#so instead of a picture of me holding a beer at an overpriced bar trying not to be too obvious about taking a selfie you get this

[dufrau]

On Wednesdays We Handsome

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Previous

Happy Sunday. Time for another chapter and if we’ve had a hen party, surely it’s time for a stag do (without Wee Jamie).

Thanks to you all and especially @wickedgoodbooks @happytoobserve @mo-nighean-rouge for their support.

Chapter 21: A Staggering Circumstance

Rudy: Let's have a bachelor party with chicks and guns and fire trucks and hookers and drugs and booze!

Gary: Yeah! Yeah yeah! All the things that make life worth living for!

Bachelor Party

Jamie leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, a finger marking his place in the report he had been reading. He mulled over the recommendations succinctly articulated by Jenny. Ever since her recent fact finding visit to the Macallan distillery, she had been enthusing at every opportunity about the new architecture, technology and design and was preparing a presentation on her vision and proposed five year plan for their own distillery to the Board.

Jamie sighed. The Macallan was certainly impressive, but they were a much bigger outfit and, as part of a larger group, had the finances to support change on this scale. As a smaller, independent distillery,  Broch Tuarach was not in that league and, truth be told, Jamie found comfort in the old technology and older buildings. But he did realise that some change certainly would be good for the business. It was all a balancing act really, tradition versus technology, investment versus profit, increased visitors versus spend on amenities.

A ping from his laptop made Jamie open his eyes. He smiled at the email from Claire - just a very brief message (love you) plus one attachment. He opened it up. With four weeks to go before the big day, this was the latest version of their wedding planning Excel spreadsheet.  He quickly scrolled down looking for the tasks Claire had assigned to him, clearly highlighted in yellow. There were two - he had to pick up thank you gifts for Ian and Wee Jamie and then collect William’s special wedding outfit.

He glanced across at the photographs on his desk - an ever growing range. The latest additions included a black and white snapshot of Claire holding William, laughing as he tried to paw her face, his happy grin clearly displaying his two front teeth and another of himself crouching next to William whose arms were outstretched, waiting for his father to cuddle him. And more photos to be added over the coming weeks, too, without a doubt.

The next four weeks could not pass quickly enough. Jamie longed to see Claire in her wedding dress. He longed to stand up in front of family and friends and make that forever commitment to Claire and to hear her say those words to him. In their day to day lives, nothing would really change, and yet, Jamie knew in his heart of hearts, marriage to his Sassenach would change everything for him… everything.

A slight tap at the office door roused him from his contemplations and, with only a brief pause, Ian came in. Jamie gestured for him to sit.

“I’m no’ disturbing ye, I hope?”

Jamie shook his head. “Nae. Jes’ digesting this report from Jenny. She has some grand ideas, ye ken.”

“Aye, that’s our Jenny. A woman with a vision, Nae doubt. But I didna come here tae talk about that. I jes’ wanted tae clarify something with ye. I’ve had an email from Angus… about yer stag do.”

“Oh, god. I thought it was all sorted. Curry and pub. That’ll do me fine.”

“Aye, that’s still the plan, but Angus wanted tae tell us about a club that’s jes’ opened that he can get us complimentary tickets fer. It’s called…” Ian consulted his iPad. “... ‘Gentlemen’s Relish’.”

Jamie sighed. “Er, that wouldna be a strip club by any chance?”

“Angus says not. Apparently, it’s a high class establishment frequented by discerning gentlemen requiring sophisticated entertainment.”

Ian showed Jamie the image of the flyer Angus had included as an attachment to his email. Jamie snorted with laughter.

“Sophisticated entertainment, ma arse. The pictures of those women in gold bikinis…  It’s jes’ a lap dancing club. I’m no’ interested. And I dinna think Claire, or Jenny fer that matter, would be too impressed. Let’s stick tae the plan.”

Ian stood up, “ I kent ye’d say that. But I had tae ask. And ye’re right. Chicken Jalfrezi and a few beers is much more ma kind of thing too. Dinna fash, I’ll set Angus straight.”

***************

Jamie supped his beer contentedly and looked around, catching snippets of conversations from his friends all in various stages of inebriation. His belly was comfortably full of lamb madras, rice and many, many poppadoms and now beer. He belched softly, a sure sign it was time to switch to whisky.

He shifted on the bar stool, trying to fit a wee bit more buttock onto the seat, but gave up and used his long legs to support him instead. That was the only downside of this pub, the seating. But worth it for the old fashioned ambience, the dark wood panelling, the lack of trendy, loud young crowds and, of course, the wide selection of craft beers and single malts.

Angus was talking animatedly to Rupert. From his elaborate hand gestures, Jamie was fairly certain he was telling Rupert about the ‘gentlemen’s club’. Jamie smiled. That wasn’t his idea of a fine evening. The whisky would, no doubt, be overpriced and watered down and however scantily clad and attractive the girls were, it wasn’t his kind of entertainment. Well, he corrected himself, it would be his kind of entertainment if it was his Sassenach providing the lap dance… a deeper connection there, not just providing a service to a series of nameless punters.

Jamie shifted, trying to lessen the stirrings in his nether regions at the thought of Claire giving him a personal lap dance. Perhaps he would ask her when he got home, perhaps she would be willing to…

A sudden shoulder shove from behind pushed Jamie off his stool. Struggling to regain his balance, his beer sloshed over the glass and onto the floor, catching the front of his shirt on the way. He turned around, anticipating an apology to be met with a sweaty and, once again, inebriated Tom Christie.

Tom leant fully against Jamie’s now unoccupied bar stool and looked up at him.

“Fraser,” he acknowledged. “Celebrating or commis… commis… drowning yer sorrows? I may have had a couple of nips maself. Is yer girlfriend no’ with ye?”

“Fiancée.” Jamie corrected and offered no further conversation. He put the dregs of his beer on the table.

“Aye, a fine lass, that one. If ye ever change yer mind, pass her ma way, would ye?”

In an instant, Ian was at Jamie’s side, a calming hand now resting on Jamie’s shoulder. At the same time, Tom’s drinking companions joined him.

“I suggest ye get Tom some fresh air and a taxi home.”  Ian spoke directly to Tom’s companions.

They hesitated and looked at Tom, now slightly swaying. “Och, he’ll be fine…”

“Now.” Jamie’s voice was harsh. “And that’s no’ a suggestion, mind. Get him out of ma fucking sight.”

He deliberately turned his back on Tom. Ian watched as Tom was, reluctantly, led away. John passed Jamie a large whisky.

“Ye did right, there, Jamie.” Ian reassured him. “He’s no’ worth the effort. And fer some reason, he has it in fer ye.”

“Aye, I dinna ken why.”

“Jealous, most like. He wants tae be ye. Ye have the family distillery, ye’re good looking, if ye like that kind of thing,” Ian joked. “And ye’ve Claire too. Ye need tae let him go and forget it. This is a night tae celebrate, not think about twats like him. And therefore…”

Ian cleared his throat and continued. “So, gentlemen, can we have a toast please tae the man of the moment, who’s finally leaving the single life and getting married in three weeks time tae the lovely Claire. I'm no’ sure quite what he’s done tae deserve her, but anyways, she’s said yes. So raise yer glasses tae Jamie Fraser… lucky bastard.”

“Jamie Fraser… lucky bastard.”

*******************

Claire pulled her dressing gown tightly around her as she checked the spy hole on the front door. A single blue eye stared back at her.

“‘S me, Sassenach.” The blue eye blinked. “Would ye let me in… please?”

She opened the door to find Jamie standing on the doormat, keys in one hand, bag of chips in the other. He stumbled slightly as he came in.

“I tried tae get ma key in, but I think there’s something wrong wi’ the hole. Mebbe it’s broken.”

He pushed the chips into Claire’s hands as he leaned in and gave her a kiss. She winced slightly as the beer and curry fumes hit her.

“I bought ye a wee gift, Sassenach.” Jamie indicated the lukewarm bag of chips.

“Thanks. Good night then, I take it?”

Jamie started to take his jacket off, struggling to get his arms out. Claire watched for a moment, amused, before depositing the chips on the hall table. She unfastened the buttons on the cuffs and pulled his jacket off.

“I thought my jacket was broken then. Is everything broken ‘round here?” He pulled her into a bear hug. “Ye dinna have a gold bikini, do ye, Sassenach?”

“No,” she laughed. “Why?”

“Och, jes’ a thought.”

He relaxed his hug and brought one hand up to her hair, selecting a random curl. Her hair smelt of rosemary and mint, fresh and clean. Letting the curl drop, his hand followed a familiar path down her back towards its favourite destination. He squeezed her arse through her dressing gown. His other hand crept between their bodies, finding its way through the layers of smooth fabric. He cupped her breast, feeling the nipple harden against his palm. Claire gave a small contented sigh.

“Will ye come tae bed?” He whispered.

“Yes, but, please clean your teeth.”

Jamie headed for the stairs, smiling. “Aye, I will do. I’ve some ideas…”

He stumbled on the bottom stair but, unphased, carried on talking. “Sassenach, babe, I’m going to rock your world.”

Claire made the usual nighttime rounds - checking the locks, turning the television off, switching off the lights, before following Jamie to the bedroom.

“Ok, then Fraser, what ideas have you got for me—”

She stopped suddenly and took in the picture in front of her. Jamie lay, fully clothed, diagonally across their bed still wearing one shoe. The other was, inexplicably, on his bedside table, next to his watch, a beer mat and several after dinner mints. He gave a small snore, adjusted his balls through his trousers and farted.

Claire sighed. She quickly undid his belt and trousers and slowly shimmied his trousers down his hips before pulling the legs. She unbuttoned his beer-stained shirt.

“Jamie, Jamie. Wake up. You need to get ready for bed.”

Jamie emitted a mumbled ‘aye’ and rolled onto his side.

“Jamie, wake up.” She tried again, adding a shake of his shoulder.

With Jamie most definitely asleep, Claire left the bedroom and returned with a blanket and bucket, which she positioned next to his side of the bed. By a process of pushing Jamie’s inert body and pulling the duvet from underneath him, she managed to create enough space in the bed for herself. Tucking the blanket around Jamie, she finally crept into bed.

Perhaps Mary has the right idea, she chuckled to herself, maybe I should get me a ‘toy cupboard’.

Jamie snorted as if in agreement.

Claire moulded her body against Jamie’s back. “You raise a girl’s expectations, James Fraser and then you don’t deliver. But I forgive you.”

“And I can’t wait to be married to you,” she whispered. “I know on a practical level, nothing will change, but, for me, I know everything will change…” She lightly kissed his back. “... everything.”

[dogbearinggifts]

He Saw the Ghosts

Umbrella Academy

Author’s note: An AU in which the vet who accosts Klaus at the VFW bar is told to chill. 

“You see that?” 

Jim saw just about everyone who walked through those doors—which tended to be a small but devoted crowd, plus or minus a handful depending on the day of the week—but this one was hard to miss. He’d walked right through without a word of greeting, his mop of dark curls bobbing against the sea of white and grey. 

