For the next few days, he doesn't hear so much of a word from Emma.

Henry, though, well, that's an entirely different situation.

"My Mom's all sad."

"And why's that?"

"I don't know," the kid mutters, "she won't tell me. She just brushes it off. I mean, she looks happy but I can tell she's not."

The boy is perceptive, that's for sure. Killian only has that little idea of why she's unhappy. Someone you tried to forget. Someone she's tried to forget has come back, or somehow has shown up in her life, and she's nowhere near prepared herself for that return.

Well, he gets the feeling. He's had plenty of past encounters with people he wishes he could just merely forget, but that's the thing with the human brain. Sometimes forgetting just isn't an option. Sometimes they're just burned into your brain instead, just stuck there for the rest of your life. Killian knows that feeling. In fact, it's a feeling that has probably become his best (hated) friend in the world.

Inhaling a deep breath, he exhales it back out slowly. "Give her some time, then. And if anything, lad, you shouldn't even be here. At my place."

"Mom won't know."

"Your mother knows all, Henry."

"Ugh, you both treat me like I'm ten."

Killian's eyebrow raises up in response to that, slightly amused. "You are ten."

"Okay, you have a point," Henry concedes. "But I'm more mature than I look!"

"If you're so mature, my boy, you better get back up to your floor before your mother comes banging on my door and blaming me for stealing you away."

"You let me in," he reminds him, standing up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"Guilty as charged," Killian sing-songs, waving his hand in a graceful manner, following behind Henry as he heads to the door. "Just be patient with your mum."

Henry sighs. "It's hard to be patient."

"Alas, that's why it's such a virtue." He opens the door for Henry, letting him step out.

Henry doesn't go just yet, though. He turns around and looks up at him and there's a determined, yet somewhat resigned look on his face. "I don't like seeing her sad," he mumbles, looking down at his feet. "I don't like...not helping. You understand me, right?"

As much as he wants to deny Henry of that, he knows he can't. Killian's job is to help in the first place, and from his encounter with Emma a few days ago late into the evening, he's even more regretful that he can hardly do much. To her, he's still a stranger, it seems. He thought, for a while, they were already friends. Or at the least acquaintances. However, the likelihood of all that has been thrown out the window as she's claimed the fact that she hardly knows him.

He can't be her confidant yet, and that's understandable.

Still, waiting on the sidelines hasn't ever been the most pleasant thing in the world.

Trust is a difficult thing for her, he's learned the hard way. Although he was originally told that, experiencing the lack of trust first hand really does open up his eyes. She's a hard nut to crack. Killian's not going to give up now, though. As little progress as he has made, he's very much made enough that's telling him he has to try. He's going to be patient with her. He's pretty much immortal anyway, so he's got plenty of years left in him to wait.

"I do," he assures the boy. "But, sometimes, you've ought to let a person come into terms with their own thoughts before you can help." Killian's trying to word it so it makes sense. He may be ten and claim to be mature, but the boy still has so much to learn in this lifetime of his. There's pain in this world, more than he can probably imagine at his young age. "So, let her do just that."

Henry sighs. "Okay, I'll be patient."

Killian shoots the lad a smile and then rests a hand on the boy's shoulder before pushing him to go down the hall to the elevator. "Now go. Do your homework and whatever else you've possibly got to get done from school."

&&.

Although he can spy on her all he wants to, that's bad form. He has all this magic in the world, and it's just...it's tempting, really, to just take advantage of it, but he's learned to control his urges. To settle them back to where they belong. He's not going to spy on Emma and her son. He's not going to break any trust that has been established between them.

He looks out the window, the cars occasionally driving down the road. He's glad he lives on the quieter side of Boston (somewhat).

It surprises him for the most part that he's now rather close friends with Henry. If he's getting anywhere, that's a good place to start. Henry seems to like him, comes to him for help, and that's enough for him. That's, technically speaking, all he needs out of the boy. And Killian, he knows he's not attached to him.

Just friends.

Watching cars isn't much of a pastime activity, he realizes. Killian turns around, hand rubbing the back of his neck, his feet taking him to his bedroom so he can change. Whenever he opens his closet up or pulls a drawer out, he notices how lacking his wardrobe is in colour. It's entirely of navy blues, blacks, and greys. He honestly needs to go shopping some day and a grab a couple of other colours. Maybe lighter blues and whites.

Though if he knows anything about himself, he's just going to put it off for the next four months until someone comes to bother him about it. And if anyone, it's going to be Liam. Or Emma, if she happens to become closer friends and notices his lack of colour in clothing choices. Not that he cares that much given the fact that he likes dark colours. It suits him well - it's his sort of style, he supposes.

