Chapter Text
“I’m using this bathroom, or I swear to God, my kid’s gonna pee right here on your floor.”
Killian’s hand freezes on the dark brown Sperrys he was eyeing at the sound of the spirited voice a few aisles over. He abandons the boating shoes and slips out the end of the aisle. Sure enough, a few feet away, Emma Swan is shouldering past a broad shouldered employee who has two feet in height on her. She pays no heed whatsoever to the badge that says “manager” pinned to his polo shirt as she guides Henry through a door marked “Employees Only.”
A teenaged employee pauses in stocking the shelves. “You gonna let her just go in there?”
The manager sighs as he rubs his temple wearily. “You wanna wash a puddle of urine out of this carpet?”
“No!” exclaims the young employee.
“Then I guess her kid’s using our bathroom.”
Killian hides his chuckle behind his hand as the manager brushes past. Shoes forgotten, he leans casually near the “Employees Only” door. The teenager eyes him curiously, but then shrugs and walks away after she finishes stocking the shelves near him. When the door swings open, Killian begins to clap.
Emma startles as she whirls around. When she recognizes him, her shoulders relax and she gives a sheepish laugh.
“Well done, Swan, well done!”
“You heard all that?”
“Yes, and you were bloody amazing.”
Emma blushes slightly as she gives a tiny bow. Henry is gazing at him with a curious expression, and he’s reminded that toddlers have a short memory. Killian hunkers down to Henry’s eye level.
“Nice to see you again, lad. You came into my office to use the bathroom? Remember?”
“I peed on the floor,” Henry says matter of factly, and Killian laughs. Henry grins.
“And what are you two doing here on this fine spring day?”
“ Bluey shoes!” Henry exclaims.
Emma sighs. “I gave up on the thrift store. Nothing was in his size,” she explains to Killian. Then she kneels down to address Henry. “Remember what I told you? They don’t have any Bluey shoes. They have Spider-man and Paw Patrol .”
Henry lets out a defeated sigh. “Ok, Spider-man .”
“Thank God,” Emma whispers under her breath to Killian as she stands up again.
“What’s Bluey ?” Killian asks.
“She’s a dog. An Australian sheep dog, to be exact. A cartoon export from Australia that Henry is currently obsessed with. Unfortunately, while she’s extremely popular in Australia, her merchandising hasn’t quite made it to the States yet. Thanks a lot, Disney Plus.”
“My nephew hasn’t discovered that one yet. Though I’m forced to watch a lot of that cartoon with the pugs?”
Emma nods. “ Puppy Dog Pals . Henry likes that one, too.”
“What is it with cartoon dogs?”
“I know, right?”
The two of them seem to sway into each other’s personal space as they laugh softly. Emma shakes her head, breaking the connection, and Killian clears his throat, his hand landing behind his right ear in what Liam calls his “nervous tell.”
“Shoes!” Henry cries out, yanking on his mother’s arm.
Emma blinks. “Right! Spider-man shoes.”
“Then ice cweam,” the toddler adds firmly.
“Only if you don’t fight me trying on the shoes,” Emma counters, her eyebrows lifting in a silent question.
Henry’s eyes widen, and he quickly plops down on the floor, extending one foot obediently. Killian chuckles at the sight as he begins to back away.
“Well, I’ll let you two get back to shoe shopping.”
He doesn’t see the display of children’s Sperrys at the end of the aisle. He takes only two steps backwards and swipes it with his hip, sending three pairs of tiny, pretentious shoes tumbling to the floor. Henry dissolves into giggles, and Emma bites her lip as she watches Killian hurriedly retrieve the shoes and put them back. Why does this woman consistently leave him with the mental faculties of a thirteen year old?
“Uh, didn’t see those,” he mutters.
“I think the universe just wants to protect mothers from over-priced shoes,” Emma deadpans. She stands up, propping both hands on her hips. “Well, kid, those look good.”
“They gots lights!” he squeals, stomping his little feet to make the heels flash red.
Killian suddenly realizes he’s still holding a miniature pair of boat shoes as he stares at Emma. She catches his eye, and he hurriedly puts the shoe back. The tag on the little shelf the shoe rests on reads “$49.99.” Emma wasn’t kidding. It’s a ridiculous amount to pay for children’s shoes.
“Do people actually buy these?” he scoffs.
“I guess,” Emma says, coming to stand at his side. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”
His mouth falls open at her use of the same word that had just been in his own head. She tilts her head as she looks at him, mirth clearly teasing the corners of her mouth.
He really needs to stop staring at her lips.
“Wanna go get some ice cream with us?”
Killian’s distracted from her perfect, pink lips by the invitation. “I wouldn’t be imposing?”
