The thrill of being a thief flowing through her blood makes her ecstatic. Growing up on the streets, never apart of a gang of friends or strangers, only the lone wolf. Lurking through the darkness is the only thing she does. She can be quite the nocturnal woman, but she doesn't need to steal behind the shadows on the streets. Perhaps it is merely the luck she has, but she's swift on her feet, she's silent, and has always been alert.

No one understands her, no one knows herself better than she does- that is a fact. Emma Swan doesn't need to hide behind garbage cans, she doesn't need to wait for a idle police car to drive by. She can pounce like a cougar, yet be as delicate as a bunny. In fact, no one knows she's a thief and no one knows her crimes. She doesn't leave traces behind, and if she does, she manages to lead police to dead ends, which help her stay incognito. She's a mastermind when it comes to stealing, and years of her experience can prove likewise.

However, though she is a perfectly surviving thief who lives off stolen valuables and nourishments, she has had her fair share of the bad as well. For one thing, she's always lonely, no matter what she does, no matter where she is. There is never a person there for her to speak to, not a single person to consult if she's struggling with something in her life. Abandoned on the side of the road, perhaps this life was meant for her, perhaps it is her life.

She's insecure about her ability to trust others, to believe, to ever be committed into anything else except her love for stealing. Emma Swan does not engage in conversations, not unless it is completely necessary for her. But, then again, she is quite confident in her abilities, she's also quite the tricker. The blonde haired woman looks timid, but beneath her is a sheath of strength. And, though as much as she is strong, powerful, and quick, it doesn't make up for the fact she hates death. She hates the thought of killing someone, and she most definitely hates it more if she has to be the one doing it herself. Not exactly something she fancies, and it's most probable she will never like it. Seeing the glistening, crimson coloured blood engraving itself into the pavement floor, or the screech or cry a human makes in pain- never would she ever kill, nor does she ever plan to.

But, no matter is that, Emma Swan needs to be successful with this next raid of hers. It's past midnight, the lights in the neighbourhood are all shut off, and she's behind a large bush peeking toward her intended house. The driveway holds a red Mercedes-Benz, definitely her target residence there. As quiet as she can, she makes her way past the driveway through the backyard. The thing is, this white, grand mansion seems to have far less security than she thought. It's not exactly swarmed by bodyguards, or cameras placed in every crook and cranny.

If her plans and observations weren't wrong, there is a window just about where she could reach and climb in through. Conveniently, it's open, which is quite an intriguing way to welcome a guest if you're expecting someone to burst into the bedroom.

Emma carefully scales the pipe on the side of the white house, being cautious about her surroundings. The cool breeze blows past her, making her shiver and nearly lose balance. She keeps her cool, and by the time she reaches the window, she jumps through it quietly.

But, the sight to behold isn't exactly welcoming. Blood is splattered across the glossy, wooden floors, the large rug under a couch stained, and damn, the reeking stench in the room isn't one to enjoy.

Before she can take any more steps, she is stopped in her tracks. "Stop right there," a low man's voice claims, and Emma glances to the right to see a man dressed in all black pointing a gun at her- pistol to be exact. For one, he is definitely not American. And two, a silencer. Of course.

Her first reaction? Run. But where? She can't exactly leap out the window without risking a broken ankle, and two, he has a gun in his hands.

She puts her hands up in defeat, though she has a plan in mind which could possibly throw him off. "You got me," she mutters, swallowing away the fear. The smell is not helping, because by all means, she wants to gag. And, well, the sight of the red blood isn't one to not notice either.

"Who are you?" he demands, slowly approaching her with the gun still pointing... well, at her head.

She chuckles, seemingly like a maniac of course. "A thief! That's who I am. Now, I am not here to cause any trouble, only here to grab and go," she says, trying to keep the unwavering confidence stable in her voice.

"Don't play with me, lass, as you can tell I'm not here to listen to any pleas of mercy. Now, what exactly interests you here? Money? Jewlery? All the luxurious items? Surely what a thief desires, right?" he retorts, waving the gun around while he lists each thing. He holds a point though, that is exactly what she targets.

"You have that correct. I think you've asked enough questions, it's my turn now." Emma takes a breath in, pulling her old scarf up. "What exactly is your purpose?" she responds, cocking her head to the side.

