Disclaimer: None of this characters are mine. No Killian Jones, no Emma Swan, no Graham, no Ruby. Nope. If they did, we'd all hang out and I'd probably spend my days staring at their prettiness and perfection. Sadly, they all are owned by Disney, Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis, along with OUAT. Bastards.
How he hated alarm clocks.
God, he abhorred them.
Letting out a low growl, he felt under his pillow, looking for his phone so that obnoxious song would stop ringing. He had stopped using actual clocks to wake him up - they didn't end up so well after he threw them from the bedside table in his morning carefulness and not-so-happy mood. He wondered why did he set up some song he actually liked to wake him up - he ended up resenting each one of them. It was utterly stupid.
Wow, Jones, such fascinating musings this early in the morning. Four for you.
After hitting repeatedly the 'end' button on the phone, he debated wether to finally get up or laze around in the covers, nuzzling in the warmth left after hours spent wrapped in them.
Getting up: actually moving. Putting on clothes. See people. Talk to people. Sign that contract. Sell your soul to Gold's deal.
Yeah, it didn't sound too promising from his deliciously warm bed.
Though the prospect of seeing Swan fret that afternoon perked him up, to be completely honest. A little smile tugged at his mouth at the thought.
Staying in bed: stay. In bed. Not moving. Letting his thoughts wander around. Relaxing. Holding soft pillow and covers to him in a loving embrace...
Yet it were moments like that when his treacherous mind recalled other nights spent in those same sheets, tangled in hushed whispers, passionate screams and sweet nothings murmured between sweaty limbs bracing in a loving mess.
That did it. His body jerking forward as if it were being propelled by some kind of mechanism, his breathing ragged, - as every damn time thoughts like these plagued his troubled mind, - he shook his head and gripped his scalp with his hands. Sometimes, little shocks of pain like this would make him forget about other wounds he sported. Wounds he had never told anyone about. Wounds not visible for the outer eye.
Who would have thought that Killian Jones was a scarred man.
His phone decided to beep in that same moment, and for once in his life he was positively gleeful for it. Snatching it from where he had left it before, he picked it up, not bothering to read who it was. "'Lo?"
"You're actually awake?" Victor knew better than anyone how he detested not sleeping in - he had been on the end of many of his early morning tantrums.
He stretched his arms over his head, his voice coming out a bit raspy. "As much as it may surprise you, actually, I am."
His mocking tone answered rapidly. "It does surprise me. For you, getting up before 12 is sacrilege."
"Shut up. I distinctly remember you throwing your bloody shoe at me for trying to wake you up once when we were on tour."
His mate was fast to interrupt him. "That was different."
"Of course it was. You were sleeping in a bloody roundabout."
They both burst out laughing, remembering the incident. Killian couldn't understand how he had gotten all the fall from this reputation and scandal thing - his friends were just like him or worse. He couldn't believe that night hadn't made it to the papers or something.
Though he had tweeted a picture. One couldn't let that kind of moments pass you by and not do anything about it, could he? They were like wishing on a shooting star.
"That was classic." Victor sighed contentedly, like a proud grandfather would boast about some epic memory of his to his grandchildren. "Anyway, you're coming by for brunch, right?"
"Yeah, sure - studio or Philip's?"
"Studio. Aurora has no idea about the contract, remember?" Oh, right. He had forgotten about that. Poor lass - she'd be devastated when all of this ended and she realized she'd been left out of it. Though he'd sure have his fun teasing her about it.
Suddenly, the thought of how and when the deal would be off haunted him, making him shift uncomfortably in his place in the bed. God, but they hadn't even signed anything and he was what - sad? mourning? anxious? Yep, let's go with anxious - about it ending already?
You're such a loser, Jones.
He focused again in Victor's voice. "We thought we would give you a last free man's morning and it'd be just us. You know, consider it like some kind of bachelor's party."
