Don't judge me for any logistical issues with the way they solve this case - I'm not a tech expert and I don't actually know if all this would work but WRITER'S LICENSE! Also, initially this was a mammoth 20,000 word chapter so I split it into two parts. For those asking about CS having more moments, you should know something about me: I'm a big believer in slow burns having big pay offs so just hold tight (*cough* wait one more chapter *cough*)
PART I
Last time on Provocateur: An undercover agent, Officer Tate was found dead, killed by a mole in the CIA with military training who he most likely trusted. The head of the drug operation (King) didn't find out about the undercover agent until after he was murdered and it's believed the mole was afraid to tell King but Emma was unconvinced. The team identified that Tate had a listening device in a cafe where two of the men running the drug operation (King and Prince) frequented and something they said made him leave abruptly. However, it is unknown what made Tate rush out. After the gala, Emma and Killian had a fight and while Emma was investigating Neal, she saw him meeting with a man she considered to be vaguely familiar. Graham was killed in a shooting by Neal and Emma was stopped before she could retaliate against her (ass hole) ex.
Metal scraped roughly against the hard floor, the punching bag stand powerless against the forceful punch thrown its way. The sound grated on Killian's ears as he threw another fist and then another at the heavy bag swaying back and forth with each blow. Blood rushed in his ears, mixing with the music that muted his surroundings as he turned it up to drown out the awful screeching of the punching bag.
His singlet clung to him, damp from the sweat that cooled his stifling skin. His muscles burned, his head ached, he just needed a release.
Her face screwed up in disdain, acidic gaze focused entirely on him, "I don't trust you because you're a smug bastard and yeah, we might be partners but that's all there has ever been!"
The sound the bag made when his fist connected was loud enough to break through his barrier of music and exertion.
Her blonde hair escaping it's binds as she shook her head with such potent anger even he had to wince at the memory, "You can't help but stick your nose in everything!"
His hand was starting to hurt.
"I haven't asked for your help because I don't want it or need it! So, leave me alone!"
A rod of fire shot up his knuckles and wrist as he cracked his closed fist acrimoniously against the leather and withdrew it just as quick, swearing heavily as he stepped away from the punching bag and ripped out his earphones. His footsteps echoed in the empty gym - the perks of coming in early in the morning on a Monday.
He walked quickly to the stands and sat down, studying his hand as he flexed his fingers, a stinging sensation fringing his knuckles. He was satisfied to note that no serious damage had been done. At least not physically.
Killian kneaded his forehead for a long moment, her face invading his thoughts without permission as he sat in the silent gym, the blood no longer rushing in his ears, his music erupting from his earphones in a dull background roar.
He hadn't spoken to her since their decidedly heated argument and he wondered if she would be in to work that day. She was definitely not sick and claiming so would just be insulting to the team.
Would they confront what had happened or bowl over it like they did with all of their disagreements?
Granted, it felt as though all of their previous resentments had bubbled collectively to the surface at the Gala - mistrust and pent up frustration exploding in a slur of thunderous words. Every other argument seemed so petty now, like a snowball in comparison to an avalanche, a wave to a tsunami, a storm to a typhoon.
Something had undoubtedly changed - and he couldn't quite discern whether what they had was now broken.
And while a part of him liked to believe he could function without her, another part of him - the part that tended to call him out on bullshit and sounded a lot like Emma - whispered unforgivingly that he couldn't. Not even if he tried.
A heavy sigh escaped his mouth and he brought his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose as he gathered up his scattered thoughts and pulled his focus back to the case. It was important, after all; identifying a mole in the CIA was far more imperative than the status of his relationship with his partner.
Perhaps if he told himself that enough times, it might eventually take.
With one last steadying breath, his heart beat finally returning to a sturdy pace, he rose from his seat on stands, grabbed his bag and exited the gym.
8888
He held himself together for half the day, chasing leads with Phillip, refusing to indulge the desire to ask. But it was after the second outing, upon his return with the British agent - and she still hadn't come in - that he decided to inquire her whereabouts.
Killian sat casually on the edge of the table as Phillip made a path towards Henry who sat in front of the laptop, speed-reading the necessary documents. David was studying the board, adding details to what they already knew - like something seemingly insignificant could shed light on what was turning out to be a terribly difficult case.
He scratched the spot behind his ear lightly and cleared his throat, catching his superiors attention before he spoke in an indifferent lilt, "So, is Swan sick again today?"
David shook his head and sighed, more exasperation in the heavy breath than a simple question like that should have warranted. He put the lid on the pen he was holding and turned around to face their handicapped team. His eyes lingered on Killian for a long moment before he garnered the attention of the other two men.
All eyes were on him when he answered, "No, actually. Emma's taking long-service leave."
Henry's eyes widened near comically, Phillip's morning coffee threatened to choke him as he sputtered and Killian merely stilled.
"What?" the youngest managed to stammer.
"What do you mean-" Phillip began confusedly.
"I mean," David interrupted, running a hand through his blonde hair, equally perplexed, "Emma's taken long-term service leave. She let Regina know on Friday night after the Gala."
Killian finally found some words to throw into the room, his voice sounding stunted to his own ears, "But we're in the middle of a case."
David nodded, "I know but... I mean, you guys know how hard she works. She never takes holidays - I think she deserves a break, don't you?"
The kid nodded fervently, his head oddly resemblant of one of those dashboard bobble-headed figurines on an off-road, "Of course, but it just seems strange for her to just drop a case... Don't you think?"
He couldn't have voiced Killian's thoughts any more clearly if he'd tried.
Emma Swan did not take holidays, she did not take sick days, and she certainly wouldn't do both in the middle of what had become a monster case that affected the nation's security. His gut churned uncomfortably as possible explanations swam around in his mind - every single one screaming danger for his partner.
"She has been on-edge lately," Phillip added absent-mindedly, scratching his temple and shrugging. David and Henry nodded as Killian's mind continued to stew.
Something felt very wrong. But he couldn't put it into words; it was something in the depths of his stomach. Like every time he swallowed, a crevasse was deepening in his abdomen, a black hole swirling greater and greater as something he couldn't yet see loomed over him.
He hadn't felt that in a long time.
The silence in the office was stifling and finally caught Killian's attention, forcing him to return to reality where his team members were looking around the room somewhat awkwardly. Henry, whose face was now all but clear of the bruises, raised his head and shook it from side to side.
