Thank you for being patient - updates might by sparser for a short while (family stuff) and I apologize in advance. It makes me happy to read your reactions so thank you very much. And sorry for shooting Emma. Consider this update my apology.
Cudos to Nicole for beta-ing and being generally fantastic (and AMiserableLove25 for making me want to update faster!
"I thought you two were supposed to be gathering food samples," David said, a hint of anger in his words.
Emma raised her hands defensively, "It wasn't our intention to get into a situation, David."
The older man shook his head, pointing to the establishment he'd just exited, "Phillip and Henry are processing the scene and taking samples of the food. Killian's giving a statement about what happened to our un-sub and you got shot. Tell me why I shouldn't throttle you?"
"Because there's no one else you'd rather have on your team?" she suggested meekly, wincing when the medic dabbed at her wound with antiseptic. David shook his head and rolled his eyes, turning and leaving to talk to the newly-arrived Sally. She looked up when she heard Killian approaching, letting her eyes flit to their Unit Chief behind him.
"He's pissed."
"Tell me about it," Killian sighed, shaking his head and looking over his shoulder.
"It's not like we walked in expecting to get shot at."
"I know."
"He's just being unreasonable because I got shot."
"Has he kissed it better for you yet?"
Emma opened her mouth to continue speaking before she registered his words and sneered at him, his face lighting up in a smirk. She winced again and Killian's eyes skimmed her wound, grimacing a bit before meeting her stare again.
"How bad does it look?" she asked, flicking some blonde hair absentmindedly from her eyes.
"'Tis but a graze, love," he replied. She rolled her eyes and let her gaze wander behind him, landing on something before hardening. He turned and followed her line of sight to where it ended, on the black body bag that held their un-sub.
"Shame I never got to thank him for shooting me," she hissed, "Have you called Ruby to look into his profile?" Killian nodded and sat down beside her on the edge of the ambulance, looking out at the authorities scattered around the area like ants to sugar.
"His name was Allen Baumer, thirty-three years old. Turns out he was one of the people who 'discovered' the second set of animal remains on the Ryer property. He fits the description from the women who were assaulted but, since he wasn't in the system and he left no DNA, they never caught him… until now."
"Do we know why he was doing it?" Emma asked, frowning and looking at her partner.
He nodded solemnly, "His mother died when he was young and his father remarried soon after. Almost immediately after, he started being admitted to hospital for numerous injuries… it's not ignorant to assume the timing had something to do with the new wife."
"So his step-mother was beating him and his Dad… wasn't doing anything about it?" she queried disbelievingly. Killian shrugged and Emma let the thought stew in her head; it explained his need to attack couples while, at the same time, clarifying the brutal attack on the female counterparts. She shook her head – had no one heard of therapy these days?
They were silent for a moment until the medic's voice drew her attention. The bullet had grazed her side so it was a deep wound but nothing too serious. It would heal up completely in a couple of weeks. She stood up from where she'd been seated, pulling down her singlet and tugging on her jacket, flinching at the flexing of her muscles. Killian stood up as well so the ambulance could treat the woman from the restaurant for shock, and the two dawdled as they made their way to the black sedans.
"Does it piss you off that we did all that for nothing?" Emma suddenly asked, knowing that her partner would understand what she was referring to: all the hours spent trying to isolate their perpetrator.
Many people often incorrectly assumed that seeing a murderer dead might please the men and women who worked the cases. That perhaps there was justice in seeing someone who'd stolen other people's lives suffer the same fate, that there was fairness to it.
But there wasn't – Emma was a strong believer in justice and, for her, that meant making the monsters of the world suffer in prison for as long as possible. Death was such a swift conclusion; it didn't fit that they would never have to suffer the repercussions of their crimes. Because in death, they wouldn't have to confront the effects of their decisions – unless you were religious, which Emma most decidedly was not.
He shrugged, "I don't think it was for nothing. I mean, yeah he's dead but… the families have closure and we know why he did it – even if it doesn't justify it."
She shoved her hands in her pockets, pouting to some extent like a petulant child, "I guess."
Killian abruptly stopped, "Wait." His tone forced Emma to turn and face him, a slither of worry worming its way across her face as she wondered what might have caused him to halt. However, when his lips began to twitch with a barely concealed smile, her mouth pulled into a tight line.
"Did you just agree with me for the second time today?" he asked with faux shock, and it was all she could do not to slap him across the back of the head again.
Bloody Jones.
"You're an ass," she retorted, continuing her walk to the car. He quickly fell into step with her again.
"You love it."
