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Chapter Text

 "I can't believe this guy has a whole wing dedicated to his art." Emma muttered, staring at the painting in front of her. She didn't know who this "Killian Jones" was, but based on his art, she was glad she didn't.

 "Why not?" A voice behind her asked.

 She hadn't even realized she'd made her statement out loud, but she'd never been one to back down from a fight, even over something as trivial as art.

 "It's tasteless," She turned to look at the stranger, only to find him more attractive than she expected, "and purposeless- like if absurdism and abstract art had a child in a soulless void. This guy isn't trying to communicate anything, and if he is, he's buried it so deep his viewership can't find out what it is."

 "That's because they're not looking," He said, "besides, isn't art open to interpretation? 'Death of the author' and all that? Maybe the reason you're not seeing the message is that you're not looking hard enough."

 Determined not to be outwitted by a cute art museum stranger, she turned back to the painting in front of her and tried to see what it could possibly mean. This piece in particular was of waves on a stormy sea- except one large blotch of a vibrant white, silhouetting a sailing ship.

 "This one communicates that he knows how to paint water," Emma suggested, "but he's scared to try his hand at realism when it comes to boats. It almost looks like he intended to paint a magnificent vessel there- but backed down at the last minute."

 The stranger laughed. "That's what this picture shows. But what does that communicate?"

 "That he doesn't like to paint boats?"

 "Then I suppose you haven't paid close attention to the rest of the exhibit," he said, "ships seem to be a recurring theme in Jones' work."

 Emma bit her lip and nodded. She did recall seeing a few other paintings of ships in this wing.

 "So the absence of the ship here is intentional," he continued, "he meant for this picture to be missing something."

 "A purpose?" Emma suggested.

 He gave half a laugh, "You're closer than you think. I believe Jones' purpose," and here he paused, for a dramatic effect, "is that some purpose of his is missing. The sea has everything but a vessel to sail on it, and without it, something is missing. A clever metaphor, really- though it may be a bit lost on less intellectual self-proclaimed connoisseurs."

  "Did he just insult me?" Emma thought, though she had to admit, she started to appreciate the meaning behind the piece- there'd been times she'd felt like that shipless sea herself. Still, she was determined not to be outwit by this stranger.

 "That's just one piece," Emma said, then pointed to one she'd spent twenty minutes judging, "what do you think he meant to communicate by this?"

 This one was more simplistic than the other, painted in only three colors, and only using basic shapes. It depicted a classic red heart on a white background, with three lines overtop the heart, something like thorns sticking out of the lines- and those were deep black.

 "A valentine's heart a five year old could draw," Emma said, "basic shapes, a self proclaimed gritty design that a twelve year old emo with Microsoft Paint would be able to make for themselves."

 "You've done it again," he said, "in attempting to swing a low blow on the painting, you've instead hit the nail on the head. This is simple, it is easily accessible- and I think that's because grief is too. Whatever pain inspired this piece, he must've found it extremely extraordinary, to paint it in such an ordinary manner- as if trying to make one understand it. See how the thorns cover the heart, almost like a jail cell, like you can't reach your heart through all that grief."

 Emma nodded. "Or maybe the heart is trying to get out- and the grief is the cage you use to protect it."

 "So this piece doesn't exist in a soulless void either?" he asked, and raised an eyebrow.

 "Two out of twenty means nothing."

 "Then perhaps discuss another?" he asked.

 "What about that one?" Emma asked. A few paintings down the hall was an abstract array of brushstrokes, all positioned vertically on the canvas. All of them were in shades of red, pink and white, except for two of them. These two would've been directly parallel with each other if they were centered on the canvas, but one was on the top right and the other on the bottom left. They were a deeper shade of red, so much so that they were almost purple, and on further inspection one could even see a little bit of blue peeking out the edge of each stripe, on the sides facing their nearest edge.

 "What do you think he doesn't mean to say in this one?" he asked her.

 "It looks like Pong without the ball or the center line." Emma said. "Is this another 'something important is missing' too, like how," and here she feigned a dramatic tone of voice, "a game of Pong without the ball is already lost?"

 "Not even close this time," he said, "and you were so good up until now."

 "I thought art was up to interpretation?" Emma asked.

 "True, but look at this," he pointed to the title of the piece.

  "Silverstein's Masks?" Emma asked. "I don't know who Silverstein was, but he must've been some kind of picasso painting himself if he could wear this as a mask."

 "So knowledgeable in the visual arts, but not in the literary," he shook his head, "I believe the Silverstein in question is Shel."

 "Shel Silverstein?" Emma asked, "like, The Giving Tree."

 "Ah, so you do know the classics," he said, "but you may not be familiar with one of Silverstein's lesser known works, a short poem almost like a tragedy, simply entitled Masks ."

 "And I take it you know the poem?"
"Quite familiar with it," he said, "'She had blue skin, and so did he. He kept it hid, and so did she. They searched for blue their whole lives through- then passed right by and never knew."

   "And these stripes are supposed to represent that?" Emma asked, trying to hide how impressed she was by his recitation.

 "You know more than you're letting on," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder to turn her attention back to the painting, pointing out details with his other hand, "see how these two almost look like they're moving, moving past each other. And while, for the most part, these appear like the others, you can see, just barely peeking out at the bottom- though not where the other could have ever noticed- that under all that red, they're blue."

 "So?" Emma asked, understanding exactly what it meant, but wanting to hear him say it in his own words, finding his intellect and voice and his face altogether quite attractive.

 "In trying to blend with the rest of the palate, they've closed themselves off from the opportunity to be understood- they've lost a chance to be truly loved because they tried to be something they weren't."

 Emma nodded. "I think I get it now."

 She looked up at the stranger, his hand still on her shoulder, his eyes a work of art unto themselves, one that she carefully inspected.

 "Shall we discuss another one?" he asked, remembering his place and taking his hand off Emma's shoulder.

 "I think you've proved your point," Emma said.

 "Oh?" he asked, "and what point is that?"

 Emma rolled her eyes. "Killian Jones is very clearly a talented artist with a clear message in his works."

 The stranger smiled a little more than expected, almost sheepishly.

 "I'm glad to hear you've changed your mind, miss…."

 He held his hand out to her, and she took it, noticing how strong his grip was, but how delicate as well.

 "Swan," Emma said, "Emma Swan. And you are?"

  "Artist in residence," he smiled, "Killian Jones."

Chapter Text

 After how bold her words against his paintings were, it was almost ironic how quiet and shamefaced this Emma got as soon as she knew who he was.

 "Oh gosh," Emma said, "you're the…"

 "The 'talented artist with a clear message in his works,'" Killian alluded to her statement from half a minute ago.

 "I don't believe it."

 "Well, you should," Killian said, flipping around the lanyard he was wearing so she could see his vip id. He then handed her a brochure about the display out of his jacket pocket, pointing out to her his picture in it.

She leafed through it for a moment.

 "Alright, I'm convinced," she handed the pamphlet back to him, "but you didn't think that was relevant to our discussion?"

 He paused for a moment as he put away the brochure, as if pretending to think, then smiled and nodded, "Nope, not at all."

 She rolled her eyes and shook her head in response.

 Rather than let their conversation reach an awkward lull, he decided to turn on the charm. He'd been out of the dating game for a while, but this woman seemed reason enough to get back in. The moment he'd laid eyes on her, he knew he had to find a way to talk to her, and as they conversed he could feel the chemistry between them, and he was drawn as well to her fire and way with words.

 "It's not every day I hear such honest feedback," he explained, "and never from someone who's knowledge of the subject matter is rivaled only by how radiant she looks as she says it."

 "So this is an attempt to flirt with me?" she asked.

 "It's only an attempt if it doesn't work," he leaned in a touch closer, "I beg your pardon if I'm overstepping my bounds, but are you free this Friday?"

 "That depends."

 "The museum is hosting a charity benefit dinner that evening," he explained, "I've an obligation to attend, of course, but seeing as I'm a little new to the area, I've yet to find a date for the evening. Would you care to accompany me?"

 "Is this how you get all your dates?" Emma asked, "hang around your own exhibit in the hopes that a beautiful woman will waltz in and listen to you talk about yourself?"

 He wasn't about to admit that he hadn't asked someone out in years, that he'd been so devoted to his art career he hadn't thought of a social life since- since some time well before he painted Grief.

 "It's not every day a beautiful woman waltzes into my exhibit in the first place," he said, "least of all a woman as beautiful as you. My deepest apologies, though, if I've misread you."

 He'd certainly thought she'd seemed interested in him, or at least intrigued by him, but he wasn't about to pressure her if she wasn't.

 "What time's dinner?" Emma asked.

 "Friday at six thirty," he said, taking hope in her curiosity, "but we ought to aim to arrive a little early."

 "Sounds like a date," Emma almost laughed a little, and Killian smiled in response, surprised and excited that she'd accepted his offer.

 He noted again how well her pale green eyes complimented her golden hair and faded blue shirt- he half contemplated composing a similar color palette for his next piece.

 "Can I have your number?" he asked, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening the contacts app.

 "Of course," Emma pulled out her phone and handed it to him as he handed her his.

 He typed his name and number into her phone, then they exchanged phones again.

 "Lemme send you a text to make sure I got my number right." Emma said.

 Half a second later, his phone dinged, heralding a message that just said "hey -emma."

  "hey -killian" he texted back, and her phone buzzed in response.

 "Perfect," Emma said.

 "Almost perfect," Killian said, "though I suppose I can't ask to take a picture of you for the contact photo."

 "Why not?" Emma asked.

 "Museum staff won't let me," he said, "they don't always encourage people to take pictures of the masterpieces."

 "That was the corniest line I've ever heard."

 "Then why are you blushing?"

 She didn't answer, but instead tucked a strand of hair in behind her ear and looked away.

 "Let's break the rules just this once," Killian said, "Selfie?"

 Emma smiled, "Sure."

 He held out his phone and stepped next to her.

 "Permission to touch the masterpiece too?" he asked.

 He watched her in the camera on his phone, taking a picture of her flustered smile before she looked back up.

 "Permission granted, rulebreaker." she teased.

 "I aim to be the first artist kicked out of his own exhibit," Killian joked, then put his arm around her and leaned a touch closer for the picture. He felt her arm reach around his side as well, her hand on his back, her touch like magic.

 A moment after he took the picture, they let go of each other, and before he updated her contact photo he sent it to her.

 She pulled out her phone as it vibrated, then looked at the time.

 "I gotta get going," Emma said, "didn't realize how late it is, and I've got a half hour drive back to the apartment, after I work my way out of this labyrinth of a museum and remember where I parked my car."

 "Would you like me to escort you?" Killian asked.

 "I think I can manage," Emma smiled.

 "Alright then," Killian held his hand out to her, "pleasure to meet you, Miss Swan."

 "Nice meeting you too," Emma shook his hand, "see you Friday?"

 "I'll pick you up at five thirty." he said.

 "Sounds great."

 She let go of his hand, then smiled at him one more time before she left.

  "Wow," Killian thought, his eyes fixed on her as she walked away, "Friday can't come soon enough." 

Chapter Text

 An hour later, Emma sat down on the couch in her apartment, with her phone in one hand and a mug of ramen noodles in the other.

 She scrolled absentmindedly through Facebook, playing the mental game of "will I see more engagement posts or birth announcements today?" and regretting friending so many people back in college, all of whom she never spoke to anymore. Once the life update posts ended, she switched to Instagram, and was only a few posts in before she realized social media was a mistake today.

 It was only a week after her ex had decided they should take a break- but after all they'd gone through together, Emma shouldn't've been surprised to see him already posting a picture with another girl. Careful not to accidentally like the photo, she read the description, words about being excited to see where this goes getting blurred by the anger and annoyance clouding Emma's mind- not just sorrow over his betrayal, but frustration that she was stupid enough to let him get away with it. She should've seen this coming from a long way off, but she'd given him the benefit of the doubt all this time, only to find herself trampled on.

 She unfollowed him on Instagram, then on Facebook, and was well on her way to deleting and blocking his contact in her phone- when she noticed she hadn't opened the text that Killian had sent her before she left the museum. It was just the picture they'd taken together, which she immediately saved to her phone, then figured she should probably say something in response.

  "Thanks for the picture. Had a great time!"

 She was half tempted to post their picture on her Instagram story, just to rub it in her ex's face that she had a date this weekend too, coupled with some caption about how it wasn't every day she met such a talented guy, but she felt it might be petty and shallow, and generally uncool to get Killian caught in the crosshairs like that out of the blue.

 She turned off her phone screen and set it down on the couch, then flopped her head back.

 There had to be something healthier than social media to handle this annoyance and betrayal- wasn't that why she went to the museum today anyways?

 She looked back at her newspaper covered coffee table with a canvas and paint supplies all set up. It had been a while since she'd painted something with feeling, so she'd been hoping to find a little inspiration at the museum.

 She picked up the canvas and a pencil and tried to sketch something out. How could she describe how she was feeling after the fallout of this week? Broken? Betrayed? Small?

  Small. Believing you're someone's everything for months, then finding out you're more replaceable than a double A battery- the only thing she could call herself was small.

 She sketched out a figure, a young girl, just an outline, with her head hung down. She didn't take up too much of the canvas. She then drew an outline around her, one not unlike a shadow across the corner of the page, like it was coming from someone off the canvas- and like his shadow was part of why he felt so small.

 "That's got a message." she thought. She then thought about the message that Killian had included in the three paintings she'd seen with him. Maybe if things worked out well on Friday, he'd walk her through his whole exhibit sometime, explaining the story behind every painting.

 She wondered how much social media presence he had for his art- his Instagram had been mentioned in one of the brochures.

  "Maybe I should take a fresh look at some of his paintings for a touch of inspiration."

 She opened her phone to get distracted from her painting, but found herself distracted from that as well- Killian had replied to her text.

  "You're welcome. Did you make it home safely?"

 She smiled, endeared at the concern for her in those words.

  "Yup. Thanks for asking." she texted back.

 He replied almost immediately.

  "Pleasure's all mine. See you Friday at 5:30!"

 "Can't wait."

 Then she opened instagram, and tracked down his art account. She tapped on the profile and viewed his story- a link to a newsletter about the benefit dinner, a snapshot of a view of the city out the window of what was apparently the apartment the museum had him set up in, a screenshot and a link of a news article about his display, the picture he'd taken with Emma….

