A/N: We have one more disastrous meeting between our two before things very quickly turn around for them. And by the end of the chapter, they've reached an agreement. Enjoy!

It takes two days for Killian to recover from the hangover he got from his night in the camp bar. He never should've bribed the bartender to part with that full bottle of rum the other night. In his defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Who knew a camp bartender would be so amenable, after all?

Liam is already out and about, which is unsurprising, even for how early it is. While his brother was adamant about this camp bringing about changes and chances for both of them, Liam has been so wrapped up in his own discoveries of what the camp has to offer that he's mostly left Killian to his own devices. Thankfully, that applies to this morning's shameful rising, as well.

The hangover is something he can deal with. The chagrin of his encounter with… Emily? Elsa? Anna? Bloody hell, what was that lass's name? The meeting with her, the beautiful angel in disguise that also distracted him in the small grocery kiosk a week ago, only to be sick all over her, was bad enough. Now he's gone and forgotten her name.

Maybe today he can take it easy on the rum. Maybe it's time to visit the activity board in the main lodge and look at the brochures for anything he could use to fill his time. He needs to find something to do that doesn't involve drinking excessively and passing out in odd places around the camp. Two nights ago was the first time he wasn't safely back in his own room before the alcohol won over his system in the week and a half they've been here, and he never intended it to get so far. He doesn't want it to get that far again, so maybe today can be one of rest from liquor and he can remember to eat a meal or two more than he's been.

After a shower, he almost feels human again, enough so that he can wander down to the main lodge that towers over the rest of the campgrounds. It's the first time he's eaten a meal here since their first night at camp, but it's not much different than that first experience. There are people bustling in and out, all adult, paired off or alone, but all with easy postures and smiles. Killian, on the other hand, is tense from the way his body is screaming for nutrition, his sunglasses perched on his nose to hide the bloodshot eyes that still haven't cleared.

Astonishingly, he finds Liam eating at a table with a battered book sitting open beside his plate. It's been ages since Killian has seen Liam do something as serene as read a book, so he's almost hesitant to disrupt the peaceful scene in front of him, but he figures his brother might be pleasantly surprised to see him joining in, no matter how hungover he is.

"Well, well," Liam starts as soon as Killian is in the seat across from him. "You've finally decided to join the land of the living again, then?"

"Aye, but no need to throw me a party."

He can tell his brother is just short of clicking his tongue at him, but instead Liam continues. "Breakfast is a buffet. You can help yourself to as much as you'd like. I've been grazing on mine, so I'll be here when you return." The way he says it means that Liam intends to wait for him, not out of courtesy but as a means of checking on his younger brother.

With a barely restrained eye roll, Killian wanders over to where Liam indicated, looking over the choices first before grabbing a plate and selecting his breakfast. He's grown so used to just eating granola or whatever Liam grabs for him, or whatever he pulls together in the small kitchenette, that he almost doesn't know how to handle this many choices. It all looks to be homemade, too, which makes Killian wonder how they even manage to make this much food every day. Do they have elves humming "Hi Ho" back there as they scramble hundreds of eggs? Gnomes slicing fruit varieties? Have they got the magic brooms from that cartoon back there cooking endless heaps of bacon and sausage?

Whatever the case may be, Killian finds there are too many options for the sensory overload he's feeling. Bread sounds like a good start, though, so he grabs a slice and puts it in the toaster nearby while he picks and chooses a few other items to put on his plate. He's just about to retrieve his toast when someone bumps into him, almost upending the plate from where it rests on his prosthetic before a hand shoots out to steady it.

"Sorry, I'm – oh, hi. It's you. Killian, right?"

In the daylight, and without the rum, the woman is still stunning but at least more approachable than his last two run-ins with her. The previous label of "angel" still seems rather apt. Her hair is braided again, sunglasses on top of her head, her green eyes curious but cautious for some reason. It probably has something to do with the fact that he doused her in his sickness less than forty-eight hours ago.

"Aye, I'm sorry again for our first unfortunate meeting. If there's any way I can repay you, I'd be happy to. I just feel awful about it."

"Just had to take my laundry into town a little earlier than I planned, that's all. No harm done."

"Nothing was destroyed by my behavior, I hope?"

