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piracytheorist · 5 years ago

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My Notes on Rewatching “Call Girl”

I amuse myself by thinking that watching this film is an important rite of passage for anyone who’s an all-in Colin fan, as in, one who’ll watch anything and everything he’s in, no matter the content, theme or quality.

I actually used to think that this was a pretty bad movie... but, as you might have seen from my last few posts, I recently realized this isn’t the case. Sure, it is not your average short film, but breaking it down you realize it’s doing most things right from a filmmaking point. I mean, you don’t have to love it, but it does a great job overall.

And I mean, it’s got Colin in it. How bad can it be? ;)

Beware of spoilers, if you haven’t seen the film. And if you do wanna see it, here it is :D

I'm still surprised that... this is it. That's Colin freaking O'Donoghue right there. The pirate. The cowboy. The astronaut. The man the myth the legend.

Ah, early 00's.

Wait. Ok let's make a breakdown of the decoration here. There's: 1) a heart anatomy poster 2) a frame with an undiscernible picture 3) IS THAT AN ASTRONAUT FIGURE? dun_dun_dun.mp3 4) a small penguin (?) plushie with a nautical (?) hat on it 5) are those... mantis figurines stuck on the sides of the screen????

Oooooh boy you sure have some very specific decorations on your desk.

The music stops abruptly when Brendan's mother calls out to him to not close the door because she wants to see him studying. That's interesting. Also how old is Brennan supposed to be? Is he supposed to be in high school, or an adult in college? What was the age of consent in Ireland in 2003?

This vibe, though. White perfect shirt and dark vest...

The look of "I'm gonna look at hot girls with my bedroom's door open while my parents argue across the hall" ALSO YES THAT'S A MANTIS

This just makes me laugh so much. Can you imagine sweet innocent (mostly) virgin Brendan typing it and his heartbeat skyrocketing?

Seriously though, that "Welcome back Brendan" thing. With one small addition you add a whole point in his backstory about him trying to deal with his urges.

Jesus I have forgotten so much. As soon as Brendan hears his mother coming, he immediately clicks "Dump her" on the "Virtual Babe" and it just... explodes.

With a full low-quality boom sound effect to boot. Like seriously if you were trying to hide why the f have your speakers on. You had one job, Brendan.

A rare glimpse into Brendan's room, and I'm trying to understand what the pattern on his sheets are. Maybe I'm just confused by the astronaut figurine, but it looks... vaguely... about space? Like, if you squint, the circular thing on the top left looks like Saturn's rings. No?

Also, Brendan's mom being obsessed with disinfection. That was 2003.

"I don't want filth getting into my house while I'm gone." And two hours later, her son has sex on her bed.

Oh wait, his father says "The only contact [Brendan] has with the outside world is through that bloody computer of his," in a... weird, tone? Like he's trying to placate the mother's fears of any rave party suddenly taking place in the house, but also with his tone (and maybe by using the word "bloody"? idk I'm no native speaker but it piques my interest) it doesn't seem like he's very... understanding and/or supportive of his probably very shy and/or socially awkward son.

Mom: That reminds me, block off the internet, will you? Dad: *scoffs* Why not lock him in a tower while you're at it?

He is sassy though!

Lookit him though! So sad he won't be able to create and look at Virtual BabesTM while his parents are gone.

The parent's accents strike me more towards a British one and I got confused for a bit, but then I remembered that we see Brendan use euros later, lol.

*hatching the plan to search in his father's briefcase for any cards for escort services*

This is where I started feeling that this movie is better than I’d remembered. Like, it does the job of delivering Brendan's guilt over "tresspassing" into his parents room and disobeying his mother, as well as his fear of being discovered, even though he watched his parents drive away, so he'd hear the car if they came back, in a pretty well-done and clear way.

I love how he immediately knows exactly where to look. His father's such an organized fella. Also those pills that he seems to not need immediately (thus leaving them behind for the weekend) are... something. They're put there for a reason and I wonder what that could have been.

There's not even a moment of hesitation, once he opens the briefcase. He doesn't put the card back in, he only looks briefly at his parents' photo but then he's like "Yeah. I'm doing it."

That smile as he sees the card though, lol.

Casual reminder to have safe sex, lads.

And then the phone operator is like, full business mode. Brendan stutters for one (1) second and she's immediately like, "You want a girl?" She's like, I've had tons of people like you, lad, can't waste my time waiting until you find the courage to ask. You wanna hire or not?

OH MY GOD I JUST REALIZED The operator asks for the address, Brendan gives it, then asks how much does it cost. Then the operator says "Same as usual." BRUH she knew the address from how often his father used the service!

And then poor Brendan checks his savings and his "Uh..." says it all about how he wishes he could hire someone for longer than an hour. Bro, calm down. It's your first time.

And then he's like, waiting all anxiously by the door. I've never hired an escort service but I feel ya dude.

And of course Barbara the nosy neighbor, here to bring us to the edge of our seats, lol.

Look at how organized their fridge is. Why is that chick suddenly so eager to cook something for him? There looks to be so much food already prepared in there.

And dude. This movie has set-ups. Barbara tries to open a cupboard to like pick up ingredients to cook something, and Brendan, with a sudden "No!" rushes in and closes it. It only makes sense later, when we see that that's where he hid the money for the call girl.

Yikes she booped his nose as she left... what is he, ten? I mean even if he's supposed to be a teen here it's still... like... he's not a little boy to fucking boop his nose. No wonder her mother seems to trust her with taking care of him, with how both treat him like he's a child.

Hi there! You're gonna die :D

Shit I just noticed the portrait on the wall. Is that a... is that a fucking ruff collar his mother is wearing???? (btw I had to search to find that term with "shakespeare collar" XD)

I mean... you can't help falling for it. At first you're like, she seems too... simple for a call girl. But then you're like, who else could it be who also knows his name?

I wonder what would've happened if she hadn't asked to use the bathroom, which prompted her to look at his parents' bedroom and him to... initiate contact. Would he have mustered the courage to actually ask her about it or would he have been so flustered until she'd say something? What would she say? "You know, your mother said you would [something]" and he would FREAK THE FUCK OUT because how does his mother know? Would they have stayed there in awkward silence long enough for his mother to call, him to pick up and find out what she was really there for?

I mean, look at that! I'm speculacting the "what-ifs"! Good fucking movie!

That look, though. You suddenly go from "Aw you cute" to "WTF I know you're thirsty for it but that's... creepy"

Look at that smile, though! She is pretty nosy!

I just... I love everything about this. The way she's smiling at nosing in in her boss' bedroom. Him creeping behind her like the future killer that he is, actually scaring her. The way he says "This is my mother's room," so shy and collected. The fucking music, too. How it slowly builds up from the moment she spots the bedroom and it starts developing when Brendan kisses her.

And that kiss. So chaste and shy and yet she's like, wow yeah let's have sex now.

"You're not as shy as you look." LOL

For the pre-sex scene I just wanna link y'all to @killian-whump 's post about it, since it says it all.

Also dude the voicemail is set up from that moment too, but we've yet to hear what it includes, aside from his mother being bossy about the smallest things. "I hope you haven't gone back to bed." IF ONLY YOU KNEW. Not only what bed he's gone to, but also what he's doing on said bed.

"You don't waste much time, do you?" Lol if only you knew. And again his first response is to apologize if he did anything wrong.

And you know what? Plot twists are a hell of a lot of fun and well made when they make you go back and see things with the new perspective. Like, how chill and simple she was, why she said the last line I mentioned, the newly-known reasons why she said it was kinky to have sex in his mother's bedroom... *slams hand on table* That's a great way to do a plot twist! A fucking plus!

Like seriously, this convo: B: Have you met my father? M: No, but a lot of the other girls have though.

Pre-plot twist viewer: Wow whAT how do you say it like that Post-plot twist viewer: Yeah makes sense

M: I think he gets sympathy from them, like, you know, cause his wife's such an old witch... *realizes* Oh, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said that! *more failed excuses and then THAT face*

And like, that's a bit inappropriate in any case but pre-plot twist you're like WTAF. And then you're like eh makes sense for frustrated employees to pity their bitchy boss' seemingly calm husband...

