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let-it-raines · 5 years

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If you're still taking prompts, could you write maybe a Nurse!Killian taking care or badass Emma? You're the best

I remembered I had this prompt started the other day when I got an eerily similar one that was super along the the lines of what I had written. This was supposed to be a small one, but it’s most definitely not. I hope you guys enjoy!

The gif doesn’t really have anything to do with the story’s plot, but how could I pass this opportunity up?

She comes into the emergency room once every few weeks with some kind of minor injury that either needs to be scanned or stitched up. It’s never anything serious, but it’s not minor enough for her to treat herself at home. After her first few visits, he worried that she was in an abusive relationship, the black and blue bruises marking her otherwise smooth skin a clear indication of the signs that she needs help, but after following protocol and asking if she did actually need help, she laughed, her head thrown back and hair cascading down her back while her stomach moved, causing her to cringe from where she thought she might have a broken rib (she didn’t, but it was bruised). She’d then told him that she was a bounty hunter and often got injured while working.

He’d quirked an eyebrow, not entirely believing her story, but then she’d pulled out her phone and shown him proof of what she did, apparently having gone through inquiries like this before. He acquiesced, choosing to believe her but staying wary just in case, before sending for an x-ray and moving on to his next patient.

He’s checking the computer, scanning through the patients when he sees the name Emma Swan in bed seven. He didn’t see her come in, didn’t hear her call for him, and even though he’s only got thirty minutes left on his shift and should be transferring his patients to Ariel, he makes his way over to Emma, slinging the curtain over and finding her laid out in the bed with her leg propped up on a few pillows.

“Hello, Swan,” he greets, grabbing her chart off the end of the bedframe and hooking it over his prothesis, “what’d you do to your ankle?”

“I fell down the stairs while chasing this bastard who would have handled my rent for six months, and he got away while I got,” she motions to her foot, “this. It hurts like hell.”

“Do you think it’s broken or sprained, love?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs, throwing her head back against the bed and closing her eyes while her chest heaves as if she’s controlling her breathing to regulate the pain, “but I’ve never felt anything like it. I usually wouldn’t come in for a little sprain, but I can’t walk.”

“That sounds broken or seriously sprained, but we won’t know until you get some tests done, okay?”

“How long is that going to be?”

“Probably a few hours. We’re a bit backed up tonight despite all of these empty beds, and broken bones aren’t high priority.”

“Fuck that. Can I say my heart hurts to get faster service?”

He chuckles under his breath before sitting down on the rolling stool next to her bed, scooting closer to her and patting her hand, squeezing her soft palm before releasing it. “No, you cannot because that’ll only charge your insurance more, and we don’t want that, love.”

“Jones,” she groans, throwing her head back again and slinging her arm over her eyes, “you’re killing me here.”

“Technically, I’m in the business of saving lives.”

“Okay, McDreamy,” Emma laughs, moving her arm so he can see the green of her eyes that are somehow not washed out by these awful, florescent lights.

“So you think I’m dreamy then, love?”

She rolls her eyes when he waggles his eyebrows, and he feels a little sense of pride getting her to smile. It’s not that they’re all too rare, but she doesn’t give them as freely as a lot of the people he sees. Of course, he works in an emergency room where people are freaking out ninety percent of the time, so he’s usually the one smiling trying to get everyone to calm down and feel better about things that often aren’t okay. He’s just glad that he doesn’t work trauma down here. Even with all that he’s seen while deployed, he doesn’t want to do that day in and day out. He prefers things to be calmer. Fewer car crashes, more fevers.

Mostly, he doesn’t want to see most of the trauma. You’d think that for a man who had his left hand cut clean off, he’d be okay with helping others deal with horrifying events, but the sight of intense traumas make him queasy…which is obviously a great characteristic for a nurse.

“Don’t you have other patients, Jones? I feel like you shouldn’t be sitting here with me when you’re literally not even examining me or whatever.”

“Eh,” he grimaces, reaching up and scratching behind his ear before checking his watch, “I’ve got about ten minutes left on my shift, and I’ve been working twelve-hour shifts for, like, three days, which is definitely not up to code. But someone is buying out the hospital, and everything is a mess.”

“Is that why it’s going to take forever for me to get treated?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” He gets up from the stool and taps her shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Swan. I’m going to go finish out my paperwork and see where you are on the list. How much pain are you in?”

“About a four, but definitely a six if I move or put any pressure on it.”

“Got it.”

He walks out of her curtained area, leaving it open as she’s not having anything done, before walking back to the nurses’ station and sitting down at his desk, finishing checking out and trying to figure out a time estimate for Emma before she gets seen. He’s not supposed to have favorite patients and he really doesn’t, but there are people who come in more frequently than anyone should. He gets to know them whether they like it or not, and that’s pretty much how he’s gotten Emma not to snap at him every time he tries to talk.

That happened for the first six months of her wandering in here, but she’s come around to not despising him.

“Hey, A,” he calls out, grabbing Ariel’s attention from the other end of the station, “I’m off the clock, but can you make sure Emma Swan in bed seven isn’t here for an unnecessarily long time? I’m already pretty sure she just has a bad sprain and not a fracture, but there’s really no way to tell yet.”

“What? You don’t want to stay and take care of your girlfriend?”

He rolls his eyes at Ariel’s teasing before twisting in the chair and scooting over to where she’s sitting and reading over her patients. “She is not my girlfriend, and you are far too cheeky for it to be six in the morning.”