 She held down the screen so it wouldn't disappear before she read the caption.

 "Always a pleasure to meet a new fan! @nolan.blanchard.art.museum"

 Emma's gut reaction was a hint of annoyance at her photo being used as a publicity stunt- but it made her feel special as well. As she realized she was charmed by this and not appalled, she also realized that she would now seem a lot less petty to do the same thing. In fact, since she'd seen the story, it would almost be impolite if she didn't respond.

   So, she screenshot his story, then uploaded it to her story, adding a caption of her own.

  "The pleasure was all mine! It's cool meeting such a talented artist @artists.life.for.me @nolan.blanchard.art.museum."

 If he was gonna get clout from their picture together, she felt no shame in doing the same.

 She then went back to his profile and followed it, then liked some of his recent works.

  "The 'don't like after three days' rule doesn't apply to influencers," she reasoned, so she felt it alright to like every picture of his paintings that spoke to her.

 Which, though she wouldn't've expected it of herself even two hours ago, happened to be most of them.

Chapter Text

 Killian tried to shake off his nerves as he drove to Emma's apartment. Just because he hadn't dated in years didn't mean he was gonna be bad at it- he had to remind himself of that. It was just a simple, formal but casual get-together.

 His phone started ringing in his jacket pocket.

  "That's probably Emma, calling to cancel at the last minute," he thought, but when he looked at his screen he realized it was worse than that.

 He sighed as he picked up the phone and swiped the call icon while trying to keep his eyes on the road.

 "I'm on the road right now, can I call you back later?"

 "Well, hello to you too." the sarcastic and disappointed voice replied

  "Two seconds into the call and I've already messed up," Killian thought, "This must be my new personal record."

 "Hi, dad." Killian tried not to let the disdain in his voice show.

 "I was just calling to see if you'll make it to Liam's graduation."

 "I'm not sure," he said, having forgotten entirely about his little step brother's high school graduation, "I haven't looked at my schedule yet for next weekend."

 "Why not?" his father asked, clearly very annoyed, "You've known about this for months."

 "I know," Killian said, "And I'll see if I can make it. I've been busy as of recent, and a little tied up with things at the museum."

 "Museum?"

 "Yes, dad," Killian rolled his eyes and pretended he wasn't disappointed, "the one displaying my exhibit."

 "Oh yeah." his dad replied, then changed tone, "Fiona said if you come to bring that potato salad you like to make, for Liam's party."

 "If I'm not busy I will," Killian said, hoping beyond hope that something would come up between now and then, "right now I have to go; I'm on my way to a charity fundraiser dinner…."

 "That's nice," his dad interrupted. "The graduation starts at seven on Friday. See you then."

 With that, his dad hung up, like he hadn't heard a word Killian had just said- like he hadn't heard anything Killian had said for a long time.

 He tried not to let it cast a pall on his evening. He was about to escort a lovely lady to a fancy dinner, to help benefit a cause he cared about- and not even a phone call from his dad had been strong enough to ruin that.

 He parked outside her apartment building and called her, hoping she wouldn't bail on him now.

 "Hello," her voice over the phone said.

 "Hey, Emma," he said, "it's Killian. Killian Jones. I'm here whenever you're ready."

 "I'll be right down."

 She hung up the phone and he stepped out of the car. He slid his phone into his pocket, then checked himself again in the car mirror, hoping he still looked at least half as good as he thought he did when he left. Then he leaned against the car, watching the door of the building, waiting for Emma.

 When the door finally opened and Emma stepped out, Killian stood up straighter, hoping she wouldn't catch how awestruck he was by her. Her deep red dress was long, but cut low, and she wore a similarly colored shawl overtop.

 "Good evening, Emma," he held his hand out, and she met it with hers.

 "You clean up nice," Emma smiled, her eyes scanning him a few times over.

 "I was gonna say the same thing about you," he said, "though the words 'stunning,' 'radiant,' and 'beautiful' also crossed my mind."

 She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed with a pink like the clouds behind them.

 He escorted her to the other side of the car, holding the door open and then closing it once she got in, then ran back around to his side of the car.

 "What kind of music do you like to listen to?" Killian asked, pulling up Spotify on his phone as he sat down.

 "That depends," Emma said, "will you judge me if I say country?"

 "Rascal Flatts or old era Taylor Swift?"

 "I like both," Emma said, "Dolly Parton and Alabama aren't bad either."

 "Sounds great," Killian said, quickly pulling up a country music playlist to play on his car's Bluetooth speaker.

 Emma looked over at him, and they exchanged a smile as the first song's lyrics played on the car's radio:

  "At last I have caught up with you and you're a sight to see."

 He started the car and they were soon off.

 "Can I be honest?" Emma asked.

 "Sure," Killian said.

 "I've never been to one of these things in my life." Emma said.

 "Really?" Killian looked over at her and gave a reassuring smile, "then be prepared for four of the most tedious and boring hours of your life."

 "You sure know how to charm a girl."

 "Just giving you a heads up, of course," he said, "there'll be a lot of boring stiffs and stuffy old people who the museum has made certain will attend, and we'll have to carry on conversation with each of them at least once or twice."

 "Delightful."

 "There'll also be wonderful food," he made eye contact with her in the rear view mirror, "and a few tolerable, if not enjoyable attendees to share it with. We'll have a good time anyways."

 "Okay," Emma smiled.

 "And if it does end up being stuffy and boring the whole time," he half laughed, "I guess I'll just have to take you out to dinner again sometime to make up for it. If you'd give me a second chance, I'm sure I could come up with something at least eight times better than this, should it go horribly wrong."

 "Then let's hope it's the worst night of my life."

 He turned to look at her for half a second, reading her playful smile and dancing eyes that shone with the surrounding sunset- then quickly turned his gaze back on the road so he didn't get lost in her beauty and miss his next turn.

 "Then I hope you have a rotten time too," he smiled.

Chapter Text

 "Let me get the door for you," Killian said as he parked the car outside the museum.

  "He doesn't have to do that," Emma thought, though she wasn't about to stop him.

 Her door opened, and he held out a hand to help her out of the car.

 "This is certainly a better parking spot than I got the other day," Emma took his hand and got out of the car.

 "Perks of being a V.I.P.," Killian said, holding up his lanyard badge. He then stuck his elbow out to her, and she tucked her arm around it and entered the museum on his arm.

 "Now remember," he leaned towards her and said, "a lot of the people here are gonna be pretentious little snobs- and most of them won't take a shine to your criticism like I did."

 "I'll be diplomatic," Emma nodded.

 "I'd appreciate that," he said.

 They walked down brightly lit hallways to the museum's reception hall, Killian once or twice pointing out some painting they passed by and some bit of trivia he knew about the art, or about its artist or the story behind the piece.

 "Do they have you as a tour guide as well in your spare time?" Emma teased.

 "Sometimes when I need inspiration I roam the hallways looking for it," Killian said, "hoping that something I'll see will inspire me- and it is part of the job to be a bit familiar with the rest of the pieces in the museum as well."

 Emma nodded, "What else does an artist in residence even do?"

 "Promote different events the museum is hosting," he said, "hang out around the galleries in my free time- something about the chance to meet the artist often draws people in. And, most notably, I'm to work on a mural for the museum."

 "And what do you get out of that deal?"
"They pay for room and board," he said, "not to mention a few extra grand a month for other expenses, access to whatever supplies I find myself needing for their commissioned painting- and, of course, an extra boost in publicity and the chance to add 'artist in residence' to my portfolio and resume."

 "So let me get this straight," Emma asked, "you get paid to do what you love and the museum gets publicity because they're letting you freeload?"

 He nodded and smiled, "an artist's life is one to love."

  "Imagine what I could do with a setup like that," Emma thought. Though she loved art, she seldom had the time and energy to sit down and paint something while still working forty hours a week and keeping up with housework and her other hobbies. Sure, she didn't ever consider going professional with her art, but she wouldn't mind getting paid to sit around painting whenever the muse struck her. As it stood, she'd scarcely had time to make headway on the painting she'd started a few days ago.

 Once they got to the reception hall, Emma noticed that quite a few people had already arrived, and Killian began introducing himself and Emma to each of them, following a pretty simple formula: introducing themselves, mentioning how great it was to meet them, and some comments about the other's line of work peppered with dry humor, before an "excuse me, I need to go welcome this person over here."

 Emma met more self-proclaimed "important" people in twenty five minutes than she'd ever met in her life. Mayor Mills was there, along with her business tycoon mother (who Emma was pretty sure helped buy her her votes,) and the elder Mills daughter who was working hard to learn to fill her mother's shoes. Multi-millionaire Adam Gold was also in attendance, along with his associates, Madame Deville and her husband. Among the snobbery as well were a few prestigious doctors, a couple different artists, many of whom Killian seemed to know well, and a few other notable creative minds. Of course, in attendance as well was the curators of the museum, Mr. and Mrs. Nolan- a rather charming couple.

 "You're quite the natural," Killian whispered to Emma as they walked away from their twelfth snobbish conversation, this time with Emma interjecting a few clever but tasteful comments of her own.

 "I'm learning from the best," Emma smiled.

 "Well, don't worry," Killian said, "the next people I introduce you to will be much more charming- Mr. Booth is one of few individuals who make fundraisers like these bearable."

 He introduced Emma next to a couple that seemed a bit younger than most of the other attendees, much closer in age to Emma and Killian.

 "Mr. Booth," Killian held his hand out to the other man.

 "Always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Jones."

 Both men seemed to hold a secret in their eyes, a secret which then turned into a sparkle, then a smile, then a laugh.

 "August and I go way back," Killian explained to Emma.

 "August Booth?" Emma asked, "as in, the author August Booth?"
"You're familiar with my works?" he asked.

 "Indeed," Emma said, "I deeply enjoyed your Revolutionary Fairy Tales  series."

 "I'm flattered." August said, "and you are?"

 "Emma Swan," she shook his hand, "pleasure to meet someone interesting for a change."

 August smiled and addressed Killian, "I like her boldness."

 "As do I," Killian said, looking down at Emma and smiling, "we met in my wing of the gallery a couple days ago. Miss Swan was in the middle of insulting some of my masterpieces. I believe the exact words she used were…."

 "'If absurdism and modern art had a child in a soulless void?'" Emma offered.

 "Ah yes," Killian smiled, "and then something about being tasteless with nothing to communicate."

 "But then someone happened along and showed me a new way to look at it," Emma smiled and nudged Killian a little.

 "And I figured if there was anyone I could trust to keep me awake through another one of these dinners, it would be her."

 "How lovely," the woman standing next to August said.

 "Where are my manners?" August asked, "Emma, this is my fiancee, Belle."

 "It's a pleasure to meet you," Emma said.

 "And you as well," Belle said, "I take it this is your first date together?'

 "Yeah," Emma smiled.

 "And you brought her here?" August asked Killian, seeming almost appalled, "do you want to lose her that quickly?"

 "It's a stroke of genius, really," Killian said, "we start with the worst date I can imagine, and then her expectations are so low that the next date seems eight times better."

 "And a second chance dinner's on him next week if tonight goes terribly," Emma smiled, "though so far- especially by the graces of present company- it seems to be going pretty well."

 "Well, I hope we don't change your mind," August said.

 August paused, then turned to Killian, "Unless you're rooting on it going terribly, so you can get a guaranteed second date," he faked a gasp and pretended to be offended, "is that why you introduced her to us? Hoping our raging intellectualism would bore her to death?"

 "Quite the opposite," Killian said, "I was hoping your charming personality and clever wit would make up where mine lack."

 "Some pretty big shoes to fill there," August said, "but I think we can make it work."

 Killian motioned to a nearby table. Each table setting had a name card at it, and Emma quickly noticed Killian's, her own name set next to that, followed by August's, then Belle's.

 "V.I.P. table," Killian said, "it pays to be the artist in residence- and friends."

 He pulled out Emma's seat for her, and she blushed a little as she sat down and he pushed her chair back in. August did the same for Belle.

 "What makes the V.I.P. table better than the others?" Emma asked.

 "Closest to the stage," August said, as he sat down.

 "And closest to the kitchen," Belle peeked around August at Emma, "so they bring our food out sooner."

 "I'm down for that," Emma said.

 "Best part of the evening," August said.

 "Ah yes," Killian said, leaning on the back of his chair, "because the donations to the Humbert Cardiovascular Fund don't matter nearly as much as if our dinner is brought to us three minutes before anyone else's."

 August didn't respond, and neither did Emma, or Belle, or even Killian.

 After a brief moment, Killian excused himself. Soon, the lighting in the room dimmed a little, and the rest of the seats at the table were soon filled- Mr. and Mrs. Nolan took the seats next to Killian's, and Doctor Whale and his wife next to them.

  "I wonder where Killian went," Emma thought, noting that everyone else was already in their seats and things were about to begin, "this benefit dinner seemed to be pretty important to him."

 She then noticed someone stepping onto the stage, and after a moment realized it was Killian, who took a microphone off a nearby stand.

 "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I want to thank all of you for coming out here tonight. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Killian Jones, current artist in residence here at the Nolan Blanchard. For those of you who do know me, I'm terribly sorry."

 Everyone laughed, even Emma, who was still trying to piece together what was going on.

 "After dinner's been served," Killian said, "the curators and I will give a brief word about the Humbert fund that the proceeds from tonight are going to. Until then, allow me to introduce to you tonight's entertainment- Leroy and the Lucky Seven."

 Everyone clapped as Killian stepped down from the stage and the band entered from the side wings. Emma didn't take her eyes off Killian though, even noting how he tripped a little as he stepped off the stage.

 Once he took his seat next to Emma, she placed her hand on his shoulder, then spoke into his ear in a hushed tone.

 "You didn't tell me you were hosting this event."

 He turned a little to whisper in her ear. "Hosting, promoting, it's all the same, really."

 "You also didn't tell me you were promoting it."

 "I didn't think it was 'relevant to the discussion.'" he teased, then twisted away from her a little so he could look her in the eyes, "had I realized it would bother you…."

 The band started playing as their eyes met again, something simple and dramatic in both, like the start of falling in love.

