#csrolereversal

Opening her mouth, she called out the flowers she had on offer along with their prices, pointedly turning away as he came to stand before her. Her voice rang out across the cobblestones clearly, if somewhat tangled by the thick Cockney accent that lay heavy on her tongue. Even if he normally cringed at the harsh sounds of the street vendors and ruffians of the area, he found himself somewhat charmed by the unabashed and almost proud bit of rough he sensed in this one.

Reaching out, he snatched the handful of carnations from her grip, and turned abruptly as if to leave, knowing it would get a rise from the intriguing guttersnipe.

“Oi! Get yer bloomin’ ‘ands off me merchandise if ya don’ mean ta pay!” she cried, her temper riled like a hellcat on the turn of a dime, much as Jones had expected it would be.

Swinging back to face her, which brought them practically nose-to-nose , as she had begun to charge after him, Killian waggled his brows insolently, making the challenge plain, even before he spoke. “Perhaps I might return them… in exchange for my watch, eh Lass?”

Jerking backwards, the impudent young woman eyed him warily for a second as if trying to gauge the true meaning of his words, to discern if he were just fishing for information, or if he really knew what she had done, and then she narrowed her pretty eyes at him, slamming a wall down over the openness he had glimpsed for a moment, allowing him to see past the scruffy interior to something more vulnearable, something (if he were even a bit more gullible) which might have seemed sweet. “Lookit Mister, don’t think that fine hat and pipe and your sharp suit gives you leave to muck about with foolish accusations. I ain’t about ta take none o’ your guff, an’ I don’ ‘ave your filthy watch, so just move on along why don’cha?”

Whether she realized she was doing it or not, the blonde had stepped right back into his space, nearly as soon as she had pulled away. The ridiculous chit actually had the pluck to act like an offended innocent, when Killian became all the more certain with each passing second that she had his pilfered watch hidden on her person even as they spoke. Her pointer finger jabbed into his chest next to the top button of his waistcoat for emphasis, and she wasn’t backing down an inch. She had fire, he would give her that; he was almost as impressed as he had initially been irked.

However, now that his challenge had been taken up, Jones felt his competitive nature roar to life within, and he intended to prove her wrong, to show her just whom she had trifled with and that he was not her average fool. He leaned forward as well, his lips nearly brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “Perhaps you’d allow me to search you and verify your statement?” Allowing his eyes to rove down from her face slowly before trailing back up again, his tongue poking into the inside of his cheek suggesting the sort of shameless liberties he would never actually take with a lady, no matter what her situation or social status. He might play at a bit of dashing roguishness, but he still considered himself a man of honor at his core.

Those green eyes flashed the same sort of warning color the sky out over the Thames took on when a storm was rolling in and the wise knew to run for cover; the sickening chartreuse of a deep, bruised wound and every bit as risky to provoke or fail to heed. Snatching back the finger that had been pressed against his breastbone, his beguiling nemesis raised her hand, clearly intending to strike him for his cheek - which, admittedly, he quite probably deserved - if he had not caught her wrist in a firm grasp that stalled the motion.

“Easy now, Love,” he murmured, enjoying her gumption too much to leave well enough alone. “Let’s not have you doing something we’ll both regret.”

“I am NOT your love!” she spat back, wriggling in his hold and looking livid enough to claw his eyes out if he let her free to do so. “And if you don’t unhand me…” she hissed, the threat clear now, even as a glimmer of fear also surfaced beneath the fire in her gaze. Killian had no doubt that she would follow through on whatever threat she was about to make, but that flicker and the slight quaver it allowed him to hear in her sharp voice told him she also didn’t know what might happen to her in the meantime, before she could make good on her words. And that hint of trepidation, that she didn’t know his true intentions and felt in herself in danger, quickly doused the fire he’d felt rising in his blood and his own fun in their back and forth.

Quickly, he retreated a step and released her arm, though his boxing reflexes were at the ready, knowing he might well be ducking a slap or punch in the very next moment.

