AN: Prepare for some mild brain scrambling at the end.


Chapter Nine
The investigation

Emma was surprised this didn't surprise her more. But it fit. She hadn't thought he was a liar. And, she supposed, he wasn't—he of anyone knew she would be able to tell if he lied, so he did the next best thing. He just didn't tell the truth.

First it had been his feelings toward her, then the evidence he'd given to Gold. Then, leaving the bureau. It all stacked up. She'd been uneasy from the beginning, but she hadn't trusted her gut.

Not trusting her was one thing, but this?

"I'm not sure how he found me," Ariel began. She explained the story slowly, as though the very memory of it were painful. He'd come to her a few weeks ago, saying he'd been looking for her. She was scared at first—of course she was scared. It wasn't exactly common knowledge that she had the ability to cross realms, and the fact he'd been able to track her down made her uneasy. When he'd explained to her that he needed to get to Neverland, she wanted to help.

Emma didn't say anything, merely waited on Ariel to continue.

"It seemed innocent enough. I didn't have a problem doing it. But things didn't go the way I thought they would—I wasn't able to help him." She paused for breath, pushed her hair out of her face, and kept going. "I only knew of two other people that had ever been to Neverland, and only one I could actually talk to because the other, Peter Gold, has been dead for a long time."

Emma felt herself pale. She knew in her gut where this was going, but her head didn't seem to want to catch up. Since words were failing her, she just nodded instead with as much understanding as she could muster.

Ariel went silent. She was staring at her hands, the weight of what she had done almost palpable in the air between them. Before she realised what she was doing, Emma reached a hand out and placed it over Ariel's, meeting the younger woman's eyes in reassurance.

"Ariel, if I were to promise you that you won't get in trouble for anything you tell me, would you tell me something?"

Ariel nodded. "I'm not worried about that. I'll tell you anything."

"I think I already know the answer, but just to clarify," Emma smiled, briefly, sadly, before proceeding. "Was Liam Jones the name you gave Graham?

Ariel looked down, nodding again.

"Thank you."

And suddenly, nothing was simple anymore. It never had been, not really, not with Neverland and mystic poisons and potions in the mix, but there was one thing had been simple from the get-go. Yet as Emma processed what Ariel was telling her, it occurred to her that she'd been conducting this case as though there had been a clear villain behind it all. Ariel's confession made her the closest thing to the perpetrator. Yet, both the bowie knife on the counter and the fact she hadn't lied reminded her that she clearly didn't fit the bill.

That, and Emma had promised her immunity anyway, so her being the perpetrator as well would be moot at this point. While it was clear, at least as far as she could tell, that Ariel's confession had lead directly to Liam's murder, it had lead that way from a course of events not entirely under her control.

And she had to believe it. There seemed to be something Ariel wasn't telling her—she would deal with that later—but now, she realised, I'm apparently trying to solve two cases instead of one.

Ariel spoke again, snapping Emma out of her reverie.

"Do you believe me, though? About Neverland?"

Emma felt her mouth drop open slightly. She closed it, quickly, before she said something she wasn't prepared to.

But before Emma could come up with an answer, the sound of the deadbolt turning open reverberated through the silent kitchen.

Ariel and Emma looked at each other. Panic had crossed the younger woman's face. "Henry," Emma said. A moment later, for clarification, she added, "my son."

The door swung open.

"What's that about Neverland?" Henry asked without looking up. Still facing the door, he kicked off his shoes.

Emma answered quickly. "Nothing, just a case joke."

"Okay, I won't ask." He looked up, noticed Ariel sitting at the bar. "Hi, who are you?"

"A friend of your mom's from work," Ariel answered, not missing a beat. "Speaking of, I should probably be heading out, at least if I want to make it in on time to that tomorrow—"

"It's only like 6:30—"

"Do you know where you're going?" Emma levelled a look at Ariel. There was an unspoken statement behind it: we're not done, here.

Ariel shook her head, also acknowledging Emma's statement. "Not entirely. It would help if I can call if I get lost – can I get your number?"

Good. She's cooperating.

"Of course," Emma replied. Ariel handed Emma her phone. In the message box, Emma left a statement: Meet me at The Story Brook on Essex tomorrow at 9. In exchange for immunity we need to discuss the fact you're being hunted

In the time it had taken Emma to type the message and jot down Ariel's number, Henry turned his attention to the stove. "Do you want to take some food with you? It looks like my mom made tater tots."

"Actually I burned those—"

"No, that's alright," Ariel smiled, gathering her purse. "I ate before I came. Thanks, though—for everything."

"Of course," Emma said after a moment, letting out a long breath. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I will," Ariel nodded, and left.

But as the matter of Ariel's re-entrance to the case was resolved—at least for the night, she could always ping Ariel's phone if she needed to—the comparatively greater problem of knowing the perpetrator had come to the forefront of Emma's plate.

