A huge thank you to everybody who has reviewed so far! You guys honestly make my day. Enjoy this chapter~


Several grilled cheese sandwiches packed into a bag in her left hand, Emma buzzed at the door to the Storybrooke Dive for the third time to no avail — either nobody was home or they were so wrapped up in their recording that none of them heard the buzzer. She tried again for the main reception and received no answer, and from pressing her forehead to the glass of the door she could see the receptionist was away from her desk. Somewhat at a loss of what to do with the food she was carrying, Emma decided she may as well linger and wait for the receptionist to return. Perhaps then she could surprise the Jolly Rogers.

Emma had gone to Granny's that morning with the intention of buying lunch just for herself and Killian, as per the vague promise she'd made him at her door the night before, but then decided she'd feel far too guilty turning up to one of their recording sessions without offerings for the rest of the band, so after spending a little more than she was comfortable with she had enough food for a small banquet. What the hell, she liked the other members of the group — they might not set her heart racing the same way Killian Jones did, but they were each a pleasure to be around in their own right and likely in need of a reward after their performance at the docks last night. Regina had attended in order to pick up a few details for the finishing touches of their piece on them to be released in that morning's Storybrooke Mirror, and had done nothing but sing their praises when Emma stopped by the office earlier. Which was a rare enough occurrence for Regina; and if she spent a little too long commenting on the particular prowess of the Jolly Rogers' drummer, well, Emma had decided not to notice.

She was just beginning to contemplate buzzing for a fourth time when the door to the Dive opened, and none other than the aforementioned drummer stepped out.

"Emma," Robin greeted, mouth widening into a bright smile. "What a pleasant surprise! What brings you down here?"

"I brought lunch," she replied, proffering the Granny's bag with a small flourish.

"Oh my word, if there's a grilled cheese sandwich in there I might just kiss you now."

Emma grinned. "Now there's an offer I can't refuse."

Robin chuckled in response, rummaging around in the pocket of his coat until he pulled out a box of cigarettes, offering one to Emma. She shook her head — she hadn't smoked a single one since Neal had left town, and she didn't intend to break the habit now. Although she was eager to see Killian (perhaps a little too eager, if she was honest) she didn't see any reason not to wait for Robin to finish and go back inside with him, it'd help in combatting at least some of the awkwardness she already felt in tentatively stepping into his life.

"So did you come to the concert last night?" Robin asked, mouth moving around the cigarette as he lit it.

Emma realised Killian must not have told the others about the private concert she received afterwards. "Afraid not, sorry. But Regina — my editor, Regina Mills — she went, said your set was outstanding. And she's a harsh critic so you must have done something right."

"Oh yes, Regina," the man smiled warmly, the crinkles around his eyes speaking of nothing but affection, "she came backstage, positively enchanting." Enchanting? Emma couldn't help but raise an eyebrow; if Robin noticed it, he didn't acknowledge it. "She's your editor?"

"She put the piece out this morning about you guys. Have you seen the Mirror yet?"

"Yes, we have! Stunning shots, we're very grateful. In fact we have a lot to be thanking you and Regina for." Emma gave him a bemused look, not entirely sure what he meant. Seeing her confusion, Robin carried on. "Well, between our concert last night and the profile you put out this morning, our phone's been ringing off the hook all day! We've had producers and managers from all over wanting to play with us, work with us. We're finally getting somewhere."

Emma felt a surge of affection for the man in front of her — she was thrilled to have played even a minor role in getting the Jolly Rogers on the move. Hundreds of bands found their way into Storybrooke for whatever reason, looking for just the kind of break that Robin appeared to be describing, and often not for a lack of talent they never found them. There was so much wasted potential that never quite made that leap, but apparently the Jolly Rogers had chosen just the right moment. They were going to do it, and she'd helped them.

"That's fantastic!" Emma beamed, squeezing his arm with her free hand. "I don't suppose Killian is about? I'd love to congratulate him too."

If Robin gave her a knowing look she certainly chose to ignore it. Instead he tapped the end of his cigarette, letting the ash float to the ground. "We're all in a meeting, actually. I just stepped outside for a moment. One of the bunch who rang us up was the manager for Blackbeard's Revenge — their tour begins in a few days and their opening act pulled out at the last minute. Turns out their bassist was at our show last night and now they want us. How amazing is that?"

It was definitely a big deal — Emma remembered Blackbeard's Revenge, they'd passed through Storybrooke a few years ago before hitting their own big break and never coming back. Now they had a nationwide following that was only growing, and one of their singles had even scraped its way into the Top 40. Not by much, but it was a huge deal for their genre, and just one more export from Storybrooke the town liked to lay claim to. If the Jolly Rogers ended up opening for them it wasn't entirely farfetched to believe they'd never have to come back to Storybrooke either.

