Notes: Many thanks to Rouhn who created such a heart-warming piece to accompany this story (on Tumblr at lizacstuff) and to my brilliant pal, Shelley, for the beta
xxx
When Emma entered the living room, she found a man she didn't recognize arguing with Regina.
"That's ridiculous. The zoning law in and of itself favors the rich and disadvantages the poor. If-"
The man stopped talking when he noticed Emma. His eyes went wide as he watched her walk into the room. HIs reaction caused Regina to look over at what had interrupted his diatribe. "Oh, Miss Swan, it's you. I should have guessed you'd be here."
"Hello, Regina, Happy Thanksgiving," Emma said through a fake smile. The woman was always so belittling, but Emma was determined that it would not get to her. She looked at the man and then back to Regina, expecting an introduction. When none was forthcoming, Emma shuffled the pie to one arm and stuck out her free hand.
"Hello, I'm Emma. Emma Swan."
"Wow." The unidentified man said as he shook her hand.
Emma crinkled her brow. "Pardon?"
"Emma! You're here!" Mary Margaret cried and she entered the room and rushed over to her friend. She leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, then took the pie so Emma could shrug out of her coat and hang it in the entryway. "You know Ruth of course," Mary Margaret gestured to a stout woman with a kind face who had entered the room behind her.
"Of course," Emma replied and accepted the hug that Ruth gave her. She wasn't much for hugs, but when it came to people like Ruth, David and Mary Margaret you had to get used to it. "How are you, how is Florida?"
"Wonderful, just wonderful, I'll tell you all about my condo complex later. It's like spring break for seniors."
They all laughed and then Mary Margaret gestured to the unidentified man. "Have you met Robin?"
"Not... really." Emma turned back to the man who had managed to school his earlier dumbstruck expression. "Robin, is it?"
"Yes... um... ma'am, pleased to meet you. I... errr... apologize for my rudeness, but he didn't exaggerate... I thought he was exaggerating... but no."
"I'm sorry, who are you talking about?" But as soon as Emma asked the question she felt the dawning of cold realization hit her. Robin. His name was Robin. Killian's only friend in town was named 'Robin.' He had a 5-year-old son. There was a boy of about five playing in the yard.
"I believe he's referencing me," a newly familiar accented voice said from behind her.
Emma whipped around. Killian. Her roommate. The man who saw her naked a mere 17 hours ago, not that she was counting. The last man on earth she wanted to see on Thanksgiving. That Killian was in the room.
He was standing in the door, clearly just having entered from outside. His cheeks were pink, but Emma wasn't sure if that was from embarrassment or from the cold. The cold, it had to be the cold. What did he have to be embarrassed about? She was the one who had been caught naked. By him. She stared for a moment, nope he hadn't gotten less good-looking overnight.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"Emma!" Mary Margaret covered, stepping forward before Emma could say anything else inhospitable. "I invited him."
Of course she did. Emma turned on her and hissed, "Can I talk to you a moment?" before stomping out of the room.
Before following her, Mary Margaret smiled at the group as though there'd been no weird tension a moment earlier. "Does everyone have something to drink? David," she called towards the kitchen, "Emma needs a glass of wine and Regina needs a refill."
With that Mary Margaret left the room and found Emma pacing in the back hall. "Emma, you're being rude."
"What were you thinking inviting him here?" Emma's eyes flashed with anger. "You know what happened!"
"Exactly. I know what happened, and I know if you let it fester without confronting it, the situation will just get worse."
"So... what? You thought you'd fix it by inviting him to Thanksgiving?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I did. Also, he's new in town, I thought he might be all alone on Thanksgiving. I called, as it turned out he was planning to spend the day unpacking his boxes and settling in and his friend Robin and his son were planning to head over with pizzas. Can you imagine? Feeding that adorable child pizza on Thanksgiving? I don't care if they aren't from this country, it's just not done. So, I invited the whole lot of them. Besides I needed someone to make the pumpkin pie."
Emma was about to retort that it was no crime to eat pizza on Thanksgiving, she'd done it more than once in her time, when the last sentence registered. "Wait, what did you say about the pumpkin pie?"
