#amhog

His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back to him. The bedcovers shifted, baring her legs as she attempted to wriggle out of his hold and get out of bed.

“I haven’t been home in three days,” she told him, reminding him of how one evening together had shifted into a night together which had then merged into another one and another.

Not that she had any qualms with it.

None whatsoever.

Especially with the way his lips were pressing feather-light kisses against her spine.

“Stay.”

Emma couldn’t bring herself to say no. Not to him, not to the way his hair was so playfully mussed, not when the crinkles near his eyes appeared again, not when they were in such a good place.

“Okay.”

-/-

They hadn’t been in this place for long. It had taken a lot of talking and arguing and reasoning to get there. A lot of hurting and painful introspective. But it had been for the best and so she’d endured it. He had too. Because they thought it was worth it.

And honestly, it was worth every tear that had been shed, every long silence that had taken place.

What she got in return was more than anything she could’ve hoped for.

-/-

“Doesn’t it bother you that he’s still free?”

Killian looked up from his book, his brow instantly furrowing. He didn’t need more to know who she was talking about; they hadn’t mentioned his name in weeks, hadn’t encountered him in the time of peace they’d received.

But it had been nagging Emma. He was still out there and as much as they could try and ignore his existence, he still roamed around London being his psychopath self.

Something she struggled with. Call it a savior complex but it felt unfair to have been such a big part of his malfeasance and not prevent others from his wrath and psychotic behavior.

Killian put his book aside and wrapped his arms around Emma’s ankles, pulling her closer to him on the couch.

“This again?”

She sat up and leveled her eyes with him.

“I know you don’t like to talk about it but it has to bother you as much as it bothers me. What happened to try and prove his guilt?”

“I found things that are more important.” His hand brushed over her cheek, the warmth of his hand conveying tenderness along Emma’s skin.

She leaned into his touch, the sudden emotion creeping up her throat. It wasn’t unusual for him to express affection, show how much he cared for her but it still affected her. She wasn’t used to being that adored. And then there was something else.

She hadn’t said I love you yet.

She wanted to say I love you almost every moment she spent with him. But it got stuck on the tip of her tongue every single time.

“I get that but what if he sends his minion to hurt you again? Or other people. What if he goes for Anna or Elsa? I just don’t like that he’s out there, Killian.”

He sighed while averting his eyes from her, placing his chin on her knees. He had to know she was right. She was also pretty certain he felt the same way. His good form was ingrained into him, a crucial part of who he was. He’d want to do the right thing.

Emma placed her hand on his cheek and gently turned his face to her again. In a sad way, her lips curled.

They had to do the right thing.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, the sadness reaching him too.

“Maybe try taking another route? A more legal one this time?” She cocked her head in suggestion.

“We would have to find someone to help us legally, but Gold has people everywhere. They cannot be one of Gold's puppets.”

“I might know someone.”

Might was a wrong word. She knew the perfect someone.

-/-

“Did you ever tell me he went to law school?”

An ambulance raced passed them as they walked on the street, synchronized steps sounding against the concrete. It wasn’t far, only two blocks, but Killian had still grabbed her hand to walk the way.

Emma swung their linked hands.

“I might’ve? I don’t remember.” She shrugged. She’d never thought Samir being a lawyer would be something she’d need but here they were: on their way to his shop.

“And he works in a shop?”

Emma checked the street for incoming cars before quickly crossing and pulling Killian along.

“It’s his dad’s,” she explained. “There’s a whole story behind it, I’m sure.”

“Well, I believe you.”

“Why thank you, Jones, for that assurance.”

He winked in response, eliciting a smile on Emma’s face.

The shop appeared from behind the corner and she smiled. It had been a while since she’d seen Samir, fewer midnight snacks and drinks that needed to be bought recently. Maybe his theory about being a not so happy single was correct.

This was also the first time Samir and Killian would meet and she was looking forward to it. Her favorite people in this city had to meet at some point, and even if this visit wasn’t just for pleasure, it still meant something.

The door opened, the bell rang and they were inside.

The store was empty but not for long as Samir emerged from the back, a pack of what looked like cereal in his hands and blocked his view.

“I’ll be right with you!”

“Take your time, Samir,” she reassured.

As he walked to the cereal rack, back facing them, Samir spoke again: “Is that my favorite customer I hear?”

She laughed.

“It might be.”

“I hope it’s her. My sales have been suffering since she decided to disappear more and more,” Samir replied, still not turned to them.

Emma and Killian looked at each other, both raising their eyebrows with a smile.

Finally, Samir finished putting the boxes away and approached them, a smile directed towards Emma and a curious glance towards Killian and their entwined hands.

“Hi,” she finally greeted her friend properly.

“Hello,” he replied.

Killian patiently waited in silence until Emma introduced the two of them to each other.

“Samir, this is Killian,” she began. “Killian, this is Samir.”

“Nice to meet you, mate.” Killian released her hand and reached for Samir’s outstretched one, the men sharing a quick but genuine shake. “Emma has told me a lot about you.”

“You too, mate.” He nodded. “What brings you to my humble shop?”

Emma took a step forwards.

“Remember when we first talked and I told you that if I ever needed a lawyer, I’d call you?” She gave him a second to recall the memory before she continued. “The moment has come.”

Samir did not seem surprised or taken aback at all. Instead, a fire lit up his dark brown eyes as something Emma couldn’t describe as anything other than determination appeared.

“You’re taking him down?” he asked, looking at the both of them for an answer.

She sought Killian’s eyes, wanted to be sure that they were both one hundred percent sure of the path they were going to go down. When she found them, Emma knew that this was what they were doing, even if it was the last thing they did.

“We are,” she replied, the same determination that could be found in Samir’s eyes now in her voice. “If you’re up for it.”

“Rocky Road.” Samir smiled. “I’d thought you’d never ask.”

-/-

They spent hours, days, weeks searching. Searching for the smallest lead or detail that was off.  Soon they realized it was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

And it was fucking frustrating.

How could Gold never once have made a misstep? How was that even possible? All humans make a mistake at some point, so why didn’t he?

Samir couldn’t do a lot if they had nothing to go off. He couldn’t think of a charge without proof, couldn’t magically make an accusation appear out of thin air.

Killian tried using the things he’d gathered before but the tidbits of information were mostly outdated and incorrect.

Emma… well she got more frustrated by the minute and wasn’t as useful to the investigation as her companions.

It was so unfair. On paper, this man was a saint.  Donations to nonprofits, he tipped fairly, he even recycled. You name it and The Honorable Mr. Gold had most likely done it.

Which, again, was fucking frustrating.

Emma grunted, throwing one of their folders on Killian’s coffee table. She let her head drop into her hands, momentarily sick of reading and reading, processing information without discovering anything valuable, anything useful for the case they were trying to build.

A case that was currently non-existent because of said shortage of information.

She sighed against her palms and closed her eyes. An empty nothing was better than going back to the file, with information being catapulted at her.

A headache was forming between her temples and so she stayed like that, hands half-buried in her hair and forehead leaning against her palms.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her shoulder.

“Oh god!” She jumped and placed her hand over her heart as she saw who the culprit was. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Killian stood next to her with an apologetic grimace on his lips and a plastic bag in his hand.

“Apologies, love. I did announce I was home,” he defended himself, not to take the blame off of himself but to tell her it wasn’t on purpose.

“It’s fine. It’s my fault, I wasn’t paying attention.” She got up and quickly kissed his mouth in way of greeting.

A delicious smell wafted upwards and reached her nose, making her stomach growl. She’d forgotten to eat. Again.

“You bought Chinese?”

He’d told her that he wasn’t the biggest fan of Chinese food and that he ate it maybe once every three years (and that was a broad estimate) So every time he came home with takeout, she knew he did it for her. Because she loved it almost as much as he didn’t like it. Because he’d thought of her while walking past the Chinese restaurant and wanted to make her happy.

She should really tell him she loved him.

“I was in the mood for some spring rolls,” Killian shrugged.

Emma wasn’t falling for his act and stepped back into his personal space, lips searching his again, this time for more than just a peck.

They broke apart, their chests heaving ever so slightly as they both came up for air.

“I should best put this on the table,” he said, his hand lifting the bag of Chinese food again.

Tell him.

Tell him.

Emma, tell him.

“Killian?” she blurted out, her mouth acting before her mind could reconsider.

“Aye?” He turned to her with expectant eyes which definitely didn’t help with the stress that was tormenting her body right now.

Emma took a deep breath, thanks to their earlier tiny make out session, she could attribute her breathlessness to that and not to the source of her fast-beating heart and sweaty palms.

“I love you,” she said and she felt lighter instantaneously. “I thought you should know that.”

Killian left the Chinese food for what it was and strode towards her, only three big strides before he reached her, touched her, kissed her.

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I love you,” he echoed the words, whispered them against her slightly swollen lips. “I thought you should know that too.”

Laughter bubbled out of Emma with the complete happiness and tranquility she finally felt, and of that earlier frustration, there was nothing left.

-/-

“Honestly, I think it’s bollocks. He must’ve paid someone to clear his records. No one is this clean,” Samir mumbled through his full mouth of spaghetti.

Emma sipped from her glass of water and set it back down on the table before taking another bite of her own food.

Quite early on, they discovered that once the three of them—Emma, Killian, and Samir—got together to discuss their plans, it usually turned into just friends hanging out for a while as they all got along extremely well. Emma had honestly been afraid that her friend and her boyfriend wouldn’t get along at first but now, they sometimes got along too well. They had a serious bromance going on and she wouldn’t say she was jealous but she wouldn’t mind if they got along slightly less either. So they went from random meetings in the middle of the day to actual planned dinner evenings for a perfect mix of business and casual.

So that was why Samir was now stuffing his face with Killian’s divine spaghetti and commenting on how he thought the situation was bullshit.

Which Emma agreed with one hundred percent.

“I know, mate, but we have nothing else to go on,” Killian reacted.

“Have we covered all bases?” Samir asked again, but they had. “Youth? Career? Family? Anything we could’ve missed?”

Killian shook his dark locks in a negative answer.

“Milah told me he had no family to speak of so that’s a dead end.”

Emma froze, her eyes popping open as she dropped her fork on the table.

Gold’s brother.

“What did you say, Swan?” Killian frowned as Emma had apparently not only thought it but had actually spoken it out loud.

She cleared her throat before repeating what she had just come to realize. “Gold has a brother.”

“A brother?” Both Killian and Samir said in unison—there was that bromance she was speaking of.

She turned to Killian and grabbed a hold of his prosthetic.

“The guy that attacked the both of us, his name is Malcolm Gold.”

“How do you know that?” he asked.

She knew it because Malcolm’s ego got hurt and he wanted to boast about his powerful name to scare her even more.