He rolled his eyes and let out a dark chuckle. "Dude, if you guys ever throw a bachelor's party for me, make sure it's not a fucking brunch, for God's sake. That's just depressing."
"Yeah, yeah - we know. Naked chicks. Loads of alcohol."
His voice perked up at that. "That sounds more about it."
"Yeah, I'm in for that too." He paused, like he was giving thought about it. "Wait - we could call some stripper for the brunch..."
They both laughed again. Victor's humor had always been refreshing to him, it was quite more like his in some ways than the others'. Shaking his head in amusement, he finally let go of the covers enveloping him and got on his feet. "'Kay, see you there in an hour, loser."
"See ya."
Picking some clothes from his wardrobe - why did their friends even care if he organized them in a color code was still beyond him, really, didn't they understand it was way faster and more comfortable that way? Assholes - he made his way to the bathroom, eager to take a shower and get ready to get to the studio on time. Stripping off the light cotton shirt and pajama pants he wore to bed after he had turned on the water, - really hot, scalding hot, the kind of hot that left your skin pink when you came out of it, - he peeked at his reflection in the mirror, trying really hard to fight the urge to look at what his mind was eagerly telling him not to.
Ever had those times when you try to fight yourself - yet fail anyway?
He wasn't really fond of them, seeing as he usually didn't listen to anybody - not even his own mind.
So he looked, knowing full well he wouldn't like at all what he would see - or, more specifically, what it'd remind him of. He had had his quota of bad dreams about it these past weeks, after all. And he had to live with the memo about it around everyday, after all.
He turned his forearm so he could see the inner skin in the reflection of the mirror, studying it intently, tracing the contours of the dark ink with his fingers, remembering the stinging sensation the needle had left in its way while the tattoo artist had been branding it. How his teeth had gritted and his left hand had curled into a fist, veins showing in his neck and arm and face trying not to show the discomfort and slight pain it had provoked in him.
How a warm, pale, and smaller hand had taken his fist into hers and kissed it gently short afterwards. How he had turned his head and looked at her face, those hauntingly blue eyes, that brilliant smile, full of love, trust and awe, everything he had never even thought we would be in the end of receiving. How that face could make him drop everything and go fight a battle, slay a dragon, bring down a star. Anything.
He looked down at the lines conforming the carved cage, the dark and firm strokes drafting the fragile yet regal looking bird inside of it. Steam billowed around him, fogging up the shower panes and the mirrors in the wall, tiny drops of water condensing on his skin and hair. He closed his eyes tightly, his face a mask of pain as he gripped his left arm over the design, as if it would make it disappear from his sight as soon as he lifted it.
He had found out long ago it didn't work like that. How he wished it did, though.
He turned on his feet, opening the shower door with a rough shove and letting himself in, ignoring the lump in his throat and the turmoil of feelings that the fucking thing had started inside him.
But there are as much things as water can clean, or cure. Or make you forget.
And the memory of a beautiful, elegant key tattooed on her skin wasn't one of them.
An hour later, he was opening the door to the studio where his mates were already setting the goods in the table where not a week ago they had shared a meal with Swan and Red Lips. He smirked to himself, suddenly recalling the blonde's reaction at his nickname for her friend. The girl was too touchy, really - she was ready to jump at him at the slightest tease.
Though that kind of loyalty for her friends' sake was admirable, he'd give her that.
He dropped his share of the provisions with the rest and ran to grab a coffee from Jefferson's place. The bassist was always in charge of coffee and tea: he was a freaking connoisseur, and had insisted on teaching all of his bandmates about the matter. He was a proper theine and caffeine junkie; he could be always seen with a cup around - except when they went out: that's where the liquor would make an appearance. No wonder Gracie's favorite make-believe playtime was having her dolls sharing a cup of tea and some scones (he had taught her about those, to her father's dismay). He turned to him, taking an apple in his hand and cleaning it on his shirt. "Where did you leave Grace?"
