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https://archiveofourown.org/works/74231211">
https://archiveofourown.org/works/74231211
Blog Tour & Excerpt: 2037: The End of Tolerance by Luke Mauerman
Blog Tour & Excerpt: 2037: The End of Tolerance by Luke Mauerman
BOOK BLAST
Book Title: 2037: The End of Tolerance Author: Luke Mauerman
Publisher: Beekman Place Editions Cover Artist: Mark Anderson Release Date: May 21, 2019 Genre/s: Gay, Science Fiction, Dystopian Trope/s: When Gay Becomes Illegal Themes: Culture War, Future Dystopia, Gay Love, Technology Heat Rating: 2 flames Length: 235 pages
It is a standalone book.
Add on Goodreads
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we kill the flame -- CH 13
SUMMARY:
Earth, 2123.
A city striving to escape a bleak future. A crime lord who wants to bring it to its knees.
An agent and a fugitive, thrown together by chance on a mission to free the city and save themselves.
There’s no way that could possibly go wrong.
*
| CH 1 | | CH 2 | | CH 3 | | CH 4 | | CH 5 | | CH 6 | | CH 7 | | CH 8 | | CH 9 | | CH 10 | | CH 11 | | CH 12 | | AO3 |
*
A/N: i am SO sorry this took so long! Life and Holidays and Events happened, and also, this story is making a serious attempt to KILL ME. So all of this ended up taking A Lot Longer Than Expected. On the bright side, we’re almost done! Yay!!
Thanks to @profdanglaisstuff who is simply The Best, and @ohmightydevviepuu who has all the thoughts, even on cold medication. And @kmomof4, whose legendary patience is the only reason i’m still sitting here past midnight, trying to get this post out. :D
And to all of you - ALL OF YOU - reading: Thank you so much. i love you lots.
.
If you want on or off this tag list, let me know! (And seriously - if it’s ‘off’ please don’t worry. Absolutely no hard feelings.)
@mariakov81 @stahlop @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @captainsjedi @toomanyfandomstochoosefrom @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @mayquita @ohmightydevviepuu @sals86 @karenfrommisthaven @kmomof4 @kday426 @superchocovian @jennjenn615 @facesiousbutton82 @suwya @spartanguard @capnjay21 @shardminds @carpedzem @girl-in-a-tiny-box @ilovemesomekillianjones
.
. .
Kilian opens his eyes to a white room and sunlight.
And Emma’s warm body, pressed along the length of his right side, her arm thrown across his middle. Her hair a mess, her clothes what seem to be hospital scrubs, her breathing slow and even. She is fast asleep.
His brain feels like it’s wrapped in cotton. His thoughts are slow and languid and he feels no pain. Just a sense of immense relief that Emma is here, next to him.
Wherever ‘here’ is.
His arm comes up, almost of its own volition, and his fingers run along Emma’s neck, and shoulder, and finally her cheek. She makes a low sound and turns into his touch, but she doesn’t wake up.
He counts four different stickies on the inside of his wrist.
He tries to remember. It’s harder than it should be.
The one thing he sees before his mind’s eye with blinding clarity is Emma smashing a--- leg of pork?-- into Walsh’s smug face.
And then her arms around him, strong and sure and unwavering. She has changed so much, his NO/GO.
No, not NO/GO, never NO/GO, never again.
His Emma.
Fierce, and strong, and unbent, unbroken, and---
his.
.
.
They need to go. Far, far away from here.
They need to leave, now that they have Gold-- wait. Did they capture Gold?
He tries to recall names and faces and snippets of dialogue, and he can’t remember, doesn’t know how he got here, doesn’t know where he is,
except safe
safe, in a bed, with Emma beside him, and---
“Liam!” It comes out louder than he means it to. His voice is raspy, but it carries, and his hand tightens on Emma’s arm.
Her eyes open. They blink, focus on him--- and then she smiles. It’s so lovely, to see her smile, to see her smile at him. Like they are the only two people in the world.
And then her eyes cloud over, sadness creeps into them, and her brows furrow.
“Killian.” It’s a small whisper, and now there are tears in her eyes. “Killian, I’m so sorry.”
Why is she crying? She shouldn’t be crying. She shouldn’t be sad. She is here, in one piece, and so is he, more or less. They’re alive and safe in a bed, and as soon as his brain starts to function properly again, they will get out of here and go far, far away.
To live.
“Killian,” her voice sounds broken now, and tears are rolling down her cheeks in earnest. “They couldn’t save it. I’m so sorry. They tried. Dr. Whale tried, but he couldn’t, and----”
“What?” He has to force the word past the lump in his throat, because she is starting to breathe too fast, and he wants her to calm down, and not hyperventilate. “Emma, what?”
She chews on her lip while tears keep falling in big drops, until he’s afraid she’ll draw blood, but then she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and it comes out in a rush.
“Your hand, Killian, they couldn’t save your hand. What Walsh did, it---- there was too much damage, and I---”
It comes flooding back with a bang. Hanging strapped to that contraption against the wall, and Gold, and Walsh, and the knife in his hand.
There should be pain.
He should be gutted .
But everything is muted, remote, unreal. He’s watching the memory, observing it, like a window into someone else’s life.
But Emma’s distress comes through loud and clear, unfiltered, a sharp, bright note of anguish, and he doesn’t want that. Muddled as he is, he knows he doesn’t want her to suffer.
She shakes her head and sits up, wipes her nose on her sleeve, and wraps her fingers around his right wrist. The wrist to which a hand is still attached.
He lets his eyes wander slowly, slowly to his left. All he sees is white. White where his arm is, white where his hand should be, nothing but white.
And lines, attached to IV bags, hanging off stands, next to his bed.
Disappearing into the endless white.
Fuck .
“I should have killed him sooner.” Her shoulders slump. “If I’d gotten him faster, maybe you---”
“No.” He has to stop her, sluggish thoughts and raspy throat be damned. She keeps talking in a loop, her voice guilty, defeated, her words variations on I did not get to you in time, and he pulls his wrist from her grasp, wraps her hand in his instead. “Emma, please. Please, stop .”
The last word is loud, and she looks up as her voice trails off.
“Emma.” He clears his throat again. “Don’t, love. Just please - please don’t.”
He can’t elaborate, because in his head thoughts are still colliding and then veering off track, like the fact that they’re alive, and he’s no longer whole, and Walsh is dead, and he lost a limb, and she saved his life,
again, fucking AGAIN,
and now feels guilty for that, for that , he can’t----
His brain is still dulled by medication, so he can’t untwist all the pathways his thoughts are barreling down, all he can say is, “Don’t love. Please don’t.”
And she nods.
She wipes her face again with her sleeve and nods. Her tears are still falling, but her breathing evens out.
“You called me love.” It’s a thin little whisper. “You just---- even after I failed you, you called me love?”
Oh, all the things he wants to say.
How she did not fail him, how she saved him again, how she is the bravest and toughest and best person he has ever met and how his love isn’t nearly enough, but he has nothing else to give her.
“Not failed. Saved me. Saved us.”
She starts to shake her head in protest, and he lets his hand slide down to her wrist. Pulls it close and starts to tap against it.
The same rhythm he tapped in the Needle right before the mission, back when he knew, but had not yet told her.
The same rhythm he tapped on the walkway, the catwalk, and under the booth.
The same rhythm he will tap for the rest of his life.
“Is this, is this code?”
He smiles at her and nods.
“That code you were doing with Robin?”
“Morse.” He can feel his smile widening. She’s smart, his Emma. Well, of course she is. She’s a teacher. And a survivor. A fighter, a lifesaver, and the love of his life.
Man, those stickies are doing a number on him.
“What does it mean?” Her voice is quiet, but it plucks him from his meandering thoughts, back into the present.
He looks at her and pulls her wrist up to his lips. He kisses it slowly, and she sighs. And smiles. Wide and happy, even with tear tracks down her cheeks.
Then he taps again, deliberate, long and short and short and long. His rhythm.
Their rhythm.
“Three letters,” he says, out loud as he taps them. “I - L - Y.”
Her answering smile is blinding, even though tears spring to her eyes again, and she leans forward to kiss him. Her lips are soft and so gentle, and her “I love you, too.” sounds so warm and lovely, breathed against the shell of his ear, and then they both jump at the hard knock on the door.
A man enters, tall and slightly unsteady, his hair nearly shaved down to stubble, his face and neck and arms littered with scars. Holding the man’s hand is a gorgeous blonde who looks tougher than nails and smarter than a whip. Both are wearing hospital scrubs, just like Emma, with stockinged feet and no shoes.
The man’s eyes dart from Killian’s face to Emma’s and back, apprehensive, uncertain, but Killian is neither.
I know your face, brother.
Emma says, “You're here!” at the same time he manages to grind out “Liam?”, and the man says, “Killian?”, and everyone stops for a moment, bewildered, until Elsa says, “What the fuck?”
-/-
Inside the room at the top of L12, Mary Margaret and David look at each other. And then at Agent Locksley. And then at Dr Whale. Both men are standing before them, trying not to fidget, which is par for the course for the doctor, but unusual in an agent.
Everything is unusual about this, down to the fact that Locksley showed up here a moment ago, Whale in tow, in clear breach of all protocol, and demanded to see them at once. He went so far as to threaten Leroy, who is working the front room and the door. That’s technically a court martial.
“I’m sorry.” Locksley sounds like he is sorry, far, far below the current of anxious excitement he’s caught in. “I meant your assistant no harm.”
Mary Margaret raises an eyebrow and thinks of Leroy dangling against a wall in a choke-hold.
“Clearly,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain. “But if you think that is a good way to get my attentio----“
“You have to see this.” Locksley looks stricken as he says it. Like he can’t believe himself that he dared to interrupt her. He holds out a digisheet with a shaking hand while Whale cringes, fingers clenching and unclenching nervously.
Mary Margaret is so taken aback, she wordlessly pulls the sheet from his hand. It’s a BlackSheet, covert, empty until unlocked by a dedicated thumbprint, but they are Rulers. Their thumbprint unlocks everything.
And so Mary Margaret presses her thumb to the top right corner, and waits for the information to come up.
