cocohook38 made some GREAT art for this chapter, but it can't be posted here. Go check it out on her blog or on the captainswanbigbang tumblr blog!

"You're late, Jones," Locksley grumbled over a cup of coffee that was two sizes larger than he normally ordered.

Killian's eyebrow rose at the caffeine more than the comment. It was ungodly early and the chill in the air was more than he wanted to deal with, but Robin was usually more of a morning person. "Rough night?" he asked anyway.

"Aye, mate," Robin agreed with a sigh. "Roland's been having nightmares. I don't think Regina and I have spent a night alone in our bed in over a-"

"La la la la la," Jones snarked, comically covering his ears. "I don't need to know about your love life with the Evil Queen, thanks. Is Roland all right, though?"

Robin ignored the dig to his wife's overbearing nature towards Jones in favor of answering about his son.

"I think so. Regina thinks it's just a phase he's going through." He shrugged. "Scarlet had him the other night when we went out and showed him Wizard of Oz. He keeps waking us up to tell us there's a flying monkey coming after him."

Killian muttered, "Bloody flying monkeys; nasty beasts," under his breath. He shuddered in spite of himself and resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. He'd never liked The Wizard of Oz; not after that one home where it had been the only videotape they'd been allowed and one of the other children had insisted on watching it every night.

"Aye, it seems Roland feels the same as you do, mate. Hopefully it will pass soon or Will's going to have his own turn with my lovely little munchkin sleeping over." Robin smirked over his coffee before he reached into the open window of his car and produced another to-go cup.

Killian nearly snatched it out of his hands, breathing in the scent of Earl Grey that wafted out of the top. "I love you," he muttered, not entirely sure if he was talking to the tea or to his partner.

Robin took another few sips of his coffee before leading them down onto the beach towards the caution tape wrapped around the pilings. The smell of the ocean and the sound of the surf usually calmed him, but today Killian felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that always came with finding a new body. Who was the victim? What happened to them? Why had their killer done it? When had the motive started to take form? Where would the evidence take them?

Would he and Robin be able to bring the killer to justice?

He could just see Archie Hopper, the medical examiner, hunched over the body, the small waves from the outgoing tide thankfully nowhere close to his work - yet. Any homicide near the water was difficult - the evidence needed to be collected quickly before it was washed away or degraded irreparably. Killian loved the sea, but she could be a fickle beast when she wanted to be and nothing brought out her vindictive side like a death on her shores.

You haven't had enough sleep, mate, he thought wryly to himself, tearing his eyes from the horizon to duck under the tape and approach Hopper's side.

The victim was male, well built and thus not likely to go quietly into the night as it were. He was facedown in the sand, his hair matted with blood from what looked like a blow to the back of his head. There were strands of rope tied tightly around his wrists - he'd been bound with his hands behind his back for some time based on the bruising Killian saw there. Whoever had subdued him hadn't wanted to take any chances, not with the sheer number of times the rope had been knotted.

"What do you know, Doc?" Robin asked, a camera already plastered to his face as he took pictures from every angle.

"Male victim. Early thirties. Caucasian," was all Hopper said, his voice distracted as he continued to take notes.

Killian sighed to himself. He hated this part - the waiting for the ME to clear the scene. Logically, he knew that there were protocols for a reason. But it didn't help when he wanted to jump in with both feet and start collecting his own evidence. To start forming his own theories on what happened.

"Time of death?" he asked instead, flourishing the pen that Liam had given him when he'd graduated the Academy over the small notebook. A bit old school, perhaps, but he had always preferred the feel of scratching down his notes on paper, just like his brother had. Besides, the tablets that the department provided were far more bulky and able to be hacked.

He hadn't trusted them since the investigation into Milah's death had stalled.

Hopper shook his head. "It's gonna take me a minute, Lieutenant. I haven't gotten to a liver temp yet and the water was cold last night anyway. Might need to get him back to my table before I have all that for you."

"All right, just let me know when we can-"

"I know, Jones," Hopper interrupted him.

