Okay, so I've been working on this for a while and have a solid four and a half chapters written. It should only be about six or seven all up, so let's hope for consistent updates! Woo! Thank you to oubliette14 and lifeinahole27 for their support and read throughs and general idea bouncing!
Just a little modern AU – basically I wanted to take the idea that we often seen in Lieutenant Duckling fics about Emma being in an arranged marriage situation and bring it to the 21st century; this is what I came up with when I was playing with that.
Also, slow burn abounds ;) Enjoy!
…
One was Turning (One was Standing Still)
...
She doesn't let her mind go there too often. It's usually during late nights alone, over a pint of Ben and Jerry's – with a healthy dose of Baileys poured straight in the carton – when she's got some soppy rom com on. Or sometimes it's when she's out at a bar with her friends and the music is too loud, the bass jumping under her skin while her mind is free. And, every now and then, it's when she's sitting on a train and she sees a couple a few seats ahead of her lean into each other like they have the whole world at their very feet. But in the last 12 years, she has only, very briefly, let her mind go to that particular memory. Of fingertips curled around lapels, of breaths, laced with spiced rum, mingling in the crowded room on the small boat, of the green laser lights bouncing off their flushed cheeks and of the heavy silence that had surrounded them as their lips just barely brushed, a whisper of a kiss during the heady summer heat that surrounded them in amongst the end of high school euphoria.
It had been fleeting and reckless and so, so intense that it still burns behind her eyelids when she rarely lets it.
Yet the memory seems to have attacked her tonight, of all nights.
Now, Emma Swan has never been type for the big bold wedding. Hell, she'd never been the marrying kind to begin with. Growing up with no family sort of does that to a person – instead of picturing her father walking her down the aisle, she used to imagine what it would be like to have a father. Not to mention the enormous cost associated with the glorified party, getting all dolled up just to be presented to a man while wearing a white dress. An extremely expensive white dress, at that. And she's not a virgin, thank you very much. Is white really appropriate?
No, she's never been a wedding person, never professed to be any sort of expert on the whole thing. Centrepieces have never been her forte, nor have flowers or choosing menus for large amounts of people. But, despite this, despite the fact that her wedding expertise has mostly been her friends advising her what to do, she's pretty certain she's not supposed to be crying in the restroom at her bachelorette party.
And over what? A stupid, barely there kiss over a decade ago?
God, she should really lay off the tequila. In fact, as soon as she gets out of here, she's going to march right up to Ruby and tell her so – No more tequila. No more tequila. "No more tequila."
"Well, darling, I'm certainly not here to offer you any more alcohol."
Shit, "Did I say that out loud?" she groans, leaning her head against the wall of the cubicle. It's nice and cool and she really should just stay here for the night. There's no reason to brave it out there again. There's a comfortable seat, a pillow, a cool wall. It doesn't matter that it's a toilet and toilet paper that she's projecting into furniture items, it's practically luxury.
"If it helps, it was said with quite vehement conviction."
It hadn't clicked before, who was standing outside the door, but the elegant vocabulary has definitely sorted out that problem for her (only 98 to go then). Of course it's him. Why would the universe give her an easy way out?
And, no, it doesn't help. Because even if she said it with complete confidence and had a petition with a thousand signatures all attesting to her not drinking tequila again, Ruby would still have the shot ready to go, with salt and a wedge of lemon balanced in the other hand. But hey, that's Ruby and she wouldn't change her for the world. Except maybe the part where she sent Killian Jones into the bathroom after her instead of coming in herself and…wait-
"What are you doing in here?"
There's a moment of hesitation where all she can hear is the dull bass coming through the walls before his shoe scuffs along the floor and she can hear that he's moved just a fraction closer to her, "Your friends were worried about you."
Oh, right, because she started crying into her cocktail. Ignoring the fact that he's seemingly separated himself from her friends and pulling her head off the wall, she grabs a handful of toilet paper, momentarily debating whether she should be destroying her pillow like this before dabbing the wad under her eyes. She cringes when she pulls the white paper away to find it smudged in black and can only hope that people mistake the look for more goth chic than distraught fiancé with cold feet.
