A/N: What? You thought I'd forgotten about this? Nah. It has been a while though, so here's a bit of the last chapter, so you can reorient yourself.
"I guess this means I'm fired?" She asked tentatively, even though she already knew the answer.
Thanks to some on-the-down-low conversations with August in the past, Emma already suspected Jones Investigations wasn't doing so hot. But with a ransacked client list, they might as well have been circling the drain.
He pulled himself out of his stupor long enough to look at her, properly this time, his brow furrowing the longer he considered her. "On the contrary, Swan. I think I need assistance now more than ever."
They weren't the words Emma was expecting. She had already been mentally preparing herself for the easy letdown. Her head snapped up.
"Seriously?" She couldn't quite dial back the surprise. "How can you even afford to pay me? She took everything!"
"Yes and no," he replied, pushing his chair back until he was out of reach of the bottle on the table, his eyes losing some of that glazed look. "She took most of the clients. She didn't take all of them." A pause. "And I have a feeling that having an assistant around who isn't deliberately trying to tank the operation may prove quite helpful, going forward."
He fixed her with a look that bordered on earnest. "If you wish to stay, that is," he continued, letting a hint of vulnerability flash across his face, one hand coming up to scratch behind his ear. A nervous tell.
"I do." And then thinking how much that sounded like a vow, Emma hurriedly added, "Want to stay, that is."
The trace of a smile curved his lips, but faded before it reached his eyes. "I won't lie. Things won't be easy. Building up a new client list. Stealing a few back. It's like starting from scratch, without dumb beginner's luck."
"Starting from scratch sounds good." Emma met his eyes, reaching a hand forward to squeeze his forearm reassuringly. "We'll make our own luck."
7. His Girl Friday
The first step towards bringing Jones Investigations back up to financial solvency included expanding their brand beyond the shady lowlifes that made up the majority of the remaining clientele. What? Emma had taken a marketing class or two in college. She knew things. But she would soon learn it wasn't about making the business more visible, as it was making it less invisible.
"Seriously?! You don't even have a website? How do you even get clients? Do you lure them upstairs using sweet treats? How the hell have you made it this long? Did you not take any business classes in your undergrad?" Killian said nothing as Emma continued her berations, content to merely fold his arms over his chest and lean back in his chair, cool eyes watching as she paced in front of his desk in more and more frenetic circles.
"An ad in the Yellow Pages does not constitute a marketing mix! When was the last time you cracked open a Yellow Pages? Back when that computer-" she motioned at the elephantine monstrosity that took up the majority of his desk space, "was new?"
"Swan," Killian sighed at last, holding a hand up to stop her launching into her next tirade. "If I wanted to be lectured to, I'd Skype my brother. I think we've already firmly established the old Business Model was flawed, and I take full responsibility for that. So instead of you pacing in front of my desk like a tiger in a cage, you take this," he said, pulling a credit card out from his pocket, and sliding it over to her side of the desk, "and make whatever changes you like, within a $2000 credit limit, alright?"
Emma paused mid-step, her next reproach dying on her tongue. Her gaze fell to the offered card, gleaming temptingly under the fluorescent lights. "Seriously?"
He merely made a waving motion with his hand, and Emma, with only the slightest hesitation, leaned forward to grab it off the desk top. "You know," she continued, twirling the card between her fingers as if it was a playing card. "I think you might be too trusting when it comes to assistants. I'm just saying, these hands," she wiggled her fingers, the card she had been holding now vanished from sight, "have a juvie record."
"As does the rest of you," he countered with a grin, leaning back in his chair again and propping his boots of the edge of the desk. He indicated the sleeve Emma had stashed the card out of sight with a nod of his chin. "Remind me to deal you in for my next poker game. You don't have any trouble taking the heard earned cash of Boston's finest, do you?"
She flashed him a wicked smile, even as she swung her messenger bag over her shoulder. "It would be a pleasure."
Two thousand dollars later, and Jones Investigations had a website that made it to the first page of a Google Search, advertising space on a downtown bus route, and the beginnings of a social media presence, even if Killian mostly seemed to have commandeered the thing to make snarky Twitter commentary about Arsenal F.C, rather than the professionally focused posts Emma had originally suggested. But seeing as Emma's post-firing Twitter meltdown had gone viral on Buzzfeed for all of ten minutes, she had to concede she was maybe not the best person to be lecturing him on the finer points of social media decorum. So the soccer stayed. And even in spite of that, business picked up.
It began with a trickle of Facebook messages from sleazebags who seemed eager to get blackmail material on exes and bosses. A handful of unsolicited dick pics. But once the website went live, the real potential clients started calling. A jewellery store looking to investigate a series of thefts they suspected were an inside job. (They were.) A woman wondering if her husband was cheating on her. (He was. With his other wife.) An anxious father of the bride looking into his new son-in-law's past. (An annulled quickie marriage to someone named Destiny after a boys trip to Vegas when he was 21.)
And then came the call from Jefferson Dodgson.
