Killian was obsessed, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it.
Ever since he'd talked his assistant into downloading Emma's audio files to his iPhone for him, he hadn't been able to turn them off. He'd listened to them so often that not only did he know the lyrics to each and every one, but he had developed an order of preference too. While her voice had only been accompanied by either a guitar or a piano on each song, the third track on the second set of files she'd sent him had quickly become his favorite. It was the kind of song he could imagine people around the world dancing to in clubs and at parties; or just in their kitchens as they cooked for themselves every night. It was the kind of song he could vividly imagine watching Emma dance around his kitchen to - and that mental image had been much more appealing than it ever should have been.
It was the song Killian had listened to the most while he'd been working out, walking Lily, or commuting to work, and it was the track that just happened to be playing as he stepped out of the elevator and into his mother's apartment on Sunday evening. He bent down to unclip Lily's leash and allowed her to scamper through to the sitting room as the end of the song finished playing, and he finally hit the button on his phone to exit the app.
Killian wasn't surprised to find the room full of people again as he made his way into it. His mother had a way of collecting those in her orbit, and Sunday dinners were the perfect way to bring them all together. Thankfully, he'd gotten used to it over the years, but he knew it was always strange for someone the very first time they came to dinner.
"There you are," his mother greeted, tilting her head back for him to press a kiss to her cheek. "I was beginning to think I'd simply imagined having another son."
Killian snorted out a laugh as he handed his jacket to the housekeeper and then squeezed onto the sofa beside August, whose parents, Marco and Lucy, had also joined them for the evening.
"Complain to the Commission on Presidential Debates. They're the ones scheduling these things - I'm just covering them."
"I know, Dear, and you're doing a wonderful job of that," she assured him, reaching out to gently squeeze his arm.
"Thanks, Mom." Killian flicked his gaze down to the floor as he allowed her praise to wash over him.
While he knew his mother was probably the most biased person in this respect, he also knew she was one of only two people in his life who would actually sit and listen to every single word he said. Having her support had always meant the world to him. Journalism wasn't the career she'd wanted for her son, and he knew it had been tough for her to sit back and watch as he flew into war-torn countries all around the world, placing himself in danger just to send his reports back so the rest of the planet was aware of what was going on. Yet, her belief in him had never once wavered. Now that he came to think of it, Killian was pretty sure that his mother was grateful he had turned more of his focus towards politics in recent years. At least this way, there was less chance of him being blown up or shot while he was on assignment.
"You know, I think you're probably the only one here qualified to make such a statement," he teased, casting his gaze around the space to find his friends studiously avoiding his eyes.
"Marco and I have been watching too," Lucy offered, leaning across her son to make herself heard. "We think you're doing a wonderful job, Killian. And we really like your new tie too."
"Ha!" Killian snorted out as he felt a blush begin to color his cheeks.
"You should wear it more often. It makes your eyes look so pretty," Lucy added, completely oblivious to his silent suffering.
"You know, I thought the same thing," Alice chimed in, and Killian's mortification ramped up a notch. His mother never missed an opportunity to gush about her children – but he usually preferred to be out of her presence while she did. "Where did you get it from, Darling, because I'll buy you some more of those? Think of it as an early Christmas gift."
Killian twisted the small friendship bracelet still wrapped around his wrist as he willed the color in his cheeks to drain away. "Thanks, Mom, but that would be pretty impossible. I got it while I was at a market in Nice."
"A market?" Regina demanded. "I can't believe the tabloids are going crazy over a market item."
"What's wrong with market items?" Killian challenged darkly, as he thought back to that wonderful day he'd spent in the city with Emma.
"Well, they're not exactly known for being high-quality, Killian. I know you seem to have some sort of aversion to spending money, but for the love of God, please invest in something a little more worthy of screen time."
"Mom doesn't seem to have a problem with it," he explained, flicking his eyes over to where Alice was sitting. "You haven't noticed any poor craftsmanship in your scarf, right?"
"None at all," Alice assured him.
"And Emma's worn hers at least a dozen times since she bought it, so I really don't get your problem."
The room had gone deathly silent, and Killian hadn't realized just how worked up he was until the only sound he could hear was the thunder of blood rushing through his ears. He might have been reluctant to wear Emma's tie to begin with, but it certainly wasn't because he thought she'd brought him something cheap and tacky. It was because he was an old man who was fairly stuck in his ways. However, after the network had reported record-breaking ratings and streams from his very first debate night coverage, Killian had come to think of it more as a lucky tie. He'd worn it again for each of the subsequent debates he'd been lucky enough to anchor, and he was planning to wear it for the final one on Wednesday evening.
