Hi again! Thanks everyone who has read and reviewed, I appreciate it so much! Official angst warning for this chapter, with a little M for themes and language. Enjoy!

I slept terribly, if you can even call it that. I spent more hours than not wearing a path in the wooden floor pacing the length of my small room thinking about Liam, about Emma, about Storybrooke, about the whole bloody lot. It started out as berating myself for letting her get to me again and ended with the crushing anxiety that today would bring: my brother's funeral, seeing the Charmings again, coming back to an empty room again at the end of the day. I was almost relieved when I heard the doorbell ring shortly after dawn.

"Killian," Mother Superior smiles and stands gracefully with her arms open at the bottom of the stairs when I finally muster the courage to make an appearance. She was one of the few, along with the Charmings, who looked after Liam and I when we were lads. She saw to our schooling to ensure we'd not be illiterate urchins. The last time I saw her she was wrangling a crop of wild children at Emma and Liam's wedding. Her dark hair has some grey in it now, but she still has the same serene, peaceful demeanor she always did. "It's good to see you, dear. I wish it was a better circumstance that brought you back to us."

"Is that Killian Jones, I hear?" Snow's voice echoes through the foyer and she appears like a dervish. Before I could even respond she's wrapping me in a hug that is surprisingly hearty for a woman of her size. Next to her effervescence and ever-cheerful demeanor it's easy to see how much Emma truly takes after her father, even if she does have Snow's deep green eyes. Anyone would be forgiven for thinking Emma was their own, but the truth is she was an orphan like Liam and me. The bloody fools who brought her into this world left her in a carseat by the interstate; David responded to the call and fell in love with tiny Emma no sooner than he stepped out of his squad car, bringing her home to his wife who was just-as-quickly bewitched. They adopted her as quickly as the great state of Maine allowed and loved her as their own. She may have been a stray like us for a short moment but she never felt the sting of being unwanted, for which I will forever be grateful to the Charmings. "I'm so sorry about Liam. How are you, sweetheart? Are you ok?"

"I'm managing just fine. It's good to be home," I offer with a smile and I actually mean it, until Emma scoffs and shakes her head from the corner. Snow ignores her and finally loosens her grip enough for me to breathe again. When she looks at me it's strangely comforting in a way I didn't expect it would be. Snow is as close to a mother as I can ever remember having, she's the only person who has ever told me she loved me. I was six the first time she told me, it was shortly after our father disappeared. Liam was doing his best, but it was the third day I'd showed up late to school with little more than an apple and toast in a paper sack. Snow took me home with her and Emma and the end of the day and made a roast for dinner. David came in with Liam and we sat down around the table for a dinner like I'd never seen before. Snow helped Emma and me with our homework, fractions or some rot, while David and Liam worked on something in the garage. It was the first night of many Liam and I stayed at the Charmings, and when Snow tucked us into warm cozy beds that night she kissed me on the forehead, told me to sleep well and that she loved me. I didn't know what to say because no one had ever told me that before, so I settled for a mumbled good night and spent half of the night awake wondering what I didn't have a family like the Charmings.

"When did you get in? It's such a long flight, all the way from California. You must be starving, can I make you something? We have waffles and bacon and eggs. Oh, I can make you an omelette. How about some coffee? I brought the Sumatra that you like," Snow offers as she straightens my collar, just like she used to do every morning when I got to school. "I'll bet you haven't had real maple bacon since you moved."

"Mom," Emma says and clears her throat, shooting her mother a meaningful glance. Her arms are crossed defiantly over her chest. While she's intimidating, I'm glad to see that the broken Emma from last night is gone. "If he's hungry, he knows where the kitchen is."

"Give your mother a break, Emma, you know she can't help herself," David smiles as he emerges from the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee. Of all of the people here I dreaded seeing him most, even more than Emma. David was like a father to me and Emma is the light of his life, I let him down on both counts. By all counts, he should hate me, probably more than Emma does. He's too kind to make a scene with Mother Superior present, but I don't expect a warm reception. Much to my surprise he sets down his mug and pulls me into one of his famous bear hugs with a real, genuine smile that chokes me up a little. "It's good to see you, son."

