Notes: This was originally written for Fall For CS, but I didn't quite make the deadline. Thanks to Rouhn the generous artist who has allowed me to use the wonderful art she created (on Tumblr), and to my dear friend Shelley who agreed to beta. Thank you for always making it better.
xXx
"Thanks, we'll let you know." Emma opened the door for the departing woman, a fake smile plastered on her face. She tried not to choke on the cloud of patchouli oil that engulfed her as the woman passed. As soon as Emma shut the door on the chilly autumn air, she added softly, "Don't call us we'll call you."
Mary Margaret looked hopefully at Emma. "She was… nice. She'd make a good roommate."
Emma grimaced and waved her hand in front of her face as if to clear the woman's strong scent. "I can't live with this smell- I think you better light one of your pumpkin-whatever-spice candles to get rid of it- plus she asked about a space where she could practice her chanting. I'm not living with a smelly… chanter," Emma's voice didn't invite opposition. The smelly chanter had been the fourth person they'd interviewed that day, and despite the chanting and the patchouli, probably the most suitable. The first candidate had been a chain smoker, which made her a different, but wholly unacceptable kind of smelly. The second candidate owned a snake and Emma was not about living with any slithering creatures, and the third candidate had potential, but she had only needed a place for three months, and Emma did not want to go through this again in three months.
The last thing she wanted to do was find a new roommate. Well, the second to last thing. The last thing she wanted to do was give up the loft, but she couldn't quite afford the spacious two-bedroom on her own, thus the necessity of a roommate. To be accurate, she could technically afford it on her Storybrooke Sheriff Deputy salary, however she had spent the last year saving up in order to attend Storybrooke University and finish her bachelor's degree. Her classes were scheduled to start in January, so right now every penny counted.
Emma groaned when she saw that Mary Margaret had taken her up on her joking suggestion and was currently lighting the candle that sat on the coffee table… and the one on the kitchen table. Emma looked around at the abundance, at least to her, of seasonal decorations, all of it Mary Margaret's doing. There was a wreath of berries, in all shades of orange, above the fireplace, a colorful fake leaf garland on the mantle below it, as well as some sort of real tiny pumpkins and gourds on the kitchen table, kitchen counter and assorted other tabletops. She'd never lived with anyone who decorated like Mary Margaret, and, though, she had yet to admit it to Mary Margaret, she didn't hate it.
"This is all your fault," Emma said resolutely.
At that, Mary Margaret looked up from lighting her third seasonally-scented candle. Her eyes had gone wide, as a look of worry stole across her face.
"If you hadn't taken me in all those months ago," Emma continued now with humor in her voice, "I wouldn't know how much I liked this place. I'd be quite content in some one-room hovel on the bad side of town."
"This is Storybrooke, there is no bad side of town," Mary Margaret replied automatically, and then with a note of sympathy added, "I don't need to go, Emma. I could wait until after the wedding to move."
"Absolutely not." Emma replied firmly. "I was teasing. You and David belong together now, you were made for that little farm house of his, there is no reason to wait six months on my account, and I'm so grateful to both of you, and not just because you're letting me sublet this place." At that, Emma felt an unexpected bit of heat rise behind her eyes and as cover, busied herself with the stack of applications the owner of the building, Gold's Property Management, had sent over.
Emma rarely did emotions, and until just a year ago when David Nolan had given her a job and then introduced her to his then girlfriend, now fiancé, she'd never really done friends, or relationships or really anything that had to do with forming connections with other humans. Emma's life had not been easy. Her childhood spent in and out of foster homes, her adolescence spent in and out of group homes, her late teens spent partly in juvenile detention. A long story that one. However, she'd persevered. She'd turned things around and made a life for herself as a bail bonds person in the city and she'd done it all on her own. Grudgingly, over the last year, she'd also learned it was nice to have people. Mary Margaret was only moving a few miles away, and she knew she'd still see her, and she'd see David at work almost every day, but it still felt like she was losing something important.
Emma glanced down at the stack of applications in her hands. "We'll find someone," she said and then let out an involuntary sigh.
Mary Margaret eyed her suspiciously. "That was an awfully big sigh, is there anything else wrong?"
"No," Emma replied quickly. "Nothing."
"Emma…"
Emma knew if she admitted that she was feeling a bit blue at the prospect of Mary Margaret moving out her friend would never leave, instead she smiled widely, and her voice took on a teasing lilt. "It's just that I moved in here last January after all your holiday decorations were down. If this is what you do for fall, I was hoping to see the Mary Margaret Christmas extravaganza I've heard so much about."
