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let-it-raines · 5 years

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Pitching a Tent ⛺️ (1/1)

Emma Swan does not want to go camping. Who even goes camping anymore when things like air conditioning, indoor plumbing, and the internet exist? Why would anybody in their right mind sleep on the ground instead of the softness of a mattress? David says that it’s an adventure, and while she doesn’t believe him those first few hours of trekking through the wilderness, she does once she drunkenly wanders into a British man’s tent in the middle of the night.

Created by the 2 trope game of | wilderness + awkward first meeting |

Rating: Teen (yes, I know, the innuendo in the title is not indicative of this)

A/N: Can I give one big shoutout to @galaxyzxstark for sending me the prompt that created this story but also for literally brightening my day every time I see her tags underneath one of my stories? You are the best! Thank you❤️

And thank you to @captainsjedi for organizing @csseptembersunshine to give me the motivation to finish writing a lot of little things that I’ve been working on☺️

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @idristardis @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81

-/-

“Toothbrush, toothpaste, bug spray, sunscreen, sleeping bag, whatever, whatever, whatever.”

Emma runs through the list that David sent her in email after email and text after text. It’s ridiculous. The man puts a ring on Mary Margaret’s left hand and all of the sudden he starts making her highly organized lists and reminding everybody of everything at all times. And by everybody she most definitely means herself and possibly Ruby, but since Ruby is dating Mulan, Mulan usually keeps everything organized for the two of them. So that just leaves Emma to be this mess of a person who is pretty much treated like David’s child instead of his friend.

They have a weird relationship, but it’s fine.

And she really does probably need packing lists sent to her two to three times so that she can make sure to pack everything and have time to buy what’s missing on the list. Or, like she’s done now, she can pack the morning of and be missing everything that she needs that she couldn’t find at the Wal-Mart she went to at three in the morning. Some very interesting people were walking the aisles – and she is including herself in that.

Getting hit on while wearing pajama pants with Santa Claus’s face plastered all of over them is not something she ever thought would happen and will probably never happen again.

But David and Mary Margaret have very oddly decided that they want to go camping as some kind of joint bachelor and bachelorette party, and Emma would much prefer a half-a-day thing where they spend the daylight hours wandering around in nature or canoeing and then sleep in a nice, air-conditioned cabin that has beds and indoor plumbing and a solid roof over their heads. But no, the soon-to-be Nolans have decided that they want to sleep in sleeping bags on the floor of a forest. Supposedly, it’s a beautiful place with a gorgeous lake and human-made campsites carved out, but Emma is not going to believe it until she sees it.

This is what happens when you don’t have parents to take you camping as a kid – you are entirely unprepared to live in nature for a little over forty-eight hours even if you do consider yourself a resourceful person like Emma considers herself to be.

“Dry shampoo,” Emma mumbles to herself, moving from her bedroom to her bathroom and grabbing the bottle before shaking it and spraying it into her hair so that her hair won’t be disgusting tomorrow. She’s going to pull it back into double French braids, but still.

David better be bringing snacks on this trip. She is not going to be able to survive without snacks.

Damn.

Why didn’t she buy pop-tarts when she was at the store this morning?

Probably because she was running away from the weirdos who hit on people wearing Santa Claus pajama pants in May.

Oooh, she needs to pack her pajamas.

(She really does need that list.)

Emma’s phone starts buzzing on her bed, and she lunges over her backpack to check it.

Ruby: Get your ass outside. It’s time to go.

-/-

Okay, okay, okay.

So maybe David and Mary Margaret were right about how gorgeous it is out here. Emma wasn’t sure at first, especially with the three-hour drive that it took to get to the campsite and the hour-hike through some pretty shady (literally and figuratively) woods, but once they got to their destination, she was definitely a little more open to it.

Or a lot open to it.

The air is somehow different out here, fresher and less saturated than the air of the city. There are no traces of gas or garbage or the intense crowding of people. Emma loves living in Boston, loves almost everything about it, but sometimes she can do without the crowds and all of the industrialization of the city. Walking out of the hordes of trees and into the open space of the campsite to see the sunshine sparkling down on a clear blue lake that stretches out over the grounds, ripples moving through the water as fish swim and birds coast in the sky, is now one of her favorite views in the world.

The lack of honking horns and people talking on cell phones is pretty refreshing too.

Emma could, however, do without the bugs that are buzzing around her despite the spray she’s soaked her body in and also do without the possibility of bears and snakes coming out of nowhere to attack her.

