Well, here we go—the home stretch! Only one more part/the epilogue remaining after this. *sniff sniff*
God, this sucked, Emma thought, this really freakin' sucked. If this was some crappy romcom, she'd be flying down the blissfully deserted freeway, her veil flying out picturesquely behind her, and make it to Killian's place in record time. Then as she reached the top of the staircase, his door would fly open cause he'd know she was there (they always just knew), and they'd jump into each others' arms, no questions asked. And then….
A loud honk behind her jolted her out of that fantasy. This wasn't a crappy romcom—her veil had flown off miles ago, the traffic was at a typical, end-of-the-weekend crawl, which gave the cars around Emma ample opportunity for blatant staring, and the convertible hood was stuck, leaving her face with sweaty drops running down it in the June heat.
"This is not how it's supposed to go," she grumbled, smacking the steering wheel angrily.
"Hey, baby!" The umpteenth strange guy in a flatbed truck was hollering at her. "If you don't have a groom yet, how 'bout—"
"Fuck off!" Emma roared, and it must have been the irate expression on her flushed red face and deranged glint in her eye that had the guy turn back to face forward, and roll up his window without a retort. Whatever, her patience was at a negative level—all that mattered was getting to Killian as soon as she could. No matter how he reacted, she couldn't take the thought of him thinking it was her choice to push him away one moment longer.
She really did hope he'd understand, though.
Emma pulled up with a screech to the curb right in front of Killian's complex, double-parking some other car. She hit the emergency lights quickly, then hefted her dress up and climbed out of the Cadillac.
"Killian, the thing is—I mean, of course I never wanted to—you see, Gold forced me to, oh, Gold is Neal's father—" Ugh, a twenty second climb up some stairs wasn't nearly enough time to craft together a decent apology-slash-explanation. She quit mumbling as she got to Killian's apartment door, deciding to just say as much as she could spill out, if he would even listen to her.
"Killian!" she rapped twice on the door, then when there was no response, glanced sideways at the window. The blinds were down, and she couldn't tell if there was a light on inside. "Killian!" This time, she pounded both fists, raising her voice. "Please! I—I really need to talk to you!" Still silence. She wondered if he was out, or just really couldn't even stand the sight of her now. "Dammit!" She slapped one palm against the door. "I know you must hate me, but I really—"
Someone clearing their throat had her jump and look towards the left; a teenaged girl lounged in the doorway of the unit two down from Killian's, eyeing Emma detachedly and chomping on a large wad of gum. She tried to calm herself; she must look like a complete loon. She ceased the pounding, and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress.
"Hi…sorry, but do you know the man that lives here?"
The girl stood a little straighter. "Mr. Jones? Sure. He's hot." She gave Emma a once-over. "Who're you, a crazy ex? Did he dump you at the altar?"
"No," Emma started before she forced herself to take a deep breath. It wouldn't do any good to start arguing with one of Killian's neighbors, especially a kid. "I…I've made a big mistake, and I have to apologize to him. As soon as possible." She shot the girl what she hoped was an entreating look.
The girl seemed to be weighing several responses in her head, before sighing and saying: "He's at his night job. I dunno what it is; I saw him leaving for it before and asked, but he told me"—she pitched her voice lower, feigning an awful British accent—" 'Never you mind, lass'."
Of course, duh. "Thank you!" She ran back down the stairs, and hurdled over the convertible's driver door as best she could in a giant dress, the back of it nearly flipping over her head. She had to get to Hollywood, preferably before the performances began. She knew she had no right, but she couldn't stand the thought of Killian wrapping himself around some indiscriminate bimbo, no matter how fleeting the encounter. But now that he felt that—okay, she had—betrayed him, what if he—?
Stay focused, Emma. You'll make it.
