Tuesday Morning, Storybrooke Sheriff's Office

David Nolan sat anxiously at his temporary desk, having promised his daughter that he'd help out with some of the duties at the station until Killian was found. Distraught as she was, Emma had once again turned to busy work to keep her mind occupied – leaving behind piles of paperwork which were now scattered across the desk before him. There were reports that needed to be uploaded and filed, bills that needed to be paid, bills that had already been paid, numerous pages of case notes that probably needed updating and one pile that the Prince had simply labeled miscellaneous crap. He really was trying his best to help her out, but his mind just wasn't focused on the task any more than Emma's would have been. He knew she was heartbroken. He knew she hadn't gone home last night, probably crashing on the sofa in the back office here at the station or perhaps camping out in her car parked down at the harbor so she could watch for any sign of the Jolly Roger should it drift into port.

The pirate had been missing for two full days now without any contact and the entire family was searching for anything that might provide a clue as to what had happened to him. He knew she'd tried several tracking spells that had failed and had attempted to ping the GPS locator on his phone, but that hadn't been successful either. The phone hadn't even registered a connection to a tower since he'd left Storybrooke - which wasn't entirely surprising out on the open ocean. He would have to be close enough to land and to a large enough population area to get a signal – and that was assuming he was still even in this realm. David, like the rest of her family, was attempting to remain positive, but he knew that there were grumblings around town fearing the worst. He knew he had to be a pillar of support for his daughter – remind her of their family motto – we always find each other. If Killian Jones was still alive out there somewhere, they would indeed find him.

He just had to keep those positive thoughts as he turned his attention back to the mess on his desk, eyeing the largest pile – his aptly named "crap" pile which was a jumbled mess of forms, receipts, faxes and stuff that Emma had printed out for one unknown reason or another. Most of this was just junk that could have been thrown out and that was something that David should have been doing but instead, when Emma walked in through the front door around 8:30am, she caught her father sailing a paper airplane toward a metal trash can placed under the front window and based on the wreckage of multiple aircraft littering the floor around the can, most of his flights hadn't reached their destination.

"Sorry," David smiled sheepishly, his entire face instantly flush with embarrassment that he'd been caught engaging in such childish behavior. He quickly crumpled the folded paper in his hands and dropped it carefully into the closest trash receptacle while she merely rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I guess I got a little distracted – and a little carried away…"

"I hope those weren't made from anything important," she scolded as he sulked over to the window to scoop up the rest of his crashed fleet and deposit all of the carnage into the wastebasket.

"Just a bunch of random junk. I don't even know why you kept some of this stuff…"

"I don't know," she sighed as she slowly made her way toward her office. "You can deal with the rest of that later. It doesn't need to be done today…"

"Okay," he replied, noting the defeated tone to her voice. "It's been a slow morning so far so I'll just get it done and out of your way."

"If you want," she offered, but clearly paperwork was far from her mind. "I'm going to grab a cup of coffee and then check in with the cell phone company again to see if they've managed to locate Killian's phone today."

"I'm sure something will turn up soon," he tried to encourage her, but in the back of his mind, he knew that was likely to be a fruitless effort as well so he simply left his statement at that.

She fetched her silver travel mug from atop her desk and made her way over to the coffee pot, thankful that her father had remembered to turn it on and brew the first pot of the day before he'd begun piloting paper airplanes around the squad room. She didn't really fault him though, she thought as she filled the insulated mug and snapped the lid back onto it, delicately taking her first sip and offering her dad a faint smile of approval that it was palatable. Mug in hand, she strolled back to her desk and plopped herself down onto her chair, letting it spin slightly while she attempted to relax her mind. If only that was as simple as twirling around in an office chair…

She'd scarcely had time to press the power button on the desktop computer when a shout came from the station's front door as it swung open widely.

"Mom! Mom!" Henry shouted at the top of his lungs as he allowed the door to slam closed behind him. He was clearly out of breath, his face beet red as though he'd just run the entire length of Main Street. Wondering what the emergency might be, both David and Emma sprang to their feet at the boy's sudden arrival.

