Lightning Strikes the Heart

by tagalonglovers

Killian Jones and Emma Swan have hated each other since the moment they met. When David and Mary Margaret ask them to be in their wedding, their desire to stay as far away from each other as possible, goes awry. The two must work together and get along and if they help their friends to achieve their own happy ending, then who's to stop them? (full summary inside)

1. Chapter 1

Lightning Strikes the Heart

Killian Jones and Emma Swan have hated each other since the moment they met. Killian is arrogant, cocky and a womanizer; Emma is standoffish, straight forward and rude. When David and Mary Margaret ask them to be their respective Maid of Honor and Best Man, their desire to stay as far away from each other as possible, goes awry. The two must work together to make the Nolan-Blanchard wedding as perfect as possible. The best wedding gift the bride and groom could receive is for their closest friends to get along, and if they help their friends achieve their own happy ending, then who's to stop them?

A/N: I've had this idea brewing for awhile, and I've spent the this last year churning out this monster instead of prepping for grad school (It was supposed to be under 20K and it's almost 50K instead-I think I missed the mark).

They say it takes a village to raise a child and it's never been truer. Without the help of my beta (accio-ambition) and cheerleader (captklaroline) I would be nothing. I especially need to thank Maggie for encouraging me the whole way and finding my fuck it moments. This story would be a horrific mess without you. I also need to bow down to the absolutely fabulous swan-kat for creating a brilliant piece of art for me (you can find it HERE).

The title comes from Colbie Caillat's Brighter than the Sun. The post for the story is at my tumblr thebravestprincess.

PART ONE

It starts with a phone call.

David's silent on the other end and that's how Killian knows that something is up. They've been friends for a long time, have been through plenty of interesting circumstances—ranging from David's torrid, doomed love affair with Kathryn to the deaths of David's parents—and by this point, Killian would like to think that he knows him pretty well.

He heaves a sigh when David talks himself in and out of circles, jotting down notes on his latest jewel appraisal for later use. He taps his fingers against the heavy wood of his brother's desk. "Spit it out, mate. International rates are a pain in my arse."

"I did it."

"What?" Killian bites out. He loves David, dearly—like another brother and all of that—but sometimes he wishes that he was closer to Mary Margaret who doesn't hem and haw so much to get to the point out. "What did you do? You got the job? You got the new house?" He nods to himself before continuing, "I hope it's a new house because that apartment you share with Mary Margaret is much too small for the two of you when you finally grow a pair to pro—Oh!"

Killian makes the connection and he knows instantly he's right because David laughs giddily on the other end. "I proposed. Killian, I proposed to her and she said yes!"

"As if she would do anything else," Killian says knowingly, cradling the phone receiver in his hand and smiling broadly. "She loves you, mate. You've been in love with each other for so long, I still don't know how you waited for so long."

"Financial stability is a good thing, Killian. Don't knock it til you try it."

Killian glances around Liam's old office that he's borrowing for his stay in London and peers through the glass door to spot an intern patiently helping a few patrons. "I'm pretty settled, Dave. I don't think you need to tell me that."

"Right, right. I forgot that you're very important. Don't forget that having a life is important too," David says earnestly, a smile to his voice that makes Killian rolls his eyes. Since he and Mary Margaret moved in together and became serious,marriage has been the big topic of every one of their conversations. They're almost thirty and he hasn't had a serious girlfriend since—well, a while and David and Mary Margaret have made it their personal mission to get Killian to join their couple cult.

"I am very happy where I am in my life, David," Killian says instead, swallowing harsher words. It's true. He probably shouldn't be having so much casual sex now that he is approaching thirty, but he's a bachelor; his social life is relaxed and fits just how he wants into his busy life. He's happier than he was in college and that's what matters.

He clears his throat. "How did you propose? Grandiose romantic gesture like you've always dreamed? Rose petals and horse-drawn carriages around the park? Flash mob in the middle of Grand Central?"

David chuckles weakly on the other end. "Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" Killian asks, dropping his pen and leaning back in his chair. He rolls up his button down sleeves, folding them neatly. "Tell me, mate. Don't be shy. I need to know all the gory details."

"It was kind of accidental," David murmurs. Killian can hear the wince in his voice and he starts to laugh in response, trying to picture David foregoing his carefully plotted plans. David hurriedly cuts him off, "No! No! Stop, Killian, come on, not like that." He quiets down, trying to catch his breath as he waits. "I just couldn't help myself. We were taking a walk around the park when this little girl fell while rollerblading right in front of us. You know Mary Margaret, she was instantly there to help her. Brushed off the dirt on her jacket, dried her tears with that sweet smile and helped her up like it was nothing." There's admiration and affection in David's voice that makes Killian's heart hurt, "And I just—I couldn't help myself. I could just see our kids, Killian, and I blurted it out."

"Oh, mate," Killian murmurs. It's perfect for them, honestly. He doesn't know why he thought it would ever be something ridiculous. Mary Margaret and David have always been like that. They've never needed—done anyway in many cases, yes,— any big romantic gestures to get their feelings across.

"And she said yes," David continues. "She didn't even look surprised. She kissed me and grabbed my hand and we just kept skating. I didn't even have the ring on me."

"I slaved over that ring for you and you didn't even have it with you?" Killian exclaims, throwing his head back and laughing. "I spent weeks finding the perfect set of vintage emeralds for you."

"And she loved the ring you made!" David hurriedly adds, "I gave it to her when we got home."

Killian smiles. "I'm really happy for the both of you. You deserve all the happiness in the world." David makes appreciative murmurs, and Killian clears his throat. "So when's the big date then?"

"April, we think," David says, sounding like he's thinking carefully. "It's a little earlier than we ever thought—"

"There's not enough time!" A familiar voice crows in the background. "I wanted June but we would have had to wait years for a June wedding."

Killian sighs wearily, shaking his head. "Have I been on speakerphone the whole time?"

"No?"

"You don't sound too sure, Dave," Killian says dryly. He should really know better. David and Mary Margaret have been attached to the hip for as long as they've been in a relationship. They've always been that love sick that makes normal people want to vomit at the sight of them.

"I swear!" David proclaims. "She just got home from work!"

Killian glances at his clock, 8:15 PM, and quickly calculates the time zone difference. Knowing how devoted Mary Margaret is to her first grade class, he calls bullshit. He doesn't bother actually saying it because he knows when to surrender to David and Mary Margaret. "So why April?"

Mary Margaret immediately launches into a very fierce defense of the date that Killian almost immediately loses track of. She cites some outdoor venue and there's a very long list of blooming flowers that he doesn't quite understand. He's toying with grabbing the old pocketwatch to fool around with when a single name stops him in his tracks.

Emma.

His blood runs cold, the hair on the back of his neck prickles, and he can barely grit out the words, "Emma? The Swan girl? Are you shitting me?"

"—she's finally coming back from that operation in Maine! And you'll be home permanently by then so it's perfect!"

"Swan," he states through clenched teeth. "David."

David doesn't answer because Mary Margaret's interrupts with unnatural sharpness in her voice. "Don't give me that, Killian. Emma is my best friend and you need to get over this petty rivalry or whatever feelings you still have from that incident."

"There are no feelings," Killian exclaims, "She is rude and nasty. You saw the bruise—"

"You were very obvious about getting into Ruby's skirt," David says plainly. "I don't blame her for punching you."

"Ruby wanted to go home with me," Killian says crossly, "I'm not that big of a dick."

"And you're going to prove that you're not a big dick now," Mary Margaret says, and Killian barely contains his laughter when she repeats his phrasing right back at him. Even elementary school teachers can have dirty mouths. "My wedding day will not be ruined because the best man can't go twenty minutes without having a fit. If you can't control whatever lusty feelings you have for her, then—"

"Lusty feelings?" Killian asks, this time not even bothering to hide his crude laughter. "I hate Swan, Mary Margaret. I'd rather stick myself with a hot poker than have to acknowledge her existence." There's silence on the other end, and Killian knows that they're talking about him in that coupley way they do with their eyebrows and telepathy. His good mood from David's announcement is gone and now he's just tired and annoyed. He rubs the bridge of his nose, barking, "What?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Mary Margaret hastily says, and there's something like amusement in her voice that Killian doesn't even want to try to interpret. "I would say just to stay away from her Killian, but you can't. You need to grow up."

"I'll grow up if she grows up," Killian mutters, in a decidedly adult manner. He can hear their combined sigh over the phone line and he rolls his eyes. "Fine. I can be an adult. But I'm only doing this for the two of you."

"It's been years," David says conversationally, "I'm pretty sure you can put aside whatever you have going on and work together."

Killian pauses, heaving a sigh, "Don't you dare tell me she's the maid of honor or I might delete your number right here, right now. I thought she was just a bridesmaid and now you're telling me—"

"Killian," Mary Margaret says with warning.

"Fine, fine, fine," he answers snippily, biting his lip. "I can behave. It's been years since I've seen her. My hatred has surely died down since then."

"All you need to do is be civil," David reassures. "Remember, it's for us. Your best friends who love you greatly and really want to have the perfect wedding day."

