Their peace is short-lived. Emma's phone rings just before noon, and it's Graham. He sounds grim and wants to stop by, so with a frown she tells him to come over.
Killian is already downstairs getting the bar ready for the day, so she makes herself a tad more presentable before descending to wait for Graham. Killian squeezes her hand, scowling fiercely at the news that Graham is on his way. He goes about his usual routine, but one eye is on Emma constantly. He knows an in-person visit can't be about anything good.
It's not more than fifteen minutes before Graham is walking through the door with Ruby at his side, but Emma feels like she's been waiting for hours. The presence of Ruby doesn't help matters, because now there's two of them and that means it's bad news.
"Stay," she whispers urgently as Killian attempts to make himself discretely scarce at the sight of her friends and coworkers. He nods, coming around the bar to stand beside her, his arm around her shoulders and his body close as can be. Emma is thankful for him, for his solid mass beside her and the scent of him to breathe in. It calms her and she needs all the calm she can get.
"It's bad." Emma's voice is flat as she looks from one to the other, Ruby's emotions all over her face and Graham's a careful mask.
"He trashed your place," Graham finally says, running one hand through his hair and sighing heavily. Emma notices how one hand rests on his hip, near his gun, at all times. It's a new habit of his that sends a chill straight down her spine. "Seemed like he was looking for something."
"I can't imagine what…" Her voice trails off, and she turns with wide eyes to Killian. It only takes a moment to figure out, but admitting this is going to hurt him, especially in light of everything they've just shared. "I know what he was looking for."
"You do?" Graham and Ruby ask the question almost simultaneously, one worried, the other full of surprise. Killian just stares at her, his expression unreadable.
"Yeah. Hang on." She slides out of Killian's grip, hurrying up the stairs. She finds what she needs quickly, buried in a box in a bag at the bottom of his closet, and then she's back in the bar, her fist tightly clenched around it.
"Emma?" It's Killian saying her name, softly, but with a worried edge. He notices her balled fist, takes her hand, and gently pries it open.
Sitting on her palm is a mass of delicate silver chain with a swan pendant attached. The swan is beautiful, white gold shimmering with diamonds. A lot of diamonds.
"Neal stole it for me," she whispers, too ashamed to meet anyone's eyes. "I should have found a way to return it, after…but I didn't. I've kept it all these years, just in case I ever needed an escape. It's worth a lot."
"Yeah it is." Ruby touches the necklace tentatively, only removing it from Emma's hand when she can see permission in the blonde's eyes. Held aloft, the diamonds sparkle in the dim light of the bar, throwing sparks.
Killian's eyes are stormy.
"Emma…you know you can't keep it anymore, right? It's stolen…" Graham is frowning again, and she can see the war on his face. It's not entirely a secret that her past is…questionable…at times, but Graham has spent more than a year working with her and known her as only a decent human being and a good cop.
"I know." She shrugs, still unable to meet Killian's eyes. She knows that he sees right through her safety-net explanation – he knows she's kept it all these years because of Neal. He knows because of Milah.
This seems an importune time to mention he is branded with the memory of the woman he loved before her, that every time she looks at his naked chest she sees Milah.
But Neal is on the loose, and he's moved on from theft to destruction of property, and something has to be done about him before he has a chance to do anything dangerous. Those are the problems at hand. The tangled web of emotions tugging and pushing at Emma and Killian will have to wait.
"You have to find him," she tells Graham urgently, laying her hand on his forearm, curling her fingers around the tense muscle. "Please. You're the best person I know at finding people who don't want to be found."
Graham's eyes fall to where her fingers are curled around his warm skin, flickering to Killian before withdrawing his arm. "We'll find him, Swan." He takes a deep breath, scrubbing his hand over his face before turning to her again with a look of grim resolve. "I want you to keep taking vacation days until we do. Stay here with Killian."
Killian's hand tightens on her shoulder as the words come out, as the retort springs to her lips. She wants to argue. She wants to be there, doing, working on making sure that Neal pays for this, that he finally goes to rot in a jail cell where he belongs. It won't get her anywhere, and she knows that too, but being cooped up – even with Killian for company – is agony. It goes against every fiber of her being to wait patiently while someone else cleans up the mess.
"I'll keep her safe," Killian cuts in, his words rushing ahead of hers. He takes a step closer, pulling her tighter against his body. "That bastard won't get near her."
Graham nods, glancing around the bar, the single door at the front and the door leading to the kitchen. "Is there a back door?"
