A/N: Sorry for the delay as usual! I really enjoyed working on this chapter, and I hope you guys enjoy it too!
Summary: Captain Swan meets True Blood, starring Killian and Graham as vampires, and Emma as the town Sheriff who gets sucked into their crazy world.
Chapter 5
"What the hell are you doing here?" Emma hissed, frozen in place at the window. Her eyes darted around the yard wildly, anything to keep from looking at him. "Where's Graham?"
"Alas, Humbert was urgently called away," Killian said, his lips forming a sympathetic pout. "He asked me to watch over you in his stead. Most reluctantly," he added, as an afterthought, "If it makes you feel any better."
"Called away?" Emma repeated, her arousal fading away, and being quickly replaced with unease. "By who?"
Killian shrugged, his expression shifting into something more serious. "That, I do not know, Humbert did not see it fit to enlighten me in that regard," he answered, the frown on his face and the furrow to his brow telling Emma that he wasn't altogether pleased by that fact. Evidently, he wasn't about to lose any sleep over it because not even a moment passed before his ever present smirk resurfaced. "So, what do you say, Swan? Shall I carry out my guard duty outside or may I come in?"
Emma swallowed, searching his eyes for any sign of an ulterior motive. It was there all right, but she didn't think the vampire bar owner intended to harm her. Quite the opposite, really, since he seemed rather intent on seducing her if the smoldering look he was giving her was any indication.
He sensed her hesitation, though. "I promise, I have no intention of harming you...or your son," he said, and Emma felt her heart stutter at his mention of Henry. Had Graham told him all about Henry as well? She opened her mouth to ask just that, when he stayed her words with a hand. "No, Humbert didn't tell me about your lad," he assured her. "I can hear him breathing in his room, and his scent is all around your yard."
Emma swallowed again, the lump in her throat seemingly immovable. "You know, my superpower doesn't work on vampires," she finally said.
"A fact that you should be eternally grateful for," he interrupted, his tone rather ominous, which Emma decided to ignore.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "How do I know you're not lying to me?"
Vampires couldn't sigh, but Emma had the distinct feeling that if Killian could, he would have. "Try something new, darling," he said, his blue eyes sincere through the window screen. "It's called trust."
Emma could count on one hand the number of people she trusted whole heartedly in this world, and that number had been diminished by one in the last week. It might have made life a little lonely, but it saved her the heartache later. "Yeah, well, trust has to be earned," she told him pointedly.
Another smile bloomed on his face, and her traitorous heart skipped a beat she hoped he didn't hear. "Well," he said, and leaned in closer as if about to share a secret. "I love a good challenge."
Emma sighed, knowing somehow that Killian Jones wasn't a man, or vampire, that was used to hearing the word no. If it was only a matter of her own safety, she would have preferred to take her own chances, but she had Henry to think about, and if he was offering his protection, she would have to be a fool to turn him away. The least she could do was invite him inside, though she wasn't sure what unsettled her more, him being inside her home or the fact that maybe she wasn't completely opposed to it.
Shaking off that thought and ignoring his indignant, "Oy!", she turned her back on him and left her room, throwing her robe on and tying the sash as tight as possible. She cast a glance over at Henry's room before creeping quietly to the front door. Killian appeared all of a sudden as she unlocked and opened the door, giving her a mini heart attack.
Emma pointed a finger in his smug face. "You do or say anything I don't like, I'll rescind your invitation faster than you can say 'yo ho ho', is that clear?"
"Crystal," he said, smile still firmly in place.
She sighed deeply again before opening her screen door. "Come in, I guess," she said, gesturing resignedly inside.
Emma expected to feel nothing but dread as his booted feet cleared the threshold, but a much different feeling surfaced as he came to stand before her. The last time they'd been this close was when he'd give her his blood only a little more than 24 hours ago, and she shivered as she recalled the iron clad grip he'd held her body in as he'd pulled it flush against his. Killian's lip curled as if he knew what she was thinking (maybe he did, how did any of this even work, what the hell?), and his eyes traveled over the length of her robe clad form, seeming to take note of every dip and curve.
"There was no need to cover up on my account, Swan," he murmured, eyes smoldering as they came up to meet hers again.
Emma let out a noise of sarcastic amusement, mostly to distract herself from getting lost in his penetrating gaze, but didn't answer, instead turning back to head into the living room, knowing he would follow.
"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, cursing her inability to forgo southern hospitality that Granny had drilled into both her and Ruby from a young age. Killian had agreed to take over guard duty from Graham when he needn't have though, so perhaps he deserved a bit of her gratitude. Speaking of Graham, where the hell had he gone? she thought again with increased agitation. "A Tru Blood?"
