Emma clutched the worn steering wheel with her hands, flexing her fingers and curling them around the faded material over and over again. It wasn't helping her warm up in the slightest - she should have left the car on for that - but it was impossible to sit completely still as she stared at the vehicle parked across the street from her own.

Killian's car sat in the same exact spot it always was. Two spots to the left of the door, backed in, almost perfectly aligned between the two painted lines on either side of him. She didn't know if it was because his neighbors knew he was a deputy or if he just had impeccable timing, but whenever she came over here she always saw him in the same spot.

Her knack for timing wasn't so lucky; she was parallel parked between a brown Ford pickup and a Jeep Wagoneer. It was a tight squeeze, and she probably could have found a closer spot if she'd pulled into his parking lot, but it was a lot easier eight-point-turning her way into this spot than it was gaining the courage to on his door at the moment.

She'd stayed longer than she intended to with Mary Margaret. It hadn't been a bad thing. Their conversation turned toward the baby, to details concerning the new life that was soon to come into their world. His nursery was set up completely now; in her absence, David had put together the last of the furniture he and his wife had picked out together, the same furniture she'd helped Killian bring in the house and set aside in the guest room when David was on duty at the station. Little additions like family pictures had been making their way up to the room recently, making it feel more complete than a matching set of bedsheets and curtains ever could have. A picture of Emma, Mary Margaret and David on their wedding day sat in a place of honor on the bookshelf near the rocking chair, larger than any of the others that hung on the wall above the crib. She would have been lying if she said it looked anything less than perfect, like it did't want to make her stay with them until they left for the hospital and came back with little Leo himself.

David getting home had delayed her - his arrival wasn't as unexpected as the fierceness with which he reiterated Mary Margaret's promises to her and encouraged her to follow his wife's advice - but not by much.

She shoved the door open, fed up with her own nervous energy, and dove away every thought except the one that had branded itself into her mind since she'd left Mary Margaret's. Maybe it had been a good thing, Emma thought to herself, passing between Killian's car and the silver one parked beside it. If she'd left earlier, she might have beaten him here.

Emma didn't know what he would have done if he'd come home to her standing on his porch.A morbid kind of curiosity had her picturing it vividly in the space between her car door and his front steps, but the street separating her from his door wasn't wide enough to entertain every possibility

Se let the brass anchor knocker fall heavy on his front door and stared right at it after it fell back into place, her breath fogging the air while she waited for the sound of footsteps. When was the last time she had even knocked, let alone waited for him to let her in? She knew he kept his spare key in a magnetic box under his porch lantern, just like he knew she kept herself behind the downspout on the side of her building. Hell, she remembered asking him and David for advice on where to hide her spare when she first had it made - they'd gone back and forth several minutes bickering about which spots a thief would chef first. It felt wrong to knock, just like it felt wrong to go more than a week without speaking to him. She hoped he'd let her try to make up for both.

All at once the doorknob turned, tearing a hole in the quiet of the street behind her. Emma steeled herself to find a dozen different expressions on Killian's face when he saw her, curling her fingers so her short nails bit into her palm, and watched the door swing inward.

His face was completely blank — the one thing she hadn't prepared for. Eyes that normally shone when they landed on hers showed no change when he came into view. Either he knew it was her when she'd knocked, or...Emma didn't want to consider the alternative. She was too busy trying to get a read on him, on how much time she had before he shut the door on her again.

"I went to Mary Margaret and David's before coming here," she blurted out. It wasn't at all what she'd planned to say, but she felt like she had to convince him she was serious.

"That's good. They've missed you."

The finality in his voice stung, but she fought past it. She was the one who'd put it there. She stood her ground in front of him and put a little more fire into her gaze. It didn't matter if his didn't change, even when she leaned her weight forward and tried again.

"I didn't just go over there, Killian. I talked to them for a while. There's stuff I dealt with growing up, stuff I didn't realize still affected me. I know it sounds stupid to you, but I thought that trip to Tradition was going to be my last chance to spend time with them the way I'm used to spending it." Emma curled her arms around herself, trying very hard to look like she wasn't cold. Killian had to be, standing there in fewer layers than she was, but he hadn't moved an inch. His expression hadn't changed, but his eyes hadn't moved from her yet, either. She tried one more time, hoping that some part of what she was saying was getting through to him — that he was still making the effort to understand her when she couldn't make it easy.

"You know the kinds of families I grew up with before David and his mom found me.

Finally, he moved. She flinched when she saw his hand move at the doorknob, thinking he planned to shut her out now that she'd made three different attempts at explaining herself, but he only moved to pull the door wider. "It's cold out," he said quietly, stepping aside. "We should talk inside."

Emma dropped her hands the moment he stepped around the corner from the kitchen, watching every move he made. He'd offered her water when she stepped in, probably to give himself a minute to prepare, and she couldn't blame him for it. Had it been her place, she would have done the same.

