Author's Note: Welcome back! I'm thrilled Set Adrift reached 69 followers. What a schmexy number. ;)
As usual, thanks go out to my beta, JustAnotherLoneWolf.
But more thanks go out to all the reviewers! I do an intense happy dance everytime my email has a fanfic alert and it is a review/follow/fave.
You all make my life. I try to respond to each one-if I missed you please accept my apology and write another review.
Dear God this headache cannot be real. Sunshine blinded Emma; it sent spikes into the back of her head. She tunneled under the comforter then shoved her face into a pillow. Oddly enough the pillow smelled like earth and sea, not her detergent. Alarmed, Emma sat up and looked around the room while inspecting her clothes; the baggy tee and plaid pajama pants weren't hers but the underwear were the same leopard printed ones from the day before.
Emma's stomach rolled; she bolted for the nearest door while keeping a hand as a dam against the bile at the back of her throat. Down the short, familiar hallway she toppled to her knees in front of the toilet and retched.
How the hell did she wind up at Robin's apartment? It occurred to Emma that she had not woken up on the guest bed, couch, or in Robin's room. That left one option. The pain in her head made her stomach flip again, and left her dry heaving for several minutes.
After rinsing out her mouth, Emma returned to Killian's room and rolled into his bed. Not sure about the events of last night, and too hung-over to care, Emma pulled the blankets over her head, curling into a tight ball.
Right when Emma started drifting back to sleep, the blankets were pulled back from her head. The light stung her eyes; it forced her to throw up an arm, blocking out the rays. She groaned and said, "Five more minutes."
Stretched out on the downstairs couch, Killian stopped watching television when he heard movement overhead followed by the unflattering sounds of vomiting.
"About time, Swan," he said and climbed the stairs to check on her.
Killian whipped the covers back from her head and grinned when she groaned.
"Rise and shine," he said.
She hushed him and said, "Stop yelling. I need watered down lemonade, lots of ice, a bag of ranch Doritos, and a cold wash cloth."
"We need to talk about last night."
"Get me those things and I'll sing like a canary, Jones. Until then I'm going to vomit and remain dysfunctional. Right here. All day."
"What was it again?"
"Unh, seriously?"
She shivered when his accented whisper filled her ear as he said, "Last night you told me I could ask for anything in my sexy accent. So this is me asking nicely for you to repeat yourself, because you're in my bed and at my mercy."
Emma repeated the list with one addition. "Grab my toothbrush and toothpaste. They're in my purse, wherever that ended up." He nodded and left the room.
An hour later he sat in his armchair watching Emma demolish chips in between gulps of watery lemonade. With a satiated sigh she closed her eyes and rested against the headboard.
"That good?" he asked.
"Perfect. Can I keep you on speed dial for mornings like this?"
Killian shook his head. "Time to sing then, Swan. How long have you been living in out of your car?"
"And just like that I feel like throwing up again. I'm taking you back off speed dial."
Killian cocked an eyebrow. Guess he wasn't going to let this go. Did she begin with her deadbeat foster parents? Her inability to pay for college? Or with Mrs. Pond kicking he out? Perhaps she should begin with Neal. She froze and pressed her forehead against her knees. Shit, she'd almost forgotten about last night. Within the memory fragments floating around in her head she saw Neal, felt his unwelcome touch and lips. She remembered saying 'No' but that was where the fragments ended. Tears burned under her eyelids.
After a few deep breaths, in a voice laden with stress, she asked, "What happened? Did Neal and I—did he—I'm so confused; I remember a couple loaded Coronas, too many shots, and Converse."
"Your hangover attests to the drinks and shots, but I'm not sure about you conversing very much after drinking them."
Emma lifted her head. "Not converse, Converse. You know, Chuck Taylors, All-Stars, high-top black canvas sneakers?" How did one get through life without knowing about Chuck Taylors?
"Perhaps you can show me some other time. All I recall is your not wanting to get on the man's motorcycle. You were quite adamant or would have been if you'd taken a shot or two less."
The word motorcycle splashed over Emma like a bucket of ice water.
"What is it, Swan?" Killian asked at her change in body language.
"I don't suppose," She cleared her throat and looked down while she picked at the comforter. "I don't suppose you know if Neal was wearing jeans or shorts last night? Did he have a jacket with him?" She was pretty sure he'd been in shorts and hadn't had a jacket the whole night but wanted Killian to confirm her hazy recollections.
His eyebrows pinched together as he thought back.
"He wasn't in jeans. I couldn't tell you if he had a jacket or not."
"I don't remember any gear lying around the house. It was a pretty small place; I would have seen it when I got there. The weather is getting to cold to ride without gear at night." At Killian's questioning look she added, "One of my foster parents was big into riding. Never shut up about it. No boots, no jacket, no helmet. Over my dead body was Neal going to show me any bike, Killian. He could've—he was going to—" Before her sobbing intensified Killian ran a hand through her hair then forced Emma to look at him.
"But he didn't get the chance, love."
Instead Killian swooped in and saved her again. The thought triggered a sudden flood of memories from last night. Bowties and lips and—mortified; Emma was completely mortified.
"I take it from that look on your face it is coming back to you. Aye, Swan?" He leaned in close to her ear and said, "Something about bowties, perhaps?"
She could feel the heat of her blush across her cheeks.
"What exactly did I say last night?"
"Swan, I'll tell you all about the secrets you let slip, later. In exchange for Doritos and lemonade I was promised answers. Time for my Swan to turn Canary."
Most likely, he didn't know more than what he was asking about, which meant she could throw out lines about rent or convince him it had been just the one night. Emma opened her mouth but Killian held up a hand and said, "Don't insult me with the lies you force feed your friends."
Moving to her bedside, he took her hand in his. Emma watched his thumb rub circles into her palm; tingles rippled across her skin.
He continued, "Let me see if I can guess instead. Two weeks ago fired you, forced you to leave her home. This piled onto other things, that we will get into, triggered the panic attack. Don't speak; nod if I'm on the right track."
Emma gave a slow nod.
"Now you're homeless, working two jobs, and your parents aren't in the picture to help."
"How did you know about my parents?"
"Because, love, it takes one to know one. And any father in his right mind with a daughter as beautiful as you would be breaking down doors if she never came home."
Killian wiped away an escaped tear from her cheek and pulled Emma into his arms where she rested her head against his shoulder. When her cries began his heart broke because all he could do was stroke her hair and wait it out.
After her breathing slowed and her crying hushed, Emma spoke in a whisper.
"I'm so tired, Jones. Can we please just sleep?"
"As you wish."
Killian maneuvered them to the center of the bed where they slid down under the sheets and spent the rest of the morning asleep, tangled up in each other's arms.
Author's Note: Reviews are welcomed with open arms. Complements are great but I'm always open to criticism as well. How else would I improve?
Also be sure to check out my new story, Southern Nights (I). It is part of a series I've started with OUAT and Firefly. Feel free to send suggestions my way for this story or another. If you don't want to do it in a review send me a PM.
-Cade