To Killian’s surprise, however, the infuriating lass pulled herself up to her full height, smoothed her rather bedraggled skirts, and eyed him disdainfully as was possible under the circumstances. “Right wise choice you made there,” she snarked, huffing her annoyance as if she hadn’t been the one to start the whole debacle by picking his pocket in the first place. The very real worry he had sensed in her only seconds ago had vanished as if it were never there. “You’d be sorry had I gotten me brother on the case. He’s Chief Inspector, and he don’ take kindly to blighters like you harassing me.”

“Wait a minute now,” Killian interrupted, holding up a hand as he considered her rant, for the first time in their entire interaction feeling a bit out of the loop. “You don’t mean Chief Inspector Nolan? Of Scotland Yard?”

“The very same,” she snapped, arms crossed in front of herself. “What of it?”

Killian’s mind - rarely ever puzzled or caught by surprise, and so all the more intrigued by the seeming anomaly before him - struggled to catch up with and match this saucy baggage before him with the straight-laced knight-in-armor type he sometimes counseled in particularly complex criminal investigations. Inspector David Nolan was as by-the-book, simple and solid as they came, not by any means dense, but certainly not possessed with as cracklingly sharp wit or tongue as the angry sprite squared off before him. The Inspector had also never mentioned any family whatsoever beyond his sweet, fresh-faced wife and newborn son, but then again, it wasn’t as if they were ‘mates’ either. Jones couldn’t exactly see himself kicking back for a pint of rum with the man, even if they did tolerate each other in the name of justice from time to time.

He was about to tell the feisty harridan before him that he didn’t bloody care who her brother was, he would be having his watch back, when she stunned him once more, her chin jutting up imperiously as she added, “What? Din’ think a street rat like me ‘ad friends in higher places, eh?”

“On the contrary, Love,” Killian countered, purposefully emphasizing the endearment he had simply used out of habit before but now meant to annoy her, as he tapped the brim of his hat in the semblance of a bow. “I think you must have some remarkable friends indeed, or someone would have taught you a lesson in manners by now.” Her mouth opened and closed, floundering for a sharp retort no doubt, but he wasn’t yet finished. “Like it or not, I know you have something of mine, and I will see it returned.”

Nearly growling in frustration, she whirled away from him, turning her back and quickly moving away with the rest of her wares.

Jones watched her go troubled, curious, and stirred all at once; a curious cocktail he hardly recognized it had been so long since last he felt it. Though he didn’t have time to stand there long before he hurried off to meet Graham and Liam, sure that he would now be the one late instead of his elder sibling.

He didn’t notice - yet one more uncharacteristic slip in his usual near-omniscient awareness - the strange rosy glow in the twilight darkness of the now deserted street where he and the flower cart thief had argued. From around the corner of a packed nearby alley, narrowed dark eyes had watched the entire encounter, tracking either Holmes or the girl with avaricious interest. The reddish light glowed brighter for an instant as the excitement of its possessor swelled, so bright that for a moment if anyone had still been present it could not have been missed. Then, the red beacon was shuttered, going out like an extinguished flame. Once more there was only a nondescript London street, and the unseen watcher off on their sinister mission, having seen what was needed, unbeknownst to those who were observed.

His words knocked a bit of the sense back into her and she pulled them to an abrupt stop. “You aren’t serious…” She eyed him with a bit of suspicion. “Killian, there’s no way we can affo-”

Killian leaned in and placed a tender kiss to her lips that had her humming in surprise at first, but which she melted into almost an instant later. 

“I don’t want you worrying about any of that tonight, okay?” His blue eyes were bright and imploring as he pulled back just enough to look down at her. He pulled his arm from hers and his left hand came up and caressed her cheek. “I just want you to enjoy this dinner, darling.”

The urge to dig deeper, knowing there was something he wasn’t telling her, was nearly overwhelming. But Killian gave her that knowing look and she rolled her eyes and nodded in acquiescence. 

