It was a perfect Boston summer day. The sun was bright enough to even test the limits of the dark tint of his sunglasses; the cloudless sky, a perfect pale blue. Killian Jones quickly made his way along the busy sidewalk, dodging passersby as he carried a small cardboard tray holding two steaming cups of coffee.

Rounding a corner, Killian smiled when he saw that the building that he was heading to was less than 50 yards away. He picked up his pace-

And then, without warning, a blast ripped through the pristine glass frontage. He felt for a second like someone had hit him with a sledgehammer, his jaw tightened, his whole body vibrated with sensation, the tray of coffee was flung in the air as he raised his hands to protect his face from the flying shards of glass that began to hurtle towards him. A piercing pain shot through both ears, accompanied by a ringing noise that muffled any other sound.

He found himself crumpled on the ground, his whole body in pain-

Then… blackness.

Seven Years Later

Dr. Archie Hopper lay back in his chair, eyeing his patient carefully as he held a silver pen expectantly over his notebook. "So how has your sleeping pattern been? Still finding it hard to sleep through the night?"

"Sometimes," Killian huffed. He folded his arms defensively across his chest.

"How often?"

"A couple of times a week. But as I've told you numerous times, I've never needed much sleep."

"Hmm. Even still, I'd like you to reconsider the medication, Killian, it's an excellent way for you to settle your serotonin levels and help you rest." The wiry-haired doctor fixed him with an earnest look and Killian had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

"I'm fine," he insisted, his gaze wandering to the clock, counting the minutes until he could leave. God he hated these sessions.

"What about your mood? Have you been having any anxious or depressive thoughts?"

"No."

"Any feelings of despair or hopelessness?"

"Right about bloody now," he whispered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"I said no," he sighed.

"Hmm..."

Killian stared at the ceiling of the small office as he heard Dr. Hopper scribble down a few notes. The fan above him whirled lazily, seemingly without purpose. Killian was well acquainted with it and every other detail of this office, having spent an hour in its confines at least once a month for the past several years.

And every time it was the same. Same questions. Same answers.

"When will you be discharging me?"

Dr. Hopper placed down his pen and laid his hands atop the notepad. "Well Killian, that's a hard question to answer."

"I've been made to attend these bloody meetings for years now. I think it should be quite clear that I am perfectly well."

"Well first, you know that even as a regular field agent you would be required to meet with me at least once a quarter in any case. And second, yes, to the naked eye you look very well. But I'm still concerned that after all this time, you still find it difficult to open up about the incident."

Killian's fists clenched and his nostrils flared.

"I can talk about it just fine," he grimaced through gritted teeth.

"The facts, yes. But it's your emotional state which concerns me."

Killian threw a glance at the doctor, jutting out his jaw as he gave his best withering look. The doctor looked back down at his notes.

"How is your personal life Killian? Are you dating anyone?"

"I fail to see how that is relevant to perform my job ."

Dr Hopper interlaced his fingers. "Look, Killian. We can try and make progress today, or you can keep up this defensive attitude towards me and then I will see you again to repeat this next month."

Quickly, Killian licked his lips, his body stiffening. "No dating. No women."

"What about… um, what was her name- Belle? You mentioned she'd joined your team."

Killian chuckled, "And you think that my duty is to hit on every new agent?"

With a sigh, Dr Hopper shook his head. "Of course not. But I know this job affords very little time to meet a partner outside of work. Why do you think I get invited to so many weddings working here?"

Tired of this line of questioning, Kilian sat himself up and rested his palms on his thighs. "Look Archie, I get what you are trying to do. But I'm not looking for that. I'm not looking for-" he shrugged, "Anything. I just want to do my job, go home and go to the pub to watch a bit of footie now and again."

"Milah-"

"Is gone," Killian spat. "And I've worked through my anger and grief many times over now. Just because I don't want to talk about it with you does not mean I am some kind of loose cannon. I'm happy now."