"You've gotten so tall. David, can you believe how tall he's gotten?" Snow continues, all the while straightening my jacket and fixing my hair. You'd think I was a right mess by the way she's preening me. David just gives me a pitying smile over the rim of his cup and doesn't answer. Seeing as I was twenty-five when I left, I doubt I've gotten any taller. "And handsome, too. You're still taking good care of yourself, aren't you? You're wearing sunscreen aren't you? Even a tan can damage your skin, you know."

"Yes ma'am, nary a day goes by that Belle doesn't remind me about SPF, eating my vegetables, and getting eight hours of sleep. I assure you that I'm in good hands."

"Belle? What a beautiful name! Is she your girlfriend?" Snow grins, out of the corner of my eye I can see Emma snap to attention. "We'd love to meet her, wouldn't we David? What is she like? How long have you been together?"

"Oh… Belle's not my… girlfriend," I stutter awkwardly. It's not the first time people have gotten our relationship confused, it happens regularly actually, but it's the first time that it's thrown me for a loop.

"Snow, if you're going to badger the poor guy at least let him get coffee first," David intervenes and puts his arm around his wife's shoulder to shepherd her away. Snow's chatter fades as they make their way to the living room, but not before I can very distinctly hear her giddily tell David it's so nice to have him back home again, isn't it Charming?

"Belle is my friend and roommate, we own our firm together," I offer in explanation to Emma as soon as her parents are safely out of ear shot.

"Good for Belle," she says flatly and she couldn't look more disinterested if she tried. "Having a lease and a business makes it harder for you to walk away, I guess."

"Swan—"

"Let's just get this over with," she snaps and brushes past me, driving her shoulder into mine on the way through the door.

It's progress at least I suppose, she didn't punch me in the face again. I swallow down a cup of coffee as quickly as the scalding hot temperature allows, knowing I'll need every bit of help I can get to make it through the morning. Mother Superior, Snow, David, and Emma are sitting around the coffee table in the living room. Emma is sandwiched between her parents and glares at me while I settle in the arm chair across from them.

"Do you have any particular readings in mind, Emma?" Mother Superior asks softly, making a quick mark on her notepad.

"This one please," Emma mumbles and hands over a half sheet of paper.

"Longfellow, this is beautiful, Emma," Mother Superior sniffles and dabs at her eyes. Snow pulls Emma into a hug and her shoulders shake slightly.

I don't even have to look at that bloody sheet of paper. I already know the overly-sentimental rot she chose:

Sooner or later we begin to understand

that love is more than verses on Valentines,

and romance in the movies.

We begin to know that love is here and now, real and true,

the most important thing in our lives.

For love is the creator of our favourite memories

and the foundation of our fondest dreams.

Yeah, fuck that.

"Killian, do you have anything you'd like to read?" Mother Superior asks and I hate to admit that it catches me off guard. I haven't thought about it at all, to be honest. What is there to say really? Liam was my hero, he was the best man I'll ever know. He was a good man, a good brother and, by all accounts, a good husband. I'd gladly trade my life for his if it meant he'd get more years of taking ridiculous pictures for the walls of the home he built with Emma. But no one else needs to know that.

"No, ma'am, nothing from me," I mutter. Snow and David glance at each other with a look I can only place as pity while Emma narrows her eyes even more in my direction.

The rest of the planning goes relatively smoothly and Mother Superior bids a tearful goodbye before the ceremony this afternoon. The Charmings leave to get changed and whatever else one is supposed to do before burying a son-in-law and it's just Emma and I, alone, again.

"You really couldn't be bothered to write down a few words, could you?" Emma asks and pins me with a glare far harsher than the ones she's already thrown my way this morning.

"My thoughts are my business," I say and try to make it clear that it's not open for discussion. This isn't a road she wants to go down with me. She has yet to realize that she's not the only one hurting. My patience only extends so far and she's on my last nerve.

"I'm sure they're profound," she shoots back and that's the breaking point.

"Fuck off, Swan," I shout, even though I don't intend to. "You loathe me, I get it, I don't need to keep hearing it at every bloody turn. You're not the only one on the planet dealing with this right now. You may have been the bloody center of Liam's world but you aren't the only person he mattered to. Get over yourself and your bloody baggage for one day. I'll be out of your hair soon enough, and until then you can keep your opinion to yourself."

