House sitting turns out to be much more fun than she'd expected. With the way they'd apologized profusely for asking this of her, she'd braced herself for far worse.
It was nice – the not being awoken by sounds from the subway in the dead of night was a good change, and for the first time in months, she'd gotten a full night's rest. It was basically a free stay in a comfortable apartment, with an abundant amount of food source (not that she's actually going to make food – come on, take out always wins) and a pretty cozy bathtub to soak herself in after a day of chasing down bail jumping assholes, the only down side being caring for Mary Margaret's ridiculous(ly beautiful) orchids, and not to forget hers and David's Satan of a feline.
(She doesn't know what she's got against her, but the cat practically hisses at Emma the moment she gets remotely close to her. But of course when David's around, the little shit is an angel - with loud purrs and large eyes, the Persian manages to convince David that there's no such foul play.)
But besides that, it's been good.
So when she gets back, just narrowly managing to pour the kibble into Sandy's bowl (such a sweet name, for such a demonic thing) without having her eyes clawed, she runs the bath, hurrying back to her current room for her book because God, does she need a soak. It was a rough day and all for nothing – given her perp gave her a run for her money, which in the end, she did not get, by the way. So right now, a long, hot bath is exactly what is needed.
On the way back towards her watery escape, she hears the sound of keys scraping against the lock, the chime of metal against metal a warning to her ears.
David and Mary Margaret aren't due back for at least another 6 days and the chances of their trip being cut short is slim.
She's stripped down – clothes lying haphazardly on the cool tile floor, wrapped up in a soft robe – and the first thing her mind jumps to is her gun that lays on the counter next to her jacket.
There's a good ten feet to the counter, and the intruder could enter at any given second, but she's fast and trained and agile, reaching the gun before the click of the door sounds and she's ready, gun pointed and finger at the trigger as the door creeks open and—
Dark hair appears from behind the door, and when he closes it behind him, he turns, and she—
"Bloody fuck!" his arms shoot up in surprise, wide blue eyes shocked as his lips curse at her barrel being pointed at his face.
"Who the fuck are you?!" she jerks the gun at him and he stumbles backwards. She knows how she looks – this just below 5'5 woman with blonde hair, wrapped up in a fluffy robe, pointing a glock bounds to look ridiculous, but looks are deceiving and she knows what she's doing, and this guy's been warned.
(She also knows that there aren't any bullets loaded, given that the magazine lies quietly on the counter behind her)
He stutters his words, recovering from the initial shock of having a gun pointed at him, "I- I'm Killian Jones—"
"I don't care what your name is! What the fuck are you doing in here?" She jabs the gun at him, causing him to stagger into the shelf. "If you've come to rob this place, you've chosen the wrong house, asshole," she threatens, her jaw clenching at that, in hopes to look at least a little bit more intimidating, given what she's wearing may throw the intended effect off.
"Do I look like a robber?!" He gestures wildly at his body, "I'm pretty sure robbers dress in all black with beanies or goddamn fishnet stockings on their heads!"
"Well, I don't know! You could—" and now that she has the chance, he does not look like a robber. Dressed in a navy blue coat, he wears a grey scarf, wrapped snuggly around his neck while he dons light khakis. She gives him a once over, following where his hands had led her eyes to, and she finally drags them up to his face. And boy, it's quite a face. With light eyes contrasting dark hair, a trail of three-day stubble litters his sharp jawline. His jaw clenches and his eyebrow arches (are guys even allowed to have perfect eyebrows?), and shit, she may have jumped the gun (figuratively – because she has literally jumped the gun already). But she's never been one to back down easily. So when her hand shows indecision, she covers up the falter, her grip on the handle tighter as she raises her hold just a tad bit higher. "You could still be a robber when dressed like that."
He chuckles at that, straightening up and folding his arms, not caring at the way her hands follow his movements. "Would a robber have a key?"
"I—You could be—"
He saves her the trouble of embarrassing herself with coming up with ridiculous reasons behind him having a key. "David made me check in on Sandy and the plants," he explains plainly.
His answer is simple and she's pretty sure it's the truth, so she grudgingly lowers the aim she has at him.
"And what are you doing here?"
