The presidential fanfare rang through the lawn.
Killian Jones stood amidst the mass of press, holding his own camera aloft in hopes of getting that elusive perfect shot of Madame President as she entered with her Secret Service escort.
The camera flashes around him were blinding, but he'd grown used to it over his five years of reporting.
When Ms. Mills offered him this particular assignment, he'd jumped at the opportunity. He'd never covered something as monumental as a post inaugural speech. Only the press and a handful of affluent politicians had been invited.
The fanfare grew louder, and from the corner of his eye, he saw an armored car pull up alongside the lawn. It was surrounded by Secret Service agents. Killian gulped. This was it.
This would be the first time he caught a glimpse of President Emma Swan up close.
-/-
"You can do this, duckling," said David softly, squeezing her wrist.
David Nolan was Emma Swan's personal Secret Service agent, and the closest thing she had to family. He thumbed away a tear. "Don't ever let them see you sweat."
"What if they don't like me, David," asked Emma. Even she was not immune to moments of self-doubt.
"They will. This nation elected you, and you won by a landslide. Your speech is perfectly memorized, and this is a small crowd. Just the press and some of your former peers. You'll dazzle them."
Emma hugged David quickly before schooling her features. As the first female president, she had to prove all the stereotypes wrong. She had to have a stiff upper lip, and speak with a commanding tone. She was no Hilary Clinton, with close cropped hair and pearls. She was the modern American female president, and she had some walls to break down.
David slipped his earpiece in. "I've got your back, Emma. Always." Then he opened the door for her, and she emerged to face the awaiting crowd.
She walked along the pathway which her shoulders straight and head held high. The presidential fanfare filled her with a burst of confidence.
She mounted the platform, and took her place behind the podium. The American flag billowed lightly behind her in the breeze.
Emma looked over the crowd, basking in flashes of one hundred cameras. She took a deep breath and began her speech.
-/-
Killian's jaw dropped as President Swan began to speak. Her voice was firm, powerful, and full of confidence. She looked out over the audience, her lips forming the words of the eloquent speech she had prepared. Her voice never wavered, and she never faltered because of bouts of applause, camera flashes, or shouts from the crowd.
She was certainly one hell of a woman, and his pride that he had voted for her increased.
She was all golden hair and flawless pale skin and red lips. She seemed to glow. Killian couldn't take his eyes off of her, and even the camera couldn't capture her beauty.
The end of her speech was met with thunderous applause, despite the small crowd. It was as if she had enchanted each and every one of them. At the very least, she had captured the full attention of one Killian Jones.
President Swan flashed a smile at the crowd and thanked them for their attention.
-/-
The private Question and Answer time came next, but only a select few had been granted access. Ms. Mills had used her many vast connections to get one of the coveted White House press badges, which now hung from Killian's neck. Killian understood that the American Mirror was a decidedly less prestigious paper, but Ms. Regina Mills was ruthless and connected to all the right people.
Several members of the Secret Service parted the crowd, and collected the few with the badges. Killian joined their ranks, his heart racing at the opportunity to speak one one one with President Emma Swan. There were two other journalists, one from the Times and another from a prominent D.C. paper.
The three of them were led to a small room across from the oval office. A blonde man with blue eyes came up to them. "I am David Nolan," he said. "Each of you will have fifteen minutes for a personal interview with President Swan. Not a moment more. Mr. Keith, you're first." Mr. Nolan nodded gruffly at the man from the Times.
They both exited the room, leaving Killian and the other journalist alone. Neither man spoke. Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Nolan called the other journalist in for his interview.
Killian withdrew a small notebook and his lucky pen from his jacket. He loosened his tie a bit and took a deep breath. Ms. Mills had ordered him a Clavin Klein suit for the occasion. It was the finest he owned, and he found himself hoping that President Swan would appreciate it.
He knew the sentiment was unprofessional, but there was no denying that President Emma Swan was a gorgeous woman, and from the moment Killian laid eyes on her during her speech, he knew he was attracted to her. He also knew that he was a handsome man in his own right, although he had always chosen his career over romance, he was not blind to the female attention he received whenever he went out or from his coworkers.
Killian ran a hand through his hair, and took another deep breath. No need to be nervous. Or so he thought.
He gulped when Mr. Nolan entered. The agent looked at his badge. "Come this way, Mr. Jones."
Killian stood and followed the other man.
-/-
Emma Swan watched the door to the Oval Office through narrowed eyes. The last two journalists had irritated her, asking more about her personal life than her politics. The man of the D.C. paper had even flirted with her. It was the height of unprofessional behavior, and Emma was not amused.
The last reporter, she'd been told, was not from a prestigious publication. It was a national paper, but it was not as widely read as the Times or others like it. Maybe this reporter wouldn't be cocky or presumptuous coming from a lesser known publication. She could only hope.
The door opened, and Emma braced herself for the worst.
Her breath caught in her throat when he entered. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was dressed in a black three piece designer suit with a deep blue tie to match his eyes. His raven hair was slightly messy and his strong jaw was lined with dark scruff. Emma felt her mouth go dry. He looked more like a male model than a reporter.
"Madame President," he began.
Shit. He had a British accent to boot. This could be trouble.
"It is an honor to meet you. I am Killian Jones of the American Mirror." He held out his hand to her, and the moment she took it, a shock of electricity jolted through her body.
"Please sit," she said, trying to keep her voice level, even as she felt a blush suffusing over her cheeks. She hoped he wouldn't notice, but by the way he was grinning at her, she guessed that he already had.
To her surprise, he was completely professional, asking detailed questions about her plans for her term and her thoughts on different policies. Emma answered with all the decorum and thought she had. She had learned very quickly that a politician had to choose their words wisely, and it was a skill she had perfected over the years.
Emma couldn't help but smile has he scrawled down her answers in his notebook, his dark brows furrowed in concentration.
The fifteen minutes passed too quickly for her liking. It was absurd. She'd been around hundreds of journalists, but Killian Jones was already her favorite. "It appears our time is up, Mr. Jones," said Emma.
Killian looked up at her, his pen stilled. "Alas, you are correct." He held out his hand, which she took again. "Thank you, Madame President. This has truly been the most thrilling moment of my career."
Emma bit her lip to hold back a smile. "You're quite welcome, Mr. Jones."
Then he smiled at her, and she could feel the burst of butterflies in her stomach.
Emma Swan, 45th president of the United States of America, was screwed.