Ariel slants her eyes and looks him up and down before patting his cheek. “You look like shit, Killian. You need to go home and sleep.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, but you keep distracting me.”

“I know, I know,” she laughs, straightening her scrubs. “I’m reading over everything, and I promise I’m going to take care of your girlfriend.”

“Not my girlfriend.”

Ariel winks before rising from her chair and patting him on his shoulder as she walks away. “Whatever you say.”

When he comes back to work two days later, it’s eerily calm. There are no pressing needs to be taken care of, and he’s able to sit down and drink his coffee in the lounge while scrolling through his iPad to see how all of his patients ended up. They’ve either been discharged or admitted to a room, and he makes a note to check on Mrs. Lucas when he gets a break. She’s having issues with her cholesterol even if he keeps telling her to watch how much she snacks on her diner’s food.

It’s damn good food, so he can’t really blame her. Well, he can, but he’d likely do the same surrounded by everything she serves.

He’s just closing out everyone when he gets to the end and sees Emma’s name. He reads through her report, checking all of the tests she had done, and he was right to think that it was a bad strain. But it’s apparently bad enough that she has to stay on crunches and come in for physical therapy. He may not know a lot about her, but he already knows that she’s going to hate that.

He hated his own physical therapy for his prosthetic and his injured leg after the accident, and he likes to think he’s a hell of a lot less stubborn than Emma Swan.

Sure enough, Emma comes wandering down to his station later that afternoon. She’s walking with crutches and a boot, but the most noticeable thing about her is the sour look on her face as she marches (hobbles) right toward him.

“Hi, Swan,” he cheerily greets, bracing himself for whatever it is she has to say.

“Can you take me home?”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

“I’m sorry, what now?”

Emma looks up at the ceiling and clenches her jaw while her fingers fidget over her crutches. “Look, I know that this is a weird request and probably totally inappropriate, but I can’t drive and have no way to get home.”

“Have you ever heard of an Uber or bus?”

“I don’t have a phone. It broke when I got hurt, and I’ve just been using my laptop to text my friends until I get paid again for some old cases. So I can’t use Uber. And the bus stop near my apartment is too far away for me to walk with this damn leg.”

“How’d you get here?”

“My friend best friend’s boyfriend works here, and he gave me a ride. But he’s not getting off until seven tonight, and it’s literally ten in the morning.”

“Ahh,” he sighs, wondering how the hell she hasn’t lost it when she’s seeming to have horrible luck. “Well, I don’t get a lunch break for two more hours. Can you wait until then?”

She nods her head up and down, a small smile gracing her face. “Thank you. Where can I…do you want me to wait in the…waiting room? I feel like that’s a little too on the nose.”

“Well, as long as you’re not on the foot.”

“Wow, that’s horrible,” she groans even as amusement sparkles in her eyes. “So I guess I’ll just go wait in there.”

“Hey…why don’t – you can…Bloody hell, I’m going to get you a chair in here, and I’ll let you keep me company while I go through some discharge paperwork, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

He finds an empty chair and carries it over to the nurses’ station. He’s not technically supposed to let her behind the counter, so he lets her sit right outside while he goes through his paperwork. She’s pretty quiet, but that’s what he expects. They don’t spend much (any) time with each other outside of him treating her when she’s getting hurt, so this is brand new territory.

But after about fifteen minutes she cracks and complains about how the only thing she has to look at is the floor cleaner that’s running up and down the hallway and she needs something to entertain her. Thinking on his feet, he hands her the chain of paperclips he’s been collecting over the years and asks her to unhook them. She looks at him warily, but she eventually accepts. It’s his only solution for her boredom when he really is supposed to be working.

It’s after she’s finished and has all of them divided up into separate piles for the colors that an idea sparks in his mind.

“So, I’m a right idiot for not offering this earlier, but I can call you an Uber or a cab with my phone.”

Her lips part and her cheeks flush a wonderful shade of pink before she covers her face with her hands. “Oh my God. We’re idiots. Seriously. How the hell did we not think of that?”

He chuckles under his breath and shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, I had a beautiful woman asking me to take her home. I wasn’t about to complain.”

Like the mature adult Emma Swan is, she sticks out her tongue at him and grabs a pen off the counter. “I know how to use this pen to hurt you, Jones.”

“What are you going to do? Stab me?”

“Fill out my care card as having bad service. I hear that’s how you guys get your bonuses.”

“Mighty brave of you to threaten a man’s bonus there, Swan.”

“Well, it’s likely not very…big.”

She winks at him, and all he can do is shake his head back and forth in disbelief that they’re even having this conversation. “It can be big when the time calls for it, love, but best of all, I know how to use it.” He returns her wink before adding, “But seriously. Do you want me to call you a car or are you good waiting an hour more? I don’t mind either way.”

Emma seems to take a minute to think about it, weighing her options, and he braces himself for the not surprising disappointment that will come when she asks for him to call her a car. But then maybe he’s surprised in another way. “I can wait. I literally don’t have anything to do. It’s not like I’m working anyways.”

So she stays while he finishes his paperwork and checks on a few patients, requesting tests and administering medicine when needed. There’s a particularly nasty wound he has to clean out from a patient who doesn’t wash himself regularly. It’s gruesome and disgusting, but he deals with other people’s bodily fluids every day. At some point you become immune to certain things.

