AN: This chapter is hella long, I'm sorry. A lot of shit needed to happen so lol I wasn't able to cut much out. Hopefully that doesn't stop anyone from reading. There's a mention of underage drinking somewhere around the middle so if that kinda thing bothers you, maybe skip over that part. Okay, I think that's all, hope y'all enjoy!
(Un-beta'ed)
"Alright, guys, we've gotta do this fast. My shift at the precinct starts in an hour," Mary Margaret instructed, gingerly fitting the headset Killian usually wore over her ears.
Emma nodded as she applied the finishing touches to her make up in the rearview mirror. "In and out," she promised, pressing her lips together to spread the gloss she'd just rolled on.
"What's our cover exactly?" Killian asked, pulling his leather jacket from the bag he'd brought with him and slinging it over his shoulders. "Assuming anyone asks, that is."
Emma threw him a look over her shoulder from her place in the front seat and raised her eyebrow. "It's an antique shop, Killian, what do you think our story is?"
Killian shot her an annoyed glare and combed his fingers through his locks. "I meant specifics, love. For instance, are we shopping for ourselves or for someone else? Are we looking for a dining room table or an armoire? Is there a particular period or will anything work?"
"We're not actually buying anything, you know that right?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her tone.
Killian rolled his eyes and sighed in mild exasperation. "Bloody hell, Swan, I'm just trying to be prepared. This isn't exactly my area of expertise, you know."
"You'll be fine," Mary Margaret assured, an amused look in her eyes, "And if you do somehow screw up, I know Emma will happily come to your rescue. This is just recon, Jones, don't freak out."
"I'm not 'freaking out,'" he scoffed, retying his boots to avoid meeting anyone's knowing eyes.
"Alright, it's almost eight, let's get this over with," Emma said suddenly, making sure her comm was secure and pushing open the door.
Killian followed out the back a moment later, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light. They'd opted to park around the corner from French's Finds and approach on foot in case something went wrong (can't ID a getaway vehicle you never see).
The bell above the door jingled as they entered, announcing their presence. They hung around the entry way for a few moments, casually inspecting an old writing desk as they waited to see if anyone was going to pop up and ask them if they needed help. When no one did, they shared a look, nodded and split off to take either side of the store.
Emma kept her eyes and ears open as she scanned the area for anything out of the ordinary. She mentally noted the locations of the motion sensors and security cameras hidden in the shop's various nooks and crannies as she pretended to casually survey a display case of antique model ships. The shop was bigger than she'd anticipated, roughly twice the size of any other specialty shop she'd been in (not that she made a habit of visiting such places, that is).
Her ears perked as she neared the register, recognizing the low timbre of Killian's voice. She peeked around a bookshelf to survey the situation, only to find him holding an old book and chatting with the middle-aged, bespectacled man behind the glass counter.
So easily distracted, she thought, smiling slightly and shaking her head.
She pulled a nearby tome off of the shelf she was beside and pretended to inspect it, her eyes flicking up to study the area behind and around the counter every now and then. There was a doorway directly across from her concealed by a dark gold curtain that Emma assumed lead to the back room, the wall was decorated from floor to ceiling in framed paintings, and there was another set of display cases that seemed to house some of the shop's more expensive pieces lining the wall behind the counter.
Logic told her that if there was a safe somewhere in this shop, it was either in that back room or possibly even hidden behind one of the paintings on the wall.
"Wrap it up, Jones," she muttered, still pretending to examine the book in her hands as she watched him through her lashes.
She bit back a smile as he started slightly, apparently so absorbed in his conversation that her voice in his ear had startled him. Killian regained his composure and smiled at the shopkeeper in thanks before turning and placing the book in his hands back where he'd found it on the shelf. Emma did the same, quickly retracing her path and meeting him outside.
"Find anything interesting?" she asked, falling into step with him as they returned to the van.
"I think so," he muttered, his brow furrowed in thought, "What about you?"
She nodded, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans as they walked. "Definitely some things worth looking into."
"Right," he began absentmindedly, raking a hand through his hair, "When do you wanna do this, then?"
Emma shrugged and stopped next to their van, her fingers wrapping themselves around the door handle. "Tonight maybe? Unless you think we need more prep time."
Killian nodded thoughtfully and ran a hand over his beard. "I do need to check a few things out but it shouldn't take long. Tonight should be fine."
"Good," she smiled, pulling open the driver's side door and hauling herself inside the carriage.
They went their separate ways soon after; Mary Margaret hightailing it to the station for her shift, Killian deciding to hang out at their base a little longer for research purposes, and Emma dragging herself home for a long, hot shower.
It'd been a long, fairly odd couple of days and the tension that had settled in her shoulders was starting to make her feel like Atlas; the outcome of this job was going to determine the fate of the entire city and Emma didn't know how much longer she was going to be able to stand the pressure.
(Though, if she was truly honest with herself, she was mostly worried about what would happen if and when this was finally over. Everything she was, everything she had, was a direct result of losing her mother; what would she have left, who would she be once Gold was brought to justice?)
French's Finds, sadly, turned out to be a bust.
Emma had gone in alone, despite the pleas from her comrades to reconsider; she'd gotten around the security with help from Killian (as per usual), had picked the lock on the backdoor and slipped in undetected. Mary Margaret had been tasked as the look-out (after practically begging to be let out of the van) (she didn't know how Killian stood it) and was overseeing things from the roof of the building across the street.
It took her twelve minutes to clear the backroom, another eight to locate the wall safe behind the register, and ten to actually crack the damn thing, only to discover nothing more than a few bags of cash for the register and a week's worth of sales receipts.
This, unfortunately for them, meant that the key was most likely stashed somewhere on Gold's massive estate. Nine-thousand square feet of stone and brick built into the side of a hill and set behind a ten foot wrought iron gate (complete with guard post).
"We are so screwed," Emma groaned, her head cradled in her hands.
"We are not," Mary Margaret countered, her tone firm, "It's going to be difficult to get inside, sure, but it's certainly not impossible."
Emma lifted her head and shot a half-hearted glare at her best friend. "Your constantly unwavering optimism is giving me an ulcer, Mary Margaret. Let's try and be realistic here."