Because that's all it is. All it can be.
Just cold feet.
"No, but why you? It's the ladies room. I was out there with every lady I know. Why send in the only male in the group?"
He's really close to the door now, the shiny black of his shoes visible under the gap. "For starters, don't lump me in with the party you didn't invite me to, second, I work here, so I have access to the keys to make sure no one else comes in and bothers you. And, third, because right this second, you, Emma Swan, are in the men's room."
She's about to protest his accusation that she didn't invite him to her bachelorette party because it's an all-female event and, whatever the state of their friendship, he's still a male, but, "Fuck," is about all she can manage to wrap her head around right now.
"Succinct, but an accurate summary, yes."
With great effort, she lurches forwards on the closed lid of the toilet to fumble with the lock before the door finally swings open. And there he is, her gorgeous friend in all his topless waiter glory, chest hair on display, bow tie around his neck and hair lovingly ruffled by probably her own hand. Who knows at this moment in time? The point is, he's hot and she is a tear stained mess who is probably closer to loving him than hating him despite, well, everything.
He's holding out a bottle of water to her which she greedily grabs at, cracking the lid open and sucking down some healthy mouthfuls, barely breathing until she's halfway through the bottle. He crouches down in front of her, hands on her bare knees, the white – yeah, she's the bride-to-be who wears white to all her events. Sue her – material of her dress grazing just above the modest length. "Emma," he says on an exhale.
"Killian…" she warns back, knowing this conversation is something that needs to happen but would like to wait until her head is no longer pounding with alcoholic buzz and music that vibrates against her very bones.
He sighs, lowering his head to rest against his hands. He can smell something on her skin like coconut and summer, something that has haunted the mess of his dreams for the past 12 years, probably even before that, when they were young and had so much life ahead of them. He just needs a moment to breathe, to collect his thoughts and put on the brave face again. Just needs one more second. One more…
He hears her sharp gasp as his lips just lightly touch the inside of her knee, but then he's pulling back, because that's the right thing to do, and standing to offer her his hand.
She takes it but he doesn't miss the way her whole body trembles with the simple touch, just a feather light brush of fingers, all innocence and sin burning up in one. And it's at that moment that he realises she probably feels the same way about him as he does her.
What a fucked up situation they've found themselves in.
"Another time, then?" she asks, already knowing the answer. They've pushed this down and packed it up that many times that they could practically make a career out of the process. Denial experts or something.
He nods, dropping her hand, knowing the exact same thing. They're too good at hiding behind their walls. She'd once told him that keeping to himself would only work until it didn't and he'd seen right through her supposed insight and into her own sad story. They're too similar, she and him, too stubborn and too used to being alone. So he agrees with her again, because that's what they're good at. "As you wish." Who is he to come between a woman and her betrothed anyway? It's surely bad form.
…
Four Months Earlier…
"Make a wish!"
She lifts her head from the beautiful cake before her, all decorated in star shaped candles and chocolate, glaring lovingly at Mary Margaret across the table. It's such a silly childish thing and she loves that her friend is one of those people who is just completely and utterly filled with hope, but what wish could a lost girl ever hope to come true. Emma Swan has had a good life for the upbringing that she wasn't privy to.
Group homes made her cynical, foster parents nauseated her and people consistently let her down. It wasn't until she was starting high school that she had been reunited with a friend from one of her group homes. August had been one of the lucky ones, his father coming to find him when they'd only been seven and taking him in. It turned out that Marco hadn't known he had a son but, when August's mother was diagnosed with cancer, she finally shared her secret enabling Marco to find his boy.
At 12 August had started asking questions about the other children he'd lived with and, eventually, Marco had helped to track Emma down at a local school. Her hair had been matted and dull, eyes red rimmed and wrists bruised. Marco had taken one look at her and told her she was coming home with them. And things had been good from then. She's never taken her new life for granted and it's honestly why she probably doesn't have anything to wish for.
