"Emma!"
She whirled around at the sound of her name, staring into the gloom. The endless murk revealed nothing, but the voice tore through her, haunted and broken. "Hello?" Squinting into the shadows, she stumbled after the echoing plea, hands out on either side for balance. It was warm, almost uncomfortably so, the blackness pressing in around her. Her chest tightened, panic skirting the edge of her thoughts as she fought to breathe normally.
"Emma!"
It was a choked cry, what might have been a man's voice before grief and despair shredded it. She started to run, her heart pounding. Whoever he was, if she could just find him in this wasteland of smoke and shadow, maybe she could help. But every time he called her name, no matter how fast she ran, she couldn't find him. The blackness surrounded her, the air thick and choking as the temperature rose. But she kept running, determined to find him as her name rang through the endless black once more.
Emma jerked awake, the echoes lingering as she struggled to get her bearings. It was dark, far darker than her bedroom. She started to panic as she fought to move, a heavy weight around her waist pinning her in place.
Killian whimpered behind her, her name spilling from his lips in a tortured plea. She froze, rational thought finally catching up. She was in Killian's bed, and the weight around her waist was his arm, the heat only that of his chest pressed to her back. There was a vague memory of curling up against him on his couch, promising herself she would go home in a few minutes – and then nothing.
How the hell had she ended up in his bed, his body and scent curled around her?
Killian's arm tightened, his words indecipherable but still filled with the pain of the voice in her dream. She tried to pry herself loose, but he was too strong and held her too securely, her efforts to get free only making it worse. Swallowing down her rising panic, she forced herself to breathe evenly. The man was asleep – it wasn't his intention to trap her in his bed. And if she really needed to get free, she could. She was a goddamn FBI agent.
But she didn't want to hurt him.
"Hey, wake up," she tried, gripping his arm and jostling him. "Killian, c'mon, you're having a nightmare. Wake up!" He stilled at the sound of her voice, sighing with his lips close to her ear. His breath washed over her, a damp, warm puff of air that sent a shiver down her spine.
She didn't want to shiver in his arms, didn't want her thoughts to instantly fly back to the night before at her apartment, when he'd made goosebumps appear along every inch of her naked skin with a flick of his tongue.
Twisting under his arm, Emma managed to position herself to get one hand on his shoulder, giving him a good shake. She tried to ignore how close together they were – that if they weren't wearing clothes, all she would have to do to have him inside her would be a tilt of her hips and a slight shift of one leg.
That is not why you came here, and that is not happening again. Stop thinking about it.
"Killian!" She was practically shouting, her voice hoarse from sleep as she tried once more to rouse him. That finally did the trick, his body tensing against hers and his eyes slowly opening. They were glassy and, when they finally focused on her, filled with grief so profound her throat tightened.
He let out a shaky breath, his hand on her back pressing her closer, and if he had kissed her then, she wouldn't have pushed him away. Not with the way he was looking at her, like she was his every hope and dream realized.
But he didn't kiss her. He jerked away suddenly, rolling onto his back and rubbing at his eyes. "Apologies, love," he muttered, voice gruff. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, the sheet at his hips. Whatever he said next was too low for her to hear even as close as she was, but it sounded like he was counting, very slowly.
Emma lay on her side, frozen. She wanted to leave – she desperately wanted to leave – but it was as though she was back in the stairwell with him all over again. Except he had been calling out her name in his sleep, and everything about him – the glassy eyes, the raspy voice, the way he'd clung to her before regaining his senses – said that it was more than a simple nightmare.
But that didn't mean she knew what to say to him. Emma barely knew how to deal with her own nightmares, never mind Killian's. Silence grew between them, and if it weren't for the tightness of his jaw or the rigid set of his shoulders, Emma might have believed he was asleep with how still he'd gone, even his soft mutterings gone silent. "Are you all right?" she finally asked, some part of her wanting to reach for him even though every muscle in her body was tensed to flee.
"All's well, Swan."
His voice was still broken and he wouldn't look at her.
So he didn't want to talk about it. That was fine. Emma didn't really know that she wanted to talk about it either, but it didn't seem right to leave with him so upset. So she instead asked the question that had been nagging at her since she opened her eyes. "How…how did I get here? I mean. Here, in your bed. I remember tea and…" Emma glanced down at the sheet, twisting it in her fingers. For a man who didn't sleep in his bed much, he had a surprisingly comfortable mattress and sheets softer than her own.
