On the Two

by lifeinahole

He's one bad trip from ending up in AA, and she's one performance away from a solid job and moving closer to home. Their paths were unlikely to cross until Camp Hope brought them together. How and why they meet and intertwine is against the odds, and definitely against the rules, but will that really stand in their way? A Dirty Dancing inspired modern au.

2. Chapter 2

A/N: I was so excited to post the first chapter that I never made any notes to start. Not that there's much to cover! Welcome to chapter 2 of this fic! There will be 9 total and there's a lot of ground to cover. Hope you enjoy this update! Even more to come later in the week!

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He figured he'd wake up at an airport, with Liam rousing him as he parked the car and herded Killian into the terminal to make their way to whatever gate for whatever destination his brother picked. A quick nap was all he needed.

"Let me choose," Liam had said. "It'll be a surprise."

It certainly is a surprise to lift his head when the car comes to a stop. He looks out the window, but instead of seeing long-term parking, he's looking at trees. With a confused grumble, Killian lifts the sunglasses off his face and peers around, unable to focus on anything the signs say, or figure out where the bloody hell they might be. He wants to ask Liam where they are, but the sudden stop in motion means that his stomach and equilibrium are in disagreement, and before he can question anything, he's throwing open the door to lose the rest of the liquor left in his stomach from his last night out on the town.

A woman walking a Pomeranian looks on aghast, but he only notices that once he's straightening up. He makes eye contact briefly, grimacing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He wonders if he should apologize or wave it off, but before he can do anything, Liam is nudging his arm and Killian turns to see the bottle of water he's being offered.

The woman is forgotten, and Killian closes the door before adjusting his seat upright and accepting the water. "Thanks," he croaks out, carefully twisting off the top with the bottle propped between his knees before lifting and just barely remembering to not chug it. "Where are we?"

"A rest stop. I need to use the facilities and figured some cold drinks would be nice. That's the last bottle I brought on the road."

"There are no rest stops on the way to the airport, so let's try that again. Where are we?"

"Maine. Just crossed the border a bit ago, actually."

"What, Logan wasn't good enough for you? Thought you'd save a penny by driving to the middle of bloody nowhere and flying out of there? Please tell me the plane has an engine and isn't powered by pedals."

"We won't be needing an airplane this time around, brother."

At this news, Killian slips his sunglasses back on his face so he can scowl without squinting. "Please, do continue."

"We're about an hour from our destination. I thought we'd try something new."

"What happened to that grand European adventure you proposed last week?" Killian interrupts, throwing his hand and prosthetic in the air in agitation. "What about visiting home and family and all that rubbish?"

"You honestly didn't want to go visit Aunt Milly, did you?"

"No, but I did envision a night or two in my old stomping grounds. Couple good rounds in the pubs and such."

"This will be much better, I think," is what Liam ends up responding. There's an underlying hint of 'for you' that he doesn't say out loud but Killian still hears it. Suddenly, he's thinking of some dry town or a rehab facility and it takes everything he has to not lose his temper out the door with his breakfast (okay, so there was no breakfast in there, but the point remains…)

"Well, go on then," he finally responds. "What's to be found in the bloody state of Maine?"

"It's called Camp Hope."

Killian groans – a theatrical sound that knows no boundaries – and resists the urge to crumple this half-full bottle in his hand. "Please don't tell me you're sending me off to some alcoholics' dry camp." It's all his worst nightmares come to fruition.

"Nothing of the sort, actually. Just a place for adults to go and meet new people and learn new things."

"Brilliant," Killian deadpans. He pauses a moment, searching his memory for something. "Oh bloody hell, this is that damn pamphlet that was in my mail last week, isn't it?" Liam just chuckles while he slides further into his seat to endure the rest of the drive. He hopes above all hopes that the flask of rum he packed in his suitcase will last the whole length of time they'll be at this stupid camp.

Summer camp for adults, he grumbles internally. Is he bloody mad?

But he can't say anything out loud. What will he do, demand that Liam turns around? It's a week or two, at most right? That's how most camps usually last, if memory serves.

He manages to stay awake the rest of the trip, with no other objections from his stomach. It's not until they pass through a small town – if you can even call it that – that he speaks up and asks about lunch.

Liam pulls up outside a ramshackle little diner, a small patio with tables dotting the front beyond the small wooden arbor over the walkway. Inside the diner, every table is filled, and there are luckily two spots left at the bar that they take up as they walk in. An older woman with white hair and an arched eyebrow takes their order, glancing through the spectacles balanced on her nose when she reads it back to them.

