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ourkarlanicoleuniverse · 4 years

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Sweet Nothing (MHA Staff AU Fanfiction)

Chapter 5

Warnings: None swf, slight fluff.

Author’s note: Literally couldn’t come up for a good Pro Hero name for Mai’s ex colleague so I’m giving credit to my friend @thatgirlwithcamera for coming up with Gemini with ease. As the story progresses you’ll see how it fits perfectly for that character.

The doctor explained all of Aizawa's injuries to me as he was still asleep. Turned aside from the broken limbs, his right arm was also missing a few layers of skin and muscle was exposed, luckily it wasn't infected. We still have yet to see if his erasure quirk was intact, Aizawa had to be awake to check his quirk but that wasn't happening any time soon.

Nezu felt it was best to close the school down for a week to give the staff and students time to recuperate after the attack. During that week I have been just going between my place and the hospital and emailing parents of Class 1-A. Currently though, I was sitting in the love seat they had in the room with my laptop watching Netflix and checking emails.

A few emails caught my eye.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Hi Sweetheart,

I know we haven't spoken since the drama revolving around the court case. I just heard about the attack at UA. Now, I am not planning on telling you that you should come to I-Island and lay low here. I just want to let you know I'm not mad anymore and wanted to see if you're okay. Te quiero, mi Sión

Love,

Mami

Great. My mom. I guess she changed her mind about me moving to I-Island and making it come off as her own idea. I'll reply later and blame it on the time zones.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Hiya teach!

How's Japan treating you? I'm only emailing you because my cousin told me about what happened at UA. I hope you're okay and so are the students. Everyone here in the U.S. miss you. Oh! Also I need to know the address to your new place to send you the invitation to Aaron and my wedding. So please let me know soon! Love you, miss you, and hope all is well on your end.

Marga

I quickly typed up a reply giving her my new address and telling her how we're all fine aside from Thirteen and Aizawa being injured. She's probably going to freak out to hear about her favorite underground hero being injured. I gave her a brief sentence or two explaining how I'll tell her more in detail about everything if we ever get to video chat. After replying I went back to my Netflix binge with my eyes switching between the screen and Aizawa's sleeping form every now and then.

"What are you watching?" I jumped in my seat slightly and almost dropped my laptop as the mummy beside me grunted. "Why do you react so dramatically?"

I stood up to help Aizawa move and sit up, I glared at him and grabbed the hospital bed remote to change his position. "Well, I'm sorry, I didn't expect my colleague who was asleep for four days to just speak out of nowhere." Even though his face was bandaged up, I could still sense his signature annoyed expression. I just copied the expression with my right hand on my hip holding the bed remote.

"You're so immature." He sighed and looked down. "Why are you here?"

"Huh? Oh, I guess Nezu didn't tell you about making me your emergency contact since we're partners at the school." I rubbed the back of my neck. "The doctors and nurse think I'm your fiance though, because Nezu wanted to make sure that they didn't try to kick me out." Aizawa simply hummed in response. "I've been here since you came in. All the students wouldn't stop blowing up my email asking about you." I gave a soft chuckle. "They're incredibly worried but relieved that you're alive." It was hard to meet his eyes. I felt vulnerable where I stood despite not being the one in a full body cast. I hugged myself tighter into my cardigan, "I'm going to call a nurse in to let them know you're awake." Another hum was left in the air.

The doctor and nurses told me that I needed to leave the room while they examined Aizawa, despite Aizawa surprisingly refusing me to leave. So, I took the opportunity to go down to the cafeteria to grab a bite and maybe bring something for Aizawa. I decided I would text the group chat between Aizawa, Lily, Iris, Mic, and Midnight to let them know he was awake.

Me: He lived bitches

Mic 🎧🎤: HE'S ALIVE

Iris 👓: Oscar the Grouch has risen? 🧟‍♂️

Iris 👓: Glad to hear he's awake. 💜🖤

Midnight 🌙🥀: Did you tell him that the hospital thinks you're engaged? 😏

Lily 🥧: Wait, who's engaged?

Iris 👓: Aizawa and Mai

Lily 🥧: Since when?

Midnight 🌙🥀 Since Nezu made them their emergency contacts and told the hospital they're engaged. 😂😂😂

Midnight🌙🥀: I can hear the wedding bells ringing

Mic 🎧🎤: More like a gothic organ playing 😂

Me: This is why I don't talk to you guys 😒

Iris 👓: What's the couple name? 🤔

Iris 👓: Shai? Aizontoya... ew no.. Maizawa? Zionhead?

