Chapter Text
He was rushing down the street, late to meet his parents, when it happened.
Killian had been more focused on making it to the pub in time to avoid a lecture from his father than on where he was going, so naturally, he’d gone and walked straight into her. It was only his quick thinking and strong arms that had kept her from hitting the floor.
Thank God for that personal trainer.
But it wasn’t until he’d looked down at her that the complete and utter mortification had set in.
“Oh my God. I am so sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he asked, panic flashing all over his face.
“I’m fine. It’s no problem,” she told him, gently pulling herself out of his arms.
“I can’t believe I did that. And to you! Of all the people in the world I could have mowed down, it had to be you!” His face was burning bright red - concern etched into every line as his eyes scanned her form for any sign of injury.
Of course, that was the moment she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Holy shit!” she declared, her eyes widening with surprise. “You’re Killian Jones.”
“And you’re… you!” was all he could say, waving his hand up and down her body as if that explained everything.
She laughed lightly as she took a moment to appreciate his native tongue while he was speaking to her. She was so used to seeing him in character on his show that the Irish accent was a pleasant surprise.
But before Killian could say anything else, a large bulky guy approached them, looking more than a little scary.
“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to step away,” he said, walking towards Killian as if intent on physically moving him if he refused to comply with the order.
“It’s okay, Anton. He’s fine,” she assured the other man, quickly diffusing the tension that had suddenly grown between them.
Anton didn’t look too happy about the situation, but he did back away – a little. The guy was still within touching distance, and Killian supposed that was only to be expected, given who she was.
“I can’t believe I ran into you on the street. I love your show,” she told him.
Killian reached up to scratch awkwardly behind his right ear, unsure how to process what was happening at that moment. “Thank you,” he mumbled as a blush rose to steadily colour his cheeks. He hadn’t felt this uncomfortable in his own skin since he’d hit puberty. He was thirty-four, for crying out loud, not sixteen.
“We really need to get going if you want to make your appointment on time,” Anton said, directing his words at her as he stepped forward once again.
His presence this time was just as daunting as it had been when he’d first appeared, and Killian found himself nodding along to the scary man’s words, eager to keep him happy.
“Okay, Anton.” The young woman turned her attention back to Killian one final time and said, “It was lovely to meet you, Killian Jones.”
Killian’s brain was just trying to convince his arm to move so that he could shake her hand when his mouth spoke up without his permission. Suddenly, the words, “Can I get a picture with you before you go?” were echoing between them, and he wanted to slap himself for being so stupid.
What kind of idiot stopped to ask that of a woman of her status?
“Sure,” she agreed, handing her jacket and bag off to a silently-fuming Anton before she made her way back towards him.
Killian quickly fumbled in his pocket for his iPhone. He ignored the messages and missed calls from his mother and father in favour of his camera app.
“Anton can take it,” she told him, gesturing towards the man dressed head-to-toe in black who was standing off to one side, glaring in their direction.
Anton smiled his agreement to the request, albeit tightly, before accepting the phone from him.
Killian wrapped his arm loosely around her back, a little worried about manhandling her in any way that could be damaging, but she seemed perfectly happy to be tucked into his side for the picture. Her left arm came up to wrap around his waist, and her head dropped down to rest lightly against his chest as she smiled at the man holding the camera.
Anton took a couple of pictures of them together before he stepped forward to hand the phone back to Killian. He paused with it still held tightly in his hand and shot the other man a dirty look at the dreamy expression that had crossed his face the moment she had stepped into his arms.
“We really must be going now,” Anton insisted, forcing the device into Killian’s hands.
“Of course. Thank you so much,” he told her, holding his phone up to indicate the pictures on it.
“Thank you, Killian. Be sure to tag me in anything you post online,” she instructed before shooting him a cheeky wink as she hurried up the street with Anton at her side.
Killian took a few moments to compose himself, during which he finally noticed the small crowd that had gathered around them to watch their interactions. A few teenage girls bravely approached him, giggling between themselves as they asked for pictures. Killian was more than happy to oblige. After all, he was already late to meet his parents. What would a few more minutes matter?
When he finally made it to the pub for lunch, he was greeted by the sight of his mother and father wearing matching scowls.
“What the hell kind of time do you call this?” Brennan asked, as Killian slid onto the free seat opposite his dad.
“Sorry for the delay,” he offered, although the smile on his face told his parents that he wasn’t all that sorry. “I got a little held up in town.”
“Let me guess, a pretty girl in a short skirt?”
“You’re half right,” Killian conceded, pulling out his phone, “But her Royal Highness, Princess Emma of Cambridge, doesn’t tend to wear many short skirts.”
As disbelieving looks coloured both of their faces, he slid his phone across the table with the picture of himself and the princess open for them to view.