"Give us a couple minutes, dears. As you can see, we're a little busy with the camp traffic passing through."

They both nod, Liam in an amicable way and Killian's short and jerky, as he realizes he needs something in his stomach to sop up the rest of his hangover. He excuses himself to the restrooms after two waters are placed in front of them, and he wanders the narrow back hallway to push through the door.

The odd thing about this place is that it still somehow feels homely without him ever having stepped foot inside before. It's temporary comfort though, with the thought that he'll be going to some kind of weird adult camp for a couple weeks. He's picturing barren cabins, or worse, tents. He shudders at the thought of communal showers and a lack of temperature regulation.

When he returns, the food is already placed in front of his seat. "I thought she said to give it a couple minutes," Killian idly comments as he settles back in and starts picking at the fries.

"Apparently, she was quite literal about that time length." Liam's happily chewing away, and Killian shrugs once before starting on his own food.

It turns out, small-town diner-types are delicious. It's been a length of time he can't even recall since he's eaten something this genuinely home-cooked that wasn't made by his brother. He hums in content as he finishes, managing to smile despite his earlier unhappiness at the circumstances he found himself in. Liam smiles back at him, motioning to the proprietress to inquire about desserts while Killian watches people filter in and out.

During the short time they're in the diner, there's a never-ending change of faces around them. People order, they eat, they pay, then they're gone and someone else is taking their place. And the whole time, the woman who insists they just call her "Granny" keeps cool and calm. All of her workers do, too, from the wait staff to the kitchen, which they can see through the window where the food is placed before quickly being whisked to the appropriate guest. The big city establishments could learn a lot from this woman, in Killian's opinion, and he tells her as much as they pay and stand to make their exit.

She smiles, then, her whole face taking on that grandmotherly appearance that Killian never knew he craved in his life, and her eyes crinkling. She tells them to have a good time and to stop back in on their way home, looking like she's this close to patting or pinching both their cheeks when they finally say their farewells.

As they get back on their way towards camp, Killian even warms up to the idea a little bit. "Tell me more about what you'll be subjecting me to, brother."

"From the website, it looks like they have heaps of options. Pretty much everything we would've gotten to do if we'd ever gone to Camp Sherwood back home. I'm particularly looking forward to kayaking and hiking. Did you ever stop to think how city we've become since moving here?"

"No, not particularly. But I also tend to stick to three or four locations while you're the one always wanting to try something new," Killian remarks, even going so far as to throw up air quotes at the end and mimic his brother's exuberance when he's trying to badger Killian out of his solitude.

"You're turning into a miser at such a young age," Liam says, reaching over and trying his hardest to ruffle Killian's hair without taking his eyes off the road. He's able to easily swat away the affectionate move and chastises Liam to keep driving all in one go.

So it's a miracle that he's smiling when they pull up and Liam tells the parking attendant at the end of the drive that they'll be booking for the summer pass. The poor thing looks startled when, from the passenger seat, Killian goes all high-pitched and screechy when he demands to know, and she would later quote, "what the bloody hell they're going to do for a whole summer?"

"You're the worst brother!"

"You agreed to the whole summer when it was Europe," Liam says calmly, guiding the car through the lanes until he finds an open parking spot. "The scenery might not change as much but that doesn't mean we can't find new things to do the whole time we're here. Live a little, Killian. And do it adventurously. You've a whole list of new things to try now."

"Aye, tell me, how many of those can you do with one bloody hand?"

"Plenty," Liam responds succinctly. "I've looked through the whole list, little brother. I wouldn't bring you somewhere if you couldn't do anything while we were here. You have to trust me on this."

Killian grumbles in response. A lot. But he still gets out of the car at Liam's prodding and slings his backpack over his shoulders. There's a young man at their assistance in the blink of an eye, helping them load their bags onto a trailer attachment on the back of a golf cart. Liam immediately strikes up conversation with the attendant, who introduces himself as Henry.

"This is my first summer as a full-timer but I've been driving the carts for two years," he admits, his voice just beyond that dip that happens after puberty, and Killian wonders if they should worry at all for their safety in the hands of what looks to be someone still in middle school. As if reading Killian's thoughts (or perhaps the blatant expression on his face), the lad smiles and climbs behind the wheel. "I'm eighteen," he informs them, motioning for Killian to slide onto the backseat as Liam is already occupying the front one.