She watched for some kind of change in his expression, some clue to let her know what he was thinking, but he'd clearly used his minute alone to his advantage. Killian was steeling himself, keeping his eyes down somewhere near his wrist until he was sure she had a secure grip on the cup. After that his eyes fell away to some indiscriminate spot on the floor, like he needed to make sure his footing was steady. It made her miss the man who teasingly sauntered into her space and purposely found ways to be around her, who played with her personal space and held her gaze far longer than any friend should. Emma had no idea how to deal with a Killian who raised his walls around her, who invited her into his home but wouldn't look at her.

So she waited. Emma didn't say a word to him, didn't so much as take a sip of her water until he looked up at her, and when he finally did, she held his gaze and made a point of showing him everything she had been feeling for the past week. Killian had a front-row seat to every single ounce of worry and insecurity and doubt that she'd been carrying around with her. She let him see the girl who thought she'd failed every family to ever attempt to take her in, and the teen who had taken weeks to start trusting the family that finally had. She let him see the guarded woman who had tried to keep him at arm's length the first few times she met him, who failed miserably after seeing all that he did for her family. And she let him see longing, too, not just for the friend he turned out to be but for the man who always stayed by her side and in her corner. He was searching her eyes without yielding now, and she gave him plenty of time to try to find what he was looking for before she started to speak.

"I know I'm bad at talking to you, and you're probably tired of giving me chances to talk, but that's all I'm asking you do to for a couple minutes. You don't have to do anything but listen to me, and if you want me to leave after that, I'll just…see you later." She looked at him, well aware that he didn't owe her this, and forced herself to start.

"Did David ever tell you that I ran away from home?"

That got his attention, but Emma wasn't using the story for shock value. It didn't matter if he'd heard the story or not — and she guessed he hadn't, judging by his surprise — as long as he understood that she wasn't playing the orphan card. "I'd been there a couple of months. Nothing happened to me, David and his mom were great. They were great, and I was me, and…" she took a breath, only giving herself a second before continuing on. "I stole money out of Ruth's purse to pay for gas, grabbed the keys to my car and snuck out. My plan was to sleep in my car and look for work.

Emma's eyes fell to the ground, unable to continue on while she was looking at him. At least he's still listening, she reminded herself. Reassuring as it was, it reminded her that she was wasting time.

"I didn't want to wait around and watch things get bad like they did with everyone else. I was selfish. I'm still selfish, Killian, and I'm trying to fix that…but I can't be that person around a baby. Or you. Both of you deserve a lot more than that from me. It's a week too late, but I'm sorry I avoided you when I should have explained it instead." She ran an agitated hand through her hair, trying hard not to fumble over the words.

"You weren't the only one to feel something before we went on that trip. I said I didn't know if it would last because I'm not good at making things last, and it wasn't worth hurting both of us if I couldn't handle it. It took me way too long to realize I still did."

Killian was quiet for a little while, and part of Emma wished she'd made him promise to speak once she was done. She hadn't realized how much she'd needed to say to him until the words were falling out of her mouth, and how jarring the silence would be in the aftermath. He wasn't usually quiet when he was angry, but nothing about this was exactly typical for either of them. Her eyes met his again, and Emma realized that he'd been waiting for her this time.

"Is this the last time we're going to do this?" He asked her, a trace of wariness still lingering in his voice. "Or are we going to keep having this conversation at every obstacle we meet? I wish I could figure out how to skip ahead to the part where you trust me when things get bad, Emma, because I hate waiting for you to come back on your own."

Emma's heartbeat picked up, despite the furrow in his brow and the harsh truth in his words. She'd expected worse from him, given how terrible she felt, but she let his words sink into her without issue. He hadn't said anything to make her feel hopeful yet, but every second he stayed within reach gave her a little more hope. His posture did it, too; he seemed to be fighting the urge to move closer, waiting to see what she'd do before he put himself out on the line again.

"I went to Mary Margaret and David's before coming here," she confessed, pressing her hands against her side to keep herself from fidgeting under his gaze. She was likely confusing him again, but he was patient as ever. "They told me a lot of things I needed to hear, and I told them a lot of things I'd been keeping to myself. Whatever changes after this, they know I'm not going to try and deal with it on my own."

He took a step closer to her, letting out a frustrated sigh, and just managed to stop his hand in midair before it could reach out for her. "I'm not going to change if we start seeing each other…and I don't expect you to, either. If I wanted someone else, I'd be going after her."

Emma's eyes widened, feet stepping closer to him without care for the invisible barrier that separated them before. It was his move she was using on him, but that didn't matter while his words echoed around in her mind. "I'm still trying to work on letting people in. If I get stuck in my own head again…"

"You just have to let me in there with you," he shrugged, letting a ghost of a smile come over his face. She didn't see his arm move, but his hand caught a hold of hers, fingers twining between hers and squeezing slightly. The wall between them shattered, like it had never been there in the first place; if Emma thought her heartbeat had sped up before, it was nothing in comparison to the hammering in her chest when the heel of his palm pressed against hers. "I feel I've spent a fair amount of time getting to know that stubborn, beautiful mind of yours, after all. I'm probably the best man equipped for the job."