"If no one's going to say it, I will," they all turned to him with furrowed eyebrows, "She might be dealing with what happened on the last case. I mean, she didn't get sessions with Kathryn and I never got the chance to tell her I don't blame her..."
He trailed off, letting them fill in the rest.
The dog attack, seeing Henry beaten, the guilt that had surely made a permanent residence for itself in the back of her mind.
Killian himself felt like it would have been a plausible explanation - had she not been acting strange for weeks before Henry's case. She was indeed suffering some form of stress, her reaction to the dog at Prince's apartment was evidence enough, but Emma liked being busy.
Why take a break when what she really needed was to keep herself occupied?
David and Phillip nodded appreciatively at the young agent's comments, eyes unfocused as they agreed with his hypothesis. The strangest thing about the situation was, considering what had happened, Henry should have been the one taking a leave of absence. He had, after all, been beaten senseless by a diagnosed psychopath. That wasn't to say the experience hadn't been traumatic for Emma. It was just strange, especially since Henry was the one using his capture as an explanation for her unceremonious departure.
Killian felt a great deal more respect for the kid and a certain amount of awe.
"Either way, we're going to have to do this case without Emma," David eventually said with a breathy exhale, subtly letting the team know they had to get back on point. Killian turned to the white board as Henry fished out his phone, no doubt sending the aforementioned blonde a message.
He tried to read the black marker that was clearly scribbled across the whiteboard but couldn't stop the one thing that circled his brain unrelentingly.
Something is wrong.
Something is very, very wrong.
He yearned to grab his keys off the table, jump into his car, and drive to her apartment demanding answers. And he almost did, fingers twitching in the direction of the table before a halting image came to mind and the indignation simmering just below his skin resurfaced, coating his heart with a fresh layer of hurt.
"I haven't asked for your help because I don't want it or need it! So, leave me alone!"
Straightening up, Killian rooted himself to the spot and forced himself to read through every detail of the case so far. She wanted to be left alone. So he would leave her alone.
8888
It was a long week of chasing up dead ends and by the end of it; Killian was both spent and frustrated. It marred his face, the lines on his forehead semi-permanent as he read over files, spoke to subjects of interest, and brainstormed fruitlessly with the team.
The case was already going cold - and that wasn't even the least of his worries.
There was an ever-present pit in his stomach and it wouldn't go away. With every passing day it only served to widen and deepen and he knew exactly why that was.
At first the team had been concerned for what might have prompted her to take such a sudden break: the majority plucking it up to the stress of Henry's abduction and her experience with the rabid dogs.
But he knew better than to assume that her abrupt change in temperament was something so short term. It had started a while back, phantom touches dancing along his skin as memories of sloppy fighting in the gym fired to life in his mind - the first time he'd noticed the change in her. The slightly frayed edges, like a stray thread on the cuff of a sleeve, and once you pulled the material began to unravel.
That morning had been the starting point, or maybe it had only been the starting point for him. But he felt as though with each case, with each passing hour and day and week, the thread had been unwinding right in front of his eyes. She had been coming undone right in front of him - and he had never been given a chance to stop it. To tie the loose end for her.
And with the thread, the fabric had come undone and the team was only just starting to see what he had picked up on from the very beginning, when it had been barely a wisp of string on the cusp of something big. Nothing small could ever make Emma Swan so harried, nothing unimportant would ever drag her from the one thing he knew made her feel good: being useful, doing her job.
It had been a week though and they had heard nothing from her.
He told himself he would stay resolute, he would not waver in his vow to leave her alone just as she'd explicitly asked.
The decision wasn't made purely out of respect for her wishes though. There was still a lot of anger, a lot of hurt and pain that festered below the surface, chewing on his nerves and sapping his energy when he wasn't aware. The case was still at the forefront of his mind but there was a constant buzzing at the back of his head.
It reminded him she was not at work and ticked off each day with cruel relish, hissing words of blame and danger, of loss and broken things.
David tried to remind them that she was on holiday and she had no obligation to keep them updated daily or even to keep them updated. He even had to tighten the reign on Ruby when the brunette had made a comment about checking Emma's credit history just to check she was alive. They were giving her space, stepping back with respect because they had no right to intrude. If she was staying away, it was for a reason.
Killian didn't think she was dead. He knew she wasn't - something would feel inexplicably different if she was, he was sure.
He just knew.
But that didn't stop him from straining his ears whenever he heard one of the team members mention her name, listening for any news of her whereabouts. He knew for sure that Henry and Ruby had already texted more than once, no doubt voicing concern over her absolute silence.
The fact alone that she wasn't texting Henry back, the youngest and by far her favourite member of the team, was disconcerting.
It took a week for Killian to relent.
After an embarrassingly unsuccessful day, arriving home to an empty apartment with nothing to sate his need for distraction, he'd faltered. His phone was tucked in his back pocket when he pulled it out and sat down on the edge of his bed.
He'd promised himself he would leave her alone.
Calloused fingers hovered over the screen, drawing indiscernible patterns as a thousand different approaches ran through his mind. The air wasn't exactly clear between them - in fact it was ridiculously polluted by a litany of ugly words. He groaned and dropped the device beside him, shaking his head in frustration.
She wanted to be left alone.
David had told them to leave her alone.
She could be in danger.
What could it hurt just to text her?
Screw it.
He snatched up the phone again and typed out a quick message, the sort of thing she would expect from him. As disappointed as he was with himself for giving in to the urge to check-up on her, he felt pleased with the question since it was fairly non-committal:
So I hear you've taken long-term service leave?
It was sent before he could second-guess himself. He felt like he was running in circles, chasing his tail as he tried to pinpoint why exactly he cared so much.
She's your partner, has been for a while, you're permitted to care, a part of him rebuked.
Over and over, he pulled apart the night at the gala. Every second replaying in his mind, haunting him as he rushed to the start in a desperate bid to attain whether he forced her hand. He couldn't think of one moment where she'd shown anything other than mild reluctance. She hadn't outright rejected him at any point. If she had, he would have left her alone. In fact, he could have sworn at one point, he'd even felt her lean into him.
What if the reason she left was to get away from him?
Texting her would only drive her further away.
"This is stupid," he told himself unconvincingly as he threw his phone on the mattress.
8888
Killian arrived at the office three days later to Ruby's excited voice over the computer monitor. He had been able to decipher her unnaturally high-pitched voice from outside the office door, could swear he'd even heard her clipped words from the glass entrance in the hallway outside the precinct.
