A/N- THIS CHAPTER. This was a beast, let me tell you. I have reworked and rewritten this one so many times, and I don't know if I'm 100% good with it, but I literally had to just let go. I think my beta, Mryddinwilt, must have the patience of a saint. I think she must have read through this whole thing at least three times or more trying to help me work out the kinks. BLESS YOU!
Anyway, I know I promised you less angst. Sorry. But there are happy moments in here, I swear. And...what you've all been waiting for...EMMA. So, enjoy.

And as always, thank you SO SO SO SO MUCH for all the reviews and love and everything...seriously, I needed that to get through this. There's some fun stuff coming up in the next chapter and some lovely CS goodness, so stay tuned!

Chapter 6: The Sanctuary

Home after home after home-until that word held no meaning for him. His life dissolved into a torment of movement. He supposed it should have made him happy. Not having any connections was what he had wanted after all. But instead, all he felt was empty.

Three years of his life entrenched in the foster care system turned out to be little different than what it was aboard the ship. While he was technically 'free,' in this realm, Killian was considered too young to have any real say in what his life entailed. The house parents at the group homes looking after him tended to be harassed, lazy, stupid, or sometimes just plain cruel–very few treated him with kindness. More often than not, they treated him much the same as his old Captain and First Mate. The only real difference was now with no one to stop him, he was more prone to fighting back with either his mouth or his fists.

It was only the very small (and dwindling) hope that Liam might come for him that kept him from running away and taking his chances on the streets again. Soon, though, it would be over. Once he reached the age of eighteen, he would no longer be subject to the rules of the foster care system and he would finally be free to make his own path. And it was terrifying.

Killian had no idea what he wanted to do. Having been so long under the command of others, he had never really given thought to what his future might entail.

Except...once.

("Before you know it, you're going to be a man, so I'm just trying to prepare you. Cause then you're going to answer life's big question: What kind of man are you want going to be?" Father asked, the flashes from the storm lighting up the shadows over his face. He was serious, but smiling gently.

It felt like a big question, one he should take very seriously, and Killian frowned, thinking about what kind of answer he should give. But really, the answer had been obvious.

"I want to be just like you." Killian replied.)

There was so much pressure to figure out your whole life when you were young, it felt as if some days, he was slowly being suffocated. No less than ten school counsellors asked him what he wanted to do after high school. While other kids talked of college or careers, Killian didn't consider that to be an option. This realm's emphasis on doing what made you happy was incomprehensible to him. He would consider himself lucky to be able just to survive.

Where he had come from what you became was not usually a matter of choice but a matter of what kind of family you had been born to. Liam and Killian Jones, having no family to speak of, were of the more unfortunate bent. Had they somehow managed to pay off their debt, they would have likely had to chose between apprenticeship in a trade or joining the royal military. Unfortunately, learning a trade was out of their purview, for having spent most of their life at sea they were fit for little else. They had amassed no other skills outside of seafaring (and the standard teaching of reading star charts, counting goods, and how to follow orders), and had no money or family connections to provide them with any better. Not that seafaring was bad, but it didn't allow much in the way of wives or children or time spent in leisurely pursuits. On the other hand, if they had joined the military, they most likely would have been lifelong grunts or footsoldiers. Rising to the officer ranks seemed like an unreachable fantasy.

Yet every time a counsellor would ask him about what he wanted to do, Killian would inevitably say "military," figuring that it seemed to be the most plausible choice. They never seemed to argue it, at least. All he would have to do then was to pretend to be interested in whatever packet of information they offered him, tell them just how keen he was to serve his adopted country (they still all thought he was British by birth), and they would let him go without any further meddling.

Besides, he already had his social worker, Ms. Honey, for that anyway. She was probably the only person in this world or any other who cared about his sorry self, which surprised him, to be honest. She kept trying to place him in a good home, but with his record, none would take him, and he never made any efforts to change their minds. In fact, he had even earned a reputation for being in more fights than any other kid on Ms. Honey's roster.

Though he could see the strain his actions had put onto her sweet, honest face, he long ago forced himself not to care, telling himself that it was her fault for continuing to hold out hope for someone like him. It was that or let the guilt eat away at him until he made himself sick over it. Soon, he'd turn eighteen and age out, then he would no longer be her burden and she could finally be free of him and the messes he had caused. She'd be better off without him.

Just like Liam.

