A/N: Writer's block is real and it is scary. Since we're transitioning into angst, let me tell you it was so hard to wrap my head around that and pin point Killian's feelings throughout this new development. In the end I was able to churn out the last half of this chapter today and I'm pretty proud of it—I 1) thought this chapter was going to be shit with the way I started it and 2) am very emotionally drained from writing it. But I got a lot of feedback last time and I hope you enjoy this chapter and don't want to kill me too much after reading it.- Steph
Chapter Eight- Blindside
As the weeks turned into April, all I could think about was Peter. All I could think when I looked into his light blue eyes was, 'Have you ever fallen in love with someone so fast that you could not possibly fathom a life without them?' Milah was continually out and about, spa-days, meetings with girlfriends, catching up on the life she had put on hold once she had had the child. To me it was no difference, and I had no qualms with looking over the little sprout. Once Peter had grasped his tiny little fist around my index finger I knew I was a goner, my heart brimming with joy when I saw his toothy grin aimed at me. Aye, I was blindsided with the affection I'd come to harbor for the lad. I've even been trying to persuade Milah to come on tour with me this summer so I can spend time with him. She's not too keen on the idea, and I don't know why but if she even were to stop by and visit us at certain locations I'd be a very happy man indeed.
David has taken the news rather well, more so than my band mates. I know that their main objections stem from Milah—Liam voicing his concerns rather loudly—but they have never had kind inclinations towards her anyways, so I tend to ignore them. I'm happier than I have been in months, truly incandescently happy, and I cannot fathom another reason save for Peter's presence. David insists on keeping up my end of the agreement I signed with Emma, sweet, understanding, beautiful Emma. She's been distant since we put a stop to our dalliance—that much I've gathered and expected—but she's been rather supportive about the whole ordeal as well. Had she not pushed me into participating in building a family with Milah and Peter—mostly just Peter—I wouldn't be as happy as I currently am. She and I have been out and about with Peter on multiple occasions now. We'll leave from my apartment or meet up at a park somewhere and spend the day together. I know that she's not particularly fond of children at the moment, so it means a lot to me when she takes the initiative to show Peter a good time. She has clearly researched about the topic, bringing home games and coloring books, movies and toys for him. Sometimes, when she's lying on the hardwood flooring of my apartment as she colors, her tongue sticks out and her eyebrows knit together, showcasing the utmost concentration, and all I can do is stare at her with a silly, dumfounded look on my face, stifling the urge to reach over and kiss her again.
We do not do that anymore and I'd do well to remember that.
Milah is not Emma's biggest fan, but I didn't expect any more or any less in that front. Most of the time, Milah stays over whenever Emma doesn't and the most they see each other is when Milah drops off Peter, always in passing and I'm sure that's how all three of us would prefer the situation to stay. It's an odd setup to be sure and I would be lying if I said that whenever Emma stays over and sleeps in the guest bedroom doesn't feel weird, off-putting. As well as I'd be lying if I said that falling asleep with Milah in my arms doesn't feel strange and disconcerting, because I absolutely feel that she doesn't belong there anymore, she's not the right size, not the right warmth. There is no glow when we wake up and we move together, there's no laughter in Milah's eyes, there's no soft, cascading laugh to fill the air. I shake my head to rid myself of these thoughts, this is what I wanted, this is what's best for Peter, what's best for this family.
Tuesday comes along with another endless tirade from Milah's part, as she asks why it is necessary for Emma to stay the night. I sigh, repeating once again that in order to portray a healthy, loving relationship, it's only natural for Emma—as my girlfriend of five months—to stay over at my apartment and for me to stay over at her house.
"Honestly, Kil, you could've at least found someone closer to your age. She's positively a child." I roll my eyes, knowing that if Emma were here she would love to punch Milah in the face.
"I'm five years older than her, Milah," I say, shaking my head and sitting in front of Peter—who's in a high chair, eagerly waiting for his breakfast—ready to scoop some porridge and give it to the lad. "It's hardly an age chasm." I bite my tongue to add that R. Gold, Hollywood magnate and her ex-husband, was fifteen years her senior.
