Summary: He was at the end of his rope, quite literally so, when they found him. A 72 hour suicide-watch and a strong advice of counseling were given. It's how they met actually.
"So you're the one who'll save me?" She grimaced, "I'm no savior Mr. Jones. I'm just not afraid of the dark."

A.N.: Sorry it took me so long. I've officially moved out and that has taken all of my time really. I'm not at all happy with this but it has been driving me mad. Feedback would be appreciated. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Well obviously it's not mine.

Chapter 10

Dress fitting… if there was one reason why Emma would never want to be a bridesmaid again it would be the fitting. While she wasn't loath to indulge her feminine side – her closet was filled with dresses and the occasional pencil skirt (restrictive but very pretty) – throwing on dress after dress after dress in shades of blue, lilac, yellow, red and green. It had taken the better part of 2 hours when Mary-Margaret finally decided on the cut alone, the color was still an ongoing discussion. While Ruby was partial to red (go figure), Mary-Margaret wasn't opposed to the lovely shade of green on Emma.

It was at that moment Emma was happy that Ruby and Mary-Margaret had already taken care of the wedding dress. Of course Ruby was in too good a mood – fashion always made her day – and Emma needed at least two more caramel macchiato's (turned Irish) to tolerate the teasing.

She'd been up most of the night, past demons hiding behind closed eyelids and dreading tonight.

"So any idea where he's taking you for the date?" Ruby teased.

And here we go.

"It's not a date Ruby. I don't do dates." Emma hissed when the seamstress was making adjustments to the dress, pricking her with a small pin. Ruby looked even more amused.

"Then what would you call tonight?" Mary-Margaret meddled, taking a few seconds to put her two cents in, in-between scrutinizing the seamstress.

"A damn insistent attempt at one… Auw!" Emma grumbled a string of curses as the seamstress smiled apologetically and continued using her as a pinprick cushion.

"You've been meeting this guy for what… the third time now? That's called dating Emma. Pick up youth vocabulary alright. Three separate dinner outings at a restaurant with a guy who's obviously head over heels for you, is called dating."

"Wrong." Emma said, keeping an eye on the seamstress via the mirror. "We never get to finish a complete dinner. So not 3 dates, just one, excruciatingly long dinner."

Ruby rolled her eyes but the glint of amusement was yet to disappear from her face, clearly enjoying the mess that was Emma's social life.

"Then why do you keep agreeing?"

Emma glared at Mary-Margaret, wishing she would just keep to the dresses instead of making things worse. And with making it worse, she meant giving Ruby more ammo to tease her with in the future. It was bad enough Ruby wasn't going to stop telling everyone about the tequila affair, she really did not need to hear a repeat of the whole Walsh thing.

"Because I foolishly promised him a 3 course meal and I make good on my word" she said in aggravation, "And for the love of god if you keep on pricking me I swear you'll look like a cactus when I'm done."

"Alright that's enough fitting for you today." Mary-Margaret pacified as the seamstress made ready to 'tut' her way in response as she rose from her kneeling position.
"Thank you Fauna. We should start on Ruby's dress now."

As Fauna disappeared to the backroom Emma stripped off her dress and sagged down on the couch next to Mary-Margaret. She took a deep breath to help reign in her annoyance in anticipation of Mary-Margaret's inquiry of Walsh, because she really didn't want to throttle the bride-to-be.

"So, red or green?"

Emma had never been more grateful.

*K&E*

Killian sighed as he entered his apartment, today had been a shitty day, that much was for certain. He leaned back against the closed door, pressing the palm of his hand to his eyes, willing it all away. Black spots invading his vision the moment he opened his eyes from the pressure he'd enforced. And then he stilled; his breath catching and his voice lost somewhere on its way to his mouth at the sight before him.

"I found a whole stack of these… are you ever even sober?"

He swallowed, eyes zeroing in on the… mirage that stood in front of him. He traced her form, dressed in that burgundy low-cut dress he'd bought for her because she'd looked absolutely ravishing in it. Her dark locks cascading down her back and her evergreen eyes…

He blinked once, twice, but she remained standing there, every shadow cast by the light leaving her face in perfect nuances.

"Milah…" he breathed closing his eyes once more. Counting to ten. She couldn't be here. But she was. He was going mad. His counting was interrupted halfway through when the smell of sandalwood and roses filled his nostrils.

"You're here." He sighed, his posture relaxing and forgetting all reason. It was impossible for her to be here, but he felt her hot breath on his face and the strands of hair brush against the hand which automatically reached for her. She was here. She stayed mute but inhaled him as much as he inhaled her when he pulled her close. Feeling her and Gods, he'd forgotten the feel of her. Breathing her in, memorizing her every being.

