Hey guys!
Yes, I'm alive and no, I haven't forgotten about my in-progress story (The Word Is Bravery). But momentarily, my Delena muse is on a big. fat vacation and doesn't want to come home...But I have every intention of finishing my story.
As for this one, I recently started watching (practically binge watched the whole show in less than a week) Once Upon A Time and instantly fell in love with Captain Swan. I mean, how could I not...they're perfect! So here's my first attempt at a Captain Swan Modern!AU one-shot. Be gentle with me - or not - and let me know how I did. :)
Thanks to my lovely beta for correcting my mistakes! x
Enjoy!
Something So Magic About You
She dashes hastily through the busy street, pushing her legs to their maximum capacity without flat out running. She needs to find a nice shop before closing time and buy a gift for Mary Margaret that would settle somewhere in the "decent" category. She knows the rush is completely her own damn fault, as she's been procrastinating to the point of ridiculousness. Really, she should just pull herself together to complete all the things that she needs to get done and get them done in time at that.
Except, she's not exactly the paragon of a good friend, or soon to be sister in law at the moment. She's forever putting things off to the point that ultimately, they have to be done in a rush because it's at the very last minute, as is happing now. It's not like she had a year or anything to figure out what to get to Mary Margaret for her birthday.
As she silently vows to herself, not for the first time in her life, that she won't prolong things to this degree again and let laziness stop her from being a hard-working woman, she steps carelessly off the sidewalk. A car horn blares, the shock forcing her feet back several steps. If she had moved to jump back a second later, the speeding car on the road would have surely run her over.
She stumbles and then stomps her foot in irritation, asking whoever gives a shit: why her? As her rewarding answer, her ankle twists painfully inside her high heeled boots, pulsing like it's screaming in outrage. She knew she should have changed into more comfortable clothes after chasing down her jerk of a skip this afternoon. She winces as her ankle throbs, the light spends its merry time turning green which takes up two more precious minutes of time that she doesn't have.
In times like these everyone asks themselves if it could get any worse, and she knows she shouldn't, but she does anyway. The answer is instantaneous and the fact that it starts raining doesn't take her by surprise because it's not a rare occurrence in Maine. She's more surprised by the fact that when she starts hunting for her folding umbrella, she can't seem to find it. She usually never takes anything out of her bag (because a woman should always be prepared), but of course, the damn thing is now nowhere to be found. It doesn't even matter now. She's soaked.
Annoyed beyond reasoning and asking herself why the universe is giving her the middle finger today, she focuses her attention back to the traffic light which is finally green and hurries to the mall. By the time she reaches it, the weather only gets worse, along with her mood. There are very few shops left open, but luckily she comes across a store selling antiques and decorative items. Perfect. The only thing left to do now is to choose something special, beautiful and above all, classy. Possibly – she glances at her watch –
"Shit," she murmurs.
within ten minutes.
Still feeling the slight strain in her ankle from nearly 30 minutes earlier, she strides to her destination carefully but quickly. With a little luck she can get it all done in her small window of time, and then she only has to go home to change clothes and take a well-deserved shower.
Everything will be fine, or so she hopes. No, everything will be fine, she repeats to herself intently until the point she begins to say it beneath her breath. Of course, that's not how things work apparently – she inadvertently topples over by the entrance of the store. In an embarrassing manner, she lands in front of one of the exhibition panels, but to her relief barely anyone appears to have seen the incident. Gathering all her remaining dignity and the last crumbs of her patience, she stumbles to her feet with the help of an elderly man and mentally decides to put this day down as one of those days. At least it's almost over.
And then she spots it. It's perfect. The porcelain shows a hand printed scene of flying blue birds on a soft, yellow background. A spray of spring flowers trail down from the top and decorated in gold, the base and handle gleam. It's the most beautiful chocolate pot she's ever seen.
She doesn't even explore the shop further, she knows right away that it is exactly what she wants. Securing her bag on her shoulder, she reaches for the shelf to make sure that the item is indeed there and it isn't just a figment of her imagination after such a traumatic day. A triumphant smile makes its way onto her face when her fingers touch the cold surface of the pot. Not even sparing a glance at the price tag, she looks around the store to find an assistant.