And there's that set-up from before. Job well done, film.

And then their argument about the money. Brendan being confused about the amount, Mandy saying she'll come back and speak to his mother about it...

Seriously though what if he'd found out the voicemail after he'd had sex and before the "confrontation"? Would he like, have sent her on her merry way with all the money and then had more sex with the actual call girl?

And then his instinct, to try and make sure his mother won't find out, is to fucking threaten the woman with a knife. Wow, a little too much, Brendan. And then his first instinct, when they're fighting, is to search and grab the knife and fucking stab her. Lbr though that's just baby Colin finding his call for playing messed-up characters.

Also how did she die so quickly. Guess I found one weakness in the plot XD

And now you're like Jesus he just murdered her but when Barbara comes a-knocking and he looks at her and exasperatedly calls her name, you're like... same, bro.

And the stupid bastard didn't even wash the blood off his arm. Like seriously, Brendan, either do a murder correctly or don't do it at all. At least you can't say he wasn't dedicated, bro sliced his own arm open. *pats head* you'll learn, my little murderous bean, you'll learn.

Brendan: I was doing the dishes. Barbara: Did your parents leave them for you to do? They must have left in a rush this morning.

Yes, Barbara, he can do the dishes, he's in an undetermined age between late teens and-

Barbara: They didn't even make their bed.

Wtf you nosy bitch.

See what I'm saying? Full character development for a character with like, two minutes of screentime.

And then the voicemail drops like an anvil. My first thought when his mother said that Mandy is nothing but trouble I was like "Yo look who's talking" but then I thought that... yeah she did creep in her boss' bedroom, actually had sex with her son in it, then pretty much talked dirt to him about her... I mean she definitely didn't deserve to die, but maybe his mother was a good judge of character for one (1) moment.

And then Lorraine appears.

And Brendan's like "Now I have money for like, three hours with her. Maybe I'll even convince her to help me hide the body too."

“OR MAYBE I’LL JUST KILL HER TOO.”

In conlusion, yup, I’m pretty glad I spent a good hour and a bit watching, analyzing, writing this review and screencapping this film. 10/10 would rewatch and review again.

#Colin O'Donoghue #/#//#///#////#Call Girl

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rebaobsessivelywrites · 7 years ago

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The Profiler in the Therapist (ch 9)

You can find this entire fic here on AO3.

Fandom: Bones (TV) and Criminal Minds (TV)

Entire Fic Description:

Dr. Lance Sweets is no longer the innocent eager psychologist he was a little over a year and a half ago. His time as a prodigy profiler at the BAU was a blessing. His time in a serial killer's basement was not.

Now, scarred but healed, Sweets is 'retired' to calmer job in the FBI as a therapist. As he helps others, he helps himself. But... is it enough? What will he do when one of his most fascinating (unwilling) patients asks for help on a case? How will his new team take his past as his secrets slowly start to come out?

Entire Fic Warnings: cannon-typical violence, past torture, panic attacks, PTSD, serial killers

Chapter word count: 4,003

Chapter warnings: stressful uncle-hood, otherwise... none? let me know if I’m wrong.

Summary: The trial approaches, Rossi makes magic, Sweets begins plotting, and Jack is absolutely precious.

Please read the fic! First chapter, previous chapter, next chapter, master list. And let me know if you want to be tagged.

Lance relaxed in on himself as he rhythmically folded and rolled the slightly rubbery dough, slowly stretching out the starch into the characteristic texture of pasta. To his left, a large pot of water was just starting to steam, and behind him he could hear his cooking partner humming quietly to himself as he mixed spices and vegetables.

If someone had told him a year ago that he’d find this soothing—the motions of cooking, the sounds of the kitchen, the smell of Italian spices…. Well, Sweets would have been confused, to say the least. He had never liked cooking, growing up. When he was a young orphan in the system, the kitchen was firmly off limits in nearly every house he stayed in, sometimes violently so. Once his parents had adopted him, and helped ease him past his tumultuous stay with abusive foster families, the kitchen became a place of solace and whispered secrets—for just him and his mother—but he never cooked. In the beginning there were too many horrifying memories for him to stay when the knives were out and the stove was on, and later it became habit. He got over it by the time he had graduated early and was off alone at college, but his definition of ‘cooking’ back then was ‘heat it and hope it’s edible’. It had been a source of endless teasing from his mother.

Lance smiled softly to himself as he flipped the thin sheet of dough one last time, liberally dusting it with flour, before grabbing Rossi’s antique, well loved, yet pristine pasta cutter and lining up the blades with the edge of the dough. He thought his mother would be quite proud, if she could see him now.

Lance glanced up as his companion and mentor in all things edible appeared at his side, nodding approvingly at his technique. “You’re getting the hang of this,” Dave smiled at the young therapist.

Sweets smiled back, “Yeah, I think so. It’s starting to feel a bit like home.”

The profiler closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, “I can get behind that. And boy is it good to be home…”

“Rough case?” Lance asked in concern, moving to turn the heat under the now boiling water down.

Dave nodded and moved to take up the pasta cutter as Sweets moved away, continuing the task with practiced ease. “It hit JJ and Garcia the worst,” he shared, giving a small sigh. “Suicides are never easy, but when they’re accidental? Not only that, but prompted by a proxy strangler?” he shook his head, “It’s hard to get your head around.”

Lance grimaced slightly; he hadn’t heard the full story behind the case when Aaron had picked up Jack from their morning at the park. It was a lot worse and a lot better that he had thought. At least the killer hadn’t killed all those kids in person.

“But enough talk of killers,” Rossi declared with finality, dusting the fully cut pasta with one last layer of flour before scooping it up and plopping it into the pot of water. “How’s that big case you’re helping with going?”

Lance shrugged, easily transitioning away from the unpleasant topic of proxy killers, “I’m not really sure. I haven’t heard anything since I dropped off my final evaluation with Agent Booth and Ms. Julian on Wednesday.”

“Would that be Caroline Julian?” Rossi looked up from watching the pot, interest clear on his face.

Sweets eyes his friend carefully. “Yes…” he hazarded. He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know how Dave knew Ms. Julian or why he seemed so interested in her.

A faintly wistful smile crossed his face, “She’s quite something, isn’t she? A force of nature.”

Still a little cautious, Sweets nodded his agreement; if Ms. Julian put her mind to something, she was basically unstoppable.

Satisfied with Lance’s nod, Rossi turned toward his next task, plopping a sauce pan on the stove and moving towards the fridge as he spoke. “I met her through Hotch, as you might expect. I don’t know her well, but I have definitely enjoyed the few conversations we have had. But,” he paused, glancing up at Sweets, “You’re worried about this case and I’d bet anything it has nothing to do with Caroline.”

Lance heaved a gusty sigh and turned to lean back against the counter, “You’d be right.”

Rossi continued his current task—kneading spices into ground meat—but somehow managed to profile the younger man with his back turned, “It’s the partner pair, isn’t it? Booth and Brennan.”

The therapist squeezed his eyes shut, “Yeah.” He shook his head, even though Dave couldn’t see him, “I still don’t understand how Dr. Brennan can be ok with her partner prosecuting her father.”

“She sounds very logical,” Rossi hazarded.

“She is,” Sweets agreed, “But she’s not. I swear she feels more deeply than half of the people I help; she just refuses to acknowledge it.”

The Italian paused for a split second in his kneading, before continuing. “Are you sure that’s a problem? Do you have any reason to think she’ll let it affect her work? Based on what I’ve heard, she certainly hasn’t in the past.”

“No, I don’t,” Lance agreed, almost surprising himself with how easy it was. But he knew it was true. Just like how he knew Hotch would always be drawn to the BAU like a moth to the flame, he knew Dr. Brennan would always be professionally detached and a brilliant crime-solver. “But that’s not what I’m worried about anyway.”

Rossi scooped the meat up and dropped it in the now hot sauce pan, before turning to direct his full attention on Sweets. “What are you worried about?”

