Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part One

I dare you to sit alone in the Storybrooke Cemetery until after midnight.

Emma Swan hated her friends.

Why couldn’t they have dared her to something more typical of a college student on Halloween? Why not dare her to slam a beer, or kiss one of the random guys that had crashed the party, or go streaking down the quad?

Because they obviously hated her as much as she hated them.

Okay. Maybe hate was too strong a word, but still… she had unfriendly feelings toward them at the moment.

A curse slipped from her lips as she tripped over one of the flat gravestones that littered the area of the cemetery closest to the public park. She’d decided it would be best to not park her bright yellow bug at the actual entrance of the cemetery, seeing as visiting interred loved ones after dark wasn’t exactly permitted.

After traipsing through the treeline that separated the public park from the cemetery with nothing more than an old flashlight and its quickly dying batteries - leave your phone in your car. You have to be completely alone - it was no wonder she’d nearly lost her footing. There was practically no moon and the faint solar powered grave lights adorning a few of the headstones did little to illuminate more than the names and dates of those long passed.

Trudging a bit further into the center of the cemetery, Emma found a tall headstone to rest against. She spread out the blanket she’d brought with her, sat down, leaned back, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“This is stupid,” she muttered, refusing to let the intrusive, ridiculous, superstitious, completely irrational thoughts currently parading through her mind make a home there.

There was nothing to be creeped out about. There was nothing scary or unnatural about a graveyard. All she had to do was sit here for…

A frustrated sigh huffed from her chest. Without her phone, how was she supposed to know when midnight was?

There was nothing for it. She’d have to go back and get her phone so she could keep tabs on the time. There was no way she was staying out here a second longer than she had to, and not because she was scared, or creeped out, or had chill bumps already forming on her arms. Nope.

Leaving her blanket behind, Emma set off back towards her car. She’d only managed to walk a few steps when the flashlight batteries finally gave up the ghost… so to speak, plunging her into darkness.

Slapping her palm against the infernal thing in the hopes of reviving it, Emma let out another expletive.

“The fuck am I gonna do now?”

“Good question,” a voice said from behind her.

Emma screamed and spun around. The face of a strange man, being illuminated by his own flashlight shining up from beneath his chin, had her stumbling backward. If not for his quick actions, she would have tumbled over the back of a headstone and probably landed on her head. Instead, she found herself wrapped in his embrace, having pulled her back onto her feet in just the nick of time.

“Whoa there, lass,” he said, adjusting her in his arms to ensure she was steady. “You don’t want to go joining these poor souls before it's your time.”

Attempting to wriggle out of his hold, Emma straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Let go of me.”

He did as he was told, staying close for a moment to make certain she was sure on her feet before stepping over to where she had left her blanket.

Gathering it from the ground, he held it out to her. “Best not linger here, love. The cemetery is no place for the living after dark.”

Taking the blanket from him, Emma’s eyes narrowed at the man - the handsome, heart-flutter inducing, accented lilt that could make her toes curl, while giving off an air of danger that just made him an impossibly more appealing type of man. Dismissing the erratic beat of her heart as something simply caused by the fright he’d given her and not the lop-sided smile and smoldering eyes currently fixed her way, Emma hugged the blanket against her chest and demanded to know, “What are you doing here then?”

“I work here,” he informed her with all the confidence and authority of a practiced liar.

Because it was a lie. Or half-truth at the very least. Emma could always tell.

Letting out a quiet hum that expressed her doubt, she clocked the way he pawed at a patch of skin behind his ear before glancing around them as though he expected someone else to make an appearance.

Was there someone else in the cemetery with them?

“Look, love,” he began, his tone a bit tighter and more urgent. “I really must insist that you leave here at once. For your own good. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Emma scoffed. “I don’t even know you.”

“All you need to know is that if you stay here you’re putting yourself in danger.” Before she could pull away the man grabbed one of her hands. “Here,” he said, placing his flashlight in her palm. “Take this and get back to your vehicle.”

“But you still haven’t told me what you’re…”

Her words fell away, choked out by shock and a fresh swell of fear. When she’d cast the beam of the flashlight after the man who was quickly rushing away, she caught sight of a mound of freshly dug earth on the other side of the cemetery. A shovel was sticking out from the pile and she could barely make out the dark chasm of the grave that had been newly exposed.

Was he some sort of grave robber?

Emma turned on her heel and made a beeline for the trees. Her only thought was to call the police, but before she reached the boundary of the cemetery a cold gust stole her breath away. A shrill shriek forced a ripple of terror to tremble down her spine and a silent petrified scream tried to force itself from her lungs when a ghostly figure of a woman manifested right in front of her.

“Get down!” the man shouted and Emma turned in time to see him brandish a shotgun.

Dropping to the ground, a blast went off overhead and she felt small, hard pellets rain down on her as another shriek pierced her ears.

“Are you alright, love?”

The man hauled her to her feet, and unlike the last time it was Emma who now clung to him, her hands holding fast to his upper arms as she tried to reconcile what had just happened.

“W-What was that?”

“That,” he said softly, his gaze filled with obvious remorse as he confirmed her worst nightmare. “Was a ghost.”

“A g-ghost?” Emma shook her head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am deadly serious,” he said, brushing the substance he’d fired from his shotgun off her head and shoulders.

“A ghost,” Emma repeated, her mind still grasping for reality as her grip remained tight around his bicep. “Who… whose ghost? How did you…? Is she…?”

“Her name was Cruella,” he told her. “She died in the 1920s and has been haunting the park since her family home, which used to reside there, was torn down in the early 80s. Haven’t you heard the stories?”

“About de Vil Park?”

The man nodded as Emma searched her memory for the tales people often told about the public park. It had been donated by the family whose estate had once been the central landmark of affluence until a murderous scandal had tarnished the de Vil name. The mansion had fallen into disrepair and was ultimately condemned and bulldozed, the land left to the city for public use and made into a park.

Emma had heard stories about people refusing to walk their dogs there, something about the trails making the animals skittish or aggressive. There had been a public health scare when she was in middle school. One fall several kids had been bitten by varying animals - squirrels, a raccoon, and maybe a possum? - and one of them contracted rabies. Most people avoided feeding the animals in the park, fearing attacks, and although after dark activities were allowed, few went there after sundown.

“Is she the reason that animals act strangely there?”

“Aye,” the man said, his eyes casting about and the muscle at his jaw pulsing. “More recently though, she’s taken to tormenting a local woman who unknowingly purchased one of Cruella’s fur coats from an antique store.”

“And you’re here to…”

His eyes cut back to hers, locking on with an intensity that had the same breath stealing effect as the ghost - for different reasons obviously - and causing her to nearly miss the vow he uttered in a low, gruff timbre.

“To put a stop to the bitch. For good.”

“How?”

His reply was cut off by another screech and drop in temperature.

“Bloody hell! Get behind me, love.”

Emma did not hesitate, clinging to his back as the apparition appeared. With practiced skill, he opened the shotgun chamber, loaded two shells, snapped it shut, aimed, and fired a spray of something that made the ghost vanish once more.

“What was that?” Emma asked, following at the man’s heels, his destination becoming clear as they approached the freshly unearthed grave.

“Rock salt,” he answered. “It won’t destroy a spirit, but it does act as a deterrent, forcing them to dissipate briefly.”

“What does destroy a spirit? How does one kill something that’s already dead?”

“You have to salt and burn the bones of the person,” he said matter-of-factly, reaching into a duffel bag and pulling out a canister of salt. “And any earthly object the spirit might be tied to.”

Jutting his chin down towards the grave, the man turned her attention to the ghastly scene six feet below. The lid of her coffin had been pried open, the decaying, partially skeletal remains of Cruella de Vil exposed to the elements for the first time in a hundred years. She’d been laid out in a black gown and once luxurious fur, her fingers and neck draped in jewels, and her hair, still attached to patches of skin affixed to her skull in contrasts of black and white, had been fashioned in a split bob which had been popular in her day. At her feet rested a well kept, white fur coat with black spots, and Emma could only surmise that it was the very coat he’d mentioned moments ago.

A shower of salt crystals rained down on the corpse and coat, followed by a flood of lighter fluid. Emma’s nose wrinkled at the fumes wafting up from the grave, and she finally tore her eyes away from the body when he warned her to step back.

She complied while watching him dig a lighter from his pocket and held her breath when he flipped open the cap and set his thumb against the flint wheel. Another angry gust swirled around them and Emma was too late to call out a warning when the ghost of Cruella appeared once more.

“Look out!” she screamed, but the spectre already had the man by the throat. Hoisting him off his feet, she slammed him against a nearby crypt, his face turning purple from the crushing force against his windpipe. His hands desperately clawed at fingers he could not touch and his eyes began to roll back in his head. With great effort he managed to croak out, “Burn her!”

