Chapter 6: 'Tis the Damn Season

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Every day, Emma Swan thanks her lucky stars that she stumbled into the Jolly Roger on a drunken whim in a snow storm. It may just be the best decision she's ever made.

It's mid December now. That time of year. Usually, she's hiding in her house, avoiding people and every possible social engagement that presents itself. Usually, she's volunteering to work extra shifts so others can go in her stead, so they can make merry and enjoy yuletide traditions with their loved ones. Her bank account and co-workers thank her for her efforts- her heart doesn't.

She doesn't really understand why, but she knows from experience that at her age, showing up alone to those holiday occasions is a direct invitation for others to comment on her life choices and present their plans for how she should fix them. It usually involves offers to set her up with someone or something Emma decidedly doesn't want.

This year is different. Not because she has Killian to take with her and show off and prove her mettle in the eyes of judgmental busybodies she doesn't actually care to please, but because now, she has Killian to hide away with her.

Emma Swan is as anti-social as long the day is long and that's not going to change just because she has a boyfriend.

Er… well… almost.

They haven't made anything official. Not yet. They've been together almost every day since he accidentally showed up at Charming's and she not-so-accidentally brought him home with her. He kisses her in public. She's met all his staff at the shop. He's become a regular at Charming's. He's made space for her in his apartment, emptying drawers in his bedroom and shelves in his bathroom and it seems like more of his things are showing up at her place all the time. It's a natural progression and they're both so happy, but it bothers her and she doesn't know why. They don't play the social media game and Emma hates labels.

But Killian Jones' girlfriend is one she'd be happy to wear.

It hasn't even been two weeks. It doesn't mean anything.

These are the things she tells herself as she gets dressed. Killian has a show- it's not his band, but somebody he knows from the shop needed a guitarist for a gig and the look on his face when he got the call was just about the best thing Emma's ever seen. Like a kid coming downstairs on Christmas morning. She knew right away she would go. She knew right away he would ask her.

What she doesn't know is why he hasn't asked her for more. Or for that matter, why she hasn't just asked him herself.

She's not used to caring about these things. She's not used to letting people in. It's just been her and Sid and the occasional unlucky soul that finds her in a giving mood one night and on his way in the morning.

This is new. She feels vulnerable in a way she usually doesn't. And maybe it's because it's just a little more than a week til Christmas. Or maybe it's because she cares for him in a way she hasn't in years.

Emma stares at the pile of clothes on her bed and blows out a deep breath. She finally settles on a pair of ripped up denim shorts with low rise semi-opaque black tights underneath. She pops on a black Rancid sweatshirt she's completely cut the neck out of and cropped the bottom hem so it hits her just right. It shows off her favorite lacey bralette and her midriff when it rides up and she shivers a bit, imagining what Killian will do with such easy access. She puts two tiny hoops and two stud earrings in the four different holes she has in each ear and throws a couple layered necklaces on top just for fun. Her hair is thrown up in a high ponytail she's teased a bit for volume. Her makeup's a little edgier than usual, but it's a rock show, so it suits the occasion. She tries on no less than six different shoe options- boots, sneakers, and flats alike- and thinks she's quite sure she hasn't spent this much time getting ready for anything since she was in high school. She finally decides on a pair of black booties with some low slung metal studded straps around the ankles.

Whatever the reason, one thing is for sure and that is that Killian Jones has her quite thoroughly spun out.

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She's late for the show because of her excessive time fussing in the mirror. The band he's helping out tonight is just one of two openers, but the headliner is a local group with a good following and they're playing at First Avenue, which is historic and iconic and arguably the best venue in the city. She takes a spot on the balcony near the side of the stage where she can see his Gibson Les Paul Custom is waiting for him. She leans on the railing and wonders if she should text him and tell him where she is. The show was supposed to start five minutes ago and she's sure he won't see it until later anyway. Sure enough, she spies him heading out onto the stage and she feels her heart race. He's wearing his signature black band shirt and jeans and that little smudge of kohl that makes his blue eyes even brighter, but he's cut the sleeves off the shirt and part of the torso as well. His full sleeve black and grey tattoos are on full display and the angle from where she's standing gives her an eyeful of his perfectly chiseled abs too. Emma bites her lip and grips the railing. She's got a weakness for those arms and he damn well knows it, which is probably why he did it in the first place. His eyes search the crowd to find her and the look on his face when he does makes it all feel worth it.

