He’s watching her, looking for her tells. He knows her better than anyone else in the entire world, he knows every sharp edge in her shattered heart, and knows just how each crack appeared.

“It’s not your fault. You know that, right?”

It is though. It’s entirely her fault and hers alone. After David left, she was adrift at the 35th, so when August asked her to come back home to the 56th, she jumped at the chance to go back to something familiar, hoping it might ground her again. August had been partnered up with Arthur, but at least she was able to get her desk back. And her new partner wasn’t unfamiliar. Annie, while still chatty, had matured enough to know when to stop talking.

Truth be told, they made a good team, and while they weren’t friends outside of work, there was a level of respect between them. A trust they shared, one that Emma betrayed. Not on purpose of course, but the fault rested at her feet none the less.

Emma never should have been there. She shouldn’t have come back to the force so soon after everything, she wasn’t ready. She can admit that now, but at the time she just needed to prove herself, to prove to herself that she was stronger than everyone gave her credit for. And it got Annie hurt. All it took was one panic attack, one quick glance at a man that looked a little like Jefferson to completely immobilize her.

She can still hear Annie trying to call her name, trying to reach her, but she snapped out of it too late. She’ll never forgive herself for that. Her partner could have been killed instead of just being concussed. She’s been pulling duty as an amory clerk for the last 9 months, unable to face anything more than that.

And perhaps that’s the real reason she’s contemplating taking David up on his offer. Storybrooke, Maine is a small town, where the most violent crime includes noise complaints and overdue library fines. Nothing ever happens there, and Nolan probably doesn’t even really need a deputy, but the budget allows for one anyway, and she’s pretty sure David knows how much she’s still struggling. He’d been there too, right beside her in that room, staring down death.

“You should come with me next weekend, see it for yourself.”

He gives her a noncommittal hum as he shovels in the last bite of his breakfast. They have a training today that neither of them is looking forward to, and she knows it’s best not to push him right now. He’ll either come around to the idea or he won’t, but until she’s sure, there’s no point in trying to convince him just yet.

The sexual harrasment training passes by without any fanfare. The whole unit has to sit through it annually to make sure they meet compliance. It used to be fun, back when she had to roll play with a certain fellow detective, some of his innuendos causing her to blush before the instructor would jump in to reprimand them for not taking the class seriously. A lot more things used to be fun before Killian left, and perhaps that’s the biggest reason she’s looking to escape Boston. His ghost is everywhere, and try as hard as she might not to think about him, sometimes she swears he’s still there. Just one of those raise-the-hair-on-the-back-of-your-neck feelings. Most days she succeeds in not thinking of him, and if she does, she pushes those thoughts way back into the recesses of her mind where hope long went to die. Sometimes she wonders if it was like this for him, sitting in Liam’s old chair. She pushes those thoughts away too.

But today, sitting in Archie’s office, everything hits her like a tidal wave. She’s fine, really she is, but from the moment she walks into the office, there was a scent she just can’t quite place. Hopper even calls her out once or twice for not listening to him, but it’s just so vaguely familiar, a forgotten word on the tip of her tongue that she just can’t get out. And then it really hits her, halfway through their session. It’s the scent of fresh sea air and sandalwood, and while she still can’t quite give voice to why she recognizes it, emotions flood her with the full force of a raging river. Loss, grief, joy. A garbled mix of happiness and bone shattering pain all rolled into one.

They cut her session short.

The weekend comes, and August goes up to Storybrooke with her. He hates it, just as she expects, and he makes snide comments about everything, from the name of the shops to the fact that there’s really only one main street. He tells her over and over how bored she’s going to be. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not the fix she’s looking for, but she doesn’t really know what else to do. They return home Sunday evening, Emma giving David a promise that she’ll give him an answer soon.

A week later, August has changed his toon, and she’s not completely sure why, but August now thinks that Emma moving is a brilliant idea. He tells her that he was being selfish before and that he didn’t want to lose her, his sister, but she can see right through him. It’s a lie, but one she’s thinking about letting herself believe. It’s been a week of soul-searching, a month really, and she still doesn’t have answers as to what she should do.

So she goes. She packs what she can into her yellow bug, leaving the rest behind for her sublet renter, and she moves to Storybrooke. She finds a new rental place surprisingly fast, taking over the downtown loft that David and his wife secured while they househunted. The place isn’t huge, but she doesn’t need much. There’s a little furniture store a few blocks over that delivers a new bed, sofa, and end tables same day for no extra charge, because apparently that’s what they do in small towns. They watch out for their neighbors. She settles into work, not that there’s much to settle into. It’s mostly paperwork with the occasional building inspection to make sure everything is up to code. There’s a small fire station down the street, but it’s run by volunteers so most of the tasks a fire marshal would usually do falls to her and David. She doesn’t mind though. It’s something to do.

She’s been in Storybrooke for a full two months now. It is quiet, and she’ll never admit this to August, but she does get bored some days. She calls Ruby more now than she used to, hoping for gossip and to live through Ruby vicariously. But now her friend is here, visiting for a few days out of curiosity. This small sleepy town doesn’t know what to make of her scarlett lipped guest, and there are more than a few women admonishing their ogleing husbands in hushed tones.

Emma should feel bad, but it’s the most excitement she’s had in two months. They try out some of the Ma and Pa shops, including the antique store with the creepy owner. They get ice cream by the gallon, and on Ruby’s last night in town, they make their way to the Rabbit Hole. It’s been wonderful having her friend there, helping her feel a little more home in her new sleepy hamlet. As hard as she’s tried, Storybrooke just doesn’t feel like home, not that Boston really did in that last year either, but she feels lost most days and it’s just starting to occur to her that maybe it was the people that gave her that feeling, not the place.

