#bro can you even IMAGINE how heartbreaking it must be to divorce someone out of LOVE and care for them??

[colinschest]

this house isn’t a home (5/7)

Emma Swan is doing fine until the past she’d rather forget about walks back into her life in the form of her ex-husband.

explicit (teen this chapter) | divorced AU, angst | AO3 & FFN

Holy shit, this is really really a huge delay. I'm sorry to everyone who has asked about this and begged for more; it's been a hell of a year. But I'm back hopefully, and my muse is enjoying writing this story once again.

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Ruby somehow manages to avoid speaking to him for a week. It's far beyond what he ever thought she would be capable of, and judging by the looks she gives him as she monotone recites orders at the wall beside his head, far less than she'd like to do be doing.

It's so bad that even Granny notices, snapping at Ruby to actually do her job once in a while, but, as usual when it comes to Ruby, she practically ignores the instruction and carries on doing exactly what she's been doing.

It only comes to a head when Granny pulls him aside and bluntly informs him that he needs to work out whatever issue they're having, because it's affecting the business and she can't have that. He knows she wouldn't fire him; working for Granny is practically becoming part of the family to her, but he already has one Lucas woman angry with him, the last thing he needs is two.

So, the next lonely late-night shift they have together, when she's off at the register counting bills and there isn't a customer in sight, he takes a deep breath, and steps out behind the bar.

She, predictably, doesn't acknowledge his existence, nails clacking against the drawer as she picks up the stack of twenty dollar bills and begins flipping through them.

He clears his throat roughly, but no dice. Looks like he's talking to the back of her head, then. He focuses on the bright red stripe of hair that is quintessentially Ruby.

"Listen, love, I assume Emma has talked to you, and I can't imagine what you think of me for leaving her, but I probably do deserve it." He gets a guff harrumph, one all-too reminiscent of her grandmother. It's probably the best acknowledgement he's gonna get, so he continues. "I know you don't want to talk to me, but I want to make this right, with both of you. Please, tell me how I can do that."

The diner is quiet, only the occasional car passing by breaking the silence.

Just when he's resolved that he's done all he can, she speaks.

"I honestly thought you were a good guy, Killian," she says softly, not turning. "We get so many bros in here, leering and hitting on me and talking about their side chicks and just...the worst. You've never been like that, not once, and you've even stood up to them quite a bit." She shuts the cash drawer, and faces him. "I know we all have a past. I know I do. But you cheated on my best friend and broke her heart. Even if you try to tell yourself it wasn't really cheating, it was to her. And that's a big deal to me. The only reason I haven't torn you limb from limb is because she said I couldn't. So, no. I don't think there's anything you can do to make it right."

Her shoulders are set, arms crossed, and yeah, he knows when to step away from a confrontation, but he's too busy being shocked to do much more than gape openly at her.

She notices, and her face shifts to something annoyed.

"Don't act all surprised; she wasn't going to keep your deep dark secret from me," she snaps at him, and it seems to permeate through the fog.

"I never cheated on her, Ruby," he says, trying to push as much earnestness as he can into the words. He has no idea why Emma would think that of him; why she would assume he had ever been anything but honorable with her. They had fought, sure, over Milah, over the fact that he still loved her, that he would always love her, but never once had he strayed, regardless of the legitimacy of their vows.

"That tattoo on your arm tells a different story, buddy," she shoots right back, and the mark in question tingles under her gaze and he resists the urge to cover it. It had been one of his rather impetuous decisions, late one night after he'd been wallowing in the rum and the loss of the only two women he'd ever cared for. Resentment at Emma for blaming him for still loving Milah had bubbled up, and he'd made the choice then and there to commemorate the woman he'd never have again. There's another one, on his shoulder blade, of a small swan, done much later, when the regret had burned deep in his veins. But she can't see that one; no one has.

"I got this after Emma and I separated. Bloody hell, the fact that I even still loved Milah was too much for her, I knew that, I would have never actually gone out and slept with someone else!" His voice was rising, desperation definitely still coloring his words, and his mind was swirling, jumping from one thing to another. Did Emma truly think he had been with someone else? Why would she think that? Was it the late nights spent at the school? Had it ever truly been about Milah, or had that been a smokescreen?  

