Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine. If they were, I'd give Dark Swan's eyebrows back. Yikes. All recognizable names belong to OUAT, Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis. The silly dialogue and plot is mine.
There was a loud knock on the door, and Emma padded through the apartment, still sniffling after hanging up with Ingrid on her phone. "David?" she asked as she opened it, and tried to school her features as soon as she realized that no, it definitely wasn't David.
Killian lamely waved a hand. "Sorry, no. It's Killian."
She cleared her throat, spinning on her heel. She went back to the couch, not bothering inviting him to come in."Is David coming anytime soon? He said he'd be back by now."
He followed her and dropped a paper bag on the kitchen counter. Emma didn't even bother asking what it was - she wasn't really curious about it. About anything, really. She just wanted to be left alone.
"He called to ask for me to bring this back to you? He has an emergency at home with Mary Margaret - apparently she has the flu."
That caught her attention. She sat up, going through the stuff littering her table in search of her phone. "She does? I should call." When she didn't locate it, she gave up, collapsing on the couch again. "Thank you for coming though."
She hoped he'd go away once he delivered his message, but of course, as Killian Jones' MO usually went, he did exactly what she didn't want him to. He tentatively stepped in her direction, taking in the state of the living room. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." She flinched at how strangled her voice sounded. She flinched again when she realized that he, of course, had also noticed.
"Swan, we may not be the chummiest pals but I can tell when you're upset." She snorted, trying to play it off as a sniffle, but her plan backfired when she sniffled for real, her eyes tearing up. Jones' voice was equal parts alarmed and concerned at this point. "What happened?"
"Ingrid called," she uttered, and in a second he was sitting by her, voice caught.
"Is everything okay? Did something happen?"
"She's fine, don't worry."
"Then what is it?"
Her voice wavered. "It's… Sven."
He stayed silent for a beat. "I'm lost."
"Sven is… was… our dog," she stammered, not daring meeting his eyes, and the frown marring his forehead finally disappeared, comprehension replacing his earlier confusion.
"I - oh."
And, oh God, she definitely, 100% broke down. Right there, in front of this guy she had never really gotten along with, because her dog had died. How pathetic could she get?
Strong arms came around her, jolting her - she hadn't been expecting it, but she turned into him, pressing her cheek against his chest. He didn't say anything, which she was grateful for. He didn't tell that she'd be okay or whatever crap people sometimes said when someone - or, you know, a dog, - died, but she didn't care about that right now. When she stopped crying and her breathing returned to normal, he pulled away from her slightly.
"I'm so sorry Swan."
"I just don't know why I'm making such a big deal about it, I mean, I know it's a dog but…"
"I understand, Swan," he stopped her, hand hovering between them as if daring to comfort her once more but not sure if she'd allow it. She felt for him - she herself didn't really know if she wanted him to or if it would be too much. "Don't ever feel like I'm judging you for being upset for missing an important part of your life."
She bit back a sniffle, and hiccuped a soft "Thank you" in return. He smiled shyly at her.
"Not a problem."
They stood like that for a moment, and Emma wondered if he was feeling as awkward as she did, if he was going through excuses in his head to get away as far from the weeping girl as possible or if she should politely see him out, but that was not what she said.
"Killian?"
(And yeah, the look on his face was totally warranted - it was a big deal. It was the first time she called him by his name, at least to his face.)
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to do something? Like, now?"
She didn't know if she imagined it, but for a second he looked actually hopeful. "What do you have in mind?"
She shrugged, waving a hand towards the couch and the TV set."Watch something together?"
Without further invitation, he shrugged out of his trademark leather jacket, left it over the couch's armrest and sat back like he belonged there. She followed his example, nervously biting her lip. "It'd be my pleasure." He said as she huddled in the seat next to his. "Pass the remote."
She lunged for it and cradled it against her chest, and for the first time that day, her smile wasn't forced and it didn't hurt. "Not a chance in hell, Jones."
.
"I can't believe you still are looking like this!" Ruby exclaimed as she entered the room they had coined as 'the bridesmaids quarters'. Emma internally counted to ten, trying to calm down by telling herself that this would be over soon.
"I have a twelve year old kid who can stain literally anything in a minute - would you be willing to risk my dress becoming a contemporary piece of art instead of this?"
Ruby considered it for a moment. "Fair enough. Go change or something!"
"Don't you need my help with anything?"
Elsa showed up after applying her mascara in front of the mirror. She waved her off as she tugged on Ruby's arm. "We got it. Go suit up already."
