A/N: IDK WHAT I'M DOING, YOU GUYS. I really, really don't. I have bits and pieces of this written besides the first chapter, but I honestly feel pretty stoked about it. I missed writing! I missed CS! If you've noticed, Come Together is marked complete because I really don't know what else to write, you know? All that would be left is an epilogue, which I might add one day. But for now...don't get your hopes up.
This is going to be a little...darker? And angstier? And longer, I feel like, considering 10k of this is already written and I am NOWHERE NEAR even 10% of the way through of what I've got planned. I'll try to keep on top of warnings with each chapter, but for this one keep in mind there are pretty graphic depictions of violence. If that gets to you, don't feel bad about skipping over it. There's also pretty candid discussion of canon disabilities and child neglect, but not much more so than on the show.
Also, let this be a disclaimer that I do not know anything - whatsoever - about the criminal justice system. I'm literally just basing this off of information gleaned from watching the I.D. channel and SVU marathons one too many times. Do not take this fic as legal advice. It will not end well for you.
This is for Ella's (ellasaidlumos), one of my faves, birthday! I hope you like it. You've always tried to kick me in the ass to try to get me to write more when I whine about wanting to, so this doubles as a gift and HEY LOOK I'M FINALLY DOING IT AGAIN! I LOVE YOU AND AGAIN, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS HOT MESS.
Huge, massive thank you to Amber (sentbyfools), who beta'd this for me. This would be a mess without her, or even more of one. I'd be a mess without her.
Emma Swan is getting too goddamn old for this.
At the ripe old age of 28, she feels more bones creaking than the average 70 year old should. With an ice pack to her forehead where the criminal of the night hit her (Why was it always her they sent in to settle bar disputes, again?), Emma does her best to will herself to complete the paperwork that now floods her desk. She doesn't know how much she can say about a bar fight over what Taylor Swift song was superior (Why do 40 year old men had so many feelings about a bar's song selection?) and how many times she had to fill in their names (Why was their system not just digital by now?), and she swears she would take breaking up another stupid fight over this.
She barely gets past the first page of paperwork when a knock at the door of the station interrupts her.
"Rough night?"
Emma substitutes an answer for a scowl at the intruder, not looking up from the pages in front of her. She really has to get through these stupid forms, and it's better to do it now than to procrastinate it until later when she's feeling even less up to it.
"Hey, I told you I could have dealt with it." David holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture, which does nothing to mask the smirk threatening to appear on his face.
"I think you have too many feelings on band-aids and bullet holes to be up to the task." she replies, not looking up from the paperwork in front of her.
"Wait, they were having bad blood over Bad Blood?"
Emma groans at the pun.
He really hadn't changed a bit since they were kids.
Emma was eight when she began to become disillusioned with the foster system. At five the Swans left her to have a new baby, one that was theirs. Months later she met the Robertsons, who were more interested in the paycheck that came with her than in the prospect of becoming parents. The Johnsons locked her in a closet for five hours. Ms. Wellingston told her she was a sinner who would rot in hell after she checked out Harry Potter books from the library and Mr. Clint was too busy drinking to pick her up from school.
So it made sense that when Ruth Nolan took Emma in at 11 she was far from ready to erase all of her previous experiences because the social worker fed her the same old line.
"This time it might be different."
It never really was, but the Nolans showed her that it could have been. She never missed a meal. Ruth never touched a hair on her head except to hug her. Emma didn't have to deal with kids making fun of her for being an orphan at school because David threatened them with bodily harm when they did. Ruth made it clear that she had no set ideas of what Emma should and shouldn't be except for that she should feel loved. For once in her life, she didn't feel like an orphan.
Emma felt loved.
But not even the Nolans were exempt. When David was 15 and Emma was 13, Ruth got sick. As months went on, she got sicker. She died a year after being diagnosed. David's estranged father (or, as David candidly called him, his glorified sperm donor) George got full custody of him. He had no use for Emma, a dirty foster kid who was left at the side of the road. He made it his mission to turn David into a son - no, a heir - he could be proud of. David wasn't so enthusiastic about the idea.
