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 )

6. Chocolate Haagen Daaz

"So…" Killian paced around the front of the classroom. "How are you today, you scurvy, mangy little third graders? Gargh!"

That brought an instant cackle from the class, who all immediately sat silent by their tables and workstations. Killian smiled. "Well, well! What a fine crew you all are, look at that! Ok, so… I asked you all to bring something called aquarelles. If any of you didn't have the chance to purchase them, you may come hither … and require them from me."

A hand rose up. "Captain!"

"Aye, sailor?"

The ginger-haired girl bit her lip. "What is… hither?"

"Ahhh, observant lass!" He smiled and pointed at her with enthusiasm "I was rather hoping any of you would heed my wording!" He side-grinned and looked at the girl from under his brow. "Come hither… child…" The girl got the hint and grinned as she left her stool and walked to the handsome teacher, blushing as she came closer. "Now, tell me your name, lass…."

"Beatrice Miller"

"Milady Miller!" He bowed before her, making her and the class chuckle. "For this day… you shall be our princess, so… Come on you sorry lot, stand up and bow down before her royal highness, Princes Beatrice Miller the first! Come now!"

Giggling, the class stood up and bowed before the bashful redhead.

"Fine, milady, come this way…. All of you, make a circle around the princess, come now, bring your paper pads, pencils and aquarelles! Chop chop!"

He sat Beatrice on a stool and the class abandoned their seats to make a circle around the girl. "Now, today we will play a game called "paint the princess". Now please note…" He paced to where Henry was seated on the floor, big smile on his face. "That here from Boatswain Henry's place, I can see the profile of the princess. Is that right mate?"

"Aye sir." Henry nodded with a smile.

"Aye indeed. Princess, do not move! Now…" he hurriedly paced among the scattered children and reached another point. "I now stand here with Quartermaster Allistair Peterson… am I right, Quartermaster?" The boy nodded with a cackle. "Aye, very well, now… do you, like Boatswain Henry, see the profile of the princess?"

"No." The boy shook his head with a smile.

"So what do you see?"

"The back of her head."

"The back of her head is correct, my lad! Brilliant. But if I sail aaaaall the way north, to where master Gunner Nikki Martin is seated…" He practically jumped the distance to the enthralled girl. "What do we see of the princess, Master Gunner?"

Nikki laughed aloud. "Her face!"

Killian nodded. "Quite! So… I ask you, all of you… Is this the same princess you're all seeing?"

A collective yeah was heard.

"Ahhh, are you quite sure of it, lads and lasses?" He bit his lip playfully and placed hand and stump behind his back as he slowly paced along the wooden floors, his boots sounding very much like those of a pirate captain promenading along the deck of his clipper ship. "Because to be honest… I do not know exactly what you lads see, do I?" He crouched. "Life itself is much like this, my crew…" He held an angled thumb and index in the direction of Princess Beatrice Miller, and then simply smiled as he lowered his hand. "I mean, I see something… I see a lovely lass, with long ginger hair, staring sideways at me, while Boatswain Henry has a completely different angle of the princess, same for Gunner Nikki and Quartermaster Allistair, they both see the same princess, but differently, from their own points of view and through their own eyes..." He eagerly walked to the blackboard and wrote some words as he spoke them aloud. "Life… imitates… art, and art… imitates… life." He dusted his hands and turned around. "You see, the same way all of you have a different vision of the princess, we all might perceive things, problems, joys and all sorts of situations in a different way, even tastes. Why, I am not a big fan of vanilla, but you can certainly win me over with a bowl of Chocolate Haagen Daaz." He grinned pleasantly. "What, then, is art? Well, don't go too much about it, it's a tough question for most. There are plenty of snotty aristocrats who will try to fill your ears with the accurate Webster's description of what they believe art is, but the truth, ladies and gents, is far, far simpler: Art…" He held his index up. "…is what you make of the world. Art… is the beauty we each find and experience from life… and how we express it. Not one artist is the same as the other, for one is a different person from the other, with a different life and different stories to tell. So… He smiled from ear to ear. "Taking this into account, today we will find out what sort of artist each of you are. Pencils at the ready!" The children all grabbed their pencils. "You will now spend the rest of the class trying your best to copy onto the paper before you your own vision of the princess. Then, you shall give her color… Princess?" The girl turned to look at Killian. "Your task this time will be to remain very still for the next hour. Afterwards, you will try to draw one for your crewmates, to see your particular artistic seal." He clapped his hands together and smiled. "And… go!"

