AN: Firstly, I just want to apologize for the unintentional writing hiatus I seem to have taken. All I can really say is writer's block is a bitch. That said, because writer's block is such a bitch, I've split what I had intended to be the final chapter into two.

Secondly, thank you to those out there that are actually reading this and thank you for your patience.

Thirdly, while I appreciate any and all reviews, please remember that I cannot answer you if you do not have an account. If you would like to ask a question, please create an account so I can reply to you.

Fourth, to those reviewers without accounts that are always asking why Emma turned vigilante when she's a cop—Matt Murdock said it best so I'll let him explain: (remove the spaces- youtu. be / mbx9xdlAEM4?t=40s) [0:40-1:30].

Without further ado, here's the second-to-last chapter of Bulletproof. Hope y'all enjoy.

Many thanks to Lira for giving this a read-through.

...

These last few years had been anything but easy. For Emma, it'd been bruises, fractured ribs and broken fingers, the occasional black eye or bloody nose, countless sleepless nights where she questioned everyone and everything in her life, where she questioned whether or not this was all worth it.

The emotional and physical toll alone almost seemed enough to call it quits sometimes.

But she'd kept going, they'd kept going, despite all the odds against them. Their strong wills and even stronger bond holding them together when it felt like everything might fall apart.

They'd come too far, lost too much for it to end this way.

Tamara's disappearance had been a huge blow; getting their hands on whatever Gold was hiding at Mills was important, of course, but what good was it without a witness? His army of lawyers would most likely find some way to prove whatever was in there wasn't his and everything they've been working toward will have been for nothing. No, they needed someone, anyone, willing to testify against him in order for this to have even the smallest chance of working.

There has to be a way, she thought, throwing a punch at the bag before her and instinctively shifting her position.

The soft smack of her fist hitting the heavy bag filled her ears once more as she threw a few more quick jabs. She had been at it for close to an hour, trying (and failing) to work out her many frustrations. Her knuckles were a bit red from constant contact with the rough canvas of the bag and her back was sore, but the burn in her muscles was proving a good at distraction from everything currently weighing on her heart.

Breathing heavily, she halted, placing a hand against the bag to prevent it from swinging into her. She unraveled her hand wraps as she made her way over to where she'd left her gym bag, flexing her fingers once they were freed.

She'd gone over every name she'd ever heard connected with Gold repeatedly in her head, yet she was no closer to solving their problem. To be fair, the list of known or rumored associates was a short one and even then, most of them were either missing or dead; the rest were either too well compensated to betray Gold or were too afraid to.

Jefferson had theorized that the key to bringing down Gold's organization was in that box; perhaps it could also help lead them to the witness they needed? Emma sighed and shook her head. There were too many uncertainties surrounding whatever was in the box already, it was not a good idea to place all of their hopes on it. No, they needed all their ducks in a row before they tried to take it, not after.

She sipped on a water bottle and gently rolled her neck and shoulders. The sound of a door opening and closing reached her ears a moment later, followed by the footfalls of someone descending the stairs. Sighing, Emma fished out the towel in her bag and wiped the sweat from her face and neck, turning her attention toward the footsteps as they neared.

"Hey," David greeted with a soft smile, the sound of his voice echoing off the walls of the large, mostly empty room, "How's the workout going?"

"Good," she answered, eyebrows rising in surprise; she had not been expecting him. "What brings you down here so late?"

Her brother halted a few feet away from where she sat on the bench and shrugged. "I was working late and saw that your car was still in the parking lot. Figured you'd be down here."

She nodded and dropped her eyes, taking another swig from her water bottle. "Just trying to work a few things out," she replied vaguely.

"Anything I can help with?" he asked with faux nonchalance, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks and taking a few steps closer.

Emma bit her lip and considered her brother's offer. They hadn't really talked about her 'extracurricular activities' since that night at the hospital and she was wary about opening that particular can of worms again.

She must've been silent for too long, however, because before she could decide either way, David sighed and took a seat beside her on the bench. "Come on, Em, it's me. Let me in," he pleaded, his voice rough with emotion.

