Killian held his breath as they approached Emma's suspected location, tugging on his vest and rechecking his gun. The adrenaline that came with any raid ratcheted up tenfold, his heart hammering against his ribs. But this wasn't any old raid.

Let her be here. Let her be alive. Bloody hell, let her be alive.

The van stopped, everyone quietly piling out. Regina had called in HRT, and as difficult as it was to follow their orders, he did as he was told. Hostages were their business, and they were damn good at it. Killian desperately needed Emma to come out in one piece, and they were his best shot.

He knew as well as anyone he was lucky to even be allowed on scene. He wasn't FBI. He wasn't part of a joint task force anymore. He wouldn't put himself into the loved one category – Emma never had answered his question about what he was to her – but it was personal, and there wasn't a chance in hell he was thinking completely straight.

He didn't care. He'd follow orders, but he needed to be there when Emma came out. It was an unacceptable alternative to wait for news elsewhere. Lord knew she'd never admit it, but Emma would need him. He didn't allow himself to consider any other outcomes.

Ruby brushed the back of her hand against his, a silent show of support as she smiled tightly. With her own vest on and gun drawn, hair back in a tight braid, she barely resembled the fun-loving Ruby Lucas he'd come to know. The woman beside him was hard as nails and prepared to take down whoever stood in her way.

All around them the team assembled, the soft shuffle of boots on pavement and vests rustling against guns familiar. Killian tightened his grip on the cool metal of his own firearm, oddly thankful for the light drizzle. It never rained in the desert. Today of all days, he was glad of the reminder he wasn't there anymore, Milah's ghost waiting for him behind every grain of sand.

The quiet was broken by the sharp pop of gunfire, first one shot, then another, and Killian's chest threatened to cave in on itself. Orders were shouted, all attempt at surprise abandoned, and the team moved. He went with them, Ruby at his side, jogging across the street and down the alley to the side entrance of the abandoned pawnshop. An informant claimed to have seen Gold himself emerge from the place around dawn, but it had taken hours to get the information to the right people.

Let her be here. Let her be alive.

His thoughts ran on a loop, a silent chant and prayer as the side entrance came into view. But before they reached it, the rusty door opened on its own. Everyone halted their steps, dropping into protective crouches behind HRT's equipment. He was barely aware of the shouts echoing through the alley, his attention entirely focused on the door as Emma nearly fell out of it, clutching her right wrist to her chest and badly limping on bare feet.

He swore, ignoring the hands grasping at his arm, the caution that it might be a trap as he barreled through the crowd of agents. "Emma!" It was the voice of another man, relief and terror breaking her name across his lips. She stumbled as she put weight on her left leg, filthy and wearing what was left of that sodding dress he hated so much. He tracked her movements as she lurched forward, her ankle swollen and deeply bruised.

"Bloody hell." He caught her before she fell, struggling to be gentle as she cried out in pain. Other agents surrounded them, but Killian paid them no mind, scooping Emma into his arms and turning for the street. She was covered in blood, some dried, some fresh, bruises blooming across her pale skin. Up close, not only were her wrist and ankle badly swollen, but deeply discolored. The sight instantly filled Killian with desperate rage, wishing he could strangle Gold with his own bare hands. "I've got you, love," he murmured softly as he struggled not to jostle her, fighting to temper his voice into something other than murderous rage. "I've got you."

"Killian…" she rasped, peering up at him through one bloodshot eye. The other was swollen shut, but it didn't stop her from reaching up with her left hand, her palm icy against his cheek. "You…found…me."

"I will always find you." He swallowed hard, spotting the paramedics. "Where are you hurt? Is this your blood, love?"

"Some," she slurred, her arm dropping as though the effort of holding it up was suddenly too much. "Not…he didn't…"

"It's all right. We can talk later." He kissed her gently one last time before laying her down on the gurney, moving slightly to get out of the way but refusing to let go of her left hand. The paramedics got to work quickly, covering her in a blanket and inserting an IV, hooking up various monitors. It was terrifying to watch how quickly they moved, the concerned furrows on their brows, but Emma kept her eyes on him.

I love you.

