Emma Swan believes that her 8-year-old son's school organizes a shitload of stupid weekend events that she and said son should be in no way obliged to take part in. The weekend is reserved for some quality time with her kid and she is determined to get to some ice-cream as soon as they finish their jog through all the "Better Together" stands.
The whole thing is about families picking a cause the parents couldn't care less about and the kids barely get the meaning of and then wasting the precious Saturday hours in creating a rickety stand in the school yard, making annoyingly bright banners and, of course, 'spreading awareness'.
Emma thinks that reducing the quantities of ice-cream at Granny's is a worthy cause for her and Henry to tackle. And they can handle it all on their own, thank you very much.
Still she can't risk making a bad impression on Henry's teachers so here they are. 10am, bright and early, so that most parents are only now starting to set up and Emma can breeze past them quickly and efficiently. That is until she feels a tug on her hand and has to stop and look back at Henry, who has dug in his heels and is staring at something to his right.
Emma follows her son's gaze to a man that is bent over a small metal table, stacking some sort of tiny brochures or something. Her eyes are just about to slide a bit lower than is strictly appropriate when he turns around. Inappropriate or not, the second she gets her first good look at him the word 'delicious' just jumps right at her. Maybe it has something to do with the way the wind is ruffling his hair, his attempts to comb it back failing miserably, or maybe it's the way his shirt stretches over his shoulders and the blue stripes bring out his even bluer eyes, or maybe she has always been a bit of a sucker for scruffy guys. Who knows really?
She doesn't get the chance to decide which one it is (spoiler: it's all three) before her son's laughter spills all around her, loud and strong and uncontrollable. Emma's gaze snaps to Henry only to notice, with no small amount of horror, that he is staring and pointing at the handsome stranger she was 2 seconds away from drooling over.
"Henry!" Emma hisses at her son, tugging lightly on his hand.
The boy, however, merely glances at her, eyes sparkling merrily, before he turns back to the stranger and moves closer. As she is tugged forward Emma sees that by this point the man has seen, or more likely heard, their approach and is regarding both her and Henry with a smile, albeit a somewhat confused one.
"Mom! His shirt!" giggles her boy, still pointing at the man's chest.
"Henry! It's not polite to-"
That's when she sees it. Beneath his unbuttoned white and blue shirt, which had helpfully drawn her attention to his eyes, the guy is sporting a white t-shirt with a drawing on it. A very crude, very colourful and very large drawing of Captain Hook. Perm and all.
Emma promptly loses it as the memory of the cartoon character's voice filling her apartment just last night comes back to her with full force.
It is a full minute later, a full minute of her and Henry giggling almost uncontrollably over the semi-private joke, when she manages to look at the guy's face again. That sobers her up faster than a bucket of ice-water would have. Not that he looks angry or anything. Oh, no, it is the way he is shuffling his feet in front of them and looking anywhere but at them, one hand scratching behind his ear and the other somewhere in the vicinity of his back pocket. He looks like he wants to be anywhere else but can't decide if just storming off would be too rude.
Emma is pretty sure they have him beat on the rudeness factor. By far.
"I'm sorry!" she gasps out, one hand over her mouth to stifle any residue giggles. "I'm really sorry but… well, this IS a ridiculous shirt."
"You don't like Daddy's shirt?"
Emma whirls around to find a little girl, no older than Henry, staring up at her with a pout almost as adorable as his and eyes just as big and bright as her father's.
Emma's mouth falls open and she is completely lost. Thankfully, Henry has stopped laughing as well so things are only staying as bad as they are instead of getting worse.
"I made it for him."
And now they are worse.
"Of course, they like it, little love," the guy's voice comes strong and sure and Emma takes 5 seconds to appreciate his smooth accent before turning around again.