Lily 🥧: I like Shai. It's cute and simple just like the lovely couple.

Me: I'm going to kill you all. 😑

Me: You know Aizawa is in this chat too, right? 🙄

Midnight 🌙🥀: Yes and we don't care 😈 MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Lily 🥧: You guys would have cute babies.

Mic 🎧🎤: They'll be cute because of M&M not Shota.

Me: I'm muting this chat now.

Lily 🥧: We're only messing around 😂

Me: I'll give you guys more info later, now behave children.

Iris 👓: Okay, mama montoya!

Lily 🥧: Love you mama!

Midnight🌙🥀: Make sure you tell daddy we said hi!

Midnight🌙🥀: emphasis on the "daddy" part 😏

Mic 🎧🎤: Kayama please don't sexualize my parents. I just got them back together after fifteen years. You're going to make me not want them 🤢

Lily 🥧: Did someone say daddy kink? I'm here for the mommy kink

Lily 🥧: God I almost barfed typing that

Me: YOU ALL NEED PROFESSIONAL HELP.... BYE.

Mic 🎧🎤: HEEEEEYYYYY WHAT ABOUT ME

My phone kept buzzing. And I'm almost positive Aizawa's phone was going berserk in my purse too. I shook my head and let out a sigh. I grabbed a burger for myself and some fries with a water bottle and then I grabbed an apple sauce packet for Aizawa mainly because I highly doubt he can physically chew on anything right now and well, the man already lives off them. I walked back to his room, hopefully, I'm allowed to come in now, and with my food. None of the staff told me not too when I passed by so I figured it was okay. The door was closed so I looked through the window to see if Aizawa was still with the doctor and the nurses. All I saw was a sad mummy man using MY laptop.

I opened the door with the tray of food in my hand, "Why are you using my laptop?"

"I wanted to check my email." His voice was muffled. He leaned forward to the screen trying to see.

"You can't even type. How did you... never mind. Next time ask to use my laptop, please?" I walked up to him and placed the packet in front of him. "If you feel like your up for it, I'm willing to share my fries." He pushed my laptop to the side and grabbed the packet, struggled a little to open it. I set my food down next to my laptop and opened to the packet for him. At a small glance, I noticed that my laptop was opened on my email. Specifically, the email I got from my mom. "Checking your emails huh?" I raised my eyebrow at him and held myself back from smacking his head.

"As you can see I was struggling a bit to use the laptop in my current condition." He said while sucking on his applesauce.

"But you managed to open my emails?"

"It was an accident. Nice to know your mom is the same as ever." He grumbled.

"You haven't gotten any emails. Most of the staff just sent me anything they needed you to look at since they knew I was with you." I stuffed a fry into my mouth. "So, what did the doc tell you?"

"That I'm surprisingly healthy." He said staring at my fries. And then he tried to scoot over. "You can sit if you want."

I smiled a little and sat next to him, "You want a fry." I waved a fry in front of his mouth and he solemnly leaned forward and let me feed it to him. "Did he tell you about your quirk?"

He leant onto my shoulder, and I was feeling nothing but flames erupt within my body, "Yeah, but I'm not worried. The most that could happen is that I can't use it for as long as I used to." I fed him another fry. "So your mom wants you to move to I-Island after one villain attack?"

I took a bite out of my burger, "Nope, we're not switching to me." I grabbed my laptop and set it on both of our legs switching from my emails to Netflix to find something to watch. "Technically, I wanted to move to I-Island since my mom and my Uncle Dave were there and well I could've had a low profile there like I do here. But my mom and I weren't exactly on the best terms so she told me not to come." I was met with silence, "And then Nezu called me and asked me if I wanted to come back. Funny how that mouse always comes to pick up the slack." I sadly smiled.

"Why were you guys fighting?" Aizawa's voice was muffled but oozed concern.

"Didn't you read the email?" I chuckled and looked over to him.

"So it had something to do with the case against Gemini?"

I nodded and bit my cheek. "She didn't think I should've done anything about him. That I should've stayed quiet. But you know how she is. My whole life, she's been paranoid that with my quirk people would try and hurt me or use me. And you know, since I clearly made a name for myself and moved past all my transgressions. She didn't want me to be a victim again."

"She still shouldn't have shut you out." Aizawa stated a matter of factly.

"Yeah, well, she did." I put on a movie and leant against the pillows on the bed while Aizawa did the same. It was a peaceful silence between us while the movie played quietly. I put on a simple comedy to lighten up the mood and keep us entertained, "I used Oboro's quirk."

"What for?" he shifted slightly.

