#omg I just realized I tagged the last chapter as Killian Jokes

[eddisfargo]

Not a day will go by (4/?)

You’re kidding. Two updates in one day? 

I want to thank everyone who's left comments, both with things you loved and things you loved less (but super nicely, which I really appreciate!)

I'm posting this chapter earlier than intended--I was going to keep it at one a day, but I realized I don't want to get too far ahead, in case I want to edit things after I see what people think! 

For: @resident-of-storybrooke   Tag “list”: @everything-person

AO3 Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4

Summary: Captain Hook wakes up in a strange bed, next to a woman he does not remember. He finds nothing particularly unusual about this situation. But the woman seems to know him very well.

In Storybrooke, there’s only one surefire way to get back a lost memory. And it’s not going to work until he loves her.

Rating: M

Chapter 4: The search for sense

Chapter summary:

Killian finds a new friend, and an old.

(Also, something you've been waiting for...)

Notes:

(No animals were harmed in the making of this chapter)

Hook generally got dressed fairly quickly after the act, but Emma seemed inclined to laze around, and the attitude was catching. Until they heard a scratching from downstairs. A key in the lock.

Emma shot up in bed. “Oh my god, Henry’s back. Hurry, get dressed!”

Catching her urgency, he threw the unfamiliar clothes on with as much haste as he could muster. “So you believe him completely unaware of what we’ve been up to?”

She grimaced. “Okay, fine. He’s not stupid, but I’m sure he doesn’t like to think about it, and I’m pretty sure it’s my job not to make him. Least I can do is not traumatize him too much, right?”

That seemed a singularly bleak way to think of it, but considering a strange pirate had just had his way with the man’s wife, in his own bed, Hook supposed the least he could do was not be lounging naked in said bed with said wife when said man walked in. Poor, besotted fool. If they were caught and a challenge thrown, perhaps he should put the unfortunate man out of his misery. His brief glimpse of the picture still made him shudder.

She was dressed in record time, and stood in front of the bedroom door for a moment. “Do I look like I threw these on as fast as I could?”

Hook was still trying to remember how he’d managed the strange fastening on his trousers–it was, he’d discovered earlier, remarkably easy with one hand, but he couldn’t quite recall the trick of it. “Yes.” He pulled her shirt from where it had been half tucked behind her jacket.

She smiled thankfully, giving him one more kiss. “Thanks, babe.” Grinning, she reached between his legs. He stopped breathing, but all she did was pull the fastener upward. She made a cheerful sound like “Zip!” and winked at him.

He was stunned by her brazenness–she seemed not remotely ashamed of what the two of them had just done. “What will your husband do if he sees me up here?” he asked.

She gave him a good-natured roll of the eyes. “Wow, you’re really into this roll play today, huh? Rain check?”

Seemed she was back to speaking nonsense. With one more kiss–he was almost starting to get used to the kisses–she started downstairs. He waited a count of 5, until he heard voices from downstairs. Now she had him distracted, he slipped as silently as he could out the door and down the stairs. Searching for a back exit, he caught just a glimpse of Emma with the man who must have been Henry. Brown hair, not especially tall–he didn’t quite match Emma, in fact–and not a scrap of beard. He quickly ducked behind a wall.” He overheard a scratch of the conversation. “...stuff missing from his ship. You wouldn’t have any ideas…”

The theft! She’d almost driven it out of his mind, for just a while. Seemed unwise to Hook, bringing it up to the husband at all, but it was her own life she was playing with.

Finding the door, he slipped out. The day was darkening. Good, this was a much more opportune time to find a pirate crew. They’d probably been sleeping off their revelry earlier in the day. Emma had mentioned a tavern from the previous night. If he could only find it, perhaps he’d find them. And when he did, he’d make someone pay .

He decided to walk a ways from Emma’s house before approaching anyone. It wouldn’t do for him to be remembered near her residence. He traced the path they’d taken earlier until he’d crossed the road a few times–a harrowing proposition itself. Those large things with people in them appeared out of nowhere, and made the most awful noise when you jumped out of the way. He didn’t especially want to consider what would happen if you didn’t jump out of the way.

When he judged he was a fair distance away, he started hunting for someone who looked like they might know the way to a tavern. No one particularly did, although it was hard to judge with their strange manner of dress. He had just decided to ask the next person he saw when he was barked at. A spotted dog was straining on its lead to get to him. He had no fear of dogs–rather fond of them, truth be told, but this one had its eyes set on him, and the curly-haired man on the other end of the lead was having trouble holding it back.

“Evening!” said the curly-haired man,chuckling. “I think Pongo’s wondering why you haven’t said hello yet. You mind?” And incredibly, he started bringing the dog toward Hook. Before he could make his opinions known, the dog had jumped on him. Hook was loath to use his namesake on a dog except as a last resort, but if that thing mauled him—

The dog, Pongo , of all things, sniffed his face thoroughly and gave him a frenzy of licks. Hook quickly put his sharper limb behind him and replaced it with his fingered one, scratching the dog bemusedly behind the ears.

The man pushed up his spectacles and laughed. “Sorry about that. Can’t explain it, but you do seem to be his favorite.”

“Hello, Pongo,” Hook said, his heart rate returning to normal and lowering even further. There was something uniquely relaxing about a friendly dog. Shame you couldn’t keep one on a ship. “Pleased to meet you.” This made the stranger laugh, and Hook remembered belatedly that he had an audience, and should perhaps not have let his guard down so much. He straightened, remembering his task. This man did not strike him as one familiar with the more disreputable establishments pirates might frequent. An alternative struck him. He got the feeling a stranger would be noted in these parts. What if he asked for a person rather than a place? “I’m looking for a man. Round-faced, bearded, likely wearing a red knit cap.”

The stranger looked at him curiously. “You mean Smee?”

…Well. That was a surprise. But he’d had so many today it barely fazed him anymore. “Aye,” Hook said cautiously. “You’ve seen him?”

“Not tonight. If he’s not at the Rabbit Hole, I’m not sure where he might be. Is he not answering his phone?”

Hook took half a moment to try to make sense out of the last question, and decided it best to ignore it entirely. The Rabbit Hole. A place to start. When the man had said the name, he’d gestured vaguely to the west. Hook nodded curtly to the man, gave a slightly more friendly farewell to Pongo, and started in that direction.

It didn’t take too much more walking to find an establishment with a glowing sign proclaiming its name as The Rabbit Hole. Nor did it take long to find a familiar bright red hat, sitting at the bar.