The random animals walking around terrify her. Obviously, she’s encroaching on their natural habitat, but this wasn’t exactly her idea, okay?

It’s surprisingly easy to set up camp, even if her tent gives her all kinds of fits that explain why it was under fifty dollars, and after it collapses in on itself for a fifth time, David sighs and sets it up for her. She swears that she is a resourceful person, that she could probably survive a little while in the wilderness, but that might be entirely too optimistic thinking with how the whole tent thing went. Nothing like a camping trip to humble expectations on how she would do if she ever signed up for Survivor.

Is that show even still on the air?

As soon as she gets internet service again, she’s finding out.

“Do you find the whole camping and joint bachelor and bachelorette party thing weird?” Ruby asks her as Emma lays out her sleeping bag, tucking her pillow inside so nothing gets on it during the day.

“I find it all extremely weird,” Emma huffs, twisting her head to look at Ruby who has been far too amused by Emma’s struggles today. “Except for the fact that they want to do this together. Two peas in a pod. I never thought the separate weekend trips were going to work out even though I was really looking forward to going to New York.”

“You and me both,” Ruby sighs, plopping down on Emma’s sleeping bag, “but I think this could be fun. I mean, ten of us, some beer, and the wilderness. What could go wrong?”

“As someone whose tent fell apart multiple times, I feel like the answer to that is everything. I have lived in Boston my entire life. I was not made for this.”

“You’ll adapt. I know for a fact that Mary Margaret brought things to make s’mores for you.”

“She did not,” Emma gasps, turning to face Ruby before sitting down on the ground too, a rock hitting her ass. Ruby nods, a smile on her face. “Did she really? God, I love Mary Margaret and her resourcefulness.”

“She also brought you hot chocolate.”

“Even better.”

“And I,” Ruby hums, reaching into the inside of her vest to pull out a flask, “brought whiskey and earplugs just in case all of the couples here get ideas that you, our little spinster, are not taking part in. I mean, you could, but I doubt you’d be quite so loud by yourself.”

Emma can’t help but laugh at Ruby and the smirk on her face. Anybody who brings their own flask of whiskey when they know that David, Victor, and Graham have brought an entire cooler full of drinks is a resourceful woman. And Emma can always go for some spiked hot chocolate. Well, not always, but it does sound nice for sitting around the fire tonight.

And the earplugs. She did not think about that. She doesn’t really want to.

“I love you for that.”

Ruby mock gasps, putting the flask back in her pocket before covering her mouth with her hands. “Don’t tell my girlfriend that.”

“Tell me what?” Mulan questions as she pokes her head to the inside of the tent.

“That I love your girlfriend,” Emma chuckles. She stands from the ground and brushes at her ass, the feel of the rock probably going to be imprinted there forever. “Obviously you have a lot to worry about.”

Mulan rolls her eyes. “I think I’ll be fine for about thirty-two different reasons on that front. Do either of you have a bobby pin? I’ve got this piece of hair that won’t stay back, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“I have a couple in my backpack, babe,” Ruby tells Mulan, not bothering to get up from the ground. “In the bag with my toiletries.”

“Thank you. You guys want to go hiking now that things are set up? I think our other option was fishing.”

“Hiking,” Emma and Ruby say at the same time. “Definitely hiking.”

-/-

“Is everyone wearing sunscreen?”

Mary Margaret has asked that question approximately seventeen times today, and while it has been very much appreciated, now that the sun is setting over the lake, everything cast in an orange glow, no one really needs it. At least, Emma doesn’t. What she needs is something to eat that’s not a bag of trail mix, even if that trail mix was really good. She would know. She ate the entire bag when they went hiking earlier, but they were out there all afternoon long.

She needed substance to survive.

(Okay, so she definitely wouldn’t last on Survivor.)

“Yes, Mom,” Emma teases, picking up her water bottle so that she can take another sip. “We have all protected our skin.”

“You say that like I didn’t save that pale skin of yours earlier by handing you my bottle.”

“True, true,” she sighs before getting up from her folding chair so that she can walk toward Mary Margaret and wrap her arm around her shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re the best.”

“I also brought you snacks. You probably love me for that too.”

“Oh, I do. I’ve been told of the s’mores and hot chocolate, and let me tell you, I can’t wait. It’s what’s going to make sleeping in the wilderness bearable.”

(That kind of sounded like a pun, but it really wasn’t…and now she’s thinking about bears.)

“I think it’s kind of fun. David and I go camping all of the time.”

“You guys literally stayed in a lodge with a spa the last time you went camping.”

“Semantics.”

