It wasn't all that long ago when the biggest worry on Liam's mind was how to keep the schoolyard bullies from setting off his little brother's temper. There had been more than one set of foster parents who'd threatened to toss them if they were trouble; more than one set who'd taken one look at the bruises on Killian's knuckles and sent them right back into the social worker's car. (There were also those homes where Liam wished they would be sent back - the ones where he thought the terrified look in Killian's eyes would haunt him to his grave. Failure. Failure. You've failed your brother again.)

Years had passed and Liam had only lost Killian the one time. Six harrowing months spent trying to get back to his brother's side had taught him one thing: he'd do whatever it took to keep his little brother safe and happy.

Anything.

And then Killian had met Milah. It had been a sudden whirlwind of emotion from his brother that Liam had never seen coming. Yes, Killian wore his heart on his sleeve - with flashing neon arrows pointing to it - anyone could see that. But he'd taught Killian all about honor and good form and how to be a gentleman.

Sleeping with another man's wife, no matter how much the two of them had believed they were in love, was anything but chivalrous. Liam couldn't understand. He'd thought it was infatuation, maybe a little bit of rebellion on Killian's part - God knew they'd never had the luxury of growing through teenage defiance as youths. But couldn't Killian have picked someone less menacing than Liam's superior to screw?

Evidently not.

Liam hadn't realized how far Killian had fallen down the rabbit hole of love until the night she'd died.

"Robin?" Liam questions when he finally pulls into his parking space. Locksley is sitting on a bench across from the squad car, looking for all the world like it was his wife who was in that mangled wreck.

"I tried, Liam. I just... I couldn't sit in there any more. He'd regret it later if I did." Robin says quietly, and the defeat rolls off him in waves.

Liam looks up quickly, seeing Killian still stuck in the backseat, red-faced and snarling out the window. He can see his little brother's lips moving, can just imagine what vitriol is still coming out of his mouth. He turns away, his heart clenching at the pain Killian must be feeling after losing Milah. If Liam ever lost Killian… well, he doesn't know how he'd manage, but knows it would be far less coherently than his brother is now.

"Thank you for getting him here, Robin," Liam says instead. "I can only imagine how hard it was listening to him. Go home. I'll call you when I know what we're going to do next."

Robin nods, throwing one more sad look in Killian's direction before handing Liam the two sets of keys and turning for the nearest T station. "When he's calmed down, make sure he knows that I don't blame him for anything he said. I know he didn't mean any of it."

"I'll make sure he knows," Liam promises. "But you and I both know he's going to feel guilty about it, no matter what we tell him."

"Aye, I know."

Liam watches Robin until he's out of sight before squaring his shoulders and turning to face his brother. Killian's words from earlier still ring in his ears, and Liam knows his little brother isn't done yet. Anger is Killian's armor, and he's not ready to shed that right now.

Not until he knows he's safe.

Liam rounds the bumper of the car and pulls open the door. "Kil-"

"I hate you," his little brother snarls, pure contempt dripping from every word.

Liam takes a step backwards, tears stinging his eyes in spite of himself, in spite of knowing Killian doesn't mean it. What he knows and what he feels are two different things entirely. They've fought before, they are brothers after all, but Killian has never let his temper lash out at Liam like this. He's never sounded quite so… quite so vindictive before. His insults have never sounded quite so much like he means them.

"Come on, Killian, let's get you inside," he tries. Maybe if he just ignores it all, Killian will stop. "Let's get-"

"I wish you'd never found me after they split us up," Killian whispers with such conviction that Liam is sure his little brother found a knife and stabbed him while he was speaking.

He can barely breathe around the pain of it all. "Killian," he chokes out, not even knowing what else to say.

Killian looks up at him then, and Liam watches the fury bleed out of his little brother's eyes, replaced by unadulterated grief. Liam almost wishes for the hatred to reappear. It certainly hurts less than seeing Killian looking so bereft, so broken.

"Liam," he sobs, tears coming from nowhere and pouring down his cheeks. "I… he… she's… Liam, she's…"

"I know, little brother. I'm so sorry."

