A/N: Have I scared you off yet with all the angst? These two really don't deserve the pain I put them through, and for that I am sorry.

I also apologize in advance for any flights of fancy my narrative might take, legally speaking. My US legal knowledge is scatty at best, and mostly owes itself to repeat viewings of Boston Legal. Just go with it.

Warning: Contains plot

20. A Thief and a Lawyer

Emma could admit there was a certain amount of stupid optimism in Killian's plan. After all, they were talking about antagonizing a woman who'd chosen Niccolo Machiavelli as her personal life coach. Talk about poking the bear. At best, Ariel was a highly motivated career criminal on her way up the food chain. At worst, she was an accessory to murder, and not opposed to more of the same.

"She might not show..." Emma hedged, watching as Killian paced back and forth in front of her desk for maybe the zillionth time. "Maybe she's running late for her super villain spin class?"

There was the hint of a smile in response, but he didn't stop with his treading a definite path into the carpet. "No," he said, glancing at the clock again. "She'll be here. No question."

Well. Emma was glad he was so sure. But would it have killed them to set a time? All the pacing and coffee drinking, well, it wasn't exactly doing wonders for Emma's growing anxiety. And she needed to go to the bathroom.

They'd decamped to the office shortly after Tink's call to wait on Ariel's response. Neither of them acknowledged it aloud but they both knew why. Worst case scenario, there wouldn't be any innocent bystanders.

Not that getting killed was the plan. It was decidedly not the plan. That was why they'd filed the papers after all. It was now a matter of public record that Jones Investigations was suing Ariel Roberts for a princely sum, as restitution for the theft of confidential client files.

Sure, Ariel could kill them. Or lean on someone to kill them for her, as was more her style. Without their testimony, the lawsuit would fizzle away into nothing, and she could keep her ill-gotten gains. But it wouldn't be without cost. Her name was all over that newly filed paperwork. She'd been served. She had motive now. Even the most bumbling police detective would follow that up. Even if they could never make it stick, killing them would still invite a fuckload of police scrutiny she didn't want. Anyway you looked at it, Ariel was not coming out clean.

If she wanted the lawsuit to go away without any unnecessary bloodshed, she'd have to make a deal. And she'd had have to step out from behind her phalanx of armed lackeys to do it.

It was a good plan, Emma had to give credit where credit was due. It was a very good plan. Supposing it worked.

But if Killian was confident, it didn't show. Sure, he made a good show of playing it cool. His face retained that same look of steely resolve he'd worn since getting off the phone, and if his earlier revelations were still playing on his mind, he didn't let on. And once every couple of circuits he'd make some reassuring platitude.

"No need to worry, Swan."

"We'll get it sorted, Swan."

But the way he'd burned through an entire pot of coffee on his own? Or practically wore out the carpet in front of Emma's desk with all his pacing? Well, that spoke volumes.

It was just past five when they both heard it, the rather distinctive sound of glass smashing against concrete. The exterior door didn't have a lock on it. According to Killian, it used to. But after the laundromat downstairs started attracting transient types, the locks began disappearing with alarming regularity. Too often for the building manager to bother with, which explained why most of Emma's mornings seemed to include stepping over a prone figure or two on the stairs.

Since they were expecting company, in lieu of an intercom, or any other legitimate method of security, Emma had placed an empty beer bottle behind the door to act as an early warning system should anyone try to climb the stairs. Sure, it was lazy. But it was effective enough.

At the sound, both of them tensed, eyes trained towards the door. That one, at least, had a deadbolt. A fact Emma was immensely grateful for as she heard the stairs groaning under the weight of their visitors. Visitors. They weren't alone. Two people, from the sounds of it.

Emma wasn't sure she took a breath the whole time it took for them to make their way up to the landing. She hadn't even noticed herself getting up from her chair, or reaching across to take Killian's hand, clutching his fingers in hers so tight her knuckles went white.

The two visitors paused on the landing a moment. Emma took comfort in the fact the footfalls weren't especially heavy. These weren't two hulking dudes in army boots, at least, she didn't think so. And there hadn't been an immediate spray of machine gun fire through the door. That was always a win.

So when there came a knock at the door, three business-like raps in short succession, Emma didn't protest too much when Killian unclenched his hand from hers to answer it. He did so slowly, one hand trailing back to grip the handle of the handgun tucked into his waistband, as he checked the peephole. He made a noise then, almost an exhale, and relaxed his grip on the gun as he disengaged the deadbolt, opening the door wide.