"She's with Aurora - she was dying to stay with her for a day so they could dress up and do 'girly stuff', as she so eloquently put it," he said, smiling fondly. He wasn't the least surprised - Aurora did enjoy her playtime with the girl, and though they teased her endlessly about it, she never caved to accept how much she really did like pretending to be a princess and being rescued by her oh-so-perfect prince. Or just having a nice tea date with her niece's toys, just to see the kid's smile.
He was ready to bite the apple when a smooth voice made him jump.
"So - you ready?"
"Huh?" He spun around, just as August clasped a hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly. His friend's eyes raked over his face. For fuck's sake, why did he always look so worried? He was no damsel in distress. He rolled his eyes at him, making clear that he didn't need saving. At all.
"What, you think I'm chickening out now?"
"Of course not. You're not the cold feet type." He studied him intently for a bit and added, "though, of course, this isn't a wedding..."
"Damn well it is not, if it were we would have had naked chicks and alcohol," Victor interrupted, coming to stand beside him, a silly grin plastered on his face. Killian barked out a laugh, pumping fists with him remembering their conversation that morning. At their friends' confused faces, they laughed even harder.
Some things never changed. Teasing the rest of your friends when you shared an inside joke with someone was one of them.
They had their dishes in a comfortable mood, in the familiar way that managed to put Killian at ease after the troubled morning he had had so far, spent between laughs, sudden ideas thrown around about possible upcoming songs and melodies - and even potential names for them ("I am rather liking Red Lips, don't you think? I see it. I can see it guys," Victor had declared after a few comments on the texting shared between Killian and Emma, staring dreamily into space, no doubt picturing those same red lips. Ha. He was particularly eager to see how that would work - and how Swan would react to his mate's interest in her best friend).
Suddenly, Philip cleared his throat, pumping his chest lightly with his free hand while raising his coffee in the other. "Gentlemen, I'd like to propose a toast."
They all shared an amused look, taking their own drinks in their hands and mimicking his friend - a low "who made him the best man? Jones, you'd better make me the best man, or I'll cut your balls off" whispered under Victor's breath and the rest of their answering chuckles. They waited expectantly until Philip continued. "To the lovely fake union of our own beloved leprechaun, the one and only Killian Jones," they all cheered, clapped and wooted at him, laughing until he got up and waved as if here were royalty, guffawing. Philip shushed them, waving his hand impatiently so they would let him go on, "yeah, as I was saying, the union between this bastard and the beautiful, funny and talented Emma Swan."
They all cheered, catcalls from Victor included. Killian let his jaw drop, utterly bemused. "She's not even here, why are you even bothering to kiss her ass?"
Philip shrugged. "I am not - I am stating facts."
"Are you? Sure. Wait - is she here? Is she listening? Swan, come out now!" He faked looking around at invisible cameras, smirking the whole time. Jefferson looked up at the ceiling, rolling his eyes at his antics. "You're such a tool."
"Come now Killian. Not even you can't deny she is beautiful. And funny. And talented," August called from his seat at the other end of the couch.
"As a matter of fact, I can."
The keyboardist made a gesture with his arms, inviting him to continue. "Oh, pray tell."
Right before he started his tirade, he could hear Jefferson grumbling under his breath, "this'd better be good. He's practically marrying the girl and here he is, talking trash about her."
"I am not talking trash. I just am pointing out things about her that my dear mate here just said, as if she were some kind of angel fallen from the sky."
Philip threw his arms up, exasperated. "I didn't..."
Shushing him as if he were a child, Killian went on, raising a finger in the air, counting. "Semantics, mate. First: beautiful." He paused, picturing long, blonde curls, green deep eyes, porcelain skin. Pouty lips. Those tiny freckles on her nose. Lovely shoulders. And legs.
JONES. You're taking too long. Answer. Anything. Now. "I won't deny she is hot... but I've had better."
They all groaned, August even face-palming himself in the process. "Charming, aren't you? Is that what you say to every girl you try to get into bed?"
