Here is my contribution to the CaptainSwan BigBang 2017. This is my very first time participating in something like this and while it's had it's problems, I've enjoyed creating this work for you all.
Huge thanks to my beta, the impeccable ilovemesomekillianjones. She is constantly by my side in my ventures and her help is priceless.
There is also some fabulous artwork that accompanies this story so I really hope I can work out how to link that to Fanfiction so you all can appreciate it.
Chapter 1 Beware the Dark
Emma Swan rounded the corner of the hall, taking the short flight of stairs down into the converted basement offices. Even the addition of new lighting and carpeting couldn't disguise that it was still a basement. Someday, maybe she would graduate to an upstairs office with a window, but right now the basement office was the place to be.
Stopping on her way to her office at the end of the hall, she opened the TA's lounge to see if her personal assistant was anywhere in sight. Seeing the small brunette sitting at a table with a few other graduate students, Emma entered the room and poured herself a cup of the worst coffee that Storybrooke had to offer.
"Belle, did the shipment arrive yet?" Emma tried not to notice how a few of the students jumped up when she entered and started grabbing their books. This University wasn't a happy one. The departments were fragmented and at war, and the Department Head was a first-class jerk.
"Oh no, not yet, Emma...um...Professor Swan!" Emma smiled at Belle's lapse in using her name and then calling her professor. It really didn't matter to her, but 'The Powers That Be' had sent out another memo last week reminding all Department Heads that a certain amount of professional decorum needed to be maintained at all times between faculty, staff, the underpaid student workers, and the students themselves.
The University of Maine at Storybrooke literally sucked ever since the dumb-ass Professor of Modern Linguistics, Gerald Tiny was undisputedly caught pants down with his dick doing the happy dance in a co-ed's mouth. Yeah, life really sucked in Storybrooke. But honestly, Gerald Tiny? The name was its own disclaimer for a well-balanced life. The man was doomed from the get-go. What were his parents thinking? Her friend, Tink, yes, she was actually called Tinkerbell, in the History Department, told her the name "Tiny" was very appropriate, that the descriptive properties were well deserved. Personally, Emma didn't want to touch that with a ten-foot stick.
Emma quickly swallowed the cup of sludge disguised as coffee and thanked Belle before she left the room. It didn't seem fair to disrupt the haven the TA's had by hanging out in their room. It was hard not to miss the fun of listening to their discussions, and it wasn't like she was so much older than the rest of them. In truth, since most of them were graduate students, and she had just finished her master's degree last fall before accepting this position as an Assistant Professor, she was actually the same age as some, and even younger than others. But somehow, at twenty-six she felt so much older when she was around them, and way too young at other times around other professors.
It would've been a nice distraction to discuss Gerald Tiny's tiny member or how it was hardly a mouthful, but no! She was forced to discuss it with the other professors in the staff lounge in a quiet, dignified manner. Thank goodness for Tink! Last night they had gone out for a movie and dinner, and talked about the tiniest endowment in the history of UM Storybrooke. Honestly, it must have been a man that said it wasn't the size that counted, but what they did with it! But, if a man thought "making love" was sticking it in, wiggling it all about, doing the hokey pokey and pulling out, then a few extraneous inches could actually go far to smooth some of the insult and injury. Or at the very least, give a girl something to talk about on the next girls' night out.
Oh yeah, he was a speed demon with a three minute record to break, but man you just had to check out the size of his schlong, Emma thought as she started to sing "Where Have all the Real Men Gone?" borrowing from the Paula Cole classic, while stooping to pick up the usual pile of messages shoved under her door by frantic students, abound with excuses or requests. She started to toss them on her desk when she noticed the space was covered in unfinished work, class notes, grade books, unmarked blue books, and unread essays threatening to grow legs and walk away. If she tossed the messages on her desk now, in the state it was in, chances of ever finding them again was roughly spring of next year. Oh, well... Emma tossed them anyway because the floor looked just as bad.
"Oh god, this can't be right!" Emma stuck her head back outside her office and read her name on the door. Dammit, The Project (not to be said in lowercase) was an unwieldy, jealous lover sucking all her free time down a vortex.
The Project was her nemesis, the bane of her existence. It was the outfitting and creation of a specialty museum for both the Anthropology and History Departments to display and manage their growing collections of artifacts. The State Antiquities Board, a subdivision of the Board of Regents, authorized the creation of an Anthropology and Historical Museum and Archaeological Institution at the University, and it was Emma's worst nightmare. As the youngest and newest member to the Anthropology teaching staff, and a doctoral candidate, somehow she found herself volunteered to supervise the creation and outfitting of the new museum.
It had been an eight month nightmare, full of building codes, reconstruction and renovation of a historical building on campus, the fight for office space within the building itself by various departments, the fight for display space, the building of dioramas and interactive displays for the young visitors, and the creation of a research library to house a collection of journals and books. The displays and construction were done, but the arrival of the collections, both artifacts and books, was creating havoc. Emma had a full staff of researchers and students furiously cataloguing and recording all the collections as they were slowly placed in display cases.
The problems started with the decrepit building, the large white elephant they tried to tear down, to have a bright new building put in its place. But no, the city's biggest wacko came with protesters, posters, media coverage, and chains, demanding the building be saved, and registered in a historical registry as a preserved building in Maine. Sure, Emma could have cursed the organizer who started all the trouble, or even threatened her with bodily harm, okay she did threaten her, but it was all in a moment of extreme pressure. The University community looked on in horror as the political warfare raged for months, until finally they caved and decided to preserve the fine piece of heritage and give it a new purpose. Storybrooke's wacko walked away happy, feeling she had accomplished her goal. Of course, Emma had to call the wacko Mom, so her dealings with the moral crusader were never over.
Then there were the fights with the building inspectors holding special regulations and codes for historical buildings- again, Mom's fault. Then, once the building was finally renovated and up to code, the real fun began. Every department with space in the museum had ideas, endless ideas for displays, interactive educational dioramas. All those suggestions were deposited on Emma's desk, as the happy requesters walked away knowing they were getting what they wanted, while leaving the actual physical work to Emma.
So, looking at her overly cluttered desk, at the stacks of work, which needed to be done yesterday, Emma psyched herself up for yet another all-night session. Sex? Did people still stay up all night having sex, or something even possibly resembling a real life? Emma couldn't say. That seemed like something that happened on television or maybe the movies, but surely not real life? She vaguely remembered staying up all night with a boyfriend engaging in not the best of sex, but what was lacking in quality made up in quantity.
