One Day at a Time

by CuteMcBeauty

CS AU. Miss Swan's a single mom who holds two shifts since her son's father left them. Mr. Jones is an unemployed widower and father who finds it hard to hold a job because of a handicap. Both broken families trying to run from painful pasts. Maybe they can work through it together... one day at a time. (Rated T for now, will eventually change to M )

3. Win win situation

"Hello?"

It always made Killian smile, hearing the upper-crust accent Liam possessed to this day.

"You don't fool me with any of your Oxford banter, you old bastard…"

Liam closed his eyes, huffed and chuckled. "Killian…"

"How are you, mate?"

"Well, I was about to succumb to a pleasant morning of leisure, pour some sherry and read Keats." He sighed, jokingly adding,. "Till you wrecked my moment of peace."

Killian giggled. "I'll take Whitman any day over Keats."

"Of course you would, you pirate." Liam laughed back. "Whitman likes to phrase pornography with finesse, but that doesn't make his so called poetry any less pornographic."

"Well, sex is a basic need of all human beings, and should the sex drive be in any way hindered or repressed, it will very likely come back in the form of disease, hysteric or neurotic conduct and-or trauma. Or so my brother says; psychology gobbledygook…" He shrugged. "Funny how he condemns Whitman…"

Liam released a loud laugh. "You've not changed for the better."

"Nor have you."

"How are you, little brother?"

Killian rolled his eyes. "Will you ever grow up? Younger… YOUNGER brother. And I'm well, or as well as one could be, I suppose."

"Little Meg?"

"Just dropped her off at the school bus." Killian sighed. "I worry for her. She's a darling child, but… so sad."

"Hm." Liam nodded. "Perhaps she'd cheer some if her father weren't so sad as well."

Killian swallowed and shook his head. "I thought you only specialized in therapy for children."

"I do indeed, and even so, I'd not be capable of giving you or Meg any therapy; you're family. I'd be biased."

"Aye, well, good thing it's not I who needs a hand this time." Killian twirled the phone cable in his hand and sighed deeply and with regret. "Something happened. There's a lady here, she needs help."

"Killian, I can't keep track of how much money I've used to help you out of your philandering conundrums and…"

"No, no, Liam, wait, it's not like that at all, not this time." He licked his lips. "There was this lad in Meg's school, he… sort of… became a bully, head-butted my daughter and well, I was upset, I called for a meeting with the headmaster and the parents of the boy. And as it turns out, the boy is fatherless since a year back and his mother works two shifts, can't look after him properly and… well, the lad was expelled."

Liam hissed. "An angry young man. Tragic circumstance." He pressed his lips together. "And the mother?"

Killian shook his head. "Desperate; she and the town's Mayor have had some issues and the bloke she works for won't allow her to take the boy with her to work. The nearest college is almost an hour away and she can't pull her schedule together. If the Mayor finds out, she's bound to report the situation to child services and the woman is likely to lose her son." He swallowed hard. "The boy's father left them both and the boy blames her for it, as if life weren't already hard enough for the poor girl."

"How old?"

"Ten or eleven. Same age as Megan."

"Typical behavior in light of his dreadful proviso." Liam sat down and held the receiver between his ear and shoulder while he poured his sherry into a small crystal cup. "And what exactly do you want from me, Killian?"

The handsome young father shook his head. "I don't know, Liam, I…" He bit his lip. "I feel terrible, for putting her and her son in this situation, she's a good, hard working woman and her son is not a bad little bloke, he's just really…" He winced. "I feel I need to help them. Liam, perhaps you could maybe give her a call, give her some advice, or … I don't know, maybe the next time you come over, you might… talk to her?"

Liam huffed. "Killian, that's not…"

"Liam, please, I'm begging you!" Killian stood straight. "I'm not asking anything for myself, I can see to both Megan and I easily enough. We get by, we may not live the way we used to, but she's provided for and that's good enough for the moment, but… I don't know, this woman's plight and the ache in the boy's eyes, I can't…" Killian swallowed. "She needs to stabilize the boy emotionally if he's to be admitted back in school. He's already missed a couple of weeks."

In his upstate Boston home, Liam shook his head and sighed. He probably had a full schedule that week: lots of clients and patients to tend to, a conference and a keynote speech for the Harvard University grads, not to mention his final report on his findings regarding the 'Emotional Impairment of Children with Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Disorder and their Families' for the Dean.

But he could never deny his brother anything, especially not after the accident.

He only wished his constant aid and support would ever be fruitful; Killian seemed to be going nowhere.

