"So he's from back home?" Belle asks, placing her fork down on the edge of her plate.
Emma takes a sip of coffee before nodding her head. "Yeah," she says easily. "Yeah, he is."
The simple statement, spoken in confidentially to her roommate in the dining hall, does little to actually explain everything Emma is feeling right now. She could barely sleep last night as she turned over her date with Killian in her head, looking it from every angle.
Her heart hurts.
It had started out well – great, actually, it was really great walking to the Chinese restaurant hand-in-hand. They had no shortage of things to talk about, and Emma was happy that conversation seemed to flow so easily, that other than pauses and coy glances at each other, everything seemed to be going really well (there had been worse evenings in her life, like any time she was forced to attend a state dinner with any random Young Lord Grabby-Hands).
Until, halfway done with their food, Killian had dropped his bombshell.
He was nervous, Emma can tell in retrospect, and rightfully so, because suddenly switching from pleasant conversation about the university's football team to announcing that he's actually from her small little kingdom?
(Her ears still ring a bit form when that truth bomb went off.)
Emma picks up her fork, pushes her scrambled egg around on her plate. Belle clears her throat.
"What did you say?"
Emma holds up a piece of egg, decides not to eat it. "I was polite, and I told him that information such as that needed to be disclosed prior to a dinner date."
Which is saying it nicely, Emma thinks. Her immediate instinct was to leave the situation as soon as possible, but the restaurant was full of patrons and it dawned on her, slowly, that exiting in the manner she so very much desired (perhaps a well-thrown verbal barb, definitely stomping out in a huff) would draw attention to herself, and that's the last thing she wanted to do. It may draw attention to her presence, which would definitely draw Leroy's attention, and Graham would get in trouble because she did not tell him she would be on a date, and her mother would demand that she return home immediately and she didn't want that at all.
Okay, so that was a total worst-case scenario, but Emma can't help how her mind automatically goes that direction. The perils of being a princess, she thinks bitterly. Always in the public eye – except for now, and it had been going so well…
"I think we should leave soon," is all that she said, and when they parted for the night, they did not hug and she walked back to the dorm cold and alone and terrified (she tries not to remember the broken look on Killian's face; she fails).
"But why would he not tell you?" Belle asks. Emma shrugs.
"I wish I knew that."
She really wishes she knew the answer, because everything was so good, and everything was so perfect, so of course it would fall apart, right? Because this is too much of a leap of faith that she would find someone while here – it is too much to believe that she would have an honest chance of finding someone who didn't know and didn't care about her title -
Belle says something but Emma's not paying attention. She shakes her head, clears away the thoughts that are plaguing her. "What?"
"Well, did he lie to you about where he was from?" Belle repeats. Emma takes a deep breath and studies her coffee.
"No," she admits. They never made it past names and majors before they were making out at the party, and everything since then had been small talk and more making out, so other than her admission that she as a princess…
Emma sighs. "He did take the fact that I was…who I am…really well when I told him. He didn't even ask where I was from."
"So I don't really see what the problem is," Belle tells her. "You like him a lot, he already knows who you are, and he didn't lie to you."
Emma sighs. "You're all about honesty, aren't you?" she remarks. Belle shrugs.
"I tend to believe that relationships built on lies don't last," Belle explains. "If anything, this is a sin of omission, not dishonesty. Perhaps he was scared? I know I was when they told me…" she trails off, blushing, and Emma smiles gently. She knows exactly what Belle is going to say because she heard it all the time when she was younger – in school, in the scouts, at other times: she is royalty, and that is overwhelming.
"I'm sorry if I'm intimidating," she says, and Belle shakes her head.
"No, no – it's not that. It's just…you'll be my queen someday, if I go back home." Belle smiles and reaches for Emma's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Trust me, there are far more intimidating people in the world than you."
"I'll take that as a compliment." Emma lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding as she mulls over Belle's words.
Belle's right. It's not even the fact that he didn't lie to her that bothers her. It's the fact that he's from her kingdom, and that he knows who she is, that rankles her. He knows. Which is a different kind of awkward because he also knows what she looked like when she was thirteen and a bit awkward and chunky (she also grew three inches that year and her skin looks much better now).
She doesn't know if he's only interested in her because she's the princess, or because of some other reason. Did he recognize her at the party? She knows he's been here for years because it's pretty clear his life is established – they ran into multiple people that he knew on the way to the restaurant, the servers knew him, and he's got a band that seems relatively well-established. This isn't just some ridiculous stalker out to date a princess.
