Eight

"Damn it!"

Jefferson slammed the telephone receiver down on his desk as his outburst earned him the attention of August and Robin sat at the adjacent desks to his.

"Something wrong?" August asked, attempting, and failing, to keep back the hint of amusement in his voice at the display.

"Our murderer has just doubled his tally," Jefferson reported. "Four in one day. This guy's not slowing down."

August's amusement disappeared instantly. He straightened in his seat at the news of a development in the case and demanded more information, "Where?"

"Emma Swan's apartment," Jefferson shared.

There was a solemn look on August's face, but Jefferson just knew he was holding back an 'I told you so.' The man was always right and it drove Jefferson crazy.

"You said you had two patrol cars posted outside," August challenged him.

"I did!" Jefferson snapped back through gritted teeth, glaring at August, not appreciating the immediate blame being sent his way. "But I can't control their actions. It's not my fault they screwed up."

"Pointing fingers is not going to get us anywhere," Robin interjected, taking up the mediator role he regularly wound up in whenever the trio worked together on a case; on multiple occasion, he had exclaimed that it was like dealing with kids. On this occasion, he attempted to guide them back on task, "There are only three Emma Swan's in the phonebook so if this guy was successful in ticking them all off his list, we need to determine his next move."

"He hasn't ticked them all off," Jefferson informed them, taking his eyes off August to turn his attention to Robin. "The bodies were identified as Lilith Page, Emma Swan's roommate, and Peter Payne, Lilith's boyfriend."

He made a mental note that 'Payne' would have been a more fitting surname for August.

"Oh, now you say," August shot at him, tone thick with sarcasm as he highlighted Jefferson's mental point.

Jefferson rounded on him once again, "Maybe if you stopped trying to criticize me every damn minute, I'll actually be able to fill you in substantially!"

In a move which momentarily surprised Jefferson, August had no counter-remark. Instead, the other man remained tight-lipped, staring at him pointedly, as if to say 'go on then'.

Jefferson let out a light huff, releasing his frustration, before continuing, "Okay, so from what they can tell from the initial run-over of the crime scene, the murderer forced his entrance through the window off of the fire escape. Once inside, he came across the boyfriend, Peter, in the bedroom who put up a decent fight before he was murdered. Lilith was in the kitchen wearing headphones, completely oblivious to the melee in the other room. She was murdered in identical manner to the previous victims; five shots in the chest and one in the head."

"So, would that suggest our murderer thinks that Lilith Page was Emma Swan? If he killed Lilith the same way he killed the previous two victims?" Robin theorized. "If so, we continue to have no idea what his next move is."

"It would seem so. Initially, at least. Only, this wasn't an in-and-out job like his first two," Jefferson filled them in on the final pieces of information he had. "From what they can tell, something prompted him to check her identity. The drawers were all pulled open and Lilith's student ID card was found crumpled on the floor."

"He realized his mistake. He's still after Emma Swan," August deduced.

"That he is, and he's showing no signs of slowing down so neither will we," Jefferson stated, flinging himself into plans going forward the moment his fellow detectives were up to date. "We work through the night. Locating Emma Swan and getting her under our protection remains the first priority. We also need the facial composite compiled from the eyewitnesses of the first murder as soon as possible. I want to get this guy's face plastered all over the news."

"Leave it with us," August gave a short nod.

Jefferson stared at him.

"Leave it with… what?" Jefferson spoke with a scoff of disbelief. "You do remember this was my case first, right?"

"Woah, I know, I remember," August assured him, mockingly throwing his hands into a surrender position. He glanced towards the clock on the wall. "I just thought… aren't you due to pick Grace up from her grandmother's?"

"I'll make arrangements for her to stay the night," Jefferson glossed over the details; he'd thought it through long before it had even crossed his colleague's mind. "This is more important."

"More important than spending time with your daughter?" August questioned, failing to hold back the judgement in his tone.

"You're seriously criticizing my parenting right now?" Jefferson confronted him with a bitter chuckle.

For as long as he had known August, the guy had never had a serious long-term relationship, let alone any involvement with children. He typically liked to keep to himself, except, apparently, when it came to questioning Jefferson's parenting decisions.