The last, blatant lie tripped of his tongue with such ease that for a second Killian could almost believe it. He could see straight away, however, that Archie Hopper was in no way convinced. He wasn't happy, but he didn't care. Life has been just pure existence for so long now he had forgotten any other way to be.

"Okay," Archie nodded, giving Killian a thin smile. "Um, yes… So, your partner - Smee - he's retiring this month?"
"Today actually," Killian nodded. He glanced again at the clock. It was after three. They had a department meeting at four to say goodbye to Smee before they all decamped to O'Brien's to drink the bar dry.

"And how do you feel about that? You've worked together for over five years now?"

Killian shrugged, "What am I supposed to feel? He's the one who aggravated that leg injury in training. If I could take early retirement at 55 I'd do the same."

"No, I mean how do you think this will affect you?"

"I guess it means I'm getting a new partner."

"And?"

"And-" Killian hesitated. He'd been dwelling on this particular point for exactly those two months since it was announced that William Smee's injury was too bad for him to continue working for the Bureau. He actually liked Smee. Well, as much as he liked anyone nowadays. They had their routine down to perfection - Smee was good at the background stuff - paperwork mainly, making sure their records were up to date and liaising with other departments. Killian preferred to be on the front line, where the action happened. He was the one staking out suspects at 3am in the freezing Boston weather or meeting informants in shady back alleys.

But now all that was going to change and the prospect of a new partner was unsettling, to say the least. "And I guess I have to wait and find out who Director Mills feels fit to work with me. It's not like I get a choice."
"Do you feel capable of adapting to someone new after so long?"

"I'll make it work," he quipped.

"Hmm…" Archie hummed again.

The doctor turned away to his laptop and a minute later he was signing a script which he handed over to Killian. "Sleeping tablets, please take them if you need to. I'll see you again next month, my secretary will email you the details."

Killian stood, folding the paper and creasing it between his thumb and forefinger. "I look forward to it," he said with a flat, false smile. Standing, he made for the door when Archie stopped him and held out a business card.

"And this is my new cell number. You can call me anytime you wish. Please do."

Killian gave him a brief nod.

"And good luck with the new partner."

"Thanks," he muttered.

He exited the office, pulling on his jacket as he made his way along the corridor to the elevator bank. He paused at a trash can, quickly tearing up the paper and card in his hands and tossing them into it.

He didn't need pills, or more talking.

He didn't need anything.

The following Monday morning Killian had just about recovered from the excess of rum he had consumed at Smee's leaving celebration. Smee was a man who liked his drink as much as his now ex partner and the two of them had been left propping up the bar until well past the closing hour of 2 a.m..

He was going to miss him. Smee was just about the only bloke in the office who could get away with taking the piss out of Killian's accent. And he was the most down to earth agent in the department. Sure, David Nolan and Graham Humbert were closer in age to Killian, but he felt an affinity with the old seadog. He supposed it was because he was an old soul himself. Still a handful of years away from his 40th birthday, he'd experienced enough to live life twice over and then some. Smee had always appreciated that. He'd never pried into his private life and he'd never asked him about his past. Smee had also started his career in the Navy, the current occupation of Killian's older brother, Liam, and Killian himself had always loved being on the water. So when they had first been assigned to each other, it hadn't taken long for a fishing weekend to be arranged and the two bonded over hours spent off the Boston shore.

But now he was free to move back up to his hometown in New Hampshire and live his life as freely as he wished. Killian envied him in a way. Not that he wished to retire - he'd go stir crazy without his job - but instead it was the freedom he craved that wasn't afforded under the scrutiny of the FBI. He always had to watch his step and think of how his actions affected his chain of command. Not to mention the continuous psychological evaluations.

Still a little weary from sleep, he sighed when he received the call that his new partner had arrived and he needed to come and meet them at Director Mills' office. Now or never, he thought as he left his own small office, taking a glance at Smee's bare desk, before he headed for the stairwell to take the two flights of stairs upwards. His mind wandered as he walked.