"You will!" Mary Margaret exclaimed, as her face lit up like a Christmas tree. "You'll come to the farm all the time. Next week for Thanksgiving, though we won't have the decorations up yet, and then we'll have a party in mid-December, and you'll definitely join us on Christmas and basically any other time you want to come over, you're welcome." Emma smiled fondly at her, but also immediately regretted bringing up the holidays. Truth be told Emma didn't really do… any of it. She preferred to hunker down and ignore it until it was over. "Oh, and I'll leave you some decorations. I have more than I ever put up, we'll make this place super Christmasy, you won't even recognize it."
Now Emma was really regretting bringing it up, so instead of agreeing she turned her attention back to the task at hand, choosing a person to share her living space. It had taken her 28 years to find Mary Margaret; she was never going to luck into finding someone she could live with and wanted to be friends with again. Therefore, she was treating the living situation as a pure matter of convenience, seeking someone who could pay a share of the bills and would stay out of her way. However, she was going to stand firm on no smoking, no pets – especially snakes, and no chanting.
"So, who's next?" Mary Margaret asked, nodding to the stack of papers in Emma's hands.
"Last one," Emma replied, then looked at her soon to be ex-roommate and waved the discarded applications at her. "Who knew there were so many people who would be unsuitable to live with in this town?"
"Maybe she's the one." Mary Margaret gestured to the top one.
Emma glanced at the paper and read, "K. Jones." She turned the application towards Mary Margaret and showed her the photo of the late-20 something. An image of a woman with a wide, friendly smile, pale skin, dark red hair and sprinkling of freckles stared back at her. "What's your over/under that she's a drummer in a death metal band and needs to practice for hours every day?" Emma asked sardonically.
"She looks more like a preschool teacher than a drummer," Mary Margaret replied, "But you can't judge on appearance." Then she leveled her best motherly gaze at Emma and chided, "Keep an open mind."
Emma was about to protest that she had an open mind, had had an open mind with everyone the landlord's service had sent over, when a knock sounded. Emma welcomed the interruption by saying with faux enthusiasm, "That must be my new red-headed roommate." She quickly made her way to the door and flung it open.
She should have looked through the peephole. That way she could have been prepared. As it stood she was not prepared, in fact she was woefully unprepared. What's the word for when one feels like they've been stunned into silence? Dumbstruck. That was the word, and that word described Emma as soon as she laid eyes on what was on her doorstep.
The visage that met her was indeed pale, but not a red head, not a 20-something- though probably just barely north of 30- and definitely not a woman. No. It was a man. And not just any man, but six feet of tall, dark, and handsome man. He had perfectly mussed black hair, piercing blue eyes and just enough facial scruff that he looked like he had walked straight out of the pages of GQ.
"Hello," the man said, smiling at Emma. "I'm Killian Jones, here about the sublet."
Emma continued to stare at him and tried to process his words, but it was hard. Killian Jones. K. Jones. He couldn't be her potential roommate, could he? She was so confused it took much longer than it should have for her to realize he had an accent. A British accent. Oh my.
When Emma didn't respond, he looked around the door as if searching for the address. "I'm sorry, love, am I in the wrong place? I'm looking for," he glanced down at a scrap of paper. "Mary Margaret Blanchard."
Emma was still staring at him, still dumbstruck, and didn't notice that Mary Margaret was now standing right behind her. Mary Margaret directed a sideways glanced at Emma waiting to see if she would respond. When she didn't, the petite brunette smiled brightly at the stranger and stuck out her hand. "Hi, you're in the right place. I'm Mary Margaret, and this is Emma. It's quite chilly out there, won't you come in?"
He hesitated, clearly wary of Emma's reaction, but then moved past her into the loft. "Thank you, you're right I probably should have worn something warmer than this old leather jacket." Once inside, he looked around. "This is very nice... spacious and well appointed… not to mention… festive."
"Thank you," Mary Margaret replied cheerfully, clearly taking the compliment, after all, most everything was hers. Though, since her fiancé's house was already furnished, and they were intending to buy new pieces together, she was planning to leave much of the larger furniture in the loft with Emma. "The place will come with most of what you see here. Do you have your own furniture?"
Killian opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment Emma finally closed the door, whirled around and charged, "You're a man."
Emma had spoken with such fire that Killian was momentarily taken aback. He glanced from Emma to Mary Margaret who still was smiling widely, back to Emma. Tentatively, he said, "Aye."
"You aren't supposed to be a man."
Still confused, Killian studied her for a moment, now struck by how attractive she was. Fine features, slender but athletic form apparent despite her sweater and jeans, long blonde hair that flowed down her back, like she was in motion, but she wasn't, almost as if the force of her personality was propelling her in place. She was attractive indeed.
