Hemorrhage, an once upon a time fanfic

A/N: So this was inspired by a tragically beautiful tumblr gifset with the caption "Killian is told about Emma's accident." And really, it was a story begging to be written, and since I couldn't find one, I decided to write my own. I couldn't let this opportunity go to waste and my mind was running wild with little ficlet ideas.

Not sure if I want to keep this as a one-shot or if I should keep going (I have a vague idea for future chapters) so just let me know what you all think! Yes, no, maybe so?

Anyway, I wrote this at 2 in the morning and its unbetaed for please forgive any spelling or grammatical mistakes.

Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I do not OUaT or its characters. ABC owns all. I just play in their sandbox.

Killian's footsteps fell heavy and loud as he trudged up the porch stairs, legs moving sluggishly from the exhaustion of another laborious day at the docks. Running a hand over his face, his stubble scratched lightly against his palms, reminding him of his need to shave, and he fiddled with his key for several painfully long moments before finally fitting it into the lock. Leaning his shoulder against the frame, he slowly turned the knob and opened the door, dragging his weary body through the entrance, stumbling into the dark shadows of the house.

His hand blindly searched for the light switch, ears buzzing with the deafening silence that loomed over his home, bereft of the familiar sounds of life and family. Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the inky blackness, he watched as the shadows danced at his feet, his silhouette obscuring the shimmering gleam of moonlight as it poured through the doorway.

"Sorry I'm late, love. Bloody wankers arrived with a last minute shipment that needed immediate transport onto the railcar," he groused darkly as his fingers finally found the cool plastic switch. Flicking it on, the light sputtered to life, flickering slightly as it cast an ominous hue on the room, illuminating the peculiar barrenness of the hallway. Ears prickling with sensation, he listened attentively for the distant shuffling of feet, a muffled voice calling out to him in response.

"Emma?" he questioned the emptiness, head tilting to the side as he carefully shut the door and shrugged out of his jacket, the movement almost proving too tedious for his fatigued body to contend with. "Henry?"

He ambled to the living space, eyes quickly scanning over the room, flitting to the couch to see if she'd fallen asleep while waiting for him. A small frown marred his face upon finding it empty and he snubbed the strange sense of foreboding that blossomed in his gut, shrugging it off as he consoled himself with the thought that she simply must've turned in earlier than usual. Wandering to the kitchen, Killian wrenched the door to the fridge open and leaned in as an unwelcome wave of chilled air spilled out and blanketed his face, sending a slight shiver down his spine. Fingers wrapping around the nearest bottle of beer, he deftly screwed off the cap and took a long swig, shutting the door with a jut of his hip.

A flash of yellow paper caught his attention, and Killian wiped the excess moisture off his lips with the back of his hand with a sated sigh, peering closer at the note. Plucking it from its position on the fridge, his blue gaze scanned over the hastily scrawled note:

Got a call from the station – looks like I'll be pulling an all-nighter at the office again. Henry's at my parents' house. There's leftover rigatoni in the fridge. Feel free to help yourself.

I love you.
Emma

He hummed to himself, musing over her letter, mentally chastising her superiors for the long hours they demanded she put into work. If Killian didn't know better, he'd swear that Emma was the only police officer on the entire force – surely there was someone else they could have called upon, just this once.

It'd been weeks since he'd had the opportunity to take her out on a proper date, a problem that Killian had every intention on remedying. Their schedules always seemed to conflict as of late, and between the stress of the long days and the ill-effects of sleep deprivation, it was beginning to put a strain on their relationship.

He missed her, missed them.

Grumbling with irritation, he staggered to the couch, tripping over his own feet as he lazily fell onto the soft, welcoming cushions, slumping into their comforting embrace with an exhausted sigh. He grabbed the remote and powered on the TV as he rested his feet on the coffee table, mindlessly surfing the channels before settling on the late night news, watching with disinterested, unseeing eyes as a broadcast about some horrific traffic accident played on the screen.

Taking another long drink of his beer, he toyed over several date ideas, wanting to take Emma out for a long overdue night of fun and relaxation, doting upon her to revive their spark, to let her know how much he truly appreciated and loved her. He smiled to himself as he finally settled on a decision, already imagining the smile that would light up her face, the love and affection that would sparkle in her eyes.

For their first date, he'd taken her out on his boat, reveling in the warmth and excitement of a budding relationship, jubilant and intoxicating in its infancy. She'd always loved going out to sea with him – the calm and serenity of simply being alone, the chaos of life muted, replaced with the harmonic melody of water splashing against the side of the Jolly Roger as they skipped across the waves. Emma had looked so lovely that day, carefree smile teasing at her lips, eyes closed with ecstasy as she hung her head back, basking in the beauty and tranquility of nature. It was in that moment that he fell in love with her, that shining moment when she finally lowered her walls, let herself relax and let go, the radiance of her inner beauty shining through the carefully construed veil of stoicism that she always seemed to wear.

Eyelids drooping as sleep threatened to overcome him, Killian's head slumped towards his chest when his phone buzzed in his pocket, the ringtone playing at a disturbing volume, and he jolted at the unexpected call, neck snapping up as the sound shocked him out of his stupor. With one eye closed, he peered at the clock, cursing to himself when he saw that it was nearly 1 in the morning.

Who in their right mind would call him at this inconceivable hour? Whoever disturbed him better have a bloody good reason for doing so.

Muttering a slew of obscenities, his fingers fished for his phone as he placed his beer on the coffee table, glancing at the unknown number that flashed on the screen.

