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chroniclesinlacuna · 4 years

Text

In Need of a Vase (read on ao3)

Pairing: m!detective (Dex DiBella) x Nate Warnings: minor book 3 spoilers Words: ~2.2k Rating: G Summary: This is just fluff. And flower giving.

Dex knew he should probably be sleeping. His one day off for the next week was tomorrow, and if he was going to get any type of sleep in the next long while, it would be tonight. And it was a true day off too - not expected at the station, even if he was technically on call like always, and with no movement on the current case, no reason to stop by the warehouse either.

But, instead of taking advantage of the looming freedom, he was instead, here, sitting at the bar to his kitchen, eyeing the bottle of jack that he’d gotten as a promotion gift from the volunteers, and debating the merits of a day off with a hangover.

It wasn’t a pleasant idea, by any means. And he knew he’d regret it about halfway through the second drink, let alone the next morning.

But there was still something rather...alluring, about the idea of wasting the night away and just. Not caring. About the blood drive, and the hell he was going to catch from the mayor. About the case that was currently moving absolutely nowhere, and how helpless he was feeling in the face of that stagnation. About Rebecca. About the last several months of everything.

Just for a little while, caring about nothing.

And...that thought is what got him off the stool to go put the bottle away, back in the cupboard he’d put it in when he’d first gotten the damn thing.

This week may have sucked on so many levels, but the last thing he needed was any thought like that. He should just throw the damn thing out, but he just couldn’t quite push past the guilt at the idea. It’d been a gift, and the volunteers had meant well.

The light knock at the door nearly has him dropping the damn thing.

He sneaks a quick look at his phone sitting on the bar. No notifications, so no one had called or texted. No emergency then. ...Maybe if he’s real quiet, whoever it was would just go away.

“Dex?” The voice is soft, muffled further through the door, but Dex can just about feel his shoulders sagging in relief. Setting the bottle on the counter, he slips over to open the door. Sure enough, there’s Nate, haloed in the cheap fluorescent light of the hallway and looking way too nice despite the sallow light.

He knows he himself doesn’t look nearly as put together - but he doesn’t know which is worse; the fact that he knows it looks like he hasn’t slept in two days, or the clothes that practically scream he hasn’t left the apartment all day.

Can’t find it really in him to much care though, with Nate smiling like that at him - all soft and delighted. Dex crosses his arms over his chest, to keep them to himself until he figures out just what the vampire is doing around these parts around this time of night, leaning against the door frame. “And what’re you doing here?” he asks in a lazy drawl that doesn’t fool Nate for a second, if the way his smile ticks up crooked is anything to go by.

“Mm...I cannot just stop by?” Nate asks, tone light, almost teasing.

Dex raises an eyebrow, finally actually taking the man in. Completely relaxed, looking like he just walked off some runway somewhere, like normal...and his hands behind his back.

“Of course you can,” Dex mutters, only half-paying attention to what he’s saying, now curiously trying to peek around Nate’s shoulder. He sees Nate blink before his smile goes soft again out of the corner of his eyes as he leans away. Nate may only have an inch on him in height, but he knew how to use it well to his advantage.

“...You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?” Dex finally says, leaning back against the doorframe in defeat. He can’t quite keep the smile off his face though, so he knows it’s not very convincing.

“Of course not.” And with a flourish that Dex isn’t entirely convinced is due to vampiric grace, rather than Nate just being Nate, he’s suddenly blinking at a flower.

Not just any flower. One perfect, simple, white rose.

“...For me?” He asks, not entirely sure what his voice is doing - it sounds soft and unsure even to his own ears. He’s not entirely sure what his face is doing either, but when he finally looks up to meet Nate’s eyes, he realizes it’s probably not great, since Nate now looks worried - only just, in the tight curve to his shoulder, and the shuttered look to his smile that wasn’t there only a breath earlier. And Dex can’t have that.

Careful of the flower, he reaches out to grip Nate’s jacket, pulling him in to press a soft kiss to his lips, relaxing when he feels Nate’s smile press into his again.

