Watching Henry's face light up when he saw her standing next to Regina when the school bus arrived back at their school made sure she didn't regret it. And the sheer dumb luck that David had received his deputy, August's, request for an extended leave of absence because his ailing father needed him made sure she could afford it. And in a coincidence that felt almost plot-designed to keep her in Storybrooke, she was able to find a small cottage on the shore that the owner cut her a deal on because it had been sitting vacant for so long. And, most importantly, Walsh had barely even crossed her mind.
But standing in the loft with Mary Margaret and David, ankle already throbbing from limping on her feet for so long, getting ready to help them welcome their guests to their little "siore," she was suddenly very much questioning every turn of fate that had allowed her to follow through on her impulsiveness. She still hadn't told Graham. Her lease was still good on her apartment. It would be so easy to back out.
But before she could make a break for it, there was a knock at the door. Emma felt her anxiety spike as she heard Mary Margaret's voice carry from the kitchen, "Oh! Is it time already?" There was a pause, and Emma could easily picture Mary Margaret frantically tidying herself up. Then, "Oh, he's always early!"
Then she watched Mary Margaret breeze out of the kitchen towards the door, opening it just as David stepped out of the bathroom and moved to stand beside her to greet their apparently early guest.
The open door was blocking her line of sight as she heard Mary Margaret chirp, "Oh! I'm so glad you could make it! He said he wasn't sure if you'd feel up to it!"
Then a low voice spoke, colored with an Irish accent, much to her surprise, "Aye, but I've been feeling better the last few days, so I decided to brave it. You know how he worries when he isn't nearby. He'll be up in just a mo', had to do something in the car. And you look just as vibrant as always, lass. David, good to see you mate."
She watched David step forward to offer a hand to the still disembodied voice, "You too. Why don't you come on in and sit down for a bit. No point tiring yourself out when you don't have to."
David and Mary Margaret stepped aside to allow their first guest in, and Emma couldn't help the curiosity that was sneaking up the crack of her anxiety. What she saw was not what she was expecting.
A man slowly stepped forward, his large frame radiating power, save for the fact that he was practically skin and bones. She had a feeling in his prime, this man would have been an intimidating presence, but the withered step with which he walked and the cane he clutched tightly in his hand to assist as his left foot dragged slightly on the ground negated any of that effect.
She wasn't really sure what to do. Should she step forward and introduce herself, or wait until he got to the couch or wherever he was heading?
But the choice was made for her when the man looked up and spotted her awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, using the throbbing pain to distract herself. She was shocked that despite his emaciated frame, his ice blue eyes were clear and sharp. It was apparent that while his body may have lost its strength, his mind had not.
He shot her a charming smile as he raised an eyebrow at her, "Well, hello there lass. Who might you be?"
She awkwardly shifted forward, going to offer her hand to shake, before realizing the cane was in his right hand. So she got stuck with her hand halfway out, and could not see a way out of it.
The man was absolutely no help. He made no move to reach out for her hand, and regarded her with his lips tilted up in a barely-suppressed smile of amusement as she tried to figure out what to do next.
As the seconds ticked by, Emma felt her face heat up violently, and she attempted to try and turn the aborted motion in a casual sort of half wave. "Hi. Good to meet you."
His eyes twinkled as he continued to regard her, and Emma was on the brink of just running out the door, party and guests be damned, when the man broke out into a wide smile, chuckling as he switched his cane to his left hand, extending his right to her.
"Aye, it's good to meet you lass."
She was thrown by the action but stuck her hand back out regardless, taking his hand to shake it. His palm was rough, but his muscles frail. Still, she could feel a sort of strength of spirit in his hands, like he could command his body to its former strength through force of will alone. She went to give it a shake, but he gently held her hand and brought the back of her fingers to his lips in the most gallant gesture that Emma had ever experienced.
His blue eyes sparkled as he watched her face, and Emma couldn't help the returning blush that suffused her face. "And may I say that the pleasure is all mine, lass."
His breath was warm against the back of her hand, and she pulled it back as soon as he loosened his grip, stuffing her hands into her back pockets as she dipped her head in awkward acknowledgement of his words.
"Um... thanks."
"Bloody hell Liam, leave the poor lass alone."
Emma's head snapped back to the door to take in the newcomer, something catching in the back of her mind at the voice. Oh ...fuck.
Emma could scarcely believe her eyes. The man was tall and fit, with dark hair and stubble. He had an earring and his whole form screamed bad boy…. Except for the argyle sweater vest and the brown glasses perched on his nose. She had never, in her whole life, looked at a man and thought wow he's just… adorable.
She watched as he looked her over, a lovely pink suffusing his cheeks as his mouth dropped open ever so slightly, before he cleared his throat and shook his head slightly. Then he quickly turned to Mary Margaret, offering her a glass baking pan covered in tin foil.