Killian had just started warming up to Emma's idea of adding a little more color to his work wardrobe. However, with those few remarks from Regina, she had not only managed to kill his enthusiasm for that plan; but she'd also somehow made it seem like her jibes about the tie were a personal insult to Emma - and Killian didn't like the way that felt.
"Who, uh… who's Emma?" August asked timidly, shattering the silence in the room.
"She was that lovely lady who was with him for the last debate," Alice said, and Killian shook his head firmly.
"No, Mom, that was Anna. Emma is a friend. I, uh… I met her while I was in France. She was the one who told me about the market in Nice."
"You met someone while you were in France?" August asked, confusion coating his tone.
Killian studied his friend's face for a moment and then said, "Not like that!"
Maybe things between him and Emma had veered that way eventually, but their friendship wasn't like that! They spent hours every week talking about everything and nothing at all. Killian had been the person she'd called when she wasn't one hundred percent sure she understood a concept that had been covered in her lecture, and he'd talked it through with her until she felt comfortable with her understanding of the new term. Likewise, she'd been his first point of contact whenever he needed to vent about a particular news story that his bosses were leaning on him to cover and that he felt wasn't really worth the airtime. She'd been the person to help him see why the American people needed this information, and she'd been the only person who'd been able to confidently convince him to dedicate some time to said stories.
If their relationship had been solely based on sex, he was pretty sure it probably wouldn't have survived as long as it already had.
But apparently, Killian had been overthinking the issue because August simply snorted out a laugh at his friend's protest and said, "Trust me, I know!"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Killian demanded.
"Nothing," his friend soothed, as he reached out to wrap an awkward arm around Killian's shoulders. "It's just… I don't actually remember the last time you had a date. None of us here thought it was that kind of relationship."
There were some sheepish nods from his friends, and both Marco and Lucy refused to meet his gaze. Killian wasn't sure what was worse – having friends who believed he'd hooked up with some random woman while he was on vacation or having friends who clearly thought he wasn't capable of doing so. In the end, he decided that he didn't need an answer to that question, and he simply changed the subject.
"So, what are you guys hoping the moderator covers in the final debate?"
The answering groans that rang out around the room left Killian smothering a smirk as he was filled with an almost-savage pleasure at the thought of their annoyance.
With the third and final debate looming and Emma's workload ever increasing, Killian was finding it harder to schedule times to talk to his friend when she wasn't busy running between classes or heading to the library. Unfortunately, whenever Emma seemed to have some free time, he either had interviews scheduled or he was in production meetings. Killian was starting to get frustrated, and he was pretty sure Emma was too, so when his phone began vibrating across his desk with her beautiful face lighting up the screen, he was a little ashamed of the way he hesitated before reaching out to answer it. Emma never called him. It was an unspoken rule between the two of them. He was in a much better position to pay the hefty bills he'd been getting since they'd left France than she was, and they both knew it. So Killian's gut was busy telling him that her phone call could only be bad news – and he wasn't sure he was ready to hear it. Yet, no matter how worried he was about what she had to say, Killian found he couldn't resist hearing the sound of her voice once more.
"Hello?" he answered cautiously, as he wedged the device between his left shoulder and ear.
"Hey. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
Killian toyed with the idea of telling her that she was, just to put off what he assumed was coming. However, the thought of lying to her made him feel uneasy, so instead, he said, "No. I'm just in the office, going over these polling figures before the next debate."
"Great. That's great," she told him, and there was something about her tone that made Killian freeze. Emma didn't sound angry or upset. Instead, she sounded like she was trying to smother some sort of excitement.
"What's going on, Emmy?" he asked, his curiosity now well and truly piqued.
"I, uh… my agent called me like twenty minutes ago. The label really liked the demos I sent across. Of the twelve I recorded, they want to use nine for my debut album. They liked my work, Killian. They really liked it."
Killian dropped his pen to the tabletop and reached up to hold onto his phone as he relaxed back into his seat. "Of course they did, Emmy. I'm fucking obsessed with them, and I'm notoriously hard to please when it comes to music. I'm more surprised that they decided to drop three than the fact that they picked up the other nine."
"Well, you're biased," she mumbled, and Killian knew that if he'd been able to see her face at that moment, it would reflect the stunned happiness he could hear in her voice.
"Maybe, but I also wouldn't lie to you, Emmy. Not about this. I care too much about you to do that."
"Thanks," she whispered, her voice so soft it barely carried across the line. Then, she added a little more clearly, "I can't believe they liked them. I – I can't believe they want them. Nobody's ever wanted anything from me before… Nobody's ever wanted me."
"Well, that's not entirely true," Killian scoffed. "Unless I'm just some sort of elaborate figment of your imagination."
Emma laughed beautifully, and he could feel a smile breaking over his face to mirror her joy. "If you are, you're definitely the best thing I've ever created," she chuckled.
"Thank you. I think...?"
