disregarding this chapter, i'm going to update this fic once a week (hopefully) on wednesdays! i might miss a day or two here and there, but i'll try my hardest to keep to schedule. since i'm updating once today, there will not be an update the coming wednesday.

beta'd by cutieodonoghue on tumblr (aka colormyheartred).

Soundproofing - 100% necessary.

Glancing around his room, he sits up and yawns, squeezing his eyes shut while he does so before opening them up again. Sparing a glance toward the digital clock on his nightstand, he rubs a hand over his face before untangling the sheets from himself. There's a whole lot of obnoxious noise outside, but he can't come to figure out what the hell is going on. It's too early.

(Actually, it's about 11:30AM, but he's complaining because as much as he once used to wake up at the crack of dawn, he's taken sleeping in as a luxury he'll never give up on.)

Killian shuffles a couple of steps over, cursing to himself when he runs into the edge of his bed. It doesn't hurt, not at all, but he still feels the impact. Guardian angel powers are weird. He doesn't understand them all that much, but he's growing a bit used to it. He can't feel any sort of physical pain, which is a good thing, he guesses.

He felt pain before though. Before being an angel, one of the many complications of the world he's apart of that just doesn't make logical sense.

He shoves two fingers into a crack of his blinds and simultaneously pushes up and down, peeking out the window to the bottom of the apartment. There's a truck that seems to be being unloaded. New resident? Killian sighs and pulls his hand away and turns around, running one hand through his hair as he walks toward the door. Pulling it open, he heads to the washroom, takes a rather quick, but refreshing shower, cleans himself up elsewise, and grabs his keys.

Jingling them around, he grumbles something to himself before he heads down the stairs. Luckily, living on the sixth floor isn't all that much trouble. Elevators are something he doesn't really want to wait for, and he figures since there's moving, the things are likely out of service. Just as he happens to push past the front foyer, a boy crashes into him and he flinches back, narrowing his eyes. He's not very tall, perhaps no older than ten, brown hair, and clearly energetic. Reminds him much about himself at a younger age, except...well, not shoved into servitude.

"Woah there, Henry, watch where you're going."

Raising his head, his eyes meet a blonde woman. She's wearing a red leather jacket, her hair in curls, flowing past her shoulders. She is...beautiful. He internally berates himself for even thinking that.

"Sorry, Mom," the boy - Henry - apologizes. "Uhm. Sorry, Mr…"

"Jones," Killian supplies with a nod. "Killian Jones."

This is the first real interaction with other humans since the last few weeks. Other days have just been him hanging in a bar, but he hasn't really talked to anyone.

"Sorry, Mr. Jones!" Henry exclaims.

"It's quite alright, lad." Killian manages to smile at the boy before looking back at the child's mother. "I reckon you're the new neighbours. I've not seen either of your faces around here."

She nods, resting a hand on her son's shoulder. "Yeah, we're...uh, new. Just us two on a little adventure."

Suddenly, his mind clicks. Is this Emma Swan? He hadn't been told her son's name, but the descriptions all fit. Blonde, guarded, single mom…Though, to be fair, that could be anyone in this bloody city. He's got to go meet Emma Swan, but he can't do so if he's being held up here.

"Well, I happen to live on the sixth floor if you ever need anything. Room 606."

"Oh. Thanks for your offer, Mr. Jones."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Just call me Killian, lass. No need for formalities between us adults."

&&.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The moment he goes outside and goes on a bit of a 'morning walk', he takes a turn to go back into his apartment through the back entrance. Not that it really matters. Once he's inside, he thinks of this Emma Swan.

Killian dreams of her appearance, the type of person she is, all the details he does know.

And then he's sent back to the woman he just bloody met. She is Emma Swan, and that boy is her only son.

"Bloody buggering hell," he whispers under his breath. Though, she can't hear him. For all she knows...well, actually, she knows nothing. He can scream and shout all he wants, but she won't hear anything. Him breaking something? Well, that's another situation, but typically he can pass through most objects (after a lot of trial and error to get used to everything different).

"Emma Swan. What a wonderful surprise," he mumbles, watching her push her son into the apartment and telling him to go start unpacking some of his stuff in his room.

