She's not scared.

Nope, not in the slightest. She is a grown-ass woman.

She just happens to like this spot is all. This nice, cozy seat atop a pile of…fake bones. So she lost the others. She's fine! Totally fine. She'll catch up to them in just a minute, she just needs a minute.

A loud bang elicits shrieks from a group of people in the next room, and Emma presses herself further into the shadowed corner that is currently her sanctuary. She squeezes her eyes shut and wills her breathing to a normal level, counting breaths in and out. In and out. In and—

She screams and nearly jumps out of her skin when a hand touches her shoulder.

"Easy, love. Easy. Are you alright?"

Emma looks up to see what seems to be a very concerned zombie pirate looming over her. He looks ridiculous, with his ghoulish makeup and tattered black leather coat (complete with a parrot skeleton perched on the shoulder.) He removes his equally ridiculous-looking hat and squats down in front of her, the eerie light of the room washing his face in blue. Seeing him up close, she notes that his makeup is surprisingly well done, black smudged expertly around his blue eyes, dark gray swaths contouring his cheeks making them look gaunt and hollow. She follows a trail of fake blood that snakes down from his bottom lip, and she finds herself wondering how the hell a zombie can somehow be this attractive.

"I'm fine. I just wanted to…hang out here for a second," she lies pathetically.

"Ah yes, well I can see how the ambience of this room begs to be enjoyed," he quips, gesturing to the pile of half-eaten sailor corpses beside them.

Her eyes lock onto the prop, false bravado fading, and she can't quite keep the panic from tingeing her voice. "I seem to have lost my friends and I just want to get out of here," the words pour out in a rush.

The laughter fades from his eyes as he senses her fear. He touches the plastic hook covering his left hand to her knee, drawing her attention back to him. "Understandable. Would you like me to show you the way out?" he asks gently.

She swallows, considering. She can't believe what a coward she is being—she of all people! She chases down armed and dangerous criminals for a living without hesitation, for chrissake. Yet some fake Halloween props and cheap scares in the dark are too much to handle? "I'm not afraid," she insists.

"Of course not."

"I just don't like surprises."

He nods solemnly. "Well, you have chosen wisely then by deciding to spend your evening at a haunted house," his lips twitch and she glares at him.

"Are you going to help me or not?"

Zombie Pirate grins at this, straightening to stand. "I could never leave a fair maiden in distress. Killian Jones, at your service," he says with a sweeping bow before extending his hand to her. She hesitates a moment before taking it, and tries to ignore the relief that floods her as she feels it wrap warm and sure around her own.

"Emma Swan. And I'm not in distress."

.

.

She glues herself to his back.

She really should have some sense of pride and propriety, but she just doesn't care. Her hand still grips his, her other fisted in the leather of his coat. They are in complete darkness, shuffling slowly down a narrow hallway. God, she hates this shit. Killian turns his head slightly, his stubbly cheek brushing hers, and assures her there will be light again soon. Just a few more feet. And that an overly-excited vampire named Dave will most likely burst out before his cue and yell at them in a butchered Romanian accent, but he's the farthest thing from scary.

She decides she'll be the judge of that.

"No, I promise you, darling," he whispers. "Our first year, I snuck up behind him in his own room and startled him so terribly that he peed his velvet vampire pants."

Emma snorts a laugh, and with their closeness she can feel an answering laugh rumble through him. He sticks his fake hook in the slit of the curtains, pausing and turning back to her once again. "Ready?"

"Hardly, but it's not like I have a choice."

"That's the spirit."

.

.

"Nope."

'I'm afraid we have to, darling. No turning back now."

"I'm not going in there," Emma stands her ground. They are huddled against a wall, having made it past Vampire Dave and down yet another long, dark hallway. Ahead of them is a room awash in garish red light, and she can see severed rubber heads dangling cheerfully from the ceiling while neon red heart lights blink on the walls. She has no desire to see the rest or the creepy Queen of Hearts she is sure is awaiting them.

"The sooner we go in, the sooner we get out."

Her lips dip into a frown. She hates when logic betrays her.

"Can I ask you something, Swan?"

She knows what's coming.

"You seem like quite a tough lass, why does a haunted house scare you so?"

She shifts restlessly, wanting nothing more than to not answer that question. Even if it is an entirely reasonable question for him to ask given her behavior tonight. Letting people in has never been her strong suit. But there is something odd about Killian, something indefinable that makes him feel safe even while being a stranger. She doesn't want to think too much on that either right now, but she decides to give him the truth.

"When I was little, maybe 8 or 9, I convinced this older kid in my foster home to sneak me into the local haunted house," she pauses, waiting for his reaction. People tend to get awkward at the mention of foster care. But Killian merely stands there, waiting for her to continue, blue eyes curious and fingers still laced with hers. So she continues on. "Anyway, long story short, we made it about three rooms in before he bolted, leaving me alone in this terrifying operating room complete with a clown doctor. I hid under a gurney until after close and all the lights went on. The clown doctor found me, I fainted, and next thing I know I'm being driven back to my foster home in a police cruiser as my foster brother sulks next to me about ruining his night."

Killian doesn't say anything; he just continues to stand close to her. She's halfway grateful, halfway embarrassed, she's not sure why she just blurted out something so personal to a complete stranger. She feels his fingers brush the underside of her chin, tipping her face up until she meets his steady gaze. "Hey. I'm not going to bolt. I'm in this for the long haul. Alright?"

Something inside her settles a little bit, and even though she's wary of promises like that, she lets out a quiet little breath of relief.

