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jrob64 · 10 months ago

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Captain Swan Collab Words 23 fic: "Freed to Love"

This event was such a fun idea, and the three of us - @statustemporary @jrob64 and @snowbellewells - had a lot of fun working together and seeing our initial idea come to life. We decided we really wanted some whump and hurt/comfort taking place, and eventually we settled on a Revolutionary War time period AU for our setting. We also used a suggested quote about the persistence of hope, and the idea of being touch starved, both of which played into our idea well.

Thanks so much to the @CSCW23 @Captain Swan Collab Words 23 for the idea to create a story as a group. It really was a new and exciting challenge that made for a new CS adventure.

And a very special thanks to @hookedmom for all the time and care she took as our beta reader for this fic!!

Summary: Though the colonists' fight for freedom from the British brought Killian Jones and Emma Swan together, the dangers of war have also pulled them apart. Can Emma find her beloved spy again, or will she be too late? What other trials and hurdles will they have to cross before they are finally free to live and love as they have dreamed?

Reposting with additional edits and correct AO3 and ff.net links.

Can be read HERE on AO3 or HERE on ff.net, if that is your preference.

"Freed to Love"

by: @statustemporary @jrob64 & @snowbellewells

Early morning dew soaks through Emma’s boots to her stockings. The wetness chafes at the skin of her feet and she holds back a wince with every step she takes. Her eyes remain downcast in the role of a perfectly submissive British nurse ready to abide by the orders of officers and soldiers alike. Her horse arrived late yesterday afternoon to the stern face of Colonel Sitwell, a high-ranking officer of the British military who is well aware that escorting a new nurse to camp is far below his station.

Last night’s rain is making the trip uphill more strenuous than anticipated. Sitwell’s boots kick mud back at her, staining the bottom of her gown, and a part of her wonders if he does it purposely.

Philadelphia.

She started in Fort Ticonderoga in late July, aiding the troops who overtook the abandoned rebel colonists’ camp. The end of August found her in Bennington, caring for the few wounded left behind after their defeat at Rebel hands. September brought her to Brandywine Creek, before her new orders informed her to follow the river to Philadelphia.

She has traveled so far just to end a few days up the river from David and Mary Margaret.

Emma’s heart pounds as they encroach on the troops standing guard outside the British camp. How many more can she bear to approach before she’s unable to handle the heartache?

All of them , she thinks immediately. She’d travel up and down the colonies if she has to, until she finds him. Her hands would service each wound on every British soldier if it brought him back to her. She’d swallow back the bile while they brag about killing her friends, she’d clench her fists as they discussed future strategies while on their sick beds.

She is trained for this. Mary Margaret showed her how to survive, while David taught her how to blend in. And Killian…

Her heart lurches when the familiar accents of British soldiers reach her ears. Emma barely pays any mind to what they’re saying. Instead, she embraces the only reminder she has of Killian, of the way he spent hours teaching her his accent to help her prepare for her role.

Despite the harsh, uncaring intonation, the familiar words that swirl in the air around her easily send Emma’s mind back to a happier early morning, months ago now, but emblazoned on her memory with the warmth and clarity of something from mere moments ago.

Killian had come to the house to report his findings from a recent scouting mission, and when he finished, she had pulled him into the kitchen to speak privately, blushing hotly as she did so, the heat from the pot-bellied stove keeping the room toasty, though breakfast preparations were over.

Up to that point, they had spoken a few times, and Killian had also been friendly, polite, even playfully attentive with her, but Emma had not gotten the occasion to speak with him as much as she would have wished. Mary Margaret had encouraged her, with her ever-present optimism and her hope to see Emma as happily in love as she was herself; to take this very genuine opportunity to seek him out at once and gain the knowledge she sought.

Seated facing her on the rough hewn wooden bench at the Nolan’s kitchen table, Killian had grinned impishly as she settled beside him and arranged her skirts, clearly knowing what she was about, even though the tops of his ears were a heated pink to match her blushing cheeks. When she dared to look up and make full, uninterrupted eye contact with him, Emma had nearly toppled off her seat onto the floor at the electric impact of his gaze connecting with hers.

She was only saved from making a fool of herself prattling away nervously by Killian speaking. The gently cultured cadence of his words reminded her of her purpose, as he dipped his chin to look up at her rakishly through his dark lashes.

And so it had begun between them that simply. She asked Killian for instruction in British pronunciation, accent, phrases, anything which might help her to better blend in and avoid detection as a patriot spy amongst the Redcoats. Granted, few paid much heed to what the nurses - or women in general - had to say; for once, her femininity was an advantage in the quest for near-invisibility. Still, she wanted to be ready. If the need to speak arose while she was posted in some hospital or camp, Emma was determined to sound as English as any fine lady in London.

Not only was it all too easy to pull up the hazy-warm and peach-sunrise-gilded memories and lose herself within their comfort, but as time and distance stretched between them and Emma searched fruitlessly once they learned of Killian’s capture, it had been one of the rare bits of joy left her for a momentary escape. She could envision his face so clearly within an instant of closing her eyes. The curious tilt of his head as he waited for her to speak whatever term he had just taught her. The way the tip of his tongue poked tantalizingly from between his parted lips to tease her mind addled with flustered desire. The way his lips moved deliberately, patiently, repeating whatever sound or inflection she attempted to imitate, until they were both satisfied with her repetition - usually left Emma nearly in his thrall before they were finished.

One particular morning as the seconds stretched and melted together between them like butter and honey slathered on a hot, homemade biscuit, making her want to soak up every delicious second she could, she paused hesitantly before bravely clutching his hand in shaking fingers, “And what would you say…” she asked, clinging as tightly as possible to him while they both were still together and safe. “What would you say,” she tried again after swallowing hard and gathering her courage, “if you were captured and threatened with death?”

Emma had held her breath, waiting anxiously for his response, all the while knowing it would not be one to put her at ease, nor had she truly asked for the sake of gaining some stoic, proper British response for her own use. She knew Killian would never yield to questioning or torture, would not plead for his life or make any sort of fearful compromise, much as she might wish him to, if it meant his life. Emma wasn’t sure what she was hoping to hear, but somehow she needed his answer all the same.

“I’d tell them they might bloody well try to end me,” he had replied stoutly, the blue of his fathomless eyes almost drowning her as he held her gaze determinedly. “But I’m a survivor, Lass, and I will find a way to return to you. You need never doubt that.”

His words had left her breathless then, and now Emma forced herself to release the breath she held in her aching chest as she remembered that promise.

Opening her eyes again brings her back into the muddy, chaotic, and haphazardly organized camp around her, which seems all the more removed from the haven she had recreated in her mind’s eye, because of the loneliness that immediately accosts her and the complete absence of Kilian. Though the speech around her had brought those better days to mind at first hearing, now they seem to highlight just how alone she is, since none of the accented voices belong to him…

“Miss Swan,” Sitwell growls. Emma shoots her gaze up to meet his and she purposely widens her eyes to bear the image of apologetic innocence. The move infuriates the officer further. His white hair is slicked back with sweat across his broad forehead, the wrinkles there crumpling together as he glares down at her. The lines around his mouth become more pronounced as his face fashions into a sneer and he juts his large nose up at her. “Has cannon fire damaged your hearing or are you fit to perform your duties to the Crown and His soldiers?”

“My apologies, Colonel Sitwell,” Emma says, effortlessly picking up the accent Killian worked so hard to teach her. “It won’t happen again, Sir.” She bows her head to him and clasps her hands together in front of her. Her small bag bounces against her hip and she thinks not of the weapons that have been stored there for months, swaddled between clothes and hidden in pockets.

Sitwell scoffs and strides into camp with the silent expectation that she is to follow. Hurrying behind him, she catalogs all possible routes of escape and makes a note to pay attention to guard rotation over the next couple of days.

The European theater of war plays out drastically different than it does in the colonies, or so David has said. Rules of engagement in Europe allow a modicum of respect for the treatment of prisoners of war, varying with rank. To escape while a prisoner is considered desertion and dishonorable. Except, they’re not in Europe, and British troops refuse to recognize Colonists as an independent entity, tossing all procedure out the window.

Will Scarlett’s return just a week after Killian was taken occupies the free moments in her mind.

Malnourished, with a number of infected wounds and diseases bringing him knocking on death’s door, Will, a fellow rebel from their town, explained to the women that the British didn’t have the care or the resources to deal with their large numbers of prisoners. He’d been kept in a warehouse packed together with other prisoners, like a school of fish with vermin nibbling at their toes. Feces became their pillows and the dead bodies of their comrades their blankets.

Her friend’s words work as nightmare fuel when she lays her head down to sleep. Visions dance behind her closed lids of the worst possible scenarios.

Will was just an everyday soldier, but Killian – he’d barely been a man when he followed his brother into the Royal Navy at the end of the Seven Years War in the colonies. After his brother’s death due to their King’s nefarious orders, he swore off his homeland and pledged his allegiance to the colonies. She watched as he moved up in rank and provided crucial details and secrets of the British.

If what Will saw is what the British did with a regular soldier, what would they do with a traitor of great importance?

Emma's hope for the future outcome of their struggle against the British and for Killian's safe return to her had flickered like a candle struggling in the wind at the picture Will painted. For several frightening moments when he first told them of his experience, she had feared it extinguishing altogether. Her ability to believe had already been fragile; the odds were against them, after all. But as she cleaned and bandaged her friend's wounds, and allowed him to clutch her trembling hand in his, his bloodied knuckles made the bile rise in her throat once more at the idea that Killian could be bleeding out somewhere and she would never know. She had held on just as tightly, trying to impart to him what she needed for herself. She simply couldn't give up. Killian was a survivor; he would never stop fighting, and neither would she.

Emma attempts to swallow around the lump in her throat as she surveys the camp. The area’s fortification means a quick escape is too risky and more planning will be needed if Killian is here.

If he’s still alive , a dark corner of her mind taunts.

At the start of her search for him, Emma would have fought back tears. The topic proved too sensitive to truly dive into, and she felt the walls Killian worked hard to break down shoot right back up. Now she bats the whispers away without thought.

He is alive. She just knows. And she will find him.

Sitwell brings their brief and stilted tour to an end outside of the hospital tent. He pauses and debates with himself before eying her up and down. With a sigh, he turns away from the hospital tent and points to the other side of camp where a small tent is pitched. The material of it is weathered, with mismatched linens patched over holes. The tent sags and barely looks able to stand up, let alone handle the weight of the cloth.

“Understand this, Miss Swan,” he starts, eyes darting between her and the tent. “No matter what you hear – crying, groaning, screaming – whatever you hear, do not enter that tent. Is that understood?”

Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion and her heart skips a beat. In all of her stays at different British camps, she’s never received such an instruction.

Could it…

She briefly forgets the persona she’s created of Nurse Anna Swan and lets Emma Nolan take over for a moment. “What’s – ”

Sitwell doesn’t let her say anything more.

“Do not enter that tent,” he snarls. “Refrain from disobeying my orders, Miss Swan. Otherwise you may join the traitor on the execution block tomorrow.”

The officer spins on his heel and strides away, agitation dripping from him with every stomp of his boot. Yet she pays him no mind as she gazes at the collapsing tent across the way.

Traitor , her mind replays.

Killian , her heart hopes.

Gulping down a large breath, Emma eyes the soldiers of the camp for a moment to ensure no one caught her stare, before she dashes into the surgical tent. Her mind races and her fingers are sloppy, fumbling one too many bandages.

She found him.

*********

Emma is busy all day nursing the sick and wounded, but keeps an ear out for any mention of the traitor being held for execution. She’s torn between praying it isn’t and hoping it truly is Killian.

As the sun sets and the day transitions into early evening, she becomes more on edge, anxious to see inside the prisoner’s tent. When she is finally finished for the day, she collapses onto a wooden bench outside the hospital tent.

One of her fellow nurses - Belle, if Emma’s memory serves her correctly - pauses in front of her, gesturing toward a small building nearby. “They’ve a meal prepared for us inside, Anna,” she says.

Emma hesitates. Should she take the time to eat when Killian could be in that wretched tent, tied up and living out his final hours? Grudgingly, she knows she has to keep up her strength in order to help her beloved escape.

Rising from the bench and forcing a smile onto her face, she thanks Belle and falls into step with her. They enter the rustic building and find seats at a large, wooden table, where bowls of thin vegetable stew, a few strips of salted meat, and chunks of dark bread are set in front of them. The food’s aroma reminds Emma’s stomach that it hasn’t been filled since breakfast that morning, right after she entered the camp and signed on as a nurse.

Knowing they will need food for the journey back home, she surreptitiously slips the jerky and half of the bread into the secret deep pockets of her skirt, cleverly designed by Mary Margaret, where they join the boiled eggs she saved from breakfast.

She is just dipping her last bit of bread into the broth at the bottom of her bowl, when the gruff voice coming from a junior officer makes her ears perk up.

“Well, someone has to take him his tray, and it shan’t be me. I can barely tolerate the thought of a traitor in our midst, let alone feed the bastard!”

Hurriedly stuffing the bite of bread into her mouth, Emma rises from her seat and approaches the man, her brain scrambling to formulate what to say. “Excuse me, sir,” she says, stepping into the man’s line of sight. “Is there someone who needs tending?”

The officer turns to her, appraising her with his eyes. “Who are you?” he snaps.

“Anna Swan, sir. I’ve been working as a nurse.” She doesn’t add that she’s been there for less than a day.

“Are you finished with your work for the day, Miss Swan?”

“Yes, sir. I was just having my evening meal when I happened to overhear you say that someone needed a tray of food delivered to him.” She hopes he won’t detect the nervous quaver in her voice. “I would be willing to do that, sir.”

“The man of whom I was speaking is a prisoner - a traitor and a threat to our beloved king and country,” he spits. “Why would you want to aid someone of such ill repute? Someone who is scheduled to be executed on the ‘morrow, I might add, as soon as our commanding officer arrives.”

Emma chooses her words carefully. “I am a nurse, sir, and as such, I have sworn to give aid to anyone in need, regardless of their allegiance.”

Time seems to pass at a snail’s pace as he considers her offer. She knows she is probably out of line for offering and could be facing punishment herself, but she simply cannot forgo the possibility of seeing Killian.

At last the soldier snaps his fingers and shouts over his shoulder, “Bring the food for the prisoner!”

Emma prays her trembling legs continue to hold her upright. Once the tray, containing nothing but a small piece of bread, cup of watery broth, and a strip of jerky, is placed in her hands, the junior officer escorts her out the door. They trudge through the camp without speaking, until they come within sight of the ragged tent, guarded by two soldiers.

“The prisoner is in there. Tell the guards Sergeant Gold gave you permission to enter the tent. The traitor is restrained and will pose no physical threat to you.”

“Excuse me, sir, but if he is tied down, how is he able to feed himself?”

“I was only instructed to supply him with food. Whether or not he is able to eat it is none of my concern.” After barking out those words, the officer turns on his heel and stomps away.

Emma squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath, before trekking across the clearing to the tent. The guards drop the butts of their sidearms to the ground, crossing them in front of the opening to the tent as they shout in unison, “Halt!”

“S-Sergeant Gold sent me to d-deliver this food to the prisoner,” Emma stutters.

The two men eye each other, then one gives a slight nod and they return their muskets to their shoulders. “You may enter,” she is told.

Emma ducks her head and pushes through the canvas opening. Once inside, she drops to her knees, her eyes trying to adjust to the dark interior. When they do, she wishes they hadn’t, because what she sees turns her stomach and breaks her heart.

The man is sitting on the ground against the support pole in the middle of the tent, his legs extended in front of him with thick rope knotted around his bare ankles. His arms are behind him, and she assumes they are tied as well. He is stripped except for his tattered breeches and she can see bloody stripes across his emaciated body. His head hangs down, dark, matted hair obscuring his face, but Emma knows this man is her beloved Killian.