She couldn't even remember her last boyfriend's name. Maybe Wally? No. Walter? No, it was Sam. Okay, how the heck did she go from Wally to Sam? No, that wasn't right either. Surely he had a name, or even a face. Maybe she would someday go home to her apartment, walk in and find her last boyfriend was still there, but now had moved in his new wife and children. He waited so long for her to get back to him that he forgot the place wasn't his. Bastard. Dammit, she was beginning to envy Gerard Tiny with his tiny dick, because at least it was getting some action!
Belle came up behind her boss and friend with a look of concern. Emma was talking to herself with an occasional "Bastard!" coming out of her mouth. She just stood there in her office, gesticulating wildly and incoherently, making a few obscene gestures to increase the effectiveness of her seemingly angry rant.
"Emma? Are you okay?"
"No! It's still here! All of it's still here! I've worked every night for the last two weeks to get caught up in my class work, and the pile actually looks bigger!" Emma turned to look at Belle in horror. "I think I'm de-evolving. Someday you'll come in and see a puddle of primordial ooze and say good morning to it." Emma's voice changed to have a perky high squeaky sound to it, "My, Professor Swan, that puke green shade of ooze is so becoming on you. I brought you a cup of complex amino acids." Emma spied a cup in Belle's hand, and a gleam of interest, no, lust entered her eyes. "Is that coffee? Like real coffee, not the crap from the lounge."
Belle looked down at what she had, quickly putting it behind her back. "No, of course not, it's...um...spit. Nasty, very vile stuff." No way she was going to give the deranged woman in front of her more caffeine. No, the only thing that would help her now wasn't more stimulation, but Prozac-a lot of Prozac. "It's not that bad," she added, her blue eyes scanning the mess of Emma's office.
Emma turned glassy eyes on Belle, eyes that hadn't seen more than a few hours of sleep in over two weeks, with a look of disbelief.
Belle quickly became silent again. Okay, maybe that wasn't the right thing to say. Emma circled the room gesturing to piles of books on the floor reaching upward to the ceiling, the piles of papers covering every available space, and then her desk, a.k.a the Helldesk
"Belle, not bad? You're saying this isn't bad?" Emma suddenly spied something against her far wall.
Belle almost had a heart attack at the scream coming from Emma's mouth.
"What the hell is that?"
Belle followed her pointing finger, and gave a groan. Changing her mind, Belle calmly handed the cup of coffee to Emma, she steered the young woman to her office chair. "It's a few deliveries for the museum. They showed up late Friday."
Emma was drinking the coffee like it was a lifeline, holding it cupped in her hands. "No. No-no. No! NO! I told them! I told the mailroom to send all deliveries to the museum, not here." It had taken her over two months, and numerous football players from her classes to get all the misdirected deliveries out of her office. After that, she had to flirt and schmooze the cute mail coordinator, Dickie, with offers of dinner and perhaps numerous acts of fellatio, to get the delivery problems fixed. Oh, dammit, she must have forgotten to follow through! Sighing, Emma looked down at her daily calendar, something that would have to be fixed later. "Okay, let's just not worry about it any longer, but if any more deliveries come for the museum, refuse them. Send them back to the mailroom and let them sort out the mistakes. Now we're going to need more coffee and some space, because today we're going to clear my desk off. I've a class at ten and another at three. So, let's get to work."
…
It wasn't there. All the packages had been rifled, opened, searched, and it wasn't there. Moving through the lightless rooms, the dark figure searched every corner and every office hoping to find it, finally giving up because time was too short. It was the flickering of light down the hall that had the figure slinking into the shadows. The night guard was too early. Without the formal alarm system in place, the security service was forced to send guards on patrol. Taking the flashlight in hand, and waiting for the guard to come closer, the figure prepared to remove the problem so the rest of the place could be searched without incident.
…
The older man looked up from his work at the figure in the doorway, startled to be interrupted so late at night. "Oh, it's you." He quickly got up and closed the door behind the figure. "Are you crazy? What if someone saw you? I told you to never come here."
"It wasn't there."
"Yes, it is. I saw the invoices." The old man paused, realizing what the missing item meant. "What did you do?"
"I searched for it, and it wasn't there." The figure loomed menacingly over the older man. "I searched everything."
"You only had a ten minute window before security did their rounds." The sweat broke out on his head as the older man reached for his cup of coffee trying to quell the rising fear.
"Things were done. It happened, but I couldn't find it, and I can't go back," the gloved hands came down on the table, "so that leaves you. You've got to find it and bring it to me. If you fail, I can't tell you how unhappy it'll make me." And as the dark figure moved out of the office and merged into the surrounding night, fear was a legacy left behind.
…
Emma tried to juggle her coffee, book bag, purse, and an armful of papers while opening the doors to the museum. Today she was blissfully free of classes, and her poor neglected students knew to look for her here. Not that many of them were stupid enough to come to the museum. It was a known fact that entering those hallowed halls might mean being roped into doing some type of manual labor.
It was surprising that Sean, the security guard, wasn't there to open the door for her. He was usually waiting for her, but not today. Entering the building, it felt too quiet, but then again, first thing in the morning it frequently did. Taking her stuff slowly to her museum office with the title of curator on the door, Emma was happy to unload her burden. Her office here was almost as bad as her office in the Anthropology building with the saving grace of being large, airy, and having a beautiful window. It seemed messier than usual...
Emma backed out of the room, looking it over with pensive eyes, trying to reconstruct how it looked last time she locked the door. It felt wrong, just wrong. For the first time since entering the building, it's silence was causing the hair on her neck to stand up.
Cautiously walking down the hall, she slowly looked around corners and down a long silent corridor into the main cathedral room. Walking to the nearest sectional, the Egyptian Kingdom, Emma stopped in the doorway. It was trashed. All the boxes were opened, contents poured out. Stepping back, Emma slowly moved further down the hall to the next room, the Peruvian Pre-Columbian Textiles. It too was trashed. All the textiles, thousands of years old, were dumped on the floor without care, piles of them discarded. Emma would have had a holy fit, if it weren't for the shoe she saw as she backed out of the room. Swallowing her fear, she slowly walked towards the shoe, and rounding the crates, she found Sean.
…
Aye, come to Storybrooke, small city with little to no crime! It'll be good for you! Right. Killian Jones looked around the corner of the building he was leaning up against. There he was, Isaac Heller. Looking back beside him at this partner, he smirked when he saw David Nolan brushing at his jeans, trying to get the crud of the building off him.
"That's him. Let's go partner." Killian took off, confident that David would be right on his heel. They had been partners for two years, but friends for longer than that. Crossing the street, Killian came up fast behind Isaac, and took him by his left arm while David took the right one.
"Hey, Isaac, thought I told you to leave this life, mate," Killian smirked as the man looked at him and his eyes widened.
