His head is pounding, his tongue is too-large for his mouth, his throat is dry, and he's fairly certain that yesterday's dinner is coming back for round two. Killian props his arm on the waste bin, grateful that he's moved it so close to his bed, as the contents of his stomach vacate their current premises.

Afterwards, with a shaky hand, he wipes his mouth.

"Here, drink this and take these – you'll feel better," someone says – Robin, he pieces together no thanks to the throbbing headache. His roommate places two bright orange pills into one hand and a glass of water into the other. The bin disappears and so does Robin, so Killian rolls over. He pops the pills into his mouth, finishes the glass of water in one gulp (he is very thirsty) and blinks.

It's been a long time since he's been this hung-over, but the feeling is a familiar one (as is the feeling of regret that starts to crawl up the back of his spine and along this limbs because what did he do last night? What did he say?). He leans his head back against the pillow and stares at the ceiling.

"This is not my room," he realizes, pieces starting to fit together slowly as the full picture comes into view.

"Nope," Robin's voice says from far away. He can see shadows as Robin approaches, hears the couch across the room groan when Robin sits down (they need to get rid of that ratty old thing and actually buy furniture someday…). "How much of the last twenty-four hours do you remember, mate?"

Killian closes his eyes tight, wipes away sleep with the palms of his hands. He remembers Regina and a phone call, rum – oh god, the smell is wafting up from his shirt, he must have spilled some, he's going to be sick and there's no bin – he remembers pizza and he remembers –

"Fuck," he says, rolling back over and miraculously the waste bin reappears underneath him. Somewhere above him Robin chuckles, and he's sure glad that someone's amused because he is the exact opposite.

When he regains his composure, he falls back onto the couch with a sigh. "Emma," he tells Robin. "I remember I talked to Emma." Even saying her name sends a wave of self-loathing through Killian, making him recoil.

He presented his past to her, let her make her decision, and she told him to leave. It seems fitting, in the light of day, that he would be dismissed (what did he expect to happen, anyway? Emma is not her mother – there was kindness mixed with fear in her eyes when he told her the truth, and that was when she could meet his eyes at all). He hates himself. He really hates himself.

"Yes, Emma," Robin repeats. "It's been a long night for you, Killian Jones, and I imagine that the day will be longer still."

"What time is it?"

"About nine in the morning. Good thing that you skipped all your classes yesterday – or at least that's what I'm assuming you did since you stumbled in here ready to drown your sorrows while you should have been in your economics class."

"Didn't know you knew my schedule, mate," Killian remarks, trying to sit up but failing miserably as his head feels so heavy (no doubt weighed down by so very much shame) and it hurts to move.

"It's posted on the fridge next to mine, mate," Robin remarks. "Look, if you want to take the day to lick your wounds and emerge from this battle a man, do it. Everyone knows you can usually miss one class without repercussions."

"I've got a show this afternoon." The thought of moving is too much for Killian but he knows he will have to, will have to suffer through Meteorology and Statistics – after he gets some food and several gallons of water - before heading to WOUT for his show (at least he has a good idea of his playlist today, with the way that his chest feels, tight and empty).

There was a time when this was the norm, when he suffered through days with much worse hang-overs and just as much heartache, but he is very much out of practice both with the physical and emotional elements of a broken heart. The shame, however, that comes from making poor decisions - that has returned like a long-lost friend, and he can't exactly say that it's a welcome return, but it's here to stay.

"Yeah, and you better not miss that because you know how Regina gets about skipping shifts," Robin points out. Killian sighs, rubs at his eyes once more. Regina is the least of his problems right now, but he won't tell Robin that.

From what he remembers last night, he drank himself stupid after pouring out his soul to Emma (which is not surprising, given his track record with shitty decisions). But, from the hazy depths of his drunken memory, he vaguely recalls something involving Regina and Emma –

"Whatever happened with Regina?" he asks, taking another shaky sip of water, his stomach clenching. Robin sighs.

"She's with Emma right now and that's all I know, and that's all I'm going to tell you." Robin runs his hands through his hair. "Please don't think I'm being unsympathetic to your cause, Killian, but you gambled with your princess and you lost, and now you need to think about yourself and what comes next." Robin sighs again and stands up, patting Killian on the shoulder. "I've got Forestry so I'll see you later?"

"Yeah." Killian nods his head, focuses on the faint sounds of Robin getting ready to head to campus. The light that sneaks between the venetian blinds is too bright, so he turns his head away and looks for his phone (it is in his pocket, battery near-dead). There are some messages from his bandmates but nothing from Emma, which he expected since she hasn't messaged him in days.

Robin is right – he went all-in, and he lost just like he always does. He will just have to find a way to live without her now (even if he doesn't want to, he'll have to, because he doesn't have any other options).

