With a current population of less than 500 people, 'Storybrooke' is actually quite a fitting name for the picturesque little town on the coast of Maine where their latest haunt resides. Once dubbed 'The Sorcerer's Mansion,' the 17,000 square-foot property is perched high atop a hill and overlooks the main part of town. It's surrounded by lush gardens and offers some of the most spectacular views of the neighboring mountains and harbor.

Those are hardly the only interesting facts about it, though. In truth, it's been one of the most intriguing communities to research, but probably also one of the most nonsensical, being heavily rich in legends and tales of magic, both dark and light. In the past week alone, Emma Swan has read a plethora of stories about monsters and fantastical creatures that supposedly once plagued the area, lores of curses and clashes of power, and anecdotes of moonlit rituals and enchanted objects. All of which, she's come to find, straddle the line between myth and reality.

Myths are not her speciality, however, and magic not her true area of interest, but proving the impossible possible? That's much more her wheelhouse. As the lead investigator of Lost Souls Paranormal, Emma's sole and primary focus isn't unicorns or spellbooks, but ghosts and all of their variants - full-bodied apparitions, intelligent spirits, residual energy, poltergeist activity, shadow people, and demonic hauntings. Each episode of her show, Ghastly, catalogues her dabblings in the paranormal and challenges even the most skeptic of viewers to believe; believe in something beyond life, and beyond death itself.

Though it's her main job now, it wasn't for a very long time. She'd had to double up on shifts before, working as a bail bondsperson during the day to make ends meet, while hunting in every spare moment she could find with her team. It was a tough balancing act, but one she loved, and for a time that was enough.

Their persistence and hard work eventually paid off, and with just a bit of luck, they were given the opportunity to host a show on a new travel network. She was twenty-five at the start and promptly launched into the spotlight when the show amassed a hefty following in just under two seasons. Now, a year later, with Season 3 freshly premiered and scheduled to run weekly on tv through the Fall season, dozens of cases and mounds of evidence to their name, they are well into the filming of their fourth season of ghost hunting. She's living The Dream, as most teams in their field would sigh wistfully about, except now, the very network that took a chance on them and changed their lives, the network that she is so beyond grateful to, is also the same network that she wants to strangle.

"You're frowning again," Mary Margaret murmurs, singing the last word in her annoyingly sweet preschool teacher's tone, while she puts batteries into their EMF detectors.

Emma picks one up, checking Mary Margaret's work more out of habit than anything else. The detectors are devices that can pick up on electromagnetic fields that are emitted by charged moving objects, or specifically in their line of work - it can pick up on the possible presence of ghosts. Emma adjusts some of the settings, making a mental note to remind the audience about that at some point during their investigation.

When she puts the gadget back on the table, she rolls her eyes at their Equipment Tech. There are several retorts she has in mind for that 'frowning' sentiment, all of them impolite, but before she can comment, Mary Margaret's husband and fellow investigator on their team, chimes in from her left.

"I don't know, I'd say it's more of a scowl."

Emma shoots David a glare, eyes narrowing sharply against her mounting irritation.

"Oh, same thing," his wife replies, shrugging and moving on to examine more of the equipment they'll be using on the lockdown later that night.

David makes a noise of disagreement, fiddling with several of the walkie talkies and earning a slap to the hand for his curious fingers. Mary Margaret snatches the gadgets away, putting them out of reach and back into their neat little rows. He smiles sheepishly at the look on her face and the warning finger she points at him.

"All I'm saying is that not all frowns are created equal, Mary Margaret, and Emma's-"

"Is grumpy about the network insisting on a joint segment with the Boo Brothers & Co. for the Halloween special they pitched?" Granny, their resident medium, wonders as she steps into the large tent they've set up a temporary homebase in.

Once the lockdown starts, they'll move everything into the mansion, but while they film several establishing shots in the central part of the town and conduct interviews with some of the townsfolk to build history, their current setup in an alley on Main Street will have to do.

"Handsome men, aren't they?" Granny continues, plopping down into a nearby chair. Mary Margaret moves seamlessly, immediately getting to work on fitting her with her mic.

"The dreamiest," David mock-sighs, sending Emma a wink at her blatantly offended expression.

"Granny," Mary Margaret chides.

"What? I may be old but I still have eyes, and just because you're married now doesn't mean you don't have them either-"

"Granny!" This time David is the one insulted, but the elderly woman simply waves him off dismissively.

"Besides, I think those men are just what we need to spice things up around here-"

"Not helping," Mary Margaret singsongs again, nodding her head at Emma and doing a poor job of hiding the way she mouths 'grumpy' at Granny.

"I am not grumpy," Emma argues, and she hopes her voice doesn't sound as defensive as she feels.

"Maybe a little grumpy," Elsa, their Audio/Visual Specialist, speaks up, peeking her head out from beneath the table where she'd been busy plugging in their monitors.

"I'm not grumpy!" Emma exclaims, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "I just don't understand why they wanted to do it. Our shows, methods, and audiences are so completely different-"

"That might be the point," Elsa shrugs, delicate hands resting on her hips. The way she angles her head at Emma gives her a strangely regal appearance. "Look, despite your differences, you and Killian are the lead investigators on two of their most popular shows. Now, if I was the network, and I wanted to boost ratings and viewership just in time for Halloween, what would be the most obvious thing I'd do?"

Emma rolls her eyes again. "Yeah, but I still don't have to like it."

"No," Mary Margaret agrees, walking over and stepping behind her to clip the battery pack of her body microphone onto her jeans. "But you do have to play nice."

And maybe that was the issue. She didn't want to play nice. Killian Jones wasn't just good-looking, he was beyond charismatic, and the biggest problem was that he knew it. In fact, they all did. They were all the same cookie-cutter big personalities that were incredibly easy on the eyes, and they capitalized on it. It was a huge part of the recipe that made them and their show an instant success, while the rest of them, mere mortals by comparison, had been forced to work their way up from the bottom. They visited sites and used equipment on their own dime, year after year, filming hours upon hours of footage, and sometimes, coming up with only one or two solid pieces of evidence. Sometimes, coming up with nothing.

But then the Englishman waltzes onto the scene - obnoxious, boisterous, an irritating flair for the dramatic. Add in the smolder, the dimples, the over expressive eyebrows that seemed to have a life of their own, and it was a lethally winning combo. His rise to ghost hunting fame took all of six months once the network began their show, while it took Lost Souls Paranormal years of busting their asses and working alongside the most renowned professionals in the field before they could even build up enough credibility to be taken seriously.

