This is part of the Captain Swan Little Bang for 2018. This was a prompt that I found at a far too late time of night and promptly (pun intended) dropped it in Gusenitsa's inbox for her to find. She ran with it, probably while cursing me out the entire time (it *was* three am) and came up with a ficlet which you can find on FFN (Spinning Yarns Ch 102) and on Tumblr. With her permission, I came back to it and fleshed it out into this monster.

Additional thanks to ladyciaramiggles and katealexandra26 for the amazing pieces of art that are embedded within the story below! This story is far better with their input and their contributions!
Finally, thank you to the amazing spartanguard who stepped in to beta-read this for me. Any remaining mistakes should be chalked up to my stubbornness and my love of em-dashes.

"You live in the apartment next to mine and you're always blasting music while I'm trying to sleep but you've been silent for the last two days, are you all right?"

So you say you fell in love
And you're gonna get married
Raise yourself a family
How simple life can be…

Emma groaned, resisting the urge to bang her head against the headboard as the opening lyrics to another Dropkick Murphys' song blared through her condo.

At three thirty in the morning.

Jones, I'm going to kill you, she thought loudly at the wall, too tired to contemplate shouting. Again. For the third time this week.

It was Wednesday.

She got it. She did. Jones was a bartender and had the advantage of an end unit - he only had her to annoy with his late nights. For the past two years since he'd moved in, it hadn't been an issue. Emma worked nearly the same hours as he did. Bail bonds didn't exactly conform to the normal nine-to-five hours, after all.

Hell, they'd met over an out-of-order washing machine at four in the morning, both fresh off shifts and nowhere near ready for sleep.

Then last week happened. Emma had chased a skip through Boston Common and ended up sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs to the T station just after midnight, her foot facing the wrong way and the barrel of a gun aimed between her eyes. It was only the convenient timing of a train pulling into the station that saved her life and her reward was six weeks to three months of sitting behind a desk answering phone calls.

Emma wasn't sure what was going to drive her to drink first - the endless ringing of the phone in the office or her neighbor's incessant need to unwind from a night behind the bar with loud punk rock.

At least she liked the punk rock. She'd been to Jones's bar often enough, a run-down attempt at a honky tonk in the middle of downtown Boston. The drinks were good and the likelihood that she'd run into one of her colleagues was small. And the Jones brothers were easy to look at, not that she'd admit that aloud, and there was just something about them - about Killian - that kept her going back to the little hole in the wall.

But, oh God, the country music.

Emma didn't know how he did it every shift.

Resigned to not sleeping in her bed if she wanted to get up with the alarm at seven, Emma grabbed her pillow and cell phone and limped down the stairs, ignoring the mandatory crutches. She could still hear the echoes of the album Blackout as she settled down on the lumpy couch cushions, but at least it was more white noise than Irish punk at this distance.

And so it continued.

The albums, the time they started up, the artists - they all changed. But one thing didn't.

The volume.

If Emma hadn't spoken to Jones on several occasions - whether yelling through the wall or more civilized conversations at the bar or the laundry bank in the shared basement - she'd think he was deaf.

But Emma started to get used to it.

She found herself humming along in bed after being rudely awoken, allowing the harsh music to ease her back into sleep. There were some bands she liked better than others, some songs (she'd never tell Jones) that she downloaded and listened to in between phone calls at work.

It was almost nice.

Even if she'd be a lot happier once her shifts switched back to nights and she could enjoy the nightly concerts.

Tonight was not that night.

And whack Fol-De-Dah now dance to your partner
Welt the floor, your trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan's wake

"Jones!" she shouted at the wall, trying to interrupt the sounds of singing that belted over the same album from the past few nights.

He didn't even pause.

She'd had enough. Her ankle hurt, her calf was itchy, and she'd managed to lose her footing on the rough sidewalk that afternoon, accidentally stepping down on the base of the walking boot she wasn't supposed to put weight on yet - right into an ankle-deep puddle of water. The padding was still soaked.

Fuming, Emma grabbed her crutches from the floor and made her way down the stairs and out the door before she could second-guess herself. She was going to put a stop to this. Jones didn't know what he was in for, stirring up the bees' nest with the incessant pounding and the goddamned bagpipes in almost every song. She was going to bang on the door until he opened up and she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

She was going to-

"Swan?"

Emma looked up, startled to see Jones already opening the door.

"Are you all right? What happened? Come in. Here, come sit down, get off your feet," he ordered, ushering her inside. He asked again, "Are you all right?"

All without letting her breathe or start yelling.

Emma found herself sitting on his couch (which was much more comfortable than hers) with a pillow behind her back and his hands under her calf to carefully (God he's so gentle) lift her broken ankle up onto another cushion.

"What are you do-"

But he was off again, hurrying over to his sound system and turning down the music so it was barely noticeable (thank God) before turning back to her. "What happened?" he asked again.

"You're repeating yourself, Jones," she snarked at him, not sure what to do with his concern.

He shook his head, picking up her crutches and leaning them against the back of the couch. "Did you need something?" he finally asked, looking for all the world like he'd just remembered that they weren't friends and this - her coming to his door at three in the morning, crutches or not - wasn't normal .

"To sleep," she muttered, fiddling with the top of the walking boot.

Jones shook his head, not understanding.

"Didn't you just get home from wor…" he trailed off. "Of course not, you're hurt. Did this just happen?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Two weeks ago. Have you not heard me shouting through the wall?"

He shook his head, the tips of his ears turning a distracting shade of red. "I… I kinda zone out after work. You could probably have been standing in my living room wearing a red ball gown and shouting at me and I wouldn't have noticed. I'll try to keep it down."

"Thank you," she breathed in relief.

She should get up. She realized with a start how comfortable she'd made herself on Jones's couch when she wasn't paying attention. He was fiddling with the end of a blanket, worrying the already-frayed edge as he seemed to want to lay it over her lap.

But her crutches were all the way over there and the base of her boot and the sock she'd been wearing for a questionable number of hours were both soaked, so when he offered her a cup of tea before she went home, what was she going to do?

Not that they were friends. Or even acquaintances, really. He was just being nice and she was...

Taking advantage.

Besides, if he wanted to continue wandering around wearing that flannel shirt half unbuttoned, bobbing his head and singing under his breath to the Dropkick Murphys, and content to let her stay, Emma certainly wasn't going to complain.

She didn't realize she was falling asleep until that blanket Killian had been fidgeting with was tucked in around her shoulders and the lights were dimmed.

Emma sat up with a start, looking around wildly until she felt the strange feel of his hand on her knee. It didn't feel quite right, too much like a club, and she didn't understand why.

"You're welcome to sleep here, Swan, but I think you'd probably be more comfortable waking up in the morning in your own place?"

She nodded, surprisingly reluctantly. "I need to be up for work in a few hours," she explained, swinging her leg carefully off the couch and finding her crutches propped up in front of her.

"Will you allow me to escort you home?" There was a tinge to his cheeks that Emma thought might have been a blush.

What does he have to be nervous about?

"I live five steps to your right, Jones. I think I'll be okay."

She levered herself to standing and balanced on one leg.

"Regardless, lass, it's late and I'd feel better if I saw you safely inside. It's no trouble." He smiled disarmingly as he handed her the crutches.

Emma eyed him suspiciously, but the blush was still there and there was a sincerity in his eyes that she wasn't used to seeing anyone direct towards her.

Still, appearances and all. She sighed as if she were put out by the prospect, but nodded her head towards the door. "Just until I get inside, Jones. You're not seeing my bedroom."

The blush darkened and spread to his ears.

He wished her a speedy recovery at her door and promised to do his best to keep the music to a tolerable level.

Emma wasn't sure she believed him on that front.

And she was right. He was quiet for a few days - the music still woke her at night when he got home, but it wasn't blasting. She could hear the beat of the night's album choice but not the lyrics.

But it progressively got louder and louder.

Or are you a stranger without even a name
Forever enshrined behind some old glass pane
In an old photograph torn, tattered, and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame

She wanted to go back over there - purely to yell at him, of course, not because those few minutes that he'd taken care of her were etched indelibly into her memory - but she thought she could handle a few more weeks' interrupted sleep.

Better to be tired and cranky at work than to get used to the idea of someone caring about her.

BEEP BEEP BEEP
You're listening to WBCN, we'll be right back with…

Emma woke with a start, slamming her hand down on the snooze button and rolling back over to curl up with her pillow. She'd been having the strangest dream, about a beanstalk and a giant and Jones, dressed in the ridiculous leather get-up he'd tried to convince her was a pirate's costume - complete with a hook he'd looked frighteningly adept at using as easily as if it were his hand - last Halloween.

