It's shaping up to be another banner year.

Emma drags herself into the ER, the cool October night damp on her exposed skin. She liked this dress – she looks great in it, and it was supposed to be a solid investment for trapping future perps.

But of course this guy couldn't make it easy.

She wishes they wouldn't fight. It always ends the same way – she slaps the cuffs on them and hauls them into whichever precinct they've gone missing from. She tries to minimize the damage along the way, but tonight she's got a ruined dress and an impending medical bill.

It's a spectacular way to spend her birthday.

She debates leaving. The swelling under her eye is tender to the touch, and a glance at the reflective window reveals it's already taking on a purplish hue. It's not the first time she's ended up with a black eye, and she knows the treatment – a frozen bag of peas and a quality concealer.

But there's a sharp pain in her side that feels like a broken bone, and the last thing she needs is to have a snapped rib end up slicing open her lung.

They get to her eventually, the nurse's frown at her dress filled with judgement, as though her short hem and high heels have earned her this. Emma grits her teeth, easing onto the bed and clutching her side. "The doctor will be with you shortly," the nurse says, making a note on her chart after taking her blood pressure.

She nods, leaning back and trying to keep her breathing shallow. Deep breaths make the pain in her side worse, as does most movement. Her eyes slip closed nearly against her will, the adrenaline of the chase fading as exhaustion takes over.

"Emma Swan?" Her eyes snap open at the rumble of his voice, the man she assumes to be the doctor glancing over her chart. There's a hint of an accent there, something lilting and different from the rough and tumble Boston accents she's used to. He's much more attractive than he has any right to be in the dark blue scrubs, snug across the shoulders and revealing toned biceps. She watches them flex as he lowers her chart, finally looking her over. "I'm Dr. Jones. Looks as you've had a rough night, lass."

"I've had worse."

He raises an eyebrow, eyes lingering on her skin-tight dress and heels. "Oh?" His tone is mild, professional, but there's anger lurking in his eyes as he glances over her. "How did this happen, if I may ask?"

"Bail bondswoman," she explains, gesturing to her black eye. "This one put up a fight. But I got him." Good thing, too, as the payment is going to go almost entirely toward this ER bill.

"That's a relief." He doesn't seem relieved, his jaw tight as adjusts the stethoscope around his neck.

"That I got him? Yeah, considering the ruined dress and all, I was pretty damn happy about it."

"While that is all fortunate, I meant it was a relief your injuries are the result of your employment and not... Most women who come in with your sort of injuries have gotten them in a different manner." There's real concern in his eyes as he hovers over her, and she swallows thickly, trying not to let it affect her. He's a doctor. It's his job to be concerned about his patients. "May I?"

She nods, trying not to wince under his examination. His touch is gentle, and she gives a silent thanks to the universe for granting her a doctor not intent on manhandling her.

"I'm not worried about the eye," she says after a moment, hoping to speed up the exam. She really just wants to get home, open a bottle of wine and fall down on her couch. "I've had plenty of black eyes. I think one of my ribs might be broken. Left side."

He frowns, his hands moving to her side. "Pain here?"

"No, lower."

He repeats his question until he finds the source of her pain, his eyebrows knit together in concentration.

"Well, you'll need an X-ray to confirm, but it seems you've indeed a few broken ribs to go along with that nasty black eye. I shall provide you with a prescription for some pain medication, but what you need most is rest." He eyes her critically, his eyes filled with worry as he makes a sweeping evaluation. "I'll need to wrap your ribs to keep the bones from shifting and causing more damage. A nurse will provide you some scrubs, and I shall see you after you've had that X-ray. How's your pain?"

"I'm fine. Comes with the job. I'd really just like to go home. Can we skip the X-rays? If you think it's broken, it's broken." Emma doesn't add on the real reason she doesn't want X-rays – the bill will be costly enough without them.

"I'd really prefer…"

"I can say no, right? Patient rights and all? I say no."

He sighs, scratching behind his ear before turning the full force of his blue eyes on her. "Used to getting your way, aren't you, love?"

"Used to taking care of myself."

"I see. I will fetch you some scrubs then, and we can bind those ribs to get you on your way."

It's difficult to change on her own, but she manages it with a lot of cursing under her breath and gritted teeth. It's exhausting, and she probably should have let the nurse help her, but she's determined to get this over with.