"He told me. He might be lying but there is a similarity between the two that makes me think he was telling the truth and that they are brothers."

She got up, not waiting for any type of reaction from the both of them, not having the patience to wait for them to collect their thoughts on the information she’d just handed them.

Emma had already wasted enough time by not thinking of a lead she had had all along, from way before they had decided to try and take Gold down together. She didn’t have the time to be angry with herself right now, that would come later, now she needed to grab her computer as quickly possible.

Faster than ever before, she typed in her password and pulled up some of the online tools she’d often use while researching one of her cases. ‘Malcolm Gold’ she typed in and fervently asked Zeus, the universe, to give her this one thing, to give her something to work with.

“And?” Killian asked, still seated at the table, seemingly understanding what she was attempting to do.

She looked up from the bright computer screen and smirked at her team.

“It seems our dear Malcolm isn’t as good in hiding his tracks as his baby brother is.”

-/-

Malcolm Gold was, as Emma discovered, a man of many facets. One of them being an arsonist, another one of them being a notorious drug dealer who was the supplier of a variation of cocaine called Fairy Dust.

Not the most positive of reputations. And yet, somehow, he had spent a grand total of thirty-one hours in jail.

And there it was.

A lead.

After Emma’s discovery, it was all hands on deck; it was countless all-nighters with coffee as their only fuel. It was reading and more reading until their eyeballs went dry.

It took so much but they’d done it.

She was about ready to cry when Samir told her the news.

They had an airtight case. Gold was guilty of blackmail, extortion and the fabrication and distribution of narcotics.

And the son of a bitch was going to jail for it.

-/-

They stood in the parking lot of the courthouse, Emma and Killian leaning against Killian’s Toyota and talking in low voices in case someone overheard them. This was a big moment, something they’d worked towards for months, but Emma couldn’t stop shaking.

Months of work were depending on this. Innocent lives were depending on this. Her sanity in general was depending on this. So, it was safe to say that the stakes were pretty damn high.

From across the parking lot, she saw Samir appear, dressed in a dark suit that made him look way older than his young twenty-four years. She had total faith in him, however. He was relentless and thorough. And he was her friend.

“Hello,” he greeted them and they smiled in response.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come inside too?” Samir asked.

She looked at Killian and saw the exact same answer in his eyes. They didn’t want to face him again, not after all he had done and attempted to do. The man was a maniac and the less time they had to spend in his company, the better.

“No, Samir,” Killian said in her stead. Her hands weren’t the only thing that was shaking. “This is all you. We believe in you and we want to thank you for all that you’ve done for us. You’re a true friend.” He clasped his shoulder before going for a hug.

“What about you, Rocky Road?” Samir said as he turned to her. “Will you be alright?”

“Of course,” she finally spoke, managing the tiniest smile. “I trust you completely.” Emma looked him in the eye, reassured when she saw the embers burn in his eyes. “Go destroy him.”

Samir smiled at her and nodded sternly before giving her a hug as well. “For what he did to you,” he whispered as his arms were around her, “–gladly.”

Gold was not prepared for the fury he was about to meet.

“If it’s alright with you, mate, I’m taking Emma home,” Killian said and Emma looked at him in confusion. That wasn’t what they had planned.

Before she could question it, he silently grabbed her hand and squeezed and while she didn’t exactly fully understand what he was saying, she understood enough to not disagree. He really wanted to take her home, so she’d let him. There wasn’t a lot she could do on a courthouse parking lot, either way.

“Fine by me,” Samir replied, “I’ll call you with the verdict.”

Emma was curious about what Killian’s plans were once they got home but he simply took off his jacket as they entered the apartment, toed off his shoes, motioned her to take off her own and led her to the couch once she had. He settled into it and opened his arms to welcome her, an invitation she’d glady–always– accept.

For the time they lay on the couch, there was only Killian and nothing else. No sorrow or fear, only love and warmth. Her hands finally stopped trembling.

In the peace of the purest tranquility, she fell asleep surrounded by him. His heartbeat under her head, his scent in her nose, his legs tangled with hers.

It must’ve been hours later when she woke up, her body still glued to his but the light entering through the window completely different from when they had first gotten comfortable in the sofa. Cranking her eyes open, she looked up and found Killian looking at her with soft eyes, hand smoothing over some unruly blonde hair. He bowed his head and tenderly pressed his lips to her hair.

“We won.”

She sought his eyes and saw the honesty and contentment that lovely shade of blue emitted. Emma didn’t reply to his statement, not in words anyway. She just tightened her arms around him even more and kissed his collarbone before closing her eyes and feeling yet another kiss on her skin, this time on her forehead.

And at last, the mist of grey had lifted and left just the tiniest sparkle of brightness.

-------------------------------------

Her eyes fell on Killian’s sleeping form one last time, attempting to print the image of him into her mind, looking at every detail, every aspect of him in the darkened room. She was doing this for the greater good. Maybe she was ruining everything that they had, but how else would it stop? How else could she live with herself knowing all that she’d done wrong. It didn’t matter if she was putting herself in a dangerous situation, all that mattered was keeping him from harm. She was finally fighting instead of running away, finally facing the issue instead of sweeping it under the rug and ignoring its presence there.

She felt a demanding presence of tears in her eyes and willed them to go away, to not make this even harder than it already was. To not make this as much as a goodbye as it was. She should get going, they were getting closer and closer to sunrise and she was losing precious time. Not to mention that Killian had said he was an early riser, the last thing she needed was him waking up to her fully-dressed, sitting next to his bed with tears in her eyes. That would only lead to questions she did not want to answer. This was her only shot, her only chance to make a clean cut. So she had to go.

She got off of her knees, her bare feet slowly tiptoeing backward while she kept looking at him, his chest still steadily rising and falling, his expression without a care in the world. He’d thought they were able to solve it. They hadn’t talked a lot but she knew that Killian was planning to do so in the morning, attempting to clear the air to see if they could move forward, move past this. Emma knew they couldn’t. She had to be realistic and if there was one thing Emma Swan was good at, it was being realistic. And running.

The door was still half open before her hand pushed, changing the crack to a wide opening.

“I love you,” she said in the faintest of whispers, almost not loud enough for herself to hear.

The door closed again and so her view of Killian was obstructed. One stubborn tear fell in spite of her efforts to keep the tears at bay. Quickly, she used her thumb to flick the droplet away, letting out a big breath as she went in search of her shoes.

It had been some time since she last uttered those words, a long time even. Since Neal. Killian deserved more, deserved someone who would tell him they loved him every day with so much ease and actually mean it. Not her, who already struggled with saying it in the dark and in the middle of the night while he was asleep.

She just had to say it once. Finally voice the sentence that had popped up every time he smiled at her and crinkles formed around his eyes, every time he’d sent her soccer memes, every time he seemed to know exactly what she needed to a point where she wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t a telepath.

She loved him.

It was different from when she was with Neal. She was younger then, more innocent and carefree and Neal had seemed like the perfect guy for her. Even though they didn’t truly know each other. They had lived in their own secluded world, a bubble filled with running and hiding, never really being able to catch their breath to talk about more than where they were going next.

It was different from when she was with Killian, drastically so.

It was real with Killian. So real. Which was why this hurt so much.

The lock of the front door clicked behind her. Emma stood still, glancing over her shoulder one last time, pretending she somehow had X-ray vision and could see him a final time. But in reality, all she could see was a dark, wooden door, a separation between the both of them.

She took the hood of her sweater and put it over her head before running down the stairs. She pushed the entrance door open and her skin was hit with the cold night air. There was not a soul in sight, it was the ghost hour. Slightly too late for people to still be awake, slightly too early for people to have woken already.

Emma began to walk. She’d only been in his office once; it was now months since Gold had made her sign the contract, that damned contract. After that one meeting, it had been dark corners and shady alleys, anything but highly frequented public spaces, anywhere but places where they could be seen, could be connected to one another. She didn’t expect Gold to be there right now, it was the middle of the night after all, but perhaps she could find a clue, some sort of indication where she could find him. An address, a phone number, something that would lead her to him. That was what she was focusing on right now, the rest could come later.

The street lit up with the lights of an oncoming bus and she turned her head, inspecting the line number before rushing towards the bus stop a few yards ahead, extending her hand while running to signal the driver to stop. The vehicle came to a halt and she hopped up, managing a tight-lipped smile in gratitude towards the woman. The bus was completely empty save from one man in the complete back of the bus, lost to the world as a soft snore blended with the roar of the engine. Emma picked the middle ground, the precise spot between the driver and sleeping beauty in the back, to sit down.

She let her head rest against the window, her eyes trying to register the fast-moving scene outside. The flashing lights were bright, too bright for her two-hour-of-sleep brain to handle, so she shut them. Her heart began to speed up in fear. Of how it all would end, whether it ever would. A shaking breath left her lips. Her hand went up to pinch the bridge of her nose, fingers brushing along what Emma would assume were some award-winning dark bags under her eyes.

It was too late to back down now.

Her eyes opened again, the fear dwindling as determination prospered.

She was doing this.

It took the bus a few additional minutes before they arrived at the stop closest to Gold’s office and when she more or less saw the familiar surroundings, distorted by the dark but still recognizable enough, a ding alerted the bus driver of her desire to get off.  The woman complied, slowly braked and eventually stopped the bus, allowing Emma to leave.

If she remembered correctly, the office should be about a ten-minute walk from the bus stop. The lack of sunlight was not helping, however, and was only contributing to disorienting her even more. Time for the return of Google Maps, it was.

Due to one wrong turn, it took her slightly longer to reach the building than the navigation system had predicted, but she didn’t particularly mind. Reaching her destination was all that mattered.

The building wasn’t impressive as such, just your typical two-story building with a storefront on the ground floor and a side entrance that led to apartments—or an office in this case—upstairs. She knew, however, that this was a deliberate choice. It looked easy and simple enough to break in but, knowing Gold, it would not be. There would be some hidden trap. He used this tactic when it came to his contracts—make them seem agreeable enough only have some hidden clause—and Emma knew he’d do it here as well. She needed to be cautious.

It had been a while since she’d last done this, since she’d lived off of petty crime and had no qualms with it. She was now on the right side of the law, barely, but at least she hadn’t done anything downright illegal in the last ten years.

Making sure the hoodie over her head truly covered her features, Emma went inside. She immediately spied a camera pointed at the entrance and she bowed her head, avoiding a flash of her skin to be recorded on the tape.

