Chapter Text
“Are you kidding me?”
Emma can barely contain her groan when she sees the flashing lights, the car on the side of the road stopped at angle that makes it all too obvious it had no intention of stopping there. She huffs out an exhale, all frustration and another snow storm because it may be March, but it’s also Maine and, apparently, the world just likes messing with her at this point.
She clicks her teeth, doing her best to avoid chomping her tongue in half and that’s the last thing she needs. Well, no, the last thing she needs is this car on the side of the road and Leroy is going to kill her when she says she needs another tow and—
“Anna,” Emma says, reaching forward to grab the walkie talkie sitting on the passenger side of her car. No response. She refuses to be held accountable for the plethora of noises, and curses, that fall out of her mouth at that, skidding slightly as soon as her foot ghosts over the brake. “Oh my God, Anna! Anna, I know you’re there, there is literally nowhere else for you to go!”
There’s some fumbling on the other end of the line, a bit of very loud static and Emma makes a mental note to tell David they should really invest in new walkie talkies. Maybe they can ask Regina. Once they tell her that they need to completely rebudget the public works budget.
For more salt.
And like…dirt to throw at the road or whatever.
Emma should learn more about public works. Her car barely stops when she puts it in park.
“Anna! You have to press the button before you talk!”
“I know how to do it,” Anna mutters, but Emma’s not entirely sure of that and she can’t see if there’s a person in the car with the flashing lights. “Are you on your way back?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“Ah.”
“What?”
“Someone was stupid weren’t they? You can’t yell at—what’s Leroy’s brother’s name again?”
“Dopey.”
“Emma, that is not his name.”
She mutters a few more pointed words under her breath, but Anna’s got a point and it’s just been the worst winter. Snow and ice and more snow on top of the ice that makes the ice impossible to see when people refuse to stay in their houses. Emma has called for more tows in the last two months than she knew was even possible.
“It’s not even him anyway,” Emma continues, tugging her hat further down her ears with one hand. “It’s—I’ve never seen this car in town before. I think it’s just some random guy.”
“Random guy? Em, are you trying to tell me that you know every car in Storybrooke?”
“No.”
“No?” Anna echoes, the hint of laughter in her voice and Emma knows that’s reasonable. It’s everything else that is the exact opposite of that. She’s going to use some very choice words with the random guy and his car that is clearly not designed to handle any sort of snowfall. “Because that’s certainly what it seems like. Also, did this person not see our very funny tweet? People shouldn’t be out in a storm like this.”
Emma throws her whole head back when she makes whatever noise she makes. It hurts her throat. “Anna, are you sending absurd tweets out again because you’re trying to go viral?”
Silence.
Deafening silence.
Until it’s not. Because the random guy is tapping on her window.
Emma’s hand flies to her chest, eyes bugging and curses falling out of her like particularly heavy snowflakes. “Jesus, fu—“ she starts, trying to catch her breath. He smiles.
Smirks, really. That is...ridiculous.
She waves her hand so he’ll back up, swinging open the door and glaring at him with as much malice as she can muster. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snaps. “You know you’re not supposed to get out of your car in a situation like this?”
His eyebrows jump. While still smirking. She needs a better word than ridiculous.
“Yeah, I realize that, but, uh…I was just wondering what exactly your plan was and I figured you were actually here to help, so—“
“—Obviously I’m here to help.”
“Right, right, right, so, the lurking in your cruiser was just…part of the plan?”
Emma briefly considers throwing a snowball at him. It’s appealing, honestly. “I’m supposed to be heading back into the station. I saw your car. And your flashing lights. I had to call it in. That’s how it works.”
“Am I under arrest for being outside, officer?”
Her jaw drops – it’s kind of disappointing, all things considered, but he says it with such…snark and something that might be confidence and a hint of…she’s got no idea. Something not quite like either of those things, a little cautious and a little worried and his eyes keep flickering back to his car.
“You got something in there?” Emma asks, instincts kicking in and Storybrooke isn’t really the kind of place where danger lurks or anything, but it is the kind of place where she knows nearly every car and she’s never seen this man before in her life.
He blinks.
“Mr…” she prompts, waving her hands like that will inspire and immediate answer.