Quickly, she sets the tray of food off to the side and crawls to kneel beside him. She notices crusts of bread littering the circumference around him and rage burns through her as she realizes that, even though food has been delivered to him, he has been unable to eat much, if any, of it.

She nearly gags as the stench coming from his unwashed body fills her nostrils. Apparently, he hasn’t been taken outside to relieve himself and reeks of the smell of urine. “Oh, Killian!” she gasps. “What have they done to you?”

His head jerks up. “Emma?” he croaks weakly. “Is…is that you, Love?”

Her fingers brush his hair away from his face, a sob catching in her throat. His left eye is swollen completely shut, his lip is split open, and dried blood obscures most of his handsome face.

“Yes, my love, it’s me,” she whispers. “I’ve come to get you out of here.”

“You…shouldn’t…be here. I…I told you…not to come after me.”

“I never listen,” she tries to joke.

“You’re…impossible,” he sighs.

“And you love me for it.”

A hint of a smile quirks one corner of his mouth. “Aye, that I do.”

“How long has it been since you have eaten?” she asks, turning to slide the tray containing the paltry meal closer.

He grimaces. “I…I don’t know.”

Emma holds the cup of broth to his cracked lips, tipping it until it dribbles into his mouth. His eyes close as he swallows, a moan escaping him as if he was enjoying a fine steak dinner. She pulls the cup away when half of the liquid is gone, tears pooling in her eyes as she watches him chase after it.

Setting it aside, she picks up the chunk of bread and tears off a small piece. As she feeds it to him, she whispers, “We have to figure out how to get you out of here.”

He finishes chewing and swallows. “Don’t risk your life for me, Love.”

“Without you, I don’t have a life, Killian.”

She offers him another bit of bread, but he shakes his head. “I wish…I could hold you right now.”

Moving carefully so she won’t cause him any more unnecessary pain, she wraps her arms around his neck, scratching her fingers through his long, unkempt hair. His body shakes with a sob. “I…I’ve dreamed of having you in my arms, Emma. I have been starved for your touch.”

She is loath to release him, just as desperate to feel his body against hers, so she murmurs into his ear, “I feared you were dead, and am relieved I have found you, but I heard them say that they…they plan to e-execute you tomorrow.”

“Aye, so I have been told,” he confirms with a sigh. “I am surprised they have not done it already.”

“They are waiting for the commanding officer to arrive so he can give the order. I am hoping the rain last night will delay him, but we cannot count on that. We have to get you out tonight.”

Her heart aches as he lays his head on her shoulder, mumbling, “I do not think there is any hope of that happening, Love.”

“If Mary Margaret has taught me anything, it is that there is always hope,” she says firmly.

They are both startled and jerk apart when one of the guards shouts, “How long does it take to deliver a tray of food, Miss?”

“I have to go,” Emma whispers, reluctantly pulling away from Killian, “but I will be back. Do not doubt that. I love you, Killian.”

“I love you, too, Emma. Please be careful.”

She nods absently while her eyes sweep around the perimeter of the tent, cataloging weaknesses in the canvas. Before leaving, she feeds him the rest of the bread and broth, pockets the jerky, then kisses him tenderly, careful of his split lip.

Just before exiting through the flap, she turns and gives him what she intends to be a hopeful smile. She is encouraged when he attempts to return it.

The brisk night air of the impending autumn season greets Emma as she exits the tent. Bumps rise on her skin and a shudder runs down her spine during her short walk to the nurses’ tent. Lifting the flap, she finds their sleeping quarters still empty, Belle’s voice wafting through the air from the direction of the campfire. She’s only met the other nurses at their camp in passing at the change of their shifts, but worry creeps up her spine that one of them might walk in.

Her small bag sits on the ground at the foot of her bed, the gray and brown staining a far cry from its original white. A quiet thump fills the tent when she tosses it onto her bed linens, a soft clanging heard just a moment later.

If Killian was with her, he’d chide her for the careless way she shoves her hands between her clothes and blindly feels for her few weapons. There are three knives haphazardly sandwiched between layers of skirts, but pulling them only dampens her spirits. Her fingers grip their leather bound handles and her arm saws furiously at her blanket to no avail. If the blades can’t even rip the thin linen, they’ll be useless for Killian’s ropes.

Her heart starts racing as she fights to keep panic from clawing at her.

Emma paces the short length of the tent, hands on her hips as her mind offers solutions.

The knots are too tight and complicated for her to unravel, and Killian is in no shape to walk her through it. Which brings her back to cutting him free. The thought of stealing something from one of the many British soldiers around camp crosses her mind. She could sneak into one of their tents once they’ve fallen asleep, but she runs the risk of discovery. There’s no helping Killian if she’s delivered the same fate as him.

Belle’s laughter rings loudly in the slowly quieting camp, and Emma’s eyes widen in realization.

Her steps across the camp are soft and she keeps to the shadows of firelight. She moves slowly, eyes constantly roaming the area, her guard on high alert. The lanterns burn low in the tent where she spent most of the day, creating a glowing beacon on the edge of camp. The tent flaps gently move in the breeze, and Emma hears the voices of Zelena and Fiona, as they gather bandages to wash at the basin near the campfire.

The chill of the night starts to prickle at her skin, and her breath becomes visible in small wisps of white clouds before her eyes. She waits, shivering, for their footsteps to move away before she enters the back of the tent.

John Darling, a soldier not yet twenty, groans quietly six cots away from where she ducks in. His eyes remain closed as he calls for someone who is not there, and his blood is visible through the mountain of bandages she applied before the end of her shift. Her heart lurches as he continues to call for people she’s never met and with whom she doubts he’ll be reunited.

Emma swallows back the image that comes to mind of Killian sitting alone in his tent doing the exact same, as he receives food scraps he can’t eat and unable to move to relieve himself. Instead, she tiptoes over to the table that holds the equipment they’ve been using throughout the day. The amputation saw sits on the edge, blood staining the blade. She used one once, back in August after the British faced intense losses. The man said his name was Arthur; he had dark hair and blue eyes that made her heart yearn for Killian. She refused to look at him as she amputated his mangled left hand, but that didn’t stop the nightmares from replacing his face with Killian’s.

Her fingers move deftly past that to the scalpel. Blood stains that blade as well, but it is smaller and more easily concealed. It’ll be sharp enough to cut the ropes and easy to maneuver around his wrists without risk of injury.

Zelena and Fiona’s voices drift into the tent, and Emma glances up in alarm. In a quick move, she snatches the scalpel and rushes out before she can be detected.

Once outside the tent, a thought strikes her, and she seeks out the area where she knows discarded clothing of the deceased have been tossed. There are several jackets and shirts, but breeches are more difficult to come by. She digs through the putrid pile until she is lucky enough to procure two pair, bloodied and full of holes, but still usable. She tugs one pair on under her skirt, then stuffs the other pair, along with two shirts, into her blouse, and buttons it back up. Knowing they may face raw weather, she also picks out two uniform coats, rolling them up and clutching them tightly to her chest.

Moving as stealthily as she can with the extra bulk, she begins picking her way across the camp. Frustration sits heavy in her belly because she wants to hurry straight to where her love is suffering, but she can’t take the risk of being caught.

Along the way, she catches snippets of soldiers’ conversations and can’t help comparing them to those of the soldiers in the camps of her fellow countrymen. They may be on opposite sides of this conflict, but the same topics occupy their minds - deep longing for their families, hot, home cooked meals and their homes. They’re not very different, after all; yet, they’re killing each other by the hundreds, in battle after battle.

At last, she comes within sight of the shabby tent, still being guarded by two soldiers. Quickly stepping behind a large tree, she surveys the immediate area and decides on a route which appears to be safe.

She is just about to step out when she hears a shout coming from behind her.

“Halt! Thief!”

Her blood freezes in her veins as her breath stutters in her lungs. Cautiously turning her head, she sees Colonel Sitwell striding across the clearing, approaching a young soldier who looks to be no older than a teenager. He is cowering in front of the officer, his hands clasped behind his back, holding what appears to be a loaf of bread.

As Sitwell begins questioning the boy about where he is going and what he is doing, Emma turns her eyes to the guards in front of the tent and realizes their attention is drawn to the confrontation, giving her a golden opportunity.

Crouching down to make herself as small as possible, she scurries to the back of the tent. A thin sliver of moonlight is all that illuminates the heavy canvas and she gives herself a few precious seconds to allow her eyes to adjust. Once she is able to make out a seam, she pulls out the scalpel and, starting a foot above the ground, slices through the thick threads.

As soon as the seam separates, she drops to the ground, removes the pilfered clothes and pushes them through the opening, then she shimmies herself through. She gets up to her hands and knees, her eyes immediately trained upon the man still sitting in the same position in which she left him.

The dew has already settled on the grass in the darkening night, and Emma shivers as she stands just inside the tent - the leather boots she’s worn all this time are thin enough with gaps in the soles that some of the moisture has soaked through - making her teeth chatter along with the trembles of fear. The heat of the day has long since fled, and Emma feels the clammy chill down to her bones - aching for nothing so much as someplace safe and warm for herself and Killian. That desire drives her forward, despite the uncertainty that plagues her and the fear that she will fail him. She has to grit her teeth at the sight of Killian just feet from her, in a shelter full of rips and holes allowing wind and rain to blow right through, while his clothes are torn and threadbare - not even dry. They have barely deigned to feed him, and so of course he has not been granted any sort of blanket for the cold, autumn nights. She feels as though she is freezing; she cannot fathom the torment he has been going through. It’s a wonder he has not already succumbed to the elements and his countrymen’s gross mistreatment. She means to be certain he does not suffer even more with torture at their cruel hands.

She hates each hesitation as she sneaks across the dirt and grass at her feet; anxious to bolt and flee the danger like a startled rabbit. It is only Killian, so close again at last, who manages to stay her and keep her tiptoeing forward, making sure the way remains clear. All must still be distracted by Sitwell’s angry interrogation and the hapless young soldier he had accosted, to be checking in on their weak and battered prisoner, for she hears no further calls of alarm, no pounding feet bearing down, and she breathes out in relief.

Her eyes begin to water almost immediately - the stench unbearable in such close quarters - and her emotions nearly overcome her at Killian’s being forced to remain in his own filth; a man proud and fastidious of his manner and appearance, determined to present himself in his best light whenever possible. The wounds she had seen on him previously must be festering and growing infected. She cringes against the pain and shame she knows he must feel, in spite of it being no fault of his own.

Finally at his side, Emma drops to her knees and reaches out to clutch his shoulder, shaking gently and hissing urgent whispers of his name. When he fails to respond immediately, it strikes her all over again just how serious his condition is, and she wastes not another second before beginning to saw at his bonds with her stolen blade. To her dismay, Killian’s dark head lolls lifelessly, chin against his chest, until in her haste, she accidentally nicks the tender skin at his wrist.

With a startled grunt, he jerks an inch or so away weakly, and finally turns to face her, his unswollen eye fluttering uncertainly before managing to focus blearily and murmuring “Emma?” in question, as if he does not quite trust his own vision. “Why are you back here, Lass? If they catch you…” he sucks in a quick breath, whether from the effort it takes him to speak, or from jarring some injury she cannot see, Emma’s isn’t sure, but she aches for him all the same. He struggles on breathlessly, “You have to leave me here and get out. I am not worth – ”

“Hush!” she scolds sharply, giving the single word as much volume and strength as she dares. Her eyes spear his, staring him down with a look that allows no argument. She has managed to break through the ropes holding his arms behind him and around the central tentpost, and Killian nearly slumps over on his side at the sudden release of tension, but she steadies him, then cups his scruffy, nearly-bearded chin in her hand, willing him to accept her words as fact. “You are worth it. I won’t hear another word,” she whispers.

For a moment, unbidden and breaking across his face like the sun from behind the clouds of a storm, a smile upturns his cracked lips, and he chuckles just barely in spite of his condition, then merely sighs, acquiescing to her words largely out of sheer fatigue, but indeed loving her for them.

Releasing his chin, Emma gives a curt little bob of her head and reaches to the pile of shabby, but at least dry, clothing she had managed to scavenge. She had dropped it hastily to the side in her hurry to reach him and make sure he was still alive. Holding out a shirt, she gives Killian a hopeful look, tremulous smile aiming to inject inspiration into both of them for this perilous escape they are about to attempt.

She watches him try to work the feeling back into his hands and arms after their being bound behind him for so long. His limbs move awkwardly, even as he reaches forward to take the shirt she offers.

Killian’s eyes roam her face with entirely too much awe for her comfort, drinking her in hungrily and as though she has done something noteworthy rather than merely rooting through a pile of discarded uniforms and cutting through tent canvas to crawl back to his side. He simply nods to her in agreement.

His silence unnerves Emma; she is used to a lilting flow of eloquent words from Killian - so much so that she has often wondered if he talks for his own entertainment as much as he does to charm her. Whatever the case, his gently cultured, warm, and soothing voice had been one of the things she missed most desperately about him while they were parted, and she cannot help but worry now, as the quiet persists, just how little strength her beloved has left.

When he fumbles to get his hands into the sleeves, a strangled sound and arrested movement at his effort to raise his arms and slip the shirt on over his head attests to just how much pain he is in. Emma soothes him regretfully, reaching out to ease his arms down to his sides and guide his limbs gingerly into the garment, swiftly securing the fastenings as well.

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” she whispers, hating that it had taken so long to find him, that he had ever been hurt at all, and that she has to press him now when he cannot move without causing further anguish. But he is already shaking his head at her, forgiving what she cannot help without a moment’s hesitation.

He is panting once he finally gets the shirt on, and the sheen of sweat glistening on his face concerns Emma more than she wants to admit. How is he ever going to flee as quickly as they need to, over rough terrain, if just this has taxed him so badly? And, even if they get away, how how sick is he and how badly is he hurt? Will they be able to help him recover?

Emma bites her lip against another swell of emotion at just how large the shirt appears on Killian’s emaciated frame. His collarbone protrudes sharply where the neck of the shirt hangs low, to a degree that Emma knows it would not have done when last she saw him.

Hesitantly she tries to help him stand, not wanting to insult or demean him - a man of lesser strength might not have clung to life as long as he has - but she genuinely fears he may not be able to support his own weight, and she isn’t sure what she will do otherwise.

Killian grunts, clenching his teeth and lurching forward to plant his hands on the hard-packed dirt and push himself upwards, then leaning against the tent post, he does indeed manage to leverage himself to his own two feet. It isn’t without obvious discomfort and struggle, and he lists worryingly to one side, though Emma isn’t certain if he is favoring broken ribs or trying to appease the stretching of the whip weals on his back.

She has already seen more of his body bared to her eyes than ever before - more than is entirely proper. It is far from the interlude she would never admit to having envisioned when they would finally explore each other’s bodies one day. All the same, she will not let that keep her from any small modicum of comfort she can offer him, not after all he has already withstood. Blushing hotly, but ready to press on, Emma is about to hold out the stolen pants in offering, when with a low moan, Killian crumples back to his knees weakly, barely catching himself by leaning once more against the post which had held him captive.

Heedlessly, Emma tosses the breeches away in alarm. They will have to worry about comfort and his taking further chill later. He cannot stand much more of this, and she has to get him out. His eyes rise to hers looking so pained and ashamed that Emma wants nothing more than to wrap his trembling frame in her arms, hold him close to her, and comfort and soothe him until he is well again. That he would feel embarrassment in front of her for something he cannot help, weakness forced on him through malnourishment and abuse, breaks her heart anew. She can hardly stand to push him further, but there is nothing for it.

She only shakes her head when he attempts to speak. “We’ll manage,” she asserts with a false bravado. There is no other option. She won’t even allow herself to consider it.

He nods again, some of the resolute steel she knows and loves at last returning to his gaze. She places her hands under his arms, and with them both heaving and straining, Killian gains his feet once more. This time Emma doesn’t let go, keeping one arm around his waist as he uses her as a crutch, sliding her shoulder under his arm so he can brace against her.

