Prompt: Mary Margaret is sick and Emma volunteers to cover her class for the day. (requested by katniss-annabeth-luna-jones, originally posted on tumblr).
Achoo.
"You sneeze in the pancakes one more time," Emma warns her mother who has her face tucked into her elbow as she sneezed twice. Her round face lifts up, sniffling slightly, paler than normal as she offers a smile. Without a doubt, she was sick, but Mary Margaret was more determined than ever to make it to school this week. Something about it being a themed week, something about pirates that Emma had tuned out accidentally because pirate, of course, made her think of her pirate.
"I didn't sneeze into the pancakes, I covered my mouth," Mary Margaret protests, still smiling, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You sound like death is on your doorstep," she says bluntly in reply. "Or a zombie."
She frowns, rubbing her throat absently. "Just a frog in my throat."
"Are we related to Belle too?" Her mother's eyes lit up with amusement, a witty response just waiting to burst from her lips, when her expression shifts swiftly to one of surprise and rising concern. She turns off the stove as Emma turns around. "David?"
If her mother sounds like death, her father looks like death. There's a sheen of sweat on his face, dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't slept well the night before, and he has a tissue in his hand, raising to his mouth as he coughs. "Hey," he says in greeting, like it's normal for him to shuffle into the room like an old man - the old man he should actually be. "I think I'm sick today."
"No, really?" says Emma sarcastically as Mary Margaret bustles over to him, her hand feeling his cheek and forehead. While her mother does that, Emma goes into the kitchen, preparing some tea and finishing off some of the pancakes as she waits for it to cool. She doubts anyone will be eating it, but she fills up two plates, bringing a plate and tea to the coffee table for David and, to her mother's surprise, comes back with another plate and tea for her.
"I have work a little while, I was just going to get these for you guys," Mary Margaret protests again.
Emma raises her brow, a challenging look on her face that dares her mother to argue with her. "You're not going to work today, you're both contagious. Let's not ruin an entire fourth grade class right before the winter holidays."
"I don't have anyone to cover my class..."
She frowns, momentarily forgetting that in her haste to help her parents, and a solution pops into her mind. "I... I guess I can cover it for today until you can get a replacement? I mean, how hard can it be to deal with a bunch of ten year olds?"
The answer: very difficult.
Almost immediately after she arrives in the classroom, bundled up in a winter sweater and a beanie that makes her hair stand up when she pulls it off, all their eyes look at her. They recognize her, which is good, and immediately straighten in their chairs, all smiles and warm greetings when she awkwardly waves at them. Before leaving, Mary Margaret had instructed her to just watch movies, the easiest way to entertain a bunch of kids without having to delve into the teacher part of it all.
Her first mistake was allowing them to vote on which movie. It starts off civilly enough, with the children striking off movies they didn't want to watch, until they are left with a huge debate between the merits of Frozen over Peter Pan, Big Hero 6 over Frozen, and Peter Pan over both. Forty-five minutes of fighting, during which time Emma learns that a multitude of facts about three movies she never cared about, they finally agree on Big Hero 6 because it was newer and not everyone had seen it.
It's peaceful after that because everyone stares at the screen. Even Emma, who pretends to sit at the front desk and read a book her mother had left laying there the day before, eventually gives up and sits in the back of the room to watch as well. She enjoys the movie a lot more than she should and she knows that a good portion of the class, even the ones still grumpy over not getting their choice, agree. They break for recess just as the movie ends and Emma stretches over her head, smiling when another teacher pokes her head in and volunteers to take the children outside.
Mary Margaret calls a few minutes later, asking how everything is, and her smile is evident through the phone when Emma tells her, truthfully, that everything is fine.
Until a voice comes over an intercom declaring it inclement weather and the teacher brings all the students back inside, most of them dripping wet, their shoes screeching against the linoleum by the door. Thankfully, they take their soaking jackets by the door, some of them even abandoning their beanies, and Emma turns up the heat in the room because she can see them all shivering. Everyone is too tired and cold to debate which movie next so she turns on Frozen. As she watches, she thinks mainly of Elsa's opinion of a movie that sounds almost identical to the life story she shared with them a few weeks ago.