Dr. Jones returns, and it's an awkward, painful business to lift her top as he wraps the bandage snugly around her. His fingers are warm against her skin, and he's so damn close she can smell the hint of a spicy cologne. She shivers as he brushes against a sensitive spot, and he pauses, mistaking her reaction for one of pain and holding his hands still. "I apologize, lass. We're nearly through."

"I'm okay." The words sound too breathless to her ears, and she closes her eyes, unable to look at him with a blush rising in her cheeks. She hasn't had much time for dating, not that it's really dating she's after. But it has been awhile, and that has to be the reason why she's finding herself inappropriately attracted to the ER doctor.

"All right, Emma, I've finished." Her eyes open as he backs away, reaching into his pocket for a prescription pad. "I'm going to request you fill this prescription and use it. You will heal faster with less pain. Have you someone to look after you?"

"No." She tries to keep her tone matter-of-fact, to not dwell on spending her birthday alone in an emergency room.

"I see. Well, no chasing down criminals for three weeks or more. You need to keep your movements minimal and get plenty of rest."

"Okay."

"Emma." His voice is stern, and she looks up into his eyes almost involuntarily. Around them, the emergency room is loud, announcements over the PA, a cacophony of voices and machines, but his gaze is laser-focused on her. "I mean it. Three weeks, minimum. You can do yourself more damage if you don't mind your body."

"Yeah, I got it." She smiles, the fake, convincing smile she's used on so many perps moments away from locking them in handcuffs. Three weeks – she probably afford the first week, but after that, it's back to work she goes. "Thank you, doctor."

He sighs, handing her the prescription and running his hands through his hair. She obviously hasn't fooled him. "Take care of yourself. I don't want to see you here again in a week."

"I'll be fine. Always am." She folds the prescription in half, tucking it into the small clutch she brought with her tonight. She doubts she'll use it, but he's watching her and she gets the sense he would argue if she threw it out right in front of him.

"Aye." He smiles tightly, one hand out as though he's going to help her to her feet, but he drops it at the last moment as she sucks in her breath. "Do try to have a better birthday next year," is the last thing he says before he turns to the nurse waiting for him.

He's thirty-two hours into a twenty hour shift when one of the nurses hands him his coat and tells him to go home. "You know the rules," Tink says with an indulgent pat on his arm. "You're already way over hours. Go home. Sleep. Shower." She wrinkles her nose at him, a smile tugging at her lips as he reluctantly takes the leather jacket from her.

"Aye, well, tell the bloody fools that Halloween was last weekend and to stop filling up my ER."

"Goodnight, Killian."

He sighs, scrubbing a palm over his face as he reluctantly heads for the door, shrugging on the worn and comfortable leather jacket. He should go to his locker, change into the jeans he wore in the day before yesterday, but it's too damn far to be bothered. The coat's pockets contain the necessities.

A glance at the clock reveals it to be after two in the morning. He should go home, but despite his exhaustion, he knows he won't sleep. It's why he stayed past his shift, continued to see patient after patient – at least in the ER his insomnia is put to good use.

Granny's diner is two blocks from his home and a usual haunt at this hour. The old woman who runs the place doesn't say much, but she has the ability to read him from the moment he walks in the door. He doesn't have to ask for her for the generous pour of rum she sets before him as he settles onto his usual stool, his stomach rumbling at the smell of food.

There are few others in the diner. A quick glance around reveals some college kids with the bleary look of too much caffeine and not enough sleep, a tense couple in another booth, and a blonde in a red leather jacket who has a familiar feel in spite of not being able to see her face. She's a few stools down at the counter, bent over her phone, but there's something about the way she's sitting, almost as if she's contorting herself to avoid moving the wrong way.

"Here you are, Emma." Granny's voice is filled with a tender affection as she sets the plate down in front of the blonde, grilled cheese and onion rings piled high. "Glad to see that shiner healed up nicely."

The woman looks up, a small smile curving her lips and Killian realizes in a flash why she's so familiar – she's the woman in the red dress, the patient he hasn't been able to get out of his mind for the last two weeks.

The last two weeks. Not three.

He frowns, picking up his rum and moving to the stool next to her with a overly cheerful, "Good evening, love."

