Emma already knew she'd made a mistake by the time she reported back to work the next morning, a not entirely unpleasant soreness between her legs and the ghost of Killian's touch on her skin. She should have left when she'd had the chance in the small hours of the morning – should have gone back to her apartment and convinced herself she would never see Killian Jones again.

But she hadn't. Some stupid, idiotic part of her had wanted to stay, had wanted to curl into him and savor the security and comfort of his embrace just a little while longer. She'd meant to be gone before he woke, but instead, he'd been the one to wake her.

She blushed, fighting the urge to fidget in her seat. She did not fidget in briefings…but then again, she usually didn't spend her time in the conference room thinking about the sinful delight that was waking to Killian's mouth on her. She wasn't even sure if she'd been entirely awake when he'd slid into her, but every nerve had come alive as it had gone on, the rasp of his stubble against her cheek, the ripple of muscle beneath her palms as he moved within her, the rumble of pleasure in the back of his throat…

Stop. It.

Forcing herself to breathe normally, Emma focused her attention on Regina. They were trying to figure out the best approach for Graham's cover, and with great dismay, she realized the plan being outlined wasn't going to take a few days – it would be weeks. Logically, she should have known that, should have anticipated they couldn't just magic Graham up a cover for a job like this, not up against Gold's endless networks and spies.

But she'd convinced herself last night that it had been the last time she'd be with Killian, that she'd be undercover again soon, and it wouldn't matter what she did or didn't want. She'd let herself stay because it was impossible to keep pretending she didn't want him, but there was an expiration date, a failsafe to keep her from getting too heavily invested.

She told herself she wouldn't call him, choosing instead to go out with Ruby for drinks after work. Neither of them brought up Killian, though Ruby's knowing smirk said plenty all on its own. Still, her friend was gracious enough to keep her mouth shut, and by the time Emma fell into her bed, she almost believed the lie that it was far too late to call him, anyway.

But by the third day, Killian had apparently had enough of her vague responses to texts and avoidance of phone calls. He was waiting at her door when she got home, arms folded over his chest, his expression hovering between annoyance and amusement when she stopped dead in her tracks and gaped at him in surprise. "Avoiding me, love?" he asked in greeting, not moving from his place casually propped up against the wall beside the door. The question hovered somewhere between a joke and an accusation.

"No," she lied, avoiding his stare and focusing on opening her door rather than the way his jeans hugged his thighs or the way the scent of him curled around her. "I've been busy."

"Bollocks. Do us both the courtesy of not lying about it. I believe I deserve that much," he said, voice even, but the words tore through her sharp as a knife anyway. He followed her into her apartment without invitation, the door falling shut behind him. Emma didn't turn around, not wanting to see the hurt lurking in his eyes, the confusion she knew was entirely her fault.

Had the situation been reversed, she might have shown up at his door demanding answers, too. At least, she liked to think she would have, that the years of pain and loneliness would have prompted her forward, not back – even if deep down, she knew she was too damaged to expose herself the way he had.

In any case, it wasn't as though she could blame him for turning up and demanding answers. What woman slept in a man's bed, woke in his arms seemingly content, and then dodged his calls for days? Not that there had been any seemingly about it – Emma had been content in his arms. More than content.

That was the problem.

"Emma…" His hand was gentle on her shoulder, but it was enough to twist her around, her boots nearly touching his with how close he stood. "Talk to me. Please."

She breathed in slowly, willing herself to remain in control as she lifted her gaze to his. Deep, bottomless blue stared back at her, intense but tired, faint smudges beneath showing how little he'd been sleeping. It was all she could do not to wince, her fingers rising of their own volition to brush against his skin.

He caught her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her open palm, his silence full of questions Emma didn't want to hear, never mind their answers. It would be so much simpler to take a step closer and kiss him, to avoid talking and give into the only thing between them she really understood.

As though he could read her thoughts, his expression darkened. His tongue slipped out, rubbing along his bottom lip as all the air disappeared from the room. She might have said his name, or he might have said hers – she didn't know or care as she rose onto her toes to meet him halfway.

He groaned against her lips, his palms flattening against the curve of her backside as he pulled her closer, heat rushing between her thighs. None of the reasons she'd been avoiding him seemed to matter anymore as one of his hands moved beneath her shirt, rough calluses on the delicate skin at her waist, up and over her ribs until he met lace.

Killian swore, releasing her without warning and stepping back. "This isn't why I sought you out this evening," he finally said, voice rough and breathless. He lifted one hand to his lips almost absently, brushing his thumb over his mouth as he stared at her.

Emma shrugged, taking a step closer and letting her eyes fall to his straining zipper with a small smile. "Doesn't look that way to me," she said, ignoring the simmering panic at his sudden retreat. He wanted to talk. She didn't. Talking would require more of her than she had to give.

He swore again, grabbing her wrists before she could touch him. "Don't. I…don't."

She jerked free, flushing in embarrassment. "If you don't want me, just say so," she snapped, rejection backing her into a corner she despised.

