This is a criminal minds themed AU, so there are some violent themes - you have been warned. Thanks to nicolelovesdisney for beta-ing!
Provocateur
It is a common mistake of the general populace to assume that all antagonists are easily identifiable; loners and rejects who harbour ill-will and take it out on their peers as such. Despite the constant warnings and endless list of true stories, people never seem to absorb the irrefutable fact that appearances are deceiving. In this society, a charming smile and charisma are more dangerous than a blade because, at least with a weapon, the threat is plainly obvious.
Oftentimes, the most dangerous creatures are the most beautiful – this, Emma Swan knew for a fact. Through years of observation and an uncomfortable amount of first-hand experience, Emma had become a master of outsourcing these monsters. Such was her purpose as she sat at the brightly-lit bar, habitually scanning the restaurant for the disguised threat. Though she knew what to look for, the people clogging the restaurant were ludicrously oblivious to the threat somewhere amongst them. Their flamboyant laughter combined with the clinking of wine glasses drowning out any realistic approach to reconnaissance.
Consequently, rather than surging into the elegant restaurant with weapons at the ready, a more covert tactic was required and Emma had been swiftly dispatched – albeit begrudgingly. She looked natural, a beautiful girl in a classy location – no one would look twice. To all those uninvolved, Emma might be mistaken for a woman searching for a prospective date. She smirked as she turned the thought over in her head, taking a sip from the fluted wine glass that likely cost an arm and a leg. It didn't matter much though, it wasn't like she was paying for it – though she expected David would lose his top when the bill arrived. The Unit Chief of their team had an unhealthy obsession with their budget despite the well-known fact that their particular team scarcely utilized the extensive monetary funds available to them.
Nevertheless, she might as well enjoy this slight work-perk since it was doubtful she would ever return to the swingy restaurant – at least, not on her salary. Just because the team was given almost unlimited resources, it didn't mean their salaries were affected. Bloody bureaucrats.
"Damn," a male voice groaned from Emma's left, "would you like to meet my one-eyed snake?"
You would think, considering the sophistication associated with such an establishment, that the number of crude assholes might be diminished at least marginally. Not so much apparently. Emma didn't turn to face him, instead keeping her eyes focused on the glass in her hand. She knew this wasn't the man she was looking for – he wouldn't be so outright crass. The un-sub she was still scanning the crowd for was suave and most definitely not the dipshit attempting to pick her up.
"About as much as you want my fist to meet your face," she retorted, taking a sip of the expensive alcohol.
Emma's earpiece crackled with laughter and she could only imagine the face of the person on the other end of the communication device. He was probably – no, definitely – enjoying watching this and she tried not to crush the glass in her grip as the man sitting beside her scoffed, appearing more so amused than offended.
"Come on sweetie, no need to be like that. Let me buy you a drink," he said, signaling for the bartender. Emma could still hear the sound of laughter in her right ear as she turned to finally face the man. Her eyes scanned over him in what he obviously interpreted as interest. His mouth spread in a grin, displaying a set of perfectly straight and (obviously) chemically whitened teeth.
She smiled back sweetly and, without missing a beat, said, "I'm going to give you about five seconds, after I'm finished talking, to leave. Firstly, because I don't want to create a scene and secondly, because I don't think you're worth my time. You're obviously here to get away from reality, and I'm assuming your wife and kids don't know. I also know this isn't the first place you've been to tonight, and if you haven't gotten lucky yet – chances are you won't be getting lucky at all. So, unless you want me to break your nose, I suggest you go home and apologize to your wife for spending what little money you have on a place like this which is completely out of your depth. Understood?"
His leer instantaneously vanished as he observed Emma with shocked apprehension. His mouth formed a small 'o' as he tried to respond. Clearly he was stunned by her startlingly accurate observations, as most people were. Fortunately, deduction was a nearly extinct skill and one that Emma occasionally excelled in.
The idiot had a tan line on his ring finger and a baby-food stain on the corner of his white business shirt. Additionally, there was a nearly indiscernible stamp on his hand from where he had been to another club that night and tried, unsuccessfully, to wash it off. His suit was rumpled around the collar and knees – where high-end designers paid the most attention - and the cuff links he so proudly flaunted were cheap knock-offs. Combined, the man still speechless beside Emma might as well have vocalised a brief outline of his life.