Ruby rambles on about some of the cases she’s working on, or moreover about the evidence she’s working with. They talk about nothing and everything, and Emma’s grateful.

It’s another four months before she finally makes it back to Boston for Ruby’s birthday party. She’s sleeping on her friend's couch, but depending on how the night goes, Emma’s already been looking to see which hotels nearby have available beds. As much as she loves her friend, they aren’t close enough from Emma to hear her friend’s moans of carnal delight from ten foot away.

It’s been nice, eating lunch with August, going to the shooting ranch with Lance. He’s got another baby on the way and Emma can’t help but be envious of the way he lights up showing her ultrasound photos. Not that she’s jealous of him having a baby, but she does wish she had someone that cares about her with as much passion as Lance does for his family. She’s tried dating, or tried dates, because the -ing would be misleading. Walsh, she’d tried to give him the benefit of the doubt on their second date after meeting him at the furniture shop, hoping his arrogance had been first date jitters, but she hasn’t been so stupid as to give him a third date.

Luck has never been on her side though, and Emma is thoroughly convinced that she’s meant to die a spinster, living out her days in the creepy old victorian at the edge of Storybrooke, no less that six cats in tow that will be more than eager to devour her body once she’s gone. Less mess that way she supposes.

Boston isn’t much different than she remembers. There is a new Starbucks around the corner from her old apartment, but for the most part everything is the same. She’s made sure to avoid the station though, up until now at least, not sure if her old ghosts are still haunting the halls. But Ruby is running late to her own party after a large haul of evidence came in that morning needing to be tested immediately, which is why Emma now finds herself stepping right into her past.

Hal is still at the front desk, just like always, counting down the days until his retirement can kick in. He gives her a sweet smile and head nod as he allows her through the old turnstyle leading to the elevator.

It’s only been twenty minutes, but she’s already regretting the heels she’s wearing as she luggs Ruby’s garment bag and a full suitcase worth of makeup and hair products with her into the elevator, pushing the button for the basement, but she’s so caught up in her nearly blistered heel that she misses the elevator moving up to the fourth floor. When the doors opened, she sees her old bull pen and it sends a tug to her very core. The desks are all still laid out just the same, the paint gives off the same musty odor, and there’s a very surprised man blocking her at the entrance to the elevator.

“Hey, Sister. What the hell are you doing here?”

Leroy steps forward and pulls her into a tight embrace that nearly forces the air from her lungs. She knows he’s dating someone now, that August has told her Leroy is happier now, but she isn’t prepared for this version of him. The one that asks how she’s doing and actually seems to care. She even lets him help her with Ruby’s makeup bag when someone comes up needing to use the elevator she’s still occupying.

It’s seeing Graham though that really messes with her. He’s walking out of the Captain’s office, and she can’t help but wonder if he got the job. August said the interim was leaving and his replacement had arrived a few months prior, but Graham has always wanted homicide. He even told her so once on a date. So maybe she was dating, with the -ing, but she shoves that thought out of her head.

Humbert had helped her pick herself up off the floor, dusted her off, and tried to make her shiny and new again in the wake of her life coming apart at the seams. But no matter how hard she tried to be alright for him and everyone else, she was too broken to let him in, and now it’s a little awkward, because she’s not sure how to react to him telling her that he’s missed her.

All she can do is blush.

He doesn’t stay.

A few more people come up and pay their respects and to catch up with their old colleague, but none of that matters when the Captain’s door opens again, and he’s standing there. The one that broke her, like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t run away in the middle of the night with absolutely zero explanation.

Every fiber of her body tenses, she’s drowning on air, and wants to fall into a hole, letting the world bury her in its weight.

And then August is there, dragging her into the empty break room.

They fight.

He tells her that she’s better off not getting dragged into Killian’s hold again. He reminds her of every single crack Kilian has left in her heart. Of how he can’t watch her be Killian’s marionette anymore. He lets it slip that Killian had left a message the night he left, and that he deleted it before Emma woke so she could finally move on.

She screams at him that it wasn’t his choice. That she’s an adult and can make her own decisions.

They fight like they’ve never fought before and something shifts, and invisible divid forms between them. An unrepairable bond broken and while everything else is muddled in her mind, she knows that things will never be the same between them.

When he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him, her throat is raw and she knows her face is streaked in mascara. But it doesn’t matter, because she hears someone take a deep breath behind her. She turns, and he’s there, his mouth opens and closes, and she knows that he’s trying to think of what to say.

It’s too late, and she’s too broken, and he made her that way.

So she tells him that he ruined her before leaving him, just as he had left her.

She has just enough anger fueling her to grab Ruby’s stuff and haul it down to the basement, throwing it at her friend.

“You knew. You knew this whole time and you never said anything?”

Ruby doesn’t answer, but Emma sees the guilt in the friend's face, and that is all she needs.

Boston is bigger than she remembers. She walks for the better part of an hour, breaking the stilettos off her heels so they turn into rocking shoes instead before finding herself on a park bench in Boston Commons. She watches people, couples holding hands on a romantic night time stroll, already drunk college kids getting a head start on the weekend, fitness fanatics on their daily runs. A few look at her with concern, but no one tries to talk to her, and she should be grateful for that.

She’s not though. It’s just one more reminder of how alone she is in this world. Almost eight billion people on the planet, and not a single one of them is meant for her.

