The garage was silent and empty when she got in the next morning, but the doors were thrown wide open and there was a car with its hood up ready and waiting, a brown paper bag sitting expectantly on the engine block. When she got there, she saw the note on it:

Swan,

Had to run some errands in town. Check the load limit on the battery and change the rear brake pads.

Thanks,

Killian.

Ps. Bear claw's for you.

A quick peek into the bag confirmed that there was, in fact, a gigantic pastry waiting. Even though she had already had a quick breakfast before coming in, she took a bite anyways - her eyes drifted shut of their own accord as she did. It was still warm.

She took her time with the battery, hooking it up to the meter slowly and leaning against the hood of the car while it ticked away. Then there was the call to the customer and the ten minutes it took her to convince him that yes, he did need to replace the battery if he wanted the car to work. They finally compromised on a gently used battery that she had seen in the storage room behind the office, and when she went to snag the replacement battery from the hapless pile of stuff Killian called parts storage, she was feeling slightly triumphant. On her way back to the garage she flicked on the radio, hoping for something bright and summery to whistle along to and hopefully buoy her good mood. Though, of course, it was Killian's stupid country station. Her hand darted to the dial but she let it hover a moment, the strains of clear guitar strangely familiar and right echoing through the garage. It felt like every other morning she had ever spent here, and who was she to mess with a good thing? She left it on as she continued into the garage, biting back the smile that threatened.

By the time Killian got back, she had the new battery hooked up and was sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor wiping a dark layer of dirt and oil off the brake rotors. His footsteps were silent on the hard floors, and she was whistling along to a song she (to her dismay) recognized, so when he said "Only like alt rock, eh?" she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Don't do that." She threw her dirty rag at him and he just laughed, dodging it easily.

"And to think I left you breakfast!" He bent down to toss the rag back at her and in the same motion plucked a wrench from where she had set it on the engine block. "I've got to go back down to the marina so I'll probably be out for most of the day - you think you're alright to hold down the fort?"

"What are you doing down there?"

"There are still a few small craft that need work." He shrugged. "Small engine repair's not all that different from cars once you know what you're doing."

"I highly doubt that." She raised an eyebrow at his generalization. "But yeah, I'll be fine here. You need me to lock up too?"

"I'll be back well before then." He wandered around the shop, picking up scattered tools along his way. "Leroy, the man who owns the harbour, knows a thing or two and between us the work usually goes relatively quickly."

"You do this a lot, then?"

"It pays the bills." He shrugged a shoulder as he dug under the bench along the back wall for a tool box. "And he lets me dock there for free if I give a good rate to the marina, so it suits us both."

"Lets you dock...do you have a boat?" She just stared at him, trying to reconcile the man in a torn flannel top and coveralls tied at his waist with a magazine-perfect image she had in her mind of a boater with a pristine white sweater tied around his shoulders. Somehow, the two didn't match.

"Aye, a small one." He glanced back at her, his expression tinged with mirth. "I do have hobbies, Swan."

"Yeah, I just..." She shook her head. "Okay."

"Stop throwing dirty scraps of cloth at me and maybe I'll take you out on it sometime." He winked at her, way too much of a spring in his step as he sauntered across the floor and out the wide doors. "The marina's number is on my desk if you need me. See you this afternoon." Another twist of a smile and an errant wave, and then she heard the rumble of his truck disappear down the drive.

With the image of a yachting Killian with an oil-stained white sweater still in her head, she got back to work.

A leisurely morning slowly bled into afternoon, Emma's work falling into a comfortable rhythm. She slowly made her way through the line of waiting cars in the back lot, praying that the service list Killian kept on his desk was up to date. She was in the office consulting that list at two o'clock when she heard steps echo through the garage. She knew they weren't his - too loud, too heavy, and too sharp - so she plastered a customer-grade smile on her face before going back out into the garage proper.

That smile fell of her face fast as she saw Gold standing in the centre of the garage, pointing to the ceiling and saying something to the man standing beside him.