She turned back to the bar and waited for him to make a decision – there were always two options for his type of person. He would either sulk away into the recesses of the bar, ignoring her suggestion but leaving her alone nonetheless. Or, and this was the option that most men took and would be most problematic for Emma's current situation, his ego would override any cognitive function and prompt him to make a violent scene. She took another sip of wine as he contemplated his options.
Surprisingly, the man stood up from his seat and walked away, although she could swear he muttered one insult or another before leaving. Sighing in relief, Emma continued to scan the complex and slumped in her chair when she came up empty again. There were a lot of men in the restaurant but none matched the very precise description she'd been given.
"You can't blame him, love," an accented voice commented through the earpiece cleverly disguised under her blonde curls.
"Say another word, Jones – I dare you," Emma muttered under her breath, for it would not do well for people to think she was talking to herself.
"You know you love the attention," he taunted and she rolled her eyes.
"You'll regret saying that in the gym tomorrow," she warned, instantly keen for the next morning when they had their weekly hand-to-hand combat training.
He chuckled in response, "Oh, I look forward to it."
Emma opened her mouth to respond when another man saddled up to her, sitting in the stool on her right. She readied herself for another uncouth attempt to get laid, idly swirling the glass of bubbly liquid in front of her. However, as Emma turned to face him, the voice in her ear spoke stern and clear.
"That's him," Jones said, all previous mirth gone.
Emma quickly processed this, and her previous deadpan expression promptly brightened to reveal a well-rehearsed open smile. He turned to her, apparently noticing her for the first time – but that was a lie, he'd seen her when he entered the restaurant. She was exactly his type; blonde, leggy and ostensibly vulnerable. It had been designed that way.
"Hi," he said, extending a hand to Emma and smiling.
She returned the gesture, "Hi."
He was attractive, exceptionally so – which was one of the foremost reasons he had escaped the law as long as he had. It was also what enabled him to do what he did, because no reasonable hot-blooded woman would reject this man. With chocolate brown eyes framed by long dark lashes and a jaw-line that could cut glass, Chuck Giles was easily the most dangerous creature in the room and Emma knew it. Unfortunately for him, he had just happened upon the second-most dangerous creature in the room without even realizing it. And it was obvious that he had no idea what sort of a person laid beneath the tight red dress as he subtly scrutinized her, because if he did than the smirk that played around his lips would not have existed.
"What's your name?" he asked, absentmindedly signaling the barkeep. He ordered a glass of gin and Emma bit her lip with practiced hesitancy. His drink was promptly served and he took a sip, finally noticing her hesitance and frowning uncertainly at her. He quickly smiled and held up a hand in apology.
"Sorry, I get it – with all the murders recently, I get it. You can't be too cautious," he said, bowing his head in understanding. Typical empathetic approach to try to encourage a woman to open up a voice in the back of Emma's mind scolded, how have you gotten away from us for this long? And it truly was a wonder, but what Chuck Giles lacked in his ability to maintain a façade, he made up for in his ability to wipe a body clean of evidence.
Emma shook her head and smiled, "No, no, I doubt someone like you is that sick twisted bastard… the name's Ella. And you?" She lied effortlessly, almost instinctively. He smiled and there was an imperceptible severity to his expression, like the sharp side of a blade being exposed under harsh light. Honey, your narcissism's showing Emma wanted to coo as he studied her carefully. He recovered quickly, chuckling and taking a long swig of the gin in his hand.
"Thanks," he said sarcastically, looking around the restaurant and turning back to Emma, "My name's Chuck." He stared at her appreciatively and it was obvious that the desired effect was flattery. Internally scoffing, the blonde forced herself to outwardly blush – a skill she'd developed in her first year at the Bureau.
"It's nice to meet you," she replied, chewing on her bottom lip.
He raised his glass to her, "And you. So, Ella, what do you do for a living?"
Emma swallowed the last of her wine and set the glass down in front of her gently, "I'm an accountant for Stellar Industries. What about you?"
An accountant might seem like an odd choice – especially since Emma despised mathematics – but it was actually incredibly handy because it was one of the most monotonous jobs someone could have. As a result, the questions likely to be asked about it were sparse. She was yet to come across a person who heard that answer and responded with, "Gee, that must be fun. What does that entail?"
"I'm a Global Services Manager, it sounds interesting but it's really not," he chuckled, clearly pleased by his display of self-deprecating humour. Emma smiled back with faux admiration despite the lie-detector in her head shrilling furiously.
