"No. Absolutely not," Emma puts her hands on her hips and shoots a dark look to the current source of her ire. He smirks at her, annoyingly happy-go-lucky, tilting back in his chair with his legs crossed at the ankles and propped on the corner of David's desk, arms behind his head. The urge to hook her boot around the chair's grounded leg and yank is overwhelming, her foot actually twitching from inaction.

David sighs and rubs his eyes, taking a moment to breathe. Her reaction was in no way unexpected and he had dithered for most of the day on bringing them both in for this conversation, a bright red calendar reminder covered in exclamation points finally spurning him into action. Unfortunately, all of his carefully worded logical arguments and shower rehearsed negotiation tactics fled the moment he had them both in the room, one glaring and looking murderous, the other grinning like it was Christmas morning.

"Emma," David sighs again, looking at her pleadingly. "We forfeit this bond in three weeks. You've had 5 and a half months to bring this guy in." He holds up a hand as she opens her mouth to protest. "I'm not blaming you, he's a tricky bastard, but this is a huge bond and if we lose it my premium is going to go through the roof. I need everyone in on this and I need my top two people working together."

Emma sighs and rubs a hand across her face. This Felix Samuelson business had gotten entirely out of her control. It was what kept her up at night now, a niggling sensation of failure always at the back of her mind, and she had worked tirelessly in between her other cases trying to find anything that could help her grab him. She knew for a fact he was still in town, had contacts who had spotted him recently, but he also had a lot of people protecting him, warning him, and keeping him just one step ahead of her.

"Come on love," Killian waggles an eyebrow at her and practically leaps out of his chair. "Teamwork. All for one and one for all." He leans forward, moving dangerously into her space, his face growing solemn, his good hand moving to rest softly on her arm. She is caught for a moment by the intensity of his stare, the determined set of his mouth, the twinkle in his eyes. "Together Swan, everyone accomplishes more." Emma frowns suspiciously at that twinkle.

"What're you-" she follows the path of his eyes to the motivational poster just to the left of David's head that says T.E.A.M. right under a photo of a very diverse group of professionals seated around a conference room table. "You're an idiot." She scoffs and shakes free of his grasp.

Emma turns back to David who looks equal parts apprehensive and like he is trying desperately to hide his amusement. He has always appreciated Jones' particular brand of annoying. She turns the full force of her glare on him instead.

"I can handle it without him," she jerks a thumb towards the "him" in question.

"If it were less money on the line Emma you know I would let you keep at it, but we can't afford to take this hit and I can't afford to take any more chances," David hands a file over to Killian, a file she knows contains the exact same information she had received on Felix Samuelson months ago, minus the heaps of information she has gathered since then.

"But, Killian has agreed, in light of your months of legwork on this already, to take only ten percent of the recovery," David looks at her pointedly, "Which is more than fair Emma."

Emma swallows, trying to keep her face neutral. She knows, deep down, that David is right, that forfeiting a bond this high value would devastate his small operation and that it makes way more sense to have them both working on it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't rankle. That doesn't mean she has to like it and that doesn't mean that she feels any less like a failure over not being able to do it herself.

"That is very generous of him," Emma says finally after a moment her teeth grinding.

"Always was the generous sort," Killian says good naturedly, rocking back on his heels. She wants to punch him.

"Be at my apartment at 8," she snaps. "We'll go over all the info I have already and make a game plan."

"It's a date then, " Killian winks at her as she makes her way out of David's office. She pauses in the doorway her fists clenching. God does she want to punch him.

He knocks a tune on her front door at precisely 8:00 and she opens it to find him leaning insouciantly against the frame, a plastic bag with a familiar happy face cartoon on the side slung around his wrist.

"I don't remember saying anything about dinner," she crosses her arm across her chest but he doesn't wait for an invitation, just breezes past her, bag held in front of him like a shield, or possibly an offering .

"Despite your rather robotic demeanor love , I know for a fact that you require the same form of sustenance as the rest of us," He moves himself into her kitchen, opening drawers and removing cutlery and plates like he lives there. "Chinese food of questionable nutritional value and little, if any, actual Chinese origin."

He moves with a grace and precision that has always mesmerized and impressed her on the occasions she has had to witness it. For a man with only one hand he is deft and sure, his compensations second nature. She doesn't know how long it has been since he lost the limb, but she knows he has honed the ability to work around it to the point if one were not paying attention they wouldn't know the difference.

He slides a plate of lo mein and General Tso's across the bar that serves as both eating and work space, an eyebrow raised as if daring her to eat it. She sighs and hauls herself onto the stool, taking the offered chopsticks from him.

"How do you know I haven't already eaten?" She asks, spearing a piece of chicken with a stick.

