Title: Routine Needs

Rated: T bordering on M. But just bordering on it. (It's coming next, I promise!)

Summary: Emma's daily routines are a matter of habit. When she wakes up late one morning, her routines all change for the better. Killian doesn't care about routines, but he does care about Emma.

A/N: When you get to the bottom, you're going to hate me. But I promise, it's in the next one. And I promise I'm writing as fast as I possibly can, because the feedback is feeding my muses with so much love.

CHAPTER FOUR: Routine Needs

Killian Jones is having a shite day. Absolute shite. His computer crashes in the morning, leaving three days progress lost to the technological hell he finds himself in. He rubs his eyes when he thinks of the corrections he made to the novella, all of the progress lost. He thinks of the press releases he had finally finished drafting up, the wording absolutely perfect. He wishes for rum. Lots and lots of rum, and Emma Swan.

"Hey, you were supposed to—Killian, what's wrong?" He looks up as one wish enters through the door and he idly wonders if she has rum stashed somewhere on her.

"I'm sorry, love," he says, roughly rubbing his hand over his face again. "I've had a bit of a set-back. I should've called."

After a moment of hesitation, she moves to stand behind him at his desk, working her thumbs into the knots along his shoulders and the base of his neck. He wants to melt into his chair at her ministrations. His head drops forward and he sighs, letting his muscles relax for a moment.

It's been three weeks since their first date and the delayed first kiss, but the ones that have followed have been just as spectacular. He and Emma have found their own rhythm in their strange version of dating. It's a balancing act between both of their jobs, and a handful of quiet date nights with homemade food, usually with both of them working on something as she's begun working closer with Will on the designs for the website. The surveys are almost complete and the website premier is just around the corner.

He notices that in the short time they've been doing this, she's managed to work routines into their days together, and he doesn't mind one bit.

"Do you want me to bring you lunch?" she asks, giving his shoulders one more squeeze before moving to sit on the edge of his desk.

"You really are a marvel, Swan," he says, grabbing one of her hands and kissing the back of it softly. The smile she gives him eases a little more of the tension in his back and he gratefully accepts the kiss she places on his lips.

"I'll be back in five," she says before heading back out of his office.

By the time she returns, he's at least recovered the corrections and marks on the novella, which makes his blood pressure fall slightly. The press release seems to be gone entirely, though, so he knows the next few hours of work will be spent trying to recreate that.

"I won't distract you," she says, placing a kiss on his cheek as she sets the bag down on his desk. "Call me later, okay?"

"I will. Thank you, Emma. For all of this," he says sincerely, wishing their lunch break could've been spent together.

Instead of a response, she kisses him again, smiling sweetly and wishing him luck before she and her pencil skirt swish out of his office. He sighs again, heavily, and opens the bag of food.

It's not Friday, but by the time he gets out of the office, he texts Emma to meet him at the bar they always go to. This is outside of any routine either of them had prior to meeting, but he thinks an exception can be made for days like this one.

When he walks in, he walks up to the bar and waits for the bartender. She's a different one than the one that blew off Emma the first night he met her there. This one is much nicer, hair so blonde it's almost white, and while she's quiet and subdued and gets called "Ice Queen" behind her back, she is a damn good bartender. She's just selective about who she's nice to.

"Good evening, Elsa," he calls when she exits the back room to bring food out for another patron.

"You're here early! By like, two days! Where's Emma?" she asks as she grabs a glass and pours a beer for him.

"On her way," he responds, handing over the money and sighing his thanks after the first sip.

He's ready for the day to be over, but knows that it'll turn around as soon as he has Emma in his arms. For the second time that day, he thinks his wish has been granted as arms wrap around his middle, but the voice that speaks after is definitely not Emma's and Killian wants the ground to swallow him before he has to deal with what's behind him.

"It's been too long, stranger," he hears, and looks down to see the perfectly manicured hands that definitely do not belong to Emma resting on his stomach.

"Milah," he says. He wishes there was more hatred in the word. He wishes there was any emotion other than what sounds like someone ripping stitches out of an open wound. The pit in his stomach is threatening to swallow him and he's afraid to turn around and look at her, but he needs to let her know her intimacy with him is unwelcome. The thought of Emma gives him the courage to take a deep breath and turn around.

Milah looks exactly like he remembers. Her long brown hair is down, some of it cascading over her shoulder, and the twinkle in her eyes is one of mischief. She smiles at him like she did when they were together, and he can feel the old wounds in his heart reopening. He wishes again for rum, and makes a note to ask Elsa for a double shot of it as soon as this is over with.

"Killian," she says warmly. She leans in to hug him again and he holds out his hands.

"Don't, please," he manages, pressing back against the bar a little more to try to open the space between them.

"Oh, come on. It's been a couple years but you're telling me you're not happy to see me?"

"Milah, the last time I saw you, you had just turned down my marriage proposal. A month later, your engagement announcement was in the paper. I fail to see how I should be happy to see you," he grits out.

"Oh, that," Milah says, looking like she might get it for the first time since he's turned around. "Well, I had my reasons. But you," she stops suddenly and examines him for a moment. "You've met someone, haven't you?"

