Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas rattling in my head!

Thunk.

Emma and Killian jerk away from their respective laptops, only to be faced with two matching sets of disapproving glares. "Honestly," Granny tuts, peering at them over the rim of her glasses and making Emma feel unexpectedly guilty. "If the two of you are going to spend the whole night doing research, you might as well do it correctly."

"You didn't even twitch when Granny was making the sandwiches," Liam marvels, and nudges the plates forward. "And they smelled so good. Hurry up and eat before she gets mad."

"Sorry Granny," Emma says sheepishly, ducking her head and reaching for the sandwich. She feels even worse when she realizes it's pastrami – her favorite. Her stomach grows and yeah, she was definitely hungry. She takes a few bites until Granny's glare softens into fond tolerance and she bustles out of the flat, muttering something uncomplimentary about workaholics.

Liam peers over his father's shoulder. "What's so interesting about the case that you – " His brow furrows. "Census records? Why census records?"

Killian gestures to the computer screen and barely manages to avoid getting his sandwich everywhere. "Because of all the things Gold cannot fake, it's census and immigration records. We know he's a US citizen now, but that accent of his gives him away."

"If he came here with anyone, the census and immigration records will tell us their names. Gold went after me when I started poking after his son, so we know it's a step in the right direction," Emma explains.

Liam's skin goes ashen, and his hand tightens on Killian's shoulder. "Gold had Detective French shoot you when you found out he had a son. What is he going to do when he finds out you're digging even deeper? He could come after you again, Emma. He could come after both of you."

Killian opens his mouth but Emma beats him to it, holding one hand out to the teenager. Liam hesitates for a moment, before he comes forward and takes it. "I know I can't promise anything because what we're doing is definitely dangerous," she says softly. The look on his face is exactly the same as the one he had when she was in the hospital, and she hates that she's put it there again. This time, it's even worse because now she's not the only one on the line. "But Gold needs to be brought down. I promise you that your father and I are being as careful as possible."

"Which is why we're going through these records one at a time rather than doing a search." Killian grimaces, his rings making a metallic clang each time he taps the keyboard. "We don't want to send off any alerts in case Gold is monitoring the databases."

"He can do that?"

"Better safe than sorry, right?" Emma asks ruefully, squeezing his hand. "Trust us, okay? And if we follow up on leads you can be sure that we're going to do that carefully as well."

He exhales slowly. "I trust you to watch Dad's back, Emma. Just like I trust him to watch yours. Just…be cautious, okay?"

"Of course."

"Okay. Well, I'm going to bed." Liam gives her a quick hug before turning back to his dad, who's been watching the entire exchange with a fond expression. "Good night."

"Good night, lad." Killian ruffles that head of brown curls and pushes him gently towards the stairs. "Now, let us work!"

Emma watches Liam over shoulder before turning back to Killian. "You've got a good kid there, Jones."

"Why thank you, Swan. You've a pretty good one yourself. They're both strong lads with big, caring hearts."

"I can't exactly take credit for Henry," she says somewhat wistfully. "That's all Regina." The more she's gotten to know Henry, the more she wonders what life would have been like if she hadn't given him up. He wouldn't have even half of what he has now with Regina, but she can't help but think about lazy weekend mornings eating scrambled eggs and drinking hot chocolate with cinnamon, or nights spent whipping each other's butts at video games.

"The lad's more like you than you think, Swan."

She polishes off the last of her sandwich. "Thanks, Jones. That's probably one of the nicest things anyone's ever said about me." She points sternly at their computers. "Now. Back to work."

They get their first break around midnight. "I've got it!" Emma crows triumphantly, hardly able to believe her eyes. She's been staring at the computer screen for so long she thought she'd been seeing things. "Killian, come here."

He nearly upends his chair in his haste to see what she's found. "What, what is it?"

"1978 immigration records," she announces. "I have one Kieran Gold and his wife, Bethany Gold."

"A wife, but no son?"

"No, apparently it was just the two of them, so I'm going to assume he was born after they came to the US."

He frowns. "Well, he certainly doesn't have a wife now, does he? Should we be searching death records?"

"I can do that, if you move on to the 1980 census records." She checks her watch, fighting back a yawn. "Not tonight, though. I think I should be getting back."

"Nonsense Swan, I have a spare room. Just stay here for the night and go to yours in the morning. Both Liam and I would feel much better about it."