For the next hour, the children conversed, drew, squabbled and competed over who's drawing was the better one. Megan altogether avoided the pencils and dug into the aquarelles; Henry, on his part, didn't seem to drop the pencil at all. Killian smiled at the kids, and when the time was done, each kid passed by him for him to evaluate each masterpiece.

"Ah, let's see, Miss Shanique…." He nodded, seeing blotches of color that resembled somewhat a girl sitting on a stool. "You're an impressionist. Write that down." The girl smiled and returned to her seat back on the workstation. Another boy went to Killian, with a sad pout on his face. "And what's with the scowl, young sir?" The boy huffed and slammed the paper on Killian's desk. He had practically drawn a stick figure.

"I can't draw." He growled.

"If not, what is this?" Killian raised his brow. "It looks like a drawing to me."

The boy shrugged. "It's rubbish…"

"Rubbish." Killian sighed. "Someone once said that about Andy Warhol. And he died a wealthy man from doing his 'rubbish'." He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "This, m'boy, is NOT rubbish. It's YOUR vision… and it's art. Don't let anyone ever tell you any different, because the moment someone does, is the moment someone is saying your vision, your opinions… are rubbish. And hear me when I say, they are none. ALL points of view are art."

The boys grinned and his grimace was erased from his brow as Killian nodded. "You, sir, are a Minimalist. Write it down."

He branded a bunch of painters that morning: abstracts, expressionists, rococo, cubists and expressionists, among many others. When Henry showed him his drawing at the very last, once again Killian was floored.

It seemed the boy was not just talented; it looked like a drawing Killian himself might have made when he was twenty-five, except this was an eleven-year-old boy. "Realist." He smiled at Henry. He had not used color at all, simply sketched her… and did a beautiful job.

Perhaps that boy had a future in art. He'd have to have a word with him… eventually.

When he was done and all the children were once again seated in their places, he smiled in their direction. "So… your homework, my fine artistic corsairs, will be to go home and research the names of your styles. You are to bring a small paper next week, with the highlights of the movement, the name of it's most well-known representative and of course, if you can, a drawing copying a significant piece of said artist… of your own choice. To be handed in early Tuesday morning. Are we clear?"

A loud yes was heard.

"Yes, WHAT!"

"YES CAPTAIN!"

"Right then, off you go!" He smiled, and they all exited the class.

Meagan winked at him before exiting the classroom and the young teacher felt reassured that at least, he was doing a good job with the children.

"Captain?"

Once again Henry approached him as he collected his belongings. "Hey, lad, don't you have a class now?"

"Yeah. I just… I have to give you a message. It's… from my mom. But you don't need to tell me, I already know. "

Killian felt his pulse speed up and mentally reprimanded himself for doing so as he grinned at the boy. "And what might that be, that I no longer need tell, m'boy?"

The young man grinned. "Chocolate Haagen Daaz; my mom was wondering. If you're taking dinner over to our place, she wanted to pitch in with the dessert, so I was supposed to ask you, but…" He shrugged with a smile. "You already told us all."

He laughed a healthy laugh. "She doesn't really have to bother."

"I know." Henry nodded. "She still does anyway, she's like that. Kinda… stubborn."

The outer corner of his left lip rose slightly.

And he also reprimanded himself for it.

"Well, tell her I truly appreciate it. And that we will be over at seven sharp." He put a book away into his satchel and quirked up an eyebrow. "Need I remind you, British people are infamous for their punctuality."

Henry smiled and nodded. He was just turning around to leave when Killian grabbed his arm. "Henry…"

"Yeah?"

Killian bit his lower lip. "May I ask you…. where you learned to draw the way you do?"

The boy sighed and shrugged. "Nowhere. I just started when I was a little kid. It relaxes me."

Killian frowned. "You're… self-taught?" He sifted through the drawings of the children to find his. "No one taught you how to do shading and perspective and…?"