Liam sat down on his armchair and looked out the window, watching the little sailboats and cruises floating along Boston harbor. He hadn't seen his younger brother since that day.

Killian looked out the window of his brother's penthouse home. It was a view that, albeit completely different, was strongly familiar: Boats and ships sailing past under a glorious, summer sun. And it hurt even to be there. He twirled the rum in his tumbler and swallowed it in one gulp.

It was his fourth.

"Killian, have you even considered what I said?" Liam insisted. "It's a commission, it's what you do! These people are one of the wealthiest couples in all of Boston and they're avid collectors of your work, Killian J. Jones." He walked to his brother. "You need the employment, brother, think of Megan…"

"I've talked to this blessed little couple…" Killian replied, his words slightly slurred by the numbing effect of the rum, his gaze lost in the waters of the harbor. "They are obnoxious and petulant and… they don't know the first thing about art… or the pain that drives an artist to do it in the first place…" He turned to his brother. "My child is a happy girl, Liam. She doesn't need… all this." He smiled a vacant smile and signaled all around him. "This hoity-toity rich man's life." He shook his head. "I won't paint again, Liam. Ever. Do you understand me?" He held the tumbler in his hand as he pointed a finger to Liam's chest. "I know you are ashamed of me… I know it."

"Killian!" Liam sneered.

"AYE, YOU FUCKING WELL ARE!" Killian hollered. "You can't abide with the fact that your precious younger brother is a nobody, can you? What when they ask you, your charming little rich friends, 'How's your brother, the famous paintor? 'Ooooh, he was a fine one, wasn't he? Till he fell apart at the seams, such a shame! Such a fucking waste!' No, Liam, you want me to be like one of these… copiously affluent phonies you like to canoodle with these days! So when people talk to you about my work and myself they will think your brother is this… bloody rich London Beatnik with a riverview flat in London, won't they? And you will be MORE than pleased to agree, when in fact, your brother is little more than a fucking has-been who lost it all!" he threw the tumbler and it smashed against Liam's grand piano.

"Jesus!" Liam jumped, blankly staring at his brother as he sank in the sofa.

Killian looked around him and Liam's heart was wrenched to see tears running down his cheeks, sullen and sunken, his handsome face but a shadow of the devilishly gorgeous man he had once been, now clad in a scruffy beard and dark circles beneath his eyes. "Liam…" Killian pleaded. "Liam, I'm sorry…. I'm sorry, Liam… I…"

In an instant, Liam was seated beside his brother, holding him as he sobbed.

"Oh, brother…" He sighed. "You have to pull yourself together, you've not lost it all, Killian, you have Megan still and she needs her father. And me? I would never, ever be ashamed of you, you daft sod, ever. You're drunk, Killian, love. Just…"

"What have I to paint about, Liam?" Killian wept unashamedly. "I've no life left in me to sketch or even want to, I…. Oh, God…. Oh, God. He was just a wee baby, Liam, why? What have I done?"

Liam said nothing. Sometimes, no words are enough.

He did feel tears of his own mingle into his younger brother's messy black hair, however.

A week later, Killian presented himself to Mr. and Mrs. Van Berling, accepting their commissions.

Even the name made him sick; everything about them reminded him of his days when dealing with such patrons was his every day, run of the mill bread and butter. Only now, he seemed to be so far from all that, they only served as a reminder of the very life he tried to run away from, not because he truly despised the rich, as he claimed, but because the last time he had lived like that… they had all been there with him: Milah, Megan and little Patrick Jones.

He painted two large canvasses, to the delight of his patrons, and especially Mrs. Van Berling: "Oh, my dear boy, you are an innate talent. How the light plays in this! You were probably depicting the feel of the summer sunlight in your home town, is that correct?' Killian would only grin a wide, ironic smirk.

He painted the light he hoped to one day see at the end of a dark tunnel.

He thanked Liam and the Van Berlings… and left Boston.

He was indeed, done painting.

Simmering in the memory of his brother's struggle to emerge from the darkness set by the tragedy of his loss, Liam found himself suddenly making a mental note to postpone the delivery of his report on ADHD to Dean Professor Warren at Harvard.

"Very well, Killian. I will be with you tomorrow the latest."

Killian huffed with relief. "Thank you… Thank you Liam."

"And what may the name of this young mother be, may I ask?"

Killian's lips lifted at the corners unexpectedly. Even he frowned at the discovery of said unwilling but definite sudden reaction at the thought of her name. "Swan. Emma Swan. The name of the boy is Henry Cassidy."

