a/n: unbeta'd this time around. mistakes are my own, and i've been tired these past few days, so there's probably plenty of mistakes somewhere lol. still trying to stick to schedule.

If being asked to babysit is already enough, he certainly dreads the idea of having to babysit for a couple of solid hours. Killian is no babysitter. He's not sure what young lads nowadays even like to do. Video games? Television dramas? Henry is ten, he knows that, but he probably doesn't watch dramas. If anything, the lad probably watches cartoons of some sort. Lord if he knew considering the fact that being ten year of age centuries ago is fairly different than from what it is now.

Of course, this is merely his job and he should be doing it anyway, but he doesn't exactly find the idea fond given his lack of understanding of youth children now. Being a guardian angel didn't exactly prepare him for the entire 'you're going to be babysitting your protégé's son, thank you very much.' He loathes the entire idea, but Henry seems like a fine enough boy to babysit.

Or so Killian thinks.

Emma came to him earlier this morning at an ungodly hour (7:30AM is ungodly in his opinion) requesting for his assistance. A simple little favour, in her words, but he wasn't that aware that a simple little favour implied taking care of her ten-year-old son. Though he supposes he can't exactly say much about it. She's new to this apartment and doesn't know anybody else around her besides him (and it's not like she has a designated babysitter). From what he can tell, she has an around the clock job which doesn't make it easy for her to be around her son in the first place.

All the details he has given him is that there is apparently a party she has to attend according to her friend, and so since she can't possibly worm her way out if it (like how she always does, according to what vague things he's been told), she's been thrown into socializing at a place that is full of supposed strangers.

Killian understands this for the most part. Small talk isn't always small, he's learned, as small talk is harder than 'small.'

After a while of debating how exactly he's going to entertain Emma's boy, he comes up with an idea. If he can exhaust him, then he'll go to bed early. That's how it works, right? Killian remembers – dreads to remember, if anything – how he used to always want to go to bed early or catch a break after scrubbing the deck for hours on ends. He may not be putting Henry to any work, per se, but he can certainly wear him out somehow.

For a moment he almost laughs out loud, in the quiet of his dim and lonely apartment, at the idea of him wearing a ten-year-old child out. He's not certain how well that's going to go, but to hell with it. Might as well give it a shot in the end.

The hours go by slowly leading up to his assigned time. He passes time by thinking about how he'll particularly get to know Emma some more beyond just being her son's temporary babysitter. Of course he knows he's more than that, perhaps a distant friend or close acquaintance, but he needs to be more than that. Needs to know more about her and her life. It's not like he makes it his job to watch over her 24/7 without doing anything else with his life (not that he has anything else to do).

By five, he's standing in front of her door and knocking. He's a tad early, but punctuality is a good thing. Frankly, it's more of a habit of his, but Liam says it's a better habit than many, and he supposes he's right, much like every other time he's been taught a lesson by his elder.

The door swings open and Emma's standing there in a dress, red and tight, hugging her curves in a way he cannot believe for his own eyes. For a few moments he thinks he's made a fool of himself. Bugger off, Killian, you're here for her son, his mind reprimands.

"Well, you look all prepared for your night," he comments. It's not much of a way to start a conversation, but say it as it may, he may as well compliment her.

She crosses her arms. "My friend doesn't approve otherwise," she responds. "So I have no choice but to make myself look attractive."

"I mean, love, you don't need to make yourself look attractive…you're already quite a natural."

And he hates himself. Of course, his entire plan to get close to her was exactly to flirt with her, make himself seem like a pompous arse, but he's not making it seem subtle.

(But, hey, he's actually being honest. She is beautiful, and he needs to stop his thoughts there.)

"You're my neighbour, not my boyfriend," she grumbles. "Now come in – Henry's dying to see you."

Shaking his head, he merely chuckles and steps inside. "And why's that? I'm hardly fun company."

"You know, if you didn't want to do this –"

"No, Emma, it's quite alright," he quickly interrupts, "I was merely joking. I'm sure the lad and I can have some fun time."

"Yeah?"

He nods. "Aye."