She wants tequila, or a pint of rocky road. But what she needs is to talk.

So her feet carry her to an old brownstone with a red door. She’s knocked on it four times now. Once on the night Killian told her to leave his hospital room, and again when he left her with no word of explanation, or what she now knows was a message she’ll never get to hear. She also knocked on it the night she almost got Annie killed, and the last time was to thank him for everything before she left for Storybrooke.

She almost talks herself out of knocking, nearly does but then the door opens taking away her choice with it, and if she needed to talk before, she really does now, as she stands face to face with Killian Jones leaving Archie Hopper’s house. There’s something in the look he gives her, she’s seen it before, but he just gives her a short ‘Swan’ before stepping past her, leaving her with more questions.

If Archie is surprised to see her, he doesn’t let on. He just grabs a fresh tumbler from a shelf  in the corner of his living room and places it down, pouring from a bottle of rum already open on the coffee table.

There’s a long silence, Archie aware of the pain flowing through her veins. He lets her lead, waiting until she’s ready to talk. And when she finally does, she lets the flood gates open, allowing all of it to come out. Even the little things that she’s kept back from everyone. Memories and feelings she’s guarded just for herself, not wanting them to be tainted. Her life in foster care, turning herself around after Neal, the Killian rollercoaster. How she felt like she was right back there, a nine year old girl, being thrown away like garbage by all of her foster families when he disappeared.

And the last piece of her finally falls, and she’s bare for the first time ever, but Archie tells her that maybe it’s a good thing. That sometimes, you have to knock down the old abandoned building, sweeping away the rubble in order to build something new. Something stronger.

And maybe he’s right. She’s been holding onto the pain and the hurt and disappointment her entire life, and it’s never gotten her anywhere. She thinks she might be ready too by the time they finish. She’s still got some sweeping up to do before she can lay the foundation, but the idea of it leaves her feeling hopeful.

The air is crisp as she opens the door, and she nearly stumbles on the stairs leading away from Archie’s house, not prepared for there to be a man sitting on the bottom steep.

“Have you been here the whole time?”

“Aye.”

She’s not quite sure what to do. Does she take what’s left of her dignity and head back to Ruby’s place, or do they talk?

Do they speak?

He answers that question for her. But she tells him not there. Not in front of Archie’s house. She let Hopper see her, but she’s not ready to emotionally expose herself to all of the city walking by.

He suggests his place, that it’s not far away, and she agrees. They walk mostly in silence, making idle small talk here and there. He gives her his jacket, and she thanks him, but they save anything more intimate for the privacy of his place.

He’s in the same building, but he has to stop her as she turns left at the staircase landing to where she used to visit him. He’s moved. It’s a new unit in the back of the building, overlooking the water.

There’s a strain between them, neither knowing who should speak first, or what they should say. There’s so much hanging over both of them, and she’s not even sure what she wants to come from their conversation. Does she want him to apologize, or to just explain what happened so she can have closure and move on? Does she want him to want her back? Would she even be able to take him back?

She’s getting ahead of herself. There’s no point in asking herself so many questions when neither of them can even manage to form a word at this point. He does speak eventually, offering her a cup of coffee. She nods before asking him if there’s a place she can freshen up. She can feel the makeup weighing her face down, and if the looks in the park were any indication, she knows she probably looks frightful.

He tells her there’s a bathroom just though his room, pointing down a small hallway, to the second door on the left. She leaves him to fiddle with her coffee grinder.

She’s right, although ‘mess’ may have been an understatement. Her cheeks are covered in black, her lipstick is smeared, and her face is blotchy. She’s not sure how Archie managed to hold such a meaningful conversation with her looking like she did.

She turns on water as hot as she can get it and grabs a washcloth from its place on the counter. The mascara is stubborn, annoyingly so given how easily it ran down with her tears, and finally she finds some soap in Killians shower, squirting out just enough to wash her face when the scent hits her. Sandalwood and salt. His scent, the one she used to be so familiar with, was also the one she couldn’t place from Archie’s office before she left, which meant he was in Boston already all those months ago.

She washes her face, scrubbing hard in her frustrations. She may not have had the words when they first arrived, but she has them now. She’s ready to scream actually, but as she leaves the bathroom, she bumps into his dresser, knocking over a picture frame, and while she shouldn’t care, she’s not here for destruction of property.

She’s never seen the frame before, which shouldn’t surprise her, but the photo inside has her taken aback. She forgot it even existed. Her fingers glide over their faces squished together in his bed. Drunk from one too many jagerbombs, back when their livers were still young enough to recover.

“It was easier back then wasn’t it.”

She jumped a little, almost knocking the frame over again.

“How- how do you even have this?”

They’d partied until the bars had closed the night Emma Swan got her promotion letter. After getting kicked out, they all went back to Ruby’s and drank more, until they both felt the room spinning. Realizing it might have been time to call it a night, they called the only cab still taking fares at such an hour and went back to his place.

It was something they’d done so many times, spending the night at each other's place, often sharing a bed because neither of them felt right leaving the other to sleep on the couch. But that night, they’d been so happy, and as they climbed into bed, they’d sought eachother out, letting their lips say everything neither one of them had ever had the courage to do. But Killian stopped it, something about good form, and the last thing they did before falling asleep was to pull out Killian’s phone and take a picture of them together.

The next morning, they didn’t talk about it, and went back to whatever version of normal they’d been holding onto.

“It’s one of my favorite memories of us. I was so proud of you for making Detective on your first try.”

That look is back, and she’s still not sure what to make of it. It’s guilt and self loathing and while in the past she would have told him to snap out of it, now she thinks that maybe it’s deserved.