“Lookit him. Marching on in like he’s one of us.” 

“It’s not like Vietnam was the last war we fought.” Jim took a stab at the cue ball. His shot sent it crashing into the four which in turn sent the two across the table. “I’ve seen younger vets.” 

“Not here.”  

The kid had helped himself to the bar, sure, but he was a first. Most young folks preferred to flock with their own, flitting around the trendier bars downtown, the ones with names like Hawk and Hound or some word chosen by a blindfolded drunk man from a random page in the dictionary. Places that served pretentious drinks at pretentious prices, with little to offer besides an admittedly good—if overpriced—selection of craft beer. This kid should’ve headed to one of those, or else curled up at home with a bottle and whatever thoughts drove him to it. A VFW bar should’ve been the furthest destination from his mind. A memorial wall should have been out of the question. 

He almost didn’t see Mike start forward until he was three steps past, but instinct honed by years of familiarity with the man prevailed and Jim caught his shoulder. “I’ll talk to him.” 

“Like hell you will.” Mike tried to shrug the hand off, but Jim tightened his grip. Not enough to hurt, not enough to insult—just enough to let him know it wouldn’t be that simple. 

“If he’s pulling the same shit as that asshole at Outback,” Jim said, meeting Mike’s gaze, “you can handle him.” 

A few seconds passed, and Mike broke free with a turn back toward the pool table. He snatched up his cue with enough force to let Jim know he didn’t have long to sort out the truth, but until then he wouldn’t do much more than miss easy shots and grumble under his breath. He’d want Jim to march straight on over and make demands, but Jim moved with the slow reverence the wall’s solemnity demanded. 

The kid’s head was bowed, but that didn’t hide the tears, didn’t mask the heaves of his chest as the sobs came. Silent sobs, quiet tears, the sort of grief that didn’t call attention to itself as it devoured its host from within. Jim nearly placed a hand on his shoulder, but a glint of steel dangling against his shirt made him think better of it. 

“Somebody you know?” 

“Yeah.” He opened his eyes. Jim followed his gaze to what seemed to be the picture in question and his heart skipped a beat. 

The soldier had been a mystery long before Jim relocated to the city. He wasn’t the only one assumed MIA, not by a long shot, but he was the only one whose name remained missing. No draft card. No papers. No ID. Nothing to prove he’d ever served, nothing to prove he’d ever existed, save for a half-smiling face in an old photograph. 

A face mirrored by the young man standing before it now. 

Jim tamped down a dozen questions and any semblance of enthusiasm. This wasn’t a time for questions—not that kind, anyway. He nodded to the mystery man. “That him?” 

“Yeah.” 

The answer didn’t sit right. The photograph dated from 1968, and this kid couldn’t be older than thirty. He wasn’t old enough to have met the soldier, let alone to plow through a VFW bar to cry over his photograph. The stink of alcohol hung about him like cheap cologne, but of the many drunk men Jim had met, this was the first and only to sob over a stranger’s photograph in a bar patronized by veterans thirty to forty years his senior. It was a lie, the kid knew it was a lie, and Jim wouldn’t in a hundred years call him on it. 

A stick cracked against the cue ball, and pool balls clattered across the table. Mike swore, likely less at the outcome of his shot and more at the continued presence of an unwanted stranger. The kid closed his eyes as a fresh round of tears slipped down his cheeks. 

“You don’t have any other pictures of him?” 

He shook his head.  

“I can see about getting you a copy of that one, if you want.” 

It seemed to take a moment for the question to register, but when it did, he looked another long moment at the photograph before turning to Jim. And when he did, Jim saw the reason he’d come. 

He saw the ghosts. 

They were there in his eyes, of course, but they’d also made themselves at home in the lines on his face, settled on his shoulders to hold him lower than gravity alone. Jim couldn’t name them, not without knowing where he’d served, but he did not for a moment doubt this kid had served. The tears and photo, the dog tags and the tattoo partially covered by the sleeve of his shirt formed an image and the ghosts completed it. He’d been to hell, and hell had followed him home. 

“You….you could?” 

It wasn’t quite hope that had edged its way into his voice, but it made Jim’s chest ache. He hadn’t promised anything, hadn’t offered more than half a chance, but he might as well have offered the shirt off his back. 

“Picture’s fifty years old and a military record,” Jim admitted, “so there’s got to be some special procedure for getting a copy, if they can get one. But I’ve got friends over at City Archives, and they’ve got contacts. I’ll see what they can do.” 

Whatever had buoyed him up for those few seconds leaked out like air from a balloon, leaving his shoulders to sag. “Like they’d bother.” 

With some effort, Jim kept the pang from his voice. With more, he added a subtle note of false cheer. “Archivists are just librarians who hoard books instead of lending ‘em out,” he said, repeating a quip he’d heard from both parties. “You ever met a librarian?” 

“No.” 

“Bunch of sentimental bastards.” His mouth quirked at the saga he’d witnessed during his first few months of volunteer work, of the time and expense and calls to libraries in ten different states before one of them finally turned up a copy of a rare out-of-print novel, all so one old woman could reread a story she’d loved as a teenager. “If they can get you a copy, they’ll get you a copy.” 

Another crack, a louder one this time, accompanied by the sound of pool balls rolling across a felted table, filled the silence. 

“You want me to check?” 

After a moment’s consideration, the kid nodded. “Yeah.” His voice cracked. “I…I’d like that.” 

HIs fingers brushed the glass laid over the photograph, brushed the face of the man whose resemblance he bore. No—not him. The man beside him. Jim recalled his name, but at that moment, at the very moment when remembering it seemed most important, the name refused to surface. 

“Klaus?” 

The kid didn’t turn from the photo, but he let his hand fall. “Yeah?” 

Jim tensed as a young man clad in head-to-toe black started forward, calculating how many steps it would take to place himself between Klaus and the newcomer. But the newcomer’s movements were cautious and slow, absent a single trace of irritation or anything that might be taken for aggression, and Jim allowed himself to relax, allowed the newcomer to place a hand on Klaus’ shoulder. The resulting flinch was enough for Jim to see and probably enough for the newcomer to feel, but no more than that. 

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” 

Klaus’ lips parted, then pressed together. His gaze lingered on the photograph a second longer before dropping to the floor. 

“I was just about to get his number before I talk to Archives about getting him a copy of that picture,” Jim said, nodding to the photo in question. 

The newcomer blinked as though Jim had spoken gibberish. He stared, opened his mouth for an apparent question, then closed it and shook his head, as if it was all too much to consider at once. “Fine. You got a pen?” 

The newcomer’s name was Diego—or at least, that was the name he’d scribbled beneath one number before taking the paper back and writing a second beneath it in smaller print. “Call that first one and ask for Klaus. Or me, I guess. If you can’t get anyone at the first number, hang up and try the second one.” 

Klaus was steady enough getting to the car, but Diego helped him into his seat anyway. A partially empty bottle of vodka was pushed to the floor, only to be retrieved with unsteady hands. Jim waited to see if he peered through the window to meet his gaze or simply seek him out, but for a long moment he stared at nothing but the floor. A breeze, chillier than usual for this time of year, made Jim long for the jacket he’d left inside. 

“You his brother?” 

Diego halted, turned around. The question had been a guess, but from the looks of things, that guess was correct. 

“Yeah. I’m his brother.” 

Jim cast another glance at Klaus in the front seat, head tipped back against the headrest, eyes closed. The face of the unnamed soldier broke into Jim’s mind again, imposed itself over the face of the man before him, but none of the questions the resemblance brought made Jim’s insides twist the way the sight of Klaus did. None of those questions were as important as the man who had caused them. 

“Take care of him, will you?” 

Diego looked at Klaus too, watching him through the window, seeing the weary anguish and the bottle in his hands. He let out a short sigh. 

“I’ll try.” 

They exchanged nods, and Diego climbed into the front seat and started the engine. Jim watched from the sidewalk as he pulled out onto the street, watched until the car rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Even when it was long gone, he kept on watching. 

[frauleinsmaria]

The Facebook Flub (1/3)

Summary: When Emma accidentally sends a friend request to the wrong person, she doesn't expect much to come of it. But maybe this accident is the best decision she's ever made.

Rated: T for now, potentially high T/low M in the future

Also on AO3

A/N: Inspired by a comment I came across on Instagram asking people to share how their long distance relationships began: "I added the wrong guy on Facebook that I met at the bar...the guy I added lived in Germany and I was in Canada. That accident...is now my husband."

A few changes to make it fit Captain Swan, plus a whole lot of support and cheerleading from @wellhellotragic , @profdanglaisstuff , and @thejollyroger-writer later, here we are! Thanks a million, ladies, you’re the best.

Going out was the last thing Emma wanted to do tonight. She had a long week dealing with a tough case at work, the weather reports were calling for snow, and she had a headache- not to mention the fact that she didn’t feel like being hit on by some drunk low life.

“Those are all reasons for you to go out then,” Ruby insisted when Emma relayed all of this to her over the phone. “It’s Friday night. You need to come let loose with your friends and forget about whatever else is on your mind. And you know I’ll gladly fight off anyone who bothers you.” It took similar texts from Elsa, Graham, David, and Mary Margaret for her to finally give in and join them. Which is how she found herself sitting at the bar at one of their favorite burger and beer places downtown.

She was drinking one of her favorite beers, with Graham on her left side flirting with the guy behind the bar, and a stranger on her right who had been talking her ear off about some upcoming movie since he sat down an hour ago. Emma wasn’t all that interested- in both him or whatever this movie is- but she listened anyway. She didn’t have the energy to join the rest of her friends at the dart boards, and at least this guy wasn’t trying to flirt. So when he suggested she add him on Facebook before he left, she’d had enough to drink that she saw little reason to object.

It wasn’t until he was gone when she opened the Facebook app on her phone and realized she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of his name. He’d introduced himself when he first took the seat beside her, but that had been several beers ago, not to mention the loud music in the bar making some of his words hard to hear.

It had been something different that she’d never heard before. Killiam James, maybe? she thought as she typed it into the search bar.

“I should’ve known.” Ruby appeared behind her, holding a glass of whatever she’d picked for her poison tonight. “Don’t tell me you came out just to sit on your phone by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself. Graham’s he-” She turned and saw that the man in question had apparently slipped off with the bartender without her noticing.”Huh. Or maybe not.”

Ruby sighed. “Come on, Emma. You know you wanna watch Mary Margaret kick David’s ass at darts.”

That was a statement she couldn’t argue with. “Hang on. Let me do this first.” But Ruby instead grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the dart boards, causing Emma to hit “add friend” for the first option in her search results without paying much attention to the name or profile picture.

The guy from the bar and the friend request had been forgotten about by the next morning when she woke up with a pounding headache and wondered exactly when she’d started getting old.

The events of that Friday night didn’t cross her mind again until the next weekend. She’d gone to see Captain Marvel with David and Mary Margaret, who were always willing to join her to watch any superhero movie despite both of them losing track of the plot at least half an hour in. It wasn’t the same as getting to experience it with someone as invested as she was, but years of going to the movies by herself when she was younger made Emma grateful for their company regardless.