Killian doesn't need to rely on his relationship with David to correctly interpret the warning in his words. Killian takes a breath, ignoring the bell ringing from the front room and agrees. He has no other choice. "Of course, mate. I'll behave. I won't like it, but I'll be on my best behavior."

---

Less than three weeks later, he's put to the test.

He's just finally returned from a few months in London. He's spent weeks trying to sort out how the Jewels of the Realm London location is going to run without his brother's leadership. He's exhausted—physically and emotionally—and he's ready to go back to his hopefully cleaned apartment and sleep for a week, but he can't. He's due to meet David and Mary Margaret at their favorite bar. It's probably not his best idea, but he needs to see them and properly congratulate them, so as soon as the plane touches down, he's in motion.

It's pretty early for a Friday night, but the bar's already packed. It's hot as hell inside because the heat's cranked up and it's ridiculously loud because of a Rangers game, but his discomfort disappears when he spots David and Mary Margaret curled up in a booth in the far back. He smiles at them when David brightens and waves frantically at him, and he slips through the crowd.

He collapses in the booth, after hugging both tightly, and smiles at their bemused expressions.

"Tough flight?" David quips.

"It was so long," Killian states with a pout. "Believe me, if we were not eating and drinking on your dime, I would not be here. I have absolutely nothing in my fridge and I need to drink away my memory of that flight." A waitress arrives with drinks and Killian can't stop the smile that appears on his face when Mary Margaret pushes one of the beers into his hands. "And this is why I love coming home. A good meal with my best friends is the best welcome home."

"About that," David says, exchanging a tight smile with Mary Margaret.

He stops, the cool glass against his lips. The two of them look more guilty than usual and there's a fourth empty whiskey glass on the table. He narrows his eyes, glancing between them and the glass. They have only one friend who casually drinks whiskey at the best craft beer bar in the city. "No."

Killian takes a deep drink of his beer, terribly, terribly sad that he can no longer down a beer like he used to as a teenager. Emma Swan is here and going to ruin his evening. He never expected to be blindsided by his best friends. He sighs deeply, glancing longingly at the appetizers already on their table. "I'm leaving."

He gets to his feet. Immediately, David jumps out of the booth, placing both hands on Killian's shoulders, "You can't. Emma's here tonight to bury the hatchet. She's making an effort, now it's your turn."

Killian pouts, and Mary Margaret pipes up, "We're really sorry, Killian, but we knew it was necessary. Admit it you never would have shown up otherwise."

He rolls his eyes "You're damn right I wouldn't have."

"But you're here now, and you might as well make the best of it," David says soothingly, trying to reassuringly rub Killian's shoulders. He looks earnest and if Killian weren't so annoyed he would laugh. "We have a greasy American cheeseburger coming for you and an open tab on my credit card just waiting for your expensive craft beers."

His determination to leave wavers. David and Mary Margaret are his best friends for a reason. He takes a cautious seat again and Mary Margaret smiles. "Just be yourself, Killian, and things will go smoothly. I want the two of you to get along. Do you know how difficult it is to handle the two of you hating each other?"

"No," he says petulantly. They should have dropped Swan the second she was rude, but Mary Margaret and David are soft and dewy-eyed for anyone that is family-less and ready to fight for any cause. Single mom Emma fit their bill perfectly. Killian knows that firsthand.

"Killian," Mary Margaret says.

"I'll behave." he says crabbily, stealing a handful of Mary Margaret's onion rings out of spite and taking another hasty sip of his beer. He needs more alcohol in him if he's expected to deal with her.

"Good." she brightens. "On that note, you need to apologize."

He chews messily and swallows. "I will not. You're already asking me to sit in her presence. I will not apologize."

"You called her a—" David bites his lip, turning to Mary Margaret hopefully, "A demon? And a—shoot, what did you call her—an opinionated savage beast?"

"Not my best work," Killian admits. "My vocabulary for insults has significantly increased since working with rich clients."

David scoffs. "Sure. Anyway, you need to apologize."

"If I need to apologize, she needs to apologize. Ruby was a consenting adult. Really, I did nothing to warrant an apology. Swan punched me to save Ruby's virtue." He gestures at Mary Margaret. "She overreacted and yes, maybe I shouldn't have put my hand on Ruby's bottom, but that should have been up to her, not Swan."

"Killian." David sighs, he runs a hand threw his hair.

He watches with narrowed eyes. Mary Margaret is giving him her sweetest, most hopeful look and he knows he's going to agree. He's going to regret it, but he will do it if it means that David and Mary Margaret are happy on their wedding day.

Emma Swan is not a great woman. She's opinionated and doesn't take any shit. She can be downright cruel when she needs to be and is fiercely protective of herself and her son. If things had been different, he might have admired her, but now things are different. It's going to take a herculean effort to be civil.

But he loves Mary Margaret and David. And they love Swan.

He nods finally and responds, "Fine."

They both break into wide smiles. "Thank you, Killian. And for the record, Emma's been read the riot act too. Now, grab another beer and relax. She'll be back from the bathroom at any minute."

He just barely avoids rolling his eyes at them like a teenager, but gets up anyway. He goes to the bar, flutters his eyes at the familiar bartender, Tara, and waits for his bottle. He spots her return to the table out of the corner of his eye and the hairs rise on the back of his neck almost reflexively. She's leaning against the booth with a deep scowl on her face, pointedly not looking in his direction.

It absolutely fills him with pleasure that she hates him as much as he does.

He makes a production of blowing Tara a kiss as she hands him his bottle. He saunters back to the table, waiting for the moment that Swan can't help but turn around. She does exactly that and whirls back around. He takes the time to let his eyes drift unapologetically down her body. It's quite unfortunate that Swan is even more beautiful than she was at the ripe old age of 22. Her hair is still golden, curling at the tips, and her dark red leather jacket falls perfectly to the top of her perfectly round bottom. Being a part of the police force has truly done her body good.

"Hello, Swan," he says gruffly as he approaches the table. He nods to her, and he watches as she turns sharp green eyes on him and doesn't say a word. He bites his lip, widening a smile as far as he can. "You look lovely as always."

She looks him up and down, forcing herself to smile at him with none of the warmth she saves for David and Mary Margaret. "Jones."

He feels himself sinking back into that old immature college kid he used to be just at the sight of her. His old slime falls out of his lips without even his notice. "Budge over, Swan, will you? I have a fresh drink and I would like to share it with my dear friends." He tips his head in Mary Margaret and David's direction, ignoring their warning dagger eyes. Emma moves over as far as she can, annoyance clear as day on her face.

Her irritation empowers him. "Got a problem, Swan?" She doesn't answer, and he leans over, knowing it's a mistake and whispers in her ear. "It's because I'm so attractive isn't it, Swan? You just can't bear to me near me."

He expects the shove out of the booth—he won't deny it—he just doesn't quite expect to wind up ass over tit on the dirty floor of the bar, with Swan's clenched fist firmly pressed against the small of his back. He spits out dust and probably a lot of other things he would rather not have in his mouth, and lies there stiffly as she leans down with a sharp smile. "Never touch me again, Jones." She releases him just as swiftly, and brushes off her hands with a very self-satisfied smirk before announcing, "I need another drink."

He pries himself off the floor, ignoring the scattered jeering of the other patrons at his misfortune, and watches her saunter away from him with a bounce in her step. (Her ass really is spectacular, especially in those boots and jeans.) He slides back into the booth and smiles broadly at David's pursed lips and Mary Margaret's disappointed expression. "I'm not sorry."

"You didn't even try," David deadpans.

"She's so much fun to rile up." Killian takes a deep breath, shaking his head ruefully. "God, I forgot how much fun that is."

"And you're not going to have any more fun," Mary Margaret says with authority and Killian's smile droops. "Go apologize and make nice."

"But—"

"You're going to be working with her over the next few months. You need to be respectful." Mary Margaret shakes her head. "You're a grown up, Killian. Act like it. Be nice to her. Buy her a drink—no scratch that, she'll think you're hitting on her—buy her breakfast, take her to a museum. I don't know, Killian, just treat her the way that you would treat us."

"With care and compassion," David adds with a decisive nod of his head. "You just need to act like a grown up and tone it down."

"Fine, fine," he says, getting to his feet and setting off for the bar, "I'm going."

He's gone before either of them can make another comment, slipping into place behind Swan. She notices him, but denies him a comment, pointedly turning her entire body toward the three bartenders. Killian rolls his eyes, because of course she would be stubborn in every sense. He tries to wrap an arm around her shoulders, and he's intercepted. Her eyes are icy and her grip around his bad wrist is tight, almost painful.

"Don't touch me, Jones."

"Sorry," he murmurs apologetically, feeling genuine, only because his wrist is now throbbing in her grasp. "Let go, Swan. I won't touch you."

"Good," she says stiffly, releasing his hand reluctantly. "Now, fuck off."

He rolls his eyes behind her back. "Hello, Swan. You look wonderful. How am I? Oh, I'm just as wonderful. My business is booming, I'm thinking about expanding again." She doesn't answer, stepping forward so she's even further away from him. "This is when you answer and ask me questions too."