Breaking apart a moment later, he keeps a grip on the jacket to keep him close, turning back to the flower, taking it carefully with his free hand.

Nate’s voice is soft, falling lazily into the space between them, “You mentioned the gardens you loved and while I cannot give those to you, I hoped this might suffice for now.”

Dex twirls the rose gently between his fingers, marvelling silently both at it, and the man who still hasn’t tried to break out of his hold.

No one looked at Dex and thought to buy him flowers. Sure, he’d bought flowers plenty of times for others. But...well. It just hadn’t happened the other way around, and the swell of emotion Dex was feeling right now was as terrifying as it was comforting.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” Dex murmurs after a long moment, twisting enough to press a kiss to the corner of Nate’s lips, grinning widely when he twists to try to catch him completely. But, he was not going to let this devolve in the hallway. He liked to think that, while he may not be the classiest guy (by a longshot), he had some standards.

He steps back, intending to pull Nate into the apartment with him, only to pause, frowning and glancing back at the kitchen for a moment, wracking his brain.

“...Dex?” Nate asks after the silence drags on a little too long.

“...I don’t have a vase for this.” Or even a glass tall enough. Wait, what time was it? A quick glance at the clock and then he’s slipping around Nate still standing in the doorway. “Wait here.”

He knocks lightly on the door catty-corner to his own apartment - loud enough to get attention if she’s awake, but not loud enough to wake her if she’s not. The woman had a worse sleep schedule than he did, but he wouldn’t begrudge her what sleep she could get.

She opened the door a mere moment later, raising a thin eyebrow at him over gold-rimmed reading glasses.

“Declan? What is it dear?”

“Hi Mrs. Carsen. I have kind of a weird favor to ask…” That eyebrow just keeps getting higher. If Dex hadn’t lived next to the tiny old woman for the last five years, he’d think he was being judged, severely. And, he was, in a way. But the woman was all heart once you got past the looks that could cut a man. Instead of explaining, he holds up the flower. “I have nowhere to put this...if I could borrow a vase for a bit…?” he asks, not even bothering to try to stop her when she leans out enough to take a look down the hallway.

Nate, bless him, just smiles charmingly and waves.

The next thing he knows, he’s being smacked on the arm with a surprisingly strong hand. “‘Bout damn time.” she grumbles before disappearing back into her apartment. There’s a strangled sound from down the hall that Dex is pretty sure is a laugh, but he just rubs his arm and rolls his eyes.

She’s back a moment later with a thin, delicate looking vase. “I already like this one.” She offers with a small smile, voice dropping to try to keep it between them. Dex will give Nate this - he does pretty well at pretending not to hear.

“Yeah, I do too.” Dex replies with a soft smile - unable to help remembering a very similar conversation he had with Elidor, a couple months ago now.

“Introduce us next time, will you?”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Carsen. And thank you. Good night.”

He hears a return ‘good night’, before the door’s closing behind him.

“So. I don’t know how much of the rumor mill you heard after the carnival but it’s about to get ten times worse. She heads the largest gossip network in town.” He offers nonchalantly as he slips back around Nate, reaching out to grab him by the jacket again to pull him inside. Nate just laughs and goes with it easily, pushing the door closed behind him when Dex lets go.

“I did not hear most of it, no, but Felix did, so I’m sure to hear it all second-hand again.” And, for a wonder, he sounds rather pleased about that.

Biting down that swell of emotion currently pushing aside his heart again, Dex sets about getting the flower and vase set up. There’s a perfect place on the table by the window for it - a bright splash against the dark blue of the curtains.

He takes a long moment to just enjoy the look of it there, smiling to himself - stupidly, he knows, but...well, Nate’s the only one there to see.

He feels an arm slip around his waist as he’s pulled back against a strong chest a moment later - he’d only just heard the swish of fabric behind him a moment before. He doesn’t even pretend he doesn’t melt immediately into the grip. “You know, you’re lucky I like you.” He grumbles, even as feels more than hears the warm laugh at that.