She really feels like she should make a token protest – she's not exactly helpless and she can take a cab if she really needs to, but there's definitely a headache brewing behind her eyes from all the research and it would be nice to go to sleep right away rather than in half an hour.

"Ruby will make breakfast," Killian offers and really, how can she say no to that?

"Fine, you convinced me," she laughs, turning her head and oh. He's much closer than she thought he was. Her eyes flick down to his lips and she wonders what would happen if she just leaned forward and kissed him. She cannot deny how often she's thought about that kiss in the alleyway, let alone his confession-

Killian clears his throat. "My eyes are up here, Swan." He gives her an exaggerated leer. "Though I'm not averse to a goodnight kiss."

"Hmmmm. Keep dreaming," Emma retorts. She can feel the heat rising to her cheeks at being caught.

"Emma darling, you have no idea what I dream about." His voice pitches low and something hot unfurls in her stomach at the sound of her name spoken like that.

"Something perverted, no doubt." She tries for a joking tone but it comes out more breathless than she'd like. Killian chuckles and leans in closer, bracing his hand on the table on her other side.

"I highly doubt you'd think so. Would you care to wager on it?" He's just a whisper away now and oh does she want this, so very badly.

But there's something niggling at the back of her head. It's not the right time, not yet. Gold's case is still too big, too all-encompassing for her take those final steps forward. So she softens her voice in apology. "No bet. Not tonight, at least."

Killian glances down and away. "All right, Swan. Not tonight." But still he leans forward to brush a kiss along her temple, before leaning the rest of the way to gather up their plates and glasses. They move in easy, companionable silence, with Emma packing up their files and powering down their laptops.

"There should be plenty of spare towels and toothbrushes in the bathroom, and the sheets are clean. Do you need something to sleep in?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

"Well. Till tomorrow, Swan."

She smiles. "Till tomorrow, Jones."

Emma scowls at the paperwork beside her desk. Honestly, if Killian would just give her a hand with it every once in a while it wouldn't get so out of control, but he always manages to find an excuse (usually writing) not to turn up. Funny, when he's constantly popping up and asking for cases because he has writer's block.

Her phone rings and wouldn't you know it, it's the man himself. Still, she can't help but smile as she picks up. "What, Jones?" she drawls.

"Tell me you need me."

The smile slides right off her face. "What?"

He explains – he's with Gran at the bank getting a new loan for the diner and is bored out of his mind, so she's only paying him half her attention when he starts theorizing that the bank's about to be robbed.

However, the shout of, "Everyone get down on the floor!" grabs her full attention. "Leroy! 1030 on at Amsterdam Bank and Trust and Lex. Call dispatch."

He leans back in his chair to stare at her, eyebrows raised quizzically. "Since when do we do bank robberies?"

"Jones and Granny are there."

His jaw drops slightly and from the desk behind him, David is already up and putting on his jacket. "On it, Swan."

"Killian, listen to me." When did she get to her feet? Her free hand is pressed flat to the surface of her desk and it's like it's the only thing keeping her upright. "How many are there?"

"Three." He swallows. "Make that four."

A new voice comes over the line and everything inside her turns to ice. "Sorry, Frank can't talk right now."

Her fingers curl into a fist. "I wouldn't worry about him, I'd worry about yourself. I've got squad cars on the way."

There's a brief scuffle on the other end of the line as the robber berates Killian and Emma squeezes her eyes shut and prays she hasn't gotten him killed. "Listen to me," she snaps. "So far nobody has been hurt and nothing has been stolen. If you leave the same way you came in, you can just disappear."

The robber chokes back a sound of disbelief. "You promise not to come looking for us?"

"I don't look, I hunt," Emma says flatly, allowing the ice to bleed into her voice. "And trust me, you don't want that. So leave now and this will be a tiny little article in the metro station."

"Sorry sweetheart, I'd rather make the front page." The line goes dead. Emma tries calling back, but to no avail.

Emma stares down at the phone in her hand. Her mouth twists. "Let's go," she tells David and Leroy.

At the site, she sends David off to check for any information with his old buddies at the Emergency Services Unit, while Leroy goes to check if any recent robberies match the M.O. here. That leaves her twiddling her thumbs until she's inexplicably called back to the mobile command station where only moments ago she'd been summarily dismissed.

Peterson gives her a fleeting look from over his shoulder. "Tell me, Detective. What were you thinking?"