Setting his stuff down beside the door, he moved quickly to stand beside Henry and David at the table, both of whom were consumed by the laptop in front of them. As Ruby's face came into view he tried to chime in on what exactly had her acting like an over-excited Chihuahua.
The brunette was smacking Victor's arm with every exaggerated word and he was beginning to wince at the impact as the good-natured blows continued.
"In a couple of minutes I will have footage from the park!"
"Good job Ruby!" David congratulated warmly as Victor rubbed his arm on the screen. It was only then that the tech analyst finally noticed the newly arrived agent.
"Killian! Am I fabulous or am I fabulous?" she said brightly, turning to her male acquaintance on the second alternative.
He raised a speculative eyebrow, "That depends - what have you pulled off this time?"
She wiggled her eyebrows and her smile grew bigger, if possible.
"You know how some cars have those cameras installed in the back because the rookies can't reverse park without them?"
David narrowed his eyes defensively, "I have one of those. What are you trying to say?"
"That you can't park without technological aid meat bag," Ruby answer unflinchingly and, ignoring her superior's mixed look of admonishment and amusement, refocused her attention on Killian. "I was looking through the video footage from the park, seeing what I could see and then I noticed a Volvo V40 parked a bit away from where the murder took place that pulled in about five minutes before it happened."
"And?" he prompted.
"And I identified the number plate and, since the car was only off for a couple of minutes before the murder occurred - if I can hack into the car's rear camera, I can clear up the video and get some kind of mini view of what happened. Or at least a floor plan."
It was small but it was something and, at the moment, anything was helpful. He smiled tightly and gave her a nod of approval. For a second, he thought he saw her eyes flicker with understanding through the monitor but she covered it deftly with a shrug and modest smile.
"I know. I'm amazing."
"You are. You too Victor," David added as an afterthought, "Make sure you send it through as soon as you get it. We'll be waiting."
"I'm sure you will, my pretties."
And with that final note, the screen went black and Henry closed the laptop. Killian leaned on the edge of the table, folding his arms as David straightened from his bent over position beside the younger agent. He opened his mouth to talk to the other two men when he stopped and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He read whatever was on the screen and frowned, moving silently to where the television remote rested in the center of the table.
"What's wrong?" Henry asked as he and Killian watched David's movements warily. The Unit Chief turned on the television and sat down, changing the channel until it landed on the morning news.
"Phillip's caught in heavy traffic, something about a shooting near Charlton Street'" David answered absent-mindedly over his shoulder.
Henry's eyes widened and the room went silent as they all focused in on the screen. David turned up the volume so they could hear the news reader narrate the startling headline and headshot. It was a picture of a bald man with skin the colour of ebony and a sharp face.
'Businessman shot in cold blood,' the headline read as it circulated the screen in a constant line of white block letters. The newsreader's voice was calm and appropriately aghast.
"Businessman, Miles Jackson, was found at three o'clock in the afternoon yesterday on the side of Charlton Street. He was shot through the chest multiple times with what is believed to have been a Cobray Mac-11 submachine gun. It is not yet known what spurred the chilling murder of the unmarried man. Witnesses claim a black sedan with blacked out windows sped down the street before an individual in the passenger seat shot several rounds. Mr Jackson had no immediate family apart from an elderly mother who has been informed of his demise."
"Since when does that neighbourhood have shootings?" Killian inquired with a raised hand to the screen.
David shook his head sadly, "It doesn't."
"Do you reckon we'll be asked to investigate it?" Henry questioned, scratching his cheek and leaning back in his chair.
Their superior shook his head, "I don't think so. It doesn't sound like the start of a spree and until it becomes one, it's not our jurisdiction."
8888
The footage was surprisingly sharp - though Killian assumed that was more Ruby's doing than the manufacturer's attention to detail. If a stranger had walked into their conference room at that precise moment, they would probably have had to look twice at what they saw.
Four grown men were huddled around a small laptop, eyes glued to the computer monitor as video footage rolled across the screen. It sounded like the start to a bad joke. There was an unnatural amount of concentration between the men, the video before them displaying a small and ridiculously limited shot of the ground stretching out behind where the car had pulled up in Curtis Park.
There was a long time where nothing happened, apart from a lone jogger passing by the vicinity of the camera's range but the men remained completely still, urged on by Ruby's promise of an important break in the case. Killian was just about to close the video and demand the tech analyst just show them the crux of her discovery when movement caught their attention in the top right hand corner of the screen. In the corner, two metal bars indicated a park bench - the one where Tate's body had been discovered by the Park Rangers. In the dark white of the overhead lights, two sets of feet came into view next to the bench.
The first, and most easily identifiable, was Tate - black dress shoes that walked with purpose and, Killian noted, unease. It was the second pair of shoes that justified Ruby's excitement.
Heels.
Black pumps that followed Tate's footsteps until they were sitting on the bench. None of the men spoke as the video stayed the same for a long moment, Tate's shiny shoes shuffling on the spot as the others stayed stationary.
The heels stood up after a while and walked around the back of the chair slowly, creating a harmless arc around Tate until she stood behind him. There was a brief second where all seemed fine and then the heels dug more firmly into the cement, the legs jerking at almost the same time Tate's feet jumped and became motionless.
Evidently unwilling to ponder her actions, the woman walked away - in the direction from whence she and Tate had come. As she left the screen, Ruby's voice interrupted the men.
"So the killer is a woman!" she exclaimed brightly, as though the fact that they were discussing the gender of a ruthless killer was something jovial and exciting. David nodded appreciatively at the camera with a small, somewhat dubious smile.
"That narrows it down a bit, but it sounded like there was more to it when you texted me this morning?" he said politely. Henry minimized the now unimportant video footage so they were looking at Ruby and Victor.
"Thanks to Ruby's expertise in footwear," Victor began with a referential nod to the brunette, a motion that made her smile grow, if possible, wider, "we could narrow down what brand and style they were."
"Using that, I'm currently cross-referencing the style of shoe with the purchasing records of the women in Tate's CIA branch," she finished for him.
8888
Unfortunately, the killer just happened to own a pair of shoes that were the most popular brand and style among the CIA branch Tate worked in. With an apologetic grimace, Ruby sent all seventy-two of the offending profiles through to the team. Before Killian could close the laptop however, she called to attention. The brunette was more subdued than usual, her potent ability to weave nicknames and pop culture references into sentences less prominent.
