A/N: Tremendous thanks to Amber, Pearl, and Nini for not only inspiring me to start this, but for "bullying" me to continue it. Also, without Amber and Pearl proofreading, this chapter would be much messier. So credit them for that too!
"Yeah, you came here with nothing
And you're leaving with the same
Sometimes the road that you were walking on
Is going the wrong way
Just come as you are
When you leave you will be changed
Everyday is a gift, everyday is a gift
And it's all slipping away"
- New York City (Among Savages)
He's seventeen when his brother is released from the Navy. Dishonorably discharged, is the term that his brother spits out as if the words are laced with the most potent of poisons when he returns to their shared flat in New York. And they may as well be, seeing as the damage to his reputation will spread through the community like venom would spread through his veins - taking everything he worked for and leaving nothing but a hollow shell.
The navy was everything to Liam, after being orphaned by their mother and abandoned by their father. Killian had high hopes of following in his footsteps and fighting for his country. "Making a name for themselves," Liam used to tell him. Killian was 12 when Liam first joined the Navy, and since then he idolized every part of it. To think another option in their lives was conceivable for two orphans like them was barking mad. This was the life they wanted to build for themselves.
Liam's biggest flaw, it seemed, was being a man of honor. One that couldn't keep his mouth shut about the very false premise of the war that was being waged. Fighting enemies fair was something already in jeopardy when he was responsible for attacks that had more civilian casualties than terrorists, so this was simply the straw that broke the camel's back. Liam blabbed to the press, and in return, his career was viciously torn out from under his feet by New York City's and Washington's finest.
It's a year later, around the time where Killian perhaps would have been signing on for service himself, when Killian decides people like Mayor Cora Mills and Representative Robert Gold - both of whom he catches on the news talking about Liam as if he's a homegrown terrorist - have no idea what a Jones brother with a media outlet is truly capable of.
That's how he ends up knocking on Emma Swan's door eleven years later with a bottle of expensive wine and only a faint niggling of compunction. Emma is the daughter of two public officials, ones he actually finds likable enough. It's a rarity in politics, but Poughkeepsie mayor David Nolan and Senator Mary Margaret Blanchard honestly seemed to believe in the causes they advocated for, and they refused to play dirty. Blanchard was known for forcing Congress to come together on everything from education to immigration by fighting tooth and nail. Her husband was jokingly labeled a superhero by the media, thanks to feats such as saving women from burning buildings and bringing blankets and heaters personally to families in need.
Emma's name in social circles, while not as big as it used to be, was still something that was going to be key if he wanted to continue to anonymously thrive. He kept his silent promise to himself before enrolling in college to bring the bastards down in a means that, while unorthodox, did the job. Especially considering the prevalence of social media and the accessibility of word of mouth. Killian wouldn't admit to hosting a blog that held dirt on every one of the most prominent elite in New York with a gun to his head, and luckily for him, proxy servers along with other precautions make it so he doesn't have to. Liam doesn't even know, and he prefers for it to continue that way.
For a journalist from a well-respected newspaper, it's rather pathetic. He must admit that to himself and he does, especially when crawling to daughters of prominent politicians for information on nights like these. There's no integrity in getting sob stories out of bitter divorcees using nothing but his pretty face and patrolling high-class bars to observe what their campaign managers say with a few drinks in them. He learned the lesson when it came to wives with Milah, but that was a different matter entirely.
He tells himself there's honor in revenge when Emma opens the door with a confused expression on her face.
Killian lifts the wine-bottle as if it's explanation, and thinks to himself she is much prettier than he remembers her being in college or at a distance at parties when her brows only knit further.
"Can I help you?" She asks, bluntly.
"I moved in the building a few nights ago, and have taken to greeting all my new neighbors with a little housewarming treat." Killian sends her his best boy-next-door grin and adds a little huskiness to his voice on the last word. That should do it.
"So, this is your explanation to knocking on my door at 10 o'clock at night while my kid is asleep? Correct me if I'm wrong, neighbor, but don't house calls usually happen in the morning? And don't New Yorker writers typically have enough class not to hit on women they barely know in the middle of the night, Killian?" Emma retorts, bracing her hand on the door and looking as if she's about to tear him to pieces.
He'd been counting on her not-knowing who he was, as they had only spoken briefly on occasions he could count on his hand. She ran in the circles he tracked, it was to be expected. What wasn't was her reaction to his formerly very successful methods.
Which would have to change accordingly. Ah, well. He'd always loved a challenge.
"I confess," he grins, oh so very, very fakely. "Ruby sent me. She said you had a rough night and could use some...company."
All he can say for the just-attempted method was that it clearly failed as she squints at him appraisingly. "The knowledge of my friend being unwilling to send random guys to my doors aside,I can tell when someone is lying to me."
