A/N: I'd like to blame a lot of people for this (you know who you are, you evil people), but ultimately I'm the one who did it. Sorry? Part one of two.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.
Bruises You Can't See
"Let's get you cleaned up," she said softly after everyone clears out, leaving the two of them alone for the first time since that cave. Finally. They all have jobs to do and usually she'd be right there with them, but not now, not when he's…
"Little help," he grunted as he limped toward the couch in the centre of the room. She rushed over, her hand grabbing his hooked arm before she even thinks-
"Ah!" he cried out, trying unsuccessfully to mask the pain that crosses his face. "Sorry," she mumbled, releasing her grip as she crosses to the other side, her hand at his elbow. She knew his arm was probably broken, he'd told her as much as she helped him from the chains that had bound him so tightly, but it was so hard to keep track of every one of his injuries.
"'S okay," he bit out, a forced grin on his face. "I nearly forgot myself."
She heard the lie, and didn't say a word. They made their way to the couch and she helped him settle on the cushion, his left leg extended in front of him, his knee swollen and twisted. She glanced at his face, his eye still so swollen, blood… everywhere, his jacket nearly saturated in it amid the rips and holes and burns. She was afraid to ask, afraid to find out, but she needed to know how hard, exactly, she should punch the bastard who hurt him.
"What did he do to you, Killian?" she whispered, her hand touching his shoulder, his cheek.
"Nothing I'd like to think about right now," he replied, his voice so soft and so hoarse, and she definitely didn't want to think about why.
"I'm sorry."
He flashed her half a grin, hiding a grimace behind his eye. "For what?"
"For not being there sooner, for letting him hurt you more." His smile faltered a bit, and she wished she knew what he was feeling.
He hadn't said much since they got back, not to her family or her, and her first thought was that he was tired, in pain, just didn't have enough energy to open up. She could help with some of that, she knew, her magic buzzing just below her skin, ready to fix what Hades had broken.
"You couldn't have stopped him," he muttered absently, his hand slipping under his jacket to cradle what were probably broken ribs, whether from being suspended by a chain or before, she didn't know.
"I know, I just…" she trailed off, and he didn't chase the conversation further.
She took a steadying breath. "You ready?"
He nodded, his eyes fixing on hers. "Aye."
She reached inward, pulling her magic forward, pouring as much as she can into her hand, into him. He watched for a moment, then closed his eye, a quiet gasp in his throat. His head went back as she watched the blood clear up from his jacket, his shirt, and eventually his face, the bruises and cuts vanishing as though they never were. Even his hair, limp and dusty, seemed fresher, cleaner.
He was back to himself, but he'd never looked so different.
He sighed, breathing deeply, as he pulled his hand from his coat, his fingers no longer bloody, and no longer decorated with obsidian jewelry of a time best left to memory.
"You're amazing, Emma," he whispered softly. He lifted his gaze to meet hers. She smiled, but he didn't return it.
"Better?" she asked, but he didn't reply, not out loud anyway. A nod, nothing more.
She could feel the smile slip away. "It's not, is it," she said softly, her hand on his arm, his arm that's no longer shattered underneath the skin.
Some wounds you can't see, she thought, wondering just how badly he was hurting now that he was healed.
She saw his throat move as he swallowed, hard. He looked at her, dark circles under his eyes no longer from bruises, and not from his familiar kohl either, and she looked back, but she couldn't see what he was hiding, his walls too thick to be broken with a simple spell. "I'm tired," he said, and he sounded it. "I'm just really tired, Emma."
She nodded, but said anyway, "You can talk to me, you know, Killian. I'm not going anywhere."
He looked away, at the room strewn with pieces of her abandoned childhood, or the future family they'd never have, she didn't want to think too hard about which. "I want to…" he started, but shook his head instead, cutting himself off. "I don't want to hurt you." He looked back at her, and she couldn't help remembering the reverse of those words he'd uttered just days before, in this very room. I want to hurt you, like you hurt me.
"We have a lot to discuss, don't we." Her voice was not much more than a whisper, as the familiar pangs of fear and nerves she'd never quite rid herself of since that day in Camelot returned with a vengeance, and it only got worse as he nodded.
"Perhaps now's not the best time," he replied, his eyes gentle, but she knew they concealed a storm of emotion they'd only have to deal with later.
She waited a moment, allowing herself a second to collect her thoughts. "If there's something you want to say, I'm ready to hear it," she decided. "I know there's a lot on your mind right now, probably a lot you don't want to think about, too. If you need me, just know I'm here, okay?"
"That's part of the problem, love," he said quietly, and she realized that it was the first time he's used the familiar term since she'd found him. "You really shouldn't have come, especially now that he's got your name on a stone."
That's what he was upset about? That's she was in danger here?
"Killian, I came to get you out without a plan, the fact that it's more complicated doesn't chan-"
"You needed to let me go," he interrupted, his voice tight but firm. "I begged you to let me go, and you came here anyway."
"But Gold took-"
He held up his hand, stopping her. "I know, you only came once you found out I'd been cheated, I know that." His eyes softened, so filled with the love she'd missed seeing for what felt like months, but filled with something else, too. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you, I'm always glad to see you. But not like this, not after you ignored my wishes yet again. And not here."
She felt her throat tightening, her eyes prickling sharply with tears she refused to acknowledge, tears of hurt or anger, she really didn't know. "I couldn't lose you, not after you promised me I wouldn't, that you were a survivor."
He only sighed, his voice quiet, flat, dead, as he answered, "I've much to atone for, and many apologies to make. And I don't want to argue, not when I can barely think straight." He reached for her hand, taking it tightly in his own, and she considered pulling away - for about half a second but the urge was there. "I'm sorry I said anything, Emma. Can we please talk about this later when I've had a chance to rest?"
She nodded, still too worked up to talk in a way she wouldn't regret.
"Thank you," he said, his eyes sincere. "And thank you for saving me from him, I really do appreciate it."
She wanted to cry, to yell angrily at him for pulling away. Instead, she forced a lightness to her tone that she did not feel. "Careful, it's becoming a habit, me pulling you away from the brink of doom."
He grinned gently, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Aye," he said. "That is what you do best, love." She didn't know what to say. She was finally sitting with him, the man she loved more than she knew what to do with it, in their house, in the damn Underworld, and she didn't know what to say.
She'd never been more grateful for the knocking on the door that shattered their already fractured moment.
