Emma stormed down the stairs, too angry to wait for the elevator. How dare he throw Michael's life into whatever that argument had even been about? Given a few moments to collect herself, she knew better than to take it at face value – Killian had been lying through his teeth most of the time he'd had his mouth moving. But it didn't make the words hurt any less – didn't make her doubt herself any less. Killian was right, to an extent. Emma knew that. She was out of her element in this world of guns and satellite phones, of mystery and intrigue. But that didn't mean Killian could talk down to her like he did. His pain was no excuse for his callous attitude.
For the hurtful words he threw at her.
Emma flopped down in one of the chairs in the lounge, throwing the satellite phone down on the table in front of her. She had no intention of giving up on Michael, but if Killian didn't want her there, she was just going to have to find another way to track the boy down. Contrary to what the idiot upstairs thought, Killian's first priority would always be the bigger picture. She understood that. Gold was dangerous, he needed to be stopped. At all costs.
But Michael couldn't afford that – Emma wouldn't let him become an acceptable loss.
The buzzing of the phone on the table interrupted her thoughts and Emma stabbed at the buttons until it was quiet.
Almost immediately, her duffel bag started buzzing.
Emma kicked at it viciously, realizing the rashness of that move only after her foot connected – her gun was wrapped in a shirt in the main compartment.
But at least the phone stopped vibrating.
The lounge was quiet, thankfully. The only other patron occupying the space was a young man who seemed to be asleep in one of the chairs. Emma was suspicious of him since he might be one of the Lost Boys, but as long as he stayed to his side of the room, she could ignore him. She didn't think he'd have anything useful to report to Gold, anyway.
You're useless.
You're just going to get Michael killed.
Dragging me down.
I don't want you here.
Killian's words ran through her head on an endless loop. She'd thought he might be different – thought Killian might actually be the gentleman he purported himself to be. She knew he didn't believe what he was saying. But regardless of whether or not the words had rung true for Killian, they had struck a chord in her.
How many times had she been tossed to the curb now? Her birth parents, then the Swans, then countless foster families she'd forgotten the names of - or hadn't bothered to learn in the first place. Neal. Now Killian.
Killian.
Her heart clenched painfully as she reluctantly added his name to the list. Emma had really thought… she'd really let herself hope that he would be different. But in the end, it was just one more person who'd proven to her that she wasn't worth lov… caring about.
Maybe there really was something wrong with her.
The phone on the table buzzed again, and Emma ignored it. There were only two people who had the number to both phones. One of them was upstairs being stubborn, and the other was his older brother.
Emma wasn't in the mood to deal with either of the "Brothers Jones".
But she knew Killian wouldn't have called her, not when he clearly wanted her gone, so it must be his self-righteous brother.
Knowing who it was didn't stop Liam from calling repeatedly, and with every ring, Emma's patience wore just a little thinner. When the phone vibrated off the table and thudded to the carpet, the sleeping man cracked open an eye and glared at her.
Exasperated, she finally connected the call. "What do you want, Liam?"
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Miss Swan? May I please speak to my brother?"
Emma almost hung up on him. "No. The jackass is busy upstairs pretending he's Batman and Superman all rolled into one. What do you need?"
The pause this time was even longer. When Liam spoke again, there was no trace of authority in his voice, just raw concern. "Is Killian all right?"
She sighed. The fact that the younger Jones was being bullheaded was no reflection on his brother at the moment. Taking her frustration out on Liam wasn't fair.
"Apparently he wasn't shot anywhere vital or something ridiculous like that, so he's just peachy. He…" her anger faded and familiar hurt coiled tightly around her heart. Useless, unwanted, unloved. "He told me to leave."
Emma could hear the brother being shoved back inside a box and the leader re-emerging when he asked, "Where are you, Emma? Are you safe?"
She side-eyed the young man in the lounge again. He was acting entirely too nonchalantly not to be watching her. Her voice shook just a little as she answered. "I don't know."
"Can you speak freely?"
"No." That much she was sure of.
The authority in Liam's voice came back with a vengeance. "Go back to my brother, lass. Now. Whatever's going through his thick skull, he'll not shirk your safety. If you want to come home, we'll arrange it, but stay with him until then."
"I can't leave. Not without…"
He was silent for a minute. Resignation battled with acceptance. "Of course you can't. All right, odds are Killian will come around, but if he doesn't, I'll assign you another agent. Just get somewhere safe until then."
He stayed on the phone with her until she reached the door to the suite. Emma's eyes darted up and down the hall constantly, her pulse pounding in her ears and drowning out Liam's assurances. It took her three times to insert the key into the lock, but when she finally dropped her bag inside, she couldn't stop her cry of, "Killian!"
