They were good at this. He wouldn't think they'd need to be, but it happened more often than he would have guessed. A single person showing up when the vacation had been booked for two, the resort efficiently switching all couples activities over to solo, and ensuring that they never again mention that there was supposed to be a newly engaged couple arriving at check in, not this sad, sorry excuse for a man. All traces of the future future Mrs. Killian Jones being wiped from their database as he stood before them and tried not to dwell on the past 24 hours, the time it took for the perfect relationship, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect proposal, the perfect weekend, and all dreams of the perfect life, to be robbed from him.
He kept thanking god that the alcohol was all inclusive and wondered how quickly they could get a drink into his hand. He could drink himself into a stupor, and he planned to, and no one would bat an eye. The path from his room, a standard affair now that he no longer needed the Deluxe King, was made easier thanks to a bottle of rum from the minibar. As soon as he hit the beach and hailed a waiter, requesting a pina colada, he sank into his beach chair and pretended to read his book. If anyone noticed the tears that occasionally would fall beyond the rims of his dark sunglasses, they could attribute it to the words on the page, not to his life falling apart.
He would just as soon have stayed in the room, but he hoped the sight of the ocean would be a distraction. It had always been a calming influence and at least this view, the crystal blue water and white sandy beach, were so different from the view in Boston, that no memories of his girlfriend, former girlfriend, would be triggered.
It had all been so carefully planned. Her favorite dinner served on his boat, an evening spent watching as the night came on and the stars came out. It was warm, but they curled up in a blanket on deck. He had no inclination that it was all about to crumble. The speech. The speech he'd practiced a million times, as he pulled out the ring and declared his devotion and intention to spend the rest of his life making her happy, if she'd let him.
And then there was the look on her face. The one that shattered every dream. Before she even opened her mouth to respond, he knew. He could barely listen as she explained she was already married with a husband and a son, and that the past 6 months had been lovely, but they could never been anything more than what they were now. Speechless, he brought them into shore, listening as she tried to explain. Her husband didn't understand her and couldn't provide what she needed. Not the way Killian did. He listened as she tried to justify and rationalize her actions of the past month, but couldn't say anything. All he could think of was her lies, and the boy she'd left at home. If this woman had known anything about him, she'd have understood that was the one thing he would never be able to forgive.
They walked back to Killian's apartment, now in silence, as Milah realized her pleas would get her nowhere. He packed a bag, instructed her that he would be gone until Tuesday, and that he needed her to remove all traces of her life from his before he returned.
Not even trying to pretend to read his book, he sat completely oblivious to everyone around him watching the horizon in a daze. The waiter had to practically snap in his face to get his attention when he returned with his drink, and he immediately ordered another, almost adding the cliched "and keep them coming."
It was as though he had to replay every event of the past six months over again to see what signs he could have missed. To see where he went wrong in noticing that the woman he'd committed his heart to had never been worthy.
After some time, his concentration turned to the clouds starting to roll in from the southeast. He'd checked the forecast from Boston, and Tropical Storm Brenda was supposed to bypass them altogether. He noted that the path must have changed. And if his years at sea told him anything, these winds were definitely picking up, and this may not stay a tropical storm much longer.
"Hey buddy, I'm not here to get hit on."
The brash voice from directly in front of him snapped his attention to the present, and he focused on the woman arranging her towel on the chair in front of him. He realized it must have appeared as though he were staring at her, and apologized.
"I'm sorry, lass. That is not my intention at all. Please let me assure you, hitting on you, as you've put it, is the last thing on my agenda." He tried to keep his voice steady, glad that he'd been focused on the weather when she'd called him out, and not other more painful topics.
He took a long pull at his drink, and signaled the waiter for another as he slurped the icy remains from the bottom of the glass. He was glad for the tropical drinks, as the sun was still strong despite the oncoming storm, and plain rum would have been too strong a reminder of home. He threw his arm over his eyes, and tried to doze, hoping that the alcohol would afford him the sleep he'd been denied the night before.
But the hours continued to pass. More memories. More drinks. More tears. No sleep.
He was finally distracted again by the woman in the chair in front of him. She was dragging an umbrella around, trying to position it to shade her chair. He smiled at the efficiency of her profanity if nothing else.
"Love, I don't want you to think I'm hitting on you, but I have a suggestion."
She looked up as though she were wary of what the stranger's suggestion might be.
"My chair seems to be entirely in the shade, and I don't care one way or the other about it. We could switch, and you'd have the added benefit of knowing I am not in any way staring at you."
The suspicion slowly left her face as she considered his proposal. Without his sunglasses, there was nothing to hide the redness of his eyes from her, and he was sure that a crying man on the beach would not seem much of a threat.
"You're sure you don't mind? I don't want to burn, but I don't want you to be stuck in the sun either."
"I assure you, it matters little to me where I sit."
"Well," She'd started picking up her belongings, ready to take him up on his offer, "you can use my sunblock if you want. You really should. Your ears and nose are looking a little red."
He smiled and nodded, taking the tube of SPF from her as they crossed paths.
"Thank you. I'm sure my ears and nose will also thank you later, when they're not beet red."
She laughed. "You're welcome. And thank you for my chair."
