Merry Christmas to all of those celebrating this week!
As the music faded out, Emma threw her arms up to bring a halt to things before she bent over, dropping both hands down to her knees as she tried to control her breathing.
With her stadium tour beginning the next month, she'd thrown herself back into dance rehearsals as a way to try and distract herself from the shit-show that was currently her life. Dancing had never come easily to her, so she'd been working on the choreography for the tour for months now. But with everything that had happened recently, Emma had found herself stepping away from rehearsals – and it had definitely shown.
"I just need a minute," she told Kristoff, when he shot her a worried look. "I've been out of the game for far too long."
"That's why you've gotta push past this," he told her, clapping his hands together like a drill sergeant. "Feel the burn and use it to motivate yourself to keep going. You won't be able to take ten-minute breaks between songs on stage."
One of her dancers handed Emma a cool bottle of water and she downed half of it in one long pull before straightening back up again. Kristoff was right – she really needed to push past all of the aches and pains she could feel developing in her legs at that moment, if she had any hope of nailing these sets before opening night. But that didn't stop a small part of her brain from telling her to give up and collapse on the floor.
"Just let me check my messages," she told her choreographer, before turning away to head for the spot where she'd left her bag earlier that morning.
Ever since their argument the week before, Emma had been expecting a call or a message or something from Ariel, going over the plans she had for the following week. When Monday had come and gone without a word from her assistant, Emma had debated sending a message of her own, but had ultimately decided that she would rather wait for Ariel to reach out to her. Tuesday and Wednesday both crawled by without any communications from the other woman, and Emma had begun to worry that when she did finally hear from her assistant, it would be in the form of a resignation notice. So on Thursday morning, she'd sucked up her pride and hit dial on Ariel's number, mentally preparing herself to grovel for her friend's forgiveness.
Emma's call had gone straight to voicemail.
Since then, she'd placed three more calls, sent four emails, and dozens of text messages. She'd just been steeling her nerves to call Agent Jones and tell him what had happened, when her phone had finally chimed with a message from her assistant on Saturday evening. Ariel had told her that she wasn't feeling well and would be in touch when she felt better. So Emma had wished her friend a speedy recovery and left it at that.
But it hadn't stopped her from checking her phone regularly for updates from her friend. She was far too used to receiving dozens a day from Ariel, even if she didn't have anything planned. So seeing her screen blank again that morning left Emma feeling uneasy in a way that she'd never really experienced before.
"Okay, I'm ready to go again," she declared, shaking off that feeling as she tossed the half-empty bottle of water on top of her jacket in the corner of the room, and then made her way back onto the studio floor.
"Set six, people. Quickly please," Kristoff called out, as Emma was handed a microphone and took her mark in the middle of the group. "And in three, two, one…" Kristoff hit the button to fill the room with one of Emma's biggest selling singles, and she did her best to remember the moves that had been choreographed for the routine, as the dancers around her instantly jumped into action.
When Kristoff finally called a break for lunch, a part of Emma felt like she could cry with the relief that flooded her system. She'd been on her feet all morning, dancing around a studio in Los Angeles, and she was already well and truly exhausted. Unfortunately, her schedule was starting to fill quickly, so she didn't have the time to rest like she really wanted. Instead, Emma took a quick shower to wash away the sweat from her body and then changed into a simple white sheath dress with cherries printed on it, and a pair of red ankle-strap heels, before she headed for the exit.
Regina had called over the weekend with a request to meet for lunch sometime soon, to discuss a proposal that had come across her desk. Emma knew that if she didn't make time for her lawyer at the start of her week, she'd probably never find the time to squeeze the appointment into her schedule before she hit the road for her tour.
So while her troop of dancers ordered salads and sandwiches for lunch, Emma's driver took her to one of the fanciest restaurants in the city, for what would likely be one of the least enjoyable meals of her month.
"There you are," Regina greeted, standing from her seat in a private area of the restaurant to press a kiss to her client's cheek. "You look better than the last time I saw you."
"Well, it's amazing what full coverage foundation can do for a girl," Emma teased, as she dropped down into her seat and ordered a glass of water from the waiter. She really wished she could have ordered a large glass of Chardonnay, but with the hours she still had left in the rehearsal studio, Emma knew that it wouldn't be a wise idea.
Both women made polite small talk as the waiter took their orders and left to fetch their drinks. It was only when they had their appetizers in front of them that Regina finally got to the reason for their meeting that day.
"So, I've had Sony movies reach out to me. They're in the middle of filming for what they anticipate will be a huge blockbuster piece when it's released next year, and they're looking for a current and successful recording artist to pen a theme for it. Their first choice was, naturally, you."
"They want me to write something for their film?"