Liam took note. "Emma… Swan and Henry. Very well. If she's willing, please let her know I shall arrive tomorrow and remain no more than a week."

Killian slid down to the floor, back against the wall, fully grinning. "Thank you, brother. This means the world to me."

Liam chuckled. "Might I just… ask one thing?"

"Aye, go ahead…"

"Might there be another… angle to the nature of your interest in this woman?"

Killian sneered softly. "Beg pardon?"

"Is she a handsome woman, you pillock?" Liam laughed. "You fancy her?"

Killian clucked his tongue and shook his head as stood up with a sigh. "You truly are a silly little sod…"

"Well?"

"She is… rather gorgeous, yes, but I've no interest in her. None at all." He shrugged. "I just hate to see a single woman with a good heart so overcome by circumstance beyond her control. Her husband left her … and life took my love; we're both single parents in an unfair world; I know the feeling."

"Hmm." Liam smiled knowingly. "Fair enough, little brother, I.."

"YOUNGER BROTHER you knob!"

"Fine then, YOUNGER brother, cor…" Liam chuckled. "I'll be there tomorrow before noon, so I can get to see the wee princess before she's off to school, is that all right? After that we can perhaps meet this… Emma Swan. And her boy, if she agrees to let me talk to him."

"Liam, you are a good man!" Killian smiled from ear to ear. "Please give my love to Greta."

"I shall."

"Thank you, brother, see you tomorrow."

"Till tomorrow…. LITTLE BROTHER."

Liam hung up in time to avoid the ensuing plethora of British insults he knew his brother was capable of devising, and giggled to himself mischievously as he took back his sherry in one sip and set about packing for his one-week trip

"Emma Swan, is it?" He smiled as he stood up. "Let's keep our fingers crossed. GRETA?"

Liam's wife replied something from the other side of the complex, and Liam smiled back. "I'm off to see Killian early tomorrow. With any luck, the old boy's about to get his life back in order."

Killian gritted his teeth and slammed the phone down. "Ugh, bloody bastard. I will get you for that one, Liam." He huffed and chuckled.

He then sat and waited… and the sight of the bottle that sat atop the fridge seemed tempting and luring… but he settled for orange juice. It was far too early for a drink.

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Emma was trying to catch some sleep after her night with a drunken Henry. The boy rose from his bed, head in his hand, and his gaze zeroed on his mother as she slept on the couch, still dressed in her uniform.

"Mom? Mom!" he shouted at her from his door.

Emma shook awake. "Wha… Henry, are you ok? Are you going to be sick again?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Henry shook his head. "Don't you have to be… flipping burgers at Granny's or something?"

Emma grunted as she sat up. "Yeah, well, a certain young man drank something he wasn't supposed to drink and he got so sick, I stayed up all night caring for him, so Granny gave me the morning." She looked at him. "Where the hell did you find that bottle, anyway?"

Henry sneered. "What's it to you?"

"Henry!" Emma winced. "Look, I know our situation isn't perfect, but you really don't have to be so rude to me!"

"You know what? Never mind." Henry shook his head and went back into his room, slamming the door shut.

Emma sighed deep and shook her head before looking at the clock on the wall. "Ten twenty-four…"

'Call me tomorrow after ten a.m., I will have spoken to Liam by then.'

Emma swept through her jacket pocket and found Killian's hastily scribbled numbers on the napkin. She sighed and closed her eyes, a small prayer in her mind as she dialed the number.

The phone didn't finish ringing once when he answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Killian? Emma Swan."

"Good morning, Swan." He smiled into the speaker. "So, I've some fairly good news for you."

"Great. I could use some."

"I've spoken to my brother about… well, about you and Henry, and he has agreed to visit me tomorrow. He will remain a week and he will talk to you and your son."

Emma sighed deep and felt her body weight sink into the couch. "I can't thank you enough, Killian."

"No, it is I who should be thanking you, Swan." Killian shook his head. "For allowing me to talk to you. I feel terrible about what happened."

"It's ok. Really, it is. So…" She sighed. "Where do we meet tomorrow?"

Killian bit his lip. "Well, my brother's a tad too prissy to stay at my humble little abode…" He giggled. "I reckon he'll stay at the Inn, so I suppose you, Henry and he can meet at the lobby in the back."

"Great. Listen, can you… call me? When he gets in? Just so I know the time…"

"This is your home number?" He sighed. "Perhaps I'd better have your mobile, love, in case you're at work. I take it the young man woke up with a sailor's hangover…"

"Yeah, and the attitude of one to match." She huffed. "I really don't know why he hates me so much."