His first day on the job and he's already been a moron. He walks right past her and her son and doesn't even make the complete connection. Of course, he had that thought earlier, but here he is, standing in her living room, that's actually rather empty. There's not many boxes laying around and he wonders if they own much. He hadn't spared a glance to the rented truck earlier.

He roams the place until he stops at a door which seems to be Henry's bedroom. The boy is scratching his head, sitting in front of one of his few brown cardboard boxes, pulling certain things out and putting some things back in. Killian unexpectedly smiles...though it doesn't take long before he flattens his smile back into a straight line, turning around when he hears footsteps.

It's odd to be able to be there but also not be there simultaneously.

He's glad he's managed to control his powers. They're not so difficult, after all. It's definitely easier than wreaking havoc the long way by actually doing things. Here, with just a flick of his wrist or merely the thought, is enough to complete tasks of his desire.

Going between two different dimensions - heavens and earth, what a privilege - and making himself capable of watching over as an actual angel while being fully human as another possibility, is a lot of power to hold in his hands (he's an angel, undeserving, sure, but an angel and angels have magic). It does make his job easier, though, to watch over them without being seen. But, of course, he's ought to establish a relationship somehow, which requires him interacting properly, which he's already started...sort of.

Killian glances around himself, taking in that their apartment is pretty much the same formatting as his. Open space from living to kitchen room, hallway down to the washroom and bedrooms. Luckily, it won't be an issue for him to be navigating through her apartment, not that he needs to given he can just think and things will happen for him.

Though, the more time he spends here, watching over her, the more he begins to realize that the job is rather boring. He doesn't do much, not unless he sees that there's something to warn her about, and even then, he can't just straight-up tell her. He's going to need to provide context, and considering how terrible her last guardian angel was, he's not quite sure how he'll be telling her that he's a new replacement (or if he'll tell her at all). And of course, no way is he going to tell her that he's made of centuries of darkness, only recently become worthy enough to even have this new job.

After a while, deeming that both herself and the boy are perfectly fine, he goes back to his apartment. Unlocking his front door, he steps in and shuts it behind him before locking it again. It doesn't really matter to him when there isn't much he's got to protect around here. He has all of his memoirs locked up somewhere safe in his room (invisible, that is - abuse of power, perhaps), so he doesn't have to worry about something trying to rob anything.

Killian, although he hates to admit it, is rather sentimental. Most things he keeps are mostly things that he has left of his past that can remind him of the people he once used to keep in close contact with beyond his brother.

Lost love, old belongings...he always has something for that keepsake. Thing is, he doesn't really go back often and look at them. It stirs too many emotions that need to be kept alone. All those feelings cannot be dusted off. Emotions like that are distractions and he can't afford to be distracted nowadays.

Sinking onto the couch, he leans his head back and groans. If not his bed, then this couch. Both are rather comfortable and they're his favourite spots to rest.

Killian's begun to realize he's ought to find himself something else to do besides laying around or watching over his protégé. Licking his lips, he stares at his blank television screen, seeing a faint reflection, though it's too dark to tell anything else out. And, well, he stares for a few minutes, which lapses into an hour or two (how productive, he knows), before he closes his eyes and drifts off into sleep.

An abrupt knock at his door causes him to flash his eyes open, darting to the noise. He's slept on for a few hours when he glances at the clock hanging on the wall.

Clenching his jaw, he senses the familiar - fresh - presence and knows it's Emma. Sighing, he pushes himself up onto his feet and heads toward the front door, unlocking the lock and then tugging the door open. Back to putting his little act up all over again.

"Ah, hello to Henry's mother." Killian figures that since she never introduced herself, he's best to not creep her out by suddenly knowing her name.

"Hi," she says, "and I'm Emma Swan."

"Emma Swan." He nods with a small smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "You don't happen to have any sugar around, do you?"

"Sugar?" He thinks for a moment. "Well, come on in. I'll check for you." Killian steps aside, waving his arm all dramatically as she steps in. She's ditched the leather jacket and she's just wearing a nice white sweater. He's wearing all dark, on the other hand. "You know, if you just wanted to be in my presence -" he walks toward the kitchen, "- all you had to do was ask. Not use the 'lend me some sugar, I'm your new neighbour' act."

Immediately, he hears a scoff. "Are you like this with all your new neighbours?"