He stumbles into the shower, hoping the steam and the water will wake him up and clear his head, but all he can think about is Emma and the (now final) loss of her. There will be no other chances. He has to deal with the consequences of his action, not for the first time.

The old familiar darkness settles down around his shoulders, weighing his heart down. It was as constant a friend as the booze not that long ago, and as he gets dressed, pulling a t-shirt over his head, he recognizes the feeling of heaviness in his limbs and in his lungs, and he doesn't try to shake it off, just lets it linger.

It's one of the few things he has now that he doesn't have her.

…

Regina drives fast, and they make it to the city before noon. She insists that they stop at a Whole Foods in the suburbs because there won't be any food in the penthouse and "I am not walking six city blocks with groceries, just so you know." Emma sighs but she hops out of the car and follows Graham and Regina in.

The car ride was better than Emma had expected – Regina and Graham got along fine, and both seemed more than willing to distract Emma from any of the maudlin thoughts that attempted to invade her headspace nonstop (she can't stop thinking about Killian, about his past and his lips and his lips on her and the way he made her feel and he way he still makes her feel, which is confusing her because how hard would it be to just feel angry and indignant? Why does she have to feel this loss, this sorrow too?). Regina's words are still ringing in her ears about Killian wanting her to know him, about his embarrassment in regards to his behavior, and Emma's starting to think that maybe Regina is just a tiny bit right. Maybe.

But she doesn't want to admit it. Not yet. Regina's head is big enough already without this reinforcement.

They walk through the grocery store, filling up a shopping cart with food and chatting like three friends, not three people thrown together haphazardly (one in another's employ). When they walk towards the wine aisle, Emma moves to turn away but Regina shakes her head.

"My father has a good selection of wine and my mother would kill me if we didn't offer it to you – better than this swill," she says with a curl of her lip.

It's a short drive from Whole Foods to Regina's parents' penthouse in the city, and as the skyscrapers begin to loom over them, Emma studies them with keen interest. She's never been to a place like this, where the land is so flat and the buildings so vertical, racing towards the sky. It makes her feel very small, and very far from home, where the streets are twisting and narrow and all of the buildings ancient. She takes a deep breath, watches as her exhale fogs up the car window, and before she knows it they're going underground into a parking garage.

The penthouse is a study in modern simplicity – clean lines, spartan furniture, industrial steel and large open windows that provide a panoramic view of the city. Graham whistles low when they enter, and Emma notices that Regina can't help but smile because this place is impressive.

"This is gorgeous," Emma tells her, and Regina's smile grows wider.

"I'll have to let Cora know," Regina remarks, and Emma frowns in confusion.

"Cora?"

"My mother – I call her by her first name because it pisses her off." Regina throws a smile over her shoulder as she walks past. "C'mon – I'll give you a tour."

They put away the food in a kitchen that is easily the size of Killian and Robin's apartment, and then Regina takes them to the rooms they can stay in and the en suite bathrooms (plural) that they can use. Emma's room overlooks the lake, and she takes a moment to just appreciate the view before jumping in the shower that has more than one setting (dorm showers are the worst) and washing off the grime and tears of the day before.

She did cry over Killian – once Regina was in her bedroom and she was alone. She buried her face in the pillow, sobs coming hard and fast as she thought about his ridiculous face and his ridiculous past and how she wanted nothing more than to just let it be, let it not hurt her, but she grew up being told that the truth was the most important thing in life, that secrets hurt people. And even though she can see why he failed to tell her – even though she understands, innately, why he kept it from her – she's not like other college girls. She's a princess, and she has responsibilities to her people and her country. Everything in her life has to be above board and transparent; anything that isn't can only hurt her in the end.

Emma has spent her life being careful with her person and with her heart, and anytime she even thinks of throwing caution to the wind, things go poorly and she must repair her foundations, build her walls a little higher to keep herself safe. It started when she was in secondary school, and there were girls who wanted to be her friend so that they could be invited to fancy parties, and who talked about her behind her back when she ignored the. Then there was Walsh and his insensitivity about her first time (she can't believe she's still angry but she is, because every time Killian touched her she was excited and scared and how she trusted him and - ), and now with Killian and his dark past. Each time she has been made to feel vulnerable, been made to feel foolish, and she cannot afford that. Eira cannot afford a fool for a queen.

And yet, she thinks as she rinses the conditioner out of her hair, this time with Killian is different. His past was full of tragedy, but she cannot ignore that he didn't keep it hidden forever, and for all that she feels betrayed, she wasn't. He didn't keep secrets to hurt her, that much is true.

Neither did Belle, but that doesn't make it any easier for Emma to stomach that she was there because she was paid to be, as her bodyguard. There's something skeevy about knowing she shared the same small room with someone who wasn't honest about her identity that bothers Emma in a way that Killian's shady past doesn't. Ever since she found out, Emma's been wondering why she didn't see it sooner - Belle always knew what to say, what to do, had a maturity beyond her years and of course she did, she's much older than she seems.