"I had to hide Midoriya and All Might from the villains while Snipe shot at them." I folded my arms, "They saw my face though, so I guess using the quirk did have a setback."

"You did what you could in the moment. I'm sure they won't even remember you after that. Just actually wear your glasses and maybe they won't recognize you." I heard humor in his voice.

"Ah yes, the famous glasses disguise." I waved my hands in a rainbow motion earning a small chuckle from the both of us.

"The doctor said that Recovery Girl can come in and pretty much help me heal faster so I can get back to work sooner."

"I wouldn't suggest going back so soon. You have to give yourself a chance to actually heal. You trying to teach students is mentally and physically draining." Ah, yes, Mai. Please lecture the 30 year old man like he's a child.

"The school isn't even open right now. I'll be fine by next week." He went back to his monotoned gruffy voice.

"As your fake fiance, I have to say no to you going back to work. Just have Midnight or Mic take your place." Boy I am so glad that I can't see Aizawa's face with those bandages. I do however see the glowing red and floating hair from his quirk. "Oh, look, your quirk works!" I smiled brightly to show I wasn't intimidated even though I was. "Fine, maybe Midnight or Mic shouldn't take over for you. I have a better option."

He turned off his quirk and gave a stern and cold voice, "Who?"

I pointed to myself all proud, "Me!"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?" I puffed my cheeks into a small pout.

"You said you couldn't teach."

"I said I couldn't use my quirk to teach. I can just act like you. 'Today you will pick your hero names while I nap.'" I tried my best Aizawa impression. Needless to say he was not amused.

"I hate you."

"Awe, but baby, we're engaged." I smirked.

"No, we're not." He groaned.

"Oh no, sweetheart, did the blow to your handsomely stupid head make you forget your undying love for me?" I put a hand to my heart and pretended to be heartbroken and then I went to hold him gently while fake sobbing, "It's okay, love, I'll do my best to have you fall back in love with me."

"Please get off of me." I didn't. "You're insufferable."

"Why must you be so mean to me, Shota baby." I let out a few more sobs before finally letting him go. "You think I was annoying, you should see the group chat. Apparently we're parents to our friends now."

Aizawa responded with another groan and a brief, "I hate the people I surround myself with." I simply gave him another hug which he tried his best to wriggle out of, but eventually just gave in. "You're annoying."

"Shut up and let's go back to watching the movie, butthead." I said while stroking his hair.

——————————————————————

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snowbellewells · 5 years

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The Lawman, The Thief and The Outlaw: Chapter Two

{Thank you SO much to @searchingwardrobes for the amazing cover art! I’m so flattered that she would do that for my story, and I am absolutely in love with it! :) Also, a stunned and blushing thanks to @let-it-raines for recc’ing this fic on CS Fic Rec Monday, I feel honored to be included and mentioned. And thanks to all of you who read Chapter One for waiting patiently for this next installment. I know right where it goes from here, so hopefully it will be less time between this and Chapter Three! }

Summary: Sheriff Killian Jones has done his best to leave behind a troubled past and bring law and order to the town of Blanchard Ridge. However, when he upholds his duty in the face of the most feared and dangerous outlaw gang in the area, allies are few and he dreads trapping them in the same situation he finds himself. The small Western town is about to become a powder keg, and one lawman, his deputies, and a resourceful woman too stubborn for her own good are all that stand in the way of bloodshed and lawlessness...

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Mere minutes passed before Sheriff Jones heard the hurried pounding of booted feet along the boardwalk where Doc Hopper kept his office three buildings down from the Nolans’ inn. Dave and the boy hadn’t wasted any time fetching the doctor, for which Killian was glad, and as the three of them drew close, he merely held open the saloon-style swinging door and motioned them through. One last glance around the long, hot main drag showed things to be as quiet and deserted as they had seemed before the cattle train rode in. One would never guess a man had been shot down where he stood not even a half hour ago if he didn’t already know it. Killian knew he wouldn’t see anything helpful out there at that point, but he didn’t have to like it. All the same, he turned with impotent frustration sticking in his craw to follow the others inside.

The room where Robin was lying had gotten fairly crowded, between Mary Nolan standing back with a washbasin of red-tinged water and blood-stained towel in hand, looking worried but as if she had managed to staunch the flow of blood, along with her husband, Henry, and the doc all crowded in. Killian didn’t have much choice but to observe from the doorway, without making the space so tight Hopper couldn’t do his job.

He had thought Rob was well out of it, unaware of the proceedings, and probably for the best at that, until Hopper probed the edge of the bullet wound and he flinched, body curling inward in self-preservation and letting out a pained growl at the treatment.