"I didn't—" she stutters with wide eyes.

"Save it, Swan, I've heard enough," I retreat to my room to text Belle for some measure of sanity, leaving Emma gaping in the foyer.

As expected, the service was appropriately morose and depressing. It wasn't what Liam would have wanted. I might not have been present as of late, but I know my brother. He loved Emma, he loved Storybrooke, and he loved life. He always did, even in the absolute worst, darkest days of our lives he was smiling and cracking jokes. The day we found ourselves fatherless he just smiled and said to me "the mettle of a hero was never forged in quiet, Killian." He would have wanted his life celebrated; he would have wanted a cask of brown ale at cellar temperature and six hours of terrible Fleetwood Mac karaoke. The last thing he would have wanted would be for everyone he cared about the stand around in the rain for an hour and a half, soaked to the bone, and crying into an overly-sentimental book of Psalms and poetry. That just isn't Liam's style.

Worst of all was watching Emma crumble all over again. If I thought standing by my brother while he married her was hard, peeling Emma off of Liam's casket and trying to hold her together while they lowered him into the ground was a hundred times worse. She was in my arms when her knees gave out under her. I tried my best to shield her from prying eyes, I know she hates looking weak in front of other people. We made a quick exit and found a big willow to settle behind where no one could see her and she didn't have to see the cemetery crew working to bury her husband.

I don't know what else to do so I stand there, uselessly, while she cries. I don't even have a handkerchief to offer her. Bad form.

"Come, love, let's go home," I offer as soon as I notice her starting to shiver in the cold; she surprises me by taking my offered hand without a fight. When I pull her up she collapses against me.

"We can't leave him here, Killian, we can't leave him all alone here. He hates the rain," she sobs and starts melting into the ground again.

"Up you go, darling, it will be ok," I try to sound reassuring but she's right, for as much as he loved everything else, Liam bloody hated the rain. Emma can barely stand upright so I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to the car.

The drive home is mostly silent except for the occasional sniffle from the passenger side. It's raining earnestly by the time we hit the interstate and it takes longer than I'd hoped it would to get back into town.

"Do you need anything?" I ask as we pass the flickering neon sign outside Granny's Diner. The widow Lucas attended the service along with the rest of the town, but it looks like she's back behind the lunch counter serving a dining room full of people dressed in black. Life goes on. "Grilled cheese and onion rings?"

"I'm not hungry," Emma mumbles and lays her head against the window.

"You have to eat, love."

"I said I'm not hungry," she growls and scrubs at her cheeks with a balled fist.

"Course not, my mistake."

"I don't hate you," she says quietly, barely audible over the squeak of the wiper blades against the windscreen. "Earlier… you said that you know I hate you. I don't. So… that's um… that I guess."

Her gravel driveway is slightly treacherous with the rain and it makes me glad we took the rental instead of the ancient bright yellow Beetle she insists on still driving. She follows me into the foyer of the house robotically, her face completely empty. She stops in front of a framed picture of her and Liam wrapped up in each others' arms in front of a covered bridge. There are dozens of photographs on their walls: Liam and me at his discharge ceremony, Liam and Emma at the town fish fry, Emma and me at our high school graduation. I don't know what's so special about the photo that she chose, but they both look happy.

"I'm a widow," she laughs hysterically, running her fingers over the glass of the picture. "Liam was a school teacher, a freaking school teacher! Four years in the Navy in Iraq and Afghanistan, not a scratch, then he's driving down Main Street and… How stupid is that? It's the dumbest thing in the world. Everything was perfect that night, we made a new lasagna recipe and it was really good. He went out to get a pack of batteries because the smoke detector wouldn't stop chirping. Batteries, Killian! I told him to just leave the damn thing off the wall for the night but he was worried it wasn't safe to sleep without at least one in the house. He was worried that we'd get trapped in a fire! It's just the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. He left and an hour later Graham was at the door telling me he was dead."

"Swan—"

"He's… Killian, he's dead. He's gone forever. He's dead," she collapses against the wall, clutching the photo frame to her chest. And we're right back to where we were at the cemetery. "It doesn't make any sense, it's not fair."

