Hello, everybody, I'm back with another story! I promised it would be here before the show returns from hiatus, and here it is; Killian's profession was of course inspired by "The Words" video, and everything else just happened the way all my fics do. Without further ado, on with the story.

Emma Swan wakes up when her alarm goes off, her heart beating too fast for comfort, slamming painfully against her ribcage as the darkness presses in on her from all sides. She blinks a few times, pushes her hair away from her face with her fingers and tries to take even, slow breaths until her pulse returns to normal, then turns her face toward the window and lets the weak warmth of the sun she feels on her skin brighten up her morning.

Shadows retreat from her mind and the last remnants of the nightmare disappear as she makes her way to the bathroom, her hand trailing along the wall because she doesn't trust herself not to run into it when she's this sleepy.

It is only as she's washing her face and trying to calculate how long has it been since the day she woke up in the hospital after the accident that hasn't haunted her dreams in a long time that she realizes what day it is.

"Happy Birthday to you", she says softly and slides her hand along the edge of the sink until she finds her hairbrush, then busies herself with untangling her long hair instead of thinking about the things she'd rather not think about.

Breakfast consists of eating two pieces of toast with marmalade standing next to the counter in the barely used kitchen, the guy on the radio chattering in the background even though it doesn't really register with Emma what he's saying; he's just there to fill the silence, but today Emma finds his voice extremely annoying.

Another alarm rings when it's time to leave her apartment and Emma scrambles into the hallway, carefully applying mascara and slipping her phone into her bag before she shrugs on her coat and takes her cane from the hook by the door, taking a steadying breath as she opens the door.

Her apartment is the only place where she feels safe because it's the only place where she's absolutely certain of her surroundings, and therefore, of herself.

The old ratty elevator takes forever to reach her floor so Emma descends the stairs as she does every morning, counting them unconsciously and reaching the bottom without really remembering the trip. She exits her building and turns left, leading with her cane and listening to the noise of the city as it wakes up.

She passes the bakery, the clothes store and a bank, then waits at a stoplight and continues on for two blocks before she turns left and passes a flower shop she'd never entered even though her nose tempts her every time she's near it.

Maybe today is the day she goes in, but first she needs to get through another work day and she feels her heart sink in her chest the closer she gets to the City Hall building.

The worst thing is, she should be happy that she even has a job in this economy, much less one that is so easy; she's tasked with transcribing City meetings which take place every Monday, and since four days is a ridiculously long time to get through six hours of a recording and type up what people have said, she ends up spending at least two days a week with nothing to do.

When Emma reaches the office Elsa is already there, tinkering with the radiator again if her mutterings are any indication.

"Morning", Emma greets her and Elsa shrieks a little, a vague image of her colleague pressing her hand to her chest forming in Emma's mind.

"How do you always manage to sneak up on me?" Elsa asks and plops down in her chair while Emma hangs her coat and turns on her computer.

"You just don't pay attention to your surroundings", Emma tells her and she would bet anything that Elsa is sticking her tongue at her.

"I love to live dangerously", Elsa tells her and Emma smiles wryly because they both know that you don't have a choice but live like that when you're blind; just stepping out of your door with nothing but your cane and ears to guide you can prove fatal.

"As we all know", Emma says, and for a moment she thinks she might tell Elsa that today is her birthday, maybe ask her if she'd like to have a drink or cake after work, but at the last moment decides against it.

It's not that she doesn't like Elsa; they've been working together for a few years and they get along fine, but they never hang out after work and Emma can't bring herself to ask if they could because she doesn't want to make their working relationship suffer in case Elsa rejects her offer.

The memories of Lily and her lies still hurt and Emma touches the buttercup tattoo on her wrist, then welcomes the distraction of Walsh when he comes in with the coffee.

"Good morning, ladies", he says and Elsa chuckles, Walsh's hand brushing Emma's when he hands her the cup. "I drew you a heart in the foam."

"What did you draw me?" Elsa asks in a pouty voice as Emma thanks Walsh, trying not to appear flirty in any way, shape or form.

He's a nice enough guy, but she is not interested in romance, much less at a workplace.

"You get a beautiful leaf", Walsh says and quickly retreats from the office, the door clicking shut behind him.

Emma breathes a sigh of relief because today is probably not the day he gathers the courage to ask her out, so she still has enough time to come up with a way to let him down gently.

"He's got it so bad for you", Elsa says and Emma can hear a smile in her voice, so she doesn't tell her that she'd rather he didn't.