They left her to get changed and do her make-up, and Emma sighed, thanking whatever God was looking over her for letting her have these moments in peace. She sorted through her things in the case she had brought with her make-up bag and the pouch with the accessories she'd be wearing with her dress. She checked the bra she had put on that morning was in fact the one she needed to wear - nothing says 'trashy' as visible bra straps with pretty dresses - and she was about to step in front of the vanity to do her makeup when she heard footsteps outside the door and two very recognizable 'awwww's.
"Who did your hair?"
Henry's huff was indistinguishable. "Nobody did my hair. I brushed it."
Emma smiled to herself. Her son being ambushed by Ruby and Elsa had to be the cherry on top for him this morning, after all she had badgered him to wear his suit.
"You look adorable." Ruby announced, and Emma could actually see Henry scrunching up his nose.
"Mom forgot her earrings and Grandma asked me to leave them here for her where she could find them."
"Go ahead."
She heard a quiet slapping sound, and Henry's annoyed "Stop touching it!", and a chorus of laughter from her friends, and she shook her head, amused. Retreating heels clicked against the floor, and she set back to her mission of getting fucking dressed or she'd miss the ceremony, and was about to do so when a new and unfamiliar set of footsteps joined her son's.
"Henry? What are you doing here?" Killian curiously inquired.
"Dropping this for mom."
"Oh."
Emma's hand automatically flew to her mouth, realizing probably at the same time that Killian did behind her door.
He had given her those earrings for their one year anniversary.
A part of her wished she could see his face, but the bigger part of her was glad that she was hidden from view. She heard Killian clearing his throat. "Make sure she sees them. You know how she is when she can't find her things."
"Hurricane Swan," Henry supplied excitedly, and both her son and ex-husband quietly laughed, probably recalling the dozens of times Emma had made a complete mess of their apartment when she had been looking for her keys, her phone or her favorite shirt.
"How did you get here?" Henry questioned.
"I drove from the hotel."
"You're staying at a hotel?"
"Aye."
"Why aren't you staying at home?"
Emma's breath caught. There was a brief pause, and Killian's voice was as cautious as she'd ever heard him be.
"I don't think that'd be a very good idea."
"But there's stuff of yours still there. And we have a room."
Emma bit her lip. She really needed to talk to her son about his good Samaritan syndrome - especially when it'd mean him offering the man who broke her heart shelter at their place.
"I'm not sure your mum would be interested in having me there."
"It's your home too," Henry stubbornly insisted. Killian sighed, and she pictured him laying a placating hand on her son's shoulder.
"It's just a house, Henry. Home are the people you love. Right now, I'm home, no matter where I'm staying."
Without her realizing it, she had wandered closer to the door until her back was pressed against it, with her eyes shut but able to imagine the scene in the next room. There was a rustle of fabric, and she knew Henry had flung himself against Killian, hugging him with all his might.
The fact that Killian's next words were a warning about their jackets and how Emma would strangle him if they wrinkled them only confirmed her suspicions.
She only moved back to the vanity when the tickling of the clock on the corner of the room became louder than the footsteps outside. She ran to get ready, intent on leaving behind her the conversation she had overhead and the emotions it had stirred inside of her, because she really didn't need this right now. At all. She did her make-up, rearranged her hair and put on her heels in record time, and finally went to step into her dress when the unthinkable happened.
The zip.
The fucking zip.
"Dammit," she loudly swore, and turned around as if her freaking Fairy Godmother would appear on thin air to Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo the zip up or whatever.
Of course, it didn't happen, but she almost ran into the wall behind her instead, tripping on the skirt. She moaned at the radiating pain in her toe, glaring at her shoe, but thankfully managed not to inflict more damage to herself thanks to a knock on the door.
"Swan?"
"Please tell me Ruby or somebody is out there with you," she groaned.
"They asked me to fetch you, actually." He paused, and then asked quietly. "Is everything alright?"
Her forehead thumped against the door, because of course he'd be the only one there when she needed someone. Not her son, not her friends, not her sisters, not her boyfriend - him.
This wasn't funny at all, Fairy Godmother.
Bracing herself, she opened the door, carefully making her face devoid of expression at seeing him - in a tuxedo, no less.
(This really wasn't funny, Fairy Godmother.)
"I need your help," she stated, and he seemed to recover himself - he had been kind of gaping for a moment after taking her in, and she hated how it made her ego burst with pride at his reaction.
"Anything."
She turned around, holding her hair over her shoulder so it wouldn't get in the way. "Do the zipper up."
"It'd be my pleasure." She inhaled sharply as his fingers brushed the skin of her back, zipping up the dress and taking his sweet time doing it. She gritted her teeth, even if part of her was melting at the charged moment. Memories of those very same fingers stripping her down in that languid and slow way flooded through her head, but she banished them with a cough, breaking the moment. He seemed to notice the change in her, and she could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "No bra?"
