A/N: Thank you to the illustrious Anni, for many things, but also for sharing her insights on what it is to share close quarters with an irrepressible puppy dog. Since the last time I was that close to a dog I was a) 3 and b) ended up needing 13 stitches in my face, some research was required.
5. Infidelity Blues
Smee was a kicker. And just a downright terrible bedmate, really.
Emma had tried keeping him out of the room originally, a locked door between them. She felt a little bad for taking his bed, sure, but he could handle being a living room refugee for a night. Even if the couch did smell of cat. But all the pitiful whimpering and scratching at the door with his paws that followed had pulled at her conscience, and eventually reached a point where she couldn't imagine it would be any worse with him inside. It was. No amount of "stay" commands kept him on the floor, and Killian hadn't been lying about the kicking.
She awoke sometime in the early morning to tiny legs beating at her stomach, and a series of whines as the dog played out some kind of Balto hero fantasy in his dreams, little legs circling in midair determinedly, as if he were on some life-saving quest and not in Killian Jones's spare bedroom, taking all of Emma's bed space. Oh yes, he was also a bed hog, stretching his tiny body out in the middle of the mattress, somehow forcing Emma to the very edge of the bed, near the wall. How he'd managed to accomplish such a feat when he was, at most, 10 pounds, remained an infuriating mystery.
But the worst part for Emma was definitely waking up to Smee's kibble breath as he lapped enthusiastically at her face with his tongue. That had been a hell of a wake up call.
"I hate your dog." They were Emma's first words of greeting for the day, as she slumped down at Killian's kitchen table. She brushed a sleeve over her freshly washed face, but her skin still remembered the sticky feeling a little too vividly.
"I did try to warn you," Killian replied from where he stood at the counter, already dressed for the day, holding a steaming mug to his lips. Emma just rolled her eyes, before dropping her head onto the table. "Coffee?" He offered, and Emma didn't have to look at him to know there was a smirk forming.
Emma merely grunted her assent, closing her eyes in victory when she heard the tell-tale sign of a full mug being placed on the table beside her. It was followed a few seconds later by a plate of peanut butter toast, she could smell it. She missed this. Having someone around to look out for her.
And then, having realized what she'd just thought, she snapped her eyes back open and lifted her head off the table so fast she got a flash of vertigo.
"Alright, Swan?" he asked, as went to sit down at the seat opposite, stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth.
"Uh huh," Emma replied, reaching for her mug. "Thanks."
"No problem," he managed with a mouthful of toast. He took a moment to swallow down his food. "So any plans for the day, lass?"
Emma felt herself bristle. "You mean, apart from searching for any kind of job that will get me out of your apartment quicker, right?"
"Hold up, love. That's not what I meant."
"No?" Emma quirked one eyebrow, as she placed her mug back down on the table.
"No," he replied calmly, his eyes meeting hers. "I was merely wondering if you'd be open to assisting me again today? Since you did such a bang up job last time? Same deal. $100 for a few hours work."
Emma drummed her fingers against her chin. "I can't decide if you are offering out of charity, or self interest at this point. If you want me gone, all you have to do is say..."
"Again, not what I meant," Killian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in apparent exasperation. "To be perfectly clear, you're welcome to stay until August returns, and things have sorted themselves out. Contrary to popular opinion, love, I'm not quite as bad as all that." Emma's eyebrows rose at that. "You can use whatever you make to keep up the rent on your place, and stay here until you can afford to get the utilities turned back on. I mean, I know the neighborhood isn't exactly up to scratch, and you do have to share a room with an aspiring Golden Boot winner, but-"
"Thank you," Emma blurted out, her guilt at questioning his motives rising to her skin in a flush of shame. It was a generous offer. A very generous offer. One that Emma didn't have a hope in hell of actually repaying. "Really. Thank you. I appreciate you letting me crash, but you know you don't have to, right? You don't owe me anything, and god knows, I don't have any way to pay you back. And if you do want me gone..."
She heard something akin to a growl building at the back of his throat, as Killian batted her hand away from her toast, and held out his own. "Emma, just accept my bloody help, or don't. Either way, stop doubting if you're welcome or not. I made you an offer, knowing full well what I was offering, and I'm not about to rescind it. The only question is, do you accept?"
She considered his outstretched hand a moment, with a quizzical eye. He'd called her Emma. He never did that. And he wasn't lying, that she could tell. His offer, however too good to be true, seemed... genuine. And Emma was many things, including far too suspicious for her own good, but she was also desperate. She drew her own hand forward and clasped it in his, shaking firmly. "Deal." Killian smiled, a soft thing that made the crinkles around his eyes more prominent, and Emma drew her gaze back to her coffee.
