Summary: A tie creates a time crunch that is forgotten with a lapel pin.
"Emma," Walsh's voice came across the phone receiver, "I need Jones for makeup in ten."
"Yes, I understand. He's just finishing up." She shuffled the receiver against her ear to glance at her watch. "I've sent Nolan and Mills ahead. Their car should be arriving in minutes."
Walsh's sigh sounded over the phone. "They were supposed to arrive together – one crew, one arrival. Looks better for the press."
"Couldn't be helped. There was a delay with Jones' tie when his suit arrived without it."
"Eight minutes, Emma."
"He'll be there. I promise."
"Thank you. I know I can always count on you." Obvious affection warmed his tone. "See you soon."
The line dropped to a dial tone, and Emma hung up with a sigh. It always made her stomach flip – and not in the good way - when Walsh mixed his personal sentiments into their working relationship. She always felt slightly sullied by it but she'd never been able to put her finger on why.
She glanced back at her watch, the second-hand racing around the dial. Yes, she could knock on the door and ask his status, but he knew the stakes just like she did. And truthfully, when the schedule was discussed at this morning's briefing, no one could imagine an issue with getting the crew together for the day's main event. The press conference to introduce the world to the official selection for the Apollo 19 prime crew.
The door opened at last, admitting Jones' well-dressed form. The dark navy suit played perfectly off his eyes, accented by the white and navy striped tie with a red pinstripe. With his hair neatly combed and coiffed, he presented the wholesome, clean-cut image NASA expected for all of its astronauts.
"Come on," Emma glanced back down at her watch, not bothering to ask if he was ready, "we need to go."
"Right behind you, Swan."
His footfalls echoed on the clack of her heels as they briskly moved through the stark hallway of the O&C Building, towards the side exit. He shuffled around to reach the door first, pushing it open for her as they stepped out into the bright sun. A car and attendant lingered by the curb, opening the backseat door for them to climb in. Blessedly, the car's interior was cool. Hopefully that would help keep him from looking too disheveled or sweaty when they arrived.
She glanced over at him, watching him lick his top lip and glance out the window as the car pulled away. "Nervous?"
"Aye – a smidge." He forced an attempt at a carefree smile. "It's not everyday a press conference like this comes along."
Her mouth tugged to a soft smile. "Only once every 19 lunar missions," she watched his face relax under her gaze, "I know you'll do just fine. The PR team knows the ropes and how to play the game."
"Aye, I've been well versed in the expected decorum for addressing the press corps. And of course, David and Robin have been more than helpful."
"Did Captain Mills give you his patented trick for dealing with left field questions?"
"Left field?"
"Yeah, you know, like in baseball when the ball seems to come from nowhere…except that you wouldn't…," she trailed off, nibbling her bottom lip as awkward realization dawned. She huffed a self-deprecating sound, "and see, that's exactly why I'm not ever going on TV."
"Come now, Swan. You have a face made for telly."
A flutter rippled through her as she swallowed it down. "So, what will you do when you get an unexpected question?"
"Depends on the question."
"Wrong answer."
He sighed, his grimace conveying all too well that he knew she was testing him. "I know the list of acceptable questions to answer versus the ones where 'I'm not at liberty to say right now' is the only answer."
"Good." The car rounded another corner and the array of communication and broadcast dishes came into view. For all the pomp and circumstance that took place here, the Communications Building itself was small and extremely forgettable.
The car pulled around to the side door where another attendant waited. He barked off quick directions to the makeup room as she and Jones exited the car, making their way into the building interior.
Only once the makeup room door closed behind him did she allow herself to breathe a sigh of relief. One minute to spare. Well, at least no one could blame her for this press conference starting off on the wrong foot. The hallway buzzed with plenty of other activity – techs walking between the stage and the booth, walkie-talkies transmitting and receiving. She couldn't see David and Robin from where she waited in the hallway but they had probably already been ushered to the wings. Curtain time was so close, after all.
"Emma – glad you made it." Walsh's voice drew her attention down the hallway.
A smile grew on her face as she nodded shortly, motioning towards the makeup room. "Of course. Just like I said, even with a minute to spare."
