Author's note: Thanks for all the reviews!

Finally achieving my dream of going to see them film OUAT in Steveston aka Storybrooke tomorrow. Hope I get to take lots of cool pics and, if I'm REALLY lucky, maybe meet one of the cast (which prob won't happen).

Chapter 2

Six months earlier:

Over the past 30 years, Emma had lived in more places than she could bother to remember or count. There was her first home, with the people who'd adopted her before giving her back when they had their own child, and then the group home after that, more foster homes, more group homes, Ingrid's house sometime in that mess, and then dozens of hotel rooms with Neal (although that might not count), followed by prison, her apartment after that, and Boston, and eventually Storybrooke.

But out of all those, her new house was her favorite. It was a simple two bedroom by the beach, overlooking the water so that most days she awoke and fell asleep to the sounds of waves crashing against the shore. "Your very own sound machine", the realtor (she couldn't believe Storybrooke had one) had declared in the listing. Not that she and Henry had needed much persuasion for this house; the second she caught sight of it while driving to see it, they'd fallen in love.

Never before had she lived somewhere with sunlight streaming in through huge floor to ceiling windows, casting a beautiful glow on everything in sight. Never before had she picked out her very own furniture (crappy rentals for previous crappy apartments not counting). And never before had somewhere felt more like home.

She considered the Jolly Roger to be just an extension of it. As did her stuff, apparently.

"What I fail to comprehend," Killian said as he sifted through the pile of random objects sitting atop his desk, "is why you insist on scattering your belongings in such a fashion."

"It's not that much," Emma countered, gesturing at her phone charger, a random tube of chapstick, and an old granola bar wrapper. "You should see my office."

"Oh, I have." Killian reached blindly for a handful of what he considered "debris". "Even as a pirate, I have always prided myself on keeping my ship in top condition. And that includes cleanliness."

She stepped in front of the desk, blocking it from his view. "Don't be such a baby." Her hands reached down and grabbed his.

"I see what you're trying to do, Swan," he started, attempting to reach around her so that he could continue cleaning. "and it's…not….going to…"

Emma smiled triumphantly as he acquiesced, his gaze falling on hers.

"…work." He finished, lips coming down to meet hers.

"Besides." She said, pulling away. "Maybe my stuff wouldn't be everywhere if you cleared out another drawer or something."

The second the words left her lips, she could tell right away that something had shifted, his eyes darkening ever so slightly.

"What? What's the matter?"

"Nothing." He replied. But he looked away and to the left.

Her bail bonds skills kicked into action, and her eyes narrowed. "Something's wrong. Tell me."

He hesitated, sighing quietly, but loud enough for her to catch. "Nothing, Swan."

"You know you can't lie to me, right?"

His hand immediately came up to scratch the spot behind his ear, vigorously abusing the poor skin as he clambered for a response. "I-it's just what you said earlier. About a drawer."

Emma chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Don't worry, I was just kidding. I know how sentimental you can be."

Something told her that wasn't it, though.

"That's not it," He started, therefore confirming her hunch. "I, well," and there went the hand to his ear as he stammered. "when you mentioned a drawer, it got me thinking."

"About?' Emma prompted.

"About how I don't have one." He finished awkwardly. "A drawer, I meant."

Emma felt as though someone had dropped an ice cube down her back. "Oh."

And now it was her turn to become the taciturn one as he continued to speak. "Why, though?"

She ran her fingers along the edge of his desk, idly tracing the design etched into the wood. "Why what?"

"Why don't I have a drawer at your place? I mean," He hurriedly rambled on. "I don't require a large amount of space as you clearly do. And I know you share your home with your lad, and I would never ask either of you to give any of that up for me. But while I have provided a storage space for you, you have yet to do the same for me."

I wonder how one would write while the ship's moving. I mean, it's got to be pretty violent with the waves and whatnot, Emma thought to herself. Anything in an attempt to keep from answering his question.

She felt his hand on her shoulder. "Emma?"

Her head snapped up. "What?"

"Did you hear me?"

"Mmm…"

"I realize this may be a difficult subject-"

"Why would you think that?" She snapped.

"Your silence and lack of eye contact suggest-"

"Yeah, yeah I got that." Emma interrupted. "And I'm perfectly fine."

"Never said you weren't." Killian responded smoothly. "So about the drawer…"

"Look, I just haven't really had the time to move stuff around. With work and handling everyone's crises and Henry and babysitting? Cleaning hasn't really been a priority."

"I understand. Consider it not cleaning, then."

"I'm sorry. I want to give you some space, really I do. But I've just been busy."

"If that's the case then." He muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"No, tell me." Emma said firmly. "If you have something to say, say it."

"Fine. It's just that it sounds quite like a bloody excuse to me."

"What?" She breathed. "You're kidding."

"Look at this." He gestured with his hook to first his desk, then the shelves, and finally the floor. "Your things are everywhere. Not that I mind." He added hurriedly. "But I can no longer step inside my own quarters without tripping over your possessions. But at your place? I cannot recall the last time I left a single one of my things there."

"Not true. Pretty sure your phone charger is still on my kitchen counter."