He was so relieved to see a familiar face that he momentarily forgot his rage. Hook sat at the stool next to Smee, gesturing the barkeep. He realized with a start that he hadn’t had a sip all day, and that he felt… fine. No headache from the night before. Not even a craving to reach for the flask he’d doubtless left in his purloined coat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone this long, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh! Captain!” Smee exclaimed, as if surprised to see him there. Although it ought to have been the least surprising thing about today.

“Smee.” Hook said. “There’s been a breach in discipline.”

Smee looked alarmed. Well, that, at least, was expected. “Discipline, Captain?”

“No one was aboard the Jolly last night.”

There was a moment’s pause. “...Good?” Smee hazarded. Hook almost groaned. Not Smee, too. “Is that… a problem?”

“The problem,” Hook growled, “is that some very important items were stolen from my quarters.”

Smee’s eyes widened. “Oh! Have you told the Sheriff?”

Was he bloody mad? Calling in the law on a pirate ship? “I would hardly trouble the Sheriff with such matters,” Hook said, his patience fraying.

“Of course!” Smee said quickly, although he still looked a bit nonplussed. “What.. what was taken?”

Hook considered his words. “My good spyglass.” Liam’s spyglass. “A… sword.” No need to mention Baelfire’s name. But for the last, there was no reason to dissemble. “And Milah’s portrait,” he finished, his voice quiet but thankfully steady.

Smee considered this for a long moment. “Do you usually keep those in your quarters?”

What kind of question was that? “Where else,” he said impatiently, “would I keep them?”

“Well, I’d just have thought—things that important, you would’ve moved into your house.”

“My what ?”

“Your… house?” Smee tried again, his voice more tentative.

“I don’t live in a house , Smee,” Hook’s voice was rising. He’d thought he could trust at least Smee to talk sense, but apparently even that had been too much to hope for. “I live on my ship, and we’re setting sail as soon as I get my things and the rest of the crew!”

Smee looked stunned. “Leaving? Not–not really, right? You didn’t… fight with your wife, did you, Captain?”

“My wife ? Of course not! What on earth has gotten into your head?” He wanted to tear out his hair. Why wouldn’t anyone talk bloody sense today?

The barkeep was back, but not with rum. On the contrary, he looked displeased. “Sir, I’m going to need you to keep it down.” He smiled unkindly. “Don’t make me call the Sheriff.”

“I’m not ,” Hook said, his voice rising even more, “afraid of any bloody Sheriff .”

The barkeep just laughed. Hook was about to lunge for him, but Smee grabbed his arm. Hook nearly took a swing at him too, but he stopped himself. He took a moment to examine that, and it occurred to him that this must be what it was like to be sober. He didn’t much care for it.

“Let’s talk outside, okay, Captain?”

Fuming, Hook led the way outside. He took a few deep breaths. “Smee,” he said finally, “not a damned thing has made sense since I woke up this morning. I need out of this city.”

“Okay…” Smee said cautiously. “I just think… is your wife alright with that?”

“Smee, please think carefully about the next thing you say. I need it to make sense . I do not have a house . I do not have a wife . What the devil is this place?”

There was a moment’s pause as Smee did seem to carefully consider his words. “Captain… what’s the last thing you remember?”

Notes:

Thanks to @everything-person​ for the idea of Smee being the one who figures it out! I like this much better than my original idea.

[pocket-anon]

A Fairytale Beginning (6/9)

OMG, you guys, I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I took this long to get this chapter out.  This 8k monster gave me serious grief with the writing and re-writing and overthinking and gnashing of teeth it took to get it to this point.  Fair warning, I’m going on my 4th day of sleeping less than 5 hours a night, so there may be a little clean-up of typos and wording going on later.  A million thanks to @katie-dub for being my sounding board for the diner scene, to @i-know-how-you-kiss for letting me whine to her repeatedly about how badly this chapter was kicking my butt, and to the rest of you for waiting so very patiently with nothing but supportive words.  XOXO

Find it on AO3 and FFN.  Missed a chapter?  Get caught up here.

Summary:  Killian Jones, the notorious Captain Hook, has been on a quest to kill the Dark One and avenge the death of his first love for over one hundred fifty years. But when he crosses the Evil Queen, he’s magically transported to New York City, a strange land full of fascinating wonders, the foremost of which is Emma Swan, a cynical single mother with no time for fairy tales, real or imagined. A Captain Swan Enchanted AU.   (Captain Swan modern AU, Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU.  Romance & Adventure.  Rated T.)

Tags as requested: @timetravelingpotatoast, @piratesails, @storybrookeswans, @optomisticgirl

Emma waits until Granny returns with matching plates brimming with grilled cheese cut into triangles and piles of golden onion rings.  She flashes a muted smile of thanks at the older woman, and Granny gives them a subtle smirk as she sets a glass ketchup bottle directly between their plates and disappears.

Emma snatches the bottle up by the neck and twists off the cap while she gathers her thoughts, unsure how much she wants to reveal.  Killian watches her shake out a dollop onto her plate and then accepts the bottle when she hands it to him, studying it before proceeding to mimic her with an adorable amount of caution.

A tiny smile tugs at Emma’s mouth, but she briskly turns back to the matter at hand and clears her throat.  As always, the first onion ring she touches is just shy of too hot to touch and just greasy enough to be tempting, and she dips it with a little sigh.  “Walsh proposed,” she says quietly, taking a bite to give herself an excuse not to say anything else immediately.

The ketchup bottle pauses in midair, and she doesn’t need to see Killian’s face to know that he’s frowning when he sets it down with a soft thunk.  “I see,” he says, sounding politely interested.

Emma keeps her eyes fixed on her plate as she eats.  “Yesterday.  Just before I met you and Henry at the library.”

Killian hesitates, as though trying to read her.  “And you didn’t say yes?” he risks casually.

She glances up for a second at the tempting cakes and pies on display in a Plexiglas case sitting across from them before her gaze falls back to her food, her lashes brushing her cheeks.  “I didn’t say no.”

He waits for her to continue, forearms braced on either side of his plate, his food yet untouched.