Even on a Sunday night, getting into Hollywood was a goddamn nightmare. Emma sped the car up the ramp of the Hollywood and Highland parking complex, and pulled into a spot. Dammit. She had nothing on her that one needed to get into a place like Hollywood Men. She didn't have her ID, but she hoped the bouncer would deem someone old enough to marry, old enough to see nearly naked men shimmying around a stage. Money, though, would be a problem. Emma opened the glove compartment, started to rifle through the contents. Regina was always well-prepared, maybe she had some emergency credit card stashed somewhere, and if she were doubly lucky—she switched to looking through the armrest—the hostess wouldn't check the name on it. She sat back, gave a huff; nothing in the armrest either. Finally, she opened the sunglasses case—and came out with a crisp $100 bill. She gave a small squeal of joy, clutching the money and blessing the crafty old bat who would probably kill her when all this was over. She made it out of the garage, dress dragging, and ignored the stares and whispers as she ran up the escalator at the complex, trying not to worry.
Luckily, all she got was a strange look from the bouncer, but she wasn't asked to show any kind of identification. Once inside the club, she floundered over to the dance request table, pushing aside a couple girls idling in front of it, grabbing the sides and trying to catch her breath. The promo girl looked up, looking like she was about to tell her off for her rudeness, until she took in Emma's appearance.
"Oh…oh, wow. You really went all out for your last hurrah, didn't you? Looks like you tore a part of your—"
Emma waved her hand. "Forget the dress. I need to speak to Killian Jones."
"It's less than ten minutes til showtime! Sorry, but no way can we swing that. No civilians behind the scenes allowed, anyways."
She slapped down Regina's $100 bill on the table. "Fine, then I wanna buy—I need to buy—a dance."
The promo girl looked over Emma's shoulder. "It's usually customary for the Maid of Honor to buy…uh, where's the rest of your party?"
"Nobody else; it's just me."
"Um, okay—"
"And I need Killian Jones for the dancer."
At this, the girl pursed her lips. "All of the guys are very talented; we don't really take dancer requests." She fixed Emma with a judgy look. "This isn't exactly a place that gets…regulars, you know."
Emma was never really the type to show emotion in public, but if it got her to Killian, so be it. She suspected just throttling the promo girl wouldn't get her anywhere but jail, so she screwed up her face in what she hoped passed for on-the-brink-of tears—she told herself it was acting. "Please…I need to tell Killian I made a mistake, I'm sorry, and…and I want to be with him."
She saw the pieces start to fall together in the promo girl's head. "Wait, did you leave some other guy at the altar for Jones?!"
"No. Yes. Well, partly. And I don't know if he'll want me now, but—but I have to try."
"Hey, Maria!" the girl called over her shoulder to the second promo girl writing down names for the dances, "This chick left her fiancé at the altar for Killian!"
The other girl looked up, a shocked smile stealing over her face when she saw Emma. "Oh my god, really? How sweeeeet; it's just like a movie!"
"Yeah, sure," Emma said, starting to feel self-conscious with everyone else filing in who were stopping to gawk at her. "So…can I…can we make this happen?"
The first girl swiped the bill off the table. "You know dances are $50, right? So…you want two?"
Emma's heart beat erratically; another obstacle crossed, but now she really had to follow this thing through. "No, just one—if he doesn't want to listen to me during the one dance, I'll…I'll go."
"Suit yourself. And your name, miss? For the MC to call?"
"Emma…Emma Swan."
She stood back in the shadows, instead of at the front where all the other people who had dances coming up were. She wasn't sure when she was up, and if Killian was waiting behind a curtain, instead of a back room, Emma didn't want to alert him and have him run out on her before she'd had a chance to say her piece. She waited through two sets, eyes glazed over, not really watching, more intent on keeping her ears primed for her name. It turned out she was the third one up.
"Emma Swan? Is there an Emma Swan with us tonight?"
Her stomach lurched as the déjà vu washed over her; she had no idea how she made it to the stage, pulling herself up the few steps with her sweaty palms sliding on the railing. Godammit, Emma, she said angrily to herself, don't chicken out now. Or throw up. Or pass out. None of those.
She collapsed onto the chair placed center stage, gripping the sides so hard her knuckles ached, staring out into the sea of faces to distract her. Bad idea; even with the loud music blasting, Emma would swear she could hear a pin drop in there, going by the audience's confused, open-mouthed looks. Alright then, don't look at them. Just think…think about Killian.