“David,” Emma yells as her hip bumps into Mary Margaret to tease her, “when is the food going to be ready? I’m starving.”

“You are not actually starving,” David corrects, looking back at her from the grill that’s set up at the campsite. “You’re just in that state of Emma where you’re always slightly hungry.”

“What can I say? I like food.”

David laughs at her before turning around and flipping the hot dogs on the grill. She doesn’t even like hot dogs, but she can’t wait for these.

The rest of the night idles by, everyone beginning to get a little tipsy on beer or Ruby’s smuggled whiskey – definitely a lot of the smuggled whiskey for Emma – and as the sky completely darkens so that the only sources of light are the clear stars in the sky and the large fire that everyone is sitting around, Emma completely settles into being outside camping. This is actually the kind of thing she could get used to.

It’s definitely the whiskey and the s’mores talking.

Probably more the whiskey than anything, but she knows how to hold her liquor and isn’t that affected by it.

So maybe it’s the chocolate.

She doesn’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. At the end of the day all that matters is that David and Mary Margaret are having a good time. This is their weekend, and to watch Mary Margaret have her head rested on David’s shoulder with content smiles on both of their faces is all that matters.

Emma’s not entirely sure if she believes in true love, especially not with her relationship history, but if anyone has it, it’s David and Mary Margaret.

Or, at least, they have a good love that they both choose to work every day for, and that is probably a better qualification of true love anyways.

Little by little, everyone trickles off into their tents. Graham and Belle are the first to go, followed by Ruby and Mulan, Ruby teasing Emma about using her ear plugs. Emma rolls her eyes at that, but when she goes to her tent, zipping it up so that nothing can get in – which is something she doesn’t even want to think about – she does twist her ear plugs before putting them in her ears so she can’t hear anything else.

Better safe than sorry, right?

-/-

The moment Emma’s eyes open, she notices two things.

Her head is killing her.

She really has to pee.

Like, really has to pee.

And after checking her phone and confirming that it’s only a little past three in the morning, Emma reaches over to grab her boots, stuffing her pajamas pants inside of them, and unzips her tent so that she can go find somewhere to pee.

Definitely not the weirdest thing she’s ever done at three in the morning but also not the most normal.

Victor, for some insane reason, has decided to sleep in a hammock outside, and since she can tell that he is very much awake doing whatever it is Victor Whale does while awake in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night, Emma uses the flashlight on her phone to wander into the woods to try to find a tree to pee behind somewhere Victor can’t see or hear.

If they do this again, they’re going somewhere with bathrooms. Emma is putting it in whatever unwritten rule book there is.

Her head is still pounding, the haze of the whiskey and lack of sleep definitely evident, but Emma manages to find a tree, pee behind it, and start working her way back toward the camp.

Only, which way was the camp? To her left or to her right?

Oh shit. Maybe it was neither left nor right and somewhere in between? What’s in between left and right? Straight? Yeah, definitely straight.

“You can do this,” Emma whispers to herself, giggling a little bit when she realizes that she is actually talking to herself.

Is it possible for Ruby’s whiskey to be spiked? Can alcohol be spiked with…more alcohol?

That’s too confusing to even think about it. Maybe she can’t hold her liquor the way she thought she could.

Left. Right. Straight.

Yeah, straight.

Emma trudges through the woods, having to avoid some limbs that she doesn’t remember avoiding the first time. And when did she even wander this far into the woods to begin with?

Damn Victor and his damn sleeping bag.

After what feels like walking for hours, Emma finally sees the opening of the woods back out into the campsite, and it’s just in time since small droplets of water are beginning to fall from the sky that has her putting her phone away in the waistband of her pants, wishing she hadn’t taken her bra off. It’s also what makes Emma hurry to her tent, quickly unzipping the entrance and stepping inside before zipping it back up and toeing out of her boots, thankful to be in the warm, dry enclosure of her tent, fully ready to go back to sleep before her head can hurt her anymore.

“Who the bloody hell are you?”

Okay, so her head is definitely deteriorating or something because that was a British man, and even if that’s what her GPS is set to sound like because she can’t figure out how to change it back to the default voice, she knows that it’s not what the voice inside of her head sounds like.

And the warm hand that she feels on her shoulder can’t be part of her imagination either.

Shit.

She’s about to die, isn’t she? There’s nothing like being about to die that sobers a person up enough to see that she is very much not alone in this tent, the dark shadows of a man skipping across her vision. And where is all of her stuff?