Liam. His absence still cut like a knife, but Killian had started to become used to the sharp, bitter sting. It seemed like fitting punishment for his misdeeds. And though there were some days he wanted to be angry at Liam for abandoning him, most days he just couldn't. How could he when his brother was right to leave him? He had always felt like he was holding his brother back from finding his own happiness, and now, without Killian weighing him down like an anchor, maybe he had a chance to find it.

Killian held out no such hope for himself.

Liam had always warned him that he should watch himself. He had seen the way Killian slid so easily into darkness after their father had left them. The depression, the lashing out, the anger even as a young kid. But back then, it never consumed him like it did now, not with Liam to pull him back from the edge. Not anymore. Somedays, it felt like anger was all he had ever known. Anger at his father for starting the mess that was his life. Anger at the adults who had beat and berate him. Anger at the other kids who had taunted and harassed him. Anger at the universe or fate or whatever for bringing him to this bloody stupid realm and leaving him all alone.

Gods, the anger inside him. Fire. Black, boiling fire and destruction.

But it was when he was being completely, utterly, horribly truthful with himself, that Killian knew who he was most angry at was himself. He had done the thing he had sworn never to had given up trying to find the one person in all the realms that had truly loved him.

When was the last time he actively looked for his brother? Though he still had Officer Taylor's number, he hadn't called him since he lived with the Riveras. Calling would mean he might learn the truth once and for all-either Liam was really gone and never coming back, or he had been looking for Killian all this time and Killian was too much of coward to do the same. So every time he saw that bloody card, his hand shook so much, he would end up shoving the card right back into the back pocket of his duffle bag and pretending the bloody thing didn't even exist.

Of course, this was usually followed by a round of vicious self destruction, in one form or another, as had become his customary way of dealing with things. Night after sleepless night he tried whatever he could to drown out his torment.

First, there was the drinking. On his fifteenth birthday, Dodger took one look at his bedraggled face and promptly told him to follow him. Killian remained sullen as they walked, reminded that this would be the first birthday Liam didn't rouse him from his bed at the crack of dawn,then taking the piss out of him for half a day and ending it gifting him some sort of treat he had managed to secret away. He and Dodger wound up at a gas station where the other boy prompted him to take whatever bottle of alcohol he wanted while he distracted the cashier. Once he spotted the rum, he couldn't resist. Grabbing two bottles, Kilian shoved them down into the pockets of his baggy jeans and made for the door. Several hours later, he was retching his guts out over a toilet, trying to stop his head from spinning. When he could think again without his brain threatening to slice out his skull, Killian realized that the rum was the closest thing to reminding him of home that he had yet found.

Girls came next. He had learned about his appeal to them when he had lived at Saffron Hill, using it to his advantage while making off with their daddy's money. Actually dating them, though? He was completely and utterly clueless, turning into a blushing, stammering fool at the merest hint of sincere connection, which was probably why he kept himself from forming any.

He chose instead to indulge purely in the physical. All he had to do was throw a pretty girl a smouldering glance, roll his tongue suggestively, and waggle a brow and they tended to fall all over themselves to take care of his needs. During the long, hot summer of his sixteenth year, he lost his virginity to a red-headed Senior. Thankfully, she knew what she was doing- it was painfully obvious he didn't have a bloody clue-and wasn't at all shy in telling him exactly what she wanted. Caught up in how good she was making him feel, he was only too happy to comply, and he spent several nights learning just how to please a woman before he got moved to a new home.

After that, he became addicted to being lost in the sensations of warm bodies rutting together. He only had one rule and that was to never sleep with a girl more than once. For most of them, it wasn't an issue. As long as he was upfront with them, made sure they knew what they were getting themselves into with him, and never forced his affections on any of them, he felt no guilt about his actions. And companionship was never lacking.

He just had to make sure his heart was tucked firmly away and never got involved.

The longer he stayed in the system, the harder he had to try and distract himself from the anger and the pain. The stealing progressed, so did the fighting, the drinking and the sleeping around. None of it was working to heal his tortured soul. Spiraling the way he was, he was extremely fortunate that his stunts hadn't landed him in any serious trouble with the law so far. However he had no illusions that sooner or later he would do something there would be no coming back from.

(But maybe that was exactly what he was trying to do.)

…...

By the time Ms. Honey informed him he was being placed into the home of Ingrid Frost, Killian was a bitter, hardened seventeen-year-old. Three years of life in the system had taken its toll, and he was like a piece of shale-hard, brittle, and ready to crack.

