AN: Hey, so, if anyone has been anxiously awaiting an update of this story all month (lol unlikely, but I can dream~) I humbly apologize for the ridiculous delay. This month has been annoyingly busy, today is literally one of the first days I've had off in weeks lol. Anyway, if you were waiting, thanks for being patient! I hope this is worth it~

(Un-beta'ed)

FRIDAY

He was beyond exhausted.

Between the late-night drinking, not getting home until three in the morning, and having an eight o'clock shift, Killian was done before the day had even begun (and that's not even counting the ridiculous amount of tossing and turning he'd endured courtesy of his…encounter with Emma).

Thank God it was Friday.

He sighed as he trudged through the main doors, taking a hearty gulp of his coffee (with two extra shots of espresso). Killian was worried. He hadn't known Emma Nolan long but she'd always been a bit of an open book to him. She could be a bit prickly at times but her friends and family mattered greatly to her (were her world, even, given the lengths she'd gone through to bring justice to her mother). He knew she cared about him, knew that she greatly valued their partnership (and not only because she'd told him so), but something just beneath the surface always seemed to make her pull away every time she sensed she was getting too close, too attached.

Killian understood her fear to some extent. He'd lost people he loved too (his chest constricted as Liam's face flitted through his mind); the pain had never really gone away, and he suspected it probably never would. He sighed as he sat his bag and cup down onto the surface of his desk. This thought processes was a dangerous one, he knew, and not just because it involved Emma and matters of the heart.

Their situations were actually quite a bit similar as he too had been orphaned and raised by his brother. His mother had died of cancer when he was just a lad, too young to remember her face without a photograph. She'd been the light of his father's world; he was never the same after she'd died, turning to drink and drugs to dull the pain. He'd died of alcohol poisoning when Killian was twelve. He still remembers the funeral as if it were yesterday.

He thanked the universe daily that he'd still had his brother then, he doesn't know where he'd be now if he'd been carted off to some orphanage instead. Liam had been so good to him (good for him), had shown him how to be strong, how to lead, how to be kind. Killian missed him with an ache that would never be quelled.

Oddly, he barely remembered that funeral.

He'd moved to the States not long after his Liam's death, desperate to start fresh somewhere that wasn't tainted by the death of his entire family. He'd come over on a student visa, had finished secondary school, and had gone on to college. Always a wiz with computers, he used his skills to help pay for his education (jobs both legal and questionably legal in nature).

He'd met Milah on one of those questionably legal jobs. Killian hadn't really dated much growing up, the horrors of his youth forcing him to mature rather quickly; there had always been something more important to do with his time, chasing girls had just never really been something that had appealed to him.

Until he'd met her, of course. Everything about her had captivated him; the shape and shade of her strikingly gray eyes, the curve of her smile, her wit and intellect. He'd loved it all.

Killian still partially blamed himself for what happened to her. She'd had this grudge against this businessman she swore was corrupt; apparently the man (Gold) had conned her family out of their entire life savings (something that had resulted in the deaths of her parents). She'd been trying to take Gold down for years, had thrown everything she had at him, and nothing. The monster was seemingly untouchable. Seeing firsthand how much this endeavor meant to her, Killian had offered to help before he'd realized just how dangerous the man was.

It had started a few months after they'd met; they'd been hired to hack some government website and pass the information they gleaned along to a specific buyer. He'd been hesitant to accept such a difficult job of such at first, knowing that the security on a government site was going to be the best of the best (not to mention that they'd have to be sure to cover their tracks), but she had convinced him. It had taken days, but they eventually broke through and were compensated handsomely for it.

Once Milah had realized what the two of them could accomplish together, her determination had only grown. She gradually became obsessed with Gold, eventually even resorting to physically following him (he'd found surveillance photos she'd taken following her death). Every now and then he still wished that he'd seen the situation for what it was, that he'd tried to pull her back, tried to talk her out of it (as if he could've). Instead, he'd essentially helped her dig her own grave.

Killian can still recall (in great detail) the day he'd walked into their shared flat and found her cold, lifeless body sprawled across the sofa.

The medical examiner had declared her death an "accidental drug overdose," giving the police the excuse they needed to rule out any suspicion of a homicide; they'd closed her case almost immediately.

He knew they were wrong, that they were just writing her off because they viewed her as some lowly criminal. He began digging through her things, searching for anything that could tell him what she'd been mixed up in, what could've caused something like this to happen to her.