The brunette's eyes flashed in annoyance as she made her way across the clock tower toward the blonde. "The minute I let go of the belief that things will work out is the minute that I know they won't. We can still pull this off, Emma."
"She's right, Swan," Killian added softly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, we've come too far to just give up."
Her gaze flickered between the duo, the anger she'd felt suddenly evaporating; not for the first time, Emma realized how lucky she was to have these people in her life.
"Alright then. Ideas?" she asked softly, leaning back in her chair.
It was a week before they caught a break. A week of keeping their ears to the ground, a week of roughing up low-lifes for information, a week of waiting.
Turned out they'd been looking in completely the wrong place.
"Hey," Mary Margaret panted, having sprinted up the clock tower stairs, "I think I've got something."
Emma's gaze quickly flicked to the newspaper clutched in her hand. "What is it?" she asked, turning her chair toward the other woman.
Mary Margaret unfolded the newspaper and held it up with a triumphant smile. "Gold's wife is throwing a party in two weeks."
"Rich people throw society galas all the time, Mary Margaret, how does this help us?" Emma asked tiredly, some of the hope that had swelled with in her dissipating.
"It helps because it's the first time his house has been open to the public in five years," she retorted, walking over to Emma and handing her the Storybrooke Mirror's Society section.
"You mean open to the rich and shameless," Killian corrected, still typing away at the computer in front of him.
Mary Margaret sighed in frustration and placed her hands on her hips. "Look, guys, this is the first prospect we've had in days. Can we at least look into it before completely writing it off?"
Emma bit her lip in contemplation as she studied the woman before her. "Okay, what's the plan?" she conceded, leaning back in her chair.
"All we really need to get inside is an invitation. Shouldn't be difficult to track one down, or at least get a hold of the guest list," she presented, excitement alight in her eyes.
"But we'd be going in blind," Killian interjected, finally spinning his chair around to face her. "I've looked everywhere for blue prints of this place and they either never existed or the record has been removed."
"There'll be hired hands going in and out of his estate at least up until the night before," Mary Margaret countered, "Surely we can…persuade one or two of them to give us some idea of the layout."
Silence permeated the room as Emma and Killian considered Mary Margaret's proposal. "Worth a try, I guess," Emma said suddenly, allowing a small smile to grace her lips. "Where do we start, boss?"
Emma had known Mr. and Mrs. Blanchard were pretty well-off (they were from Northern Greenwich, after all) but for some reason hadn't realized that this meant Mary Margaret had also been exposed to this world they were attempting to infiltrate.
As a result, snapping up the invitations ended up being the easiest job they'd pulled in weeks. After acquiring the guest list, all they'd had to do was figure out who was currently out of town and break into their mail box.
"Ms. Leia Wellington," Emma read before holding the invitation out to Mary Margaret, "Ever heard of her?"
She shrugged and took the card from Emma, "I wanna say she's the daughter of some 'rising star' in the business industry, but don't quote me on that," she said, placing the card on the table, "Whoever she is, she's got a plus one, which means two of us will get in."
Emma nodded and leaned her hip against the side of the table. Maybe they really could pull this off.
Figuring out who the hired help was turned out to be slightly more difficult, however, but Mary Margaret surprised them yet again when she 'casually' ran into none other than Mrs. Gold and sweet-talked her into revealing the information ("She was actually very kind.").
The cost of retrieving this information, however, was that Killian would now have to go in her place.
"Wonderful," he grumbled, scrubbing his face tiredly. "I suppose this is a black tie affair?"
"Yep," Mary Margaret chirped, happily clicking away at the keyboard on one of their many computers.
Killian sighed petulantly and moved to return to his previous task. "Brilliant, that's going to cost a pretty penny. Can we write this kind of thing off, by any chance?"
Mary Margaret rolled her eyes and shook her head in amusement. "Oh, stop. And don't worry about finding the proper attire, I'll take care of it. Just focus on hacking the caterer's website or whatever the heck it was you were doing."
He sent her a mild glare and grumbled something about 'not being appreciated' before returning to his work.
The gala seemed to come upon them quickly once they'd gotten all their ducks in a row (as well as was possible, at any rate). Mary Margaret had acquire suitable apparel for the both of them, as well as giving them a crash course in proper etiquette; Killian poured over the basic map they'd managed to pilfer from one of the florists, coming to the conclusion that the most likely location of the key was the study located in the basement; Emma methodically went through all the information they had in her head, over and over, making sure it was practically burned into her brain.
They were as prepared as they were ever going to be.
"Do you mind?" Emma asked Mary Margaret as she turned away, the red gown she'd selected for the evening hanging open in the back.
Emma pushed her blonde curls back over her shoulders once she had fastened the row of buttons along the lace back of the gown and nervously adjusted the layered skirt. Mary Margaret lightly slapped her hand away and tilted her chin up so she could finish applying her make up.
"Quit fidgeting, you look great," she smiled softly, causing a light blush to tint Emma's cheeks.
She didn't wear dresses often, let alone a dress like this. She didn't know what the fabric was, but it felt like heaven against her skin, and the lace detailing on the bodice was so intricate it was like a work of art. Mary Margaret had curled her long hair into soft waves, neatly pinning the sides up to keep it out of her face. She'd given her an elegant string of diamonds to wear on her wrist and chain with a simple diamond pendant to wear around her neck.
Emma swallowed as Mary Margaret gently pushed her face to the left and applied a bit of blush to her cheek. It was ridiculous but she was nervous (and not just because they were going to be in the same room with the man responsible for her mother's death). They'd pulled a lot of impossible jobs over the years but tonight made them all feel like nothing but practice rounds. She reminded herself that this was simply a step, that if they somehow managed to pull this off and get Gold's key, they still needed to break into Mills and Co.
"All right, done. What do you think?" Mary Margaret said suddenly, nudging her toward the full length mirror in the corner of her bedroom.
Her eyes widened as they fell upon her reflection. It was almost like she was looking at someone else, the striking (yet anxious) woman in the mirror nearly unrecognizable.
She had never been in a wedding, nor had she gone to her prom, but she imagined she'd probably have felt something like this if she had.
"Wow," she breathed, unconsciously fingering the lace on the bodice of the gown, "You really outdid yourself, Mary Margaret."