"I'm sure he doesn't. He just doesn't know how to cope with the loss of his father." He swallowed. "It's hard."

"Yeah… anyway, you got something to write down?"

Killian mumbled incoherently as he fumbled about looking for a pen. Bumbling fool, he thought, as he found a sharpie and held his own arm out. "Very well, love, cocked and loaded, what's the number?"

After Emma gave him her mobile number and they hung up, Killian sneered at himself. "Cocked and loaded? What the bloody hell's the problem with you, Jones? God."

Emma stood up and tapped on Henry's door. "Henry?"

Since he didn't answer, she just let herself in and found the boy sitting on the bed with a scorn on his face as he cradled his forehead with one hand. "Are you ok?"

The boy looked up at her and then back down. "Why does it hurt so much?"

The young mother felt instant relief that at least this time, she had gotten a decent answer and not a slice to the jugular. She grinned and paced to him. "You finished half a bottle of vodka, buddy; even an experienced wino would get a killer hangover from that. Come on." She touched his head. "Breakfast? It'll make you feel better."

Henry looked up at her through squinty eyes and sighed. "You haven't been fired, or anything, have you?"

"Nope. I really did ask for the day off. You were hammered there, kid, I had to keep an eye on you."

Henry shrugged. "I just… wanted to know what the hell all that fuss was about."

"What fuss?" Emma frowned.

"Everyone on TV says that getting drunk is cool." He huffed. "I think I might disagree."

"Good. Then at least you won't do it again." She kneeled in front of him. "Oh, Henry..." She sighed. "I need your help here. You know that Regina and I are at each other's throats. Now I know I'm not perfect, but I'm trying hard, Henry, I'm trying to make this work. If she finds out what's happening to our little family here, you know what she will do…" Henry scowled as she continued. "I really… really wish I had enough money to only work one shift, Henry, so I could make ends meet and be here for you, but I can't. I'm alone here."

"And why are you alone?" Henry barked. "Why did dad leave?"

Emma blinked many times and shook her head. "I … I…"

"Look, tell you what." Henry pressed his lips together. "You do your thing, I will do mine. Work your shifts and I stick around here doing… whatever. We don't let Regina know that I was expelled, and I don't go to a foster home. But really…" he stood up and pushed past her. "Don't even try to explain anything mom, not until you have an actual explanation, because until then, it all sounds like excuses to me. You and dad had a fight and he left, I remember that much. So when you have actually owned up to the fact that he's gone because of you, then we can talk."

"That is NOT fair!" Emma stood up and snapped back at him. "You don't know what it was like for me either, Henry so don't…" She drew a deep breath and contained herself. "Look, tomorrow we're seeing someone."

"What do you mean, seeing someone?"

Emma shook her head. "Both you and I need someone to help us get through this. You don't want to be with me and I certainly don't want you to keep on treating me like I was the villain of this story, but neither one of us knows where the heck to go from here. So we're seeing a specialist. Someone who knows about kids and stuff."

Henry shook his head. "A shrink…"

"We need it."

"You already went with Archie Hopper and what good did that do?"

Emma walked to him. "This guy's better than Archie. He's head of a whole department in Boston, in Mass General."

Henry frowned. "And you can afford that? You can barely pay rent."

Emma stepped slowly out of Henry's room. "This is a pro-bono thing."

"Where did you find this guy?"

Emma grinned. "A friend owed me a favor."

Henry shook his head and smiled coldly. "You don't have any friends."

The young blonde looked as stung as she felt, and lifted her chin just a little. "Yeah, well… I… have one now."

The boy stared coldly at her and sighed deep, anger flashing through his eyes. "Huh, well in that case, you're luckier than I am…" He turned around and jumped into bed. "I don't feel too good. I'll just sleep this through."

"But…" Emma mumbled. "What about breakfast?"

"Not hungry. Knock yourself out. Please close the door when you leave."

Henry's coldness to her felt like a dagger to the heart. She nodded and stepped out, trying to conceal the tears that seemed to form now every time they even spoke.

"Like Travis looking at Old Yeller…" She spoke softly as she put her jacket on, heading out to buy some cocoa and pancakes for her boy.

He may have been a rabid little boy that bit and gnarled… but she still loved him more than anything or anyone. And she knew he would eventually eat his pancakes; it was just a matter of her not looking.

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"Principal McIntyre?"

The bald, kind-looking older man raised his face at the tap of the door. "Dolly?"