Emma scrambled about on her knees in the grass at the foot of the grave, knowing he’d dropped the lighter there when the ghost attacked. With shaking hands she flipped open the cap and swiped at the flint wheel futilely a few times before a flame finally sparked. Dropping the lit lighter into the grave set off a cacophony of screeches, shrieks, screams, and wails. Emma covered her ears and balled herself up as a means of protection. Wind whipped around her, the chill of the air and the cries of the ghost causing her to shake violently.

An eerie silence fell over the cemetery, broken only by the sound of the flickering flames consuming Cruella’s corpse and a soft, aching moan groaning from the man as he picked himself up off the ground.

“Are you okay?” she asked, uncoiling herself yet unable to stand just yet, not trusting her legs to hold her.

“Aye,” he croaked, lumbering towards her. “Thanks to you, love.” Rubbing his neck, he looked down at her with awe. “You were bloody brilliant. Amazing.”

She let him help her up, the two of them staring into the other’s eyes, their chests heaving in tandem.

“So, um,” Emma began, pausing to wet her lips and noting how his gaze fell to follow the action. “What now? Is she… gone?”

“She is,” he assured her. “And we should probably vacate as well.”

“Right,” she said, shaking herself from the attraction she should absolutely not be feeling for the ghost hunting, grave digging, creeps about in cemeteries at night, dark and mysterious man.

He also broke away, scratching that patch of skin behind his ear once more before telling her he needed to fill in the grave.

Unsure as to whether she ought to stay until he was finished or leave now, a thought suddenly occurred to her, prompting her to ask, “Um… you wouldn’t happen to know what time it is, would you?”

He paused and pulled his phone from his back pocket to check, then told her, “11:53. Why?”

“It seems stupid now, but, um… I’m supposed to stay until midnight.”

“Midnight? Why midnight?”

Embarrassment prickled over Emma’s skin as she admitted, “I was dared to during a game of Truth or Dare with friends.”

The man laughed and began filling the hole once more. “Truth or Dare, huh? I couldn’t tell you the last time I played Truth or Dare.” Pausing again he pondered the thought for a moment then stated, “Actually… I’m not certain I’ve ever played it.”

With a shrug he set to work again and Emma could not fight off the compulsion to explain herself and why she’d played the childish game in the first place.

“Yeah, well. It’s my senior year of college. I graduate in May and it seemed like a fun thing to do. You know… before I have to seriously start my adult life and whatnot.”

Shut up, Emma. You’re rambling like an idiot!

The man made a sympathetic sound, another shovelful of dirt landing in the now shrinking hole, and admitted, “My adult life began the day I went on my first hunt. I was eleven.”

“First hunt? You mean…”

“Ghosts?” he supplied, when she couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. “Aye. Although, they aren’t the only supernatural entity we hunt.”

“We? You mean there are others like you?”

“Fewer now than there used to be, but…”

His words fell away and his attention jumped towards the cemetery entrance.

“Fuck,” he muttered, quickly wiping down the handle of the shovel. “Someone’s called the police.”

Emma spun towards the entrance and saw the red and blue strobes of police lights pulling into the parking lot.

“What do we do?” she whisper-yelled at the man who was stuffing his things into the duffle bag, the wiped down shovel cast aside atop the pile of dirt he hadn’t managed to return to the grave.

“Where did you park?” he asked, zipping up the bag and taking the flashlight from her.

“At the park. Why?”

He grabbed her hand and rushed them towards the treeline. “That’s where I’m parked as well,” he informed her. “Less conspicuous that way. With any luck we can get to our vehicles and get out of here without being seen.”

In their haste, Emma nearly forgot about her discarded blanket, but they managed to locate it before exiting the cemetery. They came out of the treeline near his car, a classic 1970s Chevelle, and he wasted no time stowing his duffel bag in the trunk and stripping off his jacket and outer shirt which were covered in dirt.

“I, uh…” Emma began, unsure of what to say, but it didn’t matter. The presence of red and blue lights, preceding a cruiser that was about to turn into the park had her pivoting. “Come with me,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading them back into the treeline.

“What are you doing?” the man demanded in a frantic voice. “We can’t go back that way, they’ll--”

Emma cut him off, her fingers pressing against his lips as she urged, “Help me spread out the blanket.”

With confusion knitting his brows, he did as he was told then knelt down beside her on the now flattened blanket.

“Kiss me,” she said, causing the man to balk.

“What?”

Knowing time was not on their side, Emma grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled his mouth to hers with enough force to topple them over. He grunted as they hit the ground, but didn’t pull away when she slid her lips against his and threaded her fingers through the back of his hair. It didn’t take but another quick beat for him to catch on to her plan, and when he did, he threw himself into the ruse with great enthusiasm.

Enthusiasm and passion and heat and… oh my.

His tongue pressed against the seam of her lips and his hips shifted, settling into the cradle of her thighs. Emma groaned and pulled him closer, the taste of him and need of air making her lightheaded. His fingers grazed a path along her ribcage, his thumb tracing the swell of her breast, awaiting a silent cue of consent before he cupped her in his hand and began to knead the needy flesh trapped beneath her bra.

With one hand still held fast in his dark, silken tresses, she raked the other down his back until it reached his jeans, pulling noises from him that made the heat in her belly and throb between her legs intensify. Slipping her hand into his back pocket, she gripped his ass and lifted her hips, grinding against the rigid length that hardened further as something akin to a growl rumbled in his chest.

An honest to God whimper quivered off her lips when he pulled away, but it was quickly replaced by a sharp wanton gasp at the feel of his hot, rough tongue outlining the shell of her ear.

“Gods, love,” he murmured hoarsely, his teeth nibbling at her earlobe while he rocked his hips into hers. “Tell me your--”

“Who's there! What are you two doing out here?”

She and the man both froze at the sound of the policeman’s voice, and Emma had to squint past the shine of flashlights to make out a second officer coming towards them from the opposite direction.

“You heard him,” the second officer shouted. “What are you doing out here?”

“U-Um…” Emma stammered from beneath the man whose attention was set squarely on the first cop. “Truth or Dare?”

~/~

“Let me get this straight,” the officer said, continuing to scrutinize their IDs. “You were at a Halloween party, playing Truth or Dare, and he got dared to come out here. Then a little bit later, you got dared to join him.”

“That’s what the lass said,” the man replied in a derisive tone.

“And what is the lass’ name?” the officer questioned with a smug expression.

“It’s uh…” Furtively, the man cast his eyes to Emma’s before sheepishly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

“You didn’t get her name before you--”

“I would have gotten it before we parted,” the man said in an attempt to defend himself and Emma was struck by the truth she heard in his statement.

“Did someone report our vehicles or something?” Emma asked, attempting to throw the officer off his questioning. “We told you why we’re out here. Why are you?”

“Someone called in a disturbance,” the officer replied. “You two didn’t see or hear anything?”

“We were a bit preoccupied,” the man quipped, tossing a smirk at Emma. “What sort of disturbance?”

“Someone dug up a grave and set fire to it. You two know anything about that?”

“Bloody hell!” the man exclaimed, his disgust and shock perfectly believable and authentic sounding.

Emma hoped hers did as well. “Seriously? Who would do something like that?”

“You didn’t see anyone else out here?” the officer asked again, his focus intently set on trying to ascertain whether they were being truthful.

“No,” they both emphatically insisted.

“Are you saying they did this recently?” Emma said, pressing into the man’s side. “While we were out here?”

The man put his arm around her shoulders and held her close, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her arm while casting a nervous glance around them. “And you’re certain they’re gone?”

“We aren’t certain of anything,” the other officer said with a sigh, returning from the cemetery to inform them, “Crime unit just got here. You two are free to go.”

Emma snapped her head towards the man who met her gaze. Before either of them could move, the interrogating officer said, “Hold on a minute.”

Joining the other officer, the cop asked in a low tone, “Are you sure? Don’t you think we ought to take them in for further questioning?”

“They’re just a couple of horny college students, not grave desecrating whack jobs,” the other officer countered. “You’ve got their info in case we need to follow up. For now, cut them loose.”

Emma did not have to be told twice. As soon as the officer handed them back their identification they made a beeline for their vehicles.

“Do you know the diner around the corner from here?” the man whispered in her ear.

“Granny’s? Yeah. It’s a popular hangout. Why?”

“Meet me there,” he said, opening her car door for her and letting her slide in behind the wheel before snapping it shut and heading towards his Chevelle.

His engine purred to life a moment later and Emma warred with whether or not to follow him. Chewing her lip, she watched his tail lights disappear and a buzzing sound pulled her attention to her phone.

Twenty-six texts and three missed calls.