“Jones. Killian Jones.”
“Right, Mr. Jones, is there something in particular in your car that you’re very worried about?”
He blinks. Again. And the realization seems to wash over him quickly, lips parting, which means Emma might be staring at his lips just a bit. She’s freezing cold.
She hopes it never snows again.
“That’s awfully presumptuous, don’t you think, Officer…” He leans forward slightly, eyes flitting across the front of her jacket like she wears her badge there or something and—
“Swan,” Emma grows. “My name is Sheriff Swan, actually, so—“
“—My apologies, Sheriff, I didn’t realize that I was in the presence of such authority.”
“Seriously, do you want to get arrested?”
“For what?” Killian asks. “I don’t think venturing into this tundra is an actual crime.”
“Reckless endangerment.”
He shakes his head, a click of his tongue that makes Emma’s blood boil. It does nothing to warm her up. Because the metaphor sucks. “I don’t think that falls under the particular umbrella, unfortunately. Idiotic, yes, but certainly not a crime.”
“Who is law enforcement in this situation?”
“I defer to your law enforcement, Swan—“
“—Sheriff,” she sneers, and he flashes her a grin that almost reaches his eyes. Emma tilts her head. She’s always been very good at this, picking out lies and falsehoods and it’s served her well in her career, but, again, Storybrooke is well…Storybrooke and it doesn’t seem necessary all that often.
Until right now.
With Killian Jones.
And his car with flashing lights and lack of snow tires.
“Why were you out in this storm, Mr. Jones?” Emma asks, doing her best to keep her voice even. “Did you not see our tweet?”
It takes him a moment for him to react to that, which is fair because Emma’s not even sure how to react and she’s the one who said it. She hopes Anna never finds out. She’ll never hear the end of it. “I’m sorry,” Killian laughs, and Emma only realizes he’s not wearing a hat when he runs his hand through his hair. “Did you just ask me about a social media promotion? For what…your sheriff station?”
“No, obviously not!”
“Then…”
“Anna thinks she’s funny and, well, I’m fairly positive she’s got some bet with Ruby about getting the tweets on daytime TV or something and, you know what, here.”
Emma tugs her phone out of her back pocket, scrolling down her Twitter feed quickly and all but shoving the stupid thing in Killian’s face. His laugh sounds a little more genuine that time.
And his fingers aren’t freezing cold when they brush over hers.
“Storybrooke Police,” he reads. “It’s snowing again. We say roads are getting slick, tell you to stay home, most of you do, some of you can’t, some of you like to slide around to pick up Cheetos at the gas station. It is what it is.” Killian hands her back her phone, tugging his lips back behind his teeth to conceal his smile. It doesn’t work. In spectacular fashion. It’s going to take forever to dig his car out of this ditch. “They’re not Cheetos,” he says, and in the grand scheme of snark-filled, possibly flirtatious and wholly irresponsible conversation, that is the last thing Emma expects to hear.
“Wait, what?”
“Not Cheetos. Cool Ranch Doritos.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Killian shakes his head solemnly, turning on his heels to yank open the back door of his car. Emma counts three bags before he makes a vaguely triumphant noise, dangling a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in the air. “You’d never believe what I had to do to keep ensure the grocery store stayed open.”
“Because people aren’t supposed to be out in this,” Emma points out.
“Yes, so your social media just informed me. Unfortunately, I don’t have Twitter—“
“—You don’t have Twitter?”
“We’re still in the process of setting up our internet and—“
“—Who uses Twitter on an actual computer?”
Killian scowls at the interruption, but Emma is getting more confused and cold by the second and she can’t believe Leroy isn’t already there. Yelling at her. As if the snow is her fault. “Would you like the actual explanation, Swan or you would you like to keep trashing me in your head?”
She gasps. It’s embarrassing.
“I’m not doing that,” Emma sputters, but Killian’s already humming in a very specific and placating way and the snowball thing is looking more and more appealing. “You can’t possibly know that.”
“You’ve got a very expressive face.”
“Wow, that’s kind of a dick move.”
“I didn’t say it was a particularly bad face.”
“Jeez, tell your story!”