"Alright."

.

.

"So how long have you worked here?" she asks, determined to distract herself from the demented Doctor Frankenstein laughing manically as he saws dramatically at his monster's head.

"This is my fourth year, though technically we don't really 'work' here. We're an all-volunteer navy, so to speak."

"You do this. FOR FREE?"

"It's more like forced servitude on my part. My older brother Liam captains this ship of horrors, and I am given the choice between 'yes' and 'definitely yes' when asked to participate," he sighs. "But it's for charity, and so I can at least tell myself it helps atone for the lifetime of sins weighing against my soul."

She starts to reply, but the words die on her tongue as she watches Dr. Frankenstein begin to yank entrails from a jar next to his monster. Her stomach drops and she turns her face into Killian's shoulder, concentrating once again on breathing in and out. In and out. Killian tightens his grip on her, tucking her arm a little more snugly against his chest.

"Oi, Victor. Tone it down a bit, mate," Killian barks out.

Frankenstein turns as if just noticing their presence, before smiling and tossing the entrails on the table. "Killian, my man. You breaking out?"

"The day before Halloween? Are you mad? Liam would have my head on a pike."

"Yeah, I know. Wanna grab some beers after close?"

"I will race you to the bloody Rabbit Hole."

"Superb," Victor adjusts the oversized head mirror strapped to his forehead. "Now get out, my next victims will be approaching!" he shoos them and descends back into maniacal laughter.

.

.

Room after room, they twist their way through the horrors of the haunted house. Dungeons with cackling, unhinged evil queens. Werewolves in cages howling for their blood. A creepy Neverland jungle complete with horrifying lost boy dolls with sightless eyes peering out through the trees.

But somewhere along the way, Emma finds her fear ebbing and she start almost having fun. Almost. Just a little. This place is still her personal nightmare factory, but it's actually manageable with Killian for a guide. He's ridiculous with his commentary but never fails to let her know about exactly what to expect and when, removing the surprise element she hates. And his hand stays warm and steady around hers.

It's not so bad.

.

.

"Alright Swan, this is it. We've only got this last bit to get through and then you will be free."

"Oh, thank god."

"I should warn you though: this is the underworld. We're going to have to make a run for it at full steam to escape the demons in there, as they are entirely too enthusiastic about their roles."

She sighs with grim acceptance, squaring her shoulders and rolling her neck as if preparing to chase down a perp. Killian smiles at this and nods his head in approval. He gives her hand a squeeze before his eyes grow serious. "Ready?"

Emma nods.

"RUN."

Killian doesn't have to tell her twice. Emma takes off like a spooked rabbit and they race through the final stretch of the attraction, a large hellscape with six hooded, dementor-like ghosts chasing them. Strobe lights and fake flames flash along the walls, disorienting her. Emma grips Killian's hand like a lifeline, and he holds tight in return. They finally break out into the chilly fall night, collapsing on the ground next to some hay bales, winded but free.

"See? That wasn't so bad," Killian pants. She turns her head to look at him, uncaring that she is probably red-faced and a mess. His eyes dance as he reaches over and plucks a giant fake cobweb from her hair. And suddenly they both are laughing hysterically.

"My hero," she manages to get out, her side aching from laughter and their sprint through the nightmare palace. He grins up at her from where he's gasping next to her, blue eyes bright with laughter against the black of his makeup.

"All in a day's work," he wheezes.

He's still grinning as her hauls her to her feet, gently brushing the hay and leaves from her ivory sweater as they sway close together. Tension creeps into the air around them as he does so, a new awareness of each other outside the odd little bubble of the haunted house. She's not quite sure what to do, how to thank him properly for how he helped her tonight. Words have never really been her strong suit, either. There's also the fact that she just spent the last hour clinging to him like a burr—him, a total and complete stranger—pressed rather intimately against his body and clutching his hand. She can't even imagine what the hell he must be thinking. She doesn't even know what she thinks about it all.

Oh god.

Thankfully, Ruby and Elsa pick that moment to find her, questioning where the hell she disappeared to. She introduces them to her zombie pirate rescuer, and proceeds gives Ruby a steely look when her friend lets out a low, wolfish whistle as she takes in Killian. Emma eyes him out of the corner of her eye, and can't stop a small smile when she sees him scratch behind his ear, a little embarrassed.

"Well then, Swan. Here you are, delivered safe and sound," he begins.

"Here we are. Thank you for all of your help," she says lamely, cursing herself for being so bad with this sort of thing.

"Have any plans after your shift, pirate? I think our Emma clearly owes you a drink," Elsa interjects, much to Emma's mortification.

"Aye, I would agree that she does," he winks at her and she rolls her eyes. But he's right; it's the least she can do to repay his kindness. "I'm to meet my brother and Dr. Frankenstein at the Rabbit Hole after we close, if you ladies would like to join us?"

"Ooh, a doctor! Just my type." Ruby claps.

"Fake doctor," Emma corrects.

"Spoilsport," Ruby harrumphs and Emma laughs.

Turning back to Killian, she agrees. "I suppose we can stop by for a drink."

"Or two," her friends amend in unison.

"One," Emma repeats. "You know I'm not much for the bar scene."

"Ah, but you weren't 'much' for the haunted house scene either, lass, but here we are," Killian teases, arching an eyebrow at her. "I'm sure we can help you change your mind once again," he finishes in a lower tone.

Heat dances along her skin even as she volleys back. "Confident, aren't we?"

He grins. "I love a challenge."