Ruby: Remember. No phone!

Ruby: You better not have your phone

Belle: I hope you’re okay.

Belle: And I hope you aren’t too mad at us!

More of the same from Mary Margaret and August. A couple of texts from her brother, demanding she call the moment she’s back at her car. A few more from Ruby with links to ghost story articles. A missed call from David at 12:01. Another at 12:07. The last from Mary Margaret at 12:21.

Emma made a quick group text and sent them all a message.

Back in my car. Safe and Sound. Is the party still going? Gonna run to Granny’s for a hot chocolate then I’ll come back if you guys are still partying.

With her mind made up, Emma set off towards Granny’s and did her best to ignore the constant buzz of her phone during the short drive. When she walked through the door, the bell chiming overhead, her mystery man’s head snapped up from the steaming mug he had wrapped in his hands and a wide smile bloomed across his face.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” he said, reclining back in the booth and draping his arm along the back. “Thought you might have ghosted me.”

His brows danced over his eyes, his smile turning mischievous and Emma couldn’t help but roll her eyes while attempting to swallow back an amused response bubbling up from her chest. Stopping at the booth, she waved off his offer to take the seat opposite him, preferring to stand.

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted, tucking her hands into her pockets and scuffing the tile at her feet with her toe. “Would that have disappointed you?”

The man shrugged and shook his head. “Nope. ‘Cause I would have just gone after you.”

“Oh, really?” Emma said in a dubious tone. “And why’s that?”

Leaning forward, he caught her with a sultry gaze and crooned, “Because… I know how you kiss.” Resuming his previous posture, he added, “And I enjoy a challenge.”

“That would be a challenge, all right,” she replied in a taunting tone. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Your usual, Emma?” Granny questioned from the counter, pulling a grin and deep chuckle from the man.

“Emma, is it?” he cheeked. “Does my saviour have a last name?”

Rolling her eyes again, Emma answered, “Swan. Emma Swan, and I’m no saviour.”

“I don’t know about that,” he countered. “You certainly saved my ass tonight. Twice, in fact.”

“Yeah, well… you saved me first, so… we’re even, I guess.” Turning to the counter, she called out to Granny, “Can you make that hot chocolate to go?”

“To go?” the man questioned with evident disappointment.

“Yeah.” Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, she said, “My friends keep blowing up my phone and if I don’t get back they’re liable to call the cops and I wouldn’t want them to blow our cover story, so I…”

“You can’t stay.” His eyes had dropped to the table, an expression of resignation set in his features.

“I was hoping,” she began softly, earning her a hopeful glance from him. “If you’re not busy tomorrow, I thought you might want to get lunch or something?”

He smiled up at her but it was bittersweet in its corners. “I would love nothing more. Truly. But I have another job to get to. It’s a few hundred miles from here, so I have to get on the road soon.”

“Oh. Right. Sure.”

“However,” he said, sliding his phone across the table towards her. “If you give me your number, I’ll call you the next time I’m in the area.” Sincerity poured from his forget-me-nots depths as he declared, “I would very much like to see you again, Swan.”

Emma tried to smother a self-satisfied smile and picked up his phone from the table. “So you know my name and now you want my number, yet… I have no idea who you are.”

“Fair point,” he conceded on an amused breath. Standing from the booth, he pressed in close to where she stood and took her hand in his. “Killian Jones,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his mouth and brushing a soft kiss to the backs of her knuckles. “At your service.”

With her lip caught between her teeth, Emma pulled her hand from his and punched her number into his phone before handing it back to him.

“One hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon to-go,” Granny announced from the counter, a taunting tone underpinning her words.

“Thanks, Granny,” Emma replied, ignoring the woman’s knowing expression as she took the cup and turned back towards the man, who she now knew to be Killian Jones.

“So…” she drew out in an effort to stall a bit longer. “Thank you for a most memorable evening.” Killian chuckled at that and the sound absolutely did not make her heart stutter. “And um, good luck on your next job.” Realization of what that next job might entail had her insides growing cold for a moment and she took his hand, squeezing it tightly, as she implored, “Please, be careful.”

Killian threaded his fingers between hers, entwining their hands and assuring her, “You don’t have to worry about me, love. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving.”

The truth in his words did not give her much comfort. How many times had it been tested in order to be proven true thus far? Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Perhaps sensing her continued concern, he added, “I’ll be careful, Swan. I promise.”

Her back pocket began vibrating once more, a deluge of texts and calls from her friends, no doubt. The buzzing must have reached his ears.

“You should go, love. Don’t keep your friends worrying about you.”

“Right,” she said, forcing herself to take a step away from him. Then another. Then another. “See you around, Jones.”

“Count on it, Swan.”

~/~

One Year Later…

“What do you mean, we released a ghost when we uncovered that skeleton in the wall?”

“Exactly what I said, Neal! We’ve got an angry spirit in the house and we need someone to help us get rid of it.”

“Who the hell is gonna help us get rid of a ghost, Ems?”

With a long suffering sigh, Emma admitted, “I just might know a guy.”

Chapter Text

Leaves rustled overhead, clinging to branches that were ready to be freed of them as the crisp autumn breeze coaxed them from their perch and gently swirled them to the ground below. Those with the misfortune of landing on the pavement were crunched beneath the tires of Killian Jones’ Chevelle, pulling up in front of an old carriage house that was being renovated into a home.

A home for Emma Swan. A home she recently began to share with her boyfriend. A home where the two resided, sharing all of the intimacies he desperately wished he could have shared with her. Intimacies and quiet moments and heated arguments and passionate make up sessions and mundane chores and yes… even their current plight.

A haunting.

Killian would have willingly faced it all with her had circumstances been different, which, he supposed, was why he was here now.

“You ready for this, little brother?” Liam questioned after Killian had put the car in park and shut off the engine.

“Younger,” Killian reminded him in his usual exasperated tone, pushing open the driver’s side door and climbing out while side-stepping his well-meaning brother’s inquiry.

The front door of the carriage house opened and a man exited, greeting them hesitantly, “You must be the Jones brothers?”

“We are,” Liam said, approaching the man with an outstretched hand. “I’m Liam. This is my brother, Killian. Are you the owner?”

“Uh, no,” the man said, shaking Liam’s hand then stuffing his hands in his pocket with an acknowledging nod towards Killian. “I’m Neal Cassidy. My girlfriend’s the one who called you. She technically owns the place, but we both live here.”

Something in Killian’s gut twisted, the ache intensifying when Emma emerged from the carriage house, looking as stunning as he remembered but without the warmth and affection he’d last received from her.

“You guys must be exhausted,” she said after introducing herself to his brother and barely giving him her notice. “We’ve made up the guest room and there’s a pullout in the office.” Turning to her beau, she placed a loving hand on his arm and sweetly suggested, “Why don’t you show Killian to the office and I’ll take Liam up to the guest room.” Addressing Liam - and only Liam - once more, she said, “After you two get settled, we can take you down to the cellar where this all started.”

“That sounds grand,” Liam said, gesturing towards the carriage house. “Lead the way, lass.”

As they filed in, Liam looked back at Killian over his shoulder. His expression echoed that which Killian was already telling himself.

He had fucked up.

Badly.

“So,” Cassidy began, showing Killian into the office where the pull out couch had already been made up for him. “How do you know Emma? She wasn’t really clear on the details.”

Dropping his duffle on the bed, Killian busied himself with rifling through his supplies, attempting to keep a neutral tone. “What details did she share?”

“Something about a dare and the cemetery and not wanting to talk about the experience because it had been too intense.”

Killian let out a commiserating hum. “Intense is certainly one word for it,” he murmured, the memory of Emma laid out beneath him, kissing the holy hell out him while making sounds that haunted him to this day flashed through his mind and tightened the fit of his jeans.

Unwilling to betray Emma’s confidence, and not exactly eager to share the details of their acquaintance with her current paramour either, Killian shifted the conversation to the matter at hand. “As I understand it, the paranormal activity began after the two of you uncovered skeletal remains in the cellar. Is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Cassidy replied, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought Emma was crazy at first when she insisted we had a ghost. I mean… you know how irrational women can be.”

Killian chafed at the man’s derisive tone. “If there’s one thing I know about Emma, mate,” Killian informed him with a slight edge to his words, “it’s that her instincts should never be dismissed.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Cassidy back pedaled. “I believe her now. Kind of hard not to when a ghost appears over your bed while you’re trying to convince your girl she’s not too tired to fulfill her duties. You know what I mean?”

Fists balled, Killian took a deep breath and tried to rein in his anger. He was saved from doing anything rash by the sounds of his brother’s voice.

“Ready to check out the cellar?”

