Summary: One sandwich and two letters make for a hell of a Friday.


"I tell you, I'm just not sure that Jean is working out." Zelena exhaled a frustrated sigh, gesturing over her lunch tray. "She came with high commendations from her school, so how,how could she struggle with organizing her Rolodex and replacing her typewriter ink?"

Ruby quirked a brow. "How long has she been here? One week? Maybe two?"

Zelena rolled her eyes, reaching for her fork. "Seven business days."

"Well, goodness," Ruby shook her head, reaching for her milk, "maybe cut the girl a little slack. I know I wasn't tops at my job within the first two weeks. The professional world is a big adjustment from school."

The redhead shot the brunette a sharp look. "That may be how you run the East Pool, butI have more exacting standards for the West Typing Pool."

Emma took another bite of her sandwich. She knew exactly how fastidiously Zelena ran her typing pool. The woman was a hallmark of cold efficiency, but, unfortunately, she was a wicked gossip. And she made no secret about it.

Zelena cut into her cafeteria meatloaf as she continued. "I mean, everyone knows what level of workmanship to expect out of my pool, and I will not have some little out-of-school girl ruin that reputation. Especially not with such a high profile mission preparing to launch."

Ruby hummed softly. "And there have been nice evaluations coming in for the archives."

Emma raised a shocked eyebrow. "Please don't tell me you've been looking at records that you shouldn't."

Ruby leaned in close over the remains of her lunch with a mischievous smile. "Well, I had to find some way of telling which files should be archived where. And let me tell you, ladies," she giggled with a salacious edge, "our British bachelor is a hallmark of strength, stamina. Virility. Mmm, what more could you ask for?"

"Oh, please, Ruby," Emma scoffed, frowning down at her own tray, "we're eating."

Zelena laughed with appreciation. "And nothing about what Ruby said sounds unappetizing," she smiled around her fork, pausing to chew the bite, "in fact, I'm keeping my eye on the medical corridor. Just need the right moment to feign an important memo so I can burst in during an EKG eval."

Ruby laughed, shaking her head. "Shameless. Absolutely shameless. Surely, there are easier ways to see him shirtless?"

"Not without a more personal invitation," Zelena shook her head, "but it's curious – for all his generous words, I haven't heard of one lady he's entertained since arriving here."

Was that really the case? Or perhaps, he was just playing it discrete. Media attention had reached a fever-pitch after the press conference and every news outlet clambered for shots of the astronauts to share with rabid viewers. Maybe he didn't want to splay casual dalliances all over the front pages – or perhaps he was under a mandate not to casually entertain until after the mission.

Ruby finished the last of her milk. "He seems like a gentleman, despite his flirty demeanor. He probably just doesn't want to subject some poor girl – or several of them – to the media scrutiny. I mean, could you imagine!"

Zelena hummed deliciously. "I'd gladly take the media speculation if it meant getting to have him all to myself in the in-between times. He's just gorgeous – his eyes could hold me for hours." She waved her knife idly around. "And if I do find out someone in my pool has been secretly entertaining him, then there will be words. That is not the reputation I want associated with the West Pool. We may be career-girls, but we are, first and foremost, ladies."

Emma scoffed, not wanting to open the box of Zelena's hypocrisy against her ladies chasing Jones while she schemed to have Jones all for herself. "You know, how about we talk about something other than Captain Jones?"

Zelena turned a sharp eye on Emma "Well, excuse those of us single ladies for trying to better our prospects. Not all of us can be so fortunate to see the assistant PR manager."

Emma's lips quirked with a hesitant smile, a wave of nausea rolling through her. "That wasn't quite what I meant-"

"What's it been now, hmm? Eight months of your relationship bliss?" Zelena spat the last word with bitterness.

A spike of anxiety lanced through Emma. She wanted to tell Zelena that it wasn't all roses. That Walsh had proposed and she didn't know how she could say yes. The thought terrified her. Once she said yes, she couldn't leave, she couldn't run. She'd be trapped…and surely, the fact that that word sprang to mind should be a sign.

Things with him had been going so well and four little words ruined it all. Will you marry me?

She steadfastly didn't hear Jones' words in the back of her mind. She refused. It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.

"Alright, Zelena," Ruby intervened, rolling her eyes with annoyance, "leave Emma alone. She wasn't bragging about her relationship with Walsh. Come on, she's never done that. But I, on the other hand, have no such reservations! Victor is finally taking me out on Friday night!"

"Victor?" Zelena's eyes widened. "The flight surgeon?" She scoffed with derision at Ruby's blinding enthusiasm. "Of course, you would manage to snag a doctor. No man can resist those doe eyes of yours."

"A well-fitted skirt helps, too," Ruby admitted, "but he was sitting at that table over there, looking so very alone. So, I sat right down and helped distract him."

"Ugh," Zelena shook her head, "I can almost see the wedding invitations now. Actually, no - I'm going to echo what Emma said - we're eating, so you can stop making me want to lose my lunch."


