This was a tough chapter to write, but I hope that it conveys what I want it to convey. I promise some good fluff in the next chapter. It should be up later in the week after my new internet is turned on and installed.
Hope you all enjoy your weekend! Happy reading!
Wind off the water always made for a colder breeze than any place else. So with their life vests on and coats secure, Emma and Elsa huddled together as the boat cut through the choppy water on the way to the island. It occurred to Emma that she and Killian had not managed their sailing trip yet, as the weather had turned too cold. He told her that it would wait until spring, which had not set in yet. He was talking about them still together a few months from right then. She barely tried to make plans for the weekend and he was confident about something with a different year and month in the date.
"So how does this work?" Elsa asked, her blonde hair almost white over the down jacket that one of the officers had loaned her. She had refused at first, but relented when he told her there was no choice. "We float around looking for…clues?"
Emma was even more bundled up in her coat and scarf, a knit hat pulled down to her ears and gloves on her hands. "Something like that," she said, her voice muffled by the fabric. "First we look for things and signs that things are out of place." Her eyes scanned the horizon as the wind picked up. "For example, the boats over there." She nodded her forehead toward the small dock area. "We'll ask locals if any of those boats aren't usually there. They have already been looking at logs."
"Deputy Swan?" one of the officers called out. Emma went to him, her blonde hair barely visible under the layers. She returned a few moments later. "They have a report that the boat is on the other side of the island. We're going there first."
Elsa nodded faintly. "We could find them there?" She hugged her arms the best she could around herself. The bulkiness of the life jacket and the borrowed coat proving to make that difficult. "I could have my sister back soon."
"I hope so," Emma said, squinting as the sun shone off the water. "Are you cold? I could see if they have a blanket…"
"No," Elsa said. "I don't get cold."
"I'm afraid I don't have that trait," Emma mumbled.
***AAA***
Killian thanked Leroy again for allowing him to show the older man and his friends the new engine. Not sure that he had made the sale, he was at least content to be back to his normal work duties rather than investigations, hospital interludes, and sleeplessness. It was still another 30 minute drive back to the warehouse where he would be able to check on the status of a pending order. Taking that and the cold into account, he ducked into Granny's for a little coffee.
It was an odd hour between breakfast and lunch, leaving few customers at the diner and most of the staff on a break as Killian took a seat at the counter and waved off the attempts of the proprietress to hand him a menu. "Just a coffee, milady," he said with a mocking gallant tone that made Granny roll her eyes at his attempt.
"You know ticking her off doesn't get your order hear any sooner," a familiar voice said. He spun on the stool to find the source of it, his eyes crinkling with recognition at the sight of Mary Margaret standing at the counter with almost a dozen post-it notes in her hands. She was placing them on the counter and shifting them about as if organizing them.
"Aye, she probably slows the urgency of my order with my teasing," Killian agreed. "Thankfully it is warm and somewhat hospitable in this place, which is more than I can say for the outside." He watched her nod with a faint smile. "What are you doing here, lass? I thought you were busy shaping the young minds of this town."
"Planning period," she said vaguely as though that would explain it. Then leaning forward, her short dark hair falling toward her eyes. "It's chicken ala king day in the lunchroom. No one but the students can stomach that crap so we made a group order for Granny. It's my turn to play delivery girl." The teacher's cheeks were still tinged with red from the wind, standing out against her porcelain complexion. She was dressed in an emerald color that complimented her dark hair and dark lashes.
"Probably a wise choice in terms of food," he said with a smirk. "I can't say that I have fond memories of school lunch room fare."
Lifting a pink post-it closer to her face, the woman frowned. "I can't say it has gotten better since I was in school myself." She thrust the note closer to Killian. "This teacher has handwriting like a serial killer. Any idea what she wants?"
His eyes almost crossed staring at the scribbled order. "M-E-T," he began to spell. "O-F. Meatloaf?"
She snapped her hand back to confirm his assessment, nodding with relief. "Thanks," she said. "I wish these people would just email their orders." She jotted down that order on her pad with the rest and handed them to Granny with a sweet smile that was rewarded with a promise that they would be ready in a moment. The teacher gave Killian a smile to say that he should have been nicer to the woman. "I didn't get a chance to check on Emma last night. Is she doing okay?"
