Note: Hello everyone. I used to have stories on this account but I found them to be... horrible so I deleted them all and I'm starting with a clean slate. I'm currently obsessed with Once Upon a Time and this will be my first fanfiction for this show. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time or any of its characters.

Summary: He was at the end of his rope, quite literally so, when they found him. A 72 hour suicide-watch and a strong advice of counseling were given. It's how they met actually.
"So you're the one who'll save me?" She grimaced, "I'm no savior Mr. Jones. I'm just not afraid of the dark."

Chapter 01.

"Milah!"

He screamed, his eyes opening wide with fear. He sat up straight, panting, with a heartbeat racing at the pace of a high-speed train. His body was covered in a sheen of cold sweat that he had worked up in his state of dreaming, making his shirt stick to his skin, his hair clinging in strands to his forehead. Every night, the same damn terrifying dream. No not a dream, a nightmare.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the images. He should have pushed for morphine or at least half a bottle of sleeping pills when they discharged him. But then again it might aid his suicidal tendencies. Even if he had asked, the chance of actually getting them had been slim to none.

Rubbing his hand over his eye, another method to erase the images, the feelings, of course failed as well. He checked the clock radio on the nightstand and groaned when the red numbers indicated it was only a few minutes past 3 A.M. Sighing he got out of bed, steadying himself against the wall before he slowly moved to the bathroom. Sudden movements, such as changing altitude, still made him dizzy. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, straining his neck in the process. Yes… pain, physical pain, nothing better to change his train of thought.

He ignored the mirror as he passed it. In a fit he had touched it with his fist and he couldn't be bothered to replace it. It showed nothing more than a distorted figure. It matched his very soul and though it wasn't something he could gaze at endlessly, he had kept it. He couldn't be bothered to fix it or dump it out with the trash because it showed him how he had been ever since she'd been gone.

He shimmied out of his pants, leaving it forgotten on the floor in his wake as he positioned himself underneath the showerhead and turned on the water. A spray of heath cleansed his body, chased away the clammy feeling his nightmare had left him with. He could feel the water hit his shoulder blades, cascade down his body, and erasing the tension. Nevermind that the water was borderline scalding, leaving a reddish hue in its wake, it gave him relief. Because physical pain… it's what really did the trick when he needed to clear his head.

The doctors had said that the stiffness in his neck was normal. Normal for someone who had survived an attempted suicide-by-hanging.
He was at the end of his rope when they found him, quite literally so. Still jerking around from having only just taken the leap and Smee and Jefferson had done everything they possibly could while calling 911 and waiting for their arrival.

"911, what's your emergency?"
"My friend just hung himself, what the hell do you think?!"

Jefferson had never been a cool-headed person, especially not after his wife passed away. Smee had taken over though, explaining the situation, meanwhile telling Jefferson to try certain tricks to find out whether their friend was still alive, and giving the address. 4 hours later the doctors told them that Killian would live. He'd have a sore neck and wouldn't be able to fully use his vocal chords for a few days but Mr. Jones was an extremely lucky guy for having two friends showing up when they did.
Killian hadn't agreed. He had cursed them in what little voice capacity he had left. Cursed them for intervening, not letting him leave. Not letting him go to his sweet, dead Milah. But while incapable of voicing the –no doubt- colourful curses that sprang to mind, he did have a good pitching arm. Throwing at random every loose object he could find at his two friends.

Dressed in sweatpants he made his way to the kitchen, passing the rope he'd so deftly hung from the ceiling of his living room only a week ago – he had refused to take it away - and started his preparations to make coffee. He could definitely use a cup.

He sighed as his thoughts strayed to that day again. The day his happiness was taken away from him. It shouldn't surprise him; his mind hadn't given him rest from that horrid day for the past 5 years, why should he expect it to be different after his failed attempt at rest? He felt a sharp pain in his left hand, making him drop the cup he was holding in his right. He carefully rubbed the stump. Phantom pains… Even after 5 years he can still feel it throbbing. Not always of course, but the occasional feeling would leave him with more than the daily dose of grief he had signed up for. He sighed as he looked at the broken cup on the kitchen floor. It was going to be one of those days…

"Screw it." he murmured, forgetting all about the coffee he was planning on making and reached for the half empty bottle of rum he'd left on the kitchen counter the day before.

"Damn it Jones, Wake up!" a voice yelled at him, shaking him violently and pulling him away from the empty darkness. That very comforting darkness that hadn't been so easy to find in these past few months. His slight stirring had apparently gone unnoticed as he quickly received a slap in the face. His eyes shot open, adjusting to the light that was now streaming through the windows, indicating that time had indeed moved forward. He hadn't been too sure about that lately.

