Emma was avoiding him. Killian didn't know much, but he knew that. It didn't help that Nottingham's arrest had thrown the office into chaos - outrage and confusion and outright derision towards Swan. It was all Emma's fault, they had decided, that they had to work harder and longer to make up for Keith's absence. Never mind the fact that he'd threatened one of their ranks - they despised Nottingham for that, to be sure - but he wasn't there for them to gripe over.
Swan was.
At least, the papers on her desk moved and occasionally he saw her backpack there. But Swan, herself? It was like she was a ghost. Killian sighed. He couldn't fix it if she wouldn't let him. Sometime while he worked in the past few days, she had even cleaned up her files from the Jolly Roger. The cabin looked barren without all her detritus spread across every flat surface.
He missed the clutter.
He'd clearly made a monumental mistake by giving in to her that night. He should have known better. He did know better. And yet, he'd let desire overrule his judgement - the little voice in his head that always sounded suspiciously like Liam - and had fallen into bed with her.
Emma deserved better. Better than a one night stand when she'd been drinking most of the evening. Better than a romp in the sheets and an empty bed to wake up to.
Better than the broken shell of a man that he'd become.
Killian rearranged the pencils on his desk for the fourteenth time that morning. Robin had the morning off; Roland had a doctor's appointment and Regina was in court. That left Killian on his own, filing paperwork and rereading the crime scene reports from the LeGume murder site.
Not that he thought he'd find anything new.
Too many prints and not enough time before the tide swallowed the evidence. Too much extraneous information and not enough leads. The only thing that truly stuck out to Killian was that Belle had been involved with Gold before she'd fallen in with Gaston.
Maybe it was his own biases, but he'd started looking into Gold's whereabouts the night before Gaston had shown up dead under the pier. If Gold hadn't gotten caught by now for Milah's murder, it was unlikely that he'd be careless enough to be unaccounted for during the suspected time of death for LeGume.
Still, Killian searched.
"Working hard or hardly working?" Nolan's voice in Killian's ear made him jump. Half of the pencils clattered to the floor and rolled under the desk.
"Bloody hell!" Killian cursed, resisting the urge to whirl around with his fists in the air. "Don't sneak up on a man like that!"
David took two steps back, his hands raised in supplication. Killian's cheeks grew hot when he realized Henry and several other officers were now staring at them.
"I called your name three times, Jones," David justified. "What were you looking at?"
"Nothing important," Killian hedged, closing out of the file before leaning over to pick up his pencils.
Mills knelt down next to Killian's chair to help. "Did anything Detective Swan and I found help?" he asked.
Killian just blinked. "Excuse me?" he tried, adopting as innocent an air as he could. No one was supposed to know. Swan would kill him if even the rookie had figured out they were working together.
"I just thought…" Henry began, trailing off as he stood to study his shoes. "I mean, you want to put Gold in jail for… well, you want to put him in jail. I thought you might have asked her if you could help."
Killian tried not to let the whoosh of air race out of his lungs too audibly. If the strange look David gave him was any indication, he wasn't entirely successful. "Just trying to stay out of IA's way, Rook," he said to cover his bases.
"Oh." Henry looked crestfallen. "She's really nice."
Killian wasn't sure that nice was exactly the right characterization of Emma. Fiery, stubborn, determined; sure. But nice? People who grew up like they had didn't get the luxury of being nice.
Still, no need to disillusion the kid even more than working in Homicide was already doing to him.
"Aye, mate, I'm sure she is."
If only she'd bloody well stop ignoring him.
A flash of blonde hair out of the corner of Killian's eye drew his attention away from Henry. He was just able to make out Swan's profile as she slid out from the stairway and into the conference room.
Perfect.
Emma would have no choice but to talk to him - or at least admit that she was actively avoiding him. But how to ditch Mills and Nolan before she escaped?
Killian looked around for a moment, searching for any plausible reason to get into the conference room. There were old files that needed to be put away, those might work. He stepped towards them before sliding just a bit as his foot landed on one of the pencils he'd dropped.
"You're looking a little light on your feet, Detective," Isaac's nasally voice cut through the squad room and Killian's eye roll matched Henry's. "We don't need to pull out the breathalyzer again, do we?"
