Chapter 7
When Emma pulled up in her yellow bug a few days later, Killian felt his face flush. He hadn't expected to see her again so soon and was suddenly very conscious of the neon vest he was wearing to escort the students onto the bus. Yellow was not his colour. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing down the strands that had fallen out of line. He could feel her watching him from the car as she waited for the bus to pull away.
With Neal back in town, he was surprised to see that Emma had stopped by but he couldn't deny that he was happy to see her—though his cheeks continued to become a deeper shade of red as he thought of that night. Had he overstepped? Had the comfort they sought in each other been merely an act of desperation after being in the world alone for so long?
Emma stepped out of the car and approached him. As she walked, her hair bounced behind her. He was pleased to see that it had been washed and—did it always shine like that? Did it always glow as if the sun was constantly shining on her? He smoothed back his hair again, as if he could brush away its darkness that threatened to drown out her light.
When she was in front of him, she simply said 'hey' and stuck out her hand to shake his. Killian couldn't help but feel disappointed at the gesture. It fell flat in comparison to the intimacy they had previously shared. Nevertheless, he gave her a quick and firm shake while reminding himself that he was a professional. In this setting, they were just another teacher and parent.
Emma tilted her head, her hand caught in mid shake. "You have a beard."
Killian released her hand as his own flew to his face. Sure enough there was stubble creeping down from his cheeks and along his jaw. No wonder the mothers seemed extra flirtatious today. "I guess I forgot to shave. Regina will surely have my head for this." Emma's amused smile fell back into a straight line. A pause and then: "What brings you hear today, Ms. Swan?"
Emma stared a moment longer before lifting up the duffel bag she had carried from the car. She gave it a shake. "Henry forgot some things. I'm supposed to meet him. Have you seen him come out yet?"
As if on cue, Henry Cassidy ran out the front doors, his backpack bobbing behind him. "Mom," he shouted gleefully.
Emma smiled and bent down to pull her son into a bear hug. Henry had been dealing with Graham's loss better than she had expected. Over the time Emma and Killian had been practicing he had gotten close with Graham and she was worried that he would take the loss hard. Looking at him now, he hardly showed any trace of sadness. She was proud of him. Her childhood had been unpleasant, but what she wouldn't have given to go back to the childish innocence she once had where 'death' was just a word.
"What are you doing here? Am I staying with you tonight? Did dad go back to New York?"
"Sorry, kid, but I don't think your dad is going back anytime soon, so you're going to have to toughen it out a bit. I've brought you a few things that you left at my place."
Henry didn't take the bag. He didn't even look at it. He began to pout. "It's not fair. I never get to see you. Why can't you come stay with us? Dad's place is big enough."
Emma frowned. She hated having this conversation. It only reminded her of how helpless she was to Neal and his father. "You know I'm not allowed, Henry. You can thank gramps for that but you have my number." She cupped Henry's chin in her hand. "Call me anytime, Henry. I will always answer."
Behind them a car door slammed shut. Killian looked away from the mother-son scene and watched as Neal Cassidy strode over. He was wearing a long black coat with a blue scarf wound tightly around his neck. Standing next to Emma, Killian noticed a slight age difference between them. It could hardly be more than a few years, yet Neal's hair had already begun to spot with grey.
"Neal Cassidy," he introduced himself. As he extended his hand to meet Killian's, a silver Rolex peaked out from beneath his sleeve.
"Killian Jones."
"Ah so you're Henry's favourite teacher. It's nice to finally meet you. Love the vest by the way."
"Neal," Emma scolded when she saw Killian's jaw tense. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to burn the blasted thing.
"What?" Neal matched the intensity of Emma's stare. "Can't I give a guy a compliment or are you going to turn that into a problem too?"
Before Emma could reply, Killian attempted to change the topic. "So what is it that you do, Mr. Cassidy? I understand your father is in the pawn shop business."
Neal broke away from Emma's stare and smiled. "That's right. 'Mr. Gold's' he calls it. He's a big name around New York but in all honesty that stuff is so boring to me. Definitely not the life I want. Although, it does have its perks." He glanced at his watch as if to check the time. It took all of Killian's power not to roll his eyes. "I actually work over at the radio station. Maybe you've heard of me."
The pieces clicked together as Killian finally recognized Neal's voice from one of those morning talk shows he always changed the station on. He never could stomach more than a few seconds of their useless jabber about celebrity affairs or which industries the millennials were destroying.