“Oh, I am aware,” and there’s something aching there that Dex immediately wants to wipe away, but, after debating for a moment, he decides against it. Things are still so new - they have plenty of time for deep waters. Instead, he turns in Nate’s grip, arms coming up to wrap loosely around his shoulders in return. “Take it you’re staying then?” He asks instead, letting a hopeful thread twist into his voice, clear as day.

“If you will have me.” And there’s that ache again - thin and thready, and it hurts to hear it, even if he’s pretty sure he’ll hear it for a while yet.

“Mm...can’t promise anything exciting,” much as he wants to, it’s just now hitting him how tired he is, standing here, wrapped up in and around Nate like this, warm and comfortable in his own home - and there’s that warm laugh again he’s already falling a little in love with, one he feels more where they’re pressed up close together than he hears - “you’re welcome here however long you’d like.” he finishes, humming softly when Nate ducks into ghost a kiss along his jaw.

In a move he doesn’t quite follow - and not entirely because he’s tired either; sometimes he just...forgets exactly how strong Nate and the others are - he finds himself on top of Nate on the couch that had been behind them.

He blinks a couple times, both down at Nate, and back at where they’d been standing before just laughing, shaking his head at Nate’s not-quite sheepish grin.

“This is only going to be comfortable for like...an hour. At most.” Dex warns, even as he settles in close, enjoying the warmth of the other man spread out under him. His own legs are butting up uncomfortably against the arm of the couch, so he can only imagine how Nate’s are doing. The couch was an old, comfy thing, but it was not designed for two six foot plus men to lay out on it. It wasn’t even designed for one, as his back liked to remind him every time he fell asleep on the damn thing.

“Mm...we’ll move in a bit.” Nate offers, fingers curling in Dex’s shirt at his back.

Dex knows for a fact he’s going to wake up in the exact same spot, but can’t find it in him to argue - way too comfortable, and enjoying the closeness way too much. If Nate wants to deal with the couch like this, that’s his choice. So, instead of arguing, he leans up enough to steal another sweet kiss - little more than a too-short slide of warm skin and breath before settling down with his cheek on Nate’s chest.

The last thing he sees before he loses the thread for the night is that rose - bright and sweet looking against the heavy navy curtains. He’s pretty sure he falls asleep with a smile and plans to buy both a vase, and a bigger couch, very soon.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #n sewell #how does one write nate sewell? 'cause I have no idea #I tried though #my writing #my detectives #dex dibella #long post #declanxnate

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let-it-raines · 4 years

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all for a 56-pack of crayons

Prompt which has obviously been a little modified because of who I am as a person: “I was bartending at an Italian restaurant and it’s pretty much full of valentine dates. A guy walks in and sits at the bar by himself. He had come to the city to surprise his girlfriend for valentine’s day (about a five-hour bus trip between cities) and he sure surprised her. she was in her dorm room fucking one of his friends from high school”

so @shireness-says sent me the above prompt a dreadfully long time ago, and I was going to write it for her birthday. I missed that date by a few weeks, but who doesn’t love a late birthday gift? Keeping the party going! 🎉

found on ao3 | here |

-/-

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“This,” Emma says, motioning out to all of the people in front of her. “People can go on dates every day of the year, but everyone in all of Portland is here tonight.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Mary Margaret sighs, a goofy little smile on her face that’s always there when she’s talking or thinking about love. It’d be obnoxious if she wasn’t so damn charming. Or nice. Charming is really more of David’s thing. “People like to go on dates on Valentine’s Day.”

“Because it’s a – ”

“Societal construct. Yes, I know. You’ve said that once or twice.”

Emma rolls her eyes and grabs the bottle of wine she was looking for. “Look, all I’m saying is that if you think proposing to your girlfriend on Valentine’s Day is romantic, you’ve got issues. There are a lot of days of the year, make another one of them special.”

“Emma.”

“I’ve got to go serve table ten. He’s got a ring being put in a dessert. Be right back.”

