Notes:

Set in 1997.

*Trigger warning* this story deals with an incurable, degenerative disease.

Some facts about Parkinson's disease: It is a progressive disorder of the nervous system that affects movement. It develops gradually, sometimes starting with a barely noticeable tremor in just one hand. But while a tremor may be the most well-known sign of Parkinson's disease, the disorder also commonly causes stiffness or slowing of movement. - mayoclinic

"If we can show five percent gains monthly, we're going to the promise land... Chicago," Gold said with snide confidence. "Only the great and near-great get Chicago. And I have a hunch that you and your swinging dick might be my ticket to the big leagues." He gave Killian two firm pats on the shoulder before turning to headed toward the elevator.

Even though his boss could no longer see him, Killian held an offended look on his face at the snarky comment. Okay, so he'd been with his fair share of women... okay he'd been with alot of women, but still, the guy could show some respect. To be fair, it's not as if Killian had to try very hard. One lift of his eyebrow with a sultry smirk and a bit of infallible charm thrown into the mix was all it took for woman to kneel at his feet. Well, it wasn't exactly his feet they were actually kneeling for, but still, it wasn't like he had to beg for it.

Nonetheless, the effect he had on women hardly phased him anymore. Sure, he had one or two tricks up his sleeve, but it was merely for sport. Delaying the inevitable always made it more tempting, more exciting. Sometimes the chase was probably even more fun than the sex itself. In fact, most of the time, after all was said and done, he was left feeling unbelievably lonely and empty inside. In the grand scheme of things it was a never-ending cycle of disappointment. He had meaningless one night stands with hopes to fill the void in his life only to empty it even more. At least now, he would be making a lot of money while he did it, at least that was the intention.

After half a semester of Medical school and then five years of selling high-end, knock-off brand stereo equipment at an electronics store and then getting fired for sleeping with the manager's wife, his brother got him a job at Pfizer. Liam's former college roommate was the Vice President of the large pharmaceutical company. It wasn't his dream job, to say the least, but it would pay the bills. That is if he could even make a sale.

Killian pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he adjusted his tie. Running his hand through his hair, he let out a long breath before he went into the waiting room of Boston Mercy Hospital with a hopeful and confident stride as he pulled his large, rolling briefcase behind him. It was his second week (and first day without Gold breathing down his neck) of trying to get doctors to use his samples of Zoloft, which would have been an easy task if it weren't for his strong competition - Oz Walsh.

Walsh was another drug rep who sold Prozac and an obnoxious grin. To say that Killian hated the guy was putting it lightly. Killian couldn't stand him. He had the receptionists wrapped around his fingers. His arrogant demeanor and his willingness to do just about anything to get a sale was infuriating. Killian was one step ahead of the flying monkey, however, because after he laid the charm on thick with the ladies behind the desk, he stocked his product next to Prozac. Then he looked around to make sure no one was watching before he scooped the boxes of Prozac, letting them fall into his open briefcase. As soon as he was outsides, he headed for the dumpster, promptly emptying all of the contents from his briefcase into it.

After two weeks of the same routine, he still had not made one sale with them. He had made a few sales elsewhere, but the doctor's at Boston Mercy paid no attention to him. If Killian tried to speak to them, they'd brush him off like was a nat. Thus, the need to drink was a desperate one, even if he had to suffer being around his boss while they talked sales at the bar downtown.

"I want Chicago, Jones, and right now, you're not making it happen. Right now your twenty percent below your quota for Zee and forty-five percent below for Zoloft. You want me off your ass, dearie?" Gold looked behind Killian with a gesture pointing in that direction and he turned around to follow his boss's gaze. Killian almost snarled when he saw Walsh on the other side of the bar talking with one of the doctors from Mercy.

"There's your answer. Oz Walsh could sell Zoloft to a toddler. He's got dogs taking Prozac. He'd have rocks taking Prozac if they paid cash," Gold said with conviction. Killian nodded knowingly as he glared at his competition. "And by the way, if you want one guy to start writing Zoloft, it's the guy standing next to him."

"Whale?"

Gold nodded. "Victor Whale. If he starts writing Zoloft, the rest of the docs will follow," Gold assured him as Killian turned around and licked his bottom lip in contemplation. He'd seen the doctor around the hospital but he had yet to get Whale to even talk to him, let alone write his product. "And Windy City... here we come." Gold raised his beer and Killian clanked his glass of rum against it before he downed his drink in one gulp.

/-/

Emma walked to her loft on the second floor of the building, keys in hand as she carried her brown satchel over her shoulder. When she put her key in the lock, the door opened without even turning it.

"Shit."