This might be more than that.
"You're worried," Belle says, and Emma sighs.
"I don't want to be taken advantage of," she tells her. "I don't want some guy to date me because I'm…me."
"What if he's dating you in spite of the fact that you're you?" Belle points out.
"That would be a first," Emma comments. Belle just smiles, and leans forward to whisper conspiratorially.
"Besides, we could always look him up on Facebook."
The idea sounds brilliant and Emma's almost embarrassed she didn't think of it sooner. "Let's do it," she tells Belle, grabbing her tray. Facebook stalking would totally guarantee that she would get a better idea of what's going on with Killian, and if really just was a creeper trying to date a princess (she really hopes he's not, because she really wants to keep kissing him).
But of course, it's a lot harder than it seems.
"How can he not have a Facebook?" Emma asks, trying yet another combination of "Killian Jones" (there aren't many) while Belle offers suggestions. They are huddled around Emma's computer, door closed for privacy.
"Some people don't do Facebook anymore," Belle offers, which makes Emma sigh. Her own Facebook is ridiculous and locked down because the only people that want to friend her on Facebook are people she knows from back home and she doesn't Snap Chat (her mother would kill her) and this is –
"This is ridiculous," she says. Belle sighs.
"I guess asking him why he doesn't is out of the question?" Belle asks, and Emma is so frustrated right now that she grabs her phone and texts him immediately.
Why don't you have a Facebook?
She puts the phone on her desk and taps her fingers. Belle giggles.
"What?"
"It's 10 in the morning on a Saturday," Belle points out. "Do you really think that –"
The phone vibrates and Emma practically lunges for it.
Is there any reason you're asking, princess?
Emma huffs, shows it to Belle, who says, "Just tell him."
Emma rolls her eyes. Infuriating bastard.
Because I'm trying to Facebook stalk you.
"That seems a bit much," Belle points out.
"It's the truth." Emma leans back in her desk chair and crosses her arms over her chest. "We are trying to Facebook stalk him."
"I prefer to call it 'research'," Belle adds as a caveat, and she nudges Emma's shoulder with her own. It makes Emma feel better to have Belle with her during all of this – the date last night, this morning. It feels good to know that someone understands her predicament.
"Thanks," she tells Belle, who smiles smugly and says, "Of course, your highness," which makes Emma groan and roll her eyes.
"You sound just like him –"
The phone vibrates again.
It's under my email address - kj998 at –
Emma types it into the search box and it pops up, just K Jones and his picture with some man with blond hair. Everything seems vaguely legit, which Belle comments on, and Emma can actually feel the vice that's been clenched around her heart ease up a bit. There is nothing about her country, nothing about information that seems to be from the last three years (it even says he joined three years ago). There are tons of pictures of him playing with his band, more with him and the radio station crew (Regina pops up occasionally).
Maybe Belle's right, and maybe Killian likes her in spite of who she is.
The phone vibrates.
So are we going to be Facebook friends?
Emma lets out a small laugh, and sends the request. It's immediately accepted, and by that point he's sent another text.
I think we should talk.
"I think you should too," Belle tells her softly. "At least, hear him out. You can do it here if you'd like – that way there will be people nearby. I don't want you to be alone with him, in case…" Belle trails off, and Emma agrees.
"Thank you – I mean it. You're a really good friend, Belle."
As she texts Killian back (can you come over here?), Ruby chooses that moment to enter their room from her side of the suite.
"What are you two acting all sneaky about – oh, is that Killian?" she asks, glancing at Emma's Facebook. "I didn't know you had a Facebook!"
Belle looks at Emma. "Perhaps you should tell them," she says quietly. "The more people that know about you…"
This is a new development, and while Emma has been mulling it over for the better part of this semester, she's not entirely sure how to tell people this sort of thing. Dropping it drunkenly on Killian was a mistake, though now that things are out in the open between them (albeit dramatically) it seems easier to tell Ruby and Ariel.
"Tell us you're royalty? We knew that from jump street," Ruby says. "Seriously, Ariel follows royal blogs on Tumblr. She recognized you immediately but we've been trying to be cool because you know Prince Harry."
"He's probably going to marry Cressida," Emma says, grinning widely despite the tears that she can feel forming. She's moved by this display of tact and discretion on behalf of people she's only just met this year – Belle, Ariel, and Ruby, all of them being so kind and sweet to her.