With a move that he's absolutely sure is for his benefit, the cart takes off at a fast clip, jerking Killian on the seat just once. He turns his head in time to see the absolutely innocent look on Henry's face, but a shit-eating grin on Liam's. A few curse words may be muttered under his breath, but mostly, he just settles back and shuts up.

A broad sign arches over a main entrance, which Killian doesn't see until after they've gone under it. He twists in order to read it backwards, but Killian can still see the carved letters proudly proclaiming a welcome to Camp Hope, and he does his best to swallow his apprehensions again. They stop briefly in order for Liam to check them in for their accommodations. Killian joins him, handing over the required identification when asked and sliding back onto his seat when it's clear he's no longer needed.

Liam dumps the welcome bag in Killian's lap upon returning, and he opens the tote long enough to extract one of the two keys and hand it up to Liam. There's also what looks to be a map of the grounds, various schedules, and some free merchandise. He fishes out a bottle opener in muted glee, because if there's a bottle opener, then surely there are bottles to be opened.

True to his word, Henry zips them across the camp with ease, passing several other carts on their way back from delivery. He points out various buildings that they'll need, including an explanation of the color coordination on the map that Killian's yet to look at. Yellow is the main lodge, according to the lad. Green buildings are for outdoor activities and related. Blue buildings are for indoor hobbies.

"Can I tie-dye a t-shirt while I'm here? Macramé?"

"If you'd really like, yeah," Henry responds, completely nonplussed by Killian's sarcasm. "There's a crafts building that offers a variety of classes, like pottery and painting. And yeah, even things like tie-dyeing." There's another sly look from their driver, but Killian doesn't respond, instead choosing to let him have that point.

The whole place is bigger than Killian would've figured; for one, it takes them much longer to get to the cabin designated as theirs and it's only after they've passed a few other clusters of similar cabins. Henry informs them that the small, hotel-like sleeping center is located north by the parking lot, intended for those guests only staying a matter of days.

They're in the unfortunately named Dwarf Camp, which seems to have eight cabins in almost a perfect circle.

"Snow couldn't let go of the fairy tale theme when they reopened the place," Henry explains, as if either of them had asked. "So these ones are all named after the dwarves. There's a cluster of bigger cabins for groups that's named after the fairies from Sleeping Beauty, and the camp next to yours is named after Ariel's sisters."

"Wait, if these are named after the dwarves, why are there eight?"

Henry raises an eyebrow at Killian, his lips quirking up in a smile that makes him look even younger but wiser than his years. "Haven't you ever heard of the eighth dwarf?"

"You must be joking."

Henry doesn't respond to that, just slows to a stop outside a cabin at nearly the farthest end of the circle. Through the trees, Killian can see the water beyond, and it's the first time he feels like Liam did something right. Looking at the placard above the door, however, he groans. At least they didn't get Cabin Grumpy, he decides.

They're waved away to unlock the door and head inside, which Killian takes no issue with. He does grab his backpack and the welcome tote, using his own key to unlock the surprisingly sturdy door and swinging it inward.

The common area of the cabin is more spacious than Killian would've expected, taking up the entire front of the building. Henry explains the specifics as he hauls in their bags, asking which room to take each suitcase as Killian glances around at the efficient use of space. There's a kitchenette on one end, a small table with two chairs tucked against the front wall with the picture window above it, and a living room with a couch in front of a modest television set.

"Killian?" Liam's voice jolts him out of his examination, and the look on his brother's face tells him that wasn't the first attempt to get his attention. "I asked if you wanted the room on the left or the right."

Henry is still standing there, expectant look on his face and one large suitcase propped beneath each hand.

"Whichever has a better view of the water," Killian says, and Henry jumps into action when Liam indicates which bag to take to fill that request.

With their bags delivered, Henry returns to the front of the cabin, pausing just inside the door. Liam hands him a bill for a tip, and Henry beams harder at him if it's even possible. "I'm the junior concierge for this cluster, so if you need anything at all, my number is listed on the contact sheet over here." With one last wave, he's out the door and jogging back to the cart, presumably to aid with another check in.

The whole interior of the cabin is decorated in knotty pine, down to the furniture, but it all speaks of age. Everything has a fine sheen of remodel on it, but the whole structure seems to be much older than Killian would have originally wagered.

At the clearing of Liam's throat, Killian turns again to see his brother standing in the kitchen area, holding the cabinet open and pointing inside. "See? I even asked for them to stock a few specialties for us."

Peering in, Killian barks out a laugh. There are two bottles inside (amongst a few other things he'll inspect later): one is a bottle of his favorite rum, and the other is Liam's whiskey of choice.

