Chapter 2: Than Nothing at All

Killian reached for the loaf of bread on the shelf in front of him. Gathering each of the items on his list without much fanfare. He kept to himself mostly, not bringing any unwanted attention his direction. He smiled at the cashier, handing over the cash for the groceries and tipping his hat before heading to the exit.

"See you in a few months, Rogers." The woman smiled as he opened the door.

He nodded silently and shut the door behind him. Trekking through the town streets, he kept his eyes to the ground, avoiding eye contact with anyone who passed by him. Killian had no intention of befriending anyone in the town he visited every few months to pick up supplies before heading back to his home, hidden away in the lush forest.

He had his own garden, a well for water, and he had gotten used to living without electricity in his time spent at his cabin he built with his own hands. Only the items he couldn't grow on his own required him to drive into the small town, purchase his necessities, and get back to his haven of solidarity before sundown.

He hadn't always lived this way, yet he welcomed it now more than anything. His interactions were limited to the people he was forced to speak to in town during these visits. Killian was sure he wouldn't have a single idea how to hold a conversation anymore.

There were days when he didn't even hear his own voice, let alone use it to form a real sentence. Except for the times that he sought advice from himself or his dog, Jolly. In those cases, he found himself mumbling, sometimes he would answer for himself or the mutt and other times he would simply laugh for bothering to ask questions out loud in the first place.

He tossed the bags into the back of his truck, slamming the tailgate shut behind him. Climbing into the seat he pushed the key into the ignition but was stopped by a hand slipping into view of his open window.

"Afternoon, Rogers."

Killian nodded to the man, "Sheriff."

The man looked into the back of the truck, before turning back to face him. "Supply run?"

"Yes, sir." He answered quietly.

"Bad weather headed this way." The man pointed to the sky. "Looks like we might get some heavy rains, saying winter might be coming early."

"Good thing I grabbed my supplies today then." He said with a nod, turning the key in the ignition. The man kept his hand firmly attached to the vehicle.

"Yes, yes, good thing. Wouldn't want you finding any trouble, Jones."

Killian swallowed hard. "It's my intention to stay out of trouble, sir."

"See to it that you do." The man patted his truck and walked back toward the sidewalk, turning to offer a simple wave as he pulled out of his parking spot. Killian was aware that the Sheriff knew of his past and who he actually was. The man kept a close eye on him when he visited town. Always making sure that Killian stuck to his routine and left as soon as he was done. He tried not to take offense, he supposed if the roles were reversed he would feel the same.

And Killian wasn't looking for trouble. He'd had enough trouble for one lifetime, and he was determined to live out the rest of his life in peace.

Alone.

Killian drove down the dirt road leading into the forest. The breeze was picking up, blowing leaves across the windshield of his truck. A storm was brewing, and he would need to prepare the cabin and board up the windows. He parked the truck next to the small cabin, gathering handfuls of supplies from the back of the truck to carry into the house.

The door blew open, slamming into the side of the wall with the force of the wind. Jolly skipped toward him, panting, and howling at his feet. He set a few of the bags down, pushing the door shut with a slam, causing the frame sitting on the wooden table to fall to the floor with a crash. He sighed, scooping up the frame, slicing his finger on a shard of glass connected to it. He flinched at the pain, sucking his thumb into his mouth. Walking into the kitchen he sat the photo on the table, running water from the sink onto the wound. He grabbed one of the towels next to the sink, wrapping it around his hand.

When the bleeding stopped, he tossed the towel into the bin and sat down at the table, his eyes drifting over the photo lying on its side. His fingers absentmindedly grazed the faces that lay within the frame.

Being alone with his thoughts, his memories, were both a blessing and a curse. There were nights where he punished himself going through his past. Dredging up pieces of his life, remembering things that many nights he wished to forget, to burn from his brain. In the beginning, he spent his nights drinking, crying into his bottle of rum, wishing for things that he could never possibly have. But that was years ago, and he had long given up childish hopes and dreams.

He stood from his seat, taking the frame, and setting it into a drawer in the cabinet. Walking to the back door of the cabin, he grabbed the pole next to the door. With the storm approaching he only had a few more hours to get anything done before he would be holed up inside for a few days. He was in the mood for fish tonight, and if he wanted that, he needed to get a move on before the dark skies began spitting in his direction.

He trudged through the knee-high grass toward the small stream that produced the best catch. Tossing his line out into the water, he sat on the bank and raked a hand through his hair while he watched the line float out to the middle of the water, large circles rippling across the top of the pool as the rain began to fall.

Large drops began falling on his face, dripping down his cheek as the line sat still in the water in front of him. He sighed, watching the line dip into the dark waters. He reeled the line back in, casting it back into the center of the stream. Jolly stirred beside him, his nose sniffing the air.

Seems the fish weren't biting tonight. He reeled the line back in slowly, watching the water ripple through the waves. When the line returned to him empty, he secured the line and stood up from his spot on the bank. As he prepared to leave, something caught his attention from the corner of his peripheral vision. Something bright caught on the edge of the bank near the rocks. He walked further down the embankment, trying to make out the shape of the object. Suddenly Jolly's senses set him off as he ran down the side of the shore barking loudly.