"You have no idea how bloody much I want you." His expression softened, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he watched her. The intensity of his stare made her nervous, and she couldn't help fidgeting, shifting her weight from foot to foot, waiting for him to explain himself.

"So what's the problem?" she asked when he remained silent, hating herself for the question as soon as it was out. It felt weak and pathetic even as the words left her lips, a plea for something she couldn't have.

"I don't believe in half-measures," he said eventually, speaking slowly as though each word was a carefully placed marker on a treacherous path.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You know what it means."

"I really don't."

He closed the space between them, winding his fingers into her hair and leaning his forehead against hers. Emma wanted to shove him away, wanted to push him out the door before he said anything else. But instead she held perfectly still, breathing in the scent of leather and Killian, the remnants of his soap and the hint of sweat. "It means that I want you. And the evenings. And the mornings."

"I can't do that," she whispered, her chest tight with growing panic. He was too close, too intense – too many emotions lived in his demands. She took a step back, but he moved with her, not relinquishing his hold.

She expected an argument, not his low chuckle against her ear, the wash of his warm breath. "I do believe you did just a few days ago. Quite well, I might add."

He was close enough that his lips brushed her skin as he spoke. Emma shivered, her hands rising to his chest of their own accord, desire warring with her instinct to run. His stubble scraped against her jaw as he lowered his mouth to her neck, trailing barely-there kisses along the sensitive spots as her fingers fisted his shirt, attempting to draw him closer as panic gave way to lust. She could handle Killian with his mouth occupied. There was nothing complicated about the things he could do to her body, nothing terrifying when her eyes were closed and his tongue dragged across her skin.

But when he reached the collar of her shirt, he didn't push it aside. Instead he straightened, tilting her chin up. "What do you want from me, Emma?" She never had answered him the other day, not really. The question was far too serious for her liking despite his breathlessness, her mouth dry as she struggled to swallow. He was too vulnerable, too honest with his desires plain across his face. He didn't want just the superficial physical connection between them, no matter how hot it burned. It was all over his face, and in a flash her mind conjured up the memory of waking in his arms in the middle of the night, the security of his chest at her back.

But she didn't know how to put any of what she was feeling into words. "I want you," she said with a shrug, as though it was obvious. It was the same answer she'd given him the last time he'd asked the question. It had been good enough then, but she could see by the disappointment he couldn't hide that it wasn't going to work a second time.

"Is that so?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "What am I to you? A distraction? A lover?"

"I…don't know," she managed to get out, the push and pull of her thoughts threatening to tear her in two. He was more than a distraction, whether she wanted him to be or not. But a lover…there was more to that, an intimacy she wasn't sure she'd ever had.

He took a shaky breath, stepping back from her and dropping his hand. "I should leave."

Emma started to nod, to agree with him before she could do something stupid like ask him to stay. But their eyes caught, and her breath stuck in her throat, a chasm opening in her chest. No man had ever looked at her the way Killian did, with such fierce and utter longing, and she still didn't know what he was or wasn't, but she didn't want him to slip through her fingers.

Her arms looped around his neck as she pulled him down, the kiss urgent and needy. She clung to him, terrified to let go, terrified to go on, but as his lips moved against hers, she was powerless to stop it. He was the one to pull away, her name harsh as it spilled off his tongue, a desperate plea for her to stop, for her to continue, she wasn't sure.

But she knew she didn't want to hear pain like that in his voice, not when it filled her name with such sadness and aching – not when it made it crystal clear she had hurt him, was hurting him.

"Stay." She ran one hand up the back of his neck, her nails dragging across his scalp. His lips parted, brow furrowed, but before he could protest, she kissed him again, willed him to understand. She couldn't give him a label or a definition, but she wanted whatever it was they had in that moment. The future was too unpredictable – Emma had a knack for driving people away, and they worked dangerous jobs – but the play of his hands across her skin was something she had come to know and crave. She had weeks until her next assignment in the field. She could use that time to get him out of her system, to prove to herself that with enough time, he would reveal himself to be like every other man she'd gotten romantically entangled with beyond a night.

Emma didn't stop to consider the possibility of being wrong about him.

The low noise in his throat still held more pain than pleasure, but whatever had held him back snapped. Emma was in his arms, stumbling with him across the apartment and losing clothes as they went until she was falling onto her bed, Killian's bare skin on hers.

It wasn't until after, when he kissed her one last time as though he were drowning, that she realized every kiss, every touch, had been a goodbye. She should have been relieved – she wouldn't have to ask him to go, wouldn't have to talk about it anymore.

Instead, a void threatened to swallow her whole.

"You're leaving?" The question came out far more frantic than she'd intended, a different kind of panic gripping her when he didn't return to the bed after cleaning up.

He paused, jeans in hand and eyes finally meeting hers. "I thought to spare you the trouble of having to ask," he said quietly, looking away.

"No."

"No?"

"Come back to bed, Killian." She took a deep breath, struggling to conceal her own fears and emotions. "I'm not…I won't ever be…I can't give you everything you want, but I can give you nights." Another slow breath, in and out, the hope in his eyes pushing her forward. "And mornings." She smiled, a tentative, small thing as he continued to watch her, too many emotions to follow on his face. "You're pretty good at mornings."

