Based on a tumblr prompt-cs + pick each other up from bad dates au

...

The Dating Game

…

They hadn't been room mates that long when it started.

Killian had just moved to Boston from Ireland, was fresh off the plane, when he met Ruby in line for a cab into the city. She was leggy danger, just his type, and within ten minutes they had exchanged numbers and she'd left a stamp of bright red lips on his stubbled cheek with a wicked grin as she'd swept past him to take the next cab.

He's still thinking about the lady in red when his cab pulls up at his new apartment building. It's a nice place, better than what he'd hoped for when he'd enquired about rent and checked out a few online photos from Dublin. He pulls out his phone, calling the only other American number in his phone and hoping to the gods that she picks up. The cab rounds the corner in the distance and he watches it go with a drop in his stomach as he realises he's the only living thing on this footpath and it is the dead of night. The phone ringing sounds ridiculously loud and he feels the energy at getting Ruby's number earlier ebbing away as the night surrounds him.

"Come on, lass. Answer your bloody phone," he grumbles just as the ring flicks to a voicemail, Emma Swan speaking into his ear about leaving a message. He hits the 'end' button and sighs, sitting on his suitcase and wondering just what the hell to do.

He'd seen a few hotels on the way here and he was sure he could find the number for a cab easy enough. He'd come out here on a music contract, so maybe he should start living the rockstar life...

He just wishes he could convince himself that it was a good idea.

Standing up again has him feeling slightly dizzy and he realises how tired he is. There had been a delay in his flight, getting him in much later than he'd anticipated. To be honest, he can't even blame his new room mate for not answering her phone; he was meant to be here over seven hours ago.

Just as he'd resigned himself to start the hunt for a cab number, he hears another car pull up behind him. Thinking that he'd just willed a cab into being, he turns around only to be confronted by a very frantic looking woman slamming her door and running towards him, blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and covering a little more skin than what her dress is trying to do.

"I am so sorry!" she picks up his guitar case without even asking and all he can do is follow this woman in ridiculously high heels as she keeps walking past him and towards the apartment building. Her head flicks over her shoulder to make sure he's following and she smiles when she sees that he's caught on, "I was just on the date from hell. Could not get away from him. I am going to kill Mary Margaret for this one."

Mary Margaret is a friend, for all he can tell. He's getting the feeling that this lass is not very forthcoming with details.

"Anyway, I kept looking for a break in conversation, but nothing. I hope you weren't waiting long." She swipes a card and the door opens to a nice looking foyer. "So you'll get one of these cards and then there's a key to our apartment. We're in 4B and there is an elevator, but it's ridiculous."

He just nods, finding it ironic that for someone who had been trying to look for a break in conversation to get out of a date, she sure knows how to the same to someone else. He thinks back to the cab line and Ruby and how their banter had been easy. Back and forth with no lull. It makes him smile to know he still has all of that ahead of him

"And here we are," Emma says, producing a gold key and opening the door, letting him pass through first. She switches on a few lights around the place, illuminating the modern apartment.

He takes it all in with a sweeping look, smiling when his eyes land on Emma, her lip between her teeth, hands clasped in front of her. He hasn't signed a contract yet and she is clearly eager to know whether he likes the place.

"You might want to breathe, lass. I'm in this for the long haul, you'll be having to pay no extra rent on my behalf."

She sighs, "Oh thank god! I love this place, but there is no way I can afford it on my own. You have no idea how perfectly timed this has all been."

It's been for his benefit too, so he feels kind of rude saying, "You're welcome," but Emma doesn't seem to think anything of it, smiling and setting down his guitar case carefully.

"Come on then, let me give you the tour."

...

Less than a week. That's how long they've been room mates when it had first happens.

Ruby had contacted him first and, while he's old fashioned and likes to do the asking out, he's only lived in Boston for two days so, really, he has no idea where to go.

They go to a bar for a drink before dinner, the alcohol taking the edge off a little. They may have bantered expertly in the cab line at the airport, but first dates are always awkward and Killian is finding that he just does not know where to put his hands. So holding onto a drink seems to be the thing to fix that.

He sips at his rum, wanting to knock it back and order another but being on his best behaviour, when he hears the sounds of drums and a bass kicking from the back of the bar. "They have live music here?" he asks, perking up and getting off his barstool to see if he can find where the music is coming from.

Ruby shrugs, "Yeah, but I've never heard of the band."

Killian smirks, "Sometimes the best treasures are the uncovered ones." He grabs her hand and walks around the back of the bar, through a tunnel that opens out into a large old brick room, a slightly raised platform stage off to one side and the bar equivalent of a mosh pit on the other.

The band is playing covers, pulling people from the crowd onto the stage and having them sing along and this is totally what Killian is here for. His eyes light up and he swears he can feel his heart smile for the first time in days. This is what he has been waiting for, a moment of affirmation that this move is worth it, that he's made the right choice.