She reads for a full minute in silence, before she says, “David”, and sways.
-/-
They may as well not be in the room, she and Elsa.
Next to her Killian is pale and shaking a little, and across from her Liam has pulled his arm from Elsa’s grasp and is just as pale, and just as unsteady.
Emma knows Liam, because she knows Elsa, because Elsa and Liam have been one since the moment they laid eyes on each other, despite all the odds; Emma knows Liam because she has been lookout for them both, through all their stolen moments, has covered and misdirected and lied for them.
Liam used to bring them food - all of the tricksies, back when the Feeding Frenzies started. It was never much, but it was all he was able to afford and smuggle in, and Elsa cried the first time he did. Cried every time he did.
He brought them books.
He gave Ruby the codes to roam outside, the codes Emma took and used to run.
Yes, Emma knows Liam.
But not like this.
Not like Killian knows him.
There is something bigger here, something far, far outside of her experience, and she watches as Liam takes one step after another, walks up to the hospital bed and the man shivering beside her, looks at Killian’s face, skin pale as his sheets and eyes impossibly wide and when Liam again whispers, “Killian?” he just nods.
And then Liam bends forward and hugs Killian, who hugs back, and Emma quietly slides off the bed, because this moment is not about her in the least.
She looks at Elsa as she walks over to her, Elsa who somehow looks both shell-shocked and understanding, and then looks back at the two men, sees their shoulders shaking in exactly the same way.
Finally Liam pulls back and surreptitiously wipes his eyes, and Killian looks over at Emma.
“Come here, love,” he says, smiling. “Come here and meet my brother.”
.
Brother.
Of course .
.
Emma grins, and Liam says, “we’ve met”, and she walks over to Killian, and Elsa walks over to Liam, who puts his arm around her and says, “This is my brother, Killian,” and at that moment the door opens and Regina marches in, Agent Booth in tow, and murder in her eyes.
Emma takes Killian’s hand and he squeezes it, hard. This cannot be good.
“Liam Jones?” It is quiet and furious. Liam nods, and Regina repeats, “Liam Jones ?” He nods again.
Regina turns. “And Elsa---”
“Elsa Jones.” Emma and Liam both sputter, but Elsa does not take her eyes from Regina’s face, matches her gaze evenly and without blinking, her chin held high and her body ramrod-straight.
Regina looks at her for a long time before she says, “All right. Elsa Jones.” and Emma swears Liam’s eyes become unnaturally bright.
“And you,” Regina hisses, turning to Emma. “Like you haven’t caused enough trouble.”
Emma doesn’t know what to say to that at all, so she remains quiet.
Looks at Killian, who is still sitting up, pale and sweaty and definitely worried, squeezing her hand in spasms. She pulls his hand up to her heart, kisses it, whispers, “shhhhhhh”, and Killian looks up at her, tries to smile. Emma can clearly see that he is not altogether present in this moment, and gently rubs the collection of stickies on his wrist.
He just lost a hand . He probably shouldn’t even be awake yet.
She wishes she knew his Morse code, wishes she could tap ILY against his wrist. Or Don’t Worry . Or I’m Sorry . Somehow this whole mess feels like her fault.
Regina taps her handheld for a few moments and then looks up. “All three of you not currently in a hospital bed, come with me.”
Four people gasp simultaneously.
Killian says, “You’re not taking her,” while Liam says, “Where to?”, while Emma says, “Why?”, and Elsa remains silent, clasping Liam’s arm in a vice grip and shifting her stance so that she is slightly behind him.
Next to Regina, Agent Booth drops into a loose fighting stance and extends his telescope baton.
Regina’s eyes narrow to slits. “May I remind you, all of you, that you are NO/GOs, every last one of you, and that you have no rights up here, none, save for those we grant you.”
Agent Booth switches the baton to his left hand. His right hand now lies against his thigh, right below his gun holster. Which is open.
Killian’s hand tightens around Emma’s to the point of pain.
Regina lifts her chin, opens the door behind her. “I am not throwing you in Holding just yet, but I will debrief you, and I’m going to do so right now.”
She nods at the four people standing still as statues across from her.
“Now, you can walk with me to Interrogation, or you can be carried there, unconscious.” Her eyes are flat and indifferent. “It makes no difference to me.”
Emma turns to Killian and oh, he looks bad. It hurts her heart.
“He needs a doctor.”
Regina shrugs. “He’ll get a doctor as soon as we’ve left.”
“We’ll go.” Emma looks at Liam and Elsa, sees them both nod.
“Don’t Emma, please---” Killian’s voice is thin and thready, and Emma’s not sure he has grasped the situation at all. He pulls her hand, pulls her towards him. “Please don’t go.”
She gives him a soft kiss, strokes his sweaty cheek. “I have to go, I have to. And you have to see a doctor. But I will be back.”
“Do you promise?” The look he gives her. She could shatter from this look alone.
She leans her forehead against his. “I promise.” Her voice is a whisper and his eyes close. “I promise, my love.”
“Enough.” Regina’s voice cuts through the moment, but Killian is already going back under, and Emma gently lets him sink down on the bed. His eyes remain closed, but his breathing is normal.
Regina walks through the door and August turns and points, waiting for them to follow.
“We don’t even have shoes,” Elsa says.
Emma pats her back. “They never give you shoes.”
-/-
Agent Booth watches as Commander Mills divides the three subjects into separate interrogation rooms and then lets them wait.
All the rooms border this wall, a one-way glass sheet he is currently facing in the center room. It is designed so every person in this very center can observe any and all interrogations simultaneously.
But there no other agents present, it’s just him and the commander, and that is unusual.
Not unusual enough for August to worry, but not regulation. Agent Locksley should be here at the very least; he’s the chief interrogator.
But Agent Locksley is nowhere to be seen, and neither is anyone else save the grunt at the front desk. It’s a bit unsettling.
Just a bit.
All three subjects are sitting very still. The man is looking straight at the one-way mirror, unmoving. He is obviously used to high-pressure situations. The long-haired blonde fidgets, the short-haired one wrings her hands. Both look cold. They are not used to pressure like the man, that much is obvious, but are handling their nerves well.
“Agent Booth” Regina finally looks up from her handheld and speaks, clipped and impatient. “You are here to observe and witness, and nothing else, is that clear?”
He nods. No interaction, no official report. He is just a pair of eyes.
“Understood?” Regina takes off her gun holster and places it in a lock box.
“Understood.” The day Agent Booth questions his commanding officer will be the day he quits.
“Good. I’ll start with the male. No interruptions, Agent, not for anything.”
He nods again, and Regina leaves the center room.
August has never seen the commander interrogate anyone, but he can tell she knows what she’s doing inside of ten seconds.
The way she enters the man’s room leaves no doubt as to who is in charge. Her movements are fluid and unhurried, her body language relaxed and yet precise. She sits down across from him and leans forward, equal parts menacing and conspiratorial.
“Once more for the record, you are Liam Jones, correct?” Her voice is noncommittal.
The man nods.
“I need you to confirm this verbally.”
The man shrugs and then sighs. “Yes.” Regina raises an eyebrow, and he repeats, “Yes. My name is Liam Jones.”
“Current location?”
The answer is curt. “L3. You know that.”
“Occupation?”
The man sighs. “You know that, too. Red Dragon. Unit #4927-A.”
“You don’t have a rank?”
He laughs out loud. It’s a startling sound. August flinches, but Regina doesn’t move.
The man’s voice turns both bitter and resigned. “We’re not law enforcement. We’re not soldiers. We are crowd control. Cannon fodder. Trigger fingers. We don’t have ranks, we don’t have status. We’re entirely expendable.”
“It seems a bleak outlook,” Regina says, and raises an eyebrow. “Not the kind of thing which inspires loyalty. And if I were someone in charge, I’d think long and hard about giving guns into the hands of Expendables.” Her voice drops. “Try again, Dragon. Do better.”
The man looks up. “It pays.” He says it as if it means something. Means the difference between living and---
“And you don’t need loyalty, when you have fear on your side. Real fear.”
“Fear of what?” August can hear a small vibration in Regina’s voice. She is interested.
The man leans back. “Dissention in the ranks, mistakes, lapses in judgment - all infractions, big or small, carry the same punishment.” He holds up his hand and counts up his fingers. “1. First warning, 2. Second warning, 3. Execution. No deviation. No explaining your side. No exception.” He leans forward, drops his hand on the table, looks straight at Regina. “That kind of fear.”
“Ah,” Regina leans back, a strange note of desire in her voice. “That I do believe.”
She is silent for a few moments. The man does not move.
When she finally speaks, her voice is back to cold nonchalance. “What is your relation to Agent Killian Jones?”
The man actually rolls his eyes. August draws a sharp breath, but Regina doesn’t react.
“You know that as well, Commander,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice now. “Agent Jones is my brother.”
“And Elsa--- she said Jones, but I have her down as Elsa Arendelle.”
August can see the man’s jaw muscles clench. “She’s my wife. Unofficially.”
“Unofficially?”
His eyes flash. “Yes. In the sense that we’re married in all ways that count.”
“You let your wife do the work that she does? Willingly?”
The man’s voice turns to ice. “Willing is none of what I do, commander,” he says, and August can see that behind the rigidly controlled mask is a very dangerous man. The kind who will not let harm come to those he loves, no matter the cost to himself.
“And as for my relationship with my wife, I will not answer any questions. It is not relevant.”
“I decide what’s relevant, Dragon.”
But the man simply leans back and remains silent.
Minutes tick by. Commander Mills and her subject are locked in a battle of wills, but Agent Booth already knows that Regina will not be the victor here.
The man has all the time in the world. The commander does not.
After an interminable silence, Regina sighs, and shrugs, as if the whole exchange meant nothing.
“Fine, we’ll deal with your wife later.”
That gets her a flick of his eyes, but no more.
“When was the last time you saw your brother?”
The man’s shoulders slump. “Fifteen years ago,” he says quietly. “Just before L3 fell.”
“How old was Killian?”
“Sixteen.”
It sounds defeated, and Regina goes in for the kill.
“He was only sixteen? And you left him to fend for himself?”