"Go to h...oh. You're the ER doctor, right?" Her tone goes from ice to a hesitant politeness, her cheeks turning pink as she meets his eyes after her glance sweeps over his scrubs. "Dr. Jones?"

"Killian will do." He grins, leaning against the counter as he studies her. "I believed we agreed upon three weeks rest. What brings you to Granny's fine establishment at two in the morning?"

The friendliness evaporates from her feature instantly, a scowl taking its place as she turns back to her plate. "I agreed to nothing."

"Aye, I see that now."

"Look." She sets down her grilled cheese, wiping her hands on her jeans before turning to face him more fully, her brows knit together and her irritation plain. He can't help but notice her anger makes her eyes just a bit greener. "I took a week off. I sat on my couch and I watched Netflix and I ate a bunch of Chinese food. But there are no sick days when you run your own business, so that was the end of that. I'm fine. What are you doing at Granny's in the middle of the night? Isn't your girlfriend going to wonder where you are?"

He laughs, unable to hide the bitterness of the sound. "No one wonders where I am, darling. But if you wanted to know if I was available, you could have just asked."

"I wasn't…" She flushes brightly, Something like concern flickers across her face in spite of her obvious embarrassment, but Granny stops before them with a stack of pancakes for Killian.

"Changed your seat tonight?" she asks, putting the pancakes down a bit harder than necessary with a lift of her brow.

"Aye. This one has a better view." His eyes slide over to Emma, who refuses to acknowledge his comment. She keeps eating her onion rings without speaking, pausing only to sip from what appears to be a mug of hot chocolate.

Granny makes a vague noise of disapproval before walking away. Beside him, Emma's shoulders rise stiffly, her weight shifting on her stool, and he's about to apologize for making her uncomfortable when he notices she's got one arm wrapped tightly around her side, her jaw tight.

"Did you fill the prescription I gave you?" he asks quietly, pancakes momentarily forgotten.

"I threw it out in the parking lot," she says flatly, dropping her arm to her side. "I can't afford to be high on painkillers. It's nothing I can't handle."

"Aye, I'm getting that impression. But you don't have to be in pain, love. I can tell by the way you're holding yourself you're in a fair bit of it even now." His eyes sweep over her, a swift evaluation far from his previous flirtation.

"And what, you're going to kiss it and make it all better?" Her eyes flare in anger, but her tongue sweeps over her lower lip, a tell before she catches herself and presses her lips together.

He holds her stare, considering the statement far more thoroughly than he should. Aye, she's beautiful, but she's got fire and strength and he hasn't wanted a woman quite like this in a very long time.

Maybe not ever.

"Would you like me to?" he finally asks, letting his voice drop as a cover to his rapid pulse. He should be exhausted, but this conversation with this woman has him wide awake.

He's thought of her often since the night she ended up in his ER, a beautiful, fierce woman working a dangerous job on her birthday. Each new patient became both a blessing of knowing she remained unscathed and a disappointment at not seeing her again.

But now, here she is, two blocks from his home, and in spite of her scowl, there's a flicker of interest in her intelligent eyes.

Emma glances at the door out of habit when it chimes to admit a new patron and immediately averts her eyes, cursing her luck. It's two in the morning at a tiny diner bordering on a residential neighborhood – what the hell is the stupidly attractive ER doctor doing here?

She ignores him, concentrating on her phone and letting her hair fall in front of her face. It's doubtful the man will appreciate his instructions being ignored – most men don't – but she has a job to do. She still got her guy tonight, busted ribs and all.

Granny sets her plate down with a smile, Emma silently cursing her for using her name because she can hear him moving even before he sits down beside her.

She pretends she doesn't know it's him, snapping a response, but it doesn't faze him. In fact, he just keeps talking to her, letting his pancakes grow cold.

"Do you want to get out of here?" she asks in response to his low question, cutting to the chase. This is what he's after, anyway, and really, a night with an attractive man would be a nice distraction from her aching ribs. "Maybe go back to your place?" She licks her lips purposefully when he doesn't respond right away, dragging her eyes over him.

"No."