Out of her pocket, she fished two bobby pins, using her teeth to straighten them out and turn them into tumblers. She crouched in front of the door, eyes close to the lock to inspect it, to try and figure it out while she shone the pocket light of her phone on it. She softly inserted one of the pins, her ears searching for any sound that was out of place. If she got caught like this, it was over. No one would believe she was just coincidentally trying to pick a lock. The second pin joined its companion in an intricate dance, one where every step had to be precise and correct. Shutting her eyes, she let her ears take over. After a couple of seconds of wriggling, a satisfying click brought movement to the door.

She was in.

The door creaked open, granting her passage to her single greatest enemy’s lair, giving her access to his treasures and secrets.

Emma had to be realistic, however. The chances that she’d be able to find some incriminating proof against Gold in here would be minimal. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack and she had no idea what a needle looked like. She also knew that that wyrm of a man would find a way to escape the accusations, to put the blame on her instead and walk away freely. Killian had spent years attempting to prove his guilt and he’d only come up empty-handed.

She walked over to the main office, extremely cautious about everything she saw and everything she touched. She pulled on the left sleeve of her sweater and hid her hand inside to grab the handle and open the door. There lay a large carpet covering the floor and Emma hesitantly stepped on it, only letting her feet touch the places that seemed worn enough, ratty enough to have been stepped on every single day. Following the path Gold always took, she ended up at the massive desk standing in the middle of the room.

She carefully checked the sheets of paper on the desk. Nothing. Softly opened the left drawer and took out an address book that contained about a hundred addresses but his own. Nothing. In the right drawer, she could only find a collection of gold fountain pens and fancy looking paper. For his contracts, Emma thought before moving on.

There had to be something that tied back to his home or his life outside of this disreputable business he was running. What was a place she could find something that had been carelessly left? She searched around the office peering before her eyes fell on a metal paper bin which was glimmering in the bright light that her phone was emitting.

Gotcha.

Most of the paper she found in the trash was just scribbles, half printed pages of some forms, empty package boxes and Emma was about to give up, deem her only last resort useless when she came across a tiny paper. Once she picked it up she could see it was folded and as she slowly peeled back the layers, the small square became larger and larger. Her eyes scanned the paper once it was fully unfolded and came to the conclusion that it was a bill. The light on her phone got brightened until she could properly read the document. It seemed to be an order and while the delivering address was stated as this office, the billing address said something else. A sinister smile appeared on her face. She knew where to find him.

The valuable piece of paper got folded back to its original size and got stored into her back pocket as she attempted to not leave a trace of her presence there. Books were put back in their original place, papers got stacked again, drawers were closed.

Emma followed the exact steps she took back, head held low and steps quiet. The door locked behind her again and she started running. Until her breath got out of control and she felt that she truly was far enough away from the office that if some silent alarm had gone off, no one would suspect her of being the instigator.

She retrieved the paper from her back pocket and unfolded it again, this time properly reading the address in the illumination of a lonely street light. It felt completely foreign to her, so she tapped the airplane mode of her phone off and let the map guide her again.

The sky at the horizon shifted from midnight blue to azure, an indication of what was to come. There wasn’t a lot of time left.

It took her over an hour to get to the place which gave her a lot of time to think. All the while she kept repeating the mantra in her head. She had to do this. She had to do this. This was not the time to get cold feet. Not when she was so close to him. The urbanization had slowly vanished, filtered out and was infiltrated with green, a vast surface of trees and bushes, decorating the brown soil.

The sun began to rise, the previously dark woodland now dusted in the gold of dawn. The warm yellow rays hit her skin, lighting it up and while the rain dew still drifted through the air and covered the ground, she embraced the tiny fragment of heat she’d been gifted wholeheartedly.

It had to be one of the cabins that were scattered around the forest.

Having no idea which direction she was supposed to go, she could only explore. She walked around, an odd branch snapping under her shoes. The grass was long, brushing against her boots as she walked with a steady step. She was a woman on a mission.

The first cabin she came across was not even close to the cabin number she was heading for, Emma sighing at the longer search before returning to the main road, a path of worn, flat grass, and continuing her quest of finding the number that corresponded with the one typed on the bill.

She was expecting to find a locked door but still grabbed the handle with her sleeve to test it, more out of reflex than anything else. Emma frowned and surprise hit her as the handle didn’t get stuck halfway but went all the way down, granting her access to the building.

Was Gold that careless? That seemed unlike him. But who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth?

With the utmost stealth, she pushed the door open, her eyes racing to take in everything there was, to be able to prepare herself for any threat that might present itself.

It was still early enough to catch him asleep, the light still faint enough for Emma to be somewhat hidden, to be somewhat able to take advantage of the trace of darkness that still tainted the sky.

She breathed in and a musty air hit her nostrils, a stark contrast with the crisp, outside air. That air had been young, rejuvenating and the one she was currently breathing was old. It symbolized stagnance and immobility. Obsolescence.

Her nose scrunched as the scent now took complete control, but she attempted to ignore that sense and focus on the other, her eyes and ears specifically were vital here. Emma continued her venture inside, now actually stepping into the room the front door led to. Trepidation roiled in her gut, how was she supposed to react? What was she going to find inside?

Emma looked around the cabin and...

It was empty.

Not only empty but deserted. A thick layer of dust covered the table and cabinets, delicate cobwebs were spun in the corners, decorating the room like garlands. There was not a single sign someone had been here recently, not one clean surface or filled cupboard. Emma checked the other rooms but they more or less bore the same story. Filthy, empty, abandoned.

She went back to the piece of paper and the map on her phone. The blue dot on her screen glowed, telling her she was right, this was the place.

But how could it? How on earth could this neglected cabin in the woods be important to Gold?

Emma’s brow furrowed, eyes scanning the room over and over again, trying to find some clue, some passage that magically appeared after pulling a secret lever. But there was no magic to be found, no hidden treasure.

She didn't understand. He should be here. He was supposed to be here and then she could… take him out. Protect Killian. This was why she was doing this, to protect him. If she couldn’t, what was there left to do? If she couldn’t, it meant that this whole escapade had been for nothing. That she’d left him for nothing.

Fuck, what had she done?

She had to get back to Killian.

Before he woke, before he realized she’d left, before it was too late to turn back the clock. She had to run, had to rush back home.

Home.

She stopped moving, froze with her feet nailed to the dusty wooden floor, her hands limp next to her body and her eyes wide as she realized what she just thought.

Home.

She’d thought about home.

The place that gave you a warm feeling, the place you could be yourself, one hundred percent. The place where Emma was comfortable, with walls that dampened the need to run, with things that made her feel like she was a part of something, with people that made her feel loved.

And now, after a mere four months, Killian had somehow become synonymous to home?

She loved him, had admitted it earlier that morning but this meant more than that. She’d loved before. She’d never truly felt at home. An eternal orphan at heart; she was never completely at ease. Mary Margaret and David’s apartment had felt like a safe haven for some time but one she couldn’t stay at forever and had to leave after a couple of hours at most. They could tell her she was welcome anytime as much as they liked but Emma didn’t even want to come close to overstaying her welcome. So she left, ignoring the offer of another drink or dessert with some half-baked truth of having to start work early or just a plain lie like that she wasn’t that much of a Rocky Road fan anyways.

But being with Killian felt like home.

And she wasn’t about to risk that.

Emma spun around and bolted out of the cabin, the door slamming shut in her wake.

Her feet moved on instinct, taking her to the gravel road uphill, the fastest way to return the way she came. Time was of the essence here.

The sun’s rays suddenly felt too warm as she ran down the road, her jacket too impeding as she tried to run faster and faster. That gym membership she was thinking of getting would’ve come in handy right about now.

In the distance, against the backlight of the rising sun, a blurry figure emerged. The closer Emma got, the more details became visible. She still had to narrow her eyes to fight against the bright light. It was a man. A man stood in the middle of the road, blocking her way. She knew that face, recognized the long, greasy locks and grey stubble, angry sneer furling his lips.

“You.” She came to a halt. Her brow furrowed as she blinked in confusion. Gold’s minion had resurfaced. His presence here meant she was right about this being Gold’s cabin. And she hadn’t been careful enough earlier.

Or maybe this was all part of an elaborate plan and she’d done exactly what Gold had wanted her to do.

Lost in thought, Emma hadn’t noticed the man coming closer to her, his heavy steps crunching on the road as the distance between them became threateningly narrow.

“This is for last time, you bitch,” he spat at her, an odd accent coloring his words and a fist following promptly.

Emma ducked, more out of instinct than strategy, but both would do the trick here.

The seriousness of the situation hit her as if the man’s fist hadn’t missed its target. He wasn’t aiming to miss. She needed to leave and try and outrun him. In the blink of an eye, she went from immobile to moving but the man was fast too, his hand snatching her arm and harshly pulling her back. She flinched as the pain radiated through her body.

Before the sensation could leave, another wave of pain smashed into her cheek.

“Aren’t you sick of playing his little minion?”

She spit before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her chest heaved vehemently as she tried to catch her breath and regain her stamina.

“That’s who you think I am?” he replied in an irritating sneer.

She frowned at the amusement in his voice. She pushed him off, losing her balance and falling on the ground, her face ending up in the grey gravel. The small stones painfully dug into her skin. Emma scrambled back up as he towered over her.

“My name is Malcolm Gold.” And the way he said it wasn't completely unlike the way Draco Malfoy had introduced himself to Harry Potter, a self-righteous importance that hung in the air.

He seemed too old to be a son, too young to be his father, so that only left the possibility of a brother.

“And my brother sends his regards.”

He kicked her down again and for a second everything went blurry, unfocused. Her attacker turned his head to something she couldn’t see from her uncomfortable spot on the ground but it seemed to spook him enough that he cast one last glance at her, an unsatisfied look on his face, and ran away again.

What a little imp. It was clearly a family trait.

Emma coughed, clutching her ribs as breathing hurt, clutching her ribs as trying to get up hurt.

There was a crunching sound coming from somewhere close and it took Emma a while to realize it had to be some kind of car.

Was it Killian? Did he find her?

But the crunching sound left as fast as it had emerged and she was still hurting, struggling to get up from the ground.

It wasn’t him, he couldn’t find her.

She was all alone.

——————————————–

-/-

The heatwave that had tormented the country earlier that week had definitely left for good and pouring rain had taken its place. Rain, wind, and thunderstorms, but the oppressive sensation remained in the air. She loved summer storms—even though it was technically still spring. The moment when the electricity was almost tangible in the air, when the skies burst open, cool water a relief against warm and sunburnt skin. The blue flashes of lightning lighting up an orangey sky. But for the past few days, it had only rained. And rained. And, big surprise, rained. So much that the normally soothing clatter of it against her window now only bothered her and made her hanker for quiet—for the little taps against the glass to stop.

