Part one of this little ficlet that just wouldn't leave me alone! I highly recommend you listen to the song that inspired it :) it's listed in the description! Enjoy!
To this day, Killian still couldn't exactly figure out how they'd ended up in such a comfortable yet confusing relationship. Ugh, he hated that term - relationship. Well, it was Emma who really loathed that word. He'd just come to share the opinion because….well, because he liked sharing things with her.
Many things. Okay, all things.
Sharing was perhaps a vague way to put it though. She rarely asked for much and he'd always been all too willing to give her everything he could - several answers to the dozens of tests Mr. Gold administered in their junior high algebra class, the black windbreaker he tossed over the fence to her when she came to every single one of his baseball games, and even some really crappy dating advice when it came to who she should go to the Sadie Hawkins dance with. He should have asked her to be his date before the lead pitcher of the varsity team managed to, but he didn't - and therefore, he'd had to support her choice to accompany Storybrooke High's most eligibly overrated idiot to the decorated gym he was now sure as hell going to avoid come Friday night.
It wasn't like he wanted to go anyway. With the first round of the playoff tournament scheduled for the following Monday, the batting cages were probably a much better place for him to be. After all, it wasn't like Neal Cassidy was going to be throwing consistent strikes if he was out all weekend trying to score with the girl Killian had dropped the ball with for years now.
Sure, he loved America's favorite pastime, but as thoughts of figurative "bases" crossed his mind, Killian realized how much he truly hated sports analogies.
It had been tough to encourage Emma to accept Neal's invitation, but he was fully convinced that karma was paying him back in good faith when she still ended up on his doorstep after the formal. He'd been surprised to see her standing there in her post date glory, her pale pink dress clinging to her figure and her tangled blonde hair loose against her shoulders. With her lightly colored high heels hanging from her fingers, she'd asked if she could come in - and once again, he couldn't deny her - not that he actually wanted to.
Their pattern of give and take with no protest picked right up as she changed into a pair of his sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt she plucked from his dresser drawer. He'd tried not to smile at how tiny she looked in the baggy clothing, using the distraction of making hot cocoa and trying not to read the 'SB Sluggers Club' title that stretched across the front of the shirt too many times.
He hadn't ever struggled quite this much when it came to staring at her as she scanned his limited movie collection. Her fingers skimmed the titles lightly, tracing the letters as she contemplated her options. He wasn't sure what had brought her to his humble home's living room after a night out with that Cassidy git, but he liked the outcome - the fact that she'd seemed to end up there with him so automatically.
"It's amusing that you're pretending to think this through, love," he grinned as handed her a mug and flopped onto the couch. "I'm pretty certain that any other film beyond your usual choice would be….inconceivable."
She smiled big at his fast conclusion, plucking the movie case from the shelf and tossing it to his lap. Taking her seat at his side seemed rather easy and he allowed himself to relish the way her leg bumped against his when she tugged a light quilt over her body.
"I know you don't like it as much as I do," she acknowledged as she snuggled beneath the blanket. "You can turn it off when I fall asleep."
He rose quickly and cued up the old movie player before glancing back with a dramatic eye roll. Killian admitted silently how much he loved her little retorts and facial expressions as he pressed play. Yes, refusing her requests was an ability he'd lost years ago….or maybe he never had such a skill in the first place.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he shook his head, moving back to the sofa and enjoying the way she leaned into him. "Staying here then, love?"
"Maybe," she mumbled with a yawn, his arm tucked around her. "Probably."
He'd never been quite so quick to accept such perplexing circumstances - well, at least not up until then. It would be a lie to say he ever thought twice about it after that.
He should have kissed her though - and lord knows he thought about the fact that he hadn't many times after that night.
Though he wasn't certain how they'd grown quite so close, the roots of their friendship were simple and perhaps even a bit fated. Emma lived only a few streets away and the sunny days of their childhood had brought her to the baseball field that sat on the block between their two homes. He was one of the youngest players on the club team and still very much a bench warmer when he'd first noticed her climbing the bleachers. It took him less than two innings to determine who she was - the younger sister of David Nolan, the three time captain of their rather talented group of athletes.
The fact that he'd ended up being such good pals with the popular leader of their team was something that still perplexed Killian, even now that David was competing at a junior college level a few hours away from their small hometown. The timing of their friendship had evolved when Killian most needed it - a mere two lonely months after his own older brother had passed tragically in a military accident. David had taken him beneath his wing quickly and with the man's consistent will to keep an eye out for his younger teammate, Killian soon found that he almost fit in perfectly with the Nolan family.
They spent loads of time together - summer days at a nearby lake, study sessions with friends and dozens of snacks, and even an occasional holiday gathering or two. Killian's own father was often working late nights or drowning in rum fueled misery which made accepting an invitation to a pick-up game in the park or the Nolan family's annual Fourth of July celebration an easy thing to do. He was beyond grateful that David had taken a liking to him and even more so when Emma seemed to as well.
It didn't take him long to like her just as much - well, maybe even a little more.