"Henry? Whoa… Where's the fire?" David wondered. "Shouldn't you be at school by now?" His grandson barely acknowledged him, darting past the prince into his mother's office.

"I agree – why aren't you in school?" Emma asked, awaiting her son's response, quite curious as to what this outburst might be about.

"I was getting ready for school this morning," Henry began, breathlessly panting through every word. "I turned on the morning news while I was eating breakfast as part of a homework assignment on current events and I caught a piece of a story they were running about a man they were attempting to identify… A picture flashed onto the screen, and although I didn't really get a good look at it, something about it was very familiar…"

"Okay, kid, slow down and take a breath," she said, still awaiting the actual answer to her question. "Is there a point to this because if there isn't, you really need to get to class…?"

"There's definitely a point, Mom. I went to their website to see if I could find the whole photo because I was curious – and Mom, you really need to see it! Open up Channel 7's website – and click on the Local News link…"

"Channel 7 is a Portland station, right?" David queried, joining his daughter and grandson in the office while Emma humored the teen and typed the website address into her browser. When the page opened on the screen, Henry pointed to the hyperlink tab for Local News from their banner and she clicked on it. As the next webpage opened, she could already see the headline that Henry wanted her to find: Cumberland County Authorities Seeking Assistance in Identifying Comatose Man.

"That one," Henry stabbed his index finger toward the line of text on her screen. "Click on it. You'll see why…" Emma begrudgingly clicked on the story headline which opened a video clip from the previous night's newscast. The station's female anchor, stern yet professional, displayed little emotion as she read the story from her teleprompter:

In other local news, the Cumberland County Sheriff's Department is currently seeking the public's assistance to help them identify a man found yesterday afternoon on one of Portland's coastal islands. The man was carrying no identification, but he was found wearing some rather unique jewelry that authorities are hoping would be recognizable to his family and friends. This man may be a victim of a crime, so at the present time, we are unable to relay any photographs of him, but the Sheriff's Department has supplied us with a close-up photograph of the rings and pendant worn by their John Doe. If you recognize any of the items in this picture, please contact the Cumberland County Sheriff at the phone number listed on your screen.

A full screen photograph was then displayed with a phone number embedded into the bottom of the image causing Emma's jaw to immediately gape open. The items shown were unmistakable: three men's rings and a pendant featuring a skull and dagger.

"Those are Killian's!" she gasped, now instantly having part of the answer as to why her husband hadn't returned. He was apparently lying unconscious somewhere in Portland and no one there had any idea who he was. "Henry – thank you!" She exclaimed, reaching for the phone receiver and rapidly dialing the number shown on her computer monitor where she'd paused the video.

"Cumberland County Sheriff. How may we be of assistance?" the female voice of a dispatcher answered.

"Good morning. My name is Emma Jones and I'm Sheriff here in the town of Storybrooke, Maine. I need to speak with whoever is handling the John Doe case that was profiled on last night's news."

"Do you have information regarding the case, Sheriff?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. It's highly likely that your John Doe might be my missing husband. The jewelry in the photograph from the newscast was what he was wearing when he left here two days ago."

"I see…," the dispatcher continued. "So that we can be certain that this isn't someone simply fishing for information, would you be able to provide a description of your husband? We've had quite a few prank calls already this morning…"

Emma knew the drill. They had to be certain she was legit. "Sure – I understand. He's 5 foot 11 with short, dark brown hair and blue eyes. He has numerous scars including a diagonal one across his right cheek and several tattoos, but his most obvious feature is that he's missing his left hand. Does that match the description you've got there?"

"Thank you, Sheriff. It sure does," the woman stated, now convinced that this was no prank call. "Let me get you through to Deputy McCallen. He's the primary on this case."

"Thanks," Emma replied as the dispatcher put her on hold for a moment, then she heard the sound of the phone ringing again as she was connected to a different number.

"This is Deputy McCallen," a new voice answered. "My dispatcher tells me you can identify our John Doe. She said your description was a definite match to our victim."