The discovery of her file on Gold had connected nearly every piece of the puzzle; she had information on the man that spanned almost his entire life, had the addresses of his many businesses and homes, the locations of his many bank accounts (both legal and dirty), his entire personal history (where he'd been born, where he'd gone to school, the exact date he'd settled in Storybrooke). Amongst the seemingly random collection of information, he'd also found notes she'd made regarding some kind of code.

Code he soon realized he'd written.

It didn't take long for him to figure out what she must've done, especially given what he knew about her past. She'd used his code as a framework to break into and empty one of Gold's offshore accounts. He'd felt a small flicker of pride at this discovery, realizing that because the money was dirty, there was nothing he could do to retrieve it.

Except, perhaps, eliminate the person that stole it from him.

He'd hacked into the police database that night in search of her file because he knew, he just knew that that was exactly what Gold had done. It took hours but eventually he broke in and located her autopsy report; cause of death: heart failure due to an indeterminable toxin.

As he'd suspected, she'd been murdered, poisoned (and Gold had paid off the ME to say otherwise).

Killian still dreamed of her from time to time. And of his brother. Of what might've been were they still alive.

Those were the dreams that haunted him the longest.

"Jones? Hello?"

Killian shook himself from his slog down memory lane and focused his attention on the blonde woman talking to him (though perhaps, not the blonde he'd been hoping to see).

"Elsa, hi," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"That's Ms. Vinter to you, sailor," she joked, subtly reminding him she was his superior. She stared at him expectantly for a moment before she sighed and crossed her arms. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

"My apologies, I've got a lot on my mind," he muttered, "What were you saying?"

"I asked," she began, her tone firm, "How you're faring with that case I gave you Tuesday."

Killian cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his desk chair. "Right, of course. Um, I'm almost finished, I think. Should be by the end of the day, anyway," he responded, throwing her a quick smile.

Her face softened slightly as she studied him. "Are you alright, Killian? You look exhausted."

He huffed a laugh and nodded. "Aye, that's because I am. Don't worry about me, I'll have plenty of time to catch up on sleep this weekend."

She raised a playful eyebrow at him before turning to walk away. "Alright, fine. Quit slacking then, Jones, you've got work to do."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, smiling and throwing up a mock salute.

Elsa smiled and shook her head as she walked away to check on the rest of her team, leaving Killian alone with his thoughts once more. The sudden ringing of his office phone momentarily halted his regression, but an hour later his mind had moved from his lost loved ones onto Emma and what had transpired the previous night.

It was going to be a long day.

There was a stack of pending case files on his desk he should be working on right now, especially the one he'd promised to have done by day's end.

And yet there he was procrastinating.

He'd reorganized his desk drawers four times, had moved the nick knacks on the surface around twice, and had found an innumerable amount of excuses to leave his department and 'casually' walk by Emma's empty desk.

She wasn't there. Why wasn't she there?

His usual course of action would be to call her or perhaps send a quick text to ensure that she was, at the very least, alive. But after last night…

Well, he suspected that whatever her reasons were for staying home, he was likely the last person she'd wish to talk to.

He'd considered asking Mary Margaret if she'd heard from her, but he knew she'd ask about Jefferson's and he wasn't so sure he was ready to talk about it with anyone but Emma just yet. Besides, her brother was the station Captain; if anything was amiss, he would certainly not still be sitting in his office doing paper work.

She's fine, he told himself, I'll give her the space she needs and we'll talk about what happened later.

Perhaps easier said than done.

By lunch, he'd forced himself to focus long enough to make some headway on a few of the files on his desk, managing to finish processing two of them before his shift ended.

He sighed tiredly as he stood from his chair, raking a hand through his hair and wincing slightly as his back cracked.

"Taking off, Jones?" came a voice to his right.

His head swiveled in the direction of the voice as his unconsciously took a step back.

Mary Margaret.

"Aye," he swallowed, eyeing the brunette apprehensively.

"Have any plans? A hot date maybe?" she joked, raising an eyebrow.

Killian huffed a laugh and scratched the space behind his ear. "Sadly, no. What about you? Are your parents still in town?"

Mary Margaret nodded and shifted so she was leaning against the side of his desk. "They're staying the weekend, leaving Monday morning," she said, watching Killian shift nervously. "Speaking of which," she continued, "Our engagement party is tomorrow night. You're still coming, right?"

"Of course, I'll be there," he promised, mentally berating himself for allowing it to slip his mind.

Mary Margaret smiled and nodded. "Glad to hear it."