The little girl runs around her and to her father's side, looking up at him with expectant eyes. Emma follows her gaze and finds the stranger looking slightly threatening for the first time since they started making fun of him in front of everybody in the middle of the school yard. He looks as if he is daring her to offend his daughter's masterpiece and Emma wants to scoff. She is not a total monster, despite how inappropriate and inconsiderate she is coming across right now. She would scoff too, if only she wasn't so busy blushing and trying to look anywhere but at the guy's face with his raised eyebrow and flashing eyes.
"We do," she manages finally, shooting Henry a look but luckily by now her son seems to have settled for being charmed rather than amused by the guy's fashion choices. "Why did you pick Captain Hook?"
What the hell is she doing?! She should get out, not make small talk. With her luck soon the guy's ridiculously attractive, long-legged wife would show up too and demand to know exactly what is she pulling with her husband.
Which is nothing. Emma has no interest in pulling anything with shockingly attractive Irishmen (if she has the accent pinned right) who help at social events and proudly wear clothes their kids drew on.
"Daddy can be Hook! He has a ship and he got a hook for Halloween," the girl explains proudly, something suspiciously like a challenge shooting in her cerulean eyes.
Before Emma can even begin to wonder at that little tidbit, the guy lifts his left hand with a thin-lipped smile and a little shrug. It's a prosthetic one and Emma starts to think she missed everything aside from the shade of his eyes and the angle of his jaw the first time around.
Great. Just great. She stood there, encouraging her son, laughing with him, at a guy's t-shirt which is related to his disability and made by his daughter. Can the ground just swallow her now and never spit her out again?
"We watched Peter Pan last night," comes Henry's voice and she sees the stranger in front of her relax marginally.
Thank God for her son and his ability to reduce any awkwardness in any situation.
"Ah," the guy tries for a smile and it's small but at least Emma thinks it's genuine. "That should explain why you were so… taken with my shirt."
"Again I'm so sor-" Emma starts but the man waves her off with a shake of his head.
"It's fine," he says, grinning slightly at her look. "Really, lass. Forgotten and forgiven."
"Do you want a sticker?" the little girl grabs one of the neat stacks on their table and bounces the few steps to Emma and Henry, offering them the shiny stickers.
Generally, on such events, Emma takes everything thrust into her hand without even looking at it and upon exiting the school grounds throws it all into the nearest trashcan. But now she finds herself examining the sky blue sticker. The design is simple, rather elegant, she notes, and the message is simple too – "There are children on the road. Watch it!"
Emma thinks it's something she can see herself making. Except she will probably add a comma and 'asshole' before the exclamation mark.
"Those are nice," she says sincerely and tries not to be too blinded by the girl's brilliant smile.
When Emma looks up at the blue-eyed stranger his eyes seem just that little bit more intense and his smile just on the side of pained and for a second she feels like she wants to know all his stories. Like she is holding one of them in her very hands.
"Yeah," Henry agrees enthusiastically next to her. "Did you make them? Oh, I'm Henry, by the way."
"Annabelle Jones," the girl says somewhat formally and Emma presses her lips together to keep her grin at bay because she is adorable and Emma doesn't usually gush over kids that are not Henry but girls this age tend to tug on her heart a little (and this one in particular).
"Daddy made them but I picked out all the colours," she says, swaying from side to side with a pleased smile on her face and this time Emma lets herself smile down at the kid because hell, if she can stop herself.
"Cool!" Henry looks excited and Emma can already feel herself getting dragged into next year's "Better Together" but she can't seem to mind just now. "We just came to see some of the stands and we are going for ice-cream now."
Annabelle's face literally lights up and she twirls around, white dress flying wildly around her, and gives her father what Emma can bet is her very own 'You love me and you can never say no to me' look. Henry has one of those too.
Despite her better judgment, Emma finds herself noting the similarities in the relationship between father and daughter and her own relationship with her son. She firmly refuses to admit that what she is engaging in is wishful thinking because there's no wishing going on. However, she can't help but check out the girl's messy braid now that her back is turned and note that it doesn't really look like a woman's work. She feels something gather in the pit of her stomach at the image of the dark-haired stranger twisting the long strands with one hand and fuck, she doesn't even know the guy's name.
