Hello, everyone! I'm so sorry i haven't been around for a while. I have been facing a major case of writer's block that I'm hoping is slowly lifting. I know i haven't been active either, which i will definitely rectify also.
Thank you SoMuchTea for your amazing Beta skills and for always being there to help me work through ideas. I couldn't have done this without you.
And thank you CapnNugget for giving me a chance at turning this prompt into a fic!
I thought I saw the devil
This morning
Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue
With the warning
To help me see myself clearer
I never meant to start a fire
I never meant to make you bleed
I'll be a better man today
It'd been a week since the accident. A week of constant drinking and overwhelming sorrow. Not only did he lose his love, his Milah, but the damned drunk driver took his hand too. If anything, the thought of ever drinking again should disgust him, but he couldn't help but latch onto the comfort of burning liquor down his throat.
Right now, he was standing in front of his mirror, staring down at his form in disappointment; no bloody hand, no bloody- no Milah, no-
No bloody reason left to live.
On top of that, he was a mess. His blue eyes were eclipsed by the dark circles surrounding them. His hair, an unruly heap on his head. His clothes, a week old and still stained with the smattering of blood from where he lost his hand.
He knew he needed to change. He knew this wasn't what Milah would have wanted for him. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. The clothes on his back were that last thing Milah had touched, and if he tried hard enough he could almost smell her still on them. Removing them would mean saying goodbye.
He couldn't say goodbye.
I'll be good, I'll be good
And I'll love the world, like I should
Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good
For all of the time
That I never could
Emma dragged her suitcase up the fourth flight of stairs. Her arms were just about ready to fall off but she didn't care. It had been three weeks since she'd seen her best friend and she missed him. So, she gritted her teeth and kept pulling.
A few minutes later found her breathing heavily, standing outside her best friend's- and neighbor's- door. She knocked a few times but didn't get a response. She knocked again… nothing. Just as she was about to give up and head into her own apartment, she heard a clatter coming from inside the apartment, followed by a string of slurred curses.
"Killian?"
She was met with silence.
"Killian, I know you're in there. What's the-" Then Emma realized her mistake. "Milah? Is it you? I know you're not exactly fond of me, but could you tell Killian that I came by? Milah?"
There was another moment of silence before the door barged open, revealing a tearful, bleeding Killian. His eyes were puffy and rimmed with red, but his eyebrows were drawn together in anger.
"Killian?" Emma whispered.
Killian just stared at her in silence, desperately trying to hold onto his anger.
Emma didn't let that faze her, though. She reached out to wipe a stray tear off his cheek. He didn't move an inch. Emma didn't care. She slowly nudged him inside, kicked the door closed behind them, and pulled them down to the floor.
At first, he just sat there, solemnly staring at the floor. Then all of a sudden, his head was on her lap and his sobs began to wrack his body.
Emma did the only thing she knew how. She combed her fingers through his hair, and whispered words of comfort into his ear. She didn't exactly know what was going on, but she knew he needed her more than he could say.
Killian awoke the next day with a crick in his neck and a raspy throat. He couldn't quite figure out where he was, but he was contented lying in his love's arms for just a while longer.
His love.
His love?
Just like that, his soft morning turned into distorted reality. Flashbacks of Milah, the accident, his hand, plagued his every thought in rapid succession. The bad just kept on coming. He couldn't breathe. His vision was blurring, and the noise was getting the better of him. It was like he was trapped in his own special self-inflicted hell.
He was sure he was losing his mind when he heard a soft voice pulling back into consciousness. She was calling his name. She was clearly concerned, but so gentle. It gave him pause for a little bit; he wasn't sure who his guardian angel was, but it definitely wasn't Milah. He couldn't help but hate himself a little bit for that. How could it not be Milah?
Slowly, blonde locks, green eyes, and the scent of cinnamon and vanilla overtook his senses.
Emma.
The only constant in his life. The only person who was always there for him since the second grade… until Milah.
She didn't push him, just stroked his hair and held his hand. She didn't ask a single question. She had no idea how much he appreciated that.
It took some time but eventually he found his voice again. He told her everything. The accident, Milah, his hand and how his life completely changed over the course of the past week.
He cried.
So did she.
She didn't offer any hollow apologies, or empty promises. She simply sent silent encouragement his way through subtle touches and lingering glances.
Eventually she convinced him to change out of his bloody clothes, offering a shirt Milah had bought him instead. She even sprayed Milah's favorite perfume on it, hoping her scent would do something to comfort him.
Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, until almost a whole year had passed and he was starting to feel more like himself again.
He couldn't have done any of it without Emma. His savior.
They had grown impossibly closer over the past year, platonically close, as Killian would insist.
It only bothered her a little. She knew he still needed time; he wasn't ready to let go of Milah just yet.
She could wait. She'd wait forever for him.
He had pursued her for months before he met Milah. He'd endured rejection after rejection from her but still kept trying. By the time she came to her senses, he was already involved with Milah and in her mind, if he could be happy with someone who was easier to love than she was, that he deserved to have that.
The thing was, Milah didn't exactly like her. She could never figure out why, but she was sure that every eye roll, and every murmured slight was directed at her. But Emma never backed down. For Killian, she never backed down. Only, overtime she started to feel like her friend was slipping away from her, always- understandably- choosing his girlfriend over just plain-old her. But he was happy, so Emma never brought it up.
Now though, now was her second chance. Well, when he was ready to try again, anyway.
My past has tasted bitter
For years now
So I wield an iron fist
Grace is just weakness
Or so I've been told
I've been cold, I've been merciless
But the blood on my hands scares me to death
Maybe I'm waking up today
It was her birthday when everything went to shit.
Well, it started off pretty perfectly actually. She woke up to her best friend standing on her bed, singing Happy Birthday at the top of his lungs, a vanilla birthday cake in his hands.
He even baked the stupid delicious cake.
They spent the day doing all of her favorite things – he had a list- and if she was honest with herself, she could definitely see herself spending the rest of her life with this man.
They reached the last item on his list just as the sun started to set. He blindfolded her, took her by the hand and started leading her to a "super-secret place".
He was damn well excited. He planned everything about today down to each insignificant detail. Emma helped him through so much this year; this was his way of saying thank you.
He lead her to the roof of their building, where he had set up a projector and some beanbags so that they could watch a movie in their own private cinema. Once he adjusted minor details, he walked back to her to unveil the surprise.
"Are you ready? 1… 2…3. Surprise!" Killian hugged her as he waited for her to take in the scene before her.
He couldn't have hoped for a better reaction from her.
After a few minutes of standing there in awe (she, of the day's events and he, of her), they managed to get themselves settled down to watch her favorite movie, The Conjuring.
As much as he hated to admit it, horror films truly did scare the living crap out of him. He tried his best to stay calm and at least pretend to enjoy the movie, but thirty minutes in had him hiding his head in her side out of fear. That of course had Emma trying to muffle her laughter.
"Killian, we can watch another movie. I really don't mind. Honest."
"No, no Swan. This is your birthday. We are doing all your favorite things. Don't mind my disappointing arse."
"Honey, nothing about your ass is disappointing." Emma countered with a wink in his direction.
"Is that so?" Killian raised his eyebrows. All of a sudden, the movie wasn't so scary anymore… probably because he was no longer actually watching it.
Instead they were absorbed in his favorite type of banter. The back and forth was so intoxicating. Which is probably how they ended up with him practically on top of her, leaning in ever so slowly for a kiss.
Except when he closed his eyes, images of Milah started filling his mind again. That warm, fuzzy feeling from moments before was now replaced by a churning in his gut.
He was disgusted with himself.
How could he even think of betraying Milah like this? How was he so careless with his heart? Why did he ever think it was okay to let his guard down?
He didn't know how to control the thoughts raging through his mind. So, he did the only thing he knew how; he pushed.
He was on his feet in seconds, angrily staring down at the woman who tried to take away his Milah.
"Killian?" Her voice was so small, he almost felt bad for her. But he couldn't. Not when Milah's honor was at stake.
"Killian, what happened?" Emma tried again. After another question went unanswered, she stood up so that they were eye-to-eye.
"How could you?" Killian was fuming now.
"Excuse me? How could I what?" Emma's own anger reflected in her voice.
"This is all your fault. You never liked her. I get it now." He said it as if he was having some sort of epiphany. "You were jealous. You wished you could be half the woman she was, didn't you? She was loved. By her friends. By her family. Not that you'd ever understand what that could possibly be like."
Emma stood there motionless, biting her lip to keep in the sob that was bubbling up inside her.
"What, now you don't have anything to say? Where's the fighter, huh? Or is that fake too? Another ploy you use to manipulate people? Well, it won't work this time. Milah is my love. My only love. Get that through your head."
Before he could say anything else, he felt a force push against his balls, making him fall to the ground in agony.