"I have nothing to say to you," she says simply, sounding impassive and untouched. He might actually have to apologize. If they don't come back to the table civil, Mary Margaret might actually kill him. He's about to step forward again, when she leans forward and raps sharply on the wood. It's too noisy in the bar and it does nothing.

"Let me," Killian scoffs, lightly shouldering another female to step up beside her.

He's just about to flag down Tara when Emma laughs. "Don't need your help, Jones. I can take care of myself." She brings her fingers to her lips and lets out an ear-piercing whistle. Graham, the only male bartender, turns automatically toward Emma with an answering whistle. Emma winks smugly at Killian. "That's how you do it."

He rolls his eyes, signaling Tara wordlessly for another. There's an uncomfortable silence between them despite the din of the bar, and Killian knows what must be done. He takes a deep breath, scratching uncomfortably behind his ear, before taking the plunge. "I am truly sorry for before, Swan. I didn't mean to be so crass." He winces. "Old habits die hard, I suppose?"

"Old habits?" She looks unimpressed. "That's what you're going with?"

He sniffs, "You're very easy to rile up, Swan." He tries to peer around a tall guy that's blocking his view, trying his hardest to keep his tone. "Apparently, you bring out the worst in me."

"Well, you were pretty awful," Swan says, grimacing. "It figures that you would stay that way now."

"I can be a good guy." She snorts ungracefully. "I am. I'm certainly not as awful as I used to be."

At that, Swan begins to laugh a big belly laugh that makes the couple next to them stare. She's still cackling when Tara appears with his drink and Graham with hers. Killian instructs both of them to add it to David's tab as she hiccups helplessly.

"You haven't changed a bit either, Swan," he says finally, "You're still just a narrow-minded and rude as you've always been."

They step aside and Emma stops laughing long enough to shake her head at him. "I have no idea what David sees in you. He's a genuinely nice, compassionate guy, and you," she smirks, "you're a sleazebag who thinks being attractive can let you get away with anything."

"So you think I'm attractive," he says confidently, taking a sip of his beer to hide his smirk. She groans and stomps away, and Killian feels something bubble in his chest. It feels like success. He grabs her arm, almost whirling her around. "Swan, stop for one second."

"Why?" she spits. "You're so lucky Mary Margaret and David like you or you would be dead on the ground right now."

"Yes, yes you're behaving, I can tell," he drawls. "Are you willing to put aside our differences so this wedding can be perfect?"

"I can be civil," she says easily, crossing her arms over her chest, "Can you?"

"Can you stop treating me like I'm a cockroach in human form?"

"If you can act like a respectable person, then I can treat you like you're human."

Killian is so very tempted to disagree just for the sake of disagreeing, but Mary Margaret and David are sitting at the booth, anxiously trying to look like they're not watching. Killian must act like an adult. Emma expects him to deny her. She expects that he's just another douchebag—which alright, he can be—and he can't have that. He smirks at Emma, lowering his lashes and watching with great joy as her own smirk tightens noticeably. "That sounds like a challenge, Swan."

She narrows her eyes. "It wasn't."

"Oh, I think it was," Killian says, sizing her up. This will be simple. He's easily one of the most charming men he's ever known—even if he is a tiny bit biased—and he can win Emma Swan over easily. For sure, he will never be friends with her, but he will maintain his civility until the last drink of the last minute of the after-party on the wedding night. He meets her eyes squarely, and holds out his hand for her to shake.

Rolling her eyes, she takes it firmly. Killian smiles. "Challenge accepted, Swan. Be prepared."

---

His plan to win Emma Swan's friendship—something he doesn't want or need—doesn't come into action until a week or two later. His professional life takes first priority; he has to take back control of the American location of his shop first and foremost. Then, he needs to jumpstart design and production for the upcoming season. He's no longer worried about the London shop, but the interim head of the New York location—Mr. Smee, a fairly incapable man—has done an abysmal job running his business. In a short amount of time, his professional life returns to normalcy. He's nearly overrun with clients interested in his jewelry and smithing services.

His social life takes a bit more time. He has dinner a few times a week with David and Mary Margaret. Sometimes Swan joins them, but those nights, she ignores him. His challenge starts then, but it fails pretty abysmally. Although she likes flowers, she doesn't like bouquets and Killian very firmly finds out that he will not win her over by pushing huge arrangements of roses and tulips in her direction. Mary Margaret happily accepts the blood red French tulips he buys specifically for her, but Swan awkwardly clutches at the bouquet with a pretty hysterical expression until David fetches a vase for her to put them in. He's thankful she doesn't throw them in his face, but she forgets to bring them home and they remain a centerpiece on David and Mary Margaret's dining room table instead.

So, Killian tosses out flowers, and searches out other options.

He finds one.

Strong-willed, menacing, Detective Emma Swan, is addicted to Mary Margaret's chocolate chip banana nut muffins.

It's nearing Halloween and they're all kind of going crazy. David's working terrible hours, Killian's patrons are obsessively interested in their projects, and Mary Margaret's students are acting up. Like always, she gets stressed when they stress, and when she's stressed, she bakes.

And bakes.

And bakes.

Killian walks in for dinner one night and finds nearly every surface of the one-bedroom apartment covered in baked goods of all shapes and sizes. He's judging if he can sneak one of Mary Margaret's snickerdoodles before dinner, when the devil herself wanders into the living room, stuffing one of Mary Margaret's special muffins down her throat with increasingly horrifying noises. He doesn't make any comment (even though he's absolutely aching to say something naughty) and watches in anticipation as she praises Mary Margaret's baking skills and begs her to make more.

Mary Margaret regretfully says no, insisting she's moved onto cakes, and that should be the end of it, but the image of Swan swallowing the muffin practically whole sticks in his mind all night. He's walking home, loaded down with leftovers and baked goods—he can never say no to David's lasagna—when he's struck with an idea.

He turns around in the middle of the street and heads right back to the apartment. He strong-arms David out of the doorway and wheedles Mary Margaret into giving him the recipe. His brain is in overdrive because this—this could be the key into Swan's heart. Feed her into a false sense of security, and she could be putty in his hands.

It's genius.

The only real problem is that he hasn't tried his hand in baking in over 20 years. He used to bake all the time when he was young. When his brother joined the Royal Navy or his father was in a less than pleasant mood, his mother would draw him close to her side at the counter and press dough into his hands. It was therapeutic to him as a child, stopped him from answering his father's words with fists.

He hasn't baked since her death.

It figures that Swan would be the reason to start again.

As much as it pains him, he gets the recipe and lays out the ingredients on the countertop in his apartment. He putzes around for a while and finally forces himself to mix the first set of ingredients, folding the flour, cocoa powder, and sugar in the mixing bowl by hand like Mary Margaret insisted. He chops up the nuts into small pieces, and the rest of the recipe falls into place. He winds up with a dozen heavenly smelling muffins and that old calm settling in his gut.

In the morning, before he heads to his shop, he tops them with some chocolate chips and fudge drizzle. He feels properly domesticated as he leaves his apartment with two of the muffins packed in a small box stamped clearly with his jewelry shop logo. He imagines if the muffins turn out to be shit, Swan will have a good laugh knowing he slaved over a hot stove for her damn muffins.

It takes some sweet talking—'Surprising my girlfriend, come on, love. You wouldn't want one of New York's finest to starve, would you?'—but he leaves the muffins on Swan's cluttered desk with her normal coffee order. He's in and out before Swan comes back from a call and he settles in for a day of tinkering, feeling surprisingly nervous. He doesn't know why he feels the way he does—he doesn't care for Swan's opinion of him—but there is a lot at stake. If she doesn't accept his gift as a peace offering, the wedding will be even more complicated than it has to be.

It turns out she doesn't say anything for three days.

Every day, he's delivered her a coffee and a few muffins with no response. It's discouraging for sure, but he's kept up with David, who works with her every day, and knows that Swan is curious. She knows that Killian's the baker, but isn't afraid that they're poisonous; in fact, she and and her son, Henry, are devouring the muffins.

Killian gets a text from an unknown number later that night. It's almost midnight, and he's sacked in front of his television with a matching sapphire necklace and earring set long forgotten at his side. He sits up, smirk already starting on his lips. He's already gotten her.

I know what you're trying to do.

He taps the screen, trying to think of the most appropriate response. Sass, as always is the best response. You've done it Swan. You've foiled my plan.

It doesn't take long before she answers and he takes the time to plug in her contact information.

Stop trying to fatten me up.

I'm serious, Jones. I have a gown to fit into by April.

He pauses, expecting something a bit more sharp from her. Maybe something about how he won't win this by feeding her or she knows he's truly evil. He still thinks she's a rude, opinionated bitch—a few pastry goodies won't change that—and he doubts her opinion would change that fast either.

I'm being kind, Swan. I made muffins, I thought you might like them.

Well, stop it.

Is it really so bad, Swan? Free breakfast from a friend.

A friend.You wish.

We're not friends? I could have sworn that was our agreement.

