Holy shit balls this took so freaking long! Like wow okay, a couple of months later and here we are? But I think you'll all be happy to know I compensated for the time in between updates by making this one a huge ass update (we're talking biggest update of any story I have ever posted ever). So, yeah.

I've read through it fifty times but I'm sure there is stuff I've missed - I'll go through it again in the morning! (If I've made any major mistakes, please just PM me and I'll fix it or explain it ASAP)

Thank you so much for sticking with this. I cannot thank you enough for all your support and we've still got a chapter to go and then... well, I wouldn't exactly say it's over just yet. Enjoy.

Last time on Provocateur: In Pennsylvania, a trio of killers has been shooting women executional style. Of the three murderers, the leader is the most aggressive and they believe he committed a similar, unplanned crime leading up to the spree. They also believe that, based on the M.O., the women are substituting his mother. Meanwhile, in the wake of their successful trial result, the tension between Emma and Killian finally boiled over, manifesting in them sleeping together. With their relationship irrevocably shifted, both are trying to sift through what this means for them: though it is obvious that Killian would like to initiate a relationship, Emma is reluctant to compromise their case by discussing it. Especially when they've got a new colleague, Agent Fa Mulan, who has more than a few secrets herself.

"What've you got for us, Red?" Killian asked as Emma made herself comfortable on the edge of the large table. The precinct was quieter in the early hours of the morning. The only sound that echoed in the small space was that of the metal-footed chairs scraping against the linoleum floor as everyone took their respective seats.

On the laptop in the middle of the table, Ruby waited until everyone was settled to begin, rapping her red-stained fingernails against her desk impatiently. Since Killian had posed the question, her answer was directed at him, her typically sunny attitude undiminished by the earliness of the hour or her digital presentation. With her signature Cheshire cat grin, she replied, "Anything and everything you can imagine, baby."

David rolled his eyes, tilting the computer's monitor in his direction. At his left, Killian smirked, staying obediently silent when his superior suggested with just a touch of impatience, "How about you start with the list of potential first victims."

There was a distinctly challenging glint in Ruby's eye as she recognised the tetchiness laced into his tone.

"You're no fun, cowboy."

The pet name had their Unit Chief stiffening like a wooden board and Ruby chortled. An offhand comment made in the early stages of their journey to Pennsylvania floated around Emma's head; something the tech analyst had said about a photo from the man's senior rodeo? That it had the ability to prompt David to return the screen to its previous position facing Killian was a sign of it's sway over him. He almost looked like a dog with its tail between its legs, and that alone was enough to pique Emma's interest.

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips at the conjured image of an adolescent David in a cowboy hat and chaps. She made a note to ask Mary Margaret about it next time they were together.

"Come on, Ruby – you wouldn't have called if you didn't have anything," Phillip insisted gently. Sensing his rapidly growing impatience (and sympathising with it), Ruby needed no additional encouragement, diving into the information with an exaggerated (only slightly mocking) salutation.

"So I did a little search on all the unsolved murders in the months leading up to these murders involving women who were killed with what I'm assuming was a level of spontaneity; strangulations, beatings, stabbings with unconventional objects," she gestured cursorily, "you know the drill."

Leaning forward in her seat, there was a gleam of morbid satisfaction in her wide brown eyes.

"Then I narrowed it down to women with similar physical characteristics to the current victims. Then I narrowed the age bracket and voila," she slammed her palms down on her desk victoriously, "I give you three potential first victims: Sarah Marone, Deirdre Waters and Charlotte Bryner. Their digital files are waiting in your inbox but the station should have the physical copies on hand since they're relatively recent cases."

David turned towards the local deputy, Georgia, who was leaning against the wall behind him, "Do you think we could get a hold of those?"

Georgia nodded, exiting the room with David. Emma stood from her perch and was about to make her way over to the white board when Mulan's consternated expression caught her attention.

Her angular eyebrows were crunched together, brown eyes drawn to the table as she visibly mulled over something.

The blonde paused.

"Something on your mind, Agent Fa?"

Mulan shook her head numbly, the tightness of her features holding true, "I'm just thinking… well, are we certain that the first victim fell into every bracket of the others?"

Killian rotated in his chair to face her, "What do you mean?"

"The first kill was spontaneous – we're sure of that much. But… if it was an impulsive kill would it still have been the alpha's ideal brunette, mid-twenties victim?" she speculated, raising her eyes to flit between Killian's curious regard and Emma's blatant exasperation.

Emma was unable to restrain the ice in her tone.

"If you want to look through every single case file that involved a spontaneous kill, go right ahead but we're on a tight schedule."

As expected, Killian's head snapped in her direction, a warning flashing in his glacial eyes. But Emma never dropped Mulan's gaze, holding it steadily as the other woman tapered her eyes in silent assessment. In the quiet that followed, Emma took the opportunity to return the favour, scrutinising Mulan with equally merciless precision: right-handed, meticulously ironed suit, proud owner of a pristine briefcase with minimal wear and tear, favouring on the left side of her torso…

Mulan broke the silence, maintaining eye contact as she tried for something more placating, "I was just… unsure."

Henry, it seemed, had also been paying attention because, before Emma could utter another word, he was aptly explaining the reason to the rhyme. While he spoke, she seized the opportunity to shoot a half-hearted glare at Killian, reigning in the overwhelming urge to poke her tongue out (she definitely saw his lips twitch upwards in amusement like he could hear her wrangling down that particular reaction).

"While the first kill was spontaneous," Henry began, "we know the alpha has a particular affinity – for whatever reason – for these women. So, it's safe to presume that he's naturally drawn to brunettes in their mid-twenties of similar ethnicities and has been for the majority of his adult life. Furthermore, since he's ruled by his darker emotions, the first victim would have done something that set him off – reminded him why he houses such a fierce vendetta against the woman who these victims are replacing in his mind. She, intentionally or not, was the catalyst for this spree. She made him realise how good it felt to physicalise the festering rage for his mother."

Reclining back in her chair, Mulan nodded, "My apologies – you make a good argument, Agent Simmons."

Henry smiled tightly, shrugging and returning to his work.

Just then, David re-entered the room with Georgia, a short stack of manila envelopes in hand. They put them down and slid one to each of the team members gathered at the table. Emma caught hers deftly and lifted it to read the victim's name printed on the front in bold lettering: Sarah Marone. Before any of the folders could be opened, one of the local officers appeared at the door.

"We've got another victim," the stout man announced grimly, "They've already sent the body to the Medical Examiner but the crime scene is still pretty fresh if your people want to take a look."

David worried his brow with his forefinger and thumb.

Placing the stack of papers back on the table, Emma was already moving when the Unit Chief ordered without looking up, "Killian, Emma – you two go check out the crime scene. I'll go to the M.E.'s office. Everyone else keep brainstorming."

The poor guy was the embodiment of frustration. He always hated when they accrued a new victim while they were assigned to a case. As a person skilled in the laborious art of people-reading, Emma knew it was because it made him feel personally responsible.

Standing, she caught Killian's eye as she moved towards the door. The reproachful edge to his expression was unmistakable; he was going to berate her for picking yet another petty fight with Mulan. But really, it wasn't entirely her fault. Mulan had an unnatural propensity for criticism. Combined that with Emma's notoriously over-protective nature, disaster was inevitable. And Killian knew that. So it shouldn't have been surprising to him that Mulan's scepticism was wearing a hole in her already dangerously thin tolerance levels.

They'd reached the other side of the parking lot where the sedans were parked, hidden by the masses of black, when he caught a hold of her elbow and pulled her around to a stop. She cut him off before he could start; hands balanced on her hips.

"I know what you're going to say."

He cocked an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest and leaning on the car, "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

Heaving a sigh, Emma shook her head and began to speak, "That I'm being ridiculous –"

"I wouldn't have put it quite so gently –"

"- And that I need to give her a chance –"

"- I'd have said you're being unnecessarily hostile and a right prig –"

"- But you can't expect me not to get shitty when some stranger comes in and tries to act like she knows everything -"

"- But ridiculous works too."

Her mouth pulled into a taut line. His own twisted into an infuriating smirk.

She glared up at him, heedless of his attempt to draw the humour out of the situation. A small part of her (yes, small) admitted that he was right in some aspects. She was treating Mulan with an unprecedented level of caution and, by extension, malevolence. But he also wasn't taking her seriously. At least, it didn't seem like it – not when he was so obviously enjoying her irritation if the gleam in his eyes was anything to go by.

Never dropping his gaze, she tilted her head to the side just so, silently warning him against any further wise-cracks. He exhaled a deep sigh in acquiescence.

If there was one thing she hated, it was feeling like her opinion was invalid or unfounded (growing up with people telling you that constantly tended to instil that in a person).

Emma gave him a curt nod and moved around him to get into the driver's side of the car.

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I think she's shifty too?" he offered as she reversed out of the parking lot, and she glanced in his direction to see that he had turned in his seat to face her.

She was silent for a long moment. His face dropped in response to her non-answer, a suitable degree of concern making itself known. He knew better than anyone that making jokes out of things that were important to her was an innately bad move. Deciding she had let him squirm enough, she let her lips tilt up just barely when she answered, "Yes. That would."

