This thing just keeps getting longer and longer, I tell you. Thanks to everybody who's let me know they're enjoying it so far! I hope you enjoy!

Emma did not attend the Jolly Rogers concert the following night — as it happened, the decision was taken out of her hands.

Granny Lucas had decided she needed all hands on deck for the evening shift, which would leave Emma on her feet from four-thirty until at least midnight, and firmly away from Warehouse 4 in the Storybrooke harbour at eight o'clock. The real challenge was stopping her mind from wandering there regardless; what Killian Jones did or said was absolutely none of her business, even less so now that she'd rebuffed that particular invitation. She just needed to suck it up and move on with her life — he wasn't that good in the sack, anyway, or she was certain even her tequila-addled mind would have been able to remember it.

It seemed no sooner that she'd begun making a conscious effort not to let her thoughts drift to the expression on his face as he sang Survivor, than the man himself stepped through the door, looking around tentatively as if he were trying to find something; or rather, someone. Abruptly Emma turned, cutting off the couple who had been ordering and all but sprinting towards the counter. It was only ten! Why in God's name was Killian Jones now sitting at a table in Granny's and not out celebrating after what she could only assume was a smashing set, if their performance in the Storybrooke Dive yesterday had been any indication?

Emma decided to stick with her previous plan, schooling her features into a mask of indifference; he would not shake her, and she would keep doing her job. She made a point of not looking at him as she walked by, delivering a glass of water and a gin and tonic to the young woman sitting in the booth next to his.

"Fancy joining me for dinner?"

Emma spared him a glance when it became apparent he'd been speaking to her, a single eyebrow quirked in a challenge. She merely tutted, looking away again as she walked back past him. "It's ten o'clock," she pointed out.

Killian didn't bat an eyelid. "I skipped out on my encore to come down here, Swan."

That suggested another question, which had her turning to him to give him a curious look. "How did you find me?"

He merely gestured to the seat opposite. "Join a beggar for some supper, won't you?"

Emma clicked her tongue. "I have to work."

Without allowing him another chance to argue, Emma turned back to the counter and moved around the back of it, swapping dirty glasses for clean ones and determinedly avoiding the heated glare she could feel coming from the person standing next to her.

"Don't think I didn't see that," Ruby Lucas finally spoke up and Emma spared her a glance, noting her folded arms and the way her gaze kept slipping in the direction of the booth she'd just returned from. "Emma, are you kidding?! I'll cover for you." She'd apparently heard Emma's excuse too.

"I don't want cover," Emma muttered back, "I want you to get him out of here."

"Why, because he's hot? Interested in you?"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "He could be a creep for all we know. He already stalked me here."

"Emma," Ruby gave her a stern look, "he came all the way up here. At least go talk to him." When Emma merely groaned, already knowing she was going to have to give in, Ruby hit her on the arm. "Go!" Her friend turned, throwing her mutinous looks which turned to irritation when Ruby then smacked her on the bum as she began walking away.

Emma flapped her hand away. "I'm going!" When she reached the table she folded her arms, just as Killian looked up at her with a satisfied grin. "Alright, Jones. You get to buy me one plate of fries."

"Delighted to," Killian beamed, nodding once at Ruby who set about getting the order ready as Emma slid into the booth. She was beginning to grow suspicious of just how Killian Jones had found out where she would be that evening. The last thing she needed was one of her best friends and her one night stand (who was beginning to resemble a bad penny more than anything else) to be in cahoots.

"This why you missed the gig, then?" Killian's eyes were just as intense as she remembered them, but Emma returned his stare evenly.

"You know why I missed the gig."

The man across from her sighed heavily as Ruby brought over a portion of fries. "Why is the idea of seeing me again always so detestable to you?"

As Emma helped herself she found herself giving a surprisingly honest answer. "I don't exactly have good taste in men."

"Does that mean I'm to your taste?" Killian looked like the cat who'd caught the canary and Emma rolled her eyes.

"Hardly."

"That's not what you said last week."

Emma chewed slowly, trying to ascertain just how much of what he said was truth. "Is that so?"