He's personally gotten her breakfast every day this week and the witch still can't give him the time of day without being her normal horrible self. He doesn't need it anyway, he reasons, as long as they're not antagonizing each other. And he's got a leg over her anyway—he's told way more people than necessary that she's his girlfriend to get in places and the police precinct desk sergeant sneaks him into the office without question every morning.

He finally types, Oh right, we're acquaintances.

That's it.

He rolls his eyes. He's glad that's all they are. I'm hurt, love. I slaved over a hot stove for you. I guess I can get over it.

I know Mary Margaret helped you. I appreciate the gesture but stop.

He can barely contain his snort of disgust. Of course, Swan would think that. It's beyond her imagination to think that he would honestly do anything to help her. As if she could ever be thankful for something he's done. He could save the planet and she would think he did it for the glory. He types a rude response, but quickly backtracks, ending the conversation right then and there: Of course.

He thinks about quitting—stopping his quest for Swan's civility—and almost laughs. He can't do that, Mary Margaret and David would be so disappointed in him and more importantly, Swan would think she was right. And that can't happen.

He marches into his kitchen, throwing open his small pantry and grabbing ingredients. He doesn't need Mary Margaret's recipe this time; he already has one in mind. Cinnamon roll muffins, his mother's recipe. It's late, much later than he should be baking, but he powers through, ignoring the stir of emotion in his belly when the smell of the muffins baking hits him. He pulls off the recipe with minimal emotional trauma and leaves them to cool.

The next day, he wakes up with a plan in mind. He drizzles icing on the entire batch and takes care to keep them secure as he follows his normal routine to Swan's favorite coffee shop and then the precinct. Claire is at the front, and spots him immediately, waving him over with a smile, "Oh, Killian, more muffins today? You promised me fresh scones."

"These are special, my dear." He pops the top of the box and raises a single eyebrow. "How do you feel about cinnamon rolls?"

Claire smiles, her wrinkled hands darting into the box to grab one. She admires it, nodding in approval before taking a bite. She practically wilts. "You've outdone yourself this time. I take back whatever I said about those other muffins. These are the best thing I've ever tasted." She takes another bite, wiping her mouth and gesturing, "Emma is going to love them. She was so snippy yesterday. She needs something sweet."

Killian winks theatrically. "Sweet as these muffins."

"Absolutely. Emma is lucky to have you, Killian."

"Remind her for me, Claire," he laughs. She buzzes him into the bullpen and Killian eagerly turns on his heels. He's only known Claire for less than a week, but he very much likes her. If only she were forty years younger.

He trots off, taking his well-traveled path to Swan's desk. He greets two of her coworkers with a head nod and nearly stops in his tracks when he sees a familiar blonde head bent over paperwork on her desk. A grin splits his face when she looks up and heaves an almighty sigh of frustration. He saunters over to her side, presenting the box and coffee like he's a lowly servant waiting on her. "For you, Swan. Cinnamon roll muffins."

Emma glares at him, her eyes lingering just a little too long on the muffins. "Why are you here?" she finally asks.

"I can't let you starve, Swan," he says, placing the box on the desk and waving over her partner and a few of the other investigators. "Muffins for everyone. There's plenty to go around. I have a duty to the city's finest."

"I can take care of myself," she scoffs, turning pointedly away from him. She picks up her pen and makes a few useless marks on her report. Killian rolls his eyes and plants himself at the edge of her desk.

"I never said you couldn't." He unwinds the thick, black cashmere scarf and grabs his own muffin. It's just as delicious as he remembers. "God, I have out done myself." She won't take one, and he shrugs. He's got plenty of time; he is the owner of his own shop.

"You should leave."

"Not until you take a bite."

"Not a chance," Emma insists. "I have plenty of other healthy options. I'm making a point."

"Suit yourself." He prods the box closer to her, watching in anticipation as she almost imperceptibly turns toward the smell. He smirks. "More for the boys then." David wanders over with his partner, Leroy, shuffling along beside him. "Mate, Leroy, take muffins! David! Get your butt over here!"

Emma rubs her forehead and groans, "Can you eat all of the damn muffins somewhere else? I have reports to finish."

"Calm down, Emma," David laughs as he ambles over with Leroy at his side. "You're so crabby this morning. Have a muffin," David says, taking a seat on the other side of the desk, taking a bite of a muffin. Over her head, David exaggeratedly winks at Killian and moans loudly in pleasure. "Come on, just try a bite. Cinnamon's your weakness."

She stares down David, and it would be more convincing if she didn't glance hopefully at the box.

"Do it," Killian whispers, taking a hefty drink of his coffee. "Just take one. I won't even gloat."

"Jeez, I'll take one of your damn muffins." She raises an eyebrow at him. "It's not even nine, Jones, can you stop vibrating in your seat?"

"This is my third cup of the day, Swan, I could run a marathon." He smiles sharply at her. "You are no match for my wit today. Just do it."

She weighs her options, it seems, and finally her hunger wins. She impetuously just grabs one of the muffins and takes a bite. She closes her eyes, as if she's expecting the worst, but it never comes. She chews thoughtfully, opening her eyes and watching him carefully. Killian can't help the sly grin that splits his face when she finally nods and begrudgingly says, "This is good."

"Homemade is always better than whatever crap you have in your drawer, Swan. Remember that." She rolls her eyes, but continues eating and Killian considers it a win.

"And I remember telling you to stop baking for me."

"And I ignored it. What are you going to do, Swan?"

She taps her fingers against the fake wood of her desk. "I'm going to save one for Henry. He loves cinnamon even more than me." She glances back at David and sits up a little straighter, and speaks through clenched teeth."You should make more." She finishes the muffin, popping the lid of the coffee and taking a sip. She smiles faintly, a rare pleasure in his company and offers him a small nod. "Thank you, Killian."

It's a clear dismissal, but it's a very positive response. She has never used his first name before. Killian's heart feels lighter than ever, and he can't hold back the grin as he meets David's eyes. As expected his best friend is beaming; he scoots off the desk and holds out his hand for Killian to shake. "These were delicious. Thanks for such a wonderful breakfast." David starts to walk away. "I wanna get added to your delivery list." He turns back, grinning the whole time. "It'll make a great anniversary present!"

Killian laughs, watching until David is carefully seated away from them and fumbling with his police reports before he turns back to Emma. "I'm pretty sure Mary Margaret would kill me if that was what I got them as a present." She doesn't look up but he keeps going. "Are you going to the party tomorrow?" She doesn't answer, but she stops writing and he takes it as a sign to continue: "Of course you're going! You have to go, you're the maid of honor."

"I'm going," she answers. Her tone is drastically different than before and Killian wants to kick himself for thinking she might have been polite for him. "We'll make nice, we'll take pictures and that'll be all," She pauses, biting her lip, her face turning hard. "I'm willing to work with you, Jones, but we're not friends."

"I don't want your friendship, Swan," he laughs, "I want to make David and Mary Margaret happy."

"And we're doing it. Don't bother me, I won't bother you and we'll get through this wedding just fine." She smirks. "You don't need to buy my friendship anymore."

"I'm being a good person, Swan," he insists sweetly. He's not put off by it; he's actually amused that she's trying again to get him to stop. "I'm taking time out of my day to bake for you, that's all. I don't want to win your heart. I don't even want to get in your pants."

"That's a lie."

"It's not," he says loftily, and she puts her pen down to properly turn her best unimpressed look on him. "I don't. Now you, on the other hand..." He holds back a smirk when she bristles. "If you keep talking like that, I'll start to think that you want to get a hand on my jewels." The unintentional pun and sexual innuendo is enough and she jerks violently in his direction to push him off the desk. He scoots away just in time and laughs raucously as he gets to his feet without her help.

"Don't worry, Swan, your secret is safe with me." She's glaring at him as he backs out of the room, but it's more unamused than disembowelment and he's perfectly fine with that change of heart. He waves cheerily at David and Leroy and gives her a cheap bow. "Have a lovely day, Swan."

He races out before she can get another word in edgewise.

It's a first in more ways than one and he lets that carry him through a hard day full of irate customers and priceless gems.

---

The engagement party is perfect for David and Mary Margaret. The room they've rented for the night is small—it is the city, after all—but the homey old brick walled room of the August Tavern is crammed with friends and family. Killian greets and hugs half of the party, steadily making his way from the entrance to the heart of the party. It's packed with so many people that a few of the large windows have been opened to let in some fresh November air.

The view is incredible from where he's standing, sort of involved in a conversation with David's sweet but forgetful grandma. The room they've specifically chosen for the night has dozens and dozens of fairy lights. It looks like something out of a fairytale.

He would appreciate it more if he could grab another drink but Grammy's still raving about David's long-lost brother and Swan has commandeered the lone bartender's attention. He's the same bartender from their favorite bar, and if Killian hadn't been with David when Graham offered his services as a wedding gift, Killian would have thought he did it to spend more time with Swan. He hasn't stopped staring at her since Swan approached the bar for her first drink, making eyes and ignoring other patrons.

It's infuriating.