He wondered who he would be paired with. Working in domestic terrorism was a tough assignment for any agent and they only assigned the most qualified cadets with the strongest credentials. It would probably be some snot-nosed high flier. Or maybe someone who had transferred from the armed forces, like Smee. He could cope with that, he guessed. The last thing he wanted was to have to work with a bright-eyed, idealistic recent graduate of the academy who wanted to save the world, one terrorist at a time, single-handedly. They were almost always like that to begin with.

He reached the glass door of the director's office sooner than he would have liked, pausing at the desk in front of it. Her secretary smiled at him and he gave her a nod in reply. "Can I go in?"

"She's ready," Ashley replied, barely hiding the way she looked him over as he strode past. It wasn't the first time she had openly ogled him and she had even tried to slip him her number a few times. Some men would have taken advantage of a 25-year old secretary showing such blatant interest, but Killian just found it made him uncomfortable. He did as he always did - gave her a brief, not-too-friendly smile and walked away. He'd learned a long time ago not to mix business with pleasure, not that he was into the pleasure side of things that much now.

He pushed open the heavy glass door to see Regina sitting behind her desk. She truly had the best office in the building; situated on a corner, with stunning views of both the bay and the ocean. The woman may have been a bitch sometimes but he knew she had worked damn hard to get to this level in the bureau and he didn't begrudge her this luxury. Even when he thought of his own vista that included a Turkish gyro restaurant and a back alley full of dumpsters.

"Ah, Killian. You are on time. For once," Regina smiled. She had this way of smiling which was at once bright, but also cold as ice and she never failed to let him know when he had displeased her.

Killian replied with his usual smirk, "Indeed I am."

He was three steps into the room when he noticed the figure sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk turning to face him. It was a woman; a blonde with her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, an oxblood red leather jacket covering her upper half.

"Well, I'd like you to meet your new partner, Ms. Emma Swan. Swan, this is Killian Jones, one of our most dedicated agents."

Her sarcasm was evident, but Killian was too intrigued by the woman who was standing to greet him to bother reacting.

In all his musings, it had never occurred to him that his new partner might be female. Regina had in fact refused to give him any details, not even a name, which led him to believe it would be another male agent.

Momentarily surprised, he recovered enough to reach out his hand. "Swan," he nodded.

She had a firm handshake and warm hands.

"Jones."

They took a second to assess each other. She wasn't some fresh college kid, she was a little older, wore the signs of life on her face. But that didn't take away from how attractive she was, with high cheekbones and sea-green eyes. For her part, her brow furrowed a little as she studied him.

So this was Killian Jones. She hadn't been given much more than a name to go from prior to this meeting but she was instantly drawn to the distant look in his blue eyes. It was one she knew, that she herself wore often. He was not what she expected… not that she knew what to really expect. But she thought he'd be older. Less handsome. Less brooding.

"Shall we sit?" she finally said.

"Hmm," he nodded, his focus shifting to Director Mills.

Once they were both settled, Regina pulled out a manila file and opened it out on her desk.

"So, Agent Swan, Agent Jones, you are going to be assigned to each other for an initial trial of one year. Ms. Swan will be within her probation period for that duration and should things go well this pairing could be extended. Is that understood?"

They both nodded. Emma briefly looked across at Killian. He sat with his arms resting on the wings of his chair, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Swan, you will be sharing an office with Jones, I take it Smee's belongings have already been sorted?"

"Yes," Killian said, "There are some boxes down in the lobby that he will be collecting later in the week, but his desk is clear and has been restocked."

"Excellent," Regina clucked, looking down at the paperwork in front of her. "Ms. Swan has already had her induction so you are dismissed. I've emailed to Killian a list of some other departments you need to meet with over the coming days. I'd like to meet with you both again at the end of the week to assess how you are settling in."

"No problem," Emma said as she made to stand. She was itching to get started. "Thank you Ms. Mills."