They arrived at the theater early, battling the lines at the ticket booth and again at the concessions stand for overpriced popcorn and candy. The theater was already filling up after they’d gotten snacks. Emma stepped on quite a few feet to get to the only empty three seats together. Once they were settled, she pulled out her phone and opened the front camera. “Smile, guys!” Mary Margaret got the memo, but David looked like a deer in headlights in their selfie. This was definitely getting posted.

She made a few adjustments to the lighting before posting the photo on Facebook and Instagram. It’s Captain Marvel time!

The lights in the theater dimmed as the first movie trailer began to play on the screen. Emma silenced her phone and dropped it into her purse before grabbing a fistful of popcorn and settling into her seat.

It was over two hours later when the movie had ended and the three of them had arrived back at David and Mary Margaret’s house before she thought to check her phone again. There was a new text from Elsa about the shirt she’d borrowed last week and a handful of social media notifications. She opened Facebook first to see the response to her pre-movie selfie. It was when she started scrolling through the list of various reactions that an unfamiliar name caught her eye. Of course since she’d tagged David and Mary Margaret in the photo, several people who’d liked it weren’t Facebook friends of hers or people she knew. But this one stood out- it belonged to a person she’d never heard of before, and one who was apparently on her friends list.

Killian Jones. She frowned and clicked the link to open his profile page. They had no mutual friends, but sure enough, they were friends with each other. The brief amount of information listed under his personal details told her he lived in London and worked for a company named Ship Shape.

Emma quickly began to question just how she knew this Killian Jones. They hadn’t gone to college together; his profile listed him as an alum of a university in London she’d never heard of. He wasn’t in her line of work, so that wasn’t a possibility.

What if he had been a previous one night stand? No, that definitely wasn’t the case. She rarely got men’s names when those happened, let alone befriended them on social media.

And there was no way she would have forgotten a face like his. His current profile picture was taken from a distance on a beach somewhere, which made his features a bit harder to notice. The handful of previous ones were closer shots though. There were a few that looked like they were taken at some kind of professional event and a selfie with a dog she presumed was his. He was gorgeous, she realized as she quickly flipped through them. Piercing blue eyes, a head of dark hair that successfully toed the line between messy and polished with a five o’clock shadow to match. Yeah, she definitely would have remembered him.

Emma scrolled through a few more photos before she started to feel like she was crossing some sort of line. She had zero ideas on who this Killian Jones even was, and yet there she sat combing through the details of his Facebook profile as if they were close friends.

Contacting him seemed like the most logical thing to do. She opened Messenger, still annoyed that the feature wasn’t included with the regular Facebook app anymore, and typed out a brief message. Hey. Sorry if this seems weird, but I was wondering how you and I knew each other?

Her phone chimed with a response only a few minutes later. Not weird, love. Although I was wondering the same thing considering you’re the one who added me.

She stared at her phone screen and read the message again. There had to be some kind of mix up. Her friends list was on the small side, mostly former classmates and coworkers, and the people she regularly interacted with now. What reason would she have for sending a friend request to Killian Jones all the way in London-

And then it hit her. “Killiam James,” she groaned, remembering the guy from the bar the weekend before. If that was even his name. Emma blamed the combination of beer and loud music for the mix up, which explained why she’d added this guy with such a similar name.

What was she even supposed to say to Killian Jones now? The truth was ridiculous, and she couldn’t think of a lie that sounded even moderately believable.

Honesty won out in the end. “What does it matter? He’s never gonna meet me anyway,” she muttered as she started to reply. So, funny story. I thought I was sending a friend request to a guy with a name that’s really similar to yours and I just now realized my mistake. I’m sorry again because I know how weird this all probably sounds to you.

She hadn’t expected another reply. He’d probably delete her from his friends list after learning the reason behind the mishap and forget all about their brief interaction. What she got instead was a huge surprise. That’s quite alright. I suppose it could have happened to anyone. But, while we’re here, can I ask how the movie was?

Movie? Oh, right. She’d gone to see Captain Marvel tonight. His liking her photo was what started all of this. I liked it a lot. Keep in mind I haven’t read the comics, so I don’t know how accurate anything was. But it’s a great addition to the MCU if you ask me. And the cat was awesome.

I’m glad to hear that. I don’t know much about the comics myself, I just like the films as well. I’ll have to keep my eye out for the cat you speak of when I see it for myself.

This conversation was already a positive changed compared to the ones she usually had about Marvel movies. Most people, men especially, would make fun of her or call her a “fake fan” when she admitted she wasn’t familiar with the comics and didn’t really have plans to change that. Not only was Killian Jones not making fun of her preferences, he actually seemed to share them.

Emma soon found herself discussing everything from Endgame theories to the newest Spider-Man: Far From Home trailer with him. It wasn’t until her eyes grew heavy and she started yawning that she realized it was after midnight. Had this guy really stayed up until five in the morning to talk superheroes with her? Crap. I just realized what time it is. I’m really sorry if I kept you up. You’re probably exhausted.

No worries, Swan- can I call you that? As coincidence would have it, I’m a bit of an insomniac. I likely would still be awake now regardless. Plus, I work for my brother, so he can’t fire me for sleeping on the job unless he wants to lose his kids’ favorite babysitter.

Swan is fine- after all, it is my name. Although I still feel like you may need to apologize to your brother on my behalf.

Truthfully, she didn’t expect to hear from Killian again. Sure, they’d had a long conversation about a shared interest of theirs, but that didn’t mean he had any desire to continue talking to a stranger in the middle of the night. Or at any other time, for that matter.

Which is why Emma was caught off guard when she received another Facebook message from him a few days later. Hello, Swan. I know it’s the middle of the day where you are so you’re probably working, but I just saw Captain Marvel with a friend of mine and I needed someone to discuss the end credits scene with since he’s not nearly invested in this.

Their conversation soon left movies entirely and shifted to their everyday lives. Within the next hour, she learned that he was thirty-one, worked as a marketing executive for the shipping company owned by his brother, was the proud uncle of a nephew and two nieces, and spent most of his free time hiking or reading whatever fantasy novel was next on his to read list. Emma was more hesitant when it came to sharing specifics about herself for several reasons: talking about herself wasn’t exactly something she enjoyed, she barely knew this guy, plus, what if he really wasn’t the person he claimed to be?

If there’s one of us that ought to be suspicious, it’s him, she thought. You added him first; you could be the one Catfishing for all he knows.

Their once sporadic conversations soon became a nightly occurrence, switching from Facebook Messenger to texts once they felt comfortable with sharing numbers. (The short amount of time this took didn’t go unnoticed to Emma. She refused to let herself think too much about it.) Over time, it soon became easier to open up to him about a number of different things. Some days it was her favorite color or flavor of ice cream, others it was conspiracy theories she believed that dealt with people like Marilyn Monroe and Kurt Cobain. Emma rarely brought up her upbringing or personal life, and he never asked.

On nights when Killian’s insomnia was particularly brutal, they watched Netflix together, one of the few pastimes they could share considering the distance between them. They usually chose comedies, preferring shows like The Good Place and Parks and Rec so they wouldn’t miss much of the story if they got caught up in whatever conversation they were having at the same time.

The first phone call happened by accident when they’d been talking about three months. Emma had just got in from work and was debating between Chinese and pizza for dinner when her phone began to vibrate. She froze at seeing Killian’s name on the screen. Why was he calling her? They had never talked outside of Facebook and texts. Phone calls had never even come up once in their conversations.

“H-hello?” she answered after a moment. “Killian?”

“Oi, Jones, is this your girlfriend?” Not Killian then, although another man with an accent who sounded far from sober. She heard some sort of commotion in the background, followed by, “Give me back my bloody phone!”

“Um, hello, Swan.” His voice sounded exactly as she’d imagined. (Not that she’d spent that much time thinking on the subject. Not at all.) The accent was there, of course, but his voice was softer and he sounded considerably more under control than whoever had greeted her. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. Killian, don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you calling me? Where are you?”

“Well, you see, a few of us brought Liam to the pub tonight for his birthday, but I realized I’d forgotten to tell you about it earlier. I know you wanted to start Brooklyn 99 tonight since we finished New Girl. Anyway, I was in the middle of typing out a message to you explaining all of this when Will took my phone and called before I could stop him.” He sighed. Emma had a feeling Will would get an earful as soon as this conversation was over; she heard a lot about him from Killian, mostly complaints. “I’m terribly sorry, love. I’m sure this must be awkward for you.”

“It’s fine, Killian. I appreciate you for telling me, but I know you probably have better things to do on a Friday night than watch Netflix with a stranger in Boston.” Although that was the gist of their relationship from an outside perspective, Emma’s heart sank at her own words. She thought more for this virtual stranger than she did most of the people she saw in person on a regular basis.

“Don’t talk like that, Swan. Besides, it would’ve been bad form to leave you hanging without an explanation.”

She should have known he would be a stickler for manners, even for something as trivial as a regular Netflix binge. “Thanks, Killian. Seriously though, go enjoy your night out. Sing ‘happy birthday’ obnoxiously loud to your brother and maybe don’t let anyone else take your phone. We’ll catch up on Netflix later, alright?”

“Alright, love. Goodnight.”

The next time Killian called, it was intentional. Neither of them thought much of it.

The calls (via WhatsApp to keep from spending a fortune) soon became a semi-regular part of their “routine.” They didn’t happen as often as the texts, however, since it was harder to both talk and vaguely pay attention to whatever show they were watching at any given moment. Talking on the phone often made it easy to forget the difference in time zone and the ocean between them, even when Killian said something particularly British, like “tosser” or “knackered.”

She and Killian had their first shared experience with FaceTime the night before the surprise party she and Mary Margaret have planned for David. Emma had been asked to make cupcakes, something she now regretted agreeing to as she stood in her kitchen dumbfounded by the assortment of ingredients strewn out across the counter.

As if on cue, her phone vibrated.

Killian: How are the cupcakes coming along?

Emma: They’re not.

Do I really have to mix the wet and dry ingredients separately? They all go in the same bowl in the end. And how much batter do I put in the cupcake liners without them blowing up like mushroom tops? I don’t get why I had to pick a recipe that calls for baking soda AND powder too.

Basically, I need to be able to snap my fingers and have a professional chef in my kitchen to take care of this.

Killian: I’m no professional, but if you want to FaceTime, I could possibly help walk you through it.

Of course he could. She’d quickly learned that Killian Jones was one of those people who was unfairly good at most if not all things.

Emma opened the camera app on her phone to get a look at her current appearance. An old Rolling Stones t-shirt that probably should have been thrown out years ago, her-square rimmed glasses, hair thrown up on the top of her head in a messy knot, and no makeup, not to mention the zit on her chin that she hadn’t gotten the chance to get rid of yet. It would have to do. They were friends, and he already knew what she looked like thanks to social media. And she didn’t have time or energy to freshen up before she got the stupid cupcakes taken care of.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered.

Her phone screen was taken up by Killian’s smiling face seconds later. “Hello, Swan.”