"Nah, it was just my favorite t-shirt. No big deal or anything," she says, the sarcasm eased by the way she smiles. She's apparently joking, but the look on his face must reveal how aghast he is at hearing it was her favorite shirt. "It's fine. I promise! I already hung it back up and everything, good as new. I do have to teach in less than an hour, so if you're gonna have a repeat performance, I need to know now so I have time to change."

Killian chuckles, finally relaxing on the heels of her joke. "Teach?"

"I'm one of the dance instructors," she tells him, leaning around where he's still blocking the buffet to grab a banana. "You're not my lesson, right?"

"No, thankfully not. It'll be a surprising day in hell before I find myself willingly in a dance studio."

She purses her lips together at that, taking offense in something he's said, but she squeezes out something of a smile as she backs away a couple steps. "Yeah, well, it takes a certain kind of dedication to find something you're good at. Good luck, Killian."

"Um, thanks? Same to you, Emily."

Her face quickly falls into a scowl after that. "Emma."

"Shite," he whispers, just wanting the day to be over already. Hell, wanting the whole summer to be over already if this is how it's going to go when he tries to be sober for once. "Emma," he repeats, but finds she's already weaving her way out of the breakfast area with smiles and greetings for people she knows.

His toast is cold by the time he gets back to the table where Liam is observing him, one Jones eyebrow raised as he takes in Killian's sour demeanor.

"You seemed chummy with the dance teacher. Have you taken a lesson?"

"Of course not, no. She was unfortunate enough to meet me the other night in a rather sorry state."

"Ah, and that's why I heard a female voice when you got in rather late, then?"

Killian nods, more subdued after finding that Liam is more aware of his comings and goings than he initially assumed.

"Little brother, about your drinking…"

"Save it," Killian says, cutting him off from continuing that thought. "I don't need a lecture, and that's younger brother. I hardly qualify in the little, nor have I since I was a lad."

He takes to angrily chomping on his dry, cold toast, not really much interested in eating now, but still needing to nonetheless. To his credit, Liam just sighs and goes back to spearing pieces of fruit from his plate between flipping pages of his book. They eat in silence until Liam has cleared his plate. Then, with a check of his watch, he bookmarks his spot and stands.

"Well, it was lovely catching up with you. I've got a couple things I signed up for today. If you're interested in keeping yourself out of trouble, there's a great little library off the main room here." With a nod of goodbye, his brother is gone again, leaving Killian alone to eat and stew in his own thoughts.

In his continuous land of "maybe" he considers the fact that a book wouldn't be a terrible waste of his time.

His thoughts, even after he's selected a book and hidden himself away in a corner of the small library, seem to stray back to Emma. There's something still missing from their encounter the other night, something about her name that waits to be uncovered from the alcoholic stupor he was in. He does still feel bad about the sullying of her clothes, and he considers ways to make it up to her, despite her reassurances that it's of no matter to her. If he didn't know himself better, he'd think he was trying to come up with reasons to see her.

But that's impossible, isn't it? He hasn't actively sought the attention of a woman other than one-offs in longer than he cares to remember. After Milah passed away, he was alone for a long time, and only after a year had passed did he start going out to meet women with the sole purpose of physical gratification. His attentions to Emma, as new as they are, don't feel like attempts at a quick fling, and not only because he knows she's off limits to a guest as a camp employee.

He runs into her several more times as he stops drinking quite so much and starts leaving the cabin during the daytime. If Liam is surprised by his sudden interest in the camp's amenities that don't involve liquor, he doesn't show it. And it's not to say that Killian doesn't still sip from his flask or drink to his content in the cabin at the end of the day.

The most illuminating trip out of his cabin is to watch a demonstration of dances offered for classes by Emma and another instructor named Ruby. Tucked in the back of the yet-again transformed main lodge (he swears that every time he goes to it the whole setup has changed), Killian watches in fascination as Ruby glides on stage first. Her hair is tied in a ponytail, long and straight and severe. Sure, she looks stunning, until Emma walks onto the stage to stand next to her. Then, he momentarily forgets that there are even two of them up there.

He can't help it; he knows he's staring. Both women are in the same dress, and their hairstyles are identical, but where Ruby's red dress is eye-catching, Emma's cobalt dress is downright captivating. The sleeves come down to her elbows, and the dress itself falls nearly to her knees except for a slit that shows a tantalizing amount of thigh when it flares out just the right way. Her make-up, even from this far away, is done in such a way that she looks like some film noir heroine reincarnated.