"And how, pray tell, did you draw that conclusion?" she countered, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. He gave her a crooked smile, bringing his hand up to wiggle the finger that still held the delicate golden band.
"Because you married me, love."
She rolled her eyes, "I want a divorce."
8888
The next day, while Emma was pulling down photos from the pinboard as the rest of her team cleaned up the small office around her, Sally entered. She held a piece of paper in her hands and placed it triumphantly on the large round table, waiting through a pregnant pause as everyone slowly noticed her presence and turned to her. A brilliant grin was stretched across her face and Emma couldn't help but notice the way she directed it primarily at her partner.
She tapped the piece of paper punctually with her finger, "GHB – results got back this morning."
"Sorry what?" Phillip asked, voicing the question on everyone's mind. The redhead rolled her eyes in amusement, a movement that – for some strange reason – aggravated Emma. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for the woman to explain her strange statement.
"The tox screen on the food came back. There was GHB in it."
Henry sighed knowingly, "Gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid; that explains why nothing was coming up. It metabolizes in six hours," he said, as if everyone had that information stored in their repertoire. A small affectionate smile dusted Emma's lips and she shook her head imperceptibly. Henry looked around the room where he was met by a multitude of dubious stares, including Sally's.
"What?" he shrugged, "Haven't you guys ever read 'The Encyclopaedia of Addictive Drugs' by Richard Lawrence Miller?" There was silence and a few head shakes and he sighed, returning his attention to the whiteboard he had been clearing.
"Anyway," Sally began, drawing back the team's attention – save for Henry who was furiously rubbing the whiteboard in an attempt to remove any remnants of marker (OCD at its finest, ladies and gentlemen) – and running a hand through her flaming hair, "Thank you – from all of us here. We wouldn't have been able to do what you all did. So, thank you."
David smiled warmly, "It's not a problem," and then turned to continue packing up the files.
Emma was about to turn too when she noticed Sally motion to Killian. Emma stayed in position, pretending to survey her work as she kept a keen eye on her partner following the redhead out of the small office. The blonde walked to the edge of the office to watch them through the glass wall. She wasn't above eavesdropping.
When they were in the centre of the office, Sally turned to Killian and grinned winningly. She spoke first, though what about Emma would never be able to discern. She fluttered her eyelashes and swung slightly side-to-side.
She was flirting.
Emma felt her fists clench and she tried to ignore the swell of emotion that rose in her chest, unable and unwilling to place its origin or meaning. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes on her partner to gage his response but he was facing away from her so she might as well have been trying to gage the reaction of a brick wall.
However, whatever he said was amusing because Sally laughed heartily; putting her hand on his shoulder in what she assumed was supposed to be a light-hearted gesture. In reality, it looked like she was trying to accost him – or perhaps that was Emma's bias coming into the situation.
Sally replied something that made Killian shift his weight, and she looked up at him through her eyelashes. Again, whatever he said was pleasing because she smiled brilliantly and dropped her hand.
"Emma."
"Hm?" she turned away from the window towards David's voice. He was picking up one of the boxes and nodded down towards the other ones that needed to be taken to the sedans.
"Would you mind?"
Ignoring the fact that yes, she did very much mind – couldn't people spy on their partners in privacy anymore? – Emma walked over to where he was and picked up one of the other boxes on the floor. When she stood up she could feel her superior eyeing her strangely and the blonde shifted her weight uncomfortably under the scrutiny. He cocked his head to the side.
"You alright?"
She nodded, "Yeah, no – fine. Just curious about what Sally might want with Jones is all."
David smiled knowingly, "She asked me earlier if he was single so I'd say she's asking him out."
Emma had to physically force her expression to remain neutral; schooling her features into a mask of indifference as she nodded like it was completely understandable. The two of them walked towards the door and just as she was about to put down the box to open it, Killian appeared.
He stepped out of the way immediately and she couldn't help but keep her eyes downcast as she passed him. They walked out into the station and the blonde had no qualms about spying out the redheaded Police Chief who was sitting at her desk with a very broad, very satisfied grin etched on her face.
They quickly reached the elevator and Emma shifted the box in her arms so she could press the button they needed. The familiar feeling of her stomach dropping into her feet told her they were moving and it was only a second before David turned to her, box still in hand, and regarded her curiously.
Her defences went up like a drawbridge being swiftly retracted, "What?"
"Nothing. Just observing."
Bullshit.
8888
The team were to leave in the morning, and so they had to spend one last night in the hotel. Emma didn't mind, though she knew David wanted to get home sooner – but he couldn't help the fact that their pilot was ill. They were driving back to the hotel, Emma and Killian in one sedan and the remainder of their team in the other, and the blonde was sure she wasn't the only one who felt the tension seep slowly into the vehicle.
