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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

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All the Subliminal Things (1/?)

Emma Swan does not believe in soulmates.

Or so she says. Because if her soulmate did, actually, exist, he should have shown up by now. So, she must be a fluke, a broken cog in a system that really doesn't make much sense anyway. It is, she figures, why she agrees to meet David's friend before Regina and Robin's wedding. This guy doesn't believe in soulmates either.

She's intrigued.

Until she hears him talk. And everything flips after that.

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Rating: Teen Word Count: I think we’re at like 5K’ish this chapter? AN: Hello, kind internet! I’m back with more words, this time of the soulmate variety as part of the @cssns! I was hoping to post this earlier, but then there was work stuff and lots of lacrosse and more work stuff and, long story short, this is a story and I hope you like it. Thanks to the mods for organizing this event, the ladies on the Discord for listening to me babble about work and stress-fueled writing and @resident-of-storybrooke for that top-notch art. There are more chapters, but I haven’t actually organized them, so I’m thinking we’ll be at three and an update like...Tuesday? Maybe?

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam.

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“No.” “Emma, c’mon it’s not--” “--No.” “But what about--” “--Negative.” “It could be--” Emma shakes her head, widening her eyes to a size that very likely makes her look as crazy as she feels. The whole thing is ridiculous. And pointless. And not entirely unexpected. In a way that is, actually, entirely expected. “No,” she says again. “Never. No, thank you. Votch. Nee. Nah. Non.” David almost looks impressed. Good. That took about all the mental faculties she’s got left after a stakeout that lasted far longer than she wanted it to and however long this conversation has gone on. Too long.

Any length of conversation is too long for this conversation.

“Did you say nee at one point?” he asks. “Like the Knights who say similar things?” “They literally say nee,” Emma sighs, falling back into the corner of the couch and she can just make out Mary Margaret’s laughter from the kitchen. “That’s their whole schtick. And yes, I did, actually. It’s no. In Dutch.”

“Oh my God, how many languages were there?” “Not at a ton.” “French too, right?” Mary Margaret asks, moving back into the living room with an impressive amount of food in her hands and it takes David less than a full second to jump up. Emma rolls her eyes.

“And Armenian.” “When did you learn Armenian?” “There was an Armenian kid in--” Emma clicks her tongue, tracing back through memories and disappointments and she’s far too tired for any of this. She shouldn’t have agreed to come home with David after work, but she’s fairly certain the only thing she’s got in her fridge is a half-finished carton of milk and she can’t remember when she actually bought a full carton of milk so Emma figures there’s less threat of food poisoning at David and Mary Margaret’s.

Far more convoluted plans, but definitely less food poisoning.

It’s a give or take or something.

“You going to finish that thought or…” David quips, taking an exaggerated bite of the sandwiches Mary Margaret’s made them.

Emma flips him off. Mary Margaret doesn’t try to hide her laugh that time. “I was, like, nine or something,” Emma shrugs. “Somewhere in middle of nowhere Pennsylvania and that girl had just gotten sent back from the last group home she'd been to.” “It’s a real uplifting story, Em.” “I really don’t want to flip you off in front of your wife again.”

David grins. “Eat your sandwich.” Emma does as instructed, chewing thoughtfully and refusing to acknowledge the growing certainty in the back of her mind that David is only biding his time. He’s waiting to strike when she least expects it, catch her off guard so she’ll agree to this whole, ridiculous thing and she’ll probably choke on turkey and swiss cheese in the process and--

“You really don’t want to do it?” Emma groans. She doesn’t choke. That seems like a victory. She swallows instead, glaring at David with as much venom as her exhausted mind can muster and he doesn’t blink. He looks very sure of himself.

“I’m going to get Google Translate on my phone,” Emma warns. “Then we’ll both be driven insane by this and Mary Margaret will probably have to spoon feed us or something.” Mary Margaret shakes her head. “I’m not doing that.” “See! This plan is actually so insane that even picture perfect true love Mary Margaret doesn’t want to go along with it!” “Oh, I didn’t say that,” Mary Margaret objects, and Emma is going to do permanent damage to her spine if she slumps any lower. “I just knew you would say no. David is incredibly stubborn, that’s all.” “Bullheaded,” Emma amends.

