Fragile Design

by XerxesRises

David Nolan is out to protect his family, in any way that he can. He enlists the help of Emma Swan and Killian Jones to help uncover the crime boss currently living in his sleepy town of Storybrooke, ME. Two stubborn and damaged souls now have to come together as partners to solve a murder and maybe even save each other in the process. Fake marriage; modern AU.

22. Chapter 22

There is mention of a dead body in this chapter. Fair warning.

David Nolan

November

David squints into the distance as he trundles down the road to Graham's cottage - well, his and Mary Margaret's cottage now - carefully maneuvering his borrowed truck through the snow. He hunches over the steering wheel, leaning forward to swipe at the frosty buildup on the glass, but nothing happens. Grumbling about the inadequate defroster, he brings his gloved hand to his mouth. Biting down on the tip of one of the fingers, he frees his hand and goes back to scratching at the frost with his fingernails. Removing enough of the ice to see through, he shoves his hand back into the glove then hunches over the steering wheel again, holding it in a death grip.

He can barely see, the latticed branches of the trees above him keeping out much of the predawn light. The truck's headlights pick up the drifting snow a few feet in front of him, but beyond that is a hazy void. He's anxious to retrieve Emma and get to the station where Edward Teach is waiting for them, but he forces himself to go slow, knowing that one wrong move could end with him crashed into a tree. The town's plow trucks are serious business and it's only because he'd grown up on a farm that he feels confidant driving this beast in the first place. Still, it's been a while since he's been behind the wheel of anything with this much horsepower, so he goes slow, his cautious maneuvering at odds with his desire to ram his foot on the accelerator. Mary Margaret's voice is in his ear, acting as his guide and telling him to take it easy, despite his instinct to do otherwise.

He can still feel the lingering, worried kiss she'd placed on his lips as they'd said goodbye that morning, her entreaty for him to be safe whispered on a trembling sigh. What he wouldn't give to return home tonight and be able to tell her that it's over, that their family is finally safe...

It had been dark when he'd left the loft for the crash site on the outskirts of town and by the time he'd turned onto the cottage's driveway a few minutes ago, the sky was only just starting to shift from midnight black to dismal gray. Thick snow clouds obscure the sun, promising more winter weather. He feels as if the town has been captured in a snow globe, one being shaken by mercurial gods finding joy in the panicked reactions of those stuck inside.

He thinks back over the past forty-eight hours and the phone call from Killian that had arrived with the snowfall. There had been an underlying panic in the voice on the other end of the line, the sound of it causing a chill of foreboding to run up David's spine. Since then, he's been going nonstop, splitting his time between researching Gold, investigating Milah's confession and subsequent death (made difficult by the lack of a body), and helping to manage the town's state of emergency due to the storm. He's barely slept or ate in the past forty-eight hours, feeling like a shade of his normally calm and centered self.

And now his tension is ratcheting up still higher, the impending encounter with Teach looming before him. They hadn't even known he was back in town and to have him fall right into their laps like this with not only the jewels, but the body of Milah Gold...it truly is a stroke of cosmic luck.

He frowns, remembering the shrill ring of his cell pulling him from the doze he'd managed to fall into the night before. Much like the call he'd received from Killian on Friday night, it had been an another turning point in the investigation, brought to them on the winds of this second winter storm in as many days.

Not wanting to wake Mary Margaret, he'd quickly reached for the phone, swinging his legs out of bed and taking the call into the living room. He'd peered out the loft's window with the phone to his ear, frowning at the snowflakes caught in the glow of the streetlights below.

It had been hard to hear the person on the line, a siren in the background drowning out most of what was being said. Pressing the phone closer to his ear, he'd finally been able to understand that there had been a car crash and Edward Teach was in custody. His heart had started beating so hard it felt like it was jumping into his throat. Closing his eyes and concentrating as hard as he could, he managed to pick up the rest of what the volunteer firefighter was saying.

A body had been found in the trunk of the car, a woman with a single gunshot wound to the heart. By the time he'd hung up the call, Mary Margaret had shuffled over to him, her bare feet padding softly across the floorboards. Her short hair had stuck up in spikes, a few static bound strands waving in the muted light from outside.

"What is it?"

He'd told her all of it and that he had to leave in a few minutes to supervise the collection of evidence and then to transport Teach to the station to be questioned. She'd given him a stiff nod then stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him close. Laying her ear over his heartbeat, she'd simply held him. His tension had ebbed, arms coming up around her shoulders.

"Do you think it's the woman Killian told you about? Milah?"

"I won't know for sure until I get there, but it sounds like it might be." He'd dropped his lips to her forehead, smiling tenderly when several strands of her hair tickled his nose.

"If it is, you know you'll have to tell him. And Emma." He'd nodded, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Does she know? About Milah?"

"I think so. He told her about the jewels and setting up the meeting with Teach. I can't imagine he'd tell her all that, but nothing about Milah." It was clear in his tone that his thoughts about Killian at the moment were not positive. In truth, he was livid that the man had lied to them all and gone behind their backs.

"He must be really broken up," Mary Margaret had said, her voice holding a note of soft recrimination and he'd tensed. Before he could open his mouth to justify himself, she'd sighed and continued, her judgement of David replaced with understanding of Killian. "I know he lied, David, but I really do believe he was trying to do the right thing. His intentions were true even if his methods were... unorthodox."

"Unorthodox? That's an understatement." David had snorted into her dark hair. "I thought you didn't trust him?" Hadn't she been the one questioning his participation in this investigation from the beginning? He'd had to convince her again and again that Killian truly was a good guy beneath all the bluster and ego.

"What can I say - he's grown on me. I have hope he can make Emma happy. She cares for him, David. You and I both know that. And I think he more than cares for her. He hasn't said as much to me, but the way he looks at her...I know what that look means. He's in love with her." She had dreamily breathed out those last words and he hadn't been able to hold back an affectionate smile. His wife was a hopeless romantic and an impossible optimist.

He wished for her to never change.

"And you're okay with the fact that he's been lying to her? To all of us?" Instead of responding, she had taken his hand and led him to their small sofa, pushing him down into the cushions then sitting beside him, tucking herself into his side.

She finally spoke once they were settled against each other, her voice hushed. "While I don't condone what he did, I think I understand it."

"You do?" He'd been surprised by her statement. His wife had one of the purest hearts he'd ever known; it was one of the reasons he loved her as much as he did. She simply didn't have darkness within her and he found it hard to believe she - of all people - would understand Killian's deception.

"This is all conjecture, of course, but I think Killian is scared. I mean, he has to be, right? Based on what you told me, his heart has been broken for a very long time. He probably never expected to find happiness again and now he has - with Emma. If I were in his place, I would be terrified of losing that. I think he acted out of that fear." Her voice had grown even more soft, more contemplative as she had her final say. "He didn't make a wise choice, but look at his history, David. He thinks with his heart when he's hurt or scared, not his head. And when your heart is afraid, that can lead to poor decisions even when those decisions are made from a place of love."

David had sighed, his chin coming down to rest on top of Mary Margaret's head. Could he really hold Killian's poor choices against him when he had made his own ill advised ones in the name of love? At the beginning of his relationship with Mary Margaret, for example, he'd risked his job to be with her, sneaking around lying to everyone and encouraging her to do the same. And now, to save his family, he'd put his friends' lives at risk because the very idea of losing her made him mad with panic.

Making poor decisions in the name of love was something he completely understood. "It still doesn't make it right," he'd said aloud.

"Of course it doesn't, but he doesn't need us to kick him when he's down. Based on how distraught you said he was the other night, I think Killian is going to have a hard time processing all of his guilt. He needs help learning how to trust in himself...and in Emma."

"Emma?" David had asked softly. "I thought you said he was in love with her."

"He is, but the last woman he was in love with broke his heart. I wouldn't be surprised if he has trust issues. I mean, even if he said he was doing all this to protect Emma, at the end of the day, he didn't trust her enough to tell her about the jewels. He has a lot of work to do to make up for all this, but he needs our support, not our judgement." Her logic was irrefutable, her words of wisdom beginning to dissolve his anger at Killian, a feat he didn't think possible.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Shifting in his seat so that his lovely bride was looking into his eyes, he had cupped her cheek and dipped his head, leaving a lingering kiss on her lips. He could feel a blush warm her skin, her breath a whispered caress. She had blinked up at him, the press of her body making it hard to remember that duty called and he had to leave soon.

The glow from outside the window highlighted her cheek and the rounded curve of her chin, catching the shift in her expression from dreamy to thoughtful. Trailing his fingertip down over her nose, he had smiled and waited for her to speak. She hadn't left him waiting long.

"Do you have to arrest Killian? For stealing the jewels from the station?" It wasn't a complicated question; Killian had broken the law and David was the enforcer of that law, but he found himself rejecting the idea instantly.