Emma seems to inhale a deep breath before she lets it out in one swift go. "Alright, then, suit yourself, Jones." She turns around and he notices Henry lounging on the couch with a console in his hands. "Nothing illegal," she tells him, "last thing I need is to find out that my neighbour and son have ended up in a holding cell waiting on bail."

Tilting his head to the side, Killian can't help but smile. "Well, I'm no criminal," he says. Which is, truthfully, entirely a lie. He's a guardian angel, yes, but he's also been a renowned pirate if anything. "So you can trust me not to get into some heinous crimes with your son."

She snorts. "Yeah, well, I still hardly know you," she begins, going to say goodbye to her son, "so for all I know, you could be a criminal."

"I'm wounded," he claims.

"And you're weird."

"Now I'm wounded even further."

Emma shoots him a look over her shoulder but he grins shamelessly. He doesn't care all that much, but there's this vibe that if her son weren't here, she would have insulted him more. In much more…vulgar terms, perhaps.

Killian just watches her say goodbye to her son, her telling him to be a good kid for Killian and not to stay up too late. She's told him all the details about taking care of Henry, so he's more than prepared. Sort of.

"Okay," she huffs, ruffling Henry's hair before returning back toward him. "You should be good." Glancing at the time on the clock, he follows his line of sight and tilts his head slightly. "I've gotta get going if I don't want to be late," she says, grabbing her keys, phone, and purse.

And don't blame him if his eyes drift down a bit. They return back up before even he can have the chance to scold himself. "Have fun, Swan," he tells her.

"In my dreams," she mutters, opening the door. "And oh – uh, your sugar is sitting on the kitchen counter."

"All right."

"Are you sure you're up for this because –"

He walks up to her and pushes her out further into the hall. "Go," he says with a laugh, "and stop stalling me. You have my word that I'm not a criminal, nor am I going to disobey your specific orders, and I'm not particularly fond of going against my word."

It takes her ten seconds to leave, twenty before he closes the door and locks it, thirty before Henry comes bouncing at him and asking him what they're going to do, and forty before he realizes that he didn't even fake anything in front of Emma Swan.

His brother's right after all.

(It's just the 'I can't tell you I'm your guardian angel' that's gnawing at him, still.)

&&.

"So, Henry," Killian starts, "how're you liking the apartment?"

"It's nice," Henry responds. "I like it. My mom likes it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Killian smiles, though he's realized the boy's not much for talking. At least, not at the moment. "So, what do you want to do?"

Henry just hums to himself for a bit, staring off into space. "Oh! It's, well…today is actually Mom's birthday." The lad licks his lips. "We can bake a cake for her? She never likes to celebrate her birthday, never makes a big deal about it, so I can never do much for her."

Raising an eyebrow, he actually doesn't think that's so bad of an idea. His original plan is out the window.

Out with the old, in with the new, he thinks. I think that's the saying.

"Well, I suppose we've got ourselves a cake to bake."

It turns out, neither of them have the faintest idea how to bake a cake. Luckily, there's the internet. They, of course, do not have all the ingredients for a cake, so he decides it's time to head to the nearest store and find themselves all the right things.

Honestly, he can't be any gladder that he can just poof money out of thin air. Not that he does that on the basis, but just for this occasion. To indulge Henry in this little journey of theirs. Operation Hammerhead, Henry calls it.

("Why Hammerhead?"

"I don't know," he answers with a shrug. "I like sharks?")

The moment they get all the ingredients they need, double checking the list they brought, he checks all the stuff out before they're making their way home. Emma told him not, very specifically, to do exactly what he's doing now. He's not keeping his word like he said, but he's only doing this for her anyway, so the last thing he hopes to hear out of her mouth are complaints. Her son is rather thoughtful, a good trait, if any.

Once they're back, it's more unfortunate than expected. They lack the ability to mix proper batter without making a mess of the kitchen. If he could, he would just flick his wrist and clean things up, but the last thing he needs is for Henry to be questioning his existence.

If Henry questions, then it leads to asking or telling his mother all about it, and Killian really doesn't want that to happen right now. He's finally got himself on track with being her guardian angel, the last thing he needs is to screw himself over.

