The music, if one could call it that, was louder than what Killian had anticipated when Emma explained the tickets she had procured for Henry's date with Violet. It wasn't exactly legendary stuff, but there was a steady thrumming beat that was infectious if not catchy. His navy blue t-shirt and dark vest paired with jeans seemed to be a hit, as even two of the young members of the boy band have on similar attire. Emma was quick to point that out with a smirk as some of the young ladies in the audience stared at him as though he was a member of the group that was the opening act.
"You'll be signing autographs in a minute," she teased as she rose onto the balls of her feet to look four rows ahead at where her son and Violet were seated. It had taken six trips to the store and a visit with Neal before Henry settled on a vintage Bon Jovi t-shirt that Neal still had hanging in his closet. It was a casual and stark contrast to his date's pink dress and matching shoes, but neither seemed to mind as he offered her some of the candy he had purchased at a concession stand and looked mesmerized as Violet accepted it.
"He's fine, love," Killian said, not even looking in that direction. "The lad's been nervous enough about this date without you watching over him like a hawk."
"He didn't seem overly nervous to you?" she asked, frowning with concern as she tried to lean over to peer around a gangly teen in front of her. "I thought the conversation between them was a little stilted."
"Aye, but it is to be expected, Swan," Killian told her with a chuckle. "The lad's on a double date with his mother and his teacher. It's a wonder that he's handling it as well as he is. And it wasn't that odd of a conversation."
She whipped her head quickly at him, staring down incredulously. "They were talking about horses for two thirds of the ride here. Horses. My son has never ridden a horse in his entire life. What does he know about horses?"
"He may have read a bit about them in his efforts to woo the lass." It may have been his smirking grin or the way his eyes danced at the sight of her flustered annoyance. However, she pouted for a good five minutes before returning his gaze.
"He really likes her doesn't he?" There was a defeated quality to her statement, a resignation that her little boy was growing older despite her attempts to ignore it. "I mean as much as a 12 going on 13 year old can."
"Aye, a bit of puppy love I would suppose. And you, my love, have done quite well with your mothering to allow him the chance to show her his feelings." He laughed. "I assure you that he is not going to perish over sharing a few sweets with her and maybe holding her hand during a ballad."
She glanced back through the teenage girls at her son who looked a little red in the cheeks but otherwise happy as he laughed at something Violet was saying to him. It was just a crush, she reminded herself. Yet still it hurt a bit to see him giving away a part of his heart. She had been his mother for so long, the only woman in his life. It was a role that she both loved and regretted, sometimes feeling that she had isolated him too much. What if this Violet girl broke his heart, she mused to herself, thinking that very few of these childhood romances ever had any staying power. He would be devastated and she would have to pick up the pieces.
"Emma?" Killian asked, his face showing mild concern over the fact that he had called out to her three times with no response. "What do you say we go walk about during the actual show? I'm not entirely sure that my music sensitive ears can withstand such noise as this." Pretending to be in physical pain from the pulsating beat of some cover song being massacred from a popular radio station playing in the arena at that moment.
"Would you kill me if I said I wasn't ready to go away yet?" she asked, twisting her face into an imitation of innocent concern. "I know he's fine, but…"
Sitting back in the hard folded seat, Killian lifted his arm to invite her into a semi-embrace, still cognizant of the teens and preteen audience surrounding them. He wasn't that shocked when she barely relaxed in his arm, practically climbing over him for a better look.
"He's not trying to kiss her, is he?" she asked with her neck straining for more length. "Oh okay, good. It was a false alarm."
"Emma?"
"I know. I know. I said I'd be okay. I'm really not though." She fell back into the cold plastic of her chair and stared at the empty stage, her shoulder and head against his chest where she could feel the combination of the low rumble of his laugh and the bass from the piped in music. "Can you please distract me? Make me think of anything else other than Henry and Violet."
***AAA***
Liam lifted his left leg as Elsa scooted between the sectional and ottoman to sit between his thighs as she went through the stack of mail that the building manager had said didn't fit in their narrow mailbox in the entryway to the apartment complex. She smiled to herself as his leg lowered and he ran a hand absently through her loose braid that was coming unwound from the workout they had shared earlier.
