AN: There is an implied/referenced rape that will not be described in detail; it is barely alluded to in this chapter. Content warnings will be added in the header of chapters where appropriate. No major warnings apply for this chapter, except minor depictions of the aftermath of violence. This story will have some explicit consensual sex scenes, but those will also be noted.
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Emma stares out at the fog that hangs low over the harbor and swallows in nervous anticipation. The sliver of moon is the only light around, and its reflection on the water flickers out like a candle. As she braces herself and moves across the dark street, Emma makes a wish – for closure, oblivion, or whatever it will take to keep her from getting into these hopeless positions.
Tonight she's been careless and irrational, driven only by her insecurities and her ego. She's always had a lot of self-doubts, but over the past two years, it's all been made worse by a terrible mistake. That experience has left a deep and lasting mark, even though no one blames her for what happened. The higher-ups called the event "unavoidable," but it plays through her mind that this situation is similar to the last. She's looking for someone who doesn't want to be found, and she's not following her instincts. Instead, she's following the little voice in her mind that demands she prove herself. It's left her out here in the cold, and she's not only broken her cover, but she's also ditched her back up.
With a shuddery, deep breath, she wipes the sweat from her palms onto her jeans and secures her hand around the gun in her holster. She can sense movement somewhere in the darkness ahead of her and fright thumps through the pulse point in her neck.
There's a sole, squat building on the landscape that must have been a factory at one point, but weeds and time have ravaged it. She heads for the entrance without making a sound, then holds her breath as she pulls on a latch and the metal door rises. It's a risky move that makes a lot of noise, but with luck she'll startle anyone on the other side. She raises her gun to shoot, but the place is empty, and there's no sign of the men she'd been tracking.
Relief and disappointment hit her at once, but she remains on guard as she walks through the building. She uses a discarded crowbar to pry the lid from a crate, where weapons are nestled in neat rows. It's expected, but the weapons aren't what Emma's after.
There's no denying the place is dusty and she wonders how the men have pulled their quick disappearing act. Their cars are outside, even if everything is eerily quiet.
A soft, scuttling noise makes her glance up sharply, but it's only a rat running along the rafters.
She continues cautiously exploring, knowing that this could be a trap, but also with the peace of mind that she has nothing to lose if this turns sideways up - no family, no kids, no one who would miss her. Her parents left her to the care of the state, and long ago, she stopped being the type to really attach herself to anyone.
It's made her one hell of an operative.
She's about to step back outside, and then she hears it-a muffled moan from the corner, behind a stack of boxes. On impulse, and with the fast-thinking action drilled into her by her training, she rushes around the boxes and points her gun directly into someone's face.
It's a beautiful woman tied to a chair, looking up at her with hatred.
Emma has seen torture victims in the past, but this one renders her speechless and stuck in the spot where she's standing.
From the abrasions that spread across the woman's half bared body and fill up as much space as oceans on a map, she should be bent over in pain-but there's no evidence of tears and the woman sits proudly, even if she flinches when Emma comes closer.
"Hey," Emma says quietly. "It's okay. I won't hurt you." She unwraps the gag from the woman's face, and looks into the soulful brown eyes that stare back at her.
Emma knows better than to untie the woman right away. For her own safety, it's better to ask questions first and deal with the aftermath of that decision later. Even though it goes against what she's been taught, she's been in too many circumstances where hostages have endangered her life, or attempted to fight her out of fear. She's also too close to a victory to think about anything other than pursuing the men responsible.
"I'm going to help you," Emma promises. "My back-up will be here any moment, and then we're gonna round up the guys who did this to you. But first I have some questions I need you to answer. The men who were here-"
"They left," the woman informs her, sounding irritated. "And before you ask, I don't know where they went. They were talking about a speed boat."
"A speed boat?" Emma frowns. "How long ago was that?"
"I'm not sure," the woman softly groans.
"Fifteen minutes?" Emma asks impatiently. "Half an hour? What else did they say? Tell me!"