"It was part of the investigation. And I can't arrest him when I don't have evidence of the crime, can I?"

"David...are you sure?" There had been hope in the dark sparkle of her eyes. He knew what he should do, but in the grand scheme of things, was it worth it?

"I'm sure." Relief had burst like a bubble in his chest as soon as he'd said it. He hadn't realized that along with all the other stressors in his life right now, possibly arresting Killian Jones had been one of the larger ones. He had sagged against Mary Margaret and she had wrapped him up in her arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek before murmuring,"You need to get out of here."

"Yeah. You'll be okay?"

"Yeah. Leo and I are going to enjoy a snow day."

"You'll take it easy?" he had asked, his hand moving from her jaw to the curve of her belly. It was hidden under the billowy nightshirt she was wearing, but the barely there bump pulled a smile from his lips. "The morning sickness isn't a breeze this time around."

"I'll take it easy." She had promised, giving him an indulgent smile and patting his hand where it rested over their child. "You need to go. Call me when you can, though. Give me an update?"

"Yeah." He had found her lips again, giving her a chaste and loving kiss before pulling away and getting up to dress for the crime scene.

His wife had given him a lot to think about during their late night chat. When not focusing on the road before him, his mind goes back to what she had said again and again. Killian is an extremely luck man because his wife's unfailingly hopeful outlook had convinced David to take a step back and try to understand the Brit instead of judging him. It'll take time - the thought of delivering a punch to the man's jaw is still appealing - but David is willing to try and Killian has Mary Margaret to thank for that.

He straightens up in his seat, forcing his thoughts back on the road, the truck's headlights lighting his way forward, much like his wife had done in the early morning twilight. Once he finally breaks through the tree line, he drops the plow to the asphalt and begins to work. The trees had acted as a barrier for the worst of the storm, but here at the top of the hill leading down to the lake, the snow is piled in high drifts, obscuring the driveway all the way to the garage.

Once he drives over the crest of the hill, he slows and looks down at the scene before him. The landscape is all varying shades of gray, the early morning shadows making it hard to discern any landmarks in the muted backdrop. The lake is a dark mirror, fog hovering over the water. Nothing moves. There's no sign of life and David's already heightened anxiety rises two more notches, his stomach starting to ache with it.

Trying to shake off the sense of foreboding, he throws the truck into gear, plowing through the snow. He backs up once then pushes the pile of snow he's amassed off to the side of the garage before coming to a full stop. Lifting the plow back into position, he sets the parking brake then pulls out his phone and texts Emma to let her know he's arrived.

As he waits, he notices that they'd shoveled up to the front porch. The snow is parted like the Red Sea on either side of the walkway. Even the steps have been swept clear. Hanging on their front door is a Christmas wreath with a festive bow tied to it. That definitely hadn't been there two nights ago at Thanksgiving. With the piles of snow and pine boughs tied with ribbon, the cottage looks like a holiday card, missing only the smiling couple in matching sweaters on the steps.

David scowls, the idea of Emma and Killian sending out Christmas cards turning his stomach sour. But if the investigation is still running two weeks from now, they will definitely be doing just that. It would be what happily married couples do - send out holiday greetings, but the thought of it is infuriating. He wants all of this over - the investigation, the threat to his family, Emma's turn as Mrs. Emma Jones and especially his role as handler in this ridiculous farce. He knows what Mary Margaret would tell him right now, to have hope, to hold on, but fuck, it's getting to be hard.

It has only gotten harder after learning what Killian had done, the risk he had taken by going rogue. Dropping his head back against the seat's headrest, he stares up into nothing, his thoughts taking him back to Friday night and the phone call that had started this most recent nightmare.

He'd arrived at the harbor parking lot to find Killian standing in blood spattered snow, tears frozen on his eyelashes and panic on his face. David had been confused - Killian had said there had been a shooting, but there was no body. It only took minutes for the Englishman to relay the story, David growing more and more numb with each syllable uttered.

With his voice catching, Killian had told David about the jewels and Gold, about Milah and their relationship in England and how it had ended, confirming that her dismissal had sent him spiraling into a life of crime. He'd told him about working with Eric Prince to set up the meeting with Teach, that he had done it to infiltrate the smuggling ring using his pirate persona and to keep Emma out of the worst of the investigation. Then he'd told David what had transpired that evening, tugging the crocodile pendent from around his neck and handing it over as evidence. He had sworn that Smee and Prince were reliable witnesses to the evening's events - the events that had led to a murder.

A murder that David couldn't help but see as Killian's fault. If she hadn't met him here, hadn't felt compelled to go behind her husband's back, Milah might still be alive. He hadn't said any of that aloud, but looking into Killian's haunted eyes, he knew the thought had crossed his mind as well.

There had been evidence to collect, Milah's blood dripping from Killian's gloves and staining the snow. There was blood on his clothes, a smudge of it across his cheek. David had collected what he could under the cover of night, ordering Killian into the backseat of the cruiser while he worked. When he had finally opened the driver's side door and slid behind the wheel, he'd managed to tamp his anger down enough to tell Killian they were headed to the station. He needed to take Killian's statement and collect his clothes as well as any other trace evidence on his person.

Killian had grown frantic, arguing that he had to check on Emma. He'd been nearly inconsolable, scrambling to get out of the car before realizing he wasn't able to open the door from the inside. David had yelled that he would ruin the investigation if he didn't allow David to do his job. That had caught Killian's attention and when David added that he owed it to all of them to shut up and do as he was told, the man had fallen silent.

It had felt surreal driving Killian in the back of the cruiser like any other common criminal. Neither man had spoken, David gripping the steering wheel so hard he could feel his knuckle bones pressing against his skin. The snow had been a welcome distraction. It had swirled around them and forced him to focus his attention on something other than the lying jackass in the backseat. The roads were slick, the cruiser's wheels slipping when he took a corner too fast. Killian hadn't noticed, his guilt and worry over Emma making him turn inward.

He had been thorough collecting the evidence, pulling hairs off Killian's coat, one or two of them long and blond, catching the light and making David scowl as he thought of Emma. He had cleaned under Killian's fingernails, had him disrobe over a massive sheet of paper to collect any particulates left behind. Handing him a pair of sweats and a deputy's shirt that Graham had kept stored in his desk, he'd left Killian alone in the bathroom, taking the plastic bags full of his clothes with him to be sent off for testing.

Grabbing his laptop from his desk, he made a note to get online as soon as he was home to start amassing a file on Gold, their new suspect. He hated how they had come by the information, but he had to admit that having a lead after all these weeks was exhilarating.

Killian had shuffled out of the bathroom then. He had looked ridiculous in the shirt and sweats, but David hadn't been able to work up a barb. They'd turned for the door, David saying without a glance in Killian's direction, "You tell her. All of it. Or I will."

David had driven Killian home, letting him sit in the front this trip. He had jiggled his leg up and down nonstop, anxious to get home and check on Emma.

Emma, David thinks now, guilt swirling in his belly as he remembers the last of what Killian had told him. Someone is targeting her and it's his fault she's even in this situation. If he had only enlisted the FBI or the state police instead, if he had gone to anyone else for help, she would be safe at home in Boston right now.

But it's more complex than that, his guilt multifaceted. He feels like he's done her wrong in several ways, not only putting her life in danger, but also her heart by introducing her to Killian Jones and encouraging their connection. He's let her down on several levels and the knowledge of that promises to be crippling, if he ever gives into it. It's only by sheer force of will that he manages to set aside his emotions, reminding himself that he needs to focus on the job at hand. Look what Killian had done when David's focus had slipped - the man had gone rogue and inadvertently caused a woman's death.

David can't let anything like that happen again.

Realizing he's half hugging the steering wheel, he forces himself to let go, leaning back in his seat. He cranks the truck's heat up a few notches and drops his head back against the headrest again, eyes falling shut as he breaths deep and tries to clear his mind. By the time the passenger side door opens and Emma climbs into the truck, he's pulled himself together enough to get through the next few hours without crumbling under the weight of his guilt.

Emma's hair is pulled back into a ponytail, snowflakes shimmering among the gold strands. With her hair like that, her ears are exposed to the elements and he has to force himself not to nag about wearing a hat. She buckles herself in, giving him a harried look before saying curtly, "Let's go."

"Well, good morning to you, too, sunshine."

"Really?" she says. "Are you ready to get out of here?"

"Yeah," he replies, assessing her across the leather seat. "Are you?" She gives him a reproachful look, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Do you seriously think I'm not - " She starts to say, but he cuts her off, needing to know if Killian had told her that her life is in danger and if he had, how she's dealing with that.

"I know how distraught Killian was Friday night, remember? You can't tell me that something intense didn't happen while you were snowed in for the past day and a half with the guy."