Lance took a moment, gathering his thoughts and examining Dave’s face, which was crinkled in concern and curiosity. “I’m worried… that this trial might irrevocably damage their friendship. I’m not worried about their work; I’m sure that no matter what they will at least pretend to be ok, and will keep it from affecting what they do together… But,” Sweets sighed. “They’re so much more than that to each other. They get each other like no one else, even with the parts that don’t—that shouldn’t—mesh.”

Rossi nodded, encouraging the young doctor to continue speaking, and moved to wash his hands.

Sweets slumped a little further against the counter, moving to rub his eyes. “The truth is, they’re friends and are incredible to watch.” He shook his head again, this time more to himself than anything else, “They’re best friends, with explicit trust and understanding between them, and I don’t want them to lose that.”

Sweets looked up to find Rossi now leaning against the sink, an earnest understanding crinkling his brows. “Dave… I’m afraid the trial could break the progress they’ve made.”

“Sounds complicated, kid,” Rossi agreed, “And they sure sound like an interesting pair.”

A little startled at the earnestly delivered understatement, Lance felt a smile cracking his face. He gave a light chuckle, “You have no idea.”

The veteran profiler gave him a small smile that crinkled his eyes, huffed a short laugh, and turned to the sizzling pan of meat to systematically begin breaking it into tiny little pieces. “I’m not sure how to help you, Lance. You’re not their therapist anymore, so it’s not like you see them all that often.”

“I know. Even if I did, I’m not sure I’d be able to help.” Sweets gave a one-armed shrug, still slouched against the counter watching Rossi work, “I guess I’ll just to what I can from the sidelines on this trial.”

Dave hummed his agreement. “You’ll do fine.”

Sweets nodded to himself and pushed off the counter, moving to retrieve the ingredients his friend had already mixed for the sauce. He’d been slacking enough; it was time to get back to work.

It was much later, when the pair were seated at Rossi’s kitchen table, wreathed in delicious aromas and feasting on the perfectly made pasta, that the BAU agent brought the topic up again.

He set down his fork and tilted his head slightly to the side, “I don’t know if it would help you at all, but I know what I’d do if it were me.” As Lance stared across at him in curiosity, Dave grinned, “I’d write a book.”

“A book?” Lance blinked in shock and confusion.

“Yeah. I might not even publish it, but something about outlining and gathering information… It helps me get my thoughts straight. Who knows,” Rossi grinned, “Maybe you could even convince them to go along with it; you could publish an analysis on their relationship.”

Sweets spent a long few minutes just sitting there, food forgotten, frowning at the idea. Write a book? Him? It was… a rather ridiculous thought. Especially since there was no way the anthropologist-agent pair would agree to go along with it.

But… he glanced up at Rossi, who had resumed eating but was still watching the therapist with an amused glint in his eye. It would be fun…

Sweets hadn’t expected to run into Booth and Brennan in the Royal Diner; his goal had been to grab a quick bite before heading to work. He should have guessed he’d run into someone from the Jeffersonian— as that was how he’d been introduced to the place to begin with —but it simply hadn’t occurred to him. As such, he had been mildly shocked when the partners had flopped into the seats across from him. Never one to turn down the opportunity to speak with the interesting duo, and with Rossi’s comments from the weekend still tumbling about his head, Sweets had simply greeted them and settled in for casual conversation over coffee and breakfast.

“So, how’re your cases going?” Lance inquired as a waitress left with their food plates, effectively interrupting a friendly debate over… carpet fibers? And their decomposition rate?

“We’re not working together,” Booth calmly informed his former therapist, looking almost relived as he broke through Dr. Brennan’s lecture.

“What?” Lance blinked in confusion at the pair across the table.

“We got split up,” Brennan informed him matter-of-factly, as though he simply needed the information phrased in a new manner.

“What?” his eyebrows furrowed, “Why? I was under the impression that the bureau had accepted my evaluation and cleared your partnership.”

Dr. Brennan shook her head, dismissing his assumption. “The FBI says we can’t work together during the trial,” the anthropologist somehow sounded petulant, underneath the factual tone she always seemed to use. (This was why Sweets was convinced there was so much more to the scientist.)

“You know,” Booth waved a hand negligently as he elaborated, “Brennan’s dad murdered the Assistant Director of the FBI.”

Brennan nodded, “His trial begins next week.”

That had Lance’s eyebrows shooting up… the date is already set? He huffed a frustrated sigh, “I should have been informed.”

“Of the trial?” Brennan frowned at him, “Why?” After a moment, she glanced at Booth, pausing when she noticed he wasn’t surprised.

Booth shrugged a little, “Oh, Sweets did the psychological profile on Max for the prosecution.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me before?” she gave her partner an impressively indignant look.

Unable to resist, Sweets pointed at Brennan, “Why is that important to you?” The question was pure instinct from all their sessions together. It earned him a glare from both of his ex-patients, though.

“Sweets!” Booth exclaimed reproachfully, “No therapy.” Lance bit his tongue and restrained a sudden urge to throttle one or both of them as Booth turned to his partner and shrugged, “Because while it would matter to, say, a normal person, I just figured you wouldn’t care.”

After a brief pause, Brennan nodded in satisfaction, turning back to her coffee, “You’re absolutely right.”

Lance’s urge to cause bodily harm shifted to himself as he found himself wanting to slam his head against the table. Maybe repeatedly. Honestly, he loved watching the two of them interact and knew how well they worked together, but he was sincerely regretting clearing them from therapy. It was so painfully clear that their relationship had become even more enabling since they had ceased their sessions.

“Dr. Brennan,” Sweets leant forward slightly, attempting yet again—however futile he knew it would be—to reach the stubborn scientist, “everyone you work with, including your former therapist, is endeavoring to imprison your father.”

“Booth is right; it doesn’t bother me,” she insisted, putting her cup down.

“Booth is wrong, yes it does,” Sweets found himself sniping back almost childishly. Mentally, he slapped himself— he was going about this all wrong, but he had no idea how to change his trajectory. He sighed, “Perhaps I could suggest you look past your instinct to rationalize the situation and allow yourself to feel it as well?”

Brennan, just as he had suspected, simply raised her eyebrows and shook her head at him, “I’m fine.”

Sweets let out a frustrated huff. “If you were fine you would be balled up in the corner,” he gestured behind her for emphasis, “weeping or semi-catatonic.”

After a beat, Brennan turned her incredulous look to Booth, “Does that sound fine to you?

“Sorry Bones,” Booth shook his head, surprising them both, “I got to agree with Sweets on this one.”

Sweets found himself staring at the agent for a few seconds, marveling over the fact that he was preceptive enough to cater to his partner’s quirks but still recognize the pain she was hiding. Truly, this pair was incredible.

The therapist quickly recovered and turned his attention back to the subject of his concern, absently observing the frustrated set to her jaw. He focused on giving her his most honest and earnest expression, “I think it’s important that you know that we know that the colder and more objective you appear on the outside, the more pain you’re feeling on the inside.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, voice a little more strained under the undisguised frustration and anger at being ganged up on.

There was nothing Sweets wanted to do more in that moment than push. He wanted to pin her down and force her to take that last step and confront her emotional vulnerability… but Sweets was more experienced than that. Not only had his time at the BAU given him practice at learning when to push and when to back off with some of the most dangerous people around, but his time as a therapist had given him a new point of reference for how to use that to help people— not just stop them. And this… Well, there was nothing more Sweets could do.

Dr. Brennan had shut down completely, and wouldn’t be listening to anything he said for some time now. Even if he did get her to listen and manage to make that progress he so desperately wanted to make, he knew this wasn’t the time. Her father was going to trial, and she was going to be fighting against every single one of her friends to keep him out of jail.

She didn’t need him to push; the trial would stress her more than enough on its own.

After a moment of slightly awkward silence as the therapist and scientist stared at each other across the table, Booth stood abruptly, effectively cutting the moment short. “Well, Sweets, we should get going,” he announced, giving them both a brief smile as Brennan eagerly followed his lead and stood to leave.

They parted with brief goodbyes and Sweets turned slightly to observe their retreating backs thoughtfully. They’d make it through the trial— Sweets had faith in that now—but there was no way he was willing to let them go.

