Inspired by Christina Perri 'The words' video and Raymond Chandler's stunning writing in 'The Big Sleep.'
There are thousands of species of orchid. Killian Jones stood in his greenhouse surrounded by the flowers with their fleshy, meaty petals and spindly stalks, cutting and bracing the flowers as they were too weak to stand well on their own. These orchids, phalaenopsis, reminded Killian of himself, somewhat pretty on the outside, but without structure or balance and thriving on decay and filth to grow. The more decay the orchid experiences, the more it thrives, and at times the lonely man felt as though this was exactly how he thrived as well.
Despite the hell he had been through, he still thrived, never healthier and wondering how such a miserable person could appear so well… Without support the flowers droop, facing the ground as soon as they come to their peak bloom, just as his life had done. As his fingers traced over the white petal of a single flower, the soft but rubbery texture sent a shiver down his spine, it was the closest thing to feeling the soft flesh of another living thing that he had come to in months, choosing a life of solitude and work instead of actually living.
Although Killian loved the flowers, their presence were as much a torturous exercise in masochism as anything else. They had been her favourite flower, the one she demanded time and again, claiming that their appearance filled her with joy and caring naught for the cost of the fine blooms. He had a vivid memory of spending most of his pay check on a particularly beautiful spray of purple and white orchids, delighting in the look of joy and admiration that crossed Milah's face when he presented them.
Belfast at that time of the year was cold and grey, with the world appearing devoid of colour, but for the stone of the buildings, and these blooms were a stark and lively contrast to their surroundings. He had not told her the cost of the flowers, choosing instead to feign luck that somebody had them for sale for a reasonable price. 'They must have had a good yield in their greenhouse this winter,' he had simply stated, choosing to keep the fact that he ate bread and butter for tea for a week in the aftermath of his purchase to himself.
As his fingers sunk into the earth of his last plant that was ready for sale tomorrow, he relished in the warmth and gritty texture of the soil, the grains slipping under his finger nails and coating the skin underneath with the proof of his labours, both physical and emotional as he tried to focus intently to replace the barrenness of his life and the aching loneliness he felt in his chest. He had always believed that being busy helped to keep the mind from darkness, but in the aftermath of Milah's sudden death from heart failure, that had ceased to be true.
All the flowers were ready for delivery in the morning, and there was no more work for Killian to do, no more distractions from the constant desire to either break something, hurt himself or perhaps just somehow dissolve through the floor of his old beaten cottage (if only that were possible) and so he began his afternoon routine, stepping out into the grey afternoon and breathing the crisp, clean air, hoping that one day that the clean air would remove the weight he always felt on his chest.
The axe in his hand was weighty and dependable, giving him some violent relief from his angst. In truth, Killian had enough firewood in the shed for the next two years, but he could not stop himself from expending his frustrations in splitting the logs. There were days when the logs were reduced to wood pulp, splinters flying and his grunts audible only to himself on his isolated property as he allowed his anger to take over. Lately those days were rare. These days he was more likely to grow tired and despondent quickly, taking his split logs inside and leaving his stockpile for another day.
Despite growing tired quickly, Killian's chest heaved as he looked out across the adjoining paddocks. Milah would have hated it here, he thought. She loved the rush of the city and the excitement it brought, whereas he had always loved the quiet. Their move to New York had been her idea. He would have followed her anywhere, but when she was gone, the noise of sirens, parties and people just reminded him of all he had lost, and so Killian had moved to a farm outside of the city, hoping that nature would heal him. As he headed inside to eat, wash and perhaps read before bed, Killian paused and looked out again at the paddocks and a passing train.
He thought maybe tomorrow something would change and he could begin to live again. Maybe tomorrow. His hand rubbed over his face in tired frustration and he trudged up the stairs. As usual after his soup, bath and pretending to read for a while, Killian switched of his light and failed to sleep. He tossed and turned though the night, gaining a few blessed hours in the early morning, only to feel as though his alarm had gone off just as he had fallen asleep, signalling his need to get up and deliver the blooms.
If he was honest, Killian enjoyed the long drive to the city. The countryside was beautiful, even in the harsh end of autumn and the slight chill in the air reminded him of home. His pickup truck ambled along the road, the only car for miles and Killian found a few hours of mental peace, just concentrating on the road ahead. Once he hit the city edges his tension returned, however, his desire to leave as soon as possible manifesting in his clenching jaw and palpitating heartbeat. He pulled up outside of the florist and began unloading his flowers, one crate at a time, smiling warmly at the florist, Belle, when he entered.
'Good morning, love' he quipped, bright smile plastered on his face as he made his way to the counter. 'I trust that you were looking for more white and purple, because they are doing very well for me at the moment.'
'What, you mean the most popular colour of Phalaenopsis orchid, on the planet?' she quipped dryly, 'however shall I sell them?' Her grin gave her away as she admired the blooms. 'Gosh, Killian, you really do amazing work. It's like your life revolves around these things, they're beautiful!' Belle was gushing as she gently traced her finger up the stalk of a particularly prolific orchid stem, covered in healthy flowers. 'I think I'll do a window display if you have a lot, they always sell so well when people see what they can do with them…'
Killian was already half way out the door, only half listening to Belle's natter (she generally spoke to herself more than him anyway) and going for the other five crates in the pickup. On his second entry into the store, Killian found himself entering at the same time as a blonde woman, casually dressed in jeans, boots and an oxblood leather jacket, her golden curls tumbling down her back and her small smile belying her gratitude at him insisting that she go first, holding the door open with his foot.