The phone clattered to the floor as she stared at him, crumpled on the floor not three steps from where she'd seen him last. Emma rushed to his side, dropping to her knees and reaching shakily for his neck. She held her breath while she waited for the telltale 'thump thump' under her fingers.
Emma's whole body trembled in relief when it was there, steady and constant.
She shook her head, blowing out the last of the adrenaline in a heaving sigh. Only then did Liam's panicked voice, tiny as it was through the phone across the room, register with her.
He could wait a minute.
Emma was sorely tempted to ignore Killian's repeated warnings from earlier against calling 911. But she was positive, now, that one of Gold's men was downstairs waiting for the opportunity to strike. This was a somewhat safe place – defensible at least.
It didn't escape Emma's notice that she wouldn't have been able to process that thought just a few weeks ago.
Pushing that fear to the side, Emma focused on Killian. She expected to find torn stitches and blood pouring from him when her eyes tracked down to his side – but while there was a spot of red on the white gauze pad, it wasn't soaked through. Reaching for the phone finally, she waited until Liam took a breath before she called out, "He's passed out. What do I do now?"
Killian woke with fire racing through his side where the bullet had pierced him, sluggish reflexes, and what felt like a mouth full of cotton. He was surprised to find himself in the bed - he couldn't remember much past the anguished and furious look in Emma's eyes as she slammed the door. Sharp pain shot through of him when he remembered that he'd sent her away. That he was alone, again.
That he'd lost her.
Ignoring that, Killian tried to remember what happened next. He vaguely remembered the buzzing in his ears, the way his vision had started to grey out even before Emma had left.
He'd been certain that he was going to wake up on the floor.
If he woke up at all.
His senses were dulled by the haze of unconsciousness that still clung to him and threatened to send him back under. Killian wanted nothing more than to oblige his body's need, but movement to his left startled him to full awareness.
He'd thought he was alone in the room. Rookie mistake, Jones, he berated himself.
The first thing Killian saw was the muzzle of a gun pointed at him. He was chagrined to recognize it as his own weapon. Adrenaline coursed quickly through his system and muted the pain in favor of tensing for movement. His eyes tracked up the weapon to the arm, and further up until he locked gazes with a very unimpressed Emma Swan.
Killian's breath whooshed out of him and the pain returned with a vengeance. The resulting drop in adrenaline was going to leave him shaky in a moment.
"You're an idiot." Emma shook her head, then gestured vaguely back towards the living room. "You're also heavy."
Ah, so he had wound up on the floor.
But he'd told Emma to leave. Killian had hurt her on purpose and hurled such derogatory marks at her that she should be halfway back to Boston by now.
What was she doing here?
He couldn't help the powerful feeling of relief that she had stayed. It shouldn't be that way, he should be angry or afraid. He'd wanted her to get away from him, to go somewhere she'd be safe even if it meant he'd lose any chance of being with her.
But she'd stayed. She'd come back. To him. And he was relieved.
It was a powerful, terrifying thought.
Emma pulled the barrel of the gun away from where it was trained between his eyes and laid it within easy reach on the arm of the chair she had been keeping vigil in. He noticed that she hadn't flicked the safety back on.
Before he could speak, she continued. "Your brother said the first thing I should ask you is, and I quote, 'ambulance, hospital, or home'. I don't know how any of those are an option at the moment, but he said to ask you exactly that."
She glared at him, and Killian wasn't sure if he was allowed to speak. She sounded furious and he wasn't about to risk increasing her ire.
He flinched when she spit out, "So?" The scathing tone in that one word proved that he was damned if he did and damned if he didn't.
Killian thought for another moment, his fingers raised minimally off his chest in supplication lest she further lose patience with him. He methodically catalogued the damage he had ignored at first sign of consciousness. A bit lethargic, but not dangerously so. Chilled but not feverish. His arm was capable of movement without pulling at his side too much, even if the stitches he'd hastily and clumsily sewn into the flesh were protesting. No fresh blood soaked through the bandage that was taped far more neatly than he remembered doing himself.
He should be in a hospital, he wasn't naive enough to not know that. But he didn't need to be in one. That would suffice.
"Home. I would tell Liam 'home'."
He thought he heard a scoff, but dismissed it. A split second later, though, Killian was startled by the tinny sound of his brother's voice. "Do you believe him, lass?"
The satellite phone on the windowsill provided the source of Liam's annoyed tenor.
Killian held still under her scrutiny.
