Emma avoided taking her seat at the conference table as long as she could, but once there, she forced her spine straight and her gaze level. Killian had gotten under her skin at his apartment, and she wasn't going to let him, or exhaustion, or stress, or any of it, get the better of her again.

"Mr. Jones, I would like to begin with..."

"Detective," he cut in, raising an eyebrow with a mocking smile that Emma somehow felt was directed at her, despite Regina having been the one to speak. "Detective Jones."

Regina's eyes narrowed dangerously, her smile ice cold. "Detective, I understand that at the time of your compromising our investigation, you were also lying to your commanding officer regarding your whereabouts."

"My niece…"

"You have no living relatives."

His jaw tightened in response, and for a brief moment, Emma felt badly for him. She had seen the photo at his apartment, the young girl who clearly meant a lot to him. Not all family was blood – Emma knew that as well as anyone.

But his feelings were none of her concern.

"Belle Scarlet is like a sister to me. That makes her daughter my niece, blood or no." The words bordered on a growl, and Emma watched David reach for Killian's shoulder as his face darkened in anger. "Get on it with it, Ms. Mills. You had me dragged from my apartment like some common thief and I…"

"Special Agent," Regina cut in, and Emma had to swallow her surprised laugh, hiding her smile behind her coffee at Regina's smug tone. She did feel for Killian, but he'd dug his own grave insisting on the detective title. "Special Agent in Charge, if you'd like to use the full title, Detective." Regina managed to make a mockery of the word, the syllables twisting from her lips full of contempt.

"Let's all take a breath." David's grip on Killian's shoulder tightened, his knuckles white against the black leather, but his voice remained level. "We're on the same side. No need for a jurisdictional pissing match." When no one reached for their guns, he leaned back, releasing his grip on Killian. "Rose Scarlet was found during the raid on Gold's location. Killian was not authorized to conduct his own investigation into that matter, though he had been working with narcotics, and that put him in a unique position to infiltrate Gold's trafficking operation."

So far, they hadn't covered anything Emma didn't already know. She'd paid attention when Killian had been talking to one of his buddies, and while she didn't know Rose was practically family, she'd figured out the girl meant a lot to him. And she'd told Regina all of this in their debrief, so her boss had to have her own reasons for playing dumb. The woman had a purpose behind every blink of her eye.

"And what did having sex with a barely legal, trafficked girl have to do with either the authorized or unauthorized investigation?"

Emma willed herself not to react, though there was nothing she could do about the heat in her cheeks. A little warning would have been nice. But she kept her eyes locked on Killian, waiting to see what he would say.

"She isn't barely bloody legal, and there were two of us in that sodding room." His own face flushed, Killian turned his piercing stare on her. "Has anyone demanded your explanation, Swan? Aye, I accept a lapse in judgment on my part, and would that I could go back in time and make a different choice, but I won't be strung up by the bollocks over this when there were two bloody people in that room!"

"I've already told you my explanation, Jones," she said cooly. She hadn't expected his anger, but then again, she hadn't given much thought at all as to how he felt about the whole situation – she'd been far too busy attempting to glue and tape herself back together.

It doesn't matter.

"Did Special Agent Swan tell you I provided her an alternative option?" He turned his attention instead to Regina, the timbre of his voice dropping once more even as his volume rose. "I gave her another bloody option and she refused! Rest assured, I found the entire thing bloody distasteful and would have enjoyed nothing more than…"

Emma lost track of his tirade, her spiraling thoughts drowning everything else out. Distasteful, he said, like she actually was a used up whore, like she was something to be ashamed of. Like he hadn't been the one to flip her over and…

"Yes, Emma explained the circumstances to me."

"I told you, I thought it was a test," she snapped, refusing to allow Regina to defend her when she was sitting right there. "Can we move on? It happened. We don't need to keep talking about it. We do need to talk about how we're going to catch Gold and put a stop to this for good." She didn't want to keep talking about herself and Killian and whatever had happened between them, especially not with him sitting across from her, appearing for all the world to be torn between apologizing and screaming.