"You don't remember?" The ghost of a smile stole across his lips, and when she dared to look up, he was watching her, intense in the darkness. "You fell asleep when we were…on my couch. I didn't wish to wake you, so I carried you in here. I swear I didn't intend to fall asleep. You requested I stay and…" He shrugged, turning his attention back to the ceiling. The vague, embarrassing memory of her fingers twined in his, her soft plea for him to stay came back to her with a hot stain to her cheeks in the dark.
"You don't usually sleep in your bed," she said after a moment, remembering the blanket on the couch. It was the same one she lay under now, the scent of Killian surrounding her.
"Perceptive, aren't you, Swan?" He sighed, folding one arm to rest his head on his palm. "You can go, if you like. I suspect you want to." Defeat weighed the words down.
Emma opened her mouth to reply, but she didn't know what to say. She did want to go, her skin tingling with the emotion he radiated and the intimacy of sharing his bed. She was still fully dressed, her boots likely put neatly out of the way as was his tendency, but she felt more exposed to him in his bed, a foot of empty mattress between them, than she had when she had been naked in his arms.
But she couldn't leave him alone with his demons. Not after how terrible she'd been to him last night. She owed him that much.
Tentatively, she reached across the bed, finding his hand on the sheet and gripping his fingers in hers, choking down the urge to snatch her hand back and get the hell out of his apartment. His surprise was painfully obvious, but he didn't pull away even as silence once again blanketed them. Emma closed her eyes, unable to look at him with his emotions laid bare and her hand in his. She didn't want to think about what it meant that she hadn't bolted yet, that somehow, even as the only sound between them was their breathing, she found a way to stay where she was.
That some teeny, tiny part of her she wished she could lock away wanted to stay.
"You asked me once about Milah," he said after a long silence, his fingers lacing with hers and squeezing as she blinked her eyes back open, not entirely sure she was ready to hear whatever came next. She had asked about the woman in anger – it was one thing to hear it from his lips when he'd been caught in a lie, but entirely another in his bed deep in the night. She had just worked up the nerve to tell him he didn't owe her an explanation when he continued, "I was quite young when I met her. Too young, foolish and arrogant – I thought I was invincible in those days, you see. Had yet to truly feel the consequences of war, what it was like to listen to the screams of the dying and to wish myself among them." He paused, the words bitter and choked.
"You don't have to tell me." She managed to get it out this time, watching his throat bob with the force of his swallow as he gathered his thoughts, the memories obviously painful.
He rolled onto his side, but didn't let go of her hand as he moved closer. He looked younger somehow, hair in his eyes and cheek pressed to his pillow. "Aye, Swan, I do. Perhaps I should have told you the day you first asked, but I admit my temper got the best of me." He glanced down at their hands, stroking his thumb along her wrist. "Milah died…she died because my judgment was compromised by my feelings for her. Not a day goes by that I don't remember that."
"The file said she died in a roadside bomb." Emma didn't mean to let it slip out, didn't want to keep talking about this woman he had once loved so deeply his pain lingered years later. Her hand rose on its own to cup his cheek, and she was surprised to find the skin damp beneath her thumb. "It wasn't your fault that…"
"She shouldn't have been there," he said harshly, starting to roll away again, but Emma held fast. She shifted closer, and he sighed as though in surrender, burying his face in her hair. She was fiercely uncomfortable with his vulnerability – and inexplicably, wanted to wrap him in her arms, hold him safe until he could put himself back together. "I dream about it – I watch her die over and over. For some bloody reason, more so when I sleep in my bed. Except tonight…" His voice was muffled against her hair, but it didn't hide the unbridled torture of seeing his worst memory and fears come to life.
The answer slammed into her with all the force of a shotgun blast. "It was me in the dream," she whispered, her eyes snapping shut tightly at the horrible realization. All that pain in his voice, all that longing, it had been for her – that terrible, broken cry in her dream had been an echo of his.
He nodded against her neck, his other arm coming around to hold her against him, palm between her shoulder blades. She swallowed against the odd mixture of panic and comfort that seemed to permeate her time with Killian, their entwined hands trapped against his chest as she slid her free hand into his hair.
"I couldn't save you." It was a confession, filled with a shame she knew wasn't about her, couldn't be about her. He had saved her, whether she wanted him to or not.