“Apologies, Mr. Sherwood,” Hopper murmured, glancing up to meet the cattleman’s eyes with a look of chagrin at the discomfort he was causing. The doc was not by nature outgoing, but more soft-spoken and reserved. If Killian had not seen Hopper save more than one life with his own eyes, he might’ve even appeared incapable with the seeming uncertainty his manners displayed. Time and experience had shown Jones otherwise though, and he had no doubt that Rob was in the best possible hands this far West. Still, it was clear that the bespectacled and ginger haired physician hated inducing pain, even if it was necessary for the treatment and for healing to begin.

To his credit, Sherwood merely nodded his understanding and grit his teeth against further pained outbursts. His eyelids fluttered somewhat hazily, but he remained conscious, if not terribly alert. Killian would venture to guess that it was not the first time the other man had been patched up from a bullet wound. They had never avidly compared scars, but he knew enough to recognize another person with a similarly checkered past, and there had certainly been times long before his stint as a lawman in a frontier outpost when he had stared down the wrong end of a six shooter.

Thankfully, before too much longer, the doc was able to ascertain that the bullet had exited cleanly, had disinfected the entry and exit points, and stitched Robin back together as neatly as Killian had ever seen it done. Robin had succumbed to the shock and blood loss and slid into a fitful doze, but not before making it clear to Killian that once he was mobile again, he would help the sheriff in whatever way needed to bring those outlaws to justice.

His young hand, Henry, and Killian had both chuckled at that, knowing Sherwood meant the words he spoke, but also that he would have a hard time following through. Lady Sherwood would undoubtedly have something to say about him chasing desperadoes, and she would be far from happy. Rob would be lucky not to have his head bitten off before his injury had even healed.

Yet, by the same turn, it seemed that the day’s events had galvanized more than the injured rancher himself to action. The wide-eyed young man Sherwood had taken under his wing was ready to do no less than sign up as a deputy then and there, not intending to let the attack on his boss and father figure go unanswered. Killian could certainly stand to have an extra gun in his corner. If Henry was any good, and rumor had it he was - startlingly so - then it might be a definite advantage indeed. Still, he wouldn’t have one so innocent and untried blackening his soul on a whim either. This standoff with Malcolm would get ugly before it was through; Killian knew that in his gut, just as he knew the sun would rise each morning and sink again each night. Something about Henry reminded him of the blissfully ignorant immigrant boy he’d been long ago, drinking in all the sights of a new land spread out before him, with Liam still comfortingly at his side, and dreams of the adventure they’d have, the heroes’ journey on which they had been about to embark. He hated to see that spark of hope and belief go out of such trusting eyes if he could do anything to prevent it.

Again fighting off the flashes of old memory - dredged up for the second time in one day, what was coming over him? - Killian refocused his attention on Hopper telling them that barring any infection and Sherwood taking enough time to recover from the blood loss, he should make a full recovery. After informing them that he would be back the next day to check in, and nodding to them all as he stood, the doc moved to see himself out, followed closely by Mary Nolan, who clearly meant to dispose of the soiled rags and dump the water in her tub, but was thanking him for coming as they exited the room.

Killian followed them quietly, hat in hand as they moved into the inn’s main bar and dining area. He would see Doc Hopper later in his offices about the bill for Robin’s treatment. He certainly didn’t want word getting out that Blanchard Ridge was a town which couldn’t take care of its own, where a man could be gunned down in the street and no one would pay any mind. For the moment however, his larger focus was on catching up to Mary and inquiring as to whether or not there were rooms available to put up the rancher and his crew for a few days while Sherwood recuperated. They could bill it to the Sheriff’s office if need be, but again, it only seemed right.

He followed her through the staff doors to the kitchen, watching the petite, dark-haired spitfire of a woman bustle across the room to toss the basin’s contents out the back door onto the dry, New Mexico dirt, turning it yet more crimson. When she whipped around to get back to work, drying her hands on her apron, he accidentally startled her into jumping anxiously he was following so closely on her heels.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, one hand flying up to cover her heart at the start he had given her. “Killian! I didn’t know you were there!”

“Sorry,” he offered, giving her a dip of his chin in further apology, and finding that his hand made its way of its own accord to scratch behind one ear, a sheepish mannerism of which he seemed unable to rid himself. “Wasn’t trying to give you a scare… I only wanted to inquire if you had room here to put up Sherwood and the boy - and any of his riders who aren’t moving on as well. We’ll see that you and David are compensated, of course.”

