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sometinysludge · 3 years ago

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Candlestick / Hellfire

This… Generally started because my friend got obsessed with the salt route along with me. She said to me, “if Deltarune au’s exist why can’t we make our own?” So we decided to do a personal Weird Route with Berdly. We did a lot of brainstorming regarding his personality, folklore, and much more things.

When it came down to it, we realized that Berdly’s arrogance makes him a polar opposite to Noelle, who just so happened to be the “Ice Queen”.

Berdly shows great self-esteem and seems to want to be adorned and idolized by those around him, so we cranked this up to a max throughout the route. Besides, who better to fit a queen than a king?

[WARNING: SPOILERS SPOILERS! This makes reference to the Snowgrave route, we strongly suggest you play/watch it!]

In the beginning of Chapter 2, all goes as normal. You leave Castle Town, and Berdly enters Cyber World, where he and Noelle are captured. Of course, Berdly joins Queen against her will and the route with proceed as normal. The fight with the bumper cars will happen and Berdly’s will explode resulting in him being knocked off the tracks.

After you’ve fallen off the tracks and split up, you will not run into Noelle as planned. Instead, you will encounter Berdly who proposes a truce in order to help you find your teammates as well has you finding his. Temporarily Berdly has joined your team.

Berdly will brag about his status with the Queen and continually belittle you, you will not have an option to retort or respond. At times his dialogue will mention metaphors with fire.

Eventually after wandering the streets he will mention that he is feeling cold you will then have two options which will determine if the route is taken.

Take Berdly to buy a coat

Go inside a nearby building <

If you take Berdly to buy a coat he will not say thank you, he will simply brag about how splendid he looks with it and eventually you will both meet back up with your groups and the Weird Route will end.

If you take Berdly inside a nearby building you will end up in the Unnamed Resturant, at this point a mini game will commence. You will have to find the table with seven lit candles in total, you will only have one minute to find this table. The mini game will repeat if not found in the amount of time.

When you finally locate the table both you and Berdly will be able to sit down, then his dialogue will commence.

* Kris, why would you bring us to this table? * Oh I see what this is, an attempt at flattery so you can get me to spill my genius secrets! * Ha! Like I would tell you No.3!

After that you must sit in silence for seven minutes, any attempt to talk to Berdly again will only result in him saying;

* Sorry Kris, can’t talk now. Much too preoccupied reviewing pre-calculus. . .By memory.

During the seven minutes you will hear the dinner music begin to fade as well as the room becoming darker; focusing on you and Berdly. The sound of crackling flames will become increasingly loud. Once the music fully dissapates and the flames are the only sound heard, a different string of dialogue will be said.

* Kris… Can I ask you something? * Why are you being so nice to me? * . . .

* It dosen’t make any sense you know.

* Us being here, in this world.

* Even when I’m at Queen’s side I’m so afraid I’ll fall behind.

* I keep wondering if she’s really on my side, if anyone is really.

* Kris. . .

* I have to know. . .

* Are you on my side?

Yes <

If no is chosen Berdly will laugh bitterly and brush it off, he will get up and leave from the table going in search for Queen and Noelle on his own. He will eventually find them in the regular route, you will reunite with your friends and the Candlestick route will have ended.

If yes is chosen then he will look shocked, as both of you were never on the best terms this suprises him. He will become pleased and change the terms of his truce, saying that they will continue to be a team even when they find their friends.

He will also discuss the possibility of inviting you to his study sessions with Noelle. At this point the dinner music will fade back in and the dimness around you will begin to brighten giving full view of the restaurant . Berdly will run ahead, saying he will meet you outside. You will be left alone at the table and have the ability to collect the seven candlesticks and add them to your inventory. These candlesticks will show up as weapons, if you attempt to equipt them to Berdly it will not show up as a weapon, it will simply be a bunch of candlesticks.

In order to have him equpit it you must take the candlesticks to the darkest area in the map, preferably the alleyways leading to the trash zone. Once you backtrack there you must lay the candlesticks in a perfect circle just as they were in the Unnamed Restaurant. If done properly the candles will light one by one and all burn at the same time, it will be silent for approximately thirty seconds before all pf the candles erupt in a large flame. (Looking similar to when Kris supposedly tore open a dark fountain at the end of chapter two).

When the flames subside, the alleyway will have black smudges and all the trash will have turned to ash. A Scimitar sword will sit in the center of the destruction, made entirely of candle wax, when checking the item it will say; “Smells like cinnamon.”

When returning to Berdly you have the option to equip the Candlestick Sword to him.

The Candlestick Sword gives +6 ATK and +4 Magic, his flavor text will comment on how he feels “different“. He will also mention that something like this a fire hazard in a all electronic city.

Unlike before Berdly will be able to use Spells, which he fumbles with for the first two enemies. His spells consist of the following;

Blaze - requires 15% TP. It does a medium amount of damage, even when enemies flee at the end of battle they still seem to leave remnants of ash. Conflagration- requires 18% TP. It does a greater deal of damage, allowing there to be no escape for said enemy. They leave remnants of ash when defeated.

N-Action - requires no TP, it is a variant of Susie’s and Noelle’s action in which Berdly does Kris’s selected act, similar to paired ACTs except Berdly can choose to do it with another enemy.

At this point you will be able to fulfill the requirements of the Candlestick route. You must stay within Cyber city/the countryside and defeat a particular “requirement“, once that requirement is met a ominous blippy sound will play that gradually goes down in pitch.

The player can check to see if the route is still valid by leaving the room and returning; if there is only ash left in that said room then the route is still valid.

When reaching the room with the large Ferris Wheel poster you may interact with the shopkeeper. They offer to sell you party shoes, if you reply with “We’re something else” then the shopkeeper will chuckle and and say that they are closed. It will soon come to your attention that the ring has already been purchased by someone.

From this point on if the player is presented with an option and “Proceed“, they must pick proceed no matter the cost. Berdly throughout this route will become anxious but also more arrogant and self-centered to cover that. Almost to the point of narcissism. With each battle he’ll seem to consider his attacks and even ACT out of what the player or Kris tells them to do, this makes his battles quicker and more effective in completing the route. Berdly will begin to have dark thoughts about hurting people, including Kris. If you attempt to physically pressure him he will refuse and do the same back, if you do this enough times you may provoke him into a fight. Berdly will use his fire to burn all the puzzles until they short-circuit or light aflame. By the final puzzle Berdly comments that he is bored and that they should “go find some more enemies“.

When they reach Spamton’s shop they exchange a bit of dialogue.

* [Angel], [Fallen Angel]

* ARE YOU LOOKING FOR THE [Crown] OF [Ash]? Yes <

*THat’ll be 1997 KROMER.

Yes <

* HERE’S YOUR [Crown]! CAREFUL IT MIGHT [Burn]

* EAHEAHEAHEAH! * You got the Crown of Ashes.

The Crown of Ashes is a dark grey crown formed entirely of ash, it is decorated with rubies and a single onyx in it’s center. The crown gives +8 ATK and +4 Magic, giving him a significant amount of power. His flavor text will say the following;

* It feels like somethings crawling under my skin…

* I… Like it.

Berdly will become the opposite of Noelle who is an Ice Trancer, he will become what can only be described as a Phoenix; being able to cast fire spells at half their cost but taking damage in battle. He will also gain one new attack.

Hellfire - requires 100% of TP… Devastating…

When the party moves on to proceed they run into Noelle who has apparently been looking for Berdly out of worry. Berdly does not recognize them at first and asks Kris if they want him to “turn them to ash”.

Yes

No <;

If yes is chosen the battle will proceed.

If no is chosen Berdly will laugh at you, he will continue to do so and engage in combat saying that “You don’t control me.” Noelle tries to snap Berdly out of it, but no one else is in control but himself. Berdly gets irritated and tells Noelle that he has “gotten strong” by himself, completely ignoring Kris.

Noelle’s attempts at getting him to stop only make him more aggravated, the fight will end when they obtain enough TP to use Hellfire, a “fatal” attack. Kris (prompted by the player) will try to stop Berdly, telling him that he didn’t mean for this to happen. In which this dialogue is exchanged;

* STOP? * AFTER ALL THAT’S HAPPENED YOU THINK THAT STOPPING WILL FIX THIS? * LOOK AROUND KRIS,

* THE ASHES ARE EVERYWHERE.

* THE FLAMES ARE ROARING KRIS.

* WE MIGHT AS WELL BURN IN HELL.

Noelle prepares her attack in an attempts to counter it but she is too late. A scream can be heard as everything turns red and white, when it clears you can see that everything in Cyber City has erupted into flames and is now falling apart. And in the center of your destruction is the remnants of Noelle.

Berdly’s feathers will have turned red from the attack, a side-affect to the mass amounts of Magic. He looks singed and seems to be shaking. He will say that “everything tastes like ash”.

At this point the entire city is falling apart, as well as the Queen’s mansion. There seems to be some Darkeners evacuating the area but there is no one there to evacuate.

Berdly does not leave the party, he escapes the city with you and brings you to the Queen’s Mansion which is slowly beginning to be consumed by flames. Unlike the Snowgrave route, there don’t seem to be an excessive amount of Pipis to avoid. Instead, you must avoid falling combustible items.