He wanted to say it, wanted her to hear in it the fierceness with which he meant it, but Killian kept his mouth shut. Pain shone in her eyes, and no matter how very much he meant it, he wouldn't say those three words for the first time out of desperate relief when she may not even remember. Not with an audience. "I'm right here, love," he said instead, hoping she would read the rest in his stare. But whether from exhaustion or pain, Emma's eyes slipped shut, and for one terrifying moment, he wasn't certain she was still breathing.

"Emma!" Her name echoed off the brick surrounding them, and his eyes must have been wild by the look the paramedic gave him.

"She's breathing." The other man pointed to the monitor showing Emma's heartbeat, a steady rhythm as his partner loaded the gurney with Emma's still form on it into the back of the ambulance, Killian's hand tingling with the loss of her skin on his. "Her pressure is high, likely from pain. We've given her ten milligrams of morphine to help with that. We'll do the best we can with the drive, but the city only gives us so much to work with." With a nod toward the open ambulance door, the paramedic waited for Killian to climb in, slamming the doors shut behind him.

"I'm so sorry, love." Careful of the IV, Killian took her undamaged hand carefully in his, ignoring the other paramedic. He winced as they began to drive, the uneven street jostling them about, and suddenly found himself grateful Emma was unconscious. "I'm so sorry we didn't find you sooner."

She appeared terribly fragile strapped to the gurney, a blanket wrapped tightly around her – he hated it. Emma wasn't meant to be fragile or delicate, not like this. He took a shaky breath, eyes flicking over her scrapes and bruises, the blood caked in her hair.

She's alive, he reminded himself, his stare moving to the small portable monitor in the back of the ambulance, the technological proof Emma was breathing on her own, her heart still beating. The paramedics were certain her wrist was broken, likely the ankle and a few of her ribs. Beyond that, her cuts were mostly superficial, excluding the gashes on her wrists that looked like a consequence of fighting restraints.

She had fought. Emma Swan was a survivor, same as he. She would come through this. She had to come through it. Killian was quite certain he wouldn't survive losing her.

A team was waiting as soon as the ambulance doors opened, and all Killian could do was stand numbly to the side as they worked. A young nurse tried to move him into the waiting room, but he growled a refusal at her. No one asked him to leave after that, and he made sure to stay out of the way to keep it so.

But when they announced she would need surgery to repair her wrist – There's an old break, looks like it healed badly. Call the OR. – he no longer had a choice in the matter.

Ruby was in the waiting room when he trudged in, surrounded by a sea of agents. They all looked up as he entered, the room suddenly quiet. "They've taken her to surgery to repair her wrist," he said, answering the silent questions. The sound of his own voice harsh in the suddenly still room, he stopped, struggling with his anger. It was the same wrist. The bastard had broken the same bloody wrist. Gold may not have known it yet, but there was a hole in the ground with his name on it the moment Killian found him.

He took one deep breath, then another, blinking past the inferno of rage burning his veins. "Beyond the wrist, her ankle is also broken, as well as two ribs, and a half dozen more seriously bruised. Minor lacerations and dehydration." He hadn't had a chance to ask the doctor the rest, but he'd been around injuries enough to know – as long as the scans didn't reveal internal bleeding, Emma would make a full recovery, physically.

In time.

The soft buzz of chatter restarted, and Ruby guided him into a chair. "You should know Gold is dead," she said quietly, and for a moment he wished it weren't so, just so he would have the pleasure of killing the bastard himself. "We'll have to ask Emma what happened…later. But from the looks of things, he held her in the basement of the pawnshop for the last few days. She must have gotten herself free and shot him."

"Good." If there was anyone who deserved to take Gold off the board, it was Emma. Whatever anger he felt, whatever savage desire laid in his heart to do the man harm, she had tenfold.

"She's going to need you when she wakes up. Longer. She'll probably need someone to stay with her while she recovers." Ruby watched him carefully, evaluating as she spoke. "I don't care how stubborn she is, Emma can't use crutches with a broken wrist. She'll hurt herself all over again."

"I haven't any intention of leaving." Killian stared back, willing Ruby to argue with him. He was spoiling for a fight.

She must have seen it, her voice softening. "It's Emma, Killian. She'll push you away. She isn't…she doesn't accept help easily. "

"I don't give a bloody damn if she curses me from sunup to sundown. I'm not going anywhere. Dave will allow me the time."

Ruby smiled, wan and weak, but a smile. "With all those broken ribs, I guess she'll just have to listen to you." Killian nodded, still far too keyed up to find any humor in the situation. He paced the majority of Emma's surgery, and when he wasn't pacing, he was in a chair with his knee bouncing like mad.

