A/N: Seeing that we're sort of dealing with the aftermath of the situation presented in the last chapter, the mentions of alcohol abuse warning still kinda applies to this chapter, but if you're worried it's going to be as gloomy as last week, don't worry, this chapter has some really good, tropey moments.
Ladies and gents, I'd like to ask for an applause for my unbelievably incredible betas ofshipsandswans and acourtoftruelove for turning this disaster into somewhat of a success.
And make that applause a standing ovation to praise my artist shady-swan-jones who has yet again made the perfect companion piece for this chapter ( be sure to check out her blog!)
If she had timed it, Emma would've known that the oh-so-punctual Killian Jones was actually seven minutes early, his hair still damp from the quick shower he took, his breathing heavy from running the stairs between his car and her apartment at a fast pace. But, she was too busy thinking of him in general, a nervous tension as she considered what journey they were about to embark on. A journey that was unknown to her.
Two steady knocks sounded on the door.
She supposed that she was about to find out.
Pulling her thin sweater a little straighter and inhaling some additional oxygen, she walked towards the door. She stood before it for a few seconds, shut her eyes before grabbing the gold and rust embellished doorknob and moving it to open the door, to reveal him.
His hair was even more black, the normal dark now something akin to raven feathers, especially with the gleam coming off of the individual strands, with the tiny, almost imperceptible, droplets of water that clung to them.
The shower had done him good, she could see. Gone were the rigid and stiff movements from having to sleep on her couch, instead his shoulders hung loose. No more whiff of rum clinging to his skin, only a pleasant, fresh smell surrounding him. But the area where she could see the effects, the revitalization that had taken place the most, was his eyes. They were brighter, more alert, and it sounded so cliché but they carried their characteristic sparkle again.
"Hey." She smiled, her teeth catching and releasing her bottom lip.
"Hi," the greeting sounded out of breath. "All set?"
"I am," she assured, her hands subtly patting her pockets to check the presence of her phone and keys before shutting the door behind them. They suddenly stood close to each other in her cramped hallway, Emma looking up to him, Killian's hurried breathing stopping as he smiled at her.
Who would've thought breathing, something so natural, literally the first thing Emma accomplished in her life, would be so difficult to do at that moment.
"Let's go," she said, and it sounded only a little out of breath. "Don't you have to work today?"
Mentioning or talking about work was a proven mood-killer. Yet, it didn't bother Killian. Not at all.
"No," he answered, lips still curved as he shook his head.
"How come?"
She hated herself for continuing to inquire, to hammer on the issue but this was the one thing she simply could not take or handle.
She thought it was the one thing until she saw Killian tense again, not a trace of the happy attitude that previously beamed. Consciously or not, he took a step back from her, his eyes leaving hers. This was not what she wanted to achieve; she'd managed to bring back the shadows. And while the heat was unbearable, so was the icy cold that now ran in her veins, the ice crystals that surrounded them made her yearn for warmth again. Nothing too extreme but just a flicker of warmth, to thaw the awkward silence.
"I took a long weekend. Friday, Saturday and Sunday off."
The question whether he'd done that before or after last night rose. Emma considered it but with all the time they had spent together and all the time he had spent drunk, it was unlikely that he could've found a moment to call Elsa and request the weekend off; it would have to have been before. That meant that he had seen it coming, that he anticipated not being able to go to work. It definitely did not help, the worry that had been subdued resurfaced. For a second, she'd believed in the facade, in whatever excuse she had come up with to try and explain his previous behavior but now, what lay beneath the mask was not that easy to ignore. The image was branded into her mind and would not leave. Especially not when she saw it in his eyes, in the way he flinched, in how his hand just could not stop trembling.
His smile suddenly felt insincere.
"We best get going."
She could only nod in agreement.
Killian's black car—with which she was very familiar—was parked right in front of her apartment, so that they only needed to cross the sidewalk to reach it and be able to depart. Emma had to admit that she was awfully glad he would do the driving today. She cherished her life slightly too much to even attempt driving in London again.
They got into the car, both on their respective sides and buckled up, with only a few awkward looks that crossed before their eyes focused on the metal and plastic contraptions again. The turn signal ticked as Killian left the parking spot and they were on their way. She had no idea to where and, at this point, she was too afraid to ask and break the fragile silence. It was a matter of trust and even though it made everything a million times more different, she trusted him. Contrary to everything life had taught her, to what her brain told her, she'd trusted him from the moment she met him.
He trusted her, which made it unbearable.
The radio buzzed, hummed quietly in the background, the only sound in the otherwise silent car as they drove. And drove. And drove. Out of London city, out of the metropole and into a new county.
