A/N: greetings from the Charlotte, NC airport! Thank you NC for your free wifi services. Spring break just ended for me and I've been working on this second installment for a bit while also writing a trial brief (having no earthly idea what i was doing) and also prepping oral arguments for moot court competitions this week (spoiler alert: i haven't gotten very far...like at all...im doomed). Anyways I hope you like this chapter, it's from Killian's POV. From now on i'll be alternating POVs.
Also keep in mind that I'm trying to keep these characters as real as possible, it's just my style and how i roll.
lots of love and wish me luck in the competition- steph
Chapter Two- Intervention
Killian
I wake with the worst headache I have ever had, dim recollections of the night before, and a stranger's arm lazily draped across my midriff. It takes me a couple of minutes to realize where I am, the posh room decorations hardly triggering any memories of where I spent my previous night. I take a look at the mistake lying next to me—brunette, go figure, they always spell trouble—gingerly taking her arm off my midsection, so as to not to wake her. I rummage the hotel suite for a glass of water and Alka Seltzer—it became quite obvious that I spent the night at a hotel once I managed to get the room to stop spinning and had a look at complimentary stationary indicating that I was staying at the Mondrian Hotel in Beverly Hills—and it also became clear as I walked with my empty glass towards the bathroom, stepping over seemingly lifeless bodies of people I don't really know, wine stains on the white sofa, and the soil strewn across the floor from an overturned potted plant, that last night I had trashed said hotel room.
David is going to kill me.
There are two people sleeping in the Jacuzzi tub as I enter the bathroom and take a look at myself in the mirror. I see red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes accompanied by purple-tinged bags underneath them, making my skin look sickly and pale.
I look like absolute shite.
I take the seltzer and head back up to the bedroom where I scramble to find my belongings and head out to check out of the hotel. I tell the woman to put whatever damages on my tab and to kick out the people inside as soon as possible. I don't know them, nor do I really care for them.
It's noon when David calls me, angry and frustrated from what I can tell. He tells me to meet him at his office and I go, even though all I want to do is sleep for fifteen more hours.
I think nothing of it obviously, thinking that he's probably going to reprimand me for some small little trifle I did, like putting my foot in my mouth during last week's interview, or flipping some paparazzi off on my way out of the restaurant I was at three days ago.
Either way, I don't exactly care.
Walking inside David's office, however, he and the added presence of my band mates, my brother, Liam, Robin, Graham, and Will meet me—neither of whom look particularly happy to see me.
"Take a seat, Killian." David says sternly, pointing at the seat right in front of him. Nobody else dares to speak or even make eye contact with me. If I do meet someone's gaze, it's a glare and there is not a reassuring smile in sight. No, they are not happy to see me at all.
"What's going on, mate?" I say cracking a smile as I take a seat in front of him, trying to lighten up the mood in here.
"Killian, I'm afraid we have a problem." David continues, his arms crossed against his chest. What the hell did I do now? I could be sleeping, I thought I was called here for something important.
"There usually is." I reply coolly, making my band mates groan.
"This is serious, little brother." Liam replies somberly next to me.
"Younger brother, Liam. Also, I've never heard of a problem not being a serious problem when it comes to us, so what is it?" I cannot blame Liam for being so bloody serious about all of this. He always has been so forthright it's positively sickening. He's quite older than me, so naturally when our father passed he felt the need to be my father figure.
"The label isn't happy with us, Killian." Robin exclaims exasperatedly, clearly peeved by my nonchalance. I just don't see what is the big deal. We've gotten in trouble before, we've had the label mad at us before, and yet we've always pulled through. Always.
"They usually aren't." Crossing my arms behind my neck as I replied probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. I could see Robin trying to restrain Will away from me.
"They're fed up with you, you bloody git and so are we for that matter!" he exclaims raising his hands in surrender and brushing his hands down his crumpled shirt once Robin lets go of him.
