Killian continued to notice both Mary Margaret's conflicted face while they were hanging around the loft, and the not-so-subtle attempts at sneaking out of the house unnoticed at odd times. One more time, he considered whether or not he should try to approach the subject in any way, but he decided against it. Even if he felt the need to protect her from everything and everyone, Mary Margaret was ostensibly an adult and responsible for her own decisions. She'd confide in him when she was ready.

He was entertaining these thoughts as he made his way towards Granny's, Mary Margaret's request to meet him there for a snack leading Killian believe that perhaps the time had finally come for her to confide in him. But the sight of the man in front of him, leaving Granny's, made Killian's jaw clench in exasperation.

"I've been meaning to run into you."

"August," Killian spat, not an ounce of politeness towards the man. "I thought you'd be out of here by now… this town ain't that interesting, mate."

"Oh, but it is, Killian. The possibilities…" August trailed off with that flair of intrigue he clearly thought made him seem cool and interesting. Killian rolled his eyes, and started to move past him.

"Killian, wait!" There was a sense of urgency in the other man's voice, as if he was trying very hard to contain it, but failed. "Come on, man, one drink, give me ten minutes to tell my story. That's all I ask."

Killian turned around, ready to refute him, but there was something in his eyes that Killian hadn't seen before. He knew he shouldn't - Emma would certainly beat him to a pulp if she knew he was humoring August again - but that part of Killian that was still trying to make sense of what was going on in this town was begging him to listen to whatever contrivance August had come up with. It surely couldn't be more convoluted than Henry's tale and even if, Killian had enough authority in town to keep August on a short leash.

And he wasn't afraid to misuse it if necessary.

"Fine," he conceded. "Meet me here after work."

With that, he turned around and entered the diner, not even bothering to wait for Booth's reaction.

Mary Margaret was already seated in one of the tables, drinking her coffee as her eyes peered over Killian's shoulder, the sound of a motorcycle audible on the background.

"Who was that?" she asked in an awed tone that made Killian's skin crawl.

"Listen to me," he started as he took a seat and pointed a finger at her. "You'll stay away from him. I mean it." Gods knew, he didn't think much of David - or almost nothing to be honest - but even David was a better option than August. Killian would take a confused albeit married man over good-for-nothing-I-live-for-mysterious-quips August as a suitable option for Mary Margaret any day.

None of them were suitable, though… and he was first going to try for her to see that.

"Wow, that is a very passionate answer about a stranger in town." She took another sip from her tea as she gave him that look that he'd come to dread. That look that had him confessing all his misdeeds and secrets with a rueful tone. The look that made him almost believe Henry's tale because it pretty much made him feel like he was being interrogated by his mother. The same look Isobel used to give him.

He fidgeted with the surface of the table. "I've met him before… in my younger days." His voice was low as he averted his gaze, ashamed to admit to her the past he wasn't proud of. But when he finally got the courage to meet her gaze, he found nothing but understanding in her eyes. "I don't trust him. He's up to something, I know it. I just need to figure out what."

She put her hand over his reassuringly. "And you will. I have faith in you."

There was a lump in his throat at her unwavering belief in people, but he quickly pulled himself together and shook his head. "Let's not get sidetracked, you called me here to talk about you."

That seemed to put Mary Margaret in a nervous mode and Killian's heart skipped a beat as he feared the obvious confession about her and David would happen. "Yeah, but talking about you is easier right now."

It was Killian's turn to squeeze her hand. "You can tell me, lass. What is it?"

She lowered her head in secrecy and he mimicked her motion. "Remember when you told me to stay away from David and I agreed?" Killian nodded. "I didn't."

And the cat was out of the bag.

"I know," he whispered in a conspiratorial smile and had the satisfaction of looking at her shocking face.

"How?"

He sighed. "Mary Margaret, you're not very sneaky, you know? I've made a living out of reading people's routines and movements. Covering your tracks is not exactly your strong suit."

She looked almost offended. "I've been discre- discreet." She swapped the yelp in her voice for a milder tone.

Killian cocked an eyebrow at her, leaning back in his seat. "Two teacups in the sink, new perfume, late nights, plunging necklines. It wasn't hard to connect the dots. Plus, I'm Sheriff, I patrol these streets a lot late at night. You guys weren't that subtle in hiding either."

"Plunging necklines!?"

Killian shook his head, marveling that that was the thing she was focusing on. "You do seem to be leaving a few more buttons undone these days, milady. At first, I thought it was my influence, but clearly-"

Mary Margaret cut him off, her hands quickly closing her sweater whilst he chuckled at her horrified expression. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's not something I like to discuss with people, especially my mother." He witnessed the hint of a smile on her face. "Besides, I figured you'd come to me when you were ready to talk about it."

