A/N: I'm keeping it short today because I have an exam tomorrow (the last one yay!) and on Saturday I'm going back home after five months abroad so I have a lot of luggage to pack.

Thanks to my betas acourtoftruelove and ofshipsandswans and my artist shady-swan-jones!

Emma trudged up the stairs, her body screaming in disagreement with the movement. She reached the second floor, almost weeping in relief as she saw the familiar door. She'd been walking for hours—limping was more accurate—wandering through the city without any real destination, without any real purpose. Rain had fallen down, poured down from the sky and had drenched Emma to the bone. She didn't know what to do but her body clearly did as her mindless wandering had made her end up in front of Killian's building.

She stood before his door but she hesitated, did not approach it or open it. She couldn't really explain why she came here of all places, why she sought him out. She should've just gone home, tended to her own wounds, and leave the one she would create now to deal with later.

Cover the bruises until they'd faded, hide the cuts until they'd healed. Hole herself up until she'd regained her composure and wasn't on the verge of breaking down at every waking moment.

She'd left in the middle of the night, however, like a thief in the night and he didn't know why. He would think she regretted spending the night with him. Maybe he'd even suspect she'd only slept with him to make him change his mind. He was going to be hurt and the anger towards her would resurface, perhaps even worse, even more furious than last time. Emma was certain Killian would be livid as well when he heard what she did, especially after he'd specifically told her not to. Livid and disappointed. Still, that would be easier to bear than the furiousness. More rightfully deserved.

So she knocked lightly, her free hand tugging on the dark hoodie she was wearing to shield her face. She moved her weight from left to right, from one foot to the other as she nervously waited. What if he wasn't home? What if he was making his way to the police station right now to press charges and she was here too late?

She tried to control her breathing, willed her heart to stop furiously pounding inside her chest.

At last, the door swung open.

He was home at least, hadn't rushed to the police like she earlier feared. But the sight of him didn't seem awfully positive either. The first thing Emma thought was frantic. He looked frantic, eyes blown wide, hair a mess as if he'd spent hours and hours running his hand through.

All of that disappeared, however, as Emma gazed up from her hoodie, revealing the purple edge around her eye, the red slash on her cheek.

Confusion soared.

He seemed unsure what to do first, his eyes traveling all over her body, taking in the scene before him and what it told him. He did not look like he was pleased as he stepped back into his apartment and widened the door in a silent invitation. Keeping her eyes glued to the ground, Emma accepted and walked into the living room.

A flood of memories almost drowned her. God, it had only been less than twenty-four hours and still it felt like a lifetime. Since they talked. Since they kissed. Since they confessed their feelings. All of which was back to being uncertain, unsure if it was still the case with him. She had a way of making bad bets that risked everything.

She took her jacket off and the hoodie with it, only leaving her in an oversized shirt that made her look smaller and frailer than she actually was. She was happy she was wearing it, though; it was also the only thing she would feel comfortable in, the only thing she could wear to not be confronted with the truth again and again. Her wet hair stuck to her cheeks, messy and tangled and Emma had an inkling she looked like a sad, wet dog. That was how Killian regarded her at least.

She could see the pity in his irises, discern the sorrow in the way his lips curled downwards and his anger in the way his hand clenched.

What she would give to be in his warm and protecting arms right now.

They stood there for a moment, him watching her and Emma attempting to suppress the shivers wracking her body. The wheels were turning in Killian's head, searching for a solution to the question of how he should behave towards her, yet again.

"What happened?" he asked, surely to attempt and answer that enigma again.

Emma felt the chills take over but they weren't caused by the cold. She saw her sight go blurry and sensed her lips starting to quiver.

"I went to Gold," she said, the shame and regret coloring her words dark, a shade she'd rather keep in the shadows where it belonged.

He took the words in and frowned as he thought them over. Silence wrapped around them.

"What do you mean 'you went to Gold'?" he finally asked.