"Write, perform, and record it," Regina told her, clearly far more excited about the commission she'd get from landing her client such a role, than Emma was about the job itself. But it didn't take her long to pick up on the younger woman's reluctance. "What's this?" she asked. "What's with the face? This is a huge thing, Emma. It'll get you exposure to a group of consumers that maybe would have written off your work before. Most artists jump at these opportunities."
"Yeah, well… I'm not most artists," she sighed, pushing her food around her plate. Logically, she knew that Regina was right. This was a huge opportunity for her to expand her already large fanbase. But Emma also knew that she wasn't in the proper headspace to write anything at the present time, let alone a song based on someone else's inspiration. "I just don't think it'll be possible in their timeframe," she finally explained. "You said this movie's already filming, right?"
Regina nodded her head in agreement, but Emma spoke again before her lawyer could say anything. "So the studio will probably aim to release it this time next year. That gives me less than a year to write and record something for them. Something they approve of. I don't think it'll happen, Regina. I think they're better off taking their proposal to someone else."
"I knew I should have brought Ariel with me," the lawyer huffed good-naturedly.
"Have you uh… have you heard from Ariel recently?" Emma asked, playing with the last scallop on her plate.
"I saw her a couple of days ago," Regina replied, between sips of her wine. "She looked absolutely dreadful. Poor thing must have caught that flu virus that seems to be going around. I thought you knew that?"
"Oh, I did," Emma assured her. "I just um… I didn't know if she was using that as an excuse to avoid me."
"Why? Because of your little tiff?"
Emma's eyes shot up to meet her lawyer's and Regina smirked knowingly.
"I'm your lawyer, Emma. Ariel tells me about anything she thinks might pose a problem for you. Including your interest in an older man who works for the FBI." Her voice dropped a little and she appeared to lean in closer, as she asked in a harsh whisper, "Do I really need to tell you that if this man is connected to the case that you're involved in, you could cost him his job by pursuing a relationship with him?"
Emma reeled back in her seat as Regina's words washed over her. How could she have been so stupid? Of course she wasn't misreading Special Agent Jones's interest in her. She didn't think she was, given the not-so-subtle way he'd checked her out on a number of different occasions. But there were always those old insecurities, buried at the back of her mind, that would rear their ugly heads to remind her that she hadn't ever been good enough for anyone throughout her childhood, so why should that have changed now that she was an adult?
However, after hearing Regina explain the consequences of her actions to her, Emma was pretty certain that Special Agent Jones was attracted to her. He had simply rejected her to protect his career. And after realizing that, she now felt even worse about the way she'd kicked him out of her home the week before. The poor guy had probably been intending to explain his rejection to her, until she'd stormed out of the room and demanded that he leave.
She owed so many people in her life apologies for the way she'd been behaving recently, and Emma really wasn't the best at apologizing to anyone.
"There's uh… nothing is going on between me and Agent Jones," she confidently assured Regina, because it was the truth. After all, her lawyer didn't need to know that she'd tried to make something happen - and had failed spectacularly at it.
"I should hope not. Ariel and I do not need to be cleaning up the fallout from that mess. Not only would you become known as the woman who lost a decorated agent his job, but if he is connected to this case that you've involved yourself in, then you could also jeopardize the entire investigation. I'm not sure there would be anything even we could do to fix that mess."
"I didn't involve myself in this," Emma threw back, but Regina looked like she wasn't listening. "And why would I be jeopardizing the investigation? Even if we did sleep together – and we haven't - it's not like it would change anything."
Regina looked like she'd just heard the most stupid sentence spoken in the history of time - and to her, she probably had. She finished off the rest of her appetizer and set her knife and fork down primly before she turned her attention back to her client.
"Sleeping with a key witness in an investigation of this nature brings his credibility into question. A judge could, and probably would, throw out an entire case built against someone if that were to happen. And it would also bring into question his credibility and ethics for any other investigation he's been a part of. So I don't care how much you wanna jump on him, Emma. You stay the hell away from that man, do you understand me? You were the one who decided to involve yourself in all of this and now you're going to have to follow my rules if you wanna come out of it with your reputation intact."
Emma swallowed the last of her appetizer heavily as she considered everything that Regina had just said. As much as she was attracted to Special Agent Jones, she now understood why there could never be anything more than a tentative friendship between the two of them. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin his reputation with the bureau, or risk letting this killer walk free. She was already struggling under the weight of the guilt she carried for the deaths of so many innocent people. Destroying their families' chance at justice and ruining Agent Jones's life in the process, would probably be the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.
So Emma made a promise to herself as their waiter cleared away their dishes that afternoon. When she called Special Agent Jones to apologize to him later that week, she would make it perfectly clear that she understood the risks associated with her actions and reassure him that nothing like that Friday evening's events would ever happen again. From that moment on, she would make sure that all of her interactions with the man were purely about the investigation she'd been drawn into, so that nobody could use them against either him or the case he was building.
