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It was not Emma’s day. Woken up an hour early by her alarm, her shower refused to warm up leaving her to shower in freezing cold water and she ripped her top as she pulled it on.
She knew the fun was just beginning. What other delights do I have to look forward to? she mused as she pulled on her heavy winter coat, sighing as she missed the armour of her red leather jacket. Leroy is sure to put in a grand appearance. She grabbed her phone and keys and slipped them in her pocket. Who’s he going to piss off today? Maybe he’ll just start shouting "the end is coming!" like that time he got drunk and thought -
Woah.
Emma’s train of thought was completely derailed. There was a white box in front of the door to her flat. The kind that doughnuts came in. She might have thought that it wasn’t meant for her - people didn’t leave unexpected thoughtful gifts for her - but there was a swan on the gift tag.
She looked around for the culprit, teeth clenching as she searched for a lurking prankster. The furrow in her brow didn’t relax upon seeing no one, Will Scarlet lived directly opposite her, and he definitely seemed the practical joke type, “I’ll do anything for a laugh, me,” isn’t that what he’d said? She crouched down towards the box, eyes on Will’s door until the last second, when she flipped over the card quickly, scarcely willing to touch it.
Hope your day is as lovely as you.
Her heart pounded. A normal person might smile at this, but this made her skin itch from the inside. She wasn’t lovely, she was, she was - prickly, her memories provided for her. Yes, prickly, that’s what Elsa had called her.
Emma reached into her pocket for a tissue, wrapped her hand in it, eyes darting back and forward between the box and the ominous closed door facing her. She reached out with her covered hand and quickly opened the box.
A bear claw was inside.
She didn’t know what to think. Except that she was hungry and that the bear claw smelled good. And I hope Will didn’t see that, he’d probably tell Killian.
Which would be fine. Killian was just a friend, of sorts. A handsome friend, not that she’d noticed. One who sometimes smiled at her in a certain way that made her think that maybe getting involved with a friend wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. It’s not like they were close or anything. And besides -
Stop it, she told herself firmly, closing the lid and scooping up the box. She wasn’t one to look a gift pastry in the box. Or something.
***
A glass was placed before Emma, the amber liquid exactly what she needed after her long week. Someone brushed up against her as they leaned against the bar.
"Sorry, love," they murmured, her chest tightened pleasantly at the sound of their lilting British accent.
She looked around, at the same time as the stranger. Hot. It was the only thought in her head at the sight of him. Brilliant blue eyes sparkling with seduction met hers, his tongue traced his lips sinfully. God she hoped she wasn't imagining the interest she was sure she could feel radiating off this dark-haired treat.
"Drinking alone?" he asked, cocking his brow in invitation.
She thought of her friends loitering near the booths. "Not anymore," she said, leaning into him with a smile, one that he returned, mirroring her.
"Jones!" Emma sighed as her latest would be conquest, Jones apparently, jolted forward from the impact of her friend Robin colliding with him, throwing his arms around his shoulders.
"Emma!" Robin exclaimed, shoving his way between her and 'Jones', "I see you've met Killian!"
Emma's face fell as Robin's words ensured that she would not be getting intimately acquainted with Killian. She was a one night only kind of girl, and that just wouldn't fly with Robin's "old mate Killian from across the pond". She shuddered internally at the thought of hanging out with anyone who had seen her O face. (The guy just oozed sex appeal, turning her on with just a polite apology, there was no way he wouldn't get to see that face if they were to bang out the tension that thrummed between them.)
She shook herself from her thoughts. "We just said hi," she lied easily, thinking she saw the briefest spark of sadness in Killian's eyes, before it was smoothed away by forced frivolity. "Hadn't introduced ourselves yet."
"Well in that case, Emma Swan, meet Killian Jones. Killian, meet Emma." Killian held out his hand for her to shake, and if he felt that same spark that she did when she took it, his eyes gave nothing away.
***
Emma stopped dead at the sight of the foot of fresh snow that coated the ground when she yanked open the door. "Seriously?" she groaned in disgust. The weather forecast hadn't said anything about snow and it was unlikely that her poor bug would handle the cold.