He barely has any warning before Killian slumps sideways, nearly falling out of the car as he breaks down. He only just manages to wrap his arms around Killian before his little brother is weeping into his neck, great shuddering sobs that tear Liam apart. It takes him a few minutes to support Killian securely enough that Liam can slide them both along the leather seat so that they're both cramped in the back of the cruiser. Killian is nearly boneless at this point, making it difficult for Liam to reach behind him and unlock the handcuffs.

Killian doesn't even bother shaking the circulation back into his hands, just letting them fall to his sides. Liam picks up first one hand and then the other, rubbing them gently until he knows Killian can feel them again.

"Come on, Killian," he whispers. "Let's get you down below. Let's sail away, aye?"

Killian nods, proving to Liam that he hears him, that he's somewhat aware. Liam moves to get out of the car, but he has to turn around and tug his little brother's hand to get him to follow. Killian stumbles over his feet when he's standing, relying solely on Liam to guide him to the Jolly Roger.

Liam will pretend for the rest of his days that watching his little brother mindlessly follow his orders doesn't break something inside of him. He's going to end Gold for this, if it's the last thing he does.

There was a bit of a grace period after Milah's death, just enough time for Liam to find some semblance of his brother in the husk her loss had left behind. But on the day Gold had paraded into the squad room with a grin on his face that sent chills down Liam's spine, he knew that life as they knew it was over. Killian had a shiny new detective's badge and a desk right next to Liam where he could keep an eye on his little brother. But Gold had a glint in his eye that he hadn't worn since before Milah's death and the whole promotion just stunk of vengeance.

Keeping a still grieving Killian's temper in check was a full time job and Gold made sure to keep both Joneses swamped with cases that picked at Killian's raw and oozing wounds. Children brutally assaulted and murdered, helpless women violated before they were put out of their misery, cheating spouses destroyed by jilted lovers.

Car accidents.

Little by little, Gold had torn pieces off of whatever made Killian Killian. Milah's death had broken him, being unable to solve her murder had shattered him, and Gold's meddling had finished him. Sometimes, at the bottom of a bottle well hidden from Killian's knowledge, Liam wondered if the neurotoxin invading his body had been a blessing in disguise. At least not being in the squad room every day had given him a reprieve from watching his little brother's slow and torturous fall.

No. No, it hadn't been any kind of blessing.

Losing his shield had meant leaving Killian to Gold's tender mercies with only David and Robin to watch his back. Liam trusted both Nolan and Locksley; he did. But it wasn't the same as putting eyes on Killian himself. It wasn't the same as being able to step in front of a child wielding a knife, his eyes fixed on his little brother's unprotected flank. It wasn't anyone else's job to save Killian; it was Liam's.

Even if that meant saving Killian from himself.

Even if that meant actually making a deal with the devil.

What the hell had she been thinking? Emma kept asking herself the same question in the days after she'd run out of Killian's apartment straight back to her own to lick her wounds in private.

Both the physical and the metaphorical ones.

It had felt good - being with Killian. Kissing him. That was the worst part of it. All of the walls she'd built, all of the armor shed forged in the wake of Ne- of his - betrayal, and Jones had blown right through with a soft smile and a damp washcloth to soothe her hurts. She'd almost been willing to take a chance with him.

If only Milah wasn't hovering in the background, haunting them both now.

Emma liked him. She liked how she was with him, she liked how he seemed to just get her. They understood each other; two lost souls just trying to find their place in a world that had actively sought to destroy them.

No use dwelling on it, though. If there was one thing Emma was sure of, it was that she had no intention of getting her heart broken again. No matter how good Killian had looked with sleep tousled hair and concern creasing his brow.

Concern for her.

No! Emma chastised herself. No, it's not worth it. He's in love with a ghost, which means there's no room for you.

Emma sighed. She'd cycled right back around to it again. She needed to stop thinking about Jones; she needed him out of her head. She needed to get back to the mindset she'd had before she ever met Killian bloody Jones.

Look out for yourself and you'll never get hurt.

It had worked for Emma or her entire adult life; she was sure that, once this case was done, it would work for her again. All she needed to do was put Gold behind bars and then get the hell out of Jones's precinct.

Too bad they worked in the same city.

Emma watched Ruby putter around her apartment with a scowl on her face. She wouldn't give up her friend for the world, but Ruby had a sixth sense for strife and, once she smelled it, was like a wolf scenting blood.

If she thought for a moment that there was something going on with one of the men involved in Emma's investigation - never mind that she'd kissed the bastard - it would be all over.