He really wanted to see what they could become…

Just a few days later, the trial and the problematic partner pair were the furthest things from Sweets mind. Jessica was on the other side of the country—in LA—for a writer’s conference of some variety and, with their family’s ever so splendid luck, Hotch and the BAU team had been called out to Miami to deal with a conman turned killer. This meant wonderful little Jack would be stuck with Lance.

Now, normally Sweets would simply talk to the parents of Jack’s close friends, who were on the approved pick up list for expressly this reason, and ask them to pick Jack up from school with their own son and watch him until Sweets was done with his day. But, of course, not only did the four-year-old have the day off, but Jack’s friend and friend’s family were out of town.

He and Aaron had gotten word of it on Monday and had arranged for Jack to stay with a sitter, who JJ and Will occasionally used, for the day. It had been a mild nightmare to work out, but Sweets had gone to work content in the knowledge that Jack was being well cared for and that he had Aaron for backup.

That hadn’t lasted long.

Around nine in the morning, while Sweets was in the middle of a session, Hotch had texted to give him the heads up on their case. Sweets had acknowledged it and gone on with his day.

At 11:03, just after his last appointment before lunch, he received a panicked call from the sitter, Sarah. She had a family emergency and needed to take the first flight out of DC.

By 11:10, Sweets had calmed down the poor woman and given her clear instructions on coming to the FBI Hoover Building before tracking down his supervisor and explaining the situation. She was, thankfully, very understanding.

At 11:38, Sweets had exhausted the majority of his options, talking to both of their backup sitters and all six of their background-checked neighbors. No one was available. It was just their luck.

At his wits end, he called Will. The detective was a god-send.

“Henry’s with m’ neighbor,” the Cajun explained. “I could ask ‘er ta pick Jack up fer the rest of t’day,” he offered.

Sweets could have wept in relief.

A few minutes later, the therapist was making his way into the lobby and past security. He was about halfway across the room when he spotted the frantic sitter clutching Jack to her chest, almost dashing to the check-in desk. He waved her down and Jack was summarily passed off. She left in a blur.

Hand-in-hand, the four-year-old and his uncle watched her go. Jack’s eyes were huge when he turned to look up at Sweets. “Whoa,” he summed up the last hour succinctly.

Grinning down at him, Sweets chuckled, “You got that right, buddy.” Hefting the boy up onto his hip, he moved to the counter and quickly got his nephew a visitor’s badge. Jack was absolutely delighted by the little piece of plastic, and kept staring at it in delight as they went through security and moved towards the elevators.

“So, you’re going to hang out with me for a bit, Jack,” Lance started. Jack beamed even brighter as he stared at the badge before quickly wiping it off his face and looking up at his uncle with the biggest set of puppy dog eyes he could muster.

“Can I see your office, Uncle Lance?” the boy pleaded, face as stoic as his father’s resting expression.

Lance couldn’t help chuckling and ruffling his hair a little as they came to a stop in front of the elevators and he put the boy back onto his own two feet. He decided to ignore the button to call the elevator for the moment and directed all of his attention on his nephew. “Sure,” he agreed easily, smiling as Jack beamed up at him, “But after a bit, Henry and his sitter are going to come pick you up for the rest of the day.”

The four-year-old’s expression fell slightly, “I can’t stay?”

“I still need to work today, little man,” Sweets reminded him gently, “But you’ll get to hang out with Henry and after I’m done I’ll come right over and pick you up.”

“Promise?” Jack peered into his uncle’s face, as though checking for sincerity.

“Promise,” Lance smiled, reassuring him, “We can even go get ice cream.”

All worries forgotten, Jack let out a muted squeal of excitement and plastered himself to Sweets’ leg. Still smiling fondly down at him, the therapist dropped a hand to rest in his hair.

“Sweets?” a voice broke through their quiet moment, coming from the direction of security.

Careful not to dislodge his nephew, Sweets turned to look over his shoulder. There, clearing security and headed to the elevators (and thus them) was Booth. As he approached, Sweets gave him a warm smile, “Agent Booth. How are you?”

“Eh, I’m doing alright,” he gave a slight shrug, glancing at Jack, who was now hiding behind his uncle. “Maybe a little bored. How are you?”

Sweets echoed his shrug, “Busy. Are you stuck preparing for the trial?”

“Yup,” Booth confirmed ruefully. “Who’s your friend here?”

Without realizing it, a fond smile crossed his face once more, “This is my nephew, Jack.” He looked down and patted the boy’s shoulder, “Jack, this is Agent Booth— I work with him.”

The four-year-old gave a shy little wave, ducking his head slightly, still plastered to Sweets’ side. A grin broke out across Booth’s face as he waved back, “Hey there, Jack.”

Jack ducked his head again before looking up at Lance, “Do you work with him like Dad works with Aunt JJ and Uncle Derek and Uncle Spencer and—”

Lance let out a chuckle and interrupted his nephew, “Not quite, buddy. Your dad is really close to his team; I mostly consult for Agent Booth.”

Jack’s face scrunched up a little. “Consult,” he repeated, “That means help, right?”

“Yeah,” the therapist beamed proudly at the little boy, “That’s right.”

“Oh man,” Booth broke into the conversation, “You seem like a smart one, Jack.”

Jack glanced at Booth and blushed, ducking his head again.

“What brings you to the FBI?” Booth asked, addressing the shy boy.

The four-year-old glanced briefly up at his uncle, who nodded encouragingly, before turning his attention to the agent, “I don’t have school and Aunt Jess is on a trip and Daddy just left, so I was with Miss Sarah, but she had to fly away to be with her family so I’m with Uncle Lance until Henry and his sitter can pick me up.”

Booth blinked a little as he processed the long-winded explanation, “I see. Well, at least you get to see where you uncle works, right?”

“Right!” Jack agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

Just then the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival. The two adults looked up before starting to move into the little room. Sweets rested a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, guiding him to move as well, “Come on, Jack, let’s show you my office before you have to leave.”

The boy gave a happy little bounce as he maneuvered himself between Sweets and Booth, having obvious warmed up to the agent some already. “Is it like Aunt Pen’s office?”

Sweets smiled down at his enthusiastic nephew once again. “No, Jack,” he chuckled, “Penelope’s office is much more colorful.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Booth look up sharply from Jack, staring at Sweets as though something was dawning on him.

For the briefest second, Lance felt like something had changed, but then Booth looked back down at Jack and asked him to describe his Aunt Pen’s office. Jack was nearly glowing as he responded.

Sweets found himself almost thankful that nothing had worked out today; today should have been average, but instead he got to spend his lunch break with his nephew and watch the precocious boy wrap one of his uncle’s favorite individuals around his finger. The therapist had a headache and was missing out on actually eating, but…

Lance smiled to himself, Totally worth it.

#reba's fanfic #profiler in the therapist #tag more later

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swanderful1 · 8 years ago

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A Cold Awakening: Ch 8/?

Notes: Hi everyone, thanks so much for the support. I really appreciate it. This is my first time writing any type of fanfiction and I waited to do it for a really long time because I was nervous no one would like it. But I have honestly received so much positive feedback it has been so amazing. I hope everyone continues to enjoy what I create as I have enjoyed the numerous fics I have read on here over the years. This chapter is longer than before, about ~7600 words so it took longer than anticipated but I hope you enjoy. The entire story can be found on AO3 and now ffnet too!!!!

Killian’s POV

She was an utterly infuriating and compelling woman. Emma Nolan. Ever since she had reentered his life she had made quick work of challenging him. Everything he once thought he felt in resentment toward his former hometown, now conflicted with the lure that he felt toward being involved in this world. This private and painful part of his life now brought to the surface after twenty years underground. And she was the captain at the forefront. Turning his world on its head.

He had barely recognized her that night in The Rabbit Hole. Far before she had waltzed in, he and Liam had drowned themselves in a heavy pouring of rum. It was the first time Killian had been drunk in years, his busy life in London left little time for lingering in bars and hangovers the next day. However in this case the burden of being back here was far heavier than either one of them had been prepared for that first night. They decided to take the night to try and unwind. Rounding up a game of pool, ordering shot after shot from the bartender, making utter fools of themselves in what would have been an otherwise severely unpleasant evening. That was when he saw her. The shock of long blonde hair and leather jacket at the bar drawing him in. He was wasted by that point. Slurring word after word. By the time he had returned from the bar, he barely remembered the exchange that had passed between he and the woman. But he was entirely certain she was not interested.