“Are you okay?” the voice says again, and then suddenly there’s a flash of light, a lantern being turned on, and things start to make so much more sense.

Kind of.

Because a grown ass man with black hair and what she thinks are blue eyes is sitting next to her blinking at her with his brows furrowed together and his lips parted. He’s also not wearing any clothes, but the moment she noticed the firm muscles covered with hair and the particular piece of anatomy that males possess (wow, maybe she’s still a little drunk if she can’t even think the word dick), her eyes glanced back up to his face even as her cheeks warmed.

What is happening?

“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?” Emma finally says, and the man simply blinks at her again.

“Why are you in my tent?”

“I asked you first.”

Wow. Real mature, Emma.

“You broke into my bloody tent.”

“I’m pretty sure this is my tent,” Emma sighs, and she does not at all watch as the man grabs a pair of boxers and pulls them on. “Or, at least, I thought it was. Is this not my tent?”

“No, lass,” he breathes, continuing to get dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, “I don’t believe it is. Are you drunk?”

“Um,” she hums, reaching up to rub at her eyes just to make sure that she’s not hallucinating, and when her surroundings come back to her, she realizes that she most definitely is not.

This is most definitely not her tent.

Holy shit.

Where even is she?

“Shit,” she mutters aloud, standing up only to hit the wires that are holding the tent up, but none of that matters as she reaches down for her boots and stuffs her feet into them, quickly unzipping the tent and stepping outside only to trip on the entrance and stumble out onto the ground.

Face first.

Into the mud.

Because it’s raining.

She knew that. Of course, she knew that.

“Woah, woah, woah, lass,” the man sighs, his hands reaching under her arms to pick her up off the ground. This could not be any more embarrassing. It simply can’t. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my camp so I don’t get murdered by the man I apparently just barged in on.”

“I’m not a murderer.”

Emma blinks up at him as the rain pours down on the two of them, the power of it increasing with every second that she stands out here, and she might as well get pneumonia because she’s going to get murdered anyways.

Positive thinking for the win.

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“I guess you’ll have to trust me,” he sighs, a bright smile on his face that she can see under the moonlight. “How do I know that you’re not a murderer? You’re the one who broke into my tent, after all.”

Emma chuckles and starts shaking her head before reaching up to cover her face with her hands. Her entire body is going to be bruised tomorrow. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I don’t – I may be the slightest bit drunk and was in the woods because I needed a place to pee and I didn’t want to do it near my campsite because Victor was sleeping in a freaking hammock outside. I mean, who does that? He’s so weird, and he’s probably getting soaked in this rain right now and I – ”

There’s a tug on her wrist and suddenly she’s being pulled back into the tent of the mystery man, and if she gets murdered tonight, there’s absolutely no reason for her to regret eating four s’mores.

None at all.

(It was five.)

“W-what are you doing?” she hisses, little bumps rising on her arms as a cold chill settles over her.

“Love, as much as I am enjoying your rambling, I don’t enjoy standing in pouring down rain. We were getting drenched out there.”

“I am not your love.”

“Well, maybe if I knew your name, I could call you something else.”

This man is really attractive, and Emma still isn’t entirely sure that she isn’t dreaming.

“Emma Swan.”

The man smiles before reaching back to scratch behind his ear, a half smile on his lips. “Killian Jones at your service, milady. Now, Swan, you were saying something about walking away from your camp? You’re here with other people, aye?”

“My friends for a, like, super weird joint bachelorette and bachelor party.”

“Ah, well, that explains your state of intoxication. Though, I didn’t know that women were now wearing pajama pants with Santa’s face on them to bachelorette parties. That’s a bloody shame.”

“Ha ha,” she murmurs as she rolls her eyes. “Look, bud, these pants are super comfortable and warm except for right now because I’m covered in rain. Can someone even be covered in rain? Is that a thing?”

Thunder crashes down around them, a slow rumbling that’s followed by bright flashes of lightning, and now all Emma can think is that if she doesn’t get murdered, she’s going to die by lightning strike on her walk back to the camp she’s actually supposed to be in.

(Murder, pneumonia, or a lightning strike: the three most common causes of death.)

How does she even get back? Where in the world is she?

Killian clicks his tongue, and her head snaps away from looking at the roof of the tent to looking at him, and all she wants to do is slap the cocky grin off of his face. Or kiss it.

Woah, okay, that’s definitely the whiskey talking. This is not a romantic comedy. She’s not sleeping with the random man that she found in the woods.

Horror movie. It’s a horror movie. Not a romantic comedy.

Get it together, Emma.