"I'm afraid not," Killian stated matter-of-factly, a smug smile playing at his lips as he watched Neal's eye twitch.
Emma snorted, finding satisfaction in the way Neal's face contorted. He was visibly distressed at this turn of events but tried to shake it off as best he could. "Well the people in New York have. They want to me to bring it over to the Big Apple. We're working out the details of my contract as we speak."
Emma turned on Neal. "You didn't tell me that you had a contract."
"And I'm supposed to tell you everything?"
"Listen, I don't care if you stub your toe or get a papercut, but if it something that means, I don't know, relocating, it's worth a mention."
Henry looked up at his parents, not fully understanding where the conversation was going. "Relocating?" he asked, his question falling on unhearing ears.
Killian shuffled, wondering what he was still doing there. This was clearly a conversation meant to be had in private. It was also one he wished the two parents would never have. Emma had just lost Graham. Was she going to lose her son too? He felt as if he should say something, to change the topic once more, but Neal had already bent down to pick up the duffel bag from the ground, signalling the end of the discussion.
"We'll talk about it later. Henry, let's go."
He didn't wait for his son to follow. He threw the bag into the back seat of his silver Mercedes Cabriolet and started the engine. Emma hugged her son and said her farewells. This was always the worst part: watching Henry hop into the car and drive off with his father. As they did, a little voice inside her whispered: Is this the battle you finally lose?
"Sorry you had to see that." Now it was Emma's turn to be embarrassed. There was something different about having Killian witness her arguments with Neal firsthand as opposed to overhearing them on the phone. It felt too real, his presence a testimony to a battle she had long been fighting and steadily losing over the years.
"Not a problem." An uncomfortable silence passed between them. "He's a real piece of work that Cassidy isn't he? Do you think it's time to get a lawyer involved?"
"If you know one who takes IOUs, then I'd be more than willing to try."
"Alas, I do not. Though I'm sure it'll all work out." Killian had never been really good with advice and he wasn't about to start by pretending to know anything about custody battles. Although, if Neal had a steady income and a father with deep pockets, it didn't seem likely to him that Emma would be put into a judge's good graces. Of course Emma knew this too. It hung around them, heavy and frozen in the soon to be winter air.
Emma shrugged and rubbed absentmindedly at her arms in a vain attempt to keep warm. Killian watched as the light that had begun to return to her eyes slowly faded out. He could tell that she was going to retreat back into herself—and back into her apartment. He wouldn't let that happen.
"Do you want to get a drink later?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Killian realized that a bar was probably not the best place to take Emma—especially when her boyfriend had been murdered at one not long ago. He groaned inwardly. Why was it that wherever Emma was concerned, he always abandoned all rational thought? Once again he became hyperaware of his vest as it if were a flashing neon sign that said 'World's Stupidest Person'.
"I don't know if that's a good idea." She shivered and blew into her hands. A dark cloud formed in her head and she could almost hear her bed calling out to her, telling her to come home and to never leave again.
"Come on, love. I'm sure Mary Margaret and David would love to see you."
At the mention of her friends, Emma perked up. She had a faint memory of Mary Margaret tucking her into bed the night of Graham's death. She had promised not to leave her alone as she stroked back her friend's hair. Emma had fallen asleep to the sound of her humming and had woken up to the smell of bacon. She didn't remember how long she had stayed; all Emma knew was that she owed her friend an apology after having skillfully dodged her calls and texts every day following that night.
"Maybe."
Killian took it as a small victory. The irony of him seeking out Emma's company when a mere few weeks prior he would have done anything to never see her again was not lost on him. He had begun to get used to Emma and her carefree ways in the time since their first encounter. With a start, he realized that her positive attitude had rubbed off on him. His sleepless nights had been becoming less frequent over the past couple of weeks and he had noticed that he was smiling more often. It was as if they had swapped personalities—a poor exchange on her part—and he wouldn't stand for it. He had to get her spark back.
"Mr. Jones," a commanding voice called out from behind him.
Killian turned to find Regina standing at the door, arms crossed. The queen beckons. "Keep an eye on your phone, Ms. Swan," he whispered conspiratorially before darting off to meet the principal.
"Mr. Jones, please follow me to my office."
Mr. Jones. The formality made Killian tense. He felt as if he was about to receive a detention. Despite spending many a time in the principal's office back home in England, there was something about being called to Regina Mill's office that made Killian nervous. Regina closed the door behind them, but not before he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Astrid's grimace as she made eye contact with him. He thought he could hear her say 'poor guy' as she walked past.
