Emma Swan has 4 problems and she tries to regain some semblance of control by listing them in her head on the way home in the precise order in which they developed.
Problem #1: She moved. That on its own is neither a problem, nor unusual. It is not her apartment or the building or the landlord. It is her damn next-door neighbour. Her extremely good-looking, well-build, accent-wielding, guitar-strumming, jogging-in-a-very-fit-white-shirt-every-morning-but-Sunday neighbour. And, frankly, wanting to jump a man like that meant one thing and one thing only – she is not losing her sight or hearing.
The problem is that for the last 3 months Emma Swan has been having absolutely ridiculous, the-hell-I'm-not-14-and-he-is-not-in-a-band, stupid, stupid fantasies about one Killian Jones writing her a love song and freaking serenading her. And that just won't do.
Problem #2: She has terrible luck. It is a standing issue in her life to be honest but it never seizes to amaze her just how bad her luck can get.
"No, no, no. You cannot do this to me!"
Emma stared at the text in absolute horror. A text. Her babysitter was letting her know she 'just won't be able to make it today' with a fucking text. She should've stopped using that agency when they sent that one girl who came over with 5, she counted them – 5, history books under her arm and tried to make Henry pancakes for dinner. Try being the operating word.
"I was going to say 'Good morning' but now I think I will stick to just 'Morning'."
The deep, accented voice only makes her groan again and Emma turns around to see Killian Jones, a very sweaty and flushed Killian Jones with a ridiculously bright pair of headphones hanging on his neck, raise his arms in an attempt to placate her.
"You can just head to Horrible, God awful, I'm fucked Morning."
"Oh," his mix of amusement and concern would be quite entertaining, if Emma was in the mood to be entertained. "Any way I can attempt a dashing rescue of your morning?"
"Unless you happened to score a babysitter last night, who hasn't left your apartment yet and is free for the day, I'd say no."
He actually, genuinely, honest to God, blushes at that, chuckling somewhat uneasily and Emma is stuck between her now-unavoidable amusement and feeling slightly bad for making him feel that uncomfortable. But how the hell was she supposed to know? He certainly looked the type.
"You need somebody to watch your boy?" Killian asks after clearing his throat for the third time.
"Yes," she admit, slightly on guard but then again he wouldn't-
"I can do that."
Or he would.
"Oh, no, no," Emma waves him off before she can even consider it because considering it sounds like something that might lead to agreeing and that just won't do. "I'm sure you have work and I need somebody for the whole day and-"
"I work from home," he shrugs as if it's no big deal (it's a huge deal). "Or I procrastinate from home, if you ask my publisher."
Oh. Good, good. Because she totally needed the attractive, talented neighbour to be smart and successful too.
"No, really, I will-" Emma scrunches her nose because she is about lie her ass off. "I will figure something out."
Killian just lifts an eyebrow that clearly says she is not fooling him. Not that her attempt was a very good one.
"Look, I know leaving your lad with an almost-stranger probably doesn't sound too appealing but I'm guessing those babysitters they send you are complete strangers so..."
He almost looks hopeful and why on earth is he so bend on helping her? Also he kinda has a point there.
"Still, I don't-"
"I don't really have anything as valuable as a kid, you know," he scratches behind his ear, looking kinda sheepish. "But I can give you my apartment keys or my manuscript or something. As hostage, you know."
Emma couldn't stop the burst of laughter even if she tried. She doesn't even try.
"Okay," she says through her subsiding giggles.
"Yeah?" he looks like she told him she was going to do him a huge favour, not the other way around.
"Yeah, okay," she nods before delving into the ocean of instructions she figures he will need, if he is to spend the day in the company of her five-year-old.
Problem #3: Henry adores Killian. She is not even exaggerating. Emma is pretty sure that if she offered to have Captain America come spend the day with him, Henry will ask isn't Killian free?
And she doesn't get it. Because, while she can very clearly and very vividly see the appeal the man might have on a female audience, she doesn't get how he managed to charm her son so damn fast.
However, she does suspect it might have something to do with them baking and decorating cookies and reading every storybook she has ever bought Henry. She figures Killian probably made some stories as he went along too. It's what he does, right?
Her problem is that ever since that day two weeks ago she hasn't gone a day without hearing Killy this, Killy that. It was amusing at first. The nickname especially, better blackmail material than any she could've gotten on her neighbour. But after the 4th day Emma started to get mildly annoyed by how fast he had managed to win over her son, the little traitor.
Emma Swan is trying very hard not to fall for Killian Jones's charms (any more than she already has) and her son is no help whatsoever.
Problem #4: Her sink is leaking.
/
"Can Killy come over tomorrow?"
Emma sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose, trying to remain unaffected by her son's hopeful tone.
Killian was so kind as to help them carry their groceries a couple of hours ago, listening to Henry chatter away the whole time they were climbing the stairs, mostly about Granny's new ice-cream flavours which her neighbour, ridiculous idiot that he apparently is, seemed almost as excited about as her kid. And Emma just knew that would start her son's begging for the man's company anew. She just knew it.
"Henry," she tries for gentle but firm. "I told you, honey, Killian isn't a babysitter. He was doing Mommy a favour when he looked after you but we can't bother him all the time."
"I'm not a baby," declares Henry, the way he does every time she uses the word 'babysitter' these days. "Killy said I'm a young man."
Of course, he did.
Emma rolls her eyes heavenward, silently cursing her neighbour and his old-fashioned ways.
