Emma's not really sure what she did in this or any other life to deserve this kind of punishment. From the speakers in the lobby of the hotel she works at, depressing endless, sappy love music plays. Softly. Continuously. And she can't turn it off. Pure Hell.
It also doesn't help that the remnants of a wedding party have wandered in and are lingering in the lobby. Apparently, they decided to leave no bottle of wine un-drunk. And so they are now tanked, and loud. And the love songs are so depressing to her single ears. It takes every bit of effort she can manage to remind herself that she loves her job on any other occasion and that smacking her head on the desk is not a viable option. She makes a mental note to talk to the GM about the music selection in the morning.
She buries herself in the mundane tasks of paperwork and cleaning every inch of the front desk.
Two hours into her shift, there are only two former wedding guests left, drunkenly slurring horror stories about their teenagers. Only one arrival is yet to check-in, so when the doors to her left slide open and a man wheels in his suitcase, she's relieved.
"Checking in?"
His bleary eyes meet hers, and if he didn't look two steps from exhausted, she's sure they'd be even more stunning. As it is, they're still a spectacular blue, and he stares at her without actually seeing her for possibly a whole minute before Emma starts to feel slightly uncomfortable.
"Sir?"
He gives himself a little shake and looks slightly more aware when he looks at her again. "I'm sorry, love. What was that?"
"Checking in?" she repeats for him, patient smile still in place.
"Yes. I have a reservation. Under Jones." Each word haltingly follows the last, and she can practically feel the exhaustion rolling off his frame. His very nice frame, from what she can tell beneath the button-up shirt with paisley patterns. A vest accentuates it all, along with dark jeans, and she spies a leather jacket tucked over his suitcase. Fashionable. With her luck, he probably swings the other way. Or already has a girlfriend who matches him in style and looks. She scribbles out all of the above in her mind as she reminds herself he's a guest, and she's not allowed to touch, anyway.
Emma reaches for the pre-made key jacket with his name on it, Elsa's pretty handwriting making the average last name look extraordinary. She begins the check-in process and looks up again to ask for his card and ID only to find them both on the tall counter, pushed close to her and facing in her direction. A seasoned traveler is always easy to spot.
"Thank you, mister Jones."
"Please, call me Killian."
"Well, Killian, here's your card and ID back. You're all checked in. Room number is written on the inside." She does it all easily, the words spilling out as they have since she finished her training, all with the appropriate hand gestures and smiles to accompany each line of the script she's to follow.
The two remaining drunks let out a raucous round of laughter.
"Those two won't still be there when breakfast rolls around, will they?"
"God, I hope not," Emma sighs out without thinking. Her eyes pop open wide as she goes to apologize, but Killian, who is fucking gorgeous when he smiles, holds up a hand to stop her.
"Your secret is safe with me, lass."
Emma smiles, even while a light tinge of pink crosses her cheekbones. "If you need anything else, let me know mister – Killian."
In place of a response, Killian winks and smiles, kicking his suitcase to tilt it again. Then he's down the hall and out of sight, and Emma is left alone with the Tweedle-drunks and sappy music again. She sends up a prayer that they'll hit their limit before she does.
-x-
Killian wakes up suddenly and sits up in the bed. He has to remind himself that he's not at home, that he's at a hotel, in sheets that are too crisp, with pillows too fluffy, and he's had too little sleep to be awake so soon.
The last thought is confirmed when he looks at the clock and sees it's just past 3am. He's trying to figure if he should try to sleep again or just click on the television when he hears a soft rustle, footsteps, and then soft cursing out in the hallway. He glances toward the door and can see shadows moving in the crack beneath. Without really thinking it through, Killian pushes the blankets off and slinks quietly towards the door. With his eyes adjusted to the very minimal light, he can see a sheet of paper just about five inches past the door frame, and there are, indeed, fingers moving in the couple inches between the floor and heavy wood of the door. He hears another soft curse and smiles.
He swings open the door, noting with dismay that he didn't even remember to switch the deadbolt when he walked in. "Just what are you doing, love?" he asks quietly, and she shoots up in surprise, almost stumbling into the door across the hallway. All the papers in her other hand go flying and she claps both of her hands, now sans obstacles, over her mouth to stifle the scream that almost escapes.
He just barely manages to swallow down a laugh, realizing that she would probably not take too kindly to it.
"Apologies, love. That was absolutely not my intention to scare you."
She still has one hand over her mouth, the other pressed over her heartbeat, which he's sure is still pounding wildly too fast. As a peace offering, he crouches down to retrieve the papers scattered across the hallway, even as he blocks his door from closing.
"And what the hell was your intention, then?" she asks when she seems to find her voice.
"Not a clue, just trying to figure out why there were fingers wiggling under my door." At his statement, he watches her face go bright red.
"I um, I put a receipt under the wrong door," she admits.
He glances by his feet and sees that the piece of paper is identical to the ones he's gathering and reaches to grab it, adding it to the pile. He hands them all over once she picks up the last and they both stand up.
"Um, thanks," she mumbles, gesturing with the papers before speed-walking down the hallway to the elevator and jamming the button to call it. He notes with fascination that she's not wearing shoes, her socked feet whisper-quiet during her hasty retreat. Killian watches until she shoots into the elevator when the doors open and then moves back into his room. He stands still for a moment, then makes up his mind and pushes his feet into his sneakers as he grabs a hoodie and his room key. If he's not going to sleep, then at least he'll make the best of it.
When he exits the elevator a few minutes later, the front desk clerk is at the long table in the middle of the lobby, all the papers spread across as she picks up one at a time and places it face-down in a new pile. She glances up when she hears the doors open, and he sees the obvious grimace before she schools her face back to something neutral. She keeps organizing while Killian wanders over to the coffee bar and fixes himself a cup of tea.
With all the papers back in one pile, the woman taps them against the table a few times to line them all up before scurrying away from the lobby again. Intrigue plagues him, so Killian sits down at the long table facing the television and idly flips through the channels. He slides his fingers across a labeling sticker below the buttons that reads 'lobby' and tries not to pick at the loose end of it.
He's only aware that she's returned when he hears her soft gasp from behind him, and she slinks to her spot behind the front desk. The smirk on his lips is unrestrained, and he sips slowly at his tea as he glances out of the corner of his eye at her. She's sort of slumped over the desk, and he longs to see the smile she greeted him with when he could barely keep his eyes open.