"Jones, I swear man, I'm clean! So clean! I don't got a scratch on me, not even a sniff!" Isaac started to sweat in the cool morning air.
David scoffed at his side, like they were going to believe that.
"Isaac... Isaac... you should know better than to lie to my partner. Jones hasn't even had his morning coffee and donut, and you know how he gets!"
Isaac looked at the brooding man to his left and moved closer to David.
"Nolan, ya have to square it for me! Tell your partner that I'm so clean. Yeah, like totally pure and razor, mate!"
David just shook his head and tsked at the obvious lie. A reliable source told them that Isaac was back on the streets dealing in illegal trade for drops of smack, and he was dealing on the side.
Killian turned and looked at the smaller man, appearing about thirty years older than his twenty-seven years. "Isaac, you're going to make me hurt you before breakfast, aren't you? Get in the bloody car!" Killian pushed Isaac into the backseat of David's black SUV. "Dave, hit a drive thru, I hate doing early morning torture on an empty stomach."
Both David and Killian kept facing forward with smiles on their faces at the gasping from the backseat.
A few hours later, after leaving Isaac sweating in the interrogation room, Killian went to report to the Captain. Nemo was a fair man, headstrong and tough, but fair. Killian liked Nemo, who was helping to restore his faith in commanders, after his own departure from the British police force, some years ago.
He knocked quickly before entering. "Hey, Cap, Isaac dropped a dime on Gold."
Nemo looked up from his manpower reports and looked over the scruffy half of his best detective team. Years ago, when his father was Sheriff of Storybrooke, they didn't need a Major Crimes Unit, Vice, or any of the other departments. Instead they had a large department that did everything. But times changed, and so did Storybrooke. The once small town of fisherman and nature lovers had given over to families and businesses. Storybrooke was far enough from the rat race of the larger cities of Portland, Bangor, and Augusta, to give a warm small town feel, but was still large enough to be classed as a city and accommodate crime.
The addition of the University to the town had increased its population a few years back, but with the increase came crime. They were forced to boost the staffing of their departments and recruited detectives from the larger cities. Finding the investigation team of Jones and Nolan was almost a godsend. At first Jones was a questionable addition, having been a transfer from the UK to work with the Boston Police Department, but he proved to be more than just a little astute and effective, and he was Nemo's best detective with Nolan a close second. The team of Nolan and Jones had the best and cleanest arrest record in the Department. Literally, Killian Jones, the man, scared the crap out of most people. It wasn't just his menacing stare, or even his demeanor, but a darkness that seemed to live on his face, like a void lacking in emotions that sent criminals and personages of dubious character begging to confess.
"How much did he give us?" Nemo stood to join Killian, looking for his other half. "Can we take him out?"
"He gave us the current location, and the next meeting time. Tomorrow night, after midnight. Gold himself is supposed to be there." Killian scratched his eyebrow. "David is putting Isaac on ice. We don't want him to run at the mouth until then."
"Okay, but get a team on Isaac. That weasel can slip out of a vice grip if he smells cheese."
Killian smiled at that, Isaac was nothing if not slippery. "Can do, Cap." Killian looked around the squad room, his eyes landing on the Captain's son, Liam. "How about Liam and Grumpy?"
"Done." Nemo went to the door and yelled, "Liam! You and Leroy, NOW!"
Killian leaned against the door smiling to himself, this should be fun, he thought.
David walked toward Killian following his glance towards Liam. Poor guy. He was shaping up into a good detective, but he was partnerless, so he invariably got stuck with Hanson, who wasn't good in any way shape or form.
It was tough being the Captain's son, Liam didn't want any favoritism, he needed to prove to the rest of the squad he could do his job without the helping hand of his father.
Killian liked the young lad, he reminded him of his own older brother, also called Liam.
"Was that really necessary?" David asked Killian, as he watched Liam walk towards them with an unhappy scowl on his face.
"Shush, mate. This should be good!"
"You're a cruel bastard," David smirked and waited for the fun to begin.
"I am," Killian agreed."Hey Liam, where's your happy partner?"
"He's not my partner. Man this sucks big..." Liam knew that as long as he didn't have an assigned partner he would be saddled with Leroy, known affectionately as Grumpy. His last partner, Greyson LeGume, was killed in the line of duty over a year ago, and at first he didn't want a new partner. Now he would settle for anyone, as long as it wasn't Grumpy. "Why do I get stuck with him? Man, he smells like frozen fish and bacon bits, and the other day he had an overwhelming fume de' odor of pork rinds."
David joined Killian lounging against the wall.
"Liam, for the good of the department, you're required to get your stinky partner to bathe. We've got a bust tomorrow and at this rate they'll smell us coming. It's your duty to the brotherhood. No wonder they call us Pigs when we have 'Pigpen' himself in residence," Killian groused.
"A bust? What's going down?" Liam quickly looked in at his father reading another report. "Am I in on it?"
"Nope, you and Grumpy get to babysit Isaac the Snitch. Have fun." Both Killian and David walked away before Liam could protest. They lied. They would make sure Liam was with them for the action, but it was too good watching his crestfallen look, the stream of swearing under his breath, and the pissed off look he gave his doofus of a partner, Grumpy. The entire team took Liam under their wing when Greyson took the fatal bullet. Liam was lost for almost a year, and was just finally coming out of it. Greyson took the bullet to save Liam's life, because what hit Greyson mid-heart would have hit Liam between the eyes. And for Liam, it was a difficult thing to live with.
David understood more than anyone. When they lived in Boston and he was a patrolman in blues, Killian had been in Vice, on loan from Scotland Yard in London. They had been acquaintances after an incident involving David's sister, but in truth, from the moment they met, it was like they knew each other. Just knew. A few months later Killian suffered a great loss and he spiraled out of control; angry at the world, he took an undercover assignment with Vice and David hardly saw him. While working deep undercover he saved David's life, took a bullet for him and jeopardized his cover, and that action sealed their friendship. After Killian recovered from the near fatal injury, he was back on the streets, living in the sewers like the street people. It took over two years of friendship, and finally getting his gold shield, to give David the leverage to talk Killian in off the street. But it was years too late. What Killian had lived through during vice scarred him for life. It made him. Created him
"Jones! Nolan!" They both looked back at the Captain's door. "I've got a new one for you. Patrol is already on the scene, so I need you there five minutes ago."
David ran over to grab the report from Nemo, scanning it. A murder at the University. Lovely, just lovely.
Nemo grabbed David before he could take off after Killian already at the elevators, "Keep him from killing anyone."
David smiled knowing that might be impossible, "Aye-aye, Cap!"