Then the events following intrigued him further. Starting with seeing her in the police station that next morning. All cool demeanor and cordiality toward him. She was saving him the humiliation of having to explain to her father the way in which they had actually met the prior night. He was not sure why she did him this favor. It was then that he remembered knowing her growing up. She was the Sheriff’s daughter. Utterly untouchable now as far as he was concerned. Reigning in the initial feeling of desire he felt for her. Green eyes. Long blonde hair. A radiant smile that’s appearance was few and far between. The ability to command a room. They weren’t here to be friends, he reminded himself, they were here to figure out what had actually happened to his parents.

The weeks following their truce were somewhat… pleasant under the circumstances. The day in the motel where she had dared ask about Grace. His first real love. The name emblazoned on his arm now, feeling more like a scar than the gesture of devotion it had been when he had gotten the tattoo done. He couldn’t fault her though. For whatever reason he was not angered by her curiosity, he instead fed into it. He found that Emma Nolan fearless. She wasn’t intimidated by him, no matter how much he had tried their first few times seeing her. She was quick witted, sharp, and though she was stubborn as a mule he could feel she was enjoying their time together as well.

“Emma, love, why don’t you try it with this knife instead. It’s smaller.” He had said to her a few days ago when they had gone back to his father’s car wreck in the woods. It was only the two of them. An unspoken desire for privacy the main lure. He handed her the knife. She had been struggling to open the glove box for a few moments now. And while he knew she preferred to conquer tasks on her own, she had been the one to invite him here. So in some way he suspected she was open to a bit of help from him.

“Thanks.” She took the knife without argument and without looking him in the eyes, dedicating her focus immediately back to the jammed glove box of his father’s old car.

A few seconds later he heard a click, signifying the damned thing had finally cracked open. A wave of victory washed over him. He liked being right almost as much as she did.

“What’s inside?” he asked trying to get a better look at way lay in the messy glove box. Mostly old papers, the licensure for owning the car, a book of stamps, a pen that had exploded and left a trail of ink over all of the box’s contents.

“Nothing important.” Emma flipped through the pile, visibly disappointed.

“I’m not sure my father would have left any kind of paper trail. He was a powerful man. If he wanted to cover something up, he would have done it without a trace.”

“I just feel like we’ve hit a dead end.” She put her head down in her hands, the pile of ink stained papers falling to her feet. “It’s like I can’t figure anything out unless we get some cryptic note delivered to the station. I just feel like a puppet.”

He didn’t want to see her upset. She rarely ever gave away how she was feeling. Save for their first adventure together. In line buying the groceries afterwards, and something had gotten the best of her. Caused her entire face to turn a soft pink. It was gorgeous. Jealousy? He wondered if it could have been, but thought better of it. There was no way Emma could have been jealous. Pissed off maybe. But jealous, probably not.

“Hey. Emma.” He reached his hand down and tilted her chin so she was looking at him. At first he had worried the contact was too forward of him, this only being maybe the third time they had touched. But once he caught sight of her speckled green eyes brimming with tears all he wanted to do was make the sadness go away. Show her how much he had entrusted within her to figure out what had happened to his parents. A single tear escaped and he wiped it with the pad of his thumb, brushing it along her chin for just a second too long. And she wasn’t resisting him. “You will figure it out, darling. You’re more than capable.”

Her face softened at his words. There was the hint of her radiant smile. A bit of relief came over him despite the invisible current running between them. The electric feeling he got the few times they had touched. He was not sure he would be able to hold it together if he watched her cry. This intricately closed off soul he had felt a draw to the moment he returned. It felt so intimate. This moment between them in the deteriorating car. Side by side in the driver’s and passenger seat. He wondered if his father had experienced that kind of feeling. With his mistress in this very car. Driving down some lonely highway and trading stories about their lives they were running away from. Or perhaps they never spoke of such things and instead pretended they were each other’s one and only. It made him sick. The idea that his mother was at home, raising his children, and his father having the audacity to step out on her in such a way.

“Killian…” she started, bringing him back to the present moment. “You alright?”

“Of course, love. Why?”

“If you look at me any harder you’re gonna drill a hole in my head.”

“I just…” he struggled to find his words, something that rarely had occurred that was until he had started spending so much time with her. “You don’t have to bear the weight of this on your own.”

Neither one of them moved away from each other. He didn’t want to be the first to break this moment. The light feeling taking over his chest, something he had not felt since… since her. No. He scolded. Emma was different. She wasn’t out to hurt him. He could see it in her delicate gaze now that continued to bore into his soul. Their faces now inches apart, he could feel a light dusting of her breath on his face. Every cell in his body live with this pull to her. This chemistry. This… desire. His eyes shifted to her plump, bow shaped lips. Then he caught himself. He hesitated. And she picked up on it.

“We should go,” she said abruptly. Giving him very little time to get his wits about him before she was exiting the car. Or what remained of the car anyway. She was fleeing. He knew it well. But he opted to follow her nonetheless. Something he had taken to doing rather willingly these days.

Today he and Emma were meeting in the bookshop during her lunch. It was a casual enough place that if anyone saw them, they would suspect it to be a chance encounter. They had to be more careful these days. Slowly but surely, news crews were coming to town looking for a story. He hated them. Every last one of the vultures trying to swoop in and publicize his family’s trauma yet again.

In the morning he had been at the police station with Liam and Regina. They spoke of potential people their father could have been having an affair with. Lists and lists of different people he associated with throughout the years who could know something. Because Killian and Liam most certainly did not. Their view of their father Brennan was clipped at best. He was a terse man for most of their lives, spending little family time with them. His raging alcoholism being the source, and Killian’s mother trying her best to keep them away from it. Killian felt in his pocket for the only relic he kept of his mother. A silver pocket watch that had been a wedding gift to his father. In it was an engravement of her photo and her initials. She had given it to him on his sixteenth birthday, the last birthday of his she had been alive for. He sighed at the thought. His father had in no way deserved her.

Killian had given Emma a list of his two days before so she could get ahead but that was neither here nor there. She played along when they were at the station, acting as if these were the only times they saw one another. It was a mystery to him, why she was doing this. Why she felt the need to have information before everyone else she worked with did. And why he felt most comfortable disclosing details of his past to only her.

They sat tucked back in one of the wings of the book store. Emma had gotten them coffee. Killian brought work to do before and after they met. She sipped the coffee which of course had cinnamon and whipped cream atop, a consistency of hers.

“Can I ask you something?” he said after a few minutes of quiet between them. Not that he felt the need to fill the silence, he quite fancied her company with or without discussion.

“Sure.” She shifted in the oversize arm chair, tucking her legs up underneath her.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Killian… it’s my job. I’m a cop.”

“No, I mean this.” He moved his hand back and forth signaling between them. “Why are you meeting with me? Listening to me? Working exclusively with me.”

“You offered.” She diverted her eyes and sipped her coffee, a piece of blonde hair falling over her shoulder. He pretended not to notice how subtly it curled amongst the red thread of her sweater.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t agree with the direction Gr-Detective Humbert is taking the investigation.” She caught herself before she referred to him on a first name basis again. The last time she had done it ringing in Killian’s ear. Had something happened between the two? He felt his face grow warm at the thought.

“So you’ve gone rogue?”

“No. I’m still working with the investigation team. I’m just… exploring my own options as well.” If there was a double meaning behind her statement she left no indication on her face. “I think he’s making the same mistakes they made years ago and I think if he keeps doing that we will never figure anything out.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it? You are deputy sheriff, you pull a significant amount of weight with that title.” Why in the world was he offering advice to drive her closer to this Graham fellow?

“He won’t listen to me.”

Now Killian was really starting to get warm, the thought of anyone not listening to her ideas. Not taking her seriously was unfathomable to him. She was intelligent. She was driven. She was hard working. She was highly intuitive. She was everything.