His voice is gentle, but the rejection slams into her all the same, a knife twisting in her heart. "Oh, well, never mind then," she says as she digs some crumpled bills out of her pocket and tosses them on the counter. Her cheeks burn, and she struggles not to let the sting of his rejection show as she winds her scarf around her neck. "I misunderstood. I'm going to just...go."

"Emma." His hand catches her arm before she's halfway off her stool, and when she manages to work up the courage to look him in the eye, the desire nearly takes her breath away. "Allow me to explain. I would very much like to take you home with me despite the fact I've been up for two days and barely have the energy to eat Granny's brilliant pancakes. But I'm a gentleman, love, and I don't make a habit of taking home women I've not even had the courtesy to share a meal with." He tucks a lock of her tangled hair behind her ear, offering up the lopsided smile that brings out his dimples and damn him, it stops her from heading for the door.

"This is a meal," she says after a long pause, gesturing to her barely eaten grilled cheese and his untouched pancakes. She's never been refused before, and no matter how polite the words, it's not an easy pill to swallow. She really should just walk away, but there's something about the endless blue of his eyes that draws her in, keeps her from shaking off his loose grip on her arm.

He chuckles, a noise filled with dark promise. "You tempt a man."

She shrugs, struggling to control her breathing as his thumb moves across her wrist. There's something different about him from the usual men she finds to scratch this particular itch, and it's not just that he's a doctor and by all appearances a successful one.

He's the first man to look at her in a long time and see something beyond a pretty face.

"Okay, well, I'm going to go then. Enjoy your pancakes."

She's halfway down the block when he catches up to her, breathless from running. She arches an eyebrow as he stops in front of her, blocking her path with a gleam in his eye beneath the street lamps. "My flat is in the other direction," he says by way of explanation, a slow smirk pulling at his lips.

He knows he shouldn't have gone after her – he knows that agreeing to this is going to likely blow whatever chance he has with her of something more than tonight, but he tells himself that's not true.

They're quiet on the short walk, the city silent around them, but she seems nervous when they stop in front of his brownstone, the iron stairs leading to an intricately carved door that will forever tug at his heart.

He should have gotten rid of it.

He can't.

"This is where you live?" she asks, staring up at the dark building.

"Doctor," he says with a grin, gesturing up the stairs. "Shall we?"

She eyes him for a moment, and he almost wonders if she's going to back out, but she takes a deep breath and shakes her head, almost as if she needs to clear her mind before this goes any further. "Lead on, doctor."

She shrugs out of her jacket as they enter, tossing it and her scarf over the back of the couch. He watches, captivated by the swing of blonde curls and the flash of jungle eyes in the pale light of the living room lamp. She advances on him without preamble, a predatory smile on her lips as she winds her arms around his neck. "Need help with your jacket?" she purrs, her voice low and seductive.

"Emma…" She cuts him off with a kiss, swallowing his protest. He should push her away, slow things down a bit – he's realized in a flash of understanding that Emma Swan has no intention of seeing him again after tonight. And he should just enjoy it – c'mon, Jones, gorgeous woman wants to share your bed – but the fact that she's attractive isn't why she's consumed his thoughts since she walked out of his ER.

There's something in her eyes when she looks at him, something beneath the sharp tongue and cavalier attitude concerning her well-being. The glimpses of herself she can't always hide, of the woman beneath the leather jackets and dangerous job, she's the one he can't get out of his head.

But once he starts, he can't stop kissing her.

She works his jacket off, her body pressing closer as he gathers a handful of her silken hair, his fingers pressing against the back of her head to deepen the kiss. She tastes like hot chocolate and salt, sweet and addictive – but there's nothing sweet about her now. She's aggressive, her hands already working to push his scrub top up his chest, and it's a struggle to break the kiss.

"Slow down, love," he manages to say, breathless. His eyes drop to her mouth, warring with himself not to reclaim her lips. "We've got the entire night."

"It's three in the morning. Not much night left." She smirks, tugging his top over his head and letting it drop to the floor. Locking her eyes on his, she drags her nails down his chest, and he's so captivated by her she's nearly unknotted the tie holding his pants on before he catches her hands in his.

"That's not fair, darling. Allow me to even the score." He offers her a lopsided grin to cover his racing heart, releasing one of her hands to run his fingers from the curve of her hip over her flat stomach to the swell of her breast. Her breath catches as he does it, eyes darkening with lust, and his plan to slow things down falls apart as she reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it off in one swift movement.

