a/n- Thanks to all the amazing reviews, I know you've all been dying for the next update. I'm quite happy about how this turned out. I had to do a little bit of research on some 18th Century slang, but it was kind of fun. Also, there is a sword fighting scene because a sword weilding Killian is my weakness.
I was such a hot mess over this one, that I probably haven't edited it as well as I should have. If you notice any glaring mistakes, please let me know.
As always, I love you all, and please feel free to leave a comment or review! Reviews fuel the writing engine that makes me type faster.
Enjoy!
Distractions
Once the accord they had been struck, the connection between them began to blossom into something like friendship. Emma was surprised at just how easily Killian seemed to fit into her life. If it wasn't for the nagging fear about losing the house in the back of her mind at all times, she might have said that for the first time in a long time, she was happy.
Killian, too, seemed to embrace her happy mood and did whatever he could to take away her growing apprehension about the future. One of the ways he did that was by acting upon his natural curiosity for the modern world. He barraged her with never ending questions about things he noticed about the house. Yet, she never seemed to mind his infectious exuberance for technology, world events, and even the day-to-day happenings of Storybrooke. It always seemed to bring a smile to her face when he asked her for the hundredth time what 'a microwave' does or how one could listen to music without someone physically playing an instrument in the room. And Killian was slowly beginning to crave that smile more than anything.
"Swan!"
Emma threw the mascara wand into the sink forcefully, grasping the porcelain to steady her shattered nerves and swung her head around. "What have I told you about sneaking up on me?" She shouted. "And why are you in the bathroom? I thought we dis—"
"There's a man coming up the driveway! He looks to be some a servant of some sort." Killian hastened back to the bathroom windows, withdrawing a black and gold spyglass from his inner coat pocket, and peered out. "There are words written upon his clothing, Swan."
Emma rolled her eyes, grabbing a tissue to fix the clump of mascara his sudden appearance had caused and said, "What does it say?"
He turned his head to her and frowned, as Emma tried to block all thoughts of lost puppy dogs from her mind. "Upon the breast pocket, it says 'George,' and on the back it says 'SpeedyNet.' What the devil is that about?"
She chuckled and swept past him to the door, "The world has arrived at Misthaven, Captain Jones."
He gave her another adorably confused head tilt and she sighed. "Fine, come on, then and see for yourself. But stay invisible!" She warned, poking a finger straight through his chest. "No scaring off the Internet guy, it took him long enough to get here, I don't want to have to wait for them to send someone else because you had to go and act all territorial."
Frowning, he placed his hand and stump on his chest. "You wound me, love."
She merely shook her head and left him behind.
As Killian had predicted, 'George' was standing on her porch by the time she made it downstairs. Emma welcomed him in and told him what she was wanting him to do. Retreating to the kitchen to make some coffee, she caught sight of Killian's journals still piled up on a corner of the table.
Before going to bed, she had picked up the first one and took it with her. It was written just after he had been made Lieutenant, as a recording of all of his day-to-day activities. There was something so heart-wrenching, though, in the words of this version of Killian Jones, that she had a hard time reading it. This was the writings of a happy, innocent young man who had not yet lost hope. He talked often of his brother and how great and worthy a captain he was, and she could feel the admiration, respect, and love Killian felt towards him. It was clear, though, that they were very much brothers by the tone of Killian's writing.
"Liam had me shining the brass monkeys again. He knows just how much I loathe that job and yet he always seems to think it appropriate for one of my rank to do such menial tasks. 'It shows the men that the officers do not think of themselves in higher regard then the lowest ordinary seaman. It's a matter of good form, little brother.'
One day, I shall have my own ship and make him shine the brass monkeys and we shall see how he truly feels about his 'good form'."
There was more like this, spanning pages, but Emma couldn't bring herself to read it. She realized very quickly that reading Killian's journal was too much like reliving that dream. It was too intimate, too bittersweet, and much too achingly familiar. It made her feel things about him that she was just not ready to admit to or even think about. So, she put aside the journals for a later time. Her curiosity would just have to wait. Besides, she would much rather hear the stories from him anyway.
