When he walks in, he tosses her a grin before taking up half of the station with his insufferable presence.

"Where have you been?" she asks, and she knows damn well he can hear the accusation in her voice.

"Did you miss me, darling? Surely we haven't been apart for all that long," he says.

"I'm serious," she says, uncapping an ink pen viciously. Not that she'd actually stab him with a pen, but it's satisfying to think about it nevertheless.

He sighs. "On board my ship, love. Where else?"

She grinds her teeth. He thinks this cat-and-mouse routine is funny, but she's been seeing red since this morning. It's her kid they're talking about after all. It's just—well, she's going to play. She always does.

"Oh really? Funny because I was down by the docks this morning, and you were nowhere to be found." She's thinking about stabbing him with her pen again so she punctuates her statement with a sharp jab of pen to paper; a period to illustrate that she means business.

He doesn't buy it, she can tell, but he does give her pen a speculative glance before he says: "Perhaps you weren't looking hard enough, Swan."

"Uh huh," Emma replies, and switches tactics on him just to see if she can make him squirm. "The school principal called earlier. Want to know what she had to say?"

"Henry causing trouble? You know, you should take a firmer hand with the young lad." He's full blown smirking at her now. Asshole. But there's that little gleam in his eye that says that they both know that she knows he's lying. Super power and all.

Neal had had a similar look when he was messing with her before—

Well. She doesn't want to compare Neal and Killian anyway. That way only led to danger.

So she takes a deep breath to collect her thoughts and gives him her best glare in return. "And you can't just sign him out of school, Killian!"

"I think you'll find that I did no such thing."

"And we both know you're lying."

"Now, Emma, did this lovely woman—the principal, did you say?—actually say that I signed your boy out of school for the day to go adventuring—which is, I might add, a far better character building exercise than sitting behind a desk all day—hmm?"

"No, but—"

"Ah! Then you have only speculation and no proof, darling."

"Seriously, Killian? That's your argument? This has your finger prints all over it." She pauses for a split second, looking at his hand. "Your hook prints too probably."

He chuckles and holds his hook out into the light. "Your hook jokes are abysmal, you know that? At any rate, you are quite wrong."

"You are such a terrible liar!" She's laughing now; it's bubbling out of her mouth like champagne, and she has nothing to stop it. Her anger slips away courtesy of the absurdity of the situation.

He smiles at her, one of his real, honest smiles. She sees them more and more now that they have returned from Neverland. After she'd been forced to place her trust in him time and time again—with ghosts and pixies and mermaids and shadows—and he hadn't let her down once.

Before the moment can go any further, the phone rings, shrill and loud in the little office. She sighs, points a finger at him, and says quickly, "I'm not done with you, Mister."

He only winks at her by way of response, and she answers the call.

She walks into the apartment that's hers now that her parents have moved into their own place for privacy. There's a distinct lack of mess that comes along with kids, or so she's beginning to learn, so she knows Henry isn't home yet. She looks at the clock on the wall and frowns. She had counted on him steering clear of her for most of the afternoon to avoid punishment, but it's still late. He should be home by now. Worry begins to claw its way up her throat, and she still hasn't learned how to breathe through it.

So she counts herself lucky when the door opens, and Neal and Henry pile inside, cold air hovering around them and cheeks pink from excitement. She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.

Neal sees her first. "Now, Emma," he begins.

She holds up her hand, silencing him with her glare. "You had no right, and you know it."

Neal sighs, turning his head so that he's looking more at the floor than at her, and Henry looks between both his parents like the world's ending. Suddenly, she doesn't have the heart to scream at them.

"Just...don't do it again," she says to Neal, and to Henry: "Kid, school's important. You gotta go, alright? Even when your Dad says you don't have to."

It's the best she can do, and she doesn't know if it's enough; both boys' faces light up with identical grins though, and at least her status as the cool mom is still intact. She knows she'll get an earful if Regina finds out, but Henry's smile makes it hard to give a shit.

"I know, Mom, but we were doing something important."