"None of your business," she says, but she's blushing a brilliant red and refusing to meet his eyes. He realizes - with an exasperated blush of his own - that he's inadvertently hit close to an unexpected truth. Something had indeed happened between them, but he suspects it had very little to do with talking.

Taking a steadying breath and adding another item to his growing list of grievances against Killian Jones, he clears his throat and says, "Em, I really don't want to pry, but...look, I'm your handler and I've already let you down by not knowing everything that was going on with Killian. No matter how uncomfortable this is, I have to know if you'll be able to do the job regardless of whatever is happening between the two of you right now. Lives are at stake and - "

"Don't you think I know that?" she asks, her voice rising shrilly. He winces, watching her face go from bright red to white, the blood draining from her cheeks. He sighs, hating that he has to push her like this.

"I didn't mean - " He starts to apologize, but she holds up a hand to stop him, shaking her head and causing her ponytail to swing around her shoulders.

"I know you're worried, but I'm fine." Taking a deep breath, she glances up at the front door of the cottage, a frown bringing down the corners of her mouth. "Can we get out of here? Killian didn't really take the news about the body too well and I feel weird about leaving him alone."

David backs the truck up, carefully maneuvering them around until they're facing forward again. "I hated having to tell him about finding the body like that, but he had a right to know," he says. There's a quiet pause, the engine revving as he steps on the gas and begins to edge the truck forward.

"You were pretty pissed at him," Emma says, referring to their phone call yesterday morning. He glances at her, finding her head titled in curiosity. He frowns, tightening his hands on the steering wheel.

"Yeah, well, listening to my best friend cry because she's been lied to tends to have that affect."

"I'm your best friend?" she asks, the question coming out in a squeak of surprise. He sends an affectionate smile her way, warmth filling his chest at the startled look on her face.

"Of course you are, Emma. You're like the sister I never had." It takes her a second to return his smile, but she finally does, her cheeks glowing pink.

"Thanks, David. That means a lot to me."

"I thought you knew," he says. She sniffles at that and turns away from him, watching the occasional snowflake break through the canopy of branches above to drift lazily to the windshield.

"You've always treated me like family, but it's nice to have the confirmation that you actually see me that way." She finally manages to say, unlocking her arms from where she's had them crossed over her chest. Her hands fall to her lap and she twists her fingers together, playing with the wedding rings he knows are beneath her gloves. When she speaks next, he has to strain to hear, her voice a murmur nearly lost to the rumble of the engine.

"I'm beginning to realize how important it is to tell people how you feel, even when you're terrified of what happens after you say the words. Everything changes once you say it out loud, but those changes are kinda wonderful, you know?" He gets the impression she's making a confession, one he has to work to decipher.

"Um, yeah, I think so," he replies slowly. Giving her a quick glance, he finds her cheeks a brilliant pink again, this blush putting her earlier one to shame. "Em?"

"I know it's a major pain in the ass, but it really is beautiful, isn't it?" she says, gesturing out at the snow, forcing a subject change.

He's curious to know what she'd been referring to, but he doesn't pursue it, looking out at the snow covered landscape instead. He's been so preoccupied with the devastation of the past twenty-four hours that he's failed to appreciate the beauty of it all. Snow covers everything, clinging to tree trunks and branches, piled high in drifts along the driveway. He knows if he were to stop and pull Emma out into the cold with him, the woods would be still, all sound muted by the blanket of white, a world lost to the arrival of winter.

It makes him wish he were home with his wife, tucked safely away before the next bout of snow arrives. He wonders if Emma is wishing for something similar with Killian. He regrets that he has to pull them away from each other, especially if their relationship has so recently changed, as he suspects that it has. Sending her one more curious glance, he finds a secret smile softening her features and making her eyes sparkle.

She looks happy and hadn't he once told his wife that if Killian Jones made her happy, he would willingly get out of their way? Damn it all to hell...

Turning his focus back to the road, he drives through the last section of the woods, slowing the truck when he reaches the main road. Confident that no one is out this early the day after a massive storm, he pulls out of the driveway and accelerates toward town. The sky is darker and more ominous than it was an hour ago, the clouds heavy with impending weather. He feels the need to beat the snow back to the station, not able to shake the feeling that time is running out.

Emma seems to pick up on his mood, her hands twisting around each other in her lap while she bites at her lips in distraction. They don't speak, the quiet that settles between them tense. By the time he pulls into the parking lot, his heart is beating so hard he worries he's having a heart attack. He shuts off the truck, removing the key from the ignition and pocketing his keyring before settling back and taking a deep breath to calm himself.

"Em, look - "

"If you're thinking about telling me I can't interview this asshole, then we're about to have a problem..."

"No, that's not..." David sighs, turning to face her. She's still twisting her hands together and he reaches out, grabbing one of them. He gives her a squeeze, hoping he says these next words right. She stares down at their joined hands then looks up, green eyes filled with wariness.

"What you and Killian are working through right now is - like you said - none of my business, but I want you to know, if he makes you happy, I'll support you. I reserve the right, though, as resident best friend to thrash him within an inch of his life if he ever hurts you again. Okay?"

"Okay." Giving his hand an appreciative squeeze, she loosens her grip and tilts her chin up, determination replacing the wariness in her eyes. "Come on, bestie. We've got a criminal to interrogate."

---

They enter the station, stomping their boots to knock the snow from their heels before moving further into the building. The bullpen is quiet, the overhead lights dim. David can make out the outline of their prisoner in his cell, his bulk resting on the cot against the wall. Emma heads to her desk and David opens the door to his office, hanging up his jacket and then moving to the coffee station. He gets a fresh pot started, his attention split between his task and Emma.

Emma hangs her jacket on the coatrack near her desk, the one where Graham's leather bomber still hangs. Emma barely gives the jacket a glance, moving to her desk and booting up her computer. She's staring at Teach, expecting him to wake up, but despite the noise of their arrival, he hasn't moved.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, David moves to his desk, turning on his own computer as he settles into his chair. As he waits for the ancient machine to connect to the internet, he tidies up his desk, trying to act natural despite his anxiety. Moving a pile of paperwork out of the way, his hand brushes the frame he keeps on the corner of his desk. It holds a picture of his family, their beautiful smiles tugging at his heart as he lifts it closer. Those smiles remind him why he's doing this, why he's fighting against every tired cell in his body and pushing himself beyond his limits. Clearing his throat, he sets the photo back on his desk then schools his face into determined lines.

Knowing they need a strategy before going into the interview room, he begins running through questions in his head. There's a reason he's a good cop. He knows how to relate to people, how to get under their skin and into their thoughts with little resistance. People trust him, even the ones who really shouldn't. He's got a nice face and an approachable likeableness that puts people at ease, but Teach is a hardened criminal and the small town Sheriff routine might be wasted on him.

Killian had told them once that a man who leads by instilling fear builds no loyalty in his employees. From everything they've seen, that's exactly how this smuggling ring has been run and according to August, Teach is bound to Gold by fear rather than fealty. David suspects that they can use that to their advantage. It's a risky plan, but it feels like the right one.

Before summoning Emma to his office, he makes two phone calls. David has been on call for the past two days, responding to calls for help as they had come into the station, but he'll be unreachable once they enter the interview room. They'll need someone to man the station while he and Emma interrogate Teach. Leroy promises to be there soon and David ends the call then places the next, his fingers wrapped around the receiver so tight he feels like he might break it in half.

It rings several times and finally connects, David asking to speak to Gold. Once on the line, he informs the man that a body has been found and that he believes it to be his wife. There's silence in response, David finally clearing his throat and asking Gold to come to the morgue to identify the body. He agrees to the request and David ends the call, the brief exchange giving him chills.

Phone calls made, David has Emma join him in his office to talk strategy. She throws an annoyed glance in Teach's direction then pushes her chair away from her desk and stands, her ponytail swinging in a flurry of blond tangles as she does so. David returns to his desk, fresh cup of coffee in hand as he sits.

"What's up?" Emma asks, closing the door with a sharp click. She doesn't sit, but rather crosses her arms over her chest, legs splayed wide as if bracing herself against a winter gale.

"I've got an idea," he says, voice low as he leans forward in his chair, eyes locked earnestly with hers. He tells her his thoughts, watching as she considers it.

"Do you really think we can convince him that Gold is hanging him out to dry?" she asks skeptically. She gestures back toward Teach and David looks in his direction, noting that he still hasn't moved. "Gold and Teach have worked together a long time. They have history. We could play this all wrong if we underestimate that."

"Maybe. But it's the best shot we've got, Em." Emma stares at him, biting her lip and trying to decide what to do. Still not convinced, she throws out an idea of her own.

