Title: Routine Cleaning
Rated: T for any language I may have forgotten was in here.
Summary: Emma's daily routines are a matter of habit. When she wakes up late one morning, her routines all change for the better. Killian doesn't care about routines, but he does care about Emma.
A/N: I have pretty terrible insomnia, so instead of sleeping last night, I worked on another chapter. I finished it, which means this is getting posted a day earlier than I anticipated. A new school week starts tomorrow, so I'll do my best to post the next chapter somewhere in the week, but I ask for patience as the last few weeks of the semester wrap up. The feedback from this has been pushing me to write a little faster than I normally would, so I thank you all for being my biggest inspiration.
CHAPTER 2: Routine Cleaning
Killian doesn't care about routines. He does most things at the same time each day, but that is only because he wakes up and takes a shower, drinks his coffee, gets ready, and goes to work. At the same time. Every day. On the weekends, he's a mess. He's not entirely ashamed to admit that there are some weekends when he doesn't even bother showering. He's a guy, and he lives alone, so no one has to deal with his filth but himself.
It was by chance that, a little over a month ago, he decided to walk to work early and saw Emma for the first time. He's been walking the same route to work for three years now, but he has never seen her, probably because he's usually getting to work just before he's due to be there. His boss, Robin, is eternally grateful for Emma Swan without knowing she's the reason that his junior editor comes to work a half hour early every morning.
The first time he saw her, she was wearing some kind of flowy gray skirt, a light blue sweater, and scuffed Chucks. Her hair was tucked into some neat design around her head, but the moment the sun hit that golden blonde hair, he was hers. The next day, he left at the same time and saw her again, and suddenly, Killian was okay with the idea of routines.
He ponders this over a late breakfast the Saturday morning following Will's birthday. It's because of Emma's presence that Killian didn't drink far too much, why he's not nursing a hangover with greasy food and a pot of coffee. Instead, he settles on the couch with a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and stares at the pile of books he's been trying to find time to read.
He's still buzzing from getting to talk to her, and more than just telling each other their names earlier in the week. Had he known Will's cute little librarian girlfriend was friends with the one thing he desires more than reading, he would've been going out with them every Friday instead of holing up at his place and catching up on his DVR.
The kiss on the cheek was completely unplanned. He barely gave himself time to think of what he was doing before he acted on the impulse, but he thinks of the way she reached back up to the spot when she thought he wasn't looking and he brushes his fingers over his lips again. If that's how soft her cheek is, he is seriously in trouble if he gets a chance to kiss those lips.
Pushing the thought aside (he knows it will only lead to more dangerous thoughts) he finishes his cereal and eyes the book pile again. Unfortunately, he realizes there are things to finish before he can allow himself to sit and read. Walking back into his disaster area of a kitchen, he accepts his fate and starts with the overflowing sink.
On Monday, Killian follows his own version of his morning routine and gets to the corner just as Emma is reaching the other side. He tries to keep the stupid grin off his face when he waves to her, because the last thing he wants to do is scare her off.
She's wearing her hair down, still obviously drying from a shower, and he finds he has to remind himself to breathe. He wants to cross over to her, but that's not what they do, so he stays put and waits for the crosswalk signal. When it lights up, he and Emma cross from their corners and he finds himself standing facing her for once, instead of just passing her.
"Good morning, Emma," he says with a hint of the grin he feels trying to break through. He enjoys the way her cheeks tint when he says her name, something he discovered Friday morning, and he wouldn't mind seeing that all the time.
"Morning, Jones," she offers back. She never calls him by his first name, and it should bother him, but he likes the way his last name sounds coming from her so much that he can't care. "I hear we may be working together for the next couple weeks."
"Aye," he responds, remembering that the survey crew Emma works for will be working on the feedback Neverendings is getting in on their redesign. "Of course, you'll probably see Will more than you see me. He's on the graphic design team. I'm more on the publishing side."
"That's right. I remember you telling me that," she says. He tries to ignore how she deflates a little at that. He's not entirely ready to give himself the hope that she's feeling the way he does.
"Disappointed, love? I know how difficult it will be to look at Will's face, instead of my own devilishly handsome one."
She snorts, checking her watch and starting to move past him.
"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about," she says.