"No. I just draw what I see. It's easy. Shadow where there's shadow and light where there's light and that's it." He shook his head. "I don't see why it's so difficult for most people."

Killian studied the drawing before looking back at the boy. "Lad, remember what I told you all today: Not all of us see things the same way. You, I see, have a keen instinct for this. Others have other qualities just as valuable, but believe me, not everyone can see things and then take them to paper quite so easily; it takes a lot of effort and training for the brain to get it right." He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You've a natural gift here, Henry. Be sure to use it."

Henry nodded friendlily and turned around while Killian rubbed his scruff, his eyes fixed on the paper, and the near perfect drawing the eleven-year-old little art whiz he'd just discovered had made.

"Shadow where there's shadow and light where there's light, and art imitates life and life imitates art..." He inhaled deeply. "Bloody hell."

He smiled, shook his head, and left the school.

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Emma finished her shift art Granny's and was grateful to every god on earth that she didn't have to see Toni Dinapoli that afternoon at all. In all truth, she was actually kind of busy trying to figure out what to wear that evening. Not that it was anything too serious or formal, I mean… The Joneses. Liam Jones, the man treating her son. No big deal. And, of course, Killian. And his stupid dimples and life-wrecking eyes.

But no big deal.

But that was definitely not a flattering dress; it flattened her boobs and made her ass look huge.

Not that it mattered, really, I mean, who would be looking?

She huffed as she touched each three-inch curler set in her hair, checking if they had already dried up. "You'd think the Dalai Lama was about to show up…" she chuckled. She stopped and sneered at herself in the mirror. "Dammit, Emma Swan, the Dalai Lama is celibate."

Not that she was thinking someone else probably wasn't celibate…

She settled for a more typical, every-day outfit… wit nicer pants. But a turtle-neck pullover that said nothing along the lines of "take me to bed right now." Nope.

Not that she wanted it… not that it…

"The counselor or the teacher?" Henry grinned from the door.

Emma turned, startled. "What… who?"

Henry chuckled. "Come on, mom, you haven't dressed up since…" He swallowed. "Well, since last year. Not even for Christmas or New Year's Eve."

Emma smiled and hoped that the heat in her face wasn't manifesting physically. "Well, we haven't had any guests in ages. That doesn't mean I'm after the counselor OR the the teacher, thank you very much!"

Henry sighed and pressed his lips together. "Nnnnnope. I suppose that's the reason you're blushing like a cherry."

Damn it.

She shrugged. "I just felt like looking a little bit nicer than usual, what's wrong with that?"

Henry licked his lips and looked down. "My dad really isn't coming back, is he?"

Emma's face fell as she saw henry's shoulders slump in the reflection of her closet door mirror. She turned around and walked to him.

"No Henry, he's not." She swallowed. "I know you think it's my fault. I know you think I pushed him away, but…"

"I don't." He huffed. "Not any more. But I just wish things had been different." He looked up at her. "Don't you?"

She sighed and sat on the corner of her bed. "Sometimes." She replied with a sad grin, raising her gaze into his hazel eyes. "He wasn't really a bad man, just one that couldn't keep his promises."

Henry nodded. "So he really did do all those things?" he shrugged.

"What things?"

"The things you shouted out at him when you told him to go and never come back."

Emma's heart broke at the notion that her son had actually heard everything; she knew he had seen the exact moment Neal Cassidy closed the door behind him and she remembered the tears in both their eyes as they haphazardly collected what little they possessed to leave the apartment that very night. But she had hoped he hadn't heard the rest.

Despite Neal's lies, she really didn't want Henry to ever learn that this father was a major crook: A thief, a dealer, a gambler and a con artist.

Because if he learned that, he'd have to know the whole deal…

But the look in his eyes was pleading; for the first time in a whole year, her son didn't look angry at her. If she didn0t use this chance to let it all out, perhaps he would close those floodgates all the way back up and never let them down again.

Perhaps it was time for her to bring her own walls down with her son.

"How many times did I beg you to leave all that, Neal?" She held her hands open. "Really, how many? Cuz you know what? I've lost count! The last five pairs of shoes for your son, I've bought them with MY money, which we were supposed to FINALLY be saving to move to Florida." She ran a hand through her hair. "And you come here and tell me that you had to pay the bookies? Really?"