“I miss it. The way we used to be before- before I mucked it all up.”

And there it was. The admission she’d waited so long for.

“What happened? What did I do to make you hate me?”

She’d asked him that once before, the night she asked for her transfer to a new precinct. He didn’t give her an answer then, but she needs to know, and she’s not leaving until she gets it.

And he does. He tells her everything. How he’d been in love with her, possibly since the night they met, about how terrified he was when he went undercover that he’d never see her again, or get to tell her how he felt. The guilt over how Liam died because they were fighting over her, and the way he absolutely hated himself and didn’t know how to handle it so he wrongly took it out on her.

How the night Jefferson almost killed her might have even been worse than when Liam was killed, and that he knew she deserved better than him. She asks him about the message he left that night, if it was him telling her goodbye. She sees him clinch his jaw when she explains how August erased it before she heard it, but he does his best to stay calm.

He tells her that despite knowing how much better she deserved than him, that he still wasn’t strong enough to let her go, so instead he decided to become a man worthy of her. That he tried to explain that, and that he told her he still loved her, that no matter what happened, she’ll still always be the one.

She kisses him. It’s not like before, there’s a heaviness lingering over them. His confession won’t fix them. It won’t take back all of the pain and resentment, but hopefully time will. It doesn’t go further than that kiss. Not that night, or the next.

They start back at the beginning, to get to know these new versions of each other. They talk long distance, and they visit each other every few weeks. They do their best to grow back together. Killian is still seeing Archie, still trying to rebuild his own foundations, but in time, they’ll both be ready to build something better and stronger together.

And they do.

This was supposed to be relaxing even if it was going to be spent watching David and Mary Margaret be overly affectionate with each other, and now she has to deal with Killian for an entire weekend.

That’s two days and twelve hours too long if she includes today…which she definitely is.  

They’ve been in the truck for a little over three hours, which means they should be at the lodge soon, and Emma’s trying to focus on the scenery outside. It’s gorgeous, much more rural than what she’s used to living in the central part of Boston, and from what she’s heard of the lodge and the trails surrounding it, it’s only supposed to get better.

This is good. This can be a good weekend. Maybe she can go off on her own for most of it, and she won’t have to be with Killian or the lovebirds. They’ll be too busy getting lost in each other’s eyes, and he’ll be too busy flirting with every woman around. There’s definitely got to be opportunity for her to go off on her own.

If not, she might fling herself into a pile of leaves and never emerge for air.

And she’ll definitely blame it on Ruby for not telling Emma about her last-minute cancellation.

When they do eventually arrive at the lodge – after thirty minutes of Killian complaining about one of his coworkers – it turns out to look more like a small castle than anything else. It’s made of gray stone and covered in ivy and weeds while still being maintained. There’s a round fountain in front of the entryway, and behind the building, Emma can see the path that leads down to the lake and the hills that are full of trees behind it. Every tree is a different shade of red, orange, green, and yellow, and Emma has never wanted to take a picture of nature so much in her life. She’s about to live out the life of one of those girls on Instagram who only do things for the aesthetics, and for a weekend, she can’t say she minds.

What she does mind, however, is that when David hands her the key to her room, he hands Killian a key to the same room.

The same room as in her room.

Her. Room.

Hers.  

“No.”

“Why are you saying no?” David asks, tilting his head in question.

“No, as in no I will not share a room. I thought I was getting my own room.”

“It’s a couple’s weekend, Emma, and I bet you would have been fine sharing a room with Ruby.”

“Yeah, because Ruby’s…”

“Ruby’s not me,” Killian interjects, wrapping his arm around Emma’s shoulder. She tries to shrug it off, but it doesn’t move anywhere. It’s deadweight up there, and Killian has unfortunately turned so he can’t see her death stare. Not that it would have any effect on him. “You see, Dave, it’s just that Emma is wildly attracted to me, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to contain herself knowing I’m only a few feet away from her, especially when she discovers I sleep in the nude.”

“Oh my God.” Emma moves from underneath Killian’s arm, her strength coming back to her, and moves toward her – their, ugh – door. She turns the key, which is for some reason the old fashioned kind and not a card. “Please stop talking, Jones. I am not wildly attracted to you, and I can handle sharing a room. I’m not a child.”

“See, I knew the lass could do it.”

He winks at her and does this ridiculous eyebrow thing at David, and Emma is seriously considering paying thousands of dollars (she googled this place when they walked inside, and it is not cheap) for her own room.

“We’ll meet you guys in the lobby in thirty minutes, okay? We’re going on a tour of the grounds with our guide and then dinner, so dress for both.”

“When is the hike?” Emma asks, lingering in the doorway.

“Not until tomorrow. I’ll get Mary Margaret to send you the itinerary.”

“She already has. I just haven’t looked at it.”

“I’m not telling her that,” David laughs. “See you soon.”

Emma waves, smiling at David, and turns into the room, dragging her luggage behind her. It doesn’t take long before she’s stopped in her tracks, her sneakers snagging in the carpet, as Killian runs into her back.

“Bloody hell, why’d you stop like that?”

She opens her arm to the bed – singular – in front of them, which would look cozy and soft and all of the good things if she had it all to herself. “If you didn’t bring clothes to sleep in, you’re sleeping in your fucking jeans,” she mumbles before turning toward the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

This is fine.

This is all fine. Emma has been through a hell of a lot worse, and maybe Killian won’t be an ass. Maybe he’ll be the gentleman he always claims to be.

