Chapter Six: Gone Again
Their tires whir against the glistening, rain-slicked pavement, illuminated only by sparse moonlight as it stretches in a seemingly unending ribbon before them through the black night. The hum of the wheels on the interstate, the flow of constant motion, soothes the nervous energy and rapid beating of Emma's heart which has been her constant companion for hours now. Ever since Ruby and Henry burst back into the hotel suite with the suspicion that they were being tailed, Emma's stomach has been churning, bile rising in her throat, and panic pitched almost toward hysteria still trying to grip her completely.
'If anything happens to Henry,' a small voice chants incessantly in her mind, 'If he's hurt because I reported the murder, I will never forgive myself. It's all my fault.' Emma twists and untwists the ends of the gauzy lavender scarf draped around her shoulders at Ruby's insistence. A silly, girly accoutrement she would never have bothered with in Vegas – and apparently therefore perfect. Her brow furrows and she continues to stare resolutely between her lap and the road before her. Ignoring the glances she can feel Jones throwing sidelong at her from the driver's seat and refusing to look at Henry sleeping in the back next to Ruby, who is silent and alert as an animal on the prowl.
They had acted immediately that afternoon – careful, quick, and decisive. Within the hour, they had been spirited away once more. Calls were made to Agent Nolan, who'd had the hotel swept by an entire team. No one had been found lurking, but that didn't comfort Emma or her protectors much. David Nolan's mouth had been a tense, thin line of consternation and anger. Everyone trusted Ruby's skill and instinct enough to be sure she had indeed seen someone, and there was no doubt that the perpetrator would be back to make another attempt, given time.
The decision had been made and carried out swiftly. Two other teams of agents with male-female partners and similar body types had taken two people – a woman and a child that could pass for Emma and Henry – off in nondescript cars, minutes from when Agent Nolan had sent them off with Ruby and Killian. All had gone in different directions, but she assumes they are the only ones still driving to some unknown destination, some new place where she will once again attempt to make a life, for Henry's sake at least. She knows better than to hope any such thing for herself; what they are fleeing now only confirms that she will always be a drifting loner with no true home. She had hoped there could be more for her little boy. Neal might have abandoned her before Henry ever knew him, but Henry had loved Graham dearly. Despite their somewhat odd and nontraditional surroundings, Emma had thought him happy and secure with the little family they'd formed. Now, largely due to her poor choice in employer and unfailingly terrible timing, Henry's very life is in danger, the family he knows destroyed, and he might well have to spend his life running – just as she has always done…
At this moment, Kilian clears his throat and finally speaks into the silence between them, as if reading her thoughts. "None of this is your fault, Emma. Stop blaming yourself." His rough fingertips reach over to ghost across the top of her hand, and then begin to pull away, as though he fears he's overstepped. Emma quickly clutches his hand and squeezes it gratefully, trying to use the contact to anchor herself.
She turns to look at him, seeking encouragement in his warm smile and kind eyes. The duality of this man intrigues her, and it is what allows her to feel a safety that neither the tender caregiver nor the hardened agent alone would. Obviously, he is strong, confident, decisive – a leader – and skilled at what he does. Those traits came across so strongly when she first met him that she'd reacted poorly, going head to head against him for no reason as she misjudged his intentions. Now, though, in quieter moments, when she lets herself, Emma can see the quiet, the calm – a truly soothing side to her guard that she originally missed. She sometimes senses a pain behind Killian's eyes as well. She doesn't know why or what has caused it, but when he looks at her with sympathy, as he is doing now, she senses his understanding to an acute degree.
They barrel on through the night, and Emma begins to feel the tranquility Killian Jones is trying so hard to convey to her. Yet, she also notices as the minutes stretch on with no more words spoken between them that his calm does not spread through his whole body. She can see the knotted tension in his forearms and how tightly his strong fingers grip the steering wheel – enough that it turns his knuckles white. His intent gaze under heavy, dark brows flicks over to her again, studying her, trying to gauge her state of mind, then darts away. Emma sees too that he is stealthily checking the rearview mirror, just as she has been, making sure they aren't being followed. The nagging suspicion that they will be caught unawares doesn't fade, but every glance back that appears normal eases her immediate fear, if only a fraction.
With a sigh, Killian reaches for the cup of bad fuel stop cappuccino in the holder between them, and a tired, husky chuckle escapes Emma's throat. "You know you might as well drink straight sugar, right?" she scoffs good naturedly at him. It's an endearing little quirk for someone who comes across as so tough and no-nonsense: the sweet tooth this man possesses rivals that of any five-year-old.
"What of it, Lass?" he fires back challengingly, making a show of savoring his next swallow of the warm, sticky-sweet drink.
"Nothing, nothing," she murmurs, clearly letting him know that she's still mocking his beverage of choice.
"Might as well enjoy my caffeine, if I'm going to be downing it anyway," he explains, raising the travel cup to her in a playful toast that she returns with her bottle of grape juice.