He dropped the clothes in his hands, a grin breaking out across his features. "Just mornings?"

"I'm working with a pretty small sample size."

"Darling, there is nothing small about it," he said, his voice filled with gravel as he stalked toward the bed. The sheet fell away as she rose to meet him, kneeling on the edge of the mattress, skin tingling under his appreciative stare.

"Prove it," she whispered as his hands settled on her hips, fingers curling possessively around the curves of her body as she offered up a saucy smirk.

"I believe I just did, but if the lady insists." He bent to kiss her, the coarse hair on his chest rough against her tender breasts. It was slower the second time, the desperate edge softened into a tenderness in his touch she savored as much as she tried to ignore. She picked other things to concentrate on – the strength of his fingers as he held her hips in place, thrusting up into her; the coarse hair along the tops of his thighs where she gripped him for balance; the velvet of his tongue and sharp sting of his teeth as he teased first one nipple, then the other.

It was only the next morning, when she'd woken before him and begun to trace the line of his brows with the tip of her finger, watching him sleep, that her thoughts caught up with her and she realized just how dangerous Killian Jones could be.

-x-

"So, you and Killian, it's a thing now?"

Ruby's question tore Emma out of her thoughts, her cheeks flushing as she realized her friend had caught her zoning out in the middle of their favorite diner. "I didn't say that," she mumbled, staring at her plate of onion rings gone cold.

"I haven't seen you outside of work in weeks."

"I've been busy."

"Yeah, busy with all the sex. With Killian." Ruby arched a dark eyebrow across the table, amusement playing at her lips. "C'mon, Em, I've been good. I haven't asked you any questions. But a girl only has so much patience. Spill."

"There's nothing to tell." Her face grew hotter before she'd even finished her sentence, her skills of deception useless on Ruby. She didn't know what to tell her friend – mostly because she barely understood what was happening between her and Killian herself.

He'd woken to her touch that morning after he'd told her what he wanted, reading the panic that must have been in her eyes and, in typical Killian fashion, had known exactly what to say to soothe her. "I'm a patient man," he'd said, kissing her gently and gathering her close. "Mornings and evenings, love. The rest…" He'd sighed, his lips brushing her hair. "The rest we take as it comes."

She'd spent the next night alone, just to prove to herself she could. It had been a sleepless night, and when she woke in an empty bed, she'd refused to admit to herself she wished he were there – but by the middle of the following night, her feet had led her to his doorstep and into his arms.

They'd barely spent a night apart since.

He came to her more often than not, his hours swinging wildly as he resumed his police work. With Emma largely in the research phase of her assignment, her hours were far more predictable. She'd finally given him a key – purely for the practicality of not having to get out of bed when he arrived in the middle of the night. There was something far more appealing about waking up to Killian's naked skin pressed to hers than having to stumble half-asleep to the door to greet him.

She'd told him as much when she'd nervously placed the cool metal on the counter next to his cell phone and keys one morning, mumbling and avoiding his eyes – avoiding the amount of his things that had slowly found their way into her home, the travel mug in his hand chief among them. Emma didn't own travel mugs, and even if she did, she definitely wouldn't have a collection of various sailor puns emblazoned across her caffeine source. Killian, however, had no qualms about drinking from his A Great Catch! mug – which she absolutely did not find adorable under any circumstances, especially not when he stood in her kitchen ready for work, gun and badge on his hip, with the ridiculous mug in his hands and shower-damp hair in his eyes.

"Does that mean I can expect to find you naked every night?" he'd asked, the only indication the key had an effect on him the sudden intake of breath before he spoke. When she'd looked up, he'd arranged his face into a lecherous leer, his free hand slipping over her hip to palm her backside. He was good, but she knew him and he couldn't entirely hide the trace of warmth lurking in his eyes. Yet somehow, he also knew her – knew that if he made the key into something else, something she didn't want to think about, Emma would completely fall apart.

As the weeks went on, the thing that bound them together grew a life of its own, creeping vines threading their way through her so slowly, Emma barely noticed what had taken hold until the night she'd walked into his apartment to find him on the couch with a bag of frozen peas held to his face. The bag hid the worst of the deep, angry bruise on his jaw, but dried blood clung to his skin, and his bottom lip was split and swollen. "What the hell happened?" she'd demanded, worry and fear overwhelming her as she'd rushed to his side, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

The bastard had merely shrugged in response, his grin lopsided with half his face swollen. "Someone decided to have a go at me. Made my night interesting."

"Interesting?" Her voice had been shrill to her own ears, and she'd hated herself then. She knew the rush of adrenaline that came with a chase as well as anyone, knew that all things considered, a few bruises was nothing in their line of work. It wasn't as though he'd been wrong, but she had wanted to punch him herself for his nonchalance.

"Well, I suppose they did knock the handsome out of me a bit." His smile had softened as he'd tugged her onto his lap and pushed her hair away from her eyes.

