wonderwall

(adj.) someone you find yourself thinking about all the time, the person you are completely infatuated with.

Chapter 5: Wonderwall

"My brother thinks it'd be better if you lie down to sleep," Killian comments when Swan settles on the couch and draws the quilt over her. His quilt. Which probably now has her scent on it, allowing him to be tormented by it all night. He'll never, ever play the savior hero again.

"I'm not tired, and I doubt I'd be able to sleep."

That's what he was concerned about. If Killian knows his brother, Liam would almost certainly stop by to wish half of Storybrooke a happy new year, so who knows when he'll arrive home. In the meanwhile, what should he do with this lass? Apart from the things he would love to do with her.

Swan's face lightens up. "I think I could eat."

Killian nods and walks into the kitchen.

"What would you like? Granny, one of the residents, provided us with enough food to feed an army, so there's something for everyone."

"I'm not sure what I like," she admits after a little pause, "but I'm eager to try anything."

"Anything?" Killian turns his gaze to her, his brow pinched with innuendo and incredulity.

"Why not?" Swan smiles, her countenance extremely girlish. "It's almost like an adventure. Who knows? Now that I can taste things objectively, I could enjoy something I didn't like before."

"All right, as you wish."

"Do you need help?"

"No." The word comes out harsher than he intended, and she was most likely just being nice. But this question still strikes a chord with him. "I believe it's better if we keep as far away as possible." There. That's better; he mentally pats himself on the back for striking a friendlier tone. "Apologies."

"You really find me attractive, don't you?" She mumbles faintly, half-asking.

Killian closes his eyes. It could be a good idea to explain this to her. With a long sigh, he returns his gaze to her.

Swan offers him an optimistic expression.

Killian is baffled; does she not believe she is beautiful? Is it simply a whim of the feminine mind? He understands that even when everything is perfect, women are prone to noticing flaws.

"Aye, and to prevent misunderstandings: I don't typically play with women, or at least not in the manner you understand now," Killian says, catching Swan's gaze as she blushes once again.

"Don't you think that's strange?" she offers half-heartedly.

"What is?

"How little you know about me and..."

"You don't know who you are either, love."

"Well, that's true," she shrugs, a slight chuckle escaping her lips, and Killian is happy that his unintentional statement did not insult her. Swan's absence of tantrums and self-pity, as well as the fact that she has accepted her circumstance and appears to be making the most of it, intrigues him.

"But isn't it still strange?" she asks again. "Being attracted to a stranger."

"In my perspective, everyone is a stranger at the beginning of all relationships."

"Touché," she concedes grudgingly, "but we only met a few hours ago, and we almost kissed in the bathroom."

Unfortunately, the emphasis is on almost. Killian wishes he was more confident, but how could he be? Swan's condition is not simple, even if she looks to be a powerful lass. At present, she only knows his brother and him; after all, Killian was the one who saved her, and he doesn't want this to be the trigger for a deep relationship between them, because it would be disastrous. He has never been and is unlikely to ever be the sort of man who is suited for a relationship.

If something happened between them, she can inadvertently presume more than is true just because they're already linked. Killian, on the other hand, doesn't wish to cause her any harm. He has no clue what Swan is like, but despite her prickliness and outspokenness, the lass on the couch is a frail thing, and Killian likes her. But it's more than a fleeting fancy; he admires and appreciates her fortitude, tenacity, and persistence. Because if she cried, no one, absolutely no one, would judge her, but instead she smiles and looks ahead merrily.

"You know, most of the women I've kissed in my life, I kissed them after about the same length of acquaintance," he adds purposefully indifferently, and while the remark is plainly an exaggeration, he wants Swan to realize that he is not Prince Charming, and that attraction is just that. Nothing more than a simple physical response from the body.

"So you're a Casanova?" she jokingly asks. She doesn't appear disappointed, and Killian is bewildered as to why this makes him feel just that.

"I wouldn't go that far," he admits hesitantly, "but the assumption is flattering." Swan, too, grins softly and innocently, prompting weird feelings in Killian. For example, he wants to protect this woman, and he wants her to always smile so brightly-

No, he must stop.

