A/N: Boom! An update that's less than two weeks apart. Insane, I know. I really, really love this chapter, so I hope everyone else feels the same. XO
By the time Emma pulled into Storybrooke – the small town that would be home base for most of the cast and crew – she hated almost everything. She hated her car. She hated the way the visor didn't quite block the sun when she flipped it to the side window. She hated the way Neal snorted and stretched every five minutes while he napped, making the leather seats squeak like they were being tortured.
There were numerous other things that had made it onto her list, but right now, those were the top three.
It didn't take her long to find the Inn where she was meeting Regina, a quaint looking place called Granny's B&B. Regina also happened to be close to the top of her list at the moment – not that that was unusual—and she knew it was unfair, but after seven days in close quarters with absolutely no break from Neal, she was feeling pretty resentful that Regina had actually been able to find him a gig.
God, she was the shittiest girlfriend.
She'd asked herself more than once why she was dragging it out, why she couldn't just let go, but every time she opened her mouth to have the conversation, the moment was wrong – and then five minutes later he'd do or say something that reminded her of how things used to be.
So here she was pulling into some parking lot in some small town, hoping that this would be when things got better. Now that Neal had something of his own, something to occupy his time, things would get better. She didn't want to think about what it meant if they didn't.
Being alone, again.
She rolled the Lexus into a spot and turned off the engine, biting her cheek, which was starting to feel a little abused, when Neal let out a snort that sounded more like he was choking and jumped in the seat.
"We're there?" he muttered, snapping the seat into a more upright position and rubbing his eyes. "You could have woken me sooner."
"Yup."
It was an answer to both, and they both knew it.
She wasted no time getting out to stretch her legs. Part of her was tempted to just toss the keys inside, leave the door wide open, and hope this was the kind of town where someone would make the car and all its contents disappear in short order—but a quick look around dashed her hopes of any nearby chop shops. The whole vibe was very charming New England, more likely to be featured on a Christmas Card or a Hallmark production than Cops.
The good news was that she started to hate less and less as the afternoon wore on. Neal was dragged off to some sort of orientation for new hires at the inn, and other than giving directions, Regina kept her thoughts to herself as Emma drove to the apartment building that would be her home for the duration of her stay on the show.
By the time Emma had dragged her luggage up the stairs and into her new apartment, the cloud of hate and regret that had followed her all the way from LA seemed to have dissipated. Most of the crew would be put up in town, but she's chosen a cozy condo in a building halfway between the town itself and the area where the series was being shot. Nestled on the coast, the listing had made it seem like the perfect get away after a long day on set, and the apartment itself did not disappoint.
The front door opened into a spacious entry and living room, everything furnished with simple, clean furniture and modern lines. An open plan kitchen and long breakfast bar looked out of the living area, and a hallway led off to the right. Emma was guessing the bedrooms and bath would be in that direction. The feature that had caught her eye when she was first looking at listings, however, was the balcony that stretched along the wide glass doors and windows straight ahead, the calm, grey wash of the bay stretching out into the distance.
The water was still touched by the sun as late afternoon dragged on, highlighting each swell of water as it washed against the rocky shore. It wasn't one of the lazy, sun-drenched beaches she was used to on the west coast, but it had an untouched beauty that instantly made the stress fall from her shoulders.
She wasn't sure how long she stared out across the view, but Regina's piercing voice and the staccato of her heels climbing the stairs cut through the quiet. A quick glance at her cell revealed she'd had fifteen blissful minutes of peace.
That would have to be enough.
"We don't have all evening, Ms. Swan," Regina scolded, hovering in the still open doorway to the condo with her arms crossed in front of her sleek blazer.
Emma muttered a few choice words she hoped Regina wouldn't actually hear and dragged her luggage down the hallway toward the bedroom. Not really getting a chance to look anything over, she grabbed a clean shirt from her bag and swiped some fresh deodorant on for good measure. There was no way she was meeting the production team and showrunner in a sweatshirt that stunk like sweat and Doritos.
Thank you, Neal, for using it as napkin.
Shaking her hair free of its elastic and flipping her part to the other side, she felt a little more like a human being.