Robin snickered under his breath before hastily taking another sip of his coffee, stifling a cough when he swallowed too quickly. The camera bobbed where it hung around his neck, and Robin's hand came up automatically to still it. He waved off Killian's glare good-naturedly before moving off under the pier.

"Just…" Killian trailed off, thinking. "Just move quickly, all right?"

There was something about this case that was already prickling at the edge of his consciousness. He had no reason to suspect that this was more than just another murder - one of dozens he'd investigated in the last year alone - but he'd learned to trust his instincts. Whoever this man was, he was important.

Killian just wished he knew why already.

"Gaston LeGume."

"Excuse me?" Killian turned back towards Hopper from where he'd been staring out at the horizon. It sounded like the man had choked.

Hopper smiled wryly. "The vic's name," he said, waving a wallet at Killian.

Killian practically snatched the leather bifold out of Hopper's gloved hand, pawing through the cards and receipts inside. There was a faculty ID for an adjunct professor's position at Emerson College that the ME had gotten the victim's name from. He found it curious that there was no license slipped among the cards and money. There was, however, a hotel key-card for the Doubletree hotel and a hastily scrawled note that was nearly illegible as the ink had been erased by the tide. Killian thought he could make out "11PM" in what was left of the ink, but he wasn't sure. Forensics would be able to tell him in a few days, but while he was a patient man, he was also chomping at the bit for information.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hopper and his assistant rolled the body into an opened body bag. If there had been any doubt if this was a premeditated murder beforehand, it was thoroughly erased by the sight of the man's bruised and lacerated face. Whoever had killed him had taken their time about it. Most of the bruising appeared to be a few days old, going yellow around the edges and faded. There was a gaping wound on his cheek that must have bled profusely. Killian hoped that the forensics crew would be able to swab the wound for evidence even after the dunking the victim's body had taken.

"Looks like he was killed elsewhere and dumped here," Hopper acknowledged the scene around him with a nod. "The tide might have washed away most of the blood, but it's still too pristine around him. I'd guess they dumped him off the end of the pier and he washed back up this way."

Bloody fantastic, Killian thought sourly, turning away from the scene. "Tell Locksley I'm going up above," he muttered over his shoulder, already walking away. A body dump meant two scenes to control, it meant the killer had more time to try and erase evidence at the actual murder scene, it meant more work and dreaded paperwork for Killian.

It also meant more twists and turns to occupy his brain with, and Killian looked forward to that challenge at least. The longer he spent working on this case and helping Swan, the less time he had alone to think. To remember. To grieve.

To miss Milah.

The familiar stabbing in his chest caused Killian to pause momentarily, resisting the urge to clench his hand over his heart to feel its steady beat. God, he missed her. No matter whether or not he was actively thinking of her, Milah was always there, just waiting for a moment's distraction to show up in his thoughts. She'd been like that in life as well, showing up at the station when he'd been on duty for what seemed like months instead of hours or meandering past the ship until he noticed her and nodded her aboard. He'd never thought that he'd have to think about life without her, but here he was. Alone.

Killian visualized himself putting a lock on those memories again, trying to focus on what was right in front of him so that he could do his job. LeGume might be dead, but he still deserved his killer be brought to justice.

It was Killian's job to do just that.

Thankfully, like the sand below, the pier had been cordoned off as well. It was a good thing, as there was already a small crowd of fishermen and tourists alike crowding around the patrol officers tasked with keeping them from contaminating any evidence. Killian graced the men with a nod before ducking under the tape, moving quickly away from the pack of gawkers before they could turn their attentions on him. One of the officers had clearly been down the way already, yellow numbered placards strategically placed along the path. When Killian bent to see what they'd found, he noticed the trail of blood they were marking. Killian backtracked swiftly to find Graham Humbert waiting patiently near the tape but away from the hoard of onlookers.

"I tracked the blood as far back as it went, Jones," he began before Killian could even ask the question. "Either the perp drove halfway onto the pier, or the vic didn't start leaking until that first mark. It didn't rain last night or anything."