“What?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and really wishing that she hadn’t taken off her bra because this guy can most definitely see her tits through this shirt. Then again, she saw his dick.

What a weird night.

“Well, I’m thinking about this little predicament we’re in,” Killian sighs, pulling his damp shirt over his head so that she gets a good flash of his abs and the trail of dark hair that dips into his pants before he’s throwing on a sweatshirt over his shoulders and all she can see is the messy shock of dark hair on his head. “First of all, you need to get out of those clothes. I have a flannel shirt and some boxers you can wear. I wish I had something different, but I’m afraid I’m going to need my pajama pants since I’ve soaked my jeans.”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. I’m leaving as soon as I figure out how to get back to my friends.”

“Stubborn lass,” he mumbles under his breath before digging through his bag and tossing the clothes at her. She catches them, and she’s about to protest once more when he turns around so that he can’t see her. “And you’re not going to get back to your friends tonight. You may as well wait the four hours until the sun rises, but it’s too dark and the rain is too bad for you to find your way back right now. I imagine you can’t be far, probably just across a little patch of woods, but you were obviously pretty drunk and could have wandered for a long time without realizing it. Have you finished changing so I can turn around now?”

“What? Are you a gentleman or something?” she huffs, pulling her wet shirt over her head before sliding the sleeves of the flannel onto her arms and buttoning it up.

Killian looks behind him, his eyes glancing up and down her body before he winks. “I’m always a gentleman, love.”

“Whatever.” Emma finishes changing clothes, balling up her pajamas and putting them in the corner with her boots as another bout of thunder crashes down around them. “Thanks for the clothes. And the shelter and not murdering me or whatever since I did kind of intrude into your tent.”

He turns around with a nod of his head, but instead of replying to her, Killian bends down and starts unzipping his sleeping bag, spreading it out and laying it on the ground. “Now, Swan,” he sighs, “I know you’ve already seen the family jewels, but I need to get out of these pants and need you to turn around. But you may sit down if you like.”

Emma does what he says, turning around before sitting down on the warmth of sleeping bag, and she very pointedly ignores the sound of his zipper being undone and the rustle of clothes being shed. If only she had those earplugs that Ruby gave her. Those would be pretty helpful right now.

Four hours.

Emma is going to be here for four hours until the sun rises, and she is leaving as soon as she can find her way back. And she is not going to sleep no matter how much it is calling to her. She doesn’t sleep over with men she goes home with at bars, and she’s not sleeping in the vicinity of a man who might be a murderer (even though she doesn’t really think that) who could have been out here waiting for someone to stumble into his tent.

Probably not the best plan.

Probably not his plan at all.

The sleeping bag shifts beneath her, and Emma feels the warm heat of a body next to her, and when she turns to the side, Killian has laid out on the blanket, his arms crossed behind his head, and his feet at the ankles. Is he about to go to sleep?

“So, Swan,” Killian starts, his voice as even as it has been this entire time, “you’re a bit of an open book to me, and I can tell that you very much think I’m going to murder you even though I should think that about you. I’ve not heard of many murderers who wait in tents for their victims to come to them. So, I figure we might as well get to know each other since I imagine there will be no going back to sleep involved here.”

Well, that was kind of a creepy reading of the mind.

Emma twists over on her side and mimics Killian’s position, kind of wishing she had a pillow right now too, but beggars can’t be choosers. Wandering in unknown woods while drunk is definitely topping the list of her worst drunk moments over that time that she asked every woman in the bar if they would be willing to braid her hair because her arms had turned into actual noodles…and then she asked everyone if they had noodles for her to eat.

She still kind of hates Ruby and Belle for allowing her to do that instead of taking her home.

“I’m not sure there’s much to know about me,” she finally tells Killian while light flashes outside.

“Nonsense,” he scoffs, hitting his elbow into her. “You seem plenty interesting. I mean, look at how much excitement you’ve already brought into my boring weekend with my mates. Liam could never be this exciting.”

“Who’s Liam?”

“My older brother. He’s in the tent next to us, is probably wondering why the bloody hell I’m talking to myself, and then down the way are Robin and Will. It was Liam’s birthday on Wednesday, and he decided we should go camping this weekend. So, my brother is just as crazy as your friends for wanting to do this. Though, I suspect maybe I’m a little more equip at camping than you are.”

“What the hell gives you that idea?”

“The fact that you are in my tent.”

“True,” she sighs, completely and totally ignoring just how good this guy’s shirt smells. And it’s also really warm. Warm enough that she doesn’t really want to give it up. “What do you do, Killian Jones? And are you British? You sound British.”