"Apologies milady, I had forgotten this down in the car. I hope you don't mind that I made the strawberry-rhubarb crisp again."
Mary Margaret took the pan with a knowing smile and easy poise. "Killian, you know as well as I do that half of the people coming are only showing up because they knew you'd bring something."
The man went even more pink as he raised a hand to scratch behind his ear. "Um, well that's kind of you to say, lass, but I'm sure it's not-"
"Yes, it is," interrupted David with a laugh, "Hell, the only reason I let her throw these damn things is because you bring dessert." Emma watched Mary Margaret turn with a raised eyebrow at her husband, who then sent her an appeasing smile. "Not that you need my permission to do anything, dear."
She nodded primly. "That's what I thought."
Emma continued to watch the scene unfold, still wrong footed and hyper aware of the two additions within the space of the loft. She didn't know what to do, or who these people were, and she had already fucked up once and she was probably an embarrassment to David and Ma-
"For shame, Mary Margaret, not offering us proper introductions to the lady."
Emma turned to look at the man beside her, Liam, and noticed a strange sort of smile on his face, an almost mischievous undertone lacing his words.
Mary Margaret waived her free hand at him. "Oh hush Liam, I was getting around to it. Emma, this is Liam and Killian Jones. David took over for Liam when he stepped down as Sheriff, and Killian works with me at school. Liam and Killian, this is our good friend and Henry's birth mother, Emma."
Emma felt her awkwardness fall away into anger as Mary Margaret callously threw out her relationship to Henry. She attempted to tamp it down and offer a sincere nod to both gentlemen. Mary Margaret did not seem to notice anything amiss and immediately turned into the hostess, encouraging the two gentleman to sit down and asking for drink orders. David wandered into the kitchen to give Mary Margaret a hand, leaving Emma to awkwardly stand in the middle of the room with nothing to do.
She hated feeling like this. She was used to having her feet firmly under her, but her decision to stay was so out of her norm that any consequences of that decision constantly threw her further and further off balance. She didn't like people, and she especially didn't like small town people.
She was aware that she was going to be the curio of the evening, but if Mary Margaret continued to flippantly reveal her true reason for being in town, Emma had a feeling that she would become the town's hottest new piece of gossip. And Emma did not like having her life discussed among strangers.
With a sigh, she ran a hand through her hair, trying to master her emotions enough to have a calm conversation with Mary Margaret, who she was sure was bound to take personal offence. As she squared her shoulders, she noticed that both gentlemen were eyeing her from their seats across the room on the couch. Liam had a puckish look about him while Killian's brows seemed to be puckered in either confusion or consideration.
She sent them a scowl as she moved to the kitchen, causing both men to drop their eyes. There was something about them, Killian in particular, that was nagging the back of her mind. Mary Margaret was working at the stove, while David was rummaging in the fridge. He straightened as she came into the room and opened his mouth to ask her something, but snapped his mouth shut when he saw her expression.
"I'll just take these drinks out to the guys." He then quickly made his exit.
Emma sucked in a breath, "Mary Margaret?"
"Hmmmmm?" She didn't look up from where she was stirring.
"Don't ever do that again."
She hadn't intended her tone to come out so harshly, but she was just too angry. At her words Mary Margaret froze, turning wide, innocent eyes to her in confusion.
"What do you mean, Emma? What did I do?"
Emma took another calming breath, "I understand that you enjoy being friends with everybody, but that does not give you the right to hand out information to people without permission. I never gave you permission to tell anyone about it, and I would think my actions up to now have made it abundantly clear that Henry's parentage was not something I wanted spread around."
Mary Margaret's eyes began to shine with tears. "Are you ashamed of it?" she asked with horror.
Emma bit back the harsher retort she wanted to say, reminding herself that despite her irritation, Mary Margaret was still one of her dearest friends.
"Of course I'm not. Henry is my son and I am proud of that. BUT," she raised her voice slightly to cut off Mary Margaret, "just because I don't feel the need to hide it, doesn't mean I feel like sharing it. It's my life, and my story, and my past. People who don't know me don't need to know anything about me. Do you understand?"
Mary Margaret's eyes still glittered with tears and confusion settled on her features, "But…"
"Mary Margaret, this isn't up for debate. What you think people should or shouldn't know is not what matters here. What matters is what I think. Because what you tell people directly affects me, so I am the only person who gets to decide who is told."
"But people will want to know that you are related to Henry so that they-" she started.
"This isn't about them!" The words came out much louder than intended, and she heard the low voices from the other room go silent. Emma lightly closed her eyes, suddenly wishing that she had never made this decision. The decision to stay. To try and be a part of something.
Without opening her eyes, she continued, "What other people want should have no bearing on whether or not you keep a secret. The only person whose opinion matters is the one who told it to you. I'm sorry to shout, but I've reached my limit over the last few days. And," she hesitated, but something in her told her that if this wasn't firmly nipped in the bud now, Mary Margaret could ruin something later, so she soldiered on.