"Hello, Deputy McCallen. I don't know if your dispatcher told you but my name is Emma and those rings and the pendant from the photograph belong to my husband, Killian Jones. He went out sailing two days ago and hadn't returned."

"Killian Jones you say? We've tried everything to identify him but we couldn't find a record of his fingerprints anywhere."

"Yes, I know. That's a very long story… Would you happen to have a photograph of your John Doe's face just so that I can verify that it is definitely my husband?"

"I can email or text you one. Which would you prefer, Sheriff?" Emma quickly rattled off her cell phone number and seconds later, a notification popped up. She immediately clicked the file to open the attached photo, taking in a deep breath as her eyes fell on the bruised and swollen face of her husband. What the hell had happened for him to end up like this and hours south of Storybrooke?

"That's Killian," she replied with a sigh, relieved to finally know where he was, but with a renewed concern for his welfare because she had no idea what circumstances had led to this current predicament. "I don't know how on earth he ended up on one of your islands down there, but I'm so happy to know he's been found. I can be down there in about two hours if you'd have time to meet me and discuss the case?"

"I'll be more than happy to make time to meet with you, Sheriff. Why don't I meet you at Portland Medical Center downtown where they're treating your husband? I'm sure you're anxious to be reunited with him, although just to let you know, as of this morning, he still hasn't awakened. I'll call over and let them know you're on your way and of course that he's no longer a John Doe."

"Thank you, Deputy McCallen. I'll see you in a couple of hours," she stated as she hung up the telephone.

"So your pirate turned up in Portland?" David asked as Emma pushed away from the desk and stood up, tugging on her jacket while fishing her keys out of the pocket of her jeans.

"Looks that way. I'm going to run by the house and pick up a few things. Sounds like I might have to be down there for a few days. Think you can handle taking over Sheriff duties again for a while?"

"I've got things handled here. Go take care of your husband." David insisted.

"I think I saw the evidence of how well things were being 'handled' earlier…," she teased, directing a thumb toward the trash can while she playfully shook her head. "I'll call you as soon as I know more."

"Can I come with you?" Henry asked as he followed his mother out of the station toward her battered old Volkswagen beetle.

"That's probably not a good idea," she replied as she pulled open the driver's door. "You have school and honestly, I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Please, Mom? I'm worried too and you could use the company…"

"Henry, until we know more, I think you should stay here. Besides, I don't need Regina getting upset with me over you missing school again. Let me find out what's going on and maybe we can work out something for you to visit later this week?"

"Okay…," he sulked as Emma climbed into the car. "I better get to school then…" Emma felt a little pang of guilt over the pained expression on her son's face but until she knew what was going on with Killian, it really was for the best that he stayed behind.

Portland Medical Center – two hours later

Of course, she really should have known better. Henry was far more like her than she ever wanted to admit and the boy had decided to sneak into the back seat of the Bug while Emma was inside the house packing a bag with clothing and necessities. She'd nearly run off the road when his head popped up in her rear view mirror as she'd turned into the highway. She almost turned the car around and took him back to Storybrooke but not wanting to make Deputy McCallen wait, she scolded him for disobeying and forced him to call Regina to explain his actions as soon as they reached the interstate. Stubbornness certainly was a Charming family trait… Regina agreed to let him stay the night, but stated she was coming to Portland to pick him up tomorrow since Emma had enough to worry about and the Queen was right - Emma herself was focused on just getting to Portland, disobeying more than a few speed limits during her drive south and she managed to arrive at the medical center ahead of Deputy McCallen.

She checked in at the reception desk to get visitor's badges for each of them although it took the receptionist a few moments to locate the room information as Killian's name hadn't yet been entered into the hospital's directory. He was still listed officially as John Doe, but his electronic file contained a note that Deputy McCallen had advised that the patient's wife would be arriving. The young lady then directed Emma to the sixth floor – room 627 – and advised her to ask for Jackie, the head nurse for that unit. Emma thanked her and as they made their way to the bank of elevators on the left, Henry gave her a reassuring pat on the back, trying to ensure that his mother kept a positive attitude. They'd found Killian and everything was going to be fine soon. She knew exactly what he was trying to express so as they rode up in the elevator, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and while neither spoke a word, their intentions were clear.

