"So, Henry! We meet again!" Liam shook the young boy's hand as he sat down on the calico-furnished settee in the hotel Lobby. "Glad you could come again, lad."

Henry sighed and nodded.

" S…" Liam started with a smile. "I've studied the information you provided in your interview…" Liam looked through his notes. "And there are a few things I think I'd like you to perhaps tell me more about."

"Like?" the boy sneered.

The towering Dr. Jones bit on his lower lip, pensively assessing ways to penetrate the boy's mind before the week was through. "I understand it's just you and your mother."

"What about it?"

"Well, about your father…"

"He left a year ago. I told you that as well."

"Aye, aye, I know of it, but perhaps you might shed dome light into why you believe he left."

Henry frowned. "That's… pretty straight forward."

Liam laughed softly. "You'd you rather us butter our way to the real business and waste what little time we have, lad?"

Henry blinked a couple of times and rolled his eyes before slumping back into the couch. "He and mom got into a fight. My mom told him to get the hell out. So he left." He shrugged. "She also said she wanted nothing from him, at all. So he just… disappeared."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Liam leaned on his knees, clasping his hands together. "I'm sure you miss him quite a bit."

Henry shrugged. "You get used to it."

Liam nodded silently and drew a deep breath as he reached for his notepad once again, jotting something down as he spoke. "So before he left, did you two do a lot of stuff together?"

Henry grinned. "Yeah, my dad was cool."

"WAS cool?"

"Yeah."

"You speak of him as if he had died."

Henry huffed. "Whatever. We used to do things together."

Liam grinned. "Such as?"

"Swordfight, play catch… he was pretty good at sailing. We would also walk a lot."

Sailing… Liam tried hard not to let his own accounts of memories from his ached brother's favorite past hobby cloud his vision with the boy at hand.

"Henry…" He licked his lips. "You said it was because your mother… told him to leave?" The boy nodded and Liam found possible bait in his mind to draw something from the watertight young man. "Mh. Does he ever… try to contact you?"

Henry shrugged, his gaze now directed at the coffee table.

"Henry… talk to me please. Does your dad ever send, perhaps, a post card, or a letter, an e-mail?"

"He and mom are not talking at all." Henry averted his gaze to the window. "Mom was pretty clear that she didn't want to hear from him again and…"

"Henry…" Liam cut in. "We're not talking about your mother and father… but about YOU and your father. Does he ever, at all, try to get in touch with you?"

Henry's hardened glare began to soften, replaced slowly by an ached pair of hazel eyes. He shook his head.

"Has he ever tried to called you? Or sent a card or a present, hell, a text message?"

"I told you, my mother told him to vanish."

"Thus, he did. And completely turned his back on his only son, it seems…"

Henry huffed. "Yeah, well, when you get told to beat it like that…"

Liam rubbed his lips together. "I think, Henry, that you feel guilty."

"What?" Henry raised his eyebrows with a sneer.

Bingo.

"Aye. Because, after all, what sort of father would just… throw the towel in on his own son, just like that?"

"It was my mom, sh.."

"No, lad. Your mother, we will get to her eventually, then you can tell me all you want about her, but for now I really want to know why you keep looking for someone to blame for your father's departure." Henry paled as Liam spoke. "Why do you believe he hasn't sent you any letters or… called you on your birthday? Don't you believe he is accountable for his own behavior?"

Henry stood and paced. "He couldn't stand my mom any longer."

"Now that's just an excuse, m'boy. Please, sit back down, we're not finished."

Henry hissed and slammed himself into the couch.

Liam studied his face; his eyes darted from one end of the floor to the other, arms crossed over his stomach and his head slouched into the couch, lips pressed tight together. Defensive and protective of self, he jotted, and went on.

"Now, Henry…" Liam leaned forward. "I know sometimes, it's a lot easier to…" He shrugged. "…to blame others for things that go awry. I know I've done it. We all do. But has your mother ever told you the reason why she asked your father to leave?"

The boy shook his head. "Not my problem. Their problems are theirs. All parents fight."

"Aye, that much is true."

"So if she told him to leave, she knew it would affect me and she didn't care. None of them asked for MY opinion, I mean, I'm their kid, right? I should at least have a say in it, shouldn't I?"