"Anything interesting?" he asked, changing the channel on the television to some 1970s sci fi flick that made her cringe with the horrible special effects. She swore she could actually see the strings holding up the tennis ball serving as earth as a replica of a space ship sort of flew by it.
"Fan mail," she said with an incredulous wave on the heavily stamped envelope. "Who does this? I thought it was all email and social media."
"You have an old school fan," he announced with an amusedly crooked smile. "Impressive. May I, darling?" Plucking the envelope from her hand, he pried apart the folded paper. Enclosed was a note from a child saying she was beautiful and talented, along with a crayon drawing of her on stage. They looked at the stack together, him cracking jokes and her smiling at the sweet and sometimes thoughtful comments about her music and abilities.
"Wow," Elsa said as he dropped the last one on the pile. "Those are pretty amazing."
"Aye, it appears I may have to share you more than I first thought." He chuckled as she spun her face around to stare at him in horror. "No, no, no. I just…I'm proud of you."
Elsa's nearly violet eyes narrowed at his confession of sorts, trying to understand the idea that she could earn his appreciation for having old fashioned fan mail forwarded to their condo from the label. She was flattered by it, even if a bit mystified by the response. However, she never really considered that to be something that important or unusual. She had written fan mail when she was young too, usually to guys in boy bands or even a cartoon character once. Yet she had never considered what that meant for the person receiving it.
"I should answer them," she said, thinking back on the form letter responses that she had received once upon a time. She didn't want to do that, include a form letter with a computer generated signature and a copy of an autographed photo. "Maybe…"
"We should form a fan club for you," he offered, sounding nearly serious with his intentions. "I have no idea how that works, but it shouldn't be too hard."
"I don't think those exist now," she answered back just as seriously. "I think people just follow you on Twitter or Instagram or something. Maybe look at your website. I don't know. Do you think I need a website?"
Leaning forward, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head and pulled her up from her cross legged position on the floor to his lap. "I would love you having a website. I could look at pictures of you all day and listen to your voice. I am your biggest fan after all."
"You're just hoping to be a groupie who gets lucky," she spat back playfully. Her fingers were winding around the curls of his hair that he had allowed to get a bit longer over the summer. She could smell the scent that was a mixture of spilled beer and some fried concoction that they had been experimenting with at the Rabbit Hole. She was beginning to associate those scents with him, along with the way he usually had ink between two of his fingers when he was writing. It was a comforting feeling to know someone that well.
***AAA***
Emma looked at Killian with an incredulous stare that would have put even the most critical of patrons to shame as he repeated his brother's explanation of how to avoid future issues with Gold's rules. "You can't be serious," she said, following it with a shake of her head. "You want to get married?"
"I didn't proclaim that, love," he chastised gently, trying to pull her back into his embrace so that they did not have to shout the conversation amongst the increasingly impatient crowd. "And if I was to propose at this juncture, I doubt I would do it at such a venue."
Features scrunched, she tentatively moved her head back to his shoulder. "I told you to distract me, not send me into panic mode for another reason all together."
"Well, it did stop you from spying on your son for a moment. And I merely hoped it would amuse you as it did me. I fully intend to marry for love not for the convenience of being able to keep my job without worry about future rules or retribution."
It was far too soon for that sort of conversation to take place, she thought as she felt his thumb running along the spot where the material of her sleeveless top met her shoulder. However, some might think that their plans to cohabitate might have been rushed too. Still she was not sure she was ever going to be ready for a conversation with words like forever. It was a stumbling block that she knew she might never recover from, as even when she thought about her career there were fears about words and phrases like saying that something was for the rest of her life.
"I'm grateful," she commented with as much sincerity as she could muster. "But maybe next time open with the weather or some movie we might like to see. Much less dangerous."
With her head at his shoulder and her eyes closing under the gentle caress along her arm, she did not see the look of disappointment that flashed in his eyes. Had she seen it, she could have interpreted that he was upset he had worried her. Or maybe she would have thought that he was actually wanting to get married. Neither were exactly true, though his ego was certainly bruised by the abject horror she displayed at the mere thought of it.