Silence fell between them. Killian licked his lips and averted his gaze to the floor as the urge to ask about Emma filled him once more.

"She's fine, Killian," Mary Margaret offered abruptly.

His eyes flew back to hers as if to confirm the truth of her words. "Good," he said quietly, absentmindedly biting his lip.

She nodded as she eyed him knowingly. "Alright, I guess I'll let you go. See you tomorrow night."

Killian bobbed his head and muttered, "Right, tomorrow," in response as the brunette walked away from him. He heaved a deep sigh as he processed her words.

Bloody hell, did he ever need a drink.

.

SATURDAY

Killian awoke just after noon, making good on his plan to catch up on sleep that weekend. After a strong cup of coffee and breakfast for lunch, he plopped himself down on his couch and pulled the novel he'd started reading ages ago off the coffee table.

He was startled awake three hours later by the ringing of his phone.

Deciding that he'd lounged around enough, he threw on a t-shirt, some comfortable shorts, and his running shoes and set off to clear his head with a jog.

It didn't work, but at least he felt slightly more productive than he had before.

Before long, the sun was setting and Killian realized he should probably get ready for the Blanchard-Nolan engagement party.

He'd arrived right on time, hoping to be a least a bit buzzed by the time Emma decided to show up. He'd mingled a bit, chatting idly with his co-workers, getting to know some friends of the couple that didn't work at the station; an hour or so in found him pleasantly buzzed and chatting with the blonde (whose name he later recalled was 'Tink') that had accompanied Elsa. She was a flight attendant apparently, visiting Elsa during one of her layovers, and was regaling him with stories of some of her worst flights ever when Emma arrived.

He fought the urge to slap himself when he felt his throat go dry at the sight of her (was he ever a pathetic sod).

Killian started when he realized 'Tink' was still speaking to him and, not wanting to be rude, gave her as much of his attention as his mind would allow (the alcohol helped immensely).

He excused himself after a particularly raucous tale about a gentleman who'd tried to stuff a suitcase full of fruity contraband into an overhead compartment, willing his eyes to not look for her as he made his way out to the balcony for a smoke. Killian sighed contentedly at the silence that met him outside, pulling a cigarette from the box in his back pocket and quickly lighting it; it wasn't that he didn't enjoy a good party because he did, he just didn't seem to be in much of a partying mood these days.

He closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply, the nicotine-laced smoke filling his lungs and calming his nerves.

She's avoiding me, he thought, taking another pull as he wandered over to the railing of the balcony and leaned over, shivering slightly as a cold breeze pierced the thin material of the dress shirt he'd chosen to wear.

He shouldn't be surprised, really; watching Emma Nolan deny and run away from her feelings was something he'd watched her do since the day they met. Nevertheless, it hurt. Perhaps Killian had hoped that maybe he'd be different, that he'd be the exception.

Alas, no.

The sound of the balcony doors opening withdrew him from his wallowing. He shifted his position against the railing and turned his eyes toward it.

Emma.

His heart stuttered in his chest at her unexpected appearance. She hadn't seen him; he allowed himself a brief moment to study her, the memory of how good she'd felt pressed against him causing heat to coil suddenly throughout his body. His fingers itched to anchor themselves in her hair as the wind blew a few lose strands onto her face.

Licking his lips, he quickly shook himself and turned away from her, taking another pull from the cigarette between his fingers in an effort to appear nonchalant.

"Fancy meeting you here," he greeted, silently thanking the heavens that his voice didn't waiver.

"Killian," Emma responded, the surprise in her voice evident, "Since when do you smoke?"

He shrugged as he slowly exhaled. "I don't usually. Unless I'm stressed," he answered, forcing himself to meet her eyes and gesturing to the beer in his hand, "Or drinking."

"Oh," she said softly, shifting nervously.

They were blatantly ignoring the elephant in the room and it was killing him. He knew she needed time and space to process the incident and he didn't want to push her, but the tension that was usually between them had been amplified by a thousand and he didn't know how long he'd be able to stand it.

"You enjoying the party, then?" he asked her, closing his eyes and enjoying another drag from his cigarette.

"Yeah," he heard her say, her heels clicking dully against the concrete as she stepped toward him, "You seem like you've been enjoying yourself too."

He opened his eyes and raised a brow at her before flicking the remainder of his cigarette over the railing. "What, are you watching me now, Swan?" he asked, suddenly feeling a bit defensive.