Taking him by surprise, the inn’s proprietress fluttered her hand at him in dismissal of the offered pay. “Nonsense!” she hushed, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he was a world-weary and rough cowboy who stood a head taller than her at least. Instead, her manner reminded him more of someone affectionately scolding a wayward child. “You’ll do no such thing. David and I will see that he’s properly looked after. It’s the least we can do, seeing as how we are an inn. That poor man certainly can’t be expected to sit a horse and ride on home just after being shot.”

She moved about the large, open room as she spoke, pulling out vegetables, pots, and pans (no doubt needing to begin planning the next day’s menu for guests) and wiping down the counter as she spoke. When Killian didn’t offer any further response, Mary Nolan glanced up to study his expression, then came forward to press his hand between both of her small, cool palms and grace him with an understanding smile as she tilted her head back to look into his eyes.

“Killian,” she said, softly, making sure he digested her words when she paused for emphasis. “You have more than enough to worry about - what with Malcolm and his henchmen, trying to keep everyone safe… That’s more than enough for one man - no matter how capable!” she rushed to add with an indulgent chuckle when she saw him opening his mouth to correct her. “More than enough for one lawman to be getting along with. You let David and I see to our guests. It’s what we can do to help.”

A smile played at the corners of Jones’ mouth at her words, touched by the sentiment of them, and that she and her husband would understand and appreciate what he was trying to do enough that they would wish to help if they could. Letting a lazy smirk raise his smile at one end along with a wink of his deep blue eyes, Killian reached up to hold the brim of his Stetson between his thumb and forefinger, tipping his hat to her with every bit of playfully rakish charm he possessed. “Why, thank you, Lady Nolan,” he drawled. “Much obliged to you, Ma’am.”

“Oh posh,” she huffed out, shooing him from her kitchen with a corresponding attitude of playful exasperation, even as he could see a bright pink flush rising high on her usually pale alabaster cheeks. “Get on out of here, you rascal! I have work to do!”

Chuckling good naturedly, Killian followed her directives as she hustled him from the kitchen, knowing he needed to get back to the jail, ascertain if Scarlet had returned, and see to their prisoner. He would find his way back shortly for the evening meal.

But, once he left the kitchen and crossed the main dining area, his eyes were inevitably drawn toward the guests’ parlor where a cozy fire burned in the hearth, a merry tune was being plucked out by someone on the piano out of sight in the corner, and the pleasant hum of conversation filled the air. Most evenings found at least two or three card games going in the inn’s sitting room, and that night seemed to be no exception. The difference that immediately drew his eye was the vision seated at one of the tables facing toward him in the doorway, dealing out the next hand like she’d been born with a deck in her grasp. The pretty newcomer from the stage earlier that day - all bright blond hair, now refreshed and styled from the long, dusty ride that afternoon and falling down over her shoulders in lustrous, cascading waves. The jade of her eyes was practically crackling with bright enthusiasm as the next round of poker commenced, and she kept pace with every man seated around her, clearly relishing the competition.

Transfixed in spite of the nightly duties calling his name back at the jail, Killian paused, drinking in the sight of the woman whose arrival both tempted and teased him in a way he didn’t fully understand. The trim smart cut of her evening dress made his eye linger almost unwillingly as he took in the way its dove grey skirt clung to her slender but still shapely form. He didn’t aim to ogle her like some ruffian, but it was hard to keep his gaze as respectful as he would like when the sedate, muted color of the fitted skirt gave way to the deep, eye-catching garnet of the bodice cut distractingly low in the bosom, and deliciously snug at the tiny waist. It was almost more than a simple man could bear, if he were being honest. And he didn’t know if the particular dress was meant for the purpose of distracting her fellow players that night, or if the lady was just aware of what style most suited her, but she was clearly not afraid to use her assets to her advantage. Sheriff and honorable man or no, Killian Jones found himself rather grateful, whatever her reason, and as he traced the tip of his tongue across his lower lip, he could barely pull his gaze away.

She appeared to have drawn a winning hand, he mused as she gathered the chips of the first loser at her table to fold. A soft, small smile teased at his lips at the pleased smirk of satisfaction on her face. She obviously knew they’d underestimated her skill because of her gender, and she was only too happy to prove them wrong. And yet, all that close attention drew Killian’s eye eventually from the lady’s appealing form and figure to what she was doing under all of their noses. Even at that, if he hadn’t been looking so closely he wouldn’t have caught what he now thought she was up to. A niggling feeling of troubled recognition crept into his mind, and he knew he would have to go and see if he was right, though he couldn’t rightly remember ever wanting so badly to be wrong before.