When it’s time for his lunch break, he makes sure his patients are covered before heading back to the nurses’ station to find Emma and Ariel chatting…which absolutely cannot be a good thing. He and Emma do not have an Izzie and Denny situation (don’t get him started on how inaccurate Grey’s Anatomy is because he may never stop complaining), but they are friends maybe. He’s not really sure. They chat, they tease, they give each other ride’s home…this one time. But it’s completely platonic. It’d be unprofessional otherwise.

But he does like the lass. She’s a spitfire and could kick his ass even with her sprained ankle if he were to ever do something she didn’t appreciate.

“Wait. He brings baked goods in every week? Is he some kind of saint?”

“I don’t think someone can be a saint and flirt with women quite that much, but he makes a damn good peanut butter cookie.”

“Huh,” Emma sighs as he tries to keep his cheeks from going red even if he can already feel them heating, “I guess I’ll have to time my next accident better so I can come in on a baked goods day.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d give you whatever you want no matter what day you come in.”

“Alright then ladies,” he interrupts, clapping his prothesis down on the counter so Ariel will shut the hell up, “I’ve got to get Emma here home because I’m sure my lunch break will somehow get cut short.”

Ariel winks at him while Emma is leaning down to pick up her purse, and his eyes bulge while he mouths for Ariel to shut up. She’s going to be the death of him. If there was any way for her to be embarrassed, he’d do it. And teasing her about being named after The Little Mermaid because she has red hair does not work at all. He would know. He’s tried.

Emma questions him about his goods, baked that is, on the walk to his car. He’s parked a bit far away, but she seems to be handling the crutches well. It’s casual, easy conversation, and it takes out the awkwardness that he thinks would usually surround a situation like this. It’s only about a fifteen minute drive to Emma’s apartment building, and when he pulls up to the street parking, he lets out a low whistle. It’s a nice place in a good area, and he wonders how the hell a bounty hunter affords a place like this when he lives with two roommates in a crappy apartment. Of course, he could live somewhere else, but he kind of likes not having to carry the rent on his own and being able to save up for whatever his future may hold.

“This is a swanky place, Swan.”

She shrugs. “I get a good deal.”

“Wasn’t asking.”

“You were wondering.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I’ve spent hours of my life staring at your face while you stitch me up. You learn to read a guy. It helps that your face is more expressive than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“So you’re staring at my face a lot then, love?”

He waggles his eyebrows, and she rolls her eyes, something he’s seen her do more times that he can count. Two can play at whatever game this is.

“You’re impossible, Jones.” She reaches behind her to get her crutches before opening the door and stepping out. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Wait, do you have a way to get to your next therapy session?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, tapping his open door, “I do. I’m getting a new phone before Friday, so I’ll just call an Uber then.”

“I thought you said you had to wait until you get paid?”

“I get a payment on Thursday. Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll be back to normal in no time. And Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“My favorite kind of dessert is anything with cinnamon.”

He’s not exactly sure when he becomes actual friends with Emma Swan, his favorite frequent flier to the emergency room, but he thinks it happens somewhere between him driving her home and her visiting him after her therapy appointments. Or maybe it’s because he brought in snicker doodle cookies as well as several other dishes with cinnamon in the month where she was visiting the hospital three times a week.

They only really see each other in the hospital, but he does manage to snag her phone number when she asks for the recipe to a cinnamon coffee cake. Most recipes he finds online, but that one is his mother’s, something she left to him before she died, and so it’s at home stored in a box of all of her things. He doesn’t tell Emma all of this, not wanting to load her down with the emotional implications of something as small as a cake, but he does take her number to text her the recipe later.

Actually, that’s probably where their real friendship starts. He texts her the recipe, and she texts back saying thanks. But then a few hours later he gets several texts in a row accompanies by pictures talking about how “fucking awful” baking is and how she never should have tried this. He laughs when he sees them, especially when he opens the picture of Emma with flour spilled down her t-shirt. How the hell did she manage to do that?

So they start texting and stop seeing each other in person. He can’t really complain about that because it means that Emma’s ankle is healing and she’s not getting hurt while at work. He feels like he takes a physical beating after every shift. He has no idea how the hell she manages to take an actual one.

And he’d really hate to see the other guy.

He’s sure that is rough because if he were to describe Emma Swan in one word, it’d be badass.

It’s a Friday evening, one he’s thankfully got off of work, when his phone rings and Emma’s name pops up.

“Hello?”

“I need your help.”

“Are you okay?”

“No. I mean, yes. I’m fine. It’s a…baking emergency.”

He barks out a laugh that causes Will to give him a side eyed glance from his spot on the recliner in front of the TV. He’s not about to anger the beast while he’s watching a football game, so he stands from the couch and walks to his room, shutting the door behind him.

“What the hell is a baking emergency?”

“You’re British. Don’t you watch the Great British Bake Off? They have baking emergencies all of the time.”

“Oi, that’s stereotyping to assume I watch.”

“Killian, you’re British and you bake. There’s a pretty good chance you watch the show.”

“I neither admit or deny anything. I’ve got to keep some parts of me mysterious. Now what’s this so called emergency?”

Emma sighs on the other end of the line before he hears a loud crash and several muttered curses of shit, fuck, shit, fuck, damn. “Okay, so it’s stupid, but my friends and I have this…tradition.”

“Go on, love.”

“It’s…back when we were broke and needed to give each other gifts for holidays, we would make them to save money. And, I mean, we’re older now with a bit of money, but we still do it.”

“And you were trying to bake for your gift?”

