as excited about her new role as he was for his – even if she still wouldn't disclose it, no matter how many onion rings he promised to hand deliver to set. Her good mood was infectious, making him forget for a little while that he still hadn't heard from Milah, and he had no idea when she was flying out.

He wanted to ask Emma what her boyfriend would be doing while she filmed – whether he was also in the industry, or simply coming out to enjoy the area as Milah was, but something kept him from doing so. Perhaps he didn't want to ruin what had been a nice morning by bringing up the man who had left her so uncomfortable the night before, but another part of him knew it was because he felt like he and Emma could be close, and that it would be nice to have a friend who didn't hinge on being in a couple to enjoy his company – so selfishly, he didn't ask, the two of them finishing their coffees before leaving money for the bill and heading back out to his car.

Their schedules were fairly similar, which had him guessing at who she would be playing, so rather than dropping her back off at the apartment complex, he offered her a ride to set. She happily agreed, and he found he was surprised to be quite pleased as well. He wasn't nearly as happy with the ball of grease that was settling into his stomach, but other than that, the day was starting off far better than he'd hoped for after his abysmal night, and not for the first time since hopping on that plane, he truly felt like he was right where he needed to be.

The glass in Killian's hand nearly fell to the counter as he startled, the loud bang from next door snapping him from his thoughts and making his brow crease with worry.

What in the hell was Swan up to?

A second bang followed the first, and he realized belatedly that someone was slamming doors. Thoughts of her boyfriend pushed to the forefront of his mind, and a sick knot twisted in his stomach as he tried to decide whether or not the man seemed capable of physical harm. He'd appeared to be more a blundering drunk than anything else, but one could never tell.

He debated checking on her when the sound of raised voices fighting to be heard made the decision for him, his glass skidding across the counter as he headed for his door. Though he'd only known her for a little over a week, it had been clear from the start that their easily struck friendship would be one that lasted long past filming. Now that he'd met Emma, he was having trouble imagining getting through the day without her snarky comments and ability to keep him laughing. They shared breakfast and a ride to set most days, and all of it was so easy it almost didn't feel like work.

So he understood his need to make sure she was alright – he cared for her, and the man she shared her life with had gotten under his skin from his very first appearance, and his opinion of the man hadn't improved since then. Neal had joined them once for breakfast, and though Killian had tried to engage him in conversation, every response was distant and morose. By the end of it Emma had seemed like an entirely different person herself, and he hadn't been surprised when she declined his offer of a ride to set, choosing instead to head back with Neal and take her own car.

But as Killian stood with his hand poised over her door, prepared to knock, he couldn't help but ask himself if this was the right thing to do. Lovers had quarrels, and perhaps this was overstepping. Milah had always had a feisty temper, unkind words flowing from her lips as easily as breathing when she was angered, and typically it was up to him to diffuse the situation, giving up ground to make her happy. Perhaps these arguments were not uncommon for Swan and her boyfriend and they would work through it just fine.

The words from inside were muted, though he heard Emma's voice loud and pleading – this isn't you, Neal – the rest of her sentence lost as her boyfriend shouted something Killian couldn't understand. There was the sound of the fridge opening in the kitchen and footsteps moving across the apartment, but nothing that made him think Swan was in any sort of danger.

Dropping his hand, he turned and headed back down the hall toward his own home. Whatever was going on between the two of them, it wasn't his place to step in. He was her friend, but unless she came to him, she deserved her privacy.

Then her door was jerked open and he turned to catch sight of Neal's back disappearing down the steps, his gait heavy and careless as he jogged down the stairs and out the front door. Glancing at her apartment, Killian noticed the arsehole hadn't even bothered to shut the door, a sliver of light shining through into the hall.

"Swan?" he called, knocking gently on the open door and waiting. She'd have to come and close it at the very least, which gave him the opportunity to verify his assessment as to her boyfriend's particular brand of drunkenness.

He was almost surprised that he heard her walk over right away, no sense of hesitation as she opened the door and looked at him standing there – faded black tee and pajama pants.

"Nice socks," she teased, an eyebrow raised as her eyes lingered on his socked feet.

"Ah, yes – not really the succulent type, but they were a gift," he shrugged, wiggling his toes and watching the pattern of green cactuses move.

"I'm surprised no one's ever gotten me one," she said, a beer clutched loosely in one hand.

"Socks?"

"A cactus."

"Why?" he inquired, pleased that as they bantered in her doorway he saw nothing to indicate her boyfriend had laid a hand on her. Her face was flushed pink, but it looked freshly scrubbed of makeup, and not as if she'd been crying.

"I've been told I'm kind of prickly..."

"Nonsense," he quipped, genuinely surprised that anyone would have considered her so. "I've never known you to be anything other than warm and welcoming."

She tilted her head to the side and smiled, but didn't respond, giving him the space she knew he needed to ask what he'd come here to ask.

"Are you alright, love? Things seemed a bit tense just now."

"Heard that, did you?" she sighed, rolling her eyes and stepping back inside, the door following. "Come on in – I've got beer."

He followed her in and closed the door behind him, glancing around and feeling his concern lessen when everything in the apartment seemed in order – no furniture or items strewn about the place. He could still remember what his childhood home would look like after one of his father's binges – the flat silent except for the sound of china scraping against the floor as his mother swept, the furniture righted, but still crooked enough that Killian knew what had happened while he and Liam hid in the other room.

"Neal's been acting weird lately," she offered without his needing to ask, grabbing a second beer from the fridge and popping the cap with the opener attached to the side. "Getting in late, screwing up at work – when I called him out on it he got defensive, but he's always been a little...childish," she finished with a grim smile that told him she was perhaps thinking of another way to describe her boyfriend.

She passed him the beer and made her way towards the couch where she plopped down. It wasn't the first time they'd shared a beer after work, and he settled into the corner where he normally sat, watching her carefully as he asked her once more.

"But you're okay? He didn't lay a hand on you, did he?"

She must have seen something on his face that betrayed the importance of the question to him, that he was serious, because she didn't brush his words aside like he knew she was wont to do when excusing away her boyfriend's actions.

"No, Killian – I'm fine, I promise. He's never once done that, and if he ever did, I'd call the cops myself and have his ass thrown in jail."

He hadn't realized how worried he'd still been until she spoke, her voice confident and assured in the face of his prying questions – but he had to know. She was his friend, and he couldn't watch what happened to his mother happen to anyone else.

"Good," he nodded, turning to face the television. "House Hunters, or shall we risk channel surfing?"

"Oh, House Hunters, for sure – but tonight we go international. There's an American couple thinking of purchasing an old windmill in the Netherlands and I want to see just how many times they complain about all the stairs."

Neal never did show back up – and if, after several hours of binge watching Netflix, he and Swan ended up in the middle of the couch, his cactus-clad feet propped on the coffee table while she nodded off against his shoulder, then it felt perfectly natural, and he didn't think twice about how his arm looped around her, or how the soft kiss he pressed into her hair made her hum in her sleep.