Chapter Text
Emma stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen, heading half-blindly in the direction of the coffeemaker. She grunted when she collided with a tall figure who was already there, pouring herself a cup. Emma winced as she spat long, curly hair out of her mouth and tried to focus her sleepy eyes.
“Ugh, sorry,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
Milah gave her a tight smile. “Killian and I were at Antonio’s last night, and we had a bit too much to drink. Here is closer than my place.”
“Makes sense.” Emma scooted around the taller woman to get to the cupboard, pulled out her coffee cup and filled it as Milah watched. Wordlessly, she handed Emma the milk.
“Um. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Milah stepped back and gave her an assessing once-over. Emma tried not to squirm, tried not to think about the tangled mess of her hair or what her face must look like. She hadn’t bothered to wash her makeup off last night, had barely even got her contacts out before she fell asleep. Raccoon eyes surrounded by thick-rimmed glasses was probably not a great look. Milah on the other hand looked fantastic, cool and elegant, her curly hair perfectly tamed despite the early hour. Emma wondered snarkily if she’d be able to pull that off by the time she was Milah’s age.
“Late night?” Milah asked.
“Just work.” Emma sipped her coffee, wishing the woman would just go back to Killian’s room and leave her in peace.
Or as much peace as she could hope for when she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about what Milah and Killian were doing behind his door. At least when they went to Milah’s she could put it out of her mind.
Well, almost out.
“Mmm,” said Milah as the kitchen door opened and Killian appeared. He also had messy hair and tired eyes but on him they looked good, rumpled and sexy. He was so goddamn unfair, thought Emma, determinedly looking away from him. She missed the way Killian leaned in to kiss his girlfriend before spotting his roommate, the way his lips deviated at the last minute to land on Milah’s cheek instead of her lips. Missed the flash of irritation in Milah’s eyes.
“Morning, Swan.” Killian sauntered across the small room and leaned past her to get his coffee mug. His smile was soft and his eyes warm but Emma saw neither, her gaze firmly on her coffee. “Late night?”
“Et tu, Jones?” Emma muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Never mind. I’m gonna go drink this in my room.”
“Wait, Swan.” He stopped her with a hand on her arm. Emma forced herself to breathe normally. “Don’t you want any breakfast?”
“No.”
“You need to eat something, love.” His voice was so soft, so affectionate.
She hated affectionate.
“I’ll have a Pop-Tart later.”
“Something with some actual nutritional value,” he teased. His fingers brushed gently along her arm.
“Killian, leave her alone,” Milah snapped. “She’s a grown woman, she can eat what she likes.”
This really should be a supportive, stand-up-for-the-sisterhood kind of moment, thought Emma, but instead she just felt judged. Let her eat what she likes, she’s a lost cause. Milah’s face was blank, her pale eyes hard. No sisterhood there.
Emma forced a smile. “I’m fine, really. Not hungry. I’ll have some lunch later. And I promise it’ll include something green,” she said, before Killian could interrupt.
“All right, then,” he replied with a grin, then removed his hand so she could make her escape.
--
An hour later Emma was functionally caffeinated and her face washed clean, and she was definitely not standing with her ear pressed to her bedroom door listening for the sound of Killian and Milah leaving the apartment.
Okay, she was. But she’d had a hell of a rough night; her skip had been hard to locate and even harder to take down, and all she wanted was to spend the day vegging on the sofa and watching soothing television. Something she absolutely could not do with Milah in the apartment being put-together and disdainful all over the place. Emma knew she was a bit of a mess and had no problem with that aspect of herself, but she hated being judged for it. Especially by Killian’s wealthy-divorcée girlfriend who’d never had to work to make ends meet.
She heard the sound of their voices, heard the front door open and close, then silence. She gave it another minute then ventured tentatively into the living room, surprised to find Killian there on the sofa wearing his pajamas and a brooding expression. He looked up when he heard her approach and a bright smile broke across his face.
“Hey, Swan.”
“Hey. Did Milah leave?”
“Yeah, she had a pedicure or something. You want to watch some Bake-Off?”
“Very much.”
Killian patted the cushion beside him. “Come on, then. Let’s waste the day away with mindless television.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”
“Maybe a little. Though definitely not for green things.”
He smirked. “Go get yourself a bloody Pop-Tart, I’ll get the show ready.”