"Don't you care about this, Killian? We all started this together and you just stopped caring!" I guess Robin was right, when the Rolly Jogers started it was a distraction for us, a way to cope with our hopes and dreams that were seemingly so far-fetched as we strived through Uni together. Then that silly distraction started getting attraction and we were booking gigs all throughout London. It was in one of those gigs that we were discovered by David who talked about Enchanted Forest Records, a small independent subsidiary of Royal Records, and the next thing we knew we were signing a record deal for five records and recording our first extended play. We had had our fallouts throughout the years but it was never too serious to warrant these kinds of conversations, we'd talk it out and move on, keeping it together for the sake of the band and the bond that had brought us this far. But, apparently I had stopped 'caring'—or whatever that means—to be honest, I had been going through some personal issues, what with my fiancée having walked out on me mid-engagement with some Hollywood hotshot, changing the locks on our apartment, and leaving me out in the cold.
But that's a story for another day.
"One lass walks out on you and it's the end of the world for us." Unless my lovely older brother decides to bring it up like he has now. Bloody prat.
"Do not bring Milah into this, alright? This is horrible enough without her memory lurking about." I say forcefully, glaring at Liam. He looks sheepishly and mumbles an apology at me. "I just don't understand what's wrong, it's always been this way. We're mates, all of us." I tell them. Sure, I've gone out with countless nameless models. Hell, I've gone through most on the Victoria's Secret catalogue if I'm being perfectly honest. And yes, maybe I got arrested for public indecency and charged with public misconduct two months ago. But to be fair, I was still tragically hurt by my ex-fiancée's departure.
You might argue that it's not a valid excuse anymore, seeing as our fallout happened a little over a year ago.
I'll have to raise the more convincing argument of nothing being nuance in matters of the heart, and a broken heart at that.
"No it hasn't, Killian and the truth is, being associated with you, your drunkenness, your tabloid mishaps, trashing hotel rooms—just your entire behavior—it's not beneficial for the band, for us. You may have stopped caring, but we didn't." Here we go again with this "lack of caring" business. I've never stopped caring about the band. It's just that I've had more pressing matters to attend to. Like fucking my way out of this abysmal depression I have been in for the past twelve bloody months. I'd love to see them react to having their heart completely ripped out off their ribcage, still pounding and have the person they love most in the world squeeze the life out of it until it turns to dust. Then they'll really understand why I'm "not caring." If they can't see that all I've been doing is just a way to dull the ache in my soul, then maybe it's time we part ways.
Except, I don't want to part ways. This is what I do. This is what I'm best at and I hope they see that what I've been doing hasn't been to spite them, or fuck them over.
I just can't help it.
"So what, you're kicking me out then? Is that it?" I ask them, practically begging them to prove me wrong.
"Killian, it's not our choice." Liam sighs dejectedly. Really? We're going to take this route? Is there no other route for them to get what they want without me being completely fucked over?
"It bloody well is your choice! Don't chuck it to the damn label and tell me the truth. Do you want me out or not?" I know I'm panting and I probably sound desperate. I do not care. I practically single-handedly put this band, together. It's the only thing I have left. They can't just kick me out.
"We're prepared to take a hiatus for you to get your shit together, mate." Robin answers me somberly. Are they completely mad? I have my "shit together," mate. So, I like to have a little fun? So what? That doesn't mean that I'm somehow unable to gather my wits and get to work.
"A trial period? Are you fucking serious? And what am I supposed to be doing in this trial period?" They all shift nervously, not liking that they're at the receiving end of my angry tirade. It's quiet for a second until Will speaks up, a cocky grin on his face.
"For one, stop treating the Rolly Jogers like it's the damn Killian Jones's Show, mate." I laugh, I have to. They've always teased me about that ever since I became lead vocals and they used to say that all the girls threw themselves at me and didn't look twice at them, they were just my backing band. I always told them that it wasn't true, that we were a team and that we always will be.
"Shut up, Will." The chuckle dies in my throat when I see their serious faces. Have I really treated them that bad? I didn't think I had treated them any differently, but to be honest I hadn't been really thinking at all this past year. If being in the band actually felt like being in the Killian Jones's Show, surely they must know that it wasn't at all intentional.
"Prove to us, to the label, that you're not a liability to keep you around." Robin tells me seriously.
"Aye, prove to us that you still care, little brother." Liam's voice is also serious. I look around the room at everyone in it, my brain finally letting it sink in just how much I had hurt them.