He huffs a breath at the thoughts roaming his mind and shakes his head, reaching in and tugging his black sweater out and dark washed jeans.

Later. He'll go shopping later.

(See?)

&&.

He hasn't seen Emma for, well, an entire total of seven days. A week! It's been a bloody week since he's seen her at all. Henry, more like two days, but that boy's got a rebellious side to him that Killian can relate to. Except, Henry's a much better lad than he was at his age.

However, of all places, he runs into Emma Swan down in the laundry room.

It's just the two of them, which makes it awkward but...less awkward. The tension, he cannot believe, is heavy between them. He didn't expect it at first, but now that he stands here, sorting out clothes to throw into the washing machine, he recognizes that the heavy silence between them is a tad uncomfortable. He's certainly not complaining, though. He can see she's okay, in some sense or another.

And he doesn't even want to speak because he's afraid of scaring her away. It's been seven days and he can't just muck it all up again (even though he supposes he didn't muck it up in the first place - it's not his fault, not really).

Except, now he's just really tired of the silence. The unspoken things (if there even are any) between them.

"Swan -"

"If you're going to talk to me about what happened the other day -"

"No," he quickly refutes, shaking his head and pausing what he's doing. "I'm...well, I frankly don't need to pry into your business. I just - well - are you alright?" He sounds like a blubbering fool. Like a teenage boy pining after a girl in high school and incapable of speaking to her. Except he's not a teenage boy, nor is he pining after a girl in high school. The incapable of speaking to her is a bit applicable, though.

She sighs. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You know you're terrible at lying, love."

"Yeah, well."

He quirks an eyebrow up, but she doesn't go anywhere with that train of thought. He lets the topic drop, just for now at least, and goes back to throwing clothes into the machine. Once he's done, he puts in his detergent, closes the lid, spins the knob a full circle, and glances his way back at her.

Emma has stopped what she's doing, picking at some of her clothes as if they're already ripped apart and she's debating whether to throw it out or not.

God, from what he's discovered, she's learned to build herself up so strong, to defend herself from every threat, yet he can tell she's vulnerable. Her vulnerability isn't a weakness to him, but others may think so. And whoever has come back from her past...well, it's serious. He can only take a wild guess and say it's the man who may be Henry's father, but that's just a prediction at best. Likely, but still a prediction.

"I have been told I'm a rather good listener," he says quietly, leaving her an open offer.

Emma flashes him the smallest smile and shakes her head, finishing her own share of chucking clothes in. She continues on, getting her machine going, and looks at him once more. "I'll keep that in mind, Killian," she responds. "I'll see you later?"

He swallows and nods. "Aye. Take care, Swan." It's all the words he manages to let out as she disappears out of the laundry room.

There was something in the way she said his name. A tender tone to her voice that brings back memories of a person from his own past who still haunts him occasionally.

Bloody fucking hell, get yourself together, Killian scolds himself as an internal thought.

&&.

Stepping into his apartment, he nudges the door closed behind him with his elbow as he carries his empty basket back into the washroom.

While he's told himself to get composed again, her gentle voice of Killian still rings in his ears, through his mind, and echoes just a tad louder again.

Killian cards his hand through his hair a few times rather frantically. It's bothering him. She's bothering him. He's only known her for like two weeks, and he's already gone ahead and gotten himself somehow stupidly involved with her. He's not attached, Killian is very much not attached, but the way his name fell from her lips won't leave him alone.

He still prays for a "turn off" button in his head. It would be delightful by this point.

He closes his eyes and all of a sudden, he's in another dimension. Too much light and optimism and happiness, as usual, but he's been getting used to it slowly.

The first step is probably having a little more of the curtains being tugged open on the occasion. He's got to thank Liam for that. He has lived his life in darkness for so long, light really doesn't hurt - he's learned already.

It'll still be a habit to keep the curtains drawn closed on most days, but he'll get there gradually.

God, he forgot. Everything is white and yellow up here. To think that white and yellow are honestly constantly associated with good, pureness, and innocence. Killian rubs at his eyes and then walks about. It's a surprise to see that this upper world is much like earth itself. Just constantly a bright and happy place instead. Less pain, less hurt, less loss and abandonment. He wishes he could have been here before. He hopes, that somewhere, his mother his here and that his father is at the depths of hell.

Killian strolls a little further, seeing small children. It hurts him to think that these kids are here already - but they're happy, it appears.

