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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years ago

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To Serve and Protect - Chapter 7 (Complete!)

SUMMARY: Detective Killian Jones has been investigating a stalker-turned-murderer for months by the time he goes home from the bar with Emma Swan. But when he thinks he sees the very man in question outside her apartment, can he separate his feelings for her and his need to keep her safe?

TRIGGERS: everything you’d expect in a teen-rated serial killer fic: mentions of violence and death, with some physical violence/whump. as always, if you need me to discuss this further for you to be comfortable, message me

(a/n): HEY GUESS WHAT completed stories come with new art and this story is DONE baby. thanks for your patience with this one. you’re all incredible.

Prologue // Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4 // Ch. 5 // Ch. 6 // Ch. 7 on AO3

-----

Her knuckles against the half-open door are soft, almost as soft as her voice when she says, “Hey, Killian," and her sigh is one of relief when she sees Killian is by himself, with the sheriff nowhere to be seen.

Good. She doesn’t think she could face both of them together right now.

Shutting the door behind her, she tries her hardest to smile at him, knowing that it probably isn’t as believable as she wants it to be. The smile that Killian has for her, though, is nothing but genuine, even with the tense air between them. Because of course he's still happy to see her, even though she stormed off earlier that morning.

"Hello, Swan," he says, extending his uninjured hand out towards her.

"Listen, Killian," she says, filling the space between them at the same time Killian says, "Look, about what happened."

She hopes this smile is more genuine than the last. "Can I? Please?"

He nods.

Leaning to sit on the edge of the bed beside him, she takes a deep breath, but looks everywhere in the room except his face. It’s not the first time she’s bared her heart to Killian Jones in the few short weeks since she met him at her brothers’ bar, but something about what she has to tell him now seems particularly difficult, and looking into his deep blue eyes — eyes that have been nothing but sincere to her since that first night at the bar — will only make it worse. "I can't — I'm not sure why you did what you did, but you know what? I talked to David and realized that I don't really care. Why you thought that hiding Neal's death from me was the best option, I'm not sure, but I know that's why you did it. And I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, really, and no matter how angry I am about this, it doesn’t come anywhere close to how thankful I am for everything else you’ve done since the moment I met you, really.” Finally, she allows herself to look at his face, right into those damn blue eyes, and his soft smile cuts right into the deepest part of her. She turns her gaze away again, but tightens her grip on his hand. “I don’t even want to think about what could have happened to me if you weren’t so adamant about protecting me, what Felix could have done, what Neal almost certainly would have done.”

“Hey,” he says softly, letting go of her hand only to reach up and rest his palm against her cheek. “You don’t have to think about that. You don’t have to worry about anything. I understand why you were upset with me, and in hindsight, I’ve realized that I would have felt the same. You deserved to know about Mr. Gold, I should have told you, but—”

“There’s nothing we can do about that now. If we… if we can move past this, I’d be more than content.”

He smiles, and it’s one that she can’t help but return. “Deal.”

She doesn’t know what else to say, what else needs to be said, so instead, she acts, leaning to fill the space between them and press her lips against his. It’s soft, between her worrying that she’ll hurt him and his being caught off-guard — and doesn’t last long, cut short by a soft knock behind her followed immediately by the creaking of the door as it swings open.

“Good news, Mr. Jones,” Dr. Whale says, bounding into the room without looking up from his clipboard, closely followed by Graham and Henry. “Between the x-rays and your strength tests from this morning, I see no need to keep you here any longer. Usually we’d be more worried about nerve damage in your hand from an injury like this one, but…” He shrugs, a sly smile on his face as if it’s not the third time he’s made that joke since Killian's arrival. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“Yes, ha, ha,” Killian responds dryly, lifting his uncovered blunted arm a few inches for emphasis.

Whale ignores his comment, eyes back on the clipboard. “I’m going to want to see you next week to check on the healing progress, but other than that, you’re free to go, detective, unless you have any questions.”

Killian shakes his head. “Thank you, doctor.”

Whale nods, but it’s Graham who speaks up. “I’ll have Henry give you two a ride back to Emma's apartment.”

“Can I just have the cruiser? You and young Mills can go to the station together, and Emma and I can just—”

“Wait, I don’t—” Dr. Whale cuts in, suddenly interested in their conversation. “I’m not sure I feel comfortable with you driving until we’re sure you have full use of that arm, Jones.”

But Killian just shakes his head, laughing softly under his breath. “I haven’t used my left hand to drive for almost ten years now, so I can’t imagine it will be a problem now.”

Whale thinks on this for a moment, his eyebrows making a low V on his forehead. The room sits in a still anticipatory silence for a moment. And then he nods, and Killian releases a breath he had no reason to be holding. “Yeah. Okay.”

So Killian turns back to Graham. “So? What do you think, sheriff?” The corner of his lips tick up in a momentary smile, knowing the most direct way into Graham's heart is by calling him sheriff.