Killian saw red, turning on his heel to scowl at the little man even as the memories threatened to overtake him. It hadn't been nearly long enough to forget Heller's part in keeping Killian from saying goodbye to Milah, one last time.
"Get out of my way," Killian growls at Isaac, stepping menacingly into the little weasel's space. Usually it's enough to cow the man into scurrying off somewhere, but not this time.
Not with an army of officers at his back.
"I don't think so, Killian," the little man snarls. "You're not going in there."
Not going in? Like hell I'm not, he thinks furiously. "You can't stop me. The church is a public-"
"Afraid I can't let you disrupt the services, Officer. Not with the amount of liquor you've obviously imbibed today."
Killian blinks. He hasn't touched a bloody drop of rum since that night. God knows, he's wanted to. Between imagining Milah's last moments every time he closes his eyes and replaying all of the horrible things he said to Liam and Robin that night, he's nearly caved a hundred times. There are several bottles of liquor in the apartment that he's had Liam hide from him just in case. He can't; he simply can't allow himself the luxury of forgetting, just for a little while, about how much pain he's caused. He doesn't deserve the relief.
But that's a battle for another day. Today, Isaac is still talking and his cronies are still blocking Killian's way into the church. He hadn't even bothered trying to get into the wake, knew that Gold would have stopped him there, but he'd thought…
He'd thought that he could just blend in with the crowd or slink into the back of the church and hope that he wasn't struck by lightning for treading on hallowed ground. God knows his thoughts on faith and hope have soured lately.
"Get. Out. Of. My. Way!" he orders, punctuating each word with a step forward, forcing Isaac to backpedal despite the superiority he's trying desperately to cling to. Killian is bigger, stronger, and far more determined to-
He doesn't understand what's happened, how he's ended up sprawled against the brick wall, his shirt soaked with rum and a bum who seemingly came out of nowhere flailing on the ground in front of him.
"Like I said, Officer Jones," Isaac speaks up as if the homeless man still rolling about isn't even there, "with your blood alcohol level being so high, I'm afraid we don't have any choice but to take you downtown."
Killian blinks. "I'm not drunk," he tries, though he's sure by now that it's not going to do any good. Goddamnit, he should have just listened to Liam and stayed home. He'd spent the morning vacillating between coming to the funeral or giving in and getting blackout drunk in the apartment.
Now, it seems, he isn't going to get to do either of those things.
Isaac waves a breathalyzer test in front of him, the numbers on it already showing 0.14. Killian doesn't want to think about who the sniveling little man found to register that for him. "The evidence shows that you are, Jones. Now are you going to come quietly, or do we need to make a scene?"
He won't give Isaac - or Gold, he's sure the bloody crocodile is watching somehow - the pleasure. Killian stands straight as Nottingham brandishes a pair of handcuffs, holding his head up high as he hides the wince when the metal closes too tightly around his wrists. There are still bruises and abrasions there from the other night when Robin had cuffed him.
It hurts, being led away from Milah - from the last time that they'll be on the same side of the dirt. Not the vice-like grip Heller's gorillas have around his biceps, nor the chafe of metal. Every step he takes away from Milah, it feels like someone is twisting a knife in his gut. He just wants to say goodbye. Is there no one in the world who will allow him a bloody minute to tell Milah goodbye? To thank her for loving him? To apologize for the simple fact that he wasn't strong enough to grant her freedom from Gold? To beg her forgiveness because he was too selfish to let her go?
No, it appears. No one will grant him a bloody moment to grieve today. Killian bears the booking process with facetious grace, ignoring the smirks from Isaac and his buddies and pretending he doesn't see the rest of the precinct turning their sympathetic stares away when he makes eye contact.
"Yes, yes, Jones," Isaac simpers when Killian demands a blood test for the third time. "I hear you, we'll get you a blood draw just as soon as we can."
Killian knows no one is coming.
He's thankful, at least, that no one else seems to be occupying the drunk tank at 11 in the morning. After he's uncuffed and left to his own devices behind bars, Killian finds the cleanest corner he can and sinks down until he's huddled against the walls. He tries to force his mind to think of nothing important. He recites the Miranda Rights in English, Spanish, and - because he thought it was a good idea at the time - in Greek. He lists the fifty states and their capitals.
