Now it wasn't like Emma to let someone who was practically a stranger sleep with her. Actually, sleeping was okay but what she had done with Killian last night after their shower escapade, twice, was definitely unusual. Not unusual in the actual meaning of the word because a better one to use would have been phenomenal. Emma would never have slept with a guy after knowing him for a day but in her heart, Killian was different. He was definitely unusual, charismatic, handsomely defined and one of a kind, snoring softly beside her.
The Saturday daybreak spilled through the opening in Emma's curtains and tumbled across the edge of the bed. The sun always rose at the back of the house, warming Emma's bedroom with its joyous orange glow before it touched any other part of the house. The faint twittering of birds somehow managed to penetrate the modern double glazed windows, dancing in Emma's ears like a wind chime. Her face screwed up and her features twitched but her eyes remained closed. She rolled onto her back slowly, lifting her chin and digging her head into the pillow before lifting a heavy arm and draping it across her eyes to block out the glare of the morning rays.
Emma's nostrils filled with the warmth of the sun, heating each aroma in her room and awakening her still drowsy senses. Emma smelled her shower gel, aloe and cucumber, but it was tainted with the magnificent scent of manly sweat and post sexual bliss. The room was hot, stuffed with the heat of two bodies that had been pressed together in all directions for most of the night, leaving their uninhibited minds shattered and exhausted under the thin sheets.
Groggily, Emma rolled her naked body over again away from the sunlight and her head fell heavily on the pillow next to Killian's. Her arm stretched out and lay softly across his head, stirring him from his slumber with a low grumble. Emma's arm tumbled from Killian's face, resting across his chest when he shifted in the bed and the sheets dropped to his waist. Emma peeled an eye open and their faces were almost touching. Killian's breath warmed against her face each time it blew from his nose and his chest heaved with a sleepy sigh.
Why had she let it happen? Emma didn't know, but she wasn't exactly complaining. Her insides hurt pleasantly, more than she could explain and if she didn't know better, she'd say the glow surrounding her was not just from the sun that bore into the smooth skin of her back. Maybe it was some kind of grieving process she was going through. Maybe, desperate to feel loved again and missing her mother, Emma has compensated with Killian, letting him take her to paradise over and over again. A smile played across her lips as her eyes searched Killian's face but she was shaken from her daydream suddenly.
"Stop it," Killian mumbled and Emma smiled wider, unsure if he was dreaming or awake. Killian didn't move and his face remained unchanged, only a slight twitch in his brow gave away his thought.
"Stop what?" Emma whispered against his skin. She didn't want to wake him if he was asleep but when he rearranged himself once more, clutching the fabric of the sheets to his waist as he did so, Emma knew he wasn't.
"Stop devouring me with your eyes," Killian rasped, his morning voice harsh and deeper than the ocean. A quick smirk played across his lips and Emma's arm suddenly became pinned to his skin when he held it there with a tender touch.
"I can't help it." Emma beamed and closed the tiny gap between their faces and pressed her lips to Killian's. A small groan escaped from his throat and he trailed his fingertips down her arm as she pulled her limb free, moving her hand to rest delicately against his cheek. Killian let her kiss him, inhaling her scent and letting his eyes blink open when his lips became void of her contact.
"You know-," Killian began, rolling his head away from her smile and lightly scratching at the dark hairs adorning his chest. His eyes blinked again, focusing on the line of sunshine that speared its way across the ceiling and down the opposite wall. He swallowed a dry lump down his throat and rolled his gaze back towards her expectant face. "Some people would be surprised by our current situation."
Emma shifted herself and rested her head on her elbow, entangling her fingers in her messy blonde bed hair and dragging the sheet up her chest to cover her modesty. "Like who?" Emma asked him with a grin, her brow furrowing playfully into a questioning frown.
"Me," Killian said simply, mirroring her position. "Normally, you'd be gone by now," he said with a smirk. Killian didn't sleep around, but every time he had been with a woman, they didn't stick around long. He was good looking, a fantastic lover, but his overactive mind scared most women off before dawn.