"It's already late. By the time I'd get her home, she'd be going to bed and I wouldn't see her anyway. What we're doing tonight is about ensuring that the city she lives in is safe because what happens should this guy be successful in murdering the last of the Emma Swan's? Hmm? How much do we know about his process? Does he just… pick another name? What if he chose Grace's next?" Jefferson threw a hand in Robin's direction, "Or Marian's? This guy has killed four people, that we know of, in around sixteen hours! He's proven himself to be ruthless and heartless and he's not going to stop until we stop him. So, stop questioning my every little decision and start investigating his instead! Maybe then we'll actually get a step closer to stopping this guy before it's too late for Emma Swan."

Jefferson didn't even bother giving August the chance to respond. He wasn't in the mood for it. Pressure was mounting with every second that went by and arguing amongst themselves wasn't going to get them anywhere. He snatched the phone back up off his desk and dialled the number of his daughter's grandmother, Edith. His late wife had passed almost a decade ago, when Grace was only a few months old, but her mother, Edith, had been there for Jefferson throughout it all. She'd been his support in those initial tough months, even whilst grieving herself, and she was always there to look after Grace when his work called for long nights. She ensured that there was always someone there for her at school events on the few occasions that his work schedule had kept him from them and, whenever both he and Grace were stumped on homework assignments, Edith always came through. He had no idea how he would have coped for almost ten years without her.

Jefferson certainly wasn't surprised when she immediately agreed to take Grace for the night, not even asking for context. She knew that he would never abuse her support and, unlike some others, never questioned his parenting. He didn't even have to ask to speak to Grace, he had heard his daughter begging to be handed the phone the moment his name had escaped her grandmother's lips.

"Hey sweetie," he greeted Grace through the phone the moment her excited eruption of 'Dad!' reached his ears. "How would you like an impromptu slumber party at Gran's?"

"Oh."

The crestfallen response was not the one he had been expecting. Grace loved getting to spend the night at her Gran's. Like most grandparents, Edith had a tendency to spoil her grandchild with all sorts. He would pick her up the following day and receive a ton of stories about all the fun things her grandmother let her get up too, and all the treats that Gran let her eat; and she would talk about it for days.

"You love sleeping at Gran's," he muttered into the phone with a frown, purposely keeping his voice low. The last thing he needed was August hearing him having to coax Grace into the idea. "You're always badgering me to let you stay the night there."

It was only as the words escaped his mouth that he suddenly realized she hadn't done it so much in the recent months. He knew it was nothing to do with Edith; Grace made her affections for her grandmother abundantly clear by the way she bounded right up to the older woman, engulfing her in a hug, whenever Jefferson dropped her there for the day. What had caused the change in attitude towards staying over, however, he had no idea.

"But…" Grace began to argue but trailed off, seemingly catching herself.

"But what?" Jefferson prompted gently.

"But last time I slept here, you nearly got shot," Grace told him, her voice full of concern.

Jefferson squeezed his eyes shut when he heard it. He was the one who was supposed to worry about her. She wasn't meant to worry about him.

"I didn't get shot though, did I?" Jefferson pointed out to her as, in his surprise, he struggled to find the right words to calm her concerns.

"Only because that detective you're always complaining about got shot instead."

Grace's statement revealed that she knew a lot more about what had gone down that night than he had realized. She must have been listening in to some of his conversations and he cursed himself for not being more careful.

He decided to try and brush over her worries for the time being. When he didn't have a murderer to catch, he would make it a priority to find time to have a serious talk with her regarding the dangers of his job. As much as he still thought of her as his little girl, he couldn't deny that she was getting older and more attuned to the darker side of the world. With Emma Swan's life on the line, there was no time for the conversation, and he couldn't have it over the phone regardless, so he tried to calm her worries without really getting into it.

"Listen, nobody really got hurt there-"

"But he got shot!"

Grace wasn't letting it go.

"It was his leg. He just made a big fuss about it!" Jefferson waved off dismissively.

Clearly, Grace wasn't the only one who liked to listen into his conversations for he earned a glare from August for his comment.

Jefferson ignored it and continued, "Like that time when you got a paper cut and you made such a fuss you sent me into a blind panic thinking that you'd cut your finger off."

