"And you are, ma'am?"
The moment of truth. Or would be truth if Emma wasn't about to-
They are definitely friends. Have been friends from the start, when she walked into his station with her perp in line and Victor made that comment about her 'sucking the truth out of him' and she had wheeled around to punch the ass, only to discover that someone else had
A scruffy, unfairly blue eyed someone.
("Sorry lass. I know that was your shot by rights but I have been waiting to punch the bloody moron for some years now."
She noted dimly, in the part of her brain that wasn't occupied by how fast her heart was or how perfect this officer's hair was, that his uniform made his eyes pop.
Leaving Victor's unconscious body on the floor with a quick side-step, he shot her a smile and a hand. Oh god, he had dimples.
"Killian Jones, at your service."
Or a hand rather, because as she shook it she noticed the stiff, inflexibility of the limb that was characteristic of a prosthetic
A hundred thoughts ran through her mind. Will you get in trouble for decking a fellow officer? What the hell happened to your hand? Are people actually allowed to be as pretty as you? Do you know that your uniform matches your-
"The only person that saves me is me." Oh fuck, word vomit. Out of all the thoughts, that had been the one that escaped the hinges on her jaw.
He-Killian Jones-just laughed though, throwing his head back so she could trace the beautiful lines of his throat, exactly where she'd want to bite, with eyes before his gaze landed back on hers, the stupid smile turning into a smirk and hand still outstretched.
He had a fantastic laugh.
Fuck.
"I'm only too sure, 've managed to bring us more garbage than any other bail bondsperson I've met. Still, assaulting a police officer would get you in a mite of trouble and no one will look two ways at me slamming the bugger's switch off. God knows he deserves it."
Irish. The unfairly beautiful cop in front of her who had punched his partner out to defend her honour had an Irish accent. And knew her success record. Emma looked around, waiting for the Candy Camera to show up. This could not be her life.
She stuck her hand out, biting her tongue to ensure that she was, not, in fact, dreaming.
Nope, shit that hurt.
"Emma Swan."
Killian Jones smiled again, not smirking, and warmly took her hand in his. "Lovely to meet you, Swan.")
Of course, that was just the start of the five year friendship because he could quote Top Gun and Love Actually and neither of them had family, so they spent days arguing on each other's couches and-
And now she's in front of a nurse in John Hopkins trying to get into the room of her-of her-
Okay, friend maybe didn't cut it after the first year.
The first year, they had been friends.
(There was a standing Friday movie night where she made disgusting popcorn that he teased her for and he attempted to get her to eat actual food and they fought about whether Orange is the New Black or Stranger Things was better.
She doesn't care what he says. Stranger Things totally wins.)
So that first year, they were definitely, totally just friends. But then that boiling attraction (She had caught him staring at her ass more than once) caught and..
Emma Swan was an adult. She'd had friends with benefits before. There was August, which ended congenitally, and Walsh, which ended less-than-so.
(But no boyfriend, not after Neal, not after-)
So she only freaks out a little bit the morning after her first time sleeping with Killian because it's hardly that she feels shame (Uh, have you seen the guy) or that she's unaccustomed to the whole FWB thing, it's just that it was really, really good.
(She can still make herself cum just by thinking of the way he went down on her, voracious and hungry and so, so good. All wet tongue and soft teeth and he certainly knew how to find her clit and-)
So what scares her, honestly, is how much she likes him. How good it was between them.
And Emma being Emma, she withdraws. Throws herself into work. Ignores his ever increasingly desperate texts to her.
(She's better off alone, she reminds herself, of Neal and the-
She doesn't want to lose Killian, she tells herself.)
But then there's that one skip, that annoyingly clever dick who figured out her game and left her backside-down and bruised to the rainbow in the ER and well…
She couldn't think to call anyone but Killian.
And he showed. (Of course he showed. He was nothing if not consistent.)
And there was yelling, she had expected the yelling. ("Why the bloody hell didn't you call for backup?" and "What in the seven seas were you doing trailing after a cop killer?" and-)
"Emma, you scared the shit out of me. Are you alright?" He gave her a look so tender, so gentle is made her want to weep. She had ignored him for four weeks and he was focused on her heart monitor, his eyes sweeping to the IV in her arm and the bag above it that was making her thoughts all cloudy and his jaw so tempting to bite.
"I should increase your dose," He said softly, a little frown appearing between his (weirdly expressive) brows as he strode toward the slow-dripping bag of painkillers, still scowling at the monitor as though he could shame it into commision.
Considering the dangerous things he was doing to her heartbeat, Emma wasn't convinced he couldn't.
"I'm fine," She argued unconvincingly and poorly, if his expression was anything to go by as he increased her morphine dose. He raised one brow and she shook her head against the fog to tell him-
"I'm better now that you're here. I'm sorry….I'm sorry I'm such a bitch." She whisper-cried the last part, feeling water heavy in her eyes and hating the sensation almost as much as she hated the sound of his sigh, heavy and tired.
"Swan, you have done nothing to feel sorry over."
