After a month's absence here's the next part! :)

Back on the grid the next day, whatever half attempt at some sort of camaraderie either had made yesterday was gone, as Emma and Killian went back to simply being co-workers. She'd initially argued that it would be the best they could hope to achieve between them, and given his prying questions last night, Emma certainly wasn't feeling like making much of an effort to change anything. Especially since getting any closer meant that the possibility of engaging in such a conversation again would suddenly become a very real possibility, one that she wasn't sure she'd be able to find a convincing excuse to evade. Erecting a wall of sorts between them was the easiest and safest thing to do for now, at least from her standpoint, it meant that they could still work on digging up more stuff on Underworld without all of the unpleasant friendly chit-chat, which is what Mills and Nolan had hired them for in the first place anyway.

However, as she impatiently tapped her fingers on the well-used coffee machine, still waiting for it to fill up her paper mug, Emma pondered a little on what had happened last night, and did find herself feeling a little remorse for cutting Jones off like that and then stalk off to her room with no explanation whatsoever, that had probably been taking the whole thing a little too far on her part. It wasn't as if the guy had done anything truly harmful to her (he had simply asked a question) but Emma remembered the moment when she'd realized he'd begun to weasel his way into her good books –or at the very least, when she thought she'd seen something more to the easy-going spy Nolan had introduced her to hours before- and realizing that he'd somehow managed to see past the layers of armor her job provided for her, the fact that he'd been able to actually get her and seemed to understand the person she was beneath the CIA profile –Hell, that they maybe even had something in common-that had sent the alarm bells off.

Emma took a certain amount of pride from the fact that she was not an easy woman to read, that this profile of a hard-working agent dedicated to her job and never one to let anyone in had been something she'd managed to uphold all from her training days to the actual thing out in the field. Agents didn't need to get personal and all heart-on-their-sleeve with their colleagues (that was all TV show nonsense that Emma usually couldn't be bothered to watch anyway), she'd always worked like that and it always seemed to have pulled off until now. So Jones waltzing in and actually understanding her as Emma Swan and not "the American colleague", that had sent the alarm bells off and the short-tempered snappish tone she'd given him earlier. It was much easier to fight back than to open up, it was safer and it was what she'd always known to do, and Emma was pretty sure it wasn't a few weeks collaborating with a Brit associate that would change that.

Still, glancing down at her steaming paper cup, she did feel a little remorseful for giving him the cold shoulder last night and hoped that she might be able to mend the bridge so to say without having to open up to him. Maybe a nice hot take-away kebab or some grilled-cheese sandwich from the local shop would do the trick.

Instead of heading to her own desk, Emma made a beeline for Pan's, one of the analysts form the associated British team, and judging by the dark rings under his eyes and the empty coffee cups scattered around him workspace, he'd probably been sitting in front of the too-bright monitor screen all night looking though Humbert's complete list of contacts and records of his calls over the past few months, hoping something leading to Underworld might pop up.

"Anything noteworthy popping up then?" She asked casually, sitting down on the corner of the desk.

"Not much unfortunately." The blond sighed as he rubbed his eyes, "He seems to have kept close contact with your Agent Queen given that she's the name that comes back the most in the list but beyond that… I've looked into the profiles of several names that happened to feature on the list, and bar some low-key unsavory people, they're locals, nothing remotely like what we're hunting for. Did you get anything form Queen yourself?"

"Not that I know of, no." Emma answered after a moment. "Jones hasn't really briefed me on what exactly went down when he met the woman, only that she wished to be involved as little as possible in all this. You know, family and all." Not that Emma didn't understand where Queen was probably coming from. While having a real family certainly wasn't something she was particularly familiar with, she could guess it was probably something one would deem precious, and certainly not something one would want to endanger by helping a former CIA boss or put on the line because of an agent pressuring them into giving up information. They would simply have to do with what little they had to go on, then.

"Well, do you know where he was calling from?" Frost asked from behind her desk as she pushed her chair back and headed over to them, leaning over Pan's shoulder to take a peek at his monitor screen.

"Well, we haven't exactly looked yet, but if you give me a minute-" The younger agent offered, hands flying back to his keyboard and furiously typing away in another opened program Emma could only guess had something to do with geo-localization- not that she really understood the intricacies of spyware tracking programs as it was never her field of expertise not something she'd ever wished to pursue as a job.