"I suppose that comes close to answering if this place has a bar or not," Killian says as he gestures to the bottles. "Go on, then. Let's give it a proper toast."

Obliging, Liam pulls two glasses out of another cabinet, pouring a small (so small) measure into each one before bringing them over to the table.

"To a summer of discovery," Liam says, clinking his glass against Killian's.

"Aye, or something like that." It's not the most rousing toast he's ever heard, or given, but it does the trick in a pinch and they sip instead of take them as shots. It's early, and while Killian normally has no qualms about drinking at any time of day, let alone in the afternoon, he also knows he'll want to unpack and change and give his brother the illusion that he's not as much of a fall-down drunk as he used to be.

As it turns out, the first thing Killian does upon his arrival at Camp Hope is take a nap. The bed, while not as big as the one he has at home, is soft and inviting. The cabin is still cool enough that he only has the fan on and the windows open, with the faint sounds of water moving just beyond the trees, and it all combines with the hangover and travel experience to serve as the perfect lullaby.

Liam's rustling in his own room and the living room is what finally brings him back to awareness, and just in time for his brother to push open the door the rest of the way and smile brightly at him.

"Good! You're awake. Dinner will be served in the main lodge starting in half an hour. Shall we get cleaned up and see what the rest of this home away from home has to offer us?"

"We don't have to eat every meal with total strangers, do we?"

"Of course not. That's why we have our own kitchenette. But unless you've packed a whole meal's worth of groceries in your bag, we do need to eat tonight."

Amidst a little more grumbling, Killian follows by example and goes to one of the shirts he managed to hang. Navy blue, minimum wrinkles, button down for dressy, yet casual, just in case – he decides it's a good choice and only goes to shut the door as he shucks off what he wore in the car and changes into something a little less rumpled. He saves the shirt for last, going instead to the washroom after Liam is done in order to splash his face with water and brush his teeth and hair.

Dinner is noisy; that's the only way Killian can think to describe it. There are droves of people milling about the main lodge, all huddled around the host's station waiting to be seated. He manages to keep it together through the wait for their table, and even when he keeps getting jostled by people passing by.

He holds steady all the way until they're back in their cabin for the night, not even remembering what he ate, only that he did, before closing himself away in his room and drinking from his flask until its empty. Luckily, he'd wished Liam a goodnight when they walked in, making it clear he was done socializing for the evening. He could go out and get the bottle in the kitchen, but that's too much effort. This will do for tonight.

There were too many people – questioning eyes, loud voices, unfamiliar faces – and it all compounded into an anxiety Killian didn't know he had. The habits he sticks to at home are filled with strangers, as well, but at least there are always less of them. It's always on his terms. This… this is something he hasn't dealt with in a long time.

He falls asleep to the muted sound of the water trying its best to soothe him, even if he's still wondering how he'll make it a whole summer at this hellish place.

The next day begins bright and early, with Liam trying to rouse him to go to breakfast.

"Just grab something for me on your way out?" He puts on an expression just a little helpless, a little pouty, and Liam readily agrees.

Somehow, from that moment onward, he's able to avoid what he views as the worst of the camping experience. While Liam gives him daily run-downs of the activities and lessons going on around the camp grounds for the day, Killian loses himself further and further into the bottle (plus a couple more he manages to get his hands on) in the kitchen cabinet.

It works out well; Liam keeps himself busy all hours of the day with one thing to the next and Killian keeps himself drunk or close to it as much as he can.

After a week, he manages to find a system and a schedule to stick to in order for Liam to remain happy with his absence. Killian notices that if he cleans and otherwise keeps the place tidy, Liam doesn't even try to get him to participate. And Killian is always attempting to keep the pantry stocked, but going to the market request is almost worse than going to the main lodge, in his opinion.

It's located directly next to the building and no one ever seems to move with urgency from the large board with all the numbers to write down on the order sheet. He just wants to write his list, submit it to the attendant inside the kiosk, and leave, but it usually takes him twice as long as he wants it to. On this particular trip, he accidentally tramples the back of someone's heel. He barely manages to avoid getting hit by a long braid of blonde hair belonging to that heel, ducking and offering a hurried apology as he hastens to the other side.

"So many bloody people," he mutters under his breath, just doing his best to find a place to prop up and mark his items off so he won't have to do this again for another couple days.