She rolls her eyes. “On my date with my three year old? No.”
The chill of March is beginning to relinquish its hold, making a stroll down the sidewalks of Storybrooke with ice cream cones in hand more pleasurable than it would have been a week ago. Henry walks between them, jabbering on about his new shoes, cartoon dogs, and the various vehicles that pass them on Main Street. He and Emma, meanwhile, are content to lick their ice cream and comment now and then upon the boy’s observations.
“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” Emma admonishes him gently, then catches Killian’s eyes as she lifts her gaze from her son. She’s chuckling, and Killian joins her, both of them amused at the mess Henry is becoming as chocolate ice cream drips down his arm. His face is smeared with it too, as is his shirt and thin jacket.
“Will it be hard to get the chocolate out of his shirt?”
Emma shrugs. “I have three rules when it comes to Henry’s clothes. One, buy them cheap. Two, never get anything white. Three, always have stain remover on hand. That way, I never have to stress about him getting dirty. I mean, kids are supposed to get dirty, right?”
Killian nods his agreement, then polishes off the last of his salted caramel cone. Emma’s taking her time with her rocky road, and Killian keeps getting distracted with every slow swipe of her tongue.
“I don’t want no more,” Henry whines. He’s managed to finish the swirls of chocolate on the top of the cone, but he’s only taken a bite or two of the cone itself. At this point, it’s mostly a brown, mushy, dripping blob in his hand.
Emma kneels down, her own cone in one hand and a stack of napkins in the other.
“We are a mess, aren’t we?” she sighs.
Emma, without conscious thought, hands Killian her ice cream cone. He stands there holding it as she tosses Henry’s soggy cone into the nearest trash can and then methodically wipes him clean. There are still dried smears of chocolate staining his face, and the boy is probably fairly sticky, but Emma has still done a fair job under the circumstances. The fact that she handled it all with such calm and grace tells Killian even more about her personality and the things she values in life. She stands and takes her ice cream cone from Killian. Their fingers brush, and a faint blush stains her cheeks as their eyes lock.
“You are a bloody brilliant mother,” he tells her.
Emma suddenly finds her ice cream fascinating. “It doesn’t always feel that way,” she confesses.
“You fight for him. You don’t scold him for ordinary child behavior. You work hard to give him the best life you possibly can.”
Emma’s head jerks up, her brow furrowed. “How can you possibly know any of that?”
Killian chuckles. “You’re somewhat of an open book, love.”
Emma takes a bite of her ice cream, then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Henry’s dad is in jail.”
Killian’s eyes widen. The comment came so completely out of left field, and yet . . . he glances down at Henry, who’s crouched down, fascinated by loose pebbles in the crumbling sidewalk of historical downtown Storybrooke.
“He knows,” Emma clarifies. “I mean, I explained it in a way a three year old can understand. He’s smart, so he’s noticed that other kids have dads. When he asked, I told him the truth.”
Killian nodded, completely without judgment. He may not have kids, but he’s always felt adults should be honest.
“I just want him to understand,” Emma rushes on, her cone forgotten. It begins to drip onto the sidewalk. “He needs to know his father is a bad man. One who doesn’t deserve to know about him.”
“Swan,” Killian interrupts her gently, placing a hand to her elbow, “you’ve no need to justify yourself to me. One day, Henry will appreciate your honesty.”
Emma gives him a trembling smile, then glances down at the sad remains of her cone. Rolling her eyes, she tosses it in the trash can. Then she shoves both hands in her pockets, rocking back on her heels.
“So you’re not freaking out that I had a kid with a criminal?”
“For one, I don’t know the details, so who am I to judge? Second, his mistakes have nothing to do with you or Henry. Third, it’s in the past.”
Emma’s smile broadens and her shoulders relax. “Thanks.”
The heavy moment between them is broken by Emma’s cell phone ringing in her jacket pocket. She checks to see who it is, and then glances up at him apologetically.
“It’s my sister. I need to take it.”
Killian nods as Emma answers, turning her back to Killian for a modicum of privacy. Henry wanders a little too close to the street, and Killian intercepts him without thinking. He settles the lad on his hip, and the child studies him with wide brown eyes. Whatever test is within his gaze, Killian must pass, because the boy doesn’t cry or attempt to wriggle from his grasp. Despite his stickiness, Henry is endearing as he relaxes in Killian’s arms, regarding his mother quizzically as he pops a thumb into his mouth.
Emma’s voice rises slightly, and when she hangs up, there’s worry in her eyes. They’ve made their way back to her yellow bug in their stroll from the ice cream shop, and she hurriedly collects Henry as she juggles her oversized purse and keys.