Still, when her eyes meet Mary Margaret's and the other woman simply shrugs as if to ask what it can hurt to try, Emma finds herself scrambling for a quick something to wish for.
She blows out the candles to a round of applause from her closest friends who have all gathered for her birthday and finds herself knowing exactly what to close her eyes and think of. It's petty considering all she has now, but she's learnt that sometimes being a little bit selfish is necessary.
Once everyone has a slice of the chocolate marble cake that her friend, Elsa, has put together for her, she takes a moment to lean against the wall and just absorb it all. There are so many people who she feels incredibly honoured to know all milling around the small flat she had started renting at the beginning of the year. The high windows give her a spectacular view out over the busy Boston streets and she lets herself relax for just a minute to appreciate her little bubble.
"So, what'd you wish for?" comes the voice of her oldest friend as he leans up against the same wall. She wonders if August looks out onto the city and feels the same sense of gratitude that she does that they've been lucky enough to escape the clutches of the streets.
She swallows her mouthful of cake and smiles without looking at him. "You know I can't tell you or it won't come true," she says with a teasing lilt to her voice, knowing that he's rolling his eyes at her without even being able to see him. There's a small moment of comfortable silence between them, something they've grown accustomed to after years of knowing each other. It's the moment born out of his patience to hear her out, even when it takes her longer than he may like to answer his questions. Eventually she meets his eyes in their reflection against the window, "I wished for what any orphan wishes for. To not be alone."
He inclines his head towards her slowly, knowing that, despite the group who have gathered for her tonight, she's speaking of a different kind of loneliness, "Well, maybe you don't have to be."
Turning slightly, she meets his gaze head on this time, unsure of his sincerity in that particular statement. "What do you mean?" Because surely it couldn't be…
But he just smiles and confirms it, "You know what I mean."
She breathes out a laugh, shaking her head incredulously as she lowers it, "August. That was a million years ago."
He meets her incredulity with blatant logic and reason, "Emma, it was 12 years ago and we're both still single and not looking for anything with anyone else. But neither of us wants to be alone." His voice is quiet and she's glad for that because she's not sure she could handle any one of her friends hearing any of this right now. She's not even sure she can handle it. "Come on," he continues, words just above a whisper now as he leans in close to her side, his breath smelling of chocolate, and warm against her cheek, "What do you say we honour our pact and get married."
And there it is, out there in the open space between his lips and her ear. Out there for the world to know if they take the chance to just look this way right at this moment. But no one does, no one glances their way, no one calls out to tell her to run away and, below them, the city still rushes like it always has – people unaware of the enormous thing that has just occurred above their heads. But maybe it's not enormous. Maybe it's just life.
Biting her lip, she looks up at him, the blue in his eyes bright and alive and honest. So what if it's not the conventional way? It's their way and it's just like they're tucked away under the covers in their group home again, huddled together and hiding from everyone else. It's just like they've always been and she could see it being the way they'll always be.
"What?" she asks with a quirk of her lips, "Right now or can I finish my cake?"
"Whatever you want, dear," he says back, just as teasingly.
…
If anyone thought it weird that he'd pressed a quick peck against her cheek, they didn't mention it and the rest of the evening sort of went on the way it always would have, with a few glasses of wine and a long discussion on what people from high school are up to now.
Mary Margaret is the first to start yawning and hinting to her husband, David, that they should really be thinking about heading home. Ruby takes one look at the clock and declares that now is the time for one night stand potentials to start trickling into bars. "Emma, can I tempt you? Guys go nuts for the birthday girl thing."
The blonde raises her eyebrows at her friend before her eyes flicker towards August for the briefest of seconds. When her line of sight settles once again on the brunette in the red mini-skirt, Ruby has a small grin on her painted lips. "Never mind," she excuses, throwing her own look at August before beating Mary Margaret and David to the door, "I hunt better alone anyway."
Emma goes to see her out, suspecting that Ruby leaving will also signal the end of the night for their friend Victor, the poor guy having had an incredibly enduring crush on the lone wolf for…well, however many years they'd known each other really.