"A mere assassin doing his duty," he plainly answers, raising his eyebrows at her.

Now, for one, she could barely see him early in the darkness, but his slow approach brings his face into the illuminating moonlight. His eyes are a stunning shade of blue, but the rest of his face is covered by a black cloth. Something is interesting about him, and there's definitely more than a cold stare of blue eyes and emotionless tone in his voice.

Emma sighs and looks past him. "I can see that. Now, it would be nice if I could just-" She stops mid-way and slips around him, hearing the squeaking of her shoes as she sprints past the blood, through the wooden door and slamming it.

"Get back here!"

He's yelling something like that, but it doesn't register in her mind, not while she's escaping for her life. She's not going to die because of him, not because of her own faults, she's going to live, run, and be as free as she wants to be.

There's a large spiral of stairs which she manages to travel down, leading her down to the front door. Escaping out the front door isn't very subtle, but going out the back isn't a very clever plan either. Torn between two options, it doesn't matter because as she spins on her heels, she runs into the man and falls back. Before she manages to stand up, he gets a grasp on her worn, dirty jacket, and pushes her against the nearest wall he could find.

He's laughing at her, and the first thing she notices is his change of weapons. He rips the scarf off her- no longer using a gun, he's holding a dagger right at the edge of her throat. "Escaping me isn't easy, love, I'm afraid I can't let you do that so simply," he says, his breath hot against her face through the fabric he wears. "I could have let you leave if you didn't run, but now that I know you pose a threat to the little scene you saw up there, I believe you are in a much more problematic situation now," he whispers, pushing the cold knife up against her throat.

"Wait, wait, wait!" she quickly says. "What if I propose a deal that benefits the both of us?"

She knows it's a risk, she knows she could die in his hands, she knows she can't run this time around. But, if her suggestions works, it can let her keep living.

He sighs. "Keep talking," he mutters, pushing her further up the wall.

"What if- if you just let me take what I need after your murders which you don't need, and then I keep your secrets safe? No one will know, I won't go to the police, and I get what I need to live," she offers, squinting her eyes at the sudden stiffness of her neck. "I'm sure we can compromise, can't we?"

"And why should I trust you?"

"Have I given you a reason to not trust me?" she counters, licking her lips to keep the moisture alive. Any sudden movement would result in her death, and that's the last thing she's aiming for.

He chuckles, letting her slide down a little bit against the wall, but her feet aren't touching the floor yet. "Considering the previous event of you escaping, can you blame me for being uncertain?"

"Okay, sorry, I know it was a shitty move on my part, I just want to survive," Emma begins, "and considering I am a thief, do you think I would go to the police? It risks my own freedom. I may be a thief, but I am no fool," she finishes, gritting her teeth by the end of her explanation.

He's pressing her harder against the cold, hard wall, and she groans about the pain in her back. He grumbles something along the line of 'bloody thieves,' and sets her down, but his hand is still on her jacket. He pushes her back slightly. "You run again, and I won't be so generous next time."

There's something about him that makes her want to run, yet also stay. Something mysterious about the way he works, and now that she's made a deal with it, she intends to keep her half of it. "I suppose a truce for now is in order, don't you think?"

He sighs and lets go of her. Emma rubs her throat and picks up her scarf from the floor, wrapping it around her neck. The man is glaring at her with the intent of killing. "Don't make me regret this, lass," he mumbles, sticking the dagger into his pocket. "Now, how do you suggest we keep in contact?" he asks, jerking his head to the side.

"You should think about that. Thieves don't really have a place for meetings, let alone live anywhere for a specified amount of time," she explains, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm positive you have a place, or landmark that's familiar where we can meet at midnight?"

Silence breaks through between them, and he's just standing there, assessing her, which is highly probable, or he's thinking about their meetings.

"We can head to a bar, my old mate Robin runs it, he can let us use the back," he proposes, "pray tell you know your way around the streets."

Emma scoffs at his words. "I'm a thief, I know the streets better than the city itself," she replies confidently. "Now, I think we have a place to head to." She starts to walk past him, but he stops her by grabbing her wrist.

"Not so fast there."

Emma sighs, rolling her eyes and turns to look at him. "What now? A change of mind?"

"With your attitude, it wouldn't be surprising if I did want to kill you, but I'm letting you live, so listen to me first," he teases.