David rolls his entire head in response, a sigh that only sounds a little melodramatic when he’s trying to set Emma up with one of his friends from college. For a wedding. That involves Mary Margaret’s step sister. And one of David’s other friends from college. The whole thing is a twisted web or ridiculous that Emma is certain she’ll only be able to understand with some kind of chart, but it’s ended, somehow, with her also getting an invitation.

And a plus one. That she hasn’t filled. Neither, apparently, has this guy. Emma doesn’t know what his name is yet.

“That’s incredibly unfair,” David says, waving both hands through the air and it’s only a little absurd when he’s still holding half a sandwich. “I’m simply looking out for you. And him. Collectively. And individually.” “That was convoluted.” “Only because you’re tired.”

Emma flips him off. Mary Margaret’s laugh turns into some kind of cackle.

“What is this guy’s deal?” Emma asks, well aware of how whiny her voice sounds. But she still can’t shake that feeling in the back of her mind and David and Mary Margaret have a habit of...this.

Because it’s not just a set-up. That’s not the world they live in. Once upon a time, maybe it could have been when people didn’t realize that soulmates were out there and modern science hadn’t conducted enough experiments to realize that they were also exceedingly rare. Maybe it could have just been a meeting through mutual friends, a flash of smiles and shared interests and…

No.

That’s not the world. Now, the world is a desperate attempt to find the one in a bold and underlined kind of way. Soulmates might be rare, but they’re the pinnacle – the goal of everyone from the time they have their first moment. That’s what they call it. The moment. Emma thinks it’s the least creative thing she’s ever heard.

And her’s came when she was sixteen and living in Minnesota, recently returned from the house of a woman who claimed she was going to adopt her, only to turn out to be some kind of actual psychopath who believed they were soulmates. The thought of it still sends a chill down Emma’s spine, partially because she doesn’t like thinking about Ingrid much and partially because of what happened after Ingrid.

It had been fleeting, the whole scene playing out in front of her eyes so quickly sometimes Emma wonders if she just dreamt it. There was a hallway, dim lighting and fingers laced through hers, an arm heavy around her waist and she distinctly remembers she couldn’t feel anything else, no hand pressed against her back or anything to pull her closer. There were words though, a quiet whisper pressed into the curve of her neck and that one very specific spot behind her ear, it’s you Emma, and sometimes, when things go to absolute shit and she comes home to absolutely expired milk, Emma likes to think of it.

That she could be something. For someone.

And that’s not always how it works. It isn’t always a vision. Sometimes it’s a feeling. Or face in a crowd. Sometimes it’s immediate. Or the sudden desire to be anywhere except where you are because anywhere is maybe where your soulmate is standing.

It’s unpredictable and uncontrollable and Mary Margaret and David turned around when they were nineteen years old and knew. Mary Margaret was running late for class. David was early to meet a girl his parents thought he’d get along with.

And that, as they say, was that.

The problem with all of it, of course, is finding them. Emma’s never actually looked for her soulmate and part of her knows it’s cowardice, but part of her thought it could have been Neal and that blew up in her face and, honestly, fuck it.

Her soulmate can find her if he wants to.

She’s also never mentioned that she has one. To anyone. Ever.

So, the cowardly thing is pretty on point.

“Killian does not have a deal,” Davids says, jerking Emma back to reality and Mary Margaret makes a contradictory noise in the back of her throat.

Emma blinks. “What was that?” “He kind of has a deal,” Mary Margaret mutters. “Like just...a tiny deal. Real small.” “That so? How small?” “Minuscule, honestly.” “And his name is Killian? Straight up.” David groans, eating the rest of his sandwich so he can put his hand to much better use and run it over his face. “Maybe don’t open with that.” “It doesn’t matter what I open with, I’m not going to this wedding with him,” Emma argues. She levels David with another look when he hums noncommittally. The feeling keeps growing. Like it’s taking over her brain. She needs to sleep. “Ok,” she sighs. “What is his deal, minuscule or otherwise? Is he, like, desperately seeking soulmate?” Mary Margaret freezes. David grits his teeth.

“Oh my God, that’s it, isn’t it?” Emma shouts, jumping off the couch and none of her muscles were prepared for that. “Are you guys kidding me? I am not doing this. Some creep guy who who only believes a relationship can exist with a soulmate is just--” “--That’s not what’s happening here,” David interrupts sharply.