She felt unreasonably irritated with her partner, and she couldn't place the root of her indignation – or she was reluctant to place it.
After Emma and David had returned from packing up the boxes, the former couldn't help but notice the way Killian avoided her eyes. She also found herself studying Sally, whose demeanour had considerably brightened (if that was even possible). The redheaded woman sat a little straighter, a small smile constantly threatening to break out on her face, even as she typed at her computer.
Why didn't she just ask Killian about their conversation, you ask?
Pride; it was one of Emma's worst traits and the source of many of her problems. Mixed with her inability to trust and her refusal to request help, it wasn't uncommon that she would find herself in unfavourable situations as a result.
Additionally, her partner would receive an ego-boost from the knowledge that she was curious about his love-life and would unquestionably ensure she never forgot it. And Emma would never willingly give him the upper hand, not when their partnership worked so well because of their equally competitive temperaments. Hell, with them it was a constant struggle for dominance.
"So, are you going to the gala?" Killian asked, shaking Emma out of her reverie.
She shrugged noncommittally, "I'm not sure yet – maybe. You?"
He mirrored her response, "I don't know. I might."
Emma turned to him with a raised eyebrow, "You're thinking about passing on the opportunity to see your co-workers – specifically the women – dressed up? Are you feeling alright?"
Killian cracked a small smile, shaking his head but keeping his eyes on the road, "You know me too well, Swan." He glimpsed her in his peripheral vision and bit his lip.
"You should go to the gala – there'll be a raffle and the beverages are free," he said eventually said.
"You only want me to go so you can see me in a dress," she retorted wryly, a response which prompted him to chuckle faintly. He nodded in amused agreement and cocked his head to the side.
"True, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't go – and hey, you could always bring a friend. Remember we have a plus one?" Killian suggested.
"Are you bringing a friend?" she responded bitterly, powerless to stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. There was a long pause as Emma internally scolded herself for showing such blatant hostility at the idea that Killian might take Sally. After all, it wasn't like the blonde had any claim to him – they were just BAU partners. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Her internal lie detector shrilled hopelessly at that latter statement.
"No," Killian said, glimpsing Emma's expression before smiling brilliantly, "Why? Do you want to come with me?"
She scoffed and looked out the window, attempting to appear disinterested by focusing on the busy streets of Chicago. Eventually, they pulled into the hotel parking lot and Killian parked the sedan, pulling the keys out of the slot and turning to face his partner. His ice blue eyes burned into her with a mixture of curiosity and exasperation.
"Are you alright?" he asked suddenly, taking Emma off-guard with the genuine concern in his voice. She promptly schooled her features, shrugging nonchalantly as if the question was stupid.
"Fine. Why?"
His eyes narrowed fractionally and she wondered if he'd caught the lie.
Stupid question really – of course he had, he may not have the same ability she did but he could still read her like an open book. It more so was a question of whether he would confront her about the lie or let it go. She hoped for the latter but expected the former.
She was pleasantly surprised.
"Okay," he said, opening the car door and sliding out. Emma mirrored his actions and the two walked towards the hotel lobby.
As they walked, the blonde couldn't help but turn the actions of her partner over in her head. It was completely out of character for him to drop a subject so quickly without a definitive answer. He'd always pressed her for truth and it had resulted in arguments more than once. More so than that, Killian knew how to read her to such an extent that usually he didn't even need to ask her if she was okay, but what was causing her feelings.
For reasons she didn't want to identify, Emma felt oddly disconcerted by the idea that he might not care enough to pursue it anymore.
She inwardly cringed; she sounded like one of those chick-flick heroines who go on about wanting a man to fight for her when she tells them to go away – and then complain when men claim females are too complex. Any minute now and she would be muttering some cliché line about the challenges of love and hardship.
But that wasn't what Emma meant – or at least she was pretty sure it wasn't what she meant. It was irritating when Killian pushed a point and forced her to explain but it was also oddly therapeutic. Every time it happened, though she was sour with him for a period afterwards, it felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
The blonde shook her head ever-so-slightly at her internal contradictions. Perhaps she was bipolar.
Eventually, she reached her hotel room and entered without another glance in her partner's direction. Emma headed straight for the shower, pulling her blonde curls up into a messy bun and stripping off her clothes. The hot water was soothing as it rushed down from the shower head, hugging her body in an embrace of liquid and steam.
Yet no amount of boiling water could eradicate her rapidly spinning thoughts.