Coming back to the present, Emma picked up the journals and carried them to her room, checking on George on her way. He was busy mapping out a place to run some cords and wires, but as she passed, turned and winked at her suggestively. Were all the stereotypes about repairman true? She rolled her eyes inwardly and continued up the stairs, feeling the slightest bit of unease by his actions. He was old enough to be her father, with a body that looked like he drank his through a 12-pack of beer every night. Blagh! Gross!
When she opened the door to her room, though, she was greeted with Killian's stormy-eyed painting on the wall and her unease lifted. I wonder where Killian's gone off to? I hope he's staying out of trouble. He had to be nearby, she could feel that pressure in her lungs and chest associated with his presence, but true to his word, he was remaining out of sight.
Placing the journals reverently on a corner of her desk, she pulled back her hair into a loose ponytail and stepped out to the balcony for in order to let the breeze cool her off. It was sunny today, but the wind was high, causing the waves to foam and crest higher than she had seen them.
"I'd say the winds gusting at around 20 knots today, judging by the whitecaps." Killian commented with a chuckle, appearing beside her.
"What's so funny about that?" She asked sincerely. His eyes seemed far away and wistful and she wondered what he was thinking about.
"Hmm?" He said, returning to the present. "Oh, when the wind is like that, I used to push the Jolly as fast as she could go. She could run so fast across the water, at times I thought she was flying."
She watched his lips lift in a sad smile. "You really miss sailing, don't you?"
"Aye, love. More than anything, I just wish I could feel the wind in my hair again, have the spray of the ocean sting my face. And the thrill, the excitement of that great expanse of the unknown surrounding you! Nothing compares, lass. Nothing."
Her eyes felt moist, and she wondered if the breeze was affecting her allergies. "I've never been sailing," she sighed.
He looked down at her with something akin to horror. "Gods, Swan! You need to go. I've no doubt that you'd be a natural."
She shrugged. "Yeah, well, here in the real world, it's pretty expensive to go sailing."
His face fell, and he turned away, with a little cough. "Come along then, love. Best we go keep an eye on master George before he pillages your home."
Emma's heart warmed a little at his calling the house hers, but she nodded and followed him out.
George was finishing up the wiring as she approached. "Well?" She asked with a nervous laugh. "Am I going to be able to watch Netflix again soon? I've felt so deprived lately."
George stood and ran a hand over his belly, eying her chest. "Should be all ready for you, Miss. Wouldn't wanna sweet little thing like you to feel deprived, after all." His thick New England accent practically made his words indecipherable, but she could pick up on the misogyny a mile away.
"Of course," she replied curtly, as she retrieved her laptop from the kitchen and sat down on the sofa. "Do I need a password or anything?"
"Em, yeah. The wifi default's set at 'KingGeorge1', kind of an inside joke at the office, but you can change it to whatever you want." He leaned over the sofa behind her to direct her to the home screen she needed, and all the warning bells in her head started blaring tenfold. She could smell the sick-sweet tang of booze on his breath and inwardly cringed. Her fingers flew clumsily on the keyboard as she attempted to finish the set up so she could get him out of her house.
"Having a bit of trouble, there, Miss?" His laugh was all kinds of wrong.
"No, I'm good, actually." She stopped typing and put the computer aside. "You know, I think I can take it from here." She rose from the sofa, not bothering to look back. "So, thanks for coming out today and for the set up." She kept talking as she walked towards the door, hoping he would take the hint and leave. When he didn't respond, she turned sharply to see what the matter was, only to find him nearly upon her.
"Sorry, Miss, wasn't watching where I was heading," he leered and looked pointedly as her ass.
Clenching her fists tightly she drew a breath and stepped away. "Okay, look. I think it's time for you to go."
Suddenly, his face shifted from playfulness to something far darker. "Oh, but I was really enjoying your company, Miss."
Emma glared. "Please, leave. Now."