Emma heaves a deep sigh and tucks a loose lock of hair over her ear.  “I don’t have a great track record with men,” she admits, her gaze rotating toward the ceiling, “But…”  She closes her eyes and scrunches up her face as she tries to figure out how to explain herself without showing too much of her hand. “Things were… rough… back when I had Henry, and I’ve worked really hard to be able to give him a normal, stable life with a home and a family,” she says haltingly, playing in the ketchup with her half-eaten onion ring.  “And now I have Walsh, and he’s great, and this is supposed to be the dream, right? “ she asks, her voice growing earnest, "To have a nice guy want to marry you and be a dad to your kid?”  She chuckles bitterly.  “Only a crazy person would hesitate.”

Killian processes her words, his brow furrowed, a finger poking at one of his onion rings before picking it up to examine it.  “He didn’t seem displeased this morning,” he points out, taking an experimental bite and then going back for more.

She laughs dryly.  “Of course he didn’t,” she replies, rolling her eyes.  “Because he’s perfect like that.”  The annoyance in her tone is poorly disguised.

Killian dares to grin. “You don’t like that he’s perfect?”

“I just said I was crazy.” She shoves the remainder of her onion ring vindictively into her cheek, chews, and swallows.  “And the worst part is that Walsh knows that.  He knows what a train wreck I am in relationships.  But he’s just so patient.  He never gets mad or worked up over anything.”

Killian hums.  “And that bothers you?”

Emma pauses.  “A little,” she decides, her brow wrinkling.

“Why?”

She bites her lip and blinks down at her plate, deep in thought.  “I… I don’t know.”  She toys with another onion ring and sighs.  “Maybe because it proves he deserves better than me.”

Killian snorts, and she looks up at him sharply.  “I realize we haven’t known each other long, Swan, but I seriously doubt that,” he says. “You may have been abandoned and suffer from a serious lack of trust, but you’re still a bloody brilliant woman.” He smiles quietly before looking away. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Emma flushes only a little at the compliment, instead shifting on her stool so she’s angled to face him, one elbow braced on the counter.  “Who said anything about being abandoned?” she asks coolly, suspicion creeping into her voice.

He shrugs.  “You’re something of an open book,” he tells her, popping another onion ring into his mouth.

“Am I?” she challenges.

He hums low in affirmation.  “I’m spent many years in Neverland, home of the Lost Boys. They all share the same look in their eyes,” he says, tipping his head toward her and meeting her gaze shrewdly.  “The look you get when you’ve been left alone.”

Emma scrutinizes him back, desperately seeking a hint of dishonesty and, as always, finding none.  Her heart pounds.  Who the hell is this guy?  And, weird fantasies aside, how is it that he seems to get inside her head so effortlessly?  She’s worked hard to maintain her emotional armor, to build up her protective façade, and he just waltzes in and looks straight through it like it’s not there. “Yeah, well,” she turns away, perturbed, “My world ain’t Neverland.”  She seizes a half-sandwich and tucks in, grateful when he doesn’t push the topic further and allows her to at least make a lame attempt to hide behind her grilled cheese.

Killian follows suit, sounding an indecent groan of approval as he contemplates the taste of the buttery, toasted bread and warm, gooey cheese.  He makes quick work of it, boyishly wolfing his sandwich down with the enthusiasm of a starving prisoner of war.

Emma watches him eat, helpless to suppress a small, amused grin as he swallows his last bite and sweeps his thumb along the corner of his mouth to brush away a few errant crumbs that linger there in his scruff.  “Good?” she asks.

“Mm.”  He wipes his fingers on a paper napkin.  “This realm does some excellent things with food.” He reaches for his coffee, his face splitting into a smile as the mug nears his lips.  “Between that and the company, it’s quite the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” he remarks with a wink.

There it is again – his uncanny ability to make her feel both gratified and self-conscious as a school girl.  She chuffs, her cheeks pinking as she bemoans his stupidly attractive face and her stomach flips for the hundredth time.  Truthfully, she’d spent as much time last night trying to banish her unwanted thoughts about Killian as she had freaking out about Walsh.  Not that she’d mention that.  To anyone.  Ever.

Emma coughs weakly.  “So. Fair is fair,” she announces, raising what remains of her grilled cheese to her mouth.  “Now you know why I was up.  It’s your turn.”

A tiny wrinkle mars the spot between his eyes, his jovial demeanor fading.  “As you wish, love.”  He dips his head in acknowledgement.  “But allow me one more question.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” she chuckles with a little shake of her head, taking a bite.

“You don’t have to answer it.”

Emma pauses mid-chew and gives him a perplexed glance.  He stares back at her calmly, and she swallows.  “Fine.”

He taps a finger thoughtfully on the counter.  “Could it be that the fact your man never gets upset bothers you because you want to know that he thinks your relationship is worth fighting for?”

That’s… that’s…  Emma slowly crumples up her napkin and drops it on her plate.  That’s… not crazy.  She frowns, actually taken by how not-crazy it sounds.  How could a man who knows so little of her have come up with such a plausible explanation so quickly?  Walsh sometimes jokes that she’s his great enigma, but Killian… nothing about her seems to confuse him.  Or deter him from saying things that make her heart flutter.   “I… I think we’ve established that I’m terrible at knowing what I want,” she reminds him with a nervous laugh.

“Well, I know what you want,” Granny volunteers, walking up and pulling the apple pie out of the display case without waiting for an answer. “You want pie.”  She shuttles their empty plates away and reaches for clean plates and silverware.

Emma gives a relieved chuckle, grateful for the distraction.  There’s no doubt that Granny has been eavesdropping on their entire conversation – the woman’s ability to hear every word spoken in her diner is almost preternatural.  “How do you know?”

“Because you, my dear, love my pie,” Granny points out matter-of-factly, not bothering to look up as she dishes up two pieces.

“You’ve also looked at that pie no less than five times since we sat down, Swan,” Killian adds with a knowing smile.

Emma swivels her head toward him incredulously.

Granny grins and hands them both plates, catching Emma’s eye and then shooting a pointed look at Killian with an expression that screams, “I told you so.”  

Is the whole world conspiring to make her life more complicated?  “Thanks, Yenta,” Emma says flatly, arcing an eyebrow at her traitorous old friend.

“Mm-hmm.”  Granny hums triumphantly and walks away, completely unrepentant.

Emma gives a long-suffering sigh and shakes her head, reaching for her fork.  “Anyway,” she says, “I believe it was your turn.” She glances down at the sleeve that hides Killian’s tattoo and then back up at him as she puts the first piece of dessert in her mouth.