Jones.

She'd slept the night through, not being woken by Jones's nightly concert.

A tug of something pulled at her, but Emma was mostly just thankful that she wasn't falling back to sleep. Usually, she'd drift off again before her second alarm would send her sprinting through a shower and coffee. Hardly sparing another thought for Killian's unusual silence, Emma managed to sit down and check her email while she ate her Pop Tarts. Not wanting to wake him - though she thought it would be some form of karmic justice if she had - Emma taped a note to the window on his car door, thanking him for the quiet before she flopped into David's car so he could drop her off at work before heading to the precinct himself.

The note was still there when she got home eight long and ridiculously boring hours later.

Emma took two steps towards Jones's door before she realized what she was doing. Since his car was in the driveway, he was still home - a rarity on a weeknight when the bar should be open - but he clearly hadn't been out yet. Concern wound around her like a cold, wet blanket, but they weren't friends. They weren't even really... the smell of the blanket he'd draped over her came to mind.

They were friends, she supposed.

Regardless, Emma wasn't the type to borrow trouble, so she hobbled towards her own door and inside. There was a bottle of wine and an evening spent binge watching Netflix with her name on it.

She woke with a start at three am.

It was silent, no bagpipes or drum solos or riffs of a guitar that Emma thought was too genuine to come from speakers. Not even Jones's voice echoed through her room. Nothing, save the sounds of her own breathing.

Had the silence woken her?

Why was it so quiet next door?

Emma rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. There were a million and one reasons why it was quiet next door. A million and one reasons to shut her eyes and get a few more hours of sleep before her alarm went off.

A million and one reasons not to shrug into a hoodie and limp down the stairs to her front door. She looked out the window, determined to put her mind at ease before going back to bed. He was a grown man, it wasn't her job to-

His car was still in the driveway; the note was still taped to his window.

Something was wrong.

Emma spared a moment to grab her lock picks just in case and then made her way to Jones's front door. She knocked incessantly for a few minutes, justifying that he'd woken her up plenty of times over the last few weeks and owed her if he were merely sleeping.

He didn't answer.

The door was locked, but that didn't prove much of a hindrance to Emma, who was just glad that he didn't have a chain on the inside of the door. It was dark inside the condo and - small favors - there was no alarm panel near the door. The smell of rum teased at her nose within seconds of closing the door behind her, and worry started to creep up on her.

"Jones?" she called out into the darkness, thumbing on the flashlight app on her phone and making her way into the living room. "Killian? Are you in here?"

There was a crunch under her foot and Emma cursed loudly as she leapt back, the boot on her ankle absorbing some, but not all, of the shock of her full weight.

She'd stepped on a cell phone.

By the looks of it, the phone had been broken to bits before she'd ever come near it.

In spite of herself, Emma reached down to finger the shattered screen and the bits of plastic that had come loose from the case. Sure enough, the dead phone was cold to the touch, so it had been off for at least some time. Straightening up, she noticed the hole in the plasterboard wall that was suspiciously Android sized. Killian had clearly thrown the phone at some point, and that, combined with the increasing stink of rum, ratcheted up the worry another notch.

"Jones?" she called out, louder this time, and almost jumped at the volume of her own voice.

No answer.

She took a better look around then, noticing the smashed lamp, the upturned coffee table, the strewn-about couch cushions. Her hunch wasn't that this was the sign of a struggle, but still, it was clear that something had happened. Emma moved further into the living room, regretting the decision to leave behind a weapon just in case the reason for the violence wasn't self-inflicted.

And then she stumbled over Killian. Literally.

On her hands and knees, her boot lying helpfully across the knee she'd tripped over, Emma twisted and came nose to nose with Killian, sitting against the side of the sofa. He was stinking drunk, head lolling away from her as if he wasn't really seeing her. There was some kind of fabric clutched in his hands, resting just under his chin. His eyes were bright in the minimal light from her cell phone flashlight, suspiciously shiny and not quite focused on her.

"Killian?" Emma tried, rolling off her knees so she could sit facing him, her legs still sprawled across his.

He still didn't answer.

"Are you..." she trailed off. It was painfully clear that he wasn't okay, so she didn't bother finishing her question.

He shook his head anyway, the first sign of life Emma had witnessed since she'd broken in.

Emma stared for a minute before pushing herself to her feet and limping over to where she knew a light switch would be. In the full brightness of the overhead lights, Emma saw that the carnage wasn't just limited to overturned furniture. There was a blanket balled up in a corner, three different sweatshirts strewn across the entertainment center, and a guitar with its strings snapped and a ding out of the face abandoned under the television.

"What the hell?" she hissed, looking over at Killian.

JONES

The fabric - the shirt - that Killian had been clutching was some kind of soccer jersey, his last name stitched carefully across the shoulders.

"He's gone," Killian slurred brokenly, pulling the shirt impossibly closer and burying his nose in it. "Swan, m'brother's gone."

Emma started at her name. She'd have laid down money that he had no idea she was really there, but when he swiveled his head around to look up at her, she could tell he was seeing her.

Tears rose, unbidden, and Emma bit them back. The pure depth of emotion in his voice shocked her and clenched her heart tightly. She was sure that no one in their entire life had ever mustered that much emotion about her, given that she'd been abandoned on the side of the road as an infant.

Emma knelt down next to Killian and laid her hand hesitantly on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

She nearly fell backwards - from shock and the force of it - when Killian launched himself towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck.

Then, he started to sob.

Emma wasn't good at this. She didn't know what to do with this. She shook a little at the unexpected contact but eventually wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Killian seemed to take that as an invitation to pull her closer, and he started to cry harder.

God, he was breaking her and she'd been determined from the start not to even like him.

"What happened?" she tried.

He shrugged noncommittally, sniffling against her collarbone but not offering up any information.

"What can I do?" Emma asked helplessly. She wasn't good at this kind of thing.

Killian shrugged again, and Emma shifted so that she could sit more comfortably until he calmed down some.

It didn't take as long as she expected.

He pulled back abruptly, as if he'd just realized who he was hugging and why. "'m sorry. Didn' mean ta..."

"It's all right," Emma brushed off, moving again so she could lean back next to him, her head resting on the cushioned arm of the couch. "Can you tell me more?"

Killian shook his head before waving his arm somewhere in the vicinity of the entryway. "'S an accident. Dunno. Phone's over there. Lady tol' me that... that..."

"What lady, Jones? Who called you?"

He sighed and tried to push himself to stand. Emma wasn't prepared when he slumped back to the ground and his head fell into her lap. She expected him to dart up, to sputter or for his ears to turn as red as they had the last time she'd been in his home. He didn't. He just curled up in a ball, his lanky form taking up an impossibly small space on the carpet next to her.

"Th- 'spital," he slurred. "Th're sorry to tell me over the phone."

Emma's heart dropped into her stomach. She didn't realize when she started carding her fingers through his sweaty hair, but it seemed to calm them both down. His shoulders relaxed and his grip on the jersey - his brother's jersey, she finally figured out - going just slack enough that Emma was no longer afraid he'd tear it.

"Do you know what hospital?"

Killian shook his head against her thigh, his nose landing in the crease of her hip and staying there. "D'n care. Liam's gone."

Emma tightened her fingers in his hair in response. "I'm sorry, Killian."

He sniffled, buried his face further into her hip, and bit back a sob. "We're arguin'. 'S stupid. He was right. I's jus' too stubborn to believe him. Swan, 'e's gone and I didn' getta tell 'im he was right. That I know he wan's wha's best for me. He's always like that. Wan' m'brother, Swan. I wan' Liam."

"I know, Killian. I know you do. I'm sorry."

Emma thought he nodded before he started to snore. Trapped for the foreseeable future, Emma tried to shift into a slightly more comfortable position and lifted her phone from where it had clattered to the ground when she fell.

She dialed Mass General Hospital first.

"Hi, I'm hoping you can help me. My name is Emma... Jones. I'm trying to find my... husband's brother? Someone called to inform us of an accident, but my husband didn't take it well. Liam Jones. You have no record of a Liam Jones? Thank you."

Hang up, google the next number, repeat.

It got easier to lie to each receptionist who took her call with each new hospital she dialed. She had no real idea if Killian's brother had even been in Boston or if he'd been scouting out new product for the bar as he sometimes did, but it was all she had.