Emma pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with the university's logo on it, and finger-combs her hair. As she heads out to the kitchen, she can hear Regina and Graham talking quietly about her. She stops, presses herself against the wall, and listens.

"Leroy doesn't want us to be gone for too long," she hears Graham say, and someone – Regina, probably – opens up a can of soda (Emma can hear the pop and hiss, can hear the low clink of it being placed on the marble countertop).

"Well that doesn't depend on Leroy, does it?" Regina asks. "We stay until her royal highness tells us she's ready to go back."

"Do you give me orders now?" Graham responds.

"Oh honey, I would love to give you orders, but you and I both know we're here for the duration," Regina says with a sigh. Emma chooses then to round the corner, hands in her pockets.

"Thanks," she says, her appearance surprising them. "Thanks for this."

Graham sits on a stool by the counter, Regina on the other side. Regina picks up her soda, takes a sip with a raised eyebrow.

"Thank you - I've had a desperate need to get out of that hick town," she says, and even though she's fronting like the college town they live in is the worst, Emma knows that Regina probably misses her boyfriend. She does feel guilty for asking her to come here – to be her ally when she's the girlfriend of Killian's roommate and Killian's boss at WOUT – but she's never quite sure what to do in regards to Regina. She saw her vulnerable last night, but that Regina and this one standing in front of her, hand on her hip and smirk on her lips, is a very different one.

Emma guesses that maybe she's much the same way – she doesn't make it easy on any of them by her stubbornness, her refusal to deal with this problem back at school. Silence lingers in the air between them and finally Regina sighs and says, "Let's eat."

They make lunch – sandwiches and chips, and Regina liberates a bottle of white from her parent's wine fridge and sit on the rooftop patio overlooking the city. Below them cars honk and people go about their daily business, and it seems so strange to Emma that they're here, away from everything, drinking wine in the afternoon.

The wine and food make her sleepy, and Regina encourages her to take a nap. "I still have a paper due Friday, and I'm sure Graham has to check in with Leroy," she adds, but it takes very little to convince Emma.

She slides under the covers of her bed, enjoying the feel of the ultra-soft pillow that is so different from her pillow back at the dorm - more like home, and that makes her heart ache. She didn't sleep well last night, and she hopes that this time will be different. She's still thinking about Killian, wishing he was with her in bed, arm wrapped around her, his breath against her neck.

Thoughts of him warm her traitorous heart, and she drifts off easily.

…

Killian removes the headphones, resting them on the countertop as he rolls the chair back and away from the microphone. He's got another thirty minutes before he's got to do station identification, and so he starts to cue up music in the CD player – Lykke Li then Arcade Fire (and if his show is a sad mess, well, it's because he is a sad mess).

He knew it was going to end like this with Emma, and it's his own fault for falling in love with her. She was kind and caring and beautiful and she made him feel like he could be better than the shell of a man he once was, so focused first on vengeance and then forgetting the past, but even the most kind individuals cannot forgiven every offense against them (nor should they, his broken heart tells him, because not everything should be forgiven).

If he had told her from the beginning, he wouldn't have fallen in this deep, wouldn't be stuck trying to climb his way out.

Lykke Li starts singing about never learning and that's what Killian does – he never learns. Love is something he can't have because he doesn't know what to do with it, doesn't know how to handle it. Love isn't built on the shaky foundation of falsehoods, and he should have given her the chance to know sooner, should have been honest with her about Milah from the beginning, maybe things could have been salvaged–

But it doesn't fucking matter, in the end, does it? There is nothing to salvage, nothing to save. He was a wretched human being before he met her and he will be after her.

The track ends and the next starts, mopey as the first, and there is a banging on the glass. Killian looks up to see Robin on the other side, making a face at him. His roommate rounds the corner and enters the studio, frowning.

"That's it," he announces, dropping his book bag on the ground. "I can't handle this. This is the fucking worst, Killian – I'm going to break you out of your lovesick haze."

"What if I don't want to be broken out of my lovesick haze?" Killian snaps back, because he doesn't – because he wants to hunker down and lick his wounds and this show, this was his zone, his space to just mourn. Robin looks at the CDs spread out on the counter and shakes his head.

"Did I get here before or after Morrissey? Nevermind," he remarks as he slips into the DJ's chair, pauses the music. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is DJ Robin Hood of 'Hood Rich' and I am hijacking DJ Lonely Hearts' show" (Killian bristles at the nickname but if the shoe fits - )

He flips through the tracking and Killian can't help but smile as the new song starts. This is one of his favorite tracks, and he knows that Robin likes it too.

