When she opens the door, the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. "You're wearing that?"

Emma looks down at her battered Pearl Jam t-shirt and faded jeans. She shifts the weight of her backpack on her shoulder, her expression faintly defensive as she looks back at her. "What's wrong with this? We're just studying, aren't we?"

Mary Margaret shakes her head, because they'd talked about this just last night. "You're coming with me to meet David for coffee, remember?"

Her friend's green eyes widen. "That's today?"

"Honestly, your memory." Torn between laughter and exasperation, Mary Margaret grabs Emma by the hand and pulls her through the doorway. "Sometimes I don't know how you manage to get anywhere on time, let alone your classes."

"Yeah, yeah." Emma hefts her backpack onto the futon that doubles as Mary Margaret's couch and bed. "Well, I don't know why you need me to come with you." She drops onto the futon beside her bag and sinks back into the cushions. "Aren't you and Prince Charming as thick as thieves already?"

"I wish you'd stop calling him that." Mary Margaret does her best to sound disapproving, but she can't keep from smiling. She'd never admit it to Emma, but it really is the perfect nickname for David Nolan. "It makes him sound, I don't know, stuffy and old-fashioned."

"Are you blushing?" Emma peers at her, and Mary Margaret feels the heat rise in her cheeks. "God, you are." She makes a groaning sound, one arm flung up over her head. "I don't want to sit at a table sipping overpriced coffee for hours if all you guys are going to do is make sex eyes at each other."

For the second time since opening the door, the words seem to leap from Mary Margaret's lips before she's even had the chance to think. "Oh, we haven't-" She breaks off, the fact she was about confess that she and David hadn't slept together yet making her face grow even hotter. Next she'll be telling Emma that it's not because they don't want to (because oh God, they do, and they almost have, more than once), but because they wanted to wait until they were sure. And she knows that makes them sound like they're something out of a time capsule, but it just feels right.

(Everything about being with David Nolan feels right.)

Emma shakes her head, obviously trying very hard not to laugh. "Like I said, it sounds like you two are pretty tight. I seriously I don't know why you need me to come with you."

Mary Margaret drops down beside her friend, throwing away any pretence of being cool, calm and collected. "Because he's going to have some friends with him, and I really don't want to show up alone."

The other woman lifts one eyebrow. "Uh, thanks?"

Gosh, she's normally not this bad at expressing herself. "Oh, you know what I mean. You're my best friend and I want the two of you to get to know each other. Please?"

Emma presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, muttering something under her breath, then she sighs. "Fine. It's not as though I've got a hot date tonight or anything."

Mary Margaret hesitates. She knows how happy Emma had been when Neal had moved from Portland to Boston to be with her a few months ago, but since then they seem to have more than their fair share of ups and downs. Still, she knows true love when she sees it, and she's torn between asking the obvious question (what was Neal doing tonight that didn't involve his girlfriend?) and being relieved that she won't have to meet David's friends by herself. In the end, she aims for a mixture of both. "Neal could come too, if you want to call him?"

Emma's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "His dad's in town for a visit."

"Ah." The two women share a look of pure understanding. Neal's father isn't the type of person either of them were comfortable spending more than a few minutes with, let alone a whole evening. "In that case, you'd better come out with me for some caffeine and meet some new people."

"By people, you mean David and his buddies, right?" Emma's mouth might still be set in a stubborn line, but she's wavering, Mary Margaret can see it in her eyes.

Time for one last push, she decides.

"I'm sure they'll all be very nice." She gives her friend the most beseeching look she can manage. "Please?"

Another loud sigh, then Emma shrugs. "Fine." She looks down at her clean but ancient t-shirt, then gives Mary Margaret a beseeching look of her own. "Do you have a shirt I can borrow?"

Mary Margaret grins, thinking of the green blouse she'd bought last month but hadn't yet had the guts to wear. It's a little more revealing than she's used to wearing, and she has the feeling that it will be right up Emma's alley, so to speak. "I have just the thing."