Killian leaned back in his chair and waited for her to explain why she'd stalled him. He was unsurprised by the answer that unwittingly came in the form of a question.
"Have you heard from Emma?" Ruby asked.
He shook his head, face carefully impassive, "No. Have you?"
She mirrored his movement and sighed angrily, "It's been two weeks and we've heard nothing – but David keeps threatening to have my computer impounded if I use the CIA resources to check on her."
"We're all worried, Red," he returned, reluctant to say anything else. He'd already texted her the day before (twice), fingers darting over the touch screen to type a message before he could second guess himself. Unbridled apprehension was starting to overtake the indignation that still burned him, but not enough that he was willing to let it go. The entire team felt handicapped, like they were missing a vital limb and were unable to function normally without it.
So he'd relapsed.
Everyone's getting worried. Where are you?
The first text was simple, carrying none of the previous linings of attempted cordiality. He didn't rightly care anymore if she thought he was being annoying, he just needed to know she was safe. So, with a hint of resentment that she had yet to let the team know she was at least breathing, he'd texted her again. Because he knew she would make up some story about needing a break if he didn't outline how transparent such an excuse would be.
And don't try to bullshit me with some lame excuse about a holiday. You and I both know that's a lie.
She had yet to reply and he would be genuinely surprised if she did.
Shaking off the feelings he associated with his blonde partner, Killian changed the subject as he searched the laptop screen for Ruby's companion, "Where's Victor today?" She rolled her eyes and flicked something on her desk with her shiny red nails, mouth pulling together in a pout. Killian couldn't tell if the expression was prompted by his question or by the remaining subject of Emma's absence.
"Toilet – He'll be back in a minute," she paused and looked up to the agent through the screen, "Do you think David would really have my computers impounded? I just want to check she's alive."
"Yes, I would," came a masculine voice behind Killian. He turned around just as the man in question walked around his chair, leaning on the back and peering into the computer's monitor. The Unit Chief levelled the tech analyst with a warning look and she scowled.
"Emma deserves a holiday without being constantly bugged by us," he said.
"But we haven't heard from her for two weeks, David. Don't you think that's odd, even for Emma?" Henry contended, joining the conversation, walking around to stand beside the blonde man. On the laptop, Ruby gave the young kid a nod of approval, shooting an accusatory look in David's direction.
"If she's gone on holiday she may not have even taken her phone. And if she has, she may not have checked it," Phillip interceded, leaning against the table that held the coffee machine.
"But I don't see the problem with just dabbling into her credit history to double check she's not in a ditch somewhere – it's not like she'll know," Ruby suggested, giving David an imploring look.
"Ruby, we discussed this."
"What if Emma's hurt?" Henry questioned.
"You can't just pry into people's lives because you're worried. Emma's a grown woman and she can handle herself – if she needs us, she'll let us know. Until then, we have to respect her wishes," Phillip said gently, nursing his cup of sewage (in other words, and Killian used this term very loosely, coffee). Usually, the British agent was the member of the team Killian felt was the least aggravating. But, in that moment, he felt something akin to frustration bite at his nerves.
He swivelled in his chair to face the man, "You know Emma – do you really think she'd ask for help if she needed it? She'd get herself killed before she'd call us."
Phillip looked taken aback by Killian's hostility for a moment before he swallowed and calmly responded, "I know, but that doesn't give us the right to snoop, even with good intentions…"
The room was silent for a minute as everyone calmed down.
David's voice broke the moment, firm and irrefutable, "We're going to leave Emma alone. I love you Ruby but if I find out you've even touched the CIA's data base without probable cause, I'll come down on you like a ton of bricks. As for the rest of you, I know you're worried – but if she's taken a holiday I trust Emma enough to respect that she needs time away. So – and I'm looking at you, Henry – don't bombard her with texts." He was met with quiet, a wordless concession to his orders.
"Okay," he said, looking to Ruby on the screen, "Did I hear you say you've sent over the files?"
Ruby nodded stoically, clearly unimpressed with her boss.
"Thank you, we'll go through those now."
She didn't respond, she just nodded again and the screen went black – the video call clearly having ended from her end. David sighed and wearily asked Killian to print out the files as the rest of the team tried to shift back into gear. He could swear as he left the room to gather the files he saw David pull out his phone and start a message.
Thinking about the moment that had just passed, Killian cringed.
They were at a loss – the team was on edge and it seemed so ridiculous that one member could have such an effect. But, combined with her comprehensive silence since taking the break, they were all a contrasting mixture of feelings and opinions. It really didn't serve them well.
Ruby and Henry just wanted to make sure she was still alive.
Phillip and David just wanted to respect her wishes.
And Killian… well, Killian just wanted to speak to her.
Waiting for the machine to expel the last of his documents, he retrieved his phone and played with the lock screen for a moment, the menial task providing him some distraction while he thought about whether he should or shouldn't do it. Truthfully, he'd made his decision the second he pulled out the device.
Unlike the first three, he didn't hide behind a guise of nonchalance nor did he decide to strike her with brusqueness. No, he only sent through one word, one heavily weighted word.
Please.
8888
"Cora Millson," David announced as Killian, Phillip, and Henry settled into their seats, Ruby and Victor visible on the television screen, "was in the army for four years, one of their best hand-to-hand combat recruits and her relationship with the victim was noteworthy enough to have been mentioned in her profile. Additionally, she has the kind of clearance the mole would have needed."
After four days of rifling through files and calling the Intelligence Agency, cross checking with Ruby and narrowing down the files, they had finally arrived at one all-encompassing woman. The photo in front of Killian depicted a sharp face and defined jaw, red lips, penetrating brown eyes and auburn shoulder-length hair. Strangely enough, the woman looked lethal in a simple photograph and he found himself questioning whether she would fit their profile.
So far, they'd assumed the killer was a worker ant for King, nothing more – and possibly cowardly since they'd postulated that she'd killed Tate to escape the King's wrath. However, something about that didn't sit right with Killian, but he said nothing – it had taken long enough to get to this point and it would do no harm in bringing her in for questioning.
"Killian, Phillip and I, accompanied by three specially trained agents, will be bringing her in," David explained to the team, "In the meantime, Henry, you're going to be working with Ruby and Victor to try and find some solid evidence that specifically links her to the murder. We can't just base this case on her having the same shoes as the killer; the judge would laugh at us."