"Killian knows Gold better than anyone. Let me call him and see what he thinks. He'd know if this would be something Gold would do to one of his employees." David gives her a nod in agreement; Killian is the best they have when it comes to understanding Gold. It's exactly why David had wanted him to be part of this investigation in the first place.

Emma pulls her phone from the back pocket, choosing Killian's name from her contact list and setting the call to speaker. The phone rings several times before his voicemail picks up. Frowning, Emma lifts the phone to her ear, leaving a brief message for Killian to call her.

"He must be in the shower," she says, shoving the phone back into her pocket. She bites at her lip, then gives a shrug, focusing back on David. Locking her arms across her chest, she says, "Killian has said from the beginning that Teach is not the brains behind the smuggling ring. He's convinced that whoever that person is, they use fear to run their organization." Standing up a little straighter, she drops her arms to her sides and gives David a brief nod, coming to her final decision. "We should be able to use that knowledge. We'll try it your way."

He releases the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, tension easing with her agreement to his plan. As relieved as he is, he still has one more suggestion to make and this one he knows won't go as easily. He gives her what he hopes is a smile but feels more like a grimace.

"Look, Em, I think it's best if I'm the one conducting the interview with Teach." He fights not to fidget under the look she gives him, green eyes snapping angrily. She doesn't give him long to wonder what she thinks of his suggestion.

"David, that asshole is the closest person we've got to Gold. I guarantee he knows who killed Graham and Milah. He probably even knows who's after me. This is why you brought me into this investigation, this moment right here. You wanted me to take the lead, to keep you out of the middle and now...now you want to jump back into the fray? Why?"

"You're too emotionally invested, Emma. I need someone calm to go at him."

"And that's you?" She rolls her eyes, hands coming up to rest on her hips. "You are so pissed at Killian you can barely say his name. You feel guilty for trusting him, which makes you even more pissed at him, but really you're just pissed at yourself. You barely sleep. You spend all your time worrying about me and Killian and Mary Margaret and Leo - have you never stopped to wonder what all of this is doing to you? You, my idiot friend, have way more to lose if this investigation goes south, the least of which is your sanity."

Finished with her tirade, she finally sits opposite his desk, booted feet splayed as she slides down in the chair like a disgruntled teenager. Staring at him with flushed cheeks and feverishly bright eyes, she waits. David breaks her gaze, looking at the picture on the corner of his desk, the two faces of the people he loves most staring up at him. He knows she's right, but that makes it all the harder to give up control. Their lives are at stake. He would never forgive himself if something happened to them on someone's watch.

He hesitates and Emma, to his surprise, says, "Look, maybe we're both right."

He looks up, finding her staring at a point over his shoulder, eyes hazy as she thinks through something. When she finally snaps them back to David, he can see that she's come up with a plan, one she's excited about and he leans forward in his seat, waiting.

"Let's both go into the room. Play bad cop, good cop. You're awesome at keeping people calm and I'm most definitely not. That might keep him off-kilter, the juxtaposition of those two personalities coming at him. We lay out all the evidence that Gold is trying to frame him and whichever one of us he responds to will be the one to get him to confess."

It's a good plan. No, it's an amazing plan and he can feel a smile slowly unfurling as he thinks it over more.

"Besides," she adds as an afterthought, "he doesn't know about my "superpower." I'll know if he's lying. I always know when people are lying." She pauses, watching him and then says, "You need me in there with you, David. You know you do."

He only hesitates a second longer. "We do this by the book. We can't take any risks in there." She nods, lips pressed together in a grim line. Leaning forward in her chair, elbows resting on her knees, she says, "Before we go in there, though, I need to get you up to speed on what we found out yesterday."

She fills him in on the thorough work she and Killian had done, making the most out of being snowed in by combing back through their research. She's able to expand on the Milah story for him based on what Killian had shared and tells him about the recordings they'd found in Graham's office. Talking about the recordings gives her an idea and she slips her phone out of her jeans again, her thumbs flying over the screen. Hitting send, she slips the phone back into her pocket then glances up at David.

"I told Killian to listen to the recordings Graham made. We were supposed to listen to them together, but it'll give him something to do while we're here, maybe take his mind off Milah."

"Good idea, Em."

"You don't seem too surprised to find out Graham was recording his conversations," she observes. She's locked her arms around herself again, a defensive and accusatory posture if ever he's seen one.

"You want some coffee?" he asks, avoiding the question. With a grunt, he pushes himself away from his desk and stands with his near empty coffee mug in hand. Moving to the coffee pot, he refills his mug then chooses a white one with a blue bird drawn on the side for Emma. With both mugs in hand, he returns to his desk, passing Emma hers on his way past.

Settling into his chair, he sets the mug down then clasps his hands together on the desktop. Looking out the glass walls of his office, he seeks out Graham's leather bomber hanging next to Emma's, using it as a touchstone to conjure up the image of his former deputy.

He'd been a handsome and unassuming guy with an appalling sense of humor and a quiet personality. People had seen him as harmless, a loner who would rather be off in the woods than standing around sharing small talk. He had left that type of thing to David, which had worked fine most of the time. It wasn't until David had discovered the smuggling ring that Graham's quiet facade had cracked and revealed the predatory heart of a wolf.

"Are you ever going to answer?" Emma asks in a huff. David swings his eyes back to her, finding her staring at him in reproach. He sighs, stretching his legs out under his desk and contemplating Emma.

He's never really talked about that side of Graham with anyone. At the time, he hadn't blamed the man for being so angry, surprising as his reaction had been. His desire to take out the leader of the crime ring had worked to David's advantage. Looking back now, though, he realizes that anger had prompted Graham's rogue behavior and ultimately, his death.

He should have questioned things more, pushed back more often. If he had, Graham may still be alive.

Pulling himself out of his guilt for what feels like the millionth time, David tries to explain what it had been like in those early days of their investigation. "When he found out what had been happening in town, Graham took it personally. He'd lived here years before Mary Margaret and I and he felt like a part of the community. Then he found out about the smuggling, that no one had gone to him for help and...well, it got under his skin."

"You never told me that before."

He shrugs and asks, "Does it really matter how he reacted back then? It's not relevant to anything."

It really doesn't matter now, but there's another reason he'd never mentioned it before. He can still remember the rage he'd seen in Graham's eyes, the darkness that had covered his face like a shadow. Even now, it brings a chill to him; true fury is rare and not easily hidden when provoked. He had never seen it again, but once had been enough to convince David that in this life, you never truly know what lies in another man's heart.

After his death, it seemed like an insignificant personality trait best left unspoken. No good would come out of telling Emma about it and so he'd left her memories of Graham untarnished.

"People liked Graham well enough, but I don't think they took him seriously as Deputy. When he realized that pretty much the whole town had been lying to him, he was pissed. He became obsessed with the investigation, working long hours, spending time on the docks, talking to the workers there. He took it as a personal affront that this started under his watch and he was determined to bring in the head of the smuggling ring." Scrubbing his hand over his face, he then tries to explain the recordings. "People didn't trust me...or, more correctly, they trusted me even less than they trusted Graham. They tended to stop talking the minute I was in the room, so he did a lot of recon on his own. We needed a way to document those conversations."

Eyes locked with Emma's, he shakes his head in apology, saying, "Right or wrong, Em, he took to recording his conversations."

"Even with me?" she asks in disbelief. David shrugs and she glowers. "And that doesn't seem the least bit creepy to you?"

"To be honest, at the time, I was so wrapped up in keeping my family safe, I didn't think much of it. At the end of the day, if his behavior helped put away the men threatening us, I wasn't about to ask him to stop." She absorbs that, absentmindedly tapping her wedding rings against the blue bird on the side of her mug.

"It's just...I thought I knew him, ya know?" she finally says, lifting her eyes back to David's. He doesn't miss the hurt in them nor does he miss the way her bottom lip trembles.

"They're probably just benign conversations, Em. Maybe he didn't realize he was recording them and then kept them because..." His voice peters out and he shrugs helplessly. "Oh, I don't know why he kept them other than he was meticulous about his records. You know that."

"Yeah, it's just...I can't imagine why he would have any recordings of me. We rarely, if ever, spoke on the phone. It was mostly just emails and texts back and forth." She flushes red and then murmurs, "And then there's his relationship with Regina that he never told me about."

David starts at that. Graham and Regina? His thoughts stutter to a halt, trying to picture the Mayor and his scruffy Deputy dating. Regina is elegance personified, classy and cool, projecting an image of refined grace and Graham was anything but that. He had liked to traipse through the woods, hiking for days in the mountains and hunting, living off the land, almost like a Neanderthal.

David simply can't picture them together.

"They were screwing?" he blurts out. Emma snorts, a smile teasing the corner of her lips.