She finished quickly and changed into a pair of navy blue slacks and a white singlet. The blonde had just taken her hair out of a bun when the familiar sound of her mobile vibrating on the wooden bedside table forced her to leave the still steam-filled bathroom.
Emma picked up the phone and looked at the caller I.D. before answering.
"August?" she greeted incredulously, sitting down on the edge of her bed.
"Good Morning Emma – or is it evening where you are?" he answered.
She rolled her eyes, "Evening - asshat."
"Oh, still feisty as ever – Graham told me he told you to call me," he said, and Emma's fog congested mind had trouble catching up with his words.
"What?"
"Did Graham tell you I wanted you to call me?" he reiterated in a slow and frankly condescending voice. She quickly snapped to attention at his tone, forcing away all previous thoughts and focusing on the conversation.
"Yes."
"Then why have you not called?" he asked, as if it were the most important priority on her list.
She let herself fall back onto the bed, still holding the phone to her ear as she stared up at the ceiling, "Because, unlike some people, I have a job that requires my time. Besides, if you wanted to speak to me so bad, you could call yourself."
"Which is exactly what I'm doing," August retorted.
"What do you want, Booth?" she deadpanned, unwilling to prolong this preamble when all she really wanted to do was curl into a ball and fall asleep.
"To be honest I just wanted to check up on you but… you should know something."
Emma's stomach dropped through her torso and it felt like it had somehow fallen to the lobby six floors below. She swallowed, keeping her emotions in check with an immense amount of effort.
"Well, I'm told Graham called you yesterday and told you he'd been sighted in the general area of Miranda's latest mission?"
"Yeah," Emma breathed, pushing herself up and holding on to the bedside table for support.
"One of Miranda's contacts said she didn't turn up at their rendezvous point this morning."
Silence.
"She's dead isn't she?" Emma asked bluntly, pointing out the figurative elephant in the room. August didn't reply for a long moment and she almost forgot that while she hadn't kept in touch with her old team, they might have. When his voice came through the speaker again, it was shaky.
"I don't know."
Emma Swan was not naïve or by any means religious but by god did she wish she was. Perhaps then, she might be oblivious to the threat slowly approaching or have enough faith that it wouldn't cause collateral damage.
But no, Emma Swan was intellectual and a decided realist. So she knew
It was easier to act oblivious than to face the truth.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, letting some emotion drip into her words, cushioning the impact of what they meant. Because she didn't really know how close Miranda and August had been. The young woman with straight black hair and intense emerald coloured eyes was a ghost of a memory in Emma's mind, an image she only ever recalled in association with him.
So, she didn't often think about Miranda. Until now.
"We've got authorities on the look-out for her, but I don't think… I don't think they'll find her."
She could hear him cut off the end off of the sentence, severing it before it could do damage; he didn't think they would find her alive. There was silence again as Emma waited for him to introduce a new topic, and it was without surprise that she realized they didn't have anything else to discuss. Time and space meant that any semblance of a relationship that may have existed between the two was now gone, like dried flakes of paint that had slowly but surely been scratched off and thrown to the wind.
Now, all that remained was a distant acquaintanceship.
"I have to go," Emma finally mumbled, "take care."
"You too," August replied, and then the line went dead.
She pulled herself up off the bed and rage began to bubble up inside of her, unreasonable and unforeseeable. The blonde threw her mobile phone at the wall, a satisfying smack resounding in the room as she began to kick the side of the bed.
Her breathing shallow, her hair a mess, Emma put her hands to her temples and inhaled deeply. She didn't know what had caused her sudden outburst and she didn't want to have to categorize it. It would be illogical to claim she might have felt saddened by Miranda's inevitable demise – she hadn't spoken to the woman in years. So why did she feel like the oxygen in the room had suddenly become too dense to breathe?
Needing air, Emma abruptly moved away from the bed and walked out of her room into the hall, leaning against the wall and looking up at the ceiling. She breathed deeply, attempting to inhale as much air as she could and then exhaling it with an audible 'ha.' She was unused to being so unstable; everything in her life had been so utterly controlled for such a long time that now, with the threat of uncontainable chaos looming ominously over her head, she didn't have a clue how to deal with it.
She imagined his face and a shudder of fear ran through her, though she wouldn't deny there was the smallest hint of anticipation there as well. It was a cruel and twisted thing; her emotions.
On one side, she knew she should be wary, that his escape meant certain repercussions and possible death. She knew he was dangerous and capable of heinous things. She knew he was a criminal – hell, she'd been responsible for his incarceration.
