As soon as I landed at Portland International my cell phone chimed with a new message from Belle:

I'm thinking of you and hoping your flight was good./em emPlease talk to Emma. You have a good heart and you're worthy of everything you want. You're a good man, Killian Jones. Just remember to control your temper and bring me back some maple candies.

I tapped out a quick response and seriously contemplated booking an immediate return flight back to LA. I had to force myself to collect my bags and pick up my rental car. I made it as far as the parking lot before my second thoughts turned into paralysis. It took thirty minutes to even start the car. I pulled over at least five times on the hour drive to Storybrooke, with every intent to turn around and go back to the airport. I've rarely felt the weight of guilt and shame, but it's acutely unpleasant.

Practically the whole town is at the house that Liam and Emma renovated shortly after their wedding when I arrive. Liam always fancied the Victorian on the hill overlooking the harbor when we were boys and he swore that he'd own it one day, master of his manor and what not. We moved in when I was sixteen, Liam had just finished his enlistment and thought it was time to upgrade from the studio above the station. The house came fully furnished with threadbare velvet sofas, a dining set that could best be described as "antiqued," and every issue of The Bangor Chronicles from 1957 to 1985. The whole place was drafty and smelled like cats in the summer and mildew in the winter. The only thing louder than trying to summon hot water from the groaning pipes was the peeling of shingles from the roof whenever the wind picked up. It's a small miracle the place wasn't condemned, but it was home.

Liam and Emma really changed the house up. Aside from appearing much more structurally-sound, the old dark wood paneling throughout the house has been replaced with light maple and most of the moth-eaten furniture is gone and replaced with pieces that looks like at least like they came from this millennium. Everywhere I look there are cloying pictures of the two of them smiling together. There are antiqued metal marquee letters on the wall in the entryway spelling out "LOVE" over a framed copy of their wedding invitation. This old house has come a long way from the brothers Jones' bachelor pad, it's now a bloody Pottery Barn catalogue if Pottery Barn made me want to wash down a bottle of oxycontin with a handle of rum.

Every small town bumpkin I couldn't wait to put behind me eight years ago is decked out in their best black weeping over my dear, sweet brother. "Pillar of the community," "one of the good ones," and all that rot. Saint Liam is back home with the angels now. A few people pat me on the back and wish me well as I make my way through the foyer. I'm honestly surprised that they remember me or even care. I can't help but think that all of the wallowing is self-indulgent pity, every last one of these gits is glad that it's my brother in a body bag and not theirs. They're sorry because Liam was a good man but they don't care, not really. Sure, their kids will miss him at school and people will probably notice his absence at all the slew of asinine town events this place insists on hosting. In a year none of them will give him a second thought. No one is going to care as soon as the next thing comes along; Liam will be just another plot in the cemetery on the outskirts of town.

"I'm fucking hallucinating," a very familiar voice calls from behind me. "The prodigal son has finally returned."

"Miss me, bae?" I smirk at my old friend, Neal Cassidy. In this vanilla town Neal was one of the few people I could routinely count on for a spot of fun and trouble. He slaps me on the shoulder and pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. Over the years it has occurred to me that I didn't just leave Liam and Emma, I left my entire life here as unbearable as it was. Neal and I kept in touch for about a year but we drifted apart. He kept saying he wanted to visit me out in LA but then I got busy and he got busy and things just… drifted.

"Hell yeah, I missed you! How the hell are you?" he smiles and instantly checks himself. "I mean, beside the obvious… you know?"

"I've had a rough go as of late, how about yourself?"

"I can't complain, man. I'm sorry about Liam, it's just… I'm sorry. Your brother meant a lot to a lot of people."

"Speaking of, have you seen—" before I can even finish Neal juts his chin towards the living room; he knows exactly who I'm looking for.

When I see her my chest constricts in on itself and I can barely breathe, it feels like all of the oxygen is sucked out of the room.

My beautiful swan.

She's sitting on the one tacky velvet sofa, that for some inexplicable reason they decided to keep. She's red-faced and puffy-eyed but still smiling politely at everyone who hugs and tries to comfort her but I can tell that her walls are up. Her black dress is a little wrinkled and her hair isn't as smooth as I remember it. It's hard to tell if the dark circles under her eyes are from sleep deprivation or running mascara. She still looks like the angel I've dreamed about every night since I got to LA but she's so broken that it almost brings me to my knees, she's always been unsinkable, untouchable, she's steel. She gives one of her guests a small smile and excuses herself out onto the back deck. I can still see her silhouette through the leaded glass window as she pulls a blanket around her shoulders. She's breathtaking lit up in silver under the moon.