Apparently, two women work here and one of them is busy with a man, dressed in all black, so she walks to the other worker arranging a display at the shop window.
"Excuse me. Can you help me?" she asks softly.
The woman turns and looks at her as if she hasn't got any clue what she wants from her. Shit. Has she just addressed a random customer? "Umm…sorry. I thought you worked here," she explains with a flush rising on her cheeks.
"I do," she answers.
Great. Then don't just stand there! She forces a polite smile on her face and repeats her previous words.
"So can you help me, please?" she waits until the assistant nods and continues. "I'd like to buy that chocolate pot," she gestures behind her back.
When she notice a frown on the woman's forehead, Emma turns her own head annoyed in the same direction. She immediately notices that there will be trouble if she's not swift and precise. The tall and dark guy is talking to the other assistant, and he's gesturing towards her chocolate pot.
Emma turns back to her slow-witted chat partner and gives it her best shot at being charming. "The one with the blue birds on it. Could you please wrap it up for me?"
As she speaks, she walks back to the shelf where her current competition is standing on the other side of it. His back is to her so she can't catch a glimpse of his face. Emma motions to the woman to come next to her and starts explaining that this would be the perfect gift for her brilliant friend and soon-to-be sister-in-law, not to mention the maid of honor role that is surely going to be hers after she receives this. Of course, she doesn't mention to her that Emma is pretty much already has that title, since she's Mary Margaret's best friend, and half-sister to her fiancé.
When the woman smiles and finally reaches to grab the pot and wrap it up for her, Emma feels like she could shriek with joy. Finally, something is going without a hitch. But her happiness is short-lived.
The guy, that bastard, notices that they're fumbling behind his back and turns towards them with sharp eyes. Holy shit. He's probably the most attractive man she's ever laid eyes on. He's watching them with raised eyebrows, although his eyes - oh God those sparkling blue eyes - linger on Emma a little longer.
When he starts to talk, she's almost insulted by how attractive his voice is. "Are you ladies admiring my new chocolate pot?" he grins straight after, flashing his white teeth.
Oh, damn him! Emma scowls as she looks him over from head to toe. He looks kind of familiar but she's pretty sure if they ever met before she would have never forgotten him. Oh no. He has just the right amount of scruff along his sharp jawline and his hair, dancing between black and brown, the perfect length too, looks sort of unkempt, like he's not long just run his fingers through it. And those bright blue eyes of his would have definitely made a big impression on her, as they are now, and that's just his head. Who knows what's covered underneath that leather jacket and black jeans.
She swallows at the sight. Has it been so long since the last time she had a handsome guy so close to her?
She squares her shoulders and fists her hips, lifting her chin up to stare defiantly in his eyes. "You mean to tell me that this pot on the shelf is yours?" Emma asks in what she hopes is an ingratiating tone.
"Indeed, it is. Aye."
"Well, I don't see a name on it, so if you'll excuse me, I'm buying this one," she mentally pats herself at the authoritative tone.
"Ah, ah, ah. Apologies lass, but Miss Lucas here is already taking it to wrap it up. For me."
Emma flashes her most irritated look at the other saleswoman, Miss Lucas, who though can't help it, seemed to be in a trance. She needs to change tactics, and fast.
This woman is a lot older than the one who was helping her earlier and is more than likely the owner in a store this small. She seems a granny type of woman, but clearly, she isn't one if that stupid guy called her 'miss'. So Emma doesn't dare bring up the grandchildren topic.
Taking another deep breath, Emma turns to her. "Look, madam. As I said to your colleague, this chocolate pot would be the jewel of my best friend's birthday. It's so beautiful, and as the future sister-in-law of my friend, it is my duty to gift her such finery for making my brother happy."
The woman gifts her a smile that encourages her to continue on with her all sugar and honey story. "I'm sure that if I gave it to her, she would be the happiest woman on earth."
"My dear…"
"And anyway…" Emma interrupts Miss Lucas. "I already admired it days ago, and looked it out for myself, but only just had time to come back and buy it."