She glanced over to him, watched him out of the corner of her eyes and saw that the moment had passed again. Instead of trembling, his fingers tapped the rhythm of some eighties classic against the dark leather of the steering wheel.
"Okay. I have to ask the question: are you kidnapping me?"
"I know better than to kidnap you."
Emma narrowed her eyes.
"Still doesn't completely answer the question, Killian."
His focus left the road before him and went in search of her.
"I am not." His eyes and brow emphasized his words before returning to the highway ahead. "We're almost there."
Having finally received a hint about their destination, Emma let her eyes roam around, scanning every traffic sign for whereabouts they were and what—or better yet where—Killian's 'almost' could mean. The only thing the boards told her was that they were close to Southend-on-Sea which only told her theme park.
"Are you taking me to Adventure Island, because when I said I liked adventure," she said, the words mirroring those she uttered when they first met, when they were—more or less—strangers. "I didn't quite mean it like that."
"I know." Killian rolled his eyes. "Now if you'd be so kind as to wait until we arrive."
"You're sure you're not kidnapping me to Belgium or something?"
His look spoke volumes and Emma shut her mouth. The best decision in this situation—the situation where he was her only way of safely getting back to London. Patiently waiting and peering in silence, it was.
She could smell it before she could see it: the salt in the air, briny taste of it on the tip of her tongue.
The sea.
They left the highway and drove on smaller roads, Killian following a route that he apparently knew by heart because Emma could not figure out where he was going or what direction he was following. Until they drove towards a sign. It read Leigh-on-Sea and while she'd never heard of the town before, she had a pretty sure feeling what they were doing here. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. Especially when Killian parked, the sea noticeable in the distance. He motioned her to follow and with steady steps, he walked towards a tiny harbor, seagulls screeching above and something fishy—in the literal sense—in the air.
"Here we are," he said, stopping in front of a small vessel. "I hope you don't get seasick." He turned back to her with alarm drawn on his face.
"Luckily for you, I don't," she replied, warily stepping onto the bobbing vehicle and attempting to regain her sense of balance. "How often do you come here?" she inquired once her body had grown used to the moving surface and she could focus on other things than not falling on her face.
"As often as work lets me. Off days, vacations."
He brought the ship into motion, slowly but steadily leaving the port where it had been stationed and heading for open water.
"You know…" Emma let her words die out, drew them out in suspense to get his attention. It worked. Killian looked up from the crate he'd opened, his eyes expectant. "This is the perfect place to kill me. International waters."
Shutting the box again, he shook his head, maybe even rolled his eyes, she couldn't really see.
"Why are you so obsessed with me doing something illegal and downright wrong? Is that the impression I give you? That I'm a criminal just waiting to strike?" he said jokingly, adding a slight edge to his words to attempt and scare her.
It didn't work, though. Nothing could convince Emma that Killian was anything less than just a good guy.
"No, it's not," she sighed, her words carried on the wisps of wind that caressed her hair.
After going further out into the sea, it became windier, the air no longer a caress but harsh and unrelenting. The sudden whiplashes of her hair hitting her skin became too much for Emma to handle and she gathered the ends—a struggle with how they were flying in all directions—and wove the golden strands together into a steady and solid braid.
The wind had made it cold but the sun acted as a remedy, reheating Emma's chilled skin.
They spent countless moments in silence, with only the breeze in their ears but Emma didn't feel any need to change that, to begin a conversation about a random subject she could think of. Killian appeared to be deep in thought and she wasn't particularly eager to force the both of them into a situation they'd rather not be in. So she would wait. Until he faced whatever it was he had to deal with. Until the silence would be too heavy to bear.
The ship began to slow down, the waves around them mere ripples under its weight. Emma looked back to Killian and saw him move away from the place he'd been solidified, stuck for the last hour or so. She was about to make a quip about how she was shocked he hadn't turned into an actual statue but as soon as she saw his expression, the idea of humor seemed a very bad one. The silent but deadly storm behind his irises told Emma that Killian had faced the mysterious issue. That he was planning something. And with the steadiness he stepped towards her, she had a vague suspicion that it had something to do with her.
He didn't know anything. He couldn't. But the flashes of lightning in the glassy surface of his eyes sent bolts of fear through Emma, prickles that caused the hairs on her arms to stand upright. What if he knew.
What if that was the reason he was all dubious yesterday and brought her here today.
Shit.
Killian had, after what felt like years, finally approached her, the turmoil still very present in the way he stood and the way he looked. Emma cast her eyes upwards, her body not moving from the small bench she'd spent the entire sail on and her hands grasping the wood with all of her might, knuckles whitening against the strain.
"Is everything okay?" she dared ask, her voice almost normal, regular.