"Not possible," she'd told him, kissing him gently where he wasn't bruised. Being in his arms, his body warm and whole under her, soothed the fear that had all but swallowed her when she'd first caught sight of him. "Not even Gold is that powerful."

He'd laughed at that, a quiet, low sound that brought a smile to her lips. But as silence had wrapped around them, his free hand stroking her back, Killian had managed to once again see through her. "I'm not going anywhere, love. I'm a survivor. Always have been." He'd been completely serious, holding her stare with such intensity she'd been the first to look away. Only then had he tried to kiss her, hissing in pain.

They hadn't had sex that night, but he'd still coaxed her into bed, his hands roaming beneath the borrowed shirt she wore. Emma had curled into his side, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat and struggling not to think too much about her reaction to his injury.

Or just how cozy she was in his bed, there for no other reason than the comfort of his body against hers.

"It's not just sex if it's been going on this long," Ruby said matter-of-factly, once again breaking into Emma's thoughts. She eyed her friend over the rim of her coffee mug, her lip curving into a teasing smile. "It's good that you're happy."

"It is just sex," Emma replied instantly, clinging to the lie. They didn't go on dates – having drinks with his cop buddies or her FBI team didn't count. There were no romantic dinners at fancy restaurants or moonlit strolls or whatever the hell else a date consisted of. Killian made her dinner sometimes, but usually by the time they got to food, he'd had her naked already. It was only after they'd catch their breath that he'd ask if she was hungry with a grin, more often than not opting to head into the kitchen without a stitch of clothing. Emma claimed modesty, almost always stealing one of his shirts, secretly enjoying the scent of him wrapped around her just a little bit longer as she sat on the counter and admired the view. Not that the nights he planned to do more than reheat something and tugged on a pair of snug shorts – must protect the best bits of me, Swan – were really any worse.

"It's been more than a month. No one has just sex for that long."

Emma allowed herself a smug grin, determined to push Ruby off her line of questioning. "That's because they haven't slept with Killian."

Ruby laughed, brandishing one of her French fries. "You going to tell me anything more than 'he knows what he's about' this time?"

"I don't know what else to tell you. He…he's just really, really good. I don't have to think about it. He just seems to know what I want, what I'm in the mood for…" Emma trailed off, her blush returning as flashes of memory sparked, heat flaring to life between her thighs. She'd been in the mood for hard and fast last night, and Killian had given it to her. She'd collapsed into his arms by the end, pleasantly boneless as his kisses had turned sweet, his touch gentle as he'd offered up a smile that was all lazy contentment. "It's nice to be wanted."

"He can't keep his eyes or hands off you on the rare occasion you manage to grace us with your presence. If you don't know how much he wants you, you're not paying attention." Ruby paused, taking a sip of her coffee and watching Emma. "A man who looks at you like that isn't just looking for sex."

Emma studied her hot chocolate, swallowing past her suddenly tight throat. She pretended she didn't notice his longing looks, the tenderness of his touch some nights. Oh, there were plenty of nights like the one they'd just shared. He'd had her up against walls and on kitchen counters, bent over furniture and pressed against tiles. Yet, there were others where their positions had been so intimate, so close, she'd been able to do little more than rock her hips into his in a long, slow sensual dance. Those were the nights she'd catch something else in his eyes, a depth of emotion she didn't care to name as he wrapped his arms around her and breathed her name against her skin.

"It's all right to care for him, Emma," Ruby said gently when she remained silent, reaching across the table to squeeze her fingers. "You don't have to be alone forever."

Emma pulled her hand free, chipping at her nails and avoiding Ruby's stare. "It's just sex, Ruby. Anything more is the kind of distraction I can't have. You don't do deep cover assignments. I can't…" She took a deep breath, ignoring the stab of pain in her chest. "And even if I could, he'd get sick of me eventually and walk away like everyone else."

"In case you haven't noticed, there's a whole lot of people who haven't gone anywhere. Regina, despite her every attempt to convince the world she's a soulless monster, cares. I'm still here. Graham's half in love with you still, years later. I never said anything, partly because I think it's bullshit he slept with you while you were wasted and he wasn't. No way to start a relationship. But more than that, you never once looked at him the way you look at Killian."

That got her attention, Emma's head jerking up. "What?"

Ruby smiled, her eyes dancing. "The two of you in a room together are in your own little universe. You have to know how he looks at you. If he does it in public, I bet he does in when it's just the two of you. You look back, Emma." She leaned back against the booth, curling her fingers around her coffee mug. "I'm just saying, when this case with Gold is over, maybe don't take another deep cover assignment right away. There's plenty of other things to do on the task force, other ways to serve. Regina likes to put on her boss face, but you know she'd understand. She'd want to see you happy."

"Seriously? You can't possibly be suggesting I change my entire life around for a man I've been screwing for a month." The words felt crass in her mouth – wrong and somehow cheapening whatever was between her and Killian.