"Hi, I'm hoping you can help me," she began again, trying a hospital in southern New Hampshire with the same result.

Killian snored on, his head becoming a more familiar weight in her lap as time passed.

"My name is Emma Jones." Killian rolled over, curling around her leg and trapping her knee with his arm.

"I'm trying to find my brother-in-law." Killian's snores nearly drowned out the fifth… or was it sixth… receptionist asking for more information.

"Someone called to inform us of an accident." Emma stretched until she could snag the blanket that Killian must have thrown in his grief and tucked it around his shoulders.

"My husband didn't take it well." The light from the sunrise began to filter through the half-closed blackout curtains that Emma was sure every night owl owned.

"Liam Jones." Emma was speaking by rote at this point, unable to hope that she'd ever find him.

"Did you say Liam Jones?" a voice on the other end interrupted Emma before she could thank the woman for her time. She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it incredulously, unwilling to hope. Unwilling to think that she'd found where Liam's body was. Unsure of what she'd do next if-

"Ma'am? Are you there?" the woman asked, her voice tinny in the silent living room.

Killian shifted on his makeshift pillow, startling Emma out of the shock of her success and away from the fear of what this woman was going to tell her next.

"I'm here. Yes, Liam Jones was my... my brother-in-law."

The sound of clacking keys echoed on the other end of the line. "Oh, thank God you called back. We've been trying to reach your husband for the last two days, but only had the one phone number for him."

"He... he didn't take the news well," Emma explained defensively. "His brother was-"

"Is, ma'am. We've been trying to reach Mr. Jones to tell him that his brother is severely injured. He hung up before we could explain."

Emma's breath caught in her throat. "Liam... is alive?"

"Yes, ma'am. He needs to go back in for surgery, and we need consent from his family now that he's unable to provide it for himself. But he is alive."

Emma heard the unspoken, for now, loud and clear.

"There are risks to going back under so soon, you have to understand. But his physician believes that there is more internal bleeding than presented in the first surgery. If we don't obtain-"

Her fingers tightened in Killian's hair. "Yes, you have consent. Please, save him. Is he...? Will he be...?"

She thought Killian would forgive her for speaking for him.

"You should get your husband here as quickly as you can," the woman avoided the answer, but told Emma all she needed to know anyway. "Just in case."

Oh, God, Emma prayed. "We're on our way."

She had nearly hung up when she realized. "What... umm... which hospital is this?"

There was something of a sympathetic noise from the woman before she answered.

"Thank you. Thank you," Emma managed before hanging up the phone.

Now, the real struggle started.

Killian was passed out in her lap, no signs of life save the occasional snort when she poked at him. Emma sighed and started to shift him to the floor, hoping that he would wake on his own.

He didn't.

"All right, Jones, you want to go find your brother or not?" she muttered to his prostrate form as she limped into the kitchen. It was meticulous, not what she expected after the carnage of the living room, but it was easy enough to take the pot from the stovetop and fill it with water.

She thought she was being generous only filling it halfway.

"Last chance, Jones," Emma warned, not really expecting a response.

She didn't get one until the water splashed over him, sending him to his knees in an uproar of confused anger. He swayed a little, nearly pitching face-first back onto the carpet, but saved himself at the last minute.

"Up, Jones. I need your keys."

Killian looked at her cross-eyed, trying to discern what she was going on about, Emma was sure.

She sighed. "My car's a standard, Jones. Broken ankle, remember? David's been driving me to work. We need to go and I need your keys. You do drive an automatic, right?"

He nodded dumbly, his eyes shifting from her to the bowl resting upside down on the floor. "There?"

Emma smothered a laugh and turned over the bowl, dismayed to find nothing there. She had nearly turned towards the kitchen again to look there when she saw a loyalty tag sticking out from under the couch.

"What on earth do you shop at PetSmart for?"

He nodded towards the mantel and a ridiculous photoset of a rather dopey-looking husky. "M'brother's dog."

Emma couldn't help it. She laughed.

Killian pouted, then smiled goofily at her, poking his finger into the dimple she knew was forming. "You're pretty when you giggle. Should do it more."

She tried not to roll her eyes at him, tried not to bat his fingers away from her mouth. Instead, she laced their hands together and dragged him towards the door.

"Nooo, Swan. I can' drive," he stage-whispered to her - as if he were revealing a secret. The seriousness of what he said next was belied by the way he dragged out the syllables into a sing-song. "I'm drunk."

This time she did roll her eyes. "I'm aware, genius. I'm driving. You're coming along for the ride."

"Can't." Killian shook his head and tried to dig in his heels. He just slid along behind her, his socks slick on the linoleum in the hall. "M'brother might be coming. He said so in his text. Where's m' phone?"

Emma turned to look at him, startled. "Jones?"

The blood drained from his face so quickly, she worried Killian would collapse.

"Liam isn't coming... is he?" he asked to his socks, droplets of water falling from his hair and making her think of tears.

She shook her head, banishing the imagery. Jones had cried enough for his brother - tears of grief, anyway.

Emma wanted to tell him, then. She wanted to take the grief out of his voice, to let him know they were going to Liam's bedside. But just in case echoed in her ears and Emma couldn't bear to get his hopes up only to see them dashed on the rocks if his brother didn't make it. "Just... just come on, Killian. We need to go."

He followed dutifully, and Emma tried not to question that too hard.

"Shoes, Jones. You need shoes, for the love of... here, sit on the stairs."

She was sure David and Mary Margaret's son was less trying than this man was when he was drunk.

Killian giggled at her, goddamned giggled, and it didn't settle deep inside her, no it did not. She slipped his feet into the first pair of shoes she found, an old beat up pair of boots that had clearly been well-worn.

Thankfully, Killian managed to find his jacket on his own, slipping the leather over his shoulders. He filled out the jacket well; Emma would have had to be blind not to notice, but this wasn't the time nor the place for that. She turned to the door, intent on shepherding him to his car before he got distracted by the sunrise or the lights on the street or the dew on the grass, but needn't have worried.

Killian was concentrating on his feet, clearly making sure that he didn't stumble or trip down the stairs to the driveway.

Emma knew just what that felt like.

"Why 'rn't we taking your c'r?" Killian mumbled into the early dawn, swiping at the door handle and grunting when it didn't open for him - Emma hadn't unlocked the door yet, nor was he holding onto the actual handle, but he didn't need to know that.

She sighed.

"I drive a stick, Jones," she explained. Again.

He giggled.

She rolled her eyes, hitting the button on the key to unlock the door and snagging the handle to open it for him. "Just get in the car."

After a few missteps which made Emma's injured foot twinge in empathy, Killian managed to lever himself into the front seat and even managed to buckle his seat belt.

Small favors and all that.

They'd been on the road for nearly half an hour, early morning commuters slowing their progress, when Killian's brain finally caught up with them.

"Wher're you takin' me?" he asked, his head whipping around the car as if he could figure out the answer.

Emma figured that since he was already in the car, she could tell him. "We're going to see your brother."

There was some kind of strangled whimper from her passenger, and he reached across his body to snag her hand away from where it rested on the shifter out of habit. Emma nearly stomped on the clutch from instinct, stopping herself just in time - the pedal that she'd have pressed down would have stopped an automatic awfully fast, after all - and breathed out a sigh when the car didn't react to Killian's panic.

"No, Swan, please. Please, I can't... I can't see him like that. Not yet. Please?"

His defeated tone nearly made her turn around to take him home, nearly made her blurt everything out right there, but still she hesitated. If Liam didn't make it out of surgery… she couldn't force Killian to lose his brother twice.

She wouldn't. "Just… just trust me, Killian. Please?"

Killian rolled his head on the seat-back so he could look at her. Emma should be watching the road, but she couldn't help glancing over at him repeatedly. He was staring at her like she was some kind of magical creature that he couldn't quite comprehend. And with the amount of alcohol he'd consumed, Emma thought, maybe he couldn't understand what she was asking.

"Aye," he finally whispered, a broken syllable in the quiet of the car. Emma's fingers tightened on the steering wheel, her knuckles going white under the strain of that one word.

Killian trusted her.

She didn't know why. She couldn't remember the last time she'd asked for someone's trust like that and had it granted to her. Here was Killian Jones, her neighbor who she occasionally talked to and made sure to tip well on the nights she braved the country music and haunted his bar-top. A man who had no reason to give her the time of day, never mind trust that she wasn't trying to shatter what was left of his broken heart. And yet, he was doing just that.