"I was just trying to help out, sir," Emma starts, confused. She needs something to do otherwise she's going to go crazy thinking about Killian and Granny in there – oh god, what is she going to tell Ruby and Liam?

"What, by charming a bank robber?"

The question has her drawing up in surprise. "What?"

"We established contact but he only wants to talk to you." He looks like he's swallowed something sour. "You wanted in? Well, you're in."

This is not what she meant by help. "No sir, I don't have any training in hostage negotiations." There had been a few lectures and scenario plays at the academy but that was the extent of it. She's certainly not qualified to get on the phone, not when she feels like wringing the robbers' throats for putting her partner in danger.

"Well, I don't have time to give you a seminar, so think of it as the opposite of your homicide training. Don't yell, don't bully, and never threaten him in any way. Hostage negotiation is about keeping your suspect calm." When Emma doesn't respond, his brows lower. "Detective, are you up for this?"

Emma can't help but run her mind over every possible way that this can go wrong, but there's no turning back. She has to do this for Killian and Granny. She removes her jacket. "Absolutely."

The first attempt doesn't go swimmingly. She tries to build a rapport with the man she spoke with, who calls himself Trapper John. This guy clearly knows what he's doing, because he calls out Peterson's playbook. All she's left with is a threat to follow his lead or he'll kill hostages, starting with Killian. His demands are the usual: immunity, transport out. She can't get any information on what's going on inside.

But then Killian, that wonderful idiot, somehow starts flashing Morse code onto the bank's ceiling where it's caught by the outside cameras. It gives them their first solid lead: a safety deposit box the robbers are fixated on.

David and Leroy are sent to investigate, only to find that one of the box's owners has been dead for years and the other one has been recently killed, most likely for the key to the box. "I don't get it," Leroy mutters, talking to Emma on speakerphone from the victim's apartment. "This is a little old librarian. What could possibly be in her safe deposit box that would be worth all this?"

David shrugs. "Nazi gold, cold fusion, maybe a map to Atlantis."

Leroy punches his shoulder. "Hey, Castle junior. Could you maybe start thinking like a cop, please?

"I am," David retorts, wounded.

"Are you?"

"It had to be something huge that was worth killing for, right?"

Emma opens her mouth to respond, but then she catches sight of not only Liam and Ruby, but Henry in the crowd. "Dig up everything you can on the victims, all right? I have to go."

Ruby spots Emma right away and doesn't beat around the bush. "They're here, aren't they? I know Killian and Granny were coming here this morning-"

"Ruby-"

Then Liam's breaking in, looking perilously close to tears. "And now no one's answering their phones and Dad always takes my calls and you're here-"

"Listen," Emma interrupts, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Everything is going to be fine. But yes, they are inside." She glances over at Henry. "And what are you doing here?"

His lower lip juts out mutinously. "Liam and I were hanging out and I couldn't let them come here alone." His gaze just dares her to send him away.

"No argument here kid," Emma sighs, impressed with Henry's loyalty despite herself. "So long as your mom says it's okay."

"You're-"

"Your other mom." While he calls Regina, she turns back to Ruby and Liam.

"What can we do?" Ruby asks, visibly drawing from some inner well of strength. The tightness around her eyes betrays her worry, but she's clearly trying to keep it together for Liam's sake.

"Nothing. We're doing everything we can."

Liam breaks and his voice sails above that of the crowd, high and distraught. "You don't understand, Emma! I lost Mom, I can't lose Dad too!" His face contorts. "He's all I have."

Emma grabs his arms and hauls him against her as he cries, heedless to the police barrier between them. "Liam listen to me," she murmurs into his hair, trying her best to keep her own voice level. "I promise you, they're going to be okay. They will."

It takes away, but finally his sobs subside into sniffles. "Promise?"

"I promise," she vows.

One of the officers in the command center pokes his head out and shouts towards Emma. "Detective! Incoming call!"

Emma hands Liam over to Ruby and Henry. "I'll be back," she tells them before she jogs away.

Fifteen minutes later she's dressed up as a paramedic to retrieve a hostage who's had an epileptic seizure. This is their only chance to get some intel for the SWAT team, so she has to make it count.

She spots Granny and Killian right away, sees the recognition and relief on their faces, quickly masked. Killian, of course, is right beside the patient. "How's he doing?" she asks, kneeling beside the prone man.