Two dark eyebrows knit together, Ruby's frown deep as she regarded Emma with a fair amount of disbelief. "First of all, I know it's been going on longer than a month. There's been something between you from the first time I saw you together. I remember what happened at Gold's, but you've moved past it. He definitely has. Don't throw it away. He's a good man, and I'm pretty sure he's in love with you."

It might as well have been a sucker punch. "He's not." Emma shook her head emphatically, her stomach churning. Killian wasn't in love with her. They were just having fun. Delightful, sinful fun. "He's not." She didn't know if she was repeating it for her own benefit or Ruby's.

Ruby sighed. "We see terrible things, Emma. This line of work, we come face to face with a section of humanity that makes me question how we share a species with them. I know it stays with you. How can it not? But for all the horrors in the world, there are still good people, and when they come into our lives, we should hold onto them."

"And what if I lose him, Ruby? What if I listen to you, and I let him in, and a moment comes when I second guess myself because I'm thinking about him and not about the job?" Emma's throat tightened painfully, her eyes stinging at the thought even as she desperately tried to shove it aside. "What if he does love me, and I let myself love him, and he walks away? I can't…I'm not…"

I don't believe in half-measures, he'd said to her all those weeks ago. Emma had understood then, understood what he was saying to her – he'd be all in. She'd accepted it, truly believing that whatever was between them, all in wasn't going to result in love. Emma wasn't the kind of person men like Killian fell in love with. She was too damaged, too independent, not worth the trouble – she wasn't the kind of woman who would make things easy for Killian.

She was the difficult kind, and she always would be.

"Isn't it worth the risk?" Ruby asked softly, reaching across the table to lay her hand on top of Emma's arm and squeeze lightly. "Besides, we both know you would be the one to walk away, if that's what it came to."

It was gently said, but the words stung nonetheless. "It doesn't matter. He doesn't love me. I've got this Gold assignment next week, and then I'm sure Regina already has the next one lined up. He'll forget all about me," Emma insisted, ignoring how every word was a stab against her heart, ignoring just how much she hated herself for even saying it to Ruby. "I have to go. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"Emma…"

Emma only shook her head, throwing cash on the table to cover her portion of the bill. It didn't matter that she was proving Ruby right, that she was walking away because she couldn't handle the thought of something so incredible as Killian Jones being in love with her – the unsettling certainty that Ruby was right, that all of those looks and kisses brushed against her forehead and late night whispers added up.

It didn't matter. Even if he did feel that way about her, she'd never be able to love him back.

-x-

Killian glanced around his apartment, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out as he rubbed the back of his neck. Emma was late, which normally wouldn't be anything to worry about, except for the last week she'd been pulling away, distant. He'd chalked it up to nerves about seeing Gold again, about being Emily again, but Emma had been doing her job long enough that the longer it went on, the more determined he became that something else troubled her.

At first he hadn't asked, not wanting to pry too deeply. She wasn't avoiding him, and on the surface, she wasn't any different. She still welcomed him into her bed, still fell asleep beside him, but her eyes had gone hard. All of her had gone hard, whatever softness he'd coaxed from her over the weeks retreating behind rock-solid walls. There was no more room for languid or slow, no more tender touches or sleepy, unguarded smiles.

There were no more silly moments, no Emma dancing about in her kitchen in the middle of the night while he cooked, grinning back at him while he'd watched her, torn between joining her and not burning their dinner – no more Emma striding into the district like she owned the place, dropping off a coffee for him with her let's not make a big deal of this smirk while teasing him about his immaculate desk.

He hadn't thought much of it at first. The first night, when Emma had looked him right in the eye and told him she wanted him to fuck her, he'd gone along with it. It wasn't the first time one of them was in the mood for it, all slapping skin and teeth and dirty whispers. But when he realized Emma had spent an entire week choosing positions that kept them from being face-to-face, that she was making every effort to keep him in a box firmly marked sex, the niggling sensation something was wrong exploded with full-blown certainty.

Killian wasn't having it. He hadn't felt the need to bring up what they were or weren't over the last month or so – he'd been Emma's long before they'd fallen into bed. But even if she wouldn't name it, the late nights curled together on the couch, the secrets and hopes they'd whispered to each other, the nights out with his friends or hers…maybe Emma didn't want to label it, but they were together. And Killian refused to watch their relationship burn to the ground just because she was in the mood to play with fire.

Now especially, with Emma about to face down Gold, he needed to remind her that he wasn't going anywhere, that whatever damage she perceived in herself, he cared for her anyway. He was in love with her, not that she was ready to hear it. So the apartment glowed with the soft light of several candles, Emma's favorite dessert from the bakery down the street in the fridge and a simple dinner waiting to go in the oven. And after they'd eaten, he'd take Emma to bed, tasting of chocolate and wine, and make love to her between the soft sheets.

If she let him.

Her soft knock startled him, and he rushed to open the door. He wished she would have taken the key he offered, but her flat refusal and insistence she didn't need it – they spent most nights at her place – had hurt more than he'd wanted her to know. He didn't bring it up again.

"What is all this?" she asked in greeting, not so much as a hello before the sharp question. She didn't step beyond the door of the flat as it swung shut behind her, eyes narrowed and shoulders stiff.