He smirked back at her in the cheeky way that was all his and linked their arms together again. Emma matched the look with a smirk of her own and allowed him to lead her once more in the direction of the hotel’s restaurant.

-----

“Okay,” Emma wiped at her lips with her napkin and then reached for her wine glass. Killian eyed her with a raised eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair, his own napkin getting tossed to the middle of his plate.

She took a hearty sip and then returned the glass to the table, leaving her elbows resting atop the tablecloth as she stared him down. “You want to tell me what this is all about, Jones?”

“The wine’s finally loosened that delightful tongue of yours enough to stop keeping curiosity at bay, eh Swan?” He grinned mischievously. 

She shook her head. “Wine’s got nothing to do with it, buddy.” He snorted at the statement, and she chose to ignore it. “I agreed to enjoy dinner. Which…” Emma gestured with her arms around at the plates scattered across their table in various states of disarray. “Was really fucking good , by the way.”

The clattering of silverware at a nearby table was a good indicator that maybe Emma hadn’t been quite as quiet as she had hoped with that last part. And that was a better indicator that they didn’t belong in a place like this. Especially not with the way Killian didn’t seem to mind at all that they were… disturbing the locals. 

It made her insides twist a little, and not in the pleasant way the adoring looking on his face usually did. “Killian, how did you swing this?” The look in his eyes sharpened at the sudden serious shift in Emma’s tone. “Please tell me you didn’t do something reckless…”

Sitting up fully, Killian swallowed and licked his lips. He then leaned in and snatched the rose from the vase they had pushed slightly off from the center of the table. He looked down at the flower in his hand. 

“Tonight’s a celebration.” He said quietly, watching the stem twirl between his fingers before his intense gaze lifted to hers. He held the rose out to her. 

She stared at him intently, willing him to go on but he just continued to stare right back. Waiting for her to accept the offered flower. Emma sighed and took it from him with a roll of her eyes.

“A celebration of what?”

She was focused on the rose now twirling between her fingers that she didn’t notice Killian had reached into the pocket inside his jacket until he was leaning over to lay an envelope on the table in front of her. 

Emma frowned and set the rose aside so she could pick up the envelope. It was extremely light and that made her frown even more. Flipping it over, she could see the flap was merely tucked in and pulled it open. 

She was sure her eyes went as wide as every cliche she’d ever heard when she saw the amount printed on the check inside made out to her name. 

“We’re celebrating you going to culinary school so you can open a proper bakery like you’ve always dreamed about.” Killian replied softly as she glanced up at him in shock. He shrugged and shook his head nervously. “If that’s what you’d like to do with it, of course. It’s your money, yours and Henry’s, to do what you will with.”

“Killian, what the fuck?” She whispered, looking from him to the check in her hand, and then back again. “What… how…” For the second time that night, she found herself at a loss for words.

He shrugged again and brought his hand up so he could scratch behind his ear. His attentioned dropped to the table. “You’d be absolutely astounded to know what some crazy collectors will pay when you’ve got something of value that really want.”

Of all the questions she could, should , probably be throwing his way, ‘and what was that?’ was the only thing she could make come out of her mouth in that moment.

Killian smiled, albeit a little sadly, and looked up at her with such ferocity that it seemed to knock the air from her lungs. “Why, the Jolly Roger of course.”

Tears welled in her eyes at the implication of his revelation hit her instantly. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out and she knew she was sitting there gaping like a fish.

Reaching out across the table, Killian took her right hand in his. “Swan, for the longest time I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get past the pain life that settled on me.” He shook his head and looked away for a moment. “Liam, Milah… it all left me in such a dark place for such a long bloody time.” When he looked back at her, he had tears welling in his own eyes. “So much so that our own start was a rather rocky one.” Emma couldn’t help but snort lightly through her tears at him mentioning their first disastrous meeting. “But over time, you and your boy have shown me that… there could be so much more out there for me if I am willing to fight for it.”