Mila is about to go into another tirade when we hear Emma call out her good morning as she enters my apartment and I hear her drop her keys and bag on the glass table next to the front door. I've hardly time to notice Milah pursing her lips when Emma bounds happily into the kitchen, her step faltering a little when she sees Milah. She hands me a Starbucks cup and looks apologetically at Milah before she adds, "I thought you had gone already. I would've got you one had I known you were still here."
No, she wouldn't have.
"I was just about to leave. Please, make yourself at home." Milah adds scathingly, her disdain for Emma never one to be hidden from view. Emma grins as she passes next to Peter—ruffling his hair and greeting him with a 'Hey, kid!'—and goes over to the stove to help herself to bacon, chocolate chip pancakes, and some fruit that I had already laid out for her. "Will do!" She says as she sits at the kitchen table, her mouth full with syrupy pancakes. "Have fun at the spa!" Emma singsongs after Milah, who glares back before coming over to me and giving me a peck on the lips and kissing Peter on the cheeks.
"I will!" Milah cries defiantly and the next thing I hear is the front door being slammed shut.
This is why they're never here while the other is present.
Emma rolls her eyes and goes back to eating her breakfast. She notices my silence and raises her eyes to look at me sheepishly after a few moments. "Sorry," she mumbles. I shrug.
"I'd appreciate it if you would at least try lass." I say putting the spoon back onto Peter's plate and wiping the mess around his lips with his bib. "Were you not just here? Killian, she started it!" Emma looks at me incredulously.
"I'm trying." She tells me, "It's not my fault she's an axe wound."
"Emma," I start warningly and I see her green eyes light up with fire. I sigh, not wanting to be in bad terms with her either. "Let's just have a nice day today, alright?" Her eyes soften slightly and she nods.
"What do David and Mary Margaret have planned for us today?" She asks, her tone bright—forced, but I appreciate her attempt—and positive. She stands up and picks up Peter, holding him against her hip as she goes towards the sink and wets a cloth to clean up the residue porridge I had done a miserable job of cleaning up earlier. I smile at the sight, a sense of longing tugging at my heartstrings.
Emma turns and looks at me expectantly.
"Right," I start, fumbling with my phone and searching for the e-mail that David had sent me last night. "Oh, bloody hell." I groan as I look at the plan for the day. "What?" Emma starts, grabbing my phone from my hand and looking at it. "Oh, for fu—dge's sake!" she exclaims, covering her cussword rather nicely. She hands the phone and then Peter to me, taking out her phone and—what I suppose is—speed dialing Mary Margaret.
"Frozen On Ice? Mags, you can't be serious!" she exclaims into the phone, "Out of all the things you and David could have planned for us, you chose that?" I have to suppress a laugh as I see her evident contempt for Frozen, one that I unmistakably share with her. In my humblest of opinions, I believe that Disney achieved all the glory and representation that Frozen has gotten with Mulan, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and The Princess and the Frog, but that's neither here nor there. I mostly just think that snowman is the most annoying animated character since that 3D bloke in the Muppets show at Hollywood Studios. "Yes she was here earlier, what does that have to do with anything—can you stop dismissing my feelings just because I had the misfortune of seeing her this morning?" I can't help but snicker as she groans one more time, unmistakably accepting defeat, and runs her hands through her long blonde mane. "Fine! We'll go to that stupid show."
She hangs up and crosses her arms against her chest, "Looks like we won't be able to get out of this one," she mumbles. She walks over to me and grabs Peter from my hands. "I bet you don't even like Olaf, do you?" she coos at him, smiling when the lad thrusts his hands into her hair and plays with her long locks. She rests the lad against her hip and once again I am engulfed in the wistful image of what she and I could have been.
"What should we do then?" she asks, and I can see that she's caught me with the dumb look of longing in my eyes because she gives me a knowing smile. One of the many we used to share back before all of this happened, back when we were, dare I say it, together. "The show isn't until four thirty and it's a beautiful day. We could go to the beach." I offer.