"So what was it you needed my help with?"
They were off downtown to catch a cheating partner in the act. Something which evidently made up the bulk of Killian's trade. A fact that made Emma a little sad for humanity, even if she wasn't exactly surprised.
"Nothing better for business than a healthy dose of spousal paranoia," he had said with a lazy grin, as he'd thrown Emma the case file once they were in the car.
"What if they aren't cheating?" Emma hedged. "Do you have to forego your fee?"
Killian shrugged. "I get a base rate. But if I prove infidelity, I get a bonus. Fortunately for me, nine times out of ten, they are."
"And the other time out of ten?" She asked, scanning over the particulars.
He shrugged again. "It varies. Usually some other nefarious deeds. Gambling debts. A pornography addiction. Drugs. Stockpiling assets in overseas accounts..."
Emma whistled through her teeth. "Wow. That's fucking grim. And how exactly does your faith in humanity endure?" she asked with a smile.
"What faith in humanity?" he countered, but there was a grin teasing his lips. "Anyway, you're a fine one to talk, with all of your articles about drive-by shootings and police corruption every other day. I can't imagine that left a very positive impression of the enduring good of the human spirit."
"Hang on," said Emma, turning to face him, having come to a sudden realization. "You read my articles?"
He turned his head for a moment to catch her eye, long enough for Emma to confirm that he had indeed, before focusing his attention back on the road. "Does that surprise you?"
"A little, yeah," Emma responded honestly.
"Fine publication, The Sentinel. Although I must say, the quality of reporting has dipped somewhat lately. More and more I find myself using it to clean up after Smee, rather than keep up with current affairs." The grin on his face is full-blown now and Smee, excited at hearing his name spoken aloud, barks happily from the backseat.
Emma just rolled her eyes, watching as the buildings of downtown whiz past her window, unable to entirely prevent a grin of her own.
"Looks a bit, I don't know, public for a clandestine extra-marital meeting, don't you think?" Emma asked, as the two of them settled on a bench near the Frog Pond, with Smee pulling at the lead held firm in Killian's hand. It was around about midday, and their visit coincided with a rare sunny day for the time of year, so it was little surprise to find the place swarmed with tourists, and office workers on their lunch breaks.
"You'd be surprised, Swan," Killian responded, as he dug around in his satchel for his camera. "Nothing makes people feel more anonymous than being in a crowd." Emma just grunted in response.
It was stupid, was what it was; conducting one's private affairs out in the open, where anyone could see. Then again, staking out a popular tourist trap was a lot less sordid than staking out the parking lot of the local Motel 6. The idea was to look like just another pair of hapless tourists wandering The Common. It would certainly explain away the presence of the ridiculous sized lens on Killian's camera. But when he pulled out a Yankees cap to cover up his dark mess of hair, Emma knew it was time to intervene.
"Are you kidding me?!" Emma hissed, swiping the cap from his head and burying it at the bottom of her messenger bag, "Do you want us to be burned at the stake?"
"Too much?" He grinned at the scowl on Emma's face, leaning down to tie Smee's leash to the arm of the bench.
"There's undercover, and then there's suicidal! Why do you even have that?"
"So dramatic, Swan." He almost looked like he approved.
"I thought you said we were trying to blend in? This," she patted her bag where she'd stuffed the hat, "Is not blending in. It's inviting a punch in the face."
"Particularly fond of my face, are we, darling?" There was something extra in his eyes then, a little twinkle. Emma settled for shoving him in the shoulder, and mumbling about getting coffee, making her way to the end of the long queue snaking out of the cafe.
When she returned, Killian's game face was back on, and he gave a subtle tilt of his chin to a woman sitting on a bench on the other side of the pond, reading a book.
"That's her?" Emma asked, eyes squinting in the bright sunlight.
"That's her," Killian confirmed, holding his camera up to his face, and making a show of capturing the fall foliage.
Their target was one Belle Gold, new wife of one Robert Gold, of the department store chain empire. Gold, or rather, Gold's assistant, who'd done the actual hiring, suspected that Belle, being a good twenty years her husband's junior, was simply out for his money and was on the lookout for a piece on the side.
Emma slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses and regarded the woman through her tinted frames. She was a pretty girl, about Emma's own age, dressed to kill in some very nice designer threads, all the way down to her impractically tall, but very beautiful heels. But she didn't exactly scream gold digger to Emma. She looked classy. Put together. She looked like exactly who she was supposed to be, a junior curator at the Museum of Fine Arts. Nor did she seem all that interested in scouting around for talent, her nose buried in a battered paperback.