The other woman smiled warmly at her, something that looked suspiciously like pride shining in her eyes. "I didn't do much," she claimed, brushing imaginary dust from Emma's shoulders.
Emma huffed in disbelief and turned slightly to view the back of the gown in the mirror. "'Didn't do much?' I look like a freaking princess."
Mary Margaret shook her head and eyed her coolly. "All I did was give you a nice dress and some red lipstick, Emma. The rest is all you."
She fought back the blush threatening to rise to her cheeks again and turned away from the mirror. "Yeah, whatever," she muttered, busying herself by looking for the clutch she was taking with her.
"I'm going to go check on Killian. I have a feeling he might need help with a few of his accessories," Mary Margaret teased after a moment.
Emma nodded wordlessly, the sound of her friend's footsteps filling the silence.
Her stomach twisted at the sound of his name, her lips tingling as the hazy memory of the kiss they'd shared suddenly flashed through her mind. Sure, they'd talked about it and they'd agreed it was for the best to put any discussion of their feelings for each other on the back burner. But lately the tension that was already between them had gone beyond anything they'd ever had to endure. Like it or not, that kiss had changed things between them and Emma was torn between the fear of losing her friend and the fear of giving into the feelings she had for him.
An abrupt knock pulled her from her thoughts, the door opening a moment later.
"Ready whenever you are," Mary Margaret told her, poking her head through the space between the door and the jamb.
Emma smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, checking her clutch one last time to make sure she had everything she needed (lipstick, invitation, lock pick, compact 9mm…you know, girly stuff).
The breath backed up in her lungs when her gaze fell on Killian. He was fiddling with his cufflink, a frustrated scowl clouding his features as she studied him in his black-on-black tuxedo. His hair was combed and styled with some kind of product (probably gel, but Emma didn't really care, if she was being honest), his short beard trimmed neatly. She shook herself when she realized she'd been staring, the knowing look Mary Margaret shot her as she made her way over to help him making her eyes roll.
"Don't you look dashing," she teased, her voice breathier than she would've preferred.
Killian huffed a laugh as he lifted his gaze from his cuff to meet hers, whatever comeback he'd been about to throw at her dying on his tongue.
She felt another flush rise on her skin when his mouth fell open slightly, a mixture of awe and something decidedly else on his face.
"You look stunning, Swan," he breathed, his throat bobbing as he composed himself and returned his eyes to hers.
"Thanks," she mumbled, self-consciously crossing her arms over her chest, "You don't look so bad yourself."
"What, this old thing?" he joked, gesturing to himself.
She smiled gratefully, a rush of affection surging through her as she realized he was trying to ease the tension between them.
"Right," Mary Margaret said suddenly, drawing both of their gazes, "It's almost go time. You guys ready?"
Emma and Killian shared a quick glance before the both nodded in affirmation.
"As we'll ever be," Emma said, mentally steeling herself for the night ahead.
The black Town Car (equipped with fake plates, naturally) pulled to a stop at the security check point, the driver's side window rolling down to reveal a short-haired brunette with delicate features.
"Evening," she said, adjusting the hat on her head so she could meet the guard's eyes.
The guard grunted in response, the long line of cars before them stealing any niceties he might've started his shift with. "Invitation?"
The woman nodded and pulled a card from the inside pocket of her blazer before handing it over to him with a smile.
He mumbled his thanks and brought his walkie to his mouth, reading the name from card to whoever was on the other end. He waited a moment as they presumably checked the list before a static-y, "They're good," crackled through.
The guard handed the invitation back to the driver and motioned for his partner to open the gate. "Guest drop off is to the left, parking is in the rear," he dully, pointing this way and that.
The driver nodded and shifted the car back into drive before rolling up the window.
"We're in. You guys set back there?" Mary Margaret said, maneuvering the vehicle slowly down the gravely drive toward the guest entrance.
"Think so," Emma replied, her tone one of forced indifference.
"Well get sure, we're nearing your drop off point," she said, stopping behind a short line of cars.
Emma cursed the heart beating wildly in her chest as she anxiously glanced at the house looming ahead of them.
"Wow," she quietly observed, groaning inwardly at the thought of possibly having to search every room of the massive estate for their key.
"Aye," Killian agreed, his voice slightly strained.
"You okay?" she asked, retuning her attention to the man beside her.
He nodded as he met her gaze and suddenly the car felt like it was too small. "I just wish we were more prepared, is all," he said, a contemplative look crossing his face.
"We've gotten other jobs done with less, we'll fine," she assured, even though she didn't quite believe her own words.
"Maybe," he muttered, shifting his attention to something outside of her window, "I suppose we're about to find out."
Her head swiveled to the left as the car came to a stop and her door opened. She took the hand the valet offered granted him a small smile of thanks as he helped her from the vehicle. Then Killian was at her elbow, offering her his arm, and she was taking it and he was guiding them up the stairs to the door and they were both nodding to the attendants as they checked their coats.
The grand room was, for lack of a better word, grand. An enormous crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, yellow light about the room. The soft music from the quartet playing off to the right mixed with the murmur of conversation as clusters of finely dressed men and women danced and chatted idly. A few small tables peppered the back part of the room as waiters and waitresses with trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne flitted about the front half.
Emma fought to keep her mouth from falling open in awe as they passed an elaborate spiral staircase on their way through the foyer.
"This place is ridiculous," she whispered, leaning slightly closer to man on her arm as she continued to survey the room.
"You can say that again," he laughed, his breath puffing against her ear and sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
"Okay," she began after a moment, lowering her voice as a waiter passed closely by, "I say we slowly make our way to those tables in the back, wait about twenty minutes, and then split off and take turns looking for a way downstairs."
Her brow furrowed in confusion when she felt him pull her to a stop, her hand still resting in the crook of his arm as she turned to meet his gaze.
"What's wrong?" she asked, afraid he'd spotted Gold or something equally as terrifying.
A slow smile spread across his face as he released her from his hold and turned to face her. "Care to dance, Swan?"
"Are you serious?" she asked, genuinely perplexed. He wanted to dance? Now?
"Oh, I never joke about dancing," he teased, offering her his hand.
