Things don't go exactly as planned (not that he has any plans anymore) the next morning when he wakes up to find Emma wrapped in her bedsheets - though it looks as if she's thrown some kind of tantrum.

Her answering coughs, groans and sneezes tell him just enough to know that she's sick and not in a good way whatsoever. He's out of medicine so he runs to the pharmacy quickly and back, quickly giving her all the possible medicine he can to fend off all the bacteria that has somehow decided to kill her inside and out. Her forehead is burning quite literally, his face contorting into a grimace as he watches her swallow the cough medicine. And then she coughs after that.

Because it tastes bad as always.

So when he noticed how her movements were a bit off yesterday, this is why.

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not," he grumbles, brushing away the hair on her forehead. "Perhaps going out for a swim in the middle of the night was not a good idea." He sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

"Pretty -" she coughs, "- sure that wasn't the cause," she mumbles.

"Whatever it was, it's got you like boiling water. You're gonna get rest here and I'm going to go make some soup."

He spends a good while in the kitchen making sure everything in the soup is just right before he pours some into a bowl and moves down the hallway with instinct. She's half-asleep by the time he's shaking her shoulder gently, practically shoving the bowl of chicken broth with some ginger in her hands, watching her take slow sips of it. There's something about her eyes this time, as if she wants to protest against all of this caring, and he wonders, just how long has she been fighting all along by herself without a person there to take care of her time to time?

Originally, he was thinking of having a dinner with Liam, Elsa, and their son, but it turns out that may not be happening anytime soon, especially if this lasts longer than two days. She's got to go by the end of the week, there's no way she's going to get any better at this rate.

"You don't need to do this," she rasps.

"Too late," he shoots back, smiling and leaning down to press a kiss into her hair. "Someone has got to take care of you once in awhile. I can't help but imagine that to be me."

Emma doesn't respond to that, she just tentatively takes frequent sips of the soup before she's done and he takes it from her hands. He orders her to sleep, and he can see she's not going to retaliate against any of his demands, so she does as she's told (hesitantly).

He hears her murmuring throughout her sleep and he really wants to barge into her room and do something about it, but he can't make out the words of what she's saying, nor does he plan to intrude her space when she needs the sleep. The day goes by slowly without something to do and this reminds him of how different everything was before Emma. But now she's apart of his life as much as he's apart of hers, and neither of them seem to object to the fact that they're quite attracted and interested in each other for plenty of reasons.

He's writing in his room, random lyrics that come to mind, before his phone vibrates next to him, the screen lighting up with an incoming call from David.

"You finally pick up," David complains.

"Sorry, mate, been rather busy recently."

"With my friend."

"Yes, your friend."

"Do you like her?" David asks.

Killian sighs. "Aye," he responds quietly, glancing down at the lyrics on his sheet of paper, words scribbled up and about. "She makes me feel whole."

"That's rich coming from you." David chuckles. "It's all over the news, did you know that?"

"No," he answers, "but I saw it coming at some point. We weren't too secretive about the entire thing once we both wanted it."

"I know you're a good man, Killian, but please handle her well. She's been through much more heartbreak than she deserves, and I know Emma better than anyone. She'll run, she'll want solitude and time at some point, but if you keep fighting for her, she'll eventually break and trust you." He hears him sigh over the phone. "To be honest, I've never thought that you two would meet, or let alone get together, but it seems like she's happy with you. And I don't mean just any happiness because the smile I've seen on pictures with you two is a smile I haven't seen in so long - like, it feels foreign."

"Do you mean she's been in a dark spot in her life for awhile?"

"Forever," is the quiet response. "Not my story to tell, and I'm not going to be the one to spill the beans. But treat her well. Media is going to probably complain about you two, or even write good, but if everything goes awry, it won't be good for either of you. But, where is Emma?"

"Asleep in bed. Sick."

"You got her sick?"