He'd known Emma was guarded, that it would be so easy to break her heart, but he'd always assumed that they would never have worked out; his heart had been Milah's first, and a small part of it would always be hers. He didn't blame Emma for wanting it all to herself; how could he when he knew her past? But he hadn't been ready, then, to let go of his first love.

And that was why he'd walked away, that was why he'd agreed to the divorce.

Not because of some cheating.

He must have been lost deep in his own mind, because Ruby was shaking him, her hand like a vice around his upper arm.

"Hook, she found the love letters between you two. You seriously think I'm going to believe you about anything? I may not have her superpower, but I can smell a lie."

He barely heard the last few words, his mind spinning away. The letters, the letters he and Milah had written so long ago, when he'd been in the Navy. The letters that had always sat in the same place in the attic, undisturbed until he'd packed up and left. The letters where they'd poured their hearts and souls out to each other. But it had been clear then, so many mentions of the Navy and his ports of call, surely Emma would have known they were practically ancient, surely she would have realized what they were about.

But now...now he understands. She didn't realize it. And that was why she'd lashed out at him, why she'd pushed and pushed, why she knew Milah's name, why she'd even brought up his long-lost love.

She'd thought he was lying to her, that he didn't care, and she'd reacted just the way he would have expected her to; first pushing him away, and then shutting herself off from the hurt and the pain.

A cold rock settles in his stomach; he wants to cry and rail and drink himself into a stupor, because he'd failed her. He had never thought to ask her more, to push for more answers; he'd been so busy buried until his own inadequacies and sorrow that he hadn't gotten to the truth. If he hadn't been so damn selfish he might still have Emma now. His whole life might be different. He could have saved her, saved himself, from the heartbreak.

But he'd failed her. Just like he'd failed his brother, just like he'd failed Milah, just like he'd failed every person his god-forsaken foolish self had ever loved.

He stood there, unaware of himself, wallowing quite deep, until the bell above the door tinkled and he realized he was alone, Ruby moving across the diner to greet the likely-drunk group of college-aged young adults who had wandered in.

For the rest of the night, he moved on autopilot, thinking only of the bottle of rum and the judgmental face in the mirror that awaited him at home.

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Emma has been quiet all evening, twisting her napkin in her lap at dinner like a teen who just got their first poor report card. She'd said maybe two words to him, and has kept her gaze firmly planted on the food.

It's not normal. He hasn't really had a moment with her since yesterday morning; when he'd arrived home, she'd already been in bed, and when he'd awoken this morning, she'd been gone, a small note informing him that she'd had a meeting for work.

Normally, Emma would have been happy to see him; a tired smile and a warm hug his greeting when he arrived home. Instead, there was a collection of take-out on the dining table, and hollow shell of a woman who greatly resembled his wife.

Her food was a cold pile on her plate before she finally spoke.

"Do you love me, Killian?" The words were quiet, almost timid. Very much unlike the Emma he'd always known.

"Of course I-" he began, but she raised a hand.

"Do you really?" She took a deep steadying breath, and finally looked at him. "Do you love me as much as Milah?"

He gaped. He...hadn't been expecting that. Of all things... never that. Milah was long buried and in the ground, a world away, and though he would always love her, Emma was his wife now. He wanted to tell her as much, but she continued.

"That's what I thought." Her face fell and she slipped out of the seat, gathering her plate and cup. "I know about her. I know I probably can't compare."

"Emma, listen," he stood as well, moving to intercept her. "I love you, darling."

She didn't look at him as she dumped her food in the bin and turned to rinse the dishes. Finally, she turned, her arms crossed, her armor pulled tight across her face. Gone was the woman he'd loved making smile; this was the woman who chased bail jumpers for a living.

"But you love her, too. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't love her."

The words stung, and his mind was still spinning. How did she even know about Milah? That part of him had been left behind in London a long time ago, and the last time he'd drunk himself into a stupor over it had been when he'd found out his visa wasn't being renewed. He was happy with Emma. He thought of Milah occasionally, and the tiny corner of his heart where she lived now, but the past was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But he also couldn't lie, and not just because she'd know.

Her eyes narrowed, and the desire to argue left of him.

"This isn't a fight, Killian. It is what it is. I just...wanted to know. And now I do."

She brushed past him, and he was left staring at the sink, listening to her footsteps climb the stairs.