He does whatever he can not to think about Milah being lowered into the ground and trapped forever.
"Oh, little brother," Liam mutters sadly some time later. "No one will blame you for this."
Killian looks up sharply, hurt beyond what he thought his heart could take to hear the gentle understanding in Liam's voice.
"I'm not drunk," he seethes, just about done with everything today.
Liam nods easily, unlocking the cell and slipping inside. He sinks down next to Killian and is quiet. Killian knows what he must think, knows how it looks. He's shaking in the corner of the drunk tank, smelling like the inside of a distillery.
Killian drops his head back against the wall with an audible thunk, clenching his fists and closing his eyes to shut out the world. He's not even angry anymore. What good is it going to do him, what good will it do Milah, now? He just wants to go home. He can't deal with this right now. Not here.
"Come on, little brother," Liam says sometime later. There's a hint of anger in his voice and Killian won't be able to handle it if his brother is angry with him for this. "I can't deal with Isaac anymore; I don't know how you've put up with his whining this long."
Oh, of course.
Killian doesn't question it. If there's one thing he knows beyond everything else, it's that he'll follow Liam wherever he leads. And if he's leading them out of the station and anywhere else, Killian is fine with that.
"Go get your head on straight, Jones," David's hushed voice broke into the memory, dragging Killian back to the present where Isaac still smirked proudly over Nolan's shoulder. "I'll take care of him."
Killian startled, eyes wide as he met David's.
"Go," Nolan commanded again.
Killian's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him as he turned tail and started to weave through the desks. He needed to be better than that; he couldn't let Isaac needle him like that anymore. It was only-
Emma. He'd nearly forgotten he'd been looking for an excuse to sneak into the conference room. As much as it rankled to be running from Heller, it was the perfect place to slink off to lick his wounds without arousing suspicion. And if Emma happened to still be in the room when he got there, all the better. The door creaked as it opened, making Killian wince as the other person in the room jumped.
Emma glared as she whirled around, one fist and one pencil ready to strike.
"They say the pen is mightier than the sword, Swan, but I'm not entirely sure this is what they meant." The sarcastic comment fell from his lips faster than he could sensor it. This wasn't the time, nor the place for that. He needed to-
"What are you even doing here?" Emma hissed, dropping her fists and turning away from him.
Killian looked away from her turned back. He'd been prepared to confront her, to apologize, to do anything to at least get her to talk to him. But now he was barely keeping his own head on straight, he wasn't sure he could handle it if she got defensive with him.
"Swan, are you avoiding me?" Straight to the point then. Apparently his brain and his mouth were on two different wavelengths.
Emma turned around, looking startled. "I'm not avoiding you, I'm just… dealing with stuff. We have a situation right now. If I can't find something to tie Gold to Nottingham, I'm done."
"There's always a situation," Killian shrugged, gesturing out to the squad room and the bustle going on behind the window. "Perhaps you should consider living your life during them, otherwise, you might miss it."
This wasn't going the way he wanted it to go. He wanted to know what had happened that night. Or rather, the morning after. He wanted to know if she blamed him, if she hated him, if she was embarrassed.
He wanted to know everything about her. "Emma, I'm-"
"Jones, come on! We've got another murder." Nolan's voice interrupted him and there wasn't anything Killian could do about it. Not if the look in Emma's eyes - concern and wariness mixed with the start David had given them both.
Nodding his head to Nolan, Killian turned away from Emma without another word.
Emma breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him go. Killian was right - no matter how much she denied it to his face - she was avoiding him. How could she face him after practically throwing herself at him that night? She'd made a fool of herself and she was only grateful that he'd slipped out the next morning before the awkwardness could take hold.
She needed to get out of his life before she screwed it up even more for him. So she'd cleaned up the Jolly Roger and she'd tried her best to work from home or at odd hours - she'd been working in the precinct long enough to recognize Jones's schedule and made sure to come in when he wouldn't be there.
But she'd spilled wine all over a copy of Nottingham's arrest record the night before and needed to print out another. Emma had hoped to duck into the conference room for just a moment to use the old copier hidden in the corner and be back out before Jones could see her.
She hadn't counted on the age of the printer working against her.