"Did you want to go to my place, then?" She nods, smiling at me.
"That'd be nice," I answer, picking up Peter and taking him over to my bedroom to start packing up his things. I hear Emma laugh as she heads towards the guest room to start unpacking her stuff, making herself comfortable for the night ahead of her.
Heading out of the room I see her deep in conversation with somebody she's texting. She's been doing that a lot in the past week. Usually she stays over twice or three times in a week and we used to hang out like normal, playing video games and drinking beer. It's been different now, what used to feel like being in her genuine company has long since been replaced by her staying over because it's her job, her mind is always elsewhere, and most likely on whomever it is she's constantly talking to.
I really hope that it's Ruby, but guessing from her late night giggles and the soft smiles on her face, I seriously doubt that.
"You ready?" I ask her after I secure Peter in his pram. She nods, her attention still focused on her phone. I bite my cheek, knowing fully that I should not feel anything but happiness for my friend who has apparently found someone, just like I have.
I secure Peter in his car seat and slide into her SUV—my sports car slightly unsafe for a child—she pulls out and, though we're stuck in traffic for what feels like for fucking bloody ever trying to get out of West Hollywood, we end up in Malibu a little more than an hour later. Emma opens up the gate with a press of a button and the car slides in, inconspicuous inside the twenty-five foot ivy hedges that surround the outer gate. "Sorry if it's a bit of a mess." She says, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. "I was here a couple of days ago and I haven't had time to clean up," she continues, still nervous I notice, as she opens the front door. As we walk in the place looks like it has definitely seen more life since the last time I was here, the night after the Academy Awards, when Emma had opened herself up to me completely about her life. It seems like that happened a lifetime ago, but it was a little more than a month.
Funny, how things happen like that.
There's an empty wine bottle next to the couch, the wine glasses still tinged with the residue of the red wine, the remnants of a bag of chips, half eaten and rolled up on the coffee table. On the side table an ashtray with a burned out roach from a joint. "Seems like you had quite the party here, lass." I say, taking notice of the porch littered with empty beer bottles and the dishes lining up the kitchen counter. "Should I be jealous that I wasn't invited?" I continue, and as I turn to wink at her I meet her incredulous gaze.
"Except, you were invited," she says plainly, rolling her eyes as she starts picking up the trash. "I told you about it last week," she continues, a bit of exasperation and sadness in her voice, and I remember that she did tell me about it last week while I stayed at her house and we ate Chinese takeout as we wrapped up a show on Netflix.
God, I'm such a prat.
"I'm sorry, Swan," I tell her honestly, awkwardly shuffling Peter against my chest. She shrugs her shoulders and doesn't meet my eyes. "It's fine. I know you're busy," she says picking up the empty glasses and plates and bringing them to the kitchen.
"Was it fun?" I ask her, giving her a genuine smile when she looks up at me after loading the dishwasher. "Mmmhm," she nods coming back into the living room and starts straightening out the cushions on the couch before continuing to throw plastic cups and papers into the trash bag. She's avoiding me and I know that I've hit a nerve, but I need her to know that I am truly, genuinely sorry.
"Who all was here?" I ask again—rather loudly this time, seeing as she has sped off out onto the porch to pick up the remaining litter—as I sit Peter on the reclining chair as I start to dig through his diaper bag for the sunscreen and his Jake and the Neverland Pirates' water wings. "Quite a bit of people," she says as she comes back into the room, "Mary Margaret and David were here, you actually missed some excessive PDA on their part, Ruby and her flavor of the month, Victor…oh, Liam was here and he was very taken with my friend Elsa," she says brightly, when I fail to recognize the name she just says, "you know, the model? She's a Victoria's Secret Angel?" No, still nothing. However, I'm very pleased and surprised that my brother seemed to take a liking to a model. "Anyways, there were a lot of other people…Will, Robin, Graham, that whole group. It was pretty packed."
"Graham was here?" I ask incredulously, incredibly surprised that he and Emma had any form of relationship other than the few chance encounters at rehearsal. Even then I didn't think she liked him very much. "Mmhm," she nods again.