"Ah! So you're mad at him as well."

"No."

"I think you are." Liam smiled and leaned pack, fiddling with his pen. "I think you're mad at him… and at yourself, more than you are at your mother…"

"No, I…"

"Look at me, lad."

It took Henry nearly twenty seconds to be able to raise his gaze up into Liam's. He suddenly felt vulnerable and insecure and his arms wrapped about his middle section tightened.

"Life… is a messy thing. Sometimes we plan on something and that something works out perfectly. But other times, something gets in the way and even the best laid out plans can go awry. Now I know for sure your mother loves you, since she's struggling with two jobs, one of them which she hates, according to you, to keep you fed and healthy." Liam ran his tongue across his upper lip, studying the boy's every flinch, movement and blink. "How does that make you feel?"

Henry closed his eyes. "Ok, I guess…" He shrugged. "She tries."

Liam's eyes shot straight onto Henry's. "And your father? Do you know where he is, what he is doing?"

The boy shook his head.

"Why is that, lad?"

"Because… He had to leave, because my mom…"

"NOT your mom, Henry, why don't YOU know where he is?"

"BECAUSE HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT ME!" Henry raised his voice, his eyes glazed with tears.

Liam nodded and sat back. Painful as it was, he had worked with kids enough years to know a positive breakthrough when he saw one.

"Why do you think he doesn't, lad?"

Henry's lower lip quivered. "Because… what sort of dad just… walks out like that? Just… gone, not even try to fight for me, to stay with me!?"

"And why wouldn't he?"

"BECAUSE I SUCK!" The boy broke down completely. "BECAUSE I WASN'T ENOUGH!" He sank into the couch in tears. "I wasn't enough… He doesn't even care…"

Liam grinned and pushed a box of tissues closer to Henry. "Listen, lad, you can go through life thinking this was your doing when in fact, being an adult is just not as easy as you might think. We also lose things, people… we also ache when we lose someone. But…" He leaned forward with a smirk. "Make no mistake: Your father's departure was his decision, and it was not your fault; not even your mother's."

"I can't… hate my father…" Henry sniffed.

"As well you should not. But you could try forgiving him. And yourself."

"But you just said it was not my fault."

"That, my lad, is precisely why." Liam pulled out a tissue and offered it to the young man sobbing in front of him. As soon as Henry took the tissue and cleaned his nose, Liam ruffled his hair.

He then jotted down on his pad. "Talk to the mother".

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"So, homeworks! Math, English, Science and what?" Killian asked his daughter as he walked with her towards their home, after school.

"Well, my art teacher said I need to purchase a small set of aquarelles…" She smiled up at him.

"Did he now?" he smiled back and crouched down to her eye level. "And now that we're speaking of your new art professor…" he licked his lips. "Is he any good?"

Killian felt silly, fishing for compliments that might help him feel better about his new position from a student, no less his own daughter, which was biased. But then again, Megan was not one to lie to him about anything.

She smiled from ear to ear. "He's the best! We all loved him! We can't wait till Thursday next!"

Megan was pleased to see him smile that way; it had been quite a long time since she had seen her father legitimately pleased… and with his breath not having that slight but ever present spicy, rummy smell.

"You did?"

She nodded vehemently. "Honest daddy. You were perfect. And fun. Nikki Martin's famous among the teachers for causing some major headaches, but she really likes you now!"

"Best take advantage of an awkward situation." He nodded as he stood, taking her schoolbag in his hand, flinging it over his handless arm and taking her hand in the other. "Captain Hook… That was rather clever."

"I thought you'd be upset."

"Naa, love. Why should I?" He shrugged. "It's true, I HAVE got but one hand, and the captain and I both share the trait of being the handsomest men alive, do we not?"

Megan laughed. "You share a lot more than just that, daddy…" Megan pulled him to a sstop and searched through her school bag for a peace of paper. Killian leaned over a little to grant the girl a little more access to her satchel. Once she found it, he swing the back back up on his shoulder. "You did say we should see more of this in English, so I asked Miss Blanchard to let me look it up, and I found this…" She read before the loving and bewildered gaze of her father: "Listen: His black hair gave a threatening expression to his handsome countenance; his eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy. The elegance of his diction an the distinction of his demeanor, showed him of a different cast of his crew. I'm telling you, daddy, he is you!" Megan laughed.