"Graham, you've been awfully quiet, what do you think?" I ask him, he hadn't spoken a word since we got here. Though my brother was in the band with me, the fact that Graham was my best friend and my roommate at Uni meant I needed to hear what he thought about all this. I've always held everything he says at the utmost importance. He doesn't look at me at first but when he does I can feel that he thinks that this is the right choice.
"I think you should do it, Kil. We started this out together. I'd prefer it if we keep it that way." He says quietly and I nod. It was in our room that the Rolly Jogers were born, and if he thinks this is a good idea then I'll oblige him.
"Fine." I say looking directly at David. "What do I have to do?"
-/-
Perspective. I just need to get bloody perspective. Surely dating Emma, The Fire Breathing Dragon Lady of Death, Swan won't be that bad. Do I fancy the lass? No, not at all. Is she a terrible sight to behold? No, on that front she's quite well equipped. However, she just happens to be as nice as a cactus and from my limited experience gathered by being in her company two years ago, I would much rather dry-swallow a chalky multivitamin than being in her presence again.
I rather think that that's putting my distaste for the lass quite lightly, to be perfectly honest.
"So, what does she gain out of all this?" I ask David as I drive to the recording studio. Honestly, the fact that I have to drive myself to my own doom is a true form of torture.
"Emma?" he asks absentmindedly as he scrolls through his phone. Who the hell does he think I'm referring to if not Emma? Is there an option behind Door #2 that I haven't been enlightened to yet?
"No, the other lass you're making me date. Yes, Emma." I sigh, as I get stuck behind another massive queue of cars and yet another red light. I simply abhor Los Angeles traffic.
"She's on the same boat as you, Killian." He answers me simply, not giving any inclination of furthering the statement.
"Please continue." I urge him to elaborate, grinning at him when he rolls his eyes at me.
"Well, she's trying to get back on the big screen but she needs to show the production companies that she still has some stability left in her." He answers matter-of-factly while he types something up on his other phone. Why does he need two phones? Though Liam is the most forthright person I've ever met, David surely comes in at a close second. I doubt he'd ever write inappropriate things on his work phone, so why can't his personal phone also be his work phone? Why does he need two? Wouldn't that be incredibly confusing? Whatever.
"What did she do to fall out off the studios' good graces?" I continue, intrigued. And I am, I'm incredibly curious as to what made Dragon Lady have to prove to the studios that she's not a total nut-job.
"She's had a hard year. She just got out of rehab." Oh, perhaps because she is a total nut-job. It was probably cocaine, let's be honest that's what most of the models' and random unmentionables' that I've been with have had their diet consist of. And if Emma is anything like I remember reading about her two years ago when I met her, then that's probably it. Incredible. Amazing. This isn't what I signed up for.
"What the hell, mate? I didn't agree to date a washed-up actress turned addict." I turn towards him, quite incensed to be honest, as I park the car in the studio's lot.
"Killian, she tried to kill herself. That's why she went to rehab. And you agreed to show the band and the label that you could turn a new leaf and that means that if I tell you to do something, you'll do it. The fact that you are dating Emma is just because I owe Mary Margaret a favor."
Oh, so that's it. I swear Mary Margaret and David have the worst sexual tension that I've ever seen (or perhaps the best?). Either way, David has got it bad for her, but he's too big of a dolt to try to do anything about it. But that doesn't excuse that I wasn't told that the woman I'll be fake dating and forced to spend most of my time for the next months, had just gotten out of rehab nor had I been told that she had some mental issues that landed her there in the first place.
So, just to reiterate what I'll be dealing with here, I will be dating a prickly, fire-breathing dragon of a woman, who is uptight and uppity, and not to mention untalented actress who just so happens to have gotten out of rehab in the past week.
Oh, Jesus H. Christ, here we go, I think as I start making my way into the conference room with David only to hear that my future lover does not like the idea of dating me any more than I like the idea of dating her.
Good. At least we'll be on the same page.
"Except there's one problem Mags, I hate him. I cannot stand Killian Jones." I hear her tell Mary Margaret firmly, crossing her arms against her chest. Oh, I could have fun with this.
"Well, I don't particularly fancy you either, love. Alas, here we are." I say entering the threshold to the conference room, coming up to sit next to her. Her instant reaction is to retract from me, getting as most distance between us as possible without it being obvious. But of course it was obvious, in the same way her utter disdain for me was obvious.
