A/N: Written for my dear friend Kat on the occasion of her birthday.

When Regina Mills had asked for a 'volunteer' to take on the first aid officer role on their floor, Emma Swan had found herself thrown under the proverbial bus by several of the colleagues she had once counted as friends. Sure, she had taken some courses - she was mom to an adventurous ten year old, after all - but she hardly thought that qualified her to take on the care of an office full of adults.

Apparently her boss thought differently.

Turned out it wasn't an onerous job. Thankfully the incidents requiring her services so far had proven to be minor- a band aid here, a paper cut there - but there was one major obstacle that she hadn't seen coming. A tall, dark haired obstacle with ridiculously blue eyes and manicured scruff, all wrapped up in an accented package with an apparent tendency to hypochondria.

Or that was what Emma was telling herself. Firmly.

Killian Jones' artfully dishevelled head appeared over Emma's cubicle one morning, hand outstretched and a mischievous smile plastered across his face.

"It appears I am in desperate need of your medical services, Swan." His smirk made Emma roll her eyes, taking his hand in search of said injury. Finding nothing, she made a point of putting her glasses on for a second look before staring questioningly at him.

And if there was a little spark of something as she held his hand in hers, that was nothing that couldn't be ignored.

"Give me a hint, Jones." God knew she had work to do and no time for flirtatious Englishmen.

He had the nerve to pout at her. "Surely you can see the gaping wound of my paper cut."

She couldn't.

"Well, Jones," she sighed," Today I am offering my patented 'chopping off pathetically injured fingers with old rusty scissors' service. Interested?"

He clutched at his heart dramatically and she felt the now familiar urge for an eyeroll come over her. "You wound me, Swan," he declared, the wicked grin on his face having absolutely no effect on the first aid officer.

No, none at all.

"If I wounded you, you really would need first aid. So be careful what you wish for." The corners of her mouth twitched as she noted the slight flare of his nostrils and the sharp intake of breath at her words.

She had some game herself. What was the harm in using it?

Unsurprisingly, he wasn't off balance for long. "Indeed, love, I am always very sure about my wishes, especially where a beautiful woman is concerned." The wink that accompanied this sent a flush of warmth straight to her cheeks and she turned back to her monitor to avoid his gaze.

His laughter was considerably more distant before she looked up again.

The paper cut was just the first in a long line of 'serious' injuries that required Emma's immediate attention. The stubbed toe was unfortunate, but hardly life-threatening and the burnt tongue from his morning coffee just received a disbelieving head shake as she headed for the elevator.

Each new ailment came with a solid dose of Jones charm and innuendo, and Emma was surprised to find herself looking forward to seeing what new disaster had befallen him each day. He was a master flirt, and if she were to be honest - which she absolutely was NOT if anyone asked - there was something about their interactions that had her thinking about him in her quiet moments. Thinking things that brought a flush to her cheeks and a tug low down in her gut that was getting harder to ignore.

So when David called out that Killian needed first aid, she was unprepared to find him slightly pale and obviously in pain, clutching his arm to his chest. His usual cocksure expression was gone; in its place a furrowed brow and bottom lip caught by his teeth as he breathed deeply to manage his discomfort.

The concern must have been clear on her face because he attempted his usual smirk, but the effort was too much.

"Well, Swan, seems I am actually in need of your services today." His voice was strained and when she touched his skin tentatively he flinched.

"Hit your funny bone, Jones?" she asked, desperate to maintain some semblance of normality to their interaction. Seeing his handsome face contorted in pain, with no sign of his usual banter or eyebrow waggling was disconcerting. As was the urge to reach up and stroke his cheek in an attempt to comfort him.

"It does not feel particularly funny, I must say," he answered through gritted teeth. "Apparently the game of office basketball with Dave was ill advised. As was using my left arm to break my inevitable fall."

Emma examined the arm carefully, trying to not be aware of how close she was to him. Or the spicy tang of his aftershave. Or the little buzz of something she felt when he grasped her own arm to steady himself when the pain became too much. "This one is a little out of my skill set," she admitted. "But I can make it a bit more comfortable." Turning to David, who was hovering nervously behind her, she said, "Are you able to take him to the emergency room? I think he'll need an x-ray." David nodded and left them to get his keys.

Digging into her first aid kit, Emma retrieved a triangular bandage and slipped it gently under his elbow and around his injured arm. He breathed in sharply as his arm shifted and she looked questioningly at him, but he shook his head quickly so she knew he was all right. She reached around his neck to tie the sling, his breath tickling her ear as she leaned over him, sending a shiver down her spine.

She stepped back quickly, before the unexpected temptation to comb her fingers through the dark hair at the nape of his neck overtook her, but he reached out to take her hand. Their eyes met for a moment before they both spoke at once.

"Swan, I…"

"That should hold it…"

Their words were swallowed as David barrelled into the room, his car keys held aloft and Killian's satchel slung over his shoulder. The uncomfortable silence had him looking from one to the other, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Sorry to interrupt," he smirked, "but we had better get the basketball hero to the hospital. Say goodbye to Emma, Killian."

Emma waved as the two men disappeared between the cubicles.

It had only taken a brief moment of distraction for it to happen. One minute she had been slicing a tomato for her lunch, the next she felt a sharp sting as the knife slipped and cut the flesh of her palm. Nothing at all to do with the company picnic photos displayed on the fridge, Killian Jones in shorts and sunglasses, trying to teach David the basics of cricket.

"Shit!" she exclaimed as blood began to seep from the wound. Emma looked in her immediate vicinity for something to stem the flow but there was nothing fit for first aid purposes nearby.

Someone really needed to take those dish towels home for a wash.

Her voice must have carried more than expected because Killian's head appeared around the corner of the kitchen door, his brows furrowed in concern.

"All right, Swan?" he began, before taking in the situation before him. Emma held her hand outstretched, making a futile attempt to put pressure on the wound with her other hand. He was beside her in a minute, eyes searching the kitchen counters and clearly coming to the same conclusion she had.

His injured arm was strapped across his chest - x-rays had shown a small fracture - but he took her hand in his available one and looked closely at the cut.

"How have you managed to do that to yourself, Swan?" he asked, his voice calm and reassuring.

"I was distracted for a minute," she replied, trying and failing to keep her eyes from wandering towards the photos that had been her undoing. He followed her gaze and grinned wickedly when he saw the source of her distraction.

"Well, if I am to blame for your injury, love, it seems only right that I should tend to it." Emma went to protest, to say she was reminiscing about David's inability to keep the cricket bat down, or how silly the game had seemed, but before she could utter a word Killian had whipped the pocket square from his vest and had placed one end across her palm. Holding it with her good hand, she watched, mesmerised, as he wrapped the fabric around and around before tucking the ends under. He paused for a moment, looking directly at her, his blue eyes so intense she could not look away, before taking the end of the makeshift bandage in his teeth and pulling it tight.

His gaze never left her and Emma felt her knees buckle as she watched his mouth grasp the fabric and pull without missing a beat, warmth pooling in her belly as she fought hard against the desire to grab him by the collar, albeit one handed, and kiss the ludicrous smirk right off his face. She leaned back against the counter to steady herself as he closed her fingers slowly over the bandage, his voice almost a low growl. "How was that, love?''

She would blame the blood loss for lowering her resistance, if anyone ever asked.

Her hand in his hair as she pulled him into her waiting lips was all the answer he was going to get.