Quickly grabbing the pack she has carried with her from camp to camp, she leads forward, and together they take the first few shuffling steps toward the hole she has made in the back of the tent. She can tell he is lightheaded, hurting, struggling even to breathe properly, but now that Killian is up, his survival instinct - or at least his concern for her survival - has him painstakingly putting one foot in front of the other.

It is only as they near her makeshift exit that Emma realizes in horror that the distracting commotion which had been going on outside has calmed, and that she is still dressed exactly as anyone else in the camp would have seen her earlier. Quickly she cautions Killian just to lean against her for a moment, seeing his discarded tricorn hat in the corner of the tent, she grabs it, stuffs her brightly identifying hair up under it, then unbuttons the waist of her skirt and flings the long, heavy material away. It is far from a brilliant disguise, but that would only cover her absence for so long, anyway. Once Killian’s escape is discovered, the new nurse who had asked to bring food to him, then disappeared the same day she arrived, is going to be the most likely suspect. Her shaking hands quickly transfer the food she managed to grab from her skirt pockets to her stolen breeches, and she stands to let Killian lean on her again. She doesn’t have time to worry over any other items left behind at the moment; they just need to make haste as soon as possible.

As she adjusts her grip on Killian, Emma realizes once more just how poorly he must feel. Unlike his usual self, he has not a playful comment or even a salacious wink for her, despite the fact that she has seen him shirtless, helped him dress, and shed her skirts in front of him. She sends up a silent prayer that they can make it to the surrounding woods before they are discovered. She knows he cannot run full tilt - he can barely stand - so they must manage some sort of a head start.

Dipping her head to peer just barely through the roughly torn flap of tent in which she created an exit, Emma sees that although things have grown much calmer since she snuck in - Sitwell must have carted off the poor younger soldier he caught stealing - the other staring eyes throughout the camp have returned to their previous concerns and conversations. Though it still feels much too risky, far too exposed, the time will not get any better for them to escape.

As a last minute thought, Emma changes her mind, throws on one of the jackets, grabs the breeches she’d tossed aside, realizing she’ll eventually have to get Killian into enough clothing that he doesn’t freeze. Then, half-supporting and half-tugging him, Emma ducks her head to slip out of the prisoner’s tent through the hole she made, making sure Killian follows without stumbling or getting caught on the ragged edge.

Killian bites his lip against the agony that each step and merely standing upright clearly causes him in an effort to ease her nerves and steel himself for flight. He nods, visibly marshaling every last bit of strength he possesses to push forward as they step onto the dew-wet grass. Holding her gaze for one brief, but weighted moment, he then bows his head to watch each wobbly step he struggles to take. Gritting his teeth, the wounds that burn and pull each time his feet strike the ground try to steal his breath, but he forces himself to move on, matching Emma pace for pace.

She doesn’t dare speak, but she urges him along in her head, silently cheering with each foot they progress across the trampled field and closer to the treeline, nearer to the relative cover and safety of the woods nearby. Heart pounding in her ears, frantic and alert for the first sign they have been found out, Emma forces herself to lead without looking back, to focus on the shadows and brush of the forest as they draw blessedly nearer. Twenty-five feet…fifteen feet…ten…just a few more feet…

They have only just gained the edge of the woods when a shout of alarm goes up. Bellows of “The prisoner has escaped!” and “Search the area!” ring out, along with the sound of feet pounding and general mayhem as the camp mobilizes from the drowsy comradery of evening by the fire to the dogged pursuit of a fugitive. Emma’s breath catches in her chest with fear, and she risks one frantic look thrown over her shoulder as they dodge beneath low-hanging branches and plunge into the darker foliage that surrounds them just in time.

She sees torches - far too many to evade it seems, as panic momentarily takes hold - fanning out from the camp in all directions; some moving closer to them than she can bear already.

This time it is Killian who brings her back to the present, to the immediate steps before them. “You can do this, Emma. Bloody brilliant you are,” he pants. “Lead on, we’ve almost made it.”

Grateful for his steadying belief, though she knows he is half-delirious with pain and fever and is no more certain of their escape than she is, it is the jolt Emma needs to shake her panic and bring her back to her task. Turning once more, she steps forward again, only to snag her foot on an uprooted twig, making her stumble forward off-balance, bringing Killian with her.

The ground seemingly dissolves beneath their feet, falling away to nothingness and sending them plunging downward into the dark. It happens so suddenly that Emma has rolled and pitched against the hard, sloped ground several times before she can cry out, thankfully. A wounded grunt is all she hears from Killian before hitting the bottom of an incline hard enough to knock the air from both of their lungs as she lands on top of him with a sickening thud.

Scrambling off of his body, Emma tries to squint in the dark to find his face in front of her, stomach turning at the thought of having hurt him further. “Killian?” she whispers, not daring to speak any louder. He doesn’t respond, but before she can try anything else, she hears yelling and footsteps drawing nearer, crunching through twigs and fallen leaves. Wrestling a dirt-stained, ragged gray blanket from the pack that is miraculously still on her shoulder, Emma flings it desperately over them both, hoping it will blend into the night and the overgrown vegetation at the bottom of this steep dropoff. There is nothing else to do, with their enemies nearly atop them. She holds herself motionless, her hand over Killian’s chest, feeling for the barest rise and fall, praying the Redcoats will pass by and fail to see them.

Each agonizing second seems to stretch on for an hour as she waits, but slowly, painstakingly, the tramp of threatening forces move on, circle back, and judging by the calls she overhears, return to the main camp to regroup. They will be back on her and Killian’s trail by first light, but it is a miraculous reprieve in that moment, and she lurches upright to see if he has regained awareness to carry on.

“Killian?” she pleads once more, clutching at his shirt and gently trying to shake him awake. “Killian, please! You have to answer me!”

At last his eyes flutter open, though focus in them is far from clear. “Emma…?” he mumbles blearily, the words hazy in a loose-lipped mush. “What happened?”

“I tripped on a root of some sort, and we tumbled down a ravine. I- I’m sorry, I didn't see it until it was too late.”

He reaches out unsteadily and cups her cheek as if to brush her apology and fear away, despite the ever-weakening tremble of his limbs.

She presses on doggedly. “The blanket has hidden us from your jailers for the moment,” she adds, “but we better get as far as we can before daybreak. They will be after us again, no doubt.”

Doubt and an embarrassed uncertainty flicker in Killian’s eyes, but he does not speak, only pushes himself into a sitting position through sheer force of will. “You may have to help me up,” he finally relents, no longer meeting her eyes, but Emma is so relieved and glad that he is awake and willing to try, that she somehow musters the strength and adrenaline to help him lever himself back to his feet.

Rather than attempting to scale the hill they had tumbled down, they follow a small trickle of water running along at their feet, which becomes a stream after a mile or so. Pausing briefly to see that Killian gets a drink and has a crust of bread she stuffed into her pocket, Emma wrestles the ruined pants Killian wore off his legs, hurrying to dip a less dirty part of them into the stream and wash his skin the best she can, knowing that despite the cold, it must be done since he’d been forced to wear them so long. She doesn’t dare look him in the face as her fingers skim his bare skin, and she still looks off to the side determinedly as she helps him wrestle the change of breeches she had stolen over his jutting hipbones, urges him back to his feet and fastens the breeches securely. She shoves the other pair in her bag for the moment, to avoid leaving evidence behind. They just need to focus on getting out of here. Anything else they could work through, once they were safe.

By the time the first pale rays of sunrise start to color the sky, Emma hopes they have covered enough distance to avoid detection. They are heading for David and Mary Margaret’s quiet, out-of-the-way farm, but they will not make it today, not before Brits catch up to them.

Luckily they find a small cave, and Emma presses them as far into the dank, winding depth of it as they can possibly get. Sitting at last, she urges Killian to rest, his head in her lap, her hands smoothing through his matted, sweat-soaked hair. Watching over him, fretful and sleepless, she tries to gauge how long it has been and listens for any sign of discovery. When she finally sneaks out, she discovers they have made it until dark again and they can press on.

She counts each ragged breath that rattles through Killian’s shockingly light frame, and thanks the Lord above he hasn’t been taken from her yet. They are still together, and will fight on.

*****

They have been traveling for two days when Emma again hears the low babbling of a brook. Killian struggles during their journey, relying heavily on her to help him move. His weakened state only worsens with the small amount of food she can scavenge and no canteen to provide him hydration. Blood seeps through his pilfered clothes to stain her own when she supports his weight on their walk. She thanks the heavens he’s only awake during the night hours so he doesn’t see it, all the while cursing herself for not being able to do more for him.

But the sound of fresh water is enough to give her a sprinkling of hope.

Emma practically drags Killian in the direction of the noise, eyes frantically scanning the tree line for an enemy to surprise them. If worse came to worst, she’d drop Killian to the ground and batten her defenses, grabbing the blunt blade from her boot. She’d fight the entire British army if she had to, just to help him.

Thankfully the only other inhabitants of the woods are the animals that scurry across their feet.

Killian’s eyes blink rapidly as he fights to stay awake. She knows that they’ll have to stop for a full night tomorrow or the next day. He needs to regain his strength, and, aside from a few hours rest the night before, Emma hasn’t slept a full night since before arriving at camp. Adrenaline has kept her going thus far, but even she knows it’s not sustainable.

“We’re almost there,” she whispers to him, Killian’s head lolling against hers as he grunts a reply.

Twigs scratch at their ankles, and the cool night air wraps around their shoulders in a deep embrace. Moonlight offers their only source of light, and Emma desperately clings to the moon beams that shine down between the treetops.

Relief floods her body as they break through a particularly profuse thicket and the creek flows just a few paces from their spot. Rocks litter either side of the stream, one large enough to lean Killian against. She drops to her knees once he is situated. Dew seeps into her clothes, a wet patch gathering quickly where she kneels. The cool sensation is nothing compared to the water.

Emma dunks her hands into the water in a quick fashion, hissing when the brisk liquid stings her fingers. She quickly pulls her hands back and looks to Killian. “You need to drink,” she murmurs, not expecting an answer that he has no strength to give. Taking a deep breath, she sinks her hands into the water, up to her wrists and cups them together, gathering water that she hastily carries over to him, tipping her hands onto his lips. Water slips between her fingers as she tries to give him some, droplets slide down the sides of his face. He gasps as he gulps down the meager offering.

She repeats the process until she suspects his stomach is getting upset. Her fingers tear the hem of her borrowed clothes and rip a few bands of cloth. The moon highlights the blood cresting on his skin from the open wounds along his body, the dirt collecting on his person.

“I need to clean you,” she whispers as her hand cradles his cheek. Killian opens his eyes to meet hers, and she sees the corner of his mouth lifting under his unruly facial hair.

“You’ve done enough, love,” he says just as quietly. “Give me a moment and I can wash myself.”

“The water’s cold,” she argues.

“Suppose I’ll need a distraction then.”

Hydrated and more awake than he’d been when they arrived at the creek, Emma helps Killian shed his shirt and aids him in kneeling at the creek’s waterbed.

Killian stares at the water, and Emma notices a faraway look taking over his face. The look is one she’s become familiar with working on other soldiers. Memories – nightmares really – that haunt even their waking hours. Her hand reaches over to cover his shaking fist crushing a band of cloth. She swallows as he suddenly swivels his head to her, blinking a few times before he offers her a wobbly smile.

“Do you remember when you caught fish?” she asks. Her tone is light and her smile is encouraging. The undercurrent of teasing that usually accompanies the story is barely tangible.

Killian breathes out a small laugh. “You would never let me forget.”

A nod is shared between them and her voice offers a distraction as he dips the cloth, hissing as it touches his raw skin.

The sun was barely rising over the horizon, when a specialized knock echoed throughout the quiet Nolan house. David and Mary Margaret were undoubtedly already awake with the livestock kept on the property, but Emma had hoped for a few more hours of rest. Her feet ached and her fingers felt numb, her first week spent treating wounded Colonists draining every ounce of her energy. She won’t be shipped out to a British camp for another few months; her secret coding needed to be finely tuned and her stitchwork would give her away as an inadequate nurse.

She winced as her fingers worked to knot the belt of her robe. Sleep still scratched at the edges of her consciousness, but her racing heart beat it back vigorously.

Emma opened the door in a rush, breath caught in her throat from anticipation. She sighed heartily when she realized it was merely Killian standing on the porch. A woven basket hung off of one arm, and he clutched a bouquet of wildflowers in the opposite hand.

“Morning, lass,” he greeted with a wide grin.

She squinted as the early sun rays overwhelmed her sight. “To what do I owe this honor?” The door squeaked momentarily as she leaned against it, her heart racing for an entirely new reason. A smile threatened to emerge as she struggled to keep a disinterested face in the presence of such a magnificent man.

The sun shone on him like he was a gift from above, just for her. Golden rays of light gleamed on his dark hair to create a halo and his grin was certified to make any lady swoon. His eyes crinkled in delight as he gazed down at her, and she swallowed hard as she awaited his answer.

“I remember you mentioning over the summer how much you missed cod,” he said as he maneuvered his way inside the house. The basket is placed gently on the kitchen table while the flowers remain in his tight grasp.

“I don’t think that’s enough of a remarkable statement to explain your appearance this morning. Nearly everyone in town misses the cod.”

Killian grinned, something quick and hidden as he ducked his head out of her sight. Her statement was true, no matter the humor he found in it. The increasing warships offshore had chased the fish further out into the ocean. The wider landscape made it difficult to catch a quantifiable amount of cod to justify the trip, not counting the dangers that came with being in the same waters as opposing military forces.

“Well,” he started, “it does offer an explanation for my appearance.”

“Oh?”

Wildflowers were suddenly thrust in her direction, and she blinked for a few moments before it finally registered. Killian’s arm was extended to her and nerves crept up his tense shoulders. “Firstly, these are for you.” His tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his lips, her attention dramatically pulled from the flowers by the movement. The sight was always a distraction when they practiced her accent, but now it felt like it had intent. An intent to tease her, to bring her to a different focus.

Belatedly, she took the bouquet from Killian. “Thank you,” she said softly, taking a moment to smell the flowers. No one had ever brought her flowers before. Most girls she grew up with were married off with children of their own by now, but she found herself too different from them to warrant the attention of a gentleman in town. Until Killian.

“And this is for you as well.” Killian proudly walked over to the basket and pulled back the linen covering its contents. “Freshly caught cod.”

Emma stepped closer and peered into the basket. A gasp left her mouth before she covered it to prevent her laughter from becoming noticeable.

“What?” he asked.

“You have never been fishing here before, have you?”

“No… Why?”

She failed to keep the laughter from her voice as she spoke. “These fish aren’t cod.”

A slew of expletives was voiced under his breath as he moved to her side. His hand reached for the basket to examine the fish closer. “Are you positive?”

She huffed. “I may not be a fisherman, but I do know my food.” Her eyes examined the fish, wrapped and salted to preserve it for the days long trip back, as a smile threatened to appear on her lips. “These are summer flounder, which are still edible and mild tasting. I appreciate your efforts.”

The amusement left her body as she watched Killian’s face fall and his demeanor depress. His hand toyed with the edge of the basket as his jaw ticked from how tightly he clenched it. She called his name only to receive a shake of his head in return. He dropped his weight onto one of the kitchen chairs and sagged into the seat.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he murmured to himself. Emma followed his lead and sat beside him. The urge to reach out and grab his hand between her own brewed deep in her stomach.

“Wanted what?”

“Apologies, love,” Killian said. He offered his best self-deprecating smile for a brief second before he returned his stare to the table. “I had hoped to present this as my official request to court you, but alas, I’ve made a fool of myself, instead.”

Her throat dried at his words and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered. He wanted to court her? The mere thought left her practically speechless. Killian had wanted to present her with her favorite meal – cod – and picked flowers for her by himself. He traveled in dangerous waters just to impress her.