She took one deep breath, then another. "I'm right here, Killian." She dragged her nails lightly across his scalp, his hair silky beneath her touch. Some of the tension left his shoulders, so she kept doing it, firmly ignoring that she couldn't remember ever comforting a man like this before, not even Neal. "I'm safe."
"Promise me you won't take foolish risks. I can't…"
"I can't make that promise," she said stiffly, the intensity of his request stirring the urge to run even as she continued to soothe him. "Not in our line of work. You and I both know there are risks."
"I said foolish risks, love." A measure of his usual humor filled the words, but he was holding her far too tightly for it to be merely a joke. He leaned back, stilling Emma's fingers in his hair as he studied her in the darkness, pale blue glinting. "I recognize you are good at your job. You are brilliant, and strong, and you care about helping people. But I…" He paused, his hand trailing from her back over her shoulder until his thumb brushed just under the bruises on her cheek. "I care about…I can't lose you, Emma."
"You won't," she replied, ignoring the niggling feeling she was making a much larger promise – one she wasn't capable of keeping. He needed to hear she wasn't going to wind up dead, so she would give him that – and leave out how incapable she was of being anything more to him.
She firmly ignored the raw, urgent tone of voice that made care sound a hell of a lot like something else.
He nodded, brushing his thumb along her jaw one last time before leaning in. Emma held her breath, suddenly unsure whether she wanted him to kiss her or not, but he only brushed his lips against her forehead before rolling onto his back. Wound together as they were, he took her with him, cradling her against his chest with far more tenderness than she deserved.
She should have gone, then, but as his breathing leveled back out and the frown lines smoothed, she couldn't. She told herself it had everything to do with Killian needing to sleep – she was doing him a favor in staying, in offering what comfort she could in penance for her cruel words. It had nothing to do with the softness of his skin under her palm, the warmth of his embrace, or the strange certainty that she was safe with the steady thud of his heartbeat in her ear.
But when she woke with the dawn, Killian's arms still around her, it was a lot harder to lie to herself. So she did what she was good at – she ran.
-x-
Killian expected her to be gone in the morning, but he was still gutted when he opened bleary eyes to an empty bedroom, the scent of Emma on his skin and sheets. Telling himself to be happy she had stayed as long as she had – that she had even come over – he got out of bed and set about starting his day.
He firmly ignored the tug in his chest as he passed their empty mugs, the all-too-easily conjured memory of Emma snuggling sleepily into his side assaulting him. Why did the woman have to be piss drunk or half asleep to be open and honest with him? It was frustrating, to say the least, but Killian was a patient man.
With Emma all but suspended, he'd wondered if he'd be sent back to BPD, but Regina barely acknowledged him, as was her usual manner when he arrived at the FBI's office. He poured himself a coffee and kept his head down, waiting for the cold shoulder from Ruby and Graham. He was certain they would blame him for Emma's absence.
He was shocked when they didn't. Other than a lingering look of curiosity from Ruby, they were their usual selves.
The day was wearisome all the same, the majority of his time spent watching surveillance video of the area where Emma had been the night he'd followed her. He'd hoped to find something – anything – but came up empty. The only sign of Gold's crew was the one bastard who had shown up the night Emma was there.
Killian sighed as he left the office, turning his collar up against the breeze coming off the bay. It was a cool night, a good night to crawl under the blankets and…
Don't go there, mate. She won't make a habit of it. No good will come of wanting what you can't have.
Still, he couldn't completely tamp down the sliver of hope when it came to Emma. He wasn't foolish enough to think sex was a promise of anything, especially not the sort of sex they'd had, but there was something about her in the darkness of his bedroom, something tender and warm in a way Emma rarely allowed. It wasn't the first time he'd dreamt about Emma in Milah's place, but he'd been smart enough to keep his mouth shut about that much at least.
He didn't want to think too hard on why his subconscious was shifting Emma into Milah's memory. The easy explanation was that Milah was the last woman he'd worked with closely before Emma; it was only logical his mind made the jump. It had nothing to do with his feelings for the blonde, nothing at all to do with his desire to have her in his bed again not only for the pleasure of her body, but for the comfort of her skin against his. It had been a long time since he had allowed a woman to see his demons, allowed himself to find shelter in feminine arms, but with Emma…with Emma he didn't even stop to think about it.
If only the lass would stick around long enough for him to convince her his feelings were genuine, that he wasn't a tosser with a misguided hero complex, nor was she a simple itch that needed scratching. He wasn't a saint. There had been plenty of women who had satisfied a curiosity or slaked his lust for an evening or two – he'd spent years taunting death, taking his pleasures where he found them.