For him, he can be more of a chef than a baker. He's absolutely a much better cook than he probably should be, but living on his own, he needs to cook. It's not like he wants to use his magic carelessly to give himself food. That's not the type of code he lives by, after all. The least he can do is honour that part of himself and do things the right way. If Killian abuses his powers, he doesn't exactly want to face the wrath of the Council. They're not going to forgive him and give him a third chance at things, no matter how forgiving they claim they are.

"Can you preheat the oven?"

Killian snaps out of his thoughts. "Pardon me, lad?"

"Preheat the oven," Henry repeats, mindlessly tasting the batter. "If anything's a good sign, this doesn't taste too bad."

Turning the knob on the oven, Killian simply chuckles before shuffling to lean against the counter. "Hopefully it doesn't taste too bad once it actually turns into a cake."

Henry scrunches his nose up and wipes his finger on a wet cloth they've been using for cleaning up the counter. "Can you pour it?"

"Aye, I can."

&&.

It's become a waiting game. Almost time, though.

The kitchen is cleaned, every utensil back where it once belonged, all the ingredients placed in cupboards or the fridge…except for the frosting. Yet, Henry seems just about worn out.

Killian glances at the time and realizes it's almost his set bedtime.

"Henry," he calls, "go get ready for bed. Your mum will be home in an hour."

"But –"

Killian huffs, shaking his head. "Go," he reiterates, "the last thing I need is getting onto your mother's bad side when I just started to get to know her."

The boy purses his lips and just nods, heading down the hall and into his bedroom to change. It doesn't take long before he hears the padding of feet and the door close, which he assumes is him in the washroom. Killian, on the other hand, goes to sit down on the couch in the living room and relax himself for a bit.

After an evening of baking, he's not so much as exhausted as intrigued by the idea of how much this boy loves his mother. Killian only knows, from what the Council said, that she's guarded. With the lack of a love life, from what he can tell, he can only figure that something from her past prevents her from anything now. It's like him, a bit. He can tell she's an orphan, though. He has the same look in his eyes, ones he's recognized when looking in the mirror.

It's a good thing that Henry isn't a lost little boy. He's a good kid, better than he was, anyway.

Do not grow attached, Killian reminds himself. It takes him a few moments to regain his composure after that thought, inhaling and exhaling heavily before hearing the footsteps once again, return to him.

"The cake should be ready."

Tilting his head back, he stretches his arms over his head and nods. "Don't touch the oven," Killian states. "Can't have you burning yourself."

Then he stands, heading back into the kitchen and grabbing an oven mitt to slip on. With his left hand, he opens the oven, seeing the cake has formed its shape. He then pulls it out and set it down on the counter.

They have to wait a bit for it to cool down, but when it's done, the fun comes in.

"Ready to decorate?"

Henry grins. "Yeah!"

It takes them half an hour to get the frosting done, and it looks…moderate enough. If that's the right term to describe it. Killian knows Emma won't care though. She seems to love her son quite a bit and the entire idea of him baking a cake for her birthday is probably enough to set her heart aflame. He wishes he had Henry's spirit as a child, but then again, he didn't have parents then, so doing these types of things wouldn't have worked out. Plus, baking was a lot harder in the olden days.

Once the last of the frosting has been put away or thrown out (they highly doubt they'll be baking again anytime soon), he grabs the card Henry picked out and lets the boy write his message in it before propping it up beside the cake on the kitchen counter.

"Alright, now it's time to really go to bed."

"How will I see her reaction?"

"Okay, don't actually go to bed," Killian corrects. "Can you feign sleep?"

Henry's not paying attention, his excitement masking his exhaustion. "What?"

"Can you feign sleep?"

"Oh, yeah," Henry answers with a nod.

He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth before making up his mind. "Go do that," Killian says, "then you can sneak out after she's checked up on you - if she checks up on you - and come to talk to me. I suppose I can guide her into the kitchen and you can surprise her."

"Yes!" Henry drawls. "Operation Hammerhead will be a success. I know it."

Killian's not entirely certain if Henry will really be able to fake his sleep. He may just end up passing out from exhaustion. It's already 9:12 and his bedtime, for the weekend, is 9:30. Though perhaps the adrenaline running through him at the idea of his mom coming home to this surprise is enough to keep him fueled until then.