Killian paused to listen to her laugh again before he asked, "So, what happens now? When can I pre-order this album?"
"Uh, not for a while yet," Emma scoffed. "I have to actually record the songs now. In a studio that's professionally staffed. With an actual band backing the tracks. And that's not going to be a quick process, especially with school to work around. But the label has offered me another grant to help me move back and forth between Cambridge and London next month to start laying them down. I think they're hoping if they throw enough money at me, I might blow off my course and stick it out in the capital. Instead, I'm kinda trying to talk myself into buying this pair of shoes that cost more than I've ever spent on anything in my lifetime. I know I shouldn't, but – they're so pretty!"
Killian laughed at her candor. "Dare I ask what makes them so pretty?"
"They have little wings on the back of them," Emma said, like that explained it all. "Honestly, Killian, how does that not excite you?"
"I, um… I'm struggling to picture that," he told her honestly, and he was pretty sure he could hear Emma's answering eye-roll over the line.
"Wait a minute," she mumbled, and there were a few taps on her end of the line before she finally said, "Okay. Check your messages."
Killian reluctantly pulled the phone away from his ear to see a message from Emma waiting on his screen. It took him a moment to navigate away from the call page to open it, but when he did, he knew instantly why this pair of shoes had called to his friend. What looked like a simple pair of black strappy sandals from the front had been magically transformed into a brightly colored butterfly at the back, sparkling with pink, blue, and yellow crystals. Everything about the design screamed Emma, and he knew that one way or the other, she had to have them.
"They're beautiful," he told her honestly, as he lifted the phone back to his ear. "Why are you hesitating?"
"Because they cost almost seven hundred pounds," she explained, and once again, Killian discovered that ability to choke on air.
"I'm sorry, did you say seven hundred?" he asked, just to be sure he'd heard her correctly.
"See! That's exactly why I don't think I should. I could use that money for far better things than a pair of shoes. But then I see that they only have one pair left in a size six, and I suddenly can't remember all those other things I could be using that money for."
Killian chuckled at her reasoning as he said, "Yes, you could use it for far better things," because that was painfully true in every aspect of life, "But that doesn't mean you should. If it's not going to leave you hungry or homeless, Emma, you should indulge yourself every now and then. You worked damned hard to create those songs; it's only fair your reward yourself for the success you've found. Besides, Christmas is coming up soon; you could always make them an early Christmas gift to yourself."
"Or make up for all of those neglected birthdays," she mumbled, so softly that Killian wasn't sure he was supposed to hear her.
"Exactly. When is your birthday, by the way? I don't think we ever covered that, and I feel like it's something your best friend absolutely should know about you. I'm sure you've already discovered mine."
"Yep. Wikipedia does come in helpful for some things," Emma chuckled, and it didn't escape his notice that she'd completely dodged his question.
"Emmy," he cajoled.
"It's, uh… it's fine. It's no big deal. Nobody's ever made a big thing of it before, so it doesn't matter now."
"It matters to me," he pushed.
There was a moment of painfully awkward silence on the line before Emma finally huffed out, "I don't know."
"Excuse me?"
"I don't know," she repeated more firmly, and Killian could hear the bite in each and every word. "I don't know when it is, okay? The date they gave me was the twenty-second, but I found out when I was a teenager that because my parents didn't leave any identifying documents with me when they left me to die, nobody actually knows when it is. The doctors that examined me said it was likely to be a three-day window between the twenty-first and the twenty-third, so the government split the difference and went for the twenty-second. I have no idea if that's true, and I have no way of ever knowing when it actually is, so can we just drop the subject already?"
This time, the silence that settled between the two of them was loaded. Killian could practically feel his friend's disappointment and hurt stretching across the ocean, and he was pretty sure that she could sense the pain he felt for her.
"Emmy –" he eventually whispered, only to be cut off abruptly.
"– Don't!" she warned darkly. "Don't you dare tell me you're sorry or how bad you feel for me. I don't need your sympathy, Killian. I don't need anyone's sympathy. I've made it this far in life without ever knowing; I'm sure I can survive the rest of it."
"I wasn't going to say that," he promised, because he'd like to think he knew her well enough to know that even though he was sorry and he did feel bad for her, Emma wouldn't appreciate hearing it. So instead, he said, "What I was going to say was that as far as I'm concerned, this means you have three birthdays - which I believe is one more than the Queen."
Emma's laugh wasn't quite the genuine sound it had been earlier, but it was better than hearing her snap at him.
"And that means you absolutely have to come to New York to celebrate it," he continued. "There's no way I'm taking no for an answer on that. Come to the best city in the world, and celebrate all three days of your birthday with your best friend."
This time, Emma's laugh was more genuine, and it warmed Killian's heart to hear it.