Now, Killian will admit that Swan is a very sexy woman, but she does not deserve that kind of attention, especially when it's holding up the alcohol consumption. Swan doesn't seem to notice how problematic they're being, wearing this misplaced shy smile and twirling her long blonde locks between her forefingers. She's leaned against the counter, and her dress isn't even that revealing, but it's more than enough to monopolize Graham's attention.

Killian can spot it from a million of miles away—she's trying to get laid and Graham's slack-jawed focus says he's more than willing enough.

He's almost more annoyed that he can't order a drink without sparking Swan's ire.

"Jealous, Killian?" Robin's voice is a sly whisper in his ear, and it's enough to make him jump and tear his gaze away from Swan. Apparently, he's been staring an embarrassingly long time. Even Grammy's moved on to another willing listener and Robin's watching him with a gleeful smile.

"I'm jealous that she has Graham's attention," Killian hastily answers. "I need another drink, but I don't know if I'm willing to interrupt their mating spectacle to get another one. I don't want to get caught in the crossfire."

"They do look rather close." Another woman steps up to Killian's other side, dark lips pressing together in a pursed smirk. "Maybe it would be more fun to interrupt."

Killian laughs. "I love the way you think, Regina."

She grins at him, stepping closer to her husband. "Still willing to ruin Emma's happiness? I thought your new partnership was supposed to—what did Mary Margaret call it?" She exchanges a laugh with Robin. "Civilize you?"

Although Regina is now one of Mary Margaret's best friends, they got off to a rough start with jealousy and cat fights that nearly put Killian and Emma's tiff to shame. To this day, they're an awkward pair, but Regina's cutthroat behavior balances Mary Margaret's sunshiney goodness in a way that makes much more sense than it should. He and Regina get along scarily well.

"She wishes." Killian rolls his eyes. "I'm trying to behave, but there's only so much I can do. And sometimes—" They watch her for a second, catching the way she lights up at something Graham says. "Swan just makes it far too easy."

"No wonder she wanted Henry and Roland to have a sleepover tonight," Robin says under his breath, taking a sip of his beer and raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"Swan will not have sex before me tonight," Killian mutters, swirling his glass and clinking the ice. He wasn't so bothered before he left his apartment tonight, but the mere thought of Swan having fun and getting off if he goes home alone is enough to make him angry and horny. "I need another drink."

"So, let's go," Regina says. She glances at her glass half-filled with a startlingly bright red liquid and downs it without a second thought. "We're gonna get you a drink and send you on your merry way." She shrugs and glances at Robin who nods agreeably. "I'm sure you can find one willing woman to have sex with you."

"One willing woman," Killian huffs, making Robin chuckle as they slowly cut through the crowd to the bar. "I am a prize."

"Of course you are," Regina says placatingly. "Your pickings are just slim tonight, dear."

"There are plenty of single women," Robin disagrees. "Most of Mary Margaret's teacher friends are single." He gestures with a head nod to the small crowd of women near Mary Margaret. "Turn on that accent, mate."

He follows his head nod and almost immediately meets the eyes of one young woman who's already watching him. He's not quite caught off guard, but his reaction is automatic—the responding flicker of something in his eyes and the upward turn of his own lips in a smirk that he knows drives them wild. She's much shorter than his usual type, but her dark brown hair cascades down her shoulders and her dress is cut in just a way that lets his imagination run wild.

He's about to head in her general direction—to talk up the other girls and tease Mary Margaret—when there's a sharp, "Jones."

His interest disappears immediately, replaced with annoyance that's been lingering in the back of his head all night. He turns to the woman in front of him, whose arms are folded over her chest of her tight black leather dress. "Yes, Swan?"

"I need you." Her tone short, her pursed expression changing ever so slightly to smile at Robin and Regina who haven't moved an inch in anticipation of drama. "We need to do the toast."

Killian sighs, glancing back at the dark-haired girl. She's turned away and fluttering her lashes at another one of David's friends from the precinct. He knows the opportunity has long since passed. Robin catches his eyes and gives him a sympathetic look that would mean a lot more if Regina wasn't smirking like the Cheshire cat. Killian sighs again, and nods. "Course, Swan. I need another drink and I will join you at the front table."

She smiles slightly at him and turns on her heel to meet up with David and Mary Margaret. His eyes do not linger on her legs that look shapely and magnificent in her high heels. Regina nudges him just slightly. "Tough luck, Jones."

He rolls his eyes. "You knew she was coming for me. You like watching me squirm."

"I do," Regina says agreeably. She loops her arms through Robin's and waves at Killian as they cut through the crowd to the front of the room. "Better luck after the toast Killian. I'm sure you'll find someone."

Alone with an empty glass, Killian shakes his head and makes his way to the bar. He gets another craft beer, trying to take his time, but soon finds himself with the rest of the bridal party, including Swan and her son at her side. He's met Henry only in passing—Emma would never let him meet such a reprehensible man like himself—and through Mary Margaret and David, but he's a fellow groomsman...

...which means that he truly turns up the charm when he finds himself standing beside Swan's son for the toast.

And Henry is a pleasure.

For a ten year old boy, he's exceptionally eloquent and clever. He is nothing and everything like his mother. In personality, he's just as fiery and tenacious, but with a softer, sweeter edge to it. In looks, he has his mother's chin. Henry is a spectacular young boy; it's refreshing to stand beside him—the lad is a groomsman as well—and hear him echo his own thoughts and feelings about Mary Margaret and David with a sparkling cider in hand (apparently, the couple is a surrogate family for anyone in need).

Killian feels his own toast pales in comparison, even though he gets a few laughs and David nearly stops breathing when he mentions a certain college adventure, which involved too much caffeine, too much alcohol, and a police horse. When everyone's returned to the party and Swan's laughing at Mary Margaret's side with the other bridesmaids, he turns to Henry with a raised eyebrow and the bottle of cider. He eagerly pours the boy another glass, winking, and clinks their glasses together. "Congrats my boy, you've wished the happy couple well. You've accomplished your first groomsmen duty." They take a deep drink each, Killian's decidedly more alcoholic, and he crouches down to Henry's level, holding out his hand to shake. "I'm Killian, David's best friend. It's nice to meet you finally, Henry."

Henry slips his small, warm hand into Killian's and shakes it eagerly with a bright smile on his face. "I know. I've heard a lot about you."

"Your mother?" Killian asks, absolutely bewildered that Swan would even speak about him. Inexplicable worry sparks in his gut wondering what kind of bull she's shared about him.

Thankfully, Henry shakes his head. "Uncle David talks about you a lot. My mom rolls her eyes." He brightens up and a very tiny knowing smile appears on his face. "And your muffins. We've eaten so many of your muffins."

"Ah, I knew those muffins weren't going to waste!"

"She loves them, don't let her fool you," Henry whispers knowingly, glancing over his shoulder.

"Oh, mate, believe me I knew she loved them," Killian says, feeling decidedly more empowered and loving every second of power he has over Swan. "We're in a bit of a standoff right now. She wanted me to think I should stop, but I knew better."

"Please don't stop," Henry says sincerely, tugging at the knot of his tie. "I like the cinnamon ones."

"I would never," Killian agrees with a smile. "You're gonna love the ones for next week."

Henry's delight is enough to make KIllian grateful that he didn't listen to Swan. He grows more fond of the child the more he talks to this little boy and he nearly forgets that Henry is Swan's son. He doesn't know how a wretched woman could produce such an incredible child.

"Do you like Star Wars? You look like someone who would like Star Wars," Henry asks. He points to the bow tie he's wearing that's decorated with tiny BB-8 droids.

"Of course, lad. I went to see the new movie with David," Killian says. "I loved it."

"You've seen the new Star Wars?" Henry's eyes are huge, his mouth gaping open like a fish. Killian chuckles and Henry, very happy with his captive audience, continues. "Rey is my favorite and my mom's favorite. She's so cool and she fights really well with the light sabers. I like Finn, too. He's the hero. Who's yours?"

"My brother and I used to love Star Wars," Killian admits with a faint smile, mind hovering between nostalgia and pride that Henry's part of the newest generation of fans. "I always pretended I was Han Solo."

Henry makes a face. "That old guy?"

Killian gasps, a little mocking and affronted. "You did not call one of the most beloved scoundrels of the galaxy 'that old guy'."

Henry gives a confused little shrug. "He is old. I know that bad guy killed him and the general loved him." He looks a little surprised that Killian feels so strongly about this, but carries on with the grace only a scarily mature child can have. "I like Rey and Finn better."

Killian takes a deep breath to center himself. "Have you seen the prequels, Henry?" The boy shakes his head, and Killian smiles. "I liked Finn and Rey too—but the earliest prequels tell of the adventures of Luke Skywalker, the General, and Han Solo."

Henry's blank look is enough to make Killian feel sick to his stomach. "Your mother took you to see the newest movie without having you watch the others?" His distaste for Swan grows almost epically as Henry speaks.

"We were going to watch them," Henry says, "We just always get distracted." He sighs and pouts. "I had a book report then my mom had a really long case, then, we didn't have the movies-"

"And you just ran out of time," Killian finishes, shaking his head. "You've been cheated, my boy. I've seen those movies a hundred times over."