A wolfish grin stole across his face. "Yet, as you see, I am a man." He wasn't sure what made him say the next words out of his mouth, perhaps it was a reaction to realizing how beautiful she was, or perhaps it was her challenging tone, aggressive stance, and the fiery way her eyes danced with anger. "However, I'm happy to provide indisputable proof," he leaned in, winked at her, and then leaned back and looped his thumb over his belt buckle, "if you require."
It wasn't just his words that set Emma off; it was his expression and the tone of his voice. She felt her hackles rise and her defenses go up. She knew his type; she'd used her wiles on plenty of them back when she was a bail bonds person. All good looks and smarm, disguised as charm, and all of them snakes, though not as nice as the pet she'd refused to live with. "I don't doubt you're a man, but you're supposed to be a woman."
Killian's grin slipped and once again he glanced at Mary Margaret for help, however she was studying Emma as though she was observing the situation and not taking part. He looked back to Emma and offered with a shrug, "I'm sorry to... disappoint." The cocky grin returned as he added, "Though, I must say yours is not the usual reaction I get from women."
Emma rolled her eyes. Who in the hell did this guy think he was? However, she didn't doubt what he'd said for a second. He was ridiculously attractive and she couldn't be the only woman to have noticed. She was sure that if one were writing sonnets the only way to describe his eyes would be 'smoldering.' After a moment, she realized she'd been silent as she stared into those eyes, and forced herself to speak.
"No." Emma replied in a rougher voice then normal. She shook her head as if to clear it, as if that would clear away how distractingly handsome the guy was. Business, she had to stay focused on business. She was looking for a roommate, and he wasn't it. She held out the application so he could see. "K. Jones, the applicant to sublease, the applicant to be my new roommate is supposed to be this woman." She shook the paper emphatically.
Killian glanced at the application, but then his gaze quickly found Emma again. There was an intrigued glint in his eye. "You would be my new flatmate," he looked her up and down appraisingly before motioning to the other woman, "and not the lovely Mary Margaret?"
"Disappointed?" the word was out of Emma's mouth before she could stop it. He was distracting her from the point. The point being that he was not the red headed preschool teacher/death metal drummer she had been expecting.
"Not in the slightest, I like a challenge," Killian winked at her, before continuing, "And you seem an intriguing challenge indeed, but I take it you're disappointed I'm not this lass." He motioned to the photo she was still holding out towards him. "She looks a fine prospective flatmate, but I assure you," he arched one suggestive eyebrow at her, "We would have more fun."
Who did this flirty bastard think he was? "Whoa, buddy. Don't get ahead of yourself. First, I need to figure out who you are and why you don't match this application. You could be anybody off the street. I'm going to call the office. Mary Margaret, I knew I should have screened applicants myself instead of letting the property management company have a crack at it."
If Mary Margaret suddenly seemed a tad nervous, and overly interested in studying her fingernails, Emma didn't notice.
While Emma walked into the kitchen, cell phone pressed to her ear, Mary Margaret smiled at Killian. "While you're here, we might as well see the place. Shall I give you the tour?"
"Lead on, milady." Killian gave a slight bow and followed her down the hall.
xXx
A few minutes later, Emma hung up the phone and walked into the living room, saying as she went, "I spoke to Belle at the-"
She stopped short when she realized the room was empty. In confusion, she looked around. They had just been there; she'd only been on with Belle for a few minutes, where could they have gone? A shot of adrenalin hit as she pictured the handsome stranger dragging Mary Margaret outside to his van. All murderers had vans, didn't they? She rushed to the door, ready to leap into danger to save her soon-to-be ex roommate, when she heard voices down the hall. Moments later, she found a smiling, and safe, Mary Margaret showing Killian Jones the bedroom, specifically *her* bedroom. The flirty bastard was in her bedroom. An involuntary flutter at the thought conflicted with a prickle of irritation at what felt like an invasion of her privacy.
"What the hell are you doing in here?" Emma didn't exactly yell, but her voice was raised and tinged with anger, probably partially fueled from the adrenalin rush of a minute earlier.
Mary Margaret looked startled, and confused. "I was showing your prospective flatmate the bedroom."
The fact that Mary Margaret had picked up this man's, Killian's, vernacular fueled Emma's already irrational anger. "My bedroom. He doesn't need to see my bedroom. He won't be entering my bedroom." Emma's voice held finality, but also a bit of a challenge. "For any reason."