But those women hadn't frustrated and intrigued him – and he hadn't shown them anything more than a good time and a seductive grin. They didn't know he slept on his couch and read books by candlelight, didn't know he'd been in the service, never mind a single thing about Milah. Hell, half the time, they didn't even know he was a cop.
Killian paused at the entrance to the T, glancing at the signs. One set of stairs would take him in the direction of Emma's. The other would take him home to an empty apartment.
You've not heard from her all day. Give her some space.
Hating the little voice in his head that he knew was right, Killian sighed and headed for home. He scowled at his bed as he changed out of the clothes he'd worn to work, a part of him wanting to simply curl up and go to sleep with whatever trace of Emma remained.
Bloody ridiculous.
Yet as the night deepened around him, Killian's determination to not think of her faded. He swirled his rum in its glass, watching the amber liquid run back down in thick droplets while his mind drifted. How had they even gotten here from where they started? And where would it end?
Where did he want it to end?
"It'd be nice if she'd stay the bloody night," he grumbled to himself, eyes sliding to the dark phone on his coffee table. The more he drank, the more he wanted to call her, text her, beg her to see him. But some vestige of sanity convinced him to remain where he was. Emma tried his patience, but she was worth it. He'd get the story out of her one day – the reason she seemed to be waiting at every turn for him to throw up his hands and walk away from her.
And he'd find out just what the hell had happened between her and Graham.
He didn't bother dragging the blankets out onto the couch, collapsing into his bed with the memory of Emma in his arms. It wasn't enough to keep the nightmares at bay, but when he woke with his throat raw and his pulse pounding, at least he could still find the trace of her scent on the pillows.
Ruby raised an eyebrow at him when he stumbled into the office, her gaze tracking him across the room. "You look like shit," she commented with her usual bluntness. "Up late with Emma?"
From the corner of his eye, he saw Graham lift his head suddenly at the question. Killian swallowed his irritation at the sensation he was being judged and found wanting by the other man, turning his attention back to Ruby. "I haven't seen Emma since day before yesterday," he replied evenly, forcing himself to hold the brunette's stare. It was unlikely Emma would have confessed her late night visit to her friend without prompting, and if Ruby thought he'd been with Emma last night, that meant she hadn't been. For all she knew, the last time Killian had seen Emma had been in the hallway outside the conference room.
"Oh." Ruby eyed him suspiciously, but shrugged her shoulders eventually. "Well, we're going out after work tonight, if you want to join us. I thought it'd be good for Emma to get out of her apartment."
"I'm not certain that's a good…"
"The plan is to meet at seven at The Midnight Ride," Ruby cut in, rolling her eyes. "Stupid name, but this whole town is obsessed with its history. Do you know it? It's around the corner from her place. Thought I'd make it easy on her. Or me, when I have to go drag her out."
Killian chuckled in spite of himself. "Aye, I've heard of it, but never been. Ye old pub sort of gimmick?"
"That's the one." Ruby smiled up at him, and he had the strange sensation he'd played into her hand somehow. "Seven o'clock, don't be late. Humbert and I are heading out to check on Ashley. Enjoy your surveillance videos." She clapped him on the shoulder as she passed, scooping a set of keys off the conference table.
Graham paused on his way after her, studying Killian with narrowed eyes. "Don't hurt her, Jones."
"I have no intention of doing any such thing." He respected Graham too much to play stupid, not when it came to Emma. He swallowed the rest of his comments – needling Graham over his own role in Emma's history wouldn't get him anywhere. Not to mention they still had to work together – squabbling over a woman neither of them could call his own wouldn't do. He didn't want to get into some sort of overly complicated pissing match with Humbert. Irrational jealousy aside, he liked the guy.
Graham nodded, following Ruby without another word. Killian groaned once he was alone in the conference room, dropping into a chair and flipping open the waiting laptop.
Oddly nervous about seeing Emma in a social group setting after the nights at her apartment and his, Killian settled in for another long day. He was tempted to text her, to make sure his presence wouldn't make her uncomfortable, but in the end, he let it be. Perhaps a part of it was the selfish desire to see her – he didn't want to give her the opportunity to avoid him completely.