“Uh, hi.” Somehow he was even better looking in real time. It wasn’t fair. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Come now, love. How hard can it be?”

“Consider who you’re dealing with, Killian. I almost cooked an oven mitt last week.” She didn’t add that it had happened due to their intense conversation on nineties one hit wonders and she’d been so distracted she hadn’t paid attention to where she’d placed the mitt after taking pizza out of her oven.

He barked out a laugh. “Something tells me chocolate cupcakes will smell much better. Do you have the recipe up?”

“Yeah. I’m sending it to you.”

Killian, being the good sport that he was, spent the better part of the next two hours going through the recipe step by step with her. Which was much easier said than done.

“You mean to tell me that not only do I have to mix the wet and dry ingredients separately, but I can only mix half of each together at a time?”

“Aye, that’s what the woman recommends.”

Emma had long since forgotten the name of the woman who’d posted the recipe online, but she had quickly become her worst enemy. “I should’ve just told Mary Margaret to make the damn cupcakes herself.”

“I highly doubt she could’ve gotten away with making cupcakes for her husband’s surprise party in their own house,” Killian noted.

How was it that he seemed to know her own family better than she did. “Yeah, well, then I should have bought cupcakes from the store and brought them to the party on one of my plates.” It would have at least saved the trouble of having a kitchen covered in flour, butter, and the other dozen or so ingredients she’d added to the mix.

She had just began pouring batter into one of the slots in her cupcake tin when Killian spoke up. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Swan.”

“Killian, I may have the cooking skills of a dustpan, but I do know that cupcakes have to be baked.”

“Right you are, but what about liners?”

“Come again?”

“You know, the paper things? You’re going to have an awfully difficult time without them.”

Of course. “Shit!” Hurling the mixing bowl at the wall now seemed like a great idea. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about that.”

“Hmm.” She heard the sound of computer keys typing as Killian looked something up. “Do you have parchment paper? Several sites list it as a possible substitute.”

“Wouldn’t that look kind of tacky though?”

“You don’t exactly have a lot of options, love, unless you’re willing to make a trip to the store.”

Emma glanced at the clock above her oven. It was past ten. A handful of stores would be open, but she didn’t have the energy or motivation to change into decent clothes to leave the apartment. “Parchment paper’s fine, I guess. What does it say I’m supposed to do?”

He quickly walked her through the process, which was much simpler than she presumed. After cutting the parchment paper into squares and folding them around a glass that was the same size as the slots in the cupcake pan, the problem was solved. They rewatched one of their favorite episodes of The Good Place while the cupcakes baked. She was so caught up in the show that she wouldn’t have remembered to turn off the oven if Killian hadn’t reminded her.

“So far, so good,” she told him once the pans had been taken out of the oven and placed on her counter. “They smell incredible.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Killian groaned. “The only form of chocolate I have in my flat is unsweetened cocoa powder.”

“Well, that’s just depressing.”

The icing process, while tedious, went over much more smoothly than the baking had.

“Swan, you’ve got chocolate icing all over your cheek now.”

“Maybe so, but I’ve got two dozen nice looking cupcakes. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“I suppose,” he agreed. “Although you’re just giving me something else to make fun of you for.”

He laughed when she stuck her tongue out at him.

She’d gone this far without sampling anything, too concentrated on not botching the cupcakes. But the sound of her stomach growling reminded Emma she’d never eaten dinner. “You think I can justify having a cupcake now if I don’t eat one at the party tomorrow?”

“After all the work you’ve put in, I believe you could justify two.”

“You, Jones, are a bad influence,” she said, taking the nearest cupcake and pulling off the parchment sheet liner.

“A bad influence who reminded you of the importance of cupcake liners.”

“Ugh. I hate it when you’re right.” Emma took a hearty bite of the cupcake and couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her lips. “Ohmgod.”

Killian was quiet for a moment. Then, “I presume it’s good?”

“It’s not good, it’s fantastic. I never thought I’d say that about something I made.” Another bite elicited the same reaction, her eyes closing as she savored the rich chocolate taste. This caused her to miss Killian blush as his eyes shifted away from the screen.

“Erm, well, I’m very glad to hear that.”

The cupcakes, thankfully, are a hit. Several people at David’s party ask Emma for the recipe, a few eve complimenting the unique choice of liners. Her own brother was skeptical that she’d made them herself.

“I did!” she insisted. “I mean, Killian provided moral support via FaceTime, but all the manual labor was my accomplishment.” Her family and friends have known about her unconventional friendship with Killian for awhile now. Most of them went along with the idea, although a few were skeptical that her virtual friend was really the person he claimed to be.

“You and this guy have gotten pretty close, haven’t you?” David was one of those skeptical people.

She shrugged. “Kind of. I guess we’re as close as friends can get when they’re on opposite sides of the pond and have never met in person.”

“And you’re sure he’s not, what’s the word, fishing with you?”

“The term is catfishing, David. And the answer is no, considering we FaceTimed during the cupcake ordeal and his face matches the one in all of his pictures.”

“If you say so. I just don’t want you to risk getting hurt.” He almost always went into Protective Big Brother mode whenever Emma referenced a guy in any capacity, and this was no exception.

“I appreciate that you care about me, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about considering the circumstances. The chances of the two of us meeting are basically nonexistent.”

A few days later, they were on their third episode of Schitt’s Creek of the night and discussing each other’s uneventful work days when he brought it up. “So, uh, Liam has been talking about sending me away for work sometime soon.”

“That’s cool. Does he want you to go back to the Dublin office again?” Emma remembered that he’d taken a short trip to Ireland for business not long after they’d became friends.

“Actually, no.” He paused. “He’s made a few comments about Boston this time.”

Any interest she had in the episode they’d been watching was long gone. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. Sometime next month, if nothing changes.”

Her next words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I know a semi decent tour guide who lives in that neck of the woods if you have some free time while you’re here. And, y’know, if you’d be up for that.”

“I think that could be arranged.” She couldn’t see Killian, but somehow she knew he was smiling.

Emma didn’t start freaking out until the day before his flight. She was at Elsa’s apartment with Mary Margaret and Ruby, drinking wine and eating Elsa and Anna’s homemade cookies at the kitchen table. She was on her third- okay, maybe it was her fourth- snickerdoodle, only half participating in the conversation when she glanced up and saw the three of them staring at her.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Mary Margaret gave her a knowing look. “Have you been listening to anything we’ve said?”

“Yeah, of course I have.”

“Emma, I just said that Granny was having surgery next month, and your response was, ‘that’s cool,’” Ruby deadpanned.

Her face flushed red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Just have a lot on my mind I guess.”

“Is something goin- oh!” Elsa exclaimed. “Aren’t you finally meeting that friend of yours from London tomorrow?”

“Yeah. His plane is supposed to come in at two, then I’m meeting him for dinner and a little sightseeing before his meetings start the next day.”

“That’s really all you’ve got planned for him?” Ruby waggled her eyebrows over the rim of her wine glass.

Emma rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Ruby. He’s just my friend.”

“Your very attractive male friend, who you talk either to or about nonstop,” Mary Margaret added.

She shot her an annoyed glance. “I thought family was supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side! I want you to be happy, and I’m just saying maybe you should be open to the possibility that Killian could have something to do with that.”

Leave it to her sister-in-law to bring Emma’s love life (or lack thereof) into the conversation. ““Don’t get any ideas, Mary Margaret. I love that you’re an eternal optimist, but everything else aside, he lives over three thousand miles away. I never thought we would actually meet.”

“People do long distance all the time,” Elsa chimed in. “Anna and Kristoff did for several months when he was away doing research about climate change in the North Pole. It wasn’t easy, but they got through it and are happier than ever now.”

She wanted to remind Elsa that her sister and her fiance had been together for over two years before this, but disregarded the thought. “I know you all mean well- even though it seems like Ruby just wants me to get laid- but can we change the subject? Killian is my friend. That’s all there is to it.”

Even as she said the words, Emma wondered for the first time whether that was actually true.

Her intention had been to sleep in the next morning since she’d gone ahead and taken the day off. But, much to her dismay, she was wide awake at seven. By ten she’d gone for a run, showered, eaten breakfast, and cleaned most of her apartment. It was tempting to blame the random burst of energy on wanting to be productive while she had the time to spend at home, but that wasn’t it.

She was excited to see Killian. And the closer that came to happening, it terrified her too.

For starters, what if they didn’t mesh as well in person as they did online or over the phone? It sounded silly just to think about, but maybe actually being in each other’s space for the first time would somehow change how their friendship worked.

The conversation she’d had with her friends the day before wasn’t helping matters either. What they’d said shouldn’t have been getting to her like it was. Every argument she’d made against their insinuations about her and Killian had been true.

Then why have you barely paid attention to other guys since the two of you started getting close? The thought came to her once she’d started walking laps around the apartment just to keep her busy. Dating for her had been a rare occurrence since Neal almost ten years earlier. Walsh was the one exception, and things with him hadn’t gone much better. One nighters happened now and then when she wanted to scratch an itch without having strings attached. But even one of those hadn’t happened in months.

She didn’t even know whether or not Killian had been seeing anyone. Her first assumption was no. He’d never once mentioned dating, and, regardless, he’d spent the majority of his nights over the past handful of months talking to her. His unconventional friendship with her on top of his job and his family didn’t give her the impression he had a lot of time for dating.

Emma glanced at the clock on her phone. It was just after twelve. “Dammit.” Even with traffic, it would be at least another hour and forty-five minutes before she needed to leave unless she just wanted to drive in circles around the airport.

“Screw it,” she said at one-thirty after she’d won her fourth game of solitaire. TSA might give her hell about parking if she had to wait a bit for Killian, but she couldn’t sit around her apartment much longer without losing her mind.

There was a knock on her door just as she was pulling on her jacket and boots. She went to the door and found her brother standing with his arms crossed over his chest. “Hey, David.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping I’d catch you in time.”

“In time for what?” she asked. “I’m about to leave for the airport.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m coming with you.”

He’d known she was going to meet Killian today for over a week and had yet to mention this to her. “What? Why?”

“I don’t want you going alone, Emma. It’s not safe; you’ve never met this guy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously? I could understand if I’d met a guy on a dating site or something, but I’ve known Killian for months now, David. I’m pretty confident that I’m not picking up a serial killer.”

The frown on his face hadn’t budged. “Either way, I’d still like to meet him before I leave you alone with him. Gotta let him know what he’s dealing with if he hurts you.”

Emma checked the time on her phone again. “Ugh. Let’s go,” she groaned. “You’re not gonna let this go, and I don’t have time to argue with you about it.”

Any nerves she’d felt before had briefly been alleviated by the desire to strangle David. The drive to the airport was spent with her hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel so she wouldn’t wrap them around his neck instead.

“Are you gonna insist on spending the day with us too?” she asked as she pulled into the airport’s parking lot and looked for the garage for short term parking.

He shrugged. “Not sure yet. Ask me again once I’ve met him and had a chance to evaluate.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’m your older brother. That’s my job,” he insisted.

