Author's Notes: Okay, guys! I am officially done with my first year of graduate school and technically only 4 classes away from my degree. It's amazing what can happen in a year, but between you and me, I am so fucking ready for a break.

A break full of fanfiction, of course. Because reasons.

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story. If you didn't get the chapter alert for Chapter 7 last week, I am terribly sorry. FF was being an asshole. But that sorta means this is like a double update, right?

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT. Nope. Not a cent . . . pity.


Chapter 8

No one initially noticed Emma's absence.

The harsh combination of the wind, the rain, and the waves kept every sailor aboard focused entirely on themselves and keeping the Jolly afloat. It was only when the next flash of lightning illuminated the deck that Killian noticed his Swan was missing. Horror kept him frozen for only a second before he was shouting, "Man overboard!"

Vincent was the second one to notice. He heard Killian shouting above him, something about someone taking the wheel, and he just knew what his Captain planned to do. It was a damn right stupid plan.

So he did it first.

He tied himself to a line and jumped. The water was freezing, the currents rough. He tumbled under the waves, twisting awkwardly as he tried to gain control. Come on, come on, come on . . .

Once he was finally upright in the water, Vincent dove deeper, his eyes searching vainly in the dark for a glimpse of pale skin and blonde hair. He was likely too late. He knew that. In this storm, with these waves? There was no telling where she'd been swept off to.

Vincent dove deeper still.

Lightning flashed. The water switched from black to murky blue. The light lasted for hardly a second, barely a blink, but it was enough. He saw a halo of blonde hair to his right and he blindly swam in that direction, praying to Calypso that she would show mercy. Please let me save her.

His hand brushed her leg, and he grappled blindly before finally hooking his arm around her waist. It was only as he started for the surface that he felt the burn in his lungs. His strokes, once strong and sure, became sharper with panic. His grip on Emma, however, only tightened.

He breached the surface with a gasp. Seawater flowed into his open mouth and he choked and sputtered as he sank beneath the waves once again. Then the line wrapped around his waist tugged painfully, and his head was once again above water, Emma's limp form propped on his shoulder. Even in the rain and the wind, he was very aware that there was no breath against his skin.

Vincent clutched Emma to him as he was hauled back on board. Once he cleared the rail, he was assaulted by hands. At least three people grabbed him while someone else untied the line from his waist. Another ripped Emma from him. He didn't need to look to know who.

"You're insane, boy!" Bee shouted, every line of muscle angry despite his eyes shining with relief and worry as he glanced at Emma's prone form. "M'lady?"

"Swan!" Killian hovered over her, one hand tangled in her wet hair while the other lightly tapped her cheek. "C'mon, love. Swan."

Trembling fingers pinched her nose as he tilted her head back and began to breathe for her. Her chest rose and fell. "C'mon, Swan," he whispered as he pulled away before diving in for another breath. "Don't do this to me, love," he pleaded. Another breath. "Emma, please."

There was a heavy pause before Emma suddenly coughed, spitting up water as she weakly turned her head to the side so she wouldn't choke. She continued to cough roughly, the salt water scratching her throat. Her first breaths came in wheezing shudders, and it took her a moment longer for her senses to begin to work.

She was cradled against Killian's chest. She knew it without opening her eyes. He held her to him tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head while he rested his forehead against hers. "You bloody infuriating woman," he muttered, meaning to sound harsh and failing miserably.

She opened her eyes to a familiar shade of blue, bright and clear and swimming with emotions she'd rather not name. "Hi," she croaked.

Killian wasn't sure what sound escaped him. It was meant to be a laugh. "Hello, darling."

Her eyes widened and she tried to sit up. "The ship . . ."

"Is fine," he said, smiling slightly at her concern for the Jolly. He looked up at the sky. "The storm is passing."

He wasn't wrong. The rain was a gentle, romantic pour, and the wind had ceased. Light began to filter through the clouds and the rock of the ship was soothing once more instead of deadly. Emma blinked. "Weird."

"I've never seen anything like it in all my years," Killian agreed. "Come on, Swan. Let's get you warm."

Emma shivered violently on cue. "Yeah." She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. "That's a good plan."

Killian nearly swept her into his arms but refrained when she shot him a knowing glare. He muttered under his breath but nonetheless allowed her to walk on her own. Emma was quiet as they entered his quarters, though she paused once she was down the stairs. She stared at the mess with wide eyes. Papers were everywhere. Books lay open on the floor. His desk and chair had been upended. The wardrobe had stayed upright but was cattycorner to the bed instead of at the foot of it.

"I bloody hate storms," he muttered, more to himself than to her, before meeting her eyes. Emma was surprised by the softness in his eyes. "I'll lend you a shirt."

"Thanks."

When he handed her the shirt, she looked at him pointedly until his eyes widened and his lips twisted into a smirk. "No need to be shy, Swan," he said.