She gives him a little wave and he smolders at her in reply. She feels a huge smile spreading across her face and he returns it, looking down and shaking his head slowly. He lifts his guitar from the stand on stage and slings it over his shoulder. She doesn't know why, but it's such a turn on and there's a look in his eye that tells her he knows. He grins and blows her a kiss that the other women in the crowd think is for their benefit instead. They cheer and whoop appreciatively and Killian grins, locking into a rhythm with the rest of the band as the show ramps up. Emma grins too because somehow at the sight of him, all her insecurities melt away. The girls in the front row are putting on quite a show themselves, vying for the attention of the smoking hot guitarist with the thousand watt smile and piercing blue eyes.

They can have their fantasies.

She gets the real thing.

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It's late and the show is over when Killian is finally able to join her. He wraps her up in a huge sweaty hug she doesn't mind in the least. His hair is a mess, still damp from his performance. She thinks she wouldn't have him any other way as she snakes her arms around his neck.

"You were so good!" She says and kisses his cheek. His strong arms squeeze her tighter, lifting her off the ground, and she giggles in reply.

"Gods, love, I thought I was going to fuck up the whole time."

"Are you kidding? Why?!"

"You were so damn distracting in those tiny bloody shorts," He growls, nipping playfully at her neck as he sets her down. She grins and kisses him, squeezing his arms appreciatively. "From my vantage point, I could see right up your shirt too, you little minx." With one arm, he pulls her hard against him and she can feel exactly what kind of distraction he's been dealing with.

"I could say the same for you," She says, sliding her hands down his torso and over his abs. His breath hitches at that and something flashes in his eyes that sends a shiver right down her spine. It's a dangerous game they're playing, but he recovers quickly.

"Liked that, did you?" His eyes dance with mirth as he teases her, dragging his fingers along her jawline. "I thought perhaps you were getting a bit jealous up there." She flushes at that because of course he can see right through her. He always has. He brushes his thumb over her lips and his piercing gaze searches hers before he whispers in her ear with that low gravelly voice she loves, "Never fear, Swan. I couldn't take my eyes off you."

He kisses her then, and it builds and builds til Emma's head is swimming with sheer need of him. It leaves them both a little breathless and if any of those girls from the front row were hanging around to meet him after, she's sure they've given up and gone home now.

"Why the hell didn't you come backstage and find me after?" He asks, pressing his forehead to hers, resting his hand on the back of her neck, gently stroking her jaw with his thumb.

"I tried, but they wouldn't let me." He grunts his displeasure at that and she smiles, kissing him sweetly.

"Come along then, Swan," He says, taking her hand in his, "Time to show you where the magic happens." He waggles his eyebrows and she laughs out loud.

She follows him backstage as the employees begin sweeping the main floor of the venue, ushering stragglers out the door, assuring them the show is over as they desperately try to peer around a huge overhead screen that shields the folks cleaning up on stage from view.

They pass through a corridor with an ungodly amount of setlists taped to it and there's a noisy room down the hall where she's sure an afterparty she doesn't want to attend is taking place. But he doesn't take her there. He takes her to the stage itself, behind the screen. She doesn't need to ask why. The bounce in his step and the gleeful look in his eye during his performance with the band says loud and clear how much he loves being up here and doesn't want to leave just yet.

Emma is surprised to see his friend from that first afternoon in the bar, winding cords and retrieving discarded guitar picks. Members of the headlining band are nowhere to be seen, but a few of the guys from the openers are loitering or lazily strumming on unplugged electric guitars, soaking up their last moments on the iconic First Avenue stage.

"It's Rob, right?" The man in question smiles warmly and shakes Emma's hand.

"Yes, and you must be Emma," He replies. "Good to see you again. Did you like the show?"

"I did, very much!" She replies, embarrassed that she hadn't actually noticed him during the performance, but not stupid enough to admit it.

"Kind of you to let this guy join us tonight. It's our first time playing a venue like this- kind of a big deal for us. Definitely didn't want to cancel when our guitarist got sick."

"Absolutely," Emma agrees, though she can't imagine how or why he thinks there's any 'letting' involved in her relationship with Killian Jones.

"Thank you, Jones. Truly. You were a wonder." There's so much sincerity in Robin's eyes that it warms Emma's heart. Killian untangles his hand from Emma's and gives his friend a hearty, back-slapping hug.

"Always glad to help a friend in need. Good thing all Jefferson's songs are the same bloody chord progressions, eh?" Robin laughs at that, turning to put the cords he's been winding away with his bass.

"Now if only we can find a half decent drummer, we'll get our band up here soon enough."

"A drummer?" Emma asks, feeling a little stupid for not putting the pieces together with the bass player standing in front of her, knowing full well Killian sings and plays guitar. But he hasn't wanted to talk about it and she hasn't pressed him.

"Yeah, if you can call it that," Killian says with a snort.