“That’s because I am.” Emma twists her head back to the side only to find Killian grinning at her with that cheeky smile and a raised brow that she imagines must be what he does when he’s charming someone. “I’m a writer, actually. I’ve got a couple books out now, nothing big or anything, but it pays the bills. As do the occasional articles I write. It’s…tough, you know, because sometimes my mind doesn’t cooperate and the industry sucks, but I love it. And I’m able to live in your country because of it too, which is a plus since my publishing company is American.”

Okay, so British dude whose tent she invaded is a writer. That’s honestly pretty cool, and she is most definitely going to look up his books when she gets internet back. Not that she’s going to tell him that. He seems to have a bit of an ego even if it is a charming one.

“Well, that’s fancy. Am I going to end up in one of your books?”

“Absolutely. I’m already plotting it in my mind.”

“Of course you are.”

“So, love, what do you do for a living? I need to know as research for my book.”

Emma laughs, twisting a bit on the ground to make herself more comfortable. “I’m a cop.”

“Badass, Swan.”

A little swell of pride swells within her. Damn right she’s badass. “I know. I’m usually not a bumbling drunk idiot crashing tents, believe it or not.”

“Oh, I can tell. You were too flustered for this to be your first time, and you know what they say, you never forget your first.”

“Is that supposed to be an innuendo?”

“Always,” he chuckles, waggling his brows across his forehead, and her stomach does this little weird twisting thing inside of her. “So, tell me about these friends of yours who are celebrating their upcoming nuptials in the woods.”

And that’s exactly how Emma starts weaving the tale of Mary Margaret Blanchard, David Nolan, and the weird, sickeningly sweet, wonderful love story that they have. She most likely gives a little too much detail, which she blames on the lingering effects of the whiskey-s’more hangover, and that tiny underlying fear of what exactly this situation right now involves. Obviously, there are no rules for her life in these odd hours between night and dawn, and when Killian doesn’t tell her to shut up, she takes that as a sign to keep going despite the fact that she has probably never talked this much to someone she has known for under two hours in her entire life.

Sometimes she doesn’t even talk this much to her closest friends.

That does something to her insides, twisting around her heart and either the large or small intestine, but Emma is easily able to ignore it as Killian asks her questions about her friends and shares little snippets of his own, reaffirming what she already knew about the fact that every single person on earth is at least a little bit crazy. If they’re put together in a group, however, the craziness factor multiplies tenfold.

Killian is thirty-two years old, though he says he sometimes feels much older than that, and honestly, she believes it with the way that he talks, all quick wit and flowery words that are laced with innuendo. It might be a British thing. She’s not sure. She’s only ever met one other British person in her life, and that was only for thirty seconds while he asked her how to get downtown.

But this particular Brit is charming and funny and has her laughing so much that her stomach hurts nearly as much as her head is really starting to with the hangover that’s really coming in. He reads, like, all the time, which makes sense for his profession, but he’s also one of those people who does in-depth research for his books by actually going out and doing the activity he’s describing. It sounds a little extra for her, but it’s apparently how he got into both kickboxing and sailing, as well as being able to mix a mean drink, and she can appreciate all of those things.

Kickboxing because she enjoys that, sailing because it seems kind of cool, and a good mixed drink because, well, that one is kind of obvious.

The conversation flows so easily, a natural progression that almost seems false in its genuine state, that Emma doesn’t notice that the rain has stopped pounding down on the tent or that thunder is no longer making her jump every few seconds. And she definitely doesn’t notice that sunlight is beginning to peek through.

But Killian does, and when he brings it up, disappoint washes over her.

Why in the world is she disappointed that she has to go back to her friends? And her clothes. And oh God, her toothbrush. Her breath is probably awful right now.

Her clothes are still soaked through, so Killian insists that she can keep on her measly borrowings from him, and so looking like the most ridiculous person in the world wearing an oversized flannel shirt, boxers, and a pair of hiking boots, Emma steps out of the tent only to come face to face with three other men all sitting around a firepit drinking coffee.

“Damn, Jones,” one of them whistles, “I knew you knew how to pick up women, but doing it out in the middle of the woods is damn impressive.”

“Shut up, Scarlet.”

Ah, she thinks, so that’s the Will she’s been told about.

And the one with blue eyes and curly hair is likely Liam so the one remaining is Robin.