She hugs Ruby at the door, expecting the, "We'll discuss August tomorrow, yeah?" she gets whispered in her ear, before seeing her off.
As suspected, a minute after she bids farewell to David and Mary Margaret, Victor is also planting a kiss on her cheek and saying that they should catch up again soon.
When she makes her way back to the main area of the apartment, Elsa is packing up the remainder of the food left out on the tables and August is washing dishes in the kitchen. "Oh, you guys don't have to do that," she says, moving to pull a plate out of Elsa's grip while simultaneously trying to grab August's hand out of the dish water. But he stubbornly refuses, just scrubbing harder and faster. Emma shrugs her shoulders, opening the fridge to put her cake away, knowing it will be staple midnight snack food for the next week. "First of all, I have a dish washer," she mentions casually.
At that, August pulls his hands out of the water, swinging around to check the rest of the kitchen for this mythical dish washer, "No you don't."
But Emma's already swept in beside him to pull the plug out of the sink and let the water drain, laughing as he tries to move her away and continue the chore he's taken upon himself to complete, "I'm just trying to help you. It's your birthday," he reasons, wet hands catching her upper arms to still her. All it results in is Emma trapped between the bench and her friend (fiancé?), their faces much closer together than she had anticipated. And this was a bad idea because all at once several things happen. She realises that being trapped like this can actually lead to something more with this man now because they're engaged, she also realises that it might take her a little time to get used to that idea because he's August and he's her friend and now he's more and he looks like he doesn't mind this whole situation with the hip pressing and the hand gripping and the closeness and… The third thing she becomes aware of is a flash of blonde hair as Elsa comes into sight, still standing off to the side of the room, serving platters clutched in her hands while her mouth hangs open.
And that's what she needs to focus on, "Elsa, it's not…"
But her friend is already composing herself, placing the crockery on the bench and smiling at Emma, "It's fine. It's not like it wasn't bound to happen. I just thought it would be Ruby and Victor next in the group."
August's fingers loosen around Emma's arms and she's grateful that he makes it easy to step out of his embrace. Not sure why she feels so guilty at being caught by Elsa, she tries to make an excuse for the whole display, but her mouth just opens and closes a few times before she simply comes to stand in front of her friend.
Once again, Elsa reassures her, "It's really fine. Just a shock was all."
And Emma nods, because she's feeling a little bit shocked by it all as well. "It's new," she eventually says, "You're the first to know."
She nods with understanding.
"I mean, Ruby probably has an inkling and I feel like she's going to call a meeting over the whole thing. But…"
"Emma," Elsa says, reassurance shining in the bright blue of her eyes, "It's okay," she reiterates, finality in her tone, and all Emma can do is nod.
"Okay."
"I'm going to head off. Early flight tomorrow and all."
And although Emma knows she's telling the truth, Elsa being a travel photographer and all, she can't help but feel something cold in her tone. "Of course," she says, walking behind her to the door and helping her friend into her coat.
They hug, but it's also stiff and not quite the way Emma is used to being hugged by Elsa. She waves with a smile as she walks down the hallway though and that, at least, gives her some kind of hope that things will be okay.
Turning and walking back into the apartment, she finds August once more at the kitchen sink. She leans her hip against the sideboard and watches him pull the last of the dishes out of the fresh water, smirking at the smug look on his face. It's so weird to think that this could be a regular thing now; would they have dinner parties at their place? Would he insist on cleaning up?
"Are we really doing this?" she asks, her arms folded across her chest.
He pulls the plug out of the sink, quickly dries his hands and steps up in front of her, leaning in to hold her waist and press a kiss to her forehead. It's so familiar that it could be just like any other time they've hung out, every other time he's been there to comfort her as a friend. "Only if you want to."