“I have to go,” she explains with a tremor in her voice. “Eva fell down the stairs.”
“Is she okay?”
“I - I think so,” Emma answers, her hands trembling as she buckles Henry into his car seat. “Mary Margaret and David are with her at the hospital.”
She extricates herself from the back seat, shuts the door, and turns to Killian, shoving her hair behind both ears with nervous hands. He’s closer to her than he meant to be, hovering in his concern like a helpless idiot. Her eyes blink rapidly as she gazes up at him.
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
It isn’t until she pulls away from the curb that Killian realizes three things.
One, Henry smeared chocolate ice cream across the shoulder of his light blue shirt. Second, he never bought the shoes he’d specifically gone out to buy.
Third, and most importantly, he still doesn’t have Emma’s phone number.
************************************************************
Fate has been more than kind to Killian Jones when it comes to Emma Swan. He doesn’t expect the old girl to allow their paths to cross a fourth time.
Thankfully, Emma Swan decides to take fate into her own hands.
She practically marches into Jones & Jones with obvious purpose. It’s April 16th, the day after tax day, which for an accounting firm is reason for celebration. Their office party is in full swing. 80s pop music (Ariel’s choice) blares from a pair of bluetooth speakers, food is spread across every available surface, and the champagne has been flowing. He and Liam are in a full-blown competition over the dart board that hangs on Liam’s office door - a strange tradition that neither of them can remember starting.
“Swan!” he exclaims as the door swings shut behind her. He approaches her, still clutching a dart in his hand. “How is your mother?”
“She’s good,” Emma says, a bit breathlessly. She shoves her hands in her pockets, and her shoulders tense, rising almost to her ears. “No concussion or broken bones. She just sprained her wrist, thank God.”
“That’s wonderful, Emma, I’m so relieved. I would have called, but I didn’t have your number.”
She nods. “Soooo, you have a lot more time on your hands, I guess. With tax season over?”
“That’s right,” he replies, curious why she’s here. His eyes dance and a smile teases his lips as he searches her expression.
“Quit flirting little brother,” Liam calls out, “it’s your throw!”
Killian rolls his eyes and winks at Emma before turning to aim at the dart board. Emma chooses that moment to drop a bomb.
“Good. Because I’m here to ask you out.”
Killian literally stumbles, once again displaying the finesse of an adolescent when it comes to this woman. His dart pings against the edge of the board and falls to the floor. As he turns slowly to face Emma, his brother guffaws loudly behind him. Emma’s cheeks are pink. She bites her lower lip and tilts her head in a slight shrug. Killian’s smile widens slowly as he saunters near her.
“Shouldn’t I be the one to ask you out?”
Emma rolls her eyes, and her shoulders relax. “I should have known you’d be old fashioned.”
“Oh really?”
Emma’s eyes sparkle and her cheeks apple as her smile grows. “Yeah, you know, being an accountant and all.”
His eyes dart from her lips to her eyes and back again. “Believe me when I say that this accountant knows how to give you a good time.”
“You mean the brilliant accountant who didn’t even know how to get my phone number?”
He can hear Liam and Elsa chuckling and Ariel gasping in delight. He doesn’t look away from Emma’s face, however.
“Yet here you are.”
“Here I am.”
He’s so close to her now, her blonde hair brushes across his arm. Kissing her would only take a dip of his head. He can see the golden flecks in her green eyes and the tiniest of freckles across her nose.
“I really want to kiss you right now.”
She smirks. “Why don’t you?”
“In my office? With my brother right here?”
She rolls her eyes as her hands come up to grip the front of his shirt. “For a smart guy, you’re an idiot, Killian Jones.”
And then she’s yanked him flush against her, and her lips are on his, and he scarcely knows where he is anymore. It only takes him half a second to catch up and kiss her back, and it doesn’t take long for the kiss to become something that definitely shouldn’t be public. He can’t find it within himself to care, however, not when Emma came here to find him. To ask him out. She’s the kind of woman to fight for what she wants, and he’s so bloody thankful. When she pulls away, he chases her lips, and she gives him a smug, satisfied grin.
“That was -”
“A preview,” she says with a wink.
Then she’s walking away - again - and she’s reaching for the door -
“Wait!” He finally regains his faculties enough to call after her. “I still don’t have your number.”
“Yeah, you do,” she tells him saucily before making her exit.
“Bloody hell,” he mutters, and then he notices it. The post- it note on his shirt.
Emma Swan 555-7386
92 Maple Ave.
Pick me up this Friday night at 6 - don’t be late!
A smile slowly spreads across his face as he pockets the note. He has a feeling the fun is only just beginning with the fiery and determined Emma Swan.