"Hello, lover." I grin at her, making sure to throw her a wink in the process. Her absolute face of disgust makes me feel positively joyous inside.
"Okay! Killian I'm glad you could join us." Mary Margaret starts brightly, trying to make light of the situation. I give her a tight smile in response, I'm only joining because I have to, not because I want to.
"Wouldn't dream of being anywhere else." I respond sarcastically, before David kicks me under the table and hits my shin, making me stifle a groan. Bloody bastard. Mary Margaret takes no notice of my discomfort—I'm sure he left a dent in my shinbone, like 100% sure—but Emma side-glances at me, glaring at me.
"Well, David and I have laid out possible outing options in which you'll have the most publicity potential. There are two sections, all those marked in red, you have to attend to maximize your visibility to the public at large. Second, those marked in green are optional outings but highly encouraged. And finally, those in blue are just optional outings."
"Why is Coachella in blue? The boys and I are playing on Saturday night, it should be in red definitely." I say looking down at the list of options. The bloody Academy Awards are in red and that's a snooze fest. But Coachella? Coachella is fun (not that I remember last year's but that's nuance), it should definitely be red.
"Oh," Mary Margaret starts, "well those in blue and green are subject to change. But you're right, that should be in red." she finishes, making a note of it in her BlackBerry. Wait, why is she using a BlackBerry? Aren't they considered dead technology? Seriously, what is it with publicists and BlackBerrys?
"On that note, why is the Veuve Cliquot party in blue?" Emma speaks up next to me.
"Because, Swan. It's a boring polo match full of drunken uppity New Yorkers." I answer her. I really find that event to be completely unnecessary and simply cannot understand its hype. It's just catered to the clones of the cast of that awful bloody Gossip Girl show, or whatever it's called. Not that I watched all seasons on Netflix this past summer. Nobody can attest to that.
"Oh, yes. Because the overrated California hippie fest that is Coachella is a much more important event." She snarls back at me. Oh, feisty are we?
"Aye, it is."
"Okay," Mary Margaret interjects sensing that we're about to rip out each other's throats. "They're both in red now. Now, we're looking at a minimum six-month to a year engagement. David and I are pretty sure that our respective companies would rather see stability develop over a year or so." I am dreaming. I am having the most terrible nightmare that has to be it. There's just no way, no way I have to be attached at the hip to canker sore that is Emma Swan for a whole bloody year.
"You're joking." I say automatically. "You can't be bloody serious!" I look desperately at David, then at Emma whose fearful eyes probably match mine, then back at David again whose steely glare silences me. This is absolutely ridiculous. A year? A year with Emma Swan? I'd rather die stabbed through the eye like Christopher Marlowe.
"Mags, I won't do this." I hear Emma address Mary Margaret seriously. I can sense her tepid anger being covered by a thin veil of seriousness. She's a damn dragon, one I definitely won't survive.
"Emma, you promised." Mary Margaret answers her seriously.
"My promise was made on the premise that I was going to date a nameless wonder…not this!" Emma exclaims gesturing at me. "He's a canker sore!" I scoff. Takes one to know one. "He's literally the bane of my existence, there's just no way. There has to be someone else, anyone but this." Yes, hello. I am right here. Right beside you. The bane of your existence, right here.
"Right, do you mind not talking about me as if I weren't here? That'd be great actually." I interject, slamming my hand on the table.
She just stares at me, her eyes squinting at me as if she couldn't believe I dared to interject into her outburst.
I meet her eyes fully for the first time all afternoon, surprised by the intense shade of green they contained. It's a shame such beautiful eyes are lost on such an infuriating person.
"Look, love. I don't want to do this any more than you do. But we made a promise and we're both on the same boat and I'm willing to pretend to be able to stomach you if you are." I tell her sincerely. An illusion makes me think that her eyes softened at what I told her but they narrowed again so fast that it's possibly that they never softened at all.
"Don't call me that. I'm not your 'love'." She spits out at me, turning her head away from me so fast that her long blond hair whips across my face.
"Right, would Dragon Lady be a better alternative?" I snarl. The nerve of this woman, really. This idea is ludicrous and it'll never work, not if she's still part of the equation.
"Killian, can you try to be nice?" David reprimands me from across the table. I look at him plainly and roll my eyes.