"This is my house," Emma reminded him coyly. "And besides," she began with a shake of her head that sent her curled hair tumbling over her shoulders, "you owe me dinner before we do this again."
"Oh so hard to please," Killian teased, smiling at her and he couldn't help but reach out and brush a strand of hand from her face. There he went again, making love to Emma's hair with his hands. "How about I make you breakfast instead?" he quipped smoothly. His voice was still husky but had begun to wake up and join the rest of his body. He tucked a stray hair behind Emma's ear again, making sure it stayed there before caressing the side of her face with the back of his hand and smoothing his thumb over the corner of her crooked smile.
"I'd like that." Emma smirked, leaning forward, her eyes flickering between his and his expectant lips before capturing them for a long, slow kiss. Killian's hand cradled her jaw and he tilted her head back, darting his tongue out to moisten her lips and beg her mouth to let it in. Emma complied, parting her lips gently and sucking on his tongue, letting it trail over every surface of the inside of her mouth. Killian rocked his hips towards her and lowered her back down to the pillow gently, gobbling up Emma's giggle as he grinned against her smile. Emma's hand tickled up Killian's sides and gripped at his shoulder, holding his torso to hers but they were suddenly and irritatingly interrupted by the jingle of Killian's cell phone.
"Grrr!" Killian growled playfully with a heavy sigh. It made Emma giggle out loud and her smile was suddenly a permanent fixture on her face. "Hold that thought," he said quickly before giving her another ardent kiss and pulling away with another groan and rolling over the edge of his side of the bed.
Killian's hand felt across the soft fibers of the bedroom carpet and his vision drained a little when the blood rushed to his head. His diaphragm was crushed on the edge of Emma's bed and he couldn't locate his pants through looking or blindly fumbling. The incessant ringing grew louder and Killian could hear the buzz of his cell vibrating and Emma laughing.
"Killian," Emma called and his head whipped up to see her pointing off the edge of her side of the bed. He gave her a puzzled frown before scrambling across the bed, tangling himself in the sheet and gripping the edge of the bed to stop from falling off. Emma moved her legs just as his body flattened to the mattress with an audible grunt and he fished in his pants for the cell phone. He read the caller ID before sliding the green arrow across the screen and pressing it to his ear quickly.
"Yeah, hello," he said hurriedly through shallow gasps. His feet tried in vain to grip at the mattress but he began to slide forward over the edge of the bed and he reached out to stop himself with a trembling arm.
"Whoa, mate…" David began sharply. "Heavy breathing is not my thing, sorry," he teased.
"Ha ha," Killian said mockingly with a shaky voice, trying to push himself back over the mattress. Emma watched his display and covered her mouth to muffle her laughter. "What's up?" Killian asked, a serious tone invading his voice.
"You tell me," David laughed. "I called you at home and there was no answer, and then I get you on your cell…"
"I was in the shower," Killian interrupted him with a smirk. Technically, he wasn't lying, even if his timeline was off by a few hours. Or seven.
"So you answer your cell and not your landline? I don't think so my friend," David told him and Killian could imagine him shaking his head. "Not unless you've been in the shower for two hours," David said accusingly. Killian's silence prompted his next accusation. "You're not home," he said with an air of triumphant glory in his voice.
"I…" Killian began, but he stopped when he felt Emma's weight shift on the bed. His skin prickled to life and his blood began to double its speed around his vessels when Emma laid a tiny hand to his back and pressed her lips to his spine.
"Just admit it, Killian." David grinned to his friend as he shuffled a few silky, colour photographs across the desk in front of him. "You didn't go home last night."
"Yes," Killian breathed and his eyes fluttered closed and he rolled back in his head when Emma's lips planted another tormenting kiss to the middle of his back. Her hands brushed over the warmth of his skin and she smiled at his helplessness.
"I knew it!" David declared with a roar, slamming his hand against the polished surface of his desk. He huddled himself closer to the phone. "Was she good?" he asked, he voice dirty and muffled.