"I want to see them," Henry huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You may be in luck," Killian smiles and meets Henry's wide eyes with a wink. "I have the collection in prime Blu-ray condition. It's just up to you to convince your mother to accept them." He pauses, making a face. "I might have to deal with your mother, but if that means you get to enjoy these classic movies, I will do it."

Henry wrinkles his nose. "You guys really don't get along do you?"

"For you, lad, I would risk my neck." Henry's smile radiates across the room and Killian feels a little lighter in his chest. Who would think Swan's child could be so innocent? He never thought a child would be the key to his success.

Henry nods with complete utter assurance. "I can do that. I can convince her."

"Then it is a deal, my boy," he laughs, "We will make sure that you see these movies."

Neither of them hear her approach, and Killian almost winces when he hears her voice, sharp and suspicious. "What movies?" Swan slides into Killian's vision with narrowed eyes and hands placed authoritatively at her hips. She's positively alluring in the light, lips pursed and eyes knowing. Killian opens his mouth to argue, but her expression automatically softens when she approaches Henry and rests her hand on his hair. "I hope you're not corrupting my son."

It doesn't sound exactly like a threat, but Killian still tenses up for a well-mannered, quiet fight at the anniversary party.

Henry actually comes to his rescue. "I wasn't bothering him, Mom. Killian likes Star Wars too!"

"Oh those movies," Swan laughs and meets Killian's eyes. "For a second I was worried it was something a little more adult."

Killian narrows his eyes, a little scandalized. "Are you kidding me, Swan? He's a child. I would never talk about those kind of movies. What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you?" she cracks back, eyes lighting up with something. "I meant violent, bloody movies."

Killian starts, glancing at Henry. The boy is watching him with a smart smiles; he knows exactly what movies Killian was thinking about. "Of course, that's what I meant, Swan." He's making shit up as he goes along. That's not at all what he meant and his head is producing very unneeded images of Emma striking down enemies wearing Leia's slave bikini—fuck no, "Bloody, violent movies."

She smirks, like she knows that isn't the truth at all, but doesn't comment. Instead, she focuses on her son. "You ready to go, kid? Roland's ready for the sleepover you promised."

"I'll get my backpack!" Henry says happily. "Roland's gonna be so excited. I can finally show him how to beat the big boss." He glances back and Killian and smiles brightly. "It was nice to meet you Killian. I can't wait to watch those movies." He gives his mom a hug and tears through the crowd.

Killian doesn't even wait, batting his eyes at her. "Are you ready for your sleepover, Swan?" He glances pointedly toward the bar where Graham is diligently putting away bottles and chatting with one of the venue's waitstaff.

She huffs, but glances that way anyway almost unconsciously. "That's none of your business."

"Of course not," he answers. "I've heard from quite a few ladies that he's rather small. I hope you take that into concession." It's not quite the truth, he's only heard it in passing from one woman he's been to bed with, but it's worth it when Swan turns faintly red and glares at him.

"Compared to you, right?" she sneers.

"Just a warning, love," he says mildly, "I'm trying to help you."

"Oh, I know what it is," she says, eyes sharp and mouth curling. "You're jealous."

Killian balks. "Never." He almost gets flustered, but he catches himself and leers at her instead, licking his lips. "I just want to make sure you're properly satisfied."

"Properly satisfied?" Swan says, her voice catching. "I'll be perfectly fine, Jones." He almost starts again, but she cuts him off impetuously. "I can handle myself. Don't worry about me." She turns on her heel and marches off, pausing and glancing back at him, eyes alight with amusement. "Have fun with your hand tonight, Jones. I hope you can satisfy yourself."

She saunters off and Killian hates that she's bested him. She's completely right, of course; he doesn't have a woman and he has no desire to find some random woman at a random bar. He's almost thirty, for Christ's sake, and it's after midnight. He's never felt so old. Without meaning to, he spots Mary Margaret and David talking to another couple. David's got his arm wrapped loosely around her waist and she keeps glancing at him. Killian's accidentally walked in on them a number of times and knows that look.

He downs his glass and walks away before he can think any deep thoughts. He's never thought that he's wanted it before, but right now he thinks it wouldn't be so bad if he had a girlfriend to come back to at the end of the day and sleep next to during the night.

He goes to the nearest bar immediately after leaving the party, painting on his prettiest smile and finds an attractive blonde the second he walks through the door. She wants anonymity just as much as he does and follows him home for a fun romp and nothing more.

He gets off, of course, and makes sure Leena—Lisa?Liza?Lia?— does as well, and then she's gone. He's left to sweaty sheets, a cold bed, and a loneliness that feels almost overwhelming in the quietness of his apartment. He showers and strips his sheets quickly, getting in bed before he can do anything stupid. It takes awhile to fall asleep and it is definitely not because he can't help but imagine another blonde curled up next to him in his sheets.

---

His momentary weakness—thinking a developed relationship with another person is more rewarding than casual sex—doesn't last more than the night. He stops his bakery for the weekend (he's not in the mood and she's got plenty of cinnamon roll muffins to last her) and spends it with two large bottles of merlot and half his client list.

Killian emerges from his cocoon late Sunday night when David calls to ask what's on the menu. He fills the conversation with nonsense and eventually comes up with mixed berry scones, another recipe of his mother's. It's easy enough, and he only has to take a late night trip to the 23-Hour organic grocer around the corner—God bless, New York City— for fresh fruit.

He purposely goes early to the precinct to avoid Swan, and winds up beating even Claire's arrival to the front desk. He saves a special one for her and leaves the rest on Swan's desk without a note.

His day is ordinary enough: he powers through a sickeningly extravagant sapphire necklace that's going to pay him handsomely and annoys one of his assistants. He doesn't expect a phone call a half hour after noon, and he certainly doesn't expect the caller.

"Swan," he greets her, letting her name spill off his tongue. "Did your gorgeous bum accidentally hit my name? There is no other possible reason you would call me." There's muffled noise on the other end and he's pretty sure it actually was a mistake. He sighs loudly. "I wish you'd speak louder so I can hear your gossip, Swan. I know you complain about David. I would love to share it with him and finally prove—"

"I do not!" Swan swears, making an unexpected appearance. He really did think it was a butt dial. "I'll tell Mary Margaret about the time you tried her bread pudding and spit it out in her ficus."

"That was almost 11 years ago," he dismisses. "I was hungover and the texture nearly killed me." He pauses. "You obviously did not call to discuss what you can lord over me, you would never reveal your upper hand. So, Swan, what do you have to say?"

"I need to ask you something."

It sounds almost painful for her to say, and he can't hide his glee. He's very glad that Louis and Lily are manning the front, and neither of them can tease him like they have been about his newfound baking spree.

"Love, you do not understand how much joy I get knowing that you need something from me." He laughs, tossing aside his tools to clear space on his desk. He kicks his chair back and reclines it. "What could you possibly need from me?" Before she can say anything, he jumps back in, "An honest apology?"

"Not a chance," Emma says immediately. "Don't ever get your hopes up for one. No, Jones, the reason I'm calling—" She pauses, frustrated. "Oh, hold on." Her voice becomes muffled,though still undeniably frustrated.

"Swan, the suspense is killing me," he drawls into the receiver, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his chair, waiting for her. She doesn't respond to him, she's clearly at a deli and it's not going well. "Don't be too nasty to him, he won't know what he's dealing with."

"We're trying out a new deli and they've messed up the orders every day so far," she barks into the phone when she returns barely a minute later. "We're never going back. I need my grilled turkey melt to survive David's mid-afternoon caffeine high."

"He can be unbearable," Killian agrees, wincing as he remembers all those all-nighters and coffee runs that fueled some of their more interesting adventures.

"I almost forgot you were roommates," she says. "You'd know how he gets then."

"Fiercely determined to solve every problem and save the world?" Killian offers. "It's like he was born to protect everyone."

"You'd think," Swan chuckles, her laughter slowing until there's silence between them. It seems that they're both very acutely aware that they're having a calm, normal conversation. It hasn't devolved into pettiness and nastiness; it's apparently possible for them to have a normal conversation. She abruptly clears her throat. "I'm actually calling you for Henry. He told me that you have all of the Star Wars movies."

Ahh. Killian's curiosity peaks and wanes. It's not even been more than three days and Henry can't contain himself. He likes this child more and more with each passing opportunity.

"I do have the full box set," Killian ventures. He doesn't offer much; he wants Swan to do all the leg work.

She knows it too and sighs monstrously. "Would we be able to borrow your movies for the weekend?" Killian deliberates for an obscene amount of time. Ultimately, he'll say yes. Ultimately, he'll agree when Swan begs and grovels just a little bit more—not too much or she'll go somewhere else—but for now it's too sweet. "For some reason, Jones, my son likes you and he's convinced me to give you a chance."

"A chance?" he echos.

"Yes," she says simply. It sounds like it physically pains her to say the words, but she plows on. "If both my best friends love you and even my son thinks you're not that bad, I'm willing to try."

As big as she's trying to be, it doesn't sound like the Swan he's grown to know and despise. For as long as he's known her, the opinion of her friends has never mattered; Swan trusts her gut and nothing else. He's apparently shown her he's nothing but a dreadful excuse of a man, and thus she believes it.