She started to think she might be cursed. David still insisted on writing to each other in her teen years, though. Even after she went to prison. After she had Henry, David - through some miracle - managed to take care of him until she got out and sent her updates on her son in her three months between giving birth and getting out. When she got out, David and his new wife, who he absolutely raved about in paragraphs of flowery praise, welcomed her into their home.
Emma wouldn't trade her brother for the world.
Emma finally lifts her head up to cock her head towards him and reply, "You're my brother, not my babysitter. I'm perfectly capable of dealing with a bar fight."
"Hm." David ponders exaggeratedly, "I think I might have something a little more exciting than a drunk brawl for you to work on."
"Intriguing." Emma grins, pushing the paperwork aside for another time. It really could wait, after all. "Is this about that mystery case Mulan has been hiding from us?"
"Could be." he teases, perched at the balls of his feet. David brings a file from behind his back and dangles it in front of her like a cat owner with a string. "You'll never know unless you manage to grab it from me."
Emma takes the bait and lunges from her seat. David only takes the file higher. "Too short."
"Are you twelve? Give me the stupid file, David."
David seems unprovoked by the insult, "I might be."
After another failed swipe involving standing on her chair - he just stood on his - she decides to go for a more diplomatic approach, "Do you want me to call your wife?"
"That's a low blow, Emma!"
She swipes again, noting how his eyes bulge when she almost punches him in an attempt to grab above his head. "Give me the file and I won't have to!"
David eventually relents with an exaggerated sigh, bringing the file down to her height. They both get down from their respective chairs, seemingly unembarrassed by their display. David still smiles like the cat that got the cream when he sees her jaw drop when she opens what he's handed to her.
"We got new information on the S.A.?"
The Straw Agency, as they came to call themselves, was an organized crime syndicate that had been the bane of Storybrooke's police force for a good part of the last five years. For such a young organization, their crimes had been pretty prolific. At first it started out as a robbery here (and really, Emma wasn't exactly in a position to condemn there) with a breaking and entering there. All the force would have to do is go into the victim's home or shop, give them a discount on a security system, and move on. Standard procedure, though a little more high stakes in a small town.
The station didn't start to get really worried until reports of murders came in. There was a report of a man being chopped into pieces a few towns over. Another had his head stomped in with what looked to be a cane. What got to Emma the most was finding a woman with her heart literally ripped out of her chest with a knife in a grisly scene on the docks a year ago, a man's severed hand not far from it.
Emma considered herself to have a relatively tough stomach. She held bullet wounds with her hands to staunch blood flow. She investigated a few pretty grisly murders back in Boston. What she saw that day put all that to shame. Emma can still remember David nearly passing out at the sight and the taste of bile in her throat when she threw up in the bushes.
The twisted thing was that the most sickening part of the scene wasn't the blood and the separated organs. It was the fact that there wasn't a shred of DNA evidence on the scene. There were no fingerprints. There was no hair. The woman's face was maimed to the point it was unrecognizable and her murderer obviously knew what he was doing when he tore out her teeth. No dental records were able to be retrieved from her body. There wasn't so much as a matching missing persons report. Even the severed hand, which one would think would be easy enough to match to its original owner.
Not so much.
If it weren't for the agency's calling card, they would have no idea it was them. The murderer had the fucking nerve to leave their business card at the scene, as they did with the other murders and the comparably petty crimes. No phone number, of course. They weren't lucky enough to get an address. There were no names attached. All it had was THE STRAW AGENCY written across it in bold font.
(They tried to track the card back to any business card companies, too. No luck there.)
Whoever it was, they were proud of what they did enough to desire credit. Whoever it was, they also knew how to clean up their tracks enough to make sure that it was the agency and not the people behind it who got said credit.
It was so infuriating it was sickening and so sickening it was infuriating.
Which was why it was such a big deal that they finally seemed to have a lead. Dead end after dead end wore everyone down and made them all the more desperate to find whoever was behind all of this. Even just one person from the apparent agency would make all the difference to them, but they couldn't even find one. All they had was a business card to go off of, and a depressingly thin file. The one David had just dangled in front of Emma's face.
The file didn't have a whole lot of new information included, just a vague tip - not even more than two sentences long - that had apparently been called in a few hours ago.
"All the Gold which is under or upon the earth is not enough to give in exchange for virtue. Instead of digging for gold, let's dig SA into the grave."