"Don't let me hinder your plans, lass. You're free to come over and return to watching programming on the weather channel, if you'd like."
"I wasn't watching anything," she says, straightening again and giving him a petulant look.
"Aye? Then why is your hot chocolate stashed on the side of the microwave, likely waiting for your return?"
"How do you know it's hot chocolate? And how do you know it's mine?" Her curiosity must get the better of her, then, because she's wandering over to reach for the drink and takes a greedy sip.
"You smelled like hot chocolate when I was helping you gather up those receipts, and it has your lip gloss on it." When she doesn't make any movement, Killian pulls out the chair next to his and lifts his eyebrows at her. "Don't you have some policy to fulfill the wishes to make any guest happy? This is the only way I'll be content, lass."
She stares at him, weighing and measuring for a full minute before she huffs out a laugh and drops into the chair. "Change it back to the weather channel," she commands as she takes another sip from her hot chocolate. "Emma, by the way." She sticks out her hand for him to shake without looking away from the television.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Emma," Killian tells her as he takes her hand, not looking away from her face the whole time he's holding it. He releases it and turns back to the television, letting the conversation lapse from there.
While she tries to hide it behind her cup, Killian still glimpses the smile that peeks through. They settle in to watch "Weather Caught on Camera" and he soaks in Emma's gasps as an avalanche barrels down a hill, the furrowing of her brow as a waterspout moves towards a beach full of people, the little catch in her breath when lightning strikes a church spire across the street from the person videotaping the incident. Her presence and the tea seem to be a wonderful combination, and he can feel his limbs growing heavy and his eyes drooping closed again.
Killian stretches, letting every muscle move about after the long commute, and then downs the rest of his tea.
"Do you work tomorrow night, Emma?"
She nods, glancing at him before looking back at the television to hide a bit of disappointment that Killian still catches. "And for the next three nights after."
"Then I'll see you tomorrow night," Killian tells her, dropping the paper cup into the trash and giving her a wide smile before he moves toward the elevator.
Just before the doors close, he hears her soft voice saying, "Goodnight, Killian," and he smiles again, wider if possible.
He's asleep within minutes of spreading out on the king-size bed again.
-x-
The rest of Emma's shift is quiet, only the sounds from the television keeping her company until Ruby shows up to set up breakfast. The sound of the brunette's chatter flitters through the quiet lobby, and it's soothing to Emma in a way, but in a different way than Killian's presence in front of the television had been for the short time he'd sat with her. Despite their lack of conversation, she can almost feel a kinship with him. Maybe it's because he looked dead on his feet when he checked in at nearly one o'clock and by the time of the receipt debacle he was wide awake once more.
She leaves the hotel at 7 o'clock, lasting just long enough to shovel some cereal in her mouth before stripping out of her uniform and collapsing into bed in her underwear. If she's lucky, her next door neighbors won't start their daily routine of being noisy assholes until she's gotten a couple solid hours of sleep.
Waking up is harder than it should be, but Emma quickly realizes it's because her entire bedroom is a muted gray. Normally, the sunshine at noon is what pulls her out of her sleep, but it's far past noon, and there's a sense of quiet and calm beyond the walls of her little rental, prompting her to slide out of the bed to investigate.
Pulling aside the curtains and blinds, Emma finds a living snow globe beyond her windows. The snow falls thick, large clumps of snowflakes adding to the several inches that must've fallen after she fell asleep. She didn't even realize it was supposed to snow at all. With a sigh, she lets the window coverings fall back into place. No matter what it's doing outside, she still has things to accomplish inside, and she'll still have to make it to work later. Perhaps she can call in a favor from David, because she's sure he's known about the snow since it was first forecasted. He tends to be a responsible adult like that.
More than calling David for a ride out of convenience, Emma has to call him to drive her to work out of necessity by the time late evening rolls around. Her Volkswagen Bug, while hearty and still running strong, just doesn't have the traction to get her to the hotel. When he drops her at the front door of the hotel, Leroy is out shoveling the sidewalks, and it's obvious that it's not the first time he's done it, especially if he's still there at 11pm. She lifts a hand in greeting to him, and makes a motion of gratitude to David as he drives away, before she scurries inside.
Elsa is standing behind the front desk, counting out her drawer and looking completely unperturbed at the weather outside. Some days, Emma isn't convinced that the movie Frozen wasn't based off of her. While Emma strips out of her snow-gear, Elsa finishes up her final tasks and fills Emma in on what to expect for the night.
"There are no more check-ins for the night. If you get a walk-in, we still have plenty of room." Emma nods as she gets her shoes on and dumps her coat and purse in the back. Her boots are stashed by the heater to dry, and then she and Elsa trade places while the other blonde bundles up as much as she ever needs to. "Also, there was this really sweet and really attractive guy asking about you a couple hours ago. Looked like he was about to fall asleep if he leaned on anything too long, but lit up like an adorable British Christmas tree when I told him you'd be here in a few hours."
Emma tries to not smile at this, because of course she's talking about Killian, and she wonders how long he's had sleeping problems. Wonders how long it'll be before he wakes up again and wanders down to her territory tonight. She's not even run her nightly audit before the elevator comes to life, and she listens intently as it goes up and comes back down to the lobby, opening with its normal quiet ding before the doors slide shut again.
"Good evening, Emma," Killian greets when he rounds the corner. He's smiling widely, looking slightly rumpled from what little sleep he probably got, and fixes himself a cup of tea before coming to join her at the table in front of the television again.
"Didn't feel like waiting for me to deliver receipts tonight?"
His answering laugh is a quiet thing, and he shakes his head.
"Figured the party trick of surprising you would only work once. I decided it would be more beneficial to just come and chat."
"Well, my blood pressure appreciates that," she tells him with a toothy grin.
When she's done with all her paperwork, they settle at the main table again, Emma with her hot cocoa and Killian with his tea, and they watch the weather channel, the silence comfortable even though both are trying to figure out what question to ask the other first.
"Why the long stay?" Emma finally asks.
"I'm transferring to a new location and a new position within my job. They wanted to start my training as soon as possible, but I don't have a place to live yet. So, I'm here until I manage to find a place of my own," he explains. "I will be, and you'll appreciate this, the nightshift warehouse manager when my training period is up. Why the night shift?"
"Less people. Less awkward interactions, excluding weirdo guests flinging open their doors when I'm trying to cover up an error I made."
