Chapter 5 - Cemeteries and Clearings

She was going crazy over this case, clearly. How else could she explain standing in the middle of the cemetery two days before Halloween? Not that she believed in ghosts or ghouls or zombies. She might enjoy watching 'The Walking Dead' from time to time, but wasn't worried about the dead coming back to life. She'd never been afraid of walking through cemeteries in the dark. She'd actually started going there when she was thirteen, sneaking out of the group home in the dead of night and walking to the nearest one - there was just something about the calmness that soothed her. The dead didn't expect anything from her, didn't look at her with pity, or jerk her around. They were just there. A quiet presence that helped her through the roughest times of her childhood, even if Emma herself was incapable of explaining why.

Whenever life had threatened to suck all the air out of her lungs and crush her, she went to a cemetery. She always found what she was looking for. Just spending an hour sitting in the grass between gravestones had helped her to find her inner strength again, that strength she needed to keep going, to hope for a better life. In the end she got the better life, even if it started with spending time in prison. She couldn't condemn Neal for that, not really. After all, without Neal she wouldn't have Henry. And she would never, could never, give up her kid. Maybe one day, when Henry was a little older, she would tell him about the weird connection she had with cemeteries. Their beauty couldn't be denied.

Fog sat low over and around the gravestones, its misty tendrils wrapping around each one like a lover. So many people were afraid of the ghosts believed to haunt these places, but all it brought her was calmness. She desperately needed calm after the sixth person just disappeared yesterday. They needed to find the reason for people disappearing without a trace and other people appearing out of thin air. And then they needed to find a way to stop it all. Hopefully, they'd be able to bring back their own people alive and help the others go back to wherever they came from. But first, she needed to find the cause of all this madness.

"Miss Swan, what are you doing at the graveyard at close to midnight?"

She couldn't keep herself from jumping in surprise when she heard his voice. She just didn't expect to meet anyone at this hour in the cemetery. Of course she should have expected the priest to keep an eye on the grounds, even if the hour should have had him dead asleep in his bed. But what did she know about his habits. Maybe he used the hour before midnight to write his sermons or to spend it in deep prayer and contemplation.

"I'm sorry for startling you."

"No problem." Emma shot him a sheepish smile. "Since I'm in your backyard. Sort of."

He smiled back at her, tilting his head as he said, "Not any closer to finding your culprit?"

"No, and cemeteries...it's a long story. But normally they help me think."

Emma expected him to dig deeper, to be interested in the long story. But instead he just said, "Anything I can help you with?"

"I don't know. Maybe." It couldn't hurt to have another pair of eyes looking at the map she'd created, marking all the spots people had disappeared or appeared. "Can we go inside? I like to show you something."

"Of course."

Emma followed him over the cemetery and up the steps to his small house. When they entered through the back entrance she looked around with what she hoped was some stealth, curious about how he lived. She didn't know what she'd expected, though. It looked like any other ordinary house, if cleaner than most.

"Let's have some tea, shall we?"

How British of him, Emma thought as they stepped into the kitchen. She couldn't help but grin when he opened a cupboard and pulled out a packet with loose tea instead of tea bags. How British indeed. Normally Emma wasn't much of a tea drinker, but since it was the middle of the night, some fruit tea was a better choice than putting more caffeine into her body.

"Sounds good."

While Killian was busy putting the kettle on Emma pulled the folded map out of her back pocket and dropped it on the table. Sitting down, she just watched Killian shuffle around in the kitchen, pulling out two mugs, putting a sugar bowl with brown sugar on the table and filling two tea bags with the loose tea leaves. When the kettle whistled, he poured water into the mugs before turning around to her.

"It needs to steep a few minutes. You can start filling me in on any new developments."

Before Emma could bring him up to speed a meow came from the hall and a moment later a kitten stalked into the kitchen.

"You kept one."