“Aye,” Killian clipped out, following after Liam and resisting the urge to shoulder check the repulsive man who had somehow fallen into Swan’s good graces - and her bed (not that he wished to dwell on that fact) - as he passed.

Emma led them down a steep flight of steps into the cold, dark, and dank space below. The atmosphere had an immediate effect on Killian, raising the hair along the back of his neck and giving him the eerie feeling of being watched.

“This was part of the original structure, yes?” Liam asked, shining his flashlight into the inky black corners the dim bulb at the bottom of the stairs couldn’t quite reach.

“Yeah,” Emma answered, lingering by the stairs with Cassidy as the Jones men looked around. “From what I understand, it was cold storage for oats and hay and other food stuffs for the horses lodged here when it was a carriage house.” Gesturing towards an opening, she continued, “I noticed that space had been bricked up and I wanted to open it back up. That’s when I found…”

“The body,” Killian supplied, casting a glance towards her and meeting her eye for the first time since he’d arrived. His heart clenched, the look on her face making him wish he could have spared her such a discovery. Perhaps if it had been he who had been there… No. There was nothing to be gained in thinking that way now. The past was the past and there was no changing it.

“And you called the police?” Liam confirmed, searching the area where the skeleton had been found.

“Of course we did,” Cassidy scoffed. “What else were we supposed to do?”

Killian and Liam exchanged a look. Neither of them could fault their decision, but they both knew, had it been them, they would have handled it much differently.

“And how soon after the body was removed did the occurrences begin?”

“Almost immediately,” Emma answered. “It started with noises on these steps.” She gestured at the stairs they’d used to access the cellar, the tension in her demeanor evident in the stiff, closed-off way she stood in the unsettling space.

“Noises?” Liam questioned. “Like footsteps?”

“No,” she replied. “More like… something falling down them. Then things actually started crashing down them.”

“What do you mean?” Killian pressed, his concern heightening as she continued.

“If we leave anything sitting in the hallway outside the cellar door, it will eventually make its way down here. Clearly having taken a tumble down the stairs.”

“Yeah,” Cassidy said, backing her up. “I thought it was the authorities being careless, because we had a parade of crime scene personnel traipsing through here for weeks after we reported the body.”

“But you knew it was more than that, didn’t you, Swan?”

Emma locked eyes with Killian. He could tell his question had brought back the memory of her first ghostly encounter. She swallowed hard and for a moment it was as though they were the only two people there.

“Rooms would get cold,” she told him in a quiet voice; her words conveying all the nuance and unspoken truths she knew he would understand in a way her boyfriend had not. “I would hear things. Smell things. Things I hadn’t experienced in all the months I spent renovating the upper levels.”

“What sort of smells?”

His brother broke the reverie that had momentarily linked them, snapping the connection that reminded Killian of what they had once shared.

“Um,” Emma began, shaking herself and focusing on the question. “Leather? Hay? Like a barn, but without the pungent animal smells. More how I’d imagine this place was when it was an active carriage house, I guess.”

“So, he could have been killed here during that time,” Killian said to his brother

“Agreed. We’ll need to learn more about the building’s history.” Addressing Emma once more, Liam inquired, “You told Killian the authorities had yet to identify the remains, is that correct?”

“Yeah. But they did issue a cause of death. Blunt force trauma and a broken neck.”

“Injuries one might sustain from falling or being pushed down a flight of stairs,” Killian remarked. “It would certainly explain the occurrences surrounding the cellar steps.”

“My friend Belle is the town librarian and she has access to city records,” Emma informed them. “When you agreed to come, I asked her to pull anything that might tell us the history of the carriage house. Who owned it. Who may have worked here. Things like that. She said she’d try and have a file ready for when you got here.”

“Good thinking, love,” Killian praised, unaware of the endearment he’d let slip until Cassidy shot him an affronted glare then suspiciously flicked his gaze to Emma’s pinked cheeks before sending another hard look Killian’s way.

Clearing his throat, Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear, turning his attention towards Liam and suggesting, “Before we go any further, we should ascertain what sort of spirit we’re dealing with.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

Killian couldn’t help the smug feeling that went through him at the sight of her pulling away from Cassidy’s attempt to wrap a possessive arm around her waist. She took a step towards the center of the room where Liam was already pulling supplies out of the bag he’d brought with him.

“There are generally two kinds of spirits who refuse to move on,” Liam told her. “Malevolent ones who were equally nasty while alive, and those who simply have unfinished business they feel compelled to resolve before they can find peace.”

“Malevolent spirits refuse to leave,” Killian added. “Hell bent on punishing or exacting revenge against the living. The only way to be rid of them is to--”

“Salt and burn their bones,” Emma said, causing Cassidy to balk behind her.

“How did you know--”

“Aye,” Killian said, cutting Cassidy off. “Which will be somewhat difficult to accomplish, seeing as they are still in the medical examiner’s possession.”

“So…” Emma drawled, joining he and Liam as they continued to set up the space for the task they would need to perform. “Best case scenario would be this spirit just having unfinished business?”

“That won’t necessarily make matters any easier,” Liam informed her. “Figuring out a spirit’s unfinished business isn’t usually as straightforward as salting and burning bones.”

“So, how do we determine which kind of spirit it is?”

“Ems, the thing attacked us while we were making love,” Cassidy said, being sure to emphasize the making love part as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “The thing is obviously bad news.”

“We weren’t--” Emma began, mortification giving way to irritation as she looked back at him then shook her head and said, “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” Looking down at the two brothers as they finished lighting the circle of candles they’d set out, she said, “As I told Liam upstairs, when he manifested he didn’t look threatening. He had his hands over his mouth--” she raised hers to mimic what the spectre had looked like, “--but was clearly trying to tell us something when he vanished almost as quickly as he appeared.”

“Well,” Liam said, pulling the last piece of the equipment from his bag, “This will hopefully allow him to tell us what he tried to communicate with you.”

A belittling snort escaped Cassidy. “A ouija board? Be serious.”

“I assure you, mate. We are quite serious,” Killian informed him as he took a seat upon the cold, cellar floor alongside his brother. “But if the idea of communing with the dead is too much for you, then feel free to sit outside while we conduct our investigation.”

Clearly catching the challenge to his courage, Cassidy grit his teeth and grumbled in Emma’s ear. “Can you believe this guy?”

“Neal,” Emma sighed with a tone of censure. “Shut up and sit down.”

Entering into the circle, Emma lowered herself onto the stone floor and crossed her legs beneath her. Reluctantly, Cassidy followed, a disgruntled look passing over his features in response to the sitting arrangement that had placed him between Emma and Liam instead of separating her from Killian.

“A few ground rules before we get started,” Liam began, holding the planchette in his hands.

“I think we’ve all played with ouija boards before,” Cassidy interrupted rudely, earning him a stern stare from the elder Jones.

“Aye,” Liam responded with a cutting edge to his words. “You may well have, but what we are preparing to do is not child’s play. We are opening a portal to the spirit realm, and for all our safety, precautions must be taken and adhered to.”

Cassidy shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing more.

“Go on,” Emma urged. “We’ll do whatever you tell us to.”

“Right,” Liam began again. “Once we’ve placed our hands on the planchette, they must remain there until the session is concluded. I shall be the only one addressing the spirits, so you must refrain from talking or reacting. And when it becomes clear that the spirits are finished communicating, we must all close the session together by moving the planchette to goodbye. This is the only time we intentionally guide it. Understood?”

Everyone nodded. The seriousness of their endeavor hung heavily around them as Liam continued.

“I’m going to set the planchette on the board, but before anyone touches it, we need to attune the space.” Setting the planchette down, Liam extended his hands to Killian and Cassidy, saying, “Everyone needs to join hands and focus on the spirit we wish to call forth.”

Killian took his brother’s hand then opened the other to receive Emma’s. When she tentatively placed her hand in his, Killian glanced up at her face. They locked eyes for a brief moment before she flicked hers away, but Killian knew his touch was having the same effect on her that her touch was having on him. There was no mistaking the familiar physical tension they’d once shared under similar circumstances.

“Focus on the person we seek,” Liam instructed. “We know him to be a man. We know there is something he wishes to communicate. We know this space was his final resting place until a few weeks ago. However you choose to manifest him within your mind, hold that image there and focus on him.”

Difficult as it was, Killian tried to push aside thoughts of Swan and the feel of her hand in his. Even still, she remained a fixture in his attempt to concentrate. She was there when he thought of the man’s body being discovered. She was there when he imagined how he may have looked when he’d manifested himself to her. She was there with every noise, every scent, every strange occurrence that had led her to reaching out to the one person she knew could help her. Despite the tragic circumstances that led the man to being walled up within the cellar, Killian could not help but feel gratitude to the spirit who had brought Emma Swan back into his life.