“No?” “No. This is...ok, full disclosure, Killian doesn’t believe in soulmates. Like at all.” “Why not?” “Neither do you, Emma,” Mary Margaret points out lightly, and she supposes that fair. A coward and a great, big giant liar. It’s not a great combination.

Emma nods slowly, breathing through her mouth. “Right, right. Why?” “Why don’t you believe in soulmates?” “Why doesn’t David’s frat brother believe in soulmates?” “Ok, we were never in a frat,” David grumbles. “Jones--” “--That’s his last name,” Mary Margaret explains when Emma’s brows lower in confusion. “He’s been through some shit. In the last few months. And years, honestly. It’s...well, that’s not my story, but that’s part of the reason why he’s moving here. Fresh starts and opening the bar with Locksley and all that. But, yeah, he’s coming here and Regina gave him the plus one too, which was…” “Not the best,” Mary Margaret supplies, and Emma is close to bursting with questions. She bites her tongue.

David nods. “Exactly that. Anyway, I just think you guys could get along and there’s no soulmate potential here, I swear. Just...a drinking buddy after Regina makes us all pose for pictures.” “I’m not in the wedding party,” Emma points out.

“Yes, but now you’ve got something to look forward to. Jones will totally be down to guess how much everything costs too. He despises elitism.” “How much do you think he paid for his tux?” “That’s a question you can ask him when you meet him for coffee. Tomorrow.” Emma throws a sandwich at him. She doesn’t really think about it before she does it – or the far more mature option of the several decorative pillows on the couch behind her – but the whole thing is purely emotional and decidedly instinctual and she’s gotten, like, six hours of sleep in the last four days.

“Are you kidding me, David?” “Are you?” he challenges, pulling a piece of bread off his jaw. “How old are you?” “Old enough that you can't control my schedule! You are not my mother!” “I’m not trying to be.” “No?” Emma shouts, and she’s half a second away from stomping her foot too. She’s going to have to apologize to Mary Margaret. That other slice of bread landed mayo-side down on the floor. “Did he agree to this?” David opens his mouth, but Mary Margaret answers quicker, a sharp head shake and “he kicked him when he came up with the idea a couple days ago.” In the grand scheme of everything, Emma isn’t sure why that is what makes the difference. It’s not really much of a difference anyway – she’s still certain this an absolutely terrible, God awful idea, but she’s admittedly a little intrigued and being curious has always been a defining characteristic and she can just leave if it’s bad. She’s rationalized the whole thing. David is staring at her.

And the feeling is still there, a quiet something that might actually be hope lingering in the pit of her stomach. It’s weird. Warm. Weird and warm.

“You think he’ll show?” Emma asks, and David shrugs.

“Only one way to find out, right?”

Emma does not do well with the unpredictable. She likes plans and structure and a childhood of being bounced around the foster system has left her with the absolute certainty that nothing is going to work out unless she works for it.

She’s not into spontaneity. It freaks her out.

So it only makes sense that she’s slightly to moderately frustrated when she walks into the coffee shop a few blocks away from her apartment to find it decidedly empty of anyone except a few mid-afternoon workers and one old man reading the newspaper.

“Damn,” Emma mutters, shoulders slumping. She’s going to kill David. Or kick him. No, no kicking. That’s too...whatever.

She bobs on the balls of her feet, awkwardly standing just inside the door and it only takes a few moments of internal debate to decide fuck it and she orders a large coffee. It draws a few curious stares from the previously observed workers and Emma takes some perverse pleasure in whatever their eyes do when she spends at least four seconds pouring cinnamon into the cup.

So, at last check, she’s cowardly and a great, big giant liar and kind of petulant. What a catch.

And she’s only going to stay as long it takes to finish her drink and scroll through her Twitter feed, slumped in another piece of furniture that isn’t hers, but the world is apparently a messed up, vaguely magical place and, at first, Emma is certain it’s the caffeine.

Like it’s making her heart beat too quickly, pulse thudding in her ears and mouth going dry because her tongue might honestly be growing. That’s so gross.

She usually drinks hot chocolate anyway and chocolate has caffeine, but not like coffee and the door slams shuts behind him. It takes him, exactly, four steps to cross the shop, walking right up to the register with an easy sense of confidence that almost makes the leather jacket he’s wearing acceptable and Emma doesn’t blink.

She’s forgotten how.