By the time that movie is over, Emma is disappointed to see that the school day lasts another three hours. She's only been with them for half the day. They've already exhausted their movies except one, the shortest one of the bunch, and another teacher had taken the box to the other classes. When Frozen ends, they all stare at her, waiting for instructions on what to do and Emma scratches behind her ear, a habit she picked up from Killian, trying to think of something to say.
"Are you guys reading something?" She asks finally.
They nod.
"Why don't you guys read that for a little while or nap?" She suggests, lips twitching at the scandalized looks they give her at the idea of taking naps, but they follow her instructions anyway. The silence lasts, save for light snoring and the shuffling of pages, for thirteen minutes before the first whisper breaks out. Like the dam breaking, more follow and when Emma quiets them, they last for only five minutes, before everyone is whispering and talking.
Emma gives up and lets them because they aren't causing any problems yet. Emphasis on yet because twenty minutes later, she's interrupting a tug match between a girl named Lindy and a girl named Sasha over a book. She returns the book to Harry, who it rightfully belongs, and sends them to the back of the room, ordering the class to start reading again.
They absolutely don't listen and while Emma desperately wants to just shout at them, she knows that it wouldn't solve much of anything, so she goes to her phone and dials a number. She should just talk to her mom, who could no doubt scold people over the phone, but when somebody answers, it's him.
"Hello, love, I thought you were babysitting the wee ones?"
"Have you been talking to my dad?" She asks suspiciously, momentarily forgetting why she called him as his voice washes over her. She hopes he doesn't know, she's pretty sure he does though, but sometimes just listening to him speaks calms her down.
He shuffles the phone around, a clatter sounding a moment later like something being dropped into the sink, before he speaks again, his smirk audible. "No, but Henry did before he left for school and told me."
"Ah, he was supposed to teach him sword fighting again today," she replies absently, only just remembering. He snorts and mumbles, clearly thinking that the lessons were better off with him, but Emma cuts him off. "Hey, look, are you busy?"
"There's something playing on this... telly thing of yours that looks interesting, but not particularly, why? Already missing my presence?" He replies, voice lowering a fraction. "You could have stayed in bed this morning, you know."
She laughs lowly. "Some of us have jobs."
"Well, you won't let me do mine."
"Piracy is illegal."
"It wasn't legal where I'm from either, but that's not the job I meant." She could almost hear his wink through the phone and snorts. "What is it you wanted?"
"Well, it's... pirate week or something at this place. Do you want to come entertain the kids with some PG related stories?" She stresses the rating because he's told her some and she thinks that her mind needs to be bleached still.
He sounds amused and, to her surprise, a little unsure. "I'm not sure what PG means, but I don't think any of my stories are appropriate for little ears."
"I'm sure you'll think of something, just wave your hook around and talk about Neverland before we watch Peter Pan?"
"Neverland, Peter Pan? I thought you were in school with wee ones," he frowns.
"I'm not talking about the real Peter Pan, I'm talking about the movie, you can finally see your alter ego."
He pauses for a long moment to think about this. Then, he asks, "Is he dashing?"
"He's definitely something." She smiles mischievously, grateful that their many adventures had kept him from seeing his movie. She desperately wanted to see the look on his face. "They'll be interested to hear anything you've got to say, just don't scar them for lives."
"Aye, alright, I'll give it a try. Be there in a little while." They talk for a little bit as he gets ready before hanging up and, by then, the class is talking loudly.
She shushes them, but they ignore her and she sighs, getting to her feet, whistling. They all stop talking immediately and look at her, impressed. "I have somebody coming to see us before we watch Peter Pan," she tells them, grinning at the interest that shines their faces that they try to hide and fail.
"Who is, Sheriff?"
She leans forward, pretending for a moment that this isn't a class full of little children from fairytales, and smiles. "Someone who used to be a pirate."
They all pause, absolute silence descending on the room, before a little girl in the back gets to her feet, eyes bulging with fear. "An actual pirate?"
"Used to be," she corrects. "And don't worry, I'll keep him under control."