He laughs at that, apologizing again for scaring the wits out of her as they settle back in to watch the weather programs.
And so their pattern begins. Emma looks forward to any point in the night when Killian may wander down. Only twice in the first two weeks he's a guest does he not make an appearance. Those nights seem quiet and empty, even though that was originally what drew Emma to the job in the first place.
-x-
Only twice in those first two weeks does Killian miss the chance to visit Emma during the night and he feels awful about it. That's not to say that he isn't awake during those nights, but instead just far too tired to make it out of the bed, his bones feeling too heavy to move very far at all. Those nights, he simply turns on the television, turns the volume to low, and waits for sleep to revisit him.
On one other night, he doesn't remember that Emma's scheduled off and he wanders down, a greeting on the tip of his tongue until he finds an unfamiliar yet friendly man behind the counter.
Killian only lingers when the man wishes him a good night and the familiar accent catches his attention. He takes a moment to catch the man's name, and he and Robin swap their hometowns to discover they practically could've been neighbors. He wanders away again with his tea, and the pilfered knowledge that Emma won't return until the day after the next.
Despite the fact that this is not some kind of standing appointment, and he's not required to meet Emma in the lobby each night, he still feels wretched the morning after he first fails to visit. When he heads out to grocery shop, he spots the little packets in the beverage isle and immediately thinks of her. He barely has to consider it before he throws a handful of them into his basket, making sure to grab a variety.
He leaves them with the pale blonde woman he's seen a few times in the early evening, requesting they be left for Emma and not needing to say more when the woman, Elsa, smiles knowingly and sets them off to the side.
The tendency to notice things Emma may like becomes more and more prevalent as he learns more about her, each tentative question and answer the newest piece to seeing the whole picture that is Emma Swan.
The gourmet hot chocolate that he bought her quickly replaces the generic packets left on the coffee bar, and he can smell the aromas of Irish cream, of raspberry, of hazelnut, and her obvious favorite – the cinnamon. On his next trip to the store, he buys every last packet of the cinnamon hot chocolate and a gift bag and leaves the collective gift up front with Elsa for when Emma arrives. She doesn't stop smiling that night, a little thing that seems like she doesn't even notice it's there, and he finds it so endearing. So endearing, in fact, that he wants to kiss it to see if it'll transfer to his lips as well if he does.
The thought is almost sobering. He hasn't had a relationship in god knows how long, and there's been good reason for that. He barely knows Emma. Perhaps the last thing she needs is a man with ghosts in the closet and a sleep disorder.
He never means to take their friendship further than exactly what that term defines, but even best laid plans fall apart when too much alcohol has been consumed. And that's just what happens on Killian's birthday. It's been three weeks since he checked in, and the only viable option for living arrangements turned out to be much better on the page, so he's considering asking how much it would cost to move in to his suite permanently. He's trained enough with the men at the warehouse to have made friends, and one of his coworkers from the location he transferred from also got moved, so when his birthday comes around, they decide he needs a break from the constant cycle of training, apartment hunting, and bouts of insomnia (not that they really know about that last part). Instead, they take him out.
Will picks him up at the hotel long before Emma gets there, and Killian expects he'll be back just as she's getting there. He thinks he'll have a couple beers, a birthday shot at the insistence of the boys, and then be back before midnight has even passed.
He is wrong on so many levels. The taxi drops him off at the hotel well past two in the morning, and despite knowing he's got the grin of one who's imbibed too much, he can't seem to tame his face one bit. The doors, the automatic ones leading into the lobby, amuse the bloody hell out of him, as they open on the opposite side than one would expect them to. He makes it through the doors, wagging his fingers accusingly at the inside set as he passes by, and barely a foot in the door, he's searching the lobby for Emma. Her little sign is up, indicating that she's helping a guest (usually just a ploy for a bathroom break) so he plops down in front of the television and buries his head in his folded arms.
"Sir, can I help – Killian?!"
"S'all right, love. Just needed to make the room stop spinning for a moment."
He listens as her steps draw closer, and stop suddenly just a few steps away. "Did you drink the place out of rum?"
"Aye."
"Holy shit," she mumbles, and he hears her steps retreating a bit. The telltale sound of water pouring comes next before she eases into a chair at the table and he hears the plastic cup make contact with the wood.
"My deepest gratitude. I'll get it just as soon as I can lift my head."
He feels the gentle pressure of Emma patting his bicep. Feels it once, twice, and by the third time, he can actually feel her realize what she's doing as she snatches her hand away from where it was previously comforting.
With great effort, he lifts his head and reaches for the water. As soon as it's in his hand, he closes his eyes again, opting to drink the whole thing down before opening his eyes again. Emma is still nervously fidgeting over her earlier transgression of making contact, and Killian wants to ponder at that more, but knows it's no safer than thoughts of kissing the cinnamon hot chocolate off her lips earlier that week, so he decides to let them both off the hook.
"What's the weirdest thing you've ever encountered on this shift?"
Emma fixes him with a stare, and he can already tell there will be a joke made at his expense.
"Lots of drunks," she finally says, with a smug little grin. "Lots. Holidays and wedding receptions usually bring me a lot of entertainment. There were wedding guests when you got here. Do you remember that?"
Killian scoffs, "Of course I do, lass. I was sleepy, not drugged."
"Mmhmm, and I'm sure that's why you stared at me for a solid minute when I asked whether you were checking in."
"Maybe I was just stunned to silence by your beauty," he responds, the rum sending the words straight from brain to tongue without filtering them at all. Emma blushes, but fights a smile and moves on immediately.
"We get dance groups, which means we get dance moms, which means we get loud women drinking a lot of wine and bitching about everything under the sun. We get weird people hunting for Jacuzzi suites, and even weirder people asking if we take cash in the middle of the night. But mostly we get sleepy people looking for soft beds and I'm happy to be the one in charge of holding down the fort most nights." The note of pride in her voice is probably to blame for him reaching out his hand to touch hers where it's resting on the table. It's why his fingers slide over her knuckles and the sound that comes from Emma's throat is practically a whimper.
He expects her to break the contact, because this move is much bolder than he would've allowed himself on any other day, but she takes it one step further, turning her hand over so their fingers interlock together. His other arm gets propped up on the table, his chin resting in that free hand, and Killian tilts his head as he looks at her.