"I can't make it this afternoon, mate. Got too much on my plate."

He knows Killian can't see him over the phone, but David rolls his eyes just the same. "Don't give me that crap."

At the other end of the line, his friend snorts. "Fine words for a future upstanding pillar of the community."

"Come on, I want you to meet Mary Margaret."

"I've already had that pleasure and she's delightful. You have my blessing, go forth and multiply, etc etc."

"The two of you said maybe five words to each other the night I met her." David doesn't give his friend the chance to protest. "And if I know you, you probably need a break from studying."

"Let me guess," Killian drawls. "My meddling sod of a brother has been in your ear again, telling you to make sure that I'm not burning the candle at both ends."

He'd deny it, but he's known Killian (and his older brother) since he was fourteen years old, and they've always been brutally honest with each other. "Yep.

"Half a world away, and he's still trying to manage my mental health."

There's a wistfulness beneath Killian's mocking tone, and David chooses his next words properly. "Maybe if you called him more often since you moved here, he wouldn't be so worried that you'd already buried yourself in torts and case files."

"Perhaps you could ask our friend Victor."

David feels his jaw clench. "Oh, I'm sure that wouldn't be awkward, hanging out with my new girlfriend and the last guy she dated."

There's a low chuckle on the other end of the line, and David gives himself a mental slap for taking the bait. "Just come and make polite conversation for a few hours then you can go back to your room and be your usual anti-social self."

There's a brief pause, and David holds his breath. Killian's been hitting the books pretty hard and it's only their first semester. He can't remember the last time they actually went out together in the company of females (cashiers at pizza joints don't count), and he's determined to get his friend out of his room and into the real world, if only for an afternoon.

Finally, he hears Killian sigh. "Bloody hell. Alright. I'll be at your place at three."

"Good."

Mission accomplished, David tosses his phone onto the end of his bed, and smiles. It's been three days since he's seen his girlfriend, but it's felt more like three decades. His mother once told him that when he met the right person, he'd know it. Judging by the way his breath snags in his chest and his whole body seems to hum whenever Mary Margaret smiles at him, it seems that his mother had been absolutely right.

"Are you sure about this?" Emma smooths her hand down the front of her borrowed shirt as they walk across the main campus courtyard to where they're supposed to be meeting David. "I mean, you haven't even worn this shirt yet. What if I spill something on it?"

Her friend flashes her a reassuring smile. "Then we'll get it cleaned." She looks Emma up and down, and her smile widens. "It looks great on you, by the way."

Despite her trepidation about ruining her friend's new shirt, Emma grins. "You think so?"

The other woman nods as they stroll through the afternoon sunshine, dodging their fellow loitering students. "Kind of a mermaid thing going on, especially with all that hair."

Emma snorts, touching a self-conscious hand to the hair tumbling over her shoulder. "Or a belated St Patrick's Day reveller?"

Mary Margaret laughs. "Just stay away from the Irish coffee."

Emma makes a face, remembering her last experience with that particular concoction all too well. "You don't have to worry about that, trust me."

"It's a pity Neal couldn't come. It would be nice if the four of us could do more stuff together. Maybe even go to dinner sometime."

"I know." Emma doesn't want to think too hard about Neal having to spend the evening with his dad. She's just grateful he didn't expect her to be there, too. "I'm sure he'd like that, once he feels more settled."

Mary Margaret gives her a quick, curious glance, and Emma steels herself for the question she knows is coming. "I know it's none of my business, but do you think it was a good idea, him moving to Boston to be with you before he'd lined up any steady work?"

Emma sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. She knows her friend means well, but her words feels like someone just pressed their thumb into a bruise on her skin. "He said something about his dad having a few contacts in the city that might be helpful."

"That's great news!" Her friend beams, and Emma immediately regrets her earlier irritation. She knows Mary Margaret just wants her to be happy, and she has the feeling that the other woman thinks that Neal following her from Portland to Boston because he missed her too much is pretty romantic.

Emma has to admit, most of the time she thinks it's pretty romantic, too.