Killian took a deep breath as he exited the Command Service Module - CSM - simulator. His hand tugged at the zipper of his training coveralls, enjoying the rush of cool air over his heated skin. Not that he was claustrophobic by any means, but it was always refreshing to breathe air that didn't feel quite so stale.

He kept replaying that last vector adjustment in his mind. The LM had been coming in just a touch too high and a smidge too slow, and the space between two breaths before he'd fully realized it had eaten into more margin than he was comfortable with. He'd freely admit to the split-second of sweating as he engaged the CSM thrusters to compensate his own vector and velocity for rendezvous. But if he'd delayed any further, there would have been too much distance between him and the LM. Eating into the fuel reserve to achieve successful docking was a conversation no one wanted to have.

He glanced over as David and Robin finished descending from the LM simulator. A fine sheen of sweat decorated Robin's brow but he looked otherwise composed. If David was concerned at the simulation run, nothing showed on his face. But that's just how the man was – a consummate leader who didn't let his emotions get the better of him.

In truth, the simulation had been a success. It had fallen well within the acceptable guidelines for the stated metrics. The engineers and techs overseeing and supporting the simulation had even sent their congratulations across the headsets as the simulation ended.

But Killian knew from the set of David's jaw and the furrowed line on Robin's forehead that it wasn't enough. He arched a brow as his crewmates approached. "Cutting it a little close there, mate?"

Robin shook his head, annoyance pinching his mouth. "The thruster command relay had a contact delay. Shortened our burn by half a second."

"And I didn't anticipate what that would do to your position quick enough." Yes, Killian had been well educated on average synapse response times of the human brain and the microseconds of unrecoverable lost time from associated feedback loops, but he hadn't fully anticipated it during the simulation. He needed to run the vector math quicker.

David looked between his crew. "I'll come out and say it – we got lucky. Yes, we may have been within the acceptable operating margins, but syncing our precise orbital velocities and position vectors is something we do in our sleep. We attack it like that, then if we hit an unrecoverable curve ball, we can have those discussions on fuel reserves." His face warmed with an encouraging smile. "It's been over two months since we last had a flub in a simulator – and frankly speaking, I'd be more worried if we did just breeze through these last sims."

Killian shook his head with a teasing smirk. "You Yanks and your baseball sayings…I'll never understand."

"Careful, limey." Robin's face brightened in a playful smirk to match. "That's our national heritage, now."

"National heritage with firm roots in the English sport of Cricket. A popular pastime right around the time you upstarts started to rebel."

Robin chuckled softly. "And look where it got us today."

"No complaints here, mate."

David shook his head with a quiet laugh. "I'll watch my mouth next time if I know it'll set you two off. We'll have four days from here to the moon to wax poetic on history, but for now, let's reset. It's Friday afternoon but the weekend doesn't start until we nail those velocities and vectors without breaking a sweat."

Killian nodded along with Robin. It made the most sense – if he could get it right this time, then he wouldn't spend the whole weekend replaying it in his mind, calculating how he could have done it differently. Better to just put his calculations into action.

David nodded over at the sim techs. "Hey – reset the simulation, please. We're going to run it again. None of us were happy with that last performance."

The lead tech spoke back, voicing dissent, and David looked between his crewmates. "Take 10, guys – water and a break. Then, we'll go again." He stepped over to the sim console, lowering his voice for a conversation with the lead teach.

Killian craned his neck, hearing the audible pop and feeling the satisfying pull on the stiff muscle. A bottle of water did indeed sound like a good idea. He stepped down off the sim platform, rolling a shoulder as he reached for his water bottle. The cool slide down his throat brought a nice relief as he scanned the windows that overlooked the hallway, noting the hustle of various people. He couldn't deny that he hoped to catch a glance of Emma. Seeing her always brightened his day, so fortunately, he did get to see her several times throughout any given day.

Initially, of course, her beauty struck him. And that was soon matched not only with her smarts that she was careful to show, but also with her sharp tongue that she wasn't always careful to hide. But what really stuck with him was the underlying sense of loss about her – at the look in her eyes that more than suggested she couldn't trust anyone That no matter his intentions, there would always be suspicion, hesitation.

Maybe that's what made the afternoon in her office suite so satisfying. He'd caught a glimpse of the lady within the tower – the one who feared to love probably as much as he thought himself incapable of it. She had noticeably relaxed around him since that day, talking more freely. But with each passing day, he struggled to deny the truth of it. Struggled to not recognize it for what it was.

Emma had been right – he knew what wounds from love gone wrong looked like, and along with that, he knew what falling in love felt like. An anxious form of delicious and wonderful torment that he never thought he'd be capable of again. Yet, here he was – completely smitten and swept up in Emma's gravitational pull, heading full speed into something far more profound.

He didn't think it was possible.

He looked up from his water as movement caught in his peripheral vision.

"Mail for you, captain." The staff member smiled politely over thick glasses as he held out a small stack of two envelopes.