"Killian isn't with you?"

Elsa had to ask it twice before Emma actually registered that the older woman was talking to her, and when she did, all of last night's frustration she'd initially thought she'd dealt with seemed to resurface. In a sense, she was relieved that Jones hadn't made it back yet, for while she did feel guilty, the part of her still upset at him for his callous words last night still seemed intent to hold a grudge against him, meaning she was not too sure whether she was ready for the I'm-sorry-please-let-me-apologize talk that was bound to happen sometime soon.

"No, he sent me a text message about going out for teabags this morning or something, I got it when I woke up. Said he'd come-"

"Found anything, Swan?"

Well, speak of the Devil, just my luck.

The distinct accented voice made Emma's shoulders sag in defeat, knowing she wasn't really ready for this working-in-partnership thing Mills and Nolan wanted them to do. She'd initially thought she'd have a little more time to herself, gather a little more information and have something to talk to him about if need be but… Guess, he came straight to the Grid after all. Sparing a glance towards him, she was relieved when she noticed that any of her apprehensions of Jones possibly holding a grudge towards her because of last night were needless, the happy-go-lucky grin already plastered on his face as he sat on the other side of Pan's desk with natural ease, quickly glancing towards the screen to catch up on what he'd missed.

Emma noticed he did keep his distance from her though, so maybe Jones had taken into consideration what she'd said the other day about boundaries she didn't want to cross and all that after all. While it might not have been much to anybody else, she was strangely grateful for it.

"Well, I haven't been here too long so-"

"Got it!" Elsa triumphantly exclaimed as she looked back up at her, finger pointing to the monitor screen where a little "match found" box had popped up over one of the many maps open in her tabs. "Agent Humbert was calling from this place right here," she fingered a circle over the search result on the map, "Ursula's Lair is what I'm getting the place is called, a renowned drug and other shady dealings place. With a little luck, we might find more traces of our guys at the location itself, and we could hide bugs there just in case Underworld decide to come back there in the future."

Well, a lair didn't seem to be particularly appealing in Emma's books, but if scouting the place out was the first step in getting actual concrete information she was ready to take a shot at it. Besides, it would always be better than being stuck on the grid looking through the report or phone call transcript for the hundredth time, vainly hoping for some clue she might have previously missed to magically show up.

"All right, I'll give Nolan a call, see if he'll give us the green light for this. You-" Emma said, pointing to Jones, you go grab a pair of guns, two comms and a set of car keys. I'll meet you on the parking lot in five minutes."

And without a protest, everybody set to work, Jones and Elsa rummaging through her desk drawer in search of a functioning communication device as Emma made straight for her superior's office, butterflies in her stomach at the thought of finally being out in the field and getting to snoop around for some concrete information. This better be good.

The roaring of the engine made Emma infinitely more aware of just how awkward the silence between the pair of them was. Her hands had been clutching the steering wheel for a good ten minutes now, and not a meaningful word had past either of their lips since her half answer about the extra information (and even at that, Elsa had answered for her, so Emma figures it didn't really count). She'd been kidding herself at first, arguing that perhaps Jones simply had nothing to tell her or was of a quiet mood all of a sudden, but as Emma kept pushing away the silly excuses and came to the only reasonable one left –that she had pushed him away and probably owed him an apology- she realized that she probably should have done so earlier, her pride and silly make-up meals be damned, because this was getting really uncomfortable and was (mostly) her doing anyway.

Come on, Emma, deep breath. How hard can saying sorry be?

Except that it wasn't that easy, because she still felt like she had a good reason behind callously shutting him out. Jones had overstepped what Emma would have considered a personal boundary, he'd managed to pull out something very personal from her without her even letting him in, and that had scared her. Her apologizing now would also mean that she accepted that, that he could read and understand her without her even thinking he was doing so or even thinking she was letting anything slip through in the first place. And that was the scary part, not the words in themselves but the meaning behind them.

Still, that doesn't excuse you being rude, does it?

"Listen, about last night… I-" She hesitantly tried, focusing on the road ahead probably more than she should, but if it would make it easier have something to distract her slightly, Emma wasn't going to say no.