"No!" he hisses, dropping the pen on his notebook. "She was burning up this morning, I had her take some medicine and eat something before I told her to sleep.

"Great," David mutters, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "I am going to fly to Ireland and kill you one day."

"Sounds pleasant, I look forward to it, Dave."

"Luckily for you, Mary Margaret needs my help with something and I can't talk any longer. Get her better, Jones."

"Aye, will do. Say hi to Ms. Nolan for me."

.~.

She's stubborn as hell when it comes to any sort of coddling. He knows that now.

"Go away," she whines.

Her voice is definitely getting better though. He's noticed her being able to talk and laugh a bit more, but it hasn't stopped her from trying to push him away.

"No," he sternly states. "You need to eat, Emma."

"I will, just let me sleep in some more, Jones," she mutters, drawing the sheets over her head.

He sighs, his chin dropping to his chest in defeat.

After about half an hour, she comes shuffling out of her room (he claims it to be hers by now, not that he expects anyone else to ever occupy it), bundled in clothes that make him want to wrap his arms around her and cradle her. He slips her the plate of food and another bow of the soup that she, as she said it: "It was really delicious, you should make it more often."

And in less than another hour when he's fresh out of the shower and debating on watching a movie or not, he finds her cuddled on the couch adorably, her legs drawn to her chest, a blanket loosely draped over herself. He softly laughs to himself, shaking his head just as he crouches down next to her, touching her forehead with the back of his hand. She's cooling down, finally, and he kisses her forehead before he shifts to doing the laundry job for the week.

Besides, he's going to be the good boyfriend and do her laundry so she doesn't have to worry about it when she goes back.

(It pains him to think she has to leave so soon.)

"Did you do my laundry?" she asks later, peeking into his room.

He smiles, itching the spot behind his ear. A damned habit of his when he's nervous or anxious, or even embarrassed. "Aye. I did it while I was doing mine to save you the trouble of it when going back to Boston."

She sniffles, approaching and climbing onto his bed, straddling his hips. "Thank you," she murmurs, leaning her forehead against his. "No one's done that for me before."

Grinning, he nods curtly, dipping forward and pressing his mouth against hers gently. "Of course, love." He cups her cheeks, running his thumb over her cheekbones before kissing her again. "You know, Emma, I sort of want to discuss the details of our relationship and the petty media. Do you mind publicity? Or would you prefer privacy? Tell me what you think so I know how to respond to interviews and the infernal questions I get asked by the interviewers and fans."

She bites her lower lip. "I'd like to stay low for a bit, I mean, people can know and all, but don't give away personal life answers and stuff, you know?"

"I fully understand, sweetheart." He kisses her brow. "And say there are music awards. Would you be my date?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Good," he murmurs. "Anyways, how was your sleep?"

"Good," she answers. "I'm feeling a lot better now. That soup of yours really does the trick."

God, what has he done to deserve her? Whatever it is, he thanks the heavens for gracing him with the best possible woman ever, leaving him feeling so hopeless when it comes to being away from her. He's definitely going to have to find a way to cope without her presence being constantly around him, whether it be in his house or next to him.

She slides off of him so she lays on the empty side of the bed. "So... tomorrow."

He groans. "Yes, tomorrow..."

"To be honest, I've never done long distance before," she says.

"Me neither."

"I guess we'll just go along with it?"

"That is the plan, aye." He sighs. "I'm going to miss you."

She smiles, coughing into her elbow before she responds with, "Likewise. And on the bright side, despite getting sick, I had a great time nonetheless."

"I'm glad," he whispers, slipping down the headboard and interlocking his fingers with hers. "The next time you're here, we're having dinner with Liam and his lovely wife and child. I want to do this right with you, Swan, so that means you getting to know my family. What's mine is yours."

"You're really sweet," she murmurs, turning to face him. "This feels weird, to be honest. I've never had a guy who was willing, like you, to do so much with and for me. Technically for twenty-six years I've been running and never stopping and then you came along and...I stopped." She chuckles nervously, her hand twitching slightly beneath his. "I think it's about time I tell you a little about my past."

