A/N: Okay, last chapter folks! I really hope you all enjoyed this one. I loved writing it!

WARNING: There is a small amount of 'smut glitter' in this chapter. It is brief and not at all graphic, but you've been warned anyway.

Now, on with the show: When we last saw him, Killian had finally remembered Emma - right after sending her into the arms of another man!

Killian resumes his seat at the bar, motioning for the bartender to bring him another round. He absently runs his finger along the edge of his empty glass as he waits, and lets his thoughts drift back to her.

He and Emma have been friends, or something like it, for over a year now. He sees her nearly every day in his classes - she even sits next to him in one. There's hardly any elbow room in that lecture hall. His hand brushes hers every time he passes her the day's handouts from the prof, and her knee grazes his under the table at least five times per class. Not that I'm counting or anything. But, they're just friends.

Emma was with Will for ages, though the two seem to have split since Christmas break. No one ever really got that pairing. He wonders if maybe it had been a relationship of convenience. You know, they had the same friends, went to the same social functions, that sort of thing. Not that it's any of my business... Up until fairly recently he and Tink had still been doing their on-again-off-again thing. (Which is definitely OFF now. Completely and totally and eternally OFF.)

He's glad that he and Emma are friends. A friend is all he needs right now. Simple. Uncomplicated. Well, mostly uncomplicated. There was that one night a few weeks ago when they'd bumped into each other at the Rabbit Hole - the night when drinking and laughing at the bar had turned into something unexpected. That was the first time Emma Swan gave him a ride home. Somewhere between the front door of the bar and the passenger door of her Beetle, a switch had flipped, and he'd suddenly found himself pinned against the rusted yellow metal, her lips hot and urgent against his. They'd somehow managed to get themselves into the car and back to his apartment, and spent the rest of the night wrapped up in each other. Kissing, touching, talking. He'd learned so much about her that night, everything from her dreams of helping kids in the foster system to the sounds that she made when he moved his fingers just so.

And then nothing. The next day he'd seen her in class as always, and it was as if the night before had never happened. There was no awkwardness, no evidence of regret - she was exactly as friendly to him as she had ever been. Almost as if she didn't remember it. As if they hadn't made each others' bodies sing with pleasure and shared secrets that almost no one else knew. So, Killian played along. No reason to complicate things. He was glad they could still be friends.

Except that it happened again a week later. Dave and Robin had taken him out for his birthday to bloody karaoke night again, and every time he finished a drink a new one appeared in his hand as if by magic. Oh, but he was the life of the party that night. Laughing, singing, tossing his best innuendo at any lass that looked his way. S'what I'm good at, after all - catching women. Catching a lass is easy. Keeping 'em's the trouble…

Emma had been there, laughing and rolling her eyes at his antics. I like her laugh. She ought to do it more often. So with a wicked grin to Emma, he'd laid it on particularly thick with a tall brunette, but soon realized his mistake when the woman took one of his suggestive comments a bit literally and climbed into his lap. When he was sure the lass was about to devour him right then and there on his barstool, Emma had taken pity on his panicked expression and swooped in pretending to be his jealous girlfriend, shooing the other woman away.

"My savior," he whispered to her with a mischievous wink, and she'd laughed for him again.

She took his hand in hers - only to maintain the girlfriend illusion, mind you, in case anyone was still watching - and began pulling him toward the parking lot. "Come on, Romeo. I'll give you a ride home. Even the birthday boy needs his beauty sleep."

Killian had grumbled something about being devilishly handsome anyway, but allowed her to lead him to her car. He was surprised when she'd parked at his building, rather than dropping him off at the front door. More surprised when she walked into his apartment with him. When she was in his arms again, her lips warm and welcoming, he didn't give a damn about anything else.

They'd spent the night tangled up together. He'd memorized her every curve and dip, the constellations of her freckles, they way her delicate hands clutched at the bedsheets as his tongue worked between her thighs. They never crossed that final line, but he didn't care. Her smiling emerald eyes, sparkling even in his dark bedroom, were the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him.

When he'd awoken the next morning she was gone. If not for the lingering sweet cinnamon scent on his pillow, he'd almost have believed it had all been a rum-soaked dream. A vivid, sensual, perfect fucking dream.

He saw her in class later that morning, and once again she greeted him in her usual friendly manner as if nothing had changed. It was a relief, but it was maddening. Again, he played along. He didn't think about their bodies entwined. He certainly didn't think about what it would be like to have Emma Swan as his actual girlfriend, since she'd played the part so convincingly the night before. Oh, bugger.

He doesn't need a relationship, doesn't want one. To be honest, he's rubbish at relationships - every single one he's had has ended in disaster. Because I can catch women, but I can't keep them. They like my handsome face, find me charming, want to fuck me, but that's all. There's nothing else about me to make them stay.

And today… today he found out that Milah is getting a divorce, that she left her husband for some other bloke. He's over Milah, has been for a long time now, but it twists a knife in his gut anyway because it's just one more example to prove that he, Killian, wasn't enough.

So tonight he sits in a bar called The Crow's Nest (he can't bring himself to go back to The Rabbit Hole after his last night with Emma), taking down glass after glass of liquid bravado. He's here to do what he does best: find a willing lass, take her home, and be the scandalous tale that she whispers blushingly to her friends over brunch. All I'm good for.