"We will get it all back, Emma, trust me on this one, I…"

"You gambled the better part of our savings, Cassidy!" She shouted. "That was for Henry's college fund!"

"I need to pay Antonelli, babe. I lost a ten kilo shipment from Puerto Rico, he's not gonna let me off the hook."

"SO YOU GAMBLED ON AN ILLEGAL HORSE? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" she spun, her hands in her hair. "And what the hell! A shipment? You promised… AGAIN, that you were going to get the hell out of all that!"

He tried to grab her gently by the arms. "Emma, the horse is a winner, in a week I will have more than enough to pay Anotnelli and then we can…"

She shoved him away. "Don't touch me…" she paced to the kitchen and poured a small shot of whiskey. "You promised… You promised to come back for me, and you didn't. You just let me rot in jail for eleven months. You promised we'd be a normal family, and bam! Another life! And here we are again, at the bottom of the well, still trying to see if we can hit water. THE WELL IS DRY, BUDDY!" She shot down the bourbon and slammed the tumbler down on the counter. "And you said you'd just quit. That's it, you'd find a job, an honest one. And here we are… back at the bottom of the well."

"It's not so cut and dry, Emma, these people are pros, dammit!" Neale debated back. "Like, if these guys find out that…"

"Oh, don't worry about that, Neal, they've found out!" She gnarled back. "They came here at five and held me at gunpoint. Henry wasn't here but they knew where he was, who he was with and what time he'd come back,and they asked me to tell you that you have till tomorrow to pony up the dough, or my son and I are, and I quote, "fish food". Now if that's not warnin enough that they, then I don't know what is!" She slammed her hand down on the kitchen counter. "You said that you were no longer into that! You said…"

"Shit, shit, shit, EMMA! I know what I said, ok? I know what I promised and … Yeah, ok, I fucked up again, all right? Is that what you ant to hear? Fine, there it is!"

"And what the hell are you going to do about it?"

"I can't friggin' move!" He hollered back. "If they already came here that means they'll follow me wherever I go. You guys are my weak spot, they know how to taunt me!"

Emma's eyes widened. "Neal…" she paced to him. "Three REALLY big guys… armed with automatic guns… came here… TODAY! They weren't taunting, they weren't threatening… they put a big fucking gun TO MY HEAD! I could have been killed, raped, maimed, injured… and all you care about is how they will track you? YOU? Your son, Neal! You have a son!"

"I know I have a son…"

"And his life is in danger because you lost a shipment of god knows what!"

"What do you want me to do, Emma? Huh?"

Emma's eyes stared blankly into his. "Oh my go…." She whispered. "You really don't care, do you?"

"Emma…"

"No. You just don't seem to fully appreciate the magnitude of the big picture. Ten years, Neal… plus one before, make that eleven years. I have spent eleven years and your beckon call. I went to jail at seventeen for you. Alone … pregnant. I followed you through every fucking mud hole you've dragged us both through, under the guise of your promises to walk the line…" She chuckled sadly. "But you won0t change, will you? Ever. And this time, you've put us all in danger." Tears had formed in her eyes and were sliding down her cheeks. "You know what?" she sniffed. "That's enough. I've had enough" she turned around and walked past him. "I want you out of our lives. Mine AND Henry's."

Neal stared at her, aghast. "You can't be serious."

"Oh I'm serious, pal. Serious as a fucking heart attack." She looked at him. "He is a ten year old boy; he has his life ahead of him, he has dreams and ideas. Did you know that he wants to learn how to sail? Or that he wants to grow up to go to the SVA college in New York to study visual arts, and that god knows he has a hell of a shot at it, with those drawings he makes? He wants a life, Neal. He deserves a life! But now, no thanks to you and your perpetual incapacity to keep your word, he and I both are targets of the mob…" She sniffed. "You placed your faith on a horse?" She sobbed. "I've had it. I want a life for me AND my boy."

"Our son, Emma!" he pleaded. "You can't do this. Look, I... I will find a way, I know a guy who owes me, I will…"

"Oh I know you will." She smiled. "You always do, you find a way to get out of one problem just to find yourself facing another. You dig up this… big-ass hole and then dig another one to fill the first one up with dirt. There's always a big gaping hole in need of filling and we all keep falling into your stupid holes. I'm done digging holes with you. Henry deserves better…"

Neal lowered his face. "I wanted us to be a family, Em. Just that."

