AN: There's a fight scene toward the beginning that has mentions of blood and stuff (also, violence, obv~) so if you don't like that stuff, maybe skip that part? Also, there's a slight bit of M-ness at the end (just barely but still).
(Un-beta'ed)
Turned out that questioning Tamara was easier said than done. In the hours following her release from police custody, she'd somehow managed to disappear (despite the protective detail). Emma had feared the worst, at first, had assumed one of Gold's lackeys had abducted her, or worse, had "taken care" of her. The police clearly had no idea that anything was amiss as the car that was supposed to be watching her was still parked outside when Emma came to check for clues at Tamara's apartment two days later. After inspecting the apartment for herself, Emma had come to the conclusion that Tamara had left of her own free will; she'd had to use her lock pick to gain access, so there was no forced entry, there was a significant gap in the midst of the clothing hanging in her closet that suggested a large amount had been hastily removed, and a trail that appeared to be caused by the wheels of a small suitcase on the carpet leading out of the bedroom.
What Emma hadn't found was any clues that pointed to where she might've taken refuge. She'd met Mary Margaret and Killian back at their base and shared the news. They'd discussed a few options amongst themselves and had ended up going with Killian's suggestion of running a basic facial recognition software as it was most likely to yield results in the shortest amount of time. It took longer than any of them would've liked (suggesting that either Tamara was better at hiding than any of them had assumed or that Storybrooke was bigger than they'd realized), but they'd gotten lucky and managed to pin her location down in about a day. Apparently she'd decided to take a chance and hide in plain site; she was in the Ruins, laying low in an abandoned motel down by the pier (which, coincidentally, was only a few blocks from where Gold's base was rumored to be).
Killian pulled the van to a stop and shifted the gear into park. Mary Margaret quickly exited through the passenger side, shutting the door behind her and making her way to the back of the vehicle to retrieve her bow.
"I don't like this plan," Killian confessed to the blonde still seated beside him, his voice laced with concern.
"I don't care," Emma replied insolently as she hastily pulled her hair into a ponytail, "You're staying here, Killian."
He scoffed at her response and repositioned himself so he was facing her. "Why?" he asked irritably, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Because I said so," Emma answered, her hard tone suggesting the matter was not up for discussion.
"You're not my mother, Emma, that reason isn't going to cut it," he retorted angrily, "You need back up."
"Yeah," she began, fitting her mask over her eyes, "That's why Mary Margaret is here."
Killian expelled an annoyed sigh and rolled his eyes. "Are you seriously going to try and tell me that a third set of hands wouldn't be helpful?"
There was a moment of silence as Emma considered her response, a weary sigh shaking her entire being. "I need you to be here where it's safe," she explained calmly, her gaze resolutely fixed on the clenched hands resting in her lap.
"And you think being here alone in this van is safer than being with the two of you?" he snapped, trying to catch her eyes.
"You can't defend yourself, Killian," Emma hissed, finally turning to face him, "I can't afford to be worrying about you. Not to tonight."
"I can so defend myself," Killian scoffed, "It's not like I've never been in a fight before."
"Killian, please," she pleaded, her voice quavering slightly as she met his eyes earnestly, "Please, just for once, do what I ask and stay here."
He felt the anger leech out of him the longer he held her gaze, her deep, green eyes saying far more than her words ever could ("I can't lose you"). He sighed in defeat after a moment, briefly closing his eyes and swallowing thickly.
"As you wish," he acquiesced quietly.
Emma nodded and took a deep breath through her nose. "Thank you," she said softly, affixing a comm to her ear.
A knock on the window startled the two of them, effectively ending their conversation. Emma swiveled her head to the right at the sound and breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was Mary Margaret. Emma nodded to her friend through the closed window before silently exiting the van.
She adjusted her black motorcycle jacket as she walked to the edge of the alley where Mary Margaret was positioned, both of them sticking to the shadows.
"Everything okay in there?" Mary Margaret asked quietly, adjusting the quiver strap across her chest.
Emma sighed briefly and nodded, handing a second comm to the brunette. "Everything's fine," she mumbled.
Mary Margaret accepted the comm and stuck it in her ear. "If you say so," she conceded, knowingly eyeing her friend.
Emma ignored the woman's gaze and switched the comm in her ear on. "Testing, one-two."
"Coming in loud and clear," Killian grumbled sullenly.
Mary Margaret followed suit, silently questioning his tone by raising her eyebrow at Emma. She shook her head briefly and shot the brunette a look that said they'd discuss this later.
"How far out are we, Jones?" Emma whispered, surveying the surrounding area for possible onlookers.
"About two blocks south of the target's last known location."
Emma nodded wordlessly and met Mary Margaret's eyes with her own. "You ready?" she asked lowly, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.
"Always," Mary Margaret answered with a soft smile.
Emma felt the tension leave her as she returned the other woman's smile and nodded once more. They parted ways, Emma emerging from the protective cover of the alley and heading in the direction Killian had indicated, and Mary Margaret climbing up a ladder on the building across the street.
Emma reached the pier in no time, carefully surveying Tamara's supposed hideout from around the corner, cursing inwardly when she noticed that the front door was blocked by debris.