Emma shot him an unamused glare and pushed his hand down. "We're in the middle of one of the most dangerous jobs we have ever pulled and you want to dance. Are you insane?"
"Come on, love, when are we ever going to be invited to another party like this?" he reasoned, stretching his hand back out.
She observed him silently for a moment before sighing in defeat. "Technically we weren't even invited to this one, so I'd say slim to none," she joked, placing her hand in his.
Emma felt her heartrate increase as his smile broadened in response as he pulled her closer, settling his other hand on his waist. They swayed silently for a minute, simply relishing the moment.
"So, how do you know how to do…whatever this is?" Emma asked, silently begging herself to stop trying to figure out the exact shade of blue of his eyes or wondering how kissing him sober would feel.
He chuckled in response, raising an eye brow at her. "It's called a waltz, and how I know it isn't important. What is are the rules, and for this dance there's only one: pick a partner who knows what he's doing."
She smiled fondly at him and shook her head slightly (because seriously, he was such a dork) trying to ignore how every inch of skin touching him tingled, how every glance that passed between them made her mouth run dry, how every smile he threw her way made her heart beat faster beneath her breast, stoking the fire his kiss had ignited with in her all those weeks ago.
He was flirting with her and she was kind of flirting back and she really should've put a stop to it because they're on a job, damn it. But it was fun and she was feeling good (and he was looking good) and even though she knew it wasn't going to make their relationship any less complicated, she just couldn't (wouldn't) break whatever spell they'd fallen under.
"I'm in position, guys. Let me know when you're ready," Mary Margaret said suddenly, as if she'd somehow heard Emma's thoughts.
They smiled remorsefully at each other as Killian halted their tour around the dance floor, releasing Emma from his embrace.
"Shall we?" he questioned softly, gesturing for her to lead the way.
She nodded and walked ahead, suddenly much colder than she had been a moment ago.
They placed themselves at a table off to the left, grabbing a flute of champagne each on their way. Idle chit chat was exchanged between them as they bided their time, scanning the room and making mental notes of the exits and where security was and wasn't positioned.
Emma was the first to explore the room on foot (after about five minutes of hushed arguing and three rounds of rock paper scissors, that is). She stuck to the wall at first, halting every few feet and casually observing her surroundings.
Their plan hit a bit of a snag when a guest of the female variety spotted Killian standing around alone during his second turn about the room and would simply not take the hint no matter how many times he (kindly) rebuffed her. Noting the annoyed edge creeping into his tone via his comm, Emma found him, snaked her arm around his waist, planted a lingering kiss on his cheek, and then turned toward their interloper and introduced herself as his (no, Charles Hawthorne's) fiancée.
(And she absolutely did not think about the pleasant way his scruff had tickled her lips when she'd kissed him nor did she acknowledge how nice the light pressure of his hand on the small of her back had felt.)
It took one more circuit (and a trip to the ladies room) to conclude that best path to the basement was the staircase just down the hall from the kitchen. It was a bit tricky as the caterers were bustling in and out, but eventually they made it through without anyone noticing.
Emma winced as her heels clunked loudly on the hardwood of the stairs, earning a wordless glare from the man descending in front of her.
"Sorry," she mouthed, cringing when they clunked yet again.
"Just take them off, would you?" he whispered heatedly, quickly looking around them in case anyone had heard them.
The room at the base of the stairs was blessedly empty, lit only by a single lamp on the coffee table in the far left corner. There was a kitchenette with a bar to their right, and three closed doors leading elsewhere. According to the maps and bits of information they'd acquired, Gold's study should be the second door on the left. Killian tip toed over to it and quietly jiggled the handle, huffing a frustrated sigh when he found it to be locked.
Emma dug through her clutch for her lock picks and handed her bag and her shoes to Killian. "Hold these. And keep watch," she whispered, crouching so she was eye-level with the handle.
He scowled slightly at being ordered around but did as he was asked, turning his back to her and scanning the dimly lit room. The telltale click of the last pin being set and the door unlocking brought a satisfied smile to her face as she rose from her position and turned to her companion.
"It's all about the tumblers," she whispered loftily, grabbing her things from Killian's arms.
He rolled his eyes affectionately at her before moving over to try the knob once more, throwing a mildly impressed look over his shoulder when it turned without resistance. The room was dark as they slipped in, quietly shutting and relocking the door behind them as they waited for their eyes is adjust.
"Do you have a light?" Emma asked, blindly feeling around the wall for a switch or a lamp.
"Now's not really the time for a smoke, love," he teased, the sound of his clothing rustling meeting her ears.
Emma rolled her eyes and scoffed. "You know what I mean, Killian."
He made a tutting sound at her tone as the rustling ceased and a small flashlight clicked on. "No need to be so hostile. Let's get on with it then," he said, motioning at her with the light.
The room was far from small but the large, walnut partner's desk in the center took up the majority of the space. Wooden bookshelves and cabinets lined the walls making the room feel even smaller than it actually was. Emma made moved toward the desk, setting her bag and her shoes down on one of the chairs in front of it. She made her way around to the other side and pulled the desk chair out of the way, motioning Killian over so she could see what they were dealing with.
There were nine drawers, each one with their own lock. Emma groaned and tried pulling open one at random, thinking maybe just the one with their key would be locked.
No such luck.
"This is going to take a while, guys," she sighed, including Mary Margaret in this revelation as she crouched once more and set to work, "Going radio silent."
Emma had gone through a bit of a rebellious phase in her early teens and as such had learned the art of lock picking many years prior to her career in law enforcement. Needless to say, she was by no means an amateur. But finesse and knowledge are only going to get you so far. Nine locks. Nine. She was good, really good, actually, but this was a tall order even for her. She grumbled in aggravation as the third drawer she'd cracked failed to house the treasure they sought, repositioning herself and begrudgingly starting on the next one.
Two drawers later and Emma was starting to have doubts. Maybe they'd been wrong, maybe Gold kept his key somewhere else, maybe he kept it on him. She scoffed once more as the sixth drawer yielded nothing and turned toward Killian who was watching her with an unreadable expression.
"I don't think it's here, Killian, maybe we should just go before we get caught," she said dejectedly, shaking her head.