"There he is." Mary Margaret's voice is breathless with anticipation, and Emma grins. If she's playing hard to get with this guy, she's doing a terrible job.

As usual, David Nolan looks like he's just stepped out of a menswear catalogue. Today he's wearing a pale grey button-down and jeans, with not a single hair out of place on his blonde head. Emma watches as her best friend and her new boyfriend smile at each other, their faces soft with an emotion that has her heart clenching, and realises that if Mary Margaret has it bad, then David's got it even worse.

The sound of a male throat being cleared draws her attention away from the lovebirds (damn it, they are making sex eyes at each other), her gaze sliding over David's shoulder to find a dark-haired guy smiling at her.

Oh.

Oh.

His eyes are the kind of blue that you usually only see on television, not in real life. He's the same height as David, but not as broad through the shoulders, his features finer, almost delicate. A three-day growth covers a sharp jaw and defined chin and, when his smile widens, his teeth flashing white and even, something hot swoops through her stomach.

Fuck.

He's dressed like dozens of guys they'd passed on the way here, black shirt unbuttoned over a blue t-shirt imprinted with the name of a band she's never heard of, his jeans as faded as hers. The difference is, she thinks with a faint sense of panic, she didn't find herself staring at any of those other guys as though her eyeballs had suddenly turned into magnets.

When she doesn't speak (she doesn't trust herself not to say something idiotic, she's never been good with pretty boys), he steps neatly around David and offers her his hand. His eyes never leave her face, despite the fact that the shirt she's borrowed from Mary Margaret shows quite a lot of cleavage, and she has to admit it, she's impressed. "Killian Jones, official hanger-on for the afternoon."

Well, that's just fucking great, she thinks in faint despair. He's got a pretty accent to go with his pretty face. Wishing she'd had time to wipe her palm on the seat of her jeans, she takes his hand and shakes it, just once, then lets it go before she does something stupid like tug him towards her to see if he smells as good as he looks. "Emma Swan, ditto."

"Hey, I'm sorry." David manages to tear himself away from Mary Margaret long enough to notice the awkward exchange happening beside him, and she starts to think that maybe her joking Prince Charming tag might not be too far off the mark. He smiles at her, extending his own hand. "It's great to meet you properly at last, Emma."

"You mean apart from that one time I waved at you across the library?"

"Apart from that one time, yes." He grins, his blue eyes sparkling, then he turns to Mary Margaret. "And you've probably already gathered from the accent and the overabundance of sarcasm that this is Killian."

Mary Margaret smiles at David's friend, taking over the conversation, and Emma is grateful for the breathing space. "David's host family in England when he was fourteen, right?"

Killian Jones bobs his head in a little bow that should look weird but somehow doesn't. "That's the one." He exchanges another small nod with David, then gestures in the direction of the coffee shop on the next block. "Shall we retire to somewhere more comfortable?"

God, who talks like that? Emma keeps her eyes on the ground as Killian falls into step beside her, the pair of them walking behind David and Mary Margaret like two children being taken out for ice cream. As if he's caught her unspoken thought, he gives her a bright blue wink. "Do you think Mum and Dad will buy us something nice if we behave ourselves?"

She laughs, the sound rippling up from her chest like bubbles in soda. "Something tells me that you're not usually one for being well-behaved," she tells him, and he grins.

"Well, Swan, I suppose you'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"

Emma very much wants to believe that the heat skimming across her skin is because of the afternoon sun, but she knows it's not. She listens to the other three as they make easy small-talk, something at which she's never really excelled, and finds herself wondering what Neal would think of Killian.

Not very much, she decides, uncertain if she's pleased or unhappy about that.

"You still with us, love?" Startled, she looks up to see that they've reached The Real Bean and Killian is looking at her curiously, his dark brows drawn together as if he's trying to solve a complex math problem.

"Uh, sure, just thinking about the studying I should be doing this afternoon instead of being here."