She glared at him. "Turn around."

He rolled his eyes but nonetheless turned his back to her. Emma waited to see if he would sneak a peek before pulling off her soaked clothes. The thick material of her vest was waterlogged, and her shirt felt as thin as paper stuck to her skin. Each article of clothing hit the floor with a splat. For the second she stood naked, a shiver wracked her entire body, and Emma quickly pulled Killian's shirt over her head.

The effect was immediate, and she nearly told Killian that he could turn around until she looked down and realized she had far too much leg on display. Quickly, she darted onto the bed and hid her lower half under the blankets. "Okay," she said. "I'm decent."

Killian turned, a smirk on his lips and ten different innuendoes running through his mind, every single one of which was forgotten the second he laid eyes on Emma. She was obviously trying to cover up as much as she could, but it didn't matter. His shirt dwarfed her, yes, but the neckline dipped low to offer a teasing glimpse of her breasts and the soft black material against her pale skin and blonde hair made her look like an innocent vixen.

"Oh, no, love," he said, his voice low and his eyes more black than blue. "You are very much indecent."

The flush that immediately flooded her cheeks did nothing to help him. "Killian," she warned.

"It was just an observation."

"Yeah, well, observe somewhere else."

He sighed as his eyes were drawn to the chaos of his cabin. "Aye, lass," he said. "Perhaps you have a point."

He started by righting the desk and his chair, yet it was when he reached for his maps that his wound decided to flare painfully. The groan that escaped him was automatic and impossible to stifle. Emma's eyes narrowed from where she watched him on the bed. "You're hurt," she said.

"It's nothing, Swan," he said, setting the maps on his desk. "Try to sleep."

"It's your stitches," she insisted. "You pulled them, didn't you?"

"Darling . . ."

"Don't darling me," she snipped. "Find me a needle and thread and let's take a look."

"I'm fine. Go to sleep."

"Killian."

"It's nothing that won't wait until morning."

"Stubborn pirate."

Without another word, she tossed back the blankets and marched right past him toward the cupboard where he kept the sewing kit. Killian stared at her as she stalked by him and the endless expanse of skin he was granted. His shirt was just long enough to cover her modesty but if she were to bend over . . .

"I must say, Swan, you look stunning in my clothes. Feel free to wear them more often."

Emma glared at him as she turned around. She was determined not to react to his flirtations or let on that she secretly felt a thrill of power parading in front of him in his clothes. "Sit down," she said.

Killian huffed but did as he was told. Emma lifted his shirt, strictly business, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. She frowned when she saw the angry wound. Most of her stitches, to her relief, were still intact. Only five or so were missing, and though the wound was not bleeding badly, it was wide and gapping.

"I'm gonna need some rum," she said.

"You and me both, love," he said as he reached into his pocket for his flask. He handed it to her and watched as she splashed some on the wound. It stung fiercely, but he gritted his teeth. "Bloody waste of it," he muttered.

Emma snorted. "Yeah, because infections and death are so much fun."

"Point taken."

"Now hold still."

Killian was silent as she worked, and Emma's mind wandered with each stitch.

She'd nearly died, and despite the fact that she couldn't feel her toes and only the deepest concentration kept her fingers from shaking, Emma Swan was ecstatic to be alive. She glanced at Killian through her eyelashes, her fingers pausing their work for a moment as she remembered the way he'd held her on deck. He'd cradled her like she was precious, rested his forehead against hers like he was afraid she'd disappear.

And the way he'd looked at her . . .

No one had ever looked at her like that, and she realized in that moment that if she had died, if she had never made it back to her world, absolutely no one would miss her. She'd known that, of course. She'd known that she had no one to miss her.

But maybe . . . maybe Killian would have.

Let me be clear, Swan . . . while I hold the utmost affection for you, those feelings do not give you the right to use my brother against me . . .

He cared about her. He'd made no secret of it. And had she died, some of her last words to him would've been cruel. She'd known bringing up Liam was a low blow. She'd known it and she'd used him anyway. Because Killian had been right. She'd wanted him to feel as guilty as she did.

"Swan?"

Emma looked up at him quickly and then returned to his stitches. "I'm sorry," she said. "About what I said about Liam. That wasn't fair."

Killian stared at her in disbelief. "You're sorry?" he repeated. "I'm the one at fault, love. What I said about . . ." He shook his head and swallowed. "That was bad form." He winced as Emma started a new stitch, her touch rougher than before. "I deserve that," he allowed.

"I didn't do it on purpose, I . . ." she sighed as she tried to still her shaking hands, "it's just, well, you weren't wrong. I don't understand what it's like." Emma kept her eyes focused on the needle in her hand as she continued, "I almost died today, and you know, what? No one would miss me."

"I would."