He glared when Jefferson's face came into focus. "Bloody Hell Jefferson, a simple 'Oi get up' would have sufficed."

"Jeezes Jones, you can't just pass out on the floor like that. You scared me half to death." He cursed and sat down on the bar stool. It was something of a joke when Killian first bought it. The apartment had a half-open kitchen, and because the sink was at the wall it resembled a bit of a bar-atmosphere; so he bought some bar stools. He'd be kind of like a bartender. Also it saved space, no need to buy an actual kitchen table when you could eat at it as well, and it left more room for the pool table he'd always said he'd wanted when he was still a kid. Nothing beats owning a pool table.

He looked at his friend and saw his hands shaking a bit. Which wasn't normal, Jefferson had a steady hand given his profession. "I got up at 3 A.M. Jefferson. I just fell asleep again."

"On the freaking floor with the help of a bottle of rum." Jefferson added in aggravation, raking a hand through his hair. "I know you said it was a lapse in judgement but the matter of the fact is that you tried to kill yourself a week ago. Lapse in judgement or not… You can't pull this shit anymore without scaring the crap out of people thinking you did it again."

"For your information mate…" Killian started annoyed as he got up from his position on the floor, his back protesting after its rendezvous with the floor. "It was half a bottle. And what are you implying?"

Jefferson eyed him sceptically. The man hadn't been the same since he found Killian hanging. After his wife's so-called suicide Jefferson hadn't been able to deal well with losses. If he would've lost his friend… he mentally shook his head to erase his train of thought. He wouldn't go there. The point is that Killian hadn't died that day. The point is that he'd be okay in the long haul and Jefferson wouldn't have to explain to his daughter why another person in their lives took a permanent departure.

"I made you an appointment with a therapist." Killian groaned while rolling his eyes and knocked his head against the cool surface of the wall.
"I'm not going back to that Hopper guy. The bloke is a bleeding sap, I don't care how many diplomas he has."

"It's not Doctor Hopper. I called him… he said he knew a therapist that would better suit your… state of mind. Look here's the address. I have to go and pick Grace up from school. At least consider the idea." Jefferson said after he left his seat to put the piece of paper on the pool table. He put his hand on Killian's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. It was enough to make Killian roll his eyes once more. Ever since the attempt Jefferson, even though he was still a guy's guy, was giving those reassuring squeezes. "Seriously Jefferson, none of that touchy-feely self-help crap."

Killian couldn't figure out if it bothered him because it just wasn't Jefferson-like or because it showed him that someone cared. He shouldn't hold it against him; he knew that his attempt had brought back memories of his wife Alice. And the man had gone through hell and back because of that.
Maybe he should have thought of that... Killian wondered. But suicide is a selfish act. A selfish act for a selfish man. Bloody hell….
"Fine… fine. I'll look into it." He uttered finally before Jefferson could disappear behind a closed door. He nodded and closed the door behind him.

Killian sighed and took the piece of paper into his hand. He sighed as he took in the time on the microwave.

"Time to get ready then." He had an appointment to attend to.

With much reluctance and apparently a less enjoyable after-taste of his encounter with the bottle of rum at 4 in the morning he had followed Jefferson's advice and made his way to the shrink. Perhaps it was some sort of guilt he felt toward Jefferson that had made him accept in the end. Just one appointment, he said to himself. At least he could have said he tried. It would certainly get Jefferson of his back.

When he entered the waiting room he found one of the chairs already occupied by a rather gorgeous blonde. He moved to sit two chairs away from her, she nodded at him when he passed her. Being a gentleman he nodded back. It is only polite.

Sitting down he rubbed his hands over his jeans, 5 minutes before he had to go in and there was another person waiting before him. He was annoyed, he would be stuck in that waiting room all day, he could feel it.

He glanced around, the room was sober, safe for a plant that he was pretty sure was a fake, a few carefully picked out abstract paintings adored the wall. He looked at the blonde.

He never was ignorant to beauty when he saw it. And there, in that chair, was a fine example of it. Her hair was donned in a high ponytail, black rimmed glasses perched on her nose and she was softly chewing on her bottom lip as she read an article in the magazine she was holding. Her left foot was softly bouncing up and down as it dangled over her right leg.

Despite her attempt at comfort she didn't seem at ease in this environment, he felt it difficult not to chuckle. You and me both, lass.

She suddenly closed the magazine and tossed it on the table in front of her and took note of the time from her cell phone.

"Running late?" Killian spoke up, he still held a rasp in his voice, but according to Whale the girl at the diner loved it. She looked at him and nodded, "Yes."
"Well if this bloke keeps us hanging for much longer, we can always go find comfort in a glass or two, wouldn't you say." He said, with a subtle movement of his brows and a sly smile adorning his lips.