…
"I don't know why you always get to drive," Killian complained as he watched the scenery pass at a speed far under what he would've driven. He was exercising selective memory, because he knew exactly why he couldn't drive, but just wanted to bitch a little. "You drove last week."
"Yeah, and I'm driving next week, until you finish those classes," David spared Killian a quick glance, "plus, I love arriving in one piece."
Killian snorted at the criticism to his driving. They got there didn't they, and in a timely manner?
"You're just jealous because I hold the fastest time for the obstacle course." Killian didn't mention that he also had the best shooting scores too, because somehow being a crack shot and putting holes in dead center didn't seem like something to brag about.
"Killian, the driving course is supposed to teach you to avoid disaster, not plow through it." David knew Killian liked driving, and he knew his own driving irritated his partner to no end. "Listen, finish the anger management classes and the P.D. will okay you to drive again."
"This is bullshit, I didn't run the guy over, I nudged him."
"Killian!" David wasn't going to get into the incident again. Killian was caught in a battle of road rage a few months back and the other driver threatened a lawsuit, so the P.D. legal department demanded Killian take anger management classes and driving lessons before he could operate a departmental vehicle, or even a personal one, during working hours. "You only have six more hours. Finish it, and we can close the door on this." David looked over at the stubborn look on Killian's face, and sighed. The man was an immovable object.
…
By the time they hit the scene, patrol cars were already blocking off the front entrance. David frowned at a uniform officer talking to Campus Security. "Officer, what's going on here?" David asked, looking at the gathering crowd, and campus security walking in and out of the building. "This building should've been shut down. You and your partner move the crowd back another three feet, and shoot anyone trying to enter the building without my permission, unless they've got an official Storybrooke P.D. badge. Do I make myself clear?" David made his voice loud enough to cause the pushing crowd to automatically move back.
Killian looked around, and then at Campus Security. "Who's this?" his eyes narrowed at the blustering demeanor of the man, as he stood in the patrolman's face.
"I'm Chief of Campus Security, and I demand to see the officer in charge. I've got people that need in this building, and your officer is keeping everyone out. I've already had five professors complain."
"Only five?" Killian shrugged. That wasn't so bad. Smiling ironically, he bet he could make it around an even dozen in the next few hours. "No one gets into the building until Detective Nolan, or I, give the okay. The only people allowed to pass are support team and the medical examiner's office. Understood? , Mr...um, yeah..." Killian waved off the man's name as unimportant.
"Peabody, Officer Peabody," the man tried to hold his ground and authority, "and you are?"
"Right." Killian moved in closer, getting into the security officer's face. "Detective Killian Jones, and I'm in charge here, so don't piss in my pond." His voice didn't rise once, just became darker and darker, edged in ice. The patrolman started pulling at his collar and sweating. "If anyone should get in without my okay, I'll hold you personally responsible for contaminating a crime scene, and you won't find being booked by me a pleasant experience. Do I make myself clear?" Killian allowed space for the man to swallow and back up, nodding his understanding. "Now get behind the yellow tape. We'll bring you a report, and find you when we need information, otherwise get off my crime scene." David followed Killian into the building. As Killian cornered another officer. "Call the station for a damn liaison officer, otherwise I'm going to be taking more anger management classes. And who was the first officer on the scene?" Killian was mentally patting himself on the back. He hadn't raised his voice once so far.
They followed the officer's pointing finger to a young-looking patrolman, barely looked old enough to be out of the academy. David rushed ahead of Killian to talk to the young man, as Killian started walking the scene, noticing the open crates, the tossed materials, and finally the dead body of the campus security guard. He really couldn't blame the Chief of Campus Security's actions. It was devastating to lose one of their own. It became so personal.
After talking to the young man, and then excusing him to go back to headquarters to file his report, David went to find Killian. "Killian, the person to find the body is in the back office waiting to be questioned. She found him early this morning, about an hour and a half ago. Campus security was called first. They sent over a team, and then called the P.D."
"Yeah, I got that. There're enough bloody footprints all over the sodding place, and ten bucks if that body wasn't moved. Bloody hell, we only got the call twenty minutes ago, and you don't drive that slow!"
"Campus Rent-a-Cops called the Chancellor and the Deans of the University, who in turn called the Board of Regents. We didn't figure that high on the list of people needing to know." David winced at the stream of obscenities coming out of Killian's mouth. Damn, he could cuss a blue streak! David held out his hand, as Killian passed him a few bucks. Killian's campaign to clean up his language was the final task he needed to complete his anger management training, and so far, he was failing miserably. Thank god it was a self-assigned task and not part of the course or Killian would never finish the classes.
Finally, the lab boys showed up to process the crime scene. Philip, the medical examiner, took a quick look around before addressing the detectives. "This site is a sorry one, boys. Who moved the body?"
Killian and David shared a look, both had yet to determine that.
"Well, we'll do a standard sweep, but there're so many prints all over the place it's going to be challenging to determine what was here before, and what was added by people trampling over the crime scene."
"How long, Philip?" Killian saw a uniformed officer gesturing for him. Giving him a quick acknowledgement, he looked back at the examiner. "When can you tell us the cause of death?"
"Oh, I can tell you that right now, unofficially, of course. Trauma by blunt instrument to the head, and time of death approximately midnight last night, but I'll see if I can pinpoint a more specific time for ya."
"Thanks, Philip. Hey, how is Aurora?" David asked as Killian nodded and walked off to talk to the officer.
"She's fine, Nolan, not that it's any of your business. Stay away from my sister. You and Jones are walking nightmares to the female population of Storybrooke." Philip picked up his equipment. "Half the population are trying to get Jones's attention, and the other half are chasing after you. Can't figure it out myself, you're both losers."
David laughed as Philip walked away. Unfortunately, it was true. Neither he nor Killian had much luck in relationships. Killian's last one ended over a year ago and he hadn't bothered to replace her, couldn't remember her name, and it took over three months before he realized she was gone, along with his entire apartment. Guess she figured he owed her. And as for David, he didn't know what was wrong with him, but every woman he met he found something wrong with her. It was like he was waiting for someone who never came.
David looked around for his partner and found him deep in conversation with the officer. Moving towards them, he went to do damage control. Killian's body was tightening up, signaling his irritation. "Hey, what's up?" David looked at the uncomfortable officer and discreetly motioned for him to scram. "What's going on?"
"Our primary witness, the woman who found the body took off. She told the officer she needed to go, and just like that, he escorted her out of the building." Killian's jaw clenched. "He walked out my witness before I released her from questioning."
"Calm down Killian. Did she immediately move to another state or something?"
"No, but now we'll have to hunt her down," Killian crushed a paper he held in his hand, "and, it's not like we aren't already busy enough. I've got the uniforms taking down all the names and arranging fingerprinting for all the museum staff, and idiots who crushed my scene."