"Until tomorrow, then," he says, turning to watch her edge past. She looks at him one last time and smiles.
"Tomorrow," she says, and it sounds like a promise.
He's surprised, later that day, to hear her voice around the corner from his office. He's been trying to make it through a novella, the first publication that Robin has entrusted to him and only him, but the sound of her laugh catches him off guard and he itches to go see the way her eyes light up when she makes that sound.
But he's so bloody close to being finished and Robin will have his head if he doesn't have something to report by the end of the day, so he glares at the computer screen harder, willing his self-control back into place. Of course, it doesn't stop her from finding him, and he looks up when he feels her watching him work.
"Careful, Jones. You look like you're about to blow a fuse," she says, lounging against his doorframe like she belongs there.
"I have to concentrate a little harder when there are beautiful women standing in my doorway," he says, trying to keep his eyes on the computer screen. He glances up long enough to see the pink tinge crossing her cheeks and he bites his bottom lip in an attempt to not smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Regina sent us over to get acquainted with the surveys. Apparently there are certain batches going out at different times and the first round is ready to be picked up. I have to talk with your buddy about the particulars of the website design and then head back," she explains, shifting from one heeled foot to the other.
He's not used to seeing heels, rather preferring the shoes she walks to work in, but it takes some effort to not stare and appreciate the way they make her calves look. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to notice his diverted attention and huffs out a sigh. "Just wanted to see what it's like in your world," she finishes, and her eyes meet his again.
"Well, you're welcome to stop in any time you're in the area," he offers, holding his arms out to indicate the space around him.
"Don't fry your brain," she comments before pushing off the frame, presumably to go find Will. He simultaneously wants to bang his head on his desk and pump a fist in the air, simply for interacting with her and not tripping over his own tongue. With reluctance, he turns his attention back to the document in front of him and gets back to work, but visions of those eyes, those calves tend to disrupt him for the rest of the day.
The work week passes quickly, with greetings to Emma in the mornings, steady work in the afternoons, and dinner spent with his work in the evenings. On Friday, he's lost in thoughts about Emma's hair falling around her shoulders that morning instead of doing his work when Will waltzes in and drops into the single chair across from his desk.
"Get your girlfriend to go out with us tonight, mate," he says. It's not unusual for Will to enter in such a manner, but Killian is thrown by the word 'girlfriend' and stares at him for a moment before he realizes he's talking about Emma.
"Emma's not my girlfriend," he says, trying not to sound too bristly.
"Well, not with that bloody attitude she's not," Will says, cheeky grin in place. "C'mon. I'm heading over to check on the first round of surveys. You're not busy, right?"
Killian stares at his computer screen. Sure, he's been taking his work home with him every night, but that doesn't mean he's so far ahead that he can just leave because he wants to see Emma. Maybe just this once. He sucks in a deep breath and saves his work, motioning for Will to lead the way when he stands from his chair.
Ten minutes later, they are stepping off a rather foul smelling elevator to the data and research center where Emma and Belle work. Will leads them through a maze system of cubicles, each housing a different entry specialist hard at work. Will turns a corner and greets Belle with a smile and a wink and points to the next cubicle when Killian raises his eyebrow.
He shuffles over a few steps to see Emma chewing on her lip, eyes looking back and forth between the survey in her hand and her computer screen. He props his elbow on the short wall and watches her work. She's in so deep that she doesn't seem to be aware of anything else around her, so he takes advantage of the moment. Gone is the free-flowing hair of the morning. It's pulled high on her head in a sloppy bun, little wisps escaping and brushing her neck. She's also got her glasses on, which he clearly remembers were not on this morning.
"Swan, you look vexed," he finally says, swallowing the laughter that threatens to erupt when she jumps in her chair hard enough to push it back from her desk. She spares him a quick glance and the noise she makes is pure frustration, but Killian is sure it has less to do with him and more with what's in her hand.
"How are these people filling out surveys for a publisher's website if they don't even know how to write? I mean, look at this. This guy never moved beyond cave paintings," she says, holding out a handwritten survey form which looks like it has been dipped in garbage. It smells faintly of animal. His eyes widen and he shakes his head.
"I'm not touching that," he says simply.
"Exactly," she says, setting it down away from her and pumping a generous amount of sanitizer into her hands before rubbing them together furiously.