"Regina told me at Thanksgiving. Apparently it was just a physical thing, but still...he could've told me he was seeing someone on the side." In contrast with the smile on her lips, her tone is hurt and he wonders at that. Why does it matter now what Graham had been doing with Regina? To his knowledge, Emma and he had never been exclusive or even officially dating. And Graham has been dead for months - whatever he may or may not have been doing while alive can have little bearing on Emma now.

Reaching for his coffee cup, David takes a slow slip, using the action as a cover while he tries to determine what's at the bottom of Emma's obvious anger and hurt. Glancing back out to the bullpen, his eyes land again on Graham's jacket. It has to smart to discover that the man pursuing her so doggedly had been in another woman's bed, to find out that while he was professing his undying love for her, he was actually taking his pleasure elsewhere. That would be a blow to anyone's ego...but it's something more than that for Emma.

When he looks back at her, she's still tapping her rings against her mug, the overhead lights catching on the engagement ring that Killian had given her and making the diamond sparkle. He watches the motion for a moment and then it simply...clicks.

Oh, Emma.

"You weren't wrong about him," he says softly.

"Huh?"

"Graham. You weren't wrong about him, Em. He was a good guy and he did genuinely care for you." Then, realizing that they both need to hear his next statement, he rolls his eyes heavenward and adds, "And neither of us is wrong about Killian."

Silence descends then and he takes a while before dropping his gaze back to hers. When she finally speaks again, she's hesitant and unsure, her wounded pride impacting that steely resolve of hers.

"Graham was keeping stuff from me. He recorded me and slept around behind my back, David. And Killian lied. I've mostly forgiven him for what he did because I understand why he did it, but," she pauses and then adds in a tiny voice, "what if I can't find a good one?"

His heart nearly breaks at hearing the wounded little girl hidden in her question. He curses Killian under his breath and does the only thing he can to do to help. Setting aside everything else, he focuses solely on Emma, determined to be a good friend. His role as handler makes him uniquely qualified to help her process her feelings where her partner is concerned, even if that means he's playing matchmaker for two wounded souls.

God help him.

"What did Killian say when he explained about the jewels?" She sighs, head falling back against her chair as she stares up at the ceiling. She relays her conversation with Killian, repeating a lot of what Killian had told him Friday night. Adding in the previously unknown tidbit that Killian had admitted to being in love with her causes her cheeks to turn a brilliant red.

"And how do you feel about him?" David asks, keeping the question as neutral as possible. The blush on her cheeks deepens, but she doesn't look away when she says, "I love him."

A million emotions go through him then: anger, frustration, a wary sense of happiness. She's usually not one for talking about her emotions and he's impressed by how open she's being. He thinks she needs this release after spending - what he can only imagine - two emotional days alone with Killian. He knows his response to her confession is extremely important; she's being vulnerable, admitting her feelings and her doubts. He doesn't want to be the one to discourage her, even though his initial reaction is - Really? This guy?

He sighs, giving her an encouraging smile as he leans forward, gaze locked with hers. "You can't control who you fall in love with, Emma. I know that better than anyone. Mary Margaret and I... we weren't supposed to be together. I was supposed to look out for her, keep her safe as her handler and stay objective as her boss, but the whole time I was working with her, I was falling irrevocably in love."

An amused, affectionate smile curls up the corners of Emma's mouth and he's powerless to stop his own smile from mirroring hers.

"She's my entire world, Em. I don't regret one moment I've spent with her, even if the journey we took to get where we are now was unconventional. She's all I've ever needed to be happy. The rest is all theater," he says, waving is hand in the air as if to dismiss their current surroundings. He grows serious, staring thoughtfully at her as he reflects on what Mary Margaret had told him that morning. "While I don't agree with what Killian did, I don't doubt that he meant well. He did have your best interests at heart. I know that doesn't make up for the choices he made, but I do think he's changed. Or is honestly trying to, anyways."

He smiles gently, asking her with genuine curiosity, "If you could do it all over again, knowing what you know now, would you still agree to pretend to be his wife?"

"I don't know. I mean, it's all a mess now, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"None of it's real, is it? We walk around town holding hands and pretending to be happy, lying to everyone. We live in a house that isn't ours, we have a made up history...we wear fake wedding rings that were reimbursed as part of this investigation. None of this is real life." He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and Emma catches the movement. "What?"

It's obvious that she doesn't know anything about the rings, that Killian had never shared that information with her. He wonders if he should be the one to do it, but it might help Emma work through some things if she knew the truth. He sighs, flicking his eyes down to her hand and then back up.

"The rings, Em. They're real."

"Well, of course, they're real. I helped picked them out."

"No, I don't mean like that. I mean, Killian bought them. They aren't part of this investigation. They're yours. He bought them for you."

"He what?" She glances down at the rings on her finger, the diamond twinkling as she stares at it in dismay. "Why would he do that? We barely knew each other then."

"Oh, I don't know about that. You had been working together for weeks, telling each other pretty much everything about your pasts." David shrugs, leaning back in his chair. "When I told him to give me the receipt for reimbursement, he said that he wanted to give you something you could look at in the future and remember when you had a partner you could trust."

She soaks this in, completely blown away by Killian's gesture. Tears sparkle in her eyes and David realizes as he watches her stare down at her rings that none of her happiness with Killian is a lie. Their fake marriage is truer than most actual ones and it would be a shame for her to lose that, even if David is having a hard time accepting her choice.

But that's just it...this is Emma's choice.

"You know, Em, if you want this life to be real, you can make it that way. Have you spoken to Killian? What does he want?"

"I think it's safe to assume that my terrified ass hasn't had a conversation with Killian about our future, David." She turns her coffee mug in a slow circle in her hands, her rings scraping against the faded blue bird outline on the white ceramic.

"Well, don't you think it's time you did?" She sighs and wrinkles her nose, trying to keep her tears at bay.

"What if...what if he doesn't want the same thing? He's got this whole other life in New York. A life that has no room for me. A life I refuse to be a part of." She looks up then, determination making her gaze hard. "He's a pirate, remember? I know...god, I know he wants to be a better man, but at the end of the day, he's still a fucking criminal, David. I want to believe he's a changed man, I really do, but isn't the fact that he lied proof than maybe he can't be that person? God," she cringes, forehead wrinkling in agitation as she continues, "I don't know if he realizes I won't be with him if he's living that life."

Pinning Emma with a look, he asks, "Have you asked him what he wants for his future, Em?" She doesn't respond and that's answer enough. "Look, Killian is a complex guy. He's been hurt in the past and while that doesn't excuse the choices he's made, I at least understand now why he made those choices. People don't always make the best decisions when they're hurting, you know that."

She gives a half shrug, eyes still locked on her mug. David finds himself repeating Mary Margaret's words from that morning, hoping he's able to convey what Emma needs to hear.

"He didn't have a reason to believe he was worthy of any kind of future before he met you, but I think if you asked him now, he'd tell you he believes different, that he wants different. He's not the same man you met in August, Em. He has changed and I think you're a lot of the reason why. You've given him something he hasn't had in a long time - hope." He stands, moving to lift the half empty mug from her deathlike grip, patting her shoulder on his way past.

"Talk to him. You may be surprised by what he has to say."

She's quiet and he takes the opportunity to add one more suggestion. "I know this is all scary, especially because you're taking a risk with your heart, but if you think you can be happy with him, you owe it to yourself to take a leap of faith. And if you can't take that leap, be honest with yourself and with him about why. Don't blame it on the poor choices he's made in his past. That's not fair to either of you."

He hears her sniffling behind him and he knows he's hit a nerve. Keeping his back to her, he allows her some privacy while he sets a new pot of coffee to brew. When he finally turns back to her, he finds her features schooled and her emotions tucked away. He suspects they're done talking about her relationship with Killian and he gives an internal sigh of relief. He's really, really okay with ending his role as confidante for the day. He'll be sure to give Mary Margaret the highlights, so she can loop back with Emma if his advice hadn't been sound.

Glancing into the bullpen, he notices their prisoner has finally started to stir, his arms rising up above his head as he gives a stretch. Leroy, a man of questionable timing normally, makes his entrance at that moment, sending a nod of hello in their direction and making his way over to the couch in the bullpen. Plopping down on the cushions, he pulls his cap low over his forehead and lays his head back, clearly planning on taking a nap while David and Emma conduct their interrogation.

"How about we get started?" he asks, nodding to their prisoner.

"I'm bad cop. You're good cop." She confirms, pushing herself up from her chair. He can't remember the last time he's been so ramped up about an interrogation. This is it...the moment that may well break their investigation wide open. He's outwardly calm, but his stomach is tied in knots. As he moves to open the office door, he sees Emma pull out her cell phone, swiping her thumb across the screen and squinting down at it.

"Everything okay?" he asks, hand resting on the knob as he waits for her to finish up.

"Killian didn't text me back and he still hasn't responded to my voicemail." She bites her lip worriedly then shrugs, shoving the phone back into her pocket. "Maybe he's outside shoveling. He could be in the office, too. It has bad reception down there."