According to Ms. Honey's description, Ingrid's home seemed like it would be no different than any of the other countless group homes he'd grown accustomed to. No doubt she would turn out to be just another in a long line of uncaring adults. He could already picture how it would be-she'd be the lonely, sad, possibly lazy type, leaving her kids to their own devices while she sat on the sofa and watched television. It probably wouldn't take much effort to have her wrapped round his finger, a skill he had picked up from Fagin and Dodger, and had honed to perfection. Hell, if he played his cards right, she'd probably give him the keys to her car and the contents of her wallet before watching him make for town. It's not like it hadn't happened before.

Either way, he was sure she would be no different than any of the others. Maybe he'd last a week or two, make a few decent scores, shag a few pretty girls, have some real fun before he'd get moved again. If he was lucky, he'd be able to keep himself moderately distracted for as long as he was there, and then...he'd move on. And the cycle would begin again.

From the moment he stepped out of Ms. Honey's car, he could sense Ingrid might be more of a challenge than he was expecting. As introductions were made, he watched how her calm blue eyes never gave an inch of her thoughts away but somehow still remained intensely focused on him, as if she was trying to pick him apart piece by piece. Shrewd, was the word that came to mind. For some reason, it pleased him. He did love a challenge.

After blustering through the initial orientation with Ingrid-where he spent his time wondering what a woman with such striking beauty was doing as a foster parent of all things-he put on his cockiest attitude, and hoped that she wouldn't press him to 'open up' or some such thing. However, all she did was give him a side eye and completely ignore his attitude as she introduced him to the other children under her care, never missing a blink.

Time to move this game to the next level.

A few hours later, after dinner with his new 'family' was over and all the other children were off in dreamland, Killian decided to see what this town had by way of amusement. He also needed to refresh his dwindling supply of Captain Morgan's. Jack Ingrid's car and driving away from the city lights, getting a little buzzed, and staring at the stars certainly had a lot of appeal. Richland, Minnesota wasn't any sort of major metropolis, so he had a feeling the stars look especially big and beautiful out here. They always had a way of making him feel more settled, the one thing that had remained constant in his life, no matter where he found himself.

(A part of him also was itching to scan the city streets for a set of broad shoulders, a pair of pale blue eyes, and a mop of curled brown hair, though he was only half aware of it.)

However, his fantasies dissolved into nothing as he dropped to the ground outside his window. Before he could stand, he was blinded by a burst of white light. From its source, came Ingrid's melodic voice.

"Leaving already?" She asked casually, as if she were remarking on the beautiful summer weather.

"Thought I'd explore my new home," he replied, spitting out the last word like a curse.

"Oh, well in that case," she said, and now that his eyesight was returning, he could see that the torch she held in her hand was pointed directly at his face, "don't let me stop you."

As if this woman could stop him, he scoffed. She was far too pretty and soft spoken to have what it would take to bring him to heel. Still, he noted the completely relaxed posture and the cool indifference in her eyes and knew she wasn't joking about letting him go. Did she really not care what he did? Well, that was new.

(And he was still just standing there, not leaving, hands in his pockets and his left brow raised in challenge.)

Being caught under her intense gaze, he squirmed, feeling a bit like an insect under a particularly hot magnifying glass. What was she playing at? What was her game? Why would she offer to help him run away?

As if in answer to his questions, she said, "Here," and turned off the torch, flipping it around so the end was held it out to him and the light shining back on her. "You should take this. You don't want to get lost."

Was this lady crazy? This had to be some sort of trick.

"I don't need your bloody light," Killian growled, "I can manage quite well on my own."

"No, you're right," she shrugged, retracting her proffered gift. "I bet you could find your way around town with your eyes closed if you tried."

"And what if I decide to just keep going? Will you call the authorities and have me arrested?"

"No," she answered, but then seemed to think better of it. "Well, not tonight. I'd have to call them in the morning, when your bed turns up empty. But I guess I could give you a few hours head start. If that's really what you want." She turned aside to walk past him back in the house, barely sparing him a glance as she went. The way she had told him what she was going to do with such nonchalance was making his head spin. Reservations aside, he was starting to feel a bit curious about this woman.

As she opened the door to go back inside, she paused and added, "You don't really strike me as the running kind, Killian. Besides, I don't think what you're looking for is out there, anyway."

Despite how muggy and warm the night was, he hugged his jacket closer, like her words sent chills through him. What if she was right? What was he looking for anyway? His brother? A home? Just some bloody peace of mind?