One by one, the woman took out the other players, slowly and methodically, as if she could sit there and play all night. There was nothing overtly suspicious in her game - nor her continued winning. Most card players firmly believed in getting “hot” or finding themselves on a lucky streak. Jones truly hoped that was all it was - that the forewarning he felt as he continued to watch was wrong. But then, she called a bluff, one that she shouldn’t have possibly been able to counter by his observant calculations, and as his eyes narrowed, he saw the slick move those playing with her had missed.

She was cheating them all - or he was almost certain of it - and masterfully so at that. No one but he seemed to be the wiser. Half of him was powerfully tempted to stalk over there, haul her to her feet, and drag her back to the jail with him. Grinding his teeth together so hard a muscle in his jaw twitched, Killian managed to hold himself back, but it was a near thing. That sort of chicanery - and money loss - was exactly what started brawls and ended with damages, injuries, and possible deaths. But he’d bide his time in confronting her; he didn’t want the players left at the table crying to have her strung up either.

Stalking purposely from the Nolans’ establishment out into the cool night air at last, he took long, ground-covering strides across the hard-packed earth to the other side of the street and up the steps to his jail. Pausing just before he reached the door, he called out in warning, “Hey Smee, it’s Jones! Don’t blow my head off!”

A moment later, the top of a rapidly balding head and the squinting eyes of a shorter-than-average middle-aged man peered out the barred window of the main door into the jail, revealing his other deputy and long time friend, William Smee. Killian had left him as lookout while he went to run errands and make sure all was squared away for them to hunker down in the jail the next several nights. Smee had an old injury which had left him with a hitching, unsteady gait and kept him from riding much distance or getting around very quickly, but he was as loyal as they came and took the guard duty Killian gave him as a second deputy with genuine seriousness - perhaps even a mite too much enthusiasm.

“Well, I ‘kin see it’s you! Quit yammerin’ and git on in here!” the man called back, sounding as if he were already fired up over something and in a foul temper. Normally the squirrelly little man with a gimpy leg and rather rotund belly was more deferential to Killian in his address, even taking to calling him ‘Captain’ playfully if Killian got too demanding or brusque in handing out each day’s duties to his men.

Huffing out a breath of half-amusement and half-annoyance, not sure which side to fall more squarely upon at that moment, Jones entered the jail, barely offering a greeting to Smee as he stepped back from raising the deadbolt to allow him entrance. “Has there been trouble?” he asked lowly, voice quiet so as not to alert Scarlet, who had returned and was sitting at the small table across the room from the cells nursing a whiskey he didn’t need, nor their prisoner, who would only delight in any sort of fear or disruption.

Smee shook his head, the whiskers on his jowls practically quivering. He followed his boss further into the room as Sheriff Jones moved toward the board full of active “Wanted” posters, hoping that his eyes would prove him mistaken in the conclusion that had formed in his brian. He knew the shorter man was moving with him from the distinctively off-kilter sound of his shuffle-hopped step on the rough hewn wood floor.

“If there’s no trouble, then what has you so trigger happy?” he asked idly, eyes still scanning the rough sketches before him.

“Well, I ...that is… I mean… you did tell me to stand guard. Make sure nobody unexpected got in here while you was gone,” Smee explained haltingly. “How’m I ‘sposed to do that if’n I don’t have myself ready to stop ‘em?”

A sigh escaped Jones as his eyes came to rest on just the confirmation he had hoped he wouldn’t get. Reaching out to snatch the offending handbill from the board with a rip of paper and growl of anger, he turned to storm back out. He should have known the second his interest was stirred… Romance had never led to anything good for him. “I’ll be right back,” he snarled, a quick glance over his shoulder showing Smee staring after him in confusion as he stalked back the way he had come.

It was the matter of only minutes to see him tromping back into the Nolan establishment, disgruntled, worried, angry, and disappointed. He shouldn’t have let himself feel that first moment’s intrigue; it could only lead to trouble. He had forced himself long ago - after the loss of his last family, and the brutal loss of his love as well - to accept that though he might have allies, acquaintances, folks in his corner he was friendly with, he was unloved and unloving in that bone-deep, consuming way that warmed a man’s life of the cold loneliness and mattered most to him in the end. Love had only brought him pain, and he had let himself start to toy with the notion again - only to be brought up short by reality once more.