"No," she scoffed as she leaned against the railing, "I just happened to glance over and saw you laughing with someone, that's all."

Annoyance briefly flashed through him as he studied her; was she jealous? "'That's all,' eh?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

He watched as she shrugged and stubbornly stared at the ground and suddenly he'd had enough.

"Tell me, are we actually going to talk about this or are we just going to keep pretending like nothing happened?" he sighed, suddenly weary from the song and dance they've had going on between them since the day they met.

Emma was silent for a moment before biting her lip and cautiously meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry," she offered softly, crossing her arms over her chest defensively, "I was kind of drunk and you were there and…It won't happen again, I promise."

The silence that fell between them was palpable; was she serious? How daft did she think he was? "That's what you're going with? You're blaming the alcohol?"

"Well, yeah…" she said, clearly confused by his reaction.

"Come on, Emma, did you really I was going to accept that excuse? 'It was the rum', bloody hell, lass," he grumbled as he raked a hand through his hair.

This woman was bloody infuriating.

"It's not an excuse when it's the truth, Killian," she claimed, her tone bordering on annoyed now.

Killian laughed hollowly and met her eyes with his own. "You and I both know that's a lie."

He could feel the anger rolling off of her as she pushed off the railing and straightened. "What do you want me to tell you, Killian? That I'm in love with you? It was just a kiss."

Annoyance flashed through him once again at her words; 'just a kiss.' She either truly did believe him to be a complete dolt or she was in a serious amount of denial. "What I want," he began, the sweet smell of her perfume invading his senses as he stepped closer to her, "is for you to be honest with me."

He could practically see the war raging within her as he earnestly met her gaze.

"I am," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Killian sighed and shook his head, his gaze softening. "No you're not, and you're not being honest with yourself either."

"It was a mistake, okay," she denied stubbornly, "It meant nothing."

His heart broke for her at the obvious fear in her eyes. How could he reassure her? How could he make her see that he wasn't going anywhere? "What I felt was far from nothing, Emma, and I know you felt it too," Killian whispered sadly as he took a step away from her.

If she couldn't be honest with him, with herself, than least he could do was be honest about his own feelings and hope she would (could) eventually come around.

"How we may or may not feel about each other doesn't matter, Killian," Emma said suddenly, her tone firm.

He inhaled shakily and licked his lips, completely at a loss. "Go ahead then, enlighten me. Why doesn't it matter?" he asked despondently.

"Because we have a mission," she began earnestly, "A mission that's bigger than either of us, a mission that has to come first. Our personal feelings don't matter. What does is whether or not we can finish what we started."

"Our personal feelings are what started all of this in the first place. How can you say that they don't matter now?" Killian asked as he closed the space between them.

Emma exhaled shakily. "We are so close to ending this, Killian, we cannot afford any unnecessary distractions."

Killian realized then that her fear wasn't solely about her feelings for him, but a fear that those feelings were going to keep her from focusing completely on avenging her mother. That, perhaps, was something he could understand, even if he didn't agree.

He'd waited for her this long, he could wait until this was over. He was in this for the long haul, after all.

"Perhaps you're right," he said softly, nodding and taking a step back to give them both some air.

"Are—are we…okay?" Emma asked hesitantly after a moment of silence.

Killian smiled sadly and met her gaze with his own. "Of course, love," he said quietly before gesturing to the balcony door, "Shall we?"

He watched her smile in response and nod, before following him inside.

Killian stuck around long enough after that only to say his goodbyes and, once more, congratulate the happy couple.

"G'night, Captain, future Mrs. Captain," he joked, shaking David's hand and nodding to Mary Margaret, "Thank you for inviting me, this was lovely."

The two smiled brightly at one another before returning their attention to him. "Thanks so much for coming, Killian," Mary Margaret said sincerely, her left hand clasped loosely in her fiancée's right.

"This was great, we should hang out outside of work more often, Jones," David said, slurring slightly as he took another swig from the beer in his left hand.

Mary Margaret bit back a smile, meeting Killian's gaze with laughter in her eyes.

"Definitely," Killian smiled, scratching behind his ear, "Well, I'm off. Congratulations again."

Mary Margaret hugged him in thanks (his new 'mate' David settling for a mere pat on the shoulder) and said their goodbyes.

The cold, night air hit him like a brick wall when he exited the warm apartment building. Killian shivered involuntarily and buttoned the top buttons of his jacket that he usually left undone before stuffing the edges of the scarf looped around his neck into it. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stepped off the stoop, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk toward his flat, an odd mixture of cynicism and hope drifting within his head.