Emma slipped from the stool and crouched down, holding her hand out for the kitten. It came without hesitation, rubbing its head against her palm. She scooped it up and sat back down, scratching between its ears before she looked up at Killian.

"Aye, this little rascal wanted to stay." Killian leaned down to stroke over its back, his fingers brushing against hers for a second. A jolt rushed from her hand through her body, reminding her of the attraction she felt for him. An attraction that was totally unwanted, not that her body cared. When he straightened again and grinned at her, she groaned inwardly. "Meet Filou."

"Hello, Filou." The kitten let out an adorable purr and Emma buried her face in its fur until she got a grip on the sudden urge to bury her face somewhere else. Like against the neck of the man standing beside her. Trying to distract herself, she asked, "You found good places for all the others?"

"I did. They all found their homes."

"That's great."

Emma kept stroking the kitten, searching for something to say. But all she could think about was how the scruff covering his neck might feel against her skin, and if he'd taste as delicious as he smelled.

She wanted to bang her head against the table, wanted to scream out her frustration. Thankfully, Killian didn't seem to sense her internal struggle. He reached for the tea mugs and put them on the table, settling down beside her.

"So, about the case…"

"Right." Emma leaned sideways to put the kitten back on the floor, reaching for the map to unfold it. "Can I have four glasses?"

Killian's eyebrow rose up with her question, but he didn't inquire further. He just stood up again and stepped to the cupboard, pulling out four glasses and putting them on the table beside her. Emma spread out the map on his kitchen table, using the glasses as paperweights.

"This are all the locations people have disappeared or appeared. It feels like this should make sense somehow. I can feel it tickling at something in my brain. But even if I look at it until everything blurs I'm not able to grasp it."

Killian stepped closer, brushing up against her. Her libido – which had just shut up – went into overdrive again. But she just ignored it.

Priest. Off limits.

"Bloody hell." His curse pulled her out of her thoughts and back into the presence. "The devil is apparently in the details."

"Huh?"

"Can I draw on this?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

He pulled a drawer open and took out a pen, leaning over the map again and studying it for a few moments. Emma reached for her cup of tea, blowing on it to cool it down before taking a sip.

"If you connect all the spots people disappeared from…" He put the pen to the plastic covering the map, drawing lines between the different points to connect them. "You get this."

"A pentagram," Emma breathed out, totally gobsmacked. That was what had been nagging at her brain all the time. She knew the points weren't random. That there was some kind of deeper meaning in them. "So it's the devil's work?"

"Well, the devil or, more accurately, evil, comes in many forms."

"So we'll just cordon off the five points of the star and the points where the lines connect and the disappearing acts should stop, right?"

"Probably," Killian replied, tilting his head as he studied the map.

"And since the strangers only appeared when someone disappeared, that should stop, too."

A rush of relief washed over her that she finally could do something to hopefully stop people from disappearing into nowhere.

"You still don't know where our people disappeared to," Killian said, throwing her an apologetic glance that he couldn't do more for her. "But it's a first step."

She pushed the stool back and stood up, a wave of gratitude for the priest washing over her, making her voice slightly shaky as she said, "Thank you, Father Jones."

"It's Killian," he replied, averting his eyes to the ground and rubbing one finger behind his ear. A strange feeling sizzled through her body as she watched him, hiding her grin at his obvious nervousness. His eyes met hers again, a sheepish smile pulling the corner of his mouth up. "I mean in private, you could call me Killian."

"Only if you stop calling me Miss Swan," she told him, hoping the blush she felt rising into her cheeks wasn't that obvious. "It's Emma."

"Deal." White teeth flashed as he grinned broadly, the smile pulling at something deep inside of her, making her lock her knees to keep herself from crumbling to the floor, especially when he opened his mouth and spoke her name for the very first time, "Emma."