"Are you real?"

"No." she said in a tone that left no room for dispute. But he refused to believe her, bringing her closer to him to prove his point.

"Remember when you bought me this dress? You couldn't wait to pull it off me." She murmured with a sad smile adorning her lips, taking his hand and guiding it over the low cut back to her abdomen.

"Oh Milah." He sobbed, his mind traveling back to the exact day, the exact moment and the actions that followed the purchase.

"You have to let me go Killian."

"No." It was his turn to leave no room for argument, not while he had her wrapped in his arms. He'd been living without her for so long, how could he leave her now?
"Let me hold you like this. Just a little while more."

She pressed her hands on his, on her abdomen, and he could feel the liquid staining his hand. Tears were slowly escaping his eyes as he remembered the blood seeping from her wound all those years ago, as he remembered the light fading from her eyes.

"He's not worth your life Killian. Stop chasing him. Stop chasing me. You have to let me go."

He shook his head, holding her so tight he was sure he was cutting of her air supply but she did not complain, she merely sighed into his shoulder as she let go of his hand and brought it up to wipe away his tears, staining his cheeks red.
She moved her hand to cradle his neck, bringing her mouth to his ear. Whispering her final words.

"Wake up."

And when she turned into liquid in his hands, leaving a large blood stain on the carpet he snapped his eyes shut and startled awake, falling off the couch while still in the haze of his dream. His nightmare.

He was struggling for breath, the drunken stupor he'd brought himself in after Smee's phonecall taking its toll. His eyes snapped to the spot where he'd seen Milah in his dream, vividly remembering the bloodstain forming on the carpet.

"Argh" he groaned, gripping his stump. Just what he needed. He couldn't think straight, he needed a drink. Hell he needed an entire bottle.

Sooner or later, they'll learn how to swim.

Her words floated to the front of his brain and he cursed once more as he reached for another bottle and, eventually, his phone.

*K&E*

She didn't dislike him per se; Emma thought as she took another bite of her clams spaghetti and glanced at him. He had this boyish sweetness about him and a cute smile. But that was Walsh. The kind man who offered her a napkin when some idiot jerk ran into her and made her spill her coffee all over her egg white shirt half an hour before the seminar with no possible way to go change.

They shared another cup after the seminar after which he'd asked her to accompany him for dinner. She'd declined but did promise they'd meet up whenever he was in town. He was rather keen to take her up on that offer and she wasn't one to break her promise.

"How is the pasta?" Walsh asked, the small smile that revealed his dimples directed at her and Emma couldn't help but return it.

"Delicious. A bit much though." She sighed, disappointed that she would have to throw away a small portion of her rather large one.

"I can see it pains you… and we haven't even made it to dessert. I heard the chocolate cake is very good here."

Emma groaned at the thought that she'd have to skip out on dessert now that they'd finally had a chance to actually have it.

Walsh winked at her and returned to his meal. Putting down her fork and knife, deciding that she would send the plate back only half-emptied in order to manage the chocolate (always leave room for chocolate), she took him in.

Walsh was easy on the eyes and he flirted every now and then. If she had less than honorable intentions – or more than half a bottle of jack – she'd even return those flirtations and take him to bed. But she couldn't do that to him , she preferred her one night stands with no strings attached and considering that he'd become some sort of friend to her, she'd refused to let it lead to that.

The waiter came to collect their plates, and he ordered two pieces of chocolate cake. The waiter commended this "excellent" choice. She nearly rolled her eyes; this place was everything a cliché romantic movie would need.

Walsh opened his mouth to say something when her phone rang, his face instantly slipping into a mix of disbelief and disappointment.

"Sorry. I have to take this." She said, even though caller ID was blocked.

"Emma Swan?"

"They've learned how to swim." The Irish accent tinting those words made her heart clench.
"Where are you now?" she asked, not missing a beat. The fact that he'd approached her of his own volition was telling enough.

"So eager to come and save me Miss Swan?" he chuckled. It sounded all wrong.

"I'm no savior Jones. I'm just not afraid of the dark."

He kept silent and she feared he'd simply left the line open but moved away.

"I'm at your office."

"I'll be right there." She hung up before he could even respond. Looking up the annoyance was clearly written on Walsh's face.

"Let me guess, you have to go."

She smiled apologetically as she stood up, putting on her coat and collecting her things.

"Sorry."

"Do you really have to go? We're nearly at dessert."

"He's a suicide risk Walsh." He sighed, being a fellow therapist (specializing in self-help groups) he understood. But that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

"One day, we'll manage dessert." He grinned and she was thankful that he didn't make a scene. She wasn't sure if she was happy about having to sit through another dinner though. Emma moved to kiss him on the cheek and thanked him for the evening before quickly passing by the register. The least she could do was pay for dinner.

