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Notes: A very special thanks to @kmomof4 for finding this in my google docs and reminding me i hadn’t posted it yet. Also, thanks for fixing my mistakes! <3 I also warn you now that this fic is hard for me to write, because it’s sooooooo slow burn, so updates will be btween other fics I am writing, and i might even skip to the eventual E rating earlier than planned ;)
Overall Summary: An AU elsewhere fic based in New York. Emma Swan and her best friend Mary Margaret “Snow” Blanchard are ready for a change. After Mary Margaret gets offered a new job at a school in Manhatten, Emma decides to go with her. She takes a job in a traditional, mom and pop diner called Granny’s and soon both of them are finding love in the most unlikely of places.
Chapter Summary: Killian has to take Emma to the hospital after her accident at work, but with all the emotions flying around, will she give into her inner voice and kiss her boss?
Emma felt silly. There were far more important things for the doctors and nurses to be worrying about than her stupid hand. Killian had driven them to the hospital, she wasn’t sure which one, and they were now seated at the back of a small waiting area.
It was a weekday and as such, there were not many people around this early in the morning. There were less people than Emma expected actually, for a city as big as New York. She would have expected a few more people to have needed medical attention, but then she remembered how early it still was.
God damn early. You need to get a different job, Emma.
Killian was beside her, his black boots scuffing nervously on the almost mirror-like floor tiles under his chair. The flimsy, pull down plastic seats reminded Emma of a baseball stadium, but they were an off white grey instead of any team colour she knew of. They also had an odd, bobbled texture that Emma had never seen before.
Then again, she didn’t frequent many hospitals.
The people who were in the waiting room with them were not causing too much of a disturbance. It was like there was some unwritten code that prevented anybody from talking to each other. Emma didn’t mind much, she liked to keep to herself, but Emma could tell Killian was the complete opposite.
Three chairs over from them were a tired looking couple. They couldn’t have been any older than Emma, and out of the corner of her eye she could see that they had a young toddler. The father looked haggard, the exhaustion etched onto his face. He was slouched down in the chair, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded over his chest. His shirt was rumpled all over, and there was a distinct orange stain on one of his shoulders.
The young mother looked older than she probably was due to her own fatigue. The corners of her eyes were creased, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She wore a jumper, some baggy sweatpants and some hard bottoms slippers, probably thrown on in the haste of leaving their home in such a hurry. As Emma looked them over, she guessed they had probably been there far longer than she and Killian.
The little girl beside the mother sat obediently on the fold down chair. Her tiny hands were rung together, resting in a pile on her lap and Emma could see she was pale. Her skin was clammy and her eyes red, probably from crying so long, and Emma could have sworn she saw a slight hitch in her tiny body as the after effects of her sobs still rocked her minute frame.
The little girl looked directly at Killian, studying the side of his face with an inquisitive stare. Emma smiled, watching her and wondering what she was thinking. Her tiny sweat beaded forehead furrowed a little, and her short, shallow breaths made her entire body move silently as she breathed.
As if he could tell somebody was looking at him, Killian turned his head slowly and locked eyes with the little girl. She didn’t look away but instead met his gaze unashamedly, her little cheeks blushing when her eyes darted to Killian’s hand clutched to his lap. Killian followed her gaze, understanding her confusion instantly.
The little girl shuffled in her seat, turning so that she was totally facing Killian. Killian leaned sideways, sliding his hand behind him as he did, and pulling the seat down between them. He leaned down on his elbow until he was eye level with the little girl, the chair shifting under his weight. Her eyes flicked to his blunted hand once more and Killian grabbed her attention with his other hand, pointing to his nose with his long index finger.
The little girl’s mouth twitched up into a weak smile, her fatigue so heavy over her little body that Killian was surprised she could keep her eyes open and muster a smile at all. He poked his nose and then pointed to the little girl, sticking out his tongue and wiggling it mischievously. Emma couldn’t see what he was doing from where she was sitting, but the smile on the toddler’s face grew slightly and Emma’s soon matched it.
It seemed, amongst other things, Killian was quite good with children.
When the little girl laughed, the echo of her innocent chuckle bouncing around the room, the father stirred. He peeled his eyes open and pushed himself up in his seat, his instinct searching out his daughter’s voice. His eyes fell on Killian, darting between him and his daughter who was clapping her hands together with excitement and burying her face into her mother’s side.
The father smiled, thankful that for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, his daughter was not screaming. A wave of relief washed over him, and his wide eyes relaxed back into their tired state once he knew his daughter was not unhappy once more. The mother wrapped her arms around the tot, helping her hide her face from Killian’s silliness, her own small laugh slipping from her throat.
“Funny man,” the little girl said gleefully, her toes wiggling in her booted sleepsuit.
“Is he?” The mother asked her with a smile, as if she didn’t know Killian had been making her daughter laugh.
Killian flashed the mother a smile and leaned back up into his seat, letting the chair beside him spring back against the wall with a dull thud. The little girl’s eyes flicked back to Killian’s stump and with a tiny, crooked finger, she pointed at it.
“No fingers,” the little girl said quickly, looking at her mother for an explanation.
The mother blushed, apologising for her daughter instantly with a silent look. Killian shook his head a little, brushing it off. He was used to people staring, didn’t even mind it, but the innocence of children bought out a brutal honesty that often made the adults around them uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry,” She said quickly, smoothing her hand over her daughter’s back. The girl looked at her and then to Killian.