She wouldn't call herself resentful pre se, but it's a near thing.

"Killian Jones is nothing but a bit of eye candy with a frat boy complex and an ego to match. Let's not pretend like the only reason they got popular wasn't just because they were pretty. He's a complete joke and so is his show-"

"You forgot to mention the accent, love."

Emma whirls around at the familiar, gruff voice and finds its owner standing beneath the open flap of their tent. The only reason she isn't horrified with embarrassment is because of how unfazed Killian appears by her less than pleasant assessment of him. The smirk on his face and the amused lift of his brow effortlessly raise her hackles, and something tells her that's entirely his point.

"The network loves it," he grins, dimples deepening in his cheeks.

"They certainly love to exploit it." A man emerges from behind Killian, taller, broader-shouldered, but eyes the same fierce blue and Emma recognizes him immediately as Liam, the elder Jones. Older and protective, if the look on his face is anything to go by.

Liam takes a wide stance and folds his arms across his chest. He appears about as excited as Emma is over this whole team-up between their two shows, and she probably would have taken some comfort in that if he didn't look to be sizing her up. The rest of their crew filter into the tent, three more men, all of them attractive, all of them magnetic. Men she recognizes by face and name only because she's made it a point to do her research, not because she hate-watched their show.

There's Robin, with his kind face and warm disposition, then Merlin, who somehow carries the weight of the world in his eyes but manages to retain a sweet boyishness about him, and lastly, there's Arthur, who, if his dark hair and light eyes weren't an indication, was related to the Jones men. A cousin of theirs and every bit as arrogant. She wonders if it's merely a coincidence that they happened to all have names of prominent characters in lore too.

It starts to feel too cramped in the tent for her liking, particularly with the tension continuing to mount as they all stare at each other in awkward silence. Mary Margaret is, of course, the first to break the ice and issue a warm welcome to the others. She's always been good at defusing situations and Emma always swears she was some kind of diplomat in another life, a princess most likely, maybe even a queen.

Handshakes are exchanged amongst all, save for Liam, who merely nods at her when Emma extends her hand out. She'll never admit embarrassment, but the heat that burns in her cheeks as her hand falls back to her side tells a different story. Killian continues to prove to be the much warmer of the two, lingering over their introduction with eyes full of mirth and the corners of his lips tugged up. He holds onto her hand for longer than is comfortable and for a brief moment Emma thinks he's going to do something typically like him, like...bend over and kiss it.

"The feeling might not be mutual, but I very much look forward to working with you," he says, just loud enough for her to hear.

That surprises her, not so much the words themselves but the sincerity in his voice, his eyes, and then, just as she suspected he might, there it is: the press of his lips to the tops of her knuckles. His gaze never wavers from hers and she watches him, unblinking, as the breath she'd been meaning to exhale rushes back into her lungs, straining to fill every available space, pushing into hollows and caverns and refusing to budge.

She'd been expecting it and yet, somehow the gesture still catches her off guard, promptly tilting her world off of its axis. Not drastically, just enough that Emma's slightly concerned she'll do something atypical of herself, like... swoon.

But then he's straightening, backing away with that smirk that launched a million fan pages playing at his mouth, and the moment shatters, leaving her with just the barest jolt of something that could be considered whiplash. He calls for his team to set up so they can begin filming, hands clapping together with the compelling tone of a ship's captain commanding his crew to arms. She doesn't miss Liam's icy glare when he steps out of the tent, and she also doesn't miss the way Killian looks back at her before he exits after his brother. This time, though, the heat warming her face feels like it's for an entirely different reason.

"Mmm," Granny hums her approval. "My kind of eye candy."

Emma turns towards Granny but promptly catches sight of David, camera nestled against his shoulder and trained directly at her.

"Is that- is that thing on?" she snaps.

"Yeah?" he answers, voice and expression the very definition of innocence.

"Well, what are you doing? Turn it off-"

"It's for the segment-"

"We haven't even started yet-"

"Says who?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake will you just-" She reaches over, covering the lens with her hand and pushing the camera down so it tips from his shoulder. "God!"

"Emma, dear," Granny says, drawing her attention again. "Lighten up a little, go with the flow, and for the love of god, quit frowning. You'll end up with wrinkles."

"That explains so much," David grins at Granny, his eyes making a show of sweeping across her face.

"You know, a little bit of eye candy never hurt anybody," Granny chuckles, reaching over to pat David's cheek patronizingly. "We didn't take this one on cuz he was good at holding a camera, after all."

"Hey!"

"Don't dish it if you can't take it, sweetheart," Mary Margaret laughs.

"At least David's charming," Emma mutters.

"Thank you, Emma-"

"Yeah, charming as a rock," Mary Margaret snorts.

"Hey!"

"Come, my Prince," she giggles, standing up on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek. "Let's go outside, we need to check the lighting and do a final equipment check before we start."

Granny follows the happy couple out and Elsa gives Emma an encouraging smile before she settles down in front of the monitors. Emma sighs, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath before she joins the rest of the teams. It's going to be a long day and an even longer night.

So she wasn't entirely correct with her assessment of Killian Jones. Yes, he was a fair bit of eye candy, and yes, he was rowdy, obnoxious and a tad bit conceited, but what she failed to mention and never gave him credit for, was that he was a hell of a storyteller. Watching him tape his part of the opening sequence, casually walking down Main Street and introducing Storybrooke, Maine to the world, all while weaving a captivating preface full of folklore and magic, only reiterates the inherent charisma he'd been blessed with.

They make eye contact once, when he recounts a story about a malevolent, vicious black swan that had supposedly terrorized the town for decades, plucking out the eyes of anyone who dared gaze upon her. He says, 'it's not your average Swan Princess tale,' and the amused tilt to his lips is most certainly for her.

He shifts the topic from monsters to demons and fairies to ghosts with a distinct ease, never flubbing a line, never even forgetting one for that matter, and the fact that he had obviously done his research and come so prepared almost impresses her.

Almost.

When it's her turn, she feels a trickle of anxiety work its way down her spine while Mary Margaret tests her mic one more time and David adjusts the settings on the camera to compensate for the slight change in daylight. She runs through her lines in her head and has a final calming breath as she takes her mark.