"Well, what about Carl-Phillip? Aren't you related to them or something?" Ruby asks. "I would move to Sweden for that hottie."
Emma laughs. "I'll see what I can do." The phone in her hand buzzes.
I have to do laundry this morning but maybe later? Running out of clean clothes and don't want to look disrespectable in front of you…;)
She texts back Sounds good. Let me know.
"So what's up with Killian?" Ruby asks. Emma takes a deep breath and turns to Belle.
If anyone can help her with this problem, it's these girls.
"It's a long story…" Emma starts.
…
Killian is beyond nervous as he walks to Emma's dorm. He's surprised she's willing to meet him as disastrously as their date ended, but he is infinitely grateful as well. He remembers her mother, benevolent and graceful when he was discharged, and thinks that perhaps Emma's inherited more than her beauty.
The date was such an epic disaster that Killian dialed Robin the minute that he saw Emma disappear into the crowd near campus. Robin was, as per usual, already at the dive bar he frequented, and so when Killian joined him, he ordered another round.
"So what happened?" Robin asked.
"I told the truth," Killian said. And the truth hurt.
He remembers, even now, the way that Emma's face changed when she found out that they were from the same kingdom – when she learned that he knew who she was. Her face froze, eyes wide and frightened, and all Killian could think was that this was the lesser offense – he had yet to tell her of Milah, or Gold, or anything he had done that made him choose voluntary exile over the loss of a limb.
She ended the date quickly and left with just one heartbreakingly devastated backward glance.
And now, apparently, he may have a chance for forgiveness or, at the very least, some way to reach a mutual understanding. Killian does not expect things to go back to the way they were, but he does hope that they can be amicable enough so that if he sees her on campus, they will at least wave to each other.
Of course, that might be asking too much.
Emma greets him at the door, and she looks stunning in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, so different from what she wore on their date (but she is the most beautiful creature he's seen regardless of what she wears). "Let's go upstairs," she says, clutching her keys in her hand like a weapon, and Killian wonders if perhaps he was reading this wrong – perhaps this is not reconciliation, but rather something else entirely different. Perhaps she feels like, on her turf, she can rant at him all that she wants.
It makes no difference, he decides as they enter the elevator: he deserves whatever he gets for not being completely honest with her (even if he's determined to keep other secrets in check for the time being).
Emma lives in a suite, and she introduces him to a slight girl with brown hair named Belle. "She's also from back home," Emma says, smile faltering, and Belle is kind as she asks Killian how he is doing before leaving the room, leaving the common area to retreat to the bedrooms. Emma heads towards the papizan and curls up in it, leaving him with no choice but to sit on the futon.
"Emma," he starts, but she shakes her head.
"Why didn't you tell me when we met?" she asks. Killian sighs, runs his hands through his hair. He's not sure what to say – a number of clever retorts come to mind – until he settles on the truth.
"Why didn't you tell me when we met?" she asks. Killian sighs, runs his hands through his hair. He's not sure what to say – a number of clever retorts come to mind – until he settles on the truth.
"I don't know," he says. "I think I was scared. I mean…you're the princess. I'm just a commoner. And I really like you." He can feel his face flush as he says the words, and across the room Emma curls in on herself, tucking her knees towards her chest.
"You could have told me," she says, and Killian tries not to laugh.
"When? Before we were making out or after we got Jimmy John's? Before the radio station, probably, but I…the timing wasn't right." There was never a good time (how do you give such information when you are still getting to know someone?).
"Belle says I should be merciful," Emma tells him. "Ruby says I should make you beg, and Ariel says I should follow my heart." She looks at him and his heart flips in his chest and he knows that he will never meet someone like her – may never feel this way again. He nods his head, exhales slowly.
"And what do you think?" he asks.
Emma tilts her head to the left. "I agree with all of them," she says. "Because I do like you – I like how I feel around you. And as much as I'd love to see you beg…I think that maybe I should be merciful, too." She grins. "Which is why you're going to hang out with us tonight."
This takes him off-guard. "Us?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
"My roommates and me. They're going to get to know you, and we'll see how it goes." Emma grins. "It was their idea, but I agree with it."
Killian feels like he is being let off the hook way too easily for this – he knows he's not being forgiven, but he's never had trouble charming the ladies and spending an evening with Emma and her roommates can't be that bad (until he remembers the wolfish grin of that one girl from the party– Ruby – who Emma clearly listed as one of her roommates, and then he gets worried).
"As you wish," he tells her.
