A/N: Sorry This took a million years to update but law school is killing me slowly! I probably won't start writing the next chapter until I'm done with finals which end on May 8th, so be patient with me! I thought I should leave you with a little something until then! -Steph
Chapter Four- The Lucky Ones
I awake to the sound of waves crashing against the shore and for a split second I cannot fathom where it is that I spent the night, but then I remember last night in Santa Monica and how Emma and I ended up using her childhood home as a safe haven from the paparazzi. I also remember the kiss we shared. Why or how that happened is unbeknownst to me, I cannot fathom a single reason why I wanted to kiss her in the first place. Perhaps it was because I finally saw some glimpse into who Emma Swan is behind the walls she's raised all around her or perhaps it was because I finally saw some connection between the two of us.
Either way, it's highly unlikely that it will happen again.
It's early, too early given by the fact that the only brightness in the room is a muted light blue light that creeps in through the window, a clear sign that the sun has only just begun to come up and daylight is just breaking. I try to fall back asleep and wake up at a more reasonable hour, but it's futile. There's simply no way I'll be able to fall back asleep, so I opt to get up and wander about instead. I walk out of the room, careful to keep my movements muted so as to not disturb Emma, not wanting to ruse the sleeping dragon that she's kept locked inside her for the past few days. I smile to myself, walking along the darkened hallway, the pictures on the wall capturing my attention. I see pictures of Emma as a child—devious little smirks covered by unruly blonde hair present in most of the pictures—I see pictures of her with an older woman—whom I presume is her mother—happy smiles in all of them. As the pictures of Emma show her getting older, however, the devious smirks and mirthful eyes are no longer present and they are instead replaced with scowls and a muted expression. It makes me wonder what on earth happened to her. Something tells me that something dire happened to her mother, because no longer does she show up in the handful of pictures of Emma when she was a teenager. Had she died? I obviously know they both did because of what Emma said last night, but I never thought she had lost a parent at a tender age, just like I did.
"What are you doing?" I hear her voice ask behind me. I turn around and look at her, smiling slightly at the sight in front of me. A sight of disheveled hair coupled with an old high school t-shirt clinging to her lithe body, the shirt so oversized that it masks part of her shorts, making it seem like she has none.
"I couldn't sleep." I offer, my hand instinctively going up to scratch the back of my neck as it usually does when I'm nervous or have nothing better to say. I'd like to think that I'm suffering from the latter and not the fact that I'm nervous, because there is no reason that I should be nervous around Emma Swan unless I fear being burnt to a crisp from her fire-breathing self. "I take it you couldn't either?"
"I had a nightmare." She answers me flatly, confirming my suspicions that she is nowhere near a morning person.
"I'm sorry to hear that." I tell her as my hand instinctively goes to tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear but she shudders away from me. I find it odd, considering how close we've been getting these past few days we've spent together but I don't think anything about if after that. She is a prickly person all things considered.
"I'm fine. Do you want some coffee?" she asks through a yawn as she makes her way out of the dim hallway and out to the kitchen. I follow her and see her dig into her purse for her packet of cigarettes and lights one, taking a drag before opening the fridge and rummaging for some milk.
"I thought we agreed these are bad for you." I say cheekily. She turns to me and gives me a deadpan look, before she raises her eyebrow and tells me that I'm welcome to having one if I want. I oblige her and take one out of the carton, lighting it before I, myself, go to the fridge and open it, taking out a carton of eggs out of it.
"What are you doing?" She says as she waits for the coffee to brew.
"Isn't it obvious? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Swan."
"You don't have to do that."
"Boyfriends tend to do this at times as well, Swan. At least those who can expertly maneuver themselves around a kitchen."
"You're not my boyfriend. Don't start pretending that you actually tolerate me."
"Swan, just shut up and let me make you a bloody omelet." I sigh exasperatedly and turn to see her smirking at me, the same little devious smirk that I saw in the earlier pictures. I finally realize that what she enjoys most is to push me till I break, to annoy me just as much as my mere presence annoys her.
She's bloody evil, but two can play that game. If my presence annoys her so much, I decide that then and there that Emma Swan will not get rid of me so easily.
