Killian wipes the sweat off his forehead with a glance out of the open window. The sun is blinding him, burning the exposed skin of his right arm where he sits at his desk. Papers are scattered everywhere, and he knows that somewhere beneath all of it, his phone is hiding, but it is Saturday and he finds no motivation to look for it.

Yes, he sat down to work on some contracts that he should have finished the night before, but this suffocating heat and the dull music drumming from the apartment above do nothing to spur him on. He reaches out for his glass of water, only to find it empty. Groaning, he decides to end his own torment, and pushes himself away from his desk. There is always later. Or Sunday night.

Placing the empty glass next to the sink, Killian leans out of his kitchen window, his skin immediately soaking up the sun's radiating heat. The street below is busy, and he chuckles when he sees the guy from across the street sunbathing on his fire escape – naked as usual. Nothing ever seems to change around here, and while this particular sight is one he could gladly deal without, it belongs to this place like the toilet that only flushes at the third try and the ugly green tiles that line the kitchen wall.

Never consciously making the decision, Killian strides over towards the door, stuffing his sunglasses into his jeans pocket as he slips on his shoes. He needs fresh air, and he needs to clear his head. Perhaps a walk down to the marina will help – it usually did. The breeze of the ocean would cool him down, the scent of salt and the song of the seagulls the most peaceful thing he can picture. Grabbing his keys, he steps out into the hallway, and shuts the door behind him.

"Shit!" The muttered curse is the first thing he hears, and when he looks up from the ugly midnight blue carpeted floor, he sees the source. The woman who has lived next door to him for the past year is cursing at her keys, which, having dropped to the floor, are terribly out of her reach. Her yellow dress does little to hide how very pregnant she is, and Killian quickly walks towards her to help.

"Let me do that," he offers, bending over to pick up the keys. The woman – she has never changed the small piece of paper on her door, which makes everyone believe Mr. Dillingham is still living there, so Killian has never found out her name – smiles at him as she takes her keys from him.

Something about her smile is wrong, and he wonders what it could be. It seems pressed and barely genuine, and she avoids his gaze as she mutters a quick thanks.

When she had moved in, he had only seen her a few times, mostly in the morning on his way to work. Their paths would cross at the green doors of the elevator, and while they never talked much past hello and have a nice day, he had found himself growing quite fond of their occasional meetings. Now that he thinks about it, he can not pinpoint when they had stopped seeing each other.

The sight of her stomach surprises him, though, and he knows he has not seen her in quite a while. He had known that she is pregnant, but the last time he has seen her, she could easily have picked up her keys on her own.

"Are you on your way down?" he asks, suddenly unsure how to act around her. She is lovely, always has been. Pale skin and long, blonde curls and a smile that could light up the world on a rainy day. Now, she looks exhausted, dark circles around her eyes and the way she presses her hand against the small of her back, he figures she is also in pain.

"Yeah," she replies, fumbling nervously with her keys. He recalls a certain tension between them whenever they were alone in the small elevator, but the awkward silence now takes him by surprise. His eyes flicker towards her door, but no, Mr. Dillingham's name is still there.

"So am I. Can I walk you down?" Killian offers politely, giving her his most genuine smile. The air in the hallway is warm and stuffy, and he craves fresh air now more than ever.

"Sure," she says with a small shrug, and he keeps the smile etched onto his face as they make their way towards the elevator. He has to slow down after a few steps when he realizes it would take her a while longer, and he wonders who the baby's father is, and where he is. She could not be far away from delivery, and he has never seen any guy around her place.

She deftly pushes the button on the elevator, and the sickly green doors rattle open. He waves his hand in a polite motion, and she smiles, walking past him into the elevator. Her hair is in a loose braid, and the rose tint of her cheeks almost makes her look healthy and well rested. She leans against the plain wall of the elevator as he steps in.

"Congrats, by the way," he says as the doors rattle closed, waving awkwardly with his hand towards her belly. She chuckles, and the sound eases his discomfort somewhat. He has no clue what to say, and it seems she doe not, either.

"Thanks," she says, her hand resting on the flowery pattern of her dress. He remembers different meetings like this, when she had shrugged into a worn red leather jacket on her way to the elevator, heavy boots echoing in the hallway. She seems different now, almost younger, and he eyes her with curiosity.

"Where are you off to?" she asks, and the question takes him off guard. He realizes that he has been staring at her – probably looking like a complete creep, great – and he stutters before finally forming a response.

"Down to the marina. Need some fresh air. It's so bloody hot." As if to prove a point, he wipes his hand across his forehead again, the air in the elevator almost unbearably hot. He suddenly feels very silly and unsure, but the smile she gives him in response lights him up even more than the prospect of the salty smell and gentle breeze of the sea.

"Too hot, if you ask me. Have you seen the naked guy across the street?" she asks him with a laugh, still cradling her belly, absentmindedly drawing delicate patterns against the fabric of her dress, and it is an intriguing sight. It takes him a lot of effort to draw his eyes back to hers – impossibly deep and green – but he laughs at her words and she believes him, he can see it in her eyes.

"That guy is a legend around here, trust me. It's the same every year," he explains, turning towards her fully, only a few feet between them in the small space.

"How long have you-" she begins to say, but her words are cut off abruptly when the elevator stops moving with a rough shake and a sound that causes the small hair on the base of Killian's skull to stand.

It takes him a moment to figure out what has happened, to catch his breath and regain control, adrenaline rushing through his veins. However, the realization of what has happened does not offer much comfort.

"Damn it, are we stuck?" she asks with panic clear in her voice, and his brain is working so fast he can barely form words.

"I think we are."