He gave his mate his best bitch smile, courtesy of Miss Swan. "You're hilarious." He kept going, raising another finger. "Second: funny. Well, considering every time she opens that mouth of hers is to insult me, I don't see it."
"That's because she's defending herself or acting disgusted at your innuendos, you dumbass."
He waved his hand in the air. "Same old, same old. I'll have you know, most girls would be thrilled to be on the receiving end of my innuendos."
They really were.
"That's what she said." Victor piped with a laugh, followed by the rest of the boys. Killian pointed accusingly at them, "See? When he does that you all laugh, yet when I do you all call me names. I hate you all."
Philip got up from his seat and approached him, pinching his cheek mockingly. "Awwwwwwwwww, poor Jones - he is not loved enough."
"Come here, you big baby," followed August from beside him, arm draped over his shoulder, shoving him affectionately. He feigned ignorance at them, trying to maintain some kind of composure.
Jefferson left his cup on the table and added, smirking, "I bet you'll be having love now - you know, signed and on paper and basically bought, but love nevertheless."
"Yeah, right - I really don't think Emma will be so eager to get into bed with him." August snorted.
"Who said bed? At least some cuddling and kissing."
Oh, God. "What every guy wants. Cuddling."
Jefferson got up from his seat on the couch and clapped, gaining their attention. "Guys, we should get going - we have to be at Gold's in half an hour. Let's clean this up, shall we?"
As they all raised from their seats, carrying containers and cups up and down the room, Philip called Killian from the end of the room. "Talented."
"What?"
"Talented. I said that Emma was talented, yet you didn't refuse or argue over it."
He stopped in his tracks, momentarily lost in thought. Huh. He had forgotten about that one. He shrugged it off. "Well, as I haven't really seen her acting or watched anything she's in, I cannot judge her on that one, I guess."
They all froze in place, looking at him like he was crazy. It was August who finally uttered an awed "you haven't?"
He looked at him curiously. What was it? "Nope."
Even Victor looked sheepish at the thought. "Why not?"
"I don't know, I forgot...?" Why were they so spooked about it?
"Dude, what do you expect to talk about with her if you don't even know what she does?"
He scoffed, getting annoyed at their blaming tones. "I know what she does. She's a bloody actress."
"Yet you don't know how many movies she has been in, or the projects she may be starring in. Research, Jones, ever heard of it?" August's cocked eyebrow only made him grow even more annoyed.
"Yeah well, Gold and Regina told us already about how this last project of hers was a big deal, I do know about it, so what's the matter?"
"Do you even know what the movie is about, or how it's even called for that matter?"
"No."
"For the love of..." August interrupted himself, giving him a father-chastising-his-son look. "You're really something, Killian. I really don't get you: you agree to this contract, somehow giving up your whoring ways and whatnot in order to 'save the band' and all - with this girl who is ready to actually help our sorry asses... and yet you don't look at all interested in actually holding your end of the deal."
He stared at him, affronted. "What has me watching the movie she has starred in has to do with anything?"
"Well, in order to make a relationship work - as fake as it may be in this case - most couples try to actually get to know each other, you know. She has, at least," he answered.
Wait. What had he said?
"What?"
He sent him a curious look, like he was trying to tell if he was lying or not. "You do know she has been listening to our songs, don't you? She texted me about it."
His stomach tightened at that. He wasn't really sure for what reason exactly - for her actually listening to their songs, as he recalled from their conversation the previous day, showing that she had been at least a bit curious about their music - as he knew she hadn't known about their band prior their meeting in the Gala - or for her texting August.
He liked to think it was the former.
His friend sighed, zipping up his customary black leather jacket and taking his helmet from the shelf. "Promise me at least you'll try to watch the freaking trailer or rent her last movie this week, will you?"
He nodded, shrugging on his own jacket and grabbing his glasses, following his friends out of the building to where their rides were parked. He took his keys from his jacket's pocket, letting himself in as he spied August mounting his bike and the rest of them getting into their respective cars.