He just barely manages to avoid that same blonde after he hands in his slip, side-stepping and almost knocking himself off balance in a Hail Mary move to avoid running into the woman again. He glances up for just a moment, another apology dying on his lips as he sees her face, her eyes, that one skeptical eyebrow, the tempting upward tilt of her lips where there's definitely the hidden kiss of Peter Pan lore.

Because he turns so fully to see her, Killian slams directly into the side of the lodge. With a curse, and with his embarrassment coloring all the way up to the tips of his ears, he leaves as quickly as he can and hopes to never see the lass again.

-x-

Normally, when Emma gets to camp, her lessons go one of two ways, with some exceptions.

Either the guests start off as shit dancers and get better once everyone gets into the swing of things, or it starts out okay but dips rapidly as everyone tries to get their shit together. Sometimes, rarely, things start off great and stay great.

This year defies all previous experiences at camp, so far. Things start as shit and don't get better. No one gets their shit together. Her toes are bruised and just below a point of bleeding, and will actually bleed if these guys don't stop staring at her tits long enough to learn the dance steps she's trying to teach them. Her left ankle is still healing from where some guy caught the back of it the week before, which isn't helping.

Okay, it's not all bad. The staff rec lodge parties are what get her through each week. Although David and Snow would largely frown upon her actions, she's snuck into the storage closet two weeks in a row to neck like a teenager with two new staff members. There's no actual rule about fraternization with other staff members (mostly because her brother and sister-in-law are realists even in the face of their never-ending optimism); guests are strictly off limits but as long as it's not on camp time and they aren't in the middle of the Main Lodge, the owners pretend like they don't have a bunch of horny, overly hormonal adults working for them for a whole summer.

So while everything else during the day can currently go to hell, this is what she has to look forward to at the moment.

It's different now at twenty-eight than it was when she was a junior counselor. She only fools around with the ones that get her rhythm, and she makes sure they don't work anywhere near the dance studio. She doesn't even know their names – she finds the less she knows about somebody the better it is. Knowing more is kind of like naming a wild animal: she doesn't want to get attached.

They all share responsibility for closing up the rec lodge; this is Emma's week to be the adult, so after making sure the lodge is cleaned and locked up, Emma begins her short trek back to her cabin. The living arrangements have been the best part of camp, so far. While both of her possible partners have asked to come back to her cabin to finish off the evenings, she's declined both of them. This is one bed she wants to herself, and no staff debauchery is going to change that.

She's just about to make the turn up the path to her cabin when she spots a shoe on the path. People losing shoes is a real thing that happens all the time around here, but that's not what stops her. This particular shoe is still attached to someone. In a rush, Emma's by the side of who she assumes is a camper.

Oh shit, is her first thought, followed by why didn't I take that damn first aid class with Ruby last month? But all it takes is a quick scan to see he's breathing, he's not visibly bleeding, and if she gets just an inch closer she'll be able to practically inhale the rum he's all but soaked it. The smell of liquor wafts off him like he dabbed it on as cologne.

"Hey buddy, you okay?" Emma chances to ask. If he's injured and she can't see it, she'll have to go to the on-call medic and she really doesn't feel like dealing with Victor right now. She gently prods the camper's arm, poking a finger into his bicep. She does another visual sweep, this time for her own records instead of trying to find signs of injury or life.

He looks a mess, sprawled in the mulchy underbrush just to the side of the path. His clothes look a little wrinkled, his hair is just a touch past disheveled, and his jaw is slack and open as he emits a loud, saw-like snore.

"Oh, come on," Emma mutters, digging her finger in a little harder this time. "Hey, get up!" One, two, three more jabs using her whole hand to shove his arm this time, and then he's jolting. The snore cuts off and his eyes blink open, wide and wild and confused with too much alcohol. His gaze barely flits across her before he's looking back up at the trees – his expression changes to one of disgust after he sees those, for some reason.

"Bloody hell, I'd hoped it was all still just a nightmare. Stupid arse brother of mine, stupid summer camp for adults," he opens his mouth to damn something else of his experiences but seems to remember he's not alone. He focuses on her as much as he can, going so far as to close one eye. "Aye, but you're quite real, aren't you?"

She can't help it. She bursts out laughing. Through her fits of giggles, she manages to spit out that he looks like a pirate. "We could give you a proper eye patch and a hook and you'd fit the title perf- oh, fuck, I'm so sorry!" It's only as he struggles to sit up during her amusement that she catches the fact that he only has one hand, the left one catching the stray lights from the safety lamps along the pathway. Her eyes go wide, and she looks at his face to gauge how lawsuit-y in trouble she is, but all that greets her is vague confusion.