Shaking his head lightly, he ushers Henry to bed, telling him to listen carefully. "Leave your door open a crack," he instructs.

&&.

Lounging on their couch is all he can really do until Emma comes home. Luckily, she doesn't return much later than ten minutes after he sent Henry off to fake his slumber.

"Hey," she says when she walks in, toeing her heels off with a wave of relief, he can tell. "Henry's in bed?"

"Aye, asleep, too. I think." He's telling the truth, after all. It's not like Killian really knows whether or not Henry's fallen asleep or not. "Sent him off ten minutes ago, or so. He's exhausted from our day of shenanigans. And no, nothing fairly considered 'illegal.'"

Emma eyes him for a moment. He catches sight of the small box in her hand and he wonders what souvenir she's brought back from the party. She sets her keys and purse on the table by the door.

"Anyway," he begins, "enough about Henry and I. What about your night? Did you have a pleasant time at this party?"

She laughs, shaking her head. "It was fine. Tiring, but fine."

"Bring back a snack, did you?"

"This?" Her eyebrows raise. "Uh, yeah."

Killian narrows his eyes at her in suspicion. "Willing to share with a lad?"

Emma laughs again (sounds like a nervous, defensive laugh if he has any say to it), but shakes her head. "You should be going. Thank you for taking care of Henry, though."

Obviously she's deflecting the question, but he doesn't push any further. He's already gotten on her good side by looking after her son, so this isn't his place to be prying for information. It may be a snack, but she's no specifically telling him what exactly it is and for what purpose. It's nothing significant, really, so he doesn't even bother thinking about it, not for now. Nodding, he simply stands up, spotting Henry peeking from the hallway with a smile.

"Ah, that's right," he suddenly starts, "my sugar."

Luring her into the kitchen is all he really needs to do before grabbing the jar of sugar and hearing the sharp inhale of a breath from behind him.

Then it's all just Henry shouting at his mother about his birthday and Killian smiles from his place in the kitchen, watching the exchange between the two. The small box has been discarded onto the kitchen counter and she's taken Henry into her arms, hugging him tightly as if he's her lifeline.

If Killian can understand anything, he figures that boy almost is her lifeline.

This payoff, just to see, is worth more than anything else. The dread he felt earlier at the idea of babysitting her son is long gone. Operation Hammerhead is a success, after all. Perhaps he could gleam some of that faith and hope from Henry. Lord knows Killian needs to have some more faith and hope in things. It's certainly not a bad message to take away from today's adventure of theirs (and if he's being selfish, he wouldn't mind spending more time like this with him).

Don't get attached, repeats the same voice in his head. God, he bloody well hates the idea of not growing attached.

"Thank you, Henry," Emma says, "and uh...you, too, Killian."

Quirking an eyebrow up, he chuckles and shakes his head. "Was nothing, really. It was all Henry's idea." Licking his lips, he heads past the both of them. "Though I should take my leave now. Happy birthday, Swan," he says, then looking at Henry. "Good night, lad."

And with a wink, he heads toward the door.

&&.

Of course returning back to his own apartment on his floor doesn't equate to privacy. His brother is there, spread out on his couch.

"You had quite a night with Emma's son," Liam immediately says when he enters.

Killian shuts the door behind him slipping out of his shoes and aligning them where he likes it. "Aye," he merely responds, rolling his shoulders out and yawning. "Why are you here?"

"Just checking on you."

"Like usual, brother?"

Liam laughs a little. "You know me."

The sound of his brother laughing is still something he has to get used to. After many years without him, he didn't think he could ever find him again, yet now he has him back.

"Well, you must be here to tell me something otherwise than simply checking up on me." Killian tugs a glass out from his cupboards and fills it with water, drinking some of it before heading back to the living room. "Another ulterior motive? Trying to convince me to come to some dinner? Having some deep, dark secrets to admit?"

His brother simply scoffs, shaking his head. "Definitely none of those."

"Then…"

"Just reminding you there are rules -"

Killian just groans, sinking deeper into his couch and resting his water on the arm of the couch. "Look, Liam, I know you mean for the best, but I'm quite aware of the rules. I've been reminding myself of them all day."