"You want a ride, blondie?" He asked Victor, blowing him a kiss, trying to lighten the mood after his argument with August.
"In your dreams. Race you to Gold's office?"
He smirked at him. "Thought you'd never ask." They both shared a knowing look until they heard Jefferson clapping from his driver's spot. He always clapped twice whenever he wanted to change the subject. In this case, no racing allowed apparently, as he sent them a withering glance. "Boys - no funny business. Let's get all of us alive, okay?"
"Yes, mom," he answered, lowering the glasses onto his eyes and starting the ignition, driving first out of the parking lot and into the hellish maze of Los Angeles' traffic.
Sometimes he wondered if children really grew up. At all.
Especially when you're inside an elevator with four other guys in their late twenties and all they seem capable of doing is jump lightly at the same time so the cabin will tremble in its journey up, laughter echoing on the walls and playful shoves included.
Killian liked to think their band's name was literal in situations like these. They acted like real kids. And yet, he loved to play along with them.
Finally leaving the lift, they trudged to Gold's door together, exchanging jokes between them and not appearing at all like they were all about to sign some paper that would surely affect the five of them from that very day until some uncertain future.
Killian couldn't be more grateful about that fact. He knew, at least, they'd always be on his side.
As cool as he could act towards this day and how he had tried to brace himself for it in his mind in this past week, he still found himself bloody terrified of the idea. Not only he was not relationship material, - don't get him started on fake relationship material - the fact that the media would be on his tail again now that they'd be giving them something to play with wasn't really sitting him well, considering how it had gone in the past. Even though he knew now it was them taking matters into their hands and it was Gold and Regina - and Emma and him, of course - holding the reins, he was rather wary about it nevertheless.
He wasn't exactly eager of people's reaction to this, either. He was bloody terrified that maybe this crazy plan of Gold may backfire and leave them all with their ass in the street. Though he was sure it wouldn't be the case - both Emma and his reps had told them that much or they wouldn't have come up with this in the first place - it was normal to feel cautious about everything at this point, wasn't it?
He tried to convince himself of this and ignore the little voice inside of him yelling how he knew he was afraid of only one reaction to this whole mess. One female reaction with a matching tattoo to his, specifically.
Thoughts of her plaguing his mind, they suddenly morphed into his other source of headaches lately.
For that matter, he was slightly anxious at his partner in crime, Ms. Blondie Extraordinaire. The Swan girl. Emma.
As much as he could whine about her being judgmental, bitchy, jumpy, not at all welcoming of his charm and flirting, and an overall party pooper, he could at least admit she was one hell of a kind. She was a tough lass, she was fierce and witty, she didn't back down at any challenge thrown at her, she was loyal and impressively sweet with kids, if her interactions with Grace had proved anything...
...she was there.
He stepped into the room nearly tripping after Jefferson. Quietly composing himself, he quickly inspected the occupants of the office waiting for them, all mingling in front of Gold's over-organized desk as he slowly approached them with his boys. Belle and Gold were casually leaning against the desk, holding hands discreetly while each one of them held a different conversation: Gold spoke in hushed whispers with Regina, whilst Belle listened intently and smiling to something that Red Lips was telling her, all waving hands and high-pitched squeals. On Regina's other side stood a man whom he had never seen before, though he suspected was Emma's brother: he was blonde, pale skinned and broad shouldered, fit. Funny, brother and sister weren't that alike, even though both of them were blondes and had clear eyes...
He possessed an air about him though- calm, fair, but no softie. He wouldn't like to be on this guy's bad side.
Well, they'd have to see how that went, he thought with an inner smirk. He wasn't about to drop his games with Swan over the possibility of her brother's fist meeting his jaw in the near future.
He guessed the petite brunette holding Swan's brother's hand was his girlfriend. Wait, hadn't she mentioned they were engaged? He examined her briefly, taking in her pixie-like features - she was positively tiny, wasn't she? he thought, amused - until he saw the ring on her finger. Jackpot. Fiancé it was, then. He observed how she moved in complete synch with her man: he leaned, she did too; she turned, he did too. It was as if they gravitated towards each other.