"I said someone needed to make the pumpkin pie."
"I thought you said it was fine I forgot."
"I did and it was. But that doesn't mean we should go without, does it? Especially when you already had all the ingredients."
That took the wind out of her sails. "Fine, but don't expect me to be nice to him."
"You're a big girl," Mary Margaret said in her best mom voice. "I expect you to be nice to all my guests."
"Fine," Emma said defiantly. "But don't expect me to look him in the eye; I'm not ready for that yet."
Mary Margaret moved behind her, gripped her shoulders and started propelling her back towards the living room. "You don't need to look him in the eye, but you do need to talk to him. I think if you do, you'll feel better."
Xxx
When they entered the living room, Mary Margaret immediately veered off toward the kitchen, Regina appeared to be once again arguing with Robin, and Emma could see David in the dining room showing his mother an antique cabinet he'd refinished since she'd left. That left Killian. He'd been sitting on the couch, but he stood when she entered.
Emma took a deep-breath and walked over to him, however she kept the promise to herself and didn't meet his eye. Instead she looked out the window. She could see Robin's son out there still playing with the dog. She pretended it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "Killian."
"Swan."
That got her attention. "What did you call me?"
"Swan," Killian replied, less confident this time. "That is your name?"
Realizing she was looking at him, she aimed her gaze back out the window. He had her there; it was her name.
"How was your day?" she asked with a formal note to her voice.
"Fine. Fine day," he replied, meeting her formal tone and eyeing her cautiously. "Yours?"
"Fine," she responded noncommittally.
There was silence for several beats until Killian gestured to the room. "This is a nice place."
"Yes," Emma replied evenly but didn't elaborate.
Killian tried again. "Mary Margaret must have an unlimited supply of pumpkin décor," he nodded towards the room which was brimming with seasonal decorations, from what I saw last night she didn't take any from our place."
Emma bristled, and she feared, blushed, when he referred to the loft as 'our' place. She swallowed roughly and finally said, "I heard you made a pumpkin pie."
"Aye," he replied brightly, hoping he had finally done something right in her eyes.
"I suppose that's fitting, since it's your fault I didn't make it last night."
"My fault?" He had been about to apologize for upsetting her, when she'd made the charge, and now he felt slightly nettled. "How did I prevent you from making pie?"
Emma finally met his gaze, hers lit with a fiery indignance. "You're not serious right now."
"I'm quite serious. How did I impede your ability to make pie?" he asked with incredulity.
"You!" Emma began loudly and only then realized they'd attracted the attention of Regina and Robin who had stopped arguing and were now looking over at them with matching quizzical expression. "You know what you did!" Emma hissed at him as she tugged him towards the front door and further away from Regina and Robin.
He glanced down to where she had a hold of the cuff of his navy button-down shirt, and then replied in a lowered tone, "I arrived at a location I had legally leased! I'm the one who was startled out of my mind. If anything, you should be impressed I was able to pull it together enough to bake a mere 12 hours later." Killian shot back, but he had a twinkle in his eye. "I heard there was a welcome wagon in the states, but that was a welcome… locomotive."
Emma's cheeks flamed red. "Are you seriously making fun of me right now? You think that is the right path?"
"No, Swan," he replied sheepishly, chastising himself obviously taking the wrong tack with her. "I'm trying to relieve the tension by making light of the situation, but you're not making it very easy on me."
"Easy, you want easy?" Emma hissed. She was furious, who was this guy to walk in on her naked and then make fun of her over it. "I'm not going to ruin David and Mary Margaret's Thanksgiving, so we'll play nice for the next few hours, but when we get home tonight, I want you gone. Consider your lease terminated. How's that for easy?" Emma demanded, but then not waiting for an answer she whirled on the spot and stalked into the kitchen. Dumbfounded, Killian could do nothing but watch her go.
Xxx
Seething, Emma threw herself into helping Mary Margaret with the cooking. When Mary Margaret asked her what was wrong, Emma merely shook her head, pasted on an overly large smile and said, "Nothing" and offered to mash anything that Mary Margaret needed mashed.