He shot her a look. "I spend nearly half of every week at your home, yet every time I have to bring my own clothing. I still knock on the bloody door before entering, whereas you let yourself in whenever you please."

Emma crossed her arms over her chest, feeling herself begin to stand in her typical "defensive" pose. "So what are you saying then? You want me to clean my stuff up? Fine, I will." She turned and roughly grabbed the first item she could find, which happened to be a notebook that did not belong to her. Tossing it carelessly aside, she snatched up an empty water bottle and a scarf she did not remember leaving behind.

"Emma." He grabbed her arm. "Stop."

"Why? This is what you want, isn't it? For me to get my crap out of your precious ship?"

"No, that's not-"

"God, Killian!" She hissed, keeping her face turned away from him. If she looked at him she would start to cry. And Emma Swan did not cry. Especially not during a fight. "What the hell do you want then?"

"For you to slow down and listen. And tell me the truth."

"I did!"

"Open book, remember? Do you not want me at your place? Is that it?"

Emma didn't answer, though she did pause in her rapid cleaning.

"If I have done something wrong, I am truly sorry. But I believe I deserve to know."

"I told you." She said through gritted teeth. "I've just been busy. I have a lot of stuff."

"I don't require too much room. Perhaps a small corner would do."

"Ok. Message received. I'll go and clean up now."

"I didn't mean right away. I just wanted to know why-"

"It doesn't matter. You want a drawer, I'll give you a drawer." Emma turned around and started towards the ladder.

"Where are you going?"

"To go and give you a damn drawer! Isn't that what you want?"

"Yes, but not if you're not going to be happy."

She snorted, her expression hard. "Nothing's ever going to be good enough for you, is it?" And like a spider crawling up the wall, she scurried up the ladder and was out of sight.

"Emma!" He called as he listened to her heavy footsteps on the deck above fade away. "Swan!"

But she was gone.

Killian sank down on his bed, reaching absentmindly for his flask at his side. He'd known that this would be a sore subject, that nothing about being with her was easy. And he'd been prepared to deal with that, had been handling it rather nicely (in his opinion).

But this time, he was truly at a loss.

Killian wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder briefly, and pressed a kiss atop her head in the same way she'd kiss her brother. "Lunch at Granny's? Perhaps some of those onion rings you love so much?"

The idea of lunch made Emma's stomach clench; even her topmost favorite foods sounded most unappealing at the moment. She nodded tightly, lips pressed together.

He shrugged on his jacket. "I love you."

Although they'd been saying it to each other for months now, every time he spoke those three words he said them with the intensity and seriousness with which he'd first uttered them.

"Love you too." Emma replied. For a moment, as she took in his familiar gaze ("Why are you looking at me like that?" "Because you're beautiful, Swan"), she felt much calmer.

It was him. Killian. She knew him. She could trust him.

"I'll see you later."

What are you planning? Emma bore her eyes into his, hoping against hope to find something, anything in the brilliant blue orbs she'd grown to allow herself to get lost him. But they held nothing, no traces of deceit or malice.

Perhaps this was her version of cold feet, her reading too much into nothing.

Neal showed no signs either a voice reminded her, and thus the stomach churning nausea came rushing back.

"Hey Dad." Emma bent down low, sliding forward so that only the top of her beanie would be visible if anyone happened to look at her car.

A yellow bug was probably not the best vehicle for these kinds of purposes, but she was nothing if not sentimental, even when it was like pouring salt on an open wound.

"Emma!" Surprise was laced in his voice as he spoke. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Well, it is a Thursday. You should see the line at Granny's."

"You're Emma Swan. You don't believe in being up before 8. Preferably 9." He reminded her.

"True. I could say the same for you. It's your day off, isn't it?"

"Eh, well your mother said something about some tux emergency."

"Oh, right. Killian mentioned the same thing before leaving. What's the emergency?"

"Not sure." He responded. "We're trying to figure it out right now."

"Yeah?" She fought to keep her voice casual as she craned her neck to see into the open window of her parents' apartment. "Both of you?"

Inside the apartment, she could see David sitting at the kitchen table, phone pressed to his ear as he sipped a cup of coffee. He was still in his pajamas, looking as relaxed as could be.

Killian was nowhere in sight.

"Mmmhm." David murmured.

"So what're you guys doing right now?"

"He's trying to figure out how what's exactly so wrong with the cumber bund that caused your mother to freak out so badly."

"Sounds fun."

"Though I think we'd better ask someone with some expertise."

"Right. Hey listen, can you put Killian on for a moment? I think he grabbed my wallet on accident."

"Um," David paused for a moment. "He's kind of in the middle of something. Tell you what. I'll ask him for you."

Unbelievable!

"All right, you do that." Emma muttered, barely keeping her voice even. "Gotta go." She tossed her phone into the backseat, hands shaking so badly she wasn't sure she should drive.

Her father, her own father, lied to her face. Or rather, her ear. Killian had said something about tuxes too. Whatever it was, David was in on it.

What the hell was going on?

Author's note: Hmm. If David is in on it too, what can Killian be up to? Guesses?