She’s never believed him for a second when he’s said shit like that.

Emma changes out of her leggings and sweatshirt into a pair of jeans and a thick sweater, grabbing her red plaid jacket and a beanie and placing them to the side for when she leaves. She puts on some mascara, a swipe of lipstick, and brushes out her hair. This is as good as it’s going to get, and she doesn’t mind that. Mary Margaret will tell her that tomorrow or whenever they go to the nice dinner that she’ll have to dress up, and Emma is giving herself a break on the makeup until then.

She had to pile it on every night this week for work, and her skin is screaming for a break.

Killian knocks on the door, telling her to hurry up because he has to get ready too, so she takes five extra minutes…out of spite…because she knows it’s just petty enough for it to rub him the wrong way. She doesn’t feel bad about it either. Killian would do the same damn thing.

“You look nice,” Killian tells her when she opens the bathroom door and he’s standing on the wall opposite the bathroom, leg propped up and arms crossed over his chest. His eyes trail up and down her body, and Emma moves out of the doorway. A shiver runs down her spine, but she ignores it.

Definitely, definitely ignores it.

It’s cold up in Vermont, even colder than in Boston, and these old walls aren’t helping.

Killian takes approximately two minutes to get ready, all of which is probably spent getting into ridiculously tight jeans, and then they’re begrudgingly walking to the lobby where David and Mary Margaret are waiting for them already talking to the guide, a peppy woman named Anna who is like the redheaded version of Mary Margaret when Mary Margaret is in one of her “everything is a fairytale” moods.  

Anna takes them throughout the property, giving them the history of the place while offering up different amenities that are not included with the package they won but still accessible if they’re willing to pay. There’s a spa, a gym, three different hiking trails, an option to take row boats out on the lake if the weather is nice, and there are two different restaurants on the property. They also offer drivers to several places around town, including the grocery store and the farm they’ll be visiting tomorrow after their hike, and Emma is sure several other things are said. She zones out about halfway through, distracted by the view of the trees and how they’re reflected on the lake. Everything is in an orange glow right now, one that brings comfort to Emma.

She’s always liked sunsets. It’s cheesy and she’d never admit it out loud, but she likes the predictability of them. They don’t always look the same, but they happen every day, even if she can’t see it. She likes that, having that constant. It’s not something she has a lot of, constants that is, and she takes every one she can get.

Maybe this weekend won’t be so bad.

If she says that enough, she just might believe it.

-/-

Dinner is nice.

The food is good, the wine surprisingly good since she was pretty sure it was going to be some funky homemade stuff, and even more surprisingly, the company is great.

When she thinks that, she wonders if the alcohol content in the wine was higher than the server said it was.

All the good thoughts about Killian go away, however, when they’re back in their (still so awful to have to think) hotel room, and Emma is awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing lotion on her arms. Killian, thank goodness, is in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt, so he’s not even going to attempt to sleep naked.

She was 100% sure that he would try, and she’s honestly kind of sad she won’t get a chance to slap him.

On the cheek.

On his face.

She doesn’t want to slap him anywhere else.

Okay, that wine’s alcohol content was definitely higher than it should have been.

Killian plops down on the bed, the mattress shaking beneath him, and tugs the covers over him. His movements jostle her, and she grits her teeth as she finishes moisturizing. He turns on the TV, puts it on some show she has never heard of, and Emma tries to keep calm. She’s tired. She’s going to fall asleep quickly, and the TV won’t bother her. She falls asleep every night with the TV on, so this is nothing new.

Emma turns down the corner of the bed on her side and slides underneath before flipping the switch for the light. The room darkens except for the TV and the glow of the alarm clock, and Emma closes her eyes. They’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, and she doesn’t want to be walking around wishing she had an IV of coffee to keep her awake.

Slowly, sleep comes for her, tugging at the corners of her eyes, and just as she’s about to succumb to it, the comforter is tugged off of her, leaving her foot exposed to the cold air of the room.

What the hell?

Emma tugs it back, shifting her leg to have it covered, and for a moment, she’s warm. Warm and cozy and not even the too loud laugh track on the TV is disturbing her.

The fact that Killian pulls away the comforter again is, however, disturbing her.

Actually, it really freaking annoys her, so she pulls it back. Hard this time, and Killian grunts in response and rolls over. she feels his foot brush against her calf, and she kicks out, moving him back to his side. It’s only a queen-sized bed, so there’s not a lot of room for them to stay separate. She’s about three seconds away from finding pillows or their suitcases and putting them in between the two of them so he stops encroaching on her space.

And taking her comforter.

Because it’s definitely hers. Just like this room was supposed to be.

Killian wasn’t even supposed to be on this trip. It was supposed to be Ruby, who definitely would have stayed on her side of the bed. Better yet, she probably would have met someone and would be staying with them, and Emma would have this entire bed to herself.

It’s so comfortable that it’s a shame she has to share it. She’s not used to that anymore, and she likes to stretch out.

The comforter moves again, and Emma grips onto it, holding it where she is and tucking it underneath her ass to keep it as steady as possible. At this point, he has to be doing it to annoy her, and Emma is not going to lose this battle.

She’ll stay up all night if she has to.

“You know, Swan,” Killian mumbles, “normally I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back than fight over the covers.”

Emma groans and rolls over on her stomach, pointedly kicking out at him. “Shut up, Jones.”

“If that’s what the lady wishes.”

Emma mutters into her pillow, and for a few minutes, as the blanket stealing calms down and the TV quiets, Emma wonders if she could feasibly fake some sleeping disorder that has her punching Killian in the face all night.