Prior to dinner, she saw Killian only once; as she was taking out her aggression on a giant bowl of boiled potatoes, he came in to offer, once again, his help to Mary Margaret. Emma just continued mashing, perhaps a bit more violently than before. Mary Margaret looked between the two and then hastily ushered him out of the kitchen, assuring him that everything was almost ready and suggesting with a smile that he might help David select the wine.
By the time Emma was placing her giant bowl of mashed potatoes on the table and David was calling the rest of the party to the dining room, she was a bit calmer.
Though now she felt something taking root in the pit of her stomach. She headed back to the kitchen to remove the apron that Mary Margaret had lent her and took a few deep breaths while leaning against the sink. However, the pit didn't go away. It wasn't anger, that had dissipated as she mashed all the lumps out of the potatoes. Maybe guilt? Or remorse… over evicting Killian?
It couldn't be, the guy had to go. She didn't think there was anything necessarily wrong with him, actually, he seemed nice, but there was just no recovering from such a disastrous first night of living together. What she did not acknowledge, even to herself, was the terror that took root in her soul at the jolt she felt when her eyes met his deep blue ones, or the warmth that seemed to start in her chest and wash over her when she had grabbed his sleeve.
When Emma re-entered the dining room, she finally noticed that Mary Margaret had done an amazing job setting the table. It was festive but elegant, warm and inviting all at the same time. Ruth's delicate white china sat atop chargers that were a shiny burnished-orange color. Wine glasses and crystal water goblets, that Emma knew had belonged to Mary Margaret's mother, sat in the proper place above each setting. Down the center an emerald green table runner, embroidered with colorful fall leaves, complemented the dark wood of the table, and matching placemats sat under the chargers. A flowered centerpiece of festive fall colors adorned the center of the table. Emma knew Mary Margaret had acquired the chargers, placemats and table runner a few weeks ago, after much deliberation, just for this occasion. It was a good reminder how much this meant to her friends. She needed to get a grip, and she was determined not to allow her unpleasantness with Killian to ruin this dinner.
As she surveyed the room, a resolute smile pasted on her face, she found herself facing a dilemma. The group had assembled and started getting settled quickly. While still bustling around, Mary Margaret and David were clearly planning to sit at either end of the rectangular table.
Regina and Robin, who were now bickering over some issue related to municipal open space, were getting settled next to one another on one side of the table while Ruth and Killian were seated on the other. She had two choices for open seats. Either one near the corner between Mary Margret and Killian, or the catty-corner seat between David and Robin. With determination she set off towards David's end of the table, only to see little Roland enter the room and climb up on the seat. Right. The little kid should probably sit next to his dad. Part of her felt so desperate not to sit next to the man she'd just evicted from her, or technically Mary Margaret's, apartment that she briefly considered asking Ruth and Killian to switch places, so that Ruth would be in the middle seat instead of Killian and serve as a buffer between them. That would be awkward, and clearly Ruth wanted to sit next to her son, so she abandoned the idea.
Slowly, Emma made her way back around the table and to the seat next to Killian. Without looking at him she sat down and then picked up the crisp white napkin held in place by a bronzed pumpkin napkin ring. She studied it like it was a puzzle to solve and not just a piece of cloth to slip out of a large metal ring. Methodically, as if undertaking a complex and delicate operation she unfolded the napkin and placed it on her lap. Anything to keep from looking at him or thinking about the way the hairs on her arm stood up when she accidentally brushed against his arm.
When she felt him rise beside her, she had hope for a brief moment that he was changing seats.
However, that hope was dashed as soon as she felt him bend over her and ask in a lowered voice, "Red or white?"
"What?!" Emma was startled both by his nearness and the question she wasn't expecting from him.
She looked up and found Kilian smiling kindly at her, as if she hadn't just put him on the street. He was holding two bottles as he asked again, "Would you like red wine or white, Swan?"