"While I appreciate the offer," she chuckled, "I think you're gonna have to take no for an answer this time. There's no way I'll be able to get a flight out to you on time."
It took far longer than it should have for the meaning behind Emma's words to sink in, and when it did, Killian rushed to pull up the calendar on his computer.
"Your birthday's this weekend," he breathed out, as his eyes traveled over to the twenty-second on his calendar. "Your birthday's in five days."
Emma gave a small hum of agreement over the line.
"Fuck! I, uh… shit!"
"It's okay, Killian. Like I said before, it's not a big deal. It's never been a special day before, so I'm not expecting that to change now."
"But it should," he protested. "You deserve it, Emmy. If anyone in this world deserves a good birthday, it's you! I just… I can't believe I didn't ask you sooner. I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry about," she promised him. "And, you know, if the offer still stands, maybe I could come and visit you next year? I'd really like that."
"Definitely," Killian promised. "It's an open invite. Come whenever you want. Just… maybe mention it first, so I can make sure I'm not traveling for work when you do."
"I will," she agreed. "And maybe you could, uh… maybe you could come to Cambridge one day soon and see what we have to offer?"
"You might regret asking me that," he told her honestly, and Emma's answering laugh was a beautiful balm to his aching soul.
Wednesday morning, Killian found himself sitting at a small table in a hotel restaurant in Las Vegas, surrounded by notes and press releases. He should have been finalizing his talking points for the evening's debate based on the press releases he'd been handed the night before, but instead, he was scrolling through images on his phone.
"Pretty," Graham remarked, as he tilted his head to stare down at the phone in his colleague's hands. "But I'm not quite sure they're your style."
"Ha, ha," Killian deadpanned as he locked the device and set it down on the table. "I was looking for a friend. Her birthday's coming up soon, and I have this gut feeling that she won't buy them for herself."
"Really? Can you have her speak to my wife for me because she has an entire room at home just for shoes, and I swear to God she's never even worn half of them."
Killian snorted out a laugh as he reached for his page of notes and then began hunting down the Republican Party's press release.
"Emma's not exactly used to having plenty of money, so I think she's going to talk herself out of buying them," he said, wondering why he was even telling Graham all of this to begin with. "But her birthday's coming up, and she deserves something nice, so I was thinking of sending her some."
That was actually a bald-faced lie. Emma's birthday had been playing upon Killian's mind ever since she'd told him about it on Monday morning, and he'd been considering many different ways to show her just how much he wanted her to continue being a part of his life. He wanted her to know that things had changed and that even if her parents didn't want her - he certainly did. But everything he dreamed up seemed to fall woefully short of the mark.
"You can't go wrong with a pair of shoes," Graham chuckled. "At least, not according to my wife." He picked up the press release Killian had been searching for and began skimming through it.
"No… I guess not," Killian sighed, before giving himself a mental shake to throw off thoughts of Emma's birthday and redirect his attention to the problem at hand – debate night prep.
Two days later, Emma gathered her stuff from her very last lecture of the week and began stuffing her books and laptop back into her bag as she checked the screen on her phone. She knew that Killian had been busy with work all month, thanks to the Presidential Debates he'd been covering for ATSL, but he'd been painfully quiet all day. He'd sent her a message late on Thursday evening saying he had something he needed to do on Friday, and he'd call when he could. But as the hours ticked by, Emma couldn't help but feel like something was wrong. Even when he was busy, Killian would always find the time to message when he could, even if it was just to send her a picture of what he was doing or to complain about his day. But so far, she'd received nothing from him at all.
Sighing at the lack of notifications on her device, she hooked her bag over her shoulder and then began making her way out of the lecture hall and the building where she had spent the last three hours learning about International Relations. Emma toyed with the idea of heading into the city to get something for dinner but wrote that off fairly quickly. All she wanted to do was head back to her room and hide away from the world while she waited to see if her best friend was actually just busy with work and would call her that evening before his show; or if he was planning to ghost her now that she'd shown him a little more of just how broken she truly was.
Thankfully, the walk back to New Court wasn't a long one, and after smiling at a few of the people she recognised already leaving the building for a night out in the city, Emma made her way through the corridors and up toward the small room she called home.
When she stepped onto her floor, she froze dead at the sight that greeted her. Someone had decorated the outside of her room with dozens of pastel-coloured balloons to form an archway around the door. There was some sort of banner pinned to the door itself, but from the angle she had, she couldn't read what was printed on it. And there, sitting against the wall beside the large window, hunched over and reading a book, was a familiar-looking form.
"Killian?"
Sorry for the delay in updating ANYTHING recently. Life took a bit of a strange turn and I have very little time to do anything these days. I'm hoping it will settle down soon but I'm afraid I can't promise anything at the moment.
Thanks for reading and reviewing.