"Hmm, thank you, but I can't stomach that processed rubbish," Killian said, peering around her living room as if he'd never been in such a place before, and she wondered what her worn in sofas and hodge podge decor looked like through his hundreds year old eyes. He lickd his lips as his attention settled on her once more. "I prefer my nourishment straight from the source."
Emma smirked. "I like to think I'm a good hostess, but I'm not that good," she joked, sitting down on her couch, tucking her legs underneath her.
Killian chuckled genuinely. "It was worth a try."
Emma's eyes followed him as he sauntered around her living room until he came upon the mantelpiece above her fireplace. She'd arranged several pictures of her and Henry there along with random little knick knacks. He reached out and picked up a frame, studying it intently. Emma knew exactly what picture it was too, the two of them at Christmas last year, dressed in holiday onesies with matching grins on their faces.
"This your boy, Swan?" he asked her.
Emma said nothing, simply blinking at Killian when he prompted her with a questioning look.
He shook his head, grinning as he placed the picture back down. "You're a mistrustful lass."
"You must be used to people not trusting you," Emma remarked.
"Ah, yes, the vampire thing," he said and shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, you're certainly not wrong, though I had hoped you'd be a little more receptive after I steered you in the right direction for your case."
Emma raised her eyebrows at him. "You really want me to believe you did that for my benefit?" she asked.
His smile slipped for half a second, just long enough for her to notice. "What?"
Emma shrugged, standing suddenly, her feet taking her to the kitchen, knowing he was following her even if she couldn't hear his footsteps. She busied herself with making some hot chocolate, all the while feeling his intent on her even as she placed the last bits of cinnamon on top. Finally, she turned to him, leaning back against the counter and meeting his expectant gaze.
"You loved her," she said matter-a-factly, taking a sip of her favorite drink, willing it to relax her like it normally would.
He clenched his jaw almost imperceptibly and crossed his arms, and his eyes appeared even bluer in the kitchen lighting. "And how did you arrive at such a wild conclusion, Miss Swan?" he asked, more than a slight edge to his tone.
Emma hesitated. She was treading on dangerous ground here, but she had to know.
"The newspapers you gave me," she said. "You didn't print the articles off the Internet. The pages are yellowing a bit. Why would you keep them all these years if you didn't care?"
"Maybe I procured them from the Library," Killian suggested.
She shook her head. "You didn't."
He was silent for a moment before he said, in an almost accusatory tone, "For someone who's never been in love, you're quite perceptive, aren't you?"
Her fingers itched to grab onto her Swan necklace and she thought of warm brown eyes and a dimpled grin. "Maybe I was, once," she whispered, knowing he could hear every word loud and clear.
Killian's eyes didn't leave hers, none of the playfulness of earlier in them. "Then perhaps you can understand that I'd like to find the bastard who killed her as much as you do."
"I could find him faster with a bit more information if you're willing to help," she said, gesturing to the kitchen table.
He hesitated briefly, and Emma thought he was preparing to shut her down, before he nodded. "Anything you need."
He dutifully sat, and she took a seat across from him, wrapping her hands around her mug. "What can you tell me about Milah? Did she have any enemies, anyone who would've wanted to hurt her?"
Killian shook his head. "No one I knew of," he told her. "She didn't have many friends within her community, leading a fairly lonely life. But she had such spirit," he said reverently. "It's what drew me to her in the first place. When I revealed later that I was vampire, rather than being afraid, she was intrigued, wanted to know all of my stories, from my pirating days and beyond."
"Did her husband know about you?" Emma asked, trying to fit this Killian Jones in with the one she'd come to know.
He made a dismissive noise. "Her husband was a coward of a man, practically the town pariah, and entirely unworthy of her," he said, lip curling in distaste. "He knew and yet he did nothing, didn't even attempt to fight for her when she left him."
"Wait, she left?" Emma asked, brow furrowing. "That wasn't in the notes."
"I imagine it wouldn't be," Killian said dryly. "Appearances for appearance's sake, you know."
"But she did end up going back," she prompted.
"To say goodbye to her son for good," Killian told her. "She begged me to make her vampire so that we could be together forever, and I warned her that doing so would force her to cut all ties to her former life. Remember, we weren't out of the coffin then yet."
"She was willing to leave her son and never see him again?" Emma asked, hoping it didn't come off as too judgemental. She felt an ache in her heart at just the thought of leaving Henry. He was her whole world.
"It wasn't a decision she made lightly," Killian replied, an edge to his voice that made her cheeks flush with shame. "Not a day went by that Milah didn't miss Bae, but she realized that however much of a coward her husband was, he was a good father, and she knew he'd take care of their son in her absence."