Any vestiges of uncertainty Emma may have been harboring about the move were gone once she met with the showrunner, Emrys – yes, his parents had a bizarre obsession with Arthurian legend, and yes, everyone did call him Merlin. The Production Designer, Rowan, a petite woman with dark, curly hair and a vibrant streak of turquoise that belied her serious tone, showed Emma around the different locations they would be filming.
Anticipation was buzzing along her skin. She wasn't sure she'd been this excited about a project in a long time. Despite being exhausted and just mentally worn down after her trip out, she couldn't wait to meet all of her fellow cast and get started.
There had been a host of other people and techs she'd been introduced to, their names blurring into a hazy fog it would take her some time to sort through, but everyone had been so welcoming and friendly – except for the gaffer, Leroy, he just seemed irritated to be taken away from his work to meet 'another one of the actors'.
By the time she'd dropped Regina back at the inn with promises not to neglect the last of the paperwork in her email that needed a once over, she was so excited she wasn't sure she'd be able to sleep. Her fingers were itching to get wrapped around a script and see just how this series was going to take off. Merlin had insisted on keeping everything very hush-hush so far, and while she knew there were a few veterans of the industry returning to take on a role, the real gossip on the tip of everyone's tongue was regarding the mysterious Hollywood heavy-hitter that would taking on the starring role – that just so happened to be the role opposite her own. She'd tried to pry the intel out a few people, but nobody was talking if they knew, and even Merlin himself had side-stepped her questions with a smile, only saying that everyone was 'very-excited'.
Emma tossed her keys onto the table near the door and crossed the room, looking out over the water that glimmered faintly in the moonlight. From where she was standing right now, there seemed to be a lot of promise going forward – an exciting new job, a great group of people to work with, and some new connections in the industry. She and Regina didn't always see eye to eye, in fact, their personalities clashed more often than they didn't, but she was a great manager. She should probably stop mentally taking our her 'Neal-issues' on the poor woman.
Thinking of Neal made her stomach turn with uneasiness.
Maybe the seven-day trip from hell would be just one more bad thing they could move past, there had been enough over the past few months that they both knew the routine. There was also the chance that Neal landing work might solve some problems, take some of the pressure off of them. She couldn't honestly say that she was the most supportive girlfriend, in fact, lately she'd just been kind of shut down when it came to the two of them – exhausted both mentally and physically. Half of it was Neal, and the other half had been finishing off another stint on a show that had her employing the same techniques again and again. Maybe this project would change that. Maybe all of this could change Neal too and they'd be able to find their way back to those early days when things were carefree and easy.
She let out a sigh she didn't know she'd been holding. Everything was still and quiet, and a quick glance at her phone told her it was late. She was actually surprised Neal wasn't already back – he'd said he would get a ride over from someone on the crew when orientation was done, which must have been hours ago. Well, maybe everyone was getting to know one another. That would be good for him, relaxing and having a drink with the people he'd be working alongside. She headed to the bedroom where she'd dropped her bag earlier, taking in the clean rooms and crisp white linens.
No candy bars melting on anything.
It wasn't until she'd washed her face and changed into clean pajamas, a tank top and shorts, that she heard the massive cacophony of something falling down the stairs in the hall outside.
"Shit, Neal!" she cursed, running through the apartment and picturing her boyfriend drunk – because when did he ever come home sober – and splayed out at the bottom of the stairs that led to the first floor.
She flung the door open and rushed out, her eyes already so focused on the landing below that she didn't see the dark shape of a person standing outside of her door.
A yelp of surprise fell from her lips as she barreled into him, their bodies tangled as they started to go over. Emma panicked, as one unexpectedly falling normally does, but found herself wrapped in a pair of strong, warm arms, her cheek and hands pressed tightly against a very firm chest as they hit the floor.
"Shit, sorry!" she stammered, hurrying to find her feet while offering a hand to the man still leaning half-fallen on the floor, only a mop of dark, disheveled hair visible as he eased himself back up, taking her hand in his own. "I thought my...I thought someone fell down the stairs."
She knew her cheeks were flushed red as the man stood to his full height and finally met her gaze, his bright, blue eyes dropping to meet her own. His cheeks were tinged pink as well, but he smiled brightly and gave her hand a friendly squeeze before dropping it.