"He's telling the truth. He wasn't before, but he is now." Her eyes narrowed and Killian knew that they would be having that conversation in private.
"I'll leave him to you then, Emma." Killian heard the click of the connection being cut and he gulped.
Emma glared at him before standing up and pacing the length of the room. "We need to talk."
There was a shot of trepidation that coursed down Killian's spine. He prided himself in being a gentleman, sometimes toeing the line from time to time, but always erring on the side of chivalry. But this time, he knew he'd purposely leapt over that line with both feet, trying to hurt her to save her, and now he had to accept the consequences. "I've found when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for a pleasant conversation."
Killian was ashamed to realize he physically recoiled as she stalked over to him and sat on the bed near his hip. He had been trained better than to flinch like that.
She smirked balefully at him, tightening her eyes and shaking her head. But she didn't speak, choosing instead to reach out and worry at the tape on his skin – alternating between picking at a corner and smoothing it flat. He grimaced as it pulled at the tiny hairs trapped underneath.
"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly. Of all the things he expected her to toss at him, that wasn't one of them. Emma's fingers ghosted over the skin covering his ribs as she traced the bandage again, the soothing touch light enough to leave goosebumps in its wake.
Killian felt a little bit like a mouse being stalked by a cat.
"I expect I'll live." The tinge of wariness that colored his response couldn't be helped. Lying flat on his back in bed with nothing more substantial as armor than the sheet that covered him to the waist and the sweatpants that were tied low on his hips, there were few times in his life where Killian had felt more vulnerable.
Emma stared at him for another minute, and he had to fight the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. He was a well-seasoned agent, he should be better than this.
But Killian also knew how thoroughly he had screwed up with her. He'd had the best of intentions, and he hadn't actually meant a single insult that he'd hurled in a last ditch effort to keep her safe when she wouldn't give in and go. When Emma had gone barreling into danger on the bridge, Killian's heart had leapt into his throat, almost choking him in his fear.
She could have been hurt. She could have been killed. God forbid, he could have had to watch Emma bleed out in his arms, helpless to do anything but reassure her in her last moments.
And now, to top it all off, he was the one who was injured. It didn't bother him - being shot. It wasn't the first time, and it most assuredly wouldn't be the last. He wasn't even angry that it was because of Emma that he had two holes in his side, that she hadn't thought before she'd run headlong into danger. Killian knew he would have done the same thing if it had been John in that bag. Or if it had been Emma.
God, what if it had been her?
So while Killian had sat in the bathroom, pulling thread through his flesh for the umpteenth time, he'd fixated on the idea that the bullet that had torn through his side could have just as easily buried itself inside her. That he could be working with shaking fingers, trying to knit Emma back together.
All because he couldn't protect her.
From Gold. From the men on the bridge.
From herself.
And now, he could barely lift his arm without breaking out in a cold sweat. Killian had to go after Gold; he had to get Michael back for Emma.
But he couldn't lose her to his crusade. He couldn't lose her to the Golds' vengeful ways.
He'd sooner give them a free pass than see her hurt even more by Malcolm or Robert.
So he'd told her to leave.
Killian should have known she'd be more than stubborn about the whole thing. But he'd locked onto the idea that he could protect Emma by hurting her. That he could save her even if it cost him a future with her. He didn't matter; his happiness didn't matter.
It wouldn't mean anything if he lost her before he could have her.
And despite it all, Emma had come back to him. She'd found him passed out on the floor, and she'd taken care of him. She must have struggled with his dead weight and she gave him her bed instead of leaving him crumpled in a heap. Even that was more than he deserved. Before tonight, Killian could count on one finger the number of people in his life who would do that for him.
And now, Emma was sitting on the side of his bed, still there and still taking care of him.
He didn't understand.
"Why did you do it?" Killian didn't even realize he'd spoken out loud until her fingers stilled on his skin, the warmth of her touch a comfort he didn't deserve. "Why did you come back?"
Emma wouldn't meet his gaze, her voice wavering when she whispered, "There was a man downstairs. I don't know if he's one of Gold's, but I got scared and Liam said that I'd be safe here."
Killian's heart shattered. Of course she hadn't come back for him.
What was he thinking?
But still. He had a job to do and he'd give his life to make sure she was safe. Liam was right about sending her back to him.
Killian struggled to sit up, resolutely ignoring the sharp pain that erupted from his side as he swung around to get out of bed.