"Admit it, love," Killian leant forward, taking a single fry and biting off the end, "you're dying to know just what happened." He wasn't wrong, but Emma refused to offer an assent. "What I did with my hands, where I put my tongue…" His eyes dropped rather unsubtly to the curve of her neck, then lower, before returning to hers. "Which great secrets you revealed to me."

Emma shook her head, ignoring the tingle his words sent to her fingertips. "Nobody enjoys hearing replays of their O face."

Killian shrugged. "I do."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Go on, Swan," he continued jovially, "answer the question. You and I get on like a house on fire, have done since we met. Why do you keep dismissing this?"

Emma surveyed the man in front of her, eyebrows raised playfully, eyes entertainingly serious. It was the same sort of look she could remember seeing on his face the first moment he turned around in her bedroom, after having knocked all her records to the ground. The banter was the same he'd offered up while she'd been trying to usher him out of the apartment — he knew when to push and when to give way, which suggested a knowledge of her she wasn't comfortable with. In a way he reminded her of Neal, and that was why the klaxons were blaring so loudly in the back of her mind. The fact of the matter was that Killian Jones made her feel like they'd known each other for years, which in turn made her want to do nothing more than sprint in the opposite direction.

"Alright," she said instead, leaning back in her chair and bracing her hands on the table, "fine. The last guy I was involved with on a semi-permanent basis was kind, sweet, superb in bed and we were great together, until he decided to break up with me by framing me for a jewellery shop robbery. Then he skipped town and I spent three weeks locked up at the Sheriff station until they could prove I didn't do it." She raised an eyebrow in challenge, gauging his reaction. "Aversion of men justified enough to you now?"

For his part, Killian seemed somewhat humbled by the revelation, and Emma almost felt bad for making him feel so uncomfortable — but she couldn't help but consider how good it felt for him to be on the back foot for once.

"I — yes, well." He cleared his throat. "Quite. I'm sorry that happened to you, Swan."

Put off by what looked like pity in his eyes, Emma brushed him off. "What about you, then? What's your story?"

Killian spread his hands with a shrug. "Oh, there isn't one."

Emma shook her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Please," she pointed at his forearm, bared because of the way his sleeve had ridden up. It was an image she'd noticed when she sat down, the knife though the heart and the name Milah inscribed on it. "As if that tattoo doesn't scream emotional baggage."

Surveying it as she pointed it out, Killian tugged down his sleeve to cover the tattoo — not quickly, in a manner that instead suggested nonchalance, but Emma could see straight through it in the way his jaw had tensed.

"Aye, it does," he responded wryly, "and if I thought telling you all my emotional baggage would endear me to you, believe me I would." He offered her the by now familiar grin. "But I want there to be a second date."

"This isn't a date."

"Isn't it?"

Emma chose that moment to hold up the plate, by now empty. "Thanks for the fries, Jones. Don't forget to pay the bill on your way out."

"Emma." She'd stood to go back to work, but the use of her first name had her hesitating — it was imbibed with a surprising amount of feeling, and she found something altogether too earnest for their exchanges watching her. "Will you consider going out with me? Properly, I mean."

She was momentarily blindsided by the honesty of the question, and bit her lip.

Realising he might have asked too much, Killian backpedalled. "Or — when does your shift end? You missed out on an incredible concert, I'll have you know."

Emma weighed up her options, trying to puzzle him out and biting her lip. She looked at him doubtfully. "It's late."

"I'll wait."

"Like, I'm here for another two hours."

"I'll pick you up near midnight, then?"

This Killian Jones didn't miss a beat.

"Alright," Emma conceded, "but I doubt I'll make good company, I'll be knackered."

His smile looked downright filthy. "Wouldn't be the first time around me, love."

Emma rolled her eyes, finally walking away from the table and back to where Ruby was doing a terrible job of pretending not to watch the encounter in full. As he made for the door, Killian tipped his fingers to his temple in a salute before leaving, and Emma was glad he didn't make a big deal out of the whole thing. It then occurred to her she'd just agreed to go on some midnight adventure with a man she barely knew who apparently had vivid memories of how she looked naked; potentially not the best idea she'd ever had.

"So?" Ruby pressed, eager for details.

"Nuh uh. You get nothing after setting me up like that." Her friend's abashed look confirmed Emma's suspicions. "How do you even know Killian?"