The man hasn’t looked up once, and slumps even more. “It was only supposed to be a two-month job. It was well paid. L3 was still open.”
“L1 and L2 were already closed. Didn’t you think L3 could be next?”
The man barks a laugh. “You and I both know that 1 and 2 closed years before that, right when the Rulers first took charge. There was no reason to suspect anything amiss.” His voice grows soft. “It was only going to be a few weeks.”
.
August gets the feeling that even now, more than a decade later, he is still trying to convince himself.
.
“So you went Down and left your brother behind - and then what?” Regina’s voice shows no empathy.
“I did a job for a Mr. Gold. He wanted a security detail for an ‘important negotiation’. At least that’s what he called it.”
“What kind of negotiation?”
“The kind where you take over somebody else’s dust-dealing territory and everybody ends up dead.”
“Ah.” There is satisfaction in Regina’s voice now. “You were hired muscle. Trigger finger, indeed.” She puts her hands on the table in front of the subject, aggressively suggesting just how relaxed and in control she is. August nearly smiles.
“Then why didn’t you go back when you were done?”
The man looks up. There is anguish in his eyes. “They liked my ‘performance.’ Which means they liked that I was a good shot and managed to not get myself or Mr Gold killed. And then they told me to stay. They said if I didn’t, they would go after my family. They meant it.”
“Is your brother your only family?” Commander Mills is a kitten with only a few claws showing.
The man nods. “He is.”
.
Suddenly a high-pitched beep, one August has never heard before, starts to wail from the wall terminal, accompanied by a flashing red light, and he runs over to it as fast as he can.
The message on the screen is clear and concise and not open to any type of interpretation, and August realizes he will have to go and get his commanding officer.
Out of an ongoing interrogation.
Right now.
.
His mouth is dry and his hands shake a little as he opens the door to I-3, and Regina’s head whips around.
“I told you no interruptions!”
August has never seen anyone so angry, never. It takes all of his willpower, every ounce of it, to reply.
“I apologize, Commander, but I have a directive from the Rulers. All subjects to come to the Observatory immediately. You, too, Commander.”
The look Regina gives him could have disintegrated steel. She takes several deep breaths, before she gets up and pulls back her shoulders.
“Fine,” she grinds out. “Go get the girls, and follow me Upstairs.”
.
Thank you for reading! <3
we kill the flame -- CH 10
SUMMARY:
Earth, 2123.
A city striving to escape a bleak future. A crime lord who wants to bring it to its knees.
An agent and a fugitive, thrown together by chance on a mission to free the city and save themselves.
There’s no way that could possibly go wrong.
*
| CH 1 | | CH 2 | | CH 3 | | CH 4 | | CH 5 | | CH 6 | | CH 7 | | CH 8 | | CH 9 | | AO3 |
*
A/N: OK - guys. This chapter nearly killed me. Seriously. i’m sorry that it took so long, but there is just so much plot, and then i temporarily lost my mojo, and real life exploded, and it was a whole thing.
So anyway - i’m sorry it took so long. On the bright side - the end is in sight!
All credit for the fact that there even IS a chapter goes to @profdanglaisstuff, who bangs me back into shape every time i lose cohesion, because she’s just brilliant like that. And @ohmightydevviepuu, whose mind is an echo cave of deep thoughts and interesting questions and inspired suggestions for how to combine tea, hot chocolate, and alcohol.
Oh, and one more thing: Next time i get the bright idea to write a story with more than ONE plot strand (ONE, i’m not kidding), and /or which requires me to build an entire world around it, please, FOR THE LOVE OF SANITY, STOP ME. ( @profdanglaisstuff / @ohmightydevviepuu / @stahlop / @mariakov81 - YOU DO NOT GET A VOTE IN THIS. 😘)
*
And all of you passengers on this crazy ride - i love you. You mean the world to me.
*
If you want on or off this tag list, let me know! (And seriously - if it’s ‘off’ please don’t worry. Absolutely no hard feelings.)
@mariakov81 @stahlop @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @captainsjedi @toomanyfandomstochoosefrom @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @mayquita @ohmightydevviepuu @sals86 @karenfrommisthaven @kmomof4 @kday426 @superchocovian @jennjenn615 @facesiousbutton82 @suwya @spartanguard @capnjay21 @shardminds
*
*
After the door slides shut behind Regina they remain on the couch, unmoving, except for Killian’s arm, which wraps around Emma and pulls her closer. His jaw keeps clenching, and his eyes keep closing only to snap back open. He looks so worried.
Emma doesn’t want him to worry, least of all about her.
That way distraction, that way disaster lies.
She puts her head on his chest, hears his galloping heartbeat. Feels his warmth, too, and his strength, and his steadfastness. Finally she hears him chuckle helplessly and then he shakes his head.
“I don’t know what to do.”
She knows what he means. She doesn’t want to go Down again . And she doesn’t want Killian anywhere near L3 either.
It’s not that she doubts his skills or his training - she has seen both in action and they will hold up fine. The way he subdued Cora alone was an exercise in practised efficiency. But she knows, oh - she knows - that at the core of his being he is simply too decent. That he will not resort to the type of tactics his opponents will use. That he will try to fight fair , whatever the fight may be.
It will be his undoing.
She will have to fight dirty for him.
And she will bring him back Up alive, if it’s the last thing she ever does.
She looks up and his eyes are large and sad and he shakes his head. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to have to do this.” He leans down to kiss her shoulder. It’s a completely unconscious gesture, and it feels strangely familiar. As if touch has always been part of their language.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is low as he nuzzles her neck. “Are you still in pain?”
“I’m all right now.” She shivers for a moment, and he pulls back to look at her, his eyes sharp, and so she smiles. “I’m healed, thanks to you.”
His eyes drop down, and his hand slowly pulls up her shirt, just enough to look at the thin white scar across her abdomen. He lets go of the hem and runs his fingertips across the line.
“We could leave,” he whispers. “Just--- I could hijack a flyer. We could just--- go.”
“Go where?”
“The Farms. Past no man’s land. Or further even. They say there are woods out there, and rivers and streams. They say nature is reclaiming her territory. Healing itself, taking back what was destroyed.”
She shakes her head. It sounds so tempting.
So impossible.
“Do you know anything about--- about survival in the wild? I think--- I don’t think it’s easy, you know. I’ve never been anywhere in nature.” She pauses. “Have you?”
His voice is wistful as he answers, “We could learn.”
She smiles. “Not by tonight, I don’t think,” and his shoulders sag, defeated.
“Killian.” She pulls back and sits up to face him. “I want to. I want to get out. I really do.” She puts both hands on his chest, and his immediately rise to cover them with his own. “I want nothing more than to--- This whole----” her hand sweeps the room, the large window, the city behind it, “everything is loud and scary and--- and complicated .” He looks at her, nods. He is listening, really listening. “And I would love---” her voice catches, “to go somewhere quiet, with you. With you.”
She has never meant anything as much as she means this.
“But we--- Killian, we can’t. They would--- they would find us, they would execute us.” His fingers tighten around her hands. “I don’t want to do this, not any of it, believe me. I don’t want you to do it.” She takes a deep breath. “But it’s---- I think it’s the only choice we have. And I,” she huffs, “I know all about impossible choices.”
Killian barks a laugh, helpless and knowing and resigned, and then he cups her cheek.
“You would know,” he whispers.
And then he leans forward.
When his lips touch hers the connection Emma felt before explodes all at once. His lips are gentle and hesitant and it’s not what she wants
not what she needs
not anymore---
She moans and opens her mouth and tastes him, explores him, and he lets her, kisses her back like he’s hungry . Her hands wander up and down his body, because she’s trying to touch everywhere at once, and his tear paths of fire down her back and up her arms and finally wind into her hair,
and then she climbs across him to sit in his lap and she feels him.
Feels him .
Rock hard and straining and so, so ready.
He groans, helpless, at the friction of her movement, and his hands still.
.
“Emma?” It’s broken and needy and yet he stills. Completely.
It’s unprecedented.
She looks up at him, at his swollen red lips and his nearly black eyes. At how he’s trying so very hard to calm his breathing, relax his posture, unclench his hands.
She looks up and sees that he is in control, no matter how much it is costing him, in total control of his actions.
He will not take without asking.
He will wait for her to give .
.
She doesn’t speak.
The time for words has passed.
Instead she gets up and takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom, and when she turns around he wraps his arms around her, somehow wraps himself around her, and she feels -- cherished. Important. He is careful with her.
Because she matters. She matters to him. Her life is worth nothing up here, worth not even a name, but she matters to him.
She looks up and feels their connection pulse along with her racing heart, and knows that the warmth that spreads inside her is deeper and greater than anything that has come before. He is more than the sum of her broken parts, more than the shreds of her past and the ruin of her present. He is part of her future.
The part that matters.
.
He picks her up and puts her down on the bed, and simply lies down beside her. His hand wanders down her shoulder to her chest, gently cups around a breast, while he leans forward and kisses her again, so so so slowly.
He pulls back and props himself up on one elbow while his hand keeps exploring, runs down her body like it’s precious, like it’s new . He looks at her like she’s the only thing in this wretched world worth seeing, and his hand brushes down her side like she’s the only thing worth touching.
She takes a deep breath and leans into his touch.
And lets his hand remake her,
erase her past,
with the tips of his fingers and the soft caress of his palm and the utter and complete reverence with which he explores her----
And here, in this room, she reclaims herself.
Here, in this room, she is virgin territory, and he is the first to land on her shores.
.
He takes off her clothes painfully slowly, as if she is a treasure he wants to take his time to uncover, and he sighs as he unwraps her
kisses every new piece of skin---
And then she flips them around and oh , the look he gives her as she pulls off his own clothes, feels his heartbeat, feels his hitched breath, as her hands roam and explore and map him,
discover,
and he looks at her, sees her,
sees her---
and she nods.
With a growl he flips them back around and bends down to kiss her, starving, and wanting, and she can’t name the emotion, but she knows, she knows , that he is hers and she is his, in all ways that matter, in every way that has ever mattered, and by all the wretched, abdicated gods of the past, when he finally enters her, it’s like coming home.
-/-
“We’re here for the briefing.”