"I knew you would," he stepped up close, focused adoration evident in his gaze despite the press conference frenzy around them, "Emma Swan always gets her man."
She huffed an amused breath through pinched lips, resisting the urge to step back from him. She didn't want to know if he was referring to himself…or Jones…but the implications either way were unsettling.
"Hey, listen, I have to run to the booth," his eyes brightened hopefully, "but, dinner tonight?"
She quirked a brow. "We always do on nights of big PR days."
"I know, but I just have a feeling about this one." His words shone with restrained excitement. "Just wanted to confirm that I still had priority for your prime-time window tonight."
"Of course…why – who else would?" She searched Walsh's face for an answer as a treacherous voice in her mind whispered of sky-blue eyes and a velvety accent.
His smile widened with content satisfaction. "I'll pick you up at 7:30, sharp. See you then."
She nodded in agreement, watching him move down the hallway. Exhaling deep, she glanced back to the makeup room door just in time to see it open.
A bewildered expression marred Jones' face as he gestured at it, careful not to touch. "I don't understand how you do it. Feels like I'm wearing a layer of grease on my face. And eyeliner, really? On national telly?"
She cocked a sideways brow. "You make it sound like you've worn eyeliner before."
He shot her a look that neither confirmed nor denied it. The thought certainly intrigued her but she wouldn't prod him about it right now. Not when he was about to go out in front of the whole world. She just wasn't that cruel.
She stepped up to him, her smile reassuring. "Okay, number one - I don't wear stage-lighting grade foundation. Number two - NASA can't have you looking like a lifeless specter up there. And eyeliner brings the emphasis - eyes are the windows for establishing a human connection with the everyday viewer, and if no one can experience that, then why are they watching at all." Goodness, she sounded like Walsh. Only he had explained all that to her - life around cameras was his job, after all - but she had never explained it to someone else before.
His brow furrowed as he met her gaze, fond amusement softening the rest of his face. "How did you get so wise?"
She shook her head, the corner of her mouth sharpening with a smirk. "Unlike you, this isn't my first rodeo. But you look ready to enter the ring." She didn't want to admit the truth about Walsh to him yet. Even though she knew she should just tell him – nip whatever this was between them in the bud – somehow, this didn't seem like the appropriate moment.
She took in the finer points of his makeup job, finding it a bit garish in person, but it would show well for the cameras. The knot of his tie dented with a pristine dimple and the lapels of his suit jacket lay smooth against his shirt collar. Only one final touch was missing.
She reached in her cardigan pocket, pulling out a small velvet pouch. "You just need the finishing touch." The drawstring on the bag opened and she shook out a small lapel pin. She turned it over in her palm, holding it out to him to revel the Union Jack emblazoned on the front. "Commander Nolan and Captain Mills already have their flag pins, but you needed one."
She tried not to glance at his face - at how choked up he looked, so unexpectedly moved. It felt too wrong, too intimate, as if she intruded on a private moment. But she felt her smile widen in spite of herself as she stepped closer, cheeks flushing as she pulled the back off the pin and reached for his lapel. A hint of spicy cologne drifted in the air as she brushed the fabric, pushing the pin through and securing it in place.
"Thank you, Emma. That...means a lot to me." His hand rose between them, wrapping around the back of hers gently, holding it to his chest.
The touch of his hand shot sparks down her arm. She didn't even know it was possible to have a handhold be so...electrifying. Suddenly, she worked to swallow against her dry throat, nodding gently. "You're welcome. But it wasn't my idea - you were always going to get a pin. Just...so you know."
"I know." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before lowering his back down.
She didn't want to acknowledge the bereft feeling in its wake. Instead, she forced herself to focus. "Alright, ace - left field warm up question," she met his challenging gaze. "Why Hook? Your call sign. Captain Hook. Isn't it a bit villainous?"
His face exploded with the most brilliant smile, affection sparkling in his eyes. "No, love, he's just misunderstood."
"Misunderstood? His whole purpose was to kill Peter Pan."
"Only because Peter Pan fed his hand to the crocodile and, presumably, did more than that - didn't you ever wonder what that was all about?"