Killian’s grin dissipates like smoke, the laughter leaving his eyes.  He nods.  “Very well.”  He taps the golden, flaky, sugar-crusted surface of his pie with the tines of his fork.  “Milah,” he says grimly, “Was the woman I loved.”  A small, sad smile pulls at his lips.  “She was beautiful and passionate and curious…” his voice grows nostalgic, “And I invited her to come see the world with me the first time we met.” He pauses a beat, lost in his thoughts, before he sucks in a breath and his thick eyebrows lift with regret.  “But she had a husband,” he continues, his back straightening, “and a son, and she did the honorable thing and stayed with them.”  

There’s the clink of metal on ceramic as he stabs the pie with his fork.  “Her marriage, however, was not a happy one, and in the end, she was so miserable that she begged me to take her away.”  He shrugs helplessly. “I was in love with her.  How could I refuse?”  He hazards a glance at Emma, his eyes shining with bittersweet memories.  “I taught her how to survive out at sea, made her my first in command, and we sailed the world as I had promised.  We had nearly ten years together aboard my ship, and they passed like a dream.”  

After his first bite of pie, he clears his throat.  "And then her husband found us,“ he says, his countenance darkening like a thunderhead. “But by then he was no longer a man.  He’d been transformed into a being we call the Dark One, an immortal of immense magical power.”  Deep creases appear on Killian’s brow.  “I tried to protect her.  I asked her to hide when I went to face him, but it was easy for him to overwhelm me, and when he threatened my life, Milah tried to strike a deal with him to spare it. In the end, he killed her – ripped her heart out and crushed it right in front of my eyes.  And then he took my hand.”  His voice is dangerously low now.  He inhales slowly, steadying himself, his expression stony when he looks back up at Emma’s horrified face.  “Pain is terrible, Swan, but sometimes it gives us purpose.  I’ve spent a century and a half seeking revenge on the demon.  I made my deal with the Evil Queen for the magic compass so that I’d have a way to locate the one weapon that can kill him.”

Emma’s eyes pinch warily.  “Did you say ‘a century and a half’?”

“The magic of Neverland keeps its inhabitants from growing old,” he says with a grave smile.  “And I was there at Pan’s mercy for a very, very long time.”

She fidgets in her seat. Convinced as she should be that the world Killian describes does not exist, none of this new information ought to give her any pause, really.  But there’s still something incredibly unnerving about how easily he talks about his imaginary life - something about having this young, handsome, intelligent, charming man tell her that he’s over one hundred and fifty years old in the same tone he’d use to casually inform her of the time of day - that she finds increasingly sad.  A little part of her has wondered from the start whether it could all be true, but the more time she spends with Killian, the more she wishes she could believe him and the more disappointed she is that she can’t.

Emma gives herself a mental shake and forces herself back to reality.  She’s well-versed in disappointment.  There’s nothing to do but move on.  She wonders if she can get Killian to share something useful that will help her search for Milah’s obituary or death certificate, help her find the real woman behind his story. “Did Milah have a last name?” she asks.  

He shakes his head. “No.  Last names are not common in the region she was from.”

She tries again.  “And her husband?” she asks.  "What was his name?  You know…“ she hesitates awkwardly, "Before.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” he growls, the word a quiet curse on his tongue.

Seriously?  “Seriously?”  She blanches.  “The little guy who turns straw into gold and steals babies?”

Killian laughs so harshly that, for a moment, she has no trouble imagining him as a dreaded pirate captain, as Hook. “That barely scratches the surface, love.  Whatever your stories say about Rumpelstiltskin, I seriously doubt they chronicle the extent of his dark deeds.”

Emma falls quiet for a bit, chasing the last few pie crumbs around the plate with her fork.  Her mind is a muddle of confused thoughts, but one in particular begins to eat at her. “So, you’re telling me you’ve spent… all this time… wanting nothing but vengeance?” she asks at last.

Killian answers with a bereaved smile.  “Everyone needs a dream, Swan.  And Milah’s gone.  What other dream do have I left?”

The way his blue eyes swim with mournful acceptance pulls at her heart, and he looks very different without the swagger and confident cheerfulness he normally exudes.  Maybe she’s not the only one to wear armor.  “That sounds like a lonely way to live,” she says quietly.

He seems surprised by her insight, the last vestiges of anger melting out of his expression as he blinks and licks his lips.  “Aye.”

The vulnerability in his voice chips away at her self-control.  Against her better judgment, she tentatively reaches out and gives his forearm a small squeeze.  She hears his breath hitch ever so slightly at her touch, sees his eyebrows skyrocket, and for a moment she panics that she’s gone too far.  Then his muscles relax beneath her fingers, and a look of solemn gratitude creeps over his face.  Emma’s mouth crooks upward in return, and, his delusions aside, she starts to wonder if his miraculous ability to read her is simply a matter of one lost soul recognizing another.

*                             *                             *

The gemologist’s laboratory is a fifteen minute walk from Granny’s.  Killian strides eagerly beside her as she leads him to 5th Avenue, passing half a dozen storefronts filled with jewels.  Emma notices his awe as they pass each brightly-lit display full of sparkling stones.  “They call this the Diamond District,” she informs him.

“No doubt why.”  He imagines what his crew would do if confronted with so much temptation and shakes his head.  “How do they protect themselves from thieves?”

Emma arches an eyebrow at him.  “Getting ideas?”

He chuckles. “Hardly, Swan.  Merely professional interest.  When you work with other pirates, protecting one’s loot is as important as being able to acquire it in the first place.”

She rolls her eyes. “They have detailed security systems – motion detectors, advanced safes, surveillance cameras, you name it,” she explains.  “Successful robberies from stores like these are few and far between.”  Emma snorts.  “Honestly, the biggest thefts that happen in this city are committed by bankers on Wall Street.  Power and corruption is kind of a classic combo.”

Killian hums resentfully. “Now that is a concept I understand all too well.”

Though the building Emma takes him to is ornamented and grand and towers above most of the others on the block, inside, the office of the appraiser is a relatively small, much more modest-looking space characterized by utilitarian surfaces in white and gray.  They enter a small waiting area, and Emma points Killian toward a handful of cushioned chairs along one wall.  He obliges and watches her approach the woman seated behind the tall counter opposite him.  

“Hi,” she says, “We have an appointment?  Emma Swan.”

The woman gives a courteous nod and murmurs that someone will be right with them.  Emma retreats to the chair next to him, unzipping her jacket and crossing her legs restlessly. Glancing sideways, she plucks a glossy booklet off the small table next to her and begins to leaf through it, only to come across an article about engagement rings that prompts her to toss the booklet back down and shift uncomfortably in her seat.