"The front entrance is impassable," she muttered, craning her neck to see if she could find another way in without losing her cover.
"So is the back," Mary Margaret responded, "Someone's chained the door shut."
Emma sighed in frustration and turned away from the building, leaning against the wall beside her. "Either of you see another way in? I can't see shit from this angle."
The clicking of Killian's keyboard filled the silence as she impatiently waited for one of them to answer.
"There's a broken window on the west side of the building, up on the fourth floor," Mary Margaret said suddenly, "I should be able to jump over to the roof and climb down."
Emma grimaced and pulled away from the wall. "Any way I can access it from the ground?"
There was a pause as Mary Margaret presumably surveyed the structure. "Not unless you can scale four stories worth of smooth concrete," she said.
"Emma, there's an unobstructed entrance on the eastern side," Killian supplied abruptly, "You should be able to reach it without losing your cover."
"Okay, thanks," she sighed, walking in the direction Killian indicated, "Go ahead and use that window, Mary Margaret. I'll meet you inside."
"Aye, aye, Captain," Mary Margaret retorted sarcastically.
Emma huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes. "Funny," she muttered.
"I thought so," Mary Margaret agreed, her breathing labored as she silently climbed her way down to the broken window.
Emma reached the eastern wall by way of a side street, using the darkness as shield; it wouldn't do to have Tamara glimpse them before they even got inside, after all. Spotting the door Killian had mentioned, she halted to observe the entrance and immediate surroundings from her cover across the street. Satisfied by the lack of obstacles, she tore suddenly from the darkness like a bullet from a gun, her eyes fixed on her destination. She made to tug open the door upon her arrival and was relieved to find it unlocked. Silently, she slipped inside, stilling momentarily as she caught her breath and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
"I'm in," she breathed, creeping cautiously down the corridor she'd ended up in.
"Same here," whispered Mary Margaret, "No sign of her yet."
"Where are you?" she asked softly, searching the few rooms off of the hallway.
"Still upstairs," Mary Margaret muttered quickly.
"Let me know if you spot her," Emma instructed softly as she surreptitiously continued to search the ground floor of the building.
Mary Margaret didn't respond as Emma finished her sweep and found her way to the stairs. She ascended carefully and quietly, worried all the while that the structure was going to collapse under her weight. She made it to the second floor unscathed, moving past the broken down elevators and down the corridor that lead to the first wave of rooms. All of the buildings in the Ruins had been looted shortly after the earthquake, leaving the majority of the doors wide open. She made quick work of the first few spaces, keeping her eyes and ears perked for anything that could point to their target's current location.
She was just finishing the chamber at the hall when she heard heavy footfalls almost directly above her. Holding her breath, she listened. She followed the footsteps to one by the stairs and halting.
"I think she's on the third floor," Emma whispered as the footfalls ceased, "In the room across from the elevators."
She didn't wait for a reply as she slowly made her way up her second set of stairs. She stilled halfway up, straining her ears for any and all sounds. There was a muted shuffling coming from the room she'd heard the footfalls stop in; the door was wide open, the flickering light of what appeared to be a fire spilling through the doorway. Emma stopped at the top of the stairwell and pressed herself into the wall by the door and listening. Tamara (if that indeed was her in there) didn't appear to notice that anything was amiss as the shuffling of what Emma now realized was paper continued.
Emma centered herself with a deep breath before she inched forward enough to steal a quick look through the door; Tamara Cerveny sat on a rickety, wooden chair, her back to the wall as she faced the open doorway. Her attention was blessedly focused on the fire she was attempting to light in the small trashcan before her rather than the door, giving Emma enough time to slip quietly through and into the kitchenette off of the foyer.
Emma slowly wove a path through the kitchenette and into a living area that housed an old, dirty sofa and a broken table with three legs. She tiptoed silently to the door that lead to the former bedroom Tamara was holed up in and snuck another glance at her. Her attention still seemed to be on lighting the fire until a creaking noise from the outside hall made her pause. Emma shirked back behind the cover of the wall and waited.
The room was silent for a moment as Tamara stayed still, presumably listening for anymore noises in the hall. Distantly, Emma wondered if it had been Mary Margaret or simply the oldness of the building. Praying it was the latter, she snuck another glance around the doorframe when she heard the light shuffling of Tamara's shoes on the wooden floor. The other woman had crept toward foyer that led into the outside hall, her back now to Emma. Deciding that this would most likely be her only opportunity to surprise her, she crept silently through the doorway and moved toward Tamara slowly.
She was a few mere feet away when another creak in the hall made her pause. Emma waited with bated breath as Tamara decided whether or not to make a move. Cerveny, apparently deciding that running was her best option, turned quickly toward her before Emma could move back to her hiding place. They both stood frozen as their eyes met, Tamara's brown ones widening with surprise.
"Who the hell are you?" she asked numbly as her shocked eyes swept over her quickly taking in Emma's ensemble.
Emma hastily gathered her wits and held the other woman's gaze. "I think you know," she replied simply.
Recognition flared in her eyes after a moment, causing her to unconsciously take a step back. "You—you're supposed to be a myth," Tamara stammered, eyeing Emma with caution.