Killian sighed, a sound immediately swept away by the gust of wind but Emma was so focused on him, his body that she saw more than heard.
"We need to talk."
"Okay…"
Running his hand through his hair, it stuck in all directions but he seemed too preoccupied to change it.
Killian stared at the floor, absentmindedly licking his lips, until his eyes found hers in a sudden movement, brusque enough to almost make Emma startle and gasp. But she locked their gazes, facing whatever was awaiting her, accepting the consequences of her decisions.
"In relation to yesterday," he began with hesitation. "I feel that I do have to express my regret again. I should never have called—well, summoned really—you like that, forcing you to drop everything you were doing to take care of a drunk."
Emma wanted to intervene, placate his words and the hard judgment he had on himself, but the relief mixed with confusion as to what he was planning to say, occupied too much of her brain to be able to.
He didn't know.
She was in the clear.
"Now, while I know it won't excuse my abominable behavior, I do believe you are entitled to know what exactly possessed me yesterday and why exactly I conducted myself the way I did."
"Killian," Emma finally said, "It's alright."
He shook his head, not willing to look at her.
"Emma, please," he croaked. "Let me tell you this. I need to tell you this."
And it was the absolute urge, the necessity to tell her in his voice that shut her up. She pressed her lips together, released the death grip on the bench and instead, clasped her hands together, watching him, silently telling him he could tell her and that she would listen.
She could see Killian's chest expand as he took a big breath. His eyes stayed on the deck.
"I told you I used to live in Boston. I lived there for about seven years. I made the move when I had just turned twenty-five, I was looking for a bit of adventure instead of the boring, small English town I lived in. So I came to Boston and my older brother followed me. He claimed it was because he needed a change of scenery as well but in reality, I knew it was to keep an eye on me, to be able to be my older brother and protect me against all the evil in the world."
She'd seen something mentioned about a brother in his file, but wasn't he...
"Yesterday…" Killian took a breath, "marked the three year anniversary of his death. We had an accident, I lost my hand, he his life. Even after three years, the only way I can cope with the knowledge that he's still gone, is to drink myself into oblivion. "
She had no idea it was this bad, that it still hurt this much to him. That the cause of the bloodshot eyes, the tears, the excessive amount of alcohol was because he was grieving, mourning the loss of his brother three years prior.
If that was how he conducted himself after three years, Emma was afraid of what he had done in the past, how he attempted to cope with the wounds fresh and stinging, with the trauma so recent.
There was a slight tremor to her hand as it approached his vicinity. She'd done the exact same yesterday night, only a couple of hours ago, but he was drunk then and would not think twice about it, perhaps wouldn't even remember the instance. There was no haze now, his observant eyes tracking her every movement, following as she came closer and closer, first about mere inches between them and then nothing, the warmth of his cheek radiating on the soft skin of her palm.
"It's okay," Emma whispered roughly, the emotions mingling with the sea air affecting her too.
She drifted towards him, the distance between their bodies shrinking. No idea what her body was planning, Emma moved. Her left hand joined the tender touch, finding a temporary home on Killian's other cheek, protecting it from the sweeping wind.
The smile that appeared on her lips was encouraging.
But it didn't seem to help Killian. On the contrary , the tears sprang from his eyes and she had no doubt on whether they were created by the harsh winds outside or by the sorrow inside.
He deserved some comfort. Something more than simple words and smiles. So she removed her hands from his cheeks and lowered them before taking that final step and wrapping them around his shoulders. Killian was stilled by the hug and seemed hesitant to move. Emma, head burrowed in his shoulder, tightened her grip, silently encouraging him and, sure enough, Killian's arms returned the gesture. First they hesitated as they touched her but soon they found their place, daring and welcoming.
A weight settled on the top of Emma's head and she guessed it was his cheek.
They stayed like that for some time, embraced in each other's arms, sharing and giving support and extracting strength out of their unison heartbeats, their unison breaths. It soothed, calmed how they stood still and how, when they moved, it was in sync. Her thoughts stopped racing, became less rushed, and his less sad, if she read the signs correctly.
They could've remained like that for far longer if it depended on Emma, but a cold drop on the bridge of her ear alerted her. She had decided to ignore it but then another one fell on the back of her neck and another one on the edge of her wrist. Splashes of freezing water continued to attack them. Killian slowly released her, a distrustful look in his eyes as they left her and shot to the sky. The sky that was previously blue but now bore a dark hue of stormy grey.
"That doesn't seem good," Emma said.
"It isn't," Killian confirmed in a voice more steady than it was in the previous twenty-four hours combined. He stepped away from her and back to the helm. "We should head back as soon as possible."
He shot into action and hoisted the anchor.
"Can I help?" she asked, feeling useless while he was doing all of the work.