"Tell me something, Emma. If I were to lean halfway in your direction, would you lean in the other half and allow me to kiss you right now?"
"Absolutely not," Emma responds immediately.
His jaw drops at the certainty in her voice, but he can also spot the barest hint of a smile even though she's not looking at him. Her eyes are trained on the television she's not actually watching while their fingers are still linked together. It's almost as if she's actively pretending they aren't holding hands at that moment. He makes sure to remind her, dragging his thumb over hers in a gentle caress.
"Are you opposed to kissing me?"
"I wouldn't say that, no. But I'm on the job."
"If you weren't working right now?"
"Hard to say what would happen, because I am working right now, so we'll never know."
"And what if I told you I wanted to take you on a date, Emma. What would you say to that?"
"I would say that I am prohibited from becoming romantically involved with guests that are staying at this hotel." As if she's heeding her own words, her hand twitches, as if she's thinking of pulling it away, but Killian keeps his hold.
"You may pull away if you truly no longer wish to be in this position, love. But I'll not push you any further than this contact. This may come as a surprise, but I rather fancy you, Emma. And maybe one day when I'm not staying here any longer, you'll allow me the honor of taking you out to dinner."
She doesn't look at him, but doesn't try to move away. She almost sinks into the contact, her fingers relaxing against his. They lapse into silence for a while, content to keep the simple contact of their hands.
A soft dinging emanates from Emma's phone after a while, an alarm set with the purpose of keeping her tasks in a timely manner.
"It's time for me to deliver receipts. You up for a walk?"
He nods, finally releasing her hand as they both move from their seats. It takes him only a moment before he's steady on his feet, much steadier than he was when he arrived back at the hotel. He ambles over with the cup Emma brought him and refills it while she goes to the front desk for the receipts. It's a small pile, much smaller than the night he checked in and scared her in the midst of her deliveries. When she comes back from around the desk, he notices she's in her socks again, and he raises an eyebrow as he nods toward them, drinking the water down while she explains.
"Makes me feel stealthier," she mumbles. "Shut up. Are we walking, or what?"
"Of course, love. You start at the top and work your way down, yes?" He goes to reach for the elevator button as they walk in that direction, but Emma stops him before he can.
"Actually, I work my way up. End on the top floor."
He knows why she's done this, and by the look on her face, she knows that he knows, but he's fully intending on making her say it anyway.
"And why the change in habit?"
"No reason," she says breezily, turning down the hallway and stopping at a door to their left to crouch and slide a paper under the door.
The first floor of deliveries, he lets it slide, and again on the second. On the third floor, he comments how much easier it would be to start on the fifth floor of the modest hotel and zigzag through the hotel for this particular job. He says it with a smirk on his face, and Emma rolls her eyes. In the stairwell between the fourth and fifth floors, Killian observes out loud that he's a little tired from the repeated times they've walked up stairs.
He says it to get a rise out of her, to get her to admit that she's changed her habits since he began staying there and started visiting her. He wants to hear her say that she ends on his floor for whatever reason that she does. So he's not expecting her to round on him, to back him against the wall, to push up on her toes in her sock-clad feet, and to press her lips against his with such fervor. The last receipt in her hand flutters to the ground as her hands fist the collars of his shirt.
It takes a second for his brain to catch up, the last of the alcohol slowing down his reaction time just a smidge, but then her tongue slides across the seam of his lips and everything clicks into place in an instant. Then they're on the same page, with his tongue sliding against hers, the taste of muted rum and hot chocolate tinting the experience.
The noise that Killian makes is what seems to wake Emma up again, and she's pulling away, her forehead resting against his briefly while he chases her lips.
"Don't follow me. Wait a minute until I get in the elevator. Goodnight, Killian."
There's no time to process as she moves away, out of the range of the hand that had found its way into her hair, and the one that was pressed against her lower back. All he can manage is one barely whispered "as you wish" as he rubs his fingertips over his lips and follows her request.
It takes him even longer to fall asleep that night, but when he does, he dreams of her.
-x-
When Emma awakes the next day, after tossing and turning well into the afternoon, she is filled with a heavy feeling of dread. What was she thinking, kissing him like that? There's a part of her mind that is reminding her that it was well worth it, but she has never been one to break rules at her place of employment. Her transition from teenager to young adult is another story, but in her work life, she is a solid employee that follows the rules and does what she is told, and doesn't do what she's told not to do.
Kissing guests in the stairwell of the hotel is top on the list of things she's not supposed to do, but it didn't stop her from pressing her body full against his, the longing in her bones palpable as they both threw caution to the wind in those few minutes.
She had delivered the last receipt under the door across the hall from Killian's room and bolted to the elevator, afraid that he would come around the corner and make her want to do it all over again.
At work that night, she's almost relieved that a group of business men and women have decided to occupy the table in the center of the lobby, the same one where she and Killian sat a little less than twenty-four hours ago and held hands, to conduct a late night strategy meeting for something or another. She's sitting behind the desk, having pilfered a chair from the back office to park in between rounds of paperwork, fiddling with her tablet when she hears the elevator come to life.
He must catch the look on her face, the subtle shake of her head to indicate that there will be no visit this night, because he smiles weakly at her before heading over to make his tea and retreat back to the elevator. She misses him immediately as soon as he's gone.
She knows this can't go on forever, that eventually Killian will find a place to live and won't be visiting her every night, so maybe it's for the best that they're unable to carry out their nightly visit for eight whole nights.
On the morning after the ninth Killian-free night, Emma watches with growing fascination as the already deep snow outside gets deeper. David had dropped her off again the night before, but when she texted to see if he could pick her back up again, he'd told her he was trapped helping with plow duties and towing cars from where they've stuck in the large drift piles all around town. It looks like she'll be stuck at the hotel for longer than anticipated, but on the bright side she gets to partake in the large quantities of breakfast left over.
Of their fifty rooms, there are only fifteen staying in house, and three departures for the day. By the time breakfast is well under way, Mary Margaret has answered phone calls from the five anticipated arrivals for the day, all cancelling due to the inclement weather.
"Emma, we can set you up in a room for the night," Mary Margaret offers, and it just so happens that it's the exact moment the doors swish open to reveal Killian in all his sleep rumpled glory. It's obvious by the circles under his eyes that he has been sleeping less and less as the days have gone by, something he had mumbled out an explanation to the second night they were unable to visit, a low rumble of discontent as he passed by her to get his tea and his hand barely brushed her shoulder as he made his way back to the elevator, and she sees the toll it's having on his body.