"So, who are we looking for?"
Killian reluctantly opened the paper he just crushed. The officer walked her out? Walked her out? People were on his crime scene hours before he was called. What the hell was going on? "A Professor Emma Swan, and according to this, she is an assistant professor with the Anthropology Department." Great. Just great. They'd probably find an old senile woman, half buried under a layer of dust and grime, whose hearing aid needed new batteries. "They store her in the basement!"
…
The voice that told them to enter was muffled, and decidedly not old sounding. The room was – well, it was covered in books and papers, some of the stacks reaching for the ceiling, and appearing alarmingly unstable. The room also had artifacts, pottery, tapestries, and paintings hanging on the walls, or blanketing every surface. Overall, the room was impressively cluttered and disorganized.
"Can I help you?" The soft voice came from behind a stack to their right as they entered the room.
"Professor Swan?" David asked, moving forward to let Killian into the room. Killian's presence was dominating, and looking at the impressive display of disorder, he seemed to suck up what remaining space there was in the room.
"Yes..." Emma moved from behind the stacks to come in view, "I'm Professor Swan." The woman holding her arms wrapped around her body stood behind her desk facing them.
Neither man spoke for a second, letting the shock of her appearance wash over them. She was delicate, young, beautiful, and her voice was soft. But her eyes held them pinned. Her vivid green eyes with golden flakes flashed across the room, looking more alive and intense than anything David could remember seeing. In a room covered in dust from dead ancient societies, this woman breathed life. David felt an overwhelming instinct to protect her, to comfort her, and perhaps, maybe help her sit. The soft growl coming from Killian's mouth suggested he was feeling something too, something that irritated him to no end.
"I'm sorry," Emma moved forward, frowning at the two men who seemed to take up all the remaining air in her office, "did you need something?"
Killian casually opened his badge to show her his shield, David quickly doing the same.
"Oh, yes, the Pigs. I was expecting you." Emma's hand shot to her mouth in shock, as both David and Killian stood straighter at the reference. "Oh god, I said that out loud!" Suddenly the woman started laughing as if her mirth was uncontainable, falling back in her chair with her hands covering her face, her body began to shake.
"If you're finished, lass?" Killian's irritation was evident in his voice as it raised a level, but it was David's hand on his arm that made him stop, as he tried to advance into the room.
"Killian," David warned him as he nodded his head in the young woman's direction, "she's not laughing."
Killian looked closer. No, she wasn't. She was crying, her body racked with sobs, and as swiftly as his anger had risen, it subsided. Her tearful sobs knocked the wind out of his sails, and suddenly the room was too small, too cluttered, and his feet too big. He moved back and forth uneasily, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
David moved towards the woman, grabbing a tissue from a box he spied on a shelf. "Ma'am?" He handed her the tissue. There was something about this woman, something that made tears from her seem almost an outrage, a violation.
Emma took the proffered tissue, and turning her back on them, tried to gain some control. She was mortified. Crying never came easy to her over the years, the only tears she could remember were ones of anger, so the wave of weakness that washed over her body was unwelcome. It was their fault, no doubt about it. She had stood in her office holding herself together just fine until they interrupted. But somehow seeing them so big and silent in front of her, holding their badges up made it all come back. Oh, poor Sean, poor gentle Sean! He deserved so much more than that! Taking a deep breath, she turned back to face them.
"I'm sorry, it's just... Sean... he was a nice man, a nice young man with a wife and small daughter." Emma quickly tossed the tissue and looked at the two men in anger. "I sat there for hours, as people walked in and out, sometimes asking me questions, but no one took care of Sean. He was left lying there, like some kind of museum display, to be looked at, poked and prodded, and it seemed..." Emma paused, searching for the right word, "disrespectful. I couldn't stay there any longer. I'm sorry, but the policeman was kind enough to escort me out."
Killian's eyes narrowed at that. Oh, aye, he had a few choice words for that patrolman later. He finally addressed the woman, and his voice was biting, "Don't you mean, Pig?"
Her sudden hysteria had actually pissed him off more, not because she was laughing at the reference to calling a police officer a "Pig", but because the sound disturbed him, and he didn't like being disturbed. David quickly looked at his partner's reaction, confused that he seemed so angry.
"Sorry," her voice having a singsong quality to it, "I can't believe I said that, that I let it slip out like that." Emma wiped her eyes again. "My mother was and is a throwback from the sixties, which is funny considering she never participated in the countercultures, too young. Anyway, she spent her life protesting this and that, 'Those Pigs oppress!' 'Pigs this…Pigs that...', so that must have slipped. Sorry." Emma smiled, blaming her mother again. "The strange thing is, and in a fit of supreme justice, she is dating a cop now, actually engaged." Emma knew she was rambling, but she couldn't seem to stop.
"Professor, we've got a few questions, and need to your statement," David smiled, liking this woman. It was Jones who bothered him. Killian was shifting on his feet, and David's partner instincts were cluing him in that his partner was far from happy.
"Of course, please have a seat."
Killian quickly looked around at the chaos, "Where exactly?"
"Oh," Emma looked at the chairs piled with books and paper, "right you are."
She rushed around her desk and cleared a chair for David, gesturing for him to sit as she looked around for a place to put the pile, finally just sitting it on the floor next to his chair. Then, clearing one for Killian, she moved to put the pile down, but he was standing in her way. Putting her shoulder into him, she tried to shift him back a pace so she could place the pile on the floor. He stood, unmoving. Looking up at him for the first time, their eyes locked.
David watched them in shock as the room took on an electrical intensity, a look of stubborn determination came over the young woman's face, while his partner's face remained closed and unyielding. They were locked in a silent combat, too instinctive for David to understand, but before he could warn his partner off, a wicked smile came across Emma's face. She just shrugged and dropped the books on Killian's feet. Ignoring the yelp, she quickly returned to her seat behind the desk and inclined her head towards David to continue his questioning.
"Detectives?"
"Yes, sorry," David frowned at his partner and started asking the questions, taking notes. He started to worry about Killian's uncharacteristic silence. Of the two of them, Killian was the senior partner and senior investigator. He had years of field work beyond David. But he was-dammit-he was sulking! "If you could just start with the events of the morning leading up to finding the body?"
"Sean."
David looked at her politely, but confused.
"He's not 'The Body'-his name was Sean Herman." Emma shifted in her chair holding onto her emotions. A name was sacred, sometimes all a person had when there was nothing left. She refused to cry again, and the larger man's dark demeanor was succeeding in both angering her and helping her to retain some control.
