No Frozen Jewel in this chapter, but some fun moments nonetheless. I realize this is a short chapter for me, but I wanted to leave it like I did for reasons…
So on with the story…
"So I have it narrowed down to four," Mary Margaret announced as she arrived at Granny's. Her pale blue dress and matching shrug were covered by a yellow raincoat that was decorated across the hem with rubber duckies. She pushed back the hood off her thick dark hair and sighed. "But I kind of like this one too." Her phone album was almost filled with photos that Ruby had snapped the day before during their shopping trip. Most of them had been sent to Emma with comments and questions for the woman on vacation. Emma sent back short notes with her thoughts, but warned that she was not going to spend her week away looking at wedding dresses.
Ruby nodded as she went through the robotic motions of brewing a new pot of coffee. "That's good...wait? Four? I thought we had it narrowed down to two." The trip into the nearest town with a large sized bridal boutique had been 90 minutes each way. Add to that four hours of trying on and dissecting each and every look that Ruby, Mary Margaret, or the two sales consultants suggested, another hour and a half for lunch and then a trip through what could only be described as a bridal gown warehouse. Ruby had been exhausted and her fashion morals and rules thrown to the wolves. She had never seen so much tulle, fake lace and satin, and imposter designs in her life. And she didn't even want to think about the suggestion of dyable shoes for her and Emma.
"I was looking at them again last night and I think I was a bit hasty so I changed my mind."
The industrial sized coffee machine hissed to life as Ruby hit the last button. Twirling around on her heels, she pushed her dark hair over her shoulder and placed one hand on her hip. "That's not how this is supposed to work."
"I know," Mary Margaret whined, her head hitting her folded arms on the counter. "You've got to help me."
Ruby's face and body didn't move, not falling for her friend's theatrics at all. "I thought that was what I was doing yesterday," she said a bit too harshly. "Sorry, but you do realize how much I hate box stories and imitation design. You barely even listened to my advice yesterday. What makes today any different other than it being one day closer to the wedding?"
"I have special needs that I didn't tell you," she said into her arm, green eyes blinking up over her elbow. She wasn't sure that Ruby had even heard her.
"You're special needs?" Ruby teased, pulling out her trusty bar rag to wipe so that Granny wouldn't complain about her standing around and doing nothing. "I already knew that, Blanchard. Out with it. What's going on? Why are you at a nine on the panic meter when you're usually about a six?"
The mumbled response from the teacher was clearly not understood.
"Try again?"
Mary Margaret lifted her head from her folded arms and sighed before cupping her hand around her mouth as though she was going to divulge a huge secret. "I'm pregnant," she stage whispered, looking about furtively to see if anyone had overheard. Nobody else was paying attention to her histrionics.
"Oh my God," Ruby deadpanned, slapping her hands against her cheeks and dropping her jaw Home Alone style. "Have you told David? Is it even his? Oh my God, it's not. You slut!" She playfully slapped her friend's folded arm and let loose a big laugh. "Seriously though, congratulations!"
"Shhhhhhh," Mary Margaret hissed, sounding very much like her young students after she returned to the classroom. "I'm not ready to go making big announcements. I don't want people to get the wrong idea."
Ruby picked back up the rag and swiped at the nonexistent dirt on the counter. "Are you sure your name isn't Mary Sue? So what if you're pregnant at your wedding? I'd bet half this town has fudged a little on the due dates of their first borns, if you know what I mean."
"I don't want David's father to get a bad impression of me," Mary Margaret said in that whispering tone. "Like I'm trying to trap him or something."
"Screw him. It's not that big of a deal. You two have wanted marriage and children. You're just getting both pretty quick. And if this is why you're freaking out over the dress, don't worry. I bet that place we went to yesterday has some with some elastic in the waist or something."
Mary Margaret rolled her eyes skyward and stuck out her tongue at her friend in her best display of immature behavior. "I won't be able to hide it. I'm 11 weeks now and the wedding is in eight weeks. For those of us who are mathematically challenged, I'll be 19 weeks on my wedding day. That's my second trimester. That could mean so many things in terms of a dress." She made a small half circle with her hand and then a bigger one. "How am I going to find a dress that will accommodate that?"