She hummed, bringing the flowers to her nose. The fresh aroma made her head spin in the most delightful way, and she sent Killian a shy smile. “It seems to me like you’ve been doing a splendid job, so far.” He grinned back at her for a moment before it fell at the sight of the summer flounder. “You really went out to sea to catch these fish? For me?”

There was no teasing inflection to her words, a heavy weight instead accompanied them. Their eyes met over the table, and she watched Killian’s throat bob as he swallowed hard. He matched her seriousness and kept their eyes connected; his single word answer said a million things to her.

“Aye.”

Emma placed the bouquet gently on the table between them and refused to let her eyes trail away from his. She leaned forward as he watched in anticipation, breath hitched in his throat.

Their lips met, and Emma finally tasted freedom.

*********

“Just…a little further…Killian,” Emma gasps, her arm tightening around his waist. Her eyes are trained on the small house shining in the moonlight in front of them, but they also continue to dart around for any sign of being followed.They’ve been careful to travel only at night, seeking out dense woods where they could hide and rest during the daylight hours.

It’s taken them nearly a week to reach Mary Margaret and David’s farm, their progress hampered by the constant surveillance of their surroundings for fear of being captured, and by Killian’s injuries. Emma has tried to treat his wounds along the way, cursing herself for not grabbing any medical supplies when she pilfered the scalpel and clothing. He was also weak from lack of food, since the small amount of food she smuggled and berries she was able to find were not doing much to build his strength.

But now, the end of their arduous journey is finally within sight. Emma tries to quicken their pace, but Killian’s groan of pain reminds her that he’s already going as fast as he can. He hasn’t once complained, but she knows every step has been agony for him.

“I’m sorry, Killian. Please forgive me for my impatience.”

“You…you’ve been anything…but impatient, Love,” he rasps. “I should be…apologizing for…causing you all this trouble.”

“Hush, now,” she admonishes. “You are worth everything to me. I would go to the ends of the earth to find you and bring you home.”

“It almost feels like…that’s how far we’ve come,” he says with a dry chuckle.

She laughs in response, her heart lifting a little over his attempt at humor. They continue their laborious trek over the uneven ground until finally, they are standing on the small wooden stoop at the back of the house.

“I hope someone is awake,” Emma whispers. Raising her hand, she raps on the door three times, pauses a few seconds, knocks twice, then twice more in rapid succession.

The wait seems interminable until they hear a familiar voice saying, “Identify yourself.”

Emma almost cries at the sound of her brother’s voice. “Em-” Her voice is suddenly not working, so she clears her throat and tries again. “Emma Nolan.”

There’s a pause. “What happened when I was twelve that you always thought was your fault?”

Without hesitation, she replies, “You fell out of a tree and broke your left arm trying to rescue my kitten, Patches.”

She smiles at Killian as they hear the sound of a key turning. Before she can react any further, the door swings open and she’s pulled into a crushing hug.

“Where have you been?” David’s voice rumbles under her cheek where it’s pressed against his chest.

“Let us in and I’ll tell you.”

“Us?” he questions, pulling away to look behind her.

“I found him,” she says simply, reaching to take Killian’s hand. Even in the dim light coming from the fireplace in the kitchen, she can see David’s eyes brighten. He steps out of the way so the two travelers can enter.

After closing the door behind them, he turns around and the happiness in his eyes instantly turns to dismay when he takes in the condition of the other man. Before he can say anything, Mary Margaret’s voice can be heard from their bedroom doorway, asking, “Who was it, David?”

“See for yourself,” he answers, grabbing a match to light a kerosene lamp on the kitchen table.

She emerges, tying the belt of a thin, cotton robe. “Emma! We’ve been…” Her eyes move to the figure leaning on her sister-in-law. “Oh, Killian! Look at you!” Pulling out a chair, she helps Emma gingerly lower the injured man into it.

“I’m alright,” he says, but can’t stop the groan from escaping his lips when he’s fully seated.

Mary Margaret immediately begins assessing the injuries to his face. “David, please bring the basket of supplies. Emma, get a wash basin of water and a cloth.”

They both scurry to do as told, coming back to find Mary Margaret has already started working on the shirt fasteners. “Have the two of you had anything to eat?” she asks.

“Just whatever we could scavenge from the woods,” Emma answers, placing the basin on the table and tossing the cloth into the cool water. “I ran out of the food I was able to steal from camp.”

Mary Margaret finishes with the fastenings and pushes the shirt aside, gasping when she sees how much weight Killian has lost. “I’ll, um, I’ll let you clean him up while I heat some chicken stew.” Emma can see tears shining in her eyes when she turns away.

After setting the medical supplies on the table, David moves to the fireplace to remove the kettle. He pours some hot water into the basin, replaces the kettle, and returns to help Emma peel the shirt off of Killian. When he sees the wounds from a whip across his back and chest, his mouth tightens into a straight line, his eyes hardening with anger.

Emma speaks as she squeezes out the cloth and begins tenderly wiping her beloved’s face. “When I found him, they were holding him prisoner, planning to execute him the next day, as soon as their commanding officer arrived.”

She continues relating the conditions in which he was held, as she moves on to begin sponging his neck and chest. Mary Margaret and David share grim looks as they listen, appalled at the way their friend was treated.

“He was actually much worse than this, but we came across a clear creek and he was able to wash himself off a bit, even though the water was pretty chilly,” Emma says.

“David,” Mary Margaret says, turning quickly to her husband. “Can you please begin filling the tub with water? I’m sure soaking in a hot bath would feel good, wouldn’t it, Killian?”

The man looks up at her with bleary eyes. “Aye, it would.”

“Take the tub into our bedroom, David. We can move into one of the rooms upstairs and Killian can have our room so he won’t have to climb the stairs.”

David sets to work getting the metal tub moved and filled with water, while Mary Margaret dishes up bowls of reheated stew for Emma and Killian. His hands are shaking as he spoons the food into his mouth, slopping some into his unkempt beard. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Mary Margaret says, as Emma dabs the spill away with the cloth. “Just don’t eat too fast. Your stomach is going to have to get used to having adequate food in it again.” He nods in understanding, giving her another look of gratitude when she sets a plate containing several slices of bread between him and Emma.

They’re just finishing their meal when David rejoins them in the kitchen, announcing that the bath is ready. He offers to help the other man bathe, and it’s a testament to how weary and weak Killian is that he accepts.

Once the men leave the room, the women have a whispered conversation. “Do you think there’s any chance they’ll find him here?” asks Mary Margaret.

“I really don’t think so. We were very careful and diligent about not leaving any evidence behind. You and David taught us well.”

“How did you find him?”

“I kept moving from camp to camp, working as a nurse. If I didn’t find him in one place, I would move on.”

“You were very fortunate to find him when you did. If you arrived even one day later…”

“I don’t even want to think about that,” Emma shudders. “I came so close to losing him.”

Mary Margaret reaches over and pats her hand. “But you did not. That is the important thing.”

“Now we need to help him recover, and I fear it is going to take a long time. He is very weak. There were times when I was afraid he would not have enough strength to make it here.”

“I suppose you will not want to be far from him tonight,” Mary Margaret observed. At Emma’s confirmation, she added, “We can set up a cot for you just outside the bedroom so you will be able to hear him, should he need you.”

By the time the two of them retrieve the cot from the attic and take it downstairs, David is exiting the bedroom with a concerned look on his face. “A couple of his wounds appear to be infected, but I can’t be sure until we see them in the daylight. I cleaned them the best I could and bandaged them. I know you wanted to tend to him tonight, but he is utterly exhausted, so I already helped him to bed.”

“That is probably for the best,” Mary Margaret says. “I think we all need to get some sleep. Emma is going to sleep on the cot so she can be there for him if he needs her.”

“Do you want me to fill the tub with clean water so you can take a bath, too?” David asks Emma.

“No, I will just take a sponge bath using the water in the basin. I’m so tired, I would probably fall asleep in the tub.”

Husband and wife empty the water from the tub and carry it out, then set up the cot in the kitchen and cover it with bed linens, while Emma washes up and changes out of the filthy, stolen set of clothes into a soft, flannel nightgown. Releasing her hair from the tight bun, she brushes the snarls and tangles out of her long blonde tresses, then, after bidding her brother and sister-in-law goodnight, goes into the bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she observes her love by the dim light of the kerosene lamp on the nightstand. His face is relaxed in sleep, but she can still see the cuts and bruises marring it. Tenderly, she reaches over and brushes some strands of still damp hair away from his brow. Leaning down, she brushes kisses to his cheeks and lips. “You are safe now, my love,” she whispers. “No one is ever going to take you from me again.”

After watching him sleep for a few more minutes, she moves out to the cot, climbs between the soft, clean sheets, and falls into the first deep sleep she’s had since she said goodbye to Killian months ago.

*********

Emma is awakened in the middle of the night when Killian begins groaning loudly and thrashing around in the bed. She throws back the blanket and rushes into the bedroom, distressed when her hand touches his forehead and feels the heat radiating from it.

Quickly, she goes back into the kitchen and pumps more water into the basin, adding a couple of washcloths to it before carrying it into the bedroom. Nudging the extinguished lantern aside, she makes room for the basin on the nightstand.

She wrings out the first cloth, folds it, and lays it across Killian’s forehead, then repeats the process to lay one on his chest. He begins mumbling, but she doesn’t think he’s quite awake. Leaning down, she speaks into his ear, “What do you need, my love?”

He runs his tongue over his dry, cracked lips, murmuring, “Thirsty.”

Returning to the kitchen, she fills a glass with water and brings it back. She slides her arm behind his back to help raise him up, tears coming to her eyes once again when she feels the sharpness of his shoulder blades through his nightshirt.

He gulps the water thirstily and thanks her, before she lowers him back to the mattress and kisses his feverish brow. After returning the glass to the kitchen, she refreshes the washcloths with cool water, then sits down on the wooden chair beside the bed, turning to face him. She sleeps fitfully the rest of the night, reapplying the cloths and checking his temperature a few more times.

Once the morning light begins filtering in through the thin curtains, Emma dresses hurriedly and goes into the kitchen to find Mary Margaret already preparing dough to make bread. She looks up at Emma with a smile that fades when she sees the worried look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Mary Margaret asks, pulling her hands out of the dough and wiping them on a towel.

“Killian has had a fever all night. I’m afraid he does have an infection.”

“Is he awake?”

“Not yet. I know we need to examine him more thoroughly, but he needs his rest, too. Do you think I should wake him?”

Mary Margaret ponders for a moment. “Let him sleep a while longer. David has gone out to ride the perimeter of the property. When he gets back, we will find out what he thinks we should do.”

Emma pinches off a small piece of dough and pops it into her mouth. “Is he making sure we weren’t followed?”

“He knows you were careful, he just doesn’t want to take any chances,” Mary Margaret explains, beginning to shape the dough into small loaves.

Upon hearing a sound from the bedroom, Emma turns and hurries in there. She finds Killian sitting on the side of the bed with his feet on the floor, his head hanging down and his hands gripping the edge of the mattress.

She steps in front of him, cupping his face in her hands and gently lifting it. “Good morning, my love. How are you feeling?”

He manages a weak smile. “Much better, being here with you, Love,” he says, his voice rough with sleep and fever.

Combing her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Do you want some breakfast?”

“Aye, that sounds good.”

Emma discreetly runs the back of her hand over his forehead, troubled to still find it overly warm. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

“Trying to peek at me naked, are you?” he jokes weakly.

Despite her concern, she still blushes and can’t help but smile. He has always had a knack for making her laugh, and she’s pleased to see he hasn’t lost his sense of humor. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

He turns his face to press a kiss into her palm. “You are helpful, and also very beautiful. My beautiful saviour.”

Her heart swells at his words and all she can think to say is, “I love you.”

“And I, you.”

She dips her head and brushes a kiss to his cheek. Leaning her forehead against his, she sighs. “I cannot believe I actually found you and we made it back home. There were times when I thought I…” The emotion makes her breath catch in her throat. “...I would never see you again.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Emma. You should know by now that I’m a survivor.”

“The order of execution did give me pause.”

“Point taken.”

She soaks in a little more time of being able to touch him, before declaring, “I’ll go upstairs and get some clothes for you.”

“Thank you, Love.”

Giving him one more kiss, she exits the room. David is stomping his feet off on the mat inside the kitchen door. “Is everything secure?” she asks.

“As far as I can tell,” he answers. “How is Killian this morning?”

“He is carrying a fever, but it does not seem to be as bad as it was in the middle of the night. I’m going to get clothes for him. Could you please go in and check on him?”

“Of course,” David agrees, already heading toward the bedroom.

Emma goes to the cedar chest, where Mary Margaret keeps extra clothes for anyone in their spy network who is in need of them. Kneeling down before the chest, she takes the opportunity to send up a prayer of gratitude and also a plea for healing. Killian may be putting on a brave front, but she knows him. He’s weak and in pain; far from the strong, robust man he was months ago, before he went undercover behind enemy lines.

Gathering the shirt and knickers into her arms, she descends the creaking stairs, finding Mary Margaret removing the bread from the oven. “Is David still in with Killian?” Emma asks.

“Yes. He came out to get some clean water, whiskey and towels. He said Killian has wounds showing signs of infection and he has heard that pouring alcohol on them helps.”

Emma grimaces. “That sounds like it would be painful.”

“Not as painful as amputation, should the infection get worse,” Mary Margaret notes quietly.

Emma’s face pales as she thinks about the possibility. The wound around his left wrist, caused by the ropes with which he was tied, is especially concerning; the flesh around it red and angry, while the wound itself appears to be festering.

“David said Killian is relaying information to him about the enemy’s position and strategies. Even being held for execution, he was gathering vital information. That man of yours is a model of bravery, Emma.”

Now her chest swells with pride, but the moment is interrupted by a hoarse curse coming from the bedroom. “Bloody hell, David! That bloody hurts!”

The two women share a concerned, and slightly amused, look. “At least he has a little fire in his voice,” Emma comments.

Her sister-in-law nods in agreement before asking, “Should I prepare a tray of food for him?”

“I’m sure Killian will insist on joining us out here. He won’t want you making a fuss over him.”

“He deserves to be fussed over, after all he’s gone through.”

“I agree, but you know he won’t see it that way.”

Emma approaches the bedroom door and taps on it lightly. At David’s permission to enter, she pushes it open and peeks in. “I have some clean clothes.”

“Bring them in, I just finished treating his wounds,” David says, tying off a bandage around Killian’s wrist.

Emma’s eyes scan over her love’s form as he sits slumped on the side of the bed. He looks up and manages to give her a small smile. “Thank you, Love.”

She deposits the clothes on the bed beside him and catches David’s eye, communicating silently with him to ask about Killian’s condition. The grim set of his mouth and slight shoulder shrug tells her he shares her concern about the other man.

Emma picks up the shirt, unfolds it, and carefully pulls it over Killian’s head. David helps guide his arms into the sleeves, Emma ties it, and a lump forms in her throat when she sees how loosely it hangs on him. Mere months ago, he would have easily filled it out with his muscular physique. The stolen shirt was also baggy on him, but she tried to reason that the man to whom it belonged must have been much bigger than Killian. Now, there’s no denying that he has indeed lost a substantial amount of weight during his captivity, and her hatred toward the soldiers of his former homeland intensifies.

She holds out the remaining clothes to David. “Please help him put these on while I go help Mary Margaret get breakfast on the table,” she says, knowing her voice sounds gruff from the raw emotion she’s feeling.

Turning on her heel, she exits the room.

*********

The next two days for Killian are a series of ups and downs. He continues to run a fever, sometimes mumbling deliriously because of it. His stomach repels the food he eats ravenously, the vomiting causing his already dangerously weak body to weaken even further. Heedless of the custom dictating unmarried couples not sleep together in the same room, they move the cot into the bedroom so Emma can get to Killian more quickly when he needs her aid.

There are far too many moments when she wonders if they escaped and made the dangerous trek back home, only for him to die anyway.