“Lads,” Killian continues, walking toward the fire and grabbing a canister sitting on the griddle before pouring what looks like coffee into a mug, “this is Emma. Emma and her friends are camping somewhere nearby. I’m thinking across that patch of woods since she mentioned a lake. But Emma, here, was a tad bit intoxicated last night – ” At this he hands her the cup of coffee, and she is even more thankful for him “ – and got a bit turned around when she was relieving herself. And then the storm started, so she stayed with me for a bit. Though nothing untoward happened. On my honor.”

Her cheeks heat at that, but she ignores them and takes a sip of the coffee, also ignoring the fact that she probably just burned her tongue and also that there is absolutely no creamer or milk or sugar in this. But caffeine is caffeine, and that’s all that matters.

“Hello,” she croaks out, waving her hand in the air at the three of them. This is about ten thousand times more awkward than barging in on a naked stranger last night. Oh shit, she really did that. “It’s nice to meet all of you. Thanks for the coffee.”

“That’s a nice outfit you’ve got on there,” Liam laughs, shaking his head the slightest bit. “I trust my little brother is telling the truth when it comes to him being a gentleman last night.”

“Younger,” Killian quickly corrects, looking between she and Liam. “I am your younger brother, and yes, as I told you, I was a gentleman.”

“I mean, he was alright,” Emma teases as her eyes squint up at the rising sun. “He didn’t give me his pillow, I saw his dick, and he wouldn’t stop talking, but other than that, he was great.”

Liam, Robin, and Will all break out into laughter that has her shoulders straightening a little bit and her confidence rising as she arches her brow at Killian. He looks both affronted and impressed with his parted lips and raised eyebrows, and that’s exactly what she was going for there.

“I thought you said you were a gentleman, Killian,” Robin laughs. He puts his mug down on the ground and wipes away at his eyes. “How did she see your dick if you were being a gentleman? Were you pitching a tent…inside of your tent? Talk about inception.”

“Alright,” Killian sighs over the laughter of all of his friends – and her too – before he wraps his arm around her shoulder in a touch that very literally might send all of the lightning strikes from last night down her spine, “I think I should probably help Emma find her friends before they start missing her, and I fully expect the lot of you to have cooked breakfast by the time I get back, yeah?”

“You can have some peanuts and whatever you catch in the lake.”

“You’re awfully cheeky for it to be so early in the morning, Will,” Killian sighs, squeezing his hand against her shoulder.

“I got a great night’s sleep last night. Unlike you, obviously, because you look like shit.”

“That’s all on Emma.”

“Hey,” she scoffs in protest even if she knows that it’s true. “You could have gone to sleep.”

“And run the risk of you murdering me? Never.” He cocks a smile at her, one that’s slanted and boyish and probably charms all of the girls Will was teasing him about, before tilting his head back toward the woods. “You ready to go, Swan?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, taking one more giant gulp of coffee, “I guess I am.”

With her phone – still without any kind of signal because apparently they are in the most remote place on the planet even though Boston is less than three hours away – and her wet clothes in hand, the two of them start trekking around the perimeter of the woods so that Emma can figure out where in the world her friends are. She knows that she definitely came through the woods, and Killian’s got a pretty good idea of the area now that it’s sunlight outside, so they should be able to find it.

Hopefully.

How far can someone really wander while drunk?

That seems like it’d be a really funny question to google. The answers would be something else.

“So, your friends are interesting,” Emma says, trying to think of some kind of small talk. It’s not awkward walking in the woods, but she can still feel the lingering effects of Killian’s hand on her shoulder and figures talking might make it go away no matter how illogical that is. “Well, friends and brother.”

“They’re a bunch of assholes who I didn’t think would be awake,” Killian sighs, holding up a stray branch for her to walk under, “but I do love them.”

“That’s how all friends are, I think. At least, I think so. If not, we’ve surrounded ourselves with the wrong people. Then again, I kind of think I can be an asshole sometimes, so I probably deserve asshole friends.”

“You? An asshole? Never.”

“I feel like we have not known each other long enough to mess with each other like this.”

“Then what the hell is it you were doing back at my campsite with my friends?”

“Valid point,” Emma laughs before stopping in her tracks to try to see if any of this looks familiar. It all just looks like…wood. And leaves. “Do you know where we are?”

“Aye. We need to keep going straight. I think the rest of the campsites are out on the other side.”

“Whatever you say. I’m still not entire convinced that you’re just leading me into the woods to murder me.”

Killian barks out a laugh, his head thrown back, before he places his hand on the small of Emma’s back and gently guides her forward. “Swan, I promise you that you are going to make it out of this situation alive.” “Whatever you say, Jones.”