A smirk worked its way across his mouth.

"What if I told you it's partially because she is partial to ding dongs?"

Rolling her eyes, Emma scoffed, "What's wrong with ding dongs? I like ding dongs."

"I'm so disappointed in you."

"They're nice."

"They're disgusting."

"You're disgusting."

He cocked an eyebrow in her direction, "There are people on the other side of the planet who saw that one coming, darling."

Without ever fully deciding to, she cracked a smile as the lingering tension dissipated from the car, leaving a kind of lightness in its absence that she couldn't say she disliked. In fact, it was a welcome change from the heavy burden of the outside world.

Their banter spanned the length of the car ride to the crime scene.

And for the second time that week, they found themselves traipsing through greenery after a khaki-clad park ranger who had no qualms about practically flying across the strenuous terrain. Unsurprisingly, the two FBI agents were not nearly as familiar with it and stumbled multiple times. Struggling to keep up, Emma and Killian exchanged the occasional look of shared hatred until, mercifully, they reached their destination.

Panting, Emma surveyed the small clearing as she caught her breath.

It wasn't a clearing so much as a miniature expanse of land where the tree population was less dense. At her right, a collection of small orange flags earmarked where the victim had been dragged through the foliage towards her final destination, some of the shrubbery broken and torn from where they had hauled her resisting limbs. The park-ranger narrated some of the other flags' significance and left shortly thereafter.

At the park ranger's departure, Emma trudged over to where Killian was kneeling on the ground, his fingers hovering over some disturbed dirt. He looked up when she approached. His gaze drifted along the ground to where the hard-packed earth was stained with blood – the victim's final resting place.

"She moved," Killian muttered, standing up and walking to stand over the dark stain that marked the victim's demise.

And he was right - the dirt, though disturbed in places by careless officers, showed a clear path.

"She wasn't dragged, these are footsteps." Emma said, and walked alongside the makeshift goldilocks trail, "She walked towards one of the un-subs of her own volition."

Just then, Killian's phone began to vibrate. As he retrieved the device to answer it, she made her way slowly back to the place where the woman had initially been kneeling, several feet away from the blood stain, stooping down so that she was in an almost identical bowing position.

There was the familiar click of Killian closing his phone and she looked up to watch him replace the item in his pocket. As he did, he turned to her, "David's on his way back from the M.E's office now, he said there was a muzzle burn on her chest. The other victims were shot with at least feet separating them from the weapon – this time the victim was shot at point blank range."

"That doesn't surprise me, what with this little journey," Emma gestured to the scuffle marks where the victim had stumbled over to her murderer.

"And she didn't show any offensive wounds so she wasn't charging him," he added.

"Why wouldn't she have put up a fight? They certainly struggled to drag her here so it's not as though she was willing to lie down and die," she pointed in the general direction of the little orange flags marking their entry point. Flexing her fingers, she focused on the movement and closed her eyes to think, "More importantly, why did the un-sub let her get close enough for there to have been a muzzle burn?"

It was too personal – even for the Alpha who held the personal vendetta. As a dominant personality, he wanted the women on their knees (submissive, subservient, beneath him, denigrating them in every way). Unless his priorities had shifted – which was unlikely but still vaguely possible – he would not have wanted them standing eye-to-eye in front of him; that would constitute equal footing.

There was a tangle of theoretical strings lodging itself in the space behind her eyes, a headache forming in its stead. Tugging at the end of a thread, she made an attempt to weave the possible answers into some braid of coherency.

Emma stood from where she had been crouched on the ground, "Okay, so you're one of the un-subs and I'm the victim. I move towards you from over here." She proceeded to follow the trail that the victim had left, walking slowly until she was standing directly in front of Killian. Reaching out for his hand, she shaped his fingers into a makeshift gun and pressed the tip against her sternum, "and your gun is pressed right around here."

His eyes flickered up from where she held his wrist, an incongruous heat residing in their icy blue depths.

She swallowed thickly, dismissing the way her skin sparked under his touch despite the fabric barrier of her shirt. Their eyes locked and she could see that he was thinking the same thing; recalling the way he'd kissed that same spot, drawn lines across her bare skin with that same hand, nosed the same dip between her breasts with a reverence unsuited to the carnal act that had followed.

If he noticed the way her grip on his wrist tightened when the thoughts crossed her mind in a collection of vivid images, he said nothing.

They snapped out of the transitory haze at the same time, and she could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly. It didn't, however, dispel the way the air practically crackled around them.

"What was she doing?" she asked, internally reprimanding herself for letting her thoughts drift away from the case – even momentarily. He frowned thoughtfully as his eyes dipped back to where the 'gun' was being held.

"Maybe he told her to come here – our un-subs could be evolving?" he suggested, but even he sounded unconvinced. Emma shook her head.

"No, I don't think so."

They were both silent, each contemplating the underlying reason for such a dramatic change in M.O. Her eyes drifted around the clearing.

When the latent solution finally appeared in her head, she returned her attention to Killian with wide eyes, startling him enough that he met her gaze instantly.

"What if she decided that the best way to get out of this was to beg for her life? She would have wanted full-frontal eye-contact to make it harder for him to kill her."

"But why would she have thought that? Why didn't the other victims think they had a chance begging for their life?"

"They all knew they wouldn't get close enough to beg."

"So what's the difference here? Why could she approach him this time?" Killian asked, still with a note of justifiable hesitation.

Emma looked over her shoulder to where the victim's final steps were marked, following them to where she was standing and finally looking up to his face. She could visualise the killer's fear, the guilt written clearly across his youthful features as he held a firearm, trembling, to the woman's chest as she pleaded for her life. Coming back to herself, she was met with an expression of probing anticipation.

"I think we've got the Middle Man's first kill."

His eyes widened the same way hers had only moments ago. Killian nodded, "The other two were probably getting worried that he didn't have as much to lose. They would have wanted him to make a kill so he was on the same footing as them… In fact, he would have expressed some kind of reluctance to go through with it at the last moment and our victim took that opportunity. But, for whatever reason, he shot her anyway."

"You know what this means though?" she said eagerly, "If he was reluctant, and was forced to do it anyway, the team dynamic may be dissolving."

He leaned closer, "We need to release a statement and –"

"– Drive a bigger wedge between them," she finished, her lips tilting up of their own volition. His mouth ticked up with the same triumphant glee. And as a second passed and then another and they stayed there – facing each other, smirking like idiots, with her holding his fingers against her sternum – the tension returned tenfold. Every nerve ending that was in contact with him prickled but she couldn't bring herself to let go of his wrist (she'd maintained a firm purchase on it for the duration of their exchange), let alone look away.

They were so closely positioned, his breath fanned out warmly across her face.

Scrounging up every sliver of willpower left in her body, Emma released her grip on his wrist and took two long deliberate steps back.

The words felt clumsy in her mouth when she turned around to head back to the car, "Let's go."

8888

"We think we found the first kill," Henry informed the two agents as soon as they entered the room, sliding the manila envelope across the table towards them. The kid was writing notes on the whiteboard that looked to be the case details of the initial victim.

Killian picked up the folder as Emma explained their hypothesis about the Middle Man's first kill to the team. She reiterated the details first; that the woman was shot in immediate proximity, that she had no offensive wounds so it clearly hadn't been a rushed attempt to fight back, that the killer had allowed her to approach him before finally gunning her down, that her eyes were deliberately closed. Then she explained their theory, noting the way everyone (Mulan included, for once) was nodding in soundless agreement.

"So, Killian and I think we should try to expand on that wedge coming between them by making a press release, maybe get the most recent victim's parents to say something? If the Middle Man is feeling guilty, it might drive him to turn himself in," Emma finished, taking the file from Killian when he offered it to her.

"That explains the foreign lacrimal fluid the M.E. found on the victim's face," Henry said, mostly to himself, unfolding his arms and pacing around to sit on the edge of the table.

At Emma and Killian's questioning glance, Phillip elucidated for the kid, "The M.E. found DNA that wasn't the victim's on her cheek – tears that weren't hers. I'm guessing the Middle Man really didn't want to do it and cried when he was closing her eyes." The two agents nodded in understanding, familiar with and unashamed by the need for Henry's words to be expounded. It was a regular enough occurrence.

"So why did he shoot her if he clearly didn't want to?" David, scratching his chin, questioned, "Why didn't he just let her go? Tell her to run or something – he was the one with the gun."

Emma shrugged, briefly looking up from the folder in her hands, "Probably knew that if he didn't do it, his mates would."

Focusing on the sheets under her fingers, she absorbed the details of the first victim. The woman, Sarah Marone, was a thirty-two year-old with the same physical attributes as the others who'd been strangled to death and was found hidden in a collection of bushes. It was unknown where she was killed, only that her murder had occurred at a separate, undisclosed location. Her friends, according to the report, had said that, on the evening of her death, she was on a date with an unidentified guy she'd been seeing casually. As she held up the accompanying photo, Emma winced. The bruises that ringed her neck were dark and shaped ominously to mirror the lines of someone's outstretched palms.

Closing the manila envelope and dropping it on the desk, she fell into a chair beside Killian as Henry explicated their additional findings over the course of the morning.