I'm about to ask her more about the party when I hear the familiar fretting Peter tends to make before he starts wailing bloody murder. It doesn't take me long to realize—or rather, smell—what he's crying about. I stand up and pick him up, bringing the diaper bag into the guest room—I still haven't mastered changing nappies but I rather think I'm getting there and—oh, bloody hell, I forgot the baby wipes. "Swan!" I cry out, hoping against hope that she has something in this house that can work in lieu of them.
"Yeah?" She asks, poking her head into the room, a grimace rapidly etched on her face as the odor and sight greets her. "You wouldn't have baby wipes, would you, love?" She grins at me, sly and almost mocking me.
"Did you forget?" she asks, her voice teasing me. I'd play games with her but Peter is wailing and wriggling under me and I'd rather not have shite smeared across my face. "Swan." I mutter.
"I got you covered, Killian. I bought some last week and stashed them under the bathroom cabinet. I'll be right back." She laughs as she scurries out to the bathroom and comes back into the room and hands me the wipes.
I love her.
"Thank you!" I call out to her after she exits the room. "You got it, captain!" she replies.
Once I've finished I step out back onto the living room and find her out on the porch, talking on the phone. She smiles at me when she sees me and it takes me a second to regain my composure when I see her clad in her tiny, black string bikini because after all, the attraction I had towards her was strong and is still very much present a month later.
Something else I've got to work on diminishing.
"Where do these go?" I mouth at her and she covers the mouthpiece to her phone and directs me towards the cabinet in the bathroom. Leaving Peter in her care, I decide to do something nice for her and empty out the bin in the bathroom because it's full to the brim and it's the least I could do for her being so hospitable. I try to not let it bother me, but when I pick up the bin and see that there's a used condom in it, I feel my body run cold and unmistakable jealousy course through my very soul.
-/-
I spend the rest of the day in taciturn silence, my mind half berating me for being jealous and the other part of my mind egging the ire on. It was certainly one thing to imagine her with another person, but to have it confirmed by evidence such as the one I found in the bin was something out of this world. It felt as if I had been plunged into the deepest, coldest, tub of water as realization hit me. I had moved on, and so had she.
I shouldn't be mad or jealous, and part of me is just upset that after all we've been through together she hasn't told me who, or what, or when it all happened. Is it serious? Is it just fooling around? Do I know him?
Is he handsome? Is he a better lover? Does she love him?
I try to rid myself of the thoughts but they consume my mind. The entire day I feel insecure, lost, and angry—a strange feeling of possessiveness coursing through my entire body. Every time she smiles at me it feels like she's stabbing my heart, every time I see her on the phone I want to yank it out of her hands and smash it against a wall—not before checking who it is she's so keen on talking to.
The time at the beach is short, with three in the afternoon reaching us faster than we expected it to. We shower, we dress and we're on our way to bloody, fucking Frozen on Ice. She's steering the pram when I hear the familiar shutter of a digital camera and instinct moves over me as I drape my hand across her shoulders and bring her closer to me in order to place a kiss on her temple. She smiles sweetly, excelling at playing the part of supportive girlfriend whose boyfriend's ex showed up with a baby out of nowhere and now she's glad to take care of.
We're in love, and we're happy, and this is all a bloody fucking lie.
"That wasn't so bad," she says as we exit the stadium—my jacket on her shoulders because she got cold midway through the show. I bite my cheek from snapping at her, asking her how would she know given that she was texting whoever she's screwing the entirety of the performance.
"Aye," I say instead, my grip tight on the pram's handles and my knuckles white.
We order pizza for dinner and in the middle of it, she asks me if I want to have a night swim after we're done and Milah has picked up Peter for the night. I nod, wanting to seem as calm as possible and not appearing as I feel on the inside, where rage and jealousy are tearing me apart. She asks me if I'm okay, that I have hardly said a word all day, I nod once more.
Milah picks Peter up at nine and as she moves around the apartment gathering his essentials she completely ignores Emma. Emma in turn glares at her over the brim of her glass of red wine. We are all silent, we are all brooding, and the only smile I manage to emit is when I get to hug and kiss one very tired, very sleepy Peter goodnight.