She swallowed. It was more than a little disheartening to know that the man responsible for all of this had been right under her nose for the past week and a half. Worse, he'd been feeding her evidence—what took the cake, though, was that he was also the man who'd almost desperately taken her to dinner twice now. Not only did nothing add up, it was too much.

As the weight of it loaded itself onto her, Emma felt her head start to spin.

"Mom, are you okay?" Henry's voice snapped her out of her reverie. She started a bit.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Emma smiled weakly, knowing she wouldn't get away with this lie. So she wouldn't have to meet Henry's scrutinizing gaze, she reached over and turned the burner off, removing the pan with the last few tater tots still cooking and carefully placing them on the plate with the rest of them.


Emma didn't go on her run the next morning. When she awoke naturally just after five, feeling like she'd overslept for hours and surprised that she hadn't returned to Neverland, it was all she could do not to pace enough circles to wear a hole through the hardwood. Learning everything she had at night was almost unfair because she couldn't do anything about it until the next day, which was almost an eternity and left Graham a lot of time to make a move. She'd had half a mind to call him—assuming his cell number hadn't changed—but then, if he didn't jump to conclusions about her romantic interest in him (which was definitely not happening now, she thought), he'd ask questions she couldn't answer without lying. And because he'd know her lying about the case meant she suspected him, he'd just run and become even more difficult to catch.

A far corner of her mind nagged at her that she didn't really know any of those things would happen. For all she knew, he had no idea she was onto him. She stayed in her bed a long time, mind racing, loudly exhaling her frustration against the still-dark ceiling.

I probably should call him, she reasoned. It's unbelievably stupid to have the perp literally right in front of me and not run after him. Besides, it would almost be advantageous for him to think she'd changed her mind. It had been several days since she'd seen him, a reasonable amount of time in which to think that kind of thing over. But she axed that plan as quickly as it had formed. For that to work, she'd have to see him in person, and she was an even worse actress than she was a liar. Still, she had to do something.

Something turned out to be her cell phone ringing at exactly the time she heard Henry get into the shower. She checked the ID, expecting it to be Ariel, but it wasn't.

It was Neal.

"Hello?"

"Emma, I'm sorry to bother you so early, but something's happened."

"What is it? Is it about Killian?"

"No, Spencer. Albert Spencer. Emma, he's about to rake me over the coals for 350 million dollars."


Not being able to reach her was agonizing. She hadn't come back the previous night, so he hadn't had the chance to ask her if the doctor had done what he asked and passed along the information. He was pacing, remembering every detail of his conversation, trying to think of a way to reach her. Perhaps he'd spoken with the doctor after she'd left for the day—the lab hadn't had any windows, so he had no way of telling what time of day it had been when he'd spoken to him—maybe he just hadn't had the chance.

In fact, it was probable. Worse, if she'd been distracted—if she hadn't been thinking about Neverland when she fell asleep, perhaps if she were greatly worried about something—she wouldn't have returned. So it wasn't his fault; but the feeling of comfort that thought lent him abated when he realised it would take a tremendous distraction to prevent her return, which meant something had happened.

Almost beside himself, Killian worried about her, hoping nothing had happened, that she would receive his message soon. He wanted to just do it himself, damn the fact she was in America. But his body was unconscious somewhere on that side, and he only even knew her in dreams.

It was exasperating. He pulled the little ball out of his pocket, staring through the clear orb. The doctor would come through. He didn't know the man, didn't even trust him, but a sense of sureness was with him that Emma would learn what she needed to know. Perhaps she already did know. Perhaps that was why she hadn't returned?

Blast it, it was difficult not to worry about this.


The information Neal relayed to her filled several pages in her notebook. He had the foresight to translate the jargon out for her, and once she'd sorted through the connections, two things became very obvious.

The first was that Spencer had played him. She'd had Neal forward her both the packet of information he'd received from Spencer the day he'd made the deal and the research his own team had done prior to signing, ignoring the algorithms and charts and complex presentation schema as best she could. It took a while to find, and it was only mentioned once, but the document did confirm that an unnamed investor had withdrawn from the Umbrasom project just before it went to trial.

Unknown investor? She thought. No, that wasn't right. She knew who it was. It was on the edge of her memory. She closed her eyes, resting her chin against the steeple of her fingers. Neal called me yesterday, she remembered. She replayed their brief conversation: the unknown investor the packet mentioned was Smee.

Not ten seconds after that realisation had crystallized in her memory, the bathroom door popping open sharply reminded Emma of the fact it was now after 7:00 and she still had to get the coffee that day. If Henry noticed that she hadn't gone on her run, he didn't say anything. Fifteen minutes later, she was out the door. The commute to Brooklyn, in the meantime, seemed to take hours. She meditated on the facts she'd assembled all the while, careful not to lose a single one.