"As you can see, we managed to narrow it down to Sarah Marone – as you've read, she fits every calling card of our alpha. Her oesophagus was crushed from the force of the un-sub's hands so he was clearly enraged. She must have said or done something to make him snap. But her record was squeaky clean - no outstanding arrests or restraining orders, no activity that suggests she should have been in this guys crosshairs. Hell, her digital profile was clean. But then, while I was sifting through some stuff from her youth, I noticed she'd had some interaction with an adoption agency about fifteen years before her death – it was just about the only thing she'd ever done that was remotely scandalous."

Emma watched the kid point to his own handwriting on the white board, sureness etched into every sharp gesture as he spoke at an increasingly rapid pace.

"Ruby did some digging and found out Miss Marone had fallen pregnant when she was nineteen and gave the baby up for adoption for unknown reasons. Paired with the fact that the victim's are supposed to be substituting his mother - we think this might have been the trigger. We believe she may have unintentionally mentioned it to him while they were on a date –"

Killian interrupted, eyebrows raised, "So was the Alpha was set off by her leaving a child for adoption or having a child out of wedlock?"

"We believe the former – if the Alpha was adopted, he may have spent his life in the foster system and grown up resenting his adoptive mother. If that's the case, hearing a successful and happy woman unintentionally dismissing the existence of her child may have set him off and led to this spree," Phillip said, his gaze shifting awkwardly in Emma's direction at the mention of the foster system.

Killian's eyes flitted towards her as well. She ground her teeth together in an attempt to ward off the instinctive ache in her chest, redirecting the attention from her less-than-stellar past with a question.

"But the other victims haven't shown any indication that they'd had children let alone given them up for adoption?"

Henry pointed at her, "Exactly. So we think it's his way of preventing it. He kills these women to take his rage out on his mother but also because he believes he's saving their future unwanted children from the same miserable life that he had."

Rubbing her forehead, she leant forward to place her elbows on the table as Killian asked, "Why would he kill in a pack though? What's their angle to all this? I mean, especially the Middle Man – it would take some pretty heavy leverage to get him to be doing this if he's remorseful enough over a murder to cry."

"That's the part we were discussing when you came in," Mulan responded, her gaze making a circuit around the room before landing on David as he spoke.

"What if the Alpha convinced him he was partly responsible for the first death?" he suggested.

"What?"

"Well," Phillip cut in, "The Alpha might have found a way to place some blame on the Middle Man. He's a submissive personality so it wouldn't have been too difficult to manipulate him to be his partner – either that or he made the Middle Man think Sarah Marone's murder was some kind of convoluted bonding experience."

"And the Loyal Lieutenant?" Emma asked.

Again, Phillip answered in a pensive tone, "He's in it purely for the thrill - he's a sadist, he just wants to kill and maim. In fact, based on the level of devotion, he probably idolises the Alpha."

With a shrug, he turned his stare outwards on the room. David stood and moved to slap Phillip good-naturedly on the back, "Can you pull together a statement that will separate the Middle Man from the pack?"

Phillip nodded.

"Of course."

8888

It only took a day for Phillip's broadcast to take effect, his impassioned words striking deep enough that the station received a call from the local hospital a mere 24 hours after the statement aired. Emma was milling around the coffee machines when David exited their small makeshift headquarters, phone and jacket in hand, and pointed to her.

"Come with me," he told her briskly, throwing the car keys in her direction and never slowing his rapid gait towards the door, "the local hospital just called - a hit-and-run victim was just brought in claiming he's behind the recent murders." With wide eyes, she set down the styrofoam cup in her hand, catching the keys with her free hand and jogging to sidle up to him as he exited the precinct.

"You think it's the middle man?" she asked, looking over her shoulder to where Killian and the others were now moving around their designated room in a flurry of activity. It wasn't often that she accompanied David on leads, and quite abruptly she felt as though he may have had an ulterior motive for singling her out. Usually he took one of the others, or sent her with Killian. She made her way towards the driver's side, an unshakable feeling of trepidation creeping up over her. As she jumped in, he shrugged and nodded in the direction of the road.

"Only one way to find out."

Still anxious, she pulled out onto the highway. It was a straight drive to the medical centre and, with her attention drifting, she glanced at her superior several times.

What if he knew about her and Killian? Would he reprimand her on the innumerable issues of conflicting agendas that it would introduce, not to mention the breaches in workplace conduct? Did he isolate her to confront her about letting her emotions cloud her judgement on the job? Emma had never been a very self-conscious person but in that moment, she might as well have been a teenage girl about to get admonished by her disapproving father for fraternising with a boy.

The silence, though it had realistically only been about five minutes, was already wearing thin on her tender nerves when he broke it in a cheery tone.

"You and Killian are working better together this case," he commented lightly, turning to look at her.

Emma just about swallowed her tongue.

"Yeah, I guess - uh - the near-death experience sort of just made us closer," she responded with a careless shrug, trying to gage whether he was using a double entendre. David didn't seem like the type - the man was too blunt to be subtle.

"So it should have," he replied seriously, "I know you two were on rocky ground before everything went down."

"I guess. Yeah."

"I think it's sobered him up a bit - I haven't seen him make one crude comment this entire trip. It's weird," David added. His puzzled tone made Emma's hands clench on the wheel and again, an overload of concerns began whizzing frantically within the dome of her skull. Staring at the road, she couldn't help wondering if maybe Killian's docile behaviour would set them off?

He had deliberately avoided making crass commentary thus far for the sole purpose of avoiding an awkward confrontation; she knew that he was merely doing what she wanted. However, it occurred to her that maybe his altered attitude was going to alert them more than anything. For the time being they might have assumed it was linked to his encounter with Neal and the proximity with which he'd danced with death. But that wouldn't last forever.

She made a mental note to talk to him about it. She was already dreading the conversation and his predictably lecherous smirk when she explained that he had to make more innuendos.

David's voice jolted her back to the car, the concern etched into his words alarming her more than their previous topic of conversation had.

"So, how are you holding up?"

Emma shot him a sidelong glance, "Sorry?"

His face fell in exasperation, "You went through some pretty heavy stuff and you never went to Katherine to talk about it. So I want to know if you're still okay?"

It heartened her - it really did. It was just…

Well, she just wasn't the type of woman to have an emotional break down. Not yet, anyway. Logistically, she knew she was destined for one eventually; her momentary neurosis at Neal's mansion was evidence enough to the point. But now was not the time, and though her nerves were certainly still frayed, and her heart still ached when she thought about Graham, she was not about to collapse. Or at least she didn't feel like she was about to.

In fact, she was somewhat surprised with how well she'd handled being back in the field.

Then again, repression was a skill of hers.

Emma adopted her best expression of nonchalance.

"I'm fine - really."

"I know you'll say that," he replied instantly with a long-suffering sigh, "But you should know that if you want to talk, I'm always here. We're all here. You went through hell, Emma - and that… that's not just something you brush off. So when you're ready…" He let his voice drift off, the offer for support left unspoken.

She realised, as her heart squeezed in her chest, that this was the reason he'd asked her to accompany him. Because he wanted to check up on her, let her know that she had a support network ready when she needed it.

Emma smiled softly at David.

"Thanks," she turned back to the road and pulled into the hospital's parking mezzanine, "But I'm good. Really."

He nodded, clearly unconvinced, but nonetheless dropped it.

They moved quickly through the sterile halls, arriving at a small sectioned off room courtesy of some directions from the ward clerk. When they reached the pale blue curtains separating Leigh Henderson's room from the rest of the hall, they briefly explained their presence to the nurses on duty. In return, the nurses described Henderson's prognosis of an inability to verbally respond, David pulled back the curtains and Emma walked directly towards the bed where the young man was lying, semi-reclined, on a hospital bed. Wires and needles were attached to seemingly every extremity on his person, bordered by several machines charting the progression of his miserable life, tolling out methodical tunes.

His face was a mangled mess of swollen, bruised skin and stitches, his mouth covered by an oxygen mask. Entering the room, Emma threw a look over her shoulder at David.

The nurses were right: he wasn't going to be able to answer their questions with any level of coherency.

They would be lucky to get anything out of this guy while he was in this state.

They approached him quietly, sidling up to the hospital bed and waiting until he caught sight of them to speak. He went rigid the moment the Unit Chief pulled out his badge and introduced them both, his barely recognisable slit of an eye widening.

"You told the nurses that you were involved in the recent murders?" Emma asked with raised eyebrows.

Leigh nodded, just barely, but enough for them both to catch.

"You were hit by a car, right?"

Another nod, and a sliver of fear in his eyes that spoke volumes.

"Was it deliberate?" David asked, voicing her suspicions.

Leigh stared straight into her colleague's eyes as he nodded slowly.

"Were you working with two other men in the murders? Are they the ones who did this to you?" Emma inquired, watching carefully as he turned his head just ever so slightly towards her and nodded twice. She shared a meaningful glance with David, who regained Leigh's attention. Apparently, his mind was working on the same frequency as hers because he asked the same question that had been circling her mind since the moment this kid had told them the hit-and-run was intentional.