"Do try to be pleasant, darling, hmm?" Liam tells her, hefting his camera onto his shoulder with a smile that's all snobbish and lacking any warmth.

She hears Killian's quiet but firm and warning, "Liam," and shakes her head at David when he looks like he could deck somebody. Mary Margaret's eyes are wide with disbelief and Emma can tell she's biting down very hard on her tongue.

Emma bounces on her toes and shakes out her hands, attempting to release the tension from her body. Damned if she was going to let one Jones boy rile her up, let alone two.

"Ready?" David asks.

"Ready," she confirms and plasters on her best smile.

She doesn't miss a beat, nails every sentence, and hits every emotional tone she wanted to. What she lacks in natural charisma she compensates for with sincerity and honesty. Her viewers have come to trust her to tell the truth and never lead them astray, so she keeps that in the forefront of her mind while she delivers her lines. Experience and instinct have her piggybacking off of Killian's stories as she changes parts of the script at the last minute, ad libbing anecdotes she remembers from her own research, and in the end, she completes what will become their opening sequence with a tilt of her head, an invitation for the audience to join her on this latest adventure, and a beguiling smile into the camera that earns her a low, appreciative whistle from David when she's finished.

Killian's smile is beaming, his applause both enthusiastic and genuine in a way that catches her off guard. "You are bloody brilliant," he chuckles, brows waggling as he nudges her shoulder with his on his way up the street to take his mark for the next scene. "Amazing."

The compliment doesn't make her shy so much as self-conscious, but regardless, she smiles to herself as she tucks her hair behind her ear. Mary Margaret high-fives her when she passes and calls for the teams to set up for the subsequent sequence of shots that will feature Emma and Killian together. Robin reminds everyone that they still have two interviews to conduct in town before heading to the mansion, the mansion tour itself, and a dinner break to get to in the next four hours before lockdown.

"Great job out there," Robin tells her, touching her arm lightly as he does so, and he's so earnest in the way that he says it, she gives him a genuine smile in return.

"Thanks."

Liam rolls his eyes when she passes, and she just barely restrains herself from turning around and flipping him off.

Now called the Lakeside Manor, the three-story structure sits isolated deep within the thick New England forest, about ten miles from the rest of the town. The first time she lays eyes on it, stepping out of the van that shuttled them over from Main Street, it staggers her. Not just because of its size or beauty, but because she has the strangest sense of familiarity. Her eyes narrow in contemplation as she stares up at the estate.

"Emma? Dear?" Granny says from behind her, almost impatient.

"Hmm?" she replies absentmindedly, lost to her thoughts.

"Uhh...do you mind?"

"What's that?" she says, shaking her head and effectively snapping out of her trance. She glances back and jolts out of the way when she realizes that she's been blocking Granny's exit from the van. "Oh, sorry!"

Granny doesn't move, though, just stares at her with that narrow-eyed look that's always unnerved Emma. The one that means that she's seen something - with her third eye or her sixth sense or whatever - and usually too much for Emma's liking.

"Hmm," she hums.

Emma blinks at her, sigh already exasperated. "What now?"

But she gets no answer to the question she poses, Granny too distracted by Killian when he comes around from the other side of the vehicle to offer her his hand. "I'm not that old and you're not that chivalrous," she tells him, waving off his help.

"That's offensive, I'm always a gentleman," Killian replies, continuing to hold his hand out.

He looks at Emma when he says it, winking when their gazes meet for a brief moment. The smirk that curls his lips and the mischievous expression on his face makes Granny snort, but she takes his hand and reluctantly allows him to assist her out of the van. When she's steady on her feet, she pats his cheek in thanks, like a grandmother might to her favorite grandchild. It's sweet, even if Emma can't help but feel betrayed by the affectionate gesture.

Killian watches Granny shuffle away, and then that piercing gaze finds her again, as it always seems to do. He considers her, eyes searching her face, and she wonders how it is that she's managed to get not one, but two people in her life that have this ability to see more than they should.

"You alright there, Swan?"

"Yeah, just having some déjà vu," she shrugs, hand reaching up to toy with the charm on the end of her necklace. "I feel like I've been here before."

"You have," Granny pipes up before Killian can reply.

Emma turns sharply towards her.

"Not in this life, though," Granny continues, and with that she wanders off towards the tent to settle in since she won't be needed for awhile yet.

"Huh," Killian murmurs. "Interesting."

"Hardly," Emma tells him, attempting to brush off Granny's casual comment and Killian's inquisitive stare. "Now come on, let's go."

"Aren't you even a little bit curious about that?"

"About what she said? No. Granny always says that kind of stuff. She's convinced we've all been reincarnated hundreds of times."

"You don't believe her?"

"Do you?" she challenges.

Killian shrugs. "Life is cyclical. All living things are born and then they die. Who's to say it doesn't happen with the soul?"

"Fascinating stuff," Liam deadpans, coming around the van and lifting his camera onto his shoulder. "Now if you two are done mucking about, there's a very anxious nun waiting for us."

Emma follows Liam's gaze and casts one final glance at Killian before setting off towards the mansion. Behind her, she can hear the elder Jones teasing the younger, asking if he's been watching The Lion King again. Killian's grumble is unintelligible but his irritated tone comes across loud and clear, and Emma finds herself fighting back a smile as she saunters up the path to meet their next guest.

The manor looms over them, and she is once again struck by its grandeur, by the underlying sense that she somehow knows this place. It's a feeling that creeps along her skin and makes the hairs on her arms stand on end. While the rest of the teams settle in and introductions are made with Sister Gorham, a local nun and the caretaker of the property for the last decade, Emma can't seem to pull her eyes away from the mansion for longer than a few minutes, even when they begin filming.

It's an old house, built of stone and dark wood with many square windows. There's very little about the history of it, in fact, Emma wasn't able to find anything even mentioning the mansion's early beginnings in all of her research. Interviewing Sister Gorham, she understands why.

"So...what you're saying is that this isn't even a matter of some lost or buried records. No one has any clue where this building came from?"

Sister Gorham shakes her head, leaning up against the railing of the steps that lead up to the entrance. She's a pretty woman, auburn hair clipped neatly away from her sullen face. She looks tense, though, fidgety hands on endless loop from wringing together, grasping at her arms, and reaching up to touch her hair.