Regina stared at her, expression unreadable, but nodded after a moment of some kind of silent evaluation. "She's right. The two of you collectively know more about Gold's operation than any other law enforcement in the greater Boston area. Our task force is devoting its resources to taking him out for good. Under the FBI's direction, Jones will work with Special Agent Swan to apprehend Gold and dismantle his operation."

"I'm all for catching the bastard, but my guys report to me." David Nolan crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair and regarding Regina with a stubborn set to his jaw. "I'm sure she's plenty capable, but Agent Swan does not have authority over Boston PD."

"Take it up with the Director. Or better yet, since you're so fond of your own ranks, call the Commissioner. He agreed to it this morning." Regina smiled sweetly, tossing a file folder onto the table in front of each of them. "We've established a preliminary fact sheet based off Emma's debrief. Now, we're going to go through it and see if the detective wonder has anything he'd like to add. Questions?"

"You want us to work together?" Emma blurted out, glancing down at the file in front of her. That was not part of the plan – Killian was supposed to come in, answer Regina's questions, and never be seen or heard from again; he was supposed to get locked up in a box in her mind, forgotten with all the other pieces of herself she'd lost along the way. She loved her job, but it came with a cost.

"Is there a problem?"

Traitor. Emma glared at Regina, knowing she was stuck. She either took the assignment, or she admitted that Killian had gotten under her skin in front of an entire room full of people.

"No," she heard herself reply, her voice someone else's – someone cold and collected, not the mess of emotions that was currently Emma Swan. "No problem."

"Detective?"

Emma met Killian's stare head on, refusing to blink under his examination. Something an awful lot like apology lurked in his eyes again, his fingers twitching until he raised them to scratch behind his ear. "No problem," he finally answered quietly, eyes dropping to the file in front of him. "Where shall we begin?"

By the time the two cops left, Emma was exhausted. Having spent the better part of the previous night rehashing it all with Regina, going back over every last terrible bit with an audience had not been her idea of a good time. It didn't help that she was still weak from her time with Gold, too many months without regular meals or the opportunity to see the inside of a gym catching up with her.

"You could have warned me," she said sourly to Regina as they gathered the files strewn across the conference table. Emma glanced up from the mess, strands of hair escaping the messy bun she'd given into hours ago, watching her boss for some kind of reaction.

"You could have said no."

"We both know that's not true." Emma grabbed a handful of half-empty Chinese food containers and threw them into the garbage with more force than the task required. "I would have done it either way. I don't appreciate being blindsided."

Regina shrugged, stacking file folder on top of file folder. "I wanted an honest reaction."

"I'm a big girl. I can handle the detective."

"Can you, Emma? Because I watched you today. You were angry."

"Oh, like you're one to talk about having a temper." Emma rolled her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming with frustration.

"It was an observation, not a judgment. You're right. I do have a temper. But you don't, not like what I saw today. Whatever happened between you two, whatever details aren't in your reports, you need to work it out. I don't need to remind you that in our line of work, you need to trust the people on your team. People die when you don't." Regina sighed, shrugging back into the suit jacket she'd draped over her chair. "And if you can't trust him, then I'll reassign you."

"Reassign me? What the hell? I get kicked off the team because of him? Really? After everything you've said to me over the years about how women get screwed over around here and… "

"You get reassigned because he has more information on the day-to-day operations than you do. He managed to infiltrate the organization. He knows suppliers, warehouse locations. He knows things you don't. It's not a comment on your performance. You know you're a damn good agent." Regina gestured vaguely at the files, exhaustion creeping into her voice. "This needs to stop."

