Chapter 3: A plan gone wrong

He had never been a morning person, but he had to admit that having breakfast at the Nolans, sitting by one of the three fountains in their perfect gardens while the eight o'clock sun gently licked the skin that was not covered by his suit, lifted his spirits much more than any other nighttime activity.

Well, except for one nighttime activity or two, but still...

"You should take off those sunglasses, you look like a bodyguard."

He cast a quick glance towards his father as he chewed on a cinnamon roll and took another sip from his latte.

"Sorry, but I don't take fashion advice from a man wearing a flowered apron."

"I have to look the part."

"You're trying too hard."

"Heh," his father took off his gloves before nearing him by the fountain. "Tell me, son, what do you think about the architect the Nolans hired?"

"Who, Mendell?"

"Yeah."

His gaze shifted to a man wearing a beret and very shiny shoes taking measures of a door just across the pond on the far end of a corridor covered with vines.

"Shady."

"Ah. Then I'm not the only one."

"There's something iffy about him. He's always sweating when I pass him by."

"And his eyes... always darting around the place."

"I've talked to him a couple of times," said Neal, after wiping his mouth on a napkin. "He's a studied man. Always very kind to Granny, to everyone really. I don't think he means any harm here, but yeah... I think he's odd."

A soft buzz coming from the cell phone in his pocket reminded him he would have to take off soon, so he finished his latte and took a long, deep breath before speaking again.

"I need your advice."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I need your advice," he repeated.

"Did I hear it right?" said Mr. Gold, after putting down his shovel and wiping a drop of sweat from his brow. "My son needs my advice?"

Neal had to chew on his tongue not to respond to the taunt. His relationship with his father had never been a bed of roses - he doubted it would ever be. The two of them had far too much in common.

"Say it again."

"Don't push it," he hissed.

"Very well. And what kind of advice do you need?"

"Stop laughing."

"I'm not laughing. But I am delighted."

"Killian is cheating on Emma."

He noticed his father didn't look surprised; at his words, not even a slight frown had wrinkled his face.

"Now that is not exactly news, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"All those business trips..."

"Yeah, that's what we all suspected, but I have evidence now."

"And?"

"And I don't know whether I should show her or not."

"You want to show her."

"I do. I have to. But if she finds out I'm stalking her husband, she will

kick me out of her house."

"It's not as if you actually need the job, is it?"

"I need to stay undercover," Neal replied. Of course he didn't need the money. He had plenty left from his savings, after all. He had worked his fingers to the bone to get by without ever touching the little fortune he had received after his mother's death, but the fact remained he needed to be where Killian Jones was. "Four years tracking this guy, I'm so close now."

"You're nowhere as close to finding what you are looking for as you imagine, Bae. Neal," he quickly corrected. "You know that."

"Yes, I am. I finally found out who he is working with. Not only working with, actually... But still, she may be the one whose account he uses. Maybe... Files, contracts, documents, maybe she is the one who keeps it all out of circulation, maybe this is why we never found anything in Killian's of-"

"Maybe, maybe, maybe, you know that in this line of business, 'maybe' is as good as nothing."

"But at least I know where to look now."

"Good. And how does getting Emma involved in it help anything?"

"It doesn't."

"Exactly."

"Papa, he's cheating on her! She doesn't deserve that."

"Well, she got married to a crook, didn't she? I'd say she had it coming."

"Don't say that."

"You wanted my advice, didn't you? So there it is."

He let out a sigh when his father picked up his gardening tools and shoved them back on his belt, before passing him by to cross the gardens.

"And by the way, son," he whispered into his ear, patting the younger man on the shoulder, "your love is showing."

He cursed under his breath. Why was the man so obsessed with the idea that he, Neal, still carried a torch for Emma Swan?

He didn't. He had stopped caring a long time ago.

He had learnt to stay strong, to keep himself together and be completely cool every time she showed up at the front door, just like she had right now, wearing a suit and tie, her wonderful blond hair tied up in an elaborate braid, her greenish eyes made even more mesmerizing by the layer of mascara on her eyelashes and her red lips, a stark contrast to her fair skin, those soft, warm lips that he had kissed so many times before...