At that, the jerk in front of Emma starts laughing really, really loud. Forgetting herself for a moment, she snaps at him. "What?"
Miss Lucas shakes her head but still has a smile playing on her lips. She pats the arm of the man standing next to her. "The gentleman is laughing because you obviously told a lie."
"What?" she sputters "I…did not! How dare you…accuse me of that!"
"Well, the pot arrived this morning, and has therefore been on sale for a couple of hours."
Dammit! Think, think…Got it!
"Oh, I must have confused it with another one. I was in a hurry and didn't come in to look at it closely. I only admired it from outside." she explains quickly, her face hot.
The other woman, who failed to help her earlier, speaks up traitorously. "Actually, there wasn't any pots in here. There were only jewels and carved caskets."
That's it. She gives up. Emma is convinced the whole universe is against her today. And that arrogant bastard is still laughing!
She tightens her hold on the strap of her bag in anger. She can't leave without a gift and that chocolate pot is perfect. She already imagined Mary Margaret and her after a tiring afternoon sipping their favorite hot chocolate made in this pot. her last chance is bribery.
"Look, I will pay twice the amount you ask for it. But I really need it," she offers in a calm voice, trying hard not to sound as desperate as she feels. She doesn't need to add more to that handsome bastard's amusement.
"I beg your pardon, but this is not the market, young lady!"
It's the woman's last sentence to her before walking away with the still very amused and handsome stranger – who Emma would love to kick in his most treasured parts – and her chocolate pot.
Finally, nearly twenty minutes after arriving at the mall, she heads towards her yellow bug in a hurry, with an antique pearl necklace as a gift in her possession. It probably isn't the first necklace Mary Margaret would own, but a woman can never have enough jewels, right?
Realizing that there is no time for her to go home before the party, she gives a silent prayer that upon arriving at David and Mary Margaret's apartment, she can sneak into the guest room (which she pretty much claimed as her own since crashing there from time to time after a stakeout nearby, or when she visits) and change clothes and freshen up. Unnoticed would be preferable while doing all of that.
As she walks towards the back door quietly, Emma catches sight of Mary Margaret's form talking to someone through the glass. There goes her not-so-thoroughly devised plan of showing up at her friend's birthday party as the paragon of a perfect friend and sister.
So she turns on her heel and in the absence of a better idea, she heads towards the tree standing under the guest room window. Being a bail bonds person sometimes has its perks – for one, keeping her fit and having great stamina sure as hell make it easier to catch those blockheaded idiots who think they can escape bail. It also taught her how to jump over fences in nothing more than a pink mini dress. And right now, those skills are all she needs to reach the open window and make herself presentable in front of her adopted family and their friends (which usually means half of Storybrooke).
To avoid another embarrassing incident like the one in the mall, she takes off her high heeled boots and notes with satisfaction that the pain in her ankle seemed to be temporary. She secures her sports bag on her shoulder (another perk of her job – always keeping clean clothes in her car in case of emergencies and if she has to stay out all night for a stakeout) and reaches for a thicker branch that is closest to her and starts climbing.
She manages to take a couple of steps up without any problems when she hears that annoyingly sensual voice that had been stuck in her head since she left that mall.
"The view is pretty lovely down here. Is it the same up there?"
Since she believed everyone invited was in the house, his sudden presence scares the shit out of her, causing her to let go of the branch she was holding in surprise. She barely manages to grab onto it again and, as a result of her panicked movement, she crashes into the tree. Hard.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" she snaps, looking daggers at her gift-thief. Wait, hers?
He continues to look up at her with a tilted head and an amused expression, which seems to settle permanently on his ridiculously attractive face. But he isn't looking into her eyes - or even remotely at her face – rather, he seems to take interest in her legs. In her bare legs. He takes a step back (because he was standing right under her, she realizes with horror) and that's when Emma fully gets the meaning of his previous question about the view. He practically watched her climb this godforsaken tree in nothing more than a mini dress that barely covers anything.
She only spares him an anger filled Get lost! before she manages to close the distance between her and the window and climbs in the guest room. When she closes the window behind her, she thinks she can still hear his chuckle from outside.