Mother and son stepped out of the elevator when the doors parted on the sixth floor, searching for signage that would tell them which way to head. Henry spotted the placard on the wall first which displayed an arrow indicating that rooms 615-630 were to their left. Passing through a set of automatic glass doors, they arrived at a short corridor that led into a U shaped section of patient rooms surrounding a central desk. Each room in this unit had floor to ceiling glass windows with privacy curtains on the inside which could be drawn as needed but otherwise gave the nurses a clear view into each patient room. It took merely a quick glance around for Emma to determine that the only room with an armed guard seated outside was likely the one they were headed to, but she figured it would probably be best to introduce herself first rather than head straight into her husband's room.

"I'm looking for a patient of yours – Killian Jones?" Emma asked hesitantly as she approached the young nurse seated at the desk. "I'm his wife…"

"I'm sorry…," the nurse stammered, slightly startled by Emma's arrival. "You said Jones?" she asked as she scanned her list of patient names, not finding a match.

"Yes, Jones, but until earlier this morning, you had him listed as a John Doe… found on a beach a couple of days ago?"

"Oh!" the nurse exclaimed, a little embarrassed at the oversight. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Jones. We just received that notification about an hour ago so I do apologize that I hadn't yet associated his real name. He's in room 627 – right behind me."

"Thank you. I was told I should also ask for Jackie? Is that you?" Emma wondered.

"Jackie is my supervisor. She's been the one primarily in charge of your husband's care during the day shift with Colleen filling in at night. I'm certain she would like to speak to you about his condition. Let me page her..."

"Thanks. I'm not going to have any issues with getting past him, am I?" Emma asked, aiming her thumb in the direction of the armed guard seated just to the right of the door to room 627.

"Not at all. The Sheriff's deputy phoned this morning so we've been expecting you. Again, I'm sorry about the confusion with the name and all…"

The privacy curtains had been drawn across the windows to Killian's room so Emma couldn't yet see inside to get even a brief peek at her wounded husband. She managed a polite smile as the guard nodded to her when she pushed open the door, still slightly reluctant to enter. Even with Killian having been identified as a deputy sheriff, she was surprised to see a guard positioned at his door. There was a clear concern for his welfare and she was formulating a mental list of all of the questions she'd have to ask Deputy McCallen when he arrived, but for the moment, she let the butterflies in her stomach take over as she stepped through the doorway, the image from the photograph McCallen had shared earlier still clear in her memory. If she'd been aware that she'd been holding her breath, she might not have allowed the little gasp to escape her lips when she at last was able to see him with her own eyes. The marginal bit of information she'd been given before leaving Storybrooke simply hadn't been enough to prepare.

She hadn't expected to see him positioned on the narrow bed nearly sitting upright with a heavy blanket draped around his shoulders and chest like a cape. Only his hand and a few inches of his wrist were left exposed most likely due to the IV line that was taped there. A second matching blanket was draped over the lower half of his body which made her wonder if his body temperature was a concern. It was April in Maine after all and since she knew he'd been found out on one of the islands, she guessed he had spent some time in the frigid waters of the Atlantic. Almost unconsciously, she reached out to gently squeeze his fingers finding them slightly cool to her touch, but warmer than she'd expected.

Her gaze drew upward toward his face, taking in the sight of the deep eggplant purple bruise under his right eye that extended to the bridge of his nose. His lips, parted by the plastic breathing tube, appeared to be dry and chapped – another strong indicator that he had been exposed to cold temperatures. But she just couldn't fathom how he'd gotten here... Had he been in a shipwreck or had a storm swell thrown him overboard?