Emma turns around as loud footfalls alert her to the presence of her team, and Rob calls out to her, "Swan!"
Rob rushes around the boxes and appears equally stunned by the victim; it's only as he gapes at the woman that Emma feels the need to cover the stranger with her leather coat.
"You arsehole," Rob drawls, with his focus back on Emma. He completely forgets himself. "Don't ever run off on your own like that again! We were supposed to handle this together!"
Booth and Jones arrive in full suits of tactical armor, and Jones yells the code for a medic. Whale responds the quickest and begins tending the victim, while Rob pulls Emma aside and continues going off on her.
"And what the hell is this?" he snaps, reading right through Emma's intentions and gesturing wildly at the injured woman who refuses to acknowledge Whale.
The skilled physician undoes the woman's restraints and starts treating her injuries.
"Were you planning on continuing her interrogation?" Rob blusters. "Are you so obsessed with revenge that you've become desensitized?"
Emma feels the muscles in her jaw twitch defensively at the overdramatic remarks. "It's not about revenge!" she spits. "It's about doing my job, and getting answers. It would have been a danger just to let her go-"
"No," Rob argues. "It was a danger for you to go into this alone. If I had been with you-"
"We would have still lost the trail, and we'd be standing exactly where we are right now," Emma insists. "Look, I know you think I'm reckless at times, and you have a point. But we were really close tonight. Let's just help out with the clean up and we'll talk after."
She could get reported for disregarding protocol, but she and Rob have been through a lot together and he would never place a complaint about her – he'll just nag her directly.
"Fine, but I still think you're a fool." Rob grumbles, and then follows Booth to start the cataloging and removal of the weapons.
Emma lingers behind, planning to search the place from top to bottom.
Whale escorts the victim out, and the rest of their team loads the crates of weapons into armored vans.
Hours pass, and Emma squints in the dim sunlight that filters through the building's high windows. It must be around ten o'clock in the morning when the floor is mostly cleared, and their task force leader shows up.
Lance stops her with a look, and Emma closes the box of papers she'd been in the process of sorting through. "I'm assigning you a special duty, and if you try to fight me on this, Swan, I'll get the director to sign off on that desk job we've been taking about, just as soon as she gets back from her vacation to the Bahamas."
Emma glowers at him, but her silence is acquiescence, and she crosses her arms as she waits for him to give instructions that she already wants to ignore.
"That woman who you found here last night isn't just a random civilian. She's Regina Mills, and she's a pretty well connected, public figure. These people must have come after her for a reason. They probably left her here to die, but I am sure they'll come after her again if they discover that one of their thugs failed to finish the job. I convinced her to enter into temporary protective custody. She's scared-"
Emma tenses because she's experienced enough to guess what's coming next.
"You're going to babysit her and find out what happened here tonight," Lance states, confirming her worst suspicion. "I don't think it's safe to put her up here in Boston-and now that your cover is blown, it might not be safe for you, either. We'll relocate you—just for the time being, of course. There's a town in Maine-"
"Save it," Emma mutters. "I knew you were going to take me off active duty, even if you pretended you wouldn't. I mean, on the books I'm still active, but by banishing me to a small town in the middle of nowhere, you're effectively rendering me useless. You know how many domestic and international terrorists I've taken down that were connected to this organization? The list is pages long. I want-no, I deserve-the opportunity to see this thing through."
"And you will," Lance grates out, voice high and commanding. "This assignment is important."
Emma brushes him off, and returns to rummaging through boxes. "Fine," she shrugs. "I don't have a choice, so there's no point in having a conversation about it. I'll pack my bags after I'm done here."
Emma's already holding a grudge against Regina Mills for reasons beyond the woman's control, and though Lance claims that Regina will be compliant, she has no desire to live with a stranger in backwoods, Maine. Emma continues sorting through documents, and slips a few files into her shirt without a second thought.