They idly chat as twigs and leaves crunch underneath their boots, and even though Emma knows that it’s been at least a fifteen-minute walk (damn, drunk Emma), it surprises her when the two of them walk through a clearing of the woods and the familiar sites of her actual campsite come into play.

Okay, so Killian’s tent doesn’t at all look like hers.

What the hell was she even thinking?

Obviously, she wasn’t.

“This you, love?”

“Yep,” she sighs, looking over at David and Ruby sitting by their firepit with mugs in their hands before turning around to look up at Killian. He’s smiling, that crooked one, and his messy hair has at least two leaves in it. Camping is really not for everyone, and they’ve still got another day of it. Hopefully tonight she won’t wander into a random man’s tent. “This is me. Thanks for not murdering me.”

There’s a subtle shake of his head, those lashes landing against his cheeks, and the smile stays there. “You are ridiculous.”

“You like it.”

“Yeah,” Killian mumbles while his hand reaches up to scratch at his scruff, “I do. You are surprisingly quite the charmer.”

“I don’t think it’s surprising at all.” Killian laughs at her shrug of her shoulders before swaying into her space, the toes of his boots knocking into the toes of hers, and her breath hitches at the touch. “So, thanks for helping me find my way back. I promise I won’t barge into your tent in the middle of the night. Though, you should really think about wearing clothes. Just in case and all.”

“Just in case,” he repeats, and Emma fills a chill run down the back of her spine at the dark tone of his voice. “Or, you know, you could. I don’t think I’d mind. You do have to give me my clothes back.”

Her eyes roll, but her heart flutters all the same. Emma is not the type of girl to meet a guy and immediately hit it off. There are too many things in her past, too many bad relationships that have burned up in flames, but she’s not committing to life here. She may not even be committing to anything at all. It was a weird night, and she might as well let it roll into a weird, wonderful morning.

“I think I’m going to have to keep them.”

“Huh, then maybe I’ll have to stumble into your tent in the middle of the night to get them back.”

“I’ll make sure I’m dressed again in my Santa Claus pajama pants.”

Killian laughs as his head dips so that his lips can tentatively press against hers. He’s as unsure of everything as she is, which makes a hell of a lot of sense considering how weird this situation is, but Emma responds to the kiss, slowly moving her lips against his as her hands move up Killian’s arms, gripping onto the soft material of his sweater as Killian’s hands thread into her hair, familiar and yet entirely unfamiliar shivers covering her body as soft lips move against and with hers.

What a few hours.

What a damn good kisser.

Emma pulls back, not entirely sure what kind of pacing is going on here or what she should do, and she laughs when she remembers that she hasn’t brushed her teeth and probably has awful breath. Then again, so does Killian.

Obviously the height of romance.

“Why are you laughing? I don’t usually have women laugh at me during a kiss.”

“Well, that’s because you’re not kissing women who probably have bad breath and smell like a forest.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Emma pulls back and slaps his chest, which really only makes Killian waggle his brows across his forehead, the confidence coming off of him in waves.

“You’re a jerk.”

“Only a little.”

“Or at lot.”

“Definitely a lot,” he laughs before kissing her cheek and squeezing her hip. “Do you want to go to dinner with me sometime? Preferably when we’ve both had the opportunity to shower and brush our teeth. A proper getting to know each other.”

“Can we go somewhere with air-conditioning?”

“Absolutely,” he smiles.

“Then yeah,” Emma sighs, pressing up on her toes to kiss Killian’s cheek, “we can go to dinner sometime. You can also come back to get your clothes sometime today.”

“You going to see if you can google me before that?”

“Damn right.”

Emma steps away then, walking backward to the camp and waving Killian away before turning around to walk between the tents where Ruby and David are sitting with their jaws practically on the floor.

“What the hell was that?” David starts.

“Who the hell was that?” Ruby continues.

Sighing, Emma sits down on the folding chair and looks at her friends. “Man do I have a story to tell you guys.”

-/-

Killian and his friends join their group for dinner later that night, but the dinner with brushed teeth and styled hair – plus that ever-important air-conditioning – comes a week later in Boston.

Killian is her date for Mary Margaret and David’s wedding two months later.

Two years later, they get engaged in a tent with Emma wearing her Santa Claus pajama pants and Killian wearing his boxers, but she insists that he takes them off, for authenticity and all.

And the story of how they met most definitely ends up in one of Killian’s books.

It’s a murder mystery.

#pitching a tent #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #csseptembersunshine #captain swan

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