The route proceeds as normal until the Spamton NEO fight, in which Kris must fight him alone making it considerably difficult. Kris will gain two new attacks X-Slash and Fried Pipis, the fight is mostly the same until Spamton reaches 10% HP. In which his ATK is greatly lowered but his DF is enhanced. The battle will proceed as the normal Snowgrave route was until the end. The battle can only be concluded by ACTing multiple times, first to call for Ralsei and Susie. Then call for Noelle, all which are met with “…but nobody came”

Finally, the player whispers Berdly’s name, in which the screen begins to go dark and the sound of something catching fire is heard. From there, the route concludes leaving many differences in Hometown. - Noelle does not wake up and dosen’t leave the computer lab after Kris exits it. She is nowhere to be seen in Hometown and her father seems to be a bit worried.

- If Noelle is checked, it will say “she’s burning up…”

- Berdly’s dialogue changes after waking up. He describes his dream as interesting and says that he’s glad he woke up. He notices that Noelle still hasn’t woken up and hesitates looking worried for a moment before dismissing it.

- After Berdly leaves the computer lab, Susie remarks that “It dosen’t feel like they just saved the world.” - When checking the sliding bead toy in the hospital, it seems that the blue one is now a deep shade of red.

- If interacting with Berdly he will ask you why you told him to stop, you can answer with “because I was afraid” or “because Noelle is our friend”. Both of which are interrupted when Berdly laughs and shakes it off saying it was just a dream anyway.

- When interacting with Noelle’s father he will ask if the group project went well, then ask where Noelle is. You can respond with “she’s still asleep” or “…”

- Either response will garner some concern from him, he will want to talk to Kris more but Susie gets him out of the situation.

And that concludes the Candlestick/Hellfire route AU. Dear god that was a lot of writing-

#Berdly #deltarune chapter 2 #spamton #spamton g spamton #Noelle #noelle holiday #candlestick route #Hellfire route #deltarune chapter 2 spoilers #deltarune au #weird route #jesus i wrote so much-#outdated as heck..#when people add notes to these #my stomach twists and i start to giggle #what was i doing growls

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lassluna · 4 years ago

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CS January Joy Day 31: A Happy Ending (well, that depends on where you stop the story)

Emma Swan was a criminal. A thief. A forger sentenced to four years for bond forgery. Killian Jones was the agent sent to catch her. And catch her he did, but after an escape attempt, an exploded PO Box and a deal an unusual partnership is formed, one that will give them both all that they ever wanted or lead to mutual destruction. White Collar AU

Ao3 FFN

AN:I am very thankful to @csjanuaryjoy for finally getting me to write this. It's been a wild year and hopefully this next one will bring a bit more joy. Thank you @teamhook and @ultraluckycatnd for beta reading for me.

“How did it start?”

It started like most stories if she’s being honest, which she rarely is.

It started with a stolen car, stolen watches, so much stealing, so much theft, so many lies that she had forgotten where Emma, the lost orphan girl, ended and where ‘The Swan’, grifter, forger, liar, thief began. Her reputation grew, as did her steady collection of wealth.

It started with a boy and a girl, lost and alone and unwanted in the world and turned into some wannabe Bonnie and Clyde duo who just wanted to be seen, to be heard, and to take back what the world took for them.

They lied, cheated, and stole for the sake of it. And they were good at it. There’s something about being alone and unwanted that just made it easier to pretend. Sometimes a lawyer, other times a high profile gambler rubbing elbows with mobsters and politicians alike. One time she pretended to be Leila Lucas, princess of a far off land in order to get close to some crown jewels. They pretended that these lives, these rich, luxurious important lives were theirs. They pretended that they deserved these things because they could take them.

And take them they did. The car, the watches, the bonds, the jewels, the paintings, they took them all.

Emma loved the paintings, the art, the beauty. She loved looking at things that gave people feelings. It made her feel a little less alone.

Neal loved the money, the thrill, the ways the world bent to their will, the way it rushed through their veins.

It started with young love. It started good, and they were happy.

“How did it end?”

It ended like most stories, or at least it seemed like that to him.

He was a simple FBI agent, chasing her, tracking her, trying to prove to the world the crimes she commited. Part of him always thought that was what she’d wanted. She wanted her crimes to be seen, noticed. She wanted to be known, not disappear into the shadows.

He understood that, he was trying to prove himself too. Killian was a good FBI agent with a shitty childhood and an even worse family history. But he wanted to be great. He wanted to escape the shadows and prove that he was better than those who came before.

He just wanted to do his job. He wanted to catch her. He wanted to catch 'The Swan'. He spent years hunting her. He was supposed to be just one more FBI agent who tried to catch a break and then went on to the easier, flasher cases.

But not Killian. He had no intention of giving up. Because The Swan was special. She was as elusive as they come, never staying in one place too long, always running, running, running.

There were two of them he knew, but it was always her. She was the one planning things out, making the big moves, making the forgeries, being seen. Never him. He knew that once they got her, his crime spree would end. She was the one that they had proof for. She was the brains and the brawns behind their every operation.

But the problem was that as the years went by, as he got closer to catching her, he learned a lot about Swan. He learned how she likes her hot chocolate: with cinnamon. He learned she also had a shitty childhood; an orphan at birth, bounced around to one foster home after another. He learned she hated violence. Her jobs were smart and with little to no chance of anyone ever getting hurt.

And she got to know him too, if the gifts and the birthday cards proved anything. ‘Know thy enemy’ as they say. But no one ever said to send your enemy flirty postcards, uber eat deliveries of your favorite take out places on stake outs, or gifts to your younger sister on her birthday.

He doesn’t remember when it happened, but they had an appreciation for each other.

Smart, his little sister said once when he was home for a few days before he had to go back out to chase her. You always liked smart.

It ended like most stories, a betrayal and a trap. He knew it was a trap and let her fall right into it. Neal Cassidy, her partner in crime traded away ‘The Swan’ like she was nothing. Honor among thieves seemed to have skipped him in that lesson.

The look on her face when she was caught, trapped, was painful to him. Her eyes were green fury as the truth became obvious to her. Her eyes looked at Neal who was leaving out the back, and then on him.

"It's about time we met properly," he told her as the uniform officer arrested her. “Agent Jones of the New York FBI White Collar division.” She didn't respond to him. He never expected her to.

It ended with a defeated bird who flew too close to the sun.

“Then what happened?”

Then began nearly four years later with Killian Jones, being pulled away from his current case for a jailbreak. ‘The Swan’ had escaped 3 weeks short of her 4 year sentence. It had been years since he even heard her name. Her capture had been his shining moment, it had made his career.

Her escape had been flawless. Her long hair, chopped off, a guard uniform ordered with the warden’s own credit card.

She was in the wind with no hope of being found.

“Road blocks, wanted posters, people posted at the train stations and airports,” the marshals told him, but Killian knew her, knew Emma.

They wouldn’t catch her with the traditional methods.

She didn’t escape for the traditional reasons.

She had been a model prisoner, kept her head down and out of trouble, so why leave now? It had taken months of planning. So he went back, when did she start planning her escape? When did things change?

She got visits from him, from Neal. The vile excuse of a man who got her caught in the first place. He knew better than to judge someone for going back to familiar patterns. Especially trapped in prison.

But his visits stopped nearly a month ago. The man went from visiting weekly with a smile and a magazine to nothing.

So Killian looked at that tape, the final visit from the conman who got away with it. He wasn't surprised by what he saw. His last visit was final. He had all the body language of it. A pained smile, looking shifty and nervous. Emma had stood, slamming her fist on the glass; he'd seen tears on her cheeks when the guards dragged her back, back towards her cell. She’d screamed and pleaded.

But Neal left anyway.

“Ariel,” he said to the younger agent. She was a bright new recruit, his favorite of the probies. “Get me anything you have on Neal Cassidy and all his known aliases.” Ariel was very good at finding exactly what he needed in moments like this. A cold blooded shark in a sea of misinformation.

They find her in an empty apartment, cradling a dreamcatcher in her hand. She looks the same as the last time he’d seen her. Heartbroken. They were in Neal's apartment. The one he rented a few weeks after her trial.

(Killian remembered seeing him there, full of sorries and excuses. Word on the street was that no one wanted to work with him after that. Honor among thieves was apparently much more important than the man thought.)

“How many are here?” she asks as he enters. Her back towards a pillar in the middle of the room.

“Between the FBI, the Marshals, NYPD...everyone,” he chuckled. He’d told them they hadn’t needed to corner off the streets like this. Emma had never been violent. “They’re going to give you another four years for this, you know that right?”

Emma laughed a humorless laugh. “I was two days late,” she admits, obviously not caring one bit about what he said.

“And that’s all he left you?”

“It means goodbye,” Emma admitted. He gave her a small smile, knowing nothing he can say will help. “I can’t believe they dragged you here for this after all this time.” He wasn’t that surprised. Catching her the first time had been his defining moment; if he failed the second time, they could write it off as a fluke.

“It’s been a long time, Swan.” She smirked at the name. “But can’t blame them. I was the only one who caught you, none of the others even got close.” She looked at him quizzically.

He was dusty, fresh from an exploded PO box that his latest case--nicknamed The Dutchman-- had left specifically for him. There were strange threads left on his clothing that none of the Harvard grad FBI agents could tell him anything about. It was something that had agitated him greatly before he’d been pulled here, to find her.

