The Fireworks

CS Genre: Feuding Neighbors AU

"Come on David, you can't be serious!" Emma growled as her brother, the sheriff, eased her back with a gentle hand to the arm.

"Yeah, Emma," he said grimly, "I can."

As if to emphasize the point, he slammed the jail cell door closed behind her.

Behind her and her jackass next door neighbor.

"Now, mate," said jackass drawled, stepping forward. "Are you sure this is the best idea. You know your sister and I don't particularly see eye to eye."

David smiled humorlessly. "Understatement of the year after what you two have done over the last few days. But you've been disturbing the peace and driving everyone around you crazy, so yeah. I think a night in jail is definitely in order. You two'll either find a way to work things out or you'll kill each other. Either way the rest of us might get a little peace and quiet."

~~36 Hours Before…~~

Killian settled into his bed with a contented sigh, reveling in the soft pillow. The hum of the ceiling fan lulled him until his eyes gently closed. It had been a long day, and he was in for another one tomorrow.

Storybrooke had big plans for its 4th of July celebration on Saturday. There were plans to shoot fireworks from a boat out on the harbor and set the whole thing to patriotic music. As the town's harbormaster, Killian had a big role to play in getting everything set up. It was exhausting, and he wanted nothing more than to get a good night's sleep before he waded into the madness all over again—ridiculously early tomorrow morning.

Boom! Crackle!

Killian jumped at the sudden noise, and then heard a frightened yelp and the click of paws against his wooden floor, as his 75 pound Rottweiler mix sprinted into his room, jumped on his bed and plopped square on his chest.

As Killian removed the panting, shaking, terrified canine baby from his person, his eyes narrowed. He'd bet his last paycheck he knew precisely the cause of the disturbance.

"Sh, Smee," he said, stroking his dog's black and caramel colored coat. "There's nothing to worry about. It's just…"

Another boom, this one loud enough to shake his house. Smee scrambled down and tried to wedge himself under Killian's bed.

Killian pushed himself to his feet and strode purposely toward his door, not even bothering to put on a shirt. There was only one person who could be responsible.

Swan.

She'd moved into the house next to him about eight months ago, all long blonde hair and prickly exterior. Never had he met someone so exquisitely beautiful—or so maddeningly frustrating. The day after she'd moved in, he'd knocked on her door, friendly smile and "welcome to the neighborhood" bottle of rum at the ready.

He'd prepared a genial, friendly speech about how he was pleased to meet her and glad the house was finally occupied again and how she shouldn't hesitate to ask if he could be of any assistance, but then she'd opened the door, and all rational thought had fled. Nothing could have prepared him for the utter perfection that was Emma Swan.

So, rather than his careful, well thought out neighborly speech, what came out of his mouth was something along the lines of "Hey beautiful. I think you and I need to get to know each other much, much better."

Needless to say, she'd slammed the door in his face. Then she'd opened it again, swiped the rum from his hand, gave him a glare that could curdle milk, and slammed the door for the second time that morning.

Things had only gone downhill from there.

From that moment on, it would seem they were sworn enemies. Oh he'd tried to apologize, explain, but approaching her had been like trying to approach a rabid porcupine.

So he'd stopped trying to apologize and started in to do his best to completely piss her off, flirting outrageously with her whenever they came in contact. She was utterly glorious when she was angry.

She'd returned the favor with various acts of bad neighborliness—raking her leaves straight into his yard (he'd retaliated by raking the whole lot up and putting it in a messy pile at her front door) or parking her yellow bug smack dab in front of his mailbox—earning him the ire of Leroy, their bad-tempered postman (he'd retaliated by parking his own car at the end of her driveway), and all manner of other, deliberate acts of aggression.

And tonight, it would appear she'd decided to shoot off fireworks at 10:30 pm. Well, he wasn't going to stand for it anymore. Enough was enough.

Righteous indignation intact, he stormed from his front door and marched right up to the exasperating woman who was preparing to apply a lighter to another bottle rocket, a preteen boy looking on with excitement.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he'd shouted.

Emma jumped and then glared. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm setting off fireworks. There's a little thing called Independence Day coming up, and Henry and I wanted to celebrate."

"Yeah?" he'd growled, "well can't you celebrate at a reasonable hour? Some of us are trying to get some bloody sleep, so how about you cease and desist immediately."

