"We should get up," she mumbles into his skin, tightening her grip on him and pressing closer. "I've got night shift tonight, but if I don't go to the grocery store or do some laundry, it's going to be a sad state of affairs around here."

He chuckles, his hand sliding down to her hip to hold her against him. "What sort of crimes go on in the evening hours worth taking you from your bed? This doesn't seem the sort of town to facilitate criminal activity."

She picks her head up at that, struggling not to smile at the truth of the matter. He's right – she'll mostly be reading a book and drinking coffee to stay awake, waiting for the off chance a call comes in. She's tried to convince David this isn't even necessary – they can be on call from home just as easily in such a small town, but he's stickler for his rules.

Out of the corner of her eye, she realizes Killian's prosthetic hand is still on the nightstand. She's never seen him without it in the light of day, but she's smart enough to realize that's a big step for him – she's not sure he's going to want to take it today. The fact that his left arm is still beneath the blankets makes her certain of it.

She bends, pressing her lips to his in a lingering kiss. It's not meant to be anything more than that, but his arm wraps around her waist, and then they're pressed tightly together. It's too easy to slide her leg over his hips, stretch her body over his and deepen their kiss with roaming hands.

He rolls them easily, pinning Emma beneath him. "You're beautiful," he murmurs, holding her gaze just seconds longer than she's really comfortable with, but then he's kissing her again, carefully balanced on his arm while his hand drags down her body. She can see the fine scars that stretch up to his shoulder, the delicate lines that she knows from touch will turn uglier as they make their way down his arm, but that she's never actually seen.

All thought of Killian's injuries flies out of her mind as he palms her breast, gently kneading the soft flesh as she arches up against him. White-hot desire floods her veins, her fingers tightening in his hair and a throaty gasp leaving her lips.

She remembers his explanation, his reasons for not staying – the intense look in his eyes as he described his physical attraction to her, how waking in bed beside her would undo him completely, how he wants to do things properly with her. Emma was of half a mind he was just saying it all to placate her, to explain away a possible lack of desire.

She's discovering how very wrong she was. Killian's desire is obvious, pressed to her thigh just inches from where she wants him. Her fingers itch to touch him, to feel the velvety smooth skin and hear his breath catch. She slides her hand down his back, pushing at the waistband of his pants. She halfway expects him to resist, but he's much too preoccupied with kissing her to argue.

Her phone picks that moment to start ringing, and the noise is enough to startle them apart. Emma glares at it, but pulls him back to her, muttering a breathless, "Ignore it."

He seems happy to oblige, bending his head to kiss her throat, his tongue tracing the line of her jaw as his hand pushes the strap of her shirt off her shoulder, his lips soon following. Emma sighs with the pleasure of it, resuming her task of undressing him.

The banging on the door makes her jump, and Killian breaks away from her, one eyebrow raised. "Expecting someone, love?" His voice is breathless, and a thrill runs down her spine, a deep satisfaction coming over her knowing she's the reason for it.

"No one but you," she replies, peering over his shoulder toward the front door, like she can somehow see through walls and doors. "They'll go away. Kiss me."

"Mmm…" He slides further down the bed, pressing a wet kiss to her exposed stomach, his beard tickling the sensitive skin. He's kissing his way up, pushing the shirt out of the way as he goes, but then Emma's damned phone is ringing again.

She curses a blue streak as he pulls away from her, stretching to grab her phone and snap a greeting at whoever is calling.

"Good morning to you, too, Blondie. Too much to drink last night?" Ruby's somewhere between annoyed and amused. Emma never ignores her phone.

"Just…busy." Emma has to bite her lip to stifle a gasp. Killian has resumed his task, kissing and touching and Emma really doesn't want to be on the phone.

"So you did forget."

"Forget what?"

"Breakfast plans, remember? You, night shift. Us, breakfast at Granny's. You were going to explain to me what the hell you've been up to with Killian."

"You're at my door, aren't you?" That stops him, and Emma could cry with frustration. She mouths an apology to him, flopping back into the pillows. "Surprised you didn't just bust in here."

"I told you, I lost my key. You gonna come let me in or what?"

Emma is tempted to reply or what and put her phone on silent. But the moment is broken, Killian sliding off her body and adjusting his pants back to their proper position. "Yeah, just give me a minute to put on pants."

She hangs up before Ruby can hear Killian's low chuckle. "Unfortunately, we never got you out of those pants, Swan."

"Tell me about it." She should get moving, but she can't resist another kiss, her fingers splayed across his jaw. A growl of frustration is threatening to break free, but he's smiling when she pulls away.

"I'm not going anywhere," he replies, voice full of promise. He nods toward the door, gesturing with the slightest hint of disappointment. "You better go let her in."

"Do you want me to…" Emma hesitates, uncertain of what she evens wants. "Do you want Ruby to know you're here?"

"Do you?" His expression is unreadable, his voice even. Ruby's been fed the same story as David – they've become friends. Emma hasn't told her the rest of it, that he's been spending the night, that she feels things for him.

"It's all right, love." He presses a kiss to her cheek at her hesitance, offering her a smile that she's pretty sure is forced. She can't quite but her finger on it, but it's like a cloud passing on a sunny day – the beach hasn't changed a bit, but it looks (feels) a heck of a lot different. "I'll let myself out in a bit, once you've gone."

"I just…" She sighs, knowing she's got maybe another thirty seconds before Ruby starts banging on the door again. "I don't know what this…I'd like to keep it to ourselves for a bit, while we figure it out."

He nods his agreement, but his expression is still carefully blank. Emma hesitates, feeling like she's walking on a wire and getting out of bed is going to be the gust of wind that shoves her into a ravine, but there's just no time.