A little further, he reaches a park. There's grass and trees and birds. This is the opposite of where he's been in his lifetime. This is definitely the exact opposite of the Underworld. Killian feels the obnoxious feeling of shivers running down his spine at the thought of the Underworld. This place is the epitome of perfection. He wishes it wasn't.

(He wishes.

Selfishly.)

Unfortunately, there's not many bars up above. Taverns, definitely not. It's still the twenty-first century and taverns have long gone extinct in this world.

"Enjoying yourself?"

He rolls his eyes at the voice. "Liam."

"It's not often I catch you up here," his brother says with a smile. "Or ever, really."

"I know," Killian sighs, "I've just needed to clear my head."

That's hardly an excuse. He usually clears his head by staying in darkness, not in light.

"Something weighing heavily on your shoulders, I can tell."

Killian presses his lips into a thin line, his tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek as he looks down at his feet. Well, at least the ground won't blind him. It's just the green grass. "Yeah," he says quietly, shoving his hands into his sweater pockets. "Unfortunately reminiscent today."

Liam's arm wraps around his brother's shoulders. "Would you like to talk about it?"

He scoffs, shaking his head as he tilts his head up to look at his brother. "Not really, Liam," he mumbles. "Something best to kept in my past. As a distant memory."

"Sometimes the best way to put it behind you is to talk about it."

"Yes, but..." He swallows thickly. "Not today."

"Alright," Liam concedes. "You do know I'm here for you, aye, little brother?"

Killian smiles gratefully at his brother, bobbing his head in a small nod. "It's younger brother, and aye, I know. I appreciate it."

Sometimes he feels like he fluctuates between his emotions too easily. It's happened ever since he came up here, to be this damn angel. He's not an angel, for God's sake, he's not, but he's got to do his brother proud. Got to do his mother proud, wherever she is.

(And a part of him begs him to keep Emma and her son safe.)

If he closes his eyes, he can just...imagine his mum. Imagine her soothing voice singing to him and her hand brush back hair from his forehead. He loves his mother, he always will, and he wishes he got more time with her. That she got more time.

Sometimes, he also compares himself to his father. He shouldn't, yet he does. It's impossible to avoid, he's learned. The heavy burden that the man put on both sons aren't forgotten. Liam seems to have moved quite past it, to let it be - as anything he says - left in the past, but Killian has trouble with that. He's got trouble just letting things be.

"Liam?"

"Yes?"

For a second, he second-doubts himself, but he asks anyway. "Where do you think our Mum is?"

Watching his brother, he notices Liam hesitate, his mouth opening, closing, and then curling into a gentle smile. "Somewhere better than here, Killian."

"Better than here?" It seems unlikely to him.

"Yeah. Somewhere better, brother."

Even though it's for a few moments, he's willing to believe.

&&.

When he returns back to his apartment, he's feeling a little better. Of course, his mother is not the person he thinks of when he hears Emma's voice say his name in that way, but it's a nice thought, he guesses. Odd, of course. No way can he compare his mother to Emma, but then he sees the way she is with her boy and thinks about himself being in Henry's position and his own mother.

And he thinks - just thinks - he can relate.

It's a beautiful afternoon. That's all he knows how to describe it. The sun is shining brightly, the clouds are floating by slowly, the sky is a bright shade of blue, and the wind is merely a calm breeze.

He loves days like these. Sometimes, the air is fresh enough that he can smell the sea. He thinks about his father returning from his latest trip. "Six days' time, my boys," he remembers his father saying with a smile. Killian also recalls his father saying he'd bring back a souvenir of some sorts if he can.

Killian is only at the wee age of seven and Liam is eleven. His brother is a pain in the butt, but he loves him, nonetheless.

"Mum!" he shouts, running to her.

She's covered in dirt. Of course, she loves to garden. He loves it when she brings in flowers and puts them into one of those vases.

"Hello, Killian," she says with a laugh, a laugh that's so full of warmth and love.

"Are you bringing flowers in today?" Killian asks excitedly.

She smiles at him, looking at the flowers she's plucked out. "Yes, I indeed am," she responds, "here." She picks one up and holds it out for him. "Smell it."

He wiggles his nose a bit and then leans in, inhaling the scent of the violent plant. The floral smell...he likes it. Not as much as he loves the smell of salt and the sea, but he still likes the smell of flowers.

"Does it smell nice?"

Killian grins up at his mother and nods enthusiastically. "What is it called, Mum?" he questions curiously.

"Ever the wondering one, aren't you?" She picks up the few more she has. "They're called lavenders, my curious boy."