She felt her blush deepen when he said her name in his lilting voice, a shiver running down her spine as she turned away, busying herself with pulling the glasses from the corners of the map and folding it up again. Anticipation curled through her, her body itching with the need to jump into her car and going out immediately. Of course, she had to wait until morning to rally David and work on marking the spots the townspeople should avoid. Shoving the folded map into the back pocket of her pants, she looked up at Killian again, suppressing the urge to hug him tightly.

"Thanks again, Killian. You're literally a lifesaver."

"You're welcome, Emma."

Crouching down, she scratched Filou behind the ears. "Good-bye, Filou."

She straightened, making sure to not look Killian in the eyes again. She didn't know if she could keep herself from jumping him if she stayed one second longer. The priest was just too tempting. With a muttered good-bye to the man she couldn't stop obsessing about, she slipped out of the room, wondering how long it would take her to get used to him calling her by her given name. His deep voice would definitely haunt her in her dreams.

Killian scooped Filou into his arms, waiting for the door to click shut. Stepping to the window, he watched Emma until she disappeared into the fog, wondering what story was behind her not being afraid to traipse over a cemetery in the middle of the night. Personally, he loved being in the cemetery at night. He liked the thought of being surrounded by ghosts. Most other people were creeped out though, avoiding going there at all costs, not wanting to remember all the people they'd lost. He was certain Emma had lost people in her life, too. It was in her eyes, that pain you could see in the depths of another person's gaze. It was unmistakable if you knew what to look for. Maybe Emma would tell him her story one day. He would like to know what shaped her into the woman she was now.

Leaning against the counter, he kept staring out over the graveyard, letting his mind drift back to Liam. All the good years they'd had together. A smile formed on his lips as he remembered how Liam had loved to tease him mercilessly. Remembered his deep belly-laugh whenever Killian had gotten mad at his big brother. Especially when he'd called him little – every single time, Killian had insisted his brother should call him younger brother instead, but Liam had always only grinned at him, telling him that he was indeed taller than him.

Crouching down, he put Filou on the floor, pulling his sleeve up when he straightened again to unclip his prosthetic hand. He rubbed over the stump, the constant reminder of the loss of his brother. Every time he looked at his arm ending in nothing he remembered the accident that had cost him his hand and his brother. He wondered if it ever would stop hurting this badly. Maybe if he hadn't lost Milah just two years later, the hole in his heart would have healed sooner. But losing two people he loved deeply so soon after each other caused a pain he wasn't sure would ever go away.

But he'd found God. Found solace in being a priest. Helping people, serving God. It had to be enough. He would be satisfied with finding strength in his faith and the good he could do as a priest. One day the ache might not be that painful anymore.

David and she had sprayed a pentagram on the ground with a waterproof and biodegradable color two days ago to mark the spots people needed to avoid. They would cordon it off properly over the next week. Hopefully that was enough.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much else they could do right now. The newcomers seemed to settle in, accepting that for the time being they needed to stay here until they managed to find out where they came from and how to get them back.

Two newcomers in particular were integrating themselves into Storybrooke's population very fast. If Emma were honest, she had to fight a bit of envy every time she thought about them. Because apparently everyone was getting laid. Ruby was clearly deliriously happy with Mulan and Victor. Mary Margaret was practically glowing ever since David grew a pair and asked her out. And to top it all off, she even caught the mayor making out in an alley with Robin a few days ago. The mayor.

The only one who wasn't getting any was her. Why was she the only one who needed to be satisfied with the occasional 'visit' from her battery-operated boyfriend and wet dreams about a certain priest she couldn't have?

"Mom, come on. We're gonna be late."

"Coming," Emma replied, rolling her eyes at her son's impatience. It wasn't as if the cabin would run away from them. It didn't really matter if they left the house twenty minutes later than planned.

The temperature was chilly, so she also grabbed beanies, scarves, and mittens for Henry and herself since the track to the cabin took a few minutes from the spot they could park the car and she didn't want to freeze her fingers or ears off.