"So all that time I spent at that monster's side was a waste, that's what you're saying? I put myself through that for nothing? My information isn't as good as the detective's?" Her words took on an increasingly hysterical edge, and Emma knew she wasn't being completely rational, but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

"No. That is not what I'm saying." Regina arched a brow, gathering up a stack of files. "This is the exact thing I'm talking about, though. You're exhausted, Emma. Go home. Sleep. Don't come in tomorrow and take the weekend to regroup. Eat some of that damned grilled cheese you're so fond of."

"I can't just do nothing. He's out there and he's…"

"I shouldn't have to tell you we are not going to end this in three days. We need time to observe and plan our next move. Gold has gone to ground since the raid, and he'll be suspicious now. We need to play the long game, and you know that as well as any of us. You want something to do in the meantime? Make peace with the detective. I don't care how you do it. Scream, yell, punch the guy, I don't care, Emma. But do it." Regina directed a pointed look at the door, adding the files in Emma's hands to her own stack. "Good night, Miss Swan."

Emma resisted the urge to stomp her feet every step of the way back into the underground parking garage. She hated when Regina addressed her as Miss Swan – a fact her boss well knew. But she was trained to not behave like a child, and she would remember that.

Still, she fumed the entire drive back to her apartment. Regina was right, in a way – Killian had managed to push her buttons all afternoon and evening. There was just something about him that made her blood boil. Maybe it was his stupid accent. Maybe it was those eyes of his that had already begun to haunt her dreams.

Maybe it was the way she would catch him looking at her, something soft and maybe just a little broken in his expression, words on the tip of his tongue before his attention was called back to the matter at hand.

Dropping her keys to the floor once inside her apartment, Emma leaned back against the closed door and let out a breath. She was used to functioning on little sleep, but the maybe five hours in three days was pushing it. She needed to crawl in her bed and stay there.

After a shower.

Retrieving the bottle of scotch from under the vanity, she set it on the countertop and eyed herself in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, dark circles for miles, hollow cheeks, limp and snarled hair – she made a delightful picture. She'd lost weight, the few curves she'd managed to keep barely hanging on, and if she were feeling brave enough to stand in front of the mirror naked, she'd likely be able to count far too many of her ribs. The cracked lips and sallow skin were just the icing on the proverbial cake.

Who gives a shit?

You. You give a shit. You're falling apart. Emma Swan does not fall apart.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she undressed and got in the shower. The hot water beat against the sore muscles in her back, the day of tension draining out of her. She expected to be able to sleep by the time she toweled off, but somehow the shower had woken her up.

Pouring a measure of scotch – maybe that would do the trick – Emma curled up on her couch, laptop open. If she was going to be awake, she would be productive. And her first order of business was finding out whatever she could about Killian Jones. She had learned not to like surprises in her line of work, and she was damn good at making sure there weren't any.

Accessing the FBI's database, within a few clicks she found herself staring at a younger version of him. He wore the no-nonsense expression favored in military IDs, the hint of a black T-shirt showing at the bottom of the frame below a clean-shaven jaw. The stern look did nothing to hide his attractiveness, though she preferred his current scruffy look over the buzzed hair and smooth cheeks.

Stop it. You don't prefer anything about him.

As she suspected from the photo in his apartment, he'd done time in the military. Joining up at seventeen, she was surprised to see he'd been admitted to the Naval Academy, and done rather well. Following graduation, he'd spent considerable time out to sea. He rose quickly through the ranks, but his service record was otherwise routine – except at twenty-five, there was a sudden shift, back-to-back tours in the Middle East littering the page.

Emma frowned as she counted, her eyes scanning the records. A total of five tours, all of them to hot zones. All of them extremely dangerous. And then, without warning, an abrupt departure and the beginning of his time with the Boston PD.

Weird. He'd been promoted quickly, all signs pointing toward a promising career, never mind what it must have taken to get into himself to Annapolis in the first place. Joining up so young, by the time he was discharged, he was a mere five years away from retirement and all the benefits that came with it. Something had to have happened to make him change course and give that all up after fifteen years.

