Chapter Text
“Can we use your bathroom, please?
Jones & Jones Accounting Firm isn’t your stereotypical lifeless, silent establishment, just as the Jones brothers don’t look like your stereotypical accountants. Nevertheless, the frazzled blonde bursts in upon a moment of intense concentration. It’s tax season, after all. Killian takes in said blonde, her hair a wild disarray and tension in her shoulders. She’s clearly not having the best day. A squirming three year old grips her hand, doing what Liam and Elsa always call “the potty dance.”
All four employees of Jones & Jones (it technically should be Jones, Jones, & Jones , but Elsa said that was far too pretentious) hurriedly assure the woman, “yes, yes, of course ,” leaping to their feet, hovering, oozing politeness, and pointing to the end of the hall to the facilities. The woman practically weeps in relief.
“Pee pee now, Mama!” the child cries, and his mother scoops him up, holding him out in front of her as she races for the toilet. It’s another maneuver Killian is familiar with thanks to Liam and Elsa - or his nephew, to be more specific.
The blonde - he really wants to know her name - sets the boy down in front of the toilet. In her haste she doesn’t even bother to shut the door.
It’s too late.
Before she can even get the child’s pants down, a yellow puddle is spreading at his feet.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasps to the adults still unhelpfully hovering.
Then she starts ugly crying. Somehow, Killian knows this is out of character for her.
The boy begins to cry in earnest too. Liam and Elsa race off, most likely to take care of this , as the only two adults at Jones & Jones with kids. Ariel, who knows nothing about personal space and has never met a stranger, puts a comforting arm around the blonde.
“It’s okay, lass,” Killian assures, “really.”
“How can it be okay? We burst in here and peed on your floor!”
Killian bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling or pointing out that only the lad did the actual peeing.
Liam appears with a roll of paper towels and a mop. “Accidents happen,” he tells the young mother cheerfully. “Potty training?”
“Yes!” the woman practically wails. “He’s three, so I know we should be done -“
“Ours is three too,” Elsa interrupts as she pushes a stack of clothes into her arms, “and he still has accidents. Which is why I have a spare set of clothes in my desk drawer.”
“Oh, spare clothes,” the woman mutters, shuffling through the massive bag slung over one shoulder. “Shit, he peed on those yesterday .”
He continues to sob as Liam lifts him out of his yellow puddle.
“So take these,” Elsa insists once again. “My name is Elsa, by the way.”
“Emma,” the blonde answers with a trembling chin as she takes the clothes, “and I never fall apart like this with strangers.” She chuckles sardonically. “Hell, I don’t do it with people I do know, but we’ve just had the worst time. Henry said he had to go, but every shop on this street said no when I begged for a bathroom. I was trying to buy him a pair of shoes. I mean, who the hell opens a kids’ thrift store and doesn’t put in a public bathroom?”
Killian once again bites his lip at the heat in her voice. He believes her when she insists that she rarely falls apart. She’s feisty and tough as nails - no question.
“Well,” Liam says, stuffing the wastebasket with sodden paper towels, “I’ve gotten most of it so you can change your lad out of his wet things. I’ll mop up when you’re done.”
Emma looks at each of them in turn, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. “Why are you all being so nice?”
It’s clear from the way she says it that kindness has been rare in her life. It makes Killian wonder about the boy’s father. She isn’t wearing a ring, but that doesn’t mean the man isn’t around. Whoever he is, he’s done nothing to ease that look of mistrust in her eyes.
“Because it’s clear you’re having a rough day,” Killian tells her gently, “and we’ve all been there.”
“Some of us literally,” quips Liam, and Elsa laughs.
“Your office was the sixth place I tried,” Emma whispers. “I never would have asked to use a bathroom in a business office if I wasn’t desperate.”
The boy - Henry - is still sniffling. “Was I a bad boy, Mama?”
“Oh baby, no,” Emma croons, falling to her knees before her son. “Even a big person might have had an accident holding it as long as you had to.”
Her soft voice melts the little boy, and he collapses wearily into his mother’s arms for comfort. Emma obliges, heedless of the child’s smelly dampness. She’s a good mother, that’s clear. The businesses on this street however? Killian clenches his jaw as he mentally ticks them off: the thrift store Emma had mentioned, a sporting goods store, a ladies boutique, a children’s book store, a jewelry store, and then Jones & Jones. Every single one had no reason to deny the desperate mother and child an exception to their “employees only” restrooms.
“Next time, love,” Killian says to the resilient mother before him, “you just stride right back to the bathroom no matter what they say.”