"Screw you, Jones." She whispered before rushing inside, slamming the door behind her, effectively locking him out on the roof.
I'll be good, I'll be good
And I'll love the world, like I should
I'll be good, I'll be good
I'll be good, I'll be good
The gravity of everything that he'd just done really started to set in after an hour of being locked outside. It started raining about twenty minutes after Emma had – rightly – left him stranded outside.
He was a bloody git and he knew it. He didn't even mean all the things he said. But he was scared. Scared of forgetting Milah. Scared of losing Emma. Scared of falling for Emma.
He took the coward's way out. He was scared, but instead of manning up and owning that, he lashed out at the person whose life mostly comprised of appalling people treating her terribly. Instead of thanking her for everything she'd done for him, he went and pissed all over their friendship. Instead of showing her how much he loved her, he showed her all the reasons not to love him.
He loved her.
My God, he loved her.
Always had. Always will.
The thought that she'd sat in her flat, thinking he meant what he'd said, believing all the awful things he'd told her, killed him.
So he sat in the rain, hoping to catch ammonia or something so that he could assuage his guilt, even just a little bit.
For all of the light that I shut out
For all of the innocent things that I doubt
For all of the bruises I've caused and the tears
For all of the things that I've done all these years
And all
Yeah, for all of the sparks that I stomped out
For all of the perfect things that I doubt
Emma was getting ready to go to work when she heard it. Three sharp knocks at her door. She was almost certain it was Killian, so she chose to ignore it and carried on getting dressed. Except a few moments later she heard it again… and again… and again. It annoyed her so much that she ended up marching to her door, ready to give Killian an earful. She pulled the door open only to find a kid standing there, seemingly unbothered by the delay, offering her a package.
"Excuse me?"
"Are you Emma Swan?" the boy asked.
After receiving a reluctant nod from Emma, he continued, "I'm Henry-" He reached his arms forward, presenting the package once more. "- this is for you." He beamed at her.
"Uh, kid. I'm sorry, but… uh… why? I mean, I'm sure your heart is in the right place, but I don't know you."
"Oh! I forgot. Killian says he's really really really-" The boy – Henry – was cut off by Emma closing the door in his face.
"-really sorry!" he continued to yell through the door.
Emma didn't budge, but instead continued to get ready for work.
She headed out ten minutes later, only to trip over something by her feet. She picked herself up, along with the box. She knew the boy must have left it at her doorstep, which made her inclined to toss it in the nearest bin without giving it any thought.
She would have done exactly that… if she wasn't so curious as to what it was. She debated with herself for a few minutes before deciding to just take a peek. What could be the harm?
"Oh, fuck. Me," she groaned.
It was chocolate. Her damn all-time favorite chocolate. Shit.
"Killiiaannnnn!" Emma whisper-grunted between clenched teeth.
With every ounce of strength and self-control she had, she closed her eyes and tossed the oh-so-precious cocoa confection.
She braced herself for a long day at work, with a craving she wouldn't be able to satisfy.
He was hopeful. He knew he had a long road ahead of him, but he was hopeful.
Killian has known Emma for practically all their lives, so he knew that the first step to earning her forgiveness was through her stomach. He had this whole plan. He'd start off with her favorite chocolate bar, followed up with a hot chocolate with cinnamon, and end phase one with the cheesiest pizza he could find.
Of course, life didn't seem to understand the concept of planning, because as Killian was watching Henry deliver his package through the peephole on his door, he also watched as Emma shut the door in the kid's face.
"Damn. This is going to be harder than I thought," he whispered to himself.
He was sulking on his couch ten minutes later when he heard a loud thud from the hall. He rushed to his door so he could see what had happened, and found Emma lying on her stomach with his box of chocolate between her feet.
"Bloody hell."
He moved to open the door so he could help her, but thought better of it. Not only would she resent his help, but she'd probably beat him up for it. So instead, he continued watching. Hope began to flood his system once more as she began to open the box, thinking – hoping – she'd accept his first peace offering.
He should have known better.
Not only did she not accept it, but she threw it away despite how much he knew she didn't want to. She threw it away because it came from him.
The thought tore his heart a little bit, but he wasn't one to give up so easily. He'd just have to try harder.
Just like she predicted, she had a long day. Nothing seemed to go her way, starting from the stupid chocolate incident, all the way to the giant bruise on her butt from falling down a couple of steps on her way out of work.
Now that she'd made it home in one piece, all she wanted to do was treat herself to a hot bath, and sleep her day away.
