Hi everyone! Thank you for being patient with me! I have never been to Boston, so if my imagined knowledge of the harbor bothers you, let me know how I can fix it! Happy reading, as usual.
Killian knows Emma Swan is no criminal. He knows it from the way her eyes flash whenever he threatens her honesty, because a real criminal wouldn't pride herself on her lie, she would just be afraid of getting caught. He knows it from the way the tension in her shoulders reminds him so much of the tension he carries in his. He tries not to overthink their similarities, but he knows for damn sure that he is not this comfortable around Emma Swan because she's a dark-souled criminal. His fingertips drum an erratic rhythm against his bicep, his arms crossed as he leans against the railing of the harbor. After Emma's interrogation this morning, he'd received a text from an unknown number with the words ten thirty. It was ten thirty seven and Emma had yet to show.
His brain is spinning with what-ifs as he thinks about what she would tell him. The two of them haven't had any kind of outside conversation since their encounter at Robin's party last month. Would she tell him what he needs to crack her case? Will he become a detective after this? His stomach churns as he thinks of other possible conversation scenarios the two of them could have under the overcast sky at the edge of the harbor tonight.
Tick tock, Killian finds himself losing patience. Of course a detective in a special victim's case shouldn't be meeting with the victim outside of the precinct, but Killian had never done things the way he was supposed to and it's gotten him this far in life. He runs a worried hand through his hair, glancing at the time on his phone again.
Ten fifty-five.
"Where are you, Swan?" he mumbles out loud. He glances left, then right, and decides to follow his instincts and walk towards the end of the harbor. He passes storefronts and restaurants, buzzing with life on this balmy summer night in Boston. He passes the touristy allure without a second glance and starts to pick up his pace as he nears the secluded alleyways that dwell past the hub. He can't explain the urgency his steps have taken on, and his hand instinctually reaches toward his waistband where his weapon would be if he were in uniform.
He comes to a halt, the noises of the city muffled behind him. He strains to hear over the sounds of the water, listens for heavy breathing, whispered pleas, or broken sobs. He doesn't hear any of that, but a pain-filled grunt has him running toward the darkness of the alleys. He glances into the darkness and the flash of blonde hair is all he needs to spike his adrenaline.
"Hey!" he calls out, running full force toward the back of the alley. Emma is on the ground, pinned down by a man that looks completely fueled by rage. All Killian can see is the top of his sandy head, but the anger is evident in the cruel position he's put Emma in. At the sound of Killian's voice, he man glances up. His eyes flash in the dark and Emma manages to look back and see him as well.
"Don't you dare take another step forward," the man says. His voice is low, completely in control. His movements are quick as he reaches one hand into his pocket and pulls out a knife, which he holds against Emma's neck. Killian stutters to a stop, nearly tripping over himself. A cold sweat has broken out against his skin. The pulse in his neck is so rapid that it almost doesn't feel like his heart is beating anymore.
"Killian, it's okay," Emma manages to say. She faces her attacker again and Killian can imagine the smug look in her eyes as she speaks. "He won't hurt me."
"I wouldn't be so sure, princess," he spits out.
"He won't," she repeats, directing her words at Killian. "He knows he's not allowed. He knows he can't. He just got lucky running into me tonight."
"Lucky?" Killian is incredulous. He wants to move forward to get a better look at this man's face, which is still covered by the shadows of the alley. He wants to throw him off of Emma and keep her safe.
"He's lucky. He's lucky because he gets to gloat now. He gets to go back to his boss and the rest of his pathetic lackeys and he gets to say he cornered me, that he nearly had me! He nearly killed me!"
"Don't tempt me," he replies.
Emma continues to ramble. "You know he won't be happy with you. You know he's angry at me specifically, because I ruined his plan. I ruined it all. I'm a thorn in his side, but he wants to be the one who gets rid of me. I know it and you know it, so why are you bothering with the theatrics?"
Killian is finding it hard to make sense of what Emma is saying. As always, when it comes to her situation, her sentences are cryptic and unclear, but her voice keeps carrying across the shadows to him for an immeasurable amount of time. It dawns on him suddenly that she's distracting her attacker, and that's all it takes to set Killian back into motion.
He inches backward into his own shadows, starts to move around to the side of the alley. His plan is to grab the man off Emma from behind, because if he were to push him off sideways, things could get very messy with that knife.
Killian's movements are calculated, slow and quiet as he creeps toward them. Emma is still talking, but the tone of her voice has changed. She still sounds confident and in control, but there is more anger seeping into her words.
"How dare you?" she seethes.
"You're too predictable, Emma," the man responds. "So easy. I can't believe it's taken any of us a month to get to you like this. That was a stupid move you pulled, wandering along the harbor by yourself. You should know better than that."
At this point, Killian is exactly where he wants to be. He reaches forward, grabs the man by the collar of his shirt, and slams him down against the pavement, knee landing on the wrist that was holding the knife. Emma rolls away from them and reaches for the knife that has clattered to the pavement.