Emma only had time for one more fortifying breath before the house lights dimmed, and the blinding spotlight clicked on above her.
"Jones, your set's up! What the hell are you doing staring into space?" The last stripper who'd been up, Apollo, passed behind Killian, snapping the toga he'd shed in his set against Killian's backside with a loud thwack.
"Bloody fuck! Thanks, mate, thanks a whole hell—"
"Just get out there before you run the whole show behind, Notting Hill."
Grumbling a few more expletives as he emerged from the right wing, Killian strode dutifully up behind his charge for the night, his brows furrowing together more and more the closer he got. There was something familiar about that tangled blonde hair, the set of the girl's shoulders. And showing up in a full wedding dress…it was certainly very odd. Whatever it was, it had a feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He shrugged it off as he came up flush against her back; obviously the past few days of inactivity had made him delirious. There was no way…no way….
He checked a sigh before it became audible, willing himself to turn on the charm. On with it, Jones. You've done this a million times before her, and you'll do it a million after. Killian leaned down, cupped the woman's shoulders and rubbing his calloused thumbs over the warm skin. He tilted his lips towards her ear. "Hello, lo—"
The woman turned her head, and the rest of his opener died in his throat. She gave him a meek smile. "Hi, Killian."
He nearly snatched his hands away, feeling as through he'd just been delivered an electric shock, but he didn't want to let her see how rattled he was. What kind of a bloody fucking joke was this, now? After she'd thrown him off, he'd determined she was fickle, but he'd never have taken her for cruel. Apparently, he'd been wrong in that arena as well. He gripped her shoulders even tighter, hissing his return greeting. "Swan."
"Killian, I had to see you, I need—"
"Oh, I know what you need, love. Did you think I'd forgotten the date of your nuptials? And here you are on your illustrious wedding night for another round with the stripper. What must your new husband think of such wanton behavior?" Noticing a few people in the front row looking at them in confusion, Killian unfroze and jerked Emma to her feet, far more roughly than necessary.
"Oof!" She hit his chest, and raised her hands to push herself off him, but he grabbed her wrists. "Killian, I really—"
He held her wrists tightly against his front. "Now, now, Swan, you paid for an arousing dance from the hot bobby, and I never leave a desperate housewife wanting." He released one hand to reach down and give her ass a careless squeeze, giddy screams erupting from the audience. Plastering a grin on his face, he ripped his shirt off, still not letting go of Emma. She was on his turf now, and whatever she was on about, he wasn't going to let her wriggle cleanly out of it.
She gave another jerk in his iron grip. "Killian, listen to me! I came to—"
"No, no I don't think I will. You seduce me one minute, throw me off the next, and I'm supposed to just listen when you breeze in on your wedding day to toy with me—" Now he let go of her, backing away. "Right, I think I'm done listening, Swan."
Oh, no, Emma thought. She hadn't gone through all this just to have him completely refuse to hear her out. He wasn't getting away that easily. If he heard everything, and still wanted nothing to do with her…well, she wouldn't like it, but at least all the cards would be on the table. Furiously, she followed his retreating steps, and with no small difficulty, hefted one leg out from under her dress, hitching it over Killian's hip to trap him against her. He stumbled, instinctively reaching down and cupping her ass before they both fell down, and regained his balance, leaning back into one of the poles that were on either side of the stage for the strippers to utilize. Now people were starting to catch on that something was off—the stripper'd stopped his dance, and what appeared to be a crazy patron was manhandling him.
"Hey, is this part of the show?"
"What's going on up there?"
Killian stared down at her, eyebrows knitted. "What the—bloody hell, Swan, are you on something? I mean, I admire your show of dexterity, this isn't the first time you've subjected me to it, but—"
"Stop it!" Emma shouted angrily. "I—I didn't get married today, you jackass!"
Of course, that's when they finally cut the music, Emma's declaration echoing loudly over the entire room. The MC, noticing the curious stares from the audience and not one to miss out on an opportunity for unplanned entertainment, surreptitiously made it onto the stage, pushing his mic into a stand.
"Killian," he called, "if you're going to air your personal business at work, you're going to share it with everyone else."