"You've been rather tense. I thought…"

Her lips curled into a predatory smile as she advanced, running one hand up his chest. The heat of her palm bled through the thin cotton of his shirt, her shampoo and skin filling his senses as he breathed her in. "I can think of a few ways to ease some tension." Her voice was low, and any other night, he would have been hard just by the way she was looking at him, all desire and dark promise.

Killian didn't answer her, instead sliding both his palms along her cheeks and bending to kiss her. He put every emotion he had into the kiss, hoping it would reach her, soothe whatever fears and worries had her hiding from him. For a moment, it seemed to work, and then Emma's hands left his shoulders, working his belt open. He broke the kiss, backing away with the buckle half-undone.

"What the hell, Killian?" She huffed, folding her arms over her chest and shooting him an annoyed look. When he didn't answer immediately, she rolled her eyes, shrugging out of her jacket and tossing it over the couch. As she turned back to him, she began unbuttoning her shirt, revealing a bright red bra beneath.

"I made dinner," he managed to say, refastening his belt before reaching for her, stilling her fingers before she could undo another button. "And got that cake you like from the bakery."

"Later." She leaned up on her toes, her tongue tracing the spot below his jaw that always made his breath catch. "Right now, I want you to fuck me so hard I'll be able to feel you inside me for days."

The words barreled into him, a gut punch he wasn't prepared for. Aye, she'd said things like it before, and when they were whispered in his ear between gasps, her legs around his hips and nothing but skin between them, he'd happily take on the challenge. But in the middle of his living room, her eyes hard and determined, there was little tempation in the detached demand.

"No," he said quietly, releasing his hold on her wrists. He resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut against the overwhelming familiarity of Emma attempting to use sex to avoid a conversation. If he allowed himself to think on it, the pain of having his feelings rejected would swallow him whole. "Not tonight, love."

That got her attention, her eyes wide with disbelief as she pulled back suddenly – disbelief and hurt. "What?"

"You are not yourself, and I would know why. This has gone on quite long enough," he said firmly, keeping his eyes carefully trained on her face.

"If you don't want sex, why am I here?" she snapped, ignoring everything except his refusal. She didn't bother refastening her shirt, her breasts on display as she folded her arms under them.

Killian snaked an arm around her waist, tugging her close once more and swallowing the sharp words on the tip of his tongue. He knew it had stopped being just sex for both of them some time ago, whether she would ever admit it or not, but Emma didn't respond well to being cornered. "What's wrong?" he repeated, pushing her hair away from her eyes and forcing her chin up with a gentle nudge.

"Nothing. You're the one who invited me over and doesn't want to f…"

"I want to," he cut in before she could say anything else about fucking in that cool tone he despised, his voice hoarse. "I want to take you to my bed, lay you down, and watch you come utterly undone while I'm inside you." He bent to kiss her, his hand falling from her waist to her hip, holding her body tight against his. It would have been easy to stay like that, to keep kissing and touching her, but he forced himself to lean back, to look her in the eye. "But that isn't what you want, is it?"

Desire and longing flickered across her face, a hint of the Emma he'd come to know reappearing, but fear kept her features hard.

"You've been pushing me away, love," he said gently, watching her face for a reaction, a hint as to what she was thinking, feeling. Emma could be an open book, and the more he spoke, the more her mask of seduction slipped. "I've given you what you desired this last week, but…"

"Oh, what I wanted?" She scoffed, rolling her eyes, but when she shoved at his chest, it was halfhearted at best. "I didn't hear you complaining last night when you fuc–"

"Emma, please." He brushed his thumb along the swell of her cheek, not bothering anymore to hide anything in his voice or his eyes. The words rested on the tip of his tongue, but she was already putting distance between them – telling Emma he'd fallen in love with her now would push her right over the edge. So instead he let it into his expression, let himself look at her with every ounce of longing and love, and hoped she'd see it, understand it. "At some point, you've got to trust me. I can handle whatever it is."

He didn't expect her laugh, brittle and borderline hysterical. "You think I don't trust you? Of course I trust you!" Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, frustration bright in her white knuckles. "That's how we got in this mess," she mumbled so quietly he wasn't sure he was meant to hear, her forehead resting against his shoulder.

Killian ignored her last statement for the moment, latching onto her other words. "Then why do you keep shutting me out?" he asked gently, his thumb working under her shirt where he held her to him, her skin warm against his.

When she lifted her head, her eyes had gone glassy, her lips tight. "It has nothing to do with trust," she whispered, dropping her gaze to the floor.

He wanted to believe her, believe the kernel of truth in the exhausted statement, but he couldn't reconcile it with her behavior. Discouraged, he released her and took a step back. "Of course it bloody does," he replied, too worn out to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It was exhausting, loving a woman who was so determined to not be loved. He wanted to kiss her until she understood, until she finally grasped that he wasn't going anywhere, that love meant he could handle whatever she was holding back.