"I swear I'll knee you in the groin."
"Ouch," he laughed. She ignored him, leaving him right where he was as she ran - or tumbled, really - towards her bag, checking out the last items on her mental list: dress, makeup, hair, shoes, rings, clutch...
"That reminds me..."
She looked up at his reflection in the mirror, and saw him holding out something in his hands.
The earrings. Dammit.
"Thanks." She took them from him without meeting his eyes, going back to the mirror as she put them on. She fervently hoped he'd leave now, but no such luck: he leaned against the door, drinking her in as she fluffed her curls over her shoulders and rearranged the skirt of the dress. At least he wasn't talking, which was an improvement, she guessed.
"You look lovely."
She bit back a groan because dammit.
She sighed. "Stop, please."
"Stop what?" he said, advancing towards her.
"Looking at me like that. Telling me how hot I look."
The corner of his lips tugged up, eyes glinting as if he found her words amusing. "But you do."
She glared at him. "I know I do, but it just doesn't help at all to hear you say it. I don't feel pretty, or warm, or happy, or anything - It just makes me angry." She threw her arm up, almost throwing her clutch away. "What the hell do you think I feel when you say something like that? 'Hey, he thinks I look hot. Maybe he wants to get with me again. Maybe he's just being nice. Maybe he's sorry. Maybe he pities me. But oh wait! Get this! No matter how hot I look, he still left and didn't show up in three years'."
His earlier amusement vanished, the haunted look she had seen in his eyes the last time they had seen each other at the rehearsal dinner before Walsh interrupted them back on his features. He looked chagrined, biting his cheek in the way she knew he did when he felt guilty.
"I'm sorry love."
Oh, how she had wanted to hear him say that, grovel at her feet, tattoo his apologies on her skin as he repeated them over and over. And yet, it still wasn't enough after all the heartbreak of the last three years. Though she had to admit it kind of helped, to hear him say it and mean it, even if just a little bit.
"That's more like it," she said. She fixed herself one last time on the mirror and cleared her throat. "So let's get this party started in peace as rational functioning adults, shall we?"
She didn't wait for his answer, walking past him and out of the door in the direction of the church, but that didn't mean she didn't hear his answer, or that it didn't make her close her eyes shut, warring against memories.
("As you wish.")
.
All in all, the wedding was as successful as Emma had predicted. Anna got tongue-tied during her vows and rambled for a while, but it somehow managed to look adorable, as everything did coming from her younger sister, she guessed. Kristoff's hands shook as he put Anna's ring on her finger, Elsa gripped Emma hands so hard in hers it actually hurt her, and Mary Margaret's emotional speech brought half of the audience to tears. Graham, David and Killian loudly wolf-whistled at the kiss, to nobody's surprise. Ingrid almost bursted in pride at Will's moan when he first tried the wedding cake, and Emma had to make Henry promise he'd only eat two pieces or there would be no way for him to sleep that night. (It didn't really matter in the end, seeing as he got to sneak bites from everybody's plates.) David and Graham got into some silly bet involving who knew what that had them running away in the middle of a conversation to get to the first waiter who walked inside the room, and Emma was too tired to even find out what that was about.
Also worth noting: she hadn't directly talked to Killian since the incident before the ceremony, which, okay, nice.
As she said: a successful wedding all in all.
She had been dancing with Walsh - who had shown up shortly before the ceremony, kissing her on the cheek and sitting with the rest of her friends a couple of rows behind her, - quietly talking between themselves when Graham cut in.
"Can I?"
"Of course." Walsh briefly pecked her on the lips and with a nod to her friend, he went in search of her mom to compliment her cake. She cocked an eyebrow at Graham, who looked like the cat who got the canary.
"No need to thank me, that's what friends are for."
"Can we not do this today?" she pleaded, her nails digging into his shoulders to drive her point home. He pursed his lips, but at the tired look on her face his expression softened.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Is that how we're calling it these days?"
Her head plopped on his shoulder, already regretting the fact that she had accepted dancing with him. "Graham..."
"I just want to know why you looked like you wanted to punch Killian earlier," he rushed to explain, and she laughed against her will.
"That's my general face when it comes to him."
He gave her a look. "Not three years ago."
"It's not three years ago anymore," she reminded him. He stayed silent for a while, and she could have fooled herself into believing he'd stop with the pushing-her-towards-Killian crap but of course not.
"I'm just saying..." he started but she interrupted him before he could go on.
"What are you, his lawyer? Drop it Graham."