"Swan," I start nonchalantly as I crack open an egg, let it slide next to the other yolks in a bowl, and start whisking the mixture with a fork. I drift off on purpose, making it her huff next to me in annoyance.
"Yes, Killian?" she concedes after a long pause, making me grin widely.
"I was wondering—actually, I was rather hoping—if you would like to accompany me to rehearsal with the lads later today." I say, going back to the fridge and rummaging in it for some cheese, onions, and other omelet essentials. She doesn't answer, but stays quiet. She is evidently mulling over my proposal and eyeing my every move, apprehension clearly etched in her gaze.
"Why?" She asks, bringing her cup of coffee close to her lips afterwards.
"I just thought you'd enjoy it that's all." I shrug as I empty the egg mixture onto a saucepan and start pushing back the edges of the rapidly cooking omelet.
"You do know we're not actually dating, do you Killian?" she asks me and I turn just in time to catch her grinning at me from the other side of kitchen island, the rebel strand of gold hair being tucked behind her ear once more.
"I know." I say, "I just thought you'd like to meet the band prior to the Grammys." I finish, sliding the omelet off the pan and onto a plate that I then place right in front of her.
"Thanks." She says surprised, nervously tucking the rebel strand behind her ear yet again. "You didn't have to do that." She mumbles.
"I wanted to." I shrug turning back towards the stove to work on my own breakfast.
"You know, it's really hard to hate you when you turn out being so nice." I hear her say and I smile.
"Well Swan, it seems like we keep finding things to have in common. You're not so bad either." I hear her laugh and I can't help to feel warmth spread throughout my body. I don't know what it is I'm feeling, why it is I feel the need to stay close to her, or why she doesn't repulse me as much as she did three months ago but I would do well to nip whatever is threatening to grow in the bud.
-/-
I have been stood up. I can't believe it. I have been stood up by Emma-bloody-Swan. She's so bloody infuriating. You know, I should've trusted my gut when I was having second thoughts about going through this fucking ordeal. But no, I didn't. I decided to do the noble thing, make it up to the band, and be her bloody fucking fake boyfriend. I really don't see how I couldn't have shown stability by going about my daily life and buying some sort of dog that would require me to develop some semblance of responsibility. No, what I got was a dragon, a flirty, fire-breathing, prickly, blonde dragon.
I know that she's doing this on purpose. I know that she's just getting back at me for missing all those scheduled coffee dates and I get it. I understand. But after the fun we had last night, and—if I were being honest—the quite romantic kiss we shared at her home, I would assume that she would at least come to rehearsal. Most of rehearsal, however, has come and gone and all I have to show for it is the endless taunts from my band mates teasing me about my "girlfriend" not showing up.
Bleeding prats, the lot of them.
I'm left alone at the studio to mull over my thoughts. Part of me doesn't understand what I'm feeling because to be perfectly honest, a dashing rapscallion like myself is hardly ever stood up. I mindlessly strum the guitar I've had in my lap for at least an hour, angry that my thoughts are all but consumed with Emma Swan. Her blonde hair, her vibrant green eyes, and the fact that I can't seem to stand her yet have every desire to be constantly in her presence. It angers me because I know that I can't stand the woman.
I don't know how long I've been in there when I hear the door open. I don't look back, not caring who it is who walked through.
"Shit, am I late?" I whip my head around so fast at the sound of her voice, meeting her apologetic gaze instantly. I nod dumbfounded at the fact that she's here, that I wasn't stood up.
"I thought you said it was at two thirty! God, Killian, I'm so sorry." She looks so apologetic that I cannot help but smile empathetically. I tell her that it's fine, unable to take my gaze away from her lithe figure. I know that whatever attraction I have towards her is purely physical. At least, that's what I keep saying to myself. It has to be purely physical.
"They're at lunch." I hear myself say, standing up and instinctively going over to her. I don't now if we should hug or how to even approach her, but it's fine because she seems to be having the same dilemma, evidently so because she just sticks out her hand towards me. I give her a dry chuckle as I take her hand in mine and shake it. "I thought we had put handshakes behind us." I tease as I drop her hand, still feeling the ghost of her touch against my skin.