 "It doesn't." Emma smiled, "I like a little mystery."

 "Alright then, Sherlock," he said, playfully tapping her nose.

 She smiled and rolled her eyes, then moved her hand off his shoulder, reminding herself where they were, that she was helping him represent the museum tonight, and they couldn't do that if they just sat there ogling over each other all evening. They needed to act professional and maintain some dignified conversation with someone other than each other.

Chapter Text

 As they waited for their food to be brought out, Killian found his hand drifting ever closer to Emma under the table. After a moment or two, Killian thought he felt Emma's hand brush against his during a lull in the conversation. He looked at her, and she winked at him out of the corner of her eye. He took that as a sign and finally took her hand, seeing a smile creep across her face and a slight nod as he did.

 He did his best to pay attention to conversation as he held Emma's hand- but, of course, he also wanted to pay attention to her. Soon, their dinner was brought out, and Killian tried to eat as quickly as he could in polite society- once all the tables had been served, he'd have to get back onstage.

"The worst part of this gig is almost over," Killian thought, "just get up there, talk in front of a bunch of people, try not to get too emotional, then leave. that's only four things, and you like doing that last one. No big deal."

 But as he watched the last table get their food, and as Mr. Nolan nodded at him, he started to feel his hands shake.

  "You can do this," he told himself.

 "I guess that's my cue," Killian said.

 "Break a leg up there," Emma said, and when she said that, she smiled at him, and when he saw her smile, he felt a surge of confidence, at least enough that he could get onstage without tripping again.

 The band played the last note of their song as Killian took the microphone.

 "Let's hear a big hand for Leroy and the Lucky Seven," Killian said, then paused a moment as the audience applauded and the band took a bow. The band then left the stage, leaving Killian standing alone in front of everyone.

 "I want to thank each of you again for coming out tonight," Killian began, "as some of you may know, this is a cause very near to me." He looked across the stage to the table where David and Mary Margaret Nolan sat, and instead found his gaze drawn to Emma, whose smile shone like the stars in the heavens- a calming presence.

 "When the Nolans approached me and asked if I'd like to give a few words at their upcoming benefit dinner, I was more than happy to oblige- especially when I learned what cause we were benefiting. The Humbert Cardiovascular Fund was started over a decade ago, to help support the research into and treatment of heart conditions, such as pericarditis, aneurysms, and cardiomyopathy."

 Killian tried to hide his smile, because while he knew it was a serious matter he was talking about, he was proud of himself for pronouncing all those words properly.

 "I know what a lot of you guys are thinking right now," he said, "because I've been in your shoes a lot. A few of you are thinking 'that was good steak tonight,' or 'will anyone judge me if I leave to use the bathroom,' and most of you are thinking, 'man, when will this guy stop talking so we can keep this night moving and get to dessert?'"

 He took a deep breath as the audience laughed at his joke, hoping he'd get a different- but still as engaged- response from his next statement. He looked at Emma again, like a proverbial breath of fresh air, then continued.

 "But I know what almost all of you are thinking right now. 'Cardiovascular diseases are awful, but why should they matter to me?' As selfish as it sounds to admit it, most of you are thinking that same thought. I myself have wondered the same thing about so many causes."

 He bit his lip and closed his eyes. "But this is not one of them," he said, "not anymore. And my hope is to show you all a change of thinking the easy way." he shook his head. "I wouldn't wish the hard way on anyone."

  "Get yourself together," Killian thought, "the goal isn't to guilt trip donors with a dramatic display of emotion."

 "I used to think 'why does this matter to me?'" he said, "'I'm not someone with a cardiovascular disease. I don't know anyone with a cardiovascular disease.' That's a dangerous thought to think, because all it takes is a single moment to change that fact."

 He closed his eyes and shook his head, "Ten minutes. It took ten minutes to go from a carefree college student who wouldn't think a heart attack was possible- to losing my brother to cardiac arrest. It took one diagnosis from a doctor to go from never knowing someone with heart disease, to hearing the woman I loved told she's already on borrowed time."

 He paused just a moment, letting it soak in, wondering if he should've told his date about his late wife sometime prior to right now, as a conversation rather than an announcement. Still, he continued.

 "And as hard as it was to lose my brother, and as hard as it was to grieve as I watched my wife's life slip away- as hard as it was to suddenly go from unaware of that pain to knowing it second hand- I know it could've been me. I know I could've had a heart attack, I could've been diagnosed with endocarditis- and I still could. There's nothing stopping that."

 He looked again at Emma, hoping to be comforted by her smile, but instead finding his heart broken over her single shed tear and misty eyes- and a tear ran down his own cheek in response.

 "The line between 'this exists a million worlds away from me' and 'this is my only reality' is as thin as one moment."

 He took a deep breath, then shook his head, "but that shouldn't matter. Every life should matter. If there was only one person dying, one person we don't even know, we should be giving everything to help them. We have the means to help people- too often all we lack is the compassion. We get so wrapped up in how we're different- sick and well, rich and poor, famous or nobody- that we forget that under all those masks we pretend matter, we're all still people.

 "And the only thing that makes you different from them is one moment."

 He paused, just for a moment, the entire room silent until he spoke again.

 "And the only difference for these people is what you do with this moment."

 He closed his eyes and nodded as he put the microphone back on the stand, hoping his words had moved the people. He heard them clapping, but was more amazed as he opened his eyes and saw them standing as they did so.

 On his way offstage, he crossed paths with Mr. Nolan. They shook hands, and he put his hand on Killian's shoulder and looked in his eyes.

 "Those were bold words," David said, "I'm proud of you for saying them."

 Killian smiled, nodding to fight off the urge to give him a hug instead.

 They let go of each other's hands and Killian walked back to the table, noticing Emma's gaze following him.

Chapter Text

 Emma didn't sit down as the others did. This evening, like a lot of things about Killian, had already been full of surprises. Finding out Killian was previously married was certainly one of them, though it didn't change how she thought of him- in fact, seeing how much love and passion flowed out through his speech made him more appealing to her.

 So when he got back to the table, instead of taking her seat like everyone else did, she grabbed Killian's arm and pulled him off to the side.

 "Emma," he said, eyes brimming with passion, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about…."

 "It's alright," Emma said, "you don't need to talk about it unless you're ready."

 He nodded, and Emma could see his shoulders relax a little.

 She wasn't sure what to say to him, how to say what was on her mind, that he'd been through so much, and that she was here for him, and that she wanted to comfort him, that she'd been through hard times as well.

 But she couldn't think of any words to say, especially as his eyes met hers again, rendering her utterly speechless over the sadness he was trying so desperately to hide.

 So, at risk of being informal, she wrapped her arms around him in a loose hug to comfort him. She felt his arms wrap around her as well, and could almost hear his heartbeat slow down, feel his tense muscles relaxing.

 She wanted to whisper something to him as she pulled away, but still didn't know the words to say.

 Instead, she heard him whisper a "thank you" as he loosened his grasp.

 He stepped away from her, their eyes still smiling in reflection of each other as he led her back to her seat, and held her hand again under the table for as much of the evening as he could.

 It didn't feel like long enough at all before Emma found herself standing across from Killian at the door to her apartment building.

 "Looks like tonight's fundraiser was a success," Emma said.

 "Couldn't've done it without you, love," he said.

 "Me?" Emma asked.

 "I'm sure it was your sharp wit in conversation with the Gold party that brought an increase in their donation."

 Enma rolled her eyes and blushed a little. "Are you sure it wasn't your speech that sparked their generosity?"

 "It was hardly a speech, love."

 "Well, whatever it was," Emma smiled, "it was a good one."

 "You really think so?" he asked.

 How someone as successful as Killian could be so lacking in confidence was a mystery to Emma, but she reassured him.

 "I know so," Emma said.

 He smiled, something genuine in his eyes that she hadn't seen in a man in years.

 "So, overall," Killian began, a playful smile on his face and a similar gleam in his eyes, "would you say tonight went terribly? That you had a rotten time, and it was the worst night of your life?"

 "That depends," Emma put her hand on his shoulder, "if I say yes, do we get to do this again next week?"

 "Another dinner like that?" he asked, his hand on her side now, "I think I can do a little better than that?"

 "'Eight times better, like you said earlier?'" Emma asked.

 "Another night out with you?" Killian tucked a hair behind her ear with his other hand, a not-so-subtle but ever-so-smooth excuse to touch her, to stroke her neck and graze her cheek and lift her chin higher so he could see her eyes reflecting the overhead streetlights. "Sounds eighty times better than anything else I could be doing with my evening."

 Emma tried to fight off her flustered smile and the butterflies flitting about her stomach. Feigning whatever dramatic prowess she had at her disposal, she said, "then it was the absolute worst night of my life." 

 "Well then," Killian chuckled a little, "same time next week?"

 "Wouldn't miss it for the world," Emma smiled.

 "Nor would I."

 He pulled her a touch closer, and she stepped closer to him as well, placing her free hand on the back of his neck, bringing him closer to her as he pulled her closer to him. Before she had a chance to convince herself she was moving too fast, their lips met.

 His kiss was like the first brushstroke on a canvas, not nearly lasting long enough, but still leaving a permanent mark.

 Emma smiled as she pulled away.

 "May I walk you up to your apartment?" Killian asked.

  "Sounds like a fine proposition," Emma thought, "but there's no way I'm bringing him up to my tiny disaster of an apartment."

 As well as they complimented each other, Emma knew opposites attract, and Killian, besides his lack of self confidence, seemed so far perfect, and she was far from it. He was a renowned artist, and she worked at a truck stop. He took her to a charity benefit dinner for steak and cheesecake, and she'd had ramen for dinner the past three nights before. His life was, in a word, glamourous, and hers was, in a word, not. Surely, he'd realize that soon enough.

 And if she was wrong, and he wasn't all that and a bag of chips, if he was just a faker leading her on to get with her, then she'd applaud herself for the prudence of guarding her heart today.

 "It's only the third floor," Emma said, "I think I can manage for tonight."

 "Alright," he said, tinted with a hint of disappointment that their evening together was cut off already.

 "I'll call you later," Emma said. She stepped up on tiptoes and planted another quick kiss on his lips. She watched a flustered smile spread across his face as she stepped back.

 "Alright," he said, letting go of her, "Goodnight, Emma."

 "Goodnight, Killian."

 She savored one last look at him, then turned to leave, glancing back at him as she got to the door, watching as he got back in his car and drove away.

Chapter Text

 Killian felt like driving ninety miles an hour, windows open, music cranked up to a hundred (when in reality, he only went five miles over the speed limit, only cracked the window open a little, and played the music only barely above a recommended level.) The benefit dinner had been a success, his date with Emma had gone better than he'd expected, and he'd even scored a second date with her, next week.

  Next week. Liam's graduation.

 Killian tried as best as he could not to resent his step brother. Liam was just a teenager; it wasn't his fault their dad gave him all the attention.

 Still, it was hard to see how much his dad cared about Liam's high school graduation of all things, especially after he'd taken a vacation with his shiny new family the week of Killian's art school graduation and neglected to attend. Since then, his father had also declined invitations to all of his gallery showings and even the grand opening of his wing at the Nolan Blanchard Art Museum last month, coming up with another excuse every time. So now to require Killian to come to Liam's graduation, after blowing off every invitation Killian had sent them- it felt like a punch in the gut and a slap in the face all at once.

 But maybe if Killian could come up with a good enough excuse he could get out of attending. His dad was always complaining about, among other things, Killian needing to "get back out there" and "find someone new," so he couldn't object to Killian having a date that weekend, right? Sure, things with Emma weren't serious enough to warrant missing his step brother's graduation, but it was as good an excuse as he was gonna get.

 Killian tried to think about something less stressful, and naturally found himself thinking about Emma instead.

 He didn't need an artist's appreciation for beauty to be enraptured by the very thought of the wave of her hair or the brush of her hand- or the tantalizing taste her lips left on his. As quickly as it'd come and gone, her kiss had been the first stroke in a masterpiece, one he'd envisioned in his mind for years, one that was now coming to reality right before his eyes. Maybe he and Emma would really hit it off, and maybe before too long the night wouldn't end with just a quick kiss. He could already feel something starten to awaken, some dream, some hope, some vision.

 Emma had been right when they first met- a lot of his more recent paintings had been rubbish, a poor attempt at remembering emotions long forgotten. But every time he thought of Emma, some new idea came into his mind, a new painting, a new creation that would drive him insane until he got it out of his mind and onto the canvas, a new feeling he wanted to portray for all the world to see. He wanted to capture her sharp wit whose genuinity was a comfort, her red dress standing starkly against the night, her smile like a beacon when he'd stood onstage that evening, the fireworks he felt every time any part of them touched, the magic she had about her.

 He couldn't wait to get back to his apartment and start painting.

 The first rule of being an artist is to never paint a portrait of someone you're romantically involved with. The last thing you want is to run the risk that your most famous work is a painting of your ex.

 That didn't stop Killian from a painting inspired by Emma though. Surely, even if things did go sour, he wouldn't object to one of his beloved masterpieces being a painting of a lighthouse in a stormy sea, colors based on her green eyes, light yellow hair, and the muted blue shirt she'd worn when they first met. 

 Whenever Killian was painting, he lost himself in his work. It had become a form of escapism for him- whenever the world got too hard for him, he could leave it all behind for a few hours, get lost and found all over again along each brushstroke's path, leave all his pain behind for a few hours.

 But he was quickly brought back to earth as his phone started ringing. He'd tried to call his dad that morning before he started his project, but had to leave a voicemail instead asking for him to call back when he got the chance.

  "Looks like dad's finally made time in his busy schedule for his own son." Killian thought, rolling his eyes as he answered the phone.

 "Killian?"

 "Hey, dad." Killian said.

 "Will you be able to make it to the graduation?" his dad asked.

 "Ah," Killian paused, then thought of Emma, knowing if he couldn't get out of this graduation, he wouldn't be able to take her out next week, "unfortunately, something else did come up."

 "What could be more important than your brother's graduation?"

  "My step brother's graduation." Killian corrected in his mind.

 "I've a date this weekend."

 "Really?" his dad asked, "you couldn't've picked a different weekend to finally get your life together?"

 "She's a really sweet girl," Killian defended, "I'd hate to let her down."