The tears fill her eyes, making her sinuses burn and her lids heavy even as she tries to sniff against them. (It's the drugs, she will swear later, that made her so emotional.) "I just…" (She's been an asshole to him and he's still here and she can't even put into words what that means without sounding pathetic and she doesn't want to sound-)
"I know I'm a bitch because we slept together and then I iced you out and I deserve to be here but you're like the coolest person I've ever known and I don't want to lose you and I'm really bad at relationsh-"
He cut her off with a kiss to her temple, more gentle than anyone had possibly been with her ever and that stupid dimpled-smile and she just...she just…
"Darling, I will always, always be your friend. No matter what anyone else says. And while I greatly enjoyed our relations a few weeks back, you certainly have no standing obligation to me. I'm here, Emma. When you need or want of me, I'm here."
And she had cried and he had brushed the wetness away with his fingertips, solid and reassuring and there-
-She told him about Neal, the third year. White-knuckled and high as a kite on percocet on his couch, because they wouldn't send her home alone and he wouldn't leave her alone and her last skip got a lucky shot in the ribs…
Anyways, she told him about Neal, and the baby, and prison, and just when she wanted to die he had scooped her broken ass up and muttered his fidelity into her collarbones, making her cum with his tongue and his fingers and so, so gently like a tide until she couldn't feel her toes.
"We really need to stop having these moments when I'm on drugs."
God, she loves his laugh. Or not loves, just like really, really enjoys the wait it rumbles in his chest and out his throat and that she gets to cause that. That little sunrise.
So no, Killian Jones isn't the first friend she's slept with but is definitely the most recent (the last).
And they've never said the words but she knows how he lost a hand and he knows how she lost a baby and somewhere in between he became…
Well, he became her person. (The person to congratulate you for catching your guy and hold you when the past creeps in with all it shadows, to be your emergency contact in a giant city full of millions of people that makes you feel so alone, and make you orgasm until your eyes bug out and-)
And is why Emma Swan is still standing in the ER waiting room of John Hopkins, staring at the brown-haired nurse as she clears her throat, tapping her left foot impatiently.
It rings off the horrible, vomit-coloured tile. Seriously, they chose that colour? Why not literally anything else?
That's her first thought.
Killian would know what to say, is her second.
After all, he managed to get to her several times in the past few years Clearly, he lied about them just being friends. (Did he lie? He's her home. Her rock. Her shelter. Her person. Her sanctuary.) She's fairly certain none of those descriptions are getting her into the room.
"He's my husband."
She has no idea where that comes from. She wants to say, "he's my person" but she didn't think the nurse would accept that and he wrote her down as his emergency contact and-
Well, wives get into rooms.
She's seen it happen before. Or something.
The brown-haired gatekeeper pinches her nose in an ugly display of jealousy just as her finger darts to Emma's very bare hand.
"Where's your-"
Oh, she's going to fuck this bitch up in like half a second if she doesn't tell her where to find Killian. "The job. It's dangerous. We don't wear them."
It's a totally plausible lie and she's his emergency contact so it's not like it's unheard of. It's probably that that gets Emma into the room.
Or the fact that she was mentally wishing awkward rashes to uncomfortable places on this woman with her eyes. Maybe that.
Whatever, it gets her a mumbled and clearly sniffly "34A" and that's enough for Emma.
She ignores the nurse's cry of "No running in the halls" as she bolts down the indicated hallway, half fearing the woman will make her answer another round of questions. Not that she couldn't answer them, anyways. What kinds of questions do they even ask to prove marriageness?
(Killian's favourite colour: black
Killian's favourite coffee: black
Killian's favourite book: Call of the Wild (Dork)
Killian's favourite position:...
She really, really needs him to be okay. She can't have all these random trivia facts in her head for a dead guy.
She runs faster.)
34A is on a dull placket in front of a terrifying door and she catches her breath as her fingers tremble at the handle. What if-What if she's too late and he's gone. What if she has to watch him go? What if he dies and never knows that she-
Emma opens the door.
Emma Swan has been through some shit in her life.
There was the foster mother who dragged her through the house by her ponytail for stealing an extra serving of crackers and the foster father who was way to handsy and made her bolt and the envy in her belly at school as she watched other kids eat pb&j with crusts cut off. There's getting cuffed into an alley on the streets because she wasn't careful and there's jail and Neal and the baby. There's knowing no one ever loved her and then there's-
Well, there is seeing a man she just publicly declared was her husband sitting in a tiny, white-and-blue hospital bed with an IV in his wrist, his skin the colour of ash, and his entire left side bulgy with bandages under a ridiculous hospital issued gown.
(Ridiculous because she knows if he was awake, even that would make his stupid eyes pop)
But he's not. He looks shrunken and tired and-well, like he's been shot.
"Ms. Swan, this is Detective Gordon. I regret to notify you that Officer Jones was-"
That call, that was the worst moment of her life.
"Oh Killian," She whispers, blinking against the sudden influx of liquid in her eyes and snatching his chart as she sits down.
(She's been in enough ER rooms to know what's bad and what's scary.)
But either he has some metahuman sense or her or she smells like the garbage can her skip tried to hide in right before the call or he's just Killian and hates when she cries, his lashes flutter.
It looks funny, those sooty lashes against his abnormally pale skin, but they dangle against his cheek and struggle until those sea-blue eyes with their gold rims pop into her view and she could kiss the nurse she wished weird rashes upon a second ago because, god he's alive.
"Swan," His accent gets deeper when he just wakes up, when he's so deep inside her she isn't sure how they'll ever disentangle, when he's on his third shot of rum and his smile breeds mischief.
"Fancy seeing you here."