Pulling a cupboard open, he looks past a few random bottles of things and chuckles to himself. "I've not had the pleasure of having many new neighbours, let alone someone of your age." He pushes past a box of salt and finds the sugar. "So, no, not particularly. Though I've been told I do happen to attract all the women." It's not a lie. The amount of times he's been at a bar and had women staring at him left and right...that's evidence enough.

"Well, aren't you an interesting character?"

"Hmm…" He turns around after closing the cupboard behind him, glass of sugar in hand. "I suppose, if that's how you want to describe me."

Emma rolls her eyes, and then glances around his place. "Not to be...weird, or anything, but it's real dark in here."

"I was napping." It isn't much of an excuse given one can nap in the light, but...it's the best explanation he can give.

"Oh...uhm...I didn't wake you, did I?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "It's quite alright. I needed a wake-up call anyway, so I can thank you for that." He offers her the sugar. "And here's the sugar you need."

Their fingers brush and he almost visibly clenches his jaw when he feels her skin against his. She smiles at him in thanks, brushing off their contact. "I better get going. I'll return this later tonight, if you're still awake."

"It's likely I will be," he tells her with a nod. "Say hi to your lad for me."

She nods. "Alright. Thanks again for the sugar," she says once more before she pulls open the door and heads down the hall toward the elevator.

"Swan!" he calls out. "Wait. Uhm -" he knows the answers, but he's got to play the act, that's the harder part, "- what floor do you live on, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Eleventh," Emma responds, "room 1111."

Well, that's quite simple to remember had he not already known. "Okay, ah -" he nods at her and smiles once more for good measure, "- good to know. See you later."

Killian shuts the door behind him and then leans against it. She's...nice. She's not that stubborn yet from what he can tell, but then again, he hasn't made any moves on her let alone questioned or challenged her to invoke that type of reaction. For now, he hopes she can let him past those walls, though, because he can certainly see them. From the little subtle actions or the way she talks, he knows that she's protecting herself and her kid.

Shaking his head out of it, he walks to the kitchen, in need of another glass of rum, and he forgets to lock the door. He turns his head and waves his hand, the lock falling into place, just as he reaches into the sink, rinsing out the glass and then placing it down on the counter, opening the same cupboard as earlier and tugging the bottle of rum out.

Until she returns with his sugar, assuming that she's going to return it tonight, he can't help but stay up, and rum can help him a bit with that.

Just as he lifts the glass to his mouth, it disappears and he groans. "Liam," Killian whines, "I needed that."

"No, you didn't," he responds. Killian hears the glass settle down on the counter. "You've no reason to be drinking at all. You're not even stressed out yet."

He huffs and shakes his head. "A little rum doesn't hurt."

"That's not exactly a little," Liam retorts, pointing at the full tumbler of rum. His brother crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side. "I know you prefer to have a drink when things get rough, but you're not supposed to. You're a guardian angel, Killian, you've ought to take all of this seriously. Not getting yourself hammered early into the night."

"Okay, okay," Killian concedes. His brother does have a fair point at that. "I'll try and cut back on the rum. It's just that...looking at her, I can see something. I can almost relate, but then I haven't been around her enough to...know anything, yet. She believes I'm her kind neighbour five floors down, not her guardian angel."

"She's not supposed to know. Not yet. Unless, if you don't want to tell her."

A decision he hasn't really made up his mind on yet. "Aye, but...it's rather hard to keep up an act around her. Or anyone, for that matter."

Liam chuckles. "Then don't keep up an act. If you don't tell her about being a guardian angel but act the way you always do, then you're fine, aren't you?"

"You're...right. As usual," Killian grumbles.

In fact, he realizes he hasn't been putting too much of an act on at all. He's mostly been acting as himself, save for the awkward moments and whatnot, but in general, he's being himself. Killian isn't acting as if he's an entirely different person. All he has been doing is being kind and considerate while omitting the truth from her. That's only a detail he can tell her later once he's eased himself into her (and probably Henry's) everyday life. If he chooses to, that is.

Sighing, he doesn't even realize it when suddenly there's some orange light shining in through his living room window.

"Why," he starts, "in the bloody hell are you doing that?"