The man at the controls in Holding isn’t Will, and Killian can’t let go of Emma’s hand.
.
They spent the time until they had to report to Holding wrapped around each other, just breathing, just being. They took a shower together, languid, unhurried, talking only through touch.
It was when they got dressed that he noticed he couldn’t stop touching her.
Couldn’t let go of her.
So now they stand in the entryway to Holding, and the operative behind the terminal is not Will, and he can’t let go of Emma’s hand.
Agent Booth eyes them sternly, and when his gaze drops to their intertwined hands, his look becomes one of disgust. Killian squeezes Emma’s fingers and meets August’s glare head-on, dares him to comment.
Oh, how he would love a throw-down right about now.
But August does not take the bait. Instead he nods - disapproval and reprobation oozing from every pore - and simply buzzes them in.
.
Robin and Regina both look up as they enter Interrogation. Killian watches as they notice Emma’s hand in his, but he does not care, and they do not comment.
All Regina says is, “I see you’re ready to go,” as she nods at the fact that they’re both wearing standard issue mission kit. Then she moves over to the wall, pushes a button, and says, “You can bring the Capture.” After which she inclines her head a fraction, and they all quietly settle in to wait.
.
Cora is the familiar pile of sallow skin and sharp bones when they bring her in, but her sunken eyes are as sharp as they were back down on L3, even though they are infinitely more tired now. Killian squares his shoulders and straightens up. He knows that they can’t trust Cora, but at the moment, she is the only game in town.
And they do need her very specific knowledge of L3, even if they have to assume every hard fact to be a lie. The truth will be found between the lines.
And they will find it.
Emma will find it.
Cora nods at Killian as she watches him let go of Emma’s hand slowly, and take a seat across from her.
“So, handsome,” she ignores the three remaining people completely as she leans forward and fixates on him, “what is it that you need from me?”
“Everything covert you can give me on the layout of L3. Specifically the Rabbit Hole and Gold’s lair.” Killian wastes neither time nor words. “Secret passages, unused connectors, derelict walkways. Anything useful for tracking down Gold and Walsh and not getting caught.”
“What are you going to do to them?” Cora’s eyes glint. It is thoroughly disconcerting.
“That’s classified.” Robin sits down beside Killian. Cora gives him a withering look, which slowly turns into one of appreciation, before it goes back to supremely annoyed.
“Then you get nothing,” she hisses.
“We can make you talk,” Robin says, and Cora laughs out loud. It’s an awful, hacking sound.
“How?” She leans back. “How can you make me? You couldn’t make me talk before, not during your entire interrogation. You know my demands. Chip me, give me a place to live, and some money to do so, and then I’ll talk.”
“We’re going to kill them.”
Killian lets his voice cut through the bluster, and Cora looks up.
“We’re going Down to find Walsh and Gold and eliminate them.”
“Ah.” Cora’s eyes actually twinkle. It’s a frightening sight. “Now was that so hard?”
Killian suppresses a shiver. “Does that mean you will help us?”
“Not even a little bit.” Cora laughs again. She seems genuinely amused at the entire situation. As well as fully in charge of it. “Give me what I want, and then we’ll see.”
Behind them Regina’s watch beeps, and Killian turns around. Emma looks like she both wants to hide from and throttle Cora, and not for the first time tonight he fervently wishes Emma didn’t have to be here. That she wasn’t the only other person with knowledge of L3.
When she meets Killian’s gaze she tries to smile, and that warmth floods back, spreads through his chest with both joy and terror, and he has to fight the urge to get up and take her and leave .
Next to Emma, Commander Mills pulls out a handheld and hisses at the display. It’s an extreme reaction for her.
.
And then Killian feels it.
Tapping.
Robin’s fingers, tapping.
On his knee.
.
“Fine.” Regina’s voice breaks the silence and she looks up. Killian can see her jaw muscles jump. “We’ll give you what you want.”
Killian turns back in time to see Cora’s eyebrows rise. “Give me what?”
“All of it.” The commander sounds impatient. “If your intel pans out.”
There’s a knock on the door and Regina goes to open it. The front desk agent comes in, holding a digisheet and an injection gun.
“Agent Booth,” Regina says, as she takes the sheet from him and puts it in front of Cora. “Look. This is a full pardon for you. Signed by the Rulers.”
Killian almost rolls his eyes.
Cora does roll her eyes. “Oh honey .” Her voice is back to silk and poison. “I’m not going to take your word for it that this is legit.”
Killian can hear Emma behind him inhale sharply. She has a point.
“I know.” Regina folds her arms. “But we’re also not prepared to give you anything before we know for sure your information is good. So here’s our proposal.” She’s back in control now. “August will chip you, right here, right now. The chip will be live, you can verify it on the monitor behind you.” Cora’s eyes narrow, but she is listening. “It will have all your information on it, but no clearance. That you’ll get once we know whether your intel was good. And not a moment sooner.” She uncrosses her arms and leans down. “These are our terms. Yes or no?”
Cora looks up at Commander Mills, stares at her for a long, silent moment, and no one moves for almost a minute. Then Cora blinks, and breaks the spell, and smiles a smile of deep satisfaction.
“Yes.” She leans back, and holds up her wrist. “Chip me, and I’ll tell you what I know about Gold and Walsh and their operation. But you have to promise me one thing.”
She looks at from Regina to Killian, and her mouth turns down in disgust. Killian nods.
“Bring back their fucking heads on a platter .”
-/-
The third time they take a Needle down is entirely different from the first two.
Killian takes the craft as far past the perimeter as he dares, to the edge of the highrises, and for a moment he is tempted to just keep on going, out past the smog and past the pollution into a world unknown. He keeps the Needle at a hover for long moments, trapped in limbo, just as he is, until Emma leans forward and takes his wrist.
Her thumb starts to rub his pulse point.
Just like he has done for her, so many times.
“Are you thinking of running?” Her voice is quiet.
“Yes.” His voice is strangled, but he doesn’t want to lie to her.
Her hand stays where it is, her thumb keeps moving.
“I am with you,” she says. “No matter what.”
A shudder runs through him. It’s so sharp and so close, the edge of this knife.
“What do you want?” It is excruciating, the weight of this question.
Her other hand comes up and tilts his chin in her direction. Makes sure he looks at her. Her eyes are so green, and so very, very clear.
“I want to put an end to this.” It’s quiet and sure. “This--- this one man and his lackeys, they have ruined and destroyed and ended thousands of lives, thousands . He should pay. They should all pay.”
She looks fierce and fearless and stars above , she’s beautiful.
“Aye,” he says, because it’s all he can say. Then he spins the craft vertical and starts their descent. She squeezes his wrist before she lets it go. They wind their way down the sides of broken, jagged buildings and pollution thicker than gas clouds, until Killian is navigating solely by compass and instinct. Emma doesn’t say a word, lets him concentrate, but her breathing stays calm and regular. She trusts him.
It’s lovely and wonderful and absolutely terrifying.
.
When they reach L3, he spins them back to horizontal and finds a rooftop just inside the perimeter. He sets down behind a large, broken fan-casing, and powers down.
Then he turns to Emma, who is taking off her seatbelts, and their eyes meet.
The way she looks at him. Like she’s ready for war. But also like he’s the only person on the planet she wants to take with her into battle.
Something inside him erupts into a feeling bigger than hope and greater than fear.
He undoes his seatbelt with one hand and leans forward to kiss her. Her lips are soft and sure and she kisses him back like it’s a language that belongs to them, only them.
When they break apart, he has to take a long moment to catch his breath, and Emma waits, her forehead against his, her hand in his hair.
There is no part of him, none, that wants to be here. That wants her to be here.
But here they are.
And he will bring her back Up alive, if it’s the last thing he ever does.
.
“Emma,” he finally says, and takes her hand. “I have to tell you something.”
She nods and squeezes his fingers.
“I know you want to make them pay, all of them, and they should.” He pulls her hand up to his chest, to where his heart is racing. “And they should, they should pay. They will pay.”
He clears his throat.
“But back in Interrogation, Robin gave me a message.”
Emma’s head snaps up, and her eyes grow wide in question. “He did? How?”
Killian rolls his eyes. “Morse code. Tapped it against my leg while we were both sitting down. Which is just---” He can’t help but chuckle.
The symmetry is ludicrously fitting.
“What’s Morse code?”
He taps a pattern on her wrist. “Something which I intend to teach you soon. But it’s not important now. What’s important is what he told me.”
Emma raises her eyebrows.
“He tapped three words. Three words which tell me to ignore a direct order, given to me by the commander of all law enforcement.” He can feel her hand tighten in his. “Three words: Capture. Gold. Alive.”
*
Thank you all so so SO MUCH for reading. i love you all.
*
we kill the flame -- CH 8
SUMMARY:
Earth, 2123.
A city striving to escape a bleak future. A crime lord who wants to bring it to its knees.
An agent and a fugitive, thrown together by chance on a mission to free the city and save themselves.
There’s no way that could possibly go wrong.
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| CH 1 | | CH 2 | | CH 3 | | CH 4 | | CH 5 | | CH 6 | | CH 7 | | AO3 |
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A/N: All you wonderful, beautiful people - i am so sorry this took so long. Life happened. And i apologize for not responding to everyone on Ch7. Did i mention life happened?
All thanks, as always, to @profdanglaisstuff who is never not amazing. And @stahlop and @mariakov81 - whose support is priceless. Priceless. i love you all so very very much.
And to all of you reading this story - you have no idea how much you mean to me. i love you all.
*
If you want on or off this tag list, let me know! (And seriously - if it’s ‘off’ please don’t worry. Absolutely no hard feelings.)
@mariakov81 @stahlop @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @captainsjedi @toomanyfandomstochoosefrom @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @mayquita @ohmightydevviepuu @sals86 @karenfrommisthaven @kmomof4 @kday426 @superchocovian @jennjenn615 @facesiousbutton82 @suwya @spartanguard @capnjay21
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The first thing she hears is his voice. He sounds angry.
Emma opens her eyes to white walls and harsh neon lights and the fact that she cannot feel her left side. She wipes her face with her right hand and Killian appears next to her. His hand slowly settles on her shoulder.