Upon meeting his gaze once more, the sudden urge to cry welled in her; she had only seen that look in his eyes once and it was not a memory she wished to relive. Ever. Swallowing thickly, she nodded and started at the very beginning.

She told him how it all started for her, about how Mary Margaret and Killian had gotten involved, told him about how rough it'd been at first and how they'd struggled to figure things out and keep it all under wraps. She told him about meeting Red and their deal with her, about Jefferson and Mills and Co., told him about convincing Tamara to help them put Gold away and about her subsequent disappearance. She told him about the gala (what she hadn't already told him, at any rate), about Neal and that night after their mom's wake, told him about Graham…

It was late when she finally finished and she was exhausted from having to relive it all, however briefly, but somehow she felt lighter. Her brother was silent as he processed the years of information she'd dumped on him and suddenly she was worried that it was too much too soon.

"David?" she tried after a long pause, eyeing him cautiously.

His jaw was clenched, his shoulders tense. "Let me help," he replied finally, brow furrowed.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What? I thought you said you were against this entire operation."

"I am," he agreed, nodding and turning to meet her eyes. "But you're my sister and I trust you. If you really believe that this is the best way to do this, then I want to be there for you in any way that I can."

Emma gaped at him as she considered his offer. "I don't think you've really thought this through. You can't exactly be running around the city with a group of vigilantes with a day job like yours."

"Why not? You do it," he challenged, shrugging at her.

"I'm not the captain of the precinct, David. You are," she argued, rising to her feet as frustration began to burn in her chest. "You're a good man with a good heart and this city needs you where you are."

"I could say the same about you, you know," he countered as he too rose to his feet.

Emma sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "My position here offers me almost no power to affect change. Most of my superiors are paid to look the other way while people like Gold literally get away with murder and I can't do a thing about it. But you can."

"Come on, Emma, don't be so naïve," David scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I may be in charge of this precinct, but I still have to answer to someone. Those people you're talking about? They're my bosses. Any power I have is far from unlimited; I can't just do whatever I want, even if it's what's right."

"But don't you see, the fact that you even want to do what's right is the reason this city needs you," she implored. "You might not win every battle, but at least you still fight."

"That's what I'm trying to do now, but for some reason you're trying to convince me otherwise," he challenged, furrowing his brow.

She sighed again and raked a hand over her sweat-dampened hair. "I'm not trying to convince you otherwise, David, I just want to make sure you understand the risks. If this doesn't go the way we need it to—"

"It will," he assured, stepping closer and putting his hands on her shoulders.

The certainty in his eyes took her slightly aback. "What makes you so sure?" she asked, swallowing thickly.

"Because it has to," he whispered, a sad smile stretching across his lips.


Emma climbed the staircase as fast as she was able, the bags she's lugging slowing her down. "Hey," she greeted breathlessly as she pushed through the door to the clock tower. "How's it going?"

Killian sighed and leaned back in his chair. "As well as can be expected, I suppose."

After setting her bags down in an empty corner, she took a moment to catch her breath. "Any leads on Tamara?" she asked hopefully, crossing her arms over her chest.

Her partner raked a hand through his hair and shook his head. "None. It's like she just evaporated into thin air. There's absolutely no trail whatsoever. At least not one I've been able to find."

Nodding, she quickly took stock of the room. Mary Margaret had yet to arrive, it seemed. She had wanted to wait and tell both of them about David simultaneously, but she suspected her brother had already beaten her to the punch with regard to his fiancé.

"There's something you should know," she blurted suddenly, cringing at her lack of finesse.

Killian turned to look at her, his brow furrowed in concern, eyes wary. "What is it? Are you alright?"

She nodded, wetting her lips nervously. "I'm fine. I, uh…it's is actually about the op."

"What about it?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck and wincing.

"David wants in," she responded, shoving her hands in her pockets.

He blinked at her in confusion. "I'm sorry, what?"

"David. You know, my brother? He wants in."

Killian sighed wearily and rose from his chair. "Since when? I thought he was vehemently against this whole thing."

"He is. I think he's just tired of being out of the loop, to be honest," she shrugged, chewing on her bottom lip.

He gazed at her quietly for a moment, his tired eyes searching her face. "And what do you think about all of this?"