Once Milah leaves, Emma starts making moves to go out to the swimming pool. She packs up the leftover pizza—mumbling something about cold pizza for breakfast—and goes into her room to change into her swimsuit. She leaves her door open—a habit left over from when we were fooling around—and I can't help but let my gaze drift into where she's undressing and tying up her bikini—emerald green this time. She grins at me when she exits the room and lends me her hand to help me get up off the floor, where I've also been steadfastly nursing a gauntlet-sized glass of Malbec. I sway a bit and she takes the glass from me, "I think that's enough of that for tonight," she says. I let my eyes close at the feel of her hands threading through my hair, something she hasn't done in a while. Instinctively, and rather inebriated, I let my hand ghost over her exposed skin, smiling as I feel it erupt into goose-bumps, relishing that I still have that effect on her.
"We should go swim," she mumbles, her voice quiet but flustered. I nod and go into my room to change into my swim trunks. I throw a towel in her direction, and she manages to catch it before it hits her square in the face. My ire has subsided slightly, just slightly, but I'm too tired to feel anymore.
It takes us a few minutes to get to the pool, which is located a couple of floors below mine, the one that acts like a rooftop. It overlooks the city, and tonight the lights make it seem like the nightlife is bustling as always. I'm entranced with the view, some odd existential crisis taking over me as I think how small my problem is compared to the ones people might have out there in this city.
Problem. I shouldn't feel like there even is a problem. I have my son, I have the woman I love, and Emma and I never had anything that was real. "Are you sure you're okay, Killian?" Emma asks, her body already in the water, looking almost like a siren as the neon lights and the ripples of the pool reflect off her pearlescent skin, her golden hair, wet and matted but still beautiful, fanned around her. "Aye, Swan. Must you ask again?" I reply, sighing—not really helping my cause—as I slide into the warm water. She shakes her head before she starts to swim towards me and once she reaches me she throws her arms around me, enveloping me in a hug.
"I'm worried about you," she says, her voice muffled by its proximity to my skin. "You're keeping something from me," she continues as she pulls away from me, her green eyes wide and concerned. She narrows them in confusion, most likely because she saw the flash of anger flick through my own gaze. "I'm fine," I reply, unclasping her arms from around my neck and swimming away from her. If my detachment has hurt her, she shows no sign of it, she simply stays quiet as she mulls whatever it is she wants to say to me next.
"Liam asked me to talk to you at the party," she starts tentatively, swimming closer to me and sitting on the staircase next to me. She brings her knees up to her chest and hugs them close to her, "and as your friend, I think I should."
"Do get on with it, Swan." I snap, feeling in no mood for her hesitation. "Fine!" she huffs, "I don't think you're Peter's father." I groan and slide into the water, letting it engulf me completely. I am in absolutely no mood for this shite again.
"I see Liam has fed you his cock and bull theory of his," I tell her as I come up for air a good forty seconds later. "It's not cock and bull," she says defiantly, "I think there's some truth to it."
I remain quiet, not wanting to talk about the subject. "I don't think there's anything wrong in asking for a paternity test, Kil. It's the rational thing to do." The bloody rational thing to do is also to tell me that you've decided to date someone else. "I mean think about it, Kil. She shows up fifteen months after you break up with a kid on her hip and she says it's yours and you just believe her. You said it yourself, she's lied to you since the very beginning!" Emma says, I can feel the strain of desperation in her voice as she tries to make me see reason. But I don't want to find out if Peter is mine or isn't mine, I don't care. He's given me so much hope and happiness in the past month that I couldn't care less if he was mine or if the Pope was his father. I shake my head and head out of the pool, grabbing my towel as I start heading for the doors that lead to the elevator.
"Killian, I'm just worried. I'm just trying to look out for you." Emma cries out as she follows me, walking two steps faster in order to be able to catch up with me. The doors to the elevator open and I jam my finger against the button that leads to the top floor. "Killian, talk to me." Emma breathes next to me. I shake my head, the anger coursing through my body in waves, the jealousy and her hypocrisy sparking the ire back to its fullest potential.