Killian nodded, not quite meeting Humbert's eyes, but not letting on to the idle observer that he was committing the crowd to memory either. "What else do you know, Graham?" he asked conversationally, his mind running a mile a minute ahead of him. Surveillance cameras, witness statements, there had to be some trace of how the victim had ended up over the side of the pier.

"The vic went over about two thirds of the way down," Graham pointed out where another officer was talking to Robin. Killian realized that he had no idea when his partner had come up, but was glad to see him already taking pictures.

Leaving Graham to his own work, Killian moved down the pier with an eye out for anything the patrol officers might have missed. He trusted them, of course, but what might be commonplace to one man - especially one who didn't spend so much time near the sea - might stick out to him.

Blood stained the metal railing where they surmised the body had been dumped. There was an odd discoloration underneath the area that hadn't been marked as evidence. Killian didn't know why it caught his eye, but he drew Robin's attention to it, bending down to prod at it with a gloved hand after the camera stopped clicking.

The discoloration wasn't dry, wasn't old staining from a random fisherman's tackle or catch. Whatever had caused the mark was greasy on his gloves. He rubbed it between his fingers for a moment, lost in thought as he stared out over the cresting waves.

"Hopper take the body?" Robin asked with a look on his face that told Killian he'd been lost in the sea for too long.

He nodded, pushing himself upright and biting back a grimace when both knees popped. He was getting too old for this.

"Aye, they were loading it up when I came up here." Killian shrugged. "I don't know how much else we'll get down there before the tide rolls back in. There's men moving in now to pick up any evidence. I thought you were still down there, to be honest, mate."

Robin shook his head. "Nottingham told me that you were going to clear that scene and that I should come up here. Guess he must have seen you with Archie and assumed."

That seemed odd to Killian, but he waved it off. "We're clear down there anyway; unless you want to get your boots wet," he said as he gestured to the waves beneath them. They could both hear the crash of water against the pilings.

"Did you get anything off the body before Hopper spirited him away?" Robin asked, moving further down the pier away from the dump site.

"Gaston LeGume," Killian remarked, biting back a laugh when Robin whirled around.

"Gesundheit?" he asked incredulously.

Killian snorted this time, unable to tamp down the humor. Thankfully, the only beings around to get upset were a flock of perturbed seagulls who took off with shrill cries of disgust. "The man's name was Gaston LeGume, according to his identification. He's got a Mass license, but was staying at a hotel. Either he's not a local or, if he is, he's got an irate wife at home."

That got a pained smile out of Robin. He looked like he wanted to say something, but refrained. Killian cocked an eyebrow but his partner didn't take the invitation, turning instead towards the railing. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

Killian shook his head. "Dunno yet. A body dump, for sure, but beyond that…" he trailed off with a shrug.

Robin nodded his agreement. "A pier this big, someone must have seen something."

"Aye, you'd think someone would have noticed a car driving out here. Who called it in?" Killian looked back down the pier towards the increasing crowd that Graham was holding back. He was pleased to see that one of the other officers was surreptitiously taking photos of the crowd. More than once, Killian had found his murderer watching them work.

"One of the apparent regulars who fish here every morning. Will took his statement before Anna and Kristoff took him to MGH to get checked out. They guy looked like he was about to have a heart attack, I guess. Will said that this…" - he trailed off, looking at his notes - "Marco Gepetto got here earlier than his buddies and was walking down to his spot when his tackle box busted open. He kicked one of his Hogy lures over the side, I guess, and went down to see if he could find it. That's when he found our vic."

"Gepetto all right, do we know?" Killian asked offhandedly, watching Nottingham shmooze with Humbert now.

"I don't know yet. It's on my list. Scarlet's with him just in case."

Killian nodded again, squatting down again to place another yellow marker in front of the railing where he'd found the grease. He heard Robin snapping photos of the unknown substance and the area immediately surrounding it, but they both left it alone for the Forensic techs to sample. It might be nothing, for all Killian knew it had been tracked down the pier days ago, but it could be everything as well.