“This guy’s good,” he told her, watching her look him over. “Maybe even better than you. I’ve been hunting him for a few months now and-” She moved quickly, standing and plucking one of the threads off his jacket blazer. It shined strangely as it caught the light. Killian could hear the marshals, or maybe S.W.A.T. pounding through the doors a few floors beneath them.

“What’s it worth if I can tell you what this is?” she asked, handing it to him.

“What-”

“I can tell you what these are right now in exchange,” she said quickly. He could practically see the thoughts and plans race in her mind. Time was running out. “In exchange for a meeting,” she concluded.

“A meeting?” he asked.

“A meeting in one week. Deal?” she asked. They were coming. Killian nodded. Despite his misgivings, it was only a meeting.

“That’s the new security fiber to the Canadian $100 bill,” she said, just in time for the other agents to drag her away. Her smile is bright and mischievous as she refuses to break their gaze until the last possible moment. “I’ll see you in a week!”

“And I was right. It was. According to Agent Jones, it nearly created an international incident.”

“Did you catch him?”

“We did.”

It hadn’t been easy, not for Emma now wearing an ankle monitor to keep her in check--a fact that made her insides squirm at the thought of being tethered-- where anything going bad meant she had to go back to prison with no hope of finding Neal.

It made her heart race in that familiar way of when she was a child and got placed. When one wrong move meant they'd send her back.

“He did a good job disappearing,” Ruby told her in the shadows of Granny’s guest house. Because her friend knew that her first priority was finding Neal.

(She’d run into the old woman at a thrift store looking for some new clothes to wear after seeing the seedy motel Killian had tried to put her in.

She’d met a kindred spirit in the older woman, a thief after her own heart so to speak. Emma would never forget the look on Killian’s face when he saw her new view. He’d turned to the older woman, “You know she has a criminal record right?” he’d asked her.

Granny had taken it in stride, leaning forward with a smirk. “So did my wife.” she said with a wink.)

"Keep looking, Ruby. I need to find him," she told her friend, her oldest friend. She’d been her partner in crime once, when working with Neal had come with extra stress and baggage. With Ruby things were simpler, easier. Ruby was in the information business. She knew what was being run and where. She knew all the local fences, all the local forgers. If Neal was in the city, Ruby would be able to find him.

Ruby nodded, but she looked worried. She glanced at the anklet in apprehension. Then back at her. All the tell tale signs that Ruby wanted to say something but worried for her reaction.

“You know you don’t need him right?” she blurted out. “You’re so much better than him Emma, more talent for this stuff in your pinky then he has in his whole body. He was nothing without you and everyone knew it,” she said, practically bristling with every word. “He betrayed you, why go through so much to find him?” Emma felt her fists clench, along with anger, fury, loss.

Neal Cassidy was a loaded question where she didn’t have an answer.

But she pushed it down. She pushed it down deep. A smile appeared on her face. There was so much. So much she didn’t know, so much no one knew.

Emma couldn’t risk it.

“It’s complicated Ruby,” she said finally. “But in the meantime, what do you know about The Dutchman?”

It had been difficult, Emma had noticed a particular signature in some forged Canadian bond. It was one that Emma recognized. Lilly Prescott. She was a well known forger that was very good at staying well under the radar. The FBI had never even heard of her which was a testament to her ability.

Emma had tried to work with her once. Her work was good and her planning was even better. But the woman couldn’t help but take things that didn’t belong to her, couldn’t help but press Emma’s buttons in all the worse ways.

It had taken seeing her tongue down Neal’s throat to learn two things: that they couldn’t work together and that it was time to grow up.

And grow up she did when they walked into a church Lilly had been restoring. The little wench had leered at her and Killian. “Emma Swan,” she’d said with a cheeky grin when she caught them comparing her work with that of the signature. “I don’t exactly feel comfortable having a known art thief around my work.”

“Allegedly,” Emma corrected her. She’d never been caught for her art theft. A point of pride if she’s being honest. Just a few forged bonds.

She says glancing at Killian. “Who’s your friend.”

“Just a friend,” Killian assured Lilly as they shook hands.

“Emma doesn’t have any friends,” Lilly pointed out. “Unless you count Neal of course. But with friends like that, who needs enemies?” she laughed.

The name turned in her stomach, like something good that turned rotten, like a vice grip on her that she still couldn’t shake.

Not until she found him.

“Of course,” Killian agreed, glancing her way. I know she’s trying to get under your skin, his gaze told her as she pushed her walls firmer in place. If Killian could see that this woman could affect her, it worried her what else he could see.

“You wouldn’t know anything about a thief known as The Dutchman would you?” Emma asked innocently. Because if there was one thing Emma knew, it was that Lilly hated being outdone. “I hear his work is second only to...oh you know.” She smirked at her. “Allegedly of course.”

“Of course,” Lilly said, an edge to her words. It’s all Emma needed to hear. Because she knows she did it. That’s what she tells Killian after they’re asked to leave the church.

“I know she did it Killian.” his hand on her arm halted her pacing. “Did you see the look on her face?”

He did, she knew he did. “I believe you Swan, but we need proof,” Killian insisted. “That’s how this works.”

Proof came with Emma breaking into Lily’s warehouse and Killian coming and arresting them both. She’d cut her anklet after all, seizing all Lily’s things that were in plain sight.

It turned out reading all those law books in prison counted for something.

“And then your partnership was born.”

And it was good, if Killian was honest, it was better than he ever expected when Emma had proposed this deal. She showed up every day for work. She often showed up in ridiculously expensive suits with a fedora on her head. He’d groaned when he first saw it, earning an elbow in his side and a “You just don’t understand fashion.”

(Trouble, like the woman who occasionally gave Emma tips about the criminals they were hunting, the woman who introduced herself rather reluctantly as a Missy Wolfe when Killian had showed up unannounced, who looked him over with a predatory glare and called him a ‘suit’.

“She doesn’t trust cops.” Emma had explained later. “She’s harmless, I promise.”

But she sure did know how to drink all Killian’s beer that’s for sure.)

Every day they would use her knowledge of the criminal underworld to find white collar criminals. After several weeks, they had a 92% closure rate and an even higher recovery rate.

But there was still this thing hanging above them. Between them. A secret they both knew about but refused to talk about.

And his name was Neal Cassidy.

Killian could tell she was looking for him no matter how many times he told her not to. Neal was her weakness, the one thing that caused the normally level headed woman to lose her bloody mind. This was a good thing for her. Emma Swan would rot behind bars and this way at least she was doing good.

Emma Swan liked doing good. He could tell, even when she refused to admit it.

She brought him his picture one day while they’re on their way to speak to a witness, the picture was from an atm in Tallahassee. “Please.” She begged. “I need to find him, to see him. Come with me please, send an agent, the marshals, send me in full shackles and prison oranges I don’t care.”

He had never seen her so desperate, not when he caught her, not when she asked him for this...arrangement. “Swan...what we have here...it’s good. It’s a second chance for you, why risk it for him? He put you here. Why risk it all for him?”

She didn’t respond, hands tightened into fists as she looked down. Killian swore he saw something in her expression something that would explain how this intelligent woman being so infatuated with-

“You’re right.” She says, her voice level. Eyes hard like steel. “There is no reason for me to be chasing Neal Cassidy.” She hissed the words.

Killian doesn’t have her super power, but he knows there’s more to the story than she’s letting on. “If there’s something you’re not telling me-” But she shook her head.

“You said it’s not happening, and what does it matter what I want.” She says shifting on her feet, shifting the anklet like she always does when she feels particularly trapped. “I’m just your CI. A convict without a choice in any of this.”

He stops her right there. “Swan, when have I ever treated you like you don’t have a choice in this? If you don’t like what we ask of you, if you think it’s too riky all you have to do is say the word and-”

“-And I go to prison.” She snapped. “I go back there and rot.” Her temper was flaring and Killian stepped back, fearing getting burned.

“When have I ever threatened you with that?” He asked sincerely. “When have I ever told you that unless you go undercover with this mobster, or that corporate trader that you’d be shipped back?” He says.

Emma doesn’t respond, head dipping slightly. “What about the other agents? That’s what they said would happen.” She admitted in a small voice. “And really, the jobs we do, they’re fine. I don’t feel endangered.” She assured him simply.

“Emma, I swear to you, your safety and happiness is just as important as these jobs. You are not just a criminal.” He says sternly. He steps closer to her, wanting her to look at him and hear him. Seeing her cowed and unnerved unsettled him. “Try something new darling, it’s called trust.”

“Trust doesn’t exactly come easy to me.” Emma admitted. “There’s really no way I can get to Tallahassee?” She asked once more.

Killian sighed.

The moment they finished the job, he sent a message to Ariel.

“Get me anything you can on Neal Cassidy’s recent activity and do it discreetly.” He says.

“Why?” She asked. It was why he valued the younger agent as much as he does, she knows when to put her head down and do as he asks, but she also knows when to press him for details.

“Emma’s not going to stop pursuing Neal.” He told her. “I want to know what she finds out, finding Neal ourselves is the best way to know what she’s up to.”

She handed him a file on the man the next morning, a file Killian took back home with him at the end of the night. He couldn’t risk Emma catching him snooping on her ex. He felt silly hiding it, but the thought of her knowing he was doing so filled him with dread.