"If the snow buries my - my neighborhood," Robin sings along, "if my parents are crying, then I'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours – "He reaches over and cranks up the volume inside the studio. "Sit back, I got this, mate."

"Maybe I wanted to be DJ Lonely Hearts," Killian protests but he sits on a stool anyway, trying not to think about Emma sitting there all those weeks ago and fails (he can still remember the way the harsh lights of the studio reflected the gold in her hair, still remembers the shy smiles and the way her lips tasted of fruit when he kissed her in the hallway afterwards). Robin shakes his head and pulls out some other CDs, shuffling through the ones already on the counter.

"I know you do, and that's why I'm here to distract you," Robin admits. "I know you, and I know how you'll trap yourself in a funk for a month. And I know it's your choice, free will, blah blah blah, but I felt like you needed to know that there is a world outside of your head and your heart, and your friends care about you."

Robin's words touch Killian, because there have been times in the years that he's known the other man that something has triggered a memory of Liam or Milah and he ends up much the same that he did last night – downing rum like water, drinking to forget – and even though it feels right, it's not healthy (that's Liam's voice in his head, telling him that he can do better). And knowing that Robin cares about him is actually what he needs to hear right now, because Liam always knew how to make things better, always knew how to make Killian try harder, aim higher.

But the desire to aim high conflicts the desire to not give a fuck, to let his life continue to meander because he's such a fuck-up that he'll never fix it anyway so why try? KiIlian takes a shaky breath, focuses. He needs a distraction.

He taps his foot against the stool, watching as Robin dramatically dances around the station because how can he not with this song? The song does make his mood lighter, shakes away the darkness that has been lingering at the base of his skull. So does watching another DJ, Aurora, enter the booth towards the end of the song, while Robin is singing along "Ooo-ooo-oooo-ooo-ooo!" and doing the running man. She does a little dance herself and joins in until the end of the song, when another track that Robin's selected cues up.

"You two are idiots," she comments, leaning against the doorway and watching Robin act foolish. "Hey Killian, do you check your phone these days? Phillip wants to know if you can practice tonight and tomorrow night. He booked a studio for after term in December, wants to finally cut that EP."

Killian smiles sheepishly because he's been avoiding his phone and his bandmate's girlfriend shouldn't be the one stalking him down and reminding him. "Sorry, I've been DJ Lonely Hearts lately."

The band knows that Killian had been seeing someone but he had never brought Emma by and there had been no gigs lately, with midterms and projects but now that it sounds like recording the EP is finally on the horizon, Killian knows things will pick up. It may be a good thing that he's single again, the way that Phillip pushes then (they all want to record but none as much as their front man).

Aurora frowns, says, "I'm so sorry, Killian, I thought you two were doing well," before adding, "just text Phillip, okay?" as she walked out the door and into the office.

Killian turns back to Robin, who is still cueing up music. "Hey – thanks," he says.

"For what?" Robin asks from over a stack of CDs.

"For hijacking my show. For looking out for me so that I don't become a total recluse – since Liam, I never really had anyone looking out for me and…" Killian struggles to find a way to express just how much it matters.

"No big, mate, I totally understand," Robin says, extending his arm. Killian reaches for it, and they shake, then awkwardly hug, patting each other on the back. Killian can't help but laugh afterwards, because Robin isn't really touchy-feely and the fact that he came out to help him, to cheer him up – it matters. It matters more than Killian can articulate, to know that even with his broken pieces and fucked up soul, there are still people who see the good in him.

His show wraps up uneventfully, and from there it's a station meeting run by Sidney (because Regina is gone, and Robin won't say anything about it so he knows it has to do with Emma, she's somewhere with Emma and his stomach hurts just thinking about her). In the midst of it all, he can feel the creeping of the darkness down his spine, into his chest, circling like a vulture around his heart.

Liam would want him to be better. Liam would want him to not give in to his baser instincts, to not wallow in pain and misery.

The struggle is real.

There's band practice after that, and he throws himself into his music in a way he hasn't in some time – so much so that it's noticeable, the way that he's playing, every note sounding perfect in Phillip's garage and this is it, being a part of a whole, this is what he hasn't had since he first joined the Army, first found purpose.

"Way to be, Killian," Mulan calls out from behind the drum set, and Victor nods in appreciation from across the room. Killian wipes the sweat off his brow, adrenaline still coursing through him because he's got this, this is something manageable, this is something he can do, this is all he can do if he doesn't have her.

…

Emma wakes late in the afternoon, watching the sun sink below the skyline and cast pink and red rays across the lake. She shuffles into the living room, where Regina is working on her laptop, listening to music. She swears she hears Robin's voice, and when Regina sees her, she turns the music down.

"What are you listening to?" Emma asks, and Regina looks at her computer and back up sheepishly.

"WOUT's online stream," Regina admits. "I'm so anal retentive, I need to know what's going on when I'm not there."