So Emma sipped her wine carefully - mindful of both the half-healed split lip and Ruby's progress - and tried not to make any sudden moves.

When Ruby stalked to the bedroom, however, Emma knew she was living on borrowed time.

"You need to get out of here," Ruby complained at the back of Emma's head. "Get dressed."

"I am dressed," Emma snarked back. "And I don't want to go out."

Ruby just shrugged, ignoring the way Emma flopped backwards dramatically onto the bed, and continuing to rifle through Emma's closet. "Where's that black number I made you buy last year? You're wearing that."

"Not if I don't tell you where it is," she mumbled under her breath, earning a glare from Ruby. "Sometimes I swear you have better hearing than the neighbor's dog; and Pongo can tell when I've opened up a steak."

"That's the smell, not the sound," Ruby dismissed nonchalantly. "And don't think I've forgotten about that dress. A little makeup, the right lighting, and no one will even notice the bruises. Or, if you're lucky, they will and will want to play doctor."

Emma moaned, but didn't move. All she'd wanted out of tonight was time to lick her wounds, but Ruby - smelling weakness - had pounced. The cure for what ailed Emma, Ruby has assured her, was a night in one of any of the seedy bars down in Southie. A little danger, a lot of dark and attractive strangers, a night not to remember the next morning. That was all it would take, and whatever had gotten Emma in a funk would be so far from her mind that it wouldn't matter anymore.

Emma wasn't about to admit to herself, much less tell Ruby, that she didn't want tall, dark, and unknown. She wanted a night like the one she'd had in her dreams with her own tall, dark stranger. She wasn't about to admit to anyone that she knew exactly who had occupied her dreams the night before - and he wasn't available.

"You promised, Emma," Ruby was whining now, pouting as she held out the dress she'd been searching for. "You've been ducking me for ages, ever since you bailed on me at the last minute last month!"

She had; she knew that. Emma had fully intended to make it up to Ruby, but one thing led to another and suddenly she was kissing Killian in his bedroom like they were teenagers sneaking around under someone's parents' roof. Things had been so different yesterday in Killian's room. That was before she'd realized with a jolt of fear just how comfortable they were together, how comfortable she was with letting him in. Before she remembered she was competing with a ghost.

Maybe tall, dark, and anonymous was exactly what Emma needed. "All right," she finally caved, mustering up enough energy to stand and tear the dress from Ruby's hand.

Ruby cackled with delight, spinning in a circle before diving back into Emma's closet to fetch her a pair of heels. "I know just the place to go!" she called out, digging out a pair of strappy heels to complete Emma's outfit.

Those would be perfect.

An hour, two shots of whiskey, and three dances that could get her arrested in more reputable establishments later, and Emma was well on her way to enjoying her evening. The man who had caught her attention wasn't exactly her cup of tea but he would scratch the itch, so to speak. Emma watched him saunter away from her, the sway of his hips promising some fun later.

"I didn't think I'd find you in here, lass," a familiar accent breathed in her ear before her latest dance partner was even out of sight. Killian? What was he doing here?

Emma whirled around, eyes wide, a snappy comment on her tongue when she froze. Not a familiar accent; just a similar one.

"You're far too uptown for the likes of this place," annoying and cocky yet still anonymous continued to speak, but Emma's mind was elsewhere. He didn't even really sound all that much like Jones, the accent definitely British but not the same. It was far too proper, far too polished to be anything but a front. If Emma were a betting woman, she'd lay money down that the guy had never left New England, never mind come from across the pond.

"Far too self-respecting for the likes of you," Emma muttered under her breath, looking for her latest dance partner or, better yet, Ruby to swoop in and save her. She could take care of him herself, of course, but that would result in his nose breaking and a lot more attention from her colleagues and flashing blue lights than anyone inside the bar wanted.

"Aww, don't be like that. I can show you a good time if you'll let me."

Emma suppressed the urge to gag. But only just. "If you'll excuse me," she tried, side stepping him intent on ferreting out Ruby's status and, if she wasn't otherwise occupied, suggesting they find a different place to spend the evening.

Annoying and cocky stepped in her way, his hand reaching out to grab her by the elbow. Emma raised an eyebrow, thinking, Really? before brushing his fingers away insistently.