"But that doesn't explain why it's your call sign. Surely, that must have been awkward before you made captain - I mean, whoever heard of Lt. Hook?"
He chuckled low, a delicious sound. "The call sign came after the rank. Truth be told, I've always had an interest in pirates. A childish fantasy as a lad that I never quite grew out of."
Something about his answer struck her. It was so oddly endearing – far more than she expected. Where she expected another glib tease, he had hit her with intimate truth. It tore at something in her heart…something that made her smile. A smile that she couldn't contain as she drifted in the sea of his eyes, in the faint scent of his cologne, in the heat of his touch that lingered on her skin.
A door slammed open down the hall and she tore her gaze from his. She recognized the voice of the assistant producer calling out for him and ushering him towards the wings. With a glance back at her, Jones nodded silently as he turned to go.
A strong urge to call out after him seized her as she watched him go, a sudden feeling of loss welling within her.
How was he able to have such an effect on her? As much as she wanted to ignore his words from that day in her office suite, the traitorous imaginations of her mind had gnawed at her, threatening to break through her defenses. Was that why she'd been so drawn to him just now? Was that why she could still feel the phantom touch of his hand on her skin? His touch hadn't lingered after their handshake in the hanger. Anxiety spiked in her chest to linger on the implications of why – the beginnings of a truth that she didn't want to acknowledge.
But those were thoughts for another time. A fleeting glance to her wristwatch reminded her she only had minutes to go now. With brisk steps, she made her way to the viewing suite.
"Emma!" Mary Margaret's warm voice filled the suite as she pushed the door open to the cozy, comfortable room. "Oh, Emma - it's so good to see you. Thank you for sitting with me - it's no fun to be here alone." Her hand rested against the slight swell of her stomach, but otherwise, Mary Margaret Nolan looked just as Emma remembered - kind, warm and cute as a button.
"Good to see you, too." She returned Mary Margaret's gentle hug, settling down in the chair next to her friend. It still baffled her that Mary Margaret had decided to take Emma under her wing, but every time the astronaut's wife was at KSC, she always treated Emma like the dearest of friends.
Mary Margaret's smile widened with infectious energy. "I want to hear everything that's been going on since I was last here. It's been so long!"
"It certainly has. But first, congratulations to you and David on your little one! I know how long you've wanted this."
"Thank you! I couldn't be more over the moon about it, and it times perfectly with this launch schedule. David shouldn't have to miss a single milestone moment."
It wasn't hard to share in Mary Margaret's joy. She had the most generous heart of any person Emma had ever known and deserved every gift that life had given her. And, boy, did she have gifts by the count.
"Now, what about you?" Mary Margaret's nose wrinkled with enthused excitement. "Are you seeing someone now?"
Emma's cheeks tinged as her smile took a nervous, hesitant edge.
Mary Margaret burst with a soft squeal. "Oh, I knew it! There's just something…happy about you."
Happy? Did Mary Margaret really think so? Was it true – was she happy? She hedged a smile. "That's kind of you to say, thank you. I think I might be – he's…a good guy." She fought back invading thoughts of Captain Jones.
"Well, to win your affections, he certainly must be! Is he someone from NASA?"
She nodded. "From PR – someone you've probably met. Walsh Morgan."
"Well, my goodness," a pleased light entered her friend's gaze, "that's just wonderful! He is a kind man, and cute! I'm so happy for you – it's more than time for you to start writing your own happy ending."
Emma nodded softly, not having the heart to disparage Mary Margaret's words. She and Walsh were nowhere near making any major decisions about their future…and with her conflicting thoughts about Captain Jones….Well, maybe all that would resolve once he launched out of here in two and a half months. At the very least, none of it had to be decided right now.
The TV screen flickered to life in front of them as the press conference started.
"It's good to see Director Midas still looking well. I heard the state of his heart was questionable when we were last here." Mary Margaret said quietly as they watched the staunch form of the director take to the podium on the left side of the stage. A table spread out to the right of the podium, three chairs and microphones poised for the guests of honor.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen." Midas' voice rang clear with a big smile. "Thank you for joining us on this most historic afternoon as we announce final selection for the prime crew of the Apollo 19 lunar mission."