"Oh – was that Robin's show?" she asks, but as she does she realizes what time it is and when Regina shakes her head, she knows.

"No – he crashed Killian's," Regina admits slowly, and Emma totally understands why. They are all here because of Emma and Killian, and Emma's unresolved feelings towards and about him (the thought that she might hear his voice over the tinny computer speakers makes her heart skip a beat and her stomach sink and her blood run cold all at once).

"Can you turn it up? I kinda like this track." Emma sinks down into a black chair that looks uncomfortable at first glance but isn't, not really, tucking her legs up under her.

"Arcade Fire?" Regina grins. "I love this band. So does Robin. And Killian, apparently, because he was playing something else by him before Robin took over." Regina looks at her hands, a fond smile on her face. "I think they're the one band that everyone on the station can agree on."

"They're pretty good," Emma admits. "I don't go to a lot of shows."

"I imagine not. Eira can't have a good music scene as small and isolated as it is – I guess most of the major acts go to Amsterdam?" Regina asks, and Emma nods, appreciating that Regina isn't pointing out the obvious safety problems with royalty going to dodgy concert venues.

"But I like them." She pauses, a thought coming into her head about Robin taking over Killian's show. "I know Robin doesn't like me," Emma admits.

Regina laughs to herself before looking back up at Emma. There is a soft smile on her face and when she speaks, her voice is quiet yet the affection she holds for Robin is quite clear.

"I'm sure you've noticed that my boyfriend isn't the most outspoken man," Regina says. "He's known Killian for a long time, and he knew both Killian's story and who you were when Killian brought you over the first time. He's looking out for his friend." She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "When he decides he likes you, you can never get rid of the man – his loyalty is everlasting, it seems."

"So when did you guys start dating?" Emma asks. Regina shifts the computer off her lap, crosses her legs on the sofa.

"Just this fall, but we'd known each other since freshman year but I think I scared him – I tend to do that to people," Regina admits. "We actually hooked up at the end of the school year, and I think that disabused him of the notion that I was unattainable." Regina pauses. "Daniel died that summer and when I came back I was harsher. Colder. I'm not the type of girl to make friends easily but it was worse. And I was so sad, so upset, so angry –"

Emma remembers the story that Regina told her last night – how her high school boyfriend had been scared away by her mother, how her mother had lied, how Regina found out only after he was dead. There is a fine line between people who keep the truth from you to protect you, and people who keep the truth from you to protect themselves Regina had said, and Emma is starting to think that Killian was definitely not trying to protect himself – unless he was trying to protect himself from more heartache, which is entirely possible but very different from getting rid of your daughter's boyfriend because you want winters in the Bahamas and grandchildren at Harvard.

If that is the case, then Emma can't hate Killian for wanting to protect himself. She's guilty of the same offense, constantly trying to keep her heart safe, and the knowledge that she is just like Killian in that respect is a sobering thought.

"What happened?" she asks.

"He never gave up on me. He took every opportunity to remind me that I was more than people's opinions about me. He was a friend when I needed him." Regina takes a deep breath. "And then one day, he became more."

"I like that story," Emma tells her, because it's true, and because it reminds him of her parents, the idea of faith and hope and love. Regina ducks her head, embarrassed. "How did you know you were in love?"

She expects Regina to give her a smart-assed response but she doesn't. Instead, the other girl gets a wistful look on her face.

"You know, I tried to figure out exactly what it was about Robin that made me feel that way but…I couldn't. It was everything. He makes me angry and he makes me sad and he makes me happy, and he believes in me despite everything – despite how I can be at times," Regina says. "Like, I'm enough for him the way I am, and I don't have to be perfect – just Regina."

Emma considers this statement, because she remembers feeling that way – like she was enough as Emma, like she didn't have to be the Crown Princess, and there have been very few people in her life that have ever accepted her for herself outside of her parents and probably Leroy, the old curmudgeon (she wants to think that her roommates do, but they are still getting to know each other and so the number remains small, and maybe that's about right).

The song changes and there is a pause – a DJ coming on air – and Regina closes her laptop, shutting off the music completely. When she does, Emma hears her stomach growl.

"So what are we doing for dinner?" Emma asks. "Can we go somewhere?"

Regina opens her mouth, looking uncertain, but she is cut off by Graham.

"Absolutely not – your mother's orders," he says, just as Emma rolls her eyes.

"You told her I'm here?" Emma squeaks, feeling anxiety grow in her belly (oh god she hasn't checked in with her mom this week, maybe she should do that?), but Graham shakes his head.

"No, those are the orders for when you were planning to come here at Thanksgiving. You cannot leave the apartment, Emma, because this is a big city and there is a chance you could be recognized. Being recognized means that Cassidy would know where you are, and we cannot allow that to happen." Graham sighs as he sinks into a white chair nearby. "She'd be furious if she knew we went to Whole Foods."