Was he actually flirting?

Before she could say anything though they heard the patter of footsteps and the door opened. She stood up, turned to him, "This will only take a few minutes."

When the door fully opened Killian was surprised to see a young boy with a goofy smile on his face exit the room.
"Alright, all done. You get three tries." He said and Emma smiled.
"Per object or three for three."

The boy seemed to mull it over, "Three for three. You are welcome to guess as well sir." He said when he noticed Killian in the other chair.
"It's his first visit Kid." She replied before he could get a word in over his confusion. "Maybe another time."

Killian frowned. How did she know this was his first visit? Was his reluctance of being here that obvious?

"Let's see…The swan again Kid, really?"
"You didn't even look!" he said annoyed. Killian was waiting for him to stomp his foot in annoyance as he took in the entire scene.

"Alright I'll look." She said and glanced at the room before turning back to the eager boy. "The swan, the fairy tale book and my keys. Which should be in your pocket. Come on."

"How do you do that?!" he exclaimed, a mixture between annoyance and wonder.
"I'll tell you another time; Now off to Granny's."

He gave her the keys and quickly engulfed her in a hug. Killian noticed how she tensed at the gesture.

"Bye Emma. Bye mister!" the kid said and with his backpack slung over his shoulder exited the waiting room.

"Mr. Jones, Sorry for the delay, I hope you didn't set your heart on those drinks. You may come in now."

"So you are the one that's going to save me?" he asked and he closed the door behind him as he entered her office. He heard her chuckle as she messed around with some things. Probably the ones the kid had disorganized.

"God no. But if it's saving you want, there's a church not 2 blocks from here." He didn't know whether to be amused by this or just heavily confused. What use was therapy if not for saving the ones in need of?

"I'll pass on that, thanks."

"Please sit." She said as she took place in the chair across from the one she appointed to him.
"So, I understand you tried to decorate your living room." She said before his behind even touched the fabric of the chair. His eyes immediately moved to her. Her facial expression was one of those that stated 'strictly business'. She offered him a quirked eyebrow though, as if expecting an answer.

"Subtlety seems lost on you lass." He said, licking his suddenly dry lips, "or tact."

"I'm sorry. If you want the sensitive soul-searching I'd recommend returning to Doctor Hopper. But the way I see it…" she readjusted her seating position. "You don't want the white walls and the 'how does that make you feel' package. If you weren't feeling like the crappiest man on earth you wouldn't have attempted that little stunt in the first place."

He blinked, well this certainly was a much livelier approach than the one Doctor Hopper had used. Her honesty was rather refreshing in contrast to the carefully placed words he had been hearing for the past 5 years – and which had been more frequent after his suicide attempt. He was certain though, that this kind of honesty would backfire in the long haul, but right now… Right now he was relishing in it.

"Quite perceptive aren't you."

"Well it is my job Mr. Jones." She looked him over. As if trying to see his deepest and darkest secrets. He wanted to snort. Good luck with that. He heard her sigh and she removed her glasses. Did he actually snort out loud?

"Look Mr. Jones. I'm not like Doctor Hopper. I'm not one into forcing people to talk about their experiences; If you want to talk about it, you talk about it and I'll be here to listen. And if you don't… well then you don't."

"Then pray tell, what is the point of all this then?" he asked, genuinely intrigued it seemed.

"I believe that a fixed point can be enough to start the so-called 'Healing Process'. Forcing a person to open up about something he has clearly kept hidden in the confines of his mind often has a reversed effect. One goes to therapy to get over walls, not to stack them higher."

She chewed her bottom lip again, an action that did not go by unnoticed by Killian. Subconsciously or not, the woman knew how to keep his attention focused on her lips, which both terrified and fascinated him.

"Look, I have a proposition for you." She said and leaned forward in her chair. "We'll meet twice a week, one hour sessions. If you can't make it I expect a call at least 2 hours before hand. Now, Doctor Hopper told me that you actually have to attend these sessions as part of punishment for attacking the medical staff."

"I didn't attack them. They got in the way while I was hurling a pitcher at my friends." He explained which earned him an amused smile on her part.

"Still it is enough reason to put you on a mandatory therapy, sure only 6 hours but knowing this I'd rethink the whole 'quitting while ahead' routine. Also…" she said and looked him straight in the eyes. They were a nice shade of green, he noticed. "I don't tolerate lies. Lying to get out of these sessions is false progress. I won't have any of it. So… if you can find these terms agreeable I'm sure we'll get along quite nicely."

He looked her over and couldn't help the grin that spread on his face.

"Quite passionate, Swan."

And that… was basically how he found himself spending two hours a week in the company of miss Emma Swan.