“Right,” Liam said a moment later. “With the man still centered in everyone’s mind, place your hands on the planchette.”

Killian sucked in a breath at the loss of her hand, but quickly schooled his emotions and joined the others, placing his hands upon the planchette and readying himself for what was to come.

“We call forth the spirit of the man found concealed behind the wall in this cellar,” Liam called out. “We ask that he come forth and tell us his name. What is your name, spirit?”

The temperature dropped and several of the candle’s flames flickered. Killian could hear Emma’s rapid breaths over the pounding of his own heart.

“Spirit!” Liam called out again. “We invite you to tell us your name!”

A gasp fell from Emma’s lips when the planchette jerked beneath their fingers. With wide, green eyes, she cast her gaze towards Killian as the planchette slid across the board. He gave her a look of encouragement, hoping his own gaze conveyed that there was nothing to fear - that he would not let any harm come to her - before her eyes fell back to the board and the word being spelled out beneath their fingers.

“D-A-N-I-E-L,” Liam read out as the planchette roamed across the board. “Daniel? Your name is Daniel?”

Yes

“What is it you want, Daniel?”

H-E-L-P

“You need help? That’s why we’re here. How can we help you to move on?”

H-E-L-P

“We understand. How can we help? What do you need us to do?”

T-E-L-L-H-E-R

“Tell her? Her who? You want us to deliver a message to someone?

Yes

“You need to tell us who. Who is her?”

L-O-V-E

“Someone you loved?”

Yes

“What’s her name?”

R-R-R-R-R-R-R … No

“No? No, what?”

No

“We don’t understand. No, you don’t want to tell us her name?”

C-A-N-T

“You can’t?”

C-A-N-T

“Why can’t you?”

C-C-C-C-C-C

Killian leaned over and whispered into his brother’s ear. “Another spirit maybe? Interference from another entity?”

“Is there another spirit with us? Someone who does not want you to communicate with us?”

Yes

Killian removed his hands from the planchette, earning him a startled gasp from Swan and a scathing reprimand from his brother.

“Killian!” Liam hissed. “What the devil are you--”

“Use my energy, Daniel,” Killian offered, opening his arms, and himself, up in surrender. “Take my energy and manifest yourself. Tell us who’s trying to silence you.”

“Brother, have you lost all sense?”

“It’s alright, Daniel,” Killian encouraged, ignoring his brother. “You can take my energy and--”

Killian’s words fell away when the fine hairs began to lift over his entire body. His arms began to feel heavy and it was a struggle to keep them lifted, especially when his breathing also became laboured.

“Killian, put your damn hands back on the--”

Liam’s admonishment was cut short by a startled, expletive falling from Emma’s lips. Manifesting above the board, in the center of their circle, was the ghostly image of a young man.

“Is that… Daniel?”

“That’s the man we saw!” Emma confirmed, her eyes wide as saucers and brimming with equal amounts of fear and awe. Forgetting herself, and the rules, she tentatively asked, “Are you…? Are you Daniel?”

The spectre nodded. He couldn’t have been more than early to mid twenties when he died, and though it was difficult to ascertain certain physical identifiers like height or hair or eye color, given his current metaphysical state, his clothing could serve as a clue that would narrow down the timeframe of his passing.

“Tell us how we can help you?” Liam said.

Killian, relieved that his brother was willing to capitalize on the moment, knew that he’d get an earful later, especially if Daniel managed to draw energy off him to the point of him passing out. Though woozy, Killian focused his efforts on the questions his brother continued to repeat and the spirit’s attempted replies.

“Who is the woman you want us to contact? Who else is here with us?”

Daniel tried again and again to speak, but the sound of his voice could not pass from his plane to theirs. Reaching down with ghostly hands, Daniel nudged the planchette and guided it once more to the R. Before he could maneuver it to the next letter, a second pair of hands appeared from behind Daniel’s head and wrapped around his lower face, obscuring his mouth.

Emma screamed and Neal jolted back, nearly knocking over the candles behind him.

“Nope!” Cassidy exclaimed, scrambling off the floor and sprinting towards the stairs.

“Neal!” Swan called after him, though she remained rooted where she was with her hands still affixed to the planchette.

Daniel struggled against the phantom hands, clawing at them with his own while Liam tried to wrestle back control of the seance.

“Reveal yourself, spirit! Tell us who you are and why you wish to silence Daniel! What unfinished business does Daniel--”

The planchette began to spin, making it impossible for Liam and Emma’s hands to remain there. An impossible gust of cold wind swept through the cellar, extinguishing the candles and ruffling both Killian’s and Emma’s hair. The light bulb at the bottom of the stairs shattered, sending down a shower of sparks. The only illumination remaining was Daniel’s ghostly form, but it too was quickly snuffed out, leaving the three of them in darkness.

“Bloody hell,” Liam cursed, the sound of him rummaging through his duffle preceding the beam of his flashlight. Reaching over, he grasped Killian’s shoulder and questioned, “Are you alright, little brother?”

“Younger,” Killian muttered, earning him a relieved clap on the back from his brother; his petulant response the only proof Liam needed as to his brother’s condition.

“You two stay still,” Liam instructed. “I’ll relight the candles and clean up the glass. Is there a broom down here?”

“Y-Yeah,” Emma responded, shakily. “In that cabinet.” She gestured towards the corner, then offered, “But I can do that.”

“No,” Liam said, waving her off as he finished lighting the candles. “You stay with Killian. He’s going to need a minute to recover from his tomfoolery.”

“It got us answers, didn’t it?” Killian shot back, heavily. Drained of energy, it was all he could do to remain sitting upright, but he’d be damned if he let Liam know just how much the encounter had affected him.

“Aye. I suppose it did,” Liam conceded, procuring the broom and dustpan so he could begin sweeping up the broken bulb.

“What answers?” Emma asked. “All I have is more questions.”

“We know there’s indeed another spirit here,” Killian told her. “A woman, if the ringed fingers and manicured nails give any indication. We also have a name to work with - Daniel. Based on his manifestation, I’d wager he was in his mid 20s when he died and by the looks of his clothing, I would guess he worked as a stablehand at some point. That gives us a frame of reference to work with as we investigate his identity further.”

“Speaking of which,” Liam said, disposing of the broken glass and tucking the broom back into the cabinet. “You said you had a friend assisting with research?”

“Yes!” Emma replied, plucking her phone from her back pocket. “Belle. I’ll text her now and see if she’s ready to share her findings with us.”

“Perhaps you would like to check on Mr. Cassidy as well?” Liam suggested, reminding them both of the forgotten man.

“Um, right. Yeah.” Swan stood and brushed the dust off the back of her jeans. Her phone vibrated in her hand, capturing her attention. “Belle says she has everything ready and we can come by the library any time.”

“Terrific,” Killian responded, attempting to pick himself up off the floor… and flailing. “Um, Swan? Would you mind, uh…”

Emma glanced down at him and must have perceived his predicament. Her eyes widened, a startled expression crossing her features, as she reached down and helped him up.

With a steadying hand pressed against his chest, she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just a bit… unsteady.”

“Here,” she said, leading him towards the stairs where he could rest against the banister. “Better?”

“Aye. Thank you, love.”

Her posture stiffened in response to the endearment and she turned away, intent on climbing the steps out of the cellar. Killian reached out and lightly grasped her elbow, stalling her steps.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… are you alright? I should have asked how you’re handling the ordeal.”

“I’m fine,” she told him. Her position on the steps had brought her to eye level and though there was still only candlelight illuminating their surroundings, Killian could see the truth of her words in her eyes. “This isn’t my first haunted rodeo. Remember?”

Killian let out an amused huff. “Aye. How could I forget.”

They stood there a moment longer, Killian’s hand still resting against the crook of her elbow. He could feel the raised flesh of her arm through the thin fabric of her sleeve and wondered if it was a remnant of the ghostly encounter or perhaps an involuntary response to his touch.

Was he wrong to hope for the latter?

“I, uh… I should go check on Neal,” she said, dragging her tongue across her lip before her teeth scraped over the tender flesh in its wake.

The sound of something heavy scraping the floor above them pulled Killian from thoughts of capturing her mouth with his own, and almost too late he noticed an object about to hurl itself down the cellar steps.

“Swan! Look out!”

With all the strength he could muster, he managed to force her against the wall, shielding her as something crashed down the stairs. Their bodies pressed together, chests heaving against the other’s, it took them both several moments to process what had just happened.

“Emma!” Neal cried out, sprinting through the floors above and coming to a stop at the top of the cellar stairs. Staring down at his girlfriend who was currently being blanketed by another man, Neal’s face grew thunderous as he exclaimed, “What the hell is going on here?!”