After all, the bitches from administration have told her enough times how lucky she is that somebody as dreamy as Walsh has a crush on her, the contempt in their voices clearly relaying their jealousy.

As far as Emma is concerned, they can go ahead and take him.

She is fine on her own.

Killian Jones is up a few hours before the dawn, throws on a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt before he puts on his prosthetic hand and grabs an axe, the chill in the air quickly forgotten as he chops enough wood to last him for a few days.

His body is awake by the time he's finished and even though his stump aches, Killian relishes the fact that he is able to do this on his own, telling himself that there's nothing he cannot do to combat the memory of lying in a hospital bed and stop himself from remembering how it had felt to lose everything.

The silence is deafening, the nature around him still asleep, and he busies himself with loading the paint bucket with wood and carrying it to the back door.

Killian skips breakfast in favor of showering and loads a few crates of flowers on the back of his truck just as the sun is rising, barely lighting up the pale sky.

Winter is quickly approaching and he wishes he could just hibernate until spring because even with the hothouses he had built on his property, the short days are somewhat empty and make him feel depressed.

He would never admit that he's lonely, but he supposes he must be when the only human contact he gets is with the people who come to buy his flowers.

The ride into town goes by quickly because he's learned to time it with the lull in traffic and by 7:30 the door of his shop is opened and he's sorting through the morning delivery.

It's impossible for him to grow all his flowers but he often catches himself daydreaming of finding somebody to help him so that he can try, but he knows some dreams aren't meant to come true and focuses on the task at hand.

At 7:50 on the dot he looks up and watches the golden-haired girl walk by, her steps sure despite the white cane in her hand, her head canting a little and her shoulders lifting as she inhales.

It makes him smile, and he wonders if today is the day she finally comes in, but she continues on and he does his best to ignore the stab of disappointment in his gut.

He wants to go to the doorway and watch her, just to make sure she makes it to the Hall safely, but he gets the feeling that she wouldn't like that if she knew, so he doesn't give into the temptation.

Although he doesn't even know her name, Killian knows that it's been almost a year since the mystery girl moved in a few blocks from his shop, and he's beginning to worry that she is never going to come into his shop no matter how many fragrant blossoms he positions right next to the door.

"Why do you always look so pensive when she walks by?" Will asks as he struggles to get a crate through the door and Killian rolls his eyes, grabbing one corner and helping him with it.

"I am not pensive."

"Look in the mirror, mate. Your face is under the definition of pensive."

"Mind your own business, Scarlet", Killian snaps but Will just grins and goes out to his truck to get another load.

"Why don't you ever try talking to her?" Will asks just as an old lady walks in, then roars with laughter when she practically runs out.

"You're scaring away my customers."

"When was the last time you went on a date?"

"Will, I swear to God-"

"Okay, okay, I'm backing off. You're so damn touchy."

"And you're annoying", Killian tells him, deliberately giving his full attention to the bouquet he has to finish by 8:15.

"You need to get out more. Let's go down to the pub tonight and get sloshed", Will suggests enthusiastically and Killian lifts his eyebrow because they both know he's in bed by ten. "Oh come on, live a little."

"Maybe some other time", Killian says noncommittally and shifts his fake hand in a position that will allow him to hold the flowers in place as he wraps the paper around the stems.

"You have no intention of ever going anywhere other than home after work, do you?" Will asks, for once dropping the town fool act and looking at Killian steadily until he meets his gaze.

"I didn't say that."

"It's what you meant", Will says and shakes his head as he moves to the door. "If you're not careful life will pass you by and you're going to end up alone."

"I don't mind being alone", Killian says after Will had already left and stares at the flowers until he's not even seeing the colors anymore, then shakes himself and hastens to finish the bouquet.

The morning goes by slowly, just a few people coming in to browse and not a single one of them buying anything, but thankfully Killian's already got a few weddings lined up for this month so he doesn't have to worry about the money.

He closes the shop at noon and crosses the street to eat at Granny's, thumbing through the newspaper and avoiding making eye contact with the other patrons.

Granny gives him a disapproving look when she brings by his order and he dutifully puts away the paper, jumping a little when she rests her hand on his shoulder in passing.

Killian can't remember the last time somebody touched him so warmly, and Granny sometimes looks at him with such worry that he feels embarrassed for making her fuss over him; it's not her way of handling her customers, not even the regulars, so Killian must seem truly pathetic for her to channel a caring grandma.

"Alright there, Jones?" She asks and he nods with a smile that she'd have to be blind to buy, then digs into his food and tells himself once more that he's alright.

There's nothing wrong with preferring your own company.

Some people are just meant to be alone.

Review?