Methodically, he and Robin cleared the rest of the scene before packing it in. They'd found a handful of detritus, but nothing of real note. With the body long gone, the tide rolled in, and the sun far higher in the sky than when they'd met there, Killian trudged back towards his car. They were going to head back to the station to log their evidence before taking one car over to the hospital.

LET THIS GO IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU.

Killian blinked at the exquisite penmanship scrawled in ink across a torn off strip of what looked like the Mother Goose & Grimm comic he'd read in the Globe on Sunday. The note was stuck under his windshield wiper and flapping in the light breeze off the ocean. One eyebrow rose as he looked around slowly, trying to gauge if anyone was watching him discover the veiled threat.

Cowards, he thought derisively, slipping on another pair of gloves and plucking the shred of newspaper off the glass. Killian flipped over the paper but there was nothing of note on the other side. Shaking out an evidence bag, he slid the threat inside before sealing it and labeling it. He slipped it into his pocket as he pulled out his keys and finally sat down in the car.

Killian's head hit the headrest with an audible thunk and he shut his eyes. Evidence collection was far more exhausting than it had any right to be. Without looking, he jammed the key into the ignition and started up the engine. It clicked for a few seconds and a chill ran down his spine. His hand snapped open on pure instinct and Killian scrambled out of the car. He was probably being silly, but the morning's murder along with the ominous note had left him more than a little keyed up.

He stood on the sidewalk, trembling a little as he huffed out a breath and mentally shook himself. He was being ridiculous.

He thought.

In spite of himself, Killian popped the hood of the car and looked at the organized chaos beneath. He laughed in relief when he noticed the loose wire coming off the battery. You're being an idiot, Jones, he thought angrily as he remembered Liam harping at him about getting the car looked at before its next inspection. It had been getting more and more finicky over the years, but he wouldn't part with it for the world. He and Liam had bought it after Killian graduated from the Academy.

"All right, mate?" Robin asked as he pulled up in the sleek SUV he'd purchased only a few months ago.

Killian sighed and slammed the hood. Truth be told it was an easy enough fix, but it would take longer than he had the patience for at the moment. Instead of rummaging through the trunk for his toolkit, Killian locked the doors and jogged around to the passenger side of Robin's car. "Nothing that can't be fixed later," he replied when he slammed the door shut.

Robin's eyebrows rose, but he pulled away from the dead car and headed back towards the highway without comment.

Killian waited until they were cruising at speed before he called Liam.

"Are you all right?" was how his brother answered the phone.

Killian rolled his eyes. "Good morning, brother. It's a beautiful day. And how are you this fine morning?"

He could hear Liam's growl through the line. "Are you okay?" his brother asked again with punctuated words.

"Yes, Liam, I'm fine," he allowed. Killian remembered the phone call Liam must have gotten from David that day in the alley and understood the worry even if he didn't fully appreciate it. "My car broke down and I wasn't sure if you-"

"Where are you?" Liam interrupted and Killian could hear the sound of keys jangling.

Killian pinched the bridge of his nose. "With Robin on the way back to the station. I didn't know if you wanted to take a look at it before I called for a tow."

He knew the answer before he heard the sound of keys clattering on the table. Liam muttered that he'd see what he could do after lunch. Killian's stomach grumbled at the mention of food. How long had they been out at the crime scene?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, Robin pulled to a stop in front of Subway. Killian looked at him in askance, but Locksley just shrugged. "Will said that Gepetto is still being evaluated, so I figure we have a couple minutes now or I can deal with your crankiness later when you haven't had food in too long."

Killian grumbled under his breath, but he didn't disagree. The box of protein bars in his bottom drawer only did so much and he wasn't sure he wanted to look at the expiration date, anyway. He had a distant memory of stealing that box out of Liam's desk when his brother wasn't looking. Pushing that thought back into the tightly locked box of memories, he got out of the car and trailed after Robin into Subway.

"And then I said, 'I'll do whatever it takes' but I didn't think that he'd really go for it." Moe finally admitted. "I just thought he was humoring my daughter - they dated for awhile. I didn't like it, but what can you do?"

It had been a long conversation already, so this bit of news had Emma perking up. "What did he do for you?"