"I think I'll manage for now."
This was Captain Jones, it showed that when he previously had tried to depict sailing as a mere hobby, he was considerably downplaying it. Killian knew what he was doing, might even be considered an expert. So Emma couldn't do more than agree and let him and his expertise be at work.
"Okay."
The occasional drops began to fall quicker and quicker. Emma damned herself for not bringing a jacket, this was still England, why did she not see this coming? Rain was almost a national symbol here.
Her hair started to clump together, her braid dissolved by the combination of wind and rain and the force it exuded. It stuck to her face and Emma, grunting in annoyance, wiped it away along with the excess water that stung in her eyes.
Things were getting bad.
"Killian," she yelled towards him as he handled the helm. "Need any help?"
She'd asked it before, but in the last ten minutes, the weather conditions had only gotten worse, more serious, more dangerous.
"Could you take over for a moment?" He shouted back, sending Emma into motion, her moment of uselessness finally over. She was by his side instantly and he grabbed her hands, placing them on the exact spots his had been.
"Just hold it like this," he told her, before running to the opposite side of the vessel.
She did as he ordered, her hands tightening against the wood so much that she felt the protest of the muscles there, the tremble of strain that afflicted them. Her hands began to hurt but she wouldn't let go, Killian had told her to hold on and she'd be damned if she didn't do exactly that.
Having done what he needed to do, Killian returned and took over again, releasing her from duty with a thankful nod. Turning her palms upwards, Emma stared at the red and angry lines in the shape of the helm marred into her palms. Water gathered on the surface, ran in the grooves of her hands. The icy drops were soothing against her chafed, almost burnt skin.
"Give me your hands," he asked, noticing her discomfort but how, Emma didn't know. His eyes were still stuck watching the horizon.
There was nothing more than what he said, no exclamation, continuation or reaction. Perhaps he was waiting for her to confirm she had indeed hurt herself but Emma didn't. Blame it on the concentration of cold falling out of the sky that froze her body, that, except for the shivering, brought her to complete immobility.
"Emma?"
Killian broke his stare, eyes moving away from the view and shifting to her. He broke her out of her transfixion as well, Emma inhaling cold air and shaking her head, wet tresses moving along.
"Your hands." A step away from the helm, a step closer to her. "They're hurt. Let me help you," he said gently, his hand lifting her palms to his face.
"No, no it's fine," she refused, pulling it out of his touch, the warmth immediately gone, only a ghost of a feeling.
It was more important to move, pace around the vessel to chase away the cold that had settled into her bones. Heat was what she needed and the quickest way—the only way—to reach that was to get to land, to get off of this freaking boat that was in the middle of the ocean and in the eye of the storm. Their return would only take longer if Killian worried about her hands and on the dilemma of staying there longer to have her hands tended to and returning faster; well... Emma didn't consider it a dilemma at all.
"No, it's not," he persisted, his train of thought differing from hers.
Casting a glance back to their oncoming path and seemingly content with and in control of it, Killian jogged—more like power-walked—across the deck, his arms out to balance himself on the slippery wood.
Out of one of the crates on deck, he retrieved a red little packet bearing a white cross. With his teeth, he pulled the zipper, one smooth movement until the kit opened and he was able to pick out, with some consideration, one of the items inside.
"What's that?" Emma asked, eyeing the unmarked, generic white tube as Killian came back to her.
"Aloe Vera," he replied before using his teeth again to get rid of the cap. "A bloody good invention, if I may say so."
He squeezed a blob of clear substance on both her palms before his finger generously rubbed it over the red patches.
"Oh." It stung but then it didn't. She hissed but then she sighed. There was only coolness and relief, her palms at ease. "That's better." She looked up from her palms to Killian, who smiled before returning to the helm. With only a slight nudge, his prosthetic adjusted the wheel into a better direction.
"You're shaking." Another observation, almost an exact copy of the one he had before.
And she was shaking because her thin clothes were completely drenched with a deluge of icy water.
He began to take off his jacket, first one arm then the other, slowly as his concentration still lay on the shadow, the blur of the town in the distance.
"No, Killian." She wanted to stop him. He'd done enough. "I'll survive."
She wasn't some damsel in distress that needed rescuing and coddling from her knight in white shining armor.
But he wouldn't listen.
"I don't doubt that but there are more pleasant things than catching a cold."
He placed the black jacket over her shoulders and Emma had to keep herself from burrowing into the warm inside of the fabric, to wrap it even tighter around her. She looked up at him, the clacking of her teeth momentarily stopping, raindrops continuing to run along her skin. With a smile she would categorize as either one of amusement or one of endearment, he tucked—caressed— a strand of wet hair behind her ear. "Besides." He cocked his head. "It would be in all of our best interests that you don't get sick."