But before his mind was tempted to delve into those cherished memories, the figure of a man limping behind her brought him back to reality.

'Just what I needed...'

"Cassidy?" he heard Killian Jones call out. "You're driving me to my office today."

'The hell I am!'

"I have to pick up Mr. and Mrs. Nolan at the airport," he answered, with what he could only expect was his most neutral expression. "As a matter of fact, I'm running late alr-"

"I've arranged for them to take a taxi," the voice of Emma Swan made his own die in his throat. "You'll be driving Mr. Jones to work today."

His eyes caught up with hers, and judging by the expression on her face, she was flagging him mentally. Goodness grief, why did that woman hate him that much?

"Is there a problem with the Bentley?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and, once again, struggling to keep his poker face intact.

"There is a problem with my leg," Killian replied, as he clutched his crutch and limped down the steps. "You can thank your father for that."

Of course. So thanks to another lousy move by the old man, he was now going to pay the price. What a surprise. No wonder he had been so quick to leave when Emma showed up outside. Right now, Neal was absolutely convinced that if that flimsy neck of his was anywhere near, he would certainly wrap his hands around it and never let go.

"So what... car... am I supposed to drive?"

He blinked several times as anger flooded his bloodstream. He could not lose it. He had to keep it cool. He had endured worse things in his life. All he had to do was drive that brainless lunatic, cold-blooded, two-timing son of a bitch to work.

He could do it.

"Use David's," Killian Jones replied, as a sneer curled the corners of his mouth. "You're too much of a bad driver for me to hand you the keys to mine."

'Just breathe'.

"In that case, I can call you a taxi," Neal replied, amazed at himself for his unconcerned tone of voice.

"Just kidding, my boy. Where's your sense of humor?"

'About to be shoved in a very intimate part of your body.'

"Bye love."

He scratched his nose and looked away when the man in front of him turned to give Emma a quick peck on the lips before dragging himself into the car.

He could do it. All he had to do was breathe. Think happy thoughts. Sing. It was just a 40-minute drive.

"You know, I don't understand why you hate me so much," said Killian, after some ten minutes of the most absolute silence, when they had just gotten to the interstate.

'When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful...' he sang mentally, totally ignoring the man on the backseat. 'A miracle, it was beautiful, magical...'

"Is it because of Emma?"

'And all the birds in the trees... well they'd be singing so happily...'

"I didn't force her to marry me, you know? Actually, she was the one who looked for me."

'...joyfully, playfully, watching me...'

"We used to be so close, Baelfire..."

'But then they sent me away... to teach me how to be sensible...'

"By the way, when are you going to tell the Nolans that's your real name?"

'...logical, responsible, practical...'

"It was your father that killed your mother, not me."

He stepped on the brakes so suddenly that the seat by his side shook when Killian's head collided with it.

"Be pissed as much as you like," the man snarled, rubbing his nose that a second ago had been smashed against the passenger seat. "He went to jail because of a crime that he committed!"

"A crime he would have never committed if it hadn't been for you trying to destroy our family."

"Your mother and I were in love!"

"You took advantage of her. And you made my father lose everything he had!"

"Still doesn't excuse him for murder."

"He was insane. What is your excuse?"

"What? I never murdered anyone!"

"But you've tried to."

"Ah... Belle."

The man's tone of voice was so sarcastic that he had to bite his lip and breathe deeply not to get his hands off the steering wheel to punch Killian Jones right between the eyes.

"Why do you even care? No one gives a damn about your father's slag."

Again, he smashed the brakes, but this time, he knew his anger would get the best out of him.

"Get out," he hissed, glaring daggers at the man on the backseat through the rearview mirror.

"We're in the middle of the highway."

"Get out or I will."

"Are you joking? I'm not getting out of the car!"

'Oh yes, you are.'

He took the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car, slamming the door shut as he walked to Killian's side of the car to open his door.

"Baelfire, w-what?" the other man stuttered, as Neal grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him out of the car. "Stop, what are you-stop!"

But he didn't.

Killian Jones was still sprawled on the side of the road when he got back into the car, slammed the door shut and sped away, his eyes shifting to the rearview mirror to cast a quick glance at the man trying to stand up as a cloud of dust engulfed him.