Almost as if she's soothing herself.

"No, no record whatsoever."

"No permit? No tax documents?" Killian asks.

"Nope. Nothing. There are people who have lived here in Storybrooke all their lives who have never seen it and don't even recall hearing stories about the construction of it from their parents or their grandparents or their great-grandparents. It's literally as if it just...appeared out of nowhere one day and that was that."

Killian takes a moment to look pointedly at one of the cameras.

"That's so strange. Well, what about when it was first discovered?" Emma continues.

"Abandoned, not even a single squatter."

"And when did the...incidents begin?" Killian wonders.

"Since its discovery in the early 1800s. The earliest documented recording was a letter found in the possessions of the town's Mayor at the time, shortly after his passing."

"What was the letter?"

"It actually didn't say much, just the town realtor making small talk about how he'd spruced up a large, lakeside home and put it on the market, but couldn't get any of the buyers to stick. They'd move in and then promptly move out anywhere between a few days to a month."

"No one ever stayed longer than a month?" Killian shoots another glance at the camera, his eyebrows arching up into his hairline.

Sister Gorham shakes her head again. "It was incredibly unusual."

"We like unusual," David says, earning a tentative smile from the nun.

"Well, you're certainly in the right place. There are a ton of stories like this, unexplainable incidents, things that don't add up and make even less sense."

"Even with the lack of history, I did find that there were still definitely a lot of interesting lores concerning this place," Emma muses.

Sister Gorham appears to be deep in thought, a far off look in her eyes as she fiddles with the cross around her neck. "Did you read the one about the young noblewoman and the stableboy who fell in love? Regina and Daniel. She was from a prominent family and her mother found out about her affair with Daniel from one of the maids. She didn't approve. She wanted Regina to marry someone prestigious, preferably with a title to their name."

Emma doesn't recall, but Killian does.

"Yes, or at the very least, someone who was filthy rich. Her name was Cora, the mum, and rumor has it, she dabbled heavily in dark magic. Supposedly she locked her daughter away one evening and met the stableboy wearing her daughter's face." He looks at the camera again, inviting the audience into the tale. "Not literally, but magically. Enchanted to look like her."

"What happened?" Emma asks, all of her attention focused on Killian.

He fidgets under her gaze, raising his hand to scratch behind his ear and if Emma didn't know any better, she might even call the gesture shy. "Well, if we're to believe the tale, she spent the night torturing him and when she was finished, she'd pulled his heart from his chest, crushing it to ash. He was found dead in the morning."

"And his lady love?" Liam asks, peeking out from behind his camera to look at his brother..

"Devastated. And rightfully so. The tale only grows more tragic from there. Regina began to dabble in her mother's magic, her grief and anger festering while she learned the craft, biding her time."

"For revenge," Emma concludes.

Killian nods at her. "She killed the maid who betrayed her then set her sights on her mother. Her mother was powerful, though, and it was no easy feat. But revenge has a power of its own, a will stronger than a mother's misguided love."

"She killed her," Emma realizes. "She killed her mom."

"Took Cora's heart as Cora had taken Daniel's. In the end, it's said that Regina pulled her own heart from her chest as well. Hid it away so she'd never feel anything again. No pain, no loss, no guilt. The townsfolk say she walked around like an empty shell for months, then simply disappeared. No one knew what became of her."

"She's still here," Sister Gorham interjects, glancing back at the mansion, and both the words and the action send a chill down Emma's spine. "So is Cora. Supposedly."

Killian smiles a soft little smile at that, something sad around the edges. "A restless daughter," he sighs, focusing on Liam's camera. "Heartsick. Searching for what was stolen from her, waiting to be reunited with her lost love."

"A controlling mother with a dark secret," Liam adds. "Betrayed. Murdered. Trapped by the consequences of her choices."

Perhaps if she hadn't been paying such close attention, she might have missed it. The slightly mocking tone in Liam's voice, the attempt to stifle a snicker, the twitch of Killian's lips in response to his brother's poor efforts at covering up his antics. And just like that, whatever magic they'd been trying to weave with their story is abruptly shattered for her. She wonders if either of the Jones men have even one serious bone in their bodies.

"Well, I don't know about all of you, but I'm ready to go inside." Emma glances at Mary Margaret and her camera, and expertly turns the attention away from Killian and Liam's subtle dramatics.

Sister Gorham is the first to move, leading the way up the few steps and heading for the main doors.

"I had no idea you had such a soft side," she mutters at Killian when he falls into step beside her, and the comment is both biting and sarcastic.

He is unfazed though, leaning into her space as they make their way up the stairs. The movement is natural and easy, as if they were more than just acquaintances, and she finds it as unnerving as the mansion itself. His breath is warm against her skin, his lips nearly brushing her ear as he speaks to her. "I may be a scoundrel, but I bristle at the thought of a woman losing her heart."

She angles her head to look at him and discovers that his smirk is back full force, deepening the dimples in his cheeks.

"Unless it's over me," he winks, quickening his pace so he can hold the door open for Sister Gorham.

She doesn't care if the cameras are on or if they catch her doing it, but she rolls her eyes as she shoves past him and into the mansion.

Every place they visit is unique, that was one of the first things Emma learned being out in the field. Some places almost instantly set her on edge, the whole cliche of goosebumps and shivers down the spine, hairs standing on end, chest constricting with anxiety and all. Other places were the complete opposite, devoid of that negative energy that tended to signify a haunting. The Lakeside Manor? It's definitely the former. The first step across the threshold sends an icy chill through her whole body which immediately goes into flight mode. She has to brace, planting her feet to physically keep herself in place rather than scuttling back outside like she so badly wants to.

"You felt it too," Sister Gorham says quietly, warm brown eyes trained on her face.

It's not a question, but Emma nods nonetheless, and while she doesn't rub at the goosebumps on her skin, she certainly wants to. She takes a look around the foyer where they've all gathered, has the fleeting thought that it's surprisingly well-kept despite being abandoned and unlived in, and wonders what Granny might have to say about the whole thing when they bring her in later for a separate walk-through.