"Not good," Killian says gruffly. "His name is Sal Martino. He has epilepsy. I believe the seizure was brought on by stress."

Emma leans over the patient, conveniently blocking the view of the robbers. "Hey Sal. Hey buddy, how're you doing? Sal, listen to me. I want you to know there are people out there that care about you, so just keep breathing." She reaches to Killian, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. He turns his head toward her, knowing that she's talking to him. "I promise you, I'm going to get you out of here."

She can't look at him. She can't give it away.

Killian's hand shifts in her grip and suddenly they're holding hands. He squeezes her fingers in wordless reassurance and she feels a piece of paper on his palm. A note.

"Hey, don't talk about it, be about it. And you, talker, help get him on that gurney, now!" Trapper John shouts, breaking the spell.

Emma barely remembers leaving and handing off Sal to the real paramedics, but her mind clears quickly enough when she opens the note from Killian and reads what he's written inside: C4.

This time, when she calls the bank, the only thing she can think of is buying time for everyone inside. "Where's my bus?" Trapper John asks.

"The bus is on its way. It'll be there in 20 minutes."

There's a pause, and then: "A hostage will be dead in two."

"No!" Emma shouts. "Nobody needs to die, okay? It's coming, it's just stuck in traffic," she lies desperately.

"We have rules, Emma. I said I wouldn't kill anyone if you got me a bus. I lived up to my end of the dead." His voice is now deathly calm. "I warned you not to jerk me around. Now, I was clear about the consequences. Do I need to prove how serious I am?"

A gunshot goes off over the phone and Emma has to bite her lip to keep from crying out. "What was that?"

"A warning shot, Emma. The next one's for the kill."

There's a commotion in the background and Emma hears Granny's voice clear as day. "Don't you touch him, you son of a bitch!"

Killian. In the same breath, she can hear him shouting. "Hold her back, lads! I've got this!" Granny's shouts only get louder in the face of the danger facing him. Emma always knew Granny was a formidable lady, but it's one thing to know and another thing to witness.

Trapper John speaks into the phone, his voice a thin, reedy snarl. "I'm going to make pretty red stains out of your boyfriend, Emma. I got my gun to his throat and I'm going to paint a Jackson Pollock with his insides."

"You need to calm him down-" Peterson begins, but Emma's not having any of it.

"Listen to me, jackass. I do not control traffic, so give me 20 minutes!"

"You get one."

Her hand comes down on the control panel, making everyone in the room jump. "No, I've got 20, do you hear me? Because if you pull that trigger I will walk through those doors and personally put a bullet through your head." As the words pull themselves from her mouth she knows it's no threat, but a promise.

A slight chuckle comes down the line and all the tightness goes out of her shoulders. "Okay, Emma. You've got 20 more minutes."

Peterson laughs and rubs his forehead. "Well, that's one way to negotiate."

SWAT team gears up and Emma's still talking with David and Leroy, trying to put together the missing pieces of the puzzle. Something's not sitting right with her – why bring C4 to a bank robbery? How does their dead librarian figure into it? While she's puzzling it out, an explosion rocks the block.

No. He can't be dead. He can't.

Emma runs out into the street. The street is obscured by dust and debris, throwing everything into shadow.

When SWAT goes in, she's with them.

"Jones. Jones!" Her flashlight is out, braced beneath her gun. The lobby is completely deserted, no bodies to be seen. "JONES!"

"Swan!"

They're there, all of them, in the safety deposit box room, sitting bound on the floor. The moment Killian sees her, he brightens and waves, his hands tied with plastic zip ties. "They're here!" she yells out to the SWAT team.

She goes to her knees in front of Killian. Relief makes her lightheaded and strips all her walls away. The smile that breaks across her face is full and free because Killian's okay. He's alive. Fear for him, fear for his life pushed her to the very edge and reminds her just how very precious he is to her.

Killian's eyes scan her face and he lights up in return, his gaze softening from sheer joy to something deeper and more permanent. Everything around them fades into the dust, leaving just the two of them in the moment.

"How are you?" Emma asks softly, smoothing out his jacket. There seems to be something more creeping beneath those simple words, some meaning that is just out of reach-

"He's not the only one here, you know," Granny interjects, waving her hands pointedly.

Emma coughs and breaks Killian's gaze. "I'm so sorry, Granny." She gives Killian a rueful smile and he lets his head fall back against the wall, disappointed by the interruption.