“Yep. It’s my friend Ruby’s birthday, and I decided to get a little more complex than cookies and make your cake even though I spectacularly failed the first time. But this one tastes like…it’s inedible, and I need you to talk me through the steps because her party is in three hours.”

An idea forms in his head. It’s kind of risky considering the tentative tight rope he’s walking with her, but as he’s learning, it can’t hurt (or maybe only hurt a little) to ask…or to offer.

“Do you…I can come over to help.”

When she’s silent on the other end of the line, he thinks he’s pushed her too hard, offered too much. But then she sighs and mutters, “you would literally be my savior, Killian Jones.”

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he curses under his breath when he walks into her apartment and sees the mess she’s created as well as inedible cake that’s sitting on the counter. “Why are you always creating such a mess?”

“Because I am a messy person.” She shuts the door behind him and ushers him further inside. “Now tell me what the hell I’m doing wrong.”

He walks into the kitchen and looks over Emma’s mess of a kitchen, and before he does anything else like clean the place, he takes a bite of the cake before immediately spitting it out and into her sink, rinsing out the taste with the water from her faucet. “Good God, that’s awful.”

“I know. I already told you that.”

“But I hadn’t tasted it. That’s…something else.”

“Just help me please.”

They have to clean out all of her bowls and pans first, scrubbing everything down. He doesn’t have his usual kitchen set up, so it’s a bit awkward moving around with Emma and handling things with his prothesis. But they figure it out, and Emma, like always, doesn’t make any kind of deal out of the fact that he only has one hand. Most people aren’t as tactful. They either blatantly stare or just ask what happened. Some patients rude enough will even ask for a new nurse. And maybe that’s one of the things that’s endeared him to Emma. Yeah, she’s a spitfire and keeps him on his toes, but she never makes him feel like less of a human being for only having one hand. She simply treats him as he is, which is something that’s been rare when meeting someone new.

After they clean, he starts the process of baking, walking her through each step even if he’s not one to be much of a teacher. He’s not sure if she actually leans anything, but he easily sticks the cake in the oven while Emma cleans up their mess.

“Um, so,” Emma begins, wiping her hands on her shorts, “I’m going to go get ready for the party. You can make yourself comfortable. I don’t care if you look around.”

He nods while she walks off, her long, tan legs on display to him until she disappears around the corner. He’s always known she was attractive, been attracted to her, but damn. Those shorts have nearly killed him the entire time he’s been here. He’s become pretty acquainted with her kitchen in the past hour, so after checking on the cake, he wanders into her living room. She’s got floor to ceiling windows that look out onto a park, lush green trees decorating the ground. He can’t help but compare it to the way his bedroom looks at an another brick building. Maybe one day he’ll have a view like this if he ever decides he doesn’t want roommates.

All of her furniture is cozy, soft whites and grays covered with plaid blankets and fluffy white pillows. Emma’s got such a hard exterior, but as he’s gotten to know her, he knows those are just walls she’s built up over the years from whatever has happened in her past. But she’s really made this apartment feel like a home, somewhere she can obviously relax. After looking through her bookshelf, he sees a telescope that’s sitting in the corner. He picks it up, the dust on it showing that it’s obviously unused, before adjusting the scope and looking out at the park.

“You see anything you like, Jones?” Emma asks, her voice shocking him so that he nearly drops the telescope. But he doesn’t, catching it and turning to see Emma bending over and slipping into a pair of heels that extend her legs in the black skinny jeans that she’s got on. Her tank top dips down, showing the tops of her breasts, and he has to look away before he does something stupid.

Something stupid like kissing her.

He knows she’s talking about his view with the telescope, but all he can think about is that he very much likes how Emma looks…that he likes Emma. Gulping, he pushes all of his thoughts down while trying not to look like an idiot. “I was just…you’re fantastic. I mean, this is fantastic. The view. With the telescope. Not you. Though you do look fantastic.”

Yeah, there goes the not looking like an idiot thing.

“Thank you, Killian.” She seems to hesitate for a minute, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth. “Look, so I know this might be a bit awkward, but you just came over and helped me, which is something you didn’t have to do. So, like, if you’re not busy, would you like to come with me to my friend’s party? It’s super low key. It’s just at her boyfriend’s house. You might know him. Victor Whale?”

Heat rises to his cheeks at the prospect of spending the night with Emma. He should say no and go home, but he wants to go, to spend more time with her. The past hour has been wonderful, and he’s not sure if he’s quite ready to give up her company.

“Aye, I do know him, and I’d love that.”

“No, I’m serious,” Killian laughs, taking another sip of his beer while Emma does the same. They’re sitting in Victor’s living room with all of Emma’s friends who he’s gotten a crash course in over the past few hours. “The craziest thing I’ve ever seen at work was a man with a python head attached to his side.”

“Where the hell was the body?” David asks, his voice incredulous. It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe this is a true story, but he thinks David might just be naturally suspicious. He’s been eyeballing him all night.

“The guy cut it off to try to get the snake to let go. Obviously it didn’t work.”

“And this dude just had a freaking python as a pet?”

“Yep.” He takes another slow sip of his beer, letting the liquid wash down his throat, while wrapping his arm around the back of the couch so that his prosthetic lands on Emma’s bare shoulder. He swears that she leans in a bit closer to him, their thighs already touching, but he’s probably imagining it. “There’s some weird shit that happens.”