"Crime and Punishment?" Emma guessed, cursing her limited vision.
"Anna Karenina," Killian corrected from behind his camera, with a chuckle. "Maybe we're in luck, after all."
Emma rolled her eyes. "I think that's a bit of a stretch. Just because the woman is reading Tolstoy, it doesn't mean she is going to be inspired into taking on a doomed love affair."
"No?" Killian lowered the camera from his face, revealing a disbelieving grin.
"You do know how that book ends, right?"
"Aye. I've seen the film, anyway. Quite the tragic little tale. But she hasn't finished the book yet, has she? Perhaps that is a lesson she is yet to learn."
Emma was spared her next retort when the satchel beside her started to vibrate, and a Beatles hit began to play.
"Ah," said Killian, handing Emma his camera, before he started scrounging around for his phone. "That would be my assistant."
"You made Help! her personalized ringtone?" Killian just winked, pulling out his phone at last with a dramatic flourish, and taking a few steps away to take the call.
Emma returned her focus back to the woman on the bench. She wasn't so fully focused on her book anymore, her attention occasionally seeming to be drawn to a cluster of ducks in the middle of the pond. Perhaps all of that Russian tragedy was getting to be too much. Emma got that. She'd once tried to read War and Peace for a bet, and even the draw of twenty bucks hadn't been enough inducement for her to finish it.
And then a woman sat down on the bench beside Belle, and Emma's attention perked up. A friend? A colleague? They hugged in greeting, and Emma took a few shots, just in case. A friend, most likely. The newcomer was a tall brunette, her personal style erring more on the ostentatious side than her friend's, with statement earrings peeking from underneath her hair, a crop top and a very tight red jeans showing off every inch of her long legs.
Using the wonders of 40X optical zoom, Emma tried to follow along with their interactions. The newcomer looked excited, talking a million miles an hour, with Belle smiling indulgently at her as she spoke. Good friends, she supposed. She cut a glance back to where Killian stood a few yards away, still on the phone. He looked mildly aggrieved, running one of his hands through his hair as he spoke until it stood on end,and then patting it back down again.
And then the newcomer, the tall one, made her move. And suddenly Belle Gold, department store empress, and this mystery woman were making out in the middle of Boston Common, for all the world to see, like it was some kind of Olympic Sport. Emma was so stunned she almost dropped the camera in her haste to center up the shot. Wow. She had not expected that. She zoomed in a little more, setting the camera to take a burst of shots. Maybe she'd been wrong about Tolstoy.
"Killian!" she hissed, trying to get his attention without making a scene. "Killian get off the fucking phone! We've just struck gold!" Pun unintended.
He returned a few moments later, stuffing his phone into his front jeans pocket, scowling. "Cheer up," Emma ordered, as he sat down beside her. She held out the camera. "Mrs Gold and her mystery lover are over there playing tonsil hockey, and we've got the pics to prove it!"
He snatched the camera away faster than Emma could see, focusing on the pair with a laser like intensity. "Well I'll be damned," he breathed, taking shot after shot.
There was still something a bit sordid about it, Emma thought, creeping on this couple as they went about macking on each other. Not that her bag of journalistic tricks were always on the up and up either. She'd done her fair share of knocking on doors of people who had no interest in talking to the press, of tailing suspected bad guys as they went about their shady dealings. She supposed that the only real difference was that she now followed people who committed immoral sins, as well as illegal ones.
"Well I'll be damned," Killian said again, as he put down the camera, apparently satisfied that he'd gotten enough evidence for Robert Gold to come out ahead in his divorce proceedings.
"It's good, right?"
"Honestly?" He turned to face Emma. "I wasn't really sure she was cheating. I thought we'd just be watching her make her way through all of the Russian classics without a hint of wrongdoing." He revealed a self-deprecating smile. "Which just goes to show, I really am a terrible judge of character."
"What did your assistant want?"
"Ah." His face seemed to fall. "Well that's where that terrible judge of character part comes in. My assistant, or should I say, my ex- assistant, is on the first plane out to Delhi. Apparently a space has opened up in this very well-known ashram, and she really must go, because answering my phones is the spiritual equivalent of drowning oneself against some rocks, day in, day out."
"Seriously?" She'd heard about Killian's assistant before, the new-agey, bubbly Ariel. Even the ever irresponsible August thought she was a bit too removed from reality. But to just leave her job on a whim?
"Those were her exact words," he said, holding his head in his hands.
"Ouch." Emma was wondering whether or not to pat him on the shoulder in consolation when his head snapped back up, and his eyes fixated on her with newfound interest. Uh Oh.
"Say, Swan. How's your telephone manner?"