"So you knew yesterday?" Ruby asked, exasperated at the amount of time they wasted. "I was voting for sheath dresses and form fitting. Why didn't you tell me?"
"It's bad luck to tell someone before the first trimester is over?"
Ruby huffed and dropped the rag into the box for laundry. Shouting out a be right back to her grandmother, she motioned with three fingers for Mary Margaret to follow her back into the private quarters. "Bring your phone," she hissed, holding the door open with her hip as she felt behind her ears and in her pocket for a pencil. "You owe me."
She led the nearly weeping friend into the makeshift studio and flipped on the harsh overhead lights. "Show me the ones you like," she said. "Maybe I can design something that will look similar and be a little easier to alter as the date gets closer."
Stunned, Mary Margaret pulled up the photos and handed them to Ruby with a shaking hand. "You'd do that?"
"I told you I would. You're the one who decided that you should get a copycat dress and not an original. Thank God you told me before we wasted any more time. If I push it, I'll have it ready." She scrutinized the photos. "You're really serious about this whole fairy tale thing aren't you?"
"I want to feel like a princess," she insisted unapologetically for the first time since she'd arrived.
"Yeah, yeah, but you do realize that white is a little unforgiving in terms of baby bumps. Maybe we should look at a cream or even a pale yellow." Ruby looked up to see the teachers face becoming pale and tears already forming. "Chill. I'm not putting down your morals, just your fashion choices."
***AAA***
A few days later Killian's jeep pulled up in front of the condo that Neal and Tamara had rented on the west side of Storybrooke. The setting sun reflected off the lobby windows as Emma and Henry both jumped out of the jeep. Before Henry could even grab his suitcase, which was filled with dirty clothes that Emma was not all that sorry that Neal would have to deal with, she pulled him into a tight hug and kissed his temple.
"I'm going to miss you, kid."
"It's four days," Henry reminded her, ducking under her looser arm so that he could avoid a repeat. "You'll have Killian and work. I bet you won't notice I'm gone."
"I always notice," she said, looking up at the building. "You know the drill. This is your dad's time with you. But if anything doesn't feel right or you want to come back to our place, call. I'll pick you up. No running off to Granny's or joining a cult or anything, right?"
He gave her a little salute before turning to face Killian. "Thanks for coming along on our vacation," he said, his grin a little crooked. "Mom's a lot more sane with you around." The week had been fun, according to his 12 year old sensibilities. They had managed more than one fishing trip, including one where he was able to show off his skills to his mom who seemed more than anxious to get that over with as soon as possible. Their game nights had expanded to include others at the house. And he'd even found a large stash of sea glass during his beach walking. Killian had been the perfect buffer between his over protective mother and having a good time.
He even had to admit that he liked the photograph that Ariel had snapped of the three of them at the pier. It wasn't one of those staged shots with all of them in matching shirts or staged sitting on a log. Instead sat on one side of his mom and Killian on the other. Both of the guys were wearing t-shirts that were faded and not suitable for anything other than walking on the beach or maybe painting. He was wearing a ball cap to cover his uncombed hair that stuck out at weird angles. His mother's freckles were showing with her lighter makeup and her eyes nearly shut with laughter exhibited across her face. She had one arm around her son and her head had fallen on Killian's shoulder. Henry was the only one looking at the camera, as a clearly amused Killian's eyes were fixated on her. They had looked like a family, Henry had thought when he saw it on the screen of his camera. A real life family.
He wouldn't and couldn't tell his father that.
Killian's laughter sounded extra loud with the only other sounds those of the evening bugs coming out. "I'm afraid to ask what she's like when I'm not around then, lad."
Emma ruffled up his hair as Henry agreed that Killian didn't want to know. "Hey!"
"Mom, you know you're crazy," Henry said, sighing with exasperation. "Killian and I both know it too."