As he neared the bright mass bobbing in the water, he noticed blonde locks swishing against the rocks. It was a person. Bloody hell. He waded into the water, feeling the frigid liquid stinging his thighs. He reached out, grabbing ahold of the black material wrapped around the woman's mostly naked body. Blonde hair was wrapped tightly around her face, dirt and twigs mangled in her golden locks. He reached for her wrist, there was a slight pulse. The woman was alive.

Bloody hell.

He looked around. "Hello?" He yelled up stream. He had no idea where this woman could have come from, there was nothing around him for miles.

He put his hands on his hips, staring at the woman, contemplating his options. This was a complication he didn't need in his life. If he brought a naked woman to town, half dead, wrapped in lacey garbage, they would throw him in jail and toss away the key. But if he left her here, she would most assuredly die. Looking down at Jolly, he groaned. "What do we do with her, boy?" The dog responded with a loud bark.

Shit.

He couldn't exactly leave the woman out here to die, could he?

The rain was coming down in sheets, bouncing off her milky white skin as the pieces of black lace that were still attached to her body swirled around her.

Dammit.

Bending over he hoisted her over his shoulder, wading through the water until he reached the grass on his side of the stream. He lay her body on the ground, averting his eyes from her naked form. Regardless of the state of the lass, it was inappropriate for him to stare. Discarding his jacket from his body, he draped it over the blondes near naked form. Scooping her into his arms, he headed off in the direction of his cabin.

The woman's skin was freezing to the touch, he was sure she had been in the water for hours. He had no idea how a woman would be in the woods, wearing what she was wearing, unless something was afoul. Thoughts of a killer or rapist lurking in his neck of the woods was frightening and problematic for him. With his history, he would be the first to blame if something evil happened near the small town he visited for supplies. The Sheriff was aware of his previous incarceration, he was a felon after all, and he knew that the Sheriff would always see him that way. He had seen the look of shame and disgust in the man's eyes the first time he was summoned to his office after arriving in his town.

Six years ago

"Have a seat." The Sheriff glared from his side of the desk.

"Is there a problem, sir? I was just stopping in for some bread and milk." Killian tentatively took the seat across from the brooding man.

"Well, the problem isn't why you're here, it's you being here at all."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understand."

"We don't get a lot of strangers in this town. I ran your plates the moment you crossed into our little haven." He picked up a sheet of paper in front of him. "Killian Jones, 5 years' incarceration for larceny, trafficking, and murder." He let the paper fall to the desk in front of him. "We're a quiet town, full of good people who just want to go about their business. We don't get men like you in our parts."

"I did my time, paid my dues. I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just need some supplies and I'll be on my way."

"Just where are you staying, son?"

"I have some land, about 30 miles from here. Off grid. Mostly self-sustaining. Just need to purchase a few things now and then. I won't be no trouble, sir."

"See to it that you aren't. Might not want to mention your name around here. Don't want my town in a panic."

"Yes, sir. I'm not here to make friends."

"Good. See to it that you don't stay long. I'll be watching you." The man rose from his desk, gesturing for Killian to leave which he was happy to do. He had expected to be treated as such, but it still stung feeling the man glare in his direction as he headed to his car.

Killian pushed the handle of the door and kicked his boot against the wood to shuffle into the cabin with the woman in his arms. Carrying her to the couch, he dropped her onto the sofa, rustling through the items in the room until he had an armful of blankets that he draped over her body to try and add some warmth to the woman.

Tossing a few logs into his fire, the room heated with a blaze as the flames broke the silence in the room with a crackle.

Looking back at the couch, he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He had nothing to dress the woman in that would fit her. He couldn't exactly leave her naked on his sofa. Walking back over to her, he slid his hand under the covers, her skin still felt like ice. He was pacing over the same planks of his living room, over and over. Stopping in place, he tore at the buttons of his flannel shirt, pulling it off his shoulders and tossing it to the ground.

This is ridiculous, he thought. He'd watched too many movies in the past. But she needed to get warm, and quickly. He undid the button on his pants, letting them drop to the floor beneath him and cautiously approaching the woman lying still in his home. Lifting the covers, he slid in beside the woman. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Lass." He said out loud, feeling utterly ridiculous talking to a woman who was clearly not awake to hear a word he said.

He pulled the woman on top of him, sliding her icy skin to rest against his warm body. Staring at the ceiling he laughed at himself. "First time you get a naked woman in your arms in years, and she's passed out cold. Figures." The woman's head rested on his chest and he pinched the covers around their body, wrapping his legs around her lower half, hoping to transfer as much warmth as he could. He slid his arms around the woman's upper half, resting his hands against her back and rubbing them in slow circles. It was an oddly sensual gesture, if not for the clinical nature of the entire reason he had this woman in his arms in the first place.

He could feel her heartbeat slowly against his chest, a good sign he assumed. Once she was warmer, he would need to dress her and examine her for injury. The sooner he got her up and out of his home the better. Hopefully when she woke up she could tell him where to drop her and he could be done with this mess.