"I was made in charge of the flowers and that damn Persian," she says, sounding far more childish than she'd hoped.
He scoffs, "And by the way you speak of the orchids and Sandy, I assume they're not in good hands."
He makes a move in the direction to the large window where the orchids are perched, but she inserts herself in front of him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.
He raises an eyebrow at her in question. "You could just be a really good liar."
"Trust me, love, I'd never lie to you," he smirks before making a move, and yet again being stopped by her the palm of her hand pushing against his chest.
"Well, I don't trust you."
"Fine – call David."
"Fine, I will."
"Good."
"Great."
-/-
Turns out, it had 'slipped his mind' in telling her that he'd gotten back up for his pets and pots – just in case they'd come home to dead flowers and a starving cat.
(She doesn't blame him – she's never been good with the whole flora and fauna business. Once, she'd actually managed to kill her cactus – and since then, she never really bothered trying)
The not-robber (Killian, he'd reintroduced himself) smirks through the whole call, not forgetting to describe Emma as the 'blonde lady that held me at gun point for a good five minutes' to David, to which he laughs and thanks Emma for protecting his place well.
And so when the long beep of the call ending is heard, she grimaces at the fact that she has to apologize for wrongfully threatening him.
But when she does mumble out a 'sorry for almost shooting you' under her breath, he takes it gracefully. "No harm, no foul," he bows his head, moving towards the flowers.
She watches in quiet awe as he completes his task, and she's amazed at the gentleness in his hands and how he prunes carefully, at the way he sprays the water softly. She steps back, leaning on perched arms on the counter, gazing at him while he adjusts and fixes.
When he peeks, her eyes fall to the screen in her hand, making her eyes skim aimlessly through a timeline she doesn't care much for.
He's done in under ten minutes, she presumes, barely paying attention to the seconds that tick by when her eyes trail the tender touch he holds. And with good timing, Sandy appears from God knows where (probably from one of the corners of hell, since that's where she belongs, Emma thinks grudgingly, and almost as if she knows, yellow eyes glare back at her), rubbing her body against his leg. She can practically hear her purring, and this cat really is evil –only if someone else would notice it too.
"Sandy, my darlin'!" Killian grins as he bends to pick her up, and Emma can't help the snicker that escapes her lips from the way he tried to impersonate the accent.
"Nope," she shakes her head, "You wouldn't make a good Danny Zuko."
"No?" he challenges, placing Sandy back down on all fours with three departing strokes against soft (she's only assuming it's soft, given that she's never actually been allowed to pat her) fur. He brushes the orange hairs off him, stepping toward her as he dusts his hands off on his trousers. "But I bet I could make your summer nights worthwhile."
She couldn't get a word out even if she wanted to – not with the way his blue eyes stared into her green ones. But no, she had not gone red. No way is she getting flushed at one playful flirt and extremely light, piercing eyes and a sharp jaw with a smirk she wants to wipe off with her own—
"You blush quite deeply, don't you, lass?" he says and his eyes flicker down to her chest for just the shortest of seconds and her mouth snaps open at that, but before she can even push him out, he dashes away, disappearing behind the door that shuts with a thump after him, not forgetting the lingering smirk he's left with.
-/-
He knocks on the door the next time he comes around two days later.
Wearing a large grin, he looks her up and down. "I see you've decided to put on some clothes this time?"
She rolls her eyes, but moves aside for him to enter, pushing the door shut after him. He's in different attire now, grey plaid with the first few buttons left opened, revealing a white shirt beneath. Before, she never really saw the appeal in plaid-shirted men, but with the way he rolls up the sleeve up till his elbows, displaying a toned forearm, she completely understands the attraction.
"I brought us some food," he holds up two bags of Chinese food, matched with a bright smile on his face. He says it like this night was planned, like they were friends and this was their weekly hangout night. "Figure it'll give you something else to do besides ogle at me." And there goes the smile, in replace with a smirk.
She snatches the bags from him, making sure to do this before jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow, plopping herself down on the couch with a pleased grin at his grimace.
She doesn't bother waiting for him, and from the corner of her eye, she sees that from the grin on his face, he knows it too. And so she presses play, crosses her legs and digs into the free of charge General Tso's Chicken. He disappears for a while, and her radars go off the charts telling her he's brought Sandy to join them.