“Where?” She pointed at his hand again, scrambling to pull down the seat next to her and climb into the cooler plastic chair. She crossed her legs over each other, the tiny bobbled feet of her onesie making a scraping sound over the plastic.
Killian looked to where his hand once was and covered the end with his long fingers. There had been many stories he had told children over the years since his accident, but his favourite still lingered at the forefront of his mind. It wasn’t too scary and had just the right amount of excitement for such a young mind.
Killian licked his lips a little before looking over at the little girl again. His eyebrow jumped up on his face, and he gave her a sideways grin. He crooked a finger at her and leaned sideways over the gap, the little girl eagerly matching his lean and resting forward on her knees. The dark circles under her eyes disappeared when her eyes went wide and she sniffed at a dribble of snot that had escaped her nostril.
“A crocodile took it,” he whispered at her, grinning wildly after his words. The little girl gasped, her little body stiffening in her seat.
“Cwockodile?” She repeated his words with amazement and Killian nodded, watching a small line of drool escape from her mouth which hung open a little.
“A big, big crocodile,” Killian told her with a deep, booming voice. The little girl looked riveted, leaning even more forward.
“Came right out of the sea and CHOMP!” Killian slapped his stump and the little girl jumped back in her seat, her tiny hands clutching over her mouth.
“It eated it!?” The girl gasped and Emma grinned from behind Killian. The little girl couldn’t have been older than three and yet she was fearless, enthralled by Killian’s story despite its horrific undertones.
Killian sat back in his seat and swallowed dramatically, making a cartoon style gulping noise as he did so. The toddler’s face spread into a wide grin, only her two front pegs fully broken through her gums. Her laughing got louder and she turned to her mother, tugging harshly on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She was just about to babble something when a nurse called to her parents, signalling it was their turn to see a doctor.
Killian sat back, offering the parents a smile as they made their way from the waiting room. The little girl clutched at her mother’s shoulders, resting her head sideways and grinning at Killian shyly as they disappeared around a blue privacy curtain.
“A crocodile, huh?” Emma tried to suppress her laugh, but a snort escaped her throat. Killian leaned back in his chair and gave her a smirk, his eyebrow quirking up on his forehead. He reached up behind his ear and scratched the skin there, a habit Emma was coming to notice he did more and more.
“Aye,” Killian said confidently, reclaiming his hand from the gap between them. “Have you ever tried to explain the intricacies of sailing to a babe?”
Emma shook her head with a chuckle, looking down at her own hand painfully wrapped with the rough textured, off white towel. Killian had a point. She had not, and it seemed a more fitting thing to simply make up how he had come to have only one hand. At least then, Killian could change his story to suit the situation or age of his audience.
Emma’s hand throbbed. The pain had subsided, but only a little. The adrenaline that had caused her body to flush hot and her blood to pump from the open wound in her palm had long since faded away, and she was now in the stages of being in uncomfortable pain. Shifting in her seat, Emma pulled her wrapped hand to her chest and sighed.
“I’m sure it will not be much longer,” Killian offered lightly, noticing Emma’s discomfort. “Once again, I am truly sorry, Swan.”
Emma studied him as he spoke, his eyes full of hurt. Killian was a good guy, Emma could tell that, and behind all of the bravado and confidence was a man who had lived through his fair share of sorrow.
“Why do you keep doing that?” Emma narrowed her eyes and twisted her head sideways.
“To what are you referring?” Killian asked her nervously, his position shifting so he was leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Emma watched him squirm and noticed how he avoided her gaze, instead fixing his stare on the floor between his feet.
“Apologising,” Emma said shortly, her voice a little too frustrated. The pain in her hand had radiated up her arm now and she was a little more irritated than she would like to admit.
Killian looked at her and gave her a tight lipped smile. “I’m sorry,” he chuckled and Emma rolled her eyes.
So British.
“This isn’t your fault,” Emma said flatly.
“I feel like it is,” Killian admitted and Emma’s brow furrowed with confusion. Before he had time to say anything else, Emma reached out with her hand and wrapped it gently around his wrist. Killian watched her fingers grip at his skin, the heat from her fingertips searing into his flesh.
Emma wasn’t sure why she felt the need to reassure him but she did. Emma didn’t know much about Killian Jones, but she knew he could bury himself in guilt as good as she could. Nobody was to blame for them being there, but the pang of sorrow in his voice as he spoke began to chip away at the walls around her heart.
Uh oh.
“Emma Swan?”
They both looked to their right, the voice of a tall, thin, blonde nurse bringing them both back to reality. Emma pulled her hand away from Killian’s wrist quickly and then they stood in unison and the nurse waved them to follow her with a smile.
The soft, rubber clog style shoes that she wore squeaked across the floor as she walked. Emma followed the nurse hurriedly, noting how she walked quite fast despite them falling behind. Killian fell into line behind the two women, his hand tucked under one arm and his lip tucked nervously under his teeth.
“Just in here,” the nurse stopped by a cubicle and extended her arm, motioning Emma inside. She was a little too joyous for this early in the morning, and Emma forced a smile as she walked past the taller woman into the room. “A doctor will be along shortly.”
“Thank you,” Killian told her softly, following Emma into the makeshift room and watching the nurse leave, her squeaky shoes echoing down the hall.
Emma perched on the edge of the bed, the crisp white sheets rippling under her weight. She blew out a breath, and looked around, noticing how every inch of the hospital looked identical to the next.