"There's no harm done, lass," he assured her, and then turned his eyes toward the landing below. "Except to my luggage, of course. The lighting is awful in this building."
"Yeah, it is a little dark...wait a minute. You –"
The man's open smile became a bit more bashful, his eyes – god, if they weren't the most beautiful, crystalline blue she'd ever seen – dropping to his feet. It wasn't until he raised his glance again, those eyes lingering on the long line of her bare legs and the flash of skin peeking from beneath her shirt that Emma saw how the color on his cheeks traveled further, warming the tips of his ears.
"Killian Jones," she stated, crossing her arms in front of her chest with a pleased smirk.
"Ah, so you've heard of me," he grinned, flashing a bit of the persona he so often fell into when being interviewed.
"Damn right, and now I won't be blindsided tomorrow like the rest of the cast. I hate surprises."
"Just who are you?" he wondered aloud, his luggage forgotten as he tipped his head in interest. "You look familiar, but I apologize, I can't place you..."
"Well, I haven't graced as many covers as you, I suppose," she admitted, not embarrassed—after all, she'd pulled herself up from nothing to get where she was, "maybe just the occasional ensemble shot for TV Guide."
"No, that's not it." He studied her, and for an instant she thought he was going to reach for her cheek and turn her face to get a better look, but then he smiled and his face was lit with the exuberance of a kid on Christmas morning. "I know you. You played the younger sister in that movie about the painter everyone thought was suffering some dreadful malady, but she was actually poisoning herself for her art."
"You remember me from that?" Emma stammered, her cheeks heating even more. "That was one of my first roles."
"Aye, but it was noteworthy. What have you worked on since then?"
Emma tried desperately to force the blush from her cheeks at his words. "A lot of network stuff—I seem to be a favorite for the tough as nails detective, in some variation."
"Well, that explains why I've not seen more of your recent work. I don't watch much television. I gather that's not the niche-role you'll be fulfilling on this series though?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, as far as I know, there are no detective characters, at least in the first season, but beyond that...I know Emrys quite well, and I know he's not the type to see only the surface of an actor – and as I said, I remember your first role quite well, so I know what you're capable of..."
"Emma," she muttered, realizing he was waiting for her name. "Swan."
"No, Emrys will have found something interesting for you, so don't make me wait, Swan – which character will you be bringing to life?"
"Emma?"
Emma's mouth snapped shut at the sound of Neal's voice ringing out in the otherwise silent lobby downstairs, his hand gripping the banister tightly as he wobbled over the split open luggage covering the bottom stair, clothing littered in a circle around it. "Is this ours?"
"What? No," she sputtered, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as Neal swayed on his feet, clearly inebriated past the point of common sense.
She couldn't bear to drag her eyes away from Neal, to glance back toward the man who was surely looking at her with some emotion she didn't want to see, because it wouldn't be the respect it had been a moment earlier.
"It's mine, mate. Sorry about that. Let me just get that out of the way."
Emma didn't see Killian's face as he bounced down the stairs to retrieve his things, grabbing whatever was in Neal's path and stuffing them haphazardly inside the broken luggage. Neal grunted something and stumbled up the first step. Killian started to reach out a hand as if to steady him, but perhaps sensing Neal wouldn't take his help kindly, didn't offer it.
Emma couldn't look anywhere but at her bare feet as Neal crested the top of the stairs, she certainly couldn't look beyond him to see the look on Killian's face. Neal stumbled a few steps past her and jiggled the doorknob. Then he turned slowly to run his eyes up and down Emma, who was still staring resolutely at the floor.
"Jesus, Ems, you could put some clothes on."
She'd thought it couldn't get worse, that she couldn't possibly be more embarrassed, but Neal's words hit her like a slap to the face, her eyes burning with tears as she whipped around and opened the door for her boyfriend, who seemed to have forgotten to work the damned thing. Neal shuffled after, the door swinging closed behind him.
Killian still stood at the bottom of the stairs surrounded by his spilled clothing, his chest twisting with something he didn't quite understand, while inside Emma pressed her hand against the cool glass overlooking the sea, feeling in that moment that she was just as fragile, just as easily shattered.