Sorry for the long wait - life has a bad habit of catching up with me lately. Much loves.
21. she is the fire and the flood: apparently Emma enjoys Ed Sheeran
There's a brief second where he thinks she's moaning in pain – a second where his heart jolts a little and his hands clench and he's already resolved to find her. Then, he hears her humming.
Then, he hears her singing under her breath.
"Come on and take it back now, come on and take it back for us. Don't you fade into the back, love," she murmurs, apparently unaware that he's just tapped her line. She really should know by now that he'll jump in eventually, commandeer her network for a spot of conversation before the competition really begins.
Evidently not – because he highly doubts that she'd still be crooning what sounds like Ed Sheeran if she knew he was eavesdropping.
He stays silent as he crawls through the night towards the concrete establishment nestled tightly between two hills. He reaches a wall, sliding along it until he finds himself at what he knows to be the south entrance. Also the least heavily fortified entrance.
Emma's voice is like a soundtrack to his motions as he soundlessly pins in the security code.
"I take it back with the rhythm and blues, try'na act like Jack Black when I bring it t'school. I make a beat with my feet by just hittin' the loops, bringing the lyrics to prove that I can fit in these shoes."
The door cracks open and he slides in.
"I give you the truth through the vocal booth, and stars burst out on a scene like an opal fruit. They try to take aim like Beckham when he goes to shoot but then again that's what they're s'posed to do."
Two men with masks and guns emerge from the shadows and his face contorts into something delighted but feral. Launching himself forward, he disarms them swiftly before they exchange blows, nary a whoosh of air breaking the silence – and all the while she sings under her breath.
"And I'm supposed to be calm I tattooed the lyrics onto ma arm whisperin' everything that happens is from now on."
He parries a right hook from one as he kicks out at the other, twisting his limbs around and around as he fights them off.
"I'll be ready to start again by the end of the song since they're claimin' that I handled it wrong. But then I've never had an enemy – except the NME but I'll be sellin' twice as many copies as their magazines'll ever be."
One goes down, the other lands a hit to his shoulder.
He grunts in pain and that's when she stops singing.
He curses the man he's fighting for ruining it for him, knocking out the offending man just as Emma's voice comes tentatively across the line.
"Jones?"
"Don't stop on my account," he says between ragged breaths, rolling his shoulder.
He can hear her near-inaudible growl before she grinds out, "How long have you been listening?"
"Long enough to know you're a closet Ed Sheeran fangirl," Killian snickers, reassuming his stance and stealthily pushing forward through the dimly-lit corridors. Emma growls again, louder this time, and swears profusely.
"I hate you."
"Come on, take it back now."
"Fuck you."
"Take it back for us."
"I'll end your life with a blunt knife."
"Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh," he hums, relishing in the way she must be scowling right now.
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"Have you ever considered a singing career?" he murmurs as he pads quickly and quietly through the halls, gun poised in front of him. She mutters incoherently and he grins: an indignant Emma Swan is an amusing Emma Swan.
He reaches for a door when the roof above him creaks.
Brow furrowing, he looks up just as the vent falls open and something leaps down.
Or rather someone.
A flash of unmistakable blonde is the only thing that keeps him from shooting at the black mass of limbs that lands lithely beside him. Unfortunately, that is only after he recovers from the shock of seeing her so unexpectedly. He mightn't have made a sound but he can't say the same about his facial expression.
He schools it promptly, but she still catches the wide eyes and slack jaw.
She lifts an eyebrow and straightens up, "I didn't frighten you did I, Jones?"
Her voice is quiet but unmistakably condescending.
He glowers, "No, Lady Sheeran."
Emma's eyes narrow, "Call me that again and I won't just scare you next time."
They start to walk down the hall and he elbows her in the ribs, "Promise?"
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"I've got to say, listening to you use British terms of endearment is quite a pleasant experience. You should do it more often."
"Bring it up one more time. I dare you."
"Just appreciating your vocals, Swan. No need to be hostile."
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She trips him just before they reach the safe room their mark is hiding in. The time it takes him to stumble and regain his composure is enough to give her a head start as she unlocks it and slips inside, flashing him a grin just before she disappears out of sight.
Swearing, he runs headlong to catch it before it closes and he has to unlock it again.
Several gunshots go off and his fingers snag the door handle, yanking it back open so he can run in behind her before she gets to their victim. The room is dark, only one light bulb swinging ominously in the middle of the enclosed space. He ducks down and crawls toward a desk: the room is supposedly decorated like a home office if his floor plans were accurate.
There's another gunshot to his right and he frowns.
That's strange.
Silently, he creeps across to the source of the gunshots.
The sound of ragged breathing piques his attention and his stomach clenches. Something heavy slides into it when he hears Emma curse breathlessly and, dismissing the very real threat that could still be present in this shadowy room, he half-stands and sprints in her direction.
He locks his sights on her and swoops down beside her, behind a random outlying wall, just in time to avoid a sudden spattering of bullets.
One hand is clenched over her shoulder. As the overhanging light bulb swings, it catches on the sticky blood seeping from a wound in her shoulder.