Mary Margaret isn’t behind the bar when Emma gets back. She’s probably off trying to help some teenagers flirt or listening to some couple’s love story. She’s very into romance and candy hearts and the whole big thing. It’s like this every year, but Emma can’t blame her, not really. Mary Margaret has been with David since they were fifteen years old, and her entire life is some kind of candy heart and giant teddy bear holding red roses world. There are obviously a few pieces of melted chocolate and fallen rose petals in there, but overall, she’s never had a reason to be sick of love and this holiday that just makes single people feel shitty about themselves.

“Whatever your strongest rum is, I want that.”

Emma turns to see a man sliding down at the barstool in front of her. No one is sitting up here tonight. Everyone is in the booths and at the tables, so what the hell is this guy doing up here?

Alone.

She quickly glances over him. He’s got on a white button-down, the top few buttons undone, and a leather jacket on top of it. His hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, and Emma can’t tell whether he just doesn’t know how to do his hair or if he’s one of those guys who tries to artfully mess his hair up. From everything else about his looks, he’s definitely a guy who tries to do that.

You don’t look like him and wear a leather jacket if you don’t know you’re attractive.

The blue eyes alone could probably get half the girls in here into bed with him.

Woah, Emma.

That’s definitely taking her judgment of people a little too far.

“You don’t want something specific?” Emma asks him.

“Whatever can get me drunk.”

Emma’s brows raise, but she quickly tries to neutralize her face. She judges people all the time, but they can’t know that she judges them. She would lose her tips, and she needs those to live and to pay bills and to be able to buy Henry new shoes and the 56-pack of crayons he wants that has all of the specialized colors.

“I am technically not supposed to encourage a customer to get drunk, but I will get that rum for you.”

“Thank you, lass.”

Emma bends down and searches through their shelf of rum, pulling out a bottle that won’t break the guy’s bank but that tastes good enough, and pours him a glass. “You need anything else?”

“Do you serve food up here?”

“We do, but sir, if you’re here for a date, I’m afraid – ”

The man downs his drink before slamming the glass against the bar top. He winces and then adjusts the tumbler.

“I’m not here for a date. I’m simply here for some food and a few more glasses of rum.”

“I’m not supposed to let you have enough to get drunk. I wasn’t kidding about that.”

“Lucky for you, I have a high tolerance.”

Emma’s eyes roll, and she turns away to hide that before grabbing a menu off the shelf and then handing it to him. “You can look through this, and then when you’re ready, I’ll send your order back to the kitchen.”

“Thanks, love.”

“Not your love.”

Oh shit. She shouldn’t get snippy with him. She was just thinking about how she needs the tips.

56 pack of crayons and all.

“Sorry,” Emma mumbles. “Force of habit.”

“You have a lot of people call you love? I didn’t know there was such a British population in Portland.”

“I have a lot of people call me by pet names,” Emma corrects, forcing her smile back onto her face. “Baby, sweetheart, honey, whatever else men can come up with when they’re trying to hit on me.”

The man nods and places his hand on the counter. She glances down at the movement, notices the fact that he has a glove on just that one hand, and as much as she is curious, she’s sure as hell not about to ask. Her five-year-old might ask, but she’s decidedly not five and has better manners than that.

“I apologize, love. Fuck. Didn’t mean to say that.”

Emma chuckles and turns around to get him a glass of water. She should have already done that, but she got distracted. “It’s Emma. Emma Swan. I’m sorry for not telling you my name earlier. I should have as soon as you sat down. I seem to be off my game tonight.”

“Killian Jones.”

She turns around with his water and puts it down. “It’s nice to meet you. If you need anything, let me know.”

“Thank you.”

Emma stays busy for the next hour, serving drinks and doing the take-out orders, and while people come up to the bar, none of them stay. They’re here for a fleeting moment, getting what they need, and then going. She doesn’t mind. It’s busy enough in here that she never stays idle, and if she keeps working, this damn day will be over and she can go home, never thinking of engagement rings and candy hearts again.