“Maybe you should tell her you’re jealous.” Belle informed him as she came home from class, seeing him consumed with the file at their kitchen table. His little sister always seemed to come home from her classes at just the right moment to see him when he’s consumed with a case.

“I’m not jealous Belle.” He says quickly, closing the file. “I’m being thorough.”

He is. There was something there, his gut feels it. There’s something about this man that Emma was hiding from him.

“After all the cat and mouse you’ve done with her, I bet she’d tell you if you asked.” Belle informs him. But Killian disagreed, he knows she won't be truthful with him if he asked. It’ll be an evasive answer framed to have him pointed in the opposite direction. It was how she worked while on the run. This is the only way.

“How do you know?” Killian asked. “You’ve never even met her.” He reminded her.

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Then the Diamond heist.”

“Then the Diamond heist”

It had happened quickly. A diamond heist that had been done with such perfection Emma was generally impressed. They had video surveillance in the vault and nowhere else. It was as if they just vanished, and considering that New York had extensive video surveillance it was impressive.

It was a job she would do once upon a time. Just the kind of take that was exciting enough to catch her attention. But that was in the past.

Emma was determined to keep her head down when it came to jobs. She had a bigger problem on her hands. Someone had Neal, or at least was putting pressure on him. He’d signaled her from an ATM camera in Tallahassee.

Their plan had always been Tallahassee, a city in the middle of Florida of all places. No one would expect anyone who had stolen millions of dollars of artifacts to retire there of all places. It was perfect. They were going to have the life they always wanted growing up.

(It just so happened that Emma had told him that’s where she had her stash at.

A lie. A trap. Bait he had fallen for now after all this time. Never once did he leave his apartment in New York, only now did that stone come loose. It had to mean something.)

But not everyone knew that Emma was done with that life. Not even her most trusted confidant --and partner in more than one crime--Ruby believed her.

“Of course I didn’t do it.” She’d hissed into the phone when the brunette asked her excitedly. “But do you know who did?”

“None of my contacts know anything, sorry Em. I’ll keep an ear out.” She answered. Emma can hear the sounds of birds on the other end. She knew better than to ask. “That’s why I thought it was you.”

It wasn’t long after that that the forged diamond is shown to have a small swan etched into it. One that matched the ones she left in her forged bonds. It became very clear very fast that she was being framed.

“Killian, you need to know I didn’t do this.” She insisted, backing away from them in the parking lot after having been confronted. “You have to believe me.” Her eyes looked for him. She needed to know he believed her.

It didn’t matter who else did, just him. Because if Killian didn’t have her back then who would?

“Killian?” She asked when he didn't meet her gaze. He did eventually. He looked saddened. “You know I was set up right?”

Killian didn’t respond. It made her furious. It reminded her of the real situation here. She was just the criminal and he was just her handler. Any semblance of a partnership was just a figment of her imagination.

“Swan...” He said softly. “If what you’re saying is true, I swear to you I will get to the bottom of it.” I believe you. “But until then...Emma Swan you are under arrest...”

Back to prison. Back to the cell. Back to being helpless while Neal is off with-

She couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not when someone was trying to frame her. The same person who was holding Neal, she was sure of it.

So Emma did what she did best. She ran.

She ran and ran and ran. She’d spent every day on her walks to the office coming up with escape routes through a city she knows too well. The agents depend too much on the anklet to catch her.

The tracker is tamper proof but no one ever said it was foolproof. All it takes is a sharp knife and a toss over the edge of one of the many footbridges in Manhattan for it to be a useless blinking distraction.

Every bone in her body tells her to run as fast and as far as she can. It wouldn’t take much to get out of the city, some cash from one of Ruby’s stashes and a visit to some supplies for a new ID. All she would have to do is say the word and Ruby would run with her. She was good like that, always ready to get into all sorts of trouble for her.

But if she did, if she ran then she would be as good as guilty of this crime. She would never get a chance to prove her innocence. She would never get her chance to find Neal.

She had to find Neal.

I believe you. Killian had tried to tell her that. Maybe it was time to try that thing called trust...

It’s how she meets Belle because while Killian is off coordinating with the Marshals, she’s drinking tea with the sweet brunette she had sent an 18th birthday gift to a few years back.

Killian Jones’s little sister was as fierce as her brother. Belle asked her if she’d done the crime she’d been accused of.

No.

And she had leveled her with a steel glare. “Then Killian will prove it.” She’d said with such certainty, such conviction that she understood a bit about Killian’s stubbornness. It was genetic. “You just need to trust him.”

Emma did. Emma really did, more than she trusted anyone. He was honest, a good man. He was fierce keeping her out of the line of danger when at all possible and he cared for her. Moments like this reminded Emma of why everything had gone so wrong.

I’m tired of running.

“I’m going to call him.” Belle says, not a question. “If you don’t think you can, if you really think Killian won’t have your back after everything, you have until then to leave.” Emma doesn’t move. Not when Belle is talking to Killian about her classes, about having found a stray bird in their patio. (Code for her she assumes)

That’s when she sees the blinking in the cable box and she knows. She knows that this is all a lot bigger than the two of them.

Killian was positively furious when he arrived, all red faced and fuming. “Bloody hell Swan!” Killian hisses when he storms in. “Why did you come here?” Emma didn’t know, not really. Just an instinct and her instinct was telling her to come here. That he would know what to do. “If you were going to run, why come here?! You involved my sister!”

Emma swallows back her words, fear taking a hold in her chest.

“Killian. Give her a chance.” Belle said, taking a place inbetween. “Just listen.” He did.

“I’ve been tracking Neal.” Emma admitted. “Someone...someone has him.“ she takes out the photo she’d shown him. The whole photo, she had been too afraid to show it to him earlier, the hand on his arm, the shine of something pressed against his ribs. Something that looked very similar to a revolver. “They want something I stole but I can’t-I don’t know what it is. I had a friend of mine poke around and I think I got too close.” She explains. “Because they framed me. It has to be connected, Killian.”

There was no other explanation, stirring this fight or flight instinct in her bones. But she has to hold firm, she has to trust in Killian. Because here she was, all her cards on the table.

“Maybe, but this is not how to do things.” He says sternly. “Running isn’t going to get you anywhere but caught or-” Killian swallows back his words. “That marshal really has it in for you Swan.”

(The marshall in question was one Walshe Greene, appearing the moment they returned to the office wanting to speak to her about the fact that some of her anklet’s tracking data had gotten corrupted.

Data that just so happened to coincide with the robbery. He’d been dickish and entitled, coming into her space when she didn’t crumble under his thinly veiled threats.

Threats she didn’t tell Killian about.)

She pointed over to his deconstructed cable box. “Not just me.” She hissed his way. A bug was in his house, in his home. The home he shared with his sister. “Both of us.”

She sees his barely concealed furry, the shock and fear on Belle’s face. “Whatever is coming, it’s coming for both of us.”

“She was cleared of that.”

“She was. Then you seemed to find her rather quickly, despite telling Marshal Greene that he would catch her with wanted posters and roadblocks.”

“I have exceptional luck.”

Things shifted from there. Instead of working this case on one end and Emma from another, Killian felt her walls fracture ever so slightly, and perhaps the guard he put up around her also came down ever so slightly. Perhaps too much.

(Once they found one bug in his home, Belle was insistent that someone come over and deep clean their place of any form of listening devices. It wasn’t long after the case got wrapped up that Emma called over an ‘exterminator’.

“Missy Wolfe.” She introduced herself to Belle, a smirk on her face. “But you sweetie can call me Red.” Belle had raised an eyebrow at her.

“When Emma mentioned she knew someone, I expected you to be...”

“Less gorgeous?” She’d said with a grin. “And when our mutual friend had said the suit had a cute sister I definitely imagined someone like you.” A surge of protectiveness surged within him at the way that Red was looking at his sister.

“I think you’re here to do a job” He reminded her.

“I am quite a skilled multitasker.” )

She showed him her lead to whoever was after them. A message in the video surveillance, of their breakup and Neal messaging her in morse code by tapping at his side. Dream It meant the dream catcher which led her to a meeting in Grand Central Terminal at the end of the week.

Killian had been there when he called her. Seen her panicked face when she heard his voice. “Give him what he wants.” Neal had said.

“What is it he wants?” She’d asked.

“Give him everything. It’s the only way I can come home, the only way for us to be together.” He said. Killian could feel her heart break when she said the words.

“I can’t Neal. It’s the only leverage I have.” She looked up and Emma ran. She ran because she saw him. She saw her lover that she can’t reach, can’t catch, can’t have. Killian makes him out for a moment but he’s gone. He’s gone by the time they get to where he was, a roof of a building looking down at them.

Emma collapsed in a sob and he was barely in time to catch her. Barely in time for him to hold her. She cried into his chest, something rare and primal and aching.

“I just want him back.” she sobbed and his heart ached for her. He understood the feeling of losing someone you love, of not being able to be with them. He holds her, hand running through her hair, her blonde locks that are growing in from the cut she’d done months before. His head finds a place on the top of her head as he tries his best to comfort her.

Emma came back to herself after a moment, pulling away, rubbing her sadness from her face as easily as putting on a mask.

“We are late for a case aren’t we?”

