One of the central truths of the spy trade is that it is important to have a plan. Every job begins with a plan. Every job involves several plans, from the big picture down to each little aspect of the operation.

Another truth, at least in Killian Jones' experience, is that the plan usually goes wrong.

There was a time when it didn't. There was a time when he worked alone, and his plans were not democratic decisions, and he almost never had to run for his life chased by armed guards because someone set off the alarm.

That time came to an abrupt end when he started working with a pompous, honourable idiot and a tiny, impressively intelligent woman with a sharp tongue.

"Liam!" he whisper-yells, gesticulating furiously. "Get back here before they see you!"

The situation is this: Killian is hidden, in accordance with the plan, in a narrow service room at the back of the complex. Liam, until three seconds ago, was similarly hidden and on lookout while Killian gimmicked the alarm system to allow Belle clear access to the restricted section of the complex. According to their carefully arranged time plan, she ought to be there already, having left the art gallery and its glitzy opening ceremony for more interesting territory.

Unfortunately, said territory is supposed to be empty. If she's spotted in there, even the best cover story won't convince anyone of her innocence. And approximately three seconds ago, Liam spotted the guards headed her way.

Killian reacted with a muttered curse. There aren't supposed to be any guards around right now. He made sure of that. He checked and double-checked the roster...

Unless someone tipped them off.

And, just like that, he knows.

Swan.

Apparently, the world's best thief – her words, not his – has figured out this same angle on Pandora's Box, the location of which Belle is currently trying to ascertain. Once again, it seems, he underestimated her. He wouldn't have thought it possible anymore. There isn't much left that he would put past her.

Time to add one more thing to that list, it seems.

But his thoughts of Swan are pushed aside by the rather more immediate and very bad feeling that Liam is about to do something honourable and, well, stupid.

He's right.

The lights go out with a shower of sparks and a considerable bang. Liam nods in satisfaction, then yelps as Killian barrels into him and pushes him out of the way of the guards now heading their way. Their guns are drawn. It's time to leave.

And once again, Killian finds himself running for his life, chased by armed guards.

"This one," he manages to get out, "is entirely your fault."

Liam yells something into the tiny communicator built into his watch, and by the time they reach the perimeter and clamber over the fence, Belle is waiting with the car. They pile in, she steps on the gas, and that's that.

Almost.

"What happened?" Belle demands, swerving around a corner so tightly that Liam, still wrestling with his safety belt, is almost thrown on top of her.

"Liam happened," Killian says, draped across the backseat and breathing hard.

"I didn't—" Liam begins, but falters immediately when Belle looks across at him, not an outright glare, but enough to make him reconsider his words. She often has that effect on him, and it never fails to cheer Killian up considerably.

"The guards showed up," Liam says, sounding defensive. "We had to do something, or they would have found you."

"So naturally, you start shooting things," Belle says acidly as they barrel through a gate and onto the road beyond.

"We didn't shoot anything, I just shorted out the—"

"I'm sorry, destroying things," Belle corrects herself. "That's so much better! You two really need to stop doing that."

"I wasn't going to," Killian points out.

"I didn't have any other options!" Liam insists. "Look, it bought you time to get out, and we all got away. And I doubt they ever got a good look at either of us in the dark. No one knows we were ever here."

Killian thinks of Emma Swan, and winces. "Well," he says, slowly. "That may not be entirely true."

"At least no one got hurt," Belle says, a little philosophically, as they all sit despondently in Killian's hotel room and assess their actions and options. It's a rather depressing process this time. "That's more than some other missions we've done."

"Aye, but on those missions we've generally come away with more of a result," Killian points out.

"Tell me something." Liam waves away Belle's offer of a drink, and focuses on his brother. "How many times has the Swan woman bested you now?"

"I'm not keeping count," Killian says, a little stiffly. He accepts a tumbler from Belle gratefully, sniffing at the rum appreciatively before taking a swig. "And I might point out that she bested all of us."

"This time," Liam concedes. "It still gets added to your tally."

"There is no tally."

"By my count, it's seven to one in her favour."

"Hey. Venice counts in my favour."

Liam smirks. He doesn't do it often, but it's insufferable every time he does. "That would be the one I mentioned, brother."

Killian has no defence against that. He makes a face at his rum. "Well, she bested us both this time. Although, again, I have to point out that you're the one who began the destruction this time."

"I had to think fast."

Belle sighs. "Fast isn't the same as better. You should try that next time."

"I was a little preoccupied," Liam retorts. "Not to mention rather short on options. If we'd given them another few seconds, they might have noticed you."

"I'm pretty sure they noticed something!"

"But not you," Liam repeats impatiently. "They know someone was on the premises, causing trouble. They have no idea anyone was inside, and they certainly won't have any idea what you were looking for."