The little taps that were now attacking her umbrella as she walked. An icy blue-colored logo caught her attention and when she approached, the name of the shop in big letters of the same color became visible. She had arrived

Her head went from left to right while checking the street for any incoming traffic and when it was safe—no cars, buses, or cyclists in sight—she crossed. A couple just walked out of the coffeehouse, the two men smiling at her as they held the door open for her to enter. Emma smiled back, almost touched by the small act of kindness their gallantry brought. The couple exited and she entered.

Emma let her eyes roam and let her mind take in all of the new impressions. The inside decorations were clean and tight, nothing she’d expect a coffeehouse to be. Straight lines, bold colors. It was modern, something she never would’ve guessed watching from the outside. It looked like an IKEA showroom but on a whole different level and with a touch of hipster. She liked it. Obviously, someone with a clear vision had searched and matched furniture, had created this whole concept between four walls.

There was a colorful display of cupcakes that snatched her attention away from the decor and refocused it on the grumble of her stomach. She’d skipped breakfast—hadn’t had time to as she set her alarm for a time that had only left time room for her to dress fast and leave. Besides, it was 11 am and a Sunday—brunching was a thing. A thing mainly invented to be able to start drinking alcohol at breakfast and have it be socially acceptable, but a thing nonetheless.

“Swan!” was shouted somewhere above her and soon she saw the man to whom the voice belonged descending from a pair of stairs, his feet thumping so quickly that, before she could properly turn around, he was already standing beside her. “Hello.”

“Hi,” she returned the greeting.

“Welcome to Fika,” he beamed. “Also known as my current employment,” he admitted after a beat or two.

“A cupcake shop?”

Of course she, as PI Emma Swan, knew where he worked. But she also knew that Emma, the girl that had only recently met Killian wouldn’t know that and would have to be surprised. Or act as if she was surprised. Back to the acting, it was.

“And café. We sell really good cupcakes.”

“Okay.” Emma shrugged, accepting the explanation she didn’t really need or require. The cupcakes already looked delicious, she was sure they’d taste delicious too.

“I take care of the PR,” he continued to explain, almost trying to justify his profession.

“Of a cupcake shop and café.” She nodded while repeating his earlier words. “Got it.” She wasn’t trying to be rude or anything, but Killian’s slightly fumbling behavior about his job was keeping her from eating the aforementioned mentioned cupcakes. She’d gladly talk about it all (how he worked in a cupcake shop and a café) once she’d devoured at least one.

“We do have really good cupcakes.”

“I suppose I should try them at some point then.” A subtle hint. Some point clearly meant right now. Which Killian got, a nod confirming had gotten the message. Points to Killian.

Emma took another look at the display and singled out a couple of varieties she would not mind tasting at all.

A dark wooden door opened, revealing a pale woman with even paler hair. Her piercing blue eyes matched the color of her jumpsuit and frantically searched her surroundings for something until they stopped. They were looking for someone apparently.

“Sven!” She walked towards one of the waiters. “Where are the carrots for the carrot cupcake? Did you eat them again? How many times do I have to tell you that—” She stopped mid-sentence when her eyes caught sight of the two of them, now awkwardly shuffling on their feet as one did when they were a witness to something they were not supposed to see. “Killian! What are you doing here? It’s your day off. You couldn’t miss the sweets,” she concluded with a disapproving shake of her head, a few strands of white hair escaping her braid.

“Of course I couldn’t. Also, where else am I going to get an employee discount?” He winked.

“Nowhere because I’m your boss and I am going to keep it that way.” She turned to Emma, her white-blonde hair glowing in the dimmed and cozy lighting of the cafe. For a moment she simply watched her, her direct stare thoroughly looking her over, before her expression shifted from concentration to kindness and she smiled. “Hi, I’m Elsa.”

“Emma.”

“Nice to meet you.” She inclined her head, her braid moving against her shoulder. “Take a seat, someone will be with you right away.”

“Thanks!”

Killian’s prosthetic motioned towards the sitting area and as she walked in front of him, Emma could pick a place for them to sit. Eventually, she led them to a dark wooden circular table; not too secluded and far off from the counter but far enough to avoid the bustle of waiters moving about and customers lining up. Emma set her umbrella on the ground, hung her bag on the chair and took off her green raincoat before covering her chair and bag with it. Killian patiently waited and only sat down as she did, the both of them simultaneously scooting their chairs closer.

Here they were again, sitting across each other, having a tête-à-tête. But, while their previous encounter was an impromptu meeting, unforeseen and spontaneous, this one was planned. Agreed upon. Which meant that the stakes were considerably higher.

Killian could decide after today that he didn’t like her and wasn’t interested in spending more time with her. While her ego would most likely bruise upon hearing that, it was mostly the mission she was worried about. A lot was riding on the assumption that they would continue to hang out and she’d be able to continue this undercover assignment and if they didn’t, Emma wasn’t sure how she could fix that. She couldn’t undo her choice of approach and if he saw her trailing him, he’d surely think she was a stalker—a logical deduction. She had to make this work.

“The weather has been terrible, hasn’t it?” she asked, glancing to the big rain-stained window. “I want last week’s weather back.”

“Aye, I preferred having the sun, too.” His shoulders moved in a shrug and he cast a glance outside as well. “Oh well, you know what they say: if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

“Sorry?” she asked while leaning closer and frowning. “Who exactly says that?”

“People?” Killian answered with his own question, a whimsical look on his face.

She laughed and his hand went up to scratch the back of his head.

“No,” she said to try and stop him from feeling sheepish. “I mean, I like it but I tend to go for my own version which is: life fucking sucks, deal with it.”

“Which is also an approach,” he agreed while smiling, “Albeit a distinctively different one.”

“That’s why you work in PR and I don’t.” Her shoulders rose. “Speaking of: what does ‘taking care of PR’ entail exactly?”

“A bit of everything,” Killian replied. “I run the social media sites, write newsletters, respond to any complaints.”

Emma took one of the menus that lay on the table and unfolded it, letting her eyes roam over all of the possible foods and drinks she could drink compiled in a classy and clean list.

“I wouldn’t believe this place has any complaints. Look at this.” She pointed at no specific part because everything had the same level of quality and refined taste in decoration, everything fit the picture and vibe perfectly.

“It rarely does. Elsa is too professional for people to even try and find something negative about this place. But some people just can’t be pleased.”

“I don’t have the right temper for PR,” Emma admitted.

She’d get frustrated with people and roll her eyes constantly which would, in turn, frustrate the other person even more and they’d end up in a never-ending cycle, or perhaps it would end with Emma fired.

“I’m a patient man. And I’d like to think of myself as quite cordial and persuasive.”

Before Emma could either confirm or deny his statement, a waitress made her way to their table, a welcoming smile directed at them. She held a little notebook in her hand and flipped it to the next blank page to take their order. She had stashed her pen behind her ear and retrieved it, pressing the top to extend the tip and having it at the ready.

Her freckles were spread all across her pale skin, adding to the innocence that seemed to radiate off of her.

“Well, who do we have here.” She tilted her head to Jones. “Why are you here? Not that you can’t be here but it’s your day off.” She looked at Emma before leaning closer to Killian. “Ooh, who’s that?”

“Anna, easy.”

The woman took a big breath and slowly released it again. Her hands went up. “It’s okay, I’m calm.”

“Perfect. Emma, this is Anna, Elsa’s sister. Anna, this is Emma, a friend of mine.”

A friend of his. Was that their label now? They’d gone from strangers to friends. It was a positive sign, one that said she was making progress and didn’t have to be that afraid of Jones not wanting to hang out anymore.

“Hi, nice to meet you!” Anna greeted her excitedly.

“Nice to meet you, too, Anna.”

“What can I get ya?” Her red eyebrows soared with the question.

“Oh, I’m not sure yet.” Emma grabbed the menu again and suddenly the clean piece of paper felt overwhelming, filled with so many options and choices.

“Take your time. Fika is really important.”

Was she describing her own coffeehouse as really important? There was nothing wrong with some confidence when it came to your business but praising it to customers like that might not leave the best impression. Killian watched Emma and seemed to have picked up on her reaction to Anna’s statement.

“Anna doesn’t mean that the coffeehouse itself is really important,” he clarified and Anna herself realized that Emma had misinterpreted her words too.

“Oh no! Elsa and I grew up on the border of Sweden and Norway, and fika is this big, almost sacred thing there. See it as a coffee break but obligatory. It’s a ritual to avoid stress and we wanted to bring some of that mentality here, in one of the most stressful cities of the world, hence the name.”

“Wow, that’s nice. I really like that.”

“I really like you,” Anna responded. “You did well, Killian.”

“Just friends, Anna,” he reminded her. “I think I’ll go for an ordinary black coffee.” He brought everyone back to the matter at hand.

Right, they were ordering. Emma took another look at the menu, actually reading their options this time and trying to decide what sounded the most seductive.

“I’ll have a triple chocolate cupcake and a mocha latte, please.” She looked up from the menu to Anna and smiled.

Once she finished scribbling, Anna shut the notebook again. “Coming right up,” she said with her own smile before returning to the counter.

“Apologies for Anna. She gets overly excited about almost everything but she’s also about the sweetest person you’ll ever meet.”

“It’s fine. She does seem extremely kind.” She took the menu and stored it back with the others, the table empty again.

Killian hummed along with a song softly playing on the speakers spread around the café, his fingers tapping on the wood of the table. The hum was barely there, under his breath as if he couldn’t help but take part in the music, his blood thrumming with every note.

Suddenly, he remembered he had company and the drumming brusquely stopped, so did the humming.

“Sorry, it’s a bad habit of mine,” he apologized.

“Don’t apologize. You’ve got a good voice,” Emma complimented and it was a genuine one.

“Thank you. Believe it or not, I used to be part of a band.”

The band was called Neverland, Jones was lead singer and guitarist of the band he’d founded together with three of his friends back when he was twenty-three. She didn’t have to believe him because she knew.

“Would it be bad if I said that I’m not surprised?”

Killian eyed her warily. “That is going to depend on why you’re not surprised.”

“You’ve got that whole rocker vibe going on. The tattoo, the necklace, the ever-present chest hair, the I-woke-up-like-this hair, not to mention the leather jacket,” she summed up using her fingers to count. “It either screams ‘I’m in a band’ or ‘I’m aspiring to be in a band.’”

He narrowed his blue eyes as he watched her. “I’m attempting to assess if that’s meant as a compliment or not.”

Emma lifted her hands, letting her eyebrows soar in a playful manner. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” A smirk played on her lips.

“Perhaps I would,” Killian replied, not missing a beat. Suddenly, everything felt more intense, the entire atmosphere shifted, coming down as a heavy feeling on her chest. It might’ve been his husky voice or the way he looked at her, but something was definitely happening and she had no control over it.