When she returned from the kitchen he had the show queued up and a blanket ready to tuck around her feet when she curled them under herself and snuggled against his side. He slung his arm along the top of the sofa, his fingertips brushing the sleeve of her shirt as she let her head fall against his shoulder, nibbling her Pop-Tart and relaxing into contentment.
As they watched mild drama unfold within the pastel tent Emma let herself pretend, just for a moment, that they were together—really together—and that this was their life. Spending a lazy Saturday afternoon watching TV, after which she would allow him to cook her something healthy and they would eat it at the kitchen table like real adults and then they would go to bed. Together. She sighed. She wanted all of that, so damned much.
Killian turned his head, his lips just brushing her hair. “All right, love?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” she replied, pretending. “I’m fine.”
--
They watched three episodes, then Killian hit ‘pause.’
“I should probably go get ready,” he said. “I’m meeting Milah for dinner.”
“Okay.” Emma tried to keep her voice neutral as his words punctured her lovely fantasy bubble. It never did last long, that bubble.
He frowned at her, something odd and sharply assessing in his eyes. “I can cancel,” he offered. “Stay here—”
“No! You have a date! Go! I’ll probably call Mary Margaret and Ruby, see what they’re up to tonight.”
“Okay, well if you’re sure.”
“Definitely.” She gave him a bright smile. “Go.”
She put on Four Weddings and a Funeral and refused to feel sorry for herself, even when Killian left the apartment an hour later looking heartbreakingly gorgeous. She’d take her cue from Kristin Scott Thomas’s Fiona, thought Emma firmly. If Fiona could spend years in unrequited love with her best friend and still be fabulous, then so could she.
So could she.
--
“So how was your day?” Milah asked as they sat down at a cosy table in her favourite restaurant. A waiter poured them champagne without being asked; Milah was well known here.
“Oh, fine. Nothing special, I just spent the afternoon with Emma. We watched some TV, talked a bit.” Killian smiled as he recalled it, the pure peace and comfort of sitting on the sofa with Emma pressed against his side, her head on his shoulder. Her hair tickling his chin.
Milah set her glass down with deliberate control and laid her hands flat on the crisp white tablecloth. Her lips pressed into a firm line. Her nostrils flared.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said.
Killian frowned. “Can’t do what, love?”
“This.” She gestured between them. “I can’t keep dating a man who is so fucking obviously in love with someone else.”
“What? Who?” Where's this come from? Killian wondered. Milah never swore unless she was truly furious. What had he done, or said, to set her off?
She gave him a look so dirty he immediately wanted a shower. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He racked his brains. “Do you mean Emma?”
“Who the bloody hell else would I mean?”
“But Emma and I are just—”
“Don’t you fucking dare say ‘just friends,’” she hissed. “I’m not an idiot, Killian, and I’m not blind, though apparently you are both those things if you’re really unaware how you feel about her.”
Guilt stabbed at Killian. He’d tried so hard with Milah. “I—”
“No, don’t say anything,” she interrupted, making a sharp gesture with her hand. “I should never have let things go on this long, but I really liked you and I hoped if I tried hard enough to be what you needed you might forget her. But you never will. And I can’t keep being the second choice for my own boyfriend.”
“Milah, please.” Killian took her hand. “You know how much I care for you—”
“Yes I do. Exactly how much.”
“—and there’s nothing between Emma and me. Surely you know that as well.”
“I do. I know you would never cheat. But you want to, and that might be worse. You want her so much you can’t even hide it, Killian. You should see the way you act when she’s around. You take every opportunity to touch her and the way you look at her…”
“Does she know?” He winced the moment he spoke the words, but it was too late to take them back.
Milah looked stricken, just for a moment, then she closed her eyes on a sigh. “Well, that’s pretty definitive,” she said quietly.
“I’m so sorry.”
She shook her head. “You can’t choose who you love. None of us can.” She threw her napkin on the table and stood. “Goodbye, Killian.” She moved to go, then stopped, turning back. “Oh, to answer your question, no. She doesn’t know. She’s as much of a blind idiot as you are. You two fucking deserve each other.”
--
When Killian got home Emma was still curled on the sofa, a pastel tent on the television screen and an empty carton of ice cream on the coffee table. He kicked off his boots and sat down next to her.
“Are you watching Bake-Off without me?” he asked.
“We’ve seen this one already.”
“Oh yeah.”
She frowned at him. “What are you doing home, anyway? I figured you’d stay at Milah’s.”