&&.

While he moves on from thinking about his mother so much, she still lingers around in his thoughts for the next few days. He checks in on Emma, too, but since he never predicts anything that could go wrong in the foreseeable future, he doesn't really communicate much with her.

At least until he realizes he's the one out of sugar.

And good old Killian Jones decides that he'll pull the 'I'm your neighbour, lend me some sugar' card.

(Even though she's five entire floors above him, which probably doesn't constitute much as being his neighbour at all.)

&&.

He hardly takes his time heading up the five flights of stairs.

When he's at her door, he knocks and then patiently waits. And with his astute sense of hearing, he can hear the shuffling of feet, then the sound of the lock unlocking.

"Swan," he greets with a smile.

"Jones," she responds with a curt nod. "What're you doing here? Did Henry invite you over or something?"

Killian raises a brow and shakes his head. "No, no. I figured instead of going to my elderly neighbours - who mind you, always seem so cranky - I'd come to you for a favour." It seems he's gathered her attention. "And since I did happen to babysit Henry -"

"That was like two weeks ago."

"- I would like you to pay me back by borrowing your sugar."

"Seriously? You're not willing to go to your grumpy elderly neighbours for sugar?"

He grins. "What can I say, love? I do love to bother you for some company."

"Mom!"

Killian peeks over her shoulder and waves at Henry, who brightens up and waves back. "Hello, lad."

"Honestly, if you're asking me, Jones, you're wasting your favour on something pointless," she mutters, turning around and walking away from the door.

"I'll be the judge of that, Swan," he responds. Killian looks down at Henry and smiles. "Been doing your homework?"

Henry grimaces. "Let's not discuss school. How about you stay for dinner? Mom's making her best spaghetti tonight."

Emma returns just then with sugar in hand before he can even consider responding to Henry's offer. He highly doubts Emma would allow him such a thing. He's still got to get to know her better, that's for certain.

"Mom," Henry starts, "can Killian stay for dinner?"

"What? Kid, I'm sure Killian's got his own stuff to do."

"But, Mom," the lad whines. "He helped me make your birthday cake, remember?"

"Which you didn't need to make since I brought home my own cupcake in the first place."

Ah, he thinks, that's what was in the box. Her own little cupcake.

Henry frowns. It must've struck a spot in the boy's heart to hear that. Though he knows she's thankful for her son's efforts, she clearly doesn't enjoy making a big deal out of her birthday whatsoever.

"Fine," he mutters. "Bye, Killian," he adds on before turning around and (supposedly) storming off to his room.

Killian finds this amusing, but he's also a tad concerned for Henry. He appears to be genuinely upset, and from Emma can tell, she's not so happy at herself over what she said.

Killian clears his throat and then scratches behind his ear. "Well...would it hurt that much to have my company tonight?"

She turns her head to look at him, glaring at him. Though he's nothing but persistent and stubborn, too, and he has a faint smirk on his lips.

"Do you think that'll solve the problem?"

He merely shrugs. "Only one way to find out, isn't there, love?"

&&.

In the end, he stays for dinner.

It's a decent meal, but he's had better before. Considering she's just a single mom who works all the time, he's not one to judge cooking abilities. At least he's here.

In fact, it's even better than his initial reason of being here. He no longer needs to borrow sugar given he's landed himself a seat at the dining table in Emma's apartment. And now that he sits there, sipping on water, he notices the sparse amount of decorations there are.

Not sentimental, he gathers.

Another thing they have in common, it seems.

Henry seems to ease up during the meal, at least, and now he's openly talking to him a lot more. Killian converses with the boy some more, though Emma seems to be pretty quiet on her end. He supposes she has a reason. She doesn't want to open her mouth and say something stupid that'll throw them back to where they were about an hour ago. Or maybe that's just his own opinion, but he would probably be thinking that had he pissed the lad off.

Killian stays for a lot longer than just dinner, but only on Emma's watch. He asks her for permission, of course, and she just nods in response. Just because he's a gentleman by heart, he does all the dishes for them, and besides, it's only fair in etiquette.

The uncharacteristically quiet side of her makes him wonder what goes on in that lovely head of hers. And more often than not, his eyes drift over to look at her.

By Henry's bedtime, he groans but doesn't complain any further, just saying goodnight to Killian and making his way to his room.

"Well, I suppose I should take my leave now," he declares.

"Wait."

Killian pauses where he's standing, looking back at Emma with a curious expression. "Decided you want this dashing man to stay the night?"