Attraction is inescapable, but these kinds of thoughts are not typical of him, and they make little sense given the circumstances. He's only known her for a few hours, and the lass he knows may vanish the minute Swan starts remembering her life, so the person he likes here now might not even exist the next instant.

He approaches the refrigerator and gently unpacks the plastic food containers onto the kitchen table. When he claimed there was a broad range of food stacked up in the fridge, he wasn't exaggerating, and that didn't even include the cookies in the pantry. He piles everything on the table, then removes the tops of the boxes, prepares the silverware, and carries as many boxes as he can with one hand and a prosthesis to the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Are you sure I can't help?" Swan offers on his second trip to the kitchen.

Killian doesn't reply anything, instead arches his eyebrows at her.

"All right, forget I asked," Swan concedes.

Killian returns his focus to the kitchen with a nod.

"You don't talk much, do you?" She inquires when he finishes his next round.

Killian raises an eyebrow again in answer to the query.

"Right," Swan nods, and Killian temporarily forgets what he's doing and simply stares at the woman.

How can someone be so naturally lovely? He'd seen many beautiful women in his life, after all, he worked with actresses and dancers, but none had ever attracted him as much as this one. There were people he liked, people who piqued his curiosity, and people he slept with, but no one ever made such an effect on him. What makes Swan so different?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She asks, her face wrinkled in confusion.

"How?" Killian inquires quietly, still captivated by her expression.

"Like I'm a puzzle that needs to be solved."

"Because you are a puzzle that needs to be solved. An extremely attractive one."

Killian shakes his head and heads into the kitchen. He escapes from her for the second time, and the third if he counts the time he went to acquire clothing at his brother's request, which was useful at the time. Furthermore, counting the socks and going to seek for her purse make it five times in less than an hour or two. It's a significant (and pitiful) accomplishment. What exactly is she doing to him?

He takes way too much time in the kitchen. He knows he's taken everything in, but he opens the fridge one more time, pretending to check for anything he's forgotten. The coolness from the refrigerator is extremely soothing, and it aids in his relaxation.

When it gets too awkward to continue stalling, he returns to the living room with a plate from the cabinet, a fork, and a spoon from the drawer. Swan, thankfully, isn't paying attention to him and is more interested in the food on the coffee table. The quilt has gathered at her waist, and her t-shirt is tightening over her chest as she leans forward.

Killian doesn't want to stare at her, but he's only a man. The sight of the not-too-large, but deliciously round mounds drives blood to his nether regions, so he hurriedly lays the dish on the table and then sits down, believing that this would conceal his condition.

Swan takes up the plate and grabs for a little bit of everything. When she stated she was eager to try anything, she clearly wasn't lying.

The snow-white, delicate curve of her neck, her thin arms, and her little hands captivate him, and his attention regularly drifts to her breasts. It's a good thing they have so much food at home since she takes her time trying everything and he can enjoy watching her eat.

She is breathtaking. She is no longer as colorless and pallid, and her face has regained some vitality. Her eyes twinkle, and her lips twist up in preparation for a smile. Where did she obtain all of her strenght? Where does she find her courage and strength? After all, she has no memories, no one to rely on, and she just exists in the present. Perhaps it is because of this that she appreciates what she has. Because everything is fresh and unfamiliar to her, she has no expectations. Even yet, Killian feels that processing what happened to her in this manner would be tough; in fact, he believes that only a select few people would be able to do so.

He, for example, definitely is not. He's a pessimist, especially now that he's lost his music. He only now realizes that he can draw connections between his own and Swan's life. Of course, what happened to her is more difficult, complex, and frightening, but that is what they have in common. He seeks himself in the absence of music, while she pursues herself in the absence of her memories. Swan, according to Killian, would win if it were a competition since she would benefit from the circumstances while he would plummet headfirst into the abyss. Swan could probably teach him a thing or two.

With her plate nearly overflowing, she leans back and begins with Granny's potato salad. Killian is captivated by the spoon's journey, and no matter how ridiculous the notion is, he wishes he could be in the spoon's place. He carves to be the one touching her lips if Swan fluttered her eyes closed when he says her nickname.

Bloody hell, she's only eating! It's ridiculous to have these thoughts as a result of it.

A chill goes down Killian's spine when Swan takes the next mouthful and lets out a nearly carnal moan. No, she must cease making these sounds because they are unbearable.

