Work Text:
Emma sits on her couch, contemplating the mess that her apartment has become.
(Her life also has gone down the drain, but it’s easier to think about her living room.)
She says “her” living room, but yesterday it had been “their” living room – as in hers and Walsh’s, her now former boyfriend. Turns out she’s got a knack for dating losers, because just this morning as she was brushing her hair and Walsh was putting the coffee on, the police had banged on their door to arrest him and search the apartment.
Walsh was accused of smuggling stolen goods and embezzling. Now she understands why he’d insisted on putting the lease in her name only; bastard wanted to cover his tracks.
Emma looks at the plaster and wooden frame scattered over the floor, all that remained of her ornamental mantle; she’d told Walsh that she’d always wanted a chimney when she was a child to hang Christmas stockings from and to spend cold days in front of. He’d surprised her when she had come back from a three-day stakeout with a new addition to their living room. She’d thought it sweet at the time, even if not what she had meant at all, but she now realizes that he’d had it built to hide money inside. Tens of thousands of dollars. That he’d stolen. Sleazy fucking asshole.
Not only does she have to piece her life back together, but she also has to get her living room wall fixed. She won’t rebuild the chimney; it was gaudy and useless. Who builds a chimney with no hearth, anyway? It was a lie, just like her relationship.
Her second biggest problem yips next to her on the couch. Oh, right. She’d forgotten for a moment that her ex had left her with his dog. His dog, not theirs. He’d had it before they met, and Emma had warned Walsh when they’d moved in together that she wouldn’t take over his dog duties.
Plus that dog has the stupidest name she’s ever heard.
Frantic knocking on the door announces the arrival of Mary Margaret, the dog’s barking picking up in volume. David must have told her – did she mention that it was her brother’s squad who had searched her apartment? Bringing in her next perp is going to be all kinds of awkward, now that Lieutenant Fa knows what’s hidden in the back of her underwear drawer.
“Emma!” her sister-in-law and best friend says as she bustles in, gasping when she sees the state of the living room. “Are you alright?”
Emma snorts. Of course she isn’t alright, but for the moment she’s letting her anger overshadow her pain. Much easier this way. “My apartment is in shambles, my brother’s coworkers snooped through my whole life, and I learnt this morning that my boyfriend was a criminal. How do you think I feel?”
“Oh honey, I’m so sorry,” Mary Margaret says, hugging her. “Do you need anything?”
While an extraordinary amount of alcohol is Emma’s first answer, she swallows it back, not wanting to incur her friend’s disapproval. A bark and a little head bumping her leg give the blonde a more appropriate answer. “Yeah, do you have the number of a good shelter? I have to take care of this guy.”
Mary Margaret gasps as if she had just disclosed her plans to kill puppies in front of babies. “What? Why would you do that to your dog? Poor little Nacy, you can’t get rid of him!”
Emma groans at the mention of the dog’s name. Walsh had wanted to be clever when naming his dog and had called him Nacious in the most terrible pun to ever be uttered. Because his dog was a pug, so he was the pug Nacious. Pugnacious. “A ferocious little guy!” Walsh used to say, elbowing Emma as if she were in on the joke.
Turns out Emma had been the butt of the joke all along. Ha. Ha.
“He’s not my dog,” Emma snaps, “he’s Walsh’s, and right now? I want to get rid of every single trace of that idiot from my life. Including his stupid dog.”
“Emma!” This time she’s being scolded. “I know you’re hurting, but you can’t talk this way about Nacious, he is not stupid.”
She knows he’s not stupid. His name is, though.
Mary Margaret’s wheedling as they clean up manages to overcome Emma’s resolve to get rid of Nacious. Her attempts to get Emma to change her mind culminate in Mary Margaret holding the dog up to Emma’s face and looking at her with big round eyes. She will not call them puppy eyes; she has already had enough dog-related puns to last her a lifetime.
Emma draws the line at the name, though. It has to go.
Emma had started looking for a contractor as soon as the apartment had been cleared of debris and everything either put back in its place, or in a trashbag if it belonged to Walsh.