 "Then why not bring her up here with you?" his dad said, "The more the merrier."

  "There's no way I'm bringing Emma to meet my disaster of a 'family,'" Killian thought, "for heaven's sake, I want her to like me."

 "I'd hardly say Emma and I are serious enough…."

 "Then you're not serious enough to miss Liam's graduation for her," his dad interrupted, "you can come without her, or you can come with her."

 "But…."

 "Let me know what you decide," his dad said, "and don't forget the potato salad."

 With that, his dad hung up, leaving Killian in a major funk.

 He'd hate to have to cancel on Emma- things seemed to be going pretty well last night, and he didn't want to throw a wrench in things already. But there was also no way he'd bring her to meet his family. Sure, his step mom and Liam were alright, except for the fact he hardly knew them at all, but his dad had his own way of making him feel so small.

Maybe there was a chance Emma could reschedule- his schedule was clear Thursday night; maybe hers would be too.

 He decided it couldn't hurt to call her up and ask, so he did, smiling as he saw their picture together on her contact photo, his heart skipping a beat as he heard her answer the call with a simple and beautiful "hey."

 "Hey," Killain smiled a little, "how are you?"

 "Pretty good," Emma said, "just getting ready for work. What're you up to?"

 "Oh, you know," he chuckled to himself as he thought of his next phrase, "just painting one masterpiece while calling up another."

 He thought he heard her giggle over the phone, and if that didn't make his heart skip, nothing would.

 "So, uh," he said, "about next week."

 "Yeah?"

 "Uh, is there a chance we can do Thursday instead?"

 "Thursday?" Emma asked, "can't. I've got an evening shift that night. Why?"

 He hung his head back a little, forgetting that not everyone had as flexible a work schedule as him, "I can't do Friday. My little step brother's graduation is that weekend."

 "It's alright; I get it." Emma said. Even over the phone speaker, he could hear the barely masked disappointment in her voice.

 "I really did try to get out of it," Killian said, wishing he didn't have to let her down, "I told my dad I had a date that night with a really sweet girl who I'd hate to let down."

 "Sure."

 "And he said if she's all that important, I could bring her home for the weekend with me."

 "Am I that important?" Emma asked.

 She didn't know the can of worms she was opening.

 "Of course you're important to me, Emma," he said, "I just didn't want to drag you into all this drama."

 "Drama?"

 Killian shook his head, "If my options were going home for the weekend or seventeen more charity benefit dinners, I'd choose the latter."

 "Really?" Emma asked.

 He didn't know what Emma's stance on family was, but if she held parental relationships in any regard, he'd've just blown any chance he had with her.

 "Yeah."

 "Then I guess it's my duty to join you." Emma said.

 "I- what?"

 "Didn't you say your weekend would be eighty times better if I'm there with you?" Emma asked.

 "Well, yeah," he shook his head.

 "Then maybe your weekend will be at least mostly bearable if I join you."

 "I can't ask you do that." Killian said.

 "Do you want me to come?" Emma asked.

 "Of course," he said, "I want to spend every moment possible with you, love."

 "Then I'm coming." Emma said.

 "Alright."

 "Just promise me this."

 "Anything."

 "If it's worse than last night, you're making up for it big time."

 "I'm sure I could come up with something," Killian smiled at the possibilities of a date with Emma so perfect that it'd make up for a weekend with his parents.

 "I'll see you Friday then?" Emma asked.

 "Aye," he said, "I can't wait."

 And as nervous as he was about how downhill it'd go, as Killian thought about spending a whole weekend with Emma, he realized he was telling the truth when he said he couldn't wait for it. Once again, Friday couldn't come again fast enough.

Chapter Text

 Thursday night's shift had gone pretty well for Emma- she was only blatantly objectified by three of the customers at the truck stop, and it was a slow night. She was also particularly proud of herself- she'd managed to pack for her weekend with Killian's family, clean up a little so she wouldn't come back to a messy apartment, and even get the dishes done that morning- and that afternoon she'd finally had the time and motivation to finish the painting she was working on- so she went into work with a sense of accomplishment. On top of all that, her two favorite co-workers were working the same shift as her.

 "I still can't believe you're meeting his parents tomorrow," Ruby said, during the lull after their dinner rush.

 "I almost don't believe it either," Emma said.

 "Don't you think you're moving too fast?" Lily asked.

 "I'm going to his step-brother's highschool graduation," Emma said. "It's not like we're getting married and starting a new life in Oklahoma or something cliché like that."

 Lily shook her head, "I just want you to take care of yourself, Em. You're just getting off a rough breakup, and…."

 "And what?"

 "All I'm saying is," Lily said, "you've been running from one bad relationship right into another since we were seventeen."

 "This is different," Emma said, "Killian's a really great guy."

 "Okay," Ruby said, "besides the fact that he's a professional artist and, in your own words, 'equal parts emotional and intellectual' and 'hotter than Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribbean,' what exactly makes him different from the last one?"

 Emma rolled her eyes, but she still smiled at the thought of the great catch she'd landed.

 "For one, he actually has a soul," Emma said, "and he appreciates my music taste."

 "That's what you said two exes ago," Lily said.

 "Okay," Emma said, and leaned a little closer so no one else around would overhear, "but when all he got from me was a good night kiss, he took 'no' for an answer, and didn't push me any further."

 "Really?" Ruby asked, both herself and Lily seeming a bit taken aback.

 "I can't say that about any of the last ones," Emma said.

 "Or half our customers, for that matter." Ruby rolled her eyes as a trucker across the room whistled for her. She grabbed a nearby pot of coffee and brought it to him for a refill.

 "Okay, so he's got that going for him," Lily said, "just watch yourself."

 "I will," Emma said.

 After all, she'd always been good at that.

 Fourteen hours later, Emma and Killian were driving down backroads, blasting country music on the radio and singing along.

 "You really don't have to do this," Killian said.

 "What, sing along to the radio?" Emma asked.

 "No, love," he said, "you don't have to come to this with me."

 "I want to," Emma said, "I like getting to know you."

 "You may not like it so much after today," Killian said, "though now that I think about it, it's hardly fair."

 "What?" Emma asked.

 "On our last date I revealed much about myself," he said, "but I've still yet to learn much at all about the mystery that is Emma Swan."

 "Oh?" Emma looked at him, "what's there to know?"

 "Everything," he said, "where did you grow up? What do you do for a living? What do you do for fun?"

  "Do I tell him I grew up in the system?" Emma thought, "and I work at a truck stop? And do I tell the greatest artist I've ever met that I paint too and risk the shame of showing my art to him?"

 "I moved around a lot as a kid," Emma said, "I'm a waitress, and when I'm not doing that- or finding a date at the art museum- I hang out with friends sometimes, I guess."

 "A waitress?" Killian asked, "what restaurant?"

 "I'd be hard pressed to call it that," Emma rolled her eyes and sighed.

 "More of a dive than a diner or a drive in?"

 "Try truck stop," Emma said, instantly regretting her words.

 "Truck stop?" he asked, "that's pretty cool."

 "Cool?" Emma asked. There was nothing cool about being a waitress at a truck stop.

 "Truckers are important people," Killian said, "they spend days away from their families so other families can go to the store and buy groceries."

 "Spoken like someone who's never met a trucker," Emma said.

 He didn't respond, and instead he glanced over at her, a split second's eye contact as he said, "My older brother was a trucker."

 Emma shrunk down in her seat, knowing what had happened to his brother and how deeply he respected him.

 "I'm so sorry, Killian," she said, "I…."

 "No, that's alright," Killian laughed, "he didn't hold the other truckers in high esteem either."

 "I don't blame him," Emma said.

 She didn't want to talk any more about the truck stop, and Killian seemed to notice, switching the conversation to something else.

 "So, you moved around a lot as a kid?"

 "Yeah," Emma shrugged, unsure how to bring this topic up either.

 "Did your dad travel a lot for work or something?"

 "Which one?" she rolled her eyes.

 He turned to look at her, a bit confused, hoping for further explanation.

 Emma leaned closer to him and spoke quieter, despite the fact that they were the only ones around.

 "I grew up in the foster system," she said.

 He turned back to her again, this time smiling a little.

 "Small world after all," he said.

 "What's that supposed to mean?"

 "My younger brother, Liam," Killian shook his head, "my step mom adopted him out of the foster system before she met my dad."

 "Really?" Emma asked.

 "Yeah. Do you honestly think I'd lie to you about something that important?" Killian asked.

 "I don't know," Emma teased, "are you the kind of person who'd 'forget' to tell me you painted the art we're debating, or who'd 'forget' to mention you're promoting the benefit dinner you're taking me to?"

 "That's hardly the same thing, Swan," he said.

 "I know," Emma smiled, "and I do appreciate you sharing that."

 Her workplace and her family- or, her lack of the latter- were two of the things she was most scared to admit to- and if Killian could accept them so casually, maybe he'd be just as accepting of any other skeletons in her closet.

 Killian turned the radio off.

 "Hey, Emma?"

 "Yeah?"

 "Remember at the banquet when you said I can talk about what happened when I'm ready?"

 She turned back to look at him, to make sure he was still serious.

 "About your late wife?"

 "I think I'm ready to talk now," he said, "if you want to listen."

 "Of course," Emma said.

 He sighed, "I guess there's not too much to tell," he shrugged, "other than everything."

 Emma put a hand on his arm and smiled. He looked down at her, gave half a serious chuckle, then smiled sadly.

 "Milah and I were highschool sweethearts," he began, his smile shifting to a happy one as he recalled the memories, "just two kids whose parents said we'd never make it. Her parents didn't think an art major could support her, and my dad, well, he didn't think anything I did was good enough. But we proved them all wrong.

 "Shortly after I graduated from art school, Milah and I got married. We didn't have much, but we had each other, and I was the happiest I've ever been."

 He glanced over at Emma, and she nodded for him to continue.

 "Her diagnosis came out of the blue," he said, "she'd been showing a few symptoms, but assured me it was no big deal. It was just a routine check-up. And then my world shattered again."

 "Again?"

 "When I lost my mother, I still had my brother, Lee. When I lost Lee, I still had Milah. When I lost Milah," he shook his head, "I lost everything. The only family I had left was my dad, who had a shiny new family of his own. My friends were few, and far between- all I had left was my art, and I lost myself in it. I painted more in that first year without her than I ever had in my life."

 Emma nodded, unsure what to even say to all that.

 "As you might've figured, that's why the benefit dinner last week mattered so much to me," he said, "at risk of sounding self righteous, a lot of the commission I earn for most of my art goes to the Humbert fund, working to end that terrible disease. I'd go as far as to say I'd give my own life if it meant ridding this world of endocarditis."

 Emma tried to put herself in Killian's shoes for a moment, tried to consider the pain of losing everything, taken unfairly from you in just a moment.

  "How do you even live after that?" Emma thought. She'd had her fair share of breakups, but she'd never lost someone she loved who actually loved her in return.

 "Those paintings," Emma said, "Sad Song, Grief. You painted them that year."

 "You're quite perceptive," he bit his lip.

 "I'm so sorry about all that you went through," Emma said.

 "It's alright," he shook his head, "I wouldn't be where I am in my career if I hadn't lost her. Still, I'd trade everything I've done for one more moment with her."

 Emma nodded, and they both sat in silence a moment longer. She let go of his arm and put her hand on his shoulder.

 "Thank you for sharing that," Emma said.

 "Thank you for listening."

 Emma let go of his shoulder and slumped back in her seat. He'd just been so vulnerable with her- he let her see clear through to his heart.

 "What was that poem you quoted at the museum?" Emma asked.

 "Masks?" Killian asked.

 "That's the one."

  "'She had blue skin, and so did he." Killian said, "He kept it hid, and so did she. They searched for blue their whole lives through- then passed right by…" he paused to look at Emma, "and never knew.' Why were you asking?"

 "I think you just took off your mask," Emma said, shaking her head, "and you're not the only one with blue skin."

Chapter Text

 Killian looked at Emma again, thankful he was familiar enough with the empty back roads to let her distract him from time to time.

 "What do you mean by that, love?" he asked.

 "You're not the only broken person in this car, Emma said.

 Killian nodded for her to continue.

 "I moved in with my first boyfriend when I was sixteen," Emma said, "I thought he was my golden ticket out of the system- turns out a copper ticket gets you just as far. We didn't last very long- I'd had three more exes by the time I was twenty-one, and plenty more after that- and each of them left their own kind of scars."

 He looked over at her to see her looking away, staring intently out the window.

 "The last one lasted the longest," Emma said, "it would've been five years today if he hadn't dumped me two weeks ago."

  "Two weeks ago?" Killian thought, "just a few days before I met her."

 "What happened?"

 Emma threw her head back against the seat and sighed. "He wanted to start seeing other people," Emma shook her head, "and a week later he'd found himself a shiny new girlfriend."

  "Emma deserves so much better," Killian thought, "She deserves someone who treasures her, values her, someone whose intentions with her are true."

 He swallowed a lump in his throat as he realized he wanted to be that for her. He wanted to bring her with him to all his exhibitions and benefit dinners. He wanted to sit on the couch with her and watch all their favorite movies together. He wanted to be the one to comfort her when she was hurting- to be the first one she turned to when she was hurting. He didn't want her companionship just to be a one time thing, or a brief fling- he wanted a relationship with Emma Swan.

 Once he was sure she was done speaking, he spoke up.

 "Forgive me if I'm bold in saying this," he said, "but you deserve so much better. You deserve someone who doesn't intend to let you down."

 "Thanks," Emma smiled.

 He took a deep breath.

 "I don't intend to let you down," Killian said.

 He turned to look at her, and she turned her eyes from his gaze. He looked back at the road they were driving down, knowing that focusing as well on driving might make the question he was about to ask so much easier.

 "Emma?"

 "Yeah?"

 "You'll soon run out of pardons for me being so bold," Killian said, "but I have an important question. You can say yes. You can take as long as you need to think about it, consider it, answer it later. You can tell me to act like this conversation never happened."

 "What conversation?" Emma asked.

 "The one where I make a fool of myself," he sighed, "and ask to be your boyfriend."

 She didn't respond.

 He looked over at her, trying to read her averted expression carefully, her silence telling him to regret putting his heart on the line so soon.

 She shook her head. "I don't think I'm ready."

