AN: *TRIGGER WARNING for vague (and totally untrue) mentions of possible sexual assault and its investigation. Many thanks to the wonderful lillpon for her sage advice!

Chapter 10

The CT took time, of course. It turned out that they weren't even ready for him, as they had claimed, and Killian ended up waiting at least a quarter of an hour in a tiny prep room off the main department. The only positives of what was essentially a closet: it was warmer than the hallways, and he wouldn't have to sit in his threadbare gown among all of the ambulatory patients in the main waiting room.

He had been given some generic magazine to help pass the time, but none of the articles were of any interest to him. The alternative, though, was to sit uncomfortably and count the number of times his leg throbbed per minute, which wasn't all that fun, either.

Alone for the first time since discovering the identity of his companion, Killian's mind kept wandering as varying emotions flooded through him. Number one was, naturally, concern for her well-being. Always fiercely protective of his ship, it was hardly a surprise that he would be the same in regards to her human self. In his imagination, he kept coming back to an awful image of faceless medical personnel holding her down, forcing their tests on her as she screamed. He knew it was unlikely. They had rules they were required to follow, certain guidelines on consent, and she posed no danger to anyone, including herself. But until he could be back in her presence, he would continue to worry and imagine the worst, no matter how much he tried to rationalize it away.

Second, shock. Still. The idea still startled him. Centuries aboard that lovely ship… he knew of the enchanted wood, talked to her as any proud captain would, but never imagined her sentience. Her understanding, a presence that could observe and empathize but not interact. It was poignant, perhaps a bit unsettling… and he was at a loss. She knew him in ways that no one else did. She'd watched him survive his darkest moments, heard him as he grieved and railed. Felt the loss as two precious passengers were tipped off her decks and given to the sea. Absorbed the blood of many, her captain's and his victims' alike. Rocked him to sleep when he was too drunk or injured or despairing to leave his cabin for days on end. She had been a solid presence through storm, curse, portal, and adventure. And she was here now, he could talk to her, and he had no idea what to say.

His thanks could never be enough.

By the time the test was over and he was on his way back to the exam room, Killian was jittery with nerves, impatient to see her again and assure himself of her welfare. The pain meds weren't helping, making him feel disconnected and edgy. So when he was brought back to their original room, it took him a moment to realize it.

"We've moved, mate," he snarled at the lad steering his wheelchair. But the boy was undeterred. He parked the chair in the middle of the room, set the brake, and mumbled,

"Doc will be in shortly."

"This is the wrong room, though… wait…"

Killian was alone, the door closed, and he cursed. He made a feeble attempt to turn the wheels himself before realizing he still possessed the ability to walk, albeit painfully. Just as he was limping his way toward the exit - pushing the chair before him because it was easier than trying to move the IV to the pole waiting on the other side of the room - in came two men. Dr. Stevens and a police officer. What the hell?

"Have a seat, Mr. Jones," commanded the physician seriously.

"What's going on? Where's Marvel?" Angry and afraid, Killian made no move to obey.

"We feel that there's probable cause to open an investigation into what really happened between you and Ms. Seaver."

At first, Killian's slightly drug-addled brain didn't make the connection. Then he remembered scrawling the surname for her, hoping it sounded normal enough for this land. He and Marvel, then. And that phrase.

"I'm under arrest, then?" he clarified, seething. Furious with the conclusions they had drawn. With himself for not seeing it coming. That was the reason for all of the secrecy, the chaperone, possibly even the expedited testing: they had wanted to separate them. And he couldn't even blame them for being suspicious. Doubtless, it looked strange, not far from sinister, and the necessity of lies at every turn did not help matters.

The officer followed all of the proper protocols as far as Killian could tell from his deputy training and experience. And he certainly couldn't fault the fellow for doing his job. It was just ironic that after all his decades of crime, the one thing he was under investigation for was something fictitious - a transgression he would never even consider committing.

"Ms. Seaver has already been examined for evidence, and a detective is conducting an interview," the police officer informed Killian.

"Is she okay?" Killian asked quietly. Poor girl. She probably didn't understand half the things they were doing and asking.

"She's much calmer now, cooperating willingly," reported Dr. Stevens. "She will be well looked after."

What followed was a spectacularly invasive search of Killian's person as the physician gathered potential evidence. Clothing bagged, samples and swabs collected, scrapings from beneath his fingernails. The slightest mark anywhere on his skin that could even hint at injury - and, thus, a struggle - documented and photographed. They took particular interest in the claw marks on his chest and arm: to a biased eye, they could easily represent a woman's desperate attempts at self-defense. And Killian's only explanation had to be a weak, obviously made-up story blaming the rocks on which they'd run aground.

Killian submitted passively, knowing that it would be easier overall if he did, and they wouldn't find anything incriminating in the end. It wasn't exactly fun, and he felt terrible that Marvel had had to undergo what was likely a very similar process, but he consoled himself with the fact that she hadn't yet developed the ingrained shame that made these types of procedures so humiliating.

Dressed in a new gown and socks - sans underwear now - Killian was directed up onto the exam table while all of the "evidence" was properly sealed and labeled. His digital fingerprints were taken, one of the few processes in life actually sped up by his lack of a left hand. Then he was handcuffed to the railing, despite assurances that he wouldn't try to flee. How could he, really, when he could barely walk unaided? Turned out it was more for the safety of "Ms. Seaver" than anything else, which he appreciated in a strange way. As Dr. Stevens left, Killian lay back, feeling helpless. His Swan would arrive to a very familiar sight… and he didn't even deserve it this time.

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AN: (Spoilers, I guess) - Just want to mention that this isn't going to turn into a long crime drama. I'm not really into that, and don't care to do a lot of research about court proceedings, etc. Just wanted some extra angst for the pirate before he's allowed to go home :)