A round of applause sounds around the restaurant, and Emma looks up to see a man on his knees and his girlfriend with her hands clasped over her mouth.

“Does that happen often?”

“Huh?”

“The proposal,” Killian explains. “Does that happen often?”

“I’d say we get a proposal in here every two weeks, but on Valentine’s Day? At least ten per shift.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I take it you’re not a fan of Valentine’s Day.”

“I think it’s cliched, and I’m not really a fan of cliched.”

“Eh, I think it has its pros and cons. A few clichés are good.”

Emma crosses her arms over her chest. “Like what?”

“Surprises, maybe. If you’re in a long-distance relationship and you ride on a train for five-hours to surprise your girlfriend, I imagine that can be a nice, cliched thing.”

“Is that what you did?”

He drinks half of his glass before stabbing a piece of his steak. “Funnily enough, I did.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Well, when I showed up to her apartment, she was fucking my oldest mate.”

Holy shit.

No wonder he wanted the strongest rum they have.

“You’re kidding? You have to be kidding.”

He scoffs and leans back on the stool, a smile curving on his lips while his eyelashes flutter. “I wish I was.”

Emma shakes her head and grabs his bottle, pouring a little more in his glass. “I’m cutting you off after this glass, but this one’s on me.”

“You don’t have to do that, Swan.”

“Look, I may hate Valentine’s Day, but no one deserves that when they were trying to do something romantic. Hell, no one ever deserves that. Unless maybe they’re an asshole.”

“I guess I’m an asshole.”

“I don’t know you well enough to say for sure, but I doubt it.”

“How would you know?”

Emma shrugs. “I call it my superpower. I’ve got an intuition about these types of things.”

“It’s true. She does.” Mary Margaret steps up beside her and leans forward on the counter. “So, I couldn’t help but overhear your story.”

“Marg – ”

Mary Margaret waves her away. “First of all, I’m so sorry. Secondly, I bet you don’t have a place to stay tonight, so why don’t you stay with us?”

Oh hell no.

“Marg,” Emma hisses, pulling Mary Margaret away from the counter and back against the shelves, “what the hell are you doing?”

“He was going to stay with his girlfriend tonight, but now they’ve broken up.”

“He can stay in a hotel.”

“That’ll be so expensive. Come on. We have a couch.”

“I don’t want to have to spend the night with a stranger. That’s not safe.”

“David is a cop.”

“He doesn’t know that. He could still plan on murdering us.”

“Well, I suppose I do now,” Killian says. She and Mary Margaret both turn on their heels to look at him. “Sorry. You’re not exactly in a discreet spot. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your offer, lass. I don’t – you’re too kind, but I can’t accept it.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret begs.

“No.”

“Emma.”

“No.”

“I’m Mary Margaret,” she suddenly says, turning to Killian and shaking his hand. “You’ve had a rough night, obviously, and I think you need some homemade brownies. Let me call my boyfriend, and I’ll clear it with him.”

“What about Emma?”

“Ignore her. She’s paranoid that everyone is a serial killer.”

“She has a point.”

“You’re not a serial killer. We can both tell.”

“Love, I really – I cannot impose on you.”

Emma blinks at him, wondering why the hell British people use so many pet names. She’s not sure what the hell is happening. Why is Mary Margaret inviting him to their apartment? Why is she so insistent on it? This isn’t the first time someone has stumbled into the restaurant wanting to get drunk because something shitty has happened, and it certainly won’t be the last.

But Mary Margaret is Mary Margaret, and Emma guesses she’s going to sleep in Henry’s room with the door locked and his dresser pushed up against the door.

Not that she thinks this is a bad guy.

But precautions and all that. She’s not naïve enough to think that everyone she meets is going to be a good person, and she’s not taking a single chance when it comes to Henry.

“You wouldn’t be imposing in the slightest. Our shift finishes at midnight.”

Emma turns around to Mary Margaret and hisses, “if he murders us, I’m coming back to life to kill you again.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

-/-

“So, what do you do?”

“David,” Mary Margaret sighs. “Don’t make him uncomfortable.”