"Good." Emma reaches for her phone from the papizan. "What kind of pizza do you like?"
The rest of the evening is a blur, and in retrospect it is absolutely clear to Killian that every moment has been orchestrated perfectly by the four ladies of the suite: nothing is left unplanned from the choice of movies (Mean Girls, then The Notebook) to the pizza and seating arrangements (he is sandwiched between Ariel and Ruby on the futon) to the way that Ruby escorts him out the front door at 10pm only for Belle to help him sneak back upstairs through the side stairwell.
"Rules are rules," Belle says as an apology, "and Emma has a security team that would notice if she broke them." Killian agrees, thoroughly impressed by how dedicated Emma's friends are. They still barely know each other but the actions of the other girls speak volumes about Emma.
The evening hasn't been that bad – her friends are nice, he does his best to charm them, but the real test comes later, when the others retire to their bedrooms and he is alone with Emma. She puts on The Princess Bride before coming to sit because him on the futon. There is distance between them and he wants to close it – desperately – but he doesn't, because he is frightened of moving too fast, of doing too much. Instead, he waits as she takes out her phone, types into it, and then turns to him.
"They don't think you're a creeper," Emma tells him as she scoots over, and he doesn't have to wonder long who 'they' are.
"So do I have a delay of sentence, then?" he asks, enjoying the feeling of her snuggling into his side more than he would like to admit (he would be lost without her, he knows this now, so incredibly lost without her). Emma sighs.
"Just shut up and watch the movie," she tells him.
"Interesting choice for a – "he starts, and she shakes her head.
"Shut up, Killian, and watch the movie," she threatens, but he can see a hint of a grin on her face.
He does shut up, but he spends as much time watching her as he does the movie, and at some point both of them give up any pretenses of paying attention (and when her lips meet his, he feels like a drowning man being given air again).
He is in far too deep, and he fears what she will think of him when he tells her the entire story of his life.
…
The bed buzzes, waking Emma up. The TV set is still on in the background, and when the bed buzzes again – phone, shit, it's her phone – Emma struggles, the covers weighing her down as she reaches for it on the edge of the futon. It is only when there is a groan in her ear that she realizes that her covers are pulling her closer. Warm air brushes against her neck as she thinks Killian.
Her eyes snap open as the events of the last day run through her head and she realizes that Killian is here, in the suite, with her (snuck in carefully by her roommates, those precious girls) and she is in his arms. She remembers how they ended up entwined like this, how they both stopped watching the movie and started watching only each other, how she was the first to lean forward and place her lips against his.
They didn't do more than make out, though as he pulls her against him and presses a kiss against her neck, it is obvious to her that they could have done more (he doesn't push her for anything and she doesn't know why – she's not used to such gentleness, such care from boys her own age – at least those she knows from home) and so when he kisses her below her ear she shifts away from him.
"No marks," she cautions, reminding Killian of what she told him last night – how marks would be scrutinized by Leroy and Graham, how her mother would find out – and she remembers his response (he only kissed her more deeply, fingers trailing up her side, lingering beneath her breasts until she practically begged him to touch her).
"Understood, princess," he says, and she shivers from the feeling of his breath on her neck.
She reaches for her phone and it lights up the dark room. Killian groans, tucking his face away from the light and into her shoulder, and Emma quickly checks her text-messages only to find that it's nothing important – just pictures of her god-daughter playing with her sisters in a school pageant.
Of course, her god-daughter will one day be Queen of the Netherlands but that's neither here nor there.
She shoots a quick text back as Killian asks, "So what was that?"
"Just my god-daughter being adorable," Emma tells him. She throws her phone on the ground and shifts in his arms, burrowing herself deeper into Killian. He chuckles, pulls the blankets up over them.
"She's your god-daughter," he remarks, voice still heavy with sleep. "Of course she's adorable. I'm not at all surprised."
Emma grins, wrapping her arms around his warmth, grateful for this. She's glad that they were able to talk through whatever problems they had – glad that they could handle things amicably, because she likes Killian. Really likes him, if she's being honest, and there's a small part of her that likes the fact that he's from home. It makes things easier in the long run if she has to introduce him to her parents or bring him to state dinners or –
She laughs at how ridiculous she is being, and he groans, brushing his lips across her forehead.
"What's so funny?" he asks, nudging his nose against her own.
"Nothing," Emma tells him. "I'm just really happy."
"Me too," he says, before his lips claim hers and they don't talk again for some time.