Chapter 2: I've Been Walking Through A World Gone Blind
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Thanksgiving came and went with absolutely nothing as interesting as verbal sparring with Killian Jones.
With no family to speak of, Emma had chosen to spend the holiday drowning her sorrows in rum at a bar on the opposite end of town. She had wandered into the shop on a whim, as amused as she was annoyed by the kitschy pirate theme on display, but it was the only other thing open on a holiday besides a sketchy little gas station on the corner. Adding some fresh ink to her fairly well established collection seemed as good a way to pass the time as anything else.
And that's where Emma's expectations began to fail her.
Some over-confident jackass hitting on her? Nothing new there. Being a blonde who works in a bar- you get used to it.
She hadn't expected to like it.
It was exactly the sort of thing that regularly made her roll her eyes. Emma usually preferred to be the initiator of her own romantic encounters. She didn't mind a bit of banter, in fact she quite enjoyed it. And if it led to an evening tangled up in bed with a scruffy faced, dark haired, blue eyed wannabe pirate- could she really complain?
She hadn't expected him to stop.
And she sure as hell hadn't expected to want him not to.
But he did stop. Invited to her to leave. Invited her to come back again too. Why did he stop? Because she was drunk? Was he really the gentleman he claimed to be?
Emma's mind reeled. Her hands and eyes focused on completing a list of deep cleaning tasks at work on a slow afternoon, but her thoughts were clear across town on a snowy night when Killian Jones had her cornered her in a doorway as he switched off the neons in the window. He was so close she could hear the sound of his beating heart. So close she was afraid he could hear hers too. She could feel herself fighting the urge to lean in and close the distance between them. Perhaps he'd have invited her for more if she hadn't turned and run instead.
She'd been able to think of little else in the days that had passed since then. He'd gotten into her head with his too-blue eyes and that stupid smirk and even his lilting accent. Probably wasn't even real.
Killian Jones was a big distraction and Emma did not appreciate it.
Even worse, her boss had noticed and started teasing her about the mystery man who'd "gotten her knickers in a twist."
Emma hated that expression almost as much as she hated being so damn transparent.
Which is how she came to be angry cleaning the baseboards beneath the booths in the little pub where she worked, listening to a playlist her boss would literally kill her for playing over the speakers. As a favorite bartender among the regulars at Charming's, she rarely worked the day shift, but most of her co-workers wanted to travel home for the holiday and the extra cash couldn't hurt anything. It was a good job. She liked her work, liked the little cozy craftsman home she rented nearby. She even liked her employers, despite the fact that they were constantly giving her shit about the lack of man in her life.
In all fairness, only David gave her shit about it and he was almost always kidding. Mary Margaret however was constantly offering unsolicited advice and a sympathetic ear- which was honestly worse in Emma's book. She didn't really mind most of the time. They were good natured people and it was nice to have someone who cared- even if their particular brand of care was a little bit patronizing and misogynistic.
Contrary to popular belief, Emma didn't actually hate men, though she'd been accused of it often enough. She actually had a tendency of getting along better with them than she did with women. She just felt she'd done her time scraping the bottom of the barrel and she wasn't going to bother "getting her knickers in a twist" (as David so charmingly put it) over any man who wasn't actually worth it.
She just hadn't found one yet.
Working a regular schedule in a local favorite pub during peak hours, she had more than her fair share of chances. Plenty of guys came and went and came back around again.
Mary Margaret thought her standards were too high.
David thought she judged them all too harshly.
Emma thought it was none of their damn business. She also thought every other man that came through the door looked like another flannel-clad wannabe lumberjack in overpriced boots that wanted to take her ice fishing at his cabin "up north".
She just wasn't the outdoorsy type. Or the outdoorsy type wasn't her type. Or both.
Truth be told, Emma didn't really know what her type was. Maybe she didn't have one. She'd never really bothered with types. She figured she'd know it when she saw it.
Her mind drifted toward long, delightfully disheveled dark hair falling into ocean eyes, the hypnotic pull of a slow smile spreading across soft pink lips, a strong pair of tattoo covered arms backing her into a corner, just the right amount of scruffy hair over an almost irresistible jawline. She couldn't help laughing at herself, wiping her brow as she crawled out from under the now sparking clean table.
Maybe she had a type after all.
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Killian paced, rubbing his hands together for warmth as he stood outside Locksley Glassworks where his bandmates were supposed to be meeting him for practice. Killian had originally met its owner, a man named Robin, when he'd come in for a consultation about adding onto an existing tattoo he had on his forearm, eventually building up to a full sleeve. They'd gotten to talking about his band looking for a place to practice and struck up a deal- the unused storage room in the back of Rob's hot shop in exchange for time in Killian's chair.
But then their bass player left them high and dry. And then Rob took his place and the free tattoos fell by the wayside. Rob still teased Killian about getting the raw end of that deal, but theirs was always more of a natural friendship than a business arrangement.
Killian cursed the cold and blew into his hands for warmth. It wasn't lost on him that inside the shop was a team of glassblowers working with furnaces burning hot enough to melt the sun. He was just about to go in and pester them when Rob's SUV pulled into the parking lot.