"A family…" She sighed. "Yeah. One that you've dragged from place to place, no roots, no lives, just running and running. You wanted a family and you promised we would finally settle. Ever since I got out of jail, you've been promising to settle, to go to Tallahasse and just… be a family. But it's been ten years, Neal, and nothing. This was the straw that broke this camel's back." She raised her face and looked him square in the eye. "Get… out."

Neal sighed and looked up in time to see Henry looking through his door, sleepily rubbing his eyes. "Emma…."

"GE OUT NEAL! GET THE HELL OUT! OUT OUT OUT!" She pushed him out the door and closed it with a bang.

She didn't know how long it took for Neal to leave; nor did she ever figure out how long it took her to reach Henry and hug him hard, asking him to grab a bunch of clothes and a couple (only a couple) of toys and books before they left their little apartment in Boston. She knew Neal would find a way out of the particular predicament he had gotten them all into. He'd probably dig another hole. He always did. But at least this time she and Henry wouldn't be around to take the brunt of his slovenly lifestyle.

She drove out of Boston and didn0t even see where she was headed. Soon, the sad, sobbing boy had fallen asleep at the back and Emma managed to pull over at a highway inn with a garage. She carried her son and asked for a key, and was given a room right next to one with a couple having too much good sex for her own additive chasteness.

Once she had tucked Henry in and she had taken a long shower, she finally sank into her own bed and, hugging her sleeping son, steadily cried herself to sleep.

The next morning, she asked the lady at the front desk where the hell she was.

Kennebunk, Maine. Population, ten thousand five hundred.

Still not podunk enough for her particular needs.

It wasn't until she bought a map of the state of Maine that she found a tiny town called Storybrooke (pop. 4,500), waaaaay up north, near a place called Beaver Pond that she knew where she'd be headed. The town was in close proximity with Canada, in case Neal did fail to find the brass to pay the mobsters and a horde of Italian badasses came after them.

Henry sighed and looked at his mother. The rollers were starting to fall out on their own, her eyes were red and her nose was runny. She looked so broken, so sad, it was impossible for Henry to be mad at her.

She had pretty much moved to have a fair shot at letting him live his dreams.

He sat next to her and leaned his head on her shoulder. Emma automatically placed a hand over his shoulders. "I'm so sorry, kid…" she sniffed. "I should have told you this, but…"

"It's ok, I understand why you didn't" he swallowed. "You didn0t want me to hate him."

"Yeah…"

"So you let me hate you instead?" He shook his head. "Why would you do that?"

Because I knew one day you'd understand and forgive me." She hugged him hard. "I never meant to hurt you, Henry, I didn't…"

Henry suddenly hugged her back and found his won eyes to be welling. "I know. It's ok, mom." He pushed her away and smiled at her. "Well, whether it's the counselor or the teacher, the way you look now, you don't stand a chance."

Emma laughed and smiled through the tears. "Cheeky little guy. Go on… can you… help me set the table?"

Henry nodded and stood up while Emma wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. He stopped by the door. "Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks… for telling me."

She nodded with a grin. "No more secrets. Ever again."

"I agree with that!" And he walked out to set the table.

She huffed as she threw the remaining curlers into the box; setting her hair down, she ran to the bathroom to dampen a piece of cotton, applying it under and over her eyes to bring down the swelling before slapping some mascara for good measure… and thanking god for a good skin complexion day.

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"So… it's a date, then?" Liam grinned mischievously as he twirled his Bolognese noodles into the fork.

"No, it is NOT a date." Killian responded with a warning glare as he strained more spaghetti in his colander. "She wanted to thank us both, actually, so dinner is on me."

"And you're taking spaghetti for her?" Liam laughed as he briefly shook his head. "She hates that Italian fella, she'll close the door smack on your nose."

"Ah-ha!" Killian smiled as he turned to the oven and popped it open. Liam walked over with an amused and adoring look on his face.

"I can't remember the last time you made Shepherd's Pie, Killian." He smiled. "But I do recall it was the best Shepherd's Pie I'd ever had."