He was being helpful again. He seemed to do that a lot, and she couldn't help but be impressed with how he handled the bottle of white with his prosthetic hand. Emma somehow managed to utter, "White."
xxx
Things progressed in typical fashion, though none of this was typical for Emma. Turkey was carved, dishes were passed, and more wine was poured. Once all the plates and goblets were full, David lifted his glass, and everyone fell silent and gave him their attention.
He looked around the table, an expression of joy on his face. "I'd like to take a moment and thank you all for sharing this day with us." He looked to Mary Margaret and smiled widely, before continuing, "This is a special day, Mary Margaret and I hosting our first Thanksgiving dinner in our home. It means everything to us to have my mother with us all the way from Florida," Ruth blushed and blew a kiss at her son, "as well as in-town family," he nodded at Regina magnanimously, "and our friends, both dear," he nodded at Emma, "and brand new" he gestured his glass at Robin and Killian. "So I'd like to say how thankful I am for all of you for making this so special, and I'm especially thankful for my beautiful, talented fiancé who has been cooking for days to make this amazing meal. So please join me in raising a glass to Mary Margaret!"
"Here, here," voices sounded around the table as everyone lifted their wine glasses and clinked them against their neighbor's. Emma glanced down the table and saw Robin helping Roland use his milk cup to clink with everyone on his side of the table and smiled. It was such a cute image that she forgot herself, until she felt Killian leaning towards her.
"Cheers, Swan," Killian smiled at her and Emma had no choice but to tilt her glass against his. He looked relaxed, as if he didn't have a concern in the world. Why did he look relaxed? The man didn't have any place to sleep tonight, shouldn't he be concerned?
He very clearly wasn't, so Emma took a sip of her wine and tried to relax. Happy chatter sounded around the table, as everyone began to dig in to the feast.
"Mary Margaret," Regina said loud enough for the table to hear. "I'm surprised we didn't engage in your favorite Thanksgiving tradition, it's never been my favorite, but I know how you love to hear what everyone is thankful for."
"Oh," Mary Margaret said, pink tinging her cheeks. "I… uh… I thought we could do it before dessert."
Regina nodded once, looking a little sorry she had brought it up, so to change the subject, she looked across the table at Killian. "So, Killian, Robin tells me you'll be working with the University next year, wouldn't it be cozy if you and Miss Swan ended up both living together and studying together."
Killian looked up from where he'd been cutting his turkey, to find five pairs of eyes looking at him. Roland was playing with his milk cup, and Emma was looking anywhere but at him. However, she was the one he wanted to address.
He turned to her as he asked, "You attend Storybrooke University?" His voice held both surprise and maybe… delight?
"You didn't know?" Regina's voice held a note of mocking derision. "Against my objections, she was hired by the Sheriff's department despite her lack of diploma, but if she wants to climb any higher, she'll need to complete a four-year degree."
Robin turned swiftly to Regina, "You objected to hiring her?" The two started to bicker once again.
David quickly added from the head of the table, though Regina was too engaged with Robin to hear, "Degree or no, Emma's doing a marvelous job as deputy. Would someone pass me the gravy?"
The rest of the table was now engaged in either talking or eating and Killian spoke softly to Emma as he buttered a roll. "You didn't tell me you're also a student."
"Is that a problem?" she shot back. "If so, we've already solved it, you're moving out tonight."
Once again, he was unperturbed. "It's not a problem at all, I just didn't know."
"When would I have told you? We've never had a real conversation." After a beat she added softly, "When I'm clothed."
"Aye," Killian's eyebrow popped up as he agreed. "That's true, I have not had the pleasure of truly conversing with you. How about the present? We could have a "real" tête-à-tête, now, over this amazing repast."
"What would be the point?" Emma whispered through a fake smile. "This is our last meal together, ever."
"If that's the case what can it hurt, Emma? Idle conversation, with a fellow guest, over a shared meal." Killian held out his wine glass to hers as if to cheers once again.
She glanced over at him skeptically. "What happened to calling me 'Swan'?"
"You didn't seem to like it," Killian replied affably.
"I don't mind it so much." Emma's reply was almost a mumble.
"Excellent, Swan, it is. Cheers?" he prodded once again.