His hair is sticking in every direction, his scruff a little less maintained than it has been during the length of his stay, and along with the dark circles making him look like he smudged kohl all around his eyes the night before, his whole demeanor seems to be deflated. But the moment he sees Emma sitting at a table, helping herself to her fourth (seventh, but who's counting?) piece of bacon, he heaves a sigh of relief and heads straight for the coffee.
"And how are the fine employees of the Storybrooke Inn & Suites today?" he asks as he fits a lid onto the takeaway cup.
Emma grunts in response while Mary Margaret starts regaling him on the happenings around town, ending with the most recent snow storm blanketing the town. This catches Killian's attention, and he glances out the sliding doors to see the field of solid white that is usually a parking lot.
"This is bloody brilliant!" he exclaims suddenly. Emma, having never heard his voice so loud before, nearly falls off her chair in surprise. Killian already seems to be occupied with his phone, scrolling through something before presumably dialing and bringing the phone to his ear. "Yea, Will? I'm skipping out today because of the weather. The hotel's lot hasn't even been cleaned yet and I'm not contending with the roads out there. Yeah? Wonderful. See you next week, mate." With an extra bounce in his step, he winks at Emma and heads off to collect his breakfast.
There's a look and gesture from Mary Margaret, who knows just enough to know that Emma is worried she's toeing a line of indecency with the aforementioned guest. They've been friends for long enough for Emma to know the gesture means something along the lines of "I see nothing" crossed with "Just do it already" and Emma tries to hold in the groan that wants to escape from her friend's prodding. When she turns her head, she sees Ruby giving her a much more salacious look and a toothy grin, and she just barely avoids burying her head in her hands, one of which still has smears of bacon grease on her fingertips.
The rest of the lobby is empty, just the muted sounds of her friends/coworkers moving about and doing their jobs melding with the sounds of the weather channel playing on the television, and while Killian doesn't sit next to her, she's not at all surprised that he chooses to sit at the table he is so used to seeing in the dead of night.
He moves to the same side as she's on after he's done eating, opting instead to sit next to Emma while they watch the reports calling for more snow, with Emma's chances of leaving in the next day getting slimmer and slimmer. At least she works at a hotel, the one place designed to hold people overnight, and thus easy enough to set her up in a room, even if she'll be wearing her uniform out of there when she does manage to escape.
The small crew that managed to make it into work – Mary Margaret, Ruby, Anna and Ashley there for cleaning duties, and Marco in for maintenance – come to join the table, not even blinking twice when they see Killian sitting amongst them as they tuck into the leftovers from breakfast. It makes Emma wonder how often he joins them for breakfast, but the answer is obvious. With the weather wiping out most of their business for the day, Ashley leaves early while it's still an option for her to walk the block and a half to her apartment. Anna stays, knowing that her boyfriend, Kristoff, is out in the plows like David, trying to clear the roads as much as possible and willing to get her along the way.
Mary Margaret retreats behind the front desk again, and by the time Elsa comes in to replace her in the afternoon, they're down to a skeleton crew with only the front desk manned. Emma and Killian have hardly moved from the table in the center of the lobby. Mary Margaret had unearthed a pack of cards for them, smiling warmly as Killian thanked her, and further sending Emma messages with meaningful looks and vague nods of her head. Elsa's silent conversations replace Mary Margaret's, until Emma just stops looking at the front desk all together.
They're on yet another game of gin rummy when Emma's stomach growls, and Killian chuckles quietly as he collects the cards.
"That's it, love. We're going for food. Go get your boots on."
He disappears from the lobby after giving this command, whisked back up to his room and coming down just a short time later bundled up in his winter gear. If she weren't so hungry, Emma might have hesitated, but instead she's ready to go when he exits the elevator, her purse slung over her shoulder and beanie pulled down over her ears.
They use one of the side exits closer to the main strip and trudge the half a block until Killian stops suddenly in front of one of the nicer restaurants. It's not Granny's, so she's a little intimidated walking in wearing her work uniform, but with the place nearly empty she relaxes almost instantly.
Dinner is perfect. Killian tells her how he's officially done training and acclimating at the new warehouse, and that today was mostly supposed to be a filler day in his schedule before he starts his own night shifts in the upcoming week. She shares how she has the night off since Robin will be in overnight, and how she'll more than likely be bunking at the hotel since David only had time to pick up Mary Margaret and take her home, their house on his route of locations to hit with the snow plow attached to the front end of his truck. With her house in the opposite direction, she had no interest in inconveniencing the man she considers a brother.
Emma's feet slip on their way back, and Killian is right there to catch her, his arms wrapping around her and holding her up while she tries to find traction on the slippery walkway. She swallows hard, relishing in the way he's pressed against her back. She feels him take a deep, shuddering breath and knows he must be thinking along the same lines she is, but he still lets her go once she's solidly back on her feet. He swipes them back in through the same side door they left by, and shuffles toward the elevator, expecting her to break away and go to the front desk to acquire a room for the night.
The surprise shows on his face when she enters the elevator with him, pushing the button for his floor and offering up a small smile.
"Figured I would walk you back up," she says quietly, and his smile mirrors hers as they ascend through the building.
They pause outside his door and she doesn't think twice about it this time, crowding into his space to slide her hands up his shoulders as he meets her halfway in the kiss.
It's definitely not the best idea, she thinks, pressing closer to him as he leans back against the door to his room. He makes a noise in the back of his throat as she kisses him harder, her hands in his hair and his hands on her ass and it's not the best idea she's ever had, but it's certainly not the worst.
"Emma –"
"Inside. Let's go inside," she stutters out, realizing that they're still in the hallway of the hotel she works at, and she's lucky there are a multitude of factors to help them from being discovered. It's already mid-week and dinner time, and then of course the snow. "Inside," she repeats, nodding her head to let him know she's fully aware of what she's asking.
"Right then," he says and hastens to dig the keycard out of his pocket, unlocking the door quickly and pulling her inside. He has enough thought left to bolt the door before turning back to her. Their coats and boots are shed first, tossed and kicked aside without a care. Neither of them notice when her nametag falls to the floor, quickly followed by the rest of their clothes, her uniform mingling with his jeans and button-down.