He settled in, and was momentarily distracted by thoughts of the woman behind him. She was lovely, if a little abrasive. Her hair shone like gold in the sun. The milky skin she was so intent on protecting, was flawless. And the red suit left almost nothing to the imagination, her figure all long legs and lean muscle. He was sure if any of his friends knew of his current situation and saw her, they'd be urging him toward a weekend fling. Something to get Milah off of his mind and out of his heart. How little his friends knew him sometimes. It was exactly why he fled town without telling them. He needed time to come to terms with it on his own without listening to their input.
He had spent the better part of the day trying desperately not to notice the couples around him, happy in their perfect lives, on their perfect vacations. It hurt too much to think that had he been less blinded by who he thought Milah was, what he wanted to see, rather than who the woman truly was, that he would not be in the pain he was experiencing now. These people, with their smiles and laughter had no idea. Occasionally he'd watch as they touched, or kissed with that open affection that he thought he'd had, and knew he could never have again. And he'd take another long drink.
The later half of the day continued as the beginning had. Drink, think, cry, repeat. His phone dinged with a text stating that his afternoon paragliding lesson was cancelled due to the weather. The winds had started picking up too much, and they would try to reschedule if weather permitted before his stay was over. He couldn't say he minded. Sitting by the beach, watching the others, drinking, letting his misery wash over him, was, if not the healthiest way of dealing with his feelings, the only thing he could handle.
When clouds started to roll in, and a light drizzle fell, he finally called it quits. Even in misery one shouldn't consume that much sugar and alcohol without food, and he made his way inside to change to get something to eat. Before leaving the beach, he'd turned to say goodbye to the woman in the beach chair, but found she'd already fled inside. That shouldn't have stung, but it did a bit. The one connection he'd made, who didn't seem to judge him for his present state, leaving him without a word. But he imagined she had her reasons for being here alone as well.
Even eating alone at one of the smaller restaurants, he couldn't help but overhear the buzz in the air about the storm. It was all any of the other tables could talk about. Finally, he asked the waiter.
"What's going on? Has the storm turned?"
"Yes sir. It's been upgraded to a hurricane and seems to be heading towards us. You'll find instructions in your room when you return from dinner of where to go should we need to shelter in the night. We're making preparations now. It looks like at this point it's unavoidable."
This was definitely more than he bargained for, but seemed just about fitting. He anxiously returned to his room, wanting to see exactly what the hotel's plan was. He'd weathered many storms on his boat, but never one on land. The instructions laid out exactly what ballroom he was to head to, and exactly what to bring: passport, medicine, carry on size bag of personal effects, pillow from the bed, and blanket from the closet. It didn't say he couldn't raid the mini-bar, and therefore he grabbed as many bottles as he could. He doubted the hotel staff would be worrying about food and drink service while weathering the storm, and he had no plans to go through this sober.
After a shower, ridding himself of the day's sweat and sand, he climbed into bed, hoping again for a few hours of sleep. If there was one place he was sure not to get any, it would be packed into a ballroom in the middle of the storm with everyone else.
Only a few hours later, an alarm went off in the hallway and a knock followed shortly at the door. "Mr Jones, we need all guests to the ballrooms immediately. Please check in when you get there so we can account for everyone."
At the next door he heard the same knock and the voice that followed, "Ms. Swan, we need all guests to to the ballrooms immediately. Please check in when you get there so we can account for everyone."
He rubbed his eyes, grateful he'd packed his bag earlier, upset that after finally drifting off he was being robbed of the chance at a full night's sleep. As he stepped outside his door, he noticed the woman from the beach earlier exit the room adjacent.
He nodded, catching her attention. She looked no happier to be woken than he had been. "Lucky us. Vacation at a 5 star resort and we're marched in to spend the night on the floor of a ballroom."
She tried to hide her yawn behind her hand, but but was unsuccessful. "Believe me. I've spent my night in many worse places. Of course, I wasn't paying for any of those."
He chuckled. There seemed to be a story there, but the chaos as they entered the ballroom and checked in as requested stopped him from asking. Tables had been set up, and he found the one designated for guests H-M and stopped, losing his companion.
When he finally was released, and as instructed looked around to find a spare bit of floor, he instinctively looked towards the edges of the room. Many of the hotel guests were viewing this as an adventure, and those had congregated towards the center of the ballroom. He was hoping those clinging towards the walls would be the sort looking for a calmer night, like himself.
It wasn't that he was looking for her, but when a spare bit of floor appeared, and it happened to be next to the bed she'd made up for herself, he grabbed it.
"Towels, good idea, lass." She'd laid the towels out in a fashion that not only provided a protective layer from whatever had been beaten into the carpet over years of use, but also created a makeshift cushion. "Smart thing to grab. But I believe I may have done you one better. He opened his bag to display the collection of bottles and snacks from the mini-bar.
Her eyes lit up at the bounty.
"I have a few towels left over. How about we strike up a deal. Towels for tequila?"
He laughed, and he noted it was the first genuine laugh since his proposal.
"Sounds more than fair, love. What made you think to grab the towels?"
"Like I said, I've slept worse places. You never know what the floor is going to look like, and I like to be prepared. What made you grab the alcohol?"
