A/N: And we're back! I've gotten a lot more response to this thing than I was expecting, which is awesome because this story is strangely near and dear to me. This is unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine.
When we left off, Killian couldn't remember dancing with Emma. What will happen when they meet for the second time?
I'd love to hear what you think of this and what you think will/should happen next! Let me hear from you in the comments!
Shoulda bloody seen it coming. Killian had known it was a terrible idea to get involved with someone so soon after Milah, but ever since the after-finals party at Robin's house, he'd felt so much lighter. When he met Tink a week later, her curly blonde hair and green eyes had called to him like a memory from a dream. Shoulda known a lass who nicknames herself after a bleeding FAIRY, for fuck's sake, would be a bit...flighty. Nevertheless, despite his better judgment he'd dived right back into a relationship.
Well... 'relationship' might be putting it strongly. It had been a tumultuous couple of months, certainly not lacking in passion. They'd argued and made up with equal fervency (and against nearly every surface in my flat, he recalls with a smirk), but he'd never truly felt they were together. Never even began to entertain the notion that they were in love. What he'd had with Tink was not a relationship. It was more like a struck match - igniting quickly in a scorching blaze, then snuffing out just as suddenly when the wind changed.
Aye, he should've seen it coming. All she'd really ever wanted him for really was to fuck or to fight, but that didn't make it hurt any less when yesterday she'd simply vanished. Poof! Like magic. He'd come home from his shite summer job waiting tables at Granny's Diner to find all traces of her removed from his apartment. The only indication she'd ever been there was a couple of strands of blonde hair stuck to a couch cushion and her copy of his key left under the doormat taped to a note that read, "Don't call me."
So, here he sits on a Wednesday night at The Rabbit Hole seeking out the comfort of an old friend. He rolls the shot glass between his fingers before downing the contents.
"Oh Captain, my Captain," he mumbles raising the empty glass in salute to the pirate on the bottle's label. He sets the glass back down again, and motions for the bartender to pour another.
Tomorrow is Immunity Day, a day when the poor unfortunate souls taking summer classes can buy their way out of homework assignments and being questioned by professors for the cost of a small donation to whatever charity the University sponsors this semester. Tonight is the exuberant drunken bender preceding said day of grace. But bloody hell, did it have to be a karaoke night?
Killian isn't doing any coursework this summer, but he has the night off from the diner, so he'd begrudgingly let Dave and Robin drag him here. From his seat at the bar, he hears his mates' voices booming through the speakers crooning a duet of some ridiculous country song about being drunk the day their mama got out of prison. He laughs to himself and shakes his head, then downs another shot. He's feeling comfortably numb by now. Hell, one more and maybe I'll get up there with them. He orders a rum and Coke this time instead of a shot, so he'll have something to carry around and sip when he goes to collect his mates.
Dave and Robin's song ends to hoots and hollers from the audience. Killian picks up his drink. He's about to go take the Mickey out of his mates for their questionable vocal stylings, when the next song starts up and he's immobilized by the sweet, clear voice of the new singer. And is that - ? Is she singing Pat Benatar?
Desperate to see this woman with the voice of a siren and a taste for 80's rock, he turns toward the stage and nearly drops his glass. She is a vision, all smooth freckled skin and green eyes. The hot spotlight shining down on the tiny stage lends her softly curling pale hair an ethereal glow.
I'd give my left hand to be the microphone just for a chance to touch those pink lips. Oh, that's a good line. Must remember to say that to HER.
All thoughts of merely charming the singer soon fly out of his head as he watches her perform. She belts out the lyrics to "Love is a Battlefield" with such depth of emotion that he feels it in his bones. This is a lass who has felt the pain of love and life gone wrong. His broken heart recognizes and reaches out for hers.
As her song ends, Robin has found him again, still leaning against the same bar stool where his mates had left him, and Killian is suddenly being pulled toward the side of the stage. "Come on, mate! Let's go get back on the sign-up list. Dave wants to do 'Carry On Wayward Son' and you're the only one of us that can hit the high notes on the bridge!" Robin cajoles.
Killian tries to utter a response, but as they pass the stage steps he is knocked backward sloshing his drink, and his arms are filled with something warm and soft. Oh, God. It's her.