He salutes. Ridiculous. Ridiculous. Ridiculous. And not. “As you may have gleaned by my mention of a lack of internet, I am new to your charming, if not in need of a new public works department, town. Recently moved from somewhere that understands what salted roads are and—“
“—It’s snowed a lot this winter, ok?”
“Swan, if you keep interrupting, you’re never going to get to the heroic part of this story.”
“Oh, it’s a hero story, huh?”
Killian nods. She can dimly hear the tow truck working down the road. “My friend and I moved here. It’s a very involved, slightly tragic, not mine to tell story, but suffice it to say that, nearly as soon as it started snowing, said friend requested Cool Ranch Doritos, cucumbers and fluffernutter.”
“I don’t think they sell fluff in the grocery store on Main Street.”
“They do not, in fact.”
Emma is having a difficult time processing this. “Ok, ok, so let me get this straight. You went out to get your friend food. Who you live with. And he, she…”
“She.”
Huh. That’s almost disappointing. “She,” Emma repeats. “Couldn’t have done this herself? Or before the storm hit?”
“No.”
That’s it. That’s all she gets. She widens her eyes, waiting for more or another round of almost pleasurable banter, but there’s nothing, just a slightly stiff upper lip and Killian staring straight at her like any of this is normal. “Why?” Emma asks, certain she’s overstepped even before the question leaves her mouth.
“It wasn’t an option.”
“Right. Ok, and you were going back and—“
“—Hit some ice. I’m seriously considering writing a very strongly worded letter to your department of public works.”
“Are you secretly an ancient person in disguise? Is this some kind of Rip Van Winkle situation?”
The laugh he lets out gets rid of any tension she may have caused and Emma finds herself smiling on instinct. Until she hears Leroy yelling. Loudly.
“You got another one Sheriff?”
Emma nods, not puling her eyes away from Killian when he offers her a smile that’s less smirk and more genuine. He’s still holding Cool Ranch Doritos. “Yeah,” she calls. “You may have to get him out of the snowbank, but uh—do you think you need a mechanic or just tow it back to your house?”
“The apartment is fine,” Killian says. “I should, um…I’m assuming they don’t have cabs here, right?”
It’s Emma’s turn to laugh that time, but there’s a distinct lack of malice in the sound. She shakes her head. “I can give you a ride. Then Leroy can just follow us?”
“Are you sure?”
“To serve and protect, right?”
“Something like that.” His tongue darts between his lips and Emma’s starting to worry about the state of his ears. He can’t possibly be warm. “Let me get the rest of the bags out of there and then we can go. If that works?”
Emma hums, and there’s snow starting to seep into her right boot. She hopes that’s not a sign. “Let me tell Anna know what we’re doing so she doesn’t—“
“—Tweet out your disappearance.”
“For someone who claims not to follow social media, you certainly know the terminology.”
“That’s because I’m not actually Rip Van Winkle.”
Emma laughs. She’s fairly certain Leroy growls. And the whole thing is…normal. Killian sits in the passenger side like it’s a thing, giving her an address that’s close to the docks and she didn’t even know there was an available apartment down there.
Her car doesn’t skid when she stops that time.
Maybe that’s a sign.
“Thank you for the help, Swan,” he says, as soon as she puts the car in park. “I uh—well, I can guarantee that it won’t happen again.”
“That’s alright. It’s kind of in the job description. And, you know, almost spring. So.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
There’s a lull – a distinct lack of conversation that might be the most awkward thing that’s happened to her in, at least, seventy-six years and she’s twenty-nine years old. She clicks her teeth, jaw aching slightly and it takes Emma approximately four seconds to decide on her next few words. “You want some help carrying your stuff up?”
Killian’s eyes widen. “What?”
“Your stuff. I mean…it kind of looks like you’ve got enough food for a small army and I—
“—Yeah, ok,” he finishes, far to quick to be anything except enthusiastic. Emma’s stomach flips.
She follows him up the stairs, careful not to trip on the sludge clinging to her boots. The apartment itself isn’t that big, but there’s a window that looks out on the ocean and the smell of something that might be hot chocolate lingering in the air and—a very solid, clearly pregnant body flinging itself at Killian as soon as he closes the threshold.
Emma’s jaw is never going to recover.
