As soon as she opens her eyes everything swims before her. Her arm is throbbing as well as her head, and her hip is on fire. She rolls over, searching for her alarm clock, only to find a wall where her table normally is. Right, she slept at Killian's. She struggles out from under the covers, grabbing her sling from the chair across the room. After she gets it on, she pulls the corner of her shorts down to reveal a huge fist-sized bruise on the bone from her gun, and a huge hand-sized one that wraps around to her back from hitting the wall. No wonder her hip hurts so bad.
The first thing she does is go into the bathroom to make herself somewhat presentable before going to search for Killian. She has no idea what the day, or the week, will have in store for her, but she's pretty sure it's going to be hell.
She surveys the counter, making a mental list of all the things she'll be able to do on her own. She'll be able to brush her teeth, shower, and take her pills, but she'll need help washing and brushing her hair. She's not even going to worry about changing today. She snatches the bottle of pills from their place and wedges them between her arm and the counter in order to press down and twist the child safety lid off. Luckily she's done this enough when she's driving from town to town for hours on end and needed an asprin. She shakes two out onto the counter and fills a dixie cup up with water, downing it all in a single gulp, setting the cup aside for after she brushes her teeth.
Killian must know she's up because he can definitely hear the water running, and yet he's not in here by her. She knows if he almost died, she wouldn't be able to leave his side. That's the difference between him and her. He knows she needs her space to figure things out and once she's attached to someone, she can't let them go. It hurts too much after everyone walking out of her life. It's a dangerous game she's playing with Killian because of this. Trying to distance herself enough that if he ever leaves too, it's not going to kill her, but remain close enough that she's not alone. She's afraid she crossed the line a long, long time ago.
"I heard the water turn off. Do you need my help yet?" The look of apprehension in his eyes startles her.
Maybe they aren't that different after all. Clearly him letting her have space to do things on her own is killing him.
"Yeah, good timing. I was just about to ask if you'd help with my hair." She pulls the tangled mess over her shoulder and then waves her brush at him.
"Sure, but it'll probably be easier if you sit down." He leaves and returns with one of the wooden chairs from the table, setting it down in front of the mirror for her to sit down in.
He towers over her and if she leans back far enough her head touches his stomach. He gathers all of her long blonde locks in one hand and starts brushing out the ends of it. It's actually really relaxing and she can feel the tension leaving in waves. After each brush, he runs his hand through her hair, trying to get the more stubborn knots out in the least painful way. She drops her shoulders, eyes closing. After he gets all the tangles out, she can feel him playing with her hair, something he doesn't do very often. A few minutes later he drops her hair and she opens her eyes slowly. She runs her hand over the back of her head, feeling what he did.
"You can braid? How come you've never braided my hair before?"
"Just didn't. I figured it would be easier for you to handle like this. I can take it out if you don't like it." He steps back, allowing her to push the chair back to stand up.
"No, this is good. Thank you."
He takes the chair and returns it to it's proper place. "I made breakfast if you want any."
"I'm not too hungry. The pain pills make me kind of nauseous. I'm probably going to work on research for awhile."
"I thought Elsa was going to handle that?"
"There's just a huge margin for error here. We can't have too much research."
"Is that code for it's going to be dangerous?"
"Yeah, actually really dangerous."
"You have to do it?"
"Well, no, but-"
"Then why are you taking it?"
They're going to have this fight again? Of course. Something goes wrong and she gets injured, no matter how minor, and he goes off about how her job is too dangerous. Granted, this time he has a point because this is the most serious injury she's ever had.
"Listen, I'm going to tell you what's going on." She sits down in the closest chair, meds finally kicking in and making her dizzy. She motions for him to join her, but he remains standing. "A few weeks ago Elsa was approached by the feds. I've worked with them before, bringing in minor criminals, but nothing this serious. I never told you because you think my job is dangerous enough as it is going after county jail bail time a serial killer somehow met his $50 million bail and then ran. They aren't sure how. They asked for our help tracking him down because I can track down anyone and because I'm the easiest to work with."
"Are you serious? Why would you go after a serial killer? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" He paces the floor, running a hand through his hair aggressively. "You got shot going after someone who broke into a library! Bloody hell, this is crazy, Emma."
"I can take care of myself! I made a one time stupid mistake that has never happened before and will never happen again. I can handle this, Killian. You don't need to protect me." She fumes. Just because she made one error in judgement doesn't give him the right to get over protective.