It was the middle of the night before the doctor announced Emma could have visitors, one at a time. Ruby nodded from where she stood talking to Regina, coffee cup in hand. Go, she mouthed, making a small motion with a flick of her wrist before turning back to her boss.

"Emma needs to rest," the doctor said as he led Killian down the hall. "She's probably going to be pretty out of it from the pain medication, so keep it short. Because of the surgery, she won't have a cast on her wrist, but be careful not to move it. It will still take time to heal. We put a cast on her ankle as well."

Killian nodded, not bothering to argue. Aye, he wouldn't touch her wrist, and he'd keep conversation to a minimum, but he wasn't going anywhere. Emma had been moved to her own room, and if it were like any other bloody hospital room, there would be a chair he could doze in until she woke.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, still hovering in the doorway once the doctor departed,the full weight of Emma's injuries slamming into him. He'd known to expect the bruising – he'd seen it when she came tumbling out of that hovel. But somehow, surrounded by machines and wires, her skin so pale against the harsh white hospital sheets, it was worse. So, so much worse.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Swallowing against his tight throat, Killian slowly made his way into the room. They'd cleaned her up, but dried blood still clung to her hair, limp and snarled. She was asleep, though one of her eyes – beautiful, jungle green eyes that danced when she laughed – remained little more than a slit buried in swelling.

Ignoring the sting of tears, he carefully took a seat beside her, reaching for her left hand and delicately winding his fingers through hers. For a long time, he simply sat, watching her breathe, watching her live despite Gold's attempts to the contrary. There would be time to vent his anger later – perhaps he'd call Dave and see if he'd like to spar in the district gym.

Dave.

Killian tugged out his phone, realizing he'd never updated his friend. He tapped out a quick message and hit send before pocketing the device and turning his attention to Emma once more. Dave would fill in Robin.

She was watching him. "Hi," she croaked, the edge of her lips curving in a faint smile. "You…you're…here."

He hushed her quietly, pulling their joined fingers up enough to press a kiss to the back of her hand. "We can talk later, love, once you've rested."

Emma winced, glancing at her right hand where it lay against the blanket. "How bad?" she managed to ask, her eyes moving sluggishly as she scanned her body. Most of it was hidden beneath the sheets and blankets, but he imagined it wasn't too difficult for her to remember. The painkillers gave her a glazed expression, but he didn't miss the tightening in her jaw.

"Broken wrist and ankle. Several cracked ribs, more badly bruised." Killian forced himself to speak slowly, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice. Emma didn't deserve his rage. "A number of small cuts and bruises, though I suspect you knew that much."

She nodded, her eyes closing as she leaned back into the pillows, as though the short conversation was exhausting her. "Graham?" she asked after a long moment, her eyes still shut. "Is he…?" Her face said she knew he was dead, but Killian forced himself to say it anyway.

"Aye. They got him to Mass Gen, but…" He swallowed hard, grief and terror that it could have been Emma who coded on an OR table overwhelming him. "He didn't survive, love. I'm so sorry."

"I didn't think so. Gold said…" Her voice broke, and the fingers curled around his gave a weak squeeze, desperation making her grip stronger than he would have thought – and breaking his heart just a little bit more. "I…hoped it was a lie."

"Would that it were so." Killian took a shaky breath, weighing whether or not to tell her that Gold had met his maker as well.

"What?" Emma asked, watching him when he looked back up from their joined hands. "There's…more, isn't there?" A note of fear rang through the question, and he wanted to murder Gold all over again for putting that fear into Emma's voice.

"Gold is dead. One of your shots nicked his heart. He bled out before anyone got to him."

"Good."

"Aye." He rubbed his thumb across her palm, focusing on the feel of her skin against his. Emma was alive. She was warm, and breathing, and she would recover. He leaned closer, standing slightly to brush a kiss over an unmarred patch of skin along her hairline, snapping his eyes shut against the returning sting of tears. He wouldn't cry in front of Emma – not because he felt it a weakness, but because he knew his tears would upset her.

"Ruby and Regina are in the waiting room, if you'd like to see them," he offered, managing to keep his voice level by some feat of self-control. He didn't relish the idea of walking away from her just yet, but he needed to pull himself together, and the other women had been waiting just as long as he had.

