quick one shot... this is pretty depressing so dont read if you're easily triggered! TW: MISCARRIAGE, DEPRESSION, SUICIDE
Her eyes. A perfect mix of Emma and Killian. Not too blue, not too green. Emma could stare into them for days. Her daughter. "Hi Beth," she coos in a soft voice.
Emma has been jerking around in her sleep ever since the miscarriage. Killian can't sleep. He watches her, hoping that she is escaping this living hell. Sometimes she murmurs incoherent words, "… no… Beth…" he knows she is in pain. Physical and mental.
She had to give birth to their lifeless baby. Nine hours of agony for nothing.
Her hand is always on her stomach, feeling for something.
All he can do is hold her and comfort her with his words. "I love you Emma. I love you. You're safe with me. One day we'll meet her." It's hard for him to talk about their daughter. He can't imagine what she is feeling. He knows she blames herself. "I don't blame you, my love. You did everything right. Some things are out of our control."
She dreams of the future they could have had. Playing games and laughing. She imagines that their daughter would love hide-and-seek.
He holds her from behind when she cries, her body overcome with sobs. "Killian, it's my fault! No, please…"
"Save your words, love, so speech won't hurt you." He feels like he is talking to en empty person. Emma can't help it. She isn't capable of listening to anyone right now.
She feels as if their week of pain has been a year. "Time is slowing down, Killian. How long will this last?" She stops taking her meds. Killian pleads, she says it's not worth it.
Most of the time they sleep. It's the only way that they can get away.
He thinks that she's sleeping at first, when he sees her on the bathroom floor. Odd place to sleep, he thinks. Then he sees the blood. "Emma! Love!" He's shaking her body. "Please, Emma. Open up your eyes, love! Can you see me?"
Everyone is laughing when he sprints into the living room with Emma in his arms. His heart is racing. He looks at David for help and breaks down.
He looks peaceful as they lower her into the ground, but he is struggling to hold his composure.
His first night alone is unbearable. The bed is too big for him. Her pillow looks lonely. It still smells like her; the perfect mix of cinnamon and pine. He holds it tight, knowing that his last trace of Emma will be gone in days. This doesn't make sense. He pleads to any God, "Bring her back home… my Emma."
For a little while, he is okay. It happens like this. He is fine for a few days until it becomes too much. To Henry's demise, he starts drinking again.
"Fix my head," one shot. "Fix my head," two shots. Ten shots later, his blurry vision goes dark just as he thinks he sees Emma. Emma… Emma… his thoughts are disjointed. Fix my head, love… He must be imagining her. She's smiling, telling him that it's going to be okay. Time is slowing down love, just to see you... he thinks as the floor spins beneath tells him to open his eyes and come with her, into the light. He knows he's gone when he sees a little girl with blonde hair and deep sea eyes grabs his hand.
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