A/N: Ah, CS AU Week! The best time of the year, in my opinion. I'm sorry it took so long to update, but there's just one more chapter after this! Thank you to Kaitlyn (SpartanGuard) for the beta and Katie (mermaidswans on tumblr) for the words of encouragement.
Chapter 3: Alignment
Alignment: Nothing should be placed arbitrarily. Placement illustrates relationships between elements.
Emma and Killian picked up some grilled cheese sandwiches and onion rings from Granny's To-Go before heading off to Killian's apartment. Granny handed Emma the brown bag of food with a raised eyebrow that Emma seemed to be receiving too often recently.
Killian's studio apartment was not something Emma was expecting. It was neat, and open-planned. There weren't many photos or personal effects, but there were elements that made the space uniquely Killian's. There were a few meticulously arranged posters on the exposed brick walls, along with some mounted past projects, presumably products of the inhabitant of the apartment. It was something akin to her own apartment, but without the drop cloths and the errant canvases and paintbrushes littering on the floor. The open space was divided between an office of sorts—an L-shaped work table in the middle with his aforementioned Mac—and a living area with a couch that had seen better days. Tucked in towards the back, blocked off by a tall, cubed bookshelf, was a low-profile bed that served as his bedroom. A nice-sized kitchen and bathroom rounded out the space. Emma took in her surroundings, a bit amused; while it may not be a typical bachelor's pad, it was warm—cozy even.
"That's the Mac right there; it should work just fine." Killian gestured towards the desktop while dropping his bag near the couch, and took off his jacket before offering to take the food from Emma, as well as her red leather jacket to hang up. Killian wandered into the kitchen to deposit the bag of food on his breakfast bar and started to dig in and separated out it's contents.
Emma followed Killian and took the styrofoam box that held her usual order of grilled cheese and onion rings and opened it to pop a ring in her mouth. She closed her eyes and groaned a bit, savoring the rich flavor; she didn't realize how hungry she was. She opened her eyes to catch Killian, with his mouth slightly open, watching her.
He shook his head, his dark fringe falling in front of his eyes. "Honestly, Swan, your eating habits are appalling. You have to let me cook you dinner sometime."
"You can cook, too?" Emma chewed on her sandwich thoughtfully, because of course he can.
Killian smirked, before picking up a fry. "Aye, I'm talented in many ways, lass." He winked before popping the fry into his mouth. Now it was Emma's turn to stare, as heat rose to her cheeks. She masked her desire as annoyance, suppressing any urges to wipe off the crumbs from his scruff—with her mouth. Wait, where the hell did that thought come from?
She shook her head—and any errant thoughts out of her mind—and pretended to be really interested in her meal, ignoring the lingering electric gaze that seemed to shock her anytime she dared look.
The duo completed their meal in comfortable silence, and as Killian cleaned up after themselves, Emma ventured over to his bookshelf and took in more of the studio and gathered insight into the enigma that was Killian Jones. What the apartment lacked in many photos—besides a few of him and another, taller version of himself; presumably his brother—was made up in little trinkets and treasures. A spyglass and a sextant laid on one shelf, while a ship in a bottle was displayed proudly on another. She spied a guitar resting in it's stand, and wondered what his playing sounded like.
Her eyes caught on a few titles of the books that were housed in the shelf; most were design and typography books. But a favorite and familiar series of spines captured her attention in particular.
"I didn't peg you down as a Harry Potter fan, Jones," Emma teased with a smirk, tapping her finger on the spines. Killian looked up from the breakfast bar he was wiping down, with a surprised smile. He reached up to scratch behind his ear, gesturing wildly to nothing in particular. "Ah, well...it's almost obligatory, Swan. Me being British and all." He seemed flustered for a second, having been caught with such juvenile literature. Emma smiled and said, "Well, you have good taste, home country loyalty or not." Killian finished up in the kitchen and joined her. "Well, it's always comforting to believe in it, y'know?"
"Believe in what?" Emma asked, confused.