"And if I can't trust you to keep my private life private, I can't be friends with you any more. I've cut enough people out of my life in the last couple days, I don't want to add one more. But if you can't respect this, and promise me you won't do it again, I'll have to say goodbye here."
She opened her eyes to see Mary Margaret's wide with horror and what look like offence and Emma tamped down the guilt that was threatening to rear its head. She should have known this was a bad idea. Nothing in her life lasts. Why should this be any different? Henry was probably better off without her anyway. She should just pack up and move on. Keep running. Walsh was right.
No one could love a bitch like you. Not even your own parents. I'm starting to understand why that guy sent you to jail….No one could ever love you. Once an orphan, always an orphan.
When Mary Margaret made no move to speak, she just sighed and nodded, turning away, her ankle giving a particularly painful throb.
"I think I should get going."
"No Emma," Mary Margaret's hand gripped her upper arm, "no please don't go." Emma turned to look at her and was surprised that the tears had been replaced by a sort of steely determination. "You are right. I'm sorry. It wasn't my secret to tell. I promise you I will try to never do it again."
Emma raised an eyebrow at the qualifier, despite the blossoming of warmth within her. No one ever listened to her, and no one certainly went out of their way to change for her.
Mary Margaret offered a shy smile, "Well, I don't want to make a promise that I may end up breaking. But I promise to try my hardest not to. And if I do, I'll be sure to let you know as soon as I can. So that you know. If it means that much to you, it means that much to me."
Emma couldn't help her smile as she whispered, "Thank you Mary Margaret."
The smile she received back was one Emma had never had directed at her before. She'd seen it in movies, and in the couples she watched on the streets, but never at her. It was the smile that came out of healed wounds, out of communication and mended bridges. It was the smile of someone who loved her.
Guided by an impulse she'd never felt, she pulled Mary Margaret into a tight hug, not really knowing what else to do to express the emotions running through her, not caring about the pain in her leg at the step. Mary Margaret just squeezed her back.
When they stepped apart, Emma felt like her soul was lighter somehow, buoyed up by this knowledge that her wishes would be heard and respected. That she was worth respecting.
"So," she said, smile still in place, "what can I help with?"
The evening passed much more enjoyably after that. Emma stayed mostly in the kitchen, acting as hostess in Mary Margaret's stead, while the woman herself socialized with her work friends and their partners. She used her throbbing ankle as a point of focus as she attempted to keep herself from limping. It made a perfect distraction from the irritation of small talk.
True to her word, Mary Margaret simply introduced her as a friend who was staying with them for a little while and nothing beyond that, and Emma was able to dodge the pointed questions from the noisier of the attendees.
It was as the food began to get put away that Emma found herself in a conundrum. She wouldn't be able to hide away much longer, now that the excuse of tending the kitchen was useless. She finished putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, deciding that a glass of something other than wine might be in order.
She began her search in the lower cabinets, and kept rummaging until her fingers found the glass outline of what could only be a whiskey bottle in the cabinet above the fridge. She stood on her tiptoes to try and get her fingers around the farthest edge but they just kept sliding off the glass. In a last ditch effort she stood on one foot to lengthen her reach and was immediately reminded of the state of her ankle.
"Fuck." She dropped back down to the ground with a wince as she stepped back, "Fucking thing."
"Sounds like you might need a drink to get a drink."
She whipped around to see the hot adorable guy that she had most certainly not been avoiding most of the night leaning casually on the door frame, legs crossed, the strangest mix of hot and dangerous and calm and moderated. Killian.
"Yeah, well …." She wasn't really sure how to rebut his words, and didn't quite realize it until the sentence had already started coming out of her mouth. "See if you can do any better." There was something so...familiar about him. It was throwing her off.
A dark eyebrow crawled up his face from behind his glasses, "Is that a challenge love? Because I do love a challenge." In a move that looked rehearsed, he shoved off from the door frame with a swing of his hips. Emma refused to back down as he sauntered over to her until he was standing right in front of her.
As he came to a stop, the pressure pushed a gust of air towards her. Against her will, she got a deep breath of his smell and had to resist closing her eyes to inhale another. They stood, something like an impasse settling between them for a moment. Then a light not unlike the one that had glittered in his brother's earlier began to sparkle in his eyes. That was her only warning before he took the last step forward, practically pressing them together. Keeping eye contact with her, he pressed her trapped body into the refrigerator as he reached above her head.
She couldn't do anything but stare up at him. There was no threat to his body language and despite literally having nowhere to go, there was just something really non-threatening about the span of argyle sweater that was stretching out before her. But his eyes were a different story.