"You and me both." He smiles as he tilts his head towards David, who is currently ushering Mary Margaret into the coffee shop, his arm around her shoulders. "But his Majesty over there requested my presence, so here I am."

The urge to run, to escape, hits her like a silent shockwave. She should go now, because she starts to think about how much she has in common with this guy. More importantly, before she starts to think about the nervous fluttering of attraction that clenches low in her belly every time his eyes meet hers.

"I just hope the coffee's good here," she offers coolly, trying not to be impressed by his sweeping 'after you' gesture at the entrance.

"It's not bad if you ask for an extra shot and steer clear of all that flavoured syrup nonsense."

She looks at him over her shoulder as she steps into the cool interior of the café, hiding a smile at his matter-of-fact delivery. "Do you work in a coffee shop?"

"No." He shrugs, his wide mouth twitching in a smile of his own. "But I like to think I know a little about coffee." He scratches the back of his neck as he speaks, his gaze oddly shy as it flicks up to meet hers. "The secret is taking the time to make it properly."

Emma wants to say something about studying and caffeine, but right now panic is tugging at her chest, propelling her feet forward, moving her towards Mary Margaret and David as they search for a free table. Her palms are sweaty, and she knows now that it has nothing to do with the bright sunshine they've just left outside.

Just chill, okay? Have coffee, make your excuses, then go home and do your study and wait for Neal to be finished with his dad. It's not as though you're going to have to spend the rest of your life dodging this guy.

Finally, once they've caught up with the other two, she's gathered her stupidly scattered wits enough to offer him a reply. "As long as it keeps me awake long enough to pass my exams, I'm usually pretty happy with instant coffee."

He smiles. "You'll change your mind one day."

She privately agrees with him, but something about his smile (condescending, that's the word she's looking for) makes her dig in her heels. "We'll see."

He gives her a shy, almost searching glance that's just long enough for her pulse to start racing and for her to realise that her scattered wits are nowhere near done being scattered. "Perhaps we will."

"So tell me." Killian shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he checks his watch for the fifth time. "Exactly when did my brother enlist you to ensure I had the recommended number of study breaks per day?"

David flashes him a distracted smile, and Killian knows he's too busy watching out for the arrival of his new lady love. "Pretty much from the moment you got your acceptance letter."

Killian bites back the resentful words that rise to his tongue. Five years older, Liam has been both his best friend and his nemesis since the moment he was born, both a merciless tyrant and staunch ally, the latter especially during the last days of their parents' marriage, when their father's drinking had officially gotten out of control.

Killian had been nine years old when their father had finally left, Liam just turned fourteen. As broken and splintered as everything felt afterwards, it was a thousand times better than when his father was there. Their mother still cried (late at night, after they were in bed, when she thought they couldn't hear her) but it wasn't from the fights or the bruises anymore.

He's pretty sure his father is the reason he's chosen to specialise in matrimonial law. Perhaps one day, Killian muses as he squints into the late afternoon sun, he might bump into the bastard and tell him so. After he punches him in the face, of course.

"There she is."

Killian heaves an internal sigh, because David sounds as though he's just caught a glimpse of a celestial being fallen to earth. Preparing himself for the role of awkward onlooker, he follows the line of David's gaze. He recognises the girl with the dark hair as Mary Margaret (she's just as pretty as he remembered from the night of their first meeting), but he's never before seen the blonde girl walking beside her.

He would have definitely have remembered meeting her.

"Who's that with her?"

David manages to tear his eyes away from his approaching girlfriend long enough to give him a shrewd look. "Her friend Emma, I think."

The woman reach them before he's required to come up with a non-committal remark about the blonde, and for a few seconds, everything is a blur of breathless hellos and the intriguing sight of his friend blushing like a schoolboy as Mary Margaret kisses his cheek.

The blonde is watching this particular spectacle with the same expression he's quite sure is plastered all over his face. Which, of course, gives him the perfect opportunity to inhale the lovely vision she makes.