Emma sighed and briefly squeezed her eyes closed. "I think I'm ready for this to be over. If David really wants to help, I say we let him. It's not like we couldn't use the extra pair of hands."

Killian nodded slowly and then shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt to have a fresh set of eyes, I suppose."

"Mary Margaret's gonna be pissed," she declared after a moment, chewing her lip and pointedly ignoring the uneasy feeling settling in her gut.

"Won't that be a sight," Killian cringed, scratching behind his ear.

The brunette stormed in almost an hour later, her fiancé in tow much to their surprise (and her fury apparently).

She'd grabbed Emma by the arm as she stalked past and dragged her toward the farthest corner.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Emma?" she growled, green eyes flashing as she rounded on her.

Cringing, she ducked her head and worried her lip. "Looks like you already know…"

"Yeah, no thanks to you," she whispered harshly, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at her friend. "A heads up would've been great, you know. Even just a quick little 'oh yeah, by the way, my brother's joining our crusade, talk to you later' would've been fine. But no, instead I get ambushed."

Emma nervously wet her lips and took a step closer. "You're right, I should've been the one to tell you. I'm sorry."

Mary Margaret deflated slightly at her apology. "We're supposed to be a team, Emma," she said, barely masked hurt creeping into her voice.

"We are, and now David is a part of that team too," Emma assured, her lips quirking in a small smile. "Admit it, a part of you is glad to not have to keep this from him anymore."

The other woman shrugged. "I guess. I've always felt guilty for lying to him about all of this."

"So have I," Emma admitted with a sigh. "Now we get to share it with him."

"Yeah," she said, returning the blonde's small smile with one of her own before raising a teasing eyebrow. "Still would've been nice to be consulted, however."

Emma sighed wearily and shrugged. "I really am sorry, Mary Margaret. I'm just so ready to finish this; David wants to help us do that."

Mary Margaret nodded and squeezed her shoulder. "Then let's get to work."

Killian and David, who were pretending to not overhear their brief spat, were studying a folder with photographs and profiles and talking quietly. Upon their approach, they looked up and eyed the two of them warily.

"Everything okay?" Killian asked, cautiously eyeing the two of them.

Mary Margaret nodded and threw him a smile. "Everything's fine. What are you two doing over here?"

"Killian was just helping me get up to speed," David smiled, gesturing to the papers spread out on one of the table tops.

Killian shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I thought perhaps he could assist us in the search for another witness."

"Great idea. We could definitely use all the help we can get on that particular issue," Emma sighed, throwing a small smile at her brother.

Killian is back typing away at his computer ten minutes later, David knee deep in their numerous files on Gold at the table next to him. Emma, on the other hand, had dragged Mary Margaret over to help unload the bags she'd brought with her, items ranging from gear they could use on future jobs to a simple restocking of their first aid kit (Emma pretended not to notice David's curious perusal of said gear, knowing he'd ask where she'd gotten it and that was not a question she wanted to answer right now).

David beckoned her half way through, his brow furrowed in confusion. She sat with him for the next hour as he combed through each file, answering any questions he had (comments ranging from "Who is this, anyway?" to "Are you crazy, Emma, talking to this guy could get you killed.")

"Hey, what about him," David suggested, drawing Emma's attention away from the orange sunset streaming in through the broken clock face.

Emma felt her stomach churn when her eyes found the name on the file. "What about him?" she asked evenly, averting her eyes again.

"He's a part of Gold's organization, probably has been for years given who he is," her brother began, leaning in a little closer. "And after what you said happened the night of mom's funeral…well, I think he might be our best option."

Emma met his gaze again and chewed her lip. "You're probably right, David, but—I don't know. I mean, he's Gold's son, and he seemed on good terms with him at that gala Killian and I crashed. What if we fail to convince him to help us and he tells Gold what we're trying to do? It'll ruin everything we've been working toward."

"I get what you're saying, Emma, but at least think about it before you write the idea off completely," David urged, his blue eyes earnest.

She nodded reluctantly, chewing her bottom lip as she mindlessly toyed with the photograph clipped to his profile. "I'll think about it."