"Huh? What?" Killian's voice was broken, barely audible when Emma's lips found the base of his neck and trailed kisses around the back of his neck to behind his elfen ear. She had noticed their endearing shape last night when Killian's head was between her legs. David sighed into the phone and rolled his eyes.
"What's her name…Emma…what's she like?" David prodded eagerly. Killian rolled his head sideways and Emma smiled against his stubble littered jaw as she continued her assault down his throat and past his bobbing Adam's apple.
"She's very…" Killian paused, incoherently imagining Emma's lips elsewhere. His arm began to tremble under his weight once again and he considered letting them both fall to a crumpled heap on the floor just so he could touch her. "…wait," Killian snapped quickly and Emma wrenched her lips from his body with a pout, which he detested immediately. "Why are you calling me on a Saturday?" Killian said in a cough, clearing his throat and trying to focus on why David would need him so desperately. When Emma realized he hadn't wanted her to stop, she trailed her tongue across the salty skin of his back again.
"I need you to come into work," David admitted, a little heartbroken Killian hadn't finished his description of the wonderful mystery that was, unbeknownst to him, his little sister.
"Work?" Killian whined, gulping hard and trying to stop the burning in his gut.
"Yeah, there was a problem at the site again. I can't fix this one alone, Killian. I'm really sorry," David grinned with fake apologies. "So get your ass out of whoever's bed you slept in last night and get here. Quick." David chuckled to himself and hung up.
Killian pulled he phone from his ear and stared at it in shock. David never hung up on him; it was usually the other way around.
"You have to go?" Emma said in a childish tone. She draped her body over Killian's back, wrapped her arms around his neck and planted another teasing kiss to his face. The combined weight of them both was too much to hold and Killian let them topple to the floor wrapped in the bed sheets, landing on his shoulder and absorbing the force of the fall. Emma squealed and then laughed heartily, burying her face in Killian's chest that racked with its own laughter.
Killian stopped laughing first, silenced by the faintest trace of Emma's plush, rosy nipple that peeked from the top of the cotton covering her body. She continued to laugh, smoothing the hair from her face as she sat back up in Killian's lap, unaware that her nakedness was on display. She caught his eye and followed his line of sight, immediately blushing and replacing the fabric over her breasts.
"Don't," Killian breathed, stopping her when she began to move the sheet to cover herself. "You're beautiful." Emma blushed and her lips fought to avoid smiling at his compliment. "I'm sorry," Killian offered, instantly finding the wastebasket next to Emma's bedside cabinet so much more interesting. He needed it to be more interesting or he would be in a difficult and potentially sticky situation. "Although, I can't think why you're blushing," he said smoothly, giving her a wicked smile that left Emma speechless. "You are beautiful, Emma." He was more than charismatic, he was sophisticatedly filthy minded and for some reason, it made Emma aroused beyond comprehension.
"How long have you had these?" Emma asked slowly, watching her fingertip trace the outline of his tattooed bicep. Killian felt all the hairs on his body spring to life at her touch, swallowing hard. "They're so amazing. Did they hurt?" Emma asked him shyly.
"A little," Killian admitted with a small shrug. He gave her a small smile, letting her explore his skin. "I got them done is just two sittings."
"One for each sleeve?" Emma said shocked, her eyes widening a little as she screwed her face up into a wince. "That must have hurt."
"It was worth it, don't you think?" He growled, wrapping his arms around her frame and holding her barely covered chest to his. His coarse chest hair tickled at her nipples through the fabric of the sheet and Emma arched into him harder.
"They are very sexy," she said innocently, pretending to be unimpressed by his art covered skin. "What do they mean?" Emma pressed gently, shifting her weight so she could run her flat palms over the curve of his shoulders. The pattern of grey and blue hues rippled over his flesh as she stroked his muscles, watching her hands intently with fascination.