“It appears to be some sort of statue,” Liam commented. Killian wasn’t sure if it was genuine ignorance as to the man’s meaning or if his brother simply wished to avoid a scene. Crouched down, Liam inspected the object and added, “Lucky the two of you managed to get out of the way. This could have done serious harm.”

Swan pushed against Killian’s chest, forcing him to step back from her so she could turn and take the man still fuming at the top of the stairs to task.

“It was that stupid garden statue of Pan you insisted on bringing inside!” she shouted. “I told you not to leave it in the hall!”

“How was I supposed to know a ghost could move it?” Neal shot back. “The thing weighs like fifty pounds!”

Stomping up the stairs, Swan grabbed Neal by the arm and hauled him away from the cellar entrance. Although Killian could not discern what was being said between them, there was no mistaking the tone of argument in their voices. He probably ought to feel guilty for having a hand in their current discord, but all he could focus on at the moment was the way his body was still reacting to having been pressed against Emma’s. The way she’d felt beneath his weight, the intoxicating scent of her hair, the feel of her hands clutching the back of his shirt, the way their eyes had connected after the danger had passed, the moment their gazes flicked down in unison to the other’s lips, the impulse he’d nearly given in to kiss her, the certainty he felt that the same desire had run through her mind as well.

“Brother,” Liam said, his tone making Killian groan internally.

He knew what was coming.

“Don’t,” he replied. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh?”

“Aye,” Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was rash and foolish in the way I invited the spirit to use my energy, and I need to get my head on straight. No more distractions.”

“Actually,” Liam said, hoisting his duffle, which he’d repacked, up onto his shoulder before crossing the cellar and joining Killian on the stairs. “I was going to say… A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.”

Slapping his brother on the shoulder he continued up the steps, leaving Killian utterly gobsmacked.

Chapter Text

Part Three

Entering the Public Library, Killian was greeted by a number of intently focused eyes aimed his and his brother’s way from the circulation desk. Emma had brought the pair of them to meet her friend Belle; the one who had been doing research on the history of the carriage house. By the looks of things, however, the investigation had grown to now involve several more of her associates.

Killian wondered how much she’d told them… and not just about her current haunting.

“So,” Emma’s friend, Ruby, said with a wolfish grin and mischievous glint in her eye after Swan finished introducing everyone. “You’re hot, cemetery make-out guy.”

“Hot-cemetery-what now?” Swan’s brother, David, inquired with an accusatory tone and protective stance.

“David,” his wife, Mary Margaret, admonished while casting furtive glances Killian’s way. “Now is not the time.”

Guess that somewhat answered that question.

“Emma told us you’ve looked into the history of her house,” Liam said to Belle, bringing them all back to the matter at hand. “Is this your research?”

Belle, a pretty, petite brunette nodded as his brother lifted a file folder, heavy with copies of articles and photographs.

“Impressive work,” Liam praised, causing the woman’s cheeks to pink up.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I uh… I actually have things better laid out in the conference room. That file is all copies for you and your brother to take with you.”

Liam’s head snapped up from the folder, his eyes landing on Belle with an expression of awe and wonder. Tearing his gaze from her, but only briefly, he glanced towards the room where she’d gestured, clearly struck by the impressive array of materials and how meticulously they had been displayed.

“This is… Y-You…” Liam cleared his throat and reached up to paw at the back of his neck - an old Jones habit they both shared - the tips of ears turning a bit pink as he managed to pull himself together. “Thank you, Miss French. This will all be very helpful indeed.”

If Killian did not know his brother, and his views on such things, then he might have just witnessed Liam fall head over heels in love at first sight. Based on the demure shade of rouge now coloring the brunette's features, he’d guess his brother was not alone in his affliction.

“If you’d like to follow me?” Belle said. Though she gestured to the entire group her eyes remained fixed on the elder Jones as she led the way towards the conference room at the back of the building.

With a measure of amusement, Killian hung back and watched his brother follow after the lass like a dog at heel. The rest of the assembly moved alongside them and it wasn’t until he noticed Emma glancing back at him over her shoulder that Killian pushed off from the counter he’d been leaning against, determined to join her.

His efforts were thwarted by another comely brunette; one whose hand pressed against his chest while her vivid green eyes pierced his forget-me-not hues.

“Miss Lucas?” Killian said, his eyes dropping down to her hand, then over her shoulder at the closing door to the conference room, before flicking back onto her hardened features. “What can I--”

“I’m not Emma’s best friend,” she stated matter-of-factly, taking Killian aback. “I know that distinction will always go to Mary Margaret, and that’s fine with me.”

Brows scrunching together, Killian cocked his head to one side and swallowed awkwardly. “I’m not sure I--”

“But I do consider myself Emma’s person.” She dropped her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, bracing her stance in a way that made him feel as though she’d have no trouble giving him a good thrashing if she ever felt so inclined.

And based on her next words, she likely felt very much inclined at that moment.

”I’m the one she would call to help her drag a body across the floor and cover up all the evidence,” she told him. “I’m the one who will call her out on her bullshit, because I care for her enough to not spare her feelings when she needs the cold hard truth.” Taking a purposeful step forward, she lowered her voice to a menacing tone; one that practically had Killian cowering, if he were being honest. “And I’m the one who will confront the guy who broke her heart, leaving her vulnerable enough to allow the likes of Neal Fucking Cassidy to pick up the pieces, and tell him that if he hurts her again it’ll be his body drug across the floor and disposed of in such a way that he’ll never be found. Got it?”

Killian opened his mouth in an attempt to respond, but when he was unable to do so - his throat having gone quite dry - he closed it and swallowed before trying again.

“Got it,” he managed to choke out, earning him another long, assessing look before Ruby gave him a curt nod and turned on her heel towards the conference room.

~/~

Emma tried to give Belle her full attention as she showed Liam and her friends all the work she’d done, going through her methods and presenting her sources as though she were giving a dissertation. Unfortunately, her attention was currently elsewhere. Try as she might, she could not help but glance over her shoulder every few seconds, wondering - dreading - what Ruby had held Killian back for.

Not that it was too wild a guess.

When Ruby entered the conference room, followed quickly by a chagrined looking Killian Jones, Emma schooled her features in an attempt to make it appear she never even noticed their absence. Like she had so many times over the past many months (and countless amount of times since he’d climbed out of his Chevelle earlier that day) Emma buried all things Killian Jones beneath a wall of protection and tried to take back control of the parts of herself that were threatening to mutiny on her.

Like her heart, which had begun to race the moment she’d clapped eyes on him standing on her driveway looking all windswept and wonderful. Or her stomach and the way it had fluttered with each glance from his too blue eyes cast her way. The way her skin had reacted to his touch, pebbling and yearning for more with each hair standing at attention, which was probably the worst form of rebellion seeing it was the one he could detect.

Not that she hadn’t been able to detect his involuntary responses to her as well which had affected her all the more.

The bastard.

He had no right to look at her with those pining, forget-me-not depths. Or call her love. He’d forfeited the privilege to hold her in his arms, even if it was to save her from a falling statue. How dare he make her want to pull him in closer and pick up where they’d first begun. In the cemetery. On that blanket. Making out with a type of passion she had never experienced with anyone before or since.

Not Graham. Not Walsh. And certainly not-- “Where’s Neal,” Mary Margaret asked, pulling Emma from her thoughts.

“Huh?” Emma replied, startled. “Oh, um… work. The store is expecting an afterhours delivery, so he had to go in for a late shift.”

Mary Margaret nodded then turned her attention back to Belle, who had begun to outline the history of the carriage house.

“It was, at one time, just one of many buildings that stood on the Spencer estate,” Belle informed them. “George Spencer built the mansion, the carriage house, the stables, and other out-buildings in the late 1800’s. Around the same time many of the other prominent families of Storybrooke built their estates.”

“Like the de Vil’s and the Midas’?” David asked, looking over a town map from the 1880’s that Belle had found in the archives.”

“That’s right,” she said before carrying on. “And like many families of that time, he went bust during the crash.” Pointing out one of the many photos, Belle continued. “George had no other option but to sell off the land. A religious order took over the house, converting it into an orphanage and home for wayward mothers. It operated under that mission until the late 1960’s.”

“What about the other structures?”

Emma couldn’t help but look Killian’s way as he posed the question. Casually leaning against one of the bookcases, his thumb was tucked into his belt, his sharp features somehow enhanced by the mix of light and shadow caressing his face. Emma’s breath caught in her chest and her heart skipped almost painfully in her chest. Damn, he was beautiful.

“The stables burned down in the 70’s. Most likely from vagrants or squatters who were occupying it at the time, trying to keep warm.”

“And the main house?” Liam inquired. “When was it demolished?”