"We don't do ex-husbands!" Killian declared, with a dismissive wave of his hand, when Emma held out the receiver to him. "Or ex-wives, for that matter," he clarified, in the name of equality. "Nothing but trouble. It's all point scoring and bloody vengeance. Someone's always in a snit because someone made off with the good china, and someone else got stuck with alternate weekends and-" He paused in the middle of his soliloquy when Emma made a frantic cutting motion with her throat.
"And your assistant seems to have accidentally put me on speaker instead of hold," came the rather chilly interruption, emanating clear as day from the ancient device on Emma's desk.
Killian went rigid, his eyes widening almost comically before he strode forward and snatched the receiver from Emma's still outstretched hand, punching off the speaker function with his other hand. "Mister Dodgson," he began, his voice at once taking on a silky smooth quality Emma had rarely heard him use outside of getting license plate numbers run by his usual roster of saps at the DMV. "How can we be of assistance today?"
His telephone manner remained impeccable throughout the call, even if Emma could still hear Mr Dodgson's raised voice on the other end from where she stood by the photocopier, attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible.
"We're digging up dirt on his ex's new fiancee," Killian announced with a groan, when the call ended, and he double-checked the connection had broken. "For half the usual fee." Emma tried to shrink back into the wallpaper, but still found herself fixed with a severe look, and on the receiving end of an accusatory finger pointed in her direction. "This one is on you, Swan. Divert the calls to your cell and grab your coat. We're going to put your superpower to work."
It wasn't really a superpower exactly. She couldn't like, fly or anything, or shoot lasers from her eyes. Nothing that would get her on the Avengers lineup with a matching spandex suit. But Emma did possess a singular talent, one that she'd never had to hone.
She could tell when someone was lying. Always.
So long as she was looking someone in the eye, she could always tell. She couldn't explain it exactly. August had come up with some plausible theories, to explain away her uncanny knack for always catching him out in his lies. The best one he'd come up with was also the most obvious. Bouncing from foster home to foster home, a young Emma Swan had become very good at reading her surroundings. It was a self-preservation thing. You'd be able to tell the crummy foster parents from the truly sadistic ones. You'd get yourself out, if something wasn't right.
It was an okay theory, she guessed. If you went in for that Intro to Psych stuff, Emma thought. But it never quite seemed to cover it. It wasn't about reading body language cues. She still slipped up when it came to that stuff.
In her first semester of college, Emma had thought the guy she who kept borrowing her notes in her Media Convergence seminar was hitting on her. It later transpired that he was just really bad at taking notes. And gay.
When Emma was 14, she'd lived in Minnesota for six months with a nice lady who'd wanted to adopt her. But before the paperwork could go through, the woman had some kind of psychotic break, and almost got the both of them killed by dragging Emma out into the middle of a four lane highway, believing some kind of magic would save them. Emma hadn't seen the signs until it was too late. She hadn't known to be wary.
Emma liked to think her instincts were pretty good, but they weren't perfect. Her lie detector on the other hand? Perfect. Every time.
It had always seemed odd to Emma that Killian never really questioned that particular quirk. August had brought it up the first time they'd ever met, down at the Rabbit Hole after Emma had helped August move all five boxes of his belongings up the stairs into their shared apartment all those years ago. Using Emma's great fake ID, they'd all settled into a table in the back with a whole lot of whiskey, and Killian, without any apparent trace of malice, asked for a demonstration. And Emma, so surprised that he didn't seem to be making fun of her, had acquiesced, with a few obligatory rounds of Two Truths, One Lie.
Killian Jones was born in Boston. True.
Killian Jones had an older brother. True.
Killian Jones went to law school at BU. Lie. He'd gone to UMass. And he'd never finished.
He was delighted. They played round after round.
Killian Jones hated olives. True.
Killian Jones's middle name was Adam. Lie. It was Brennan. After the father who'd run out on him when he was barely old enough to remember. A tale for another time, he'd winced, before taking another shot.
Killian Jones was a dog person. True.
Most people regarded Emma's superpower in either one of two ways; 1) Cynicism, as in they thought she was just making it up for attention, or 2) Wariness, as in, they didn't want to take their chances.
Killian was neither. He seemed to just take it for granted, as just one of those things. It seemed to Emma a strange position for a man with a rapidly dwindling opinion of the human race, and what they were capable of. But if his belief in her superpower got her out of the office for a while, and into the passenger seat of Killian's car, with its unlimited supply of stake-out candy, Emma wouldn't fight it.
Which is how they found themselves idling by the curb in a upmarket part of town, watching as a grey haired man in navy suit got out of his rather shiny Audi, and made his way into the building opposite, briefcase in hand.
"That him?" Emma asked between a mouthful of pretzels, nodding her head at the figure disappearing behind the automatic glass doors.
"That's him, alright. Chad Stephens. Just back from lunch." He tapped his wristwatch. "Right on time too."
"I've always hated the name Chad," Emma mused, mostly to herself, opening up another packet of pretzels. "Have you ever noticed that all guys named Chad turn out to be complete assholes?"
Killian swiveled around in his seat to regard her with an amused look. "I hadn't. But if that were true, that would bode well for our client and his suspicions."