Killian bowed his head a little, almost embarrassed by her line of questioning, and Emma smirked at his bashful expression. If she didn't know any better, she would say the tint of pink to his cheeks was from a blush. "Just things," he told her softly, nuzzling his chin into the crease of her bosom playfully.
"What things?" Emma breathed, her eyes fluttering closed at his contact, the prickle of his facial hair scratching pleasantly at her smooth skin.
Killian kissed the top of her breast, letting his lips linger against the skin there for longer than necessary, before lifting his head and catching her sleepy gaze once more. The tattoos meant so much to him, every line and shaded image put there by his older brother who had been a world-renowned tattoo artist. Liam Jones would travel the world, leaving his ink on the huge line of people who, Killian was sure, would have stretched around the world. That was until he was killed in a plane crash and Killian had lost his grip on reality.
Now he had found Emma and had a new reason for wanting to get up each day.
"It's not what they mean, love," he began with a joyful, reminiscent smile. "It's what they represent." He tightened his grip around her waist, holding her against his body and enjoying the warmth from her skin and her smile.
"And that is?" Emma stroked her fingers through his sleep ruffled hair as she spoke, massaging his scalp with her dainty fingers.
"Family," Killian said, a hint of sadness in his tone. "Family means more to me than I can say. My brother tattooed me, marked me for the rest of my life, and now I'll never forget him."
She was about to speak, tell him how she had fallen into him at the exact moment she had lost the remaining half if her family, but then her phone began to ring.
"Excuse me." She smirked, pushed herself to her feet in a ladylike manner and stalked around the edge of the bed to where her handset sat on its charging unit. The sheet that was wrapped awkwardly around her body slid from Killian's, leaving him naked and exposed at the side of her bed. He leaned up on the edge of the bed, propping his head up on his elbow and smiling at her the whole time. Emma shook the hair covering her ears and pressed the answer button with a beep. "Hello?" she tried to sound normal, ignoring Killian's boyish grin by turning from him.
"Hey Emma, it's Whale," her colleague sang down the phone. Emma could clearly hear the bustle of the ER around him. People were screaming, children were crying and the clatter of a new trainee nurse dropping a tray of instruments echoed through the section of the hospital. Whale, as happy go lucky as he was, did have some off days and today Emma heard a distinct low point in his voice. "Listen, sweetie, we need you to come in as soon as possible. Have you seen the news?"
"The news?" Emma asked seriously, stepping sideways and flicking her television on. Killian watched her move, silently retrieving his boxers from the end bedpost and sliding them on quickly. He was sure they had ended up somewhere else that night, but he also distinctly remembers trying to redress and cook dinner. That went to plan like a botched bank robbery. "Oh god…" Emma sighed, covering her mouth with a shaky hand.
Killian's head whipped towards the TV and then back to Emma's pale expression. She was frozen to the spot, her eyes fixated on the glaring news images broadcasting from the screen of a train crash. There were smoke and fire, people fleeing where they could and shards of metal littering the ground. From the helicopter footage, being broadcast live to the city, emergency personal looked like insignificant specks of luminous yellow as they carried stretcher after stretcher from the wreckage.
"Emma? We need every pair of free hands for this one. Most of the patients are coming here." Whale's voice sounded stern down the phone. "Emma?" he repeated, a little concerned. Killian walked around the bed, his feet padding silently against the carpet until he reached her. She didn't acknowledge him, before or after he plucked the phone from her hand and held it to his own ear.
"She'll be there," he said simply and hung up the phone. Killian studied her face, laying a gentle hand to her shoulder. Emma flinched and stared at him wide-eyed, her breathing quick and uneven. "Hey," Killian began with a caressing tone, cupping her face and giving her a worried look. "Are you alright, love?" he soothed, thumbing her skin lightly. Emma gave him a weak nod and looked away before her burning tears threatened to fall. "Emma, why are you crying?" Killian urged, hooking a finger under her chin and lifting her eyes to his once more.