He covers his disappointment as they leave the wreckage of the bank, joking, "Even as a hostage I help you fight crime. Swan, I think you've found the perfect partner."

It's Emma, so he expects her to snort and brush it off. Instead, he's floored when she turns to him with a soft, teasing smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "Huh. Maybe I do."

Killian reaches for her hand, wondering if she'll allow the touch-

"DAD!" Liam breaks through the police barriers and runs full tilt at Killian, nearly knocking him off his feet as he slams into him. Ruby and Henry are not far behind him, and Ruby launches herself at her grandmother.

"Here now, what's this?" Killian asks, smoothing Liam's curls back from his face. He's shocked to see the tears running tracks through the dust smudged on his face. "Tears for your old man?"

"The bomb," Liam stutters, hands trailing over his father's face as though to check everything is in one piece. "When it went off, I thought for sure that you were-" He can't bring himself to voice the horrible possibility of what could have been, if the bomb had been meant for the bank and the hostages rather than to cover the robbers' escape.

Killian murmurs to him, soft, lilting words in Irish that make Liam shudder and relax, boneless against him. Emma finds herself winding an arm around Henry's shoulders, tugging him to her in an absent, affectionate gesture.

Ruby lets out a watery laugh, letting go of Granny to reach out and muss Killian's hair. "You really had us worried there punk, you know?"

"Between Swan and I, how could you ever have any doubt that we would make it through?" he asks in return, winking at Emma and Henry.

"I knew you and Emma could do it," Henry says confidently, nestling even closer to Emma. "You guys are the best team."

"That's what I said!"

Liam finally manages to peel himself away, wiping at his face with the backs of his hands. "I'll never doubt the two of you again." This time, he's launching himself at Emma, and Henry barely has time to squirm away. "Thank you," he whispers into her vest. "You kept your promise."

Emma glances up to find Killian watching the two of them. "Always."

"And what am I, chopped liver?" Granny demands, hands on her hips. "I was in there too, you know."

"Granny, you're just not allowed to be anywhere but the house and the diner," Liam mumbles, coming over for yet another round of hugs.

"Speaking of the diner, why don't we head over there once everyone's finished with checkups and debriefings and whatnot?" Ruby suggests. "I, for one, would be very happy just to have everyone under the same roof and stuffed with food." She glances over at Emma. "Will you be able to get away?"

Emma looks over to the mobile command center. "I think so." She knows from experience that the paramedics will want to check all the hostages over, and everyone will be required to make a statement to ESU. But this time, the paperwork can wait.

Besides, she is craving some hot chocolate with cinnamon.

Mary Margaret's door flies open before Emma can even raise her hand to knock. "Oof!" she grunts as what seems like twenty pounds of bricks hits her right in the gut. She staggers a little bit and tries not to drop the bricks – which turn out to be bridal magazines – all over the floor. "What the hell, Mary Margaret?"

The woman in question rescues the bottle of wine dangling precariously from Emma's fingers. "Sorry, I got a little overexcited," she says as she walks back into the apartment to open the wine.

"No kidding," Emma says dryly, staggering in after her. Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline when she notices that every single magazine has been tabbed and earmarked to death. "I'm pretty sure you can't have all of this stuff at your wedding," she remarks as she flips through the one on top. "Don't you and David want it to be small, anyway?" David's father died when he was a kid, and his mother died while he was in the academy. Mary Margaret only has her father, and neither of them have siblings.

"No, but that doesn't mean I can't have pretty things that make me feel happy, right?"

"True." Emma accepts the wineglass and taps it against Mary Margaret's. "You want it by the lake, don't you?"

David and Mary Margaret met by the lake in Central Park responding to the same call. Mary Margaret had mistaken David for a mugger rather than a detective, and knocked him out with one punch to the jaw. He still carries the scar, but acknowledges that it could have been worse: she could have pushed him into the lake.

"Yes, it would be ideal if we could have the ceremony at the lakeside and the reception at the boathouse." She makes a face. "That would be heinously expensive, though."

Emma politely refrains from pointing out that Mary Margaret's father is loaded and dotes on his only child. "Right, so what else have you bookmarked for me in here?" she asks. "Some puffy, ruffled monstrosity bedecked with ribbons, no doubt?" She dodges the pillow Mary Margaret aims at her head.