She decides to take a quick shower while she's at it (not because she needs the flush on her skin to disappear, she reasons with herself) and unzips her sports bag to fish out her emergency clean clothes and other little things that are perfect for these kinds of occasions. After a much needed few minutes relaxation under the hot spray of the shower, she puts on her favorite white turtleneck and tight black jeans, giving thanks to God that Mary Margaret doesn't make a big deal out of these parties, therefore she doesn't have to put great efforts into her appearance. And it's not like she wants to impress anybody today…she already made a fool of herself in front of that stupid British guy anyway.
Nonetheless, she fixes her hair a little and checks her face in the mirror before she makes her way downstairs.
She tries to avoid David and Mary Margaret as long as possible because she's almost positive they only organize these kinds of get-togethers to introduce her to their newest male friends and try to resurrect her nonexistent love life. They even tried to rope her into going on a blind date with a 'good guy who works at the docks'. She doesn't do blind dates. Or rather, she doesn't do dates. Period. One-nighters is as far as she gets. Don't get her wrong, she loves them dearly and it's kind of touching that they want her to be happy, but their constant meddling is driving her up the wall. And besides, she's kind of ashamed because she promised to help them set up the place and here she is, arriving late with a last minute gift that would probably result in fake smiles from Mary Margaret.
She shields herself with some of the guests until she notices a small group of people in a corner she also calls something close to 'friends'. She decides to make her way over to them. She walks into their circle without greetings and snatches the glass of something from Ruby's hands. The only thing that matters is that it's alcohol in it. She drinks the amber liquid in one gulp; it burns her throat as it tumbles down and with a grimace, she notes that it's whiskey. She's more of a rum kind of girl.
"Hey, Emma! We were wondering where you were," August says and Emma raises one of her eyebrows.
They've known each other for years now; Ruby, Belle, Anna, and August, but since she only comes to Storybrooke to visit the Nolan's, she doesn't exactly maintain strong relationships other than with those two. Exchanging a few words through the few years since David and she found out they were related hardly justifies eliciting the feeling of missing her. Though August did try to ask her out once, so there's that…
"Have you spoken to Mary Margaret? She was looking for you," Ruby asks and Emma motions for her to get her another drink.
Preferably not whiskey.
"Not yet. That's why I need some alcohol in my system. I need to prepare myself."
The brunette sends her a wolfish grin, clearly aware of the Nolan's way of acting as if they were her actual parents.
Sometimes she thinks she can actually see herself hanging out with Ruby when she's in town, and then she thinks of David's offer of working with him as the deputy at the station. Moving to Storybrooke did cross Emma's mind more than once since she found out she has family on this earth, but she's still not sure she's ready to make that commitment. She usually doesn't do attachments, and living in a small town like Storybrooke would mean that everybody would know her.
No more hiding behind her armor.
When she thinks she's finally safe from view, she takes a risk and looks around the living room to locate the Nolans, but instead, she catches sight of a familiar dark mop of hair. As if sensing that her gaze fell upon him, he looks up and catches her eyes, his damned lips pulling into a smirk. Emma only narrows her eyes at him as she tries to hide the flush on her cheek behind the rim of her new drink. Bastard. It still doesn't make any sense what on earth this guy is doing here.
His chat partner, noticing his attention drifted elsewhere, turns in Emma's direction and that's when she notices it's actually Mary Margaret. She gives her a big smile and pats the man on the arm in goodbye before she starts walking towards Emma. Her frown deepens at this development. Who the hell is this guy? He seems very friendly with Mary Margaret.
"Emma!" she locks her in a hug when she reaches her and usually she's against public display of affection, but it's Mary Margaret and it's just who she is. So Emma pats her on the back gently in response and gives her a hesitant smile. She wishes her a happy birthday and words of an apology are already at the tip of her tongue.
But Mary Margaret surprises her when she only continues to look at her with a cheerful expression as if her being here just made this entire party a notch better. The usual pang of guilt resurfaces whenever she's this patient and accepting towards her even though she acts like she still wants to maintain some distance between them. A part of her still waits for the other shoe to drop, to see when they decide it's just one too many because that's what she experienced from all of her foster families. Eventually, they will give up on you.