She rushed her bug to her office, certain she would get hauled to get a speeding ticket, but she couldn't give a damn. Today a man had called her, who was too stubborn to speak about anything relating his suicide attempt. Only moving around the topics in large circles, barely touching the surface. So the fact that he contacted her, was at her office, was cause for concern.

She found him inside her office, sitting on the couch. She saw no sign of a break-in which left her wondering if she'd forgotten to lock up earlier, but she wasn't careless like that.

"Why Swan…" he said pressing his tongue to his bottom lip so it peaked out through his teeth just enough to be seen– he'd mostly do it when he was flirting, or knew he was goading her into something – it was distracting and obscene and she was pretty sure it should be illegal. "You didn't have to dress up just for me."

She noticed his eyes roving her high heels, bared legs and the black leather number she was wearing.

"I was on a date, actually. How did you even get in?"

He grinned, his cheeks tinted red from the alcohol he had inhaled. He reeked of it and it seemed his eyes were glued to her. She closed to door behind her and approached her usual seat all the while feeling his eyes on her. She was sure it had turned her as red as the alcohol had colored him.

"Old habits die hard." He replied after a while, referring to his previous occupation. She had little knowledge about his past, but his acquaintance with Flynn was enough confirmation about those occupations.

"So… Your date wasn't too angry about ditching him?" he enquired and she shrugged.

"Probably was, but it's wasn't that kind of date… I don't date, like that." It's easier.

It was implied, never said, but he seemed to be able to read her even in his inebriated state of mind.

"Love has been all too rare in your life hasn't it?" he asked, and it scared her. He shouldn't be able to see so easily past her walls. He couldn't. He was drunk for fuck's sake.
"Have you ever even been in love?"

She couldn't figure out why he asked. Was he in need to find someone who understood him, like she had claimed she did? Had he thought they had built an understanding in these hours they'd spend together even without exchanging word?

"No." she glanced away from his deep blue eyes that wanted to see the truth, see her all. "Maybe… Once."

"Henry's dad." He said in discovery and her green eyes held him against an imaginary wall. How could he even?

"Why did you hang yourself?" she shot back after the shock of his revelation wore off. It was his turn to tense up and a small part of her took some sort of pleasure in it; that he wasn't the only one who could get under skin.

He stayed silent, his jaw clenching. He didn't want to talk about it. If she wasn't certain they were at a crucial point in his 'recovery' she'd kept true to her rule of consensual sharing. She raked her hand through her lose curls, an act he followed with his eyes.

"You don't strike me as a coward Jones. You hung yourself… because you feel guilty. Guilty about her death."

She had never spoken about her knowledge of his case all in the sake of the consensual sharing but surely he had to know she had his file.

"You couldn't have prevented it. It wasn't your fault."

"Of course it is!" he yelled and took to pacing the room. She watched him, hoping to have him talk about it. She hadn't expected the outburst; she had merely been planning to cut him, like he cut her by bringing up Neal. Not very professional she knew. Killian Jones had a knack to make her cross those professional boundaries she'd kept in place for obvious reasons.

"I stole her. I flaunted her… us... in his face and he killed her for it. She' six feet under because I couldn't protect her from him. I still can't." he mumbled and stopped his pacing, struggling to keep on breathing.

"You want to know why I hanged myself? Because even now she's death I couldn't protect her. He's still out there, drinking wine with his high placed friends, living his life and going unpunished for his crimes. And I can't even bring him to justice." She watched him fall apart in front of her as he sat back down on the couch, hiding his head in his hands. His normally composed self that deflected everything by flirting was starting to crumble and she realized she was getting more than she bargained for.

"He cut of my hand because I stole her. Thieves used to be punished like that for taking treasures. Well a thief can steal a life, worthless as it is…"

"You did not fail her." Her voice was hoarse as it reached his ears. He looked up, and started when he saw she'd risen from her seat, crouching in front of him. She placed one hand on his knee, the other on his cheek. The action reminding him of his dream, how Milah had wiped away his tears and left her blood on his face and it made him pull away but Emma held on.

"No listen. Whatever you believe. It wasn't your fault. Not her death, not his immunity. You are a better man than her husband ever was. She chose you because you are, and remaining that man is not failing her. Do you hear me."

With green eyes boring into blue, and her hand soft and warm on his cheek he leaned into her and despite his sobered up state he couldn't stop himself from breaking down in her arms.

It took some time before he calmed down, but wrapped in her embrace, she hoped his demons would drown again for a while.