She had to remind herself to breathe as he continued his stretch, especially when he brought his hand up to brace himself against the fridge beside her. She should have felt caged in, but it only lasted a moment before he leaned back.
"There we are, love." It was soft as a whisper as it caressed her face and she had to blink several times before she realized that he was holding the bottle between them.
She cleared her throat, "Um. Thanks." Then she glanced down, eyebrows flying up in surprise. "Wow, Johnny Walker Blue. David's been hiding the good stuff!"
"Indeed he has." The words were murmured so softly that she almost thought she'd imagined them, but when she glanced back up at them, Killian's eyes were assessing the bottle in his hand, though the tips of his ears were a bit red.
Unsure what to say to that, she just grabbed the bottle, scoffing at herself in her head when she carefully avoided actually touching him. Quickly, she went back to a cabinet on the other side of the kitchen and grabbed two glasses, screwing the top off the bottle to pour them each a healthy measure.
Killian seemed to linger in his spot by the refrigerator for a moment, eyes flicking from the glasses on the counter before her to the door and back, and Emma could detect some sort of internal debate. Not wanting to see what decision he made and not sure why it mattered to her, Emma put the bottle down to grab one of the glasses, and tossed back half of it in one go, closing her eyes to savor the musky burn as whiskey dispersed in her chest.
By the time she opened her eyes, Killian seemed to have made up his mind, and was making his way across the kitchen, regarding her with curious eyes. He came to a stop on the other side of the island and grabbed the remaining glass, tilting the glass to her in a silent toast. She clinked her glass with his, watching with unneeded focus as he brought the glass up to his lips, closing his own eyes, and swallowed deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing.
Watching the completely innocent action had Emma tossing back the rest of her own drink in a quick gulp, quickly reaching for the bottle to give herself a refill. She glanced up at Killian, an eyebrow raised in question. He shook his head, swirling his half a glass around and around as he watched her, lounging with one hip braced against the counter, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows.
There was a thick silence, and Emma was just deciding whether or not it was an awkward one when he sucked in a breath.
"So, you're Henry's birth mum then?"
The warmth of the scotch suddenly thickened into anger as she narrowed her eyes, trying to decide what he meant with the question.
"So what if I am?" she snapped.
He blinked at her tone, "Nothing, just that he's a wonderful kid. Extremely bright for a lad his age. Very imaginative."
"Oh," she deflated, not sure what to do with his sincere praise.
"Aye, ask anyone. I'm sure they'll all sing his praises."
Emma looked him over, "So you are one of his teachers then?"
He dipped his head, continuing to absentmindedly swirl his glass, "Aye, I teach history and drama, as well as some after school clubs."
She couldn't help the skeptical grin, "You teach drama?"
His eyes flashed up to hers as he feigned insult, "I'll have you know, I am a fabulous actor!"
She raised an eyebrow, "Right. Sure. Of course."
He opened his mouth but before he could get a word out, another voice carried into the room.
"EMMA SWAN YOU ARE NOT DRINKING MY BEST BOTTLE OF SCOTCH ARE YOU?"
David was standing at the doorway looking horrified. Emma quickly tossed back her second glass, "Nope. See my glass is empty. I wasn't drinking anything!"
She turned to share a conspiratorial look with Killian.
His face was white and he was looking at her with an expression she couldn't decipher. She was so startled that she couldn't even ask him what was wrong before David slapped him on the shoulder, "Ah well thanks for saving me some buddy!" as he pulled Killian's glass from his still frozen hand and tossed the amber liquid back.
Emma glanced away from Killian's face to watch David for just a half a moment, and when her eyes flicked back, the expression was gone, a faux irritated one taking its place, "Ah come on mate, you can get your own glass!" before snatching it out of David's hand.
He turned back to her, "Waddaya say love, grab the bottle and we'll ditch this joint?" in a painful American accent.
"Whaddaya say Em's? You grab the bottle, I'll grab the cash, and we'll ditch this joint."
Suddenly she understood exactly why Killian seemed so familiar. The boyish charm, the roguish danger he emitted, tempered by a well concocted air of innocence.
He was just like Neal.
"Actually, I need to get going."
Both of the men before her blinked in surprise at her sudden change.
"Emma?" David asked quietly. Killian just eyed her with concern.
She gave them both a false smile, "Sorry, seems like the last couple days just caught up with me. Thanks for the booze."
Without further ado, she limped back into the main room, deftly avoiding the other guests, grabbed her bag from where she'd left it that morning, and bolted out the door. It didn't matter that she didn't have anywhere to go. She just needed to go somewhere. Away from the ghosts.
No one could love a bitch like you. Not even your own parents. I'm starting to understand why that guy sent you to jail….No one could ever love you. Once an orphan, always an orphan.
I'm sorry, miss but you need to come with us. You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law.
I love you Ems. I love you too Neal. Then would you help me with something?
Anything you say or do will be used against you.