He stands there blinking like an idiot and watching stupefied as a radiant smile blossoms across her face. Finally shaking himself out of his daze he manages an "Ah… Sorry, lass." Bollocks. That was fucking smooth, Killian. Idiot.
She laughs. "You missed me." At his perplexed expression, she adds, "Your drink, I mean. You didn't get any on me."
She's still smiling at him, and he can't believe it, but he realizes he's still holding onto her from where she'd crashed into him. Shite. She'll think I'm some kind of creeper. He releases her quickly with a bit of an awkward step back. "Oh. Well, that's good then..." Without meaning to, he glances down at her lips and his tongue darts to the corner of his mouth. He extends his hand to her. "I'm Killian."
She looks quizzically down at his hand as she takes it. "Right," she replies, looking back up at him with a tilt of her head and a furrowed brow. "Yeah, I know."
"Ah, well, I suppose my reputation precedes me." He's still holding her hand, unable or unwilling to end the subtle contact just yet. He leans in with a conspiratorial wink, "Don't believe a word of it, darling. All scandalous lies." He underscores the comment with a wicked grin. Much better, Jones.
She laughs again, and he relishes the sound. He can't shake the sense of how familiar it felt to hold her in his arms, but then Ruby Lucas is at her elbow, pulling her away, and Robin is shoving a sign-up list into his hand. The moment, or whatever that had been, is over. He writes his name on the list with David and Robin's, and when he turns to find her again, she is lost to him in the crowd.
He turns back to Robin to see his mate giving him an irritatingly knowing smirk. "Aw, shut yer gob, Locksley," Killian mutters, and downs what's left of his drink to avoid his mate's eyes for a few more seconds.
Dave has made his way over to them, beer in one hand and Mary Margaret tucked under the other arm. The petite brunette nudges Killian's shoulder playfully. "I see you found Emma," she sing-songs at him.
"Emma! So that's her name." Killian knows he's smiling just a little too brightly right now, but he can't seem to help himself.
Mary Margaret raises an eyebrow at him in confusion for a second, then rolls her eyes dismissively with a shake of her head. Seeing as an eyeroll is Killian's standard fare from Mary Margaret, he doesn't think anything of it. He isn't thinking of much of anything besides golden hair and a golden voice.
Soon the little group is engaged in a raucous debate over the merits of real football versus American football - he and Robin holding the high ground obviously - but Killian's eyes scan the room every few minutes, just hoping to catch a flash of long blonde locks amongst the swarm of students.
It's getting close to being their turn to perform. Dave suggests the gang hits the bar for a couple of rounds of Jager Bombs for "liquid stage presence," as he dubs it. Jager? Seriously? But then… what the hell? This whole night started out as a way to drink away the pain of a stint of bad judgment, so Killian may as well be drinking bad judgment's official beverage. As the bloody awful concoction storms through his veins, his last coherent thought is: It's a small school in a small town. I'm sure I'll run into her again sooner or later.
-X-
When Killian awakes, he has the sickly sweet taste of licorice liqueur on his lips and a song stuck in his head. He stumbles to the kitchen, humming to himself, as he brews a pot of coffee strong enough to wake the dead, which - given his current condition - is precisely its intended purpose.
No, not dead, he chides himself. Dead wouldn't hurt this much. He remembers going to drink away his sorrows about Tink, which seems almost silly to him now. In the light of day, he finds he doesn't really feel all that upset about it anymore. It was abrupt, sure. Maybe a bit callous on her part, but, if he's honest with himself, not entirely unexpected. Well, that sounds awfully mature of me.
He feels different somehow this morning. He can't put his finger on it. He wonders briefly if he reached some kind of personal epiphany at the bar last night. As they say, in vino veritas. But, I wasn't drinking wine. I was drinking rum and then bloody Jager. Doubt I ran into any life-altering truths whilst singing fucking awful karaoke with Dave and Robin, shite-faced on Jager Bombs.
He laughs at the very thought. Still, he has a strange sense of longing in his chest. Longing for what, he isn't sure, but it's there, quietly gnawing at him. He figures he just needs more caffeine. The coffee is brewed now, and he gets himself a mug from the cabinet. As he pours a cup of thick black sludge, he sings quietly to himself the song that's been playing in his head since he woke up. "We are young. Heartache to heartache we stand… Love is a battlefield."