The afternoon sun is glinting off her hair, turning it to burnished gold. Her eyes remind him of a cat's, brilliant green with an odd remoteness behind them, as though she prefers to study the world from afar rather than being part of it. Her face is heart-shaped, with a dimple in her chin that only enhances the feminine tilt of her lips, which are currently curved in a wry smile as she watches her friend.

And then, he thinks, there is the rest of her.

Bloody hell.

He manages to tear his eyes away from the way the low neckline of her green shirt clings to her breasts only seconds before she looks at him. He introduces himself, holding out his hand on a whim.

She takes it, giving it a firm shake, her smile easy and relaxed, and he discovers that there's a second dimple, flirting with the smooth skin of her left cheek, just at the corner of her mouth.

Her name is Emma Swan.

Swan.

It suits her.

He can't remember the last time he felt so off-kilter in the presence of a girl. Somehow, he manages to make conversation with her as they head into the coffee shop (and make her laugh more than once, something that makes him feel a little taller with each step), and it's not too long before the four of them are ensconced at a corner table.

Emma Swan ends up sitting across from him, making him send up a silent prayer of thanks to the gods of fate. He catches her watching him more than once, and his bloody pulse picks up speed every single time. The conversation turns to what they plan to order, and he seizes the moment. "If you're planning on ordering an instant coffee, love, I'm going to have to sit at a different table."

Emma purses her lips, as if considering her options. "Maybe I'll go with your suggestion. What was it again? An extra shot and no syrup?"

He's probably grinning like an idiot, but he's not sure he cares. "I knew you'd come around."

Her answering roll of the eyes is quite something to see. "It's not too late to change my mind and make you sit at a different table, Jones."

"Uh, if you two are quite finished, I'll head to the counter and order for all of us." Killian tears his gaze away from admiring the stubborn set of Emma's chin to look at David, who is watching them with ill-concealed amusement.

His friend is too bloody astute for his own good, Killian thinks.

After David is sent to join the end of the long queue to order, clutching handfuls of hastily produced cash and an earful of different orders, Mary Margaret smiles across the table at him.

"It's good to see you again, Killian."

"Likewise." He can feel Emma watching them, but he keeps his attention on David's new girlfriend, because he's not completely bereft of social skills, despite his friend's constant assertion to that fact. "The music isn't quite as loud this time, so we might actually be able to exchange more than two words."

"You're studying law, right?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so." He wracks his memory, trying to sift through David's frequent monologues regarding this woman. Teacher, that's it. "And you're going to be educating the minds of our nation's youth?"

The dark-haired girl's smile widens, her eyes lighting up. "Yes. I never wanted to be anything else, which make the decision easy."

He turns to Emma, his heart lurching as their eyes meet. "What about you, Swan?"

"Criminology."

He stares at her. Just when he thought he couldn't find her more attractive, he does. "Wow."

Smooth, he berates himself in despair. You should write that one down, mate.

She smirks, that elusive dimple flirting with the corner of her mouth. "I'm sure it won't be all chasing bad guys and making the streets a safer place, but we'll see."

He looks at her, all delicate features and slender shoulders. She's a slip of a thing, but funnily enough, he has no doubt she'll be more than up for the task. "If you need anyone to practice your interrogation techniques on, Swan, I'm usually free on Tuesday and Thursday nights."

The suggestive words are out of his mouth before he has time to think better of them. Bloody hell, there are days when he truly shouldn't be allowed out in public, he decides.

Emma's eyes widen, and if he could sink beneath the table, he could. His mother would be scandalised, because this is not how he was raised to speak to a woman, but there is something about this girl that loosens his tongue in the most reckless way.

(His brother would be proud.)

Mary Margaret laughs as Emma blushes, colour creeping up her throat before staining her cheeks. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." She glances at her friend, then pushes back her chair. "Uh, back soon."

She vanishes in the direction of the restrooms without a backward glance, and Killian sees she has her phone clutched in her hand. Perhaps she's gone to call the boyfriend, he muses flatly, and a pang of resentment churns through his gut.