He gave her hand a squeeze and an unquestionable look of absolute love and determination had him squaring his jaw. “I want you to know that I’m in this for the long haul. However you’ll take me. Because you helped me see that what I want to fight for is you. You’re my happy ending, Emma.”

The tears spilled over her cheeks as she stared at him, sucking in a deep breath. Once again, of all the things she could have said in response to him…

“You traded your ship for me?”

He gave her a simple nod. “Aye.”

*BANG* *CRASH*

That’s it, Killian thought to himself, grabbing his broom.

*TAP TAP TAP*

He poked the handle of the broom against his ceiling at what he hoped was a loud enough volume that the mysterious, noise-making neighbor would hear it. He didn’t dare poke any harder for fear of breaking the old thing clean in half.

*BANG BANG BANG*

It was the unmistakable sound of a foot being stomped on the ground above his head, at the same rhythm at which he’d just poked the broom.

“Seriously? Is there a six-year-old living above me now?” Killian grumbled at what he thought was an appropriate level for his own living space.

“No, is there a jackass living below me now?” a muffled voice responded from above.

Ah, his new neighbor was a woman then. At least he knew something about her now, although that didn’t make him any less frustrated by her noise level or the fact that she could apparently hear him through the floor of her apartment.

“No, just someone who’s tired of dropping all of his expensive ingredients due to a bunch of surprising noises from above!” Killian yelled back.

“Then maybe you should be more careful!”

“Pot, meet kettle!”

There was silence then.

Followed by a lot of noise on the stairwell, and then a loud banging on Killian’s door.

He groaned.

“Come to show your face then, finally?” he asked as he swung the door open, holding it carefully so that his familiar, Captain, was just out of view. What he saw in front of him was… not what he expected. The woman standing in his doorway, who was so angry there were literal red waves of infuriated energy coming off of her, was beautiful.

Beautiful, and angry, and with a loud, vibrant energy that glowed around her much brighter than anyone he’d seen before.

Of course.

He held the door steady with his right hand, ignoring Captain’s low groan from the couch.

It wasn’t that Killian was ashamed of Captain. Not at all. Killian was quite proud of the large creature taking up residence on his couch. It was just that Captain was… misunderstood.

Growing up, as all of his friends had started showing off their familiars, Killian had been without one. He had waited, and waited, and waited. He wanted to know that companionship so badly. But it wasn’t until his older brother had died that Captain had appeared. Without Liam, Killian was forced to grow up very quickly, and so Captain had been borne of grief, sorrow, and loneliness.

The problem was that Captain wasn’t an ordinary familiar. Most witches had created birds or cats, or even a few dogs. There were a few others -- some large cats among his friends with tendencies toward dark magic.

But Killian’s own familiar was the only hybrid he’d ever seen. Captain was larger than a panther, though he had the look of one. He had a lion’s mane, which would have looked a bit out of place if not for his constant look of regality, and huge bat-like wings. He was quite intimidating to say the least.

At first, before Killian had realized just how out-of-place his familiar was, he’d ventured out as usual, walking down the street to the store at any time of day, Captain steady by his side.

But then the strange looks had begun, and the whispers. It took Killian a month to realize that people were, in fact, scared of him.

“It’s not your fault,” Ruby, the witch who ran the local herb store, told him. Ruby had been the only person to tell Killian to his face that his familiar was… not normal. She was also the only person whose energy didn’t immediately turn to a cold, ice blue whenever they saw Killian with his familiar by his side. “You said his name’s Captain?” Killian nodded. “Well, Captain looks pretty dangerous, you know? Which means… you could be dangerous. So… that’s why people are acting so strangely.”

Killian didn’t ask why she wasn’t afraid of him. The glint in her eye told him he probably didn’t want to know.

Ashamed of himself and whatever danger must lie in his soul, Killian had stopped venturing out during the day. Ruby stayed at work late whenever he needed supplies, and that arrangement had meant that no one new had seen Captain in about five years.

It also meant that Killian hadn’t really spoken to anyone besides Ruby and the grocery delivery boy in that long.

Until right now.