Ruby simply shrugged playfully and deigned not to answer.

Emma couldn't quite shake the schoolgirl-going-on-her-first-date sensation that had her hopping from foot to foot outside Granny's, checking her watch every few seconds to watch the minute hand creep quicker to midnight. They'd finished a little earlier than they'd intended, and the only way to avoid Ruby's constant quips about her midnight rendezvous with Killian Jones was to do her waiting outside, which she then did so, bag slung over her shoulder. Yes, he was abominably good looking, but there was no shortage of those sorts of men around Storybrooke. He was also charismatic, hilarious and made for extremely fun company, all of which were facts she could under no circumstances admit to him. All she knew was that when they were alone together, her instincts were to throw up walls and resist him. It was when she was left to her own thoughts that she couldn't quite place why she was always so abrasive with him when all he'd been was perfectly lovely to her.

God, the morning after they slept together he offered to cook her breakfast. When Emma looked back on that refusal all she could picture was a very shirtless, very amused Killian frying bacon by her stove and that was not an image she could take home with her. It felt like she was violating Mary Margaret's home.

And somehow she expected spending the evening with him wouldn't take that vision away.

She was jolted from her thoughts by a tap on her shoulder and she jumped, startled, looking up into Killian's smiling face. She hadn't even heard him approach.

"Ready, Swan?"

"For what, exactly?"

Killian tapped his nose, holding out his free arm to her. "Now now, love. That would spoil the surprise."

"I don't like surprises," Emma groused, "especially ones that come at midnight. I'm tired."

"I'll make it quick."

Emma grinned then, she couldn't quite resist the urge. "That what you said to me last week?"

Killian merely stared at her, and she observed that for a moment he was probably stunned by her engaging with the innuendo. Then he simply offered his arm again more insistently, sending a mock glare in her direction. Throwing all her misgivings to the wind, Emma took it and allowed him to lead them down the street.

"You can at least tell me where we're going."

Killian laughed. "Oh I can, can I? I'm beginning to work out conversation with you, Emma Swan. All I have to do is what I'm told and then we get along just fine."

"Works for me. And don't avoid the question."

"We're going down to the docks," he conceded, "and that's all I'm saying."

"Why?"

"Gods, Swan! Can't a man keep any bloody secrets?"

Truthfully Emma was enjoying pestering him for a change, it felt good to get off the back foot and apply a little pressure, and so far his responses had been nothing but pleasing. Killian had a sharp wit and she enjoyed the verbal spar, something they kept up until they reached the waterfront. The distant sounds of music and yelling could be heard, and she knew there was probably some sort of after party for that evening's gigs along the seafront towards the beach — which, again, begged the question of why Killian wasn't there. Perhaps he'd attended for the few hours she was finishing her shift, or was planning on taking her there now. She'd just about convinced herself he'd be taking her to the beach to coerce her into another night of boozing and flirting so he might lure her back into bed, when they turned in the opposite direction and headed back along the boardwalk towards the warehouses.

"They'll be locked, Jones. Tech crew close them straight up once everybody's out," Emma pointed out as he tugged her in the direction of Warehouse 4.

"That's the thing about locks," Killian dropped his arm momentarily to rummage about in his pocket, withdrawing his prize, "they all have keys."

He turned back to the door and began clicking the mechanism, but Emma was entirely stunned. "Where the hell did you get that?" Keys to the Warehouses were like the holy grail of sound crews. There were very few, they regularly got lost and under no circumstances were any of them ever handed out to the musicians.

Killian winked. "I have my ways. After you, m'lady."

Emma gave him a disbelieving look as she walked past him and into the huge building.

The warehouses made for good sound spaces — the high ceilings and the reinforced walls provided excellent acoustics, and their size meant they could always fit in a healthy audience. They were usually capped at around three hundred for health and safety reasons, but generally an extra fifty could squeeze in on a popular night if they knew the right people. Currently, the dim, dark building was entirely empty aside from a few pieces of equipment at the other end, and a single chair sitting a few feet from the stage.

"What are we doing here, Killian?" Although she had a feeling she already knew.

"Well," Killian began, shutting the door behind them, "Seeing as you missed out on the Jolly Rogers tonight, I figured I could bring the Jolly Rogers to you."