He looks like David said he would – dark hair that curls slightly behind his ear and David didn’t mention that part. Emma figures he didn’t notice. That’s fair. She’s far too busy noticing it anyway. He flashes a smile when he’s done with his order, a quirk of his eyebrows that might be flirting and the girl behind the counter giggles.

Honestly.

Emma barely hears it. She’s too busy possibly dying. She can’t remember when she took a deep breath last, a mixture of words she’s spent half a lifetime trying to remember perfectly and forget entirely and a single coffee order. He ordered a cappuccino. With extra foam.

That might have been why the girl laughed. It’s a ridiculous coffee order. And the voice is exactly the same.

Her voice.

“Holy fu--” Emma breathes, gripping her coffee cup tight enough the lid snaps off and that’s what draws his attention. Figures.

He pauses, eyes moving from her face down to her stretched out leg and there is coffee on her hand. His mouth opens, only to close again, one eyebrow arching in a way that, honestly, is kind of offensive and clearly judgmental and--

“Were you trying to run away?” That’s not what Emma expects him to ask. She shakes her head, disbelief in every shift of her hair, and that eyebrow is defying gravity. “Were you expecting me to run away? Also, you’re incredibly late, you know that?” “Like five minutes. Where did you park?” “I live a couple blocks away from here.” Killian hums and Emma can just make out the tip of his tongue between his teeth. That’s worse than the eyebrow thing. Way worse. “Ah, that’s why David planned it here. I think that means he’s picking you as the favorite.” “Or he just thinks you’ll be able to find parking easier than you’re claiming.” “Are you questioning the parking thing, Swan?” Killian asks, and oh. Oh. Last names. That’s fine. Emma is fine with that. She didn’t expect him to call her by her first name. That would have been insane.

Soulmates are so goddamn stupid.

Emma shrugs. “I mean...it does kind of sound like an excuse.” “But I’m here,” he argues. “Clearly I’m piqued.” “In a British sort of way?” “That’s pronounced differently. In a my curiosity is sort of way.” “Ah,” she says. “it’s a science experiment then?” They call his name at the counter – extra foam and all, and Killian’s head snaps between Emma and the giggling girl and back to Emma again. He licks his lips. “That’s a very cynical approach, don’t you think?”

“You tell me.” It’s not a very good first impression. It’s a kind of mean first impression, honestly, but Emma can’t get a read on him at all and if Killian Jones is her soulmate he should be reacting less…less. There should be fireworks or something. Metaphorically. Mary Margaret always mentioned metaphorical fireworks.

“Maybe,” Killian says, and it sounds a bit like an admission. “I just--” They call his name again, one hand fisting at his side and Emma knows her eyes widen a bit. Only one hand. “Hold that thought,” he mutters, and she tries to keep her breathing level.

Emma breathes like an actual human for a full twelve seconds.

“Ok,” Killian continues, dropping onto the edge of a table covered with magazines that are several months out of date. “Why’d you show, then?” “Wow, straight to the interrogation, huh? Why’d you show?” “I asked you first.” “I threw a sandwich at David’s face.” He barks out a laugh and it’s like everything and then some and Emma forgets her coffee cup doesn’t have a top on it anymore. She nearly spills it all over herself. Killian’s hand darts forward quickly, the hint of a smile lingering at the corner of his lips when his fingers wrap around her wrist. “You’re going to burn yourself,” he mumbles, tugging the cup out of her hand and there are napkins on the table.

She has no idea where they came from.

She refuses to take that as some kind of sign.

The whole thing doesn’t last very long. There are bunched up napkins and then slightly damp napkins and Killian’s eyes dart up towards Emma more than once, neither one of them saying anything because it kind of feels like the air is made of actual electricity.

Emma swallows. “Thanks.” “Yeah, yeah,” he stammers, which is also probably not a sign. He doesn’t believe in soulmates. She doesn’t want a soulmate.

David wants them to go to a wedding together.

“Why did you bring up the sandwich thing?” Killian asks. “In context, it just…” “Ok, it makes sense. I’m trying to make you aware of how much I did not want to do this.”

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant and just sort of a jerk. Killian’s eyebrows fly, eyes distractingly blue when he meets Emma’s gaze straight on. That version of the laugh is a bit more skeptical and maybe his own brand of frustration and that’s also fair.