"We need to talk, Tamara," Emma insisted, completely ignoring her statement.
"Talk? About what?" she asked, nervously shifting her stance.
Emma watched her closely, preparing for a fight. "About Gold," she answered shortly.
Tamara swallowed nervously, her eyes flitting around the room in search of an escape route. "What about him?"
"About how he has a tendency to off his employees," Emma explained calmly, taking a step forward, "Employees like your boyfriend, for instance."
Tamara suddenly came barreling toward her at the mention of Mendell, aiming to tackle her to the ground. Emma stepped to the side to avoid her, noticing the swing of Tamara's balled up fist aimed right at her head a second too late. Her head snapped to the side as Tamara's fist connected with her face and Emma felt her bottom lip split almost instantaneously.
"Lucky shot," she said thickly as she tongued the cut on her lip, her jaw sore from the blow.
Tamara merely glared and breathed heavily through the flared nostrils of her nose before she cried out in anger and tried her luck again. Emma blocked her punch with her forearm and shoved her arm away, knocking Tamara off balance. She pushed Tamara as she swayed, intending to knock her to the ground and subdue her, but she had other ideas. Instead of falling, Tamara twisted her body and grabbed onto the back of Emma's jacket. She struggled to stay upright, twisting her body forward in an attempt to counter the addition of Tamara's weight. Once she'd regained her footing, she turned so that her back was to the nearest wall and slammed Tamara against it.
Tamara grunted in pain and grabbed Emma's ponytail in retaliation. She yelped in surprise as her head was pulled back and then promptly thrust against the same wall. Emma stumbled away from the wall and shook her head as she tried to regain her bearings.
"Is that all you got?" Emma taunted, breathing heavily through her nose.
Tamara smirked as she got to her feet and moved to kick Emma in the gut. Emma sidestepped the move easily and retaliated by lobbing a punch at her nose. Her fist connected with the other woman's face and Emma could almost feel the bones in her nose cracking beneath the force of her hit. Tamara bent forward as she howled in pain, instinctively grabbing her now-bloody nose. Emma took the opportunity and wrapped her arm around the back of Tamara's hunched shoulders, effectively holding her in place. She then lifted her leg and slammed her knee into Tamara's gut, knocking the wind out of her. Distracted by her pain and her attempts to catch her breath, she fell to her knees.
Emma's face was still stinging and her head was throbbing as she pushed Tamara down so she lay on her stomach on the floor. Before the woman could regain her senses, Emma quickly brought both of her arms behind her back and handcuffed them there.
"Guys, I've got her," she mumbled wearily, "Some help would not go unappreciated."
"I'm on my way Emma," Mary Margaret said breathlessly in her ear suddenly.
"Fantastic," Emma sighed, pulling Tamara up from the floor and directing her back to the chair she'd been in earlier.
"Are you alright, Emma?" came Killian's concerned voice, "That encounter sounded a bit more…painful than usual."
Emma rubbed the sore spot on her head as she gave herself a moment to catch her breath. "I'm fine, Jones. It's nothing a few fingers of single malt won't fix."
She heard him sigh in response, as footsteps echoed into the room from the outside hall.
"Hey," greeted a breathless Mary Margaret as she practically ran into the room.
"Don't 'hey' me, where the hell were you?" Emma exclaimed, shooting her friend a look of exasperation.
Mary Margaret sighed and made her way over to Emma's side of the room. "The stairs are impassable up there so I had to go back out the window I came in through and find that door Jones told you about. Sorry."
"Sure, sure," said Emma, huffing in mock annoyance and waving her over, "Okay, us girls here are going to have a little chat and your job is to make sure she stays in this chair."
"Yes, ma'am," Mary Margaret replied facetiously as she walked over and took her place behind Tamara.
Emma ran a hand over her disheveled ponytail, giving herself a moment to recover from her tussle.
"Alright so, based solely upon your reaction, I'm going to assume that you knew about Gold's hand in Mendell murder," Emma reasoned as she paced around the room.
Tamara's lack of response reminded Emma about their chat at precinct the other day; intimidation hadn't worked on her, she was obviously too tough to let that kind of thing get to her, but being honest with her had.
Emma halted her pacing and turned to face her once more. "I'm going to be straight with you, Tamara," she began, crossing her arms over her chest, "I'm trying to bring down Gold. It's clear that you know more than you're willing to admit, and that's fine, it's your right. But something tells me that you're not hiding here because you're afraid of the police or of someone like me. I think you're afraid of him, and God knows you should be."
She stopped speaking momentarily and slowly walked closer, giving her words time to really sink in. "Just how long do you think it's going to take for him to find you? The man has endless resources. If he wanted to, he could put everything he has into looking for you. You could run, leave town, but I think we both know he'd find you eventually. Is that really how you want to live the rest of your life? Constantly looking over your shoulder, squatting in places like this, waking up every morning wondering 'is today the day?'…Only to end up dead anyway? That doesn't seem worth it to me."
She halted her gait a few feet from Tamara's chair and crouched so she could meet her eyes. "Help me. Help me, and I can help you; you won't have to live in fear, you can go home, and you can help me bring justice to the man responsible for the death of someone you loved. Please, just tell me what you know."