August has consistently shown up and been there for her. He left, but he came back and there are not a lot of people she can say that about in her life. They've been through high school and college together, through the painstaking hunt for jobs in their chosen careers, struggled to make ends meet and do it on their own terms. She bought out the news stand near her place when his first article was published in the Boston Globe; he's dropped coffee at her place when she's been working intelligence analysis on rough cases – the ones that remind her of their childhood – as an excuse to just make sure she's okay. He's good to her and he knows her – the fact that he's not too bad on the eyes doesn't hurt either – if that's all they've got, well, it's better than a lot of couples have.
"I do," she says, embracing the courageous side of herself and leaning up to brush her lips against his gently. He hesitates a moment before reciprocating, his hands gripping a little firmer on her hips.
She pulls away first and he must see the quiet fear in her eyes because he knows to give her space, his hands coming to rest at his sides. "I'll see you soon, okay? We'll work this all out," he says with reassurance.
Licking her lips, she nods at him and unfolds her arms, "Of course."
…
She's trying to remember how all her serving plates fit in this tiny cupboard when she hears a knock at her door. It's coming up close to midnight, but she knows exactly who it will be. The poor guy always gets the late shift at his work. "It's open," she calls out, hoping he can hear her over the sound of clinking porcelain, the damn small plate not fitting anywhere in the configuration she's somehow managed to make.
She feels his eyes burning in the back of her for a good 12 seconds before he moves forward, crouching next to her and lifting the plate from her hands, "Here, love. Let me."
The protest dies on her tongue as Killian gently finds the perfect spot so that everything fits almost immediately. "Really?" she exclaims, slightly pissed off that it took him less than a minute to make everything alright again.
For his part, he shrugs and says, "Needed to make up for being moderately late to your birthday."
They stand and she leans into the hug he offers her in greeting. "And for the fact that you're going to make me semi-unpack the fridge just to get you some food," she predicts. Killian has always been that friend who unashamedly accepts a free meal when it's passed his way. Not that most people wouldn't be grateful, but he's the one who definitely needs it the most frequently. "How was work?" she adds, as she starts pulling out a few different dishes. She grabs the cake too because it'll be midnight by the time he eats a little and she did say the dessert would be her midnight snack food.
He shrugs, chewing on a small piece of bread he's picked up from one of the containers, "You know how it is, love. Boring from start to finish."
She tilts her head at him, trying to keep the pity out of her tone because she knows he doesn't appreciate it, "You really need to get out of there."
His smile is one of someone who has basically accepted his fate and she wonders, as she often does, what happened to the guy who used to fight for what he wanted, the one who used to fill her with hope and inspiration when she didn't think she'd get through college, let alone life. The one who sat beside her through criminal justice class after class and helped her study because he was always quicker than her at picking it all up. What happened?
"It pays the bills and that's all I need right now," he says, practiced and untrue. She sees straight through him, but doesn't say anything else on the matter. It is still her birthday after all and she doesn't want to be having conversations that will lead to arguments with one of her oldest friends.
So instead, she concedes. "As long as you're happy," she says, averting her gaze and focusing her attention on cutting them both some cake instead of watching him assure her that he is when he isn't.
"Did you have a nice evening?" he asks, as they situate themselves on the couch with their dessert, the TV playing some late night infomercial. She reaches for the remote, flicking it off, more than happy to spend time with her friend with no distractions.
Smiling at the memories of having everyone together, she nods, "Yeah, it was pretty great having the old group around. We missed you though." She can tell he's about to apologise, but she holds up a hand, "Hey, we've been through this before. You're here now, that's what matters."
He shrugs and pops another bite of cake in his mouth. "Still," he says, not really offering an explanation past that. But Emma knows what he means. It is hard, when they all work regular daylight hours now, to include the one friend who is still working nights at the job he got while they were in college. And topless bartender may have been a fun gimmick at 21 but, at 30, it's starting to weigh on all their minds that their friend might be stuck in a permanent rut.
They eat in silence for a few moments before Killian shifts suddenly, pulling something from the pocket of his jeans. "I brought you something," he says, smiling and holding out a small box.
She frowns, because it looks like jewellery and he certainly cannot afford jewellery, "Killian, you really didn't have to."
