notes: So, I've decided on a Tuesday posting schedule and I'm posting this rather early this Tuesday so I can get it in before work (and make the part of my brain shouting "update update update!" shut the hell up. I'm truly blown away by the response to the first chapter, every single review made me squeal with happinesss, and I hope that you'll continue to like where the story goes (and it's got quite a ways to go). Again, a huge thanks to blondecrowns and bluestoplights for being the angels that they are.
The second, third, and fourth links aren't any better than the first, but silver lining? They're written by more reputable sources than the Daily Mail so Emma isn't characterized as some kind of female serial killer netting herself a prince - she's just an obsessed fan wanting a piece of him.
Okay, her silver lining fucking sucks.
She closes all the links with a furious swipe of her fingers that leaves her screen smudged. Wiping it off with the sheets, calmly, calmly, she scrolls through her contacts, searching for his name in the list. It isn't a hard find, her contacts mainly consist of the Chinese, Thai, and Brazilian delivery joints close by, interspersed with the number for the local urgent care, some references from her last few jobs, and her landlord.
"Kill Him Slowly," Emma reads. She shakes away the murder from her eyes, and if she'd been capable of a smile, she might've given one at the "Killian Solo" saved there. As it is, she wants to phase him out of existence - and yes, that's a Star Trek reference, not a Star Wars one, she can like both, dammit.
She lingers over the call button, but opts against it for the moment. She needs to gather herself, do some damage control, and besides, her phone is ringing again and it's Belle's number flashing across the screen.
Gods, it's a wonder that Gold himself hasn't dialed in, but considering the circumstances, it doesn't surprise her. He's the type to keep his hands clean. Before she accepted his job offer, Emma did her research on him - because that's what she does, she's gone into too many situations blind to not know the power of a simple google search. There were lots of whispers of shady dealings but Gold stayed clear of being more than just an innocent bystander in the allegations in all the reports Emma found, which were very few and extremely far between.
And he has to be that way if he's helped Killian's family...the Royal Family of Socaea... The Royal Fucking Family.
And she thought her relationship with Matt "fucking already married" Parker, was the worst damage she could do to herself.
By the time she's done musing (read: screaming internally), she's missed Belle's call, so she presses callback and after only a ring, Belle picks up. Surprisingly, Belle is quiet and calm, when she says, "Emma, perhaps you should meet me at the bookstore to discuss this?"
She must've gotten all of her freaking out done through the text messages. Emma tries to adopt her serenity, and manages albeit with difficulty, "I'll see you there in about 45 minutes. I need to get myself together."
An understatement sure to come back to bite her in the ass.
"I'll be here. You should maybe come through the back. The passcode is 0273."
Emma grunts her reply, and Belle says, "See you soon," before ending the call. Emma kind of misses dial tones. That kind of buzzing of a hung up phone would really help clear her head of the thoughts bouncing off her skull.
She is not going to let this get the better of her. She isn't so she gets up and throws herself into action, stalking towards the bathroom and cleaning herself in close to record time. Perhaps this event (situation? nightmare?) should've been enough to beat her 'overslept and nearly missed her bus out of DC' shower, but she lingers for a moment over the red hickeys on her belly, shower gel slipping out of her hand and nearly causing serious injury to her foot.
Clean and dressed in her most inconspicuous, "just a regular New Yorker too lazy to actually get dressed" sweatpants and hoodie, she throws on a pair of sunglasses and slips out of her apartment. Standing on the street corner for a moment, she considers taking the bug, but remembers that she's trying not to scream 'prince kidnapping madwoman,' so she dashes the thought and makes her way towards the local subway station.
The 1 takes her close enough to Belle's bookstore that it isn't a hassle. It's how she originally discovered it and first met Belle, when her car had a flat and she had to take the 1, needed a place to linger while she waited for her bond, and ended up buying a beat-up copy of the Sorcerer's Stone that Belle brought out just for her after she admitted a fondness for used books.
Emma doesn't hide her face on the train, but she does put in her headphones and stares down her phone studiously. No better way to blend in on the NYC subway than to look like you could give less than a fuck about the people around you.
At her stop, she gets out of the station only to come face to face with her ass on the cover of a magazine. It's not the worst shot of her they could've gotten, and gods, Killian looks like shit in that picture, drugged out of his mind - and ooh, that's the story this magazine is going with, that Emma drugged him.