Emma surprised herself when her vision grew misty. Maybe it was the forgiveness shining though in his voice, or the reassuring swipe of his thumb across the side of her palm, or the way he'd stepped close enough that the toes of his socked feet brushed up against her shoes, or all of it together. She'd been pushing her feelings aside for so long now that feeling them all at once was almost overwhelming by comparison, but she let it happen. Emma had promised to let him in, along with her brother and his wife. This was her first chance to practice.

"Sorry," she apologized, blinking the tears away before they could well up and fall. "It's just — I didn't think this was going to go this well."

"You thought I'd tell you I didn't want to see you again?"

"I wasn't sure you'd even open the door," she chuckled, the laugh wet in her throat. Killian reached up to cup her cheek in his hand, sliding the other out of her grip and around her side, shaking his head even as he pulled her into an embrace. Her arms went around him as his hand wound into her hair, and she shivered when she felt him press a kiss into the side of her neck.

"My door's always open for you, love," he muttered against the curve of her shoulder, pulling back to look at her with confusion etched in his brow. "Did you forget about the spare key beneath the lamp?"

Emma shook her head. "I didn't know if you'd want me using it for this visit."

"Well then," he told her softly, leaning in with intent, "perhaps we ought to get you your own key. That way you'll never have to wonder."

She didn't dive for him this time, and he didn't pull her into himself. They met each other halfway for this kiss, one that seemed to have started well before Emma's lips fell against his. Her head fell to the side as he held her tighter, hand sliding under her jacket and rubbing between her shoulder blades. It sent little thrills of warmth up her spine that had nothing to do with his apartment's heating, and she responded in kind by pressing a hand into his chest. It only made him move closer, trapping her arm between them, and she barely had time to smile before he had caught her bottom lip between the both of his.

Emma had no idea how much time passed as they made up for lost time, only that she planned on memorizing every part of him that her senses had forgotten. The scratch of his stubble under her palms came first, the sound of an appreciative groan rumbling up from the base of his throat following it. There was the rise and fall of his chest, stuttering every once in a while when her nails skimmed the base of his neck. There was the steadiness of his arms holding her near. All of it — the thickness of his hair, the fabric of his shirt, the smell of his skin — came back to her like she'd always known it this way. By the time she broke for air she could barely remember what he'd said before the kiss. She barely had time for anything but a breath before he was hauling her back into him with just as much passion as before. One thought stood out amidst the sensory overload — she was lucky to have him.

When Emma awoke next, it wasn't to the sight of light falling through the curtains. It was to a piece of her own hair fluttering across her nose, tickling her awake when everything else was quiet and dark. She frowned, wondering what breeze could possibly be drafting into the room, and blinked awake to the dim outline of Killian instead, lying sound asleep only inches away from her. His mouth had fallen open in his sleep; it was his soft breath sending her hair flying. She was loath to do a single thing to wake him when his arm was curled so securely around her waist and his hand was pressed warmly against her spine, so she just ducked her head to rest below his chin. Emma pushed into him, shoving his knees apart so her leg could fit between, and pressed a little kiss at the collar of his shirt.

The night continued on in perfect quiet while Emma tried to fall back asleep, which was more than fine as far as she was concerned. It didn't occur to her that there might have been another reason she'd woken up — not until the sound of asphalt being scraped made its way to her ears. Emma opened her eyes and found Killian peering at her, gauging her reaction to the unmistakable sound of a snow plow cleaning the street.

"I guess it must have snowed a little."

"It must have," Killian answered softly, his voice and accent thick from a half-night of sleep. "Do you want to go to the window and have a look?"

"Not really." That earned her a chuckle, one she reciprocated until she felt him pulling the both of them out of their blankets. Emma protested halfheartedly as he tugged her out of bed and over to the window and pressed her cheek against his chest as he moved the curtains aside. Sure enough, a blanket of crisp white snow had fallen across the neighborhood, high enough to partially submerge the wheels of her car. A messy pile of salt-and-pepper slush decorated what little bit of her bumper she could see; it was clear that the plows had done a decent job of trapping her in until the sun rose.

The moon's out," Killian commented, rubbing his hands up and down her back. "We've got a good view of it from right here."

"You better go get the blanket, then," she told him softly, staring up at the moon where it peeked out from behind silver-blue clouds. "You're warm, but you're not that warm."

Killian looked back at her with a crooked smile, and Emma could swear the moonlight still shone in his eyes, even with his back turned to the window. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, sweet as it was short, and obliged, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders before sneaking his arms around her middle.

"Better?"

She let her head fall back against its chest where it had been before, staring up at the night sky. "It's a start."