“He’s sleeping on our couch. I can ask him what he does.”

“Be nice.”

“I’m getting my Masters in Civil Engineering at NYU.”

Emma lets out a low whistle before catching herself. Damn. That’s impressive, especially considering she’s currently in a bunch of lit classes with eighteen-year-olds who couldn’t care less about the classes they’re in. They also complain about having class at eight in the morning and then finishing all of their classes by noon, but, really, she can’t be bothered by them too much. If her life had gone the way theirs had, she imagines she would complain about being up at eight in the morning, too.

Hell, she does now. Just for entirely different reasons.

“Something to say about that, love?” Killian asks, both brows raised.

She bites her tongue at the name. He’s been letting them fly for both she and Mary Margaret all night, so it really must be a force of habit and not him trying to get into her pants.

“Not a thing.”

“So what do you plan on doing with that?” David asks Killian.

“Well, I am planning on – ”

“Mom.”

Oh shit.

Emma turns around and sees Henry standing in the hallway. He’s in his pajamas, his hair pushed up from where he’s been sleeping, and he only has one sock on. How the hell does that always happen?

“Kid, what are you doing awake?”

“You guys are loud. Who’s that?”

Emma looks between Henry and Killian, trying to figure out how the hell to explain this to a child.

“A friend,” she quickly answers. “He’s going to sleep on the couch tonight before he leaves in the morning to go back home.”

“Where is he from?”

“New York.”

“How do you know him?”

“Alright,” Emma sighs, going toward Henry and gently placing her hands on his shoulders before guiding him back to his room, closing the door behind them. “It’s late, and you need to go back to bed. We’re going to the playground in the morning, remember?”

“The TV man said it was going to snow.”

“Well, when has a little snow ever stopped us?”

She gets Henry back in bed and cuddles up beside him, tucking him in and fixing his hair before kissing his forehead and sighing. She’s exhausted, desperately needs to be in her own bed, but that probably won’t happen tonight.

“Did you have a good day at school?” Emma whispers while she still strokes Henry’s hair.

“Mhm.”

“Did you give your cards to your class?”

“Yep! Can I eat my candy?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to say no to that one. You’ll get far too much energy, and then you’d have to brush your teeth again.”

“Nooo,” Henry giggles, squirming as Emma runs her fingers over his belly. “I don’t want to brush my teeth again.”

“Then I guess candy will have to wait for the morning.”

Henry sighs and shifts in his bed, burying his face into his pillow. He’s quiet, so Emma doesn’t say anything, hoping that maybe he’s going to fall asleep easily. Henry’s going to be in a mood in the morning. She can already tell. Hopefully, and it is a big hope, he’ll sleep in.

There’s almost a 100% certainty that he won’t.

“Is that man your boyfriend?”

Emma nearly chokes on her own tongue.

“What?”

Henry twists around until she can see his face again. “Avery said since I don’t have a dad, that my mom must have a boyfriend. Do you kiss him?”

His face is so twisted over the thought of Emma kissing someone that she can barely hold in her laughter. Her stomach is probably about as twisted as Henry’s face is.

“No, kid, that man is not my boyfriend. I don’t have one, but I promise if I get one, you’ll be the first one to know.”

He won’t be. If she ever does decide to date again, Henry won’t be meeting anyone until she’s somehow sure that everything will go right.

She has no idea how people do this.

It takes a few more minutes for Henry to fall back asleep, soft puffs of air hitting against her neck, and when she’s sure that he’s sound asleep, she carefully untangles herself and moves out of his bed, quietly exiting his room and going back out into the hallway. Mary Margaret, David, and Killian are all sitting in the living room, quietly talking, and Emma tries to slip past them and into her own bedroom only for David to call her over to hear some story about how Killian managed to get here from London. She listens to half of it, but she’s not nearly as intrigued by the stranger in her apartment. When he was nothing but a handsome customer, he was fine. This is much too much.

And that’s exactly why she excuses herself to her room, slipping out of her uniform and taking a shower to wash away the smell of food and alcohol and everything she hates about her job.