She rolled her eyes. "Not happening, buddy," she said in a hard voice. "So how about you take your un-patriotic ass off my lawn and go get that sleep you're so desperate for."

He'd opened his mouth, preparing for a stinging reply, but then thought better of it as a brilliant, devious plan came to mind. She wanted to disturb his sleep and scare his dog half to death? Fine. Two could play at that game. Miss patriotic over there was about to find out that payback was a bitch.

~~6 ½ hours later…~~

Emma was happily fast asleep when it happened. A canon boomed and suddenly classical music, at roughly the decibel level of a jet, filled her peaceful bedroom. She shot up in bed, hand going immediately to her heart, and then her eyes narrowed.

Killian.

No one else would even think of pulling something like this.

She got to her feet, threw on some sweats and stormed from the house, prepared to give the son of a bitch a piece of her mind he would never forget.

Killian Jones was the bane of her existence; had been ever since that first morning he'd knocked on her door and immediately set in to hitting on her. Obviously thought he was God's gift to women; that she should just swoon at his feet in ecstasy that he'd deigned to talk to her.

Yeah, not happening.

She didn't care how ridiculously hot he was. And yes, with his piercing blue eyes, messy black hair, and perpetual scruff…well, hot didn't even begin to cover it. And when he'd stormed over to her house last night, naked to the waist and she'd gotten her first glimpse of that ripped, hair smattered chest….well, maybe it did things to her.

Ugh! What was she doing? She wasn't some teenager who couldn't keep her hormones in check. She was a full grown woman who was going to give a world-class jerk the verbal beating he so richly deserved!

Killian Jones sat on his porch swing, cup of coffee in hand, smug grin in place.

"Morning, Swan," he said genially. "Looks like it's going to be a lovely day, aye?"

She took his porch steps two at a time, walked over to the stereo system he'd moved to sit beside him—the stereo system who's speakers were turned conspicuously toward her house—and punched the "stop" button with a viciousness that would have made a fairy tale villain proud. "Cut the crap, Jones. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

His grin spread maddeningly further. "Just enjoying the morning," he drawled. "After all, as patriotic as you are, I'd assumed you'd enjoy 'The 1812 Overture'. Quite a good rendition this. Did you know they used real canons in the finale?"

Emma's hand ached with the need to punch the smug bastard in the face. "It's freaking five o'clock in the morning! I was asleep."

Suddenly a glint of temper entered his eyes. "Aye? Well darling, now you know how it feels."

And that was all it took. Emma took a deep breath and started in on the long list of all the things she hated about Killian Jones.

~~Present Day~~

Emma plopped down on one of the prison cell cots and turned resolutely from the man standing on the far side of the cell. After the cataclysmic shouting match this morning, one of their other neighbors had evidently called the cops. David had shown up, taken one, assessing look at the situation, and thrown both of their asses in jail.

And now she was going to be stuck with Killian freaking Jones until tomorrow morning!

Talk about cruel and unusual punishment! This was going to be the longest night of her life.

For long minutes they both sat there, each on their respective bunks, seething and glaring daggers in each other's general direction. Finally he let out a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, and turned suddenly repentant eyes in her direction.

"Look love," he began.

"Not your love, Jones," she said automatically.

He charged on, ignoring the interruption. "Perhaps your brother is right. Things might be…tumultuous between us, but we are neighbors. We need to find a way to live together in peace. I apologize for blaring music at you at an ungodly hour this morning. Bad form, that."

He was apologizing? Actually apologizing? Taking responsibility for something he'd done and wishing to make amends? Of all the things she'd expected to come from his mouth that was not it.

"Um," she said in confusion, "thanks for that."

He reclined his head in acknowledgement. "I let my temper get the better of me. I've been under a bit of stress at work lately, and when you set off your fireworks late last night—disturbing my sleep and scaring my dog witless—well, I suppose I snapped."

Sudden guilt clawed at Emma. She supposed if she was being completely honest…she hadn't handled last night's altercation as well as she might have. And, okay, maybe if she was further being honest, he wasn't a complete pain in the ass all the time. There was that time last winter when he'd come over and shoveled her driveway after a particularly nasty blizzard….and there was that time she'd been sick and he'd run down to the local diner and bought her some chicken soup.

And, well, okay, maybe he had some justification for being angry after all the crap she'd done to him. Maybe he wasn't the only one who needed to make an apology.