He heard Grace laugh upon recalling that event. It hadn't been funny to her at the time, but it was one of those stories which always got a laugh from her with hindsight.

"And I actually had a bullet-proof vest on, so more fool him for jumping in front of that bullet," Jefferson continued light-heartedly.

He hadn't. He and August both knew all too well that he hadn't, but Grace didn't need to know that. The scenario he had placed in her head seemed to calm her worries as she let out a light laugh. Jefferson smiled as he listened to her. He could never not smile at that laugh.

"So… you're safe?" Grace asked tentatively.

"Yes, sweetie, I'm safe," Jefferson assured her. "And you, my dear Grace, are up far past your bedtime so you go to sleep, dream about tea parties and unicorns, and I'll be there when you wake in the morning."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"I've got a woman on the phone who's insisting she speaks to you."

"Go ahead, put her through," August instructed, leaning back in his chair as he heard the click which signified that she had, in face, been put through. "Detective August Booth."

"It's about damn time!"

The woman on the other side sounded not only exasperated but extremely irritated. He had a feeling he'd let himself into a very long phone call.

"Do you know how many different departments I've been transferred to? I've been on this phone for about half an hour and don't even get me started on how long it took t o get through in the first place. Considering two people who shared my name were murdered today, you'd think there'd be a little more urgency."

August immediately sat upright in his chair.

"Emma Swan?" he presumed.

Jefferson's head snapped over to him the moment he heard the name. He was up from his chair and stalking over in an instant.

"Give me the phone," Jefferson demanded, making a reach for it.

"Yes!" the woman on the phone confirmed at the same time, then immediately snapped, "Don't even think about transferring me!"

August swatted Jefferson's hand away, an action which went unappreciated by the other man who shot him one of his signature glares in response. August was far too familiar with it for it to have any effect on him.

"I assure you, Miss Swan, I would never. You have my full attention," August informed her as Jefferson narrowed his eyes at him and settled into a hard stare.

"Good. I had this weird encounter with a guy. He was telling me all this stuff about machines and other science-fiction nonsense. I think he might need help. But he had a gun so he could be a suspect, right?"

"Did he try to use the gun?" August questioned, the man's possession of a firearm being the biggest thing he took from Emma's statement.

He earned himself a questioning look from Jefferson who was struggling to follow the conversation without hearing Emma's side of it.

"He didn't have the chance. I realized the guy was following me, so I punched him and then I saw the gun, so I held him at gunpoint. Which was totally self-defense."

"Uhh," August struggled for words as he blinked back his surprise at her recount of events. She sounded so calm, speaking so casually, almost like it was just another Saturday night for her. "Do you have eyes on him now?"

"No. I kept his gun and threatened to use it should he follow me. I haven't seen him since."

"Right, can you give me a description? I can make sure patrol cars are on the look out for him," August replied.

"Black hair, blue eyes, someone where around five foot ten, five foot eleven," she reported as August grabbed a pen from the pot on his desk and scrawled down the details onto a post-it note. "He's wearing all black and he's missing his left hand."

"Great, that's perfect," August told her. "Do you want to tell us where you are? We'll come get you, take you somewhere safe and get your official statement. Though it does sound like you've been doing a very good job of looking after yourself as it is."

"Even so, police backup would sure be appreciated. I'm at the Rabbit Hole bar. You know it?"

"I know it," August confirmed. "Just stay in the public area and we'll be with you shortly."

The line went dead. August looked at Jefferson and Robin who were both watching him expectantly, Robin from the desk opposite and Jefferson from where he stood towering above August in his chair.

Still not quite processing everything he had been told, August let out a light chuckle before telling them, "I think our man might just have met his match."

Killian sat at the bar, his fingers running absent-mindedly over his split lip as he watched Emma return the phone to its hook and take a seat at a small, empty table right in the corner of the room.

"She won't know how to fight or defend herself, not against the machine, at least."