"I guess we can order delivery," Regina suggests with a shrug. "We do have all that wine…"

Emma sighs, letting her head fall back against the chair. She doesn't like being cooped up inside, but if the ruling has come down from her mother, then she best follow it or pay for it later when her mother finds out.

They order deep-dish pizza and open more bottles of wine and talk about everything and nothing and its nice, to be so distracted. But the more wine she drinks, the more she thinks about Killian. How he made her happy, and angry, and sad. And how it was not just one thing about him that drew her in, but everything about him.

And now, when it feels like she must build higher and stronger defenses to protect her fragile, vulnerable heart, there is a small part of her that misses him with a pain that she never thought possible.

She pulls her sweatshirt over her head, opens the balcony door and goes to stand outside. The lights of the city shine all around her and the cars honk their horns and the wind whips her hair around her face but she is there, in that moment, feeling everything (the cold air the harsh wind the alcohol singing in her veins) and all that she wishes, more than anything else, is that Killian was there with her too. The thought makes her even more confused than she was before, and she shakes it off but it sticks like a stray hair, refusing to be brushed away.

…

The first day goes by, and then the second. There are homework assignments to turn in and papers and band practice and Killian puts more effort into all of these things, effort that he had been giving to other tasks (he can still remember the taste of Emma's, the smell of her perfume, the feel of her hair beneath his fingertips and he doesn't think he's likely to forget it any time soon). He drinks to forget these things and to not dream about them when his head hits the pillow.

He even helps Robin clean the apartment, gathering up beer bottles to recycle and putting all of the pots and pans away because without Regina here to complain or Emma to impress, they've been a bit lazy when it comes to housecleaning.

"This place actually looks like humans live here," Robin tells him as they finish late Thursday night. He reaches in the fridge and pulls out two beers, handing Killian one.

"They do," Killian says, clinking the bottle against Robin's. His roommate leans back against the counter, looks him over.

"How are you doing?" Robin asks. Killian drinks his beer.

It's a loaded question, because the first answer is not great. The more time he spends away from Emma, the more he regrets not acting sooner and telling her when they first met. If he had told her early on, they may have been able to talk it out, work through it (or she could have run, and his heart would have been spared).

But he didn't, and so he must live without her.

It is agony.

"It's not been easy," he tells Robin, because it hasn't. Everything reminds him of her – the sappy songs that his band sings, the shows on TV they watched together, the soda he bought specifically for her because she really likes Diet Cherry Coke. Everything that happens he wants to share with her – the new song that his band just wrote, the ridiculous student who argued with the prof in Econ, every little boring and unimportant part of his day he wants to talk to Emma about, because that's what he spent nearly a month doing, and it has become a part of his day.

At lunch today, he actually picked up a grilled chicken salad for her before he put it back, remembering she wasn't there anymore nor would she be again.

"It never is," Robin admits. "When Marian and I broke up, I was a mess for a long time until I pulled myself up by my bootstraps – "

"- and slept with Regina," Killian finishes. He's never met Marian, Robin's high school sweetheart, only heard about her secondhand through stories of how she dumped him via text at the end of Robin's freshman year, and how he consoled himself by hooking up with Regina. Of course, Robin then proceeded to pursue Regina for two additional years before she finally consented to date him, but that didn't appear to ever slow him down.

"It was a good call on my part," Robin admits with a shrug. "One day, you'll stop thinking about her."

"Just not anytime soon," Killian points out. Robin nods.

"No, not any time soon."

Killian embraces the sadness that comes with losing Emma, because he lost her – that's the best way to explain it. His cowardice, his fear of judgment, his idiocy – he lost her as a result of that. It is his fault. Unlike Milah or Liam, this is entirely his own fault.

He cries that night, ashamed and embarrassed and alone, cries because everything good is taken away from him – Liam, Milah, Emma – because he is broken, because he is weak, because he doesn't deserve nice things like love and companionship (if he didn't, then none of this would happen, but Killian Jones is a pathetic man, a lost man, and that is all he ever will).

He carries these thoughts with him into Friday, where his only plans are to go to class and then drink, and maybe play – no band practice tonight, nothing to waste away the lonely hours.

He spots Belle outside of his Geography of Transportation class, leaning against the wall trying to seem casual and failing, and it seems that she is waiting for him. She's not wearing the dresses and skirts he remembers her favoring from his brief interactions with her – today she's in dark colors and pants, and she looks like the military bodyguard that she really is. For the first time, Killian can tell that she's older than Emma, but not by much.

"This would be creepy, but I'm fairly sure you have my schedule already so…" he says, trailing off. Belle nods, crosses her arms across her chest.

"I know I deserve that, since I'm the one that reported on you. I also compiled the dossier so you can blame me for that too."