"You can't do this. What if he tracks you down before you get him? I can't lose you, Emma." He faces her. "Please, just don't."
She gets it now. "They're paying me $25 an hour. I made over $500 just in the last two weeks. Not only that, but they're going to give me a $5 million reward for finding him and helping to bring him in. I wouldn't need to work at all after this. I could travel, leave Boston, do whatever I wanted!"
"Oh." He stops pacing, energy to fight gone. "That's your endgame?"
"Think of the possibilities, Killian, you could sail again!" She sounds so genuinely excited about this.
"Sailing long term isn't fun by yourself." He just sounds more and more disappointed, like he can feel her leaving already in some form.
"So we'd sail together. You could show me the world."
They'd always joked about pooling their money to buy a ship just big enough to live on the ocean, and sailing away together, but never seriously. It was never a possibility for either of them.
"Don't say that just because of what I said, you do what you want with your money that will make you happy."
Changing the subject, she stands up, grabbing her purse from a hook by the door. "The Fed guy I'm working with gave me his number. David Nolan, he said to call if I had any questions. Here." She hands him a card.
He studies the bold block numbers sprawled across the paper. He should call, if only to make sure Nolan knows he will kill him if she dies. "Can I at least help with anything?"
"I'm not sure. I doubt it." She goes over the list of things they know about the killer. "His name is Gold, or that's at least what everyone calls him. He's somewhere in Massachusetts, we all think he came back here, to Boston. When he was first arrested they found different poisons in this cabinet." She wracks her brain for more facts, but she can't seem to think with the fog from the pills. "That's all I can think of right now. These stupid pain pills."
"Don't worry, we can talk later. If you insist on working, go easy. We don't need you messing this up."
She bristles a tiny bit at that, but let's it go. He means well.
The next few days go as well as can be expected. Emma getting frustrated when she can't do something simple by herself and Killian calming her down, or working too hard and then he has to pull her away from her computer, but the stitches are out before she knows it. It definitely went faster than she could've asked for. Somewhere between her trip to get her stitches out and her follow up after that, they both decided it would be easier for her to just stay with him until this Gold mess is done, so he can remind her to eat and take breaks. Of course that makes things a bit awkward when Killian starts dating one of the nurses and brings her back to the apartment, but between doubling down at work and her physical therapy, she's hardly ever there except to sleep, and some nights not even then.
Those are the nights where he calls her cell and gets no answer, so he calls her work, Elsa, David, and practically everyone else she knows to make sure she's just sleeping there and not dead.
She jiggles the doorknob, wondering why all of a sudden Killian's door is locked, while she fishes for her key in her bag. It's always open for her unless it's past midnight because he goes to bed then and likes to know when she's home safe. By her watch it's not even past ten yet.
"There you are," she calls happily when she locates the pesky key at the very bottom of her bag. As soon as the door is open she understands why it was locked in the first place. He was trying to tell her not to come in.
Two wine glasses sit on the coffee table in front of a TV playing to an empty room. It's obvious where they are because a trail of clothes lead to his bedroom. Her heels by the couch, his belt in the hallway, her shirt outside his door. She feels a pang in her stomach. She's not sure why this upsets her so much. She's brought home guys before, never to Killian's apartment of course, but still. She just never pictured him doing this. He never talks about sex. He listens to her complain about it, talks about her sex life when she brings it up, even gave her tips on what feels the best during blowjobs when she asked him, but he's never talked about himself. Snapping out of her haze, she picks up the key to her apartment that she left on the key hook, catching a glimpse of the security card pinned to the woman's jacket hanging next to the keys. Milah Shelley. The nurse who removed her stitches. Why didn't he tell her they're dating? Unless it's a recent thing, but she got her stitches out almost three weeks ago.
Feeling betrayed, she backs out of his apartment, suddenly very glad the door doesn't squeak. Her apartment feels empty after not being lived in almost three weeks. She flips on the light, surveying the area, and trying to collect herself after walking in on that . Her computer is in his apartment, so she can cross work off her list of things to keep her busy. She'd read, but of course she doesn't have her book either and hates to stare reading a new book while in the middle of another. That just leaves the TV.
She changes into a pair of long flannel pants and an old t-shirt she never wears anymore because she doesn't have anymore tank tops and shorts left here. She does however have her favorite blanket. She wraps it around herself and curls up on the couch with the remote, turning off her phone for the first time in days. It's time for Emma. She needs to relax and get everything out of her head, needs to get him out of her head. She turns on the TV, ready to watch some mindless show, but barely watches fifteen minutes before she falls asleep.