“Around the same time the de Vil’s property was torn down and the land rezoned,” Belle told him. “In the 1980’s, the town was keen to embrace progress and remove anything considered antiquated or outdated. Many of the historical homes and buildings were leveled to make way for new, modern construction, however…” She paused and removed a photo from the nearby bulletin board, handing it to Liam before she continued. “There was a group of citizens who worked to save and conserve as many of the remaining buildings from the time of the town’s founding as they could.” Glancing towards Emma, she said, “Your carriage house is one of about a dozen they managed to protect.”

Liam handed off the photo to Killian, and Emma, too curious to force herself to remain at arm’s length, moved to his side and peered over his shoulder at the group shot.

“Do you recognize any of them, Swan?”

Emma flicked her eyes up to meet his and her breath hitched. He’d turned his head to glance at her and they were now practically nose to nose. Taking in a deep inhale to steady herself-Fuck! He smells good-she wet her lips, noting the way his gaze fell to follow the action and the tight bob of his Adam’s apple in response.

“I don’t think so,” she replied in little more than a whisper before taking a necessary step back. Clearing her throat she added, “It’s a pretty old photo though.”

“I doubt any of us would recognize the people in that photo,” Belle said to the group. “Most of them have left the area.”

“So you’ve identified them?” Liam inquired, and once more Emma had to force herself to focus on Belle and her research and not the man she could feel studying her with his hooded glances and piercing eyes.

The photo had been taken in the mid-80’s and featured the three families who had organized the historical preservation effort: the Tremaines, the Mills, and the Golds.

“I discovered that all three families jointly converted the carriage house into a working stable for their families’ horses,” Belle continued. “The area behind, which is now residential, used to have a large pasture area where the Tremaine and Mills daughters and Mrs. Gold used to ride and train for equestrian competitions. They also employed a number of stable hands and various workers to see to the building’s and horses’ upkeep and care.”

“Are there any records that might list the names of these hands and workers, by chance?” Killian asked, while attempting to sound nonchalant.

They had all agreed to keep the seance under wraps for now. If Daniel had indeed been murdered, then they did not wish to risk the story getting out more than it already had. There was no telling whether his killer was still in the area, but if they were, the Jones brothers knew they’d be on high alert and had advised both her and Neal to keep whatever details they uncovered to just the four of them.

“I’ve tried to compile a list of anyone who had anything to do with the carriage house since it was built,” Belle answered, motioning to the folder she’d given Liam. “Everything I’ve found is in there, but I’m afraid there are gaps and missing pieces of information.”

“You’ve done a remarkable job,” Liam gushed. The way his and Belle’s cheeks pinked in unison made Emma smile and without thought she shifted her gaze to Killian who was already staring at her with an amused, I know, smirk on his face.

The shared moment was interrupted by her brother’s impatient question.

“Where does any of this get us?” Arms crossed over his chest, his stance braced wide, David’s impatience with the entire topic was on full display.

Out of everyone she had told about both her prior supernatural encounter and the current haunting, David had been the most skeptical, the most unwilling to accept Emma’s experiences. Not because he didn’t believe her; Emma knew he did. She also knew his attitude was likely because he felt helpless to do anything about it. He’d always been protective of her, sometimes overly so, but he did not have the first clue of how to protect her from something not of this world. Or at least, not of the living. She also knew the powerlessness was the cause of his dismissive tone and demeanor directed at the Jones brothers. They were here to help in a way he could not. They were here to save her and David believed that was his job. Forgetting that she didn’t need anyone to save her.

At least, that’s what she’d kept telling herself, even after placing that call to the only person she knew, without a shadow of doubt, could help her. The person who was getting the brunt of her brother’s ire and agitation as he waited for a response.

Emma was really glad she’d never told her brother the full account of her relationship with that person.

“It gives us a starting point in identifying the poor soul Emma found bricked behind the wall,” Killian replied calmly, unfazed by David’s conduct. “As well as those who may have known and had animosity towards him.”

“The next logical step,” Belle said, cutting in, “would be to cross reference the list with missing persons reports. Unfortunately, I don’t have access to reports that go back that far.”

“I’ve already got that handled,” Ruby declared. “Graham said if we got him a list of names he would supply us with copies of any reports he found.”

“How did you get Sheriff Humbert to agree to that?” David inquired, clearly astounded that an officer of the law would allow civilians to assist in the investigation.

Tossing a section of her chestnut locks over her shoulder, she set her features into a sultry expression and purred, “You’d be surprised what the promise of some Red Riding Hood and Big Bad Wolf role play will get you.”

Emma rolled her eyes and Killian choked back a chuckle. Both Liam and David looked equally scandalized while Belle and Mary Margaret exhaled wearily, accustomed to Ruby’s irreverent behaviour.

“Well, then…” Liam began, still a bit tongue-tied from the turn of the conversation and Belle’s studious attention. “My brother and I will do our best to narrow down the list of candidates for your… sheriff.”

“Do you have to start on that right away,” asked Belle with an eagerness in her voice. “Only… I was hoping you might give me your opinion on some of the other local legends and ghost stories that circulate in the area. See if there might be any validity to them that would require your expertise.”

“I-I, uh…” Liam stammered, his momentary hesitance causing Belle’s face to fall.

“He would be happy to,” Killian stated, stepping in and saving his brother (though a sly and devious undertone was peeking out of the corner of his expression that told Emma he was gonna give his brother hell later). Taking the folder of research from Liam’s grasp, he added, “Wouldn’t you, brother?”

“Aye,” Liam agreed quickly. “It would be my pleasure to advise you on other cases, that is…” Liam’s attention shifted to Killian, a pleading intensity burning from his eyes. “If you’re sure you don’t mind getting a jump on things without me.”

“Of course not,” Killian assured him. “Swan and I can manage just fine going through the research while you assist Miss French. Can’t we, Swan?”

“Um… yeah,” Emma agreed, although she hadn’t anticipated working with Killian without either Neal or Liam present. Alone. Just the two of them.

“Wonderful!” Liam exclaimed, perhaps a bit too excitedly before he cleared his throat and managed to temper his obvious enthusiasm as he turned back to Belle. “Where shall we start?”

Belle directed Liam to the map of Storybrooke, and soon it became apparent that the rest of them had been forgotten. With a Cheshire-like grin still spread across his face, Killian directed his attention back to Emma.

“I suppose we should get back to the carriage house and begin weeding through names.” Offering his arm to her, he said, “Shall we, Swan?”

“Actually,” Emma hedged, her knee jerk reaction to avoid, elude, and evade any potential opportunity that might force her to confront that which she was trying desperately to ignore kicking into high gear. “I promised to help David and Mark Margaret with something this evening.” She took a step back and nervously wet her lips at the snap decision.

“You did?” David responded before a sharp elbow met the underside of his rib cage, wielded by his petite and seemingly innocent wife. “I mean… She did.”

“She thought you’d be busy working the case and wouldn’t need her,” Mark Margaret said, attempting to cover for her husband and throw support Emma’s way. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Obviously not buying any of it but too polite to call any of them out, Killian gave them a half-smile. “Of course not. I can manage on my own until Liam can join me. I’ll, uh…” He reached up and scratched the back of his ear, his face turned towards the floor as he reminded, “I’ll need a key to get back in the house, unless you think Neal is--”

“He won’t be home until around midnight,” Emma told him, fishing her key out of her pocket and slipping it off the ring. “Feel free to lock up after Liam gets back,” she said, handing him the key and pointedly ignoring the goosebumps rippling up her arm from the brief sensation of his touch. “There’s a spare at David’s. I’ll use it to let myself in so I won’t bother you.”

“You are no bother, Swan,” Killian declared, fixing his gaze to hers, the intensity of it rendering her speechless.

“Well,” Mark Margaret chirped, “Now that’s settled we really should be going. We don’t want to keep Emma out too late. It was lovely to meet you, Killian.”

Her sister-in-law threaded her arm with Emma’s and headed for the door, calling out a good-bye to Liam and Belle (who barely registered it with a response, still thoroughly wrapped up in the other), and muttering something about how Ruby must have slipped out without their notice. Typical.

Emma cast a look over her shoulder, noting the hard look David gave Killian as he passed him, and the solemn yet resolved response Killian was issuing to the three of them.

“Lovely to meet you as well. Be careful, Swan. I’ll see you at home.”

I’ll see you at home.

Why did the idea of Killian and home have to sound so good together?

~/~

The gentle tick of the desk clock and light rustle of papers, accompanied by the occasional scratch of a pen or squeak of a highlighter had been the only sounds to interrupt the quiet - too quiet - nature of the house. Without an overheard light, a feature Swan must have decided against when she had the carriage house rewired, Killian sat in the soft glow of the floor and desk lamps, as well as the warm flicker of candlelight burning from the tapers he’d found decorating the built-in bookcase that spanned the back wall. Though it had been an adequate enough amount of illumination while there had still been vestiges of daylight coming in from the window, now that the world outside was thoroughly pitched in darkness his eyes were beginning to feel the strain and he wondered how much longer he’d be able to go over Belle’s files.