"Emma -"

"I don't usually do this, but I trust you, so don't make me regret this, Killian." She sighs, letting go of his hand and setting hers above his chest. She's intentionally set her hand over his heart, he's noticed. "I was found on the side of a road when I was a baby which meant me growing up in the foster system. It would have been nice to have a good family, but I never did. Parents either had their own baby and ditched me, or used me just for the money they could get. Bullies in school after school. You know, that stuff." She takes a shaky breath and cough and he really wants her to stop but she doesn't seem willing to. "And by the time I was fourteen or fifteen, there was no possible way anyone wanted me. I was always last - or a never - choice. When the first boyfriend, Neal, came along when I was around... seventeen maybe? I thought I was cared for and -"

"Loved."

She sighs. "Yeah, loved," she spits out in a bitter tone. "And I fell hard. We stole together because we both were similar, we had no money, we were on the run, not the best side of the law, but he gave me a sense of security. And then he ultimately set me to take the fall for one of his fucking crimes. I went to jail because of that asshole all because I decided to trust him, to actually love, but now I don't think I know how that feels anymore... to love, I mean."

"I'm sure you still know how it feels deep down," he murmurs, running a hand through her hair.

"Maybe, maybe not. But anyways, years after that when I came across Ruby's bar, she helped me out and she's been my best friend since. And Ruby led to me meeting David and Mary Margaret, and I can't say I didn't envy any of them since they were all in these damn relationships all happily, but they were friends and I knew that I could at least trust them. It didn't take long until I told Ruby I self-taught myself piano and could sing decently at alternating foster homes and she insisted on hiring me to be live entertainment. Life wasn't too bad. A year after that, I met this guy called Walsh, but he too broke my trust, and in the process, my heart. Again.

"He lied to me on several occasions, saying he was a furniture store owner. He didn't lie about that part of his job, but he didn't tell me he was running a drug cartel. We went on for an entire year before I discovered about it and broke up with him. After that, the most I ever had were one night stands because I've been deathly afraid of getting into pointless relationships that never end well. Whenever I chose to love, or to even give the man a chance, I ended up with a broken heart."

Her sneeze is what bridges between her and her sobs. Her hand tightens on his shirt, curling into a fist before she's openly sobbing against the side of his torso. His hand manages to twist her around so she's pressed against him, her head under his chin, and he tightens his arms ever so slightly, reassuring her that he's here, and will always be even if they're 90 million miles away from each other. In the end, it's her emotional state, her entire being that he wants to anchor, that he wants to be the one who can give her all the love possible, something she's lacked well before she was probably even born.

(And hell should he know why he cares so much.)

David was not lying when he meant she went through so much heartbreak that it's been unfair in her life. He continues to hold her closely, his hand trailing down the back of her head to her neck, his fingers sifting between her locks of blonde, soft hair. The pained coughs and sniffles he hears nearly cracks his own heart in two, his brain is still trying to pick apart the events of misery in her life.

And he makes a silent promise.

Killian just pulls her up into his embrace more, kissing the top of her head while her crying settles down, her hand no long bunched in a fist. His white v-neck is now damp with her present tears, but the evident shudder that racks her body for a second tells him that she's calming down, only to settle into silence.

He brushes away her remaining tears, smiling softly at her. "Feeling better?"

Nodding silently, she smiles at him and his grows a little bit more before he presses a chaste kiss to her lips.

I'll be here, is the message he hopes she gets from him.

.~.

Driving down to the airport is vacant, odd feeling.

She grasps for his free hand as he keeps one on the wheel while staring forward, but it doesn't ease the nerves or tension he feels in his stomach or his shoulders. It doesn't stop the brewing storm of thoughts in his mind of her leaving so soon.