David gives a nod then opens the door. Emma follows him into the bullpen, Killian forgotten as their prey comes into focus.

---

Teach is lying on his side, facing the wall with one of the wool blankets they keep on the beds pulled up over his knees. Leroy grunts as Emma and he walk past, but makes no other move from the couch. Teach, on the other hand, starts to shift on the cot, slowly coming awake at the sound of their heels coming closer. David reaches for the keyring on his belt loop, unhooking it and jiggling the keys in the air.

"Rise and shine," he calls out in an annoying, sing song voice. Teach gives a startled snort then rolls over enough to peer blearily over his shoulder. David unlocks the door then pushes it open to step inside. Emma stays in the bullpen, arms crossed, lips pressed together in a disapproving line. It helps keep him calm, having her watching his back.

He contemplates offering her the position of Deputy permanently. She's already proven she can do the job and he trusts her explicitly. If she truly is serious about a new life after this investigation, perhaps he can convince her of the merits of starting that life in Storybrooke. Mary Margaret would love having her closer and with the new baby on the way, it would be wonderful to have Emma around to welcome the newest member of the family.

Setting his idea aside for further contemplation, he returns to the task at hand, watching Teach sit up in his makeshift bed. His dark, nondescript hair sticks up on one side, but he manages to smooth it down by raking his fingers through it. He has a thick beard, which he also smooths his hand over before looking up at David with bright blue eyes.

"It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Sheriff," he says, voice gravelly, his accent clipped. Glancing over David's shoulder at Emma, he smirks and calls out, "I can smell the coffee brewing from here, love. A cup wouldn't be remiss."

Emma snorts, mumbling something under her breath as she turns to fetch the coffee. David waits, hands on hips, his gun on prominent display in its holster. Emma brings the mug into the cell, handing it to Teach with a glare. He grunts a thanks and takes a sip, scrunching his nose before holding the mug back out to her.

"Little creamer, love?"

"Don't call me love," she snaps, ignoring his request and turning on her heel, her ponytail arcing through the air.

She exits the cell then stomps out of the bullpen to prep the interrogation room, her anger lingering in the air after her. Teach watches her leave, a smirk curling his lips before he turns back to David. The smirk falls away, annoyance replacing it as he props himself against the brick wall, coffee mug resting on his thigh.

"I fail to understand why I'm locked in the brig. I've done nothing wrong." There's a note of impudent disdain in the question and David cocks a brow, shooting a look at Teach that can only be described as incredulous.

He'd love nothing more than to grab the man by the neck of his black t-shirt and shake the answers they need out of him, but playing the role of affable, small town cop has been the key to his success in the past. So, despite his desire to shove the man against the wall and muscle him into a confession, he keeps his mouth shut, waiting for Emma to return.

When he hears her heels clicking over the floor, he gestures for Teach to get up. They don't have far to walk to get to the interrogation room, which is directly off the main corridor, but David claps a hand on his shoulder all the same. The man is not particularly tall, roughly David's height, but his shoulders are wide and his arms are corded with thick muscle. His t-shirt stretches over his torso, revealing well-defined pecks and abs. It almost feels like David is directing a battering ram into position, the power in the man's rolling gait unmistakable.

He seems completely unconcerned by his predicament and David wonders at that. If he were in Teach's shoes, he'd be fucking terrified. He was caught red-handed with stolen jewels and a body; they have him dead to rights on both counts. He's going to go away, for a long time and yet, he seems relaxed and amused by the whole situation.

Emma pushes open the door to the interrogation room, stepping inside. It's similar to every interrogation room David has ever been in; there's a metal table in the center with four metal chairs around it. There's a two-way mirror along one wall with a video camera on the other side, already set to record. On the middle of the table is a recording device and a plain manilla folder filled with the evidence they've collected against Teach so far.

Emma pulls out a chair for their suspect, waiting until he sits before moving around the table and choosing a seat for herself. Leaning forward, she flicks the recorder on, stating the date and time then asking Teach to give his full name and birthdate, which he does.

Official business done, Teach waves his hand around the room, sailing it through the air in a broad arc. "I love what you've done with the place, Sheriff. Makes your guests feel right at home, I would imagine."

"You're not our guest, Mr. Teach," David replies, pulling out the chair next to Emma and sitting. Crossing his arms over his chest, he sprawls his legs wide. He's the very image of genial and easygoing, the perfect counterpoint to Emma's bad tempered Deputy Jones.

"Why exactly are you keeping me here? I'm not under arrest, am I?"

"Not at the moment. You're our lead suspect in a homicide, though."

"A homicide?" Teach gasps, pulling a shocked and appalled face. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Deputy." Emma snorts, rolling her eyes in disbelief.

"So, you don't know anything about the body in the trunk of your car?" David asks.

"A body? Really?" he replies, his eyes wide in feigned innocence. "I had no idea." Emma twitches in her seat, the hand she has resting on the tabletop curling into a fist. Realizing she's giving herself away, she drops it into her lap to hide it. She gives David an imperceptible nod to signal that the man is lying.

Well, that hadn't taken long.

"Before we get started," David says, "do you want a lawyer present? As I said, you aren't under arrest, but you can request a lawyer to be here with you during our questioning."

Teach smirks, letting his gaze travel salaciously over Emma and then lets it touch briefly on David, obviously assessing them. Deciding they're no real threat to his freedom, he shakes his head and replies, "There's no need."

David feels a surge of adrenaline, the taste of iron coating his tongue at the dismissal. He keeps his face passive, thumbing at his wedding ring like a touchstone to keep him calm as Emma shifts beside him again.

"Alright then. Let's get started."

Emma reaches for the folder in the middle of the table, opening it and sliding the first of several photos onto the table. They'd been taken at the crash site this morning then printed out on photo paper. The first picture is of Teach's car from several feet away, the curve of a jacket covered shoulder appearing over the lip of the opened trunk. The next is a closer shot, the shoulder that had only been hinted at now clearly defined as well as a mass of dark hair. Teach watches as each photo is pushed closer, his interest keen although he tries to appear detached.

Emma slides the next photo out then the next, pushing aside the recording device to make room for each new image. The last is the most gruesome; it's an extreme close up of a woman's face, her hair swept aside and revealing a smear of dark red high on her cheekbone - blood. She's beautiful even in death and David feels a twinge of regret over such a pointless loss of life.

"You have no idea who this woman is?" Emma asks, her eyes trained on Teach's face. "Or how her body came to be in your car?"

Teach flicks his gaze to the first picture, reaching forward to brush his fingertips along the bottom edge of the photo before sliding his fingers along the edges of the rest, forcing them all into a perfect line. Raising his hand, he hovers over the last image and looks into Emma's demanding gaze.

"The car isn't mine, Deputy. I borrowed it from a friend." Tapping a finger down onto the curve of Milah's cheek, he then pushes the photo back towards Emma and says, "And I have no idea who she is."

"I find that hard to believe," Emma says, tilting her head to the side. "Her name is Milah Gold. She's the wife of your employer." Giving a pause for effect, Emma pushes the photo back into place beside the others. "Now, take another look, Mr. Teach. Still don't know who she is?"

Teach glances down at the photo, leaning forward and squinting before raising his eyes back to Emma. He's apparently rethought his strategy on denying that he knows Milah. David wonders if he's also rethinking his strategy on requesting a lawyer, but it's early still. His confidence isn't that shaken. "I didn't recognize her. Yes, I know her," he finally acknowledges. "Has Mr. Gold been informed?"

David is the one to answer, pulling Teach's attention to him. "Mr. Gold has been informed, yes. He'll be interested to know you were in possession of his wife's body, don't you think?" Teach seems unconcerned about this and David continues. "We've been wanting to speak with you for a long time, Mr. Teach. You're a hard man to track down."

"I had business in Canada," he replies nonchalantly. He looks at Emma, his gaze trailing over her chest salaciously before he adds, "I'd have hurried back if I'd known you were looking for me, though, love. You are so much more appealing than the last Deputy. What was his name? Graham?"

Emma presses her lips together in annoyance, her cheeks reddening. Teeth flashing white against his dark beard, Teach leans in close and in a low, teasing voice says, "I'd heard that Deputy Graham was smitten with a blonde when he was alive. Would that be you? Blondie?"

"Did you know Deputy Humbert, Mr. Teach?" she asks, anger simmering beneath the surface as she ignores his question.

Teach merely smirks, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his blue eyes sparkle at Emma. The air in the room crackles with energy, Teach and Emma staring into each other's eyes and taking each other's measure. David stays silent. He knows his calm and unthreatening demeanor will allow him to fade into the background from here on out. They'll be so focused on each other, he'll be allowed to observe Teach and discover all of his tells.