"I'm listening."

He pulls the fabric covering half of his face down. Oh boy, he's too attractive to be an assassin. "I need a name from you. It would be rather odd for me to not know who I'm conversing with."

She's not about to let some assassin get to her- no, definitely not, not with those blue eyes, and the fitting scruff of facial hair. "You can call me by 'Swan' for now. Until I gather that both of us trust each other enough, that will be when you learn my full name," she says, crossing her arms. "What about you?"

"Jones," he bluntly states. "Killian Jones."

It's worth knowing that he already trusts her with his full name. "Well, Killian, let's go to that bar of your friends. That is… after you clean up the mess you've made upstairs," she mumbles and turns away, leaving him by himself, but she abruptly stops. "I think it's good for you to know- I don't like to be kept waiting."

She hears him chuckle. "Wouldn't dream of it, love," he says, his voice fading off through the distance that spreads them apart.

If there's one thing she knows. She's frightened by his intimidating endeavors, but then she's also attracted to his fluctuating personality- expansive knowledge he has too. The blue eyes, and scruff do not play a role in this, she notes.

Killian cranes his neck before he stretches his arms out, making sure he disposes all evidence possible. Assassin's are good with coming clean, but today isn't exactly the case. His target was a lot more defiant, and made his blood boil before his own death. He spoke a couple of words before he died, and Killian didn't bother listening to him when he shot him- not a single drop of regret fills him, just like he's used to. So, the least he could do now was clean up everything, not that he would wipe the blood, because that was already stained into the floor. The last thing he needs is blood to be smeared over his hands like the total culprit to the crime.

The horrible odour starts to take over the room, the window partially drains out some of the smell, but it doesn't do so for very long. He takes his pistol and wipes it over with a cloth, sticking it in the holster on the belt he wears. Good thing he only brought two weapons to do the job, though he only used one, and could've used the other on Swan.

Killian is positive there are no ways they can trace the death back to him, considering he never leaves a speck of evidence, nor does the dead body have any sort of trackable evidence on it, so he's always safe. He knows how to handle this. He's been in this business for years.

But, back to the point, Killian is sure he should have killed her. She's a witness, a thief, and yet he's trusting her, and she can take a back hand and slap him across him for being a complete and utter idiot and run off. However, he feels something different about this woman. She has the urge to live, the urge to strive on, so what exactly is keeping him back from slitting her throat and letting her bleed to death?

He pulls his cloth back up, covering mouth and nose, and walks toward the open door. Before he does take his leave, he glances over his shoulder at the open window Swan had entered through. Killian shakes his head from the thoughts, and quickly walks down the stairs to find her waiting outside, leaning against the tall white pillar, the darkness covering half of her body.

She tilts her head backward. "Ready?"

"I'm always ready, Swan."

"Good, you've kept me waiting enough. I would have totally ditched you if you were five seconds later than that," she mutters, pushing herself off of the pillar. "Now, where is this bar?"

For some reason, he finds himself smiling. Without any more lingering, he jogs past her and down the stairs. "Well, have you heard of The Rabbit Hole?"

"Your friend owns that bar?"

He tries not to find too much wrong with that question of hers, and he just nods subtly. "Aye. Now, how are you with a bit of running tonight?"

"A midnight run? Sounds exactly like my job," she jokes, following behind him.

Only moments ago, he was demanding her for who she was, she was begging for her life, and he was coming oh, so close to killing her.

Now, she's joking with him, and he's letting it slip past, letting himself tolerate her sudden change in behaviour.

The cool breeze tickles his skin as he runs quickly down the sidewalk, and he glances over his shoulder, she's right behind him. This woman was not the normal one, he could tell. She's chosen her ways, and it seems like her path is full of struggles, yet she still pushes forward. They make very little small talk as the rush down the streets of bustling streets of nightlife New York.

"You know Swan, I really wonder how you managed to persuade me to not kill you," he says, opening the door to the bar. "Ladies first."

"Maybe it's because I'm not worth the effort," she supplies, shrugging and she stops. "Wow, you're a gentleman?"

"I may be an assassin but, I have my own self-pride, and I'm much of a gentleman in my spare time," he whispers, avoiding any contact with other people besides her. "So, I suggest you take it, or I can kill you the next time we meet," he threatens, moving his head to the side to tell her to go inside.