She just needed to get through the rest of her lunch meeting and the day's rehearsals before that could happen.
"Morning," David greeted, as he watched his friend shrug out of his jacket and hang it by the door, before he rounded the desk to take a seat. "How did it go?"
"The whole thing was about as much fun as being repeatedly kicked in the balls," Killian sighed, dropping his head into his hands. He'd spent the morning trying to explain to the mother of one of their victims why her daughter's body had not yet been released for burial. It had been draining in a way that very few other aspects of his job could ever achieve. The entire experience had been so exhausting that he'd somehow found himself driving past a liquor store on his way back to the office. Thankfully, traffic in the area had been moving freely (which was almost unheard of for Los Angeles) so he hadn't had the time to consider stopping outside of it.
"Please tell me that you're here because you have something for me," he begged, trying to rid his mind of that old darkness before it could take hold.
"I have something, but you're not gonna like it." David slid a file across the table and Killian didn't hesitate to snatch it up and flick through the contents of it. "We finished checking out everyone with regular access to Emma Swan's home. Every single person has an alibi for at least one of our times of death."
"Fuck," Killian cursed, slamming the file back down on his desk. "Any progress on finding her parents at all? Or with the ticket sales?"
"We're struggling to find any record of an Emma Swan existing before she turned eighteen. It's quite possible that she changed her name at some point in time and because she was a minor, those records are sealed. But we'll keep working on it."
Killian nodded his head in understanding. He didn't know much about Emma's past, but it wouldn't have surprised him at all to find out that she'd changed her name when fame became a regular part of her life.
"As for the sales… we had to get a warrant for the ticket hosting site to release the information to us, but they gave us around thirty names that had booked for more than one date. According to them, it's not all that unusual. They see a lot of music fans booking everything they can for their favorite artists. Out of the names we've got, seven live outside of the country, so we can confidently rule them out. And the team has spoken with eight more, none of which have visited Los Angeles this year. We're still running down the other names on the list, but if it keeps going this way, I don't think we'll get anything from it."
"So we're back at square one," Killian sighed.
"Square two, maybe?" David argued, trying to give them some kind of hope for their investigation. "At least now we know that Emma Swan is connected to all of this somehow. And when we figure out why, I bet we'll figure out who's behind all of this."
"Yeah. Our killer couldn't have been obsessed with a reclusive author, could he?"
"That would make it too easy," David scoffed, as he pushed himself back to his feet. "I'm gonna go and see if the team has had any more luck with the rest of the ticket sales."
Killian nodded his head to show that he'd heard what David had said. He then busied himself with pulling his gun and badge from his hip, and tossed them down into the top drawer of his desk, before reaching out to turn on his computer.
But David's soft, "Hey, Killian?" had him looking back up to meet his friend's concerned gaze once more. "Do you wanna come over for dinner tonight?" he asked suddenly.
David wasn't stupid. He could see that familiar darkness tainting the edges of his friend's eyes, and if he could do anything to pull him away from that, David would do whatever it took. (Even if his wife was likely to slap him when she found out about his offer, because she wasn't prepared for dinner guests.)
Killian gave the other man a small smile of thanks before he shook his head. "Maybe another time? I uh… I have somewhere I need to be tonight."
David had a feeling that he knew where that somewhere was, but he wasn't going to make things awkward for his friend by asking about it. "Okay. Well, you know where we are if you change your mind," he offered instead, before finally turning to head back to his own desk.
He hoped like hell that the team would catch a break in their case soon, before the case ended up breaking his best friend.
"Hi, my name's Jan and I'm an alcoholic."
Killian joined the chorus of voices that chanted back the words, "Hi, Jan."
It had been a while since he'd attended a meeting. At the start of his recovery, he'd made time for at least two a week, to help him stay on top of his demons. But as the weeks had become months, and the months had faded into years, his life and his job had become more important. And that desire to reach for a bottle had all-but vanished.
However, he'd been struggling with those demons long enough to recognize the early warning signs - and that was exactly what had happened to him that morning. For anyone else, taking a route back that involved driving past a liquor store would have been harmless. For Killian, it was a sign that his control over this illness was slipping, and he was determined to wrestle it back before he relapsed completely.
So when the group fell silent once more after hearing from Jan, and the guy in charge asked if anyone else wished to share with them that evening, Killian tentatively raised his hand.
"Hi, I'm Killian and I'm an alcoholic."
"Hi, Killian."