Graham, however, isn’t the one that responds. Instead, it’s Henry, his hands on his hips. “Bet you’re glad he — how did you word it, Jones? — sicced the rookie on you, or else you wouldn't even have a squad car.” But his facade fails, a slight smile working its way across his face.

It’s contagious, spreading first to Killian and then Graham, who wraps his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Come on, rookie,” he says with a laugh. “Give the detective your keys and we can head out of here.”

Henry rolls his eyes, his smile only growing, but reaches into the pocket of his pants, pulling out the keys to the cruiser, which he tosses to Emma.

“I’ll call you later to check in, Jones,” Graham says, then leaves the room, his arm still wrapped around Henry’s shoulders.

After a moment, Whale clears his throat, then nods. “As I said, I’ll send a nurse in with your discharge paperwork.” And then he, too, turns on his heel and leaves them in the hospital room.

With a sigh, Emma turns to Killian, holding the keys up in front of her. “Let’s get ready to get you out of here and go home” she says with a smile.

Home.

He responds with a smile of his own, Emma notices something in his expression, something that she hasn’t noticed since that first night, since talking to him outside the bar: an air of freedom, of happiness, not masked with worry or concern or the hardness of his need to protect her. It’s a genuine smile, something she never realized had disappeared after those first few conversations.

But it’s back, a weight lifted off of his shoulders and a light returned into his bright eyes. She hopes it stays around for a very long time.

-- -- -- --

Killian’s never been a fan of silence, for as long as he can remember. That’s part of the reason he’s been drawn to the sea, he believes: it’s never silent, even at its calmest, and is always able to distract him from even the most gnawing thought.

So the silence that fills the car on their way back to Emma’s apartment, which he’s sure others would find calming, has the opposite effect on him. His left foot is bouncing against the floor of the car, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel, and his mind running a mile a minute — riddled with questions and worries, all surrounding his relationship with Emma.

He has so many questions for her, so many loose ends that he wants to tie up, hopefully in a clean, perfect bow. Even if that first night had nothing to do with the stalker, their relationship became one of necessity, and that’s not something that he can easily overlook. He steals a glance at her in the passenger seat, just for a moment, and the pounding of his heart slows slightly when he notices just how calm and content she looks, a soft smile on her face as she scrolls through something on her cell phone. He needs to know that she still reciprocates his feelings, feelings that are still very real and very potent to him. He still feels drawn to her, just as he did that first night — just as he has every time he’s looked at her, thought about her, been near her since then.

But the words won’t come. As much as he hates silence, he can’t bring himself to break it. So he doesn’t.

She does, though at first, it’s not with her words, but with her stomach, which growls loud enough for him to hear over the engine before she speaks. “Can we, uh, get something to eat?”

At first, he’s speechless. This is, by far, the furthest thing from his reeling mind, but once he starts thinking about it, he realizes just how hungry he is, also.

“Somewhere other than Granny’s, though,” she adds. “If we go to Granny’s, everyone will want to talk to us, know what happened, and I don’t think…”

She trails off, but Killian takes over: “I certainly don’t have the energy for that right now.”

She turns to him, a soft smile on her face, and he returns it after a quick glance. “Exactly.” A beat passes, both of them hoping for an answer to come from the other.

Another beat passes.

The problem with small towns, Killian says to himself.

“What about the bar? They’re technically open for lunch, though no one ever really comes around until after the work day is over.”

“Perfect,” Killian responds, flicking on the turn signal to change their route to their new destination.

And it is, really. When they walk in, the cruiser parked in Emma’s spot outside her apartment building, they find only James behind the bar, putting away a few racks of dishes, and Mulan sitting on one of the barstools, a book held open in front of her. They both start at the sound of the bell over the door, though, and Killian is immediately set on edge by the two of them turning their attention to him — and can’t even imagine how uncomfortable he would have been at Granny’s.

“Can we, uh, get lunch?” Emma asks, her voice quiet. At first, Killian’s not even sure that James heard her over the sound of the television behind him, though when James does finally nod his head, Killian realizes he must just be asking himself what the hell they’re doing there.

“I’ll be right over,” Mulan says, but makes no move to get off the barstool, her attention even going back to the pages of the book in front of her.

Not that Killian minds in the least. He doesn’t want anyone’s attention on him, not even the waitress serving them lunch, not even someone like Mulan who he knows is smart enough to not ask them about what happened when they're so obviously trying to avoid nosy people.

“Thanks,” Emma says back, her voice no louder than before, but James speaks up as she moves to walk to her usual secluded corner seat.

“Everything alright?”

It’s an innocent enough question, really, even though Killian has no idea just how much James knows about the events of the past day. He must know enough.

Emma stops in her tracks for just a moment, turning her attention up to her brother before returning it to the rough wooden floorboards, and then takes another step. “Just need a place to grab something to eat that’s not full of people, you know?”