She chews softly and clearly enjoys herself, and the pleasure of the flavours softens her expression.

Is it truly so exhilarating to taste a flavor for the first time? Swan has, of course, felt them before, but she has no idea what it's like since she can't remember. Killian was never one of those individuals who ate for enjoyment. He eats when he's hungry and has favorite foods, but he's never been concerned with taste differences or harmony. But what would it be like to try something for the first time? What if he approached each taste as though it were his first?

Swan sighs again, and all thoughts leave his mind. Her tongue extends out for a second, softly licking her lips, then she takes another piece in her mouth while making a delighted hum similar to a kitten's purr. Is she making similar noises when she makes love?

He's going insane, he can't take it any longer.

"Are you doing it on purpose?" he exclaims.

"What?" Swan is puzzled as she looks at him.

She's not doing it on purpose, of course. She's probably unaware of what she's doing to him.

"You're a natural seducer," sighs Killian, throwing his head back and closing his eyes to avoid her piercing gaze. He can't look at her. He doesn't want to hear her voice either, but he can't cover both of his ears.

"But I'm just eating," Swan explains innocently.

Killian growls, "Exactly."

"I'm not sure I get it."

"Even that... it doesn't matter," he says, forcing himself to remain still. He is unable to look her in the eyes.

"Tell me."

"No.

"Please."

Killian stays silent, thinking that's enough of a hint, but Swan is clearly tenacious and determined, not a girl to give up easily. Killian is acutely aware of her gaze on him, which is nearly burning a hole in his skull.

"I'm really curious, and the more you keep silent, the more interested I am."

"You're going to be upset."

"I'll take the chance.

Killian gives her a glare.

"As you wish," he murmurs darkly. "I simply wanted to point out that even something as basic as you eating makes me aroused."

She blushes, but she doesn't move; instead, her gaze shifts away from Killian's face, and her reaction burns him with reality. Killian can feel blood pouring from his head as Swan shifts her focus to his crotch. He has no idea how noticeable his condition is; he hopes the pants and shirt hide it, but Swan flushes even more when she realizes just where she's looking.

"Sorry," she replies quietly.

"I should be the one apologizing," Killian sighs, shaking his head. It's not courteous of him to vent his frustration out on her. She is driving him insane, but if he keeps reminding her of this, none of them will benefit.

She gives him a shy look, but there's a mischievous grin in the corner of her mouth.

"Is it wrong that I like having such an effect on you?" He can tell by her voice that she is concerned about this concept, and it gives her the appearance of innocence, despite the fact that her eyes are more like those of an experienced seductress.

Killian wonders how many men's heads the true Swan (who is most likely not named Swan) has turned. In his opinion, if she can use all that is now unconsciously flowing from her as her actual personality, there is no man who would not fall for her. Has she dated a lot of men? Is she more romantic or practical when it comes to sex? What is the real Swan like?

"I don't believe so," he ultimately responds, "I think everyone likes to feel attractive in the eyes of others."

"How about you?"

"Aye, me too," he says honestly. He won't deny he didn't mind that most women found him attractive, that he didn't have to go out of his way to keep his bed from being empty. At least, this was the case before.

She smiles gratefully and relievedly before returning her focus to her dish. She continues to eat slowly, frequently with her eyes closed, exposing herself to a whole new experience, but she tries not to moan after every mouthful, and if she does, she always apologizes. He appreciates it and somewhat helps him regain his sanity.

"I don't think I can eat anymore," Swan confesses. As she sets the plate on the table, Killian realizes that there are still a few morsels on it, but he isn't shocked that she couldn't finish it. Because she's so slim, she probably doesn't eat much.

"That was fantastic, thank you," she whispers, tenderly running her palm over her stomach. "I feel like I'm going to explode," she adds with a laugh, bending her head. "I'm thinking about becoming a food critic. Maybe I am."

"I doubt it; you wouldn't look that way if you were," Killian points out.

"Perhaps I exercise a lot, or I'm just lucky," she shrugs merrily until a gloomy expression appears on her face. "Or maybe I don't enjoy eating at all? Or I'm just trying to lose weight?" She seemed to shudder at the idea. "I'm pretty nuts if that's the case," she grins. "I like eating a lot."