Silence filled the room as the minutes ticked by. Emma watched her closely, searching for even the smallest sign that she'd reached her. She was about to admit defeat when Tamara suddenly met her eyes. "Okay," she croaked softly, a tear rolling down her cheek.
Emma allowed a small smile to grace her face as she nodded in thanks and rose to a standing position. After instructing Mary Margaret to remove the cuffs, she waited patiently as Tamara collected her thoughts. She started by revealing to them that she worked for Gold and that Greg had worked for him too. She went on to tell them how she and Greg had been together for years, how they'd met at the lowest points in their respective lives, how they'd helped each other make it through. She explained that joining Gold's operation had been a blessing at first; he'd taken them in, given them jobs, helped them rebuild their lives…And then he'd asked for (no, demanded) repayment.
At first it had been little things, a mugging here, a carjacking there; from there it had continued to escalate and before either of them knew it, they were in so deep that the only way Gold was ever letting them out was by way of death (either at their own hands or his). That's when they'd started putting together a plan, a plan to get out, to live. It had been in the works for over a year; they'd been setting money aside, putting together new identities for themselves, hatching an escape plan. They'd been so close, and somehow Gold had found out. Needless to say, he'd be furious. They should've known something worse was coming when he'd let them go after a simple tongue lashing. Greg had been found dead a few days later and Tamara, suspecting she was next, had gathered whatever she'd been able to carry and fled.
"I tried to leave the city," she told them, sniffing every now and then (whether because of her bloody nose or her crying, Emma didn't know), "But his henchmen were everywhere; at the train station, on any bus that went across the city limits…That's why I'm here by the pier. I was hoping to stowaway on one of the outgoing ships. Guess that's not happening now."
Emma swallowed thickly, her mind racing. She paced the room a few times before returning to her place before Tamara. "Do you know who he sent to kill Greg?" she asked earnestly.
Tamara twisted her hands in her lap and shook her head. "No but, I know it's someone he uses often. They're some kind of knife enthusiast, whoever they are, hence the stabbings."
Emma sighed lightly in frustration and met Mary Margaret's eyes over Tamara's head.
"I think I know who might be able to tell you, though," Tamara continued suddenly.
Emma's eyes snapped back to Tamara, hope filling her once more. "Who?"
"Guy named Jefferson. He runs a bar called The Rabbit Hole. Rumor is that he knows everything there is to know about this city's underbelly," she explained, shifting in her chair restlessly, "But, he'll only meet with those that know the secret phrase."
"Bloody hell," Killian muttered irritably in her ear. Emma could practically hear him rolling his eyes.
"You wouldn't happen to know this phrase, would you?" she asked hopefully.
"It just so happens that I do," Tamara mumbled wearily, a tired smile gracing her face.
Emma and Mary Margaret exited Tamara's hiding place fifteen minutes later, their new-found knowledge tucked safely into their mental archives (and hopefully also on Killian's hard drive as he should've been recording their entire conversation). They'd tried to convince Tamara to leave the rundown hotel in favor of some place more comfortable, but she'd insisted that she was safe where she was, at least for the moment.
"Jeeze, Ems," Mary Margaret remarked as they rounded the corner where their van was parked, her eyes roving the blonde's face, "You look terrible."
Emma laughed and stopped at the back door of the van, watching as her friend removed her weaponry. "I'm sure it looks worse than it is," she assured her, wincing as the stretching of her lips caused her split lip to ache.
"You said she rammed your head into the wall, right? You should probably ice that later or something," Mary Margaret suggested, biting her lip and grimacing.
"Yeah, sure," Emma placated, knocking so Killian would open the door as it was locked from the outside.
There was a squeaking sound as the handle turned and the metal doors popped open to reveal their comrade. "Bloody hell, Emma," he groaned, his mouth falling open in shock as he jumped from the van and walked until he stood before her.
"As I was just telling Mary Margaret, I'm fine," she said, rolling her eyes.
She started when his hands unexpectedly cupped her face, examining her wounds with a burrowed brow as he tilted her head this way and that.
"Look me in the eyes, I want to make sure you don't have a concussion," he ordered after a moment, pulling a pen light from his pocket.
Emma huffed a quiet laugh and met his eyes. "I'm fine, Killian," she assured, bringing a hand to rest on his, "I've had worse, believe me."
Killian searched her eyes for a moment before sighing in resignation and nodding. "As you say," he said softly, freeing her face from his hold and stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"So," Emma began after a few moments of silence, "You recorded all of that, right?"
Killian shot her a quizzical look. "Really, Swan? I find your lack of faith insulting," he replied, raising an eyebrow and turning to walk back to the van.
"As long as you don't find it disturbing," she joked, rolling her eyes and making her way to join Mary Margaret on the passenger side.
The ride back to base was silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts. It was midnight when they were finally ready to go their separate ways. Mary Margaret and Killian made Emma swear that she was going to take it easy on her day off tomorrow (the former even offering to stay the night with her just in case something happened) (it was sweet, really, having people care so much).
"Fine, I promise," she conceded, her hands finding her hips, "On the condition that the two of you promise to go to that bar with me tomorrow night."