The warning from the General had been a subtle one and Killian really would have appreciated a 'she knows how to throw a punch and won't be afraid to hold you at gunpoint.' Perhaps then he would have been a little more prepared and not stood there at a loss for words only to proceed to dive into the reality of her situation with a bloody combobulated mess of an explanation which left her believing nothing except that he was out of his damn mind. It was certainly not the first impression he had been hoping for. In his head, he was going to be the dashing hero, sweeping in last minute to save her from a machine hellbent on murdering her. Instead, he was some creepy stalker resigned to a raving lunatic the moment he was challenged.

He had learned his lesson. The Emma Swan he had been sent to protect may be young and lack any knowledge of the machines, but she certainly wasn't to be messed with. The General had told him that the battle-hardened warrior he'd heard about in all the stories had been born in a blaze of fire but, from his day of surveillance, Killian could see the foundations were already there. She could throw a punch and she clearly knew how to handle a gun. The weapon had been steady in her hand. It had not been her first time holding one and Killian had seen, from the steely look in her eyes, that she hadn't been afraid to use if he pushed her to.

The encounter had pushed him to be more inconspicuous. He had stayed back, positioning himself right by the corner of the building, peeking through the window for the best time to sneak inside. Emma, however, knew exactly what she was doing. At the payphone, she had taken up the advantageous position of backing herself against the wall, giving her a line of sight on the door as well as the entirety of the room. He had been forced to be patient, to wait until she looked away – for a few seconds to mess with buttons on the phone – to duck inside and take up the most discreet position possible at the bar.

He stopped himself from staring at her, which was a hell of a task in itself. As beautiful as she looked in the photograph his younger self had treasured of her, he had discovered that it didn't do her justice. Seeing her in person, all flesh and blood, and full of life was an entirely different ballgame. She drew him in, captivating him in a way he had never felt before. It was thrilling and yet entirely reckless at the same time. He needed to be alert to his surroundings, it was vital if he were to succeed in protecting her, and yet she was so bloody distracting.

Nevertheless, he forced himself against staring, using all his willpower to avoid the temptation. He had a mission and he had already screwed up in gaining her trust. He couldn't afford to push her away any further. So, each time she glanced in his general direction, his gaze would instantly drop to inspect the grain of wood which made up the bar. It was far from an interesting sight, but it kept his presence unknown. Even in a crowded bar with very few tables available, Emma had managed to claim a seat at the table with the most optimal view of the entire bar. She scanned the room again, remaining vigilant, and forcing Killian to duck his head down once more.

He gave it a few seconds, not risking looking up too soon, before he lifted his head. His eyes went wide at the sight which befell him when he did. Emma stared up at a tall, muscular figure with wild light brown hair and cold, blue eyes staring down at her. The figure held a laser-sighted handgun, pointing it straight at her.

The Huntsman.

Killian immediately jumped on top of the bar, pulling out the gun which had been concealed under his jacket. His actions were far from subtle, sending the crowd in the bar into a state of disarray. Screams rang out, the thumping music cut out, and people started running in a blind panic. The erratic movements of the crowd gave him no clear shot on the machine which allowed the Huntsman to get its own shot off. Its aim was, fortunately, thrown off by a man colliding with it, in the stampede which had developed.

The collision gave Emma the opportunity she needed to make a run for it. She threw herself into the crowd and made a dash for the door, blending in well. With most of the patrons moving for the door, Killian finally got the opportunity for a shot on the Huntsman. Not wasting his chance, he fired, hitting the machine right in its shoulder. He knew the primitive weapon would do no real damage, but the impact alone sent the machine jerking forwards into the table. The action was also successful in gaining the attention of the machine for himself, taking it off Emma and providing her with a greater chance to escape.

As the machine turned, rounding on him, Killian dove for cover behind the bar. A series of shots rang out in quick succession, firing into the bar. Wood splintered off the counter and bottles of alcohol smashed as they were hit by stray bullets. Killian ducked his head and was forced to scramble to his left as glass thrashed down upon him from the shelves above.

The shots relinquished.

Cautiously, Killian poked his head up over the top of the bar. His blue eyes landed on the Huntsman immediately. The machine had its back to him. It had lost interest in him, regaining its focus on its mission.

On Emma.