"Did you shoot the most recent victim?"

A lone tear seeped out of Leigh's barely recognisable eyes, running down the side of his mangled face. The shame was tangible when he finally nodded, confirming one thing: he was the middle man. The one who didn't want to be involved.

And they could use that to their advantage - especially since he had clearly been excommunicated from his supposed allies.

"Okay, now this part is really important Leigh," Emma began, leaning down towards him, imitating sympathy, "We need to know if your friends have already picked another victim?"

Dread settled in her stomach - Leigh nodded, his eyes dilating in what she could only describe as mingled horror and unease. Then, with much effort, he brought his bandaged hand up to the oxygen mask. She and David both watched him, confused, until they realised that his fumbling fingers were trying to pull it away from his mouth.

His breath was coming in short, sharp pants as he finally managed to withdraw the cupped plastic. Accommodating him, Emma and David both leaned down so they were close enough to hear his barely discernible voice.

Emma pulled back and shook her head, "Jamie?"

Leigh's expression grew frantic and he shook his head so she leaned down again, listening intently to the way he painstakingly sounded out the word.

This time, when Emma pulled away, she had another name, "Janey?"

The man nodded and David's eyebrows drew together, "Janey? Janey who?"

More raw, raspy sounds and then, "Janey Sheef?" Emma asked. He shook his head and swallowed, before, with great effort, managing a stunted version of -

"Chafe?" Emma asked, "Janey Chafe? Chief? Janey Chief?"

Relief flooded Leigh's face and he nodded, dropping the oxygen mask carefully back into place.

"Is she the next victim?"

Nod.

"Are they getting her soon?"

Double nod.

"Are they getting her now?"

Nod.

Emma and David shared a look, and then they were sprinting out of the hospital room.

8888

"We've got a problem."

They were the first words that echoed in Emma's ears as she and David passed into the station, striding over to the room where only half of their team was waiting. David had already made all the necessary calls on the drive over, contacting Ruby first and then Killian to impart instructions.

Mulan had been the one to speak and she explained the statement a second later.

"Ruby found our prospective victim: her name is Jane Chief, she's a thirty-one year old waitress at a nearby diner and she fits every calling card of our un-subs," she said.

"Then what's the problem?" David asked.

"She didn't come in for her shift today and no one has seen her since yesterday."

"Did Ruby try hacking the GPS on her phone?"

"Aye, it's at her apartment. Phillip and Henry went to check it out but she hasn't been answering it all morning," Killian answered.

"What about Leigh's partners?" Emma asked, swinging around to drop the keys on the table and face David, Mulan, and Killian in one smooth motion, "Have we got any clue as to who they are yet?" The latter two were about to shake their heads when the laptop behind her intoned the arrival of a new email. They all turned to face it, just as the familiar peal of a phone alerted them to an incoming call.

It was David's.

"What have you got, Ruby?"

He continued to talk to her, pacing around the room as Emma opened the email, a brief reprieve sedating her overactive nerves: the tech analyst had attached two profiles. She'd found the remaining un-subs. Expanding both, Emma skimmed down the length of the pages.

Daniel Briar and Martin Vincent.

Briar was the alpha, there was no question. He'd been abandoned as a child, left on the doorstep of an orphanage when he was only a couple of hours old. When he was sixteen he managed to track his mother down but she was already dead. This, evidently, led to a collection of violent outbursts in school, as well as photocopied notes from a high school counsellor commenting on his unhealthy resentment of females. All of this was concealed by Briar's surprising social record, having joined a litany of clubs in college before he dropped out two years ago. He was, to anyone willing to look hard enough, deceptively smart and calculating, but also driven by the rage festering inside him.

That left Vincent as his undisputed sidekick and the loyal lieutenant. Which, honestly, fit his description - based on his digital profile, he was a loner. Socially isolated from a very early stage in life, he attended the same college Briar had and it was plain to see he must have hero-worshiped the guy (especially taking his Instagram feed into account - in every photo he was accompanied by his good pal Briar).

Behind her, David finished speaking to Ruby and told them, "Briar hasn't been seen since last night… but Vincent entered his apartment this morning and hasn't left since - it's got a key-card activated elevator so my guess is he must still be there. I'll be right back - I'm going to call Phillip, see if he and Henry found Miss Chief at her apartment complex." Without another word, he backed out of the room, already dialling.

In the meantime, Emma had sent Vincent's address and headshot to her mobile phone.

"Let's go," she said, glancing at Killian and snatching a pair of keys from the table and standing up.

"Hang on," Mulan interrupted, stepping in front of her, "You can't just go barging down there."

"We need to get him while we still can - he could bolt any second and leave us with nothing," Emma replied, frustration pulling her brows together. The other woman shook her head and held up a mollifying hand, adopting a tone that would have been derisive if it weren't overlaid with a thick mixture of forced patience.

"You don't have a warrant and we don't know for certain that this woman is in danger yet, not until we get confirmation from Phillip and Henry. Anything you find and - more importantly, anything Vincent says - will be inadmissible in the court of law without a warrant."

"So we just wait here until the next body shows up?" the blonde returned, indignation creeping into her voice.

"We don't know that he's got her yet -"

"Really?" Emma interrupted, blatant disbelief dripping from her tone, masking the acrimony hanging there, "You don't think he hasn't already picked her up? Even if he hasn't, the longer we wait the longer he has to find her and do god knows what now that he hasn't got his good friend Leigh to tamper down his violent tendencies!"

"Look," Mulan tried, "I don't like waiting around either but we can't just ignore the same laws we're supposed to uphold. It's the entire reason you got your team in trouble in the first place."

The jibe, intentional or not, stung as it rang in Emma's ears.

"And if that means another girl dies?" she challenged, voice as dark as her expression.

"If we don't get a warrant, then all the other deaths are going to go unanswered for."

Their eyes locked, and a long moment passed where they stood immobile, just staring at each other - wordlessly grappling for dominance. She was astute. Playing on Emma's need for recompense was shrewd in the same vein that Emma's use of the possibility of casualties was smart. Already, though they had only ever shared truculent exchanges, the two women understood each other. If she were to put a wager on it, Emma could only assume Mulan had a hand in deduction.

Eventually, the other woman dropped her hands, "Just let me get us a warrant first. It'll take half an hour - tops."

Like a petulant child, Emma responded belligerently.

"Fine."

Levelling her with a tight but grateful expression, Mulan spun on her heel and exited the room, phone already in hand. Emma watched her move across the precinct, waiting until she was out of sight and sufficiently preoccupied with her phone before yanking open the door and striding quickly toward the exit.

Killian sidled up to her in less than a second, "Where are you going?"

"Vincent's apartment," she answered brusquely, "You coming?"

In her periphery, she watched him smirk.

"Always."

8888

Martin Vincent lived in an apartment building not far from the police headquarters (thankfully), so it was a short drive. At the gate, they flashed their IDs and were granted an access card which, if the man who distributed them was correct, would permit them to access the entire building. As they waited for the elevator, Emma checked her phone again.

She had three missed calls from Mulan and a short text from David that simply confirmed their suspicions: Miss Chief wasn't at her apartment. Though her superior was well aware of her propensity to disobey the rules, their newcomer was yet to learn that. As evidenced by the fact that her superior hadn't sent an additional text forewarning retribution for their insubordination.

Locking her phone and stuffing it back into her pocket, she could feel Killian looking at her.

She turned to face him, arms crossed.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, looking straight ahead again, "Just… wondering if you're aware that we're breaking our probationary rules."

Emma sighed, "You didn't have to come."

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't."

"You're my partner, Swan," he reminded her, tilting his head to look at her seriously, "So yes. I did."

"If we get into trouble I'll tell them I forced you to come with me," she muttered, internally attempting to dismantle the sudden feeling of concern mounting in her gut. His words sparked recognition in her, a faint note of anxiety wrapping around her as she realised that breaking protocol to follow this lead could potentially land them both in jeopardy. Again.

The alternative would have been waiting and potentially risking Jane Chief's life. So, all in all, she didn't yet regret her decision. Although she was certainly aware of the prospect of looming disaster.

Killian scoffed, drawing her out of her reverie, "Not bloody likely. I agree with you - waiting for a warrant would have taken valuable time that we really do not have the luxury to waste. I won't let you lie just to save my skin."

"You've done it for me," she blurted, catching his gaze - Anthony Reed's rage-fuelled beating flashing in her mind's eye. He'd taken the blame for that. She hadn't forgotten.

He didn't say anything and there was a thoughtful pause. Then the elevator doors opened.

They both stepped in and he pressed the button for Vincent's floor as, "Don't worry, love. David will cover for us."

"He might, but Mulan won't."

At that, Killian nodded absently in agreement - their new colleague certainly didn't seem to have the temperament for lying, even if it was to rescue her peers from undeserved scrutiny. In fact, if anything, she seemed the type to throw them under the magnifying glass and point out their flaws for the Review Board to see.

And that alone made her someone who was never going to get along with Emma.

Shoving that thought down for later pondering, she refocused as the large metal doors slid open.

According to Ruby's research, the bastard lived in apartment 305.

When they reached the door, she waited until her partner was standing beside her before she let her fist rap harshly against the door.