“And,” Emma adds, leaning forward unconsciously. Totally. “I heard you kicked him. So. Grand scheme or whatever.” “Whatever. Who told you I kicked him?” “Mary Margaret.” “Can’t keep a secret to save her life,” Killian laughs, and neither one of them have tried to move out of each other’s space. It should probably be more disconcerting. “That still doesn’t explain why you are here, Swan.” Emma clicks her teeth, twisting her lips so she has something to focus on other than the color of Killian’s eyes. That can’t be normal. “David seemed to think it was a good idea. And I’m...interested.” “In me?”

“Oh, don’t say it like that. It’s not like that.” It is, in fact, exactly like that, but Emma’s starting to suspect several things of varying degrees of disappointment so she doesn’t say that.

Killian grins, the movement slinking across his face like that’s even possible, settling into something closer to a smirk and Emma briefly wonders what it would be like to get her fingers in his hair. She’s fairly positive that’s where her hands were in the moment.

That’s a dangerous line of thought.

“What are you interested in, then?”

Emma jerks back. Her spine hates her. “Why you don’t think soulmates exist.” The silence that follows is overpowering. It’s heavy and never-ending and Emma isn’t breathing again. Her lungs hate her too.

Killian’s gaze shifts, lingering over her shoulder and straight out the window, like he’s staring at something only he can see and Emma regrets the words already. She should have come up with a better plan.

She’s so bad at in the moment.

And she hadn’t noticed the colors on his arm before, only clear when his jacket sleeve shifts slightly and she’s certain she’ll regret these words too. She says them anyway.

“Who’s Milah?” His whole body goes tense, jaw clenching and a muscle in his temple jumping. Emma’s coffee is lukewarm when reaches forward and takes a sip.

“Someone from before,” he says, a finality in his voice that begs more questions and refuses to answer any of them. “That’s why you’re here? To question the soulmate thing?” “No!” “No?” “Maybe,” Emma amends, Killian’s lips twitching. “I just...ok, I’m not big on it either. I think it’s kind of stupid, you know?” “Stupid.” “I’m going to leave if you just keep repeating me.”

He makes a face – not quite a full blown smile, but not a glare either and his eyes definitely flicker towards her lips when Emma takes another drink. “Let’s avoid that then, shall we? So, you’re not big on soulmates because...what? You think it’s forced love? That’s not how it works.” “The likelihood of people staying in a relationship when they’re not soulmates is slim.” “Still. It happens. Soulmates are just a guaranteed success rate. Ruining the careers of divorce lawyers everywhere.”

“It’s stupid,” Emma says again, well aware that she’s repeating herself now and that smirk is going to be a problem. “And people are obsessed with it and, you know it’s--” “--Did you think you had a soulmate once?”

She’s got to stop feeling like her tongue is expanding in her mouth. That’s not romantic at all. This is not romantic.

This is a disaster.

“Of course not,” she snaps. “Why--why would you say that?” “For someone who’s never had a soulmate, you seem to have a lot of opinions on them.” “And you don’t? David was very certain you don’t believe in them.” “Anymore.” Something, something, a light bulb goes off. “Oh,” Emma breathes, eyes darting back to his forearm and the prosthetic hand. “So, uh...Milah. Not just someone from before, huh? A very big, very important someone?” “I’m not having this conversation with you.” He doesn’t shout it and that’s ten-thousand times worse. Emma wishes he did. She wishes he’d stood up and knocked over the coffee table and did something drastic to the ostentatious espresso machine behind the counter. He doesn’t. He stares at her, intent and almost demanding and she can feel the flush rise in her cheeks.

“Yeah, ok,” she mumbles.

Killian sighs. “That was kind of a dick move, right?” “A little, but I don’t really know you.” “I don’t really know you.” “So...curiosity still piqued?” “Yeah, a bit,” he nods. “How often, on average, do you think David and Mary Margaret try and set you up on the idea that this could be the one?” “I don’t know that I’ve ever done the math, but since I got here--” Emma shrugs, twisting a piece of hair around her fingers and she doesn’t think she imagines the way Killian’s gaze lightens at that. “Somewhere in the high double digits at least.” “How long have you been here? You’re David’s partner, right?” “Yes to the second and, uh...like two years?” “And they’re averaging high double digits already?” Killian whistles. “That’s impressive, even for them.”

“You’re not doing a lot to make me all that confident about how the rest of forever is going to go.”

He chuckles, hand wrapping around the back of his neck. “True, but there might be a light at the end of this tunnel and I think David has gift wrapped it for us.” “That didn’t make any sense at all.”