He's so very tempted to cut and run at this point, but he knows he needs to talk to her or else he'll never get what he needs on Gold. So he resorts to his normal act - clueless and pretty - as he makes his voice as breathy as possible. "Pardon, love?"
Which, of course, doesn't work at all. "Call me love one more time and you'll lose one of your hands. Treat me like an idiot one more time and you'll lose another."
He nearly sputters in response, hoping playing dumb would save him just this once. "At risk of being deprived of - quite literally it seems - life and limb, darling." he adds the pet name for her benefit. "I'm afraid I have no idea what the devil you're referring to."
Emma only narrows her eyes at this, crosses her arms, and begins to invade his personal space in a move that can only be described as his tactic. "Okay, Jones!" she exclaims, slipping seamlessly into a faux-bubbly persona. "Since you seem to be unable to generate enough brain cells to rub together to figure it out for yourself, I'll do it for you. You're fishing me for information for your cute little blog you fantasize about winning a Pulitzer with. Let me guess, as Neal's token ex I'd be as great of a source as any? A few glasses of wine and I give you my tell-all and you can inform the world that he paid his child support late once?"
Killian gapes in response, at loss for words for quite possibly the first time in his life.
"You think I don't know how to figure out who the guy that's conveniently always there when something happens is? The reporter who has his camera out every time someone so much as spills something on their shirt? That's adorable."
He somehow finds it within himself to lift his jaw off of the floor, looking nervously around the apartment (Perhaps in search for bugs? Has she been working for Regina? Why would she need to work for Regina? Didn't she detest Regina, anyway? And for the love of all that was holy, why didn't he stop internally asking himself rhetorical questions?). "How long have you known?"
Emma pauses, slinking down on her surely expensive couch which prompts him to follow. She does the math in her head for a moment, then abandons the task. "Since sophomore year of college. Ish."
Bloody hell. She didn't even speak to him then. Not that she speaks to him now, but that's beside the point. It was long before the scandal of being caught with Gold's wife and only months after he collected enough information to officially publish the page.
Which left him with another question that made his gut clench with panic. "Who else knows?"
She cocks her head at him like he's the biggest idiot in the world, and maybe he is. After all, who is able to have his secret identity uncovered by the girl sitting in front of him like it's the most obvious thing in the world? "Is that a joke?"
Killian curses and crouches himself down so that he's almost nose-to-nose with her. "I assure you, Swan, my own welfare isn't grounds for jest."
The close proximity would have most people anxiously shirking back within themselves and immediately sucumbing to whatever he wished. She doesn't, only breaking her glare to roll her eyes at him. He fights back the urge to grin, despite the situation, because of course she would be the exception. That has seemed to be the rule with her since he knocked on her door.
"Cool it, Mr. Vocabulary. Do you honestly think if everyone - or anyone, since for most of this city it may as well be the same difference - knew that you would still be standing?" Emma seems to become more annoyed by the mere prospect tolerating him for another second.
He slinks down to sit across from her on the couch that likely costed more than all of his furniture combined and concedes. "I suppose not."
She gets up to search for something in a nearby end table, then throws it in his direction. It nails him in the face and he reckons she meant for that to happen.
"What's this?" he says, dangling the key between his thumb and forefinger as if it may bite him.
"A key to my safety deposit box." Emma shrugs as if she just presented him with a housewarming gift instead of something he definitely should not have access to. She opens the door to her apartment, and gestures for him to leave through it. "I'm sure you can figure the rest out from there, Nancy Drew."
Killian gives her a cautious look, tucking it into his pocket. "And why are you giving me this?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Emma gives him a smirk that almost has him very, very regretful his normal seduction methods didn't work. Not the one she assumed, he's not so beyond reproach he enjoys getting women drunk for information, that's strictly reserved for heavy-hearted staffers in a very public bar. The wine was more a gesture than anything, and one he's leaving behind despite the less than expected result of the encounter. When it comes to ways he wishes this night would've gone, he's thinking more along the divorcee route.
He teases her before getting a foot through the door, leaning to whisper in her ear. "Perhaps I would."
Emma pushes him through the door the rest of the way. "You should leave before you wake Henry up and look up the meaning of personal space."
He does the former, but laughs at the latter.
Emma was kidding about Neal not paying child support, he later finds out. What he finds in place of that is far more incriminating. There are nearly twenty letters enclosed in an envelope. Some are emails. A few are of the hand-written variation, likely notes passed between the two young lovers in college. In another manilla envelope he discovers CDs that likely house evidence along similar lines.
Everything is conveniently dated, so Killian decides to read and listen to it all in chronological order. The handful of notes passed in college detail "I love yous", "I want to spend the rest of my life with yous", and, interestingly enough, even details of some petty robberies done by the two in order to pass the time in ways that only rich kids thought was amusing. He was Neal Cassidy then, and not Neal Gold. Judging by the content of the notes as well as his memory, however, Killian supposes Emma didn't know that. It wasn't until Killian posted something on the site months later that his real identity and, namely, the identity of his father were revealed.