At that point, all the pieces she'd collected for what was now Neal's part of the case pointed to Spencer and Smee being involved in insider trading and Liam having been killed for almost outing them. The trap they'd set for Neal appeared to be the first trick they'd pulled since their would-be discoverer's death. And that apparent motive—getting back in the game, so to speak, as soon as Liam was out of the picture—seemed to take care of the last unresolved hole with this plan: her primary concern was Liam's murder, and she happened to know someone, Killian, who could tell her more about what it was Liam had been working on before he died.

Emma paused for a moment to let that train of thought settle. After a few moments, though, it began to look too good to be true. There was still Ariel's confession she needed to worry about; by linking herself to Graham, narrowly avoiding culpability by way of conspiracy to commit murder due to the fact she still didn't know why Graham had threatened Liam, Ariel had opened up an entire second half of the case she hadn't even known existed. And on top of her dubious association with Graham was the duplicate knife. But if Graham was the most likely suspect in the death itself, which, at this point, he was, then what did Spencer have to do with the murder?

She still had no real proof Graham was responsible, but she did know the girl hadn't lied, even if she hadn't told the whole truth. And yet, Ariel, somehow, had been the one who had lead to Liam's death; and now her own life may be in danger. Because of Spencer.

What's worse, she'd named another suspect, one who was probably still at large, and one whose role in this whole conundrum still made no sense to her at all.

And yet, all the other suspects were only possibilities at this point. All she had to prove Graham's implication was Ariel's testimony. At the same time, a personal testimony was more than she had for anyone else, aside from Ariel's fingerprints. On the other hand, the second knife would confuse all of that. It may have been hers, but someone else could have used it with gloves on. Loath as she was to admit it, with regard to who killed Liam, she was back at square one.

The spiral of thoughts made her head hurt. After taking a few deep breaths to settle her thoughts, she popped a couple Advil to stop her burgeoning headache in its tracks. First things first, Emma told herself. She called Neal back, telling him to schedule a meeting with his father for 2:00 that afternoon. Quick, but not so quick as to seem desperate. Gold didn't strike her as the kind of man she wanted to appear desperate to; he would probably manipulate that to his own advantage.


The office was nearly empty when she arrived. Setting Ruby's coffee on her desk, she dropped her jacket on her chair and made a beeline for the briefing room.

There was a lot of information to put together. In Graham-like fashion, she started with three circles: Spencer, Graham, and Ariel. In the middle was Liam. From there, she began to connect the dots. Last night, Ariel had told her Graham threatened Liam. She drew in two arrows accordingly. Ariel, meanwhile, was being hunted by Spencer. For the circle to be complete, all she was missing was the link between Graham and Spencer. Almost as an afterthought, she added another, smaller circle with Smee's name in between them; the original case file Graham had given her said the knife currently in evidence lockup had been stolen from Smee's shop, and Smee was also the shadow investor whose place Neal had taken in the Umbrasom trials.

Emma capped the marker and stepped back, looking carefully at what was in front of her. There were two missing pieces. The first, arguably the more pressing, was who stole the knife: it didn't make sense for Ariel or Spencer to have done it, which then left Graham. The second, then, was Graham's relation to Spencer. She wasn't immediately sure there was one, but there was a lot of information being passed around that couldn't have come from anyone else.

Her eyes went wide. No, shit. The case file. Graham had given a copy of the original case file to Gold. Liam worked for Gold. Liam had been investigating Spencer when he was killed—which had originally put the motive to kill him in Spencer's camp, but what if that had been a setup?

What if Graham was using Spencer to take the fall for Liam's death?

She took a picture of the board with her phone, erasing it and gathering her files before storming straight back to her desk. It was no surprise, then, that when she called his would-have-been office at Interpol, the accented attendant informed her they never received a record of his transfer. I knew it happened too fast, she thought as she hung up. Instead, she reached for her cell phone. His number was near the top of the list of her recent calls.

The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.

"Shit."

There was no way. There is NO way he found out I'm onto him this fast. Someone must have tipped him off—

Ariel?

She shook her head. She should march herself straight to Regina's office and tell her about this. But Emma knew the Captain. If she knew anything, she knew Regina would mobilise a full-scale search, or worse, make Emma explain herself and then mobilise a search. Regina would have to wait. Before anything else could happen, she needed to get some answers out of both Ariel and Neal.

Assuming Ariel wasn't stupid enough to bail on her, she'd be meeting her at nine. That left just over half an hour to get this thing straightened out with Neal before she had to meet her.

Her coffee burned her throat a little on the way down.


Sorry to have thoroughly discombobulated you in the process of Emma's reasoning. I feel like I should explain just now that the Emma of my headcanon is a master at puzzles; that bit in the second-last section wasn't for plot, per se, more for effect. Hopefully the last section straightened it out a little, but if not, it should make sense in a chapter or two. :)

As for what I was going for: if you've ever had to work on a complicated, multifaceted problem (which I would imagine most of you who have read this far have at some point), you probably know the "scrambled brain" feeling well.