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before running a hand over his beard. "Three more, Swan. If it's not in one of them, we'll go."
She bit her lip and held his gaze, the determination she saw there reigniting the flicker of hope that had been squashed only moments ago. "Okay," she whispered, nodding as she took a steadying breath, "Three more."
She'd gotten one more open before the sound of footsteps descending the basement stairs made them both freeze. Killian pulled her up quickly, gesturing for her to grab her belongings as he quietly ran over to a closet with a filing cabinet and a few boxes and waved her over.
"In here," he whispered, clicking off his light when she reached him and shutting them both inside.
The heavy footfalls clunked around the basement, stopping in what Emma assumed was the kitchenette they'd passed earlier. She held her breath as they returned after a moment, the sound getting progressively louder as they made their way toward the study. The jingle of keys met her ears and became clearer as the door to the study was pushed opened. Light flooded the room as their guest entered and made their way over to the right side of the room.
Suddenly Emma was aware of every little thing going on around her; the brush of her dress against her legs, the slight cramping of her hand as she clutched her shoes to her chest, the warmth radiating from Killian, the smell of the aftershave Mary Margaret had given him to wear, his sharp inhale when she accidentally bumped her shoulder against his arm, the rustling of book pages outside the closet door…
The lights were flicked off after what seemed like an eternity and Emma released a relieved breath when the door was shut and the footsteps made their way back upstairs.
"That was close," she muttered, blindly searching for the door knob in the darkness of the closet.
She heard Killian make a sound of agreement as he clicked his flashlight back on. "Two more?" he asked softly, opening the door.
Emma sighed and nodded, making her way back over to the desk. "Two more."
Killian decided to wander around the room as she worked on the last two drawers, turning his flashlight toward her whenever she asked (the lack of sight actually helped her focus better on the sound of the pins, she discovered).
Her noise of triumph at opening the final drawer morphed into one of aggravation as, again, there was no key.
"Well that's it then, I guess," she grumbled, getting to her feet and smoothing out her dress, "All that work for nothing."
"I wouldn't say that," Killian said suddenly, a note of mirth in his tone as he turned away from one of the bookcases, "Look what I found."
Her stomach dropped when her eyes fell on the ornate silver key clasped between his thumb and forefinger.
"Are you kidding me?" she groaned tiredly, cursing under her breath when Killian chuckled breathily and strolled over to her.
"Well, at least we were right about it being in the study," he reasoned, sliding the key into his inside jacket pocket, "And it appears that work wasn't actually for nothing."
Emma huffed and crossed her arms over her middle. "Yeah, picking nine locks I didn't need to pick definitely wasn't a waste of time."
Killian shrugged and stuffed his free hand into the pocket of his slacks. "If you hadn't been picking those locks, I never would've nosed around that bookcase over there. Perhaps everything happens for a reason."
"Whatever," she grumbled, picking her things up from where she'd left them on the floor and moving toward the door, "We've got it, now let's get the hell out of here."
Killian nodded and clicked his light off as he lined up behind Emma at the door. "We got it, Mary Margaret," Emma whispered, quietly turning the knob and edging the door open.
They made it back to the gala without being seen, slipping down the hall and out onto the veranda as though they'd been there all along. There were a few clusters of people out there as well, chatting idly and admiring the view (which was, admittedly, quite breathtaking). Emma shivered slightly as the cool air assaulted her bare shoulders. She felt Killian shift beside her, placing his jacket on her shoulders a moment later.
"Thanks," she mumbled, pulling her arms through the sleeves and tugging the material around her.
His response of "Anytime, love" went unheard as her ears perked at the sound of a man laughing from across the veranda.
Her head swiveled toward the laugh, her eyes scouring the crowd as her brain frantically worked to place why it was so familiar. She vaguely registered Killian's inquiry of whether or not she's alright as a memory flashed unbidden through her mind, a memory of a day she hadn't let herself think about in years.
(Suddenly she was sixteen again and at her mother's wake and there were people offering their condolences and flowers and comfort food and crying and it was all just too much; she had to get out.
She was on the swing in her backyard when he found her, dressed in an expensive suit.
"Mind if I join you?" he'd asked softly, hands shoved into his pockets.
She said nothing, hoping he'd go away if she just ignored him.
He'd sighed at her lack of a response, taking a step closer.
"I'm sorry about your mom," he'd said, hands still in his pockets as he toyed with a rock on the ground with the toe of his dress shoe, "She was an amazing teacher. Her class is…was one of my favorites."
She didn't reply, her gaze resolutely fixed on the patch of grass she'd been numbly starting at for the last twenty minutes. She heard him take a few more steps toward her, stopping a couple of feet in front of her and the swing.
"She was an incredible person," he offered, his voice rough with emotion, "I'm really gonna miss her."
She stole a glance at him from beneath her lashes, something in his voice briefly breaking through the fog she'd be wandering around in for the last few days. His eyes were shinning with barely repressed tears, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly as he swallowed thickly.
"Yeah, me too," she whispered, her voice gravelly from lack of use.)
"No way," she whispered, disbelief settling over her as she continued to search the veranda.
"Emma, what is it?" Killian asked, his voice tinged with worry.
She froze suddenly as her gaze fell on a group several feet away, her heart practically stopping in her chest when she spotted him. His shaggy brown hair was oh so familiar, as he chose that moment to throw his head back in laughter.
Emma turned quickly away from the group and grasped Killian's left arm like she was drowning and he was her life raft. "Shit, that's him."
"What? Who is?" he asked as he looked around in confusion.
(It was late. The wake had ended hours ago, her brother so emotionally drained he'd gone up to bed the second everyone had left.
The light breeze blowing through the trees was as warm as the arm pressed against hers. She raised the bottle of port to her lips and took a hearty pull, swishing the red liquid around in her mouth a bit before swallowing. She wobbled a little as she straightened her neck, resting the bottle on her thigh and waiting for her head to stop spinning.
"Your turn," she slurred, smacking her lips and holding the bottle out to the boy beside her.
He wordlessly took it from her, grasping it by the neck and tipping his head back to take a swig.
"Okay, here's one," he said, placing the bottle on the deck between them, "Never have I ever been as drunk as I am right now."