Yet, in the mornings, after a good night’s rest, he’s fairly alert and his endearing personality comes shining through. They’re relieved to see his wounds responding to their careful treatment, the fiery looking skin around them returning to normal as the infection ebbs away.

On the third morning after their return, Emma is awakened by Mary Margaret rushing into the bedroom, shaking Emma’s shoulder as she whispers urgently, “Get up! David just found signs of someone being on the property, and we need to get the two of you down to the root cellar!”

“Enemy soldiers?” Emma asks, throwing off the covers, her heart in her throat.

“He does not know, but he also does not want to take any chances. He and Leroy have gone out again to see if they can find anything else, and he wants me to get the two of you into the cellar.”

Emma pulls her robe on and ties the belt, then slides her stocking feet into her shoes. Mary Margaret is trying to rouse Killian, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. “Gather as many quilts and blankets as you can and go down to the cellar to try to make up a bed for him on the floor,” she instructs Emma, her voice still a whisper but full of tense anxiety.

Emma hurries to do as she’s told, emptying the linen closet under the stairs. It takes two trips down the steep, rickety steps to get everything to the dank root cellar. The pungent smell of earth and unwashed vegetables fills her nose as she tosses the thick quilts on the ground in the corner under the stairs, quickly straightening them the best she can and dragging sacks of grain over to use as pillows, before dashing back upstairs.

Mary Margaret has managed to get Killian standing and into a pair of breeches. She’s just tugging a heavy, knitted sweater over his head, his arms sliding sluggishly into the sleeves, when Emma re-enters the room. She grabs his boots from under the bed and works to get them on his feet.

When he’s dressed, the two women half drag him to the opening in the kitchen floor between the fireplace and the stairway, which leads to the cellar. Emma moves down the steps backwards so she can help guide Killian with her hands on his hips, while Mary Margaret is behind him, supporting him under his arms. As they struggle to keep him moving, they both give him quiet encouragement, praying they can get him out of sight in time.

It seems to take an eternity until he finally sets foot on the packed dirt floor. As they maneuver him behind the stairs and lower him to the pile of quilts, Mary Margaret whispers, “There is a lantern and matches on the shelf, but only light it if absolutely necessary because it might show between the floorboards. As soon as I get back upstairs, I will get a basket of food together and bring it down to you. Oh, and there’s a chamber pot under the table.”

“How long do you think we will have to stay down here?” Emma questions.

“I do not know, but it’s better to be prepared in case it ends up being a while. Please remember to stay as quiet as possible,” she reminds them needlessly. After squeezing Emma’s hand, she turns and bustles up the stairs, dropping the door down behind her.

Emma and Killian are left in complete darkness, and she fights to tamp down the panic tightening her chest. Her eyes work to adjust, beginning to make out the shapes of objects around her with help from the tiny slivers of light sneaking through the floorboards overhead.

She turns her attention to the man lying on the pile of quilts, head resting against a burlap bag of grain. He’s still feverish, and she fears the dampness of the cellar is going to exacerbate his condition. Her hands grope for the pile of blankets she had dropped carelessly to the floor.

As she unfolds one blanket after another and lays them over him, she listens for any sounds coming from above. Everything is muted, but all she can hear are shuffling footsteps she’s sure are Mary Margaret’s.

Soon, the room is flooded with light again when the trap door is lifted. Emma rises and hurries to the bottom of the steps to take the basket of food and pitcher of water from her sister-in-law’s hands.

“I think I heard David and Leroy’s horses returning to the barn,” Mary Margaret tells her. “Hopefully they have some good news and you will not have to stay down here very long.”

Before Emma can answer, Mary Margaret returns to the kitchen, leaving them in darkness once again. Emma cautiously picks her way back across the floor, setting the food and water down when she senses she’s back at Killian’s side, then sits down herself.

“Killian,” she whispers into his ear, “you need to drink some water. Can you sit up?”

He pushes himself up, groaning with the effort. Since she doesn’t have a cup to pour the water into, she holds the rim of the pitcher to his lips, slowly tipping it up until he’s swallowing the liquid. She gives him several sips before he pulls back and taps her arm to signify he’s had enough.

“Do you want something to eat?” she asks, but he’s already dropped back down to the makeshift bed.

“Not…right…now,” he forces out through chattering teeth.

“Are you cold?”

“A…bit.”

She already used all of the blankets to cover him, so she does the only thing left she can think to do to help him get warm. Peeling back the blankets, she stretches her body out alongside his and pulls the covers up over both of them, then wraps her arms around his thin frame and buries her face into the crook of his neck, breathing warmth against his skin.

Soon she can tell he has fallen asleep, but she remains awake and alert. All is quiet upstairs, but just as she’s dozing off, she hears muffled pounding on the back door. Her eyes pop open and her breath catches in her throat.

Murmuring voices reach her ears and she strains to listen, but can’t make out anything that’s being said. Heavy boots thud across the floor, and Emma holds her breath, praying whoever is up there doesn’t discover the trap door beneath the innocuous-looking braided rug.

The voices increase in volume and she can catch a word here and there. “...nobody…sister…left yesterday…” she hears David saying.

Another deep voice, obviously a man’s, responds, “...proof…evidence…escaped…” And then the word that makes her heart stop “...traitor.”

She hears doors slamming and wonders if Mary Margaret had time to hide the cot before their unwanted visitors arrived. She has to believe she did, since her sister-in-law has plenty of experience with hiding evidence. Their spy ring has been active since the beginning of the rebellion, and they’ve had a few close calls, but they haven’t lost anyone yet.

Killian shifts in his sleep, letting out a soft moan, and Emma swiftly covers his mouth with her hand. Chances of anyone upstairs hearing him are almost nil, but she doesn’t want to tempt fate.

Disconcerting noises continue for what seems like an indeterminable amount of time, until at last, the door slams and silence settles again. Emma strains to hear anything, but there is absolutely no sound at all. She should feel relieved, but she’s worried for her brother and his wife. What if they’ve been taken by the soldiers? If they have, will they become prisoners of the British army? Unbidden tears fill her eyes at the thought, and she forces herself not to think along those lines.

It is several minutes before she realizes she still has her hand over Killian’s mouth. She removes it and strokes his cheek, allowing herself to enjoy the prickling of his beard against her palm.

She has no idea how much time passes until she hears the sounds of someone entering the house and her entire body tenses. If the soldiers have come back to search again and find the hidden cellar door, she and Killian are helpless and will without a doubt be captured…or killed.

Her heart is pounding so loudly she’s afraid she’ll give them away, when she hears light tapping on the floor above them. Three knocks, followed by two and then two more in quick succession. She wants to hope, but what if it’s a trick?

Then she hears Mary Margaret’s voice through the floorboards. “It’s me, Emma. They’re still on the property, so stay put.”

They stay hidden in the cellar the rest of that day. Emma is eventually able to get Killian to eat and walk in small circles around the crates of vegetables, but most of their time is spent lying on the nest of quilts. In between fitful spurts of sleep, they have whispered conversations and cuddle together. Emma understands the danger they’re in, but she has to admit she doesn’t mind the time spent in Killian’s arms.

Later in the evening, Mary Margaret brings down more food and water and tells them that David is pretty sure the soldiers are long gone, but as a precaution, recommends they stay in the cellar overnight since they could be waiting to see if there’s any movement from the house after dark. After her sister-in-law goes back upstairs, Emma lets tears of exhaustion and relief pour down her face as she buries it in Killian’s chest.

*********

David and Leroy thoroughly inspect the property early the next morning to ensure the soldiers have moved on. Once they return to the house and give the all clear, the two men help Killian back up the steps. While Mary Margaret and Emma collect the blankets and begin making breakfast, David fills the metal bathtub and assists Killian into it. Being in the cellar all that time is surely detrimental to his recovery, and they want to drive the chill and dampness from his body with a long soak in hot water.

Mary Margaret fills Emma in on the men who searched the house and barn as they fry eggs and slices of ham. “It seems they sent men more interested in finding something of value to steal, rather than finding the two of you, because they were looking in places where it would be impossible to hide - inside cupboards, behind the stove, in dresser drawers. If the situation hadn’t been so nerve wracking, I would have laughed at their blatant disregard for their mission.”

Emma manages a small smile, knowing if the British would have sent doggedly determined men like Colonel Sitwell and Sergeant Gold, she and Killian would surely have been discovered.

“It was our good fortune that they were more preoccupied with burglary, though,” Mary Margaret continues. “I do not think they realized that a house can have a cellar beneath it. As many times as they tramped across the kitchen floor, they did not notice the hollow sound of it.”

“The search seemed to take an eternity and I do not think I breathed the entire time,” Emma states.

“I was holding my breath, too. That is the closest call we have ever had.”

They are plating the food when David comes out of the bedroom, carrying a bucket of the bathwater. “Killian wants to join us in the kitchen for breakfast,” he informs them, before emptying the bucket outside.

“He is feeling up to it?” Emma asks, a hint of worry in her voice.

“He says he’s tired of being a bother to everyone. And yes,” he adds quickly when he sees Emma getting ready to object, “I assured him that is not true, but you know he is stubborn.”

“Yes,” Emma agrees, “but his stubbornness is what kept him alive.”

David nods with a grin and disappears into the bedroom again. Emma and Mary Margaret share a smile and finish putting the food on the table, eager for the four of them to be eating together again, just as they had so many other times.

On the eve before Killian left to infiltrate enemy lines, he shared a hearty meal with Mary Margaret, David and Emma.

“We double checked the route Killian will take to try to find the British encampment,” David said between bites of his hash. “He should be able to follow the river almost the entire way.”

Emma blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling. She had seen many spies off on missions, and had been sent herself, but this time was different. This time, it was the man she loved who was putting himself in danger.

She felt his knee bump against hers under the table and knew he was well aware of her thoughts. He always seemed to be able to read her like an open book. Swallowing hard, she turned to look at him, valiantly forcing a smile onto her face. He returned it with one of his own, though it didn’t quite reach his beautiful, blue eyes.

They finished their dinner, speaking of mundane topics to skirt around the issue that was weighing heavy on all of their minds. Afterwards, Mary Margaret waved away Emma’s offer to help clean the kitchen, and Emma knew it was because her sister-in-law understood her desire to have some time alone with Killian.

The two of them walked outside, enjoying the evening’s cool respite after the heat of the mid-June day.

“You plan to leave at daybreak?” Emma questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Aye. The sooner I depart, the sooner I will be able to come back to you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “There’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you.”

“Good,” she replied with a slight smile.

They continued walking until they were on the back side of the barn, out of sight of the house. Killian turned and took both of Emma’s hands. “I will miss you, Love.”

“Promise me you will be careful and will come back to me.”

“I will try my best, but you know as well as I that what we do is dangerous. Extremely important, but dangerous.”

She nodded solemnly, casting her eyes down to the ground. After several moments, she looked back up at him. “If we do not receive any communication from you for more than a month, I will come looking for you.”

“Emma…”

“You know you would do the same for me,” she interrupted, before he could object.

“Of course I would, but we do not know exactly where I will be.”

“It does not matter. Wherever it is, I will find you.” Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed her cheek, damp with tears, to his chest. “I will always find you.”

Returning her embrace, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, too.” Turning her face up to his, she added, “We probably will not have any time to ourselves tomorrow morning, so I want to give you something now.”

His brows rose in question. “What is it, Love?”

“This,” she said, then pushed up onto her toes to press her lips to his. It was a tenderly sweet kiss, expressing all the love, fear and longing they shared, and neither wanted it to end. When it finally did, she pulled him close again. “Take that with you to remember that I am here, waiting for you.”

The next morning after a quick breakfast, Killian mounted his horse, pressed his fingers to his lips and waved goodbye to her. She wouldn’t see him again for more than three long, agonizing months.

*********

Two mornings later, Emma opens her eyes and immediately rolls over to face Killian. His eyes are also open, and she can see that they appear clear, bright, rested and fever-free.

She wastes no time throwing back the covers and getting off of the cot to go to his bedside. “Good morning, my love. You look like you feel better.”

Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he gives her a lopsided grin. “I do feel like I have re-entered the land of the living.”

Emma sits on the side of the bed, brushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes while releasing a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to wonder when you would decide to stop making us coddle you,” she teases, her heart lighter than it has been for as long as she can remember.

“Do you mean to tell me that by recovering, I will be giving up my chance to be coddled?” he asks, flopping back down onto his pillow. “Perhaps I haven’t thoroughly thought this through.”

She leans over and boldly presses a kiss to his lips. “I believe there are better ways for me to pay attention to you, than by nursing you back to health,” she says, only pulling away far enough to look into his beloved cerulean eyes.

“Do tell,” he grins, reaching up to twist a lock of her hair around his finger.

A knock on the door interrupts their private moment, and Emma sighs for an entirely different reason. Killian finds her hand and brings it to his lips. “Best answer that, Love.”

She nods in resignation, rising from his bed and grabbing her robe from the nail beside the door. Once she has cinched the belt around herself, she opens the door to find Mary Margaret on the other side.

“How is the patient this morning?”

“Much improved,” Killian answers for himself.

Mary Margaret steps into the room to see for herself. “Oh Killian, you do look better!”

“Back to my devilishly handsome self?” he cheeks. “After all, the bloody Brits pretty much knocked the handsome out of me.”

“No army is that powerful,” Emma assures him, earning her a warm, loving smile.

She knows he still has a long recovery ahead, but it relieves her to see that he finally appears to have turned the corner.

*********

It takes several months for Killian to completely regain his strength and health. He stays with David and Mary Margaret during his recovery, so he and Emma are able to spend every day together while their relationship continues to deepen and flourish.

One day, when Killian is almost fully recovered, he asks Emma to take a walk with him after the evening meal. She can tell that something is on his mind, and when she questions him about it, he turns to face her, gently clasping both of her hands. Then he slowly lowers himself to one knee and Emma gasps, realizing what he intends to do.

Looking up into her beautiful face, he says, “Emma, I know that we face an uncertain future, but there is one thing I want you to be certain of - that I always, always want to be by your side. So…Emma Nolan, will you marry me?”

“Oh, Killian,” she begins, tears already escaping her eyes and trickling down her cheeks, “you know how much I love you, but are you sure this is the right time? We still do not know when or how this conflict is going to end.”

“That is exactly why I think we should get married. I do not want to waste any of the time I could have as your husband, because we have no guarantee how many years we may have together. I love you, Emma, and I don’t want to wait any longer to marry you, but if you do not want…”

“No, Killian,” Emma interrupts firmly. “I am not saying I do not want to marry you, because I do, with every fiber of my being. I just do not know if we should take the time to plan a wedding, when there is still so much work to do for the cause.”

“I understand how important our work is, but you are more important to me.”

Emma sinks to her knees and frames his face with her hands, scratching her nails lovingly through his beard. “And you to me, my love. You are right - we should not let what is happening around us dictate our lives. So yes, Killian, I will marry you and be the proudest and happiest woman alive.”

Killian huffs out a relieved breath and flashes her a dimpled grin, before dipping his head to claim her lips in a celebratory kiss. No one knew what the future held, but the newly engaged couple was sure that whatever it was, they would face it together.

*********

The conflict, which becomes known as the Revolutionary War, will drag on for another six years. The spy ring organized and aided by David and Mary Margaret will operate until the end, providing important intel to the Continental army. After their close call, Emma and Killian won’t risk going behind enemy lines again, but continue to work tirelessly for the cause nonetheless.

One evening, nearly a year after Killian’s capture, their daring escape, and his lengthy recuperation, he and Emma sit on the rickety wooden steps leading up to the back entry to David and Mary Margaret’s home. They watch the sun set with golden spangled light on the field and trees of this land for which they are fighting, and for which he nearly died, fingers twined together and Emma’s head lying on Killian’s shoulder. They are in the process of working with David to save the money to purchase a few acres next to he and Mary Margaret’s property, where they will build a home of their own, when the fighting is over, and hopefully the colonies are left to self-govern.