"That's… whatever… fine," Emma grudgingly conceded, as she clinked his glass, before adding, "but I can't ignore Mary Margaret." Emma took a sip of wine and turned to engage her host and friend in conversation and found that Mary Margaret wasn't even seated. A glance around the room told her that Mary Margaret was hovering over Roland, helping to clean up some milk he'd spilt. Emma was half way out of her seat to help, when she realized the mess had already been cleared and Mary Margaret was grinning broadly and laughing as Robin apologized. Mary Margaret was just fine and having the time of her life in her role of hostess.
Emma took a bite of mashed potatoes and then turned to Killian and gave him the bit of information that had begat the current bizarre conversation. "I'm not a student at Storybrooke University, but I will be in January. I'll be majoring in criminal justice, so nothing to do with fish studies, our paths won't cross."
At that Killian almost choked on the bit of stuffing he'd been eating. He swallowed roughly, and took a sip of water before asking with a chuckle, "Fish studies?"
"Isn't that what you said you'll be driving the boat for?"
"If by fish studies you mean Marine Biology and Coastal Conservation, and by "driving the boat" you mean 'captaining the ship' then you're correct." Killian replied a bit stiffly. You could call marine biology 'fish studies' in his presence and he didn't care, but one did not make jokes about his ship.
"I do." Emma replied trying to stifle her laugh.
Killian watched her amusement at her own joke. He felt his shoulders relax as he took in the enchanted way her lips curled upwards. She shook slightly as she tried to keep from laughing out loud. "You're having a go at me."
"I am. Don't you think I'm due?" Emma asked, turning to meet his gaze. For a moment, silence reigned between them; it was the first time she'd truly made eye contact with him during the meal. Her pulse quicken as some sort of electric current zipped between them.
"As you wish, milady." He grinned at her, almost wickedly and Emma thought she was going to faint. His eyes were so blue, and they were looking at her intensely, as if he really, truly saw her. The crinkles around his eyes, damn him, were also appealing, they made him look kind and maybe even wise. For better or worse, this guy affected her. Thank god he was moving out, otherwise who knew what would have happened.
xxx
Emma was a big enough person to admit that dinner was lovely, even though she had spent most of it talking to the very person she was trying to avoid. True to her word, she continued to make every effort to engage Mary Margaret in conversation; however, Roland and the milk were just the beginning. Her best friend had barely been in her seat; she was constantly refilling side dishes, offering more turkey, and tending to her guest's needs. Emma would have felt bad except that it was obvious how much her friend loved it. Killian spoke several times to Ruth, though the older woman was clearly most interested in catching up with her son. To Killian's delight and Emma's chagrin, that left each to the other's company throughout the meal.
Both agreed that Mary Margaret had done a spectacular job with the food, though each also admitted that they had little to compare it to as far as Thanksgiving dinners went.
Emma was actually surprised at how quickly dinner passed. Dessert rolled around, and it was finally time for each person to confess what he or she was thankful for this holiday. Ruth kicked it off, and as the guests each spoke in turn it was a barrage of the typical, "I'm thankful for friends and family" type answers one expects, except for Roland who was thankful for his new pal Wilby. This put the small boy even more into David's good graces, as he also was quite fond of his dog.
When it came to Emma, she took a gulp of wine before looking over to Mary Margaret. "I'm thankful for my friends David and Mary Margaret, for many reasons, but today I'm thankful that they've invited me to my very first big, traditional family Thanksgiving feast. It's never been my favorite holiday, but they've shown me the appeal, thank you." Mary Margaret reached over and squeezed her hand and she felt Killian beside her, studying her quizzically.
"That must be my cue," Killian said. "This is also my first Thanksgiving celebration, so I'd also like to thank David and Mary Margaret for bestowing their great kindness on a poor British expat who is new to town." He looked to his left, and Emma could feel his gaze on her, "I'm also thankful for Emma, my new flatmate, for opening her home to a stranger with few possessions and fewer friends in this town. It can't be easy to welcome someone new, share space with a bloke off the street, but I appreciate her taking pity on me and I will endeavor to be useful and make sure she does not regret it."