She snorts. "Definitely not." Emma looks away from his eyes and then back. "But...ah...when you said you were a good listener. Is that offer still up?"

Instead of saying anything snarky in return, he lets out a soft breath and then nods. "Aye, I'm still willing."

Perhaps now he'll know what's been bothering her all evening.

&&.

"I'm not going to bore you with any details," she says quietly, nursing her own cup of hot cocoa.

It's not the winter season, but he tucks the idea of her liking hot cocoa aside in case he ever needs to cheer her up somehow. He knows that for the next while, however long he ends up being her guardian angel for, there are going to be rough patches ahead.

Life isn't perfect.

Well, not unless your life is up in the heavens.

"But, like I said that one time. Someone from my past is...sort of back, and I've been trying to forget them for a long time now. I don't want to associate myself with them."

And he knows that, by not 'boring him with these details' means not having dive deep into specifics when they're friendship has only been less than a month. He just hums softly and nods, paying attention to everything she says attentively. Whatever she means by 'sort of' hardly helps him identify the problem, but whoever it is, it's putting an entire dent in her life as she's confused and struggling to get a grip on how to handle this situation of hers.

Pursing his lips, he thinks a bit. "Has said person attempted to communicate with you?"

Emma hesitates to answer.

"Yeah."

"Ah." He rubs his chin in between his index finger and thumb. "Well, have you been direct with them?"

"You see -" she swallows, noticing her neck move, but his eyes drift back up to her eyes, "- I'm not really good with words."

Killian pinches his brows together. "You couldn't have just said 'no, I'm not interested in establishing connections with you' to them?"

She shakes her head and he groans softly, leaning his head back on the couch. This woman is going to be the death of him already. She's doesn't have a tick for communication, then. Unfortunately, that might prove to be a bit of a problem.

"Then what did you do?"

"Slam the door in their face?"

He groans a little more obviously this time and rubs his forehead. "I'm glad that you didn't do the same with me back then when I first got to know you," he mutters.

"I mean, I don't hate you, so that's something."

"Well, I'm certainly relieved that you don't want to throw me out and slam the door in my face."

"You're not going to be forgetting that anytime soon, are you?" Emma asked, glaring at him over the edge of her mug.

He just shook his head lightly. Well, he certainly finds this amusing that she couldn't say no and just ended up physically shutting this person out.

"Look, I had one more point."

Intrigued by whatever else she has to say, he listens carefully.

"I just want to thank you."

He raises an eyebrow. "There's little you've ought to thank me for, I believe."

Emma sets her mug down on the coffee table and turns a little. "Well, Henry would disagree. He talks about you all the time, did you know? I mean, we've only talked a few times, and had, uh, awkward moments, but still. You've done me some great favours."

"And here I thought you were terrible with words."

She scrunches her nose up at that, as if telling him to shut up and let her speak. So he does.

"Anyway, I'm just...glad to have you as a neighbour. And...friend."

He widens his eyes at that admission. Friends. That's bloody well great progress for him and great to hear in general.

He's been thinking about how awful of a job he's been doing as her guardian angel, but this sounds like he's been doing...okay. Right?

Emma inhales a deep breath. "And it's nice to see Henry have a positive male influence in his life."

"I wouldn't exactly say positive," he teases with a small smile.

They both laugh at that, quietly. Henry must be asleep by this point, it's nearing midnight the more they talk. And they talk quite a bit more.

There's nothing in particular they talk about for long.

Favourite movies, colours, books. It's like one of those get-to-know-you sessions. Or whatever they're called. Killian has no idea, but he's enjoying himself at the moment.

When the clock does strike midnight, he realizes he should get going.

"I should probably go now," he says sheepishly. "Apologies for keeping you up for so long. I bet you've got a perp to chase tomorrow."

"How do you know I'm in bailbonds?"

"Ah -" he panics for a moment, "- Henry...he mentioned it carelessly once."

She sighs and nods. "Of course," she mumbles. Emma just shrugs. "Anyway, it was...nice to have a person to listen and talk to."

"I told -"

"Shut up," she grumbles, shaking her head.

Killian merely grins at he and stands, heading over to the door and slipping his shoes back on. "It was lovely spending some time with you, Emma."

She smiles at him and nods. "I'll see you later."

"Good night, Swan," he murmurs, just as he pulls the door open and leaves.

Don't get attached.

He might be getting there, and he's going to run head into a train if he continues to get closer to those train tracks.

(Though a part of him tells him it's okay.

A part of him says he's making some wrong choices.)

a/n: reviews would be great! thanks for reading. :)