By the time David graduated, Emma had instantly stepped up to fill the role of Killian's best friend. If they weren't playing catch and quizzing each other on SAT prep, they were making late night movie plans and debating the proper amount of salt needed on some freshly popped popcorn. He made sure she always had a ride to school in the morning while Emma made sure he knew how to get the grass stains out of his uniform pants. She was always there for him whether he needed a pep talk after a tough game or a high five over the fence after he closed out a tough inning. Killian had never imagined he'd ever meet someone who understood him the way she always seemed to.
There was something about Emma and the way she made him feel - something wild and exciting that he couldn't totally explain. She made him feel hopeful - like maybe he could be something more than just Killian Jones, the relief pitcher for the Storybrooke Knights. He sure as hell wouldn't ever be meant for shining armor or hero status, but Emma almost made him believe in happily ever after - maybe a new beginning that even somehow included her. Well, maybe if he could ever work up the courage to suggest it.
He didn't though. Instead, April turned to May slowly, the green grass of the baseball diamond and a need to keep his curveball sharp about the only things keeping Killian from spending every second with her. Emma never told him about the dance or the date she'd apparently ended earlier than expected, not even the one time he'd worked up the courage to ask.
He was kind of grateful for that - he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.
Their senior year floated by in some sort of odd dream that Killian allowed himself to get used to - probably one of his more naive mistakes - and when she'd show up to his typically lonely house to indulge in a poor romantic comedy from the eighties or when she'd swing by the field to walk home with him after practice, he tried to convince himself that getting comfortable was a bad idea. It was a near impossible task when she observed him with those deep green eyes and a clever smirk. It was completely impossible when she fell asleep against his shoulder or took the leap of being candid with him about some little detail of her life.
He'd wanted to tell her how he really felt for ages by the time she mentioned another date with Neal. Everyone deserves a second chance - that's what she'd prefaced that conversation with. Then once she'd rescheduled their movie night again, Killian couldn't help the speculation that perhaps the third time really was a charm where Neal Cassidy was concerned. It only took one solitary and very repeated viewing of The Princess Bride to realize how much he loathed that number.
He knew he owed her his honesty, but giving in - maybe even telling her the whole truth about what she meant to him - wasn't a fear he ever dared face. It was cowardice in its worst form and Killian wondered why he was so afraid each time they ended up in one another's company on the porch swing to the side of his front door.
They were in that exact setting the night before the semifinal game when it all came to a head and he realized that his failure to put himself out there had led to an awful conclusion. Emma was his teammate's new girlfriend - yes, that teammate - and that meant his own position was now extremely obvious.
Killian Jones had somehow become trapped in the friend zone - and lord knows, he had absolutely no one to blame but himself.
"Bloody hell, mate," Robin grimaced, tugging his glove off and shaking his catching hand with a wince. "Save it for the mound."
Killian let out a deep exhale as he ignored the warning of the first baseman. Lifting his forearm, he wiped the light sweat from his brow before adjusting his cap. The blue brim felt firm between his fingers as he tugged it down over his stare just a bit. Emma had told him once that his uniform hat matched his eyes and he wasn't sure if he'd ever forget the way her mouth had curved at the corner when she'd said that. He peeked over toward the packed stands briefly as he reminisced that moment and immediately found himself grateful for the barrier the baseball cap was providing from the view that had him fuming.
"A few more, Jones," Robin nodded, crouching down with his mitt as he noticed what had Killian distracted. "I wouldn't be surprised to see you get called up tonight, especially if Cassidy doesn't get his head in the game."
He huffed at that, trying to ignore the comment as he wound up and threw a fastball right down the middle into Robin's glove. The loud smack of the rubber and cowhide against the inside of a leather mitt was a decent diversion, but it didn't totally keep his mind from wondering just what Neal was flirtatiously saying to the beautiful blonde standing just behind the fence.
Killian wasn't actually sure that the pair were an official item, but they'd certainly been spending a fair amount of time together for the past couple of weeks. He'd seen less of her, something he noticed rather quickly - especially on the nights they usually spent with a well known film or immersed in endless conversation. Killian supposed he missed her and as he peeked over to where she was chatting with the captain of their officially undefeated team, he admitted silently that he was getting awfully tired of it.
She looked beautiful all clad in casual jeans and a t-shirt with the name of the school he'd played for since their freshmen year. It was a familiar outfit she'd once completed with his jacket, the borrowed article of clothing drowning her in a wealth of black fabric. She looked almost incomplete without it and he tried to ignore how much he wanted to dig the old windbreaker out of his duffel bag. Maybe she didn't need it anymore. Maybe things were different now - and lord, that thought hurt.
"Looks like we better go," Robin said with his head tilted toward the dugout. "Ready, Jones?"
"Aye," Killian answered with a start toward the cement enclosure, knowing full well that his initial position on the field would be right between second and third while Neal lined up on the pitcher's mound. "Let's go."
He looked at her one more time as he jogged toward the bench, his feet snagging slightly on the grass when her gaze drifted to his. He could almost swear he saw it then - how much she'd missed him and their curious friendship - and he entertained the idea of telling her he felt the same way she seemed to.
