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paupaui- I am so glad that you are enjoying this! Thanks for reading!

TLWriter4721-Thank you so much! The chapters are starting to get a bit longer as I have a lot of story to tell! Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Thank you all for reading! Hope you are having a wonderful holiday season!Stay tuned for more (A chapter from Killian's point of view is coming soon, as well as more into their past)

Chapter 8:The Everyday and The Mundane

"Where are you going?" For the first time in her life, Emma felt like an annoying little sister bothering her older brother.

"Out." Killian repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Out where?" Emma persisted.

"Swim team meeting." He said, walking into the living room to see if Mrs. Abernathy was ready to go, leaving Emma alone in the kitchen.

Something was off with what he said. Emma, from the time she was little, had had an act for telling when people were lying. And Killian, he was lying. She felt the strange ting in her belly and something went off in her head. She knew he was lying, but why? Why wouldn't he tell her something as simple as where he was going? He, the one constantly pushing her to trust him, was lying to her.

Emma rolled with it, deciding that she would bring it up later, when he was not walking out the door and Mrs. Abernathy was not with him. She did not want the older woman to hear what, knowing the two of them, would most likely become a heated conversation.

"Emma, dear, we'll be back in about two hours." Mrs. Abernathy entered the kitchen, smile on her face. "Don't open the door and if anything goes wrong give me a call or go to the Davenporth's across the street, okay?" The nervousness was evident in her voice. This was the first time she had left Emma home alone in the past month. Emma convinced herself the nervousness was about Emma's well being and not the idea that the young teen might steal something and then run off.

"I'll be fine." Emma assured her. "You two have fun." She stepped around Mrs. Abernathy to see Killian. "Bye."

"Bye, Swan. Be good now." He smirked.

"You two, pirate."

Emma found herself on that old porch swing more often than not now. It was a peaceful place to think,and she had a lot to think about. It would only be a matter of minutes before her silence was disrupted though.

Mrs. Abernathy and Killian, true to their word, got home around two hours after they left. Mrs. Abernathy was relieved to find Emma still there and in one piece. Killian, however, seemed grumpier than when he left. He went to his room until dinner was ready and remained quiet for most of the meal. Mrs. Abernathy did not push him to talk, rather turning the conversation to Emma, asking about school and how she was liking things. To be honest, the spotlight, something Emma never had growing up, felt a bit weird.

"So, Em, what's your favorite class? Ninth grade is such an exciting year." The older woman doted in between bites of her pasta.

"English, I think. I've kinda always enjoyed it."

The older woman seemed delighted with her answer. Emma loved how she was genuinely excited about anything. "Really? How nice? You a bit of a bookworm?"

"More of a writer." Emma explained. "Books were hard to come by growing up. It was a bit easier to find a notebook and a pen."

"I bet you are wonderful. Have you made many friends?"

"A few. There is this girl Ashley that I have West Civ and lunch with. She is really nice. And this guy Tony. He's a bit of an outcast, but-" Emma stopped mid sentence, not knowing how to finish. She originally planned on saying 'just like me', but decided that would just open another can of worms she was not ready for. "And Killian and his friends have been really great. They don't seem to mind being seen with a lowerclassmen." She laughed, trying to divert the conversation away from her and towards Killian, but he wouldn't budge.

The rest of the meal was Mrs. Abernathy asking Emma anything she could think of, trying to learn as much about her as possible. Emma did not mind, strangely enough, that the woman was trying so hard to get to know her. She assumed that she had done the same with Killian when he first started out with her.

Emma had left a note in Killian's room, letting him know she wanted to talk to him. This was the first time she had initiated conversation, at least a serious one. Normally it was him trying to get her to talk, to 'reveal herself' as he put it. But Emma understood him and knew that something was wrong. Part of the whole opening up thing included being there for him. He had seen as much pain and hardship as her and maybe just needed someone like him to help him work through it.

They had known each other for a month, but it felt like much longer. In that time though, she did not know much about him-or at least the normal things. She had no clue what his favorite color was, his favorite food, or anything of that sort. Instead she knew bits and pieces of his tragic backstory and his painful present. Then again, the same went for how much he knew about her.

They were strange. She did not even know if she could define whatever they had as a friendship. Sure, they cared about each other, as much as they could, but would they really care if it were not for their circumstances? Was it only the fact that they were in the same house that they assumed the status of friends? He surely would not remember her after he aged out and she assumed the same would go for her. Or maybe when he thought of her the only thing that would come to mind would be the label foster kid.

"Well, Swan, why did you summon me?" Killian was standing beside the swing, still dressed in the dark jeans and dark v neck tee shirt he had been wearing that day.

"Summon is a strange word choice." She teased. "It sounds all Star Wars like."

"You a fan of Star Wars?" He raised an eyebrow at her, still standing.

Emma shook her head. "Never saw them. Haven't seen a lot of movies, but we know why that is. It just sounded like something that would be in one of those movies."

