Chapter Text
The earpiece crackled back to life and Will said, “I think Rob was kidding about the whole imminent arrest thing.”
“Noted,” Killian growled. “Perhaps, though, we can save the criticism for later?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Scarlet said. “Because, you know, I’ve got a lot of it.”
“Do a scan, quickly,” Killian ordered, stripping out of his party finery and pulling his customary black duster back over his shoulders. “Make sure she didn’t bring any backup.”
“Oh, now you’re worried about backup?” Will snorted.
“Do it, Scarlet,” Killian said, flushing.
“Thank you, Will, for your brilliant show of initiative.” Scarlet mimicked Killian’s voice in an exaggerated accent. “ Thank you for keeping a tracker in my boot even after I ordered you not to and for leaving the video feeds live and possibly saving not only my life but that of my entire crew.”
“I’m hearing a lot of words coming out of your mouth,” Killian said, “but none of any value.”
“Is he always like that?”
Killian startled as she approached. The red gown was gone, replaced by no-nonsense leather boots, trousers and a long jacket. “It’s part of his process, or so he says. You get used to it,” he said. Then, to Will: “If you come up with a brilliant show of initiative for getting me not-arrested, let me know.”
“Actually,” Operative Swan said, “you should tell him that what you really need is a plan for getting not-killed.”
--
“I’ve seen moons smaller than that space station.”
Hand on the throttle, Killian pulled down just enough to stay out of the frequency of the radar scans without losing too much altitude. Their goal loomed in front of them, taking up the entire view out the small cockpit of the unmarked Federation shuttle.
“Yeah,” Emma said. “I hear you do a lot of business on the border moons. That’s a rough crowd, but you have quite a reputation.”
“Not all of us can make an honest living.” Killian was surprised to see her tense, her shoulders going suddenly rigid before she forced herself into a more relaxed posture.
“Still,” she said. “Dangerous in the black--but then, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
Killian groaned. Of course she’d heard about that.
“It was one time,” he said.
The slightest hint of a smile flickered across her face, and faded quickly. “You were shot.”
“Yeah, a bit.” He shrugged. “It was a perfectly understandable business grievance.”
“I imagine that’s not the first time that’s ever happened to you.”
“Aye,” he said, keeping his focus on their approach as he maneuvered the flyer. “I do tend to--”
“Leave an impression,” she said. “I know.” After a moment she said, “You almost died.”
“Only a little,” he said.
She was silent; no smile, no laugh, no acknowledgement.
“You never told me,” she said. Her voice was quiet.
“Seemed to go against the rules,” he said. “There’s no cause for worry, Swan. I’m a survivor.”
She didn’t answer.
“Emma--” Killian tightened his grip on the throttle, grateful for the gloves that covered the whiteness of his knuckles. “You know--”
“It’s fine,” she said, looking straight out the cockpit window, so that all he could see of her eyes was their reflection in the triple-layered glass. “Don’t worry about it.”
The cockpit speaker blared. “Not to interrupt all of the, uh, awkwardness,” Will said, “but I’m all hooked in on my end. You want to explain again, Operative Swan , how breaking in to a space station and going up against one of the most well-connected, vindictive bloody assholes in the galaxy is going to get us not-killed?”
Emma’s jaw was set and her eyes hard.
That expression had never once in their acquaintance been a harbinger of glad tidings.
--
The codes Emma had for the airlock worked perfectly, and Killian felt a rush of relief as he docked the flyer on the underside of the space station. Scarlet had blacked out and looped the security feeds from his network on the Jolly Roger , while Locksley settled her, shielded and out of tractor beam range. Locksley was the only one Killian trusted to pilot the ship in his absence, and as for Operative Swan--Killian trusted her.
Or at least, he wanted to trust her. He’d go to the ends of the univese for her, but trust? That was nigh-on impossible when everything about their relationship had been a lie.
Or--not everything; she’d needed help, and she’d come to him. To him .
But she was lying about the why of it all, and definitely hiding something.
Even Will knew it.
“She’s lying to you,” Scarlet said over the comm.
“Will--”
“I’m not an idiot. I switched freqs and re-scrambled the link in case she’d hacked ours. In fact, Locksley and I have a bet that she did. Pretty sure that’s how she tracked you.”
Killian had come to the same conclusion.
“I’ve been on this boat with you for six years, sir ,” Will said. “And you have gotten us into some really crazy, fucked-up shit. But this--whatever she wants to steal from Gold, it’s not part of some black-bag quasi-authorized government mission, no matter what she says. And her green emerald eyes don’t do nothing for me.”
“Will--”
“Respectfully, Captain ,” Will continued, “I feel it’s also worth pointing out that Gold is one of the few people in the entire Federation who not only knows there are warrants out on you--on us --but knows you by sight. Personal-like, one might say.”
“I’m not an idiot either,” Killian snapped. “I know all of that.”
Killian didn’t add the part about how he was an unwitting survivor of a failed “black-bag quasi-authorized government mission”. The Jolly Roger was both a home and a daily reminder of everything he’d lost.
“Does she know all of that?” Will asked.
“I really couldn’t say,” Killian said. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” Each word dragged out over the comm and Killian could feel the spaces between the syllables full of Will’s discomfort.
“Sir,” Will said, his voice serious. “What are we doing here, exactly?”
Will wasn’t wrong to ask.
Everyone on his crew had their own tale of woe--including Will Scarlet, who probably had even less faith in the Federation and their Operatives than Killian did.
And yet Killian was certain that Emma Swan, Operative or not, had her own tale. He’d recognized it in her eyes, lurking beneath the surface in every encounter since the night they’d met; had seen it, once again, reflected in the cockpit of an unmarked Federation shuttle. He didn’t know what she wanted, or why she wanted it--but he knew that it was important to her.
“I’m doing this for her,” Killian said. “Me, Scarlet. One of these days--” He laughed, but there was no amusement in his voice. “One of these days, maybe I’ll stop chasing this woman. But until then, tell Locksley to take the ship and get out of here--out of sight, out of range.”
“Captain--” Will started and stopped and started again. “Killian.”
“I have my reasons, Will,” Killian said. “They need not be yours. If I do this and get out clean, that’s one less Operative on all of our backs.”
“It’s also suicide,” Will said.
“Get out. Steer clear. Keep flying. That’s an order,” Killian said, and clicked off as Emma tapped on the hatch, dangling a pair of handcuffs in the porthole.
Killian stepped out into the airlock and grinned, pointing at the cuffs. “I thought you said that was a one-time thing.”
--
It was a trap, is what it was.
If Killian needed the hint--he didn’t--it came when the cuffs clicked completely closed around his wrists as Emma made to lead him through the space station, ostensibly as a prisoner transfer. Emma had to know it would only hamper him momentarily--his left hand was slightly clumsy but far from useless, and he was well-versed in picking locks.
She wanted to slow him down.
She wanted to distract him.
Somehow it was still a surprise when the blow came, a flawless right hook straight at his jaw, her hand opening at precisely the correct moment to mitigate its impact.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just need a head start. That’s all.”
It was cold comfort as his body hit the floor.