"Aye, a little pain and swelling, but she's out with that Elsa lass tracking down another clue of some sort." He frowned a bit. "She is undeterred."
"That's a good trait for that kind of job," Mary Margaret noted. "When David's in the zone, it's like I don't exist. You'll see. It can be a good thing. I never get so much done as when he's up to his eyeballs in some case." She restacked the post-its. "How are you doing? I know it can be scary when something like that happens?"
His own cheeks became a bit red. "I'm happy she is well on the mend," he said, not really answering the question. "She's proven to me again that she quite tough." He didn't mention the small bandage and noticeable limp that she kept telling him wouldn't slow her down. He tried not to think about how he had gripped her a second or two longer than necessary when they had parted that morning.
"It's hard," Mary Margaret answered, as if he had said those words aloud. "When David leaves to tackle some case or when I hear on the news that the sheriff's department is at the scene of some criminal's house or whatever, I still feel myself freaking out. We're taught to get out of the way of danger and these crazy loons we're in love with run right for it. Who does that?"
He waited for her to acknowledge what she just said about love, but she didn't seem to notice. "It's their job," he said finally. "Their job is protecting people and sometimes that means…"
"I know," she said consolingly. "But I wouldn't mind someone protecting my David. It seems unfair sometimes. Everyone else gets to call 911 when they have an emergency. David and Emma and the others don't. They have to respond when a sane person wouldn't dare do it. I understand how tough that must be for you. When David and I first were together, I thought I'd never make it. I was scared every day – waiting on that phone call. Waiting to hear what went wrong. It's not a good way to live. You think that you're wrong for feeling it. You feel like an idiot for letting it get to you."
"Aye," he said slowly. "It does seem that way. I'm trying to just ignore that and be proud of her for what she does."
"It doesn't work, does it?" She gave him a little smirk. "Or maybe I should phrase that like Ruby would say, 'how's that working out for you?"
"Well since I'm on my third cup of coffee since breakfast and I have checked my cell phone 50 times in an hour, I'm thinking it isn't the best plan I've ever had." He laughed nervously.
"I don't know that there is a magic formula. I still get scared, terrified even. But I try to remind myself that they're really good at their jobs. They work hard and…I have to trust that they won't take any unnecessary risks. They can take care of each other. I know they do that. David wouldn't let anything happen to Emma. And she would walk on fire to take care of him." She tilted her left wrist to look at the delicate silver watch there. "Just trust her. She may be tough as nails and obstinate as a bull, but she cares about you. She's going to do everything she can to come back to you at the end of the day."
He wasn't sure that he could fully believe and understand that, but it helped to hear the words. "Thank you, lass," he said solemnly. "I appreciate the advice."
***AAA***
Emma's legs burned with the searing pressure of her crouched position. She was desperate to stretch or walk out the knots in her thighs and calves, but that was not yet possible. The sun was shining in through the dirty windows of the warehouse, heating the back of her neck despite the coldness outside.
"Do you recognize him?" the office next to her hissed. His copper colored hair was sticking out at odd angles from under a ball cap and his hands rested on his gun and his radio respectively. She wasn't sure how he managed to seem so relaxed and balanced despite the fact that he was crouched with no hands available to hold him steady.
"He looks like our suspect's brother," Emma said, keeping her voice low despite the distance and the glass window separating them from the warehouse floor. They had taken position in the manager's office, crouched low and watching this man pace on the floor below them with another man posed as a possible client. She could tell by the frustrated grunt of the other man that her answer was not good enough.
Only Elsa could probably provide a more definitive identification, but the woman was not law enforcement and they were not going to bring her for such a task. Instead, Emma knew that Elsa was currently walking the beach under the watchful eye of one of the older detectives. Her hand was probably fiddling with the snowflake charm necklace that she had said was found among their mother's things. Emma could remember seeing it for the first time and feeling vaguely nostalgic and a bit jealous that she had no such family heirlooms. "I'd give them all back if it meant my parents were back with us," Elsa had said sadly when Emma had mentioned it to her.
"I'm afraid I haven't got those kinds of items to bargain with," Emma had retorted.