They all nodded their silent agreement before the Unit Chief leaned over the table to pick up the keys, walking towards the door where he was followed quickly by Killian and Phillip. Before they could leave however, Henry's excited voice pulled them to a halt.
"I got a text from Emma!" he crowed elatedly.
"What does it say?" Ruby squeaked, suddenly leaning in close so her face was much bigger on the television screen. Henry laughed, a smile dusting his lips as he read out the one worded answer she'd bequeathed him with.
"She said 'kk.'"
Even Killian couldn't help the way the corners of his lips tugged upwards – of course she'd send the smallest possible response, and the one response that infuriated Henry to no end. The young agent shook his head at the device in his hand and there was a moment of silence between the team as they all took a collective breath.
Emma was well enough to send a text, specifically one that held some minor significance to the dynamic she shared with Henry. Relief soothed the ever-present worry that plagued Killian's mind and with a nod towards the kid, he moved past David and Phillip, leaving the room.
8888
She sat in the cold steel chair like it was a throne; back straight, neck long, a look in her eyes that messed with a person's self-confidence. Considering the fact that she'd just been brought in for questioning over murder and treason, you would think she might be at least marginally concerned. The penalty for such crimes was severe and Killian had seen even innocent people twitching under lesser threats.
But Cora Millson was unfazed, at least outwardly.
When they'd come for her at the agency, she'd merely blinked, mouth pulled into a tight line as they led her out. Killian had never met anyone so blatantly uninterested by the fact they were facing life imprisonment. It only served to cement his suspicions about the woman; for there was no way she was a spineless imp. And there was certainly no way that King had control over her.
As he entered the sterile interrogation room she looked up and smiled, skinny lips twisting into an arc that did nothing to warm him. Instead, he felt a bitter cold seep into his bones, especially when she looked at him like she'd already won.
"Cora Millson," he began, setting the file down between them as he took a seat opposite her at the table.
She acknowledged him with a nod, brown eyes fixed on him intently. He opened the file between them, photographs and documents spilling out onto the table as he spread them out. Cora's gaze never wavered, remaining on Killian until he raised his eyes to hers again.
"Sorry for the wait, we had some errands to run."
She shrugged, "I mustn't be that important if some errands were prioritized above me." Her voice was sweet and sharp, like the rough edge of broken candy, and it bordered on knowing.
"Oh, don't underestimate yourself, Ms Millson. We still think you're important," Killian retorted with an equally mirthless smile. There was a beat of silence between them and then she sighed, leaning back in her chair and gesturing to the room with a graceful flourish of her wrist.
"This is a nice interrogation room – much nicer than the ones at the Central Intelligence Agency," she said, looking around the bare walls.
"I wasn't under the impression you'd experienced the interrogation rooms at the CIA," he countered with a raised eyebrow. Cora was unmoved by his curiosity though, her eyes continuing their scrutiny of the pallid grey walls and floor, eventually landing on the one-way glass that separated the examination room from the observation room.
"They house the lie-detector tests in the interrogation rooms – it's a requirement for employment," she answered smoothly before turning her perceptive stare on him, "So, what have I done that has warranted me to be brought in on such short notice?"
Killian watched her eyes flicker with cruel amusement, as though this was all just an elaborate game and she was already three steps ahead. These were his least favourite types of interrogation; the suspects who were intelligent and smug to boot, the worst combination possible when you needed to squeeze information out of them. Emma had always handled them so much better than him. Her ability to outsource lies paired with her deduction skills making it quite difficult to slide anything past her.
He tapped the pictures on the table and got comfortable in his chair, bringing his hands together as he examined her reaction.
"Have you ever met a man named Connor Tate?"
"You know I have."
"When's the last time you saw him?"
"I can't recall – perhaps at work before he killed himself," Cora answered, a mocking bite on the last two words.
"How would you describe your relationship with him?" Killian inquired.
She shrugged diffidently, "We were colleagues."
"Really?" he asked incredulously, finally earning a muted response from her as she looked briefly startled, "Are you certain about that because," Killian slid a particular document to her immediate line of vision, placing it in the middle of the table and tapping it once, "your file makes mention of an uncharacteristically close relationship with him."
Cora looked down to the offending words and sniffed, "I didn't think it prudent that you should know –"
"The state of your relationship with Agent Tate? Now why is that?" Killian interrupted.
"Because I didn't think it would be of any consequence to his suicide."
"If he committed suicide, why would we have brought you in?"
"I don't know," she hissed – a lie if he'd ever seen one, "You tell me."
A pregnant pause stretched out between them. There was no way this woman was afraid of King, she wouldn't twitch with a gun to her head let alone a drug dealer. More so than that though, was the fact that while on paper she fit the profile, this woman was not cowardly or snivelling or merciful.
He'd been in a room with her a whole of five minutes and he could tell that.
No, this woman was very different to what they had considered. But watching her, listening to her, Killian knew in the pits of his stomach that this woman was the mole and their killer.
"How about this man?" he asked, pulling another image from the litany of papers spread out over the desks, "George King. Do you know him?"
Recognition fluttered in her eyes and he caught it, watching carefully as she schooled her features into something more like confusion, "I've heard of him – he's a drug dealer isn't he?"
"Yeah, he's also the individual that Tate was gathering evidence against. He was on the verge of a big development too."
"That'sa shame."
"Aye – did you know that he had a mole in the CIA?"
Again, Cora didn't even blink. Her face was impassive as she cocked her head to the side, "I did not."
He didn't need Emma to tell him that was a lie. This was their mole, he knew it, but she was yet to give him anything. Apparently she knew this because the longer the silence lasted, the haughtier her face became until she was essentially leering at him, condescension dripping on every vowel she uttered.
"Just a thought, but what evidence do you have that gives you the right to hold me here?"
Shit.
Luckily, Killian knew how to keep his emotions from broadcasting on his face in situations such as this. But at the same time, Cora was uncannily observant and her self-satisfied sneer widened as she saw him twitch ever so slightly.
"Since this is a matter of national security, I have jurisdiction to keep you here as long as I want without evidence," he replied, unable to keep the sharpness from seeping into his tone.
She chuckled, "I would love for you to say that to my lawyer. Or better yet, say that to my good friend Chuck Hagel – we're long-time friends, you see."
Chuck Hagel, the Secretary of Defense, was her friend? If she was telling the truth, and he was pretty sure she was, it wouldn't be long before her character reference would be coming in and having one from the Secretary of fucking Defence? Well, it wouldn't be long before she was out because they really didn't have any evidence yet.