The paper had jammed and the toner had needed a good shake before she could even start to print. She'd only just managed to glare the machine into compliance when the door behind her creaked open, startling her. She knew who it would be before she'd even fully turned around.
God, he looked awful. There was a haunted look to his features that made Emma want to cross the room and hug him. She couldn't. Not here and certainly not after the idiotic way she'd acted around him the other night. Emma wondered if her mistake had sicced Milah's ghost into Killian's memories and that was why he looked so haggard.
So lost.
He'd accused her of avoiding him and she'd lied. She needed to apologize and she wasn't ready for that. Wasn't ready to know either way if he'd be able to forgive her or if he'd scorn her.
The traitorous part of her mind that screamed about how she was a lost girl who had never mattered and never would reminded her loudly that he had left her that morning. Surely, if he were going to forgive her, then he would have stayed.
Right?
Emma sighed in relief as one of Killian's partners all but dragged him out the door. Cowardly it may be, but she'd rather not know than be reminded of her serious lack of judgement.
Especially since she was pretty sure that she'd do it all over again, if she had the opportunity.
But that was neither here nor there and, while she would never condone cold-blooded murder, Emma was almost thankful for whatever bastard had offed Jones's newest vic. Before he could backtrack or 'forget' something, Emma snatched up Nottingham's file and made a beeline for the door.
She counted herself lucky that she made it back to the Bug unaccosted.
She was a goddamn coward and she knew it. Killian deserved better than that. He deserved someone who could love him in a way that she wasn't sure she was capable of. He needed someone who wouldn't run for the safety of her childhood security blanket and a night's binge of bad Netflix and Pinot.
He deserved someone who could man up and talk to him when she'd screwed up.
Emma dropped her head back against the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut. She had to talk to him. He definitely deserved that.
I need to talk to you. Please.
Emma stared at the text message on her lock screen, refusing to unlock it and 'read' it. It sounded promising, but Emma had been burned before. Still, no one wins the lottery without playing, and the conversation Killian wanted to have had to happen sooner or later.
Tonight. Your 'boat'.
Emma didn't know what possessed her to do it. She didn't know if they were in a place right now where banter would be appreciated. But she'd hit send before she'd really thought about it, and now it was too late.
Read
…
Oh God.
Emma held her breath, caught between throwing the phone into the passenger wheel well and jamming the key in the ignition to drive across the state and waiting for his response.
I won't tell the Jolly you insulted her, luv.
Emma blinked. And blinked again. She hadn't expected that. Luv. She hadn't… when he'd first started calling her that, Emma had noticed but wasn't sure if she liked it. Now, when she thought she might lose it?
Just seeing it settled her in a way that nothing had quite managed before.
I'll see you tonight. :)
The little smiley on his second text made her laugh. Killian didn't strike her as the emoji type. She almost always pictured him hunt and pecking on an old Nokia phone, scowling the whole time.
Clearly, at least some of her aspersions were wrong about him.
Emma sighed. Whatever her feelings for Jones were, she had a job to do and she couldn't do it sitting here. With a sigh, she started the Bug and pulled out into Boston traffic, already cursing under her breath as she went. It took her nearly an hour to make it back to her apartment.
The silence of her living room was a blessing after all the blaring horns and blasting music. There were definitely benefits to living in the suburbs, but Emma never could bring herself to give up the busyness of the city. She nearly collapsed onto the sofa and let her head thunk back against the worn cushions. Nottingham's file was spread in front of her, a timeline of seedy cases and questionable police work, but nothing overtly corrupt until this latest incident. Threatening Jones was clearly an anomaly, but Emma didn't know how to prove it.
Not as long as Nottingham was willing to trade his freedom for Gold's favor.
Emma had gone through the evidence again, her blood boiling when she reread the copy of the note he'd skewered on Jones's car. It wasn't overt, but it didn't have to be.
Before she had a chance to imagine what she'd do if she had five minutes alone with Nottingham, her phone rang.
"Emma Swan," she answered with a sigh, frustration leaking into every word.
"Detective Swan," a voice on the other end of the line questioned and Emma perked up. She answered to the affirmative and was asked to come to Cedar Junction. The maximum security prison was where Nottingham had been sentenced to. Some time in the facility must have loosened his tongue a bit.