"Perhaps," he said, trying to maintain a soothing tone that battled against the increase in volume as backup band took the stage before the group was to join them. "The last two movies we have seen have been picked by Henry. I was thinking we might be due a date night of our own."
She gestured toward the young lady in front of them who already had tears on her cheeks from the digital images of the young men of the group. "This isn't romantic enough for you? You would rather have comic book movies and pizza?"
She couldn't hear his chuckle, but the vibration of it in his chest mingled with the thrumming bass and tickled her ear. Ignoring her urge to peek around the girls now up and out of their seats to watch her son, she closed her eyes and let Killian hold her in the midst of the chaos. It seemed a perfect symbol of their relationship lately, one supporting the other amidst a sea of noise and distraction. And he was being perfectly understanding about it, even if he was teasing her over going into mother bear mode.
He continued through the show, though she might have caught him cringing a time or two over the insane lyrics that sounded more like bubble gum pop than anything he would listen to even in his free time. When the lead singer – a floppy haired 16-year-old with a crooked smile and a couple of freckles across a too large nose – belted out the group's newest ballad, Emma laughed with her head thrown back as Killian attempted to dance with her. A few of the girls nearby were in near hysterics over the performance, but their mothers were swooning at the romantic gesture in front of them.
"You're a dork," she said into his ear as he lifted her out of a dip. Even bathed in the green light from the stage show, she had to admit that his bright smile and flashing of his dimples were cuter than any of the eye candy on stage.
"And you love me for it," he said, not forming it as a question.
"Of course."
***AAA***
"I'm thinking Leopold for a boy," Mary Margaret said as the mattress sagged with David's weight. "After my father. I know you don't really have a desire to name him after your father, but I was kind of a daddy's girl."
Running his finger over his phone to set the alarm, he dug his socked feet under the covers. Despite their temperate climate in the loft, his fiancé seemed to need it to be freezing cold at all times. Some might blame that on the pregnancy hormones, but he knew better. She always cranked up the air and then hid under a mountain of covers as a fan blew directly on her.
"And that is an adorable quality that you have, but Leopold. No offense, but that name is a little…"
"Old fashioned?" she supplied, folding her hands on her barely discernable swell of her stomach as if to shield the baby's ears from the possible assault on his future name. "It was my father's name. I think it sounds regal."
"It sounds like he'll run a pizzeria with his brother's Mario and Luigi." David looked pleadingly at his future wife. "Besides, we don't know if this is a boy or girl yet. Isn't it a bit early to worry about names."
"Fine," she said, reaching a hand out blindly for her book on the side table. "What do you want to name her if she's a girl."
"I was thinking Ruth, after my mother," he offered. "It's simple and classic." He looked proud of himself, rolling to his side to monitor her reaction to his announcement.
"Ruth? Now talk about old fashioned. We're having a baby, not starting a bridge group. I was thinking something a little trendier." She pursed her lips as she flipped to the marked page in her novel, giving off every indication that she was reading and done with the conversation.
"Wait just a minute," David argued. "You suggest your father's name and I shouldn't question it, but my mother's name is off the table in favor of Tiffani with an i or some phonetically mismatched mess of a name that will probably get legally changed by our child in a few years."
"I just think that you're right that it is too early," Mary Margaret said without lifting her eyes from the page. "We still need to decide about our married name."
"I thought we were going with Nolan," David muttered, still swimming in the land of baby names and not able to let go yet. "You said when I proposed that you couldn't wait to be Mary Margaret Nolan." His faded police academy shirt was wrinkled as he folded his arms over his chest and flopped to his back.
"Well, I was thinking that professionally it might be easier to go by Blanchard," she said, carefully broaching the topic. "I mean I know teachers get married all the time, but all my paperwork is under my name."
"I don't care what name you go with," he said, sounding only a little sullen. "It's not that big of a deal to me."
"But I don't want us to have different names," she said, free hand again caressing over her floral night gown covered abdomen. "And hyphenating is not really fair to the baby when he or she is learning to write. So maybe…" She trailed off, flipping the page in her book as she seemed to search for the right word.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, as if afraid to know the answer. "An alternative last name. What do the letters of Nolan and Blanchard even spell out together? Does anyone really do that?"