"What's the catch?" he says, crossing his arms over his chest and cradling his phone against his shoulder. "What made you change your mind?"

He can practically see her rolling her eyes at him. "I told you—"

"No, no, Swan," Killian laughs, "What did Henry do to make you see the light? Two days ago you were ready to punch me for glancing in your direction, and now you want to borrow movies that you could just as easily get online. Your boy is smart as a whip, I don't see parental controls stopping him."

Swan is silent and he wonders suddenly where she is: if she's waiting at a crosswalk or pacing in front of the precinct so no one can ask who she's on the phone with. Finally, she speaks.

"He likes you. He wouldn't stop talking about you all weekend," she sighs heavily, and continues bitterly, "He told me he won't watch the movies unless they're yours and you know how much he likes Star Wars."

"Played by your ten-year-old, ehh?"

"Not exactly." She sounds tired. "I want to think you're a better person now, Killian, but I've seen too many people who can't grow up from stupid fratboy and I don't want Henry to be disappointed."

"You're jaded, Swan," Killian says, not for one second believing this is all for Henry's sake. She's afraid for herself like she always is. He wishes she could just see past it. "Can't you just trust me?"

"No."

It's blunt, clearly no room for explanation. He will never win this battle, but Henry still deserves a good time. Killian sighs, not quite defeated just yet. "I'll drop them off on Friday. He'll enjoy them."

She sucks in a tight breath. "Thank you." He hums, and she hurriedly presses on before it gets awkward. "Have a good night, Killian. Thanks again."

She hangs up before he can say anything and he rolls his eyes. He tosses his phone to the side with little thought and leans a little further back in his chair until he can comfortably view only the ceiling.

He's got an idea. The details are fuzzy—if he's being honest it's probably too forward—but it'll be worth it. It might lead to her beating him, tossing him out of her apartment, maybe even a restraining order but it'll be worth it. It's foolproof.

Or, maybe he'll have a quick chat with David.

---

"Get out."

"But, Swan—"

"No. Get out. I told you to come by, drop off the movies, whatever. Not make yourself comfortable and hang out with my kid. Why are you sitting in my living room?"

When Killian arrived at Swan's small apartment, he'd had an arsenal of excuses and ideas ready to use to nudge his way into her apartment, but he'd lucked out. Henry had been the one to open the door, nearly throwing himself at Killian in excitement when he arrived at seven thirty on Friday night. He had gently dislodged the boy and saved the takeout bag nestled in the crook of his arm from taking a nasty spill.

Henry had led him to the comfortable brown couch, taking the boxset DVDs from him and apparently ignored the fact that Killian was supposed to leave as soon as he dropped off the movies. Killian started to unpack the contents of the takeout as Henry began to chatter.

He hadn't needed any tricks to get into the apartment, and Henry had went along with it, no problem (though he swore up and down he had no idea he wasn't allowed to let Killian in the apartment). He'd been a little nervous she might actually throw him out of her apartment if he and Henry couldn't sway her like David suggested, but he'd been pretty confident Henry's puppy dog eyes would be enough.

The only problem was Swan, which led back to—

"Why are you sitting in my living room?" Her mouth is pursed and her eyes are narrowed. She would look more frightening if Killian hadn't regularly been at the receiving end of her murderous looks.

Swan sniffs the air. "And why did you bring Mexican food with you?"

"I did some thinking, love," Killian begins, slowly removing the package of spicy pork tacos he found out from David are Henry's favorite. The boy perks up expectantly, mumbling an 'awesome' and returning to the box set to look at the extra features. "Henry needs a veteran movie-goer to explain the best bits."

"This is not a good thing, Jones." She crosses her arms over her chest, and Killian can't help checking her out for just a second. She looks the most at home and comfortable he's ever seen her. She's out of her usual leather jacket and boots uniform, her hair swept back in a low blonde ponytail. She's absolutely unassuming in slouchy black sweatpants and a holey NYPD sweatshirt. She's barefoot and barefaced and she looks lovely.

He swallows uncomfortably as the thought crosses his mind. Not an option, he has to remind himself firmly, as she creeps closer to take a peek at the food. Swan inhales deeply, and glances at him suspiciously even as he pulls out the nacho gringos platter and his personal favorite, chicken chipotle quesadilla. "Taco King, really?"

He smiles. "Surprise, Swan, Mexican food is also my biggest weakness. We have that in common."

Swan doesn't look impressed, but her annoyance, if it's possible, seems to be waning. He never thought he would be this desperate, but Mary Margaret and David are proud of him, so here he is waiting at her beck and call. Her face tightens. "You should still leave."

"Mom!" Henry finally looks up, eyes wide and a little bit heartbroken. "He can't! He brought us the movies and food. He has to stay!"

Killian nods eagerly, down turning his lips and adapting his best innocent, sweetest expression. She rolls her eyes. "You know that doesn't work on me, Henry. You should tell your new friend that."

"It does too, Mom, that's how I got my skateboard," Henry reminds her keenly. "But what if I need someone to explain to me plot points? He can't leave." He reaches over and snatches the bag of chips from Killian and digs his hand in to grab the cup of guacamole from the bottom. "Have a chip, Mom, you love guac and salsa."

"I've watched Star Wars before," she huffs, "I could explain it all to you." Swan takes the proffered bag, eyeing the cup of extra hot salsa, then Killian with the same look of distrust and annoyance. She eats it cautiously as if expecting poison and Killian rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to ridicule, but Henry steps in.

"You couldn't, Mom." Henry's matter of fact, and soft spoken, smiling just enough at his mother to make her smile back. "You told me that you've seen them when you were young, but you didn't love them." He ignores Killian's gasp of indignation. "I want to watch them and love them. Killian can do that."

Killian can see the exact moment that Swan's little heart twists for Henry.

"Please let him stay."

Cold-hearted, angry Swan is nowhere in sight now, and it would be hysterical to see her like putty in Henry's hand if it wasn't so sweet. She holds Henry's gaze, judging if she needs to hold her ground, like she knows just how much trouble she would be in if Henry wasn't such a genuinely good kid.

She nods finally. "You can stay." She pauses so they can cheer and sneakily high-five. "BUT, I get veto power. You do anything rude, nasty, or inappropriate, I throw your butt outta my apartment, no argument. Got it?"

Henry jumps out of his chair, and launches into her arms, tightly squeezing her and thanking her. Swan's eyes squeeze shut and her face takes on a happy, peaceful expression he has never seen in his presence. Killian looks away almost instinctively, not wanting to interrupt the moment and grabs the boxset, cracking it open to pry out the first DVD.

Henry takes it eagerly from him, releasing his mother, and cheers again. Swan takes a seat on the couch, slipping her legs underneath her, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

"So, you're a giant Star Wars nerd." She snorts a little, and tilts her head. "Who would've guessed: cocky, smooth Killian Jones, is a giant nerd."

"Not you, for sure," he huffs, tugging the coffee table closer to the couch so he can easily grab a handful of chips, "I'm one-dimensional to you."

She rolls her eyes. "Just doesn't fit the Jones I know."

"And you call yourself a detective. That's all surface, Swan. There is certainly more to me than just acting like a sleazy thirty year old, I swear. I've grown up a little, Swan."

"I doubt that," she says, snagging the chip bag from his hand, "But I guess you are different."

"Oh!" He exclaims, picking up and passing aside Swan's fish tacos and his own quesadilla. "Is this right? You are freely admitting that I am different?"

"Never said it was in a good way," Swan laughs. She's not at ease with him at all, but she's trying hard to make it seem so. Killian wonders if she's this ill-at-ease with murderers and crooks as she is with him. It makes him uncomfortable, which is something he's not really used to. He's notoriously good at charming and sweetening attracted female attention, but he tries to ignore it. That is the point of these little situations—make Swan treat him civilly and possibly have her like him before the wedding.

"Have a little faith, Swan, maybe I'll surprise you," he says as Henry returns to the couch, wiggling between them and pressing against his mother's side. Killian nudges him with his elbow as the last of the previews finish and the home screen fades in. "The very first of the Star Wars trilogy. Are you sure you're ready, lad? There is no Rey or Finn in this one. You can turn back if you're not ready to embrace it."

"No, no, I'm ready," Henry insists, propping himself up straight. He's practically vibrating in his seat. "I just want to know more about the Jedi and the First Order."

"The Dark Side," Killian echoes. He remembers the first time he ever watched the series. The first time, his brother surprised him and let him tag along to see the movie. He had been enraptured from the first note, the first glimpse of the words scrolling across the screen. He can only hope that Henry feels the same way.

Henry sucks in a breath as the well-known music starts, but then makes a noise of contention when the words, Episode IV: A New Hope, appears in yellow font. "Uh, Killian, this is the wrong one. I must have put in the wrong disc."

He starts to push himself off the couch when Killian gently pushes him back down and starts to laugh. KIllian takes the remote and pauses it. "You're not at all wrong, lad. The proper order to the movies is episode four, five, two, three and six."