"Well, as you may have guessed from our earlier encounter, I'm not here under the best circumstances, and I do not plan on going through any of this sober."
"What would the best circumstances be?"
"My girlfriend would have accepted my proposal instead of telling me she was already married with a son at home."
The woman didn't say anything. She just took two bottles from his bag, unscrewed the caps and handed him one.
"Emma."
"Killian."
The clinked their bottles in silent toast, and downed the liquor as quickly as the tiny bottles would let them.
"What brings you solo to the Caribbean?"
"It's my first vacation. Ever. It's only fitting that a storm comes in and ruins it. Really, kind of fitting. I've been saving for awhile and wanted to go someplace where I could just relax and not have to do anything. No sightseeing. No answering a long list of "did you go to…" Questions when I get home. Just reading and relaxing."
He nodded, understanding completely. It was how he felt at sea on his boat. He could throw down the anchor and just laze about, not worried about accomplishing anything other than catching his dinner. He ignored that she didn't answer the solo part of his question. Her life was her business.
Just then a hotel employee came around asking if there was anything they needed, distributing decks of cards, crossword books, and the like. Anything that could keep people amused and from panicking. Emma grabbed a deck of cards, and smiled.
"You up for a game?
"I don't know, lass. I'm not sure you want to challenge a sailor. Navy men have quite a bit of time to kill out at sea, and I got to be quite good at card games."
He noted her sizing him up, as though she was judging just what was safe to tell him as she started shuffling the cards.
"I think I can handle it. I had a lot of time to practice while I was in jail."
He didn't react. Obviously she was testing him to see what he'd say. Nothing about this woman screamed danger to him, and talking with her had been the only distraction he'd found from his own mind. He was not going to blow that by giving her what she was expecting.
"You weren't kidding then, when you said you'd slept in far worse places."
"No, I wasn't. But jail wasn't even the worst. You ever try sleeping in the back of a VW Bug?
"No, can't say that I have. At least that would be quiet. You try sleeping in a bunkhouse with 30 other men. The day my naval service was up, and I could sleep in a room of my own might have been the best of my life."
She laughed. "Sounds like jail. Or even some of the group homes I lived in. I was so happy to have any space to myself that the car was heaven on wheels."
He surprised himself that night. It was the most frank and open conversation he'd ever had with anyone. They played cards and discussed their lives, his years in foster care after his mother's death, before his brother could get him out of the system, her years in the system before running away with the man who ultimately sent her to jail. Only momentarily, when a story involved Milah, who so quickly had become everything in his life, would the sadness overtake him. She would give him a moment to collect himself, and they'd dive back into conversation.
Bottles of water were passed around, cereal bars, snacks, but they kept digging back into the liquor stores, and he imagined that did a good bit to loosen Emma's tongue. She didn't seem to be the type to share her life story with just anyone.
As the occupants of the room fell asleep one by one, the noise in the room dropped and they could hear as the storm grew in intensity outside. Rain pounding on the roof and the wind howling. The night wore on, and the lights that had been kept on to allow people to see in the dark began to flicker, and finally went out. It was pitch black until the generator kicked in, and then the only lights coming back on we're the few designated as emergency, as well as exit signs.
"I guess we should try and get some sleep." He nodded in response, knowing there was no use explaining to her that sleep would elude him. They both climbed into their beds, and curled up face to face. Even though he couldn't see her in the dark, knowing she was there helped.
"Are you going to be able to sleep?" He heard her ask in a whisper.
"No, love. I don't believe I am." He heard her roll over and rummage through her bag.
"I brought my tablet if you want to try to watch a movie?" He could see the glow of the screen as she pulled it from her bag, and started scrolling through the menus. "I only have one downloaded, so it's not like you have any options." She handed it over, and closed her eyes. "Goodnight, Killian."
Halfway through the film, the storm really set in on them. While only the heaviest of sleepers remained truly under, no one moved from their beds. It was as though the sounds outside had frightened everyone into a sort of paralysis, scared that if they moved they'd be swept away. He could tell when Emma finally woke, as her breathing grew more rapid the longer she listened to the storm.
She said nothing, but from the light of the screen he could see as her hand snaked out from under her blanket, reaching for his. He took it and gently squeezed.
The experience of the storm had actually made it easier to return to his life than it would have been otherwise. He was able to recount the story of the hurricane, rather than the breakup, and he was grateful to return to an apartment and life that were intact. The people on the island were not so lucky.
His closest friends, however, knew that every time he told the story of the storm's passing, he was using it as an opportunity avoid filling them in on what happened with Milah, and eventually they pressed him on why all of the sudden the woman who had been everything to him was nothing.
Finally, one night over several rounds of drinks, he told the tale. His proposal. Her refusal. Her confession. Her husband. Her child. His trip. The one piece he left out was the woman at the resort. They wouldn't understand that just because he connected with her, didn't mean he was ready to date again. It was enough that they truly understood how deep this hurt went. And that he would need time to heal.