"Excuse you, I have impeccable taste," Mary Margaret sniffs. She grins mischievously. "But I do reserve the right to put you in something hideous if you piss me off."

"Noted." It's true that Mary Margaret does have excellent taste in just about everything, so Emma knows she won't mind whatever dress she ends up picking out. She definitely knows she'll end up wearing green. "So, are we paging through bridal magazines the whole night or are we watching a movie?"

"Bridesmaids?"

She snorts. "Are you expecting me to take notes? Oh, please tell me you're going to have a chocolate fountain at either the bridal shower or the actual wedding."

"I'd rather not. Leroy would end up glued to its side for the entire night."

True. The man was a chocolate fiend. "But maybe I should hire an Irish stripper dressed as a policeman for your bachelorette party," she muses.

This time, she gets a pillow right to the face.

Emma waits until everyone in the bullpen is occupied before she nonchalantly slides a folder across her desk towards Killian, who's playing Angry Birds on his phone. "Jones. Jones."

He squawks when a pencil bounces off his forehead. "What…Swan, I was just finishing that level! You completely threw off my trajectory."

"Too bad," she replies, rolling her eyes. She taps the folder. "Take a look at this."

Killian heaves a dramatic sigh. His petulance immediately disappears once he realizes what he's looking at. "Bethany Gold's death certificate?" He automatically lowers his voice, eyes darting around the room to make sure no one's paying attention to them.

"Yeah. I had to pretend I was looking for something else entirely at city records, but I guess I'll have to do that eventually, anyway. But see here, in 1985 Bethany Gold was the victim of a hit and run, probably a drunk driver. They never found the guy."

"1985?" He glances over the folder at her. "Didn't you say that Gold started working with Mo French and his other associates in the late eighties?"

Emma catches the thread of what he's implying. "You think his wife's death has something to do with the upswing in his criminal activities?"

He shrugs. "It could have been a possible motivator. Look, Detective French-" His voice catches, his eyes going stony at the mere mention of Belle. "All of her files on Gold seem to indicate there was nothing remotely criminal about the man until the late eighties, and you and I both know he came here in the late seventies. If he didn't come here intending to follow a life of crime, it stands to reason there was some sort of catalyst."

There are times when Killian's grasp of human nature and the thread of a story truly come in handy. It's true that there is no evidence Kieran Gold was any sort of criminal when he first came to the U.S. The death of his wife seems like a pretty good place to start. "Okay. We'll start looking into that, then. Have you been able to check the 1980 census for signs of his son?"

"There was nothing in the 1980 census, but I did find him in the 1990 census. One Bartholomew Gold, age nine years old."

"That's why you didn't find him in 1980, he was born the year after," Emma breathes. After so much painstaking research, it's nice to be rewarded. "Bartholomew Gold. Finally, a name and a date of birth."

"He wasn't in the 2000 census, so we're looking for some disappearance between 1990 and 2000. Perhaps you should be looking for another death certificate, Swan."

She's already formulating a plan for going back into the records. "You could be right. If Gold's son died and he had something to do with it, it stands to reason why he wouldn't like me poking my nose down that particular line of evidence." Emma's absolutely convinced that Bartholomew Gold holds the key to his father's secrets and she's even more determined to get down to the bottom of this. "Good work, Jones."

Killian grins. "I'm beginning to think there are very few mysteries we cannot solve, Swan. What do you say we tackle next, El Dorado? Aliens?"

Emma's phone rings, and it's Leroy. "Let's just stick to murders, shall we?" she says, putting the file away. "Come on, we have another case."

Emma's been taking her department mandated therapy sessions with Dr. Hopper regularly, and while she'd been resistant in the beginning, she's starting to come around. Dr. Hopper has a seemingly endless well of patience and doesn't seem to mind at all when she retreats behind her walls, whether she's talking about her shooting or her relationship with Killian. She's cautiously optimistic about the whole thing and is counting down the days until she can stop.

But then the sniper case happens and everything she's gained is sorely rested. She should have realized it was trouble from the moment she saw the bullet in Sarah Vasquez's chest. The bullet was in the same exact place where she was shot only months before.

