"Damn it, Swan."

Killian swore under his breath, the steam of the words fogging the air. His and Swan's car was little better than a scrap heap and there was absolutely nothing close to a heater in it. Russia's chill had settled in his bones within minutes of stepping outside. Unsurprisingly, waiting inside a parked car was doing nothing for the cold.

"Where the bloody hell are you?"

He was so tired – he hadn't slept for two days straight and the Americanos he and Swan religiously drank together no longer seemed to have any effect. The drink sat ignored in the cup holder, lukewarm and acrid with the smell of espresso.

It had also been twenty buggering minutes since Swan had promised she'd be back and even though he was loathe to admit it, Killian was starting to worry. Emma Swan was considered one of the best in Mr. Gold's employ for a reason: she was thorough, calculated - but most importantly - fast. She could get in and out of places, with the required materials needed, in less than ten minutes. And those, she would often remind him, delightful smirk across her mouth, were her "off" days.

Twenty minutes late on a "five minute tops" job – as she'd deemed it – was not only rare but incredibly troubling. Something must have happened to her.

Killian craned his neck behind him to peer into the alleyway, but no looming shapes were discernible in the darkness. He could only imagine Gold's wrath if he broke the news that this trip had cost him one of his best "procurers". But there was more to it than that, he knew, even though this knowledge he kept to himself. Swan was a good partner, albeit a stubborn and annoying one.

His door opened behind him then, a hand shooting forward into the car to grab him by the neck. Forcibly wrenched from the seat, he landed on his back, the pavement underneath unforgivably cold. Wincing in pain, he ground out, "Could've just knocked on my door, mate."

His attacker laughed under his breath as he stepped out of the shadows and Killian couldn't believe his misfortune. The green hood was unmistakable.

"Bit far from home, aren't you?"

The Arrow said nothing and Killian tried to think of a way out of his predicament, glancing sharply down the street for any sign of an escape. The green hood turned along with him, smiling blandly at the idea.

"You wouldn't get very far," he commented drily, his voice odd and modulated. Killian was certain it wasn't his.

"Then you might as well tell me what the hell it is you want," he said testily, glaring at the Arrow as he brushed dirt from his damp jeans. The man was imposing, he'd grant him that, especially since he didn't seem to find it fitting to say much of anything. They stared at one another for a good minute, sizing the other up, Killian supposed – and he quickly realized just how badly he would lose if he were to engage him in a fight.

Finally, the Arrow spoke. "I need information on Queen Consolidated." He paused, as if considering whether or not he wished to continue. "Preferably damning information. And I've heard you and your partner are good at finding things like that."

Killian whistled through his teeth, running a hand along the back of his neck. "You want me to dig up information - bad information, at that - against your own company?"

His expression remained blank. Rolling his eyes, Killian attempted another avenue.

"I've heard members of your team are quite skilled at "finding things". Seems uncharacteristic of someone so…" - he swept his hand back and forth, considering the best word for the Arrow - "cautious to outsource."

The hood snapped up and Killian saw something akin to protectiveness and awe flash in the man's eyes. Odd combination of emotions, he noted.

"We're in need of someone more hands-on."

There's a woman involved and he doesn't want to put her in the line of fire. He could practically hear Swan profiling beside him, and he knew in his heart that the observation was correct. Whoever the Arrow was protecting obviously meant a great deal to him.

Scratching the back of his neck, Killian stared off into the dimness of the alleyway. Gold had paid them to acquire information about an American diplomat with a penchant for Russian prostitutes and once Emma returned, they would be out of work until another useful political scandal came up. Information was power, and Gold often spun the knowledge into money. He certainly wouldn't be opposed to acquiring sordid details on one of America's most notorious family's; the Queen's could come in handy.

Goddamnit, Swan, get back here.

"And why should I be interested in helping you?"

His answer was simple. "I know where to find your partner."

Well, then.


Emma's wrists chafed against the rope and her head, cold and sore against the hard ground, was pounding. She opened her eyes and when the room stopped spinning long enough for her to focus on it, she didn't see Killian anywhere. A knot of panic fluttered in her stomach and the thoughts in her head were a steady stream of profanity and fear.

But fear wasn't going to help her make a life-saving decision, though, if that's what it came down to, and she snapped her brain to attention. She made quick work assessing her surroundings: concrete floors, cold as bloody ice; large open windows covered by plastic tarps; the lights from outside all artificial and from other buildings – she had to be several stories off the ground and judging by the construction equipment sitting on the left-most wall, in an abandoned section of the building. Easy place to off someone and never have anyone know, she thought darkly.

Movement startled her; she only then realized that she was lying on her side, tied to a chair. Perfect, she thought, just fucking perfect. Shadows of footsteps passed outside the door and her heart beat a painful thrum in her ears and down in her chest. She breathed in and out, slowly, willing her body to calm down.

The door creaked open, but from Emma's position on the floor, she couldn't yet make out who it was. She saw high heels and nothing else. Against the backdrop of Russia's winter wind, the noise they made against the floor reverberated in her head.

With mounting horror, Emma watched ice crack on the ground beneath each step the woman took. Impossible, she chanted in her head, even as she saw the ice crackle and then recede on the concrete. When she reached Emma, she knelt and cupped her face in her hand. Her hair, a striking silver blonde, was pulled into a high knot on the top of her head. She looked like some yuppie exec, resplendent in her pant suit and chilly smile. When Emma locked eyes with her, she noticed they were like chips of ice. She shivered and the woman squeezed the underside of her jaw, her fingers strangely, terrifyingly strong.

"You will find me the Arrow, Miss Swan, and you will bring him here in three days' time."

Anger flared in Emma's chest, beating off the fright and terror. How dare this woman kidnap her and then make demands?

"Who the fuck are you?"

The woman's face was blank as she studied her and Emma had the rare feeling of being read like a book. No wonder Killian complained when she did it to him.

"Most people call me by my moniker, The Snow Queen. It's been a very long time since I've been called anything else."

Emma had no idea what to say to that.

"And what if I don't help you?"

The woman smiled indifferently, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and distant, as though she were discussing the weather. "Then I kill your partner."

Abruptly standing, she swept from the room, ignoring Emma's protestations. She turned back to her just as she was approaching the doorway, as though she were an afterthought.

"I suppose you'll be wanting out of here." And with a careless flick of the wrist, Emma's ropes shattered in crystals by her feet. "Do think about my offer, Miss Swan."

Dumb with astonishment, Emma scrambled to her feet, but the woman had gone. The chill in the air was the only hint that she had been there at all.