Emma scrunches her face, dissatisfied. "This is it? This is our tip?"
David gives her a half shrug half bounce, which she didn't think was a possible motion but evidently was, and contends "That's not all."
"God, I hope not." Emma's frown is undeterred.
Right as David is sure to reveal the climax of his entire, stupidly choreographed announcement, Detective Lance Elliott walks through the door from the evidence locker. He takes the moment to inform Emma, of course, "Hey Detective Swan, we managed to track down the tipster. We've got a name and an address."
"Now, that." Emma perks up, "that we can work with."
"You totally stole my line, Elliott!" David hollers after him, apparently annoyed by the intrusion.
Lance shrugs, not at all bothered. "You were taking too long."
"I was building up the anticipation!"
Emma snorts. David only looks more offended.
That's how David and Emma end up at the front porch of a small cottage the next morning. If their tipster is looking for a non-descript area, he's got it. He hardly even has neighbors, which adds to how sketchy this place feels.
"We have backup on standby as soon as we say the word." David reminds her cautiously, right as she's about to knock on the door.
Emma exhales. "Good."
She knocks and waits with bated breath.
The door opens to reveal a man in his early thirties, clad in a leather jacket and a waistcoat that reveals more chest hair than is likely (definitely) appropriate. He has blue eyes and a light sprinkling of scruff on his face and, by the look of things, is exceptionally irritated by the interruption.
David keeps one hand firmly at his holster as Emma inquires, "Killian Jones?"
"I'm a little too bloody busy for house calls at the moment, sweetheart. Perhaps you-" He stills, eyes ignoring David completely and taking Emma in. "At second thought, my morning is freeing up. What might I help you with, Miss..."
"Detective Emma Swan with the Storybrooke Police Department." she identifies herself pointedly, holding up her badge and sending David a look over her shoulder that very clearly says 'Are you fucking kidding me with this guy?'
"Ah." he nods, seeming unconcerned with the fact that the police are on his doorstep.
"Yeah. I believe you called earlier?"
"That would be me." he smirks, gesturing with the hand perched on the doorframe. The other is noticeably hidden behind him.
Emma cranes her neck to peer around him and hopefully get a glimpse of what's in his hands. She does not need to have to deal with some sociopath looking to invite some cops to kill with a gun behind his back.
Killian takes note of this, and with an exaggerated sigh slowly holds his hand - or lack thereof - out for their inspection. "Apologies, love. I'd grab the prosthetic but you seem to have caught me by surprise."
"Just making sure you aren't trying to kill us." She frowns, setting her hands on hips. "How'd you lose the hand?"
"It up and crawled away, I believe you're here to inquire about the tip I sent in? Rather track me down, might I add."
Emma looks to David, who looks slightly chagrined. "This is a very serious criminal investigation, we had reasonable suspicion to believe you were involved more than your average bystander."
"You got that out of a Plato quote? Hardly philosophical of you." Jones fires back, undisturbed. "I called in a tip to do my best to help our local police, seeing as they clearly can't solve this on their own.."
"So you're calling in a tip, that doesn't make any sense, out of the goodness of your heart?"
"Does that surprise you? Perhaps you're not reading closely enough."
Emma cocks her head to the side, scrunching up her face in disapproval. "Cute."
"I prefer devilishly handsome." Killian retorts with an arrogant smirk.
"And I would prefer to know what you were trying to get at."
"Ah, but what would the fun in that be?"
Emma's patience is quickly dwindling. "A lot more fun than pissing in front of three other guys in a cell, Jones."
"Oh, but we're working together, Detective." he practically purrs.
David pipes up, finally interrupting there tet-a-tee,"We didn't agree to that."
"So you don't want to know what Rumplestiltskin's next move is?" Killian questions, rubbing at his temples as if he's already become exasperated with their conversation. "Because I have a source who could be able to help you."
Emma and David look at each other for a second in clear concern. Rumplestiltskin, from the whispers they've miraculous managed to hear if nothing else, is the head of the Straw Agency.
"We'll just need you to come forward with your source so we can take them to talk to our people to make a statement. We need as many details as we can get, so we'll need to take you in too, have you bring your lawyer down, and we'll have to hand it off to our friends over in Portland…" David informs him as if he's mentally checking off a list in his head.
