Zombie AU.
Given the nature of the AU, I'm warning for gore and dark themes. There's actually not a lot of detail, but if it bothers you skip this one.
Not actually a crossover, despite the title. You could picture it in that world, if you want, but it's not specific.
They meet the way men and women so often do: eye contact across a crowded room. He moves toward her first, but it doesn't take her long to meet him halfway. They press together and apart, bodies becoming acquainted long before they even attempt to speak, shouting against the noise. It's typical, really.
Well, maybe the sword is a little unusual.
He beheads a large man in a trucker hat, and continues the same movement to spin around and block a tiny blonde woman going for Emma's jugular. At the same time she's smashing in the brains of what was once the store's manager, judging by the label on his shirt. The movement presses her back fully up against his chest, and for a moment she feels heat rushing through her at the feel of his strong, living body against her, before a soccer mom attempts to eat her alive and she's distracted again.
After they get out safely (against all odds), they exchange names.
"Emma Swan," she says. "What's with the sword?"
"Killian Jones," he drawls in return - with an accent, wonderful - looking her up and down and running his tongue across his teeth. "Why don't you come closer and feel for yourself?"
He's lean and strong, dark hair peeking out of the v-neck of his shirt, blue eyes flashing bright with interest as he hooks his fingers into his belt and raises an eyebrow at her. There are bits of gore splattered across his face and it should probably disturb her that they make him even more attractive. She can't remember how long it's been since she's had sex.
"Yeah, that's never gonna happen," she tells him, and he grins even wider.
"I love a challenge."
"Never, pal."
-xxx-
She lasts two weeks.
-xxx-
In Emma's defense, three days before she finally caves her hand gets sliced open by a former beautician's ragged fingernails on a supply run. There's probably some level of irony in that, but Emma isn't much inclined to care. It's a decent sized cut, that's all that matters; there's definitely blood and it's going to scar.
Assuming she lives that long.
Killian is the one who notices. They're passing through an empty alleyway, almost back at the old library they've been calling home, when he catches her arm suddenly, and in a low voice says, "You're hurt."
"What?" Emma asks, tugging away, and only then noticing the pain shooting up her arm. "No. I'm fine."
Killian's eyes are dark and serious, and his grip is tight. "No, you're not."
Emma's seen this before. She was running with a group of guys a few months ago - rough types mostly, the kind she would have once been hunting down to stick back in jail. They weren't exactly her friends, but they were useful to have around for safety's sake - at least until the day the one man she got along with best, a compulsive but kind liar named August, was bitten on the leg. It wasn't that bad an injury, but the others didn't even give him a day to see if it was infected. Shot him five times on the spot.
The next time they ran into a horde, Emma left them all for dead.
But Killian Jones pulls her hand closer to him, and doesn't even flinch when she whips out her knife with her other hand and holds it to his throat.
"Let me go," she threatens.
"Let me help you," he returns, staring straight into her eyes as he slowly reaches into his pocked and pulls out his flask. He pops the lid with his teeth, maintaining eye contact as he reaches out slowly to pour the contents over her palm.
It burns, but by the time she's done flinching he's already ripped off a piece of his shirt and is winding it carefully around her hand: once, twice, three times.
He bends forward to tug the knot tight with his teeth, his left hand still gripping her wrist. The movement presses his throat directly against her knife, denting his skin. Emma's breath is caught in her lungs.
"What's the rule," he asks softly, drawing back. "Three days?"
-xxx-
Exactly three days later, she walks up to him and asks to feel his sword, please.
His laughter is rich and dark and she kisses it hungrily away.
Apparently Emma's easy: all he had to do was offer her a drink.