Emma figured she didn't have any right to judge a long dead woman and pressed on. "Alright, so, she returned home to say goodbye to her son," she summarized. "When did you realize something was wrong?"
Killian fixated his attention on her kitchen table. "That evening," he told her. "I was out of the country making preparations for her transformation when I was suddenly assailed by her pain and fear. We had exchanged enough blood during our time together, our bond was strong." He looked up at her then, his hands clenched into fists on top of the table. "I could feel everything she was enduring, but I was powerless to stop it. The moment she died...I felt it, thousands of miles away, like my own heart was being ripped out."
Emma couldn't tear her eyes away from him as he spoke. His pain felt almost tangible, as if she herself could feel it. Maybe she could? If he could feel her emotions, did it work in the reverse?
"I'm sorry, Killian," she said softly, the words feeling woefully inept.
"Don't be sorry, Swan," he replied squarely. "Just find the bastard."
"I will," she promised firmly. "Anyone who comes after me and my family better be prepared for me to rain hell down on them."
"I don't doubt it," Killian said without a trace of sarcasm. He leaned over the table, lacing his fingers together and studying her over them. "I don't suppose you'd let me have the pleasure of killing him once you find him, would you, love?"
"No," Emma said immediately, causing him to scowl. "I've seen how things are done in the vampire world, Killian: stake first, ask questions later, but in Bon Temps, I'm Sheriff. I have to do things by the book."
"And if you weren't Sheriff?"
Emma met his stare across the table, swallowing deeply. Her chair screeched against the floor as she abruptly stood, bringing her empty mug to the sink. His question hung in the air as she rinsed her mug out and placed it in the sink.
The crime scenes at Aurora's and Ariel's apartments flashed through her mind as well as the picture of Milah's broken body. They had all haunted her these last couple days as she got further and further along with no leads. But nothing was worse than the image of Granny's bloody body on the floor of the diner, the place that had been home to Emma for almost her whole life. Finally, she turned to face Killian and wasn't surprised to see him standing in front of her.
"If I wasn't Sheriff?" she repeated. Granny's lifeless eyes looked up at her, the woman who'd nurtured and protected her for 24 years. "If I wasn't Sheriff, they'd never find the body."
A slow, fanged smile crept over Killian's face and he stepped closer to her. "You'd make a hell of a vampire, love," he said, and suddenly he was close enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes, which were a deep cerulean now.
The arousal she'd felt earlier returned in full force at the touch of his fingers across her shoulders and down her arm. She leaned her head to the side and suppressed a moan as his free hand knotted itself in her hair.
"It's not fair," Emma protested weakly, her eyes falling closed. "It's just your blood making me feel this way."
"It doesn't work like that," he murmured, and she inhaled sharply as his lips descended on her exposed neck, suckling ever so gently on her pulse point. The light prick of his fangs sent shivers down her spine. "The blood only enhances what you already feel, it does not have the ability to manifest something that's not there."
Her brain felt fuzzy with lust, but his words triggered something almost like a defense mechanism inside her. Her eyes opened wide even as she arched her back to allow him greater access to trail his lips down her collarbone and lower still to part nudge apart the top of her robe. Lord, she wanted him, wanted more than anything for him to just lay her back against the kitchen table or the counter tops and have his way with her. And that thought was exactly why she froze, her body becoming rigid with panic.
"What is it, love?" Killian asked softly, halting his path and straightening up to look her in the eye.
Emma swallowed. "IâIâ," she stuttered, feeling her heart beat faster with indecision. All she knew was that making out with a vampire in her kitchen while her son was asleep down the hall was the last thing she should be doing.
Killian searched her face, his expression falling. "Swan, don'tâ"
"Killian Jones, I rescind your invitation."
She wasn't exactly sure what to expect when she spoke the words, but Killian being tugged out of the room by unseen forces and flung out her front door was not it. Emma cursed, following the path he'd taken, and watched somewhat guiltily through the screen door as he picked himself up off her lawn.
"Bloody hell, Swan," he growled, brushing dirt off his clothes, though he looked more hurt than annoyed. "If you had wanted me to stop, you could have just said so. I came here to protect you, why do this to me now?"
"I'm sorry," Emma whispered, ever mindful of Henry, who hopefully was still asleep despite the racket. "I just, I can't take the chance that I'm wrong about you."
Killian shook his head in disbelief. "So, you're just going to leave me out here then?" he asked, gesturing with his arms spread out. "Like some poor mutt that you've turned out into the yard for bad behavior?"
"I don't expect you to stay," she told him, barely able to look him in the eye. Of course he wouldn't stay now, not after she'd kicked him out.
"Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I do plan on staying," Killian countered, walking back up the porch stairs. "I happen to be a vampire of my word, so I will stand watch until dawn, as promised, at which point I will go to ground nearby, in hopes that when you and your son awake unharmed, I will have perhaps earned at least a little bit of your trust."
Well, now she felt about two feet tall. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"Sweet dreams, Swan," he said, his expression inscrutable as he turned his back on her, making himself comfortable on her front steps.
Emma closed her eyes briefly before opening them and shutting the door, turning the lock as well. She couldn't say she regretted what she'd done, not when she was protecting her son. Who knew what ulterior motives Killian had for being there tonight? Graham (who she was also furious with, what the hell?) had told her he was dangerous, and she didn't need her superpower to work on vampires to know he hadn't been lying. It was for the best. She had a job to do, afterall. Every ounce of her focus had to be on finding Granny's killer and bringing him to justice. There was zero time for distractions.
Yes, Emma thought as she crawled back into her bed, it was definitely for the best.
She couldn't explain, however, the feeling of safety that engulfed her as she slipped into blissful unconsciousness, thankfully dream-free.
The morning of Granny's funeral dawned cool and grey. Emma felt as though she'd hardly laid her head down on her pillow before her alarm was going off. She pulled herself up though, woke Henry, and the two of them were dressed and on their way to the cemetery within the hour.
It warmed Emma's heart to see so many people turn up for Granny. She saw her own deputy, Leroy, with a bunch of his fishing friends, Belle and Mr. French, Archie Hopper from Henry's school, and many more. It spoke to what a presence she'd been to the people of Bon Temps. Emma nodded greetings to several people, one hand on Henry's shoulder as she steered them to the front of the assembly where Ruby was waiting. When he saw her, Henry broke away from Emma's grasp to wrap his arms around Ruby's waist.
Ruby sniffled, hugging Henry to her, looking at Emma with the saddest eyes she'd ever seen. "I'm so glad you guys are here," she whispered in Emma's ear as she joined their embrace. "I don't think I could have done this alone."
"You'll never be alone," Emma promised her fiercely, her voice tight with emotions. She pulled back to look at her best friend, her sister, in the eye. "The three of us are a family, and nothing will ever change that."
Ruby nodded, drawing Emma in again. They broke apart when Henry protested he was being squished, and went to take their seats in the front row before the coffin.
As everyone settled in, there was a sudden ringing in Emma's purse. She grimaced and dug around for it to turn it off, when she caught sight of the caller ID: Eunice Sheriff's Office. Talk about worst timing ever. She thought about excusing herself to take the call, but the pastor officiating the burial suddenly appeared before them.
"Are we ready to begin, Miss Lucas?" he asked solemnly, a bible tucked against his chest.
"I think so," Ruby said, her voice wavering a bit. She glanced Emma's way, noticing the phone in her hand. "Emma?"
She hastily put her phone on silent and threw it back in her bag. "Yes, we're ready," she told the pastor, sending Ruby a reassuring look. She would call the Eunice Sheriff's Office back after the funeral. Hopefully, they would have some answers for her.
Emma managed to stay dry-eyed for the whole service up until the pastor asked if anyone would like to say a few words and Henry, her precious, amazing boy, was the first person to get up.
"Did you knowâ?" Ruby started to ask as Henry walked over to where the pastor stood.
"No," Emma told her, because she'd had no idea, and good lord, she had been doing so well.
"Shit, there's not enough waterproof mascara in the world for this," Ruby moaned, and Emma grabbed her hand in hers and watched intently as Henry took out a piece of lined notebook paper and started to read from it.
"Granny," he said, his little 10-year-old voice wobbling slighty, and Emma almost lost it right then and there. "I still can't believe you're gone. Mom and I miss you so much, but everyone tells me you're in a better place and I hope they're right. I just wanted to let you know that Mom and I are going to take care of Aunt Ruby because that's what our family does, we take care of each other."
There were tears rolling down Emma's face, but she didn't care, clutching Ruby's hand like it was a lifeline.
"I'm going to miss your lasagna and your hot cocoa. You always made mine with just the right amount of whip cream and cinnamon. Mostly though," and that was where her strong boy finally faltered, "I think I'm gonna miss your hugs. Granny always gave the best hugs," Henry said, addressing the crowd of mourners, most who were without a dry eye.
Henry rushed back to his seat, where he finally allowed himself to break in Emma's waiting arms. She held him while he cried into her shoulder, and she rested her chin on top of his head and cried with him for the only mother she'd ever known. And he was right: Granny gave the best hugs.