Emma sighs, in as near a state of perfect contentment as she can remember feeling in some time. There were many dark moments in the last months, and even years, and she knows better than to think the future will be perfect or easy. But the hope that feeds her, bolstered by the strength of their love, is a source of joy that she trusts will endure through any challenge. She might once have thought hope and true love fanciful notions from fairy tales rather than the stuff of real life.

It’s true that people often speak of hope as if it’s this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whisper and spider’s web. She knows better though, after what they have been through. Hope is not fragile or fleeting. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go. But that’s the beauty of it; hope will always get up and start again.

Killian’s arm around her lends the warmth of any blanket as he draws her closer to his side, murmuring his love for her into the skin at her temple before placing a chaste kiss there as well. The fight may not yet be over, but that time will come. They will see the battle through and celebrate that day - a happy beginning - together.

*********

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jrob64 · 1 year ago

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Thank you, K! So happy you liked it!

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Never Leave Me - NOW WITH A NEW ENDING!

I recently reread this story and realized I could write one more, very important scene to add to the end of it. If you've read it before, I hope you like the addition. If you haven't read it, I hope you'll give it a try. It's a CS Modern AU hurt/comfort story and is rated M for a couple of smutty scenes.

Special thanks to @sotangledupinit for the picture manips of Emma & Killian and to @hookedmom for her beta skills.

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a firefighter at the same station where Killian Jones works as a paramedic. Their love for each other burns as bright and hot as the fires Emma works to put out, but with both of them having demanding and potentially dangerous occupations, will he be able to keep his promise to never leave her?

Words: 10,003

Also on Ao3 and ffn

The story starts right out with smut, so it's under the cut.

*********

“It’s nice when our schedules sync up,” Emma Swan said, rubbing her foot up and down the calf of her boyfriend’s bare leg, as they lingered in bed.

“Aye, that it is,” Killian Jones agreed, tugging her a little closer and burying his nose in her tangled nest of blonde hair. “It’s even nicer when our shifts don’t start for another three hours.” He turned onto his side and reached down with his right hand to grip her hip, pulling her against his prominent erection, their bodies still naked from their amorous activities before going to sleep the night before.

“I can’t start a twenty-four hour shift already worn out,” she protested weakly, craning her neck despite her words, to allow him better access for the trail his tongue was blazing.

“I’m allowing some time in the schedule for recovery,” he mused, before twirling his tongue around her nipple then sucking it into his mouth.

“You…uh…you're setting a schedule…for sex?” she mumbled through the haze of pleasure he was bringing her.

“Mmhmm, including our shower to clean up afterwards.” His tongue continued its wicked path down her soft skin, briefly dipping into her belly button.

“Fuck, Killian…”

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do, my love. Just give me a few minutes to make sure you’re ready.” His fingers reached the apex of her thighs before his tongue did, finding her already wet and responsive to his touch. “Mm-mm-mm, you woke up aroused as well.”

“Sleeping with you naked…always does that to me.”

“I know. That’s why I do it so often,” he smirked up at her. “Tell me what you want, Darling. You know how much I love hearing your dirty requests coming from that sweet mouth.”

Emma tugged lightly on his hair. “Get me to the edge with your fingers, then fuck me with your cock.”

“Your wish is my command,” he grinned, then slid two fingers through her glistening folds, while nudging her legs further apart. The moan she emitted as his fingers entered her was positively indecent and he tore his eyes away from the sight to look up at his love. Both hands gripped his hair and her head was thrown back against the pillows, giving him a wonderful view of her pert breasts.

The wet sounds he was pulling from her told him she was nicely lubricated and would be ready for his fully erect cock when she gave him the signal. He pumped in and out, willing her to get there soon, since he was more than ready himself.

“More,” she gasped, and he obliged, adding a third digit on the next pass. Seeking friction, he used his left hand to position her calf under him, so he could rub his length against it.

“Play with yourself, Love,” he requested, because her fondling and squeezing her breasts never failed to turn both of them on even more.

She threw him a sultry look and released her grip on his hair to do his bidding. Her movements were seductive and the sounds she was making made him impossibly harder.

“Gods, Emma, please tell me you’re nearly ready,” he groaned, grinding his thumb against her sensitive nub in hopes of getting her there more quickly.

“Almost…”

Unable to wait any longer, he lowered his head and sucked hard on her clit, producing the desired result of her shouting his name and thrusting her hips up at him. He knew from experience that when she did that, she was very close to climax.

He slid his fingers out completely, smirking at her curses, and scrambled to his knees on the bed, reaching behind her to pull her upright against him. She understood his intention and tucked her legs over his hips, gripping his shoulders and lifting her pelvis.

His tongue plunged into her mouth as his cock plunged into her down below. Emma planted her feet on the bed and Killian gripped her ass firmly, giving him leverage enough to drive into her at a punishing, but highly pleasurable, pace.

She came almost immediately with a long, loud moan of his name, causing him to stutter momentarily, before continuing to thrust with rapid strokes into the lava of her center. Emma closed her eyes and dug her nails into his shoulder blades, creating sweet pain that spurred him on even more.

Their frenzied pace reached a peak as her walls clamped more tightly around him, rippling along his member, until it undid him. Streams of his release shot into her, their bodies clinging fiercely to each other as their sweat slickened bodies shuddered and jerked.

Killian eased Emma backwards and collapsed on top of her, licking at the salty moistness in the hollow of her throat. “I…will never…get enough…of you,” he panted.

“Mmm, me neither,” she agreed, sifting her fingers through his damp hair.

They lay tangled together until the rush of blood in their ears abated and their heart rates returned to normal. He knew by now that she relished his weight resting on her after making love. Early on in their relationship, he was always afraid of crushing her and would quickly withdraw and roll to the side, but she soon made it clear she wanted him to stay inside and on top of her as long as possible. It made her feel secure, she confided, like he would never leave her; which he assured her he would never do, but he understood. Her entire life, people had pulled away from her and abandoned her. He would do whatever it took for her to believe him, when he said he would never be one of those people.

“What’s next on the agenda, Babe?” she teased.

He chuckled into her skin. “I believe it’s time for that shower, my love.”

They barely had time to pour coffee into travel mugs and grab a couple of bagels, before running out the door. Leaving him with a quick kiss, she got into her yellow VW bug and backed out, the bagel clenched tightly in her teeth, before waving and heading to the fire station.

He shook his head fondly and hopped into his Chevelle SS, following her out of the parking lot to go to the same destination.

*********

They met nearly two years before, when Emma had just become certified and inducted as a firefighter, assigned to the station where Killian worked as a paramedic. The second she stepped through the door of the break room, he was a goner. She was tough, intelligent, beautiful, and not afraid to put men who gave her any guff, in their place.

He would never forget how she reacted when Will let out a wolf whistle upon seeing her. The next second, she was nose-to-nose with him, index finger planted in the middle of his chest. “Are you and I gonna have problems?” she had asked through gritted teeth.

Will turned eight shades of red, before replying, “N-no, ma’am. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted. Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she had replied, sweeping her eyes around to encompass every man in the room.

Most of them uttered their affirmation or shook their heads, but Killian just sat slack-jawed, in awe of the blonde fireball.

Weeks of working together reaffirmed his analysis of her toughness. She was perfectly capable of performing all the duties expected of her job, and wouldn’t stand for any of her colleagues jumping in to help her when it was something she could do herself.

Killian’s admiration and respect grew every day he worked with her. He also felt a growing attraction to her, which he tried to tamp down, knowing she probably had a boyfriend already or wasn’t interested in dating someone with whom she worked so closely.

So he nearly had to treat himself for shock five months after she started at the station, when she boldly asked him out. Killian jumped at the chance to get to know her outside of work, and soon they were dating exclusively. A year later, they found an apartment close to the station and moved in together.

Killian had lost his mother and brother, with no recollection of his father, and Emma had been in foster care her entire childhood, until she was adopted as a pre-teen, opting to keep her self-chosen last name of ‘Swan’. They surrounded themselves with friends who became like family, and created a home together, something they both craved.

It wasn’t always easy. Emma was headstrong and stubborn, Killian would become stoic and refused to talk when angered, but what they had was worth fighting for, and they knew it. He understood her abandonment issues and reassured her with his words and actions that he would never leave. She understood his need for nurturing and intimacy, and let down the walls around her heart to allow him in. He was the only person who got to see her soft, vulnerable side and vowed he would never take that privilege for granted.

Their jobs were demanding, but satisfying, and they didn’t let their relationship affect their performance at work. If anything, they were more efficient when on the same rescue runs, because they seemed to be able to read each other’s mind. Their co-workers admired the professionalism they exhibited, and didn’t tease them too much when they snuck in an occasional embrace.

For the first time in both of their lives, they were truly, completely happy.

*********

They arrived at the station ten minutes before their shift started. Killian parked beside Emma, grabbed his travel mug, and met her as she exited her bug. Even though their shift began at the same time, they learned by experience that circumstances could easily keep them from ending at the same time, so they always drove separately.

“Ten bucks says Scarlet is late,” she quipped, as they walked through the open overhead doors.

“Give the guy a break - he’s a newlywed,” Killian replied.

“Yeah, I still can’t believe he talked someone into marrying him.”

“Belle is good for him.”

“You mean she’s too good for him.”

“Oi! I heard that!” Will piped up from behind them.

“Ten bucks. Pay up, Swan,” Killian smirked, holding out his hand.

“You never agreed to the bet, Jones.”

“I’m sure she’ll pay you back some other way. If I were you, I’d insist on sexual favors,” Will said, winking and nudging Killian with his elbow, then walking more quickly to put distance between himself and Emma.

“If you were him, I’d be seriously rethinking my life choices,” Emma retorted, rolling her eyes.

Killian laughed. “I really don’t understand how the two of you work together all the time.”

“She loves me, don’t you Savior?”

“Would you stop with the ‘savior’ crap? I push you out of the way of a falling timber one fucking time and all of a sudden I’m your savior. I should have let it fall on you.”

“It could have done major damage to me head!”

“That hard head? I’m thinking it would have only improved it.”

Will grabbed Killian’s sleeve to halt him in his tracks. “Ya gonna let her talk to me like that, Jones?”

Killian shrugged. “What can I do? You set yourself up for it every bloody time.”

Emma giggled and turned to go into the kitchen, punching Will in the shoulder on the way by. “Shoulda known you’d take your woman’s side,” he groused, rubbing his shoulder as he followed her into the room.

“Aye, you really should have,” Killian grinned.

“About damn time you showed up, Jones,” Mulan Fa greeted him as soon as he walked in.

“You don’t clock out for another ten minutes, so shut it,” he grumbled. “Busy night?”

“Only two runs, nothing major,” she answered. “Car accident and a drunk who fell and knocked himself unconscious.”

“Sounds delightful,” Killian mused, selecting a donut from the open box on the counter.

Emma reached around him and grabbed it out of his hand. “You already had a bagel this morning, buddy.”

“Aye, but if you recall, we worked off enough calories in the past twelve hours to allow me to indulge a little,” he said, attempting to take it back.

“In that case…” she grinned, taking a huge bite before he finally managed to wrestle it away from her.

“Please do not tell us how you worked those calories off,” Regina Mills, Killian’s paramedic partner growled, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Ew, yuck!” Emma grimaced. “Seriously, how can you like jelly filled? They’re disgusting!”

“Serves you right for trying to eat my donut,” Killian replied, around a mouthful of the gooey confection.

“Good morning, everyone,” David Nolan greeted, strolling into the kitchen. The fire chief was Emma’s brother through adoption and one of Killian’s best friends. After being acknowledged by the assembled firefighters and paramedics, he announced, “I want to remind you that we have a group of third graders coming to tour the firehouse this afternoon at one o’clock, so we need to spend the rest of the morning making sure everything is in tip-top shape.”

“Are they third graders or a bloody group of inspectors?” Will groused.

“Just for that, you can be in charge of rolling hoses today, Scarlet,” David said.

Will dropped his head back and groaned. “I hate that fucking job.”

“That’s what you get for complaining all the time,” Emma commented with a laugh.

The crew going off-duty bid everyone goodbye, while those starting their shift finished their coffee and donuts. Then they left the kitchen to start checking supplies and equipment, and cleaning the vehicles.

*********

“What a boring shift,” Emma sighed, dropping down onto the couch when they got home the next day.

“Boring is good, Swan,” Killian said, opening the refrigerator to check the contents. “We should go to the grocery this afternoon. This is looking pretty bare.”

“I’m sleeping first,” she mumbled grumpily.

“Of course. Do you think I’m insane enough to ask you to go grocery shopping without sleep?”

“You’ve been known to try.”

“Once, and that was enough to learn my lesson. I was afraid I was going to have to bail you out of jail.”

“Wasn’t my fault. People who block the aisles shouldn’t be allowed in grocery stores.”

He closed the refrigerator and joined her on the couch, lifting her feet into his lap. “Dave told me Mary Margaret invited us over for dinner tomorrow night,” he said, beginning to rub her arches.

“Yeah, he told me, too,” she replied, laying her head back against the armrest and closing her eyes. “One less night to cook is always good.”

“As if you do the cooking,” he scoffed.

“You’re glad I don’t cook.”

“That’s because you set the smoke detector off twice the first week we lived together. It wouldn’t look very good for the fire department to have to put out a kitchen fire in the apartment of one of their own.”

“The stupid thing is too fucking sensitive,” she grumbled. “Ugh, that feels so good. You have magic fingers, Babe.”

“So you’ve told me,” he grinned. “Although most of the time, it’s not because I’m using them on your feet.”

“Mmm, very true.” She yawned widely. “Are you gonna get some sleep with me?”

“I’m not very tired. I think I’m going to finish reading that book I borrowed from Dave.”

Dropping her feet to the floor, she pushed herself up to sit beside him. “Suit yourself, but if you change your mind, feel free to join me.” She stood up and stretched her arms above her head, hearing a satisfying crack from her spine.

“Would you please bring me the book from the nightstand, Love?”

“For a price,” she teased, turning to walk into the bedroom.

“I just gave you a foot rub, you know,” he called after her. “Besides, you still owe me from our bet yesterday morning.”

Re-entering the room with the book, she handed it to him and bent down to kiss him. “I told you it wasn’t an official bet, but if you insist, I’ll pay you back after I take a nap.”

“How?” he questioned.

“For once, I agree with Scarlet’s idea,” she said with a wink, then headed back to the bedroom, adding a little extra sway to her hips.

“Bloody woman is going to be the death of me,” Killian mumbled. Her answering laugh let him know she heard his remark.

*********

The next week when they were both on duty again, a call came through in the middle of the night for an injury at a warehouse close to the docks. Killian drove the ambulance, as Regina took down the information while riding in the passenger seat.

A man met them outside the building to direct them inside. He explained that two employees got into an argument, resulting in one of them injuring the other, knocking him unconscious.

As they moved through the cavernous warehouse, Killian smelled smoke. “Is there a fire somewhere?” he asked the man.

“I don’t think so…” he began, then his eyes grew wide as he spotted something. “Holy shit! He wasn’t kidding!”

“What are you talking about?” Regina asked.

“Before Jefferson tore out of here, he said he was gonna burn the place down. Looks like he started a fire,” he explained, pointing to a spot where they could now see an orange glow.

“Where’s the injured man?” Killian asked.

“In the office right there,” the employee answered, pointing just to the left of the fire.

They hurried to the area, realizing there was more than one small fire burning. Regina immediately used the radio to call for the fire department.

Stepping into the small, windowless office, they saw the injured man lying prone on the concrete floor, a large gash to his forehead. “Jefferson bashed Leroy’s head into the wall,” the man explained. “Always did think that guy was mad as a hatter.”

Killian knelt down and opened the medical kit. “Is there anyone else in the warehouse?”

“Just a few guys outside on the docks. There were just the three of us inside.”

“Okay, we’ll take care of Leroy. You need to get yourself out of here.” The man nodded and quickly exited.