Killian blushed and affectionately tugged Megan's hand. "You do me good far too much, Megan my pet. I think I may have to read that book once more…"

The girl slowed down her pace. "And… there was also the Jolly Roger; we had a Jolly too, didn't we?"

The handsome young father stopped altogether and closed his eyes.

"Milaaah!" He sang from the kitchen. "Breakfast ready, love! Megan?"

The smell emanating from the bacon and Portobello omelet the young artist had prepared for his family filled the entire bottom part of the lounge, where the kitchen counter connected to the grand, wooden-floored hall.

"Sir?"

Killian turned to find the nanny, a lovely young woman called Tania Bell (and whom they all lovingly called Tink), smiling at him as she produced a still groggy five-year-old Megan. "Good morning, sir."

"And I have said to you time and time again, Tink, my name is Killian." He smiled at her. "Good morning lass…" he paced over to her with a smile and reached out for his daughter. "Ahhh, the princess Megan the first! How are you faring this morning, milady?" As the still sleepy girl slipped from Tink's arm's to Killian's embrace, the young painter caressed her twirling black locks. "Come now, my love, your father's made a lovely breakfast, will you not have any? Mhh?" When the girl groaned again, one eyebrow in his face jumped right up over his left eye as a playful smile cruised his lips. "Today's a Jolly day…"

Megan's eyes flew open and a smile (accompanied by a playful cackle). "Jolly day!" She exclaimed, suddenly awake.

He had to laugh at that.

Tink blushed somewhat and felt herself stand on the balls of her feet. She was far younger than Killian, but the one reason she had agreed to move from Australia to London, was basically to meet him. He was a fledgling artist when she had first become acquainted with his work, and had followed him like some lovesick groupie. She found a place at London's University of the Arts, and had been utterly delighted when Killian gave a small master class there. Somehow, she managed to catch his eye with a canvass she had done a week earlier. When Tink met Killian, he was single, and quite the ladies man, it seemed, but never did he make a pass at the girl he took under his wing as an apprentice of sorts, to her great chagrin. Nevertheless, the love-stricken young Tanya continued striving in hopes of one day catching a little more than just his artistic eye.

Then came Milah.

Killian was besotted by this new, ebony-haired woman with perfect features, eyes a light blue and a laugh that was so contagious, one would grin at the memory of it for weeks; she was the daughter of a couple of patrons and she had recently completed her divorce; he was asked by her father to paint her, and somewhere along the line of many meetings, the couple had fallen head over heels in love with one another. Tink was crushed. Even more so when, a month after meeting Milah, he asked her to become his wife and the artist tied the knot one month after that.

Tink continued going to her apprenticeship with Killian, but now insisted for him not to pay her tuitions any more; the young girl disappeared for a year and didn't resurface until Killian, in a display of legitimate concern for her well-being, offered her to go back to the University. He had offered to again pay her tuition, but she had refused, saying that if she went back at all, it would be by her own efforts; So Killian offered her a job as an au-pair for his baby daughter.

The little girl looked almost everything like her mother, and while she was sweet and easy to look after, it was always a twist in the gut for Tink to see her face. She didn't hate the child… only her mother. But, she was the wife of the man she loved blindly, utterly and with the force of a hundred suns, and Milah treated her kindly.

Regardless of her feelings for her unknowing rival, she would have taken any offer from him that meant seeing him on a daily basis.

So close and yet so far.

"Will you sit with us for breakfast Tink, love?" he enquired, his eyes smiling at the blonde au-pair slash University Student that smiled back at him.

"No, I…" She shrugged. "I agreed to meet a few of the girls at the pub. We're shopping for an easel."

Killian clucked his tongue. "You can always use one of mine, love."

"I need my own."

"Didn't you already have one?"

"It broke when I was given a shove in the tube." She chuckled. "Fell into the rails and got crushed. Got my fifteen minutes of unwanted fame; the train was delayed."