"Director Mills," the older woman corrected.

"Um, yeah," she smiled, "Director Mills." She pushed back her chair, mentally chastising herself. Way to get on the wrong side of your boss on the first day. Cheeks reddening a little, Emma was thankful when then the frosted door closed behind her, Killian slipping though just before the lock clicked into place.

"Trying to get rid of me already?"

"Oh, shit, sorry," she muttered as she noticed how she had pretty much closed the door in his face. "I'm just so-"

"Nervous?" he offered, watching as her brow scrunched up and her nose wrinkled.

"Something like that." she muttered. "That was pretty brief, I was expecting… more?"

"Regina doesn't beat around the bush. Why use ten words when two will do type. You'll get used to her."

It was only then that Emma noticed he had an accent. His tones were soft and neutral - British but she couldn't place exactly where. He wasn't meeting her eyes, instead looking past Regina's secretary and down the corridor .

"Um, lead the way?" she asked.
"Of course," he breezed, striding back to the stairwell. He perhaps should have taken the elevator, but he wasn't really in the mood for sharing a small space with this woman right at that moment. Well, smaller than his office, that is. He kept himself ahead of her, taking two steps at a time, his longer legs giving him a speed advantage that Swan in her heeled boots managed to almost match. Stepping into the hallway when back on his floor, he gave her a queer look.

"You're fast."

She smirked. Men always were so shocked by how quickly she could move in heels. "A skill I learned courtesy of my last job."

He tilted his head, a brow furrowed.

"I worked in bail bonds," she explained flatly.

"Oh," he hummed when it became clear she was not going to give further details on that particular revelation. He was surprised. Bail bonds to the FBI was an interesting career move. "This way."

Halfway along the hallway of anonymous, oak doors he paused in front of one. Emma waited as he pulled out a bunch of keys. The nameplate outside said 'Killian Jones - Special Investigations'. Below it there was a blank space, a little less faded than its surroundings. That would be where her name would go, she assumed.

"Special Investigations?" she asked as the door opened and Killian beckoned her inside. "I thought we were Domestic Terrorism?"

"That we are, love. But our overall department is Special Investigations. And it sounds a little bit more pleasant, yes?"

"Sure," she said, gritting her teeth against the endearment. She wasn't anyone's love. (Or pet. Or darling. Or anything along those lines.)

She looked around the office. It wasn't huge, enough space for two desks, a couple of filing cabinets and there was a small window overlooking the city streets below. It had that salty, masculine smell that lingers in a place that's been shut up for too long, but other than that it was pretty clean, if lacking any personal touches.

"Do you mind if I open the window?" she asked as Killian was propping the door open.

"No," he said. She breezed past him and left in her wake the clean scent of soap and simple perfume. It seemed to suit her, he thought absentmindedly as he left the door ajar. It made him feel a bit less claustrophobic now that he was sharing this place with a virtual stranger.

Emma peeled off her leather jacket and tossed it on the chair behind the empty desk. The window was behind Killian's (only recognizable as the occupied desk by the pile of paper in the intray and the half-drunk coffee in the 'hello sailor' mug that sat on its surface. She'd raised an eyebrow at that). The window was stiff and it took a few hard tugs to pull it open, until finally a blast of cool February air came drifting into the room.

"Better," she muttered. Looking back, she saw Killian was waiting for her to move so he could get to his desk. "Oh," she said, quickly sidestepping her way towards the empty chair where she had left her jacket.

"No need to apologize."

She took a seat as he settled behind his own desk, turning his attention to his laptop. She waited a few minutes and when he hadn't spoken she said, "So, is there anything I should be doing?"

"You won't have your laptop and access until communications have cleared you this afternoon," he said.

"Until then?"

He looked up. He seemed irritated, a flash of annoyance tightening his expression. A moment later he was tossing over a file. "This is our biggest case right now."

"Okay…"

So, he wasn't the warmest of people. Go figure. He was very handsome, so he had to compensate with some other huge flaw. They always did.