He took a moment to consider his words before he spoke again. "I've been sober now for almost five years," he told the group, and lifted his head to meet the eyes of those sending him warm smiles. "Some days are easier than others, but I'm working on something at the moment that is… it's draining. It's soul-destroying. And every day that passes without a resolution crushes me that little bit more. So many people are relying on me to solve this problem right now and I have… nothing. Every avenue I explore comes up empty and normally, that wouldn't frustrate me as much as it does. But far too much hinges on this and every time I come up empty-handed, I feel my control slip that little bit more."
There were some nods of understanding from the rest of the group, and Killian appreciated that these people weren't just pretending to understand what he was going through. They actually knew how difficult every day could be when you were in recovery.
"I drove past a liquor store today on my way back to the office. I didn't need to go that way. I don't usually go that way. But today I did. And that's why I'm here tonight. Because I am not letting those demons claim me again. Not without putting up one hell of a fight. So um… thanks for listening."
There was a small murmur of agreement from the rest of the group before their leader thanked Killian for sharing and asked if anyone else had anything to say. When the group remained silent, he began winding things down.
Much like everyone else, Killian stayed behind to drink a cup of awful coffee and munch on a stale doughnut that had been set out, after helping to clear away the chairs. It might have been months since he'd been to a meeting, but he fell back into the old routine easily enough.
"Hi, I'm Jan," came a familiar voice to his left, and Killian turned to offer the woman a small smile and his own name.
"Five years is pretty impressive," she told him. "I've not yet made it past my first."
"The first year is always the hardest," Killian assured her. "But it's never truly easy. You never really stop being an alcoholic, no matter how long you've been sober."
The woman nodded her head in understanding and fidgeted a little with her own polystyrene coffee cup. She had just lifted her head to ask, "Do you -" when she was abruptly cut off by the sound of Killian's cellphone ringing.
"Sorry," he apologized, and flicked a glance down to the screen. When he saw the word DISPATCH written across it, he sighed before explaining, "It's work. I'm gonna have to take this in private," and then headed for a small back room.
"Jones," he answered, when he had the door firmly shut behind himself.
"Special Agent Jones, the LAPD has requested your presence at the scene of a one-eight-seven."
Killian sighed as he scrubbed a harsh hand over his face. He'd been waiting for the call ever since their last body had dropped. As much as he hadn't wanted it to come, he knew it eventually would. "Text me the location."
"Already sent," the handler assured him, before disconnecting the line.
Killian hadn't even managed to lock his phone before it began to ring again.
Emma was almost ready to collapse as her driver navigated the rush-hour traffic in Los Angeles on Friday evening. It had been a long week of non-stop rehearsals, but she finally felt like she was in the right frame of mind for the tour that was rapidly approaching. And her fitness levels seemed to be improving by the day.
As her driver turned onto her street, Emma could make out the familiar vehicle that contained one of the agents watching over her home, and she sagged further into the leather of the car seat. While she hadn't yet worked up the courage to call Agent Jones and apologize for what had happened, she was relieved to see that a week after she'd kicked him out of her life, he was still providing her with some protection.
Thankfully, the other relationship she needed to repair seemed to be going a little better. Emma still hadn't seen Ariel since the night of their argument, but as Ariel had begun to recover from a nasty bout of flu, she'd started replying to Emma's messages and calls. While she still wasn't completely recovered, she'd managed to do most of her job from her bed, with the help of her smartphone and tablet.
Neither one of the women had mentioned the argument they'd had, but Emma felt like Ariel's messages to her had warmed in tone slightly as the week had progressed, and they were back to interacting as they normally did. That hadn't stopped Emma from promising herself that she would apologize properly to her assistant when she saw her next, however. Ariel had been with her since the very beginning of her career. The woman deserved a proper apology.
As the car rolled to a stop in her driveway, Emma offered her thanks to the driver and gingerly climbed out of the vehicle, before making her way towards the front door.
Once inside her home, she dropped her gym bag to the floor and kicked off her shoes, before heading for the staircase. She knew that she'd need a shower to soothe her aching muscles, if she had any hopes of getting out of bed the following morning. And if she crashed on the couch before she took one, she probably wouldn't move for the rest of the night.
When she was wrapped up in a fluffy yellow robe, with her damp hair curling around her shoulders, Emma made her way back downstairs and headed for her kitchen, intending to make herself a light dinner and grab a soda. But she stopped dead when her eyes caught on a brown box sitting in the middle of her coffee table.
She'd recognize the size and shape of that box anywhere.
With trembling hands she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out her phone as her eyes darted around the space, looking for any sign of an intruder.
"Jones," came a voice on the other end of the line.
"He… he's been in my home!"
Emma's look in this chapter is based on Jen's look for a visit to the Bowery Hotel in New York CIty, June 2015
Thanks for sticking with me during this difficult time in my life.