"For all the good that does, since we're right back to where we were before this whole run-around," Belle reminds him.

"At least we are all back," Liam says, and now his voice is quiet, the defensiveness gone.

For a moment, they look at each other. Killian isn't sure whether they notice the shift in the air between them, but he certainly does. This is Liam: impulsive and frustrating, but always because of that deep-down need to protect those he cares about. This is Belle: impatient and annoyed at every upheaval of a carefully-constructed plan, but still struck and maybe even a little amazed every time she realises why Liam does what he does.

He never says that he cares. But then, he doesn't need to.

The moment stretches, and Killian notes that Belle has shifted her weight onto the foot closer to Liam, and Liam is leaning on the armrest closer to Belle. He gives them another two heartbeats, but they're both stubbornly clueless as usual, so he breaks the silence with, "Perhaps you should just go to bed."

Their heads whip around in unison to look at him. He smirks at their alarmed (and maybe a little guilty, as though his remark echoed something they'd been thinking about) expressions, and adds innocently, "We should all sleep on it and reconvene in the morning. I'll handle Regina, if she calls."

"Ah," Liam says, clearing his throat. "Yes. Right."

"Right," Belle echoes. "I suppose there's—"

The phone rings. Liam is closest to it, and picks up. "Yes?" He scowls suspiciously. "No, what—oh. One moment." He looks up at Killian, his expression something that Killian can't decipher so quickly. "It's for you."

There's a female voice talking through the little speaker, and Killian makes a face as he presses the receiver to his ear. He doesn't want to report today's glorious heroics to Regina Mills any more than Liam does, but he did just volunteer, in a way. Besides, she's going to find out sooner or later, and he'll hear about it from her no matter what. "Yes?"

But it's not Regina. "Hook," Emma Swan's voice greets him, the usual mix of amused and a little cynical. "Long time, no see."

Killian has never been gladder that telephones only relay voice. Emma is always insufferable, but never more so than when she knows she's put someone off-balance, and controlling his voice is far easier than keeping his face impassive. "That can't be true," he says smoothly. "You must have seen at least one of us, judging by your handiwork."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Indeed? You aren't usually so forgetful, love. Or are you being obtuse on purpose?"

Emma clucks her tongue, or at least Killian thinks that's what the sound is coming over the phone line. "That's not very nice. Especially when I'm calling to thank you."

That can't possibly be true, or at least not nearly as straightforward as it sounds, but Killian has very little to go on, so he simply echoes, "Thank me?"

Liam is watching him with an expression that Killian is sure he doesn't like, and that heralds all manner of torment for him later. For now, though, he can't dwell on that; he needs to focus if he's going to keep up with Emma in whatever this conversation really is. "For your help earlier," she clarifies, her tone smooth as silk. "I don't know what you did, but it sure got everyone's attention."

Killian squeezes his eyes shut briefly. He was afraid of this, but he's been hoping – rather optimistically – that maybe, just maybe, Liam's distraction was enough to shut everything down and drive everyone away. "Conveniently away from you, I take it."

"Very conveniently," Emma agrees. "And since I actually knew where to look, well." She doesn't finish the sentence, but he can hear her satisfied smile. Hear it, and picture it in his head, clear as day. It's an expression he's come to know far too well over the past two years. The expression she always has when she's got her hands on the prize he wanted.

He forces his jaw to unclench, and glowers at the far wall, not in the mood for games anymore. Regina is going to kill him. Then Liam. Then him again. "Swan, as pleasant as this is, I really don't have the time for it," he says, making no effort to disguise his annoyance. She knows, anyway. "I'm waiting on a call that's actually important."

"I'm not important?" Emma repeats. "I think you just hurt my feelings, Hook. I thought we were friends."

"I dread to think how you treat your enemies."

She laughs, and it sounds almost carefree, but he thinks that it seems a little forced. "Well, I don't offer to help them, that's for sure."

One of Killian's eyebrows rises. "Help them?"

"That's why I'm calling," she says, all innocence. "I heard you were looking for something. I happen to have found it. I'm sure we can work something out."

Killian's eyebrows are now both making a heroic effort to reach his hairline. "I'd like nothing more."

"A date, then." Emma sounds delighted. She gives him an address and a time, tells him to wear something nice, and hangs up before he's finished processing the turn that his day has just taken.

Liam is smirking at him. He stops smirking when Killian relays that they are, just maybe, not quite as screwed as they were five minutes ago. Unfortunately, he starts again shortly after that, when Regina calls and refers to Emma Swan as "Hook's thieving girlfriend", and neither Killian's glare nor Regina's barbed remarks about wanton destruction and letting one woman outwit the three of them are enough to make him stop.

The bastard.