It won't be long now, he thinks, settling in to watch the show.

---

Emma's agitation with Teach's lies vibrate through her slight body like electricity running through a live wire. She doesn't bother to hide it either, cheeks reddening and hands balled up into fists on the tabletop. Methodical with her questions, she repeats them numerous times to see if she can get him to slip up and give a different answer. It's a tried and true interrogation technique and while they don't actually expect him to make such a rookie mistake, she tries anyway. If nothing else, it provides David with a baseline of Teach's temperament. He's relaxed and indifferent during most of the questioning, but whenever Emma brings up Gold's name, his lies increase and his agitation grows. When Emma once again returns to the matter of Milah and whether or not Teach had been aware of her body in the trunk of his car for what feels like the hundredth time, Teach insists once again that the vehicle was borrowed.

They decide to break for twenty minutes to confirm his statement, both of them needing a breather. Leaving Teach alone in the interrogation room, Emma and David exit to the bullpen. Leroy is where they'd left him. He lifts his head when he hears the interrogation room door shut, sending a curious look to both of them. Emma heads for the restroom while David enters his office to look up the vehicle's registration, confirming that the car does indeed belong to someone other than Teach. Probably one of the workers on the dock, a lackey that Teach can use to divert attention away from him.

He refills Teach's mug then grabs a packet of pop tarts from the stash Emma keeps in her desk. She joins David at the door to the interrogation room, her phone in hand. She frowns as David approaches, eyes on the lit screen.

"Killian still hasn't texted me back," she says, glancing up at him. She catches sight of the silver packet in his hand and scowls. "Really?"

"I'll buy you another box," he says, regarding the pop tarts. "Killian's probably working through some stuff right now."

"I guess. It's just...it's not like him," she replies, shoving her phone back into her jeans.

"What do you think about Teach?" David asks, jerking his head toward the interrogation room. Emma gives him a grim smile.

"The only true thing he's said the entire time we've been in there is that the car isn't his. The rest of the time he's been lying through his teeth. Do you see how agitated he gets when I mention Gold?"

"Yeah." Emma grins and David grins back. "Time to up the Gold factor, you think?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely." She shoots David a pointedly disgruntled look at the pop tarts, before turning to push open the door to the interrogation room. David follows her inside, setting the coffee and food in front of Teach. Can't have their "guest" complaining about their treatment of him while in custody.

"What? No donuts?" Teach asks condescendingly. Emma scowls, dragging her metal chair across the floor to produce a horrible screech. She plops down, crossing her arms petulantly over her chest then glares at Teach.

They start again, Emma's questions on repeat and Teach's answers never changing. He tries to goad her as often as he can and Emma reacts each time with quick verbal jabs back. It's as they'd planned, Teach growing more and more relaxed, seeing Emma as nothing more than an inexperienced cop with a short fuse, ill-suited to bringing down a villainous mastermind such as himself.

And David, as planned, is nothing more than a quiet observer, Teach ignoring him completely.

Emma's asking yet again about why Teach was driving out of town at four in the morning when David's phone buzzes in his pocket. He slips it out discreetly, swiping his thumb across the screen to open an email from the coroner. He confirms that the cause of death was a single gunshot to the heart. David reads quickly through the report, noting that trace evidence was lifted from the body and sent off for additional testing.

Testing that will take weeks complete.

The coroner also confirms that Gold had finally arrived and identified the body definitively as his wife's. Not only that, but the man is on his way to the police station now to speak with David about the circumstances of her death. David bites back a grin, knowing that Gold's presence here will only help this interrogation. He clears his throat and both Emma and Teach glance over at him as if surprised he's still in the room.

Setting the phone on the table, he gives Teach a smile and says, "Did Mr. Gold order you to kill his wife? Were the jewels we found your payment?"

The question, dropped so casually into the middle of the conversation, takes Teach off guard and he blinks, a muscle twitching near his temple. Emma shifts in her seat, but says nothing, waiting for his response.

"It's no use lying, Edward," David prompts. When Teach doesn't respond, he reaches for the closed manilla folder in the middle of the table and extracts several sheets of paper - bank statements. "Do you know what these are?" he asks.

Teach glances at the documents, his brow furrowing as he reads. "It's my bank account information."

"Yep," Emma says smugly. "We've had your accounts under surveillance for a while now. Ever since you left town, actually."

"How is that legal?" Teach asks, eyes narrowing.

"When you're the primary suspect in a smuggling ring, it's very legal."

"Primary suspect? You have quite the imagination, Deputy."

"Imagination has nothing to do with it. We have a reliable witness who is willing to testify against you in court. Testify about the contents of your bank accounts and how you came by such wealth. Wealth that coincidently increased with several thefts in town."

"I'm a hard working man, Deputy. What would this witness be testifying to, exactly?"

"He's willing to give the dates and times of a weekly poker game. A game during which you regularly conduct your business, overseeing an international crime syndicate that calls Storybrooke home." David delivers the information smoothly, keeping the thrill of excitement from his words when he sees Teach pull back in surprise.

"It's his word against mine. I'm sure I can find witnesses of my own to testify to the opposite, Sheriff," Teach declares, shrugging off any concern. Emma smiles sweetly.

"He's not the only one willing to testify against you, Mr. Teach," David continues. "We have another witness who is more than willing to inform the court that you've been blackmailing him for months. You've threatened his livelihood, ordered him to smuggle contraband up and down the eastern seaboard. Contraband like what we found on your person today." Teach lifts a brow at this and Emma's smile expands.

"And Milah Gold gave you up before her death, but then again, you're already aware of that, aren't you? I assume her confession is why she's dead," Emma says, sliding one of the photos of Milah's body closer to Teach, her eyes never leaving his face.

Silence descends between the three of them, Teach locking eyes with Emma, a hint of panic in them. Realizing that he may be giving more away than he means to, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his shoulders and arms flexing with the movement.

"You have no proof I'm involved in any of this," Teach states firmly, his voice belying the worry in his eyes. Emma leans a little closer, giving him a saucy grin.

"Milah's conversation was recorded. And our witnesses are hidden away where no one can find them. Besides," she says, leaning back in her chair and giving a nonchalant shrug, "there's the matter of your employer and what he'll be saying about you to keep himself out of jail."

If the room had been quiet before, it's nothing to the silence that descends now. Teach's eyes widen and he glances over at David. The blood has drained from his face and he looks sick to his stomach. Flicking his gaze back to Emma, he opens his mouth to respond when there's a curt knock at the door. David and Emma share a look and David stands, moving to the door and pulling it open to reveal Leroy.

"Sorry to interrupt, boss, but there's a Mr. Gold to see you. Said he has information to give you about his wife." Leroy delivers the line perfectly (almost as if coached), jerking his chin back towards where Gold waits with his lawyer. They're still standing in the foyer, dusting snow off their shoulders and David has to bite back a grin, knowing that to get to his office, Gold will have to walk right past this room.

It couldn't be any more perfect.

"Thanks, Leroy. Take them to my office?" Leroy does just that, leading both men past the interrogation room. As he saunters past, Gold peers into the room and David watches as abject terror fill Teach's eyes when their gazes catch and hold.

Gotcha ya.

---

Closing the door with a definitive click, David follows Gold into his office. Leroy had ushered the two men inside, offering them coffee and then exiting back to the bullpen when they both declined. Moving behind his desk, David gestures for both men to sit down.

"Mr. Gold, I'm sorry for your loss." David says. Gold's face staying impassive before he gives a mighty sigh, almost like an afterthought and bobs his head before saying, "I thank you for that, Sheriff. I've come to find out what leads you have in her death."

"I'm sorry, but I can't discuss an ongoing investigation."

"I hope you know I will stop at nothing to find the person responsible for her death." The cold tone of Gold's voice sets David on edge. There's no emotion coming off the man. If his own wife had died, David would be inconsolable, but Gold merely stares across the desktop at him. This visit feels like a formality, a simple nod to propriety and nothing more.

All for the sake of appearances.

"And I hope you know that I won't stop either. I can promise you that."

"Is the man you have back there a suspect?" Gold asks, tilting his head toward the interrogation room.

"I'm sorry, but I can't comment on that," David replies.

They stare at each other for another moment, but the conversation is a stalemate. He informs Gold that he'll be in touch; he has questions about Milah and who might want to hurt her. Gold agrees to be available whenever David needs him. The lawyer hands over a business card, which David takes and drops into the top drawer of his desk. All three of them stand, shaking hands and then David escorts them back to the front door, thanking Gold for his cooperation...loudly enough that Teach can hear him through the open door of the interrogation room.

He returns to the interrogation room, checking his watch. The meeting took all of twenty minutes, if that - more than enough time for Teach to crack under pressure. He schools his face and steps back into the room with a triumphant smile.