Waking up on the couch is never fun. Her back and neck hurt from sleeping at an uncomfortable angle, and she overslept because she turned her phone off. Luckily all she missed was an early morning physical therapy appointment, one she can reschedule, and not something more important. With how protective Killian has been recently, she's surprised to see that she doesn't have any missed calls from anyone but the therapy center. Honestly, she kind of expected (hoped?) she would wake up to him checking in on her, but he didn't. Probably because Milah is still there. She really hopes not. There's only one way to find out.
Pulling the blanket tighter around herself like armor, she exits her apartment and tentatively places a hand on his doorknob.
"Hello, Miss Swan! Are you selling your apartment?" Mrs. Worthington, the neighbor on Killian's other side, asks.
"No, why do you ask?" She removes her hand, glad for the conversation to postpone the moment she's dreading.
"Because you moved in with your boyfriend a few weeks ago." She grins at Emma. "About time too!"
"Oh, he's not my boyfriend." She would almost prefer walking in on Killian and Milah to this.
Mrs. Worthington chuckles at her. "Try telling that to my bedroom wall. I heard you guys last night."
Emma blanches. That is the kind of thing she did not need, or want to hear. "Well I- I better get-" She motions to the door.
"Don't be embarrassed, dear. It sounded like you really had a connection." She starts walking down the hall and Emma can hear her talk to herself. "The noises he made, looooordie."
Now she really, really, really doesn't want to face whatever's behind this door. Something is bugging her about what Mrs. Worthington said. She thought Milah was Emma. Does that mean he never said Milah's name, or was her name the one moaned as they came together? She doesn't dwell on that thought long. It won't happen because she's never going to let it.
She pushes open the door, ready for whatever storm is about to hit her. There isn't anyone up and about, which means they're still in bed and he's going to make her breakfast, or she left early and he didn't get up at the crack of dawn like normal. She's really glad she doesn't have to go into the bedroom to get clean clothes because she left some stuff in the clean clothes hamper. Quietly, she moves into the bathroom to get ready and leaves the apartment before she runs into anyone. Maybe they're both gone? It's unusual for him to sleep in past seven unless it's a Sunday.
She needs to focus on the day ahead of her. She's meeting with David to go over everything she's learned so far, then plan their strategy for tracking Gold down. She double- and triple-checks that she has her laptop and charger in the car, and goes over her notes mentally while she drives. Normally she doesn't get nervous, but this time is different. This time she has to be accountable for more than herself. She pulls into the parking lot for her office, gathering all the supplies she'll need.
"'Elsa, is David here yet?" Emma asks as she walks in the front door.
"Yes, he got here a few minutes ago. I sent him back to the conference room." Elsa gives her a hopeful smile.
Emma shifts her bag into her stronger arm, and gathers her hair, tossing it over her shoulder nervously before opening the conference room door.
"Miss Swan! Nice to see you again." David stands and shakes her hand, motioning for her to sit across from him at the long table.
She looks at all the papers and files spread out between them, piles of them, and all she has is her laptop and a single file.
"Shall we start?" He sits down, pulling out an iPad. "These are all the missing person's files related to Gold," he motions to the stacks on his left, "and this is everything we know about him." He motions to far fewer folders on his right. "I'm not sure how much help the cases will be, but maybe it'll give us some idea of who he might go after next."
"I found someone he might have had contact with. I haven't reached out to them yet because I want to make sure it's not a joke, but here's the address." She scribbles it down on a paper square, and slides it across the table to David.
"We should visit them as soon as possible." David tucks the paper into his notes.
They spend hours pouring over the papers, studying all the little details, only taking a fifteen minute break when Elsa drops off lunch for them. Emma has a headache from all the talking and frustration. It seems like all they do is go from one impossible idea to another with no hope of finding something that will work.
"We know he's in Massachusetts. We know he's angry at whoever turned him in. He's probably going to go after whoever did it, but we don't know who that is, and we don't know if he knows who." She lets her head fall into her hands. "We need to figure out who turned him in. Do you have a number or any sort of clue from the tip?" It comes out all mumbled because her head is still in her hands.
"I have this form," he starts rifling through his files, "but it's mostly redacted. The only thing I was able to track down with it was this address. We checked it out already and no one lives there. It's an empty lot."
Emma slumps back in her chair. "This is going nowhere."
"Maybe we should take a break; go see this guy." He waves the address of the person Emma found.
Emma stands up and stretches. "Good idea."