Clicking on the disciplinary section, Emma thought she'd figured it out. There was a record of a fraternization charge with an enlisted woman, but upon closer examination, the charge was old, not long after the detective had left Annapolis a newly minted officer. And there was no record of punishment or consequences.

Curious as to what had happened to the woman – isn't it always the woman who gets screwed in these situations – Emma typed her name into the search. She blinked several times once the record loaded, as if that would make the deceased label disappear. "What the hell happened to you?" she asked the photo on her screen, the woman all dark hair and smooth skin even in her stern military portrait.

With each scroll of her mouse, Emma's stomach dropped a little bit further. The best she could piece it together, not long after she'd been accused of fraternizing with Killian, she'd gone out on a routine patrol – and never come back.

Glancing at the date, she returned to Killian's record. Sure enough, the start of his back-to-back tours coincided with the woman's death. Did he have something to do with it? She stared at his photo, wondering what sort of man he was beneath the charming smile and pretty blue eyes. Did he get her killed?

Is he going to get me killed?

She didn't want to believe that, but it sent a shiver down her spine. Closing her eyes, she leaned back into the couch and took a deep breath. She didn't know much about Killian Jones, but a man willing to put himself into Gold's path to save a teenage girl, without the support of his unit behind him, didn't seem like the type to kill a woman.

But it did show a remarkable disregard for his own safety, especially when combined with the tours. No one got sent on that many tours, not that close together. He had to have volunteered. Was he just reckless, or was it his idea of penance? And if it was, what the hell did he feel so guilty about? The timing of his tours lined up with Milah's death too perfectly to just be coincidence.

Go to bed. She opened her eyes to the dark room, setting the laptop on the coffee table with a sigh. Rubbing at her brow, she went into the kitchen for a glass of water, struggling to calm her thoughts.

Not everyone is a terrible human being at their core. You assume the worst. You always do. Get some sleep and decide when you're more rational. You could just ask him about it.

He might lie.

You're pretty good at spotting liars.

Her thoughts flickered back to that dingy bedroom at Gold's, and she grimaced as she put the glass in the dishwasher, gulping down the last of her water. Okay, maybe not so good.

"Bed," she muttered to herself, shaking her head and shuffling toward the bedroom. Her thoughts were too muddled tonight to make any sense of what she'd learned. She would sleep on it and decide what to do in the morning.

But the dawn didn't bring any answers.

Emma eyed her laptop as she made her way into the kitchen, setting coffee to brew as she yawned. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept for eight hours all at once, even if those eight hours were filled with dreams that left her more anxious than rested. Killian had been there again, yet this time, instead of appearing as a drug dealer, he'd burst in wearing his military fatigues…only to stand there and do nothing while a gun was aimed at her face.

Shivering with the memory, Emma pulled her sweater tighter around herself. It didn't take a shrink to put two and two together – her overtired, overactive imagination had twisted events to incorporate the worst-case scenario out of Killian's files.

Unbidden, the photo from his apartment jumped to the forefront of her thoughts, his easy, happy smile and the family at his side. That he would go after his friend's daughter come hell or high water spoke of deep loyalty. Emma didn't know many people with a sense of honor like that these days.

Taking her coffee with her back to the couch, Emma opened up her laptop and resumed her digging. Starting from the beginning this time, she noted both parents were listed as deceased, as well as an older brother. Further investigation revealed he'd been born in London, moved to New York with his father and brother at the age of ten, only to be orphaned two years later. His brother had been eighteen at the time and taken on the responsibility of raising him, but only days before Killian's seventeenth birthday, Liam was dead, too, in a routine training exercise gone wrong. Looking at the dates, Liam couldn't have even been buried by the time Killian signed on with the Navy the day after he turned seventeen.

"Damn," Emma muttered, rubbing at her eyes and sipping her coffee. It wasn't like she'd had it any easier in the foster homes of the greater Boston area, but at least she'd never known her parents. It was a blessing, in a way – all she'd ever known was abandonment. She couldn't imagine what it might have been to have a parent's love ripped away.