She hesitated, and Killian nearly abandoned the idea, but then she nodded. "Okay," she rasped, squeezing his hand before letting go. "Killian?" she called as he stood, an odd note in her voice.

He turned back expectedly, waiting. He wanted to ask if she needed anything, could he get her water, ice, anything, but he remembered being the one in a hospital bed, emotionally and physically damaged – and he knew Emma. It wouldn't take much to make his Swan feel quite smothered, and he didn't trust his voice. So he didn't push, and after a long pause, she shook her head ever so slightly. "Never mind."

"All right. I'll be back in a tick." He ignored his uneasiness at the unasked question. There was something she'd wanted to say, but in the end, she hadn't. Perhaps it's just the drugs, he told himself, slipping into the hall and pushing a weary hand through his hair. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten or showered.

He made it into the next hall before he had to stop, vision blurred. He pressed his fist against his mouth, desperate to master his emotions as he leaned heavily against the wall. Emma needed him to be strong enough for both of them – she didn't need the weight of his grief on top of her own emotional battles. She never needed to know how terrified he'd been, how dangerously close he'd been to blaming himself, for not asking more questions, for not forcing answers out of her.

How many times he'd wondered if he could have prevented this, had he just been willing to push a bit harder.

But that was his cross to bear, not hers. He forced himself to breathe, choking and gasping through the exhaustion and overwhelming clash of relief and terror at getting Emma back in the state she was in, until he brought himself back under control. Ducking into the restroom, he splashed cold water on his face, the red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes easily explained by exhaustion.

Ruby and Regina remained where he'd left them, talking quietly in a corner of the waiting room. They had taken seats, but stood when he approached, faces grim. "How is she?" Ruby asked before he'd come to a stop, arms folded around herself as though she needed holding together. Killian understood the feeling all too well.

He shrugged, battling a fresh wave of helplessness. "It's not good. I fear it will be some time before she's fully recovered." He rubbed the back of his neck, fighting a yawn. Exhaustion was catching up to him. "She'd like to see you. Both of you," he added, inclining his head toward Regina. "I'll go fetch a coffee, give the two of you a moment."

With the low murmur of their voices at his back, Killian headed for the cafeteria. Inside the hospital, there was no telling it was the middle of the night – injury and illness cared not for the hours on the clock. He hated the antiseptic feeling of the place, the endless white walls, the tension that lived in the air itself.

He wondered how long they would keep Emma. Her injuries were serious, but not life threatening. With her ankle in a cast and her wrist bolted into place, there was little more to do than wait for the bones to knit themselves back together. In Emma's case, that likely meant keeping her off her feet and following doctor's orders. Ruby was right. Though Emma may feel otherwise, the combination of broken wrist, broken ankle, broken ribs, and crutches was too dangerous.

For the first time since the entire ordeal began, he allowed himself a tiny smile. Emma was so bloody stubborn when she set her mind to something, almost to the point of ridiculousness. But no sooner had the thought run through his mind than his smile froze, lips curving into a scowl. That stubbornness was likely what had saved her life, aye – but was it also what had gotten her into this mess? Graham had been ushering her back toward the van before they'd turned around. Why had they turned around?

It would be some time before he had those answers, if ever. Emma's recovery was his priority, but the FBI surely had others. There was Graham's funeral to attend to, family to notify, not that Killian recalled him ever mentioning family. And there were the remains of Gold's criminal enterprise to dismantle before someone new slid into his place, eager to take up the reins of depravity.

Taking a sip of his newly purchased coffee, Killian grimaced against the bitter, burnt substance. The hospital must employ the same method of brewing sludge as the district, he thought as he swallowed again. He had been awake for so long it wouldn't matter if he had ten cups of coffee – it was likely that the moment he gave himself permission to sleep, he'd be out

He took his time returning to Emma's room, not wanting to rush Ruby or Regina. The women had worked together a long time, and whatever he was feeling in the aftermath of Emma's capture and subsequent recovery, the two women closest to her likely weren't any different. They loved her, too.

"She's asleep," Ruby said softly, nearly walking into him a few feet down from Emma's room. "Regina left a few minutes ago. I'm going to run home to shower. She'll be out for awhile, I think, if you wanted to do the same."