"You haven't," he continues to prepare his own food, concentrating as he spoons it onto another plate.

"You never manage to get yourself something to eat before 8:00, even if you aren't working, and you wouldn't have had time to grab something after leaving the office because you stopped by the gym to work out your," he looks up at her, eyes raking her obvious gym wear of tank top and lycra leggings , eyebrow raised, teeth flashing. She isn't sure if it's a trick of the light that has his eyes darkening or his appraisal of her skin tight workout clothes. "Aggressions."

Emma rolls her eyes, flushing a bit under his scrutiny and concentrates on twirling lo mein with her chopsticks.

"How did you know my order?" She asks after a few minutes, realizing that not only did he know she preferred the lo mein to the fried rice but he had also snagged an order of her favorite sugar donuts, and they sat on the counter between them, just waiting on her to finish her main course. An alarm flares in her chest.

He swallows a bite of his food.

"Easy love, I knew there were only two Chinese restaurants within a 5 block radius of your apartment that delivered and that you were unlikely to frequent a restaurant that doesn't deliver because you can't be bothered to pick up food and bring it home on a regular basis."

He smirks and raises an eyebrow at her. "And we both know you lack the skills to prepare a proper meal," Emma scoffs at that but doesn't argue with him, "And I ruled out the other place because they close promptly at 8:30 and you won't even remember you're required to eat until at least 8, so you need a place that is open later."

Emma has abandoned eating her food, preferring instead to watch him, he was listing everything so matter of factly, waving his chopsticks around as he spoke, his knowledge of her habits a bit disconcerting. "So I stopped by the place and gave them your address and description and a twenty and they were more than happy to tell me what your standing order is. Apparently they know you very well indeed Swan." He winks at the surprise on her face.

"But that's a total breach of-" she sputters, not sure if she should be upset or flattered, wondering if his actions are considered weird behavior or something perfectly normal. "That's like…food stalking or something."

"Relax Swan," he leans over and spears a piece of her chicken popping it into his mouth. "It's on a receipt attached to the menu you keep on your fridge. I saw it last time I was here. I figured you're a woman of simple tastes and stringent routines, and it was unlikely to have changed." He gestures behind her to the offending document held in place by a magnet on her fridge.

Killian resumes eating like it's no big deal but Emma is thrown for a moment. She searches her memory for the last time Killian had set foot in her apartment and she isn't able to come up with anything more recent than six or so months back when she had taken one of his skips so he could visit his brother and he had brought the paperwork over.

She isn't quite sure what to do with the knowledge that he has been keeping her Chinese order tucked away in his memory for months on end, so she doesn't do anything and resumes her attempt at twirling lo mein with her chopsticks.

"For a women whose diet is 50% MSG and noodles you aren't very skilled with those, love," Emma feels herself bristle, but his smile is easy and teasing, dimples flashing, and she finds that she wants to blush more than she wants to get offended.

"It's harder than it looks," She murmurs, abandoning the effort and reaching for the fork he had set next to her plate.

"Practice makes perfect Swan," he punctuates each word with a wave of his own chopsticks, twirling up his own noodles with a practiced flourish.

"Show off," Emma finds herself smirking at him across the counter and it's not until they've been practically smiling at each other for several seconds that she remembers herself. It's an all system shut down at that point, her smile fades, the shutters come down on her eyes, and she pulls her plate closer, shoulders hunched as she resumes eating.

Killian sighs but doesn't mention her abrupt change in demeanor.

"So tell us about Mr. Samuelson," he says. "Favorite color, taste in music, perfect date, that kind of thing."

As they eat she tells him what she knows so far, about the man's known association with a much larger crime syndicate, about his various connections and his strongest allies, about the near misses and scrapes she had with him so far. He listens, nodding occasionally, asking questions when he has them, but mostly just letting her list out the facts of the case. It's not an altogether different story from any of their other skips, Felix Samuelson just has more resources and a larger network of people to cover his ass.

They move to her living room, each taking one side of her couch, perching on the edge of the cushions, her file box of relevant case information open on the coffee table in front of them to peruse.

"His apartment has been vacant since his arrest, I've been by a few times, the landlord was really helpful but there was no trace of him," she says.

"This is excellent Swan," he murmurs, and Emma feels a surge of pride at his praise. She knows she is good at her job, even if the current situation doesn't exactly make her feel like it, and her information gathering skills are a point of pride. "Though not entirely what one would call legal." He smirks at her, eyebrow raised, holding up a stack of Felix Samuelson's mail, his very open and obviously very read mail.

"The landlord was really helpful," Emma repeats, unable to stifle the smile as she holds up the small mailbox key the man had provided her with. "It was useless anyway. He mostly gets junk offers, some utility bills, and a credit card statement once in awhile," Killian looks up in interest but Emma waves it off, "No stand out purchases. Just a few small amounts done within the vicinity of his apartment, no patterns or points of interest and no new statements so he knows not to use the card."