Fifteen minutes later she parked the car at the side of the road and chuckled when Henry jumped out, almost tearing the old door off its hinges in his haste. She knew he loved being out here, but this kind of enthusiasm was new. Furrowing her brows, she stepped out of the car and gathered her things before following Henry through the woods. She would keep a very close eye on him today. Who knew what he was up to? With twelve-year-olds you never could be too careful.

"Henry, come over here for a second." He walked back towards her with a grumble, shifting impatiently from foot to foot as she pulled his scarf, mittens and beanie out of her bag. With an eye roll he took them from her and put them on. "Don't go too far. I don't want to start a search party."

"Mom," he practically whined, batting her hands away when she wanted to adjust his beanie. "I'm not a kid anymore."

"Then just humor me, all right?"

"Fine."

Satisfied that her son wouldn't get into any trouble while she checked over the cabin, she rounded the corner and walked towards the small fireplace in the back. The cabin belonged to the school, one of the richer parents had gifted it a few years back. They used it quite a lot over the summer months. Almost every weekend if the weather allowed it. Now, at the beginning of winter, no one was out there anymore. But it still needed to be checked out at least once a month to make sure that the cabin didn't have any leaks or that some animal had found a loose board and taken up residence in the much warmer cabin.

Mary Margaret had given her the key back when she'd been sick, asking her if she could just take a look to make sure everything was all right. Afterwards, Mary Margaret had wondered if she was willing to look after the cabin with her since the beginning of the school year was always the busiest time in the year. Emma didn't even hesitate to say yes. The cabin was just remote enough for it to be the perfect retreat if you needed an hour for yourself without anyone disturbing your peace.

She checked all the wooden logs they used for sitting down around the fire for rot, making sure all the nails were still buried in the wood and not jutting out. Nail scratches could be nasty, to say nothing of someone actually falling onto one. Emma didn't even want to think about that scenario. She checked every log meticulously until she was sure she hadn't overlooked anything before she walked back to the cabin door to check the interior. The air was a little stale, but that could be remedied quickly. She just pushed all the windows opened and let the crisp air from outside blow out the old. One look around told her that everything was fine in here, too. Just one chair was a little wobbly and one of the window frames was cracked. David would take a look at it when he had time. He loved to do woodwork whenever the police work allowed him to indulge that hobby. She would tell him at work tomorrow. She was just about to go outside to see what her son was doing when his voice came through the door.

"Mom? Could you come here for a sec?"

The tone of his voice shot dread and a not-so-small amount of fear through her as she rushed out of the cabin to see Henry standing at the edge of the clearing. He didn't seem harmed, but his posture suggested that he had done something Emma wouldn't approve of. When she stopped beside him, she was definitely sure she wouldn't like what he had to tell her. She'd seen that expression many times on his face over the last years. Contrite and apologetic and hopeful that she wouldn't rip his head off.

"What did you do?" Emma sighed, preparing for the worst.

"We need your help," Henry said, shifting from foot to foot, not meeting her eyes.

"We?" Emma questioned as she looked around, wondering who Henry was talking about. But when she looked back at her son again he just pointed upwards. Emma tilted her head and squinted up into the tree. It took her a few seconds until she discovered the small ball of fur with the telltale black around its eyes. "Why the heck did you bring Rocket with you?"

"I thought he'd enjoy running around in the woods."

"Well, I think enjoying isn't the right word to describe it."

She didn't even know how Henry had managed to sneak Rocket out of the house. He must have put him in his backpack. Strangely, she hadn't heard a peep from it the whole drive over. If she had, they wouldn't be in this predicament now.

"We have to get him down again," Henry pleaded with her, his worried gaze searching out Rocket again. "He's too scared to make it down on his own."

Emma sighed as she tilted her head to look up the tree. She might be able to reach the lowest branch with a jump. From there she should be able to pull herself up and finally get some use of all that upper body work one of the trainers in the gym was insisting on every time she was there.