"It sounds like you need to go out drinking tonight," he says casually. She looks at him, eyebrows drawn down below the frames of her glasses.
"If by drinking you mean eating a tub of ice cream and binge watching Netflix, then yes, that's exactly what I need to do," she responds.
"Come on, love, you need to get out and expend some of that pent up energy making Will's life miserable at the bar tonight." Even the prospect of harassing Will doesn't seem to be changing her mind, so he slides a little further into the cubicle to stand next to her. "Have a drink with me, Swan," he says, grinning down at her and reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
He does it without thinking, and his fingers stray to gently caress a spot behind her ear. Somehow, the move is even more intimate than kissing her on the cheek the Friday before. He's fixated on the way her lips part a little when his skin meets hers and he panics a little, backing up to the entrance of her small workspace. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the look Will is giving him, tapping his watch a little impatiently.
"Maybe," she finally says, and he lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Great! I'll see you tonight."
"Maybe isn't yes, Jones."
"It's not a no either, Swan," he says, and throws in a wink for good measure. He has no idea what he's doing with this woman, but at least he knows he has the same effect on her that she has on him. With that parting gesture, he turns and follows Will back out of the office.
Killian decides that flirting with Emma is one thing, but acting on some of these silly notions like the kiss on the cheek, and touching her hair, is a can of worms he doesn't know if he's ready to open. He didn't lie when he called her beautiful. She is, and he's not one to say such things if he doesn't mean them. But the fact that he knows so very little about her is disconcerting. The last time it was this easy to fall for someone, the heartbreak nearly did him in.
He spends the rest of the afternoon after work cleaning, because it's the only thing he can think of to try and calm his thoughts down. If she does show up later, he wants to be able to control himself, for heaven's sake.
By the time he's getting ready for the evening out, his whole place is clean. For once, he could eat off his kitchen counters if he so chose, and his bathroom doesn't look like it's inhabited by a pack of slobs. He's even managed to head around the corner with a dozen or so items to be dry cleaned. He gets the angry text from Will asking where he is just as he's leaving home, much cleaner and more comfortable than he has been all day.
Emma isn't there when he shows up, and he has to hide his disappointment behind a pint, but Will and Belle are fine enough company, so he loses himself in the conversation after he allows himself a moment to sulk.
"Stop pouting, mate," Will says when Belle leaves to go get another round. "She's running late. She'll be here with that bloody wolf girl she lives with in a bit." His face must give something away because Will suddenly claps him on the back and starts laughing. "Bloody hell, it's been a long time since I've seen that look on your face, Jones."
"Sod off," Killian mumbles.
"Whoa, who pissed in your cornflakes?" At the sound of Emma's voice, he almost chokes on his beer. Will slaps his back once.
"Easy there, mate," he says, and Killian can hear the laugh in his voice.
"Oh, you're with this one. That's enough of an explanation for the look on your face," she says as she slides into the seat next to Killian.
"Come now, Emma. I haven't done anything to wrong you tonight. You look lovely," Will comments. It's a comment made to rile her and compliment her at the same time, a trick he's rather good at.
"Uh-huh. Thanks, Will," Emma says, and then Belle and Ruby are back with drinks for everyone and the conversation switches.
Despite his lengthy attempts to clear his head, Killian still finds he wants to reach out and touch Emma. It's easy enough to follow and contribute to the conversations so only Will notices he's a little off his game, a little slower with the one-liners than he normally would be. He gives Killian a questioning look at one point, but Killian shakes his head a little and jumps at the next innuendo he can.
Ruby disappears first, claiming she's spotted some friends she hasn't hung out with in a while. It's just vague enough that no one questions it, and the conversation keeps going. Shortly after, though, Belle gets up and tugs Will along, telling Emma and Killian that they need to head out. Something about a movie they've been meaning to watch all week, but work has gotten in the way. It's as they are saying their goodbyes and another round appears on the table for each of them that they realize exactly what has happened.
"We've been set up," Killian mutters as he looks around at the bar. Ruby is nowhere to be found. Any other contacts they know are off in their own worlds. It's Killian and Emma at the table alone, sitting side by side, and they look around the bar once before looking at each other.
"Our friends aren't very subtle, are they?" Emma asks, reaching for her drink and sipping it.