As couples in love did.
That left Swan, standing between Red Lips and her future sister-in-law.
If he hadn't been able to say anything earlier about her acting skills as he hadn't had the opportunity to see her, now he could. And boy, could she act: head held high, lips smiling at her friend's story in the appropriate moments, hands laced in front of her. But he could read her.
And, despite how she was attempting to fool everyone in that office giving the impression that she was sure and calm, he could easily see she was not. He wondered if he was able to do so because of his own unease about it, or just because he felt she was such an open book for him to read.
He stopped his analysis of her performance to openly stare at her when he realized she was once again showing off those legs of her. He smirked, noting she had not given him the satisfaction of wearing a skirt as he had asked for, but opted for a pair of shorts instead. Really short shorts. Sneaky lass.
What really caught his attention though was that both her and Red Lips were wearing matching black hats. In fact, her whole outfit was quite similar to her friend's. He chuckled to himself: he would bet his guitar she had had no say in the matter of her clothes. It screamed "Ruby's doing". He saw from the corner of his eye how Victor eyed the brunette as she turned on the spot, realizing they had arrived. "Finally! You guys are here!"
All eyes turned to them then. Suddenly feelings a bit conscious, he tried to play it off, wearing his trademark smirk in place and winking at Belle, who only chuckled and nodded at him from beside Gold. He then posed his eyes on Swan, who had started fiddling with the few strands of hair framing her face from under the hat, avoiding his gaze completely.
Yeah, well, a little too late to be shy, are we, Swan?
He marched into the room with his mates, all of them exchanging pleasantries and hugs with the petite clique. He hugged Belle and lightly thumped Gold on the back, and then turned to exchange a brief, yet firm handshake with Regina, who smiled thinly at him - probably trying to convey in her look a clear warning about how he should treat her protégé.
He was then pushed by Red Lips before he even could protest until he was standing before pixie-face. "Killian - this is Mary Margaret. She is David's fiancé, and she's, like, the best fashion designer you'll ever meet in your sorry excuse of a life."
"Gee, thanks, lass." He gave her an exhausted expression, if not with a bit of amusement by the girl's obvious admiration for her friend's work. He faced this Mary Margaret lass again - whom was now examining him closely, a curious look on her face as she did. He felt like squirming a bit under her scrutiny, was that intense the way her eyes pierced him. She quickly put on an smile and held her hand for him to shake politely. "Hi, Killian. It is really nice to meet you, we've heard quite a bit about you."
He stared back at her, not sure how to take that. Did she mean it like a bad thing...? Had she read and heard all the crap they'd written about him? Had Swan talked about him? Well, of course she would have said something, you idiot, why would they both be here to sign the damn contract if they didn't? But - had she said anything else? Had she whined about how she hated him?
He really was better off not knowing, really. Cocking an eyebrow at her, he shook her small hand in his and cracked a smile. "Oh, I bet you have. It's nice to meet you too. Though I'm afraid your friend hasn't really mentioned you."
Ruby gasped from his side, aghast. "She has!"
"No, she hasn't," he countered in a sing-song voice.
"Emma!" Oh, Red Lips. Really?
"What?" Poor Swan. There she was, on his other side, a bewildered expression on her face, as if asking 'what have I done?'. He grinned at her in exchange.
"Oi, Swan, fancy meeting you here - where is that skirt you promised me?"
Her brother's face turned beet red, his nostrils flaring. "WHAT?"
"David!", Swan was fast to interrupt, holding a hand in his brother's face as if she could stop the onslaught of curses he sure as hell looked like he wanted to spew at him. Good job, Jones. Charming the fake in-laws? Check. Swan sighed, inclining her head, and for an irrational moment, his fingers itched to move and lift her chin to make her look at him, as he couldn't see her face under her hat and blonde locks. He put his tingling hands inside his jeans pockets.
