He should have listened to her. Why had the man been too stubborn to listen to her? She was a target, she would always be a target. She was creature of magic and thus, a creature not to be trusted. But he wouldn't listen. He had believed that if he could see the good in her, then others would too. It would only take them time. She had wanted to believe him for so long, but she could not longer believe him. Not now. Not after what they'd done to him.
Emma had begged him not to travel alone at night, especially not without her. But Killian had been adamant on traveling that night to their neighbors. He was concerned for her health, which had seemed to be on the decline in his opinion. She hadn't told him the reason, she'd wanted to surprise him at the perfect moment. After another bout of sickness, Killian had decided it was time to ask their neighbors, the Nolan's, for help.
Emma held no ill wishes for their neighbors. They were good people, shepherds, who were the firsts to befriend Killian and herself. They often traded goods and works with one another. Mary Margaret was even aware of Emma's condition, having learned it before Emma knew. So it was not the involvement of her neighbors that concerned her, but the risk he was taking in traveling the mile distance to see them. Though the Nolan's enjoyed their company, others did not. And she feared for his safety. He had insistent that he would be safe, that he could handle whatever was thrown his way. That he was a survivor. But now, even surviving may not be a possibility for him anymore.
Emma brushed a stray tear from her cheek as she reached for the warm cloth. She carefully removed it from Killian's forehead and dipped it into a bowl of cool water beside the bed. She soaked the cloth for a moment before ringing out the water and returning the cloth to Killian's feverish forehead. His stirred for a brief moment before stilling once more.
He lay in their bed, sheet drawn to his waist. His chest and arms were wrapped in bandages that needed changing. His neck was wrapped in soaking rags to help combat the fever. Her pillow lay beneath what remained of his left arm, propping the stump. His dark hair lay against his sweat soaked scalp. His chapped lips parted enough for only a small gap to breathe through. His right hand was clenched into a fist, gripping the sheet with white knuckles. Looking at him lying so helpless brought another bout of tears to her eyes. Emma wiped them away with a fury, only to have more fall. She couldn't believe the world could be so cruel to them.
From David's words, Killian had nearly reached the Nolan's farm when he'd been attacked. They'd physically beaten him into submission, broken ribs and bones to keep him still. Then they tarred him. The tar the mob had spread over his body had been scalding, burning his flesh from the heat. She had heard his agonizing screams miles down the road, and known it was him. She could still feel that moment fear swept through her body for him. Even now those screams still echoed through her mind. By the time David had broken through, the damage had been done. Hunch over David's shoulder, Killian had hung, barely holding onto the threads of consciousness, covered in smoking tar and feathers. Yet when she ran to him, through all the pain, Killian had managed to smile up at her.
Removing the tar had been the hardest part. Since it had burned the flesh, peeling back the tar peeled off the skin as well. The open wounds had brought about an infection that had taken his left hand and now threatened to take Killian's life.
Emma had stayed by his side every moment she could. She paused only in her bouts of sickness, long enough her steady herself and return to tending to her husband. Mary Margaret joined her in the day, giving Emma a few hours to sleep or rest. Other days she brought food and would leave until Emma had eaten enough for herself and the baby.
More tears spilled down her cheeks, but she couldn't care anymore. She didn't bother to wipe them away or try to stop them. She didn't have it in her to be strong anymore. Emma buried her face into her hands and sobbed as hard as she could. The fear creeped through her body like a plague. She couldn't got on without him. He was her rock and her courage.
A rough touch ghosted her arm, ending her outburst. Emma lifted her eyes to find herself gazing into a storm of blue. They were weak and ill, but he was still with her. Beaten, bloodied, and sick, Killian managed enough strength to smile at her. He struggled to raise his hand, reached up to her cheek, and gently wiped the tears aware.
"I told you love, I'm a survivor." He whispered.
In that moment, Emma knew. He wasn't going to leave her. Ever.