Before she could think twice about his somewhat confusing statement, they reached the shore. He stepped away from her, the loss of his warmth and presence immediate even though he barely moved further than where he stood before. They moored, Killian taking the heavy rope and throwing its loop around a dock post , where it landed with a heavy thud. He tightened it, pulling them closer to land, closer to shelter from the storm.
Not that she didn't trust Killian as a captain, but when they finally reached the safe entrance of the harbor and came to a stop, she let out a big sigh.
"We should head somewhere warm," he suggested, stretching out his left arm and offering her his prosthetic to help her get off the boat without any accidents.
"I agree," Emma replied, accepting his help and hesitantly daring to place her feet on the slippery deck, one before the other.
"Where do you wanna go?" Killian scoured the streets in search of life but it seemed that with the dark shadow the clouds had cast, the people had all vanished, retreated into their warm and safe homes—who could blame them.
"I don't really want to stand here and debate this and continue getting drenched. Let's go in the first open store we spot and go wait out the rain," Emma proposed and they began walking.
The first open store was a newspaper shop of sorts and they didn't even need to look at each other to confer before pushing the door open, a little bell ringing as they did.
"Good afternoon," an older man greeted them as he appeared from the back. He looked about fifty, grey hair with a slightly wrinkled skin. "Blimey, the storm got you good," he continued once he'd taken a better look at them.
"Aye, it did. We were sailing when it hit, but got back rather quickly."
"Then you were bloody lucky. The storm is only going to get worse."
As if to emphasize his words, the whole place lit up as lightning struck, the rumbling of thunder following not soon after. Bloody lucky indeed.
"Really?" Killian didn't seem to be aware.
"Didn't ye check the weather forecasts? Why do you think the place is deserted on a Friday?" Killian and Emma looked at each other. There was a point to his words, no other day-tourists, no other boats on the water. "It's pretty bait that it was going to storm today."
"We were slightly preoccupied before we came here and everything seemed fine in London," Killian admitted with a grimace. "Do you think it's a good idea to drive back?"
"Back to London? If I were you, I'd just stay here and not chip off. It's going to be hell to drive in this and I think it's better to be safe than sorry."
"Aye, I agree." Killian nodded.
"My cousin's got a B&B not too far from here, if you want I could ring her to check if she's got something free," the man proposed, motioning towards a cell phone behind the counter.
Blue eyes drifted to her, silently asking her opinion on the situation.
"Yeah, that would be great."
"You're alright with staying?" He asked again, his voice low almost as to shield it from their other company; it was an attempt to make this about only the two of them.
Of course Killian had to make absolutely sure that she was on board, that this was what she wanted, he wouldn't be Killian if he didn't. It was one of her favorite things about him, actually. The moments he gave her to think about things, to consider offers and answer questions. To clear her mind and weigh options. There was no rush with him, only patience and that was something crucial when interacting with her.
"I'd rather not drive back when it's dangerous," Emma answered, to both the offer and Killian's question. "I don't have anywhere to be tomorrow so it's fine."
"Yeah, it's better like this, innit," the man agreed, his hand grabbing his cellphone. "I'll go and ring Maggie."
The B&B Don's—which was how he was named, they discovered—cousin owned was quaint and little, furniture crammed into the welcome hall/ living room but all with a preciseness to it, with not one table set crookedly and not a single couch that did not match the rest of the decor. Its owner had spent a lot of time to make it feel like home, to take away the generic hotel feel and replace it with personality, with warmth. Something Emma could really appreciate. Both the literal and figurative kind. Luckily for her, the heating system was on at full blast, the rigid goosebumps on her skin finally able to relax and disappear under the pleasant gulf of warm air.
The tremors raging over her body, however, would need something more powerful to be suppressed.
"Oh poor dears," a voice broke the silence. Emma and Killian looked up at the same time at the woman behind the desk. She was well past her youth but carried a glimpse of youthfulness in the way she smiled. It was innocence and kindness intertwined. "You look positively miserable."
"Miserable is somewhat of an exaggeration, but aye, we've been better," Killian replied, approaching the woman.
Emma herself went to sit down in a chair, her limbs aching from the icy cold and requiring some rest. She trusted Killian enough to handle whatever needed to be handled. There was not a lot to be done as she waited; she hadn't brought anything but her phone so she resorted to playing Candy Crush while the muffled tones of conversation continued.
Maggie suddenly laughed out loud, startling Emma as she looked up from the bright candy on her screen to see the woman looking positively charmed and smitten, batting her eyes at Killian while her hand reached over to cover his.