There are more pressing things to think about, like his hands moving over the naked curves of her body, like her hands ghosting along his chest to brush against the hair that covers it, over his nipples as he gasps at the sensation. There are the pressing things, like the way she pushes him to sit on the bed as she straddles his thighs in nothing but her underwear, in nothing but his underwear, and both of their undergarments are proving useless and irritating as they continue to be in the way of the skin-on-skin contact they're both aiming for.
As soon as those items are discarded, she's pushing him to lay back, sliding down his body to lick a stripe up the underside of his cock, her eyes locking with his through the long, slow drag of her tongue. He whispers her name in reverence, letting his head fall back and his eyes fall closed as she wraps her lips around the head and finds a rhythm between her mouth and hand that has him chanting her name soon enough. She pulls away right before he reaches climax, and the deep groan that leaves his body seems like it happens mostly against his will.
Emma urges him along, changing his course when he tries to return the favor, requesting instead that they speed it along and that there will be time later for the exploration they're both craving. It takes a breathy plea and her hands reaching to tweak her own nipples as she bites her lip for him to finally cave, and she languidly continues her attentions on herself as she watches Killian jump from the bed and tear through what appears to be a meticulously packed suitcase in search of protection.
"When I packed this as a necessity, Emma, you must know that I never even expected to walk into the lobby to see you standing behind the desk. I expected these to expire in the back of my nightstand once I moved into my own place long before I got the opportunity to use one again."
Instead of answering, Emma drags one hand across her stomach, her fingers brushing through the wetness between her thighs as she teases her own clit. He moves back to the bed, transfixed by the sight of her spread out in front of him. He dips his fingers inside of her while she continues her own motions, and she delights in the way his eyes dilate further as a breathy moan of his name leaves her lips.
He licks his fingers clean, pausing just a moment to savor the taste before he's tearing the condom wrapper open and rolling it on. Her hips lift to meet his as he presses against her entrance and they join in one fluid slide.
It's heaven, Emma decides, the feeling of him filling her up, the sensation of his beard scratching against her nipples as he licks and sucks and worships each of her breasts. It's heaven, the way he circles his hips in between every few thrusts, the motion so much more than the standard in and out that most of the men she'd been with stuck to. It's heaven, the way he nibbles her earlobe as he whispers encouragements for her to be as loud as she wants, praising her as his hand takes up the position hers was in before they began and he circles around her clit.
She doesn't notice her voice getting louder, or her legs clamping around his waist, or the way one hand tugs at his hair while the nails of her other hand dig into his back. She only becomes aware of her surroundings after she finally hits that peak, after she finally throws her head back with an appreciative moan of his name, extolling just about everything she can vocalize, and she feels his hips staccato before he stills inside of her.
They rest for the space of a few heartbeats before Killian finally moves to her side, taking a moment to peel off the condom and tie it off before getting up to throw it in the bin like a gentleman.
"Don't leave," he whispers a short time later, his hands already mapping out the parts of her body that he missed during the first round. Emma just shakes her head and leans closer to press her lips to his. It ends up open-mouthed and gasping as he chooses that exact moment to slide a finger into her, and Emma is laughing and panting at the same time as Killian smiles at her reactions, pleased as punch to watch her fall apart so quickly in the following minutes.
It's admittedly hours before they sleep, many more hours and orgasms than either were expecting, but still earlier than either is used to going to bed, before he pulls the covers up and strokes his hand soothingly along her side as the snow finally slows to a reasonable rate. It' the first night since moving to Storybrooke that Killian sleeps all through the night, with Emma's naked skin pressed to his and the king bed feeling a lot less empty.
-x-
Emma wakes up to the sound of knocking, but it's a few doors down. She faintly hears Ashley call out that it's housekeeping before Emma hears a door being keyed open. It's weird to be on this side of the door, and it's that thought that makes Emma sit up straight, the sheet falling to her waist and making Killian grumble against his pillow.
She looks down at him, at the lax expression on the side of his face she can see, and she knows he's still asleep but it doesn't stop him from tightening his arm around her hips instinctively. One night together and he's already adapted to having her in his bed, at having her there to pull close, and all she can think is how she has irrevocably fucked up by walking into his room. And that's on every level she can possibly think of.
"'s too early," he mumbles, apparently awake enough to register that she's no longer relaxed next to him and that the sun is up.
"It's actually pretty late," Emma responds, because if housekeeping is this far down the hall, then they've slept all the way through breakfast, and a glance at the clock confirms that it's nearly noon. "I should probably slide out of here. Shit, I don't know how I'm going to get downstairs without anyone seeing me." She buries her face in her hands for a moment, and feels one of Killian's warm hands glide up the bare skin of her back.
"We'll figure something out, love. But first, I request that you allow me to properly wish you a good morning." As he speaks, Killian moves closer, his lips finding the bare skin of her lower back on the tail end of his last words.
She revels in the way his breath catches when she turns around to hover over him, the way his eyes dance between her face and the expanse of skin all on display for him. Emma knows that normally she would be freaking out. Normally she wouldn't have even stayed. Normally, if she had woken up beside a man, she would be gathering her clothes and figuring out the fastest escape route in the stealthiest manner in order to avoid waking him up. But this man, this one has managed to worm his way so far under her skin that she's just broken her one cardinal rule about sleeping with a hotel guest, and in the hotel that employs her, no less.
She's just leaning in, inches away from his lips, when the sharp knocking sounds from the door.
"Housekeeping!"
"I have to hide!" Emma whispers urgently.
"Just tuck away over there, love," Killian whispers back, pointing to the corner hidden from view of anyone in the door. "Just a moment!" he calls out, sliding off the bed and sliding on a pair of sweats and struggling to put on a t-shirt as he makes his way to the door.
Emma presses herself into the corner and wishes that she'd at least though to grab the sheet. Never in a million years did she imagine hiding in the corner of one of these rooms, completely naked, while she hides from a housekeeper that she helped train.
-x-
Killian doesn't often dream, but when he does dream, it's of Emma's lips and the way they felt and tasted when she kissed him. It's not until after dinner, when she walks him up to his room, when she pulls him down to practically fuse her lips to his that he realizes that the dreams he had were bland and miserable compared to the reality, this time without the cloudiness of alcohol in his veins.