"And you should know better than to treat a lady like that, mate," Killian sneers. "It's bad form." Hovering over the man like this, Killian has a better view of the attacker's face. His eyes are dark enough to rival the night sky during a new moon, his hair close cropped and sand-colored. There is nothing attractive or redeemable about his pudgy face and dry, scaly skin.
Killian finds out rather quickly that he underestimated this man's strength. In a flash, he finds himself struggling to keep his advantage. The man's wrist beneath Killian's knee starts to shimmy its way out of its hold and before Killian can make sense of what is going on, he feels the searing pain of a right hook to the jaw, sees red beneath the man's fist against his eye, struggles to catch his breath as the man's foot comes in contact with his ribs once, twice, three times, hears Emma's shriek and reaches out to stop her from getting involved again.
The physical assaults stop and Killian rolls over onto his side. Emma has thrown herself onto her attacker's back, distracting him enough for Killian to catch his breath. Killian makes it to his feet just in time to watch Emma get thrown to the ground. Killian falls to his knees again at her side, unable to make sense of the desperation he feels coursing through his veins. He can tell his nose is bleeding from the blow to his face, and he can feel the bruises on his ribs as he winces with each movement, but he doesn't care because Emma's eyes have slipped shut and her breathing is shallow, and he's not sure he'll be able to forgive himself if she doesn't open her eyes to look at him again.
"Emma?" he croaks out, reaching for her, brushing her hair off her face.
From behind them, the attacker's voice sounds triumphant. "Watch your back, Emma Swan."
The desperation Killian felt a moment ago is quick to transform itself into anger. The rage fuels him as he snaps his head toward the man's retreating figure. His muscles coil, about to pounce and tackle the man to the ground again, when he feels a delicate grip on his wrist. He glances down at Emma's fingers against his skin, flicks his eyes to her face where her eyes are watching him.
"Let him go," she whispers.
"Let him go?" Killian cries. "Are you insane?" But he can't find it in himself to pull his wrist out of her grip. "Bloody hell, Swan, what are you involved in?"
She doesn't beg him, just keeps her eyes trained on his. Her chest is still rising and falling with heavy breaths and a slash on her jaw that Killian hadn't noticed before has started to bleed. Emma offers up no other explanation, and Killian falls back to rest on his heels. "Now I have a damn dirty investigation. I could lose my nonexistent badge for this."
Emma turns away from him, releases his wrist and props herself up on her elbows. She stares at the mouth of the alley, gives a slight shake of her head.
"I almost made it eighteen years," she whispers. With a heavy sigh, she readjusts herself to mirror Killian's position. The two sit across from each other, on their knees, leaning back against their heels. They regain their composure, catch their breath, take inventory of their injuries.
Emma's gaze roams across Killian's entire body. He can feel it like a caress, like she's tracing her fingertips along the planes of his face, like she's tracing the bruises and scraps that have materialized against his skin. He feels his breathing hitch again, this time from a different kind of adrenaline. He risks it – he knows it's stupid, but he risks reaching out to touch her. His touch is gentle as his fingertips grab her jaw, gently turn her head to the right so he can examine the slash on her skin. It's not deep enough to need stitches, but it needs to be cleaned and bandaged to avoid infection.
"We need to get out of here," she says. But she doesn't pull away from him, and the slight waver in her voice encourages him.
"I have a first aid kit. Let me clean this up."
"I'm not in the mood to play doctor," she snaps. He smirks, reassured that Emma's returned in full force.
"Glad to see the events of the night haven't affected you."
She sighs and pulls her jaw out of his grip with the same sort of careful movements he had used.
"You need to get that cleaned, and it needs to be done soon or it'll get infected and you'll have a whole new situation to explain to David. I live quite literally around the corner. Let me clean it up."
"So will you," she retorts. His only reply is a stiff nod, because yes, he does have some explaining to do. But how is he going to do it without getting his ass kicked out of the department?
Killian gets up and offers his hand out to Emma. She grabs it. Her steps are wobbly and she hisses in a pained breath through her teeth as the weight on her ankle proves to be a bit more than it can handle at the moment.
"Bastard," she curses under her breath.
"May I?" Killian asks, holding his arm out for her to lean on. She glances at it and to his surprise, takes him up on his offer.
Arm in arm, the two of them walk the two blocks to Killian's apartment. Emma is silent, and Killian doesn't push her. He holds the door open for her, helps her up the three flights of stairs, walks her to his couch, pours her a glass of water, offers her something stronger.
She smirks at him. "Again with the underage drinking. I'm surprised at you, Officer."
He reaches into his liquor cabinet because he damn well needs a drink.
"If you won't drink it, I will. But a gentleman always offers." He grabs two tumblers and pours two drinks. He hands Emma hers and she takes it, no hesitation. They don't make a toast, no grand gestures of friendship or kinship, of survival or fate. They have nothing to celebrate, nothing to commemorate. They're virtual strangers.
But when Emma's eyes don't leave his, even as the two of them tip their drinks back, Killian has to look away. Because the fact that he's working on Emma's case doesn't matter anymore.
He doesn't want Emma Swan to be a stranger.