Her smile is sad and her eyes are glossy from the unshed tears from her stubbornness, but he kisses her once last time and murmurs, "I'll see you soon, love," before he watches her walk away with the suitcase rolling behind her. Departure is bittersweet and he wonders why goodbye exists if it's never good to watch them walk away and say bye.

But in the crowd of women, men, and children, he can still see her because she's simply the face he wants to see. The one that matters to him.

On the way out, people stop him in order to ask for signatures, so he puts on his charming smile and personality and signs and takes pictures, but it definitely doesn't stop the images of Emma circling in his mind.

He's grown used to her presence within the week that the drive back is lonely and silent, the only sound of buzzing from the car keeping him in place. When he's back at the house, the faint waft of her shampoo lingers in the hallway and in her bedroom, the one that's now unoccupied. The bed has been neatly made but it smells so much like her, and he still can't stomach the thought that the week has gone by so quickly (she's attended that flight still sick too), that he's back to being all alone.

And they get back to the studio next week, and then in a couple of months it's the Grammy's. He's got a busy schedule ahead of him. According to David, they need to attend all the award shows because it's likely for invitations and nominations as well.

He drops down onto his bed and stares at the ceiling until dusk.

.~.

It's been weeks of Skype calls, emails, and frequent good morning or goodnight texts. The time zone mucks up a plan of communication between them, so there's not much there. He anticipates messages throughout his day like a dog waiting for his owner to come back from grocery shopping. The calls the have over Skype never last too long because one is exhausted and the other is still full of energy and adrenaline to last the day.

Keeping up his relationship with her is bloody difficult but worth it, so he's not really complaining.

Killian craves her gentle touches against his skin.

He dreads the wait between pending messages.

But he wouldn't trade anything in the world for what he's capable of having with her, despite the difficulty of maintaining a healthy, functioning relationship between the gaps of their distance.

People give him curious looks and ask questions about who this new girlfriend of Killian Jones is. Answering these come with a twinge bit of frustration because people can warp and twist words, but he keeps her under the radar, respects her wishes, and leaves the audience wondering all about the mystery blonde who's "captured his heart."

Which he is not denying.

There are nasty things being declared on magazines, but then there's also the sweet ones who wish them well. The thing is that people technically cannot insult them if they aren't caught together. Sometimes, he forgets she's a grown woman who can handle the rude comments, however there are days where he wishes he could shield her from the unfair negativity. She's been through enough that he wants to keep her out of the spotlight until she's comfortable with the usual hate and unending publicity for being the significant rockstar to the famous and handsome Killian Jones.

He finds it hard to accept compliments due to having a humble personality, but according to her, it's one of the many traits she likes about him.

Things get a little out of hand when one interviewer subtly hints toward thinking she's fake.

"Look, mate, I can tolerate plenty of things, but any directed offense toward her is unappreciated. Especially if you believe she's non-existent. I assure you she's very real and that I care deeply for her well-being at the end of the day, and if she wants to stay in the dark, I'll respect her like a gentleman."

There's a lot of backlash.

On the interviewer.

He heads back toward the studio that night and write music for countless hours. Some songs based on her and others not. Robin and Will help him out but simultaneously teases him endlessly, which gets him to crack a laugh or two after that disrespect he faced earlier.

He gets a message later on which makes him grin uncontrollably.

Emma: Thanks for defending my honour.

He responds not long after.

Killian: Always.

David cuts out that media company from having any relation with the band, but it's more specifically for Killian (and Emma). He's grateful because the good thing about… dating… your manager's close friend is the fact of understanding.

He's practically proud of himself for the statement he's made because news everywhere are headlines about: "Killian Jones, gentleman to his significant other."

He flies over to Boston on a surprise visit on the weekend. And according to Ruby, who contacted David and then contacted him, told him the address of the bar where Emma sings and that's exactly where he's going to go. It's not called a surprise for no reason. It's the rush of adrenaline he feels when he carefully saunters into the settlement, noticing the woman standing behind the counter who seems to immediately spark up at his arrival.