"No, don't apologize, Swan." Wow, that was a fast rebuttal. "If you felt the need to walk off on the spot, then it was probably the right thing to do. And I should probably be the one apologizing for being callous. It wasn't my place to make such a comment."

Well, whatever Emma had thought she'd be gaining out of this conversation, it definitely wasn't this. She'd been right to shut him down?

"No, I-I guess I mean the way I talked to you. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

"And I shouldn't have overstepped any boundaries." He admitted, and a glance in the rear-view mirror made it seem like he was genuinely sorry for it, no cocky smile or raised eyebrow to be seen whatsoever. "I won't do it again."

Emma nodded, eyes back on the road as silence filled the car once again, but not the uncomfortable type like when she'd initially drove off where neither one had dared to look so much as catch a glance of each other in the mirror or even breathe too loudly. While she had no doubt that there was still a lot left unsaid between them on both parts, the atmosphere now felt more companionable more –dare she say it- friendly and as she relaxed into the seat, Emma seized the moment hoping she wouldn't regret it later and took the chance to strike up an actual conversation. If we're going to work together, guess I might as well get used to this.

"So, what do you think of America so far?" Thank God it didn't sound awkward or forced, and while Emma knew it probably wasn't the most interesting of subjects to talk about (and Jones would probably get her whole deflecting-with-something-else thing) but it came as a surprise when Emma found that she was actually interested in knowing what he had to say on the matter, that she wanted to know more about what this was for him without getting into the personal territory. Besides, if he asked why, she could always answer that it might be useful to know about one's colleagues interests just in case.

Indeed, Killian wasn't stupid, he knew deflection when he saw it but knew he would rather they have a friendly conversation than have Swan close-off from him (and she seemed pretty good at that). If she wanted to play that game, he couldn't see any harm in joining in, and perhaps, with a little luck, she might come out of her own shell a little. There really was nothing to be afraid of.

"Different."

"Really? Not any of the "too busy to even get around in", "buildings twice higher than at home" or "life is too expensive"? Just different? Emma raised an eyebrow, hoping it would prompt him to come back at her with some of the snark she'd seen him use on the first evening. At least she could hold her own in that kind of banter.

And "different" felt kind of underwhelming as an answer if she were honest, especially from a bloke who seemed to enjoy employing as many grand words and turns of phrases as possible.

Emma had had the opportunity to work with a few foreign correspondents before –never to the extent of this case, usually it was over the phone or a quick meeting, not the actual living together and having her partner try to get her to tell them her deepest and darkest secrets or anything like that- mainly with the friends the CIA had over at the French DGSE and the Russian KGB, but the few who had had to fly over and with whom she'd talked about the country had never come up with the States being different from home. Usually they would stay pretty close to working natters like what seawares the CIA used or what type of weapons did American agents tend to use on the field, sometimes they would even get into a conversation about which ones they deemed better (and Emma wasn't the best at arguing her case, but it as it was never the heart of the matter she didn't think to lowly of that). Occasionally, the foreigners would marvel at the food they came across or ask which soccer team she would be rooting for during the next championships if they had a moment to chat. They never compared lifestyles and grander scale things though.

So hearing that being in the States could be summed up in "different" was a new one for sure.

But maybe it was simply Jones being a cocky bastard though, he seemed to like playing that card with her.

"Well it certainly isn't like anything back home. I can't even believe I'm going to be missing my weekly episodes of This is England and dose of digestives because I'm here, and knowing Meg, she's going to spoil me everything when I get back" He lamented, and it was the most unconvincing sad face Emma had seen since that witness they'd had in interrogation room claiming he hadn't had anything to do with the murder she was investigating when he still had blood in the cuff of his sleeve.

"Back on track spy-boy, I meant CIA, you know, intelligence service. Do you guys treat the same matters at MI-5 or is this completely new stuff?"

"Depends on what section of the service you're affected to. Elsa and me, we're in Five, which, to make a long story short, boils down to the anti-terrorist department. Usually we deal with local things like digging up small local terrorist cells in the country although bringing down any financial vultures prying on the economy and bomb diffusing can happen sometimes too. This isn't something we usually deal with, but Mills seems to have common interests with your boss with the group."