Without realizing what she was doing, Emma found herself turning towards him as he spoke, meeting his gaze. When she did she felt a flutter in her chest, and it was the most concerning feeling she'd felt in some time. She quickly looked away and fumbled for her wine glass as she heard Killian answer a question from Ruth about whether this Thanksgiving had lived up to the examples he'd seen on American TV shows.
Killian's attention being elsewhere, Emma sighed with relief. The meal was nearly over, which meant her close proximity to Killian would soon come to an end. Just like their living arrangements. There was that pang in her stomach again, maybe she'd eaten too much?
Regina and Robin insisted Mary Margaret stay put and relax with her guests and offered to serve the pie; the next thing she knew Robin was leaning between her and Killian asking, "Pumpkin or Pecan?"
Killian smiled at her, and without looking at Robin, followed the lead David had set at the head of the table, "I'll take a slice of both, mate. Thanks."
"And for the lady?"
Emma met Killian's gaze with a challenge and said, "Pecan only for me."
When Robin had set down their plates and moved on, Emma leaned to the side and said in a whisper, "That was a very nice thing you said, about being thankful… for me… or whatever, but if you're trying to guilt me it's not going to work. You still need to move out, tonight."
Killian was once again unruffled by his impending homelessness. "Love, relax and enjoy some pie. Are you sure you don't want a bite of pumpkin?" he asked holding out a forkful of the pie he'd made.
The truth was she really did want some pumpkin pie. This was her first real family-style Thanksgiving, it didn't seem complete without at least sampling some pumpkin pie. So, despite her own desire to spite him, and the pie he had prevented her from making, Emma leaned forward and closed her mouth around the fork. Immediately her eyes closed, and she let out a small moan as she let the sugary pumpkin confection melt on her tongue.
Killian stared at her, gobsmacked. He hadn't really expected her to take the bite of pie, and he really hadn't expected her to moan around a fork he'd held out to her. It was thrilling to watch and he felt something deep down, but whether it was affection or desire, or both, he wasn't sure. This woman was like no other he'd ever met before; this woman was trouble.
Killian pulled his fork from her mouth and Emma swallowed and opened her eyes. She wasn't surprised to find that he was watching her intently, a spark of something in his bright blue eyes, she was surprised, however, to find that that fact pleased her.
Killian quickly returned the fork to his plate and cut another bite, this time he ate it himself.
Emma was taking a sip of wine and watching him.
"Is my pie making acceptable? Is it everything you wanted your pumpkin pie to be?" he asked after he finished his bite.
"I didn't really have any expectations," Emma said. "I've never made pumpkin pie before."
"What I meant was, does it taste good?"
"You just had a bite yourself," she replied, there was no need to fluff his ego. It was very good pie.
He shrugged before saying, "I've never tasted pumpkin pie, so I'm not sure if I failed or succeeded. I wanted to make sure I did you justice, so I followed the recipe I found on your counter very carefully."
Something about that softened her resolve a bit. Killian spending the morning meticulously following a random recipe she'd printed out from Pinterest as if it had been an old family favorite. Finally, she relented. "You succeeded. It's pretty… decent pumpkin pie."
Killian grinned wolfishly at her. "I knew it!"
Emma shook her head and busied herself by taking a bite of Granny's Pecan Pie, but she couldn't fully suppress the smile that tugged on her lips.
Xxx
Emma was very happy to escape to the kitchen after dinner to wash dishes. Escape from him. It's not that she found him unpleasant. She had to admit that she didn't. At least not anymore. She found him… pleasant, in fact, she found herself liking him, among other emotions. That was the problem, it was also reaffirmation that he had to go.
Mary Margaret and David bustled around behind Emma packaging leftovers in containers for each guest to take home. When they were done with that, she shooed them out and told them to go enjoy a drink with their guests, she would finish cleaning up.
When she turned back and surveyed the mounds of dishes piled on counters and on the kitchen island behind her she briefly felt remorse for shooing them away. Resigned to a long bout of tedious cleaning, she sighed, opened the empty dishwasher, and turned back to the sink and contemplated where to begin.
"Love, if we start with the plates we can get them quickly into the dishwasher before we move on to the larger platters and bowls."