Emma shook off the ill-placed memory and looked back through the glass. It was important to stay aware, not let anything surprise her. The palms of her hand had begun to sweat, her mouth dry and eyes watery from the long stint. She could see the supposed client enticing the man, drawing him out as best he could. It all looked so normal, so tame. She almost yawned at the mundane nature of it, recalling that the night before had not been too restful. Perhaps that was why when the shout and then a gun shot rang out that Emma jumped in a startled fashion.
***AAA***
David paced the small space between the couch and the fireplace, his hands resting lightly on his hips and his jacket flapping open as he moved. His fiancé would be home at any moment, having promised that she had no activities to supervise after school and no committee meetings to chair.
"I have a bad feeling about this," she said as she ducked into the apartment and removed her scarf. Standing on her toes, she gave him a chaste kiss that did not even improve his disposition. She frowned and began to remove the other layers of winter protection. "Go ahead and tell me. I know you have something to say."
"My father," he let out bitterly. She didn't look surprised by the two words.
"What did he do now?" she asked, tugging off her boots and lining them up under the hooks where she hung coats in the doorway. "Let me guess. He's angry about the wedding. He wants it to be a big social event and sell tickets. You explained that we wanted something smaller and simpler."
David's face softened, imagining her in her white wedding gown with the soft music swelling around them. "I haven't even managed to fight with him on that topic yet." He stared at the mismatched but complementary furniture, a classic style that was all Mary Margaret. Embroidered pillows and knitted throws covered the furniture. Pastels and antiqued metals were on display. While not cluttered, the space boasted collectibles and antiques from all over. Each one was carefully selected and cared for by his fiancé.
"Then what?"
He realized he had been silent too long from the sympathetic and yet frustrated sigh. "I realized the other day that my father is the one who released the information about Emma to the press. He's trying to…well, I don't know…hurt her to help me."
Mary Margaret had been flipping through the mail. His words made her stop. "What do you mean?"
"My father thought I might have stolen the money from the budget," he said, his voice shaking as the words left his head and hit the air for the first time. "I think he thought that Emma was an easy one to pin it on so he did. He made it look like Emma was responsible or that at least she could be. That way the focus was off me."
She muttered an unflattering term under her breath. "Your father needs to be stopped," Mary Margaret declared. She sank back into her heels for a moment, eyes narrow and her arms over her sweater clad chest. "What else?"
"Isn't that enough?" He sputtered that question, but his heart sank with the gravity of it.
"I haven't ever known your father to try one thing and then give up when it didn't work." Mary Margaret could only be described as an optimist. She was loyal to her friends, helpful, loving, smart, and beautiful. She saw the best in everyone, but even she knew that David's father had few redeeming qualities. "What about the whole mess with you, Killian, and Regina? The deal over the boats?"
Shifting his weight from one foot to another, David sighed. "I have thought about that. He clearly has been using Sidney to carry out his plans."
Mary Margaret nodded as she took quick steps to close the gap between them. She ran a hand over his cheek as a comforting gesture, the other hand seeking his. "And what plan is that? Why do this?"
There was a slight dip of David's head as he considered his answer, shame becoming evident on his face. "He wants to help me win this stupid election. If he could frame Graham, he would. And he did his best to make him look bad with the whole thing of Emma leaving his room at Granny's. But my father is desperate. He doesn't want me to lose because I'm inept or unwilling to fight dirty. So he's doing it for me." David drew in his breath. "I'm afraid…"
"Emma's just a casualty to him. Killian and Regina too?" She tugged him a bit closer, not surprised that he didn't embrace her. Most of the moments they shared were about both of them, but this was about him. She could see the realization on his face, the acceptance that his father was such a man. There was a difference in the head knowing and the heart knowing.
David agreed as much, his eyes and hardening stare telling of his similarity to Emma in that she could remove all emotion from an equation. "And I…"
"You what?" the teacher prodded, lacing their fingers. "What are you thinking?"
"This case with Anna and Kris," he blurted out. "My father has been so adamant that I play a bigger role in it. I thought it was just a publicity thing for him, but what if…what if it's not. What if he set it up so that I could be…"
Mary Margaret felt the blood in her veins run cold. "If you were the one to find them and bring them home, you'd be guaranteed the win. Did he honestly think that Graham was going to win against you?"