"Oh, Killian… What the hell happened to you?" she asked her comatose husband aloud as she tightened her fingers around his once again while raising her left hand to his face, tenderly cupping her palm around the right side of his jawline as her thumb grazed across the thick growth of scruff along his chin.

Henry remained standing stoically behind his mother, fully understanding how much she needed this moment. He considered excusing himself so she could be alone with Killian but he decided against it, preferring instead to just stay back out of the way, relieved that they'd found his stepfather alive yet wary of just how severe his injuries could be. They had learned from the news clip that he'd been found two days ago – the same day he had sailed out of Storybrooke harbor. Since he'd been listed as a John Doe, he must have been unconscious this whole time or they might have been able to ask him his name so while he knew his mother was elated to locate him, the circumstances were raising more questions than answers – answers they weren't likely to get anytime soon.

"You must be Mrs. Jones?" Emma heard a woman's voice ask from the doorway. She turned to see a petite ginger haired woman wearing faded floral print scrubs. "I'm Jackie, the head nurse for this floor. I've been taking care of your husband for the past few days and thought I could answer some of your questions."

"Yes, I'm Mrs. Jones. You can call me Emma. This is my son, Henry. We can't thank you enough for all you've done to take care of my husband – even when he was just a John Doe to you."

"It's all in a day's work, sweetie, and I'm so glad to finally know his name. We don't get a whole lot of John Does around here but I've handled a few where we never learned the victim's real name. It's a bit discouraging sometimes." The nurse smiled then briefly glanced at her watch. "I have a briefing in a few minutes but I'll try to answer your questions about his medical condition, but more specific details regarding the case might have to come from the Sheriff's department."

"I appreciate it. I spoke briefly with Deputy McCallen this morning, but he didn't really tell me anything about what happened. Could you give us a brief overview?" Emma wondered.

"Of course. From a medical standpoint, here's what we know: your husband, then John Doe number 3, was brought in by a Coast Guard rescue unit two days ago. He was hypothermic from immersion in frigid salt water and then from exposure to the elements after washing up on the beach. He showed symptoms of near drowning including mild cyanosis and fluid in his lungs. His body temperature was below 95 degrees when he arrived to our ER, but his lowered core temp may have helped save his life because it might have slowed his circulation enough to prevent him from bleeding to death…"

"Wait – bleeding to death?" Emma interrupted. "I see bruises all over his face but I don't see anything that would possibly have caused him to bleed to death? Wasn't he in a shipwreck or something?"

"You'll really have to speak to the deputy for more specifics, but your husband appears to have been stabbed. He suffered a single puncture wound through his torso from a narrow, very sharp object consistent with a long knife. It entered his body from just below his rib cage on the right side of his back then angled upward through his chest slicing through a portion of his liver and puncturing his diaphragm. Luckily for him, no major blood vessels were severed and surgeons were able to repair the damage. We've been working to get his body temperature back to normal and maintain it which is the reason for the thermal blankets. We've had some difficulty keeping it regulated so he definitely has a way to go - and of course there is still lingering fluid in his lungs which runs a risk of developing into pneumonia so we're keeping a watchful eye on him. With the damage to his diaphragm, his breathing is still compromised so we've kept him on the ventilator, but we're hopeful to have him breathing on his own soon. I've probably rambled on enough, but essentially, we won't know the full extent of the damage until your husband regains consciousness." The nurse paused for a moment to let Emma attempt to digest all of that information then glanced down at her watch once more. "I know that was a lot to take in, but did you have any questions?"

"Honestly, you covered most of it but I know I'm going to have a whole lot to ask Deputy McCallen when he gets here," Emma sighed.

"I'll be in and out periodically for the rest of my shift, then either Colleen or Penelope will be in later this afternoon. If you need any immediate assistance, you can have me paged or just ask Kelly or Judy, the other two nurses in duty."

"Thank you. I appreciate your time and all of the info you've given us." Emma tried to smile as Nurse Jackie excused herself, closing the door behind her. Emma now had a better idea of what he was facing, but they still didn't have the whole picture. She could only hope that Deputy McCallen would be able to fill in a few of the blanks when he arrived.