"Dad's funeral." He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. "And you're in luck, old boy, because you'll be having this for dinner tonight."

Liam frowned sideways. "You don't… actually believe I'll be joining you, do you?"

"Why wouldn't you?" The handsome young man shrugged. "She's invited us both, as a token of gratitude."

Liam sighed and nodded. "Aye, she may have, and I appreciate it, mate, but you must know by now it is wrong for any therapist to accept personal invitations from clients."

"Oh, come on!"

"It's basic ethics in psychology, Killian. I cannot accept." When he saw his brother's face fall, he smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Look at the bright side of it: You get to know her better." He winked at Killian.

The young Jones chuckled. "Are you trying to set me up with her or something? Suddenly you're a marriage broker?"

Liam laughed aloud and looked at his younger brother, who grinned and looked to the floor sheepishly. Liam paced in front of Killian and placed both hands on his shoulders. "Do you like this woman, brother?"

Killian looked at him from under his brow and lowered his gaze again. "She's… a friend."

"That's fairly clear, Killian, but it's still not what I asked. Do… you… like… her?" when Killian failed to respond but turned slightly pink at the cheeks, Liam took a step closer to him. "You know, brother, there is absolutely nothing wrong with it if you do. It's been five years. She's a fine looking lass and she is single as well, perhaps the two of you connect on a deeper level and trust me… you won't be doing yourself, Emma or your daughter any favors by denying it. You can fool anyone, but not yourself."

Killian sighed and looked over Liam's shoulder to see if Megan was in earshot's distance; the girl was merrily bouncing up and down by the TV screen, singing along to "Frozen". He swallowed and went back to his brother, speaking in a quieter voice. "I met her last night by the docks. She looked upset, to say the least, and I just sat with her for a bit. It was cold. We talked. Just talked a lot, you know?" He shrugged and smirked, reliving the happy moment. "We spoke of personal things. I had never done that with someone I've met so recently, I mean… And all these painful things to remember suddenly didn't hurt. I just felt like I could tell her anything… or everything."

"And did you?" Liam frowned.

"No. Just a bit."

"Which bit?"

"The rum."

Liam nodded. "And she didn't cower or run?"

Killian smiled and Liam saw a glow in his eyes he hadn't seen in a long while. "No… no she did not, actually…. She told me I was brave for admitting it and then she went on to tell me she had a dodgy past herself." He swallowed. "Apparently, the boy's father let her take the fall for a crime she didn't commit and she gave birth to the lad in prison." Liam winced with a hiss as Killian continued. "I don't want to let on too much, she trusted me with this… but it might help with your case if you know that she broke up with him because he was rather a nasty crook and she wanted to raise her son away from him and his lies." Liam nodded and Killian spoke again. "But the point is, as she told me this, I suddenly felt like… Like I could talk to her about my life. I've not told anyone about the accident since… well, ever."

Liam nodded with a happy grin on his face. "All the more reason, Killian love, that you should go without me."

"But…"

"You can cower behind Megan, I'm sure she won't mind." He chuckled.

"You're a bloody comedian, Liam…" Killian turned around to the oven. "Now, what do you suggest I combine the Shepherd's Pie with?"

"You have the gravy?"

"Of course."

"Then perhaps a salad."

Killian huffed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm no bloody good at tossing salads."

"Ah, well.." Liam started rolling up his sleeves. "Good thing I'm here, then. Megan, my love?!" He called out.

The little girl ran over eagerly. "Yes, uncle Liam?"

"Want to help your dad and your uncle make a salad?"

She gave Killian an awkward stare and then turned back to her uncle. "A salad?"

"Aye, lass you're not deaf, that's a good thing!" He laughed broadly. "Well, do you?"

"Ok…" She shrugged.

"Good form! That way your father can go about buying some bread for your big dinner tonight!"

Killian chuckled. "Blasted cupid working my bloody salad…"

For the first time in days, and as he, his brother and his daughter prepared the dinner he would take to Emma's place, he didn't even think of having a drink at all.

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"Pity Liam refused." Emma shook her head as she poured a glass of fake apple cider (thinking of Killian's efforts to quit the booze did not at all go unappreciated either). " he missed one hell of a dinner. I still have no idea what the hell you put in that thing, Killian, but was awesome."