"Is the pirate joke because of the hand or the rum?"

"Actually, it was because of the way you were talking and because you were squinting at me. And yeah, also the rum. I didn't even realize the hand thing until you sat up."

He looks down at his own false hand, now propped in his lap, still with one eye closed. "Huh. All right."

"Okay, buddy. We need to get you back to your cabin or room, whatever."

He makes a sound of aggravation, even as Emma moves to help him stand. "Back to that bloody cabin and my brother snoring through the paper-thin walls."

"I'm pretty sure you're hammered enough that you won't even notice it once you hit that bed, pal."

"Killian."

"What the hell is a Killian?"

"I am a Killian," he says with a dramatic finger jab to his own chest. Emma catches that hand and pulls, trying her best to balance out when he stands and tilts forward. They almost end up back on the ground but she steadies him at the last second.

"Nice to meet you, Killian. Now which way do I go?"

"It's only polite to give your name in return, love." Even though she tries to pull him towards the cabins, he digs his heels in, now surprisingly steady in the face of his stubbornness.

She grinds her teeth, wanting nothing more than to be in her own bed. Her first lesson is scheduled for 10am and it's close to 1am at this point. She can see those hours subtracting as she stands there so she gives in easier than she normally would. "Emma. Emma Swan."

"Swan. Seems rather fitting for someone so feisty and graceful, from what little I've seen." He smiles, and his eyes clear a little, and Emma has to hold her breath and count to ten because holy shit he's gorgeous when he looks like that. It helps that the lights catch his eyes just the right way and she's enchanted by the blue, and with the way his lips quirk up so he's smirking at her, and the way his eyebrow arches as if it's moving independently from the rest of his expression.

Her mouth opens to respond, but that's the exact moment that her new friend Killian lurches forward and throws up. In a perfect world, it wouldn't have happened at all, but in her perfect world, it could've at least gone off to the side.

Nope. All the way down her front. All the way. Her only thought that rises above the grossed-out aspect is that thank god she didn't just get done performing, because if this had been a dance costume, no one would've convinced her the murder wasn't justified.

"Cabin Bashful," he grumbles out meekly, barely able to make eye contact. "I'm terribly sorry, lass."

It's as they begin the very long, very awkward walk back to Cabin Bashful that Emma realizes that he's the guy that she ran into in the grocery kiosk last week. When she ran into him there – or rather, when he stomped on her heel and then slunk away as quickly as possible – he was hunched in a way that she's not used to seeing at the camp. The guests are usually here for a break, so most (if not all) of the campers she's met in the last so many years, have all been happy. Pleasant, at the very least. So that's two strikes against him in Emma's book.

Once she makes sure he's safely back in his cabin, Emma hastens back to her own and immediately strips down. The clothes and shoes all go in a bag to be washed in Storybrooke the next day. She rushes through her shower, brushing her hair and letting it fall loose to dry while she sleeps. It'll be a mess, but it would've happened anyway as the humidity keeps ramping up with each new day.

And she was right; by the end of her early lesson with a man hoping to impress his girlfriend back home, Emma's hair is poofing out around her head. The majority of it is balled up in a bun but she feels like she has to look as frazzled as she feels.

She relinquishes the studio to Tink after her lesson, happy to get back to her cabin and wash up again. It's not that it's too hot yet – this is June in Maine, not Georgia, after all – but it's still her favorite part of the day to shower off the sweat and change into clothes that don't expect a workout. With a scrunch of her nose, Emma looks at the bag of clothes from last night and wonders if Ruby has anything to go to town. She wants to visit Granny and check their studio email account, anyway, so she might as well make a trip of it.

The staff lodges are swarming with activity, with various leaders and volunteers going in and out of the row of connected cabins. Ruby is sharing a cabin with a hiking pro, Mulan, and the door is wide open when Emma walks up the three steps that lead to the door.

"Knock, knock!" Emma calls as she walks up, smiling when the sight of Ruby sprawled on her bed greets her. Her nose is buried in a book, something Emma is used to seeing on calm days with Ruby.

"Hey, stranger! Nice moves last night!"

"I do my best," she says, preening just a touch. Ruby snickers while she sits up, throwing her book on her nightstand. "Where's Mulan?"

"Beginner hike today. She'll be back in a couple hours. I'm going with her on one of the intermediate hikes next week. Already broke in my new boots and everything!"

"You certainly seem to be getting into the camper spirit this year."