“Why don’t you work trauma, Jones?” Victor asks. “You’re a hell of a nurse. You’d be fantastic at it.”

He gulps, not prepared for this question. He’s never had to explain his reasoning to anyone, and he doesn’t want to explain to a group of perfect (almost, he has known them for a few hours now) strangers. So he shrugs and fakes a smile. “It’s not something that I want. I prefer broken bones and cut fingers with the occasional snake head. I like to be low key.”

Emma must hear something in his voice because her hand finds his knee and squeezes before she speaks. “So Rubes, let’s talk about that rock on your finger. That was not there yesterday, and I can’t believe you haven’t been squealing about being freaking engaged all night long.”

He and Emma have both sobered up by the time Ruby’s birthday party is over, his cinnamon coffee cake (which was much more edible than Emma’s) soaking up the little alcohol they’ve had, so she drives him back to her apartment, finding a spot just behind his car. They don’t linger while inside of her bug, but they do when they are both get out and wait next to his.

“Thanks for tonight,” Emma finally says, swaying into his space. Her heels make them nearly the same height, and he can still smell the cinnamon on her breath. “For the cake and for coming to the party.”

He sways a bit into her space as well, feeling bolder than usual when it comes to her. “Perhaps gratitude is in order.” He’s not sure what possesses him to tap his lips, but he does.

Emma snickers under her breath. “That’s what the thank you was for.”

“Is that all saving you from a baking emergency is worth?”

“Please,” Emma laughs, her voice lighthearted even as they move closer into each other’s space, “you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Emma’s grabbing onto his jacket collar and smashing her lips into his before he can take a breath. It wouldn’t matter anyways because she steals his breath from him with the way her lips move over his and her body melds into his. Her lips are soft and warm, and he can taste her Chapstick when he finally returns the kiss and slides his hand into her hair while his prosthetic rests on her waist just under her shirt. Her hair is just as soft as her lips, if not softer, and the little groan she emits stirs him on to run his tongue over her bottom lip.

This is everything he didn’t know he wanted. Or really, he did know he wanted it, but he never really allowed himself to think of being with Emma as anything other than a fantasy. It’s been a long time since he’s been with a woman he actually cared about, and as they really begin to settle into the kiss, their lips moving in harsh but perfect sync, he knows that he wants to be with Emma Swan more than he’s ever wanted to be with anyone.

And that’s exactly what makes it so hard when she says her next words.

“That was – ” he stutters, trying to catch his breath while his forehead presses against hers.

“A one time thing.” She pulls back, taking a step away from him, “Goodnight.”

And then she’s practically sprinting into her building and out of sight all while he wonders about how many ways Emma Swan can steal his breath away.

“What’s up with you today, Jonesy?”

“You know I hate when you call me that, Lil’.”

“Yeah, well, you know I hate when you make fun of my name.” Ariel knocks her shoulder into his. “Seriously, Killian. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he lies, eating another forkful of his salad. “I’m fine.”

“I have worked with you for half a decade, and you only get all dark and broody a couple times a year. It’s not one of your usual times.”

“You’ve been watching me too closely, A.”

“It’s what friends are for.” She puts her hand on his hand then, squeezing and encouraging him to look up at her. He does, and all he can see is kindness in her eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I kissed Emma.”“What?” she basically screams, excitement dancing across her features that he’s going to have to crush her spirit. “When? Was it good? I bet it was good. You guys are a very attractive couple, so I imagine the making out is fantastic. Not the I was really imagining it.”

“Ariel,” he sighs, managing to chuckle under his breath, “calm down.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She’s still bouncing in her chair, and he wonders how one person can be so bubbly. “I’m just excited.”

“Don’t be. It was a month ago, and we haven’t talked since.”

Her face and spirit immediately deflates, but there’s no way she can feel worse than he does. “Why?”

“She told me it was a one time thing and then walked away. I’ve tried texting her, but she doesn’t respond. So I guess she’s just cutting off communication.”“Well, I think she’s awesome, but if she’s going to lose a catch like you, she’s probably fighting some kind of internal battle. Does she have a bad history with people?”

“I don’t know actually.”“Jones, that’s something you’ve got to find out about people you’re dating.”“We weren’t dating.”

“You were basically dating.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Maybe, I don’t know…maybe text her today, ask if you can talk. You might not have been dating, but you deserve some answers.”

“Aye,” he agrees, even if he’s sure he won’t actually text her, not wanting another text to go unanswered. And he’s not even sure if he really deserves any answers. Emma doesn’t owe him anything.

But he’s a bloody fool, and he does end up texting Emma again despite every organ in his body telling him not to. If his organs could talk. They can’t. He knows this, but the rapid beating of his heart is obviously telling him something.

Killian: Hey, Swan. I know you probably won’t answer this, but I was wondering if you’d be willing to talk. Hope work is going well.

His day goes on as usual, patient after patient and pile of paperwork after pile of paperwork. He stands so much that his feet ache and his prosthesis is rubbing into his skin to the point of discomfort. All he wants is to go home, but he’s got another two hours before his shift is over.

The hours pass as slowly as they ever have, and no amount of coffee is helping him stay awake. He’s removing his gloves after seeing a patient when Ariel taps on his shoulder with a timid smile on her face.

“Whatever favor you need, just go ahead and ask, okay?”

“I don’t need a favor. It’s…Emma’s here.”

He sighs, looking up at the ceiling and pinching the bridge of his nose. “What does she need? Stitches, an X-ray? Can you work with her? I really don’t want to deal with her right now.”