Emma laughed. "No offence, but I can only see one Jolly Roger."

"Yes, but he's the best Jolly Roger. And also the only one available at such short notice. Here, look." Killian jogged past, waving his arms rather dramatically at the empty seat, and despite herself Emma couldn't quite hold back the grin that was threatening to break out.

The gesture itself was, frankly — touching. Not nearly as suggestive an evening as she'd riled herself up to expect. Emma thumped down onto the seat, not bothering to be any bit as graceful as she could be, it was likely Killian had already seen her at her worst anyway. As she did so Killian had hopped up onto the stage, and was currently adjusting microphones and plugging in his guitar, hammering out a few riffs and pausing every few moments to adjust his amp until he finished with a sound he was happy with. After he tested the microphone again Emma held a hand to her mouth and called.

"Oi, when does the show start? I want my money back!"

With that, Killian stepped back up to the microphone with a wide grin, eyes settling somewhere over her head as if he were talking to the great crowd that was likely here earlier in the evening.

"Good evening, ladies and scurvy dogs! Sorry, I'm going to have to ask members of the audience not to heckle — hecklers will be forcibly removed from the premises, thank you." His voice ricocheted against the empty walls, reverberating in the huge building. "We—well, I—are the Jolly Rogers!"

Emma chuckled, but that didn't seem to be the reaction he was going for.

"I said, we're the Jolly Rogers!" He waved an arm as an invitation for noise and Emma took his cue, clapping loudly and whistling a few times. "Much better. Audiences just don't know how to show appreciation these days." Emma shook her head in mock offence. "Anyway, we've prepared a couple of songs for you tonight so sit back, relax and enjoy the show."

Which, Emma was surprised to say, she did.

With only the lead guitarist present, Killian certainly made an effort to downplay the five songs he played — he primarily stuck to what Tina's parts consisted of, chords that somewhat accompanied the rhythm with the occasional rapid phrase thrown in and it was here, not in the recording studio, that Emma got a real idea of what he was like as a guitarist. There was something decidedly intimate about it that she wasn't sure what to make of. She wished more than anything else that she'd brought her camera so that she might capture the moment, but somehow she wasn't sure it would even translate onto the lens. He was thoughtful as he played, but not methodical; there was much room for improvisation, and he made no apologies for the moments he messed up, laughing them off or playing them up and repeating them for comedic effect. The third time he'd said octopus instead of optimist Emma had scarcely been able to contain her giggles, and she could tell from the glances he was sending her way that it had been his intention entirely.

The thing that was really messing with her resolve, though, was the eye contact. Killian didn't sustain it throughout, occasionally playing up to the larger crowd that did not exist (and Emma couldn't help but consider how this man could probably control a venue with ease, how he had an ability to captivate she was sure translated well to an assembly of such a size). That said, on the occasions he did look at her he looked directly at her, like if he were to stare at her any harder he might burn a hole in her skull. It was penetrative and it was nearly carnal and Emma didn't know what else to do except stare back, until his fretboard or sense of humour caught his attention and the oceanic intensity to his pale blue eyes was gone again.

They stayed like that for perhaps forty-five minutes, Killian pausing between each song to rattle off an anecdote about the writing progress or an adventure in Storybrooke he'd experienced recently, and Emma was enjoying the show as a whole — the songs itself were one thing, but the entire set worked so well with his style of humour that she couldn't help appreciating it from a professional standing. It made her more sorry than she'd been before that she hadn't come to the whole concert, nor been able to see just how Killian would bounce off Tina, and Robin and August, and it was indeed a shame but alas, still out of her control.

By the time Killian plucked the final few notes in the ending riff of Survivor, Emma was on her feet clapping.

"Thank you," Killian spoke into the mic, "thanks everyone!"

Then once he stepped back and lifted his guitar from round his shoulders by the strap, the entire act was dropped and he was seeing Emma, just Emma, again.

"Well?"

The only words she could come up with sounded empty and not nearly emphatic enough. She tried, all the same. "Incredible," she assured, "and I mean that. You guys are going to go far. Thank you for letting me be a part of it."

Killian's pleased expression seemed to make it all the more worth it.