“Can you please stop banging on your ceiling when I’m trying to work?” the angry blonde woman nearly screamed in his face. “It’s very distracting, and I’m working with very sensitive spells.”

“Pardon, milady, but your raucous noises are causing me quite a bit of disturbance as well.” Killian gestured towards the mess of bearberry on the floor of his kitchen. “That was rather expensive, and I can’t get to the store for at least another six hours.”

He winced, realizing belatedly that he’d revealed too much. He was really terrible at the whole personal interaction thing.

Just a bit rusty, he thought to himself.

“Why not?” the woman asked, arching an eyebrow suspiciously.

“I… er… I can’t…” Killian stammered. Finally, after an embarrassing amount of ear scratching (his) and death stares (hers), he decided it might just be easier to show her than to continue this silent battle. “This is Captain,” he said, opening the door wider and revealing the oversized winged panther lying on top of his couch. “If you cross the threshold, I can’t promise he won’t do something stupid. He’s very protective.”

“He’s beautiful,” she said quietly, and the energy around her shifted from dark, angry red to a soft green. “I’m Emma,” she added as an afterthought, holding out her hand.

“Killian,” he said, shaking her hand once. “Killian Jones.”

“Well, Killian, I’m sorry I made you spill your… what exactly was that?”

“Bearberry,” he answered automatically. She looked genuinely apologetic, and Killian wasn’t sure what exactly changed her attitude, but he was certainly thankful for it.

“I’ll try to keep it down, or at least give you some warning.” She smiled softly at him.

“Er… thanks. Thank you,” he responded awkwardly. She nodded once and then turned towards the stairs to go back to her apartment.

An hour later, there was a soft knock at Killian’s door. He looked through the peephole, but no one was there. Cautiously, he opened the door just a tad, and there was a soft thud by his feet.

A bundle of bearberry had fallen over without the door to hold it up. There was a note, and Killian found himself smiling before he had even opened it.

Mr. Jones, I apologize again for making you spill your bearberry. This should be enough to get you through for a bit. I’ve also thrown in a small treat for Captain.

Enjoy,

E. Swan

********

The strange thing about quiet is that it makes you miss the noise. So when two days went by without a single crash, boom, or clunk from upstairs, Killian grew worried. It took him a third day to gather up the courage to knock on her door.

As soon as it opened, he heard a whole plethora of noises. Whirrs and clanks and, of course, crashes.

“Swan, what the hell?”

He wasn’t sure why it came out of his mouth. But when she’d signed the note “E. Swan” he’d pictured her and her beautiful face and well… okay, she wasn’t exactly graceful or swanlike but somehow, still, ‘Swan’ seemed to suit her.

She hesitated a moment, a blush creeping up her neck.

“I charmed the apartment. So you wouldn’t hear… all of this.” She grabbed a loose strand of hair and started twisting it in her hands. “I felt bad. About before.”

It really wasn’t a grand gesture. She had cast a fairly simple charm so that her neighbors wouldn’t be disturbed by all the noise constantly coming from her apartment. A miniscule part of Killian’s brain wondered why she hadn’t done that to begin with, but he ignored it in favor of the more prominent thought in his mind: she’d done this for him.

“You didn’t have to… that’s very kind.”

An awkward silence fell over them before Killian glanced behind her into her apartment. It was nearly identical to his in layout, but where he kept his living space organized and tidy, Emma lived in what looked to be the middle of a biohazard. There were potions and ingredients and empty jars on nearly every surface. A stack of boxes towered far too high for Killian’s comfort just beside the dining room table. And a strange metal contraption right in the middle of the kitchen seemed to be the source of all the noise, whirring away and shaking far more than it looked like it should be.

And there, on the couch, lay a giant white… creature.

He knew, of course, that this must be her familiar. What he couldn’t figure out was what exactly it was. It looked both furry and feathered, and as Killian stared at it, the white color he’d originally seen started morphing into spots. And then stripes. And then back to white.

“What the--”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I have to go now.”