"I'll be right down," she told the receptionist, hiding her distaste. The last thing she wanted to do was drive down to Walpole at this time of afternoon. Between the trip itself, traffic, and actually sitting down to talk with Nottingham, she didn't know what time she'd be able to get back to the Jolly Roger.
Killian would have to wait.
Something came up. Have to go to Walpole. Raincheck?
Emma didn't want to waste time waiting for him to respond - he was probably on scene and busy.
And yet.
Emma found herself stalling, rechecking that she had her wallet in her purse, double checking that her EZ pass was attached to the windshield, fiddling with the radio before she finally pulled out onto the street.
Still nothing.
You're not some lovestruck teenager, Emma, she thought angrily, get it together!
Emma threw the phone onto the seat beside her and took off down the street, determined to get to the prison without worrying about if Jones was angry or not.
She didn't check her texts until she got into the parking lot.
I'll be here when you get back.
Well, then. Guess that answered that.
Emma stood outside the visitors' entrance to the prison, still not really understanding why she'd come. Why she hadn't told Killian where she was going. What she hoped to accomplish by seeing Nottingham. Unless he had information against Gold, there wasn't really anything she needed from him and, if history told her anything, he would be tighter than a fancy clam with a pearl inside when it came to the slimy bastard she was trying to put away.
With a sigh, Emma opened the door and showed her badge to the first officer she came across. "Emma Swan to see Keith Nottingham," she told him, going through the procedures to gain entrance with little fanfare.
He looked God awful.
Nottingham's face was bruised and battered, deep circles under his eyes that were some combination of swelling, bruising, and a clear lack of sleep. One arm was in a cast and the other hugged his torso tightly. Emma knew that stance - someone had broken his ribs.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked succinctly. No matter what he looked like, this man had threatened Killian and had likely tampered with his evidence in the LeGume case. As far as she was concerned, if he wanted to take the fall for Gold, then what he looked like was his own consequence.
Nottingham nodded, limping away from the guard who had escorted him to the interrogation room. "I need help," he said without preamble.
"I can see that," Emma snarked, sitting back in her chair with crossed arms. "What do you want me to do about it?"
Nottingham gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. "What do I want'...? You put me here! I'm going to get killed if you don't get me out of here!"
Emma just shrugged, making a show of reaching above her head to stretch. "I offered you the chance to help me before and you didn't take it. You put yourself here; not me."
Nottingham's face dropped, all the bravado leaching out of him. "Please, he begged, his eyes getting watery as his voice cracked.
Emma resisted the urge to smirk. "I thought Gold took care of his own. I thought you were all set with going down for threatening Jones?" she asked sardonically.
Nottingham just kept shaking his head. "It's not Gold I'm worried about," he whispered, looking around wildly like the Devil, himself, might pop out of thin air.
"Who are you worried about then?" Emma asked, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance even as her brain started spinning off on a hundred different tangents.
"You have to protect me," he begged again, almost inaudible. He was shaking now. "He doesn't leave loose ends."
"And you didn't know that a month ago?" she asked hotly. "I'm not here to be jerked around. You have to give me something."
"You have to protect me. I thought I was just small potatoes, you know? I didn't even think he knew who I was, nevermind that he would send someone after me. You have to help me!"
"Then give me something. I'll have you moved to solitary while I check it out. Give me anything actionable."
Nottingham glared now, rising to his feet and sitting back down just as quickly when the guard took a step forward. "I'm a cop! I should have been in solitary already!"
Emma shrugged. "Then maybe you shouldn't have threatened another police officer," she admonished.
Nottingham deflated. "I just did what I was told," was all he'd say.
"By who?" she tried again.
Nottingham wouldn't answer, just stared at the cast on his wrist. Emma sat silently for a moment before sighing dramatically and standing up. The guard moved forward at her signal to manhandle Nottingham back to his feet.
"No! No, wait!" he cried, trying to twist out of the guard's grip as Emma turned to leave. "Wait!"
"You gonna give me something? Because you can bet I'm not coming back down here again just to waste my time." Emma didn't stop moving until she'd gotten to the door. She paused for only a moment with her hand on the doorknob.