She gingerly stepped outside, and was hit by the icy chill of the air even through her thick coat. She slipped and slid her way to the bug and was forced to set her bakery box on the top of her car - though not before she brushed the snow from it - to use both hands to wrench the frozen shut door open.
Why am I even bothering? This is never going to start. But still, she spent several minutes tugging with all her might before it gave way with an ominous crack. Her legs shot out from under her and she landed hard on her ass.
Fucking ow. "Like landing on a pillow" my ass, Kristoff. Him and Anna were toast and the rest of Frozen was Elsa's fever dream.
Still, the door was open, there was still hope that her luck was turning.
***
Emma was never really one for hope. That bear claw had clearly given her an unexpected optimism that slowly shrivelled up in the icy chill, pathetically shuddering before finally slinking off to a hole to die as the bug stubbornly refused to start.
There was nothing for it but to walk to work.
After that bear claw. She would need the extra fuel to help her keep warm on the long, arduous fifteen minute trek. Besides, the way her luck was going, she was sure to wind up face first in the thing within a few steps of the bug, best not to try her chances.
She ate quickly, lest she find herself frozen into the bug this time, and set off on her epic journey to work. Fifteen minutes became forty five as she carefully stepped - and, more often than not, skidded - along icy sidewalks, determined to somehow, some way, maintain her upright position.
She pushed her way through the doors of the station, shaking the snow from her coat as she went and bitterly regretting her choice not to detour to Granny’s for more sweet treats to keep her going through the day.
“Morning, Sheriff,” David singsonged to her as she burst into the room, dishevelled and cold. She whirled around to glare at him.
“What’s got you in such a chipper mood? Is your heart too pure to be touched by the cold?”
“You’ll see!”
She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to will him to speak. (And not to consider what was wrong with her that she was so deeply suspicious of her good friend and trusted colleague being happy, of all things.)
She crept up on her office, her hand twitching as she struggled against her instincts to draw her gun. She reached for the door, then stopped to took one last calculating look over at David. Upon seeing the look of sheer amusement on his face at her antics, she straightened up and threw the door open.
Her jaw dropped at the sight before her.
There, on her desk, was what could only be described as a bouquet of poptarts, apollo bars and hot chocolate sachets. She stepped closer, looking to see if there was a card, and spotted another gift card bearing a simple swan.
Sweets for my sweet
She almost gasped at the message. Did that mean - could these be from - Killian?
She didn’t know what had possessed her to agree to help chaperone the high school winter dance, Mary Margaret was the teacher, that was her job. Emma was just her gullible friend.
Her gullible friend who was currently stuck in some kind of time warp, attending a 60’s themed dance. It was disconcerting at best, to watch 17 year olds do the mashed potato and the twist instead of, well, whatever normal teenagers did. Having never been to a prom before, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she was reasonably certain that it wasn’t this.
“Sweets for my sweet,” a voice sang into her ear.
The owner was lucky that he even sang with a British lilt, or she’d have had his arm twisted up behind his back in a heartbeat. Instead she rolled her eyes as she turned to look at him.
“Those lines may work in England, Killian, but here you need to put in a little more effort."
" My heart," he gasped clutching at his chest. "You Yanks are so cruel!" He raised a fist to the sky, shaking it dramatically. "A curse upon Love Actually for teaching me that all I needed to pull was a cute British accent."
Emma wasn't quite sure what to make of this. It made her want to laugh, in spite of herself, feeling certain that he was mocking himself instead of her, although it was hard to be sure. "It really took you five months to find that one out? Never struck out before?"
"Come on, love, you've seen me, with this devilishly handsome face I normally don't have to resort to pick up lines at all."
Emma did laugh that time. "Not sure if you're painting yourself in a very good light there. You're only able to charm a lady if you keep your mouth shut?"
Killian smirked at her, and leaned in closer, a move that tugged at her insides, leaving her chest feeling tight, tensed in eager anticipation as it so often did when he was around. "Oh, I assure you that I am quite the cunning linguist, when the lady's willing," he said with a wink.
She cursed herself and her hormones, because even his ridiculous words and pathetic half wink sent a flutter deep inside of her. The feeling spiked a familiar wave of panic coursing through her. She didn't do relationships and she certainly didn't do friends with benefits, which placed Killian firmly in look but don't touch territory.