SUNDAY

Killian woke with the sun that morning, his internal clock seemingly indifferent to the late hour that he'd gone to bed. He groaned as the light from the window assaulted his eyes. He'd tried in vain to return to sleep, but a half an hour of tossing and turning later, he realized it was pointless and rose to begin the day.

By noon he was caffeinated, fed, showered, and seated on his sofa playing Assassin's Creed IV. He paused the game as his phone rang.

"Hello?" he asked, slightly breathless after having sprinted to the kitchen.

"Killian, it's me."

"Emma, hey," he greeted, surprise lacing his tone, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Jefferson. He texted me last night," she said, her tone unusually stilted, "He wants to meet tonight. You free?"

"'Course, just tell me when and where," he said, biting his lip as he leaned over the counter.

"Come to the usual place at seven and we'll go from there," she instructed tersely.

"As you wish," he agreed, his brow furrowing as he considered her tone, "I'll you at seven."

"At seven," she confirmed in lieu of a goodbye.

Killian frowned at his phone for a moment; he'd known things would probably be tenser than usual between them for a while, but this seemed a bit much. He shrugged it off, deciding he'd see how she was later on.

"You ready?" Emma asked, adjusting the holster concealed beneath her leather jacket.

"Tell me again why I'm doing this instead of Mary Margaret?" Killian asked as he anxiously tugged at his jacket.

Emma sighed exasperatedly and turned to face him. "Because Jefferson knows you and we need this to go as smoothly as possible."

"Right," he responded absently as he readjusted his earpiece for the third time, "How do you two wear these stupid things all the time, they're bloody irritating."

"Welcome to our world," said Mary Margaret amusedly via the comms.

"Alright, so how many times are we knocking again?" he asked, studiously ignoring the brunette's comment and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

"I'll take care of it," Emma said, throwing him a look that screamed 'this is why we make you stay in the van.'

He watched as she performed the somewhat complicated series of knocks they'd been instructed to use and waited. A moment later, there was a click that suggested the door had been unlocked.

"Let's go," Emma said lowly, turning to look at him, "Remember what we talked about."

Killian huffed in irritation and nodded. "Of course, Swan. After you."

They walked through the large, metal door into a small space that resembled a doctor's office waiting room without chairs. There was another smaller door across the way that Emma began to make her way to before she was stopped by a cool, female voice over a loudspeaker.

"Please wait here, the Hatter will be with you shortly."

Emma and Killian looked at each other and raised their eyebrows; this guy was something else.

They ended up waiting mere minutes before the smaller door opened and a burly gentlemen in a suit motioned wordlessly for them to follow him. He led them through a complex sequence of twists and turns before halting in front of an ornately carved wooden door and knocking twice. The door opened to reveal the man himself.

"Evening," he said simply, a Cheshire grin gracing his lips as he motioned them inside what they assumed was his office.

There was a large, white bureau plat decorated solely with a candelabra in the center of the room; one large desk chair behind it, two white arm chairs before it. The walls were covered in a brown, garishly patterned wall paper, the floor an expanse of lavish, white carpeting. There was a display case full of top hats to their left that spanned the entire wall and a large, unlit fire place in the wall to their right.

"Please, have a seat," he instructed, closing the door and moving to take the chair behind the desk.

Killian and Emma did as they were asked, seating themselves in the chairs in front of the desk.

"So, where's this insider of yours?" Emma asked, making a show of looking around the room for them.

Jefferson leaned back in his chair as his smile widened. "All in good time."

Silence fell between them and Killian shifted uneasily in his chair; this was obviously an intimidation tactic. Jefferson was trying to show them that he was the one in control.

"So, how exactly did you get my number?" Emma asked suddenly, narrowing her eyes at the man.

His smile morphed into a smirk as he studied his nails as if bored by her inquiry. "I have my ways."

"That's annoyingly vague," she countered, crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair.

Jefferson simply shrugged and smiled enigmatically, a knock on the door halting any retort.

"Enter," he called, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair.

The door opened to reveal a blond man dressed in a dark gray suit and a red tie. He nodded wordlessly to Jefferson as he entered, closing the door quietly behind him, and ambling over to stand on the left side of the desk.

"This is Victor," Jefferson explained, gesturing to the man with a flourish of his wrist.

Victor nodded to the two of them. "Pleasure," he said stoically, his hands clasped behind his back.