Killian spends as much time watching her face as he does trying to take in the whole dance, but if asked later what they were performing he'd be hard-pressed to give a solid answer. This is mostly due to his utter lack of knowledge on the subject, excepting for the Waltzes he learned back in grade school. Instead, he's intently paying attention to the way her eyes scan the room before returning to her partner. He's focused on the sultry way her smile changes between movements and the way her red lips seem even brighter when she grins with teeth showing.

After a number of performances, and a well-earned standing ovation, the two women circulate the room, talking to everyone for even a moment. Ruby seems to be the books, as she has her phone out while they go through setting up lessons and talking details with these potential new clients. She gets stopped up talking to one of the hiking guides, throwing her head back and laughing while Emma keeps circulating.

He sincerely considers ducking out of the lodge before Emma sees him, but once her eyes find him in the diminishing crowd, he's powerless to move. He stands next to the chair he was rooted in for the entire performance, trying desperately to hold his hand still and not fidget with his prosthetic.

"Well, well," Emma starts, her lips tilting up in something like surprise and welcome. "I thought it would be a cold day in hell before you watched a dance."

"Until I do one meself," Killian clarifies, finally losing the battle with his nervous habits as he rubs the back of his neck.

She hums in consideration. "I don't know, you seemed pretty graceful for someone too intoxicated to even be able to stand. I'm sure if you gave it a shot, it wouldn't be too bad."

His mouth opens to respond, but before he can, Ruby is calling to her partner again and Emma is apologizing, bidding him goodnight with what seems like an unplanned hand on his bicep, and one last smile before she moves away. He stands there, watching as she goes, and so he gets to see the one time she glances over her shoulder at him (probably expecting him to have turned away and not still staring at her like a right git), her face unreadable as she turns back and hastens away after Ruby.

He forgets to drink himself to sleep that night.

It's the middle of his third week at the camp when he finds his way to the dance studio, passing close to the scene of where Emma found him that night. He's tried to keep himself away, but he feels a curiosity so strong that he's quite unable to resist at this point.

There are windows, but the whole building is raised up, so that he can't easily peer into them. Rather than try to take a hidden vantage point, he opens the heavy door and walks up the five steps until he's even with the parquet floors. The room is brightly lit, with mirrors lining the one wall, but his focus is trained on Emma moving across the floor. There's music playing, but it's nothing compared to the symphonic way her body twists and turns.

He thinks to leave, to exit what is clearly alone time for the dancer he's had such rough encounters with, but he's mesmerized by her movements. It's fitting, watching her move as she does, that he remembers at that moment that her last name is Swan, and he finds it utterly fitting to all aspects he's seen of her personality thus far.

There's clearly grace, especially with the way her arms arc above her head at the moment, and there's fire. That was most evident the other night at their performance, watching her come at some of the dances like she's attacking them. There's beauty, of course, he'd never deny she's one of the most attractive women he's ever seen. But it's more than her physical appearance that draws him in, particularly in this moment.

She'd remarked about the time it takes to find something one is truly passionate about, and he can read her years of study and practice like an open book as her feet move across the floor. She's so focused in every aspect of this solo that she hasn't even noticed him practically standing right in front of her. Her attentions are solely on her actions, with only passing glances to the mirrors to check form, he supposes.

It's only when she turns to hold a pose, leaning forward with one leg raised perpendicular to the floor that her eyes finally focus on him. With a gasp, she loses her concentration and goes crashing to the floor, and Killian races up the rest of the steps to help her up.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," she grumbles, hesitating before taking his hand and letting him haul her to her feet. "Just wasn't expecting anyone. It's my free hour. Do you need something?"

Need? No, definitely not. Want? That's a whole different concept that he is coming to grips with.

"No, I was just passing by and thought I'd stop in. Are you sure you're okay?"

She snorts, a low laugh coming from her as she moves towards the stereo to turn down the music. "I've taken harder falls."

He watches as she moves to swipe a towel off the back of a nearby chair, dabbing her face and neck before throwing it back down and grabbing a water bottle instead. "So is that the sort of dancing you teach here?"

She smiles, even as she tilts the bottle upward to take a couple deep gulps. It's only after she's recapped the bottle and moved back into his general vicinity that she answers. "No, that's my own personal dancing. I wanted to dance on big stages for most of my life."

"And why aren't you?"

"Tragic backstory, misfit past, the usual."