"Sit," she says, pushing on his chest to guide him to the couch cushions before reaching for her jeans.

"Emma…"

"Shhh…" She shimmies out of her jeans, and he forgets his own name for a moment, falling back onto the couch as his eyes roam over her creamy skin.

And then he sees the bruises.

"What…" He can hear the anger in his voice as he gently runs his fingers over her side. There's faded bruising from her ribs, but there's fresher marks on her hip and thigh. "What happened? Are you certain you're up for–"

"Wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't. I see you're definitely up for it." She doesn't answer his question, dropping onto his lap with her knees on either side of his hips. Her palm presses down against his arousal, the thin scrubs doing little to hide her warmth, and he's lost.

It's a blur from there, Emma's hands, Emma's lips, the slick heat of Emma's body drawing him in, Emma's low moans and gasping breaths as he brings her over the edge with his tongue, with his fingers as she rides him, her head thrown back and blonde curls tickling his thighs.

She barely stays in his arms long enough to come down from the high, reaching for her bra on the floor and beginning to redress. "You don't have to go," he says, hoping it doesn't come out nearly as pleading as he thinks it does, his veins still on fire with pleasure. He hasn't even fully caught his breath yet, and she's already halfway out the door. "Stay."

"I don't think so." She smiles tightly, yanking her T-shirt over her head with a wince. She sighs, her eyes scanning the room, presumably for her underwear. He offers them up sheepishly from where they've ended up under his thigh, and he's shocked when her cheeks flush. "Look, this was fun but I don't do–"

"Swan, it was bloody brilliant. I've never…you should stay. I am certain a repeat performance would be pleasurable for all parties." He grins up at her, swallowing his disappointment and hoping the invitation in his voice will keep her for the night, that they can do it all over again in the morning and take their time – when he isn't coming off a multi-day shift and exhausted. "Just need a bit of a nap."

She pauses, her eyes flickering with something like regret before she shakes her head and reaches for her jeans. "I don't stay." It's a flat statement, all the passion of the woman in his arms not two minutes ago frozen to ice.

He manages to tie his pants back into place before she can get her jacket on, his fingers curling around her wrist as he wraps his arms around her waist. "It's all right, love," he says quietly, brushing the hair out of her eyes. She won't look at him, her eyes on the floor, and she's stiff in his embrace. "I won't–"

She moves without warning, her nails scratching against his scalp as her fingers wind into his hair, her lips crashing against his. For a split-second, he thinks he's convinced her, that this is her way of saying she'll stay even though her words have said something completely different.

But the kiss is more brutal than passionate, and he realizes right before she tears herself away from him that it's a goodbye.

She shouldn't have gone home with him.

Emma berates herself the entire walk back to her apartment – of course he only lives three blocks from her. She wonders how they've never run into each other at Granny's before, but she realizes with a grimace that she probably won't be able to avoid him forever unless she's willing to give up Granny's onion rings.

Those are some damn good onion rings.

She sucks in a breath, clutching her side and swallowing the groan of pain. Her ribs really aren't healed enough for the rather vigorous activities she's just engaged in, but she was too lost in a haze of lust to notice at the time. His bedside manner is very good.

You really just thought that, didn't you? Go to bed, Emma.

But she can't get him out of her mind. The blue of his eyes, the scrape of his teeth, the way he asked her to stay like it broke his heart when she said no – the way his gaze flickered over her bruised hip with a concern no one has ever expressed for her in her entire life. She eventually falls into a restless sleep, assuring herself it's nothing more than the particularly good sex that keeps her thoughts on him.

Three weeks later, she's having a much more difficult time convincing herself good sex is why she can't stop thinking about him.

Dr. Killian Jones isn't a thing like the men she's slept with in the past. Not just when it came to his willingness to please her physically, but the soft timbre of his voice when he asked her to stay, or the simple fact that he refused her at first. She didn't have the heart to ask him what made him change his mind on that dark sidewalk, what made him come after her – she's certain she doesn't want to hear his answer with those soulful eyes turned on her.

Or maybe she does. Maybe now that someone has looked at her the way Dr. Killian Jones does, she craves all the affection she never got growing up.