Emma furrowed her brow as she attempted to assess the situation, figure out what exactly she was witnessing, what the touches and smiles and the hushed tones meant.
A conclusion wasn't hard to reach.
Maggie was flirting with Killian. Maybe not actually flirting, more like some innocent alternative but there was definitely something happening at the counter across the room.
To keep herself from doing something stupid—start laughing, for example, or rudely interrupt—Emma focused back on the game on her phone, her fingers swiping across the screen to make matches, a burst of satisfaction each time it was successful.
Soft footsteps resonated on the thick, red carpet that adorned the B&B's floor and stopped right in front of her, two feet visible under the rim of her phone. She didn't look up, however, not until Killian cleared his throat to request her attention.
He smiled when she gave it to him, which frustrated Emma even more, in addition to the creaking noise of him bouncing on the ball of his feet was currently garnering.
"Maggie went to fetch us the key of the room."
She peered through narrowed eyes.
"Is hitting on older women a new hobby for you?" she questioned with just that hint of a sneer in her words.
She wasn't jealous. It was just very inconvenient that he was having a jolly old chat with the woman while she was internally freezing and felt the exhaustion looming inside of her.
The hint might've been slightly more than that because Killian's giddiness was hampered, his feet stilled, the creaking stopped.
"Well, I wouldn't call it hitting on, more charming her," he stipulated. "A tactic that made her let us stay for free."
Guilt ebbed, drowning out any resentment towards his stalling and chatting. Guilt and amazement. Which was an odd combination, she had to admit.
"No way," she half-whispered, half-shouted, courtesy of that odd mix of sentiments inside of her. "If that's the case, I should say sorry." A twitch of her brow showed how sincere it was supposed to be, how she was silently adding another layer to the apology. Killian reached out his prosthetic, a gentleman's gesture to help her gracefully get up from the sunken chair. A gesture Emma assumed was Killian silently accepting her unspoken words and forgiving her for them.
She grabbed ahold of the hardened plastic, still slightly wet from the downpour, and got onto her feet. Her hand lingered on the appendage longer than necessary, but either Killian hadn't noticed or chose not to comment on the way she snatched it away once she had.
"Who knew your good looks would come in handy one day?"
It was an offhand comment, muttered between an inhale and an exhale but that didn't keep him from reacting.
Killian's eyebrow soared, right to the border of his forehead and would've gone further up if it could.
"Do tell me more about my good looks, Swan."
It was as if he wanted to give her a clear example of what flirting consisted of in Killian Jones' book . The only problem was that Emma didn't know if he was being sincere, if he was doing it for her, or barely to set the record straight. To defend his reputation.
Before the piercing gaze and the heavy silence between them could answer her conundrum, Maggie returned, a key dangling between her fingers.
"Here we are," she said, "This is for you two, the room is on the first floor." Killian accepted the key she handed him. "It should be quiet for the rest of the evening, not a lot of guests present when the weather is so tragic. Breakfast will be from eight to ten and I hope you'll enjoy your stay. I'll give you two some peace."
"Thank you, Maggie." And the smile that appeared on Killian's face could only be described as roguish.
It visibly had its effect on their hostess, who giggled and made a gesture for him to stop before leaving them alone. Emma could only roll her eyes.
He let her lead the way, so she stepped on the creaky stairs that led them to the first floor.
"Room 5," Killian shared with her and she walked until she reached the door that had a large brass number five nailed to it. He slid the key into the lock and it clicked open, granting them access to their home for the night.
"Oh." The lights went on. "There's only one bed."
A queen-sized bed stood in the middle of the room, an ancient looking quilt covering the better part of it. Emma scanned the rest of the environment, searching for a tiny additional bed, a fold-out couch, anything. But there was nothing to be found. Except for one bed.
"I'll go and search for the proprietor, I will return right away," he announced, turning one hundred and eighty degrees and leaving the room, leaving her alone.
Shrugging off Killian's jacket and folding it over a chair that stood under a massive desk in a corner of the room, she sat on the edge of the bed. The door leading to the bathroom was ajar and she could see the shower, ogled its display, yearning to get in there, to let the burning stream of water wash away all the salt, the cold, the feelings.
He had said that he would be right back, however, and maybe they would get a new room assigned so it would be quite rude to already claim this one, to claim its shower. So she waited, toying with the wet hem of her sweater.
And waited.
Long enough for her to grow worried about where Killian was.
Did he get lost? The place wasn't that big, so that was unlikely.
Did Maggie detain him and lock him into some shady room? No, the woman did not look harmful at all, so chances that she would be capable of that were minimal, no matter how much of a crush she had on Killian.
Then where the hell was he?