"If I'm crazy, it's because you made me that way, kid," she said, handing him the bag with his video game, books, and camera in it. "Every bit is due to you. Just remember that." She smiled good naturedly at her son, placing a finger and thumb on either side of his chin and turning him to face her. "Be good for your dad. I don't want to hear about sulking preteens being all emo and stuff."
"Emo?"
"Never mind," she told him. "Just be good. And keep your dad out of trouble."
"It's just four days, mom," he reminded her. His hand gripped the rolling bag with superhero logos emblazoned across it. Leaning in, he brushed his lips on his mom's cheek. "Just ask him, okay?"
***AAA***
Killian's lips descended on Emma's as they stood just inside her apartment, his arm around her waist and her leg hitched up on his hip. Her head was tilted back as she opened her mouth, both of them exploring and tasting with urgency. He always wanted to laugh at the way she tried to multitask, her hand reaching blindly behind her to place her keys on the foyer table while her other hand was tugging at his shirt to pull it from the waist of his jeans.
Giving up, she let the keys fall to the floor, returning both hands to the task of divesting him of his shirt. The moan that she let loose was half pleasure and half frustration as one of the buttons caught on his belt. "Damn it," she muttered, pushing him away from her so that she could see what she was dealing with in terms of the shirt.
"We should go to your bedroom," he offered, pushing back some of the hair that had escaped her ponytail. "Privacy and all."
"Remember, we just dropped Henry at Neal's," she managed to say, yanking at the plaid fabric. "We have the place to ourselves."
His eyes lit at that statement, eyebrows lifting obscenely high. "Oh really?"
She would have giggled at his not so subtle display of desire if she hadn't just ripped a hole in his shirt and sent the white button God only knows where. "Come on," she said, tugging on his arm. "There are more comfortable places than my front door."
He took that as a challenge, pulling her to him and spinning her around toward the door. Her backside hit the solid surface with a thump, hands bracing themselves on his shoulders. With a lecherous look at her, he pulled at her top until she raised her arms to let him divest of the material. Her lips were more red than pink as they parted in an effort to speak. The words were lost as he buried his face into her neck with a series of open mouthed kisses and nips along the expanse of skin.
There was another thump as he head hit the wood door, her leg again climbing onto his hip. "You're so beautiful," he said against her, pulling back to view the flushed woman he was touching.
"Shut up," she managed to say, her fingers lost in his thick dark hair and pulling his mouth toward hers again.
His hand was at the button to her jeans when the vibration of her phone alerted both of them that vacation was over. She dropped her head to his shoulder and groaned. "Can we go back on vacation? I kind of liked that."
Running his hand along her side, he reached into her pocket to withdraw the phone. "Perhaps a wrong number," he suggested, his breathing short and indicating he was not any happier than she was at the interruption.
She laughed, keeping one arm and leg around him as she stared down at the screen. "Your brother."
"I'll bloody kill the wanker," Killian grumbled as she said hello into the phone. His appreciation for her ability to multi-task came back into play as she cupped his cheek as she spoke of recording schedules and expectations. Her thumb was glancing off the scar on his cheek when Liam clearly said something that surprised her.
"Oh really?" she asked, her eyes flashing at Killian. "No, he didn't tell me about that."
He mouthed a question to her only to be rebuked with a shake of her head. He wasn't quite sure what Liam was telling her, but he was sure that it wasn't going to be something he liked. Instead he concentrated on the feeling of the skin just above the top of her jeans, running the tips of his fingers there. The softness of her skin and the delicate way it pebbled made him want to touch her everywhere, experiencing the way that she seemed to bow to his efforts.
When she disconnected the call, her eyebrow raised provocatively, not offering any hint as to what she was about to say. He gave her his best humble smile that he hoped was both contrite and concerned.
"You're writing again?" she asked softly. "Music, I mean."
"Aye," he said, squinting shut his eyes as if the admission was one that would draw a physical punishment. "My brother was struggling a bit so I tried to help him. I suppose it just opened up a few more thoughts that I wanted to get down on paper."