She wants to stomp her foot and scream, "When would I have the goddamn time? I was on the door for 10 hours straight on a Saturday night. When. Would. I. Have. The. Time?" Instead, she walks past the magazines, not bothering to turn her path for the men refusing to walk on the right side of the sidewalk, although wilting away would be a better idea, given the circumstances.
Emma's in a mood by the time she punches in the passcode to Belle's backdoor and enters the bookstore. Belle's quiet cashier looks up at Emma and melts away into the shelves in sheer terror. Emma tries to adjust her expression but she must do a shit job of it because upon noticing her, Belle immediately takes her by the arm and leads her into her office without a word.
It's silent as she stares at the back wall until Belle, fiercely brave Belle, says, "I know you didn't kidnap Prince Killian. He called to inform us of that this morning. Explained that you helped him out, actually despite what the...photos would have us believe."
Emma's impressed that Belle manages to say that like it isn't obvious Emma took him home and screwed him. Impressed that Belle holds her gaze as long as she does.
"Did he say anything else?" Emma asks.
Belle frowns. "You haven't spoken to him since…"
Since we played the horizontal tango? No.
Emma sighs. "I'm going to call him."
Trepidation takes hold of her as she pulls out her phone again and finds "Killian Solo" in her contacts. It isn't like her and Belle are friends. Not really, which is Emma's fault not Belle's, but it's definitely nice to have her there for some kind of physical support as Emma dials Killian's number, if only to stop Emma from punching a wall or throwing Belle's brand new Mac out the window in frustration.
Like Belle, Killian picks up on the first ring, "Emma," he breathes into the line like - oh god, she's not thinking about how he breathed it into her skin when he was kissing his way down her belly.
Emma clutches at the strings of her hoodie, refusing to think beyond her demanded, "What the hell are we going to do about this?"
"We? I was going to handle this, Emma."
He sounds so astonished by the absolutely preposterous suggestion that Emma might actually want to be a part of fixing this situation. The situation that she is a huge part of. She feels a vein throb in her forehead, her hand inching towards the flower pot.
She snarls into the line, "That isn't how this shit works. When you're some kind of - some kind of -" The designation gets stuck on her tongue. Prince. Royalty. Mr. No Last Name because your last name is your fucking country. She blows out a breath. "We need to talk."
He's quick on the uptake, says, "In person, right. That's smart but I'm kind of - where are you?"
Sarcasm comes to her aid, tempering out the anger in her reply. "Belle's bookstore. You know Belle, right? Works for Gold, your family friend. I'm sure he can give you the address."
It's quiet on the line before he says, "Right. I'll see you soon."
"How soon?" Emma asks.
She hears voices in the background, and Killian answers "Half an hour at the most."
"Alright. Bye."
"I -"
She hangs up on whatever he means to say. Stupid, really, it could've been important but that one short non-conversation tested her nerves. Admittedly, he sounded like he was trying to be rational about the situation, but he can afford that at the moment. She can't. All she can do is panic because she fucked a prince and her ass is all over the gossip mags and on the New York Times website for god's sake.
Maybe even CNN too.
Probably even Fox News.
Emma shudders at the thought.
Belle catches her mid-imagining herself being discussed by the lizard people Fox calls reporters, and says gently, "Emma, I have to go back out there, but you can wait here?"
(What a nicely worded, "Please don't bring reporters into my bookstore by showing your face.")
Emma moves, her body stiff with tension as she takes a seat at Belle's desk. She turns to the Mac she considered tossing and asks, "Can I get your password? I have to check something."
"It's beautyoftheball," Belle says and exits the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
During the interim in which she waits for Killian to get himself to the bookstore, she reads as much up on the Royal Family of Socaea, which is a lot, mostly centered on Killian and his strained relationship with the Princess Regina, who was heir presumptive (Emma wikis this, and then royal titles, lines of succession, the difference between a duke and a grand duke, whether she can just say fuck it all and disappear off the planet; surprisingly that last one did not have a wiki entry) until it came out that the Duke's son was actually the King's son, Regina's older brother (literally what the fuck) and thus, the next in line for the throne.
Belle comes back once when Emma has slammed her face into the desk, seeking her sanity in the cool plastic top, but it's a 404 Error: Sanity Not Found as she lifts her head slightly to give Belle a pleading look.
Belle returns soon after that with a coffee and a nervous smile that screams, "Your hell has only just begun."
The coffee has no cream or sugar. Exactly the kind of bitter to match Emma's mood, especially when Belle stays as Emma sips at the coffee, rocking back and forth until she finally finds steady ground and strong enough will to say, "He's waiting in Wildest Dreams."