Heading straight to the gaming tables, Killian found himself just in time to see the game his lovely mystery woman had been been a part of breaking up. The maddening blonde in question was just watching her final opponent walk away with a pleased twinkle in her eye, and as the man shuffled off, head down, shamed face hidden beneath his hat, and pockets much lighter from his loss, Killian couldn’t help shaking his head in disbelieving exasperation as she leaned over the table to scrape her heap of winnings toward herself, giving him an exceedingly enticing view as she did. While he was reluctant to admire the dangerous game she was playing, she was awfully good at it.

Waiting patiently, Killian made his way toward the bar, ignoring the tempting call of the appeasing oblivion he had often escaped into in the past from the libations on offer there. He carefully kept an eye on the intriguing stranger his handbill called “the Swan”, as he also attempted to blend in with the patrons until he was ready to make his presence known.

Once his target had gathered her winnings and begun to move from the room toward the stars, no doubt up to her rented night’s lodgings, Killian waited a mere handful of seconds before pushing away from the bar where he had been leaning with a feigned casual air before slowly crossing the floor to trail her. As he neared the foot of the building’s impressive staircase, he just caught the flash of her crimson garment disappearing around the corner to the second floor hall.

Hurrying up the steps as well, Jones moved with both as much speed and stealth as he could muster, needing to know which room his quarry entered. Thankfully, as he neared the top, he heard her low, smooth voice, the same one that had compelled him with its subtle lilt as she had greeted him playfully mere hours earlier, stopped in passing conversation with the inn’s proprietress. Mary Nolan’s chipper, sweetly inflected voice was easily recognizable as she asked if her guest had everything she needed. Killian looked about him swiftly for a place to retreat, knowing the friendly woman would give him away, or bar his passage for propriety’s sake, if she met him there in the hall, but thankfully as he dared a glance around the corner, Mrs. Nolan disappeared into another room with a basket of folded laundry in her arms, while the last swish of those charcoal skirts also caught Killian’s eye just before the door at the furthest end of the hall closed soundly.

Blowing out a short, decisive breath, Killian squared his shoulders and strode forward to that door. Readying himself, hand bill still clutched in his grip to make the accusation that was already burning on his tongue, the sheriff rapped decisively, steeling himself for the unpleasant confrontation ahead.

The door jerked open abruptly, revealing his card shark of a culprit already speaking to whom she must assume was the returning innkeeper’s wife. “As I said before, I’m really fine, thank you, Mrs. Nol - “ before her words trailed off, a flush climbing up her cheeks even as her eyes rose up his form assessingly until reaching and holding his own. She had clearly already begun her evening’s undressing, he thought with heat of his own on the back of his neck, as her hair had been loosed from its updo to cascade riotously around her face and down her back, and she stood before him in stockinged feet, her little heeled boots kicked off by the edge of her bed as his eyes quickly surveyed the room. The whole effect did make his breath strangle in his windpipe and he had to shake his head to clear it before speaking. ‘Blast it all, Jones, keep it together,’ his inner voice berated him as he fought to gather himself.

For her part, the newcomer had caught her breath sharply, staring back at him still wide-eyed. “You aren’t Mrs. Nolan,” she finally breathed with a flustered shake of her pretty head.

“Nope,” Jones replied, a part of him wishing he could simply be pleased by the fact that she seemed nearly as flustered as he was himself and leave the rest of his concerns behind. “In fact, can’t say as I’ve ever been confused for her before.”

A rueful smile crossed her perfect, full lips as she leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well then, Sheriff,” she teased, that mischeivous glimmer of her eyes showing once more, along with the dimple in her cheek. “Seeing as how you haven’t come to offer me fresh towels or an extra blanket, what is it I can do for you?”

Killian cursed himself twice over for a fool as the reason he was standing at her door was pressed firmly to the forefront of his mind again. How was it that she could charm him so quickly that his purpose fled his memory in seconds?

Clearing his throat, rather uncomfortable accosting and accusing a woman so blatantly - even with the knowledge the “Wanted” poster provided, and the game play he had witnessed downstairs to back him up. False accusations could be made on the fliers, after all, and he wasn’t certain of what he had seen, only that it had looked like she’d cheated several people, quite soundly, at cards, just as the hand bill claimed she was wont to do. “Well, you see,” he offered, slowly holding up the paper with a sketched likeness of her face, her supposed crimes, and the reward offered for her capture up where she could see it clearly, and hating that he felt he was somehow ruining the most enjoyable conversation he’d had in ages, he continued, “there is the matter of this bill.”

The beguiling vixen before him (whom the flyer deemed one “Emma Swan”) immediately transformed from pleasantly amused and curious to defensive and hurt - her spine straightening sharply, eyes sliding from his own, just glancing at the sketch of herself and then off to the side. Though she was almost sizzling, trembling with restrained affront and insult, Killian didn’t miss the wet sheen that glazed her lovely green eyes; the accusation clearly cutting more deeply than he would have expected.