Killian glared at him. "I most certainly bloody well will no—"
"It's okay," Emma said. "Go on over; this seems to be the day I make a fool of myself in front of large crowds." She wrapped her other leg around him, twined her arms around his neck. She'd caught him, and now was her chance.
The barest hint of a smirk ghosted over Killian's face. "Not going to release me until you've said your piece, are you?"
She tightened her hold. "Nope."
He made a tsking sound, but staggered them over to the mic. "Alright, Swan, you've cornered me. What's the story?"
She drew in a shaky breath. "In a nutshell—I'd made up my mind not to marry Neal the same day I told you I was still marrying him, you know, uh, after we…slept together—" A few enthusiastic hoots came from the crowd.
Killian ignored them, cocked a brow. "And? What changed your mind?"
"This sounds completely fake, but believe it or not, Neal's father blackmailed me to. Apparently he knows Neal's as big a fuck-up as much as everyone else, and wanted me as an apprentice in his business ventures. He thought Neal would run him into the ground when he was ready to take over."
"Well, how did he make you go through—well, almost through—with it?"
"He—he threatened to ruin my dad's business. He's got a lot of influence, and muscle, and—I was afraid he'd fuck up my family's life, okay?"
A few comments tittered up from the crowd, like "Damn!" and "Is this for real?" and "This is great!" But Killian continued to keep a hard gaze on Emma.
"Something obviously changed your mind back at the last minute."
She sighed. "I broke down at the last minute, and told my dad just as he was about to walk me down the aisle. And then I told Neal off, right at the altar. I'd been trying to shoulder the whole burden, and he just put things in such a clear perspective, like—like you've done." She closed her eyes, swallowed tensely. "I—I should've told you right from the start. And I'm sorry I didn't. Sorry I treated you the way I did. I just thought I was trapped, and I didn't want to bring you down, too. I thought you wouldn't want to bother with me…with the whole mess."
Well, there it was—everything. The audience was strangely silent. Emma opened her eyes again slowly, fearfully anticipating Killian's reaction. She was startled by the soft expression on his face: the lines around his eyes and mouth had relaxed, and he let out what almost sounded like a chuckle.
"You were right, you know, Swan," he chastised.
"About not wanting to bother with me?" she gulped.
He snorted. "No, you bloody, silly—about telling me! Did you really think I'd let some odious old man tie you down to his equally odious son?"
Tears of relief leaked from the corners of Emma's eyes. "I—I don't know what I thought. It all sounds so easily dealt with, when you put it like that." She trailed one hand from his neck up to his cheek. "So, you…you believe me?"
"Well," Killian said slowly, reaching up to thoughtfully scratch his ear. "Aye, that's a truly fantastical story, to be sure. So much so…I don't think you could have made all that up."
Emma bristled. "What, you think I'm not creative enough? You listen here, Killian Jones—"
Killian rolled his eyes, settled his arms around her waist firmly. "Swan, did you come here to apologize or segue right into our next disagreement? Because I'm getting a bit whiplashed here."
She flushed. "Sorry again."
He moved his hands up to palm her cheeks, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. "Stop saying 'sorry', you infuriating woman," he ordered, moving his thumb to the dent in her chin, rubbing softly.
"Kiss each other, you idiots!" a woman screamed from the front row, answered by resounding cheers.
Emma gave a nervous giggle. "You know, Killian…all this has happened in a little less than a month. I'm feeling whiplashed just thinking about it."
"So stop thinking," he murmured over her lips, just before he lowered his mouth to hers. She opened up to him, pressing their tongues together, releasing a small sigh into his mouth, marveling again at how they just fit, how natural everything between them had felt from the beginning.
They were both only distantly aware of the screeching going on in the background of their kiss, until they started to get pelted with bachelorette party favors—plastic wands, streamers, dildo balloons. They both looked up, stupid grins on their faces, to everyone—patrons, staff, other strippers—applauding wildly, the promo girls holding on to each other and hopping in place.
Finally, another woman stood up. "This is cute and all, but can the rest of us get back to seeing some naked guys? Please?"