"Ah, of course. I know a bit about those," he says. He only notices that he's fiddling with his prosthetic fingers again when Emma's eyes are drawn to watch his movements – her expression one part wary and two parts curious. "Anyway, if you're not teaching that kind of dancing, what do you teach?"

"Mostly just ballroom, like you saw the other night," she comments, her gaze tearing away from his hands and meeting his eyes again. At his blank stare, she huffs once, rolling her eyes in the process of starting a series of stretches. "Fox Trot, Tango, Mambo, that sort of thing. You ever danced before?"

"I learned to Waltz when I was just a lad. Other than that, just the standard variety of three feet apart types at school dances and decidedly less innocent kinds while at university." He tries to tame the smirk on his lips when he mentions the form of dancing they used to do in the youth that seems like forever ago, but fails miserably by the way she raises an eyebrow at him.

"You should see our staff dances at the end of the week," she says, the way she wiggles her eyebrows indicating that she's not only fully aware of the kind of dancing he's referring to, but that she participates.

While he laughs, she moves to another stretch and he spots the angry red mark on her shin from her earlier fall. He cuts off abruptly, looking concerned even if it doesn't seem like she notices it. "I seem to have caused you another misfortune."

She hums out a question mark, and he points to the spot. Without breaking her stretch, Emma glances at it and promptly waves it off. "I've done worse. Nothing's broken, I'm not bleeding; it's fine."

"Oh, you're a tough lass, eh?"

Rather than responding, she sizes him up for a minute before turning fully towards him. "You wanna give it a try? The ballroom style that I teach? We can even start with the Waltz."

"I don't think I'll be any good at it."

"Don't care. You owe it to me." She raises her eyebrow in challenge and waits.

With a grimace, Killian rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, shaking out his arms before slipping the flask from his pocket. "Rum?" He holds it out to her first, chuckling as she shakes her head and scoffs.

"Is that your solution to everything?"

"Doesn't hurt," he mutters, taking a sip for himself before setting it down by the top of the steps. At her incredulous look, Killian holds up his hand in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay, sometimes it's more insult than injury. You win that one."

She switches music, grabbing a small remote while she's at the system before moving to the center of the room and motioning Killian towards her. When he moves to join her, she positions her arms and hands, only faltering for a moment as she moves his prosthetic into place before she uses the remote to start the song.

"Okay, hold that position. When I step back, you're going to step forward. Got it?"

"Sure," he says, his tone much more assertive than he feels at the moment. His eyes go downward, staring for the moment her foot moves back and he moves his forward. It's been lifetimes ago, but he gets the general understanding of how he's supposed to move. After three or four repetitions, she instructs him to look at her instead of their feet and he loses the progress he's made. It's partly due to inexperience, but it's also because then he's looking at her eyes, studying the pigments of color that he finds. He's utterly enchanted by the flutter of her eyelashes, wondering if she feels the same jolt that he does.

He's so wrapped up in his thoughts that he moves out of turn, and he's a hair away from stepping on her toes. They both realize it, both sucking in a gasp at the close call and looking quickly at the lack of space between their feet. The spell of the moment is broken when their hold falls apart and they both start laughing.

"Not bad! Try again?"

She's got to be lying; he feels like he was less than subpar at best but she's still looking at him like he's got something like potential and he's not sure how to even begin processing that. But it's time spent in the company of a pretty woman, so who is he to argue with her decision to invite him closer again?

They're just moving to the same starting position when the door opens and closes swiftly, announcing someone's arrival. Emma looks to the stairs to see who the newcomer is, her hand still tangled with his, her other one just coming to rest on his shoulder until she furrows her eyebrows.

"Mulan, what's wrong?"

"We have a bit of a problem," a female voice says, and Killian turns to see the hiking instructor Ruby was speaking to the night of the performances standing at the top of the stairs. She's out of breath, and her face is pinched with worry and apprehension. "Ruby sprained her ankle. Victor is looking at it now, but he already says it isn't looking too good."

Emma's hand on his shoulder tightens incrementally as the statement is uttered, and then she breaks the hold all together to run both her hands through her hair as one loud, angry expletive rings out through the dance studio.

-x-

She forgets for a moment that there's a guest standing in the room with her, and that she's standing with her arms around him to start with, no less. Instead, she drops an f-bomb or two, or five, and a bunch of other swears all in a row. What else could she do after finding out that her partner is okay but likely unable to dance any time soon?

"Shit," she mutters, stomping around the studio a couple times. She kicks a yoga mat in the corner for good measure. "What happened?"