They are. But there’s something about the vulnerability of Emma in that moment that conflicted with the flirty beautiful woman in front of him that distressed him. Perhaps it’s the ease that her walls come back up.

Or maybe, they aren’t walls, maybe it’s a loosely fitted cork, because their next case involves a kidnapped child and a pair of parents so obsessed with the reading of their dead aunt’s will to even know when the little girl had been taken.

Questions like if the will had been forged, or if the inheritance was filled with counterfeits had become meaningless without the child. A fact that exploded out of Emma at the father who was planning on leaving the country with ‘his’ inheritance before the FBI could interfere. The man had crumbled before her blunt display of emotions, her fury and her grief.

“She deserves better than to be just another pawn in whatever game the two of you are playing.” She hissed. “It’s not about money, take it for someone who’s had a hell of a lot. There’s more to life than numbers on a check and if anything happens to that kid you’re going to learn that the hard way too.”

He understood. He understood then, and he understood later.

“Case hit home for you didn’t it?” He asked afterwards over a beer once the child was reunited with parents that may have learned a thing about family from Emma. An old bookie of the husband had tried to pressure him into complying.

“Little kids are cute, what can I say.” She said evasively while taking the offered beer. That was another sign Emma was still hurting, she hated beer. “She deserves better.” That she did. “You did too.” He smirks, knowing that she knew him better than most. Yet he wondered exactly how much she did know.

“And how much exactly do you know about my childhood?”

“I know that you loved your father, you idolized him. You had his knack for numbers.” She said. “I know he used you as a diversion when the feds came in and busted down your door. He left you and your mom with nothing.” She swallowed and he could see her picking her words carefully. That meant she knew more than most. “I know you learned that he had at least two other families, an elder brother in DC. and a younger sister in Georgia who appeared at your door when you had just lost your mom. You took her in no questions asked.” Killian remembers the day he met his elder brother. The man had been older and took one look at him and wanted nothing to do with him. Killian was just another reminder of what Brennan Jones had done. He also remembers the day several years later when a teenaged Belle had knocked on his door. He took one look at her and remembered what Brennan had done, but he swore to accept her no matter how much the reminder hurt.

“So you know quite a bit, Swan.” He responded. “I also know a bit myself.” He countered.

“Of course you do.” She laughed, “I bet you even know my shoe size.”

“8.5 or sometimes 9 if the shoe runs small.” He said with a smirk. “You left a pair in that hotel in Rio.” A pair of bright red pumps that matched a bright red dress. “Why do you care so much?” Or maybe it’s the beer talking, talking too much if he’s honest. “Neal betrayed you, he left you, why do you care so much about saving him?”

The laughter dies from her face, something heavy takes its place. “Seeing my position a little too similar to your own?” She deflected. “Someone who got left behind just like you?”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you deserve so much better Swan.”

“What exactly do I deserve Agent Jones.” She said, leaning forward. “I’m a criminal.” That she is. But he doesn’t think about that when he leans forward and cups her cheek. He doesn’t think about that when he brushes strands of blonde hair out of her face, nor when he smiles and-

"Has Agent Jones ever behaved unprofessionally?"

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional.

He had to be, with a family history like his. Even Emma’s heard of it through her underground contacts. She’s heard of the legendary Brennan Jones who masterminded a theft like no other, millions of dollars gone in a blink of an eye.

She’d heard through the office gossip about him. About how no one trusted him when he was recruited right out of college, his superiors always made things difficult. Never trusting that he wasn’t just like his father.

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional, that’s what made Emma enjoy the chase so much. Because she knew it was a true battle of wits, not like the muscle head marshals. Killian was smart and honorable. If he was going to catch her, it would be done the right way.He was just like her.

But the way he looks at her sometimes is so not professional in all of the best ways.

Sometimes he looks fuming, mostly when she’s pushed the limits a bit too far, gets in over her head, and just makes it out by the skin of her teeth. But always looks relieved when she makes it out.

Sometimes he looks like she holds the sun and the moon because she’s figured out some con or trick someone pulls. It always comes with a “You’re brilliant Swan.” when no one else is listening. She always shoots back a knowing smirk, tucks a loose strand of blonde behind her ear and replies with “I know.” It always makes him roll his eyes but his expression never wavers.

And that one time, after a particularly draining case, after that little girl with parents who didn’t give a damn about her had been rescued and she thought...she thought he was going to kiss her and...

And Emma may have to admit to herself that she wanted him to.

But with Neal, and the FBI frowning upon CI handler relationships, not that a kiss meant a relationship...God Emma was confused. They hadn’t kissed and perhaps she had misread the situation completely. Because he’d practically scrambled away when it happened.

He’d ran out the door with some made up excuse on his lips, a deep blush on his face.

Maybe it was all in her head, maybe she was the one being unprofessional. But she can’t help the way he makes her feel more than her past, more than what she can do.

With Neal it had always felt like it was them against the world.

With Killian she thinks maybe they can just exist in the world, maye make it a little better in the process.

What makes it worse was a conversation she hears between Ariel and Killian days after their almost kiss. Days after she spends a night dreaming of what could be.

Emma hadn’t meant to be eavesdropping, but she had a lead on their new case and was heading into his open office when she heard them talking in tense low voices.

“What was your talk with Neal like?” The younger agent asked him. It makes her stop in her tracks, makes her heartbeat wildly.

He shot Ariel a glare and told her to keep her voice down. But he hadn’t refuted her claim.

He doesn’t tell her about it later when she finds a more convenient time to talk to her about the case.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Emma asked Ruby later in her apartment over a tall glass of wine. Because she desperately needs the alcohol to calm down her racing thoughts.

“Emma...Does it ever occur to you that maybe...maybe Killian is involved?” She contemplated, sitting across from Emma with her own equally tall glass of wine.

“Involved?”

“Killian is in the prime position if you think about it.” She muses. “You under his thumb, maybe Neal in his back pocket. Maybe it was him all along.” Emma shook her head because no. It couldn’t be.

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional.

“Then why is he keeping his meeting with Neal a secret when you’ve been upfront with him? After all, his own father is a master of crime, maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

“So she trusted you?”

“Yes.”

Emma Swan does trust him.

Killian remembered that case they had a few months back, Emma had gone and broken into a shady hospital without backup or a warrant. The case had involved Granny’s granddaughter not getting a kidney and she’d gone rouge.

Something he warned her against a half dozen times by this point.

She’d broken in and gotten caught and drugged up to the gills. Killian had had to get in and break her out without anyone realizing. He’d even stolen the security tapes.

“I trust you Killian...out of everyone in my life, Neal, Ruby...you are the only one I truly trust.”

Emma did trust him. She trusted him with her free smile when she was feeling particularly excited out on a job. She trusted him with her fury when things were hard and she felt truly trapped by their arrangement. She trusted him with her tears when she thought about Neal. She didn’t often say much but he just knows.

He knows her.

Emma trusted him to know her and Killian knew it’s not something freely given.

But then out of nowhere that guarded expression on her face returns. Any move he made seems to be met with passive aggressive responses and half truths. She had her barely contained fury back beneath her eyes.

It reminded him of a young agent who was furious when he learned that all the older agents were laughing behind his back. When he learned that they would never take him seriously because he was damaged. He was a joke.

Emma Swan was no joke.

It unsettled him, he can’t figure out what changed.

Or perhaps he was reading too much into her responses, after all, he was keeping a rather large secret from her. Because despite not wanting to hurt her, not wanting to break her trust, he feared this new information would be too much for her. Too much temptation.

Because there was nothing more tempting to Emma than information about Neal Cassidy.

It had taken some favors and a considerable amount of FBI weight throwing to secure the meeting, but he’d had it. Killian had had a meeting with Neal Cassidy.

He knew what they wanted from Emma.

(“A music box, she stole it in Germany just before...about a year before you caught her. They won’t let me go...they won’t let us be together without it.” He’d assured him.

“How do we know any of this is real?” He asked him. “How do we know this isn’t some game to get in her head?”

Neal gave him a disbelieving smirk. “I guess you don’t know. But considering you don’t know the whole story, I have to say that I have the advantage.”

“I find that whenever the supposed hostage talks about having the advantage they are rarely telling the truth.” He replies firmly.

“Ask Emma about the job we ran in October. If she tells you the truth then you’ll know exactly why Emma has to hand over the music box”)

He knew what they wanted from Emma, but he wasn’t sure if telling her would be smart. He honestly wasn’t sure if she could handle it.

That is, until in the middle of a job, a sting operation Emma had snapped. She’d nearly turned him in, her eyes had turned steely and she hissed that she knew.

“I know you have Neal, that this whole thing is a game, a trap, a trick.” she seethed. It had completely caught him off guard.

“What?!” He’d demanded, but the mark was listening, hell all his agents were listening. They couldn’t do this here. “If you have ever trusted me, you’ll give me a chance to explain myself otherwise get back to the case.” He’d said sharply. He met her steely glare with her own and nodded once.

I trust you.

She’d proven it later that day when their mark had locked in an airlock and they only had one canister of air. She’d shoved it into his grasp. “I trust you.” She’d whispered out loud this time. Please don’t play me for a fool.

He hadn’t, of course. They’d found their way out and sitting there in front of a multimillion dollar mansion swarmed with agents and bundled in shock blankets, he’d told her.