Maybe she wants to care.

But there's no future in it. Guys like him – successful, attractive god damn doctors – do not go for lost girls who spend their days chasing after the scum of the world. Emma uses the honeypot trap frequently enough to have a closet full of sexy dresses, but she's much more comfortable in her jeans. She's usually covered in bruises, and she's had more black eyes than she can count. Not exactly the woman you show off to your other doctor friends.

After another week of trying to talk herself out of it, Emma decides she needs to just get him out of her system. A one night stand can be a two night stand. It was probably a fluke, how good the sex was. They can do it again, and it won't be as good, and she'll forget about him. He'll turn out to be like every other guy she's hooked up with, and he'll stop haunting her thoughts and her dreams.

Her palms are sweating when she walks into the ER.

It's the middle of the night. She shouldn't be here. She doesn't even know if he's working, but she started to walk to Granny's for hot chocolate and ended up here instead.

Stupid, Emma, just stupid. Go home.

She turns back toward the door, her cheeks warm when she hears his voice calling her name. She debates pretending not to hear him, but he's caught up to her before she can leave.

"Are you all right, love?" It's the last thing she expects him to say, and when she works up the nerve to look into his eyes, they're filled with that same damn concern that got to her last time. His gaze flickers over her face, and she realizes his careful examination isn't just concern – it's professional. He's worried she's hurt.

He thinks the only reason she would turn up here is because she's injured herself again.

"Of course, I'm just, uh…" Her face burns under his brilliant blue stare, expression softening as she says it.

This was a mistake.

"You're not here because you need medical attention?"

"No?" It comes out as a question, and she glances back down at the tile and her scuffed boots. All her confidence has evaporated in the face of his genuine interest in her well being – how does she tell him now she came here looking for another round of mind-blowing, no-strings-attached sex and nothing more?

"Ah." He doesn't say anything else right away, and she catches the movement of his hand reaching for her out of the corner of her eye before he snatches it back. "May I ask why you are here, then?" His tone is carefully composed, but she can hear the crack, can hear he's struggling to remain detached.

You don't have to go. Stay.

"I…"

"Jones! We need you right now!"

His head snaps up at his name, but he hesitates. "My shift ends in an hour. Would you…if you could wait?"

"Sure. Meet me at Granny's. I'll just get in the way here." She's said it before she can stop herself, a weak smile on her lips. His eyes light up at her agreement, and he's leaning toward her like he just might kiss her right here in the middle of the ER, but a nurse shouts for him again. He offers her an apologetic smile before turning to jog across the room.

Emma curses a blue streak on the walk to Granny's, her cheeks flushed more from embarrassment than the biting wind. What is she doing? Why did she agree to meet him at the diner? Why didn't she just suggest they meet at his place in an hour?

She picks at a pile of onion rings and nurses a hot chocolate, glancing up every time the door jingles in between checking the time on her phone. The hour comes and goes, and there's no sign of him. Emma sighs, fidgeting in her seat and glancing down at the time once more.

He asked you to wait.

He's not here.

Maybe he got held up. He's a doctor. Not like he can walk away in the middle of saving a life.

Or maybe he's just like everyone else.

Emma takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she weighs the decision. A flash of blue greets her, longing and tenderness shining in a dark living room, and she shouldn't, but she wants him to look at her like that again.

For the first time in a long time, she wants to stay.

He's twenty minutes late, bursting through the door with frantic eyes until he spots her. He's showered at the hospital, jeans hugging his thighs and a scarf bundled around his throat and mouth. He unwinds it as he approaches, a forced smile on his face as he slides onto the stool next to her.

"It's supposed to snow," he says in greeting, scratching behind his ear as he turns that same plastered-on grin at her. He sounds out of breath, and his cheeks are red, but something else is off – something not quite right, his smile not reaching into the depth of his eyes.

"Yeah." It's a lame response, but it's the only one she's got. "Cold onion ring?" she asks to cover her own awkwardness, shoving the plate toward him. She wants to ask what's wrong, why does he look like he's seen a ghost, but instead she sips her lukewarm drink. He's made her nervous just by being here, by asking her to wait – asking her to stay – and it's unfamiliar though not entirely unwelcome.