He appeared conflicted, and dropped his eyes, guiding her around the dance floor as gently as possible. "Sorry."
Emma almost snorted. The second 'sorry' she got today - this must be a record or something. Graham didn't look like he wanted to say anymore, probably worried that she'd snap at him again, and she was grateful for it.
Except that she couldn't stop freaking talking.
"He hurt me," she murmured, and his sigh made her curls brush the skin of her shoulders, tickling her.
"I know. And he regrets it. And he probably wants to apologize."
"It's too late."
He pulled back slightly from her to stare right at her. "Is it?"
She stopped herself from saying something that she didn't mean, because the truth was she didn't really know what she felt. She could forgive, but not forget, maybe. But yet, she couldn't really forgive if she didn't know the whys and whens and wheres and whos of the story. She didn't even know why he left them. She didn't know why he'd come back. She couldn't just let him back in without all the facts, knowing how fragile her heart was, especially when it came to him.
"Maybe not an apology, but a dance?" Graham asked, raising his eyebrows. She frowned.
"What?"
"He's coming right here, probably to ask you to dance." Emma's hands tightened on his arms, and Graham huffed. "Come on, it's, what, three or four minutes? He's quite good on his feet."
"Then you dance with him."
"I would, but I think I see a new waiter at the corner and I can't let David win this bet."
She was about to ask him what the hell they were even playing at when the bane of her existence, also known as her beloved ex-husband, walked up to them, a mixture of fear, anticipation and a hint of his very renowned self-confidence clouding his face. "May I ask for the next dance?"
"I hate you," she whispered as Graham pried her hands from his shoulders, where they had anchored themselves when she saw Killian approaching them. Graham smiled ruefully, and gave her a gentle push towards Killian.
"No you don't. Be good."
She couldn't really tell what was awkwardest: dancing with your estranged ex husband whom you had had a fight earlier in the day knowing that your current boyfriend was somewhere around there probably staring, or dancing with your estranged ex husband whom you had had a fight earlier in the day knowing that your current boyfriend was somewhere around there probably staring and freaking enjoying how it felt to be that close to him.
Graham hadn't been lying: the guy could dance. Of course she had known this - he had boasted about it more than once during their relationship and marriage - but three years made you forget about the small stuff, the little details. How he'd spin her around in the kitchen while they waited for their meals to cook, or how he had pulled her to him during their first dance at their own wedding, hugging her as close to him as he could, as if he wished they would never be apart from each other.
Funny, that, considering he was the one who left her.
"I'm sorry," he said, bringing her back to the present - the swaying couples, the light music, her in his arms. All that jazz.
"For what?"
"For earlier. For the past three years. For everything."
(Three apologies in one day. This had to be a record.)
"I told you - you're three years late."
His fingers squeezed her hips, and she shivered despite herself thinking of how once upon a time he'd do that to leave marks on her skin. "Still, I want to say it. If I didn't, you would hold it against me, and so would I." He gave her a shy smile. "You know I can't shut up."
Her eyes rolled, even if she felt her lips curling up. "I do."
Their feet moved on their own accord, as they had done so many times at so many parties, friends' weddings and drunken nights. Her chest brushed his, and she had to stop herself from sniffing his cologne - the one she had always joked he used too much of, and he would rub his hands all over her hair in retaliation.
"I had to," Killian said, and she tensed in his arms, because as much as she wanted to play innocent and ask him what he meant by that, she didn't.
She knew where this was headed.
"Killian..." she started to protest, but he ignored her, his voice pleading.
"I promise I will just say it once and I won't mention it again unless you ask me to."
He looked at her questioningly, and she finally gave in, nodding for him to go on. He licked his lips - his very own trademark I'm-nervous-as-fuck-but-I-won't-show-it gesture - and met her eyes steadily. "Remember that day at the docks? At our bench?"
Somehow, even if they had been at those docks countless of times, she knew what time he was talking about. She remembered the blue shirt and black vest he had been wearing, the black shadows under his eyes due to his lack of sleep, the way his skin stretched over his cheekbones after he had lost weight. She remembered him, slurring his words as his voice broke, mentioning Milah's death and hugging her to him to the point that it hurt.
And hadn't she, in that hidden part of her, known all along that that had been the reason for him leaving?
"Yeah."
"Remember what I told you?" he asked again, and an expression of shame and guilt fell over his features.
"Yeah."
He closed his eyes. "That's what happened."
All of the breath left Emma's lungs in one whooshing gasp, almost as if someone had kicked her in the chest. "It's no excuse," she whispered once she got her voice back.