Before it got out of hand, she saw Anna approaching out of the corner of her eye. Emma let out a silent sigh of relief both because of the diversion and because the redhead was carrying a tray with the cupcakes she had long desired after.

“Here we are,” she said once she approached their table. Dimples appeared in her freckled cheeks as she kindly smiled before setting down the drinks. “So that’s a triple chocolate cupcake and a mocha latte for you, Emma.” Anna turned to Killian. “And a simple black coffee for you, ya big bore.”

“Oi,” he remonstrated. “Will you let me have my coffee in peace, please?”

“At least Emma got something interesting,” Anna argued, flicking one of her two auburn braids off her shoulder.

“We’re picking sides now, are we?” He crossed his arms in discontent. “And here I thought being your nice and dedicated colleague for months would put me ahead of a virtual stranger.”

“To be fair,” Emma interrupted, “my drink has chocolate and yours doesn’t, so I think it’s clear who the winner is here, Jones.”

Anna lit up and giggled when Emma joined her in making fun of Killian’s lack of originality. The two gave each other a quick high-five before Anna told them to enjoy their food and drinks and left them to be alone again.

“You’re nothing like I thought you were, Emma Swan,” Killian said while shaking his head, his lips curled into a smile.

“Is that a good thing?”

He didn’t answer, instead he took a sip of his boring coffee and the question was left unanswered, occasionally reminding Emma of its presence by buzzing in the air.

“What do you do in your off-time?” he eventually asked.

Emma did absolutely nothing in her free time. She usually had none, always busy working that she’d forget to even eat. All of her friends—she had like four, but who cared—knew that and tended to bring her food to make sure she was fed and to use as an opportunity to hang out.

“Not an awful lot,” she told him truthfully. “I’m famous for working a lot. I am going to attempt to start working out again now that I’m here. You?” She drank from her cup.

“I read a lot, like to go to museums. Like any Brit, I like watching football. Proper football,” he specified. “Not some American BS.”

“Hey,” she objected. She might not be a sports person but she was still American. “Have some respect, please. Besides, at least American football has some action going on. Soccer is pretty boring.”

“Take that back,” he threatened with his teaspoon, his eyes turning into slits.

Emma shook her head defiantly.

“Fine, you’ve left me no choice.” He raised his shoulders. “I will have to make you watch a football match.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that?” She cockily challenged him by resting her head on her palm and leaning closer. “I don’t really get pressured into things.”

“I’ll kindly ask you to come to my flat to watch a match. Food and beer will be present and in the unlikely event that you are bored, we can watch something else.”

Emma watched him. Going to his apartment, eating together, cozying it up while watching television it all seemed slightly too… well cozy. Slightly too date-like. But what choice did she have but to accept? Getting closer would mean more information and it wasn’t as if spending time with Killian would be the worst thing the world. Far from it, actually.

“Okay,” she agreed. “But you need to make sure you have beer because I don’t think I’ll survive it otherwise.”

“And people tell me I’m dramatic. But that’s a deal.”

They continued to talk about other mundane, safe stuff. What kind of movies they liked and whether London was a better place than Boston (Killian said yes, Emma said no.) Before they knew it, hours had passed and they’d both drank two drinks and she’d eaten two cupcakes (So. good.)

“I better get going,” Emma said. “I still have some groceries to do.”

She began to gather her stuff, her bag and coat on the chair, her umbrella in the corner, before standing up. Killian followed her immediately.

“I had fun today, Swan,” he told her and she couldn't help but nod along. She’d truly enjoyed the time they had spent together today, maybe even more so than last time.

“I did too.” She zipped up the zipper of her coat. “Just text me your address and when you wanna bore me to death by forcing me to watch soccer.”

“Mark my words, Emma Swan. You are going to hate how much you’ll love it.”

And the only word she could think of to describe the way he promised her that was confident. Confident and sexy.

But she refused to agree, it didn’t matter how sexy that irritating smirk was. “That’s what you think.”

“Oh, trust me. I know.”

“Bye, Jones.” She started walking away, waving to Anna as she made her way to the exit.

“Oh, and Swan,” Killian spoke just as she was about to open the door.

“Yeah?” Emma turned back to him, a questioning eyebrow raised.

“This isn’t a date,” he dared to tell her.

Emma scoffed. “You wish, Jones.”

A salacious grin as he waved her goodbye left Emma leaving with her own grin.

---------------------------------

She’d left in the middle of the night, however, like a thief in the night and he didn’t know why. He would think she regretted spending the night with him. Maybe he’d even suspect she’d only slept with him to make him change his mind. He was going to be hurt and the anger towards her would resurface, perhaps even worse, even more furious than last time. Emma was certain Killian would be livid as well when he heard what she did, especially after he’d specifically told her not to. Livid and disappointed. Still, that would be easier to bear than the furiousness. More rightfully deserved.

So she knocked lightly, her free hand tugging on the dark hoodie she was wearing to shield her face. She moved her weight from left to right, from one foot to the other as she nervously waited. What if he wasn’t home? What if he was making his way to the police station right now to press charges and she was here too late?

She tried to control her breathing, willed her heart to stop furiously pounding inside her chest.

At last, the door swung open.

He was home at least, hadn’t rushed to the police like she earlier feared. But the sight of him didn’t seem awfully positive either. The first thing Emma thought was frantic. He looked frantic, eyes blown wide, hair a mess as if he’d spent hours and hours running his hand through.

All of that disappeared, however, as Emma gazed up from her hoodie, revealing the purple edge around her eye, the red slash on her cheek.

Confusion soared.

He seemed unsure what to do first, his eyes traveling all over her body, taking in the scene before him and what it told him. He did not look like he was pleased as he stepped back into his apartment and widened the door in a silent invitation. Keeping her eyes glued to the ground, Emma accepted and walked into the living room.

A flood of memories almost drowned her. God, it had only been less than twenty-four hours and still it felt like a lifetime. Since they talked. Since they kissed. Since they confessed their feelings. All of which was back to being uncertain, unsure if it was still the case with him. She had a way of making bad bets that risked everything.

She took her jacket off and the hoodie with it, only leaving her in an oversized shirt that made her look smaller and frailer than she actually was. She was happy she was wearing it, though; it was also the only thing she would feel comfortable in, the only thing she could wear to not be confronted with the truth again and again. Her wet hair stuck to her cheeks, messy and tangled and Emma had an inkling she looked like a sad, wet dog. That was how Killian regarded her at least.

She could see the pity in his irises, discern the sorrow in the way his lips curled downwards and his anger in the way his hand clenched.

What she would give to be in his warm and protecting arms right now.

They stood there for a moment, him watching her and Emma attempting to suppress the shivers wracking her body. The wheels were turning in Killian’s head, searching for a solution to the question of how he should behave towards her, yet again.

“What happened?” he asked, surely to attempt and answer that enigma again.

Emma felt the chills take over but they weren’t caused by the cold. She saw her sight go blurry and sensed her lips starting to quiver.

“I went to Gold,” she said, the shame and regret coloring her words dark, a shade she’d rather keep in the shadows where it belonged.

He took the words in and frowned as he thought them over. Silence wrapped around them.

“What do you mean ‘you went to Gold’?” he finally asked.

She rubbed her palms over the cold, rigid skin of her lower arms. Whether it was to create heat or to protect herself wasn’t clear.

“I wanted to make sure he couldn’t hurt us anymore.”

“Emma. Are you kidding? After I told you not to? That’s why you left in the middle of the night?”

“I’m sorry.”

He turned away from her.

“God, you risked your life yet again?”

She didn’t reply, they could both see and feel the answer to that question.

She felt like hiding even more, attempting to stretch the short sleeves of her shirt to cover more bare skin, to cover more bruises.

Killian saw what she was doing.

“Let me look at you,” he said, his voice painfully gentle. His finger settled on her chin and moved it upwards. She averted her eyes, she didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. She moved her head along as he turned it sideways, revealing the large, sore bruise on her cheek. His thumb ventured out to caress the patch of blue on her pale skin. A soft hiss escaped her lips, making Killian drop his hand immediately, the moment over as fast as it had come. “Emma, you should see a doctor,” he concluded, “Let me take you to a hospital.”

“No, I don’t want to.” She met his gaze while shaking her head. “They’ll ask questions.”

“Then you lie. You should get this checked out.”

“No! Please,” she begged.

Killian sighed. “What can I do?”

There was only one thing Emma could think of, only one thing that would keep her from disintegrating into a puddle of tears and misery. She now realized it was the reason she came here, the dull throbbing in her body not a side effect of what had transpired earlier but a driving force that had led her here to be remedied. And the only cure was him.

“Could you just hold me?” She hated the way she sounded, the small voice in which she said even smaller words but it did represent how she felt exactly. Small and helpless. There was no use in hiding that.

He sighed and closed the distance again, his arms carefully wrapping around her. Emma was encircled by his body, his smell, him and pure tranquility overcame her. She felt his lips press a kiss to her still wet hair and the act of tenderness gave permission to her tears to finally fall, the warm liquid stinging against the wounds on her face.

“Why the fuck did you think it was necessary to be all stupid and heroic?”

And there was one simple answer that lay on the tip of her tongue, but Emma swallowed it back in and hugged Killian a bit tighter.

For the longest time, only their breaths sounded through the room, the intake of air becoming calming and quieter as their heartbeats beating in synchronicity each other and their pulse decelerated.

“You didn’t pick up your phone.”

A stab of guilt hit her heart. She’d put her phone on airplane mode to avoid leaving any digital traces of her trip to both Gold’s office and his office and, if she was being honest, to prevent her from having contact with Killian. She was certain that once he’d get ahold of her, he would talk her out of it. Or the hurt in his voice would be too much to bear and she’d come running back to him, trying to save whatever there was left to save.

“It was off,” she admitted, her arms curling a bit more around his shoulders.

“You could’ve left a note,” he told her.

“I know,” she whispered back.

She’d considered it but there had been nothing she could’ve put in that note that would make him worry less, nothing that would have avoided this situation.

“I thought it was all a dream at first. And then I thought it was all part of the act again.”

“It wasn’t.” She shook her head against his chest. “I promise.”

Killian released her from the embrace, his broad hand smoothing over her damp hair.

“What if you were more badly hurt, Emma? What if he’d left you there for dead?"

It was a question that had a terrible outcome, a scenario Emma should thank her stars that did not come true.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

For every lie, every ounce of betrayal he had felt, every–

Everything

“We’ll talk about in the morning. Do you want to stay here?”

Emma nodded vigorously. “Yes, please.”

Just the thought of descending the stairs again, walking the entire way home made her feel weary, exhausted.