"I can't," Mary Margaret grimaced, "My parents are flying in tomorrow, remember? David and I are taking them out to dinner."
Emma pouted at the brunette and flicked her gaze to meet Killian's. "And I suppose you too have some pressing engagement?"
"Quite the contrary," he confessed, throwing her an impish smile, "It's a date."
Emma chuckled and shook her head at him. "Right. I'll pick you up at seven, Hot Stuff. Remember to dress nice, we need to blend in."
Killian scoffed and waved her off, as if the notion that he didn't always dress nice was ridiculous.
With their plans set, the three of them parted ways. Emma was trudging into her apartment ten minutes later, her exhaustion hitting her like a ton of bricks. She all but tripped out of her boots and groaned in frustration when the zipper on her jacket got stuck in the shirt underneath it. When she was finally freed from the confines of her costume, she jumped into her pajamas, crawled onto her bed and snuggled down into the nest of pillows beneath her down comforter.
Emma woke up late the next day, her head throbbing as if she'd spent the night drinking rather than simply taking blows to the head. It had taken three cups of strong coffee and a few Advil to finally numb the throbbing and when five o'clock rolled around, she was right as rain. It took a half an hour for her to put herself together (she'd never been more thankful for that little black dress she kept tucked into the back of her closet) and by six-thirty she was out the door and in her bug. She pulled up outside of Killian's building with five minutes to spare and pulled out her phone. After shooting off a text to let him know she was waiting outside, she gave herself one last glance in the rearview mirror.
The main door opened a few minutes later and out stepped Killian, his hair artfully tousled, dressed casually in a black, leather jacket over a midnight-blue button up and a pair of dark-washed jeans. He spotted her and ran a hand over his beard as he walked toward her car and pulled open the door.
Emma shook herself when she realized she was staring and prayed he hadn't noticed as he planted himself in the passenger seat and shut the door.
"Evening," he greeted with a smirk, pulling the seat belt across his body.
"Leather? Really?" she jeered, raising an eyebrow at him, "I told you to dress nice."
Killian scoffed and gripped the lapels of his jacket. "This jacket cost me a fortune, it is nice."
Inwardly, Emma agreed; it was (especially on him). Outwardly, she simply rolled her eyes and said nothing further as she shifted the bug into drive.
"You're looking quite lovely tonight, Swan," Killian observed, the intensity of his gaze making her skin feel like it was on fire.
Emma licked her lips nervously and shot him a look that suggested a confidence she didn't feel. "Don't I always?"
Killian chuckled lightly and gazed out the window. "Aye," he replied softly.
She stole a quick glance at him and swallowed nervously; this had been such a bad idea. Being alone with Killian at work and on missions was one thing, but this, this was on completely different terms and holy crap, did he look gorgeous in that leather jacket. They spent the rest of their drive in companionable silence, pulling into the parking lot of The Rabbit Hole a little before seven-thirty.
Emma sighed and turned off the ignition before shifting to face Killian in the passenger seat. "You ready?"
"'Course," he replied, shrugging nonchalantly.
Emma nodded wordlessly, opening the car door and stepping out. Killian followed suit, meeting her at the back of the car.
"Shall we?" he asked, offering her his arm with a grin.
Emma chuckled and shook her head before lacing her right arm with his left.
The Rabbit Hole was blessedly nicer than its exterior suggested. The lowly-lit, smoky room was relatively small; cozy booths lined the crimson-colored walls and a few small, free-standing tables were scattered about the room. The bar up against the far wall was overrun with people trying to catch the bartender's attention. There was a combination of light jazz and conversation permeating the room as Killian guided Emma to a booth in one of the back corners.
"Better vantage point," he claimed, releasing her as she slid onto the padded bench.
"I'll say," she agreed, her eyes roaming the room as he slid onto the bench opposite her.
There was a moment of silence as the two of them covertly surveyed their surroundings.
"How long do you think we should wait?" Killian asked suddenly, his eyes scanning the bar across from their table.
"Half an hour, maybe," Emma suggested, returning her gaze to the man across from her. "Think you could get us a couple drinks so we can blend easier?"
Killian met her eyes and raised an eyebrow. "Drinking on the job? How very unlike you."
"We're in a bar, Jones. Don't you think it'll be suspicious to not have at least one drink while we're here?" she said, rolling her eyes at him as she pulled her arms from her sweater.
"Fair point," he conceded, his gaze lingering on her now-bare arms, "So, what'll you have, then?"
"Whisky," she replied simply, shifting her arms to rest on the table.
Killian stirred and stood up from the bench. "As the lady wishes," he said, maintaining their eye contact for a moment longer as he stepped backward toward the bar.
Emma bit her lip as she watched him saunter up to the counter and lean on its edge, her eyes drinking in the sight of him. This thing going on between her and Killian seemed to have hit its peak this evening and if she wasn't careful, she was liable to do something she'd regret, something that might destroy their friendship altogether. Tearing her eyes away from his back (because goddamn, did his ass look great in those jeans), she closed her eyes and took a few calming breaths, reminding herself that they were here to do a job.