He looked at her, at her eyes obscured behind thick-rimmed glasses, her hair in a messy ponytail. He could count the freckles on her nose and she had a trace of chocolate from her ice cream on the corners of her mouth.
She was so beautiful, he thought helplessly. And Milah was right. He was in love with her.
He knew he was, of course, he’d known it for years. But knowing was not the same as admitting. Admitting he loved Emma meant admitting that he’d spent years pining for things he could never have. It meant admitting that he’d fucked everything up, that he’d missed his chance when she finally broke up with Neal. Not wishing to be her rebound guy he’d waited… too long, as it turned out, and Emma had found her rebound guy in Graham instead. A rebound that had lasted more than a year, while Killian drowned his regret and jealousy in rum and a series of relationships that burned with intensity then fizzled once the initial attraction had passed. None of the women he dated could stand up to Emma, something he always knew and they soon discovered.
Worst of all, admitting he loved her meant admitting that if he ever hoped to have something real—marriage, kids, a lifetime with someone who loved him back—he was going to have to let her go.
He couldn’t have Emma and he couldn’t commit to anyone else while she was still in his heart. And that was the true root of his denial, the awful, heartbreaking choice that admitting his feelings would force him to face: accept that he’d always be alone or somehow get over the woman he’d loved for years.
Her frown deepened, and he realised he was staring.
“Are you all right, Killian?” she asked.
He forced a smile. “Fine, Swan.”
He could tell her Milah had broken up with him. She would be sympathetic, would curl supportively against his side and try to comfort him. He would put his arm around her, and she wouldn’t pull away. They would stay that way the rest of the evening, curled around each other watching soothing television then maybe a movie, and he would have to pretend he didn’t feel every brush of her skin against his in his very core. Pretend he didn’t spend every minute in her presence wanting to bury his hands in her hair and kiss her with every ounce of the passion he’d been suppressing for the past five years. Pretend.
And he couldn’t. Not tonight.
“I think I’ll go to bed,” he said, standing. She caught his hand; a jolt of feeling shot straight through him from that simple touch. He gritted his teeth and forced his breathing to remain steady.
“Are you sure everything’s all right?” she asked. Her expression was concerned, fond. He hated fond. But she was his best friend, and his feelings weren’t her fault. The last thing he wanted was for her to worry.
He smiled, as reassuringly as he could, and squeezed her hand. “Milah and I had a bit of a disagreement,” he said. “But it’ll be okay. I’m just tired. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Don’t watch any episodes I haven’t seen,” he warned her.
She grinned. “Would I?”
He wanted to kiss that grin right off her face. Instead he smirked at her as he knew she wanted him to and gave her hand a final squeeze before heading to his bedroom.
He pulled off his clothes and left them on the floor, uncharacteristically for him, but he couldn’t be bothered to hang them up or to put on pajamas. He fell into his bed, pressed his face deep into his pillow and tried to imagine his life without Emma. Without the cereal bowls she left in the sink and the empty packets of hot chocolate mix on the counter. Her long hair clogged all the drains and she never put the DVDs back in their proper cases. She was always putting her feet on his coffee table and he knew she used his shampoo when she ran out of her own. She should annoy the fuck out of him; instead his chest squeezed painfully at the thought of never being annoyed by her again.
He pulled the pillow to his chest and wrapped his arms around it. The thought of leaving her was almost more than he could bear, but he knew there wasn’t really any other choice. He had to give himself a chance. They could still be friends, he could still be there when she needed him, but he knew that for his own sake he couldn’t live with her any longer.
--
It took a surprisingly short time to find a new place to live. The week after Killian made his decision Belle announced that she was going on sabbatical, back to Australia and do some research for her book and spend time with her family. She would be gone at least six months and needed to sublet her apartment, she said, and did he happen to know anyone who might be interested? She looked surprised when he quickly volunteered to take it himself but didn’t question him, not even when she handed him the keys and he had to press his fingers against his eyes to stop the tears.
--
Emma had just slid some pizzas in the oven when Killian came home, looking tired and preoccupied as he had all week. Something was very obviously bothering him, but what worried her was that he wasn’t talking to her about it. He always told her everything, all the gory details of his life. Even things she’d rather not know. Like what was going on with his girlfriends.