"I have," he replies, letting out a deep breath.

"And is she also your everything, Killian?"

"She's more than that, because she's not hiding her engagement to some other man from me."

Even as he speaks, Milah still runs one nail down his tie. It's the green one that Emma loves, the one that matches her eyes. The thought of her must summon her, for real this time, because he hears Emma cough next to him and he turns his head to look at her, smile appearing on his face without even trying. Killian reaches out and pulls her to his side like a lifeline.

"Hello, love," he whispers into her hair as he kisses the side of her head. He doesn't say it quietly enough, because Milah's eyes widen at the nickname and she steps back as if burned.

"It was nice seeing you, Killian," she says stiffly before walking away. Emma watches her go, but Killian slumps back against the bar as his arm tightens around her waist. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing deeply to calm his racing heart back down. He chances a look at Emma. She doesn't look upset, but he needs to handle this the right way.

He didn't want to have this conversation yet, would've preferred to never have it at all but knows that isn't an option. Past relationships before this moment were closed off from conversation, but now he needs to tell her. He opens his mouth to start explaining, but Emma holds her fingers over his lips lightly.

"Not now. Not here. We can talk about it later," she says. His heart clenches again, and he has to remember how to breathe, but he places another kiss on her forehead to show his gratitude. She grabs his beer and hands it over to him, smiling a little and squeezing his bicep once before she turns her attention to Elsa behind the bar.

The walk back to Emma's is relatively silent. He intends on telling her on the way, but she squeezes his hand and leans her head on his shoulder, so he stays quiet. When they reach her apartment building, she surprises him by tugging on his hand. This is not part of the routine. He usually kisses her goodnight and begins the journey home, late evenings normally unacceptable on work nights. He still hasn't moved, so she tugs a little harder, propelling him to follow behind her into the building and up to her apartment.

"Ruby's out with Victor again," Emma says when they enter the dark space.

"They seem to be getting rather close," he comments as he collapses onto the couch. He hears her tinkering in the kitchen for a couple minutes and guesses that she's making tea. The pallor never really left his face, even after they sat down and ate and he finally got his rum. Emma's looks at him had slowly transformed from patience and understanding to worry. Killian knows that Will has hinted of this to Emma, but his relationship with Milah and the time that followed their break-up can hardly been summed up in a few quick sentences. He's determined to reduce it to that, though, because it doesn't mean anything to him anymore.

When Emma comes into the living room, she hands him a mug and sits down facing him, legs folded under her and attention undivided.

"So that's the one Will was talking about?" she inquires.

Straight to the chase, he thinks. "Yes, that was Milah," he responds, cradling the mug. Even though summer is almost in full swing, the feel of the hot mug between his hands is soothing.

"You don't have to tell me everything if you don't want to. Lord knows I have my own demons," she says.

"I'm not complaining, love," he says after finally sipping his tea, "but you are being exceptionally rational about a woman practically manhandling me when you walked in."

"You looked like you were about to hurl. And once, I wasn't so understanding. Believe me. Just be glad you're dating me now instead of me six years ago," she says. He knows there's a story there, but she's not offering anything else and he's not going to push, not when she's being as patient with him as she is.

"When she turned down my proposal, she said it was because she wasn't the marrying type," he starts. He knows if he starts it there, he doesn't have to explain anything else. They were together long enough for him to love her, and it was serious enough that he thought she'd say yes. Emma's brows furrow when she hears this. He takes another deep breath before continuing.

"A month after she said no, and subsequently disappeared from my life, Will came into my office like there was a bomb in his hand. He handed over the wedding announcements and there she was with Mister Gold." He can tell by her sharp intake of breath that he doesn't have to explain who Gold is. His wealth and charity to the city are invaluable, but there was always something darkly ominous about the man.

"I'm not proud of the man I became for a while after that. A lot of drunken nights where Robin or Will had to haul me home. A handful of one-nighters that I'd rather never speak of if you won't make me. Eventually I just shut off my emotions all together. It took almost a year for me to act like a normal human being again, and even then Will still sometimes looked at me like he was waiting for that Killian Jones to come back." Silence stretches for a few minutes while he sips at the tea until the mug is empty and Emma processes the abridged version of his history.

"She looked like she didn't like you calling me 'love'," Emma finally says plainly.

"The only other person other than my brother's wife that I've called 'love' is Milah, not Belle. I'm sorry I lied to you about that, but I just couldn't then, not yet."

"You should've just told me the truth," she says sharply. She huffs out a breath. Obviously he's touched a nerve with a lie no matter how small it seemed to him, but she reaches up to take his hand when he places the mug on a coaster on the coffee table.

"Sorry, just… Don't lie to me again. I have enough names on the list of people who've done that and I don't ever want to add you to that," she says a little softer. She brings his palm up to her lips and kisses the center of it before linking her fingers with his.

"I promise, Swan. I will tell you the truth about whatever you ask," he says, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. This time, he lets his fingers graze the spot behind her ear on purpose, enjoying the way she closes her eyes and leans into the contact. When she opens them again, there's a heat in her eyes that sends a shiver up his scalp.