Just in case.
Swan sighed and finally locked gazes with him. "Yes, Jones, I passed on the skirt. Moving on - this is my brother David. David, this is Killian Jones. Now - I expect you two to be civil and not act like freaking children, okay?," her eyes glowed with determination, daring both of them to defy her. He smiled innocently, like a kid caught with his hand inside the cookie jar - the same hand he offered to David. He waited a bit until he relented, heaving on a sigh and clasping his hand with unnecessary force, though Killian pretended not to notice.
A testosterone thing. Or Alpha male thing. Whatever. Guy stuff.
He looked from one sibling to another, inspecting them closely. "You two don't look that much alike - you're no twins, right?"
Ruby snorted from her side, and Mary Margaret covered her mouth with her hand as to not show her laugh, all manners. His brow furrowed, he turned to look at Swan, who stared into the ceiling as if asking to some unknown god for patience. "That's because we're not actually related, you genius. He's my adoptive brother."
To say he froze in place was an understatement. Wait - he was adopted? Or she was? August's earlier words about research rang in his head at the moment. Fucking hell, why was he always right? Before he could recover from his shock, though, she had punched lightly David in the arm and added, "his mother adopted me when I was 16."
Oh God. Did that mean she had been in the system until she was a teenager? No one had wanted to keep her? No wonder she was that tough. And rebellious. And protective. And stubborn. And simply... Emma.
A lost girl. Like them.
And now a little piece of the puzzle that was Emma Swan had suddenly fallen into place, and he felt transfixed by it.
And he felt himself compelled to complete that puzzle.
August and Philip's presence behind him approaching to greet Emma and her family pulled him out of his thoughts - and his not-so-subtle-staring at the blonde at his side. They hugged and introduced themselves to Mary Margaret and David - who was, Killian noted, way more friendly towards them now that he was a bit apart, and started a conversation about the band and their upcoming wedding, Ruby piping in as soon as she heard something involving 'bridesmaids' and 'dresses'. He studied their interactions carefully until he noticed her beside him. She was staring ahead of them at the curious group with a fond expression on her face, transfixed as he was. When she realized he was gazing down at her, she locked eyes with him, and he just - looked. Looked at her knowing what she was, what she had been.
And if someone knows anything about lost boys, is that they all share the same look in their eyes.
Cutting abruptly the heavy connection between them, he fisted his hands in his pockets and released a breath, thinking of something to say to break the ice. "So - what's with the hat?"
Her voice sounded a bit breathless when she answered, a hand coming up to pat the hat on her head. "Ruby's idea, of course. What? You don't like it?"
He pated it over her own hand, fingering the rim of it slowly. "I do. Though I could think of better uses for it, you know."
She cocked a perfectly arched eyebrow, scrunching up her nose, not moving her hand from underneath his. "Please don't say some kind of dirty stripper dance involving a tie and a hat."
"My, Swan - I didn't know you had it in you. I'm much more inclined to sign this thing now..."
He couldn't help his satisfaction at seeing the tiny smile that formed in her lips. Or the fact that his hand was scorching from the place where her skin was touching his. Just as she was about to retort something, Regina called for their attention, and she dropped her hand hurriedly.
He was taking any of it.
Leisurely, he adjusted the hat on her head, tilting it a little backwards so it wouldn't shadow her face. He then let his fingers come down to her face, and he heard her gasp as he grasped that lock of hair which always ended up escaping from her ponytails or her messy buns or just to annoy him and beg him to actually move it from her face, as it had happened when he had bandaged her hand in the studio before they were interrupted. He played a bit with it, noticing how soft it was and how it curled around his finger, and he finally carefully placed it behind her ear, making sure to caress her earlobe in the process. He saw how the blush staining her cheeks spread to her chest and neck, and he felt his heart pick up a beat.
Taking a step back from her, he appraised her, all flushed cheeks and green wondering eyes and blonde strands escaping from under the dark shadow of the hat.