She'd regained a bit more control over herself by the time he returned, drinks in hand, a devastating smile on his annoyingly handsome face. They spent the next twenty minutes nursing their drinks and chatting idly, all the while keeping a close watch on their surroundings. They shared a look when the crowd at the bar began to thin; Killian raising his eyebrow in question, Emma nodding in response.
"Let me handle this," she told him quietly as she wandered over and casually leaned on the counter, Killian trailing behind her.
It didn't take long for the bartender to notice her. He ambled over, leering all the while. Pushing back the cringe that threated to emerge, she quickly flashed a charming smile at him.
"What can I get for you, sweetheart?" he rasped, leaning toward her over the counter and shooting her a smile that she assumed was meant to be seductive.
Emma smiled and bit her lip coyly as she reached over to lightly touch his arm. "I actually just have a question."
"Ask away," he breathed, his eyes roving over her face and coming to rest on her mouth.
"Alright," she began softly, sobering suddenly and looking him dead in the eye, "Why is raven like a writing-desk?"
The lewd smile dropped from his face almost immediately upon her words. After simply staring at one another for a moment, he swallowed and stepped back.
"Wait here," he instructed, running a hand over his semi-bald head as he walked quickly away from Emma's side of the bar and through a mirror-plated door that led to the back room.
Emma shuddered the second he was out of sight; she felt like she needed another shower. She heard chuckling to her left and shot Killian a glare.
"Shut up," she grumbled, running a hand through her hair.
"I didn't say a word," he snickered, holding up his hands in supplication.
Emma crossed her arms over her chest petulantly and continued to glare at him. "You laughed."
"Yes well, it's always quite amusing watching men make arses of themselves in your midst," he admitted, suddenly tilting his head. "Strangely it also fills me with pride."
She smiled and bit back the laugh that threatened to escape her. "Pride? Really?" she asked, her nose crinkling.
"Aye," he chuckled softly, scratching behind his ear and meeting her eyes, "You're a hell of a woman, lass."
Emma averted her gaze as she felt herself flush. "You're not so bad yourself, Jones," she muttered, staring resolutely at the faux wooden surface of the bar.
She didn't look at him, she couldn't because he probably had that expression on his face, the one that made her heart feel like it was going to explode from her chest, and she just couldn't deal with that right now.
Thankfully she didn't have to as their friendly neighborhood bartender returned before Killian could respond to her confession.
"Follow me," he demanded flatly, leading them to the counter's hatch and through the door he'd disappeared through.
The bartender escorted them to an all-white sitting room with nothing but two identical sofas and an unlit fireplace. He instructed them to "wait there" and exited through another door (this one red and dotted white with a golden border). They sat on the couch and waited in silence, afraid to speak lest this "Jefferson" have some means of recording his guests. After an indeterminable amount of time, the red door opened once more and a tall, brunette man (hair impeccably styled) stepped into the room. He was dressed somewhat oddly, the patterns on his shirt and waistcoat clashing horribly, a dark grey scarf fixed around his neck. Despite his strange choice in clothing patterns, he was clearly very wealthy.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked calmly, an eerie smile on his face.
Emma eyed him suspiciously. "You're Jefferson?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"I am," he replied, sitting himself on the couch across from them and patiently waiting for them to speak their piece.
Emma met Killian's gaze and raised her eyebrow in question. He shrugged in response and turned to look at Jefferson once more. "We're here for information," he explained, crossing his arms and leaning into the back of the couch.
Jefferson nodded thoughtfully and crossed his legs. "And what makes you think I have the information you seek?"
"A reliable source," Emma said firmly, almost daring him to question her.
Jefferson sniffed out a laugh and shifted his eyes to her, studying her for a moment. "Alright, let's assume your source is correct. What makes you think I'll share anything I know with complete strangers?"
"We're prepared to make you a deal," Killian began, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs, "You tell us what we need to know and we'll give you whatever you want."
Jefferson considered the two of them for a moment, clasping his hands thoughtfully in his lap. "Fine. Tell me what you want to know and I'll… determine whether or not I can help."
Emma took a deep breath and considered her words carefully. "We need information on Gold."
"The metal or the billionaire?" Jefferson retorted, a sly smile on his face.
Emma glared at him briefly and crossed her arms over her chest. "Which do you think, smart ass?"
He chuckled at her boldness and waggled a finger at her in mock admonishment. "Now, now, no need to resort to name calling. What about Gold exactly?"
"Anything we can use to bring him down," Killian answered resolutely.
Jefferson's head swiveled toward Killian at his statement. "You want to bring down Gold? Do you two have a death wish?"
"Look," Emma said, jumping to her feet, "We have a witness, one we can probably convince to testify against him. But it's not going to be enough, we need more, we need irrefutable proof that he's dirty."
"And you think I can give you that? That I'd be willing to risk my life in the process?" he asked sharply, shaking his head in exasperation.
"No one has to know where we got our information," Killian offered, rising to stand alongside Emma, "If you tell us what we need and where we can find it, there's no need to implicate you at all."
Silence filled the room as Jefferson considered their offer. He studied the both of them for a moment before sighing and running a hand over his face as he rose from the couch and walked toward the fireplace. He leaned his shoulder against the mantel and stared pensively at the floor.