"We can't put the china in the dishwasher it's too delicate," Emma replied instantly, and then whipped around to face him. She demanded, "And what are you doing in here?"
"I'm helping with the dishes, and the lovely Ruth just told me that we can put the china in the dishwasher, she says she's done it every year."
Emma huffed and crossed her arm defiantly. "I don't need your help."
He looked around at the giant mounds of dirty pots, pans, bowls, serve wear, and dishes, and then back to her, pointedly.
Emma relented with another sigh, "Okay maybe I could use the help." She glanced at his prosthetic. "I'm guessing it's best if you dry?"
"Actually, if our most excellent hosts have a set of dish gloves, I think I should wash. You know the kitchen better than I would when it comes to putting things away."
Emma opened the cabinet doors under the sink and from the very organized bin pulled out a pair of pink flowered rubber gloves. "These do?" She smirked at him.
"Splendidly," Killian replied and took them from her with a bright smile. He turned to the sink and got to work. Scraping excess food from plates into the garbage disposal, and then rinsing them clean. Emma took each plate from him as he finished and put it in the dishwasher. As he started the larger pots and pans, Emma flitted around drying dishes and putting them away as best she could, mostly by trial and error. She wouldn't admit it to Killian, but she didn't know this kitchen all that well. However, she had lived with Mary Margaret for long enough to generally know how she organized things and was mostly able to guess correctly as to where items belonged.
They worked mostly in silence, the only conversation about the work and the kitchen. It was comfortable. Somewhat unsettling, but also comfortable, if one could feel both emotions at once. At one point Killian began humming something that she could only assume was some sort of sea shanty from ye olde England. When he caught Emma's eye, he waggled his eyebrows at her as he continued the tune. She just rolled her eyes at him.
With cheek, Killian stopped humming and said, "My apologies, is this the kind of chanting that disqualifies me as your roommate?"
Emma finished placing a large measuring cup on a top shelf and then whipped around to face him. "You're humming, not chanting," she replied dryly. "And you know full well what disqualified you from continuing as my roommate and it's not the humming."
"Excellent!" he replied jovially and started humming again as he turned back to the sink.
Emma rolled her eyes again, not that he saw. The truth was, she was having fun. Which was not something that usually happened while she was doing the dishes, or, if she was honest with herself, really ever. With that disconcerting thought, she threw herself into drying a giant baking pan.
"Swan, I don't wish to alarm you, but we make quite the team," Killian said a few minutes later as he shut off the kitchen sink and turned to survey the kitchen. "We made pretty short work of the chaos."
Emma had walked into the hall so Killian turned back to the sink to finish wiping down the surrounding countertops.
"Killian," Emma said a moment later in a tone designed to get his attention.
He was so surprised to hear his name he whipped around to face her and found her holding her phone out in front of her.
"Did you just take my photo?" he asked incredulously.
"I thought it right to immortalize you in those ridiculous pink flowered rubber gloves," Emma replied with a smirk as she looked down at her camera, pleased with the image she had captured.
Killian watched her shrewdly before a wide grin spread across his face. "If I'm moving out tonight, what would you do with the photo?" he asked, a teasing note to his voice.
She put down her phone and looked at him. "Okay, buster, I told you hours ago that I was evicting you, and you haven't seemed upset in the slightest."
"No, I haven't," he agreed affably.
"Can I ask why? If I was going to be homeless on a cold November night I'd be more concerned than you seem to be."
"Swan, I'm not concerned, because you're going to change your mind."
"How can you be so sure?" Emma crossed her arms in front of her and leaned back against the counter behind her. The two movements seemed at odds with one another and he was struck by how intriguing he found this woman. He recognized something in her, they were not that dissimilar.
"You're something of an open book."
"Am I?" Emma asked nervously. This was a first; most people told her she was closed off and inscrutable. The idea that someone could read her was unsettling.
"Quite." He turned back to the sink as he said, "Allow me to take off these gloves, procure us a pair of fresh libations, and I'll elaborate."
However, by the time he'd turned around Emma was gone.
To be continued