 "I understand, love," Killian tried to hide his disappointment behind a smile, "I figured you might not be ready now. I just," he sighed, "I just want you to know, my intentions with you are true. I have no intentions of leading you on or ever abandoning you."

 He looked back over at her to find the fear he'd seen in her eyes slowly melting away.

 "Thank you," Emma said, "and I'm sorry I… it's not that I don't like you- I kind of like you a lot- I just…."

 "No need to apologize, love," he said, "I came on a little strong."

 "You're fine," Emma said, "and maybe sometime something might work out, but right now…."

 "A relationship is a work of art unto itself, Swan," he said, "it takes work, and planning, and sometimes the pieces that take longer than expected turn out to be your favorites. How about for now we just leave this one open to interpretation?"

 "That sounds good to me," Emma said.

 "Alright," he said.

 And though he was saddened by the rejection, he knew not to give up so easily. Emma had put up a wall between them- her mistake, really- not because a wall would scare him away, but because the opposite was true. Something about the challenge allured him, excited him. People only put up walls when they have something of value to protect, and Emma was a treasure like no other. Getting to her, to the treasure she'd buried within herself- that would be quite the feat, and none was more motivated than Killian Jones. He started contemplating all the little ways he could begin to woo her- subtle acts of devotion, stolen glances, romantic dinners, affectionate whispers, passionate touches.

 Of course, he'd do all that and more, no strings attached, if he knew their relationship would never be more than what it was, if it'd always be "open to interpretation." He took delight in the idea of doing things for Emma simply because he fancied her. What they had was already more than he deserved from a wonderful woman like Emma Swan.

 But more than anything else in the world, he wanted to win her heart.

 The roads they traveled grew more and more familiar as they got closer and closer to what Killian had once called home. Every now and then, he'd point out some place, some memory, something that called him back to his childhood- and those moments grew closer together the closer they got to his hometown.

 "The Smees used to live there," Killian said, pointing to a house they passed by, "their son Billy and I used to be best friends, until they moved away."

 "How long ago was that?" Emma asked.

 "Long enough ago that I remember him as 'Billy' and not 'William.'" Killian said.

 "I see."

 "And that's the soccer field Lee used to play on," Killian said, "I was never into sports, but I'd always go to the games to cheer him on."

 "That's so sweet," Emma said.

 "Someone had to," Killian said, "and it certainly wasn't gonna be our dad. But I always looked up to Lee, wanted to be just like him someday."

 Killian looked out the window solemnly, really missing his big brother's advice these past few years.

 "I think he'd be proud of you," Emma said.

 Killian smiled a little, "I sure hope so. But he'd sure find things are different."

 "How so?"

 "When our mom passed away, my dad sent us away to our grandmas." Killian said, "We returned to find he'd tossed out photos of her, sold her belongings, removed her very memory from the house- I didn't understand it at the time, but having been in his shoes, I understand the pain of a memory.

 "But when Lee passed, I knew my father would do the same thing- I was away at college, and I came back for Christmas break to find everything of his- and a few things of mine- gone from our old room."

 "That must've been hard," Emma said.

 "Fortunately I had the foresight to save something," Killian smiled and held out his hand, motioning to a ring on it, "his class ring. He always said it was a good luck charm- I guess it wasn't so lucky in the end though."

 Emma's hand returned to his shoulder, her touch a comfort like none other in the world.

 "I'm so sorry," she said.

 "It's alright," he smiled, "I'm learning not to dwell on the past, to live in the present instead."

 As they rounded the next corner, Killian got hit with a wave of nostalgia- seeing the high school he'd once graduated from for the first time in years.

 "Good old Hyperion High," Killian smiled, "I did four years here as a lad."

 "Did they give you an early release for good behavior?"

 "Something like that," Killian chuckled.

 He looked down at his watch- there were still twenty minutes until the graduation started- and he quickly found a parking space.

 As soon as he'd parked the car, he got out and ran to Emma's door so he could open it for her before she got to it first. He quickly opened her door and held out a hand to help her out of the car.

 "You know," Emma said, taking his hand and stepping out of the car, "I am capable of opening doors for myself, Killian," 

 "What a coincidence," he said, noting to himself again how the colors and figure of her dress complemented her natural beauty, "I'm capable of opening doors for you too."

 She rolled her eyes as he closed the door behind her.

 "Besides, I enjoy getting the door for you," Killian said, "makes me feel useful."

 "Who am I to deprive you that luxury?" Emma smiled. She then looked over her reflection in his car's tinted windows.

 "How do I look?" Emma asked.

 Though Killian wasn't going to pass up the excuse to stare at her more, and to appreciate even more how breathtaking she was, he already had a response to her question at the ready, having been thinking of compliments to sweep her off her feet since he first laid eyes on her that day.

 "Shining like Starry Night," Killian said, stepping behind her and watching his reflection in the window do the same, "more lovely than Monet's Impression Sunrise, and more beautiful than The Birth of Venus."

 Emma blushed as he put a hand on her shoulder.

 "Mona Lisa and The Girl With The Pearl Earring envy your beauty, and your grace, and charm."

 'I suppose this is what I get for dating an artist?" Emma said.

 "All dates come with a price," Killian said.

 "Don't I know it."

 "And the price of an artist is you're spending an evening with someone who appreciates your beauty," he said, "though there's much of it, and even as a professional in the subject, I still don't feel I do it justice."

 "If you're trying to fluster me, it's not gonna work," Emma said.

 "Bold words, but your flawless face betrays them," he brushed her cheek with his thumb, "your cheeks are flushed with a pink so vibrant, I'm surprised Semple hasn't tried to bottle it."

 The pink grew even more vibrant as he said that. He spun around to her side so his arm was wrapped around her shoulder, then he let her hand trickle down to her side instead.

 "You didn't ask me how you looked," Emma pointed out as they walked together towards the school.

 "Oh?" he asked, "my apologies. How do I look, Swan?"

 She smiled as she gave him a once-over with her eyes.

 "I see why you never painted a self portrait," she said, "I can imagine it'd be hard to capture something so handsome on canvas. Not even the great Killian Jones could do it justice."

 Her fingers gently grazed his cheek as they walked along, and he tried to remind himself not to let her words and her touch get to him too much yet.

 "Though I suppose if you could do it," she said, "you'd make millions off such a beautiful work of art."

 A heavy sigh slipped through his wide smile.

  "Pull yourself together," he thought, "she's already wooed you; you're trying to woo her, remember."

 "And if I could capture your beauty on a canvas," he said, "I'd never need to paint another masterpiece again."

 She smiled and nestled her head against his shoulder for a moment as they entered the school.

 Killian was hit with a touch of nostalgia once they were inside. He remembered walking through those doors every morning in his teenage years on his way to classes.

 All the nostalgia would have to wait though, as Killian was greeted by two familiar faces- his father and step mother.

 "Ah, glad to see you didn't bail out on us last minute, Killian," his dad said, greeting him with a handshake.

 "And miss out on my own brother's graduation?" Killian asked, faking civility, "wouldn't miss it for the world."

 "And I take it this is that girl you won't stop talking about," his dad then turned to Emma and shook her hand.

  "I didn't talk about her that much," Killian thought, hoping he wasn't blushing too much.

 "Emma," she introduced herself.

 "Brennan Jones," he said, "and this is my wife, Fiona."

 Emma shook hands as well with her.

 "A pleasure to meet you both," Emma said, then turned back to Brennan, "you really have raised a pretty great son."

 Killian smiled a little as Emma put her hand on his shoulder and smiled at him.

 "Always warms a father's heart to hear that," his dad responded, "some days we wonder."

 He laughed a little, and Fiona and Emma did too, albeit respectively more awkwardly.

 "And don't worry," Killian said, hoping he could prove he'd done something right before his dad tried to throw in another backhanded insult, "potato salad's in a cooler in the car."

 "We'll get that in the fridge as soon as we get home," Fiona said, "Liam's so looking forward to the party tomorrow."

"His big brother couldn't be prouder of him," Killian said.

 "We should probably all go take our seats before the ceremony starts," Brennan said.

 They followed him into the auditorium, towards the front of the room.

 Killian shook his head a little, fighting off the nostalgia.

 "The last time I was in this room was my graduation- our graduation. Milah and I had such high hopes for our future- she was almost more excited about my art scholarship than I was. Gosh, I miss her."

 But then he happened to glance at Emma, and see her smile at him as they sat down next to each other in the folding auditorium seats.

  "Stop dwelling on the past, or you'll miss out on the present," he thought.

 He smiled back at Emma, then, not too quickly but not too slowly, wrapped his arm around the back of her seat, his hand on her shoulder.

 When he'd lost Milah, Killian thought he'd never get into a relationship again, not willing to put his heart out just to have it broken again. But with Emma, he almost felt he could love again. It was like she made him forget, forget all the pain that love can bring- and at the same time made him remember, remember all the hope and joy that comes with it.

 And he wanted to savor every second of it.

Chapter Text

 Three weeks ago, Emma's plans for this evening would've been some big anniversary dinner with her ex. Two weeks ago, today's plans would've been ramen and eating ice cream from the carton as she made fun of some cheesy hallmark movie. A week ago, it would've been seeing if this cute guy from the museum would take her out on another date. Tonight, though, it turned out to be going to a graduation with him, after taking a bit of a road trip together and meeting his family.

 Emma noticed something off about Killian ever since they'd met up with his dad. He seemed more nervous than he had been when he was giving his speech at the benefit dinner, and more restrained than when he'd been entertaining guests at it.

 She'd almost been afraid to try to see what was wrong, in case it was too personal for him to bring up, but when he put his arm around her and pulled her a touch closer- almost as though he needed her, needed her comfort and support- she decided to try and soften his mood a little. After all, that was why he brought her along, wasn't it? To make this weekend bearable?

 "So let's see," Emma asked Killian, "if when we met, you didn't tell me you were the artist who painted the paintings we were discussing, and last week you didn't tell me you were hosting the benefit dinner you took me to, what does that mean for tonight?"

 "What do you mean by that, love?"

 "Am I gonna find out halfway through the ceremony that you're valedictorian or something like that?" Emma teased, "Or the keynote speaker, or school principal or something?"

 He smiled, her humor evidently softening him up well.

 "Don't worry, Swan," he said, "whatever happens this time, I'm just as much a victim as you are."

 "It's more exciting that way anyways," Emma said.

 "And I want to savor every exciting moment with you, Swan."

 She'd've given him a witty response, but then the lights dimmed, and the ceremony began.

 Emma had once read that a graduation ceremony is like the end credits of a movie you've never seen before, and, in this case, it was one where none of the actors were even familiar to her, though she'd heard one of their names before. As such, she found her mind wandering as she sat through the ceremony- and the street her mind chose to wander was "Killian Jones Avenue."

 Even something as small as the way his hand rested on her shoulder was notable- with a grip both strong and gentle- firm enough for her to believe he was strong, but soft enough for her to believe he'd never use that strength against her.

  "It must be the artist's touch," Emma thought, "as intentional with every move towards me as with his paintbrush on any other masterpiece."

 A masterpiece. She hadn't thought of herself as a "masterpiece" for quite a while- since well before her last relationship officially crashed and burned. Maybe that's why the breakup hadn't really come as much of a shock to her as it could've- because, no matter what she tried, he'd stopped looking at her long before then.

 Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Killian looking at her, his eyes fixed on her instead of on whatever was going on onstage, smiling at her as if maybe she truly was, as he kept saying, a masterpiece.

  "I was a fool for saying no to him earlier," Emma thought, "he's gorgeous, talented, sensitive, sincere, successful enough to make money off his mere existence- he's got 'boyfriend material' written all over him. But that's what I thought about the last one, and the one before that- and all the ones before that, really. I'm just not ready to go through all that again."

  When he'd asked her to pursue something more serious, she'd prided herself on keeping her guard up, on protecting herself from the inevitable betrayal, on coming up with a response in advance for when he, as they all do, protested her "unfairness" in rejecting him.

 But his protest never came. When she said she wasn't ready, he didn't tell her to take a chance on him, or try to sell her on all his remarkable qualities, or tell her she was a fool for turning him down and that she can't find a catch like him just anywhere- though it would've been true. Instead, he told her it was alright, that he just wanted her to know he had no intentions yet to leave her, and practically apologized for coming on so strong before reassuring her in her decision to keep things as they were.

  That was when it clicked for Emma. The fact that he didn't try to change her mind, that he respected her decision to guard her heart, that he was so willing to accept Emma exactly as she already was- it was enough to almost make her wish that she had changed her mind, that she had let her guard down, that she'd let herself become more for him.

 But that's how she got herself into these messes in the first place- a guy would seem like he wasn't gonna hurt her, she'd let him into her walls, and he'd tear them down from the inside out, leaving her vulnerable to whatever betrayal he had in store once he was bored of her. Maybe Killian wasn't like that. Maybe Killian Jones was exactly who he said he was, and maybe he wasn't going to hurt her, and maybe this relationship would be the one- but maybe this was all an act he'd only keep up for so long- his time with the museum would end eventually anyways, and he'd move onto some other exciting place and meet some new masterpiece at one of his other galleries.

 So for now, it was probably for the better that they left things open to interpretation.

 Once the ceremony was over, Emma waited with Killian's family to congratulate Liam on his achievement.

 "It was a lovely ceremony," Emma said, trying to make small talk despite barely having paid attention to it anyways.

 "Yeah," Fiona said, "they always do such a nice job with it here."

 "Indeed," Killian began, "why, I remember my graduation like it was yesterday. They had…."

 "Oh, look," Brennan said, interrupting Killian to wave across the room, "there's the man of the hour himself."

 They turned to see that it was Liam he was waving to, quite a few yards away. Brennan and Fiona headed towards him, walking past a disappointed Killian.

 Emma took Killian's hand, a smile momentarily  crossing his face as she did.

 "I'd still like to hear the rest of what you had to say," Emma said.

 Killian shook his head as they walked through the crowd back to the others, "it wasn't important."

 "If it's important to you, it is to me," Emma said.

 "I appreciate that, love," he planted a quick kiss on her forehead.

 When they rejoined with his family, Killian let go of Emma's hand so he could give his step brother a hug. Then, he let go and held his shoulders at arm's length, smiling proudly.