He laughed again, the sound like nails on glass. "What if I say no? What'r you gonna do, hmm? You're all alone up here, and that phone of yours is very far away. I checked while you was busy upstairs." He leaned down over her, bracing one arm against the wall. Her stomach churned at the thought of that man's hands on anything she owned. Her vision ran red.
Just as Emma was about to knee him in the groin, a very angry voice called out, "Oi, you fucking lobcock! Do as the lady commands!"
Emma peered around George's giant head and arm just in time to see Killian threating the man with a very old-looking, but still sharp sword. His eyes were dark with fury and his whole body seemed poised to strike. She knew she had to stop this now before something got seriously out of hand.
George took one look at Killian and proceeded to laugh his head off. Oh, shit, Emma thought. He just laughed at a ghost who's spent the last 250 years wreaking havoc on people. If she was to pick dead guy of the year, it'd be him.
With George's attention focused elsewhere, she was able to slip past him. She planted herself firmly between the oaf and Killian, fixing him with a meaningful stare. "I can handle this, Jones."
The sword dipped (and she could see now it was a real sword, not some ephemeral ghost version), and Killian returned her stare. "The man threatened your honor, Swan. He must pay for the insult."
She sighed and glanced back over at her shoulder at George who was keenly watching their interaction. "Okay, fine. But it's my honor, so let me be the one to pay him back."
Killian tilted his head to meet George's eye, then glanced back at her. "Very well," he conceded. Unfortunately, George was just as stupid as he was fat and he immediately tried to lunge at Killian.
Killian side-stepped the man easily, causing him to barrel into the wall, knocking over Emma's console table in the process. George shook it off, picking himself up again rather impressively, and pulled back his fist for a punch. It also never landed, as Killian merely ducked and, in a move she could only describe as poetic, spun around and slapped the flat edge of the sword hard against George's backside with a sickening thwack so loud her teeth ached.
The man yelped in pain and rage and tried once more to knock the sea captain down. With a swish of his coat, he blinded the man momentarily before tripping him up with the sword. George fell face first onto the hard wood of the floor and Emma flinched at the reverberating smack his thick skull and heavy stomach made on impact. This had to end now, before George either A: landed a punch, only to have it go straight through Killian's body (and how in the world would she explain that); or B: he wound up dead. More than likely, either scenario would result in a situation that Emma was not at all prepared to face.
"Stop it, Killian!" She shouted, and eyes of the man in question immediately flew to her. His dark hair had fallen down over his brow, and he was grinning in triumph, the sword tip placed at the junction of the fallen man's shoulder blades. George was still moaning in pain on the floor, but Emma knew that if she could remove Killian from the situation, he would most like turn tail and run. "You said you didn't want me to leave, but if he dies, what do you think will happen?"
The color drained from Killian's face as he realized the full extent of what he had done and was about to do. Saying nothing, he nodded sharply and disappeared.
Mentally preparing herself, Emma returned her focus to the man on the floor. She needed him out, and she needed him to never speak of what happened. "Now, buddy, I am going to ask you again to go. If you leave and don't make this an issue, I won't be forced to call the sheriff, your boss, your clients, and whoever else I need to in order to make sure you never work in this town again. Scumbags like you should really reconsider working with the public anyway." Maybe she was bluffing about calling people, but he certainly didn't know that, and when he rolled over, his nose running red with blood and a big purple spot forming over his eye, he totally seemed to buy her threat.
Mumbling something about there being no charge for the service, he picked up his tools and hastily ran from the house.
The moment he was gone, Emma fell against the door, sliding to the ground, placing her head between her knees. She had had her fair share of run-ins with muggers and lecherous men, but this was one of the worst. She was so completely thankful that Henry was at school and that George wised up, that she didn't realize she was shaking until she tried to stand.
And try as she might, she couldn't quit replaying Killian and the sword. How dare he jeopardize her like that? What on earth would possess him to try something so monumentally foolish? She was so fuming mad, that it didn't occur to her that had Killian not been there, things could have gone so much worse.
It wasn't until she was alone that night, soaking off George's breath on her skin, that the ramifications of the day hit her full force. Once again, she was driven by a need to seek Killian out, to reassure herself that he was still there, that he hadn't left, if only to scream at him for his stupidity.
