Despite her grumbling and constant jabs Emma secretly loved the fact that Killian had gotten close to her father. She thought they could both use a friend and each had proven himself perfect for the role.

That did not mean that she was immune to bounds of jealousy.

"Do you ever get a little…" Emma trailed off, losing her nerve as Snow lifted her gaze from her brother's sleeping form and looked at her expectantly.

"A little...?" prompted her mother after a few seconds of silence.

"No, nothing. Forget it!" she waved her hand, focusing on her fries again.

"Sweetie, you can ask me anything," pressed her mother, giving her a gentle smile and waiting patiently.

Emma let out a sigh. She loved her mother even if she pushed a little too hard sometimes. But considering that she couldn't discuss this with either Killian or David, she might as well make use of her willingness to listen.

Even when Emma was being absolutely ridiculous.

"Well," she got two fries on her fork and started swirling them around in her ketchup just so that she didn't have to look at the brunette while embarrassing herself. "You know how David and Killian are really close?"

The sheriff glanced up to find her mother giving her a small nod and keeping her face neutral, even though it looked like that was costing her a bit of an effort.

"And I'm really glad, don't get me wrong!" hurried on Emma before shifting her attention back to the mess of ketchup and potato she had made. "But… sometimes… they seem really close, you know?"

Snow furrowed her eyebrows and Emma hurried on to explain, embarrassment already painted all over her cheeks.

"I don't mean like… close close. You know, like… Oh God," she buried her head in her hand, groaning in mortification and wishing more than anything that she could just erase the last five minutes. "I mean like sharing things with each other that they don't share with anybody else. Even… us… you know?"

Thankfully, her mother looked more amused than anything else, her eyes flashing with concealed laugher.

"Emma, are you asking me if I get jealous of Killian?"

Emma groaned again, rolling her eyes and stuffing her mouth aggressively.

"Fine!" she exclaimed, half-chewed fries almost flying all over the table as she grumbled and glared at her mother. "Just forget it!"

"Because if you are," continued Snow as if she hadn't even spoken. "The answer is Hell yes!"

"W-what?" Emma swallowed quickly, eyes widening with hope (dammit, she was pathetic!). "Really?"

"Of course!" laughed Snow. "Why do you think I bought three different kinds of eyeliner last week."

Emma's eyebrow shot up and she pressed her lips into a tight line, trying to regulate her breathing and not burst out laughing (because she knew if she did, there would be no stopping her).

"You did not just hear me say that!" warned Snow, suddenly more the bandit that escaped Regina's clutches again and again than her supportive mother or her sweet friend Mary-Margaret.

"Right," Emma nodded dutifully, mentally patting herself on the back because obviously her brand of ridiculous wasn't anywhere near that ridiculous.

"But what can you do? They are guys," moved on Snow, intend on ignoring the dark secret that had spilled from her mouth (this was getting out of hand! she couldn't even keep her own secrets anymore!). "They talk about guy things."

Emma huffed, clearly not satisfied with her mother's reasoning.

"I'm perfectly capable of discussing guy things," she declared. "Plus, I talk to Killian about girl things all the time. I'll see how he likes it, if I start going to you or Ruby every day. I mean, the guy literally cares about clothes' fabrics and dishwashing detergents that are "bloody harmful for your skin" more than I do."

Snow let out a very non-queenlike snort but before she could comment Emma jump onto her real problem.

"Anyway, I don't even mind the guy stuff that much. I'm pretty sure he tells me everything he tells dad but… Well, yesterday David gave him a camera."

Her mother seemed at a loss once again and Emma's embarrassment returned with a vengeance. It was stupid really but…

"I'm the one who introduces him to modern stuff," she said with a pout but cut of the reassurance that was immediately on the tip Snow's tongue. "And it's not just that. Henry got really excited about it, immediately explaining to him what it was and how it worked and then Killian and David shared this look like… I don't know, which I guess is what bothers me! Like they had some private conversation, like something really meaningful had happened and I just… Ugh, this is insane. I'm insane! Seriously, let's just forget it. I need to get back to the station."

Emma jumped to her feet, throwing some money on the table without even checking how much it was and giving her mother an awkward wave. But she hadn't even managed to take two steps before Snow's gentle voice stopped her.

"You should just ask him," she said, smiling softly as Emma glanced back at her with a grimace on her face. "Just because he told David doesn't mean he doesn't want you to know too."