"What a shame, I guess you'll have to find another 'willing lady'." She forced a bored lightness into her words, as she stepped back, trying to reestablish the boundaries of their relationship.
"As you wish," he said with an elaborate bow. He straightened and smiled at her, this time a smile of friendship, easily accepting her refusal with good grace. "It's not too much to ask you for a dance, though, is it Swan?"
His question was a genuine one, a true desire to understand what she needed of him.
"Oh, I don't know." His eyes dimmed a little in what seemed like disappointment, even as he gave her a smile and a nod that sent a surge of adrenaline spiking through her. "It's not that I don't want to, I just, um - I don't know - how to whatever that is."
The sparkle was back in his eyes, and with it, the flutter inside her. "Dance?" he chuckled.
She eyed the dancers spinning about dubiously. These kids had definitely been taking lessons, which was a level of effort she couldn't even imagine for a single high school dance. But then, she was always the outsider, perhaps this was just what all normal kids did, maybe she was the weird one.
She was pulled from her thoughts by his hand gently tugging on hers. She looked up to see him smiling at her patiently.
"There really is only one rule."
"And what's that?"
"Pick a partner who knows what he's doing."
Her scepticism must have been written all over her face, and yet she let him lead her towards the dance floor. "This isn't setting me up for a Carrie situation, is it?" she said, giving voice to the secret fears of the lost girl inside, even as she knew that Killian wouldn't do that to her.
"And why would I want to humiliate a dear friend? That would be the height of bad form." His words were light, but she was sure that she could feel the hurt behind them, and felt bad for letting her worst fears affect him.
She couldn't think of anything to say to that, so instead she aimed for distraction. "Why are you here anyway?" He arched a brow at her rudeness and she cringed at herself. "I thought you were a fancy college professor or something?"
"I'm a professor of linguistics -"
"For real? I thought you were just -" Emma's cheeks flamed at what she had thought Killian was referring to when he called himself a 'cunning linguist'.
He smirked. "Mind out of the gutter, Swan. As I said, linguistics is my specialism, I'm doing a study into the changing speech patterns of the youth of today, and the impact of technology on their communication styles. Storybrooke High School has allowed me to gather primary data for my research, in exchange for my assistance with advanced assignments and specialist lectures for those on track for Ivy League."
Emma liked listening to him talk, it was easy to get caught up in his excitement, even if she wouldn't normally care about academia or the study of linguistics. She loved his passion and that he didn't talk down to her, even though he knew she was a high school dropout.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to bore you." He chuckled, and abruptly spun her out, before pulling her back in. "I realise I get carried away sometimes, thank you for indulging me."
"That's OK, you're cute when you're talking about you research."
"Oh really?" His left eyebrow danced up like it had a mind of its own. "So you are a fan of my cunning linguistics? Good to know." He laughed and ducked out of the way of her lazy smack to his arm. She didn't mind, she hadn't really intended to injure him, just warn him off that particular line of teasing. She felt like something had shifted between them in the course of one short dance, and it wasn't something that she had much care to examine right then - or, more likely, ever.
That dance had been a month and a half ago, surely there was no way that this was Killian finally pushing that boundary? Testing it out to see if there was any hope that maybe the time had finally come for her to reexamine it, to reconsider what they could be to each other? But if not him, who else could have sent this?
She chewed on her lip and wondered what this could all mean.
The phone rang, startling her from her thoughts. She could hear David answering a moment later, giving her leave to pick a pop tart from the bouquet, unwrap it, and take a bite.
“Emma?”
She grunted in reply, unable to speak around her mouthful of pop tart.
“Duty calls.”
***
It had been a hell of a day and it was only 2pm, far too late for her to only just be heading into the diner.
She leaned against the counter with a sigh, which thankfully caught Granny’s attention.
“Hey Emma,” said the eponymous diner owner, looking up at her, “just packing up your order, it’ll be ready in a minute.”
“Thanks,” Emma said, and closed her eyes.
“Rough day, love?”
Killian’s voice was like music to her ears, although the tune halted abruptly with a screeching record scratch as she remembered the gifts. She wasn’t absolutely certain that he was the sender, and that left her entirely unclear about what she should do. Just thinking about it was enough to set her heart racing, and not in the pleasantly fluttery way it usually did when he was around.