Ever since the aborted kiss after his birthday a week ago, he figured it was a lost cause. Add to that the stretch of nights when he was too wired to sleep but too tired to move, the nights and days blending together as they started to shift his schedule around at work, and he had resigned himself to the idea of being Emma's friend. His affections never wavered, but he figured there was reason for her to pull away from him that night and request he didn't follow, so he had every intention of heeding her wishes.
So this, when he wakes up as she shifts on the bed but makes no move to leave it, when she shivers under the touch of his palm on her back but doesn't flinch away, when she then turns to him in a display of total confidence in her own skin, this is all he could've hoped for and more.
He sees the immediate terror on her face when the knock sounds at the door and the now-familiar voice of the blonde housekeeper filters through the door, and he has no idea how they'll get her out without it being something the hotel staff all become privy to, but he's dedicated to finding any way to aid her in keeping this a secret. Pants are the first step in this process. And then a shirt.
Finally succeeding in pulling the shirt over his head, Killian does his best to kick aside the obvious pieces of her uniform until they're tucked behind the door when he swings it open.
"Good afternoon, lass. Sorry to keep you waiting. It's one of my days off and I've just woken up."
"Oh! Of course, sorry about that. I was just here to clean up and refresh your supplies, Mr. Jones."
"You know, I'm actually all set if I can just get a few extra towels. I've bought my own supplies for the extended stay."
The girl acquiesces, but turns back from her cart with a smile and an armful of towels to hand over. Killian makes to grab for them, but sees her gaze shifting down towards his feet, prompting Killian to do the same. There on the floor is Emma's silver name tag, glinting in the light from the hallway, and he bends down quickly to grab it with hopes that she didn't clearly see what it was.
"Stick of gum," he explains as he shoves it in the pockets of his sweats. "I quit smoking when I left the city."
"Good for you!" she says, genuinely excited. "Well, here are your towels. Let us know if you need anything else, Mr. Jones."
He exchanges pleasantries with her and shuts the door, dropping the towels in the bathroom before peeking around to find Emma still pressed into the corner. She's nervously biting her thumb nail, otherwise still uncovered from the tousled hair to her painted green toenails.
"Quit smoking, huh?" she asks when she notices him standing there.
"Mmhmm," he hums in agreement, digging into his pocket for the piece of metal and plastic that was the cause for that particular line. "Yes, well, gum seemed like the best replacement for explaining this away." He dangles the nametag from two fingers and watches in mild amusement as she scoffs and presses her fingers to her forehead.
She pushes out of the corner and reaches for the tag, but he lifts it up and loops his other arm around her waist when she's close enough. She's smiling, her hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders as he dips his head closer to hers.
"Now, where were we?"
With a lucky flick of his wrist, Killian flips the nametag onto the closest nightstand before he picks up right where they left off before the interruption.
-x-
It's primarily luck that's on their side an hour later when Killian sticks his head out the door to find an empty hallway. Emma, her uniform shirt folded and tucked under her arm, is instead wearing one of Killian's t-shirts under her coat, and a look of determination. They sneak down the south stairwell and out the side entrance with no problems, and as soon as they're in Killian's car, Emma breathes out a huge sigh of relief.
"With any luck, no one was in front of the security monitor, and if they were, I kept my head down the whole time."
"I hate to think I've gotten you in trouble in some way, Emma."
"Killian, I made the decision to come in last night. If this is on anyone, it's on me." To prove her point, she grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him toward her, making the kiss count.
"Well then," he says when she pulls back enough to press her forehead against his, "if that's all settled, I suppose I should get you home. Your car will make it back tonight without problems, yes?"
"Correct," she tells him. And the roads are certainly clear enough to prove it.
In fact, he does take her home. She also just happens to invite him inside and make him lunch. He also happens to ask for a tour of her place, but becomes distracted when the way she's fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt becomes too distracting and he finds he needs to see what she looks like wearing that, and only that. He's not sure, by the time he leaves her to nap off the exercise for her shift that evening, whether he's ever had such a marathon of amorous activities at any other point in his life, and other than sore muscles, he can't exactly say he wants it to stop.
At a stop sign two blocks down and three over from Emma's rental house, he takes an extra moment to work on a tight muscle in his shoulder, and perhaps if he hadn't stopped right there he never would've seen the little "For Rent" sign half-buried in the snow, but the little house, no bigger or smaller than Emma's, practically calls to him from beneath the picturesque cover of snow.
He considers letting Emma know that he's found a place when, hours later, the paperwork is signed and he's on his way back to the hotel to collect his belongings. Instead, he stops at the grocery store and buys out their stock of cinnamon hot cocoa again (the cashier looks at him in exasperation, clearly indicating that they'd just finally restocked the little delicacies) before he goes next door to a home-goods store to find another piece of her gift.
When he comes back down to the front desk with his luggage and another gift bag for Emma, Elsa seems surprised, but he only hints that he's found living arrangements outside of the ones his company has to pay for. She smiles at him then, congratulating him and accepting the gift bag for Emma and placing it next to one of the computer monitors. It's simply a matter of settling his bill after that, the weeping of his company expense card audible as Elsa officially checks him out of his room and hands him the final bill.
There's a moment of silly melancholy, when Killian realizes that Emma won't be sliding his receipt beneath his door at any point, especially given their introduction, but he thinks instead about harassing the company in charge of moving his belongings into doing their job a little late in the day so that he can have as much completed as possible before enacting the next part of his plan.
Dinner the night before was paid equally, Emma insisting that it wasn't a date since he was still a guest at the hotel. He's pretty sure that now that he's no longer paying for a room at her place of employment that she will consider that date, finally. So he throws himself into calling the movers and getting the unit with all his belongings out of storage. Again, the company expense card is utilized, and Killian tips the three men that unload the truck from his own pocket.
By the time Emma's shift begins that night, Killian is curled up on his own mattress, in his own sheets, already adjusting to the intricate sounds that the unfamiliar house makes around him. He sets an alarm for a time before Emma will be out of work, already looking forward to the expression on her face when he sees her again.
-x-
Emma is positive that she can get used to sleeping heavily through much of the afternoon and evening if it's because she's recovering from overexertion of the best kind. After seeing Killian out after lunch (and dessert), Emma had gone straight to bed and didn't budge until her alarm went off at 9pm. Awake again, she languorously heads for her shower, taking her time and applying a little extra perfume for her meet-up with Killian that night.