"Magic, Swan. Don't you believe in magic?" For a moment his expression was solemn before he waggled his eyebrows to nullify the serious tone of his voice.
Emma gave him an exasperated look, grabbed her bag, and started taking out her sketchbook while Killian busied himself by starting up his Mac.
"There, Swan. This should all be ready to go. I'll just be over here on the couch if you need me,"
Emma settled in the desk chair, and muttered a quick thanks, before checking her phone. It was nearly 7, and she had a feeling it was going to be a long night. She sent a quick text to Elsa, letting her know not to wait up for her.
There's always a quiet still that comes with working at night. Time seems to drift off, in a pace where it neither feels fast nor slow. Emma was well acquainted with pulling an all-nighter, but the concept was foreign when factoring another presence in the room. The blonde felt hyper-aware of her surroundings, feeling rather than hearing every click of the keyboard and rustle of paper.
She sat up in her chair with a sigh, pulling her long blonde curls up into a messy bun.
"You alright there, Swan?" Killian asked, looking up over his own screen in his lap, glasses hanging low on his nose. It was almost endearing, seeing him in this domestic kind of setting, comfortable in his own home. A sight that Emma wouldn't mind seeing again, as she pushed this fleeting thought from her mind.
"I just… I don't know what's wrong with this. There's just something, off? Is it me? Am I going crazy?" Emma rubbed at her temple while staring at the artwork on the screen. It was a collage of sorts, the main focus was of an image of her turned away, in her red jacket, facing the Boston skyline.
Killian got up and stood behind her, arms crossed, the expression on his face unreadable. His eye movements flickered, as if he was reading. He squinted his eyes, and took a few more steps back, before calling Emma over, "Come over here, Swan."
Emma raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced. She joined him a couple of feet away from the desk, and mimicked his stance—only because she wasn't sure what he wanted her to do. Killian looked at her and gave a small smile. "Now, what do you see?"
Emma turned to him with a glare. "I see hours of wasted time," she said, bitterly. Killian chuckled, and uncrossed his arms to wrap them around her shoulders to right her back to face the monitor. Ignoring the way his fingers felt as if they were sending electrical pulses down her arms, she stared at the monitor again. "I see… I see nothing."
Emma was perplexed, but within the collage of images she threw together to get the project done, it really was just that—a mess of images. She was starting to see clearly what her problem was—she was a mess. A broken, jumbled mess. A jigsaw puzzle where none of the edges matched up.
Now, Emma Swan was not one to cry in front of anyone, let alone Killian Jones. She could blame it on the late hour or pent-up frustration over this project and class for the last 5 months—hell, of her life for the last 22 years—that she had lent herself this one moment of vulnerability. She felt the slight pain behind her eyes and her throat to swell, as she coughed and shrugged out of Killian's grasp.
Killian frowned, and turned to face her and as he did, his demeanor softened. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Emma knew he wasn't talking about her work on the screen. But this was what she was afraid of, right? Opening herself up to someone, only to be left without notice and a broken heart.
When Emma didn't respond right away, Killian took her silence as her answer and walked back and sat down in the desk chair in front of the Mac.
"It's not that bad, Emma. It just lacks focus." The softness of his voice and the way his tongue rolled over her name caused Emma to sit down on the couch with her head in her hands.
"I just...maybe I need to focus on something else. The jacket was supposed to represent an armor of some sort. I wanted to show that I can face the world on my own." Emma sighed, defeatedly.
Killian stayed silent for a few moments, carefully weighing his thoughts, "Maybe that's it, there's a disconnect here because you're personally not connecting. You're deflecting, rejecting the project through your work, and it shows." He sighs, taking his glasses off to rub the strain of the late hour from his eyes. "Is there anything else you own, Swan?"
Emma contemplated this for a second. "No… not really. I mean, I guess I have the baby blanket my parents—my real parents—wrapped me in. It's the one thing I have left of them, besides my name, which was stitched on it. It's something I've held onto my whole life."