"That doesn't mean that Killian has the time to look after you all day."
She watches Henry's face fall and curses herself for making it sound like spending time with him was a chore.
"Hey, kid," she pauses The Lion King just when Hakuna Matata is about to start and tugs Henry closer to her side, peering down at his little face. "I'm sure Killian loved spending time with you. Just like Mommy does. But he has a job. Again just like Mommy so-"
"But he said he works at home, Mommy!"
Dammit, Jones! Could he have dug her into a bigger hole?
"Yes. But he still works. And what did you guys do?"
Henry mumbles something under his breath and Emma has to try really hard to suppress her grin.
"What was that?"
"We made 'a right mess of Mommy's kitchen'" he admits reluctantly, citing Killian's less than apologetic explanation of the ordeal (of course, at the time she was swayed by Henry's sparkling eyes and Killian's flour-dusted hair and the plate full of chocolate-chip cookies on the counter but still).
"That you did."
Emma knows she has won the battle but not the war.
/
She has a 15-minute-break and decides to check on her son. He picks up and she is about to ask where Molly is when the soundtrack in the back stops abruptly. Not abruptly enough.
/
Her afternoon spirals into a series of unplanned phone calls.
First one is to Killian and she tries really, really hard not to analyze the fact that calling him and telling to 'Get Henry!' is a knee-jerk reaction. She thinks that, if she had one of those girlfriends that every main character on TV seems to have to support them and get them into drunken trouble, the girlfriend in question would be explaining to her all about how Killian was 'her person' right about now.
Emma is afraid that the fact that she has no such girlfriend or much in the way of friends overall makes the helpful bastard 'her person' even more.
The next phone call she gets is from Killian and he tells, a touch guiltily she notices, that he kicked out the babysitter and is taking Henry to the park and for some ice-cream, if that's fine with her.
She reacts amiably to that call, which cannot be said for the one that comes half an hour later.
The fucking babysitting agency actually has the nerve to call her and yell at her because apparently her husband absolutely traumatized their employee and 'didn't even pay her for the whole day'.
Emma grits her teeth and tells them that she will have a few choice words with her husband (a terribly, alarmingly, easy assumption to go along with) because she is livid that he EVEN PAYED THEIR FUCKING BABYSITTER WHO WAS WATCHING GAME OF THRONES IN FRONT OF HER FIVE-YEAR-OLD!
/
"Game of Thrones! Can you believe it? I don't even let him watch Outlander with me!" Emma hisses, trying not to wake Henry, and reaches again for the bottle of rum on the counter between them.
Killian chuckles but nods in agreement.
"Aye. I had some words with the lass, I might hav-"
Emma snorts in amusement.
"Yeah, I heard all about that."
She expects him to blush or maybe smirk and regale her with the whole story. You never really know with Killian. She certainly doesn't expect his face to lose colour.
"Oh," he gulps, scratching that damn spot behind his ear. "I apologize. I didn't mean to cause-"
"Killian," she reaches over, covering his hand with hers and giving him a reassuring yet slightly devilish smile. "It's fine. Trust me, it would've been way worse, if I had been the one to come home."
"Oh, I have no trouble believing that," he says, his smile honest and fond and making her break eye-contact.
Which isn't good because now she is staring at their hands and her own feels too heavy for her to lift and move away from his.
"Thanks. For showing up and, you know, taking care of Henry. I should pay you back, for the babysitter-"
"That's not paying me back?" Killian lifts his half-empty glass to his lips, taking a swing and observing the alcohol swishing around for a few seconds. "You have one of my favourite brands, Swan. I'm impressed."
"Yeah," she nods distractedly, her eyes following his tongue as it sneaks out to catch the drop of liquid on his bottom lip. "Still, I-"
"Emma," he smiles almost shyly at her but maintains that wonderful yet excruciating eye-contact. "It was my pleasure. I love spending time with Henry. I had forgotten what it's like – to be so young that the whole world is a sea of possibility. It has been… an inspiration. And I dare believe that the lad is not averse to our adventures either."
Emma snorts again at that. She can't help herself.
"Please," she says, giving him a look. "6 hours with you and I'll be hearing about it for 6 weeks."
Killian grins, obviously pleased with what he's hearing.
"Well, lass, your son has good taste."
Emma hums noncommittally before clearing her throat. She is aware that she hasn't been a stellar neighbour. Should probably bake him a batch of cookies.
"I'm sorry I had to bother you though, especially if you were writing and-"
"My book's been with the editors for a couple of days now," he explains, waving away her apology. "So it was no bother at all. My days are pretty free now."
"Is that so?" she means it to sound blasé, polite maybe, definitely not the way it comes out – all breathy and flirty.
"Indeed," he murmurs and if the gleam in his eye is any indication he didn't miss out on the change in tone. "I'm also terribly available around dinner-time almost every day."
"Fascinating," Emma says teasingly but she knows she is on the verge of caving and has to throw at least one more hurdle his way. "How would you like to join me and Henry at Denny's tomorrow?"
Killian blinks at her a couple of times, clearly taken aback by the swift turn and the cheery aren't-I-clever tone she has adopted, but he doesn't look unpleasantly surprised and before long he is trying to control his laughter so that he doesn't wake up Henry.
"It would be my genuine pleasure, love. As long as you are prepared for the embarrassment of me ordering from the kid's menu."
"Well, somebody has to. Henry is growing up so fast."
She ducks under the kitchen towel he throws at her.
"Be nice, Swan! I fixed your sink."
He is just too much.