The idiot didn't let go.

Emma's nose wrinkled as she considered her options. She was just about to step into his space and either use her knee or her free fist to remind him that evolution left his manhood vulnerable when another hand crossed in front of her and gripped her assailant's fingers.

The man grunted painfully, twisting from the shoulder to try and get away.

"I don't believe the lady is amenable to your ministrations, mate," a very familiar accent seethed from over Emma's shoulder.

Jones.

"Where on earth did you come from?" she asked incredulously, ignoring the man who was still trying to get free.

Jones just smiled charmingly. "A moment, luv," he promised, twisting his own arm until he could frogmarch the stranger away from her.

Emma stared after him. The whole incident had taken less than a minute, but it felt as if time had slowed down somehow.

"Who on Earth was that?" Ruby yelled in her ear over the din of the music. "And have you called dibs on him?"

A hot streak of anger coursed through Emma, surprising her. If she'd have been forced to put a name to the feeling, she would have to reluctantly admit that it was possessiveness. She had no right to feel that way; Jones wasn't hers, no matter what her baser urges suggested. Emma turned to Ruby.

"He's taken," she managed, watching Ruby's face fall. It was a bit of a struggle for Emma to keep her own face neutral. Jones was taken; even if his possessor haunted him rather than courted him.

"My apologies," Killian interrupted Ruby's pouting and Emma's internal struggle. "A woman as beautiful as you deserves my full and prompt attention."

Ruby cackled; Emma rolled her eyes. Killian grinned.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Ruby sing-songed as she melted into the crowd.

Seemingly at odds with the smarmy charm that had just been oozing off him, Killian's cheeks colored. "Friend of yours?" he asked, following Ruby's retreat with a concerned stare.

"She'll be fine, Jones," Emma found herself trying to put him at ease. "Her bite is worse than her bark."

Killian's head whipped around at the turn of the phrase. One corner of his mouth quirked up before he sobered. "I hope I didn't overstep before. I just don't like to see rubbish like that continue thinking they're God's gift to women."

"I could have handled him," Emma retorted on instinct. It wasn't that she was angry, which surprised her on its own. She found herself wanting to ensure that, after showing up on his doorstep bruised and bloody, he knew that she was capable of looking after herself.

To her surprise - and her pleasure - Jones laughed heartily. "Of that, luv, I have no doubt."

Emma smiled softly in spite of herself. The affirmation he'd given so easily had been all too rare in her life. She wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. "What are you even doing here?" she deflected instead.

Killian shrugged. "No one but the bouncer and the owner know me here. At least, not until you showed up. What are you doing here?" he parrotted back to her.

It was Emma's turn to blush, her cheeks heating up as she looked around. Anywhere, anything, anyone who could tear her attention away from answering Jones. Suddenly, her plan to take someone up on a one night stand didn't seem quite so appealing.

"Ah," he replied, suddenly looking just a little too understanding for Emma's liking. "I admit, my company the other morning wasn't-"

"No!" Emma shouted without thinking. She glare at the two women who had turned their heads at her exclamation before lowering her voice. "No, it's not that. Ruby begged me to come; to pay her back for canceling on her the other night."

"Oh," he replied, looking relieved - and a little stunned. "I mean, I've no right to judge if you-"

Emma cut him off with a shake of her head and a hand on his arm. "Buy me a drink, Jones?"

His smile was more genuine this time as he jutted out an elbow for her to take. Emma slipped her hand into the crook and startled a little when he settled his hand over hers.

The first man Emma had danced with that night stepped into view but shied away again with one baleful look.

"Careful, Jones," Emma cautioned sardonically. "You're going to get a reputation."

Killian huffed out a laugh. "I'm just one more face in the crowd here, luv. No one cares as long as someone doesn't have to call… well, us."

Emma nodded her agreement while looking around at the other patrons. Her brain automatically started cataloguing threat levels as they ducked and dodged their way towards the bar.

"Starkey!" Killian shouted over the commotion from the latest Bruins' goal to play on the ancient television mounted on the wall.

To Emma's surprise, the bartender turned his head immediately, putting down the glass he was wiping with a dingy towel and crossing the small distance behind the bar with a smile on his face.

"How are ya, Cap?" Starkey asked, reaching out his hand for Killian to shake.