Killian looks at the date at the top of the statement, it's for 3 months back.

"You've been checking his mail regularly?" He asks, his fingers moving across the stack of envelopes she has acquired.

"Every couple of weeks I stop by. He doesn't get much," she shrugs. "I pull out anything relevant and throw the junk away."

"How thoughtful of you. This is the last credit card statement he got?" he uses his thumbs to flick through the stack, looking for another piece of mail with the same logo.

"Last one I saw," Emma leans over on the couch to see the stack of mail. "Why?"

"He could have cancelled the card," Killian murmurs, continuing to look through the stack. "But the limit on this one is pretty high, he keeps it paid off, I can't imagine he'd cancel a card that would be good for emergency purchases," He sets the piles of mail back in the box. "So either he's having the statement forwarded or he switched to electronic billing."

Emma immediately sees what he's getting at and takes out her phone. "Well let's hope it's the former."

She presses a few buttons on her phone to block her number and dials the 24 hour service number on the statement, pressing the speaker button on her phone as the automated voice comes through. Killian shifts across the cushions of the couch moving closer so he can hear. The fabric of his shirt brushes her arm with the movement, and Emma swallows, trying to focus on the menu options rather than the smell of him, something dark and spicy and clean, doing what she can to keep her voice steady as she speaks the department name.

The hold music is some kind of 80's rock Emma vaguely recognizes and she can feel the vibration of his arm as his fingers move along with the melody. It takes her a few seconds to realize that he's actually moving his fingers similarly to the chords and that sends a pang of something straight through her chest.

He doesn't seem to notice her stiffen beside him, humming along with the tune under his breath as they wait for the next available operator. The woman who comes on is bright and cheery, giving a greeting and asking how she can help them.

"Yes," Emma says, her voice transitioning smoothly into an accent that is all stereotypical Boston, she shifts, turning her body towards him, the phone in her hand, "I haven't been receiving my statements and I'd like to know why?" Killian looks at her in surprise but Emma holds up a hand to quiet him.

"I'd be happy to help with that, can I get the account number and the last four of the social on this account?" the operator asks, and Emma answers smoothly, reading the numbers off the statement and reciting the social by memory. Killian raises an eyebrow at her knowledge of it but she ignores him.

"Thank you Mrs. Samuelson. Just give me one second while I check this out for you."

Killian mouths "Ms. Samuelson" at her with a smirk and Emma holds a finger up, hovering just above his lips as she answers another question for the operator.

"Looks like your husband requested that those statements be forwarded to a different address a few months back, do we need to remove that forward for you?"

"Can you verify the address he had it forwarded to," Emma asks, her voice. "I want to make sure he gave the right one. He can be so forgetful."

Killian snorts at her impression of fond exasperation with her "husband" and Emma snaps her fingers for a pen as the woman begins reciting the address.

"Yes that's the right one," Emma takes the pen Killian hands her, turning him to press her notebook onto his back so she can write it down since the table in front of them is full. He obliges readily as she scribbles, both of them smiling simultaneously when they realize it's a local place. "No, no changes, I'll just get with the postal carrier. Thank you so much." Emma hangs up.

"Bloody brilliant lass," Killian is smiling at her, turning back to face her as she pulls the notebook away. "An inspired performance."

"Shut up, " Emma murmurs, but she puffs up at his praise anyway, a flush spreading across her cheeks a moment later when she realizes how close they've unconsciously gotten. He's relaxed on the cushion next to her and she's managed to turn her body into his, her front pressed along his side, their thighs melded together until the edge of the seat. She shifts back, turning her legs around, and making a show of looking at her watch.

"It's only 9:30, you feeling up for a stakeout?" Emma waves the notebook at him.

"I'm up for anything you'd like love," Killian waggles an eyebrow at her. His blatant flirting is much easier to rebuff than casual intimacy and Emma shoves his shoulder as she stands up.

"Well come on then Jones, we'll stop and get some coffees on the way." Emma goes to grab her boots from beside the door.

"Just lead the way."

"It has always baffled me that you manage to get any sort of covert work done in this vehicle Swan," Killian leans back in his seat, the old leather creaking as he shifts positions. "Not exactly subtle is it?"

They are currently several hours later into the evening, parked in a prime spot in an alley just across the street from the address Felix Samuelson is apparently having his mail forwarded to. This area of town is nice, and quite, and no one will bother them despite the lateness of the hour. Their position is out of the way and discreet but still affords them the view necessary to see if anyone enters or leaves the building that might match to Samuelson's description. So far, no one has come or gone from the mid-scale apartment building, but people in Felix's line of work keep late hours and Killian and Emma are ever vigilant.