She’s going to smell like garlic bread for the rest of her life.

By the time she’s finished, has braid her hair back, brushed her teeth, washed her face, and changed into a pair of pajamas, it’s far past three in the morning. She needs to go to sleep, but she’s not leaving Henry unattended. As quietly as possible, she grabs an extra blanket and steps out into the main room of the apartment, hoping that Killian is asleep and stays that way.

Because this is her life, he is obviously wide awake and sitting at the kitchen table with a still steaming mug of what smells like tea in front of him.

He looks up the moment her bedroom door clicks behind her.

Shit.

“Swan,” he nods.

She nods. How rude would she be to ignore him and walk to Henry’s room?

“Oh. You’re still up.”

“It would seem so.”

“Do you need something? Another blanket? A pillow? Is Netflix not working?”

Killian shakes his head and takes a sip of his tea. She didn’t even know they had tea. Mary Margaret must have had some.

“I’m fine. I assure you that the three of you have been nothing but hospitable when I was fine to find a motel.” He reaches up and scratches behind his ear. She tries her best to ignore the fact that the fingers underneath his glove don’t move. “If I had known you had a son, I – ”

The hair on the back of her neck stands. “You would have what?”

“I would have never accepted Mary Margaret’s proposal. I’m sure you don’t want someone you don’t know being that close to your kid.”

“No, I don’t. You could be the nicest guy in the world, but don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

“I would despair if you did.”

Emma scoffs and turns her head away. Stupidly, she looks back. “If you want to spike your tea, I think we have some whiskey.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I’m off the clock now. I feel like you might deserve it.”

His head tilts back in quiet, broken laughter. “Aye, I suppose I do. It’s been a banner night.”

“I don’t know her or anything, but your girlfriend is obviously an idiot to cheat on you.”

“You don’t know anything about me either.”

“I know that very few people deserve to have their heart broken like that.”

“Is that what happened to you? You had your heart broken?”

She tugs the blanket around her shoulders. “That’s not your business.”

“Forgive me, love. You’re something of an open book to me. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Now she’s the one who needs a drink.

This has not been her day.

Far too much love.

Far too many thoughts of Neal.

Far too many British men thinking they know her when they don’t.

“You don’t know anything about me either.”

Killian sighs and takes another long sip of his tea. “I know you hate Valentine’s Day and have a son while also living with another couple who are slightly older than you. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out a few things about you just as I’m sure you’ve done the same to me.”

Emma almost protests. But only almost. He’s right. She’s been watching people for a long time, and it’s easy to know that he uses his looks more than his intelligence to initially make people be fond of him. He’s charming, but he’s also smart. He’s studying a crazy difficult subject at a school that isn’t exactly for slackers, and while he may secretly be an asshole for his girlfriend to cheat on him, she doesn’t get that feeling.

She gets the feeling that he might be as down on her luck as she is sometimes.

“I’m getting the whiskey,” she blurts out. She’s not tired anymore, and if she goes to Henry’s room, she’s going to end up not being able to sleep. “Do you like hot chocolate?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had any.”

“Well, we’re changing that.”

Emma has obviously lost her mind in some kind of sleep-deprived, stressed-out kind of way, but she finds it easy to talk to Killian.

Which is dumb.

She wanted to hate him.

She really did.

But he’s easy to talk to despite the fact that she’s mad about that and that it’s probably one of the worst days of his life. She would assume. She doesn’t know.

What she does know, however, is that he was in the Navy for one year, was involved in an accident, and the compensation he got for that funded his move to the US and his education, which is a lot more information than what he shared with David earlier. It’s kind of fascinating, if not a little tragic, and maybe today wasn’t the worst day of his life.

She may have a little bit of whiskey in her, but she’s not about to spill all of her secrets.

Then again, she’s never going to see this man again. He’ll be a fleeting memory, just a ship passing in the night.

But no. She won’t share. Wounds never close if you keep picking at them, and she’s not going to do that.