"I know. But I fear you know what I'm talking about." She looked at him in surprise, shocked and quite a bit curious, as he went on to explain. He caught her eye, and the lost boy she had once seen in him and fell in love with waved back.
"We run." He concluded.
"We could have run together," she said, voice breaking at the end. He hung his head, and his hair, which had grown since the last time she had seen him before he left, swept over his forehead, but he didn't try to move it back. He kept his gaze locked on hers, reading the words she wasn't saying.
I would have been there for you. I was there for you.
"I know, but..." He began, but Emma spoke over him, knowing what the rest of his sentence would be.
"We run," she repeated, tasting the words and feeling them come home. Flashes of a broken childhood, of bus stops and nights spent whenever she found shelter, all before Ingrid put a hell of a fight for her. Memories of her time with Neal, and the years after that, the quick fucks with no feelings attached that would happen here and there once Henry came to the world. The hiding and closing in once she thought she had disappointed someone or found herself in a fight with someone she loved.
And that had been one of the things she had loved most about him. How the lost girl in her had been able to stop running with the lost boy in him.
She choked, and had to swallow hard to regain her composure. "Killian?"
"Yes, love?"
Emma glanced around the room, taking in the sight of the laughing couples, drunken guests, and felt like burrowing her nose in his neck, as she had done countless of times before when she needed his support, the certainty that he was there, anchoring her. "I hate running, even if I'm good at it."
She wasn't sure if it was her nostalgia-filled brain or an actual fact, but she thought she felt his lips brushing against her hairline. "Me too."
They swayed, opting to let the music fill in the silence. Emma didn't even want to analyze what had transpired between them and what the revelation of his words meant.
"Is everything okay?"
Emma and Killian sprang apart as if someone had shocked them. He gave her a tremulous smile as he pulled back from her and almost stepped on her dress, but she had no time to even process how to answer it. Walsh was there, in front of her - of them - staring them both down with a quirked eyebrow, and the sense of déjà-vu was so intense it almost left her breathless.
"Yeah, sure. Why?" she asked. Walsh pointed at the band, that had stopped playing for a minute to have a break.
"Song's over. I was wondering if you wanted a drink."
She could see Killian's face, almost pleading with her not to go. She just didn't know what for. Hadn't they talked about it enough? He had said his piece. At least she had gotten the 'why' he left. Now she needed time to mull it over. She took Walsh's hand in hers, grateful for the chance to get away. "Thanks for the dance," she said as she walked past her ex-husband, trying not to take to heart the way his face fell, but really, what had he expected? This didn't change anything.
She followed Walsh to the bar, telling herself she shouldn't throw herself into a chair as if it were a lifeline no matter how much her feet hurt. While he ordered two martinis, she played with a napkin and a ridiculously small plate filled with peanuts, munching on them distractedly.
"That looked intense."
She almost got a peanut stuck on her throat. She didn't really feel like reliving the entire conversation, especially not with Walsh, of all people. "It kind of was, I guess."
He hummed, and she went back to her peanuts when the bartender gave them their drinks. She sipped from the glass, silently praying for no more drama.
"Is he back for you?" Walsh asked, and thankfully she had already stopped drinking, or they would have found themselves in a dreadfully messy situation.
"No."
He looked dubious at most. "Are you sure?"
She sighed, her hand crawling through the counter until it rested over his. "Walsh..."
"I'm just asking," he stated matter-of-factly, and she truly got it. He wasn't being a jealous jerk, or pressing the matter. He just wanted to know what the hell was going on and where they stood. Emma could understand that.
Pity she couldn't give him a straight answer, because she didn't really know what it was. No matter what Killian had told her, it still didn't explain what he was doing there now.
She stabbed at the olive in her glass with a toothpick. "Even if he were, it wouldn't matter. It's over. It's been over for a long time."
She caught Walsh sipping from his drink, not daring to meet her eye, and she sighed. Dropping her own glass on the counter, she cupped his face with her hands, smoothing the lines around his mouth with her fingertips. "I'm sorry."
His shoulders slumped, and he covered her hand with his, prying them softly from his cheeks. "You didn't do anything wrong, Emma." They stared at their laced fingers, his a bit browner than her pale skin, and she was somehow relieved at the softness in his voice. "Not yet, at least," he added, and she froze, eyes flying up to meet his, offended.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what," he said, and went on when he saw her ready to protest. "It's not like it's a secret you've had feelings for him since forever and now he's back."
Emma shook her head and gently rested the palms of her hands against his chest. "But I'm with you."
"That could change, if you want to."
Her jaw muscles twitched with suppressed anger, but she managed to keep her temper in check. "Can we not do this right here?"