After Regina reported the fire, she went to grab the stretcher and brought it into the warehouse. “Let’s get him outside and then we can evaluate him,” Regina said.

“Good idea,” Killian agreed, shining his penlight into the man’s eyes to check his pupils. “Did you bring a neck brace?”

“No, I’ll go grab one,” she threw over her shoulder, on the way out the door.

She was gone for less than a minute when Killian heard a crash, followed by a whooshing sound. His head jerked up to look out the door and was astonished to see the fire was spreading rapidly. “Bloody bastard must have used an accelerant,” he cursed. Getting to his feet, he hurried to the doorway, his heart dropping to his feet when he saw the office was completely surrounded by flames.

“Regina!” he called through the walkie talkie. “Don’t try to come back in. The fire is spreading fast and we’re trapped!”

She acknowledged his statement and told him the ETA for the fire department was five more minutes.

“Fuck!” he growled, trying again to see a way through the flames, but the exit appeared to be blocked. He knew he couldn’t risk pushing the stretcher with the injured man through the fire, and he couldn’t leave him behind.

Slamming the door shut, he looked around the cramped office, searching for something to stuff under the door to help keep the smoke out. When he couldn’t locate anything, he took off his jacket to use it. Knowing there was nothing else he could do for the time being, he knelt down beside Leroy to begin working on him again.

*********

Emma was in the jump seat behind David when the call came through the radio, saying the injured man and a paramedic were trapped by the fire inside the warehouse.

“Which paramedic?” she shouted, trying to make herself heard over the sirens.

David looked back at her over his shoulder, his forehead creased with concern. “Regina is the one who reported it, so I’m assuming it’s Killian.”

Emma felt like she was going to throw up.

*********

By the time the fire trucks made it to the warehouse, flames were shooting through the roof. Wooden pallets stacked outside were smoldering, and thick, black smoke was pouring out through the large overhead doors.

The trucks came to a stop and the firefighters flew into action, donning their oxygen tanks and masks, hooking up hoses, and raising the ladder to get water down on the fire from above.

Emma worked at a frenzied pace with her heart in her throat. As she waited for Will to hook up the hose the two of them would be manning, she approached David, who was speaking with Regina.

“Have you been in contact with Killian?” she asked.

Regina turned to her. “Yes, he’s been on the walkie. He and the injured man are in a small office about fifty yards from the doors, on the left-hand side.”

“Are there outside windows to it?” David asked.

Regina shook her head. “No windows at all. It’s concrete block with a metal door.”

Will came running up with the hose and Emma started to leave to help him, when she felt the sleeve of her coat being grabbed. She looked back to see David eyeing her earnestly. “Use your head and not your heart in there, Emma. Don’t get reckless.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, then pulled her mask into place and picked up the hose.

*********

Despite his best efforts, the smoke was beginning to fill the room where Killian lay on the floor beside the still unconscious Leroy. Regina had reported the fire trucks were there, so he knew help was on the way, but his eyes were burning and he was coughing uncontrollably. He had put the oxygen mask from the medical kit on the injured man, and every once in a while, would take a couple of deep breaths from it.

He determined that Leroy’s injuries didn’t appear to be life threatening, but they weren’t the biggest threat to his well-being right now. Killian knew if the firefighters didn’t get to them soon, they were in danger of becoming asphyxiated from inhaling the smoke.

*********

Emma stood behind Will, helping direct the spray of the water onto the raging flames in front of them. Her eyes strained to see through the smoke, hoping to locate the office Regina had described.

It seemed like hours until they were twenty yards into the building, the sweeping spray of water taming the fire enough to make a little progress. She could see another pair of firefighters to their right and a stream of water coming from above. The entire team was working hard to knock down the flames, but it wasn’t happening fast enough to suit her. Every minute spent fighting the fire was another minute Killian was trapped.

Finally, she could make out a metal door about ten yards ahead of them. “Over there!” she shouted at Will, pointing over his shoulder. He immediately directed the hose where she indicated.

“Hold on, Killian. I’m coming,” she thought.

*********

Killian tried desperately to remain conscious, but he felt like he was fighting a losing battle. Despite laying flat on the floor to stay under the smoke, the entire room was almost filled with it.

“Please get to us in time, Swan,” he begged.

*********

When they reached the door, they hosed it down thoroughly, then Emma rushed forward to open it. As soon as she did, she fell to her knees beside Killian with a strangled cry. She shook him by the shoulders, shouting his name. His eyes fluttered open and she saw him trying to speak over the noise of the fire. Leaning down, she put her ear as close to him as possible and heard him say, “I love you, Emma. I need you to know that.” Then he began coughing deeply.

She took off her oxygen mask and put it over his face, shouting, “Don’t talk like you’re not getting out of here!” Fumbling for her walkie-talkie, she reported, “I found them! The injured man is unconscious. Killian is conscious, but barely. We need to get them out of here!”

As Will continued to spray the flames to keep them at bay, Emma stood and grasped Killian under his arms, beginning to drag him out of the stifling office. She felt someone come up beside her and looked around to see David in full gear. As the fire chief, he usually stayed on the outside to direct operations, only suiting up when it was absolutely necessary, or maybe, Emma thought, when his best friend’s life was on the line.

He started to take Killian’s arm, but she shouted, “I’ve got him! Go get the stretcher with the other guy on it!”

David hesitated for just a second, before nodding curtly and running toward the office.

Emma continued moving backwards, adrenaline propelling her at a faster pace than normal. Looking over her shoulder, she could just make out the outline of the large overhead door, when she heard a loud creaking sound and looked up to see a metal girder breaking away from the catwalk directly above.

She flung herself over Killian’s body to protect him. Seconds later, she felt an excruciating pain and let out a scream. Looking back, she saw the end of the beam across her left ankle. “Fuck it all to hell!” she cursed, attempting to pull her leg free. Suddenly, she felt the pressure decrease, and looked up to see Will lifting the girder off of her.

“I’ve got you, Savior,” he shouted.

“Take Killian!” she directed, as she grabbed her mask to put it back on. “I’ll get myself out.”

Will moved around her to pick up Killian, hoisting him over his shoulder. Emma tried to push herself to her feet, but found she couldn’t put any weight on her leg. Cursing, she looked around and saw a push broom leaning against the wall. Hopping over to it, she used it as a makeshift crutch, hobbling toward the doorway.

When she was finally outside, she saw Regina working on Killian and limped over to them. Flinging off her helmet and mask, she dropped down beside him. “How is he?”

“Alive,” Regina said curtly. “We need to transport him immediately. Another ambulance just arrived and they’ll take Leroy.” She glanced up at Emma. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Might have broken my ankle, but it doesn’t matter, as long as Killian is okay.”

“They’ll check you out at the hospital. You can ride in the back with us. Mulan got called in and she’ll drive.”

Emma bent down to place a kiss on Killian’s forehead. “Hang on, Babe. Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded, her voice breaking.

*********

Killian remained semi-conscious on the ride to the hospital, coughing frequently. Emma allowed Regina to examine her ankle when she was sure the paramedic had done everything she could for Killian. Regina also suspected it was broken and informed the hospital that X-rays would be necessary upon arrival.

Emma sat next to Killian the entire way, brushing his sooty hair out of his eyes. “I keep telling him he needs a haircut, but he hasn’t done it yet,” she murmured, fighting back tears. Regina looked over at her, but didn’t comment, simply patting her knee in sympathy.

“Five minutes,” Mulan called to them from the front seat, sending Regina into action to prepare for their arrival at the hospital.

“I know you’ll want to stay with him,” she told Emma, “but they will have to take him for a battery of tests, so you might as well get that ankle taken care of while you’re waiting.”

Emma gave a slight nod and leaned over Killian. “You know I would stay with you if I could, but as soon as they take care of me, I’ll be with you again. Then I won’t leave your side. I promise.” She pressed a kiss to his temple, above the elastic band holding the oxygen mask in place.

As soon as she straightened up, he had a fit of deep, wracking coughs. She squeezed his hand helplessly, listening to his labored breathing when the coughing finally subsided. Not taking her eyes from him, she asked Regina, “He is going to be okay, isn’t he?”

“You know as well as I do that smoke inhalation is very serious, and people react to it differently,” she answered carefully. “All I can say is, he’s young, healthy and strong, which are important factors for recovery.”

Emma eyed her gratefully. Regina had been Killian’s partner for nearly three years and, even though they constantly made snarky comments to one another, the two of them worked well together. Emma could see the concern in Regina’s face and realized his injuries were affecting her, too.

“Yeah, that’s true. He’ll be okay.” Emma looked back down at him, his skin pale under the layer of soot. “He has to be.”

*********

When they pulled up to the Emergency Room, Killian was quickly unloaded and whisked off to be examined. An orderly helped Emma into a wheelchair and she was taken to Radiology for X-rays.

An hour later, with her broken ankle set and in a cast, she was taken to an area to wait for news about Killian. As soon as she entered the room, Mary Margaret stood up to greet her.

“Oh, Emma, are you alright?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

Emma received her sister-in-law’s hug with a sense of relief, having dreaded waiting by herself. “Mostly. I found out that steel is harder than bone. Did David call you?”

“He sent me a quick text to meet you here. They’re still fighting the fire.”

“They’ll probably be there for a while. We heard on the scanner that it’s now a four alarm fire.”

Mary Margaret parked Emma’s wheelchair between the doorway and a row of cushioned chairs, sitting down in the one closest to her and reaching over to take her hand. “How is Killian?” she asked quietly.

“He…” Emma started, but her throat constricted and she wasn’t able to go on.

Mary Margaret wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders, pulling her against her side. “It’s going to be okay, I just know it is. That man loves you and he’s going to fight to stay with you.”

“I h-hope so,” Emma sobbed. “But what if…if he…”

“Stop that, right now,” Mary Margaret interrupted firmly. “We’re going to think positive thoughts. Anything negative isn’t going to help him.”

They fell silent for a few moments, before Mary Margaret began telling stories about her pre-school students, obviously trying to distract Emma from slipping too deeply into worry for her boyfriend.

Emma tried to pay attention, but her mind kept straying to what might be happening to Killian. She stared at the door, silently willing someone with news to walk through it, occasionally glancing at the clock on the wall, which seemed to be standing still. She wished she could pace the floor to work off some of her nervous energy, but the cast on her leg reminded her it wasn’t an option.

Mary Margaret offered to locate some bottles of water, leaving the room with the assurance she would return soon. Emma idly pushed the wheels on the chair back and forth, bumping it into the wall over and over.

She didn’t often pray out loud, but in her jumbled mind, she thought maybe God would hear her better if she did. “Dear Lord, please, I’m begging You, please let Killian be okay. I need him, God. Please don’t take him from me.”

She no sooner said ‘Amen’ when a doctor with a shock of bleach blonde hair entered the room. “Ms. Swan?” he inquired.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she replied, sitting up straighter in the chair.

“I’m Dr. Whale. I was told you were waiting for word about Killian Jones. Are you family?” he asked, as Mary Margaret returned with a small bottle of water in each hand. She immediately sat down, dropping one of the bottles into her lap so she could take Emma’s hand.

“He’s my boyfriend. We live together, and he doesn’t have any other family,” Emma explained. “How is he?”

Dr. Whale pulled a chair over and sat down facing her. “He inhaled a lot of smoke. We’ve got him on oxygen and we’re going to observe him for the rest of the night. If he continues to cough and sound raspy like he does now, we may have to do a bronchoscopy later today, to determine how much damage has been done to his lungs, and to suction out some of the junk he has in there. He’s sleeping now, which is good. His body is working hard to heal and a lot of rest is going to help that process.”

Swallowing hard past the lump in her throat, Emma managed to ask, “When can I see him?”

“You can visit him right now, for a little while,” Dr. Whale began.

“No,” Emma stated emphatically. “I’m not visiting him for a little while. I’m going to stay.”

“Ms. Swan…”

“I don’t care what you say, I WILL stay with him, and nothing or no one can stop me!”

“Calm down, Ms. Swan,” Whale soothed, holding a hand up placatingly. “I wasn’t going to say that you have to leave. I was going to tell you that I’ll have him put in a room with a recliner, so you can sleep in there.”

“Oh,” Emma said, a bit sheepishly. “That would be great, thank you.”

“Anything for our first responders.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Mary Margaret asked, looking at Dr. Whale for permission, which he gave with a slight nod.

“If you don’t mind,” Emma answered.

“Of course I don’t,” Mary Margaret said, standing up and nudging the wheelchair away from the wall so she could get behind it.

“It will be a few more minutes until they get him moved into a room on the third floor,” Whale said, also standing. “Someone will be down to get you when they’re done.”

“Thank you and I’m, uh, sorry about…”

“Think nothing of it. I understand the stressfulness of the situation and wouldn’t expect you to respond any differently.”

After shaking both of their hands, Whale left the room. Emma blew out a long, slow breath, trying to keep her emotions under control. “I was hoping he would be awake so I could talk to him.”

“You heard what the doctor said,” Mary Margaret responded, patting Emma’s shoulder reassuringly. “His body is just trying to heal itself.”

“Sometimes people don’t recover from smoke inhalation,” Emma whimpered.

“Killian will,” Mary Margaret said firmly. “You have to believe that, Emma. You have to have faith and stay hopeful.”

“I know. I’m trying. I just need to see him.”

Mary Margaret handed her one of the bottles of water. “Drink this. Oh, and I bought this for you. too,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her cardigan sweater and pulling out a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. “Chocolate and peanut butter makes everything better.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but accepted the candy appreciatively.

*********

Ten long minutes later, an orderly came to guide them to Killian’s room, which was right across the hall from the nurses station, giving Emma confidence that he would receive prompt attention. The orderly pushed the door open and held it so Mary Margaret could wheel Emma through it. Killian lay propped up in the bed, his dark hair in stark contrast to the white pillow. The heart monitor beeped softly and oxygen hissed.

Emma brought a hand to her mouth to catch the sob trying to escape. He was so pale and still, it nearly broke her heart. Her Killian was vibrant and energetic, always grinning and laughing. She had trouble reconciling the fact that this man in the bed with an IV dripping into his hand, was the man she loved. Even though their jobs could be dangerous, she never allowed herself to imagine such a scenario.

Mary Margaret pushed her to the side of the bed. “Talk to him, Emma. Even though he’s sleeping, his subconscious may still hear you.”

Emma took his hand between her own, stroking it lovingly. “Hi, Babe. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. The doctor says you need your sleep because your body is trying to heal, but I really need to see those gorgeous eyes I love so much, so hurry up and heal.”

Pulling his hand up, she pressed a kiss to the back, a tear dripping onto it, too. She glanced up at Mary Margaret, who offered her a small smile.

“We all want you to get better very soon, Killian,” she said. “We love you.”

They sat quietly beside his bed for almost twenty minutes, before Emma said, “You don’t have to stay, Mary Margaret. I’m going to try to get some sleep. I think everything is beginning to catch up with me.”

“Okay. I’ll send you a message when I hear from David. I’m sure he’ll want to stop in when his shift is over to check on both of you. Do you want me to help you get changed before I leave?” She brought over the set of scrubs one of the nurses provided for Emma.

“Thanks, but I think I’m going to have to learn to manage by myself. At least until Killian…” Her voice cut off as she looked over at the still form of her boyfriend.

“I know,” Mary Margaret said, “but you’re thoroughly exhausted right now. Why don’t you let me help so you can get to sleep sooner?”

Emma sighed. “Okay, I would actually appreciate that.”

*********

Even though she was completely drained, Emma found it almost impossible to sleep. Nurses came in frequently to take Killian’s vital signs, her ankle throbbed, and it was difficult to get comfortable because of the cast. Most of all, she couldn’t keep from worrying about Killian, wondering how long it would take him to recover, and trying not to let her mind wander to the possibility that he wouldn’t.

Finally giving up on sleep, she slipped from the recliner and stood at his bedside. Bending over him, she pressed kisses to his forehead, eyelids and temple, then whispered in his ear, “I love you, Killian. Please at least let me know you can hear me. Squeeze my hand, or open your eyes - anything.”