(Except the engagement ring. That had been quite the surprise – one that had made her sob for a whole night as Nacious licked her face, whining in worry. The ring she had kept, planning on pawning it off. It would pay for the repairs to her living room, at least.)
She finds one quickly, right in front of her mailbox while coming back from walking Nacious on the following Saturday morning. She’s on the phone with a building company, arguing with them about the price that they want her to pay for an expert to come assess the work that needs to be done. They seem to be under the impression that she isn’t aware making her pay $200 for a simple estimate is way too much. As she ends the call rather angrily, someone clears their throat behind her, making her turn around to come face to face with one of her neighbors. She’s seen him a couple of times in the lift, but apart from noticing how handsome he was, his striking blue eyes and the fact he was British, she didn’t know anything about him, not even his name.
“I’m sorry to have eavesdropped, lass, but I understand you seem to be in need of a contractor?” he asks her, smiling tentatively.
“Why, are you one?” Emma answers quite shortly, annoyed by her phone call and nosy neighbors.
“I’m not, but my brother is,” he says, rummaging in his satchel and fishing out a business card. “He does very good work, and he provides free assessments too,” he finishes mischievously.
Emma takes the card, still wary, even as Nacious tugs on his leash, trying to get closer to the man. Jones Contracting is written in a no-nonsense black on the card, along with a website and contact info. She could give them a try, she guesses. At least if anything goes pear-shaped, she’ll know where his brother lives.
“Thanks,” she tells him, slightly mollified, “I’ll – Nacious!”
The dog had managed to pull enough on his leash to reach the man’s – Jones, she guesses – legs and had started to play with his shoelaces, pulling on them and slobbering over Jones’ shoes. Ferocious little guy, my ass , Emma thinks disdainfully. The only way it would hurt a fly is if it drooled on it too much.
Jones looks down before squatting, reaching to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Hello little lad! In a playful mood, are we?” Then, blinking, he looks up at Emma, “Wait, did you say his name is Nacious? Pugnacious? Really ?”
“Oh, believe me, not my idea. Blame my ex for that, he had the worst sense of humor ever.”
“Clearly, if he called his dog that . What that’s quote again? ‘Wit is the lowest form of humor, and puns are the lowest form of wit’?”.
“And also the ‘worst form of human behavior.’ I watch John Oliver too,” Emma says, smiling slightly. “Although I have to disagree with him, as Walsh sank even lower than bad puns.”
“Ah, yes, and got himself arrested for it,” her neighbor nods as he straightens up. Emma winces. So everyone in the building knows about it. Great, as if she needed to be the subject of gossip on top of everything else.
“Sorry, love, shouldn’t have said it like that. Probably shouldn’t have said it at all, to be honest,” Jones apologizes, scratching behind his ear in embarrassment.
“Nah, it’s fine. It’s not like his arrest was very discreet, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t. But still, thinking Nacious is a good name for a dog is criminal in and of itself.”
“Which is why I’m going to change it. Just need to find something appropriate.”
“Oh, as long as it isn’t Ilist, you should be good. Can’t sink any lower.”
Emma snorts despite herself. Who knew the gorgeous Brit had a sense of humor?
And so Emma calls Jones Contractors and talks to a bubbly woman on the phone, then a tall Brit in her apartment who comes to assess (for free) what needs to be done. He introduces himself as Liam Jones, and is very professional, despite a twinkle in his eye that is quite reminiscent of the one in his brother’s gaze. The quote is reasonable and in her budget, so Emma meets Belle, Liam’s wife and co-owner to draft and sign the contract.
Work on her living room starts the next week and advances quickly. Liam is a quick worker, and works cleanly. That is, until he accidentally hits a pipe while tearing out the ruined section of wall. He ends up completely drenched before he manages to stop the leak.
“Sorry lass, do you mind if I call my brother? I can’t continue like this and I’ve got a change of clothes at his flat, it would only take a few minutes.”
“Sure,” Emma agrees, shrugging. “I’ll start mopping while you do that.”
The brother – her neighbor – arrives five minutes later, his arms full and his eyebrow raised.
“Hello lass, heard my brother was making a mess?”