“What a great first day,” She huffed, focusing on a dark patch in the corner of the ceiling that had clearly been covered unsuccessfully with cheap paint.
“You are not enjoying this?” Killian teased, easing himself into the chair beside the bed and relaxing into the plush, plastic coated cushioning.
“Oh yeah,” Emma laughed weakly.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Killian promised with a grin.
“And you’ll pay me overtime for this,” Emma scoffed, wincing a little.
“Of course,” Killian bowed his head in agreement, amused by how bold Emma became when she was agitated. He had only seen her so bold once before, but they were both too drunk then.
“Good,” Emma pursed her lips when another pain rocked her arm.
The curtain to the cubicle rattled along its plastic rail and made Emma jump back a little. The square jawed doctor stepped into the space they occupied, his head buried in the clipboard of notes about his patient. He had short, cropped blonde hair that was clearly out of a bottle, and Emma gave Killian a silently amused twitch of a smile.
“Emma Swan,” the doctor said softly as he looked up from his notes. “I’m Dr. Whale,” he said with a chirp, resting the clipboard to the end of the bed and plunging his hands into the big pockets of his lab coat. “What can we do for you today?”
Emma held up her wrapped hand and sighed. “Injury at work,” she said simply, tentatively resting her hand on her thigh.
Plucking two sterile gloves from a wall mounted box, Dr. Whale stepped forward and picked up Emma’s bound hand. He squinted at the makeshift bandage, wrinkling his nose a little at the smell that was wafting from the fabric.
“The wound was bathed in alcohol and wrapped immediately,” Killian butted in, leaving out the finer details of his quick medical attempt.
“So it seems,” Whale swallowed, the taste of metallic tainted rum sticking to the back of his throat.
“At least it has stopped bleeding,” Emma said through a wince as Whale began to unwrap the towel. The material has become crusted with her blood and it pulled against the edges of the wound as Whale unravelled it. A hot wetness pooled in her palm once more as the slit in her hand reopened and the thick, red ooze began to flow from the cut once more.
“I’m sorry,” Whale said quickly, grabbing some sterile gauze he had set up beside Emma’s thigh and pressing it to the wound. “This looks nasty.”
“How bad?” Killian interjected and Emma shot him a look.
Whale lifted her hand closer to his face, twisting her wrist as he inspected it. Dabbing more gauze, he cocked his head sideways. Emma watched him intently, eager to hear the answer to Killian’s question.
“Can you do this?” Whale asked Emma, clenching his fist and then flexing his fingers back open. Emma copied his movements, gritting her teeth through the pain. Blood spurted from her palm once more when she flexed her hand and it ran over her fingers like water.
“How about this?” Whale made a pinching action, pressing his thumb and forefinger together, moving his thumb between his fingers one after the other and back again. Again, Emma copied him, pushing through the pain in order to do so.
“It hurts like hell,” Emma bit out, the dull throb radiating up her forearm.
“That’s good,” Whale smiled, his thin lips barely covering his small, peg like teeth. “It means you haven’t damaged any nerves.”
Whale stepped back and snapped his gloves from his hands, tossing them into a square, metal yellow bin behind him.
“Is she going to be okay?” Killian asked eagerly, looking over at Emma as the words fell from his lips.
Emma looked over and met his stare, his impossibly blue eyes filled with genuine worry. It was a strange sensation, being cared for, one that Emma didn’t think she would ever get used to feeling during her entire life. Snow was usually the one to do all the caring and it seemed a little strange for Emma to cause so much worry in someone she’d just met.
But then again, Killian Jones had done nothing but surprise her so far.
“I’m going to get a nurse to come stitch you up, and then you and your boyfriend can head home.” Whale gave them both one last smile and then disappeared through the curtain, pulling it closed behind him.
Boyfriend? Is it that obvious?
Emma shot Killian a glance, rolling her eyes when his eyebrow jumped up on his forehead and his lips twitched sideways.
“Don’t say it,” Emma warned him.
“Whatever do you mean?” Killian bit his tongue between his teeth and gave her a boyish grin.
Emma clenched her hand closed around the padded gauze, watching it soak up the blood and turning the sterile dressing a glistening red colour.
“We haven’t even been on our date yet,” Emma scoffed.
“By definition, love, spending time together in a setting other than work or around friends, makes it a date,” Killian laughed at his own words, especially Emma’s response. Emma gasped, her whole body shaking with a single snort of laughter.
“This is not a date,” She shook her head incredulously. “If it was, I would not agree to a second.”
Killian feigned shock, sitting back and placing his hand over his heart.
“You wound me, Swan,” he grinned.
At that exact moment, a tiny nurse slipped through the curtain with a small metal tray in her hands. She was already wearing gloves and the tray was laden with the supplies she was going to need. She smiled at Killian and then introduced herself to Emma.
“Ouch, Honey, that looks like something got you good,” she said sweetly, her accent clearly out of place in New York. She had a thick, Texas accent that confused both of them, until she looked at them with a knowing wave of her hand and a click of her tongue. “I’m a bit far from home, I know, but my husband is from New York.”
“We are all far from home,” Killian nodded at her knowingly, his own accent covering his words.
The nurse picked up Emma’s hand and sucked in a hiss through her teeth. “That’s deep, but don’t you worry,” she patted Emma on the knee lovingly, moving to pick up the filled syringe on the tray beside her. “I’m going to fix you right up.”