She busted out laughing, the alcohol making her feel lighter than she had all week. Emma turned toward him, the scent of his cologne making her dizzy. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled to his elbows, his suit jacket discarded hours before when the two of them had been sitting at her kitchen table swapping stories about her mom.
They'd moved on to drowning their sorrows in the backyard not long after David had passed out from exhaustion, their serious conversation morphing into one silly game after another. She swallowed as she watched him loosen his tie, muttering indignantly about how hot he was. Emma found herself mentally agreeing as he moved to unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt, sighing in relief when a light breeze blew through and tousled his hair.
"I've got another one," she blurted suddenly, her eyes falling to his lips, "Never have I ever made out with a complete stranger in my backyard."
The full meaning of what she'd said took a moment to register in his alcohol-laden brain, but he turned to her a minute later, his hooded gaze flickering to her lips as they leaned toward each other.
When she woke the next morning, she doesn't remember much beyond the throbbing in her skull but knew from the bruising on her lips and the state of her hair, that their make out session must've been pretty spectacular.
They hadn't crossed paths again after that night, nor had they sought each other out, but he was always there in the back of her mind; just another piece of the tragic puzzle that was her past.)
"Neal," she muttered, as he chose that particular moment to turn to the side, confirming her suspicions.
"Did you just say Neal?" she heard Killian ask after a pause, an odd tone to his voice.
"Yeah, why?" she questioned distractedly, moving so she was turned away but could still keep her eye on him.
Killian's silence drew her attention back to him. "What is it?" she asked, eyeing him concernedly.
"Did you know that Gold has son?" he asked tightly, his jaw clenching.
"What?" she asked, confusion marring her features, "What does that have to with anything?"
He paused a moment before dragging his gaze to meet hers. "His son's name is Neal, Emma," he said simply, his eyes boring into hers.
She looked at him in disbelief after a moment of silence, realizing what he was insinuating. "Are you suggesting that he is Gold's son? Because I know for a fact that isn't the case."
"Really," he began, crossing his arms over his chest, "What makes you so sure?"
"First of all, I've met him and his name Cassidy not Gold. Second of all, he was at my mother's funeral, a place Gold's spawn would have no reason to be," she whispered back hotly, indignation burning in her chest.
Killian considered her for a moment, his eyes flickering briefly back to where Neal was standing. "Emma, what are the chances of Gold's son and your friend not only having the same name, but also attending this particular party?"
"It doesn't matter what the chances are, Killian, they don't have the same last name," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Has it not occurred to you that perhaps the spawn, as you so delicately put it, of someone like Gold might not have wanted to deal with the stigma that comes with that last name?" he asked, his eyes begging her to see reason.
Emma scoffed and shook her head. "That is ridiculous, are you even listening to yourself?"
Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the chiming of a glass from the grand room next door. They glanced briefly at each other before filtering off of the veranda with the other guests. Emma slipped off Killian's jacket as they entered the room and wordlessly handing it back to him.
There was another bout of chiming that brought her attention to the slight commotion on the small stage the quartet had been playing on earlier.
"Um, guys? We might have a problem…Stand by for a second while I check something out," Mary Margaret informed them suddenly.
Panic surged through her as she snapped her head toward Killian. "A problem?" she mouthed, concern evident on her face.
His reply is cut off once more as the voice of none other than Ignotus Gold suddenly filtered through the room. Her stomach dropped when her gaze fell on him dressed smartly in a tux, solid gold cane in his hand as he addressed the crowd from his place on the stage.
"I just wanted to take a moment and thank you all for celebrating with us today," he said, a smile on his lips that didn't quite meet his eyes as the crowd clapped politely, "It will come as no surprise to most of you that my past is a bit of a dark one, a darkness I roamed alone for many years. Meeting, and eventually marrying, this woman pulled me away from all of that and it's something I'll be forever grateful for. So, I want you all to raise a glass to my wife. My light in the darkness. My Belle."
Emma stared in bewilderment as a petite brunette in a white gown climbed onto the stage and pulled Gold into a kiss. She watched as they pulled away and smiled at each other, causing her stomach to churn. How could someone so terrible be allowed to be so happy? All of the lives this man had destroyed over the years and instead of a jail sentence, he got a loving wife? How was that fair?
But the rage coiling through her suddenly froze in her veins when none other than Neal Cassidy joined Gold and his wife on stage and happily engulfed them in a hug. She knew then that Killian had been right, he was Gold's son. The betrayal cut through her as she watched them, her brain cruelly playing bits and pieces from that night across her mind's eye.
"Emma," she heard Killian say, the rushing in her ears almost completely drowning him out, "Emma, we need to go."
The sensation of being turned and strong hands grasping her shoulders abruptly brought her back to reality.
"Go?" she mumbled, shaking her head to clear her mental fog.
"Didn't you hear Mary Margaret, love?" he asked, dragging his left hand down her right arm and grasping her hand in his as he turned away slightly, "Security is barring the exits, we need to get out of here now."
"Barring the exits?" she repeated, allowing him to lead her toward a hallway they hadn't been down yet, "Why?"
He shook his head and glanced quickly around them, dragging her into the hallway that lead to the library. "She wasn't sure. Just heard them mention it over the channel she's been monitoring."
"Shit," she muttered, still struggling somewhat to regain her senses, "The laundry room."
Killian shot a questioning look over his shoulder as he continued to search for an exit.
"On the map, there was a door that lead outside in the laundry room," she explained, trying to figure out where they currently were.
"Brilliant. So where's the laundry room?" Kilian asked, trying one of the doors on the left side of the hall.
"Across from the library and three doors down," she recited, pausing when footsteps sounded down the hall behind them.
Panicking, she spotted a storage closet a few steps away, wretched the door open, grabbed the lapels of Killian's jacket, and hid them both safely behind the louvered door. A trio of security guards marched by a few moments later as Emma tried to ignore how she was pressed against the length of Killian's body due to the lack of space. Their breaths mingled as they waited a few extra moments, just in case someone else followed, more before inching open the door and slipping out.
"Alright, let's find that laundry room," Killian muttered, dragging a hand through his hair and glancing up and down the hall.
Emma swallowed and nodded, walking ahead of him and peeking around the corner.