Of course, in their minds that time equaled exactly one month. And that's how he found himself set up on a date that he'd been unable to find any way out of. Belle was a beautiful, smart, deeply emotional woman who would understand him to his core, or so he was told. He hated to disappoint such a woman, but he was in no way ready for a relationship. The only women he could think about were the one who had broken his heart, and the one who gave him hope that it could be put back together.
He'd not seen Emma since the island. It had truly been a coincidence that they both lived in Boston. They'd exchanged contact information and there had been a few text messages over the past month, checking in on each other. They both had to deal with some of the same mess with the State Department. Chartered flights back. Travel insurance reimbursement. Getting their personal effects back from the hotel. It was nice to have someone else to commiserate with. But it had only been through text. He'd managed to veer the conversations to personal territory, and after a little while she started to open up somewhat. Eventually the texts became less about their trip and more about life. But he was scared that if he suggested meeting up she'd stop replying. She became a best friend. One who lived two miles away and existed only in his phone.
So here he found himself on a Saturday night, at an upscale bar waiting on the date he couldn't get out of, thinking only of Emma Swan. If he were being honest with himself, he usually was thinking of her. His first instinct tonight was to shoot her a message telling her that he was on a date. Would she show any jealousy? Did she think of him that way at all? If he revealed his unwillingness to be on this date, would she understand that in no way extended to a social interaction with her?
He was lost deep in these thoughts when he heard his name called from behind him, and by the voice he least expected.
He turned around to find the woman in question dressed in what he felt was not her usual attire. The tight pink dress hugged every curve, and he tried to settle his face before his stare made her uncomfortable.
"Swan? You're the last person I expected to see here tonight. How are you?"
"Since I texted you an hour ago?" She joked. "I'm just fine. I'm meeting a skip. Typical routine. I set up a date with him online. The guys I'm trying to catch usually like a woman dressed like…" She gestured down toward her outfit, and Killian would have been hard pressed to find a man who wouldn't appreciate Emma's attire. However, he also knew from first-hand experience he appreciated her in a tank top and pyjama pants.
"Well, you look…"
She blushed, at his inability to finish the sentence and let him off the hook. "I know." He saw her searching around, presumably looking for her date. "What are you doing here? You didn't say you were going out?"
He realized this was his chance. He could gauge her reaction in person. If she were at all upset to find out he was on a date, he might be able to see it in her face. But he realized he had no desire to play with her emotions.
"Well, I've been set up and had no way of getting out of it. I'm on a blind date. Should be meeting a lass who has been described to me as being absolutely lovely in every way."
A slight bit of color rose in her face, but he had to tell himself it meant nothing. Otherwise he'd live on that reaction forever.
"Too bad I'll be busy taking my skip back to the jail, otherwise I could come over and rescue you." She put her hand on his shoulder, and feigned an excited voice, "Killian! OMG, Killian Jones. I haven't seen you in forever. We must catch up." They were both laughing at the idea when a slight brunette approached them after hearing her say Killian's name.
His friends were right. Belle was lovely in every way. In a different world, under different circumstances, he may have even found himself interested. But tonight, after escorting Belle to a table he found himself having to work to pay attention. His gaze kept traveling to the mirror above him, in which he could just see the reflection of Emma in her shocking pink dress, and the miscreant she needed to distract just long enough to cuff. He hoped his date couldn't tell that his thoughts were elsewhere, but when there was a commotion, and he turned just in time to see Emma dart out the door after her date, he turned back to see Belle with a smile on her face.
"Go. I've been where you are. Go. No hard feelings."
He threw cash down on the table and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Will says you're the best woman he knows, love. He's always going on about you. What I can't figure out now that I've met you is why he hasn't gone after you himself."
He ran out the door, hoping he could figure out what direction Emma had taken off in.
It wasn't hard. Right outside he found her with the man on his stomach and her knee in his back. She cut quite the figure down on the pavement pulling his arms behind him in order to affix the cuffs to his wrists as the man shouted in response. He took another look at her in the dress and silently questioned where she'd been hiding those cuffs.
"Need a hand, love?"
She turned to him as soon as she heard his voice, face aglow, clearly in her element. "Nope. Got it covered. BPD is even on their way to come get him, so I don't even need to make a trip into the station. It's been a good night." The man beneath her groaned in protest, but Killian couldn't help but laugh.
"I agree. You got to see me again."
He knew that if he didn't take a chance now, he'd go home to his lonely apartment and spend the hours waiting until it felt natural to text her again. He decided to use this opportunity, hoping that the high she seemed to be on from the chase would work in his favor.
"Since you're not going to spend the rest of your night at the station, how about we go get a drink and catch up? My date has dismissed me for the evening, and your date will be in jail. Seems we should make do?"
He could see the moment of hesitation, but she nodded, her full answer interrupted by a police car showing up and an officer stepping out to take in her date. The process was smooth. Emma knew the officer, and other than the man's insistence that Emma had the wrong person, that they'd be hearing from his lawyers, and all the nonsense the guilty tend to spout, it was only a few minutes before they were on their way.
"Back inside or somewhere else?" He asked as he offered her the crook of his arm.
"Definitely somewhere else. I know just the place. It's around the corner. How do you feel about wings and beer?"