"My source will be forced to work with the Portland PD, then?"
David replies quickly in an attempt to salvage the conversation, "I didn't say that."
"It certainly was implied."
Emma feels like she's watching two children bicker and laments to the sky above her, "Seriously?"
"I'll take it you don't want to know, then." Jones comments glibly, "Very well."
He shuts the door right in their faces.
Emma looks to David incredulously. David looks like he's ready to knock the damn door down. In fact, he backs up a few feet and starts making the motions when Emma forcibly stops him.
"Hey!" he cries, pouting like a seven year old who's been denied candy.
Emma resists the temptation to stomp her foot. "David, you can't break down the door if no one is in danger. This isn't Law and Order!"
She tries knocking on his door as opposed to knocking it down, hoping she could get a response. "Jones? Come on, we just want to talk."
To her surprise, she gets a reply muffled by the door between them. "Sorry, love, the only way we're talking is if you find grounds to charge me on and wrangle my one hand into handcuffs. Best of luck on that!"
She could strangle him.
By the look on David's face, he knows the feeling.
"Wrangle his one hand into handcuffs…" Emma repeats, feeling as if a piece just fitted into place as to who he was. "Wait…"
"Can I knock down the door yet?"
"No." Emma replies shortly.
He walks her a little away from the door and shout-whispers, "Emma, he's playing coy about a serial killer! He could be the serial killer! This is exactly the kind of mind game someone who leaves a business card at a murder would play."
"If you get the car, I'll explain why."
David seems insulted at the prospect. "Get in the car? Emma, I don't know how much longer we'll have this guy where we want him?"
"Just listen to me!" Emma growls, marching off in the direction of the cruiser.
"Fine." David barks back, just as harshly as they're getting into the car.
"Next time, I'm taking Marian." Emma grumbles to her brother once they're in the cruiser, buckling her seat belt a little too aggressively.
"It's her day off. And, let me guess, so the psychopath can flirt with her too?" David asks disbelievingly. "I'm sure Robin would be pleased."
Emma rolls her eyes for the upteenth time that day - this has to be some sort of new record - hitting her head against the seat of the car. "So you don't scare away a potential source!"
"Didn't you threaten him with public urination if he didn't give up his source?"
"Public urination? Really, David?"
"Do you want to explain to me why you stopped me from knocking that guy's door down or what?"
Emma doesn't miss a beat, "His hand. It was missing."
"Just because his hand is missing doesn't mean he isn't capable of murd-"
Emma rolls her eyes and cuts him off, "A year ago at the docks, we found a woman with her heart ripped out. What else did we find?"
David suddenly goes pale. "A hand. You think it's connected."
"We tried to get a DNA test with the hand, but couldn't get a match. Guy calls in with a tip related to Rumplestitlskin - God, it's so hard to take this seriously when he's using a fucking fairytale name - and is missing a hand. I think it's a little bit too much of a coincidence. We were able to test enough to tell that whoever killed that woman cut off another guy's hand. That's the other guy."
"I wonder what made him wait a year."
"Me too." Emma replies grimly. "I also wonder why he's not giving it all to us upfront and playing coy. I mean, the guy took his hand. That's not really something people forgive and forget."
"Unless they're working together and Rumplestiltskin pissed him off…"
Emma nods, "My thoughts exactly. The murders didn't start until after his hand was cut off. I wonder what the hell led up to that."
Their co-workers are, understandably, upset about the way this case is going when David and Emma mope their way back to the station.
"You are very lucky Mulan's wife is sick today, you know. Mulan would be ripping us a new one if she were here." is all Lance has to say.
Emma frowns, "We're aware."
"You were supposed to get him to cooperate." Marian grumbles, "Not scare him off."
"We're aware of that too. He'd be more cooperative behind bars." David complains, looking to Emma as if asking her to back him up.
Which gives her the idea, "He did say the only way we could get him to talk would be in handcuffs…"
"So, you want to find some reason to get him in here for?" Marian supplies, and Emma can only give her an admittedly pathetic grimace.
"Maybe?"
Marian only sighs, "Ethically…"
"Finding serial killers, Marian." Emma gently reminds her. "Jones said it, not me."