When Emma leaves the factory later that day, she goes back to her apartment and drinks enough whiskey to dull her vision and her anger. She thinks, wryly, that the woman she's going to spend the upcoming weeks with is exactly the type of woman she'd spent her whole life avoiding, or trying to get into bed with. She smirks until her lips fall into a wistful frown.
Emma spends the rest of the night tossing and turning in bed. She's had a lot to drink, and expects to pass out—but she can't seem to fall asleep, after all.
The next morning, Emma reports to headquarters. It's a sleek set of office buildings that are inconspicuous and corporate-looking. She hates the place, and the state of her desk (which is only nominally hers, since she rarely ever uses it) reflects her distaste for the kind of work that keeps her coming back to the same place day after day. There's a stack of untouched forms on her keyboard, and she pats the top gently as she passes it onto Rob's desk.
Her hair is uncombed and pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she's thrown on a pair of comfortable jeans with a t-shirt under her blue leather jacket. She's prepared to drive for the next several hours, and she's pleased to find out that at least Lance has granted her unlimited access to equipment—not that she'll need it in the middle of Maine.
By mid afternoon, she and Regina are on the road headed north. Regina sits in the back seat, staring blankly out the window.
There's been an overnight change in the woman; she seems cold, but also quietly vulnerable, especially when she isn't aware Emma's watching her in the rearview mirror.
"Not very talkative, huh?" Emma asks. She'd be appreciative of the silence, if not for the fact that it's her job to get Regina talking.
Regina spares only a glance at her, and continues looking at the scenery. Farmland, open stretches of forest and the long, winding highway stand between them and their destination.
"It's going to be a long ride," Emma adds. "Want to listen to some music?"
"Why not," Regina replies, clutching at her side where the bruises run particularly deep. "Better than the sound of your voice. Or do you want to attempt to interrogate me again?"
"Come on, that's not what I was doing," Emma boldly claims. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions, and what if you decided to lunge at me? Of course, it wouldn't have been really hard to take you down. But what if you had been the type to fight dirty?"
"You would have shot me, presumably, with that gun you pointed in my face," Regina hisses, not for a moment giving into Emma's attempt at lighthearted banter.
"Fair point," Emma concedes, sobering a little, and for the first time since their journey began, keeping her eyes strictly on the road in front of her. "I was just being careful, okay? I've seen a lot." She goes silent for a beat, but decides she can't leave the conversation there, or it'll cause Regina to make assumptions. "I'm sorry those men hurt you—"
"I don't want your apologies," Regina sneers, as if the pain truly doesn't affect her. "Don't ever talk of it again."
"Here's the thing," Emma begins, licking at her lips as if that'll coax the right words from her mouth. "It'd really help a lot of people if we talked about it. You don't have to give me all of the gritty details, but the guys who did this are part of a bigger organization. They hurt a lot of people, and they're going to continue doing this if we don't stop them."
Regina rolls her eyes and balls her fists until they go white at the knuckles. "I'm aware," she states. "But I can't help you. I've already described the men to your agents, and I provided you with a list of questions I was asked—none of which I was able to answer."
"It's possible that you were targeted because you come from a very wealthy, well-connected family," Emma suggests, not missing the chance to ask further questions. "What can you tell me about them?"
"There's nothing to tell," Regina argues hoarsely. "I have no family. I'm estranged from my mother and father. It's been two years since we've even spoken."
Emma could mention what she's seen in the background reports – that Regina's father, Henry Sr., belongs to a family of formerly cutthroat businessmen, or that her mother Cora Mills owns a billion dollar pharmaceutical giant, and has a reputation for funding dirty campaigns. Regina's family is part of an elitist group, with their hands in everything.
Instead, Emma pulls over at a gas station and goes inside to buy coffee. She needs to think this over. Either Regina's lying or telling the truth, and Emma finds herself wanting to believe the latter.
She's about to hand a steaming cup of coffee to Regina when the woman's new phone rings. Their own cell phones, laptops and other devices had to be left behind.
Regina plugs her ear to listen, so Emma's left clutching the coffee cup.