There's a part of her that is sincerely hoping that he'll find his own place soon, but she selfishly wants him in the hotel, close by and there for a visit whenever he can't sleep. She wants lazy weeknights where besides a little bit of paperwork, all she has to do is sit there and hold his hand in the same relaxed way they did the night of his birthday. She wants to creep up to the fifth floor as she delivers her receipts, checking the crack under his door to see if the lights are off or lingering a moment to hear if the television is on.
She's relieved to be able to drive to the hotel without any problems that night, still impressed with the universe for creating the perfect conditions and diversions for her to stay with Killian the day before without it being wide-spread knowledge by the following morning.
The first thing that greets Emma when she walks in the door is Elsa's smug smile.
Oh god, she knows, is Emma's initial thought, but then the blonde produces another gift bag from under the counter and Emma breathes a little easier. Just Killian being himself. She was almost out of cinnamon hot cocoa, so she's happy to accept the gift.
More than just the little packets, though, there's also a brand new mug. She raises an eyebrow at it, looking at it and glancing at Elsa. Elsa just shrugs, understanding but not really understanding what's between Emma and Killian and happy to stay ignorant of the fact if it means her friend's peace of mind.
Emma turns the ceramic around in her hands, admiring the green and gold patterns swirled around the delicate pottery, but she's still perplexed. She's sure that Killian had noticed that she only ever used the disposable cups, but maybe this was his subtle hint that she should start thinking about conservation. Whatever the reason, the mug is gorgeous, and she places the bag off to the side to await his visit later. She won't be able to thank him properly just yet, having taken a solemn vow to not kiss him on hotel property again, but she could at least see his smile when she uses it for her mid-shift hot chocolate.
Work comes first, though, and after Elsa leaves for the night, Emma is left alone with the quiet murmurs of the television and the buzzing of the ice machine down the hall. She sets to work printing up the required paper work, humming quietly as she shifts between screens and fills in data where needed.
About halfway through her shift, Killian still hasn't shown up, and she wonders if he's still just sleeping off their time together. Just thinking about it, Emma stretches her arms above her head and relishes the muscles that tingle with use. She's smiling all the way through her audit, even grinning as she balances the taxes.
She brings up the guest ledger, noting any problems with accounts or changes in rooms, and she's just about to exit out of the screen when she notices something. Again, she scrolls up and back down the ledger, making sure that she did, in fact, bring it up according to room number. But Killian's name isn't there.
A pang of panic settles in her chest, and Emma looks at the mug again. A parting gift? Thanks for the bed sharing, but so long? Not even so much as a goodbye?
She'd begun to dread the night she would have to slide a final receipt under his door, but this way he's even robbed her of the chance. She considers grabbing one of the master keys and swiping in to his room when she delivers receipts, but she can't even stand the thought of finding it empty. During receipt delivery, she keeps her head down and refuses to even look at the door to room 510.
By the time 6:45am rolls around, Emma is exhausted, and not from working too hard. She has come up with every possible worst-case scenario for why Killian left without telling her, and they all end in her heart breaking after going so long without lowering her walls. Working the night shift was supposed to prevent these types of encounters, these types of connections, these types of pain. She's spent over an hour deflecting Ruby's questioning, and she's reaching her breaking point.
She's practically running out the door by the time Mary Margaret walks in, a hasty goodbye thrown over her shoulder and no time for the petite woman's knowing smiles. She grabs the gift bag with every intention of smashing the damn mug in the first empty parking space she comes across. She'll keep the hot cocoa packets, that would just be a waste.
All her thoughts slam to a halt at the same she does, right outside the second set of automatic doors, for there's Killian parked in the porte-cochere, leaning against his car with a smile on his face, eyeing her from head to toe. He takes one look at her face, the weariness evident in her features, and he must realize immediately that something is wrong, for his relaxed stance disappears and he's rushing forward to meet her.
"Emma?" he tentatively questions, but she doesn't explain, and doesn't give him the chance to explain, instead just pushing herself against him and kissing him as hard as she can, and he catches her, of course.
Killian's arms come around her, a tight protective hold, and he returns the kiss with enthusiasm. He manages to convince her that he's not going anywhere with the press of his lips, and she relents in her attack on his face after a few minutes. He takes a deep breath, still holding her close and steadying himself.
"You didn't think I'd leave without my shirt, did you?" he jokes, and she shoves him, hard, with a finger in his chest. He chuckles, even as he rubs the spot that she wouldn't be surprised to see a bruise adorning at some later point.
"You left."
"I got a place of my own, not far from yours, actually. I found it after I left yesterday," he tells her. "I thought maybe you'd like your own mug to keep in the cupboard for when you come over and drink hot cocoa."
She looks at the gift bag in her hand and then back at him, her face doing the same thing as when she looks at videos of sleeping kittens or puppies with hiccups. This time when she kisses him, it's soft and with gratitude.
"Thank you," she says against his lips. "What are you doing here now, though?"
"I thought we could go on a date."
Her eyebrow quirks up. "Seriously?" They kind of missed out on the dating part of courtship and jumped straight to the intercourse stage.
"Bloody hell, love. I told you I fancied you and wanted to take you out. You told me you wouldn't so long as I was a guest at the hotel. So? Will you go out with me?"
They end up at Granny's for breakfast, despite the fact that Emma tries to entice him back to her place for breakfast in bed. He insists that they share one planned meal in public together, claiming that it's bad form to repeatedly bed a woman and not allow her to regain her nutrients.
So they have lunch in bed, instead.
-x-
There's still plenty of settling to be done, in the long run. It takes Killian two weeks to get back into the habit of sleeping during the day and working during night. At least he knows that he can text Emma at any point when they're both working and have someone else awake in the world that isn't working with him.
He installs blackout curtains the moment he can, and finds this simple addition leads to a lot more sleepovers (if they can be called that at 8am) with Emma. For their six-month anniversary, he buys a set for her place and installs them when she's at work. He sprawls out and awaits her arrival home in the morning, and is rewarded when she walks through the door and doesn't hesitate to strip down to her undergarments. She immediately curls up against his side, sighing out a thank you as the bright sunshine or morning finds no entrance around the dark curtains.
They sleep until noon, where he proceeds to wake her up in his favorite way possible and she reiterates her gratitude with every touch and whisper, every kiss and reaction to his touch.
As they drift back to sleep again, Killian lists the things he's most thankful for: job transfer, wonky sleep schedules, insomnia, hotels, night audit shift workers, checking in, and most importantly – checking out.