A/N: Wow. Initial positive response to this story has been overwhelming. Thank you!
There was a sticking point. There always was, in every plan. And in Emma's?
Henry.
Tamara and Neal lived in New York. Emma and Henry, in Boston. Neal had no family, and no friends left from the good ol' days. Tamara's family hailed from a small, close-knit town in Maine, where the wedding was going to be held. Emma and Neal had no one in common, to contradict the lie. No one at all. Except Henry.
Could she really lie to him? Her own son? And for what, to make herself seem like less of a loser in front of a bunch of strangers? To piss off Neal? To enact some petty revenge on someone else's happiness? What kind of example did that set? What kind of parent did that make her? She didn't want to examine the answer to that too closely.
But Killian had unintentionally started the ball rolling the moment he'd opened the door sans shirt, and now Neal had been fed the spiel. It was already too late to turn back now.
There would have to be ground rules.
"Are you seriously writing these down?"
"I'm keeping us accountable!"
"Culpable, is more like. For someone who chases paper trails all day, you're not all that concerned with creating them, are you?"
Emma stuck out her tongue at him.
"Now, now Swan. Mind your manners. Am I, or am I not, doing you a rather large favour, having asked for nothing in return?" His tone was all innocence, but there was a gleam in his eye that Emma didn't like the look of. He needed distracting.
"So who is this guy, anyway?" Emma asked, indicating the house that they had been staking out for the last half hour.
"Gerry Whale." Killian recited, as if he was reading off a list. "Violated a protection order. Didn't show up for his court date this morning."
"Domestic abuse?" Emma asked, a chill entering her voice.
"Put his ex-wife in the hospital a year ago. Beat her with a metal pipe." Killian's tone was trying for emotionless, his accent becoming more pronounced with the effort. "A few weeks ago he apparently showed up at her workplace unannounced, asking for her back. She called the cops."
"Naturally," Emma motioned for him to continue.
"His mother was the one who put up the bail. Used her house as collateral. He won't be showing up on her doorstep any time soon, so long as he's MIA. Which leads us here." Killian motions towards the half brick Victorian house on the left. "The brother's house. Victor. A surgeon. Quite a good one, apparently. Testified on his brother's behalf for his assault and battery charge. Said what an all-round top bloke he was. How he'd never attack anyone without provocation, least of all his wife." Killian's placid façade was beginning to crack around the edges. "May have been a factor in the judge's leniency. Twelve months' probation with court-ordered anger management counselling." He looked over at her then, at her hands clenched tightly to her notebook.
"Careful Swan. He may be human filth, but he's my meal ticket. I won't let you unleash any…" he waved a hand vaguely in front of her, "redneck justice on him."
"Redneck justice? Really?"
"What? I never know what you Americans are going to do next. One minute you're enjoying a quiet celebratory pint, the next you're helping apprehend a man dressed as a flying monkey in the middle of the St Patrick's Day parade!"
That had happened last year. Even more mortifyingly, a photographer from the Globe had captured the take-down, and it had made the front page, under the fold. David had it framed for the office. Emma was never going to live that down. Killian would ensure it.
"That was a one off," Emma scoffed.
"Jesus Christ, Swan, you could have at least waited until the man had gotten the wings off to cuff him!" Killian was enjoying this trip down memory lane entirely far too much.
"He should have honored his court date…" Emma mumbled haughtily, crossing her arms, and turning to look out the window.
Killian laughed.
"You're a tough lass."
"And don't you forget it, buddy."
One and a half packets of Twizzlers and a coffee later, there was still no sign of the illustrious Gerry Whale, nor his better-heeled brother. Inevitably, Emma's attention wandered, returning to the notebook she was still holding, and the beginnings of a list scribbled inside.
There was only one point on which they had both unequivocally agreed.
Henry doesn't get hurt.
"So how will this work?" Killian paused in his demolition of a bag of Funyuns to quirk an eyebrow at Emma's words.
"We slam the cuffs on if he shows up?" He mumbled uncertainly through a mouthful of snacks.
"Not Gerry," Emma rolled her eyes. "The wedding date situation."
"Ah." Killian swallowed down the last of the Funyuns. "My grand fake-boyfriend debut!"
"I'm regretting this already," Emma muttered, bringing a Twizzler up to her mouth. In an instant, Killian grabbed it from her hand a second before she had been about to bite, and had devoured the lot. She just stared at him in disbelief.
"Just getting in practice, love. Sharing food. A very fake boyfriend thing to do." He winked. Emma rolled her eyes again.
"I believe running a con is your speciality, is it not, Swan? So why don't you tell me the plan?" An occupational hazard of working alongside someone who digs up dirt on others, they tend not to draw the line at clients.
"Don't," she warned.
"I didn't mean…" Killian reconsidered his approach. "I just meant, you know how to lie. Keep it simple. Mix in a liberal dose of truth. You'll be less likely to make a misstep."
"I'll be less likely to make a misstep?" Killian groaned.
"We'll be less likely to make a misstep. Better?"
"Much." Emma leaned across the console and grabbed Killian's coffee, taking a long sip, smiling at Killian's look of dismay.
"Practice," she shrugged, as she handed it back to him. He glowered at her before continuing with his original thought.
"So we agree that the only people we really need to try to convince are Neal, and Henry, right?" Emma's gut sank like a stone at the thought.
"Right. And general wedding guests. But that'll just be for the wedding weekend."