She was beautiful, he thought, one of those women who doesn't really even know how lovely she is, just going about her life as if she is nobody special, when in truth she is stunning. Killian shook his head and entered the store after her, failing at keeping his eyes off her and spilling some soil on the counter as he lifted the crate to Belle.
'Sorry love, always the clumsy one, I am,' he laughed breathily, his cheeks gaining a dusting of pink as he thought of the blonde seeing his goofyness.
'No problem,' Belle waved it off, 'plenty more where that came from.' She helped him scoop it into the pot and he turned again to grab the third crate.
'What are they called?' A breathy voice brought Killian's attention back to the beautiful blonde creature he had let in before him moments before.
'They're a phalaenopsis orchid, love,' Killian breathed, trying not to stare too obviously. She was gorgeous, all tumbling curls, green eyes and fine features, with a cheeky smirk lighting her features. She reached out for a single flower, stroking it as he often did, gently with the edge of her finger.
'Beautiful,' she murmured before she blushed a soft pink and looked back at Killian realising that he was staring at her, his mouth slightly open and a look of pained desire painted over his features. If he looked any harder, he'd drill a hole through her head, she thought, and so she chuckled softly and looked away.
'Sorry, I get carried away with flowers. How much for one of these?' She turned to Belle to ask the question of the florist.
'Thirty…' Belle started.
'Nothing, love, for you,' came Killian's quick reply, his voice surprising everyone in the room and interrupting the florist. Belle's 'ahem' of disapproval answered soon after.
'No problem Belle, this one is on me. Consider my delivery 24 orchids instead of 25.' He smiled brightly at the two women and selected the best orchid in the batch, much to Belle's chagrin and handed it to Emma.
'Please, I cannot take this,' she stammered, embarrassed and incredibly touched at the gesture.
'Please do, darling.' Killian smiled at her, inwardly wondering where all of his bravado had suddenly come from. He kept the cheeky smile plastered on his face. It seemed to be working, he thought, so keep it there, mate. 'After all, it would wound me to know that a lady would rebuff such an offering. It would be payment enough to know that you thought of me when you looked at it.
Emma's eyes bulged at the forward manner of the man who had been so shy every other time she had seen him. In fact, he hardly ever took his eyes of his feet. She had seen him for the last four weeks on Thursday mornings, her flower purchasing habits suddenly increasing from once a year to weekly just for the opportunity to see him again, with his dark hair, scruff and haunted blue eyes.
He had never noticed her before, in fact he looked so miserable that she was sure that he didn't even know what day it was, just that he was repeating actions out of habit. His fake smiles and idle chatter with the florist were rather transparent to Emma and she found herself wondering what had broken a man who was so beautiful.
'I have one other form of payment,' Emma started.
'No love, please I won't hear it…' Killian continued, his sweet smile mixed with a little smirk and just enough chivalry for it all to come off as sweet.
'My phone number.' Emma finished, boldly looking the man in the eyes. His eyebrow arched at that and Emma felt herself buckle a little at the knees. How on earth could a man so beautiful make that expression. Ugh, she was screwed.
'Well,' he answered, his tongue pushing against his cheek and then running along his bottom lip. 'No sane man could ever refuse such payment from you, my dear. I would consider it an honour, but only if you also take mine.' Emma was confused at the insistence that both numbers be exchanged.
'You see love, I am not the most outgoing man and well, in truth, there is a strong likelihood that I will lose my nerve, as shameful as that will be. You having my number increases my chance of seeing you again, because that is what I really want out of all of this.'
Emma blushed at his words and laughed at his candour. 'All right then, flower guy…'
'Killian. Killian Jones…' he interrupted with a smile and his outstretched hand.
'Emma Swan.' She reciprocated, feeling silly shaking hands after such a forward conversation.
'Phone swap…' She stated, her hand out waiting for his cell phone.
'As you wish.' He handed his phone to her and took hers, inserting his number deftly and handing it back to her, still smiling, but this time a little more shyly.
'Well, I gotta go,' Emma stated, excited by the turn of events. 'Thank you for the orchid, and I will think of you,' she said, holding it almost in front of her face and grinning at the Irishman. 'Goodbye Killian.' His name rolled out of her mouth like she was drinking it in, allowing her tongue to feel it for the first time, enjoying how it felt.
'Goodbye Emma,' Killian grinned in response, feeling like a buffoon when she was gone and he couldn't wipe the huge smile from his face.
'Gosh, finally. Can't believe it took you this long to notice, Killian, she's been eye fucking you every Thursday for a month.' Belle's crass, no bullshit way of speaking cut through Killian's reverie and made him turn quickly.
'She what?' He asked, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief.
'You have been so wrapped up in all your brooding, Mr tall, dark and handsome, that you haven't noticed the stunning blonde that suddenly buys flowers every Thursday morning at 0 dark hundred just because you'll be here. Seriously, you are hopeless.' Although Belle was ribbing Killian, a huge smile was on her face and she playfully punched his shoulder.
'Don't chicken out, mate, I'll expect at least one date to be told about by next week.' With that Belle winked, ripped off the cheque she'd made out to Killian and shooed him out of her shop. She did, after all, have a display to do with twenty—four orchids. Goddamn, she thought, uneven numbers is always better for displays.
Note: I have only ever written in one-shots before so let me know what you think. I am hoping to really reverse their roles and have Killian as the more damaged of the two and Emma trying to pull his walls down for once. Let me know what you think and any suggestions for situations you'd like to see this version of Captain Swan in... :) Peace out. x