The blonde bit into her lower lip, glancing down before giving a slight nod and exiting the diner.

She didn't ask him.

During the next month photos become Killian's thing and Emma watches his abilities develop with unapologetic awe.

At first when he is about to take a photo he spends the first ten minutes taking a step forward and then a step backwards and then a step forwards and then a step backwards and… you get the idea. It would drive her insane if it wasn't so damn amusing. After that little dance has been performed (and he is back in the exact same position in which he was when he reached for his camera) he proceeds to adjust his hold on the device. Emma is convinced that him bracing the camera on his left forearm while his fingers operated the appropriate buttons should not be that damn hot. But the larger part of her strongly disagrees. At first he has no idea how to zoom in or out and resorts to literally sticking the lens in her face. And, of course, all of his preparations take so long that he is only capable of capturing Henry doing his homework or her making dinner. Both activities that take more than an hour which is usually just about enough for Killian to snap two to three pictures.

That continues for a week.

By the end of that week he is capable of doing things with that camera that she didn't even know cameras could do, which somehow manages to send her mind right into the bedroom (she hadn't been aware of some things that could be done in there too until Killian had shown up). When a scene strikes him as worthy he settles in a position (which somehow always turns out to be absolutely perfect) immediately and handles the camera one-handed as if he has been doing so for years. The night he manages to capture a popcorn in flight milliseconds before it drops in Henry's month, laughter visible in the boy's eyes, Emma is rendered speechless for a full minute and then she positively squeals (which she, of course, vehemently denies doing for the rest of the night).

From then on there's nothing he can't do.

He captures Neal's first smile, Henry on horseback, David and Robin high-fiving at the pool table, Ruby blowing her hair out of her face as she makes coffee, Elsa creating swirls of what can only be described as magical blue (Emma still claims the colour of Killian's eyes is prettier and no one can convince her otherwise). And then there are photos of her - peaking in the oven, fixing her hair, tongue peaking from the side of her mouth in concentration, napping on the couch, the sunlight making her scrunch up her nose, getting her ass kicked by Henry on his latest game, building a snowman with Roland and her son, snowflakes shining in her hair. Inside, outside, close-ups, at night, with Henry, with David. She thinks the only activity he hasn't captured is her using the toilet because there's even a photo of her brushing her teeth in one of his albums.

Ah, yes, his albums. Those are a whole different art form. He is more meticulous about them than she imagined possible (and after an year of living with Captain Order she can imagine quite a bit). Each one leather bond and all of them stored in chronological and thematic order (how was that even possible?). Every photo is tagged: date, place, object of the photograph. Every detail presented in his unreal handwriting (she had actually tried to find a font on the net more perfect than Killian's elegant penmanship and after three straight hours of Euphoria Script, Herr Von Muellerhoff, Qwigley and a ton of other swirls that she needed to forget the damn names of, she, Emma Swan, had admitted defeat).

She watches as he falls in love with photography and everything that surrounds it before her very eyes. And, frankly, it's one of the most beautiful things she has had the privilege to witness. Because when Killian Jones is in, he is all in.

Killian is hunched over the coffee table, carefully sliding a photo inside his new album – one of himself and Henry as the lone survivors of last weekend's game of Monopoly (he rarely lets anyone else use his camera so, of course, he is hardly in any of the photos, and, of course, she has made it her goal in life to take as many of him as possible, plus David demanded it as payment for the way his mate and his grandson teamed up to get him out of the game). She plops down next to him just as he is picking up his inkpen but before he has actually started writing on the back of the next photo (she is going for annoying, not suicidal). He glares at her but it turns into a proud grin as he turns the photo in his hand and shows it to her.

Damn that man for knowing how to melt her heart in seconds.

In the photo she is leaning over Neal's crib and her brother's whole fist is wrapped around one of her fingers. Her face is absolutely ridiculous but the little guy is literally glowing up at her and, well, the light is falling on her hair in a rather flattering way.

"You're amazing," she murmurs without taking her eyes off the photograph.

He scoffs and she wants to hit him over the head for being absolutely unable to accept a fucking compliment but he is already in the process of putting a date on the back of the photo and she doesn't have the heart to risk ruining it so she settles for rolling her eyes at him.

"I believe that would be the image you and the little prince paint, luv. All I have to do is press a little button and my portrait creator does all the work for me."

