I had this idea a while ago while listening to Drive Me by Phillip Phillips, and well... yeah, it got written. I'm not sure how many chapters it's going to be, because I think planning is what has me stuck in a rut where Much Ado in Storybrooke is concerned. This is very AU (to the point of Storybrooke not existing) and it's part of a Captain Swan Saturday challenge over on tumblr.
Calming melodies lingered in the dimly lit bar, just audible enough over the din of voices: desperate souls longing for companionship were being drawn to each other. Try as he might to shut out the mating calls to hear the music, Killian was hopelessly distracted. The men's slurred expressions of attraction toward the women who had found a second home at the counter he now leant against were tiresome enough, never mind the rainbow of mixed drinks that had nearly found a new home on his casual suit.
A livelier song than the one he had regrettably missed started up, and the tipsy women dashed onto the dance floor. The men soon followed, answering the call of many a swinging hip and twirling hand. A drunken brunette in a too-small pink dress beckoned to Killian from the opposite side of the room as she danced. She stumbled during an attempt to spin seductively and he rolled his eyes, looking down at his cuffs. He pulled at the sleeves of his black jacket to cover the white linen he wore beneath it, brushing the front of the matching suit pants for good measure.
When he looked up—purposefully directing his gaze away from the brunette—his eyes fell upon the woman who had just entered the bar. Thin, dark red lips revealed a blindingly white smile as she turned to show her ID to the bouncer that guarded the door. A black tortoise shell clip held half of her loose, blonde curls back; what hair hung free of the clip swayed forward when she retrieved her identification and turned away from the bouncer.
The neckline of the pale blue dress she wore scooped modestly. A wide, studded black belt cinched the dress at the waist, accentuating her hips. He followed the length of her lightly tanned legs from mid-thigh to the simple black pumps she wore. His eyes moved back up slowly, drinking in every dip and curve before settling on her face.
She sauntered toward the opposite end of the bar, her lips moving along with the lyrics. They stopped as she caught him staring. A carefully manicured brow arched upward when, instead of looking away, he stared her down. It was a challenge she couldn't resist, apparently, as she changed course. She seemed to size him up as she moved, a critical evaluation similar to the one he had given her. It was more calculated than the ones he had received from the less interesting women he met there.
Her lips parted to speak, but the bartender came up to greet her. "Emma," he said, smiling. "Haven't seen you in a while. The usual?"
"Better make it Johnnie tonight, Leroy. Black label."
"Neal again?" Leroy asked, reaching to pull a bottle from the shelf and pouring the liquor into a glass.
"Yes." Killian watched as Emma grimaced, almost imperceptibly. "In fact, make that a double."
"You got it, Sister." He filled the glass further before handing it to her. She turned back to Killian, leaning against the bar.
"Emma, is it?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes." Emma sipped her drink. "Well, now that you know my name, I think it's only fair you tell me yours."
"Is that so?" The corner of his mouth lifted drolly. "Name's Killian. If I may say, you don't seem the sort who frequents bars such as this: Not often enough to be on a first name basis with the bartender, anyway."
"I'm not sure I like what you're implying," she said to Killian, lifting her glass to her lips and taking a sizable sip.
"I can't see why you wouldn't." There went her eyebrow again. "You're a beautiful woman who prefers straight scotch to mixed drinks. You don't seem to be in a hurry to intoxicate yourself, either. In this crowd, that's a rare find. What did you think I meant, love?"
Emma shook her head. "Never mind." She looked out at the crowd of dancers. Her brows furrowed as she caught sight of something, or someone, in particular. "I'm not sure what I did, but that woman is looking at me like I murdered her cat or something."
"Who?" Killian followed Emma's gaze to the brunette who had attempted to get his attention and saw the ire etched into every line on her heavily made-up face. "Oh, her. It may have something to do with her attempts to seduce me before you arrived." He didn't feel bad at all for ignoring the pink-clad woman—someone new would distract her soon enough.
"She's not your type?"
He snorted derisively. "None of the women I've had the pleasure of speaking to this evening have caught my fancy." He turned to her, the corner of his mouth quirking upward lazily. "Not until you."
"Smooth." She met his eyes deliberately. Though it looked as if she wanted to say something, she remained silent.
"So," he began, lifting his beer to his lips and taking a swig before continuing, "who's Neal?"
"Nobody important," she replied dismissively, her gaze wandering to the entrance.
"I hardly think somebody unimportant would warrant a double of Johnnie Walker. Black label, no less."
She rolled her eyes. "You just met me. What makes you think it's any of your business what I drink and why I do it?"
"I apologize," he said, holding up the hand that wasn't occupied in surrender. "I only thought that you might want someone who knows nothing of the situation to vent to. Is that truly a problem?"
Her lips parted to speak, but she was silenced by an intrusive, "Emma," called from the other side of the bar. A woman with dark brown hair streaked blood red waved at Emma from where the bouncer was checking her ID, the sleeve of her plain white dress covering the palm of her hand. She slipped the card back into her clutch and hurried across the dance floor, her dark red heels a blur in her haste.
He looked back at Emma, who was smiling at the woman's approach. "Hey, Ruby."
"I am so sorry I'm late. The T was delayed, and you know what it's like trying to hail a…" she trailed off, her attention shifting to Killian, and he met her eyes without hesitation. The hand that wasn't holding her clutch went to a hip that cocked to the side. "This guy bothering you?"
Emma seemed to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "No, we were just talking."
"And 'this guy' has a name," he said, his face a mask of mock-offense. He held out a hand to the new woman. "Killian Jones."
"I knew I recognized you!" Ruby said emphatically, her attitude doing a complete one-eighty. "You're in the band that played here a couple weeks back."
He dropped his hand back to his side. "Mm. Purified Disguise."
"You guys were incredible." She turned to her friend, smiling broadly. "I wish you could have been there, Emma. They're the best alternative rock band in Boston."
"If I hadn't had to work to"—she took a quick, almost unnoticeable breath—"I'm sorry I missed it." Her jaw clenched and unclenched once before she was smiling again.
"You should be," he said cheekily.
Emma's eyes snapped to his; it looked as if she were going to chew him out. He looked to Ruby briefly—her eyes were wide, looking between Emma and Killian. Apparently this was something to be nervous about. When he looked back to Emma, however, a smile was beginning to form on her lips. A soft chuckle reverberated in her throat, and the moment passed.
"Tell you what," he started tentatively. He looked between the two women, his confidence momentarily shaken. Her eyebrow had lifted once more, this time out of curiosity: that grin still shone on Emma's face. He pushed on, his morale boosted by that intoxicating smile. "We're playing here again, two weeks from tonight. You can make amends for missing our last show by being at that one."
They simply looked at one another for a moment, silent but for the music and the click of Ruby's heels as she walked further down the bar. Then Emma dipped her chin in a subtle nod. "Sure, why not?"
Killian's mouth stretched into a full-out grin. "Wonderful."