"Is there a problem with your repair, or is there something else I can help you with today?" She had been polite with the man before, but after hearing from Killian the things that Gold had threatened to do - the things he had allegedly alreadydone - she was having a hard time keeping her voice civil.

"Just taking a look around, dearie. Feel free to go back to your -" and his lip curled at this. "- work."

"Who's this?" She ignored the way a fire lit in her chest and nodded sharply at the man standing next to Gold. She knew she was being rude, but she really didn't care.

"An associate of mine."

"What's your name." Emma turned to the man, who looked slightly offput by what she knew was a fierce look in her eyes.

"It's, uh, Marcus." He stuck his beefy hand out for her to shake, and she softened slightly. He seemed...normal. She would have said nice if he hadn't come in with a man she knew was anything but. "Marcus Johnson."

"Wait..." She had heard it once, but the name clicked suddenly and awfully in her mind. "Johnson as in Johnson's Garage?"

"That's the one!" He smiled a proud smile, and her heart broke slightly because even if he didn't necessarily know it, this man was helping Gold to ruin Killian's whole life, and all he was was proud of the business he had made.

"You understand that I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you don't have any work for me, right?" She turned back to Gold with an arched eyebrow.

"Are you sure that's wise, Ms. Swan? I'm sure by now Mr. Jones has told you about my considerable influence in town."

"He has." She stepped closer to him, ignoring Marcus Johnson and the way his eyes were as wide as saucers as he watched the exchange. She just moved slowly, let Gold's eyes trail her steps until she stopped toe-to-toe with him, and pitched her voice soft and cold as she said, "Ask me if I'm scared of you."

"You seem to think I have some sort of ulterior motive." Gold said, falling back half a step, still to all appearances the faultless gentleman she knew he wasn't. "I'm just a man conducting business." The smile he flashed her was tight and dangerous, and that looked like him. "Tell Mr. Jones I stopped by, would you?" He guided his companion back out towards his car, and she leaned in the doorway as they turned back towards town.

"You can count on it." She muttered.

Killian got back later than promised, and by the time he did she was sitting in her car out back, feet propped on the dashboard and drinking cold coffee from the pot she had made before lunch. It was nearing 5 o'clock and the sun was in the Western sky, aligned perfectly to shine a beam through the garage and out the back door to paint the dash in shades of yellow. She had her eyes closed and let her mind run through all the times she had flown down different roads in this car, windows open and radio blaring, letting the sun filter through the windows and warm her shoulders as she drove. Even just sitting here, the familiar shape of the seat against her back the warm, comfortable smell of age and just car made a spot in her chest ache with pure want - she couldn't wait until she was back on the road with nothing but the car that had never done anything but take her where she needed to be.

She heard his tires crunching on the gravel before the shape of the truck interrupted her thin stream of light, and she reluctantly opened her eyes and forced herself out of the car to go meet him. He looked tired as he deposited his took kit in the middle of the empty second repair bay, but when he saw her something in his face softened, and she stopped in her tracks.

"I ran into Gold on my way back." He said quietly. She could feel herself pale a shade because she could only imagine what he had said.

"Listen, if this is about me being rude, I'm sorry, but I just..."

"It's not about that." He took a few steps closer, and he broke into a gentle smile. "Though he did tell me what you said. But Emma...you didn't need to fight him for me. Heaven knows he's not going to make your life easy for the rest of your stay. You could have let him look and then left the arguing to me."

"Then he would have gotten to poke around, and he had that guy from out of town with him, and you can't argue away his memory of what he saw."

"Still, you didn't have to."

"Killian, of course I did." She rolled her eyes at him, thoroughly exasperated. "Honestly, do you think I was just going to stand around and watch him roam around here? I work here. This is my life right now, and this is your business, and for him to come in here with the plan to ruin all of this...I'm not just going to take it."

"I do appreciate that, Emma, but..."

"But nothing." She interrupted. "I can make my own decisions, and he is not even a drop in the ocean of assholes I've had to deal with."