After doing so, Emma drops her gaze, suddenly feeling guilty again. Who is she to give the guy a hard time? He's mainlining coffee so he can stay awake to drive all night, all in hopes of saving her scrawny neck. She rubs her own eyes tiredly, barely stifling an accompanying yawn, hoping that Killian isn't as deeply weary as she is. She's already decided that she is going to stay awake with him as he drives. He and Ruby are doing their best to keep her and her son out of harm's way; she can at least show some support and keep him company. Emma doesn't know why their first placement had been discovered and fallen apart in less than 24 hours. If she and Henry had been too noticeable, had done something wrong, dropped a clue somehow, or merely drew the ire of the wrong bad guys, but she feels doubly compelled to pull her own weight – to help in some way – even if she has no idea how to accomplish it.
"Blimey, Love," Killian exclaims after a few moments, looking concerned but also exasperated in equal measure. "You're doing it again!"
"What?" she asks, startled.
"Thinking that this is your doing," he returns, his voice low so as not to wake Henry. "Do you always take the blame on your own shoulders? You did nothing wrong…None of us did. They're thorough and absolutely ruthless. It's why this organization has been so hard to stop…and why they are so dangerous."
She sighs, her shoulders slumping, realizing it does no good to deny his observation. For whatever reason, Killian Jones can read her more clearly than anyone she has ever encountered. "Fine, it's not my fault," she repeats with little emphasis. "So what are we trying now? How will this second time be different?"
"Because this time," Killian briefly glances back to catch Ruby's eyes in the mirror. When his partner nods, he continues, "It's completely off the books. No other agents or anyone in the field office – no one but David, Ruby, and I – are on this case, know your new identities, or where we're going. I cannot imagine anyone in the field office being on the take and leaking the information before, but this time there is absolutely no chance. If I know Dave, he's tearing the whole office apart for bugs and looking into every single agent."
Emma nods, biting her lip. She's actually relieved by his explanation. In a very rare move for her, she trusts these three people in only a few days' time. She doesn't doubt that Agent Nolan will discover what happened, whether there is a mole or some other error. Nor does she question whether Jones and Lucas will stay by their sides and shield them until then. It doesn't make the fear vanish, but it's soothing to know that it doesn't all rest on her shoulders alone. Needing to lighten the mood a bit, and maybe give them a sense of her trust, she tries for lightness as she looks at him. "So," she asks with casual curiosity, "can I know where we're going?"
Killian chuckles, the sound so open and exciting it warms her, even in the midst of this cold, uncertain night and the rainy darkness. "Aye, Lass, you may…as soon as Dave tells me. Right now, my only orders are to continue in this direction. He believes that nothing can be given away if no one knows anything to divulge. He may even change it several times yet. All I know is, he will tell us to stop when we're there."
"I guess that has to be good enough for me too then," she says with a sigh. She scrunches down into the seat a bit more comfortably then, eyeing him mischievously for a moment, a smirk on her face to let him know she's not as disgruntled as she tries to sound.
They carry on for some minutes in an easy, companionable silence, Emma attempting to focus her raging emotions, settle in, and stop herself from studying Killian's rugged profile. When Ruby speaks out of the quiet, Emma is almost startled at the sudden reminder of the brunette's presence. "If both of you are staying awake, I'm going to catch some shuteye. Kil, you'd better wake me the next time we stop to refuel," she warns with narrowed eyes. "No playing the chivalry card and going without sleep all night." She shakes her head and catches Emma's eye at this before snorting, "Stubborn man!" and then curling up against the right rear door, head pillowed on her jacket.
Silence reigns again in the vehicle's interior, and no one troubles it this time until Killian looks back again over his shoulder, as if making sure Ruby has now joined Henry in sleep. He then fully meets Emma's eyes across the console. "I have a confession to make, Swan," he offers at last. "This case…this time…it's not just my job. I have my own stake in seeing these animals brought to justice."
"I sense an intriguing story coming on," she urges, trying to keep the mood easy, but genuinely wanting him to continue, to understand the kindred ache of loneliness she glimpses in his eyes.
He allows one hand to loosen from its grip on the steering wheel and swipe back agitatedly through his mussed shock of dark hair. While earlier it had been Emma avoiding eye contact, now it is Jones who resolutely stares straight ahead, not letting his gaze stray from the road to her for even a second. He swallows hard, taking a few bracingly deep breaths before he ventures to continue. "I was born and raised in Ireland, near Donnegal," he starts out, sounding almost wistful. "Beautiful country there, and I loved every second of my childhood. At least…until the day my father left us… I was barely four – don't rightly remember him, to be honest. To this day, I've never seen him since, but me Mam, saints preserve her, she was wonderful. She could cook anything, and our little cottage always smelled of some delicious dish she was baking. She loved to sing and tell stories, and she was always taking in some hurt or hungry animal. She doted on my older brother and I like we were her treasures, and I couldn't have loved her more if she were an actual angel come to Earth. We didn't have much, but we got by, and our house was always full of laughter. I never doubted that I was loved…"
Killian's words pause and trail off at that; Emma can sense he is struggling to hold back a flood of emotion. She feels her own tears burning the back of her throat, picturing the type of childhood he has described and wondering what it would have been like to belong, to be wanted. She reaches over the empty space between them to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, to let him know she's there, whatever he has to say next.