 "Congratulations, Liam," Killian said.

 "And congrats on the exhibit at the museum," Liam said, "I saw the pictures online, you must be…."

 "Now, now," Killian said, "there'll be plenty of time to talk about that later. Today we're celebrating you."

 "Yeah, congratulations," Emma interjected.

 Liam smiled at her. "I don't believe we've met."

 "I'm Emma," she held out her hand to him, "Killian…."

 "I do believe my brother's mentioned you," Liam shook her hand, "wasn't exaggerating in the slightest when he spoke of your beauty."

 Emma smiled a little, "I see you've been taking lessons in charm from your brother."

 "It's a family trait," Brennan interrupted, "and Liam has picked up on it as well. We Jones men always were a charming lot."

 "You all certainly are," Emma smiled as Killian's hand found its way to hers once again.

 Fiona pulled out her cellphone and took a picture of Liam.

 "Do you want me to get a picture of you guys all together?" Emma asked.

 "That would be lovely," Brennan said.

 "Oh, yes," Fiona said, "It's so lovely having the whole family together again."

 The Jones family all stood next to each other for the picture, with Liam in the front, his parents behind him, and Killian standing next to them, slightly off to the side, almost as though he didn't fully believe he belonged in the picture.

 Still, as Emma handed back the camera, she felt something, not quite jealousy, but something like it. Liam had grown up in the foster system, just like Emma had- but he had so much she'd never dreamed of. Emma'd never had a high school graduation, or a family photo she actually felt worth keeping- she was pretty sure she'd never truly even had a family.

  "Some people are just born lucky," Emma thought, "and I've never been one of them."

 But she hid her feelings like she always did, faking her best smiles, not about to play the pity-the-orphan card and spoil Killian's family's weekend.

Chapter Text

 As Killian got ready for bed that night, he couldn't help but find it odd, sleeping on a cot in what was once his own bedroom- though with how it'd been changed as of recent you could hardly tell it was the same room- and for his step brother to have what was once Killian's bed, but was now not.

 And Killian also tried to put out of his mind the fact that Emma was sleeping in the same house, that she was right down the hall in the guestroom. Though he was annoyed that his father had made the decision for them about them having separate rooms- they were adults, after all, and capable of making these decisions for themselves- Killian knew their conversation would've led to the same conclusion his father had reached. Killian wouldn't've even suggested sharing a room with Emma unless she would've asked- and certainly nothing would've happened between the two of them anyways, not with his dad in the next room over. Killian had hardly felt free enough to give her a kiss on the cheek to say goodnight with his family around. He couldn't wait until this weekend was over, and until perhaps afterward, when he dropped Emma back off at her place again, and she told him this weekend was absolutely horrendous and insisted that he plan a third date, and he could hold her close once again in a world where it was just them, and could pull her closer still, kiss her again with more passion this time, tell her again that she's the most beautiful woman in the world, continue all the more fervently to try to win her heart.

 Killian was interrupted in his conspiring by Liam's entrance to the room.

 "Hey," they both said to each other, following their greeting with silence. Liam picked up his phone off his nightstand, and Killian checked his phone as well. Legally speaking, they were family, but there were eleven years and no blood between them, and very few shared memories, as Liam and his mom didn't join the family until Killian was almost finished at art school. As such, Killian had never been one to relate well to his younger brother.

 "How's it feel to be graduated?" Killian asked, trying to make the most of his weekend and break the ice with his stepbrother.

 "Alright, I guess," Liam said, from behind his phone, "kinda weird, actually."

 "How's that?" Killian set down his phone.

 "I expected it to feel different, I guess," Liam said. He paused a moment to swipe out of whatever app he was in and set his phone down on the bed next to him before continuing. "It doesn't feel different at all- it feels kind of normal. That normal is kind of weird."

 "I know the feeling," Killian said, "you're still the same person you were two hours ago- and yet everyone's congratulating you like you're a new man."

 "It almost doesn't feel real," Liam nodded, "but a month from now, I'll be out of the house."

 "What are your plans?" Killian asked.

 "Uncle Nemo's offered me an apprenticeship," Liam said.

 "That's a wonderful opportunity," Killian smiled, now hoping to see his favorite uncle at the party tomorrow. "You must be so excited."

 "I've wanted to do construction for years," Liam said, "he even said if I decide that's what I want to do long term, and I perform well at it, he'll offer me a position with his company."

 "That's wonderful, Liam," Killian said.

 "Of course, it's probably not nearly as exciting as being a world-famous artist," Liam smiled.

 "I would hardly say world famous," Killian laughed a little, "apparently, I can even walk my own galleries without people knowing who I am. I'm only featured at the Nolan Blanchard because the Nolans took a shine to me."

 "And because you have the talent to back that up," Liam said, "I've seen your art on Instagram; it's really good."
"So I've been told," Killian said, "maybe sometime you can come see it in person."

 "I'll have to take you up on that," Liam said, "Uncle Nemo said he's been wanting to come out and see it as well. We'll have to make a trip of it."

 "Let me know when you're coming, and I'll give you a personal tour," Killian said.

 "Sounds like a deal," Liam said. After a moment's pause, he smiled with a raised eyebrow, "so, tell me more about this girlfriend of yours."

 Killian half laughed at his younger brother's question, and how it almost reminded him of his older brother, and how Lee no doubt would've teased him about Emma the same way he'd teased him about Milah and all the girls he dated before her.

 "She's not my girlfriend,"  Killian shook his head, "not yet, anyways- but I'll win her over soon enough."

 "Do you need any advice?" Liam asked, "I'm quite the ladies' man."

 Killian shook his head, smiling, "I had the same reputation myself when I was not much younger than you."

 "What changed that?"

 "It's hard to keep up that kind of reputation when you marry your high school sweetheart," Killian's smile fell, "and then after she passed I just," he shrugged, "never really got back out there. It was a lucky break to stumble upon Emma, and that we've hit it off so well, especially given the circumstances we met under."

 "What was that?" Liam asked, "did you spill coffee on her or something?"

 "Oh, nothing tacky like that," Killian said, "I met her in the museum, where she was ruthlessly criticizing my art- and she probably would still think of 'Killian Jones' as the worst artist alive, had a charming stranger such as myself not happened along and shown her otherwise."

 "And what does she think of this 'Killian Jones' now?" Liam asked.

 "I'm not sure," Killian shrugged, "clearly she thinks something of me, considering she decided it was worth it to come meet my family on our second date- but for now, things are, as it were 'open to interpretation.'"

 "I'm sure you'll win her heart eventually," Liam said, "since she's clearly already got yours."

 "Come again?"

 "You've been simping over her like a lost puppy dog," Liam laughed, "and I could tell that after only seeing you together for a few minutes."

 "Simping?" Killian asked.

 "It means you're obsessed with her," Liam explained.

 Killian blinked a couple times, trying to grasp this teen lingo, "Yeah. If that's what it means, then call me a 'simper.'"

 "Simp," Liam said.

 "Right," Killian nodded, "and what about you? Is there a lovely young lass that you're simping over?"

 At first, Liam's smile seemed to be mere laughter at his grown adult brother using his Gen Z lingo, but it changed ever so slightly into a delighted smile as he clearly thought of some girl he knew.

 "No one special," Liam said.

 "I know that smile," Killian wagged a finger at his stepbrother, "what's her name?"

 "Paige," Liam sighed, "she's in a lot of my classes- well, she was until we both graduated. But she's kind, smart, beautiful- she's so perfect."

 "Sounds like a real catch," Killian said.

 "If only I could catch her," Liam said.

 "What ever happened to being a 'ladies' man?'" Killian asked.

 "I don't know," Liam said, "anytime I'm around her, I don't know what to say. She's so cool, and pretty, and sweet, I just. I'm getting tongue tied just thinking of her."

 "Sounds like a classic case of 'simp' to me," Killian teased.

 "Shut up," Liam rolled his eyes, feigning being offended.

 "You brought that one upon yourself," Killian said, "but if you ask me, she sounds wonderful."

 "You'd really get along well with her too," Liam said, "she's a bit of an artist herself."

 "I look forward to meeting her sometime," Killian said.

 "I invited her to the party tomorrow," Liam said, "Hopefully she'll show up."

 "And hopefully you'll be able to form a coherent sentence around her," Killian said, then realized, as nice as this brotherly bonding was, he had a responsibility to make sure his kid brother got to bed by a reasonable hour. "But you probably won't be able to do that if you don't get a good night's sleep tonight."

 "Okay mom," Liam teased, turning off the lamp on his nightstand, "goodnight."

 "Goodnight, Liam," Killian said, "and hey, I'm proud of you."

 "Thanks," Liam said, "goodnight, bro."

 Killian then tried to fall asleep, but his mind drifted from thinking of the young love his brother was uncovering to the love he was discovering between himself and Emma. He couldn't wait to fall asleep, just so he could wake up and see her again- if he didn't meet her in his dreams first. He couldn't wait to give her a good morning kiss on the cheek as he grabbed a cup of coffee, or maybe to help his family together as they finalized party preparations, and then to show her off to his family and friends they'd meet with tomorrow- and, of course, for conversations and country music on the drive home, and a goodnight kiss afterward.

 And as his thought dwelt on Emma, he heard Liam's voice in the back of his mind, once again teasingly calling him a simp.

Chapter Text

 Emma'd slept better that night than she usually did in new places, and when she made her way to the kitchen that morning, she was greeted by a kiss on the cheek and a "good morning, love" from Killian, as well as a pancake breakfast with him and his family. Afterwards they dove into last minute party preparations like decorations and getting the food ready, with his parents insisting Emma was a guest and didn't need to help, and Emma insisting that it was no big deal and she wasn't about to sit around and do nothing, and Brennan mumbling something about how if that's the case then opposites very clearly attract, as Killian had made a living off of doing just that.

 Once the rest of the guests started to trickle in, Emma then began to mingle with them, Killian introducing her to many of his relatives, former teachers, and family friends. A lot of them seemed somewhat insufferable in their own way, but there were a few kinder people among them. Most of these ones, Emma made it her goal to remember- she'd always been pretty good with names and faces, so it wasn't too hard.

 One of the first guests in attendance was "Granny" Lucas, a kindly widow who lived down the street. She apparently treated the neighborhood kids like her own grandkids, Killian mentioning how she'd let the kids play in her yard with trees to climb and dogs to run around with whenever they wanted. He mentioned as well how she'd bake them cookies and knit them scarves and blankets. To this day, from what Emma heard, Granny's backyard was the center of town for the neighborhood kids.

 They spent quite a while talking with Uncle Nemo, who gave Killian more than his fair share of teasing about the "lovely young lady friend" he'd brought with him that day, and though he seemed a bit embarrassed by his remarks, Killian still looked fondly upon his uncle. They talked for a bit about Uncle Nemo's contracting company, Nautilus Home Improvements, and how excited Liam was to soon begin his apprenticeship there. Nemo also seemed very proud of Killian's art career, saying he'd be certain to head down to the Nolan Blanchard to see his art himself at some point.

 Killian introduced Emma as well to his step-aunts, Ruel, Bell, and Astrid. Aunt Astrid brought a somewhat familiar face with her, her boyfriend Leroy. Emma quickly recognized him as the lead from the jazz band that'd played at the museum's benefit dinner, and realized that it was the family connection that had landed him that gig.

 Perhaps the most memorable person Emma met was Killian's cousin, Rogers. Killian had told Emma in advance that people always said they looked alike, though Rogers was a few older and neither of the two could see the resemblance. However, when Emma met him, she marveled at the powers that be, and how they'd been gracious enough to grant such perfect looks to two fortunate people. Rogers did look a little bit older than Killian, though he attributed the gray streaks in his hair to the stress of being a single parent, but aside from that, they looked so similar it was almost uncanny. Emma was secretly a little glad when he left early to take his daughter to dance class, because his mere presence was, admittedly, a little confusing. Even afterward, Emma almost felt it easier to pretend he was just a weird dream that never happened, as it made things a lot less confusing for herself and everyone involved.

 Sometime later, Liam introduced them both to a friend of his, a sweet young lady named Paige. Based on the side-glances and smiles Killian was giving Liam as they talked, Emma could tell that she was more than just a "friend" of Liam's- and if not, he was clearly hoping it'd head in that direction. She seemed impressed to meet a semi-famous artist, and when she mentioned having a great appreciation for the arts, Killian offered to give a personal tour of the museum should she ever come down that way, then not-so-subtly hinted that Liam was heading in that direction sometime soon and they might even consider going together. This, of course, was met by blushing and stuttering on both of the teens' parts, but neither of them seemed entirely upset by this suggestion.

 "I don't see why you said this weekend would be unbearable," Emma whispered to Killian when they'd found themselves alone in the kitchen, savoring a moment together before joining the rest of the guests back outside, "it's not so bad so far."

 "That's because you're here, Swan," Killian replied, "how could I be miserable with you by my side?"

 Emma could feel her cheeks turn red and looked down at her shoes, wondering how Killian always knew exactly what to say to fluster her so much.

 "Besides," Killian said, leaning against a kitchen counter, "my father is less critical of me when there's others around. Can't have anyone see how disappointed he is in me, now, can he?"
"I'm sure he's not disappointed in you," Emma said, despite having heard quite a few statements otherwise from him in the brief time they'd spent together that morning, "and Liam and your step mom seem alright."
"They're great people," Killian whispered, "but I never really knew them as family. I'm just beginning to connect with Liam, and you probably know my step mom about as well as I do by now."

 "Then maybe get to know them," Emma suggested.

 "It's harder than you'd think, love," Killian said, "the only thing we really share in common is my dad, and some days I wish we didn't."

 Emma rubbed his shoulder to comfort him.

 "Somedays I almost wonder if it'd be easier if I didn't have a family at all," he said.

 "It's not," Emma replied, so quickly she hadn't realized she was saying it until she'd already said it.

  "Great going, Emma," she thought, "what a way to comfort him- reminding him his life is so much better than yours and that he should just suck it up and deal with it? Is that what I just did? Maybe he won't notice."

 But the look on his face made it evident that he knew her response was borne of personal experience.

 "I'm so sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to…"

 She was interrupted by his arms wrapping around her, cradling her in an unexpected hug.