"This is the FBI, Martin Vincent, open up!" she yelled, voice hard.

There was a distinct crack of glass breaking and Emma decided she had probable cause to enter the premises (dubious as it may be). For all she knew, there could have been a person struggling for aid in there - and it wasn't as though Killian was about to contradict her if it even came under a court's inspection.

Stepping away from the threshold, she ushered for her partner to kick it down.

He dropped into a formal bow before standing straight and thrusting his foot forward and down. As the door fell out of the way, Emma jostled it the rest of the way open and moved into the apartment, pulling out her gun. At the end of the entry-corridor, Vincent - a young man with dark blonde hair and dark grey eyes - appeared, caught sight of them, stiffened, and ran.

"Stop!" Killian roared, both agents barrelling forward.

The corridor opened up unto a living area and Vincent was mid-jump over the couch, in the direction of the window, when they reached it. Without breaking his stride, Killian stormed past her, cleared the back of the couch and tackled the man before he could reach the window. They both landed with a harsh thump on the hardwood floors and Emma leisurely made her way to where her partner was bodily restraining him.

"Get off me!" Vincent growled, writhing fruitlessly under Killian's steady hold.

She knelt down so she could better see Vincent, whose face was pressed into the cold wooden floor.

Turning to her, his glower intensified.

"You can't do this!" he ground out, "You're not allowed to do this!"

"Watch us," Emma spat back, gesturing for Killian to lift their companion up and onto the couch he had just skilfully navigated.

"We know you're involved in the recent murders," she began, resting her hands on her hips, "And we know you and your buddy Daniel Briar ran down your other pal Leigh Henderson - I'm guessing he told you guys he wanted out of this sadistic little arrangement you all have?"

Vincent remained silent, glaring at the floor.

"So, what happened? Did it rub you the wrong way? The fact he didn't want to be a part of your little sorority club anymore? Or was it that he was going to turn himself in?"

His eyes flitted up. Bingo.

She shook her head, "So that's it? He was going to turn himself in?"

Though he didn't say a word, she could see the way he was almost vibrating with indignation. Emma threw a glance at Killian, whose focus was solely fixed on the young man seated in front of them, before she returned her attention to Vincent.

"Look, it's all over. We know your next victim is Jane Chief, and we know you've already picked her up. So I'm going to ask you one question and your answer will determine just how long you rot in prison - got it?" she tilted her head down, catching his eye and holding it.

"Where's your buddy, Briar?"

"Go to hell."

Emma sighed, "Yeah, that's not the answer we were looking for."

Stepping away from the couch, she ordered Killian to, "Keep an eye on him."

Honestly, she'd never thought they would get any information out of Vincent but she still had to try. After all, even without the god-like reverence for Briar, he still had a disturbing fetish for other peoples' pain. The only way they would have gotten information from him would have been if they turned him on Briar. Unfortunately, however, that would take time - and time was the one currency that they did not have an abundance of.

She moved instantly for the door that led to his bedroom.

In the living room, she could hear Vincent grinding out threats about legal action: all of which fell on deaf ears. If Killian was going to crack under that pressure, he would have done so a long time ago. She almost wanted to tell Vincent about Killian's encounter with James Prince and the infamous broken wrist Ruby had told her about.

Smirking to herself, she began to rifle through the idiot's drawers until, sweeping her eyes absently around the room, she noticed his phone. It was stacked carefully atop his laptop on his desk, and Emma moved towards it almost immediately. The moron didn't keep a lock on it so she didn't need to call Ruby for technical assistance, just opened the phone and -

There was an app still open from when he'd last used it.

Google maps.

And there was a destination glowing red.

"Killian! Bring him in here!"

There was a scuffling sound, a muffled grunt, and then Killian loitered on through the bedroom door, practically dragging Vincent by the scruff of the next. The latter's eyes caught sight of the phone in her hand and instantly stiffened. Emma grinned and gestured cursorily to it.

"So is that where you're keeping her or where you're taking her tonight?" she asked mockingly.

His lips thinned into a tight furious line as Killian continued to manhandle him forward so he could take a look at the screen himself. Peering over Vincent's shoulder, he sent Emma an impressed look.

"Send that to Ruby, see if she can work out whether it's where they're holding her or not," he said.

Emma nodded, sending the location to Ruby when Vincent finally spoke up.

In a woeful attempt at menacing, he sneered, "You'll never find her in time. Danny won't wait for me - he'll know something's up -"

Killian smacked him over the back of the head, effectively quietening him, "Shut up."

Rolling her eyes (if only she had a dollar for every time someone told her they would fail), Emma sent the destination to Ruby and turned back to the two men. She studied Vincent closely, watching the way his eyes flickered every so often in the direction of his laptop. Glancing once at Killian, she reached instinctively for the computer.

She could practically hear Vincent seething. Especially when she ripped the chords out and hoisted the computer roughly under her arm. She rotated to face him and sent him her best shit-eating grin, before wafting past both men towards the front door.

8888

When they arrived back at the precinct, David sent her one reprimanding look that told her they would discuss her blind dismissal of the rules later. For now, though, he was content with being pleased to see they had made commendable progress. Killian practically hurled Vincent in one of the vacant cells as Emma made her way across to the room, carrying both technological devices and placing them on the round table when she finally entered.

In the corner of the room, Mulan was stifling a glare, observing her with razor-sharp eyes. The barely concealed irritation was rolling off her in waves, but Emma couldn't care less. Instead, she focused on Henry and Phillip as she laid the laptop down on the table before them.

"That is his," she informed them idly, sitting down in one of the chairs, "He kept nervously glancing at his computer so I'd say there's something incriminating on there."

"Good thing I got a warrant or you wouldn't be able to use it against him," Mulan chimed in, unfolding her arms and pushing herself up off the wall. She strode around to hover behind both men, completely unaware of the dirty look Emma sent her in retaliation.

Killian walked through the door before she could formulate a snarky response, followed by David.

The blonde man took up position, as was his due, at the front of the room.

He gave his attention to Emma first, an urgency about him (perpetuated by the fact that her partner was already gathering his things), "Killian told me what you both found and I just got a call from Ruby about the map. She said it's the location of an abandoned shack so my guess is that it's where he's keeping her. We're going to assume he's there with her since he hasn't been seen since - we've got an hour until night-fall and it's an hour's drive. Henry - you stay here and find anything you can that we can use to pin them all. Phillip, take one of the local officers and search Vincent's apartment. Mulan, Killian, Emma - you're all with me."

As Emma stood up, she heard David growl, "Let's get the son of a bitch."

8888

By some stroke of immeasurably bad luck, Emma was roped into the same car as Mulan. Ahead of them, Killian and David had taken a sedan with the local Deputy. And, staring out at the sun fast descending below the horizon, Emma was certain the two men had deliberately conspired to arrange this.

The tension in the vehicle was palpable, thick enough to taste, as she cut through the long winding streets. Mulan was as of yet to speak, and Emma could still feel the annoyance radiating off her.

Gripping the wheel, she tried to shake off the prickling sensation crawling across her skin -

"You're lucky the time stamp of the warrant preceded the time you kicked down Vincent's door," Mulan said sullenly, still staring straight ahead. Emma frowned, refusing to turn her head, but the woman beside her must have sensed her confusion: how did she know that?

In answer, because apparently her newest colleague could read minds as well as be an insufferable ass, Mulan said, "I checked the security footage from the building. You were just about to get in the elevator when I got it signed off. And you're lucky." Her voice was cold and unyielding, a testament to her steely temperament - highlighted even more so in the chilly atmosphere of the car.

Emma nodded, pursing her lips, and replied, "Yeah. I am. But so are you."

This time, it was Mulan's turn to frown.

"If I hadn't gone when I did, Vincent probably would have left by the time we got there. And he would have taken his phone with him."

In the corner of her eye, Emma saw Mulan nod faintly in acknowledgement - but there was no trace of agreement in her mannerism. Only a reluctant sort of recognition that she spoke the truth.

Once again, the silence descended on the car.

After some time, Emma found herself unable to restrain the question that bubbled up and out of her mouth. It probably wasn't the right time to ask, and she probably should have been more focused on avoiding a car accident, but she needed an answer. And she needed it now, before she put her life in this woman's hands.

"Why did Regina assign you to our team?"

Mulan stiffened in her peripheral vision, momentarily caught unawares as she opened and closed her mouth. It was a rare show of carelessness on her part, but one that underpinned the severity of the matter at hand.

Section Chief's didn't just spontaneously re-assign agents.

Regina certainly wasn't spontaneous.

Which begged the question: why?

Emma strained for the answer, waiting for the unexplainable warning system in her head to alert her to any traces of falsity.

Swallowing, Mulan finally answered, voice deceptively calm, "I don't know."

Emma's fingers clenched around the steering wheel, the only chink in her placid exterior.

Mulan had lied. She did know: and whatever it was, judging by her reaction, it wasn't something good.

The twisting in Emma's gut returned tenfold.