Those plans for a calm and quiet night flew straight out the window before she had even set her keys down; there was a loud voice calling her name from outside.
She quickly ran to her window, but her view was blocked. She went out onto her balcony next, hoping to get a better look.
The minute her blonde hair was visible from the outside, Killian started to sing. Loudly.
He was singing his heart out, hoping that subjecting himself to public embarrassment would earn him some brownie points. But instead all he received was a-
"Shut up, Killian! You can't even sing," yelled back at him from the balcony.
He knew she was completely correct. He was tone-deaf and he knew it. But he didn't stop, hoping his efforts would grant him a chance to explain himself. He sang until his voice became raw and raspy. Until neighbors started complaining about all the noise he was making. Until passers-by started pitying his state. And when he couldn't sing anymore, he ran up to his apartment to try his luck somewhere warmer…and where he didn't have to be as loud.
It was as if he was trying to make her day worse. Just when she thought she'd finally heard enough of him and his singing, his stupidly attractive voice was desperately, hoarsely, shouting words of remorse and regret at her through the wall, begging her to give him a second chance. To let him make it up to her. To show her he didn't mean any of the awful things he'd said.
She couldn't handle it. She just couldn't sit there and relive all the emotions he'd crushed that day on the roof. Her birthday, for God's sake.
So, she scurried into her bedroom and blocked the sound of his voice with loud music.
She just hoped all the noise would drown out the sound of her crying.
I'll be good, I'll be good
And I'll love the world, like I should
Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good
For all of the times
I never could,
After that night, Emma didn't hear from Killian again for a few days. She went from feeling relieved that he'd finally given her some space, to irritated because he'd given up so easily, to worried that she'd finally succeeded at pushing him away.
She was contemplating discreetly checking on him to see if he was okay, when she heard a string of sneezes echo out from his apartment.
"He's sick?" she mumbled to herself.
No wonder he'd gone quiet. He was sick. Suddenly the urge to check on him, to take care of him, took hold of her. But she wouldn't do it. She couldn't. He hurt her, and she deserved better than to allow anyone to treat her the way he had that day. She decided she needed a distraction. Something to keep her occupied enough to stop herself from giving in.
One of her favorite things to do was to sit out on the balcony with a cup of coffee and just observe people, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun. It occurred to her that it could be the perfect escape from everything right now.
She prepared her coffee and put on her robe to go outside. When she pulled the curtains back, the sight that greeted her had her speechless.
Every inch of her balcony was blanketed with her favorite flower; buttercups.
She was in awe at first.
How?
Who?
Why?
However, just as soon as she could ask herself those questions, she managed to answer them.
Killian.
As much as she wanted to be grateful for his effort, she was still deeply hurt. She felt bad for him a little bit because he was clearly trying to make it up to her. But if she was being honest with herself, he hit so many nerves that she was more insecure about herself than she actually is angry with him.
She hated feeling insecure.
She hated that Killian was the one who made her feel that way.
She let those thoughts take over. She called her anger out to drown out her ache. Anger was easier to deal with. It was easier to do something about. So, she harnessed the resentment she'd been feeling and let it take over her action. Soon enough, she was marching out her door, ready to confront Killian and tell him once and for all his attention was unwanted.
She was so lost in her anger that she didn't pay attention to her surroundings and ended up bumping straight into something – someone.
Before she could get a good look at who it was and apologize, the person started sneezing uncontrollably.
Killian.
She wanted to go off on him like she had planned to just moments ago, but by the time his sneezing spell was over, all she felt was worry for his well-being.
He looked awful with his red nose and puffy eyes. Every few seconds his left eye would release a tear he apparently had no control over. She just wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and feed him soup to nurse him back to health. She might have been upset with him, but no one could throw decades of friendship out the window so quickly. She was prideful, though, so she couldn't cave completely. Rather, she decided on a middle ground of indifference with a hint of concern.
"You have a cold or something?" She made her best 'I'm just asking to be polite face'.
Killian paused for a moment. Ostensibly shocked that she was actually speaking to him. Emma could see the wheels turning in his head before he answered.
"Yeah. Nothing to worry about though." He gave her a tired smile.
"Okay then. Don't die."
She turned around and closed her eyes in mortification, rushing back into her apartment before she could say more stupid things. She looked through the peephole to see if he was laughing at her. What she found however was his sad baby blues staring longingly at her door. The longer she looked at him, the harder it was to accept his answer. He didn't look fine. He didn't look like there was nothing to worry about. But there was nothing she could do about it. If he said he was fine, then as far as she was concerned, he was fine.