That particular thing with Granny is customary before every lockdown, as it lends credibility to her abilities as a medium. The initial investigation with the caretakers allows them to get a feel for the site as well as make note of any hot spots they'll want to explore further later on, while also laying down "x's" with black tape for where their stationary cameras will go. When Granny does her own inspection, she usually describes any feelings she might be getting as they work from room to room, while also communicating flashes of stories, messages from the other side, impressions, and the like. Granny's track record is impeccable; she has yet to fail to pick up on something or describe things that relate to the earlier walk-through, and Emma imagines she won't disappoint today.

Killian continues to lead the investigation, asking all the standard questions and having the Sister elaborate on certain things when needed. He expertly fashions his queries to elicit optimal responses, not "manipulating" per se, but inducing answers to play up the haunt in a way she knows the producers and network will like.

He's clever, and that might impresses her if he didn't irritate her so much.

Sister Gorham tells them more about what little history there is of the mansion, taking them to the hotspots where activity throughout the years has been previously noted. Over the last two centuries, while the mansion could never be sold as a home, they discover that because of its size, it had been used twice during two different wars as a makeshift hospital and once as a mental institution.

"So on top of having eerie beginnings, everything about what we do know of its history is spooky as well," Liam says, turning the camera on himself to make a pointed face.

"Uninhabitable for reasons unknown, death, blood, abuse...these grounds are the perfect place for a doorway into the paranormal," Mary Margaret adds.

"Or to Hell," Liam muses, eyebrows wiggling at the camera before he sets it back in place atop his shoulder.

Sister Gorham gives them a small smile then opens her mouth to say something when they all start at the sudden noise that echoes from upstairs - the unmistakable sound of a door slamming shut. They freeze, eyes flicking back and forth between each other. It couldn't be more than a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.

Emma is the first to move, even before Killian, but not by much and the way they take off for the stairs sets off a domino effect as the rest of the team chases after them. She clears the landing on the second floor and moves quickly down the hallway to allow the others space to join her.

"Is somebody up here?" she asks, voice firm and loud.

"There's a little red light right here on this device," Killian adds, and when Emma turns to look at him, he's already got his voice recorder in hand. "Come speak into it, mate. Can you do that?"

They all hold their breaths, waiting for that whisper of... something, some response to prove that they are in fact not alone, but the mansion is strangely still once more.

"Did you want us to come upstairs?" Emma wonders. "Are you leading us somewhere?"

"What's your name?" Killian asks after a beat, allowing enough time for a response if there is one. He looks into one of the cameras, holding the device up to show them. "We're doing a live EVP session right now." He presses one of the buttons. "I'm going to rewind this and see if we've managed to pick up any kind of intelligent responses to the questions that we've asked."

He pushes down on another button, holding to turn the volume up, then puts the recorder between he and Emma so that she can also hear. If they do pick anything up, they'll enhance the audio later for the show's playback.

She keeps her eyes trained on the recorder, but she can feel Killian's own eyes on her while they listen. Her brow furrows as she strains to pick up anything between the questions and the white noise, but she hears nothing. One look at Killian confirms that he didn't hear anything either.

"Well," he smiles, shutting off his recorder. "That was exciting." The dry comment earns a few chuckles among the group and then he looks at Sister Gorham again. "Does that happen often in here? Doors slamming?"

She nods her head. "Yes. Things being thrown, apparition sightings."

"What kind of apparitions?" Liam wonders.

The nun shrugs. "Shadows, outlines of figures, dark mists. You name it, someone's probably seen it at one point or another-"

Sister Gorham is interrupted again by the sound of a door squeaking on its hinges. It sounds closeby, and this time, Killian is the first to move. Emma can tell by the sureness of his steps that he's following his gut and going where he thinks the noise came from. They repeat the process with the recorder, taking turns asking questions and waiting a few beats for possible replies.

Their device delivers. They capture two EVPs, the first is the indisputable noise of a growl - they're delighted by that particular capture - and the second is a faint but clear whisper of a singular word: 'up.'

One of Killian's brows arches again and he nods his head towards the floor above them. "Well, you heard them."

The team makes their way up the last flight of stairs and immediately they note the change in the air. It feels...thicker somehow, suffocating, and it's dropped several degrees in temperature. Not so much that they could call it evidence, but enough that it makes them all jittery.

Emma looks into one of the cameras as they all clear the final step. "It's different up here," she observes for the viewers, remembering how important it is to draw them in and make them feel as much a part of the investigation as she can. "Colder, heavy-"

"Unpleasant," Killian pipes up.

She turns her head towards him and nods her confirmation, then she's looking around, her trained eyes drifting to each door. She's not necessarily looking for something in particular, just observing, and waiting to see if her intuition picks up on anything. When she eyes the door furthest from them, the one straight across from where they've all gathered in the hallway, she gets a little tingle between her shoulder blades.

"What is it, Swan?" Killian asks her.

She can tell he's been watching her again, something he's been doing a lot of since he kissed her hand in the tent. It's almost as rattling as the encounters they're currently experiencing.

The Sister fidgets nervously beside her and Emma shoots her a glance. Her face is very telling. "What's with that room?" Emma gestures towards the door that set off her senses.

Sister Gorham chuckles quietly to herself, just once, but it's enough to make the hair on Emma's arms raise.

"Come on," the Sister says. "I'm not surprised you were led straight to it."

The walk down the hallway feels like a lifetime, a very tense, very nerve-wracking lifetime. Emma notices that Killian angles himself to cut ahead of her, making sure to be the first to enter. He holds his arm up behind him, as if to keep her away, and she'd have run straight into him if she hadn't been paying attention. She's just about to ask what the hell is going on when something crunches beneath Killian's feet and makes him grimace.

He looks down, then back at the camera. "Dead bird."

Emma frowns, both concerned and confused as she looks in Mary Margaret's direction. She doesn't remember coming across any other dead animals earlier during the investigation.

"Bloody hell," Killian mutters under his breath, stepping further into the room.

"What?" Emma asks, craning her neck to see over his shoulder and into the pitch black room. "What is it?"

"Stay here," he replies.

"What? Why?"

"Just hold on for a minute," he tells her, and there's an edge to his voice that makes Emma press her lips together as she hangs back. "Liam, Dave." He motions at them to step forward into the room with him, and the lights from the cameras help to illuminate a little bit of the large space.

"Holy shit," David breathes, and Emma tries to get another peek around all of the men's large frames.

"There are dozens of dead birds," Killian states quietly, and despite the chill that works its way down her spine, Emma shoves past him to get inside.