And I like watching. Killian thinks with a groan.

"Aren't you hungry? How can you resist eating after seeing so many delicacies?"

"I ask myself the same question," Killian murmurs.

Swan furrows her brows and carefully scans his face.

"Why do I get the feeling you're saying something entirely different?"

"I think it's better if I don't respond right now," Killian says, his voice strained.

She gives him another look before shrugging, realizing it's not a good idea to explore the topic.

"What do you do for a living?" she asks, but Killian would also forgo this topic.

"I used to be a composer and pianist."

"Really? That sounds interesting." She says this with her eyes glistening with excitement, seemingly skipping over his usage of past tense. "Are you famous?"

"No, but I never wanted to be, and it doesn't matter anymore."

He had no wish to be famous, but thanks to a competition, he was able to work in big cities and even got offered a job in his birth country in England. He had countless requests after a while and would have had his opportunity, but his name became well-known in the business with the release of his debut soundtrack. The film itself was a flop, but everyone adored Killian's music, which opened numerous possibilities for him. He also liked shooting and working with the symphony orchestra; the attention and notoriety were pleasant, but he quickly discovered that he loves the more private and closed theatrical jobs. On the other hand, he had always thought that music required his complete focus since he did not want the misleading, fickle, and fast-disappearing glitter of fame to dominate his mind.

"What do you mean?" Swan's voice is laced with curiosity.

Killian tenses at the attention; he's used to being alone most of the time, and he knows that few people care about him. The majority of the ladies he encountered either wanted to unwind, like himself, or were convinced he could assist them in climbing the "ladder" under the patronage of the great composer. Whatever motivated these women, one thing they all had in common was that they weren't interested in more, which Killian didn't mind. Music was all that mattered to him.

"I no longer compose music. The piano is self-explanatory" he says as he lifts his left wrist, his voice somewhat harsh.

Swan nods, but insists on asking, "The piano I get, but why did you stop writing music?"

Killian has no clue how to describe it and refuses to talk about it.

"Do you always ask so many questions?" He looks away from her. He alters his tone in order to divert Swan's attention away from him.

"I don't know, I don't remember," she says, waving her hand, a tiny grin on her lips, "But don't try to change the subject. So?"

"You're a pain in the ass," Killian retorts, crossing his arms across his chest.

"At the very least, it's less of a temptation for you," she asserts emphatically.

"Lass, they're not mutually exclusive," Killian says, shaking his head.

When their gazes connect, the room appears to fill with a flurry of glossy crimson sparks. Seconds appear and then slip away softly. Killian remains still, but he has no clue what is holding him back. Swan would not object this time, burrowing into his arms and kissing him in a way that would make them both dizzy.

Noises from the front door interrupt the moment. Swan cocks her head, puzzled, and Killian sighs. Maybe it's no surprise that there's always something going on to prevent them from committing madness.

"Thank you, Liam; falling over on January 1st was not on my agenda today."

Killian is surprised to hear Granny's voice; he hadn't expected her to visit today. When he stands up and walks down the corridor, he realizes that the old lady would not pass up the opportunity to meet Swan. On his way home, his brother must have informed her.

"Welcome, Granny!" greets Killian.

"Hello, lad! It's lovely to see you, and before I forget, I only forgive you for not being the first person to walk through my door today because of the circumstances."

Granny believes that it brings luck if a man is the first to cross the threshold on January 1st, and now that Killian is home, she had cautioned him not to forget to visit today. He's ashamed that it has completely slipped his mind.

"Thank you, Granny, you're very generous," Killian says softly.

Widow Lucas was not spared by the passage of time; it wrinkled her complexion and made her hair pale gray, but it could not break her posture; she is still tall, and one can sense her strength. She's dressed in jeans and a baggy t-shirt, as she usually does - she once told Killian that she wore trousers even when skirts were still fashionable for women, and many people stared at her for it, but she was always comfortable in her own skin, and she didn't care what others thought. Killian learned from her that what matters is not what others think, but if he is happy with himself and can honestly account for his actions.

"Happy New Year!" he hugs Granny as she removes her coat. She returns the embrace and gently pats him on the back, just like he used to do when he was a child.