Emma watched her closely as she plucked the needle from the tray, holding the tiny clear liquid filled syringe at eye level and squirting a little from the needle. Emma was no stranger to pain, she had dealt with it all of her life, but it never got any easier.
The nurse instructed Emma on how to position her hand and then apologised as she pricked Emma’s skin with the numbing agent.
“Son of a…” Emma’s palm stung instantly and she stiffened her entire body, trying desperately to not pull her hand from where the nurse had laid it. A pang of guilt invaded Killian’s heart and without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Emma’s hand.
The sting in her hand turned to a burn as the nurse injected the numbing agent around the wound, but Emma did not notice. Killian’s skin on hers was like fire, the warmth turning the pain her other arm to nothing. Emma looked to their joined hands as Killian laced his fingers with hers, encouraging her to grip onto his fingers with a gentle squeeze.
Emma felt like she couldn’t breathe. Killian didn’t have to bring her to the hospital, and he didn’t have to wait with her. He most certainly didn’t have to offer her an out for her pain, especially in the form of his hand in hers. The walls around Emma’s heart cracked, and when Killian smiled at her reassuringly, Emma was sure that one side of her defense crumbled.
Emma pinched her eyes closed and hissed. The needle pierced her skin for the last time, the burning liquid being injected into the wound site as deep down as the stitches would go.
“All done,” The nurse declared, capping the needle and sliding to the side of the room where she deposited it into the designated receptacle.
Emma let out the breath she had been holding, and all she heard was her heart pounding in her ears. She released her hold on Killian and he too let out a breath she hadn’t realised he was holding.
“Alright?” he asked her softly, almost a whisper. Emma nodded quickly, swallowing and puffing a short pant out and across her upper lip.
“Okay, sweetie, now to the stitching part,” the nurse announced as she arrived back at the bedside and pulled on a new set of gloves. A wisp of white powder escaped into the air when she snapped the cuff to her wrist but evaporated almost immediately. “Don’t worry,” she smiled at Killian and then Emma. “I’m very good at sewing.”
The stitching part was still painful but was somewhat dulled by the numbing agent. Emma felt just a little pressure in her palm, following by the oddest sensation as the blue, plastic suture was pulled through her skin, knitting the edges together with a knot.
Killian felt Emma tighten her grip once more and she turned her head away from what the nurse was doing. It was unexpected of her, almost childlike, and he frowned a little when he saw Emma shy away.
“I thought you were brave, love,” he leaned forward and whispered into Emma’s ear. His breath tickled the shell of her ear and Emma peeled her eyes open to look at him. She swallowed hard, the sudden lump in her dry throat difficult to manage. Killian’s face was so close to hers and Emma’s breath hitched in her chest, the light blue of his eyes suddenly more of a grey colour.
“I am,” Emma’s voice quivered when the tip of her nose brushed against his as she turned to face him. Emma’s green orbs flitted between Killian’s dusty blues and his lips.
Kiss him.
Staring into each other's eyes made the world fall away from them, and Emma wondered what exactly her own words had meant. She was sure that when Killian had asked her if she was brave, he wasn’t talking about getting stitches.
Kiss him, Emma. Listen to yourself.
Killian rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, swallowing hard. The emerald sparkle in Emma’s eyes was obsessively alluring, and Killian couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers. There was a ferocity in her stare, something deep down that made Killian begin to sweat under his hairline. His tongue darted out to moisten his smile and Emma could have sworn that it touched the plumpness of her parted lips.
Emma felt like she might explode. She wasn’t sure if she was frozen to the spot because of fear of Killian kissing her, or because she was scared he might not.
“Right, you’re done,” the nurse’s southern drawl shook them both from their reverie as she patted Emma on the knee again. Emma pulled her hand from Killian’s and coughed a little, clearing her throat. Killian sat back in his chair, running his hand through his hair as he sank back into the seat.
“Thanks,” Emma smiled at her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
The nurse looked at Killian and gave him a sweet grin. “You can take her home whenever you feel ready,” she winked as she left them alone once more.
Emma laughed, hiding her face in her hand.
“Don’t be so dismissive of the doctor’s orders,” Killian told her smugly, scratching the skin behind his ear again.
“She’s a nurse,” Emma said flatly, hopping from the bed and giving him a warning look. “Don’t get any ideas, Jones.”
“Did you not enjoy yourself today?” Killian smirked.
“Worst date ever,” Emma teased, flicking her hair over her shoulder with her good hand.
Killian flicked his wrist and looked at the time on his watch. They had been in the hospital for nearly four hours and it was most certainly now lunch time. “Let me take you to lunch so that I may make it up to you.”
Emma studied his face, the tension from their almost kiss now seemingly non existent. She bit the inside of her mouth and eyed him suspiciously. “It’s not a date,” Emma said defiantly, pointing an accusing finger at him.
Killian shook his head. “Most certainly not.”
“Right, okay,” Emma relaxed a little, smoothing the wrinkles out of her top with one hand. She just wanted to get out of the hospital.
“Don’t worry, Swan,” Killian began cockily, turning to face her as he walked backwards out of the cubicle. He quirked his eyebrow and ran his tongue over his teeth. It seemed now that he knew Emma would have no lasting damage to her hand, his arrogance had returned. “Our date will be something you will not want to forget in such a hurry.”