She didn't have to walk inside of her apartment to know that she'd been robbed... and that it wasn't the kind of robbery where furniture was turned upside down or valuable items were taken. No, this thief was only after one thing and knew where to find it. To confirm her suspicions, she cautiously opened the door and stepped inside.

Walking onto the dark, wooden floor, she saw that everything was as she left it that morning. To her left was the kitchen with a small counter and shelves above it that held pots and pans and various kitchen appliances. There was a table that only sat one person and was cluttered with photos and other miscellaneous debris and there was a desk with more photos. On the other side of the kitchen was a bedroom with no door and an unkempt queen size bed.

To the right of the kitchen was an end table that held an antique lamp and there was a small television and an old, olive green sofa with a few items of clothing strewn about. Seeing that everything was in it's appropriate place, Emma went past the couch and directly to the bathroom. When she opened the cabinet door that was also supposed to have been locked, she realized her intuition was right. Her various Parkinson's medications were gone and she knew exactly who took them.

"Neal," she sighed in frustration under her breath.

Even though she had moved here to Boston six months ago to get away from her ex-boyfriend, she knew she should have found a different way to secure her prescriptions, because if there was anything he was good at, it was breaking locks. Still, she didn't think he would follow her when he left her to rot in jail after taking the fall for a watch that he had stolen. Since then, she guessed she shouldn't be surprised that he would stoop so low as to steal a sick person's medication. At least today had been a normal day. She really only had tremors when she was nervous, but still, she needed to be stocked for when her symptoms showed up again.

Emma hated her parents, whomever they were, for giving her up and for sticking her with this dreadful curse. She wasn't sure that she inherited Parkinson's from them because it was a closed adoption and after years of searching for them and coming up with nothing, she decided that they disappeared from the face of the earth. Which was fine. She didn't need anyone taking care of her anyway. When she had been diagnosed, she took it upon herself to do a copious amount of research on the disease and on every different kind of medication that would temporarily relieve her from the symptoms. She didn't need anyone holding her hand to help her get through this. She had spent the last twenty-six years on her own and that wasn't changing anytime soon.

Emma retrieved her phone from her bag to call Walsh and get a good recommendation for a doctor in this city that could squeeze her in tomorrow at the last minute. He wasn't her boyfriend per se, but she'd had a few casual encounters with the guy. He was married, so she knew he would never make a commitment and he was a complete ass, which was incidentally her type. It made it easier for her not to get attached.

/-/

The next day, Killian waited in his car for Dr. Whale to arrive and when he finally pulled into the parking lot and got out of his car, Killian took the opportunity to approach him. The words of his boss were clear in his mind when Killian stepped out of his vehicle and quickly strode up to Doctor Whale. If there was anything he had learned from Gold when it came to getting others to do what you wanted them to, it was to offer them a deal they couldn't refuse.

"Dr. Whale, a moment of your time, please?"

"I'm running very late," Whale refused him as he continued walking, Killian hot on his heels.

He came up beside the doctor and said simply, "One thousand dollars."

Victor finally looked at him with a furrowed brow. "Excuse me?"

Killian reached into his blazer and pulled out an envelope with a check inside. "It's a check for one thousand dollars."

"For what?"

"For a special Pfizer preceptor-ship. For me to shadow you, to learn your practice and better serve the needs of doctors." Okay, so he was making it all up, as it was not actually from Pfizer, but he thought he was convincing enough.

Victor stopped in his tracks and Killian did the same. "Are you bribing me?" he asked in disbelief and in no mood for antics.

Killian shook his head. "No, doctor, no. It's a special Pfizer preceptor-ship for me to shadow you," he repeated.

Victor chuckled. "Is this a joke?"

"If you think one thousand dollars is a joke..." Killian replied as he held up the envelope for Dr. Whale to take.

After a long pause, Victor finally sighed in surrender as he took the check. "Fine."

Killian grinned cheekily as he followed Dr. Whale inside.

After Killian replaced his blazer with a white lab coat, he walked with Dr. whale to his next appointment as they talked marketing. Killian was less excited about learning what Dr. Whale did and more so about making a sale. A thousand dollars hardly seemed worth it, but he was wiling to do anything at this point. They approached one of the patient rooms and Victor grabbed the file from the door. Killian stood behind him as the doctor studied its contents in bewilderment.

"Janice, this can't be right," Victor said to one of the nurses as she approached them. "A twenty-six year old needs Parkinson's medication?"

The nurse shrugged. "I didn't write that one up," she said before she walked away

Dr. Whale turned to look at Killian. "If the patient asks, you're an intern. Got it?"

Killian nodded. He wasn't very familiar with Parkinson's, only that is was a neurological disease that caused tremors, but that was the extent of his knowledge. He was curious enough to agree, though. "Got it, mate."