She rushes to the door, flinging it open full of apologies. Ruby eyes her suspiciously, especially when Emma doesn't give her the opportunity to even walk into the apartment, hustling her down the hallway while she's still shrugging on her coat.

"You're being awfully weird this morning."

"Huh?"

"Emma." Ruby grabs her arm, pulling her to a stop before they go outside. Her eyes roam over her friend, taking in Emma's appearance.

It takes seconds for her to put it together.

"He's in your apartment!" Ruby announces triumphantly, a grin bursting onto her features. "That's what's wrong with you!"

"He's not…"

"Oh, don't bother trying to lie to me, Em. Your hair is a mess. Your mouth is all red, like someone with a beard has been kissing you." Ruby laughs, giving Emma a sideways glance. "Someone's been kissing you a lot."

Emma shrugs helplessly, a sheepish expression on her face. "I was going to tell you. I just…needed some time with it. With him."

"Yeah, I bet you do." Ruby shakes her head, gesturing to the floor above them. "You should have just told me. We can get breakfast another day. You don't just leave a man looking like that in your bed. Have I taught you nothing?"

"It's not…well, it was about to be, but…"

"You haven't…"

"Nope."

"But you were just about to?"

"Seemed that way."

"Emma!"

"What? You were the one who wouldn't stop calling and banging on my door!"

Emma's suddenly feeling very defensive. This is why she didn't tell Ruby or David or anyone anything about her and Killian. Her friends find out she's seeing someone, and suddenly, they want to help by dispensing out advice Emma doesn't want to hear.

Ruby only rolls her eyes and gestures toward the stairs they've just descended. "We'll do breakfast another time. Can't just leave the man hanging."

"You sure?" Emma already has one foot sliding toward the stairs, and she's feeling a little foolish for how badly she wants to get back to him, but really, breakfast with Ruby is the last place she wants to be today.

"Uh huh." Ruby waves her off, and Emma doesn't spare her another thought as she hurries up the stairs and down the hall. If things go her way, Killian will still be in bed. She'll just slip back between the warm sheets and they can finish what they started.

Things do not go her way.

Killian turns at her entrance, but he's already got one arm in his jacket. He doesn't say anything at her sudden reappearance, yanking the remaining sleeve into place.

"Ruby and I are going to go another day," she tells him, lingering by the door at his cool reception.

"Hope it wasn't on my account," he says mildly, finally meeting her gaze. His expression is the same carefully blank one he adopted earlier, and she doesn't like it, not one bit.

"It was." It feels odd to say it, to spell it out that she's chosen him this morning. She wants to be here with him, to recapture the perfection of the slide of his skin against hers.

"More's the pity, then." He crosses the room, stopping before her and leaning down to kiss her cheek. It's perfunctory, at best. "I've got to be on my way."

"But…"

"We'll chat later, yeah?" It's an absent addition to his goodbye, his hand on the door. His eyes are focused somewhere over her shoulder, and he doesn't wait for her reply before he's gone, leaving a stunned Emma behind.

"What the hell just happened?" she asks the empty living room, watching the door like she expects him to come barreling back through it. But the door remains closed, and as she shakes herself out of it and sets about her day, her phone remains quiet.

By the time she heads to work, she's wavering between pissed and heartbroken. She isn't positive what the issue is, but if she was a betting woman, it's got something to do with not just telling Ruby she was with him in the first place.

Which is bullshit. They're not a thing. He's not her boyfriend. They haven't even had sex yet, since this morning's close call doesn't count. She doesn't owe him explanations, and she gets to choose when to tell her friends the details of her personal life. Sure, she likes him, and she really likes having him in her bed, but that doesn't suddenly give him an opinion – not that he actually bothered to express one.

If she wasn't so crushed by his silence, she would almost believe it.

Because the reality is, no matter how desperately Emma tries to cling to the protection of being angry, the truth is, this hurts. He keeps telling her he isn't going anywhere, but when push comes to shove, when she toes over the line she isn't even aware exists, he bolts.

"Yeah, you would have handled it so much better if he wanted to keep you a secret," she scolds herself, leaning back in her desk chair and glaring at the silent scanner. She's only been here an hour, and she's already close to losing it, left with her thoughts and stupid, dark, silent phone.

Cramming her palms against her closed eyes, Emma takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, fighting for calm. She's been to therapists – David's mother made her – but nothing has ever really helped her not have an overblown reaction to people walking out on her. Killian doesn't know it, but leaving this morning, it's the worst thing he could have done. Emma could have handled his anger, his hurt, yelling, anything would be better than the cold indifference he showed her.

But he has no way of knowing that. Just as she has no way of knowing that making him her dirty secret was exactly the wrong thing to do, until it's all coming down around her.

Emma picks up her phone, scrolling to his name in her messages. She starts to type, then stops, erasing the words that don't seem right. It's a series of starts and stops, and an hour later, she still hasn't managed to send a single word.

"Fuck it," she mumbles, shoving her phone in her pocket and reaching for her jacket. David knows where to find her if something actually happens, and she'll catch hell for not being where she's supposed to, but she can't just sit here.

This is her self-fulfilling prophecy, their pasts and their secrets already pushing and pulling at the tenuous hold they have on each other. It's not the first time Emma has found herself with barely a foot in the door before everything blows up in her face, but she just can't accept it this time.

She has no idea what she's going to say when she gets there, but all Emma knows is that she needs to see him, needs to find a way to make him understand that she's an idiot sometimes, but it doesn't mean she doesn't want this, doesn't want him. She's going to have to step outside her comfort zone of lips and hands and skin – she's going to have to rely on words.

She only hopes she remembers how.

Taking advantage of the snow and being trapped in my house by writing? Yes, please.