“That’s the thing, Killian,” Ariel sighs. “She’s not in our sector. She came in with a shot to her shoulder and is up in recovery. She had to have surgery.”

His legs wobble beneath him, but he refuses to fall or feel weak. He can already feel his throat closing in on itself, emotions blocking his airway, and all he can think about is that he needs to see her. He has no right to, but he needs to.

“Is she okay?”

“Ashley is her nurse. Told me she’s fine, but she’s still a bit groggy from the anesthesia. You should go see her.”

“I don’t think she’d want me there.”

“Just go, Killian. Room 736.”

He nods before walking toward the elevator, pressing the button before deciding to take the stairs. He needs time to think, to breathe. He doesn’t know what he and Emma are to each other, if they’re even anything, but he needs to see that she’s okay with his own eyes. She may kick him out the moment he walks in her room, but at least he’ll know she’s okay.

His breathing is heavy by the time he makes it to the seventh floor, and when he gets to room 736, he pauses, taking a deep breath and calming himself down. She’s alone when he walks in the room, and he wonders where her friends are. Even after only knowing them for a night, he knows they’d drop everything to be here with her if she’s hurt. She’s only hooked up to a few machines, and as much as he’s used to her being hooked to an IV, this is different, especially with the heavy strapping over her right shoulder.

“Hi,” she croaks, her voice harsh, when she sees him. It’s too late to turn back now. “Water. Can I have water?”

He nods as he checks her chart, making sure it’s okay, before grabbing the cup and filling it up in the bathroom sink. When he hands it to her, her hand is a little shaky, the anesthesia and painkillers obviously having an effect on her.

“Thank you,” she sighs, her voice stronger even though she looks weak.

“You’re welcome.” He moves to sit in the chair that’s next to her bed, scooting it as close as possible so she doesn’t have to yell. “What the hell happened, love?”

“I got shot.”

“Obviously,” he laughs, shaking his head from side to side. “How did you get shot? How badly are you hurt?”

“I was distracted, not paying enough attention to my mark, and he shot me. And it fucking hurts. I’m not entirely sure what’s been done. I know I had surgery, but that’s about it.”“That’s all I know too. Your chart doesn’t say much. I’ll ask when your doctor comes into check on you.”

“Okay,” she sighs, closing her eyes and falling back against her pillow. He thinks she might have fallen back asleep when she speaks again, “I’m sorry I ran, Killian.”“Swan, don’t worry about it. Now is not the time.”

“You’re here. I’m here. I think it’s the perfect time.”

“You’ve just had surgery. You need to rest.”

“I can talk, Jones. I’m…I’m fucked up. I don’t trust a lot of guys, but I trust you.”

“I…why?”

“Why to which part?”

“Both, I guess.”

Emma laughs a little, a small smile twitching on her face. “When I was sixteen, I ran away from my foster home. I was done with it, and as luck would have it, I met a guy. He was sweet, charming, older, and he taught me all of these things about living on the run. The thing I didn’t realize was that he, Neal, was going to run away from me and frame me for the watches he stole. So I go to jail with a broken heart, broken spirit, and a criminal record that has stuck with me for over a decade now.”

His fist curls in his lap, his skin likely marked with red crescent moons from his nails, but he has to control his emotions here. He has to be calm. Emma’s been through a lot, and not just the surgery. He has too, and that’s precisely how he knows why getting upset over the past won’t do either of them any good right now.

“He sounds like a bloody bastard. You deserve better than that.”

“I know that. But my point is, I am hard to love. Or to like, really. I’m not always broken. I can be a friend, but anything more than that terrifies me. So I run. And I ran from you.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Yes, you do.” She rolls her eyes. He missed that. He missed her. “The only reason you’re even in here now is because I got shot. I’ve avoided you for weeks.”

“I care about you, Emma. That hasn’t changed.”

“It should have.”

“Hey,” he soothes, getting up from his chair and gently sitting down on the edge of her bed, taking her hand and putting it in between his hand and his prosthetic, knowing she won’t be bothered by the foreign plastic feeling, “Emma, if you think I’m not fucked up too, you’re wrong. I get running. I’ve run my entire life.”

“Does the running have to do with why you don’t work in trauma?”

If he can read her like an open book, she can do the same. “Aye.”

“What happened?”

“I was…in the Navy. With my brother actually, and there was an accident on our ship. We crashed, and my hand got jammed in crushed metal. So I lost my brother and my hand all in one day. And I lost my girlfriend two weeks later because she didn’t want to be with someone with one hand.”“Well, she sounds like a bloody bastard too,” Emma jokes, obviously uncomfortable with what he’s said, the tragedy of it all. “I’m sorry, Killian. I can’t imagine going through something like that.”

“Sometimes I don’t believe that it was real. But yeah, that’s why I have one hand and no brother and an aversion to trauma. And to women who aren’t you.”

Silence settles between the two of them while everything they just said sinks in. He’s still got no bloody clue what’s happening, but he never really has with Emma. Like always, he goes with it, seeing what happens and hoping for the best.

He can’t hope for anything else because at this point, he’s halfway in love with the woman despite everything.

Or maybe because of everything.

Emma’s released from the hospital two days later, and he stops by her apartment with baked goods after his shifts. He’s not entirely sure how Emma getting shot gets them back on the track of wherever they were before, but it does. While she recovers, he stays with her as much as possible, Ruby and Mary Margaret popping in as well, and they all binge the Great British Bake Off, leaning into the stereotypes of his roots.