She rubbed her palms over the cold, rigid skin of her lower arms. Whether it was to create heat or to protect herself wasn't clear.

"I wanted to make sure he couldn't hurt us anymore."

"Emma. Are you kidding? After I told you not to? That's why you left in the middle of the night?"

"I'm sorry."

He turned away from her.

"God, you risked your life yet again?"

She didn't reply, they could both see and feel the answer to that question.

She felt like hiding even more, attempting to stretch the short sleeves of her shirt to cover more bare skin, to cover more bruises.

Killian saw what she was doing.

"Let me look at you," he said, his voice painfully gentle. His finger settled on her chin and moved it upwards. She averted her eyes, she didn't want to see the pity in his eyes. She moved her head along as he turned it sideways, revealing the large, sore bruise on her cheek. His thumb ventured out to caress the patch of blue on her pale skin. A soft hiss escaped her lips, making Killian drop his hand immediately, the moment over as fast as it had come. "Emma, you should see a doctor," he concluded, "Let me take you to a hospital."

"No, I don't want to." She met his gaze while shaking her head. "They'll ask questions."

"Then you lie. You should get this checked out."

"No! Please," she begged.

Killian sighed. "What can I do?"

There was only one thing Emma could think of, only one thing that would keep her from disintegrating into a puddle of tears and misery. She now realized it was the reason she came here, the dull throbbing in her body not a side effect of what had transpired earlier but a driving force that had led her here to be remedied. And the only cure was him.

"Could you just hold me?" She hated the way she sounded, the small voice in which she said even smaller words but it did represent how she felt exactly. Small and helpless. There was no use in hiding that.

He sighed and closed the distance again, his arms carefully wrapping around her. Emma was encircled by his body, his smell, him and pure tranquility overcame her. She felt his lips press a kiss to her still wet hair and the act of tenderness gave permission to her tears to finally fall, the warm liquid stinging against the wounds on her face.

"Why the fuck did you think it was necessary to be all stupid and heroic?"

And there was one simple answer that lay on the tip of her tongue, but Emma swallowed it back in and hugged Killian a bit tighter.

For the longest time, only their breaths sounded through the room, the intake of air becoming calming and quieter as their heartbeats beating in synchronicity each other and their pulse decelerated.

"You didn't pick up your phone."

A stab of guilt hit her heart. She'd put her phone on airplane mode to avoid leaving any digital traces of her trip to both Gold's office and his office and, if she was being honest, to prevent her from having contact with Killian. She was certain that once he'd get ahold of her, he would talk her out of it. Or the hurt in his voice would be too much to bear and she'd come running back to him, trying to save whatever there was left to save.

"It was off," she admitted, her arms curling a bit more around his shoulders.

"You could've left a note," he told her.

"I know," she whispered back.

She'd considered it but there had been nothing she could've put in that note that would make him worry less, nothing that would have avoided this situation.

"I thought it was all a dream at first. And then I thought it was all part of the act again."

"It wasn't." She shook her head against his chest. "I promise."

Killian released her from the embrace, his broad hand smoothing over her damp hair.

"What if you were more badly hurt, Emma? What if he'd left you there for dead?"

It was a question that had a terrible outcome, a scenario Emma should thank her stars that did not come true.

"I'm sorry. For everything."

For every lie, every ounce of betrayal he had felt, every–

Everything

"We'll talk about in the morning. Do you want to stay here?"

Emma nodded vigorously. "Yes, please."

Just the thought of descending the stairs again, walking the entire way home made her feel weary, exhausted.

"You can take the bed," he said. "I'll sleep on the couch."

He began to move, preparing their sleeping arrangements, but Emma stood still, feet stuck to the wooden floor. Sensing her fixation, Killian turned around with questioning eyes.

"I don't want to be alone," she mumbled in reply.

The fear, a small glowing orb inside her body, wouldn't go away. It was an erratic emotion, but what if she wasn't truly safe here. Gold could find her, could find him and do even more unspeakable things to them. Only being close to him could help her settle a little bit, managed to take the uneasiness away.