He hadn't moved at all, his head still debating what to do next. "It's not in there, either," he answered in a voice straining to be heard over the rustle of wind through the leaves of the maple tree flanking the driveway.

"You're right, it's not." She came back down off the porch, until she was standing right next to him. Cautiously, like she was afraid he'd run off, she lifted her hand and slowly placed it on his arm. "Killian, you don't have to tell me what it is you're looking for, but maybe, while you're searching, you could let me help you." Then, she left him alone, the night's breeze his only company.

Killian looked out at the empty street, the sleepy houses and the start of the town beyond, all quiet in the dewy haze of a summer evening. It made him yearn for that same simplicity this town had. Getting away had become his default, something he did to keep his personal demons from catching up to him. But it had never really brought him the happiness he craved. Maybe here he could try something different.

When he went back inside, Ingrid was sitting on her white sofa, sipping a mug of something warm with another placed on the coffee table beside her. She gave him a smug look and then nudged the extra mug towards him. The message was clear enough-this round went to her. Somehow, she'd known all along what he would choose. Bugger all. This was going to be a lot harder than he had anticipated.

He opened his mouth to inform her that he didn't need her to look after him, but the words wouldn't come. Her eyes were open and sincere, the same with the gentleness in her voice. But as he stared longer he could see that there was something she was hiding, some hidden sadness, and for some reason, it made him feel like he could trust her.

"I suppose, m'lady, that I could accept your hospitality. For now." He added, trying to make it clear this was a trial run only and he wouldn't hesitate to follow through with his original plan should anything go amiss.

She grinned, the sadness giving way to genuine amusement. "Well, I haven't been called m'lady for a long, long time, so that's a point for you. Come on, I made you some cocoa. I wasn't sure what you liked but I figured you can't go wrong with chocolate, right? Then...then we'll see what tomorrow brings. Okay?"

Slowly, he lowered himself down onto her sofa, picking up the offered mug and swirling its contents warily. "Perhaps you have some rum you could throw into that? My supplies seem to have run out." He asked, only half joking.

She rolled her eyes at him, but the humor didn't leave her eyes. With a smirk at her that promised he'd at least try to behave himself, he sipped at the cocoa. He refused to acknowledge that the woman knew how to make a bloody good cup of hot chocolate, so he merely stared at the wall and drank in silence, his thoughts at war with his instincts.

Though it went against his better judgment, he had to admit that she was starting to grow on him. She wasn't sugarcoating anything, wasn't promising that he'd fit right in or that he'd have a family here. He liked that she didn't try to convince him that everything would be just fine and dandy. She felt real. She made it seem like she was someone who truly understood him. And that was something entirely new as well.

….

If he had thought living with Ingrid would be easy, he was quickly proved wrong. He could tell she cared about him, but that didn't mean she the easiest person to live with. Sometimes, she could get downright vindictive, especially when he would slip back into old habits. Killian found that he enjoyed pushing her buttons, and she liked to push his right back. By the time he started his Senior year, he was feeling happier and more comfortable with himself than he had ever been.

"Are you going to school today, Killian?" She asked, dodging out of the way of one of the younger children who was frantically searching for his misplaced homework.

"Thinking about it," Killian replied, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and lifting his book higher.

She pulled a paper from under his boot and handed it off to the boy. He gave her a look of relief and Killian an angry glare before dashing out the door. She watched him go with a sigh before turning back to him. "Well, perhaps you could make up your mind a little faster, as you're going to be late and then I'll have to drive you. Again."

"But I do so enjoy your company, m'lady." He said with a salacious wink that he'd picked up from watching too much daytime TV at one of his foster homes.

Her eyes narrowed as she placed her hands on her hips. "Save it. Get your butt in gear, mister, or I'll tell Sammy he can sleep in your bed. And I'll make sure to get him a Big Gulp before he goes to sleep."

Killian blanched at the implied threat. Six-year-old Sammy, while generally a fun little lad who liked toy cars and Ninja Turtles, had a very unfortunate habit of wetting the bed. He had no doubt she would go through with her threat, too, just to spite him. "Bloody hell," he grumbled, searching for his backpack and quickly making his way towards the front door.

"I heard that!" She shouted back.

As he took his seat with the other kids on the bus, he ran a hand through his growing mop of dark hair and grinned to himself, ignoring the warmth he felt in his chest.