"I'm not," she said quickly, wiping her eyes with a shaking hand. Killian gave her a disbelieving look and something inside Emma broke. The dam holding back all the years of repressed hurt burst and images of a more familiar accident propelled themselves through her mind. Emma's father's image, trapped and choking in a smoke-filled carriage, raided her mind. If he wasn't slowly suffocating he was burning, every haunting nightmare she had ever had invading her mind at once. "I'm sorry, my father was a doctor who died in a train crash," Emma suddenly said.
It sounded different out loud. It sounded almost as good as it felt. Like a weight lifting from Emma's body, she stopped crying and looked up into Killian's sorrowful eyes. She didn't know why she had told him something so intimate. She hadn't spoken about her father since he died, not even in passing or when someone commented on him being proud of such a talented young woman. Killian didn't say anything for a while, simply offering her a feeble smile before lowering his lips to hers.
"Then go and make him proud," Killian told her firmly and for the first time in her entire life, Emma felt as though she could. Medicine had come a long way in fifteen years and there were now ways to save people who would've otherwise perish in a train wreck. "I can make you breakfast another day," Killian smirked, trying to lighten the mood. Emma laughed nervously, left his warm embrace to dress and they left the house together, going separate ways at the gate with a polite wave.
Emma couldn't help but sneak a quick look over her shoulder, a smirk plastered to her face and her brown leather handbag clutched to her side. Killian's outline walked briskly towards the center of town, his clothes slightly creased from their violent discarding last night and his hands buried deep in his pockets. If Emma hadn't of known better, she'd say he was whistling, but the roar of traffic drowned out any sound from the distance between them.
Deciding against the train today, not just because the lines were delayed but because she wanted the fresh air before facing the ER on a Saturday, Emma took a cab and sat in the back seat with the windows wound right down. The motion of the car made her hair whip and flick at her face and she was constantly brushing it aside with quick sweeps. There was more traffic than normal on the road today, another consequence of the disaster, and yet, the sun still shone through the paneless window space and made her squint to avoid it. Children still played in the street, skipping over boxes of chalk drawn outside their front steps and old men still congregated to play chess in the local park, shaded under an old oak tree. In the aftermath of a tragedy, life still went on.
However, nothing could have prepared Emma for the ER. The recent wreck had left its mark, as well as blood on the floors and people screaming in the halls. Storybrooke wasn't equipped for this. There were not enough examination rooms, not enough nurses and Emma was glad of the silence when she slammed the door to the locker room and heaved a sigh. The ER was full to capacity and she barely had time to change into scrubs before she had a patient. Macy Graem, twenty-five, had been in the middle of one of the trains when the two collided and sent her crashing through the window.
Emma could hear the screaming before she even reached out with a gloved hand and pulled the curtain back. It slid along the metallic rail with a scraping noise and Macy was thrashing about on the bed, pulling at her restraints and shouting abuse through body-wracking sobs. Emma's eyes surveyed the scene. There was no blood, it was eerily clean, and the one side of Macy's face Emma could see was flushed pink as she yelled at a nurse to let her out of the padded cuffs.
"Why is this woman restrained?" Emma asked the nurse, a little confused. The petite nurse with dirty blonde hair and floral scrubs handed her Macy's chart.
"The patient has severe trauma to the left side of her face caused by a puncture wound to the ocular section of the skull," the nurse said with a quiet cough before Macy turned to them. Her appearance took Emma's breath away.
"Yeah, I know," Macy rolled her eyes at Emma. "You'd want to pull it out too," she spat, pointing at the huge shard of glass that had pierced her eye and sat suspended from her swollen face.
"Uh…" Emma stuttered, before regaining her composure. "Let's get an x-ray to see how far back into your skull this thing goes and get you on some pain medication," Emma noted, signed and handed the chart to the nurse who scurried off in a rush.
"Finally!" Macy huffed. "I need to get some coffee before my noon meeting." Emma offered her a weak smile before backing from the makeshift examination room. Some people, Emma decided, had their priorities all wrong.