"Yeah, well, I didn't realize how much I needed a break from dancing and waitressing until I got here. So, what's up? What brings you up the hill to my cozy abode?"

"Laundry run. Had a drunk guest throw up all over me last night."

She's sure Ruby doesn't mean to laugh so hard or so loud, but Emma just sighs and takes it. "Oh, that would've been hilarious. I mean," she pauses, trying to look apologetic, "awful. Must've been awful." She just barely manages to hide her grin as she gets up and starts collecting a small sack of laundry. "Do you have any lessons for the rest of the day?"

"Not until after dinner. So I'm going to the laundromat, maybe eat lunch in town while I check email."

"Bring me back a peach muffin," Ruby instructs, handing over her laundry bag and a handful of quarters.

The drive into town is peaceful, and Emma makes sure to roll the windows down before she gets going so she can feel the wind whipping through the cab of her car. Also to make sure the bag of clothes in the backseat doesn't smell up the interior.

Once the washer load is going and she's said a prayer to the shoe gods that her slip-ons will survive, Emma heads to Granny's with her computer. Halfway through her grilled cheese sandwich, Emma finds an email that she definitely was not expecting.

The sender is one Regina Mills, an old associate from Boston who moved to Portland, Maine a few years ago to open her own high-end hotel. The subject? Hiring potential full-time entertainment.

Emma scans the details that Regina has sent her way, talking about an audition period of sorts. There's a line of events that she's holding for the grand opening of the Mills Regency and each one will act as an audition of sorts. Emma and Ruby have been invited to participate, and a preliminary date and time are included in the message. It's still a month away, enough time that they can schedule in some practices in the evenings when lessons are over for the day.

Before she even leaves town (muffins in hand for Ruby and a bag of food for David and Snow) Emma is already running through routines they could potentially do, what costumes they brought with them, and her mind is whirling.

She's bubbling over to share the news when she gets back, but Ruby is either in the studio with a lesson or out on an adventure. Either way, she leaves the muffins and clean laundry in her friend's cabin and practically bounces off to hers. After dropping off her own laundry (thankfully her shoes didn't get ruined in the dryer), Emma heads off to the Nolan cabin to drop off their food from Granny.

Snow is busy at her desk when Emma walks in, and she holds up one slender finger to have Emma wait while she enters some number or another on the spreadsheet open on her computer. Once she's hit the save button, she's out of her chair and coming over to embrace Emma tightly before taking the bag of food from her.

"How's it going? Have you had a lot of lessons so far?"

"You have my numbers on that spreadsheet, Snow. You already know I'm usually swamped during my available lesson times," Emma says, a wry grin crossing her lips as her sister-in-law starts unpacking the containers and sorting them before sliding them into the fridge. Emma is actually surprised there aren't labels for which day of the week each item should be consumed by on the clean shelves inside.

Snow is fastidious, at best, and anal retentive at her worst. Her summer may be filled with camping adults but the other months are taken up by being, very aptly, a school teacher. She has color coded files for everything, and the disposition of her namesake.

"Yeah, well, I like to hear it from the source sometimes. How's Ruby?"

"Throwing herself into every activity possible. You know, the usual summer-Ruby-schedule."

"I swear, she gets more out of this camp than some of the campers," Snow says. She pauses in her task, opening one of the containers and inhaling deeply, a look of pure bliss crossing her features. "Please tell me you're going back to town soon because I'm going to need more of Granny's potato salad before the week is up."

Emma chuckles, nodding when Snow holds up the container in invitation. Soon there are two plates on the table, along with forks and napkins, and Snow is hurrying back again to deliver glasses of homemade blueberry lemonade. She just ate her own lunch, but this is a meal she won't say no to.

She doesn't mention the job opportunity; David and Snow have been trying to get her to move closer to home for ages now and she doesn't want to get their hopes up, in case she and Ruby don't get a spot. Moving to Portland would be beneficial in so many ways, not limited to their proximity to home and the living expenses. She would be willing to give up bail bonds chasing if she didn't have to worry so much about making rent and utilities every month.

So instead, she and Snow talk about the summer that still stretches ahead of them and the upcoming school year. They talk about the junior concierge employees that just got hired in. One of them, Henry, has been chasing Emma's heels since he was a child. He's on his first summer as concierge to a full group of the cabins and she thinks she'll have to check in on him soon, but Snow assures her he's doing a great job already.

"I met one of his campers last night. I'll have to tell Henry to keep an eye on him so the guy doesn't drink himself to death."

