Emma Swan sleeps like the dead when she needs to rest.
Therefore, even with the fire alarm screeching, she excuses it off as her ears ringing instead of there actually being a fire in her apartment building. Let alone know the fire is on her floor in the hallway and well, she's not prepared when she finally stumbles out of bed, smelling smoke seep through from beneath the door crack when she wants to leave.
"Fuck me," she grumbles angrily, realizing her one way out the stairs is no longer a valid option.
The second way is out the window, but the fire escape is one of the few things the apartment landlord has not fixed, therefore it's probably not so safe trying to run out on that while it's raining outside.
God, what shit luck she has today.
She already hears the sound of sirens outside and frantic voices screaming and shouting, and she just wants to focus and get the hell out of her apartment. She glances out the window in her bedroom, seeing the firefighters running inside - proceeding with caution, still.
In one of these cases, she's glad she's got nothing important here. She's not a sentimental person; not like she has anything to care about. Everything in her apartment can be replaced, and damn, she should really be finding a way to stay safe and wait for someone to save her. Emma is the only one who usually saves herself, but clearly this is trying to prove her otherwise.
It takes a few minutes before the smoke is really making itself into her apartment before she hears some shouting from a deep voice, a little distant, but still there anyways. So of course the only thing she does is cry for help as loud as she can, coughing in between words when she covers her mouth with the wet cloth she manages to get. She also bangs on her door a couple of times when she can't scream anymore, knowing that she's got no other choice.
And man, she's not going to die because she was too ignorant to get out of bed in the first place.
A few more seconds and she's nearly panicking, the realization of her door being kicked down the only thing that sends relief through her. He's decked in black and yellow, an oxygen tank and all. A flood of smoke rushes into her room at the opening of her door, guarding her eyes with one arm while the other hand still holds the cloth over her mouth and nose.
"Come on, lass," he encourages, bending down in front of her. "We've got to go."
He's got an accent, thick and muffled from his mask, but he's here and saving her and she's got to thank him later for doing his job at finding her.
Living on the eleventh floor is very inconvenient in terms of having emergencies like these with a broken fire escape. God, she may as well move out anyways - she has enough saved.
She's sure she's inhaled just about enough to make her pass out, despite the use of her handy wet cloth.
It only gets worse when he's lifted her out into the hallway toward the staircase, avoiding the flames and smoke still rising. "Stay with me, love," he says over the noise, keeping her guarded carefully.
She's a little dizzy now from what she's inhaled, pressing her face into his chest. It's hot and disgusting while he figures his way out. Emma coughs another multiple times, squeezing her eyes shut, deciding to count the second, do anything to keep her mind off the fact that this probably-very-hot-firefighter (no pun intended) is saving her ass right now; that the most improbable thought of having to experience a fire in her apartment is actually reality now.
"Get her immediate attention, Locksley," she hears from the man carrying her.
At least, that's the last thing she hears.
.~.
She jolts awake, someone pressing her back down with a calming voice. "Keep it easy there, love."
Glancing around, she catches sight of the man, blue eyes and dark, mussed up hair, a small smile on his lips. She recognizes him vaguely, believes he's the one who saved her.
"How're you feeling?"
"Like shit," she grumbles, rubbing her eyes. "You saved me, right?"
The man nods. "Aye, I did."
"Thank you...for saving me, of course," she stutters.
"Killian Jones at your service," he responds, "and it's my job, Swan. What kind of firefighter would I be had I not saved you?"
Of course he knows her name, they obviously knew who they were looking to rescue for in the first place when they counted out missing residents."One that would have gone down the ashes," she quips, making references to fires; he simply shakes his head. She's just really out of it - wearing a hospital gown, sitting up in bed feeling not too bad after all that. "So...why are you here, Killian?"
"Assuring your healthy recovery," he says smoothly, leaning back in the wooden chair. "I was told to check up on you once the fire was put out."
"Sounds more like you need to interrogate me."
"Well, aren't you a smart lass?"
