A/N: Thank you all so much for the feedback on the first chapter! It's amazing to me! I was nervous to put this story out but you've all blown me away. So here's the next chapter. This one is from Emma's perspective and what she thinks about what just happened. Don't worry that they're separate though- this is just temporary. I'm going to alternate perspectives throughout the story which so far I'm actually really loving and is proving to be a fun challenge. Let me know what you think of Emma! Lastly, please excuse my lyric writing- I'm not very musical but I'm trying. Thank you. Let me know what you think! Enjoy!

Warning: This chapter mentions alcoholism.

Disclaimer: All aspects of Once Upon A Time belong to ABC and the show's creators.

Emma flipped the deadbolt back as hard as she could. Not out of frustration but because she wanted the noise. The sound that said no coming back. The one that would keep that strange man away.

Killian Jones. Rock star. Seriously? What was next? Was James Bond about to break into her apartment and sweep her off to Europe?

While Emma's lie detector didn't go off when Killian had dropped that introduction, there was still that part of her that felt like she just got punked by the neighbourhood drunk. The man had obviously been three sheets to the wind sometime in the near past despite being rather sober on her couch. Emma knew drunks. She collected a lot of them on the average Tuesday night in her line of work.

Policeman or serial killer?

Policewoman actually. Emma was an officer for the NYPD. She lived and worked in Queens, driving around the streets with her partner David Nolan, breaking up bar fights and investigating thefts. It was a good job. A calmer one since she'd switched from homicide to patrol a year prior. Some days she craved the intensity of the job she'd had for five years but then she remembered why she left the unit in the first place. When she'd made the switch, patrol was about all Emma could handle and by some miracle, David, a childhood companion and adulthood partner, had switched with her to stay her partner. David had loved his old job and living with the knowledge that she was the one who he'd given up that job for weighed on her. But that was just one part of the guilt Emma lived with everyday. It was just life. The minute she thought about it in any depth was the minute she did what she'd promised never to do again. Crack.

Emma had just gotten off a nightshift when Killian had started pounding on her door, hence the gun still attached at her hip. No part of her had expected to find that man on the other side of her door. Or for him to look like that. Whether it was true or not, Killian Jones certainly looked like a rock star. His black hair was longer than was strictly respectable, hanging over his head with the grime of the previous night matting some of the strands together. The dark circles under his eyes, too blue for Emma to even look at and keep her face blank, were exacerbated by thick strokes of kohl that had gotten smudgy from sleep, or sex sweat- maybe both. Killian had been dressed all in black, his clothes rumpled but clearly expensive. Despite the man's desperate need for a shower he was attractive. Attractive enough for Emma to feel that pull in her gut even when she planted herself across the room, creating space that was too much and not enough all at the same time.

Emma had no idea why she'd let the stranger in her apartment. It wasn't a lie that she'd never heard the name Killian Jones before. She wasn't some fan trying to play it cool to get him into the apartment. And she most definitely wasn't one of those kind hearted souls who didn't question anyone like David's wife, Mary Margaret. Emma and David had had to have multiple conversations with the real life Disney princess about picking up hitchhikers. Maybe it was Emma's position as a police officer that filled her with the desire to help a man who was obviously being chased. But if that was it she could have grabbed her badge and went out into the hallway and put the run to the women. Killian never would have had to enter her apartment. And yet she'd let him in.

Allowed him to sit on her couch.

Served him her precious coffee.

What was wrong with her?

No one entered her domain. Not the one night stands- she always went to their house so she could slip away in the middle of the night, no strings, no complications. None of her coworkers, except for David, had ever seen her place. It wasn't like she had anyone else to ever want to see her. Unless it was the landlord coming to collect his money. Kind of sad, wasn't it? But it was safe. And Emma had her space.

A space she'd just allowed Killian Jones to get into.

She couldn't get the thought out of her head. She couldn't figure it out. Maybe it was the look in Killian's eyes, how he'd lose his focus sometimes at memories. There was something under the booze stench and the eyeliner and the leather. Something that felt like a familiar acquaintance to Emma, one of those ones that kept her up at night. It felt like if she ever gave herself the chance she might have understood Killian. Usually Emma made it a point not to care about other peoples shit because no one, apart from the Nolan's, really cared about hers. But now she found herself feeling the pull of caring in her chest. And she still didn't even know if he was who he said he was.

But if he was as famous as he said he was, there was a way to find out. Emma spun on her heel, searching the apartment for her laptop. She located it on the coffee table. Emma took a few minutes to brew herself a coffee, pouring way too much sugar into it, then drop some bread into the toaster. She was stalling. She'd had a bear claw at the station before leaving that morning so it wasn't like she was starving.

But there was that chance that Killian had lied. That he was a local drunk and it was only a matter of time before Emma scooped him out of a ditch or pulled him out of a bar fight. Because, why would a rich rock star be in Queens? That was more Manhattan's speed. It wasn't that no celebrities ever graced the borough, it was New York after all, but it was rare for them to be anywhere near Emma's particular residential neighbourhood. What wasn't so rare was for her to take people to the drunk tank after driving up her street with David. There was a good chance that she'd fallen for some magical charm and been taken for a fool, letting a man in to get away from some angry girlfriend and her friends instead of a bunch of groupies.