"She came with me for the intermediate hike and lost her footing. She rolled it pretty bad. I had to carry her the whole way back and postpone the rest of the hike. Thankfully, we weren't too far into the woods yet."

"How's she doing?"

"Everyone is showering her with attention so she's doing fantastic," the other woman says with a grin, and Emma's own smile is thin-lipped but there. Of course, Ruby would be graciously accepting the fawning.

"I guess I can reschedule my next lesson, go over and check on her and…" It's then that she remembers Killian is standing there, just behind her now, and she winces as she turns towards him. "Sorry, Killian. Um, raincheck on those lessons?"

"Of course, Swan. Until next time."

She likes the way he says her name just a little too much, and it's almost a relief when he's gone. Apparently, even time in the supply closet hasn't fully squashed the possibility for sexual attraction to a certain guest. He is at the top of her No list, though, so she will have a stern talk with herself later about remaining professional and aloof with him.

Things get worse when Emma stops by to see Ruby in the infirmary. Her ankle is swollen, the bruising already apparent when she lifts the ice bag for Emma to see. Ruby's face is grim, as if she's already received bad news, and maybe she has.

"How long?"

"Four weeks, maybe. Three if I'm lucky."

With those simple sentences, Emma's hopes of the job at Mills Regency vanish in smoke.

"Victor has ordered me to stay off of it for the next week, and we'll start going through some stretches and rehab to get it healed up. I can still make it."

"No, you can't. I don't want you to risk making it more permanent. I want you to heal properly the first time." She settles onto the edge of Ruby's bed, sighing as she does so.

They exhaust every possible other option, including Emma dancing on her own and her trying to teach another staff member the routine. The problem with that is she knows the strengths and weaknesses of each staff member, and also their work schedules. The best of the bunch are all tied up or getting ready to take their first week off of the season.

And then the terrible idea comes to her.

"Well, I could teach someone."

"Like who?"

She doesn't respond, instead thinking about the way Killian looks visually next to her, and thinking about the way he quickly started getting the steps. He'll probably resist, probably flat out reject the idea, but she has to at least try. "I gotta go. I'll come back later. You rest!"

With that, Emma all but sprints from the infirmary, making her way across the campgrounds to the secluded section of cabins she visited just a week ago. She has no idea if he'll even be back at his cabin now, but it's worth a shot to try this place first. Bounding up the stairs of the modest cabin, Emma raps on the screen door.

Killian appears after a few seconds, his eyebrow going up in question when he sees her. "Hello, Swan. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You said you'd make it up to me, right?"

His look of confusion intensifies for a moment. "Make it up…? For the vomit incident? Of course."

"And calling me by the wrong name, pushing your chair into me two days ago, stepping on the back of my heel at the grocery kiosk, and knocking me on my ass while I was dancing earlier. All of that. You can make it up to me."

His face had continued to pinch as she listed the offences he'd accrued in their short amount of shared time, so when she finishes, he nods slowly. "And how can I do that?"

"Be my dance partner."

A pregnant pause follows her words, in which Killian blinks at her through the barrier of the screen door and Emma finally gains control of her breathing after the dash across camp.

"No."

"Killian."

"No, Swan, I'm not going to be any good for something that's meant to be graceful."

"Why do you say that?"

"I can barely walk a straight line," he counters. And while he has a point, that's not exactly a difficult thing to fix.

"So quit drinking so much."

He steps back, mock affronted and clutching his chest.

"You don't mess with a man's rum, Swan."

She just raises an eyebrow at him. "Okay, fine, give me a better reason."

"How many professional dancers have artificial hands?"

"No one will even notice that!"

It's Killian's turn to lift an eyebrow, his head tilted for extra emphasis. They probably wouldn't – not if he has the footwork she thinks he could have – but there's no easy way to convince him of this fact.

"I just don't think I'm what anyone would want to see dancing with someone like you."

"I doubt that," she answers quickly, the mental image of them together flashing strongly in her head.

"You'd be wrong. Listen, I am quite willing to do anything to make all of that up to you by any means necessary, except for that."

"But this is the kind of repayment I need. I can teach you. I can teach you and you'll be good."

He still looks like he's going to turn her down, but she's turning just a tiny bit desperate.

"Okay, how about this. Tomorrow night, there's this staff dance. You show up, you give dancing a try, and we go from there. I'll buy the rum?"