Lie. He was a sheet-metal worker who had been rejected for promotion six times; which was part of the catalyst for his homicidal behaviour. Paired with the rejection of his blonde ex-fiancé, Chuck's murderous tendencies had reared their ugly heads. If it weren't for the fact that he was killing innocent women, Emma might have felt some sympathy for him. But she didn't.
Emma stood up off the stool and picked up her purse.
"Well, Chuck, this place is boring, what do you say we go somewhere else?" Emma asked, nodding to the door and smiling suggestively at him. Chuck smirked, paying for his drink and standing up as well. His hand touched on her lower back as they walked towards the door, and she could swear she heard a growl from her earpiece. It was probably just her partner's reaction to the fact that the same hands this man was caressing her spine with had also been used to choke the life from three innocent women.
"We're right behind you," Jones reassured, and Emma could feel his eyes on her back as they exited the restaurant. He would have been following them, careful not to raise suspicion by occasionally intermingling with the people in the restaurant. When they reached the street, Chuck turned to her with a firm grip on her elbow. He rubbed circles on her skin with his thumb, an obvious attempt to soothe her though it only made a shiver crawl up her spine.
"I know a place, we'll take my car," he said assertively. Emma smiled and nodded, feigning excitement as she followed him to the sleek silver vehicle. She honestly couldn't fathom how previous women had blindly trailed after him; she was only doing it because she had a small firearm strapped to her thigh and a back-up team following their every move. Was an attractive appearance and magnetic personality really all a man needed nowadays to lure a woman to her death? Apparently, and most disturbingly, the answer was yes otherwise there wouldn't be three bodies sitting in a morgue downtown.
It was a disconcerting thought, and one Emma mused as she watched Chuck open the car door for her. He smiled endearingly, motioning for her to get in with an elegant sweep of his arm. She mirrored his expression, stepping into the car effortlessly despite the pinpoint stiletto's she was wearing. Emma tapped her right ear absentmindedly to check the earpiece was still in place and, once satisfied that it was secure, turned to the side to face Chuck as he too stepped into the car.
He grinned at her, and though it was intended to be alluring, all Emma could think of was a predator observing its prey. With one final glance at her, he put the car into gear and pulled out onto the damp road. The street lights cast the occasional golden glow over his expression, and it was as though with each illumination, his features became increasingly harsh. Unable to stand the slow-motion picture occurring beside her, she looked out the window, watching as the number of people on the streets slowly dissipated and the number of respectable establishments diminished. It wasn't long before they were in the decrepit part of town reserved for prostitutes and drug dealers. She took it as her cue to turn to the ghoulish man in the driver's seat.
With a slightly anxious glance to the window, Emma spoke, "Where's this place you were talking about?" she asked with a nervous laugh. Chuck grinned, and this time there was no charming façade as he stared at the road ahead of him. It was the leer of a hunter who'd trapped his game. He glanced once at the apparently fearful woman beside him, satisfaction resonating from his every movement; the fool clearly had no idea just what kind of trout he'd just hooked.
"We'll be there soon – trust me," he cooed, and Emma sat back in the seat.
"As soon as he lets you out of the car, disengage. We'll check the location for any other women once he's taken down, though I doubt he'd be taking you back if there was one." Killian spoke firmly though there was no concern in his voice; he knew her too well to be worried about her welfare, especially in a routine take-down. Emma looked at Chuck out of her peripheral vision, sizing him up and identifying the best approach to his incapacitation. He was strong and cocky, a flaw she could exploit to her advantage. His victims thus far had displayed signs of pure brutality and judging by the way they were handled, he wasn't a skilled fighter. So, he obviously relied on his brawn to subdue his victims.
Satisfied that she knew what she would do, Emma let her thoughts wander, though she kept a keen eye on her surroundings. Ruby would probably have another case for them to start on in the morning; there was no shortage of sadistic killers in America which, sadly, was what her team's continued employment relied on. Hopefully, it wouldn't require travel – they had been lucky that this case was in their home state, Virginia.
She was drawn from her thoughts when the car pulled into a dimly lit garage and stopped. Effortlessly slipping back into the façade of helpless victim, she turned to the man in the driver's seat, concealing her true emotions with ones he would expect – apprehension. He was clearly pleased by her reaction to their surroundings, and what had once been attractive about him in the aristocratic restaurant completely vanished in the shadow of his true temperament. Like a snake shedding its skin, he rolled his neck and looked at Emma with a chilling leer.