"I don't get why you don't like her," he says with the devil itself in his arms, as he settles himself onto the couch adjacent to her. "She's such an angel," he coos, letting Sandy rest on his chest.
Eyeing him from the side, she scoffs, stuffing another piece of chicken in her mouth, "It is the spawn of Satan – if not Satan himself."
"You don't need to hear this," he babies, stroking her a few more times before lifting her down to the carpeted floor for her to scurry away (shooting glares at Emma on her way out). "So, what're we watching?" he inquires, stretching to reach the food.
"I am watching Black Sails."
"Tried an episode – not sure if it's my thing," he added shrugging.
"Do you like pirates?" He nods. "Action?" Another nod. "Boobs?" After a raised eyebrow and a curious look, he eventually nods. "Then you'll love it."
He chuckles to himself, shaking his head ever so slightly while the corner of his eyes crinkle and Goddamn it, it may just be the cutest thing she's ever seen. "You run a good campaign."
They watch in comfortable silence, and it's just then when she realizes she barely knows the guy. She knows exactly three things about him – one. he's good with plants, two. he's David and Mary Margaret's neighbour, and three. he likes boobs - and yet there are people that she's known for years that she's less comfortable with. Maybe it's due to the fact that David tells her he's a good guy (and as much as she'd hate to admit it, his opinion matters to her because it's never once steered her wrong), or maybe it's just that she feels safe with him, almost as though she's known him for a while.
"So, are you going to explain why you're so good with plants?" she asks a little while later, refusing to look at him at the question, her eyes still very much stuck to the screen. The stare flickers when she sees from the corner of her eye that he's cocked his head, eyebrow arched at her.
Then he turns back to the screen, "I don't know," he shrugs and damn it, she really sucks at keeping her eyes focused on the tv. "Worked in my mum's shop as a teen and helped out with the orchids – guess it stuck."
She hums a reply, and he bobs his head at that, eyes undecided between the show and Emma.
He props himself up on the back of the couch, "And you?" he nods at her.
"Hm?" she says, tilting her head toward him.
"What are you? A spy? FBI? Or just making full use of your rights as an American citizen?"
She narrows her eyes, eyebrow arching at him until, "Ah, the gun," it clicks, and she can't help the small chuckle that escapes her lips. "Bails bonds," she answers and he makes a sort of huh sound. "What?"
"Nothing," he shakes his head. "I figured FBI, but bails bonds suits you, I guess," he shrugs.
She throws him a small smile, unsure really what to reply to that with. After turning her attentions back towards the screen, she can still feel his eyes on her, the blue stare burning into her almost palpable.
"You going to watch the show or me?" She doesn't bother turning to say it, and at the smile he tries to contain, he focuses back towards the television.
Several fights ensue and many more tits hang out before he speaks again.
"She's pretty," he nods at the screen when Eleanor Guthrie appears in the scene, "Kinda reminds me of you," he remarks and fuck she does not know what she's supposed to do with that.
And so she does what she does best: she scoffs. "Shut up and just watch the show will you, flower boy?"
And with this, she tilts her head ever so slightly so he can't see the idiotic grin she can't seem to get off her face.
-/-
killian asked if you were single
and?
what do you mean 'and'?
well what did you say?
I said that I didn't know
what did you want me to say?
I mean
yeah, I don't know is good
you like him
I do not
oh, so you don't want to know what he said about you?
nope
wait
like
good things?
what did he say?
mary margaret don't you dare leave this conversation now
I hate you
-/-
David and Mary Margaret are coming home in a day's time and she has to admit – she's going to miss their place. And no, it has nothing to do with the fact that they have a very handsome neighbour – and more of the security of the building and the quality of the bathtub and the closeness to the city and definitely not because of one Killian Jones.
But when he does show up that night to water the plants ("Every five days, Emma – remember that"), she welcomes his company warmly.
Although unlikely, this could rightly be the last time she sees him and while he's technically a stranger, she's kind of already attached (which only screams to her Bad News).
He doesn't stay for long, waiting around for a bit before he takes off, giving Emma an awkward one-arm hug with a 'So, see you around?' before he leaves.