Emma parked in the short term garage connected to the airport. There was no point in trying to wait at the curb since she knew they’d be asked to move. She and Killian had decided to meet at the landside area, so she sat and waited for a text that he’d arrived and tried to ignore David tapping his fingers against the passenger door.

Her phone vibrated a few minutes later. Hello, Swan. Just wanted to let you know I’m waiting for my luggage and then I should be good to go.

Emma swallowed hard as she got out of the car on shaking legs. This was it.

She was too anxious to object when David followed her out of the garage and into the airport; she’d known better than to expect him to wait in the car for them.

When they’d entered the waiting area, Emma quickly scanned the room for a familiar face, coming up short. This was the place where they’d agreed to meet, wasn’t it? He’d sent her the text just minutes ago confirming their plans. What were the chances the nerves had gone to her head and made her mix something up?

She was so lost in thought she failed to hear the footsteps coming up behind her. “Someone in particular you’re looking for, love?”

They’d FaceTimed on several occasions and shared more ridiculous Snapchats than necessary. Emma knew what to expect. And yet, somehow, she’d been all wrong. His eyes were so much brighter and vibrant in person, there was no way to accurately capture that on camera. There was a tinge of red to his hair and scruff she’d never noticed. She liked it. A lot.

“Hello, Swan.” Shit. His already perfect smile was somehow better in person too. It wasn’t fair.

“Killian. Hi.” How could she have talked to him for hours on end over the past few months and be at a loss for words now?

They stood in silence for a moment, each trying to take the other in. Emma wasn’t sure how she was supposed to greet him. Was their friendship advanced enough to permit a casual hug? Or should she stick to a handshake?

David solved that problem for her, stepping between the two of them and extending his hand to Killian. Emma had all but forgotten that he’d come with her.

“So,” he said, using what could only be called his Protective Big Brother voice, “you’re the British guy.”

“Seriously?!” Emma hissed loud enough for only him to hear as Killian accepted the handshake.

“Aye. And you must be David.”

Her brother looked taken aback. He must have been under the impression Killian had no idea he existed. “Uh, yeah. Emma’s mentioned me then?”

“Oh, yes, several times. She tells me you’re quite the Orioles fan.”

Uh oh. This had the potential to be a recipe for disaster. David did not take comments about his notoriously terrible favorite team lightly. If Killian made any patronizing remarks about the Orioles, any chance at getting on her brother’s good side was doomed.

“I’ve caught highlights from a few games online before,” Killian continued. “Always admired Ripken.”

Emma let out an audible sigh of relief. Killian may very well have been lying through his teeth to appease David, but at least he’d avoided making a bad first impression. “Yes, well,” she butted in, “David’s just here for the ride. We’re dropping him off back at his apartment on our way.” She shot her brother a look that told him not to argue.

The first few minutes in the car were filled with awkward silence as Killian fidgeted in his seat, clearly used to a steering wheel in front of him on the right side, while she tried to ignore David’s presence in the back.

“How was your flight?” she asked after a moment as they headed in the direction of David and Mary Margaret’s building.

“All right. Bit of turbulence, but nothing terrible. The airplane food, on the other hand.” Emma saw him cringe out of the corner of her eye and tried not to laugh. “I’ll be more than happy to see what restaurants you have to recommend in the city.”

“Anything particular you’re up for? Most places aren’t gonna be busy at this time of day. And no, he’s not coming,” she added, glaring at David in the rearview mirror before he had a chance to chime in.

Killian pursed his lips. “Eh, would you judge me if I said I just wanted a good, American cheeseburger?”

She laughed. “That was the last thing I expected. But no judgment here, Tony Stark.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that comparison.” He grinned. “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…”

“I’m sorry, playboy?” David questioned. Someone didn’t know his movie references.

They arrived in front of David’s building minutes later. “Okay, here we are, you’re welcome for the ride home, talk to you later, bye.” Emma must have gotten her point across since he got out of the car with no objection other than a shake of his head.

“I’m really sorry about that.” She glanced at Killian apologetically as she pulled back out into traffic. “I didn’t know he was going to show up and insist on coming with me, or I would have warned you.”

“It’s quite alright, Swan. He was just looking out for you. If I’m being truthful, not wanting you to be alone when you met someone you’d come across online isn’t an unreasonable request.”

“I totally get that to a certain extent, but I know you well enough to trust that you’re not, like, a serial killer. Unless you have something you wanna tell me.”

He barked out a laugh. “Rest assured, love, I have no blood on my hands. At least, none but my brother’s when we were lads.”

“Let me guess, it was always Liam who started it?”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

Traffic was light at that point in the afternoon, the two of them arriving at Emma’s chosen destination sooner than she was expecting. “This place might not look like much,” she told him as she pulled into a parking spot in front of Granny’s, “but she’s got the best burgers and fries, excuse me, chips, in town as far as I’m concerned.”

“And grilled cheese and onion rings as well, I presume?”

“You’re a smart man, Killian.”

The diner was fairly empty as well, just an older couple drinking milkshakes at the bar and a group of college students crowded around a table with a stack of textbooks.

“Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to sit?” she asked Killian.

“No. It’s your pick.”

They took a booth near the back of the diner. Emma handed him one of the plastic menus and flipped through one herself, even though her order had been virtually the same over the years. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt her to branch out a little more with her choices, even if it was just getting a burger or chicken club instead of a grilled cheese for once.

A waitress came to take their orders after a few minutes. Killian requested the cheeseburger he’d wanted with fries, the American term sounding foreign on his lips. She ordered the same.

“No grilled cheese and onion rings? Are we sure this is the real Emma Swan?” Killian asked, feigning concern.

She shrugged. “I’m trying to live a little. And for someone like me, that’s apparently as simple as ordering a burger. Or maybe you’re just a bad influence,” she teased.

“Oi! I wasn’t a bad influence when I helped you make cupcakes in your time of need.”

“Yeah, yeah, technicalities.”

There was a long pause as Emma tried to figure out what to say next. She wondered if Killian was having similar thoughts. This was an easier problem to remedy when they were texting or talking on the phone and she could turn the conversation to whatever show they were on at the time. Even still, there wasn’t the added component of having him across from her to sense any awkward tension between them.

Killian broke the ice. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Swan, have you ever seen One Day At a Time? Been seeing a lot about it online lately.”

“I haven’t actually.” She should have remembered most of their best conversations began with shows. “You know how I feel about good sitcoms though.”

“Aye. Perhaps we’ll add it to our unofficial to watch list?”

“I like the way you think, Jones.”

They talked for awhile about the season of Schitt’s Creek they were working on until the waitress brought their food a few minutes later. The conversation had somehow turned to which of Moira’s wigs would look best on him. It was hard not to laugh as Killian nearly swallowed his beloved cheeseburger whole.

“Don’t judge me,” he said through a mouthful of fries when he noticed Emma snickering. “I was bloody starving.”

“Clearly.” She dipped one of her own fries in the generous pile of ranch dressing on the side of her plate. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have so easily done away with all that English charm us Americans aren’t civilized enough to have.”

“What do you mean ‘done away with’? I’ll have you know I’m always charming, love.”

“Says the man who has ketchup on his chin.”

Killian’s face reddened as he grabbed a napkin and wiped off said ketchup. It was barely enough to be noticeable, but she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to tease him a bit.

As they ate, the conversation shifted from shows to Killian’s work and what he’d be doing in Boston over the next few days. She didn’t know much about his job, other than that he worked for Liam and their company provided parts and equipment for ships. While the company’s primary clientele was located in the London area near their home office, they were looking to expand to other areas as well, hence the meetings Killian had flown over to attend.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why were you the one to make the trip instead of Liam?” she asked. “I don’t really know how a lot of business procedures work, but it seems like he would be the one to handle stuff like that considering he’s over everyone else.”

“Aye, you would think so. But the truth of the matter is, Liam’s tied up with so much within our office. Not to mention he doesn’t like making trips now since he’s got Belle and the kids. From both of those angles, it makes more sense for me to handle as much of the international business as I’m qualified for since I truly have nothing tying me down in London nowadays.”

Emma hated the way her heart skipped a beat at his words. If he had nothing tying him down at home, did that also mean there was no girlfriend there too?

(Could she ask him something like that without him seeing right through her?)

“That’s, uh, great,” she told him, trying to get back to the point of the conversation. “That you’re able to travel for him. I’m sure you get a lot of cool opportunities and stuff.”

“Opportunities like getting to eat an American cheeseburger while I have a face to face conversation about sitcoms?”

“Exactly.”

Killian asked a handful of questions about her job, how she liked her boss and coworkers, if she’d dealt with any major cases lately.

“Not really. It’s mostly the usuals, cheating husbands and deadbeat parents.”

He frowned. “Pity situations like those occur enough to be ‘usuals.’”

“It’s enough to make me want to throw in the towel sometimes if I’m being honest. These people are lucky enough to have a family in the first place, and they just throw it to the side like it means nothing to them.”

Emma didn’t realized what she’d said until it was too late. While she’d become comfortable enough with Killian to share certain details about her personal life over the past few months, her upbringing in foster care was the one subject she’d avoided. She’d heard stories of his and Liam’s upbringing by their single mother, who died when Killian was in college. The only family she’d ever mentioned to him was David, and he didn’t even know they weren’t actually siblings.

But that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have at Granny’s in the middle of the afternoon. She wasn’t sure how much time he had free to spend with her, or when she would see him again. If you even will, she thought.

Sensing her discomfort, Killian reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “Is everything alright, love?”

The feeling of his hand in her own stopped Emma’s train of thought. She almost hated how comforting it was. “Yeah, it’s nothing.” She gave what she hoped looked like a genuine smile. There was no need to waste her time with him focusing on bad memories. “What do you say we pay the bill and go do some sight seeing? Boston isn’t New York or LA, but it can be fun. I think so anyway.”

“Sounds like a plan, love.”

They bickered at the cash register over who was going to pay. Killian wanted to be a gentleman, Emma wanted him to feel like her guest in some way. She somehow won. “You can buy me a bear claw at my favorite bakery later if you really want to,” she told him as she swiped her debit card through the reader and he stood to the side pouting.

She and Killian were heading for the door when a familiar face entered the diner. The sight of Ruby made Emma consider grabbing Killian and hiding him.

“Emma!” Her friends’ eyes lit up when she spotted them, red lips breaking out into a grin.

“Hey, Rubes. I didn’t think you were working today.” She would have taken Killian to eat somewhere else otherwise. Emma loved her friend, but something told her Ruby would have less of a filter than usual around him.

“I wasn’t, but Ashley had a doctors’ appointment and asked me to cover her shift.” She glanced around Emma to get a look at Killian. “Oh, is this the English guy? You didn’t tell me he was hot.”

The urge to crawl under the nearest table was tempting. “Uh, yeah,” she said, her face reddening, even more so when she realized it sounded like she was agreeing with Ruby’s comment. She turned to Killian. “This is my friend, Ruby. Granny’s is, well, her grandmother’s.”