"That's funny."
It's really not funny, not at all, but she'd hoped saying it aloud would make it so, that him waiting for her in the Romantic Fantasy section could be made humorous instead of rage inducing.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I'd one day be able to say I fucked a prince! I'm living the fantasy!
Living the Dream.
Emma gets out of her seat and gives Belle one unnecessarily hard look before she opens the door and picks her way through the perfectly disordered shelves to Wildest Dreams.
He's standing with his back to her, rubbing at his head, which makes her hesitate. Only for a moment, a flash of worry takes her that he still has that headache even though he swore as he was -
(As he kissed up her thigh, mouth seeking a higher destination, he murmured, "Your skin is the perfect remedy for a headache. Amazing."
Wonderful.
Beautiful.
And then his lips found their mark and -)
Killian turns around and immediately steps towards her, only stopping when she stumbles back, fists clenching, readying herself instinctively for a fight.
Deep breath, rip off the Band-Aid, take some skin along with it.
"So, you're a prince," Emma says bluntly.
His expressions run the gamut of responses - a furrowed brow, a lifted one, gaping mouth and blushing cheeks - finally settling on a slight smirk.
"I'm just a figurehead, really!"
"A dickhead, really," Emma says.
"Okay, that's called for," he says.
"Asshole, jerkwad," she continues, about to pull out all the stops.
There's some choice curses she's been saving just for a moment like this.
Killian raises his hand. "That however is not."
"Really?"
Emma lifts an eyebrow, and he scrapes his hand over his eyes, grins wryly.
"Yeah, you're probably right."
Emma can't say that she finds the same humor in the situation. Stiffly, she says, "Definitely right."
"As much as I'm enjoying this back and forth…"
Emma sucks in a breath, and a million questions come to mind but (unthinkingly perhaps, except that this is something she's definitely thinking about now that she's left the bug parked in front of her apartment like a big yellow 'Guess which kidnapper lives here?' arrow), she asks, "Do you think they know where I live already?"
They who? Everyone.
"Most likely," he confirms softly.
He reaches out his hand. Emma ignores it. She really doesn't want his sympathy right now, as she grits out, "And here I was worried about you scouting out my place."
She adjusts her thought process, maybe she should find some humor in the situation. Find some way to keep herself from falling into utter rage.
"In all likelihood, you'll need an escort back to your apartment," Killian says.
"I can handle myself," Emma says.
It's true. She can. This task however, seems a bit more daunting than catching a runner or "escorting" an unruly guest out of Gold's, or even talking to the asshole himself, and they both see that.
(Her past is probably already on the AOL homepage for all the world to see as well.)
"I know that, Emma," he says softly. "And you handled me just fine."
In lieu of acknowledging the innuendo (because it was unintentional, she tells herself, and he doesn't actually want you to strangle him) Emma plops down on the bench and stares over at the books lined along the fake window. Ella Enchanted. Snow White Retold. The Princess Bride. Life is unfair. Life is shit. But this is some next level Hell created specifically for her.
Fuck a prince? End up surrounded by novelized reminders of it.
"But, this is going to be tough to deal with on your own."
"I'm used to it," Emma says.
"But you don't have to be."
There's a pause in the conversation, one that she has no intention of lingering in, giving him a chance to read her stiffening shoulders and that bite in her cheek, the way she reaches up without meaning to -
"You didn't expect to see me again," Emma snaps.
He doesn't deny it, but he doesn't look away from the challenge in her words.
Emma presses on. "So, once I found out because that's not something you can hide, I would've dealt with this on my own anyway…"
She stares at Cinderella Retold, the Cinderella on the cover placing the glass slipper on the stair, an invitation, "If you want me, come find me."
(He left his number in her phone.)
"What if I had called you? What lie would you have told me then?" Emma questions.
He stares at her, another pause in the conversation that she doesn't want to linger in, but his surprise is quiet even as it rings warning bells in her ears, too late, too late for her to take back her words.
"You had plans to call me?"
"I -" She stammers. "No, I just would've checked up on you. You hit your head on the floor. I would've wanted to know you made it home alive and I wasn't accused of murder. With my DNA all over the body and all."
She winces, but thankfully that softness eases from his expression and he smirks instead.
It doesn't last long, however because even while he replies sarcastically, "Your concern is truly touching," his sincerity betrays him. Emma thinks better of looking him in the eye when he says, "I didn't lie to you. I was honestly surprised you didn't know. It was refreshing."