And if he really did consider the girl to be family, perhaps he would have been desperate enough to do just about anything – including sleeping with a young girl who might have information to help him.

Regina said learn to trust him, not make excuses.

Shaking her head at herself, Emma closed the laptop, determined to forget about Killian Jones for at least a few hours. She needed groceries and to get back into the gym, and maybe a few more hours of sleep.

And yet, he followed her down the aisles, waiting to twist up her frustration and guilt as she stared at the selection of apples – he nipped at her heels her entire pathetic run on the treadmill, taunted her with every punch she landed on the bag, a nonstop litany of memories and facts.

By the time she got out of the shower, Emma knew what needed to be done. Regina had said to find a way to trust him, and she'd tried, digging up information to find something she could lean on. But the more she read, the more questions she had, and she wasn't going to get anywhere brooding over his file.

Picking up her phone from the bathroom vanity, she quickly sent Regina a text asking for the detective's number before she changed her mind. The reply came back instantly – just the number, no commentary.

You are a goddamn FBI agent. You can handle questioning a cop.

Scowling at herself, she tapped out a message asking if he was free to meet and hit send. Two professionals meeting to discuss the case. That's all it was. With some sleep and a more casual environment, she would be able to get a better read on him.

Killian Jones was not going to be the reason she got kicked off her own case.

His reply wasn't long in coming, and though she half-expected him to make a joke of it, he merely asked where she'd like to meet. Giving him the address of a diner within walking distance from her apartment that was easily accessible by the T, she arranged a meeting in an hour.

She dressed quickly, her favorite jeans and red leather jacket she had missed while on her latest assignment, and settled back down with Killian's file. Maybe it was slightly unfair of her to prepare for the meeting like it was an interrogation, but she refused to let him push her buttons again. She would be cool, calm, collected – professional. Maybe she could give herself a pass for her behavior at his apartment, given she was caught off guard and exhausted, but it wouldn't happen again.

Grabbing a scarf to ward off the chill in the air, Emma arrived at the diner fifteen minutes ahead of time, planning to grab a table and wait for him, but to her surprise, he was already there. Leaning up against the brick wall next to the door, he could have been posing for an ad for the jeans hugging his thighs.

"I see I'm not the only one who prefers to be punctual," he said in greeting, flashing her a smile that hinted at flirtation.

"Work for Regina long enough and you'll never be late for anything in your life." She ignored his smile and his damned jeans.

He chuckled, nodding in understanding and gesturing toward the door. "Shall we?" When she took a step forward, he opened the door, holding it for her. "After you."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes in his face, Emma forced a gracious smile and slipped past him into the warm and bright diner. Given the late hour, it was quiet inside, even the last-call crowd tucked safely in their beds for the night. Emma slid into a booth, keeping her back to the wall and leaving him the seat with the door behind him.

An awkward silence grew as he shrugged out of his jacket in the warmth of the diner and Emma untangled her scarf, setting it on the seat beside her. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't bothered to eat dinner, and she glanced down at the menu. It wasn't Granny's, but it was pretty hard to screw up grilled cheese.

"The red suits you," he finally said, his focus on her coat when her eyes darted up from the menu. If he noticed that it hung rather loosely on her, he refrained from commenting. "Most of you feds stick to the all black ensemble."

"Regina hates it," she mumbled, running her fingers over the well-worn leather. She'd had the thing for almost ten years, and the material was butter-soft.

"Not very stealthy."

"No. I had to give up my car, but I kept the jacket." Emma rolled her eyes at the memory, the argument that ensued when Regina insisted she stop trying to conduct stakeouts in her bright yellow Bug and take one of the FBI's cars instead.

"Sorry, love. Can't say I have any sympathy for you and your on-the-government vehicle." His lips twitched with a smile to soften the words, and in spite of herself, Emma smiled back. The undercurrent of discomfort in his presence wasn't going away anytime soon, but maybe this wouldn't be so difficult after all.