This time, she found him sitting on her bed, staring off into the starless sky. He rose as she entered, a penitent look upon his face. "Swan," he said with a humble little bow, "please forgive my impudence. I should have been more attuned to the fragility of your situation with regards to my, um, state of existence. You were completely right to chastise me." He had yet to look her in the eye, and Emma wanted to punch him.
Instead, she choose to use her words. "You put me in danger, Killian. You put my son in danger. I understand that threatening people and scaring them off is just what you do, but even if you didn't kill him, he still could have made trouble for us. What if he found out you were a ghost? He could have told everyone about you, and made me look like a freak. Henry could have been bullied at school, or…or… worse! You have to think, Killian! It's not just you anymore. We are a team."
Looking up sharply, he nodded. Then, a pained look darkened his eyes. "He would have hurt you, Swan."
Emma sighed, and sat down on the bed. "I had it handled, Killian. And if he would have laid a finger on me I could have sent his ass to jail."
He joined her, studying her thoughtfully, his blue eyes really taking the truthfulness of her words in. "Aye. I see that now. I shall restrain my temper in the future."
She chuckled as she ran a hand through her still damp hair. "Let's hope the occasion never arises."
His smile lit his face, clearing away the last of the lingering darkness. "Aye." He reached out for her, laying his palm flat on top of her hand. That same tingling warmth from yesterday flowed through her. "You were brilliant, today, Swan. Amazing."
She met his eye, shocked to see the pride reflected back. Pulling her hand back, slowly, she nodded and said, "Good night, Jones." As she yawned and leaned back against her head board. "And, for what it's worth, thank you."
This time, he faded slowly away, leaving only the burning image of his grey-blue eyes, awash with gratitude.
…..
"So this was what all the fuss was about?" He asked incredulously, staring at the moving images scrolling across the television screen.
"This is Netflix, Jones. One of the greatest inventions of our time." She stopped at a title, and smiled to herself. "Here, let me show you what it does."
Cozying herself into the sofa, she pressed play, all the while studying his expression from the corner of her eye. At first, his forehead was lined in confusion, but as the movie started, he seemed more and more entranced. "It's sort of like theater, is it not?" He whispered to her, as if his words might interrupt the actors on the screen.
Emma nodded, a pleased warmth spreading through her. "Shh, just keep watching," she teased, tossing another piece of popcorn in her mouth and trying not to grin like an idiot.
As it went on, he grew bolder, offering comments with increasing frequency. "Why does that pirate wear his hair in that fashion? I think it would be most inconvenient in a sword fight. And why so much kohl on his eyes. He looks like a bloody lemur."
"Well, that is just preposterous, Swan. I ran down many a pirate ship in my day and never did I… Oh, look at that! Did you see that explosion? Brilliant!"
"What a milksop! That Commodore Norrington should be court-marshaled!"
Emma had to try harder and harder to keep back the giggles from taking over, but by the end, it was no longer a fight she could win.
"Well, Swan," he huffed, arms crossed and a little pout upon his lips. "I really don't see what is so great about your bloody Netflix. That play had the Royal Navy looking like absolute buffoons! And what kind of pirate name is Jack Sparrow? Jack Nancy is a better name for a man who prances around like he does…If I had come across a pirate like him in my day, I would have chucked him overboard on mere principle."
By the time he was finished with his rant, she was doubled over onto the floor. "Stop, all right, just stop! I won't force any more movies on you."
His face fell. "What?"
"Well, I've clearly upset you, so just forget about it."
"But—" he turned to her and the pout he gave her and the way his dark lashes fluttered made her body tingle in a completely different way. "I was rather enjoying watching them with you," he muttered quietly.
Her heart clenched painfully, and all the air left the room. She could only blink at him in response.
"Swan?"
She shook herself and tried to come back to earth. "Um, yeah. Sorry. I guess if you want to keep watching movies, we can."
What little composure she had retained was completely undone by his answering smile.
….