"Sir, there's a parent here who wants a word. Mr. Killian Jones?"

McIntyre sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I know him. Show him in, please…"

After hearing a soft "This way, sir", the Principal stood up and smiled, holding out his hand to Killian. "Mr. Jones, welcome. Please sit down."

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, sir." Killian said after he shook the man's hand, tugging his pants up by the knee as he sat.

"Listen, Mr. Jones, I wanna pour myself some coffee, Dolly's a darling but she never gets my coffee right." He chuckled. "Will you excuse me for a moment? Can I get you one for yourself?"

"Oh, no no, none for me, thank you. I'll just wait for you here, sir."

As Professor McIntyre left the room, Killian looked around him. His gaze was suddenly drawn by a small little canvas painting by the window. It was signed J.J. Sherman, and it was a fairly exquisite landscape of Storybrooke at sunrise. Killian stood to have a closer look, and was unable to contain a smile as he recognized some of the strokes of the brushes as his very own trademark. Whoever had painted this, had been clearly influenced by his work in the past.

"Pretty painting, isn't it, Sir?"

Killian turned and stepped back sheepishly. "Yes, quite. I was just admiring the stroking."

"Yep. This was done by one of our seniors. She gave it to me, five months ago." He smiled as he sat down. "That was maybe three years ago. She's in New York now, making a name for herself. She always invites me to her exhibits, but alas, I've too much work here to just skip a day or two and go to New York." He took a sip from his coffee and smiled. "Her artwork's gonna put her through college."

"Clever lass."

"That she is, Sir, that she is…" Mr. McIntyre sat back down on his chair with a proud laugh. "So, Mr. Jones, what brings you here on this… fine Monday morning?"

Killian sat back down. "Emma Swan, Sir."

Mr. McIntyre huffed. "Emma Swan." He nodded. "Yeah, she's in quite a situation with that boy."

"My brother has offered to help Henry, sir." Killian leaned into the desk. "He's probably Boston's top child therapist. I came here to plead on Henry and Emma's behalf. Should the boy improve within any given period of time and a certified professional can attest to it, would you be willing to admit him back into your institution?"

The principal studied Killian's face. "Mr. Jones, I…"

"Killian, please."

"Killian." He smiled. "Aside from the seriousness of Henry's behavior in this school, I am sort of astounded at the fact that your daughter was one of his victims, and yet you are pleading on his behalf. Now, I'm not one to judge, I mean, Miss Swan is quite an attractive woman and she is a single parent, I know that you are too and…"

"Do you really believe I'm trying to befriend the son… to get in with his mum? Is that why you think I'm here?" Killian frowned. "You misjudge me, sir, no, that's not at all the reason."

Mr. McIntyre sighed lightly and leaned back into his chair, fingers interlaced. "Well, then. Why exactly are you?"

Killian licked his lower lip and turned his gaze down. "Megan."

"Your daughter?"

"She's all I have in the world, sir. All I've left. I don't care to go into the details behind my state as a widower, but I know what it feels like, to have the world on your shoulders to the point where you trust no one, not even yourself. I know what it is to see your child wake up in the middle of the night, with nightmares about her missing parent. I know what feeling helpless and angry can do to a child. Henry is not a bad boy, headmaster; he's an angry boy, even my daughter agrees. Now, I don't know the full story, for I only spoke briefly with Emma, but I know she's a fighter and she's struggling to sustain that boy to the best of her abilities since she was abandoned by the boy's father. She needs to have the support of the school; should anyone speak to child services of her current situation, she will lose the boy; Like me with Megan, Henry is all she has, and I hate to think what it would do to that poor woman should it get to that. Please, headmaster… won't you reconsider? Or at least offer her the possibility of re-enrolling the boy should he mend his ways?"

Mr. McIntyre raised his brows and thought for a minute before he once again spoke. "Where are you from, sir?"

Killian frowned. "London… what's that got to do with..?"

"London. I have a daughter in London." He smiled. "Julia. She's eighteen, bright as bulb, that kid, a smile that can melt the ice caps. She's seventeen; senior year, exchange class." Killian frowned and nodded as the principal continued. "She's an avid follower of the fine arts: Ballet, opera… Not a common thing on a young kid these days; damn she makes my wife and I proud for that. She'll be back in July for grad and then she wants to return to England, she's working over there to stay in London, maybe go to college there." He stood up and walked to the painting. "Julia Jane, is her name. She's also an amateur painter, you know? Loves it. Really good one too. But she thinks her surname is a bit too long to sign her canvasses, so she goes by…"

Killian furrowed his brow. "J.J. Sherman." He licked his lips. "It's… your daughter, she's the one that..:"

"Yep. She did."