But there was still a small part of her, curled up in the corner of her mind like a battered and bruised alter-ego. It whispered retribution with a voice of eagerness. It rose keenly at the idea of seeing him again and the more dominant side of her mind scolded it for such stupidity and blatant naivety. It didn't care though, smiling evilly at the knowledge that she would be seeing him again and, when she did, everything would come rushing back with a vengeance.
She could imagine how the terror would cripple her on the spot, like a blow to the back of her knees. How the heat would rise to her face out of both anger and guilt. And then of course, despite telling herself it didn't matter, she could imagine the warmth that always came with seeing his face.
Because that had never changed – sick and twisted as it may be, she really had been stupid enough to develop genuine feelings for him. Regardless of every single warning she'd been given – Emma had been naïve enough to play with fire and she knew firsthand just how much it hurt to get burned. The puckered scars on her heart the only invisible tell-tale.
Emma frowned at the ceiling, her hand reaching up to touch the hollow of her throat where a beautiful pendant had once lain. Her finger delicately traced the empty space, and she closed her eyes trying to ignore the emotions threatening to swallow her whole.
Dread.
Remorse.
Fondness.
Embarrassment.
Regret.
She started when there was a sound down the corridor.
Emma snapped out of her reverie, straightening her shoulders and swallowing the lump in her throat. Her eyes locked onto the door that opened, hesitantly at first and then swinging easily.
It was Killian who stepped out of the room, and Emma's apprehension waned only to be replaced by irritation. She did not feel like dealing with him, of all people, right now.
The blonde folded her arms across her chest, a defensive mannerism she'd adopted when she was young. Killian eyed her carefully and she couldn't put her finger on what she saw in his ice blue eyes as they studied her. She knew she looked exhausted and, more than anything, beleaguered.
As soon as she noticed his dissection of her, the fleeting display of vulnerability disappeared and the impenetrable walls were resurrected.
"What are you doing out here?" she asked, suspicion lining her words like acid.
Killian raised his hands innocently, "I just heard you out here and was curious," he admitted. Emma's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him, studying the planes of his face for any slither of untruth. But all she saw was grey, no definitive answer to her silent inquiry, and, not possessing the strength to coax a more conclusive answer, she unwillingly let it go.
She chewed on her bottom lip, still untrustworthy despite his excuse for joining her in the warmly lit hallway. Emma leaned against the wall next to her door, folding her arms across her chest and raising her blue-green stare heavenwards. She let herself ponder aimlessly over the swirling pattern on the ceiling as she heard Killian approach her and lean on the wall beside her.
His eyes burned a hole into her temple and she could see from her peripheral vision as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black coat. It was silent for a long moment before his accented voice broke her trance.
"I'm sorry."
Emma's eyes swivelled towards him and she turned her head to face him. She watched him carefully, waiting for some sarcastic explanation to his apology. Genuine emotion was incredibly rare for him. He finally dragged his cerulean gaze from the ceiling to meet her eyes.
"About the other morning," he elucidated, shrugging, "I… shouldn't have pushed you. And I'm sorry."
She stared at him in shock for another second and then turned abruptly to stare at the wall opposite them.
"It's fine," she croaked lamely and he studied her for a long moment, as if trying to make a decision.
"Are you alright?" he finally asked and Emma sighed, fixing the wall opposite them with a withering look.
"You know that's the second time you've asked me that today?" she said, avoiding actually answering the question since she was sure he wouldn't believe her anyway. Killian shrugged and silence encroached as neither spoke for a long time.
And then, "Listen… I know you're not going to tell me right now and I can deal with that." He gave her a meaningful look that she didn't return, "But… take care of yourself, okay?" Killian's eyes stayed on her for a moment longer, his lip somewhere in the grips of his teeth as he pondered something unidentifiable. When Emma didn't respond, still too blindsided by the abrupt show of concern, he pushed off the wall. Emma glanced at him as he did and, with one last evocative look levelled in her direction which she met with her own tentative stare, he walked gracefully back to his room.
Emma pivoted on her heel to return to her own room. She pulled out the key card and entered it in the slot and, when the light flashed green, thrust her door open.
"Emma?"
She was behind the door but it wasn't closed, so she could hear him but he couldn't see her expression.
"You know you can tell me, right?" he said uncharacteristically hesitant, and a small reluctant part of her brain registered the intimacy of this moment despite the wooden door separating them from each other's view. She knew precisely what he was referring to, even without the subtle undertone of 'I know something's wrong' clear in his voice. Silence answered his question and he waited patiently for her to reply.
