AN-Back again! And on a roll, because I LOVELOVELOVE these two! SO. MUCH. POTENTIAL. I can't not! And for this one, just pretend Henry's Castle wasn't torn down by Regina.

And, on an off not, I have the mug Killian is using. It's my very favorite. 3

Enjoy lovelies! And reviews are love! :D

.:Good Morning, Sunshine:.

Emma yawns, stretching like a cat, pausing to listen to the muffled conversation. It takes her a minute to smother the panic and realize who's in the other room, and then she smiles, allowing her eyes to close for a moment.

She can't hear the conversation, but she can catch the drift of it; it's happy, it's light, and it just makes her smile.

She stands, glancing down to make sure her clothes are suitable for their company, and content enough with the white wifebeater (though she does paused to put a bra on because reformed or not, a pirate is still a pirate at heart) and red-yellow-and-black plaid sleeping pants, she drags her fingers through her messy hair, fixing her necklace, before she steps out into the apartment proper.

Henry is closest to her bedroom door, clad in a gray t-shirt and brick red pants. His dark hair sticks up at all angles as he munches on his cereal. Pieces of Fruity Pebbles float in all their brightly-colored glory, stark against the white backdrop of milk, and he beams up at her, "Morning, Mom!"

"Hey, Kid," Emma grants him a sweet, subdued smile because she isn't a morning person. The boy doesn't hold it against her, but turns back to his cereal with an idle comment of, "Killian made coffee."

She blinks in surprise, looking over at the outdated, white coffee pot that is, indeed, mostly full of the rich, chocolate liquid. It looks like a cup is missing out of the pot, and she bites back laughter at the mug sitting in front of the appliance. Woody, from the Toy Story movies, is just waiting on her.

She heads for the appliance, glancing over to Killian, who smiles his small smile that is both genuine and bordering on the edge of a smirk. She inclines her head in a gesture of thank you, and he nods his own, taking a sip out of his own mug. She's aware of his eyes watching her move slowly, gracefully, over.

She fills her own mug and settles in the seat in between them, curling one leg up on the chair as she glances over the front page of the newspaper.

But Emma doesn't beat around the bush—she couldn't read that paper if she wanted to. Killian is to her right, in a black t-shirt—that accents his impressive arms—and light blue sleeping pants that match his eyes—perfectly. His hair is only in a slightly better state than Henry's, and he hasn't gotten to the guyliner yet, and, she is (pleasantly) shocked to find that his hook isn't present either. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that that means he is totally comfortable and at peace here.

They've entered…something. Emma can't really put a name to it, but she knows it's something. It couldn't not be something, after his public declaration—and kiss—as he, Neal, and August had it out in the middle of town. It couldn't not be something after she found herself carefully defending him to her parents. She was surprised that her father was the one to relent, and nod in understanding. She hadn't yet figured that out.

So, it was something. It didn't have a name, it didn't truly have a form, but it had a place in her heart. Killian could often be found teaching Henry some sword movement or evasive maneuver. If he's not there, he's either helping someone find something—he's become somewhat of a detective, for those that would trust him enough—and then there are the days that his mischievous nature still gets the best of him, and Emma will get a call that he's stealing something—thought more often than not it's a book from Belle's library, and she'll just smile like she's privy to the joke. If Emma doesn't go after him, the book is back within the week anyway.

Then there are those days, that, even though he's integrated himself into Storybrooke—as much as some will allow—that she can find him at Henry's Castle, sitting in a swing, staring out wistfully over the bay. She catches longing in those blue depths on those days, and she doesn't say anything because there's nothing to say.

But more often than not, Killian isn't far from her. He's pestering her in the sheriff's office, or he's meeting her somewhere because the thing he's searching for manages to cross her path, or he's just around. And she finds it comforting.

He comes over for movie night every Friday, and he's usually stays over three nights a week—the Inn is nice, but it's lonely, and she sympathizes. Which is nice, because Henry tries to alternate his time between her, Regina, and Snow and Charming.

They make it work.

But she's so accustomed to having someone else present that, when he leaves, her place feels entirely too big. And then, as if reading her mind, Killian comes sweeping in the front door, some object of interest in his hand. Once, it was a board game—what is this contraption?—another, it was a large bottle of rum—from drunken lips come sober thoughts—but it doesn't really matter what's in his hand.

It matters that he's there.

She blinks rapidly, pulling herself out of her thoughts, and her eyes flash first to his lips—tongue darting out to catch a drop of errant coffee—and then his eyes, which are bright, glittering with amusement as he lowers the mug, "Good morning, Sunshine."

She scoffs an unamused laugh, shaking her head, before her eyes lock on his mug, and she snorts, "You have got to be kidding me…"

Emblazoned on the side of the greenish-gray pottery is a little image that reads 'Ride it like you stole it.'

Killian laughs, quirking his brow in that way, and holds it up in front of his mouth, "Fitting, yes?" and then takes another drink. Emma just shakes her head more, a smile burgeoning on her lips.

Only when she tries to really focus on the paper this time, does she see the two boxes of cereal at the center of the table with the salt and pepper shakers and napkin holder.

In front of Henry is the red box of Fruity Pebbles, depicting Barney and Fred in all their glory, and beside it is the yellow box of Captain Berry Crunch.

She runs her tongue along her teeth, waiting for her mind to catch up. Only when she slams the paper down and looks from Henry to Killian, and watches them look at each other—like they're thick as thieves, like they're best friends, like they care—do they both try to hold in their laughter, and fail miserably.

As the two men in her life—because, let's face it, she won't let Killian go anywhere, couldn't possibly bear his absence, not now, in too deep—begin to outright laugh, a loud, gleeful, uproarious thing…

She joins in.

After they've been reduced to wheezing and tears, Emma wipes one from her eye, shaking her head as she focuses on her paper with a grin she couldn't get off her face to save her life, she chuckles, "I'm so done with you two."

They begin laughing again.