By this time, Henry had moved to take a seat on a chair by the window as the nurse's words had made it clear that nothing was going to happen for a while so he settled in for what could be a long day.

"Do you want me to text Grandma and Grandpa to let them know what we've found out?" the teen asked, pulling his iPhone and ear buds out of his pocket.

"Sure, kid. You're faster at it anyway," Emma replied as she began to lower herself onto the uncomfortable looking molded plastic chair at Killian's bedside only to be interrupted by a light rap on the door. Medical staff wouldn't knock so perhaps this could be the deputy who was running a little bit late.

"Sheriff Jones?" a voice called out as the door swung open slowly, a voice that was the same as the one she'd heard on the other end of the phone line this morning.

"Yes – come on in," she instructed, turning her attention momentarily away from her husband toward the uniformed deputy as he stepped into the room, trying not to comment on how much younger he appeared to be than what she'd expected. "And please, you can call me Emma."

"Thank you. I'm Deputy Aaron McCallen," he introduced himself, extending his hand toward her for a courteous handshake. "You're welcome to call me Aaron or just McCallen if you prefer. Everyone pretty much just calls me by my surname anyway." He grinned as Emma shook his hand, his dimpled cheeks making him appear even younger. She guessed he was probably in his twenties or at the most, early thirties which really wasn't much younger than she was but he didn't wear the strain of her more jaded existence. He stood at least a foot taller than her and wore his sandy hair cropped very short, almost military style. "I apologize for the delay but I was meeting with a colleague to gather some new information pertinent to your husband's case."

"It's alright," she insisted. "It gave me a few minutes to speak to a nurse so it all worked out just fine. She filled me in on some of the basics that our brief conversation this morning hadn't covered so I'm appreciative of this meeting to find out the rest of what you know about how my husband ended up in this hospital bed. I'm also really glad that my son, Henry, stumbled onto that newscast or we might still be searching for Killian."

"I'm glad he found it too," the deputy stated. "I'm glad we now know your husband's name, but there's still a huge mystery to unravel about how he ended up on the island before we can close this case. This morning, I was meeting with a colleague on the Portland police department as we're working on this as a joint investigation for the time being…"

"A joint investigation into what? Was my husband in a shipwreck or some kind?"

"No – not a shipwreck. Is that what you thought happened?" McCallen seemed understandably confused.

"Well, Killian was out sailing when he disappeared. I guess that was the most logical conclusion, but then I guess that doesn't explain the stab wound the nurse told me about."

"A shipwreck would have been a far easier investigation to sort out," McCallen sighed, glancing toward the window where Henry sat, headphones tucked into his ears as he tapped away on the tiny electronic screen. "Do you want to talk here or would you prefer to step outside?" he asked Emma, slightly uncomfortable about discussing case details in front of the teen.

"It's okay to talk here. It wouldn't be anything he hasn't heard before with his mom, stepdad and grandfather running the Sheriff department back home."

"Bit of a family business?"

"You could say that," she snickered. If only this young deputy knew the whole story…

"Okay – just checking. Why don't you have a seat while I fill you in on everything we know at this point?" McCallen retrieved a small, wirebound notebook from his uniform coat pocket while Emma finally settled down onto the plastic chair at Killian's side, feeling slightly awkward that they were about to discuss what had happened to him while he lay beside her unable to confirm or deny any of it. "As you know, the coastal islands here mostly fall under the jurisdiction of the Cumberland County Sheriff Department which was how I became involved in the case. I was sent out to investigate how an injured, unconscious man came to be found by the Coast Guard on one of our islands with no identification on him – further complicated by the fact that that our John Doe's fingerprints weren't in the system anywhere…"

"Yeah, Killian's a bit of an enigma. He doesn't usually carry a wallet and I really doubt you have the time right now for me to explain his lack of identifiable information in your database," her response came with an uncomfortable laugh that she hoped the deputy hadn't picked up on. "It's a very long story, but please, go on."