She didn't say anything else after that, settling for the uncomfortable silence as she wove in and out of traffic after David and Killian. By the time they reached the outskirts of the land, falling onto a dirt road, the car was practically stifling. Emma yearned to jump out, accelerating faster until she was practically riding the back of the sedan in front of her. Mulan noticed and sent her a curious look, which Emma ignored.

Eventually, the dirt road came to a halt and both cars screeched to a halt. Unfortunately, the drive had taken longer than they anticipated and the stars had just appeared to claim the night. They had to move fast.

Instantly, Emma jumped out, drawing her gun and holding it steady at her side as she jogged to where David, Killian and Georgia were exiting their car. She didn't wait for Mulan, although she did hear her boots crunch over the gravel as she sidled up to them. The Unit Chief turned to them, pointing ahead as she told them, "The shack is about fifty metres that way - Emma, you and I will circle around from the back while Killian, Mulan and Georgia go in the front. The girl is the priority - as soon as you see her, get her out - any means necessary."

They all nodded.

Relief spiked within Emma for a brief, transient moment - at least she wasn't being forced into close proximity with Mulan again. Yet, something about being separated from Killian suddenly made her feel nauseous. She was used to this, had done precisely this a thousand times and a thousand times more; so why was she suddenly apprehensive about letting him out of her sight? Swallowing the foreign wave of unease, Emma followed David into the shadows, sparing one look at her partner over her shoulder before she forced herself to look ahead.

The moon's dull grey luminescence was their only source of light as they trudged through the dirt and undergrowth as quietly as possible.

The longer they walked, the more her internal discomfort grew. In the back of her mind, all she could see was Neal plunging that makeshift wooden stake into Killian's abdomen. She kept thinking about how he'd almost died, about his blood spilling onto her skin and searing it with an invisible burn. What if that happened again? What if Daniel Briar shot him? What if she wasn't able to save him this time?

Without ever noticing, Emma's breathing became unsteady. The shack loomed overhead when David turned, concern etched into his features.

"You alright?" he asked as she tried to cover her panting with a low cough.

"Yeah," she dismissed, brushing past him, "Yeah - I just - I think I'm getting sick or - or something."

David jogged to catch up to her, his eyes burning into the side of her face as they approached.

"You sure? You sound like you're having trouble breathing," he whispered to her as they rounded to their position at the back of the house.

"Yeah," she shrugged, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm the erratic beating of her heart.

Without waiting for him to comment, she started to advance on the back porch. Golden light was spilling out of the small, run-down wooden edifice - it cast an ethereal glow around the house. Enough light pooled on the underbrush that she could just make out three figures moving in on the front of the house: Killian, Mulan, and Georgia. Emma kept moving, kept tip-toeing across the dirt, David hot on her heels, until she reached the house. She crouched down under a window, and waited for their companions to make the first move.

Which they did.

The sound of the door busting down was punctuated by a loud feminine scream, which Emma took as a reassuring sign. Until several gunshots rang through the air, loud and clear as one shattered the window next to where her and David were waiting. Without warning, something seized in her chest and she was, in the span of maybe four seconds, transported back in time to a dilapidated mansion where all she could see was Neal slumping lifelessly to the ground. Vivid flashes attacked her mind with the fervency of a ravenous beast: of Henry and Reed, of Graham and red flowers, of Neal and Killian and blood - so much blood. She stumbled under the onslaught, heart thundering to life, beating out a rapid staccato that pumped in time with her shallow breaths.

Feverish panic raced through her veins, the gunshots eliciting a terrifying response she had never experienced.

All she could think of, in that second, was getting to Killian.

The gunshots kept ringing in her ears, even as she jerked the door open and all but vaulted over the threshold. It was a small building, one multi-purpose room and a bathroom. So, as she propelled herself inside, her eyes automatically locked on the dark-haired figure lying face-down on the rug, a small handgun clenched in the unidentified person's fingers. And for a moment, she was utterly paralysed.

Then she heard Killian's voice, and her eyes snapped up to where he was standing, gun still raised. As his eyes met hers, he dropped his arm to his side.

Vaguely, she noticed that Mulan and Georgia were crouching by the victim, consoling her.

Emma's attention, however, was entirely focused on him. Her entire body felt like it was short-circuiting. Some paranoid part of her had to be sure that he was okay (and some other undefined part of her just wanted to hold him). Without explanation, without even glancing at the dead man in the middle of the room, she launched herself in Killian's direction. She wrapped her arms around his neck and dragged him to her in an unprecedented display of affection as soon as she was close enough. He froze for about half a second before he returned the gesture, winding his arms behind her back.

She clung to him for dear life, waiting until the incomprehensible terror humming in her bloodstream subsided to a dull roar.

"You alright, Swan?" he breathed in her ear, only loud enough for her to hear.

His voice coaxed her back to reality.

And as the world came back into view and she finally let her eyes crack open, she pulled back. His eyes drilled into her, but she didn't let herself dwell on it - trying to repair the situation as best she could. Turning away from him, she pushed some hair behind her ears and crouched beside the un-sub to check his pulse. Everyone, bar the victim, was staring at her like she'd grown a second head.

To be honest, she was wondering what the hell had just happened herself.

8888

It was raining again, in the same thick icy sheets that had marked their arrival in Pennsylvania. There was something oddly poetic about it, or at least Emma thought that as she packed away the scattered files in their marked cardboard boxes. The tedium of her task allowed her time to think, time that she really didn't want. Especially with the memories of the night prior still floating around her head. So, she directed her focus outwards.

Beyond the door, she could see Phillip and Henry talking with Deputy Georgia, no doubt unloading the abundance of condemning evidence they had found both in Vincent's apartment and on his laptop. Combined with everything the local officers were digging up in the dearly departed Daniel Briar's residence, and Leigh Henderson's testimony; both surviving boys would bear the full extent of the law. Though, it was safe to assume that Vincent would be receiving a much harsher sentence than his soft-hearted counterpart.

Later, they would be informed that Leigh was roped into their rag-tag murder club because of a simple wrong-place, wrong-time scenario. Apparently, Briar had forgotten his wallet on the night of his date with the first victim. Thus, Leigh had driven to where his friend had said he was taking his date, wallet-in-hand, only to arrive just as Briar's finger squeezed the last ounces of breath from her lungs. Briar had him convinced from that moment that he was involved. And he had used that against him.

Personally, she felt no pity for Leigh. He still let several women die.

In the corner of her eye, Emma could see Killian clearing the whiteboards of their respective marks. Though the two partners were not rostered to be on clean-up duty, David had ordered them to as a form of punishment for their insubordination the day prior. All things considered, they took the mundane task with a grain of salty relief.

However, Emma hadn't missed the way David had been eyeing her all morning. Nor the way Killian kept glancing at her, shooting her the same confounded look their superior had been wearing since...

Well, since she'd hugged Killian.

She could still vividly recall the way the flashbacks had drowned her in that moment when the gunshots tore through the chill night air. It had never happened before: the shortness of breath, the inability to properly function under the immeasurable pressure it placed on her chest. Emma's hand drifted from the cardboard box she was fingering to lay over her breastbone.

She couldn't explain the unprecedented reaction. And that frightened her.

For now, luckily, no one was broaching the subject. There had been some kind of unspoken pact made the moment she disengaged from him and locked herself down. A pact that decreed it would not be discussed. Not even David had approached her about it.

Standing up, Emma started to hoist one of the boxes into her hands when Killian swooped in behind her.

As he tried to take a hold of it, she lifted an eyebrow in speculation, "I am strong enough to lift a box, you realise?"

"Oh, I'm well aware of your physical attributes, Swan," he answered huskily, wrangling it gently from her grip. His eyes stayed fixed on hers as she shot him an unimpressed look, "But I'll take this down to the archives while you gather the last of our things. Savvy?"

Emma held his gaze for a long moment before shrugging, "Fine."

He shot her one last smirk and then, re-affirming his grip on the box, slid out the door. At the same moment he exited, Mulan entered and moved instantly to where her leather briefcase was propped up on the table. The tension sifted easily into the room, and Emma moved as quickly as possible, snatching the keys and swinging the laptop bag over her shoulder in one fluid movement. She tried to leave the room.

Only to be stopped when Mulan set her briefcase aside and stepped in her path, deliberately blocking the door.

Despite the unflustered façade she wore, it was clear that the other agent was agitated. There was an unmistakable sharpness to her features, primarily her gaze which was fixed on Emma.

"You don't like me very much, do you?" Milan began.

Emma's returning smile was saccharine sweet and visibly misleading. Tilting her head, she responded sarcastically, "What makes you say that?"

Social tact had never been one of her defining traits, and it really showed at times like these. But, to be frank, she couldn't give two shits what the newcomer to their team thought. For days now, resentment had been building in her chest, waiting for the opportunity to manifest in barbed words and cutting cadences. Now, it seemed she was being given that chance.

Mulan rolled her eyes and assumed a derisive, looming pose, "For someone who's supposed to be good at spotting lies, you've got a pretty atrocious poker face." She paused, waiting for a response and, when she got none, exhaled heavily.

"Why don't you like me?" she repeated, the barest hint of impatience seeping into her usually cool tone. The woman had a voice like crisp linen, smooth and fresh, but it was starting to crease with aggravation now.

Emma shrugged.