Killian clicked through his emails as Emma opened the file he had had given her. His focus kept shifting from the screen in front of him to the blonde figure hunched over the desk perpendicular to his. She'd taken off her jacket and he could see that beneath she wore a soft white sweater. It made her look a little tan, he thought absentmindedly, his eyes lingering on the scoop neck and the small, silver pendant suspended above her decolletage. While she placed her elbows on the desk in front of her and was staring intently at the file. She seemed to have taken the hint that he wasn't much for small talk.

As he watched her, he considered what he already knew. The answer was not very much. But she did seem keen and maybe he could use that to his advantage, have her take care of the files while he concentrated on the more interesting work. That would work. In any case, he was the senior agent and he called the shots.

As usual, when he left his desk he had been deluged by correspondence. Most of it was just generic fare: meeting invites and uninteresting case updates. But then a message caught his eye. It was from Felix, a contact who had been feeding him intel about a group he was tracking, in exchange for Killian making some minor drug offenses disappear. His eyes scanned the text. Felix was able to contact him by texting a proxy number which then was forwarded to his email. It seemed that he was at an unplanned meeting and there was just enough time to get to his location. This was excellent news.

"I've got to head out, Swan," he announced, reaching for his own leather coat that hung on a peg adjacent to the window.

"Out?" Emma asked, confused. She had been engrossed in the paperwork in front of her. The Bureau was tracking a national white supremacist group that had been making threats to carry out racist attacks. One of their main chapters was in Boston, though they never met in the same location twice. Their leader had a nickname 'Peter Pan', due to the fact he looked so young: he was in his late 20s but from his pictures Emma could see he would pass for almost ten years younger. The group was named The Brotherhood, but the agents had started to refer to them as The Lost Boys, given their leader's name. She'd chuckled at that - so the FBI did have a sense of humor.

"I've got a lead," he explained.

"Then shouldn't I be going with you? I am your partner."

Killian paused. He picked up the bag that contained his long-lensed camera and swung it over his shoulder. She did have a point. But the last thing he wanted to do now was babysit a rookie on her first stakeout. This was the best chance at identifying more members of the group than he'd had in weeks.

"It's really a one man job."

"Then I'll watch. And learn."

With a sigh, he adjusted the strap that was digging into his shoulder. If he didn't take her, he was pretty damn sure Regina would know and having the director on his back was the last thing he needed right now.

"Fine, love" he grumbled, "But so you're warned, it's just a stakeout. Could go on for several hours."

"No problem," she snipped.

And it really wasn't. Working in bail bonds, she had become well-acquainted with the interior of her own car, having spent many hours waiting out jumpers. A few hours would be a breeze.

"Alright then, follow me."

The anonymous, black sedan that was assigned to Killian - well, them now - was parked on the lowest level of the parking garage beneath the building. Killian slid into the driver's seat and turned the ignition.

"So I take it you're designated driver?" she quipped as she took the passenger seat.

Letting out a soft huff, he turned to her. Of course he was driving - he was the one who knew where to go. "Do you want to drive? I mean, if this is some feminist thing-"

"Feminist thing?" she shrilled, on full alert to give him a piece of her mind, until her more measured self kicked in and reminded her that it was her first day and there was no point burning bridges with this man just yet. If he was a jerk she'd find other ways to deal with him. "No, damn, just- okay, just drive. Forget I said anything."

He pulled out of the parking spot, a tinge of regret making him frown. Perhaps he had been a little harsh. It wasn't like he was actively trying to fall out with the blonde.

"You can drive once they process your license," he said by way of explanation.

"Uhuh," she nodded, pursing her lips as the garage door rolled open and let in the scant midday sunshine, not wanting to extend that thread of conversation any further.

Killian sighed and turned his attention back to the road, turning on the radio to cover up the ensuing tense silence that fell between them.