Mary Margaret looked at Killian apologetically before saying, "But Emma, I thought you were planning to switch to my bedroom room when I move out so…"
"Oh," Emma's embarrassment was so powerful, that she could almost feel the heat of the blush that stained her cheeks and chest. Mary Margaret was right. She did plan to move to the larger bedroom. Which wouldn't take much; Mary Margaret had already moved many of her things to David's. "Right. So..."
"So this would be Killian's room. I was showing him his room."
The presumption helped Emma get over her embarrassment. "Again, you're getting way ahead of things here. This is not going to be his room."
"Oh?" Mary Margaret inquired, "What did the office say?"
Killian watched them keenly, realizing it was probably in his best interest to stay quiet. Even though this Emma, the woman who would be his flatmate, seemed maddeningly tetchy and excessively defensive, he found himself very much wanting to live here. The location was great, the place was spacious and inviting and, he had to admit, the fiery Emma intrigued him.
"I talked to Belle. She apologized. She said she must have attached the wrong photo by accident. This is the right application, though. See," Emma held out the application for Mary Margaret's inspection.
Mary Margaret took it and flipped the page. A smile spread across her face, she looked at Killian and said excitedly, "One of your references is Graham Humbert? Look, Emma, one of his references is Graham."
Emma took the application back and scowled at the paper, studying it carefully.
"Aye, you know him?" Killian asked hopefully.
"Yes. Well, no, actually. Not really, but he's very good friends with my boss and Mary Margaret's fiancé. He's why I'm here. He was the Sheriff and when he left, David was promoted and hired me as deputy."
"Ah." Recognition flitted past Killian's eyes and he turned to Mary Margaret. "Graham mentioned that once I was settled he would introduce me to his successor and his betrothed, which must be you?"
"Well isn't this a small world," Mary Margaret guffawed and slapped her knee a little too hard.
Betrothed? Who spoke like that? Emma once again found herself wondering who this guy was. "How do you know Graham?" Emma asked her voice tinged with suspicion for no real reason other than she wanted to be suspicious. "Are you in law enforcement too?"
"I met him not long after I first arrived in this country; he was an instructor when I was getting certified. However, I find it more interesting that you're in law enforcement. You look like you've broken more laws than enforced." Killian's tone was once again flirty.
Emma rolled her eyes at him, again, and then leveled a glare that pretty well conveyed she was done with his sass. "Are you here to annoy me or to convince me you would be an excellent roommate? Because you're doing a really good job of one of those things."
Killian swallowed roughly and looked sheepish. "Apologies, lass..." Why did he always do this? Whenever he was a bit off balance in a situation, especially with a woman, he resorted to quips and innuendo. Now he aimed for sincere. "I very much want to convince you that I would make an excellent flatmate. Allow me to do so now. Despite this," he held up his left hand, it was shod in a black glove, and clenched, and unclenched, his fist. Emma's eyes went wide as she recognized the mechanical movement of the fingers. It was a prosthetic. She hadn't noticed until that moment. She stared for a moment and then realized he had started talking again. Her attention reverted to his face as he continued, "...I'm quite handy and can fix minor plumbing and electrical issues. I'm a fair cook, and I'm tidy; years in the Royal Navy conditioned me, so you needn't worry that I will disrupt the orderly home you so clearly keep."
Mary Margaret snorted at that, and Emma glared at her. It was true, though. Mary Margaret was the clean one. Emma could get messy, really messy when left to her own devices. However, she wasn't about to tell this guy that, so she took command of the conversation. "Can you pay the rent?"
"Aye."
"On time?" she pressed.
"In advance if you prefer."
"Do you smoke?"
"No."
"Do you have pets?"
"Only Robin."
Emma's eyes narrowed in confusion and Killian could almost see something change in her. One minute he was winning her over, the next minute it was all gone.
"That's a joke," Killian added quickly, in an apologetic tone, clearly this lass was no nonsense. "I'm used to ribbing my mate Robin at every opportunity. You see he's quite the outdoorsman, sometimes I joke he's more like a forest creature than a hu... never mind. Actually, he's really the only person I know in town. Robin Locksley?" Killian said the name almost as a question. "Perhaps you know him? He owns Hood's Tavern not far from the docks? He's my other reference," Killian gestured to the application that Emma was still holding.
Emma looked thoughtful. "I've been there a few times, but I don't believe I've met him." She glanced at Mary Margaret who was studying the print on Emma's bedspread very closely. Too closely. "What about you? You know everyone in this town."
Mary Margaret looked up, before feigning befuddlement. "What?"
Emma shot her a quizzical glance. "Killian's... mate," Emma said the word 'mate' in a fairly reasonable approximation of Killian's accent, then continued in her normal voice, "Robin, who owns the tavern by the docks, do you know him?"