"No, I'll stay. Perhaps catch a bit of sleep in that chair."

"I thought as much. Can I bring you anything? Some real coffee?"

Killian nodded gratefully, digging in his pocket for a crumpled ten. "Aye, black coffee from anywhere that can properly brew it would be much appreciated." He hesitated, but after today, he didn't care anymore what Emma had or hadn't told Ruby. Fishing in his pocket once more, he produced his keys and slid the one to Emma's door off. "Could you stop by her flat and fetch her some of her own clothes? She's rather fond of the navy pants in the third drawer of her dresser. Well, possibly in the third drawer, possibly in a heap on the floor. There's a grey top that…"

"I know." Ruby closed her fingers around the key, brushing his hand. She was smiling again, a secretive, knowing smile. "I didn't know she gave you a key."

"It was a matter of convenience," he mumbled, staring down into the Styrofoam cup.

"Uh huh. She might have told you that – she might have told herself that – but give yourself a little more credit, Killian. Emma wouldn't have given you a key to her apartment if she didn't want you there all the time."

"Aye," he agreed automatically, not allowing himself to think too long on it. In the moment she'd given him the key, he'd seen the fear in Emma's eyes, read her need to make it a trivial matter, but he'd wondered where that fear came from, suspected that the key had meant a great deal more than convenience. But Emma wasn't ready to admit that, and he wasn't certain she would be anytime soon.

Shoving aside the thought, he glanced down at the floor, hesitating, but in the end, what did it really matter? "There's also a pair of socks she rather fancies. Second drawer, with anchors on them." His eyes slid shut of their own volition, conjuring the image of Emma with a playful smile wearing his socks, deep navy lingerie, and nothing else. He'd left the socks at her place accidentally, but he hadn't minded in the least when he'd discovered she'd put them to better use. It had been early in their...relationship...and she'd since taken to wearing them regularly. Perhaps it would be a comfort to her now.

"Anchor socks?" Ruby's grin had brightened when he opened his eyes again, the first hint of true happiness he'd seen from her since the entire ordeal had begun. "I'm pretty sure Emma doesn't own anchor socks."

"They're mine," he admitted, scratching behind his ear and resisting the urge to fidget under her inspection. "Or, they were. Before Emma stole them."

"She does tend to steal things. I'm pretty sure a few of my dresses are in her closet somewhere." Ruby's hand on his arm was unexpected, but it was a comfort as she tightened her fingers in a reassuring squeeze. "I'll find the socks. Go be with her."

"Thank you," he managed to get out, his voice hoarse as Ruby nodded and slipped away. Once, he might have cared that he had just revealed far more to Red than he'd intended, but exhaustion and worry had taken their toll.

And it wasn't that Emma's injuries had made him love her any more than he had before, but an almost frantic voice in his mind begged him to tell her, to ensure she knew how he felt. Perhaps her ordeal would bring a sharper focus to her feelings, but there was always the chance it could go the other way – that the force of emotion she would have to deal with during her recovery wouldn't leave room for love in her life. So perhaps he was a little less guarded with their secrets than he ought to be, but really, what did he have to lose?

Killian rubbed against the ache in his chest as he slipped back into Emma's darkened room, slowly easing down into the chair at her bedside to avoid making any noise. His eyes flicked to the monitors, watching the steady beat of her heart until his eyes grew heavy and sleep took him.

-x-

Emma woke to a dark room, her entire body throbbing with pain. It took a moment for consciousness to catch up to her, and for a handful of terrible seconds, it wasn't stiff hospital sheets on her skin but cold concrete. With a wince, she managed to crack open her swollen eye, struggling to focus and shove aside suffocating panic. If the faint glow of the sky outside her window was any indication, it was just before dawn, and the light was a welcome reminder she wasn't in Gold's basement anymore. Turning her head slightly, she found Killian asleep in the chair he'd been in when the drugs had pulled her back under, his body slumped forward with his arms pillowing his head on her mattress.

Relief threatening to choke her, she reached for him, tentatively stroking her fingers through his dark hair. There were a lot of things she'd wished for alone in the dark, but in the end, it had been Killian she dreamt of when exhaustion won. It was odd the images her brain had latched on to – not the way he grabbed onto her hips, nor the habit he had of slipping into the shower behind her. No, her dreams had been of the tired smile he wore when he first caught sight of her at the end of a long day – and the look on his face right before he'd kissed her the night their desires finally boiled over.

