A wedding was supposed to be a time for happiness and good cheer. Well, at least that's what Emma supposes, having only ever been to one wedding before she arrived in Storybrooke and that was in Vegas when she was dragged into a chapel by a drunk couple to be a witness. (She was technically working- trailing a skip - but the pleading puppy dog eyes of the young bride were enough to make her sacrifice a half hour of her time.)
Literature, movies and goddamn society were insistent that a merry time be had on the occasion that two people decided to legally entwine their lives - and so she would. Aided by vodka.
She should be happy. And really she is - hell, her one of her best friends was marrying the love of her life (and though Emma still balked at that term in general, for Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan she was happy to give a pass).
But really, it was awful, terrible, horrendous timing. Because just as one couple was making the ultimate commitment, Emma herself was realizing that she was in love with her best friend. And he couldn't be more oblivious.
"Another vodka," she snaps at the bartender when he walks past her spot - propping up the bar with a perfect view of the entire banqueting suite which was housing the wedding reception. He gives her a dirty look until she flashes him a quick, apologetic smile. "Sorry," she adds, with a shrug.
There is a bottle of Grey Goose before her a moment later, a generous measure being poured into her glass.
"Not a fan of weddings?" he asks.
"Something like that," she replies with a grimace.
The wedding itself had actually been pretty painless. She was a bridesmaid and that had thankfully kept her busy (and away from Killian). But now the speeches were over and everyone was mingling and dancing. Now she was left with her thoughts. And they were troubling.
Understanding that you are besotted with someone should surely be an epiphany that occurs at a momentous moment where the stars aline and the world suddenly makes sense. Maybe atop a mountain or while watching a beautiful sunset. But no . This moment for Emma had happened only a few nights ago while sitting on her past-its-prime couch. Killian Jones (being the he in this equation) was at her place sharing their usual order of Chinese take out and bingeing on Netflix while talking about the upcoming wedding. Then-
Bam.
Just like that. It hit her: hard. Love. Pure and simple.
She'd been in love before so she knew it within a heartbeat of the feelings emerging. Still, she wasn't entirely sure what had sparked it. Was it a smile he had given her? Maybe it was something he said… she'd never be certain. What she did know was that right then a cascade of affection and want took hold- and every interaction between them since that moment had been awkward and stilted (for her at least). She was pretty sure he'd noticed, especially when she'd called him from the sheriff's station to cancel their plans for lunch the day before the wedding.
Looking at him now made her insides turn liquid and her cheeks blush so much she'd taken to wearing an extra layer of foundation. Honestly, she wasn't quite sure how she had made it through the times when he had looked her in the eyes that night (six times- she'd counted). Within hours, the first understanding of love had multiplied and snowballed until she was in so deep that if felt like it had always been that way.
She loved him fiercely, hungrily, unrequitedly. Because Killian Jones - king of flirtation and innuendo - had never so much as cast a hungry glance in her direction. He just was not interested in her beyond friendship. Of that she was certain.
So now, here she was, vodka in hand watching her best friend flirt up a storm on the dance floor, whilst wondering if she had fucked things up between them by falling in love.
"Deputy, if you stare any harder you might turn green."
Emma yanks her head in the direction of the voice. It was David - the groom and Sheriff of the small town (and therefore her boss). "No idea what you are talking about," she quips as she blushes at the insinuation.
He gives her an amused smile as he asks the bartender for a glass of water. "You should go dance. You know Killian's good for at least one dance for his best friend." He raises his eyebrows as he speaks.
"His hands look pretty busy to me."
His hands are - at that moment - wrapped around the waist of a busty brunette who was clearly finding whatever he was whispering into her ear hilarious. With a grimace, she looks away. It had never really bothered her (that much) before, her best friends popularity with the ladies. He was handsome as hell and utterly charming- when he wanted to be. Now, though, seeing him within striking distance of an available woman was leaving her sick to her stomach.
"Shouldn't you be off being disgustingly happy with your wife?"
This smile he gives her is different: genuine and warm, filled with the love she knows he feels. "She's dancing with her father," he explains, nodding in the direction of the lace clad bride who was gliding across the dancefloor.
"She looks so happy," Emma sighs softly to herself, a faint type of jealousy washing over her (because she'd pretty sure a white dress and a fancy wedding is not going to be a fixture of her future).
"Yeah, love does that. You should try it sometime." He gives her another pointed look, before adding. "It's a wedding Emma, go have fun. And by that I mean interact with someone other than the bartender."
"I'm off the clock, you can't order me around boss."
He shrugs and begins to walk away. "Advice from a friend, Emma. Advice from a friend."