She seems unconvinced, but she walks through the door anyways. "Calm down, buddy."

"I am not your 'buddy,' lass, only a mere ally for now," he retaliates, following behind her. He predicts that the woman can tell he is being dead serious now, because for all he knows, he can't let her know he's vulnerable in any way.

Assassin's don't feel remorse or regret. They don't necessarily fall in love, and if he's sure about one thing, it's that he holds no feelings toward this Swan in front of him.

"Robin, mate, may we use the back of the bar for uh-" he coughs a little, "business?"

"Is Gold on with you and your shenanigans of… well, you know what I mean- again?" Robin asks, leaning over on the bar counter.

Killian chuckles and nods. "Aye. It's what I get for being under his command for years. But my apologies, we haven't had some formal introductions. Swan, Robin. Robin, Swan."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Swan," Robin greets with a nod and smile. "And yeah, of course. Mind speaking the details with me first though?"

"I shall. Swan, go take a seat somewhere and wait a bit." He waves his hand off, turns around to face Robin, and before she can say anything, he turns around to face her again. "And no, I won't keep you waiting for long."

But, this should be worrying him. He can feel her smirk when he says that, and he can feel the atmosphere lighten up the moment she leaves. Whether it be her adding into this incredible tension between them, or him knowing things that are quite out of the ordinary from knowing someone who is considered a stranger, it really does bother him in the back of his mind.

Killian rests an arm on the counter, his elbow properly positioned on the marble countertop. "We're going to need the back for meetings for times at midnight, or anytime really for the time being."

His friend nods, grabbing a bottle of rum and a glass. "What's in it for her?" Robin pours him a glass and slides it to him.

Killian sighs and chugs the tinted alcohol down. "Valuables, she's- well as you can tell by her clothes, a thief. A bloody swift one as well," he mutters, glancing over his shoulder to see her tapping her fingers on a table. "Tried escaping me. I nearly killed her, had a bargain. She takes any valuables of her choice after my half is done, and she keeps the secrets from police or anyone else."

"You know you can't trust a thief right?"

"I have the very doubts you do, Robin. But, if I'm correct, she's not that type of person, she intends to keep her promise- doing her side of the deal," he explains, rubbing the back of his neck.

Robin sighs, and he looks unsure about all of this stuff his friend has gotten himself into. "And how do you know that?" Killian's best friend can be quite the bother sometimes with his questions.

"Let's say it's my unwavering intuition, and I can read her easily." He straightens up his posture. "She was begging for her life, I don't think she would risk it again by ratting me out."

"Just don't get into trouble, mate. You had a close one the last time you let someone in that easily," Robin warns him, bringing up the implication of her. "The back door will have an extra key by the dump, like usual. You also have an extra one at your place, right?"

He keeps a straight face, even though he wants to grimace at the one thing his friend knows not to mention. "I do. Thank you however for your help, now, I think it'd be best if I deal with her now. She may be a tough lass, but she is definitely not a patient one, at least not around me." He turns around and walks toward her, pulling her by the arm with force.

"Someone is hostile," she proclaims, nearly tripping.

He rolls his eyes at her statement, and drags her into the back room of the bar, making sure to look a little bit subtle at the least. "I'm an assassin, and may I bring to your attention that I never promised to stay civil? A little deal is not going to stop me from being as ruthless as I can be," he says, letting her go when he flips the light switch on.

They are surrounded by bottles of beer, empty glasses, and a freezer in the corner with ice.

"I need you to understand one thing, Killian."

The sudden start of words catches his attention, and his eyes glide up over her body, studying her as she starts to speak her mind.

"I'm not who you think I am. I can be a thief, yes, but I am not a tool. I am not nothing, I am a human. At the least, I expect you to treat me right…" she trails off, before she begins again, "even if it means me having to deal with you being that gentleman."

Her words hold meaning, and to be honest, he's not feeling any surprise from what she's asking from him. It's only natural he respects her. "Swan, you must know that I may be a killer, but I understand your request. I will treat you as fairly as I possibly can, and if I displease you in any way, there will be a right for you to call me out on it," he offers. "I pride myself for being honourable, and I shall live up to that and your set expectations for me."

She nods. "Good."

"Now that we have that set aside, there are some things in order I'd like to promptly discuss before we head out separate ways."