She had just reached the decision to leave the room and venture out in the search of him, got up from the comfortable bed and stepped to the door to go out, when it swung open. Emma startled and did not have enough time to stop walking, to take a step backwards when Killian entered which led to the both of them almost comically crashing into one another. He attempted to stop the collision by lifting his arms but they were slowed by the things he held in them.
An unceremonious umph left her mouth.
"Sorry for the wait." Killian shook his head, drops of rain flying from the dark locks and some hitting Emma's warm skin.
Did he go outside again?
"Dude," she said, the term deliberately chosen to chase away the sensation of romance that danced around them and swap it with camaraderie, a joking tone to get rid of the tension. The back of her hand hit his chest. Friendship, banter and nothing more. "I thought Maggie had kidnapped you or something."
"Kidnapped me?" He laughed. "No, there's no trace of her actually. It feels like we're completely alone here, but I thought it slightly too drastic to nick one of the other room keys."
"True. We'll have to make it work," she said, trying to keep the disappointment from showing. She smiled but it probably looked as fake as it felt, as fabricated as it was. Her eyes searched for a place to land, anywhere but his and eventually settled for the plastic bag Killian had in one hand and the paper one that was hung on his prosthetic. "What's in the bags?" It was an obvious diversion, an attempt to divert attention from her uneasiness to safer territory, to a mundane thing that did not include voicing all of the emotions that were currently darting through her body. Baring her soul was something she could do without.
He lifted both the paper and the plastic bag and set it on the bed.
"I went back to Don's shop and bought…" His hand delved inside the plastic bag. "...some spare clothes so we can shower and let our clothes dry." Now, it was the brown bag's turn. "I bought some food as well because I am quite frankly starving and I thought you might be too."
"You thought correctly," she answered immediately.
Besides the breakfast they had had at her place hours ago before they left, she hadn't eaten anything. They were too busy, too on the move for food. First the drive to the coast, then the sail, then actively trying not to die and end up in a seaman's grave. It was all very demanding and Emma could use a replenishing of her energy.
But then she felt how her hair was drying with knots in it and she smelt the sea on her and suddenly the smell wasn't rejuvenating and nice but only disgusting.
She needed a shower first.
Killian's hair was still dripping, his sweater, though black, was clearly wet too. Of course, because he went out again without his jacket because she was hoarding it. His cheeks, nose, and the tips of his ears were all colored in a faded red, sign that he was cold too. He might pretend he was immune to it by offering her his jacket but that faint color told Emma differently.
He needed a shower first.
"If you want, you can go ahead and take a shower first. I can wait a bit longer." Emma shrugged.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
"Thanks, love."
Had he called her love before? She knew it was almost a stereotypical British thing to do but she couldn't remember him calling her that. Oh no, this was definitely not helping with the whole 'burying your feelings and pretending they don't exist' operation. If anything, it brought the almost feverish sensation back to the surface, made her cheeks heat and flush.
She heard the soft thud of the bathroom door and let herself drop on the bed again, releasing all of the air out of her lungs in one go. Her hands clasped over her abdomen, curls spilled over the bedspread.
For being in the midst of denying her feelings for Killian Jones, having to share one bed with said Killian Jones was quite unfortunate. It was almost as if the universe was trying to send her a sign. Was the universe being her wingwoman? Either way, it could not happen. Things were complicated enough as they were.
She didn't know how long she lay on the bed considering everything, but it had to be long enough for Killian to shower as she heard the bathroom door open again. She sat up, leaving the soft surface of the mattress. Only to see Killian bare-chested, with a tiny white towel wrapped around his waist. His skin glistened from the shower, his hair was swept across his forehead. Emma, however, could only focus on the athletic planes of his chest, dusted over with a healthy amount of chest hair. He wasn't overly muscular and it didn't look like he spent a lot of time in the gym but there was absolutely no need for it. She could see the effects of sailing in the bulge of his arms, the strength of his shoulders, in how effortless it looked. Yeah, that was definitely not helping either.
"Sorry," he said while grimacing. "I forgot to grab my dry clothes."
Clearing her throat and shaking her head to leave her current state of drooling over his body, she spoke. "No, no, it's fine." She jumped up from the bed, averting her eyes as much as she could. Her hands grabbed her own set of clothes, handed Killian his while her feet ran into the bathroom, the door shutting and locking before he could even respond. She slumped against the door and cringed as she thought of what had just taken place. She seemed like a pubescent girl who'd never seen a half-naked guy before. She had, for the record. Even fully naked.
She did have to admit that it had been a while and definitely no one who even came close to how attracted she was to Killian, the others were just to scratch an itch but she knew it would be different with him. This smoldering desire deep in her core would not die down once they couldn't resist the temptation anymore; it would only continue to simmer asking for more fuel, more air, more him.