"Suit yourself, then…" he tilted his head as he poured orange juice into two cups. "Tink, Tink, Tink... Talented, funny and independent." He winked a playful eye at her. "You'll go places, Lady Bell." He raised his eyes and his smile doubled at the sight of his wife finally stepping down the stairs, holding their new son, Patrick, in her arms.

"Sorry for the delay, love. Your son was especially famished this morning…" she joined her husband at the kitchen bar and they kissed briefly.

Tink swallowed hard.

"Good morning, Tink!" she smiled kindly.

"Mrs. Jones…."

"Will you be joining us today?" Killian's taking us all for a sail on the Jolly." Milah asked kindly.

Tink swallowed again, even harder.

And smiling became painful. "I… think I might take a rain check on that. I've some supply shopping to do. For school."

"An easel." Killian added, chewing on toast as he sat his daughter on a chair.

Milah turned to her with a frown. "You can use one of Killian's. No rush!"

"I told her that!" Killian added again.

"I insist. I need my own." She licked her lips. "Besides, today is my day off."

Milah looked at her kindly. "Tink, you live under the same roof as we do, you're practically family."

"Aye, like a wee sister." Killian grinned and winked at her again before taking a piece of bread to Megan's mouth.

Sister…

Tink took a deep breath and bit her lip as she tried not to flush green and red. "I really need to get this done. Besides, I already agreed with the girls. I'm sorry, I'll wait till the next."

"I can understand that; she's keen." Killian replied with a playful wrinkle of his nose. "Seriously, look at your fingers, Tink. Unable to stop inking? Even the most avid artist needs sleep, Tanya my love…"

Tink tried to conceal the blackened stains on her hands. "Rather. Anyway, I'd … better go."

"Bye, Tink!" Shouted Megan from the kitchen table.

"Have a fair day, Tink, and let us know if you change your mind." Milah added, handing the now sleeping boy over to his father, who cradled his little body with such delicacy, Tink could have sworn she was about to burn from the neck up.

"See you Monday after school, love!" He smiled at her as she exited the door.

As she turned around and closed the door behind her, her smile melted into tears as she covered her face with one hand. "No you will not…"

She didn't go to the pub that day… she went to the docks, to finish a particularly good piece she had been working on, her hands blackened by the thick, pasty oils and tears never ceasing to flow down her gorgeous pixie face.

"Aye…" Killian nodded at her daughter. "We did have a Jolly."

Megan shook off the sadness from her face and pulled her dad to walk. "Anyway, you can help me with math, you're good at math."

"Aye, that I am."

"Are we eating with my uncle Liam?"

Killian frowned. "That's a thought. Hey!" He looked at her. "How about a burger at Granny's? Hm? Your uncle Liam is talking to Henry there, in the lobby at the back, maybe he can meet us afterwards at the diner."

Megan nodded eagerly.

As they sat themselves in the diner, Killian's eyes seemed to have a life of their own as he visually surfed his surroundings. He was met by the gaze of the girl he recognized as Ruby, Emma's friend. She approached the two on the table and grinned. "All hail the new teacher!" she smiled. "Coffee, Mr. Jones?"

"Hello, aye, and a tall chocolate malt here for my daughter."

His eyes continued to search around the diner and Ruby smirked. "She ain't here." She jotted on her notepad. "She's already left for her other jaunt."

"Oh." Killian sneered in slight disappointment. "I was rather hoping she and Henry would…"

"Oh, Henry's at the back. With that other Jones." She sighed. "I get to be the one to take him home after h's done." She turned to look at Megan. "Anything else?"

"Yes!" the girl smiled. "A hamburger, with extra cheese, no bacon and no mayonnaise… oh and extra extra pickles!"

Killian chuckled and Ruby turned an amused grin. "That accent you guys have will be the death of me, I swear to god." She shook her head. "Ok, got it. Mr. Jones?"

"Killian, please." He smiled with a shy nod. "I'll have the Lasagna and a side of mashing, love, if you please."

"No problem, coming right up!"

As Killian and Megan continued to chat while waiting for their orders, Ruby took her phone and immediately texted her friend. "So damn hot. That accent! If you won't have him, I will. He was looking for you!"

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"So, this is twenty percent. Do you deserve it?"