The toast popping signalled that it was time to stop being such a wimp. Emma had gotten through a hell of a lot worse in her life, she could do a simple google. What was one more person who lied to her? One more disappointment that really, she had no right to be disappointed about? Emma slathered some peanut butter on the bread, shoved a piece into her mouth while balancing the other on top of her mug and moved to the couch, settling in the same spot Killian had recently abandoned.

There was still the smell of rum and cologne hanging around that side of the couch. A scent of danger but also one she wasn't quite ready to completely give up on. Emma sat down her food and opened the laptop, calling up the Internet with a few quick key taps.

Too soon she was staring at the blank Google search bar. Mentally berating herself for being so childish she started to type. Before she could even get Jones down, google had given her an interesting array of proof in the form of automatic suggestions.

Killian Jones

Killian Jones music

Killian Jones new album

Killian Jones Neverland's Lost Pirates reunion

Killian Jones Neverland's Lost Pirates tragedy

Killian Jones dead

Well, that last one was quite the entry. They all were really. Either Killian hadn't been lying or he was some kind of super-fan and had just called up the name because it was quick for him. Emma hit the enter button and brought up the google search for Killian Jones. The search called up millions of entries in a quicker time than Emma could blink. Along the top of the page were images of the man who'd been in her apartment just a few minutes previously. Shit, he really had been telling the truth. There were a few headshots, Killian much cleaner than he'd been that morning in them but no less hot. Other ones were magazine features, him running through water in some artsy, angsty way. It made Emma want to roll her eyes and save the pictures all at the same time. She only did the first but her curiosity grew.

The first webpage entry was a Wikipedia page. Of course the guy would have a wiki page. Emma clicked on it, figuring it was a good place to start. She scanned the page, picking out bits of information. Born in England to unknown but Irish parents. Older brother who'd raised him, had been in the navy. No one seemed to know where he went after Neverland's Lost Pirates broke up. It seemed that no one really would say why Neverland's Lost Pirates had broken up either, though it had something to do with a series of person tragedies. The bassist Robin Lock's wife Marian had passed away, leaving him with a five-year-old son to raise. Robin had left the band after but there were rumours that the reason the band had completely disbanded was the result of Marian's death and something that had happened to Killian. But Killian refused to answer anything about it and left interviews the minute there was a question about it.

There was pain there. Emma knew the desire to just get up and leave when the pain was triggered. Emma never gave herself the luxury because for her it showed weakness. For Killian it was just dramatic rock star behaviour. Lucky bastard. She really didn't feel bad for thinking he was lucky because she understood crippling pain. She understood what it was like to wake up in the middle of the night and crawl under the bed to hide because it felt like all her demons were crushing her from the ceiling down and she needed something to protect her. She understood.

A part of Emma started to wonder if whatever Killian had gone through had resulted in all the alcohol he seemed to have imbibed before arriving at her apartment. Was that drinking a regular coping method? She hoped it wasn't but something told her it was. Killian seemed to carry too many secret demons and tragedies to be doing Tai Chi for a stress relief.

Emma went back to the article. Killian Jones was now a solo artist, platinum in his own right. A year long tour had finished eight months ago and no one had heard from him since. Sure, there seemed to be tabloids snapping pictures of him with women in various states of sobriety, but Killian seemed to be laying low from the music world. Or hiding, Emma found herself thinking. At least the attempt at hiding explained why some fans were googling if he was dead or not.

Emma knew Killian was very much alive. Or, at least his heart was still beating. Other than that the jury was still out.

And that's when Emma realized the problem. She wanted to know. She was actually curious about the life of a person so out of her social circle that she'd never see him ever again and he'd forget about her the moment he left her building. She cursed. What had she been thinking? Life was easier when she let herself believe he was just some random drunk and not someone she felt she could see herself in, understand beyond the surface if given the chance.

Emma hastily clicked out of the wiki page, hitting the mouse too many times, so her computer couldn't keep up with her. Before she realized she'd clicked the screen too many times, a YouTube video started playing. It was a cellphone video of a concert, Killian Jones standing up on stage in all black and lots of leather, crooning out words in a soft, lilting voice that didn't exactly match the personality he was projecting.

Scars on the hull

Rocks and waves

You couldn't swim

But I was the one who drowned

The real pain in his words hurt. Every word was like a knife. But it wasn't Killian driving in the blade. No. It was the man who'd made her lungs fill with water while he disappeared into the fog. But what made it worse was watching Killian, pretending that nothing was wrong on stage. As if she couldn't see his scars like they were neon signs behind a slightly opaque glass.

Emma stood, coffee table jerking forward when her knees hit the edge. She cursed and took off to into her bedroom, flopping down on the bed. The song continued to play but the pain was less when she couldn't see the musician.

Why am I always the one sinking?

I thought I could swim.

Great question. Emma couldn't figure out the answer either. And now, they'd never get the chance to try and figure it out together.