He learns she's Ruby and that Emma's in the washroom cleaning up.

"She's been a little prickly today… I don't know why though. She refuses to tell me any of the details," Ruby tells him with an unfortunate shrug. "If anything, I think you'd be able to get the information out of her."

"Thank you, lass." He gives her an appreciative, curt nod before finding himself a seat in the corner of the crowd, away from the entire buzz of the talkative crowd.

The bar is pretty cozy - wooden architecture interior with some modernity - despite the harder view from the exterior. The lighting is dim but nevertheless, he can spot faces and their features and he catches the wave of blonde hair that has been tied up into a ponytail walk up onto stage. He's grinning to himself in the darkness as he watches her set up, watching people quiet down at her presence on stage.

Her singing is on point but the thing is he can tell what Ruby meant by prickly. Although her outstanding singing is normal to the regular stranger, he hears the strain behind her message. Something is bothering her and he wants to do everything he can to fix whatever the issue is, but the trouble is getting her to talk because he knows she's not the words type of person. In addition, she's stubborn and refuses to discuss her issues with other people, he'll be lucky enough if he can get her even hint toward her issue.

Ruby tends to a drink for him, but as always, he's enraptured by her voice and doesn't utter a word to her of his thanks. He reaches at the cool liquid, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip. He doesn't know how Ruby knows he likes rum, but he can probably take an accurate wild guess that Emma's told her all about her trip and any other sort of details. And from what he knows, Ruby is the type who likes to poke into her good friends' personal life - love life to be precise.

He doesn't know how long he's gotten lost in her voice, but when she's finally stopped, he quietly claps in the background, watching her take her steps off the stage. His eyes dart at her movement and he promptly follows her with his glass in his hand.

"Emma."

She turns around quickly. "Killian?"

"The one and only." He smiles but the look on her face turns his smile into a frown. "You were fantastic on stage, love," he compliments, scratching behind his ear. "I believe a duet between us is long due."

"What're you doing here?" she asks, evading what he's said.

His frown deepens as he approaches her. "Am I not allowed to pay my girlfriend a visit?"

Now she's frowning too. "No, it's not that. It's just… I've had a rough day."

"I can tell your heart is uneasy, Emma, and I hope - well, I hope - it's my job to protect your heart." He reaches out to grasp for her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers, running his thumb over her knuckle gently before bringing it up to his lips and grazing a kiss over them. "So whatever is annoying you, you can always tell me. It just so happens that today you can rant to me all about your issues 'cause I've been told I'm quite a good listener."

She pulls on his hand and wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"My landlord is being an asshole," she mutters into his shoulder.

"And?"

Emma backs up slightly and glances up at him. "Can we not talk about it in a bar?"

"Well do you want to go back to your apartment and possibly run in with your landlord?" he asks, rubbing a hand up and down her back. "Is your shift over?"

"No… unless Ruby wants to dismiss me which is highly likely because you're here and because she might be able to call in someone else to cover."

"Go talk to Ruby, love, I'll wait outside."

She sighs and nods, leaving the warmth of his arms to stalk toward Ruby who's standing behind the bar. He slips out quickly, leaning against the brick wall outside with the hood of his sweater over his head. It's January and cool outside, but it's not that bad to endure. He wonders what issues her landlord has been giving her, wonders if it's something to do with her rent. It's the only logical reason he can come to think of.

A couple minutes of waiting results in her exiting the bar with her own leather jacket on and a beanie. He reaches out to wrap her hand in his.

"Where are we going?"

"The hotel where I dropped my stuff at," he answers, tugging at her hand.

The lighting of the bar wasn't enough for him to notice, but now out in the afternoon, he can see the slight darkness beneath her eyes, the slump of her shoulders, and her slow movement.

A/N: Oh, ahem, I assure you where I've left off is not as large as an issue as you may perceive it to be.