"I tended seventeen tables today, Mr. Dinapoli." Emma huffed. "That's three more than I did yesterday, and today there was that little kid that threw up, the old woman that threw the fettuccini out the window and the dude that tried to light the candle and ended up setting the tablecloth on fire. So yeah, I deserve my tips."

"I see." He stood up, money in his hands as he walked around his desk. "You know, Emma…" he held out one hundred and fifty two dollars for the young mother. "You could have it all. I live well, I can afford giving you a little bit… extra…"

"Yeah, for sure…" Emma rolled her eyes and took her money. "Just turns out I'm not one to be thrilled by the idea of fucking my boss for an extra buck."

He took two steps towards her and put a hand on her waist. "I am asking for a night, miss Swan, one… little… night." He sighed and blew cigarette and coffee breath into her face. Emma coughed mildly as he continued. "You are truly the most beautiful woman in this podunk town, surely you have plans for a better life. You can be a lingerie model and I could connect you with..:"

Emma shoved him back. "Not… interested." He gritted her teeth. "She grabbed her jacket and turned to the door. "Tomorrow is my day off. See you on Thursday."

"Emma!" He reached her and closed the door in front of her. "I… do not wish for you to feel… harassed or pressured. Please…" he held a hand up. "Take my offer into consideration. You can earn more… you can have more for your son, all I want…"

"Yeah, I know what you want."

"You want to be a waitress forever?"

Emma huffed. "I wouldn't be, if you weren't blackmailing me."

"You really make me to be a real monster." He sneered at her, his face a little too close for comfort. "It was I who gave you your first job in this town, no one wants an ex-convict anywhere, you owe me gratitude."

"Yeah. That's what the thank you was for, when you first hired me."

He huffed hard and bit his tongue, suddenly lurching forward and pinning Emma against the wall. He held her face by her chin with one hand. "I can destroy you, woman. You know this… I can have social services take your son. I know why you came here and I know why your husband left you, I know about your past and I know about how you gave your son away and recovered him after. I could make… your life… miserable, Emma." He pressed his voluminous body against hers, holding both her hands with strength in one of his own as he took a lick of her ear. "Now, I have been very nice to you and you have responded with no gratitude at all… You will consider my offer before the end of the week, Emma… or you will have to startrunning like hell from this town. I am in really good terms with Mayor Mills."

"Let me go…" Emma whined.

"Think of it, Principessa…. One night, and you will forever be free, better paid and your secret… safe. One… week."

He threw her over and Emma held herself up, her hands on the desk. She felt angry tears in her eyes as she snatched her coat and purse and slammed the door as she left the office at the back of the diner.

She was pacing furiously, angry tears cruising her face as she tried to hurry home, stopping after a few yards for a few minutes on the docks.

She wept steadily; she was not a weak woman. She had learned more than a few maneuvers during her jail time in Phoenix, even if she had only been there for little less than a year and for a crime she had not committed, and pulling a maneuver on a fat and sloppy guy like Tony Dinapoli was certainly not hard. But Mr. Dinapoli had been the one to welcome her into Storybrooke. He had been kind before, offering her a job where she knew no one else would. He had also helped her falsify her own professional curricula to enable her to establish in Storybrooke without a record. He also flirted with her, and she had always declined, kindly but firmly. But when all his attempts at wooing the beautiful blond woman had failed, he had resorted to trying to corner her into his bed.

And he was relentless.

The thought disgusted her. She had considered it, if only as a way to make him stop his adamant harassment. All sex crimes were reported to her friend, Sheriff David Nolan, who in turn, had to report them to Mayor Mills, and that's where the whole process could hit a snag; she was the one she had crossed paths in a not-so-friendly way only a few days after she had arrived in the small town.

"Well, fancy this night to meet a lovely lass! Aren't you cold?"

Emma turned her head sharply and found Killian standing a few feet behind, smiling.

It was a breezy night and she used the swift motion the wind caused to her pashmina to wipe off the tears before standing up with a smile. "Killian. Hi!"

He paced to her. "Didn't expect to see you here, this late at night." He shrugged with a mild shiver.

"Not many people would." She replied. "Why are you out here?"