“Hey,” he says, his voice low and not quite steady. “How are you feeling?”
“Numb.” She grins.
“Good.” He smiles back. “You’ll be fine.” Then he turns. “How long does she have to stay here?”
“We have to get one more set of vitals.” Dr Whale’s voice floats up from the doorway. Emma’s head feels fuzzy. “Then you can take her.”
“Hurry up.” Killian’s voice sounds so irate Emma has to grin again. She wants to tell Dr Whale that it’s only because he’s uncertain, or worried. But she’s so tired.
The doctor draws blood and then Killian is back at her side. He sits down and takes her hand.
“It’s all right, Emma.” He squeezes her fingers. “Go to sleep.”
The next time she wakes up she is on his couch.
He is next to her in the armchair, reading a digisheet. When he looks up and sees her looking back at him, he smiles again.
His smiles have changed so much since she met him.
“How are you feeling now?”
Emma grins. “I feel like you’ve asked me that before.”
“That was hours ago.” His eyes are--- warm. Warm and something else Emma can’t name.
“Fine.” She tries to sit up, but he puts a hand on her arm.
“Stay.” His thumb rubs across her bicep. “Are you hungry?”
“No. Just tired.” Emma shakes her head. “How can I still be tired? All I’ve done is sleep.”
“You realize that you were shot, right?” His hand gently wraps around her fingers. His eyes grow somber. “And you keep saving my life, too.”
She grins again, this time with a wink. “Yeah, well - if I’d known you’d turn out to be this much trouble, I would have stayed back in Holding.”
His hand tightens painfully around hers, but then he laughs. Actually laughs. It’s a beautiful sound. “You’re impossible.”
She chuckles. “So are you.”
Their eyes meet and he holds her gaze, honest and serious and open. His free hand moves up to her cheek, runs his knuckles down the side of her face.
“I’m incredibly grateful, you know.” he whispers. “I can’t even tell you---”
A yawn catches Emma by surprise and he chuckles.
“Sleep, Emma.” He pulls the blanket up to her neck. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
“Promise?” There is no part of Emma that wants to have to ask this question. And yet every part of her needs to know. Despite the fact that she knows the answer.
His fingers whisper down her jawline. “I promise.”
She knows he will, she knows he means it; and she is warm, and comfortable, and safe , and so she closes her eyes.
.
The end of a dream slams Emma back to consciousness and her eyes open wide as she hears herself say, “She called me tricksy .”
“Hey.” Killian’s face comes into view, his brow furrowed. “Are you all right? Bad dream?”
“Weird dream.” Emma wipes her eyes with her good hand and tries to hold on to the fading strands of realization. “But that’s not what I mean. Cora called me tricksy . Back in the apartment, while we were waiting for you.”
“And what does that mean?”
Emma looks up. “It means she knew who I was, at least nominally. Tricksy is a short-hand term for girls in entertainment. Regular girls - the others are called floaters.” Emma shudders. “The thing is--- tricksy is a term we use, those of us in entertainment. Cora left long before I ever got to The Rabbit Hole. She only met me once before, in the stairwell, with you. Doing something that had nothing to do with being entertainment.” Emma looks up at Killian who is watching her with absolute concentration. “So how did she know? How did she know I was entertainment?”
“That, Emma Swan, is a very good question.” Killian is silent for a long moment, just thinking. “Did she call you tricksy the first time we were down there?”
Emma shakes her head no.
“This is very, very strange. This whole mission was exceedingly strange.” He swallows hard, and when he speaks again, his voice is unsteady. “Apart from being a complete disaster.”
.
And then it all comes screaming back to her.
“Killian.” Her voice is not working right. “All those people----”
“I know.” He sighs. “You told us not to go. You told us.” He looks up, his eyes like storm clouds over a dark ocean. “You told us and we didn’t listen.”
At that, Emma does sit up. A jabbing pain runs down her entire left side from shoulder to pelvis, but she swallows her groan. “You did listen.” She leans forward, feels another stab of pain, and bites down hard on it. Instead she takes his hand. “You listened. She didn’t.”
He hangs his head. “I know. But maybe I could have---”
“STOP IT.”
Killian’s head snaps up and he looks at her in wonder.
“Don’t you dare blame yourself, don’t you dare .” Emma squeezes his fingers, hard. “There was nothing you could have done except get yourself killed .” The last word chokes her. “Please don’t---” She shakes her head, but the words will not come.
So she just looks at him, at the way his shoulders slump in dejection, and the way his eyes can’t hide the turmoil within them, and the way his fingers squeeze hers in return, and then she just leans forward and presses her lips to his.
His hand lets go of hers only to pull her into his lap and run up her back and his lips are soft and so, so…
It’s like a sigh, like an exhale, like a breath of relief, the way he pulls her against his body and sinks into the kiss and wraps his arm around her, until his hand strokes her shoulder and a stabbing pain runs through her, so powerful she cannot stop her gasp.
He pulls back as if burnt.
“Emma?”
“Please don’t stop.” He’s stiff as a board and looking at her like she’ll break if he breathes, when nothing could be further from the truth. She feels whole for the first time in years. Whole and undamaged and--- unafraid. And the truth is - she needs this as much as he does.
“Please, Killian.” She cups his cheek with her good hand and his eyes close as he leans into her touch. “Please don’t stop.”
He exhales a long, shuddering breath and leans forward again, brushes his lips over hers, and by all the stars in the sky she has been fortunate to see, nothing has ever felt so right. His hand comes up to slowly rub her neck and winds into her hair, while his arm circles around her waist and pulls her closer, and his mouth opens, slow and soft and----
The door buzzes.
Long. Loud. Repeatedly.
He smiles at her as he pulls back, a real, genuine smile, as soft as his eyes, and he very slowly whispers, “Sorry”, as he gets up, gently deposits her back on the couch, and goes to open the door.
A tall man with light brown hair shoulders past Killian the minute the door swooshes open, plunks into the armchair next to the sofa, and buries his face in his hands. Killian follows him and sits down on the couch, his expression puzzled. Emma just watches them both, the tense shoulders and fast breathing of the stranger, the mounting worry and fear in Killian’s face.
Minutes pass before the man finally drops his hands and looks up. “I just got back from Holding,” he says, his voice low and strained. “I had to arrest Will.”
.
It’s funny how all the air can leave a room all at once.
Emma can feel it, can feel Killian next to her go rigid, can feel the stranger’s eyes zero in on her, can feel something heavy and sinister and utterly debilitating seep in like one of Walsh’s gas disks sprung open, while she tries to remain calm, tries to will her breathing to remain calm.
Then Killian pulls his hand back and fixes the stranger with a glare. “Talk, Locksley,” he grinds out. “What happened?”
The stranger sighs.
“CO tasked me with finding out who hacked her chip.”
“ WHAT? ” Killian chokes. “Somebody--- somebody hacked the commander’s chip?”
“Oh come on, Jones.” The stranger’s eyes grow sharp as steel and twice as hard as they narrow. “Are you honestly going to sit here and tell me Scarlet did it to amuse himself? Really?” Menace creeps into his voice. “Will’s a fucking kid, and you know it, Captain . There’s no way he would have done this unless somebody put him up to it.” The stranger’s voice becomes scathing. “And who better to bring about this fucking disaster than the current ops point man and his pet NO/GO.”
His eyes turn to Emma.
“What did you do to Captain Jones? What did you promise him? What is your endgame?” Disdain and accusation roll at her like tidal waves. “Did Gold send you here to spread your poison? To ingratiate yourself--” the word ‘ingratiate’ is weighed down by lethal innuendo-- “and then tell us all the lies we want to hear? To trick the captain into---”
A left hook plows the stranger straight out of the armchair and lays him out flat on the floor. Emma watches as Killian crouches down next to him and very calmly says, “Keep talking. I dare you.”
The man props himself up on his elbows and looks at Killian for a long, long time. And then he smiles.
“So I guess she’s not a spy.” He sits up slowly and Killian lets him. “You really do have a lousy poker face, Jones.”
“So I’ve been told.” Killian grins. “Now apologize to Emma.”
The man’s eyebrows rise. “Who’s Emma?”
Killian points to her.
“You’ve named your NO/GO?”
Emma flinches at the sheer incredulity in the stranger’s voice.
Killian’s mouth becomes a hard line. “Keep this up and I’ll deck you again, Locksley. You know she has a name. You know they all do.”
“Yeah. Well. I was trying to---” The man looks up, subdued. “I was playing a hunch. I didn’t mean to---- I’m sorry.”
You’ve named your NO/GO. Emma shakes her head, but the words keep echoing in her ears. These words that remind her that she is nothing to these people, nothing at all. Not even a name.
She is intel to be gathered and knowledge to be exploited and none of this is real.
She is not real.
This is a long, long dream, one from which she’ll eventually wake up, locked in a windowless room on L3.
When a hand squeezes hers, she hardly notices.
“Emma.”
Another hand turns her face and there he is, worried and kind and everything he shouldn’t be with her. Shouldn’t be for her.
“It’s OK,” he whispers. “It’s going to be fine.”
“Is it?” The stranger’s voice cuts into their moment. “I want to believe you didn’t make him hack the most dangerous chip in the city, but you put him up to something . I know you did. I can feel it in my gut.”
Killian’s eyes close and when he opens them back up, all she can see is determination.
“Emma.” His voice is so serious, but also, somehow, incredibly reassuring. “Can you wait here while I go talk to Will?”
She nods. This seems to be their thing. Him leaving and her nodding.
“Please, Emma.” His voice is a whisper. “Please be here when I get back.”
She nods again.
It’s all she has.
-/-
“63 casualties, Commander, not counting civilians.” David’s voice sounds like it should be cutting glass. “Explain yourself.”
Regina looks at the Rulers, both pinning her with identical icy stares.
“We could not possibly have known what we were up against down there.”
A small part of Regina’s mind chooses that moment to picture the NO/GO telling her to cancel the assault, and it takes her a second to block it out. But then she looks back at her superiors in condescension. “When Captain Jones went on his recon mission, he returned with Halothane vapour poisoning. It was reasonable to assume our assault would encounter similar defense methods, and all our gas masks were outfitted accordingly. What they encountered instead was something entirely unprecedented. Not only was the gas unknown and deadly, according to all reports the vapours were released indiscriminately. It did not just kill our troops and civilians. Among the casualties were a number of Gold’s soldiers as well.”