Instead she tells him she just started at a local community college and that she hopes to get into the nursing program. She’s never been great at science, but it’s a good career with good pay, and by the time she’s finished with the program Henry will hopefully be at least a little self-sufficient. Besides, she’s got David and Mary Margaret to help her, and she can handle it.

She always has.

His mom was apparently a nurse, and she doesn’t ask about the way he refers to her in the past tense. It’s easier not to. Instead she listens to him share stories of she’d once told him when he was younger. It’s all crazy and stressful, and if Emma didn’t want a better life for she and Henry so badly, she’d probably drop all of her classes out of fear right now.

But the better life is calling.

Killian keeps the conversation flowing from topic to topic more easily than anyone has a right to, and he only occasionally stops, a dark flash settling in his eyes and in the curve of his lips. But just as quickly as it appears, it disappears and he talks of his favorite shows or the runs he likes to go on early in the morning when, miraculously, most of Manhattan is asleep.

“Thanks for this, love.”

“For what?” Emma asks.

“For keeping my mind occupied. I don’t – well, I bloody don’t know what I’d do if I’d stumbled into another restaurant tonight.”

Emma leans forward and tears apart a piece of her pop tart. “You’d be sleeping on some other bartender’s couch.”

“There’s not currently a lot of sleeping going on.”

She laughs and takes another bite before looking down at her phone. “Holy shit. It’s almost six thirty. How are either of us awake?”

“I’m fueled by anger, sadness, and the conversation of an incredibly charming woman.”

His brows wiggle with his words, his smile more of a smirk, and in any other situation, she’d have the urge to slap him.

“I’m going to be dead inside today.”

“I should probably let you go to bed, Swan. I’m sure you’ve got plans today that require sleep.”

“Yeah, I do. I – ”

Almost as if on cue, Henry’s door creaks open, and he walks out into the living room. His hair is disheveled like it always is when he wakes up, and now he is officially missing both socks.

Why can kids not sleep in?

“I’m hungry,” he mumbles, wiping his eyes. “Can we have pancakes? With the faces on them?”

“Kid, I – ”

“I can make them,” Killian interrupts. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“Um, yeah,” Emma nods. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m going to make some coffee, and then I’ll help. Henry, go brush your teeth.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m going to check to make sure you actually did.”

Henry groans, and Emma hears Killian chuckle. “I was exactly the same as a lad. So, pancakes with faces on them? Where do I find the ingredients?”

-/-

The pancakes are really good.

Much better than the ones she makes, which seems impossible when the recipe is on the box.

And Killian is fantastic at entertaining Henry’s questions, even when Henry asks about Killian’s gloved hand. He makes up some story about being attacked by Peter Pan and being like Captain Hook, and it helps Emma be a little less mortified that her child has no manners.

So on no sleep and a slight hangover, Emma has breakfast with her kid and a half-stranger, and it’s not the worst thing in the world.

It’s actually kind of nice.

And when Killian leaves to catch a train home, he slips her a note with his phone number. He leaves the ball in her court, which she likes, and even though it takes a few weeks, she does end up calling.

Well, texting. It’s easier that way.

Really, the whole thing is easy, and Emma is as surprised by that as anyone. For once in her life, she has hope that something is going to work out.

-/-

Next year Valentine’s Day is spent eating pizza with Killian and Henry with the only acknowledgement of the day being Henry giving the two of them the leftover cards from his class.

It’s perfect.

The year after that Killian doesn’t have to travel five hours to see them.

That’s somehow more than perfect.

“Can we say that our anniversary is Valentine’s Day, love?” Killian asks her as his lips press into her temple.

“Never,” she sighs, “but maybe the day isn’t as bad as it used to be.”

#cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan #shireness-says

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allenmendezsr · 4 years

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Freds 5000 Do-it-yourself Building Plans!

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Freds 5000 Do-it-yourself Building Plans!

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RE: DIY the easy way!

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You decide to try my Package for 30 days for $94,- 67 dollars after which you will never pay a cent for blueprints!

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