Cap? Emma thought in confusion. There was a story there, she was sure of it. And, what was more, it was a tale she wanted to know. Every time she turned around, Emma realized she wanted to know more about Killian.

Apparently tonight was going to be full of surprises.

"Still vertical, mate," Killian answered Starkey's question before firing off one of his own. "Any trouble tonight?"

Starkey shook his head. "No more than usual. Jukes is out with a stomach flu, so I got a new guy on the door. He's on top of it."

"Aye, I didn't recognize him when I came in, but I figured Bill was just taking a break in the back. Don't think I've ever seen him take a day off." Killian turned to Emma. "What'll it be, Swan?"

Emma ordered, tuning out the rest of the conversation as she spied the back of Ruby's head in the crowd. The rest of her was very much wrapped up in a woman as they moved in sync to the music.

"Did you hear me, luv?" Killian's voice spoke directly in her ear, making Emma jump.

She shook her head in silent apology, getting Ruby's attention just long enough to get a thumbs up behind the woman's back. Emma would be on her own getting home tonight.

That settled, she turned her attention back to Killian. "What did you say?"

Killian leaned close enough that she could smell the cologne he was wearing. His breath wafted over her cheek as he spoke. "I asked if you wanted to go somewhere a little more..." he trailed off and looked around, "more fun."

Emma looked around as well, considering her options. Here was safe, so to speak. She had made the decision to come here; here she was in control. But, she realized a moment later, Killian was leaving her in control even in his asking. It was this that made her agree more than the enticement of getting out of the seedy bar.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, taking her empty glass and sliding it down the bar to where Starkey caught it expertly.

It was only then that Emma realized Killian hadn't had a glass of his own in his hands. She felt guilty for a moment before shaking it off. If Jones chose to come to a bar even when he didn't drink, it hadn't had anything to do with her. She hadn't even known he was going to be here.

Killian led her down the street with a pronounced sway to his steps that she knew didn't belong there. "Killian?" she questioned quietly, stepping closer to his side and wrapping her arm around him - just in case. God, he was warm. Emma resisted the urge to snuggle into his side.

He didn't answer her for a few more steps, stumbling further into her space and ducking his head down as if he were nuzzling into her neck. She felt him turn to look behind her, answering her unspoken question.

Killian thought they were being followed.

Emma slowed her pace, pulling him in front of her so that her chest was nearly brushing his own. His hands fell to her hips as if he'd been comfortable doing that for years.

God, this feels nice, she thought, swaying even further into Killian and trying to bite back a sigh as he wrapped her more securely in his embrace.

They stood like that for a few moments, Emma's head resting under Killian's chin as he watched behind them. A small voice in the back of her head warned her that this was just a front; she shouldn't get used to this.

Feeling safe.

"We're all clear," Killian mumbled a few minutes later, loosening his arms. "I thought I saw that weasel Isaac as we were leaving, but there's no one behind us but bums and rats."

Emma realized he expected her to step back, to let him go, to continue on to whatever destination he had planned for them.

Emma didn't want to do what was expected of her anymore.

"Sw-"

Without giving herself a moment to overthink it, Emma stood on her tiptoes and dragged him down to her by the lapels of his jacket. He froze for a moment, just like last time, before stepping so close that he erased any space between them. Killian plunged the fingers of one hand deep into the loose curls falling over her back. The other settled at the small of her back, pressing insistently until she canted her hips into his. His lips slanted over hers, kissing once, twice, three times before demanding entrance.

He tasted of peppermint. It was the foremost thought in Emma's brain as they continued to explore each other in that dirty back alley in that part of the city where no one would care who they were or what this all meant.

Emma didn't really care what this all meant, either. Not when Killian's fingers tangled gently in her hair and tugged her to a different angle.

She kind of liked how he took con-

The shattering of a bottle falling to pavement followed by a loud, drunken curse broke them apart. They were both breathing heavily as Emma looked up. She found herself unable - and unwilling - to back away from him. Not just now.

"Please don't run," Killian mumbled under his breath. Emma wasn't sure she'd have heard him if she'd been even one step further away. She was sure that he hadn't intended for his plea to reach her ears if the chagrined look on his face was any indication.

Emma tightened her grip on the hair at the nape of Killian's neck before sliding her hand down his arm and interlocking their fingers. She wasn't very good with words. But this? She wanted this.