She can be a pretty good actress sometimes. She could probably pull it off.

She doesn’t do that, though, because she eventually falls asleep, one foot sticking out into the cold air.

Damn you, Jones.

-/-

There’s a warm body nears hers.

That’s the first thought Emma has when she wakes up – after thinking of how annoying her alarm sound is. The body warm and solid and a little hairy, and it takes her two seconds to remember where she is and who she’s sharing a bed with. She knew she should have slept on the floor last night because in no world does she want to have her leg pressing up against Killian’s leg and her ass…

“Oh my God,” she murmurs, eyes blowing wide as she turns and moves her body as much as she can. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my Goooooooood.”

“What are you yelling about?” Killian groans, shifting behind her, which only makes it worse.

“I’m not yelling,” Emma hisses. She pushes away and sits up, and there’s no need to even adjust the comforter because none of it is on her. “What are you doing near me?”

He raises his brow, wrinkles on his forehead popping up. Getting a look at him now, she knows the ruffled look he sometimes does with his hair is natural, and for some reason, that really freaking annoys her.

“I was sleeping until you decided to have a conniption.”

“Yeah, well that’s because your dick…oh shit.”

Emma wasn’t going to say that. She really wasn’t, and from the way Killian’s brow is arching higher, she knows that she’s messed up. She’s given him the perfect set up for all of his innuendos, and knowing him, she’s never going to be allowed to live this down.

What a great start to her morning.

“Usually that’s not the reaction, but I understand your shock, love. You weren’t prepared, and it’s, well, a lot to take in.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” She takes the pillow from behind her and smacks him with it as he laughs. He’s getting far too much enjoyment out of this, and she’s wondering how long she would be in jail if she smothered him. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Make it cold and bracing. I think you might need it.”

“Yeah, I’m not the one with morning wood, but you keep thinking that.” She gets off the mattress and reaches down for her bag. Killian may have unpacked his stuff, but she didn’t bother to do that, even if it means everything is wrinkled. “Please don’t take care of it while I’m showering. That’s just…we have to share the bed, Jones, and I’ve worked in hotels before. I know they don’t always change the sheets.”

He mock salutes, the cheekiest grin on his face, and this is really going to be a long day.

-/-

It’s a long day.

Before she can even get coffee in her, she’s dragged out to the hiking trail. The sun hasn’t fully risen, and they’re supposed to be watching the sunrise and how it matches up with all the changing trees. It’s beautiful. She knows it is, and she does manage to take some pictures that she’s sure capture about half of the beauty. The thing is that despite her best efforts, she didn’t sleep well, and she’s only running on adrenaline and annoyance.

Mostly at Killian.

He’s been staring at her all morning, a joke on the tip of his tongue about their morning, and he’s started to make them several times before Emma shoots him a look or elbows him in the stomach. Mary Margaret has given Emma several funny looks, and if she wasn’t so wrapped up in David and the romance of the changing leaves and the sunrise, she’d probably ask about it.

Mary Margaret is not one for subtlety or staying out of someone else’s business.

David guides them over the trail, which is somehow all uphill despite no discernible incline, and eventually the come to a perch with a few of the lake and the lodge, miles of trees surrounding it. Emma doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything quite like it, and now she can truly see why so many people travel here just to stare at some trees.

“It’s something isn’t it, Swan?” Killian asks as he walks up behind her, the heat of his body making the chill of the air fade for a moment.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“I didn’t think looking at trees would be your thing. I don’t take you as much of a nature person.”

Emma turns to face him and crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t know me well enough to know if I’m a nature person or not.”

He steps closer, invading her space like he always does, and maybe she’s a bit of a liar when she says he doesn’t know her. “Just who are you then, Swan?”

Emma cocks her head and straightens her back, not letting him overwhelm her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He smiles and nods, lashes fluttering until his eyes are hooded. “Perhaps I would.”

“We better get moving if we want to make it to the apple orchard on time,” David tells them, making Emma jump away from Killian and smooth down her flannel over her stomach. “You okay? You look flushed.”

“Just the walk,” Emma lies. “I’m sure that’s all.”

-/-

“I will throw this apple at your head.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Emma groans, audibly, and plucks another apple from the tree and puts it in her basket. It’s getting a little heavy, and not in a million years could she eat all these apples before they spoil. They’re not for her, though. They’re for the farm and its cider and pies and tarts and all the other apple goods they make. She must admit that it’s a brilliant business plan, having people pick the apples for you and then make them pay for it and the food and drinks.

She can’t believe people actually pay to do this. The hike, she gets, foraging for your own food, not so much.

Emma picks an apple out of her basket, one that kind of looks gross and a little squished, and she tosses it at the back of Killian’s head. It hits, just barely, and she stops as he reaches up to touch his hair.

“What is wrong with you?” he hisses, turning around to glare at her.

“You’re the one who has spent the last ten minutes being invasive to my personal life, so what’s wrong with you?”

“Asking if you were still seeing Graham Humbert is not invasive.”

“It is definitely invasive.”

Killian’s shoulders shrug, and he steps closer to her. Really close, actually. He does this obnoxious thing where he’s always encroaching on her space when he speaks, swaying closer and dipping his head down until their eyes are level. He’s doing that now, obnoxious, downright cocky grin gracing his lips, and Emma backs away, dodging some low-hanging apples, until her back is against the tree and she’s putting her basket on the ground. She really hopes there aren’t ants crawling all over her, but at this point, she’s too distracted to care.