As though her discomfort is catching, Killian’s knee begins to bob.  He swallows and forces it to still.  He’s being ridiculous.  He shouldn’t care about Emma’s relationship.  It’s none of his bloody business, after all.  No matter how high his regard for her, she’s only a friend, a passing acquaintance.  Her past, whatever the details, has clearly left her world-weary and skittish, and he sees nothing surprising about her hesitation to accept Walsh’s proposal.  He sighs inwardly.  There’s no doubt in his mind that Walsh is getting the better end of the deal, but Emma’s boyfriend seems a decent man nevertheless, and Killian cannot fault her desire for a stable father figure in Henry’s life.  She’s trying to do right by her son, and he deeply respects that.  Gods help him, it’s more than his father ever did for him and more than he and Milah ever managed to accomplish for Baelfire.

Milah.  His gut twists with guilt.  He’s thought of her infrequently since his arrival in New York, preoccupied as he’s been with Emma and Henry and the marvels of this place.  After countless nights staring out across the waves or up at the beams above his berth wondering if he’ll ever be able to truly let her go, if there will ever be a time in his life when her face won’t haunt him, this, this feels like the closest he’s ever gotten.   But as much as he’s resented being held captive so long by her memory and the ache of missing her, it occurs to him now that gaining his freedom probably means allowing the last piece of her (and a big piece of himself) to die.  Apprehension floods his chest.  He wonders what moving on would do to his thirst for vengeance.  After everything he’s done to pursue the bloody Dark One, could he find it in himself to simply give up his mission?  What would be his purpose then?  He glances sadly at Emma.  What other dream does he have left, indeed?

A weighty-looking gray door hung with the seal of the Gemological Appraisal Laboratory of America swings open at one end of the waiting area, and short, stout man appears. He has a mop of wiry silver hair that sticks up in places, a bulbous nose, and large ears, and he wears a mossy green sweatervest.  “Emma Swan?”

Emma pops out of her seat, and Killian follows.

The little man smiles up at her and shakes her hand.  “Hal Johanson.  Come on back.”

He leads them to an office with a wide desk laden with devices.  Killian recognizes a computer similar to Emma’s sitting next to a tall, odd-looking contraption with dual eyepieces.  A giant lamp on a long, jointed metal arm is also present next to the computer, and officious documents line the walls.  The nearest to him is emblazoned with the words “New York University” and confers Halstein Johanson with a Doctorate in Mineralogy (whatever that means).  

Emma, too glances, at the wall hangings.  “That’s a lot of diplomas and certificates,” she chuckles. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were over-qualified.”

Hal smiles, settling himself into the seat behind his desk and motioning for them to assume the chairs opposite him.  “I’m a retired mineralogy professor, but retirement was boring, so I do this part-time now.” He shrugs cheerfully, taking an audible sip from a coffee mug that features a photo of him and a little copper-haired girl making silly faces and labels him “World’s Best Grand-Pabbie.”  “What can I say?  I love rocks.”

Emma’s mouth quirks into a charmed smile.

“Speaking of which,” he continues, “I believe you have one for me to look at?”

“Aye.”  Killian pulls the Sea Star out and passes it across the desk.

Hal’s dark eyes grow round as dinner plates.  “Holy…” His lips part in bewilderment, bushy eyebrows knitting together as he stares down at the gem in his hand and then up at them.  

Emma tenses and sits forward in her seat.  “Do you think it’s real?” she asks.

The old man holds the jewel so close to his nose that his eyes nearly cross and turns it slowly around, examining it from every angle.  “Very,” he mutters at length, nodding eagerly.  “Where did you get this?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Killian can see Emma pale, and he takes her look of misgiving as a hint that he should avoid telling the tale of his battle with the sea hag.  He offers Hal an easy smile.  “It was in an underwater cave,” he replies lightly.

“Where?  Australia?”  Hal scoots his chair over to the device with dual eyepieces and presses a switch on one side.  A small but very intense light shines to life in the center of the machine, bathing a square black platform below in its glow.  The professor glances at Killian questioningly before setting the opal down on the platform and leaning forward to peer down through the lenses.

Killian turns his head to Emma, who manages a subtle nod.  “Uh, indeed.”

Hal adjusts a few knobs and whistles low.  “This is the most amazing opal I’ve ever seen in person,” he breathes.  “I can see why you’d think it might be synthetic, as big as it is,” he continues without lifting his gaze, “But this is most certainly the real thing.”  The corners of his eyes pinch with joy.  “Just gorgeous.  Look at this play of color…  And the brilliance…  Lovely floral pattern…”  He sighs elatedly.  “I need a few more minutes to be sure, but there don’t even appear to be any faults in it.”

“Faults?” Emma echoes.

“Em, imperfections,” he clarifies, shifting the stone slightly on the platform to examine another section.  “Cracks, patches where the color is missing, gray or brown lines running across the surface, that sort of thing.”

Killian leans forward. “It can crack?” he asks, his face growing intent.

“Oh, yes.”  Hal’s head bobs.  “Opals are more fragile than most gemstones,” he explains, shifting the jewel again.  “They have about the same hardness as glass.  It doesn’t take much to scratch or damage them.  You have to take some care.”  He pauses his evaluation long enough to fix them with a stern look.  “You must avoid abrasive cleaners or chemicals.  And you must never, ever put this in one of those ultrasonic jewelry cleaners.  A crack in a stone such as this wouldn’t just dramatically decrease its value, it’d be a travesty,” he shudders.  

Killian nods slowly, not understanding all of the words the man is using, but getting the general idea. He swallows, a wisp of hope rising within him.  The stone is prone to scratching and cracking, just like glass, and while scratching or cracking the stone is a far cry from destroying it, the news still bodes well.

“Now,” Hal says, pushing his chair back from the desk.  “I suppose we should get to the information you really want.”  He smiles knowingly and pulls the Sea Star out from his machine.  “Let’s figure out what this beauty is worth, shall we?”  He hefts it in his hand, his face shining with excitement.  “I wager this stone weighs…” his eyes narrow, “250 carats.  Give or take.”  He sets the Star atop a small machine with a round metallic surface and presses a button, crowing triumphantly as a number appears in a small window.  “257.8!  My stars!” The little man cackles with delight, reaching for a pen and scratching out a calculation on a piece of paper.