His eyes pierced hers, and finally nodded to himself, as if he had found whatever he was looking for in them. "That'd be better." He stepped back from her, gaze roaming through the room in search of somebody. "It's getting late, I should get going. I can drop Henry off at Granny's if you want to."
"You don't have to," she protested.
"I get the feeling that tonight, it's actually the best course of action." At the pained expression on his face, Emma's throat tightened with guilt, even if she didn't know what she should have done in order for this situation not to be so fucked up. It wasn't like she had asked Killian to show up and ruin everything she'd built since he left. She sighed and cupped his face in her hands once more, but he sighed, took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her fingers briefly. "We'll talk tomorrow."
With that, he left in search of Henry.
.
Let the record show that she stayed until the very end of the festivities because of her friends. Ruby wouldn't hear her complaints, dragging her to the dance floor every time she as much as looked like bolting outside. Elsa only shrugged when Emma mournfully looked in her direction, looping her arm through hers and sitting by her side, head resting on her shoulder as they observed Anna and Kristoff dancing.
Thad had been one of the things that managed to make her smile.
(That and finding out Graham had lost whatever bet he had had going on with David.) (He had it coming for being a meddling asshole.) (Even if he did come to her side later and offered her a bag of candy as an apology.)
It wasn't until she was ready to leave that she came to the conclusion that maybe letting Walsh drive back to town with Henry hadn't been their most brilliant idea. The line she had been calling for cabs to come pick guests up wasn't answering, and there were at least ten other people waiting to get a lift. Ruby and Graham had already left, and Elsa was staying at the place the reception had been held, but there no more rooms left even if she had caved in and decided to stay for the night.
She kept stabbing her phone's keyboard ringing the damn number again and again until she noticed Killian dropping Kill's drunk ass in Belle's car. She carefully hid her face with her hair, praying for him not to see her.
"Emma? What are you doing here?"
Dammit.
Her head twitched slightly in his direction, but she kept her back to him. "Waiting for a cab."
"Where's Henry?"
"He's with Granny."
"And Walsh?" he added, sounding wary. She hesitated, and could almost feel his gaze on her to the point wheres she was surprised it didn't burn holes in her skin.
"He dropped Henry earlier."
"Oh." He sighed and continued. "Do you need a ride?" he asked her. She chewed her lower lip nervously, as her gaze flitted between him and the line of guests waiting for a cab.
"I'll wait."
He closed the distance between them as he stepped to stand by her side, following her eyes to the empty driveway and her phone in her hand. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "I'm afraid it's gonna be a while."
She bit back a groan.
Dammit, Fairy Godmother.
"Fine."
.
"Where's your hotel?" she asked him later when they were in the car, the music playing on the radio the only sound as he drove. He gave her a curious look.
"How do you know I'm staying at a hotel?"
She flushed, cursing at herself for letting slip that she had eavesdropped him and Henry earlier. "Forget it."
Thankfully, he didn't pry. "It's near the church actually."
Her head snapped up, and she gave him a disbelieving look. "You drove all the way here just to drop me off? What the hell is your problem?"
He shrugged, as if it wasn't any problem driving for an hour just to leave her at her place and then another one for the drive back to his hotel. "It was that, leaving you to freeze out there waiting for a cab or inviting you to my room."
She gritted her teeth, incensed. "It's an hour long ride, Killian."
"I'm aware, love."
The rest of the drive was as silent as before, but where before she had been almost relaxed and comfortable, now she was jittery and confused. She knew she shouldn't be - he had offered to give her a lift, but why had he? What did he hope to accomplish? Did he even hope to accomplish something? He knew she was with Walsh. But yeah, Walsh wasn't there at the moment. Not that she cared. If he wasn't, she meant. Because nothing would happen. At all.
She was rambling inside her head, how fucked up was she?
She probably hadn't thought her plan through, no matter how long the rambling went, because when he parked near their former shared apartment, she turned to him and ordered, "Get out. You're taking the spare room bed."
"Emma..."
She ignored his wary attempt at a protest. "I'm not happy about this, but I offered and you're gonna accept, so shut up and do as I say."
There was no more complaining after that: Killian knew her well enough to know that when she set her mind on something, it'd go as she damn well pleased. A while back, he'd have smirked at her, said something along the lines of 'Bossy, Swan' as he cheekily commented on how she should better use her bossy attitude somewhere more private, love, or something equally ridiculous that would inevitably get her out of her underwear in record time.
Not now, though.
They trudged in silence inside the elevator, and she attempted to look as collected as she could manage, tamping down the blush coloring her cheeks when she remembered how many times they had made out in that cramped space. He must have been thinking something along the same lines, if the way he unconsciously dragged his finger over a mark they had once left in the wall was any indication.