Neal shakes his head and gives me a knowing smile. He knew I was "into" Emma but he didn't know how deep, I don't think anyone did. I didn't even really know until I was too late.

"I'll catch you later, Hollywood. Don't skip town before we get a drink, ok?" Neal says with another pat on my shoulder. I promise him I won't and I really want to keep that promise. I don't have many close friends; in fact, my only actual friend is Belle.

I make my way over to the door, dodging everyone's questioning gaze on the way. They can bugger off. I stand with my hand on the door for what feels like an eternity just watching Emma in the moonlight. She hasn't so much as looked at me all night, she might not know I'm even here. My palms are sweaty and I feel dizzy just seeing her again. I practiced a thousand things to say in my head on the plane but nothing is coming to me right now. I owe her a lot, I know that, she deserves an apology and an explanation and the emtruth/em. I just don't know the words for any of that.

I don't know what to say to her. I don't know if there's anything I emcan/em say that will matter. Words won't bring my brother back and words won't erase the way I've treated both of them. My hand finally turns the handle and I step out with what little confidence I have. She doesn't hear me at first, she's still staring blankly at the night sky. She's always loved the stars.

Flashback

"Your mother said you'd be up here. You'll catch your death out here in this weather," I grumbled as I climbed out of the window onto the flat part of the roof outside of Emma's window. She was hunched over something and has her long hair pulled back in a messy bun. I nudged her with my shoulder when I sat down next to her. "What exactly are we doing?"

"Star charts," she grinned and held up a battered field guide. "My dad gave it to me this afternoon. I thought I'd try my hand at star-ology… or whatever."

"Fancy yourself a sailor, do you Swan?" she just chuckled in response, but when I looked over she was holding the book upside down. "Small problem."

"What?" she huffed indignantly. When I turned her book right side up she mumbled a quick thanks and went back to reading. I was satisfied just watching her furrowed brow and the look of deep concentration in her eyes. "Ugh, I don't get this! I didn't think it'd be so freaking hard."

"Easy, Swan. It's simple once you get the map lined up, give it here," I motioned her over. Without hesitation she sidled right up to me and leaned into my side. "Now start with the Big Dipper here and use it to orient the rest of the map."

"So the Big Dipper and those ones there are all… Ursa Major?"

"Aye, the Great Bear, and that one at the end of the handle there is the North Star. Do you see that bright one there lower on the horizon?"

"Mhmm, what's that one?"

"That's Deneb."

"Deneb?" she mumbled and scanned the map to find it. "Here it is, it's in… Cygnus."

"The Swan," I whispered into her hair and tickled her side.

She giggled beautifully and leaned farther into me, pulling my arm around her shoulders. "I don't even need the book, I have Starlord right here. How do you know all of these?"

"Liam taught me. Our mother was quite the adept sailor, and any sailor worth their salt can read the stars to find their way home."

"Planning on sailing away, Captain?"

"Aren't you?" I was surprised because it didn't occur to me that anyone would want to stay in this small town forever. Emma, smart, charming, beautiful Emma was meant for greater heights than this small town. She just shrugged like the idea of leaving never crossed her mind.

"If you could go any place in the whole world, where would you go?" she asked and flipped to the next page in her book.

"Everywhere."

"Promise you won't leave without telling me?" she asked with the stars shining in her eyes and I wanted to tell her that I would never leave without taking her with me.

"You'll be the first to know, Swan."

Present

The click of the latch closing behind me catches her attention. When our eyes meet I feel the same pull that I've always felt and, for a moment, her gaze is warm and glad. We're fifteen again on the roof of her parents' house and she's staring at me over star maps with hope and curiosity in her eyes. She doesn't manage a smile, but the look in her eyes is enough for me. Her hair catches the moonlight and it makes my throat tighten into a useless knot. Everything I'd planned to say disappears.

"Hello, love," I attempt flatly. She stares at me for a lifetime before she begins to close the distance between us. Bloody hell, I miss her so much. My arms are ready to wrap her up and protect her from the world. My face, however, is not ready for the small handprint that may be indelibly imprinted on it.

"Nice tan, Killian," Emma spits with venom in her voice. She shoves roughly past me and slams the door behind her.

I was not expecting that.