"I can't blame you for doing your job." Killian takes a sip from his water bottle, watches as Belle looks down.

"I am so sorry, Killian," Belle says, and he can see the tears forming in her eyes, making him feel uneasy.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he insists, because it's the truth –because there is absolutely nothing that Belle needs to apologize for. Emma's security team would have found out about him sooner or later, especially if things got serious (that thought causes his chest to feel tight but he pushes past that, focuses on the moment, because there is no way that a princess would seriously date someone as broken as him). "I'm the one who ruined things."

"She doesn't trust me anymore." Belle looks down, stubs the toes of her boots against the tiled floor. Killian shrugs.

"Would you, if someone you thought was a friend was also there spying on you? Maybe 'spying' is too harsh a word but – "

Belle shakes her head aggressively. "No, that's exactly what I did – in Emma's eyes, at least. I didn't mean to, I just –"

"You were doing your job," Killian reminds her. He is uncertain of how to comfort her because whatever Belle is feeling is threatening to shatter his own careful control that has carried him through school these past few days, and Belle brushes her eyes, nods her head.

"Just my job," she says, and Killian smiles.

"I'll see you around," he tells her, not really sure what else he should say. Belle calls after him, softly, "Don't you want to know where she is?"

He does, he really does, but he doesn't, because it doesn't matter. There will be no reunion, no reconciliation. He shakes his head.

"No," he tells Belle. "I don't."

He turns and walks away, leaving Belle in the hallway and feeling like the further he moves from her, the further he moves from Emma. There is barely any overlap in their social circles and he doesn't think that matters too much anyway. Emma doesn't want him anymore. It's a large school. He can just disappear.

(It's never that easy and he knows it.)

…

Graham, unfortunately, has the foresight to bring Emma's books and laptop with him, and so while she endures pseudo-house arrest in Regina's parents' penthouse, she gets work done – papers she was going to not start until later in the semester for English Comp, notecards for Biology (she avoids Facebook because she doesn't want to see Belle or Killian's faces on her newsfeed and she knows the temptation to look them up - look him up - would be too great). It feels good to keep her mind so busy with schoolwork but she grows restless after some time, gets frustrated by having this new and interesting city just outside her door.

"Why can't I go out and walk around?" she complains. "Madeleine gets to walk around New York all the time." Emma is well aware that she's being a whiny brat but there is only so much time she can spend on cells and life forms, only so many seasons of 'Orange is the New Black' on Netflix because the minute she stops, then the thoughts about Killian come back and she misses him and she hates him and she thinks she just might love him too.

Graham puts down the book that he's reading and fixes her with a patronizing gaze. "That is because your cousin is third in line to the Swedish throne, not first," he points out. From across the room, Regina looks up from her laptop.

"I thought she was fourth in line after her sister, her niece, and her brother," Regina interjects, counting off the line of succession on her fingers. Emma grabs her phone and Googles it and –

"She's right, Graham," Emma tells him, and Regina lets out a 'whoop' in victory. "Before Estelle was born, Madeleine was third and now she's not."

"Oh snap – I'm not even European and I know more than you, boo," Regina tells Graham, reaching over to smack his arm lightly (Graham rolls his eyes at the action).

"Why do you know so much about European royalty?" Emma asks, and Regina shrugs.

"I find the tradition fascinating," Regina admits. "So, can I ask you about…"

Regina's interest sparks a conversation on all of Emma's royal family members and friends. For the first time since she's been here, Emma is actually able to talk freely about being royalty. She hasn't so far with Ruby or Ariel because neither girl seems to care about more than just the superficial aspects like jewels and ball gowns and Prince Harry. It's nice to be both Emma the college student and Emma the princess. It's a welcome change, to be able to talk about her life without fear of being judged.

It's how she felt with Killian, when she's completely honest with herself, because he cared about all of what made her Emma.

"I knew it!" Regina remarks after Emma lets a particularly salacious bit of gossip drop about a certain crown princess, smile wide on her face and Emma has to rush, to caution her not to say anything. Regina rolls her eyes.

"Your secret's safe with me, your highness," she says. "I'm going to make a phone call."

Regina heads to her room, leaving Graham with Emma. They haven't spoken much over the past few days – at least, not privately – and he looks nervous.

"I'm not mad at you," Emma says, and Graham laughs, sinks back into the chair. "You did what you needed to do to keep me safe. I can see that."

"And I appreciate your benevolence, your highness. I just feel bad for Killian."

His name causes a surge to go through Emma's, doubling and looping back on itself until her entire body is humming. Graham has been discreet, has avoided mentioning him but now that he has, Emma can clearly see he wants to talk. And for the first time, she wants to listen.