"I'm just trying to help, Kil!" She says once we enter my apartment, and I can't bloody handle it any more and I turn to her. "Why do you even care?" I ask, and I see her retreat, her eyes showcasing confusion and fright. The confusion only lasts a split second as her eyes narrow in the fiery contempt I've come to expect from her, "Because I'm your friend," she says firmly.
"Right, that's a fucking laugh," I spit out, my voice sarcastic and riddled with irritation. I am fully aware that my ire has no stem, no valid reason for existing, but it's the only emotion that's coursing through my entire body, and by god, I will feel it. "Why are you being like this?" she asks, the room silent but for our combined heavy breathing and the droplets of water that are dripping onto the hardwood floor. "When are you going to tell me that you're seeing someone?" I ask and I wish I could take it back because it sounds so stupid, and bloody childish but it's out there and Emma is scoffing and eyeing me with incredulity.
"Is this what this is about? Why you've been so unbearable all day? Because I'm seeing someone?" she asks loudly, her eyes flaring with anger and disbelief.
"Aye, it is! You could've well fucking told me!" I retaliate, just as angry and feeling like the most stupid person alive for even sounding so envious, so possessive. "Seriously? What the hell is wrong with you?" She cries out.
"Who is he?" I say and I want to bash my head against the wall because why does it matter who he is? "Why do you care?" she asks, "You have Milah!"
"I care because I don't want some fucking wanker to mess up all the hard work we've been putting on!" She laughs then, a derisive and mocking laugh. "Oh, yeah because that is what this is about! Our hard work, not because your ego is bruised that I can find someone too!" she spits out, her towel pooling around her ankles during her outburst. It was quite disconcerting, but I managed to keep my attention on her eyes and her eyes only…for the most part. "Aye, it is about our hard work!"
"No it's not. Newsflash, Killian, I do not belong to you! We weren't in an actual relationship." She shouts exasperatedly, her arms flying up to secure her wet mop of curls into a messy knot on top of her head.
"Yeah, and you made sure of that, lass!" I shout back, wanting nothing more than to cross the chasm between us and crash my lips onto hers. She drives me insane.
"No, you made sure of that when you stood me up for Ruby's party and chose to see Milah behind closed doors!"
"You were the one that suggested me falling headfirst into this 'family'! You wouldn't hear of me doing anything but giving Milah a chance!"
We quiet down after that, our voices hoarse from the screaming, our chests heaving rapidly in agitation. "I didn't want another family to break up because of me." She says quietly, making me instinctively go to her to comfort her. "Don't!" she says, holding a hand up towards me, "don't come over."
"Swan, I—" I start, not knowing what to say but wishing to apologize for anything.
"No. Let's get something straight, Killian. I do not belong to you. And you do not belong to me. We were never in a real relationship. We fooled around and that was a mistake, a mistake that I take equal share in the blame." She pauses, considering her words carefully. "This," she motions between us, "is a business transaction and you do not get to get jealous because I decided to see someone—or even consider to see someone— behind closed doors, the same way you decided to see someone. I considered myself your friend, because despite everything I thought that's what we had developed, and I don't want to lose it because of something so stupid such as this."
We stay silent, and I try to not let her words anger me, but it's no use. I'm already angry, I'm already consumed with rage, and there's no calming the raging storm inside of me. "I was just worried about you," she says quietly, looking at me with an unwavering gaze.
"Swan, you just made it perfectly clear that what we have isn't real, it never has, and it never will be and as such I would love for you to mind your own bleeding business." She takes a deep breath, obviously trying to qualm the rage that's also vivid inside of her. Shaking her head, she bends down and forcefully throws the towel back at me, before she strides into the guest bedroom and slams the door shut.
I spend the entire night trying to convince myself that I hadn't lost her or what we had, because what we had was never existent to begin with.
The next morning, she is gone.
A/N: Don't kill me! But please let me know how much you hate me :)