"Then thank you." He smiled that same soft smile, and it was so different from the half-twist of his mouth that she had gotten used to - warmer, somehow, and it lingered even after he scooped his tool box back up and went to unload it on the rear bench.

"Are you worried that he's sniffing around?" She asked, following. "That his threat is...more than a threat now?"

"I suppose I should be." She could see his shoulders lift as he sighed. "But it's one thing or another with him, and besides all that there's still the threat that I'll sink the business myself." He turned around then, scrubbing a tired hand over his face, and there was a resignation in the gesture that made something in her chest shift.

"That's not going to happen." Her voice rang with sincerity and she could tell it surprised him, because he dropped his hand to just stare at her with a fullness in his eyes that she couldn't place. Then she saw the state of his face and bit back a laugh.

"What?"

"You've got a little something..." She gestured to her cheek, but it was a mockery of the state of his face, a handprint-sized streak of black grease smeared over both cheeks and the bridge of his nose. A small laugh bubbled out, and a sly grin unfurled on his face as he took a step towards her.

"Where do you mean, Swan? Here?" And before she could register the movement, he wiped both his hands over her cheeks and she could feel the grit of dirt against them.

"More like here." She grabbed his hand and smeared it up and over his forehead, his eyes sparkling beneath. She dragged his palm down over his cheek, but he didn't move to stop her - his gaze just stayed locked with hers, and something in it made her stop, her hand still holding his against his cheek. The blue of his eyes in the early evening sun, the way they were soft around the edges but still had a wicked glint to them, the way he was just looking at her with gratitude and kindness and not a trace of judgement...the hours they had spent together trading jokes back and forth across the shop flooded her mind, the rough cadence of his voice as he told her about how thoroughly he knew loss, the bright look on his face when they had breakfast by the water that quiet morning, the easy way they sat side by side on his porch...

He didn't pull away as she stared at him, remembering the moments that had filled their past weeks together, so she released his hand to cup his cheek herself, and leaned in closer as his breath caught in his throat.

"Swan..."

"You can say no." She whispered, her voice low and suddenly ragged. It would be well within his rights to tell her to stop - he barely knew her, she was attributing too much to the little moments they had shared, she was reaching for something she had never been allowed to have so why now...

"Not on your life." He murmured back, and then his lips were on hers.

His hand drifting up to knot in her hair was gentle, and her palm against his cheek was soft, but the kiss was anything but. She had never even entertained the idea of this with him, but what flowed between them felt like it had been building for years, and it was effortless. She swayed closer until they were flush up against one another, and his hand resting on her back only pulled her tighter. His lips were rough with the dirt on his face, and they were salty from being by the sea all day, and she knew that her own were bitter with day-old coffee, but it was perfect. It was messy and abrupt and her head was spinning with how fast it had all happened but how much she wantedit, but it was them through and through.

The moment they stood there wrapped in each other seemed endless, and it was either the smell of gasoline or the smell of him or the pure wash of emotions that came with this finally happening - because now that it had she realized exactly how long ago it should have - but by the time he let out a heavy, shaky breath against her lips, she had to grab a fistful of his shirt to stop from swaying.

She pulled back to rest her forehead against his, and his thumb rubbed against the back of her head gently as his eyes stayed trained on hers, hopelessly blue and brilliantin the space between them. She smiled softly. It felt like all the years of being left had suddenly been stripped away and here, in this small peaceful pocket of the world they had made for themselves, nothing had ever been wrong.

"Swan, that was..."

"A thank you." She whispered, pulling away for real and letting him see her smile. "For breakfast. And, you know, everything else."

A slow, answering smile spread over his face, and she could see in the shape of it all the things he wanted to say in response. Instead, he shifted just a hairsbreadth forward and her eyes fluttered shut, but the brush of his lips was soft and gentle. It was short and barely there, lighter even than the breath he had let out only a moment before, but she could feel in that whisper-soft touch everything that had brought them together.

"For being you." He murmured against her lips, then pulled back to smile that same soft grin that she was beginning to think he wore only for her. "And, you know, everything else."