"Mills and Co.," he muttered quietly, holding his position by the fireplace.
Emma's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?" she asked, taking a step toward him.
"Mills and Co.," he repeated louder, raising his eyes to meet theirs, "That's where you need to go."
"The bank?" Killian asked, confusion lacing his tone.
Jefferson nodded and pushed off the wall with a quiet sigh. "They have the most secure facility in the entire state," he explained as he began pacing the room, "What you'll need is in one of the high security safety deposit boxes. They're underground, accessible only by an elevator that needs a special key card. And that's not even the best part."
Emma and Killian anxiously watched the other man pace.
"What's the best part?" Emma asked quietly.
He stopped his pacing again and turned to face the two of them. "If, somehow, you manage to break in and swipe the elevator key card without being caught, you'll still need three keys to open a box; one from the account holder, one from the bank manager on duty, and one from the bank's owner."
Killian exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, is that all?" he asked sardonically.
Jefferson nodded wordlessly, crossing him arms across his chest.
"What do you think?" Killian asked, turning to look at Emma.
She was silent for a moment as she considered her answer. "I think we've got a lot of planning to do," she said numbly.
"Wait a moment, what's even in this box of Gold's we're supposed to go through all this trouble for?" Killian asked suddenly, returning his attention to Jefferson.
Jefferson tilted his head and silently studied the two of them for a moment. "You're serious, aren't you? You'd actually risk your freedom, risk your lives because of a single man," he said finally, his eyes wide with surprise.
"This is about much more than a man," Emma said vaguely, staring pensively at the floor with furrowed brows.
Jefferson studied them a moment longer before shrugging. "Fine, it's your funeral," he said, reclaiming his position on the couch, "To answer your question, I don't exactly know what he keeps in the box but I do know that it's important to him."
"Clearly, he wouldn't be keeping it at a place like Mills if it wasn't, would he?" Killian mocked, rolling his eyes.
"I meant important to him business-wise," said Jefferson calmly, picking imaginary lint from his slacks.
"What makes you think it has something to do with his business dealings?" Emma asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I have an informant on the inside that keeps me apprised of the activity at Mills," he explained patiently, "Apparently Gold accesses his box at least once a week. Why would he do that if it was just some personal item he wanted kept safe?"
"That's not exactly proof of your theory," she muttered, biting her lip anxiously.
"Not exactly, no, but it doesn't disprove it either," he countered, leaning into the back of the couch and clasping his hands behind his head.
"Fair enough," she sighed, running a hand through her hair.
"Let's say that we decide to do this," Killian began, returning to his seat across from Jefferson, "Even if we manage to find a way in and obtain that elevator key card, we don't have the three keys needed to open Gold's box nor do we know what number that box even is."
"I know," Jefferson said cryptically, "I can also help you acquire the keys...Well, two of them, anyway."
"Which two?" Killian asked, studying the other man with narrowed eyes.
"The two the bank has, of course," he replied, a bored expression on his face, "The informant I mentioned has access to both."
"Hold on a second," Emma interjected, rejoining Killian on the couch, "You still haven't told us what you want in exchange for all of this."
Jefferson rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking exhausted. "What I want," he began thoughtfully, "Is in box 47223."
"Great, we need to break into two boxes now?" she asked tiredly, rubbing the back of her neck.
"You'll already have the two keys from the bank so, no breaking in required," he placated, "The other key I have. I'll give it to you before you enter the building."
"If you have the account holder's key, what do you need us for?" Killian asked, tilting his head.
"He's not the account holder," Emma guessed, knowingly meeting Jefferson's eyes.
He nodded wordlessly and ran a hand through his now-mussed hair.
Killian and Emma stared at each other for a moment, engaging in one of those wordless conversations they sometimes had.
"We'll accept your deal on one condition," Emma said finally, returning her gaze to Jefferson.
"Which is?" he asked, an indifferent expression gracing his face once more.
"We want a meeting with your insider," she said, unblinkingly holding his gaze.
Jefferson considered her terms silently for a moment, pensively running a hand over his chin. "Agreed," he said finally, meeting her gaze once more. Without another word, he rose to his feet and held out his hand to her.
Emma shared a quick look with Killian again before standing and firmly grasping it, sealing their deal.
"I'll be in touch," he said tersely, releasing Emma's hand and striding over to the red door he'd entered through.
Emma let go of a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding once Jefferson left them and turned to Killian. "I need a drink," she said, trudging past him to the door that led back out into the bar.
The crowd had thinned significantly in their absence; save from the single person at the counter, everyone left seemed to have congregated at the tables in the middle of the room. Emma rifled through the bottles behind the counter upon her reentry and muttered triumphantly when she came across a mostly-full bottle of rum. She grabbed it and headed back to the booth in the corner she and Killian had been occupying earlier, opening the bottle and taking a hearty swig.
She swallowed and moaned in delight as she smacked the bottle on the table and sat down. "Holy shit is that good," she enthused, licking the remaining liquid from her lips and leaning back into the back of the booth.
Killian stared at her silently from his place at the end of the table. "We should go," he said simply.
