TRIGGER WARNING: Sensitive situations, will be marked off with the bolded KEKEKEKEKEKEKEK
Killian took the keys, and hurried out of the room, breathing heavily. He rushed out the door, and turned the corner, briskly walking towards the parking lot. He made his way over to the yellow bug, pulled the door open, and sat down heavily in the driver's seat. Bloody Hell he thought, before putting the keys in the ignition. He tried to calm his breathing, because God knows whatwould happen if he had an attack here. But it was proving to be a challenge, as he remembered the bruises on the girl's face, and the way she cringed away from Neal's gentle touch, and his own voice, like she was expecting to be hit. He didn't know the girl's name, but he felt a kinship to her, because he knew better than anyone, that no one should ever have to feel like that. He tried to picture peaceful thoughts, like the ocean, or a sunset, but one kept reoccurring in his mind. It was the blonde girl, in a beautiful red gown, descending a flight of stairs, holding onto young Neal's arm. For reasons unbeknownst to Killian, that seemed to do the trick, and his breathing slowed, and his heart beat at a relatively normal rhythm. Killian turned the keys in the ignition, and put the beat up punch buggy in reverse.
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"So whadya all say, we go around the table and introduce ourselves to Emma here?" Mary Margaret suggested, once everyone was about finished eating. "You can start with your age, a fun fact, and…"
"How long you've been here," Neal cut in. "I'll start."
"Neal honey I don't think—" Mary Margaret started tentatively, but the boy had already launched into his spiel.
"I'm Neal. No last name, just a first name. Guess you can thank my wonderful parents for that," he said dryly, anger flashing in his eyes. He's too young for all that anger Emma thought. But then again, so was I.
"As you know, I like to paint, and I guess I'm pretty good at it. Been here eight years, got dropped off with poor Leo over here when he was just a baby. Guess I have our fantastic parents to thank for that too," Neal spat, before standing up abruptly.
"Now since I know everyone else's sob story, I'm going to clear the table," he continued, grabbing his plate and storming out.
"Neal Stone!" Mary Margaret yelled. "You get back here right now and sit patiently while we go around the table!" she stormed into the kitchen after him.
"That is not my name! It's a name assigned by the God damn town, one that you people write on paper, but that. Is. Not. My. Name." the remaining people sitting at the table heard the boy yell, right before plates were smashed. It was then that Killian walked back in, cringing at the noise, and the raised voices.
"Oi I'm gonna have to buy more china aren't I," he sighed. Grace nodded, before turning to Emma.
"I guess we should continue," she said softly. "They could be a while." Emma looked the girl over, before nodding her head, a gesture meant to encourage Grace to continue. She did.
"I'm Grace. Grace Woods I guess. I like to write, and draw, and sew and stuff like that," the girl heaved another sigh, looking like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. She's too young to be this sad. Just like Neal's too young to be that angry. They shouldn't feel like I felt when I was their age. No one should. Emma blinked back tears, but when she caught Killian looking at her out of the corner of her eye, the stoney mask that she'd perfected over her years in the system, fell into place once again. She listened as Grace continued her story.
"I got here shortly after Neal and Leo, which I guess puts me at about eight years too," Grace finished, just as quietly as she'd started, her stare trained on the table like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Emma turned towards the youngest boy, who she assumed was Leo, Neal's brother, but was distracted by someone clearing their throat on the other side of her. She turned her head towards the offender, and raised her eyebrow challengingly.
"Well lass, I believe it's my turn," Killian said mischievously.
"By all means," Emma said, wondering what the man had cooked up to try and charm her.
"I'm Killian Jones. Lived in this town for as long as I could remember, been volunteering on Sunday's for as long as the place's been open. A long standing tradition of my brother's it is." Emma pretended not to notice the slight crack of his voice when he said the word brother. "You've probably heard of me. In and out of jail, though despite what the Sheriff says, they never do have any proof," he smirked. Emma looked at him, unamused, before turning again to Leo.
"What about you?" she asked him. He stared at her with his hauntingly pale blue eyes, but said nothing.
"That's Leopold Stone. Neal's little brother, likes to be called Leo for short. He's been here so long that this is the only place he remembers. He reads a lot, almost always has his head buried in a book. Oh, and he doesn't talk much," Killian stated matter of factly. With a nod, Leo got up from the table, and pattered into the kitchen, where Mary Margaret was crying, as Neal had stormed up the stairs during Killian's little speech. As Grace got up from the table, and went upstairs in search of Neal, Mary Margaret's sobs lowered in volume, before subsiding all together. Neither she nor Leo came out of the kitchen though.
"So love, tell me about yourself," Killian said, his charm turned up to eleven. Emma again gave him her best unamused look before saying, "I'm not your love."
"Never said you were," he replied, slightly shaken by her resistance. Emma heaved a sigh.
"I'm eighteen, almost six months pregnant, and living in a woman and children's home. What more is there?" she growled. Slightly taken aback by her answer, Killian sat there for a moment.
"I don't want to know that, I want to know your story. I want to know the ins and the outs of you, I want to know who you are," he said, because he did want to know her. Now that he'd met her, he didn't just want to help her, he wanted to heal her, to make her whole again. Emma stood up abruptly because she could hear the truth in his words, and she wanted to tell him everything, she really did, but she couldn't.
"We could just start with the basics lass. How bout a name?" he pleaded with her.
"Emma Swan," she whispered, just loud enough so that he could hear her, before she turned away from him, and started up the stairs.