Summary: awkwardest. Elevator ride. Ever.
What she hadn't been ready for was his reaction at stepping inside their apartment. He froze at the doorstep, a trembling hand going out to reverently touch the wall and studying everything his eyes could latch on: the lamps, the paintings Elsa had given them as a gift hanging on the walls, and of course, the pictures over the shelves and tables. His stare zeroed in on one of the two of them with Henry that she hadn't had the heart to take off the shelf, taken at Olmstead Park. Henry attempted to feed the ducks from the bridge as Emma hugged him from behind so he wouldn't drop from the edge, and Killian in turn hugged the both of them. It had been a good day.
He probably noticed that its companion - a picture in which Killian pressed a kiss to her cheek as she laughed, taken at a trip in New York they did with their friends - was missing from his usual place over the TV, but he didn't mention it. Nor should he.
After all, things had changed. Radically.
Before the silence got even weirder, he motioned with his arm towards the hallway. "Clean sheets still in the closet?"
"Yeah."
He nodded to himself. "I'll take care of it then." He walked past her and stopped in his tracks, turning his head to send her a soft, yet albeit small grin. "Goodnight Emma."
"Goodnight," she called back at his retreating form. He was about to go into the guest room when she came back to her senses. "Wait!"
Killian looked back at her curiously. She waved a hand towards him as if to encompass the tuxedo in all its glory. "You don't have anything to wear," she explained. He huffed out a laugh.
"It's no trouble."
She crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring her flushed cheeks. "You're not sleeping in the nude." She walked past him, ignoring his burning stare on the back of her dress - and probably her ass - as she ran into her room and came out, throwing a piece of clothing at him. "Take this."
His eyes widened in recognition, but before he could say anything else, she turned on her heel and ran to her room, tossing a "Night" over her shoulder and hiding inside her safe haven - or what used to be their safe haven. She tried not to think of the cotton T-shirt he had forgotten and she had kept using as a pajamas since then. She tried not to think of how she had clung to it, letting his scent make her believe, if only in her dreams, that she was in his arms.
She tried not to think of how it now smelled like her, and he was the one wearing it that night.
.
She stayed in bed as long as she dared to, dreading the reencounter or some awkward moment between them. What the hell had she been thinking by inviting him to sleep at their apartment? What would Henry think? What would her friends think? What would Walsh think?
(Henry didn't technically have to find out, he'd come back after lunch and she'd make sure she had kicked Killian out way long before her son was back.) (Elsa, Mary Margaret and Ruby would gasp and then ask for details, Graham would request a high five.) (Walsh... She didn't want to know what he'd think. Or... she could not tell him. Because nothing happened. And if nothing happened, then there was nothing to tell, right?)
(Then why the hell did she feel guilty, of all things?)
Ten minutes later, once her stomach had complained as loudly as possible about her being an idiot and feeding it already, she padded around her room finding something presentable to wear and combing her hair before stepping out into the kitchen. Her eyebrows went up to her hairline when she found Killian had prepared coffee and cocoa, moving around the kitchen as if he had never left. He silently offered her a mug, grinning as she took it and swept a finger over the whipped cream to taste it, ignoring the way his eyes never left her.
"How did you sleep?" she asked, sitting cross-legged on her favored chair. He grinned at her over his shoulder.
"Like a baby."
She kept sipping from her cocoa, biting back the questions her mind supplied. Did he still snore? Did he still hug the pillow like it was a human being? Did he still talk in his sleep? When had he stopped wearing his ring?
She had noticed the night before that he didn't wear it, and, okay, why would he? They weren't married anymore. She wasn't his, he wasn't hers, no matter how her stomach dropped at the thought (even if she had had time enough to get used to the feeling).
As politely as she could, she offered him to take a shower and get the hell out of her apartment before her son came back, and he dutifully agreed, asking for a bag to bring back to the hotel some of the things he had forgotten and she had stowed away in a box under her bed. As he showered, she went through the guest room he had slept in, taking the sheets so she could put them with her laundry. She rearranged the bed, swiped the dust off the night table and moved the bag she'd lent him to the corner of the room so she wouldn't step on it. She found one of Henry's toys under the bed, and went to put it away inside the night table's drawer when something caught her eye. She drew in a gasp.
Killian's ring.
She fled the room and acted as if she hadn't seen it, promising herself she wouldn't think too much about it. Because it wasn't a big deal. It really wasn't. Who cared if he still had it on him? He wasn't wearing it, at least. Right?