They looked out of place as they entered the bar, but Emma's signal to the waitress resulted the quick delivery of a pitcher, and he couldn't complain about her choice. The woman who brought it to the table was quick to comment on his appearance.
"You decide your date was too cute to go to jail tonight, Emma?"
Emma rolled her eyes before responding. "No, Ruby, this is Killian. Boston is safe now that my date is in the hands of the BPD. Now can we get some wings?"
"So it seems they know you here?"
"Yeah, Ruby was my old roommate when I first got out of jail. Her grandmother owns the place, and I worked here for a little while. Also happens to be a place where a lot of cops tend to hang out, and that's how I ended up in bail bonds."
Ruby returned to the table with a plate of wings, a few sides, and lots of questions.
"Killian." She paused, giving herself the opportunity to size him up. "You're not the mysterious person Emma's been texting the past month, are you?"
He choked on his beer a little at the question.
"Jesus, Ruby. If you wanted to know who I was texting you could have asked. Yes, I've been texting Killian. We met last month. He's a friend."
"How did you guys meet?"
He looked at Emma. If she'd been keeping it secret, he felt he should let her answer.
Her reply was curt and matter of fact. As if answering directly could stem any further inquiry. "I went to the Caribbean during the hurricane and he was staying at the same hotel I was. We ended up sleeping on the floor of a hotel ballroom for a night, and have kept in touch via text message. Satisfied?"
"YOU WENT ON A VACATION? You never go on vacations."
"Well, I did. And I learned my lesson. Hurricanes hit. Now that table is calling you over there, and I'd hate to see them leave you a shitty tip because you can't believe I have a friend."
Ruby exited, and Emma turned to him, her face full of apology.
"Sorry, I really should have thought twice before bringing you here. She's not going to leave us alone all night. You can leave now if you want."
"No worries, love. I think I can handle the inquisition. But if there's anything I should keep to myself, tell me now."
"Well, Ruby firmly believes I should be dating, and now that she's seen you she will believe I'm supposed to be dating you. Shit, I really didn't think this through. Anyway, unless you want her to know you're heartbroken over your ex, I'll just tell her I'm disgusted by the thought of you. Try not to take it personally."
She stole a piece of celery from his plate, and double dipped in the blue cheese. He realized Emma still believed he was heartbroken, as it was a topic they seldom broached in any of their discussions. He knew Emma well enough to see she'd been hurt, and understand his heartbreak may have been what let him in. A heartbroken man was safe. And for now, if that's what meant he could be Emma's friend, he'd let her believe anything she needed to.
He found he enjoyed the night more than any in quite some time. Ruby's inquisition continued, and he learned to follow Emma's lead. Some of her other friends joined them at the table, and were more polite in their surprise upon finding out Emma had a new friend. It was mostly spending a night around people who weren't walking on eggshells, scared to mention Milah or worrying that he was about to shatter that put him at ease.
"That was fun. Your friends seem to be good people. And they love you."
She shrugged, unwilling to accept his statement. They were walking along the street, as he insisted on seeing her home. She laughed at his chivalry, as he knew she was often out much later, and around much more dangerous characters than her neighborhood offered. "They're family. You know I never had family. But as soon as I met Ruby, and then David and Mary Margaret, well, they've never let me push them away. I do that. That's kind of why they're so surprised by you. Usually it's them pushing me to let people into my life."
He wanted to stay quiet, feeling like pushing her might lead to her closing herself off more. But he needed to confirm why it was that she was willing to pursue a friendship.
"And what does it take to gain entry into Emma Swan's life? What have I done to earn that privilege?"
"I think it's because we're kind of alike. Rough beginnings. Heartbreak. The ability to handle our alcohol." He recognized the last part of her statement for what it was. A defense mechanism signaling that part of the conversation had come to a close.
Taking the cue, they walked the rest of the way home in silence.
Unfortunately one night as part of Emma's life didn't lead to more. They parted ways at her apartment, and went right back to texting constantly. He accepted it, and was grateful for her friendship as he rebuilt his life without Milah. Work kept him distracted. He had good friends. And he had her in his pocket at all times. It was almost enough.
And of course, one bad date wasn't enough to get his friends off his back permanently. A few weeks later he again found himself out with another woman who he was assured would be just the woman to mend his broken heart. Week after week he was presented with a new candidate, and each week he would sit across the table from them, wishing Emma were there to help him escape.
As early as he could in the evening he would try to explain that his friends were misguided in their attempt to set him up, and that he wasn't ready to be out. The women were understanding. A true testament to the fact that his friends were trying to find him the right new partner.
The evenings, uncomfortable as they were, went smoothly. Until this one. What his friends were thinking he'd never understand. Yes, she was gorgeous; there was no doubt about that. But the night had been one complaint after another since she walked into the restaurant. Everyone in her life had been against her. Her mother. Her sister. Anyone she could name.
He was sure that if she really wanted to exchange childhood persecution stories, he'd have her beat. Mother died in child birth, abandoned by father, brother died shortly after, girlfriend turned out to be cheating. His life had been no picnic. But actually discussing any of this with the woman would mean engaging, and he had no desire. All he could think about was how discussing these things with Emma had felt like meeting a kindred spirit. When Emma relayed her life story it was though she was letting him into a part of herself she rarely showed. This woman was demanding sympathy and justice, swearing retribution against all who had wronged her.