"He's telling Kathryn," she confided, with such hope in her voice that Killian wished it were true. She certainly believed in it, and Killian wanted to believe too, for her, but experience had taught him not to hope.

"Everything?" He tried to make his tone as neutral as possible, hoping this was the one chance where she couldn't read him like an open book.

"Everything," she confirmed with a smile.

Well, maybe there would be hope after the storm passes.

/-/

Killian paced at the entrance of Granny's, checking his watch. August was late, as usual. The man surely loved making an entrance and Killian found himself dreading the moment of weakness that had led him to agree to the man's proposition. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle and he turned around to see August pulling over.

"Hop on!"

As if he'd be such a fool twice.

"No way, mate, I'll follow you on my car but I am not getting anywhere with you without my own means of escape." He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but even he knew he was doing a poor attempt at that.

August chuckled and it infuriated Killian even more. "Have a little trust, Killian."

He had taken two long strides and was in August's face in an instant, his voice low and ruthless as he didn't have any interest in having Ruby and Granny listening to his words. They were both there, lurking around, their interest clearly caught by August's mysterious flair.

"With you?" He clenched his jaw as August's eyes widened. "Never. Do you forget what happened the last time I trusted one of your plans? I ended up in jail, mate. For eleven months. I missed the chance to raise my son. I lost Emma."

Something that looked very much like regret passed through August's eyes. "Look Killian, I had nothing-"

He cut off the other man's words, as he could already sense the lie unfolding from his tongue. "I don't care if you knew you were setting me up to take the fall, or if Cassidy didn't fill you in until after. All that matters to me is that you understand this: I don't trust you. I'll never trust you. I'm only following you to see what the hell you're up to and if I find one thing - one thing - that I don't like, I'll bloody chase you out of this town myself."

August swallowed slowly, his eyes looking at Killian as if he were seeing him for the first time in a long time. Killian took a step back from the man and motioned towards his car. "Where am I going?"

"To the Wishing Well. Follow me."

Killian got into the car, still ruminating his anger. A bloody wishing well. One of these days he was going to forget he was sheriff and he was going to punch August in the face.

It was a short drive out of town and into the woods, where the wishing well was. August was leaning by the well by the time Killian made it out of the car, legs crossed at his ankles and an elbow over the edge.

"They say there's something special about this well. There's even a legend. They say that the water from the well is fed by an underground lake, and that lake has magical properties."

Killian chuckled. "Magic? You sound like Henry."

August tilted his head to the side. "Smart kid." Killian wasn't going to contest that, but he was also not interested in giving August any information about his son. August waited for a second, and then simply proceeded to pull the rope and bring up the old wooden pail. "So, this legend. It says that if you drink the water from the well, something lost will be returned to you." His voice sounded like he was telling the story to a captivated audience and Killian wanted to roll his eyes.

"How do you know all this? Did you read the plaque or something?"

Clearly August expected Killian to be impressed and play the intrigued card, but Killian had seen enough of that a decade ago. "Do you actually believe in what you say? In magic?"

"I'm a writer. I have to have an open mind."

You're an idiot. Killian's raised eyebrow made his words unnecessary.

August pulled two camp mugs out of his backpack and filled them with water from the pail. "Water is a very powerful thing. Cultures as old as time have worshipped it. It flows throughout all lands, connecting the entire world. If anything had mystical properties – if anything had magic – well, I'd say it'd be water."

"There's little proof for that… it's all just faith, mate."

"If you need evidence for everything, Killian, you're going to find yourself stuck in one place for a long time."

I already did.

"Maybe. Or, maybe I'll stop waiting for the impossible to happen and accept reality." He took the cup August handed him.

"There's one thing I can tell you for sure that requires no leap of faith, and I know you'll agree with me."

"That you're an idiot too full of yourself still?"

August raised his cup to Killian's. "It's good water."

/-/

He drove back into town and parked outside the back entrance of Granny's, taking a short walk towards the station to check to see if there were any messages. After transferring the calls to his cellphone, he grabbed his keys and headed back to his car. The wind had picked up and there were several dried leaves covering the back windshield of the Bug. He reached over to brush them off, fighting back the chill from the wind, when he noticed the box lying on the street, by his back tire. Killian bent to examine it, his heart beating frantically in his chest at the possibilities. It was a red tin box, and it fit the description Henry had given him about the one where he'd placed his beloved book before burying it underneath the castle. It didn't have a lock, so Killian simply opened the lid, breathing out a sigh of relief when he found the book intact inside the box.

At least one bit of good news for the day.

He couldn't wait to show Henry. He'd seen his son's spirits flag with each passing day where the book was still missing, and the mere thought of seeing the lad's smile again had Killian back in the driver's seat and rushing in the direction of Storybrooke Elementary, eager to make it before the final bell.