He looked back over his shoulder to a wooden building just off the docks. "Megan and I live up there, in the old watchman's flat." He turned back to her. "Small place, nothing too fancy, but we make do. I often…" He tilted his head to the side with a pout. "…come here at nights, for a walk." He drew a deep sigh as he looked into the vast darkness of the waters in the distance. "I find that the sound of the water eases my days. It's peaceful." He turned to look at her, a kind grin on his lips. "And you, Swan? I do know you have to walk a good ten minutes from here to your home…"

"Tony's is two blocks that way." She tilted her head over in the general direction of the restaurant. "And yeah. I pretty much do what you do. Just the sound of the sea is soothing. And there's a mystery to it; I cant see it in this darkness, but…" She sighed. "I can hear it. I just… know it's there, even if I can't see it."

Killian nodded, the wind tussling his black, shaggy hair. "Might you… want to sit for a bit?" He winked at her. "I'll walk you home after."

Emma grinned and sat as the handsome Englishman took the other side of the bench.

They shared a brief silence before she spoke. "Really, how can anyone have a problem on such a peaceful night?" She sighed. "Especially in a small town like this one."

"Too right lass…" He stretched out his legs and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I came to America five years ago. Tried Boston for a bit, but…" He shook his head with a sneer. "I just wanted a place where I could just start over anew, completely, without prying eyes or… memories."

"I hear you there."

"Your boss drove you hard again?" He turned to look at her and met her saddened gaze.

When Emma saw the intent blueness of his eyes under the street light, she shivered.

Must have been the cold wind.

"He's… loathsome."

"What did he do? If I may ask…"

Emma pressed her lips and shook her head. "Would you really mind if I didn't answer that?" she looked at him with a sad grin.

He shook his head. "Absolutely not."

Another silence. "What brought you from London, Killian?" she grinned. "I just can't imagine why anyone would ditch a place like London for … Storybrooke." There was an ironic little chuckle that accompanied her tone.

Killian grinned and looked to the floor. "I didn't plan to. Like I told you…" he swallowed. "I was in Boston for a whole year. Didn't quite work out the way I wanted, so I just sort of picked a place that would be close to my brother, but where Megan and I would just not have to worry about traffic jams or muggings, or bloody rush hour." He sighed. "But some things don't stay behind at all, it seems. They follow you like a bloody shadow."

"Tell me about it." She looked at him. "What things are you dragging with you?"

Killian smiled fully, but there was unspeakable sadness in his eyes when he raised his face to Emma. "Would you really mind if I didn't answer that?"

The young woman laughed softly. "No, it's ok." She heaved softly. "You know… we're starting off a friendship, you noticed?"

Killian nodded. "I could very well use a new mate, love."

Emma grinned warmly. "Well…. Mate, sooner or later we might have to talk about those sticky pasts of ours. Just so we're not in for any nasty surprises."

Killian looked at her and nodded. "No rest for the weary of heart, it seems."

"The truth shall set you free…" Emma shrugged

"Says who?" Killian smiled back.

Emma raised her hands. "A varied amount of shrinks! Your brother would know about that!"

"Truths can be haunting."

"Yeah… yeah they can be." Emma licked her lips. "But take it from me: When you don't let them out in time, they fester… and before you know it, your past is crawling up your ass and controlling you like some…. Punch and Judy show."

Killian held her gaze and saw something, a spark, a light in a pool of darkness that he hadn't seen since Milah. He shuddered at the thought of him seeing anything in anyone at all, but made no effort to withdraw his gaze from hers as she spoke.

He was pretty enthralled. He knew then that she could see him through and through… and that he could trust her.

"Emma…" He finally spoke. "I have a wee bit of a problem that I am desperately pining to lick." He shook his head. "I drink. I try not to. I try not to let myself think of it, hoping that it will go away on its own if I stop looking at it for a long enough time. But it always seems to crawl back… biting my arse, as you say." He shot his eyes away from hers, hoping in shame that she wouldn't judge him. "That's what moved me, when you said Henry had drank up your vodka. He's too young a soul to be aching the way he is. I don't know…" he shrugged. "I sometimes think I'm too young to be anything. But mostly I worry for Megan." He looked at her. "My father, he was a heavy drinker; wealthy bugger, but miserably stingy and horrible to my mother, brother and I and… when he died, the one thing of any real meaning he passed down to my brother and I, other than his money, was a watch, one over three hundred years old. On one occasion, my brother didn't hesitate to pawn the bloody thing on account of my skin. That's how little we thought of him, my father. It's rather sad, really." He sighed. "I just… don't ever want Megan to think of me that way, either. So, I try. I try real hard. I've not had a drink in two days, and hence, I came for a walk to keep my mind off the bottle." He smiled at her. "Do you think me contemptible now, Swan?"