David chuckled, not lightly but with a dread in his breath. "The numbers mean very little to my father. I have to win and win big for his satisfaction. God forbid it be an honest fight."
"But kidnapping a woman and her fiancé," the dark hair woman said, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's so dramatic. Why would he? How would he? Your father is diabolical, but he's not a person who does hard labor. Who could he have gotten to help him? Who would he trust?"
***AAA***
Emma hurdled down the stairs with her gun in her hand. There was no reason to believe there was anyone else planning to shoot, but Emma was ready. Her arms were slightly bent, giving her the field of vision that her trainers had always warned her about during training exercises. Growing closer to the man they had been watching, she saw the family resemblance to Hans was even more evident. That same light hair, smattering of freckles and cocky grin were evident. Two of the officers had subdued him and others were rushing to the aid of the officer who had been posing undercover.
"Mr. Westerguard," Emma said formally. She could see his confusion over her knowing his name becoming a fire in his eyes. "Where are Anna and Kristoff?"
The officers restraining and searching him glared at her for asking without preamble. They had not even read him his rights and such a breech was not in the best interest of any of them. He scoffed at the blonde, turning his attention to the man with the handcuffs.
"Tell me," she ordered, ignoring the pointed looks. She knew he had just shot at an officer, missing him thankfully. The officer had fallen in his attempt to duck and struck his head on a pallet. To her mind there wasn't time to waste. "Where are they?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Emma rolled her eyes, her mind reeling at his uncooperative answer. She knew that criminals rarely cooperated. It was not in their nature or best interest. Still it surprised her with how he sat there so smugly as they arrested him. She was about to change her tactic again when she heard a shout from the other direction.
A large stack of crates filled one end of the warehouse. Stacked so high that Emma was sure there might be clouds around the top ones. Each was large enough for a man to stand in and move about. She stared curiously as three officers huddled up to one. She ran to join them, leaving others behind. "What is it?" she asked, returning her gun to its holster.
"There's a noise in this one," the portly officer said. "Sounds like whimpering." The men made no moves toward it but all nodded at the one guy's assessment.
Emma wanted to scream for them to open it, but she held back as they beckoned one of the workers over with a crowbar. He made quick work of it, prying back the splintering wood. Emma held her breath, considering finding Elsa, but knowing that it was not a good idea under the circumstances. There were a lot of possibilities, not all pleasant. Finally the wood broke away, the staleness of the air replacing the sea scent.
There inside the crate stood two people. Emma blinked at their own shocked and somewhat scared expressions. The man stood as a shield between the crowd and the young woman, her eyes peering over his shoulder with a confused and hopeful gaze.
"Anna?" Emma asked, her voice quiet. "Kristoff?"
The two nodded slowly, seeking her out in the sea of men watching them. Emma attempted to offer them a welcoming and consoling smile, but she knew that she probably looked like an idiot to them. But then again, Anna was rounding Kristoff's shoulder and stepping toward Emma. She threw her arms open and pulled the blonde deputy into a hug. "I don't know you," she said with a hoarse laugh, "but I guess you know who I am."
Emma nodded emphatically. "Your sister is going to be so happy," she said.
The petite younger woman pulled back, bracing her hands on each of Emma's shoulders. "Elsa's here," she said breathlessly. "Of course she's here. She wouldn't send strangers to rescue us while she sat at home. Is she mad? Am I forgiven for leaving the party early? I shouldn't have. We wouldn't have been kidnapped by Hans and his brothers if we'd just…"
Kristoff's voice sounded more reasonable, but he shot an amused look to his fiancé. "Let the woman breathe," he softly admonished. "You don't know how glad I am…how glad we both are…that you guys found us."
Emma was disentangled from Anna and backed away as the two were descended upon by officers with questions about how long they had been there and the conditions of their survival. Acknowledging the pleading look from Anna, the female deputy darted outside to the path where she had left Elsa with strict instructions. The blonde woman was there, running a bit of the sand through her long fingers and staring out at the water.