It took them ten minutes to locate the laundry room, only to discover that the door she'd seen on the map actually lead to one of the house's many garages. This would've been fine had a security booth not stood between them and the outside world.
"Where are you guys?" Mary Margaret asked, her tone anxious.
"We're in the southwest garage pinned down by security. Is there any way you can bring the car around and give us a hand?" Emma whispered, taking a quick peek at how many guards were in their way.
"On my way."
"How many are there?" Killian asked, leaning closer to her so he could hear her.
"Four," she responded, hoping their back up came quickly.
"We could take them," he assured, an eager look on his face.
She knew she could take two on her own, but four? "No, it's too risky. We're waiting for Mary Margaret."
Killian scoffed and inched closer. "Come on, Emma, let me help. Isn't that why I'm here?"
"Yeah, but—" she began, biting her lip as he cut her off.
"I can throw a bloody punch, Swan, I'm not completely inept," he said defensively.
Emma sighed in defeat and peeked around the corner again. "Fine," she agreed, her tone firm, "But stick close to me. And don't do anything stupid."
He nodded enthusiastically and pushed off of the wall he'd been leaning against, readying himself to follow her.
Emma pulled the 9mm from her clutch and wrapped the strap around her wrist for safe keeping. She then glanced around the corner, mentally cataloguing the positions of the guards, and took a steadying breath.
"Get ready to run," she whispered, switching the safety off of her pistol.
She rounded the bend, aimed her gun, and shot off one round into the wall of the booth. The guards yelled in surprise and ducked for cover and Emma took the opportunity to sprint toward the garage's exit, Killian hot on her heels. She fired off another round mid-run, hoping it would dissuade them from following.
Unfortunately that only lasted so long as apparently one of them also had a gun. She ducked behind one of the cars, pulling Killian with her when she heard a shot ring out, muttering a curse when the sound of boots on concrete met her ears.
"Run to the door when I tell you," she whispered, grabbing Killian arm and preparing to haul him up with her.
She rose suddenly from behind the car, pulling Killian with her and screaming "Go!" as she fired off another few rounds, bringing down one of the guards with a shot to the leg. They burst through the door and out onto the drive, quickly scanning the patio for any other threats.
"Where are you, Mary Margaret?" Emma asked, positioning herself behind a column.
There was no answer as the guards suddenly poured through the garage door, the one with the gun on point.
"Shit," she muttered, firing off another few rounds and scattering the group as they ran for cover.
"Ever fired a gun before?" she asked Killian suddenly, flattening herself against the column.
He eyed the gun somewhat warily before meeting her gaze. "Do video games count?"
Emma sighed and pushed the weapon into his palm as an opposing shot ricocheted off of a nearby column. "Basics are pretty much the same: point it at the bad guys and pull the trigger."
He swallowed and nodded, concern flashing across his face. "Wait, where are you going?"
"I am gonna go take these ass holes out and you are gonna cover me from here," she explained, stealing a quick glance around the side of the column.
"As you wish," he mumbled, switching positons with her.
She sprinted suddenly across the drive, taking cover behind the column a few yards away. A shot rang out as Killian fired a round in the general direction of the guards and Emma used the distraction to duck behind a nearby parked car. More shots were exchanged, some of them bouncing off of her chosen hiding place. She peeked around the back end of the car and spotted the nearest guard (thankfully the one with the gun) crouching behind a large decorative fountain, Killian drawing his attention as he fired off another couple of rounds.
Emma made a break in his direction, managing to keep him from seeing her for at least most of the way. She sprinted around the fountain as he swiveled himself to point his weapon at her, swerving out of the way just in time to miss getting hit. She grabbed his forearm when she was close enough, angling the gun away from her, punching him in the side and using his wavering balance to throw him into the bricked side of the fountain, successfully knocking him out.
"Watch out!" she heard Killian call suddenly, narrowly missing the clenched fist of another one of the guards.
She stumbled as she moved away, crawling as she fought to regain her balance (which was not easy in the four inch heels she was currently wearing). She used her position to throw a kick into her attacker's gut, watching with mild satisfaction as he doubled over in pain. Her gaze fell on the gun she'd kicked away from the first guard's hold as she moved to get up. She swiped it off of the ground and rose to her feet just as the guard caught his breath and advanced on her once more. She pointed the weapon at him and pulled the trigger, only to discover that the clip was empty. Mentally cursing, she attempted to sidestep another attack from him, a second too late as his balled fist knocked against her ear. She stumbled again, empty gun still in hand, as she shook herself to regain her wits. She grasped the barrel in her hand and swung her fist at him, hitting him in the temple with the butt of the gun.
She watched him fall to the ground and gingerly touched her ear, wincing when it was tender to the touch. The sound of splashing water reached her ears and turned her attention back to the fountain, the breath backing up in her lungs at the scene before her. Killian was trashing against the other guard's hold, his head beneath the shallow water. Emma dropped the useless gun and moved toward them, wrapping her arm around the guard's neck and using her body weight to pull him off of Killian. He elbowed her in the stomach before she could get another shot in, knocking the wind out of her.
He staggered to his feet as she fought to catch her breath, throwing a punch at her. She ducked away from it and rammed her shoulder into his middle, knocking him away from her. She straightened as he attempted to regain his balance and lobbed a kick to the side of his head. She doubled over as he fell, trying to catch her breath.
"Killian, are you okay?" she panted, hands on her knees.
She turned toward him when he didn't respond, her heart stopping when she spotted him wet and unconscious on the ground. Stumbling over, she fell to her knees beside him, grasping his face between her palms.
"Killian? Killian wake up!" she shouted, panic surging through her when she realized he wasn't breathing.
She released his face and repositioned herself at his shoulders before bringing her hands to the center of his chest and clasping them together. She used her upper body to push the heel of her hand into his chest several times, attempting to stimulate his heart.
"Don't you dare die on me, you idiot," she muttered frantically, pinching his nose and lifting his chin.
She swallowed back a sob as she bent over him, placed her mouth atop his, and blew air into his lungs. She forced herself not to panic when he didn't immediately come to, moving back to her position at his shoulders and retrying the chest compressions.