She doesn't bother lying to herself about the smile that refuses to leave once he has, but she refuses to believe that after almost thirty years, that a guy has managed to make her feel like a teenaged girl with a crush.
But she finds that she likes the way he makes her feel and that maybe it's alright to like someone after such a long time of avoiding feelings.
And it's also a pretty good thing that he's a pretty decent guy to have feelings for, so it's not that bad.
-/-
Naturally, when Mary Margaret invites her to hang out with the newly weds, Emma suggests that they do it at their place—only because it's been a long day, and she's awfully tired and doesn't really feel like going out, and because her place is a mess and, well, since she's already in the neighbourhood… why not?
She also naturally ignores her friend's knowing 'mhm' from the end of the line, promptly ending the call before she'd have to come up with some ridiculous reason as to why it's not because of their friendly British neighbour.
And no, the reason behind why she actually looks decent for once (instead of her usual black attire for stakeouts) is only because there was a miscommunication between her and her boss and she'd sworn she heard her say that the date she's supposed to go on to catch her perp was today and not tomorrow.
And when Emma is told that Killian is not in town for God knows what convention (what does he do, anyway?), she masks the tinge of disappointment at the now completely unlikely chance of seeing him with a nonchalant shrug.
But still when they're done with dinner and Mary Margaret pulls her aside to 'help with dessert' (even though all three of them know that there really is no dessert), she kind of foresaw this coming.
"Oh my god, you really like him, don't you?"
"What?"
"What's with all this- this… effort!" she gestures up and down at Emma.
Her eyes narrow at that, "Okay, I'm not going to take that personally—"
"You should have just told me!" She pokes her in the shoulder and Emma jerks her head back, unsure really how to handle this situation. "If you really like him, I could—"
"Who does Emma really like?" David comes walking in, an apple with a bite missing in hand.
It's adorable really how naïve the Nolans are (a term that Mary Margaret can't get enough of, and quite frankly, even Emma finds it adorable), because even she knew how unsubtle she was being about the whole thing – had it been Ruby who'd witnessed the mess of an act she'd put up, the woman would've probably already slipped Killian Emma's number with one of those tricks she always seems to have up her sleeves (–and this is why Ruby is Emma's wingman and not Mary Margaret).
"No one," "Why, Killian!" both women say at the same time and for a moment Emma just prays that she was louder than her friend.
If there's anything she hates more in the world is when David snaps into his big-brother role, threatening any man that's in a 10-foot radius of Emma. Then again, he's never led her astray – all the men he'd warned her about ended up being total jerks, and naturally are all the men she's ever dated. And at by way his eyes are blown wide, how his mouth hangs ajar – it doesn't look like good news.
"You mean," he lifts his vacant hand and points limply outside (which she assumes is the direction of Killian's apartment), "that Killian?"
"Yes, honey, and don't start getting—"
"Emma, you can't!" David interrupts with an exasperated look on his face.
And here goes, Emma thinks, letting out a long sigh, mentally preparing herself for the reasons as to why she shouldn't go for it – that he's actually a player, or that he's a momma's boy, or the fact that he's really a serial killer and has been threatening them to cover up for him. "He- he's—"
"David James Nolan," his wife cuts him short, effectively forcing him to leave the sentence hanging. And she's sure that this is her friend backing her up, telling him to stop being so controlling and that Emma can handle herself or something of the sort. But instead— "You're doing it again!"
"Doing what?"
"You know exactly what you're doing!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about!"
"You really want me to say it?"
"Yes," Emma and David say together, her sounding more irritated than him and finally the couple notices they're not alone in the kitchen.
"He's cockblocking!"
Well—
She did not expect to hear that.
"Excuse me?"
Mary Margaret nods fervently, "Yeah! He did it last time too—"
"I did not!"
"—when Aurora from the office asked about him! You made him sound like a complete jerk, so she wouldn't go near him!"
And honestly, they lost her three minutes ago. "Wait, what? Why?" she shakes her head, thinking that maybe this'll clear up the confusion.
(It doesn't, so an explanation would be much appreciated right now)
"Because," she presses, "David here doesn't want Killian to be bailing on their bro-time when he finally gets a girl."
Oh.
And she bursts out laughing.