Killian nods, glancing over his shoulder toward the kitchen. "Aye, but it's barred unless myself or Smee is taking the trash out or accepting a delivery."
"See that it stays that way. If you must open it, don't do so alone."
"You really think Neal would come here?" Emma knows the answer even as she asks the question, but she's struggling with this. The Neal she knew, the Neal she was with, he was a lot of things but violent wasn't one of them. Her mind rebelled against him being the one to trash her place, against the idea that he might be dangerous.
That's the sort of thinking that gets people killed. Being a cop in Boston taught her that much.
"Yeah. I do. Whoever he is, remember you haven't seen him in ten years. And when he came back here, the things he wanted didn't turn out how he expected. Carry your gun, Emma. Keep it loaded." Emma instinctively reaches for the gun at her hip, but she's left it upstairs. That will have to stop, immediately.
Graham and Ruby don't stay much longer. Ruby wraps Emma is a warm embrace before they leave, but Emma feels she'll never be warm. Seeing Neal was upsetting enough without the added worry over his behavior, that he might somehow be dangerous now.
She hugs her arms around herself, tugging Killian's warm sweater tighter. It's too big for her, and usually she finds the soft black fabric cozy, but she's still shivering in spite of it.
Graham took the swan necklace with him, muttering about finding a discrete way to return it to the shop from whence it came. Emma wishes he could have taken the memory of it too, the guilt creating a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Killian says the right things, assuring her he'll keep her safe, assuring her he can keep the bar closed tonight if she would rather he stay with her, but she can tell it's still bothering him. He has every right to be bothered, and logically, she knows this. She's a cop and she's kept stolen property, knowingly – but she suspects that isn't what's eating at Killian. No, that likely has a lot more to do with keeping a piece of beautiful jewelry given to her by her ex, kept all these years in spite of how badly things ended between them.
"I'm sorry," she says quietly, coming around the bar to where Killian is switching out an empty keg, checking the lines to ensure everything is ready to go. She wraps her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest and holding on for dear life. "I don't even know why I kept it."
"Emma…." He sounds tired, so tired, when he says her name, holding her against him as he presses a kiss into her hair. "Love, you don't have to explain."
"But you're upset."
"Aye," he says after a long moment, but he shakes his head ruefully as she looks up at him. "Not for the reason you think, love. I was merely considering that I wish my reminder of Milah was so easily disposed of." He taps his chest lightly, his shirt hiding the chained anchor. "Even when you kept the trinket, it was hidden away. I have a daily reminder." He pauses, stroking his fingers through her hair. "You have a daily reminder," he adds quietly, and Emma has that sinking feeling that she gets sometimes, like he's read her mind and seen her thoughts on her face. "Don't apologize, my love. If anyone understands, I do."
"I don't deserve you," she murmurs into his chest, a surge of emotion making the words hard to get out.
Killian pushes her back, and she's wounded instantly, her heart clenching at his rejection, but he's forcing her to look at him before she has the chance to react. "Never say that," he tells her, his eyes intense, his voice fierce. "You are my savior, Emma Swan. Without you, my life would have been a round of liquor and women and bitterness. You give me light."
"I give you a crazy man trying to break into your home, into your bar."
"You give me love." He won't let her joke her way out of it, won't let her dismiss their feelings for each other with a careless comment. Emma's never been good with words – not with her own, not with accepting his – and he knows it. He's also learned to speak her language, so he presses his lips to hers, kisses her gently.
Emma is dizzy with it, this kissing that isn't headed anywhere but goes on and on, his mouth claiming hers quietly, softly, the brush of his lips against hers a sweet torture. He doesn't deepen the kiss, doesn't push his hips into hers like she wants him to, just holds her in his arms and kisses her like he could be content to do so forever.
It's only the noise of the door opening, Smee's heavy tread on the floorboards, that causes them to separate. Killian grins at her, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen. Her eyes are bright with desire, and though that hadn't been his goal, it's always delicious to see Emma looking at him like that.
He chuckles quietly, his hands sliding down her back to give her bottom a thorough squeeze. "Stay down here with me tonight, love. You can help or you can read your book at the end of the bar. Just stay."
"You're really okay with me behind the bar?"
"Aye. I want you close, love. Just try not to spill beer on the patrons, all right?" He grins at her, because spilling beer is something Emma is stupendous at, and they both know it. It's a Wednesday night, unlikely to be all that busy, so Emma agrees to try her hand at bartending.