He spends a moment or two answering Mary Margaret's questions about David's time with his family (yes, we thought he was a stuffy git when he first arrived, and no, we didn't make him run around their house in his boxer shorts in the middle of the night, Dave has obviously been exaggerating in order to impress you, love) then makes a decision. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, of course, but he's not in the habit of putting lovely young women on the spot by asking them out two seconds after meeting them. "I really hate to be predictable, and I'm sure she gets this a lot, but is Emma seeing anyone?"

Mary Margaret's eyes widen with something that looks almost like indecision, and he wonders if perhaps he's miscalculated. He prides himself on being a quick study, and he'd read her as being someone who would be honest to the point of being painfully blunt. Now, though, it appears she's dithering over what is, after all, a fairly simple question.

"She is, actually." Mary Margaret glances over her shoulder in the direction of the restrooms, and Killian has the sudden feeling that he's being told a secret Emma would rather he not know. "She and Neal dated before she moved here from Portland, but now he's moved here too." She gives him a bright smile, completely unaware that every word she's saying is like a skewer into his heart. "It's pretty serious, from what I can tell."

He's long practised in the art of putting on a brave face, but it seems much more of a struggle today. Disappointment surges through him, settling in his bones almost like an ache. "Always in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's me."

Mary Margaret gives him a sympathetic smile, and for an awkward moment he thinks she's going to pat him on the arm. Thankfully, she seems to think better of it. "I hope that doesn't mean we'll never see you again." Her dark green eyes search his face. "It would be nice for Emma to have another friend who can bring her out of her shell."

To his horror, he feels himself flush. "I'm not sure she likes me that much, actually."

Mary Margaret offers him a small, faintly knowing smile. "Trust me, I know her. If she didn't like you, she would literally pretend that you weren't sitting at this table."

Killian breathes out, the tightness in his chest easing. It's not as though being friends with such a lovely, lively creature like Emma Swan would be a bad thing. "Only if you promise not to mention that I asked if she was single," he requests quickly, noting that David is now at the head of the queue and speaking earnestly to the cashier. "I'd hate to make things awkward for her."

The dark-haired girl nods, looking mildly impressed. "Your secret is safe with me."

David and Emma arrive back at the table almost simultaneously, and the resulting chatter makes it easier for him to ignore the fluttering of his pulse when Emma drops into the seat across from him. She puts her phone on the table in front of her, then smiles at himself and Mary Margaret in turn. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing important," he tells her, trying not to wonder if the sparkle in her eyes is a result of a phone call from her boyfriend. "Just telling your friend here what a right royal pain in the arse David was when he was fourteen."

David shoots him an offended glance. "You know, I'm sitting right here."

Laughter floats over the table, and Killian can't help watching the way Emma's whole face lights up. Catching his eye, she blinks, her lashes dark against her pale cheeks, before lifting her chin, her lips now curved in a smile that seems to hold an unspoken challenge. "What?"

"Nothing, love." He takes a deep breath, knowing he's his own worst enemy, because it would be safe to make his excuses and leave now, before he tumbles any further. "Would you like to hear the story of the time my brother and I took David sailing for the first time?"

"No." That's from David, of course, but he's laughing as he slips his arm around Mary Margaret's shoulders. "I'm sure they wouldn't."

"Perhaps you're right," Killian agrees, giving Emma a wink as he catches her eye. He sees her swallow hard, and his gut clenches hotly. God, she's glorious. "It is a little gruesome for the dinner table."

Laughing, Mary Margaret waves both his and David's protests away. "Well, I want to hear every gruesome detail, thank you."

"As you wish, milady."

With that, he starts to talk, allowing David to interject as his friend sees fit, all the while aware that Emma is watching him keenly, her bright cat's eyes never leaving his face. Leaning back in his chair, he settles into the tale, letting the warmth of their laughter wash over him. His bones might still ache with the restless longing that only comes with knowing someone doesn't feel as you do, but there are some things worth waiting for, and he's nothing if not a patient man.