Waking up to find herself trapped, certain she was going to die alone – that had been worse than the agonizing pain that grew stronger by the hour.

It sort of blew her insistence to Ruby about just sex right out of the water.

And then she remembered how wrecked Killian looked when she'd laid eyes on him in that alley, deep bruises under his eyes, several days worth of stubble grazing his usually neatly trimmed jawline. She'd been in so much pain, clinging so desperately to her attempt to take just one more step, then another, then another...but she hadn't missed that for everything she went through in that basement, some part of it might have been worse for him.

The more awake she became, the more she became aware of the grime on her face, the snarled mess that was her hair. God, she would give anything for a shower – or even better, a bath. A long, hot bath in clean water, followed by her own bed. With Killian in it.

Searching for a more comfortable position, Emma shifted her weight slightly, the shooting pain that resulted hurtling her back into the damp, cold basement. She focused instead on the softness of Killian's hair, the steady rise and fall of his back. There had been moments, terrifying, dark moments, where she didn't think she would ever see him again – that the last memory he would have of her was an empty pillow in the morning.

She'd had so much time to think, trapped in that basement she was certain would be her grave. Too much time. She'd always been in danger of losing herself to her racing thoughts, but with nothing else to do but bide her time, she'd gone over everything with Killian from start to end.

Everything.

It had been impossible not to be angry at first, after how everything had gone down at Gold's the night he'd turned up in the middle of her investigation – but if she'd known it then and not wanted to admit it, she definitely knew months later that Killian had done his best to spare her. It had been an impossible situation, and if she'd had someone like Rose in her life, someone in that kind of danger, she didn't know the lengths she'd go to in order to get them back.

And since then, what was her biggest complaint? That he forced her to eat something other than grilled cheese? That he wanted to be with her as many nights as she'd let him? That he wanted to make love to her and refused to let her off the hook when she tried to shove her feelings under the proverbial rug?

That he loved her, but was too afraid of her reaction to say so?

And what about her? She cared for him. Maybe she loved him. It had been so long since she'd opened her heart to anyone. Was she already there and didn't know it? After all, what was love when you weren't eighteen and vibrating with every emotion possible? Was it wanting him beside her in the middle of the night, was it missing the rumble of his laugh, or was it something else entirely?

Home is the place, when you leave, you just miss it.

Neal had told her that, a long time ago, before he'd lied to her face, before he'd gotten himself killed. He'd been wrong about so many things, but he'd been right about that. Was that what Killian was to her? Home?

Killian made a soft noise, drawing her attention to his stirring form. "Swan?" His accent was always thicker right when he woke up, voice rough. She loved waking up with that voice in her ear, his body heavy behind hers and warm. Despite him being only feet away, she suddenly felt very alone in the hospital bed. "Everything all right, love? Are you in pain? I can fetch the nurse."

"In a minute." The longer she was awake, the more everything hurt – not the excruciating, nausea-inducing pain she'd lived with at Gold's, but a dull, creeping ache she knew would only grow stronger. But she wanted a few minutes before the haze of pain medication took back over, a few minutes where she could think clearly, where it wasn't a monumental effort to focus on Killian's face – where she could assure herself he was real and not a cruel dream about to end. "You look exhausted," she said as she slipped her fingers along his jaw, her thumb brushing beneath his eyes. "You need to sleep in a bed, not that chair," she scolded lightly, ignoring her relief at finding him beside her when she opened her eyes. A part of her wanted to tell him – to verbalize how happy she was to see him – but something held her back, and she defaulted back to the superficial conversation she knew she could handle.

"I'll manage." He kissed her knuckles as they neared his lips, though his gaze remained locked with hers. "Don't waste energy worrying about me. You need your strength. Are you certain I can't fetch the nurse?"

Emma shook her head, dropping her hand to his shoulder and pulling. She didn't want to talk, didn't want to give Killian the chance to continue asking questions she wouldn't want to answer. "Kiss me."

He smiled faintly, sliding out of the chair to lean over her. The kiss he gave her was a whisper of what she wanted, a ghost of the real thing. She caught the back of his neck with her hand, tugging him closer in a silent plea.

"I don't want to hurt you, Emma."