He pushed the woman's hair out of her face, she would need a bath and a brush through her tangled mess of hair, but looking at her face, he could see that she was quite beautiful. Whoever she was, someone must be missing her. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of her body pressed against his chest, his hands languidly roaming her back and he cursed himself for letting his thoughts drift.

Killian, my love.

He woke with a start, the fire dwindling in the stone hearth. Grumbling to himself he moved quickly to remove himself from the woman still lying motionless on top of him. Pressing his hand to his boxers to try and control his hardened erection.

"Dammit." He cursed, looking down at the woman and reaching for his clothes to redress himself. He tucked the blankets around her and searched his bedroom for clothing he could dress the woman in. He didn't exactly want her waking up in barely a stitch of clothing and thinking he took advantage of her. He found a pair of sweats and sniffed one of his flannels to ensure it was clean and took to task at dressing the woman. He took his time, examining her for cuts, bruises, breaks, or anything that seemed out of the ordinary that he would need to attend to. He bandaged the scrapes at her knees, wrapped her right hand, and secured her left arm in a strap to keep her from moving it. He couldn't tell but it was possible her leg was broken or dislocated. He would need to deal with that once she was awake.

Honestly, getting a woman out of her clothes had come easy to him in the past, but dressing a woman who was practically comatose, and limp was proving to be a challenge. When he finally finished the task at hand, he lifted the woman up and carried her to his bedroom. He had a small wood stove in the corner of the bedroom, and it would be easier to keep her warm in the tiny space.

Once she was settled into his bed, he fished a brush from his tiny bathroom and sat down next to her on the bed. He tugged the few twigs from her hair, lightly running the bristles through her locks to get out the knots. When she could care for herself she would want a full bath to wash away the dirt, but the least he could do was make her presentable.

Presentable for what, you fool?

Killian shook the thoughts from his head and laughed. "Well, boy, I guess we're on the couch tonight." The dog jumped up on the bed and circled his spot, snuggling his snout into the woman's side and relaxing against her. "Traitor." He snorted. "I guess that will keep her warm." He walked out of the room, pulling the door shut until there was just a crack left and headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

He sat at his table, staring down at the plate in front of him. He had really wanted fish tonight and instead he was eating peanut butter and jelly. The disappointment was greatly impounded by the fact that instead of fish, he found a bloody woman. He tried to ignore the anxiety bubbling inside of him, the worry about where the woman came from, how she ended up in the stream wearing hardly any clothing, who might be looking for her, and how quickly he could get her the hell out of his life.

He wasn't used to dealing with people, much less the opposite sex. The last woman he had interacted with was that bitch of a prosecuting attorney, Regina Mills. The woman who stared at him like he was trash under her feet. She was almost gleeful when asking him questions on the stand, not even flinching when she held up poster size photos of Milah and Alice, their mangled bodies littered on the glossy paper for all to see. He had gulped down the tears that she accused him of faking, yelling in his face when he wouldn't answer her questions about Neal fast enough. She was going to put him away for life. She bragged about it on the news every night.

He remembered her anger when the deal had been made, Killian would only serve five years for turning over states evidence and cooperating in the upcoming trial of Mr. Gold, the crime boss who reeked terror through Boston for the past 8 years. He swore he saw smoke coming from her ears when he walked out of the room after putting signature to paper.

He finished his sandwich, cleaning his plate in the sink and putting it away before leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. He looked down at the drawer beside him, sliding it open with his finger and reaching in to pull out the frame. Smiles on the faces glared up at him. The memory of the happy day floating in his brain.

13 years ago

"Push me higher daddy." The young girl squealed.

"If you go any higher Alice, you will fly away from here." He pushed the small of the girls back, sending her upwards on the swing.

"I'd never fly away from you."

He smiled and grabbed the swing and the small girl in his arms, pulling her toward him and snuggling into her neck. "I should hope not, my love." The girl giggled and squirmed in his arms.

"Hey, can I get in on any of this?"

Killian smiled at his wife as she approached them. "What do you say Alice, does mommy need a hug?"

"Alice sandwich." The girl screamed.

Killian scooped her out of the swing and the girl wrapped her arms around his neck. "Milah love, I believe our girl wants an Alice Sandwich." The woman pressed against him, her arms attaching to his waist and a soft kiss set upon his cheek.

Killian placed the frame back into the drawer and slammed it closed. He hadn't had these thoughts in years. He didn't want them. Blowing out the candles in the kitchen he wandered through the house, peeking into the bedroom. Jolly lifted his head and then whimpered before lying back down. He stepped quietly into the room, feeling the woman's hand, she was warmer now. Her pulse was stronger.

"Come now Lass, it's time to wake up and go home." He said softly, but there was no movement, no recognition, she simply exhaled slowly, as if she were lost in a peaceful dream. Sighing he let loose of the woman's hand, patted his dog on the head and wandered from the room. Dropping down onto the couch, he slipped his shoes off and hunkered under the blanket. Tomorrow he hoped the woman would wake and leave him to his solace again. Having a woman in his home was dangerous, not only for his freedom, but for his mental health. He didn't need to be having thoughts of a life that was no longer his, he didn't deserve memories of hope or love.

Killian Jones was a villain and villains didn't get a happy ending.