"You know that phone's only for emergencies," Emma points out, realizing she's already doing a sloppy job of monitoring Regina. "And I need a complete list of the people who have that number."
"Only one," Regina explains, ending her call. "Your boss - Mr. Lance DuBois. He's been in touch with my friend Marian and they're making arrangements for my son to join us. Henry was very upset when I didn't return home last night, or pick him up after school today. I didn't want him to see me like this, and well – Mr. DuBois offered an escort…"
"Wait, you have a kid?" Emma signed on to take care of Regina, but looking after a kid would count as actual babysitting. "How old?"
Regina's brow furrows, and she takes the cup of coffee that's meant for her. "He's ten," she says. "But some days, he's much wiser than his years."
"Good. As long as I don't have to change any diapers," Emma shrugs, although she casts her gaze away and squints hard. She's always been pretty uncomfortable around kids, but there have been times when she's secretly wondered what it would be like to hold a baby. Her chin wobbles subtly and she blinks furiously.
"You don't like children, Miss Swan?" Regina asks, and she's deliberately trying to catch Emma's eyes.
"They're okay," Emma mutters. "I've just never thought about it. Too busy with my work, I guess." It's a lie, and she turns her back to Regina, hoping that the woman isn't perceptive enough to see right through her. "Where's the kid's father?" she adds, determined to keep the focus off herself.
"He doesn't have one," Regina answers coolly, and then ends their chat by getting back into the car.
Emma follows suit, and drives back onto the highway, determined not to make any more stops.
They have a glaring contest through the rearview mirror, but Emma turns the radio on and they pretend to ignore each other for a little while. It's only an hour into their trip, and already Emma's legs are cramping.
Regina's also shifting uncomfortably, but Emma assumes that has more to do with the injuries on the woman's torso and less to do with the car ride. The ER staff in Boston deemed Regina fit to travel, but she will have to see another doctor in Maine.
They pass the afternoon in silence, hitting no traffic, in spite of the rush hours. It's midweek, and most of the cars are driving the opposite direction.
Regina occasionally jerks to attention, as though she's fighting sleep.
Emma thrums the wheel with her fingers and puts the radio on low, and when she glances over her shoulder again, she sees that Regina's succumbed. Without her guard up, Regina looks even more beautiful.
Emma can't seem to keep her eyes on the road, and when a deer darts in front of her, she turns sharply and swerves onto the shoulder of the highway.
"It's just a deer," Emma yelps. "Everything's okay!"
But Regina's awakened from her deep sleep, and fumes, "You idiot! If I had known you were going to be the agent assigned to protect me, I would have declined. This is the second time you've put my life in danger in the last 24 hours." She throws open the door of the car and Emma's forced to run after her.
"Where do you think you're going?" Emma huffs. "I don't know if you noticed, but we're in the middle of nowhere, and you can't honestly expect me to control the wildlife. Look lady, if you keep walking, I'm just going to pick you up and throw you over my shoulder, because I don't have the patience for this – "
"I guarantee you'll regret doing that," Regina states assertively, and ignores Emma's warning.
Emma grabs Regina's arm and lifts the tinier woman with no effort. She notices for the first time that Regina's wearing heels when Regina begins squirming and kicking, but Emma makes it back to the car and deposits her cargo onto the seat.
Emma ignores Regina, shuts the door, and then puts the child-lock on to avoid any further issues, though she wouldn't put it past Regina to break a window.
"Your son is probably waiting for us," Emma says, because the kid's escort left earlier than they did, and Regina shows no signs of calming down. "I don't like taking the tough approach with you because you've already been through so much, but you're my responsibility now, and I take that duty very seriously. You can trust me."
"I trust no one," Regina seethes indignantly. "Least of all you. But I don't have a choice, do I?"
"Yeah," Emma quietly disagrees. "You do. You can choose to trust me, or at least give me a chance."
Emma doesn't know why she expects a response to that.
Regina says nothing for what remains of their trip, and Emma thinks that any trust between them will have to be hard earned.