The waitress's arrival cut off their conversation, and Emma quickly ordered her grilled cheese and hot chocolate, while Killian chose black coffee and a piece of pie.

"Sweet tooth?"

He shrugged, glancing down at his hands. Small scars littered his skin, silver rings banded around his thumb and right ring finger. "Sugar was in short supply where I was stationed for many years."

"Why did you leave the Navy?"

Whatever she expected, it wasn't what she got. Killian's face drained of all color, only to be replaced by a shade so dark it was nearly purple. All trace of humor wiped from his expression, he very slowly said, "You pulled my service record."

Emma shrugged, keeping quiet as the waitress deposited their drinks. "FBI," was her only reply once they were left alone again. She paused, tilting her head as she studied the flood of emotion twisting his features. "What's the matter, Jones? Upset my toys are better than yours? I'm betting you tried to look me up." The words came out more sarcastic than intended, an accusation more than anything.

"Actually, beyond the basic confirmation you were in fact who you said you were, I did not. It hardly seemed good form to go rummaging about into your past." He wrapped both hands around his mug of coffee, staring into the dark depths. "Though you had no such qualms," he added bitterly. "What is the purpose of this meeting, Swan? If you're worried I may quit on you again, I assure you it was a lapse in judgment on my part the last time. I only chose to walk away when it seemed my absence would aid the situation."

Like you quit the Navy? But Emma didn't say that – he wouldn't answer her question that way.

"Regina said to find a way to trust you. I did my homework." She swallowed past the guilt, past the obvious violation he felt at her research – she flat out ignored how pissed she would be if he had done the same thing.

"That is unfair. I have been honest with you since the raid. If there was something you wished to know, you merely had to ask."

"I just did. Why did you leave the Navy?" she repeated, holding his stare with a practiced coolness she didn't feel. Pretending he was any other suspect wasn't working – something in his eyes made her want to squirm in her seat, as though he could see through her and her veneer of professionalism.

"I'll spare us both the game of twenty bloody questions. You've found something you believe incriminating in your nosing about in my affairs. Let's have it, then. What dark secret are you after?"

"Milah."

His eyes widened, flashing with anger as the color drained from his face for a second time. "Buggering hell, is there nothing sacred? I don't understand you, Emma Swan. One moment, I think I've got a handle on you. Bit of an open book. And then the next you sit across from me conducting an interrogation, when I was under the impression we were here trying to move past the ugliness of the other evening. Where did you even…" He stopped, eyes narrowing and knuckles whitening where he gripped his mug. His eyes closed for a long moment, his shoulders rising and falling as he took a deep breath. "Milah has no bearing on this investigation. Leave it the bloody hell alone."

"No? A woman you closely worked with ended up dead and that has no bearing on our situation?"

"The circumstances are hardly the same."

"Explain how that's the case. You worked together in dangerous conditions. She had to put her life in your hands. I have to do the same. How am I supposed to trust you?"

He settled back against the booth, eyes narrowed with anger as he studied her. Drawing on years of training, Emma let him, her own frustrations held under lock and key. Let him try to break her – he wouldn't succeed.

"That was many years ago. I was young and naïve. And you and I, it's not…we aren't…"

"We aren't what? Screwing?" She smirked, leaning across the table and ignoring the panic clawing at her throat as memories flooded in. "Oh, wait, we did do that."

"That's right, love. We did. And that's what this is really about, is it not? You don't care a whit why I left the service, or even about Milah. It's about you, me, and what went on in that hellhole." He took another deep breath, a measure of anger slipping away from him as he sipped his coffee, watching her over the mug's rim. When he spoke again, it was with a quiet, exhausted certainty. "That's why you want to make me the villain, interrogate me like one of your sodding criminals, but you see, Swan, nothing is that plain. Aye, you're angry. I'm bloody angry, too. So instead of disturbing decade-old ghosts, shall we discuss that night instead?"