There were more speakers, townspeople with kind words to say or funny anecdotes to share about the often times cantankerous Adele Lucas, and then suddenly the ceremony was over and they all stood and watched as Granny's casket was lowered into the freshly dug earth. A hollow ache formed in Emma's chest as it went down. She was an orphan again, it seemed, and she clung all the tighter onto Henry and Ruby.
Afterwards, embraces were exchanged, condolences given, and more tears shed until there were only a few mourners left. Ruby and Emma walked arm and arm away from the burial site, Emma's free arm wrapped around Henry's shoulders.
"Ruby, why don't you come home with Henry and me?" Emma asked her.
Ruby smiled sadly. "Maybe later?" she said, making it seem more like a question. "I think I just need to be alone for a little while."
Emma nodded, pulling her into another hug, joined once again by Henry, wrapping his arms around their waists. She and Henry piled into the the Bug and watched Ruby drive away before pulling out of the parking lot as well.
"That was a beautiful speech you made, Henry," Emma said, reaching over and smoothing down the hair.
"Mr. Hopper told me it might help to write some stuff down," Henry replied. "You know, to honor Granny's memory."
"She would have loved it," Emma reassured him.
They drove in relative silence until suddenly there was a jolt and Emma felt her car slowing down, bumping along the road. She craned her neck to look in the sideview mirror and groaned. Sure enough, the back tire was deflated.
"What a day to get a flat," Emma grumbled, unbuckling her seat belt. "Stay here, kid."
She got out and surveyed the tire, finding a nail pressed into it. Opening the trunk provided no relief; she didn't have a spare tire, recalling a couple months ago that she'd used it on her police cruiser.
Well, they weren't that far away from home. Maybe they could just walk from there, and she could call for a tow later.
"Henry, I think we're gonna have to make a run for it," she called to him through the open window, eyeing the dark clouds in the distance.
"Mom, look!" Henry said, and she saw him pointing behind her.
A car had pulled up behind the bug, an old Cadillac, and Emma felt a wave of inexplicable dread wash over her as Mr. French stepped out, his cane steadying him as he walked over.
"Car trouble, Sheriff?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said, giving him a tight smile. "Flat tire, unfortunately."
"Well, the least I can do is drive you and your boy home," French said, gesturing towards his car, matching Emma's smile. "I know what a trying day it's been."
"You don't have to do that," Emma said, not really sure why she was resisting, only that her gut told her something was off. "We're really fine with walking."
"Nonsense, I insist," he told her. "I just dropped Belle off at home. I'm headed to my shop, and your home is on the way."
There was really nothing more to do than accept. "Okay, thank you," she said, grabbing her purse and keys from the car. "Come on, kid. Mr. French is being nice enough to give us a ride."
"Cool," Henry said, unbuckling his seatbelt and bounding out of the car. "Thanks, Mr. French."
"It's my pleasure, Henry," the pawnshop proprietor said.
The three of them got in the car, Emma riding shotgun with Henry behind her, and Mr. French pulled off the shoulder and onto the road. The radio was set to some golden oldies station, and French tapped out the beat against his steering wheel. Emma's uneasiness didn't fade one bit as they drove down the familiar streets of Bon Temps, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that her and Henry would be home in just a few minutes.
"It was a beautiful service," Mr. French said, breaking the silence.
"Yes, it was," Emma agreed.
The service reminded her of the phone call she received beforehand, and she dug in her purse for her phone. Taking it out, she saw she had a new voicemail and text message. She decided to listen to the voicemail first, sneaking a look at Mr. French who kept driving contently.
"Sheriff Swan, this is Sheriff Jameson from the Eunice Sheriff's Office. I understand you're looking for information about Rupert Gold in regards to the murder of his wife. We kept him in police custody for a while after her murder, but with no solid motive or evidence against him, we were forced to let him go. Shortly after, he left Eunice with his son and was never heard from again. Suspicious, I know. I have only one picture of the man, a mugshot from when we brought him in. I'll text it over to you right now. Let me know if I can be of any further assistance."
The line clicked off as the message ended. Emma hurriedly went into her messages, clicking the new one, and opened the attachment.
All the blood drained out of her face as she looked at the mugshot. White, middle-aged male, shoulder length brown hair; his mouth was open just enough so that she could see the fillings in his teeth. What caught her attention most were his eyes: cold, remorseless, the eyes of a killer.
Eyes that belonged to the man sitting next to her.
There was no mistaking it; Rupert Gold was none other than Belle's husband, Mr. French.
A/N: Dun dun dunnnnn. Props to you if you saw that coming as many of you who reviewed did. Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites, and follows! They keep me highly motivated! Hopefully they next update won't be so far away!