Though Emma misses it, Killian notices the soft, brotherly smile that crosses James’ expression for a moment, one that takes his mind back to his own brother, even momentarily: it is the smile of someone happy to be able to help, even if they do so by simply leaving them alone. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Emma nods to herself, missing this moment of genuine care on her brother’s face, and then slides into the booth.

He has so many questions for her, questions about everything he's learned over the past day, questions about whether she reciprocates the feelings he feels so strongly — but the question that he hears leave his mouth is, "So I guess you're not as close to James as you are David, then?"

Immediately, he can tell this is also far from any of the questions Emma expected him to ask, her brow deeply furrowed when she turns her eyes up to him briefly. But she answers it anyway. "It was like that from the start, from when I first came to live with them. James was part of the popular crowd, one of the cool kids, and I… I didn't even have any friends. But David was much more welcoming, much more open, and we just started to get along much better from the very beginning. It's never changed.”

Killian nods, thinking again of Liam. Liam was both David and James at once: Killian's best friend most days, spending all of their time at home with one another — but once they got to school, it would be as if Killian didn't exist. The four years between them limited the amount of time they spent in the same areas in school, but when Liam was around his friends, Killian always felt like he was a different person. The older Killian got, the better their off-homestead relationship became, especially after the passing of their mother, which brought them much closer, only for Liam to leave for college, and leave Killian behind.

“You have a brother, right?” she asks into the silence of the bar.

“Had,” he snaps, much harsher than he means to, so he clears his throat and says it again. “Had. He died in the military. Almost ten years ago now.”

The change on her face is immediate, realizing that what she hoped would be a simple, light conversation is far from her expectation.

“Sorry,” she mumbles before turning her attention towards Mulan, who approaches their table.

“Hey,” she says, searching her pockets for a pen, unaware of the awkward moment she has just walked into the middle of. “Kitchen’s not fully open yet, but James said to just order what you want and he’ll make sure it gets done for you.”

Emma manages a half-smile, probably thankful for Mulan’s interruption of their conversation. “Thanks. I’ll just have a water for now. And a, uh, chicken sandwich with a basket of onion rings.”

Mulan scratches a few things into her order pad, then turns to Killian. “That sounds perfect, actually,” he says, but keeps his attention turned towards the table. With a nod, Mulan walks away, and he can feel Emma’s eyes set on him. He’s angry with himself, upset that he let himself get angry with her — and embarrassed, more than anything else, really. He wants to look up at her, to let her know that his anger has everything to do with himself and nothing to do with her. Wants to smile at her, ease her fears — but he can do none of it, can’t even bring himself to look up from the dark spot on the table that's become the point of his focus.

Until she changes the subject: ˆ¨”Thank you for all you’ve done.” Her voice is soft, but caring, and in the silence that follows, he is finally able to raise his eyes to her.

He even musters the energy to smile, a difficult task when every fiber of his being is torn between being angry at himself or hyper focused on the memory of Liam that popped into his head unexpectedly. “Of course, love. I’ve only done what I promised to do from the start.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s been much more than that. You’ve been — you haven’t just—” She takes a moment to find the words, and the least he can do is give her that moment. “You promised to protect me, and you certainly did that. But it’s so much more than that. You’ve cared about me in a way… in a way that no one has done, for as long as I can remember. That’ s more important to me than anything else.”

“We need to talk about this, Emma. Talk about us.” It’s not the right response for the moment, changes the mood of everything immediately, but it slips through his teeth nonetheless, and it takes everything he has not to physically reach between them and try to pull the words back. She doesn’t respond, either because she can’t, or because she’s trying to gather her own words, but he continues anyway: “I know what my feelings are, but for as long as we’ve been together, it’s been out of necessity, and if you don’t — if you’ve changed your mind about—” but Emma stops him, reaching across the table to take his hand.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Jones? I want to be with you. If I didn’t, I would have changed our situation long ago. I wanted to be with you the first night I met you in this very corner, and that hasn’t changed, no matter the necessity.”

This time, he doesn’t think he could stop the smile forming on his lips if he tried. “Good,” he whispers, turning his hand under hers so he can lace his fingers through hers. “We’re in agreement then.”

A comfortable silence settles around them, the music from the bar’s speakers calming Killian’s mind. It’s different than the silence from the car in every way, even if Killian still has things he wants to know about her. But sitting across from her in their corner booth, holding her hand and humming along with the music, is enough for him in the moment.

For once, they are not in a hurry. There is no shadow lingering over their relationship, no threat of danger quickening the beat of his heart.

There is only them, him and Emma, and all the time — and glasses of rum, and picnics in the park, and baskets of onion rings — in the world.

#my writing #to serve and protect #the detective fic #completed fics #!!!!!!#cs fics #captain swan #cs ff #ouat #ouat ff

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