Fairytale of New York :: Chapter 9 :: A Captain Swan OUAT Fanfiction
Notes: A very special thanks to @welllpthisishappening for being my beta reader, you are made of win. Â
Overall Summary: An AU elsewhere fic based in New York. Emma Swan and her best friend Mary Margaret “Snow” Blanchard are ready for a change. After Mary Margaret gets offered a new job at a school in Manhatten, Emma decides to go with her. She takes a job in a traditional, mom and pop diner called Granny’s and soon both of them are finding love in the most unlikely of places.
Chapter Summary: Emma’s first day doesnt exactly go as planned.
There was nothing like being prompt on your first day, but Emma was maybe being a little too eager. Her shift was supposed to start at eight, but she was eager to get to Granny's and sort out some paperwork. She would after all have a ton of forms to fill in, sign, and then there was the inevitable health and safety training.
Etcetera. Etcetera.
Emma had been told she would be opening with the waitress that had first greeted her. Ruby was nice. Emma liked her so far. She had a sweet, fast talking nature and was kind but Emma knew she would also take ill from no man. She was witty and, not unlike a hound, fiercely loyal.
Emma strode down the street confidently, one foot in front of the other as she dodged lazy morning passers by on their way to work. Emma often saw people at this time of the morning more often than not. She had been a barista for a long time, moving between coffee shops and never staying in the same place for too long. She never wanted to be tied down to one place, and luckily for Emma, coffee shops were abundant.
The first customers of the day had not yet had their morning fix of caffeine. Emma rarely drank the stuff anymore, instead opting for the luxuriously thick, creamy texture of a hot chocolate. It was always topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon, just the way she liked it. It was more than enough to set her up for the day. But people...people were different.
Coffee zombies. People were coffee zombies. The walking dead. Slaves to the thrall of the bitter, nutty notes of their morning beverage. Most people could not function without it, stepping through the doors of whatever shop she happened to work at, and ordering their daily dose of uppers. Emma knew it took at least fifteen minutes for the effects of caffeine to kick in, by which time most people had added their preferred poison in the form of white or brown granulated sweetness, and been well on their way to work.
The morning lull often came around nine because most people had been in commute before then. You had the odd straggler. That one person who was running late, having overslept of snoozed through their alarm for too long, was often so in a rush they ordered the quickest, blackest coffee they could and was out the door before Emma could wish them a nice day. Always a morning person, Emma had never overslept a day in her life.
Today was no exception. She had barely slept all night, but she wasn't sure if it was the anticipation of her first day or her first date. If truth be told, Emma had not been thinking about much else. So far she had only agreed to a date. She would show up and the rest was up to him. She hoped.
The outside of Granny's looked different. Emma frowned as she rounded the corner, her feet falling silently on the pavement in her little black flats. The morning was clouded with a low hanging mist that had rolled in from the nearby docks and it was nearly impossible to see the neon sign hanging to the right of the building. It seemed eerily odd, the entire store front encased in a fluffy, white cloud that hid the windows from view.
Emma had never seen New York so early in the morning, and had never been so close to a waterfront before. It was unusual, but not unwelcome, a small smile creepy across her lips at the sight. Emma just hoped that when she finally made it up the rickety white steps, she wouldn't be grabbed by a tentacled beast like in one of her favourite horror movies.
Emma found the door unlocked when she pushed it but the sign was turned around. To everyone outside, the diner was closed, and the red neon sign indicating otherwise was turned off. There were no lights on inside the diner, only the partial yellowed glow from the kitchen flooding out onto the back bar area. Emma stepped inside tentatively, clutching her brown leather bag to her side with both hands.
“Hello?” She called out quietly, almost silent to her own ears. There was a pause and then the steeling rumble of the coffee machine running a pressure check made her jump out of her skin. The sound ended with a clunk, the wiggling white pressure gauge arrow falling back to its zero position. Emma clutched her hand to her chest, extending a blink and letting out the breath she had been holding. “Shit.”
Another sound made her jump again, this time it had come from the kitchen area. It sounded like an entire trolley of crockery had toppled over, smashing upon impact with the floor. Emma heard a curse, then her instinct of many years experience kicked in, and she almost ran to the kitchen. Her bag was thrown onto the counter as she ran, heart pounding in her chest, hoping beyond all hope that she wasn't about to find a disaster on her first day.
“Bloody hell.”
Emma pushed the white swing door hard, her face nearly pressing against the porthole window at her eye level. She was so close her breath fogged up the glass in the brief second she was on the outside of the kitchen. She skidded to a stop, broken crockery in several sharp pieces littering the floor in front of her, and Killian Jones was standing on the other side of the mess. His cheeks were blown out in frustration and he was rubbing a hand over his brow.
“Are you okay?” Emma interrupted him staring at the floor, toeing a half broken teapot with her foot.
Killian groaned, shaking his head from side to side. His cheeks flushed red, from embarrassment or anger Emma was not sure, but he quickly swung his prosthetic behind his back. Emma watched him intently, taking in his sudden shyness.
“Killian, are you okay?” Emma prodded again, noticing a broom to her side. She moved to it instantly, grabbing the long, plastic handled brush and pushing against the heavy mess on the non-slip floor.
“Fine, love,” Killian snapped, twisting his body away from her and hunching over a little. Emma eyed him suspiciously, knowing instantly that something was wrong. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but she could tell he was in pain.