She doesn't notice the stress and anxiety taking its toll, not at first. This isn't like the Hamptons, where she was sleepless and wandered the beach at night. This terror takes her completely out of the moment, shivering and jumping at every sound and shadow. In her mind, it's a reminder that someone out there is looking to finish the job that Belle started. Every time she touches her scar she remembers the burn of the shot and Killian's frantic shouts as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from her chest. It gets to the point where she can hardly bear to look at the scar in the mirror.

Logically, Emma knows she's being ridiculous. A sniper shot Sarah Vasquez. She was not shot at point blank range like Emma was. And yet there's still something about the entire case that sets her off more than any other homicide she's investigated since her own shooting.

She refuses to believe that any of this is affecting her in an adverse way, even if Killian and the others keep giving her concerned looks.

But then she's standing over Henry Wyatt's body, jumping at every single flash of light around her. And in a city like New York, there's a lot of them.

"Do you see something, Swan?" Killian asks, but it sounds so very far away. The city noise presses in around her, blocking everything out as her eyes track every single minute movement out of the corners of her eyes. Someone's there, she knows it, someone's watching, waiting…

"Emma, are you all right?" Mary Margaret presses, breaking through all the white noise in her skull. From the way she's looking at her, she's repeated her name several times.

"Yes, I'm fine," she lies through her teeth. "I'm just trying to figure out why these two victims? Why shoot here?"

David has his back to them, scanning the surroundings. "Well, the victims might be random but the location isn't. A pro recons his target beforehand. If you're going to kill something from a distance it's not a point and shoot activity." His gaze goes distant too, sliding into the past and his tours in Iraq. "You factor in all the conditions, like range to target, minute of arc…and windage." He points to a green flag taped to a street sign. "This flag is a perfect wind gauge."

"That can't be a coincidence," Killian mutters.

A nearby squad car blips and Emma dives for cover. Killian helps her to her feet and she brushes off his quiet enquiry. Her hands are shaking.

She makes time to see Dr. Hopper. There has to be something he can do. She paces in his office, describing her feelings ever since the case fell into her lap. When she finishes talking, she collapses into a chair and waits for him to talk.

"Emma, what you're describing – hyper vigilance – is a classic symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder."

Emma jerks ramrod straight, her nails digging into the padded arms of the chair. "I don't have PTSD, Dr. Hopper," she snaps. She will admit to having PTSD after the shooting, but to have it now, months afterwards?

Dr. Hopper sighs gently. "You were shot by someone you trusted. I think it's fair to say that the current case is going to bring up issues you still haven't dealt with."

"Fine," she snaps, just barely cutting him off. "I'll deal with them. But I just need to figure out how to make this stop so I can focus on the case."

"It's not going to stop, not without time and treatment. The psychological trauma is every bit as real as the physical trauma."

It's really not the answer she wants to hear. Emma slouches back and scowls at the ginger-haired doctor. "People are dying out there, Dr. Hopper. I don't have time to get weepy over a couple of scars." This weakness absolutely galls her, especially because it's not the same thing, not at all. "There has to be a pill or something, right? To take the edge off?"

He shakes his head. "Medication can help, of course, but not right away."

"Well, then what?"

Dr. Hopper removes his glasses and cleans them slowly, methodically. "Have you considered stepping away from this case?"

The thought has never even crossed her mind and she can't believe he's even bringing up. "You don't think I can handle this?" she asks, incensed.

"I'm saying you don't have to." He slides his glasses back on and looks at her calmly. "You're not the only cop in this city, Emma."

"Then I'm fine," Emma decides. She will be. She has to be. "See you later, Dr. Hopper."

The leads slip through her fingers and Emma feels herself spiraling out of control. All the crime scene photos have her flashing back to her own shooting and there's nothing she can do to keep the memories at bay. She's tense and on edge, fragile and shattering around the edges. She can't even appreciate the clues they've found, like the little paper dolls the sniper is leaving as a type of calling card.

When the third victim is shot all of Emma's control breaks. The woman is still alive, and her terrified pleas to stay indoors, away from the shooter are too much for Emma to hear. As the EMTs wheel her away, Emma runs for the nearest private place she can. Off go her jacket, her gun, and her badge, clattering to the floor as she gasps, doing everything she can to keep the breakdown at bay.

But the sobs come ripping through her throat and though she tries to brace her arms against the wall, her strength fails her and she tumbles to the floor, curled into a ball, small and broken.

When they return to the precinct, Emma feels like a mere shell of herself and listlessly follows David when he motions for her to follow him into a storage room. "David, what are we doing back here?" she asks tiredly. All she wants to do is forget the rest of the world exists.