But for the first time in her life, she's actually hopeful that this is going to work. It's just that old habits die hard.
"Finally you are here," she beams at Emma. "I thought you couldn't make it."
"I'm sorry," she apologizes anyway. "There was a skip I needed to catch and it took longer than I anticipated. And also, I'm sorry for bailing on you this morning with the decorating."
"Oh, don't worry about it. I'm just happy you're here," Emma smiles at her with relief, but something in Mary Margaret's voice makes her narrow her eyes at her a little. "But if you want, you can make it up to me by helping with the cleaning later."
"Absolutely." she enthuses like it's her favorite past time activity and like her own apartment doesn't look like someone dropped a bomb in it. But it would certainly ease her guilt and the fact that she's not the easiest friend to have.
"So where's your Prince Charming?" she asks Mary Margaret a moment later as an excuse, just so her eyes can shamelessly scan the spot where she last saw her mystery guy.
A frown creasing her forehead when she fails to locate him in the room and she berates herself for the fact that she actually feels disappointment at his absence. Far be it from her to be desperate to catch a glimpse of the man who did nothing but annoy her (and with one glance make her body feel things she hasn't in ages) in the last few hours since she became aware of his existence.
Mary Margaret smiles at her nickname for her fiancé. "I think he's in the kitchen with Killian, making sure the drinks are coming our way," she informs Emma in the same tone as when she greeted her but Emma doesn't pay much attention to it. Instead, her ears perk up at the name.
She heard David mention him before, well practically praised the man for his mechanic skills. Apparently, Killian Jones is the one who helped David build the shed at the end of the backyard and even installed her favorite spot at the Nolan house – a swing hanging from a tree. And despite losing a hand in an accident, allegedly there's nothing he can't fix. But other than these simple facts Emma doesn't know anything about the man. She hasn't actually met the guy. He's even more mysterious than Mystery Guy Number One who stole her perfect gift. And she doesn't like the feeling of being left in the dark. Especially when it comes to men.
Determined to uncover at least one of the men's identities, she flashes a last smile to Mary Margaret and marches towards the aforementioned place before she could question the motive behind her determination. As she reaches the kitchen, she notes with a pang of disappointment (that she doesn't even bother to find an explanation for) that Killian Jones is nowhere to be found, only a smiling David with a tray full alcoholic beverages is there instead. He hands it to her with a cheerful 'hey' and a quick kiss to her temple and instructs her to make herself more sociable and take it to the living room.
Blinking, Emma re-enters the living room and take another drink herself, regarding the place full of small-town people who are only a decision away from becoming her neighbors. Pondering on whether she moves to this remote and forsaken little town or not is pretty fucking crazy so she decides she needs some fresh air to clear her slightly fuzzy brain.
She steps out into the backyard and her eyes immediately seek out her favorite spot in this place. She sits on the swing under the old oak tree and closes her eyes, wishing that this day would be over soon.
"I thought I could find you here."
She's not even surprised to hear his voice again. He seems like a guy who appears whenever you're not looking for him.
Emma turns her torso towards him on the swing and raises her eyebrow up at him. "You know, after annoying me to hell today, you could at least tell me your name," she all but demands while trying to sound nonchalant. "Or should I call you Chocolate Pot?"
A frown colors his features for just a millisecond before a small laugh escapes his lips. Surprisingly the sound doesn't bother her at all now. "So you don't know me?"
I do know you, buddy. You're the guy who stole the perfect gift from right under my nose, she wants to retort, but the tone of his voice makes her believe that he isn't talking about their meeting today. But today was the first day she ever met him. How the hell should she know who he is?
But then her eyes slide down his body, taking in his black jeans and leather jacket covered form and that's when she catches sight of his left hand. Or lack thereof. Her eyes widen and recognition runs through her. No way.
He must have misinterpreted the reason why she scrutinized his prosthetic hand because he quickly hides it behind his back and when she meets his gaze, the flirtatious twinkle is gone from his eyes and he is clenching his jaw pretty hard.
Emma rises from the swing, only now realizing how close he has been standing next to her, their bodies almost touching as she straightens up.