Paying attention to Killian's patrons has the welcome side-effect of distracting her from her Neal troubles. Graham texts early in the night to tell her there will be an undercover in the bar most nights, and she nods a welcome to one of her colleagues as he slides into a seat and orders a beer. He'll nurse it through the night, and she'll swap out the bottles to keep appearances, but at least with Victor at her back, she feels a little better.
Her gun in her waistband, retrieved earlier in the night, helps. It's covered by her shirt, and the patrons can't see it, but Emma can feel the coolness of the metal at her back and it's reassuring.
She's nervous at first. Her attempts to help Killian in the bar previously have amounted to prep work and the occasional running of food from the kitchen to the patrons, but now she's front and center. Killian makes it clear she's off limits, touching her constantly, kissing her on the cheek or even quick pecks on the lips, all in sight of the rowdy college crowd that trickles on as the night grows later.
In fact, as she relaxes into the rhythm of the bar, her and Killian work well together. She can pour shots and beers, and she leaves the occasional order of something more complicated to him. They move together, a dance of sorts, and as the hours grow longer, it begins to feel like foreplay, the way his hips brush against her, the way his arm grazes her breast.
It's accidental at first, but his grins grows cheeky as the night goes on, his eyes lighting up with mischief at every brush and accidental caress. The stress of Neal, of Victor sitting tensely in a corner of the bar, watching everything, it melts away as Emma's blood begins to warm, her awareness of Killian's every move increasing.
She's glad it's dark in the bar, the dim lights and candles hiding her flushed cheeks. It's hours yet until closing, but it's all Emma can do not to press her thighs together and bite her lip with the yearning.
The game is a distraction, and Emma loses herself in it. They grow bolder, Emma's hand brushing the growing tightness in Killian's jeans with an innocent smirk, his tongue darting along her neck as he leans past her for a glass…they're both playing with fire.
Emma is certain she's the one who's going to get burned.
The night passes without incident, Emma refusing Victor's money when he's the last to leave. She locks the door behind him, turning back to Killian.
His eyes smolder in the darkness. Smee has already left for the night, and they're alone in the bar. Emma walks back to him slowly, letting her hips sway, his gaze hypnotic, drawing her in.
"You've been very naughty tonight," he murmurs in her ear as she nears, his hands on her body as soon as she's within reach. "Very distracting."
"Oh, me?" She's incredulous, but it's all for show, because his lips are on her neck and she's already melting into him, her body aching for his touch. Stress is a strange bedfellow, but it's working, because she would strip right here, right now, and let him have her on the disgusting bar floor just to make the ache stop. The heated stares and light brushes all night long have made every nerve in her body stand on end, and if he doesn't do something soon, Emma thinks she just might burn the place to the ground.
"Had to make sure those lads looking at you knew you were mine," he tells her between kisses, his hands sliding under her shirt, cupping her breasts even as his mouth assaults her neck. "What's your excuse, love?" He purrs the words into her ear, his breath hot as his tongue sneaks out to lick the shell of her ear.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar." His lips are on hers before she can protest, and there's the heat she's been seeking, his mouth insistent, needy. He's got her backed up to the bar, and then she's sitting on it, her legs wrapping around his hips, the hardness of his length between them.
His lips leave hers, tracing a path down her collarbones until he loses patience with pushing the shirt out of his way and simply strips her of it. His mouth descends to her breasts, and he's nipping and sucking as he goes and it's all Emma can do not to fall of the damn bar.
It's not the first time they've gotten themselves all worked up in the bar, but it's the first time Killian has started undressing her there, and a small thrill goes through her. It's not like she hasn't thought about it – her and Killian, this bar, and him doing wicked things to her on it. And when she sees the gleam in his eyes, it's clearly a thought that's crossed his mind before.
"Upstairs?" he asks, but there's a hint of hope in it, and Emma grins wickedly back at him, tugging his shirt off.
"Nah."
They do make it upstairs, eventually, a long time later after they've found themselves panting and sated on the bar top, Killian's possessive smirk a welcome sight. Killian is going to have to give the bar a thorough cleaning in the morning, but it's been worth it, just to see the look in his eyes while he's had her on the bar – his bar.
It's been a successful night, and it isn't until Emma puts her loaded gun on the nightstand on her side of the bed that the fear comes trickling back.
What a week! The delay in updates was not planned, my apologies!
This story was originally started as a "nano" project for October (my November is insane) and I'm happy to say that I more than hit the 50k word goal. Updates may be slower now that November is upon us, but I love each and every one of you for taking this ride with me. Thanks for reading!