The last sentence is a chance she's willing to take, but it apparently does the trick. Hesitantly, oh so hesitantly, he nods his head. The fact that he's grimacing while he does is a fact she's willing to ignore.

"Good. Meet me outside the studio at ten and I'll walk you up. Dress for a workout. It gets hot in the staff lodge."

If possible, he grimaces harder. So she smiles as brightly as she can and lifts her hand in farewell as she heads back to the studio to prepare for her postponed lesson.

She's nervous energy all through the next day, as well. She worries Killian isn't even going to show, but all she can keep thinking about are the aesthetics they would create on stage if she could get him to move. Dark and brooding, with that constant three-day stubble. She gets lost in the thought of how it would feel to have a male partner again. Short of lessons and an occasional favor to Graham, it's been a long time since she danced with a man.

Don't get her wrong – she loves dancing with Ruby. They make one hell of a spectacle that people have loved for years. Plus, while they can't compete, it's fun to knock the gender barriers and fuck with the system a little bit. But mostly she and Ruby have been partners for all these years because of the trust they've created with each other. It's worked well for them. They've participated in non-official events and arts festivals, and it gets them business.

For some reason, maybe due to the newness of the possibility, she shivers in anticipation.

Sure, she'll have to give Regina a heads up so the hotelier knows she'll be dancing with a sub for the evening, but that Ruby will be with her if they get the job. But since the email was addressed to the two of them, she figures that won't be a problem.

When she can't stand it anymore, when the clock is moving too slow, she changes for the third time and goes to stand by the studio. The building is dark and locked up, but she checks the door one last time to make sure and paces. At ten til the hour, she hears footsteps on the path and turns to see Killian wandering up. He's in a t-shirt and shorts, and he looks apprehensive at best. She's only mildly surprised to see him. More than surprised, she's glad he actually showed.

Emma has dressed for the humidity that's climbing upwards again, so even though the night brings a little relief from the discomfort, it's still sticky. Her hair is pulled up in multiple braids and crowned around her head to keep it off her neck, and otherwise she's gone with light materials that only cover what's absolutely necessary and appropriate. Her shorts, borrowed from Ruby's clothes, may be just a tad too short. The way that Killian's eyes trail up her legs with an appreciative glance kind of makes her feel like she made a good choice, though.

"You're making a mistake," he says as she motions him to follow her up the steps that lead to the staff lodge.

"I'll be the judge of that. Let's get a drink in us and see what happens." She's glad he can't see her face after she says it because it sounds like a pick-up line.

"I brought my own," Killian calls from behind her, and she can hear the quiet sloshing of his flask. There's a quick flash of irritation, not that he brought the flask – it's clear there's an attachment to it that she's not interested in breaking or making him change – but because she can't have him getting too drunk too fast.

"Nurse that. Stay loose, not sloppy for me, okay? I'll buy the last round."

He nods, taking a quick sip and slipping the container back into his pocket.

Inside the lodge, the heat instantly intensifies, what with the lackluster air conditioning and the moving bodies. She gets to watch Killian's face go from one of trepidation to some mixture of horror and wonder. There's something to be said about the bass-driven music, the low lighting, the staff looking a little less prim and proper than they are when they're directing hikes or leading a yoga session. A kid they call Herc who teaches archery normally looks like the perfect, nerdy frat boy during lessons, but with his shirt hanging open and the way his hand palms the ass of the girl in his arms, he looks like he'd fit better in a porno.

Now that she thinks of it, and now that she takes the time to imagine what Killian is seeing for the first time, she's really surprised they aren't in some weird, group-sex, niche-as-fuck porno. She comes back to herself a little bit, grabs Killian's hand, and makes her way through the sea of people. She's not worried about him being in here. Everyone is so intent on not wanting others to notice what they're doing that they don't look – it's the easiest rule of staff dances.

In need of her own lubrication for making someone else dance, she heads straight for the bar and orders tequila. After she orders, she realizes Killian is completely motionless beside her. At once, she's not sure if it's because she's holding his prosthetic or if he's still trying to take it all in.
"You good?"

His eyes focus again, and he nods, taking a moment to sip from his flask again.

At the same time, a shot glass is finally placed down in front of her and she knocks back the drink. "Okay, let's do this." She weaves them through the dance floor, finding a place not central but still surrounded enough that he'll get lost before he can escape if he tries to run. She has her priorities straight, after all.