"Elsa," Emma said, struggling to catch her breath in the wind and as her legs sunk into the sand. "Anna and Kristoff – they're…"
Elsa's hopeful expression fell again when Emma coughed instead of finished the sentence. "They aren't here, are they?" She sounded broken and desperate, her eyes blinking rapidly whether from the wind and sand or from the tears that were about to fall.
"No," Emma gasped. "They're in there. They seem fine. The police are talking to them. They are going to get checked out at the hospital. They're fine."
Emma didn't manage to say another word as Elsa scampered up the path. Her feet moved so fast that she did not even sink into the deep sand. She knew that Elsa would be reunited with the couple soon, which seemed something better done away from prying eyes rather than with her watching. So she hung back. Despite the cold and bitterness of the day, she pulled out her phone and dialed the familiar number.
"I was hoping to get a text from you, but to hear your voice is even better," Killian said, his own reply coming out in little spurts as though he might have been in the midst of something physical. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," Emma said, turning her back to the force of the wind. "We found Anna and Kris so I'll be back soon."
"Well done, love," he boasted. "And you took the time to call me. I feel honored."
She paused, thinking about the conversation that they had just finished hours before. "I promised I'd keep in touch," she reminded him. "Can't go back on my promise this early." She decided not to tell him about the desperate situation or guns fired. She'd break that to him in person rather than over the phone. Best to let him know she was not only okay but victorious and ready to see him. "I am supposed to meet Neal in a little bit. I'm going to wrap up here and then hightail it back to Storybrooke."
"Are you sure you still want to have that meeting alone?" he asked. "I could attend with you. I don't even have to join you. I could just sit nearby in case you needed me."
It was on the tip of her tongue to say no to him, to tell him it wasn't necessary. But she didn't. She smiled at his eagerness to help her, even if on the sidelines, and let the genuineness of the offer sink over her. "Maybe that would be a good idea," she said. "I think I could use an ally."
***AAA***
Emma was still wearing her warmest clothes when she arrived at the diner, her blonde hair a bit tangled and her cheeks red from the gusts against it. Killian, as he had promised, was at her side, his hand laced with hers as they scouted the room for a sign that Neal was there already. He wasn't.
"Perhaps a table," Killian suggested, pointing to an empty one in the back corner of the room. "We will wait for him there." She had not left his side since she had returned late that afternoon, sagging into him with relief and comfort as she held that dread in her stomach over the meeting with Neal.
They both pretended to look at the menu, occupying one bench and leaving the other open for Neal and his fiancé. Emma pointed out one of her favorite items, but continually jumped each time the door clanged open. His hand reached out to squeeze hers. "I hate this," she said with a combination of dread and exhaustion. "I would rather do anything than this."
He smiled sympathetically. "Any idea what you're going to say?"
She closed her eyes, her breath coming out in one long stream. "Other than, 'guess what you have a son?' I'm kind of at a loss."
His hand squeezed hers again. "Perhaps honesty and bluntness are not meant to go together, love. Might I suggest a bit more care in your word choice?"
"I wouldn't actually say it that way," she said as if he could honestly believe that she would. "But I really don't know the right thing to say. How do you…" Her question was lost to Neal and his bride to be entering and shaking off the light coating of sleet pellets that had landed on their coats. She paled as she watched them, cringing when Neal casually brushed a bit of the white ice off of Tamera's shoulders. He had done the same thing for her, his larger hand cleaning off the frozen mess and then pretending to torment her with his frozen hands. She was about to call him over, realizing that it was only making it worse to watch them. However, he spotted her and marched over, his arm looped over the woman's shoulders.
"Emma, this is my fiancé, Tamera," he said nodding in the blonde's general direction. "Tamera, this is Emma. We've known each other a few years."
She bit back the only reply she could think of that she knew he would have a hard time coming up with a label for their relationship that didn't include describing their parting and her time in jail due to his theft. Instead, she settled for a more acceptable answer. "Nice to meet you," she said, offering a quick introduction of Killian.
Neal settled into the seat across from Emma and placed his and Tamera's orders before looking to her expectantly. Palms upward, he gestured to her. "Care to explain this meeting, Ems? I didn't think you had anything to say to me."