Stop it Jones, he thought to himself.

“So I will follow what he says when I’m there, and follow what I say when I’m not there. Okay with you?” She was looking at him now. Her green eyes bore into him. Was it possible she could see right through him?

“Fine by me, love.” He returned to looking at his laptop, pretty sure that if he continued to look in her eyes he would fall into them. “But perhaps you should try speaking to him anyway. You deserve respect, Emma.”

She didn’t argue with him she just returned to sipping her coffee and flipping through a book. He hoped in some way his words had gotten through to her. While he liked the nature of their meetings now, an unidentifiable part of him wanted her to feel comfortable at work. And confident in the job she was doing. For heaven's sake the woman was capable of literally running this investigation by herself and doing a better job than her superior. She deserved to have her opinions heard.

Later that night he went to the house Liam and his wife were renting. It was a town over, in some bland looking suburban complex. But it was the best they could do on such short notice. They had come all the way from California and it seemed like there was no end to the case in sight. And since they had a daughter it seemed best to have a yard and bedrooms and a big space for her to play. Instead of staying in a hotel for however long, like Killian was planning to do.

“Little brother!” Liam greeted Killian the way he always did. Patting him on the back and welcoming him into his family’s home. “And hello to you too, Princess.” Liam bent down to pet the dog. She was Killian’s family. The only version he felt entirely comfortable with at this point.

“Younger brother, just younger.” Killian grabbed onto Liam’s hair and pulled him down under his arm. He felt more relaxed here. With his brother and his wife Laura. And Harper their charming little lass who grew more bright eyed by the day. Despite the circumstances.

“Don’t break anything, it’s a rental!” Killian heard Laura yell from the other room. If he was grateful for one thing in this whole scenario, it was that he was able to spend some time with his brother. They only saw each other on holidays really since Liam lived in California. But Killian would appreciate whatever time was left being within driving distance from him before he would go back to London.

“What’s to eat? I’m starved,” Killian said walking into the living room where Laura and their daughter Harper sat playing on the floor. They had arrived a few weeks ago, not wanting to spend all of this time away from each other. A slight pain struck Killian in a place he had not felt in a long time. His heart. Like he was missing something he never had in the first place.

“There you two are.” Laura stood and walked over embracing Killian in a warm hug. She was one of the few people not scared of hugging him. She pulled away and looked at him with her kind brown eyes, her heart shaped face giving way to a smile. “When was the last time you had a homecooked meal?”

“Oh… I don’t know. Never?” he joked.

“Well, here. You watch Harper. Liam and I will finish up dinner. We got lobster. The man at the market convinced me they were the best in Maine.” She smoothed out the sleeve of his shirt. “Does Princess need to go out?”

“I think she would very much like to spend some time in the yard. Do you mind if I take the lass out with me?”

“Just make sure Harper keeps her shoes on, that’s all I ask.” Laura raised her hands in the air. Looking a bit relieved to have a few moments alone with Liam, even if it was just to prepare dinner. Married life.

Killian turned to Harper who sat on the floor eyeing him up. She was four years old now. Her light brown hair falling in curly tangles much like her father’s. And her big brown eyes that came from her mother. The little lass was an absolute spit fire. She would have Liam entirely gray by the time she hit middle school, of that he was certain.

“Hello there.” He said a bit uncomfortably. He was not used to being around children really at all. Save for the few times a year he saw Harper. “Would you like to go outside and play with the doggy?” He knelt down so he was eye level with the little girl, Princess at his side.

Harper nodded, not breaking eye contact. And Killian set to work putting on her shoes. He smiled as he tied the bows on her little ankles. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen something so adorable in his entire life.

“You’re properly dressed now. Would you like to hold the leash? I can’t carry you and walk the dog.”

Again the little girl nodded in agreement, her eyes lighting up at the thought of holding Princess’s leash. He picked her up and settled her on his hip, handing her the pink leash as they began to walk outside. See this wasn’t so bad.

“You’re doing a great job, sweetheart.” He said to her when they reached the fenced in yard. It was not massive but it was enough space to have plenty of room to run. He told the little girl she could release the leash and asked if she wanted let down to play. Though she had met the dog before he understood, Princess was not the fluffiest looking dog and perhaps his niece was still a bit intimidated.

“Can I pet her?” Harper asked when he set her down. Curiosity blooming in her face as she watched the dog run from corner to corner of the yard.

“Of course.” He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled for his dog who immediately ran to stand before him. He raised his hand in the air, telling her to sit. Height wise the dog was about as tall as Harper. “Be patient now,” he warned Princess. She did not move from her spot.

“Hi, Princess.” The little girl slowly approached the dog. She still appeared a bit nervous so Killian bent down to help. Harper took his fingers in her tiny hand and held them, he was surprised by the gesture but held on not wanting her to be afraid. Then with the other arm reached out and touched the top of Princess’s head. She slowly moved her hand back and forth, scratching and petting. Becoming more and more comfortable the longer she did it until she no longer needed to hold her uncle’s hand. She let go and began leading the dog around the yard in pursuit of a suitable stick to play with.

“She’ll be trouble. Give her ten years.” Liam came up behind Killian as he spoke. The gleam in his eyes reappeared as he watched his daughter running around the back yard with the dog. “Do you ever think about taking the plunge?”

“Well, first I would have to find someone to do that with. There is that minor detail, brother.” Killian looked over at Liam who appeared to be growing more mischievous by the minute. He just stared at Killian. “What?”

“Nothing… I didn’t say anything.” Liam pretended to seal his lips with an invisible key and mock threw it away.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Killian looked away, choosing instead to focus on the adorable scene of his niece and dog rolling about in the yard together.

“A certain blonde not ringing any bells for you?”

“Liam… there’s nothing going on between Emma and I.” He immediately denied. An instant reflex of defending himself.

A beat of silence went by and when Killian looked over and he could feel his stomach drop as his brother’s face bore a look of pure amusement. Maybe Liam had not been referring to Emma…

“I was talking about the barista at the coffee shop this morning who wrote her number on your cup…” Liam said, realizing he had touched a nerve within his brother.

Bloody hell.

“The deputy sheriff, Killian you devil.” Liam nudged him with his shoulder. For whatever reason his brother found this accidental turn of events hilarious. Killian wanted to wipe the smile right off his face but he knew there was nothing he could do. Liam had struck a part of him he wasn’t entirely comfortable with yet.

“Dinner’s ready!” They were interrupted by Laura who had yelled from inside the house. Thankfully they would not have to elaborate on this terribly awkward conversation anymore. Harper and Princess made their way toward the house, a new alliance seemingly formed between the two. Killian thought of his brother’s question, wondering if he ever would find someone to have a child of his own with. A little lad or lass who would run around with his dog just the same. The image flashed before him, a dark haired toddler running around the yard with a bright smile and green eyes. An involuntary smile crept onto his face.

Just as Killian was about to enter the house through the back door he felt a hand on his shoulder that could have only been Liam’s. He turned around to see his brother’s face, still clearly amused.

“For the record, little brother,” Liam started, “I was talking about Miss Nolan… I just wanted to hear you say it.”

He had waltzed right into his brother’s bloody trap.

Emma’s POV

David and Graham had returned from Boston in good spirits. The detective’s supervisor had been impressed with the progress that had been made and the organized way in which things were playing out. Emma could not say she felt the same. She was frustrated. She felt like she was completely at the mercy of this person sending notes and clues and evidence. It made her feel like less of a cop than she was. Should she not just be able to figure this all out? They had been given so much already, and it had amounted to so little.

Following the return from the trip to Boston, the motel was scoured for anything that could be helpful. The man at the front desk was interviewed at the station. Emma took the liberty of staying back that day, her job at the motel already done. Finding ways to busy herself in the windowless evidence room with Neal, combing through the letters for any indication of who was sending them. They wouldn’t find anything there. She knew it. This note sender was weaving an intricate web. They would not find anything that was not supposed to be found. So instead she combed through the flash drive of documents from the motel’s computer. It was difficult to determine any kind of consistent record. Most people who stayed there paid in cash so there was no record of consistent credit card use. Not that anyone who stayed there was using a real name anyway.