"So someone who lives 200 miles away, and a child. You know what, Swan? I think we've got this."
"Oh?"
"No offense Swan, but the man you procreated with is not the sharpest knife in the drawer."
"He's not an idiot, Killian. He's just…"
"Self-absorbed. Which works in our favor, in this instance." Emma smiled against her will. It wasn't an entirely erroneous description. "And Henry…"
"And Henry, what?" Emma's hackles raised automatically.
"He's ten. And as far as I can tell, he's never been exposed to the realities of an adult relationship, real or otherwise. Am I wrong?"
"There's David and Mary Margaret…"
"Ah yes," Killian agreed, taking a sip of coffee. "The golden couple. Such a picture perfect example of traditional marriage. Flowers. Coffee dates. Homemade dinners." There was an undercurrent of derision in his voice.
"There's nothing wrong with being traditional…" It fell to Emma to defend the honor of their employers.
"No, but it isn't really us, is it Swan?" Emma's skin prickled at the word us, and she turned to find Killian regarding her seriously, one eyebrow raised.
"I suppose not," she relented.
"Then allow me to plan a handful of couple-like interactions in the lead-up to the wedding, to sell the boy on the charade. How long until the big day?"
"Six weeks."
"Plenty of time."
"Why are you planning them?"
"Darling, you know how to take down flying monkeys." Emma snorted. "I know how to plan an evening out. So will you allow me the honour?"
"Fine." Emma threw a Twizzler at him.
"And you'll have the enviable task of delivering the stupendous news of our fledgling courtship to the lad!"
"Do you ever talk like a normal person?"
"And what fun would that be?" Emma threw another Twizzler at him, but this one he caught in his mouth. He grinned at her through a mouthful of red licorice.
A few hours later, when their entire store of high-caloric snack food was exhausted and there was still no sign of their quarry, it was time to face facts. Gerry Whale had probably skipped town, with or without his brother's help.
"I do hope you'll be paying for our dates, Swan, because I fear my meal ticket has probably hopped a bus to Canada."
The both continued to stare at Victor Whale's house, which looked much creepier in the moonlight than it had previously, a dejected air filling the car.
"So what is it that you want?" Emma broke the silence.
"I'm sorry?" Killian shook himself from his focus on the house. "What are we talking about?"
"You're right. You are doing me a favor. I recognize that. Which means that you are entitled to one in return."
"I didn't agree to your ridiculous plan because I wanted a favor from you, Swan."
"No, you agreed because Neal annoys you."
"Precisely," he arched his back against the seat and stretched out his spine, like a cat.
"And I appreciate that. But I need to be able to count on more than your dislike of Neal to ensure this stupid plan's success."
"When you had group projects at school, you were always the control freak, weren't you Swan?" Emma just rolled her eyes. "Dammit Swan. I agreed to help you. I gave you my word that I would. It shouldn't matter why. So long as you trust me to be as good as my word."
The silence in the short space between them was suffocating.
"Ah. So that's it then, isn't it? You don't trust me." Killian swallowed back a stab of hurt, but his voice was still strained. "You'll let me back you up against a bail jumper with a gun, but you still think I'd let you down at the earliest opportunity where my professional reputation wasn't at stake." It wasn't a question.
Emma had hurt his feelings. She could see that. She tried to form an apology, but she wasn't sure what she had to apologize for. Killian knew better than anybody what people were capable of doing to each other. That people needed to protect themselves.
"Fine," Killian barked. Emma started at his tone, and he made sure to soften his words. "If it makes you feel better, we'll strike a bargain. I'll jump through all the hoops required to make your little façade fly. I'll be the best damn wedding date you've ever had. I'll look the part. I'll act the part. I will Electric Slide with the best of them."
"Please don't Electric Slide." Emma interrupted.
"Consider the Electric Slide nixed from our deal." Killian amended, one corner of his lip curving up against his will. "Everyone will unanimously agree that you won the break-up. And in return for my being such a good sport, you are going to…" Emma wasn't sure if he was pausing for dramatic emphasis or because he was still grappling for something to bargain for, but before she could punch him, he let loose a shaky breath and delivered his terms.
"You're going to help me find someone."
"And why would you need my help with that? You're the best skip tracer in Boston."
"And I thank you for acknowledging me as such, Swan." Killian gave her a mocking bow of gratitude, and she couldn't resist any longer, punching him square in the shoulder. Killian looked unabashed, but began to rub his shoulder anyway.
"Sometimes, another set of eyes can be helpful. Preferable, even," he continued.
"And who are we finding?"
"All in good time, darling. Do you accept my terms? Or do you not?"
"I accept." She brokered a hand.
"Excellent." He gave a wide smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He went to grasp her hand, and stopped himself. "I feel like we should make this more official. Should we spit shake on it?"
"Is that how they settle things in County Cork? Because you and I are not swapping saliva."
"Another one of your rules, Swan?" The look he gave her was positively sinful.
Killian Jones was an attractive man. So much Emma could acknowledge. She wasn't blind. And that was part of the reason why she'd chosen him as her accomplice, after all, his ability to fill out a suit and look good on her arm. The unfortunate part was that he was well-aware of it, and he knew how to use it to his advantage. When he turned on the charm in such tight quarters, it made Emma feel a little like Little Red Riding Hood being stared down by her hungry wolf.
"Perhaps. No spitting. A proper gentleman's handshake."
"I'm always a gentleman, Swan."
"Prove it."
They shook on it. A proper gentleman's handshake.