"I do work for the law," she replies firmly, keeping her eyes on him. His eyes are far too blue, something she could have drowned in by now if it wasn't for their less than too-pleasant conversation. "I question, I detect lies, you're no exception to any of that."
He chuckles, eyebrows moving up his forehead as he adjusts in his seat again, arms resting on the forearms, hands clasped together. "I'm not here to interrogate you, Emma. Really. I'm here on my own interests to check up on how you're doing, is all. Can't blame a man for wanting to make sure the beautiful lady he saved is alive and healthy, can you?"
She relaxes her shoulders a little bit, letting herself settle down into a more comfortable position. He's not lying, that much she knows. "I suppose not."
"But if you'd like -" he tilts his head to the side slightly, "- I can take my leave."
"Don't."
"Why the change of heart?"
"I never said you needed to leave," she retorts, biting back at him quickly. She actually enjoys his company, enjoys this banter they're having. She should be more thankful and kind to him, Killian Jones saved her life, yet she's acting like a complete ass. "Nor did I say I wanted you gone. I was just curious to why you wanted to check up on me - I mean, I assumed you'd have much more pressing issues to attend to."
Killian's lips split into a victorious smile - at least she assumes it's because he's let him stay - shaking his head in denial of any other plans. "Free until tomorrow morning, love. You're stuck with me until you decide you want the nurses to drag me out of your room."
"I can do that myself, thank you very much," she grumbles.
"Oh, I don't doubt your abilities." He smirks. "However, I've been told you're not to be dismissed from bed or the hospital until tomorrow morning."
Tomorrow morning? Why is this such a drag for her? She groans, closing her eyes. "Really?"
"Sorry."
"You're not sorry," Emma retaliates, turning her head and glaring at him.
His smile, devilish and knowing, is enough for her to know that he's not sorry, that he's just playing with her. Such an insufferable prick. Yet she can't be mad at him for anything, he saved her damn life.
And now she has to deal with him.
.~.
"Your apartment is still being cleaned up," he informs, leaning outside on the wall right when she exits the hospital room, all changed and ready to leave.
"Oh, don't tell me I can't go back there."
"You can't - not yet, at least," he says, an apologetic look on his face. And he's not lying, she's already grown used to if he's lying or not. Used to his little nervous ticks; him fiddling with his fingers a little nervously or scratching behind his ear. "Sometime tomorrow, yes."
"Aren't you supposed to be off at work?"
"I am on duty, love, right here, notifying you of your lack of shelter at the moment."
"Your job today is to come tell me that I don't have a place to sleep and eat, gee, thanks." She sighs, and rubs her forehead, letting herself relax and not have the urge to yell at him. She just wants to go back and sleep, to make up for the shitty night she's had. "I'll just find a hotel...or something."
Apparently he's not convinced of that, not the way one eyebrow is raised, lips pressed to a straight line. "You are not renting yourself one night at a pissy motel."
"Motel?"
"You're a bail bondsperson, I know you don't get paid so richly for your efforts, Swan - there's no point in wasting your money. In the meantime, I've got a spare room at my apartment you can rest your lovely head at before you can return tomorrow free of charge." He pulls a hand out from his pocket, a key wedged between his fingers. "I can drive you there and you can utilize this key for the day."
Taking the key, she looks at him. "You trust me with this?"
He laughs, like he's mocking her doubt in belief. "What's there not to trust?"
And his voice is so full of sincerity, that he's placing all of his trust in her to not jack his place up, she can't find it in herself to deny his offer.
He's right. What's there not to trust?
.~.
It turns out Killian Jones is far more talented than her.
(Damn it, why does he seem so much more attractive after knowing he can cook up a good meal?)
There are many things she still doesn't know about Killian, but it seems like she ends up knowing more and more about him while they sit on the couch, a good distance between each other (just some certain measures to be taken on her part), talking about nonsense while watching some stupid show on the TV that neither of them are really paying much attention to.
"You'll be able to return tomorrow afternoon."
Emma sighs in relief, throwing her head back. "Thank god. Was the damage bad?"