Killian nodded as he took the envelopes with his free hand before taking another long drink.

The postmark on the first envelope made him do a double take. How long had it been since he'd heard from Elsa? And…how in the world did she manage to get a letter through to him? Was it really so easy to send a supposed international hero a letter?

He tore into it, pouring over the neat, fine script.

Killian,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know we haven't spoken much in the years since Liam's passing, but I saw your press conference and had to write.

I hope you know how proud he would be of you. He was always so proud of his little younger brother, and wanted so much for you. It makes me regret that I let my grief over Liam cause us to lose touch all these years. Especially now that Lily and Liam, Jr. are so much older.

Despite having not seen them since they were infants, I think you'd recognize the twins easily. They look so much like their father that it breaks my heart more than I want to admit. But they are both excelling at school – Lily has found a calling at the piano, and Liam, Jr. is a natural at rugby. They both seem to have inherited that unique Jones-ian spirit for adventure and I dread surviving their teenage years. I'm already in enough hot water for not having told them of their Uncle Killian until he suddenly appeared on international telly and I dropped a pot roast casserole on the kitchen floor.

Needless to say, they are bursting to meet you. And I would very much enjoy seeing you, too. I can't undo the years of pushing you out of our lives but I would like to start trying to make it up to you. I hope you'll let me know when you're back in London and we'll make arrangements.

Best of luck to you and your crew on your journey to the moon! It must be so exciting for you and I know you'll make the UK proud! We look forward to hearing tales of your grand adventure when you get back to Earth.

Take care,
Elsa

The letter bowled him over. In the intervening years since Liam's death, he didn't like to think about his sister-in-law and her kids. She and Liam had wed young, and his tragic passing had completely upended her life, leaving her alone with twin infants. Killian had tried to support her as best he could, but bloody hell, he'd been even younger and didn't understand the first thing about grief or taking care of babies. But, god, how he wanted to be there when Liam couldn't, and all Elsa had done was shut him out. No phone calls, no letters, no photographs. In the wake of such silence, it had almost become easier to pretend that she didn't exist. That he didn't have a niece and nephew. But now…now that he held this letter?

He blew a sigh, hoping to release the surprisingly anxious bubble that filled his chest. Of course, the timing was convenient. Now that he was an international name, she wanted a reconciliation. But he could just as easily picture her face, white with shock, as she stared at the telly over the ruined remains of casserole on the kitchen floor. Of course, the kids would hound her endlessly until she confessed the true cause of her utter astonishment. A smile teased his lips as he wished he could have been there for that moment.

He skimmed over the letter again, a warm spark igniting in his heart. Perhaps he would have to go for a visit once he got back to London.

He folded the letter along its neat crease lines and looked down at the second envelope in his hand.

His blood froze.

The envelope front only had 'Capt. Jones' scrawled in a familiar, elegant script with no address or postage stamp. A gold, wax seal rested over the envelope flap, sealing up the message within. Killian forced a hard swallow, heart pounding as he stared down at the offending envelope.

What could Gold possibly want with him now? And how did Gold manage to slip this in with the rest of his postmarked mail? The thought of Gold having people within NASA made his stomach sour.

Exhaling deep to control the tremor that threatened his hand, he pulled at the wax seal, opening the flap and sliding out the card stock within. More of the familiar handwriting stared up at him.

My Dear Captain –

Imagine my complete surprise to see you in the newsreels. I suppose congratulations are in order. So, why not meet up for a celebration? You'll find the location marked on the enclosed map. Remember, X always marks the spot! Tonight at 9 pm. For the sake of your rising star – and those two, adorable twins – I strongly advise against standing me up. You know how I abhor wasting my time.

-Mr. G

Killian's grip tightened, jaw muscles tensing as he re-read the presumptuous note, hearing the man's smarmy, weaselly voice in every word. The card and map clipping felt like bricks as he continued to stare down at them.

Threatening his career was one thing, but threatening his niece and nephew? Gold had never preyed on children before. Was it just a big bluff? Or had something else happened? Either way, could he really take that risk?

"Hey, Hook?...Killian?"

He shook from his thoughts, instinctively clutching the card close against prying eyes, especially as he looked up to meet David's observant gaze.

"Hey," David started softly again, concern seeping into his words, "you alight? Did…did you get bad news?"

Killian did his best to summon a breezy smile, trying to push the distracted thoughts from his mind. "No - I'm alright. No bad news. Just…unexpected."

David nodded slowly, dubious. "Whatever it is, you know you can tell me…especially if it will cause a distraction."

Killian looked to him with firm conviction. "It won't be a distraction. You have my word. Let me just…take a trip down the hall to clear my head. Then, we can go nail that angle and move on for our well-deserved weekend."

A reluctant smile quirked David's mouth. "Alright. Go take a breather. But I expect your best when you come back."

It was all too easy to flash his trademark grin. "You'll never get anything less."