"No, I'm not thinking that's right either. I am proud that I'll be a Nolan. Let's just go with that."
His gray-blue eyes darted over to gauge her feelings on that topic. "Are you sure? I don't mind considering…"
"No, it's traditional. I was just being silly." She did not turn fully on her side, but dug her right shoulder into the mattress so that she was a bit more turned away from him. "It's just that I'm an only child. My father is gone. My mother is gone. And Blanchard is the last thing I have left of him. It's silly, but I wanted something of him to be carried on even now. But if we use Blanchard then you're going to feel the same way about Nolan. So there isn't a good answer."
Raking his hand over his face, David stared up at the ceiling. The good news was that his wife to be was not crying – that had happened enough lately. Doubled with crippling indecisiveness, Mary Margaret was not exactly easy to deal with lately. "What if," he pondered, more to the ceiling than to her, "What if we used Nolan or Blanchard as the middle name? People do that, right?"
"Like Leopold Nolan Blanchard?" she asked as if she hadn't thought this through already.
"I suppose…" He watched as her shoulders relaxed and then tensed with held back laughter. "It's still too early though."
"Of course," she agreed. "Way too early."
***AAA***
"I'm going to walk her to the front door," Henry said through a clenched jaw as his mother and Killian sat in the front of the jeep like two children being scolded. "Wait here."
Emma could not even look her son in the eyes, as he had already laid into her about the way she and Killian had danced and cuddled during the concert. Embarrassed by the PDA, Henry swore they would discuss it later, sounding just like his mother in that moment. Killian merely nodded, feigning a shamed expression as Violet bid them both goodnight and thanked them for including her on the outing.
"Thank you again, Ms. Swan and Mr. Jones," the brunette said before hurrying after Henry who was five steps closer to the front door.
"I hope you're proud of yourself," Emma hissed as she dug out her phone and switched it to camera mode. Chastised or not, she had promised Neal that she would send a few photos of the date. He'd not been in favor of it, but relented and even took Henry shopping for the casual t-shirt and jeans combo that according to her ex, took four hours to select, not counting the break for a pizza lunch. "Henry is embarrassed by us."
"We kissed during a concert, during a song about kissing," Killian whispered back, not sure who he was keeping his voice down for since they were alone in the jeep. "The lad's attention should have been on the stage or his own date, not me snogging with his mother."
"He's 12," Emma said, the sound of the photo of the two younger people standing in front of a cardboard display of the band being sent to Neal making laser like sounds. "The fact that I convert oxygen to carbon dioxide is probably worrisome to him in those terms." She sank lower in the seat. "I can't look. Is he kissing her good night? No, don't tell me. I don't want to know."
Killian chuckled. "I have many talents, my love, but x-ray vision is not one of them. There is a tree in the way of my view."
"Good," she said firmly. "I don't want to know." It was so resolute that it sent Killian into another fit of chuckles at how determined she was to be okay with everything.
***AAA***
Granny's was busy when Liam popped in to meet with Robin about the upcoming open night for the song writer showcase at the Rabbit Hole. Thankfully the widowed father had procured one of the tables and was entertaining his son with crayons and a sheet of butcher paper when Liam threw himself into the chair and pretended to steal one of Roland's favorite colors.
"That's mine," the child cried out as he stared forlornly at the man's fingers wrapping around the green shade.
"Mine now," Liam challenged, ignoring his friend's indignant huff. "I need it."
"But…but…" The elementary student looked near tears until his father plucked the wax crayon out of Liam's hand and placed it on the table again.
"Don't pick fights with children," Robin said with a sigh that said it had already been a morning from hell. All it took was one look at Roland to realize that the fighting had begun earlier since he was dressed in a faded pair of cargo shorts, an inside out superman t-shirt, two different shoes, and no socks. A man's tie was clipped onto his shirt and sunblock decorated his nose in a bright yellow color that reminded Liam of a toucan. "And don't ask why my son looks that way. He seems to find himself at the height of fashion – ready for Carnaby Street. I didn't have the will or the heart to stop him."