They called it a night about an hour later. Killian had taken a break from attempting to track down Tamara and had taken Emma's place at the table beside David. Mary Margaret and Emma had finished unloading the new gear and were finishing up on taking stock of it all.

"And finally, we've got four 9mms, nine boxes of ammo, and three sets of Kevlar," Mary Margaret stated, ticking off the items on the list in front of her.

Emma nodded and scanned the shelves one last time before turning her attention to her friend. "You think it'll be enough?"

Mary Margaret shrugged distractedly, skimming her list one more time. "Depends on the plan, really. Have you even heard from Jefferson recently?"

"I did get this weird text shortly after Graham—," she began, swallowing the last word, the event still too fresh to talk about. "I don't know if it was from Jefferson but I can't think of who else would've sent it."

"Let me guess," the brunette started, crossing her arms over her chest. "You have no way of contacting him, do you?"

Emma sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "You mean other than showing up at his bar or 'secret base?'"

"What about Victor?" Mary Margaret suggested. "We know where he works, maybe we could call and ask him to set up a meet or get him a message?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. It puts Victor at risk of being exposed and I doubt Jefferson would take kindly to that," Emma grimaced, before shaking her head. "Look, I'll handle Jefferson. You keep an eye on that one," she said, nodding toward her brother.

Mary Margaret huffed a laugh and shook her head. "Easier said than done."

Emma studied the other woman briefly, a furrow creasing on her brow. "Are you guys okay? You know, with…everything?"

"As good as can be expected, I guess," she admitted with a shrug. "We're working through it, though, don't worry."

"Easier said than done," Emma echoed, forcing a smile onto her lips that was more tremulous than playful.

"Hey," her friend said softly, taking a step closer to her, "We're going to be fine, okay? I love David and he loves me. You don't walk away from something like that without a fight."

Emma swallowed thickly and nodded.

"That's partially why he's here, you know," the brunette continued, stealing a glance at her fiancé, "He wants to understand. He's hurt, of course, but you know David; complete and utter inability to hold a grudge and loyal to a fault."

Emma nodded shifted her feet awkwardly. "Loyalty we don't deserve."

Mary Margaret smiled sadly and sighed. "You're right. And that makes it even more precious."

.


She'd gone through the data over and over again and each time she did, she realized how right her brother had been.

With Tamara missing in action, Neal Cassidy was their next best option.

Killian was going to hate this idea (she wasn't too fond of it herself, truth be told).

But what choice did they have?

None that she could see. So, she spent the next couple of days asking around, studying his movements, his behavior. When she felt she had enough to make an informed decision, she presented it to the rest of the team.

"Absolutely not," Killian declared, barely letting her finish.

"You didn't even consider it, Killian, come on," she fired back somewhat irritably. "Do you think this decision was easy for me? I'm the one that has a history with Neal, not you."

"You have a history with Gold's son? How on earth did that happen?" Mary Margaret asked, her eye brows raised in surprise.

Emma sighed and averted her gaze uncomfortably. "He was one of my mom's students. We, uh, met at her wake."

"He lied to you about who he was, Emma, how can you even consider trusting him? Especially when he's so close to his father," Killian argued, the tips of his ears turning red with barely repressed anger.

"If you've got a better suggestion, I'd love to hear it," she challenged, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at him.

He fumed in silence for a moment before sighing in frustration and shaking his head.

She sighed and took a step toward him. "Look I get it, I really do. Neal is far from my first choice, but right now, he's the best one we've got."

"The least we can do is look into it," Mary Margaret offered, picking up the file filled with Emma's research. "Come on, Jones, you can help me."

Killian glared at the folder in her hand for a moment before nodding begrudgingly. "Lead the way," he mumbled, a scowl twisting his lips.

"Thanks for the tip, bro," Emma remarked once the other half of their team had walked away.

David shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Just trying to help."

"You did. Really. Killian is just a bit…touchy when it comes to the Golds," she said, chewing her bottom lip.

"What happened there, anyway?" her brother asked, glancing briefly in Killian's direction, "I figured he was doing all of this because of you, but I see now that there's more to it than that."