"I don't dislike you. I just don't trust you."

It was a half-truth (she really didn't like her), but that wasn't what made her co-worker's eyebrows furrow together. If she was surprised, it didn't take shape in her expression, which remained impassive. That alone was enough to add another weight to the quickly mounting pile of reasons not to invest any sort of faith in Fa Mulan.

She studied the brunette's expression, watching it twitch with curiosity rather than insult. A voice in Emma's mind reassured her quietly, 'you're right not to trust her.' And really, with her acting so unaffected by such a blatant admission of doubt on her character, Emma felt her suspicion was at least partially vindicated.

"Why?" Mulan asked, folding her arms across her chest and shifting her weight.

"Because I know you're not here purely out of coincidence."

That took her off guard, shock rippling across her face for a shadow of a second. Emma caught the brief expression before she could resume her mask of indifference. Mulan sighed.

"So, because of that, you don't trust me?"

"That and your adherence to the rules pisses me off occasionally," Emma retorted.

"I could say the same about you: you and your partner break more protocol than you follow."

"Our job is to save lives – I don't tend to confuse that with strictly abiding by the law."

Mulan scoffed, "Our job description is literally law enforcement –"

"Then, tell me, how would you have explained to Jane Chief's parents that we let their daughter die because we had to wade through legal protocol? Hm?" Emma interrupted, a biting edge to her voice that wasn't there before. If there was one thing she despised more than the people she arrested, it was people who impeded that process under the pretence of pragmatism. She glared up at the woman in front of her, stomach suddenly churning with an exhilarating sort of ire.

"I appreciate that but it doesn't always work out," Mulan shuffled closer so she could enunciate every word with knife-point precision, "Risks. Don't. Always. Pay. Off."

Rolling her eyes so hard she felt they would erupt from her skull, Emma shook her head, "There is risk in everything, don't give me that bullshit – you've been here, what, five minutes?"

"I've been doing this job for a long time," Mulan snapped.

Another faux smirk twisted the ends of Emma's lips. She tilted her head to the side, "And yet we've never crossed paths."

"I used to work in –"

"I don't care."

A beat of silence passed between them, the tension in the room mounting to an almost tangible thickness. As they stared at each other for a long moment, Emma narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice.

"You want to know why I don't like you? Because you're more willing to tiptoe around the rules than save a life and I wouldn't put it past you to do the same regarding this team."

Mulan shook her head and openly glared – it was the first time she'd seen her features screwed up in anything deeper than consternation. A sick sense of satisfaction bloomed in Emma's chest at that, one she wasn't entirely proud of as she was told, in essence, to piss off.

"You don't even know me."

But the pull towards her darker instincts was too strong and Emma leered, a smug expression that contorted her features as she leaned into Mulan's personal space with raised eyebrows.

In retrospect, it was always going to be a bad idea to flesh out old wounds.

"Maybe not, but I'm pretty good at reading people. For example; I know you're anal because you used to be military. I know you've got a bad shoulder that you cover up at all costs – probably an old battle wound that never really healed. And that's not the only festering wound, is it? I'm guessing you weren't always such a tight-ass when it comes to protocol – that probably changed when you lost someone –"

There was an abrupt, resounding crack.

It took several moments for Emma to register the heat prickling the left side of her face, a stinging sensation developing where she'd been slapped. Reaching up to touch the sensitive cheek, she dragged her eyes away from the side of the room – the force of the blow having jaunted her head to the side – and met Mulan's steely gaze. Blood was already rushing to the spot where she'd been struck, sparking hotly as she stared at the other woman.

Though there was obvious incense in Mulan's eyes, she noticed the thinly veiled anguish.

Instantly, guilt slammed a vicious path down her spine and she felt her posture deflate slightly as she replayed her vindictive observations in her mind. It had been, to say the least, completely uncalled for. Even if she currently had no affinity whatsoever for the woman in front of her. There were certain lines. Lines Emma had indubitably crossed.

Shock rippled through the air as she held Mulan's stare. A voice that sounded oddly like Henry screamed at her to apologise, but her pride and distrust drowned it out.

Before either of them could say anything, the door to the room opened and David and Killian entered.

As both men drank in the image before them, they stilled.

David's voice was dually cautious and authoritative when he asked, "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Emma answered automatically, dropping her hand from her blazing red cheek and turning on her heel. She completely ignored both men as she slid out of the room, particularly Killian whose eyes were burning an anxious hole in her head.

Unsurprisingly, he caught up with her before she could make it to the ladies room. Warm fingers slipped around her upper arm and gently tugged her to a stop as she strode down the hall towards the bathrooms. He moved silently around her, turning to face her.

The same hand that held her in place drifted up to her jaw, tilting it up and to the side so he could scrutinise the mark Mulan had left.

"What happened?" he asked, eyes drilling into her skull.

Emma shook her head and slowly moved her face away from his hand, fixing her gaze on something over his shoulder.

"Nothing important. I'll meet you on the jet," she told him dismissively, still refusing to meet his gaze as she manoeuvred away from him. This time, her path led to the elevators, where she let them take her to the cars parked underground. It was only when she was in one of the sedans that she let herself study the red mark emblazoned on her cheek, folding the sun visor down to use the attached mirror.

She traced the skin there with idle fingers and considered what had happened.

Again, that infuriating mixture of outrage and remorse coiled tightly around her chest. She waited for one to win out, but nothing happened and she smacked the visor back into place, turning the ignition so she could drive back to the hotel and pack.

8888

To say the trip home was tense would be an understatement for the ages. Filing onto the jet the next morning, Emma was silent - avoiding the way everyone seemed to shift their gazes nervously between her and Mulan. News travelled fast in a team as small as theirs.

She took a seat at the back of the plane, watching quietly as the rest of the team took seats scattered along the short corridor. Both women actively put as much space between them as possible, while the others just circumvented them altogether. Except Killian, of course.

Emma was about to pull out her phone and some earbuds when she heard more than saw him flop into the plush leather opposite her.

"What do you want?" she greeted bluntly, fingering the zipper of her bag, still intent on falling into a musical oblivion for the return trip.

Killian held up both hands in a placating gesture, "Calm down, love. Just ensuring I'm in good company for the duration of our plane ride."

She shot him a deadpan look, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Really? That's why you're here?"

Her cheek began to itch as she thought about the topic he likely wanted to discuss. Hell, she was still surprised David hadn't cornered her and demanded answers. At the moment, she was content to wait for him to approach her - the longer he took, the better. It was still a subject she really didn't want to broach with her level-headed and decidedly objective superior.

She jerked back to the present when Killian nodded. She pursed her lips.

He was lying; a deaf, dumb and blind person could see it from a mile away. Yet, she had no urge to forcibly remove him - his presence was oddly... soothing. Unsure if that was the right word to use, she rolled her eyes and refocused on putting her earphones in (only one though, leaving the silent message for him to interpret: that she would listen if he did in fact want to talk) (which, really, in itself was an invitation for him to speak).

He waited until they were in the air, halfway home, to pipe up.

"So what happened?" he asked quietly, blindly reading an old paperback version of 'Sherlock Holmes.'

Emma's eyes narrowed and she tilted her head to the side, considering him as he slowly closed the novel and returned her penetrating gaze.

"You're not going to drop this until I tell you, aren't you?"

Killian's expression ticked up in a smile, "Look at you - it only took thirty seconds for you to figure that out this time. I think that's a record. We must be making progress."

Emma's lips began to curl up even as she glared, "Shut up."

"Only if you tell me what happened," he returned, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back with an infuriatingly smug expression. She shook her head and rolled her eyes, pulling out the lone earbud and winding it around her fingers. For as long as she could remember, she had always hated divulging her innermost troubles and outermost quarrels. The mere concept chafed against the wrought iron walls she had erected as a young girl.

So, it surprised her when she found herself telling him instead of rebuffing him.

"She confronted me," Emma said simply.

He waited a moment for her to continue, and when she didn't, "...About your hostility?"

"I guess."

"And?"

"I told her the truth," she shrugged casually, as though that was the source of the altercation. Killian saw right through it though, prompting her gently.

"And?"

After an extended moment, where her eyes flickered to the opposite end of the plane where Mulan was sitting, she answered, "I may have overstepped my boundary." As she spit out the words, resenting the truth that rung in them and the lingering guilt that renewed itself at the memory of her less than stellar lapse in moral judgement, Killian watched her.

Eventually, he said, "So, do you think you deserved it?"

Under any other circumstances, or from any other person, Emma may have been inclined to feel something akin to insult. With him, she knew he only had good intentions: in this case, to help her reconcile with what had gone down. And the fact that he wasn't prying too much was a welcome surprise.

Emma turned his question over and over in her head.

Sulking, she dropped her eyes to the table separating them and nodded.

He exhaled heavily, "Have you apologised for it? You know I'll always support your decisions but... to make someone like Mulan abandon her restraints like that - you must have hit pretty bloody close to home."

He was right - and she hated it.