“You can take the bed,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He began to move, preparing their sleeping arrangements, but Emma stood still, feet stuck to the wooden floor. Sensing her fixation, Killian turned around with questioning eyes.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she mumbled in reply.

The fear, a small glowing orb inside her body, wouldn’t go away. It was an erratic emotion, but what if she wasn’t truly safe here. Gold could find her, could find him and do even more unspeakable things to them. Only being close to him could help her settle a little bit, managed to take the uneasiness away.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” she continued, hoping that he understood what she was saying and all of the meaning that lay behind the words.

“Are you certain?” A crease appeared between his brows.

“Are you?”

Repeating the question to avoid answering just how certain she was about it might not have been the best tactic but it was a genuine concern of hers. He had been the victim in this whole ordeal. She had been the one to inflict all of the pain. So the question wasn’t if she was sure of it (she was), it was if he was okay with it.

“Let’s go to bed, Swan.” And it was as much a dismissal as it was an invitation.

Her eyes fell on the bed. The anchor sheets were gone, a plain black had taken their place and she didn’t want to think about how the change might’ve been warranted by what had taken place here yesterday, what they had done in those anchor sheets and what she’d done afterwards. She didn’t want to think about it but she did. Her gaze was stuck on the sheets.

“You’d better not sleep in wet clothes. I will find you something more comfortable.”

He rummaged through his closet and delved a pair of sweatpants and a faded T-shirt out of it. Walking back to her, he offered them and she accepted.

Emma had to clear her throat before being able to answer a timid thanks.

She made a move to start changing her clothes in the room but was interrupted by Killian speaking. “The bathroom is through there.”

Releasing the hem of her shirt, it fell down again. She walked over to the bathroom and once the door shut, she let her head rest against the wall. Maybe this was all a mistake.

It took some time to peel off her clothes, still damp due to the rain. Every time she bent, she felt the ache building up in her back, every time she stretched, it pulled on her shoulders. Emma watched herself in the mirror and struggled to recognize herself. She looked completely and utterly exhausted and she was, both physically and mentally. The bruise on her cheek had become a dark purple, the cuts an angry red. The locks of her hair were impossibly tangled and she attempted to get rid of the knots at first, fervently combing through them with her fingers, but then gave up. Tears rose, the powerlessness making itself known again.

A knock sounded on the door and made her break her stare on her mirror image.

“Emma, are you alright? You’ve been in there for a while,” was said from the other side of the door.

She wanted to answer that yes, she was alright, but she couldn’t, her mouth wouldn’t form the words. It was a lie either way, she was far from alright.

Eventually, Killian took the silence as an answer. The door opened and he stepped into the bathroom, worry in his eyes as he searched for her.

He spoke as he took in her face again, tears and all. “We’d best disinfect these.”

-/-

Emma couldn’t sleep; her thoughts were hyperactive, screaming too loudly, racing inside of her mind. It had been silent in the room for a while now but Killian wasn’t asleep either. She could sense his body tensing with every move she made, with every rustle against the sheets she caused.

Turning to face him, she opened her eyes and saw him staring at the ceiling, features barely visible in the dimmed light.

“You need to sleep, Killian.”

Her insomnia was a lost cause and would only let her get some rest when it felt like it but at least one of them should get some sleep. If Killian was, for some reason, waiting on her falling asleep before he did, he was going to have to wait a long time.

“So you can leave again?” he questioned, voice as rough as the words it formed.

She deserved that one. He didn’t trust her to stay and honestly, she wouldn’t trust her either if the roles were reversed.

“I won’t,” she assured him.

“Forgive me for not believing your assurances in this current situation.”

“I’m not going to leave again, Killian.”

He stared at her, the sliver of moonlight that crept in falling onto his face and highlighting the blue of his eyes. But the silvery color lacked warmth, made the usually vibrant cyan cold as ice. A chill ran up her spine.

“I swear,” she reiterated, hoping he’d at least give it a shot trust her, even if it was only for a tiny bit.

He shut his eyes and turned on his side, facing away from her. The blankets got pulled higher and he made himself comfortable in bed. Emma was still watching him, his back rather. Was this supposed to be a positive sign? An indication to say that he believed her? It didn’t feel like one. She was about to try and conquer her insomnia—try and will herself to sleep in the uncomfortable silence—when Killian spoke one last time.

“Good.”

-----------------------------------------------

She needed to get out of here, to run as fast and as far as she could. But his hands were still on her, locking her into place, preventing her from dashing away. Running would also completely blow her cover; if he saw her following him again, his suspicion would not only grow but be confirmed and she’d be compromised. How on earth was she going to explain that to her boss?

It was out of the question, for both her own pride and reputation, and for the clause she’d signed as part of her contract. There was no room for failure, only for success, which left one option.

She had to lie. Had no other choice than to think of a plausible cover that would explain it all and maybe take Jones’ wary look away. But what would do the trick?

“I’m sorry?” she said, apologizing for the second time in the span of a minute. Emma grimaced as she realized that too. “It’s just that— I—” Anything, just think of anything. “I have this feeling like I know you and I know that doesn’t condone the stalking but I was trying to figure out why I’m having this feeling. You aren’t a movie star, are you? A famous rock star?”

She was about to continue her list of possible—very impossible—professions he could have but it seemed the two options she’d given him had done their job.

He looked at her dazed.

“I’m guessing that’s a no. I don’t know where I could know you from, if that’s the case. I mean, this is my first time in London and I doubt you spent a lot of time in Boston.”

Take the bait, take the bait.

“I did actually.” Every word came out more surprised than the last. Jones seemed surprised himself. If only he knew.

She was acting and it felt like the fakest thing ever, it felt like she was being obvious, like the over-expressive, melodramatic actors in daytime soaps the moment they discovered their wife had had an affair with their twin brother and she was now pregnant with no idea who the real father was. Shocked .

“What?”

He interpreted the question wrong and completed his own statement.

“Spend a lot of time in Boston.”

“You did? Really?”

Of course, she knew this. She’d memorized his biography, up to every trivial fact like which Bostonian coffeehouse he frequented and what his order consisted of. She even knew where he lived. Close to where she used to. An odd thing their paths never crossed.

“Aye.” Killian slowly nodded. “I lived in Boston up until last year. I moved back a couple of months ago.”

“Huh.” She let her lips form a smile that read something in the lines of this person is currently pleasantly surprised. “Guess it’s not that far-fetched I actually know you from somewhere.”

“I suppose not,” he was forced to agree. “But you don’t seem familiar, if I’m being entirely honest,” he then said apologetically, his lips somewhere between a grimace and a smile.

“I don’t really try to stand out.”

She didn’t like to stand out because it made her job easier, a shadow in the night, a flash of movement during the day; it left her subject unsuspecting, unguarded and it was the easiest way to gain information and to get the job done. She didn’t like to stand out because that’s what led to problems back in the foster system. Standing out led to being singled out, being ostracized from the group. It led to bigger kids stealing her dinner, taking away the few dollar bills she managed to save. In short, it led to heartbreak and hurt. Laying low was a tactic, something ingrained into her being, perhaps that’s why she excelled at doing what she did. Maybe that was why she spent most of her life alone. Not lonely, per se, but alone .

And it was finally something that did not taste bitter in her mouth, that resembled the actual truth. This lying to his face, after the short amount of time she’d done it, was a whole different thing from spying on him from afar. She signed up for the latter, the former wasn’t how she liked to do things, how she liked to handle her work.

Jones’ eyes reflected the rays of light emitted by the sun, flecks of grey standing out in the sea of blue.

In an instant, a moment as fast as a fingersnap, she became aware of their unfortunate placement; it was as badly chosen as the place where the tween had picked out to take her selfie earlier. The irritation Emma had then experienced was now endured by other people, people trying to pass but they could not because of the blockage the two of them were creating. Jones seemed to come to the same realization as he apologetically smiled at some angry-looking people, his right hand delving into his hair to scratch the back of his scalp. Emma mentally added it to her list of information. Killian Jones had a tic, a tic which was quite adorable. She wouldn’t add that last bit to her folder, though.

They looked at each other and the clumsiness of the people swerving left and right, the slight embarrassment due to the angry glares caused them both to hesitantly snicker, a connection forming through the shared amusement.

With resolution and completely in sync, they stepped out of the way, much to the content of the passersby. As soon as they did, the cacophony of the city fell away; only a subdued buzz remained as they fled away towards a small alcove of sorts. It wasn’t more than a glorified dirty corner hidden from view, graffiti sprayed on the otherwise grimy walls, puddles of suspicious substances covering the floor. Not that she was paying attention to those, Killian wasn’t either.

They were only watching each other in almost silence.

It brought a kind of intimacy, let the calm slowly descend onto the two of them. Two new lovers might search it, two experienced ones might treasure it, but Emma and Killian were neither. Far from it even.

They barely knew each other.

He barely knew her, they hadn’t even talked for more than a minute.

So the intimacy was odd. Unsought.

“This is going to sound a bit forward of me,” Killian finally broke the silence, “but would you like to continue this conversation in a place that’s slightly more suitable and reeks slightly less of piss?”

There was no other acceptable answer but yes. Declining would mean she’d rather stay in a shady alley than go somewhere with him. Even though she didn’t really owe him anything and she had every right to say no, it was quite an offensive thing to say. And nothing in his conduct or words had warranted such an insult.

“Yes. To the ‘no piss’ thing,” she specified after a beat.

It may have sounded as a joke, a jest to add amusement but in reality, to Emma there was nothing humorous about it. It was Emma trying to backtrack, recede to a place where it was safe and where she could blend into the shadows again.

Killian perceived it as a joke. He rumbled a laugh before looking over his shoulder, scanning the street for any oncoming groups of tourists or traffic, and, after the briefest brush of his fingers against the edge of her hand, he led the way.

It was accidental, nothing more.

It was just to signal that he was leaving, nothing more.

All things she told herself but failed to convince her, did not manage to omit the tingle in her flesh his touch had generated.

There was no use to think about the reasons behind his actions. She didn’t need to think about it, all she needed to do was follow him, continue and maintain a shallow conversation, end it with a friendly smile and an insincere “I hope we see each other again”, and disappear; never to be seen again, never to encounter each other again. It would require a moment to collect her thoughts and strategize, come up with a new tactic to bring this assignment to a fruitful end but those were worries for later.

The thing she needed to worry about now was how to converse with someone she already knew everything about, someone who wasn’t allowed to know anything about her. It didn’t exactly leave a lot of room for a topic of conversation.

Lost in her own thoughts searching for a subject other than how hot the weather was today, she was too busy to pay attention to her surroundings or Jones. Emma’s absent-mindedness resulted in her not seeing he had stopped moving in front of her and almost running into him again. Jeez, a second time would not only be embarrassing but also a testimony of pure clumsiness.