The woman had disappeared amongst the crowd but blending in amongst innocence did nothing to stop the machine. It didn't care about collateral damage; it was prepared to do anything to achieve its mission. It fired into the crowd of people scrambling to get out of the narrow door. The crowd dispersed quickly with screams of panic the moment the shots started firing, diving for cover behind tables and booths.

Killian's hearth instantly leapt into his mouth when he witnessed a blonde woman take a hit in her back. She hit the floor hard. If Emma died, if he failed his mission, then the future of humanity would have no hope. With no one to rally humanity to rise up against them, the machines would inevitably wipe them all out. Blood poured out of the woman's wound, leaking onto her black jacket, that particular detail hitting Killian with momentary relief. Emma was wearing a red jacket. He had watched her put it on earlier in the evening.

The relief didn't last long. There was the panic as he struggled to find her amongst the crowd of screaming people and then the dread which came when he did spot her. She was knocked to the ground, her leg pinned under the weight of the blonde woman who had been shot in the back. Flashes of being pinned to the ground by Liam's lifeless body hit Killian like a ton of bricks. The inevitability of death he had felt in that very moment surged over him once again as he watched the Huntsman approach the restrained Emma.

History repeating.

"No," he growled under his breath as he launched himself to his feet.

Machines had killed his brother. He would not let them take Emma from him, not when he had only just met her. Not ever. He vaulted over the bar, firing a shot from his gun straight into the machine's head. It jerked on impact, the bullet tearing through the fake flesh, a trail of blood trickling out of the bullet hole created and revealing the metal components which made up the endoskeleton underneath.

The Huntsman rounded on him once more, but this time Killian made no dash for cover. He ploughed forward, firing all the ammunition he had straight into the chest of the machine. The force of the bullets sent the Huntsman flying backwards, smashing through the bar windows and landing on its back on the street.

It lay there. Motionless.

Killian knew it was only a matter of time before it was back on its feet. The onslaught of bullets had bought them only a few seconds and they had to make the most of it. The police riot gun in his hand useless without ammunition, Killian tossed it to the side. He darted over to Emma, pushing the body off her leg and freeing her from the fresh corpse's entrapment.

He threw out his hand, as she stared up at him in a daze of bewilderment, and he urged, "Come with me if you want to live."

For a split second, it was the dashing hero moment he had been imagining. Until it wasn't. For there was no appreciative taking of his hand. His outstretched arm lingered as she stared up at him, still dazed, with a hint of distrust and confusion in her eyes. His image remained tainted by that bloody first impression of him. In the corner of his eye, Killian caught sight of the machine slowly rising into a sitting position. There was no time to talk her into trusting him and no time to wait for her to accept his help – in that case, he was damn sure they'd be waiting at least a year. They'd both be dead, long before she came to trust him.

They had to move.

He grabbed ahold of her wrist, giving her very little say in the matter, as he used his strength to haul her onto her feet. They had to fun, to use back door of the establishment to evade the machine and put as much distance between them and the Huntsman as possible. He started to pull her along with him when she forcibly pulled her arm free of his grip, stopping him in his tracks before he could take more than a couple of steps.

"Bloody hell, Swan!" Killian exclaimed. "Are you trying to get us killed? We need to run like hell!"

"We don't need to do anything," Emma responded, looking remarkably like she was insisting on staying put.

Killian could immediately see where General Swan got her stubbornness from. As far as he was concerned, two could play at that bloody game.

"Fine!" Killian threw his arms up in exasperation. "I just saved your life, but you stay here with the blasted machine programmed to obliterate you!"

He gestured to the Huntsman out in the street, which was slowly and ominously rising to its feet, shaking off the onslaught of bullets like it had simply been blown over by a gust of wind. The holes in its chest, exposing the metal endoskeleton underneath, were the only sign that it had come under fire of bullets.

Emma glanced at it, gaping at the impossible sight before her, "How?"

"Does it bloody matter how?" Killian shot back.

The machine's head turned, fixing its attention on them again. Killian's blue eyes locked with its cold blue ones momentarily, each daring the other to just try and succeed in their mission, both arrogantly confident in their own ability to accomplish what they had travelled back in time to do.

The Huntsman started to move towards the entrance and Killian flung himself back to action.

"Move, Swan!"