Henry was thrilled to see him, but at the same time, he was clearly distracted, his gaze wandering over Killian's shoulder, his attention on the street behind him.

"I'll be quick, lad. I just have something I'd like to give you." He pulled the book from the bag where he had it and gave it to Henry. His smile made everything seem brighter in the world.

"You found it! Where'd you get it?" His little fingers traced the pages with reverence.

"I found it in a gutter near my car. It must have fallen off the dump truck on the way to the junkyard and got tossed around in the rain." Killian shrugged. "Somehow, it made its way back to me."

"Wow. That's crazy." There was something in Henry's voice, as if he'd wanted to find a less logical, more magical explanation to it. For a moment Killian wanted to believe with him that it had been like that, that a magical being was taking care of his son and ensuring his wellbeing.

But he didn't believe in fairytales. Not anymore.

"What other explanation could there be?" He hated to be the one bursting Henry's little bubble of hope, but he couldn't lie to him. He reached to clasp his shoulder. "Whatever happened, it came back to me."

"Maybe our luck is changing. Operation Cobra is back on. It's a sign. Things are going to be better."

Killian thought of Mary Margaret getting her happy ending and of the happiness he had when he was able to steal a fleeting moment or two with Henry. "I hope you're right, lad. And now I have to go before your mother gets here."

/-/

The first sign that things might not have gone the way they were supposed to was the red, half-erased Tramp sign spray-painted on the side of Mary Margaret's car. Killian clenched his jaw and his hand fisted at his side. He was going to find whoever did it and ensure they spent at least a few hours between bars, with or without Mary Margaret filing a complaint.

But that was a task for another moment. Now he needed to do something else. He took a deep breath before he unlocked the door to the loft and entered it silently, hanging his jacket on the rack by the door, and discarding his gloves and beanie on the sidetable.

The loft was almost dark, only the lamp sitting by Mary Margaret's bedside table was lit. There wasn't anything out of place, and yet the entire room felt as if it had lost a little of the warmth it always carried.

Mary Margaret herself was lying on her bed, curled to the side as she hugged a pillow. Killian swallowed, sadness overtaking him as he watched her back shake softly with what he could only imagine were sobs.

"Do you feel like talking about it?" He asked with what he hoped was a warm voice.

"Nope," came the sobbed reply.

"Do you want to be alone?"

"Nope."

Sighing, he lay on his back on the bed, next to her but making sure he wasn't offering any unwanted contact. It was a moment or two before she turned and curled into his side, her head on his shoulder, the tears soaking his shirt. His arm reached to pull her closer, and simply rested on her back.

"He didn't tell her," she whispered, her voice broken with pain. "He promised and then he didn't… and now everyone-" Her voice got desperate, agitated, and Killian closed his arms around her, trying to bring some comfort.

"Aye, I know." He let her grieve the worst type of grief, the one he could have wished to spare her.

After what seemed like a cursed lifetime or two, her tears subsided. "Does it ever stop?" She asked, her voice raw from her tears.

"What?"

"The heartache."

Right. Nothing seemed to get past Mary Margaret when it came to him.

He sighed, running the hand that wasn't holding her in a tight embrace through his hair. "No. But you learn to breathe through it, and eventually it fades a little."

"And you move on?" It wasn't exactly hope in her voice, but there was something that was almost begging him to give her something to hold onto. Something that would at least take her back to the bitter loneliness she had before she met David.

But Killian Jones was done with the business of giving false hope. It never worked for the better in the end.

"I don't know. I haven't reached that part yet."

She chuckled sadly against his shoulder. "What a terrible pair we make…"

"Well, like mother, like son it seems." He propped himself on one elbow and tilted her chin so she could meet his eyes. "I'm sorry Mary Margaret. You deserve better than this."

She shook her head. "I'm not so sure anymore."

"I am."

They remained silent for the rest of the evening, until she eventually fell asleep. Killian put a blanket over her and headed for the kitchen. He gulped two measures of rum before he headed to bed, not even considering he hadn't eaten much since breakfast. He couldn't help but beating himself over not being around when all this blew up. For being caught up in yet another of August's stupid tales. Another thing to blame on the bloody ponce: he wasn't there for Mary Margaret when she needed him.

Killian climbed stairs into his room and quickly changed into some flannel pajama pants and a long sleeve shirt, getting into his own bed, the faces of the two men that had ruined his day dancing in his head.

He wasn't sure who he wanted to punch first. August, for wasting his time, or David, for breaking Mary Margaret's heart.

David, probably. He had been anything but deserving of respect these days. Killian should have known better than to turn a blind eye to Mary Margaret's escapades. Men like David never told the truth to their wives.

Men like David didn't deserve someone like Mary Margaret. And Killian was going to make sure he knew it.

Repeatedly.