"Yeah, Cassidy, I heard about what happened to him." Emma said grimly, hoping the same fate wouldn't befall them. If anything that photo of Humbert, which was likely the fate that had been befallen the other Brit, was not something Emma particularly wanted to experience, and it meant that Underworld, whoever they were, meant business and were not to be taken lightly. "What do you think of this whole affair anyway?" She added as she turned the wheel, swerving to the right and taking the exit as she followed the GPS's instructions.

"Well, they're been good at hiding their tracks, that's for sure. Mills has been after them for years and even now, I don't think she's sure she's going to get her hands on them at all. Seems like we've gotten ourselves in a right mess, doesn't it, Swan?"

"If we've only got the recording and what Queen told you, yeah, I think we're going to have our hands full with this for a while at least. Goodbye any hopes of being home for anything important."

"Well, with a bit of luck, we might find something." Jones said as he pointed to her left, "That's the place right there."

Well, it didn't look like much, Emma conceded as she stopped the car, it certainly wasn't the busy night club she'd been expecting. As a matter of fact, it wasn't a club at all, just an ordinary house like one would expect to find on any street which certainly helped to cover up anything suspect going on inside.

"All right, keep your gun in hand just in case, who knows what's in there." Emma advised as she closed the door behind her, hand already inching for hers as the pair approached the house.

There wasn't any name to it, so she guessed Ursula's Lair was simply what people had chosen to dub the place of their own accord, for it certainly didn't belong to anybody, not in the state it was –old cracked paint, shattered grimy windows on the first floor and the ones on the ground floor had some dingy half cracked shutters that didn't seem to fully close, probably safe to assume the place was deserted.

As she rummaged through the small bag Elsa had handed her over along with the comms before they'd headed out, Emma pulled the silver torch out just as Jones started to get a little frustrated with the door.

"Looks like it's locked, thing won't even budge."

"Let me take a look." She offered, grinning as she recognized the old trick to keep unwanted visitors out. While the hairpin she was used to seeing used on TV very rarely worked, Emma had her way of doing things, and with a little fiddling, a few curses here and there and a little shove, the door eventually creaked open

"Well I certainly hadn't pinned you for a James bond type, nice move."

"Comes with the practice." Emma switched the light on as she led the way, stepping over the threshold and into the dark and dusty entrance hall.

"Really? Ex outlaw then? Don't look it."

She sighed, really not wanting to have to deal with this right now but at the same time, a little comforted by the fact that Jones seemed to be taking this lightly (not that she thought that a good thing, being an agent meant always being on your guard), but if he could let his down and joke a little, then maybe she could take a moment too.

"Here." She offered as she handed him over the torch before fiddling with the lock again. "Since your good looks don't seem to harbor convenient skills we might be needing, take this instead, might be of some use to us."

"So you do agree that I have good looks then?"

Emma could only roll her eyes and let the creak of the opening door answer in her stead.

"Well, this doesn't look very inviting." He commented off handedly as she let him take the first step inside, torch highlighting one very old and crass inside.

"Well, this is a place where less than savory activities going on at night and not a five star hotel, Jones, it's probably easier to keep a low profile in here anyway."

"Well when you put it that way…"

Emma let him take the lead, careful to cast an occasional glance backwards just in case someone had decided to follow them as they went deeper and deeper inside. The air was foul, and she only barely managed to retain herself from coughing when the thought of someone possibly hiding out on the upper floor and the danger they might represent to them popped up in her head.

There truly wasn't much to see, to her disappointment, only a broken mirror in the hallway, and empty kitchen with only turning up a dead mouse as they both rummaged through the various presses and one small living room to their right. Deciding he could probably scout that out by himself and rather pressed to be alone for a while, Emma thought they might cover up more ground quicker if they separated, it's not as if anything bad would happen to them in this place.

"Why don't you take the ground floor, I'll go take a look upstairs." She offered as she took a step backwards towards the hall.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'll give you a call if ever anything goes wrong." Brushing off the concern was the easiest thing to do, and as climbed the stairs, Emma was pretty sure she'd only imagined the be careful anyway, no way was Jones the concerned type, way too laid-back for that.

