K. Jones: Sorry, lass, won't make it.
Emma clenches her jaw as she sees the message pop up on her phone's screen.
Figures. Of course, Killian Jones, asshole extraordinaire, will stand her up for their study 'date' (she shudders just at the thought – or at least tries really hard to). And with only three days left for them to finish the stupid project!
She knew, from the moment Miss Mills paired them together she knew, there was no way she was getting an A on that thing, not with Killian too-good-for-school Jones.
E. Swan: Shocker. Thanks for nothing, Jones.
She tries to infuse the five words with as much bitterness as she can.
Yes, she is bitter. Because she was stupid enough for the last couple of days to actually think that this could work, to actually start considering the very fragile possibility that the asshole might not let her down.
As if she hasn't learnt her lesson enough times already.
/
Two hours later she is sitting in a corner of the library with a dozen books spread around her and her laptop burning a mark into her knees, throwing occasional glares at the empty, faded chair across from her and almost as hateful looks at the clock.
She has set herself a goal. She is going to work until 4pm and not a minute less. No matter how hungry and caffeine-starved she is.
So caffeine-starved that for a ridiculous second she thinks she magicked the take-away cup of coffee that appears on the table next to her. That is before she spots the person now occupying the seat across from her.
No other than Killian Jones himself.
Emma's eyes widen at his sudden appearance, accompanied by the smell of coffee and the soft thud of his own books (less than hers but thicker, so much thicker that just the sight of them makes her neck stiff and her head hurt ). Her eyes widened some more upon actually taking him in. Messy hair, swollen eye, bruised cheek, split lip and all.
"Sorry, I'm late," mutters Killian, his head already buried in a book, a hand waving casually at the take-away cup. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to consider this an apology."
"What happened?" Emma shoots at him, ignoring the tantalizing smell and his obvious attempt to act like he wasn't trying to get out of this meeting (and for a startling good reason she is beginning to realize) just hours before.
Thing is, he did get out of it, it's not like she has anything against him, it's not like he cares that much about the 'bloody project' anyway. Yet here he is.
"I've came to join you in your honourable if pointless battle against ridiculously dusty tomes," he says matter-of-factly, turning a page. "I mean, riddle me this, Swan - if students really do research for this sort of thing every year, why on earth do these books always look like they haven't been touched in ages?"
It is an extremely good question but that is not why Emma's brows furrow in confusion. If he thinks they can just… this is ridiculous.
"Killian, what happened to your face?" her tone is a no-nonsense one and fortunately for him he seems to realize this in a timely manner and finally fixes his one open eye on her with a resigned (and rather annoyed, she doesn't fail to notice) sigh.
"I fell," he draws out sarcastically. "What do you think happened, Swan? Rest assured I gave as good as I got. I also happened to get sacked and Liam is going to chew my ass off so it hasn't been the best day. So perhaps we can just get on with it, yeah?"
And with that he turns back to his book, seemingly considering the discussion over.
Not very likely. She didn't even know he had a job and now he just happens to mention he got fired? Suddenly, Emma can't stop herself from feeling like an absolute bitch for how demanding she has been the last few days while they have been working together, automatically assuming that he didn't have anything else to do and was probably wasting his time throwing back beers with his 'mates' when she wasn't keeping him in line.
And really, when it comes to the first person to ever come through for her in her short 18 years, the decision is way easier than Emma ever imagined it would be.
She snaps her laptop shut, stuffing it in her bag before standing up and kneeling next to Killian's chair. Grabbing his chin, she turns his face to her, firmly but carefully, just in case there are other bruises she hasn't registered yet. Her fingers skip over his neck lightly, pressing gently to tilt his head this way and that, so that she can inspect the damage properly.
Killian's functioning eye has widened at her close proximity and darts to her lips as she clicks her tongue disapprovingly, something akin to awe in his pools of blue emotion that she pretends to never get lost into while they argue over bibliography requirements.
"We should put some ice on that," she says with a frown, fingers running over the eyebrow above his swollen eye.
His skin is so warm beneath her fingers and she doesn't know if it's because of the abuse it was recently subjected to, the lack of air-conditioning in the old library or this… thing, cracking and flaring in the air between them.
"It's fine, lass," his voice is more genuine now, less clipped and defensive, and it makes something flutter in her chest, that her mere touch has him relaxing so fast. "We should finish this."
Emma doesn't spare the books a glance as she reaches over to grab her coffee.
"We have two more days," she states before giving him a look which is usually supposed to get his ass in the library, not out of it. "Come on, I think you have a story to tell me and I need sustenance to go along with that caffeine."
He doesn't argue any further. Deep down she always knew he was a smart guy.