He awoke coughing and gasping for air during her third round of chest compressions. Emma pulled him back against her chest as his breathing normalized, relief flooding her body as she stroked his damp hair and murmured soothingly against his temple. She held him like that for a moment, unsure if the moisture on her cheeks was from his hair or her tears.
Emma started as a figure sprinted up the drive, sagging with relief when she realized it was just Mary Margaret.
"You're really making a habit of showing up after the brawls, aren't you?" she quipped hoarsely, still cradling Killian in her lap, almost afraid to let him go.
Mary Margaret surveyed the scene before her with her mouth open. "What the hell happened?"
"I told you. Brawl," she explained, looking down at the man in her arms, "You alright, Jones?"
He nodded wordlessly, shifting so he was sitting up. "My wrist," he croaked, pulling at his left sleeve.
Mary Margaret crouched beside him as Emma sluggishly pulled herself to her feet. She winced when she pulled the fabric back, the skin already beginning to bruise.
"Can you move it?" she asked, gingerly touching the area.
He cried out in pain when he attempted to bend it, shaking his head as he cradled it against his chest. "I think it's broken."
Emma and Mary Margaret shared a troubled look as they each moved to help him up.
Emma rode with him in the back of the Town Car, using the flashlight in his jacket to check whether or not he had a concussion.
"I'm fine, Swan," he muttered tiredly, resting his head against the top of the seat when she released his face.
"No, you're not," she said gruffly, clicking off the light and taking a shaky breath, "Your wrist is broken, remember?"
He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose and blearily met her gaze. "As if I could forget."
She swallowed thickly and sent him a shaky smile, leaning back next to him. "You died," she whispered, biting her lip as her vision blurred.
"And you brought me back," he replied softly, threading the fingers of his uninjured hand with hers and resting his head against hers, "Thank you."
She squeezed his hand and nodded in response, not trusting her voice, as she blinked and sent a string of hot tears down her cheeks.
The check point at the gate was vacant when they pulled up, the gate securely closed. Mary Margaret exited the vehicle, checked the surroundings, and then proceeded to break into the booth and open the gate herself.
Killian fell asleep on their way out, which made switching cars slightly more difficult.
They'd ditched the fake plates about two miles outside of Gold's estate and took as many back roads as possible on their way back into the city. They cleared and abandoned the Town Car at an old parking garage near the Ruins, driving back the remainder of the way in their usual van.
Mary Margaret dropped Emma and Killian off at her apartment and went off to stash the van. Killian's wrist had swelled quite a bit during the whole ordeal, which made removing his tux a bit more difficult. Mary Margaret had rejoined them just when Emma had managed to remove his jacket; they'd ended up having to cut the sleeve of the shirt so they could get his arm out without hurting him.
"Why couldn't we just go straight to the hospital again?" he asked wearily, pulling off his dress shoes with his uninjured hand.
"Because then we'd have to explain the tux and the evening gown," Mary Margaret said, holding a short-sleeved flannel button down open for him to shrug into.
"Right," he muttered, wincing as he slowly threaded his injured arm through the hole.
Emma returned to the room from the kitchen, ice pack in hand, and walked over to him. "For the swelling," she said, carefully placing the pack on his wrist.
He sighed in relief a moment later, the tension in his shoulders dissipating slightly. "Thanks."
She muttered a "you're welcome" motioned to his opened shirt. "You need help with that?"
Killian looked down at himself and then back at her. "If you don't mind."
Emma waved him off as if it wasn't a big deal, cursing inwardly when her knuckles accidentally grazed the skin of his chest, causing her to fumble with a few of the buttons.
Mary Margaret returned with his jeans a moment later and insisted Emma change out of her dress. She nodded and went to her room, exiting a few minutes later in a fresh t-shirt and a pair of jeans. She was on her way to rejoin her partners in the living room, when the sound of a key in her lock stopped her.
The door was unlocked and open before she could warn the others.
It was David.
"Thank God you're here," he breathed when he spotted her, engulfing her in a relieved hug.
Emma hugged him back, wincing slightly when his hand grazed the ear that had been punched. "Where else would I be?" she asked, confused as to why he was there.
"I've been trying to call you for the last three hours," her brother said, pulling back from her and eyeing her in confusion, "What happened to your ear?"
She mouthed wordlessly at him for a moment, unsure how to respond, when Mary Margaret suddenly rounded the corner with Killian in tow. "Alright, let's—David," she said, eyes wide with surprise.
Emma watched as David's eyes drifted between the three of them, taking in the parts of the chauffer costume his fiancée was still sporting and Killian's black eye and broken wrist.
"Okay, anyone wanna tell me what's going on here?" he asked, scrubbing a hand tiredly over his face.
Emma and Mary Margaret shared a look as silence fell over the group.
"Could we possibly have this discussion in the car?" Killian asked, grimacing as he gestured to his wrist.
"Yeah, yes, God I'm sorry," Emma said, slipping past her brother and grabbing her keys and wallet, "You too bro."
David turned to look at her, his expression suddenly anxious. "Emma, there's something I need to tell you—" he began as Emma took him by the wrist and guided him back out the door.
"Yeah, I have a few things I need to tell you too, I guess," she said, raking a hand through her hair, "It can wait, come on guys."
Two hours later, Killian's wrist had been x-rayed and encased in a cast and the doctor was ordering him to stay overnight for observation (turns out he did have a slight concussion, among other things). Emma tucked the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he slept, a combination of pain medication and exhaustion having knocked him out about a half an hour before. She walked to the door and turned to look at him again, biting her lip as she shut off the lights.
"Emma," David said softly as she exited, "Got a sec?"
She nodded and stuffed her hands into her back pockets. "Where's Mary Margaret?"
"She went downstairs to get some coffee," he said, leading her to a cluster of empty chairs just outside Killian's room, "Emma, we need to talk."
Emma sighed in resignation and plopped down in one of the chairs. "Yeah, I know."
He was silent for a moment as he sat in the chair across from her, reaching forward and grasping both of her hands. "This isn't easy for me to tell you," he began, grimacing and averting his gaze.
"What is it, what happened?" she asked, anxiety suddenly bubbling in her gut.
David swallowed thickly and looked her in the eye. "Graham is dead."