"Wait, wait, wait," she says between trying to catch her breath, "So is this why I've never heard of him before? Even though he'd told me that you guys were good mates?"
And honestly, she doesn't see any other reaction than her own – at the quiet look David has retreated to and the new fact that he was insecure about his bromance with Killian, she can only see the scene ending in fits of laughs on her part.
At that, Mary Margaret raises an eyebrow at her husband, and by the way his jaw clenches, she knows which one of them has won the argument.
"I mean, I just want— ugh, I'll give him your number," he caves as he steps back, knowing he's lost this battle.
And even when he's no longer in sight, she can't help her labored breaths or her teary eyes, and come on – it's funny.
Even Mary Margaret cracks a smile after a while, her soft, teasing smile reaching up to her eyes.
"He's a great guy," she takes Emma's hand in hers once the laughter's died down. "And if you like him and if it actually matters – I approve," she squeezes the hand softly, a sweet smile accompanying it.
"It's barely a crush—"
"I still approve," her expressions are tender as she leans in to hug Emma. "Thanks for taking care of the place, by the way."
"I can honestly say that it was my pleasure," Emma resigns.
Mary Margaret's an angel, if she's ever seen one. Much like David, she's always been there for Emma, pulling her up when she needed it, and keeping her grounded when she'd ever get too high. She doesn't quite understand how she's ever been lucky enough to have found them, but there's nothing in this world that she's more grateful for.
"Hey, Mary Margaret?" she calls as she makes move to leave, "Your approval always matters."
-/-
She doesn't actually end up leaving. In the end, she crashes on their couch, because excuses aside, she did have a long day.
So when she leaves their place the next morning, set with a pair of loosely fitted sweatpants supplied by David and a dark jacket from Mary Margaret, she does not quite expect to be bumping into Killian Jones of all people as she's on the way to scurrying out and into her car before anyone sees her.
But then again, she's never been a lucky person.
"Emma?" the familiar accented voice calls after her as their shoulders graze each other's when he just seems to be making his way in.
Well fuck, she curses inwardly, but she's not quite sure whether the words slipped out of her lips or not, and God does she pray that it didn't. "Hey."
"Ravishing as always," he grins wide as he looks her up and down.
She chooses to look over the quip with a short smile and a swift change in subject, "Where from?" she nods at the luggage he drags. And even without the prior information from David and Mary Margaret, she'd have spotted this through the dark eyes and the mussed hair he wears this morning.
"From over the pond, love – fresh out of London," his dimples appear when he says this, deep and bloody adorable – as (she'd assumed) they'd say over there.
"Back so soon?"
He gives her a tired nod, and she's contemplating excusing herself allowing him to sleep the fatigue off. "It was kind of an impromptu thing, so the plan was to go to the conference and then surprise my brother and his family over at their place and ultimately, crash there. Turns out, my dear brother had forgotten to mention that they were in fact out of town visiting Cornwall." At her rueful look, he nods, "Yeah, so I caught the first flight back."
"Well, you've got to be tired – I should let you unpack and rest."
"Wait," he calls just after she brushes past him, trying to make a quick exit so she doesn't have to stand across from a very handsome man looking like she'd just ran a mile and be mugged. "Do you want to grab some food with me sometime?"
And while him asking her out was quite surprising, her answer definitely wasn't.
-/-
Turns out, 'sometime' happened to be 'right after I drop my bags home' which meant right now. Despite several protests, - "I look like I've just sat on my ass for the past month and not showered!" "Come on, you look great," - she finally gives in.
(After all, who can refuse those god-blessed eyes? What more when he goes full puppy mode? In conclusion, she looses all sense of restraint when it comes to him and she barely knows the guy.)
But over breakfast she gets to know him some more, and from what she hears, she wasn't wrong in liking him. He's a lawyer, he tells her, and the convention he went to was some Protection of the Ozone Layer thing and well, shit, he's an environmental lawyer of some sort, (and she guesses it does makes sense– given his little backstory on how his mother was a florist and how he genuinely looks like he cares when he waters Mary Margaret's plants) and now she has the sudden urge to ditch her car and start cycling everywhere. She finds out his brother's name is Liam and that he has two kids with his wife, and that those children are adorable (he shows her many, many pictures of them) and he used to live with them before he moved here.