/
A few songs later a pretty little redhead is in his arms. He's spinning her around and Emma feels more nauseous than she can blame on the vodka. She's on her fourth vodka now and they've done quite the number on her emotions.
David's less than subtle jostling had riled her up more than ever. He'd teased her about Jones many times.
They were a strange pairing. She got that. The bail bonds person who had fallen in love with a little town and ended up taking on the vacant deputy role and the owner of a small charter business who'd landed in the town from who knows where barely six months before she had. She understood. They were both still a curiosity: even after almost three year in Storybrooke, she'd (and he'd) always be a bit of an outsider and therefore the subject of town gossip. But from David, she didn't mind so much. She in turn ribbed him often about his fairytale romance with the local school teacher who was now his bride.
Now his words were taking on a more tart flavour. He had insisted on numerous occasions that there something more to the friendship between Emma and Killian. Of course, he was wrong.
But now he isn't anymore and she just can't sit here and watch him be like that with other women.
"Fuck it," she mutters, slamming back the last drink before heading to the dancefloor.
/
If Emma Swan thought she was being inconspicuous in her avoidance of him, she was sorely mistaken. In fact Killian Jones has spent quite a portion of the evening so far watching her out of the corner of his eye as she first sulked over a glass of champagne and then took residence over at bar with a glass of something strong dangling between her finger and thumb.
He wants to approach her but something is stopping him. He isn't really sure what exactly that is, but he knows that Emma has been acting weird for the past few days. While he tosses up the pros and cons of approaching his best friend he dances with the single ladies - the ones Mary Margaret works with and David's numerous cousins who all seem incapable of finding an alternative partner and instead fuss about him like little formal-wear attired bees. The attention is a little stroke to his ego (he knows he looks good in the black tux - that's why he wore it), but instead of enjoying the moment, he plasters on a fake smile and lets those same, tired lines slip from his tongue as his mind remains otherwise occupied.
/
He loses sight of her.
He's dancing with Mary Margaret's second cousin ( Christ these families are huge) when he finally manages to hand the lady off onto one of the groomsmen. He's been on that damn dancefloor an hour and he needs a drink of something cold and refreshing. And he wants to find Emma.
Ordering a shot of rum and a glass of ice water, his eyes scan the room.
There she is. He can see the back of her head and the blue of her dress. On the other side of the dance floor, no wonder he hadn't seen her. He feels… relieved. She's his closest friend and the distance that he feels opening up between them is unpleasant. He just wants to talk to her and for it to be like it was, well, before… before...
Wait.
His eyes grow wide when he looks closer.
She's got her arms around the neck of some guy in a cheap, department store suit. They're toe to toe and he can see, even from here, that she's a little tipsy from the way she's swaying a little on her heels.
He doesn't know the guy and he frowns as he sips at the ice water. He doesn't like the way his hands are at her waist, but dangerously close to slipping over her ass. He doesn't like the way her hands are toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.
He doesn't like the way she is gazing into his eyes-
And then reaching up onto her toes-
Killian's by her side in an indecent amount of time. Not fast enough though, as she'd kissing this bloke, clinging to him like it's closing time at the bar, not just past nine pm.
"That's enough," he grunts, taking her hand and tugging it from the guys neck.
(Maybe that was a bit of a dick move, but he wasn't exactly thinking straight-)
The confused expression she is wearing when she looks at him, is quickly replaced by a scowl.
"What the fuck Killian?"
Her conquest tosses him a pissed-off look.
The muscles in his jaw flicker as he clenches his teeth together. Mr who-knows-who is a brown-haired guy, about his height but with darker eyes and a disheveled tie that he figures she was tugging on. "Scram," he spits, looking back to Emma. "You're drunk."
"Not that drunk," she retorts, trying to keep ahold of her make-out buddy who is looking pretty uncomfortable.
"I don't think you know what you are doing right now, love."
She lets out a snort of laughter. "Says you. Just how many women have you been sleazing with on the dance floor?" Her head rolls back as she chuckles. The guy lets go of her and holds up his hands.
" Sleazing? "
Emma's make out partner takes his moment to leave, gesturing between the pair, "Yeah, I do not what to get in the middle of whatever this is."
Emma's mouth falls open as he makes a quick exit. Killian instantly feels calmer. Until he sees Emma's steaming expression.
"Seriously?"
And then she storms off in a flurry of ice blue silk.
/
Then he got it.
As he watched her stomp away in heels (like a boss - damn she could strut when she was mad) he understood what had propelled him to behave like that.