Which - the sincerity only makes it worse. Emma snaps, her gaze returned to him.
"Oh fuck, you're pulling that pauper for a day card? 'She doesn't know my title and she likes me for who I truly am, she must be the one!' That is bullshit. People are whole package deals, royal lineage and all, and if I'd known…"
She frowns, unable to find a way to finish that. Because if she'd known, what the hell would she have done? Pretend it never happened? She's done that when things have gotten rough. Shove it aside, mark it down as another mistake? She's done that, too.
Hold it to her as one of those memories that she'd rather not have reality touch?
(She's done that, but for so few things, only those precious things, and she can't consider last night as one, she can't.)
"You wouldn't have come near me?" Killian suggests.
"No, that's not it -"
He brightens again at her slip of the tongue (read: slip, fall on her ass and break her neck of the tongue.) As Killian walks towards her, Emma slides over on the bench, making room for him. She can begrudge him everything else, but she's not petty. If he wants to sit...well, his Highness can take whatever seat he likes.
(She doesn't have to be petty when she can be as bitter as that.)
"I'm truly sorry that I lied to you, Emma."
She allows the silence this time, if only to give her time to think, to add this whole conversation in with the events of last night. After a moment, she turns into him. Their knees brush, and she pulls back a bit as she says, "You said I should've known the guy. The one you were going after."
Killian's hand twitches, the one with the prosthetic, fingers curling into a fist, "Yeah, he's probably the one who took the pictures. Has his own show, creatively titled, 'The Royal Zoo.'"
"I don't watch gossip shows," Emma says.
But she does know the Royal Zoo. It has a column in the newspaper she picks up when she's out. And - the image clicks, Sidney Glass' smile - he's right, she could've put the name to the face if she'd studied the grainy picture better.
"That fucking asshole, that's the guy who helped me get you to the cab. The one who held the door open for me. How did he -"
She slaps the flat of her hand to the wall in frustration. Princess Diaries goes toppling to the floor at Killian's feet. He glances down at it, his mouth quirking slightly.
Part of her wants to ask if Mia's story speaks to him. The other part of her doesn't think it's a good time to admit how much she enjoyed those movies when she has a prince gazing at her. Both parts agree that asking Killian that would be the worst idea in history.
Emma settles on asking, "Why were you meeting him?"
Killian grins at that. "He told me he had something newsworthy to share. Didn't know that would be me."
How evasive. It's not a lie, but he hadn't lied last night either, and look how that ended, look at all the shit it's begun.
"So, how did you plan to spin this?"
He grins at that, too. "No idea."
"Seriously?"
Killian nods.
He's serious. Unbelievable. He's serious.
"Every site thinks I'm a kidnapper of some kind, obsessed fan, serial killer who drugged you. And you had no plans on how to clear that up?" Emma demands.
He rubs his jaw, and replies, "I could explain how you simply helped me after I had a spill at the club but that brings up other questions."
"Such as?"
Looking at her like he knows that she knows the answer to that (which she does, but still), he says, "Why you took me back to your home instead of my hotel or a hospital. Why I stayed the night."
"Just tell them the truth, then."
Could be no worse than what they already think.
Killian shakes his head negatively at that. "You really have no idea what you're asking with that one. The kind of vitriol you'd receive."
"Could it be worse than the Black Swan?" Emma poses.
"Oi, that's actually a good one," Killian says.
Emma's the one who grins this time, ducking her head in a snorted, "I know, I was surprised too."
The touch to her knee draws her gaze back up and he says, "I'm having a thought."
"Just the one?" Emma asks.
"About your work with Gold," Killian says.
"Your family friend," Emma says, watching for the angry twitch in his jaw. Killian doesn't disappoint. "I'll never be able to go back to that job again. All Gold's customers will be wary of me kidnapping them. It'll be bad for the atmosphere."
"I'm sure most of Gold's customers wouldn't be adverse to you kidnapping them," Killian says.
"Not everyone's like you," Emma replies.
"True."
He clears his throat, a curious look in his eyes before he tilts his head, staring just past her shoulder and says very slowly, with deep consideration, "I have a solution, but I'm not sure if you'll appreciate it, given everything."
"Given what?"
His gaze returns to her at the last part, blue eyes boring into her like he's trying to read past her confusion to something she can't fathom.
"The fact that you're buzzing with desire to punch me in the face."