"Gets the job done," Emma shrugs and takes a sip of her iced coffee. "People don't notice because they don't have a reason to notice. I usually nab them before they have a chance to recognize the vehicle a second time. And you're one to talk Mr. Flashy Leather Jacket and Shiny Earring. You think people don't remember a guy who looks like he's an understudy for an avant garde production of "The Pirates of Penzance?"

"Understudy," Killian scoffs. "I'll have you know that I am lead pirate captain material darling. Gilbert and Sullivan could only wish for a specimen as fine as me," Killian smiles and winks at her, turning his eyes back to the building.

"Did you happen to get any snacks Captain?" Emma asks dryly. "I'm starting to get hungry."

"Only the finest for the lady," Killian turns in his seat, shifting across the center console so he can reach into the back seat for the bag he had come out of the convenience store with earlier.

Emma finds herself in the same position as before, breathing in the heady smell of him and feeling his warmth in the small space of the car. It's been awhile since she found herself this close in proximity to another person, her work is generally a solo gig and she doesn't have any really close friends, and Emma certainly has no recent personal relationships either. The closest she's come to another human being in the past few weeks is someone running next to her on the treadmill at the gym.

They've both worked for David for years and they've had their share of annoyed banter when they meet in the office, a few instances of trading professional favors and several instances of Jones' special brand of flirtation, but Emma has never found herself this close to him for so long before.

She can't deny that he is a very attractive man, and she also can't deny that he smells absolutely divine, but what she can do is maintain professionalism. It would be foolish to jeopardize their working relationship just because she suddenly has the ridiculous urge to press her nose into the space between his shoulder and his neck and breathe him in. Not to mention that there is a very high stakes bond on the line and they certainly won't catch their man if she's yanking her attractive, albeit unwanted, partner into the back seat to have her wicked way with him.

Emma shifts back in her seat to give him space, pressing her back against the door, yanking her eyes from his neck back to the building.

Killian is assembling something next to her and she casts him a look out of the corner of her eye.

"What are you doing?" her voice comes out gruffer than she intends, and he looks momentarily surprised at her tone but continues on cheerily.

"I said only the finest," he reminds her, and it appears that he is cutting up little white sticks of mozzarella into smaller pieces.

"Just get on with it Jones, I'm starving," Emma takes another sip of her drink, her eyes darting between the building and him.

"Patience Princess," he continues his work, occasionally riffling around in the bag. "I know that a bag of chips and questionable jerky is your usual fare, but when you're on a stakeout with Killian Jones things tend to get a bit more refined."

Emma rolls her eyes for what feels like the millionth time that evening, allowing him to continue his ministrations as she watches the building.

"Here we are milady," he says finally and Emma looks down. In addition to the cut up bits of mozzarella string cheese there are a few other varieties of cheese, these in cubes, an assortment of carefully arranged lunch meats and pepperoni slices, several different types of crackers, a fan of perfectly cut apple slices and a bunch of large globe grapes. "Fit for royalty that is."

"Wow Jones," Emma has to admit she's impressed with what he's managed to cobble together after a 10 minute stop at a gas station. "That's a pretty impressive spread."

"And we can't forget refreshments," he offers her his flask from inside his coat.

"I don't drink and bail bond," Emma says, taking a grape and popping it into her mouth.

"Suit yourself," he takes a healthy swig. "Just a little something to warm up the blood."

"All right fine," she takes the flask from him, knocking back a healthy swig of her own and enjoying the burn of the liquor on the way down. She can feel it rising up within her, warm and soothing all the way to the top of her head.

"Is this what you usually bring on your stakeouts?" Emma asks after they've spent several minutes taking turns picking things off the plate.

"Me? No, I'm more of a black coffee and broody thoughts kind of guy meself," he punctuates this by taking a sip of his coffee. "But we can't have you starving to death Swan," he steals a pepperoni right from under her fingers, popping it into his mouth with a raised eyebrow and devilish smile. "I know how cranky you can get without food."

Emma doesn't bother to deny it, too busy pushing down the feeling of being slightly touched that he'd gone to so much trouble just because she happened to be there as well. She might have been loath to work with him but he's gone out of his way to make sure that this experience so far has been a pleasant one.

He must see something in her expression because the tips of his ears flame red and his thumb begins moving across his fingers one at a time, a clear sign that he is nervous. He shifts in the seat next to her and clears his throat, tilting his head towards the building.

"What time do you want to call it a night and assume ole' Felix is a no show?" He asks, no longer looking at her.

Emma looks down at the plate thoughtfully for a moment.

"I think we can handle this for a few more hours at least."