As the car rolled through the city streets, she reminded herself that all she had to do was make it through her probation. If this Jones guy was determined to make things awkward, she could handle that. She'd handled many a worse situation.

She still had to pinch herself that this was actually happening. After six years of night school to get her degree, followed by the most intense series of interviews she had ever experienced to be accepted into the graduate trainee program. All in all, the best part of a decade working all the hours in the day - and then some - all to achieve this. And she'd finally done it.

Inside her jacket, she felt the hard edges of her badge from where it sat in her pocket. Yes, it was real. She was good enough - better than good. She'd proved that working her ass off in training and graduating top of her class. But no one had handed her anything on a plate and she knew that this was going to be no different. Now she had to prove herself. - belligerent partner or not.

They didn't have to travel far until they were in a quieter, more rundown part of the city. The people on the sidewalks became sparser and empty lots were as frequent as occupied ones. Finally, Killian pulled up into a side street, about two blocks away from a large warehouse.

"Is this it?" she asked, craning her neck to get a better view.

"Aye," he said.

Killian focused on preparing the camera as Emma undid her seatbelt buckle and slid back her chair. She stretched out her legs and watched him out of the side of her vision as he checked the memory card and took a few test shots.

It was quiet in the car now the engine was off and the radio was turned down so low to be almost inaudible. The traffic in the area was light and few pedestrians passed them. Emma felt herself get a little antsy, her foot tapping against the base of the footwell. She decided to distract herself by asking Killian a question.

"So, the accent..." she began.

"British, moved here when I was 14, naturalized citizen," he reeled off. He'd had to explain his origins so many times he had the speil memorized.

"Oh," she nodded. "Cool." From the way he had stiffened a little as he talked Emma figured that there was a little bit more to that particular story than he was letting on. But he wasn't exactly being open with her right now so she filed that away as something to dig into at a later time.

"How long do you think we have?" she asked.

Killian glanced at his watch. "It started about a half hour ago."

"Then I'm going to get us some coffee."

Before he could say anything else, Emma was out of the car. She'd spotted a 7-11 a few blocks back. Sure the coffee was awful, but it would make being stuck in a car with Jones a lot more palatable.

Emma slammed the door behind her as he was twisting the lens into place. It startled him a little and he almost dropped the camera. Part of him had wanted to remind her about being discreet, but she was new and no one knew her face yet, so it was unlikely that her making a coffee run would jeopardize the situation.

But it wasn't like he needed a coffee yet. It was barely 11 and he was in that comfortable zone in between meals where he was alert enough to cope without a caffeine fix. He doubted she was in need either. It seemed his standoffish attitude was working. Without much effort, he was carving out a wedge between them. She couldn't help but pick up on the fact that he wasn't interested in small talk or pandering to her needs. He would get her through her probation period and that's about where his obligations to her ended. He wasn't looking to become friends with her.

Emma found the convenience store quickly and tried to overlook its general poor levels of cleanliness as she filled two paper cups with thick coffee. She had no idea how Killian took his, so she stuffed her pockets with a handful of sweetener and creamer, grabbing a packet of cashews from the service counter as an afterthought.

As she walked back, she developed her strategy. She'd be helpful. She'd be accommodating. But she'd be no pushover. If he was going to continue on this path of obstruction, she'd make damn sure it didn't affect her results.

Nothing was stopping her. Not even a sour faced partner with a chip on his shoulder.

Back in the car, Killian had perched the lens of the camera on the dashboard and was watching the door of the warehouse through the viewfinder. No movement, but that was unsurprising. Some of these meetings lasted for hours. Emma returned promptly, two coffees in a cardboard holder in one hand and a packet of something else in the other.

"I wasn't sure how you took yours," she shrugged as she dumped a pile of little packets on the center console. Killian was about to take the offered coffee when a vivid memory coursed through him.

Two coffees, just like today. The crashing thud of an explosion as they slipped out of his hands.

"You okay?" she asked, watching him hesitate. He was staring at the coffee as though it would give him an electric shock.