“What reports? How many survivors were there?” Mary Margaret’s voice is devoid of inflection. If possible, her eyes are colder even than Regina’s own stare.
“The flyer pilots all survived, as well as Captain Jones and the NO/GO. Which makes a total of five.”
“The pilots were in a closed environment, so that I understand.” David’s eyes narrow. “But your captain and the woman were on the ground, as far as I know. How on earth did they survive poison our troops could not?”
“I have not yet debriefed them.” Regina is so tired of these two amateurs telling her how to do her job. “I have had more pressing matters to attend to. But if I were to venture a guess, I’d say the NO/GO augmented their masks with something she brought up from L3.”
“Ah.” Mary Margaret leans back. “Something useful she brought back from her recon assignment.” Something you could have used to prevent mass slaughter. Her tone leaves absolutely no doubt as to what exactly she means. Regina cringes and hates herself for it.
“Now tell me, Commander,” Mary Margaret’s voice is smoother than silk, “did you at least capture the companion?”
“Yes we did.” Regina can feel her spine stiffen despite the fact that it’s already rigid. “Her name is Cora. She was part of Gold’s inner circle from the very beginning. She’s in Holding, waiting to be questioned. I wanted her to sober up a little first.”
“Take Locksley.” David nods at Regina.
“I assure you that is not necessary.”
“He’s in charge of all covert ops and he’s a master interrogator. I’d like to get his read on the situation.” David’s eyes narrow. “That is an order, Commander. Report back here with the lieutenant when you’re done.”
With supreme effort Regina holds her tongue and nods.
Mary Margaret nods. “Dismissed.”
.
Regina forces herself to take measured steps as she’s leaving the room.
She calmly walks to the elevator and descends to L10.
She calmly gets out and turns towards the nearest staircase.
One flight down she punches the wall.
-/-
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Will Scarlet does not much look the worse for wear, and his Holding cell is not nearly as cold as the ones for the NO/GOs. He winks at Killian as he pointedly looks up to a very specific spot in the ceiling and Killian nods discreetly.
He would not have needed the reminder. He knows Holding. He knows everything is recorded. He knows Locksley is at the main terminal outside, watching and listening live.
“Scarlet.” Killian sits down next to Will on the cot. “What’s going on?”
Will rolls his eyes. “Nothing that should concern you.”
“Are you all right?” Killian looks Will over for bruises or any sign of rough treatment, but can find none. He sighs in relief.
“I’m fine, Captain.” Will smiles at Killian as his finger starts to tap his knee. “And I’m not in any trouble.”
Killian’s brow furrows. “I can see that.”
Will shakes his head. “None that I can’t get out of.”
“Are you sure?” Killian fixes Scarlet with a hard stare, but Will does not flinch.
“Positive. Don’t worry about me.”
There is a long silence, broken only by the nervous tapping of Will’s fingers. Killian waits patiently, but Will does not talk. Does not move.
Finally Killian sighs. “Need anything?”
Will shakes his head slowly. “Nothing that--- oh, wait. Can you get me onion blossoms from Granny’s? I am dying for some fried food.”
Killian laughs and gets up. “I’ll see what I can do. When’s your hearing?”
“Not for a while. They’re still gathering evidence I think.” Will looks at Killian for a long moment. “I guess I’ll see you then?”
“Yes. Unless I can manage to get you onion blossoms before then.” He knocks on the cell door, which slides back with a loud beep.
He looks back at Will, reclining on the cot as if it were a lounge chair and nods.
Will raises an eyebrow and returns the nod.
-/-
When Killian enters his apartment once again, it is dark.
He calls for low lights and steps into the living room, only to find the couch empty. The blanket lies discarded across one arm and Emma is gone. It sends a spike of panic through him, harder than he thought possible.
He runs to his bedroom, his heart nearly beating out of his chest, and bursts through the door only to find her right there, wrapped in his comforter, fast asleep.
He sighs and slowly makes his way over to her and sits down on the mattress. He wants to let her sleep, but he also needs to reassure himself that she’s here, and she’s all right, and it’s wreaking havoc inside him.
She opens her eyes as his weight dips down next to her. Closes them again briefly when his hand comes out to slowly rub her neck.
And then she opens them again and simply scoots back and draws back the blanket in invitation. And smiles.
There is absolutely no way he can not accept what is given in this moment. Her eyes shine and she nods as he toes off his shoes, and takes off his cargo pants, and slides in next to her.
Her hand comes back down, lets the blanket fall on them both, and they lie there, facing each other in the dim light that shines through the doorway from the living room.
His hand comes up to cup her cheek and she smiles again.
And then her hand wraps around his, pulls it down between them, and she kisses him softly, slowly. He doesn’t dare do anything other than kiss her back. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, doesn’t wrap his hand around her waist, doesn’t pull her close, because the intimacy of this moment - this moment of them lying here, together - is almost more than he can bear.
When she pulls back, she squeezes his hand.
“Sleep,” she says softly.
He kisses her again, just as slow and as soft, just to reassure himself that this is real. And then he smiles at her and closes his eyes and lets exhaustion take him.
-/-
“Lieutenant.” Regina’s voice is as inviting as an open grave.
“Commander.” Robin gives her a clipped nod and an eyebrow raised in question.
“Good work catching the Hacker.”
The commander looks thoroughly indifferent and he gets the feeling once again that Regina knew exactly who the culprit was, long before she tasked Robin with finding him.
Robin nods and waits. They’re in the maximum security wing of Holding, standing in front of an impressive solid steel door. “We have a Capture. Rumored to have been part of Gold’s inner circle. Right from the beginning.” Regina’s words are clipped and sharp and Robin realizes that the fact that he is here, part of this interrogation, is not the commander’s decision at all. Regina doesn’t want him here, does not want anyone here. She must have been ordered to include him.
No wonder she is livid.
“What’s our objective?”
Regina looks at him as if he had suggested they sing to the prisoner. “Your objective, lieutenant ,” she makes it sound as if he were a lower life form, “is to observe. And give a psych assessment of the subject afterwards.”
Robin nods again, and Regina holds up her wrist. The door slides back.
.
Inside the cell, on a regulation cot, is what is left of what once must have been a formidable and quite beautiful woman. Her eyes are sharp and her gaze is quite lucid, but her entire body is shaking and twitching like a dusthead on the tailspin of a comedown. Her shoulders are trembling so hard, her teeth chatter.
Yet even in the throes of extreme physical withdrawal she somehow holds herself straight and rigid. She has mettle. And willpower. More than some of his soldiers. It’s impressive, actually.
As well as thoroughly useless.
No accurate psych eval could possibly be conducted with her in this condition.
He turns to Regina. “I can’t make an assessment like this. She’ll go under in 15 minutes tops, and then she’ll be unresponsive until the dust has cleared her system. 24 hours at least.”
Regina isn’t listening.
She is frozen, her eyes glued to the prisoner, who at that moment sits up even straighter and sighs.
And then smiles. Her smile is an unsettling combination of calculating and demanding and--- tender? It makes shivers run down Robin’s spine.
And then the prisoner speaks. Her voice is smoother than silk. And absolutely poisonous. “Regina.” Her smile grows even wider. The tenderness has disappeared - if ever it had been there to begin with. “It is so good to see you again, daughter.”
Robin chokes.
-/-
He is ripped from his dreams when he feels Emma next to him bolt upright.
The first pale rays of dawn sunshine filter through the window and he can’t remember his dream, but he can still feel the warmth of it, the contentment. In it he was utterly and completely happy. A feeling he has never had.
Then he looks over at Emma and sees she is busy pulling down her t-shirt to examine her shoulder. She has her bandage ripped halfway off before he can stay her hand and stop her.
“What are you doing?”
Emma returns his questioning gaze with one of her own.
“I should be much more immobile.” Her voice is carefully neutral. “I should be in pain .”
She shakes off his hand and rips her bandage away in one determined motion. The bullet hole is puckered skin, not even very red. Her eyes grow wide and perfectly round as she looks up at him, thoroughly confused.
“What is this?”
Killian sighs. “Do you know what nanobots are?”
“A myth people on the lower levels tell each other when they talk about Above. Something to do with healing?”
Her brow is furrowed and he smiles. “They’re not a myth. The short version is that you can inject them into any wound and they’ll do the healing for you. Stitch you back together on a molecular level.”
Emma rips her t-shirt up and looks at her belly.
The stitches are gone and the scar is a line, thin and white and innocuous.
“You injected me with robots?” Emma’s breath becomes fast and shallow and he puts a hand on hers, goes back to loosely clasping her wrist and rubbing her pulse point.
“They’re not robots. They have no AI. They have a lifespan of 36 hours, after which they get filtered out through your kidneys. And all they do is promote tissue growth and stave off infection.”
“Is this--- is this common practice up here?” Her voice is hesitant, unsure.
“For serious injuries. And different kinds of people.”
Emma’s eyes narrow. “So not common practice. More like a special circumstance.”
“Well,” he’s actually squirming, “they’re not that easy to manufacture, so we tend to only use them when---”
“You yelled at him.”
“What?” He looks at Emma, chewing on her lip, a faraway look in her eyes.
“The doctor, at the hospital. When I woke up. Your voice was so angry.” Her brow furrows again. “You told the doctor to give me the….”
“Nanobots. Yes.” He moves his hand, folds his fingers between hers. “Emma. You have given enough. Do you hear me? Enough. It was the least I could do.”
She looks at him for a long time, still biting her lip. Finally she looks down at their intertwined hands.
“I don’t know what to say.” It’s a whisper.
He smiles again. “You don’t have to say anything. You owe us nothing. You owe me nothing.”
She looks up and nods.
And then leans forward and hugs him.
Hugs him.
*
Thank you so very much for reading!
we kill the flame -- CH 7
SUMMARY:
Earth, 2123.
A city striving to escape a bleak future. A crime lord who wants to bring it to its knees.