"Father Jones," Henry suddenly screamed, almost scaring her to death. "Rocket climbed up this tree, and now he can't get down again. You can help him, right?"

Emma turned around, watching the priest walk over the clearing to join them. Once again, she noticed that black was definitely his color. He looked mighty fine...if you ignored the white collar around his neck. He stepped beside them and looked up, giving her son a reassuring smile when he met his eyes.

"I can certainly try."

"Maybe we should call the fire department," Emma suggested, not sure that either of them was able to climb that tree. She might not have enough strength and Killian would have problems to hold on with only one hand.

But he merely smirked at her before shrugging out of his coat and holding it out for her to take it. With efficient movements he rolled up the sleeve over his prosthetic, before stretching out his other arm towards her. "Could you lend me your hands, please?"

A zing of electricity zapped through her when her fingers connected with his skin. Gritting her teeth, she rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to his elbow, trying without avail to ignore the feel of his coarse hair under her fingers and the way his muscles jumped under her hand.

As she took a step back to put some much needed distance between them her eyes fell on the swirls of a tattoo covering his forearm and without giving it another thought the question was out of her mouth, "Who's Milah?"

She realized how intrusive her words were when she looked up at him and saw his grin vanish, a sad expression flickering over his face. "Someone from a long time ago."

She didn't want to press, the memory clearly a painful one. But she should say something. She just couldn't find the right words to cut through the tension. Thankfully, Killian just shrugged his shoulders before stepping under the lowest branch. Inhaling a deep breath, he bent his knees to build up momentum and jumped.

Emma could only ogle the play of muscles in his forearm when he pulled himself up one-handed. Not to mention the way his slacks stretched taut over his delectable ass. She wouldn't be surprised if drool trickled out of her mouth at any moment. But damn, he was really a good-looking man from top to bottom. With a speed she didn't think possible he climbed to where Rocket was pressed against the tree trunk, his voice taking on a soothing tone as he reached for the kitten. Surprisingly, Rocket went willingly, probably recognizing Killian's voice from the time he'd spent in his care. Emma was still amazed that he was so agile climbing that tree when he dropped down beside her.

"Here you go, Henry." He leaned down to put Rocket into Henry's arms, her son pressing the kitten protectively against his chest.

"Thank you," Henry whispered, burying his face in the kitten's fur. Rocket was trembling visibly, but when Henry stroked his fingers down its back the tremors subsided and the kitten started to purr softly.

"I have something for you, Henry."

Emma's heart skipped a beat when she saw Killian pull out a locket on a chain from his pocket. Damn this man. Why was he so perfect? And why the hell did he have to be a priest?

"What's that?" Henry asked curiously, eyeing the locket.

"A locket. It depicts a saint."

"What saint?"

"Saint Gertrude, the Patron Saint of Cats," Killian answered Henry's question, letting the chain dangle from his fingers for Henry to take it.

"Thank you, Father Jones," Henry said, fumbling one-handed with the chain to pull it over his head, since he couldn't use his other hand that was still firmly curled around Rocket's small body. "Do you have one yourself?"

"Aye," Killian replied, reaching under his shirt and pulling out a chain. "This is Saint Brendan, the Patron Saint of Sailors and Mariners."

Henry's face scrunched up in confusion. "But why do you have a locket of that saint? You're a priest, not a sailor."

"But I was a sailor before I became a priest."

"Did you meet pirates?" her son asked excitedly, his eyes lighting up with the hope of hearing some good pirate tales he could include in his cache of stories.

"I'm afraid not."

Killian still smiled softly when he met Emma's eyes, her heart skipping another beat. She could tell herself over and over again that the priest was off-limits, but her body kept betraying her, drawing her to him as if they were magnets that couldn't pull away from the force that wanted them to clash together.

"How about you go back to the car while I close up the cabin?" Emma said, putting her hand on her son's shoulder. "I think we've had enough adventures for one day."