"I won't let you down," she whispered into the night, noticing that their fingers were still wrapped together. She chanced a look down in between merging cars, trying to find out why he'd snagged her hand with his right.

He didn't have a left hand. She'd never noticed before.

Before she could apologize for staring, she heard a horn blaring and swerved to avoid the idiot who'd cut her off. Killian's head thumped against the window audibly and Emma cringed.

"Jones?"

No response.

"Killian?"

Nothing.

"Are you okay?"

Silence filled the car as Emma stepped down harder on the gas pedal.

There wasn't a lot that Killian Jones was sure of. He wasn't sure why his mother had passed away when she so clearly wanted to stay with him and with his brother. He wasn't sure why his father had stayed for as long as he had when he so clearly wanted to be rid of the 'little blighters' he'd been saddled with. He wasn't sure why Milah had left or why he'd lost his hand (in the metaphorical sense, not the medical one, thank you) or a number of other things that had happened in his life.

But he knew these few things with absolute certainty.

One. His brother had a stubborn streak wider than the Thames. (That probably applied to both of them.)

Two. Country music was not nearly as bad as most people made it out to be. (Even if enough was enough after eight hours.)

Three. Liam loved him with every fibre of his being, but sometimes wanted to throttle him in his sleep. (That one went both ways, too.)

And four. His neighbor, one Emma Swan, was frighteningly beautiful when she was angry, or flustered, or getting the mail. (She'd probably not appreciate that he thought that, though.)

When Killian had purchased his condo nearly a year ago, he'd been a little hesitant - the price was right for the amount of work and the commute was ideal, but his hours - and sharing a wall with someone who might not appreciate said hours - made him pause. And then he'd come home from the bar that first night, desperate to hear something a little less honky tonk and a lot more bagpipes and rock. And Emma Swan was pulling into her driveway right ahead of him. Bail bondswoman, she'd told him succinctly, and he heard her banging around the apartment for long enough to realize she wasn't going to bed any quicker than he was planning.

It all seemed that it would work out, after all.

He heard her, sometimes, singing along to the Dropkick Murphys with him. It made him smile and turn down the volume just a little, so he could hear her better.

And then she showed up at the bar, nursing swollen knuckles and a black eye with a glare that warned him away from too many questions. He hadn't been able to resist sliding a bag of ice across the bartop, nor double checking to make sure it had happened at work and not because of some wanker who'd dared to try and take advantage of her.

It had been work related and she didn't want to talk about it.

They weren't friends, per se, and other than impromptu sing-alongs through the wall, they didn't really interact outside of the bar, but that was okay, too.

Killian knew his heart still worked after how thoroughly it had shattered with Milah's death, but he wasn't quite willing to test the healing scars just yet.

The night she'd nearly broken his door down and waltzed into his constant thoughts with her crutches and her unfortunate shift of hours and her soaking wet walking boot, he'd been fighting with Liam. It was dumb and if either one of them was a little less stubborn then the fight wouldn't have even happened, but Killian wanted to put up a damn Christmas tree in the corner of the bar and Liam wanted to hang lights instead. There was no reason they couldn't do both, but the one thing the brothers agreed on was that both would be too much.

He'd opened the door when he heard something outside, hoping that it was his idiot brother coming over to talk things out, but found Emma about to knock him in the face instead. He wasn't sure what had brought her to his door, but, ever the gentleman, he'd ushered Emma inside and gotten her off her feet.

Only then did he realize that she might notice he wasn't wearing his prosthetic.

She didn't.

He didn't know what to think about that, too caught up in the realization that she'd been kept up when she should have been convalescing because of him.

Liam eventually agreed that the Christmas tree was a better idea - they'd coupled it with a charity toy drive for the Marines to keep with their country theme - and it seemed to be going well. Most of the paper ornaments had been signed on the tree and the presents were piling up as their regular patrons took the drive to heart. It made Killian smile to see the tough as nails men toting in bags of baby dolls and the women looking for a good time lugging in boxes of trucks and video games.

The toys were going to make a number of lost children, like he and Liam had been, very happy on Christmas morning.

And then he and Liam started fighting again.

It was stupid, really. It always was between the two of them when they argued. Little, unimportant things that would never have mattered in the long run and shouldn't have mattered save for the fact that they were brothers and sometimes they fought like cats and dogs just because.

One of their foster parents had suggested that it was to prove to themselves that their brother wasn't going to leave them like everyone else had, but that parent had been arrested two weeks later and the boys were sent to another home, so who knew.

It had been a few days, but Killian wasn't quite ready to forgive his brother yet. He'd ignored several text messages and voicemails, stubborn to a fault. Thankfully, Killian and Liam had been working opposite shifts that week, so it hadn't affected the bar, but it had to stop soon.

Right?

Killian stared at his phone.

Enough is enough little brother

I'm not going to back down on this

I'm coming over to talk

I don't care if I have to shout through the door

We're going to talk this out

Liam was right - in both their need to talk and in the argument. It rankled him to admit, but Killian was willing to talk - if not quite ready to apologize yet.

I'm not going to make you shout through the door

He'd waited an hour, sure that Liam was on his way.

I get it Liam

I know it's late but you don't go to bed any earlier than I

And I know I've been a right git the last few days

I've missed you brother

Bloody hell

Are you coming?

Liam?

I'm sorry all right. I get it

The silent treatment sucks

Where are you?

He tried calling, but it rang incessantly before it went to voicemail. He tried putting the phone down. He tried turning the music up. He tried shutting the music off and going to bed early. He tried not to worry.

He lasted an hour before he sent another text.

You've made your point.

Please Liam just let me know you're okay

He was just about to grab his keys to drive over to his brother's when the phone rang, startling Killian into swiping to answer before he'd even read who was calling.

"Bloody hell, you moron, I was wor-"

"Is this Killian Jones?" a voice interrupted him. A decidedly female voice.

Not his brother, then.

"Yes," he replied warily. "Who's asking?"

"Mr. Jones, I'm calling from South Shore Hospital. Is Liam Jones your brother?"

Killian swore that his heart stopped beating and then restarted with a small explosion, threatening to beat right out of his chest. "My older brother, yes."

He heard someone typing. "Your brother was brought in via ambulance earlier tonight. He was in a car accident. His medical record has you listed as his next of kin."

"No… please?"

She spoke over him, in a rush and clearly not hearing him. "I'm sorry to do this over the phone, but we need to inform you-"

No. No! No no no! Nononononono!

He didn't know what she said next, it was drowned out by the shattering of his heart and the phone screen that crashed against the wall before falling to the floor in a shower of plastic and glass.

Liam!

Killian's fingers tore through his hair, unsure of what to do with himself. Liam wasn't… he couldn't be… he'd always been there, he wasn't… he…

The end table crashed to the floor, keys flying and bowl overturning as he lashed out.

The blanket balled in his fists, the material too strong to tear with the way his fingers were shaking. He threw it across the room, unsatisfied when it flitted to the floor.

The lamp went next, smashed against the back of the couch and then thrown at the floor.

Rum. He needed rum.

Things got a little fuzzy then, the couch falling away from him as he tried to sit down, the first of several sweatshirts too hot, too confining, too fuzzy before they found their way across the room as well. He just couldn't get warm.

Each trip up the stairs towards his bedroom got longer and longer, the hallway winding around corners that hadn't been there that morning and pitching to and fro like the deck of a ship.

And then he found it.

JONES

Killian had no idea why Liam's old football kit was in his closet, stained with grass and still smelling a little rank. It didn't matter. It was there and it was in his hands and his fingers were shaking even more violently as he clutched it closer. This was his brother's. Liam had worn it when he was alive, when he was happy and they were competing in a local charity game with Boston Scores. The rum made Killian's head fuzzy, but he remembered the grin his brother had worn when Killian had scored the winning goal. He remembered the way Liam had dragged him out to the bar and didn't let him work the entire evening.

"No work for you, little brother. Tonight, we celebrate," Liam had crowed. The words echoed in his ears now, though his brother would never crow about him again.

Killian would give anything he had, everything he had, if it meant he could go out once more to celebrate with his brother.

Somehow, he made it back down the stairs. The jersey was still clutched in his prosthetic, his right hand splayed out along the wall to steady himself. He made it to the living room in one piece, grabbing the nearly-empty handle of rum along with another from the island and heading for the couch.

He didn't make it.

Alcohol spilled everywhere, soaking his jeans and the rug underneath him. Killian held Liam's jersey up over his head, lest it be touched by the rum, but didn't move to clean anything up.

He had more rum, so why bother?