Two people entered. The girl, red-haired and haughty, Emma knew already. Ariel Roberts. The world's worst secretary. The other guy Emma wasn't so sure about. He wasn't muscle; he was too old for that. The guy appeared to be in his sixties, at least, but he wore it well. Rich, in other words. He wore a custom grey suit and a nice watch, but nothing too flashy, which meant he was smart too. There was something familiar about him. Like Emma had seen him somewhere before. But it was the briefcase he was carrying that really got Emma's attention.

Maybe they weren't going to die after all.

"So," said Ariel, as she took a few more steps into the center of the room, giving the tired furnishings a disdainful once-over. "I see you haven't redecorated at all."

"Well," Killian drawled, coming across to stand beside Emma, arms crossed over his chest. "Can't say there's been too much cash left in the budget for meaningful renovations lately. Can't imagine why."

She smiled a little, her eyes settling on him. "You were always funny. Not quite as clever as you thought you were, but funny. I missed that."

"I can't say I missed anything about you, lass."

Ariel was smirking now. "Well, some of us just aren't cut out for the assistant trade. I'm much more of a… self-starter these days." Her gaze flicked from her former employer, to Emma. "But you certainly seem to have gotten thriftier around here. You found yourself a replacement for me, and for Milah, all in one."

She could feel Killian tense beside her, having finally struck a nerve. Given their conversation earlier, it seemed like a low blow.

Things might have deteriorated from there, had Ariel's well-heeled guest not made a deliberate display of clearing his throat, reminding everyone that he was still in the room. Looking momentarily chastened, Ariel's face quickly became impassive.

"My name is Albert Spencer," the man said, taking a step forward. "I believe we spoke yesterday over the phone, on an unrelated matter?" There was a flare of recognition in Killian's eyes as he stepped forward to meet the man's outstretched hand in a firm handshake.

"Of course," Killian replied, a little stiffly.

Albert Spencer. Suddenly Emma realized why the man had seemed so familiar to her. Emma knew the name. Hell, it was kind of hard not to. It was plastered on the side of a building downtown. The same building they'd spent half the morning in, going over legal paperwork. Albert Spencer was Tink's boss, and a name partner. But even more than that, he was a legend. A shark. She'd even covered several of his cases, defending some of Massachusetts's most prominent people.

And he sure as hell hadn't shown up in Killian's day planner.

"Yesterday?" Emma prompted, giving Killian a meaningful look.

The attorney turned to her with a congenial smile. "Ah, you must be Ms. Swan. I used to follow your column in the Sentinel. Some truly excellent investigative work. Especially in regards to the inquiry behind the police investigation into the Green Line Murders. The wrongly accused was acquitted, I believe, thanks in part to your work?"

Emma blinked, momentarily stunned. It had been months, months, since anyone had so much as acknowledged she had been a journalist, let alone that she'd been any good at it. And that Albert Spencer knew who she was?

"Err... yeah. That was me." She shook his proffered hand, cursing herself internally for her inarticulate response.

"Well," he said, looking between the three of them, "I'm hoping today has a similarly agreeable resolution. Should we sit?" He suggested, waiting for Ariel's nod before he took a seat. It was strange to see the man defer to her. Not just because he looked old enough to be her grandfather. But also because he'd been featured in Forbes magazine, and Ariel was little more than a two-bit thug. How someone with his reputation had gotten caught up in defending the Italian mob and their various hangers on, Emma wasn't sure she wanted to know. It did explain how Ariel's boyfriend had gotten away with murder, though.

The two of them sat down in the designated visitors chairs in front of Killian's desk, Albert Spencer with his briefcase resting on his knees.

Warily, Killian slid to his side the desk, and took a seat in his own chair, his posture unnaturally rigid, thanks in part to the firearm digging into his spine. Emma wheeled her own chair to sit beside him, Ariel smirking at the loud squeal of the chair as it took her weight.

"So," began the lawyer, clearly the one in charge of facilitating matters. "It is my understanding that you've filed a lawsuit against my client, Ms. Roberts, for the alleged theft of client information and case files, is that right?"

Alleged. That was cute. If there was anything alleged about it, Ariel wouldn't have dragged a top-shelf attorney down to a shabby office on Mass Avenue during cocktail hour to deal with it.

"Aye," Killian said through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at Ariel.

"Alright," said Spencer, shrugging off the room's tension. "Well, rather than wait for this to go to trial, my client was rather hoping we could resolve the matter with a mutually beneficial agreement. Today."