"It never is, love," I offer lamely and slide down besides her so I can at least try to comfort her in a hug. I manage to get the frame away from her before she breaks it. I get a better look at the photo, Emma's holding her hand up to the camera and showing off the ring that Liam was so eager to show me when he bought it. It's a photo from their engagement.

Flashback

"Hey, Killian, do you have a moment?" Liam practically jumped off the couch when I walked through the door, it's no small miracle I can even remember that night for as much as I'd had to drink. He seemed nervous, which was a departure from his usual calm, even-keeled demeanor. That in and of itself was unsettling and I was almost certain he'd found out about my most recent misstep. Neal and I had gotten a little too far into a bottle of rum and ended up breaking a few windows at the Cannery for fun. "I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Now?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"If you don't mind," he nodded and shifted his weight between his feet again. He held out his hand, motioning to our old, broken-down sofa and ran his hand through his hair. "It's important."

"If this is about Friday night, Liam, I'll take care of it," I offered preemptively.

"No it's not— what happened Friday night? You know what? Never mind, it can wait," he waved his hand. "What I want to talk to you about is… Emma."

"Emma Swan?" I asked and scoffed, of course he wanted to talk about her. Liam's two favorite topics were: how to fix me and his magical relationship with Emma Swan. "What about her?"

"Well, you know we've been together for almost a year now and things are going well. Very well, actually. She's a… she's very special to me."

"Liam, if this is going to be another speech about the virtues of opening your heart to love, I'd rather not right now," I groaned and dropped my head to the back of the couch. He became quite the romance expert since he started dating Emma. My Emma. "I'm tired, mate."

"No, it's nothing like that. I uh… I'd like to ask Emma to marry me," he said nervously. It's not that I didn't expect someone to put a ring on her finger someday, I just didn't expect that it would be my brother. Emma Swan, my Emma, would be my sister-in-law. "Killian… what, uh, what do you think?"

"Does it matter I think?"

"To me it does."

"Eh, if she's makes you happy," I shrugged, feigning indifference and hoping that the nausea and dizziness I felt wasn't obvious.

"Come now, Killian, I really want to know what you think. She'll be a part of this family and I know you were quite close for some time."

"She's a little… prickly."

"That's not fair brother, you have to admit that you go out of your way to antagonize her on most occasions."

"Well she'll be your wife, not mine, so good luck," I said with finality and stood up a little too fast to finish drinking myself into a coma in my room away from the man who was doing his damnedest to destroy my life.

"I'm going down to Portland tomorrow to look at rings. Would you like to come?"

"As much as I would love to, brother, no can do. I have plans," like still being in said coma. "Take Elsa or Regina with you."

"Of course, capital idea. Well… goodnight then," he said and I knew he was disappointed in me and was too kind to say so.

Present

"I wish it had been me," she says, her voice muffled against my jacket.

"Don't say that, Emma," it comes out more roughly than I intend for it to, but I pull her away from my chest so I can look her in the eyes. "Don't ever say that again, not to me. My Emma is too strong for that."

"What if she's gone now, too?"

"She's still there."

"Make it go away, please, Killian," she whimpers and slides her hands up the inside of my suit jacket a little too slowly. "Just for tonight, just make it stop hurting for a little bit."

"Tell me what I can do, anything you need it's yours, love."

"Touch me," she says so clearly it startles me. Her fingers are already tugging at the knot in my tie. "Like you used to."

"What the devil are you doing?" I snap and grab her hands away from me because the soft pads of her fingers brush against my throat and I don't want to admit how good it feels. "You're upset, Swan, you don't know what you're saying."

"I need to feel something other than hurting," she says pulling her fingers out of my grip and tunneling them into my hair as she climbs into my lap.

"You'll regret this in the morning," I mumble even though my hands are already sliding over her hips, imagining was kind of knickers she has on under her black dress.

"I won't. Please Killian, I'll beg you if that's what you want," she whispers too close to my ear and pulls on my tie again. "Please, fuck me until I can't feel anything but you."