Ruby held her hand out to him. “It’s so nice to  put a face with the name. Emma talks about you all the time.”

Emma shot her a death stare as Killian accepted the handshake and brought her hand to his lips. “It’s a pleasure, love. I’ve heard quite a bit about you as well.”

“Such a charmer.” Ruby’s grin widened. “I love it.”

“Yeah, well, we were just leaving, and I know you have to get to work.” She grabbed Killian’s hand and pulled him out the door before Ruby had another chance to embarrass her. “Bye!”

Emma groaned as soon as the door to Granny’s had shut behind her. “I’m sorry about that. She means well, but she tends to come off a bit strong.”

“No worries, Swan. I can’t say I have many objections with a woman who so freely acknowledges my good looks.” He smirked, and she couldn’t help but think how much she wanted to kiss the smile off of his face.

Which she wasn’t going to do. Because that would be ridiculous. “Yeah, I’m never gonna let her live that down.”

She moved her car to a free public lot and spent the next hour with Killian, walking around downtown Boston to show him some of her favorite spots in the area. She pointed out the precinct where she often dropped off bail jumpers, the library, her favorite coffee shop, and the bakery that made the best bear claws in town.

“You can definitely return the favor from lunch now,” Emma told him when they entered the shop and she caught a whiff of something that smelled like butter and cinnamon.

“Whatever the lady wishes.”

“The lady definitely wishes for a bear claw. Or five.”

In the end she requested one, although Killian told the attendant to add another to her bag. “In case you’d like one for the weekend and don’t feel like making the trip.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll let it go uneaten for that long.”

They sat at a bench outside the bakery since the weather was nice. Mid September in Boston was often ideal since it was still warm without being unbearably hot. Emma took one of her bear claws out of the paper bag and bit into it, letting the warm dough melt in her mouth. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” she told Killian, who had started eating his blueberry scone.

“I’ll take your word for it, Swan. You know I’m not fond of raisins.”

“Whatever.” She feigned disappointment. “More for me.”

It occurred to Emma that she had yet to ask another important question. She had no idea how long he would be in Boston, and if she would get to see him again after today. Killian had mentioned in previous conversations that he had a handful of meetings over the following two days, but nothing about what his schedule looked like or when he would be flying back.

Killian picked up on her unspoken apprehension. “What’s going on in that head of yours, love?”

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Hadn’t she decided she wasn’t going to waste time worrying while he was there? “It’s nothing,” she insisted again. Killian’s expression suggested he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press the issue.

“Did I tell you my nephew is into Peppa Pig now?” she asked, knowing he might like this change of subject. “He’s, like, fascinated with the British accents and tries to talk like the characters all the time now. It’s hilarious.”

His eyes lit up. “Is that so? I like this lad already. Although I do prefer Percy Pigs myself. It’s a type of candy,” he explained when her eyebrows shot up. A quick Google search provided a photo of what he was referring to, which was, as suggested, a gummy in the shape of a pig’s head.

It was weird, if she was being frankly honest, but Leo would love them. “Kid’s definitely getting an order of these for his next birthday.”

Emma finished her bear claw and wiped her mouth with a napkin from the bakery. But she must have not done an adequate job. Killian leaned over. “You missed a spot, love,” he said, brushing his thumb at the corner of her mouth. Any reply she had was forgotten with the gesture as she became hyper focused on the brief but startling feeling of his touch.

“Uh, thanks.” The words came out raspy and uneven.

Her reaction seemed to make Killian realize what he’d done. “Apologies, Swan. I wasn’t thinking.”

She couldn’t stop herself from blurting out the question that followed. “What are we doing here, Killian?”

[noahreids]

Beauty in the Aftermath (CS FF) | 12/14

Summary: Confronted with the sudden appearance of her birth parents, Emma, in a moment of panic, runs. She flees the diner, Storybrooke, the country. She finds herself a day later in the Dublin, Ireland Airport terminal wondering what the hell she has gotten herself into. With some fear, a little determination and a considerable amount of faking it along the way, she sets off on a trip she never planned on taking but needed more than she ever knew. She finds herself, she finds a Brit adrift on his own journey and finds out what home really means.

Rated: M (Sexual content & some Irish whiskey along the way).

Also on: AO3 | FFN Tumblr: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 ] Art!: Cover | Ch.1 | Ch.3 | Ch.5 | Ch.7 | Ch.9 |

A/N: Thanks always, always, always. So many of you have taken time to leave me comments, kudos and likes and each and every one is noticed and appreciated. Thank you.  

Always, thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), @imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.

And now for a little bit of a wild ride... 

Chapter 12 Emma, slides lower in her Adirondack-style chair, lifting her socked feet to the railing and closing her eyes. The briny ocean air gently moves over her skin and she sighs at the sensation, her mind replaying the last few days.

Ever since leaving Galway, their days slip one into the another with an effortless ease. Some intangible thing settles in their relationship, an ease or a comfort, or maybe a deeper understanding of each other. Whatever it is, it feels good and so Emma doesn’t try to put it into words, she doesn’t need to, instead she chooses to bask in it.

It had also been easy to say goodbye to Anna and Kristoff and set off on their own once again. Of course, her and Anna had exchanged numbers and promises to see each other again, but Emma and Killian were more than ready to slip back into their own bubble.

And they did, taking a meandering tour of the West coast, no solid plan except for a map and Emma’s guidebook to lead them. Killian even got in on the fun of pulling out pamphlets from the front of restaurants and hostels, holding them up with excited eyes when he finds something particularly interesting.

One taps her right one the nose at that very moment as Killian settles in the chair beside her having refilled their pints.

Emma takes the flyer and pauses, beer midway to her mouth. She takes in the colorful surfboards pictured on the front of the flyer and then looks down to the beach, watching the waves crash onto the sand, chasing the gulls back and forth. She shivers.

“It’s going to be freezing.”

Her eyes cut to him and he shrugs.

“They have wetsuits”

She’s unconvinced.

“I promise to warm you up after.”

She looks a little more hopeful.

“And make you another one of those cinnamon hot chocolate things you like so much.”

She grins and taps her beer to his.

xo

They surf in Lahinch and Killian is terrible at it.

And while Emma is only slightly better, she cackles from her board every time he comes up, water sputtering from his mouth, hair plastered to his forehead.

Their teacher remains patient and by the end, they both finally manage to ride a few small waves, Emma making it all the way to the beach.

“I’m going to start competing! You’ll find me on the circuit!” she cries out before dropping to her butt on the sand. Killian eventually joins her, flopping onto his back.

“Everything hurts.”

She laughs again and he looks up at her with one eye, squinting against the sun.

“You’re a mean, mean woman.”

She shakes her head and stands, brushing the sand from her butt and holding out her hand.

“Alright, come on and let this mean woman take care of you then. Let’s go warm up and then I can show you my pamphlet for tomorrow.”

xo

Her pick, the Dingle Dolphin Tour.

She can barely stay still as she tells him about their upcoming trip, shaking the pamphlet from up high as she stands on their bed.

He wraps his towel around his neck as he approaches, shorts riding low on his hips, skin pink from the hot shower. He stops at the edge of the bed and looks up, eyebrow raised.  

“We aren’t paying some overpriced jackass to take us out to see a dolphin that probably doesn’t even exist.”

Emma isn’t dettered, holding out the pamphlet.

“He’s been seen almost every day since 1983!”

“Sure he has.”

“You’ll see.”

Killian takes the paper and flings it behind, hand and wrist finding her bare legs instead. His fingers tickle behind her knee before he wraps his arms around her thighs and sends her tumbling back to the bed. Her laugh follows quickly and so does Killian, crawling over her, hand tugging on the shirt she is wearing.

“Alright Swan, if you say so. Now onto more pressing matters. I was looking for this shirt.”

Emma wraps her legs around his hips, pulling him down, a small shrug.

“You want it back?”

She lifts her arms above her head, waiting. He grins and pulls it off the rest of the way, dropping it to the floor.

“Not really. It looks better on you anyway, but I think I enjoy this look even more.”

She watches as his eyes dip, taking in her naked form.

“You’re ridiculous,” she whispers, but arches as his mouth closes over a nipple, teasing it to a point.

“Am I though?” his words roll over her skin, eyes bright as he looks up at her.

“Come here.”

And who is he to deny her, lips closing over hers.

xo

“Killian, there he is!”

Emma points eagerly, while standing on her tiptoes, trying to look over the crowd that had rushed to the side when the captain announced there had been a sighting.

She pulls her hood tighter around her face as the wind picks up, it’s a cold, blustery day on the water but her smile can’t be contained. He shakes his head but can’t help his returning grin.

“What are you waiting for, get a closer look.”

He nudges her forward and she finds a spot, laughing and letting out a shout with the rest of the passengers when Fungie the dolphin delights them with a jump through the air.

Killian doesn't bother taking any photos of the dolphin, too busy capturing Emma to care.

“The show’s there,” she says, pointing to the water. He simply shakes his head and raises the lense again, capturing her, shyly looking away, smile just for him.

“Thanks love, but I’ve got a perfect view right here.”

xo

Over dinner that night in Cork he plops down more flyers, each one getting them closer to Dublin than the next. Each one reminding her of the end and she feels the panic slowly start to rise as he talks on.

“What do you want to do first? Kiss the Blarney Stone? See the ruins in Cashel or we can go right to Kilkenny and tour the Castle?”

He’s looking through her guidebook when she finds her voice.

“Or we could go to the Cliffs of Moher?” she suggests, unable to look him in the eye. Fingers following the scratches on the old wood table they sit at.

She feels his gaze and bites her lip.

“I thought we decided there would be too many people?”

“I know.”

She still doesn’t look up, heart hammering, worried if she does, he’ll see through her.

“We saw tour bus after tour bus head that way.”

“We did.”

His hand closes over hers, turning it over and playing with her fingers.

“It’s 3 hours north of here.”

“It is.”

She takes a deep breath through her nose and forces a smile, finally looking up.

“You’re right, sorry.”

He doesn’t look convinced but she hurries to wave him off and grab her guidebook back.

“I read somewhere that instead of going to the Rock of Cashel there’s a monastery across the way that’s even cooler to see. An old Abbey.”

She’s grateful he lets her change the subject because in all honesty, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t need to see the Cliffs or the Castles or anything at all. She just wants time to slow down because she knows in her heart, she needs to get home sooner than later. There is a life waiting for her there that she can’t put off forever, friends that care about her, bills and rent and the small matter of two people who claim to be her parents.

But of all the places Killian has mentioned, never once as he talked about going stateside. Of course he’s spoken of the places he’s already been that she should see and of counties he hopes to visit one day but she can’t help but worry about what he’s not saying.

Never mind what she’s not asking.

Her head snaps up when music starts up from the back of the bar.

“Why don’t you go check them out? I just need to run to the bathroom and I’ll find you,” Killian offers already, standing.

She nods distractedly and slowly walks to the back to find a spot. She allows herself to get swallowed up into the crowd, letting herself sway with the people and hum along to the familiar tunes, once again hoping time would stop.