 "Here I am, complaining about my family," he whispered, "and you don't even have- gosh, Swan. I'm so sorry."

 "It's alright," Emma said, shifting in his arms so she could return his embrace, "just because your pain is different from mine doesn't mean it doesn't still suck."

 They looked up at each other, each reading something in each other's eyes, something that transcended words.

 "Apology accepted, love," Killian said.

 Emma smiled, so lost in him she forgot where she was- and so did he. They started to lean closer to each other, already holding each other tightly and trying very hard to remember why their lips weren't already back together– though they were already moving in that direction.

 They were soon reminded why, however, by Killian's dad's voice.

  "Killian James Jones!" Brennan said, in a tone equal parts shocked, appalled, and disappointed.

 Killian and Emma quickly snapped back to reality, letting go of each other and stepping a few feet away from each other.

 "Oh, uh," Killian said, "uh, hey, dad? Can I, uh, help you?"

 "I was going to let you know we're about to cut the cake and raise a toast," his dad said, condescension building in his voice, "but I can see you've still found some excuse to let your little brother down and bail on him yet again. Had I known bringing your friend along would be so much of a distraction, I never would've invited her."

 "I'm sorry," Emma said, her cheeks red for a different reason than usual, "I was, uh, upset about a family thing, and Killian was comforting me."

 "And do you still need to be 'comforted?'" he asked, "or is my son free to rejoin with the rest of his family?"

 "I'm good now," Emma said, needing comfort now more than ever, ashamed at embarrassing Killian in front of his father.

 "Then feel free to join us, but remember," Brennan said, "Killian can do just fine at disappointing us on his own; he doesn't need some pretty blonde distraction to help him out with that."

 "Yes, sir," Emma nodded, wanting to melt into her shoes and disappear.

 "I would appreciate if you'd show Emma a little more respect than that," Killian said, interrupting her shame to defend her.

 Emma and Brennan both looked at Killian, a little confused, though Brennan's confusion was tinted with disdain, and Emma's was tinted with awe.

 "What was that?" Brennan asked.

 "I don't mind that you don't respect me," Killian said, "I've gotten over the fact that no matter what I do, I'm always just the family disappointment. I'm okay with that. But I'd at least expect you to treat Emma with a little more dignity than that, seeing as it's not a high standard anyways. You can treat me like dirt all you want, but I draw the line at you treating Emma like that."

 The awe on Emma's face didn't fade as she watched him defend her. He'd been shrinking back in front of his father so much that to see Killian stand up to him for her was impressive, remarkable- and attractive.

 But the disdain on his dad's face didn't fade either.

 "And I'll draw the line at you disrespecting me," Brennan said, "I thought I raised you to respect your parents, and not to be so rude to your host."

 "I'd hardly say you raised me at all," Killian said, "seeing as I was raised to care about others."

 Before the argument could get any more heated, Fiona walked in.

 "Oh, there you guys are," she smiled, unaware of what had just been going on, "everyone's waiting outside."

 "It'd be rude to keep them waiting," Brennan said.

 As they followed his parents outside, Killian and Emma walked next to each other, though not quite close enough to be touching, not even on accident.

 "I'm sorry," Killian whispered.

 "Sorry?" Emma asked, "I was about to thank you for defending me."

 "I wouldn't've needed to defend you if I hadn't brought you here in the first place," Killian said, "I'm so sorry."

 "It's okay, babe," Emma said, "and I do appreciate you sticking up for me."

 "All in a day's work, love," he said.

 And despite how things had just gone so sour, Emma couldn't help but think to herself that, if him protecting her like that was all in a day's work, she wanted to spend every day she could by his side.

Chapter Text

 Killian tried to calm down a little and not spoil the rest of the day. After they'd had some cake and listened to everyone say some nice things about Liam, Killian could make some fake excuse about having to get back to the museum soon for something, then he and Emma could dip out and get away from here.

  "I never should've brought her here," Killian thought, "what kind of selfish idiot am I? I brought her because I knew having her would help me- but I didn't even stop to consider how dear old dad would treat her. I never should've brought her here. How am I ever going to win her heart now that she knows what my family's like?"

  She seemed to have almost forgotten the whole incident by the time they cut into the cake, and seemed to be having a great conversation with Liam and Uncle Nemo about something- Killian wasn't paying much attention to this conversation though, as he and his dad were apparently in a contest to see who could discreetly pass the other the most displeased glare.

 Eventually, Brennan said he'd like to raise a toast to Liam, to congratulate him on his accomplishment.

 "I've never been more proud in my life," he said, "I've always been proud of Liam, but especially today. He's the most thoughtful and witty son a father could ask for, and it's been an unmatched delight to see the man he's become."

  "At least dad has one son he cares about," Killian thought.

 "This summer, Liam's going to begin his apprenticeship with my brother, Nemo," Brennan said, "he'll start doing some real work, helping others and making the world a better place as a contractor."

 The eye contact he gave Killian made it evident those words were meant to slight him. He'd never supported Killian's art career, to this day still thinking he could be doing something better with his life.

 "I hope you know how happy I am that you came into my life, Liam," Brennan said, "you and your mother filled a hole in my heart I never thought could be repaired. I love you more than you'll ever know, and am so proud of you. May the wind fill your sails and the sun rise to meet you, Liam."

 KIllian bit his lip, trying to keep it together, his father's words finally confirming a suspicion he'd always had- he was trying to replace his mom and Lee with Fiona and Liam. He was filling their place in his heart with someone else, like they never mattered to him at all, like he almost thought it'd be better to forget they ever existed.

 But how could he forget his late wife when their son still stood before them? How could he forget Lee when so much of who Killian was was learned from him?

 He couldn't.

 He couldn't fill their space in his life without pushing Killian out of it.

  "No wonder he doesn't want me in his life anymore," Killian thought, "I'm just a reminder of the hole in his heart he thought he couldn't fill."

  His dad walked by, not even looking at Killian, to shake hands with and give a hug to his son, Liam- the only son he had room in his life for.

 Emma pulled out her phone and looked at the time.

 "Oh, Killian," she said, touching his arm to get his attention, "don't we need to be leaving soon? You had that commitment at the museum tonight."

  "I don't remember anything like that," Killian thought, but then saw Emma wink at him.

 "Oh," he laughed, winking at her, "I'd almost forgotten."

 "You have to leave already?" Liam asked.

 "The museum needs me to promote a new work tonight," Killian said, "I'd almost forgotten." He gave Liam a hug and they said their goodbyes, and within three minutes they were in the car on their way back, having had the good sense to reload their belongings in it that morning and telling Fiona she could keep the dish he'd brought the potato salad in until next time he saw them.

 Killian browsed all the thoughts in his mind as they left town, trying to find one thought to say that would convey what he wanted. As grateful as he was at Emma's escape plan, he knew what it meant- she was feeling just as uncomfortable as he was.

  "I'm such a jerk," Killian thought, "What kind of idiot would bring someone he loves into this kind of disaster?"

 Emma was like the most precious, exotic, delicate, beautiful flower in the whole world world, and what he'd done, bringing her into this mess- and putting her into a compromising position where she'd be a target for his dad- it was like he'd seen that beautiful flower, repotted it in playground sand in a mayonnaise tub, and then locked it in a dark, moldy closet, just because he thought it was beautiful and foolishly deemed himself worthy of it.

 And so, they drove in silence, Killian unsure what to even begin to say.
"No offense," Emma said, using her sharp tongue to break the ice, "but your dad's a creep."

 "None taken," Killian said.

 "I just couldn't stick around there," Emma shook her head.

 "I'm so sorry for bringing you." Killian said, "I didn't expect him to be so unkind to you." 

 "Me?" Emma asked, seeming shocked that he even said that, "I made up that excuse to get you out of there."

 "Me?" Killian asked, surprised and confused, "why?"

 "Your dad pretty much publicly disowned you there after giving you a ride on the guilt trip of your life because of me."

 "I know that, Swan," Kilian said, taking his eyes off the road a moment to try to read her, reminding himself again of how gorgeous she was, "but why did you feel the need to get me out of it? I'm used to my dad."
"You shouldn't have to be," Emma said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You deserve to be treasured."

 He half laughed, but when he looked at Emma, she seemed genuine.

 "Thank you, love," Killian said, wishing he didn't have to have both hands on the steering wheel, "to hear such a beautiful treasure call me a treasure in return is flattering, to say the least."

 Emma's flustered smile returned.

 "Do you wanna grab a bite to eat on the way back?" Killian asked, "my treat?"

 "Sounds great," Emma said, "pizza or chinese?"

 "Your heart's desire," he said, trying to romance her with even his own indecision.

 "Nuh-uh," she said, "you just had the worst day of your life, and you're treating me. We're having your heart's desire."

 "All my heart desires is you," Killian said.

 "Pizza, then?" Emma asked.

 "Sounds perfect."

 "Not as perfect as someone else I know."

 He looked at her and smiled, hoping they came upon a pizza place soon, so that he could stop worrying about driving and give Emma his undivided attention.

Chapter Text

 From the minute he helped her out of the car- which she insisted she didn't need his help for and he insisted he would help her anyways- Killian hadn't taken his eyes off Emma for even a second, watching her with awestruck and delighted smile- and Emma only knew that because she hadn't taken her eyes off him for even a second either. He also seemed to have made it his goal not to stop touching her, either, if he could help it- wrapping his arm around her side as they walked into the restaurant, holding her hand as they read the menu, their feet tangled up under the table as they ate.

 And when he dropped her back off at her apartment, and they stood outside the door, he continued as he had, one hand holding hers, the other wrapped around her waist, his eyes fixed on hers.

 Emma smiled as she took in the beauty that was Killian Jones, stroking his stubble with the back of her fingers.

 "Thank you so much for coming with me, Swan," Killian said, "you have no idea how much I appreciated your company today."

 "Not nearly as much as I appreciated yours," Emma said, "and I'm sorry if I made things awkward between you and your dad."

 "You did nothing wrong, Emma," Killian said, and for the intensity in his eyes she believed him.

 "I know," Emma said, "I just… I wish things could be better for you."

 "I have a promising art career and the pursuit of the most beautiful woman in the world," Killian squeezed her hand, "what more could I need?"

 Emma smiled, but she saw in his eyes that even he didn't fully believe it.

 "You still wish you could have a family," Emma said, "one that cares about you."

 He opened his mouth, but no words came out- instead, he nodded and sighed.

 "Don't take offense to this," Killian finally said, "but sometimes I almost feel like an orphan."

 "I know the feeling," Emma reassured him.

 "You feel this every day, and more," Killian said, "you must be the strongest woman alive."

 "After a while it doesn't get so heavy," Emma said.

 They stood there a little while longer, neither needing to say a word, just staring at each other and holding each other.

 "You're perfect for me," Killian whispered.

 "What?" Emma replied.

 "You're perfect for me," he repeated, "I know, we're not anything official- we're still open to interpretation- but I just want you to know that you're everything I've ever wanted."

 Emma didn't know what to say- his declaration was bold, and real, and as much as she wanted to say the same thing to him, she couldn't. With all the other men she'd dated, she'd echoed their declarations of affection, knowing they were both lying anyways- but she couldn't lie to Killian- not just because she didn't want to, but because if she told Killian he was everything she ever wanted, it wouldn't be a lie. He was gorgeous, passionate, protective, successful,  talented- he really was perfect for her.

 Not only that, but he wasn't perfect to her anymore. She saw him today get into a heated argument with his dad, get cut off in traffic a couple times, and stuff his face with pizza in the least elegant manner imaginable- and still, she liked him. Usually, she'd put someone on a pedestal, and he'd fall, and that pedestal became a tower, a wall, a high barrier he'd have to get over to earn her trust. But this time, when she saw Killian no longer as perfect, she liked him even more.

 One time in school she'd read that gemologists are often excited to find a flaw in a diamond, because that way you know it's real, not one of those perfect fake synthetic crystals. Killian was a diamond in the rough, and when Emma saw the flaws in him it only made her want him more- because it showed how genuine he was, that his sparkle wasn't made in a lab. He really was everything she'd ever wanted.

 That truth scared her, scared her so much that instead of responding, she leaned closer to him, laying the next stroke of the masterpiece on the canvas of his lips, kissing him.

 He tucked her even closer and tighter under his arm and let go of her hand so he could grab the back of her neck, his fingers in her hair. When he let go of her hand, she placed it on his side, then wrapped her arm around him, her other hand wrapped around his neck.

 Though she'd been afraid to use her words, she soon hoped her lips could say it all- he was perfect for her, and she never wanted him to leave.

 But that realization scared her too, scared her so much that she pulled away, staring at him in awe.

  "I never want him not to be in my life," Emma thought, "It would kill me if I lost those passionate eyes, and his talent, and accent, and the beautiful man behind it all."

 She could tell by the look on his face that he felt the same way, that he didn't want her walking out on him anytime soon. How much did it kill him not to know how she felt- how she was too scared to admit she felt- to live with the fact that she was still set on leaving things open to interpretation, that she still hadn't committed to him as openly as he had for her?

 But with the desperation that comes with knowing your time is running out, Killian closed the gap between their lips and kissed her yet again, with the same fervor and zeal as in the last, like a continuation of his previous stroke.

 Time moved differently as they kissed- Emma didn't know if they'd been kissing for three seconds or three hours by the time he pulled away from her.

 They smiled at each other, a little flustered and a bit disoriented, still in a bit of a daze from the sparks that flew between them.

 She didn't want their evening together to end, and wondered what was saying it had to yet- the night was still young, and she had a netflix subscription and a couch with their name on it.

 A stupid smile spread across his face- probably mirroring the stupid smile on hers.

 "Hey, Swan," Killian asked.

 "Yeah?"

 "If I tell you that was the worst kiss of my life, will we have to do this again next week to make up for it?"

 "With the way things went today, we already have to do this again next week to make up for it," Emma said, "but if you tell me it was the worst date of your life, I might invite you up to my apartment for mug cakes and a movie."

 "Oh?" Killian asked, with a raised eyebrow and flirtatious smile, then a wink from one of his dangerous eyes as he asked, "is that supposed to be a euphemism for something?"

 "You wish," Emma smiled with a playful eye roll.

 "Only if you wish, love," Killian smiled.