Mary Margaret looked thoughtful and tapped her chin. "I believe David knows him, and I've met him before while in there. Nice guy. If I remember correctly he's got an adorable son, but not old enough to be in my class yet."
"Mary Margaret is an elementary school teacher." Emma explained to Killian.
His eyes lit up. "Indeed? His son Roland is..." Killian paused and looked as if he was doing advanced mathematics in his head, "...five." Killian looked triumphant at coming up with the answer. "What level is that on this side of the pond? Nursery school?"
"Kindergarten," Mary Margaret supplied with a smile.
"Ah." Killian nodded.
"Do you have children?" Emma blurted. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her.
His eyes went wide at the suggestion and he shook his head quickly.
"Ever been married?" Emma was surprising herself with these questions, but enquiring minds wanted to know. It had nothing to do with how unquestionably handsome he was and the curiosity about his personal status that she felt building deep-down.
"No."
"Why do you have only one friend in town?" Emma continued her rapid-fire questioning.
Killian chuckled lightly, before venturing to answer. "I don't know anyone, because I don't reside here... yet."
"What brings you to Storybrooke?" Emma inquired, though she felt herself softening towards him. The way his eyes lit up when speaking about his friend's son. It was... appealing. A guy who liked children couldn't be so bad.
"My work."
Emma didn't bother asking, she just gave him a pointed look.
"I'm with the State Marine Patrol, and they've decided to station an officer here," Killian elaborated.
"So you're in law enforcement?" Now this was interesting. If he was in law enforcement that probably meant he'd gone through rigorous background checks and was probably an upstanding citizen. Although, she reminded herself, she was in law enforcement and had quite a checkered past.
"Of a sort."
"What do you mean?"
Killian slipped into professional mode. When it came to his work, he was serious. "It's true, the Marine Patrol is tasked with maritime security, search and rescue and to enforce laws and regulations, but we're also involved in scientific research. That's really why I'm here. Storybrooke University has received a research endowment and the Marine Patrol has granted use of several vessels."
"You're a scientist?" Emma asked; his earnest demeanor intrigued her as much as his words. It was such a change from just a few minutes earlier. She was surprised; she never would have guessed he had such... substance.
He laughed good-naturedly at that. "No, love. I'm here to captain the ship."
Emma nodded thoughtfully. Despite her first impression of him as conceited and smarmy, it was all sounding pretty dang good. A profession that required background checks and some sort of standing in the community, multiple references that David knew, handy around the house, clean, could cook, and pay the rent in advance, not to mention, no smoking or pets. Other than the innuendo, and being excessively good looking, he was checking all the right boxes. Well, most of them.
She shot him a penetrating stare and said, "One last question, do you chant and what do you smell like?"
His eyes went wide at the questions, but he sensed he was close to closing the deal, so he answered as best as he could. "Chant? Uh...I don't... chant. I've been known to sing in the shower, but I needn't if it bothers you. As far as how I smell," he tilted his head down timidly as if afraid of what odors he might find there, "I'm afraid you'll have to tell me... is something wrong?"
"No, you smell fine. Good. Fine." Emma stuttered, newly embarrassed, however that didn't deter her. "Right now. But I don't know how you normally smell. Maybe this is just interview smell. What do you put on in the morning?"
Killian's cheeks turned red and he reached up and itched behind his ear with his index finger; this might be the most difficult interview he'd ever experienced. "Erm... put on? You mean like a bar of soap? I don't remember what brand it is, but it's just regular... soap."
"So you don't wear Patchouli oil?"
Killian looked at her in confusion. "I'm not familiar..."
"So you don't plan on smelling weird?"
Killian glanced to Mary Margaret, clearly looking for help and this time she finally came to his rescue. She smiled kindly at him and explained, "You'll have to humor Emma. You see the last applicant was very... earthy and she had quite a... pungent, self-inflicted, odor. I'm afraid Emma was traumatized by it."
His eyes went wide in understanding. "Well... I wouldn't describe myself as earthy, but the research is to do with fish and other sea creatures. I can't promise... I mean it's possible that I could come home smelling of... the sea."
She lived in a fishing village; everything smelled of the sea, so she could live with that. Emma glanced at Mary Margaret. She gave her a small nod of approval and it was the last bit of confidence Emma needed to make the decision. "The room is yours if you want it, Killian."
A wide grin broke out across his face. Emma was glad she didn't have to say anything more. Because a smile like that, on a man who looked like that, it was... trouble.
This might be a very bad idea.
To be continued