"You really are a nerd," Swan snorts as Henry gapes at him utterly confused "You can watch the movies in whatever order you want, kid. Chronologically if you like that or Killian's confusing order."

"It's not confusing," Killian counters instantly. "Listen, lad, the first three movies that came out are the essential storyline and the overall best movies. Episodes one, two and three act as flashbacks." He gestures to the television that's still paused on the title sequence so they didn't miss the description. "So to properly watch the series, you bookend the flashback movies with the original. Hence the order is four, five, two, three and finally six."

"What about episode one?" Swan asks, scooping up fallen lettuce and licking the creamy, spicy sauce from her fingertips.

"That was a cinematic disaster." Killian shudders. "It didn't add anything to the plot, the acting was awful, and the special effects were atrocious." He glances away from her to Henry. "If you must, watch it, but you've been warned."

Henry glances away from his tacos, and shrugs. "I don't really get it. I think I'll just take your word for it."

"It is confusing," Killian relents, "but you're going to love it."

For the next two and a half hours, it's just that: movie going bliss.

Within minutes, Henry's food is cast aside and his eyes are glued to the television. Killian's just as attentive, but he's seen it a million times. Even Swan seems to be enjoying herself, and that alone feels like a victory. He leans in every once and a while to share some trivia, watching intently for Henry's reaction to the Cantina scene and the final battle.

Henry is invigorated by the end of the movie, bouncing in his seat and pleading with his mother to let them start the second one. With some cajoling and swearing on Killian and Henry's part, they clean up dinner, make some popcorn, and put in The Empire Strikes Back.

Around midnight, Killian starts to doze. It's unfortunate because he misses half the movie, but what's worse is that they notice. Killian wakes up to a sharp elbow to the gut, the movie paused and Henry watching him in accusation, a look eerily similar to Swan's. "I thought this one was your favorite."

"It is." Killian stretches until his back lets out a reassuring pop and he groans loudly. "I was just resting my eyes."

Henry rolls his eyes. "I've heard that one before."

"Yeah, yeah, we're old," Swan laughs and swats him across the back of the head. "It's way past your bedtime anyway, kid. Regina's coming at nine for your Young Scientists thing."

"It's the Museum of Natural History," he corrects her, shuffling to his feet and stopping the credits mid-stream. "We're going to the butterfly conservatory and the new dinosaur exhibit and the old dinosaur—"

"He's been talking about this for weeks," Swan whispers, eyes never leaving Henry. "This week he wants to be a paleontologist so he can discover new dinosaurs." Killian nods, humming as Swan gets up to help Henry. "Honey, leave it. Get ready for bed. I'll send the old man home."

"Watch it," Killian yawns as Henry skirts passed to his room. "I'm not that old. I just haven't been sleeping well. Early morning, late nights, clients that will not stop pestering me for designs even though Christmas is weeks away." He rubs his face, and presses his fingers into his eye sockets just for a second to relieve some pressure behind his eyes. "Probably not as stressful as hunting down that serial rapist you guys caught last week, but I struggle."

"That was not our precinct," she says, placing the DVD into its case and getting to her feet. "I wish I could have put that bastard away personally."

"Without a doubt, you've put away far worse men," Killian says, following her into the kitchen to help clean up. "If you're that firm with me and I'm harmless, I can only wonder what you do with hardened criminals."

The water is rushing out of the faucet, but Swan isn't washing the dishes that are neatly piled up to the side of the sink. Her shoulders are hunched and Killian feels vaguely annoyed that she's that sensitive. She takes a deep breath, glancing at him over her shoulder as she hastily grabs a dish. "Agree to disagree."

"Don't be like that,Swan," he groans, stepping up beside her and snatching a glass right out of her hand to dry it. "We've been having such a good night. It was consensual flirting and ass touching, I swear. It would have been consensual sex too if you hadn't very rudely interrupted us. It was nearly ten years ago, Swan, you need to get over it."

She spins around. "No, you were swarmy and treated every girl you were ever with like crap. I do not regret protecting Ruby from you and I really don't regret slapping you in the face. You deserved it."

"Then. It's been ten years. I am not the same man I was then," he counters, jabbing his finger at her. "And that right there is the crux of our problem. You can't let it go."

"It's hard to let go, when nothing has changed," she hisses, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against the counter. She's physically smaller than him in every way, but her attitude gives a formidable figure. She smirks, nasty and all-knowing. "Even now, you're just trying to woo me because you think that's the only way to get me to be civil, or like you."

"Woo you?"

She hums. "More food than I can handle, overstaying your welcome for a movie night, buttering up my child." His face heats up: that is not what's he's doing. He's working toward a goal and doing anything to make Swan like him just enough. "Face it, Jones, you just don't know how to talk to women without trying to pick them up."

"I am not wooing you. I'm trying to be a good man, Swan."

"And you're doing a piss poor job," she says frankly.

"I am not! I'm sorry if you feel that I have been treating you poorly. You're being purposely obtuse and difficult," he says hotly. "I'm doing this out of the kindness of my heart. Mary Margaret and David mean the world to me now that my brother is gone; they are all I have. I want them to have the most incredible, memorable wedding possible and that means us getting along."

He doesn't know why, but his hands are shaking. "Maybe you're right, Swan. Maybe I just don't know how to have meaningful relationships with women, but I am trying." He steps away from the counter, feeling oddly vulnerable and frustrated. She's watching him with wide eyes, an odd look on her face. He wishes she would stop. He starts to walk away, but pauses and turns back around. "I'm willing to try, Swan. If you're not, then so be it, but it will be your problem not mine. Tell Henry goodnight, you can keep the movies for him to watch."

He's halfway out the door when she grabs him by the upper arm and spins him around. "Wait, Jones—I mean, Killian." It's the first time she's ever said his first name and the way it sounds coming from her lips, full and rich, makes him stop in his tracks. "Mary Margaret and David are my family, too. I want them to have a wonderful wedding, just like you do. I might have been a little hard on you. I shouldn't have been so rude."

He laughs and it sounds harsh to his own ears. He's almost annoyed that somehow she's always able to get under his skin in one way or another. "You do what you think is best, Swan. You always have and I'm not going to be able to change that. I just wish that you would stop trying to see the worst in me all the time."

She sighs, pursing her lips. "You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?" She looks embarrassed because she knows it's warranted. He wants her to suffer.

"I can't make you do anything you don't want," he says calmly, swinging his wool coat over his body and looping his scarf around his neck. He lets the door mostly close and props it open with his foot.

She rolls her eyes. "But I'll completely ruin the moment if I don't. Fine, I'm sorry that I haven't been very cooperative." She leans against the doorframe, wry smile on her face. "Truce?"

He leans against the opposite wall. "We can do better than that. Are you willing to be friends?"

She blanches but there's a smile on her face. "With you?" She shrugs and pushes herself off the doorframe, a peculiar look on her face as she retreats back into the kitchen. He waits, thinking it best just to leave before it gets too awkward, but her voice carries over the sound of the rushing sink. "I think we can try."

It's not a promise. It's not a certainty, but it sure feels like a win.

"How do you feel about lunch tomorrow, say twelve thirty?"

The water doesn't stop, but she turns around strikingly fast with eyebrows raised and an impetuous expression on her face. "Like a date?"

"As if," Killian laughs, "Friends have lunch together."

"Not us," Swan says simply.

Killian nods. "What's on the menu this week then, Emma?"

"Emma," she parrots, raising an eyebrow.

"We are friends now."

She waves it away. "You're not delivering me anymore food."

"Live a little," Killian says. "I'll ask Henry if you don't tell me."

"Stop using my child against me." Swan narrows her eyes skeptically, no doubt already envisioning how this is going to do horribly wrong. She's always looking for the ruse, the deceit—it makes her a brilliant detective, but a very insecure person.

"He wants to help," Killian sing songs, but rolls his eyes when she turns her back on him again. "Fine, I'll bring waffles, Belgian waffles."

"I'm not going to ask how you know my favorite breakfast food," she says lightly, "But I know that you're going to bring more food anyway, so stick to foods that travel well."

"Scones, muffins." He hums. "I'll be sure to pick things that Henry likes." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a head pop out from behind a door. He makes sure Swan isn't looking before he throws Henry a thumbs up.

"Sounds like the start of a beautiful friendship," she says coming from the kitchen with the towel in her hands. She stops, peers down the hallway, and makes a face. "Henry, it's bedtime. You've gotta be up early. I'll come in just a second." She waits until her son has disappeared into his room before she turns back to face him. "Anything else, Killian?"

"Killian," he repeats, eyebrows raised. He's standing in the middle of her tiny hallway at half past midnight, layered for dreary weather and trying to spit out of the words he wants to say to her. He keeps it simple. "I like it."

At her confused expression, he waves a hand. "My name. I like that you called me Killian."

She rolls her eyes, offering a small smirk. "Don't push it, Jones."

"Goodnight, Emma."

"Goodnight, Killian." He inclines his head and she slams the door behind her. She doesn't make a comment about her name, but it feels like an accomplishment and Killian spends his bitterly cold walk home feeling surprising warm.