Killian finds her during a particular crowd favorite, the collective voices nearly louder than the band. His arms wrap around her from behind, pulling her close. He sings the words softly into her ear and Emma closes her eyes, trying to not let her emotions overwhelm her.

“We can leave first thing in the morning. We’ll be there by noon.”

She spins in his arms.

“Yeah?”

“Of course. Let’s see some cliffs.”

She hugs him tight and tighter still when she feels her tears threaten.

“Thank you.”

xo

They go to the cliffs and they walk along the well worn path, slowly with the other tourists. They take pictures and Killian laughs when ten feet is too close to the edge for her. When the fog slowly lifts, and the cliffs jut out, dark and imposing over the blue waters of the Atlantic, it takes her breath away.

But even more so, when she looks out at the ocean -- she knows she is looking out towards home.

And yet she remains silent, lets the fear build up inside and lets him lead her back to the car, bringing them another step closer to Dublin.

xo

Eventually they make it to Blarney Castle and kiss the stone. Unfortunately the gift of gab isn’t magically bestowed upon her. She pictured kissing the stone and suddenly turning to him and demanding to know what his plan is for the next weeks, months, years. Do you think you could live in the United States, with me, who you’ve only known for a short while, while I figure out my life?  

No, she decides, that would be crazy and why would he? It’s probably why he’s never suggested it and why she is now on the verge of a panic attack as they pull into the Dublin city limits.

Meanwhile, Killian doesn’t seem to have a care in the world, for once not his perceptive self.

“Oh, I called the car hire this morning and we can just drop the car off right here in the city, no need to go to the airport. That way we won’t have to worry about parking, we won’t need to keep paying for car we don’t need.”

Emma is so thrown by the sudden change of plans, she’s at a loss for words, she simply nods and follows his instructions to where they need to drop the car off.

The whole ordeal goes by in a blur, her mind unable to stop racing to ask questions or really understand what any of it means.

She hands the keys over and signs whatever papers are placed in front of her and lets Killian fix her pack, pulling on her straps, so it sits higher, easier to carry.

“Don’t worry -- we won’t have to walk with these for long. As soon as we find a place that has room for the night we’ll drop them off,” he explains taking her hand and leading her out.

And again she follows.

It’s not like her to remain so silent, so complacent, but it’s taking all her energy to just keep her breathing under control, to not worry about her racing heart.

He pulls them towards a busy intersection, and she doesn’t even know how they got there. She’s cold, and her pack is heavy and he’s pulling out a map and she just wants to cry.

“Did you even try to call for a hostel this morning when you decided for us that we didn’t need a car or a place to stay or any plan at all?” her questions finally burst out, surprising them both.

He looks up, brows furrowing at her outburst.

“What’s going on?”  

“It’s like you don’t even care about where you’re going next. Like you don’t think of the future at all. Well, I fucking need to and I’m going to start with a place to sleep.”

He looks at her a little stunned and in her distressed state she takes it as an agreement of his not caring and stomps away, getting jostled and grumbled at by passerbyers, and just barely missing a car.

She doesn't care. She keeps her head down and walks.

It only takes a few minutes for her heavy breaths to come quicker, for the tears of embarrassment to threaten and for the realisation that she just needs to tell him, to be at the tip of her tongue but when she turns, he’s not there.

She spins, looking all around.

He’s not there, and she has no idea where she is and, and and --

“Oh, God.”

She clamps her hand over her mouth at the sound of her own panicked voice and she feels the first wet tear hit her hand. She breathes in through her nose but it doesn’t help. Another fat tear, tracks down her cheek.

She tries to retrace her steps but nothing seems familiar.

She tries different directions, all leading to more confusion and night is falling and she’s realising she has no idea where to even begin. She should have stayed in one place and -- she shouldn’t have gotten mad in the first place.

She should call him but--

The worst hits her -- she can’t. She can’t call him because she never had his number to begin with, there was never a reason to. She doesn’t even know if he has a phone.

Someone else bumps her, nearly sending her sprawling and she just manages to catch herself against a nearby bench.

What the hell is she going to do?

She’s lost him.

And so she does the only thing she can think of. She slowly lowers herself to the bench and cries.

-------

Don’t hate me too much...

Also -- there won’t be any updates for the next two weeks. So I wanted to take a second to wish everyone a very safe and happy holiday season. I’m thinking of each and every one of you. Thank you for making 2018 an amazing one! 

I’ll be back with Chapter 13, January 8th, 2019! Woo. 

But... there will be a little Christmas fic around the 25th :)

[crimsxnrebellion-blog]

Crashing Down

[(Alternate Title: Dante Should Have Listened to Jojo's song, "Little Too Late")

Basically, an AU of what could happen between Dante and Lady because they're both dumb (especially Dante).

So...I fought with myself to even post it. It started out as me working through my emotions through Dante and Lady and kept going. Thus, this has a bit of personal flavor to it, and it took me a bit to even convince myself to finish it or make it anything postable in the first place. So, here's my emotional drivel as I try to cope with my own bad decisions and cowardice. :’3]

Lady’s tone when she called half an hour ago unsettled him. Normally, when she said, “we need to talk,” annoyance or anger burst forth in every syllable and several curses or name calling followed. He could perfectly picture the scowl settled on her features as she straddled her motorcycle or paced in her apartment. Occasionally, a sadness crept into her tone. But, this mostly happened if she had her mother or what happened in that tower that changed their lives forever on their mind. But, this time, little emotion accompanied her request to come over. Her statement a simple answer to his why.

Thus, when she entered the shop dressed in a form fitting black dress with heels and makeup on, fingers worrying the clutch in her hands, the demon hunter raised an eyebrow and clenched his jaw to keep it from dropping. She looked gorgeous. She always did, in all honesty, but he rarely saw her in clothing other than her hunting attire. She glowed in that moment, the only thing dampening her radiance was the obvious worry that creased her brow.

“You come all this way dressed up to ask me on a date or something?” He grinned as the legs of his chair scraped at the wood floor below him. “Well, you’ll have to give me a bit to get ready. I haven’t even showered today.”

She rolled her eyes, and he swore he saw her lips quiver as she tried not to smile. “Don’t be an idiot. I’m going on a date but not with your sorry ass. And quit staring. I have something I want to tell you, to get your opinion.”

Dante stopped midstep, hand resting over his heart. “Wha-what? The brilliant, know-it-all Lady needs my advice?”

“Dante!” Lady stamped her foot, her heel clicking on the wood floor instead of the normal thud her boot would make. “I’m serious! For once, can you cut the crap?”

“Alright, alright.” He couldn’t help but chuckle as he raised his hand in surrender. “What’s got your probably sexy lace panties in a bunch?”

The woman remained silent for at least a full minute, bi color eyes staring anywhere except at her hunting partner. “Let me just preface this by saying I know it’s going to seem a little soon...”

Dante clapped his hand to his mouth. “You’re asking me to marry you?”

“Dante!”

“Okay, okay. Go on.”

She huffed and squeezed her clutch. He figured she was trying her hardest not to chuck it at his head. “You’re on the right topic, at least.” She sucked in a breath and finally met his gaze. “You remember that guy I started seeing, Nick? I brought him over for Christmas to meet all of you?”

Just hearing his name made him want to roll his eyes. His demon growled in jealousy, possessiveness, but he couldn’t fully blame his devil. He remembered that night clearly. How his mood had tanked all night, that loud, fake laughter he had to perform at the guy’s lame jokes to avoid Lady’s glares. Holding back every nasty comment about his clothes, his stature, his physique, his bland personality, how he didn’t treat Lady exactly how he felt she should be treated. The seventh bottle of whiskey he went through before pretending to be too drunk to function and escaping to his room to lick his wounds and fume.

“Sure. The dude who forbid you from talking to me when you first started...dating or whatever you want to call it.” His mind was so clouded by his jealousy, he didn’t put two and two together. “Figured you’d dump him for trying to pull that shit.”

“Dante, I talked to him. He backed off on that. He knows you’re my partner and that we’re close friends.” Another roll of her eyes. “But I didn’t come here to argue with you about this again. The thing is...I think he’s going to propose to me.”

Though he should have seen it coming, the news sank his heart to the pit of his stomach. It felt like his ribcage was closing around his lungs and trying to puncture them. “Would you say yes?” he croaked before he could stop himself. No, she couldn’t get married. Not to some bland idiot like this Nick guy. And Lady settling down? Starting a family? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. She had always been the badass demon hunter to him. The beautiful, amazing, compassionate, irresistible demon hunter.

The question obviously caught her off guard as she blinked and stuttered over how to respond. “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Dante could list a million reasons. “I dunno...guess it just seems...sudden.”

“You think it’s too soon?” Her eyes shone as they pleaded with him for guidance. He was the last person she should have this conversation with, knowing his track record. Not to mention he suddenly felt like he needed to vomit on top of the dagger she had metaphorically shoved into him.  

“I’m scared. Really. Me...married.” She laughed, a nervous sound he had never heard come from her. She almost always radiated confidence, and when she didn’t, he helped her build it back up. “But, I really want this. I love him. I’m comfortable with him, and you know that doesn’t ever happen. He accepts me, shitty past and all.”

A twist of the dagger. She loved him. She loved Nick. She didn’t love him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Panic settled in and pumped his heart a million beats per second. Fight or flight instincts told him to bolt and bolt quick. But he stood rooted to the spot, eyes darting every which way as his mind processed some kind of response.

“Cool.” The aggravation in her expression told him that was the wrong response. “I mean...I’m uh, glad you found someone like that. If he makes you happy, I’m happy for you.”

A lie. A lie that tasted like the bitterest toxin. It wouldn’t kill him. That would be too merciful in that moment.  

Lady’s expression softened, a smile lighting up her features. She threw her arms around him. “Thanks, Dante. It means a lot. Really.” She pulled away. “I need to get going. I’ll tell you how it goes if it happens.”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he muttered as he back moved toward the door. “Later.”

--------------------------------

Dante slammed his glass back down on the wooden surface of the bar, signaling to the bartender that he needed his whiskey topped off. Bullseye was fairly empty, especially for a Friday night. The jukebox in the corner crooned out Motley Crue’s “Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)” over the occasional laughter and muted conversations of the few others around him. While on a normal night he would hardly pay the other patrons much attention, his mind was so entrenched in his memory of his meeting with Lady a few hours before that his general aloofness became complete distraction.

He brushed his fingers through his snowy locks. If someone asked what he felt in that moment, he wouldn’t know what to tell them because he couldn’t begin to pin his emotions for himself. He was angry, at her, at himself, at Nick. Crushed and broken hearted. He felt stupid. Jealous. Guilty because he knew he should be happy for her. Happy that she would be getting the life she secretly longed for—marriage, a family, stability—but he just couldn’t bring himself to even pretend to be happy. The more he tried, the more it hurt.

“Yo, Dante. Did you even hear me?”