“Er - yeah - it’s been - well, you’ve seen the weather.” She gestured outside to the snow, feeling like a massive prick as she did it. She hated stating the obvious.
“Yeah, I can imagine that you’ve had a lot on.”
“Eh, I wasn’t expecting a great day anyway. Something about this time of year always gets to people.”
“Well, it is Blue Monday.”
“A catchy disco electro-rock song? Sure. Why not?”
Killian laughed. “How does it feel to treat me like you do?” he sang at her, and her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met. Those words hit a little too close to home.
She quickly looked away. He always could see her, really see her, in a way no one else could, and his piercing eyes were just a little too much for her right now. “So, Blue Monday?”
“Aye. Most depressing day of the year.”
She couldn’t help it, she had to look at him now. “Says who?”
“Marketers, I think.” She tilted her head, waiting for him to answer her silent question. “It’s a big deal in Britain, someone allegedly calculated the most depressing day of the year, and every year the press brings it up again and of course, businesses take the chance to persuade every to spend their money to find some joy.”
“Yay capitalism,” Emma deadpanned. “I buy it though. Something about that last Monday in January before payday seems to send people crazy.”
Killian looked over to the menu, nodding thoughtfully. “Has anything happened to brighten your day though?” he asked. His words sounded casual, but Emma knew better, she could see how he scratched at that spot behind his ear, the way he always did when he was nervous.
She made him nervous. She felt the same, panicking over what was the right thing to say. Should she mention the gifts? What if it wasn’t him? He hadn’t actually said anything conclusive, just vaguely hinted. But, oh, what if it was? She wasn’t fit to actually be with someone, and surely there was no way to misconstrue his feelings towards her after that, how could she say thanks but no thanks to this man?
He looked over at her, a question in his eyes. Apparently, her internal freak out was taking every bit as long as she worried it was.
“Oh - oh, um, no.”
And she watched as hope died in Killian Jones’ beautiful blue eyes and felt every inch the asshole that she was.
***
“I thought you had a date tonight?” Killian said, too smooth for his jaw to drop, but nevertheless oozing surprise at finding Emma at his front door.
“Wow, is that how you greet all your friends?” she asked.”So, er, you going to let me in now?”
He gestured wordless for her to step inside and reached out to help her with her coat. His fingers brushed her shoulder, the barest of touches, and still she felt that twist of anticipation in her belly. Shaking herself she strode straight for the living room, flopped down on his sofa and kicked off her heels.
She didn’t move until she felt him settle down next to her, when she swung her legs across his. It perhaps wasn’t the most ladylike of gestures, what with her wearing a form-fitting mini dress, but he immediately took one of her feet in his hands and began to knead at the arches and she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her body was simultaneously melting in relaxation and buzzing with arousal at the feeling. He continued to massage her in silence for several minutes, during which time Emma gave into the pure feeling of bliss his touch gave her and closed her eyes.
“So, no date then?”
She opened her eyes to see that he was still studying her foot intently, but he was poised in anticipation of her reply.
“You think I put this dress on just to lie on your sofa?”
“A man can dream.” That look on sincerity was back on Killian’s face, she’d been seeing it more and more since that stupid dance. He meant his flirting, he was hers for the taking if she wanted him, or at least, she thought so, but she’d been wrong about these things before and it was just easier to not push and be rejected and -
She moaned as he found a particularly tight knot and began to rub out the tension, sending ripples of relaxation through her.
Oh God if he’s this good with your feet, you have to let him handle o-
Stop it.
And she was back to arguing with herself internally.
“Everything alright?” Killian had stopped her movements and was looking up at her with worry written across his face.
“What? Yeah, it’s fine. Great actually, that bit just really hurts and yeah, it felt nice.”
He resumed massaging the knot, far more gently than he had before. “Only you’ve gone a bit tense. If it’s not the massage, dare I presume it was the date?”
“Urgh, the date. Next time Mary Margaret tries to persuade me to go on a blind date, please remind me not to be fooled by her cute pixie face, she is one feisty bitch and can absolutely handle the disappointment when I tell her to fuck off.”