"No, I'm afraid they aren't, Swan," Killian says, turning in his seat to face her. "What now?" She shrugs in response, taking another sip from her drink. "We could jump straight to the chase and make out," Killian offers after another second of silence.
It does the trick. Emma throws her head back and laughs, and the tension is gone. He orders food when he realizes he never ate dinner. She claims she isn't hungry but still steals fries from his plate every chance she gets. They fall into easy conversation about the work they're doing. What Emma doesn't know is that when Killian starts talking about work, it's hard to get him to shut up.
"No seriously," he says, tipping his beer in her direction, "what if the concept of True Love's Kiss was a curse?" They haven't moved from their spots, still sitting next to each other. He doesn't even really know how they end up on this topic, except they were talking about the novella he's in charge of, a twisted fairy tale of sorts.
"Curse how? It's True Love's fucking Kiss," she responds, stealing more of his fries. He pushes the whole plate towards her.
"Like, say some poor chap with one hand finally meets his True Love. The one that completes him. They kiss, and instead of living happily ever after, she gets turned into a hand." She's halfway to her mouth with a fry but just stops and stares at him like he's grown another head. "Then he's just a poor, lonely bastard with a reminder of his love, and what he's missing, that he can't even attach."
"Jones, I think it's time to cut you off," Emma says and grabs for his beer.
"No way. It's only my first," he lies. They both crack up, the beer and gin loosening them up pleasantly. "Just think how much weirder it'll get if we keep drinking."
"That's what I'm afraid of," she says, but resumes devouring the rest of his fries while he watches in amusement.
"Good?" he asks when she's picking up the last crumbs from the plate.
"Better if they were onion rings, but they hit the spot," she says, wiping her mouth with her hand.
"I'll make a note of that for next time."
When they leave the bar, neither of them are entirely steady.
"Swan, I insist you let me walk you home this time," Killian says, holding out his arm for her to take. She snorts, but loops her arm through his. They stand there for almost a solid minute, staring at each other, until Killian reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. "I've no idea where you live, Swan. You have to lead."
"You are the worst gentleman ever," she says, tugging him in the direction of her apartment building.
"I disagree. Knowing where you lived before you told me would constitute being a stalker. Would you prefer I was a stalker, love?"
"Why do you always call me that?"
"Swan?" He feels like he's missing some vital piece of information when he looks at her, the beer clouding his thought process just a touch. She's smirking, so whatever it is he's doing, it's not pissing her off.
"No. Love," she responds.
"No love what?" he jokes. She pinches him where her hand is resting on his arm. "I'm joking. Only joking. It's nothing but a nickname. Kind of like how Will and I call each other 'mate' whenever we're talking."
"Do you call other people 'love'?" Her voice is quiet when she asks and they've stopped walking. He's not sure if it's because they've arrived at her home or if it's because of the conversation. He swallows hard, because to his knowledge, she's the only one he calls that anymore. He's not sure he ever made a decision to start calling her that, but it came so naturally.
"I think Belle is the only other one I allow that title," he finally responds. He's not sure if he's called her that, ever, but he's not sure Emma needs to know that. She seems to consider this information and nods.
She looks past him to the building and gestures up at it.
"This is me," she says, pulling her arm from his. She starts up the steps and his mind races for a second.
"Emma, wait," he calls just as she reaches the top of the short porch. She turns and looks at where he's still rooted to the spot. "Will you go out with me?" he rushes out. Her mouth opens and shuts twice before she seems to settle on the words she wants.
"What do you call what we just did?"
"Friend abandonment," he deadpans. She laughs and steps down to the bottom step, standing slightly above eye level. "Dates usually come with goodnight kisses, Swan," he says with a smile.
"So you expect me to kiss you now?"
"No. When I do kiss you, Emma, I don't intend for there to be so much alcohol clouding our memory of it," he says. Instead, he takes her hand, brings it up and kisses it gently. He rubs his thumb over the spot his lips just were, once, before releasing it and taking a step back. "Goodnight Emma," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. She still looks a little dazed, but she's smirking again.
"Goodnight Killian," she responds. She turns and walks back up the steps, into the building, and Killian is left standing outside with his heart pounding just a little harder than normal. He knew when she said his name it would feel a lot like what he feels like now.