He wasn't over-exaggerating, she realizes, pulling a small flashlight from the back pocket of her jeans. She flicks it on before shining it around into the places the camera lights don't reach. It's a barren room, spacious, with high ceilings and yellow wallpaper lining the walls. There's a creepy short story about yellow wallpaper by Charlotte something or other that she tries to recall, but her brain is too distracted by Killian's startling discovery.

Carcasses are indeed everywhere, which normally wouldn't be so strange considering it's not that difficult for small animals to wander into a vacant property and get lost, or in these cases, trapped. But what is strange is the sheer volume of birds. Well, that and the fact that there are no windows. Just the one door that was closed when they found it.

"What's so...special about this particular room?" Liam asks, breaking the deafening silence.

All heads turn back to Sister Gorham, who has chosen to remain just beyond the door, looking anxious as ever.

"An exorcism was performed here."

The second she says it, in true Hollywood fashion, the room bursts to life with activity. The temperature drops, enough that Emma feels the chill down to her bones and fights to keep from trembling. All of their equipment begins to go wonky, the EMF detectors spike off the charts, audio on their microphones kicks out despite the batteries being brand new, even Liam's camera shuts off and won't turn back on. Killian waves his digital recorder at her, signaling that it, too, is no longer functional and Emma passes him hers so they can conduct another impromptu EVP session.

"Is somebody here?" He pauses for a beat. "Let's have a chat, mate, right into this red light. Can you tell me whose room this was?"

"Do you not like people being here?" Emma speaks soon after. "Do you want us to leave?"

It feels like forever while they wait for something to happen again, but she knows it's just been a few moments, and as quickly as the room had come alive, it abruptly goes still with inactivity. The most notable changes are that it's no longer cold, the air no longer suffocating, and the tension amongst them completely dissipates. She sees that Mary Margaret and David's cameras are still rolling on them even without properly working audio, but that's alright, they'll simply add captions in post-production for these scenes. Either she or Killian could also add voice overs at the discretion of the producers.

Killian turns his head, exchanging a look with her before rewinding the playback on her recorder. She reaches up, absentmindedly finding purchase on her necklace while she waits with bated breath.

"Is somebody here? Let's have a chat, mate, right into this red light. Can you tell me whose room this was?"

They receive a response. It's a quiet hiss, but clear and definite.

Fuck you, it's mine.

She doesn't shudder, though she certainly wants to, and then her own voice comes over the recorder.

"Do you not like people being here? Do you want us to leave?"

The second response is the most unsettling thing she's ever heard in her career as a paranormal investigator.

Want...Emma.

She doesn't spook easily, but fear takes its persistent fingers and grips tight around her heart. Killian steps up behind her, the slight shifting of his body unmistakably protective in nature, and for a brief moment she thinks he might even touch her. A hand to the shoulder, maybe to her back; some offering of support and solidarity that she would have welcomed under the circumstances, but it never comes. She glances at him, noting that his eyes have taken on a troubled, storm-blue hue, the gray blocking out the flecks of gold normally present there.

He's worried. About the recording, the haunt, her. It's...sweet, in a very unexpected way, but completely unnecessary. She can handle whatever waits in the dark, and she's just about to tell him so when the elder Jones interrupts.

"Well, I suppose we know who we're sending here tonight," Liam chuckles, setting his camera on the floor and pulling a roll of black tape from his back pocket to lay down an 'x' without prompting.

The glare Killian shoots his brother is cutting, clearly finding Liam's attempt at lightening the mood wholly unfunny. Emma smiles weakly and makes some noise of agreement, but she swivels quickly on her heel and shuffles out of the room. She's had enough excitement for the time being and they still have much to do before the lockdown.

Back outside, she accepts the thermos of hot chocolate Granny has waiting for her and takes a moment to calm her nerves. Granny doesn't ask if she's okay, but one look at Emma has a deep frown settling onto her face. Emma moves away, walking towards the tent they've set up outside while they film this segment.

They'll need to switch batteries on the microphones and do another equipment check before they swap out with the rest of the team and have Granny do her own walk-through without Sister Gorham. She's half tempted to warn Granny about the eerie room on the third floor, but she knows Granny will pick up on it. She always does.

There are footsteps behind her, the quick gait of someone trying to catch up. Her ears have been trained to pick up the smallest details in noise, though, and she doesn't have to turn around to know it's Killian.

"Swan," he says.

She ignores him, listening to their boots crunch along the gravelly road, and stops only to avoid running into him when he blocks her path.

"I want to be perfectly clear about something," she tells him, her eyes narrowing at him.

"Alright," he replies slowly. "What's that?"

"I've watched enough of your show to know about the methods you use on your investigations."

His lips tip up at that, his expression shifting into something soft and pleasantly surprised. "You watch my show?"

"Not the point," she huffs.

"Then what is the point?"

"You're not to use provocation tonight, are we clear?"

Provocation in their field entails deliberately angering the entities in order to elicit some kind of response. It can be very dangerous when dealing with intelligent spirits and even more so when dealing with one that knows you by name. Aside from seeing firsthand how provocation can cause real, physical harm, she's also heard all of the horror stories from other professionals in their field, people who have been scratched, pushed down stairs, and even had objects thrown at them. But she's never dealt with it on a personal level and she's not about to start now. It's a technique Emma's team has never used, and it's one they never will, even if it's one Killian regularly does.

He doesn't even hesitate, holding his hands up as a gesture of peace. "Of course, love. I understand it's not for everyone. I'll let my team know."

"Not your love," she mutters, attempting to move away from him and continue towards the tent.

"Swan, wait," he tries again.

"What?" she snaps irritably.

Their eyes lock but he doesn't speak right away, hesitating, like he's not sure what to say or if he even should, and then he does that thing again, where his face goes all soft and his eyes fill with concern. She doesn't like it, doesn't like how it makes her feel; too exposed, too vulnerable, too much like she might let him soothe her if he offered to.

"What happened in there-"

"Don't," she warns, cutting him off. "I'm fine." She tries to muscle past him again, but he reaches out, grips her arm to tug her back and hold her in place.

"No," he says, taking a step towards her. "You're not. You're frightened."

He hasn't been in her life long so it's probably really inappropriate to make a character judgment, but she feels like she's familiar with him enough that she could bet money that he makes it a point to know all the rules, simply so he can break them. Like with the concept of personal space, for instance. She's absolutely certain he understands it, only because he never adheres to it.