“It didn’t go well?”
“The guy bought me a rose -”
“What a monster!”
“ - let me finish, a red rose covered bear. It looked like the calling card a serial killer would leave at the scene of the crime.”
“But a real rose would have been ok?”
Emma shrugged. “I guess? They’re just a bit cliched though, aren’t they?”
“A red rose maybe, although they do have a long-standing tradition that dates back as far as the Greek goddess of love.”
“Exactly. Cliche.”
Killian laughed. “That it is indeed. Perhaps you would prefer another colour? Red is chosen because indicates passion and desire, but there are other colours.”
“What about yellow? That’s my favourite colour.”
“Ah, the symbol of friendship.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Indeed, what true partnership can you have with a lover who is not also a friend?”
There was a bit too much meaning in those words, that possibility of more between them, ready for Emma to just reach out and take it. If only she could be brave enough.
***
"No Leroy, I can't arrest your brother for falling asleep during a row," Emma said into the phone rubbing at her temples with her free hand in exasperation. "It hardly seems fair to call him rude, he has narcolepsy. Yes, I do imagine it is annoying, but being irritating without due care and attention isn't a criminal offence." Luckily for you, she thought to herself. "I'm sorry, I cannot help you, and if you call again, I will have to arrest you for wasting police time, goodbye"
Emma put the phone down on Leroy even as he started on a new tirade about her.
"Miss Swan?" Emma looked up, to see Moe French lingering in her doorway.
"How can I help you, Mr French?" she asked with a tired smile
"I've got a delivery for you." As he spoke the florist produced a simple bouquet from behind his back of yellow roses mixed with buttercups and daisies. "Sorry it's late in the day, the weather's delayed my deliveries."
He handed it out to her and Emma immediately looked for a tag with a swan on as she reached for it, wondering at the choice of flowers. They had to be from Killian, but what did this mean?
"Can you sign for them?"
"Oh, sure," she said and fumbled awkwardly with the flowers to scribble her name. Once alone, she looked again for a card - and again found a simple swan tag.
To brighten your day
Killian
There was no denying it now: the gifts were from Killian, and he expected nothing in return. Yellow roses for friendship, buttercups for The Princess Bride. “As you wish,” he said just like Wesley, his way of saying “I love you”. He would follow her wishes, it was up to her whether that love was to remain purely platonic. What did she wish for?
She thought of Killian. Of how he smiled just for her, of how he made her feel, of the sadness he felt at not being able to bring a little joy into her day. She felt that familiar tingle inside of her at the thought of him. The anxiety that always reared up in response to her happiness twisted that feeling into something dark and unpleasant.
But he’ll -
No, she told herself, not today.
Men aren’t to be trusted. The anxiety tried again, her inner horcrux whispering to her. What makes you think he’ll be different? Just stay friends, that’s -
“No!” she shouted out loud, “That’s not enough for me!”
And so with her mind made up, she ran.
***
She was panting, her lungs screaming with the effort, when she finally skidded to a halt in front of Killian’s door. Her cheeks were red, she was sweaty and barely able to speak, but she didn’t care, just hammered on the door.
“Swan!” Killian said with a smile as he threw open the door. She watched him, waiting for her breath to return to something like normal before speaking, seeing how his eyes darted from the flowers clasped tight to her chest, to her smile, to her eyes. “Is everything OK?”
“Do you mean it?” she said, searching his face for the answer she was so desperate to hear.
His mouth turned up in a cheeky half smile and she just knew he was going to say something ridiculous. “Yes, I do want to know if everything is OK.”
“No,” she frowned, shaking her head and holding out the bouquet. “Do you mean it? Can we - can we be - more?” She tripped over her words, feeling foolish before him.
She didn’t feel foolish for long.
A dazzling smile spread over his face as he understood, looking simply awestruck at her stumbling question. His eyes never left hers as he nodded slowly. “As you wish,” was his reply.
She grabbed him, pushing him back into his apartment, dropping the bouquet and letting the door slam shut behind them as she seized his mouth with hers. That delightful feeling of something immense exploded in her chest, her anxiety was finally quelled, there was nothing but her and him and the start of so much more.