Killian kept drinking, sure that the memories would stop assaulting him more quickly if he could just drown them out.

Climbing into bed the night Mama died, only to find Liam already in his pajamas and waiting under Killian's covers with his favorite book.

Looking to Liam when the policeman came to pick them up from school and took them to a group home instead of their flat.

The stunned, amazed, relieved look on Liam's face when the judge awarded him custody of his little brother.

The proud look on Liam's face when Killian graduated from high school and then from basic training.

The devastated look on his face when Killian woke up in the hospital, his entire left arm numb only moments before it was Liam who broke the news of Milah's death and then everything was numb.

The hesitant smile that blew into a full-fledged grin when they opened the doors to the bar that first evening.

Liam had always been there. Killian thought he always would be.

He'd never had to think about what it would be like to be an only child.

An orphan, alone in the world, without the safety of his big brother's presence.

Tossed about like a ship in a storm without an anchor, Killian had no defense against the grief that battered him around now. He needed a lighthouse, needed a heading.

Needed his brother.

But Liam was gone.

And there was nothing that anyone could do about it.

So Killian drank and hoped that he'd stop remembering soon.

He didn't.

Time passed as he sat there, sprawled against the back of the couch and locked in his memories, with nothing for company but the dwindling supply of rum and the deafening silence of his home. At one point, the sun's rays hit him in the face and made him cower, but Killian made no move to get up, to do anything. He didn't know what to do other than try to forget.

Liam was gone.

Liam was gone and nothing made any sense anymore.

The lights and sirens that reflected off of every surface outside the emergency room at South Shore Hospital made Emma blink, even in the early morning light. She'd had far too little sleep and far too much excitement for the last few hours, and she needed to crash.

Instead, she threw the car into the first parking spot she found and leaned over to shake Killian awake.

He didn't move.

"Jones?" Emma asked, pinching his arm before shaking him again.

Nothing.

"Killian? Hey, Jones!" she shouted, flicking his ear.

Nothing.

Emma's breath caught in her throat, her fingers shaky as she reached out to lay her hand on his chest. He was breathing, that was a start, but he wasn't responding.

"For the love of…" she bit out hotly before she trailed off, stabbing at her seatbelt and stumbling out of the driver's seat. Emma limped around the car, ignoring her crutches in the back seat and banged on the window Killian was passed out against.

Still nothing.

"I swear to God, Killian, if you die on me…" Emma locked the car and headed towards the emergency entrance, eyes peeled for the first person who looked like they might belong there.

The waiting room was packed.

Emma shoved her way to the front desk, glaring at anyone who got in her way.

"I need some goddamned help," she demanded of the woman sitting behind a computer.

The woman didn't even look up. "So does everyone else in here, get in line, please."

"My… my husband is passed out in my car, I'm not sure if he's breathing."

That got her some attention, and not just from the harried looking receptionist. The man she'd shoved out of the way took a few steps back and hugged the woman with him close. There was a flurry of activity that Emma didn't really keep track of as a nurse and two other men came around the corner at the woman's call. They were rolling a gurney and asked Emma to lead them to her husband.

God, Killian was going to get a kick out of this. Some day.

Once he'd recovered from his binge and found out that his brother was all right.

If Liam was still all right.

But the other Jones was going to have to wait a while, as Emma followed Killian's gurney into a curtained off area and then was shepherded to a more private waiting room. She'd have to play the long game - pretend to be the dutiful, worried wife for a bit - if she was going to be able to find out about Liam and then reunite the brothers.

Killian seemed to like her, but Emma wasn't sure he'd take her word for it that his brother had returned from the dead.

So she sat and filled out paperwork, surreptitiously stealing the information from Jones's wallet that an orderly had helpfully given to her for safekeeping. And when Killian was officially entered into the system and someone had told her it would be a while, but her husband would be just fine, Emma started asking questions.

Started demanding answers.

Started planting the seeds of doubt into anyone who would listen about how poorly her husband had been treated by the staff when they called to tell him of Liam's accident.

Started wondering, just loudly enough for several staff members to hear, if she could sue the hospital for the pain and suffering she and Killian were going through because of that phone call.

Anything that she could do to ensure he could see Liam as soon as possible.

A young woman led Emma to the sixth floor and the Critical Care Unit. It was quiet and yet busy, a hush over the efficient movements of each one of the staff members trying to keep their patients alive.

Emma might have admired it if she weren't so worried about what she would find. If Liam were dead, could she be the one to break Killian's heart again once he sobered up? Would he forgive her for dragging him down here only to find Liam already (still - in his head) gone?

What would have happened if she'd never broken into his home and found him like she did?

"Your brother-in-law's room is this way, Mrs. Jones," a new nurse spoke softly, her hand on Emma's elbow. "You'll only have a few minutes with him, he needs to rest, but you can see him."

Right. 'Brother-in-law'. 'Mrs. Jones'. These were things she needed to respond to.

Emma nodded mutely, biting her upper lip and hoping that she looked more worried than confused.

And she was worried. She'd met Liam once or twice in passing, had never really spoken with the man, but knew him enough to worry about him. And to worry about his younger brother, sequestered in a trauma room somewhere out of reach.

Killian would be fine, she hoped, but he needed to know about his brother. And Emma, well Emma needed to know that the news she was going to give him was hopeful.

"Don't let all the wires and machines frighten you," the nurse reminded Emma at the door to Liam's room. "It seems like a lot, but they're all there to help him. Everything that's in the room with him means that he's fighting to come back to your family."

Emma nodded, sucking in a breath before she opened the door.

She didn't know what to expect. She didn't know what to feel. Liam was lying, still, in the bed, a multitude of wires and tubes snaking around the bed and under the blankets to who knew where. Emma had seen enough medical dramas on television to realize that the fact that there was no ventilator was a good thing.

Liam was breathing on his own.

Killian might not be losing his brother today.

"Oh, Liam," she whispered, surprised at the words as much as at the true sentiment they carried. He didn't deserve this. No one did.

"The driver of the other car was drunk," the nurse whispered. "But the doctors think they got the bleeding under control this time. Your brother-in-law is definitely a stubborn one."

Emma smirked in spite of herself. "It's a family trait," she answered, thinking of the man downstairs.

The nurse laughed quietly. "I'll give you a few minutes and then I'm sure you'll want to get back to your husband."

Killian. Right.

Emma nodded, moving towards Liam's bedside and trying not to look too awkward as she took his hand in hers. He was cold.

"Your little brother is downstairs, Liam. I'm going to take good care of him for you," Emma promised, "until you can get back to him."

She thought that was what he'd want to hear.

The steady beeping of the monitors was the only sound in the room as Emma stood vigil over Liam. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, his head tilted just a little to the side as if he were looking towards the door waiting. Waiting for his brother to come to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't get him here sooner, Liam. I'll make sure they get him to you as soon as they can." Emma squeezed his fingers gently, frowning when she got no response even though she didn't expect one, and headed back towards the door.

"We'll take good care of him, Mrs. Jones, I promise."

Emma nodded hesitantly, watching Liam through the window for a moment longer, hoping that - like in the movies - he'd miraculously wake up asking for his brother.

He didn't.

"Thank you," she said to the nurse when she was back at the elevator. "I… I wasn't sure how to tell Killian if we got this far and…"

"We'll do our best to make sure Liam and his brother are-"

"Liam? Liam Jones?" another voice spoke up. A hand attached to that voice shot out before the doors could shut on the elevator and take Emma back downstairs. "You're here for Liam Jones? I've been trying to reach his brother. He hung up before I could…"

Emma bit back a satisfied grin. This woman was going to get her what she wanted. The brothers together in a room. She stepped out of the elevator and took two steps towards the young woman and glared. "You."

The woman's eyes widened at the icy tone Emma adopted. "Were you able to get ahold-"

"You," Emma repeated. "You nearly got my husband killed. How could you be so..."

Both nurses looked at each other in askance.

"Did you know that's his only family in there? Did you know how thoroughly you'd break him by telling him over the goddamned phone that his brother was dead? Did you want him to nearly drink himself to death? If I hadn't come home when I did… if I hadn't found him…" Emma broke off, covering her mouth with her fist and conjuring images of dead small animals to help bring a tear to her eye.

It was surprisingly easier than she thought.

Let them stew on that for now, Emma thought when she saw the younger woman's eyes drop to her shoes. Instead of pushing her point, Emma turned on her heel and stabbed at the 'down' button on the elevator panel.

"I could have lost him because of you."