He's a good two feet away from her as the song that was playing ends and a new one begins. Like always, Emma takes her time to let the beat sink into her bones before she tries to get him to move. Instead, she follows what she'd do if she was dancing alone, closing her eyes and giving over to her heart instead of her head. Once she has the rhythm pumping through her blood, she grabs his t-shirt and pulls him closer, molding them together. She gasps, her eyes darting to meet his when she feels him insistently poking her where their hips are pressed together, and he at least has the dignity to look embarrassed by it.

"Sorry, love. You're a little entrancing when you move like that," he tells her a moment later, saying it close to her ear so he doesn't have to yell over the music. He tries to put space between them, but she holds him in place. She waves it off, hoping that he can't see her own feelings about it in the dim lighting.

Emma can't help the flush that spreads along her cheek bones, but she is surprised when it keeps lighting a fire across the skin of her neck and beyond. She's been called a thousand names, she's been told she's sexy and asked to do strip teases for men she was sleeping with, but for some reason Killian's words are more arousing than she expected.

She can't let him know how much she's affected, of course, so with a coy smile, she instead turns back to their reason for being here. With her hands on his hips, she moves them as she moves her own body. And thank the higher powers; Killian is a man who knows how to move his hips. Most men that she teaches have a bad tendency to move their whole torsos when she tries to get them moving, but Killian mimics her action and his hips fluidly move the way Emma is directing them.

After getting him familiar with that one motion, she steps back a little and takes his hands. She prompts him to follow her footwork, slowly incorporating steps and hip movements at the same time until he's moving exactly the way she wants him to. From there it's simple; he moves easily as she guides him, catching on quickly when she coerces his movements with her own. He copies her or follows her nearly-unspoken directive, staring at his feet or hers, staring at her hips, his eyes dipping down to admire her legs more than once.

It only takes that first song but three songs later, Emma determines that this is possible. It's even more apparent that he has the ability to move when the rum has worked its way into his bloodstream a little and he's finally loosened up. The time is creeping by but she's still a little too happy to wrap herself around him, so she doesn't try to fight it.

After a couple more dances and a few trips to the bar, they engage in much lighter dancing, goofing off as they try to recreate famous dance choreography to songs that don't match the beat. A few more after that, and they look just like everybody else in the building, fitted tightly together and letting the music rule their movements.

Another slow song comes on and without prompting, Killian gathers her close and easily sways to it. She's not sure how much he's had from his flask, but she's also not sure how much tequila she's had at this point. Which means they're officially in dangerous territory, in her opinion. Probably way beyond it, but this is the first time in a half hour that she's actually thought about it.

She hates that there's obvious chemistry between them. Mostly, it's because he's a guest, and the one person in the room who is completely off limits. Also, she's always been a hit-it-and-quit-it woman. Relationships are messy. They hurt. They're prone to being overbearing and uncomfortable. At least, all of hers have been. Not to say that Killian would be like that. Her fingers tickle into the hair on the back of his neck and she can feel more than hear the contented sigh that escapes him.

He's actually quite smart, and very funny, and easy on the eyes. He'd make a hell of a one-nighter if she was allowed. That much is obvious by the latent abilities she's yet to fully unlock, and many of which she's not allowed to. He'd make a top grade lover, with the way he holds her, his hand splayed across her lower back, his prosthetic propped against her hip – her hand is still in his hair and she's one shift away from being lip-to-lip with him, a fact that finally shakes her from her little daydream.

She steps back, enjoying the dazed look on his face for a moment before she twirls under his arm and pulls him away from the floor. Thankfully, the rum seems to have worked enough that he looks oblivious to her inner turmoil and attraction.

As soon as they're outside, Emma deems their experiment a success. "You can dance like that? You can follow my directions? You can dance the Mambo." She's yelling, but there's no one around to hear her lack of volume control except for Killian, who is having similar troubles.

"I still think you're wrong," he loudly concludes, swinging their hands as they diligently pick their way down the path to where they met up earlier.

"I could be, but I don't think I am. Come by tomorrow at noon. That's my lunch break. Give it an actual, sober try and decide after that, okay?"

He stares at her, his eyes searching her whole face and making eye contact every few swipes, until he finally releases a breath she didn't realize he'd been holding. "Fine. Okay. I'll be there. But if I'm terrible at it, we're done, and I'll find another way to repay you. Deal?"

"Deal!"