That seemed to shake him from his daydream. "Uh, sorry, I'm fine."

He didn't take any of the offered additions so she logged that him liking his coffee black. She herself took three Splenda and stirred them into the smoky smelling coffee alongside a healthy dose of milky creamer. She tasted it and it was just about palatable. At least sipping on the cup gave her reason not to talk to him.

Killian soon forgot his own coffee, leaving it on the dashboard. He needed to focus entirely on this task. He needed pictures and from that he could get names. This organization was very careful about leaving a footprint, no written records or evidence of any of their activities. The only way to build a case was to find its weak spots and exploit them - in other words, to find someone higher up the chain of command with a lot more at stake than Felix that would give them access to Pan's inner circle.

Half an hour passed and Killian had not said a word. It was a little uncomfortable. She could practically feel his defenses up and building a wall between them. Being good at that herself, she couldn't exactly criticize.

"Are you drinking your coffee?" she asked meekly. Her own was gone and she was getting a little cold. Although there was no snow, it was still February and the air had a frigid nip to it that was slowly seeping into the car.

He grunted and shook his head.

He didn't care about the bloody coffee. He hadn't wanted it in the first place.

With a shrug, Emma reached for the cup, calculating in her head just how much more she could consume before needing a comfort break. Just as her fingers grazed the cardboard, Killian sucked in a deep breath. She looked up: people were leaving the warehouse. Momentarily distracted, she twisted her body so she could see better, at the same time her fingers swiped against the cup, sending it flying into Killian's lap where the lid proceeded to pop off so the still-boiling liquid poured out into his lap.

"Bloody hell!" he cried, dropping the camera and hissing in pain.

"Shit, sorry - fuck!" she muttered, looking around for something to soak up the hot coffee. She suddenly remembered that beneath her sweater she was wearing a tank top so she quickly wriggled out of her jacket, peeling off the white wool and tossing it to him.

"Here," she said, and he gave her a withering glance, pressing the material against his crotch (and she suddenly felt all the inappropriateness of staring at that part of his anatomy, especially in a confined space).

After a minute or so, the wool was soaked and the sting had gone from the burn, though he'd been left with a large, suspicious looking stain.

"Bloody hell, Swan! What the fuck was that?"

He looked up again but there was no longer anyone coming out of the warehouse. Tossing the sweater onto the back seat, he grimaced. They either moved quickly or they had seen the commotion and spotted the car.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No, love, you didn't mean to do anything. But this is why I wanted to do this alone! It could be weeks before they have another meeting."

He looked at her, fury burning in his veins. She was watching him react, her own chest heaving beneath the skimpy tank she was now wearing. His eyes dipped to her breasts for a second before he caught himself and he looked back at her face.

"It was an accident, Jones."

He narrowed his eyes. "Love, this is the FBI. There is no time for bloody accidents."

He picked up the camera, starting to take it apart, his anger making his movements sharp and decisive.

Beside him, Emma brooded. It had been a goddamn accident! Jesus, he was acting like petulant child.

"Oh my god, I am not your 'love'! Would you stop calling me that!"

He stared at her. She was suddenly looking as angry as he felt, her cheeks red, her breath coming in huffs.

"And this whole 'tough guy' 'I-don't-need-your-help' act has gotta go. You need to accept that I am your partner now and you are stuck with me whether you like it or not. So we can make this painful for both of us or you can stop being such an asshole and actually maybe this will go a little smoother!"

He paused for a moment, blinking at her outburst. Damn, she was firy. And a little voice was telling him that she looked pretty hot when she was mad.

"Are you done?"

"For now," she snapped

Without another word, he pushed the key in the ignition and slid the car into drive. Right now all he wanted to do was find a clean pair of pants, he'd worry about how to deal with Emma Swan later.

Emma seethed as car pulled away.

Killian Jones was not going to derail her career. She'd worked too damn hard to let that happen.

A/N: Something new for me. Please let me know what you think :)