Ruby and Graham had yet to return by the time he left the office, but it wasn't until Killian walked into the bar to find only Emma waiting that his suspicions rose. "Hello, love," he said in greeting, sliding onto the empty barstool next to her and glancing around. "Where's the rest of the lot?"
Emma ran her finger along the rim of her glass, the flush of her cheeks visible even in the dim light. "Ruby claims her and Graham are stuck in traffic on 495 and probably won't make it."
"What the bloody hell are they doing all the way out there?"
"I was hoping you might be able to tell me." Emma laughed, but there was no amusement in it. "You know what I think? I think Ruby never had any intention of showing up here tonight and somehow convinced Graham to go along with it. But you just answered my question as to whether or not you were in on it."
"In on it? I assure you–"
"Don't worry. I know this is all Ruby." Emma glared down into her drink, curls spilling over her shoulder as she leaned forward with her elbows on the bar. "She likes to meddle."
"Meddle? What…oh." Killian shifted uncomfortably on his barstool, not knowing what to say. He wasn't exactly unhappy to learn he had Emma all to himself for the evening – or that Ruby supported his evidently obvious intentions – but he didn't want Emma to stay from some misguided sense of obligation. "No, I was not aware of her nefarious plan, but rest assured, if you wish to leave, I won't be offended." He paused, unable to stop himself from adding, "Though a less secure man might begin to wonder if he's been found lacking when a beautiful woman continually leaves his presence." He did his best to keep the words light, but by her expression, he did a piss poor job of it.
Emma flushed, and he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He hadn't meant to push her, but some part of him despised the notion of watching her walk away again. "Do you want me to leave?" she eventually asked, an undercurrent in the words he couldn't quite pin down.
The question surprised him. "No," he answered without hesitation, fisting his fingers against the urge to reach for her. "No, I'd very much like you to stay."
"This isn't a date," she said after a slight hesitation.
"Never implied that it was," Killian replied with what he hoped was an easy grin. Frankly, he thought the lady protested too much, but since all he wanted was an evening in her company, sod what they called it, Killian didn't really feel the need to say so.
"I'm not going to…we're not…this isn't ending up with me in your bed. Clothed or unclothed." Her cheeks warmed ever so slightly, and he bit back the urge to tease her over her obvious fluster. Aye, the lady definitely protested too much, but it didn't entirely remove the sting of her clear desire to keep her distance.
"Understood," he agreed, but Killian couldn't help the smile that overtook his features. "Any other rules?" he asked with a small laugh, silently wondering exactly who she was trying to convince about how the night would end. If Emma wanted him, he wasn't going to turn her down – but he would also welcome a simple evening in her company. So much of their time spent together was stressful and intense – the frustration of the case, moments in the field that were downright dangerous, the emotional interludes they seemed to increasingly share in private. Perhaps it would be good to spend an evening together outside of all that, to not be their respective pasts or cops or FBI agents with the weight of stopping Gold on their shoulders.
"If I think of any, I'll let you know." The hint of a smile tugged at her lips, and she took another long drink from her beer. "On second thought, I have a rule. You need to order a drink. I can't drink alone."
"If the lady insists." He flashed her a grin before catching the bartender's eye and ordering a beer of his own. He wasn't sure how long their evening would last, but he didn't make a habit of drinking liquor in public places surrounded by strangers. Turning back to Emma, his eyes lingered on her cheek, the bruising obviously covered by makeup. "How's your eye?"
She shrugged, returning her attention to her drink. "It's fine."
It wasn't fine. The discoloration bled through her makeup, and the swelling had yet to fade completely. He nearly said so, but Emma's raised shoulders and tight grip on her glass stopped him. Ruby had been right about Emma needing a night out, but forcing her to talk about her injury wasn't going to do either of them any good.
He nodded his thanks as the bartender dropped off his beer, scanning the room by course of habit. His eyes caught on a dartboard tucked into the corner, and he grinned into his glass. "Fancy a game of darts, love?"
"Darts?"
Killian nodded toward the corner, turning on his stool to face her. "Aye. I hear they allow you to throw sharp, pointy objects at a perfectly good board to your heart's content."
That got a smile out of her, and she nodded, tucking her phone into her pocket as she stood. Drinks in hand, they made their way over to the board in companionable silence, the hum of conversation and music surrounding them.
"Care for a friendly wager?" he asked with a playful lift of his brows, determined to coax Emma out of her shell with something other than alcohol. He wanted her mostly sober tonight – he wanted to know everything she said and did was entirely her own choice, wherever the night might lead them.