Emma sighed, sinking back further into the couch as she looked up towards the ceiling, hoping gravity would staunch the threat of oncoming flood of tears. "It was almost like proof."
"Proof of what?" Killian encouraged, not wanting to say much to intervene in her thoughts.
"Proof that… somewhere out there, someone loved me once. It gave me hope," Emma smiled ruefully. "I mean, if they went through the hassle of leaving me on the side of the road with a handmade blanket with my name on it, then… they must've…" Emma's voice broke, and she retreated back into her thoughts. Sudden clarity hit her like a bolt of lightning.
Perhaps, that was it. Inspiration comes in strange forms, but when it does you hold on tight and keep going forward.
"Move." That was all she said to Killian, effectively vacating him from his own chair, as she settled in before looking up at him. "I'm going to take up your offer on help, Jones."
Killian raised a curious eyebrow. "Oh?"
"That one image in your portfolio—the one that looks like a painting—how did you do that?" The blonde spoke quickly, tightened the bun on to of her head, and shoved her glasses back up her nose.
A slow smile formed on Killian's face in recognition of her plan. "Well, Swan, let me grab you the tablet." He pulled a black, flat tablet from the drawer under his desk, and set it in front of her. He grabbed the corresponding pen and handed it over. He grabbed a nearby ottoman and sat next to her.
"It's a bit weird at first, getting used to it, but once you have it down, it's almost like the real thing. Now here is the brushes palette, and you're in luck, lass. I have every kind of brush under the sun."
Killian quickly showed her the basics of digital painting, and to Emma it was as if the sky cleared up and she was seeing everything in a new light. Photoshop didn't seem foreign anymore; this was a new inlet that she could navigate and relate to. A new medium that didn't seem inaccessible to a traditional artist like herself.
With Killian's support and encouragement, Emma was able to finish her project in record time—and was satisfied with what she produced. She just hoped that when she presented, Gold would be, too.
"This looks bloody brilliant, lass. There are some people even in my own class that couldn't even do this. I knew there was a little bit of a graphic designer inside you." Killian complemented her work enthusiastically as he watched it print out.
As the ink dried on her newly printed project, Killian looked up at Emma with a shit-eating grin.
"C'mon, Swan. Let's get to mounting." Killian winked, as he licked his lips suggestively.
Emma eyes widened-and can totally blame the late hour for her actions-and a small smile formed on her lips, instead of admonishing him.
"I meant the project, Swan. Get your mind out the gutter." He winked and got up to grab the matboard they bought earlier that evening and his supplies. Emma merely smiled fondly at his teasing and followed him.
Another benefit Emma did not foresee in having her teacher's aide help her with her project is seeing him work with his hands. While designers did a lot of their work on the screen, mounting was also a crucial part of the presentation process. She remembered a few incidences on critique day that ended in tears and even flames. Once, the unfortunate student's project, poor Archie, had his artwork a mere 1/8th of an inch off center. Gold pulled out a ruler and proceeded to give a verbal lashing that probably could've been heard well across the courtyard of the art building. Next, well-meaning but naive Aurora had cut her matboard with the wrong dimensions, but still mounted her artwork to it. Gold proceeded to take out a lighter and light it on fire, citing that if she was careless enough not to restart and get a new matboard, then he didn't care to grade it.
To say that Emma was nervous about mounting projects was an understatement. Her palms got sweaty, and she constantly measured and re-measured, and measured once more just in case.
Killian's hands, though, were steady and moisture-free. He wore rings, something Emma didn't notice before. The L-shaped work table doubled as a mounting space, with a grid hand-drawn out on top of it. He helped her measure, cut, and spray-mount her artwork down. He taught her a few tricks, too. "I use these clamps here, Swan. See, no pesky moving matboard," or "Two-inch fabric ruler; you'll always get a good border."
Once the final piece of tape was attached to the vellum that covered the top of her mounted project, Emma let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
"I say we make quite the team, Swan," Killian mused. They stood side-by-side at the work table, admiring the project that seemed so giant only a few hours ago.