A post it note with a flower petal still stuck to it, bearing the words "I'm sorry", tell him what he already knows. The two got past the hurdle easily enough, and the claim "I didn't want you to love me for just my money," is as cliche as it is swoon worthy. The real problems for the couple came into play with printed out screenshots of text messages and the CDs. Neal had a less than heartwarming reaction to her pregnancy, if threatening to blackmail her with proof of her shoplifting so she wouldn't reveal the paternity of her child was any indication. It figured, that. Gold, his father, couldn't have a bastard in his family if he could help it. Emma refused to comply with his demands, offended and heartbroken at merely the concept of blackmail.
He remembers Emma's, very public, fall from grace as a result. Neal held true to his word, it seemed, and without ever revealing his part in their petty heists . Her crimes were kept out of the hands of the police and the press (excluding him, of course), thanks to her parents, but all the damage had already been done by other means. Anyone that mattered wanted nothing to do with her when she was stupid enough to get caught doing something as plebeian as thievery. Her days of parties and gossip were long behind her.
Killian is still contemplating what to do with all of this information when he gets a call from a private number the next day. He has a good idea of who to expect, so he picks up on the first ring.
"Shall I even inquire how you've discovered my private cell phone number, lass?" he sighs.
Emma replies cheerily, "Absolutely not."
"I suppose you would like me to do something with all of this evidence you've presented me with? I must remind you, love, I'm hardly a civil lawyer."
"First of all, buddy, what did I say about calling me love?" he can't resist the urge to chuckle at how offended she sounds, "Second of all, I hadn't decided what to do with it all, but I think if we put our brains together we can think of something."
"And you decided I was the best - forgive me, I'm using your analogy - brain to put yourself together with?" Killian asks, curious why she hadn't hired herself an overpriced lawyer and called it a day.
Emma pauses for about a minute on the other line, leaving him straining to hear her reply. "I needed someone who wouldn't sell out for the highest bidder. You seem to absolutely hate all of the highest bidders, so it works out nicely." Her political upbringing kicks in after she takes a breath to continue. "Plus, it would benefit you and your…fine and completely respectful example of cutting journalism as well as me. Everyone comes home a winner."
"I was always taught that whenever someone says a deal is mutually beneficial, it usually only benefits them." Killian's voice has a dangerous undertone that hints at his experience with that matter.
"Consider me the only exception." He's amused by the fact he can nearly picture her rolling her eyes at him in response, but he's still unsatisfied with her answer.
"Why would you want to help me?" After I helped bring you down with the tools Neal provided, he almost adds.
"I was a Criminal Justice major, with a minor in Political Science - you can thank my parents for that one," she tells him dryly. "One of the first things you learn, Jones, is that the enemy of the enemy is my friend. Even if the enemy of the enemy publically humiliated me."
So, she hadn't missed that bit. "Alright, darling. When do you suppose we can meet to discuss what our next move from here is?"
"Henry is with his grandparents for the weekend, so I'm thinking tomorrow at my place around six? P.M. not A.M." He can hear her fiddling with paperwork on the other line and he wonders what the hell else she could have that isn't already in his lap. She had her head in the game, that one.
That doesn't mean he could resist the urge to tease her. "If I didn't know any better, Swan, I'd say you were propositioning me for some more...enjoyable activities."
"And if I didn't know any better, I'd say if you said that in front of me instead of via cell phone I would have your pretentious Samsung shoved so far up your ass you'd taste plastic."
The line goes dead, without her even bothering to let him confirm the meeting. Killian can't resist the urge to burst out laughing in the empty room and thank the Powers That Be Liam was at work so he wouldn't have to explain himself.
They're, for lack of a better word, scheming that Saturday. His lap is full of various legal documents he's sure he shouldn't even be able to look at, much less publish. She's talking a mile a minute and stuffs so many external hard drives in his bag he thinks he could open a business with them.
Four hours and hundreds of pages later she asks him, "So, what do you think?"
"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership, love." Killian states, meaning every word to someone other than his brother for once in his life.
Equally as surprising is that Emma doesn't threaten him with bodily injury at the pet name. Instead, she sends him a warm smile that seems to bloom in spite of itself. Her hair falls into her face as she shakes her head wryly in a way that makes him want to go into an entirely different field of writing. Poetry, perhaps.
She holds her hand out and Killian can only quirk a brow at her in response.
"We'll shake on it." Emma tells him, her exasperation seeming just for show more than anything else. "We'll make it official."
His hand comes to curl around hers, giving it a firm shake. "I'm not one to resist making it official with a pretty girl."
She lets go first, of course.