A/N: I would like to apologise for my extended absence. I can't promise my updates will be frequent from this point on but I will be making more of an effort and hopefully kicking myself out of my funk. Thank you for everyone who has left reviews, I'm attempting to find time to reply to the new ones. This fic is a Valentines present on Tumblr but I hope you all have a wonderful day as well.
As always, I don't own anything. Please enjoy and review.
Emma's foot taps as she glances once again at the clock on the wall, letting out a small sigh. There is a nudge at her foot and she looks down at Buttercup, noting the concern on her face. Well, as much as a dog could have a concerned expression. Emma rolls her eyes and smiles, picking her dog up. She strokes her fluffy Cocker Spaniel ears for a moment, drawing peace from the motion.
"I'm fine, we're not late to pick up Henry yet."
Buttercup barks happily at Henry's name and licks Emma's face, making her laugh. She can remember a time when she was completely opposed to any pet but to this day she's still not sure who does the puppy dogs eyes more effectively, her son or her dog. David should probably be high in those ranks as well, giving her a mournful look and simply suggesting that she look at some of the animals in the shelter he runs. One look at little Buttercup they were both gone.
Emma glances at the clock again and places Buttercup down, walking her over to the Reception desk. Ashley looks up from her desk and gives Emma her best smile, "I know, I'm sorry, Emma, we've had a crazy day. Dr. Fox should be finishing up soon and then you can go straight in."
"Okay," Emma says, deflating, knowing Ashley understands her dilemma better than most, "But I'm going to have to leave to get Henry from school soon."
"No need," Ashley says, nodding behind Emma, "You can go in now."
Emma turns her head and her whole body seems to freeze as she catches sight of the man crossing the small waiting area.
"Sorry for making you wait, lass, I believe you can go in now." His words – beautifully accented words – take some time to register as she does her best to tear her eyes from his entrancing blue ones. And away from his thick hair and scruff that almost begs to be touched. And away from his plaid shirt that seemed more unbuttoned than buttoned and sends a wave of heat down Emma.
He seems amused by her gaze and she shakes herself out it with a terse, 'thanks'.
"Come on, Buttercup," she says a bit brighter, completely avoiding the stranger's eyes and pulling Buttercup away before she gets a little too friendly in greeting his Husky. Her back is ramrod straight as she walks across the waiting room and she can feel blue eyes on her until she closes the door.
Emma turns another page of her book, enjoying the gentle sunlight. She looks up as Henry laughs again, chasing Buttercup with the boundless energy all children under fourteen seem to have. He lines up the Frisbee and throws it, Buttercup after it in an instant.
Buttercup is in wonderful health according to Marian and Emma was heartened by the news. She had been in their lives so long, Emma wouldn't know how to cope without her and so would always be grateful that she helped bring Henry out of his shell.
She looks down at her book again, not seeing the words, only picturing the stranger in the Vet. Emma considered her fantasies over the last couple of days proof that she might finally be able to try dating again, finally moved past the awkwardness that the whole Walsh situation created. In Emma's defence, attempting to break up with a man who planned on proposing probably didn't have much of a chance of being a pleasant experience in the first place.
Her fix on this one man was simply her mind telling her she was ready to get back into the game, and not some kind of mystical connection, regardless of what Mary Margaret attempts to insist.
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," she hears Henry call out and places her book down.
She wanders over to her son, who appears shamefaced next to a dark haired man who is holding their Frisbee and rubbing his head.
"No harm done, lad, I've taken worse hits from my brother."
Emma freezes as she hears the voice and recognises the dog on the end of his lead. She's about to turn around and hide, content to monitor her son from a distance when Henry, as friendly as ever, seals her doom.
"Is your dog any good at Frisbee? Buttercup could use some competition."
The man squats down before Buttercup and holds out his hand, which Buttercup sniffs suspiciously before moving into it.
Traitor, she thinks to herself.
"Buttercup, eh? I think I ran into you the other day. Are your parents around, lad, I'd hate for you to do anything that would get you into trouble."
Henry points at her, "My Mom's right there."