Swan was on her communication device, (a sailfone she called it, although he couldn't see any connection to a sail at all) her young lad at her side. She was speaking to her mother-in-law again. Her face grew increasingly pinched at whatever news the woman was relaying, and Killian was almost certain is was about the lawsuit and money for the house.
He sighed, wondering again what he could do to help her out. He had already told her to sell off the things in the attic. He knew that some of his items would fetch a fair price, and surely there were sailors in need of sailcloth and riggings who would pay for the remains of the Jolly. But she wouldn't hear of it. In fact, she flat out refused his offer with an emphatic, "No. Absolutely not."
There had to be some way. Perhaps, she could take in lodgers. The house was small, but if her boy bunked up with her, there would be a spare room available. He remembered, too, from the movies that Emma had been showing him, that woman of this age often did the same work as a man. Perhaps she could find some sort of job.
He wished more than ever that he had his body back. Swan needed someone to look out for her, to provide for her and her boy, whether she would admit to it or not. Sure she was a bloody brilliant lass who was more than capable of taking care of herself, but she shouldn't have to. She should have someone in her life that could offer her the comfort of a warm embrace or a sweet kiss in appreciation of her beauty and strength. And oh, how he wished it could be him. So, he would offer her what he could, but he wondered when she would realize that his friendship alone was not enough.
Truthfully, he dreaded that day with all his heart.
…
"What is that you're reading, love?" He asked, foot propped upon the other kitchen chair, elbow on his knee, and his stump tucked up under his chin. He peered down at her paper with interest.
"It's just the want ads," she replied.
"Oh? And just what might you be wanting, eh Swan?" His little accompanying eyebrow wiggle made her completely forget her train of thought.
"A job," she managed finally. "Hey! Jones, get your boots off my chair!"
He huffed indignantly, rolling his eyes. "Not really here, love."
"Do I look like I care? Move it, buddy," she commanded, crossing her arms and matching his eye rolls with her own.
With a long-suffering sigh, he made a show of dropping down into the chair, letting his coat flutter out behind him. "Have you found suitable employment, Swan?"
She pushed the paper away with a groan. "No. The only thing available is as a bartender at the Rabbit Hole. If I take it, I'll have to work nights and weekends. That means I won't get to spend any time with Henry, not to mention the fact that I'll need someone to watch him."
As she spoke, Killian read over the page she had been looking at. "What about this one, love?" He pointed to a small ad near the bottom of the page.
Emma blushed. "Deputy Sheriff? Really?"
"Why not, you'd be amazing."
The blush deepened, and she pulled the paper back to her, carefully studying the ad. "I don't have the experience or qualifications or anything. Why would they hire me?"
Killian concentrated, pulling the paper away from her and forcing her to meet his eye. "There you go, lying again, Swan." He grinned, keeping it as teasing as he could so as not to upset her. "I know for a fact that you have knowledge of how a sheriff's station is ran. I have heard you on your sailfone talking to your father-in-law about his job as at one. If I am very much mistaken, you were once employed there as well."
She huffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I worked dispatch at David's precinct for a while. But that is not the same thing as being a deputy. I wouldn't know what to do."
His grin spread across his face, lighting the corners of his eyes. "Of course you do. You love this town, do you not?"
Emma shrugged. "Love's a bit strong. But, yeah. I like it here."
"I know for a fact that you are absolutely fearless when it comes to protecting the people and things you love. And I believe that is what is most required in a competent officer of the law."
"I—" she started, but had to swallow hard. "But…"
"Don't, Emma." There was such a tenderness in the way he said her name. It dissolved away all her fears and doubts until it was only the two of them, alone against the world. "You can do this."
He was so right. She had seen the ad and dismissed it, but it really would be perfect. Good pay, decent hours, benefits. It was exactly what she needed to stay afloat and keep the house. And braced up by his faith in her, she actually felt like maybe she was deputy material.
"Okay," she agreed. He smiled at her, and the heat flooded her body. One day soon, she was going to have to do something about that, but right now, she had a job to get.
...
Uh oh. ;) Someone's going to have some competition...