“I have come up with sixteen different and increasingly violent ways you had died while you were out there,” the woman yells, using both hands to swat at any bit of Killian she can reach. He does not look surprised. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
He eyes her meaningfully, reaching down to pull one of her hands away. “I didn’t have service on Main Street. And then then it was—it was a whole thing, but the car is fine—“
“—Why wouldn’t the car be fine?!”
“We’re very close to running out of road salt,” Emma answers, not sure if she should actually interject herself in the conversation, but she’s holding a bag of what appears to just be frozen pizzas and her heart feels like it’s shrinking. So, like, whatever. “And, uh…well, Mr. Jones’ car went off the road.”
The woman swats at his chest again.
“I am fine, love,” Killian says, and, yeah, definitely disappointing. “So is the car. And the Sheriff was kind enough to call a tow truck that may arrive in the next millennium and—“ He twists backwards, grabbing the much-travelled Cool Ranch Doritos out of the bag. The woman’s face lights up. “A very noble quest has come to an end.”
Emma’s going to go fling herself in a snow bank.
It will be better than this.
She can hear the woman thanking Killian, hugging him tightly and the whole thing is very nice. Or it would be if her mind weren’t her mind and she weren’t certain her right foot was frostbitten from whatever had seeped through her boot.
She really thought friend wasn’t a lie.
“Well, I’m uh…” Emma starts lamely, dropping the bags at her feet. “I’m going go. Try to stay off the roads for at least the next twenty-four hours. Everything should be cleaned up by then.”
“Oh, don’t you want to stay for a second?” the woman asks, and she sounds genuine. “I’ve got hot chocolate and I’m sure you’ve got to be freezing after saving Killian.”
Emma shakes her head. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ve, uh…got patrols and stuff. Paperwork to fill out.”
It’s the worst lie in the history of humans telling one another lies. The words shake their way out of her and land at her feet next to the frozen pizzas and the weight of her collective disappointment. Her smile makes the muscles in her face ache.
“I’m sure I’ll see you two in town soon,” Emma continues. “It was, um…it was nice to meet you, Mr. Jones—“
“—Killian.”
“Mr. Jones. If Leroy doesn’t show within the next forty-five minutes, just call the station and Anna will write a scathing tweet to embarrass him.”
He chuckles, fingers finding the back of his hair. “Thank you, Swan.”
She doesn’t run out of the apartment – can’t because of the goddamn snow – but it’s awfully close and Anna asks what’s wrong, boss no less than forty-two times in the next three hours. And Emma gives the same answer. Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Because nothing can be wrong. And she almost believes it by the time she gets home.
Idiot.
She throws away her socks.
And she resolutely refuses to think about for the next two days – far too busy with meetings and expense forms and the pipe in Granny’s basement burst, leading her to inspect that like she was some kind of authority. It’s the first chance she’s had to be in the diner since the storm, Ruby handing her a to-go cup as soon as she gets of the basement.
“Here," Emma says, struggling to grab the few bills she knows are crammed in her back pocket. Ruby is already shaking her head. “What?”
“Paid for. For, like…probably the next two months, honestly.”
“What?”
“Pick another word, Em.”
“Who would do that?”
“Anna claims he’s random guy, but he introduced himself as Killian to me and, this verbatim by the way, asked ‘If the sheriff comes in here regularly?’”
“And you were very quick to answer him?” Emma asks, not sure why her voice has that edge to it, but her stomach is doing that thing again and she’s already been an idiot once.
Ruby grins. “Naturally. He was very interested, Em. Also he’s stupid good looking and he wants to buy your coffee for—“
“—The next two months.”
“At least.”
Emma huffs, not sure if this is nice or placating or just a very over-the-top apology. She wants the coffee anyway. “The next time you see him, you can give him his money back.” Ruby’s shoulders sag. “I’ll see you later, ok? Tell Mary Margaret I’m bringing the food for the night.”
“Popcorn is not a food, Em.”
“It’s got melted malt balls in it, totally counts.”
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
“You need to stop hitting on guys on my behalf.”
“Trust me, it was not that hard.”
Emma rolls her eyes, but she can still make out Ruby’s knowing smile and Anna is giggling when she walks into the station. “What’s your deal?” Emma asks, but all she gets is a louder laugh and a slight head nod and there’s a shadow standing in front of her desk she hadn’t noticed before.