"You don't have to sleep on the couch," she continued, hoping that he understood what she was saying and all of the meaning that lay behind the words.

"Are you certain?" A crease appeared between his brows.

"Are you?"

Repeating the question to avoid answering just how certain she was about it might not have been the best tactic but it was a genuine concern of hers. He had been the victim in this whole ordeal. She had been the one to inflict all of the pain. So the question wasn't if she was sure of it (she was), it was if he was okay with it.

"Let's go to bed, Swan." And it was as much a dismissal as it was an invitation.

Her eyes fell on the bed. The anchor sheets were gone, a plain black had taken their place and she didn't want to think about how the change might've been warranted by what had taken place here yesterday, what they done in those anchor sheets and what she'd done afterwards. She didn't want to think about it but she did. Her gaze was stuck on the sheets.

"You'd better not sleep in wet clothes. I will find you something more comfortable."

He rummaged through his closet and delved a pair of sweatpants and a faded T-shirt out of it. Walking back to her, he offered them and she accepted.

Emma had to clear her throat before being able to answer a timid thanks.

She made a move to start changing her clothes in the room but was interrupted by Killian speaking. "The bathroom is through there."

Releasing the hem of her shirt, it fell down again. She walked over to the bathroom and once the door shut, she let her head rest against the wall. Maybe this was all a mistake.

It took some time to peel off her clothes, still damp due to the rain. Every time she bent, she felt the ache building up in her back, every time she stretched, it pulled on her shoulders. Emma watched herself in the mirror and struggled to recognize herself. She looked completely and utterly exhausted and she was, both physically and mentally. The bruise on her cheek had become a dark purple, the cuts an angry red. The locks of her hair were impossibly tangled and she attempted to get rid of the knots at first, fervently combing through them with her fingers, but then gave up. Tears rose, the powerlessness making itself known again.

A knock sounded on the door and made her break her stare on her mirror image.

"Emma, are you alright? You've been in there for a while," was said from the other side of the door.

She wanted to answer that yes, she was alright, but she couldn't, her mouth wouldn't form the words. It was a lie either way, she was far from alright.

Eventually, Killian took the silence as an answer. The door opened and he stepped into the bathroom, worry in his eyes as he searched for her.

He spoke as he took in her face again, tears and all. "We'd best disinfect these."

-/-

Emma couldn't sleep; her thoughts were hyperactive, screaming too loudly, racing inside of her mind. It had been silent in the room for a while now but Killian wasn't asleep either. She could sense his body tensing with every move she made, with every rustle against the sheets she caused.

Turning to face him, she opened her eyes and saw him staring at the ceiling, features barely visible in the dimmed light.

"You need to sleep, Killian."

Her insomnia was a lost cause and would only let her get some rest when it felt like it but at least one of them should get some sleep. If Killian was, for some reason, waiting on her falling asleep before he did, he was going to have to wait a long time.

"So you can leave again?" he questioned, voice as rough as the words it formed.

She deserved that one. He didn't trust her to stay and honestly, she wouldn't trust her either if the roles were reversed.

"I won't," she assured him.

"Forgive me for not believing your assurances in this current situation."

"I'm not going to leave again, Killian."

He stared at her, the sliver of moonlight that crept in falling onto his face and highlighting the blue of his eyes. But the silvery color lacked warmth, made the usually vibrant cyan cold as ice. A chill ran up her spine.

"I swear," she reiterated, hoping he'd at least give it a shot trust her, even if it was only for a tiny bit.

He shut his eyes and turned on his side, facing away from her. The blankets got pulled higher and he made himself comfortable in bed. Emma was still watching him, his back rather. Was this supposed to be a positive sign? An indication to say that he believed her? It didn't feel like one. She was about to try and conquer her insomnia—try and will herself to sleep in the uncomfortable silence—when Killian spoke one last time.

"Good."

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