For every inch that she moved, Killian matched her. And now, he’s more in her space than ever, the heat of his body warming her more than her jacket. How is he that damn hot?

Only in the temperature sense…not in the other way. She is obviously still a little tipsy from the wine last night that she still maintains had a higher alcohol content than usual.

He chuckles, and his eyes look at her before glancing down at her lips. It’s not even a quick glance. It’s pointed, and Emma knows she was meant to notice it.

“Please,” Emma huffs, “you couldn’t handle it.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

She wants to say something back, some smart, snide remark that will make him frustrated, but she also wants to prove him wrong. Emma doesn’t care what anyone else has to say, and she’s heard all the rumors. Kissing Killian Jones is not going to have an effect on her.

So she grabs the lapels of his coat and pulls him forward until his mouth is on hers and Emma’s head is pressing into the back of the tree. The bark scratching the back of her neck would be uncomfortable if she wasn’t so focused on Killian. He’s not kissing her back, his lips rigid against her, and she’s just about to pull back and give him shit over being a horrible kisser when he moves. His hand comes to her hair, yanking on the strands as he tilts her head the way he wants it, and his prosthetic rests at her waist. Every thought she had about him being stiff was wrong.

She’s never felt anyone move like this.

She’s also had some pretty damn good kisses in her life, but she can’t remember the last time one took her breath away and made heat curl over her skin as soft lips moved over her and slightly rough stubble scratched against her skin, likely leaving her red.

Emma can’t remember the last time she was kissed well, and damn, what a shame that is.

She could get used to that.

But she knows that’s a dangerous thought, and this is a dangerous game she’s playing. If she’s bringing cards to the table to play, she has to be open to the possibility that she can lose her hand.

Emma isn’t open to that right now.

So, she pulls back, just barely though, and tries to catch her breath as Killian does the same. He’s panting, and in any other circumstance, the sound would be like heaven to her, a strong indication of what’s to come next. Not in this one, though, and when Killian moves in, she pulls away.

“That was,” he begins, seemingly trailing off in a search for the words to describe what just happened.

She doesn’t know either, but it doesn’t take her long to figure out what she wants to say.

“A one-time thing,” she finishes, knowing she has to say it as she looks at him and the flush of his cheeks. “I’m going to find David and Mary Margaret. Don’t follow me. Wait five minutes and...” she glances down toward his jeans “…calm down.”

He mockingly bows, same smug smile she’s used to back on his lips. She knows how they feel now, and that feels wrong.

“As you wish, milady.”

-/-

The late afternoon lunch (or is it early dinner considering the time?) is awkward as hell. They’re sitting at a small, supposedly cozy table in the midst of the most romantic patio ever created (think of all the string lights in the world and then double it) with wine and cider in their glasses and good food on the table in front of them.

Emma wants to run away.

She can’t.

It really freaking sucks.

And it doesn’t help that Killian keeps looking at her with these big blue eyes that she doesn’t normally see. He looks earnest almost, and she doesn’t think Killian Jones has been earnest a day in his life.

Then again, how much does she know?

“Oh, this is so romantic,” Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m so glad we won this trip.”

“Does romance include two of your mates sitting at the table with you?” Killian asks. “Dave was playing footsy with me earlier we’re so cramped in here.”

“Was that you?” David hisses, cheeks going red, and Emma starts to laugh. That’s the best thing she’s heard all day.

“Yes, it is romantic even with you and Emma here. And with David somehow mistaking your leg with mine.”

“In my defense, Killian’s calves are only a little bigger than yours, sweetheart.”

“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”

“Flattered, of course,” Killian says. “I have bloody fantastic legs. Ask Swan here. She felt them up last night.”

Emma kicks out her foot at Killian under the table, not one hundred percent sure she’s actually hitting his leg, but then she sees the slight wince. Gotcha.

“So, what are we doing after this?” Emma asks to change the subject. “Another hike? More apple picking? Second dinner?”

Mary Margaret sighs, “a carriage ride back to the hotel, but they’re going to take us the scenic route.”

“Of course they are,” Emma mutters, stabbing her food and stuffing it into her mouth. She’s going to need more wine.

-/-

The carriage ride is worse than the dinner. For one, the horses smell horrible, much worse than the food, and the carriage is somehow smaller than their table. She’s pressed completely up against Killian, their sides aligned, and he has his arm over her shoulder while they share a blanket. She tried to refuse, but it’s gotten really cold. Her nose and her fingers are going to fall off soon, and she’s as zipped up as she can be.

David and Mary Margaret practically make out across from them, and even though Emma knows more about their sex life than she would ever want to know, sitting his close to it as a horse drags them along the road is not something she’s comfortable with.

“Make it stop,” she murmurs into Killian’s shoulder, half to keep her from having to look at David and Mary Margaret but mostly to keep her nose warm.

“I’m afraid we have to ride this one out, love. If you want, we could share our own kiss…again.”

She hits his thigh underneath the blanket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever helps you sleep through the night.”

-/-

She doesn’t sleep through the night.

She’s too aware of her surroundings, of the warm body a few inches from her own.

It’s all too much, even if he didn’t try to steal the covers tonight, and if she wasn’t so damn stubborn, she’d sleep on the floor. She told herself she would do that tonight, but now it feels like admitting defeat.

Emma doesn’t like to admit defeat.

-/-

They go for another hike the next morning, their last morning in Vermont.

Emma sticks next to David the entire time, asking him mundane questions she doesn’t care about just to keep the conversation flowing and to keep Killian from making any jokes she doesn’t want him to make. It works, mostly, and Emma is even able to enjoy herself and the view for a lot of it. Boston can be gorgeous, but she’s going to miss a lot of this.

