A/N: For lenfaz,
Well, this isn't Part Two of 'I Am Disappeared' or the next installment of 'Harsh Realms', but it is a little something I promised you. A Liam thing.
I hope you enjoy.
Emma Swan had done some pretty stupid things in her life. Like the time she'd had an affair with a married man. Or the time she thought she'd give CrossFit a try. But very few things in her life had been quite as stupid as waking up the morning after the Staff Christmas Party in a bed beside none other than Killian Jones.
Killian Jones. The guy she'd shared an office with for three years. The guy who was a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen, with his steady stream of innuendos and suggestive eyebrow raises. The guy who held the office record for the number of pencils he could get to stick to the ceiling, just by throwing them. The guy who she'd split her peanut butter and jelly with every work day for three years, because he never bothered to pack his own. That Killian Jones.
"Oh god." Emma sat up, taking stock of the situation. "Oh my god. Did we…?" She listed off the inventory. Clothes. Check. At least, she seemed to be wearing a shirt of some kind. Underwear. Check. Oh thank god. Muscled arm still draped over her stomach? Check.
"Jones," she whispered, lifting his arm off her gingerly. He made an unintelligible groan, burying his face further into his pillow. "Jones!" She nudged his shoulder. "Wake up already!"
His grip on his pillow tightened, but he rolled over onto his side, letting a single blue eye pop open. "Let the record state, Swan," His voice was thick with sleep, his accent more pronounced than normal, "I resent the implication that if we shared a night of passion, you would not only forget it, but that you would regret it."
It was a remarkably cogent statement for a man who still seemed to be mostly asleep.
"So we… didn't…?" Emma wanted to clarify. The presence of underwear was a promising sign, but her memory of the evening before still seemed to be clouded in a tequila-induced haze.
"Let me put your mind at ease," he said, propping himself up with an elbow so he was properly facing her. He still looked sleep rumpled, but both eyes were open now, and gaining back their usual intelligence fast. "Alas, we did not make passionate love to one another. I assure you, it would not be an experience you would soon forget." Cue the eyebrow waggle. Emma swatted his bare shoulder, because she could, and because it put things on more familiar ground.
"And what exactly do you remember?" Emma prodded, eyes scanning the room for clues on the night's misadventures.
"Well, I remember the tequila slammers. Vaguely. And some bloody awful margaritas." Their office Christmas Party had taken place in a Mexican place downtown. Because nothing said Christmas like cheesy sombreros and half price Coronas.
"Anything not beverage related?" Emma snapped, exasperated.
"Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Swan," He paused, letting a note of seriousness creep into his tone, "But I do believe we may have made out a little. Or a lot, as the case may be."
Shit.
That explained why her lips felt bruised. And yet, considering the clinch she'd found them in upon waking, it was maybe not the biggest surprise of the morning.
She was never drinking tequila again.
"And I'm in your bed because?" The million dollar question.
"We split a cab. It turns out you and I actually live quite close. And in said cab, you happened to unleash a torrent of truly impressive stomach pyrotechnics, and for some reason, the cabbie got quite irate and kicked us out." He shrugged. "I'm afraid I wasn't really able to discern your exact address from you at that stage, with all the slurring, so I brought you here, gave you a lovely new shirt to wear, and here we are."
She was never drinking tequila again.
"And the snuggling?" She barely dared to ask.
"Oh, that comes free," he grinned, sweeping his mess of dark hair off his forehead. It was a good look on him, and Emma hated him a little for it. She usually had three feet and a desk between them to keep her from doing anything stupid where he was concerned. Now there was just a matter of inches, and she could feel the heat of him radiating through the cotton sheet.
"Right," she said, pulling away quickly to the edge of her side of the bed. "Well, I need coffee before I can even hope to process all of this humiliation. Please tell me you have a coffee maker?" Was that too much to hope for a man who couldn't even assemble a sandwich?
"I have a coffee maker, lass." Emma breathed an instant sigh of relief. "Right by the toaster. If you get it started, I can have a shower and then maybe we could go for breakfast. Granny's French toast?" There was a hopeful current to his words, that made her want to run a mile. And the desire to just flee the scene of the crime was already pretty damn strong. But Granny's was a neighborhood institution. And her French toast… well, it was worth the walk of shame.
"Extra syrup?" Emma asked hopefully.
Killian just smirked, rolling over to his side of the bed and staggering to his feet, revealing that he had in fact been mercifully wearing sweatpants the whole time. His actions also revealed a whole lot of ab definition that Emma had not been quite prepared for, her mouth dropping open despite herself. "Just get the coffee on, Swan," he called, as he made his way to the bathroom.
Shutting her mouth, Emma didn't have to be told twice.
For a guy she had pegged as a slovenly bachelor, Emma couldn't deny that Killian's kitchen was in better shape than hers was. He didn't have any dirty dishes lying in the sink like she did, and he had a lot more gadgets, all shiny on the marble counter tops. Including one of those new fandangled Keurig machines. A step up from her usual drip coffee, she had to admit. But one which betrayed Killian as a serious coffee fiend, and probably not someone who was all that fussed about the implications of single-use pods. Clearly he didn't read the same articles she did.