"Sounds like a story I'd like to hear some day, but I don't want to digress… Getting back to what we do know, yesterday, before releasing the photograph of your husband's jewelry to the news media, we also sent out a photograph of your husband to local county law enforcement as well as to some of the surrounding areas looking for any additional help in identifying your husband. I apologize that I wasn't familiar with your town of Story…" he struggled to think of the town's name so Emma helped him out.

"Storybrooke," she reminded him.

"Storybrooke," McCallen repeated. "I'd never heard of Storybrooke before so the alert didn't make it to you but our bulletin did generate a hit for facial recognition from the Portland PD – the ones I met with earlier today – who are investigating a robbery and hostage situation that took place the same morning that your husband wound up on the beach."

"You're saying that Killian may have been somehow involved in a robbery?" Emma was slightly dumbfounded at this new revelation.

"He was. I've confirmed that your husband was definitely there from the security video provided by Portland PD."

"How exactly was he involved?" she wondered, her mind racing with questions regarding what her pirate's intentions may have been that drew him into a robbery.

"From the accounts and evidence we have, he appears to have volunteered to allow himself to be taken hostage instead of the store owner," the deputy explained. "I'm heading over to speak to the proprietor myself later today to see if she can provide me with a better idea of how your husband ended up there in the first place to try and sort out the timeline of events."

"When did the robbery take place?"

"If we can believe the time stamp on the security camera footage, just before 11AM on Sunday morning. Portland PD's witness statements put the time between 10:30 and 11AM so we're pretty certain that the video is correct."

"And Killian was rescued from the island at what time?"

"We don't have the exact time that the fishermen spotted him, but Coast Guard Rescue received the call at 1:46PM."

"So the hazy timeline you're working with puts the physical attack – when he was actually stabbed - somewhere in those roughly three hours that are unaccounted for…" Emma thought out loud. "Killian sailed out of Storybrooke harbor about 6AM and ended up on the Portland waterfront about four hours later…"

"What kind of boat does your husband have?" McCallen queried. "One with a powerful motor?"

"One with sails," she deadpanned her response.

"Damn! He must have caught one heck of a breeze to bring a sailboat this far south in that amount of time. I mean, it took you two hours to drive it and sailboats aren't exactly the speediest mode of transportation…"

"It's a pretty good sized 'sailboat'," she chuckled, turning toward her husband and imagining the offense he would have taken to hear his ship referred to as a sailboat, but she also found herself wondering how he'd managed that much speed. "I just wonder what he was doing…"

"Does your husband make a habit out of going sailing alone?"

"He does. I guess you could say that it's his therapy. He's an expert captain and the sea was definitely his first true love…"

"Well, you've filled in a few more points on my timeline," McCallen said as he scribbled a few notes into his little memo pad. "Looking forward to getting some answers from him though." He gestured toward the unconscious Killian with his pen.

"You and me both," Emma sighed, reaching over to pat Killian's hand, remembering how happy she was that they'd found him and just how heartbreaking it was that he wasn't able to tell his side of this mysterious tale.

"I'm sure this hasn't been easy on you," the deputy said, his tone genuinely empathetic as he tucked his notebook and pen away. "I can't begin to imagine what the past few days have been like for your family not knowing where he'd vanished to."

"No, it certainly hasn't been easy. A whole lot of awful things went through my mind," Emma confessed. "Just looking forward to getting him safely back home now."

"Well, I'm going to get out of your hair for now. I've got a witness to go interview, but I promise to check back in with you later."

"Actually…," Emma spoke up as an idea suddenly popped into her head. "Would you mind if I tagged along? Professional courtesy or whatever?" She was slightly torn in asking, but she had her own questions – ones the young deputy might not think to ask and while she didn't really want to leave Killian's side, curiosity generally got the best of her and of course, there was no doubt that he would rather have his wife out there searching for whomever injured him than pining away here.

"I don't have a problem with it, Sheriff, but what about your son? I can't bring a teenager along to an interview…"

"I'll be fine here," Henry chimed in, clearly having been listening to far more of the conversation than he'd let on.