"Tell Jones to take a closer look at the tape," Nottingham muttered. "Tell him to look again."
"What's he going to find?" Emma didn't think she had to ask what tape.
"Heller is good with video; he can make anything look legitimate. But he isn't perfect. Something has to be different. Something has to be there that doesn't belong."
Emma turned to face him. "If I find you've made me open up a cold case for your own sick satisfaction, I'll see that you rot in gen pop. You'll be fodder for every cop hater in this place."
Nottingham shook in fear. "It's there; I promise. I don't know what it is, but I brought the tapes to him myself. I know he altered the story that night."
"We'll see," Emma threatened. "Sit tight here and I'll get you transferred."
He sagged in the guard's grip before he sank back into the chair. His head dropped back until he was staring at the ceiling and Emma could see his Adam's apple bob several times. "Thank you," he breathed and it wasn't hard to hear the relief amidst the quiet sobs.
It took longer than she'd like, but eventually Emma got him relocated to a protective custody ward. He wasn't untouchable there, but at least he wasn't eating and socializing with men he'd put away. Men who might be in the mysterious benefactor's pocket.
Now for the hard part. Emma was going to have to make Killian go through the evidence with a fine toothed comb for what was probably the thousandth time. Just watching him remember that night nearly broke her; she wasn't sure she could handle experiencing him relive Milah's last moments in black and white pixelated images.
It was late by the time she got to the Jolly Roger, Smee barely awake as he waved her in. She parked quickly and hurried across to Killian's ship, only dragging her feet once she got aboard. Nothing she was about to talk to him about was going to be easy.
He was asleep in the bunk, his hair tousled and one arm fallen over the side of the bed. He looked softer here, younger. Emma hated to wake him up. It could wait until morning, she was sure. Turning to go, Emma wondered if he'd mind too much if she slept in one of the-
"What did Nottingham want?" Killian's voice was raspy with sleep still hanging on to the tendrils of his words.
Emma started, but then turned around. "How did you know?"
Killian sat up and shrugged. "What else would you go to Walpole for during rush hour?"
Fair enough.
She told him, cringing as his face got more and more pinched.
"I don't know what you expect to accomplish by this, Swan," Killian groused darkly, booting up his laptop nevertheless and clicking on a password protected folder. There were hundreds of files, all meticulously labeled by date and type of evidence. "I've gone over every second of these videos until I can see them without even thinking about it. Nottingham is just dicking around with you."
"I know; and I'm sorry to do this to you. But, can we really take the chance that he's not lying? Can you take the chance that he knows something that could avenge Milah?"
"No," Killian croaked, shaking his head. "I just… can I watch this alone?"
Emma's heart sank into her stomach. She was making him do this, she was putting him through hell. She'd thought… she'd hoped that he'd let her be his strength for it. "If that's what you really want, Killian. I'm here for whatever you need."
Killian turned tortured eyes on her, looking more lost than he had in all the time she'd known him. "I need a drink," was all he said, followed by a choked laugh that sent a chill down Emma's spine.
"I'm sorry," she said again, knowing that it wasn't enough. Nothing would be enough to make up for this. Not unless Killian could slap handcuffs on Gold and put him away forever.
"I know," he answered, taking a deep breath and double clicking on an .avi file.
Emma stood from the bunk she'd sank down on and headed for the deck. "Let me know if you need anything," she begged.
She got only silence for an answer.
Emma lost track of time sitting on the deck of the Jolly Roger, just watching the waves splash against the hull. She'd probably have sat there all night if a violent shiver hadn't wracked her body. It felt like someone had walked over her grave, or however that old wives' tale went. When she looked at her watch, Emma was surprised - and a little horrified - to realize that it was well past midnight. The sun would be rising soon.
Killian had been alone with Milah's ghost for hours. He hadn't made a sound.
"Killian?" she called out towards the cabin, not wanting to go against his wishes to be alone but needing to know how he was managing.
There was no answer.
Emma slipped down below deck and saw the blue glow from the laptop screen illuminating the cabin. It was the only light to see by.
Killian wasn't watching the screen. He was slumped against the bunk behind the desk, his tear tracks glistening in the light. His eyes were closed, but by the fresh tears still falling and the hitched shaking of his shoulders, Emma could tell he was still awake.