A few hours later, there were no more critically injured patients making their way to the hospital. Most were being seen to or had been sent to other nearby hospitals. Emma made her way through the crowded halls, half ignoring the requests from the hurt and injured for more pain medications and half apologizing for not being their doctor. She could have been, and they would be more comfortable but the truth was hideously clear. In the wake of a disaster like this, patients were categorized by colour according to their specific needs.
Red denoted the need for immediate attention while being tagged with yellow meant you could wait while the red tags were seen to. The protocol for a green tag was simple triage but most patients were being monitored in the overcrowded halls and were in pain. In a way, the pain was welcomed. It meant the patient was still lucid and knew what was happening, even if I did break Emma's heart. Perhaps the hardest sight of all was a baby, cradled in its mother's arms, lying still and cold and blue. Emma couldn't hear Dr. Whale's apologies but by the tender hand he had laid to the mother's shoulder and the sudden rush of tears that fell from her eyes, Emma knew the tiny life had not gotten the chance it deserved to avoid its fate as a black tagged victim.
The pharmacy was rushed with one lone technician dispensing every drug needed on the floor that day. He was flurried, rushing back and forward between the stacks of boxes, bottles and sachets and the front desk. He was maybe forty-five, medium height with a thick head of neatly combed brown hair and caring, kind eyes. Most of the doctors called him Tom, even though his real name was Dwight Thomson.
"Hey Tom," Emma said with a smile, leaning on the desk on her elbows. She had known him for the smallest amount of time but felt like she could call him Tom now. He returned her smile, taking a deep breath and combing the hair from his brow with his fingers.
"Good evening, Dr. Swan," he chimed but then his smile faded away. "Well…it's evening anyway," he added solemnly with a sigh. "What can I get you today?" he asked politely, leaning on his wrists like a barman.
Emma checked to see if anyone was behind her before looking back to him. "PCP," she said in a hushed voice. Tom gave her a quirked eyebrow.
"The morning after pill? Dr. Swan," he said scandalized, a little shocked but Emma interrupted him with a reassuring smile and little headshake.
"It's for a patient," she told him professionally with a roll of her eyes. Tom retrieved a small pill from under the desk and emptied it into a plastic cup with a clatter. "So save your lecture for another time," Emma said playfully and signed the prescription. Tom laughed at her and called for the next prescription.
It was one tablet. One white, thick, round tablet rattling at the bottom of a transparent cap that Emma had so much focus on as she moved back through the ER. As fantastic as last night was, in the wake of it all, Emma had realized that there was no protection. They had simply thrown themselves at each other, and Emma had not stopped to think of the consequences until she had seen the dead baby. Her heart ached for the mother who would never get to see her child grow and the last thing Emma wanted was to be in that situation.
Her white coat must have signified something to all of the waiting visitors because they all rose from their seats in unison and looked to her with expectant eyes when she passed through the waiting room. One man nudged her side and she toppled, losing the grip on the wafer-thin plastic up and letting it fall to the floor. At that exact same time, another man stepped forward and crushed her pill into a fine alabaster powder.
"I'm sorry," Emma started in anticipation of his question. "We haven't got an updated list of the injured yet," she droned like a robot, telling the waiting ER exactly what she had been told to say. Never admit and never deny. Shift blame to the unknown, the thing that most people feared the most. Emma backed away from the crowd that had turned into a rowdy mob, complaining in their time of desperation of the incompetence of the hospital.
The doors of the ER burst open and startled Emma who watched the gurney roll smoothly over the tiled floor towards her. The patient was strapped to the moving trolley and a paramedic ran alongside, momentarily squeezing air into their airway and breathing for them. Another small paramedic sat astride the patient and had her hands elbow deep in the chest cavity, pumping the heart manually with her bare hands. Blood splattered her white shirt but Emma was unsure if it was from this patient or another.
"We need some help here!" the paramedic screamed out of breath, turning her head to catch Emma's eye. Emma reacted instantly, plucking a pair of gloves from the convenient box attached to the nearby wall and following the trauma down the hall.