Killian forces a wooden smile. As a pirate, the monetary value of the stone would ordinarily be the only thing he’d care about.  But he already knows what the Sea Star is truly worth – thousands of innocent lives – and even he is willing to recognize that no amount of treasure is worth that cost.  

Hal completes his scribbles and taps the tip of his pen to the paper resolutely, his expression euphoric. He retrieves the opal from the scale and stares at it dreamily, a happy sigh escaping his lips as he holds the paper out to Killian between the fingers of his other hand.  “If you’re feeling generous, a piece like this really belongs in a museum.  You could consider loaning it out,” he tells them, climbing to his feet. “Allow me to take some pictures and type up the official appraisal, and you two will be ready to go.”

Killian voices his thanks as he grasps the slip.  Hal turns and gets to work while Emma leans over to get a look at the paper.  Killian can hear her sharp intake of air, and her wide green eyes stare in disbelief at the large figure underlined at the bottom.

$39,500

*                             *                             *

It’s real.  It’s really real.  Emma’s mouth goes dry when the gemologist proclaims Killian’s stone to be the genuine article.  Not since he produced the little satchel of gold last night has she felt so confused about who this man claims to be.  A handsome man with oddly detailed delusions and a pirate costume is one thing, but a man with those things who also rides a horse, fights like a bar room brawler, and carries tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of gold and precious stones in his pockets?  Henry’s voice rings in her ears:

You know there’s something to this.  

As she and Killian ride the elevator back down to street level, Emma takes one last look at the official appraisal document before folding it up and stuffing it back into the envelope.

Killian eyes her with concern.  “Are you alright, love?  You seem vexed.”

“Hmm?”  She does her best to wipe the dazed look off her face. “Oh.  No.  I’m fine.” She hopes the small smile she offers him is convincing.  She can tell by the doubt in his eyes that it’s not, but he doesn’t press her.

For once, she’s relieved when her cell phone rings, though her stomach drops when she sees Walsh’s name on the display.  The elevator doors part, and she leads the way through the lobby toward the main entrance, trying to camouflage her impatience as she puts the phone to her ear.  “Hi.”

“Hi, honey.  I’m glad I caught you.  Is this a bad time?”

As stressed out as she is, she manages a tiny smile for Killian when he strides ahead to pull the door open for her.  “No, it’s fine.  What’s up?”

“Okay, so, I’m an idiot, and I locked my keys in the car,” Walsh says, sounding chagrined.  “You’re, um, you’re good with locks, and I thought you might know what to do.”

Emma’s heart stutters. Walsh knows she can pick locks, but she’s successfully kept her ability to break into cars (and her history of stealing a certain yellow bug way back when) under wraps.  “Uh…”  Her face contorts into a conflicted mask and she winces, biting the bullet as she and Killian cross the street to the parking garage where they left her car this morning. “Yeah.  Yeah, I can get it open for you.”

“You can?  You’re the best.”  Her boyfriend’s voice rings with relief.  “Sorry.  I would call Triple A, but I don’t know how long they’d keep me waiting, and I left a catalog in the back seat that I really need for a client meeting at four-thirty.”

“No, no,” she says, frowning as she dismisses his apology, “Um, it’s fine.”  She glances with uncertainty at Killian, chewing on her lip at the prospect of another possible Killian/Walsh encounter before pulling the phone away from her ear for a split second to check the time on the screen. “Is half an hour okay?  We’re just finishing up downtown.”

“We?”

Emma mentally recoils. “Uh, yeah,” she replies, doing her best to affect nonchalance.  “I had to look into something for Killian, so we’re in Midtown.”

“Oh.”  He sounds slightly put-out.  “Well, yeah, half an hour is fine.  I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Sure.  Bye.”

“Bye.”

Emma disconnects and stares at her phone with a huff. “Guess we’re making a detour,” she mutters.

“What’s the trouble?” Killian asks, reading her reluctance.  He reaches toward the call buttons for the parking garage elevator with his outstretched index finger and looks to her for confirmation before jabbing the “up” arrow and grinning at the way it lights.  The weight of Emma’s anxiety momentarily lifts as she tries to suppress an entertained smile.  The man talks about hunting demons and has a hook for a hand, but he gets the same amount of enjoyment from pressing an elevator button as a three year-old.

Her reaction only causes his grin to widen, and it’s obvious he knows how charming he is as he stands there and beams, looking proud of himself for having made her smile.  Emma feels a flush rising in her cheeks, and she ducks her head hurriedly to try to hide the beginnings of a dopey grin.  “Um, Walsh accidentally locked himself out of his car, and he needs help getting the door open.”  

The elevator arrives with a ding, and he motions for her to go first, as always.  “You keep a key to his car?”

She trods inside and turns around, thrusting her hands into her pockets while he moves to stand beside her. “Not exactly.”  

Killian indicates the correct floor button with a questioning glance, and she nods and watches him press it with a flourish, his look of satisfaction only slightly more restrained this time.  The elevator whirs into action, and he turns to her, awaiting further explanation.  

“I’m… good with locks,” she admits.  

A scandalous smile spreads across his face, and she forces herself to look away before she mirrors his expression or begins to contemplate how well he pulls off the sexy bad-boy vibe.

“I knew there was a little pirate in you, Swan,” he announces proudly.

She chuffs, gaze falling to the toes of her boots while she tries to ignore the entirely inappropriate flutter of pride in her chest.  “Yeah, well, seeing as how breaking into places is generally frowned upon by the authorities, it’s not something I like to advertise,” she says, “even if it does come in handy for work sometimes.”  

He chuckles knowingly, and she doesn’t miss the admiration in his eye as she exits the elevator and hastens toward the Bug.  

Emma gives an exaggerated sigh and rolls her eyes, the side of her mouth twitching.  “Come on.”

*                             *                             *

Emma’s beau, it turns out, owns a furniture store.  Killian is unsure whether to be amused or disgusted that such an exciting woman is paired with a man with such a mundane livelihood.

Emma guides the Bug into a parking lot at the rear of the shop and pulls into an empty space.  She gives him the side-eye as she cuts the engine. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay here while I take care of this, can I?”

“And miss the chance to watch you work, Swan?” he scoffs, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle.  “Never. Besides, I should think that our little adventure this morning would have earned me some credit.”

She huffs.  “Fine.  Just… behave.”

They climb out of the Bug, and Killian throws her a wink over the top of the car.  “No need to worry about me.  I’m always a gentleman.”  

“Except for the whole pirate thing.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive, darling.”