"There. Now it's perfect."
Trying to put the hat-lock of hair incident in the back of his mind - which was proving to be quite hard, if he said so himself,- Killian tried to focus in Gold and Regina's words. He really wasn't paying much attention - they had already discussed this, and they had sent him the contract, even though he hadn't read it, just browsed over it - what for, really?. He kept drumming his fingers on his leg, humming new melodies that came to mind while the rest of the assemble around him hummed and 'aha'ed at the managers' words. He carefully avoided Emma's stare - although he suspected she was avoiding his as much, he pondered as he spied from the corner of his eye how she fiddled with the pendant hanging from her neck (was it a clock?) until Mary Margaret's hand grabbed hers, trapping the ticking mechanism in her fist.
Unadulterated friendship, that one. He could see why her, Red Lips and Swan got along so well. The three of them balanced each other perfectly.
He suddenly felt a hand grab his forearm, and he saw how Victor shoved him a bit, pushing him out of his seat. Before he could protest about him looking for his own bloody place in the couch, he realized Emma was standing up too, and he finally understood.
They were doing it.
...well, not doing it. They were signing the contract.
They got to the end of the desk where the papers were laid, two ridiculously elegant and probably expensive-as-fuck pens perfectly set on the place where both of their signatures should go. The blank empty space at the bottom of the document seemed to mock Killian, taunting him with the upcoming changes he was about to commit to. Something warm touching his arm made him jump a bit, and he observed it had been Emma walking by his side, who was trembling faintly as she approached the papers.
As they stopped right in front of them, he tried to ease her nerves in the only way he knew. "Wait - are there no vows here to exchange or what?"
He heard Victor bark out a laugh from his place on the boys' couch, adding something along the lines "no naked chicks, no vows!", prompting into some discussion between them and Emma's friends - he was sure her brother had something to say about that. That had been his intention all along. He took the pen in the right side in his hand, and he saw Emma took the other one. They locked gazes once more, and he felt that insane urge to hold her hand, or her, or something, to appease her.
All he did, though, was ask her in a low voice, "Are you sure?"
At his words, she seemed to deflate. She steeled herself, straightened her spine and a bold look took over her eyes. Her entire demeanor changed, as if she had just needed to see him in another light. She gave him a sugary smile, and holding one hand over the paper and the other scribbling a flourish in the blank box with her name under it, she added, "my, Jones - you sound like you're taking my virginity."
He smirked. That was his Swan. He followed her actions, signing in his respective place, and giving her a pointed look, licking his lips. "Well, seen as this is a fake relationship, we could always fake our first time too if you're for it..."
Before she could go back to her seat beside her friends and as his were closely getting up so they could sign their own respective documents, he whispered in her ear "...Emma Moira Swan."
She spun around and openly stared at him, confusion etched on her features and open-mouthed. He grinned unabashedly, returning to his seat, as he heard Ruby screaming excitedly "YAY, NEW COUPLE ALERT! Can we make it Facebook official already?"
Regina's voice could be heard, cool and demanding, among the laughter and whistles they were all exchanging. "Not so fast - not until Miss Swan and Mister Jones are seen together this week in their first date, of course."
Hey there!
So - it's official! Not FB official, as poor Ruby expects - (I do too) - but pretty official, I'd say. And there we have the tip to their first official appearance together...!
Thoughts? Chocolate ice-cream? Tomatoes on my door? Anything and everything is welcome!
Oh, by the way - for all of you guests who are reading and whom I cannot reply to, thank you so much for your kind words! X
Special mention to my lovely friend aka fiancé aka soulmate Christine, who is turning 21 today and whom without this story would have never, ever, eveeeeer à la Taylor Swift been posted, as she was the one who encouraged me to write it and actually publish it.
PS: Avril Lavigne was playing while I wrote this chapter and my inner-teenager-dressed-à-la-Avril-but-without-skateboard-skills cried for it. A lot.