"How would you know?" she demands.

"You're something of an open book, darling."

"Am I?"

"Quite."

"Not your darling," she replies instead, shrugging him off roughly and taking a step back. "We're wasting time."

"Swan, it's alright to be scared."

He lifts his hand like he means to touch her again. He doesn't, but the gesture draws her eyes down to where it hovers near her arm. She looks up at him after a minute and gives him an exasperated look.

"Emma, I just wanted to let you know that I do know what it feels like, to be known by some unseen... thing. To hear your name spoken by evil-"

"I know what this is," she interrupts, refusing to allow him to continue. "This- you- you know, trying to...bond with me." The small smile she gives him is tired. "So save your breath. I'm not in the mood."

This time, when she brushes by him to leave, he doesn't try to stop her. Emma pauses at the entrance of the tent, taking a moment to glance back at the looming structure. At Killian standing there watching after her.

As the tent flap rustles closed behind her, she can't recall ever visiting a place quite like this. It's beyond chilling, enough that she briefly wonders if they should even carry on with the investigation. It's a silly thought, gone as quickly as it came, because with the kind of activity they've already experienced, of course they should. She knows that it will be a great night for capturing evidence for their field and will undoubtedly prove to be an equally thrilling experience for the audience at home, and if the audience is happy, the network is happy.

Everybody wins, she thinks, even as another chill makes her shoulders jerk with the force of her shiver.

The first time Killian had seen a ghost, he wasn't entirely sure that he was seeing one. After his longtime love had passed away and he'd slipped into a heavy, inconsolable depression for more than half the year, Liam had taken it upon himself to attempt to pull his brother back from the edge and help him work through his grief.

Backpacking across Europe for three months was hardly how Killian wanted to spend his time, though, especially with Liam's overzealously chipper attitude about every place they were to visit. He appreciated the effort, he truly did, but Liam was trying far too hard, and Killian very much would have preferred getting lost in the bottom of a bottle of rum than in some flea market in Italy.

It was too destructive of behavior though, according to Liam, so Killian had begrudgingly packed his bag and reluctantly gotten on the plane after his brother. The first part of the trip didn't go so well; they'd spent more time arguing than actually enjoying the sights and touristy things Liam had put on their itinerary. One particularly bad row had sent Killian straight to the nearest bar where he'd drowned away his troubles for hours. He was piss drunk by the time he made it back to the hostel and had fallen into bed.

He'd woken up at 3:33 AM on the dot, unnaturally chilled, and upon sitting up in bed had found his dead girlfriend sitting at the foot of it. He'd been stunned, to say the least, the unmistakable outline of her sending a fierce ache through his heart. But it had been unnerving as well, because he couldn't just see her, he could see through her.

This hadn't been a dream. He'd dreamt of her for months after she'd passed, and this reality was vastly different from the imaginary ones that had been in his head. He knew immediately that this was something else, he knew because he could feel the pain caused by the nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists tightly together. He was wide awake, fully conscious, and he'd been frozen in place, afraid that even the slightest of movements would send her away again, when all he wanted was for her to be there, to stay.

She'd tilted her head at him then, in that way she often did when she thought he was being unreasonably difficult. He couldn't bring himself to speak, there was too much he wanted to say and even more he hadn't when he should have. She seemed to understand, though, her smile infinitely forgiving. And sad. Then she'd gotten up and walked closer to him, and all he could do was stare at her as she reached out and fluffed the hair falling over his brow - an old, loving gesture, and his heart stumbled as much as it had the very first time.

He'd blinked owlishly at her, and then she'd disappeared right before his eyes. The next day, he'd stopped into a local bookstore and picked up his first book on the paranormal. The rest, as they so often say, was history.

But even that rattling, life-changing experience was nothing compared to seeing Emma Swan for the first time. He remembers everything about that night, the fun the men were having, the drinks they'd been toasting with, the water he'd been nursing, the stuffiness of his suit, and Liam wordlessly nudging his shoulder to lighten up.

It had been their first network party. After a grueling pitch meeting that resulted in a preliminary thirteen-episode contract, he and the team took it as not only an opportunity to celebrate, but as a chance to schmooze with the people that had so generously put them on their payroll, and as the new kids on the block, also introduce themselves to their colleagues on the other shows.

He hated crowds, though. He'd always been more of an introvert, a 'hiding-in-shadowy-corners' kind of a guy that liked his own company better than others, and because of that, his innate adaptability was very much a curse. Being a chameleon did occasionally have its perks, however. He was able to charm his way around anyone - men and women alike (but women especially), overprotective parents, babies, old ladies crossing the street, stuffy network executives who insisted they didn't need another ghost hunting show because they already had one.

Killian Jones was very persuasive when he needed to be, firm and unrelenting when the occasion called for it, and he could also just be a man, knocked onto his ass - quite literally - when a whirlwind of blonde hair, short red miniskirt and legs for days had clipped him on her rush to get past.

She'd muttered an apology, dazzling green eyes focusing on him only long enough to confirm that he was alright, before she'd promptly turned on her heel and continued out of the room, her cell phone pressed to her ear.

"Emma! Where are you going?" a voice called after her. It had been a petite woman with dark, pixie-cut hair and bold red lips who had only half-heartedly followed after her. "We're off the clock!"

"Are we ever really, though, Mary Margaret?" Emma had answered, turning to look at her friend. She hadn't stopped, though, walking backwards and refusing to be deterred from leaving. "Ruby's got the audio from the last haunt, the one we couldn't figure out!"

"Can't it wait?"

"I'll call you tomorrow!" was her reply, smile beaming as she'd waved and disappeared around a corner.

Killian had remained on the floor, unblinking, stunned, not so much from the fall, but from the unmistakable feeling of having his world metaphorically tilted on end.

"Was that that Swan girl?" Robin had asked, grasping one of his arms and helping Liam drag him up off the floor.

"Bloody rude was what that was," Liam muttered back, brushing at his lapels and righting his tie. "You good?"

"Aye," he'd replied. It was all he'd said, eyes still trained on the spot where the woman had been.

He knew who she was, of course. Everyone who was anyone in their field knew Emma Swan by reputation first and model-gorgeous looks second. She was a legend, a champion for paranormal research, a weekly staple in his household (he'd never missed an episode of her show). He knew who she was, but he couldn't have known how soon his life was going to change now that he'd unofficially met her.