Emma shoved him right back down onto the soft mattress, and he was mildly alarmed at how little effort she had to put into doing so. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
It took Killian longer than he'd like to catch his breath. His fingers gripped the sheets with a white-knuckled grasp until the fire in his side died down. His voice still came out with a painful rasp. "Trying to…"
"Shut up. Just shut up and stay put. I didn't drag you into this bed just so you could do something stupid and pass out again." Emma's hand didn't leave his chest, and he relished the feeling. But she was angry, and he deserved it. Killian could see her shoulders rise and fall in attempt to get her temper under control.
He didn't dare move.
Emma glared at him, and then seethed, "I don't know what the hell that was earlier, but you don't get to talk until I say." Her voice was quiet, and all the more powerful for it.
Killian nodded, his attention solely on her. She was beautiful when she was angry. Fierce and confident in a way that few could master.
God, he was so screwed for this woman.
Emma stood up again and began to pace back and forth. Killian couldn't help but notice she was never out of reach, despite the distance she seemed to want to put between them.
Her voice was choked when she finally continued. "You don't have the right to tell me I'm useless. You don't get to lie to me like that. I know you didn't mean it, I know you were lying, but it doesn't excuse it. It makes it worse. Because I'm not nothing. I was never nothing, and you don't get to tell me otherwise. I've had too many people in my life tell me that, and I refuse to add you to that list. You were supposed to be different. You were supposed to… to…" she trailed off.
"I was supposed to what, Swan?" Killian whispered the question as he slowly levered himself into a sitting position. His bare feet thudded heavily on the carpet when he swung his legs off the mattress. He caught her hand as she stalked by him and intertwined their fingers.
Emma glared at him, but he could see the tears building in the corners of her eyes. Killian expected her to rip her hand away. But she surprised him, like she'd done every day since they had met. Her fingers tightened around his own and Killian could feel her trembling. "I was supposed to what? To protect you? To keep you safe? I've been trying. I don't know how else to do that. I need you to tell… I need to know where I stand with you. I need to know what it is I was supposed to do."
Emma stepped closer to him, trapping his knee between her own. She towered over him and he was terrified of what was going to come out of her mouth next.
"You were supposed to care about me."
Killian couldn't breathe. Didn't she know? "Of course I care, Emma. God, I tried not to, but I do care. Too much, probably. If you asked it of me, Emma, I would give it all up. I've been trying to avenge John for so long, but I'd put it aside for you. If it came down to a choice between getting Michael back for you and ending this? Ending their tyranny? I'd grab the boy and we'd run far from any mention of Peter Pan or Rumplestiltskin or the Golds."
Killian shook his head, surprising even himself. He shrugged, looking up at her helplessly. "It's you, Emma. It's you."
He watched, transfixed, as a solitary tear carved a path down her cheek until it dripped off her chin and landed on his skin. It burned. Killian felt as though he'd been branded by her, and as her arms wrapped around his neck, he was helpless to do anything but reach for her shakily, hesitantly tugging her closer by her hips. She sank down until she was straddling his knee, staring at him and searching for the truth behind his words. Carefully, Killian steadied her with his left hand gripping the shirt at her back as if to reassure himself that she was really there. He raised his other hand to her cheek. With his thumb, he wiped away the trail the tear had left on her face.
It seemed to break the dam and more followed in the first tear's wake. His heart broke.
He had done this to her.
"I'm here, Emma, Killian whispered as he curled his fingers in her hair. She sniffled and it tore at him a bit, but Killian would do his best to fix it. "I'm not going anywhere."
Emma bit her lip and he could see her hiding her emotions behind the tough facade he had come to know well.
"You can't do that again," she whispered fiercely. "I won't be burned twice."
Killian nodded. He could feel the weariness settling over him, and knew he needed to rest. He wouldn't give in until he knew she was all right - that they were okay. "I won't, love. And I'll get you your boy back. I swear I will."
Emma graced him with a watery smile before she buried her face in his neck, holding on almost tighter than Killian could stand. He ignored the pull of the wounds in his side as he clutched her to his chest. She cried silently into his neck, and his heart broke just a little bit more. His hand soothed circles into her back until he couldn't sit up any longer and he slowly slumped back into the bed, pulling Emma with him.
He expected her to recoil, to jump up from the bed and retreat. But she was full of surprises, his Swan, and she simply settled herself at his side, careful not to jostle him too much. Killian could feel the pull of sleep, was half convinced that this was already a dream concocted by the mix of painkillers and antibiotics. Maybe an infection-fueled delirium. But when Emma moved closer to him, staring down with the tiniest of smiles gracing her features, he was lost. Her fingers carded through his hair and she closed the distance between them.