"Why?" she asks simply, curious why Killian inspires so much loyalty from people like Robin and Graham (and, in small way, from Regina). Emma doesn't know Graham well - she knows him as part of her team, and while they've been friendly, it hasn't been like Belle whose mission was to pose as her friend. Everything that Graham says - about Killian, about Eira - reveals just as much as his actions when he tried to right his perceived wrong when he let slip about Killian's discharge. Graham seems like an honorable man, and Emma is glad he's protecting her.

"He's one of the best people I've ever known," Graham tells her. "He was a good soldier – loyal to queen and country. He wanted to do what was honorable and what was best before serving his own needs. And he cared about others – he was one of the best friends you could have, and a devoted brother. If he wasn't, I don't think he would have done what he did."

"You mean Milah," Emma says, because Milah – Killian's first love – and Killian's rebellion will always be linked in her mind. Graham shakes his head.

"I think that getting involved with Milah Cassidy was an impulsive move, but that's not what I'm talking about. Seeking justice for his brother's death - I think that shows how far Killian is willing to go to do the right thing for those he cares about." Graham takes a deep breath, glancing up at Emma, and she recognizes that look as the one Leroy always gives her mother before he speaks his mind. She nods, hoping he will continue.

"I know that it's presumptuous to talk to you like I'm about to, but I'd like it if you heard me out," he cautions. The humming in Emma's body grows. "I think that Killian was stupid not telling you that he was forcibly expelled from Eira, I think he did it because he was scared. If you did become serious, how would it look for you to be seen with him? It wouldn't be okay, Emma, and I think he didn't want to lose someone else that mattered to him." Graham stops himself. "Unfortunately, he did anyway, the poor bastard," he adds under his breath. He looks up at Emma. "Sorry, your highness, I just - "

"It's okay," she tells him. "Ruby has said worse."

"Ruby isn't one of your future subjects," Graham points out. Emma shrugs.

"I'm not Queen yet," she tells him, and nothing more. Silence linger as Emma traces a pattern with the tip of her finger. Every night, she has stared out at the lake, at the lights of the city, and she has become aware of one thing: she misses Killian deeply. Her anger and frustration ebbs and flows like the waters of the lake lapping on the shore, but every thought uncovers one thing: she cares about him more than she originally thought, and she wants to see him again – even if it is just to talk.

"What if he didn't lose me?" Emma asks Graham. "Not completely. What if I wanted to talk over things before it all becomes final."

"I think that is the benevolent thing to do," Graham tells her. "And I think your mother would be proud of you."

Emma nods, playing with her phone. She can feel her defenses lowering as she unlocks the screens, and she knows that if this fails, then she may never let down her defenses again

...

Killian's phone buzzes, and he ignores it, continuing to strum his guitar, fingers moving over the strings. He throws himself into the song, singing along to Dylan's words about watchtowers and princes, feeling the irony sharply after two beers since his own princess likes to lock her heart in a tower to keep herself safe but she's not his princess and the heart was never his to begin with. It's only when he's done that he checks, thinking it must be Robin asking about dinner.

"You're so lazy," he calls out, reaching for the phone and flipping it over, but it is from Emma, not Robin (her name makes his heart race, makes his palms sweat, why didn't he delete this number from his phone?). He opens the message, frowns when he sees an address.

"What are you shouting about?" Robin asks as he opens the door, music blasting from his computer. Killian holds up the phone, lets Robin scan the message.

"That's Regina's parents' place," he tells Killian, and Killian takes a deep breath before typing something back.

I think you sent this to me by mistake

"I don't think she did," Robin argues, and the message comes back almost immediately.

Are you questioning your princess?

"Shit," Killian curses under his breath. Robin lets out a cry.

"Pack your bags, son," he shouts as he claps Killian on the back. "Your princess has seen fit to have an audience with you."

Robin starts to say things about bring condoms and makeup sex and invites himself along as a driver because technically it's his girlfriend's house but all that Killian can think –all that Killian can feel – is dread over Emma wanting to see him now. Nothing good can come of this (because nothing good ever happens to him).

From Robin's room, Killian can hear The Mountain Goats playing in the background. He knows this song - upbeat and morose all at once - and he feels that way, and the longer he stares at the text message, the longer that he listens to Robin babbling about pizza and Regina and Emma and true love, the longer that he listens to the song, the quicker the dread that has been creeping into his stomach starts to dissipate (not completely, no way, but maybe it's the guitars or maybe it's the hopefulness of the song - that new beginnings are scary but they can be good, too) -

This might not be good, but it might be what he needs - the closure he hasn't had before.

Robin is in his bathroom packing and Killian just leans against the doorframe, studying the text message again. In the background, the song goes on: And I sang oh, what do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What do I do without you?

He texts back.

Absolutely not, your highness.

He pauses, adds.

We're on our way.

She texts back.

Good.

He can't help but smile.