I have to think hard about it because I have to remind myself that it's not real. She doesn't want me, not really. She won't be making love to me. She's fucking me to dull the pain of losing her husband, my brother. This isn't playing house or building something special, this is two people completely inept to handle heartache attempting to deal with the biggest loss of their lives. I have to remember that. None of this is real.

"You're going to bloody hate me for this," I protest weakly and drop my head against the wall behind me, and she will but you wouldn't know it by the way she's nipping at my neck and fidgeting with the buttons on my shirt.

"I won't."

I've never been able to say no to her. The pleading and the tears in her pretty green eyes finally break me and I'm going to hate myself even more for giving in to her. We're upstairs and out of our mourning clothes before I can think better of it. Once she kisses me, I'm gone. She's sweet and shy but when I kiss her back it's with the frustration of eight years of missing her and wanting her and having to create a life without her in it. I kiss her hard enough to bruise her pouty pink lips to make sure that she'll still be thinking about me tomorrow. My hands are a little rougher than I intend them to be. I want to apologize to her about it, but I can't trust my voice anymore than I can my hands.

Her knees cradle my hips just like they used to and when I finally press into her it feels like, physically at least, nothing has changed. She's just as tight as I remember and she still trembles when I kiss her neck just below her ear. She breathily asked me to slow down a few times and I tried, and failed. She may need me tonight but I've needed her for two thousand nights. She kissed me like she understood, almost like she was asking for my forgiveness. Being with her again was nothing like I imagined it would be. I thought of this moment a million times since I left. Sometimes it's light and fun, sometimes she's on top, sometimes she's in lace, sometimes leather. But in all of those fantasies my throat is never clamping shut and my eyes are never stinging with tears. I missed her.

I missed her so much.

Her skin is soft and warm, she tastes like vanilla and peaches. She's softer now. Her breasts are fuller and she doesn't wear a ring in her belly button anymore. Her smooth golden hair feels the same running through my fingers but she's wearing it in natural waves now instead of straightened like she used to. I didn't think it was possible for her to get anymore beautiful than she was the last time I saw her before I left for LA but she is. Her eyes are warm and clear and when her gaze meets mine I know that she's seeing me, that she's here with me, and not trying to escape into her own head. I don't know how to begin to thank her for that small kindness.

I can't breathe when she gasps my name and comes apart under me, taking me right under with her. The magnitude of my name on her lips again threatens to end me just like it nearly did all those years ago. She's never been far from my mind, even when I've been with other women, especially when I've been with other women. They've all been nameless place holders for this woman, my darling, my Emma. I have to bite my lip, hard enough to nearly draw blood, to stop myself from saying something foolish. She's the center of the universe who's gravity I've been trying in vain to escape. She's everything I've ever wanted and desperately needed. She destroys my entire existence with every steadying breath she takes as we come down from oblivion together. I let her soak into every cell of my body and I know that I won't be able to wash her out this time.

I lie on my back staring at the ceiling because I can't handle seeing the shame and disgust in Emma's eyes when she realizes what we've done. I know that she asked, practically begged for it, but I wouldn't be able to handle seeing her hate herself for fucking me. I hear the sheets shuffling next to me, but rather than running for sanctuary she's curling into my side. She wiggles and squirms until she's somehow in my arms with her head on my chest and her legs are tangled with mine. She still smells like peaches but the sweetness is dulled by sex and my cologne. It makes me possessive and primal. I don't ever want to let her go now that she's mine, no matter how temporarily that may be so.

"Can I stay here, just for tonight?" she asks shyly. I'm not confident I can even croak an answer around the lump in my throat so I settle for pulling the blankets around her shoulders and hold her a little more tightly.

"Thank you," she mumbles and kisses my chest. I'm in such deep shock that I don't even respond. It's not until her breathing evens out and her head becomes heavy on my chest that I lift my head to look at her. She's an angel, and right now she could even be my angel. Everything about her is so damned beautiful that I want to wake her up and wear her out all over again. She must have meant what she said about not hating me. Her touch was too tender and her eyes too soft to really hate me.

I'm certain she's asleep so I kiss the crown of her head and whisper my deepest secret to her, letting the darkness of my old room swallow it up and hide it away.

I still love her.

Thanks for reading!