"Alright, alright," Liam huffs, "I'll back down. I just –"

"'Want the best for you.' Yes, I know," Killian says with a faint smile. "I appreciate it, I do."

"Okay." Liam stands up. "I guess I'll be going then."

Killian nods. "Have a good night, brother."

"And you, too."

&&.

Later that night, he climbs into bed, rubbing his eyes and groaning. Baking is definitely not his thing at all.

Just as he's about to fall asleep, the image of Emma with that little box in hand comes back to mind. He still has no clue what exactly was in that box, but he sure is still curious. Food, his mind says, probably just some leftovers from the party. Except, then another part of him still tells him that it's got to be more than just food. She doesn't seem like the type to just randomly bring back a snack.

"Bloody hell, Jones, shut your mind off," he mutters to himself, taking his spare pillow and covering his face with it as he inhales a faint scent of rum that still lingers from his previous habits (to be fair, he's aware it's still a habit he has yet to break). It's certainly a surprise he has managed to not drink himself to oblivion recently.

By the time he does fall asleep, it's already later than intended.

&&.

Morning comes and goes easily. He spends his morning making himself a decent breakfast (for once), and watches some early morning news but also the weather. It seems like it'll be a rainy day, if anything, so he's not going anywhere.

Though Killian, he likes the rain. Life back in the day on a ship proved that rain wasn't his favourite, but times change. There's something about the patter of droplets against the window and the feeling of refreshing air it brings out after a heavy storm. The concrete below his feet that are damp instead of consistently dry like on hot summer days. He tends to be a bit more productive on the rainy days, even if it's not some big project. Some reading, napping, and the inevitable thinking about life.

(To be fair, he thinks about life a lot more than necessary, it's probably unhealthy to brood and think so much. His brain just doesn't have a nice 'turn off' button.)

(He wants one, though).

Now that he has an actual job, he has to actually do that, too. Which, of course, makes him groan at the thought, but he's a curious lad and he's certainly got the eyes on Emma Swan. Not romantically - no bloody fucking way - but he's got to keep an eye on her all the time. Or most of the time, considering he never actually keeps an eye on her 24/7. The job of a guardian angel is so much work, he's tempted to call a quits, but he's been told by his brother on multiple occasions that he's never been a quitter. And with the guilt sitting behind his heart waiting to claw itself in if he does give up...he's not sure he can do that and let down the brother he's built his own life on. He's not sure that he can just disappoint him that way (or himself, for that matter).

That's where his mind is leading him, too. He's had guilt rip him apart before, had the guilt turn into pure darkness and throw him into a life of villainy, and he's loathe to let that happen again. Killian knows it's tempting to take, but he cannot possibly do that now. He can't revert back to his old ways.

That thought makes him shiver.

(He's not a good man.)

The knocks at his door jolt him out of his deep thoughts. Killian lifts his head from the arm of his couch and heaves a sigh. No one comes to visit him often. Liam has made that a bit of his own habit to check in on his younger brother, but that's not really...routine. Typically not, at least.

He pushes himself off of the couch, running his hand through his hair a little to just smooth it out, but his bedhead likes to stake its claim sometimes for hours.

Killian unlocks the door and then pulls it open, expecting something nonsensical waiting for him, but he finds Emma Swan at his step, looking more jittery than ever. That piques his interest, even if that sounds rude. He doesn't speak, not wanting to scare what seems like a worrying woman. He simply steps aside and nods, letting her in.

"What would you do if someone from your past came back?"

That seems all too sudden of a question (and odd). His eyebrows raise but then fall to pinch together. "Come again, Swan?"

"You know -" she starts, only stopping herself. "Like, if someone you tried to...forget came back?"

"Ah, well -" he clears his throat and then shrugs, closing the door behind him and stepping closer to her, "- tell them to bugger off?"

Emma's face contorts into a grimace that lingers and she shakes her head. "Never mind. I hardly know you, I shouldn't have come to you for help," she says, turning back toward the door and walking past him. "Uhm. Thanks, anyway," she mumbles as she tugs the door open.

"Wait, Emma -"

The door closes on him before he can finish what he has to say. And he's not expecting it, but he's feeling something like...worry bubbling inside of him.