She nodded, her leg slowly sliding down his as she righted herself a bit. "You do know that if you wanted to share those with me, I wouldn't mind."
"It's not exactly anything more than the ramblings of a man trying to put order to his life, love. I tend to think that way before I have the guts to speak to you about my feelings. They aren't secrets so much as incoherent thoughts." His cheeks reddened as he backed away from her and looked at the dark living room with only the light from outside giving any clue as to the layout that he truthfully already knew. "I've no intention of making a career of it."
She pushed off the door with her hands, pulled back on her shirt, and grabbed the rolling suitcase that he had left there in the foyer. "You realize I'm not asking you to do that, right? I was just saying that if you're writing, I'd like to see the result. I would like to see and hear what you're interested in and what you're doing. Is that so wrong?"
"Do you remember asking me how I could be with someone who was so broken that she couldn't speak of the future without feeling her heartbeat in her ears? I seem to recall that conversation just a few days ago."
She nodded, not turning to face him as she took another step with her bag toward the bedroom.
"Perhaps it is because I'm broken too, love. Maybe my issues aren't thinking about a future or freaking out at the idea that someone could love me. But my issues are just as real as yours. No matter how your mind may spin it, I'm not perfect. I'm in quite a few pieces of my own."
She spun about slowly, still almost kicking her bag over. "Because you can't play the guitar any more?" she asked, feeling as if that might have been the catalyst.
"Love, I don't miss that. I miss my hand. I miss it when I've got a load of papers to grade and have to drop my pen to get another stack. I miss it when I'm trying to cook and have to find balance I didn't even know I had. I miss it when I am driving and would love to hold your hand, but I can't because of the bloody steering wheel. And I surely miss it when we make love and I would love to touch you even more than I can because I can't get enough of you. But no, Emma, my missing my hand has very little to do with music or wanting to play a sodding guitar." He rocked backwards onto the couch, head thrown back and his hand over his forehead and eyes as if the very effort of the conversation was giving him a headache.
"Then why don't you want to talk about your music?" Emma asked, stepping back onto the rug and into the space where he was. "Why is it that you look like you want to strangle someone when I mention that perhaps you should consider writing for more than just yourself?"
"Milah loved to look at houses and flats that we couldn't afford," he said lifelessly. "She watched those design shows on television and spent hours online marking pages of furniture, decorations, and layouts for things that we'd never even come close to being able to afford. When I asked her why she did that? Why was it so important? She would tell me it was because she believed in me. She would tell me that she thought I would make it big in music someday and that I would be able to afford all that and more."
Emma lowered herself slowly to the side chair, wanting to reach out to him but not able to muster that courage. He rarely spoke to her of Milah, preferring to keep that information locked inside as she did with parts of her past. It wasn't keeping secrets as much as it was not wanting to drag those things out to the light of day again. "And you didn't think you could make it as a musician?"
"I don't know? Perhaps not, but I guess we won't know that. As much as I wanted music to be a part of my life and my career, I was always feeling that perhaps I wasn't good enough for her as I was. She wanted more and better than I could have been. It's a weight to be sure."
Emma felt the sour taste in her mouth of what she had felt before when the Swans gave her back to the state after deciding they couldn't care for her and a newborn. She had felt it when Neal had abandoned her. The fear of not being enough was one that tainted her and made her doubt herself at every turn. It made her work harder and later. It made her bake two different kinds of cookies for Henry's bake sales. It made her agree to do things with her friends when she would much rather sleep or read. "Did she ever say that to you?" she asked. His descriptions of Milah had been about her beauty and talent with art. She had never imagined her being judgmental or demanding.
"Not in so many words," he said hoarsely. "I suppose most of that was on me. I would tell her of finishing a song that I wrote and she was already planning where to sell it and how to spend that money. She was pushing me to be better, which I do appreciate."