He noticed that? How astute.
"I hate anticipation, Killian. Just tell me."
"You could play my partner."
Not even a shrug to belie the seriousness in his tone.
"Your what now?"
"My girlfriend."
"I know what partner means," Emma says. She shoots him a hushing look. "But why would you -"
"You're the one that suggested I tell everyone the truth. I'm just trying to make it less likely to cause you any grievous harm," Killian explains.
He isn't lying but there has to be more to it than that. Still she replies sardonically, "Thoughtful."
His response is more sincere. "It'll cover you until this situation blows over."
"What part of dating you will make this all blow over?"
"The part where you're not accused of trying to murder me?" Killian replies, falling into sarcasm as well.
He's frustrated, but a moment later, his shoulders slide down and he takes his hand across his prosthetic one, tracing his fingers along it. The prosthetic fingers twitch, but just a little too late for it to be natural. His smile isn't natural either, when he gives it, a failed attempt at hiding that Emma wishes had actually worked when he says, "My people have been fielding calls about my injuries from your attack, and have already assured the NYPD that you don't need to be picked up for assault and kidnapping, though some precincts don't seem to have been contacted as of yet. I answered one of those calls myself. A concerned citizen saw you on the subway and informed the officer at their stop. This is a complete mess, Emma, and it's my own bloody fault, but I think that we can make this work. Whatever you decide, I shall make sure you aren't penalized for it. Gold won't want to…"
He trails off at that, frowning.
"He'll fire me anyway," Emma says. "Or use me as promotion for his club. Neither is what I want. So." Deep breath, rip the Band-Aid off, bite your tongue at the scream. "So, you'll have to pay me. A retainer fee to cover...damages." He blinks at that and she chooses to ignore the twitching of his smile. "And an hourly fee for any time spent together."
"I should make it clear that due to my obligations in my homeland, you would have to travel with me," Killian says.
Emma shrugs. "I've always wanted to go overseas." She quiets, and says, "How is any of this beneficial to you? Your 'people' must have done a full background check before you even left my apartment this morning." She shakes her head and says, "What would an orphan with a criminal record do for you?"
"Offer me a hand when I've landed headfirst on the floor?"
Killian winks and takes his fingers from his own palm to rest them on her knee. Despite the joking tone of his words, Emma feels the weight of his meaning as surely as she feels the weight of his palm, the rubbing of his thumb over the curve of her knee.
It's comforting in a way it shouldn't be when her life is slipping from her fingers. It isn't like that hasn't happened before. This isn't the first time that she's had to claw her way up from the bottom. It's just now, she's reaching for a place a tad higher than reformed criminal.
A Prince's Partner.
Sounds like a book she'd find hanging around this section of Belle's.
With a challenge to her tone, she poses, "You know I wasn't doing that out of the kindness of my heart, right? Helping you?"
"You were protecting yourself, searching for a way out of an impossible situation," Killian says.
Emma blinks. How astute.
"I couldn't help myself last night, but this time, you don't have to shoulder the burden alone."
"You are heavy," Emma says. When he smiles at that, assessing her with careful eyes, Emma looks away and says, "When does this whole thing start?"
"I believe it already started, Emma." Emma shakes her head, frowning and he says, "Six months ago, I was in Washington, DC."
She nods this time. "So was I. I get it."
He sighs, his hand still rubbing her knee. When she pulls her knee away, he goes with it, but it's with a last lingering touch.
Emma doesn't read into that. She doesn't have the energy to do so, not when she's running numbers in her head. Six months, years, could it be years that she'll have to play the part? How many hours playing the partner before curious eyes? How many minutes spent wondering about this, wondering about that? Thinking about girls finding out they're princesses and staring at the floor…
"This will take some getting used to," Emma says, to cover the silence and the way her eyes are glued to the book on the floor.
Killian merely sighs and says, "So, how much do you think you'll have to pay your landlord for the cat?"
Emma snorts, grateful for the smile, the real smile he gives her when she looks up and meets his eyes. "I'll add that to my retainer fee."
"You'll buy my kingdom out from under me at that rate."
She looks away and bends down to pick up the fallen book. As she's turning to place it back on the shelf, she murmurs, "I always wondered what it was like wear a crown."
Vaguely, she remembers, only vaguely, the promise of one, Emma's Fifth Birthday, pink unicorns and bejeweled wands.
"Not as fun as it sounds," Killian says.
Emma turns, plastering a smile on her face. "Yeah, I'm sure."