“That blasted thing just won’t stop ruining me,” she hissed, quickly turning her back on him and withdrawing into the room, but not - he noticed, unaccountably pleased - ordering him out or slamming the door in his face as he had expected. He thought he caught a quick swipe of her hand that might have been trying to brush away a rogue tear undetected, but it happened to quickly to be sure.

Killian was about to step forward and explain himself, and why, though he hated to become an enemy he couldn’t let crime and theft fester in the town he sought to protect, when she caught him off guard once again. (Frightening how often this slender young woman managed that, really.) Where a moment prior vulnerability and a tinge of fear had painted her features, now a wall was up. She looked guarded and ready to fight; her eyes practically flashing in their fiery indignation as her hands found a place on her hips. “Did it ever occur to you that I might have been set up?” she spat, words coming so quickly that he couldn’t get a word in to argue as she stepped closer, nearly toe-to-toe with him. “I’m no cheat!” she continued to rail, both her passionate voice and the intense expression she wore daring him to contradict her. “Contrary to what you’ve clearly already chosen to believe.”

Not having expected her to rally with such vigor, Sheriff Jones was taken aback, but resolute to see his duty through now that he’d begun. Not to mention that a bit of his own native stubbornness and temper was riled now by her making him feel bad simply for doing his job. “Now, see here, Miss Swan,” he fired back. “That is your name, isn’t it? Emma Swan?”

She gave a sharp jerk of the head in confirmation.

His voice was roughened with feeling, letting more of his accent - never quite lost despite all the years between - making itself known as he pressed on. “I have an obligation to check out suspicious persons. The town and its citizens depend on me for their safety. It’s nothing personal, Swan - just my job. Of course mistakes can be made, but…” he wet his lips, the fire rolling in his blood not at all calmed by how close she was standing, her sweet, delicious scent of apple and - was that cinnamon? - nor the way her chest was heaving with her fit of pique. “But I did see you clean out all those solid players downstairs, in a game that went so fast it hardly seemed natural.”

She pursed her lips, as if considering for a moment, and then something like bitter resignation and almost melancholy swept over the anger and usurped control of her face. “And did it ever strike you that I just might be that good?”

The question stopped him cold. He really hadn’t, and now as well as the frustration, attraction and doubt, there was regret swirling in his mind. “Well,” he allowed, speaking slowly as he mulled over how to progress from there. “That was mighty skilled indeed then, Milady. I don’t supposed you’d want to roll up your sleeves and empty your pockets to prove yourself? Show me I’ve gotten you all wrong? Getting poker hands like you must have been to clean them all out so easily would be best achieved by hiding cards on your person, aye?”

Rather than seeing his words as a chance to clear her name however, this Emma clearly took further offense. Arching a brow at him, she snorted indelicately, shaking her head as she took a step back so he could see her entire form clearly. “That easy for you, is it?” she questioned, gauging his intentions and deciding not to make his task easy. Her look was positively wicked as she stared right back, sizing him up before speaking. “See, I think you need to prove what you claim I’ve done. If you look at bit closer at that bill, you’ll see it says suspected accomplice, and that the reward is for information, not capture. And I am certainly not about to admit a crime I didn’t commit.” She paused and gave a meaningful look down at the tight, corseted bodice of her dress and the skin bared at the neckline. “So, go ahead, Sheriff. You think I’m hiding cards? Search me.”

His mouth went completely dry at that - the issued challenge both hurting his pride and seeming all too inviting at once. But he wasn’t about to let it show, not if he could help it. Instead, he schooled his features and put a flirtatious tilt into his own smile as he took a step further into the room and closer to her. “Careful now, Darlin’...” he murmured, hoping he might just startle her into backing down. “I do love a challenge.”

Instead of drawing back, that pert little chin tilted up defiantly, and Emma Swan met his eye without even blinking. She was calling his bluff, despite this being no card game, and Killian was about as tangled and turned around by the last few minutes as a newly roped and branded calf. He wasn’t even sure at present if he wanted to win or lose their standoff. Then, she moved closer still, her delicate, soft hand on his chest, and peered up into his eyes with an insouciant smirk. Cautioning him even as she reeled him in, she replied without missing a beat. “Be that as it may,” she winked, “I think you’re the one who won’t be able to handle this.”

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#cs ff #cs western au #sheriff! killian #ouat western ff #the lawman the thief and the outlaw #chapter two

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