He snapped the briefcase open on his lap, and Emma saw Killian reach reflexively behind his back, but all that he pulled out was a sheaf of papers, which he quickly spread out across Killian's desk.

"This is the amount that you were seeking in damages," Spencer said, pointing at a point on the paper nearest Killian. "And this," he said pointing to another number below it, "Is what we believe to be a fair compromise."

To his credit, Killian's face gave nothing away. He examined the paper with a cool detachment, and then looked back to the lawyer, as if utterly bored.

"I think we'd do better going to trial."

And to their surprise, the lawyer chuckled. "You're right of course. Ms. Bell is a hell of an attorney. If anyone could deliver you a large settlement it would be her. But I think you're failing to take into account a particular aspect of the Trade Secrets Act. Now, it can hardly be considered stealing if reasonable efforts haven't been made to keep the information secret in the first place. And I myself have first-hand knowledge that Jones Investigations can be fairly..." He made a face, as if swallowing down a particularly difficult pill, "...lax, in that regard."

The grin on Ariel's face was triumphant, but Emma almost missed it, too busy grabbing Killian by the elbow and leaning over to hiss in his ear. "What the fuck is he talking about?"

He didn't answer, but there was no missing the way the color seemed to have drained from his face.

"Killian?" She tried again.

This was bad. Very, very bad. Not quite find yourself at the bitey end of a shotgun bad, but also not ideal. The second number, Ariel's "fair compromise", wasn't enough to cover August's debt. If they couldn't pull this out of the fire, August wouldn't be safe. No one would be safe.

"There's also the small matter of the embezzlement," Killian added, out of nowhere. "We're still sifting through the records but I believe it's somewhere in the ballpark of ten thousand dollars."

The grin on Ariel's face vanished in an instant, replaced with a gobsmacked expression. Emma's probably didn't look any less surprised.

"Bit of a slapdash effort, lass, diverting funds away from my pension fund," he tutted. Then to Spencer, "We were thinking of bringing about criminal charges, once we'd gone over everything a few more times, but I suppose if we reach a mutually beneficial agreement today, I could be persuaded to... reconsider."

The lawyer's brows rose in surprise, glancing over at his client, who had fixed Killian with a stare so cold, it sent chills down Emma's spine. "What do you want, Killian?"

Emma patiently waited until she heard the exterior door swing closed, the lawyer and his client gone from the premises for good, before she made her move.

Taking it slow or not, Emma wasn't quite able to stop herself from wrapping her arms around Killian's shoulders, letting loose a shriek of joy, and then surprise as he lifted her briefly off the ground, the celebratory mood catching.

"You did it!" she exclaimed, once he'd let her back down. "How did you do it?"

"You've never actually been around for one of my poker nights have you, Swan?"

"No..." She'd walked in on one or two, but she'd never stuck around to watch. Sooner or later she knew August would ask her to stake him, and she avoided situations of that kind as best she could.

"Let's just say," he teased, "I'm rather good at the whole bluffing thing. When I don't have you around to catch me, that is." Emma paused to consider the implications of that.

"You mean... the embezzlement thing? You what? Guessed? Please do not tell me you just pulled that out of nowhere!"

He shrugged. "Not out of nowhere, no. I had a sneaking suspicion she'd taken more than just the files. My accountant mentioned some irregularities. Now I know for sure."

"Do we even have an accountant?" Emma asked, suddenly distracted.

"Will," Killian replied, as if the answer should be obvious.

"Rabbit Hole Will? And you wonder why we're pretty much bankrupt? And what was that Spencer said before? About being lax with keeping secrets?"

"Swan," he said, grabbing her by the shoulders, and shaking her a little, his grin almost infectious. "Swan, I think you're rather missing the point here. The fact is, we won the day."

"Yeah, but-"

"Emma!" He shouted, lifting his arms into the arm. "We won!" It was then that Emma looked up and saw him. Really saw him. He looked so goddamned happy. Happier perhaps than she'd seen him in the last couple of months, cheeks flushed red with exaltation, blue eyes shining.

Fine. He could have his moment.

"We kinda did, didn't we?" She said with an answering grin.

"Aye, love. So how about we go and retrieve your brother from his safe house, and see about a celebratory drink?"

"Cocktails?" Emma asked, goading him.

It was a testament to his mood that he was still smiling. "Whatever your dark little heart desires, Swan."