"Sorry, I just can't get over the awkwardness of it all." She shrugs, nervously playing with her hair as she responds.
"I know, I can't get over it either." I offer, thinking maybe that the reason as to why she feels so awkward around me is because we kissed last night. But, we had both established to maintain a professional relationship afterwards, so I really do not know what's the issue. I motion to the couch at the back of the room and we both walk over to it and sit. The air is dense with tension, tension regarding words obviously left unsaid, tension regarding sexual desire—at least on my part, I don't know about her—and tension regarding the imminent return of my band mates.
"Do you play anything?" She asks after we sit in silence for a moment.
"Aye, I do. I can get around he piano and the guitar. I do the singing mostly."
"That's cool. I wish I could sing." She offers, clearly impressed by my so-called talents.
"Can't you?"
"No, if it were a matter of holding a tune in order to save my life, I'd be dead in a heartbeat. I love music though." She laughs and once again I am drawn by how it sounds, soft, pretty, and endearing.
"Well, if you can't sing then maybe I can teach you to play." I say standing up and getting an acoustic guitar on the other side of the room. I outstretch my guitar carrying hand towards her but she looks like I've sprouted another head. "Go on, grab the thing, Swan."
Grabbing it from my hand she places it against her lap and looks expectantly at me. "Now what do I do?" she asks. I give her a quick explanation of frets and chords, the notes that correspond to each string, and the different parts.
"Okay, now put these three fingers over here." I tell her as I kneel in front of her, placing her ring, middle, and index fingers on a fret. "That's an A Major chord. Now strum." She does and the guitar sounds as if she had no chord pressed on a fret, but I didn't expect any less from a beginner.
"Oh, my God. I'm terrible. I quit." She says flustered, trying to thrust back the guitar towards me but I push it back onto her lap.
"Did you expect it to be easy your first time, Swan? Just press down the fingers on the chord a little tighter." I say firmly, positioning the fingers on the fret again.
"This hurts." She mumbles and I smile at how white her knuckles are from pressing down.
"Only at first, you get used to it after a while." I say sincerely, looking up at her eyes. The focused look on her face is endearing, I can see how badly she wants to get this right. She strums again and the chord comes out a little better but it still needs work.
"No, like this seriously hurts." She says again as I add pressure to her fingers with my own.
"If it hurts, then that means it's working. Now strum." She does as I tell her and a beautiful A Major chord comes out, but all I can see is the satisfied grin on her face when she hears it and all I want to do is kiss her all over again. I know I need to stop, that we're not even friends not even anything real. I tell myself that it's her mystery that enchants me, the curiosity of trying to find out what she hides behind her walls that attracts me, but nothing further or deeper than that.
"Okay, what chord next?" She asks excitedly, snapping me out of my reverie, and I reposition her fingers into an E Major chord.
"Right, from this one you're going to strum all six strings together. Not starting from the second string like last time."
"I think I got it." She says before strumming the new chord, which comes out almost perfect.
"You're a natural, Swan." I tell her, meaning every word, and she grins at me.
"You're a good teacher." She says softly, her eyes truly locking with mine for the first time since this morning in a gaze so sincere it actually makes me wonder if she has been thinking the same way I have. I grin as I go to tuck that rebellious strand behind her ear and this time she doesn't shy away from the motion. I have to fight against every fiber of my being that's begging me to just crash my lips against hers instead. But the surmounting tension keeps filling the room and I can't help myself. It only takes for her to look down at my lips one more time before I take the guitar out of her lap and press my lips against hers. Her arms rapidly circle around my neck and pull me closer to her. I know that letting the attraction I have for her overcome my senses will come back and bite me in the arse. However, I simply couldn't help myself, especially now that her hands are threading her nimble fingers through my hair and she's moaned at least three times while I deepen the kiss. She bites my lip and I swear that if I could, I would have her on this couch right this very second. I start kissing her alongside her jaw and trace kisses down her neck and collarbone, my mind in a complete lustful haze.
"We should stop." She breathes, but tugs on my hair to pull my head level with hers and kisses me again.