Only as that thought crossed her mind did Emma quite realise the implications of all the impromptu attention the band was receiving. First would come a tour, then an album, then national fame. Once they were on the road there would be no reason to return to Storybrooke.

No reason for Killian to return to Storybrooke.

It wasn't entirely unexpected, was it? Nothing was permanent where this town was concerned, especially within the music industry — this was just a place to pass the time, to wait until a better offer whisked you away. Killian Jones was never going to be there forever, wasn't that what she'd told herself the last time she was standing outside of this building? Just somewhere over the past couple of days she'd allowed that fact to slip her mind almost entirely, ignored everything she already knew about the musicians that passed through Storybrooke. The Jolly Rogers weren't destined to stay, and she'd forgotten it. Emma had let herself get carried away by the smouldering, inviting blue of Killian's eyes and had forgotten it entirely.

"It's — it's great," Emma said, forcing some enthusiasm into her tone, before continuing, "I'm almost disappointed. I only just met you guys and you're already shooting off to stardom."

Robin spread his hands, finally stubbing out the cigarette. "Such is life, I suppose. That said, I'm certain this won't be the last you'll hear from us. And we won't be leaving until the beginning of next week anyway, God willing." He offered her a final wink, reaching for the door back inside as he added in a guttural, pirate's voice, "There's naught can outrun the Jolly Roger." When he noticed she wasn't following, Robin held the door open. "You coming?"

Emma tugged herself back to the moment. "Uh — no, that's alright. I just came to drop this off. Here," she held out the Granny's bag for him to take, "tell everybody I stopped by."

Robin again offered his profuse thanks for the grilled cheese before bidding her a cheerful goodbye and heading back upstairs, leaving Emma at somewhat of a loss outside. It was silly for her to be upset about it, or at least that's what she was telling herself — she and Killian weren't even a something. They were barely even a thought of a something, an idea that hadn't fully formed. Which, recent events considered, was probably for the best given he'd probably be out of town in no time at all. At least this way she wasn't overly attached to him before he went. While almost all day she'd been somewhat regretting the split-second decision to lean away from Killian at her door last night, now she could only count it as a blessing. At least now it was easier to remember what he was; a one night stand, and one she had begun to view a little too indulgently.

He was just like every other musician she'd ever allowed into her apartment. They were there, and then they weren't, chasing their own dreams while Emma could scarcely remember what hers even were.

Sparing a final glance at the door of the Dive, Emma started off down the street back in the direction of the Storybrooke Mirror offices; time to get a new assignment. Sticking around the Jolly Rogers wasn't exactly going to do her any favours, was it?


It was much, much later that evening when she finally heard from Killian. She'd thought he might text, but had belatedly realised she didn't think they'd even swapped numbers, and she felt minutely guilty for not coming to see him as she'd promised. It would just be a lot better for all concerned if they didn't let this turn into something it wasn't, she was sure the last thing he'd want was someone tying him back to Storybrooke when his career was finally taking off. And frankly, Emma wasn't the stay-at-home-and-wait kind of girl, even if her limited acquaintance with Killian Jones could actually be considered worth it. The more time she was left alone with her thoughts the easier this decision seemed.

She was currently dressed in sweats, sat on her couch in the apartment she shared with Mary Margaret and going over a few photos from the shoot she'd done that afternoon – it was somewhat of an impromptu one, Regina had nothing for her but she knew David would still be in town for a couple more weeks and he was always an easy artist to capture. Mary Margaret was acting as his roadie for as long as he was in town and usually Emma gave the couple their space to spend all their limited time together, but she'd needed some familiar faces after the news about the Jolly Rogers.

David Nolan was a solo artist, far more country than what usually rolled through Storybrooke, but it was years ago now that Emma and Mary Margaret had decided to attend one of his concerts — and it took only one look at his lumberjack shirt and timberland boots for her friend to fall in love, and after a few mishaps involving (among others) an accidental theft of David's prized six-string, the pair had fallen into each other well enough. Her friend had toured with him that year, taken some time off work at the primary school and gone out to see the world. That was when Emma first met Neal Cassidy, desperately searching for some way to pass the time with one of her only true friends way out of town for months on end.

Not exactly fond of the direction her thoughts were turning in, Emma refocused on the digital display in front of her. She held an endless amount of affection for David, and he always came across as gloriously straightforward whenever he was photographed — he was all that he seemed, open, loving, passionate about his art and he made Mary Margaret happier than Emma had ever known her. David Nolan would always hold a special place in Emma's heart for that.

Deciding she'd send a couple of the shots over to Regina in the morning, just to see if they could get one more advertisement out for a few of the gigs David had left to play while he was in Storybrooke, she only then heard a few firm thumps on the door of her apartment.

Turning quickly to face it and frowning, she wondered if perhaps Mary Margaret had forgotten her key when a distinctly male voice called out to her.