The doors shut before either nurse could say something in response, and Emma sagged back against the wall. It took her a few minutes before she could muster up the energy to hit the button for the Emergency Room.

Downstairs, Emma was directed into a trauma bay where Killian had been hooked up to an IV of his own as well as an oxygen mask. He had been changed into a hospital gown and the hint of a sick smell that lingered in the room told Emma where his clothes had gone.

He looked small, shivering slightly under the thin blanket covering his legs.

"We had to pump your husband's stomach," a man dressed in scrubs spoke from behind her, nearly making Emma jump and whirl around. "He really shouldn't have drunk quite-"

"Some idiot in your hospital told him his brother had died instead of that he'd been in a car accident. What would you have done?" Emma wasn't going to listen to some stranger who didn't know the brothers berate her for a mistake that never should have happened.

The man sneered a little, but didn't continue his train of thought. "We'll have to admit him to monitor his condition and he'll need to speak to-"

"I want him moved to his brother's room."

"I can't-"

Emma stepped into the doctor's space. "You'll make it happen."

He hummed, but didn't agree and Emma knew her fight was just beginning. She could be patient, to a point. Then, she'd start making a fuss. Someone would cave in order to keep her calm and quiet.

Killian would wake up next to his brother or the whole hospital would have to deal with it.

Emma wasn't entirely sure why she was even still there. She'd done her duty, she'd gotten Jones to the hospital and gotten him the help that she so clearly needed. His doctor and Liam's nurses knew both brothers were in the hospital and were sure to reunite them at some point.

And yet.

And yet it was eight thirty in the morning on a Saturday and, instead of burrowing further into her blankets and sleeping until her growling stomach would no longer be ignored, Emma was hunkered down in a far-too-loud emergency room. Waiting.

She didn't understand; not really. Not when everyone she knew - even her friends - called her prickly. Not when she had herself mostly convinced that she didn't even like Killian Jones.

But that wasn't really true, either.

She saw the way he was with his brother, the way he was with the other patrons of their bar, the way he'd been with her that one night when she'd tried to ream him out for playing his music too loud. Killian Jones wasn't a bad guy; Emma might even go so far as to call him a nice guy.

And there was a part of her, in another time and place when her heart hadn't been so thoroughly stomped on in the past, that might have tried to see where things went between them. She wasn't blind. She saw his looks and the way he looked at her. If it weren't for her damn walls, then maybe…

But that was neither here nor there, and so Emma sat by Killian's side, fiddling with his keys and biding her time until they came to move him. He had a surprising number of keys, far more than were on her own keychain, and they were all carefully (she assumed) color-coded.

She wondered if he had a key to his brother's home, if it was the yellow one on the same ring as the PetSmart tag.

PetSmart.

The dog.

Goddamnit, Liam had been here for a number of days. Someone needed to go and check on the dog.

Emma stared at the keys for a few moments longer. She couldn't leave Jones - she didn't even really know where to go if she'd wanted to leave his bedside - not when he was still unconscious and still separated from Liam. But the dog couldn't take care of itself, either.

David.

David loved dogs, and he had access to files at the precinct where he could run Liam's plates or look up the accident and find out where he lived. He could stop by, use the keys Emma had been handed, and deal with feeding and maybe even walking the dog. Problem solved.

Except for one thing: how was she going to explain all of this to him?

Oh, hi David. Yes, I know it's ungodly early for me on a Saturday, but I haven't been to sleep yet. Why? Because my neighbor nearly killed himself thinking his brother was dead and I'm sitting at his bedside like a good, dutiful wife. And yes, they think I'm his wife. That's not crazy, of course it isn't. But it is why I can't just ask them for Liam's address for you. Oh, because I need you to go to my neighbor's brother's house and walk his dog. No, it's not breaking in, I have a key. I think.

Yep, David was going to love this.

Emma called him, had the same conversation she'd had in her head with him when he showed up, then sat back to wait, feeling better about the damned dopey-looking dog that she'd never even met, outside of pictures in Killian's house.

"Mrs. Jones?"

Emma was startled to realize that it was getting painfully easy to respond to that.

"I'm here to admit your husband. If you'll give us a few moments to get him settled, one of our volunteers will bring you up," a young man in scrubs explained, nodding towards an even younger woman, also in scrubs.

"I can't just follow him?"

The man shook his head. "It will take us a little bit to get him hooked up and the doctor will want to examine him first. But after that, you're free to stay with him as long as you like."

Emma nodded, needing to check in on Liam as well, to get things rolling on moving them both. She let him leave with Killian before turning to the young woman standing silently at her side.

"I'm headed back up to my brother-in-law's room. Find me there when Killian is ready."

Emma made her way back upstairs, through the secured door and past the nurses' station until she stood outside Liam's room again. She took a deep breath, watching from the doorway as Liam slept on, unaware. He looked so much like his brother at that moment, peaceful and still. Neither of them were like that at the bar, all controlled and efficient energy to keep the drinks pouring and the patrons from fighting too rowdily.

"You can go in," the nurse who'd apparently shattered Killian's world spoke quietly at Emma's elbow. "He might come around soon, especially if you're talking to him."

Well, won't that be grand? Emma thought sarcastically, now even more apprehensive about going into the room. That would go over swimmingly. Oh, hi Liam. Yes, I do actually know your name. You see, your brother is my neighbor and I'm pretending to be his wife. Why, yes, I do barely know your brother, but he knows that I like my whiskey neat and my rum on the rocks, and only drink tequila if it's been a particularly crappy day. So if you wouldn't mind pretending like you've known me for more than the last two minutes, I promise it will be worth it.

Yep, that was going to go over well.

"Thank you," Emma whispered back instead and squared her shoulders to move into the room. Appearances and all that. "I... they just moved his brother to a room for observation. It would help them both if they could wake up together. I don't know how well Killian will react if he wakes up alone."

That much was true, at least. She had no idea how Killian would react to waking up more or less sober.

The young woman nodded. "I'll see what I can do," she promised.

Emma would take it for now.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, trying not to fidget as Liam slept. She thought she'd been paying attention but when Emma felt eyes staring at her, she was surprised to look up and see Liam's owlish gaze from the bed.

"Do I-" he croaked before starting to cough. Emma helped him with the ice chips from the cup that had been waiting for him.

"Know you?" he continued.

Emma was still trying to figure out how to explain everything when Liam's head lolled to look past her and then around the room. The beeping of the monitors picked up a bit before he turned sad eyes back on her.

"You don't know my brother, do you? I thought he-"

Emma interrupted him, seeing the way his eyelids had already started to droop with sleep. "He's coming, don't worry. Killian will be here soon."

"Mrs. Jones? Your husband is settled, would you like me to show you where?"

Emma turned quickly to cut Liam off in case he spoke up his confusion, but short of a questioning glance, Liam didn't have any response for that before his eyes fell shut and didn't open again. She stood, risking a squeeze of his hand for appearances and nodded.

Outside the room, Emma found the nurse she hoped would get the Jones's together. "He woke up for a moment, I-"

"That's good! I'll get his doctor in to look at him as soon as I can. I..." she trailed off a moment. "I really am sorry about what happened when I got ahold of your husband. I convinced his doctors that he'd be better observed in the step down unit, so we had him moved there."

Emma shook her head in confusion.

"That's where we'll be moving Liam once he's been examined. It may take us a couple of hours to have him transferred, but it shouldn't be long before your husband wakes up."

Emma's eyes closed in relief. She'd done it - and without too much of a scene as well. "Thank you."

He looked peaceful. Small. Still.

Emma didn't really know what to expect when she'd been led to an actual room on another floor of the hospital to find Killian asleep in a bed, not nearly as many wires snaking out around him as were around his brother's. Thankfully.

"He'll be fine; he's very lucky," Killian's doctor pointed out needlessly, not even looking up from the chart. "We'll want to monitor him for at least 24 hours, and once he wakes up, he'll need to pass a Psych consult, but-"

"As long as he sees his brother is alive, he'll be fine," Emma avowed with a glare.

The doctor nodded and left without another word.

Which left Emma alone, with Killian, to wait. Time seemed to finally catch up to her and she was startled out of a light doze some time later to Liam's bed being locked into place next to Killian's. Liam looked somewhat groggy, but his confused gaze met and held hers while the nurses scurried around him and then left the room.

"Can I help..." Liam trailed off, his head lolling a little on the bed until he saw who his roommate was. He gasped and choked off some sort of noise, scrabbling in the blankets for a moment before he managed to get his hands underneath him and shoved his upper body off the bed. He turned tortured eyes on Emma, begging her silently to tell him it wasn't true. "Killian?"