Killian laughed, along with the rest of the room. "She has a point." He was red-faced, beads of sweat breaking out along his forehead. "Emma, I consider myself a fit male specimen, but this dress weighs a bloody ton! I don't know why you women make yourselves suffer in these."
"Oops!" Emma jumped down from his hold, and Killian pulled them behind the curtain, towards the dressing room.
"Let me just pack up, and…well, I don't want to presume. Do you want to spend the rest of the night with me, Emma?"
She twined her arms around his back. "Oh, fuck yes."
They only woke up when the sun shone through Emma's half-raised blinds. The sheets were twisted around their bare bodies, limbs equally twisted together, Emma's cheek against Killian's chest, his chin on top of her head. For a minute, as sleep clung to her, Emma thought last night might have been one weird, wonderful dream, and she was waking up in her marital bed. Her fingers dug into Killian's side in a momentary panic, but she lifted her head, reassuring herself.
"Oy!" Killian protested groggily. "No tickling, Swan. I move to add that as a stipulation of this relationship proceeding."
She grinned, crawling up until their faces were level. "So we're in a relationship now, are we, Mr. Jones?"
"Well," he scoffed, "I hardly think you would've gone and put on a show like you did last night, and clung to me like a sloth on a tree branch, for someone you wanted to just boff once more and never see again."
She smacked his arm. "I did not do that! And, sounds like you underestimate my love for 'boffing'," she teased.
"Right, that's it. Looks like I'll have to put you in your place," Killian responded, rolling over to pin Emma to the mattress, and running his fingertips lightly over her ribs.
"Hey!" she cried, squirming. "I thought you said no tickling!"
"No tickling me, Swan."
"Stop that, stop that right now, Killian, or this is going to escalate!" she yelped. "Do you really want me surprising you with tickle attacks? Don't think just because we're…we're seeing each other, that I'll show you any mercy."
He groaned, rolling over onto his back. "Alright, you win," he conceded, folding his arms behind his head.
"Oh, shit!" Emma suddenly sat bolt upright. They really should have a talk about this whole 'relationship' thing, but there were people she owed a more in-depth explanation to.
"What?"
"My family…my friends…I have to tell them everything, about yesterday. I kinda…skipped out without explaining. And Regina's car…I'm sure she's having a conniption about it."
"That car is ridiculous. I don't think I've ever felt so emasculated by an inanimate object as when I was riding shotgun in that thing."
"Yeah, well, 'that car' got me to you last night. She'll probably demand my kidney as payment, but—"
"Aye, but what's one less kidney when you have me?" Killian beamed his most ingratiating smile.
"Dork."
"Emma!" Mary Margaret enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug as soon as she stepped through the door. "Oh my god, are you alright? Your father explained what he knew, but—"
"Mom, Mom, I'm fine," Emma assured her.
"Well, at least sit down and have some breakfast with us. I want you to fill in some of the holes for us."
Inwardly she groaned, but Emma knew she couldn't get out of it. David was already seated in the kitchen, and Mary Margaret sat next to him, both looking at her expectantly. Emma sighed, and began. She'd told her mother the Killian side of things, and her dad the Gold/Neal/business side—it was just a matter of filling them in together. When she was done, her mother looked absolutely agog, and David, she could tell, was more curious about 'this stripper person' than anything having to do with his company. She could tell he was pretty miffed at not being confided in, looking so forlorn that Emma laid a hand on his arm.
"I'm sorry, Dad. It's just, well…dads and boy talk don't really mix."
"Yeah. I understand," he said gruffly, but he still didn't look too happy. "But…I mean…you just cancelled a wedding. Do you really have to jump into something new right away with this—this stripper?"
"Dad, don't call him that. That's how I met Killian, but he's so much more than a job. And really, he was the one who first showed me what a mistake I was making. I was just too stubborn to see it. Killian's not—I won't let him be the reason for all this. But ever since I met him, I realized there's at least one person out there who believes I'm not a failure, that I can get back on my feet, and not just live out the rest of my life as some—some trophy wife."