"Uh huh," she says. "And what was it?"

"Oh," Henry says. "Operation Sword Fight. Top secret. Can't tell you."

He takes his fingers and closes his mouth like a zip. She glares at Neal again, and he shrugs helplessly. All the men in her life are assholes, she decides, remembering how Killian had been equally unhelpful that morning. Another check in the 'how Killian and Neal are alike' column, and she's back in dangerous territory again. So she distracts herself.

"Go wash up, kid, and we'll have dinner. If you haven't already eaten, that is."

Henry doesn't answer, but he scurries toward the bathroom so she decides to take that as a no and breathes an internal sigh of relief.

"Dinner seemed like a mom thing so I left it to you," Neal says, heading for the door.

"Yeah, well, thanks. I guess," she says, following him.

"Sorry about...this whole thing. I'm still getting used to him, you know?" He grins at her and the helpless shrug of his shoulders is back.

She huffs a breath, but she knows exactly what he's going through.

"You're forgiven. Now go away." She closes the door on his smile.

She can see the shape of someone standing on the fire escape outside the window. She can't make out much—just an outline—because the light from the moon is weak, but it's enough to send a jolt of fear down her spine. She grabs her gun from its holster on the bedside table and sticks to the shadows as she moves toward the window.

She peers out cautiously before jerking open the window and sticking her gun out with a yell of "Don't move!" quickly following it.

She hears a chuckle in reply and curses quietly before pulling her gun back inside. She knows she won't need it for this particular intruder.

"Damn it, Killian."

"As long as you're not planning on shooting me, love, may I come in?" he asks, ducking his head down to peer through the open window at her.

"Fine." She waves him inside and turns away to put her gun back on the bedside table.

When she turns back to him, he's smiling at the baby quilt on her bed.

"Oh shut up," she snaps, tossing a wadded up receipt from the table at his head.

"I didn't utter a word!"

"I could hear you thinking from all the way over here. What do you want, anyway?" she asks.

"Your charming company and scintillating conversation?"

"So you decided to play peeping tom from the fire escape?" She pulls back the quilt and comforter on the bed, hoping that she'll get lucky and Killian will take the hint. It's late, and she wants to sleep.

He ignores her cheap shot and asks, "Did you find your man?"

"Oh yeah. Why didn't you just tell me it was Neal and not you?" she asks.

"I did try, if you remember."

"Yeah, I guess. Sorry for not believing you. I should have known it was Neal from the start."

"Perhaps your ability to spot a lie is not as well honed as you led me to believe when we first met," he says, looking like a ghost standing in the barely there light of the moon, filtering in through the window panes.

"Mary Margaret would agree with you. She thinks my super power goes haywire sometimes too." Emma sinks down into the mattress with a yawn, no longer caring if Killian is standing by the window or not. It's been a long day, and she deserves some shut eye.

"And why does she believe that?" he asks her, his voice soft and barely there like the moon beams.

"Emotions clouding my judgement or something." She's sunk far enough into sleep that she lets the weapon slip right through her teeth; she only realizes what she's done when he smiles at her, truly smiles, and nods.

"Perhaps she's correct. Good night, Emma." And he's swinging back out onto the fire escape before she has time to react. The pillow she throws, belatedly, toward the window hits nothing but air and glass and moonlight.

Notes: This is not the sequel to my first fic. This is also not the project that I planned on writing. But my life went through a fair bit of upheaval, and the project I was working on got sidelined. Then this bunny snuggled up next to me and wouldn't leave me alone. It was writing itself every time I closed my eyes. So here it is! I'm not certain how many chapters we're in for, but I know how things play out. Fair warning, the summary doesn't lie; there will be a great deal of discussion revolving around drowning in later chapters. If this triggers you in any way, this fic is not for you. This chapter isn't beta'ed, but I hope to have the rest combed through by the beta I used on my last fic. In the meantime, if you see any mistakes, feel free to let me know! This fic will also be archived on AO3 under the same title and author name.