"If you think it would be okay with the guard and with the hospital staff, Henry could stay here so there would be a familiar face if Killian wakes up…," she suggested as she stood up. "I'd honestly rather stay here myself but my gut is telling me that we'll get more answers if I go with you."

"It's fine by me. I know Hank outside. As long as the kid stays in the room, he won't have a problem, but you might want to check with the nurses to see what they have to say," McCallen didn't really know what to make of this blonde Sheriff but she intrigued him. He had a feeling that she had a way of getting answers and admired the strength she displayed, not certain if he'd be able to even consider leaving his spouse's side if he'd just been reunited with them after days of being missing. Finding out what had happened to her husband was such a clear priority and it had the deputy smiling stupidly as she walked past him and headed out to the nurse's station, returning maybe a minute later to collect her coat.

"Okay, kid – you're cleared to stay here but should anything happen, you'll have to stay out of the way. You also need to stay here in the room unless told otherwise by security or one of the nurses."

"I'll be fine, Mom. I've got my phone, headphones and a charger. I can keep myself entertained," Henry insisted.

"Thought so. Call me if there are any changes, okay? We should be back in what – about an hour or so?" she looked over her shoulder at Deputy McCallen for confirmation.

"Um…yeah… I would say about an hour," the deputy stammered, not really certain how long the interview would take as he didn't really have a plethora of experience with these types of investigations. "If you're ready, we can head over to the witness' shop. She said she'll be there all afternoon and with traffic, it's about a fifteen minute drive from here."

"Okay – just a sec…," Emma paused as she tugged on her camel colored wool peacoat, lingering momentarily at Killian's bedside before stooping to plant a quick kiss on his forehead. "I'll be back soon," she whispered, hoping he was able to hear her. "Would love to see you awake when I get back." She then turned to Henry, giving him the same reminder that she'd return soon. "Do me a favor and give David a call? Let him know I'll fill him in on everything later?"

"I already texted him that message," Henry grinned, "but I'll give him a call too. I know Grandma's pretty worried." Emma nodded, agreeing that both of her parents were likely very worried since they still had so little information to work with and especially since after two days, Killian remained unconscious. She pushed back the lingering guilt as she really didn't want to leave him, but her inquisitive side was demanding answers and she felt she'd serve him better if she tried to obtain those answers instead of just sitting idly here.

"See you in a bit, kid. Don't do anything I would do," she said with a little grin as she stepped through the doorway following Deputy McCallen.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Mom," Henry responded as she left, realizing very quickly after she and the deputy were gone how eerily quiet it became. It wasn't totally silent as he could still hear the voices of people out in the corridor, but now that he was alone in this sterile hospital room, he felt a heightened awareness of the strange sounds coming from the abundance of machines and monitors that surrounded his stepfather – oddly equally unnerved and comforted by the unusual noises. It was weird and a little bit lonely – even though he wasn't technically alone. Killian was right here – just a few feet away from where he sat, yet at the same time, he wasn't there. He had no way of knowing if Killian could sense his presence – whether or not he now knew that he wasn't alone anymore in this strange city.

It certainly wasn't that Henry hadn't seen the pirate injured before. He'd had the unfortunate honor of watching Killian die twice for heaven's sake, but something about this was different. The boy sat there oddly transfixed by the unnaturally even rhythm of his stepfather's machine-aided breath and the consistent bleeps and blips that registered everything from his heart rate to blood pressure and other vitals that Henry couldn't even identify right now. It was all slightly surreal and there was a part of his mind that couldn't shake the thought that he could be sitting here watching his stepfather slowly dying yet again – all the while wishing that there was something he could do.

He finally broke his stare when he felt his phone vibrate in his hand with a message from Violet - a reply to his earlier text expressing her relief that Killian had been found. He responded with a promise to call her later when they had more information, remembering his assurance to his mom that he'd call his grandfather – awkwardly wondering for just a moment whether Killian might be bothered by him making a phone call.

Yeah, certainly nothing normal about this situation…