And she didn’t require any additional unnecessary touches and even more tension, she’d had quite enough of that for one day.

He didn’t speak or explain the sudden emergency brake situation that had just taken place, but twisted to face her. He stared at her. Only stared, his gaze scanning her face. It felt like a judgment, as if he was trying to figure out something but Emma hadn’t the slightest idea what that might be.

“What?” she eventually settled for plain out asking, her curiosity and impatience getting the better of her.

It jostled Jones back to reality, his eyelids moving to blink away the hitch.

“Killian,” he said. “That’s my name.” His head softly shook. “I realized I hadn’t introduced myself yet.”

“Oh!” Yeah, she hadn’t thought about asking his name because she already knew. “Nice to meet you.” Lifting her hand, she extended it towards him but as she did, the urge to retract came instantaneously. What if the feeling she’d tried to shake off earlier returned? This time, she couldn’t hold static energy accountable or pretend it was just an itch. It was too late, however, as Killian’s hand enveloped hers, a flood of warmth following.

She could attribute that to body heat, she supposed.

“I’m Emma.”

She stopped there to retain a kind of simplicity, of mystery. It was better for him not to know a lot about her, but Killian thought differently as he raised his eyebrow and nodded at her to continue.                                                                 

“Emma Swan,” she completed begrudgingly.

The name—her name—brought a smile upon his face and Emma wanted to ask why, wanted to smile along before she remembered. No attachments.

“Swan?” he questioned. “Really?

An affirmative nod.

“What’s yours?” she asked, perfectly aware of how she shouldn’t already know it. But it was the normal thing to do when two strangers met for the first time.

“Jones,” he replied. “Couldn’t be more generic than that. Although, I could be named Killian Smith, but that wouldn’t ring quite as good, I think.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Killian Jones is a good name.”

“So is Emma Swan.”

“Thank you.”

They began walking again, a slow pace and now next to each other instead of Emma letting him leading the way.

“I once knew a chap called BJ Dickerson, that wasn’t a good name.”

“No way,” she said in disbelief and when Killian nodded, she frowned. “Whatever his initials stood for, it could not have been worse than BJ Dickerson.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, trying to suppress his smile. “His parents called him Bachelor-Januarius. He wasn’t even born in January. I don’t think his parents were too fond of him, poor lad.”

Emma couldn’t help herself as she burst into laughter, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Killian stopped attempting to not laugh, his chuckle joining her giggle, the two sounds blending perfectly. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, she wiped them away with the pad of her thumb as she tried to compose herself and catch her breath.

Once she did and once they focused on walking again instead of laughing, she came to the pathetic conclusion that this was the first time she’d laughed—really genuinely laughed without any inhibitions—in quite some time. Long enough for her not to remember when or where or why. She should’ve expected that to happen seeing that she left all her friends back in the States.

Coming to a halt before a Pret A Manger establishment, Killian gestured with his head to propose entering to which Emma agreed. It was the afternoon, the peak hours of coffee-craving businessmen and women already gone so they were able to sit in a relatively calm environment. A young man greeted them and they both smiled in return.

The table they chose to sit at carried remnants of its previous occupants, some drops and crumbs scattered across its surface. Before sitting down, Killian reached for the napkin dispenser, grabbing two and swiping them across the table, getting rid of the traces and clearing it for them. His prosthetic motioned towards the chair opposite of him, inviting her to take a seat. Before he did too, he searched for a trashcan and disposed of the napkins.

It gave her some time to prepare, to take a calming breath and wipe her sweaty palms across her jeans as she went over the battle strategy again. It was one she was familiar with but it had been some time since she had utilized it, since she needed to. This resembled one of her bailbonds dates. The ones where she had to drag her words through a process of hemming and hawing, giving an altered, watered-down version of the truth while keeping it believable. The purpose now, however, wasn’t to expose the target but to prevent herself from being outed by them.

“Would you like something?” Killian asked with a friendly smile when he returned.

“Umm,” she thought for a second before answering, “A hot chocolate would be fine.”

“Great, I’ll be right back,” he told her.

Another big difference with her past as a bail bondsperson; back then she acted as seductive as possible, bending her body the right way to sit and show off some cleavage, watching her date the right way by batting her eyelashes, pretending to get tipsy after two glasses of red wine (her alcohol tolerance was better than that). But nothing like that now, a hot chocolate was as far from being seductive as it could be.

When the steaming cups—hers the aforementioned hot chocolate, and his a plain cup of coffee—were placed on their table, Emma wondered for a moment why exactly she chose a warm beverage when it was sweltering hot outside. But she had never been the healthy juice cleanse kind of girl and, once she took a hesitant sip and the chocolaty taste coated her tongue, she forgot all about the outside temperatures and could only think of her tastebuds reveling in the taste. It was okay at best but she couldn’t remember the last time she had taken the time to enjoy some.

God, why was she getting emotional about a cup of mediocre hot chocolate.

Killian drank from his cup as well, flinching. It would appear his cup was mediocre at best too. He grabbed the container of sugar that stood on the table and poured some into the black liquid.

“So what did you do back in Boston, if you don’t mind me asking?” Emma asked, the comfortable silence not sitting well with her. It was too comfortable when it should be anything but.

He looked up from his cup of coffee, his expression open and kind, before he answered, “I did technical writing for an engineering firm.”

“Sounds interesting.”

He took a sip, the sugar clearly helping, before he shook his head with a tiny smile.

“It wasn’t,” Killian said, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I quit. I got sick of it all and I needed something new.”

An idea formed in Emma’s thoughts, a lightbulb in the center of her mind that gradually became brighter and brighter until it glowed ever so powerful and made everything so clear. How to respond, what to say, how to proceed.

“What company did you work for?”

She just met the man, some curiosity was allowed, was even expected. Conveniently, that granted her the opportunity to steer the conversation to where she wanted it to go, to subtly guide Killian to a place where her act was believable and unsuspicious. Innocent.

Emma let her head rest on her hand, her chin propped up on her palm and her fingers spreading across the apple of her cheek.

“It was called Spencer Mechanics,” Killian answered.

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose. “I think I just figured out why you seem so familiar.”

Well, she just came up with a story to explain why he seemed so familiar, but semantics. More or less.

“You have? Do share,” he encouraged, slightly leaning closer in intrigue.

“A friend of mine once had a shitty temp job there and I came to her rescue with lunch sometimes. I probably saw you in passing a couple of times. I have a weird memory like that. Don’t ask me what I ate for lunch two days ago, but faces often stick.”

She could see him considering it—her story—for a moment, most likely wondering if it wasn’t too much of a coincidence, but dismissed the matter after having thought about it for a moment of silence.

“I apologize for not remembering yours,” he spoke again. “It’s a face worth remembering.”

Emma suddenly wished she hadn’t ordered a hot beverage but a cool one instead so she could cool her body down, rub the cold condensation against her heated, red cheeks. Why is she getting so flustered over small things and comments? Jesus. She had been flirted with before, so why was Jones different?

The answer wasn’t difficult to find, all she had to do was look up and there it was, visible in the way his eyes exuded sincerity and authenticity and the small smile that followed, as if the comments weren’t made to get something but simply to tell her, to make her aware of how things were from his point of view. A genuine compliment without any ulterior motives. She had to admit that had been rare in her previous experiences.

She didn’t want to be flustered, but she definitely was right this minute and Killian saw it too, a little cocky smirk appearing on his lips and then immediately disappearing again as he widened the distance between them again by leaning against the back of his chair.

“Do you like living in London?”

“I’d say so. Moving here was pretty hectic, however, I’ve been here barely three weeks and there are so many things to take care of.”

Rent, for one; money, her dollars wouldn’t get her far here; transport, she felt the loss of her beloved bug.

“It’s a big transition, isn’t it?” He nodded sympathetically. “I’m from here and it was still quite an adjustment for me.”

“Did you live in the States for long?” she asked before drinking the last of her beverage and placing the cup back on the table.

Seven years.

“About seven years,” he confirmed her information.

“That is a long time.” Her eyebrows shot upwards in something fluctuating between agreement and appreciation.

Killian shrugged before shifting the focus back onto Emma. “How long are you in London for?”

“A couple of months. It all depends on how much my boss likes the work I do.” That was true, Jones just didn’t need to know what exactly it was she did.

“What do you do?”

She should’ve seen that one coming, fuck.

“Oh, I don’t want to bore you with it.”

She waved it away, a fearful smile appearing on her face. It wasn’t more than a slight arch to hide the way she was clenching her jaw.

“You wouldn’t,” he assured her, lowering his head to meet her eyes, a sign he was a good listener, a kind one at that. For once, she wished her date—he wasn’t that but for lack of a better term he was—would only think about himself, talk about himself without asking about her, self-centered and selfish. Killian wasn’t, however. “I’m interested.”

Which was what she needed least, interest. In her and what she did.

“I’m um… what you would call a bail bonds person.”

Killian blinked and shook his head simultaneously, both obvious signs of how he was taken aback by her profession—even though it was her previous one and not her current, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Really?” he asked, yet again confirming his surprise.

Emma couldn’t help that her answer sounded just that little bit prickly. “You sound surprised.”

Her prickliness was justified, though. Because it was getting tedious and monotonous, the misogynistic air that hung around the oh’s and really’s and the you must be joking’s.

Because everyone sounded surprised. Men especially. They thought women weren’t powerful enough, were too emotional to succeed. It was why she was a bailbonds personand not man. She was a woman. And a damn powerful one.

“Only because I’ve never met a bail bonds person before. How on earth could that ever bore me?”

“It all sounds really exciting but in the end it’s more paperwork and boring stake outs than anything else.”

She toyed with the empty cardboard cup of her hot chocolate, her fingernail denting the ridge before letting her hand compress it, until the cup was completely flat.

His eyes fell on the camera now safely stored in its bag and hung across the chair Emma sat on.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt you during one.” His features turned worrisome.

“You didn’t,” she reassured.

Lie.

“I was simply exploring a bit.”

Lie.

“I haven’t had the time yet.”

Truth.

“You’d never come to London before moving here?”

“No,” she admitted, shaking her head. “Sometimes it feels like I have absolutely no idea where I’m going. I’m just following the masses.”

Emma assumed that they knew where they were going—at least vaguely. She just let the stream carry her, calmly floating along and she’d see where she would end up. Killian, however, clearly disagreed.

“You shouldn’t! London is better than the masses make it out to be.”

“If you feel inclined to be my personal tour guide, feel free to,” Emma joked.

“Well, there’s an idea.” Killian smirked.

“I was joking,” she explained, the panic rising inside. She was already regretting her words. Why did she have to say that and give him ideas? “I don’t want to claim any more of your time.”