"You don't get it!" The words burst out of her, surprising him with their force. "Everyone I've ever loved is dead. Lily was my best friend, my only friend growing up, and she died a horrible, gruesome death. The man I fell in love with when I was eighteen lied to me, swore he would give up being a thief for me, and died pulling a job behind my back. I haven't let myself…I don't…" She shrugged helplessly, tears he knew she was fighting brimming behind her lashes. "I can't lose you, too."

His chest ached at the pain in her voice, the old wounds he'd unintentionally slashed open. "That's what I've been trying to tell you, love. You won't lose me. I excel at surviving." He took a step closer, opening his arms slightly. She walked into them after the smallest hesitation, pressing her cheek to his chest and clinging to him, sucking in shaky breaths as his shirt grew damp. Relief coursed through him, relief so profound he might have buckled if he wasn't holding Emma, soothing her as the last week's tension drained out of her.

She quieted slowly, her eyes swollen and her cheeks splotched when she finally pulled away, but she was the Emma he knew again. She smiled tentatively as he brushed her hair away from her face, leaning into his touch. "Were you serious about the cake?"

He grinned, pressing one more kiss to her hair before letting her go. She remained quiet as they entered the kitchen, accepting the glass of wine he offered and hopping onto the counter in her usual spot. He paused, stepping between her legs, holding her eyes as he tentatively reached for her shirt, refastening two of the buttons. "Bloody distracting minx," he muttered, leaning forward to kiss her forehead before backing away with a grin.

She smiled back, sipping slowly as he assembled dinner. It was difficult to keep his attention on the task, simple as it was, with her sitting on the counter, leaned back against the cabinets and watching him. It wasn't exactly an awkward silence, but something simmered in the air between them, something that felt like a promise.

Everyone I've ever loved is dead, she'd told him, revealing not only an ex he had long suspected of breaking her heart, but something more. Everyone I've ever loved, she'd said when he'd implied she didn't trust him. Did that mean she loved him? Was that Emma's way of admitting it, skirting around actually saying it directly?

He snuck another glance at her, her eyes unfocused and lost in thought. She never had told him what was wrong, what had been eating at her the last week – or had she? He wanted to ask if she'd pulled away because she was afraid of what she felt for him, afraid of how the days knit them tighter and tighter together, but did he really need her to say it? She'd all but shouted at him, the words hinging on hysteria with tears in her eyes, but now she was calm, the Emma he knew.

Swallowing his questions, he resolved to leave it be. She needed her head on straight to deal with Gold the next day, and he'd pushed her enough for one night. If all went according to plan, they could have this conversation tomorrow once Gold was in a cell. Emma wouldn't be going anywhere right away, not with a trial to prep for. There would be plenty of time for them, time to figure out a way to prove his love to her so that when he said it, she would already know.

By the time he took her to bed, she did indeed taste of chocolate and wine.

It was the small hours of the morning when he woke, the apartment quiet and Emma beside him. Whatever nightmare pushed him to consciousness faded away, leaving only a nagging ache behind his eyes. He took a slow, deep breath, careful not to move too much with Emma's cheek pillowed on his chest, one of her legs slung over his.

She truly was beautiful, all creamy skin and golden hair – and a tender heart he would protect with his life. It had been a struggle not to tell her that night, not to confess his love as she lay in his arms, tracing idle patterns over his bare chest as their skin cooled. Instead he'd contented himself with tender touches and gentle kisses, pouring all of his love into every caress, every moment their eyes caught.

Killian closed his eyes again, willing sleep to return. But as seconds turned to minutes, the pounding in his head only grew stronger. The nightmares did that sometimes, his ears ringing with explosions years gone by, and he gave up after another fifteen minutes.

Not wanting to wake Emma, he reached for the nightstand drawer. He kept a bottle of Advil there for just such an occasion, though truth be told he usually washed it down with a swig of rum. With Emma in his arms, he hoped the rum would be unnecessary – not that it was the best of habits to begin with.

Blindly searching through the contents of the drawer, he struggled to keep the rest of his body still. But rather than the smooth plastic of the bottle, he felt cool metal under his fingers, the familiar ridges of Milah's name. Headache momentarily forgotten, he drew the tags out of the drawer, the metal flashing in the dim light from the street. He'd held the scraps of metal tightly so many nights, wrapped them around his palm like a rosary and done penance to her memory, but he hadn't touched them in weeks – hadn't thought about them in weeks.

The realization stunned him. Had Emma truly taken over his thoughts so thoroughly? Aye, the nightmares were less frequent, and he spent more nights in her bed than his, but he hadn't woken reaching for the tags even in his own bed.

"Are those yours?"

The question was groggy, but not nearly as much as it should have been. His fingers closed tightly around the tags, wondering how long she had been awake without him noticing. Breathing deeply, he sent a silent prayer into the universe he wasn't about to make a bigger bloody mess of things than ever. After the night they'd already had, he wasn't sure this was the best time to have the conversation that would come with answering her question.

But he didn't want to lie to her.

"No," he said hoarsely, his free hand tangling in her hair as memories threatened to drown him. "They're Milah's."