"But you told me it was a lass who was in New York and…"

The principal laughed. "Yeah, well, I had to make something up, I didn't want to gloat." He turned back to the painting. "She's an avid fan of an English painter; she knows all there is to know about… well, sir, about you." He turned to Killian again. "Killian James Jones. She worships you." Killian felt his blood drop to the vicinity of his feet and he gulped hard. "Yep, Killian, ever since my daughter told me about you, I've known who you are… Now, Killian please, don't panic, I fully understand why you're here and it is not my intention to expose you in any way at all. I took the liberty, after Jules told me about you and your work, of perusing through google, and well… let's just say you needn't tell me a thing about…. What led you to a little town like Storybrooke."

Killian sighed in defeat and he shook his head. "Seems there's nowhere to go for the fallen…"

"Fallen?" McIntyre laughed. "Oh, god, no dear sir, you're NOT fallen. As a matter of fact, in view of the story you carry behind you, I have to say, I quite admire you."

"How so?"

"Well, you've been through a pretty hellish experience, for which I offer my sincerest condolences, and I know that time doesn't always heal wounds. You, Killian, are looking for redemption; and I have to admire that. So here's a deal…" He sat back down. "We're understaffed here and there are plenty of kids who could really, really use some form of… catharsis, so to speak."

"Well, my brother is the want you need in that case, although given his position at Mass General, I doubt he'd accept, headmaster…."

"Please call me Paul, Killian."

"Paul. I'm ill prepared to treat children and have them speak their troubles."

"I'm not asking you to be a counselor, Killian." Paul smiled kindly. "During my research, I found you to be… well… a bit of drifter, employment-wise. So I'm offering you a permanent position. As a teacher, here, in Storybrooke Grammar."

Killian furrowed his brow. "A… teacher? In what?"

"Art." Paul nodded. "Now, I saw from Wikipedia that you intended to disappear from the arts, and I won't ask you to paint a thing, buddy… just… pass on what you know to the kids, and let THEM use the arts to sublimate whatever issues they might have. Artists, dear sir, are emotional people; you need to create to find balance in this otherwise unfair little world. So, if you accept my proposal, and you join my staff… I am prepared to offer you, not only your wages and benefits… but to take Henry back in on trial. And your brother can help out with the boy and Miss Swan can get her life back on track. Perhaps, even you can get to the kid, see if he can express any of that anger… through art."

Killian stared blankly at the man before him. "I… I…."

"Give it a though there, Killian. I learned everything there is to know about your success in the past and hell, I'm not a punisher, and I'm certainly not one to judge god's reasons as to why things happen. I know about your little boy, the boating accident and your wife's demise, topics far too sensitive to even bring up, I'm sure, but nevertheless, important to know. Your daughter carries a significant load, a load no ten year old should have to bear…"

Killian pressed his lips together tighter than a drum. "I know of it."

"So I have to say, Killian, in all sincerity, that I admire you. You're trying to make a better world for the one kid you have left; I admire what you are trying to do for Miss Swan and her son, and I understand your reasons. But I am offering you something even better. Redemption times twenty, one for each kid in class. It's a win-win situation. What do you say?"

Killian raised his eyes back to the headmaster's, no longer attempting to hide the ache he desperately tried to conceal day in and day out. He thought for a few seconds: Meg would definitely encourage him to accept, not to mention he'd finally be making a steady income, maybe even better a profit than what he did fixing the boats in the harbor… and if he could instill art in the minds of children, that would be even better.

The best part? Emma would definitely NOT lose her boy to the system.

Although he hated (or perhaps thought he hated) the notion of ever again grabbing stencils, coal and paper, he was acutely aware of how his single hand yearned for the darkened shade of graphite on his fingers, a yearning he duly suppressed day in and day out. But this did NOT mean he'd be painting again… he'd be instructing others how to paint.

A small grin emerged on the dourly tightened lips of Killian Jones as he held out his hand.

"When do I start?"

Paul McIntyre grinned and nodded softly. "We need to provide you with the right materials. Give me a list, send me an e-mail tonight with your requirements and we will furnish you with those within, let's say, a week. Just be sure not to ask for things that might be too expensive for us of for the parents to purchase."

He reached out his hand, took Killian's and shook it. "Welcome to Storybrooke Grammar… Professor Jones."

Killian sighed and smiled… and meant it for the first time in a very long while.