An agent and a fugitive, thrown together by chance on a mission to free the city and save themselves.
Piece of cake.
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| CH 1 | | CH 2 | | CH 3 | | CH 4 | | CH 5 | | CH 6 | | AO3 |
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A/N: Hey, remember that vein of fluff i struck with my last two outings? This is not it. Here be battle aftermath and covert ops and chess pieces moving. (Metaphorically. There’s no actual chess.)
Also this chapter was a bitch to write, so i made myself feel better by shamelessly ripping off one of my favorite firefly quotes. It is entirely @ohmightydevviepuu's fault. (She makes up for this by asking me impossible questions, all of which are incredibly helpful.)
And guys - the reason you even *have* a chapter - AND a rest of this story! - is @profdanglaisstuff. Who is too awesome for words. No, really.
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If you want on or off this tag list, let me know! (And seriously - if it’s ‘off’ please don’t worry. Absolutely no hard feelings.)
@mariakov81 @stahlop @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @captainsjedi @toomanyfandomstochoosefrom @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @mayquita @ohmightydevviepuu @sals86 @karenfrommisthaven @kmomof4 @kday426 @superchocovian @jennjenn615 @facesiousbutton82 @suwya @spartanguard
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“Lieutenant Locksley. Come in.”
Commander Mills is an imposing figure by sheer virtue of the fact that she looks impossibly coiffed and fashionable in standard uniform gear. Robin has never seen anyone in command emphasize their grooming to this degree. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in her clothes, not a smudge in her makeup. But her style is neither an emphasis on her gender nor a featuring of her looks; it is neither sexual, nor sensual, nor vain.
It is battle armor.
Robin takes a seat, and waits.
Regina pushes a button on her terminal, and every piece of electronic equipment in the room - save for the desk lamp - goes dark. A low beep sounds.
Only then does she speak. “Lieutenant. Do you know why you’re here?”
Robin looks around the dead room, dark and silent and ominous, at his watch which no longer glows and his handheld which is dark and unresponsive, and then lets his eyes wander back to the woman before him. “No, Commander Mills. But it seems to be something off the books.”
Regina nods. “Black bag. You and I are the only two people who know about this.” She looks straight at him, face wiped clean of expression save for her burning eyes. “The only two people. Do I make myself clear?”
“If this leaks, it wasn’t you.” Robin’s eyes have not relaxed a fraction. Neither have hers.
“Precisely. It’s good to see that reports of your intelligence have not been exaggerated. So far.”
Alarm bells go off at the back of his head, but he shuts them out. “What do you need me to do, Commander?”
“Ahhh.” She smiles. It is a baring of teeth. “It’s a delicate task. One for which I will need your complete cooperation.”
The alarm bells turn into sirens. “You’re the CO of all law enforcement. Cooperation is what you have.”
“So it is.” Her voice is silky. And dangerous. “Give me your wrist, lieutenant.”
It is a direct order by a superior officer and so he extends his arm despite the klaxons ringing in his head. She removes a small clicker from a desk drawer, points it at his chip and presses a button. Another low beep sounds.
“There,” she lets go of his arm again. “Now your chip is linked to mine.”
Robin nearly bolts out of his chair. It is an extreme invasion of privacy. He knows that indignation and displeasure are registering even on his schooled features.
“Not all of it,” Commander Mills placates. “Not your personal records, of course, or your private archives. Just your official working life, as it were. Missions, tactical, locations, contacts.”
“You’re putting me under surveillance?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I just need to keep track of your officials, for the record. Because you will go on an undercover investigation for me. Into our own police force.”
It sounds much too cloak and dagger, and besides-- “We have Internal Affairs for that, Commander.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Oh, lieutenant, if only.” Then she leans forward. There is a spark of obsession burning in her eyes.
“Lieutenant Locksley,” she holds up her right wrist, “someone hacked my chip.”
He can feel his eyebrows rise almost to his hairline. It’s impossible. The commander’s encryption was written specifically for her. The man who wrote it no longer lives in the city, and no one knows where he went. Some people say he was killed, some say he was farmed out to the country.
The commander lets the words sink in before she repeats them. She does have a flair for the dramatic.
“Yes, lieutenant. Someone hacked my chip. And you need to find out who.”
-/-
“Mills not an uncommon name.”
Killian’s fingers are calm and sure as he takes a piece of sling fabric from the med kit and methodically wraps it around Emma’s torso, pinning her arm against her ribs.
“Is this too tight?” His eyes are still worried and he’s very, very close. Emma shakes her head.
He ties off the fabric and gently probes the binding, watching her face for signs of discomfort. There are none. The sticky holds.
He’s still so close.
“I know it’s suggestive.” He leans back and she exhales. “But let’s not get carried away with conjecture. Especially not when we need to keep our minds focused.”
She nods. He’s right.
“Emma.” He looks straight at her, his eyes burning into hers. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
She moves her torso, twists herself around as much as possible. It’s cumbersome, but there is no pain.
“I’m good.”
He sighs and gets up, then holds his hand out to her. “Then let’s do this.”
.
Logic will tell you to start any abandoned search back at the beginning.
So that is where they have decided to start.
.
It takes them almost an hour to make their way back to the building where they first encountered Cora - hiding in doorways and darting across walkways and catwalks; making an enormous detour around the plaza full of bodies in front of The Rabbit Hole.
This time they enter through a busted service door in the back - Emma breathing painfully hard and her teeth digging grooves into her lower lip.
When the steel door falls shut behind them, Emma slumps onto the nearest step, leans forward on her one good arm, and spends long moments catching her breath. Killian crouches down in front of her and puts his hand on her shoulder.
“Emma,” he says, his voice low and so, so worried. “Emma, can you make it?”
She looks up and he looks seconds away from picking her up and running her back to the Needle. She places her hand on top of his and squeezes gently.
“Give me a sec. I got this.”
He’s watching her closely again, scanning her face, and she smiles at him to tell him she’s fine, when suddenly a voice drips down from the landing above them.
“My, my.” There’s a strange sound halfway between a cough and a chuckle. “What have we here.”
Killian’s entire body snaps to attention, and he’s on his feet before Emma has finished looking up. Cora comes into view at the top of the stairs, holding a gun.
In her shaking, twitching, jittery hands.
Emma can’t look anywhere but those hands.
“Oh, how I hoped you might come back for more,” Cora purrs, and slowly descends, trying to aim.
In a move that is practised and sure and faster than lightning Killian pulls a gun from his left side, and a dart with synthetic blue fletching buries itself right below Cora’s clavicle before she can even raise her own weapon halfway. Emma watches surprise spread across Cora’s features as she looks at the bushel of blue underneath her collarbone and then slowly, very slowly sinks down in a heap, unconscious.
Emma looks at Killian, who shrugs. “She was never going to listen to reason.” He gives her a small smile. “So I thought I’d take her out of commission first and ask questions later.”
Emma can’t help it. She laughs out loud.
And gets a real smile in return.
Then Killian picks Cora up in a fireman’s carry, hauls her back up the stairs, and kicks in the first splintered door past the landing. Emma follows him into an abandoned apartment, and Killian handcuffs both of Cora’s hands to the radiator underneath the window. Then he turns to Emma.
“I’m going to go and get the Needle. I’ll be back as fast as I can.” His eyes are large and he looks as if he would rather do anything but leave Emma behind.
She knows the feeling.
She does not want to be here alone.
Killian’s hand comes up to lightly rub across the sticky on her neck. “Can you watch her until then?”
Emma nods. Her voice is not working.
“Do you need another painkiller?”
She shakes her head.
“Are you sure?”
And again, she nods.
His hand moves to cup her cheek. “Please Emma. Say something.”
She clears her throat and rasps, “Hurry back.”
That is not at all what she wanted to say. She wanted to reassure him, tell him she was fine and not to worry about her, but he’s about to leave her behind in this unsecured space with a dust fiend for who knows how long, and she is afraid.
Whatever panic suppressant still sticks, it is no match for this fear.
She can feel her eyes fill with tears and she hates it. But she cannot stop it.
He strokes her cheek softly and then pulls out Cora’s gun.
“Here,” he says, and hands it to her. “If she gives you any trouble, any trouble at all, you shoot. Is that clear?”
“Shoot her?”
“Politely.” He grins and winks at her and once again, she can do nothing but nod, mutely.
Then he pulls a small handheld from his pocket, no bigger than the palm of his hand and thin as a wafer, chips in and then pushes the bottom corner with his thumb. When the red dot appears, he looks up at Emma and smiles.
“I am not taking my eyes off you, not for a second, OK?” He’s looking at her like this is as hard for him as it is for her. “I’ll go as fast as I can, and I’ll dock at that window.” He points to the window above Cora’s huddled form. “You hold on until then, Emma. Just hold on.”
She nods again. And then he simply leans forward and presses his lips to hers.
It’s fast and intense and soft and hard and desperate and gentle all at once.
His hand winds into the hair at the back of her neck and it’s impossible and perfect and reassuring and right , and then he pulls back and leans his forehead against hers.
He takes a long, shuddering breath.
And whispers, “I promise you, I am coming back.” He looks at her and his eyes are burning . “You be here when I do. You be here. ”
And then he is gone.
.
Emma stands there for a long, long moment.
Still feeling his hand on her skin and his lips on her own.
And everything inside her wishes he didn’t have to leave.
.
She looks around the room. This building was never one of luxury, even in the days of old, but this room….
It was so obviously well-loved once.
There’s a ratty, ugly, but perfectly comfortable-looking couch in the center of the room and two oversized chairs facing it, there are shelves with knick-knacks and books and picture frames, there’s a shaggy rug on the floor, and a wool blanket still thrown over the sofa backrest.
There’s at least a decade’s worth of dust on everything, but once this was a home - cozy and warm and lived in by someone who loved this place.
Someone who simply left one day and never came back.
Just like she did.
She walks over to the shelves and looks at the pictures. One face is in almost all of them - a woman with long brown hair and a wide smile. Who was she, this woman who loved actual, physical, paper books, and comfort more than style; and who managed to make a welcoming home from these walls and these floorboards?