Her son obeyed without complaint, probably wanting to go home to feed Rocket some catnip treats. She waited until her son was out of earshot before she faced Killian again, wanting to thank him for the rescue. But the words got stuck in her throat the moment she took a good look at him. His hair was tousled, his cheeks slightly flushed from the exertion and the way his forearms bulged when he crossed his arms over his chest made her mind drop straight into the gutter.

Maybe she could later blame his forearms for what she did next. She definitely couldn't explain what kind of devil possessed her when she put her hands on Killian's shoulders and got up on her toes to press her lips against his cheek. His scruff rasped over her lips, making her tingle all over as she let herself keep her mouth on his skin for a few more inappropriate seconds before stepping back.

"Thank you, Killian," she whispered, her lips still burning from the forbidden touch. She wanted to lift her hand and press her fingers against her mouth. Wanted to hold on to the sensation as long as possible. She bit her tongue as she met his gaze, the confused expression on his face, paired with the deep blush covering his cheekbones and the bright light of his blue eyes, making her want to step back up to him and kiss him for real.

It didn't help in the slightest when he opened his mouth and said in a low, hoarse voice, "You're welcome, Emma."

Practically throwing his coat into his arms, she turned around and walked briskly towards the cabin before she could do something terribly stupid. When she stepped out of the cabin again a few minutes later, she was very grateful to find the clearing empty. Who knew what she would have done if Killian had waited for her. But she still felt completely unsettled as she started to walk back to the car. Without conscious thought she lifted her hand to her mouth and brushed her fingers over her lips. She could swear she could still feel his scruff brushing over them. Groaning lowly, she dropped her hand and shook her head.

"You're in so much trouble, Swan. So, so much trouble."

It was a good thing that the alcohol concentration of rum was high enough that it couldn't go bad over time, since this bottle had been stowed in the bottom drawer of his desk for years. It was still three-quarters filled and he wondered if he'd be able to refrain from emptying it all during the next hours and risk alcohol poisoning, or if the feel of Emma's lips on his cheek would drive him to be this irresponsible.

Three tumblers later, he decided that a cold shower was in order to help him calm down, but he had only stood under the cold spray for about a minute when he reached for his cock. The alcohol clearly hadn't helped to bring his erection down, and even the cold water wasn't able to cool down his arousal. Killian dropped his forehead against the tiles and started to pump his cock through his fist.

Closing his eyes, he imagined Emma on her knees before him, her lips stretched wide to accommodate his girth, her tongue flicking over his slit every time he pulled out of her mouth. His cock jumped in his hand as he imagined pushing deep into Emma's mouth until his cock slid down her throat, the muscles of her throat closing around him as she swallowed.

It took him only a few more thrusts through his tightly closed fingers before he exploded, his cum shooting out of him and splattering against the tiles. He kept pumping his cock, ignoring the sensitivity of handling his cock so roughly because he was still coming. His balls were still pumping semen out of his cock and down over his hand, as if he couldn't get enough of filling Emma with his seed.

The only problem was that Emma wasn't here. He wasn't coating her throat with his cum or splashing his cum all over her face and breasts. He was only jerking himself off to images of her.

Something he shouldn't do. Because he couldn't have her, not even in his fantasies.

Tilting his head up, he let the water cascade down over his face and body, washing away the remnants of the earth-shattering climax he'd just experienced. The water pounded on his head for a few more minutes as he tried to center himself and pull himself together again. It took a while, but when he opened his eyes and reached for the shower gel he had himself under control again.

He wasn't allowed to desire a woman. So he wouldn't desire a woman.

From now on Emma Swan would just be a resident of this town. Nothing else. He wouldn't let himself think about her in any lustful ways.

He'd let this attraction go too far already.

He had to stop it.

Right now.

Guys, sambethe drew an amazing picture of Killian's shower scene. Hop over on Tumblr and take a look. You won't regret it! :-)