"I'm not…" she tries to explain but doesn't quite find the words.
She sees him scratch a spot behind his ear as he tries to look anywhere but at her. She's slightly surprised at herself for finding this little movement so adorable, so she shakes head and starts again. "You're Killian Jones…?" she half asks and states, because she still can't believe that Mystery Guy and David's good friend is one and the same.
"Ah, so you do know me." Some of his earlier cheerfulness returns at her sudden discovery of his identity and she can't even find it in her to roll her eyes at him this time. "What gave me away? My dashing looks or this lovely piece?"
The way he eyes his fake hand and the tone of his voice suggests that it probably happened not long ago, but before she can inquire further on how she should remember him if they never met before today, Mary Margaret saunters through the backdoor and a huge grin spreads across her face as she catches sight of them.
Emma takes a small step away from Killian as Mary Margaret reaches them and out of the corner of her eye Emma can feel his gaze on her. She feels a familiar tingling feeling but she tries to ignore it as the brunette reaches them.
"Oh, you finally met face to face," she beams at the pair and Emma can see that she drank one glass more than she probably should have.
But then again, Mary Margaret never had a reputation for holding her liquor.
Before Emma can open her mouth to ask what she meant by her words, she continues. "And thank you, Emma. I may have taken a peek at the presents, you know how excited I get…" she chuckles. "…and yours was just perfect!"
Emma watches her friend with a puzzled expression because surely that very last minute pearl necklace was anything but that. But she doesn't try to use her superpower on her, she knows that drunk Mary Margaret equals a brutally honest Mary Margaret.
"Those blue birds on it are so beautiful. You know how much I love birds!" she squeals, actually squeals and throws one last glance at the duo before wobbling back to the house.
What just happened?
It takes Emma a moment to realize that her friend was actually talking about the chocolate pot that apparently she's giving her for her birthday. Either Mary Margaret is really, really drunk or-
She glances back at Mr. Blue Eyes who is trying hard to hide a faint blush by intently looking at his shoes, and her suspicions are confirmed when a moment later he raises his head and a smirk is playing on his lips.
"Well, perhaps gratitude is in order now," he not so subtly gestures at his mouth and Emma gapes at him.
This man is unbelievable.
She doesn't know if she should be furious or thankful. These mixed feelings this guy elicits from her gives her whiplash.
But either way, she's not one to give in so easily, no matter how his lips are practically calling to her to taste them. "Gratitude for what? For stealing the pot right under my nose and then giving it to Mary Margaret under my name so you could steal a kiss from me? You're a thief."
He takes a swaggering step closer to her and his damned lips are still pulled into a grin. "I prefer pirate," Emma raises her eyebrow at his choice and huff at herself for finding his accent so alluring. "But don't forget that I still paid for it, love."
She should be annoyed by the pet name, but she's not even surprised that she actually likes it. "Well, thanks," she adds finally.
A challenging look lights up his eyes and they are so blue that she could literally get lost in them. "That all your friend's happiness is worth to you?"
"Please," she scoffs, but her eyes involuntarily dart to his lips. "You couldn't handle it."
With one last step he's invading her personal space again and she realizes she doesn't mind it at all.
"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it," his voice drops to an almost whisper, his breath caressing her cheek.
She feels the heat of his body against hers, a silken brush sending goosebumps over her skin. As if on instinct, she grabs the lapels of his leather jacket and it takes her less than a yoctosecond to crash her lips against his. (It took her a year of physics to understand how short a yoctosecond actually is.)
Emma feels him freeze at first (like he didn't actually believe she accepted his challenge), but after a short moment, he draws her closer with his good hand, deepening the kiss. He presses his tongue to the seam of her lips and, at her grant of access, delves inside her mouth.
As their lips dance together, she feels like she's walking on air. His mouth is so warm, the caress of his lips softer than she could have imagined and she opens her mouth with a low moan. His satisfied grin is unmistakable.
After what felt like hours, she pulls back slightly and looks up at him hesitantly. The swirls of emotion she sees there makes her gasp. Lust and desire…and something else she can't put her finger on.