The longer she spoke, the more he retreated into his own thoughts. He prided himself on being an attentive listener, but this woman needed nothing more from him than the occasional "that's awful" with an accompanying head nod. It wasn't long until he remembered the first date, and his luck at running into Emma, along with her willingness to ruin the date. If only she were here tonight.
When the woman excused herself to the restroom, he realized he had the perfect opportunity to call for backup.
"Swan." He typed the text as fast as he could, hoping he could complete it before her return to the table. "SOS - you volunteered to rescue me from a date before. Does the offer still stand? Todd's. 7th Street. I will owe you." He slid his phone back into his breast pocket, and all he could really do is wait. Their food arrived at the same time as his date returned to the table, and if Emma didn't show up, he was in for a long night. She settled back in complaining about the food, the choice of restaurant and her job, and he sat, continuing to just nod and listen.
The next thing he knew, he heard his name in a loud voice, and a flash of red leather and blond hair was streaking across the restaurant toward him. He'd asked for a rescue, but what happened next wasn't exactly what he had in mind. Emma had him in handcuffs before he could even register surprise, and she pulled him up out of his chair, with a speech about his days as a fugitive being over. Panic quickly gave way to amusement, and he hoped it didn't show on his face as he shot an apologetic look to the woman he hoped to never see again.
Once out on the sidewalk, he finally allowed himself to laugh.
"Bloody hell, lass. When my friends hear about that one, I'll never live it down."
Her eyes grew wide when she realized the truth of his words. "Oh shit, sorry! I didn't even think about that. I just did the first thing that came to mind."
Still laughing, he tried quickly to set her at ease. "No, it's alright. Maybe they'll learn their lesson finally once they hear that I used a bail bonds person to get me out of the date. Seriously, I'm not entirely sure what they were thinking with that woman."
He followed in the direction she led, no plans to deviate as long as he could stay in her company. She stopped in front of a yellow VW that had obviously seen better days.
"This is me," she said, head tilting toward the car.
"I owe you, Swan. Thank you. Let me take you out for a drink to repay the favor?"
"A drink sounds great right about now, but I need to get over to Delaney. There's a warehouse calling my name for the next 8 hours at least. I catch the right guy there tonight my rent's paid for a month."
"A stake out? That should make for an exciting night."
"Killian, we've talked about this. You know it's 8 hours of drinking coffee, trying to stay awake while killing the data plan on my phone, and hoping I don't miss the guy when I run to the bathroom. It's not exciting."
"But the intrigue. It's a sight more important than sitting on the couch in my flat watching TV tonight." He hoped she would get the hint. He wanted nothing more than to spend the next 8 hours in a car with Emma. If only he could get her to be the one to suggest it.
She sighed heavily. "Well, since you do owe me, and if you can be quiet, you can come with me for as long as you can stand it. You make the coffee runs. And you can keep me from falling asleep. And after tonight, I never want to hear another word about my stake outs being exciting."
He was sure she was right. A typical stake out would have been boring. But this was anything but typical. He was spending the night getting to be with her, one on one, just talking. She kept one eye on the door at all times, but he could tell he was being studied, and hoped he was passing whatever tests Emma had set out for him.
The whole night wasn't spent in conversation. Sometimes they'd fall silent, both lost in their own thoughts. Even then, he was more comfortable than he'd been in months. Tired and cold, he had no wish to be anywhere else. When Emma decided to call it quits he couldn't help but be disappointed that their time together was at an end. She drove him home, and as he exited her car, the sun just rising casting the neighborhood in a warm glow, his brain was too foggy to say anything but goodnight.
He kicked himself as he crawled into bed, for not suggesting breakfast, or inviting her in for coffee. Anything really that would have extended his time with her.
But his phone dinged just as he was about to fall asleep and he checked the incoming text with one eye closed. "See. Boring."
He blamed the haziness for his response. "Nothing's boring with you, love."
It was four days before he heard from her again. He knew his last text might have been a bit much. She was guarded, and there was every chance that any indication of interest on his part could send her running. Not that he'd let her get too far. He'd decided that she was too good to let go. There would be weeks, possibly months, hopefully not years, of work to do. He would need to assure Emma that she could trust him and that he was worth letting her defenses down for. She was worth it.
The text that followed wasn't anything much. Just a quick, "I got him." He supposed she meant the man they'd been staking out, and he simply sent back a congratulations in return. He was going to let Emma run this at her own pace, letting her know he would always be there for her.
Not pressing her must have been just what she was looking for, because a few minutes later another text came in. "Want to help me celebrate?"
"Of course, Swan. You name it."
"Pizza and beer. Your place. I'm tired and I'm sure your place is cleaner."
He looked around, and from the evidence he'd seen in Emma's car, stray food wrappers and used napkins everywhere, he didn't doubt she was correct. His friends always joked that years in the navy had turned him into bit of a neat freak, but he'd been tidy long before then. Never wanting to provoke his father, or let down his brother, he'd learned young to keep everything in its place.