She thought of herself and Killian, the day they had gone to the motel. How easy it had been for them to give a fake name, pay in cash, and leave without so much as a second glance from the owner. Since that day she had spent an awful lot of time with Killian, much to her surprise. She found his company to be welcome. He was helpful, he answered most of her questions without resistance, and seemed just as eager as she to find answers. Of course he is. It’s his family. If anything he wanted them more. It was personal for him. And here he was trusting her to help him.She thought of the day in the car. They way he had comforted her, pulled her chin to face his gorgeous blue eyes. Even though the roles probably should have been flipped. It was his family. His mother. His father. But still he was worried about no one except her in that instance. Nevertheless he had looked her in the eye and all but spelled out that he undoubtedly believed in her. She had watched the measure of events in his eyes as they darted to her lips. She knew what would come next if she didn’t get herself out of there. If his lips had so much as brushed hers she wouldn’t have been able to stop. It had been too much and had felt herself fold in and close off, darting from that fucking car as abruptly as she could. Ignoring the feeling in her belly that told her to stay with him.

A large meeting with everyone on the force was held midweek. Emma dreaded the thing. Having to sit in a room and listen to Detective Humbert lecture on about the direction he felt the case was pointing toward. It was the obvious answer. Liam and Killian. They knew more than they let on. They had been indicated in the will. They would have been heirs to this massive fortune. Emma supposed that for someone with a small mind that would be the clear path. But she was not that person. She thought of the conversation with Killian the day before at the bookstore. He had, for whatever reason, encouraged her to fix what was wrong at work. To stand up for herself and to say what she thought was going on. A part of her held back though. What did he know anyway? A lot.

“Everyone, the motel search was a dead end and we have the research team looking through the computer records to see if there is anything incriminating within them.” Graham stood at the front of the conference room. Emma internally rolled her eyes. Of course it was a dead end. And the computer records would be as well. But she kept her mouth shut. She missed the days when it was her father addressing the group of people. “Until the next clue presents itself or we get the results from the security footage we sent to Boston we will keep working on procuring some sort of distinct motive. As this is all still a bit murky. If any information comes up do not hesitate to bring it to David, Emma, or I.”

Translation: tell me everything, it won’t amount to anything, I know how I want this case to play out.

“What if we think the motive has nothing to do with the brothers?” Emma raised her hand as she asked the question.

“Then present your argument as best as you can,” he replied, picking up on her irritated tone.

“Will do.” Out of the corner of her eye Emma could see her father. He looked almost as irritated as she did but she suspected it was not for the same reasons. She stood up from the table, indicating her presence in the meeting was done. She stormed out of the room and found herself standing in the lobby. Just needing a few minutes before going back inside.

“Emma.” David’s voice came from behind her. He had followed her out. The hint of disappointment in his tone making her realize her behavior lately had not been great. “What was that?”

“I think he’s making the same mistakes, dad.” She turned her head to see him. Hoping her honesty would make him see things her way. “He’s focusing too much on Liam and Killian. That isn’t the answer. You and I both know that isn’t the answer. The affair is the answer.”

“I know, Em.” He put rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. He wasn’t here to yell at her. “But until there is something that indicates this person Mr. Jones was cheating on his wife with and that she had a reason to do it… why don’t you talk to him about it?”

“He’s a complete ass.”

“Talk to him. Explain yourself. Stand up for yourself. You deserve the respect but I can’t fight this one for you. I’ve told him how I think this is not the route things should be taken but if you feel a certain way or realize something we all don’t then speak up.”

He was right. He always was. Her father knew her well like that. They had been partners for a long time. But he couldn’t sway Graham by himself any more than she could. But perhaps if he heard from both of them… progress could be made.

“You’re the best cop I know, Em. And I’m not just saying that because you’re my daughter.” He smiled with the little twinkle in his eye he only had when she was around. “Speak your mind. It comes up with brilliant things.” He didn’t wait for a response, he just leaned forward and kissed her forehead before going back into the station.

He was right. He always was. And he was on her side.

“Detective, can I speak with you for a moment?” Emma asked as soon as she mustered up enough of an organized monologue to say to him.

“Sure.” He closed the manila folder in his hands and led her toward his makeshift office. A back room tucked away near evidence. It was all they had available at the time of his arrival. But inside he had seemed to make do. A few potted plants spotting the surfaces. A shelf for books had been filled with files upon files. His own cork board took over an entire wall that was littered with maps and red arrows, copies of notes. Scribbled thoughts.

He sat down behind his desk, folding his hands in his lap. He looked up at her waiting for her to begin.

“I think you’re focusing on the wrong things.” She started.

“And why is that?”

“Well, we found the will and immediately in your head you focused on Liam and Killian. That in some way they had something to do with a document left in a wall for around 20 years. And yes at the time I know it looked like that may have been the solution. But in the weeks since then the other solution seems so much clearer to me.”

She took a breath, trying to gauge his reaction. She was trying not to be overly aggressive. The more respectful she was to him, hopefully the more seriously he would take her theories.

“A crime of passion.” She stated. “The things we’ve received lately are all pointing toward an affair that went wrong. Based on what we’ve seen there was a false PO Box opened to cover the tracks of an illicit affair between presumably Brennan and someone else.” Again she paused, his hand had moved to his chin but he was indeed listening to her. “ Follow me for a minute on this. He carries out this affair with someone. The mistress becomes enraged with jealousy. Or anger. Maybe he had told her he would leave Moira for her and then never followed through. The mistress goes to their home and stabs them both to death.”

“So then what do you make of the will?”

“It was a pawn piece. Something to show the mistress Brennan was serious about leaving Moira. He left the boys as heirs in the will. But it was never officiated because in actuality he wasn’t leaving his wife.”

He was quiet for a few moments after she finished. Emma’s breath caught in her throat waiting to see if he actually had heard her out. “Perhaps that is the explanation. I can have my team begin looking for the DNA of a woman not Moira and anything messy about the affair Brennan forgot to tie up before his death.”

He had… agreed? And not just agreed. He had thought of some sort of next plans of action to take. She felt relieved. Almost expecting for him to berate her theory and ignore her entire soliloquy.

“Thank you, detective.” She nodded. “That’s all I have for now.”

“That is more than enough, Emma.”

She smiled at him. Thankful he had seen things her way. And made her way now to her father’s office to tell him her confrontation had worked. A part of her wanted to pick up the phone and call Killian. The fact of the advice he had offered being the same as her father’s adding a touch of warmth to her perpetually skeptical heart. He wouldn’t want to hear from her midday though. Not to gab about her personal choices anyway. She decided against calling him, opting to simply find her father and let him know she had taken his advice. A little bit of a skip to her step.

Emma was had decided to have her family over for dinner that night. She had invited Ruby, her mother, father, and Neal. She had spent little time doing family things in the past few weeks and wanted to some way make it up to Henry. Before she and Neal had broken things off after Henry was born, he had been a big part of her family. He had been abandoned by his own mother, and his relationship with his father was tumultuous. David and Mary Margaret had done their best to provide him with some version of a family. And now, though they were no longer together, they shared a son. So Neal was a great presence in her life. In all of their lives. And they all wanted him to feel included, if it could somehow make up for the broken state of his own family.

She hadn’t cooked, Emma couldn’t really cook. If it didn’t come from a box with three steps of instructions then it was beyond her skillsket. Henry, however, was much better. It must have come from David or someone else because his cooking abilities most certainly were not from her. In the kitchen, Ruby, Henry and David busied themselves with preparing different parts of the meal. Her best friend at the central island chopping vegetables, Henry concocting a sauce over the hot stove, David working on the chicken and pasta. Even Mary Margaret was tossing together a salad and cutting slices of Tuscan bread for their meal. Emma felt more in the way than anything else.

“Hey, Em can you pour us some glasses of wine?” David asked looking up from whatever it is he was doing, Emma wasn’t entire sure. “Pretty please?”

“Red or white?” She smiled back at him. He always found ways for her to help in the kitchen despite also knowing how much she hated cooking.