Instinct says let go. Instinct says run away. Instinct is boring.
So when he yanks her to him and covers her mouth with his in another kiss, she lets him. This kiss is different, lacks the hungry edge of the first one, but still as passionate. It's slower and soft, more like a waltz than a tango. It obliterates every thought. For the first time in forever, her mind is locked into the present. The worries of the day evaporate like a summer shower onto a hot car. Her usual mode of hurrying from one thing to the next is suspended, she has no wish for the kiss to end.
It seems like he has similar thoughts, because his hand drifts to her hip, pulling her so close that nearly every part of their bodies are touching now. The quickening of his breath matches hers and his hand reaches under her hair below her ear, his thumb caresses her cheek as their lips dance together in a steady rhythm.
This would be the part where (in any other situation) she pulls away and runs, the movement is so intimate she can barely handle it. But the usual panic doesn't settle in and it should make her run for the hills. But something about this man doesn't make the alarm bells in her head go off. She still breaks the kiss though, only to let her forehead rest against his.
Their jagged breaths are the only sounds under the night sky.
"So…" she starts as she pulls back enough to look into Killian's eyes and tries to slow down her heart rate. "What did Mary Margaret mean by 'face to face'?" she asks with narrowed eyes.
His expression suddenly changes from lustful to embarrassed and when he starts to scratch behind his ear Emma knows that her inquiry somehow made him nervous. "I…" he starts saying but stops. "Well…David and his lady talk a lot about you, Swan," she raises her brow at hearing her last name from his mouth but lets him continue.
Killian tells her that the first time he saw her was at Granny's one morning. Apparently, Emma looked like a woman on a mission, quickly ordering her favorite meal and within minutes she was gone from the diner with her breakfast in hand. He says, all he saw was a cloud of blonde curls, storming in and out of the place like a bloody tempest. He didn't even have time to stand up from his booth to introduce himself.
The next time was, he tells her, when she became deputy of Storybrooke for one day (she owed a favor to David). At some point, she dropped David off at the docks so he could discuss shipments with the harbormaster. These kind of things are outside her competence so she didn't pay much attention as David talked with the man. She's only good at catching bad guys.
"Wait," her eyes widen at a sudden realization when he says that he only saw her through the truck's window that day. "You are also the 'good guy, who works at the docks'?" she makes quotation marks with her fingers at the description and hears her voice go up an octave higher.
This day is pretty fucking crazy.
Killian gives her a puzzled look at first, then plasters a lopsided grin on his face "Well, Swan, you tell me. Am I good?" he starts wiggling his expressive eyebrows and she only shakes her head with a grin.
Standing before her is Mystery Guy, David's friend and Mary Margaret's Blind Date Guy all in one man. It's almost like fate is playing a game with her.
"You know, it doesn't matter that you eventually let me hog the glory for the present," she crosses her arms and points an index finger towards his provocatively exposed chest (seriously, does he know the concept of buttons?), though her voice doesn't hold any accusation. "You're still not off the hook for making me embarrass myself in that shop."
"Come on, Swan. What does it matter now? Besides, I really fancy you when you're in dire situations," his eyes twinkle with mirth, clearly remembering back to her tree climbing adventure.
She swats him lightly on the shoulder in response, no doubt a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. "But if you want, perhaps I can make it up to you," he continues and does that damned ear scratching thing that she starts to like so much. "What do you say about a dinner and a romantic evening?"
His eyes are so full of hope that even if she wanted to she couldn't say no. "It would be nice to see you again.
"Nice?" his eyes widen in fake offense. "You're killing me, love. What about being excited to see me again? How about your whole body is tingling in anticipation? Your life will finally be complete?"
She's only a heartbeat away from ripping the remaining buttons off his black shirt because he's such a dork. But she restrains herself, for she doesn't think the Nolans would appreciate if she seduces their friend in their backyard on Mary Margaret's birthday party.
When they eventually go back to the house, she realizes, that for the first time after so long, she think somethings – or someone – is worth taking down her armor and lowering her walls for. Maybe moving to Storybrooke isn't such a bad idea after all.
So how was it? Please let me know in a review! :)