The waitress chose that moment to deliver their food, Emma locked into a silent stare with Killian. The tension between them thick, the waitress seemed hesitant to even ask if they needed anything else.

"No, thank you, love," Killian answered, his eyes not leaving Emma's. She ignored the flicker of irritation at him calling the waitress love – what was with all the ridiculous pet names for women?

He looked away first, picking up his fork and stabbing it into his pie as though the apples had committed a terrible crime. He took a few bites, regarding her in between. She had the sense of being evaluated, and whatever he found made him set down his fork and lean closer over the table. "Why did you join the FBI?" he finally asked, no hint of his emotions in his voice. Somewhere along the line, he too had found a way to keep his feelings under lock and key.

It bothered her more than it should have.

Emma rolled her eyes, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of any further reaction. He may have thought he could turn the tables on her, but she'd been interrogating suspects much longer than he had. "Not important."

"How did you end up at Gold's?" he pressed in the same flat tone, watching her.

"It was an assignment."

"I'm told you volunteered."

"And so what if I did?" She swallowed her surprise, wondering how he could have possibly known that. He didn't have access to the FBI's personnel files, and Regina never would have told him.

"I should like to know why."

"I'd like to know why you left the Navy," she responded sweetly, taking another bite of her grilled cheese and chewing slowly.

He shrugged, picking up his fork again. "It was time for a change."

"That's not the whole story."

"You know, Swan, you've a right not to trust me at this juncture, but I've just as many reasons not to trust you. You've had the benefit of reading up on my life's history, and yet I know nearly nothing about you. Aye, I'm not proud of what we did at Gold's, but the reality is, as I've said before, that there were two of us in that situation. I hardly forced you."

Humiliation made her stomach turn, and she pushed away the plate with the remains of her dinner, no longer hungry. "You have no concept of what it's like being a woman in a situation like that."

"No, I do not. But you were posing as a bloody whore, Swan. If that was your angle, surely you must have been prepared for…"

"Don't you dare," she cut in, her temper flaring and words sharp. "Yes, I was prepared to do what I needed to in order to get close enough to Gold to get the information I needed. And if you truly had been one of his cronies, I was prepared for that too. But you weren't. You aren't. And you did it anyway."

His shoulders slumped, weariness settling over him. He hesitated for a moment before reaching across the table, his warm palm and callused fingers up against her bare skin. "Emma, I…"

"Don't touch me," she hissed, yanking her hand away.

He nodded, his hands settling in his lap. "I'm not going to hurt you. Your boss is right. We do need to be able to trust each other. Perhaps I'm wrong and we don't need to talk about the other night. Shall we pretend it never happened instead? Start over?"

"Just like that?"

His eyes trailed over her face before turning to the window, watching the people on the sidewalk before answering. "I lived in a war zone for many years. I'm quite good at pretending terrible things didn't happen."

"Okay."

"All right." He smirked, a measure of his earlier humor returning. "But it hardly seems fair, you knowing my secrets when I barely know a thing about you."

"You don't have to know me. We just need to find a way to work together."

He laughed, the sound more of a choked cough than true amusement. "You're afraid to talk to me, aren't you, love? Might actually reveal a bit of yourself."

"We're done here. I'm going now." Emma threw some bills on the table, quickly wrapping her scarf around her neck as she stood. He didn't argue, merely nodding with a knowing expression she didn't care for. She was relieved when he didn't follow her out the door, choosing to remain in the booth with his coffee.

She definitely did not notice that through the glass, sitting alone in that booth he seemed almost…lonely.

Ignoring the frustration and guilt their conversation had stirred up, Emma turned back toward her apartment, shoving her hands into her pockets. What was it about him that got under her skin so badly?

She didn't have an answer – and she wasn't sure she wanted one.


Many thanks to oubliette14 & kliomuse per usual for beta stuff and general hand holding.