"Is that why he's got a sausage patty on a hamburger bun instead of a breakfast food?"
"Mate, you try arguing with a six year old about when hamburgers are appropriate. Thank God that Granny is a sucker for the wee ones or we'd still be arguing that point of fact."
Liam waved down Ruby and with her usual half flirting and half sarcastic tone, she took his order and managed to bring him breakfast with only one or two remarks that he should have brought Elsa with him if only for her company. It wasn't that Liam disagreed, as he would have much preferred his girlfriend's company to Robin's, but it was a work thing and Elsa was headed into Regina's office even on a Sunday morning to discuss marketing plans. He had been reluctant to leave her like that, her blonde hair still damp from the shower and skin still pink. She had padded over to him as he hung by the door and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek and tell him to hurry back, as she was hoping to have a movie marathon that afternoon.
"Sunday is our day together," she had proclaimed a few weeks earlier. "Whenever possible I say we hide away from the rest of the world on just this one day a week. We can watch cheesy 80s movies or cooking shows while we experiment in the kitchen. Nobody has to know we didn't get dressed or that we stayed in bed past noon. It'll be our day to just be ourselves and not think of the rest of Storybrooke and the world. Promise?"
He had promised, stolen another kiss, and then laughed as she swatted his butt before pushing him out the door. It was a remarkable change from the prim and proper woman he had met on their first date. She was playful and funny, shy at times and sensitive. He loved each and every layer.
Robin must have noticed that his mind was wandering, as he cleared his throat and waved a crayon in front of his eyes to garner his attention back to the conversation. "Thinking of Elsa?"
"I like Elsa," Roland proclaimed before Liam could come up with a viable excuse for his inattentiveness. "She likes ice cream just like me."
"Is that all that is required to win your affections there, lad?" Robin asked his son, clearly amused at the boy's bluntness.
"Regina likes ice cream too," the boy seemed to ponder. "But she always says she shouldn't before she orders some."
That revelation sent Robin tittering uncontrollably and Liam sputtering, as he noticed the bright red of Robin's own cheeks. Roland was too unaware of his audience's reaction to stop at that point, noting Emma and Henry often bought him Rocky Road while Ruby was partial to chocolate and Killian to mint chocolate chip.
"What about your papa?" Liam managed to ask, arching an eyebrow severely at his friend. "Does he even partake in ice cream with you?"
"He used to," the boy said, tapping a tiny finger against his chin like a lawyer trying a case. "But now he shares with Regina. Didn't you know you can share germs that way?"
***AAA***
"Sounds good," Emma said as she climbed the stairs to the nearly finished attic. There was a bit more painting to do and of course the moving of items to the space, but Killian had already staked out a spot in the soon to be library/office that was his little nook as he wrote the song for Elsa to sing at the wedding. The oversized chair had been moved up to the space by the guys a week before and sat proudly in the corner of the room where the bookshelves met. It was an older piece that had once been in his bedroom and seen much better days. It was faded and patched, smelled vaguely musty and seemed to be his favorite spot, despite his more fastidious nature.
"You say that about everything," he muttered, harshly underlining a few spots on the page. Without his ability to play the guitar, he was stuck using the electronic version on his laptop and typing in the chords and notes that he was considering.
"Maybe I'm a big fan." She had managed to climb the steep stairs with two cups of hot chocolate, hers with cinnamon and his without. However, as she attempted to sit on the arm of the chair, she nearly spilled the steaming liquid on them both. He dropped his pen hastily to shield them from getting burnt.
"Are you suggesting it is time for a break?" he asked, removing the dark blue mug from her hand and taking a sip before it sloshed out. "Because I would certainly agree to that, love."
"Henry's on the phone with his dad and I felt like hot chocolate," she explained, laughing as he pulled her legs around so that her feet rested next to him. "And I sort of missed you this morning."
Smirking back at her over the lip of the mug, he hummed amiably. "I wanted to get this done before Elsa asked after it again. Did you know that there are very few words that rhyme with Mary Margret or David?"