"Killian," she whispered, and she may have well have shouted for the reaction it garnered.
Killian jumped, his breath coming out in an audible whoosh as he didn't quite make it to his feet and collapsed back against the deck. He reached up to scrub his face angrily, trying to erase any evidence of his tears. It wasn't very effective when they just kept falling. Eventually, he gave up and dropped his head to his knees, hugging himself tightly as if he could keep all the pieces of himself from spilling across the cabin floor.
"Sorry, luv," he croaked, his voice hoarse, "I didn't hear you come down."
Emma shook her head, coming closer and craning her head to look at the laptop screen. The video player was frozen, Milah's face half caught on the screen. She was smiling, her hair loose and curling artfully around her face. Emma was amazed at how carefree she looked, as if she'd never been bogged down by the likes of Gold.
"You did that for her, you know?" Emma spoke without thinking, her voice echoing through the small cabin.
Killian shook his head ruefully. "She did that all on her own; she just let me come along for the ride."
Emma crouched down in front of him. "No, Killian. You gave her that. She couldn't have found it on her own. She couldn't have kept it. Not and go home to Gold every night. Milah would have died long before Gold murdered her if it wasn't for you."
Killian's head rose and he stared at her. Emma did her best not to fidget, to let him read what he needed to off her face. He'd told her that he could read her like an open book, she needed him to do it now.
"Aye?" he asked, and Emma heard the unspoken question: Are you lying to make me feel better?
She nodded her head in response, reaching out hesitantly to lay her hand on his knee. He was warm under his jeans; she could remember that warmth wrapped around her as they slept that night after the bar.
"Did you find anything?" she asked finally, once he'd gotten his emotions under control.
Killian just shook his head. "I don't know how many times I've watched this tonight, this and the dash cam footage from the accident. I just don't see anything. Swan, please," he begged, not able to finish his plea.
"Can I try? You're so close to this, Killian, so close to her… maybe… you can't see what's right in front of you."
Killian was silent for a long moment, his eyes trailing back and forth between Emma and the image of Milah on his screen. Finally, he nodded. "Aye, luv. Maybe."
Emma smiled gently. "Do you want to watch it with me, or do you want me to go-"
"No!" he shouted, making them both jump. "No, luv, please stay."
Emma nodded, grabbing the laptop from the desk and sitting down next to him. "All right, Jones. Show me that night."
Killian nodded, reaching over her to hit the spacebar on the keyboard.
An hour later and Emma was ready to drive back up to the prison and murder Nottingham, herself. Killian was right; there was simply nothing here. She'd put him through this for nothing.
"I'm sorry, Killian," she apologized for what seemed like the hundredth time that night alone. "I don't know why I believed him. I just wanted…"
"I know, luv. I wanted it, too." He sounded so dejected, so broken. Emma's heart plummeted into her stomach. She'd gotten her hopes up. She knew better than to do that.
"Don't give up, Swan. We'll figure it out. We'll get him."
Emma laughed hollowly. "I think that's supposed to be my line," she quipped, but it fell flat.
Killian smiled anyway, a little thing that warmed Emma more than she'd been prepared for. "One more time?" she asked, ready to slam the laptop shut if he showed the slightest hesitation. She could see the sun's light peeking under the door to the cabin.
"Aye, once more."
Emma searched his face, but saw only determination there. She nodded and hit play again.
They watched as Milah pulled into the garage. She drove Gold's ostentatious Cadillac into a visitor's spot, got out and locked it, and pranced - there really was no other word for it - out of view of the camera. They watched painstakingly through the twenty minutes that she was gone, looking for anything out of place - some minor detail to prove that the footage had been looped, anything - but didn't see anything.
Killian had three separate reports on the authenticity of the film during this span - nothing was doctored and nothing was spliced together.
Then they watched as Milah walked back to the car and drove away. There was nothing left behind but a little bit of condensation from the air conditioner.
There was nothing.
"I'm sorry, Killian," she said again. She'd say it a million more times if she thought it would help.
"Don't trouble yourself, luv," Killian soothed. "It's not the last time I'll watch this film, with or without your asking."
Emma knew it wasn't the last time she'd watch the video, either. Killian deserved that, at the very least.