Ice blue eyes snapped up to the bartender, an old friend named Frank. A shorter guy with cropped gray-peppered brown hair and a knowledge of liquor to impress even the most refined conisseurs. He claimed that Dante was the reason he was able to keep the place open. That and the fact that it was connected to a seedy strip club. “Sorry. Got a lot on my mind is all.” He swiped up his glass and took a long swig. The burn hardly bothered him anymore. He set the near empty glass back down and watched as Frank refilled the amber liquid.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had woman problems. And not just the usual ‘they took my money again’ woman problems.”

“Well, ya ain’t far off the mark,” he sighed, spinning a coaster in his hands before tossing it back on the bar. “Lady might be getting hitched.”

“Well, good for her,” Frank said, ducking under the bar to grab another few beers for the two guys sitting at the end. “It’s about time she found someone. A few years ago, I would have bet all I have that the two of you would end up together.”

Though he tried to keep it from his face, he could tell by how Frank balked that he wasn’t successful. He drained the rest of his whiskey. “I don’t know. It’s just...weird. And he’s not right for her. He’s so...plain and normal.”

Frank shrugged. “Maybe that’s what she wants. You two don’t exactly lead the most normal lives.” He picked up a bottle whose rose-tinted glass twisted like a cyclone all the way up the neck. Some fancy, overpriced vodka by the look of it. He twisted the bottle around to examine the label. “Though it sounds to me like you do wish she was marrying you.”

Dante didn’t answer right away, and he avoided Frank’s accusing stare in favor of peering into his glass as if it had all the answers. “It’s just...” He breathed out a breath between a sigh and a huff, searching for the right words. “I’ve...been in love with her for a long time. I know I have. But, I know she could never see me that way, and it could never work out between us. I’ve known that for a long time but I still feel shitty about all this. Like I want to be happy for her, I should be happy for her, but I’m not and it feels selfish.”

He knew he was speaking a mile a minute, jumping from one thought to the next. But, since Frank had given him a chance, every thought he had over the past few hours spewed from his mouth faster than he could shoot his prized pistols. Had it not been for his chuckling, Dante would assume he hadn’t caught a lick of it.

“What’s so funny?” he barked, swigging the rest of his drink. “I’m a mess over here and all you can do is laugh at my dumb ass?”

“Well, you got that right: you’re definitely dumb.” Dante flipped the bartender off as he refilled his whiskey. “If you loved her, why the hell didn’t you just tell her?”

“It’s complicated.” He thought she hated him. He knew she could never truly love someone who was half the creature she sought to rid the world of. He assumed she wanted to keep their relationship as professional as possible. He was basically a manifestation of trash who thrived on sex, pizza, strawberry sundaes, booze, and killing demons. While she could defend herself, he had a glowing target on his back with incandescent arrows pointing at him and screaming, “SON OF THE TRAITOR, SPARDA.” Anyone he brought into his life would be put in danger, and he could never live with himself if something happened to her because he wasn’t there. He couldn’t let that happen again. He had been too weak, too young the first time. He wouldn’t let someone else be killed because of him or his heritage if he could help it.

“I doubt she feels the same,” he finally settled on. He stared down into the amber liquid in the glass. “I doubt she could feel the same. I’m a mess. She deserves better than me, anyway.”

But even I’m better than Nick.

Frank’s sigh raised his gaze again. “Well, if that’s how you feel. Never took you to be the type with confidence issues considering how often I see you leaving with a woman on your arm.” He topped Dante’s glass off one last time. “Give yourself time. You’ll sort out your shit and be back to normal before you know it.”

Dante nodded and finished off his drink. His chest still weighed a thousand pounds. “Thanks, Frank.” He tossed money on the bar with a generous tip. “I’ll see you around.”

He pushed open the door of the bar and headed out into the balmy evening air. He considered going next door to Love Planet. Watch some girls take their clothes off while slinging back shots that wouldn’t really affect him for at least another hour. Flirt with scantily clad waitresses and take one home. Drown his sorrow and self-pity the way she had for the last few decades. Pretend he had never spoken to Lady or that the conversation didn’t leave him feeling utterly idiotic and empty. But his feet had a different idea and lead him back to his door, the neon sign above bathing the area in a pink glow.  

Inside, he flipped on the light and dragged his arms out of his coat. He tossed it on the hook and trudged over to the couch. He splayed out, feet jutting out over the edge and his arm dangling over the side. The fan spinning above him didn’t do much to ward off the night’s heat, but he hardly cared. His mind was too busy replaying Lady’s visit to fathom any discomfort.  

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he drew it out. A text from Trish about a job for him tomorrow. One she no doubt felt was beneath her, so she pawned it off on him. His eye was drawn to the time. 2:17 in the morning. He hadn’t realized he had been out so long. Lady would be home by now, probably sharing her bed with Nick. He could see her wrapped in his arms as he fucked her, hear her moaning his name as her nails dug into his acne-covered back, a rock the size of her fist on her left hand.  

He should tell her how he felt. Let it all out there. He could call her now and confess his love for her. Tell her it’s always been her he wanted. Her he wanted more than anything else in the world but he didn’t have the balls to tell her. He feared for her and feared that she couldn’t love him but he didn’t care about that anymore. He loved her, and no one could keep her safe better than him.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had scrolled through his few contacts and hit the green “call” button beneath Lady’s name. It rang twice. What was he doing? He wasn’t even drunk and he was acting like some idiot who got wasted and called his ex. He moved the phone from his ear and started to tap the “end” button when the ringing buzz ended, replaced but a soft but somehow beautiful sigh.

“Dante?” He hadn’t even placed the speaker back to his ear, frozen in place. Her voice was heavy with sleep; she had been out for a few hours. Maybe Nick wasn’t there after all. Maybe she told him no and sent him packing. His heart soared in a renewed hope for a second, unfreezing his stone limbs.

“Dante, if this is a joke, it isn’t funny. I’m trying to sleep.”

He placed the device back to his ear. “No, no. Don’t hang up.” He sucked in a breath as he heard the grumble of a male voice, jaw clenching as he made out something along the lines of, “are you kidding me? Hang up on him. It’s almost three in the morning, babe.”

Lady ignored him. For now. “Then, what do you want? Not all of us can survive on a few hours of sleep and naps throughout the day.”

“I...” He paused. He couldn’t tell her. Not with that fucker so close to her. Probably listening like the creep he was. “Can you come over?”

“Now? Seriously, Dante?” Her voice had softened, though, the sound soothing him. She could sense his distress. His voice lacked the bravado it normally possessed no matter how hard he tried to sound normal. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

No, he had to do it now. If he waited, he would lose his nerve. “It’s urgent, Lady. I wouldn’t ask this of ya if it wasn’t important.”

Another sigh, the shift of springs. A protest from her bed mate. “Promise me it will be quick. I’ll be there soon.”

He clicked the phone off and returned it to his pocket. Common sense told him this whole thing was stupid. Ridiculous and juvenile. But he just...had to tell her. Get it off his chest. Maybe she felt the same after all. Maybe she had been waiting for him to tell her this after all these years because she didn’t know how to say it herself. Maybe he would ditch Nick and he his. Maybe...

He was getting ahead of himself. One step at a time. He needed to control his hopes, but, as the sound of a car parking up front and boots climbing the stairs reached his ears, he knew he was failing miserably at it. His heart beat picked up a hundred-fold as he stood up and watched her walk in the door.

“So, what’s so important that you had to drag me out of bed at two in the morning?” Her short, raven locks were disheveled from sleep, and she hadn’t bothered to change out of the shorts and tank top she wore to bed (though she did take the time to put on a bra, much to his dismay). She wore her usual boots, which to some would look horrendous, but to Dante, she looked like a goddess standing there. He was only snapped back to his mission when she yawned and raised her left hand to cover her mouth. The light glinted off the diamond and he swallowed a lump in his throat.

"There's something I gotta tell you. I needed to a long time ago but I was too chicken.” He studied her face as she quirked a brow in question. He rememorized every detail from the shape of her crimson and blue eyes, the pearlescent scar across her nose, the rosy tint of the full lips he longed to plant his on. He rested his hands on her shoulders.

“Lady...I...I love you.”

He couldn’t read her face in that moment. It flashed from surprise to confusion to annoyance and cycled through each emotion in rapid succession. Her lips parted and closed several times as she searched for the right words to say.

“W-what?”

“I love you.” He spoke more firmly this time. The words felt so natural. Tasted better than anything on his tongue. He felt drunk on the emotion in that moment, high on the decades old weight lifted from his shoulders.

“Dante...how? Why?” Before he could tighten his grip on her, she slipped away from him and took a few steps backward. His high crashed and burned as he saw unshed tears shine in her eyes. His heart felt heavy again, and his throat closed off. He felt as though his muscles would fail him at any second.  

“Lady, I had to tell you. Finally get it off my chest. I’ve felt this way forever and--”

“No.” She held up her hand and shook her head. Her tears escaped her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. Her voice trembled. “No. No no. You can't do this to me, Dante. Not now.”

Lady stepped back to the door and his body lurched forward of its own accord. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and held fast. “Please, Lady. Just hear me out. You mean the world to me and I wish I had told you sooner but-”

“But you had to wait until someone else showed up? Until I gave up on you and tried to start my life? A halfway normal life?”

He could feel his heart ripping itself to shreds as a mocking voice chanted, “You’re too late” over and over in his head. His grip slackened, and she took full advantage of it, ripping her hand from his grip. He swallowed and fought his own tears. Whoever would have thought a woman would ever make him feel so low or make him cry?

“Lady...”

“Save it, Dante.” She scoffed and swiped her hand beneath her eyes, over her cheeks, clearing them of tears. She coughed out a short laugh, the sound bitter and too high. “What did you expect to happen when I got here? That I would just give up everything and get with you?” Her hands balled into fists at her sides.

“I waited too long for you, Dante...I’m getting old. I couldn’t, wouldn’t wait forever.”

He was paralyzed. She was right. Had he really expected that? That this would end like a fairy tale? He knew better; his life was the exact opposite. How could he possibly expect a happy ending?

His emotions went into damage control mode. He went numb. He shut off his anger. His sadness. His regret. He was a monster, he reminded himself. Monsters didn’t love, and they certainly didn’t deserve love.

“You’re right.” He finally managed. He brushed his fingers through his hair and turned his back on her, ignoring her sniffle and choked sob. “I’m sorry for bringing you over here. Go get some sleep.”

Dante lowered himself on the couch and closed his eyes. “I gotta get to bed myself, anyway. Early job.” He fought the urge to open his eyes when he didn’t hear her move immediately. To run over and scoop her into his arms. To kiss her and beg her to be with him. Or at least not to hate him for being so stupid all these years and only just now getting the nerve to tell her. His fingers curled around the bottom of the couch to keep him latched to the leather cushions.

He heard her sigh, a shuddering sound. “Goodnight, Dante.”

Finally, boots cleared the rest of the wood floor to the door. He winced as it creaked open and clicked shut. Blue eyes opened to stare at the ceiling, filled with bitter tears. He felt as though everything in him had been sucked out of him, a mere shell lying abandoned on his couch. But the pain...he could still feel that. And it hurt worse than any sword thrust through his guts.