"They were waiting for us," she grits out quietly.
"Must've heard about the hit."
"Limey bastards."
Killian smirks at her choice of words but drags his eyes away from her to peek out behind their cover. The light isn't swinging as violently now, but it still makes it hard to make out what moving shadows are human and which ones are object.
"Did you get any of them?" he whispers, turning on his heel and surveying the area around them.
"I got two in the head and another in the shoulder before they got me."
"Did you see how many there were?"
She hisses and he turns around to watch her shake her head, fingers clenching over her wounded shoulder. They must have hit a sore spot because Emma doesn't usually flinch at bullet wounds. If she did, she'd be in the wrong line of work.
"Alright, we're getting out of here," he says, shuffling around to her side. He starts to heave her close to him with an arm around her waist, still scanning the dark for any signs of impending enemies.
"But the mark," she complains.
"Sod the mark. You won't last ten more minutes with a bum shoulder."
"I'll be fine."
"Sure you will be. Once we get out of here, of course."
"I fucking hate you sometimes."
A smile tugs at his lips and he drags her up with him, sending her an apologetic glance when it jostles her shoulder. He uses one arm to secure her against him and the other to keep his gun at the ready.
The silence is suddenly very oppressive.
And there's something about this situation that just irks him more than usual. They're used to marks being on the defense, and some do indeed take the offensive. But he's got a bad feeling in his gut that he can't quite place.
Swallowing it down, he keeps a tight grip on her side then rushes them towards a collection of desks where they duck down.
"You know, I can technically walk on my own," she murmurs as they settle into the shadows.
"Perhaps. But not fast enough with that shoulder."
"You don't need a shoulder to walk, dumbass."
"Aye, but it will hurt more if you don't have something holding you steady," he turns to give her a smarmy look, "Trust me, I would know."
She purses her lips to avoid smirking: she was the one who shot him in the shoulder last time. Killian looks out again and just avoids having his head taken off by another spray of bullet coming from the opposite side of the room. The door is nearby, but it's closed and they'll be exposed for too long pushing it open and running away.
Killian sighs.
"Stay down, I'll handle this."
"My hero," she drawls sarcastically, then clenches her teeth as he sets her down and her arm hits the back of the desk a little too hard. Killian moves towards the other side of the desk, crouched low.
He quickly and quietly strips off his jacket.
He tosses it out sideways and stands. Their assailant is momentarily distracted by the sudden movement, giving Killian just enough time to aim and fire two shots. The dark silhouette of a man lurches as the bullets land their mark, and ducks back down just in case.
There are no other sounds but he isn't stupid.
Even dogs know how to play dead, and these people might too.
"Go check it out, I'll stay here," she says, nodding behind her and, before he can even begin to argue, "I've got a gun. I'll be fine."
He gives her one last serious look, then decides she's right. They can't stay there forever and he'd rather eradicate the threat completely before they flee.
At the very least, he waits until she has her gun out and propped up in her one good hand before he starts to slowly and silently make his way around the room. It's only when he gets to the back, where their attackers were holding up, that his heart starts to thud just a little bit faster.
He spots three bodies strewn across the floor.
All three are unmoving.
It's too dark and he's not close enough to discern facial features but they're all men, too large and solid to be women. Which also means none of them is the mark: a slim man with weedy limbs and a pinched face.
Bang!
Killian stands up without thinking, peering out over the mass of furniture through the inky blackness to where a shadow is stumbling. He moves without thought, scaling a desk and a lounge chair in quick succession as he crosses the room back to where Emma was tucked safely away.
"Swan?" he calls.
He can hear the panic in his own voice and winces.
"I'm fine," she replies as he finally reaches her, watching as a man he doesn't recognize drops to the ground. Lifeless. He shares a glance with Emma, and then walks slowly over to the man to check his pulse.
He's dead.
Killian rubs his forehead warily and sighs, glancing over his shoulder at Emma.
"The mark isn't here. I'd say he had information deliberately leaked so he could catch us before we caught him," he says.
"He is supposed to be a tech genius."
"Indeed."
Killian offers her a hand and she takes it. He pulls her up quickly and lets her settle into his side again. They start for the door, walking as smoothly as possible to keep her from jostling her arm.
It's quiet for a long time: most of the guards are dead or incapacitated by their hand and they know the layout. So there isn't much to talk about as they navigate the maze of hallways out to the exit where they step out into the cold.
For this reason, his voice startles her when it pierces the frigid night.
More accurately, when his humming breaks the silence.
She turns her head slowly to face him.
He grins and stops humming momentarily.
Twisting his head to face her, he holds her gaze when he starts up again.
There's a very sudden, unexpected pressure on his shoulder. Her fingers are lightly pinching the sensitive nerves at the junction of his neck and shoulder. It's a warning.
Killian grins, looks straight ahead and starts singing under his breath – right where he left off.
"I need you darling, come on set the tone, if you feel you're falling won't you let me know oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ooh."
He nearly drops her because she pinches him so hard.
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