So much for his job at the Nolans.

But, thinking of it, now that things were going to blow up on his face, he might as well let it all out.

With shaky hands, he reached for his cell phone and dialed.

"David Nolan's office, how may I help you?"

"Mulan?"

"Who's this?"

"Neal Cassidy, the driver."

"Oh," there was silence on the other side of the line for a moment. "I have already told you that is not my name."

"I'm sorry, but your nickname is easier to remember," he said, eyes darting around frantically as his brain started processing just how badly he had just screwed up his life. "Has Emma left for work yet?"

"Who?"

He squeezed his eyes shut before speaking again. He was completely losing it.

"Mrs. Swan."

"She's about to."

"Tell her to wait for me. Tell her it's urgent."

"Fine. But-"

"Thank you."

He hung up before Emma's personal assistant had the time to respond.

Four years working on a case that he had officially ruined within a twenty-minute drive with Killian Jones. Four years trying to gather evidence of money laundering, identity theft, attempted murder, kidnapping, adultery. Well, not adultery, that had been a bonus.

But it didn't matter now.

He would be kicked out of their house as soon as Emma and the Nolans found out what he did. Just when he was so close to finally unveiling the man's scheme with Regina Mills...

When he reached the Nolans' front gate, he was sweating buckets. His mouth, dry. He quickly undid his tie and got rid of his jacket - his shirt was sticking to his back. Trying to get his nerves back under control, he rolled up his sleeves, counted to ten and parked the car.

Now that things had gone to hell already, the least he could do was let Emma know the kind of man she had gotten married to.

"What do you want?" she asked him, even before he got out of the car. "I have a meeting at ten and I can't be late."

"Not here," he replied, locking the door and walking towards the house.

"Whatever you have to say, just say it now."

"Nah, not here," he replied, walking faster and motioning for her to follow him. "Your office is better."

"Neal, I don't..."

He heard her throw a little fit behind him, but he still kept his gaze ahead of him.

"I need to show you something," he said, as soon as they entered her study and she closed the door behind them.

"What?"

The moment he took the cell phone out of his pocket, he realized how cruel the whole situation was. He was about to show her a video of her husband doing... things to her mother's stepmother. How twisted was that?

"What is it, Neal?"

Before he felt tempted to call the whole thing off, he got the video started and placed his phone on her desk. He winced when the same lewd sounds from the night before started filling the room, and he was already getting ready to comfort her as soon as she burst into tears.

Okay. Knowing Emma Swan, maybe not 'burst into tears'. Maybe a discreet tear. A tremble of her chin. A hand covering her mouth in shock...

He frowned.

Maybe... the look of disappointment in her eyes?

An angry fit?

Disbelief?

He was starting to break into a sweat again.

Unimpressed was probably the best way to describe her as she watched her husband and his lover do all sorts of sexcrobatics.

Not a single twitch of the eye.

Not a sob.

Nothing.

"What do you want, Neal?"

He blinked several times in an attempt to get his brain to work.'

"What do you mean, 'what do you want'?" he whispered, torn between anger and confusion. "Are you blind? I want you to see what a pig Killian Jones is."

"Nice try."

"What?"

"Do you really want me to believe this video is real?" she said, her voice finally showing some sort of emotion. "Get over yourself, Neal."

"What part of this doesn't look real to you?" he shrieked. "This is your husband and Regina Mills!"

Now she looked angry. Finally. Only, not at the right person, apparently.

"You're fired," she whispered, the corners of her mouth curling downwards as her eyes tore a hole past him.

"What?"

"I want you to leave. Now. I will ask my father to be generous with your compensation."

"Emma, you have to be kidding me."

"No. You are the one that probably thinks this is a joke."

"Emma, I-"

"What do you want, Neal?" she screamed, her anger scorching him from head to toe. "Do you think I'll just leave Killian and run to your arms? And forget everything you did to me?"

"Emma, how many times have I told I did not walk out on our wedding!" he had not expected that topic to come up. But then again, how would it not? Of course she still hated for him for not attending their wedding ceremony. But how could he, when Killian Jones himself had made sure he took an unexpected trip to the tropics? "I was kidnapped!"