“I met Neal.” He admitted her. Her eyes are wide, but she’s not surprised. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think you could handle it.” But he was wrong, so wrong.

“You had no right to keep that from me.” She replied sharply. “But I understand why you did.” her expression softened. “I know how I must look to you: a love sick fool chasing after a man who hurt me. Risking everything for him...”She trailed off before fixing him a firm gaze. “What did he tell you?”

“He told me what he wanted. A music box.”

“A music box.” Emma repeated. She laughed at her words. Laughed like he’d told her the most ridiculous joke in the world. “Then let’s go get the music box.”

“And where was the music box?”

“Under our noses the whole time.”

“Bloody hell Swan!” He’d cursed. “How?”

It had been one of her most daring moves. She’s not sure why she decided to do it, but after she thought of it...the idea was just too intoxicating. It was a challenge, a dare and perfect. So perfect.

Getting the music box had been difficult, a job that didn’t really interest Neal. It was a little too flashy without enough reward. Thankfully a fence of hers had been able to take his place on the job.

(A fact that Neal was not happy about.)

Graham had been good, and it had gone off nearly flawlessly. She’d given him a cut of the profit she would make when she sold the music box--and a slap for a stolen kiss that Neal still doesn’t know about--except she never did get around to selling the damn thing.

She’d meant to, really. But this was right in the beginning of Agent Jones pursuit of her and she’d thought he was cute and enjoyed teasing him with her gifts.

So Emma had set to work. A good forger can make something worthless look real, but only a great forger could make a priceless artifact seem like a fake knock off.

So that’s what she did. No one ever knew, they didn’t even suspect it.

“My sister!” Killian exclaims again. “What did I tell you about involving her?” Emma shrugs.

“To be fair I had already long sent it to her by the time you gave me that warning.” She told him simply, picking up the item. “I assume it came back clean when you sent it to the lab?” It was smaller than she remembered, a fake gloss painted on to mask it’s trace components.

“They traced it to a manufacturer in China and Belle liked how it sounded. Bloody hell, what would we have done if she had tossed it like I wanted to do?” She’d found a similar looking one and stole the packaging. Emma shrugged.

“I didn’t exactly anticipate for some rogue agent to kidnap Neal for this thing. I didn’t even steal it for anything other than morbid curiosity.” She admitted. “Now that we have it, when can we get the meeting?” She asks.

Killian sighs. “I’ve put word out, hopefully Neal will contact me and we can set a time.”

“Or.” Emma adds. “We can contact the person pulling the strings behind this, behind everything.” She snaps.

“We don’t know for sure.” Killian says with a calming gesture.

“You really think Walshe has nothing to do with this?” Emma snaps. “After coming into town just in time to frame me for the diamond heist?”

Killian doesn’t respond. Emma takes the music box tightly in her hands. “This has to end. It has to end now.”

“Swan-” But she steps out of his grip. “We need to do this the right way, catch him red handed, not just hand him what he wants, when will it end?”

Oh it’ll end. The stakes were too high for Emma not to see to it that this cat and mouse game end now.

Plans circulated in her head, how to get out with the music box, how to make the exchange before Killian could talk her into a more by the book plan. Sometimes things couldn’t go by the book. Sometimes the ugly gritty way was the only way.

Killian’s phone rang loudly at his side. He picks it up, giving Emma a look. We’ll figure this out, you just need to trust me.

But something on the other end was clearly very wrong. His eyes narrowed and she could see something darker and fiercer just below the surface. “Stay there Belle.”

He could hear the younger girl talking quickly on the phone, Killian’s hand clenched. She was clearly very upset.“I’ll be right there. Do not say a single word until I get there.” He glanced at her. “We need to go now. Belle’s just been arrested.”

“She was arrested because the Marshalls believed a phone call she received from an unfamiliar number was our father.”

“Was it?”

“Just a spam caller”

The marshalls had wanted him out of the way, and they got it. It hadn’t taken much. They had Belle in handcuffs, her eyes were red as her classmates looked on, Walshe’s grip on her was rough and his words had been rude and vial and then he’d had the balls to mention Emma. So he’d swung and decked Walshe Green in the face.

It felt good. But it ended with him in cuffs besides Belle. He’d watched a wide eyed Emma leave with Ariel, considering her handler was about to be put on suspension he was glad she wasn’t being taken into custody next. She’d been strangely silent through the whole ordeal.

Emma had tried to deescalate the situation at first, but a comment Walshe had made left her frozen. Emma Swan never froze up.

“You never know, a parent’s greatest desire is to see their kid, wouldn’t you agree Emma?”

It wasn’t until afterwards. After he was back home missing his badge and gun, he realized two things.

The Music box was gone.

This had never been about Neal.

“When we were originally tackling The Swan, Emma took a year gap where we couldn’t find a single hint of a job she was running. The working theory was that she was waiting for the heat of her last job to die down.”

“And now?”

“Now I realize that she went underground for a different reason.”

They met at the drop point.

Emma felt bad for having Ruby steal the music box from Killian’s house, but it was the only way. No one was supposed to know about him. No one was ever supposed to connect her to the little boy that was born in New York Hospital in October of that year.

They were supposed to disappear and start a new life together, Tallahassee.

Neal and her called it Tallahassee. It was the end game plan, retire and move to Florida or some island in the tropics. But Neal had never wanted to go clean, so Emma took her son and ran.

So Neal set a trap for her. She set a trap so she couldn’t disappear with their kid.

“When you get out.” He said, holding one of his toys, one of her son’s toys “We can be a family. It was only four years.”

Emma had hated him for four years, for robbing her of that time together, of wanting to be a father and changing his mind and then changing his mind again.

It wasn’t until now, until Neal was faced with losing their kid, of him being abducted and held above their heads that he truly cared. Maybe, maybe it’s not too late for them.

They met at the drop point, except there was no Neal, only Walshe. But she doesn't let that shake her resolve.

“Where is he?” She demanded.

“Neal is around.” Walshe said cryptically. “I hear you have my box.” She didn’t deny it.

“I’m not talking about Neal.” She said. “You’re not getting a damn thing unless I can see my son.” The man smirked wider than he had any reason to.

“Don’t trust me?”

Emma didn’t dignify his words with a response. He gave a large sigh and opened his car door. There in the backseat, passed out in his car seat is Henry. She hadn’t seen him since he was an infant, but she knew. It was her son. Her four year old little boy looked positively exhausted but in good health. It made her gasp in relief, tears gathering in her eyes.

He’s gotten so big.

“Where’s my music box?”

She gave it to him without a moment’s hesitation. Her only focus was pulling that boy into her arms and never letting go. She was never letting him go again. “Neal said to give you these.” Walshe added after the box is placed securely in his car. It was an envelope. She takes it with the hand not around the boy.

Papers...She realized a whole new identity and not just for her. Neal, Emma and Henry Nolan. A normal happy little family. It was good, extensive.

A happy ending after all. Four years ago this is all she’d ever wanted.

“There’s a jet waiting for you, it’ll take you wherever you want. The three of you can disappear.” Walshe explained.

“Why?” Emma asks. “Why go through all of this? Kidnapping my son, using him to get to Neal to get to me? Just for that.” Because it wasn’t worth that much, not enough for all this.

“Because my employer wants it.” Walshe said cryptically. But he doesn’t elaborate, he doesn’t need to. It says all she needs to know.

There’s someone behind the curtain.

“You better get going. Neal is waiting for you.” The address was written in the envelope, so she settled Henry in his car seat in her car and then she headed out.

But not before she sent Belle the most expensive collection of sketch books and paints money can buy, art school wasn’t cheap and she had talent. Real talent.

Not before she called Granny and thanked her for everything.

Not before she called Ruby and told her about Henry. The papers...

(“I don’t know why you didn’t trust me to tell me the truth Emma.” She’d said. “But for what it’s worth I’m glad you are finally getting the life that you want. But you know what I always say-”

“A happy ending.” Emma breathed. “Is all about where you stop the story.”

She could feel Ruby’s grin through the phone. “From the moment we met, I knew your story was going to be exciting, but my question is, is this where you want to stop the story?” )

But Emma didn’t have time to contemplate her words. She needed to go. They had to get out, they needed to run. This is what she always wanted.

She was 50 feet from the plane when she heard her name being called out in the terminal.

“Swan!” It makes her stop in her tracks. She can’t help but feel her chest tighten at the sound of her name. She turned to see him. His suit is rumpled, tie missing. He looks like he ran all the way here. “Swan wait.” She did. She had to.

“You can’t stop me Killian.” She said. “You can’t.”

He nodded. “I know, all of this was sanctioned. It��s all an op as far as anyone can tell.” He agreed. “Legally I can’t interfere.”

Legally.

“Why are you here Killian?” Sha asked.

“I’m here to remind you of what you’re walking away from if you get on that plane. I know what you want Swan, I’ve always known. You want to be a part of something. You are here.” She bit her lip, he was smiling at her, something delicate and desperate. He wanted her to stay so badly.

“Neal once said that we run. We run until when we run from something we just miss it.” She recalled.

“You don’t need to run anymore Emma. You can stay. You and your son. You can stay.” He promised. “You don’t have to look over your shoulder anymore.”

“Why are you here Killian?” She asked again. Because it can’t be for her. It didn’t make sense. She’s a criminal, a convict, a fraud. She didn’t deserve for him to look at her like that.