He waggles his eyebrows and grins at the little chuckle that escapes her as she slips around to the front of her vehicle and pops open the boot.  Instead of her first aid kid, this time she retrieves a long flat strip of metal with two small cutouts on one end that make it bear some resemblance to a key.

Killian cranes his neck to get a better look.  “What’s that then?”

“A tool of the trade,” she answers, her eyes flashing cool admonishment in a way he shouldn’t find beguiling, but does.  “Don’t get any ideas.”  

Emma marches over to a dark green car parked in a spot labeled “Employees Only” and, using both hands, guides the metal down along the driver’s window and into the door. Her brow furrows in concentration, and he watches, fascinated, as she positions her tool by feel.  A few seconds later, she jerks up on it with a satisfied grunt, and the metal pulls free.  The car door opens easily when she tugs on the handle, and Killian chuckles.  

“Brilliant,” he declares with approval.

Despite Emma’s clear effort to ignore his compliment, he catches the subtle look of gratification that ghosts across her face while she runs her tool back over to the Bug.  When she returns, she braces one knee on Walsh’s driver’s seat and ducks into the car with a little sigh in order to fish out a set of keys laying haphazardly on the passenger side.  The move leaves him blinking rapidly at her shapely backside for a second, and as impure thoughts of Emma Swan being bent over for other reasons flare to life in his imagination, Killian chastises himself by clenching his fist until his wound screams in protest.

Thankfully, Emma appears oblivious to his torment as she withdraws from the car and pushes a button on the inside of the driver’s door.  The whole vehicle resonates with a dull mechanical click, and she hauls open the door to the back seat to pull out a thick book with the picture of a sitting room on the cover.  “Mission accomplished,” she sighs, giving it a little wave.  

Like its owner, the inside of the store is completely agreeable, with furniture pieces arranged in tidy vignettes throughout.  Soft instrumental music plays from somewhere overhead to help create a tranquil ambience that Killian supposes must put customers in the mood to buy beds and sofas and other creature comforts.  It strikes him as a terribly dull vocation, working in a place like this, but he supposes that regardless of his thoughts on the matter, if Emma really wants someone who embodies the quiet, stable life, she’s hit the nail on the head with Oscar Walsh.

“Emma!”

They look up to see the man himself coming toward them and grinning ear to ear.  Emma smiles and holds the book out to him, her eyes widening a bit with surprise when he pulls her close and steals a quick kiss.

Walsh beams.  “You’re a life-saver.”

Killian glances away, trying to ignore the way his gut twists at the sight of Emma kissing her boyfriend and inwardly snorting at the idea that this bloody amazing woman who spent her morning capturing a dangerous criminal instead finds praise for her ability to retrieve a furniture catalog.  

Emma chuffs.  “It’s nothing,” she says, handing over the car keys.

Walsh glances over at Killian and does a double-take, his mouth falling open and his eyes lingering on the hook.  “Wow. That’s quite the, um…” he gestures up and down, “outfit.”  

Killian straightens and cocks his head back, hand on his belt while he considers whether to take offense.  His thoughts are interrupted by a female voice that comes from behind him.

“Ozzie?  There’s a call for you from the warehouse.  They need clarification on tomorrow’s shipment.”

Killian and Emma turn to see a pretty woman with blonde hair pinned elegantly atop her head and a sweet smile gracefully threading a path through a cluster of settees as she hastens toward them in a sleek white dress.  Killian blinks.  Though she carries herself with a very different air – demure and understated where Emma is straightforward and biting – the physical resemblance between the two women is striking.

Walsh flashes the woman a warm smile.  “Okay.” He looks between the woman and Emma and gives a small start, as if remembering his manners.  “Oh, Linda, this is Emma.  Emma, this is Linda, my assistant manager.”

Linda’s dark blue eyes light with recognition.  “Oh, you’re Emma!”  She shifts the clipboard she carries to her left hand and reaches forward to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Emma returns her smile, looking slightly embarrassed.  “You too.”

“I’ve got to take this,” Walsh says apologetically, giving Emma’s shoulder a quick squeeze as he heads off.  “Back in a sec.”

Linda turns her attention to Killian, sizing him up with great interest.  “Hi.”

He grins back. “Hello, lass.”

Emma clears her throat. “This is Killian,” she says hastily. “He’s a friend.”

“On your way to a Halloween party?”  Linda studies his black leather enthusiastically.  “You make an amazing pirate.”

Killian executes a courtly bow at the waist.  “Why thank you,” he chuckles, meeting Emma’s slightly strained expression with a wink. “I do try.”

Linda turns to Emma. “I hear Ozzie talked you into the costume ball tomorrow.”

Killian’s ears perk up, and he tilts his head, one eyebrow inching upward as Emma buries her hands into her back pockets and gives a polite little laugh.  

“Uh, yeah.”

“Are you going?” Linda asks Killian.

“I must admit this is the first I’ve heard of it, lass,” he says modestly.

She hugs her clipboard to her chest.  “Oh, it’s really lovely.  It’s the Storybook Costume Ball down at the Woolworth Building.  All the proceeds go to a charity that buys books for hospitalized kids,” she gushes.  “Do you dance?”

Killian chuckles modestly and scratches the back of his head.  “On rare occasion.”  He shrugs lightly at Emma in response to the way she narrows one eye at him in surprise.

“Would you care to go with me?”  Linda’s eyebrows angle upward.  “I mean, not to be forward or anything.  Just as dance partners.  I was supposed to go with a friend, but he’s come down with the flu and can’t now, and I’ve been looking forward to it all year, and you,” she waves her hand in his direction appreciatively, “you’ve already got the perfect costume and everything.”

Killian hesitates. The thought of spending an evening watching Emma and Walsh arm-in-arm at a ball makes his insides churn, but Linda’s lovely face begins to falter at his lack of an immediate answer, and he finds he hasn’t the heart to say no.  Liam always did tease him about having a soft spot for damsels in distress.  He gives her a reassuring nod and a gentlemanly smile. “I would be happy to.”

Her face brightens immediately.  “Really? Oh that’s wonderful!”  She turns to Emma.  “Perhaps the four of us could go together.”

“Uh…”  The grin on Emma’s face is at odds with the tension Killian sees in her shoulders.  “Sure.”

Walsh returns, striding up to Emma’s side and wrapping an arm around her waist.  “Sorry about that,” he says breathlessly.  “What’d I miss?”

“Killian’s agreed to stand in as my date for the ball,” Linda reports excitedly.  “And we were thinking perhaps the four of us could ride together.”