He stood up without a word, leaving the room and walking quickly in an arc so he entered the observation chamber where Phillip and David were both looking rather grim. The former met Killian's gaze as he entered, shooting him a concerned glance as his eyes flickered to the woman sitting comfortably on the opposite side of the glass.
"If we don't get some evidence soon – and you can tell she's not lying about the tethers to Hagel – she's going to walk out of here and, I don't know about you two but I think she's it," the British Agent said, pacing towards the glass and studying the suspect, "She's so outrageously smug about it all."
"I agree," David interceded, turning around and rubbing his chin, "But how?"
"I think we need to adjust the profile," Killian eventually said, a nod of agreement coming from both men, "this woman isn't the gutless leech we hypothesized. She's… I think she's the dominant in this situation. Which would mean King was the submissive."
"Well then, why would she have killed Tate and told King afterwards?" David posed with a furrowed brow.
Phillip was the one to answer, "If she assumed incompetence on his part – which she would have since he didn't know there was a mole in his operation – she might have killed him to ensure it was done right?"
"But then, if she knew Tate was a mole, why not kill him sooner?" the Unit Chief inquired again.
"Because she didn't have to – he wasn't a threat until…" Killian's voice drifted off as something shifted into place in his mind, the footage of Tate leaving the restaurant abruptly flashing behind his lids. He could almost hear it happening in his mind, the agent stashed away in the booth, listening carefully to the conversation between King and Prince until suddenly a mole was mentioned. Shocked, the man left and who would he have gone to about this troubling development?
Why, none other than his best friend and confidante – Cora, the mole herself.
Not that he knew that at the time.
David and Phillip watched as Killian's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, "He wasn't a threat until he found out about the mole in the CIA."
"Pardon?" the British Agent questioned.
Killian took a step towards both of them, "Think about it, Tate overheard King and Prince talking and they said something that obviously deeply disconcerted him so he left. What if they mentioned a mole in the CIA, Tate overheard it and – since he was buddies with Little Miss Smug in there – went to Millson to share his troubles. The second she knew she was compromised, she would have killed him, which was especially good timing because she could blame it on King and his cronies since there was a big bust coming up!"
David nodded and began to pace the length of the room, "Okay, so how do we prove that?"
"I think we need to get a confession," Killian answered.
"You won't get one out of her," Phillip interjected.
"I know," the Irish agent said, "But if we talk to the submissive in this partnership we might get one."
David stopped his pacing and looked up, a grin starting to break out across his face, "King."
8888
George King was a habitually arrogant person, to such a degree that he was outwardly unaffected when their team found him in a coffee shop near Broad Street meeting with 'business partners.' It didn't take them long to actually get a solid location, which was surprising and evidence to the aforementioned comments about the drug lord. Either way, the second they had a lead, the team was dispatched to bring him in.
In the meantime, as promised, Cora's buddy, Mr Hagel, had placed a call detailing why he thought it an outrage that his personal friend was being questioned over simply preposterous claims.
Regina had all but forced David to let her out.
The conceited bint had even had the audacity to wink at them as she swaggered out the door and into the elevator, levelling Killian with an especially smug look while she waited for the silver doors to slide closed. It had only just started to dawn on him that there might be more to her not-so-subtle glances his way when he could have sworn he heard David growl. The fleeting thought had evaporated from his mind and the elevator doors had closed.
They had channelled their frustration at watching their suspect leave into the case, working non-stop until King was in the interrogation room, a stern looking lawyer in a tailored suit by his side as they waited for the interview to begin.
Killian, accompanied by Phillip and Henry, sat in the observation room, his fingers steepled in front of his face as he waited for David to tear the tosser limb from limb. He watched as the manila folder containing their 'royal flush' of sorts was placed on the table.
"Good Morning Mr King," David greeted coldly as he sat down.
"Please don't speak to my client, Detective…?" the lawyer responded, and Killian seethed at the satisfied smirk that appeared on King's face.
David wasn't fazed by it though; face blank as he answered, "Agent Nolan."
"…Agent Nolan," the lawyer finished, chewing on the name distastefully before folding his arms across his chest and leaning back, "What evidence do you have that warrants bringing in my client?"
David smiled slightly and Killian smirked. They have no bloody idea what's coming.
"Firstly, since this is a matter of national security – we don't technically need any evidence yet. But luckily for you, we have more than enough to hold you here."
King's façade faltered, a crease appearing between his brow momentarily before smoothing out as he let his legal representative handle it. The man looked downright incensed at the Unit Chief's tone and surged forward so he was leaning on the table, glaring at David.
"What evidence do you have?"
Again though, David didn't even blink. His expression was even amused as his eyes flitted to King who was beginning to shuffle uncomfortably in his chair. The power shift from the drug lord to the blonde man was almost visible, the tables turning before their eyes as David began to speak.
"I'm guessing you've heard of Connor Tate's death?"
"Didn't he commit suicide? Pity," King said, his gravelly voice lending no question as to whether he actually felt pity.
"Don't answer his questions," the lawyer demanded angrily but the older man didn't pay him any attention.
"Did you ever meet Mr Tate?" David asked.
The lawyer stared at the side of King's face, "Don't –"
"No."
"That's interesting," David said, looking down at the manila folder and opening it up, "Because he sure as hell met you. I mean, look at all this." There was a moment where King simply looked confused, but then, as the files and pictures were spread evenly across the table – a mountain of evidence that pointed to one thing: King's impending imprisonment for drug dealing – his expression morphed into one of shock. While the team had been following the mole, Ruby and Victor, in their spare time, had essentially been following the same trail Tate had left – straight to King's organization. Picking up where he'd started hadn't proved too difficult.
The two tech analysts had quickly found just how big of an operation King was running and had instantly began placing tripwires at the base of his elaborate set-up, little fractures in the monolith of his empire widening as they slowly bled it dry. Initially, they had planned to take him down after they found the mole.
But that plan had been moved forward.
King stared at his life's work, fire slowly starting to seep into his steely eyes until he finally raised a deathly glare to David's face.
"Tate had a diary of what you were doing," he informed the other man, "And it wasn't difficult to go from there."
The lawyer looked as though he was ready to have an aneurism, "I need to speak to my client alone."
King, as expected, ignored the man beside him, "Then why am I the only one in here?"