“Because you sent Belle art supplies. You called Ruby and Granny. You said goodbye to everyone except for me.” He reminded her “Why?”

Why hadn’t she?

“Because...” she trailed off. “You’re the only person who could change my mind.”

He smiled at her, close enough to cup her cheek. “Did I?” She doesn't speak. She can’t. She leans in and kisses him. Something she never dared to want. Never dared to even consider.

It was better than she ever imagined. It was something that she would surely miss if she got on that plane.

But is it enough? Is it enough to turn away from a definite happy ending? Or is she walking away from it? “Killian...

Emma didn’t get a chance to contemplate the issue further.

Because when she looks back at the plane, at Neal’s face in the window of the plane, before she has a chance the plane explodes.

“And you know the rest.” Killian says. “They immediately took Emma into custody. Investigators descended on the terminal, Walshe went underground and you’re here to determine if my actions warrant you taking my badge.”

The investigators glare at him, clearly not believing some of what he’s saying. But they’ve been glaring at him since he stepped into the room. It was probably a side effect of having just interviewed Emma.

But it doesn’t matter what they believe. All that matters is what they choose to do. They can choose to give him back his badge and gun and let him do his job. Or they won’t.

“Do you believe Ms.Swan set the bomb that killed Mr. Cassidy?”

He looks them dead in the eye. “No.” He says pointedly. “She would never do that.” Not just because she was supposed to be on that plane, not just because her son was supposed to be on that plane but because Emma wasn’t a killer.

They don’t ask him any more questions.

He walks out the door with his badge, his gun and a warning. But there’s time to worry about that later. Right now all Killian wants to do is see her. He wants to see if she’s there. If she had left before he was done or if she was waiting for him.

And she is. She’s leaning against his door of his car a smile on her face and a-

“Another hat Swan?” He asks. Emma smirks, removing the hat and placing it on his head.

“I think it looks pretty good.” Emma says with a smirk and a subtle bite of her lip. “What do you think?” Now it’s Killian’s turn to smirk. She looks brilliant with that hat, so he places it back on her blonde head of hair. It does little to distract from the brand new tracker on her ankle, but he appreciated the attempt. Its slimmer chases less according to the memo Emma had emailed him..

“How’s Henry?” He asks. It had been a few weeks since she met the boy, since he’d caught him and his mother from the explosive blast of the plane that killed his father.

“Adjusting.” She says, her grin fading.

Emma wasn’t allowed to keep him, social workers didn’t feel comfortable given that she was a current convict with an unusual situation. Thankfully Ariel was a registered foster parent with a spare bedroom. Henry had immediately taken a shine to Ariel and her husband and their current foster, a six year old girl named Melody.

It wasn’t perfect, but Emma could see him as often as she wanted while she applied to earn back rights she never should have lost.

“What now?” Emma asks. Her hand drifts to his. Her hands are softer than he’d thought. He leans in close, not too close but closer than he should. Closer than a handler should be with his charge. But he was close enough to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s smiling.

“Now? We have another case.” He tells her.

“And later?” She adds. “What do you plan to do about Walshe, and Neal and-”

“I don’t know.” He says honestly. “But whatever we do, know that we’ll figure it out together.”

#cs january joy #csjj 2021 #Captain Swan #once upon a time #White Collar AU

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ughgclden · 3 years ago

Note

although your heart exploding sounds bad, i don’t think i want to say i’ll stop saying things that illicit that reaction, as long as it’s positive. im glad i made you smile, above all. as someone who collects little pieces of information, im happy to trade mine for yours, if you so wish. just ask, love.

it doesn’t surprise me that you have a sweet tooth, and i’ll admit, sweet things are nice, something about coffee just makes me want to consume it in its most biting form.

i understand the trying to go to bed and ending up awake at two am, in full honesty, these days, at two am, im combing through these letters, rereading every word you’ve gifted me. i also fall fault to daydreaming, indulging myself in a reality where i’m allowed to be and love who i want. living where and how i want. records and books and plants and cats, and some pretty girl, or nonbinary person, loving me for me.

i’m so happy you can see me like that, if i were to end up a teacher, that’s exactly what i want to be. how i want to be. the teacher kids go to, and like having, the class no one minds going to, the one that drains you the least. and yeah, so he found out i was in latin, and the charlie picture in my phone case tells anyone i like dead poets society so he, nicknamed me meeks. it doesn’t hurt that i wear glasses. i usually wrote around seven and a half, pushing as far as i possibly could. (and i completely understand, i hate confrontation, but i like being contradictory when i can. and i do.)

you and i, a collection of complements, huh? i mean, you are british, you’re practically henry already /hj

that dude was probably just intimidated by how hot i look in this outfit /j someone said i looked like i was in the mob, which frankly? huge compliment.

i lost it internally if it makes you feel any better, or any less confident in my ability to hold myself. i don’t know if she was joking or not.

as for the assignment, the conference is over the fast fashion industry, the immorality of it, the way it harms the environment, etc, and i’m representing egypt, which means that i’m in support of finding sustainable ways to fix the fashion industry, but because my economy is struggling a little bit, i still give into the fast fashion.

i understand the fear, i used to post headcanons and little fics, and shitpost every once in a while, but now my only tumblr contributions are these letters to you and reblogging a few posts from my dash.

and if it alleviates anything, i will never be sick or tired, or bored of you, or your blog. i understand worrying about silly things, i always get scared that when i tell people they have a cute outfit someday they’ll take it to mean that they don’t normally look cute. which they normally do, but i digress. i just want you to know i understand, and i’m here to try and assuage your worries.

sending you love, hugs, tea, and a poem by the poet of your choice, annotated in a pen of your favourite colour. all my love, bee<3

i wish you a good, restful sleep, a calming night, and sweet dreams, the sweetest dreams.

yours,

star✨

i could never feel anything but happiness and adoration towards these letters, star, i swear.

i too love collecting little bits of information, so if there's anything you'd like to share, i'd more than adore to hear about it. i'll tell you that my biggest comfort movie is fantastic mr fox, closely followed by it (2017) - don't ask - and i can basically speak both scripts word for word!

i'll admit i used to drink straight coffee during exams - for reasons unknown, i did more harm than good really. but something about your personality works with drinking black coffee, i don't know. it just fits you well.

i'm crying??? /pos. your letters and words also take up a lot of room in my mind, but you didn't hear it from me. i have so many daydreams, whether about stupid fictional universes, or just about the future i want/ i can totally relate to wanting records, plants, books, animals and a home with someone i love. i'm hoping we both get those <3

that's honestly so cool oh my god - one of the best nicknames to have if you ask me. maybe your neil kinnie will have to move over slightly to make way for a rising meeks kinnie /j. i love that - pushing stupid boundaries for the win! i was lucky that any subtle rebellion i did in school i managed to get away with, for the most part, but in year 11 i guess i just stopped caring as much, oops.

he definitely was, he was just jealous he couldn't look that hot in a suit and pull it off as great as you did /hj. jealousy is a disease, sir. mob!star au???

that sounds super interesting, oh my god! i love that whole topic, it sounds like it would be so good to really delve into and explore - i hope all goes well!!!

thank you so much star - your reassurance is always so so lovely and nice and never fails to make me feel better about myself/my worries. it genuinely means a lot. <3

i'm hoping today is as lovely as you, and the world treats you with softness and kindness. all my love, star <33

#asks <3 #anon asks!#star anon #long post

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pheuthe · 8 years ago

Text

“You bake when you’re stressed and sometimes you give me cookies, but recently you’re giving me whole baskets each day, now I’m not complaining but are you okay?” coldflash AU

(from this post)

for @airydoorway

The smell is driving Barry nuts.

The day he moves in, he appreciates the homely undertones of vanilla in the air, and thinks that the previous owner of the tiny apartment must’ve been the type to collect those pricy, excessively scented candles. It’s not an unpleasant smell, per se, so he opens a window and doesn’t think twice about it.

The vanilla, however, persists for some time. When it finally goes away and Barry takes a deep, relieved breath, a hint of cinnamon tickles his nose. He spends two hours rooting through the apartment’s shelves and cabinets in search of the offending candle, but comes up empty-handed.

It fades soon enough, and Barry’s starting to think that maybe, he’s got those sensory hallucinations he’s been reading about lately.

But then, about ten days after moving in, he’s locking the front door on his way to work and a man steps out of the apartment next door. Barry feels like a gingerbread truck has just mowed him down. There’s vanilla and cinnamon and other sweet smells, and the neighbor is stuffing a plastic plate filled with the most mouthwatering cookies in the world… into a trash bag.

“What are you doing?!” Barry yelps, and the man shoots him a glare.

“Don’t need so many cookies,” he growls. Under any other circumstances, Barry would melt at the sound of a voice like that, especially when it falls from that mouth, but the guy looks positively murderous, and only the fate of those poor cookies makes Barry speak up again.

“I’ll take them!” he yelps, and the guy raises an eyebrow, then thrusts the trash bag right into Barry’s hands and turns away, slamming the door of his apartment behind himself.

Only belatedly does Barry realize that he shouldn’t have claimed cookies that have already been tossed in the trash… but when he opens the bag (just to see if there’s maybe one or two that could be salvaged), it’s filled with cookies only. Chocolate chip and nuts and snickerdoodles have been haphazardly tossed together and Barry swears he hears a quiet ‘hallelujah’ playing in his head as he takes a first careful bite.