It’s the picture perfect dream, but Emma knows perfection doesn’t exist. And in pictures, it’s almost always photoshopped.

Doesn’t make it any less stunning as she stares out at it all, and it doesn’t make her want the picture perfect dream any less. The one where she isn’t so scared of getting hurt again and where she lets herself have fun, lets herself feel safe.

Lets her heart in on the decision making with her head.

-/-

Emma sleeps on most of the car ride back to Boston, and when she wakes up, it’s with a sore neck and tired eyes. It’s also in front of her apartment. She thanks the Nolans for the weekend, and very slowly, it dawns on her that Killian is no longer in the car. They must have dropped him off first, and she doesn’t know why, but it stings a bit that she doesn’t get to say goodbye to him as well.

That’s the lack of sleep talking, obviously.

Emma would never miss saying goodbye to Killian because that would mean she was going to miss his presence. She wouldn’t do that, though. Of course not. Because she didn’t have a good time when he was around. He didn’t make her smile at all this weekend.

He never makes her smile at all.

If Emma was using her own superpower to detect lies, there would be a blaring red light over her head with a little bell blaring in her ears.

She is ignoring it in favor of stuffing everything about this weekend in her bag and not looking into it. It was pretty. Nice pictures were taken, good food was had, and nothing else happened.

(Ding, ding, ding.)

-/-

Life returns to normal. She goes to work, goes to the gym, is occasionally dragged out to bars and clubs with her friends on the nights she isn’t working.

(She does finally get that guy from two weeks ago, and the paycheck is worth the struggle.)

Killian is around a lot more than he usually is. He’s in school getting his degree in software engineering on some scholarship he got from his service in the Navy, and he usually bartends at night. That job fizzled out, though, so when they all have pizza night or go out or meet up for lunch, he’s usually there.

Emma finds it odd, but she doesn’t mind.

She doesn’t pay much attention to him because she’s making a conscious effort specifically not to pay attention to him, not until he misses a fantastic opportunity to make an innuendo, and she realizes he hasn’t been making a lot of those lately. They’re there, sure, but not in as high of a quantity as they usually are.

It’s weird, but the weirdest thing about it all is how much she misses them.

Huh.

When did that happen?

When did the flirting stop annoying her and start making her laugh? When did she start liking it?

Liking him?

The thought comes to her without true warning and without permission. It’s wiggled its way out of the deep caverns of her mind and made it to the surface, gasping for air so it can live out in the open. She has a physical reaction to it, her hands coming to cover her mouth as she inhales a deep breath that has everyone looking away from the TV to look at her.

“You alright?” Ruby asks from her spot on David and Mary Margaret’s couch.

“I’m fine,” Emma lies, knowing her friends won’t push her further. They’ve known her long enough to know not to do that too often. “Just need some water.”

She gets up from her chair and walks toward the kitchen, her mind running faster than Usain Bolt, and she tries to focus on pouring herself a glass of water and on the football game that’s on. She doesn’t even really like football, but it’s kind of a fall tradition around here. She just has to go with it.

Everything is fine. This is fine.

This is…this is crazy. It’s even crazier that she can’t tell if her body is experience fear, joy, or some insane mixture of both bottled up with all of the adrenaline it can muster.

“You sure you’re alright, love?” Killian asks as he walks into the kitchen puts his plate in the sink. Of course he followed her in here. He, unlike Ruby, Mary Margaret, and David, has no qualms about bothering her. “You look a bit flushed. You’ve gone red around your cheeks.”

“Fine,” she lies again. “I’m fine.”

If she says that word enough, it’ll be true.

“Are you certain because I – ”

“Why don’t you flirt with me anymore?” she blurts before she can stop herself. She must be going crazy because this is insane. Who has taken over her body, and can she get it back please? Preferably before she does something stupid like kissing him again.

Then again, that wasn’t all stupid. It felt pretty damn good.

Killian arches his brow, his forehead wrinkling, and she knows she’s about to get some dumbass answer. He scratches behind his ear with his prosthetic. “Because if I’m to win your heart Emma, as I’d like to, I’d like to do it in a way that doesn’t piss you off, as much as I do love that. It’s quite entertaining for me, especially when you go red as you are now. It’s a becoming color on you, but I realize my methods of getting your attention were a bit childish.”

Well, okay then. Maybe not a dumbass answer.

This is a weird, weird few minutes.

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been doing the adult equivalent of pulling pigtails on a playground?’

He shrugs. “Aye, I guess.”

Emma, once more, doesn’t know what to do or say, so she lets instinct drive her. She steps forward and places her hand on his shoulder, looking him dead in the eye. They’re ridiculously blue, and it’s just not fair. “Asking me to dinner would have worked much better than that. Food has always been the way to my heart, especially if it’s cheap, greasy, and will make my stomach hurt afterward.”

She leaves the ball in his court (or in his possession on the field since they’re watching football and her sports metaphors should make sense, and she’s 82% sure that’s a correct metaphor), and walks away before being pulled back by her wrist until she’s looking at him again.

Once more, he’s earnest, and she’s still getting used to that.

And those blue eyes. Those too. They don’t have to be all devilish all the time.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me, love?” Killian asks, hopeful, kind smile on his face.

Genuine. He’s genuine, and she feels that little flutter that she hasn’t felt in awhile, not since she kissed him against the apple tree to prove a point to herself that she wouldn’t be affected by kissing him.

Emma really is a bad liar, especially when she’s lying to herself.