Emma curses and puts her feet into motion, attempting to pretend she didn't have a frozen-almost-panic-attack over the attractive stranger.
"Hi," she says, taking a deep breath, "I hope my son didn't hurt you."
"I'm perfectly fine, thank you, lass, I've got a thick skull."
"Can he play Frisbee with us, Mom? We hardly ever play it with other people," Henry pleads, and there go those damn puppy eyes again.
She rolls her eyes and rubs his head, "Fine, just be careful where you're aiming, kid."
Emma holds out her out and tells herself she's being friendly and her offer of a handshake is not to learn what his hand feels like, "Emma Swan, you've met my son Henry and our dog Buttercup."
His hand is warm and calloused and touching him was a massive mistake.
"Killian Jones, and this is – believe it or not – Westley."
"You're kidding," she smiles and glances over his dog, a gorgeous husky with blue eyes much like his owner.
"I am a man of action," he quips, "Lies do not become me."
Emma can't stop her eyes from rolling, something that will probably give her some form of brain damage if she don't stop soon, but the effect is lessened by the carefree laugh that escapes her lips.
"Mom, are we going to play or do you two want to hold hands the entire time?"
Emma drops his hand but can't stop the blush that spreads across her cheeks, feeling slightly mollified by the fact he seems to be blushing as well and awkwardly scratches his ear.
This is bad, she thinks, awkwardly cute and attractive were a dangerous combination.
"Too right, lad," Killian says, clearing his throat, "Let's see if your little Buttercup can keep up with Westley."
Killian moves to an open space and Henry follows, Emma frowning over the considering look in her son's eyes. It was one he's had since birth and screams mischief and mayhem and Emma doesn't like where it may lead him.
Henry has a ball, laughing and weaving between the dogs and even he's tired by the time they're finished. He's currently collapsed onto the grass, engaged in some odd wrestling match with Westley and Buttercup. Or their cuddling, she can't really tell.
"That's quite the arm you have there, lass, I'd hate to be on the other end of it."
Emma quashes the warmth she feels at the compliment with a careless shrug, "It's all a part of the job."
"You punch people in the face for a living?"
Her eyes are firmly on Henry but she can feel his gaze and the pleasant sensations it brings.
"You'd be surprised, I'm a Bailbondsperson."
"Bloody hell," he whistles, "I'd love to see you in action."
She was only telling herself earlier that she's ready to date again but this feels like too much. She's scared of what she sees in those eyes but still, she's turning, a challenge in her eyes.
"Please, you couldn't handle it."
The way he licks his lips is obscene as he steps into her space and she unconsciously sways closer. She's waiting for his response when there is barking at her feet, demanding her attention.
"I think Buttercup's hungry, Mom," Henry says as he walks over.
"Of course," she replies quickly, shutting down any feelings of disappointment, "We should get going."
She quickly gathers her things as Henry says goodbye to Westley. He gathers Buttercup's lead once he sees that she's ready.
"Bye Killian," he says, "Today was fun."
"That it was, lad, look after yourself."
Emma doesn't say goodbye, merely wraps her arm around her son's shoulders and tries to still her racing heart.
Killian takes Westley for a walk everyone Monday and Wednesday night, as well as Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon. She knows this – not because she is a stalker – but because Henry had suddenly decided he wanted to spend all of his free time in the park and not with his Xbox.
Emma had known for some time that her son was an evil genius, often finding it hilarious when he implements his little 'operations' on her friends. The humour she felt was less when the operation was aimed towards her.
She vaguely wonders what he dubbed it, an animal name like usual, 'Operation: Dog' or something more to the point like 'Operation: Hook-Mom-up-with-attractive-dog-owner'. Henry calls out to Killian with the right amount of surprise lacing his tone. Like they haven't been playing this game for the last two weeks and Henry didn't spend the last five minutes checking his watch because he knows Killian comes at a set time.
Emma pleads off their game of catch today, she had a particularly quick runner the day before and is still fatigued from the chase as well as her poorly executed tackle.
She is enjoying the afternoon sunlight when she senses a presence next to her, the tingling on her body altering her to their identity.