"I'll do it later," she deflected, pointedly looking over the way he pursed his lips. She didn't wish to be reprimanded any longer, especially with the guilt already hanging heavily over her burdened head. There were more important things she had to work out. For example: what the hell had happened back at Briar's hideout. As her eyes drifted leisurely back to Killian, who was staring out the window with a contemplative look, she felt her heart stutter in her chest just replaying that horrible night.

Thankfully, she managed to school her features before he noticed.

The rest of the flight passed in a merciful blur of light-hearted banter with her partner and a twenty-minute doze. Then, they were driving back to the precinct to drop off their gear before returning home for the night. As Mulan had made an excuse to leave early, taking a cab straight from the airport, the thickness in the air began to dissipate. And by the time the five agents finally arrived at their home base, it was as though nothing had happened, chuckling and teasing as they loitered through the glass doors.

As their laughter and conversation died out, Sidney appeared amidst their cubicles, a stack of small innocuous papers in hand. He grinned at all of them and waved them in salute, "Evening comrades."

Emma frowned but nonetheless greeted the man as he approached them and placed his item on Killian's desk. She could see now that they were photos, and from the looks of it -

"I have the photos from the Gala - thought you might all want to see them," he announced happily, nodding to them as he rocked back and forth on his heels. David snatched them up first, holding them while Emma, Killian, Henry, and Phillip craned their necks to look over his shoulders.

The first image had a small smile automatically playing at the edges of her lips; a candid of Killian in deep conversation with Aurora and Phillip. David kept shuffling through them - there were pictures of him and his wife, Mary Margaret, and there were more candids (some of which sent ripples of laughter through their little congregation) (one in particular had them outright cackling, David's mid-blink facial and Killian's faux pout sending them into an uncontrollable fit of giggling).

Then their Unit Chief revealed a new photo - one that made Emma frown and the rest of the team go eerily quiet in appreciation. It was Killian, and he was looking at something. Phillip was behind him, grinning affectionately.

But Killian…

His face was - well, to put it plainly, he was glowing. He looked like a man who was seeing the sun for the first time, a blind man finding colour, a deaf man hearing a symphony. His icy blue eyes glittered like a glacier, even through the shiny paper, his expression utterly awestruck.

(Fuckstruck, a voice in the back of her mind whispered.)

Of course, the next photo revealed nothing since it was another candid of their group - Emma having arrived some time in between Killian's unexplainable reaction and the photographed conversation…

Distantly, something registered in the recesses of her mind, but she was too busy focusing on the formulaic movements of the blonde man holding all the images. That was easier... until it wasn't. At her left, Henry reacted to the most recent picture with an amused, "So you can dance, Killian. I'm surprised Emma wasn't already crying from having her feet trampled"

The agent in question gave an affronted gasp, "I'll have you know I am a superb dancer, just ask Swan - I'm a superlative dance partner, aren't I, love?"

But she couldn't react. She could do nothing but stare at the two people in the photograph.

More importantly, she couldn't tear her eyes away from Killian. It was yet another candid, but it was of the two of them dancing. They were mid-step, her eyes were downcast, trying to keep track of their shuffling feet. His gaze, however, was directed at her face.

And it had something swelling to life in her chest before she could stop it.

Emma's eyes trailed along his immortalised expression of… something. Something she couldn't (wouldn't) name.

The breath backed up into her lungs and it took her several seconds to realise that their team was glancing at her expectantly, awaiting a response to her partner's quip. Regaining her composure, she sighed shakily.

"I've still got bruises on my toes," she deadpanned, pulling away from the group and stepping towards the door, "Speaking of, I might head home and nurse them. It's been a long week."

The air was stifling, impossible to swallow and too heavy to navigate. That photo, burned into her memory, smothered her with everything it wordlessly entailed. More than that, watching his open emotions - spread plainly for her to see - she realised just what she had in the palm of her hand.

It was all starkly obvious now, unavoidable and undeniable, and paired with his near-death experience and the unexplained anxiety of the previous day, she felt an overwhelming need to run.

Run hard and run far.

So she left the room without a backwards glance, saluting her colleagues as they offered their departing remarks and ignoring Killian altogether. She walked briskly down the corridor outlined by the cubicles, making a beeline for the glass double doors which signalled the bureau's exit.

She pushed them open as she reached them, pivoting on her heel and striding down the hall towards the elevators. The monotonous soundtrack of the office became subdued as the door closed after her and she took a deep breath, hurrying her pace ever so slightly as the deep-seated need to escape washed over her.

Emma didn't turn when she heard the glass doors open and close.

"Oi, Swan!"

Fuck.

She cursed under her breath and stopped walking, turning to face her partner as he jogged to reach her down the hall. He raised an eyebrow when he stopped in front of her, smirking and gesturing over his shoulder to where they had just come from.

"What was that back there?" Killian asked, amusement edging his tone – clearly unaware of the completely havoc that was being wrought inside her head. Emma sighed and ran a hand through her hair, trying to appear nonchalant.

"What do you mean?"

He simply levelled her with an incredulous look and she rolled her eyes, turning around and walking down the hall. Emma kept her sights set on the metal doors, the gleaming silver surface screaming salvation from the feelings and emotions swarming up one on top of the other like a slowly mounting sand pile, burying her under their weight. She didn't even know why, but if she could just get out of this office, get to the small elevator, she could box up her emotions, re-instil the stony façade and walk back out freshly walled up.

Anything but face what was burgeoning within her, rising relentlessly to the surface where she wouldn't be able to shove it down. He was quickly walking beside her, gaze still intent on her face.

"Um, how about you storming out of the room just then?" he said, trying to catch her eye.

She shrugged, "I told you guys. I'm tired – want to get home."

Killian's hand grasped her upper arm and pulled them both to a stop, forcing her to face him as he gave her a more concerned look, "What is up with you, Swan?"

Emma shook her head and tried to turn away, "Nothing."

He stared down at her, his gaze doubtful even as she maintained an indifferent façade.

"Okay," he said, dropping his hand so he could fold his arms across his chest, "Not acting strange? Why did you embrace me yesterday?"

She stammered for a second before deflecting his question, looking down at the ground and scratching her temple, "I was just concerned you were hurt," she answered apathetically. His scoff was instantaneous and she looked up to scowl at him, but he didn't appear too concerned by it.

"You've never been too concerned before," he responded, taking in her stagnant expression before adding, "and besides, loath as you are to admit it, I can handle myself."

"I know that," she snapped back.

Killian frowned, a crease forming between his brows as he studied her.

"Then why are you being so protective lately?" he asked and she opened her mouth to respond derisively, to the notion that she would be over-protective, only to be cut off as he continued speaking, his eyes boring down into her, "You and I both know I'm not made of glass, love."

Emma shook her head, an oddly flustered note in her voice, "I know."

They were silent and she wondered if he was waiting for her to talk.

But she didn't know what to say, how to say it, if she really wanted to say it. He'd always pushed her to be open, blatantly assessing her words and actions so she was forced to let him in – and it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Truthfully, it had saved her ass more times than she was willing to admit. Most of the time she resented it but without his constant shoves to be honest she had no idea where they'd be.

He gave her a small smile and sighed, "Okay, listen, I was trying to pry gently but clearly that's not going to work. I know you're lying, love. So, how about we skip the pointless preamble and you tell me the real reason you're acting out of sorts?" Though there was tender amusement in his voice, she could hear the undercurrent of genuine concern. Emma looked at the elevator, unwilling to meet his penetrating gaze as she spoke.

"Because I… I was scared about you – for you," she said quickly, immediately regretting it as his expression constricted into one of misunderstanding.

"What?"

Staring up into his face, Emma shook her head and groaned. And so the floodgates opened.

"I was worried about you. I care, okay? More than I should. More than I have before. Because I can't stand the idea of you being hurt, let alone you being gone. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That I freaked out when I heard those gunshots. That ever since we slept together I've got absolutely no goddamn control over what I'm doing anymore because you - you make me... I need you. It scares the shit out of me because I need you. In a way that I didn't realise I needed you before. And I cannot lose you…"

The words were cast into the air like rocks being dropped into a pond, the ripples causing unidentifiable emotions to cross her partner's face as he processed her words. Killian didn't respond for a long second and when he did, she could sense his hesitation; his brows drawn tightly together as his cerulean eyes locked onto hers with an intensity she felt was misplaced considering the setting.

"Why in the world would you worry about me?" he murmured, gaze flickering between her eyes.

Emma shook her head in exasperation, "You know god damn well why, Killian."

She spun on her heel, striding down the short distance to the elevators that had just opened, ignoring the painful twisting in her gut. She had just crossed the threshold when she heard footsteps behind her, growing in volume as he approached. Emma turned around, standing in the middle of the elevator, and watched as Killian stalked forward, an arm shooting out to stop the metal doors from closing, and stepped in.

He never lost momentum; even as he cupped her face with his hands and leaned down to kiss her, his lips slanting over hers with such raw emotion she found herself breathless before they'd even begun. He kept moving, kept walking until her back was pressed against the cold metal wall, her hands immediately reaching up to rub against at his neck and back, a frantic scurry for more touch, more friction; anything to release the emotions suffocating her in a sort of delicious agony.

The elevator doors closed.

And with it, the opportunity to evade him.

She couldn't say she really minded when he was kissing her like that.

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