She waited expectantly, the seconds ticking by slowly as he remained completely still. Pulling a chair closer, she sat down and rested her head on the bed beside his right hand. “You have to get through this,” she said in a broken voice. “You promised you would never leave me.”

Minutes later, she gave into her exhaustion and fell asleep.

*********

Emma awoke with a start when Dr. Whale arrived mid-morning to examine Killian. “I’m sorry, Ms. Swan. I didn’t mean to startle you. How are you feeling?”

She didn’t answer him for several moments, too busy looking intently at Killian to see if he had woken up yet. He remained still, though she had heard him cough periodically throughout the night.

“I’ll be fine when I know Killian is fine,” she finally answered.

“Well, let’s see how he’s doing then,” Whale said, stepping up to the other side of the bed to check the monitor for the data the nurses entered over the last several hours. “His vitals look good and it says his cough is productive.” He listened to Killian’s lungs and heart, and checked the reaction of his pupils. “His breathing doesn’t sound quite as raspy, so we’ll hold off on the bronchoscopy for now.”

“When is he going to wake up?” Emma asked.

“Should be any time,” Whale assured her. “When a body has been through trauma, sometimes sleep is the way to give itself a break, until it’s a little stronger.”

“Would you say he’s out of the woods?”

Whale gripped the ends of his stethoscope and rocked back on his heels. “As a firefighter, you’re well aware of the hazards of smoke inhalation. It can lead to pneumonia and other problems with the lungs or heart. We’ll continue to monitor him and test his blood, but right now, we just have to wait and see.”

Emma inhaled sharply. She wasn’t surprised by the answer, but she had been hoping to hear him say he was certain Killian would be alright.

Whale walked over to pat her on the shoulder. “Try not to think the worst. He’s young and in good shape. Those are factors in his favor.”

He left the room and Emma slumped down in the chair. As much as she wanted to hold onto the doctor’s positivity, it was difficult to keep the what ifs from creeping into her thoughts.

She took Killian’s hand into hers, and was tracing the back of it with her thumb, when she felt a slight squeeze. Her eyes shot up to look at his face, but his eyes were still closed. “Do it again, Killian,” she whispered, and was rewarded with a harder squeeze.

Tears blurred her vision and she used her free hand to wipe them away, just in time to see his eyelids flutter open. Pushing herself up to balance on her good foot, she leaned over him. “Hey, Babe,” she said, her voice choked with emotion.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely.

She could barely hear the words over the hiss of the oxygen and through the mask, but they were music to her ears. Pressing kisses to the areas of his face not covered by the oxygen mask, she couldn’t stop her tears. Pulling back a little, she commanded, “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

“So demanding,” he said, grinning slightly.

“And you love me for it,” she giggled.

“I do.” He was unable to say anything else because he began coughing. When it ceased, he brought his left hand up to rub at his chest.

“Are you in any pain?” Emma asked, concern etched in her face.

He shook his head, but she could tell by the sound of his voice his throat was raw. She was sure his chest probably hurt, considering the smoke he breathed in and all the coughing he’d done.

Without thinking, she put some weight on her left foot and grimaced with the sharp pain that shot through it. Killian noticed, his brows furrowing. “You hurt?” he whispered.

She sighed, aggravated at herself for causing him to worry. “Just a broken ankle. Nothing too major.” Her fingers smoothed across the creases in his forehead. “It’s really a good thing, because now we can recover together.”

He started coughing again, gasping for air between each bout. Emma stood by, wondering what she could do to help. A nurse entered the room, approaching the bed quickly. Emma noticed her name badge identified her as Ariel.

When his coughing subsided, he opened his watery eyes. “Ah, looks like someone decided to wake up,” Ariel commented. “Would you like a few sips of water, Mr. Jones?”

He nodded, appreciation in his eyes. The nurse left the room, returning soon with a pitcher and plastic cup. She filled the cup half full of water and added a straw.

“May I help?” Emma asked.

Without hesitating, Ariel handed the cup to her and lifted the oxygen mask. Emma held the straw to Killian’s mouth and he took it between his lips eagerly. “Slowly,” the nurse reminded him.

After taking several small sips, he released the straw. “Thanks,” he rasped.

“Feel better?” Emma asked, setting the cup on the tray table.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, then tried to clear his throat, but ended up coughing again.

Ariel did a quick check of his vital signs and entered them into the computer. “It’s going to take some time to clear everything out of your lungs and throat,” she said. “Coughing is actually a good thing to help get it all out.”

“It’s wearing you out though, isn’t it, Babe?” Emma asked him, receiving a nod of confirmation.

“Better get some rest in between your coughing spells, then,” Ariel instructed. “Do you need anything else?” When he shook his head, she added, “Alright then, just push the call button if you need me.”

She left the room, letting the door close behind her. Emma sat back down in the chair, keeping her eyes on her boyfriend as if she was afraid he would disappear. His eyes were closed again, his dark lashes in contrast to his pale skin.

She laid her head on the bed against his hip and felt his hand move to rest against the top of it, his fingers tangling in her hair. “I love you so much, Killian, and I need you. Don’t leave me, okay?”

“I won’t,” he croaked. Very soon, they were both asleep.

*********

Killian remained hospitalized for another three days and Emma barely left his side. David, Will and Regina stopped in to visit, as did Mary Margaret, who tried to convince Emma to go home and get some sleep. She refused, stating it was too much trouble getting around with her leg in a cast. What she didn’t admit to her sister-in-law was her fear that if she left Killian, something bad would happen to him while she was gone.

She was still fearful that he could die, despite Dr. Whale telling her he was steadily improving. Every time she managed to drift off to sleep, she would suddenly jerk awake, heart racing. She could only relax once she determined he was still breathing.

He was discharged with a tank of supplemental oxygen and a list of care instructions. By that time, Emma was getting around fairly well on her crutches and insisted she could take care of him by herself. David drove them home, where Mary Margaret was waiting with a casserole. The married couple departed once they helped Emma and Killian into their apartment and made sure they had everything they needed.

They spent the rest of the day sitting on opposite ends of the couch, binge watching a show on Netflix. Whenever Killian tried to start a conversation, Emma would answer him curtly, then turn her full attention back to the television.

When they went to bed, he expected her to snuggle up against him like she always did, but she stayed on her side with enough distance between them to fit another person. He turned onto his side and encouraged her to move closer, but she explained that her ankle was hurting and she didn’t want to accidentally hit him with her cast.

This went on for two days, and by the morning of the third day, he’d had enough.

After breakfast, Killian dropped down onto the couch and tugged Emma down beside him. He nuzzled into her neck, leaving small kisses there.

“None of that, now,” she said flatly. “You’re still recovering.”

“I think I remember the doctor saying sex will help with that,” he murmured, his voice still rough and scratchy.

She lightly elbowed him, trying not to smile. “Nice try. When you can make it through a whole night without coughing, then we’ll talk about it.”

“Talking isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Have you forgotten I also have a damn cast on my leg?”

“We’ll just have to get creative,” he smirked. “We might find a position we haven’t…” His words were cut off by a bout of coughing.

“See?” she said, once it subsided. “You’re proving my point.”

He flopped back onto the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. “You’re killing me, Swan.”

When Emma didn’t respond, he uncovered his eyes to look at her. She was turned away from him, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

“Are you okay, Love?” he asked, gently pulling on her shoulder to turn her toward him.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face was pale. “Don’t even joke about being k-killed,” she muttered. “It’s not funny, especially when I almost lost you.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I said that.”

After just a few seconds, she pushed herself away from him and picked up her crutches. “I should, um, I need to…”

“Hey,” he interrupted, grabbing her hand to keep her from standing up. “Don’t brush this off. Talk to me.”

She swallowed hard, not looking at him. He patiently waited, figuring she needed time to process what was on her mind. Finally, she cleared her throat. “You promised you would never leave me.”

“And I won’t.”

“But you almost did. When I saw you laying in that office, barely conscious, I realized I could be alone again. I…you know how hard it was for me to let you into my heart. If something happens to you, it’s going to shatter into a million pieces.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Her eyes shot up to look at him. “You don’t know that for a fact.”

“No, but you could walk out the door tomorrow and get hit by a bus.” She rolled her eyes and started to speak. “All I’m saying,” he cut in quickly, “is that we don’t know what the future holds, but we can’t live our lives in fear of losing each other. It’s a risk to love someone, but it’s worth it. At least, I think it is.” He paused to cough and take a drink of water. “If it’s a choice between loving you or playing it safe, I’ll choose loving you every day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

She didn’t respond, but he could tell she was thinking by the way she kept dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. “Emma,” he asked quietly, taking her other hand, “is our love worth the risk for you?” He hardly dared to breathe, afraid of her answer. Before the fire, he was sure of her love for him and her commitment to their relationship. Now, he questioned whether she would truly be able to move past her fear of being abandoned yet again.

“Yeah,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on their intertwined fingers. “I know you would never leave me willingly, and I don’t…I don’t want to do that to you. Just,” she raised her eyes to meet his, “promise you’ll be careful.”

He enveloped her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. “You have my word. I love you and will do everything in my power to stay with you. Will you do the same?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I love you, too.”

“I’ve missed having you in my arms,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting,” she apologized.

“Shh, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve been pulling away when you needed me the most. I’ve been a terrible girlfriend.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Love,” he soothed. “You were dealing with a lot.”

“That’s no excuse. I’m supposed to be with you in sickness and in health.”

He chuckled into her hair. “Those are wedding vows. We didn’t get married while I was asleep, did we?”

She sat up and looked at him. “Would that be so bad?”

The look on her face was one of uncertainty, even though he had been teasing. “What? Being married?” he asked, his brow lifting high on his forehead.

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve never really talked about it seriously. Is that…do you ever see that for us?”

He shifted in his seat so he could look directly into her eyes, wanting to prove his sincerity. “Emma, I want nothing more than to be with you for the rest of my life, so of course I see us getting married someday,” he said, kissing her forehead. “But since I’m not prepared to propose tonight, perhaps we can find another way to express our commitment to each other.”

He leaned forward to kiss her, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest. “The doctor said you were supposed to take it easy.”

“He also said I could resume normal activities as long as they weren’t too strenuous.”

She arched a brow at him. “And you don’t think having sex is strenuous?”

“Not if I let you do all the work,” he grinned.

“Have you forgotten I have a broken bone? That’s gonna make it even more challenging.”

“You know I love a challenge.” When she continued to glower at him, he added, “Emma, I’m fine. Dr. Whale said I could have a cough for several weeks. Do you really want to wait that long to make love again?” He tried, and failed, to stifle another cough.

She hesitated and he nuzzled his nose behind her ear. “I miss you, Love. I promise I’ll take it slow and if I feel any discomfort, I’ll stop.”

“So there’s a possibility you’ll get me all worked up, then leave me unfulfilled?”

“Oh, I would never leave you unfulfilled, my love,” he murmured into her ear. “Have you forgotten that I know plenty of ways to pleasure you?”

He could feel her shiver at the combination of his words and his tongue tracing the shell of her ear, and knew she was about to give in.

Turning her head, her mouth found his. “Fine,” she mumbled, between kisses. “You win.”

“I think you’ll find we will both win,” he grinned.

She laughed as he pushed himself up from the sofa, then reached down to pull her up beside him. “I need my crutches,” she said.

“Not when I’m around.” Killian wrapped his arm firmly around her waist and began moving toward the bedroom, Emma hopping along beside him.

They quickly divested of their clothes and slipped into bed, their hands already beginning to roam over bare skin before they even laid down. It had been less than a week since they were intimate, but it seemed much longer with all that had happened.

Soon, Emma was on her back, writhing with desire, while Killian hovered over her, sucking small marks into her breasts and rutting against her wet heat. “Are you ready, Love?” he asked.

Her glazed eyes tried to focus on him. “Yeah. Are you alright?”

He slowly pushed his cock inside her, before asking, “Does it feel like I’m alright?”

“Fuck, yes,” she moaned.

He chuckled as he leaned down onto his elbows, licking and kissing the sensitive areas on her throat. Her right leg hitched up over his hip and he heard her huff of annoyance that she couldn’t do the same with her left.

“Move, Killian,” she groaned. He obliged, repeatedly pulling back, then pushing in a little deeper each time, adding a grind of his pelvis against hers. He could tell that he wasn’t at full strength and wanted to bring her to climax as soon as possible, even though he hated for it to end too quickly.

Moving his hand down between them, he found her clit and began rubbing small circles over it. Her leg tightened over his back, as her walls tightened around his cock. He doubled his efforts and got the desired response almost immediately.

She cried out his name as she came, her body jerking against his. He thrust into her a few more times, then joined her in bliss. Collapsing on top of her, he coughed deeply a few times. She started to try to wriggle out from under him, but he wrapped his arms around her to keep her in place.

“I’m fine, Love,” he assured her, his voice raspy and his breathing heavy. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help it,” she replied. “I told you that you shouldn’t overdo it.”

He kissed her cheek. “I didn’t, I promise.” Feeling her body relax a bit, he laid his head on her shoulder, relishing having her nude form pressed against him. “I love you so much, Emma.”

“I love you, too, and I always will.”

Raking his fingers through her hair, he said, “We have a lifetime together, Emma. I have no doubt we’re going to grow old and gray with each other.”

“Well, I may grow old, but my beautician will make sure that my hair doesn’t turn gray.”

He laughed. “I hope you don’t mind if I do. I don’t intend to prevent it from happening.”

She played with the long strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “I think you’ll make a very sexy silver fox, Babe. I just hope I get to see you that way.”

Raising himself up to look at her, he said solemnly, “I told you, Love. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave you.”

She framed his beloved face with her hands. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she said softly. Then she sealed that promise with a kiss.

*********

Both of them were granted two months off from their jobs to recuperate, and despite the circumstances, they savored all the time they had together. Killian had respiratory therapy twice a week and Emma worked out the best she could at the apartment’s fitness center nearly every day, not wanting to lose the muscle tone and strength necessary for her job.

One evening, almost two weeks after the accident, Killian was in the kitchen getting himself a bottle of water, while Emma scrolled through their watchlist on Hulu. “Can I bring you anything, Savior?” he called.

“Dammit, Jones!” she retorted. “You know I hate it when Scarlet calls me that. I don’t need you to start doing it, too!”

He peeked around the corner and smirked when he saw her glaring at him. “You did save my life, though. That makes you my savior.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she huffed, “You can call me Swan, Love, Emma, whatever, but please don’t call me Savior.”

“How would you feel about me calling you Mrs. Jones?” he asked, stepping fully into the living room to see her reaction.

Her eyes grew wide and darted from the televison to land on him. “Wh-what do you…are you…are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Aye, Love,” he answered softly, pulling a ring box from behind his back and kneeling in front of her. “I already call you my lover, my best friend and my life. Will you marry me so I can call you my wife?”

“I should say no since you just made a terrible rhyme.”

One of his brows shot up. “I did?”

“Yes,” she giggled, “but I don’t care. I’ll marry you anyway!”

“Truly?”

“Yes, truly. Now, let me see the ring.”

He grinned and flipped the lid open, revealing a square cut diamond with two small rubies set into the twisted, white gold band on either side of it.

Emma gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth. “Oh, Killian! It’s…it’s too much!”

“Nothing is too much for the love of my life,” he responded, taking out the ring and putting the box aside. “May I?”

She nodded and held out her trembling hand, watching as he carefully slid it onto her fourth finger. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. “How did you know what size to get?”

“Mary Margaret told me you wear a half-size smaller than her.”

“So David and Mary Margaret know you were planning to ask me?”

“I asked David for his blessing.”

“You’re so old-fashioned,” she laughed.

“Call me whatever you like, Swan, as long as you promise to call me your husband someday soon.”

Emma threw her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. “I can hardly wait to keep that promise,” she said, before kissing the man she could now call her fiancé.

*********

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