“You’re not,” Emma said sternly, setting the broom aside once more. It hit the wall with a clatter, threatening to slide sideways until she pushed it back into position. Emma stepped around the pile of smashed mugs, cups and teapots and reached out for his shoulder. Killian relaxed instantly when her warm fingertips brushed the cotton of his tee shirt, his skin underneath itched for more of her touch.
Emma flattened her palm over the curve of his shoulder ball, and without saying a word, managed to get to the bottom of his odd behaviour. Killian spun to look at her slowly, his rosy cheeks still flushed and he looked down at his prosthetic hand. His whole left arm seemed longer somehow, and Emma watched the muscle in his jaw twitch and flex as he gritted his teeth.
Looking down Emma could see that somehow Killian’s brace had become unaligned with his stump. His short sleeves tee was sporting some light brown coffee stains and fluffy white flour swipes down the right side where he had clearly wiped his hand and missed his apron. Emma wasn’t sure how his brace worked, but with the short sleeves, she could actually now see it.
Until now, Emma had just seen Killian in a long sleeve shirt - or no shirt - and she had no idea how his hand was actually attached. Emma had seen Killian’s stump, his purple scars jumping out at her and setting off a pang of sympathy in her heart. Emma couldn’t imagine what he had been through and how he had adapted his life after his accident, but seeing it now helped her see.
His otherwise modernly sculpted prosthetic was fixed to his forearm in the most archaic of fashions. Long, black leather straps laid flat against his arm, pulled tight and looped through a buckle in two places. Emma followed another strip of leather that disappeared up under his sleeves, presumably to where it was held it place on his shoulder. If she squinted hard enough, Emma could see the shadow of the leather straps under his white tee too.
“What happened?” Emma coaxed gently, watching the wince of pain flash across his face.
“Bloody trolley toppled over,” Killian waved his hand at the metal cage that lay nearby, half filled with crockery, half of which had spilled out and, despite the spongy, non slip floor, had bashed together and broken. “I forgot myself and tried to grab it,” Killian huffed, frustrated with himself.
Emma didn’t need to ask to know that Killian had tried to stop the inevitable with his prosthetic. The cage of crockery would have been far too heavy for anyone to have stopped with a real hand, let alone a fake one. Killian rolled his shoulder a little, clearly uncomfortable.
“Well, that wasn’t very clever,” Emma offered lightly, trying to make him smile.
Killian snorted in his throat, and wiggled his eyebrows in agreement. “Aye, you are correct.”
Emma watched his features twist again and she searched his face for the answer to his ill. “Killian?” She prompted gently, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. This was probably the most intimate contact she had so far remembered having with him, and it felt so natural.
“My brace…,” Killian almost didn’t finish his sentence. Being ashamed of his injury was something buried deep within him, and he never wanted anyone to see him so vulnerable. Especially Emma.
Emma’s let her hand slip down his arm, bumping over the ridges of his upper arm muscles and coming to rest against his forearm. Emma watched her hands reach the now stretched and tattered leather straps of his brace and without a second thought, she began to undo the small, brass buckle.
“Swan, wait,” Killian pulled his arm back, looking away from her and swallowing hard. The fact that Emma was standing in the kitchen of his diner, touching him, unbuckling the brace that had held him back so far and she wasn’t even bothered in the slightest, made him uneasy.
“What? Why?” Emma asked quickly, reaching for his arm once again. She grabbed the thinned trunk of his forearm and pulled it back towards her. Killian winced again, the buckle digging into his skin uncomfortably.
“It’s just…”
“Killian,” Emma said sternly, looking into the dark blue hue of his eyes as her fingers worked on unfastening the buckles. “You are clearly in pain,” Emma nodded at him as she managed to free one of the buckles. She felt him relax a little. “Now is not the time to be embarrassed.”
Killian’s mouth was slightly agape and all he could feel was the warmth of her fingers against his forearm. Her touch made his scars burn, but the pain was a welcome distraction from the slipped buckles digging into his skin. Emma unfastened the last buckle and the whole contraption went slack in her hands, Killian’s hand coming loose and falling into hers.
“There,” Emma exclaimed triumphantly, smiling up at him. Killian wasn’t that much taller than she was, especially when they were both in flat shoes, and she held the cold, metallic material of his prosthetic to her chest. “How’s that?”
Killian only now realised how close they were standing and he felt his breath leave him once more. The dull sting in his forearm had receded now and he looked down to inspect his stump. The buckles had only broke the skin slightly and there was no blood, only dark purple and red dotted indents in his skin. It was hardly noticeable with his other scars, but Killian rubbed at them anyway.
“Better,” He smiled at her, letting the breath he held out slowly. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Then there was silence again. Both of them stood in each other’s space, just simply gazing into the other’s eyes. Emma felt a little weird, holding onto his hand, but Killian made no attempts to take it from her. Instead, he lifted his other hand and brushed his fingers over the point of her elbow and Emma shivered. Killian’s eyes flicked to her lips and he felt his heart speed up in his chest.
Killian had every intention of kissing her. It seemed to be overdue by now and the one time they had kissed, they were both drunk and Emma had initiated it. Despite the circumstances surrounding it, Killian could not stop thinking about how her lips had felt on his or how she had pushed so eagerly against his tongue with hers that she had left a comfortable bruise against his mouth.
Killian wanted to experience it again. There was nothing more exhilarating than being in her presence and he wanted to feel this way forever. All of the pain in his arm had gone now, leaving just a gentle throbbing in his shoulder where it had been pulled from the socket. Luckily, Killian had let go in time, or they would have been dealing with a dislocation.