"I found him this morning around six thirty. I work at the museum on Tuesdays because I'm not scheduled to teach. Sean typically waits at the doors to open them for me because I'm generally carrying too much stuff, but this morning he wasn't there."
Killian looked at her as she gave her statement. It didn't surprise him, somehow he had no doubt she had few problems getting men to fetch and carry for her, or even walk her out of a crime scene. Looking at his partner who seemed intent on being gentle and nice to her, David seemed to be falling under the same deadly charm. They were big men, tall and imposing, but somehow, from the moment she stepped out from behind the stacks, her smaller body seemed to take up all the room. She wasn't imposing like them; no, she was more deadly than that; she was charismatic.
"I went to my office, but somehow it seemed different. Wrong. Even the building when I entered seemed silent. Which is strange because I'm usually the first there, so it's often silent. This was different, cold, unyielding, and it made me pause." David nodded. He knew what she meant. It was the silence of death, a feeling like the very warmth of the air had been sucked from the room, and it was the same silence associated with funerals. "I noticed that my office was wrong, but I couldn't tell why, just that it was. I walked out into the cathedral area and entered the Egyptian room first. Someone had rifled through the crates and boxes, and had tossed priceless artifacts on the ground like they were nothing more than worthless junk. I then proceeded to the Peruvian displays, and when I saw the textiles tossed about, I was angry, but before I could leave the room, I saw Sean's shoe on the floor hidden behind the crate."
"What then, Professor?" David paused from his notes when she stopped telling her story.
"Emma, please call me Emma." Emma quickly pressed a number on her phone and talked to a woman's voice. "Cleo, could you have someone bring three cups of coffee to my office? Have them bring some sugar and cream as well." She looked over at the two. "Sorry, I really need something to fortify me. I saw the shoe and walked around the crate, and there he was, lying on the floor, face down with blood on the back of his skull." There was a knock at the door, and a pretty, brunette woman stuck her head in carefully carrying three cups of coffee. David quickly stood and helped her, by taking two of the cups, and handing one to Killian. "Thank you, Belle," Emma said, as Belle quickly handed David stirring rods, cream, and sugar, shutting the door behind her.
"Did you move or touch the body?" Emma bristled at Killian's question, abrupt and almost accusatory.
"No, I did not. His skull was crushed, and there were no signs of breathing." Emma took a large drink of her coffee. "What I did, Detective, was back out of the room, and call Campus Security."
"Why not 911, and the police station directly?" Killian was still pissed at how long it took for them to finally be called in.
"Truthfully? I was afraid. The place was too cold, too quiet, and it felt wrong." Emma took another sip of her coffee, watching both the detectives finally drink some of theirs after doctoring it with cream and sugar. "Campus Security seemed like my best bet to getting someone there immediately. I didn't know if the person who did this was still in the building, but at six thirty in the morning, it's not like the entire campus is bustling with activity, so I went to my office, locked the door, and made the call, and then waited."
Killian nodded, seeing her point, as he took a drink of the hot liquid. Bloody hell! He almost spat the stuff out. Looking at the woman, he could see a gleam of amusement in her eyes. The coffee was awful. Actually, awful didn't even compare to what this black sludge was, and since P.D. coffee was reputed to be the worst ever concocted, this stuff was impressive. And then she took another drink, almost daring him to finish his cup.
David, not involved in the silent pissing match, discreetly looked for a place to put his cup. This crap could burn a hole into a gut.
"Chicory," she said, and both men looked at her in confusion. "The coffee has fresh chicory added, and it's made by one of our Peruvian archaeologists. No one can figure out why he does this to lifesaving coffee beans, but one thing is consistent- this coffee kills."
"Why drink it then?" David asked, curious why an entire department would continue to drink something so vile.
"Are you kidding?" Emma smiled at him. "One cup of this would fuel the lights of this city for a day. It's a pick-me-up purer than intravenously administered caffeine. When we want real coffee, the English department is next door, they make those gourmet flavored coffees like Crème de Mint or French Vanilla. But this stuff, it's like liquid life."
David had to agree. He only stomached one sip and his head was buzzing, but looking at his partner, he was worried because Killian seemed determined to finish the cup. Great. He was going to have a wired partner for the rest of the day. Maybe they could get a thermos of the stuff for their stakeout tomorrow night.
They continued to question her, until finally there seemed little else to know. David's beeper went off, looking at the number, he quickly dialed the number on his cell. Killian watched the professor watching him. She wasn't arrogant, rude, or in any way offensive, but for some reason she put him on edge. Her very presence seemed like a challenge, a large one. He watched her hands wrap around the coffee cup, as her eyes stared him down. Those hands, they were long and delicate, yet firm and strong. Shaking himself from groaning, he quickly broke eye contact with her, which pissed him off even more, and looked at David.
"What's up?"
"Philip is done with the scene, and they're transporting the body. Also, our liaison officer is on scene," David couldn't help but smile, "and Killian, it's Ruby." David looked down to hide a smile as Killian swore under his breath.
Killian calmly reached into his pocket and peeled off a twenty from a small wad of bills and pushed it into David's pocket. Ruby made him curse a blue streak, so he would owe this sooner or later.
"Professor, would you accompany us to the crime scene? We had questions about the crates and packaging."
Emma nodded and stood to follow the detectives back to the museum. She noticed a tall woman wandering around the scene talking loudly, at a mile a minute, her brunette hair, with red streaks running it, cascaded in curly waves down her back. Next to her, the detective, Jones, seemed to bristle. Looking at David, he just shrugged.
Killian seemed to speed up and confront the woman, as Emma and David hung back, watching. Finally, curiosity was too great to ignore. "What's the story?" Nodding her head at the two figures exchanging heated words.
"A long sad one. Ruby is a forensic officer with specialties in communication, so she does liaison work, to smooth things over when we've got conflicting departments, or in this case the Campus cops versus City. Basically, her job is to keep the rental cops out of our hair, but Ruby usually takes it a step further. She wanted to be a detective, and she's smart. But she was unable to pass the physical exam, so she was never given the opportunity to become a detective, and had to choose another field."
"I still don't get it, why are they fighting?" Emma asked, watching Jones clench his fist as he leaned down and talked directly into the woman's face, cold and menacing.
"Well, Ruby has a habit of butting in to our investigations, withholding valuable evidence, pursuing the information herself. In the last year, we've had to save her about eight times," David winced as the discussion heated enough to reach their ears. "Killian doesn't tolerate interference. Anything that disturbs the investigation bothers him. He is very determined to protect and serve the victim, and sometimes people like Ruby, or Campus Police who trample the scene and destroy the evidence, make it tougher for him to do his job. To serve those who can no longer take care of themselves."
"I see," Emma frowned, "but their argument seems more personal."