She made the water ice cold once she got in the shower.
-/-
Maybe that cold shower hadn't been the best idea, because she could not stop shivering, her teeth chattering as she ran a complimentary comb through her hair. At least there was no more salt stuck to her skin and no more knots in her hair. Emma grabbed the set of clothes Killian had bought and put them on, extinguishing the light of the bathroom and returning to Killian.
"The most sofishticated girl?" she asked once she saw him. "Really?" The words were printed on her pink cotton shirt in an even pinker swirly font.
Killian sat up from the bed, laying the phone he'd been busy with aside.
"It was all they had, Swan." He began laughing once he saw her, fishes and all. "I promise."
Emma had to purse her lips to keep herself from joining him in the laughter.
"I don't believe you for one second, Killian Jones." He seemed to be wearing a similar shirt, his a long sleeve in baby blue instead of pastel pink. "What does yours say?"
"The clam before the storm," he proudly displayed.
"Fitting." And she finally laughed, not even wanting to attempt and keep it in anymore.
Killian moved from his previous place in the center of the mattress, claiming the entire bed for himself, to one of the sides, giving Emma her fair share of the queen-size. She sat down, curling her legs beneath her.
"Food?" Killian asked.
"Food," she agreed with a nod.
He fished the brown bag from off the ground and set it between them, gently pouring the contents out on the comforter. Emma curiously looked at what he'd bought.
She gasped as she saw the purple colored container and lifted it off the bed.
"You bought Pringles?" Her face lit up as she showed the cylinder to Killian.
"Yes and even the horrendous prawn-cocktail you love so much."
If she hadn't just had a whole internal monologue that ended with the conclusion that no matter how much she lusted after him, Killian was off-limits, she would have kissed him. The man knew the way to her heart.
He'd also bought a couple of sandwiches, a packet of digestives, and a large bottle of orange juice.
"Let's dig in. "
She didn't need to be told twice.
-/-
Stomach full, Emma let herself fall down on the bed completely, a thud following in its wake. She was just about ready to go to bed, the near-death experience and long time spent on her feet catching up with her.
She looked over to Killian's side, assuming he'd be as, if not more, tired than she was and he'd be half-dead lying in bed already. But he wasn't, he sat on the edge of the bed uncomfortably wriggling with something that she couldn't see.
"Is everything okay?"
He turned around and it allowed Emma to see where the issue lay.
"Would you mind if I took my prosthetic off?" he asked. "I know the sight isn't very pleasant and I'd get it if you're not comfortable with-"
Emma didn't let him, didn't even want to let him finish the sentence and sentiment he was currently expressing. "Killian, take it off." Her voice an order but gentle.
He didn't reply but went straight for the intricate straps that granted him a new appendage, untying it with an impressive speed. It had taken her at least twice as long and she still had both of her hands. She saw him slightly turn away, hiding his actions again.
The prosthetic got placed on the bedside table before he settled into bed. The sleeve of his shirt had been stretched out to hide his blunted wrist, and as Killian arched his back, he even tried to hide that.
"You don't have to hide it, I've seen it before, remember?"
He looked at her through his dark eyelashes and she nodded, encouraging him even more.
He rolled up the blue sleeve until it hit his elbow, revealing the mostly smooth skin and the one scar that ran across it. Her eyes stayed on his, though, as she smiled at him.
"You want me to do the other too?" she said, gesturing towards the longer sleeve on his right hand.
"Would you?"
Of course she would. Emma got onto her knees and crawled to his side of the bed, the mattress sinking under her weight. She took his outstretched arm and folded the shirt upwards until, just like the other, it hit the crook of his elbow. "Perfect," she commented, giving him a tiny squeeze before going back to her own side and crawling under the covers.
Killian followed her lead and once the sheets stopped rustling she clicked the nightlight off.
Peace settled around them, a cocoon of calm in the eye of the storm, flashes of lightning, rumbles of thunder. She should let it be, let him be and finally have some proper rest after the tumultuous twenty-four hours he had had. But she also wondered about the incident Killian had presumably lost his hand in. And about the man he'd lost alongside with it.
"What was your brother's name?"
"Liam."
"Will you tell me about him?"
No response, only silence and for a moment, Emma thought he'd fallen asleep, so exhausted by the last twenty-four hours that he couldn't keep his eyes open once he lay in a comfortable bed. Until his steady breathing was interrupted by a sigh, a rustle as he shifted in the bed and turned to face her.
"Of course."
Congrats you made it halfway through this fic! There's still a lot (A LOT) to come so hold on to your horses because it's going to be a crazy ride starting now. Also, if you were anticipating some smooching, sorry I didn't make them kiss, both Emma and I had moral problems with it :)