"Sorry mate," Rob gave an apologetic smile as he climbed out and slammed the door, "Regina was in rare form this morning."
"The good kind of rare form, I hope?" Killian teased, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Rob laughed as he hauled his bass and amp out of the backseat.
"Not a chance. She had a list about a mile long of Christmas decorating tasks she apparently needed me to accomplish immediately."
"Ah well, 'tis the season, mate."
Rob smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. He might gripe about his wife Regina and their boy Roland, but everyone knew the man was utterly wrapped around her little finger and happy to be so.
"Where the hell is August?" Rob said, jumping a time or two in an attempt to create body heat.
"Hell if I know, mate. I was hoping you'd tell me," Killian replied, shifting his gig bag to his other shoulder.
"Come on, then, Jones. Let's get our stuff inside and then we'll call the bastard and see if he's on his way."
They were heading back to the truck for Killian's half stack and P.A. when the familiar sight of August's ridiculous little yellow V.W. bug rolled up.
"About bloody time, mate!" Killian shouted, giving the other man a playful shove as he climbed out of his car.
"We were beginning to think you weren't gonna show," Rob teased.
"I almost didn't," August said without even a hint of irony, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked at the two of them. "But you guys have been good to me. I figured you deserve a little more than that."
"Wait, what do you mean?" Killian replied, picking up on the not-so-subtle signals that there was more their drummer wasn't saying. His eyes flitted to the backseat of the little yellow car, completely jam packed floor to ceiling with stuff.
"I'm heading west. Got a call from a friend. He needs a drummer in Cali." August shrugged, giving them a tight lipped, almost apologetic smile.
"You know it may have escaped your notice, mate, but you're in Minnesota. And the three piece band you're already in right here also needs a drummer."
"It's a hell of a lot warmer out there," August said, looking around, shoving his hands even further into his pockets and bouncing on his toes.
Killian just stared at him. He didn't know what else to say. That wasn't entirely true. Rather, there didn't seem to be any point in saying any of the dozens of things he wanted to say. Like reminding him of the fact that he also worked at The Jolly Roger. Or that they had the big "Christmas Eve Eve" show coming up that was kind of a big deal for them.
Guess that's him putting in his notice for both jobs, hmm?
"Look, man, it's nothing personal. I just-"
Killian raised his hand dismissively.
"Good luck in California," was all he said as he waved, turned on his heel, and walked away.
August looked at Robin like he wasn't quite sure what to expect. Robin shook his hand, wished him well, and told him to drive safely.
"Killian-" August began. Robin nodded.
"I'll talk to him."
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It hadn't taken long for Killian and Rob to decide there wouldn't be any point in practicing now. If they couldn't find a replacement drummer, there wouldn't be a "Christmas Eve Eve" show.
Killian adjusted his grip on the steering wheel of his charcoal grey Silverado, glaring into the garish light of an overcast afternoon. He didn't do well with people just up-and-leaving like that. It reminded him too much of parents and ex-girlfriends who'd done the same. True enough, there was something inherently transient to the life of a tattoo shop owner. People came and went, it was the nature of the job. Conventions often led to opportunities for travel and openings for guest artists, which often led to permanent job offers- not to mention the sort of wandering souls that Killian perpetually seemed to find himself surrounded by. Though in all fairness, he wasn't sure if that was a tattoo shop thing or a Killian thing.
Perhaps he was a magnet for the rootless, the aimless, the drifters. He did seem to have a knack for being a sort of safe harbor for storm-tossed sailors- friends and lovers alike. He didn't mind most of the time.
But perhaps just once, it would be nice if one would stay.
His mind drifted to the lovely blonde with the green-grey eyes who'd stumbled into his shop in a snow storm. He felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Now there's a lass I'd like to convince to stick around for a while.
As he pulled into a tiny parking lot behind the place he'd agreed to meet Robin for lunch, he decided to distract himself from his gloomier thoughts by imagining all the ways he might have convinced her to stay, had she not turned tail and taken off into the night. She'd been responsive enough. He hadn't wanted to press her at the time. She'd obviously been drinking and Killian wasn't one to take advantage.
He had plenty of ideas about what he'd do if he saw her again.
Perhaps fate will smile twice… he thought, smiling as he got out of his truck and headed in through the back entrance.
He couldn't believe his luck as he watched the golden goddess herself crawling out backwards from beneath a table, an apron tied around her waist and a bucket in hand. He had to stifle a laugh.
Perhaps I won't have to wait too long.
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A/N: Gotta love a little slow burn CS meet-cute, right? I know I do. I didn't want to waste time on a ton of backstory for these two, or a bunch of ancillary tropey characters, but if the muse demands just a little, who am I to deny her? Much more of the two of them together in the next chapter. I should probably also mention I'm making a pretty decent character divergence here with both of them by making them fairly well adjusted by the time they're meeting each other and a lot less defined by their past than they typically are- I just get tired of reading the same versions of K&E in other CS fics, you know? Maybe you do too! Maybe not- and if so, I'm sorry. I apologize for any typos. I don't have a beta right now, so I'm doing this on my own.