The inside of her cheek hurt from having bitten into it. "I didn't really want to have this conversation," she began, her words feeling empty after practicing them in the car on the way back to Storybrooke. She had taken that drive alone with Elsa staying with her sister future brother-in-law at the hospital. "I'm just going to say it. You know that you and I were young when we knew each other. We weren't careful or thinking of anything really. We were pretty stupid." She frowned, managing to look up and catch what appeared to be an annoyed expression, as if he were insulted by her remembrance of their time together. "We were kids thinking we were adults and we did some stupid things."
Neal fidgeted a bit in his seat. "If this is about the watches, Ems, I'm sorry. I was stupid and the chance to walk away was too much for me. I know I treated you like crap, but I can't change it…" Tamera placed a hand to his bicep.
"Honey, I think she's getting to what she means. Let her finish." Tamera flashed a tentative smile. "He gets that way. Jumps the gun."
"I remember," Emma muttered. "I…When I was in jail I found out something," she continued. Her voice was coming out more even than she had thought and her eyes were not darting away from his curious stare. "I found out I was pregnant."
Neal's expression fell and then darkened in the matter of a few seconds. "Pregnant? With my baby? I have a baby?" He practically growled, though his voice went up an octave each time he said baby. "Is that what you're telling me, Emma? We have a baby?"
Killian's grip on her hand tightened much the same way Tamera's tightened on Neal's. The two exchanged a look before turning back to their respective partners. "A child," she corrected. "A son, named Henry."
He seemed to do some calculations, his mind obviously reeling. "I did background checks on you for the investigation," he muttered. "You aren't raising him."
Emma swallowed back the bile that was rising in her throat. "I placed him for adoption," she said softly. She wasn't sure that Neal heard her until his words bit back.
"You gave our son away to strangers," he said. "I have a son, but you let him be raised by strangers." He pulled the paper napkin from his lap, balling it up as he spoke. "Damn it, Emma. I have a son. You're just now telling me about this. Why? Why bother? Is this some sort of revenge for my moving on? Are you that petty?"
Emma blinked back the tears in her eyes, casting a glance at Killian. "No," she said, finding a strength she wasn't sure she had. "He lives here in Storybrooke. I just met him myself. I…I know his adoptive mother. She doesn't want…"
"I don't care what she wants," Neal spat. "My son is out there and you're acting like this is no big deal. You're acting like this was just some minor issue from our past. I knew you were warped, but this is just sick. You're sick. How can you wait more than 10 years to tell me that I have a son?" His voice was getting louder despite Tamera's attempts to soothe him.
"Bloody hell, man, she's trying to explain to you…"
Emma stopped Killian. "You abandoned me," she spat out. "You set me up and sent me to jail while I was carrying your child. I didn't have options, Neal. You disappeared. All you left me with was a freaking car. What do you think I could have done? I had a GED and not enough money to get home. How was I going to raise a baby?"
His nostrils flared. "I didn't know about the baby," he countered.
"No, you didn't. I didn't know until I was sitting in my cell staring at a pregnancy test. You were long gone by then." She waited a beat as he looked up from the mutilated napkin. "You were gone and I was alone. I made the best decision I could make. Our son is healthy and happy. He's smart and loved. And he's doing all of that without us."
Flailing a bit in his seat, he frowned deeper. "I would have…"
"No," Emma interrupted to correct him. "No you wouldn't have done anything differently. You wouldn't have gone to jail. You would have sent postcards or money? You would have let me put your name on the birth certificate? No, you would have found a way to run just like you did. It's all you know, Neal. It's all either of us know. I wasn't enough for you. You weren't enough for me. And we weren't enough for our son."
His breath was ragged, but he finally acknowledged Tamera's hand on his arm. "I want to see him," he said. "I want to meet my son."
Emma nodded. "His adoptive mother isn't very agreeable on that," she explained. "She didn't even want him to meet me."
"I have rights. I can meet my son if I want to meet him."
Emma reached into the bag on the seat beside her. "No," she said firmly. "Your rights were terminated due to abandonment. We are not his parents any longer."
So a lot happened in this chapter. I would love to have more than a dozen reviews, comments, and replies when I come back from the land of moving. Thanks everyone!