Later that week, he came home late after a night out with some nameless cheerleader to a rare sight. The house was mercifully empty, devoid of all the other foster children who were normally underfoot and in his way. Killian grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter and flopped onto the sofa. Closing his eyes, he sighed into the cushions, allowing himself a brief moment of peace as he ate his snack.

"Don't fall asleep with that in your hand! Go throw it away." Ingrid called, appearing right over his shoulder and startling the life out of him.

"Bugger off!" He snapped with no real venom, as she slapped him playfully on the shoulder and grabbed the apple core from his hand.

"Don't swear, Killian," she called out, walking towards the kitchen.

He closed his eyes again and grumbled, "That wasn't a swear."

"Yes, it was," she countered, coming back and dropping down next to him on the sofa. "Now, aren't you wondering where everyone is at?"

He didn't even bother opening his eyes, not interested in playing her games. He was tired and just wanted to bask in the solitude. A house devoid of frenetic pre-teens, excitable grade schoolers, and a stray high schooler or two was not to be wasted. "Not in the slightest. I'm just trying to enjoy it while it lasts."

"I sent them out to the movies with a neighbor. I have something I want to talk about with you."

There was a hint of something serious in her voice that made him finally turn and look at her. Her eyes were shadowed, and her face unreadable, but Killian could guess what she wanted to tell him. This was it, she was done with him at last.

He slid off the couch in a blind rage. "Don't bother," he spat. "I'll get my things-"

"No!" She called, catching hold of his arm. He spun to look at her, a frown deeply etched into his brow and his jaw clenching furiously. "No, Killian," she restated with an apologetic smile, sensing how he had mistaken her words.. "I'm not sending you back."

"You're not?"

She patted the fluffy cushion next to her and he cautiously took his seat once more. "No, I think...I think you should get a job."

That was the last thing he had expected her to say. With a sneer, he finally replied, "A job? Why? Am I to be expected to pay for your hospitality?"

"Never," she stated so emphatically he actually believed her. She sighed and wrung her hands together and he followed the movement so that he wouldn't have to be subject to the sincere look in her eyes any longer. "I want you to get a job because I think you need to do something to make yourself proud."

"What?"

"Killian, you are an amazing kid. You really are. But you are so serious. I think you see yourself as a monster, or a villain, or something. Maybe you just think you're unloveable. But it couldn't be further from the truth."

Ingrid had always had a way of speaking to him with a rawness and passion that broke through his walls, but never as deeply as this.

"Oh, aye? And you think you know what I've done? You think you know who I am? You've no idea what my life's been like." He hissed, nearly knocking her back with the force of it.

Recovering quickly, she shook her head and said, "You're right. But you are no monster. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about." No longer looking at him, her cloudy blue eyes were trained out the picture window behind them, thoughts clearly miles away. "And you're not the only one who's done horrible things, things they have to live with every day and would give anything to be able to change. I know what it's like to live a life of regret." She sighed deeply, closing her eyes but not before he could see them welling up with tears.

He didn't think anyone except himself capable of that level of self hatred, but apparently he was wrong.

Two deep breaths, and she came out of it, reaching over for his hand as she implored, "But Killian, you're only seventeen. You don't have to beat yourself up for things you've done in order to survive. You don't need to feel so guilty about everything. You just need to be a kid. I know life's been hard for you, and I know you've done some things you aren't proud of, but it's okay. I'm not going to judge you. I just want you to be happy. I really do. And I think the first step to happiness is to be able to look in the mirror and like the person looking back at you."

Killian was speechless. No one had ever cared about his happiness, not since Liam. It should have been unsettling. It should have made him want to run or fight, anything to get away from the way he could feel her getting through his walls. But it didn't. And he suddenly realized that he wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that in every word she had told him, as bitter and painful and wonderful as they were.

Oh, how he wanted.

"And you think a job would make me happy?" He answered at last, his hand reaching up to scratch behind his ear.

She gave him a relieved smile and nodded. "I think that if you were able to earn money, contribute to society in some meaningful way, while having both responsibility and freedom, and- more importantly-an actual say-so in your future, then a job would help your find your place in this world. And that, Killian, is what I believe would make you happy."

It was a rousing speech to be sure, but one that had him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Sensing she had hit on a nerve, Ingrid shrugged and added, "At the very least, it will keep you busy and out of trouble."