He just purses his lips and pushes the gift into her hand, "I didn't pay for it, okay."
That just opens a whole other line of questions, but she sets down her cake anyway and accepts the box. It's small and black and strangely familiar, the corners of its velvety texture rubbed away with time. Before she even opens it the whole way, it clicks into place exactly where she knows it from and what it is, and she almost slams the lid straight back down.
"Killian, I can't-" she begins.
But he's already got a hand over hers, helping her to keep it open, "You can and you will. He would have wanted you to have it and you use it far more than I ever have."
She looks down at the compass in the box, its little needle pointing due north, right at Killian. "He was your brother," she says in weak protest, her mind having already accepted the gift, but her morality waging war with that choice.
His hand squeezes hers gently, "And he was your friend."
Their little group had been forever changed that day Liam had passed away. He may have been older than them, but that certainly didn't change the way they'd all felt his death acutely. It was like a cold silence descended on all of them and, when there was finally sound again, everything was different.
"You can bring it the next time we go out on the boat," Killian insists.
She remembers the first time they'd been out without Liam there, the elder of the Jones boys leaving the vessel to his younger brother. Killian had sworn he knew what he was doing, but Emma had worried the whole time because Liam had always been the one to navigate them. In a fit of frustration, Killian had thrown the compass her way and told her that, if she didn't bloody well trust him, perhaps she'd trust that.
She'd felt awful after that, because she did trust Killian; somehow, strangely, always had, but she watched the compass anyway, following the path that her friend had set out for them. And it calmed her, like knowing Liam was still guiding them. It was a habit now, every time they boarded Killian's little boat to take a trip out of the harbour, she'd pick up the compass from the shelf and hold onto it.
Killian leans in to lay a gentle kiss at her hairline, "I love that you want to keep him alive as much as I do."
She smiles, finally accepting the gift, "Of course. He meant a lot to all of us."
Something flickers in Killian's eyes then, like something he wants to say but can't quite get out. He blinks and it disappears though, replaced by soft crinkles around his eyes as he smiles in return. "I should, ah, let you get to bed. Need your beauty sleep in your old age now," he says cheekily, the heaviness of the moment having passed them by.
She shoves him away playfully, setting everything down so that she can follow him to the door to see him out, "You'd know, grandpa."
He wraps her in another hug, tighter this time, like something is slightly off kilter in their little world, but she doesn't say anything, just hugs him back just as hard.
"Happy birthday, Emma," he whispers in her ear.
She presses her face into his neck, unable to vocalise how much it means that he's come here so late and that he's given her something so beautifully meaningful, hoping that the gesture will be understood. He kisses her forehead again, leaning back with his arms still around her. And she can see that little flicker in his eyes again, the quiet desire to tell her something. Something that she just can't seem to put her finger on.
She must have the same look on her own face because he beats her to the question, asking, "What?" before she can.
It's on the tip of her tongue to tell him about August, that she's now engaged, that she's going to have a husband and be an adult and live in a house with someone else. But it sounds insane in her mind, so, for reasons she can't even explain to herself, she just shakes her head, "Just tired I guess."
Disappointment dances across his face, but it's only for a second, before he composes himself and nods, "Aye. I would think so. You'd best get some sleep."
She smiles one last time at him as he departs, waving when he turns around halfway down the hall. As she closes the door, she breathes heavily and leans upon it, trying to not let her mind wander to the very bizarre events of the night. Seeing the plates still sitting on her coffee table, she methodically picks them up, cleans and dries them, before packing them away. She wipes down her benches and tidies the last of the stray wine glasses and used napkins.
But the undercurrent is always there, threatening to overtake her every thought. She's trying not to analyse exactly why she didn't want Killian to know about August when she finally crawls into bed and, as she switches off the lamp beside her, she tries not to think of all the things that are going to change now that she and her friend are going to get married.
And it's not that she'd ever regret her wish, not that she'd ever want to be alone, but she's just so full of emotion right now that she doesn't know how she could possibly deal with having another person around her in this moment.
…
Thoughts?