Maybe he would. Maybe someday he'd be that brave. Maybe eventually he would finally spill his feelings to the girl watching him from a distance...or maybe he'd always stay in that same place - standing quietly in the outfield, sometimes literally and almost always figuratively.
They'd lost the game - not that the defeat was the hardest part of that evening. No, that honor belonged to the moment when he'd looked up to catch her reassuring gaze while walking toward the dugout and saw only a glimpse of her long hair blowing in the breeze as she jumped down from the bleachers to meet her boyfriend. The sight made his heart sink as his cleats grew heavy and he tried to settle with the knowledge that this was just how it was going to be now - she wasn't his. They were just friends.
Killian spent the rest of their last year of high school realizing how difficult it was going to be to accept that - but after three years in the minor leagues, two hundred miles of distance, and five years apart, he decided that maybe letting go of the golden haired girl from his small hometown was truly outside of his talent range.
But she was happy from what he could tell - and that was all that mattered, even if such a conclusion broke him into pieces.
He wasn't sure why he'd decided to take the coaching job at Storybrooke High when it opened up. The longtime patriarch and leader of the team, Marco Wood, had finally stepped down to pursue a well deserved retirement and when that announcement had caught his eye in the Daily Mirror - which he still subscribed to despite the fact that he now lived in New York - Killian had found himself with an odd desire to consider it. The sudden idea of returning to Maine was almost surreal. He hadn't crossed that town line in years and he'd certainly done his best to leave that life behind, but it was almost like a sign - and it wasn't like he had anything going for him since he'd opted to throw in the towel on his baseball career.
It wasn't much of a career anyway - several seasons of riding the pine and concrete in the minor league dugout for the New York Pirates, a relatively unknown team that rarely led anyone to the majors. Sure, the opportunity had allowed him to remain close to the game he had always loved, but it had pulled him away from the girl he probably could have loved if given the chance.
He'd likely never forget the night he'd told her he was leaving. The few tears she had shed and the image of her forced supportive smile didn't make up a fond memory.
He had managed to pick up a job for a local athletic magazine in the off season, his need to stay busy prodding him into being okay with reporting game scores and stats for sports he didn't know extremely well. The work was easy enough, but giving two weeks notice and moving out of his apartment one weekend in late February was even easier. It was probably all a bit impulsive - how he'd jumped at a chance to move back with very little prodding, especially when he had left Storybrooke in a very similar way only half a decade earlier. He couldn't help the way it just felt right and as he loaded up his car with a few sparse boxes and his old memories of home, he decided not to fight it.
It was a task that turned out to be rather easy once he settled into his new role back on that familiar field, fresh chalk lines and intricately moved grass a welcome view. The school's new principal - another town native named Archibald Hopper - was thrilled to have him there and made it known by updating the team's uniforms and equipment before the first practice took place in March. He'd even offered Killian an office….well, the small room attached to one of the abandoned locker rooms in the old wing of Storybrooke High. It was a quiet space and Killian found out instantly how much he valued that while he organized his things on the built in shelves and the old desk that rested near the single window.
There wasn't much to display - his few team photos from over the years, several small trophies, and a couple of baseballs signed by players he'd idolized as a younger man. He was sorting through his box of collected cards when his fingers fumbled over an old picture, one he'd almost forgotten about until that nostalgic moment.
It was her - well, them, and the faded film provoked an elated memory of the first summer tournament win he'd been a part of. The image made him chuckle softly - and not just because David had managed to sneak into the picture by jumping up behind them. Killian himself had been a sweaty mess when the candid shot had been snapped, his buttoned jersey half untucked while covered in dirt and grass stains. Emma looked brilliant, of course, with her hair woven into a loose braid but covered partially by a beat up baseball cap. She had one arm flung around his neck while her other hand held up a finger claiming they were number one. He remembered how he'd sure felt like it in that instance as she pulled him close, not caring that he was downright filthy after playing his heart out. He'd pitched two perfect innings and brought in a few runs with his triple in the eighth, but neither of those stats were the ultimate win of his evening.
No, that highlight had been the way she'd cheered him on all night and the way her face lit up when he'd winked at her while crossing home plate. Seeing her so proud and happy meant more to him than any victory.
He quickly dug an old empty frame out of the box he'd plopped down near his feet. Sliding the photograph behind the thin glass, he took one more glance at it before stationing it carefully on the second shelf with a sigh. It seemed like the proper place for the past to sit and remind him - or perhaps even haunt him. He wasn't sure which was preferable.
"Nice picture," a soft voice offered from the doorway. "I haven't seen that one for a long time."
Killian froze briefly, the air leaving his lungs in a surprised gasp as he worked up the courage to turn and face the words he hadn't expected to hear. He knew that voice though - even if he hadn't heard it for a number of years. It was the same one that played as the soundtrack of his childhood and the one he'd thought about more than he could ever admit. It was the one he had let slip away, but ultimately, it was the voice that had truly called him back here anyway. With his heart pounding in his tight chest, he spun slowly to meet the owner of the smooth tone and those gorgeous green eyes.
"Emma," he breathed, wondering if he sounded half as wrecked as he felt. "Hi."