It took him only fifteen minutes or so to pack away the equipment, Emma helping where she could, but soon enough she was trying to suppress yawns into a hand covering her mouth — she couldn't help it, she'd been on her feet for almost eight hours before allowing Killian to lead her to the docks, and it was already closing in on half past one in the morning. Traditionally Emma was never opposed to a late night, but she tended to make a point of avoiding those after a long shift at Granny's. Killian offered to walk her home, and after the private concert he'd arranged just for her she was touched by the sweetness of the gesture in a way she might not normally, biting back a remark about being able to walk herself home. Besides, he was getting to know her quite well at this point; he was probably well aware she didn't need him without her having to point it out.

When they approached the door to the loft, Emma hesitated — what if he was expecting an invitation inside? It was late, after all, and it'd otherwise just be him walking home alone. She tensed a little and perhaps Killian sensed it, maintaining a good amount of space between the pair of them as Emma turned, keeping her back to the door.

"So," he said, talking brightly as if it might alleviate a little tension, "worthy of a second outing?"

Emma didn't bother supressing the way her mouth lifted on one side, watching him with an air of playful consideration instead. "Hm… maybe."

Probably realising he'd made significant progress tonight, Killian persisted. "Maybe one in more sociable hours of the day?"

She considered how little sleep she was going to get tonight. "Is there such a thing?"

"Well," he shrugged, "I'll be recording at the Dive all day tomorrow. I'm not saying I love grilled cheese sandwiches from Granny's and that I won't have time to go out and get myself one — but if I were saying that," he tilted his head, eyes teasing and inviting, "feel free to interpret it as an invitation to spend time with me."

Emma let out a short laugh. "Whatever you say, tiger."

"I'll be seeing you tomorrow, then?"

"Pretty confident, are we?"

Killian smirked, and she couldn't remember when he'd taken a step forward. "Just a tad."

For a moment they stood there, the space between them she had initially valued all but squeezed out, watching each other with a sense of apprehension. Emma saw Killian's gaze flicker very briefly to her lips and she began to panic. Going out with him again was one thing, enjoying it was quite another — but that didn't change the fact that she wasn't sure she was ready for that kind of consideration. Killian was easier to fend off when she thought of him as her one night stand, not a potential romantic interest. Then her mind was already spinning back to thoughts of Neal Cassidy dropping her off at this very door after attending concerts together and her heart rate was already racing to a mile a minute, thumping so loudly against her ribcage she was sure Killian must have been able to hear it.

"Emma," he murmured, wrenching her back to reality, "would it be alright if I kissed you?"

Something in her eyes must have given him a confirmation because he leaned forward, but it was suddenly all a little too much and she found herself leaning away. Killian saw the movement and immediately drew back, avoiding her gaze and she could see him open his mouth to likely blurt out an apology, so she spoke quickly to stop him and try and salvage the situation.

"Not that — don't take that the wrong way," she assured, hands reaching up to brush lightly over his lapels as she hurried to stop him from looking so awkwardly apologetic, "I just… need to sort out what I'm thinking." She ducked her head so she could catch his eye, and forced him to look back up at her. "That okay?"

"Yes — of course, love," he said, attempting to recover from his discomfort and forcing a brief smile she knew was more for her than for himself. "Grilled cheese tomorrow, then?"

Emma offered him a genuine smile. "It's a date."

"A third date in twenty-four hours," the teasing lilt returned to Killian's tone, "my game is superb today."

She rolled her eyes, hands dropping from his jacket. "There you go, killing the moment."

"Wait, wait — that was a moment?" Emma merely laughed, reaching into her pocket for her keys. Killian's hands moved to still her movements. "No, c'mon, come back, we'll start again."

"It's gone, Killian." She tugged her hands away, suppressing a smile as she turned to unlock the door.

"No it hasn't." He sounded like a petulant child.

"I'm going inside."

Killian shook his head. "You're cruel, Swan. Very cruel."

"Goodnight, Killian," she said over her shoulder, entering the loft.

He murmured his own farewells, and Emma waited on the other side of the door until she could hear his footsteps fading away.

So much for keeping him out of her life.

One more part! Or possible two. These guys have a knack for writing themselves..