"I'm not taking your money." She rolled her eyes, rubbing her thumb across the condensation on her glass. "I can beat you just fine without betting on it."
"Confident, are we, Swan?" He handed her a set of darts, indulging himself with the lingering brush of his fingers against hers. That she didn't immediately jerk her hand away was no small victory. "I haven't an interest in making a pauper of you. We can play for something else."
She frowned at the innuendo, folding her arms across her chest, cradling her drink while leaning away from him. "I'm not playing for sex," she said flatly, her expression unreadable, all traces of humor gone.
"I didn't imply you would, but since you brought it up…" He knew the joke was the wrong move by the thunderous glare that quickly overtook her.
"One time thing." Her voice was strained, each word ground out between clenched teeth. "You know, I think I'm just going to go home. I don't need this."
"Emma, wait." He took a deep breath, wondering how things could go so wrong so quickly when it came to Emma Swan. A friendly flirtation had her running for the hills, and all he wanted was to give her one evening of peace. "It was a joke, aye, a poor one, but I meant nothing by it. We can play for information. We both ask questions for a living."
"Like an interrogation?" she asked skeptically, her shoulders still stiff.
"No, just questions, love. Trivial things. A means to pass the time and talk about something besides the bloody case." He shrugged, drinking from his beer to give him something to do with his hands. He didn't know why it was so important to him that she stayed tonight – maybe he couldn't watch her walk away from him again, maybe he wanted her to just enjoy his company for once – but he was determined to win her over.
"What kind of trivial things?" she asked after a pause, and though her eyes were still narrowed, her shoulders dropped a fraction as she relaxed.
"That would be up to you. Should you win, of course." He grinned, gesturing toward the board. "Ladies first."
She opened her mouth like she wanted to protest, but she couldn't entirely hide the smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, all right." Stepping closer, she jabbed him with her elbow, nudging him out of the way. She was close enough her hair fell over his arm as she moved, a tumble of spun silk over the darkness of leather.
Emma threw her darts with determined concentration, each one landing with a solid thud against the board. She was good, and she knew it, offering him a satisfied smirk when she was through. "Your turn," she all but sang, reaching for her drink as he took his place in front of the board.
He returned her look with one of his own. Emma was good, but Emma hadn't spent years on a ship with little else to pass the time. His throws beat hers handily.
She gaped at him when he returned with their darts in hand, holding hers out. He didn't bother trying to keep the smugness out of his voice. "I believe the round goes to me."
"You tricked me!"
"I did no such thing."
"Like hell! You let me stand there talking about taking your money, and you..." She gulped down a portion of her beer, waving her hand at him with a scowl. He suppressed the grin at her obvious irritation, Emma's competitive streak glowing brightly as she stopped short of admitting he was better at the game than she was. "All right, ask away."
He laughed, fiddling with the darts still in his hand. As much fun as it was to rile Emma, he had no intention of dragging out ghosts tonight. "What's your favorite color?" he asked, hiding his smile behind his beer when she turned to him with genuine surprise.
"Favorite color? That's your question?"
He nodded, happy to see her finally relax completely. "Aye."
"Yellow," she said after a moment, laughing almost as if she were embarrassed.
"Yellow?"
"Yeah. I had a car that was yellow once." She pulled a face, setting down her beer and resuming her spot in front of the dartboard. "I told you before, Regina made me get rid of it when I started doing a lot of undercover work. She said it was too noticeable."
"She may have had a point."
Emma turned around long enough to roll her eyes at him before returning her attention to the dartboard. She took a long, slow breath before throwing her first dart. It landed within a hairsbreadth of the bull's eye, but she didn't so much as smile. With determined concentration, she threw the next two in quick succession.
"Not so easy for you this time," she teased when she moved out of his way, admiring her handiwork. Two darts sat on the outer ring, with one just inside the red.
"We'll see about that." He wasn't about to just let her win, but Killian didn't exactly try too hard to beat her, his attention more captivated by the genuine smile Emma wore than the game. When he bothered to look back at the board, he'd lost. "So, Swan, what will it be? My secrets are all yours."
A shadow passed over her, and she raised her glass to her lips, nearly draining it. "Hold that thought. I'm going to grab a refill. You want one?" Killian knew her too well to miss the strain in her voice she was trying desperately to hide.