"His suspicions," Emma sneered, causing Killian's eyebrows to furrow. "Oh, c'mon! The guy's ex moved on, and he can't take it. It's not exactly original, is it?"
"Perhaps not," he replied, his tone somewhat clipped. "But since there's a daughter caught in the middle of this, the least we can do is a thorough investigation,to ensure Mr Stephens is as legitimately dull as he appears be."
Emma bowed her head, momentarily chastened. She'd forgotten about the daughter. Grace. There was a picture of her in the file. Eight years old, with a toothy grin and a fondness for colorful hair baubles. But Killian didn't stop there.
"I know you think what I do is a bit of joke," he began quietly, his gaze firmly set on the building opposite. "Hanging around sleazy motels, waiting to catch cheaters in the act. Selling people's secrets to whoever will pay. It's not like we are exposing criminal malfeasance to the harsh light of day, or taking down corrupt cops. But we can make a difference, in our own small way. Set right some wrongs. Make sure a little girl's new stepfather isn't a complete bastard." He shrugged, his attention turning back inside the car, but the set of his jaw betrayed his anxiety.
Emma was stunned, not sure exactly how things had gone downhill so quickly. "Killian, I..."
"You'd better hurry," he interrupted, leaning over to take the still uneaten second bag of pretzels from her grasp. "You're his 1 o'clock."
"Me?" she shrilled. "What do I have to insure?"
"I'm sure you'll think of something, Swan," he said in that same inscrutable tone, unclipping her seat belt for her. "You always do."
Life Insurance. That's what Emma came up with, as she traversed the long carpeted corridors of Raymond & Raymond Insurers, and a quick Google search on her phone confirmed it. Chad Stephens specialized in Life Insurance, and he provided obligation-free consultations. Thank god. So Emma wouldn't actually be stuck paying premiums every month to this guy for the rest of her life, just so she could get a read on him. Unless he was really good at his job.
The first thing she noticed about Chad Stephens up close was his tie. Her eyes were naturally drawn away from his kind face and carefully parted hair to the cartoon characters which considerably brightened up his outfit. Alice in Wonderland characters, all. The Cheshire Cat. The Mad Hatter. The Queen of Hearts. Even Alice herself. Perhaps Emma was staring too hard, because Stephens cleared his throat, before extending his hand.
"Ms Swan, I presume?" His handshake was firm, but not too aggressive, just like they probably teach you in How To Sell Insurance 101.
"That's me," Emma managed, taking the offered chair in front of the desk, her gaze returning to the tie.
"I'm sorry, but I have to ask..."
"A gift from my daughter," he interrupted, with a small chuckle. "She's obsessed with Disney." My daughter, Emma thought. Not step-daughter. Not my fiancee's daughter. My daughter. That was interesting. And way to hit the ground running. Emma thought she'd have to bring in the family angle later, but this guy had brought it up first.
"Yeah?" Emma worked up a smile. "My six year old niece is a fiend for Frozen. You leave her alone for two minutes, and she's out in the backyard throwing around snowballs and belting out Indina Menzel numbers." Lie.
His answering smile was warm. "Gracie prefers the classics. Lady and the Tramp. Snow White and the Seven Dwarves." He tapped his tie. "Alice in Wonderland, as you can see." Gracie. Said with such affection. "No kids of your own?" he asked, pen raised to make a note of her answer.
"Ah. No. Not yet." Emma admitted. "Is that unusual, for your clients?"
"Well," he began, leaning back in his soft leather chair, managing to look both relaxed and informal, "Most of our clients are just looking for peace of mind. I'll admit that usually means young families, who feel like they might not necessarily have the assets to secure themselves financially in the long term should the worst happen. May I ask if you are married?" Emma had been waiting to see how long it would be before this guy whipped out the first peace of mind, and she was not disappointed. Still, she couldn't deny he was good at this. No wonder he was the one driving the Audi here.
"No, not married," Emma replied. "Just felt that maybe I should start looking into things. Being a real adult, all that." Cue wry smile.
"Of course, of course," he nodded seriously. "Well we certainly have some very affordable Young Singles rates available, if that's something you'd be interested in. Do you smoke at all?"
"Your man is on the up and up," Emma said first, once she'd swung herself back into the passenger seat, and snagged back her now half-eaten packet of pretzels. "Unless he's actually a psychopath, and very good at pretending to be on the up and up."
Killian ripped the packet out of her hands again, but not before Emma grabbed a handful of savory snacks. "And what does your superpower say?" he asked, one eyebrow raised in interest.
She shrugged. "He's a good guy. Devoted step-dad. Scarily good at his job. Do you think I can afford a $60 a month premium on my salary?" After that dressing down earlier, the small upward quirk of his lips at that felt like a small victory to Emma.
Killian turned the engine over, letting the roar of the engine mask his amusement. "Let's see what his background check says, before you commit to anything."
A/N: I'd like to apologise to anyone named Chad for those things that I said. I have a cousin named Chad, and he seems like a decent sort. I just hate the way the name sounds with an American accent, and so I have harnessed that for my own evil ends.