He wasn't used to seeing Emma showing interest in anyone. She'd been pretty straight with him about her past and how she was more than happy flying solo and he had never actually seen her solicit a man's attention, never mind get that up close and personal with one.
And that was why his reaction was so out of the blue: it was a feeling he'd had when he saw her with another guy. That clawing, sickening sensation - like the world was off it's kilter- like nails on a blackboard- like a jackhammer in his brain-
The idea that Emma Swan was making moves on someone could not be stood for. He couldn't watch her flirt and kiss - and maybe leave - with someone. The feeling had crawled under his skin and into his stomach, hardening like a stone.
It was not a feeling that he had a huge amount of experience in.
Jealousy.
/
How dare he.
Emma finds a little anteroom adjacent to the washrooms. She can't really deal with a bunch of happy wedding goers right now and wants to take a moment to brood solo.
That guy had been her ticket to a night of not mooning over Jones. He was some ex-college buddy of David's (translation: he lived in Virginia and she never had to see him again). He was fast coming with the compliments about her dress, hair - self in general. And he looked, well. He looked fine enough.
She clenches and unclenches her fists. Momentarily, her new-found love for Killian is replaced with the rage that he had thought it necessary to try and be all 'father figure' on her. Tell her she's had too many drinks? Try and shoo the guy away?
It's all a bit much.
And then the door opens.
/
He's following her into the room before he has really decided why.
"Leave me alone!" she snaps, eyes blazing, cheeks red with fury.
He doesn't. Instead, he closes the door behind him.
He lifts his hands, as if to say something, but then drops them.
Emma rolls her eyes and folds her arms haughtily. Whatever he is up to, she is not in the mood for. He's not moving.
"Fine - then I'll leave!"
She stomps towards the exit, only stopping when his hand reaches out and rests on her shoulder. She let's out a sharp breath at the feel of his skin touching her skin. Then she snaps her gaze to meet his.
"What?"
Killian still can't seem to form words. Instead, he recoils his hand, each finger suddenly feeling as if it were electrified. She's staring at him like she's mad, but also confused and he doesn't blame her. The last few minutes don't make much sense to him either.
"Sorry?" he finally whispers.
Her face scrunches up. " You're sorry, or you're asking if I am?"
If she thought she had been acting weird around him, he now takes the award for most strange behaviour.
Killian's thoughts are struggling to catch up with the situation and he shrugs wordlessly.
Emma rolls her eyes.
"I'm going to the bar, why don't you head back to one of your dancing partners. They seemed eager for your time. I'm not ."
There's a hint of spite that he can't ignore. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he suddenly snaps.
The furor that brought forth those words deflates a little and she looks away. She can't look at his face. "Nothing," she mutters. This is not a conversation she want to have now (or possibly ever).
She makes to leave. Maybe she can salvage something with that guy. He did seem very interested. Regardless, she needs to remove herself from this small room-
"Just wait a minute," he pleads as she moves for the door.
"We can talk about this later, Jones."
"No. I want to talk about it now."
"Fine," she snaps. "So talk."
He knows he needs to apologise.
Hell, Emma Swan is the best friend he has had, maybe ever. Since she came to this little town, she'd switched a little light on inside him. The brooding, lonesome man he was a few years ago was barely recogniseable. Now he had friends (plural), people who cared about him- And he traced it all back to her and their inopportune meeting after a fender bender on Main Street.
"I saw you and- I thought-" he shakes his head. "I was an ass. Sorry."
Giving him a curt nod, her arms fall from their defensive position. "You were."
Then her heart begins to hurt a little because he's wearing such a sad expression - and damn, he must really feel sorry-
"I can take care of myself," she says softly.
He nods. "And choose who to… date ."
She rolls her eyes again. Of course he would take 2 and 2 and make 17. "I wasn't looking for someone to date, Killian."
"Oh," he sighs. Then he frowns. Then their eyes meet-
And he gets it.
He doesn't want anyone to kiss, date, or do anything else with Emma Swan.
Because he wants to.
He's exhaling as he watches her eyes go wide.
"What?" she asks.
He's looking to deflect, trying to think-
"So just a one off then?"
"Yeah. Surely you won't have a problem with that."
"I…"
"Killian, I've watched you flirt with just about everyone woman in Storybrooke."
"That's different-"
"Why? Because you're a guy, please-"
"No, that's not what I meant. You have to know I have no interest in those lasses."
"Could've fooled me."
And he's pretty sure she's going to leave then- the way she shifts on her feet-
"If I'm interested in a woman, I don't waste time on meaningless flirting Emma." He takes a step forward and she eyes him carefully. "I'm direct."