"You're making it rhyme?" Emma asked, concerned that maybe her message about a sincerely heartfelt song had not gotten through to him. She didn't want something akin to the Wheels on the Bus, no matter that the bride was a teacher.
"No, but I enjoy making you worry," he said, chortling. "You look absolutely adorable with the way your forehead scrunches up and your eyes become like slits."
"Dork," she protested, slapping her palm against his shoulder and earning an inelegant grunt. "Seriously though. If you are having trouble writing it, Elsa's going to have to be okay with doing a cover. I didn't really want to have her sing one of her and Anna's songs because that felt too much like work disguised as a gift."
"No, I think they will love the gesture, especially if you get Elsa to record it for them so that they can listen to it whenever they want. I'm just a bit rusty at this, but it will be fine." He let the paper fall to the ground. "I must say that I'm more inspired by you, love. I could write about you all day."
"I would suggest imagining Mary Margaret as me, but I'm not sure how that would work," she laughed, sipping at her drink between blowing on it. "But if it makes any difference, I like the things you have shared with me that you've written. I know you don't like considering doing it professionally, but I would hate if you gave it up all together."
His head dropped back on the indented cushion and he placed the mug on the table beside him before reaching his hand over to caress just behind her knee. It was a spot that always made her smile, one of the secrets he had unlocked in her. "As long as you continue to inspire me."
She pretended to consider that, sliding her arm behind him so that her fingers played with the tufts of hair that had become so long that they curled easily. "I've never been anyone's muse before you. What exactly is involved? I mean, I'm a pretty busy person. I have a son who is always having me do something. And then there's my boyfriend. He's very demanding."
"Is he now?" He tilted his head toward her much like a cat when being petted. "He's a rather cheeky bloke, is he?"
"The cheekiest."
"You must be an absolute angel to put up with such a man. If you were my girlfriend, I'd make sure you knew you were appreciated and loved." His eyes watched her grin grow even wider as he pulled her mug from her hand to set it aside and then pulled her down into his lap. "A woman like you deserves a man's full attention."
"You seem to know a lot about how I should be treated."
"I've always appreciated studying topics that interest me," he teased, closing the gap between them so that his breath was warm against her slightly parted lips. "And you, love, more than interest me."
"Good."
He could still feel the teasing smile on her lips as he moved in to kiss her, the softness of her lips feathery against him and the subtle way she breathed in as if trying to fully appreciate his being that close. Nipping at her lips at first, he teased her back, pulling away and then rejoining her mouth with his as if it were a game of one-up-manship that he was going to win. However, when she sighed and melted a bit into his embrace, he felt the last of his own teasing resolve breakaway and his mouth fused against hers with more urgency. They broke momentarily for air, but stayed there in that in between state of lazy kisses and ardent affection that was only interrupted when Henry called up to them that he wanted to go sailing.
"I'm half a mind to tell him to take the bloody boat out himself and leave us be," Killian said to a laughing Emma. She dropped her head to his shoulder with a defeated groan.
"I could come up with a reason to punish him, tell him he has to stay in and do chores or something."
"I suppose we should humor the lad. Won't be long before the autumn has us too bundled up for such excursions."
She called down that they would head out later, which seemed to satisfy Henry. Not moving from his lap, she tilted her head back and kept her eyes half closed. "I don't mind the fall. Maybe we can build a bonfire on the beach to stay warm. I bet you look cute in flannel shirts and thick sweaters."
"I assure you that my looks have been described as rugged or handsome, dashing even, but never cute." He spat the word in offense. "You on the other hand…"
She swatted at him again. "Don't even try it, mister. I'm not falling for the cute talk either. But I would like to point out that I just managed to talk about the future…maybe a month or two away, but still I did it."
He chewed at the corner of his mouth in consideration of her declaration. "Aye, that you did. You seem to be doing quite well at that."
"Practice," she said. "You never know. Your brother might have been encouraging you to propose, but it might just be me who breaks down and does it." With a saucy wink, she disentangled herself from him, grabbed her mug, drank down the rest of the chocolate and smiled. "See you downstairs, sailor."