A year or so had passed and he'd never worked up the nerve to reach out and talk to her, just admired her and her work from afar. Then the network had contacted him about doing a joint investigation with the cast of one of their other popular shows for the upcoming Halloween season. He knew the politics of the business, the endless need to drive up viewership and create buzz, but that didn't mean he had to like it, especially if they were bringing on amateur guests who weren't even in the field of paranormal research. Imagine how he felt, then, when he'd discovered that Emma's was the other show. He couldn't believe his good luck and how the tides had decidedly turned in his favor.

The official meeting, one he'd never admit to imagining a million times, hadn't been quite what he thought it would be, considering she had less than pleasant things to say about him, but he understood where she was coming from. He had always been deliberate about how he portrayed himself to people. The 'dashing rapscallion' persona was nothing more than an act, just like Emma's tough girl, no-nonsense exterior was.

Perhaps it was presumptuous of him to say before they'd even become acquainted, but he'd been an admirer of hers for a very long time, not just in her work, but in her, and she'd become rather easy to read. She wasn't as hard or closed off as she wanted people to believe. She simply desired to be respected, longed for others to care about her truth, wanted to be seen.

He liked to think he had a keen sense of perception, years largely spent being an observer of people honing that particular skill, and that he could see the things most people couldn't, the little nuances that made Emma who she was. What made her smile, what gave her pride, what worried her that she would try to hide, the fierce love and loyalty she carried around for those closest to her, the glimpses of the lost girl just trying to find her way. She was layered and fascinating and beautiful, and alright, maybe in the privacy of his mind he could admit that he was a little crazy about her.

And by 'a little,' he might mean 'a lot.'

He hasn't been interested in someone like this in a very long time, and it's been a dream to work alongside her all day, not just because of the little crush he's been harboring, but because it's Emma and what she means to their field. It's almost like taking a masterclass in research and presentation; he's learning so much just by watching her work, observing her process, listening to her iron out the secrets and truth of the location they're investigating. He can only imagine the kind of stress and anxiety she's under, particularly with how personal this location has suddenly turned for her, but she's handling herself with the utmost of professionalism and confidence, a fearlessness he can't help but marvel at.

He knows, too, without her having to say, about the extreme pressure she's under to deliver a good story for this episode, especially now that she's very much at the center of it, instead of just being on the outside telling it with the rest of them. In the privacy of his mind, he can also admit that he's worried about her and that even if she never asks, he will be there to support her in any way he can.

It's why he snuck away from the team after he'd finished his dinner, taking a broom, a few trash bags and several lanterns with him before going back into the house by himself; he wanted to clear the Exorcism room of the bird carcasses. He would have spared Emma from that room altogether if it were possible, but they have a job to do and his hands are tied, so the very least he can do if he can't protect her from that, is to make her as comfortable as possible in the tough situation.

The room is as empty as it was when they'd first done the walk-through, but it also feels empty, like whatever had been there before simply just...wasn't now. He knows in his gut that that's a lie.

He sets up the light sources first in an attempt to chase off the darkness. Now that the entirety of the room is illuminated, he gets a real sense for what he's dealing with. It's still an unsettling sight to see all of the birds again - mourning doves, he knows, because he'd overheard Mary Margaret murmuring to David about it earlier. They had dual symbolic meanings, he'd learned, representing grief from the loss of a loved one but also hope and peace.

It's fitting, he thinks, considering the tragic story about Regina and Daniel, but he's not entirely sure what to make of the representation for hope and peace being snuffed out en masse. Okay, that's not true, he does know, he just doesn't want to admit it because the implications of it are terrifying.

He puts the supplies down by the stationary camera Liam had set up before dinner and rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up as he surveys the space. He is still uneasy about the events that had taken place earlier, the voices over the recorder knowing Emma by name and the significance of that, but he hopes the task at hand will distract him from his worrying so he grabs the broom and begins to clean.

"You're a traveler," a voice pipes up from the doorway, and when he turns, he finds old widow Lucas blocking the entrance with her robust frame.

Killian blinks at her, confused. "Pardon?"

"Your tattoo," she says.

His eyes automatically move to the tattoo on the inside of his foreman - a flaming heart with a dagger through it, a tribute to a lost love.

"Not that one," Granny says, her gaze steady on his. "Though there is quite a story there."

"I-" he starts, but she simply brushes him off with a wave of her hand.

"That's for you to tell, and certainly not to me. I'm more interested in the one on your back."

He stares at her, unblinking. He did, in fact, have a new piece of ink, something he'd gotten fairly recently, actually. It was a compass rose, placed on his shoulder blade, but he had yet to tell anyone about it.

"How...do you know I have a tattoo on my back?"

Granny just smiles, the lines around her eyes crinkling with the gesture. "I know a fair bit about many things, Killian Jones. For instance, I know that you've been here, too."

"Aye, we were just here a few hours ago filming."

She chuckles at him. "No, dear, before."

It takes him a moment to gather her meaning, but when he does, his brow arches up sharply. She's talking about before before, as in a past life. Like Emma supposedly had been. "Have I?"

Her lips tip up further, mysterious and all-knowing as she keeps her cards close, and then she makes to leave. At the last second, she turns back. "Do you make it a habit of cleaning out haunted rooms with dead birds, or is my girl just lucky?"

"You know what they say, Granny. 'Cleanliness is next to godliness,'" he grins, expertly avoiding the second part of her question.

Granny seems unfazed by his deflection, in fact, she looks to be pleased, nodding once at him. "You'll watch her back tonight," she says.

It's statement, not a question. "Of course."

She swivels to depart again. "Good. She'll need you."

Not 'she'll need you to,' just 'she'll need you.' A deliberate choice of words, he imagines. "Granny?"

She pauses, twisting her head to look at him. "Yes, dear?"

"How do I keep her safe?"

"The world is such a funny place, don't you think? Somehow we always end up where we're meant to, over and over and over." She smiles again, her expression soft, and he can't help but feel like he's gotten the Granny stamp of approval. "You'll figure it out, Killian Jones. You always do. I don't know if you're aware, but you have quite a keen sense of direction, even in the toughest of waters." And with a last little wink, she departs, leaving Killian alone to ponder over his demons...and Emma's.