"Well I'm not going to bloody well be gallant when she's my only option." I exclaim, gesturing towards her.
"Right, do you mind not talking about me as if I weren't here? That'd be great, actually." Emma turns towards me, meeting my gaze again and echoing my earlier sentiment and I'm actually amused and feel myself giving her a genuine—if albeit small—smile. I could've been imagining it but it seemed like she cracked a small one my way as well.
"Could both of you at least try to give this a shot?" Mary Margaret asks hopefully from the head of the table.
"No." We say in unison. Looking at each other with a sense of solidarity. The only kind you'd feel whenever you team up with your nemesis for the good of a common goal. In this case, it's us never being together. "I need air." Emma says while standing abruptly from her chair, walking deliberately and purposely towards the exit and leaving the room.
Ah, peace and quiet, I think as I rest my head on my hands. I'm still hung-over from last night, and with the excitement of the past hour, my headache definitely came back with a vengeance.
"David, this is never going to work. Can't you see this is just a time bomb? We're risking the entire city of Los Angeles exploding if you pair us up together." I tell him dejectedly, my voice muffled by my hands.
"Killian, you're doing this, you both are. I don't care what differences you both have with each other, you'll put them aside and work together or you'll be a cruise entertainer for the rest of your life. Now go out there and convince her." He tells me firmly.
"What cruise line?" I ask hopefully.
"Killian. Go."
"Fine."
I stand and walk towards the door trying to figure out where my future bride went. Wouldn't that be terrible? If I ended up actually liking the lass and we got married? Hell would have frozen over if that ever happened.
I find her in the courtyard, sitting on top of a small concrete wall, unnaturally huge sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose and smoking a cigarette.
"Aren't you discouraged from partaking in addictive activities when you're released from rehab?" I ask her. I can't see her eyes through her sunglasses but if I did, I'm positive she was rolling them at me.
"Aren't you discouraged from wearing pants when you should go fuck yourself?" she rebuts, making me crack a smile at her crassness.
"May I bum one?" I ask her, she nods and digs in her purse for a cigarette and a lighter.
"I didn't know you smoked." She comments, handing the items to me.
"I don't. Not unless I'm drunk or incredibly stressed." I tell her, bringing the lighter up to my mouth and lighting the cigarette. Inhaling and letting free the stream of smoke, making me feel lighter already.
"I understand that completely." She nods, tapping her ashes and letting them fall to the floor.
"They really are terrible for you." I tell her and she laughs. It wasn't a terrible laugh either, it was light and actually kind of pretty. She lifts her sunglasses to the top of her head and looks at me, her eyes squinting due to the sun.
"Yeah, but here we are." She answers, taking a long drag afterwards.
"Incredibly stressed." I add, and she nods.
"And maybe still drunk?" She counters, raising her eyebrows and giving me a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. I wonder what happened to her.
Wait, why do I even care?
"Definitely still drunk." I agree, taking one last drag before dropping the cigarette butt and extinguishing it by stepping on it. "Look, Swan what will it take for you to do this with me?" I ask her plainly, sighing. If she's the only way I'll be able to prove to my mates that I'm serious about it, then so be it.
"Just give me a valid reason why I should." She offers me seriously, just for show and I can tell. She doesn't have a say in this either.
"It may seem hard to believe, but I'm not doing this for myself. I'm doing it for my mates, I've disappointed them and I want to prove to them that I still care about them." I tell her honestly, her eyes boring deep into mine as if testing my words for validity.
"We hate each other and we have nothing in common." She says quietly, shaking her head before looking away from me.
"That may be true, but here I thought you were an actress." I say, looking at her as she drops her own cigarette butt and steps on it.
"I am an actress." She replies, looking back at me defiantly.
"So play the role of your life and make the world think you've fallen in love with me." We sit in silence for a while, with her mulling my words over and over. She smiles another smile that doesn't reach her eyes and places her hand on top of mine.
"Okay."
A/N: Reviews make me feel warm and fuzzy inside and like i still have some semblance of the soul i used to have before law school so you should leave me some.
ALSO: over break i got quasi obsessed with Outlander and by quasi obsessed I mean Jamie Fraser is daddy and he can get it six ways to sunday...oh, and the plot is amazing too.