"Aye, we should." I respond before latching my lips against her neck again, focused on leaving a love bite on her collarbone.
"This is…this is so unprofessional." She moans, her warm hands going underneath my shirt. I nod against her neck, going back up to kiss her lips when I feel like I've made a sufficient mark on it. I'm incredibly unconcerned with everything that isn't this moment, so much so that I do not even notice the door to the studio opening up and people trickling into the room.
"Oi! What the hell is going on here, little brother?" Liam's voice booms across the room and Emma and I separate as if we've electrocuted the other. Suddenly, every single one of my band-mates show up, knowing looks on all of their faces.
"Look here, Robin. Killian's fake girlfriend finally showed up." Will teases, a stupid cocky grin spread across his face. "Pay up, then." He says to Robin who shakes his head and digs into his pocket for a twenty-dollar bill and passes it to Will, who pockets it.
"I don't know, that looks pretty convincing to me." Robin says.
"Kil, do you mind not impregnating your fake girlfriend on our studio couch?" Graham says condescendingly and out of the corner of my eye I see Emma shoot the dirtiest look at him.
"Sod off, you gits." I mutter, taking the guitar from the couch and walking across the room to hang it up again.
"You know we were so concerned that you didn't want to go off to lunch with us. But now we see you had other pressing matters to attend to." Liam laughs, his arms crossed against his chest. He has a stupid grin that I wouldn't mind knocking off his face. From across the room I see Emma groan and stand up.
"Oh, knock it off, all of you." she says, clearly fed up with my lot. "Fake girlfriend or not, I can still enjoy myself while I'm in this situation. Or is one of you going to tell me otherwise?" I grin naturally at how forceful she was, the confidence she exudes furthering my attraction to her. I look at Liam and his eyebrows are raised incredulously, the grin still spread across his face when he turns to look at me.
"Oh, I like her, little brother. You're right, she is a dragon."
"I hope he means that as a compliment." Emma counters amusedly, her eyebrows raised at me.
"More or less." I answer sheepishly. "Right, Emma this is everyone. Everyone this is Emma."
She stays for what's left of rehearsal and I can feel her lower her guard as she eases into the comfort she feels with the group. She looks at me throughout most of it, her eyes filled with wonder while I sing and mess around with the guitar. I'm weary, but I cannot deny that her fascination feels welcome. Even though I really have no idea what's going on between us—if I feel anything for her, or if she feels anything for me—but for the time being, whatever I'm feeling is welcome.
-/-
I don't see Emma for another two weeks after she came by rehearsal and during that break I actually felt kind of relieved. Spending time with her not only seems to cloud my better judgment, but it also makes me the target for most of the jokes my band-mates make. We had gone to the People's Choice Awards last week, just not together. We both had to endure an endless queue of reporters while walking the red carpet, each of them asking the same variation of the same question. They were sneaky about it at first, the conversation starting naturally with my level of excitement about the show and the nominees, and when all those questions were over they'd slide in a question about Emma. Actual months of training went into my learning how to deflect those questions, because deflecting was all in Mary Margaret's plan to tease the public—and the bloody incessant paparazzi—before Emma and I went explicitly public at the next major awards show, which just so happened to be tonight. Now, this wasn't my first appearance at The Grammy's, but it was the first appearance where the Rolly Jogers were actually nominated.
Needless to say, I was equal parts excited and borderline nauseous. To be honest, the fact that I was going public with Emma tonight was the furthest thing from my mind. All I could think about is how far the Jogers and I have come and how bloody bad I wanted to win that award, which is why when I was waiting for Emma outside her house and I saw her walk out in a embroidered black dress the air nearly got completely knocked out of my lungs.
She looked absolutely stunning. I must have been standing like a fool as I ogled at her but I was almost transfixed by her appearance. The embroidery of her dress was stitched onto sheer fabric and it made it look like the patterns of the dress were drawn directly on her soft skin, the long dress was belted around the middle and the sheer skirt fell loosely around her legs, emphasizing her curves magnificently. She smirked at me because she knew that she looked incredible, and she knew that I thought that she looked incredible. But how couldn't I think that? One look at how her golden hair fell down the side of face, covering her eyes in an air reminiscent of Veronica Lake—I only know about Veronica Lake because my father used to watch old black and white movies on the telly everyday, and over the years I became very fond of her—is enough to confuse the lass with a siren.