Killian's answering smile and the tightening of his fingers around hers told her that he understood.

"You promised me a fun time, Jones," she said with a coy smile.

A fun time in Killian's mind, apparently, was another bar. Emma wrinkled her nose at him in confusion, stopping outside the door.

"But," she tried to understand, "you don't drink."

Killian shrugged, looking a little lost. "There's more to this place than good whiskey, Swan," was his only answer.

Emma was just buzzed enough that it made perfect sense. She gestured at the door when Killian didn't continue - he just kept watching her. She'd come to recognize the look on his face.

"Did you used to bring Milah here?" she questioned, torn between wanting to be right - to prove that she knew him that well - and not wanting to know the answer.

But Killian surprised her, shaking his head. "She brought me."

Oh.

"God, she loved the energy in here, the life," he continued. "I'm sorry, luv, I didn't think…"

"Let's just go in," Emma urged, not wanting to be haunted by Milah's ghost any longer. "'The night is young', and all that jazz."

The spark returned to Killian's eyes as his hand settled back on the small of her back. He led her forward a few steps before opening the heavy wooden door and ushering her inside.

He was right. Emma could feel the atmosphere of the place shoot through her. The air was cool despite the press of bodies in the small space. Irish music played over the speakers, the scratchiness suggesting vinyl records rather than mp3's. Though she'd never been overseas, Emma felt like she'd stepped through a portal to a small pub on Ireland's shores.

"Killian!" a heavily accented voice shouted from somewhere off to their left and Jones grinned.

"Come on, luv, I want to introduce you to someone." He tugged her hand insistently, navigating the crowd with well practiced ease. As they moved, people patted Killian on the back or called out his name in greeting. It was abundantly clear that he wasn't just another invisible face in the crowd here.

"Still with me, Swan?" he asked when they finally reached a booth tucked away in a corner.

"Aye, mate," she responded, mimicking his accent.

Horribly if the chorus of groans and snickers from all around them was any indication.

"Relax, gents; the lady is with me."

If anyone other than Killian had said it, Emma's hackles would have bristled. Instead, she smiled genially and leaned into his side. "Sorry," she mumbled, relaxing when he laughed quietly.

"Just don't do that again," he chastised good-naturedly. "Please, for the love of God, don't do that again."

Emma nodded.

The night went by in a blur, drinks and laughter flowing as easily as the conversation and the dancing. Emma impressed the group of Killian's friends with her tolerance. But that was nothing compared to how impressed she was when Killian was dragged over to what passed for a stage and pressed into service with a guitar and a microphone.

Damn, he could sing.

Emma stood off to the side, transfixed, as she sipped some of the best whiskey she'd ever tasted. She was half convinced that she was going to wake up any minute, the stale taste of alcohol mixed with the cotton of a hangover and some stranger's arm draped suffocatingly over her hip.

If this was a dream, it was a good one.

You can lose your path but still find your way home

Just make it through

Emma watched as Killian finished singing, laying the guitar down before catching her eye. The tips of his ears turned pink as he glanced away, distracted for a moment by one of his friends guffawing loudly.

Emma smiled goofily, the whiskey lowering her inhibitions enough to loosen the chainmail. His shoulders dropped, the tension draining from him as she watched.

"Impressed, luv?" he asked, his accent deep and pitched low when he finally was let off the stage.

Emma nodded, but contradicted herself when she replied flippantly with, "You wish."

Killian shrugged in answer, not fooled by the ruse. He glanced down at his watch. "Bloody hell, I didn't realize how late it was. Shall I escort you home?"

Emma nodded, but then shook her head. "I don't wanna."

It was Killian's turn to smile goofily. "Come on," was all he said, taking her by the hand.

Emma followed, the sounds of Irish music wafting over her as one of Killian's friends - she'd forgotten his name already - danced a drunken jig past them. She giggled in spite of herself, drawing an affronted look from the dancer and a fondly exasperated one from Killian. She grinned apologetically at them both, then leaned to whisper in Jones's ear.

"No one here is related to Whitey Bulger, right?"

Killian ushered her out swiftly, but never answered her.

There was hair in his face. It was in his mouth, tickling his nose, generally just… everywhere. Every time he breathed in, it felt like he was swallowing more of it. Bloody hell, he thought irritatedly, reaching up to brush the offending strands out of the way.