He pops one of the fried pieces into his mouth, chewing slowly while watching her. He swallows, his jaw tightening, and for a fraction of a second his face is filled with devastating emotion before he smooths his features back out. "I apologize, lass. I fear I'm poor company tonight." His laugh is humorless as he glances down at the counter, tracing his finger over a crack.

Emma frowns, unable to stop herself from reaching for his hand, if only to still the ceaseless movement. He was fine an hour ago – surprised to see her, but happy. Now...now he seems heartbroken and sad.

What the hell happened after I left?

He sighs as her fingers curl around his, his skin cool from the walk and hers warm from cupping her hot chocolate. He turns to face her, and as though he could hear her silent question, very quietly says, "I lost a patient."

Every instinct in her body is screaming for her to pull her hand away, to make an excuse to leave, to not go any further with this because he clearly needs to talk to someone and Emma sucks at talking. But instead she squeezes his hand, remaining silent when Granny arrives to take his order with a suspicious glance at both of them.

You walked out on him once before. You can't do it now. Don't you dare leave him all alone in this diner tonight, Swan.

"I'm sorry," she says once Granny leaves, and when he turns his palm up towards hers and laces their fingers together, she doesn't pull away.

"She was thirteen. Gang shooting. I couldn't even get her to the surgeon. She snuck out to follow her older brother and…" He stops, his lips pressed tightly together in a hard line, jaw clenched. "I apologize, love. You did not come looking for me tonight to hear my woes." He glances down at their joined hands, his expression softening. "Why…why did you come looking for me?"

To get you out of my system.

To have sex with you and leave before something like this happened.

Because I'm really good at lying to myself.

While she struggles to give him a reason, the silence drags between them until he gives a bitter laugh and untangles his fingers from hers. "I see. Well, afraid I won't be much use to you tonight."

"I didn't say…"

"Didn't have to. Open book." He glances at her again, disappointment and weariness tugging at his features. "You can go, darling. Perhaps another night."

"I don't want to." She realizes only after the words have slipped out that they're true – in spite of her pounding heart and knotted stomach, she doesn't want to leave him alone in the middle of the night with his pain. She reaches for his hand again, and he doesn't resist when she laces their fingers back together.

He seems shocked, but he doesn't say anything, his thumb grazing the back of her hand in a gentle sweep. She smiles shyly at his curious glance, uncertain – she doesn't do this – but tonight he needs it, needs her.

Maybe she needs him, too.

Granny sets Killian's pancakes in front of him and a fresh hot chocolate in front of Emma, glancing at the two of them over her spectacles before walking away again. Killian doesn't let go of her hand, picking up his fork and poking at his pancakes.

"I'm sure you did everything you could for her," she says softly, something about the way he's toying with his fork breaking her heart. "The girl, I mean. Your patient."

"Just because I can't fix them all doesn't mean I stop trying."

"I know."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"You want to fix me."

He shakes his head, reclaiming his left hand in a move that leaves her feeling chilled. "I don't want to fix you," he says after a beat, eyes blazing to life as he meets her gaze. His voice is low, almost angry. "Don't you understand? I want you just the way you are."

"You don't know–"

"I know plenty, love. You don't allow people to get close to you. Tough lass with a tough job. You find emotion to be a weakness, so you swallow it down and avoid it at all costs. You came home with me intending to never see me again." He pauses, his eyes scanning her face. "Yet here we are."

"I can go if I'm just making it worse by being here."

"That's the rub. I don't want you to go, love. But what I want and what you're willing to give…" He shrugs, picking up his fork again.

"What do you want?" Emma asks before she can stop herself, the question a whisper. Her heart is pounding wildly in her chest, and her fingers grip her hot chocolate mug so tightly her knuckles have gone white.

"I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. I want to make you breakfast in the morning, and take you out for dinner at a nice restaurant. I want to know everything you want to tell me." His hand has found hers again while he's been talking, his fingers dancing over her open palm. "On a night like tonight, I want to kiss you until your eyes aren't filled with fear and my heart doesn't hurt anymore."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Emma smiles, a shy smile that feels strange on her lips. "You're an excellent kisser."

"Is that so?"

He doesn't finish his pancakes.

She doesn't leave.

This request was made a shamefully long time ago, but it's finally finished! Hope you enjoy it, darling! 3