"What?" he bit out harshly, rubbing a hand over tired eyes.

"Killian Jones?" an accented, trembling masculine voice questioned.

"Yes, this is he. And who the bloody hell are you?"

"My... my name is Graham Humbert. I-I'm Emma's Captain at the station." Killian's eyes shot open at the familiarity of the name, rage coursing through his body, blinding wrath fogging his brain and preventing him from registering the trepidation and wariness of the other man's voice, the nervousness and discomfort that nipped at the heels of his words.

"So you're bloody wanker who's called her into work during the dead of night! Again. Do you not realize the amount of stress you've put her under recently? I have half a mind to march down to the station and kick your ass," Killian's tone was dripping with loathing, hating the man who always stole his Emma away.

"Y-yes… that would be me," he admitted sheepishly, audibly clearing his throat as he tried to reorient his composure, his tone suddenly stern and serious. "Listen, Killian, I… You see, Emma… she… fucking hell…" his voice tapered off, the lingering silence filling Killian with a renewed sense of dread that hung heavily in his gut, twisting his stomach into tight knots, apprehension clutching his heart in a fierce grasp, causing a deep ache in his chest.

"Oh my fucking god, you useless waste of a man. Give me the fucking phone," a distant, muffled voice demanded, and Killian heard the faint buzz of shuffling as the phone moved hands. "Killian? It's Regina."

Running a worried hand through his hair, Killian massaged the base of his neck, heart pounding erratically in his chest. Where the fuck was Emma? "I need to see Emma. Have you heard from her?"

He heard the faded sound of her shaky intake of breath, a slight quiver to her words as she spoke delicately to him, a softness that was unbecoming of the insufferable woman. Why Emma chose her as her partner would forever remain a mystery to him.

"Killian, she's... she's been in an accident."

Dizziness consumed him, the room violently spinning on its axis as the walls closed in on him, his vision tunneling to the TV, flashes of red and blue illuminating the screen, the hushed tone of the reporter telling of an "accident" and something about a "casualty".

No.

"Wh-what did you just say?" he managed to croak, swallowing around the lump in his throat as devastating realization threatened to spill over him.

"Emma was on a call and was driving to the scene… But someone was in the road. She tried to swerve out of the way and she…" Regina's voice cracked, words faltering as they stumbled out of her mouth. "She lost control of the car."

Bringing his hand to his mouth, anxiously rubbing at his lips, his brow knit together with concern, terrified of the implications of Regina's words, refusing to look at the TV, adamant that the accident the man spoke of wasn't her accident. Emma was okay – she had to be – she wouldn't do this, she wouldn't leave him, couldn't leave him.

"Where is she? I need to see her; I need to see that she's okay," he winced at the near hysterics that threaded into his tone, an unfamiliar voice that rang in his ears, taunting him with yet unspoken truths that he refused to listen to. His fingers trembled as they clutched his phone, squeezing it so fiercely he feared it would break. And he almost wanted it to, wanted the fucking phone to cut out, to silence the conversation he undeniably did not want to have, to leave him in the ignorance of bliss, living in a world where Emma was sitting in front of her dimly lit desk, littered with reports and statements, pouring over her work as she gnawed on the end of her pen, pensive face scrunched as she tried to solve the latest mystery.

"I'm so sorry, Killian… but she… she didn't make it," Regina finally managed, her voice so quiet that he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly, that he hadn't imagined it all. This was all some horrific nightmare, a demented figment of his imagination, torturing him with loss of the person he treasured above all else in this world.

Emma wasn't… gone. She couldn't be. It was all a dream – a nasty, wicked, horrendous dream – and he was apt to wake up at any moment, a silent cry tearing from his throat, sheets damp with cold sweet, eyes burning with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry, Killian, I'm so very sorry," her voice broke, shattering as the weight of her words settled uneasily with them both, a devastating reality that neither was willing to accept.

Ears ringing at a deafening octave, her words grew distant and fuzzy, indiscernible in the haze of his confusion, his reluctance to accept what Regina had told him. His world came to a screeching halt in the blink of an eye, the whiplash kicking his feet out from under him as he slumped back against the couch.

"Killian?" he heard through the fog of denial and disbelief, and he quickly ended the call.

She was mistaken; she'd gotten it wrong – Emma hadn't been the one in the car, it couldn't be her death that played on the news. They were wrong, they had to be, because Emma couldn't die, she couldn't be dead, she wouldn't leave him, not like this, not when the last words he'd received from her were from a fucking note.

He was supposed to take her on a date, take her out on his boat and have a day on the sea; he hadn't even had the chance to tell her about it yet. He'd call her, yes, he'd call her and inform her of their newly planned date, and she'd be so happy, the smile in her voice evident as he regaled a fantastical tale of what he had in store for them, their own little getaway as he stole her away from the stress of everyday life, rejuvenating her spirit, restoring her smile, reviving her loving, caring, happy nature.

A violent shiver threatened to ravage his body as trembling, shaking fingers hit several buttons on his phone before he finally unlocked the screen and thumbed through his contacts until her name appeared. Pressing a frantic thumb on her name, he quickly brought the phone up to his ear, body buzzing with anticipation and anxiety as it rang once, twice, three times. She'd pick up, because she had to pick up; she was just indisposed right now – hell, her phone was likely on silent, lost in the clutter on her desk, a nuisance she didn't want to deal with while she whittled away at her reports.