"Yeah," she said, picking at a loose string on her cot and refusing to look over at him. "I guess I should apologize too. For the fireworks. I didn't think about them bothering anyone, but, well, I didn't exactly handle our conversation last night well."

She felt the cot sag beside her, and looked up into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen in her life. Killian extended one hand, friendly smile firmly in place. "Apology accepted. Truce?"

She hesitated for another moment, and then gripped his offered hand. A jolt of electricity passed between them at the touch, and Emma gasped, dropped his hand like it was a live wire, and turned startled green eyes his direction. What she saw in the depths of his eyes was something she'd never expected. Kindness, understanding, friendship.

Emma'd had a rough life; always abandoned, always forgotten, always passed over. It wasn't until David's mom, Ruth, adopted her at the age of seventeen that she finally found someone she could really trust. Still, trust came hard. Her default position was still to expect the worst.

So it shocked her to her very core when she suddenly had the urge to confide in the man sitting beside her—the man she'd hated from the very beginning.

"Look," she said, once again glancing away from him. "That boy that was with me last night..."

He nodded, urging her to go on. "That's my…that's my son. Got knocked up really young; still a kid really, sixteen-and-a-half. And when I told the father…well, he freaked out. Walked out on us, and I've never seen him since."

Killian took her hand, and to her shock, she had no desire to pull away.

"I gave Henry up when he was born, trying to give him his best chance, you know? What did I know about being a mother? I'd never even had one to speak of."

"I can't begin to imagine how difficult that must have been for you," Killian whispered. She looked up at him, nodded, and gave his hand a quick squeeze.

"Yeah," she admitted. "Tore me apart. I've been looking for him for years, and finally found him; here in this town. The adoptive mom didn't want me to have anything to do with him; almost took out a restraining order on me, and well, last night was the first time she agreed to let me have contact with him. Real contact. Henry loves fireworks, so…" Emma shrugged.

Killian was silent for a long time, and finally she looked up at him. The compassion in his eyes was almost her undoing. "I'm sorry for overreacting, love."

She shrugged again. "Not your fault; not really. You couldn't have known. And...well, I guess my default is to be defensive. My experience…people don't stay. They don't do nice things for you, at least without expecting things in return. Their all out to screw you over."

"Emma, you deserve far, far better than that."

Something about the sincerity of his voice, the emotion behind his simple statement, finally made her snap. Surging forward, she weaved her hand through the soft hair at the nape of his neck and slammed her lips against his.

He responded instantly, giving as good as he got, deepening the kiss, making small noises in the back of his throat that drove her wild. In the history of kisses, she was sure there had never been one quite so potent, so all consuming.

When they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his and felt his deep chuckle against her hand, resting on his chest. "Love, that was…"

"Mind-blowing, explosive," she finished. She leaned back and grinned at him. "Jones, I thought you were against fireworks, but that.."

He laughed again. "Well, there are fireworks and then there are fireworks."

She laughed with him, and couldn't resist going in for round two—the kiss far softer and more gentle this time.

"Killian," she finally said, breathlessly. "I think we kind of started out on the wrong foot. How about we start over and this time try to not, you know, attempt to kill each other every other day?"

Killian grinned. "Sounds good to me, love." He extended his hand once more. "Hi, I'm Killian Jones. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Notes:

-I think I broke both my rules with that one. Not even CLOSE to under 1000 words…and there was a bit of angst in this one as well. Oh well. At least it was mostly fluff!

-This chapter was inspired mainly by the up-coming 4th of July holiday. Some of my neighbors have been shooting off fireworks far too late at night, and driving me crazy! Also, Killian's dog, Smee, was inspired by my own Rottweiler mix, Reggie, who is deathly afraid of fireworks and thunderstorms.

-Also, there was that little tidbit from the Ever After con in Rio where Colin said he thought Hook would make Emma a classical music mixtape. (Really Colin? Classical music? Sea shanties or pirate drinking songs, maybe, but CLASSICAL music?) Anyway, that was the inspiration for Killian pulling out the 1812 overture in this one. (Also, yes, my inner music cataloger/former music teacher nerdiness is coming out, :p) It's technically not patriotic, and it technically has nothing to do with America, but it's often used in patriotic concerts and the like, so I figured it fit here. If you're interested in hearing just what it was that Killian woke Emma with, youtube the piece, and start at around minute 12.