"That's not my story to tell, David, you'll have to ask him," Emma confessed, furrowing her brow as she considered the rest of his statement. "And what do you mean 'because of me?'"

"You're kidding, right?" David asked, huffing a laugh.

Emma looked between Killian and her brother for a moment, quietly considering his words—she rolled her eyes at him when his meaning suddenly became clear. "You're kidding, right?" she choked, her stomach flipping at his suggestion. "Do you honestly think that he would risk his life the way that he has solely because I asked him to?"

"Based on what I've seen? Definitely," he stated matter-of-factly, a teasing glint in his eyes. "He's head-over-heels for you, Sis. Probably has been since day one."

"Don't be ridiculous," she argued, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "'Love at first sight' was made for people like you and Mary Margaret, not people like me and Killian."

"Oh, so you're in love with him too, are you?" he teased, biting back a smile. "That sure is good to know."

Emma glared at him, doing her best to fight the blush threatening to stain her cheeks (leave it to her big brother to make her feel like a silly little teenage girl again). "Shut up. That is not what I said at all," she hissed, glancing across the room to make sure their conversation hadn't been overheard. "We have work to do, come on."


The parking lot was packed for the middle of the week; it had taken her almost thirty minutes to find an open space to park her bug. "Let's get this over with," she muttered to herself, taking a steadying breath.

Wednesday, it appeared, was Ladies' Night at The Rabbit Hole; the bar is so crowded, it had taken her almost twenty minutes just to get the bartender's attention and even longer to receive an audience with Jefferson.

"My apologies for the wait, tonight's a bit crazy, as you can see," Jefferson drawled, the heels of his suede boots clacking against the white marble floor as he sauntered into the room. "What can I do for you?"

"I need your help," Emma announced, not bothering to beat around the bush.

His perfectly-shaped eyebrows rose slowly in surprise. "Has the help I've provided thus far been somehow insufficient?"

"Not at all," she assured, adjusting her position on the uncomfortable couch as he sat on the one across from her. "But I need something before we can proceed with the plan and things will go much more smoothly if you help me get it."

He studied her thoughtfully for a moment before responding. "When we made this arrangement, you lead me to believe you had a team of your own. Is there some reason they cannot assist you?"

Emma swallowed thickly and carefully considered her words. "Let's just say that the situation is…delicate. We're going to have one chance at this and if we miss it, this is over before it even starts."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to elaborate if you want my help," he replied, rising from the couch and smoothing out his dark purple, three-piece. "Exactly what is it that you require?"

Her eyes followed him as he paced slowly around the room, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. "I need to meet with someone under heavy guard, someone very well-trained that is likely to be against meeting with me. That's where you come in."

"And that someone is?" he asked, sounding almost bored as he turned to face her.

"Neal Cassidy," she said, her throat suddenly dry.

He blinked at her in silence for a moment, biting back an amused smile. "What is it with you and the Golds?" he chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Emma scoffed and rose to her feet, a mix of irritation and embarrassment prickling beneath her skin like fire. "Look, it doesn't matter what my issue with the Golds is, what matters is you holding up your end of the deal. Are you going to help me or not?"

"I've been holding up my end, Sweetheart," he retorted, his voice dangerously low, all traces of his amusement gone. "You're the one that needs to start pulling their weight."

"You know I can't hold up my end until I get inside Mills; you're supposed to help me do that," she reasoned evenly. "If you can't, then maybe we just need to go our separate ways."

His eyes narrowed as he slowly made his way back across the room. "I never said I couldn't help, I just didn't say that I would."

"Then I guess we're done here," Emma replied, a note of finality in her voice. "Nice doing business with you."

She turned and strode purposefully to the door she knew led back out into the bar and grabbed the handle.

"Stop," he called, stilling her hand.

She turned back toward him, crossing her arms and adopting an expectant expression.

"Tell me your plan and I'll tell you whether or not I'll help," he offered sourly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks.


"I don't like this," Killian declared for the hundredth time as he handed her a comms unit.

"Noted," Emma replied, slipping the device into her back pocket and gesturing to herself. "Now wire me up."

His exasperated sigh tickled the side of her neck as he taped a small mic to the collar of her shirt and grumbled something about his equipment being wireless. "Remind me again why you're going in as yourself?"