"I've got plenty of beer. Bring pizza or we can order." He kept it short, only adding his address. It was 20 minutes of agony before she arrived, while he sat trying to figure out what he could do to try and seem relaxed. Of course it was no use, as he hopped up anxiously as soon as he heard her knock at the door and darted to answer it. She already had the pizza in hand, and he led her into the kitchen for plates.
"Please don't tell me we can't eat in front of the TV."
"Of course not, love. But I do insist we eat off of actual plates, and I believe you wanted beer."
She smiled and grabbed for the bottle he offered.
"TV?"
"TV. What would the lady care to watch?"
"I don't actually care. I've been tracking this guy for four days straight and I feel like I haven't even stopped to breathe."
He made his way to the sofa, carrying the pizza, plates, and his own beer, trying not to show the nerves he felt. This whole night would be a turning point. A test of their relationship on a deeper level. Could they exist in each other's spaces, outside of the confines of text messages? Many of their conversations took place each seated on a separate couch, in separate living rooms, watching separate TVs. Could they do this without the telephone as their medium?
He turned to a program they both liked, but one they could ignore if they fell into conversation.
"How did you finally apprehend your man? It does not appear as though you were just on a date in which he ended up in handcuffs." He laughed a little as he rubbed his wrists, remembering what that had felt like.
"No, tracked him down at the racetrack. The man couldn't stay too far away from the ponies. And tonight was a big night. Luckily not for him, but definitely for me."
"Well then, love, congratulations." He saluted her with his beer bottle, and settled back leaving her to introduce a new topic of conversation. It was quiet as they ate, but he noticed Emma looking around, taking in the details of his apartment.
"Your place is kind of empty."
"Maybe I hide my treasures?" He tried not to sound offended, but her tone was judgmental.
"I didn't mean that in the way it sounded. It actually looks like mine. We're both kind of . . . Spartan. Your couch is a lot more comfortable than mine, though."
"I'm glad you approve. I have collected a lot from my time in the Navy, but it's all in boxes. I haven't ever gotten around to putting it out. Maybe someday when a place feels like home. Never had that, I guess."
Emma nodded. He could tell her week was catching up with her, and they both drifted into silence. He was more than comfortable just sitting there, and when she turned, putting her feet up into his lap, he willingly draped his arms over them as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The longer she spent there, he realized it was.
When he noticed she'd fallen asleep not too much later, he covered her with a blanket and headed to bed himself. She nestled further down into the cushions of the couch as he turned out the lights, and the sight of Emma asleep on his sofa was the best thing he'd seen in months.
It must have been a comfortable night for her as well, because it started a pattern. A few more nights hanging out at his and he was finally invited to join her on her couch for a movie. It became his new normal.
And life slowly did return to normal. Work. Friends. Emma.
Only the longer he was friends with Emma, the less friends seemed like enough. Every time she showed up, flinging herself over the back of his sofa, he could only imagine walking over and gathering her up, asking her to share her problems. Every night that he fell asleep with his phone in his hand, in the middle of a conversation with her led him to believe how much better it would be if only she were there. Every day he woke up to the ding of her morning greeting made him think of how happy they could be if they were together.
He knew he was being stupid. He should tell her how he felt, and let her decide what their next step was. But he was too scared that he would lose what he had, and so he always shied away, willing to let things stay as they were, letting her set every boundary.
His friends had learned of Emma's existence after the disastrous date, and his subsequent "arrest." The woman's complaint at being set up with a criminal had required an explanation from Killian, and he finally had to come out with the whole story. While happy to hear that he'd met someone, and that he might be ready to move on, they weren't thrilled that he was being so cautious. This wasn't the Killian they knew, and they wanted him to go out and get the girl. He was receiving this lecture for the hundredth time when Emma showed up at his apartment unannounced, in a mood after losing a skip.
"Emma, this is Robin. Robin, Emma. And this is Roland." The man's five year old boy looked up at Emma with a grin.
Emma hadn't been around too many kids since her years in foster care, and wasn't sure what to do around him.
"Um, hi. I'm sorry to interrupt. I should have called. I'll see you later, I guess."
"That's alright, Emma. We were just leaving. Let me run to the other room and get our coats. Roland, you tell Uncle Killian goodnight"
The older man squeezed past her at the door, while Roland hopped up into Killian's arms, apparently ready to say his goodbyes.
He wasn't quite sure what to do, as he and Roland had long since had an established routine. It was ridiculous, and it wasn't the impression he wanted Emma to have of him. But he couldn't disappoint the boy who he knew had come to idolize him.
"Alright, Roland. Let's have it."
He bopped Roland's nose with his own several times, completely ignoring Emma's tight lipped smile as he then devoured the laughing boy with kisses.
When Robin reappeared with jackets, they made their way out the door, Robin calling out that it was nice to finally meet Emma.
"How long have you known them?"
"I met Robin almost as soon as I got out of the Navy. His wife was American and that's how he ended up here. She died just after Roland was born, and he doesn't have any other family here. That's how I've ended up Uncle Killian. Not sure I could love my own kid any more."
"I think that's evident. I mean, I don't get nose bops and smothered with kisses when I go home at night."
He turned to her, red with embarrassment.