Every nerve in her body urged her to close the door and face him, tell him what was wrong and ask for help. Every single muscle tensed with the internal war occurring within her mind, because she wanted to tell him. And then it hit her; that was exactly why she couldn't tell him. Because she wanted to – because her natural response was slowly becoming to trust him, let him in. Emma's grip tightened on the door as she processed this with lightning speed, anxiety seeping into her bones at the realization that, somewhere during their partnership, she'd begun to let him in.
Emma let her hand slide down the door as she searched desperately in her head for a response that wouldn't affect their fragile relationship. But there was none, so, without even a breath of reply, she retreated into her room.
8888
The next morning, with the sun glimpsing on the horizon, sending rays of orange and gold into the dark sky, their plane took off for the short journey home. Emma settled into a seat opposite Henry this time around, coaxing him into a game of chess (which she knew she would lose) just to keep her mind occupied.
He'd given her a strange look when she'd suggested it but eventually relented, only after warning her that he wouldn't go easy just because he liked her. Phillip had piped up from beside them; inquiring as to whether Henry liked him based on the slaughter he'd received in their last game. The young man had smiled in reply, turning his attention back to Emma who had set up the game.
Barely twenty minutes had passed when Henry announced, "Check mate."
The blonde sighed, giving him a bemused look and picking up a pawn to throw at him. He caught it deftly and raised an eyebrow.
"Immature," he muttered good-naturedly, putting the small chess piece back on the table in front of them. She rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest and glancing at the other end of the plane where her partner was reading a book.
"Emma – are you and Killian okay?" Henry asked abruptly, tearing her gaze away from the man at the end of the plane. She frowned, putting on a façade of triviality.
"Yeah, we're fine. Why do you ask?"
He gave her a condescending look – something which both irritated and surprised Emma. Firstly, because she disliked anyone looking at her with disdain purely out of principle. And secondly because it was so out of character for the young man sitting opposite her. The gods knew he was definitely entitled to be pompous, with all his degrees and distinctions, but he'd never been one to act on it. That was simply his make-up.
Emma raised her eyebrows.
He blushed under her stern glower, "I just mean it's kind of obvious that something's going on. You're both out of sorts lately."
"We're fine," she answered, "you should know by now that me and Jones don't always get along."
He nodded, replacing the pieces on the board so they could play another game.
"Oh hey, by the way Phillip and I were thinking perhaps we could go out to celebrate the Super Bowl next week?" Henry said absentmindedly, pushing forward one of the pawns and stroking his chin in thought. Emma concentrated on her first move, pushing forward one of her own pieces before looking up to the young man again.
"Sorry, what?"
"I said; Phillip and I were thinking perhaps we could get the team together and go out to celebrate the Super Bowl," he repeated, thrusting another chess piece forward on the board.
"When's that?" she asked, surprised and slightly bummed that she'd missed the majority of the lead-up.
"Next week," he replied.
"I'm game," a voice said from beside Emma and she jumped in her seat, blue-green eyes snapping up to land on Killian. He leaned on the side of her seat, his arms crossed as he watched their game in apparent amusement. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Henry.
"No one asked you," she snapped back. He turned to her with a raised eyebrow, probably curious as to what he had done to warrant such an unusually short temper with her. Emma didn't truly want to delve into her reasoning either, she just knew that, since the night prior, she felt the need to distance herself from him – even if that meant aggravating him.
He gave her a confused frown, but Emma ignored it.
She had to shut him out.
Henry looked between the two of them as the blonde manoeuvred another pawn. She wondered if they'd made scissors that could cut tension yet because such a device would probably glide happily through the air at that moment.
"Well," Henry said awkwardly, "that's three. If we can get you and David, it'd be fun."
Emma cocked her head as if pondering the suggestion, "A night spent at home with my wine or a night spent in the presence of drunken chauvinistic assholes? Sorry kid, I'll pass." He frowned and, without even looking at the board, prodded a piece forward.
"I wasn't under the impression we would be going to a crappy watering-hole. We were thinking of going to the Mad Hatter – you know the one downtown that's fairly mild?"
"The only reason I ever liked going there was to beat the regulars at darts. I've done that. Ergo, I have no reason to go there anymore."
"But since it is super bowl, there might be new people to display you dart-throwing prowess to?"
Killian artfully chose to intercede just then, strutting towards Henry's seat and leaning against the wall which it was backed against. He levelled Emma with a challenging stare, "Don't bother Henry, she won't come. She's too concerned she might actually have to put her money where her mouth is."
The blonde's lips drew into a tight line and she narrowed her eyes at him, "If you're trying to goad me, it won't work."