"I can…"
"This one's on me. You can get the next round." She smiled brightly, the expression brittle, and he swallowed his frustration. How many times would he have to ask her not to bother with the bloody fake smile around him? It wasn't as though it worked – he saw right through her every single time she did it.
But he wasn't in the mood to begin an argument, so he let it go. "Aye, I'll take another." She fled as soon as he responded, making a beeline for the bar as he grit his teeth. Perhaps he should have known better than to speak of secrets so casually, but he hadn't meant anything by it. He'd asked her possibly the most innocent of questions – did she really believe he intended to pry into her closely guarded past over a game of darts in the middle of the sodding bar?
Emma was calmer when she returned, her smile sheepish though genuine. She didn't apologize, but she handed him his beer and didn't immediately return to the dartboard. "I'm guessing it's cheating if I ask you your favorite color?"
He took the question for the peace offering it was. "Remember, we ask questions for a living, darling. I know you can do better."
She laughed, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess so." She paused, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she glanced up at him. He forced himself to hold her gaze, struggling not to become distracted by her teeth worrying such delicate flesh. "Favorite book?" she finally asked, breaking eye contact. "I assume you read a lot since the other night…"
You turned up at my apartment in the dead of night and discovered me reading before you fell asleep in my arms?
Killian nodded, finishing off his first drink to hide whatever his face might have betrayed at the memory. "Aye, I read a fair bit. If I had to pick one it would likely be The Call of the Wild."
"Interesting choice. Isn't it pretty much about a dog?"
He shrugged, watching as she gathered up her darts and eyed the board. "It's about survival, no matter the odds or circumstances." Emma didn't turn around, but her shoulders went rigid, and her shot flew wide. "I've always been a survivor. I suppose that's what drew me into a book about a dog."
"I haven't read it." She threw again, the second shot better, but not by much.
"I have a copy, should you like to borrow it." He paused, watching her final throw bounce off the board. She cursed in frustration, snatching her beer off the table they'd commandeered nearby and glowering into it.
"No, thanks. I think I see enough humanity stripped away in my daily life."
Surprised by the bitterness in her voice, he regarded her for a long moment before lining up his first shot. "That's not the point of the story, love. It's about doing what needs to be done to survive and protecting the ones you love." He spoke to the board, letting the dart fly. Emma's reaction rankled, the easy camaraderie of their game fading as he threw again, the dart landing dead center. He'd already won the round neatly, but he threw the third dart anyway, forming a line within the red circle. "Haven't you ever been in love?" he asked as he turned back to her, the words out before he could think better of them.
"No."
"You're lying."
"Is this how you run your interrogations? Ask simple questions to lull your victims into a false sense of security and then go for the throat?" She shook her head as he took a step closer, backing herself toward the wall. Her eyes flashed with cold fury when she looked up, an old hurt buried beneath the icy embers.
"I apologize. I…should not have asked." He sighed, reaching for his beer and drinking deeply. Hadn't he just told himself the purpose of the game was to keep things light, to give Emma a night of fun amidst all the stress? What had possessed him to ask such a question?
"No, probably not." She fiddled with the darts in her hand, her focus somewhere over his shoulder. "I guess the real answer is I don't know. I thought I was in love, but…" She shrugged, still refusing to look at him.
"You don't have to…"
"You told me about Milah."
"This isn't tit for tat."
"I know. But Ruby will probably tell you if I don't, so…"
He waited for her to go on, but when she only continued to stare at the wall behind him, Killian set his darts down on the table, the game momentarily forgotten as he took a tentative step closer. "She's many things, but I somehow doubt Red would betray your secrets."
"She might if she thought she had a good reason," Emma replied cryptically, finally turning her eyes to his. "I was a teenager. It wasn't long after Lily was…after Lily died. He said all the right things, and then he broke my heart. Sometimes I think it's still broken." She said the last part so quietly Killian wasn't sure he was meant to hear, but he hated to see Emma – proud, stubborn, strong Emma – so defeated.
"If it can be broken, that means it still works," he said gently, closing the distance between them and pushing her hair out of her eyes. He wanted to kiss her desperately in that moment, to wrap her in his arms until the pain faded to a memory – but it wasn't that simple. Milah was but a memory, yet he knew all too well just how sharp she could cut nonetheless.
Emma's short laugh was more of a scoff, and she quickly stepped away from him. He hadn't realized how close together they'd been standing, the heat of her body so near his disappearing with her. "Don't distract me this time," she said gruffly, lifting one arm.