"Swan? I know you're in there, the light is on."

Killian. Emma contemplated merely ignoring him, but figured she at least owed him a conversation after bailing today. She placed her camera gently down on the countertop and walked over to the door, opening it with a raised eyebrow.

"I have a roommate," she pointed out.

"I know," Killian's expression lit up in a teasing grin, "I was just guessing." He tilted his head as if asking for permission to come inside, and after a moment's hesitation Emma opened the door wider, gesturing for him to follow her in. "You know," he began, as she shut the door behind him, "when I suggested bringing me a couple of grilled cheeses today I meant I wanted to enjoy them with you, love, not have you drop them off like a delivery girl."

The comment was gently put, his tone jovial, but she could detect a hint of something a little more sombre underneath. Hurt? Disappointment? It wasn't like Emma had committed herself, had she?

"You were in a meeting," she offered, by way of a placation, "I didn't want to disturb you."

"I would've come out," he insisted.

Emma shrugged, turning away from him to walk behind the counter. Killian was left standing somewhat awkwardly in the middle of the loft, a far cry from the way he'd almost entirely owned the room the last time he was in there, staring intently at her wearing only his leather jacket, his shirt unbeknownst to her folded up on her kitchen counter.

"Besides, Robin told me the big news," she continued, busying herself by making another cup of coffee. "With all the attention you guys are getting I bet you had meetings back to back all day."

"Ah, now it makes sense," Killian mused, arms coming to rest on the counter.

Seeing as the comment didn't seem to be responding to what she said Emma sent him a quizzical look, and he merely gestured at the jar of instant coffee she was opening. Remembering his remarks the last time he was there about their unused coffee grinder, suddenly it made sense. Emma offered a breath of laughter; she would've found it funnier if she wasn't trying to studiously forget that morning. The night was already forgotten, it was only the clearer memories of Killian that needed to go.

Perhaps realising he wasn't going to get any further acknowledgement for his jest, Killian continued. "About earlier — well, yes, I suppose so. Some rather lovely photographer put out this highly flattering piece on us this morning and it's done us a world of good."

He was clearly trying to provoke her into an enjoyable repartee, dropping sweet comments with deliberate intent, perhaps attempting to draw out the Emma who'd spoken to him last night, who was flirtatious looks and sharp but affectionate remarks. Unfortunately, there was a tight lid on that Emma today.

"Regina wrote the piece," she demurred; despite herself, she still appreciated the praise.

"Still," he replied, looking straight at her with a measure of earnestness, "thank you, love."

Uncomfortable with the openness in his eyes Emma turned back to fill the kettle. "So — did you guys make any decisions today?"

"Yep," Killian spoke with enthusiasm, rapping his hands on the counter, "We'll be opening for the national tour of Blackbeard's Revenge!"

She couldn't help but grin; she genuinely was pleased for them. "Congratulations!" she smiled, leaning against the counter a few paces away while she waited for the kettle to boil. "When do you leave?"

Killian scratched behind his ear. "Next week, actually. So we're hoping we'll have at least recorded the bare bones of a couple of tracks for our EP to sell at concerts, then we can get something out with a little more panache on the back of the national exposure."

Emma nodded mutely along, turning back around and unnecessarily gathering the milk and cream a little early for her coffee just to have something to do. Killian seemed to pick up on her unease.

"Are you upset, Swan?"

"Why would I be upset?"

She could hear the teasing smile in his voice as he continued. "Will you miss me?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Please."

She couldn't help shaking the feeling they'd taken five steps backward. They were in much the same place they were the last time they'd been in that apartment together.

"Swan," Killian spoke a little more insistently, "look at me."

Emma rolled her head around to look at him, took in his raised eyebrows; jokes aside, he was looking for a straight answer.

"Maybe? I don't know. Does it even matter?" She clicked her tongue, turning back away as the kettle clicked to a finish.

"It's only a few months. Would you consider —" Killian hesitated, tentative to suggest whatever was hovering on the tip of his tongue. "Whatever this could be, it's something good. Would you wait for me?"

Emma's eyebrows knitted together as she poured. "So I can become one of the wives of Storybrooke? 'When will my husband return from tour'?" That was Mary Margaret's life, and she was okay with that. She didn't mind that life, she loved David enough to make it work, but Emma could see how much she missed him while he was away. That wasn't what she wanted for herself. "No thank you, really."

"Then come with me."

She turned to look at him, ready to laugh at the suggestion — but the severity in his expression stole the words from her.

"I mean it," he continued, as if detecting her doubt. "We both know Storybrooke is just a town you pass the time in, a stop along the way — not a destination. You can't really tell me you imagine spending the rest of your life here?" She didn't, but she wasn't ready to admit that yet; because what else was there? Not the life she'd left behind in Boston, not the system. Storybrooke was all she'd known. "Come on tour with us, Swan. See what else the universe has in store for you."