Moe looked around, fear written clearly across his face. "N-nothing," he stuttered and Emma saw the walls slam down on whatever progress she thought she'd made.

She ducked her head a bit, trying to catch Moe's eye. "If you're worried that-"

"No! No, no of course not. Captain Gold was perfectly by the book and I was lucky enough to have him investigating my case," he argued.

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes only by pinching the bridge of her nose hard enough that she could feel her pulse beating against her fingers. She wasn't a doctor, but she was pretty sure that the staccato rhythm wasn't exactly healthy.

"So this 'whatever it takes' that you agreed to?" Emma barely managed to keep her hands in her lap, wanting to use sarcastic air quotes but knowing it would only make him backpedal even further into Gold's pocket.

Moe just shrugged, eyes wild even though his face was otherwise calm. "Patience and trusting that he'd take care of it," was all he answered. This, at least, was pure truth. Whatever deal that Moe and Gold had made, it had required trust.

Emma just needed to know what the terms of that deal actually were. She wasn't going to get that here, today, however. That was becoming increasingly obvious as he continued to assure her that Captain Gold had done everything to the letter of the law. It was only pure happenstance, of course, that he had been cleared of any wrongdoing.

Continuing to beat this dead horse was only going to send her pulse further through the roof and give her a migraine.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. French. I may have a few more questions for you later; I assume I can reach you if I need to?"

He nodded. "Of course, I'm always happy to help."

Emma had her own ideas of exactly what he could do with his help. She thought Elsa would be proud of her for not spitting them at Moe before she rose and shook his hand. Emma handed him a business card before showing herself out of the small house. She managed to avoid sighing audibly until she got behind the wheel of the Bug, but only just.

Emma wasn't getting anywhere. Every one of the cases she and Killian had flagged over the past few weeks as suspicious was a bust. Either there was no one alive to question about Gold's involvement in the case or they were on the wrong end of the law, willing to say anything and everything Emma wanted to hear if it got them a lighter sentence. Or, as happened with French, the men and women Emma talked to were too afraid of what Gold would do to admit he'd done anything but read them the letter of the law.

Scrubbing her hands over her face, Emma tried to remember that it was a marathon, not a sprint. She and Killian had found some evidence of Gold's corruption; it just wasn't enough. Not yet.

Emma turned the key in the ignition, pleasantly surprised when there were no strange noises, flickering lights, or worse - the dreaded click and silence. The engine turned over on command and the car pulled smoothly away from the curb. Emma drove off, watching Moe in the rearview mirror staring at her tail lights until she turned the corner. It was nearly four in the afternoon; Emma could go back to the station and pull more files. Or she could head towards the marina and get in a few more hours of work in blissful silence.

It wasn't a hard decision.

Smee waved her in with a smile before she could even roll down the crank window. Emma nodded with a smile that she hoped didn't look as stressed as she felt and wound her way around to her parking space.

Not your parking space, Emma, she thought warily, it's just a visitor's parking space. Don't get comfortable here.

The fact of the matter was, to her chagrin, she was getting comfortable using Jones's boat as a home base. So much so that she'd hardly thought about bringing her work home with her in weeks. Killian was right; it made going back to her apartment that much sweeter when she didn't take a mountain of case files filled with murder and deception home with her.

With a resigned sigh - she did hate when Jones was right - Emma trudged down the dock to the Jolly Roger and below deck. Post it notes and index cards were taped to nearly every surface, files and documents scattered haphazardly on the bed topped by a note that made her nose wrinkle in annoyance.

Bloody hell, how do you find anything, lass?

Emma grumbled under her breath about neat-freak tendencies and tossed the newest file on top of the lot. It slid a bit further than she'd intended, sending both it and the folder beneath it fluttering to the floor. Emma shot a piercing glare first at the note and then at the papers scattered about. Somehow, she was sure, this was all Jones's fault.

Emma stooped down and began stuffing the papers into their respective folders, not really paying attention to the subject matter. She was already making a mental map of what files she wanted to look at next. It wasn't until she was nearly done that Emma noticed whose file it was.