"What do you mean?"

"August spent more time being late and hitting on fans than actually playing the bloody drums."

"Totally buggered the rhythm on the faster songs too," Rob adds, moving to the cooler and grabbing three beers. He hands one to Emma and Killian before opening his own. Killian raises his bottle in agreement and thanks to his friend.

"Aye, you didn't miss much, lass."

"Well it's either find a new drummer or kiss our spot on the Christmas Eve Eve show goodbye," Robin confirms with a mournful sigh.

Emma expects Killian to chime in again, but he doesn't. His eyes are fixed on the toe of his boot on the beat up black stage floor like it's the saddest and most interesting thing he's ever seen. Snarky and smart-assed, full of insults and innuendo- that's Killian. But he's silent as the grave and she doesn't know what to do with that.

"Wait… Christmas Eve Eve Show? Why have I heard of this?"

"Probably the posters all over the room tonight, love," Killian says with a tight lipped smile.

"Wait… you mean the big show you talked about playing is here?" Emma asks incredulously.

"It's a local showcase put on by the college radio station," Rob explains, "It's all sodding politics and favoritism for the headliners and a total craps shoot for the opening spots. We only got it because those wankers Stealthy and the Seven Dwarves dropped out."

Killian doesn't say anything. No jokes, no attempt to lighten the mood, no leering at Emma, not even a scathing burn for the jerk that left them in the lurch. He looks like a man trying very hard to put on a brave face and not show how completely and utterly wrecked he is with disappointment.

And that's all it takes to make the decision to do the one thing Emma swore to herself she'd never do again.

"I…" She trails off, swallowing hard, "I can play the drums."

Killian's brows creep up his forehead and he looks at her incredulously.

"You never told me that, Swan," is all he says. She shrugs and digs her hands into the pockets of her shorts.

"You never asked," is the only reply she offers. Now she's the one staring at her shoes on the stage floor. Killian smirks at that, reaching out and giving her ponytail a playful tug. She leans into him. Her eyes slide shut and she rests her head on his chest as she feels his arms encircle her waist and his lips press a kiss to her forehead. She can feel something like love radiating from him too and she can't really think about that now. The moment they're sharing is something so intimate, she doesn't quite know how to process it. A roadie whistles theatrically and Rob clears his throat. Killian smiles and lifts her chin gently, giving her a look that's laden with promises of what's to come later and Emma can't help but shiver in reply.

"Are you sure?" He asks, sensing her nerves.

"Do you doubt my skills, pirate?" She takes a step back and crosses her arms. Her top has fallen to one side, exposing her shoulder and the lacy bralette on one side and the milky white curve of her waist and hip on the other. It's an irresistible asymmetry and his tongue sneaks out to wet his lips in reply.

"Wouldn't dream of it, love," Killian says with a grin, rocking on his heels and taking a sip of his beer.

"The pace can be a bit fast though," Robin says, wincing. She can tell from the kind look in his eyes and the tension he's holding in his shoulders that he doesn't mean to sound patronizing, but he does all the same.

Emma's eyes flit to Killian who is scratching behind his ear now in that way she finds inexplicably sexy and there are so many emotions swirling in his too-blue eyes, she can't fathom how one person can hold onto that many feelings at once: hope and excitement and fear and nerves and arousal and adoration. His still damp shirt is clinging to his abs and it's damn distracting.

She hears a familiar guitar riff coming from somewhere behind her, shy muted twangs from an unplugged guitar. She bites her lip and hands Killian her beer before she turns and crosses the stage, striding right up to a young man with bleach blonde emo hair and a lip ring strumming his stratocaster in blissful ignorance. He doesn't seem old enough to be there, but it doesn't really matter.

"That's 'Helena', right? MCR?" He startles, looking up at her and blinking.

"Uhhh yeah," He says, smiling at her shyly. Emma nods and every set of eyes watches as she circles the unattended drum kit beside him. She reaches her hands behind her back, intertwining her fingers and stretching her arms, letting her head fall back before rolling a full circle to stretch her neck. She shakes out her hands and takes a deep breath in through her nose. She hasn't done this in years. Not since he left her. The one she doesn't talk about. She blows the breath out and all her anxious fears with it and takes a seat.

Killian can't take his eyes off her. There's an ache in his chest and he feels like he's holding his breath, but he doesn't know why.

She doesn't look at him, she can't, not now. She finds a pair of sticks on the floor by the bass pedal and twirls them in her fingers. She can feel a familiar sort of energy surging through her and she feels herself settle, muscle memory taking over as she adjusts the placement of the toms, finds the hi-hat, tests the bass pedal. She looks at the kid with the strat and gives him a nod. He plugs in and there's feedback, but it only heightens her excitement. Side conversations fall away and all eyes are on them.