She sighed dramatically and shot Killian a look. "We've been over this: since we have a history, he's more likely to respond positively to Emma than he is her vigilante counterpart."

"And if he decides to come after her, he'll know exactly who to look for. Brilliant plan. Really," he mocked, positioning her collar so the mic was hidden.

Emma studied him as she slipped an ear piece into her ear. "I know the risks, Killian. I can take care of myself."

"I'm aware of that, love," he admitted, retrieving her leather jacket from the table and helping her slip it on, "What I don't know is what this bloke is capable of. What if he's just as bad as his father, if not worse? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, after all."

She'd been thinking about that night a lot the last couple of days, analyzing it almost to the point of insanity. She'd wondered why he'd come to pay his respects at all, why he'd felt the need to talk with her, to comfort her, to comfort himself. If he was just some heartless monster like his father, he wouldn't have felt the need to do any of those things, right?

But he had.

"I guess we're about to find out," she said, straightening the collar of her jacket. "Wish me luck."

Killian caught her hand in his before she could turn away. "Be careful, Emma," he said instead, his eyes pleading when she met them with her own.

"I will," she promised, a forced smile on her lips.

He could see right through her, she knew, but he said nothing further, releasing her and watching as she walked away.

They're at Jefferson's base again. His goons had met her out front and escorted her inside, past the eerie waiting room, through the twisting halls, and into a small room with naught but a two-way mirror. The figure on the other side of the glass made her heart leap into her throat.

Neal.

It wasn't like she was surprised to see him (he's the reason she was there, after all), but the simple fact that a piece of her past (and, possibly even the key to her future) was mere feet away was enough to throw her. He'd been cuffed to a chair, a bag thrown over his head as he struggled against his bonds and screamed about how he'd kill whoever was responsible for this.

Steeling herself, she turned to the two men behind her. "Wait here. Do not come inside that room unless I instruct you otherwise. Do we have an understanding?"

They both nodded their assent, but not before the burly one she'd met on her last visit sent her a look that said he was clearly unamused that someone other than his boss was ordering him around. She raised a challenging eyebrow at him before moving back into the hallway, exhaling heavily as if the action would rid her of her nerves.

She entered the room a moment later, letting the door close loudly behind her. It seemed to take Cassidy a moment to realize he was no longer alone, his thrashing and verbal threats ceasing suddenly.

"What do you want?" he panted, his voice muffled somewhat due to the cloth covering his face.

Emma said nothing as she slowly moved around the table between them to stand behind him.

"What do you want?" he repeated, her silence revealing his barely repressed panic.

She declined to answer again, instead grabbing the bag over his head and slowly pulling it off. She gave him a moment to take in his surroundings as she took a deep breath in an attempt to slow her frantic heartbeat.

"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?" he yelled after a moment, trying to twist around in the chair to get a look at her.

"Of course I do. Why do you think you're cuffed to a chair?" she answered evenly, sounding much calmer than she felt.

He tried twisting in the chair again at her question, letting out a frustrated groan when he failed once more to make eye contact with her. "Who the hell are you people? What is this?"

"This is your chance to do the right thing," she began, pacing the floor behind him. "This is your chance to help save this city and everyone in it."

He snorted and shook his head. "I thought you said you knew who I was."

"I do. Or, at least, I did," she explained, the soft thunk of her footfalls reverberating throughout the small space.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She paused a moment, considering her options, before making her way back to the other side of the table.

"It means that I know who you were, but not who you are," she responded, keeping her back to him. "Perhaps you can help me with that."

"You kidnapped me and cuffed me to a damn chair, lady, why would I help you with anything?" he argued, his cuffs clinking against the chair as he adjusted his position.

Emma took a steadying breath and slowly turned on her heel, schooling her features to appear more confident than she actually felt.

When she finally met his eyes, she could almost feel the outrage rolling off of him. He gazed at her expectantly for a moment, waiting for her to answer his question. When he realized she wasn't going to, at least verbally, he squinted at her. She resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably as he took her in, his familiar brown eyes paying particularly close attention to her face. It took a moment, but the recognition flared in his eyes, widening them in surprise.