“It’s fine,” he reassured and Emma wished he didn’t. “I was going to go to the library but I wouldn’t mind taking a stroll about the town.”

A creature of extreme habit and he was altering his routine. Changing something almost set in stone. For her.

She didn’t want to think about what that meant.

They stood up, their chairs scraping against the floor. Killian took Emma’s crushed cup and his own, still in its original state, and threw them into the trash. She smiled to thank him while attempting to get that lightbulb in her head to work again, for it to provide another story she could use to her advantage and get out of this situation. But it stayed completely dark and so she followed him outside.

“Welcome to the real London, Emma Swan.”

In the masses of the crowd, they disappeared together.

----------------------------

He appeared from whatever hole he was hiding, dressed to the nines in a suit that seemed badly tailored, tatty even, loose at some parts and way too tight at others. A golden cane in his hand, only emphasizing his stature and oddity. Who owned a cane? A golden one at that? His brown hair, streaked with grey, was long and stuck to his cheeks thanks to the rain.

“Okay, first of all, Gold,” Emma responded, not wanting to immediately hand him her information, her only assets. “Why are we meeting in some shady alley? It reeks here.”

And it did. Of pee and other questionable substances. A place Emma would much rather not spend time in.

“We need to be covert,” sounded his answer, but it failed to resonate with Emma.

She tilted her head and frowned as a movement in the background caught her eye.

“And we couldn’t be covert in an office or a place where there aren’t actual rats running around?” she questioned, pointing at the spot the rat had just run across.

Gold seemed less worried about the vermin running around; he could fit right in. Birds of a feather flock together and all that.

“Now is not the time to complain about hygienics, Ms. Swan. What have you found?” he repeated, uttering every word as if it was a sentence with a full stop.

Emma recognized that her efforts of convincing him to pick another meeting point would lead to absolutely nothing and so she simply accepted that she was going to look like she was offering Gold drugs in a dark alley. Though, if she was being entirely honest, it was most likely going to look like she was offering him something else.

Just the thought of that made bile rise in the back of her throat and made her want to end this briefing as soon as possible. She cleared her throat as she refocused on the matter at hand.

“After another week, observing Jones from afar has not proven to be very useful or helpful with me getting new information. I’ve therefore decided to switch tactics and, instead, I’m going to try and gain his trust.” Gold didn’t need to know the real reason why she’d had a sudden change of heart, it would only shrink his already microscopic amount of trust in her even more. “It’s now just a matter of him trusting me to get the information you need,” she told him, making sure he believed the ease with which she could handle the situation, even though she didn’t particularly believe in it herself.

His dark eyes slid over her face, assessing and attempting to read her features and even if what was going on in his brain mostly remained a mystery to her, Emma could see the wheels turning in his eyes, could almost hear his thoughts conferring with one another.

At last, he spoke.

“I hope you don’t get carried away, Ms. Swan. We do have a deal and I do not take my deals lightly.”

“Neither do I, Gold,” Emma guaranteed. “I’ll get the job done, don’t worry.”

“You better.”

She should’ve let the meeting end there, let the both of them part ways and not talk to each other until Gold required another briefing. But the hunch that something was off—the thought that she couldn’t in a million years fathom what intel Gold needed on Jones, especially since she spent some time talking to him and getting to know him—couldn’t stop thrumming in her head.

“What is it exactly that you want?” she then asked him outright. “I have already given all of the information I have found so far and there’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I’m not hiring you to ask questions, Ms. Swan. Leave that part to me. Keep your eyes and ears open, report back when you find more, that is all I require from you.” His accent had become thicker, more guttural, acting as yet another warning.

“Okay.” Emma threw her hands up in the air in concession.

She was not going to debate it or ask any more risky questions. The money Gold was paying made sure that she did not have to struggle to make ends meet; she was able to afford everything she needed with one, single job; she wasn’t about to jeopardize that.

“Until next time, I guess.” She shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

“I hope you have something more interesting to tell me then, or I’ll have to reconsider this whole arrangement.”

Gold left the way he had come and vanished into the darkness again. She didn’t wait until he was completely gone to properly roll her eyes in response to his irritating flare for the dramatics that was omnipresent.

Turning on the heel of her boot, Emma left as well, in the opposite direction Gold had gone. As she walked, she gathered her wet tresses, quickly combing them through with her fingers to avoid any knots. The heavy rainfall had luckily stopped, only a stray drop here and there falling out of the sky, and so when she was met with the choice of either taking the bus home or just walking to her apartment, the quiet atmosphere and the clean, crisp air outside made her choose the latter. They were a proven successful approach to clear her head.

One thought just wouldn’t allow itself to be deleted, however.

Or one person.

Jones.

She hadn’t thought a lot about the day they’d spent together, not yet. Maybe because she didn’t want her head clouded before the meeting with Gold but now that that was all over and done, it had free rein to infiltrate her mind again, to revisit the events anew.

As they had left the store the day before yesterday, she had been hit by an immense sense of fear. Not fear of being caught or a fear of sharing too much with him.

No, not that. It was the fear of having to spend a considerable amount of time with someone she just met. She wasn’t a good socializer, her lack of friends could attest to that. One could even say she was absolutely terrible at small talk. So why on earth had she agreed to spend the afternoon with him?

The funny thing, however, was that she’d spent those first moments so struck with anxiety, her thoughts so consumed by it, that she hadn’t even realized how fast time had gone by. How she’d been talking and laughing and listening without any awkwardness trailing the conversation, without any uncomfortable silences creeping in. And that was a new experience altogether.

Perhaps that was the reason she’d been so adamant to avoid the topic, because she wasn’t exactly sure what to think of it.

Or of the fact that she’d given him her cell phone number when he had asked.

She did tell Gold she was planning on gaining his trust, but whether that was the actual reason she’d so easily added her number to his contacts, Emma hadn’t quite figured out yet.

And again that same question from before resurfaced. Killian seemed like an ordinary guy. Nothing about him particularly stood out. No weird vibes, no strange behavior. Just a polite, somewhat reserved—but then again, flirty—dude. Someone who’d managed to make her feel at ease. What would Gold want with information about him, and, more importantly, what was he going to use it for?

Emma sighed as the question remained unanswered, her breath hot against the chilled air. Her feet continued to tap against the concrete, carrying her closer and closer to home. What had first been a pleasant brisk breeze, was now a freezing wind, chilling her to the core. The remaining raindrops falling from her hair certainly did not help.

She spotted her apartment from across the street and excitement ran through her body as she took those final steps. She needed a scalding shower to warm up again. And a lot of hot chocolate to warm up her insides again.

Just as her hand went to open her door, she suddenly realized she’d not bought new hot chocolate when she drank the last packet. She didn't have any chocolate to make it from scratch, either. Shit. Her hand fell from the handle, as she looked around at her surroundings and considered her options. It was already after ten, so the closest Tesco was already closed, and she didn’t particularly feel like taking the bus to the further one that was open until midnight, especially not in her drenched clothes.

Only one option remained. Well, two actually. The first one being going upstairs without and accepting there would be no hot chocolate, even though Emma didn’t feel like getting over her need for chocolate. It seemed like a pretty vital necessity. Option number two it was: the night shop two blocks away.

But she was still getting out of these freezing clothes first.

Emma reemerged from her building with a new set of warm and comfy clothes and made her way to the shop.

The door opened as she pushed against it, a little bell ringing as she did. The shop wasn’t that big and clearly targeted two types of people: the ones that wanted to get drunk and the ones that had gotten drunk and now craved some sort of greasy or sugary—unhealthy to sum it up—food. Emma was neither and so she knew that she’d have to go to the little corner of the shop meant for everyone, where she would find everything.

“Good evening,” she said and smiled to the shop owner behind the counter.

“Evening, miss.”

After her meeting with Gold, she’d had quite enough of people calling her miss. Plus, she frequented this place enough to switch to a first name basis.

“You can just call me Emma,” she told him over her shoulder as she made her way to the rack she knew contained what she desired. After some scanning, she came across the hot chocolate and removed it from the other items. It only took her a couple of steps to reach the counter again.

The young man—he had to be younger than she was or else she’d have to learn his secret—accepted the box she handed him.

“Evening, Emma,” he repeated. “I’m Samir.” He outstretched his hand and Emma grabbed it and gave it a quick shake. “Nice to meet you. This means I can finally stop calling you Rocky Road in my mind.”

“You gave me a nickname?” She cocked her head in surprise, the smile on her face widening into a grin.

Samir shrugged while scanning the box of hot chocolate.

“I do that with everyone who comes in here often. Especially with those who have a tendency to buy the same thing time and time again.” He lifted a dark eyebrow.

Well, if that didn’t say a lot about her late night snacking habits, Emma didn’t know what did.

The cash register ringed and Samir read the price off of it.

“That’s three quid, please.”

Emma’s hand disappeared into her pocket, in search of some change that hid inside. First, she fished out fifty pence and that was followed by a two-pound coin. One last effort of checking another pocket led to one last pound being recovered. “Keep it,” she said as Samir pushed the fifty pence back to her side of the counter.

“Thanks.” He threw the coin with the rest of them and closed the register.

“Can I ask you something?” Emma stored her box in the small shopping bag she’d brought along.

“Sure,” Samir replied, his brown eyes shining, reflecting the openness she felt radiating from him.

“You seem pretty young to own your own business. Or am I just really misjudging your age?”

It might be weird to just ask him that, but the longer she spent looking at his face, the younger he began to look.

“I’m twenty-three.”

That was more or less what Emma was estimating.

“This isn’t my store, it’s my dad’s,” he explained. “I’m filling in for a while. I just graduated uni, so I don’t have anything better to do for now.”

“Oh, congrats!” Emma said, her congratulations genuine as graduating from university deserved that. She’d never managed to do so. “What did you study?”

“Law.” Samir slightly ducked his head as if he was bashful about his choice or his accomplishments while there was absolutely no reason to be.

“You’re a lawyer? Impressive.”

“Well—” He tilted his head. “not so much a lawyer as waiting for someone to hire me to become one.”

She could then see how he’d rather be doing that than selling things to people in the middle of the night and Emma couldn’t blame him. If he’d studied to become a lawyer, was ready to be one, it must be frustrating to not have anyone give you a shot to do what your heart desired.

“I’m certain it will happen, Samir.” She nodded encouragingly. “If I ever need a lawyer, you’ll be the first I call, alright?” Emma winked.

“Fine by me. If you ever feel like visiting me again and having a chat, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t. I hope you have a good night, Samir.”

“You too, Emma.”

And it seemed like Emma Swan had yet again participated in small talk and had actually gotten a friend out of it.

A friend and hot chocolate.

Monumental.

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