Emma Swan has been the subject of many of his fantasies and wet dreams since before they even met, but other than some heady make out sessions, they've both been holding back. But now, now that she's looking at him like she is, he's having a harder time not acting on his more primal instincts. She chews her bottom lip in thought for a moment before leaning forward and kissing him, and the ferocity makes him think she's having just as difficult of a time holding back.

She all but crawls into his lap, tilting her head to the side to change the angle of the kiss. His hands are hovering just above contact with her, and then she swipes her tongue against his lips and it's a crash of intensity that has him wrapping his arms around her back, one hand sliding up her neck to tangle in her hair.

Emma actually does crawl into his lap, next, and when her hips settle over his, he groans involuntarily. Being underneath her is one of the most exquisite tortures Killian has ever felt and he would give anything to stay right there, her almost unconsciously rocking her hips against his as weeks of sexual tension finally come to the surface.

"Killian, I—"

She doesn't get to say whatever is on her mind, though, because the door swings open and Ruby practically prances into the apartment at that moment.

"Emma! I just had the best—oh shit," she says, catching sight of the couple on the couch and their precarious position. "Ah, I'm gonna go grab something. Out of my bedroom. So I'll just… be in my bedroom. For a while," she stammers out before turning and retreating as quickly as she can.

When Killian looks at Emma, she's bright red, mouth still hanging open from her friend's sudden appearance and departure.

"This really just is a shite day," Killian finally mumbles. He guides Emma's mouth back to his for a kiss that's chaste in the light of their previous ones and breaks away to lean his head on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, but he can tell she's grinning and he pulls back to look at her, cupping her cheek in his hand and smiling with her.

"I'd much prefer this to the other interruptions my day has given me," he says sincerely, rubbing his thumb across her cheek once before running it gently across her bottom lip. As he watches his finger touch the smooth skin, the urge to ruin everything with three words hits him for the first time. Too soon, he thinks, way too soon for that kind of bloody nonsense. With that thought beating like his heart, he meets her eyes again. "It's getting late. I should go."

She just nods in response, clambering off his lap and helps pull him to his feet. She walks him to the door and kisses him again, sweeter but still with that hint of heat behind it and he's tempted to throw caution to the wind again and stay the night, but something is still pushing him to hold off, to wait just a little longer knowing every minute will be worth it when it does happen.

"Goodnight, Killian," she says quietly, giving him one more kiss before untangling herself from their shared embrace.

"Goodnight, love," he says, and if he means the last word a little more than he did when he walked in, then at least he wasn't stupid enough to say the whole phrase.

The walk home is sobering and lonely. Killian was never a patient man before meeting Emma. He was always one to just take what he wanted and damn the consequences. That all changed the first time he saw her and he wonders just when she worked herself so far under his skin. Certainly it couldn't have been before he panicked when she was late. Thoughts of her untimely demise had flashed before his eyes that day and if he had any idea where she lived, he would've walked all the way there just to assure that she was okay.

He thinks of the relief that washed over him that morning upon seeing her rush up to her corner, out of breath and flushed, a victim of over sleeping if he ever saw one. And he thought about how ridiculous he had been to think she had somehow died in the twenty-four hours since he'd seen her. It's what finally drove him to introduce himself, because the woman was more dependable than any alarm clock he had ever owned and he wanted to finally know her.

It's this thought that follows him in the door to his small duplex apartment and he leans against the door for a moment. Alone in the quiet, he suddenly realizes how exhausted he is and rubs his hands over his face. His text message alert pings in his pocket and he pulls his phone out, smiling when he sees Emma's name.

Ruby's already apologized 8 times since you left.

He smiles at the message, knowing that Ruby's apologies have probably been loud and have probably detailed exactly what she thinks she was interrupting. No doubt Emma's face is probably a permanent shade of that pink he finds so endearing.

He texts back and forth with her while he gets ready for bed, surprised that Emma has stayed up this far past her self-imposed bedtime. He's just checked the locks on the front door to make sure they're secured for the evening and turns out the light in the living room when he hears a knock at the front door. He immediately clicks the light back on.

Killian takes a moment to stare at the door in question, because it's well after midnight and after the day he's had, he's not sure he wants to open it to any more unpleasant surprises. Moving warily, he slides the deadbolt out and pulls the door open enough to see who's on the porch. He takes in the sight of Emma standing there, in her pajamas, with her satchel and an overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

He swings the door open wider with open shock on his face, and Emma grins at him.

"Swan? Is everything all right, love?"

She walks in when he motions her inside and sets her bags on the floor by her feet while he relocks the door. She still hasn't responded, and he turns to ask again what she's doing here, not that he's complaining, but the words never get a chance to come out.

The moment he turns to her, she hooks her fingers into the waist of his sleep pants and tugs him against her. She tastes like toothpaste when he kisses her and he finds the same heat that was simmering before, now allowed to boil over, and when she guides them back to his bedroom with their pajamas trailing behind them, he thinks there's something to bad days having better endings.