Snow's eyebrows pinch downward in a worried look, one that Emma knows all too well. "Is this someone I should be concerned about?"

"No, no. Nothing scary or threatening. Just a guy that likes to drink a lot. I'll give Henry a heads up, just in case."

"If you say so," Snow responds. "Just let me know if anything happens again?"

"Of course," Emma promises, reaching across the table to squeeze her sister-in-law's hand. "So, Henry is in charge of the dwarves, and Violet is junior to the Neptune sisters. Who's in charge of the fairies?"

"Jefferson is still doing most of the work, but he's training Grace so she can save up some money and add the experience to her college applications. She's determined to be an RA in her dorms wherever she ends up."

"Where did we get such an awesome group of people?" Emma wonders out loud as she stops herself from licking the plate clean.

"Storybrooke," Snow answers, grinning as she pushes her empty plate away and folds her arms on the table in front of her. "What time is your next lesson?"

"Not until later. I lucked out and had an empty schedule during the afternoon so I could take some time in town today."

"David should be done checking the zip line structures. Wanna take the cart and go get him? I know he's been hoping to run into you."

Opening a camp for adults in the age of the internet has been the greatest thing ever, in Emma's opinion. Especially after someone suggested last summer that they open a GoFundMe to purchase a small fleet of golf carts to get around the campsite easier. From the Nolan cabin to the zip lines would normally take longer than she would want to devote, but using their personal cart means that less than ten minutes later has her all the way in the woods at the end stop of the lines.

David is probably prouder of these than he would be if he had a piano prodigy as his own kid. He's also the All-American Boy Scout type, so he spends once a week inspecting every single inch of the cables and platforms, every piece of gear used on the lines, and all the netting that acts as a failsafe in case he somehow misses a detail and something were to go wrong.

Just as Emma is pulling up, David is walking towards the clearing, his smile widening and his face lighting up at the sight of her.

"Finally, I get visual proof that you're real. I was starting to think you were a figment of my imagination again," he says as soon as they're close enough. After Emma hops out of the cart he repeats the tight hug he gave her before camp opened – the last time she was able to do more than just text him – and her heart squeezes at the way his hand comes up to cradle the back of her head. He's not even her biological brother but sometimes the bond between them feels so close she forgets he's not a blood relative. And that's okay with her.

"I'll give you a ride back to your cabin. Tell me all about your camp time so far."

True to his word, David takes the wheel and steers them back the shorter distance to her cabin, listening to the few stories she's amassed for this camp session so far. It's barely even a month in, but she still has plenty to tell.

"The air conditioner in the studio needs checked again," Emma remembers as they pull up in front of her cabin. She only really remembers because she can hear the cooling system rattling loudly from where they are, and it's been on the fritz lately. It was fine when the summer began, after she cleaned the studio from the ceilings down, but now that it matters it seems the damn thing wants to quit.

"I'll try to get Leroy out as soon as possible, but I think it's time to buy a new unit to replace the original one. Maybe even try to work central air into the budget for next summer if we can stretch the life of that sad, little unit."

Emma beams at the possibility. "You better mean that. The only thing this studio lacks compared to our space in Boston is the reliable cool air."

"If all I need is good air conditioning to keep you in Maine, I'll get right on it," he says, letting the engine idle as he ruffles his hair. "I gotta get back. I gave my lunch to Henry today for being such a good apprentice at inspecting."

"Go. Go to your wife and all the food from Granny's you could ever ask for," she says, hopping from the passenger seat and waving goodbye as he goes.

"Hey!" Just as David pulls away, Ruby's voice is pulling Emma's attention in the other direction. "What's this message you left about a job?"

"Ah! You got your muffins, then. Good. Come inside and I'll tell you all about it."

Instead of heading for the studio, Emma motions for Ruby to follow to her cabin. She still has to put her laundry away and change for the other lesson she scheduled for the day, so she figures it's easier to cover all at once.

Just as Emma had done upon reading the email, Ruby's excitement grows with the news about a possible full-time job. While they both love Boston, Ruby has just as much at stake to move closer to home. It would mean being closer to Granny, and visiting more often. It may not be their Broadway dreams, but it would be regular exposure where they could still set up a studio for lessons if they choose.

Ruby's mind whirls along with hers, and by the time Emma's cabin is back in order with all her laundry put away, they have practice time set aside for that evening after dinner. They have new routines to try out, and choreography to plan, and just a month and a half to prepare for their trial run.