"Because, conveniently enough, the only evidence we have points to you and your operation."
The gravity of David's words sunk in slowly and a deep scowl formed on King's face, "That bitch."
"I'm going to offer you a deal," the blonde man began softly, "And it is wildly important that you listen because I only have so much patience with scum like you."
The lawyer moved to open his mouth but King simply shot him a glare and his jaw shut so quickly there was an audible snap in the room. Killian had never felt more satisfaction in his life than as he watched his superior deliver the mortal blow.
"You are going to jail – there is no question about that. However, I know your type – and I know if you're going down, you're going to drag everyone down with you… Also, it won't go missed that you've aided in the arrest of a mole in the CIA – that is, if you choose to co-operate."
There was silence in the room as the two men stared at each other. If they didn't get his testimony, while they would still be putting away a drug lord, they wouldn't have Cora and she was the prime objective.
A minute passed in which there seemed some kind of internal war in King's head and Killian studied the older man. It should have been a simple decision – he was exactly the sort of person to drag the entire operation down with him. But something was holding him back and it was something that made Killian's throat constrict.
George King was afraid of Cora.
Killian was walking out of the observation room and into the interrogation room before Henry or Phillip could say a word. As he entered the sterile room, David looked up, a confused and perhaps annoyed look crossing his face before shifting his attention back to King. The bald man, however, didn't take his eyes off the new arrival as he swooped in and stopped just short of the table.
Folding his arms across his chest, Killian spoke, "We can offer you protection until the moleis incarcerated."
"Excuse me?" David turned to the agent, incredulity thick in his voice.
However, in front of him, King was already beginning to re-evaluate his options. Killian never dropped his gaze from the man on the opposite side of the table, simply waiting as David tried to catch up with the sudden turn of events. Thankfully though, the Unit Chief trusted Killian and after glancing back at King – who appeared considerably more inclined to take their deal – he let it drop.
King narrowed his eyes a fraction, his focus solely on the younger agent in the room, "I want it in writing that you will keep me alive until after that bitch is in jail."
"Deal," Killian answered instantly.
Apparently, David chose that moment to be filled in on what exactly the agent's strategy entailed, standing up and exiting the room, levelling Killian with a meaningful glance as he passed by him. Thankfully King was under the impression that they were leaving to write up whatever document ensured his survival. So, without even acknowledging the other man's existence, Killian followed his superior out and into the hall. He was cornered by the Unit Chief and the other two agents nearly the second the door closed behind him.
"What am I missing?" David asked instantly.
"He's afraid. That's why he was hesitant – Cora's clearly more of a daunting individual than we initially gave her credit for," Killian answered.
Phillip nodded, "I'd have to agree, it was obvious when he wouldn't agree to the deal. A man like him is out to save his own skin and if that means going quietly to jail, so be it. But, if you can promise him his life, he'll revert to basic nature – which is to drag as many people down with him as he can."
David nodded and slapped Killian on the back, "Nice one, noticing that," before he turned to Henry, "Can you draw up an agreement?"
The youngest agent nodded and proceeded to turn around, walking down the hall to the elevators without another word. They waited as he typed up a brief document, leaning against the wall outside the interrogation room. No one spoke for a while as they watched the elevator for Henry, until eventually Phillip decided the silence was too thick.
"Has anyone other than Henry heard from Emma?"
Goddammit.
David shook his head as Killian remained silent, "No, but I have asked her to let me know when she thinks she'll be coming back."
"Didn't you tell the others to stop texting her?" the Irish agent asked with a raised eyebrow in the Unit Chief's direction. He shrugged guiltily and looked to the floor.
"Did either of you hear about that shooting on the back roads the other night?" Phillip asked.
Killian's ears perked up; this was the second one in a couple of days. They would be asked to investigate soon. Apparently though, Phillip saw this ignite in his teammates eyes and quickly put a finger up to quieten him, explaining, "Different weapon and I've already talked to Regina – she said it's not in our jurisdiction yet."
Before the conversation could progress though, the elevator doors at the end of the corridor opened, spitting out Henry as he jogged down towards them with a piece of paper in hand. He passed it to David who, with a motion in Killian's direction, moved to the interrogation room door. As they re-entered the room, Phillip and Henry moved into the adjacent chamber.
King watched them intently as David set the paper down on the table and, pulling a pen from his pocket, signed the dotted line at the bottom of the page. He pushed it towards the older man and waited patiently until he was finished reading through it, a pleased expression lighting his face as he looked up at them, before pulling it away again. David eyed King sternly.
"Don't be afraid to give details."
King nodded and slouched back into his chair, pulling his fingers together in front of him as he began to outline Cora Millson and her involvement with the drug cartel in Quantico, Virginia and the United States as a whole. If it weren't for the fact that she was cruel and merciless, Killian might have felt some form of admiration for the woman and her unprecedented reputation.
But she was cruel and merciless, so all Killian felt was disgust.
She had indeed killed Connor Tate.
After he had spoken to her about overhearing Prince and King discuss a mole, she had murdered him. All she had told King was that she'd made sure the CIA wouldn't come knocking on her door, cleverly omitting the part where she left all evidence pointing to King's operation. Apparently, she'd withdrawn a momentous amount of money from the operation that morning, a fact that made Killian and David respectively wince and groan. If she had the funds and the connections, she could be across the border by the time they got his testimony down.
A fact that did stand out, however, was Prince's involvement.
Not soon after being visited by Killian and Emma, the guy had received the details of Cora's involvement and identity. It was a sort of anchoring strategy, ensuring that in such a scenario that one was brought down; they would all come tumbling down. Although, that was more for King and Cora's benefit than anyone else's.
As he finished his outline of every individual involved, David stood and was followed by Killian as they left the room again. When they moved into the observation area, Henry and Phillip were waiting with folded arms.
"Did you get all that?" David asked.
Both men nodded, "All on tape," the younger of the two affirmed.
"Good. We're going to need to bring them all in – get Ruby to start locating them all. Killian, you've already been to Prince's apartment, you can bring him in. We'll start on the rest," the Unit Chief instructed determinedly, eyes already hardening as they prepared to pull what would likely turn into an all-nighter.
8888
The walk down the corridor to Prince's penthouse was noticeably different to the last time he'd been there. There was no bone-weary blonde beside him, aggravating his ever-increasing worries with the exhaustion painted across her face. While the concern remained, only barely soothed by her text to Henry, Killian was alone as he padded towards the door and knocked thrice on its polished surface.