He’d always had girlfriends, for as long as she’d known him. A serial monogamist, she thought, that’s what he was. A soft-hearted romantic—though he’d never admit it—always looking for ‘the one.’ His relationships never lasted long, a few weeks, maybe a month or two before the breakup. But it was never serious, and Killian never truly got hurt. He would come home and collapse dramatically on the sofa, pour his heart out to her, mope for a day or two, and then move on.
He’d been with Milah for six months, almost seven now. Far longer than any of the others, and the jealousy that clawed at Emma’s belly whenever she thought about the women Killian dated was beginning to get vicious. He seemed to be putting actual effort into making things work this time. What if Milah really was the one? What if Killian fell in love for real, and she lost him forever? Her chest tightened at the thought.
“Hey,” she said. “I just put some pizzas in, if you’re hungry.”
He didn’t smile. “Thanks, love, perhaps later. Can we talk?”
Emma’s heart lodged in her throat as she nodded. “Sure.”
Killian looked at a spot just over her left shoulder. “I don’t really know how to say this,” he muttered.
Fear was curling in her gut now, drowning the jealousy. “Say what?” she whispered.
Killian took a deep breath. “I’m moving out,” he said.
The fear slashed at her and turned to despair. This was it, then. He was moving in with Milah. He was leaving. They all left.
She nodded, concentrating on staying upright, on not collapsing to the floor and sobbing out her broken heart. “When?”
“Next week. I’ll keep paying the rent here until you can find a new roommate, but that shouldn’t take long. It’s a nice apartment.”
“Yeah.”
The oven timer began to buzz and Emma blindly opened the door, forgetting, in her haze of distress and confusion, to put on an oven glove before she grabbed the pizza tray.
“Fuck!” she yelled as she yanked her hand back.
Killian was at her side in an instant. He took her hand gently in his, cradling it as he grabbed a paper towel and ran it under cold water then wrapped it around her burn, tucking the edges in to secure it.
“All right, love?” he asked, his voice low and rough.
She swallowed past the ache in her chest. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and they both knew he wasn’t talking about her hand.
“Don’t be. It’s fine. Like you said, it won’t take long to find a new roommate. Actually I think Ruby might be looking for a new place.”
“That’s good, then. Shall I get these pizzas out?”
Emma shook her head. She couldn’t bear the thought of food. All she wanted was escape, solitude. “I’m not hungry.”
“Nor I. I’ll wrap them up, shall I, and maybe we can eat them later.”
“Yeah, maybe. I—I think I’ll go to bed.”
“Aye, love. Sleep well.”
“Goodnight, Killian.”
Goodbye.
--
The weeks after Killian moved out were a blur to Emma. Ruby eagerly accepted his room, glad for a change after her ugly breakup with Victor, but Emma barely saw her. She spent every minute she could manage at work, volunteering to take the toughest skips, spending hours on stakeouts or days chasing them across state lines, driving herself to exhaustion until she could sleep dreamlessly through the night. Anything to keep her out of the apartment that felt empty and wrong without Killian in it. Anything to keep images of him living happily with Milah out of her mind.
He texted her, of course, and she replied, pretending everything was all right. She’d gotten good at pretending. He asked if he could see her and she told him truthfully that she was busy.
Weeks turned to months and still she drove herself relentlessly, waiting for the numbness to set in, for the heartbreak to begin to heal. As it had after Neal. After Graham. When it didn’t she couldn’t help wondering why. Wondering if it could be possible that her heart had only been cracked before. If after everything she’d been through, in the end only Killian actually had the power to break her.
Then one night David finally refused to accept her weak excuses any longer and strong-armed her into coming to the bar with him. To celebrate, he said, after she’d dragged in a skip they’d been after for more than a year.
“Come on, Emma, I’ve barely seen you lately,” he pleaded. “Between you and Killian I feel like I’ve lost both my best friends.”
“You haven’t seen Killian either?” Her voice sounded unnaturally high to her ears.
“Nope. Since he moved out of your place he’s pretty much been MIA.”
“Nesting.” Emma squeezed her eyes shut to drive the images from her brain.
“What?”
“He’s—” she cleared her throat. “He’s probably nesting. With Milah.”
David’s frown was confused. “With Milah?”
“Yeah, you know.” She attempted a casual shrug. “When people first move in together they tend to stay in. Nesting.”
“Emma, you do know Killian and Milah broke up, right?”
“Wha— no, I didn’t know that!”
“Yeah.” David nodded, still frowning. “Months ago, right around the time he moved. He really didn’t tell you? I thought he told you everything.”
“So did I.”