If anything, Emma was stunned with admiration; it took guts for anyone to admit to a problem like that.

"I don't." She grinned. "I think you're human; you have a problem, you're aware of it… and that you want to be better. But I also think that there is a reason behind that problem, and that that particular reason, whatever it is, causes the problem to return. It's not the drinking you have to solve, Killian… It's the cause of it."

Killian laughed softly. "You turned out to be a finer therapist than my brother."

"We all have our issues." She drew a deep breath. "I did time."

Killian frowned. "You… were in prison?"

"Yep." She pressed her lips together. "For a crime I didn't commit. That's not the worst of it." She placed a strand of hair behind her ear while Killian gazed expectantly at her. "I took the fall for a man I loved. He already had a record a mile long and I didn't, so…" She winced. "I offered to do time, to admit to the crime. What an idiot, right?" she laughed with little humor in her giggle. "My son was born in jail. His father was a crook. Still is."

"Is that why he left?" Killian asked softly.

"No. Well, yes." She sighed. "I almost gave Henry away in jail, for adoption. He talked me out of it. Said that as soon as I finished time, he would find a decent job and we'd be a family. I was only eighteen; I was very naïve, with a baby to feed. So I believed him and moved in with him. But, he kept on stealing and dealing and… just being a crook. More than once, we almost lost him to rival gangs and stuff. And I had enough the day one of his antagonists paid Henry and I a visit and threatened us to get to him." Killian winced and hissed as Emma continued. "I had had enough, Killian. So technically… he didn't leave." She huffed and closed her eyes. "I told him to leave. I threatened to call the police and rat on him if he didn't. He'd promised he'd changed so many times, and every time it was just a lie. And as soon as he left, I took a small bag, packed whatever I could that belonged to Henry and me and got the hell out of dodge, looked for a place he would never believe me capable of adapting to; voilà, Storybrooke, Maine. That was a year ago." She swallowed. "That's the reason why Henry blames me. And I blame Neal."

"Neal?"

"Yeah. I may have been the one to throw him out and run from him… But he left us the moment he decided to go back into all that. Is it wrong of me, Killian, to want to raise my son as far away from that as possible?"

Killian shook his head. "Absolutely not. That's the reason I am here." He swallowed. "Alas, not the only reason but…" He winced. "I'm not too sure I'm ready to talk of that still."

Emma side grinned. "Well, one day, perhaps, you'll want to talk some more." She reached out and grabbed his hand over his parka pocket. "It's good to have a friend again."

The sudden feel of her hand on top of his, even through the feel of the waxy parka fabric, made Killian feel the hair on his arms rise all over, a feeling that, while not at all unfamiliar, one he never believed he'd ever feel again. He grinned back at her and pulled his hand from his pocket to take her hand, the smooth and cool feel of her skin on his.

"Swan… you had proposed a dinner party for my brother, daughter and I…. Are you available tomorrow night?" He sat straight. "I promise not to cook Italian."

Emma laughed aloud and nodded. "Yeah, great! Seven?"

"Just after tea time. Perfect."

Neither of them noticed they were still holding hands as he walked her off the pier bench. It wasn't until they had let go that they both felt the coldness of the flesh when lacking contact.

And when Emma reached the top of her apartment to a sleeping son and a flower on the table with a note that read "I'm sorry mom", it seemed all the hassle with Dinapoli would be worthwhile.

Thank heavens for Liam Jones…. And his handsome little brother.

Killian, on his part, had trouble sleeping. His body yearned for a drink.

But then he thought of that smile. That hand. The feel of her skin on his, the light he had not seen in such a long while.

So he left the bed, looked at his daughter, kissed her sleeping little head fondly and turned back to his room with a smile.

That night he dreamt of sunshine and flowers, and a blank head to floor canvass that was begging to be painted on.