But before she could think too much on her accidental bed mate's contributions to landfills, she heard a scratching at the door. Turning around, she waited, and after a pause, the scratching continued. Too haphazard to be someone fumbling with a key.
Someone was trying to pick the lock.
Looking around for something to use as suitable weapon against an intruder, Emma eventually spotted a baseball bat propped up against the couch. Taking it in hand, she raised it to her shoulder just in time for the lock to pop open, and a man to appear in the open doorway.
"Who are you!?" Emma demanded, pleased to see the man practically trip over himself as he took in her stance.
"Bloody hell!" He raised both of his arms in front of him in a peaceful cooperation kind of way. "Kill! Care to explain why there's a blonde goddess standing in your kitchen holding a baseball bat with deadly intent!?" the man shouted out with a hint of panic, letting his voice carry across the apartment.
At the sound of his voice, Emma immediately loosened her stance, letting the bat fall limply to her side. He clearly wasn't a stranger. And with that accent, not just any not-stranger.
"Oh god, you're one of them, aren't you?" Emma groaned, searching the room in vain for something to cover up her bare legs, settling for stretching the hem of the sweatshirt as far down as she could as she stepped back to keep Killian's breakfast bar between them.
"One of whom, lass?" Now that he'd apparently realized his life wasn't in immediate danger, he looked like he was prepared to be mildly offended, his chest puffing out of its own accord. God, he really was just like him.
"A Jones," Emma replied flatly. "With that eyebrow, and that accent, you've got to be the brother."
Killian had a picture on his nightstand of the two of them as boys, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders in front of some drizzly seaside vista. It had been one of the first things she'd seen when she'd woken up. One of those things that had made it immediately clear she was behind enemy lines. The boy in the photograph couldn't have been more than fourteen, with a mop of curly hair, lighter than his brothers. It was a far cry from the grown man standing before her with his close cropped hair and stubble, but the mischievous grin he wore was identical.
"Captain Liam Jones, at your service." He actually swept into a small bow, and Emma wondered if dramatic flair was another thing that just ran in the family. "And who might I have the pleasure of nearly being brained by this morning?" She'd have to add an excessive vocabulary to the list of family traits.
She tugged again at the hem of her… Killian's… shirt, wishing she'd thought to replace her jeans before searching out coffee.
"Emma."
She didn't miss the way his whole demeanour changed at her name, his eyes lighting up and his back straightening, gaze roaming her up and down, considering her in a whole new light. "You're Emma Swan? The Emma Swan?"
Well, well, well. Wasn't that interesting?
"You've… heard of me?" Emma ventured, uncertainly.
"Let's just say," he began in a conspiratorial tone, "You might have come up once or twice." His eyes were practically twinkling with glee. Emma opened her mouth to question him further when they were interrupted by the tell-tale groan of Killian's footsteps making their way down the hall.
"Lass, what was all that shouting before? Did you have the telev…LIAM!?" He'd stopped dead in his tracks, the towel he was using to dry his hair falling to the floor in a damp heap, forgotten.
"Greetings, little brother."
"You're…" Killian was still rooted to the spot, eyes wide as saucers, traveling from his brother, to Emma, and back. "You're here. Why are you here?"
"Is that any way to say hello to your big brother after he's flown all the way across the Atlantic to see you?" Liam grinned, taking the necessary few steps to envelop his younger brother into a bear hug, which after a period of recovery, Killian returned.
"I'm sorry, Liam," he said, stepping away. "I am glad to see you. But… I wasn't expecting…"
"Clearly," Liam chortled, looking from the newly showered Killian back to Emma, who was still only clad in a sweatshirt. "Had I known I was interrupting…"
"You weren't!" Both Emma and Killian replied in unison, their eyes locking across the room as the ridiculousness of the situation settled between them.
"Well, seeing as this lovely lass is in your kitchen, wearing your jumper and precious else, you can see how one might make that innocent mistake." He was having far too much fun at their expense. Emma pulled her hem down self-consciously, wondering how soon she could excuse herself to find some pants.
"Ah," Killian reached a hand to scratch behind one of his ears, "Emma, this is my brother, Liam. Bit of a nosy prick, if you hadn't gathered. And Liam, this is Emma." Apparently she needed no further description.
"Yes, we've already become acquainted," The grin was stretched wide across Liam's face. "I forgot my spare key and decided to pop the lock, and the lovely lass nearly took my head off with your baseball bat."
"She did?" Killian's head snapped up. He looked almost… proud?
"Violent sort, these Americans. Take their household security rather seriously," Liam noted, but he winked in Emma's direction.
And then all three of them were startled by the sudden beep of the Keurig, two steaming cups of coffee ready and waiting.
"So…" Emma struggled to filled the awkward silence. "Coffee, anyone?"