!IMPORTANT!
First of all, I would like to announce that quite a few changes (most notably the names of the characters) have been made to chapters 1 and 2, for further, awesome OUAT:ification. While the changes don't affect the plot, I recommend you re-read the first chapters if you've read them prior to August 19, to avoid any confusion.
And once again, I'd like to thank all of you for your feedback. Writing is so much more fun in direct communication with the readers.
To respond to a comment made by Guest:
The year 1958 isn't Killian's date of birth, but the "Author's Date of Birth" (Emily, Killian's mother, is the author). This makes Emily 56 years old, and Killian is probably 25-35 years younger than his mother. A more precise age might be given out later.
I hope you will all enjoy Chapter 3!
I had a hard time relaxing my mind that evening. My lovers weren't as attractive as they usually were; the Chinese was tasteless and any attempt at chewing made me feel sick to my stomach, and TiVo had completely forgotten what the word 'cooperate' means. Instead of declaring war against the machines, I went to bed - a lot earlier than usual - just to find myself in a restless condition. I was trapped somewhere in between the conscious and the unconscious. Every time I turned, the Sandman tauntingly took one step further away from me. I could see him, but I wasn't able hold on to him longer than a few minutes at a time.
My mind was spinning in endless circles. What was I supposed to do with this, to me, new information about Killian? It was after all confidential until the story hit the shelves, which it wouldn't do within the next twelve or so months. What if I against all odds ran into him on the streets, should I pretend like nothing had happened, like I knew nothing at all? Unless I wanted to get fired from my job, that's what I had to do. I was good at faking it when needing to, but it felt different this time around, like my poker face wouldn't care to pay me the slightest of visits.
It all had reminded me that people aren't always what they seem, something that I had experienced one too many times before. Some books kept their secrets well-hidden, even though one believed they'd read its every page, down to every single one of its letters. I was good at reading books, and I was good at reading people. This time I had failed. Or had I really? I had known Killian was different, and I had known there was something mysterious about him I couldn't quite pinpoint.
I wasn't angry with him, not even the slightest. Even if he'd wanted to share his life story with me - though why would he - when would he'd been able to do so? I was rather angry with myself, for having been ignorant, selfish and self-absorbed. But how could I possibly have known? And why did I care so much about what I had found out earlier that day, anyway?
I fell into an anxious sleep - a lot later than usual - but only after having persuaded myself into believing Emily wasn't the mother of that very Killian I had been spending greater parts of my Sunday with.
"Any plans for the evening, miss Swan?" Jefferson asked curiously.
I had requested to get off work an hour earlier than usual that Friday, to help Mary Margaret with some arrangements.
"I promised a friend of mine to assist her in the preparations for this charity event she's been planning for ages," I responded, absolutely certain Jefferson would agree to my request.
I rarely asked him for anything, and I had barely been home sick one day since I began working at the office a few years earlier.
"A charity event you say. It doesn't happen to be the auction collecting money for children with cancer, now does it?"
"That's correct. You know about it?" I asked, a polite smile on my lips.
"I've personally been helping out with its funding." He let out an amused chuckle. "You're free to leave when you must, Emma. I guess I'll see you tonight."
Weirdly enough, I didn't use to see my colleagues, let alone my boss, outside of working hours. My personal and professional lives were two completely different elements I did not in any want to mix with each other. Office-Emma was correct, organized and always on time, while private-Emma was… quite a mess. I wanted to keep both versions of myself separated as much as I possibly could.
Two hours after lunch and I was ready to head off for the day. I clenched my hand and placed three careful knocks on the teak wooden door, before I opened it and entered Jefferson's office. He never scheduled any meetings during Friday afternoons, so I wasn't worried I would interrupt something.
"Just letting you know I'm leaving for the weekend," I said.
For a second, he was looking at me with confusion, like he'd forgotten his promise to let me leave earlier.
"Charity duty's calling," I reminded him.
"Oh, right. Of course. Good luck and see you later." He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, but his words made me uncomfortable in some unexplainable way.
I closed the door behind me without responding with more than a nod.
"Careful with that!" Mary Margaret exclaimed in a high-pitched voice as Ruby picked up a brown cardboard box. "It contains a complete tea set of 19th century hand painted china."
"Geez, relax," Ruby retorted. "It's not like I'm usually reckless, you know."
They eyed each other for a brief second before I added, "Ruby's right. You're acting way too tense, Mary Margaret."