Emma was already shaking her head before he finished. "Killian, we've known each other, what — two weeks? We've only been having sober-minded conversations for a few days. You haven't even kissed me since we slept together."

"Not for lack of trying," he muttered.

Emma ignored him. "All I'm saying is maybe we should just own up to what this is and stop trying to make it something it's not."

"And what would that be, Swan?" The bite in his tone was unmistakable.

"A one night stand," Emma replied resolutely, looking him dead in the eye and forcing herself to acknowledge the flinch of hurt, the way his gaze dropped. "And one that we're seriously dragging out."

Killian was silent for a few moments, scratching behind his ear as his eyes drilled into the counter top. He seemed to be weighing up his response and Emma waited; she could at least give him this. It didn't have to be messy, he could fall out of her life as easily as he tumbled in, he only had to see that too.

"If that's what you really think," Killian began, after what seemed like an age, "I have a confession to make."

Emma raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"We never slept together."

Her jaw dropped. "I — what?"

Killian tilted his head nonchalantly. "You and I never, in fact, had sex."

Anger flared up instantly and her eyes narrowed into a glare. "Then what the hell were you doing in my apartment?!"

"Oh, there was every intention to, love, believe me," he assured her, his hastiness to do so perhaps an attempt to assuage any fears of theft or the like, "every intention. You just, ah," he again let his hand drift awkwardly to the back of his head, "you'd had a bit too much to drink and right when we were… getting going, you passed out." Emma was too dumbfounded to even form a response, and she could feel a flush already beginning to colour her cheeks. She'd passed out? How mortifying! The corner of Killian's mouth quirked upwards. "Not the greatest compliment I've ever received, I assure you."

Emma was still wrapping her mind around the revelation, but all she knew was that she was feeling defensive — the quickest way to combat her embarrassment was through irritation, and frankly she had every reason to be pissed. Killian had been misleading her for days, in pretty much their every conversation! She was suddenly justifiably indignant, fired up at the man standing in front of her.

"Then — then why have you been going on about it so much for the past couple of days?"

Killian's voice rose slightly to mirror her own, meeting her fury with exasperation. "Because somebody being interested in you for emotional rather than sexual reasons is something you're so receptive to, is it?"

"You don't know me," Emma shot back fiercely.

"I know you better than you think," he retorted, "we actually talked, Emma. For a good hour or so before you grabbed me and kissed me. You were absolutely off your tits and refused to let me buy you any drinks but despite your best efforts, Swan, I was utterly charmed by you."

The ardour of his words left them hovering between them, filling what quickly became a particularly pregnant pause — now all of his cards were on the table, she supposed, he was waiting for her reaction. As it was she still couldn't entirely believe she'd been labouring under such a huge apprehension; she had never slept with Killian Jones. It at least explained why she couldn't remember it, but part of her couldn't help the feeling of deflation that threatened to overwhelm her. She and Killian weren't anything, and now they weren't even a one night stand. Although given how he'd omitted that particular piece of information in an attempt to use it to manipulate her into liking him, she didn't think he was somebody she particularly wanted to be connected to. He was just like every other man she bothered to let into her life.

"So… we never slept together?" Emma began slowly, wanting to make sure everything was becoming clearer in her mind.

Killian shook his head. "No."

"Meaning you're a liar and you're leaving town," she scoffed, "both clearly conducive points for starting a relationship."

In a moment, Killian had stepped as close to her as the counter between them would allow, and she was immediately grateful for the barrier.

"How about the fact that I like you — that I care about you?" he protested urgently, "And I know you care about me too — if you'd bloody stop thinking for a moment and just feel."

Emma was shaking her head, eyebrows knitting together but her entire posture firm. "I don't care about you, Killian," she responded, her tone turning to steel, her walls firmly in place. "I considered you. And now you're out of the question."

The transformation in his expression from a sense of dogged determination to one of undisguised hurt was painfully slow, and when his eyes finally rose to hers again she could see the way her words had stung. Feelings of remorse swelled up within her but she forced them down with a practiced ease — Killian Jones was nothing to her, and in a few days he'd be gone for good. His confession just made coming to terms with that a hell of a lot easier.

"I think you should go," Emma added gently. This time he didn't offer any means of protest.

In a few short seconds she was holding the door open for him, and Killian stepped past her without another word. As he began descending the stairs she felt compelled to offer him something else.

"Have a good tour, Killian."

He hesitated, but didn't turn around. After half a minute she heard the door to the building close, and Emma tried in vain to quell the disappointed feeling churning around in her gut.


Eeep, please don't hate me! the angst happened sorta by accident. I keep telling myself ~this~ chapter is when it's going to finish byt this keeps getting longer and longer! If you're enjoying this, let me know!