The handsome teacher laughed back as he nodded. "Aye. My mother taught me how to make that when I was a lad. Taught us both, actually." He began to imitate his mother. "She'd say, 'Killian, Liam, one day you two might want to wed and most women are sloppy cows, so learn how to cook or you'll all bloody starve'." Emma, Henry and Megan laughed as he took a sip from his fake wine. "She was quite a character, my mother…"

"And your dad?" Emma leaned her face on her hand.

"Oh… him." He chuckled. "Quite a nasty old swain. Or swine."

"Really?" Emma sneered. "Look, I didn't mean to…"

"It's ok, Swan, the man is dead." He nodded, his lips pressed tight together. "That one croaked ten years back." He raised his eyes. "When I picked my career, he practically cut me off. He thought I was gong to become some… ragamuffin beatnik." He chuckled. "And all this after I had to endure a childhood with him…" He shuddered. "Ugh. Disagreeable old fellow."

Henry looked over to Megan, sensing the topic around the table had become of a more… adult nature. "Hey, Meg, ever played Halo 5?"

The girl frowned. "Is that… with Zombies?"

He laughed and shook his head, and was about to reply when Emma cut him off. "Henry… she's a girl. Halo five is a little too… rough. Try another game." She gave him a warning look.

"Ok…" He huffed as he shuffled off the chair. "Thanks for the awesome dinner, Mr. Jones." He looked back at Meg. "Come on, let's see what we can find."

As the little girl politely excused herself and followed Henry, Emma shook her head. "Look at her… look at THEM!" she chuckled. "A few weeks ago he butted her and now? Playing video games together. Like it never happened."

"Aye…" Killian grinned with a nod. "Blessed children. They find ways to mend that which we adults cannot." He bit his lower lip.

Emma turned back to him and sighed deep. "Mending is a hard thing to do. It's painful." She shook her head. "But if we can't med ourselves, who will?" She looked back at the large door that led out to the living area from the dining room. "It's not fair for kids to be there, holding up the fort while the grown ups fall apart."

"Indeed it is unfair." He swallowed and then smacked his open hand on the table. "And that, Swan, is why you must crack the ice cream open." He smiled at her sudden shocked response. "Look, normally it would take me three or four gulps of rum, but if we're to start getting deep and emotional, I might as well have some chocolate ion my bloodstream." He winked at her.

Emma shuddered and hoped he didn't see it.

"Spoken like a true teenage girl with a bad case of PMS!" she laughed as she stood for the freezer. She was pulling a couple of bowls from the cupboard when she heard Killian's lilting voice. "Love, why not just bring the bleeder and a couple of spoons?"

She laughed. "Convincing! Teenage PMS girl at a slumber party." She laughed as she joined him back and handed him a spoon.

"Not quite a slumber party…" he bit his lower lip. "Not yet, anyway."

Emma gulped hard.

Killian gulped hard.

Had he just passed an innuendo to her?

"So… " she cleared her throat (silently praying she wouldn't be glowing red) and opened the large gallon tub of chocolate Haagen Daaz. "A beatnik?" she grinned. "You really are an artist?"

He chuckled as he dug his spoon into the creamy mix. "Do you really believe that I'd be able to teach art f I didn't know it?" He took the spoon to his mouth and licked his upper lip as he nodded. "Aye, Emma. I am… was an artist."

Emma sighed. "Your hand?"

"In part." He shrugged, once again burying the spoon in the tub. "Not the main cause, to be honest. I'm right-handed, so I could still do something if I wanted to."

"Why don't you any more?"

He looked pensively at the spoon. "Painting and creating art requires a lot of soul." He looked into Emma's eyes. "I lost that a while ago."

The girl frowned. "God, that's depressing!"

He laughed. "Well, thank god for chocolate Haagen Daaz." He looked at the cream, almost studying it. "My brother says that chocolate stimulates the production of some substance in the brain that makes you feel temporarily blissful. Dopamine, I believe. This, my dear Emma, may sound like a cliché, but there's a reason people succumb to chocolate when they are depressed."

"No need to tell me about that, pal." She chuckled. "I survived thanks to Henry and bountiful quantities of Kit-Kats."