His brother glares at him. "Stop keeping yourself in the darkness, you git," Liam scolds, taking on that overly-brotherly tone of his again. He walks back, standing in front of Killian, his own stubborn look on his face. Stubbornness runs through the Jones' Brothers blood. "It certainly doesn't hurt to have some light in your home."

"This isn't home."

"I know."

"Then why -"

"You know, sometimes I really do wonder why I try to convince you of anything," Liam mutters, shaking his head. His brother pokes at Killian's chest, and Killian furrows his brows in confusion. "You're better than this, brother. I know you are because that's why you're...here. I know I happen to tell you this a lot, but be proud. Mum would have been proud of us."

Immediately, he softens at the mention of their mother. Their mother left all too early. Guardian angels and no pain his arse because the mention of certain things will hit close to home. Their father...well, that's a completely different story to tell.

"Aye, she would have," he quietly responds, eyes downcast as he dreams of his mother's face. The problem is, he believes their mother would have be proud of his brother, not him. Killian's reputation is nothing but darkness.

(Unfortunately, centuries of living means fading memories. Fading memories means the woman who took care of him for only his early childhood years is one of the few to first go.

And God, does he miss his mother.)

&&.

The next time he's up above, he's given an order that bites at his skin.

He's not allowed to tell her about who he is, or rather, what he is (this is just a test, he can tell). The order is something he'd much rather not obey, but this is essentially an obligation. Killian has done terrible things in his life and he's learned to not take certain risks anymore. It's not to say he doesn't take risks at all, but with this chance he's been giving?

Not a moment to disobey, really.

It frustrates him, though. It really does. Killian doesn't like to lie, has never enjoyed lying in the first place, but he has no other choice. He only lied back then to get what he wanted.

Omitting something doesn't necessarily mean lying, right? He'll just repeat that in his head over and over until he believes it. Sometimes, that's just enough. Perhaps that repetition will convince him, and once he's convinced, he'll have no trouble of not telling Emma what type of person he really is.

Though, from what he's gleamed at just the couple of glances at her and the little interaction he's had with her, he has a solid feeling she certainly doesn't like being lied to. At least he's not manipulating her. He's...manipulating the truth. They're two entirely different things. It's absolutely ridiculous, he thinks, to have to not tell her what he is. She seems like the woman to know the truth, but the moment he crosses a line of unacceptable behaviour, he knows he's definitely - in a lack of better terms - royally screwed.

As if sleep isn't already difficult for him to achieve, this leaves him laying in bed all night staring at the ceiling again. It's not worth the hassle, not worth bashing his brains in for, yet he struggles to get that sleep because he's so goddamn frustrated with the Council. He knows he should be grateful, and to hell and back, he absolutely is grateful, but the fact that he just has to keep up a façade of being a simple human being much like every other mortal on his planet is pointless. He doesn't understand why. Whatever explanations the councilmember gives him are lacking logic, at least in his own humble opinion. It's just that he hasn't gone ahead and voiced said opinion, not wanting to risk losing this job of his. The one Liam probably got him.

Killian rolls onto his side, staring at the red numbers on the digital clock. It's far too early, or late, to be thinking like a madman. Even after all these years of time, he spends half of it thinking instead of doing more productive things with his life.

Of course, to be fair, he's done plenty of things in his life. He's lived for centuries, after all. He does suppose, if anything, that he's glad he's retained his youthful glow. Being devilishly handsome is something he does appreciate. He's going to have to use those techniques on Emma...to get somewhat close to her. They're only neighbours, hardly acquaintances, but it's better than being complete strangers, and if he has to hit on her to get to a close enough point, then so be it. He's always had a way with words.

Being charming isn't a hard task for him -

The thought of flirting with her makes his stomach churn. He has a way with words and women, always has, actually, but this is more than that. It's serious business. And not only that, but the entire idea makes him bitter. Things from his past makes him unsure about where he's heading with his plan of his.

Inhaling one deep breath and then letting it out, he shakes his head and closes his eyes. Sleep has been troubling him enough. Killian lets the tension release from his body as he slides his arm beneath the pillow.

He'll have more time to think later. For now, he needs to get some stupid sleep before he gets up in the morning grumpily and makes some new terrible impression on Emma.

(Assuming he's going to end up talking to her, that is.)