He smirked, "I would never try to goad you, love. I'm just pointing out the fact you are incredibly reluctant to the idea of going out. We all went last year, so, do share, what's changed your mind this year?" Henry, who had been watching her partner, turned back to her with a shrug as if to say 'he has a point.' Emma bit her lip and subsequently the slew of words she wanted to throw at Killian.
He did have a point – unless she wanted to explain why she didn't want to come (which was either (a) that she didn't want to be in close proximity to her partner when alcohol was present or (b) she was completely consumed by the need to keep tabs on her past and thus was losing the ability to sleep) she would have to go. Or come up with a suitable excuse.
And for some reason, her mind was failing to provide adequate justification.
Goddamned fucking Irish man-bitch.
"Fine," Emma spat, shoving a knight forward with unnecessary force.
Killian smiled in satisfaction, slapping Henry on the back and walking back to sit opposite David who he was most likely informing of their little get-together. Luckily, he would probably bring Mary Margaret whom Emma had a particular fondness for. If they could get Ruby along – which shouldn't be too difficult – the blonde might actually manage to enjoy herself.
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Why had she agreed to this?
She gave Ruby a disdainful look as the two women walked towards the bar, the music from inside already perceptible from the street, mingled in with the sound of laughter and glasses being clinked together. The brunette beside her grinned brilliantly, all white teeth and red lips.
Her dark hair hung straight down her back, her large eyes shaded and lined in black to match her ensemble of black skinny jeans, red shirt and brown jacket. Ruby also wore six inch heels to enhance her height – because, you know, she wasn't already tall enough.
She snaked her arm through Emma's, appreciating her appearance with a once over as they continued walking. Dressed in dark blue jeans, a black singlet and burgundy leather jacket, her naturally curly hair left to dangle down her back in a waterfall of gold, she looked good.
"You'll enjoy yourself and you know it," Ruby said optimistically, leading Emma into the bar.
They were meeting the team there and Emma only hoped they weren't the first to arrive. She was still trying to figure out how she'd been tricked into it and, when contemplating it brought her back to her partner, she chose to let it go.
It was best not to ponder.
The music became louder as they passed through the door and she was immediately scanning the bar for a familiar face. However, her friend was the first to spot their team-members at a table near the small timber area that had been allotted as some pathetic excuse for a dance-floor. Ruby led her through the crowd of people to where David, Mary Margaret and Henry were sitting, beers in hand.
The only woman at the table stood up at their approach with a look of relief on her face, brushing her bangs out of her eyes as she met them in front of the table. Her soft green eyes found Emma's and the latter was quick to reciprocate the hug she offered.
"Long time, no see," Mary Margaret said, her voice barely heard over the loud music.
Emma nodded, "Yeah." She moved around her as Ruby stepped forward to embrace the petite woman, sitting at the table beside Henry. He was talking to David about something and she chose not to interrupt, letting her gaze drift up to the small television screen displaying the game. Personally, Emma didn't have a preference between the Ravens and the 49ers. Her team didn't get in so it wasn't of concern to her who won, though she had her money on the Ravens.
Someone pinched her arm and the blonde whipped to the side only to see Phillip smiling at her.
"You came!" he said loudly, throwing his arms up in the air. She nodded with a small smile, shrugging as if to say 'what else has a girl to do on a Sunday?' (Answer: many things, including preparation for a certain ex who may or may not have a thing for revenge)
"Aye, that she did," a familiar voice alleged behind her.
Emma revolved on the spot, a deadpan expression already fixed into place as she did. She found herself facing Killian and was almost taken off-balance by the close proximity with which he stood. But, never one to show weakness, she didn't step back, simply maintaining his stare.
"I'm surprised you aren't already on the dance floor dry humping," Emma said scathingly, feeling as Phillip moved towards the nucleus of their group. People walked between the two agents and the table, further pushing them away and isolating the blonde in her partner's presence.
He raised an eyebrow, "So harsh Swan, but is that a hint of longing I hear? You wouldn't like to dance would you?"
She scoffed derisively, "Not on your life."
Their eyes locked for a long moment and she could see the bitterness in the way he regarded her – evidently, her ignorance of him for the past week hadn't gone unnoticed. In the gym, she'd occupied herself with the punching bag, overlooking the past years of combat-training tradition (and the fact that her doctor had told her to lay-off the exercise for fear of worsening the deep graze on her side). In the office, she'd gravitated towards Phillip and Henry, only ever interacting with him when absolutely necessary. For the first day or two, Killian had simply been befuddled at her behaviour.