"Your breakup?" Killian asked, his mouth stuffed with creamy chocolate goodness.

Emma grinned sadly. "My whole life."

The man simply stared at her for a few seconds. "For the love of god, woman, put some of this stuff into your mouth, you bloody need it." She chuckled and spooned the tub. "Bloody hell, and you say I'm depressing."

That brought a small giggle from Emma. "Orphan." She looked up at him. "I was an orphan. Still am." She took the spoonful to her mouth as an attentive Killian listened. "Grew up in a group home, was never adopted and…" she shrugged. "I ended up running away from every foster home I ended up in. Some days I'd sleep under traffic crossings or if I found a bench that was safe enough. It's dodgy, being a girl and sleeping in the streets. Bunch of primate hobos and bums want to have their way with you." she chuckled. "They never got there… except for one." Killian's eyes widened. "Yeah… that's my sad story right there. Church shelter. Bathroom." She frowned at the memory. "It's funny… I lost my virginity at fourteen and I don't even remember it hurting… at least no physically." When she met Killian's gaze, she was comforted to find everything in his intent gaze: attention, compassion, a desire to listen and understand… but no pity. It was a good feeling. "People say I should be traumatized by that. I never let it. The day it happened was the day I said to myself, 'people are going to tell you who you are your whole life. You just got to punch back and say, 'No, THIS is who I am'. If you want to change things, Emma, you're going to have to do it yourself, because there are no fairy god mothers in this world." She grinned at Killian. "So I wasn't defined by that. I suppose I should thank Neal, I mean, he did sort of… put me under a roof. Even if it was jail." She laughed a smile that stunned Killian for its sincerity. "I am a mother. I love my son. But I also know who I am."

For a brief moment, the man sitting before Emma was lost in her eyes; he felt a sudden tug in the pit of his gut, a tug that made him feel like he was spiraling into a big hole from which he hoped never to emerge. The sudden feeling of admiration and awe that stemmed from her strength and courage made him feel like he was staring at the sun itself.

Killian lifted his eyebrows high, huffed and rolled his eyes. "That's… quite passionate, Swan."

She nodded with a laugh. "You started it."

"Aye… and I actually appreciate the trust." He nodded. "I'm sure that's not an easy recollection for you to make."

"Oh it's easy." She nodded. "But it's not necessarily a pleasant recollection."

He smiled at her. "Again… thank you."

Emma sighed. "And you, artist? How did you lose your soul?"

Killian bit his lip. "Still not… quite sure I can dwell in that territory."

The woman laughed and shook her head. "Come on. Can't be as bad as the story of MY life. I mean, look at you, rich English college pudding…"

"You'd be surprised." He shrugged his head into his right shoulder. "Wealth is not all it's sold out to be. My brother and I were miserable. Liam always managed to fit, however… he was always the one with the brain, but I was the one with the gut. He thought, I felt. He reasoned, I bawled. And normally, when the two of us got into mischief, he'd reason with father and I'd scream that I didn't do it and get my arse whipped. That's how we've always been. We were shipped off to a school called Frensham Heights in Surrey. I hated every blasted moment of it, but Liam? He thrived." He giggled at the memory. "I was like you running from the foster system, swan. I ran from tat bloody academy at least ten times!" She smiled as he recollected. "You would think our father had our best interest at heart when he saw us off into a boarding school, when in fact, all he wanted was to keep us noisy boys out of the way. And when we were indeed home, he'd always make sure we both knew what a worthless waste of air we both were." He nodded. "Liam somehow managed to get himself into a fine college. He was smart; he had four A levels: in science, technology, home ed and humanities, I just had two O levels: One in English and one in visual arts. So I picked art college. And my dad practically said I was a disappointment… and that he regretted the fact that I even existed."

"Ouch…" Emma winced.

"As you can see, Emma, not all parents are what they are cracked up to be."

Emma nodded. "A couple of lonely fools, one from Boston and the other from London."

"Aye. Get them by the dozen; they're cheaper."

They both laughed.

Emma sighed.

Killian sighed.

They both dug their spoons into the tub.

And then had to deal with the wrath of the two juniors who came to get dessert and found none.

One good thing resulted from cracking all those ugly holes into their pasts: A second dinner invitation.

This time she'd be the one to cook.