Mary Margaret looked like someone had slapped her. "Emma, your father and I have always believed in you. Honey, I had no idea you were even thinking like this—how come you never came to us?"
"I mean," David broke in, "surely you must have known we'd never have let that troll carry out what he was planning."
"You guys already sacrificed so much for me, all that tuition, and supplies, and my rent…how could I tell you—"
Her mother rose and came around to her side of the table, hugging Emma's head to her chest. "We did all that for your happiness. And if you're not happy, well then, none of that matters. Money is just a means to an end…and I don't want my daughter feeling indebted.
"But—but what's going to happen to the company now? You know Gold doesn't make idle threats, and I'm sure he won't be lenient after you punched him."
"Oh, that," David mumbled, he and Mary Margaret exchanging glances.
"What?" Emma demanded, worried. "God, did he blacklist you throughout the state too, or something?"
"No, no, nothing like that—" Mary Margaret began.
"In fact, it's not bad news at all," David continued. "I'm sure you guessed that most of that fun-looking group of people on Gold's side of the church are related to him through business. Well…turns out, threatening a young lady, and her family, on her wedding day doesn't go over too well with most people. The majority of his guests actually came to the reception—Regina insisted on carrying it out—and personally told me that Gold wouldn't keep them from patronizing Nolan Construction. Apparently Gold's burned one too many bridges, and for a lot of people, that wedding was the straw that broke the camel's back."
"Your father's built himself up well in the community after all these years," Mary Margaret smiled. "You really do catch more flies with honey than vinegar."
"That's—that's great," Emma said, feeling eternally grateful to those strangers who'd had enough of Gold's shit. "But what about the other stuff? I mean, you did knock out Gold and Neal out. Didn't the cops come?"
Her parents both got up, and started putting a plate of food together for her, and helping themselves to more. "Oh, they came," David said. "But again, it paid off for your good old dad, building a good repertoire throughout L.A. Of course, there were still witnesses for Gold, so they had to do something—"
Mary Margaret broke in excitedly. "But Sheriff Humbert was the one who took the call. Remember him, Emma?"
"Sure," Emma replied. "Didn't Dad deal with him, re-designing the old station several years ago?"
"Well, they always stayed friendly," her mother continued. "And he knows how Gold is, probably has his hands in a few pockets in his own department. But he's always been a good man."
"He only slapped me with a fine, the smallest he could get away with," David said. "Same for your friend, Victor. Though I had to put in a good word on his behalf. But how could I not, seeing as he bloodied that bastard's—"
"David," Mary Margaret scolded, then turned to Emma. "Even though everything worked out, in no way do I condone all the violence that happened."
Emma kept her smile in check. "Well, I do, Dad."
"Emma, don't encourage him! He's been walking around the house ever since like he thinks he's Dirty Harry, or something."
"She's exaggerating," David grinned, eyes twinkling. "Oh, and needless to say, Pastor Hopper strongly encouraged us to never use his church for a "Nolan family event" ever again."
Emma laughed. "No argument there. Hey," she continued, glancing around, "where's Regina? Did she get blackout drunk at the open bar?"
"She's…staying at the Viceroy still," David said nonchalantly, buttering some toast.
"What? Is she really that mad about the car? She couldn't stand to see me for awhile?"
"No…no," Mary Margaret said, flustered, a blush spreading across her face. "She's alright—" she fumbled with her cell phone on the table. "She sent me a text after the festivities were over, and said…she found someone she took a liking to, and…well, she said—they're getting on well."
Goddammit, Regina. "She's staying at the hotel with a guy?! I told her not to hit on Neal's friend! Was it Robin? The other groomsman?"
"That unkempt fellow? Yes. And Emma, you should know by now how well Regina listens to anyone else," David said, looking amused.
"But—but she's twice his age! What—"
"No need to remind me!" Mary Margaret said, blushing even more furiously.
"Well," Emma said, feeling slightly disturbed. "Should I call and ask her about the car?"
Mary Margaret glanced nervously at David, who had a sneaky smile stealing over his face. "Sh—she, um, said not to contact her before the end of the week, on pain of…well, pain. She said the only reason we'd hear from her is if she needs to be taken to the hospital for a hip replacement after, ah, all's been said and done."