Emma nodded. "And you think that I…"
"Oh no, Emma, I just don't want to find myself in that situation again. I don't want to put so much pressure on myself that the words and music that I write aren't my own. I don't want to feel like they are written for someone else." He smiled. "They are about you, you know? They are yours. If you wish to hear them, I have no problem with that." He scooted forward on the couch, reaching his hand out to bridge the gap. "I don't wish to keep anything from you. I just don't want to disappoint you. My job is being a music teacher. I have no designs on being more or better than that."
She swallowed hard, feeling the tears prickle the corners of her eyes. Tentatively, she reached her hand out to link their fingers together. "I love you, Killian," she said as plainly as she could without her voice cracking. "I don't care what your job is or what you do. I love the way you manage to make me smile by just raising one of those damn eyebrows or the way you treat my son. I love that you try to make me feel like I'm important to you. I love that you want to help your brother so you put aside your feelings and help him write. I love that you pretend to have never seen sci fi movies so that Henry thinks he is showing you something new. And I love that you never make me doubt that you love me, even if I don't always think I deserve that. So I don't care if you ever write again if you don't want to do it. You can lock all the songs up if that's your plan. Or if you want to do something with them, then I'm here for that too. If being a teacher makes you happy, then be the best damn teacher you can be. I know Henry adores you and would say you already are pretty great."
Killian squeezed her hand, his eyes threatening to water as well. "I love you too, Emma."
"Good," she responded, launching herself from the chair into his arms. "I'd hate to be in this alone."
"You shouldn't have to be," he answered, his forehead dropping to hers and their joined hands clutched at her chest just above her heart. "I have no intention of leaving you, love."
She drew in her breath, her eyes wide and a bit fearful as she pulled back. "Do you mean that?" she asked. "Really mean that?"
"I rarely say things I don't mean, Emma." She loved the nicknames that he had for her, but there was something about the two syllables of her name rolling out with his accent that always made her feel special. Before her name had seemed plain and not that of a woman she wanted to be, but with him it felt like more.
"Then maybe neither of us should leave," she said, closing her eyes after she finished the words. "I mean…"
"Love, I think my brother, your friends, our employers, Henry, might come looking for us," he laughed easily. "But if you would like to lock yourself away with me for a while. I have no complaints." He tilted his head, drawing near her with the intention of kissing her obvious. He was surprised when she pulled back. "Emma?"
"I don't mean that," she said, her cheeks tinged with pink as she realized she had just jumped into this conversation without so much as a safety net. Usually she would have broached the subject with Ruby and Mary Margaret. Given how close Elsa and Liam had become lately, she might have talked to Elsa too. She would have normally planned out her speech, practicing in the car when she was alone. But it was too late now. "So I was thinking that maybe…" She closed her eyes tight and then pried one open to look at his perplexed expression. "Oh God…"
"Emma, love, you're confusing me. What are you trying to say?"
"I guess I was thinking that maybe we should stop…with what we're doing. It doesn't make sense." She frowned at her own words, knowing they weren't right and that she was giving him the wrong idea. "I don't mean to stop seeing each other." That at least earned her a sigh of relief and his hand gripping hers tighter than before. "I'm just going to say it."
"Please because you are quite mad with these clues and riddles, love." His blue eyes were even lighter when he was confused or expectant. "Is there something you want of me?"
"I really liked our vacation," she said in a rush, barely even breathing as the words tumbled out. "I liked waking up with you every morning. I liked sharing the day with you and knowing that there wasn't an end to it. You weren't going to leave and neither was I. And maybe I'm nuts. Maybe I'm a horrible mother and person for thinking that this could work, but I don't want that to end. I don't want to say goodbye or have to think through plans for us to spend the night. I want those breakfasts to be the norm. I want you to move in with me…with us." She cringed again. "That's not exactly as romantic as I would have liked for it to have been." Falling backwards dramatically against the pillows on the couch, she watched the realization of her words hit him.
"Let me try to understand this," he said gently, biting down on his bottom lip as he considered her words. "Are you asking me to move in with the two of you?"
"I might be," she answered with a squeak. "But if you're going to say no, I'm just kidding."
I wonder what his answer will be…