Emma looked up from her own creation and placed it down on Killian's worktable, perplexed. "What do you mean by that?"
"Well, you're a bit of an open book." Killian examined Emma with his lightning blue eyes, and she felt exposed as she adverted her gaze.
"I don't know what Walsh told you but…" Emma began but Killian interrupted her,
"Walsh? That bugger? No, Swan. You have this...look in your eye. As if you've been hurt before."
Emma crossed her arms. "You don't even know me, Jones."
It unnerved Emma; how dare he waltz into her life? How dare he look at her as if she was the brightest star in the sky and speak to her as if she was totally sane? There was never a point where she saw pity in his gaze, or heard criticism in his voice. She certainly did not asked to participate in a late-night therapy session, she got that enough from her roommate's psych major sister (at least, she was for this semester).
"Maybe I was in love once…and as usual, he wasn't who he said he was and I got my heart broken." She stared at him defiantly, challenging him to call her stupid or change the subject.
What time is it? It must be really late. The lack of sleep and Killian's stupid soothing voice must be impacting her ability to think straight and keep her guard up. But if Emma was really honest with herself, perhaps she was tired of holding up those heavy walls that did nothing but remind her of her painful past. Perhaps it was because Killian was the first person to actually try to knock these walls down. There were so many factors that Emma didn't know, but she wasn't in a hurry to find out.
Killian took a step towards her, closing a gap that Emma had subconsciously made between them, and took her hand in his. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad to hear that."
Emma looked up at him incredulously, surprised by his unexpected answer. "You're glad that I got my heart broken?"
He measured her for a second, before continuing thoughtfully, "If it can be broken...It means it still works."
He stared at her intensely, as jade collided with sapphire. They held each other's gaze for a few heartbeats—one, two, three—before Emma broke eye contact and shook her hand loose from his.
"It's...uh..getting late," she muttered, checking her phone. Shit, it was nearly 3 in the morning.
"Uh, yeah it is." Killian scratched his earlobe before running his hands through his hair.
"You can sleep here if you want, Swan. Have my bed, I sleep more often than not on my couch after a long night at my desk. Besides, it would be ungentlemanly of me to let you go this late into the night."
Emma hesitated, still reeling from the revelations that happened throughout the night. She was tired, and the thought of snuggling into Killian's sheets did sound appealing—no matter the circumstance. She nodded, "I...uh…" she began, not sure what to say before settling on, "Thank you, Killian." She gave a weak smile, before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
Emma was roused from sleep with the sun beaming in her face, she turned and snuggled up to her pillow that smelled good—really good, like sandalwood and the ocean. She burrowed her face deeper, inhaling the scent, and took a moment before realizing that wasn't her pillow and this wasn't her bed.
She bolted upright before taking in her surroundings and what happened the night before. She scrambled for her phone, brushing her blonde mess of waves out of her face to check the time. It was still early, she had barely slept five hours, but there was a desperate instinct to fly far away from this bed with its tempting warmth and smells. What is wrong with you? Smelling Killian's bed like that...Really, Emma?
Speaking of, she searched for the perpetrator from her spot in the bed. She could see a black tuft of hair peeking up from the back of the couch that she immediately recognized as Killian's. Good, he's still asleep. Emma tiptoed around his studio, picking up her things as she went. She went to grab her project, and caught a glimpse of Killian sleeping on his couch.
He looked vulnerable, younger even, like this. Her heart swelled, a part of her wanting to drop her things and crawl right next to him and see how soft the white t-shirt he was wearing really was. She swallowed nervously, and grabbed a pen and post-it note, and wrote a hasty note and stuck it to his monitor.
She then crept to the door, and took one last look to the man that tried and probably very well succeeded in breaking down her walls, before turning and walking out the door.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Oh, I hope you picked up all on the Tallahassee references. Leave me a comment to see if you caught them all! Also the stories about Gold's antics are true horror stories from my own college experience, my professors were great but crazy!