"Alright there, love?" He asks, and if there's one thing she's learnt over the past two weeks, it's that Killian Jones is too damn perceptive for his own good.
"Some guy thought he could outrun me yesterday and I proved him wrong. No big deal."
"Tough lass," he says and when she looks over she is caught by the open admiration in his eyes.
"Hey Mom," Henry says cheerfully, breaking the moment, "Can we have Killian over for dinner? He probably gets really hungry after all this running I make him do."
"I wouldn't want to intrude-" Killian starts.
"We don't want to impose-" Emma says over the top of him.
They both flush as Emma smiles, deciding to take a chance, "That sounds like a wonderful idea, if you're free, you and Westley are welcome to join."
His smile is probably bright enough to light a city, "As you wish."
The pizza – of course Henry wanted pizza – was delicious and Killian was an excellent dinner companion. He was sweet and charming and had a million funny stories about his adjustment to American life.
She had to give her son points when he claimed to have been cleaning up the lounge and just happened to find their copy of The Princess Bride, and wouldn't it be fun to watch it with their dogs? Even if she could buy the story that her son did any cleaning without complaint, his too-innocent expression made her roll her eyes while admiring his deviousness at the same time.
Emma hears a quiet snore during the movie and turns to see Henry, resting on Killian's arm. The sight brings a dull ache to her chest, a wish that she could have given Henry everything he deserved.
"I think the little lad tired himself out today," Killian whispers.
"That's too bad," she replies, "He loves the R.O.U.S."
She shifts over to Henry and shakes him gently, "Henry, wake up. Let's get you to bed."
"Not tired," he mumbles and curls into Killian's side.
"I can drop him in his room if you like," Killian offers.
Emma's taken aback but smiles gratefully, "Thanks, I'll show you the way."
Killian gently picks Henry up, grunting at the weight, "I would have thought he was light as a feather with all that running about he does."
Emma snorts, "He makes it back up in pizza."
He places Henry on his bed and Emma tucks him in, sneaking in a goodnight kiss. Henry sighs in his sleep and rolls over, snuggling further under the covers.
"Do you want to finish it?" Emma asks as they walk from Henry's room.
"If you feel up for it, I'm quite a fan of the R.O.U.S. as well."
Emma simply laughs and looks at their dogs curled together on the floor, "Looks like Henry's not the only one who tired himself out."
Without Henry as a barrier, Emma cannot concentrate on the rest of the movie, feeling the heat emanating from Killian's body. He's rolled up his sleeves today, leaving his forearm's bare and not helping with Emma's control.
She comes back to herself when she notices the credits roll and moves to turn the TV off.
"Thank you, love," Killian says, "I had a wonderful evening."
"I'm glad, I did too."
"I was wondering," he starts haltingly, and she turns to catch him scratching his ear, "I wanted to ask if you wanted to do this again. Dinner, I mean. And as much as I enjoy the lad's company, we might be able to have a quiet evening?"
She smiles at his stumbling and pretends to frown, "What exactly are you asking, Killian Jones?"
His gaze becomes intense as he asks seriously, "Emma Swan, will you go out with me?"
Her lips turn up as her eyes drop to his lips, his copying the motion. They lean forward together, lips touching softly before she pushes it further, deeper. It builds quickly – weeks of tension finally spilling over – as she threads her hand through his thick hair. Their awkward position on the couch is probably the main reason they slow their kiss, gently resting their foreheads together.
"I'll take that as a yes?" He asks huskily and Emma shivers, nobody should have a voice like that.
"Definitely yes."
Henry simply rolls his eyes when she tells him she has a date and says he's already talked to Mary Margaret and David about spending some evenings with them. He goes back to patting Buttercup, muttering something about stubborn and oblivious mothers, Buttercup barking in agreement.
Emma laughs and walks into her room, perusing for date wear. If this works out, she thinks, she'll have to buy Buttercup the biggest dog treat ever and probably that game Henry wanted for good measure. As she picks out her coral dress, she finds she doesn't mind.
A/N: Hope you liked it! Hopefully more will be coming along soon.
Enjoy your day,
Adrina Stark.