"You know the deal, duckling. We get ice-cream after those shenanigans are over."
The guy's voice is affectionate but firm and Emma tries to suppress a little gasp at the nickname. The memories of her coming up with different fantasies about how her parents would express their love and affection when they found her are all too clear but she manages to shake them off and return to the moment.
And the moment is warm and bright and she just goes with it.
"We can bring you some," she blurts out before glancing at Henry to gather his predictable approval.
"Oh, no, I-" the man steps towards her before scrunching his eyebrows together and chuckling. "My apologies. Killian Jones."
He sketches a ridiculous little bow. Annabelle giggles, Henry snorts and Emma is pretty sure her mouth is hanging open just a little bit.
"Umm, yeah. Emma," she manages to get out eventually when his teasing smile and raised eyebrow have prompted her to get her shit together. "Emma Swan."
"A pleasure, Mrs Swan. Despite your severe critique of my attire," he grins and she rolls her eyes at him for the first time (and gets the distinct feeling that it won't be the last).
"It's Miss Swan," she says with a slightly suspicious look, not sure if that was an intentional check-up on his part and suddenly feeling ridiculously exasperated that you can't determine a guy's status the same way. "And technically, there was no critique."
He lifts a disbelieving eyebrow at her and Emma realizes she is enjoying this way more than she probably should.
Something sparkles in Killian's eyes and she swears it's an 'I'm going to flirt circles around you' look but then he draws back and Emma cannot even attempt to tell herself she is not disappointed. She's not sure if it's the fact that their children are there or that they are on school grounds or that the whole encounter opened with her laughing at him or that thing where he is still keeping his left arm slightly behind his back, but Emma is pretty sure that Killian Jones won't be making a move on her here and now.
She would've probably been fine with that, if only she was sure that there would be a then and there. But she isn't so here goes nothing.
"But if you really feel criticized, apology ice-cream should go some way in fixing that, right?" she phrases it as a question and tries to keep her eyes on his, noting from the corner of her eye that Annabelle is showing Henry all the different stickers and pins they have on the table.
"That's very kind of you, luv," he says sincerely, glancing at the kids as well. "But really, no apology is needed. I am 3 days shy of 30 and wearing a cartoon character on my chest, I knew what I was getting into."
Emma snorts a little laugh, eyeing the vibrant reds and splashes of yellow on his t-shirt, before lifting an expectant eyebrow. Killian observes her carefully for a few seconds, as if he is just now taking the time to really look at her and Emma tries to resist the urge to fidget under his gaze. He lets out a deep sigh, as if he is making this huge compromise, before turning to his daughter.
"Strawberry and vanilla?" he asks and Annabelle's head immediately snaps around to grin and nod eagerly.
Killian sighs again before looking at her with a 'There you go' expression.
"And you?" she prods further and tries not to read too much into the taken-aback look on his face, the momentary surprise followed by an unsure little smile.
"Ummm," his hand flies once again to his ear and she does her best to keep a straight face. "Your choice."
Emma gulps, her eyes a bit wider and her stupid brain going in directions it has no business going in and conjuring meanings it has no business teasing her with.
/
She gets him chocolate and cherries and he manages to get some on his shirt. She has to try very very hard to convince him that was not her intention from the start.
/
He is wearing the same ridiculous shirt 3 days later when they all meet up for his birthday. She doesn't really have the higher moral ground, seeing as she bought him 3 white shirts and a pack of colouring pens. It's a miracle his eyes haven't rolled out of his head by the time she, Henry and Annabelle finish their masterpieces.
/
He wears the new shirt Annabelle made him to the kids' Easter concert.
/
He wears the one Henry made to his birthday party.
/
He wears hers when he proposes.