They’re so good he wants to weep, but instead, he ends up pouring as many as he can into the largest plastic container in his apartment so that he can take this gift from the vanilla heaven next door to work.

He ends up sharing a few with Joe and Captain Singh despite his careful hoarding of the precious gift. He eats his weight in vanilla and butter for the next two days, and life is starting to look pretty good despite the awful sugar-induced crash afterwards.

Barry doesn’t think much about the whole deal – he’s been told that overeager relatives or girlfriends can sometimes bake too much, even though he’s never experienced it himself.

But then, a few weeks later, the smell of vanilla wakes him up in the middle of the night. Barry dreams about a cookie monster coming after him.

In the morning, he almost stumbles over the huge Tupperware full of cookies that has been left on his doorstep.

It becomes a pattern, afterwards. Somewhat erratic, but brownies and tarts and pies appear out of the blue at least once every couple of weeks, to the point where Barry feels a little uneasy about being fed so well by a complete stranger. He settles into the routine sugar-rushes easily, though.

Until cookies appear on Monday, Wednesday and Tuesday, in such staggering amounts that they are once again delivered in trash bags instead of food containers. Barry shares with everyone he knows, getting more than one question about this magical secret bakery he’s been frequenting lately (and a few sour looks from the cops who think that bringing twenty triple-chocolate muffins to Captain Singh is just plain sucking up). On Thursday, there’s a heavenly apple strudel, but when Barry comes back from work that same day to find four different pies sitting right there on his doorstep, he can’t just let it go anymore.

He takes a deep breath and knocks at his neighbor’s door, steeling himself for another murderous glare. Barry only notices the sound of a mixer from behind the closed door when it turns off, and there’s a moment of complete, eerie silence before the door is yanked open and Barry’s looking into the barrel of a gun.

He yelps and takes a hasty step back, nearly stumbling over himself, but the gun’s removed before he can truly start freaking out. The neighbor guy, looking just as stormy as before, tucks the gun into the back of his pants (stained with flour, of all things), and huffs.

“What?!”

“I… uh.”

It’s pretty hard to formulate a coherent sentence after that, so Barry’s grateful that the guy doesn’t slam the door in his face when it takes a few seconds for him to gather his wits.

“Look, you’ve been leaving a lot of stuff at my door these past few days and I’m not complaining or anything, but… um. Are you okay?”

That’s not at all what he planned to say, but the neighbor looks a little frantic, and not just because he pulled a gun on Barry a moment ago. There are circles under his eyes that Barry’s sure weren’t there before, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a while.

Instead of answering, the man casts a suspicious glance down the corridor, and then steps out of the way, holding the door open.

“You wanna come in, kid?”

Barry wants to protest that he’s twenty-five, thank you very much, but he decides that irritating his sugar dealer, who also has a gun, would not be wise, so he tries to smile and, against his better judgment, steps in.

The apartment’s similar to his own, only much neater, almost meticulously put together in neutral shades of grey and beige everywhere.

Except the kitchen area, which looks very much like a baking reality show exploded all over the place, sacks of flour and stacks of eggshells and milk cartons everywhere, baking sheets haphazardly tossed over the limited counter space.

“Uh,” Barry says, not sure how to approach the subject of maybe, just maybe, the guy not being exactly alright. When he glances the neighbor’s way to assess the situation, it’s a relief to find him smirking.

“Helps me think,” he clarifies and moves back into the kitchen area, whisking the beginnings of batter in a huge glass bowl. Barry can see where he’s coming from – there’s something relaxing about watching him work, all controlled, precise movements and complete focus on the task. Barry finds himself slipping onto a flour-dusted barstool, mesmerized by the process.

Well, he’d be lying if he said that the baking is the only thing that captures his attention. Up close like this, in the man’s private space, Barry has the time to really look at him. He’s a lot less scary with a whisk in his hand and a splash of batter across his chest, but there’s something about him that still makes Barry’s insides tingle. His eyes are too kind for a man who just pulled a gun on someone, with laugh lines around the corners, and his close-cropped hair twists into the most perfect widow’s peak Barry’s ever seen. The barest hint of stubble gives his jawline that sharply defined look that Barry longs to touch, and the thought startles him for a moment. There’s both strength and vulnerability in the set of the man’s shoulders, in his long limbs and the way his fingers wrap around the handle of the whisk, and Barry suddenly feels like he should stay and make sure that everything’s okay with this guy.

“You should probably sleep,” he suggests – the only response he gets from the man is a shrug. After a moment, he stops whisking just long enough to glance at Barry and give him a good look into those winter-sky eyes.

“Can’t. No worries, kid, I’m a big boy.”

He says it with a wry smirk, the words dancing to a pretty sarcastic tune, but Barry must be slipping into insanity himself because he shouldn’t find that hot and yet here he is, sitting in a stranger’s kitchen, being inappropriately turned on by the sight of someone stress-baking.

“Would you like me to go?” he asks, suddenly uneasy.

“Nah. Stay if you like.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes Barry feel like maybe he appreciates the company – but sitting here watching those long fingers fiddle with eggs is already making Barry restless, so he hops off the barstool and smiles a little.

“I can help?”

The assessing look the neighbor gives him, lingering and focused, turns Barry’s knees weak.

Eventually, the guy nods, like Barry has passed some sort of a test he wasn’t aware he was taking. “You can get the almonds.”

It takes a bit of creative searching in the chaos of the kitchen, but Barry feels unexpected peace wash over him as he prepares ingredient after ingredient to the sound of the guy’s quiet, precise commands. Barry has never really baked anything before, and the first few times, he worries about asking for more detailed instructions on something, but the man never makes Barry feel stupid or incompetent. His patient responses unwind something in Barry’s chest, some tension that he wasn’t even aware was there until it’s gone, leaving behind an odd sense of calm, and Barry’s actually unsettled to see the last baking sheet delivered into the oven.

He doesn’t know where to go from there, how to walk away from an impromptu baking session with a guy he doesn’t know at all, from this quiet, harmonious act of creation that has taken on an almost meditative quality. He turns to the guy to say something and finds him much closer than expected, watching Barry with that disconcerting gaze, not unkind, just piercing, like he can see Barry’s reluctance to leave.

The well-known vanilla scent is everywhere, stronger than ever after Barry has managed to spill some on himself. It messes with Barry’s head, makes him feel dizzy and fearless, and before he knows it, he’s reaching out and twisting his batter-stained fingers into the guy’s shirt and dragging him close.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, from one or both of them, and the guy stops barely an inch from Barry’s face.

“Hey,” Barry whispers, and it’s always sounded so stupid in all the movies, but it fits perfectly here, two strangers meeting in an unexpected place, in an impossibly perfect moment that flutters in the sweet-smelling air between them. The man studies him and up close, Barry can see something shift in those blue eyes. The guy starts pulling away but Barry’s having none of that, unwilling to part with this bubble of peace and warmth just yet. He surges forward and almost crashes into the guy, lips meeting in a hasty, misaligned touch that’s more a plea than a real kiss.

But then, oh, then the guy lets out this tiny sigh and tilts his head and his hands trail sugar into Barry’s hair, and it becomes a proper kiss then, unhurried, close-mouthed, but so damn perfect that Barry feels his throat go all tight, together with his stomach and his heart.

The slow, languid pace keeps them occupied until the vanilla scent in the apartment turns all smoky, and it takes both of them a while longer to shake out of their daze enough to realize that the cookies are burning.

The man swears quietly and jumps to the oven to salvage the batch, and Barry feels like he’s been torn out of a really good dream. What is he even doing here, kissing a complete stranger? It’s insane, and he needs to go before he makes himself go even more crazy over a pipe dream of domestic bliss with someone he’s met two times in his whole life – and one of those times, a gun was involved.

“I should, uh,” he starts, backing away from the kitchen in a sudden burst of panic, but before he can properly turn away, he’s stopped in his tracks by that deep voice, almost eerily calm.

“Been twenty years since I burned something,” the man says, his back to Barry, leaning over the counter with the ruined cookies. His shoulders are set, or maybe Barry’s reading too much into this, but the gun is very visible from this angle, sticking out of the waistband of his pants like a reminder of how foolish Barry’s been tonight.

He opens his mouth to say ‘sorry’ or ‘I didn’t mean to’ or ‘please don’t shoot me’, but then, the guy turns to glance at Barry over his shoulder, and there’s unexpected light in his eyes, like… like he’s not upset about the cookies at all. Like he’s actually amused, or… or fond, and Barry’s heart lurches at the thought.

“I’m Len,” he says, and that’s when Barry realizes he just spent at least twenty minutes making out (and planning a wedding) with a guy he didn’t even know by name.

It makes him laugh, and the tension cracks; instead of fleeing, he takes those five steps back to Len’s side and lets himself be folded into a hug that fits so well around him that he can’t help but wonder how it would feel to wake up in those arms.

How it will feel, because there’s little doubt in Barry’s mind that his slow descent into madness is inevitable, now.

“I’m Barry,” he says as he leans into Len’s solid chest, and takes advantage of the fact that there are no more cookies to burn.

#coldflash #fanfiction #stress baking #neighbors AU #fluff and silliness

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