The blonde opened the door with forced desperation, tearing out of the vehicle without her heels and preparing for his inevitable approach as she ran for the entrance. He laughed darkly as he ran around the car and approached her from behind. Idiot.
With a meter separating them, she stopped abruptly, a smirk on her face – though he couldn't see it. As expected, he ran into her and attempted to wrap his arms around her shoulders. However, the moment his body touched hers, she thrust her elbow back and into his abdomen. He grunted in pain though it didn't stop him from trying to restrain her.
Emma swiftly pulled one of his arms forward, twisting his hand and ripping the nerve so his other arm slackened its grip and he roared in pain. Maneuvering herself around to face him, she landed a kick to his chest that sent him to the ground. The man looked up at her, a vicious glint in his eye as he pulled a pocket-knife from his back pocket.
"You'll regret that, Ella," he growled, pulling himself up against the side of the car with obvious effort.
The second he was standing upright, Chuck lunged forward with the knife. Emma instinctively avoided the attack, leaning over so the arm wielding the blade sliced through the air on her right. Before he could bring it back around again or stab her in the back, she grasped his forearm and wrist with each hand and twisted. The clatter of metal on the concrete ground signaled that he'd dropped the knife and Emma smiled at him.
"I lied. My name's not Ella."
He growled and attempted to land a blow to her side which she deflected easily with her forearm. Using the motion her arm had already created, Emma thrust her fist upwards and into Chuck's jaw; a satisfactory cracking sound reverberating through the air in the wake of her uppercut. He stumbled backwards though both arms were raised in a crude defensive position.
When he found the strength to stop faltering, he lunged – falsely believing his physique might compensate for his lack of equilibrium. It was effortless, really, as Emma stepped to the side and lifted up her knee, pushing his back down when he was in the correct position. He grunted at the impact and coughed, holding his stomach as he fell to the cold concrete floor of the garage. The man sputtered for breath, rolling around like an insect as he awaited her next move.
"It's Emma," she said.
Emma leaned down to pull out her gun, unsheathing it from the strap at her thigh and aiming it at him as she heard the squad cars pull up outside. It was only a moment before the agents spilled in with their own weapons at the ready. David was at the forefront and the first to make his way to Chuck. He glared down at the man, tucking away his gun and pulling out a set of handcuffs. David glanced haphazardly at Emma, his hard blue eyes silently questioning her welfare. When she nodded a response and dropped her weapon, he turned back to Chuck and shoved him onto his stomach to apply the cuffs.
The other agents quickly moved out into the other areas of the garage, turning on lights to illuminate the workshop of the 'Human Garrotte' as the media had so eloquently dubbed him. It was a large dirty building, the floor covered in black and brown patches and the corrugated iron walls displayed signs of rust. However, at the back of the room there was a table; its bright silver luster contrasted starkly with the oil-stained surroundings, as did the silver chains attached to each of the legs.
Emma's jaw clicked as she ground her teeth, turning to look at Chuck Giles as David lifted him up roughly and he was led past her and into one of the many police vehicles out on the street. She shook her head and sighed, putting the gun back in the holster strapped to her thigh. She walked to the still-open door of the guy's car and picked up her heels. Once she had pulled them on, Emma patted down her dress and turned around to accompany David.
As she did, she nearly ran into someone. Lifting her eyes, Emma's expression deadpanned.
"I say Swan, you look even better up close."
Killian Jones' ice blue eyes glinted with amusement despite the gravity of their former situation and he made a point of letting his eyes rake slowly over her form. He was still dressed in what he'd worn to the restaurant; a white dress shirt, dark grey suit pants and jacket. Though, the formality of the place evidently hadn't affected his inability to shave off the dark stubble that was a permanent (albeit attractive) fixture on his face.
Emma rolled her eyes since any other reaction would only fuel his enjoyment. She'd known the man in front of her long enough to know that he would never let slip an opportunity to appraise her appearance – if only to irritate her. He was just designed that way; a provocateur wrapped in an enigma wrapped in stubble.
"Keep going Jones, you'll feel it tomorrow when I kick your ass," Emma retorted, stepping around him and walking in the direction David had taken their perp. Killian simply fell into stride beside her, raising his eyebrows.
"The more you talk yourself up, lass, the harder you'll fall," he warned, though his smile betrayed any sort of conviction behind his message. She stopped in search of David as they reached the street, and Killian pointed to a black sedan three meters away from them.