Feeling like he was standing on the edge of a knife, Killian ran his thumb over his knuckles, studying the movement closely. Though he was still having a hard time admitting it, she was right about him. Everything she had told him about what he wanted, his deepest desires, was true. Maybe there was a reason he had never felt settled. Maybe there was a reason he was constantly at war with himself.

Maybe it was time to figure out what kind of man he wanted to be.

"Very well, m'lady," he sighed, using that endearment because he knew she found it irritating. "What sort of employment do you suggest?"

She smiled slyly. "I have a place in mind. How do you feel about flowers?"

…..

Though he'd never tell her in a million years, Ingrid was right. Working at The Secret Garden flower shop did make him feel happier. It didn't solve everything, especially not the giant Liam-shaped hole in his life, but it gave him purpose and direction. Not to mention earning his way instead of stealing it made him think that maybe there might be hope for him yet.

It was ran by a soft-spoken Indian man named Ram Dass who liked to talk about the symbolism behind flowers as if they held the meaning of life. He was kind and cheerful and completely unexpected. Most days, Killian couldn't wait to get there, taking the bus into town immediately after school and not getting back to Ingrid's until almost ten. He would help Mr. Dass sweep down the front shop and clear away any drooping flowers, then spend the next several hours unpacking refrigerated crates of roses, tulips, dahlias, and irises and putting them into the coolers for the next day. It was quiet, it was peaceful, and it was everything his life needed.

Of course, that was always when fate decided he needed a good, hard kick up the arse to remind him of just who was in charge.

…...

"Killian!" Ingrid called from the bottom of the stairs. There was a strange nervousness in her voice that he couldn't remember hearing from the typically stoic Ms. Frost. "Get down here. She'll be here soon and I want you presentable."

Killian hung his head over the railing and shouted back, "Kevin took my comb again." He pointed up to the unruly mass of dark locks sticking out in all directions from the top of his head to emphasize his point. Kevin had only been with Ingrid for two weeks and already the kid was a menace. Maybe it was time he learned not to mess with a Jones. Unfortunately, he had promised Ingrid that he'd be on his best behavior with the arrival of this new girl. For some reason, Ingrid had been acting stranger than usual, going to extremes trying to impress the girl and she hadn't even arrived yet.

He didn't really give a damn. Between work and school, it wasn't like he would be around her much. Ingrid had mostly given him free reign to come and go as he pleased, citing his improved grades and good reports from Mr. Dass about his work ethic. Not that he really needed her permission. He'd be eighteen in the Spring, and he'd have to find a way to live on his own. So he had been trying to distance himself from this life as much as he could in order to not spiral back into the darkness he could still feel lurking inside him that would no doubt rear its head once he no longer had anyone looking out for him again.

Amazingly, the job was helping achieve what he once deemed impossible-hope for a future; one carved out from the bedrock and the hardscrabble, but one all his own. He was finally able to see some sort of light at the end of his impenetrable darkness. And there were plans now, too. Every penny he'd earned, he'd saved. As soon as he was out of Ingrid's, he'd find a cheap apartment to live in, and when he had graduated from school, Mr. Dass offered to take him on full time at the shop. Maybe it wasn't the glamorous life others would be happy with, but for starting out as a scum-of-the-earth cabin boy, his prospects were better than he could have ever hoped for.

Rolling her eyes, Ingrid looked up at him and shook her head. "For heaven's sakes, Killian...Take mine. It's on the dresser. Hurry up!" She called after him, as he flew across the landing. He had just picked up the comb when he heard her add, "And don't you dare touch my eyeliner!" Putting the last piece of hair in place, he darted his eyes over to her makeup case and began to smile to himself. Best behavior didn't mean he was a saint.

By the time his eyes were rimmed dark enough to rival any emo rock star, the new foster girl had already arrived and was standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the other children who looked bored and unimpressed. Ingrid was trying to keep her excitement in check and failing comically, and the poor lass-whose face was obscured by long blonde hair- was standing there with her shoulders stiff and her left hand wrapped tight around her right arm.

He bounded down the last stair, slouching over the bannister trying to get a better look at the lass who'd be joining them. He was only passingly curious about this new lass, his mind mostly on the activities he had planned for later that evening. Still, he had to admit, she was easy on the eyes-even if she did hide herself behind an oversized hoodie and flannel. At a year younger or so than him, she had yet to fill out into her womanly curves, but he could see the potential there.

"Everyone, this is our newest family member. Her name is Emma Swan." Ingrid beamed.