Emma barely had a moment's notice before Liam was fumbling with the blankets, trying to swing his legs over the side of the bed and lower the railing at the same time.

"Liam!"

Alarms started to wail as he continued to fight with everything snaked around him, keeping him in the bed. His eyes were glassy, but focused - not leaving the sight of his little brother in the bed next to him. His knuckles were white around the cold metal railing of the bed, rattling the contraption and snarling as it held fast.

"Liam!"

Emma moved swiftly across the room, stepping into his line of vision and trying to catch his attention.

"Liam! Killian is fine!"

One hand shot out, shaky as it grasped her arm and ineffectual as it tried to shove her aside. Liam's eyes were wild, now, his gaze darting back and forth as if he could see around her.

"Your brother is okay, Liam!"

Voices in the hall, nurses running into the room with carts of medical supplies in tow.

"No! You'll just scare him more. Liam, it's okay, Killian is okay. Please, just calm down."

Emma risked the ire of the staff behind her, risked the ire of the man trying valiantly to get out of bed, pushed past her own barriers and dislike of getting too close.

She shook Liam.

Hard.

It seemed to work, finally.

"Did I kill my brother?"

Well, it kept him in the bed, anyway.

Emma stared, aghast, for a moment before what Liam had said actually filtered through. "What? No, of course not!" she exclaimed, looking over her shoulder just in case something had changed.

Something, something she couldn't quite put a finger on, clenched in her stomach until she laid eyes on Killian and saw for herself that what she'd said was true. Killian was fine. He wasn't awake, but he wasn't nearly as bad off as Liam had been over the past few days and, barring any complications, he would be released as soon as he'd recovered.

And, the thought came unbidden, he's going to stay that way. I'll make sure of it.

The nurses were getting antsy behind her, held off - barely - by the force of her glare alone, Emma was sure. She knew they needed to get Liam hooked back up to his monitors, needed to make sure the IV and whatever else he'd pulled free were settled back in place, but it wasn't going to do them any good if Liam wasn't assured of his brother's well-being first.

Definitely a family trait, she thought hotly, looking over her shoulder to glare at Killian.

He shifted in his sleep, and Emma wanted to believe he knew she was annoyed with him.

"Killian?" Liam asked carefully, his eyes glued to his brother but blinking more slowly each time.

Emma nodded, pushing gently until Liam laid back down in the bed. "Yeah, Liam. Killian. He's right there, sleeping. Your brother's fine."

Liam glared at her, but it held little heat as he was starting to slip back under. "What're you doing 'ere?"

Emma was sure he didn't mean it to come out as accusatory as it sounded.

"What'd you do t'my brother?"

Or maybe he did.

Emma was surprised at the strength of Liam's question - his accusation - and it took her a moment to answer.

"I didn't do anything to him," she whispered, mindful of the crowd of medical staff behind them. "He... the hospital called the night you were... the night of the car-"

Liam nodded, his eyes darting between her and his brother. "He... he wasn't with me, right?"

Emma shook her head.

"No, that's right," Liam agreed. "We were arguing again. I was going to stop by and try to beat some bloody sense into him about y... err… well, I was going to try and make him see reason. I don't remember what happened after that."

"A drunk driver," Emma explained. "But the doctors say you're going to be fine. I... umm... Your brother wasn't playing any music, so I went over to see what was wrong last night. The hospital called him. They made him believe that you'd been kil… that you didn't make it. He was... well, he was-"

Liam nodded as if he knew what she was going to say. "Aye, lass, I can imagine how you found him."

She felt a rush of annoyance, a streak of protection that seemed out of place. "He thought-" she hissed.

"Aye," Liam caught her glare and held it. He matched her tone, vehement in his defense of his brother. "I'd have done the same. He's all I... I'm all he has, and... aye, lass, I know what he did and why."

She managed a grim smile, backing down in the face of Liam's obvious understanding. "Anyway, I found him and figured out where you were, but by the time I got him here-" she waved vaguely over his sleeping form.

"Thank you," Liam breathed. "Truly, lass. I can't thank you enough for saving my brother when I couldn't."

Emma smiled hesitantly, her cheeks heating up a bit at the sincerity in his tone. She stepped back and shrugged at him, not comfortable with the intensity of his thanks. Taking this as permission, the nurses swarmed around Liam, poking and prodding and generally - in Emma's opinion - taking out their frustration at being called to the Joneses' room for a false alarm.

It didn't stop her from biting back a smirk when Liam yelped at the reinsertion of his IV.

She backed up a few steps further, banging the back of her thigh on Killian's bed, and sat down on the foot of it. Emma wouldn't be able to explain, later, why she wrapped her fingers around Killian's ankle and held on. He was warm, even through the blankets, and it settled something inside her.

He was there, and he was going to be fine.

Liam settled back against the mattress when the medical staff finally left him alone. With a pointed reminder to stay in his bed, they left, dragging all of the equipment behind them. Emma watched him carefully, the look in his eyes letting her know that he hadn't abandoned the thought of checking on his brother for himself, and was merely biding his time until he could accomplish it.

"Don't even think about it, I've already picked one Jones brother off the floor in the last 24 hours. I don't want to do it twice."

Liam looked startled, then chagrined. "Understood."

Emma glared at him anyway. "That doesn't mean-"

"He's my brother." As if that explained everything. Emma thought that, to Liam, maybe it did. She didn't have the experience of siblings - not ones who weren't state-assigned and temporary, anyway - so she couldn't relate. But Liam was staring at Killian in the bed next to him as if his brother would disappear if he blinked.

She wished she had someone in her life who would look at her that way.

"I appreciate what you've done for Killian tonight," Liam dragged her away from her spiraling thoughts. "More than you could possibly know. But you must be tired, lass. Would you like me to call you when he wakes?"

What?

Emma stared at him blankly, not understanding what he was saying after the long night of everyone assuming (by her own design) that she was Killian's wife and, as such, wouldn't leave his side.

But, of course, Liam knew what was going on.

Or, rather, he knew the truth - that Emma had no more right to be at Killian's bedside than the next passerby who wandered the halls.

She should go home. It wasn't the first time she'd thought it; but she just couldn't. And she couldn't explain it to herself, let alone to Liam. She just… Emma needed to be there, to see Killian wake up, to know that he was going to be okay.

To see him realize his brother was alive.

"Lass?"

Emma shook her head, both as answer and to right herself. "That's all right; I'll stay."

Liam looked understandably confused; Emma was confused, herself. "I don't-" he started.

"Mrs. Jones," an older woman in a tailored suit interrupted from the door, "we'd like to speak to you about your husband, if you could step outside for a moment?"

Liam made some kind of noise - half choked and squawking - but Emma hurried out the door before he could give her up. She'd explain later.

"Mrs. Jones," the woman started again, "my name is Regina Mills. I am legal aid for the hospital. After the phone call that your husband received, we just wanted to-"

"It's all right," Emma deferred, not wanting this woman to dig too deeply into the situation. She had a feeling that Regina Mills knew far more about the situation than was safe for Emma. "It was a mistake and, as you can see, it's been rectified for the moment."

Regina eyed her suspiciously.

Emma continued. "Obviously, I haven't had a chance to speak to Killian about it, and I'm not sure if he'll feel differently when he wakes, but for now I'd like to get back to him. If you don't mind, of course."

Regina handed her a business card with an extension on it. "You can have one of the nurses page me or reach me here, if your husband changes your mind. I do hope that you'll talk to me first before bringing in… outside influences."

She turned on her heels and marched off before Emma could get in another word.

Emma watched her go for a moment, a little shell-shocked at the encounter, but then shook it off and turned back to the Joneses' room.

"Want to clue me in on what the bloody hell that was all about, Mrs. Jones?"

Oh. Right. Liam.

Emma gulped a little bit at the severe glare that was turned her way, at the crossed arms that pulled the IV line tight, at the too-pale color to Liam's skin.

"It was the only way I could-"

"I don't care about that. Not yet. What did she want to talk to you about? Was it my brother? Is he all right?"

Oh. Right, she thought again.

Emma nodded. "He's going to be fine, Liam. I promise. She wasn't a doctor or anything."

"But I'm not to be privy to conversations about my brother? My family, not yours. Is that it?"

Now Emma rolled her eyes. "She's the hospital's lawyer. She wants to make sure we- err, your brother isn't going to sue them for making him believe you were dead!"