"Swan, you look fantastic." I said, standing like a bloody dumbstruck fool in front of her. She grinned at me and grabbed my arm in response.
"Thank you. You clean up very nice, as well." She said as I opened the door to the limousine for her.
Whatever happened between picking her up at her house and the actual awards show is a blur to me. We had to wait the entire night to know if we had won Album of the Year or not and I almost went berserk with anticipation. Were it not for Emma's hand grasping mine whenever she felt me on the verge of a nervous breakdown, I don't think I'd be in this after party right now.
I'd be comatose.
Fortunately, we did win. And I wish I could tell you what happened when we went upstage to accept our award but it's honestly a huge fucking blur to me. The moment the presenter said that we had won I turned automatically towards Emma—who had let out an excited wail that reminded me more of a banshee than a siren—and kissed her before the lads and I basically ran up to the stage to claim our award.
It was all a blur, an absolute blur.
And now, I'm absolutely plastered sitting on a booth next to Emma—who is just as drunk and is resting her head against my shoulders to lessen the impact of alcohol—at her friend Ruby Lucas's after party. Lucas is not an actress by any means, but she just so happens to be the daughter of Hollywood royalty and has built an empire around her reality TV show.
I've seen it, it's absolute trash and I'm obsessed with it.
We've been at this party for about three hours now, the music is loud and the use of questionable substances is the probable reason behind the kilometric line to the women's bathroom. And while I'm having a hell of a time, in all honestly, all I want to do is go home and cuddle with my Grammy.
I'm fazed and still in awe about how the night has turned around. I look around me and all I see is superficial, materialistic people that this city has swallowed up and consumed entirely. I look at Emma and reflect on myself and think about the luck we had to be swallowed up by this city, but spat out back onto reality. We came from virtually nothing and we became consumed by the same superficiality that consumes everyone else here, but we've climbed out of it. We are the lucky ones.
"Swan, do you want to go home?" I ask loudly, nudging Emma's sleepy form next to me. She mutters incoherencies but nods her head, so I take it as a yes and help her up. This must be an incredible sight to behold to a third party onlooker, I honestly don't know which one of us is drunker right now, but somehow we make it back to the limousine and make our way back home.
"How sad is it that you're the best boyfriend I've ever had?" She says after we've been in the car for a while. Bloody Los Angeles traffic, we've been stuck in the same spot for fifteen minutes. I look over at her noticeably tired self and smile at her.
"Considering that I'm not your real boyfriend, I'd say pretty sad." I agree whole-heartedly, my tone making her roll her eyes despite the grin that formed on her face.
"Yes, pretty sad." She nods. Her forehead is pressed up against the window, making the city lights cast shadows on her skin. I cannot deny that the woman is absolutely gorgeous in my eyes.
"I take it your ex wasn't exactly Prince Charming?" I prod, hoping to get to know Emma Swan a little better.
"Neither are you." I'm surprised she didn't deflect the question. That seems to be a common trait with her. "You're a pirate." She grins, looking at me for the first time since we got in the backseat.
"How am I a pirate?" I ask, genuinely interested in what she has to say. I scoot over closer to her and she shrugs before answering me.
"You just are." She says plainly.
"Very convincing argument you've got there, Swan." I tease, which makes her knit her eyebrows together in an annoyed look I've come to realize is meant just for me. "How am I the best boyfriend you've ever had?" She eyes me before she answers and I can tell that her gaze is unfocused and she is still inebriated.
"Well, for starters you're very handsome and talented." She responds and I grin back at her. It's nice to know that she finds me just as handsome as I find her beautiful.
"I like the way this is going." I say, my confident—although she might say it's cocky—tone of voice making the annoyed look flit across her features again.
"Shut up." She says as she playfully swats at my arm.
"No, continue." She gives me a deadpan look and a dramatic sigh, but decides to continue anyways.