The girl in question looked up for the first time, pushing back the blonde hair that had been covering her over one ear to reveal a heart-shaped face with a dimpled chin and wide green eyes outlined in long, dark lashes. As her eyes darted quickly around the room like a frightened rabbit, taking in the apathetic faces of her new foster siblings, he felt a pang of pity for her, knowing how awkward this sort of thing could be. However, he wasn't terribly in the mood to make her feel more welcomed, especially with the way Ingrid was already fawning all over her. Unless she was new to the system-and she didn't strike him as new-she'd no doubt be fine in time. It wasn't really any of his business, anyway.

Finally noticing his presence, the lass glanced over to where he was hiding in the shadows, and locked eyes with him. And in that moment, everything just stopped. There was a spark, a flare of something unnameably powerful deep in his gut when she looked at him-really looked-like she was seeing straight into his soul. It almost felt like she was challenging him to a duel, or like she had read him cover to cover and wasn't sure she liked the ending. It bothered him greatly.

So, in an effort to stay on an even keel, he read her right back.

There was a look in her moss-colored eyes, a look of tempered steel wrapped in silk that he had never encountered before. Though outwardly she seemed timid and scared, there was a little flash of defiance in the way she held his gaze and quirked her brow that called out to the same part of himself. It whispered that she was different than the others.

For the oddest reason, Killian was overcome with a desire to introduce himself by taking her hand gently and kissing the back of it like Liam had taught him to do when he was in the presence of more polite society. Though he couldn't explain it, there was something about her that seemed almost...regal, like she was born to a higher status than a lowly foster kid. With her smattering of freckles that played across her nose and over her pink cheeks, the way she held herself defiantly in the face of adversity, he was absolutely gobsmacked.

The girl had him spellbound; so much so that, without even noticing, he had already crossed the space between the stairs and the living room. It wasn't until he nearly tripped over a couch cushion that he realized that he had moved and was now just feet apart. Up close, she was even more disconcerting. Breaking eye contact, she blinked rapidly, and took in a quick breath, like she was trying to refocus. Ingrid was still talking to her, and he watched her reaction to the affection being offered with curiosity. When she ducked her head and clutched at her red flannel as Ingrid gave her a bright, almost tearful smile, he sensed the connection might run deeper than mere chemistry.

At once, a million questions flooded his mind-Who the devil was this girl? being chief among them. Why could he tell she was just as broken in her own way as he was? Why could he sense that she, too, felt the anger and the sting of rejection? Had she known what it was like to love someone, to trust them, and then to have them abandon you? Did she understand what it felt like to have nothing and no one left?

Seeing those broken pieces of himself through the eyes of another was almost too much to bear. It was shocking to see his the depth of his own pain from the outside. Shocking and absolutely heartbreaking. He found himself wishing there was some way to change it for her, some way to make it better. Though it went against every one of his rules, all he wanted to do was ease that look from her face and see her smile.

He had a feeling it would be breathtaking.

As if she could tell he was thinking about her, Emma looked up and met his eye once more (so big, so green), knocking the breath right out of him. What he wouldn't give to know her thoughts at that moment. Was she feeling the same pull he was? The same connection? Did it scare her as much as it scared him? At that, it felt like someone had doused him in ice water.

Suddenly, he was left reeling, wondering what had just happened to him. Whatever strange fantasy had overcome him, he knew he couldn't allow to continue. He couldn't let some girl get to him like that, not when he was this close to finding some happiness in his life. Getting attached to her would only end badly and he needed to remind himself of that.

Conflicted, he abruptly turned, practically storming his way towards the front door, needing to flee from the way her gaze caused in his stomach to flutter. He had a feeling it might be easier said than done, especially if they were living under the same roof.

There was nothing for it, he'd have to stay far, far away from her.

He backed out of the room as quickly as if the hounds of hell were hot on his heels, though it wasn't quite fast enough to miss Ingrid's final announcement. "Welcome to your new home, Emma."-those words pummeling him like an ironic punch in the face.

As he flung open the front door, desperate to flee from the wake of terror she had caused, a shiver of anticipation and cold dread rushed down his spine. He could feel the hand of fate taunting him again. It took all his will power not to look back toward the golden-haired siren, despite being able to feel her hot gaze on the back of his neck. Instead, he clenched his jaw and fled out into the night, her green eyes haunting him no matter how hard he tried to forget.

Bloody hell, this girl would be dangerous.