Knowing that he has to tread lightly, he slips back into his chair, eyes locked on Teach. David's not sure what Emma has said while he was gone, but the man is completely white and there's a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. His blue eyes have lost all vibrancy and he stares hard at David, his forehead wrinkled in apprehension.

"I know all about it, Teach. I know everything."

"What did he tell you?" Teach demands, not bothering to hide his panic. Killian was right - a man who leads with fear gains no loyalty. David also realizes that a man who lives in fear will believe the worst in those who have oppressed him with little evidence to support that. David bites back a grin and leans into the table, leveling an intense stare at Teach, knowing that what he says will dictate everything that happens next.

"That's not how this goes. You know that. The question isn't what Gold told me...it's how much do you trust your boss not to give me everything I need to put you away for a very, very, very long time." He finally lets the smile he's been holding back split his face nearly in half. "The question is how much are you willing to share to convince me that you aren't the mastermind behind this whole organization, but that he is."

There's a beat, a pause during which Teach thinks over all this and then he opens his mouth and breaks the investigation open wide.

---

Teach has been talking for hours, giving them dates and times, locations and crimes, telling them all they need to know to bring down Gold for good. They let him talk with little interruption, asking the occasional question for clarification. The man is more than willing to give it all up to save his own ass.

He confirms that Gold was the one who pulled the trigger to kill Milah. Just like Killian had worn a wire during their conversation, Milah had worn one as well. She hadn't been aware of it, of course, believing that Gold trusted her after all these years. The wire had been sown into the collar of her coat and Teach confirms that if they inspect what she'd been found wearing, they'll discover the hidden pocket with the wire still hidden inside.

Not trusting his wife, Gold had followed her to the harbor, listening in on her conversation with Killian. Teach had been with him, returned to Storybrooke for this very meeting and sitting on the sidelines while Milah retrieved the jewels instead.

"It was a test," Teach tells them, eyes glittering with dark humor. "She failed."

Gold shot her as soon as she was in the parking lot, taking particular joy in killing her before her ex-lover. Teach confirmed that the gun was at the bottom of the harbor, thrown there after he'd collected Milah's body and the jewels, both of which he was told to dispose of as quickly as possible.

That's the last of his confession, his head dropping to his chest in defeat. Emma shifts in her seat, leaning forward and staring into his face.

"And Graham?" she asks. He looks up, quirks a brow, but says nothing as she stares back at him. "Did you kill Graham or was it Gold?"

A dark shadow passes over Teach's face. He slowly leans forward, tilting his head, his hand splayed out over the tabletop. David stands, suddenly very aware that their "guest" is not cuffed and while he's been docile so far, that could change at any time. Emma seems to realize that as well, pushing herself away from the table and earning an eerie smirk from Teach.

"You should ask your husband what happened to Deputy Graham, Blondie. Left him alone in that big cottage by the water, didn't you? Probably not your finest decision given how lax security is out there."

"What do you mean?" Emma asks, the question coming out an octave too low, blood draining from her face. Teach laughs, long and hard, his eyes filling with tears as he observes her panic.

David moves around the table, placing his hand on Teach's shoulder to restrain him at the same time he takes the cuffs off his belt. He starts to read Teach his Miranda Rights, the cuffs clicking into place as he does so. Once both hands have been restrained, he turns Teach toward the door, starting to walk him back to his cell when he suddenly jerks out of David's grasp and slams his hands down on the table, right in front of Emma. Before David has the opportunity to pull him back he leans forward, getting as close to Emma's face as he can.

With a sadistic grin on his lips, he says, "You should be more careful what you do in front of your windows at night with the lights on, Blondie. Anybody could be watching." He gives her a wink, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip before he tips his head back and begins to laugh again.

Emma recoils, shoving her chair back from the table as Teach straightens. David claps his hands on his shoulders, shouting for Leroy who appears quickly in the doorway. Both men escort Teach to his cell and when David turns from locking him away, he finds Emma in the bullpen, yanking on her jacket.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to get to Killian. Something's wrong."

"Em, he was just pulling your chain. Killian's fine."

"No, he's not. I've had this weird feeling all day and he..." Glancing over at Teach, she blanches, cheeks coming over red. "He was at the cottage last night, watching us. Or someone else was and told him what they saw." She doesn't elaborate further, but he can tell by the flush on her cheeks and the way she won't meet his eyes that whatever had happened, it was supposed to a private moment between her and Killian.

"That doesn't mean he's in danger now, Em," David says, trying to soothe her. He reaches out, gripping her upper arms to get her to calm down. Breaking free, she moves to the bars of the jail cell, grabbing onto them and staring in at Teach as he sprawls out on the cot.

"Who's at the cottage with Killian?" Teach simply grins at her, shoving both hands behind his head. Emma yanks on the cell bars in frustration and makes one final attempt to get information from him. "Is he dead?"

The grin expands on Teach's face and David can tell by the way his eyes glitter that he's taking his last advantage of her agitation.

"I've kept you occupied here for a very long time, Deputy. I would imagine that by now he is quite dead."

---

Emma tears out of the station with David at her heels, shouting orders at Leroy. He manages to shove his arms into his winter coat as he steps outside into near whiteout conditions. The second storm in two days has arrived and he can already tell that this one is much worse than the first. The snow swirls around them and a biting wind hits them in the face as they lurch over to his truck. He gets the doors open and they both leap inside. Shoving the key in the ignition, he glances at Emma and his stomach lurches at the sheer panic on her face.

"What the hell is going on, Em?" he asks, cursing when the truck stalls out at his first attempt to start it. Shoving the clutch all the way to the floor, he throws it into reverse.

"Something's wrong. What Teach said...about the security being lax at the cottage and the window..."

"What the hell did any of that mean?" he asks, pulling onto the main road and not bothering to slow down.

"God, can't you go any faster?"

"Not unless you want us to die in a fiery crash," he replies curtly. Despite his response, he presses down on the accelerator, hoping that the tires will keep them from careering off the road into a ditch. The going is slow, but luckily, there aren't other cars out and he's able to drive down the center of the road for the most part.

They're coming along the last bend in the road before the cottage's driveway when he hits the black ice. There's no screeching tires or metal grinding on metal, only a hoarse shout as he loses control and skids off the road with enough force to throw him into the driver's side door. He hits his head, lights popping in his vision as glass breaks around him. Emma screams his name and then all is silent, cold wind seeping in through the cracked windshield.

He's been knocked out, but he comes to fairly quickly. Emma is moving around in her seat beside him and he hears the click of her seatbelt as she releases it and shuffles over to him on her knees.

"David? David!"

"I'm okay. I'm okay." He opens his eyes, wincing when he looks up into her terrified face. "You okay?"

"I...I think so." She fumbles for her phone, quickly dialing 911 and telling the operator where they are. David tries to move, becoming cognizant of a pain in his leg, roughly around his knee.

"Shit," he mutters when he realizes his leg is pinned by the steering wheel column. He doesn't know how it happened, but the damned thing dropped down during the crash and is now stuck on his knee. "Shit!"

"Let me look," Emma demands, turning her phone's flashlight on before shining it at him. It's easy to see that the steering wheel column has indeed fallen out of its normally locked position and the impact from the crash had shoved David's leg into an odd spot so that when it fell, it fell directly on him.

She can't lift the steering wheel back into place, no matter how hard she tries and they both realize at the same moment that he truly is stuck. With her eyes widening in horror, she whispers, "I have to get to the cottage. Will you...will you be okay out here?"

"Em, Killian's fine. Teach was only trying to rile you up back there. Don't let him get in your head."

"That's just it, David. I know when people are lying." Her lip trembles, tears filling her eyes as she grips his hand in hers. "He wasn't lying when he said that Killian was dead."

She swallows hard, blinking back her tears.

"Will you be okay on your own?"

"The ambulance is on the way. Once they get me sorted, I'll send them to you. I'll call Leroy and send him out to you as backup, okay?"

"You sure?"

"Go, Em. Go!" She leans over and presses a kiss to his forehead then turns for the passenger side door. Her gun is at her hip and he sees the butt of it glint in the cab's overhead light as she shoves open her door and jumps to the ground. Sending him one more frightened glance, she slams the door behind her and begins to run, her ponytail bouncing over her shoulders, disappearing into the swirling snow seconds later.

Alone, his head and knee throbbing, David prays, begging any god that will listen for it not to end like this.

"Please...not like this."

---

Oh My God. This chapter has been an absolute beast to write. Writer's block has kicked my ass for weeks. A lot happens in this chapter, even though Emma and Killian aren't together for any of it. But several major plot points hit all at once, including Teach's capture. I should add that I am not a police officer or a lawyer, so there's probably a lot that's wrong with this chapter in terms of procedure and law. I did my best, but it was more about the plot than the facts.