"Oh, it'll be happy indeed," she says strangely as they separate. She always seems to know something that no one else does. Killian is certain she has witch blood in her veins, despite the fact that he doesn't believe in such things.

"Now, where's that girl?"

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs." Swan takes a cautious step towards them.

"Oh, just call me Granny like everyone else does. I'm maybe as old as the hills, but I hate formality."

Her directness makes Killian grin. Granny has always been lively, ready for action, and cheerful, and despite being eighty-two years old, her old vitality hasn't changed a bit. She often claims that she lives so long because her heart is so young that death doesn't scare her. Then she always adds that she owes it all to the children.

Granny worked as a kindergarten teacher, and the kids adored her for her stories and the fact that she was always taking part in all of their games. She truly loved her job, which is where her name came from. Because her given name, Gertrude, was difficult for the children to pronounce, they simply referred to her as Gram or Granny. Soon Gertrude was replaced with Granny since the kids and their parents liked it so much. Killian thinks that most people in Storybrooke don't even know her true name anymore.

"Come here, let me look at you!" Granny motions to Swan, who takes a tentative step closer to her.

Killian has no idea what the widow is on about, and he's not sure he wants to know.

Granny tenderly holds Swan's face in her hands and smiles into her eyes.

"You're beautiful. I always knew you'd be, " She murmurs, her voice slightly trembling with delight.

"What are you talking about, Granny?" Killian asks, and he inwardly chastises himself for being unable to keep silent, but she's behaving strangely even more than usual, and he doesn't want Swan to be uncomfortable as a result.

"The mother of your children, of course," Granny responds as if she doesn't see why this isn't evident to everyone else, and Killian coughs, choking on air.

"Granny..." he sighs, his ears reddening. "How about you bother Wendy with this?"

"Wendy is still a child; she must first find herself before she can find a man."

"You forget that Swan is also looking for herself right now," he points out. Killian steals a glimpse at Swan to make sure she's not uncomfortable, but she watches their discussion pleasantly. "You'll help her find it. You certainly chose an unusual way to get to know each other, but you were never ordinary."

"Granny," Killian says, staring up at the ceiling as if begging the heavens for patience, or even mercy, even though he knows it's futile. When it comes to words, the Widow Lucas is unstoppable; she is like a well-equipped bulldozer, capable of verbally ramming anyone into the ground at any time.

"Don't Granny me, and stop being such an ox, I know you're already madly in love with her, it's written all over you."

What does he mean by her being a bulldozer? But because Killian is unable to react, he simply shrugs his shoulders. He did fell for her in certain respects, but not in the way the old lady had intended.

"It's wonderful to see you can be ashamed, Killian," Swan chuckles. Obviously, the lass has fun with the situation because she has no notion that Granny takes every word seriously.

"I really like this girl! She suits you and is not intimidated by you."

"Granny, please. Swan is here by chance, not because..."

"Don't you think the lake snatched her memory on purpose, young man?" grumbles Granny. "It wasn't an accident; it had to be that way, and believe me, the lake knows what it's doing."

"You've always been...obsessed with the lake." Killian tries to be diplomatic, but this is a completely appropriate statement in his opinion. Widow Lucas was responsible for at least three-quarters of the stories surrounding the young girl and the lake at the time; in fact, Granny is confident that the little girl will return one day and that the lake will give her what is hers and what she left here a long time ago.

"Don't be cheeky, young man; be sensitive of my age," Granny admonishes, although her tone is more amusing than serious.

"Only your body is matured by the years, Granny; your heart is so young that anyone would envy it."

"Well roared, lion!"

"This is Shakespeare," Swan exclaims, shocked. Her eyes are glassy and hollow as if she is someplace else, and then she grins. "Definitely Shakespeare."

Granny's face brightens up as she says, "That's right, child. Are you a Shakespeare fan? I like you more and more by the minute. "

Killian's heart falls a little as he stares at the girl's happy expression. Only now does he realize that if Swan remembers, she will no longer have a reason to stay here, and she will exit his life as quickly and unexpectedly as she entered it. Then he might not see her again. Why is it so difficult to endure even the notion of it? And, without realizing it, how deeply has he already fallen in love with her if he hopes she will always be Swan?