"Aye, well-"

"You lied to me earlier." She cut him off. "About where you were going. You lied."

"Are you so obsessed with me that you need to know where I am every second of the day?" He gave a devilish smirk. It was his form of her walls. If he did not want to face something, the smugness rose and the ego protected him from the pain.

"You tell me to trust the world, yet you don't trust me."

"We've known each other for a month. Excuse me if I am not ready to spill my deepest darkest secrets with you." His voice was bitter. She knew he was not angry, not really. Just those walls, when they were up, they were ugly.

"Funny." Emma snickered. "You seemed to be the one telling me that the time we knew each other did not matter. Or is that only a one way street?" She was pushing her boundaries, she knew, but she had to get through to him. Break one of those many walls.

He stood still, not willing to move or to sit with her as they had done many times. Silence was filling the air, but she kept talking, kept pushing at him, trying to understand why he lied to her, to get him to understand why she cared. "I know there is something about your past that you are not telling me. That is okay. I don't have a problem with that. You know that there are tons of things I have not told you because I am not ready. But I am not okay with you lying to me about it." He opened his mouth to respond, but she shook her head, not ready to be done. "We understand each other. Neither of us want to admit it but we both know it's true. You say you can read me like an open book, well the same works with you. I know you've been hurt Killian. But so have I. I understand-to some degree at least."

Instead of responding, Killian moved to sit on the opposite side of the swing. They had been in this situation several times. It had become their favorite place to talk about anything and everything. Several times Mrs. Abernathy had joined them and they had what resembled a family night, if they were actually family. Sometimes conversations were serious, other times, they just talked about anything. One night she introduced him to her favorite drink, hot cocoa with cinnamon. They both agreed that both ingredients were easy to come by in most houses. Killian was not as taken with the drink as she was, but he certainly did enjoy it. It was one of her happier memories with him.

"Therapy." He whispered at last.

"What?" Emma asked, confused.

"I was going to therapy." He stated again, a little louder this time.

"You don't have to talk ab-"

It was his turn to cut her off. "It's been a while. When I am actually in a good home, like this one, the parent actually makes sure I go. Other parents were not concerned about if I made it to my session so I'm not as far along as I should be, but I am getting there. "

"If you don't mind my asking, why are you in therapy?" Many foster kids needed the therapy, but it was not a luxury all have.

"Something happened and they thought I needed to work through it." He looked over at her to see her face and laughed, despite the seriousness of the conversation. "I'll tell you some day, love. Just not today."

Emma nodded. "Thanks for telling me. I know I was being a bit annoying, but-"

"You care. It's okay. It's not that bad talking about it." He told her. "No one really knows."

"Not even your friends at school?" Emma questioned him. She found it strange he would tell her something over his friends.

Killian shrugged. "Never told them. I've only known them for a few months. They don't know much of my past."

"And yet you told me?"

"What can I say? We understand each other?" He smirked a bit as he repeated her words.

"Yeah. I guess we are." She whispered. "So, I have another question."

"Ask away, love."

"What's your favorite color?"

He gave her a strange look for a few seconds before answering. "Green."

Emma pushed at the ground with her feet, trying to get the swing to move a bit. "Really? You always seemed like more of a black person?"

"What makes you think that?" He said, completely serious, which made Emma laugh more. "Perhaps, love, I enjoy color, I just don't enjoy wearing them. So, Swan, what is your favorite color? Pink?" He pointed to her pink tee shirt.

"Close. Red." She corrected him. "I'll wear whatever though, because having ugly clothes is better than having no clothes."

"You mentioned at dinner that you write? You any good?" He changed the subject.

"I said I like to write, not that I am a writer or something like that." She brushed off his remark. "I'm not bad, I guess. Just not the best that is out there."

He shook his head. "I refuse to believe that. You are probably bloody brilliant. You can be a journalist-or an author if fiction is more your route."

"You have a lot of confidence in me for someone who has never read a work I've written." She pointed out.

"You have an inquisitive brain there, love. Something is always going on in that head of yours." He explained. "When your transfer those thoughts to paper, it must be sheer genius."

"If you say so." She resigned.

"I do." He persisted. "And one day, when you get some fancy writing award, I'll say I knew you way back when."

Emma wanted to ask if he actually thought they would remember each other in the future. In twenty years, would their names still hold any significance, or would they merely be more people they met along the way.

"I'll make sure to give you a shout out." That was Emma's way of letting him know that she would try to remember him. She may like to write, but she was not good with words. Oxymoron? Yes. But her entire life was one. Pretty little girl who only knew ugliness.

"Good. Now, may I suggest we head back inside? Maybe we can convince Mrs. Abernathy that it would be a good night for a movie and we can show you one of those classics you missed out on?" He offered, standing slowly.

Emma just nodded, and followed him inside. This place wasn't bad. It was as close to home as she ever had and as close to family as she would ever get. Emma would not waste this. She would just live in the here and now.