“I’m getting there. There’s a flow to these kind of stories, Swan.” “And if you’re not careful you will bore your audience.” Emma wonders if she’d be able to shave his eyebrows off without him noticing. Probably not. “David thinks we should go to this wedding together,” Killian says. “The word kindred spirits and actual spirits were used several times.” “That’s because he thinks he’s way funnier than he is. Where are you going with this? You actually want to go to this wedding together? Like...like together?” It’s not the most high school thing Emma has ever said, but she didn’t have a normal high school experience so maybe her perception is just skewed. Killian is still smiling at her.

“I think if we agree with this for one night we’ll at least have a few weeks of breathing room. And maybe have some fun, but weddings are already a disaster with all the soulmate shit. People asking if you’re with them or finding them or looking for them at the reception. This covers all our bases.” “You’re cliché obsessed.” “That’s not an answer.” “Was there a question?”

“Yes,” Killian says, reaching out to rest his hand on Emma’s knee. Her brain short circuits. She does not know enough about electricity to keep making puns like this. “I am asking you to go to to this wedding, as each other’s plus ones. We act it all out. We’re together and good and very, very happy and I don’t feel like I spent way too much on that tuxedo.” “How much do you think you spent?” “Too much.” Emma rolls her eyes. “We ignore the absurdities of modern wedding culture, we get our friends and inquisitive strangers to leave us alone because our friends will know we’re just there for fun and strangers will assume whatever they want.” Emma’s stomach flies into her throat. It’s probably a good thing her tongue expanded that much. “Wait, wait, backtrack, you want people to believe that we’re each other’s soulmates? Is that a joke? Are you joking right now?” The tips of Killian’s ears go red, fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck. “I mean...not entirely.” “That sounds like a yes.” “That’s how it was intended, yeah.” Emma’s brain can not keep up with any of this. There are too many cylinders and an influx of feelings and none of it makes any sense.

This moment sucks. Completely. And totally.

“Thoughts?” Killian prompts, wincing when Emma gapes at him. “Those don’t look like good thoughts really.” “You don’t get to make comments on my thoughts, Jones!” He smirks. She hates him. That doesn’t seem in line with the soulmate thing.

“Ok, ok,” he backtracks. “I’m not saying we have to tell anyone that we’re soulmates. Just that...if people assume, it might not be the worst thing in the world.” “You have a lot of people coming up to you and demanding to meet your soulmate? That confident in your ability to soulmate, huh?” “I’ve never heard it used as a verb before.” Emma scowls, drawing a laugh out of him and she’s probably not cataloguing each shift in sound for her own personal, mind records. Only a crazy person would do that.

Emma is not crazy.

“It’s impressive,” Killian continues. “Your obvious command of the English language. But let me ask you something, Swan. Have you ever been to a soulmate wedding before?” She shakes her head. Strictly speaking, she’s never been to a wedding, but that’s a wholly depressing fact and not going to do her any kind of first-impression favors and she’s heard the rumors. Soulmate weddings are epic and extraordinary and another adjective that probably starts with the letter ‘e’ and even Mary Margaret can’t come up with anything good to say about her step-mother’s propensity towards extreme.

That’s another ‘e’ adjective.

“No,” Emma says, short and concise.

“It’s a lot. Tradition and commitment and, yes, people will think that they can ask you about your own status because everyone’s so hopped up on love that they lose any sense of tact.” “That reeks of bitterness.” “I’m a little bitter that’s why.”

Emma scoffs, but it’s almost a laugh. “Yeah, I get that. Ok, so...we don’t actually tell anyone that we’re soulmates, just agree if they ask?” Killian nods. “And this is...no strings attached, really. We’re just going to make David happy and ignore any other potential setups and this is a convenience. For both of us.” “Exactly. It could even be fun to not drink alone. Cora Mills loves her open bars.”

“Wow,” Emma mutters. “That’s high praise.” “What’s your drink of choice, Swan?” “Is that the deal? I tell you what I drink and we’re good to go on the whole thing? Or is it just a professional obligation?” “It might not hurt to know some things about you,” Killian reasons, a glint his gaze that makes Emma’s stomach flip. It’s still in the back of her throat. “Whisky.”

“Good to know.”