She kind of likes that he speaks with a passion – how his eyes light up and how he gestures animatedly with his hands – and that he sincerely listens to her when she speaks. She quite likes the small smile that plays on the edge of his lips when she talks, and the smirk that appears when he makes a flirty comment, and especially the grin he tries holding back when she retaliates.
She doesn't know how and why she'd come to like him so quickly, but she just does. And usually, it'd have scared the shit out of her and she'd have taken the first route out, but for once, she's allowing herself to actually like him and she's pretty glad that she has.
They talk for longer than expected, the lunch crowd fleeting into the diner and it's then when she says that she really should go before they bump into someone she knows whilst looking like a mess, he offers to walk her to her car.
(Technically, he offered to walk her home, but home is half the city away, so they're resigned to a stroll to her VW)
While it very much felt like a date (Hell, that breakfast-made-brunch-turned-lunch made a better date than most of her actual dates did), it doesn't at the same time. And when he doesn't kiss her at her car, not-a-date wins another point. But when he asks if she'd go out with him again, ("Like maybe tonight?") she can't help the giddiness that runs through her.
He asks her for number and she digs out her name card from the glove box of her car (she literally had to dig it out, given her car's a complete mess) before clumsily handing it to him. He grins all the while she fumbles in the search of the elusive contact details, and shit, she thinks that he may just like her back.
(He does.)
(A lot.)
-/-
Dating isn't like she remembers.
It's harder.
Especially when you're dating a man who actually has opinions and isn't afraid to speak out against her, you'll tend to end up arguing more often than not. Especially when you put two strong-headed people next to each other, both of whom refuse to back down and let the other win.
So there are many nights where she storms out of his apartment in the middle of the night (and ends up crashing at the Nolans) or when he chooses to sleep on her couch instead of with her (but in the end, at three or four in the morning, he'd crawl back into bed – grudgingly, mind you – with his back turned towards her and a clear 'I'm not sorry – that couch was bloody uncomfortable' for her to hear).
But at the same time it's easier like this. She likes that they fight and that they're free to speak their mind and have that opinion be challenged. And she also likes when he makes her breakfast the morning after, making sure to state that this is not him giving in ("Just to be clear, this isn't an apology.") or how he accepts her murmuring not-sorrys against his skin.
And the next time he has to go to London, he brings her, and she finally meets his family in the flesh (as opposed to simply talking to them on Skype) and those kids really are precious.
(They tell her she looks like a princess, and Killian nods, "Aye, my princess," and while it's corny as hell, her heart flutters at the words.)
And when Thanksgiving rolls around, he follows her back to Maine to meet her family and screw him for being so good with parents.
It's four months into their relationship while they're lying in her childhood bedroom, squished together on her pink-sheeted single bed, when she tells him she loves him.
(It was two months when he'd accidentally blurted it out in a heated argument on who really belonged on the Iron Throne.)
She'd known for longer, of course, but it took her a while more to finally admit it. And when she does, he breaks out in a huge smile.
He kisses her hard with her face in his hands, their bodies flushed together as their lips move against the other. When he draws back, he whispers it against her lips.
Nope, not an I love you too.
Instead, set with that stupid pleased grin of his, "I guess you're not too bad."
And with that, she jabs him in the side. Hard.
-/-
When David and Mary Margaret decide they need a bigger place, given she's already five months pregnant, they choose to rent the place out. And Emma sees this as an opportunity to take another step in their relationship without having to move in together.
And much like the first time they met, they were neighbours.
Until they weren't.
It takes 6 days to realize how stupid it was, and for Emma to call up her friends telling them they'd have to look for someone new to rent the place. A day later, all her things that barely even made it out of their boxes are being moved across the hall with Killian and his plants and his Nat Geo magazines and him.
And that night, when they're settled into their bed, she doesn't know why they didn't do this sooner.
-/-
(And when he proposes four months later, she says yes through teary eyes and trembling lips, followed by a show of shaky hands when he slips the ring onto her finger and then a shaking bed (which goes on for much of the night) and a happy (to put it in one word) life.)
(But that's only until later, and – meh, it's not really that important.)