Emma stiffened against him, but didn't say anything. He waited for the question, waited to hear what emotion would lurk in her words to give him a hint as to how to approach his explanation, but none came. It was only when she started to pull away that he realized she had no intention of speaking – she was going to run.

"Emma." He caught her hand before she could move across the mattress, lacing their fingers together and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Allow me to explain, love."

"You don't owe me an explanation. You love her, her memory." Her voice caught, and she stopped, shaking her head and sending a wave of blonde tangles over her shoulder, shielding her face. "Of course you kept them," she said after a pause, her fingers starting to curl against his before going limp in his grasp.

"Yes, I loved her." He sighed, squeezing her hand. "Yes, I kept them. And for many nights, they were my penance, but I quite honestly haven't thought of them in weeks."

"And tonight?" She didn't look at him, picking imaginary lint from the blanket.

"Tonight I was looking for the bottle of Advil I thought to be in there and found these instead." He uncurled his fingers, letting the metal tags hang by their chain, clinking together. "She didn't have any family to send them to, so I took them when she…after. I wanted to remember."

"You wanted to punish yourself." She looked up then, a mess of emotion across her features, but what struck him more than anything was how much she understood. It wasn't pity, and it wasn't judgment – it was a kindred spirit who knew what it was to hate the face in the mirror.

"Aye, a bit of that too." He sat up, leaning back against the headboard. Emma followed after a pause, leaning into his chest as his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Bending to press a kiss to her hair, Killian struggled to contain his stark relief – the story wasn't over, but Emma had willingly come into his arms when she could have run. They were silent for a long moment, her warm breath washing over his skin. He considered staying that way, stopping there, but he owed Emma the full truth. "I told you it was my fault she died. I didn't tell you…"

"You don't have to."

"I do. You should know…I don't wish to have secrets. We need never speak of it again, but I would have you know everything." He waited for her nod, then pressed forward. "We met when we attended the Naval Academy. She was older, but it's not an overly large campus. I was there on scholarship, bit of string pulling from Liam's CO who helped me get in in the first place. It all happened very quickly, but she dropped out of the Academy and went the enlisted route barely a year later.

"Much to my great shock, she was on the first vessel I was assigned. No one knew of our time together, and we both knew it was against the rules to be together, but…" He shrugged, struggling with the old memories. "We got caught, once, and it should have stopped there, but I was too bloody arrogant to believe we'd get caught a second time. I had a duty to the sailors on that ship, and I failed when I thought of Milah, the woman I loved, ahead of anything else.

"I grew protective over her. War chooses its victims indiscriminately, and I did everything in my power to give her better odds. We argued that morning about her coming along. It was a volunteer mission, dangerous, and none of us had been getting enough sleep. I outranked her. I…I ordered her to stay behind. She ignored me, threatened to turn us both in for our relationship, and got into the Humvee ahead of mine. Our last words to each other were filled with anger.

"We left late because of the argument, and I've spent nearly every day since wondering if we had been on time, if we had gone through that pass five minutes earlier as we should have, if she'd still be alive. If I had called her bluff, if I hadn't so readily believed she'd be willing to turn us both in, would she have just been pissed at me instead of dead?"

Emma pushed back from him, and he waited for the scorn, but she only shook her head. "It wasn't your fault she died. She chose to go. She knew the risks."

"I should have watched her walk back to her tent. I should have made sure she listened to me."

"You outranked her. Were you in charge that day?"

"No, but…"

"Then it wasn't your call," Emma cut in, gentle but firm. "She knew what she was doing. You all knew what you were doing. I'm sure she wouldn't want you blaming yourself for her decisions. She enlisted for a reason, chose to serve her country. Your love doesn't change that."

And suddenly, he didn't think they were talking about Milah anymore.

"Is it so wrong I wanted to protect her?" he asked quietly, reaching out to cup Emma's cheek. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, the skin soft under the rough calluses he bore. "That I want to keep her safe?" He didn't bother correctly himself.

Emma's lips curved into a frown under his touch. "There is a difference between protecting, and putting her in a cage. You can't make those decisions for someone because you're worried it won't go your way."

He didn't reply, gently laying the tags on the nightstand before turning back to Emma. "Promise me you'll be careful tomorrow. Promise me you'll come back to me." His voice was unexpectedly thick, the words sticking in his throat as he pulled her into his arms.

"I can handle myself," she replied, the words prickly though she didn't push him away. "I don't need you to…"

"I know, love. You don't need me to do your job. But I need you to come back to me." It was the closest he could come to saying what he really wanted to say, but it would have to suffice for tonight. He kissed the bare skin where her shoulder and neck met, forming a path up her throat and over her jaw until his lips captured hers.

There were no more words that night, and when he woke in the morning, Killian knew she was gone before he opened his eyes.

Bad news - I'm heading out on vacation for a few weeks, so the Gold showdown will be slightly delayed. Good news - I posted a not-quite-one-shot that got out of hand and is now a four part thing over the weekend, so if you're looking for something else to read, check out "The Stars Walk Backwards" or meander over to Oubliette14's page and check out her new fic!