Part one of his plan is easy enough. The bar is lively this evening and there's no shortage of fair ladies out for a good time. Still, each time he can see a "yes" in the flutter of an inky pair of lashes or the curl of red lips, he hesitates. He backs down. He excuses himself as politely as possible and heads back to the bar for another dose.

He kind of hates this place actually, its "Rat Pack" theme seeming a bit pretentious for a college bar. As he sips his drink, he can barely hear Frank Sinatra crooning over the noisy crowd:

"It's the wrong time and the wrong place,

Though your face is lovely, it's the wrong face.

It's not her face, but such a lovely face,

That it's alright with me."

Well that's just bollocks, innit? he thinks. It's not alright. Not a bit alright.

Maybe this is the wrong time, and it's definitely the wrong place, but there is only one face he wants to see. No other face will do. Not anymore. It doesn't matter though. He's only good at catching women, not keeping them, and Emma Swan is the kind of woman you keep. Emma must see him as all the others do. Just a good time. Nothing to be taken seriously. What else could it have meant that morning she disappeared without waking him?

What else could it have meant? The thought floats and tumbles around his hazy mind like the ice cubes in his rum glass. Since they've known each other, she's seen him completely forget her - not once but twice. She's seen him hot and heavy with Tink one week, then flirting and carousing with every woman in sight the next. He knows she's had pain in her past. She told him as much during one of their nights together, though she didn't go into the details. Could it be possible that she's just as scared of being cast aside again as he is - only allowing herself their few stolen moments in the dark?

In that moment, he hopes. It's a frail, brittle thing, but hope nonetheless. He sets down his glass and pulls out his phone, dialing her number before he can stop himself. He prays as much that she doesn't answer as that she does, but after four rings which seem to last an eternity, her voice crackles on the line, thick and groggy with sleep.

"Killian? What the hell?"

"Emma? Love, don't hang up. I know it's the middle of the buggering night, but..." He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Would you please come fetch me? I find myself in no condition to drive and without a ride home."

He hears the huff of her breath and can't tell if the sound indicates laughter at him, annoyance or both. "Where are you?"

"The Crow's Nest," he replies, silently cursing himself. This was a bloody stupid idea. Great way to get a woman to fancy you. Drunk dial her asking for ride home at 2:00 a.m.

He hears her hum and holds his breath. Finally she replies, "Okay. It'll be a few minutes though. I need to throw some clothes back on that aren't pajamas. Meet me at the front door."

She ends the call before he can babble his dumbfounded thanks.

They don't talk as she drives him back to his apartment, Killian's usual gift for witty banter utterly failing him. When she pulls into a parking space at his building and cuts the engine, he takes hold of her hand, stilling her from pulling the key from the ignition.

"Swan, you don't have to-" He furrows his brow. "This wasn't some sort of booty call."

She meets his eyes, her expression surprisingly open. "I know," she replies simply. "Killian, if you'd wanted booty, there was enough in that bar to keep a pirate happy for years. Let's go inside. I'm exhausted." One corner of her mouth curls into a half-smile and she bobs her head in the direction of his building. "Come on."

He releases her hand and they exit her ridiculous yellow Volkswagen. The vehicle has brought Emma to his home three times now and he's beginning to develop quite a fondness for it. They enter the apartment together, and the door clicks shut behind them. She turns toward him, stopping him with one gentle hand placed on his chest, keeping him at arm's length. Her eyes search his face, studying him, considering.

Finally she asks, "Why did you call me tonight?"

Killian tilts his head, bemused. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't call David. You didn't call Robin or even Tink. You called me. Why?" She moves ever so slightly closer, and Killian's mouth goes dry.

"I needed you." His confession surprises him, and he swallows hard. "I needed a friend."

"Is that what we are?" She's even closer now, her voice barely above a whisper. She raises a hand and brushes the fringe of hair off his forehead letting her fingers trail down the side of his face and jawline before lowering it to her side again.

Against his will, his eyes dart to her lips and he sees the beginnings of a smile forming there. He clears his throat and meets her eyes again. "It doesn't have to be all we are."

She pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow. Wariness creeps into her expression. "Friends with benefits?"

He wraps his fingers around her hand where it's still pressed to his chest and moves it so their hands rest over his heart, hoping that if she feels its racing beat she'll believe him to be sincere. "No, Swan, I don't want that. It wouldn't be enough. I want all of you. I want to take you out to dinner and talk about your day. I want watch shite TV shows with you on the couch. I want to hold your hand in front of our friends in the student lounge. I just want to be with you."

She doesn't answer, only studying his face for a few more seconds. Then her arms are wrapped tightly around his waist, her face is nestled against his chest, and he finds that this is answer enough for tonight. His arms envelop her and he kisses the crown of her head, murmuring "Let's go to bed, love," against her hair.

There is no passionate consummation that night, only blissful slumber with his Emma tucked against his side. His Emma. He likes the sound of that. He likes it even more that she's still wrapped around him when they awake the next morning. That she holds his hand under the desk in class that day. That she kisses his cheek right in front of Dave and Robin before walking off to her next class, leaving his mates agape, and him grinning like an idiot.

His Emma. He enjoys toying with the idea that she could be his now. God knows, he's been hers since before he can even remember.

So what did you think? Your comments give me life! Tell me all about it!

[Special thanks to unspoken-and-wild for helping me work this chapter out! Tiffany, you are the best cheerleader ever!]