Dr. Whale opened the door and Killian followed behind him, not really knowing what to expect. He supposed the patient would just look like a normal twenty-six year old, but when Victor moved out of Killian's blocked vision and she turned her head to look in their direction, he realized how wrong his assumptions were. The patient sitting on the bed was no ordinary woman.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Whale."

She nodded with a smile as Victor approached her. "Emma Swan."

Killian studied her as he shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. She was breathtaking. Long, golden locks that fell in waves around her shoulders. Bright green eyes under long, dark lashes. Clad in ripped, faded blue jeans and a plaid shirt. Emma hadn't even noticed he was there because she was facing away from him, but he definitely noticed her. What he didn't notice, however, was the fact that his jaw had fallen slightly agape from the pure shock of her beauty.

"So, your file says, 'kind of an emergency'?" Dr. Whale asked her.

"Yeah... my apartment was burgled by an ex-boyfriend yesterday and he took my Parkinson's meds," Emma replied. "But, my symptoms are pretty good today, so... it's kind of an emergency," she explained as she tilted her head slightly. "I know your rep, Oz Walsh and he said you would squeeze me in so..."

The sound of Walsh's name made Killian's jaw clench although he couldn't really bring himself to care too much as he was more interested in the blonde and the part when she said 'ex-boyfriend'.

"Yeah, Walsh is a great guy," Dr. Whale boasted.

"Oh, well I wouldn't say that," Emma argued with a smile as though she knew far too well of that fact.

"So, Monotherepy?" Victor asked.

"Yep." She nodded and started spouting off the different prescriptions she needed as Dr. Whale wrote them down in her file. "Sinemet CR, fifty milligrams two times a day plus Domperidone to cut the nausea, ten milligrams three times a day. Artane for the tremor, two milligrams, a whole tablet three times a day..." Emma paused for a second to take a breath before she continued. "...and Prozac so that I'm not too bummed about having a major degenerative disorder at twenty-six, uh forty milligrams once in the morning."

Killian had to keep from rolling his eyes when she said Prozac, and being the salesman that he was, he couldn't help but speak up for his product. "Zoloft has fewer side effects, love."

Hearing his voice, she turned her head to look at him with an annoyed expression on her face. That's when their eyes finally connected. The green, mysterious depths piercing into his blue ones made his blood run hot. He had to remember how to breathe under the intensity of her gaze.

She blinked twice before speaking, pulling him from his trance. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

He immediately sprang forward and offered his hand along with a charming grin. "Killian Jones."

The close proximity gave him a better glimpse of her face. High cheekbones, soft pink lips that slowly curved into a shy smile as she gave him an appreciative once-over before shaking his hand.

"Oh... hi." Her eyes met his again and her smile became more like a seductive smirk, cheeks flushed with pink.

"Intern," he added as her eyes burned into his.

As his fingertips touched her palm, he felt like he was being pulled in by a magnet, their hands lingering there for about ten seconds too long. When he finally pulled away, his lips held a toothy grin as he leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed, neither of them breaking their gaze until Dr. Whale spoke again.

"So, early onset Parkinson's... that's pretty rare."

Emma finally looked away from Killian. "Yeah, first they thought it was an essential tremor, then Wilson's disease, then Huntington's."

As Killian listened intently, he didn't look at her with pity. Sure, he was sorry she was plagued with this aweful disease, but when he looked at her, she didn't seem like some helpless person who was afraid to get out of bed in the morning. He only saw strength. Bravery. Boldness. Like she was willing to fight tooth and nail until her very last breath.

"Then they tested for MAS, PSP, Syphilis..." She stopped herself and looked at Killian as though she needed to clarify her last statement. "I was very glad to get a negative on that one." She looked forward again as Dr. Whale took her arm to check the bend of her elbows and wrists. "I didn't want to relish the idea of feeling like a twentieth century slut. Then there was brain tumor week, which was very scary." The doctor released her arm and stepped back, looking through her file again as she continued. "Then six months chasing obscure dystonia, but no, just turned out to be good old fashioned Parkinson's."

"Right and uh, do you have insurance?"

"Do I have insurance..." Emma gave a sly grin as she reached into her bag and pulled out a wad of cash bundled together with a rubber band .

Dr. Whale gave a light chuckle as he nodded. "Okay, sure why not."

"Great." Emma put the dollar bills back in her bag.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Emma shook her head. "Nope."

"Alright."

"Oh... actually there is one thing." Emma's eyes reverted down at herself and then she looked up again, as if she were unsure of something. "I have a weird blotch on my... breast. I just... I don't know... I'm trying not to freak out about it."