"Second, you're not with me for my fame."
"Debatable. There is some ulterior motive here, Swan. As you are well aware."
"Can I finish?" She slurs her words a bit there and part of me wonders if I should stop her, maybe she'll say something she'll regret tomorrow. However, I am just as drunk as she is so maybe I won't even remember what was said in this car ride and if there's one thing I've learned in my brief time with her is that I shouldn't interfere with her drawn out speeches. Yes, there have been several.
"Yes, my apologies."
"And you're incredible in bed." She hums simply, her eyes closed as her head bobs lightly from side to side. I almost cough out the ginger ale I had sipped out of my cup and spat it all over her dress. What on earth is she talking about? We haven't done anything—not for lack of wanting—so how could she possibly know about my bedroom performance.
"How could you possibly know that?" I ask, my breath still ragged from the near-choking incident I had just experienced.
"You were incredible in my dream and that's how I know." She hums again. I don't think she knows what she just told me, so I voice out her statement again just so she could get some semblance of what she just said.
"You had a sex dream about me?" Emma's eyes snap open. Her green eyes meet my blue eyes, and they are wide and full of evident embarrassment. Her hands quickly cover her face and she scoots a few inches away from me.
"Oh, god. I can't believe I just said that." Her voice comes out muffled through her hands. "I'm so embarrassed." She tells me, her green eyes peeking through her fingers.
A sex dream? To be honest, I feel incredibly surprised and strangely pleased. I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about her once or twice—or three or four times, but really, who's counting—in the past months, so the fact that she's had the same thoughts of me is extremely pleasing. Pardon the pun.
"Swan, you have no reason to be embarrassed." I chuckle at her evident mortification. If only she knew the things I've done while I've thought of her, perhaps the lass wouldn't feel so embarrassed. Perhaps I should tell her, just to put her out of her misery. The traffic we're stuck in is horrible enough without her horrified attitude and awkward tension filling the air. "Okay, if we're being honest here. I'll have to tell you that I had to relieve myself after our kiss during rehearsal two weeks ago and the whole time I thought only of you."
Emma finally takes her face out of her hands and she shakes her head at me, her face trying to rid itself of the small smile forming across her lips.
"We're going too far with this." She says, crossing her arms against her chest and I feel the walls rapidly building back up. I have to do something before she completely decides to shut me out. The last few weeks have been actually pleasant and I cannot have her shut me out when we have to convince the whole world that we're mad about each other.
"You think so?"
"Don't you? Christ, Killian we've made out, I've had sex dreams about you, and you've jerked yourself off while thinking of me. I think we're pushing the envelope here." She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose with her index finger on one side and her thumb on the other.
"I think we're just rather suffering from a drought that's all." I say and make her scoff.
"That's the understatement of the year."
I stay quiet after that, mulling over how I was going to go forward with the proposition that I have in mind.
"Maybe we should—" I start but she cuts me off immediately, almost as if she knew what I was thinking this whole time.
"Don't finish that sentence."
"Look, hear me out. We obviously have some tension going on here, Swan, and I think it would be beneficial to both of us if we engaged in some friendly activities. We've both thought about it, why not go all the way?" I urge, scooting closer to her so my knee touches her body, my hand resting naturally on her thigh. She takes my hand in hers and lifts it off her thigh before letting it drop onto an empty space in the seat.
"Because I don't want to actually date you. I'm not attracted to you, nor do I have any romantic inclinations towards you." She sighs, clearly exasperated.
"And that's precisely the beauty of it! We can help each other out without the added burden of a relationship." She doesn't say anything and just drops her head against the headrest. I know that she's thinking about it, and that she knows I'm right. Perhaps one night together is just what we need. "Come on, Swan. We'd simply be friends with benefits." She turns her head towards me and fixes her eyes on mine. I can feel her mind racing a mile a minute but I know that I've got her hooked when a grin starts creeping onto her face again.
"I didn't realize that we were friends." She breathes, her eyes dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second before meeting my eyes again. I grin at her as she takes my hand from the seat and places it on her thigh again.
"Brilliant, just the benefits then."