"If she needs…oh, ewww!" Emma shrieked, realization dawning on her all at once. She clapped her hands over her ears. "Too much info!"
"Indeed," David agreed, wrapping an arm around her mother. "However, since you kind of brought this on, your mother and I decided you'd be her chauffeur if that dreaded call comes in."
Emma sighed. "She's going to lord this over me for years to come. But I can't really deny her, after all she did."
"Oh, I'm sure she'll relax, once you name your firstborn after her," David replied jovially, pouring himself a second cup of coffee. "Who would've thought a failed wedding would end up in a successful cougar hunt."
"David!" Mary Margaret yelled, trying to land a hard slap on his arm. He danced out of her reach, laughing. "I swear, your father is enjoying this whole situation far too much. It's incredibly inappropriate."
"Dad, she does have a point. I mean, technically, at Regina's age it's more appropriate to call it a panther hunt."
Mary Margaret plunked herself down in a kitchen chair, gaze sliding between Emma and David. "You know what, I give up. I'm clearly outnumbered by two teenaged boys."
Emma settled back, coffee cup in hand, appreciating her parents' chatter for a minute before she joined in. It was relaxing to be able to lower her walls around them again.
"So…what do I do now?" Emma had Elsa and Ruby on speaker, waiting for her class at the rec center to start. Naturally, she had barely been able to get a word in, with all their (even usually calm Elsa) squealing over her hunting Killian down at the club.
"Everything's come full circle," Ruby said, with a little sigh.
"We knew it all along," Elsa stated firmly.
"You guys did not!"
"We did! You were just too stubborn to see it at first."
"You two dopes were clearly meant to be," Ruby said. "But as for what you do now…well yeah, you've skipped a few steps. So, you'll have to backtrack."
"Backtrack?"
"Go on a date, Emma," Elsa clarified. "Like regular people. Even though you're both obviously nuts."
"But…I haven't been on a first date in years."
"Tough shit," said Ruby. "You've got the man, and he's sure done his fair share of chasing. Now go do some wooing of your own."
Killian tossed a potato in the oven to bake, then flopped down on the couch, a long sigh of contentment escaping him. He would never have imagined the past few days turning out as they had—he was used to everything blowing up in his face. But somehow, he'd gotten the girl, had her come back to him no less, and it was all a lot to take in. All the kissy noises the other guys at the club (and at the container yard, thanks to Scarlet) made whenever he passed them were well worth it—in fact, having his coworkers know a woman like Emma thought so much of him made him walk around with his chest puffed out in pride. Not to mention, for the first time in over a half-decade, he could feel the steel grip around his heart loosening ever so slightly. It wasn't gone, would never be fully gone, but having Emma around—it was healing. A wistful smile played at the corners of his mouth. Liam would've liked her.
A sharp knock at the door broke through his musings, and he stumbled to his feet, annoyed. Why did those bloody Mormon kids always show up right at dinner time? Maybe on this occasion he'd point out it didn't endear anyone to their—
"Emma?" he said, surprised. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but—we didn't have plans tonight, did we?" Truthfully, he was a bit embarrassed about her catching him in his after-work ripped sweatpants, and smudges still on his faces.
"No…" she said, fiddling with a corner of her shirt. "I—I've just come to, well…I was thinking about what you said. About being in a relationship."
Oh, bloody hell, she wasn't getting cold feet, was she? Him and his big mouth. "I didn't mean to scare you off with that, lass. If you want, we can just go back to—"
"No! I mean, no, I don't want to go backwards. I'm only looking towards the future with you, Killian."
He raised a brow. "What're you saying, Swan?"
"We're doing this—this whole relationship thing right from now on. So, first things first—I'm here to ask you out. Like, to dinner…or something."
A/N: I know, I know…this chap had some crazy parts, too. But I felt like after all that had happened, Killian deserved a grand gesture. I was also going to add some smut to their morning after, but then I'd have to put a warning about it, and that would've been a dead giveaway for their reconciliation (though y'all knew it was coming anyway ;) Maybe for the epilogue...?).