She doesn’t ask anymore questions. She doesn’t have to.
“Damn,” Emma mutters, and it’s a mistake because it clearly gets Killian’s attention. He spins on the spot, all wide eyes and cautious optimism and his gaze flickers to the cup of coffee in her hand.
“I hope you didn’t pay for that.”
“That was unnecessary. And wasteful.”
“I don’t see it that way at all.” He takes a step towards her, less optimistic than just plan and obvious hope and Emma has to take a deep breath. It doesn’t really do much. “It’s uh…well, I’ve been informed that you may have gotten the wrong impression about me.”
Emma scrunches her nose. And twists her lips. She’s very tired of being confused. “I don’t think that’s possible. We talked for like…two seconds.”
“That’s true, but you did carry in all those pizzas and I didn’t really explain what was going on with Belle.”
“Your pregnant girlfriend? I don’t think there was much to explain.”
Killian grimaces, hissing in a breath of air and squeezing one eye shut. “Yeah, she said that’s what you thought. God, she’s going to be insufferable about this.”
“Speak English!”
“Belle is not my girlfriend,” Killian says, all determined honesty and a sharpness to his gaze that makes whatever breath Emma just took even more useless. “She’s…well, I wasn’t lying, Swan. She’s my best friend and I didn’t—it’s a very long and involved, slightly depressing story that more or less amounts to a dick of an ex-husband, an opportunity for me here at your hopefully soon to open harbor and—“
“—A very noble quest,” Emma whispers. She’s not confused anymore. She hopes.
Killian nods. “He was a dick. Is, still, presently. And she’s getting the divorce, but he kept making all these claims and trying to break his restraining order and—“
“—What?”
“Honestly, a dick. There’s…no, that’s the best word for it. So, when I got this job, I told her to come with me. Some kind of fresh start for both of us. We’ve only been here a couple days and then it was snowing and she just..the Doritos weren’t for me.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that, honestly.”
“Smart.”
Emma hums, not sure when she took a step forward but her toes are very close to Killian’s. “And it is a kind of heroic story.”
He beams. It would probably reflect very well off the snow still piled up outside.
“I’m fairly certain you’re the hero of the story at this point, love,” Killian says, and she’s not sure if he realizes the change in endearment. She does. So does her stomach. “Anyway, uh…Belle mentioned that it might be a good idea to say something to you when I’ve spent the last few days talking about you and—“
“—You’re talking about me?”
Surprise is a good look on him. So is confusion. And everything. But, whatever.
He licks his lips. “Yeah. Incessantly, if you ask Belle.”
“I might.”
“She’d like that. She was disappointed she couldn’t give you something for helping. And then told me, in no uncertain terms, that if I didn’t come over her and ask you out she was going to throw my belongings in the ocean.”
“Wow, that’s harsh.”
“Yes, it is.”
“So are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Asking me out?”
The smile, somehow, gets wider. It’s incredible. And ridiculous. And nice. And Emma doesn’t really think before she moves, just presses up on her toes and catches his lips with his because she’d been thinking about him too and—
The specifics do no matter. Not when he does that thing with his tongue.
They rock against each other for a moment, an arm finding its way around Emma’s middle while her fingers card through the hair at the nape of Killian’s neck. It’s an easy rhythm, and there’s probably a joke to me made about driving in perfect weather, but Emma’s having a difficult time thinking of anything except nipping on his lip. So. She does.
He makes the most delightful noise.
“You’re not making this very easy, love.”
She laughs, giggles, God, Anna is going to be so annoying about that, another quick kiss and swipe of tongue and they get distracted for a few more moments. “What did you have in mind?”
“What are your thoughts on a variety of other Dorito flavors?”
“How many do you think there are?”
“I’ve got no idea, but I’m very interested to find out.”
She smiles, easy and wanting and the hand that lingers on the small of her back is surprisingly comforting. “Yeah, me too.”
They don’t leave his apartment the next time it snows, curled, instead on the corner of the couch with every bag of Frito-Lay products they could find and the world’s most adorable baby making noise through every single movie they watch.