"Just one kiss." She couldn't explain the rest to him – that she wanted the taste of him on her tongue to wash away the remnants of dust and blood that seemed to linger. She wanted his scruff to scrape against her softer skin, to ground her and make all of this reality, not a dream she would wake from any moment to find herself broken and still covered in Graham's blood. "Please."

He hesitated, but he didn't resist when she guided his lips back to hers, and then his palms were cradling her cheeks, careful of her bruises. He tasted of stale coffee, but Emma didn't give a damn as she threaded her fingers into his hair and held him to her. Emotion choked her, and she'd blame it on her exhaustion or the medication or anything other than the truth she knew it revealed, but tears rose in her eyes, her cheeks damp when Killian pulled away.

His own eyes were glassy.

"I was afraid I'd lost you." His voice was a ragged whisper, and his hand trembled ever so slightly as he moved it from her cheek to her hair, rubbing a strand between his fingers. Stretching forward, he pressed a kiss against her forehead, another at her temple, yet another at the corner of her mouth.

She twisted to meet him, but the motion left her gasping and gritting her teeth against the pain in her side. Killian stepped back instantly, guilt coating his features. "I'd better get the nurse," he said, already turning for the door. "I'm so sorry, love."

He was gone before she could get her breath back enough to protest.

The nurse came back with him, showing her how to administer her own pain medication and calmly explaining there was a limit. Emma nodded, her thoughts already growing muddled as the drug worked its way through her, but she managed to catch the woman by the arm before she left. Beyond the windows, the sun was just rising. "When can I go home?" She didn't want to wake up in the strange hospital again – she wanted her own things to ground her.

The nurse patted her hand, and if Emma had her full faculties, she'd have snarled a response right then and there. "You worry about getting better. The doctor will be in to talk to you later." The woman paused, glancing at Killian and his anxious expression with a frown. "Only family is allowed at this hour."

"He's my fiancé," Emma lied, not daring to look at Killian as she said it. She'd been in law enforcement long enough to know engaged couples were almost always afforded the same privileges of married couples. She didn't know why a ring made a damn bit of difference – one piece of metal and some overpriced rock did not change how important a person was – but she couldn't stomach the thought of Killian being banned from her room. It was one thing for her to kick him out, which she intended to do very shortly, because he needed to sleep, but for someone else to do it was unacceptable.

The nurse looked skeptical, and Emma followed her gaze to her bare left hand. "I don't wear…not at work," she got out, her eyes growing heavy. "Not…safe."

Killian remained still at her side, not speaking until the nurse was safely out of earshot. She waited for him to question her, to tease her, or even for that overly serious look he got sometimes, but instead his face was carefully blank. "Can I get you anything, love? I've asked Ruby to stop by your apartment, and…"

"Go home," Emma slurred, pushing his hand away. She meant to be gentle, but her limbs were beginning to feel like lead. Fighting the pull of the drugs, she peered up at him, the exhaustion coating his features. "You look…terrible. Go sleep." Too tired to keep her eyes open, she let them fall shut. It had the added benefit of not having to dissect the look on his face after she'd referred so casually to them being engaged, as though Emma were actually the marrying kind and Killian might stick around long enough for it to happen. "Come back. Take me…take home. Later."

The next time she woke up, Killian was right where she'd left him sitting in the chair. He hadn't left. She'd told him to go, and yet, there he was, sipping a cup of coffee.

"How long was I out?" she asked groggily, attempting to sit up before receiving a sharp reminder of the reasons she shouldn't. She blinked a few times, happy to find the swelling on her face was subsiding. She could almost see out of her right eye like normal.

"Several hours. Ruby came by with bagels and some of your clothes. She also brought you a hot chocolate that should still be warm." Killian nodded at the small bag on the table beside the bed, her clothing neatly stacked beside it and a Starbucks cup. "I've also spoken with the doctor and pending a final exam, he's willing to send you home. But there are conditions."

"Conditions?" Emma reached for the hot chocolate, huffing with frustration when she couldn't quite get it. Killian stood immediately, handing it to her without comment before resuming his seat.

"Aye." Killian sighed, scratching behind his ear and gazing out the window. "You've sustained a number of injuries, love. It will take time for this to all heal properly, and for that to happen, you must rest. Even with surgery on the wrist instead of a cast, it won't sort itself overnight."