Nothing is quite as heavy as the two of them spilling their guts to each other in the quietness of a hospital room, machines buzzing in the background while sneakers squeak out in the hallways. It’s more lighthearted, like it was before their kiss, and he can’t say that he hates it.

Eventually she recovers fully and goes back to work. He can’t blame her. It’s her job, and she’s damn good at it. But he’s seen every injury she’s gotten from it in the past two years, and the last one was the worst of all. But she keeps him updated when she travels to catch someone, and when she gets back home, he’s one of the first to know. Usually she just shows up at his apartment, much to the chagrin of Will and Jeff but to the delight of him. She’ll plop down next to him on the couch and cuddle into his side, her hair always smelling of the different hotel shampoos when it doesn’t smell of her regular vanilla.

He grows used to her being around and by his side. Sometimes she’ll stay over at his place despite him living in a small apartment with two other guys who don’t always clean up after themselves. Those nights are his favorite, he thinks. She’ll tell him goodnight before wrapping her body around his and falling asleep with her cheek pressing into his chest. He’s got no bloody clue what they are, but he doesn’t care. He likes it, even if he wants more.

But Emma is different in all of the best ways, and he’ll take her allowing him back in at her pace.

He wakes one morning to her hair in his face and her legs stuck in between his calves. Emma Swan is a cuddler, something he never would have expected, but again, he’s not complaining. He likes waking up with her even if he’s got to get up before the crack of dawn to go to work. He slowly slides out of bed, untangling their legs and leaving her softly breathing into his vacated space while he heads into her bathroom and hops in the shower, quickly washing himself before getting out and dressing in the scrubs he left here last week.

“Hey,” Emma mumbles when he walks back into her bedroom. Her hair is mused on one side, and she’s got pillow creases marking her cheeks. “Do you have to go to work?”

“I do. You want to get dinner tonight?”

She hums in affirmation before stretching her hands above her head, her tank top lifting all the way up to show off the hard lines of her stomach. He’s not complaining about their weird friendship, but things like her showing that much skin do make it a tad bit difficult, especially when his scrubs show absolutely everything.

The fact that he wakes in the morning with an erection pressed into her skin probably doesn’t help either.

“Actually, I was thinking we could go on a date.”

His legs feel like Jell-O beneath him when her words sink in. Is she delusional? Is she talking in her sleep? Is he delusional? Is this all a dream?

“You okay there, Jones?”

He shakes himself out of it, looking down at Emma who is timidly smiling up at him. “I’m, uh, what…you want to go on a date?”

She shrugs her shoulders while biting at her bottom lip. “Why not? I mean, hell, Killian. I can’t remember the last time we didn’t stay with the other person. It’s weird don’t you think? That we’re not dating.”

“I was just going along with what I thought you wanted.”

“I want to go on a date. Don’t you?”

He takes several steps forward and bends his knees, gently cupping her face and running his fingers over her left cheek, before slanting his lips overs hers. It’s slow and soft, and when Emma hums into it, he nearly groans at the vibrations and feeling her lips against his after so long.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“So we’re exactly are we going, darling?”

They’re walking the streets of downtown Portland, and Emma’s leading him with her hand on his prosthetic. He’ll never get over how naturally comfortable she is with it or his blunted end. It took awhile, but in their weeks of spending the night together, he eventually became comfortable taking it off and letting her see the rough edges and red scars. His heart legitimately stuttered, something that was not healthy in the slightest, but then at the same time, a lot of things settled for him.

“We, my extra special man friend, are going on a food tour.”

“Bloody hell. Why?”

She shrugs, a smile stretching across her face. “I thought it would be fun to be a tourist for a few hours. I mean, how often do you get to explore a city you’ve been living in for years?”

“Unless the exploring happens within the walls of the hospital, never.”

“Exactly, so since I asked you out, I took the liberty of googling touristy things to do in Portland and paid for us to follow around a group of other tourists while eating. Just so you know, we’re Emma and Killian from Buffalo, New York.”

“Why Buffalo?”

“Because people would ask about Manhattan. No one cares about Buffalo.”

Emma’s right when she says people don’t care about Buffalo. No one in their group asks or seems to care, walking down the street in their weirdly white sneakers that look like they’ve never been worn and in, he swears, actual fanny packs. If he’d known he had to dress the part of a tourist, he totally would have broken out the Hawaiian shirt he has from a party he went to a few years ago…it was not his best moment. But they’re guided around downtown, walking along the port and on cobblestone streets before stopping in small hole in the wall restaurants that he’s walked by but never gone in.

There’s a hell of a lot of lobster (it is a Maine tour after all), but it’s mixed in with other foods. He likes it with the macaroni and cheese even if Emma complains that she wants regular macaroni and cheese. The lobster rolls are honestly pretty good as well, but mostly he likes when they stop in a bakery and can pick anything they want. This is more up Emma’s alley, especially when they find a cinnamon coffee cake. But Emma tells him she doesn’t want that because it could never compare to his.

“It was my mother’s recipe, you know?”

“Yeah?” she questions while looking into a display case of cupcakes.

“Yep. She left it to me when she died because she knew that I liked to bake. I’d always help her when I was a kid.”

Emma turns to look at him then, twisting on her toes and pressing up to quickly slant her lips over his. His eyes flutter closed at that contact, and he can feel her smile into it.