Someone had hold of his hand.

Killian wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to him sooner - hair was usually attached to a person. In this case, hair this long was likely attached to a woman. Someone was in his bed.

He opened his eyes just as Emma rolled over, tucking herself under his chin and freeing most of his face from her hair. It smelled of whiskey and cinnamon, the hint of spice enough to pull him from the last vestiges of sleep. Emma was here. In… in her bed, it seemed, and he…

Killian's eyes widened. He was not wearing a stitch of clothing, only a sheet draped dangerously low over his hips. Bits of the evening started coming back to him as he woke fully. The bar he'd happened to drop by when the apartment proved too quiet for him with Liam's absence. Emma showing up out of nowhere; the look on her face promising bloodshed if the handsy git accosting her didn't look elsewhere soon. Toodles' bar, dancing and a bit of home blaring through the speakers. A lot of cajoling and a guitar in his hands and Emma's soft smile. Driving her home and, "Wanna come in for a bit?" and "I want this, I promise."

Bloody hell, he thought again, remembering the taste of whiskey on Emma's lips and the way she'd giggled when he'd traced nonsensical patterns on her bare skin. He knew how easily the liquor flowed at Finnegan's Tavern. Knew that any friend of his would be well taken care of by the bartender.

Dread filled Killian's stomach, making him queasy. He should've gone home last night, shouldn't have taken Emma up on her offer of coffee before he headed out. Killian prided himself on being the gentleman Liam had raised him to be; he wasn't-

Emma moaned, rolling herself away from him entirely and curling in on herself with her arms wrapped around her stomach. Killian held his breath, but she didn't wake.

Bloody hell.

All Killian could see was the naked expanse of her back, the line of her spine disappearing under the covers. She was beautiful. The light filtering through a break in the curtains tangled in her hair and gave it a golden shine. Emma moaned again, her head tossing on the pillow and her brow furrowing in pain.

Killian slipped out of bed, the hardwood floors cold beneath his feet. He spied his jeans draped over her bureau, his detective's shield peeking out from one pocket. As much as he'd love to stay and either explore this new facet of their relationship or apologize if he'd truly stepped in it, Killian had to get home and get changed. He had a court appearance scheduled to testify in an old case that had finally gone to trial.

Slinging his jeans over his hips but leaving them unbuttoned, Killian padded across the room to the bathroom. There he found a bottle of Tylenol and a glass that was still half filled with water. Wrinkling his nose a bit, Killian dumped and refilled it and then palmed a few pills for Emma.

"I'm sorry, luv," he whispered when he set down the glass on her bedside table. Emma slept on as he crouched down next to the bed to watch her mumble unintelligibly. He reached out gently to brush a stray lock of hair back behind Emma's ear. She whined in annoyance and cracked one eye open before muttering grumpily and falling back to sleep.

Killian smiled, the feeling almost foreign as his lips quirked upwards. He couldn't remember the last he'd felt like this.

Happy.

"I'll see you later, luv," he whispered before standing and slipping out the door.

He found his shirt in the hallway - almost all the buttons still fastened - and tugged it over his head. Then he tucked the shirttails into his pants and finally thumbed the button of his jeans through its buttonhole. His belt was… where was his belt? Emma had yanked it through the loops violently before tossing it…

There. Behind the couch.

Finally dressed a few minutes later, Killian rose from sliding on his boots to survey the apartment. There hadn't really been time last night to take it all in, and there wasn't really enough time now. But one thing was abundantly clear - Emma's apartment was as austere as his would be if not for Liam's interference. There were very few pictures on the walls, no knick knacks or mementos strewn about. The only thing that looked truly personal was a handcrafted blanket thrown over the arm of the recliner with Emma's name woven into it with purple ribbon.

Killian was loathe to leave like this, but he was already going to be late and he didn't fancy getting on Regina's bad side if he were late to her boss's trial.

He'd have to explain it to Emma later.

Shutting the door to her apartment behind him, Killian raced out of the building and down the block to his car. He started muttering to the traffic gods before he even got the door open, begging them to be on his side - just this once.

They weren't.

Regina - and by nature of their relationship, Robin - would never let him live this down. Killian sighed and headed inside the courthouse to face the music.