"You say that like you've had personal experience," Emma mocked, turning to her partner with feigned suspicion. He narrowed his eyes to watch her as she strode towards the car and quickly got in.
"That was harsh," he chuckled. The blonde opened the car door, turning in her seat so she could point at him.
"I'll see you in the gym tomorrow. Don't be late."
8888
The yellow door to her apartment was heavy and Emma found out as much as she tried to push it open. She attributed its added weight to her fatigue and the fact she was wearing heels, and she was carrying dinner and some paperwork to be filled out. When the door did finally inch open, she pushed forward and stumbled as she finally entered the hallway.
Emma put her keys on the hook next to the door and quickly kicked off her shoes, sighing in relief when her feet were flat on the ground. She really did hate having to wear those damned things for take-downs that required a woman's wiles, but since she was the only female field-agent on her team, such was life. Ruby would probably volunteer for the opportunity if her skills weren't purely confined to technology. The tech analyst had an unhealthy obsession with shoes and anything remotely sparkly.
But who was Emma kidding? She loved Ruby; the flamboyant, fun-loving source of comic relief in their team. And in a job like theirs, where they were confronted with horror every day, she was a vital contributor to their sanity. Granted, Emma had become quite adept over the years at keeping a level head – many might call it dehumanization, she called it survival.
Setting down the folder and box of Chinese take-away, Emma peeled off the red dress on her way to her bedroom. She quickly pulled on a pair of slacks and a white wife-beater and returned to the kitchen where she had laid down her belongings. Her dinner had gone cold in the journey from the restaurant to her apartment complex so she placed it into the microwave to reheat while she scanned briefly through the files.
Emma tugged at a stray curl as she read through them, pulling a pen out of one of the drawers in her kitchen and filling in the necessary details. The blonde read through it once more to ensure she hadn't made any mistakes because even a minute error could result in a guilty man's freedom – something she had been forced to learn the hard way back in her early days.
The sound of the microwave beeping alerted her to her to her dinner and she walked over to remove it from the reheating device. However, before she could even open the appliance, the shrill ring of her phone diverted her attention from the steaming box of Chow Mein. Passing by to press stop on the machine so the beeping would cease, Emma quickly made her way to the phone.
"Hello?" she answered, turning around to walk to the microwave again.
"Emma Swan?" a monotonous voice replied, and the blonde's defenses snapped into place. She narrowed her eyes, though she knew the person on the other end of the line couldn't process her response.
"Who is this?" she asked suspiciously, pausing in the center of her kitchen. It was only then that she looked at the clock and realized it was twenty minutes until midnight.
"My name is Allan Mines, I work for Interpol. I have been instructed by my superiors that you are to be informed should a certain inmate escape from Kaechon Political Prison Camp in North Korea."
Emma nearly dropped the phone, and her breath hitched in her throat.
"Has he escaped?" she asked after a fleeting pause.
"Yes, two days ago."
She took a shaky breath, closing her eyes and kneading her forehead. He was out of jail. Did he remember her? Did he hold a grudge? Was he going to come after her? Question swirled around in Emma's head like a maelstrom, attacking her mind's eye with images of a beautiful cream-coloured mansion, gardens filled with white iceberg roses, a swan pendant –
"Hello?" The man's voice forced Emma to put a lid on her rapidly spiraling thoughts, and she took another deep breath before replying.
"Is Jefferson there?" she asked, her hand reaching for the circle necklace at her throat and twirling it nervously between her fingers.
"Yes, would you like me to patch him through?" the man named Allan asked.
"Yes, thank you," Emma replied, her voice catching in her throat and sounding awfully unlike herself. She coughed to extinguish the crackling in her voice as a pleasant tune came through the receiver and Allan ultimately tried to find her former superior. After an agonizingly long moment, the music coming through the phone stopped and she heard as the phone was pulled up off of the switch hook.
For some reason, she held her breath as she waited to hear his voice.
"Emma?" he said, his familiar voice bringing on another wave of memories.
She shut them out, closing her eyes and answering, "Is it true?"
Jefferson was silent for a long moment and she could imagine him playing with his lucky top hat paperweight.
"Yes, we lost track of him in Russia when he fled across the border."
The smell of her dinner wafted through the microwave's closed door, but Emma suddenly wasn't hungry anymore.
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