"You could if you wanted, Swan."
He saw the blush that rose on her face and left it at that. Robin's words were sinking in and everything he wanted was just footsteps away, if only he could be brave enough to admit how he felt.
He entered the living room, trying to figure out how to broach the subject, but she started the conversation first.
"I guess Robin's been great since Milah left? I know you're heartbroken. He knows about loss."
Nothing she could have said could have surprised him more. They hadn't talked about Milah in months. And his situation was not at all the same as Robin's. What he considered betrayal had been much easier to overcome than the death of Robin's beloved wife. He thought Milah was something Emma would have realized he was over by now. And for Emma to bring her up, well it felt like more of a deflection on her part. Something that was more about her, and less about him.
"I guess so, but it's been months since we've spoken about that, really. Lately we've talked more about you I think. I'm sure I'll get a mouthful now that he's finally met you and about why it's taken this long. Especially since it only happened by chance. He'll want to invite you to dinner I'm sure."
"Why, it's not like we're dating?" She wouldn't look at him, and kept her eyes focused ahead at the tv.
And he realized, she was deflecting. This was about her. For as much as he thought he'd broken through the barriers Emma had built around herself, as soon as she realized they'd been breached she started reinforcing the walls.
But there was a glimmer of hope. He'd gotten through. And maybe someday she'd see she didn't need to protect herself from him.
He was headed to Emma's with supplies for the storm. It was supposed to be the worst blizzard to hit Boston in several years, and he was taking a chance that lightning would strike twice. If not literally, figuratively.
The past month had been a constant struggle of just how much to push her. Every time he hinted at his feelings, she'd make a joke or bring up Milah. He could sense that she was not adverse to him, but that she wouldn't allow herself to take him seriously.
She was definitely surprised to see him at the door.
"What are you doing here, Killian? It's freezing outside and the storm is about to hit. They say it's going to be a bad one."
She pulled him into the apartment and grabbed the grocery bag from his hands, letting him take off his coat and close the door behind him.
"Well, Swan, I was sure you wouldn't have food in the house, and they're saying we're going to lose power for a few days. Besides, I know how frightened you get during storms."
He waited, to see her reaction.
"I don't get frightened during storms."
She was in the kitchen, unpacking the groceries from the bag, and he came up behind her. It might not be the best time, but he was tired of the game between the two of them.
"So that wasn't you reaching out for my hand in the dark back all those months ago? Or it wasn't because you were scared? Because if it wasn't because you were scared, it was for some other reason, Swan. If that's the case, we have even more to discuss."
She turned, ready to put it on him.
"Oh, no. That wasn't me scared. That was me comforting you. You were heartbroken and needed me. I could just tell."
She left him in the kitchen, and headed into the living room changing the subject. "I've got gas heat, so we'll be okay here even if the power does go out."
He followed into the room and stood watching as she settled into the couch and un-paused the movie she'd been watching before he arrived.
It was time. She needed to know how he felt. She might be able to continue on as though things were the same between them, but he no longer could. He needed to tell her before the storm hit, and he ended up stuck in her apartment, trapping them both in awkwardness for days until the city cleared.
"Swan." He waited, and she said nothing. "Swan. Please look at me." She finally turned to where he stood, and he could tell she was scarcely breathing. "Swan, I'm not heartbroken anymore. Milah is so far from any of my thoughts. And she has been for so long. At first I was truly crushed and I clung to that thinking you would never accept me as anything other than a friend. As long as you believed me to be heartbroken, you accepted me into your life, as broken the way you believe yourself to be. But neither of us are broken."
As he spoke, he moved and sat next Emma on the sofa, pulling her legs up over his. "I want and need to be a part of your life. But as more than a friend. And without you using Milah as some sort of wedge between us. I've been over her for quite some time. It's you, Emma. You're the woman for me, in every way. I need you to believe that about yourself, and I hope that you feel the same way about me."
"You don't love her anymore?"
He reached over to pull her closer and thumbed away the tear that started to streak down her cheek. "No. Not the way I did. I expect a part of me will always love how I felt when I was with her before it fell apart, but now I don't feel the same way about her. Deceit changes everything. I imagine you can understand that?"
She nodded.
"I'm finished protecting myself and mourning what was. I think that part of your life is over, too. You just need to take that chance." He smiled, hoping he could catch her eye. She'd been focusing on the pattern of his sweater, not willing to look him in the eyes. "Take the chance on me, love. I promise you that what we have is worth the risk."
The snow that had been in his hair had melted, and she reached out and brushed the wet strands from his forehead letting her hand linger, stroking his cheek. Her eyes searched his face, and he waited, letting her make the first move. But as soon as her lips met his, the gentle pressure full of the promise of everything he'd ever wanted, he pulled her tight ready to never let go.
As they climbed into bed that night snuggling into each other for more than warmth, the storm raged on around them, winds howling and snow creaking as it gathered on the trees outside the windows. This time, when it grew its loudest, neither were scared. They were with each other, heartbreak was the furthest from either of their minds. In the middle of the night when a branch from a nearby tree broke and woke them both, Emma's hand reached for Killian's in the dark and she found his already reaching for hers, ready to meet her more than halfway.