"You're right, I'm sorry. It's just… I've been working so hard for this, and now it's finally happening. I can't thank you guys enough for helping me out," she responded, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Mary Margaret had been a busy bee for sure. Without overestimating, there were a hundred of objects collected for tonight's auction, now in need of being transferred from the building's lobby all the way up to its top floor. Forty floors, with only two elevators at our disposal.
I wasn't sure whether or not it was doable in the approximately one hour we had until the building would start to crowd up with rich people and their heavy wallets. At least some of their money would end up where they were needed tonight, thanks to Mary Margaret.
The elevators filled up at a surprisingly high pace. When we couldn't possibly stuff anything more in them, Ruby and Mary Margaret entered their respective elevators and pressed the buttons labeled '40' almost simultaneously.
"See you up top guys!" I started to ascend the carpeted marble stairs with one medium sized painting in each hand, a decision I started to regret around the fifteenth floor. I was far from unfit, but began to realize I had overestimated my own capabilities.
My mouth tasted of blood when I finally reached the fortieth floor. I folded myself double from the pain in my side, before joining the girls with moving the stuff from the elevators and to the grand hall where the auction would take place.
We made it just on time before the first guests arrived.
The lighting from the chandeliers was warm and cozy, and threw soft shadows across the hall. About two hundred chairs covered in ivory satin gave the event an additionally luxurious touch. Mary Margaret was busy adjusting her microphone, testing its sound every ten or so seconds, until she was content with its volume. I managed to get myself and Ruby seats at the front row. Not that I had planned on buying anything - my budget wouldn't exactly approve - but I knew having us within sight would help calm Mary Margaret's nerves.
Mary Margaret was showcasing the items, one by one, from the stage in front of us. If available she also shared the item's background story before accepting any bids. She didn't seem uncomfortable at all standing in front of that many people. The spotlight turned her into a different person, confident and self-assured. She was the star of the evening and I couldn't possibly be any more proud of my friend.
One of the paintings I had previously been carrying up the buildings forty floors was an original by a to me unknown artist, and it had been painted solely for the purpose of the auction. The artist had chosen to call his work 'Simple Sardine' which made absolutely no sense. Its lines was anything but simple, and there were no fish to be seen in the explosion of different nuances of green and blue, at least not by the untrained eye. I did however experience some kind of attraction toward its messy abstractness.
"Do we have an offer for this exquisite piece of art?" Mary Margaret paused to have a sip of water. "Three hundred for this original painting?"
I raised my hand.
Mary Margaret gave me a surprised look from the stage, and Ruby turned toward me with her eyebrows raised high. I gave them a reassuring nod.
Three hundred was within my budget, and I convinced myself the painting would make a nice addition to my apartment. I'd hang it on the currently empty, white wall next to my dining table. A table which purpose had been eradicated by me always having my meals in front of the television.
"We have three hundred by the blond lady at the front row. Going once, going twice, -"
"Three fifty," a man's voice a few rows behind me exclaimed.
Damn it.
"Four hundred," I once again raised my hand. It wasn't that I badly wanted the painting, but I hated losing more than I hated anything else. I promised myself I wouldn't go any higher than five hundred. Or rather, I promised my wallet.
"Five hundred," the man's voice added.
I admitted myself defeated and watched the rest of the auction quietly and without placing another bid, out of pure stubbornness.
As the event started to come to its conclusion, people were emerging from the crowd of chairs to collect their items. Myself and Ruby helped out Mary Margaret with collecting money and printing receipts. From the corner of my eye, I could see how Mary Margaret handed over the painting, my painting, to a familiar looking man.
"So, you're the one who outbid me," I approached him, my arms crossed over my chest.
"You must be the blond lady at the front row," Jefferson smirked at me, head tilted. "I didn't know you were interested in art, Emma Swan."
"I'm not. Just thought I'd contribute to the charity," I added, not wanting to let my disappointment shine through. I couldn't help but stare at the painting in Jefferson's right hand. It wouldn't have looked nice by my dining table; it would've looked fucking perfect.
"I just might be convinced selling it to you… if you share a bottle of wine with me."
Holy fuck. Was Jefferson asking me on a date?
"I don't date my co-workers," I stated, absolutely certain he'd understand and not push the subject any further.
"Good thing I'm not your co-worker then." He gave me a smile that would've convinced me if it wasn't for the fact that Jefferson was my boss.
"I don't date my bosses either," I added, avoiding any and all eye contact out of discomfort.