Despite her insistence, she was worried.
Throughout the day she'd listen to his bouts of sneezing and the occasional strong cough. Emma did everything she could to ignore him and enjoy her weekend, but by nighttime, she just couldn't bear it. She was back to needing a distraction.
She scoured her drawers for her headphones when she happened upon an old picture. At first, she didn't think much of it. It was a picture of her and Killian in his backyard as kids. They must have been around eleven or twelve years old. She remembered that house perfectly. She remembered being amazed by how big their yard was. She remembered how they had a tire hanging from a tree branch by a rope. She remembered how they had so many lawn decorations like gnomes and leprechauns and flamingos. She remembered thinking how it was odd, but when she asked about it, Killian's mother explained that he and his brother were allergic to flowers so they needed to find creative ways to bring color to their yard. She remembered – flowers.
Flowers.
Killian wasn't sick. He was allergic to the damn buttercups he'd filled her balcony with.
The idiot put himself through an allergic reaction so that her balcony could look pretty.
No. He was trying to make her happy, make it up to her, at the expense of his health.
The idiot.
The damn, sweet, idiot.
Not caring that it was the middle of the night, Emma padded her way across her apartment, down her hallway, until she reached his door.
She took a deep breath and knocked softly a few times.
When she received no response, she started knocking continuously and loudly. She knew he was awake. It was only a matter of when he'd open the door for her.
Suddenly, the door pulled open and she was met by a very annoyed Killian… until he realized who was at his door.
"Emma?" Killian said as he rubbed his eyes.
Instead of answering, she just grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his apartment –
"Emma?"
Down the staircase –
"Swan, what's going on?"
Into her car-
"Are we going somewhere?"
All of his questions went unanswered, so he huffed and sat back on the passenger's seat.
Emma glanced in his direction, and decided to give him something to work with. She saw his hand resting on the console between them, and took one hand off the wheel to interlock their fingers.
Just like that he sat up straighter and squeezed her hand. A few moments later he took a chance and pulled her hand up to his lips to place a soft kiss there. He braced himself for an outburst that never came. He actually noticed a faint blush climb up her neck and color her cheeks. He couldn't help the smile that took over.
A few minutes later, Emma pulled up at the edge of the road and got out of the car. Not wanting to jeopardize the fragile peace they'd found, he didn't question her, and just followed her out.
She took him to the beach. Why? He did not know, and frankly did not care. Because that night, she let him explain everything. How he was wrong. How he was scared. How she deserved so much better. How he promised to be better, to be good. For her.
And she explained why she was so upset. How he had made her feel. How she never expected him to ever use her deepest insecurities against her.
He apologized profusely, truly genuine in his remorse. So genuine, in fact, that she noticed a few tears latching onto his long lashes.
It wasn't enough to completely discard everything that happened, but it was a start. A hopeful start marked with a tentative kiss and promise to try.
One tentative kiss, turned into a series of soft kisses, the more determined ones with his fingers getting tangled in her hair, and her arms wandering beneath his shirt.
They made out for what seemed like hours, before a sneeze Killian was holding in made its way out, along with their childish giggles.
"Love, can I ask you something?" Killian asked on their way back.
"Sure,"
"What changed your mind?"
"Oh!" Emma pulled over quickly and firmly smacked him on the arm multiple times.
"Oi! What was that for?" Killian asked as he rubbed his arm.
"The flowers, you idiot. Killian why on earth would you do that to yourself?"
She noticed his face fell a little bit at her tone, so she continued, gentler this time.
"It was incredibly sweet. Very stupid. But sweet." She looked him in the eye. "Thank you."
Killian reached over the console and planted a quick kiss on her lips.
"I will never tire of this."
Emma smiled into his mouth. "Hmm, I know how you feel."
At the end of the night, they ended up in their respective apartments, going over the events of the past few hours in their heads over and over again until the line between reality and dream started to blur.
For all of the times I never could
All of the times I never could
A few months later found Emma standing in her kitchen, making a stack of pancakes.
She'd just finishing plating the fluffy discs when a pair of strong arms circled her from behind, and kisses were being trailed up her neck.
"Mmm… Something smells delicious."
Emma smiled as she rubbed his arm. "It's just from a box."
"I'm not talking about the pancakes." Emma turned in his arms and all of a sudden not much talking was going on at all.
Yet somehow, they still managed to receive noise complaints from their other neighbors.