"A very creative excuse. Too bad you were never able to prove it."

"But I will! I will!"

Actually, he knew that he probably wouldn't, not now that he had been fired.

"No, you won't. And you know why?" she took one step closer to her, and he couldn't actually believe that after the video she had just watched, her eyes were filled with tears because of him.

Talk about a plan backfiring.

"Because you can't prove what never happened," she added, as a tear finally rolled down her face. "The reason why you left me that day is because you are a coward. You're scared of commitment."

"Emma, what are you talking ab-"

"How long have you been engaged to Tamara?" she asked, crossing her arms after wiping the tear away. "Six years?"

He had planned to say something, before his fiancée was brought into the conversation.

But now that she had been brought into the conversation, all of a sudden he really did not know what to say.

"I think you get my point."

He did not. What was she suggesting? That his engagement was a fraud?

"Now go. And give me the keys to my father's car."

He reached for his pocket, a sudden buzz in his ears making him lose focus for a moment.

He felt a truck had just hit him.

At what point he had left her study and made it to the gardens, he honestly did not know. All he could see was Mary Margaret and David Nolan carrying their bags and walking towards him.

"Neal!" exclaimed the woman, outstretching her arms to greet him.

He tried to put on his best smile, but most likely he only looked like a man with a very strong stomachache.

"Hey," said David. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah..."

"Is Emma still home?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Yeah..."

David waited until his wife entered the house to speak again.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I-"

"Neal. I know you," he whispered, looking over his shoulder to make sure there was no one around. And indeed, there wasn't, except for Greg Mendell, the architect, who was now on top of a ladder to take measures of part of the roof. "What happened?"

"Your... Your daughter just fired me."

"Why?"

He felt nauseated. He hated lying to David - of all people in that house, he was the one he had the best relationship with.

Especially because Emma's father also seemed to hate Killian Jones.

"I-"

"Hey, tell you what," David interrupted. "Let's go inside, and you tell me everything over drinks. Okay?"

He felt the man squeeze his shoulder in a very fatherly way, and he couldn't help but let out a faint smile.

"Okay."

He was about to follow the older man when his foot got caught in the ladder Mendell was propped in, and in a matter of seconds the thing swayed dangerously back and forth.

"Oh God!" they heard the architect mutter. "Oh God, oh God, oh God!"

When they looked up, they saw the man trying to keep his balance as he struggled to catch the cell phone that was apparently slipping from his hands.

As a matter of fact, the man seemed more worried about saving the cell phone than himself from the certain fall.

"Chill out, man," Neal screamed. "Just hold the ladder, I'll catch your phone if it falls!"

"No!"

The man's response was loaded with the purest form of panic. Instead of following Neal's advice, Mendell leaned sideways in an attempt to grab his phone, which made the ladder tip to the side and fall upon the nearest bushes as his cell phone flew the opposite direction.

"I got it, I got it," exclaimed Neal, as he rushed to catch the phone before it fell into the pond. "I go-"

Before he could finish his sentence, though, his gaze fell on the phone screen, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Neal?"

"What?"

"You're pale."

"Hmm?"

He should have hidden it. But then, what would he say? At the moment, he was more concerned about how Greg Mendell, the wobbly architect, had had access to that video. Certainly it could not be found on Youtube - if it could, then he had spent one thousand dollars for nothing.

"What the hell?" whispered David. "Is that... Is that-"

"Yeah. Regina Mills and your son-in-law."

Both men looked at each other, and then at the ladder - just to find Greg Mendell running for his life.

"You close in on him while I cover the left wing," said David, before both of them set off after the unexpected fugitive.

Just what he needed. A distraction. He could really do with throwing some punches right now. As he ran, he felt his head clear, his eyes fixated on Mendell's beret.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

They were about to get to the gate when David jumped from behind a statue and tackled Greg Mendell to the ground.

"No!" the man screamed. "Stop! It's not what you're thinking!"

"Really?" David panted. "And what am I thinking?"

"I-I-I don't know!" the man stuttered, as the beret slid from his head and covered half of his face, which only made him look even more pathetic. "But I can explain everything!"