Emma shook her head as she grasped the neck of the bottle and brought it to her lips for another mouthful. "Not just yet. Sit, have some rum. It's on the house," she said playfully, already slightly buzzed.
He sighed in defeat after a moment and sat on the bench across from her. Emma took another quick drink and slid the bottle to his side of the table. "Come on, Jones, have a drink with me," she said in mock cheerfulness, her green eyes pleading.
"It'd be my honor," he said softly, holding her eyes as he took a long, slow drink.
Emma unconsciously licked her lips, the alcohol in her system causing her vision to blur slightly and giving everything in the low-lit room a glow.
They left the bar an hour or so later, Killian at the wheel of her bug after claiming she wasn't fit to drive (which was probably true considering she'd downed at least half of that bottle of rum). It was two in the morning when they made it to her building. Killian pulled into a space and killed the engine before retrieving his phone from his jacket.
"Who are you calling?" Emma slurred tiredly (drinking on an empty stomach always seemed to make her sleepy).
"A cab," he said simply, his phone to his ear.
Cab on its way, he turned to her and sighed. "I suppose we should get you upstairs," he said, turning to open the driver's side door.
She nodded in agreement and sat up in the seat so she could reach the door handle. Killian helped her stand, reminding her to grab her discarded heels from the floor. She tripped a few times on her way to the elevator from her car, giggling incessantly. Killian steadied her when they finally reached her door as she slowly dug through her purse in search of her keys. He took pity on her after a few minutes, chuckling and snatching her bag away to continue the search himself.
Emma studied him as he rummaged, his brow furrowed in concentration. She took a step closer to him, swallowing her heart that was suddenly beating in her throat and licking her lips. He whooped quietly a minute later, pulling the battered silver key from the depths of her purse and proudly stuffing it into the lock. His smile fell slightly when he met her eyes.
"Are you alright, love?" he asked, his hands resting on her upper arms as he leaned in to study her face better in the dim light of the hallway.
"Never better," she breathed, raising her hands to grasp the lapels of his leather jacket and gazing up at him through her lashes.
She watched him gulp nervously and smiled softly. "Emma, what are you doing?" he asked softly, his voice suddenly hoarse.
She bit her bottom lip and shifted her gaze to his mouth, gripping his lapels tighter. "Shut up," she muttered as she dragged him to her by his jacket and tilted her head to meet his lips with her own.
Heat blossomed in her chest as she frantically slid her lips over his; they were warm and soft against her own. A groan rumbled through his chest a moment later as he returned her kiss, matching her fervor. Goosebumps erupted over her skin as his hands lightly caressed her arms. A moment later, one slid over her shoulder, up her neck, and tangled itself in the depths of her blonde locks, the other came to rest on her hip and pulled her flush against him. Emma gasped against his lips at the feeling of his warm, lean body against hers, the beginnings of desire coiling in her stomach. Seizing his chance, Killian slipped his tongue between her parted lips and eagerly explored her mouth. Emma moaned, releasing her grip on his jacket and plunging her fingers into his soft this hair as their tongues slid against each other.
Emma steered Killian backward until his back was against the wall beside her door as her hands slid down his neck and burrowed beneath his jacket, her fingers lightly tracing the muscles of his stomach. She pulled back slightly, her nose bumping his as her breath fanned out in quick puffs over his lips. Killian groaned again as she nipped at his bottom lip, the hand in her hair holding her to him. He inhaled sharply as she kissed her way over his chin and down his neck, her hands fisting themselves in his shirt as her hips stuttered lightly against the growing hardness in his jeans.
She was worrying a mark onto the skin over his collar bone when he growled suddenly and pulled her lips back up to his. The hand on her hip moved down over her ass as he attacked her mouth and clutched her thigh, lifting it so her leg rested on his waist, pressing their hips closer together. Emma whimpered and ran her hands up and down his chest as she met him thrust for thrust.
"Emma," Killian moaned breathily against her lips, untangling the hand in her hair and sliding it so he was lightly cupping her face.
The realization of what she was doing and who she was doing it with hit her like a semi. Her eyes, no longer clouded with lust and rum, sprang open as she detached her mouth from his. She could feel the panic welling up inside of her as she carefully pushed him away and took a few steps back. She ran a quick hand through her hair as she fought to keep the feeling at bay (at the least until she made it inside her apartment) and warily glanced in his direction. He looked completely wrecked; his eyes were still closed, his lips were swollen, his hair was deliciously disheveled, his was breathing labored.
Emma muttered a curse and took a few steadying breaths, feeling as wrecked as Killian looked.
"I—I have to go. Goodnight, Killian," she told him hoarsely, practically breaking down her door in her haste to get inside.
He'd come back to himself halfway through her goodbye, staggering away from the wall with a dazed look in his eyes. "Emma, wait.
She shook her head frantically as she turned the knob and stumbled inside. "Goodnight," she repeated shakily as she quickly closed the door.
She let the panic take over as she clicked the lock into place and leaned heavily against the door, allowing herself to slide down to the floor. It was almost four in the morning by the time she managed to drag herself to her bed. Her last thought before she finally passed out from exhaustion, one she'd later deny having, was about how at home she'd felt in his embrace.
She tossed and turned the whole night.