"Oh, it's that all right. When Killian first met Ruby, he was sort of attracted to her," David tried not to notice that Emma's back stiffened at that news. "But it took maybe five minutes for his attraction to change to full scale dislike. Ruby, being a woman, and easy on the eyes, recognized the attraction, and basically has been trying to capitalize on it ever since. But she doesn't realize that her hold is gone. She has trapped Killian in elevators, the parking garage, even invaded his home a few times. It's been interesting."
"I can imagine." They watched as the woman stalked away to go talk to the Chief of Campus Security, Peabody. They joined Killian.
"Told her to do her job, huh?" David asked as Killian nodded, his eyes still slanted and deadly.
"Like it will matter. She'll still be in the thick of it, mucking it up in about two seconds." Without thinking, Killian reached down and took Emma's arm to lead her into the museum. He felt her, the feel of her arm, the heat of her body, and his hand tingled almost like an electrical current ran from her body to his. He wanted to move the material covering her arm and touch her skin, but before he could, she shook off his hand and proceeded into the museum.
Emma rushed ahead of them, her heart pounding in her chest, her arm still feeling his touch. Great! Just Great! Sexual awareness of the big, mean detective. See? This is what happens when life gets too hectic and sex becomes only a distant memory. Big volatile men with pissy attitudes, unbelievably blue eyes, totally kissable lips, and hands that could cause orgasms just by looking at them, actually start to look edible. Outrageous! Totally, unacceptably outrageous! Emma entered the museum, and then stopped sharply, a gasp of anger and dismay escaped her. Dogs and men were all over the place, sifting through the crates, the artifacts. "What the hell is going on?!" Emma advanced on a group of men, her hands clenched. "Stop! Put that down, you idiots!" She grabbed a funeral urn from one man's hand, and shoved another officer away from a bundled burial shroud.
"Professor..." David backed up when she turned to face him. The lines of anger on her face, the flashing of her eyes, the coiled tightness of her body, made it apparent that confronting her, getting in her way wouldn't be a healthy thing.
"Didn't the murderer do enough damage? Do you feel the need to finish the job?" Emma placed the funeral urn down with extreme care. "Some of these artifacts are over five thousand years old. They can't just be touched, searched, and tossed without heed. The collections are in my care. My responsibility!"
"Emma, we've got to search the area. The man who did this was looking for something, and obviously, the security guard interrupted him. Now a lot of these crates come from Central and South American countries. The narcotics dogs are merely smelling for hidden stashes," David reasoned.
"Drugs? You think this is about drugs?" Emma looked at the chaos, all the work she and her staff had worked so meticulously on for months, destroyed. "I understand what you're saying, but it doesn't have to be drugs. Some of these pieces are priceless, or they were until you and your ham-handed thugs tore through them. We've worked hard here, cataloguing all the artifacts, and look at this mess! This museum is scheduled to open in six months," Emma's voice became louder to emphasize the gravity of the situation, "six months, and this puts us behind."
"A man was murdered," Killian said equally loud.
Emma turned on him like a bull terrier, "I know that! I found him! But how do you expect to find drugs in a room full of artifacts from places that used cocoa leaves, opiates, and other natural fibers and plants in their textiles, or residuals in cooking ware? Your dogs are going to sniff out the hemp fibers woven into that blanket, or the opiate paste used to coat the inside of that bag." Emma put her hands on her hips. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"You could chew on some of this crap and get high?" Killian put up his hands defensively at her exasperated screaming. "I know, I know. The stuff will have to be gone over individually, piece by piece, and the dogs are just going to rip apart your artifacts for no reason."
"Yeah."
David cringed at the dripping sarcasm in her tone.
"I suggest that you clear my staff to return, to pick up the pieces, and sort through what's here, and what's missing. This might be something more than drugs, and until I can check the invoices against the inventory, I can't tell you if something has been taken."
David and Killian looked at each other, recognizing the reasoning behind her statement. This was going to take time. David sighed and pulled out his phone to call the Captain.
"Okay, we'll have some officers and forensic lab boys assigned to you, to help your people clear this mess and quickly catalogue the artifacts. That way if there's anything, such as drugs or contraband, they'll be here to take control of it immediately."
Emma opened her mouth to comment, but he rudely put up his hand to stop her.
"And that's the only way I'll open up this crime scene to let your people back in."
"I was going to say, thank you," Emma said irritably, more than a little ticked off that his rude, nasty self was even more attractive than his moody, brooding self. God, she needed therapy! Surely her damn insurance plan provided mental care?
"I can help."
They both turned to look at the curly headed woman that Killian had words with earlier. Killian frowned, but had to admit that Ruby was a perfect choice, given that she was already assigned to the case, and her job was to liaison between the P.D. staff and the University. "I've got to be here anyway, so I might as well lend a hand."
"Okay, Lucas, you stay, but if I suspect you're hindering, or in any way suppressing evidence, so you can hot dog it, I'll bury you. Do you understand?" Killian could feel Emma's eyes watching him closely.
"Yeah, whatever. I got it." The woman turned and smiled at Emma, shaking her hand. "Ruby Lucas, it's a pleasure to work with you. I love ancient history, it's sort of a hobby of mine."
"Lucas, you'll not be in charge down here," Killian felt it necessary to clarify that, since Ruby tended to overstep her authority. "You'll report to the senior forensic staff on site, and otherwise to me or Nolan directly." He muffled a nasty remark when she just nodded and rolled her eyes.
Emma quickly stepped in between them and gently tried to remove her hand from the woman's grasp. When Ruby and Detective Jones started their latest altercation, the young woman's grasp tightened and almost crushed Emma's hand. "Um, could I have my hand back? I sort of need it to do some work."
The woman started and quickly released Emma's hand. Killian noticed Emma's grimace straight away and snatched her hand to ascertain the damage, if any, cursing under his breath.
Emma tried to snatched her hand back, but Killian refused to give up his hold. "Let me just check it," he demanded, his voice harsh.
"It's fine," Emma rushed out, again trying to remove her hand form his grasp.
"Try something new, darling. It's called trust."
"What? Now you're a gentleman?"
Unable to stop himself, he winked at her. "I'm always a gentleman."
Emma snatched her hand from his and hid it behind her back giving it a shake to relieve the pain. "It's fine." Seriously! Now he's flirting? And why the hell does he have to have a British accent. Yep, it was official. The Gods were not smiling on her today.
She quickly turned to Ruby, and smiled. "Detective, if you..."
"Officer," Killian butted in, and Emma noticed the young woman's face turning red, as anger flushed her cheeks.
"Right, Officer, Ruby? If you would follow me, we'll set up. I'll see if I can locate my staff and get us some food and coffee."