It didn't take Prince long to answer, although this time he was in jeans and a black V-neck as opposed to his night clothes and his expression didn't brighten when he found the lone male agent. There was something about the look he levelled him with though, something that made Killian's stomach twist uncomfortably.
"No hot partner today?" Prince asked, a hint of knowing in his voice.
Rolling his eyes, Killian ignored the man's jibe and instead produced his cuffs from his back pocket, "So, your buddy Georgie boy had a word with us today."
Prince eyed the manacles with shock, "What?"
The agent shrugged, "Your boss told us everything - including your involvement. Speaking of, did it not occur to you at any point that knowing the identity of the mole would come back to bite you in the ass?"
Shaking his head, Prince shuffled backwards, prompting Killian to step forwards to keep the door open. He held his arms up defensively.
"I didn't find out until after –"
"Until after my partner and I came to see you, I know – but you still didn't come to the authorities when you were filled in. Let me tell you, that's definitely going to hike up your charges," Killian said drolly. He took a step towards Prince, hand reaching down to his wrist when the man took another deliberate step back out of reach.
Killian was about to level him with an exasperated look when the man's frantic voice spilled out into the room, "Wait! Wait! I have information too – stuff my boss wouldn't have been able to tell you!" His eyes were wide with a pathetic brand of desperation that grated on the other man's nerves.
"Yeah, okay, you can bleed your little heart out once we –"
"Tell me, have you heard from your pretty little blonde friend recently?"
Killian froze. Evidently, his words had their desired effect because the strain in Prince's face lessened slightly as he watched the agent. He even looked a little bit smug as he watched shock reverberate through him.
How the hell did he know a thing about Emma? Let alone her absence?
"I beg your pardon?" he asked after a long pause.
Prince's face began to split into a self-satisfied grin, "You heard me."
Killian clenched his fists, reminding himself that an outburst was exactly what the man wanted. If he let himself show just how sharply anxious he was about his partner, it would only make him dangerously vulnerable to manipulation.
"What do you know?" Killian growled through his teeth.
"Deal first."
His hand itched with the need to level the man's face, "What do you know?" he repeated.
Obviously, that was not the response Prince was searching for because he brought his hand up to play with his nails. He looked thoroughly bored by the conversation, but Killian could see clearly just how much entertainment it suddenly offered as he picked at a stray piece of dirt on his nail bed, his voice low and syrupy as he glanced up to meet the other man's icy blue glare.
"She is lovely – lives in a nice part of town too, low crime rate for such a dingy area – unf!"
Killian surged forward fast, pulling Prince close and spinning them around so he could shove him against the wall beside the door. His fingers clenched roughly into the soft cotton material of his black shirt, his other forearm coming up to press against his throat. Subduing his reactions be damned; the way he'd spoken about Emma, mockingly sweet as he essentially dangled her life in front of his eyes.
"What do you know about Emma?" Killian repeated, the words ground out and harsh.
Prince scowled scornfully, "Deal first!"
Killian shoved him harder against the wall, his head rattling against it with a loud thud as he none-too-gently reapplied the pressure to the man's throat. Prince coughed for a second before the agent pulled his arm back slightly, the monumental restraint necessary for even that making his head spin with the need to maim.
"You're not allowed to touch me! I'll sue, you fucking wanker!" Prince crowed indignantly.
But Killian wasn't so easily cowed and, for the fourth time, asked, "What do you know?"
"I ain't telling you shit until I get a deal! I'm not afraid of you!" he bellowed, unaware that there was tangible fear beginning to drip into his tone. It was barely discernible but it was there. Leaning closer so his face was a mere inch from the other man's, his cerulean eyes sparkling dangerous, voice low and deadly, he rebuked.
"Oh, I don't? Well, let me explain something to you. The difference between you and I is that I, for one, follow through on my threats. So I think it only fair to inform you that I have no qualms about breaking every goddamn bone in your body until you tell me what you know about Emma's whereabouts."
Prince's mouth thinned into a line as his eyes flashed incredulously.
Killian sneered, "Don't believe me?"
With a feeling of fire pushing through his veins, he kept his forearm against the man's throat as he used his other hand to get a firm grasp on the man's wrist. Prince's eyes widened to saucepans just before Killian dropped his other arm, using his free hand to purchase the angle he needed on the man's wrist. In one fluid movement, he jerked both of his hands and there was an audible crack in the silence of the apartment.
"Ah! Fuck!" Prince bellowed in pain, trying to cradle his broken wrist but Killian was already shoving him remorselessly back up against the wall, "You broke it!"
He didn't even blink as he responded, "Your arm's next if you don't start talking."
Prince stuttered pathetically in a mad rush to vocalize the thoughts spinning around his head, "I – I – A man! A man came to me about three or four weeks ago, asking for info on your partner: Emma Swan. He – he knew we had a mole in the CIA!"
"What man? What information did you get for him?" Killian demanded, shaking him roughly.
"Everything he wanted," he stammered, listing off the items as he thought of them, "Address, phone, social security, work history, next of kin, colleagues –"
"Who?"
"I don't know!" Prince sobbed, "I don't know his name! He paid in cash!"
"Why did he want it?"
"I don't know – told me he had unfinished business or something."
"How did he get into contact with you?"
"He spoke to King first, and then we met up a couple of weeks ago outside the Police Precinct on Broadway Street. I don't have anything else!" The man was a blubbering mess, though whether that was because he was scared or because he was in pain from his broken wrist was debatable. Staring into his eyes a moment longer than necessary, finding far too much relish in the simple thrill of intimidating the bastard, Killian pulled away and rolled his shoulders. Almost instantly, Prince was cradling his swollen wrist.
"I'm still arresting you," Killian said sternly, watching the man and raising his eyebrows when he was shot a furious glance, "And before you say a thing, that right there," he nodded to the fractured bone, "was caused by you resisting arrest."
Prince's upper lip quivered with feral wrath but he decided to say nothing, even as Killian led him out of the building, handcuffing his good wrist to the back seat as he drove him back to HQ. When he dragged him out of the car and eventually handed him over to the medics, Prince found his voice (and his balls apparently) as he gave Killian a deathly glare.
"I hope that man finds her first," he snarled at the agent as he walked back towards the elevator, one thought echoing plainly in his mind.
Find Emma.
I cannot wait to upload Part II.
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