Before Emma can answer, excited yips grow closer as Nacious (or Spencer, as she’s started calling him, but she’s not a fan) bounds to the door, running between Emma and Jones excitedly.
“Good morning to you too Nacious, has your mistress found a new name for you yet?”
“Nacious? I thought his name was Spencer?” Liam says as he comes dripping to the door.
“I’m… trying out new names,” Emma explains, taking Nacious in her arms.
“Good idea, Nacious is really weird for a dog.”
“You don’t understand, brother. What kind of dog is it?”
“A pug – oh you gotta be kidding me. A pun, really?” Liam exclaims, scrunching his nose in distaste.
“It was not my idea,” Emma insists. “It was my ex’s own brand of humor.”
“There’s no humor in that, lass, merely mediocrity. That arse deserves every day of jail he’s gonna get, even if only for that pun.”
Emma agrees, even if she can’t believe that even her contractor knows about her terrible taste in men. Then again, his brother probably had filled him in as to why she needed work done in her apartment. Still.
Liam takes the clothes from Killian and turns without another word towards the bathroom, muttering under his breath about arseholes and punsters and bloody crimes against humanity , leaving Emma and her neighbor standing a little awkwardly in her entryway.
“Well, that’s Liam,” Killian says, shaking his head slightly. “My brother has never managed to master social graces, I’m afraid.”
Emma snorts, before looking behind her and sighing. “Better get back to mopping, I guess.”
Killian curiously looks over her shoulder at the living room, and his eyes widen when he sees the mess of water and soaked towels on the floor.
“That’s quite the mess you’ve got there, Swan,” he grimaces. “Would you like some help?”
“Oh no, don’t worry about it,” Emma says, putting Spencer down to grab the mop. “I’ve got it cov– Na– Spencer, no !”
Her stupid ex’s dog has run through the puddle and is now zipping across the whole apartment, leaving tracks everywhere and – oh no, he’s jumped onto the couch.
A light chuckle sounds behind her. “Are you sure you don’t need help, love?”
Without a word, Emma shoves the mop in Killian’s hands and goes to get her wet dog off the couch, wiping his feet with the last dry towel in her apartment before locking him in her bedroom. When she comes back to her living room, Liam has exited the bathroom and is working on fixing the burst pipe and bantering with Killian, who’s wringing the wet towels on the floor into a bucket before dropping them back on the hardwood. It feels… nice, her living room lively again after weeks of being an empty shell for her memories.
Emma joins them after a few seconds to finish taking care of the puddle and clean the dirty tracks crisscrossing her living space. It seriously looks like a whole football team (and their probably less stupidly-named dog) have traipsed through her apartment after practice. Once it’s done, Killian doesn’t leave. They spend the afternoon trying to teach Spencer his new name as Liam pretends to work, though it seems the dog’s not a fan; Even his favorite treats don’t convince him to respond to their call, though they do prompt Liam’s laughter every time.
The next days pass in the same manner, with Killian and Emma trying to find a name that Nacious will answer to, Nacious spending his time either ignoring them or slobbering between them, and Liam alternating between repairing Emma’s wall and bantering with his brother and Emma. It’s nice, it’s comfortable, it’s warm . Emma also learns new things about Killian: he’s a professor of British history at Boston College and is on break right now, he loves Twain, despises Melville, and lost the fight to name his and his brother’s sailboat the Jolly Roger. It turns out, he is a huge nerd.
Emma is disappointed when Liam finishes at the end of the week, already missing her afternoons with the two Jones brothers – okay, one in particular, and it’s not the one covered in paint. Which is why she’s surprised to hear knocking on her door on Saturday morning, though Nacious’ excitement (or Windham, as they tried to christen him yesterday – Nacious isn’t a fan of British Conservatives, apparently) gives her a clue as to who might be behind the door. Seriously, it had been love at first sight for her dog; she’d be jealous of the attention Killian is getting, if she weren’t so vindictively satisfied that Nacious had never reacted this way to Walsh. There’s justice in the world, apparently.
Opening the door does reveal Killian, who smiles at Emma before greeting her dog, scratching behind his ears until Nacious’ tongue lolls out in bliss. Strangely enough, Killian keeps a hand behind his back.