"I entirely support this idea." David pipes up. "And Lance does too."
Lance looks perturbed at David speaking for him, but only elbows him in reply.
Marian relents, "Fine. I'll see what I can do."
"You're the best."
Sure enough, Marian didn't disappoint. Emma pulled up to Jones' house, by herself this time so David couldn't repeat history.
She raps on the door. "Killian?"
"I was wondering when you'd come back." Jones grins widely and she has to admit she's a little surprised he even opened the door.
Hey, one less thing for her to have to deal with.
"Turn around." is all she says.
"Well, I would prefer if we'd do this inside, but…"
She ignores him and begins to read him his Miranda rights, handcuffing his wrists together.
"What the bloody hell am I being arrested for?"
"Piracy. As I just recited to you."
"Piracy? I realize I'm a bit of a dashing rapscallion, but I hardly think I've been looting gold from unsuspecting carriages."
Emma only smiles, pushing him gently in the direction of the cruiser. "You have about $1000 worth of torrented music we found through your internet provider. I know you must have really loved the new The National album, but c'mon, show them some love and pay for it like the rest of us."
Killian can only gape, stopping in his tracks despite Emma's nudging. "No one gets arrested for that."
"Don't you pay attention to those ads before movies? Punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison?"
Emma has to resist the urge to take out her phone and snap a picture of his face. She settles for loading him in the back of the car.
"I cannot believe I'm being bloody arrested for torrenting music. Of all things to get arrested for." he spits the words out as if he's spitting out tacks, and Emma can only look a little gilb. "How many people download music, love? And you're coming after me."
"You ever been fishing, Jones?"
"I have a boat, love." Killian scoffs, then seems to switch to another tactic, "Perhaps we can forget all this and I can take you out on it sometime…"
Emma ignores him entirely, walking around to the other side of the car to get in once he's secured in the back. "You ever catch every fish in the sea when you fish?"
"That's impossible, but of course you know that or else the metap-"
"We catch the people we can, Jones. It is a little hard to catch them all, you know."
"It works out a little conveniently for you, doesn't it?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Jones."
Killian only laments more, "You couldn't even make it something glamorous, like money laundering or tax exemption…"
"Have you done either of those things?" she asks, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel with a little bit too much self-satisfaction.
"No." he replies shortly, "Though if I had, I'd hardly tell you."
"Not exactly building your case, pirate."
"So," Emma starts, her hands folded on the table.
"So." Killian mimics, looking incredibly bored with his surroundings. There's not much to look at in the room. Just a table, a few chairs, a grey wall, and your standard one way mirror that she's sure David, Marian, and Lance are watching the interview anxiously through. She's lucky she convinced them that she needed to do this one-on-one, really. "What do you want? Keep in mind I'm being incredibly kind in not requesting a lawyer for this little chat so you would be wise to speak quickly, love."
"As we've just gone through, you have charges pending against you for five counts of piracy, including but not limited to: a The National album, the first season of Game of Thrones, the entire discography of Coldpl-"
"There's really no need to go through the entire list." he says quickly, and if she isn't wrong the tips of his ears look a little pink as he scratches the back of his ear.
"It's a pirate's life for you, huh?" Emma asks rhetorically, having way too much fun teasing him.
"Evidently."
"And it seems you have a pirate's luck. We're prepared to offer you a deal to drop these charges."
"Out of the kindness of your hearts, I'm sure."
Emma can only smile along, "Exactly."
"I hope you realize that all you had to do was show up without Sherriff Stick Up His Arse, right?"
"Maybe I just like watching you squirm."
"The feeling is mutual, though likely in a different way."
Emma gives him a sour expression, not at all impressed with his attempt at innuendo.
"Apologies if I've made you uncomfortable, lass." he says, and it oddly enough sounds sincere.
"Who is your source?" she asks instead of acknowledging him.
"Will you and your friends behind the mirror let me go if I tell you?"
"Yep." she replies simply.
"That shouldn't be too hard, then. I know him quite well."
Of course he does. "Enough with the games, Jones. Who is it?"
Killian inhales dramatically, and answers, "Me."
Emma really loves to see her hunches proved right.
"You're your own source?"
"Aye." he admits, without much tension. "It's me. Let's just say I've done things I'm not proud of, Swan."