Emma and Killian shared a quick look before returning their attentions to the men before them.

"Right. So, you're the one that's going to help us get inside?" Killian asked, not quite knowing what else to say.

"Yes," Victor responded, nodding once more, "I have been instructed to provide assistance in any way necessary."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Emma asked, studying the blond suspiciously.

"Victor is loyal to me," Jefferson interjected, seemingly insulted at the insinuation that his man was not trustworthy, "You can trust him as much as you can trust me."

Emma raised an eyebrow at Jefferson. "Who says I trust you?"

Jefferson laughed at her response. "Fair enough. I probably wouldn't trust me either," he admitted, shifting in his chair so he was leaning over the surface of his desk, "Rest assured, the item I've asked you to procure is very valuable to me. As long as I can trust you to retrieve it, you can trust me not to double cross you."

She studied him for a moment before nodding, accepting his explanation.

"Is there anything you wish to ask Victor while you have him here?" Jefferson asked.

"I have a question," Killian said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, "If your man here has access to the boxes and the keys, why can't he get this item you're so desperate to have?"

A look bordering on impressed flickered across Jefferson's face as he shook his finger at Killian. "Excellent question," he said simply, "The answer is relatively simple: taking anything from a box not belonging to him would result in him losing his position and I, in turn, would lose my insider."

"But if this item is so important to you, isn't it worth it?" Killian maintained.

"No," he responded, his mirth suddenly gone, "It took many years to place Victor where he is. I cannot afford to lose him based purely on selfish reasons. There is far too much at stake."

"If you say so," Killian said softly, studying the men before him closely.

"Are you able to get us anything other than the keys, Victor?" Emma asked, shifting slightly in her chair.

"Anything pertaining to the job, yes," he responded, "Did you have something specific in mind?"

Emma nodded and tilted her head in thought. "Blueprints. And anything you have on the security system."

"Consider it done," he said simply.

"I have another question," Killian began, stroking his beard, "Can you, perhaps, give us some idea where Gold might be keeping his key?"

The two men looked at each other momentarily before returning their attention to Killian. "Odds are it's locked up tight somewhere inside his estate," Jefferson said as he thoughtfully drummed his fingers on the surface of the desk, "But I'd check his wife's antique shop first, the security isn't as extreme."

Killian nodded and retreated into his thoughts; this job was going to be quite the challenge.

An hour later, they were on their way back to base. After stowing their van in its usual place, they convened in the clock tower to talk about the next steps of their plan.

"Right, so. Gold's shop. Any ideas?" Emma asked, leaning against the long, glass table that Killian's numerous computers sat upon.

"We should probably case it first," Mary Margaret offered, "Tuesday morning, maybe?"

Emma nodded and shifted her gaze to Killian. "That work for you?"

"Aye. I should probably go in though, I'll need to see what type of security they've got with my own eyes," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and sighing.

"Okay," Emma acceded, planting her hands on her hips, "I'll go in with you, maybe I can figure out if there's a safe and where it might be."

"So I'm on van-sitting duty again then, huh?" Mary Margaret asked glumly, petulantly crossing her arms over her chest.

"Welcome to my world," Killian teased, laughing when she threw a pencil at him in retaliation.

"Enough, children," Emma scolded as she bit back a smile, "Alright. Tuesday morning, maybe eight-ish? Let's meet here as always and go from there."

"Sounds like a plan," Mary Margaret said, strolling over to the corner of the room and retrieving the bag she'd brought with her. "I've gotta run, I left David alone with my parents and he'll start texting me if I'm gone too long."

Emma chuckled and shook her head. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he called as he too readied himself to leave.

A comfortable silence permeated the room as Killian quickly shut off any equipment they'd used. He was making his way to the far corner of the room to turn off the generator when he heard Emma quietly ask, "We can do this, can't we?"

He halted his movements and turned to look at her, the unaffected façade she usually wore slipping ever so slightly. She wasn't looking at him, and for a moment he thought she might've been talking to herself.

"It'll certainly be difficult," he began softly, ambling toward her at a leisurely pace before leaning beside her against the table, "But, yes, I believe we can. We will."

She nodded distractedly and sighed as silence fell between them once more.

He jumped slightly when he felt her head drop to rest on his shoulder a moment later, her scent filling his nostrils and causing his stomach to flip as an ache of longing lodged itself in his chest. "We're almost out of the woods," he assured gently, taking her hand and loosely lacing their fingers together, "Just keep hanging in there, Swan."