Emma looked up at him through her eyelashes and felt her grip of his prosthetic tighten. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous right now, but she felt petrified. It was a good feeling, but there were still twinges of doubt in the back of her mind and she gulped hard. She wanted to thrash her hands through his hair, grab onto the trunk of his neck and crush her lips to his again.
It’s your first day, Emma. Stop this.
Emma reacted instantly and stepped backwards, turning her head away from him and inhaling hard. Killian sucked in a breath too, plucking his prosthetic from Emma’s grasp and turning to inspect the pile of broken cups on the floor. It was like they were avoiding each other, both suddenly shy and reserved.
“You are early,” Killian observed, breaking the silence between them suddenly.
Emma was sure she had convinced herself she had arrived early for administration purposes, but she couldn’t deny she was hoping to see her boss a little more before she began her shift. She wasn’t expecting to see him alone though. It was easier to be around Killian when other people were involved because Emma Swan simply did not trust herself.
“It’s a good job I am,” Emma moved to kneel beside the broken china, lifting the bigger pieces from the floor.
“Here, let me help,” Killian grabbed a huge, grey oblong tray from underneath the nearby dishwasher and slid it toward her. He knelt down beside Emma and began pinching the shattered parts between his fingers tentatively. Killian deposited them into the tray and they ground and crunched against each other as the pile got larger.
“It’s okay,” Emma motioned towards his lack of hand. “I got it.”
Killian pursed his lips together a little and frowned. “I made the mess,” he insisted. “Let me help.”
This was ridiculous. They were arguing over who was going to clear up the disaster, each grabbing at the largest pieces with haste. It was all they could do to distract themselves from each other, and as they hastily moved their hands over each other, Emma felt a deep burning sting across her palm.
“Ouch!” Emma squeaked.
“Emma, what’s wrong?” Killian said worriedly, using her name again the way that made her skin come alive.
“Son of a bitch,” Emma mumbled to herself, the sting in her palm beginning to throb and feel wet.
Hissing, Emma pulled her hand back and clutched it to her chest. Her fingers reflexively closed over her palm and she let out a pained moan. She peeled her hand open slowly, the thick, red trickle of blood running down her skin and marking her wrist. The cut was deep enough to hurt, stretched across the lines of her palm and between her fingers. Emma stood up quickly and held her hand up, clenching her jaw as the site of the wound now begun to tingle.
“Swan, give me your hand,” Killian commanded softly, grabbing her wrist and turning her hand over in front of him.
“What?” Emma said shortly, watching the pulse in her wrist pump blood through the slice on each beat of her heart.
“Your hand,” Killian insisted firmly until she looked up at him. “It’s cut, let me help.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Emma shrugged and stepped back from him but Killian held her wrist tight, stopping her from getting away from him.
“No, it’s not.” Killian’s blue eyes bore deep into hers and she was lost for a second, relaxing into his grip.
“Such a gentleman,” Emma smiled weakly, letting Killian inspect her hand as he tugged her towards the big, silver sink basin. Killian turned on the taps, testing the water for warmth before pushing Emma’s hand under the cold flow. Emma pulled back but Killian held her hand in place, waiting for the needle-like pain to subside from her palm.
“I’m always a gentleman,” He raised a brow and then when he was sure she would keep her hand under the running water, he shuffled sideways into the kitchen prep area and began rifling through a few cupboard.
Emma watched him with a frown. She had no idea what he was doing, or what he was looking for, but she knew that she missed the skin contact of his hands on her arm. With a content hum, Killian returned with a small, squared bottle. It had no label and was slightly dusty in a leather stitched casing, a big, fat cork stuffed into its neck. Using his teeth, Killian pulled the cork free and spat the cork aside where it bounced on the draining board.
Emma let him lift her hand from under the water willingly. It had gone more than numb under the cold flow and it had started to turn ghostly white. The flow of blood had slowed down and Killian inspected it once more as he poured the dark brown liquid from the bottle over her wound.
Emma gasped and cried out, her eyes going wide. “AHHH! Oh! What the hell is that?” She shrieked, her voice bouncing around the empty kitchen.
“It’s rum,” Killian told her matter of factly, watching the pungent liquid wash over Emma’s hand. His lips twisted into a small smile and he ran his tongue over his lips. “And a bloody waste of it.”
Emma looked at him chagrined. Placing the rum bottle on the aluminium side with a clonk, Killian reached behind his waist where a crisp, clean, white towel was hanging from his back pocket. Killian whipped it out from behind him and flicked it out to the side, letting the material uncurl.
Killian wrapped it around her hand, deciding that the cut was a little too deep to be stemmed with just a band aid. The material instantly turned pink as Emma’s blood soaked hand was covered and Killian watched his work closely, making sure to cover the whole wound with the material.
Emma watched him lavish her hand with attention. Killian looked up at her with a simple roll of his eyes, leaning forward and pulling the end of the towel between his teeth. Emma’s stomach flipped over on itself and she felt the hair on her neck stand to attention. Killian’s scruff brushed over her wrist and she felt a her cheeks turn hot and pink.
“How does that feel, love?” Killian tucked the end of the towel into her palm and Emma closed her fingers. Killian laid his over the top, holding her hand closed with his.
Emma swallowed a lump down her throat. “It’s fine,” Emma lied.