His eyes scan the room before turning back to his date, wondering if it would be too forthcoming to ask if they can skip dinner for a dance. He's met with pure annoyance however. Arms crossed over her chest, legs slightly parted as she rests her weight on one hip, looking across the room in disgust.

This is so not her scene and he can tell straight away that the dangerous sultry woman he met a few days ago had only been interested in one thing. He'd be lying if he said he didn't think that was a great idea, but right now he's having a moment of awakening, of knowing that things are going to be okay. So as Ruby tells him that she doesn't think this is going to work out, Killian is pulling out his phone and dialling the only other number he has in this country.

"Yeah, I know the place," she says, eagerness in her tone, "Give me twenty minutes."

He goes to tell her to take her time, but remembers that this is a woman who is ready to leave the house in five minutes each morning, so she probably has given herself extra time. He nurses his rum, watching the young singers bounce around the stage with endless energy. He misses the days when he had that kind of stamina. It fades so fast when you're out of the spotlight, but he can feel the energy of this place inside of him and knows that his own performance presence will return.

Before he knows it, there's a tequila shot being slid toward him and he looks up to see Emma smiling at him, "See, you think you've had a bad night but really the night hasn't begun until tequila's involved."

He chuckles at her, clinking his shot glass against hers before downing it and sucking on a wedge of lemon that Emma had also brought over, "Satisfied?"

His room mate laughs, signalling for the bartender to come over their way, "Oh I will be."

It's a sweaty mess after that, rocking out to Bon Jovi classics and trying to keep up with Macklemore's rhymes. Emma introduces him to a few friends, namely the bartender, David, who is Emma's foster brother and his fiancée, Mary Margaret, who is still apologising about the guy she'd set her friend up with a few days before. She could have sworn Victor was a really great guy.

"Maybe he and Ruby would get along," Killian says, "I thought she was a really great girl."

"Oh look," Emma smirks at him, "He's getting mopey again. Time to dance." She grabs the drink straight out of his hand, downing it in a smooth swallow before leading the small group out to the dance floor again.

It's when he's being pushed up on stage to fearlessly sing the female part of Teenage Dirtbag that Killian Jones thinks to himself that he could really get used to Boston.

...

He hates hangovers.

His arm is draped across David, whose leg is tangled up in his somehow and he vaguely remembers that there was a decision to have a girl's room and a boy's room at the end of last night. He chuckles as he sits up, then promptly groans as the world spins.

By the time he makes it out to the kitchen, he's pretty sure he's going to throw up. But the smell of coffee and bacon quells the feeling in his belly and replaces it with hunger. He spies Emma poking the bacon around the pan, wearing her flannel pyjamas, with ships and anchors all over them, and bare feet. It's oddly domestic seeing her like this when usually she's up at the crack of dawn and dressed for the day before he sees her.

Something in his palms tingles to reach out and run his hands up and down her ribs, pulling her back to lean against his chest. Instead he shakes his head and reminds himself that he's known this girl about three days and he cannot afford to complicate the place where he sleeps. Not when he's just getting the hang of this Boston thing.

"I'm not your slave, you know?" she says, smile in her tone.

He pulls himself back into reality, stepping into the kitchen to crack some eggs into another pan. "What's that?" he asks, pointing at a scribble of numbers poking out from underneath the rolled up sleeve of her pyjama top.

She flushes red and keeps her eyes trained on the bacon, "Apparently the singer in the band wants to take me out."

He can sense the reluctance, "Well he gave you his number, so you don't have to contact him."

At that she laughs, pulling back her sleeve a little higher, "That's the time and date we set. I gave him my number."

Killian can't help but laugh because it wouldn't be a night out on tequila without morning regrets. Feeling slightly sorry for her, he bumps his shoulder against hers, "Well you saved me, so I'd say I owe you one."

She makes his bacon and egg roll first.

…

It's not because he's disgustingly attractive and his accent sounds like a warm hug, she reminds herself again and again as she sends out an emergency SOS text. It's because Mary Margaret is busy making wedding plans with David and she has no one else. Plus he'd offered. Sure, it had been a joke. But it was an offer.

She keeps nodding at this August guy as she taps out a text under the table, hoping that it's inconspicuous enough that he can't tell. Fortunately, he just keeps talking about his day job. For a guy who bounces around the stage with such ease by night, he sure knows how to bore her to death with the details of water sampling – she really doesn't know if it's impressive or weird that he can tell her which water source the restaurant is using based on the taste. Then again, he could tell her anything and she'd believe him. It's not like she has a clue about what he's discussing.

She's just about to take matters into her own hands and actually be honest with the guy about the state of this evening, when the lights dim and then the sprinklers start. August jumps into action, helping her up from her seat and guiding her towards the exit with the other customers.