And then the atmosphere changes. It thickens and grows warmer. She's feeling the same way she had on that couch a few days before, the churning - not exactly unpleasant- and the chill on her skin.
"I was jealous," he admits, his voice low.
"Jealous?" She pants the word, the air suddenly becoming to difficult to breathe.
Killian shrugs. "I didn't want you to kiss him."
"You didn't-"
"I didn't want you to touch the bastard."
His voice has an edge, almost a growl. He'd full on facing her now and she's frozen for a second as she stares into his eyes and tries to figure out what all this means.
Then she takes a step back. "I don't understand- I saw you on the dancefloor. You had your hands all over more than one girl. Why the hell would you care what I do?"
She knows what she wants the answer to be. That's why her heart is racing. But that's not possible. He's just being overprotective. Like a good friend. A brother, almost.
"I do. Now . I didn't get it, it took seeing you-"
He's closed the gap between them. She's suddenly wrapped up in him: he's so close, so near, as he has been a thousand times before. But it's different.
"I don't want you to kiss anyone else, Swan."
"You don't?" she squeaks, a sudden lightheadedness overcoming her. It's like she's ten feet tall and her feet aren't touching the ground.
He shakes his head and she's pretty sure this must be a dream (or a hallucination).
(And if that's the case, there is nothing to lose.)
"I have a confession."
His face moves closer to hers. His breath hitches. She's looking at him like she never has before.
She's so beautiful. He'd not allowed himself to dwell on that before. But now he can appreciate it. The green of her eyes, The curve of her nose. The pink bud of her mouth.
"I don't want you to kiss anyone else either."
He tries to bite back a smile.
(He fails.)
"Then who do you want me to kiss? A man needs his kisses."
He knows he's teasing her. He knows he could be totally misreading this situation. But then she's looking at his lips.
"I have a few suggestions."
Oh that sounded flirty, she thinks as she watches him raise a brow in the way that always makes her laugh. Brave (stupid), she takes of the lapels of his jacket, running her thumb over the fine wool. He always dresses nicely. She appreciates that.
He cocks his head to one side: part playfully, part nervous reaction.
"I have a few myself," he whispers.
With more than a hint of trepidation, he threads his hand into her hair, cupping the side of her head.
There would be later a discussion about who kissed who first. But right now, that was the last thought in Emma Swan's mind. Instead, she was focused on just how right it feels when their lips meet. Just how softly he kisses her. Just how wonderful it is when she pulls herself flush against him. How he tastes like rum and peppermint gum. How she wishes she'd kissed him months ( years ) earlier.
Killian, is a little further behind in the processing of his emotions.
But he catches up pretty damn quick.
He feels the need for her. He feels the want. The tug. The yearning for more as he deepens the kiss. The-
Love.
He loves her.
That is the real revelation.
He loves her smile. He loves her laugh. He loves her wit.
He loves the way she kisses. He loved the way she sways into him as he holds her tightly.
He loves her.
She is dizzy when they stop for air, wobbling a little on the stiletto heels she is wearing. She lays her palms flat on his chest and takes a moment to collect her thoughts.
She isn't sure just what to say.
It's Killian though who speaks. "This is all a little crazy.'
She nods at his words. That will do.
"Kinda."
He strokes her cheek and she swears she has never seen this side of him. He's so tender. She just… wants. So much.
"I think, perhaps, this is long overdue?"
Emma nods and hums her agreement. Then she thinks a moment.
"I'm in love with you, Killian Jones."
Her heart skips a few beats as she waits for him to reply.
"You are?"
She nods as he pulls her into his arms. "Well that's lucky. Because I'm in love with you."
If a heart could burst from happiness, Emma was sure hers would have. They share another kiss. God she loves kissing him. Touching him.
(She wants to do much, much more to him…)
"How is this going to work?" she finally asks, when their lips are bruised and her hair is tangled from his fingers.
"I have no idea," he admits, gazing into her green eyes and wondering why it took him so long to understand that he is in love with this very best friend. "But I'm excited to find out."
Emma smiles. She's excited too. (Actually, she still doesn't think this is real. That he loves her. It's so… strange.)
"How about we start by getting out of here?"
"Not want to share our news with the happy couple?"
Emma snorts with laughter. She thinks she can wait for David's smug response.
"I think we need some alone time."
He raises his brows and she just wants to kiss the smile from his face.
(She can do that now, can't she?)
"Not that kind of alone time," she teases.
"I would never presume," he laughs as he leads her to the door.
/
He does presume.
So does she.
Well, they do have three years of wasted time to make up.
/
(David was very smug.)
Emma couldn't find it within her to care.
/
He loves her.
She loves him.
A/N: Thank you for reading!