"Well, let's have a look," Dr. Whale said in a professional manner, an impassive expression on his face.

"Great." Emma reached for the buttons of her shirt as she looked down and unsnapped them. With that done, her fingers moved to her thin, laced, pushing it aside. "See that?"

Killian moved from the wall and almost pulled a neck muscle to catch a view of her breast as a pink nipple peaked out. His mouth fell open as he stared without shame and licked at his lips. There was a small, faded pink area on the curve of her breast but the doctor confirmed it was nothing serious.

"It's a spider bite."

Emma's eyes blew wide in embarrassment from the fact that she boldly took out her breast in front of them when it turned out to be nothing. "Oh. A spider bite..." She quickly covered her breast and started to button her shirt back up. "Great," she muttered with a sigh. Cheeks flustered with a faint red, she looked at Killian as her lips slowly curved into a coy smile.

"Here you are," Victor said as he handed Emma the slip with her listed prescriptions.

"Thank you, Dr. Whale."

"Sure. You're welcome."

Emma stole another quick glance at Killian, trying to hide a mischievous smirk as he stood in bewilderment. He lightly rested his jaw in his hand, grazing his thumb along his stubble, trying to bring himself to walk away. When Dr. Whale went past him and cleared his throat, he knew it was time to go. He took in every last detail of her as though he were trying to permanently etch her into his memory before he finally walked out of the room.

Retrieving his briefcase and jacket and leaving the lab coat behind, he left the hospital and walked to his car. As he opened his trunk and pushed down the long handle of his briefcase, he was trying to gather his wits. He was grinning like a bloody fool. He tried to convince himself that Emma was just an ordinary lass, but he knew in his gut that was far from the truth. All of the women he had met put together didn't quite compare.

After he lifted his briefcase into the trunk, securing it in, he felt a solid, blunt force to his head that knocked the wind out of him, causing him to stumble backwards. He bent over as he groaned in pain.

"You're a drug rep?!"

Even through the anger in her voice, he recognized it was her before he could look up.

"Wait!"

"You let me take my shirt off!" Emma hit him again with her satchel, this time getting his eye with the metal buckle, blinding pain surging through him. "You fucking creep!"

He yelled out in pain, reaching to block his injured eye while he held up his other hand in surrender. Everything became blurry as he struggled to look up, the blonde before him was filled with rage as she lifted her bag again.

"Wait, wait, wait... I'm hurt. You're buckle hit my eye," His voice was strangled as he spoke, trying to catch his breath.

"No it didn't," she shot back, rolling her eyes. "Oh my god." Irritation laced her words as she tilted her head back in disbelief.

Still hunched over holding his hand to his eye, he managed to speak again. "Who said I was a drug rep?"

Emma dropped her head back down and pointed to his briefcase. "Um, excuse me, look at your bag! I don't think you're going to the fucking airport."

He was finally able to stand straighter, slowly regaining his senses.

"Look, just apologize. Would you do that? Just once, I would like to hear someone from the medical community actually apologize!"

"Okay..." He squinted his eye as he lowered his hand, the vision in front of him coming into focus, allowing him to look her in the eye." I apologize, lass." His hands came together as he pleaded with sincerity in his thick accented voice. "On behalf of all the arrogant, faceless, cut-off, bleedin' doctors out there who've treated you like a non-person... while trying to peak at your breasts."

Emma scoffed, amusement in her features as she looked him up and down. "You're goooood," she said sarcastically as she reached into her bag. "Strong eye contact. Implied intimacy. You'll make your quotas."

Fully functional again, Killian smiled, now breathless for other reasons as he scratched a spot behind his ear. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee then, love."

Emma pulled out a Polaroid camera and held it up, snapping a picture of him just as he lifted his hands in the air to block the picture.

"Oi, what was that for?" Judging by the hard look she gave him, he had a pretty good idea that it wasn't for her to admire.

"Eat shit and die, that's what that was," she said flatly as she turned on her heels and walked away.

"Hold on, lass, I can do a better apology!" he called to her. He was not normally one to beg, but for some reason he found himself doing just that.

She replied by raising her middle finger as she found more distance. Her hair flew behind her, hips swaying as she marched off with a confident stride.

Whew.

He let out a heavy breath as he stood there, completely baffled. He knew the lass had fire, but boy, he really had no idea. She was a bloody marvel to put it lightly. A lesser man would have taken her words in offense, but Killian found her dauntless approach at telling him off, rather intoxicating. It may have been the concussion from the blow to the head, but either way, he was completely and utterly smitten as a slow smirk pulled at his lips. Though he wasn't keen on eating shit, as she gracefully put it, he was thinking of more enjoyable activities he could do with his tongue that involved that striking body of hers.