"Consider it a business meeting. Just one glass, Emma. Please?"
Did my own boss just beg me?
"Fine. One glass. And you'll sell me the painting for no more than five hundred." I guess I wanted it simply because I couldn't have it.
"You're a tough negotiator, Emma. I believe we have ourselves a deal."
"White or red?" Jefferson asked as we seated ourselves by the bar in the highly sophisticated restaurant, still on the fortieth floor.
"White, please." I associated red wine with painful migraines.
All I could think about as he helped me get out of my jacket was Doctor Hopper and my next step. Controlling my impulses was an absolute must this time around.
In my head, it didn't matter if I slept with a random guy every now and then, as long as they were just that; random. Jefferson wasn't just a random guy, and I'd be absolutely mortified coming back to work on Monday morning if I would let anything whatsoever happen between us. I couldn't, and I wouldn't.
Perhaps this isn't too bad a practice after all, a thought I tried to strengthen myself with. Doctor Hopper would've been pleased to hear all about it, if I managed to control myself.
"So… Tell me something about yourself, Emma. We've been working alongside each other for quite some time now, and yet I barely know you," he said, his body leaning toward me, legs crossed and arms resting on the bar desk's polished wooden surface.
The fact that Jefferson was a young, handsome and successful man didn't make resisting him any easier.
"Well, what do you want to know?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't respond with a much too personal question.
"Where do you see yourself in, let's say, five years?"
I approached the question like I would've done on a job interview; I had to keep my defenses up.
"I hope for a prominent position at the office… Editor, perhaps."
"Is that so." He eyed me carefully. "You're quite secretive."
"I guess that depends on with whom I'm speaking," I responded, a half-hearted smile on my lips.
"How come you're still single? A good-looking young woman like yourself should have no problem finding that special someone. No guys good enough for you?"
"I don't think that's any off your business," I reminded him politely, trying my best to keep up that wall between us. If it fell for as much as a second, I'd be royally screwed.
"I take that as a yes, then," he smiled.
"Why the sudden interest anyway?" I countered as I took three large sips of the chardonnay he'd ordered for me. In this pace, my glass would be empty in no time, and I'd be heading home with my for some reason highly desired painting.
"It isn't very sudden at all, Emma. It's just damn hard to catch your interest, so to speak."
I felt how my cheeks started to heat.
"You knew I was the one placing a bid on that painting, didn't you? You outbidding me was you planning for this scenario all along!"
"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do," he laughed, acting all innocent.
I emptied my glass in a matter of seconds.
"You can keep the painting," I retorted, unable to conceal my frustration, as I jumped down from the tall barstool.
I knew Monday morning would be awkward whether or not I slept with him. It seemed like he had a thing for blondes, after all. I also knew all of this had been a bad idea, no matter how it would've ended.
"Hey, I didn't mean to startle you," he said as he grabbed me by my wrist, seemingly unwilling to let me leave.
I let a drawn-out sigh escape my throat.
"You didn't startle me, Jefferson. You disappointed me, and that's a big difference. I've been nothing but professional toward you. I've ignored the rumors about you at the office simply because I wanted to believe you were better than that, better than the rest, while all you wanted was to get me on my back," I hissed.
"It's all a big misunderstanding, Emma, I-"
"If you'll excuse me." I withdrew my arm in one quick movement and grabbed my jacket from the stool next to Jefferson's.
"Emma, please, at least let me explain!" I could hear his words behind me as I approached the elevators. But I wasn't the person who'd stop and listen to a whole lot of bullshit excuses.
Was he coming after me? I didn't want to look over my shoulder, but as the elevator's doors opened, that's exactly what I did. And that's exactly why I literally ran into someone's chest.
"Oh god, I'm so-" I interrupted myself as I took a step backwards and realized just whom I'd ran into. I froze, unable to finish my sentence.
I hope I didn't confuse you all too much with the name changes. Truth is, I've been picturing Emma's friends as Ruby and Mary Margaret inside my head all along, and I had been planning to name them accordingly. But something, not sure exactly what, changed my mind before I published Chapter 1.
After careful consideration and a very helpful conversation with one of the fic's readers, I decided to go back and change the names before I published any more chapters, to avoid further confusion.
Both you and I want it to be an OUAT fic after all (else we wouldn't be here), so why not take advantage of its characters and make them come to life in this alternate universe.
Did I make the right decision? Are you mad with me? Happy? Please leave a review below!