"Must be a fire in the kitchens, there doesn't seem to be anything going out here."

Emma nods in agreement even though, through the throngs of people pushing past them to get out faster, she can see a flash of blue eyes and dark hair and knows her message must have gotten through to her room mate. She rolls her eyes as she passes by where she knows he's hiding, knowing that he can see her.

"I suppose that effectively killed the mood," August says while the firemen run past them to put out a blaze that is non-existent.

She shrugs her shoulders, wishing they didn't have to do the awkward end of date thing. "It was fun while it lasted," she tries, but even that sounds hopeless on her lips.

He doesn't even try for a second date and Emma is ridiculously thankful for that.

…

Killian picks her up a block down the road, swinging his passenger side door open and sitting back in the driver's seat with a smug smile on his face.

"Was that really necessary?" she asks, only slightly bitter.

He just reaches into his back seat and produces a towel, throwing it at her through the open door.

"Darling, the message you sent me looked as though you were fighting him off. It called for desperate measures."

Well, she had been texting him from beneath a table… that message could have been anything.

She reluctantly unfolds the towel, wrapping it around herself and not loving the fact that it smells the way he smells when he wears a t-shirt fresh out of the dryer. She hates that she's lived with the guy for barely two weeks and she knows this.

He nods at the passenger seat again and Emma rolls her eyes before climbing in, "You wouldn't even believe this guy. I think the sprinklers were a turn on for him. I've never seen someone so into water."

The door closes behind her and Killian drives as she dissects every moment of the terrible night.

…

It becomes a tradition of sorts. Like an unspoken agreement.

She doesn't know why they both keep saying yes to people that they know are going to produce terrible dates but, at the same time, she knows exactly why they keep doing it. Just as they don't speak about their agreement to get each other out of bad dates, they don't talk about the little smiles they throw at each other, or how David and Mary Margaret look at them with heart eyes, or how they'd much rather spend a night at home together than go out any way.

When Killian responds to one of her cries for help and actually leaves a gig halfway through, risking the entire reason he's come out to America in the first place, Emma knows that they need to decide what it is that they're doing.

They don't go home right away, driving to the venue that Killian had been playing at to finish off his last set of the evening and hopefully make up some ground with his boss. Emma side of stage and listens as his smooth accent wraps around each of the words he sings. Mr Gold, the guy who owns this venue, approaches her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder, "I think it's about time you two talk about those feelings of yours so he doesn't have to run around town to play hero."

Emma feels her heart beat faster, knowing it's true. They need to talk about this.

…

"Night Swan," he calls from the bathroom as she walks past, but she doesn't go to her room, instead circling back and landing on his bed. She doesn't know why she's so nervous – it's not like she's a teenager anymore, not like she can't face this like an adult.

But still, there is nothing more terrifying than confessing feelings, than letting walls down and opening up. The last time she had done this was Neal…and it still hurt.

"Hey, I thought you were going to bed."

She looks up, smiling because of course he's shirtless right now. Like she ever had a change at approaching this like an adult. She scoots up the bed, patting the spot next to her, "Have a seat."

He cocks his head to the side, wondering just what the hell this lass is up to. But he takes a seat, leaning back on the wall and turning his head to side eye her, "What's this about, Swan?"

"Well, I'm pretty sick of crappy dates," she says, looking out at the opposite wall, not daring to meet his eye.

He's quiet for a moment and she can almost sense him rubbing at the scruff on his chin in that way he does when he's considering something mischievous. "Hmm," he ponders, "Is that so?"

She chances a glance up at him, nearly breathing out a sigh of relief when she sees his smirk firmly in place. It's then that she knows she's made the right decision in telling him, in letting him know her.

She grins and grabs the chain of the necklace he constantly wears, pulling him towards her, "Yeah."

She'd be lying if she said that she hadn't fantasised about this a few times (okay, every damn night, but who's counting?) and the way his hand makes its way up into her hair to press her firmly against him makes her realise just what she's been leaving out of all those dreams. Tenderness.

Her fingers run up and down his chest, while her legs fall open and allow him to centre himself against her. She can taste his smile as one of his hands trails down her neck, pulling at the collar of her pyjamas so that his mouth can follow a path down to her chest, his stubble tickling her in ways that have her moaning beneath him.

And then he pulls away with the look of the devil in his eyes, "So I'll pick you up on Friday at 8?"

She's still processing that kiss, panting and nodding before she says anything stupid and embarrassing, "It's a date." (And there it is.)

He just chuckles and kisses her cheek as she climbs off his bed. "See you tomorrow."

It should be weird, she thinks as she climbs into her own bed. It should be so weird.

But it's not.

She realises, as she drifts into a sleep riddled with dreams of that kiss, that no matter what happens on this date, there's going to be no out. And, somehow, that doesn't scare her at all.

…

Thoughts?