Killian called after them as they walked away, "I would give the coffee a hard pass." Both women ignored him as David came up next to him.
"Cap is assigning some team members. He wants us downtown immediately." The two headed out. "Hey, I saw this great film once called Curse of the Mummy's Tomb."
"That's a classic."
"I know. And this is kind of like that. Artifacts everywhere, burial urns, dead bodies, and a rampaging Mummy." It had to be one of the best B-rate black and white horror flicks ever made.
"I'm not putting out a BOLO on a Mummy," Killian said as he and David both laughed. "But a rogue Mummy could be cool if it took out Ruby." They both continued to laugh on their way to the car.
It wasn't until they were almost back to the precinct that David felt compelled to ask. "So Killian, what's with all the wood?" He felt his partner going stiff next to him, not that it was a new condition. He had been walking around hard since meeting the lovely Professor.
"No clue." Killian looked out the window hoping David would drop it, but since part of being a detective was getting to the crux of things, he doubted it.
"Looks like the lady has an effect on you." David almost bit his lip to keep from laughing at Killian's expression. What the hell was that? Dismay? Denial? Anger? Or just raging lust?
"Yeah, she affects me, or at least part of me." Killian ran his hands over his face in a moment of shocking honesty. "I can't even say why, but there's something about her, obviously, she's attractive, but there's something damn annoying, too."
David laughed at the confusion in Killian's voice. This was going to be interesting. Literally, in the last two years absolutely nothing and no one could rock Killian's silent dark world he seemed to live in. Vice and living on the street did so much damage that Killian didn't let people in. Not really. And most of the time, he just ignored them or wrote them off as unimportant. It explained his failed relationships, and the fact that he couldn't even remember his last girlfriend's name. Nothing touched him, nothing but the injustice of the dead and the pain of the victims, otherwise he remained an untouchable.
"Well, hope we don't run into Grumpy. I'm sure the man is gay, and has a crush on you. He might take what you're sporting as an invitation or a come-on." David laughed even harder at the nasty look Killian sent his way.
"Chuckles, David. You're a riot. A real laugh a minute." Killian decided it was time to get some of his own back. "I think we should stop at forensics and see if there's any news from the crime scene materials. Hey, maybe Mouse is working."
David squirmed in his seat and shot Killian an equally nasty look. It was impossible to defend yourself against men who could read emotions and expressions so easily. "Don't call her that. Mary Margaret is a perfectly wonderful woman, and there's nothing mouselike about her." David was irritated that Killian was able to make him defend himself all the time, and defend the Chief Manager of the Forensic Science Labs.
"You mean, other than the fact she scurries around the precinct like a puff of wind would blow her over, or a harsh word would crush her, hiding in shadows like a timid non-descript mouse?" Killian knew his description would piss David off, and set him on a tirade effectively making him forget to torment Killian over the pain in the ass professor.
"She is not nondescript. She's kind, and beautiful, and has incredible eyes, and is lovely." David turned in his seat eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. "So she's a little quiet, and likes to work in the lab, what's it to you? What did she ever do to you?"
Killian just smirked and tuned David's rant out as they pulled into the parking garage. The rant continued through the garage, in the elevator, down the hall, and up until the moment they opened the door to the lab. Suddenly, David lost his ability to complete a sentence.
"Blanchard, got anything on the morning stiff, Herman?" Killian put his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet, as the young woman looked at him, then looked at his partner. A pink tinge colored her cheeks and she quickly ducked her head to hide her face.
"Not much. The evidence was flimsy, too many feet and hands mucking up the physical evidence. I have over thirty different hair samples, and Cap will eat me for breakfast if I run them all. The DNA analysis alone would wipe out my monthly budget." Mary Margaret looked up through her lashes, and said in a shy voice. "Hi, David."
David stammered on his feet, shuffled a little and quickly said a hello before looking around the room.
Killian just rolled his eyes and prepared his teeth to be set on edge as he asked Blanchard more questions. In truth, Mary Margaret didn't irritate him, it was this strange dance she was doing with his partner that pissed him of. She liked David, David liked her, to Killian that was all they needed in the equation that led to them getting horizontal. But no, they liked to play around pretend nothing was going on, and that was what he found irritating. Sometimes he had to stop himself from grabbing one of them and shaking the stupid out of them.
"Blanchard, I think it's time for you to leave the nest. I'm going to request that you be assigned to my team," Killian said, ignoring both David and Mary Margaret's reactions. "I need someone who is fast and efficient, not afraid to get their hands dirty running the crime scene with Professor Swan, someone who'll record and document everything. I'm sure you'll find Professor Swan interesting, if not colorful. She has a huge deadline, and lost months worth of work today, so I think your efficient ways would be a benefit to her."
Mary Margaret felt anger at his words, but kept her thoughts to herself, as always. She glanced at David once before looking back at the more menacing detective. Killian shrugged, annoyed, and headed for the door with David following. He could feel the anger coming off his partner in waves, but chose to ignore it. "By the way, one member of your team will be Ruby Lucas, and she's already on site." Killian didn't even bother to wait for Mary Margaret's reaction.
Once the detectives had left her lab, Mary Margaret breathed easy. "Dammit!" she muttered. Looking at the instrument in her hand, she contemplated shoving it up Jones's ass, but in truth, it wouldn't have room with that stick that was permanently lodged there. Ruby? What was worse? Being stuck working shoulder to shoulder with Jones and Nolan, or having to deal with Ruby Lucas? Dammit, could her life get any worse?
"You're a real prick, Killian! You didn't have to be so mean to her. What did Mary Margaret ever do to you, except exist?"
Killian just shrugged. In his book, a wasted chance at some woman loving was almost a felony.
As they headed up the stairs Killian finally got tired of listening to David.
"You could try thanking me, mate," Killian cut into David's lecture, not bothering to look over at the surprised look on David's face, the look of astonishment. "Yes, I said thanking me. For almost a year, bloody hell, more than a year, you've been mooning over Mary Margaret Blanchard, shuffling your feet like a schoolboy with his first crush. Then, you pursue and nail every other female in sight, trying to convince yourself that you're not interested, but then what happens, David? Then you dump them. You dump them because they don't fit or they're not right. So maybe Mary Margaret is right? Maybe you'll spend the rest of your life wondering, as you fuck every table leg that walks by, while she hides in a lab gathering dust with all those little mouse-like eggs going to waste. Or maybe this investigation will get her out of the mothballs, give her a taste of real air, and you and she can finally overcome the painful shyness, and fuck like real adults." With that Killian went through the stairwell door into the squad room leaving a quiet, and shocked David standing in thoughtful silence. Boy, when Jones wanted to rant, he did a fine job!
…