"Okay." It's a little scary how much they all trust her immediately, the buzz of pleasant conversation continuing without a hitch, bouncing questions off that she tries to answer, deflecting the ones she doesn't until he gets here. Then a knock sounds on the door and the entire room shuffles into their seats, legs bouncing and eyes wide with excitement as Emma opens the door.
He's not wearing his usual pirate outfit, opting for casual dark pants, white button shirt that isn't buttoned all the way, and his leather jacket. His hair is messy, like his recipe for actually doing it consisted of running a hand through it, and the moment he sees her, he smirks, his tongue swiping along his bottom lip, knowing that her eyes would follow the movement.
She does, but then tugs him into the room and in front of their eyes. She almost laughs when he scratches behind his ear nervously. Killian Jones, unnerved by about fifteen fourth graders. "Alright, this is Killian Jones."
"Is it true you used to be a pirate?" Harry bursts out from the first row, staring at him with awe. "My dad used to talk about them all the time, but he said you were ugly people with no teeth or completely golden teeth!"
Killian looks offended. "I assure you, I'm still in possession of all my real teeth, and whilst I can't speak for the rest of my crew, I assure you that I am not ugly."
"So you're not really a pirate?"
"Aye, I am," he holds up his hook and she winces when they all stare at it with awe. Maybe it was a bad idea to bring him into the class, but it wasn't like he would attack them. His words around them are a lot more careful than she expects, he details some of his travels, leaving out details that they shouldn't know, for the next hour, answering any questions they have for him.
"Don't fall into piracy though," he tells them as they wind down to watch the movie, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Having a hook is fun, but you lose out on quite a few enjoyable activities."
"Like what?" Harry asks skeptically, who had grown more and more enthusiastic to piracy. Emma imagines that she might be creating a new age of pirates in Storybrooke from bringing Killian in.
She shoots Killian a look because she imagines the enjoyable activities he speaks of aren't in the kid-friendly variety. He catches her eye, winks at her, and turns to the class with a flourish. "Has your nose ever itched? And you just scratch it without thinking?" They chorused 'yes'. He taps his nose. "Well, I got this scar from doing that when I forgot I didn't have a hand."
They gasp, leaning to get a better look, and Emma squints as well, just barely making out a faint scar on his nose. Huh, that answers that question.
"That's not fun though," Lindy protests.
"It is when your nose is itchy, lass," he corrects, grinning. "You can't hold hands either, not unless they stand on the correct side. You can't do hugs without almost hurting them, you do want to hug your ma or your pa, don't you?"
They nod, frowning.
"You also can't hold two ice cream cones," he says with an exaggerated sigh.
The class looks very pensive. Harry mumbles, "I don't think I want to be a pirate anymore. But they are still cool!"
Emma's relief is tangible when most of the children agree with him. Killian steps back, his hand just brushing hers as she steps forward to set up the movie again. The children move their desks to the side of the room and settle up little forts on the carpet of pillows and blankets that they dig from a closet in the back. Once it's all set up, he tugs her to the back of the room, where they sit back against the wall, far from the kids that squish around the television.
He pulls her closer to him. "How did I do?"
She tries not to be distracted by his lips brushing her cheek as he speaks. "Worried about how you did?" She teases him.
"No!" He says just a little too loudly. Harry looks back them, his eyes narrowed, the leading advocate for watching Peter Pan. Killian lowers his voice as she bites back laughter, "I wasn't worried about how I did."
Her laughter dries up at his words, the sincerity in them, and she turns to face him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "You did great, they all enjoyed it. I think." She thinks they did at least, but Emma was no closer to being an expert on kids now than she was when she first met Henry.
He smiles uncharacteristically soft as he strokes her cheek. "Good to know, can't say it was a boring experience."
She laughs quietly. "Oh? Considering becoming a teacher?"
Skeptically, he replies, "Somehow, I don't think people would allow for that."
"Professor Jones has a nice ring to it," she tells him, trying to sound serious, but he rolls his eyes at her. He chances a glance at the children, thoroughly engrossed with the television, before looking at her, that wicked gleam returning to his eyes. Before she can protest, he kisses her, drowning out all other thoughts except for the taste of his lips and the smell of spice that clings to him.
He tears his lips away from hers, his eyes wide as his alter ego appears on the screen. "Who the bloody hell is that?"