He took a seat in front of her desk, careful not to disturb the order that had been so carefully created. His leg began to shake against his will. Why did he feel so guilty? Did Regina know he had spent the night with Emma? Nothing had happened—or at least that's what he kept telling himself. They had cried, passed out on the couch, and woken up perfectly intertwined with each other. It was normal stuff really, he tried to convince himself, just friends being friends. The fact that he had never felt more comfortable or at peace in his life than he had in that moment, with Emma wrapped up in his arms, was beside the point. Surely Regina hadn't found out.
"Killian, can you please stop looking as if I'm about to tell you I ran over your puppy?"
Killian blinked slowly and forced his leg to stop its incessant shaking. "I apologize. Too much caffeine."
"You might want to switch to decaf." She opened her planner and turned it around so that Killian could have a better look. She tapped a square with her pen. "What does it say on tomorrow's date?"
He bent over and cursed under his breath. The school plays were being performed that day. He hadn't forgotten per se. The kids had been rehearsing for weeks and were as ready as they would ever be. No, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that he still had a stack of flyers and tickets that had not been distributed and sold to parents. He didn't even want to think about the set materials and props in his classroom storage that he had conveniently forgotten about.
"Regina, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I—"
"What's done is done. I should have been more diligent in my duties. It's my fault for volunteering you to play in that band. I should have reminded you but you seemed happier and I didn't want to take that away from you. However, once again I have let my emotions get in the way of my job." Regina sighed and clasped her hands together in front of her. "You know that we rely heavily on the sales from these performances to contribute to the extra-curricular funds. In all honesty, the sales are not great this term and without the revenue from your class, we lost at least another thousand dollars. I'm going to need you to call your students' parents tonight and try to sell some more tickets. They can pick them up at the front tomorrow evening."
"Of course. It's only fair."
"And you'll need to head over to the auditorium and help Mr. Thomas with the set up on stage. Ms. Boyd is under the weather and couldn't help with the preparations."
Killian glanced at the clock on the wall beside him. He would be there for hours.
Regina followed his gaze. "Do you have somewhere to be?"
Killian squared his shoulders and shook his head. "No not at all."
Emma felt guilty for even daring to look forward to a night out, not when Graham's death was still fresh in her mind. How long do people normally mourn for, she wondered on her way home from Castlespire. She still felt like utter crap, as if something inside her had been carved and hollowed out, and even though she was always mere moments away from breaking into tears, a little part of her thought that this would be good for her.
She waited a couple hours for a text from Killian that would never come. It wasn't like him to not be punctual, even with his texts. She picked at some leftovers and decided to text Mary Margaret who was over the moon to hear that her best friend wanted to go out. Mary Margaret confirmed the plans, adding that she hadn't heard from Killian either, and told Emma to dress nicely.
Emma stood in front of her closet for twenty minutes trying to determine what to wear. Usually she would throw on a pair of jeans or leggings, maybe a skirt if she had done the laundry. She glanced over at the pile of clothes by her bed—definitely no skirt. Tonight, the decision on what to wear was more complex than ever before. Mary Margaret hadn't told her where they were going, and she still hadn't received a text from Killian. She was going into the night blind. For some reason, she decided to wear a pale pink dress, the one at the back of her closet that had never seen the light of day. It was short enough for a sleazy bar, but conservative enough for a slightly high-end lounge. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, leaving a little volume at the front as she did, and slipped into a pair of silver heels. Her feet would protest in an hour, but for now they could suck it up.
Just as she was about to start her makeup, her phone vibrated. She practically leapt over her bed to answer and found herself disappointed to see a text from David telling her that they were a few minutes away. She sat up and sent a quick message to Killian.
ES: u meetin us there?
Emma carefully applied her eyeliner.
ES: hey did u throw ur phone away or wat
She painted her lips a soft red.
ES: if u didnt want 2 come out then u could have said
Just a little bit of blush.
ES: this was ur idea u know that right?
She grabbed her keys.
ES: whatever. i don't need your pity. have a good night.
She knew she could have done without the last text, but Emma was angry. He was the one who had come over to comfort her. He was the one who had invited her out. The nerve he had to ignore her now after everything. It hadn't even crossed her mind that he could have been busy—or worse. Emma was suddenly too angry with Killian to think rationally. She took a deep breath and placed her phone on silent before tossing it into her bag, determined not to let anything get in her way of having a good time.