“Killian! Can I help you?”
“Er, no,” her neighbor says, straightening up. “I just wondered if you’d allow me to give a small gift to Winston?”
Emma blinks, nonplussed. Of all the things she had expected, this was definitely not one of them. She watches as Killian gets a squeaky chicken toy dressed like a pirate from behind his back and holds it out to her. Emma takes it and can’t help but squeeze. Windham/Nacious turns towards the noise immediately, his eyes locking on the source of the noise and his little paws shuffling excitedly on the floor. Emma looks at the chicken, completely blown away. She had mentioned a couple of days ago wanting to replace Nacious’ squeaky toy as a throwaway remark, and they’d been joking about trying pirate names next. The guy had listened to her, and bought a pirate chicken for her dog. He was funny, clever, and handsome to boot.
Also, there was no way tens of thousands of dollars were hidden in that toy.
“Would you like to get coffee sometime?” she blurts out, raising her eyes just in time to see a blush steal across Killian’s face.
“Shouldn’t I be the one doing the asking?” he quips, raising an eyebrow teasingly.
“Well, I did it first,” Emma shoots back, smiling slightly. “So?”
“I’d love to, love,” comes Killian’s answer, as he smiles widely at her.
Emma smiles back, feeling giddy. So giddy, in fact, she doesn’t notice Nacious snapping the squeaky toy out of her limp hand and running back into the apartment, squeaks and yips sounding alternately.
4 years later
Emma sits on her couch, contemplating the mess that her living room has become. Toys, both for kids and dogs, litter the floor as screams and splashes sound from the bathroom. From the noise alone, Emma guesses she’ll have to take the mop out… again. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.
Just as she’s about to get up to start tidying up, someone knocks on the door. She wonders who would come at this hour on a Sunday night. She hopes it isn’t Mrs Johnson from down the hall again; the last time she had lent her neighbor her toaster, it had come back smelling like cabbage, of all things.
It’s not Mrs Johnson, though – it’s Walsh, of all people.
“Hey Em,” he says, smiling so widely it looks more like a grimace. “Long time no see, eh?”
“Yeah, weird how being locked up kills your social life, doesn’t it?” Emma snaps back, already tired with his shit.
“Look, I’m not here to argue, I’m just here to get my things,” Walsh says, finally dropping the smile.
“Your things? Dude, they were either donated to Goodwill or thrown out years ago, did you really think I would keep them for you?”
“I… what?” The asshole actually has the gall to look outraged for a second before he rallies, frowning. “Half of what’s in this apartment is mine, Emma, you know it. I want my share.”
“Actually, no. According to the lease, this apartment is mine, and mine only. Anything else?”
Even after all these years, Emma is deeply satisfied to see Walsh flounder as he stands in the hallway. She can hear a tell-tale squeak and yip coming from behind her. Walsh hears it too.
“Nacious? Is that Nacious? You still have my dog?” He sounds actually hopeful. As if.
“Not your dog anymore, dude.”
“Damn right it is!” Walsh exclaims, raising his voice in anger. “Give me my dog back right now, I paid more than a thousand for him, he’s mine !” he goes on, thumping on the door. “Nacious! Come here, boy!”
And oh, does her dog come. He comes right at Walsh’s ankle, biting it as his former owner yowls in pain, hopping in place and looking at him with a mix of anger and incredulity.
“Westley!” Emma calls, before Walsh can get it into his mind to kick her dog. Westley jiggles to Emma smugly, visibly proud of himself for saving his mistress. Emma picks him up, and look at Walsh, who’s still jumping and swearing in the corridor. The opportunity is too beautiful to pass.
“Quite the ferocious little guy, isn’t he?” she chirps, before saying in a much sterner tone. “Never show your face here, ever again. Next time, I’ll be the one to take care of you.”
And then she slams the door.
“Love, is something the matter?” Killian asks, exiting the bathroom with their giggling daughter in his arms.
Emma smiles, looking at the sight of her husband completely soaked, with suds slowly dissolving in his hair as Westley and their baby girl yammer at each other.
“No babe, everything is absolutely perfect.”