"I want to show you something." He slowly removes a handgun from an evidence box, clear blue eyes watching her every move. He doesn't say anything when she flinches away from the weapon.

"What is that?"

"It's the gun that shot you."

Emma feels her stomach plummet to the ground. Of all the people – she never would have expected this from David. David's always had her back, has always watched out for her. "You are way out of line." Her voice comes out harsh, strangled.

David holds firm. "Just look at it," he coaxes, walking around the table towards her. Emma immediately scrambles in the other direction.

"No! What the hell are you doing?"

"I've been where you are, Emma. I know what you're going through."

Emma inhales sharply, trying desperately to hold it together. She doesn't think she can handle two breakdowns in one day. "David, I'm fine." She flinches again when David corners her and steps right into her space.

"You're not fine," he says with absolute certainty. "You're just trying to act like you are. This?" He motions to the gun. "Is just a tool. It's a hunk of steel. It has no magical powers and the person that fired it is not some all-powerful god. She was just a woman with a gun. Just like this guy we're chasing. And just like every other bad guy, he's damaged goods."

Damaged goods. "So am I," she confesses softly.

David catches her in a hug then, his free hand coming up to cup the back of her head. She leans into the touch and the pillar of strength he represents. "That's right. And that's okay. You think it's a weakness? Make it strength. It's a part of you."

She dissolves into tears but this time, they're healing.

In the end, they catch the sniper. Emma trudges back into the precinct, exhausted but in a good way. She made it through this. It gives her confidence that she can get through even more.

Her footsteps falter when she realizes Killian hasn't gone home, but is sitting in his chair waiting for her. "Hey," she murmurs, sliding into her seat. "What are you doing?"

"Just waiting for my partner," he says casually, glancing off to the side. "Maybe you've seen her. Beautiful woman, thinks she can leap tall buildings in a single bound, carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, yet still manages to laugh at some of my jokes."

Something loosens inside of Emma and she unconsciously mirrors his movements, looking away and then back, a faint smile threatening at the corners of her mouth. "She sounds like a handful."

"Like you wouldn't believe," he groans theatrically. Then something funny happens: a faint blush tinges his cheeks. "She's worth it, though. Even if she does owe me, oh, a hundred coffees." He winks and stands.

"Jones?" Killian stops and turns back to her, questioning. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For…not pushing and giving me the space to get through this." He'd stood behind her the whole time, silent and strong. It means everything.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Always."

At her next therapy session, Emma tells Dr. Hopper everything that happened. "So how do you feel now that the sniper is dead?" he asks once she's finished.

Emma scans her hands, as if the lines there somehow hold all the answers. "I thought taking him down would resolve things, but…it's still here."

"Because you haven't fully dealt with what happened to you," Dr. Hopper prompts.

She shakes her head. "No…I felt it before the shooting. I think it's always been there. With Henry's birth, Graham's shooting, August's betrayal and death, now Gold…I let all of these situations define me and drive me. They've made me who I am, but now…"

He raises an eyebrow. "But now?"

"I want to be more than who I am. But I don't know if I know how to do that without compromising the part of myself that's always driving for…for justice." It's the first time she's ever truly articulated these feelings, let alone admitted to them. But she doesn't know how to be anything but what she is.

"Do you really think you're letting yourself down by letting this go?" Dr. Hopper asks gently, smiling. "That drive is a part of you, and you have to make peace with that, just like you're going to have to make peace with the scars from your shooting. But there's nothing limiting you…but you."

"How am I supposed to let go?" she whispers. She's clung to so much over the years…bitterness over Henry's father, grief from Graham, a broken heart from August…

"I can help you," Dr. Hopper promises. "But Emma, I have to ask. Are you ready?"

She thinks, truly thinks, about what he's asking. And the decision is so much easier than she ever could have imagined. "Yes, I think I am."

Please review!

I AM SO SORRY. But I've finally submitted my thesis! *sets off confetti cannon* And I'm using NaNoWriMo to finish up my WIPs, so expect some more chapters with less delay! I'm determined to finish this so I can move on to another CS multichapter that's been niggling at me for the last few months...

*EDIT* It has been pointed out that I already wrote a proposal scene (mea culpa, it's thesis brain!), so the Emma/Mary Margaret scene has been rewritten.