"Relax your shoulders. You were too tense last time."
She glanced back over her shoulder, her expression indecipherable, but she took a deep breath and settled herself. Her darts all landed neatly within a respectable distance of the center. She remained silent as he threw, and this time, in spite of his efforts, it was his shots that went wide with the weight of Emma's stare on his back.
He faced her, waiting for her question, knowing he deserved whatever she flung at him. Would she ask about his childhood? His useless father? Liam? All painful memories, and all within her rights after his cock up.
"I'm not asking you any more questions about books," she teased, her voice surprisingly light though her eyes remained guarded. He chuckled, nodding his agreement before walking over to the board and pulling their darts free.
"Why Boston?" she asked when he returned. "When you came back, why Boston? Why not New York?"
He shrugged, scratching behind his ear. "New York never felt like home," he replied honestly, glancing around the kitschy bar. "Dave offered me a job, and Belle was here, so it seemed as fine a spot as any to tie up for a bit." He left out that by the time he'd come back, he'd been so wrapped up in his own grief and hatred that no one else would have him – that he'd spent weeks on David's couch surrounded by empty liquor bottles before his friend had delivered a well-deserved dress down, shaming him back into a semblance of respectability and the police academy.
"How long have you known David?"
Killian grinned, shaking off the dark memories. "Now, now, Swan, you've only won the right to ask the one question. You'll have to win the other." It had the desired effect, bringing back her smile and laughter.
By some unspoken agreement, they passed the next few hours without stepping into each other's past. Playing darts eventually gave way to sipping their drinks in a booth, sharing greasy bar food and trading stories of their time coming up through the ranks. Killian revealed he'd known David early on in his military career, but once David met his wife, he had opted out of being a sailor. The BPD wasn't always any safer, but it meant he came home to Mary Margaret every night. Killian hadn't understood his friend's choice at first, but all it had taken was one glimpse of the couple dancing together at their wedding for it all to make sense.
Not that he relayed that part of the story to Emma.
She relaxed as the night went on, recalling her time at Quantico with Regina. Killian listened in amazement as Emma laughed over memories of too much wine and suffering through early morning runs, Regina swearing up a storm as they trudged through the woods. It was hard to reconcile the not-a-hair-out-of-place woman Killian saw on a daily basis with Emma's recollections, but then again, he wasn't the same man he'd been fifteen years ago.
They weren't drunk by the time they left, but Killian was pleasantly warm and Emma's cheeks were pink. Her guard had come down as the night went on, but he was still surprised when she linked her arm through his for the walk back to her apartment, her head occasionally resting on his shoulder. It took all of his self-control to not tighten his grip, to not tug her closer and press his lips to hers in the middle of the city.
But Emma scared easily, and though it had started out touch and go, they'd had a lovely night. No sense in ruining it. So he didn't push, and though he walked her to her door, that was to be the end of the evening.
"You should put some ice on that before you go to bed." Killian brushed his fingertips under her eye, the deep purple bruising beginning to yellow around the edges.
"I will." Emma's eyes closed as he ran his thumb along her jaw, her lips parting ever so slightly. He took a shaky breath, following a path down the graceful column of her throat and across her collarbones, desire burning low in his belly despite his resolve to keep the night innocent.
This isn't a date.
This isn't ending up with me in your bed. Clothed or unclothed.
Her remembered words stopped him from kissing her, despite the clear invitation in her parted lips. He dropped his hand, taking a step back as Emma's eyes popped open, confusion and surprise coloring her expression. He could try to rationalize that she'd said nothing about her bed, but Killian wasn't in the mood to be thrown out of her apartment again, not after the rather enjoyable evening he'd spent in her company.
But he couldn't make himself leave yet, not with that look on her face. It was plain as day she wanted more than the light touch of his fingers on her cheek, but Emma's desires hadn't been the problem last time.
Ask me to stay. All you have to do is ask.
He lifted his hand again, but dropped it before he could touch her. His self-control waning, he knew it was time to leave before he gave into his lust. It would be a shame to spoil what had been a mostly lovely evening with another walk home filled with self-loathing and old insecurities.
"Goodnight, Emma," he said softly, unable to stop himself from brushing a kiss against her hair before turning away. He felt her eyes on him the entire walk to the elevator, and when he glanced back after pressing the button, she was still standing outside her door, watching him.
She didn't ask him to stay.