"Got it. The Netflix marathon to end all Netflix marathons," she joked, mentally grimacing. Emma wasn't made for weeks on her couch. It would slowly drive her insane to be locked up in that apartment, but saying that wasn't going to get her out of the small, cold room.

"Aye. I'll be there to ensure it is so. There will be follow up visits as well, to check on your progress and ensure the bones are knitting back together as they should." There was no humor in his voice, and Killian was frowning slightly when he turned to her. "This is serious, Emma."

"I know, but I'll be okay during the day. You don't have to babysit me." She ignored the little voice in the back of her head already protesting that she'd never make it to a doctor's office on her own in her condition.

"It's not up for discussion."

Emma forgot sometimes that Killian had been an officer in the military before the BPD, that he'd once been the one to give orders that were followed without question. He'd never tried to order her around before, and in some distant, logical place, she knew he wasn't intentionally trying to do it now, either – but he was, and it chafed instantly.

"So I go from Gold's prisoner to yours? In my own home?" she snapped, glaring at him with the full force of her frustrations. She knew it wasn't fair the moment she said it, and Killian's wince lanced straight through her, but she was exhausted and in pain. When Killian had said she could go home, a fierce longing to be in her own space, surrounded by her own things, had plowed through her. And it wasn't that she didn't want him around – she did – but not every moment of every day. She wasn't ready for that. She probably never would be.

She definitely was never going to be ready to be told what to do by a man in her life, no matter how much she cared about him.

Killian seemed to struggle with himself, his hands twisted in his lap and his gaze dark. When he finally spoke again, his words were clipped, measured. "The doctor will only agree to sign your discharge paperwork with the promise you'll be looked after. I've already discussed it with Dave, and I have plenty of vacation time. We didn't save you from Gold just so you could…"

"Save me?" Emma scoffed, rolling her eyes as her hackles rose all over again. "You're not my white knight, Killian. No one saves me. I saved myself. I shot Gold. I crawled my way out of that basement." She was working herself up as she went, her volume rising and her heart pounding. She'd been doing so well not thinking too much about that basement, about what it had taken to get herself free, but there was no stopping the flood of images. "He was dead by the time you showed up. If you hadn't been there, I'd have gotten myself to the street and ended up right where I am. I don't need you to take care of me. I'm perfectly capable."

Killian simply stared at her, the only indication he had any thoughts on her words at all the way the tips of his ears flushed and his jaw tightened. "I don't wish to argue with you, love. It pains me to even say it, but you could have died." His features softened slightly as he reached for her, his fingers curling around her uninjured wrist. "But you didn't, despite what appears to be his best efforts to the contrary. You've a fair bit of recovery ahead, and I simply want to help. Let me help you, Emma. Let me be there for you. I'm not going anywhere."

In the end, she agreed. Maybe it was because she wanted to get the hell out of the hospital before she went stir crazy; maybe it was because the sheets were scratchy and the food was terrible.

Or maybe it was because when Killian said I'm not going anywhere, it wasn't just a statement. It was a promise, and despite her hesitance at having him so close at all times, wasn't that what she'd wished for trapped in that basement? A chance to see Killian again, the time to come to terms with her feelings for him? Time to figure it out, time to learn each other, time to carve out a space for him in her battered and broken heart? The universe had given it to her, and who was she to spit it back?

Or maybe it was because he knew her well enough that not only did he ask Ruby for her favorite shirt, but also his ridiculous socks she'd stolen weeks ago. Because even if she could only wear one of them with her broken ankle in a cast, the look he'd given her helping her put it on had been one precious moment where everything else had ceased to exist – where all the horror of the last few days dropped away and there was just a man that meant the world to her smiling like she was the sun.

So when Killian lifted her into his arms from the passenger seat, she summoned up a genuine smile – Killian hated her fake smiles – and burrowed her face against his neck to hide the apprehension clawing at her throat.

When I sit down and start writing a MC fic, I don't really outline. I sort of figure the story out as I go, with a few notable exceptions. And one of the things I knew from day 1 was that Graham would end up dead, Emma would get up back in Gold's hands and that she would save herself - at least from the immediate danger. I've always been drawn to that piece of Emma, that she's a princess but she's NOT a damsel in distress and this was my nod to it, however dark and twisty it may be.

I'm also doing a fic giveaway on Tumblr. I'm nowforruin there as well. Come say hi!