“Yeah,” Ariel agrees, anger flashing in her eyes, “I understand why they might not want a public bathroom, but surely they could see it was an emergency.”
“You just tell them it’s either let you use their bathroom or your kid’s gonna pee right on their floor,” Elsa grumbles. She’s clearly pissed - pun completely intended - or she wouldn’t have spoken with such poor diction.
Emma laughs, her face more at ease than it has been since she arrived. “I’ll remember that next time. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“And potty training is definitely a desperate time,” Liam commiserates.
They leave Emma and Henry alone then so she can change his clothes. When mother and son exit the bathroom, they both look much calmer.
“I can’t say thank you enough,” Emma tells them. “I’ll come back by tomorrow to return the clothes.”
Elsa waves away her offer. “No worries. Those are pretty worse for wear. Ian won’t miss them, I promise.”
“Ian Jones, I’m guessing?” Emma asks. “That’s a nice name.”
“It’s a nickname, actually,” Liam tells her from where he’s mopping the bathroom. “He’s named after this git of a brother, over here.”
“Oi, but you did name him after me, didn’t you?” Killian shoots back.
“Nickname, huh?” Emma asks with a tilt of her head and a teasing smile. “Short for . . . ?”
“Killian.” Is it just his imagination, or is she flirting with him? “Killian Jones.”
He extends his hand, and she takes it.
“Emma Swan.”
A last name! His heart soars. “It suits you.”
Emma’s smile brightens even as she rolls her eyes. No, it isn’t his imagination - she is flirting. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Only the ones with kids who pee in my office.”
She tilts her head back and lets out a full-throated laugh. It does something to his heart - makes it expand or something equally cheesy. Her cheeks are pink as she looks at him while tugging at the ends of her hair.
“So . . . um, I still feel kind of bad about that.” Her nose wrinkles, and he notices the light dusting of freckles there.
“Well, you could make it up to us by staying and having dinner. It will be here any minute: sub sandwiches and practically a whole salad bar. Ariel always orders way too much.”
“It’s better than running low!” the redhead snaps indignantly.
His smile wavers as he watches a shadow pass over Emma’s face, dimming her eyes. It’s as if he’s watched a wall fall back into place. She shuffles her feet, and ducks her head. Henry meets her gaze, popping a thumb into his mouth.
“I . . . um, think this is a Happy Meal kinda night - right kid?”
“Yay!” Henry cheers, bounding up and down in that jerky way toddlers always have. “Ticken nuggets!”
“ Chicken nuggets,” Emma corrects.
“Dat’s what I say,” Henry retorts with a frown.
Killian catches the boys gaze and winks at him. The boy giggles before popping his thumb back in his mouth. Then Killian regards Emma again, weighing the risk of his next question, but he has to know.
“His father is expecting dinner too, perhaps?”
Emma’s eyes narrow, and it’s clear he’s made a serious tactical error. “He certainly isn’t expecting it from me, wherever the hell he is.”
Killian ducks his head. “Apologies, lass.”
Emma sucks in a breath, then lets it out slowly. When she speaks again, it’s with measured calm.
“I thank all of you again, but we really need to go.”
They all talk over one another assuring Emma that it was no trouble at all, but she practically dashes out the door. When it closes, sadness sweeps over Killian at the thought that he’ll probably never see her again.
“Well, you sure mucked that up, little brother.”
Killian glowers at Liam. “Shut it.”
“Leave him alone, babe,” Elsa admonishes gently. “He had to find some way to make sure he wasn’t flirting with a woman who was already taken.”
“You think she was flirting?” Killian asks.
Ariel snorts. “Please. For a minute there, she was practically melting at your feet.”
Killian groans as he runs a hand over his face. “You’re right Liam. I mucked it up.”
“I don’t think so,” Elsa muses, her gaze drifting to the door Emma Swan had just exited. “I think her walls flew back up before you probed about Henry’s dad.”
Killian sinks dejectedly into his desk chair. “And now I’ll probably never see her again.”
“So what?” Liam shoves the mop back into the broom closet before heading back to his own desk. “You only talked to her for like ten minutes.”
“There was an instant connection, though.” Ariel clasps her hands together and practically swoons.
“And you never know,” adds Elsa, “the two of you may cross paths again.”
Killian frowns as he stares at the spreadsheets on his computer screen. He hasn’t been immediately affected by a woman in this manner since Milah. Liam’s right - it’s foolish to read much into their brief meeting.
Yet he can’t help hoping that he’ll see Emma Swan again.