"Things went on that way," he continues, voice going a bit raspy, but pressing on, "until I was about ten. Liam, my older brother, was several years my senior – 18 by then – and he went off to join the Navy. Mam dinna like it – worried so over where he was and if he were safe, if he were cold or hungry, almost constantly. She put on a brave face for me; I was missing Liam dreadfully. I had always idolized him, followed right along in his footsteps, and I was dead lost without him. Mam and I still had some lovely times together, but some nights, late, when I couldn't sleep, I could hear her crying, and I knew there was nothing I could do to make it better."
Emma merely nods, rubbing her hand over the fabric at his shoulder, wanting to soothe as she can already sense the story will only turn more tragic.
Killian's eyes finally meet hers for the briefest of moments, and the raw hurt in their depths nearly steals her breath. She finds herself wondering if he has ever shared this whole tale with anyone, and how long he has been lugging his past, alone. It is clear as day in those piercing blue eyes – that same expression which has so often haunted her from her own mirror – the lost sense having only herself in the world.
He sighs once more, looking away and regretfully picking up the thread of his story. "That winter was a horrible one. Ice and snow for months. We were stranded out in the country more than once – power went out a few times, food ran low a few others. Mam took sick, and even as the weather finally improved with the spring, she couldn't seem to shake her illness. I was only a child, naïve enough to believe her when she downplayed what ailed her. I knew something wasn't right, but dinna know enough to insist she see a doctor despite the cost, until it was too late. It turned into pneumonia, which then infected both her lungs, and she died before she saw my eleventh birthday."
Emma sucks in a sharp breath, despite having felt this is where the story would lead. The impact is no less devastating for having been anticipated. She tries to study Killian's profile, but he has turned his head away, as if to look out the driver's side window a moment. She gives him his privacy without comment, and only when he turns to face forward again does she pull his hand from the wheel and twine their fingers together, squeezing gently and adding on a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Jones."
"I was on my own for a time," he finally continues, voice rougher, huskier, giving a grateful nod for her gesture of support, but plowing on as if determined to have the whole story out. "Eventually the house was taken back by the bank. I was homeless, half-starved, and basically half-wild with grief and anger when Liam came home on leave and finally found me on the streets in the village. I don't know how he convinced his superiors to grant him the honorable discharge, I was both too ashamed and too ridiculously grateful to ask. He took what wages he'd earned to bring us to the U.S., find an apartment in Boston, and enroll me in proper school. He worked any and every job under the sun to support us, but he was always lecturing me to know what I wanted to be, that I had a chance to be anything here. I was halfway through university before he finally held a job he really loved. He was bartender at this Irish-themed dive, worked until the wee hours of the morning. But he loved his co-workers, the regulars, the place itself – said it reminded him of home…."
A muscle ticks in his stubbled jaw, and Emma notices suddenly how tightly Killian Jones is clenching it to keep himself under control. She rubs the pad of her thumb over his hand held tightly in hers and tries to wait patiently, though she is starting to dread what comes next. "One night, he slipped out into the back alley, not long after midnight, for a smoke on his break. He saw these three guys across the way, mostly hidden in the shadows, two of them beating on a third. Liam, heroic idiot that he was, started over, yelling out for them to stop, and he was already within range when they turned around with guns. The spineless coward he'd just saved made a run for it as soon as the two goons were distracted, Liam got the beating he'd interrupted, and his boss found him in the alley…broken ribs, nose, and collarbone, dislocated jaw, shattered kneecap, two gunshot wounds and massive blood loss. He'd slipped into a coma by the time I reached the hospital… H-he never woke up…died two days later."
Killian stops speaking abruptly, not visibly crying, but obviously unable to continue any further. Emma doesn't say anything, just keeps clinging to his hand, hoping he knows she feels his pain. A tear runs unchecked down her cheek at the tragedy of his story, at how he didn't even get to say goodbye to the last family he had. Suddenly, she finds herself wondering if life has been even worse for Killian that it has been for her. To have loved ones only for them to be ripped away so cruelly seems worse than having no one at all.
When he fails to continue, she stares at him until he has to eventually meet her eyes. "Those two in the alley… who – who did that to Liam…they worked for the Gold-Mills ring, didn't they?" she asks softly, already knowing the answer in her gut.
He nods curtly, eyes awash in pain, and then he squeezes her hand in return. He opens his mouth to say something more when his cell rings shrilly in the vehicle's silent interior. Pulling his gaze from hers with difficulty, he answers gruffly. "This is Jones!"
He nods, makes a few sounds of assent, gives his agreement to something, and then hangs up. Forcing a rather ragged smile, he sets the cell back in the console between them and takes her hand again. Lifting it to his lips, he kisses the back and offers a surprising next statement. "That isn't all, Swan…but it's enough of my sad tale for today. That was Dave, and we've nearly reached our destination."
Emma can't help watching him for a moment, wondering if she should press to see if he needs to say more, but then decides against it. "So, where's our new home?" she asks instead, trying to sound curious, and perhaps even a bit excited.
"Well, the next town we'll reach is it, Lass," he returns with matching enthusiasm. "Arcadia, Kansas."