"Emma?" he asked in disbelief, looking somewhat confused. "Is that really you?"

She nodded curtly and nervously wet her lips. "Long time, no see."

"What's this all about?" he asked, fear creeping into his voice.

"I think you know," she answered softly, resolutely holding his gaze.

He swallowed thickly. "I really don't," he lied, suddenly hoarse.

"Then I'll enlighten you," she said, stepping closer to the table. "This is about your father."

She could see a wall go up at the mention, the shock in his eyes fading somewhat (and, oddly, some of the fear). "My father's a respected businessman," he declared mechanically, as if he were reciting lines from a script.

"You and I both know that's not true, Neal," she countered, bracing her hands on the table and leaning closer to him.

He shrugged and flicked his eyes away from her. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"What I want is for you to be honest with me. Unlike the last time we met," she answered, her stomach turning at the memory.

His gaze immediately returned to hers at the accusation. "I never lied to you, Emma."

"Maybe not outright," she conceded, leaning a bit closer. "But a lie of omission is still a lie. You knew your father was responsible for my mother's murder and you said nothing."

He scoffed at her words. "What should I have said? 'Hi, I'm Neal and my dad had your mom killed, nice to meet you?' Come on, Emma, be reasonable."

"Okay fine, maybe I can't blame you for not telling me about your father, but you still lied to me about who you were," she argued, pushing back the emotion welling within her "I trusted you and you lied right to my face. You betrayed me, Neal."

He ground his teeth at her accusation, his eyes unreadable.

"You told me that night that my mother meant something to you, that she helped you—prove it. You couldn't help her then, but you can help her now," Emma beseeched, praying there was at least one sliver of goodness still left in him, just one piece that his father hadn't managed to smother out. "You owe my mother, Neal. You owe me."

He studied her wordlessly for a moment; she saw something shift in his eyes, saw his shoulders tense.

"You're right, I do owe you. But for far more than you realize," he admitted, guiltily averting his gaze.

"What are you talking about?" Emma asked, pushing back the dread settling in her gut.

He sighed shakily and chewed his lip. "My father had your mother killed because of me, Emma, because of what I told her."

Silence fell between them and for a moment she let it. Shock and disgust warred within her as she struggled to process all this new information. For so long she'd been so focused on getting justice for her mother that she'd never really considered why any of it had happened in the first place. For the moment, her mission was forgotten.

"What the hell did you tell her?" she demanded, her anger burning like fire beneath her skin.

"Everything," he began, his voice quavering. "About me, my father, what he does, what he's made me do…all of it. I just…I couldn't keep it in anymore."

Emma backed away from the table and ran her fingers through her hair, annoyed by the tears beginning to shine in his eyes.

"Why would you do that? Why would you unload that kind of information on a complete stranger?"

"Because she offered to listen," he said simply, a small smile briefly forming on his lips. "It's not like I had the easiest childhood, my dad being who he was...who he is."

"Cry me a river, Cassidy," she scoffed, bracing her palms against the tabletop once more. "Thanks to you and your horrible father, my childhood wasn't so great either."

He wet his lips nervously and warily met her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Emma, I really am. You have to know I never meant for anyone to get hurt, least of all you and your family."

She glared at him, searching for any more lies in his words.

"That's why you went to her funeral, isn't it? To appease your guilt," she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. "Did it work, Neal? Did taking advantage of me make you feel better? Did it help you move on?"

"It wasn't like that, I swear," he begged, shaking his head.

She scoffed and returned to her former position, crossing her arms over her chest. "Please enlighten me then, what was it like?"

"I came to pay my respects to your mother, that's all. I had no idea that what happened between us would happen, how could I have?"

Emma shot him a half-hearted glare, her anger lessening somewhat when she realized he had a point. Silence blanketed the room once more as she took a moment to study him—his brown, pleading eyes were filled with sadness and remorse.

"I was a dumb kid who made a dumb mistake and every day I wish I could take it back," he admitted forlornly. He squeezed his eyes shut and after a moment whispered, "There are a lot of things I wish I could take back."

She let him wallow for a moment, continuing to study him.