As soon as Killian came out of the bathroom, he went back into the guest room, and came out moments later all set, bag in hand. She walked him to the front door, strangely feeling like a shy teenager about to say goodbye to her crush. Which, coincidentally, wasn't what she should be feeling.
He paused, knocking his free hand on the door jamb with a small grin. "So. Thanks for letting me stay."
"No problem."
They stood still, staring at each other, aware of every movement the other was making, until he seemed to recover his voice. "See you around, Swan." He took her hand in his briefly, squeezing her fingers tightly in his, and dropped a gentle kiss over her knuckles. She was so stunned she almost missed him winking at her as he spun around and sauntered away down the hallway towards the elevator.
"Yeah. See ya," she weakly called out, and he smiled at her over his shoulder before disappearing from view.
Once the door closed behind her, she walked as in a daze back into the guest room. She sat on the bed, still breathless, until something soft caught her attention. She choked back a sob when she found the shirt he had worn to sleep perfectly folded over the comforter. She hugged it to her chest, drinking in the scent she had almost forgotten as she quietly sniffled into the cotton.
That night, once Henry was sound asleep in his own room, she took out her own ring, which had been stashed inside her jewelry box for three years. She tried it, gazing down at the gold band on her finger, recalling how it would clink against his when he tugged on her hand or he made her spin around the house.
She fell asleep wearing it for the first time in three years, but managed to take it off with shaking hands the next morning before work.
.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked as he tugged on her hand, guiding her through the crowd. He just winked at her over, that annoying(ly charming) smirk of his never leaving his lips.
"It's a surprise."
She couldn't help it - she groaned, even getting the attention of a frazzled pedestrian at her right whom she just dismissed as Killian dragged her along with him. "I hate surprises."
"You'll love this one."
Snorting, she caught up with him, cocking an eyebrow. "Aren't we sure of ourselves."
He outright laughed, his hand leaving hers for a second until his arm snaked around her waist, hugging her back to his chest as they stumbled around like drunken idiots. "What can I say - I have always been an overconfident bastard."
She hid her face on his shoulder, huffing a laugh against the cotton of his shirt - the one she had mentioned once it brought out his eyes and he had started wearing way more frequently than before. He kissed the top of her head, then her cheek and finally her lips, and she returned it eagerly, still wondering how the simple fact that they were walking down the street intertwined in each others' arms could make her so happy.
What felt like hours later - kissing while walking will do that to you - they finally reached their destination. She gave him a look, confused beyond expectations.
"The Tisch Library? Really, Jones? Is your idea of a date to nerd it out?"
He rolled his eyes. "So quick to judge."
Alas, they weren't there to nerd it out (which was, to be fairly honest, both a relief and a disappointment. She had discovered that nerding out with Jones was actually pretty enjoyable - and usually ended in even more enjoyable activities.) (Not that she was thinking of doing that in a public library.) (At all.) (Nope.)
He told her while they climbed to the roof of the library that most people in search of a good view of the city roamed the well-known places like the Skywalk Observatory, or even taking the Red Line over the Longfellow or climbing to Peters Hills, but the roof at Tisch's wasn't as crowded.
He was right, as usual (not that she'd admit it to his face.) She bit back a gasp when she reached the edge of the roof, thinking of how she had always thought the best way to see a city would be from the window on a plane, but here, with Killian behind her, she had to consider rooftops as second best - and closer to home. She stared for a while, just taking it all in, and the realization of all that was happening started sinking in: the butterflies, the non-stop grinning, the soft looks and exploring hands. The inability to stop thinking of him. The fingers reaching for her phone to text him when she thought of something to tell him (which meant literally anything - from philosophical questions in the middle of the night to cute pictures of puppies).
"Are you cold?" She turned and found him frowning at her, and she realized with a start that she was shivering. She shook her head adamantly.
"No"
He hugged her from behind, even if she softly protested that she really wasn't cold, it was the middle of the summer and please don't, it's not about that, Killian."Then what is it?"
She said nothing, giving up and letting his hands rest on her hips, pushing her lightly against him. His face hovered by hers, chin leaning over her shoulder, and she closed her eyes shut. "I'm scared."
There was a pause, and she somehow knew that she wouldn't have to explain. Since they had started seeing each other, there hadn't really been any moments where she had bared her soul to him and he had needed for her to elaborate. He just - he got it.
And she loved him for it.
(And that scared her even more.)
"I'm not going to hurt you," he murmured, and she sighed.
"You can't know that."
"I do."
The firmness in his voice brought her to a start, and she rounded in his arms until they were face to face, her own arms circling his neck and bringing his head closer to hers until their foreheads touched.
"I'm scared of you breaking my heart."