“Red!” everyone said almost at once. Emma startled back a bit amused from the confidence in unison that everyone had picked the wine.

“I’ll have a lemonade.” Henry joked. Being the only one in the room who was under 21.

“I’ll go see what I have.” She was heading into the living room where she kept a small wine rack when there was a knock on the front door. She heard heavy boots making their way down the hall and in walked Neal with a bottle of wine and a pastry box with the chocolate cake Emma and Henry loved from the market.

“I brought the necessities.” He smiled holding up the cake and wine. Just in time, she thought to herself.

Mid dinner, Emma was taking another bite of the chicken piccata Henry, David and Ruby had made when her phone beeped. She looked down in her lap as discreetly as possible, wondering who it could be when everyone she ever really talked to was sitting around her kitchen table. Her heart skipped a little when she read the name that came up on the front screen. Killian Jones. Had sent her a fucking text.

Killian: Are you free to meet for a drink later?

She didn’t really know what to say. Was there something specific with the case he wanted to talk about? Did he have news he couldn’t wait to tell her? Something that had jogged his memory?

Or perhaps… Emma slowly let the thought creep into her head… perhaps he just wanted to grab a drink together. Like friends did. Or something else. She was not up for interpreting between the lines. Looking at the table full of people around her, who she knew would not be leaving her house until she kicked them out late into the night, she sighed. There was no feasible way for her to sneak away and see him tonight. So she typed, regretfully and with nerves tingling at her fingers:

Emma: I can’t tonight. Was there something important?

Moments passed and nothing had come back. Conversation at the table had turned to roaring laughter as Neal made a joke Emma completely missed the first part of. She tried to focus on what was happening before her. In the present. But she couldn’t. She hoped she hadn’t upset Killian. That he understood she would go if she was able. But why did it even matter that much? A few seconds later and the welcome ting of his incoming text drew her gaze down to her lap where the phone was still placed.

K: Nothing to worry over. Just wanted some company.

E: Perhaps another night?

K: I’ll hold you to that, love ;)

E: Please do.

As much as she knew it was the complete wrong thing to do, but the man had sent a fucking winky face. She began typing away and before thinking hit send.

E: Your company isn’t something that bothers me all too much.

Hours had gone by. Henry had gone up to sleep. David, Neal and Mary Margaret had all left. Ruby remained though. Which meant she and Emma were posted up in the movie room drinking all that was left of the wine and eating bites of cake straight from the box with forks. Emma had almost forgotten her little text exchange with Killian earlier in the evening. The combination of a partial food coma and being wine drunk with her best friend. But when she went to check her phone for the time she realized there was an unopened message from him from several hours earlier.

K: Is that so?

Fuck she had forgotten the last thing she had texted him had been her version of borderline flirting with him. But there was no way he could have picked up on that. Not simply over a text that could have been equal parts friendly. He probably wasn’t still awake. It was after midnight.

“Who’s that?” Ruby asked, noticing Emma had been staring at her phone far too long.

“What?”

“Oh my god.” The look that came over Ruby’s face was not anger like Emma expected… but a smile? “It’s him isn’t it. You’re texting him aren’t you?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about Rubes.” But the wine sloshing around in Emma’s head made it difficult for her to maintain her usually cool composure when asked uncomfortable questions she would rather ignore.

“I knew it. There totally is something going on between you two.” Her friend was still smiling though, ridiculous as this all was.

“Who???”

“Killian fucking Jones. Em...” Ruby tilted her head in Emma’s direction as if to say ‘level with me here the jig is up’.

“We just spend a lot of time together because of the case is all.”

Ruby held up her phone, clicking the home screen to show Emma there were no incoming messages. “I work in the same place you do. On the same case as you. You don’t see me getting texts from Killian Jones after midnight.”

“Maybe you do, and if you do that’s your business.” Emma’s heart panged at even the mere thought. Though she knew Ruby was kidding there was a part of her that didn’t want Killian texting someone else asking to go for a drink. All casual like he was James Bond or something.

“Well. I’m not. And you are. So let’s think of something fun for you to say to him.”

“I’m not going to respond. It’s late he’s probably asleep.”

“There’s only one way to find out…”

“Ruby I don’t want to wak-”

“He’s awake, Em. Trust me.” Her best friend grabbed the phone right out of Emma’s hands and began typing away. There was little she could do and maybe the truth was more along the lines of there wasn’t much she wanted to do to prevent another message being sent to him. To her surprise Ruby handed the phone back to Emma before sending the message. She looked down to read what had been typed up.

E: I think we both know the answer to that.

Without thinking she hit send and threw her phone face down on the couch before her. Ruby’s mouth dropped. Clearly she hadn’t expected Emma to actually hit send. She put her head down. The weight of what was going on and the red wine and the feeling of someone maybe working their way into all of that. Not just someone. Him.

“Oh my god.” Emma picked her head up looking to the brown eyes of her best friend. “I can’t believe you actually sent that.”

“I can’t believe it either.” And she couldn’t.

Despite the phone facing downward in the cushions they both heard the unmistakable sound of an incoming text message. Emma flipped it up and opened the message. Both girls leaning over the phone to read through the words.

K: The feeling is mutual darling. Sleep well.

The next morning Emma woke with a wine hangover the size of the state of Texas. Her head was aching. She felt overwhelmingly nauseous and to top it all off she had to go into work today. Gathering herself from the couch she had slept on she shook Ruby to wake her up. After the amount of wine they had consumed and the late hour of the night the two had fallen asleep across from each other on the sectional.

“Rube come on we have to go to work.” It was early enough that Emma could see her son off to school so she packed a lunch for him before going to wake him up as well. Thanking her internal clock for getting her up early enough that she had time to shower. Her hair was a rats nest of blonde tangles. She had not slept well at all. Sleep well. The end of Killian’s message appearing in her head. Oh my god. She had drunk texted him. And he had responded. Jesus. No more of that, she thought. Now that the morning had arrived and she was no longer loosely clinging to being tipsy.

She and Ruby arrived at the office to find that they were the last ones into work. The parking lot already filled with their coworker’s cars. As they made their way into the office everyone they worked with seemed to be clumped around one desk in particular, talking in hushed tones. The only two people not in the room were David and Graham.

“What’s up guys?” Ruby asked fully taking in how odd everyone looked gathered in one spot when there was an entire room for them to be in.

“You guys better go see David in evidence. He told us to tell you as soon as you got here.” Neal gave them a serious look as he spoke. Emma could only imagine there was one reason behind this. Something else had arrived at the doorstep of the police station this morning. Another clue.

The two girls headed down the hallways to the evidence room where, sure enough, Graham and David stood behind the table. But before them was not a small envelope and letter like in the past. It was instead a medium sized cardboard box. The seal of the box had been opened and the sides were open revealing what had been inside.

“You’re going to want to see this for yourself,” David said looking directly at Emma. It almost seemed like he was giving her a warning before she approached the table.

Peering inside it was a pile of… paper? Ruby and Emma looked at one another confused before diving into what the papers were. They picked them up one by one and read the carefully written scrawl of handwriting across the half torn pages. They were probably close to one hundred of them all piled in. Emma scanned the words on each, a heavy feeling appearing in her gut as realization hit her. These were love letters. Between two people who were not supposed to be together. Each one mentioning the presence of infidelity. And the desire to see each other when they could. The words would be truly poetic under different circumstances.

Parts of each letter had been ripped off. But most of them revealed the presence of one name in particular.

“My dearest, Moira.”

“Love always, MJ.”

“For my love, Moira.”

The realization hit Emma like a truck, dropping the piece of letter that had been in her hand. It was clear that Brennan had not been the one who was unfaithful in the marriage. The affair at the time of their death was in fact being carried out by Moira Jones. And for the first time since this case reopened, Emma’s mind didn’t immediately dart to what she would do next with this evidence. She did not think of the steps in a sequence to getting to the bottom of this clue.

No. Instead her heart sank in her chest, a heavy weight now on her as she feared how she would tell Killian this news about his mother without breaking his heart.

#captain swan #cs ff au #cs fanfics #cs au ff #cs au fic #captain swan fanfiction #cs modern au

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