"Swan?" Killian asked softly over the comms when the quiet stretched on for too long. "Everything alright in there?"

She cleared her throat in lieu of a verbal response and knew he'd take it as a confirmation that she'd at least heard him.

Emma took a deep breath, summoning what remained of her composure. "You may not be able to change the past, but you can stop it from happening again. Gold is just going to keep doing whatever he wants unless someone stops him—Unless we stop him."

"I can't," he claimed, shaking his head. "My father'll kill me if I betray him."

"Please," she scoffed incredulously. "If that was the case, my mother would still be alive and we wouldn't be here having this conversation."

She could tell he was afraid, that his brain was frantically trying to come up with some other option—any other option. "You don't understand, I don't have a choice," he pleaded half-heartedly, still unable to meet her gaze.

"We all have a choice, Neal, some are just harder to make than others," she said, bracing her hands on the table again and leaning toward him. "This is one of those choices. You can choose to sit back and do nothing like a coward, to let your father to continue to have free reign over this city and its people, to mindlessly do his bidding. Or you can choose to be brave, you can choose to step up and do what's right for once instead of what's easy."

Emma let silence fall between them yet again, giving her words time to sink in. When he simply continued his attempt to bore a hole into the table with his eyes, she sighed and went back to pacing around the small room.

"She probably knew who you were, you know," she began casually, trying a different tactic. "When she offered to help you, I mean. She must've known it was a risk to reach out to you, but she chose to anyway and she paid for that decision with her life. And for what? For you to continue to make the same bad choices? If she really meant half as much to you as you claim, why wouldn't you want to help bring her killer to justice?"

Neal shifted uncomfortably in his chair, her words obviously having an effect on him.

And yet he still said nothing.

She sniffed a humorless laugh and shook her head at his continued silence. "I can't believe my mother died for a coward. What a waste."

Turning on her heel, she took several steps toward the door, ignoring the disappointment churning in her gut; what the hell were they supposed to do now?

"Wait," Neal uttered softly, sounding broken.

Emma halted her gait and slowly turned back toward him. "What?" she grated, glaring daggers at him.

"I'll do it," he croaked, hesitantly meeting her gaze. "I'll help you."

She tried to keep the renewed hope that swelled within her chest from showing on her face, not wanting to give him any idea of how much this entire plan suddenly depended upon him; the last thing she needed was him backing out at the last minute.

"Good," she declared, signaling to the goons behind the two-way mirror.

"What happens now?" he asked nervously, swallowing thickly.

"What happens is you continue to keep your eyes and ears open. I'll be in touch when the time is right."

He looked sick at the thought of returning to his father with a secret like this, but instead of voicing this fact, he simply nodded.

Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum entered the room a moment later, making a beeline for Neal. They pulled the bag back over his head, much to his chagrin, and freed him from the chair but not his bonds.

Her mind raced as she watched them lead him from the room; she hadn't expected to get more from Cassidy than his agreement to help, let alone the reason for her mother's murder. Making a mental note to pull together a list of things to ask him later, she too exited the room and headed back in the direction of the waiting room. Jefferson wasn't there, she knew, no need to hang around.

She let the door slam loudly behind her upon her exit, the sound of her hurried footsteps against the pavement echoing down the alley as she made her way back to the van.

"You alright there, Swan?" he asked when she slid into the passenger seat beside him, his voice soft.

She nodded and forced another smile onto her lips before turning to look at him. "Right as rain."

He studied her silently for a moment, his brow furrowed and a frown on his lips. Sighing, he turned the key in the ignition and turned his attention to the street before them.

"Quick question," he said, his tone now light as he slid the gear shift out of park. "Exactly how are we planning on contacting Cassidy without his information?"

Emma bit back a smile and halfheartedly rolled her eyes. "You're the computer wiz, Jones, you tell me."

He scoffed in mock indignation, shaking his head and muttering something about her taking him for granted. She chuckled at that, leaning back against the seat as the unease that had settled in her gut slowly melted away. She knew that they still had a long road ahead of them, that this was only one piece of a much larger puzzle but, for the first time in a long time, it felt like things might actually turn out alright and she'd hold onto that feeling for as long as she could.