“Wait, wait, wait, you’ve got to explain it again.” Emma shakes her head, continuing to pace the small circle she’s considering claiming as hers and she didn’t quite run out of the coffee shop as soon as Killian left, not even a full hour after he got there, but it was close. Numbers were exchanged. The plan to hang out again was made.

Exactly like that too.

Hang out.

The words make Emma want to gag.

So she does.

And groans.

And Elsa’s eyes dart towards Ruby because Emma had barely gotten out of the coffee shop she definitely hadn’t run out of before she’d yanked her phone out of her pocket and demanded some kind of quasi meeting and Elsa’s apartment is on the other side of town.

Realizing that she may, in fact, be crazy is annoying.

“I can’t go over it again,” Emma groans. “I just..I can’t. This is bad. This is really, really bad.”

“It could be good,” Elsa objects, whatever noise Ruby makes likely doing damage to the inside of her throat.

“She agreed to fake date her actual soulmate,” Ruby yells. She’s waving her hands in the air. Like that will help her make her point. “A soulmate none of us knew she had.”

Emma cannot groan forever. She’s going to try anyway. “It wasn’t a big deal! It was--I had the moment when I was a kid and, yeah, maybe I’ve harped a little and--” “--You? Harp?” “Ok, don’t be rude.” Ruby doesn’t stop moving her hands. “I’m not. I’m confused. You don’t harp, Em. You move on and get over and don’t believe in soulmates.” “Because I knew mine was drifting through space! He wasn’t a threat!” “You think David’s college friend is a threat?” Elsa asks. “The one you agreed to go to the wedding with? And meet again?” Emma doesn’t groan. She sighs. In defeat. It’s worse. “I wanted to,” she whispers, an admission that isn’t that because Killian Jones is her soulmate, but she might not be his and she should have said something.

He should have said something.

She wishes she’d kissed him.

“Yeah, I know,” Elsa says, a note of pity in her voice that’s equal parts unnerving and comforting. “Ok, so let’s rehash real quick. David and Mary Margaret think you and Killian will be good together because you’re both anti soulmate. You, however, have known about your soulmate since you were sixteen when you--” “--Vision,” Emma supplies. “Of a hallway. He called me Emma.” “And he didn’t do that today?” Ruby asks. “No. We were in that coffee place a couple blocks away from my apartment. I think David was being secretly protective.” “Figures. And no first name?” “He called me Swan several times.” “Kitschy.” “That’s so weird though,” Elsa muses, Emma making some kind of noise that may be an agreement. “How often do you think one person can have a soulmate and it not go both ways?”

Ruby makes a face. “I’ve never heard of that before. It’s usually very reciprocated.”

“Fantastic,” Emma hisses.

“And you didn’t tell him?” “How do I bring that up, Rubes. Oh, hey, my partner thinks we’d be a great match because we’re both so totally fucked by this soulmate thing that our greatest defining characteristic is how much we hate it, but, oh, also, guess what, I think you’re my soulmate? Yeah, that’d go over fantastic.” “Think?” “What?” “You said, think,” Elsa points out with a scrunch of her nose. “That’s kind of a lie, isn’t it?”

Emma hates that she blushes. “The world’s biggest, lie possibly." She nearly trips over her own feet. And she knows she doesn’t have any whisky at home. Just leftovers Mary Margaret gave her the night before. “On a scale of one to ten how bad do you think is going to go?”

“Honestly?” “I mean...no, but yeah.” “A twelve, at least.” “Yeah,” Emma agrees, mostly because she thinks they’re already at thirteen and he’d been far too easy to talk to. And attracted to. She can’t believe she ever thought Neal’s voice might have been that voice. “Yeah, yeah. So. It’ll probably be fine, right?” Ruby hums, but her gaze darts to Elsa, an exchange without words that doesn’t need words. “Maybe if we say it some more, it’ll sound better.” “It’ll be fine.” “Once more with feeling.” “It’ll be fine.”

They’re definitely at fourteen now, and the gasp all three of them let out when Emma’s phone vibrates on the couch cushion is ridiculous.

Her hand shakes when she grabs it.

It was nice to meet you, Swan. Maybe next time I can introduce you to espresso and you won’t dump your coffee everywhere.

“Ah, damn,” Emma mumbles, heart hammering against her chest and this is already as not fine as it can be.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #all the subliminal things #this story is named for a jonas brothers song #the author regrets nothing

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