MILAH GOLD

Emma's fingers shook, rattling the pages, and she didn't understand why. She had long since memorized the information in the woman's file and suspected that Killian had done the same. The papers were wrinkled with use, some of them stained with coffee or other liquids that Emma didn't examine too closely, and spelled out the story exactly as Jones had told it to her.

And yet, Emma abandoned her original plan for the evening in favor of pouring over the evidence and the testimonies again.

And again.

At some point she had moved from her hands and knees to sitting, propped against the bunk, as she poured over Milah's file and then Killian's employee file. From all accounts, he'd been a star coming out of the Academy. There wasn't a single black mark on his record before Gold had found out about Milah's indiscretion.

That was when the reprimands had started. Those escalated into suspensions for insubordination and the like. The deleted report for drunk and disorderly stood out like a sore thumb only in that it had been redacted from Killian's file completely. It had taken all of Emma's skills to find it in the first place and Killian told her repeatedly that he wasn't positive how it had been deleted, though the look in his eyes told her he thought that he knew but wasn't saying.

She hadn't met Liam Jones yet, but she had a feeling that he was a force to be reckoned with - if his younger brother's loyalty to him was anything to go by. She had his file here, too, buried in the middle of witness statements and the timeline of Gold's arrests. Emma hoped that Killian didn't find it; she had no illusions as to how he'd take finding his brother's file among the links to their investigation into Gold.

Her investigation into Gold. She had to remind herself that Killian was just a source more and more often these days. He was not her partner. Emma Swan didn't need a partner. She didn't want one. Even if - were she to admit it to herself - the long hours of paperwork had gone much less tediously with someone around to share in the misery.

Jones was charming, maybe too much for his own good and certainly too much for hers. Half the time she wanted to wring his neck and the other half… well, the other half was being silently but firmly beaten back into submission. This was a job. It was only a job and once it was done, she'd be back to takeout in her apartment surrounded by her next case.

Maybe she should get a cat.

Emma sighed for the… she'd lost track of how many times, and kneaded the muscles at the back of her neck. There was a headache brewing there, just waiting for the right time to blossom and put a stop to her productivity, limited as it was. She dropped her head back onto the mattress behind her and closed her eyes. The bobbing of the boat on the tide was soothing and Emma let herself go completely limp, relaxing into the soft motion.

She never even noticed when she started to drift off to sleep.

Killian rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he turned into the marina's parking area. He'd woken before sunrise, unable to sleep for risk of giving the nightmares more hold over his rest. After an hour of tossing and turning, he gave up the fight and slipped out of the apartment. The sun was just breaking the horizon when he pulled off Storrow Drive. Fifteen minutes later and here he was, thankful for the absolute lack of traffic this early on a weekday morning.

"Jones!" Smee sounded surprised. "I thought you were… well…"

Killian cocked his head in question, still waiting for the caffeine to kick in. To his surprise, Smee's ears went a little pink before he answered.

"I just figured that I missed you coming in last night. I saw your girl's car in the lot and just assumed that… well, you know." He shrugged with a leering smirk.

Killian blinked. His girl? Emma? His eyes drifted across the lot towards visitor's parking and, sure enough, there was the yellow Bug. His head swiveled back to Smee and he was chagrined to see the man wink at him.

"Anything else I need to know about, Mr. Smee?" he asked impatiently.

Smee blinked, taken aback for a moment before he grinned. "Ah, I see," he said, touching his finger to the side of his nose.

Just go with it, Killian thought in a moment of realization. He smirked at Smee and winked back at him, both eyes closing despite his intentions. "I'm sure I can count on your discretion in the matter, aye?" he asked with a wag of his eyebrows.

"Oh, yes sir. You know you can count on me," Smee crowed, stepping back from the car.

Killian nodded conspiratorially at him before settling back in his seat and pulling the car around to his own spot. Thankfully, Liam had been able to fix the battery with only a modicum of fuss (and a lot more grousing when he got home) and the car was running smoothly again.