“Oh!”  Walsh’s expression is momentarily unreadable. “Um, that’d be fine, honey, right?” He glances at Killian before gazing down at Emma.

“Yeah.”  Emma flashes her boyfriend a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes but which seems to placate him nonetheless.  “Sounds good.”

*                             *                             *

The car doors slam in quick succession as Emma and Killian settle themselves back in the Bug, and she heaves a small sigh, inserting the key into the ignition and turning over the engine.

“Swan?”  Killian eyes her from the passenger seat.  “Are you alright?”

She preoccupies herself with backing the Bug out of the space, craning her head over her shoulder. “Sure.  Fine,” she replies brusquely.

A line appears across his forehead.  “Should I not have said yes?” he asks, peering at her curiously.  “Do you not want me to attend?”

“No!  No.”  She shakes her head, desperately wishing the brew of unidentified emotions roiling inside her would disappear so she would know she was telling the truth.  She makes a show of checking her surroundings while putting the Bug through a three-point turn, twisting in her seat to avoid the intensity of his gaze.  “It’s fine. It was nice of you to agree to go with her.”  

She can see him nod slowly in the corner of her eye as she pulls up to the street and checks for oncoming traffic.  

“Do you not want to go?” he guesses.

“I…” she merges on to the street and points them toward home, “I just don’t understand the big deal with these things,” she says.  It feels like a safe confession.  “I mean, I know it’s supposed to be fun and romantic and whatever, but it’s just a night out in a poofy, ridiculous dress and shoes that are going to kill my feet while I try not to step on Walsh’s toes.”

Killian chuckles as she slows to a stop at a red light.  “That’s one way of looking at it,” he concedes.  “Why agree to it in the first place then?”

Emma tips her head back a bit against her headrest and sighs.  “Walsh thought it sounded like fun, and I felt guilty about saying no,” she explains wearily, giving him a rueful sideways glance.  “He shouldn’t have to miss out just because I’m not into romance.”

Killian hums, and she tries to ignore the slight tingle the sound sends down her spine.  “Or maybe you just haven’t figured out what you find romantic,” he muses.  “Romance isn’t about fancy balls and pretty gowns, Swan.”

Her brow wrinkles as she shoots him a dubious look.  “First the true love thing, and now you’re schooling me on romance?” she observes wryly.

He shrugs, dimples showing.

The light turns green, and she focuses back on the road, lip between her teeth.  “Fine,” she says at last, the word wrenching free from her. “I’ll bite.  What’s it about?” 

She hears him take a deep breath.  “I think,” he says slowly, “it’s about feeling special.”  His tone turns almost shy.  “It’s about letting someone convince you that your happiness matters.”

Emma tries to tamp down the warm flush that blooms in her cheeks while his words sink in.  “That’s all?”

“That can be everything,” he murmurs.  He shifts a little in his seat and clears his throat, his tone normalizing.  “Don’t aspire to be like every other woman in the room, Swan.  The things that make you different,” he says, turning his head away to stare out the passenger window, “are the things that make you exceptional.”

Emma glances over at him with wide eyes and looks back at the road ahead of her, glad that he doesn’t see how she swallows her heart back down and hastily blinks away her reaction to his sentiment.

Henry is camped out on the sofa playing video games when they arrive home.  He perks up at the sound of the door and whips his head around, Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader freezing mid-battle on the TV.  “Hi!  Where’d you go?”

“To catch a villain, lad,” Killian calls cheerfully, following Emma over the threshold and pressing the door shut behind them.  He holds his hook aloft to her.  “Shall I take this downstairs?”

She pauses as she shrugs out of her jacket, her gaze flitting between the steel and his face. There’s almost no contemplation before she rolls her eyes. “No, I guess it’s fine.”  She finishes tugging her arm out of the sleeve and thrusts her jacket over a coat hook, trying to ignore the way a genuine smile brightens his face.  Emma hastily dips her head and hides the tiny grin tugging at her lips behind the veil of her hair as she leans forward to draw her gun from her waistband and goes to secure it in the safe.  “Just try not to scratch the furniture, okay?”

“Did you get the bad guy?” Henry asks eagerly.

“Indeed we did.”  Killian comes over and settles himself on the sofa with a satisfied sigh.  He gestures toward the frozen image on the flat screen.  “What are you doing?”

Henry unpauses the game and resumes his fight to the death.  “Getting the bad guy,” he smirks.

Killian stares, fascinated by the animated carnage as the two characters on screen slash and parry with their brightly colored weapons.

“It’s a game,” Henry elaborates, his eyes fixed and hands jerking the controller back and forth.

Killian arches an eyebrow and as he watches Henry’s fingers unleash an onslaught on the little plastic buttons.  “You call this swordplay?” he asks, nodding toward the controller.

“Not swords.  Light sabers,” Henry corrects.  “But basically the same thing.”

Killian shakes his head, bemused.  “You do realize real sword fighting requires actual skills, don’t you?”

Emma swings the picture back over the safe and turns to see Henry finally triumph over the Dark Side with a little whoop.  He sets the controller next to him and turns to Killian.  “Hey, it took me two weeks to beat that level,” he points out with a sniff.  “Trust me, there were serious skills involved.”  He ignores Killian’s snort and cranes his neck toward Emma.  “Can we go now?”

Furrows crease Emma’s forehead.  “Go where?”

“Uh, pizza at Marco’s? It’s Friday?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows and clearly indulging her lapse in memory.

“Oh.” Emma feels sheepish at having completely forgotten.  “Right.”

Friday nights out at the neighborhood pizzeria have become a thing for them over the last year, a kind of mother-son date night.  Henry loves the chance to stuff himself with a quality Brooklyn pie and play the “super retro” arcade-style games Marco keeps in the back, and Emma likes the idea of carving out some time each week to make sure she’s staying in tune with her kid as he plunges headfirst into adolescence.

Henry saves his game, switches off the TV, and hops up from the sofa.  “Great.  Come on, Killian.”

Killian straightens in his seat and throws a questioning look first at Henry and then at Emma.

Emma briefly considers the alternatives – canceling Friday pizza or leaving a hungry Killian to his own devices in her kitchen – before sighing and consenting with a weak smile and a tip of her head toward the door.  “Wanna go?”

He beams and climbs to his feet.  “Indeed. I go where you lead, Swan,” he says amiably, his smile growing brighter when she colors a little.  “Just one thing.  What’s pizza?”

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