The upper level didn't really look any more inviting what with the dark corridor, moldy decrepit doors and the very dim light coming from the broken window at the far end. For a moment, she wondered how the blokes coming here could even count their money properly with in the dark but eventually came to the conclusion that pretty much anything went. Emma would proudly say that she was no expert in the art of dealing drugs and other similar substances, and the whole trade that had subsequently developed from it was not anything she was (thankfully) remotely familiar with beyond what her job required her to know.

She hated the way her boot kept creaking over the broken glass and debris littering the place (a sign that it was well-used at least, people must have been hanging around here at some point) and she had to hold her breath as she entered the second room because the stench was absolutely revolting. Much like the rest of the place, it was in the most parts, a huge mess: old soggy mattress on rusty springs (the bedroom then) and what was left of a wardrobe to its left. Awkwardly slipping between the two, Emma pulled the sliding door to the side, hoping there might be some semblance of a clue inside, and indeed there was something to be found as the shelf just above her eye level seemed to be harboring a stash of papers.

Setting the torch on the bed, Emma stood on her toes and fumbled around the cubicle until her fingers managed to get a grip on the package and with a little huff of triumph, she set the small pile on the bed and reached for the light again.

Although any bubble of hope that had begun to build in her chest was quick to die out when, after blowing away the dust that had accumulated over the things, it turned out to be something along the kind of old accounts, with drug types and the amount sold, prices and undecipherable signatures here and there. Still, not one to be deterred, Emma chose to see the papers for what they were: that someone had been here, and sliding her right hand in her pocket, she fumbled around for one of the extra comms Elsa had handed her before leaving and set it on the shelf at the edge. At least if there was someone with worthwhile information who happened to drop by when they weren't around, at least they might get a chance to pick up on anything they said.

In the meantime though, Emma guessed she would have to bring this stash back to the grid and hand it over to August so the analyst could work on it, and hopefully pull out a familiar name or signature.

"Swan!"

Well, looked like Jones might have had a little more luck on his side.

"Coming!" Emma made sure to check that the bug was indeed not visible to the eye as she got off the bed before re-doing the sheets and leaving the place exactly as she'd found it and, after stuffing the records into her bag and whipping out her flashlight again, carefully made her way down the stairs and to the living room her colleague seemed to be calling her form.

"Something popped up?" She asked as she came in, only to find Jones by the window, torch in hand hovering over a pile of newspaper clippings he was awkwardly balancing in the other. "What are those?"

"Found them by the windowsill over there." He pointed to the closed curtains. "The oldest one dates back to a few years ago, around the time Mills had was coordinating Operation Dreamshade with Cassidy."

"You think whoever hung out here had an eye on us from way back in the day?" Emma inquired as he handed her over the top paper. While nothing remotely suspicious made the headline –something about a global warming summit, not exactly what they were looking for- the date at the top did correspond to when Dreamshade had taken place, and while it could all be a coincidence, Emma chose to see it as something they could work on and use as a lead instead.

"Well, judging by the looks of this one, maybe." And as he held it up for her, Emma could make out something related to the Government and some sort of gas related weapon, a project that seemed to have been abandoned as her eyes skimmed over the article.

"Yeah, I suppose we can take them along, look into them back on the Grid and have August dig in deeper, see if he can find the full story.

"Find anything upstairs?" He inquired as he packed the papers in the small backpack they'd brought along, adding the torch to the lot when Emma's one could do just fine for the pair of them.

"No, unless you count a dingy mattress and a few accounts –you know drug and weed related things, stuff the local police force might be interested in but not us."

"Well, looks like we're going to have a field day digging into all of this." Emma said sourly as she pictured them already, three in the morning the next day and twenty cups of coffee littered on the desk, both of them sleeping in front of the monitor until Nolan or someone else would walk in on them and either reprimand them or make it their job to never let them forget it for the next five years (yeah, August would do that, she'd need to keep an eye out for him). Still, this wasn't a total waste of time, Jones had found something for them to look into.

"Don't worry Swan, we'll find something." She barely registered the words when she noticed his hand lingering on her shoulder for a moment, realizing that this was the closest they'd ever been –and was much too close than she'd intended for them to get. Quickly making good on her word, that colleagues merely work together and are not supposed to act like this, Emma brushed past him, fishing her car keys from her front pocket and leaving him to close the door behind them discretely.

"I sure wish I had your optimism, Jones." Because I've got a feeling we're going to need it.