Emma's lips were soft, gentle with a hesitance that made Killian reach up to tangle his own fingers in her hair. He wanted to tug the elastic free, but wasn't sure he could manage it, so he settled for gripping the base of her ponytail and guiding her to deepen the kiss. Emma gave as good as she got, nipping at his lip and demanding control until he couldn't resist the pull between them any longer.
Without thinking, Killian moved to roll them over, but the sharp stab of pain in his side tore him back to reality. His hand gripped below the gauze and the stifled cry of pain brought Emma's gaze to his abruptly.
"Apologies, love. But this might have to suffice for tonight." Killian grinned through the ache in his gut, wanting nothing more than to pick up where they left off. She'd let him in tonight, and he was afraid that she'd run again, put up her walls, and shut him out. He couldn't take the rejection any more than she could handle his hurtful words from earlier.
But Emma just dropped her head to his shoulder and tugged the blanket around them both. Her breath tickled his chest as she whispered, "I guess the bed is big enough, after all."
Killian fell asleep to the sound of her steady breathing.
Hours later, the sun streaming through the window burned his eyes, and Killian wasn't nearly ready to be awake. He clenched his eyelids further shut and tried to drift back to sleep, but his other senses began to filter in. The gunshot wound was burning, and he needed more painkillers. Resigned to the inevitable, he tried to push himself off the bed. But he was trapped in the best way possible.
Emma's head was still on his shoulder, and her even breaths ghosted across his chest. One hand wrapped around his bicep while the other was draped across his ribs, the pinky finger on that hand resting just above the gauze. Her knee fit neatly in between his own, her toes against his calf, and there was no way to move without waking her.
Smiling, the pain muted in the wake of his predicament, Killian buried his nose in her hair and pressed a small kiss into her scalp. It wasn't quite so hard to fall back to sleep now.
She wasn't in bed the next time he woke up. There were painkillers, antibiotics, and water waiting for him on the bedside table, but Emma was nowhere to be seen. Killian would never admit it, but he pouted for a moment before the pain won out.
Killian swallowed the pills and dragged himself out of the bedroom. There was a plate of food waiting for him on the kitchen table - which was now in the living room and shoved against the couch that was pushed against the door. He had to stare at the makeshift barricade for a long moment before Emma's words rang in his ears and he understood.
There was a man downstairs. I don't know if he's one of Gold's, but I got scared.
Well, at least the man probably wasn't going to interrupt them for the moment. Not without some warning, anyway.
Emma was typing furiously on the laptop and Killian wasn't entirely sure she knew he was there. He sat gingerly at the table, eyeing the scrambled eggs with the same scrutiny he would regard a landmine.
"Where have you run into Gold before this?" Her voice startled him and he looked up sharply.
Killian thought for a moment. He had never run into Robert Gold specifically, but the rumors were that he was never far from his minions. "Hong Kong and Shanghai. Paris."
Emma nodded knowingly with each city he mentioned. Curious.
"Dubai?" It was phrased as a question, but Killian was positive it wasn't meant to be one.
"Aye, now that you mention it." Even more curious. "How did you know?"
Emma turned to face him. "Hear me out," she pleaded.
Killian nodded his acceptance. "Your brother thought I was nuts, but I really think I'm onto something. We're all creatures of habit, right? We may not realize it, but we crave familiarity. It's how I always find my kids when they run away." Killian smiled. Of course she did.
"Gold probably doesn't even realize it, but he's more comfortable when he has something he knows." Emma paused, looking unsure, and Killian nodded again. With a small smile of thanks, she continued. "Well, we know that the Golds are from St. Andrews in Scotland. And there's a Pret A Manger right down the street from their home."
Killian started. He hadn't thought of anything like this before. "Every city you've run into the Golds has had one thing in common - these coffee shops. That's how I knew about Dubai. There were a few shops in Boston, some in DC, and now here. And the only other city in the US that has Pret's is Chicago."
Emma looked up and waited until he met her gaze. "I think that's where he's going next. I think that might be where we can find them. And if we can get ahead of them, maybe we can catch them."
Killian stared at Emma for a moment. He'd never thought it could be something that simple. But it made perfect sense. And he was a little bit pissed that Liam, smug bastard that he could be, apparently hadn't listened to her. Killian had been chasing the Golds for so long, always one step behind and playing catch up. If they could get the upper hand just once, if they could be waiting for Gold when he showed his face…
If what Emma was saying was true, then they knew where Robert would be, and they could end all of this.
He could find the man responsible for everything - for John, for Teach's treachery, for Liam having to give up his career to save Killian from himself. For Michael, and for all of the pain the boy's kidnapping had heaped on Emma.
He could get justice for them all, if she was right.
"Chicago it is. I trust you, Swan."