He begins the familiar riff of the song he was playing before. It's a song she knows like the back of her hand. She could play it with her eyes closed. Not that a soul in this room knows that. Not that a soul in this entire state knows that. Her eyes meet Killian's quickly and she smiles. It's a piece of herself she's giving him and he can't possibly understand what this means, but she does, and it feels right and that's all that matters.

A few voices start whisper-singing along, the infectious lure of the song impossible to resist from almost everyone on stage.

Her hands tap out 16th notes on the hi-hat, peppering fills, and then the verse drops and she's beating the hell out of the snare, locked in and riding that crash cymbal, and Killian's heart is so full he's sure it's going to burst.

She sounds sooo good, but the song demands more guitar, so he strides across the stage, grabs his Gibson from its stand, plugs in, and joins them, playing rhythm to the other guy's lead. Nobody's actually taken a microphone for vocals, but no one really needs to. It's loud enough with band members and roadies singing the melodies and harmonies and echoing call-backs that give the song its gorgeous layered complexity as they work.

They get to the chorus, the drum part gets more complex and the tempo breaks before it goes back to double time after. Emma's trying hard to focus on not fucking up the kick because she knows you just can't right now and the guitars build in harmony.

Killian turns to face her, his face lit up like a Christmas tree and he's beaming at her as he pumps his arm overdramatically. She laughs and she's trying to concentrate, but it's so hard when he's radiating joy and the sweat is flying and her heart is pounding like the snare drum between her knees. It's like she's stepped inside that picture she saw on his phone that she loves and she never, ever wants to leave. Even the venue's staff members who are supposed to be cleaning are screaming along now, from the main floor and from the balcony. It's loud and it's glorious and it's everything the song should be.

Emma nails the transition from the chorus into the second verse with a quick drum trick just for show and Killian's head falls back, long hair falling perfectly across his forehead, his eyes are closed and his expression is so ecstatic it's almost obscene. The cords in his neck are straining, adam's apple bobbing and all she can think of is the path she'll trace with her tongue later.

It all ends abruptly when the sound cuts out without warning.

"Oi! Show's over people! Get back to work and clear the hell out of here!" The production manager is yelling through a microphone in the sound booth, his voice reverberating through the massive speakers. Emma beats four final defiant notes on the snare drum and glares at the man spoiling her fun before she stands up and sets the sticks back where she found them.

The spell is broken as everyone scurries back to work, cleaning up, tearing down, moving out. Emma's eyes search for Killian and she finds him exactly where he was before. Standing just on the other side of the kit from her, guitar slung low on his hips, trying to catch his breath and gazing at her with an intensity that makes her feel thirsty in more ways than one and she thinks if she doesn't have him soon, she's going to burn this place to the ground.

Killian is startled by a heavy hand clapping down on his back, squeezing his shoulder and shaking him affectionately.

"Guess we found our new drummer!" Robin cheers, a huge grin on his face.

The young man she's labeled Emo Boy in her head comes shyly up to her,

"Would you wanna go get a drink with me?" He asks, shaking his bleach blonde hair out of his face and gazing up at her with pretty blue eyes that somehow fall short. Emma purses her lips, fairly certain he isn't old enough to drink legally.

"Sod off, mate," Killian says without any venom whatsoever, ruffling the boy's hair and playfully shoving him away. He gathers Emma in his arms, draws her close, and kisses her in a way that leaves no room for any doubt about who she's going home with. Her fingers grasp for purchase in his sweat soaked shirt and every inch of her is humming with pent-up pleasure and energy she can't wait to get back to his place and release.

He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers and she grins, because she can feel it coming even before he says it.

"That's my girlfriend."

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A/N: Oh my gosh. That was so fun to write. I've been planning this drum scene from the very beginning and I'm crazy happy with the way it turned out. And if you're a drummer and I didn't do this justice, please know I tried. I realize MCR isn't punk and 123 bpm's isn't all that fast when it comes to proving Emma can keep up with a punk band, buuuut it's my story and I'll write how I want to and anyone who can keep up with MCR gets props in my book. Or fic, as they case may be. Haha.

In other news- I don't have a name for Killian's band yet so feel free to shoot me your ideas. The thing with the seven dwarves just came to me and I can't settle on anything for him. Krystal is still waiting for a description of Killian's tattoos and that is definitely coming, I just needed this to happen first, so brace for that. Also I'd literally love a beta if anyone's interested. I hate re-reading things ten times before I can post them and still finding typos after. So if that's your jam, let me know!