Sitting back against the cushions that acted as a makeshift headboard to the pullout, Killian stretched then rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the impending headache. He supposed he could have worked in the dining room. Neither Swan nor her… Neal would likely object to his taking over the table as a workspace. However, given the lengths to which Emma had gone to avoid being alone with him that evening, he thought it best to set up somewhere out of the way - out of her way - in case she arrived back before Liam did.

Given the late hour, and the fact that neither of them were back yet, Killian considered packing up the notes for the night. Tomorrow, he could move them to the dining area. Tomorrow, it - he - might not feel so in the way with everyone else about. Tomorrow, Emma wouldn’t need an excuse to avoid being alone with him because both Liam and Neal (and who knew who else) would be around and they’d all have a fresh goal to set their minds to.

With a weary sigh, Killian began gathering the scattered documents. His intention was to neatly file them back into the folder; an intention that was completely thwarted when a voice startled the papers right out of his grasp.

“You’re still up?”

“Bloody hell!” Through the flutter of flying papers Killian saw Emma casually propped against the door jamb of the office. He hadn’t even heard her come in.

“Sorry,” she replied, looking not the least bit sorry and quite frankly rather amused by his reaction. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Yes, well…” he began, clearing his throat and hoping the heated flush quickly sweeping across his cheeks and up his ears wasn’t too obvious. “I wasn’t aware you had returned, and--”

“I came in through the back. I thought you might be asleep and didn’t want to wake you,” she said, stepping into the room and collecting a couple of pages from the floor. “How, uh… how’s it going? With the research, I mean. Did you, um, did you find Daniel?”

Killian took the pages from her, noting the way she kept her eyes trained on anything and everything but him.

“Three, actually,” he said. “I believe I have found a couple of candidates that could be our R and C as well.”

That finally turned her full attention his way, her eyes wide and brows practically disappearing into her hairline. “You did?”

“Aye.” Handing her his page of notes he explained, “You remember how Belle told us of the three families who took on the restoration projects?”

“Yeah. The, um… Tremaines, Mills, and Golds?”

“Those are them,” he affirmed. “Turns out the Mills matriarch was named Cora and the Tremaine’s was Cassandra. Both had daughters whose names began with an R. Regina Mills and Rapunzel Tremaine. Both in their late-teens and early twenties when two of the Daniels worked here. One as a stable hand and one a groom.”

“That’s amazing!” Glancing up from the notes, her smile made Killian’s heart skip a beat and a swell of satisfaction rose within him at the knowledge his efforts had put it there. “How do we narrow it down further?” she asked. “What do you think our next move should be?”

“I’ve a few ideas I plan to talk over with Liam, but I think we should--”

Emma and Killian’s heads both snapped towards the desk where a loud thump had originated before snapping them back towards one another.

“Did you…”

“Aye…”

The thumping noise sounded again and this time it shook the entire desk.

The silence that followed was deafening until Killian called out into the dimly lit room. “Daniel? Is that you, mate?”

Three thumps that time, prompting Killian to move from the bed towards the desk with Emma creeping along behind him.

“What do you know about this desk, love?”

“It was here when I bought the place,” Emma told him, all but plastered against his back as they circled the piece of furniture in an attempt to locate where the thumping sound was coming from. “The Belfrey’s left it, along with a few other pieces.”

“Belfrey. Belfry,” Killian repeated, trying to place the name. “Right! The Tremaine girl married into the Belfrey’s, didn’t she?”

“If you say so.” thump, thump, thump “A woman named Victoria Belfrey was who I bought it from.”

Having finally narrowed in on the noise, Killian crouched down in front of the lower, lefthand drawer with Emma following suit. Glancing her way, he paused, hand hovering over the drawer pull.

“Any idea what we’re about to find?”

“As far as I know, there’s only appliance owner’s manuals and some old paperwork I probably should have thrown out a long time ago.”

Both he and Emma practically jumped out of their skin when the drawer rattled violently.

“Shit!”

“Bloody hell!”

Killian grasped the pull and the drawer went still. With one last bracing glance Emma’s way, he slowly opened the drawer. The two peered inside and found… appliance manuals and old bits of paperwork. Just as Swan had said.

“Maybe there’s something at the bottom I didn’t notice when I dumped all that stuff in there?”

Together, they worked to clean out the drawer until it was completely empty of the current owner’s contents. Immediately, Killian noticed something at the back.

“I think it has a false bottom.”

There was a small, half-moon opening in the drawer bottom. It took some doing to pry it open, but underneath were dozens of envelopes, all addressed to the same recipient.

Daniel.

“Should we…?”

“I do believe he’s given us permission,” Killian said, understanding her trepidations. These were clearly personal and had not been meant for anyone’s eyes but the intended receiver. “He did lead us to them, after all.”

“You’re right,” she said, gently gathering up the envelopes. “Let’s see what answers Daniel has led us to.”

Answers came with the very first letter.

Regina.

The R stood for Regina.

The daughter of Cora and Henry Mills, wealthy and affluent societal giants at the time, had fallen helplessly in love with Daniel Colter, a humble stablehand who had lived and worked at the refurbished carriage house. By all accounts, he had been head over heels for her as well.

They’d had to keep their relationship a secret, however. For one, her parents, especially her mother, would have never approved, and two, the carriage house staff - who were all men - were under strict orders to not fraternize with the lady clients. Although, it did seem, from certain passages within Regina’s letters, that there were a number of women, including Cassandra Tremaine and Mrs. Gold, who had gone so far as to proposition Daniel and the others for a bit of fraternization.

Regina’s final letters referenced a plan. A plan for the two of them to run off together. Somewhere far from her parent’s overbearing reach. Somewhere they could be happy, build a life, and decide their own future. A future that never came to be.

“I wonder what she thought when he disappeared,” Killian murmured, gently folding the letter he’d finished reading before slipping it back into its envelope.

“I don’t have to wonder,” Emma stated a little too matter-of-factly, her biting words and clipped tone slicing through Killian.

No. She did not have to wonder, he realized. Thanks to him, she knew all too well what Regina had gone through.

“Swan, I--”

“I bet that’s Daniel’s unfinished business,” she said, cutting him off. “He wants her to know that he didn’t abandon her by choice. I mean, based on what these letters tell us, he was a decent guy. Not the kind who would disappear without a word, leaving someone he claimed to care for heartbroken. Wondering what they’d done wrong or whether they had deluded themselves when they believed their feelings had been reciprocated.”

“Emma.” Reaching across the letters that were strewn over the pullout, Killian gripped her hand. The action, as well as his use of her given name, caused her head to snap up, her eyes locking with his. The depth of her hurt glistened in her eyes as she valiantly fought to keep it from spilling over her lashes. Her hardened expression began to yield at the feel of his thumb softly skimming along the back of her hand, her lips parting to allow a ragged exhale to pass over them.

Squeezing her hand a bit tighter, Killian whispered in a desperate tone of longing, “Swan, love. I never meant to--”

“What’s all this?”

They both jumped at the unexpected voice and Killian snatched his hand away at the sight of Neal hovering in the doorway.

“Hey, babe!” Emma greeted enthusiastically as she got up from the pullout. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” Placing a swift yet purposeful kiss to his lips, her hand lingered against Neal’s cheek as she asked, “How was your shift?”

“It was fine,” he answered, still eyeing the pullout. Killian couldn’t help the smirk lifting at the corner of his mouth knowing how it must have galled the man to find his girlfriend comfortably reclined on another man’s bed. With said other man occupying it as well.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something.” Neal did not sound at all sorry, shooting Killian an incensed look before focusing his attention back on Emma. “Want to fill me in?”

“Sure,” Emma replied. “I’ll catch you up as we get ready for bed.” Addressing Killian over her shoulder, she added, “We can pick this up tomorrow, can’t we?”

“Of course,” he agreed, though he was loath to see her retreat, especially since it meant she would make her way to another bed. With another man. One who had a right to share it with her. “Goodnight to you both.”

Emma followed Neal out into the hall, making her way towards the stairs. Glancing back over her shoulder she offered a soft, “Goodnight, Killian,” then disappeared into the dark quiet of the carriage house.

“Goodnight, love,” he murmured into the silence, his chest tightening as he gathered up the love letters still scattered across his bed.

Once settled beneath the blanket, his mind drifting towards sleep, he would swear he heard a hushed, insistent plea urge from the opposite corner of the room, Tell her!