"Nothing that can't be repaired. However, it's probably best that you stay here for a while. The damage having to be fixed will take another while, and most of your floor has decided to stay with family or friends while the reparations are to be made."
"Can I at least get some of my stuff?"
He nods once. "Aye, that's not a problem. Would you like any help?"
"No," she answers, "I'll be fine."
"As you wish."
He's not that bad. She considers him as a friend already.
.~.
She wakes hot and sweaty and disgusting, shoving the covers off of her as she pads down toward the kitchen to pour herself a glass of cold water.
Emma remembers, remembers the heat and the bright colours accompanied by dark, swirling smoke. A shiver runs down her spine as she downs the glass, bracing her hands on the counter as she closes her eyes, attempting to calm herself down. The fire, despite seeing not too much of it, is still able to haunt her at night, the humid and horrible feeling sticking to her skin the moment she breaks from the nightmare.
No one saves her in her nightmares, no Killian Jones or anyone to the rescue. No, she dies a painful death.
She sighs a shaky breath, rinsing out the glass and nearly dropping it when Killian pops up in his plaid boxers and t-shirt, eyes squinting in the faint moonlight filtering in through the apartment windows.
"Emma?"
"Yeah, it's me," she responds quietly, setting the glass aside to dry.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes," she lies, walking past him.
He pulls her back then, his hand tight around her wrist, but not tight enough to hurt her. "You're all sweaty," he murmurs, his other hand coming up to brush away her hair, fingers making contact with her clammy skin. "You had a nightmare."
"It's nothing, Killian, go back to bed," she murmurs, trying to keep her voice stable. It's not everyday you wake up from a nightmare about burning to death, of course it's normal for her voice to be slightly shaky while she's recovering from that. "I promise, I'm fine."
He sighs before kissing her forehead, her nearly freezing at his affectionate gesture. "As you wish."
She books her way out of the kitchen as fast she humanly can without seeming suspicious.
.~.
The nightmares, they keep coming back to ruin her sleep. This makes her faulty and exhausted all the time during her work, trying to chase down these assholes who skipped bail. Most of the time all she manages to do when she returns back to Killian's apartment is a quick shower, a snack, and dropping onto the bed. He's always there, however, checking in on her and asking if she wants anything from the supermarket or drugstore. Her answer is always the same.
He doesn't kiss her forehead like that one time. His smiles and voice are the same though.
Must've been a one-time thing, not that she's complaining.
(Okay, maybe. Maybe she liked that, only that she freaked out a bit when she returned back to the bedroom, having to think and settle her nerves.)
Eventually the terrors of night fade. But, the moment she moves back into her apartment after an entire week of spending her days and nights at Killian's, they return.
It's dumb, maybe even a little pathetic, when she's knocking on his door in the middle of the night, only in her t-shirt and sweats. But she's fucking terrified of sleeping back there (she's made the decision to look into moving elsewhere already), so she's come to find comfort in staying in Killian's spare room. But she'd rather knock than enter with the key she still has, in case he assumes someone is breaking into his apartment.
He looks confused, one eye open and the other still closed, a hand running through his hair when he opens the door.
"Swan?"
"Can I stay in your spare room?" she asks, too quietly, her vulnerability showing through which she hates.
He swallows, sidestepping and allowing her inside. "Of course."
"I just - the nightmares are back," she blurts out, rubbing her eyes. "Going back there, I can't help but remember what happened, what could have happened if you didn't save me. And I know I've been distant and avoiding that topic - I'm sorry about that, by the way - because you've been nothing but a good friend."
In this case, she almost expects him to shoot some stupid words back at her like I told you so, but he doesn't. He's awfully silent as he wraps an arm around her shoulders and guides her toward the spare bedroom.
In the morning, she remembers she's not in her bed back at the apartment.
"No nightmares?" he asks, his mouth pressed against the back of her neck, palm pressed against her stomach.
"No nightmares."
For once, she lets him care for her ever since he saved her ass from a fire.
(He asks her to move in with him later that night. She knows she won't need to search for any other apartments, she knows where she belongs.)