David pushed open the door to the bar and his frown darkened. “Speak of the devil,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of a familiar dark-haired figure, slumped at the bar with a half-empty bottle of rum at his elbow, misery in every line of his body.
Emma felt her heart clench. He must still be mourning his breakup, she thought, even months after it happened. Milah must have been really important to him. David went to talk to Killian but she hung back, watching as the two men had a fierce, hissed argument that ended with Killian elbowing David aside and staggering out the door.
As much as Emma really didn’t want to hear about his heartbreak over Milah, she couldn’t bear to see him in so much pain. Couldn’t bear to think how he must have been suffering all these months, alone while she worked herself into the ground to avoid him for her own selfish reasons. Guilt and worry churned in her gut as she turned and ran out the door, hoping to catch Killian before he found a cab.
She found him outside, leaning against the wall of the bar, but before she could think of what to say he pushed himself away from it and took a stumbling step down the sidewalk. She darted forward to catch him before he could fall. He caught his breath sharply and looked down at her, blinking as he attempted to focus his hazy attention.
“Swan,” he murmured. “Are you real this time?”
“I—what?”
He shook his head. “Just another dream. Must be.” His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her hard against him. “Good dream,” he said, so quietly she had to strain to hear him, tucking his face into her neck and breathing deeply.
“Killian, what—what are you doing?”
“You smell so bloody good,” he whispered. “Have I ever told you that?”
Having him so close after so long was making her lightheaded. “N—no.”
“I should have. I should have told you that, and so much else. Gods, love, I—I—”
“You what?”
“I miss you.” He breathed the words into her hair, his hand a tight fist in the back of her jacket. “I miss the way you smell and your hair in the sink and those bloody rank Pop Tarts you insist on eating. I miss it all so goddamned much.”
“Then why did you leave?” She choked. “David said you broke up with Milah months ago, so why—”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“I had to give myself a chance to get over you.”
“Get over me?” When were you under me? she wanted to say, but now didn’t seem like the best time to quote Friends. Killian was leaning heavily on her, his eyelids drooping, and she could see he was close to passing out.
“Come on,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist. “Let’s go ho—Let’s go to my place.”
“Mmmmm,” he agreed. She steered him down the block and up the steps and through the door of their old apartment, then held him steady as they removed their shoes. Ruby’s bedroom door was tightly shut, her laundry piled high on the sofa. Emma figured she should just push it off and let Killian sleep there, but sometime during the walk home his hand had found its way beneath the hem of her sweater and the drag of his rough fingertips against her skin was making her shiver and ache, and he was murmuring into her hair again, words that sounded like gods so bloody soft and all she wanted was to fall asleep in his arms just once. Just for one night. Then tomorrow she would wake up early, nurse his hangover and send him home none the wiser. And she would hold the memories of that night close and secret in her heart and never yearn again.
She hated yearning.
She guided him through the living room and past the sofa, into her bedroom where he stood patiently, watching her with bleary eyes as she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off him together with his jacket. Her hands hovered at the waistband of his jeans for a moment, before quickly unbuttoning, unzipping, then pushing them down until they pooled around his feet.
Go for broke, Emma.
She pulled off her jacket and sweater and shimmied out of her own jeans as he clumsily stepped out of his and kicked them away. Emma pulled her bra out from under her tank top then turned to see him swaying on his feet and fighting to keep his eyes open, dressed in nothing but black boxer briefs enhanced by a sizeable bulge she knew he was too drunk to use.
“Emma,” he slurred as he swayed in her direction. She braced just in time to catch him and guide his fall onto the bed but he grabbed her waist as he went down and dragged her along with him, groaning a bit when she landed on his chest but quickly wrapping both arms around her. “Don’t go.”
“I won’t,” she said, “but the blankets—”
“Don’t. Miss you.”
“You said that already.” He wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes open much longer, she thought. He’d soon be asleep and she could—”
“Love you.”
“What? Killian, what did you say?”
But his only response was a soft snore. Emma stared at him, her mind and heart racing. He’s drunk, she reminded herself. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. She tried to wriggle away from him to grab the blanket but he made an incoherent noise of protest and tightened his hold, pressing his face into her hair. With a sigh, she stretched out her leg and caught the blanket with her foot, slowly easing it up and over them. Then she snuggled into him, rubbed her cheek against his chest and let herself pretend that this was real.
Fuck it, she thought. It’s just a one-time thing.