She didn't mean to start shouting at him. Not really. But he was just so infuriating and Emma had been worried about the self-righteous bast-

"He's really okay?" Liam asked quietly, the ire in his voice long gone as he glanced over at Killian again.

"Yeah, Liam, he's really okay," Emma assured, moving across the room to take his hand.

He was trembling.

"You should probably get some rest."

He nodded faintly. "You'll... you'll keep an eye on him, won't you?" Liam's eyes were already drooping, his head settling more firmly into the pillows.

"That's why I said that I was his wife," she admitted, ignoring the sly smirk that graced his features.

"My brother, going and getting married without telling me," he joked. "Without letting himself know, apparently."

And then he was gone again, the soft exhalations nearly matching in time with his brother's snores as they both healed.

And still, Emma sat vigil, not really sure when these two had gone and gotten under her skin, and certainly not sure what she was going to do about it.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, drifting on her thoughts and sleeping lightly in the uncomfortable chair that must have been designed to make her need medical aid of her own at some point. David had stopped by again, to return Killian's keys and to tell her all about the dog who had clearly taken over Liam's entire flat - the pictures he'd shown her made her cringe. Liam was going to have his work cut out for him when he was on his feet after this.

It was nearly lunchtime when Emma finally sat up, not exactly rested, but she'd survived on far less sleep.

Killian's eyes were just fluttering open.

Emma stood quickly, trying to catch his attention.

"Hello, beautiful," he greeted with a soft lilt and a sleepy smile, clearly not quite aware of what had happened - what he believed had happened - over the last few days.

Emma sat by his hip, reaching out for his hand and squeezing. She wasn't sure how to do this, wasn't sure what to bring up and how much to make him relive.

She wasn't good at people.

But Emma needn't have worried. The grief crashed down over Killian in waves, and he nearly pulled away from her, eyes closed shut against the onslaught as he remembered what he thought he'd known.

That the last of his family was gone.

"No. Killian, no, look at me."

He shook his head, turning in the bed and curling up into a ball. "Too sober," he groaned, trying to pry his hand free of her grip.

"Your brother is alive."

Like a band-aid, she thought.

His head whipped around so quickly that she heard the pop of vertebrae in his neck. "Don't... don't toy with me like that, Princess, it's cruel." Emma had never heard that tone of voice from him before - dark and chilling. Mocking.

"No, I'm not. I wouldn't. Killian, look." She pointed with her free hand, squeezing his again with her own and trying to make him follow where she was pointing.

To Liam in the other bed.

A tiny whimper caught in his throat before his breath stopped entirely. Now he was the one trembling, blinking rapidly and clearly trying to make sense of everything.

"Liam?" he whispered in utter disbelief, his eyes darting back and forth between Emma and his brother. "Wha…?"

"It was a misunderstanding," Emma murmured when he turned the full focus of his gaze on her, full of questions. "Liam was in an accident and he was headed into surg-"

"I'm here, little brother," Liam spoke up softly from his own bed, but he may as well have shouted for all the ruckus it caused.

There was a flurry of limbs and blankets and beeping machines as Killian nearly threw himself onto the floor trying to get out of bed.

Emma just rolled her eyes and moved to the door to head off the response team.

Definitely brothers, she thought wryly, watching Killian tear the IV from his hand when it tried to snag him so that he could launch himself across the space between their beds. Emma winced when his hip slammed into the metal railing on Liam's bed, but he'd clearly spent more time around hospital beds than his brother as he reached easily for the latch and lowered it so that he could sit at Liam's side, visibly trembling.

Liam reached out, his fingers tangling on the sleeve of Killian's hospital gown, and he tugged. It was all the invitation the younger Jones needed to fold his frame over his brother's, hugging him tightly as he buried his face in Liam's neck. Killian's shoulders were shaking and Emma was sure that Liam's gown was going to be damp with his tears in a moment.

There were surgical sites to be aware of and she was sure there were any number of stitches and broken bones hidden beneath Liam's hospital gown, but she wouldn't have been able to tell from the tight grip he had around Killian's shoulders.

"I'm here, little brother," she heard him whisper. "I'm right here."

Killian nodded jerkily, but didn't make a move to sit up again until Liam spoke up.

"Killian, I'd like to introduce you to your wife. Emma Jones." Emma glared at him, but it didn't hold any real heat, not with the level of emotion already in the room.

Killian sat up so quickly that Emma thought he was going to topple over backwards. His head shot around and she swore she saw the hint of pink starting to work its way across his cheeks and up to his ears.

"Swan?" he asked incredulously.

Emma shrugged. "They only allow family," she said, as if it explained everything. It didn't. It really didn't. Not even to her. But the grin that crawled across Killian's face said that maybe, this once, it made sense to him.

Liam tugged on Killian's gown again and cupped his hand around his little brother's ear to whisper something.

Now Killian's ears were definitely red, but he mumbled something back that sounded suspiciously like, 'Aye, you were right,' and turned fully towards her. He stood, a little shakily, and walked towards her, his hand only leaving his brother's arm when he could no longer reach it and keep moving forward. Killian stepped into her space, barely a hair's breadth between them as he looked down to meet her gaze.

Emma's breath caught in her throat at the feel of his fingers on her elbow, the sensation bubbling through her too foreign to put a name on it. Not since Neal had she…

No, not going there, Emma.

"Thank you, Swan," Killian murmured, the tick of a smile gracing his features. "You have no idea what this means to me, to us. He's..."

"He's all you have," Emma finished for him, laying her hand along his forearm and smiling gently. It was nice, she realized, this casual intimacy. Emma tilted her head until she could catch his eyes again.

He was looking at her like she was something new and precious, something exciting. "Aye, Swan. He's all I have. I... thank you," he said again.

"You have a real habit of repea-"

The brush of his lips against her cheek cut off the nearly sarcastic comment she'd been ready with. "Would you go out with me, Emma?" he asked hesitantly, the pink tinge on his cheeks growing deeper.

Emma laid her hand on his chest, the material of the hospital gown scratchy under her fingers. There were little ducks with rainboots and umbrellas on them that matched the gown Liam was wearing. It made Killian look softer somehow, the prospect of going out with him, of giving this a chance far less frightening.

Emma rose onto her tiptoes and hesitantly brushed her lips over his. He froze for an instant, a sharp inhale nearly making her pull back. But then she felt his lips curve into a smile and then he was kissing her back.

Oh.

This was a much better use of their time.

Liam coughed pointedly, ending the kiss long before Emma was ready. She expected that metaphorical ice water to crash over her, the need to run, the feel of her walls building that much thicker and safer, something. They barely knew each other.

She just wanted to call the nurse in to drug Liam so that she and Killian could try that again.

"Pay up, little brother," Liam snarked, a smirk spread across his face.

Emma turned startled eyes to Killian before he groaned. "Liam's been on me for months, telling me that I should just man up and ask you out. He bet me that you'd say yes."

She glanced over to Liam, who was watching the scene play out with a smug little smile on his face. "How did you know?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Bartender. Plus, I saw the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn't looking."

Emma blinked. "How I… I didn't look at him any certain way."

"You were making eyes at him," he snarked. "I was concerned for awhile, but… well, now I can see-"

"I don't make eyes at anyone!"

"As you say, lass," Liam responded, but he wasn't agreeing with her.

Emma rolled her eyes, but turned back to Killian. "And you? I've barely even given you the time of day. You couldn't possibly think-"

"You may not know this, luv," he interrupted, stepping impossibly closer, "but actually, I quite fancy you from time to time. When you're not yelling at me, that is."

She stared. He… fancied her? God, who talked like that anymore? Not to mention she wasn't used to people genuinely having interest in her. "You never said anything."

"I wanted to, but I never thought…" he trailed off, eyes falling to stare at the floor. "I'm not exactly good enough for-"

Liam scoffed angrily, calling Killian's attention away from her and Emma had a feeling that that statement was a source of contention between them.

"People call me prickly," she allowed, letting him off the hook when it seemed like he was going to apologize for doubting that she'd take a chance on him. "It's not a reflection on you."

In all likelihood, Emma realized, she probably wouldn't have let him in if he'd asked even a week ago.

But now?

"Just so you know, I don't pillage and plunder on the first date," Emma challenged, reaching up to thread her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. She could get used to this.

"That's because you haven't been out with me yet."

And that, they'll reflect years later, was a hell of a story to tell the grandkids.

Tim revives, see how he rises
Timothy rising from the bed
Whirl your whiskey around like blazes
Tonamondeal, do you think I'm dead