 "Not tonight," Emma said, running her fingers through his hair, "but I don't wanna say goodnight yet either."

 "Then pardon me for lying, to you, Swan," he leaned a touch closer to her, "but that was the worst date of my life."

 "Well then," Emma said, "I suppose a do-over date is in order."

 She took his hand in hers again and led him through the door to her apartment, 

 "Sorry I don't have too many options for mugs," Emma said, gesturing to the small collection of mugs by the coffee maker in her kitchen, "but feel free to use whichever one you want."

 "Wow, love," he said, picking up a blue mug with a cartoon character on it, "I didn't know you were such a Peter Pan fan."

  "Shoot," Emma thought, wishing she'd thought ahead enough to hide anything embarrassing before she left- including the tacky Disney mug featuring Captain Hook maliciously twirling his mustache.

 "It was a white elephant gift," Emma explained, "a work thing. I just haven't had time to get rid of it yet."
"Get rid of it?" Killian asked, feigning being offended, "this is a beautiful mug."

 "You can't be serious," Emma rolled her eyes.

 "I'm using this mug," Killian said, clutching it close to his heart for dramatic effect.

 "Okay," Emma said, pulling a Pillsbury boxed cake mix from the pantry, "now, I'm not much of a baker, but I can bake from a mix. Six tablespoons of this stuff, four tablespoons of water, one minute in the microwave and bam! Instant pick-me-up in two minutes or less."

 "You're bloody brilliant, Swan," Killian said, grabbing another mug for Emma as she dug out her measuring spoons.

 "I found the recipe online, nothing special," Emma said, "hope you don't mind devil's food cake."

 "I didn't know you had such a dark side, Swan." he smiled.

 "It was on sale at Wal-Mart," Emma blushed, "the cake mix, anyways, not the dark side."

 They assembled their mugs of cake batter, fingers brushing against each other at every opportunity as they handed measuring spoons back and forth. Then, Emma put the first one in the microwave.

 "Here," she said, picking up the remote off a nearby counter, "why don't you go pick out a movie while I finish up in here?"

 "Sounds like a plan, love," and while anyone else could've just grabbed the remote from her, Killian grabbed the hand that was holding it, then kissed her forehead, before sliding his grip and taking the remote from her. He walked around the island counter to what could probably be called the next room over, though the apartment was small enough that they may as well have been one room- there wasn't even a full wall between them, just the counter.

 Emma finished cleaning things up in the kitchen as the mugs took their turn in the microwave- smiling as she picked up her mug, as realizing the mug he picked out for her happened to be her favorite mug, a white one with a silhouette of a swan on it.

 Once both the cakes were finished, Emma grabbed a couple forks, then went to join Killian in the "living room," which, as mentioned, was more like the living half-a-room. She noted first that he hadn't even turned on the TV, and that instead of reclining on the couch looking at the TV, he was sitting on the edge of the couch cushion, looking at the coffee table. At first, Emma wondered what could be so interesting about the coffee table, but then she remembered the last thing she did before Killian came to pick her up yesterday- adding the finishing touches to her most recent painting.

 "You didn't tell me you paint, love," Killian said, almost sounding betrayed by the realization.

 "I, uh," Emma knew she couldn't find some kind of defense against the painting in front of him being her work- if the newspaper, brushes, and paints on the table weren't enough to tell him that, her signature in the bottom corner was, "I didn't ever think it was 'relevant to the discussion.'"

 Emma took a seat next to him, setting the mug cakes down on the coffee table.

 "Why not?" Killian asked, "It never occurred to you that I'd want to know that the most important thing in my life matters to you too?"

 "I," Emma shrugged, "I didn't think it was good enough."

 "Not good enough?" He looked over at her, then back at the painting. He picked up the painting carefully, with an artist's touch, holding the edges rather than the front, careful not to smudge it, "Swan, this is breathtaking."

 "Really?" Emma asked.

 "What do you call it?" Killian asked.

 "Small," Emma said.

 Killian smiled. "The title says everything the painting does."

 "Sometimes when you live in someone's shadow for too long," Emma explained, "you just feel so small."

 "I know the feeling," Killian said, "remember the poem about the masks?"
Emma tried to quote it as best she could, "He had blue skin. She had blue skin. He hid it. She hid it. They searched for blue and never found it- and passed right by each other."

  "Pretty close," Killian smiled, "Emma, when I look at this painting, I see someone with blue skin like mine."

 "Because your family makes you feel small?" Emma reasoned, "just like my ex did?"

 "And we could've passed right by our whole lives and not known what we share in common, Emma," he said. He then set the painting back down on the table.

 Emma looked at him with a shade of wonder. Here was a renowned, successful, talented artist, telling her that her paintings were good- if anyone could know that, it would be him. A little voice in the back of her head told her maybe he was only faking, that he was just playing some kind of cruel joke with her emotions- but that voice was drowned out in the pools of sincerity in his eyes.

 "Do you have any others?" He asked

 "Others?" Emma asked.

 "Other paintings," Killian said.

 "I have some paintings, I guess," Emma said, "and a few sketchbooks."

 "Then may I have the honor?"

 "Of looking at them?" Emma asked, a little surprised. No one had ever seen most of her art before- no one had wanted to- and yet, Killian did.

 "Only if you want to share them."

  "I can go get them," Emma said, giving Killian a kiss on the cheek before getting up, "I'll be right back."

 "I'll be waiting here, love," Killian said.

 They didn't end up doing anything beyond warm mug cakes and a movie- though admittedly, they didn't even end up watching a movie, and by the time they finally got to their mug cakes, they were cold. Instead, they went through Emma's paintings together, and then a couple of her sketchbooks, Killian pointing out a few clever details about all of them, making Emma fall in love once again with even the self-proclaimed "worst" of her works.

 "Do you have any more?" Killian asked, after an hour or two of looking through her art.

 "I think that's the last of it," Emma said, setting her last sketchbook down on the coffee table, "To be honest, I was surprised you even sat through it at all."

 "I'm surprised you expected me to be so bored," Killian said, "It was an honor and a delight."

 "Are you just saying that?" Emma asked, yawning a little.

 Killian yawned in return, in so doing wrapping his arm around her, "and would I serve to gain from lying to you?"
"I don't know," Emma snuggled a little closer to him, "build my trust to get close to me, just so you can stab me in the back later."

 "You know I wouldn't do that, love," Killian said.

 "I know," Emma said,

 "And I mean every word I've ever said to you," Killian said, "and especially tonight. You're one of the most talented artists I've ever met."

 He kissed the top of her head, and she fell back into his embrace, resting her head against his chest.

 "That means a lot, coming from you," Emma said.

 "I mean it."

 "I know."

 Killian wrapped his arm around her more tightly and rubbed her shoulder, which was followed by both of them yawning again.

 "I suppose I should be heading back soon," Killian said.

 "Already?" Emma asked.

 "Emma, love, it's already one thirty in the morning."

 Emma groaned a little and wrapped her arm around him tightly. He sighed a little.

 "Don't go," Emma whispered.

 "What?" Killian asked.

 "Stay here tonight," Emma said, "you're too tired for a half hour drive anyways."

 "I'll be fine," Killian yawned.

 "I can't let you do that," Emma said, "I don't want to see you get into an accident."
"I'll be fine, love," he smiled, "one thing I've always been good at is surviving."

 Emma grumbled to herself a little, not wanting to get up or say goodbye yet.

 "But do you really want me to stay here with you?" Killian asked, yawning again.

 "Yeah," Emma said, realizing it wasn't hard to let her walls down for someone who had already gotten inside them, "I don't want this moment to end. I want to fall asleep right here, next to you,"

 "If that's what your heart desires," Killian said, "I'd be a fool to deny it."

 "Good," Emma said.

 As she curled herself up in his arms, Emma couldn't help but think about how natural it all felt, how nice it was to be with Killian, unlike with any man she'd ever met. She suddenly realized that she wanted to spend time with him without having to say goodbye and goodnight. She wanted to get to know all his family members and friends, go with him to all his benefit dinners and art showings, and to comfort him on his harder days.

 But more than that, she realized she wanted him to be there for her the same way. She wanted to show him off to all her friends, to curl up in his arms like this after a hard day of work, to go shopping with him and make meals and do chores with him, and to let him be a part of her life too. She wanted to do all kinds of things with him- grab a cup of coffee together, go dancing, or for a boat ride, or to watch the fireworks on the fourth of July- or even just get grilled cheese and onion rings at a diner together. She wanted to celebrate little moments with him- and big moments too, like Christmases and birthdays and anniversaries- she wanted them to have anniversaries.

  "I want him to be my boyfriend," Emma thought.

 "Hey, Killian," Emma mumbled, half hoping he was already asleep.

 "Yes, Emma?" he asked.

 "Maybe I'm just tired, and maybe in the morning I'm gonna regret this," Emma said, "but remember on the way to the graduation, when you asked me if I wanted to commit to a relationship yet?"

 "Indeed," he said, sitting up a little, and she did the same.

 "I don't think I want to leave things open to interpretation anymore," Emma said.

 "Oh?" Killian asked.

 "If the offer's still on the table, I'd like to be your girlfriend," Emma said, "and I'd like you to be my boyfriend."

 "I must be dreaming," Killian smiled, his arm that wasn't still wrapped around her touching her cheek.

 Emma took his face in her hands. "We're still awake," she said, "and I want to make our relationship official."

 "I said earlier I only want your heart's desire," Killian smiled, "but you've no idea the joy I feel knowing our hearts desire the same thing. I would love to be your boyfriend, if you'd love to be my girlfriend."

 "Sounds like a deal," Emma said, smiling.

 "Care to seal the deal with a kiss?" Killian asked.

 "Yeah," Emma smiled. They both leaned towards each other, slowly, and painted another kiss across each other's lips, this one like a gentle staccato before drifting off to sleep in each other's arms.

Chapter Text

 Killian's residency at the Nolan Blanchard ended a year later, with the unveiling of the painting the museum had commissioned him for. His brother came up to see the unveiling, along with Uncle Nemo and Paige, the latter of whom was more than "just" a friend of Liam's by this point. August and the new Mrs. Booth came by to support him as well, along with the Nolans- and their new infant son.

 But Killian, admittedly, didn't care one iota about whether or not those people were here for the celebration- and if he did, he didn't care nearly as much as he did that Emma was there- today was a day to celebrate her too.

 On his way to his wing, Killian saw his girlfriend, staring at a new painting that had recently been put on display in the museum.

 "I can't believe this Emma Swan has a painting in this museum now," Killian teased, as he came up behind her.

 "Why not?" Emma asked, with a playful smile as they stood in front of her newly recommissioned painting of "Small."

 "Because it's just one painting. She deserves a whole gallery of her paintings, so everyone can see her talent," Killian smiled as he put his arm around her, "though none of the masterpieces could ever live up to their artist."

 "Or her boyfriend, for that matter," Emma nudged him.

 "You've got that right, love," he kissed her forehead.

 They walked into his wing together, where his new painting hung behind a large sheet. There were cameras and a few other people around as well as Killian's guests, all waiting for Killian to unveil his masterpiece.

 "Go get 'em, tiger," Emma said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

 As Mr. Nolan announced him to the group, Killian didn't feel as nervous as usual- though maybe that was just because he was comparing how terrifying this would be with what he was planning on doing afterwards.

 "I want to thank you all for coming out here today," Killian said, "and while I don't want to keep you all waiting too long when there's refreshments in a moment, I'd like to give a few brief words. When I partnered with the Nolan Blanchard a year ago, I was a mess. My life was empty, sad, and lonely. During my time here, I got to know some pretty cool people- Mr. and Mrs. Nolan, who've become like family to me, and my beautiful girlfriend Emma. This piece, hopefully, reflects that."

 He pulled off the tarp off the canvas to reveal a painting he was rather proud of. It featured two hearts- anatomical hearts- one bright red, though cracked and bruised in a couple places, but with a glow coming from behind it. The heart next to it was in perfect condition, but was gray and dusty, and had metal bars like a jail cell across it.

 "Sometimes we go through so much hurt that we don't think we can keep going," he pointed at the farther, grayed heart, "we think we'll do better if we avoid breaking our hearts, so we avoid even using them, and instead we let them wither away in their pristine condition."

 He then pointed at the closer heart, the cracked and glowing one.

 "But if we use our hearts- if we let ourselves risk getting them hurt- they'll flourish, and thrive, and keep beating. We have to let people in- we have to love. Too often we think 'my heart's too broken to love again-' but that's how you know you can love again. If it can be broken, it means it still works- and the more we use our broken heart, the sooner we can heal it."

 Killian nodded and stepped away from the painting as those watching started clapping. He crossed paths with Mr. Nolan, whom he assumed would give him a handshake but instead gave him a hug.

 Mr. Nolan then dismissed everyone for refreshments, August and Belle especially making sure everyone cleared out of the room quickly- and August giving Killian a thumbs up, as he was the last one out besides Killian and Emma.

 "We probably better get down there if we want there to be refreshments left for us," Emma said.

 "Wait," Killian said, taking her hand, "I have something to ask you about first."

 "What is it?" Emma asked.

 "When we first started out, our relationship was open to our interpretation," Killian said, his throat drying up as he fished around in his pocket, "and then you agreed to be my girlfriend, and now," he half chuckled, "I want to reinterpret us. I don't want you to be my girlfriend anymore," and he pulled a little box out of his pocket, and he got down on one knee, and he opened the box to reveal a ring, "I want you to be my wife instead," he gulped, "Emma Swan, will you marry me?"

 Killian wished he could capture her face in that moment on canvas. Sure, he always wished for that, but never more than when he looked up at her on his knees in his gallery, like a ship looking up to its lighthouse, drawn in by the smile beaming on her face.

 "Yes," Emma said, "yes, I'd love to!"

 Killian smiled as well, all of his fear melting away at her excitement. Energy coursing his veins, he slipped the ring onto her finger, and she helped him up, off of the ground and into her arms.

 Emma smiled down at the ring on her finger, then back up at Killian.

 "Permission to kiss the masterpiece?" Emma asked.

 Killian bit his lip, never having been more in love with her than he was in that moment- but knowing that love would continue to grow with every moment he spent at her side.

 "Aye, love," he said, as they drew their lips together, "permission granted."