Emma wonders if she and that woman share the same fate. Did she also watch, powerless, as her level was corrupted and supplanted and finally sacrificed? Was she also hauled out of her living room by Red Dragons and made to pick her destiny from impossible choices?
Did she perish somewhere on the streets she used to walk free, streets which became dark and dangerous and no longer hers? Does she sometimes think back and miss her living room as much as Emma does hers?
Tears start to slowly roll down Emma's cheeks as she looks at the couch and thinks of her own, collecting the same dust on L6, thinks of the weekends she spent cross-legged in those soft cushions, drinking tea and marking her students’ homework. Curled up with a handheld, reading. Watching sitcoms on the plasma sheet, from back when they still shot sitcoms in a studio somewhere Above.
They haven’t in years. Life is no longer so funny.
That thought makes her snort half a laugh and she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders.
This nostalgia is not useful.
She turns and sits down on the floor next to the radiator, facing Cora.
Who, at that moment, slowly opens her eyes.
-/-
“Scarlet, what the fuck have you done.”
The voice is a hiss as a fist grabs Will’s shirt front and pulls him into one of the Holding cells. A hard forearm is thrown across his jugular in a move which also neatly pins him to the wall, and Will sputters.
Lieutenant Locksley stares at him in pure, unadulterated fury. If it weren’t exceedingly hard to breathe Will would be very impressed with the efficiency with which the lieutenant just immobilized him. He stares back at Locksley as he tries to breathe, and rolls his eyes towards the right hand corner of the ceiling. Several times. With meaning. Until Robin finally gets the message and loosens his hold.
Will groans as he takes a few deep breaths while he unobtrusively pulls a small clicker from his pocket and pushes the top button twice.
Then he looks up at the lieutenant and grins his most obnoxious grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He doesn’t even see Robin’s right fist before it knocks him out cold.
When Will swims back up to consciousness he is lying on the cot in the corner, Robin slapping his cheeks. A little harder than necessary. Will sits up groaning and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.
“What the fuck mate?” He turns to face Locksley, lowers his hands, and blinks. “What was that for?”
Robin in turn looks torn between remorse and exasperation, and the latter wins out.
“Damn it, Scarlet,” he hisses, “you know exactly why I am here.” He leans forward, drops his voice to a whisper. “Did you hack the commander’s chip? Her fucking chip? ” He grips Will’s shirt front, pulls it towards him. “Have you gone mental?”
And then Will sees it.
There is fear in the lieutenant’s eyes.
Will’s jaw nearly drops. He has never seen Locksley afraid. He’s a man with excellent training and even better instincts who suffers no fools, and Will didn’t think he was capable of fear.
It makes a small frisson of worry shoot through his gut.
But not enough to back down.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He winks at Robin. “At all. Whatsoever.”
In the space of a second Locksley pulls Will up from the cot and slams him against the opposite wall. “I have exactly no time for you to play this stupid.”
Will tries to match his gaze in defiance, but it’s a heady thing, trying to stare down the lieutenant. Especially when you’re not holding any cards.
Finally Robin loosens his fist. “This is madness.” He takes a step back. “The Commander tasked me with finding out who did it.”
Will shrugs and Robin lets go of his shirt.
“So?” Will has never worked this hard at trying to sound unconcerned. “Make something up. You always do.”
“Will.” He can feel Robin’s sigh more than hear it. “Do you realize that what you have done is nothing, nothing like the favors the squad boys ask you to do from time to time?”
Will nods, mutely. He has never seen Locksley this serious.
“Dammit, Scarlet, you know what my official title is.”
He nods again.
“Then you know that I am the Commander of the Covert Ops division. And you have to realize that what you have done is such a massive breach of law and ethics that I cannot protect you from it, right?”
Will nods again. The time for obfuscation has passed.
“I know,” he sighs. “Robin, I know.”
“Fuck,” Locksley grinds out. “What on earth would compel you to do something this idiotic?”
Will smirks and raises an eyebrow in disdain. “I love a challenge. And there is no greater challenge in the city than her chip. None.”
“This is not a game!” Robin grips Will’s shoulders, shakes him again. “You did this for someone. Who put you up to this?”
“Can you fucking stop that.” Will groans and puts a hand to his temple and waits for Robin to let go of him. “Nobody put me up to it. I wanted to see if I could do it.”
“Liar.” There is something new in Robin’s voice now. Desperation.
Will doesn’t know what to make of it. But he does know how to play it.
“Fuck off.” He grins. “I wanted to see if I could do it. I can’t resist a challenge, and you know it.” He looks at Locksley again - at the fact that they’re in a blacked out room, at the fact that Robin came here alone, at the fact that he is not in handcuffs. Will smiles.
Robin rolls his eyes and sighs. “You’re lying,” he repeats. “But have it your way, Scarlet. I can give you 72 hours.”
Will nods. “That’s more than fair.”
“Do you need help getting out of the city? Do you know where you’re going?”
Robin wants him to flee. Will laughs out loud.
“You think I’m turning tail?” He shakes his head. “Where would I even go -- the Farms? You know I’ll die if I have to grow vegetables for a living. Without a signal to hack in sight.” He looks straight at Robin and doesn’t blink. “I’m not leaving.”
“You’ll be arrested. And tried for treason.” Robin grabs Will’s shoulders one more time. “For treason. That’s the chair.”
“I know,” Will yanks himself from Robin’s grasp. “But trust me when I tell you.” He leans forward, drops his voice to a whisper. “It will not come to that. It will never come to that.”
-/-
Emma watches as Cora groans, tries to lift her hands and realizes she is handcuffed to a radiator.
And goes berserk.
She gets to her feet and starts smashing the radiator and the wall and everything within reach with her shoes while trying to pull her hands through the cuffs, and then bangs her head against the window frame with a dull-knocking sound; and it’s a cacophony of kicking and screaming and blood welling up around her wrists, while Emma yells, yells at her to stop; but Cora doesn’t listen, just keeps on thrashing, and the noise alone will alert Dragons blocks away if Emma can’t---
She pulls out Cora’s gun, holds it up, and fires a shot into the air.
The recoil nearly makes her lose her balance. Especially since one of her arms is bound across her middle.
But Cora stops flailing. And laughs. It’s high-pitched and ugly.
“Never used a gun before, have you, tricksy.” It’s said with a glee that borders on delicious and the smile which goes along with it is chilling. “Which means you’re not one of my daughter’s sheep.”
The sentence lands like a bomb, and Emma’s ears ring for a moment.
“Aaaah.” The sound is pure satisfaction. “But I see you have met my daughter.”
Cora’s eyes narrow as she studies Emma’s face. Dust fiend or not, this woman is still very much playing with a full deck, and Emma suddenly recognizes similarities in the two faces. Regina Mills has the same nose, the same disdainful quirk of the mouth and the eyebrows, the same eye color, and the same hair. The woman in front of her is used and wilted, but she has the same arrogant bearing, the same self-assurance, the exact same way of pulling back her shoulders and lifting her chin.
It is unmistakable.
“So how is the Evil Queen of fucking Everything these days?” Cora laughs again. It sounds like a hacking cough. Emma shudders.
“And you might want to take your finger off the trigger for now, tricksy,” Cora points her chin to Emma’s hand. “Or you’ll shoot yourself in the knee.”
Emma puts the gun down next to her as if it were a live grenade.
“Much better.” Disdain drips from every one of Cora’s words. “Now let’s----”
“Commander Mills is from L3?”
“No.” Cora looks up at the interruption and shakes her head. "Commander Mills is from L4.” Her voice drops down to a menacing whisper. "Regina Mills is from L3. And I bet no one up there remembers.” Her hands start to shake a bit, but her voice remains steady. “Because that’s what you got in those days for abandoning your family and escaping Up - a place at the almighty Academy and promotions up all the ranks and finally command ---” the meance is pure hatred now, “over the city.”
Cora leans forward and catches Emma’s gaze with her watery eyes. “First rule of politics.” There is nothing left of her voice but a vicious hiss. "Any politics. The one who commands the armed forces is the one in charge.”
Cora grins. It looks unhinged. “Want to know what the second rule is?”
Emma nods, fascinated against her will.
“Never take your eyes off the handcuffs.”
Cora’s hands slice up past the radiator as the cuffs fall from her wrists, while Emma tries to get up, hampered by her injured arm, and Cora launches herself at Emma, twists her around and gives her a powerful kick to the kidneys.
Emma flies and lands sprawling, face down, on her wounded shoulder, and screams. The pain goes right through the sticky, and it is excruciating.
“Hush, tricksy, you’ll attract all kinds of undesirables.” Emma wills herself to stop screaming and above her she can hear Cora’s laugh again. “Or scream. Either way, I think that’s my cue to leave.”
And then Emma hears glass splintering to her right and Killian’s voice, as cold and detached as she has ever heard it, say, “Take one more step and I will shoot you.”
“You won’t shoot me, agent. You want me alive.”
Killian’s voice drops an octave. “My mission is to retrieve you. Alive was never stipulated as a necessary condition. Now drop your gun.”
Emma tries to turn her head, but she can’t move without the pain making her nauseous. She can hear a hesitant footstep, and then a bullet buries itself into the floorboards on her left.
Killian now sounds absolutely calm. “The next one will go to your head, but please, feel free not to believe me.”
“Fine, agent. You win.” Cora’s voice is nothing but a snarl.
“Good. Put down the gun and kick it over to me.”
Emma hears something heavy sliding across the floor, and Killian’s voice, still calm and collected. “Now, pick up the handcuffs and----”
And then all Emma hears is a pair of heavy boots landing hard, and a scuffle of limbs, and then something heavy hitting the floorboards with a thump and a groan of pure pain.
And Killian’s voice, hard as flint, as he says, “Move and you die. Do you hear me?”
There’s a muffled grunt of acquiescence.
.
And then his arms very gently lift her up into a sitting position.
“Emma?”
His voice could not be more different from the cold steel it held before. His hand rubs down her back and his eyes are so anxious and his shoulders are so tense, and he’s here, he is here , he came back , and---
Emma can’t fight any more.
She leans forward and puts her head on his chest and cries .
*
Thank you for reading, all of you. ALL OF YOU. ❤️