Killian grinned at her and his tongue darted out over his lips. “Oooo, you’re a tough lass,” he raised his brow at her and made sure she held her hand aloft.
Emma returned his smile and softened slightly. “Ok, so it hurts like hell, but today is my first day in a new job,” Emma sighed dramatically.
“And you wish to make an impression?” Killian interrupted her.
Emma nodded. “Something like that,” she all but whispered at him.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine. I bet your boss is a great guy,” He grinned widely, leaning his bulk against the sink unit and crossing his arms over his chest. Killian tucked his stump under his armpit and he felt the slack of his broken brace under his tee.
“Yeah, he seems like a good guy,” Emma smiled confidently, her words full of respect. Killian was a good guy, Emma could tell, and the fact that he cared so deeply was very appealing. Emma had been loved once, supposedly, but it had all ended badly. It was one of the reasons she was so reluctant to let anyone in, but damn if Killian wasn’t worming his way through the blackness of her heart.
Another sharp pain shot through Emma’s hand and she noticed the blood seeping through the multiple layers. Emma followed a mixture of instinct and training and held her hand up higher than her heart, trying to slow the bleeding. Killian’s brow knitted together and he twisted his face a little.
“I think you need stitches,” he told her, looking down at his feet.
Emma blew out a breath. “I think you’re right,” she said sadly. “My boss is going to be pissed,” Emma chuckled sarcastically.
Killian shrugged, turning his attentions to the kitchen door where Ruby had just walked in. Her mouth was wide open, jaw hanging loose on her face and her hands immediately flew to her hips. It was true that Killian owned Granny’s but everybody knew that Ruby Lucas ran the place.
“What the hell?” She screamed, taking in the sight before her. Ruby’s eyes fell onto the pile of broken crockery on the floor, shard scattered over the dark grey floor like stars in the night sky. The grey tray to its left was only half filled, a large, curved piece of a broken mug red at the sharp edge with a single run of blood down one side. Ruby looked up to them standing by the sink, Emma’s hand bound in a now red, wet towel and being held above her head by Killian. “What happened?”
Killian offered her a weak smile and Ruby could see that he only had one hand. “Where is your hand?” Ruby shrieked unashamedly. “Why is it not on your arm?” Ruby had so many questions and they tumbled from her lips on high pitched breaths.
“I have broken my brace,” Killian said, his voice soft like a child in trouble. Emma wondered how open he was with Ruby about certain aspects of his life and tried to fend off the pang of jealousy that invaded her heart.
“How?” Ruby snapped, looking back to the fallen cage laying sideways on the floor.
“We had an accident,” Killian offered calmly.
“You had an accident,” Emma interjected accusingly. “I was trying to help and I sustained injury.”
“Aye, you are correct, Swan,” Killian laughed a little. It seemed Emma was nervous about anyone suspecting anything about their future date.
“You’re bleeding!” Ruby screeched, rushing to her side and barging Killian aside. The sink smelled funny and it took a few seconds for Ruby to realise that it was a heady mixture of metallic traces of blood and the spice of rum. “Killian, what did you do?!”
Killian stepped back, arching his neck awkwardly. “Why do you assume I did anything?”
Ruby frowned and looked over Emma’s hand. Dried blood had stained her forearm but the stinging had subsided. Emma offered Killian a smirk, trying to hide it as she watched Ruby chastise him.
“The sink smells like rum,” she huffed accusingly, glaring at him.
Killian went to speak but Ruby cut him off, spying the bottle next to him. She narrowed her eyes at the leather bound, brown glass cask. “And I see you found your secret stash just fine.”
“It was never a secret,” Killian countered and Emma had to stifle a laugh but her mirth was hidden by the echo of Ruby’s as she threw her head back and chuckled.
“No, it never was. Everybody knows where you keep it,” she giggled. Emma joined her, the mood in the room instantly becoming less tense and everyone relaxing a little. Ruby shook her head and sucked in a breath through her teeth. “You need to go to the hospital, sweetie,” Ruby told Emma and Emma nodded in agreement.
“I can take you,” Killian offered helpfully. “It’s the least I can do.” He looked apologetic and Emma felt a little bit sorry for him once Ruby started her tirade again.
“Yes you can!” Ruby told her sternly, her hands returning back to her hips. The skin of her stomach peaked out from under the hem of her short, white top and Emma spied a tiny little tattoo of the moon on her hip. “I’ll clean this up and make sure the diner gets opened,” Ruby sighed, palming her forehead and looking over the carnage in the kitchen.
Killian looked taken aback and shifted nervously. “Thank you, and I’m sorry,” Killian quickly moved to Ruby’s side, wrapping her arm around her and pressing his lips to her cheek. He began to move from the kitchen, grabbing his hand on the way and motioning Emma to follow him with a sideways twitch of his head.
“Yeah yeah,” Ruby waved him away with a hand and reached for the broom. “I’ll see you soon, and Emma?” Ruby caught her attention with her name and Emma spun back around to look at her.
“Please don’t quit,” She laughed.
Killian looked a little panicked because until now the thought had not crossed his mind. Of course, Emma’s start date would have to now be delayed because of her injury, which was his fault, but he had not thought about how her whole experience so far had affected her. It was quite possible that she would just quit before she had even begun.
“Don’t worry,” Emma looked back to Killian as she spoke, offering him a warm smile. “I’m sure I can be persuaded to stay.”
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