"Things like..."
"I plea the fifth, but I assure you it was long before that organization got as despicable as it is now."
"Why are you doing this?" Emma's brow furrows as she contemplates her own question. "Why now? Why did you back out the last time?"
"Let's just say it's better to not have the Portland police involved."
"Why?" she's likely going to get sick of saying this by the end of this questioning session.
"Rumplestiltskin has his ways of getting away with what he does, usually through monetary exchanges."
"You're accusing Portland police of massive corruption." Emma tells him, skeptic. "You know, I'm really good at telling when someone is lying to me."
Killian sighs, "I'm well aware. And you can tell I'm not lying."
He's right, she can.
"How do you know that?" she challenges instead.
"Because you're still talking at this point. Just as I am about to as I've upheld more than my part of the deal."
Emma decides to cut to the chase at this point. "Rumplestiltskin cut off your hand."
Jones nearly gapes at her.
"That's quite an assumption to make."
"So is that the police are letting a murderer run free in exchange for payment. I should know what happened, I found it next to a dead body."
Killian goes very still at that. The only indication of movement he gives is his jaw clenching while he slightly twitches his left arm and his chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing. Emma has known him for less than 48 hours, but she gets the feeling that this isn't very common for him to be speechless.
"I could ask you for a DNA test to confirm it, but-"
"You were right. It's mine." He admits.
Emma doesn't miss a beat. "And the woman?"
Killian freezes up again for a millisecond, but then goes back to
"C'mon, Jones. I know Rumplestiltskin took more from you than just your hand."
Emma sighs, his clear irritation rubbing off on her. She winds both of her hands into her hair at the scalp, exhales, and tells him in the lowest and calmest voice she can manage, "We're trying to get justice for a lot of people here. Including you and the woman you must have cared about."
It doesn't seem to be enough for Killian Jones. He rocks back on his heels, staring up at the ceiling as a signal that he's getting impatient. "Stop checking your eyeliner in the two way mirror and listen to me."
He sneers at her like a injured dog backed up in the corner, "I backed out because I knew this was a mistake. I wanted revenge and I got desperate enough to seek it through means that are clearly a waste of both of our time, Swan, so if you would please show me out."
"Hey, wait-"
"I was under the impression that the charges were dropped."
"They were."
"So I'm free to go?"
Emma is terrible at giving up.
"Swan?" he asks again, clearly becoming more impatient as he toys with the cuffs on his wrists.
"I'm going to tell you something and I want you to listen really closely." she tells him, a shadow of anger in her voice. "Revenge and justice aren't always the same thing. If you wanted revenge, you would have tried to kill him yourself by now."
"Who says I haven't?"
"Just listen to me." Emma nearly snaps, and he lifts up his cuffed hands as if to pacify her. "If you didn't want justice, you wouldn't be here. I understand because I've…" she almost says been there, but decides she doesn't want to reveal that much. "I want to help you. I want to help the woman whose heart was ripped out at the docks by some psychopath but I can't do that if you don't let me. You can do what you can do best, and be alone, or we can work together and try to stop him before he hurts anyone else."
Killian contemplates this, seemingly at war with himself still. "Quite passionate, Swan. I think you've proved your competence."
"I want the name of Rumplestiltskin. I know you know it."
Killian hesitates, "I fear you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Let me guess, the deep pockets in the Portland police department excuse again? Just tell me the name."
"You may only be putting yourself in danger with it, love. This is bigger than just you and I."
"I'm a police officer. What I do with myself is my concern. Let me do my goddamn job, Jones."
Killian, through some miracle and act of God, gives in.
"Robert Gold."
"The pawnshop owner?" she asks in complete disbelief. "Jones…"
"Yes, though I'd supposed you'd say former pawnshop owner."
She remembers the tip, then. "All the Gold..." Gold was capitalized as if it were a name.
It still doesn't make any sense.
"There's one major flaw in that…" she begins cautiously, unsure of how to really approach this situation. Of course it's not as simple as just a name. Of fucking course.
"I'm well aware."
"Robert Gold has been dead for five years."
"Now you see my dilemma, Emma." Killian Jones offers, a bitter smirk on his lips.
Emma gets the feeling that this is really going to bite her in the ass.