Now, though, he was angry and she could see it clearly in his crystalline eyes.
"I'm going to go and show some men how women play darts," she finally said.
"Badly?" Killian suggested with a dark smirk. Emma narrowed her eyes at him once before stepping decisively around him and towards the buffoons already playing the aforementioned game. As she did, she caught sight of the windows, their coloured glass reminding her strangely of a bar not too far from 'The Mad Hatter.' Emma paused to lean on the archway leading to the dart-board room, her mind already reminiscing memories that were best left forgotten.
February 2005
Emma walked confidently into the derelict bar, an air of erudition rolling off her effortlessly as her black heels clicked concisely along the wooden flooring. She made a beeline for the booth in the back corner, sitting down and tucking a perfect blonde curl behind her ear. Her blue-green eyes scanned expertly over the bar, searching for her prey with practiced nonchalance.
She let her attention wander to the artfully designed windows, silently admiring the use of stained glass to create a truly entrancing pattern. A barkeep approached the table and she kept her expression neutral as the woman stopped with a pen and pad at the ready. Emma ordered a pint of beer, selectively ignoring the waitress' incredulous look as she turned and headed back to the bar to prepare the beverage.
The blonde had never understood the general consensus stating all women liked frilly drinks with umbrellas – Emma would take a bottle of Budweiser over a martini any day. Though, she wouldn't refute that her favourite alcohol was undoubtedly red wine.
She pulled back the sleeve of her black leather jacket to check the time, folding her legs under the table effortlessly in spite of the tight dark skinny jeans she was wearing. Emma looked back to the entrance, watching as men and women occasionally entered the dirty establishment and made themselves at home at the bar; it was the sort of restaurant that men came to after being caught cheating and women came to in an attempt to forget their stuffy repetitive lives. Thus, it was the perfect watering hole for people to meet up in the hopes of having a one-night stand.
It caught her genuinely off-guard when a man slid into the chair opposite her without her notice – having come from the back rather than the front entrance. But then, she probably should have expected as much since he all but owned the place.
Her eyes snapped quickly onto him and she raised her eyebrows challengingly.
He smirked, maintaining eye contact despite the tight black clothing she had donned for the evening – a fact she was more than impressed by. He was attractive, though a voice in the back of her head scoffed at the insinuation that he mightn't be just because of his shady dealings. With mussed dark brown hair and brown eyes, he certainly wasn't unattractive.
The only question was whether this was her guy or one of his guards sent in as a decoy.
"Jennifer?" he asked.
Emma smiled without warmth, narrowing her eyes, "Cassidy?"
He nodded and her wits told her he was being honest. So this was him.
"I've been told anyone wanting to get into business with 'the big guns' should see you?"
He grinned appreciatively at her; his gaze fixed on her with what she could swear was intrigue.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Why you sought me out specifically."
Emma maintained her composure at the thinly veiled threat, daring her to reveal her true motives for being at the bar and damning her if she didn't come up with a suitable response. She kept her face devoid of reaction with expert focus, her eyes flicking to the barmaid as she brought over the pint of beer. The woman sat it down in front of Emma and walked away without another word and the man opposite her eyed the drink curiously.
"I wouldn't peg you as the sort of girl to drink beer," he admitted.
"Woman," Emma corrected, picking up the mug and taking a long swig, "and there are a lot of things about me that might surprise you."
He chuckled faintly, a small part of the blonde taking note of the sound and storing it away for future cogitation. She didn't miss the way he waited for her to speak, obviously still contemplating whether she was genuine or not. Luckily, Emma had missed her calling as an actress.
She flicked a piece of hair out of her face, "I've heard good things about you – that and I can appreciate a pretty boy when I see one."
He leaned back in the chair, the smirk on his face stretching to a grin as she sipped at the beer, her eyes holding his and waiting for him to either shoot her in the face or offer her a deal. He did neither and continued to watch her. When she began to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny, the blonde leaned back as well, sighing in tedium and looking around the bar.
"I think we should take this discussion elsewhere… puisque la matière est d'une nature sensible."
She murmured the last part in French, oddly delighted when he grinned in recognition at the language and registered that she had said '…since the material is of a sensitive nature'
His eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned forward, "Vous pourriez avoir raison."
'You might be right.'
Emma grinned, pulling out a single note of cash and placing it on the table. She stood up, stepping out from the booth to stand next to the still sitting man. She looked down at him with a defiantly raised eyebrow.
"Shall we, Cassidy?"
He stood up and their proximity set off warning bells in her mind, "Call me Neal."
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