"Suuure, that's why when I do it half the people in the photo are either missing or obstructed from view by an unfortunately placed thumb," she says and watches him scrunch his eyebrows, obviously wanting to defend her ability to do anything but thinking better of it.

Good. Her Instagram account is a joke.

He finishes the inscription and slides the photo next to the one of him and Henry. And then his gaze goes soft and kind of wistful and she is reminded of that look he shared with David over a month ago and suddenly she just needs to know.

"Why did David give you a camera?"

He doesn't frown, doesn't laugh, doesn't flinch. Doesn't question her or force her to elaborate. He understands immediately what she wants to know and leans back on the couch, grabbing her feet and dragging them in his lap. His eyes remain on his hand as he massages her for a few minutes but she remains quiet, sliding closer and resting her head on his shoulder as her own hands come up and start drawing lazy circles over his left forearm. She can be patient (sometimes she can't maintain her interest for longer than thirty seconds when someone calls at the station with a semi-serious complain but she could probably wait an hour for Killian to tell her what he had for lunch).

"We were talking about my brother," he begins suddenly and her breath hitches, hands freezing for a second before she restarts her stroking, a little firmer. "Sometimes your father reminds me of Liam so bloody much that I can't help going off with some story that shows exactly how much of a righteous stubborn arse he was."

Her laugh is soft against his neck and she nods, barely perceptible, before leaning in to plant a light kiss on the underside of his jaw.

"Anyway," he sighs and his hand around her ankle tightens for the briefest moment. "I mentioned that… that I regret not having anything of his, not even a portrait or a-a simple drawing. Your father proceeded to tell me how it was the memories, the good moments that counted."

He lets out a little snort but Emma can tell that David's speech has affected him just as it had her. And suddenly even the tiniest bit of jealousy disappears and all she feels is happy. Happy that he has someone besides her to remind him to look for the peace among all the chaos. Because sometimes they are prone to getting lost in that damn chaos and just holding on tight to each other and trying to battle their demons. And she wouldn't have it any other way but she is still glad that they have someone like David to remind them of the bright side, to nudge their shoulders and tell them to stop moping around because soon they would be the only ones that can stand each other's company (not that much of a punishment, if you ask her but whatever).

"But we're not people who let cynicism go that easily now, are we?" Killian's voice brings her back to the present, mirroring her thoughts and pulling up the corners of her mouth. "So being who I am I let David know that be that as it may I wouldn't have turned down a way to make the moments last… And, well, you know what he gifted me the following day."

Killian's gaze moves to the beautiful album resting on the coffee table and his lips twitch upwards.

"I think I should offer him my thanks again," he says, finally meeting her eyes and leaning in to kiss her nose. "You are not disappointed that you didn't get to be the first to introduce me to that magical invention of yours now, are you, lass?"

She shakes her head and moves forward until they are just a breath apart.

"How can I be?" she whispers, her lips brushing his own as she forms the words. "But, Killian? None of the magic is inside that camera. You are the one who creates it."

He is about to scoff at her again when she pulls back, slapping a hand over his mouth and glaring at him.

"Stop doing that. I'm serious," she practically growls at him. "And cheesy. You have made me so damn cheesy and here I am not even caring because it's true. Whatever you set your mind to, you do it with such dedication and care and… the results are amazing because you are amazing, ok?"

His mouth is still beneath her palm but his eyebrows furrow in obvious disagreement and she huffs in frustration before replacing her hand with her lips. Her kiss is insistent and she presses her whole body into his, moving so that she is now straddling his lap and when she eventually pulls away, his arms squeeze her tighter, refusing to let her put any distance between them.

"You're stupid," she mutters against him and is pretty sure that the effect is ruined by the way she rubs her nose against his cheek.

"Thought I was amazing."

"You're stupid for not knowing how amazing you are," she states in a completely serious voice and he snorts against her soft skin, stealing a quick kiss before she manages to nudge him away. "But that's ok, I'll just have to keep telling you."

"Is that so?" he whispers as his hand drifts below her shirt and then starts inching upwards.

"Yup," she nods with a grin, pushing him into a lying position as she feels his wandering fingers reach the clasp of her bra. "Day after day."

Her lips move down, kisses punctuating each word – his chin, the inside of his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, his exposed chest. Her hands reach for the buttons of his blue button-up, seeking to reveal more skin for her lips as she looks up at him, eyes twinkling and happy and full of promises.

"Good moment after good moment," she swears and her very soul itches with anticipation.