A few minutes later and he was stepping over the rail onto the Jolly's deck. Almost instantly, the rocking of the boat under his feet calmed his thoughts. Milah had featured prominently in his nightmares, some twisted tale his subconscious had conjured up where he was a pirate captain and she was his lady. Gold had been there, too, twisted and strange and… shiny? Killian shook his head at the absurdity of it all.

The details hadn't mattered anyway. Milah had died in his arms, a morbidly better fate than the real story, and he still hadn't told her he loved her before she took her last breath. Even now, her breathy "I love you" from the dream echoed in his ears.

God did he miss her.

Killian bit the inside of his lip before he headed below deck, trying to wrestle his emotions back into the box he kept them safe in. They had no place here.

He eased open the hatch to the aft cabin, the light from inside spilling across his feet before he peeked in.

Emma was sound asleep on the floor, several open files scattered around her.

A small smile broke out on Killian's face before he could bite it back. He didn't understand the feeling in his chest and he didn't want to look too closely at it. Instead, he stood in the doorway awhile and watched her sleep, surprised to see how different she looked without the mask she so often wore at the precinct. It was as if she were younger somehow, more serene. Killian understood that: he'd donned his own armor since Milah's death and then Liam's forced retirement. He didn't like realizing that Emma had done the same, however, and he wanted to know more about what had created her walls. He wanted to know more about her beginnings.

No, you bloody fool, he thought angrily. No, you bloody well don't want to know a damned thing about her beginnings. She's just a means to destroy Gold.

Whatever it was that compelled him, Killian knelt down silently and began to clean up the mess of files she had spread around her. God, but she was a mess when she worked. He didn't know how she did it, but every time he asked for a file, Emma knew right where it was. It baffled him every time.

Once that was done, Killian reached for Milah's file, intent on combing through the information yet again. He knew it all by rote by now, but he found comfort in the repetition. It was almost as though Milah was still alive within the pages of her file, as if she wasn't truly gone as long as he was still fighting for her.

"What time's it?" Emma slurred some time later. She'd pushed herself up so she was sitting back against the bunk with her eyes still closed. Killian smiled at the grimace on her face as if she were dreading the answer.

"Still early, I expect," he muttered quietly from across the room. "You've time if you want to sleep some more. Although, I'd wager that the bed is far more comfortable than the floor."

Emma's eyes shot open and her head whipped around as she took in her surroundings. "Wha? Where?" she asked before her eyes settled on Killian.

"Expecting someone else, lass?" he asked jovially.

She blinked at him for a few minutes and Killian could see the plates of armor being woven around her once more. "No, of course not," she answered shortly.

"Of course not," he parroted dryly, one eyebrow rising of its own volition.

Before Killian could say anything else, Emma launched herself to her feet, swaying a bit due to the moving deck beneath her feet, then looked around. "Where are my files?" she asked in alarm.

Killian jutted his chin towards the bunk behind her. "I didn't know where in this mess you call organization they belonged, so I just closed them and stacked them there," he replied defensively and very nearly crossed his arms petulantly.

Emma had the good graces to look sheepish as she turned and rifled through the different folders. He thought he saw her breathe a sigh of relief and rolled his eyes.

"I've done this before, lass. I do know how to deal with a case file," he paused, looking around the cabin, "a sight better than you do, if this is any indication."

Emma turned around to glare at him. "There's a system," she retorted with a bit of a sneer, hugging the files to her chest. She looked less guarded now that she had the folders in her grasp.

Killian took a step back and bowed to her. "Of course, princess. I wouldn't want to buck the system." He turned to go back above deck, leaving her to her organization, when he tripped and knocked one of the stacks to the floor. Emma's snarl of exasperation went unheard when he caught sight of the name on one of the files.

He blinked, clenched his eyes shut a second time, and looked again. His brother's name was still written in bold letters on the folder's tab.

Whirling around, Killian glared at Emma, ignoring the wide eyed look of alarm that crossed her features before it was tucked carefully behind her walls, replaced with cool confidence. Her chin came up in defense and Killian had a feeling that if he were a suspect who'd pulled a weapon, she'd look much the same.

"What the bloody hell are you doing with a file on my brother?"