There was nothing that could have kept Emma from meeting his eyes. She had to look at him to see if he was telling the truth. Her heart told her that it was true, but her brain refused to believe without evidence. She stared up at Killian and searched. And there was just a hint of a smile on his face, like he knew exactly what she was after, and her chest tightened when she saw nothing but truth in his eyes.

"There would not be a day when I wouldn't think of you, Swan," he said softly.

Emma smiled faintly. "Good."

She finished his stitches quickly and held out her hand for the rum. Killian expected her to pour more on the wound, but instead she took a hefty sip. He chuckled only to hiss when she then dabbed the liquor on his wound. She glared up at him. "I'm not doing this again," she warned. "So don't screw them up."

"Aye, love. I'll do my best."

She stood then, and Killian's eyes traveled her body from head to toe and back. "Hey, this isn't a free show," she said.

"Oh, but I insist."

"Tough."

Emma walked back toward the bed so he wouldn't see the small, pleased smirk on her face. Carefully, she climbed into bed and shoved her feet under the blankets. Her toes still felt like ice, and while her dose of rum had momentarily helped her trembling fingers, without the absolute need to keep them steady as she stitched up Killian, they began to shake once more until a shudder ripped through her entire body.

Killian frowned but rose carefully from the chair and pulled his shirt over his head, letting the damp material slap onto the floor. He glanced at Emma as his hands went to the laces of his pants. "Oi, turn around," he teased. Emma rolled her eyes but did as he asked. He smirked at the blush she'd failed to hide. "And no peeking," he added. "Although, if you really want to, well . . ."

Emma laughed into her pillow where she'd buried her face. "In your dreams, pirate."

The words were muffled, but Killian heard them easily enough. "Aye, love. And what great dreams they are," he continued as he stripped. "And I don't mean to upset you, darling," he quickly put on a pair of thin trousers and then slid into the bed, "but we make quite the team."

Emma lifted her face from her pillow to look at him, blinking in surprise when his face was only inches from hers. "There's going to be no teamwork tonight, buddy," she warned him.

He grinned. "So tomorrow, then?" She rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder. "That's okay, love," he said as he wrapped his too-warm hand around her wrist. "I'll wait."

She knew he wasn't just talking about sex. She could see it in his eyes. They weren't lust-driven and dark but honest and soft. Her cheeks flooded with heat but she couldn't look away from him, and for the first time she truly allowed herself to appreciate how attractive Killian Jones was. His blue eyes, even in the dark, were bright. His chiseled jaw was covered in scruff, and she wondered how rough it would feel against her skin. Her eyes settled on his lips.

She bet he tasted like rum.

Emma gently pulled her wrist from his grasp to place her hand on his cheek. His scruff scraped against her fingertips and she felt his jaw clench. She leaned in before she could convince herself she was making a horrible mistake, and her lips met his shyly.

Killian didn't hesitate. He kissed back softly, his hand coming up between them to cradle her face. His thumb tenderly caressed her cheek before his fingers slid into her hair where he dared to cup her head to bring her just the slightest bit closer.

She let him.

When she opened her mouth to him, he sent up a prayer to whatever gods were listening. Let me keep her. He never wanted to let her go.

Emma pulled away when her hand began to naturally drift to his chest. She didn't want to lead him on (or herself). It was just a kiss. It wasn't meant to make her feel . . . light. She felt as if she could float right up to the ceiling. Her stomach was in sailor's knots and she just wanted to smile. She shivered.

Half of her was terrified. The other half was simply cold.

When Killian pulled her into his arms, she tensed, her hands going to his chest to push him back, but then his lips were in her hair. "Ssh, love," he said quietly. "You're freezing, and if I have to watch you shiver one more time, I'm going to go mad." His hand—his very, very warm hand—rubbed her back. "Let me help," he said. "That's why I'm here, you know," he added. "I didn't plan to be assaulted in my own bed."

Emma flushed. "You didn't seem worried."

"You've got a lecherous heart, Emma Swan," Killian said. "I'll not be used."

He pulled her closer to him anyway, and Emma went willingly. It was only logical to melt against him. She probably had a mild case of hypothermia anyway. Body heat was a cure. It was science.

It was really great science.

Emma slowly relaxed against him, subtly inhaling his scent. The sea and rum. No surprise. But she relaxed even further into his arms, and his touch miraculously became gentler. She raised her hand and placed it on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath her palm. The gentle rhythm beneath her hand was so terribly honest and true, and suddenly she thought that this was the most intimate thing she'd ever done.

"What is this, Killian? Us."

He smiled. "I don't know, Swan, but I'm looking forward to figuring it out."


Well, would you look at that. More progress.

Guess what?

Next chapter, we have a date. No line for next chapter. That's all you need to know. Prepare yourselves. You will swoon.

See you Friday!

-AC