“Swan, the date isn’t even over yet. It is against my delicate sensibilities for your lips to touch mine.”

“Well, you screwed the pooch on that one this morning when you stuck your tongue down my throat.”

“What a horrible saying.”

He buys Emma a box of s’mores cupcakes that they carry with them for the rest of the tour. She leaves them behind in one of the pubs they walk into, but she quickly remembers and runs back to it, meeting him and the group with sweat beading at her temples and her chest heaving up and down. It’s possibly the most light-hearted he’s ever seen her when she gets back at his side and wraps her arm around his elbow, holding on tight.

The entire night is cheesy and a tad bit ridiculous, but it’s by far the best date he’s ever had.

It probably helps that he’s in love with the woman who’s been his companion for it.

So when they get back to her apartment and she asks if he wants to come up for a cupcake, he obviously says yes.

It doesn’t take long for his lips to find hers again. The moment they’re inside he backs Emma into her front door and presses their bodies together so that he can feel every inch of her while their lips move together in a slow, passionate kiss. Emma’s hands find his back pockets, squeezing his ass, and his hand rests in her hair. He bloody loves her hair.

When her tongue finds its way into his mouth, a slick wet slide of cinnamon and beer, he groans and feels the sensations all the way to his toes. When Emma makes a similar sound, he nearly loses it right there. Instead he controls himself and rolls his hips into her, making her mouth fall way from his as he traces the skin of her jaw and her neck with his mouth.

His mind is blurry with lust (and love), but he takes the time to learn what she likes. For two people who share an intimacy that he’s never quite experienced before, they don’t know much about what the other enjoys. But they learn quickly as he nibbles on her ear and she throws her head back against the wood while her hands brush against the front of his jeans.

And as they slowly but surely make their way into her bedroom, they slowly but surely learn more about each other. Emma’s glorious as she moves above him later that night, her breasts bouncing and hair falling down her bare back while she smiles down at him. He lets her control the pace as he’s always done. It’s what they both want, how they both like things to be, and he’s got absolutely nothing to be complaining about.

It’s lovemaking if he’s ever experienced it, and when he flips them over, slipping out of her for just a second, he thinks he might see love in Emma’s eyes. But then he’s sliding back into her while her legs wrap around his ass and her hands find his, and it’s forgotten as he drowns in the pleasure of it all.

He’s nearly drowned before, but in this way, he doesn’t mind.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against her lips while he thrusts into her in slow, long movements.

“You are too,” she smiles, squeezing his hand while her other hand holds onto his blunted wrist. “I…”

She never finishes her sentence because he releases her hand and rubs at where they’re joined, letting her find her pleasure before he finds his. But as he falls apart above her and within her, he does wonder what it is she was going to say.

There’s no fooling around with what they are after that night. They’re together, officially and unequivocally, and he can’t remember the last time he was this happy. He’s got a partner in all that he does. If he has a bad day at work, she’s there to comfort him, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing whatever skin she can find before listening to him spew his troubles, never judging him for how he feels. The same goes for her, though he learns that comforting Emma depends on the situation. Sometimes she likes to be held in silence, only his hand moving up and down her arm while his lips kiss her hair to make her feel better. Sometimes she needs a rough, quick fuck only to open up about what she’s feeling in the afterglow.

But she’s not just around for the bad times. She’s there for the good as well. Their living situation never really changed. They’re always together, so on mornings where he doesn’t have to be at work at six, they’ll wake up and make breakfast while blaring music from Emma’s phone (she claims that she has better taste in music, and while she does, he’s not going to admit that quite yet). Even on the days when he pops toast in the oven and Emma’s not having any of his soft kisses behind her ear or his tendency to like to talk a lot in the morning, he loves those moments. There are likely a million reasons they’re together, but really, he thinks he owes it to his mum’s cinnamon coffee cake.

When she told him she’d be looking out for him always, he didn’t quite think it would be in this way.

They’ve officially been together for four months when they’re lounging in his bed, having stumbled home there after a night out instead of going back to her place, and he can hear Jeff and Will sitting in the living room mumbling over whatever it is they’re watching. Emma’s tracing his chest her with her finger, curling it around her skin, while she breathes out onto his neck.

“I love you,” she whispers into his skin, and his breath hitches, chest noticeably moving beneath her. “I have for a while now. I’m sorry for not saying it.”

He gulps, trying to keep away the tears in his eyes. He’s loved Emma for a long time now, but really, no one has told him they loved him in years and that hits harder than he expected. She said the words. She means the words. And he feels freer than ever once his breathing settles.

His finger finds her chin, bringing her gaze up to him before he dips down and brushes his lips over hers, once, twice, three times. “I love you, Emma. More than anything.”

She smiles then, his words not pushing her over the edge, and everything in his life settles.

Eventually he does move out of his apartment, not seeing the point in staying there when they mostly stay at Emma’s for the privacy. Like everything with them, there are often rocky starts, but things progress as naturally as possible. They fit together. Maybe not perfectly, but he doesn’t think anyone truly is a perfect fit for another. But where his edges are jagged, she knows how to soothe, and where Emma is hardened, he knows how to be soft. So they work, plain and simple, and he chooses not to question any of it.

And after a year together, he buys a ring and Emma finally learns how to make the cinnamon coffee cake.

The third time is obviously the charm.

#cs prompt #cs fic #cs ff #what is a simple prompt #I don't know anymore #anyways here's a thing

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