Mary Margaret Nolan

December

The year has moved from gray November to festive December, bringing with it Christmas decorations and carols playing on every radio station. It's normally Mary Margaret's favorite time of year, but she's hard pressed to find much to love about it right now, especially since most of her waking hours are spent roaming the halls of Storybrooke hospital.

She currently has one shoulder pressed against a window, her forehead nearly touching the smudged glass as she watches the rain fall in a misty drizzle outside. There are only a few piles of snow left from last week's storm still on the ground, the rain steadily removing all signs of Storybrooke's worst blizzard in fifty years. The weather has been frenetic, moving from never ending snow to ice and now rain, umbrellas replacing the shovels that had been needed only days before.

The unpredictable forecast matches the emotional roller coaster they've been on since Edward Teach was arrested and Graham had popped up alive.

She still remembers the phone call she'd received in the middle of the night, David's strained voice asking if she could find someone to watch Leo and come to the hospital. He'd explained in bits and pieces what had happened, telling her that Killian had been shot and was in surgery, that Emma needed her. He'd left out the part about him being hurt as well. She'd only learned that when she'd arrived at the hospital in search of her husband and was led to a curtained off cubicle where a blonde nurse named Tinkerbell (of all things) was wrapping his damaged knee while her husband cradled a ball of white fluff that she'd realized was Emma's cat, Wendy.

She'd given him hell for not telling her the full story, but after he'd relayed what had happened, she'd understood his hesitation at not sharing it over the phone. It had been hard to process the news that Graham was alive - or had been until David had shot him - that he was the one behind everything that had happened in the past year and a half.

Mary Margaret's head was still spinning days later.

"You look exhausted." Shifting against the window, she lifts her head and looks over to find David ambling toward her on his crutch. He's carrying a cup of coffee in his free hand, his blue eyes muted with concern. Pushing off the window, she clucks at him and takes the cup from his outstretched hand.

"Sit down, David Nolan or I swear I'll push you down," she tells him sharply, stepping up to his free side and helping him maneuver over to the seating area they've claimed as their own the past week.

Once he's settled on the couch, Mary Margaret goes back to her position by the window, taking a sip of her coffee and sighing gratefully at the bitter flavor. It's only a small given her pregnancy, but any amount of caffeine helps right now. They've been bouncing back and forth between the hospital and home ever since Killian had been admitted and she's simply tuckered out. Emma needs them, though, and spending time watching out for her is the least they can do for their grief stricken friend.

She leans back against the window, watching David get comfortable on the couch. His hair is untidy and the scruff on his chin is turning into a full beard. There are dark smudges under his eyes and his mouth is pulled down into a worried, exhausted frown. They're all exhausted, but Emma is the worst of them, hanging on by only a thread. She's been by Killian's side ever since he was wheeled out of surgery, her hand wrapped around his, tears slipping silently down her face as she waits for him to wake. Her grief is palpable and Mary Margaret would do almost anything to help her, even it's only making sure that Emma eats and manages a few hours of sleep every day.

The door to Killian's room is ajar, the lights off inside. There's the occasional beep of a machine, but other than that, silence spills out into the hallway. Mary Margaret sighs, closing her eyes as her head falls back against the glass. Several minutes pass, the hospital coming awake around them. When she finally opens her eyes, it's to find David watching her from across the small room. He gives her a loving smile, his eyes crinkling up at the corners and there's a flash of his usual easy going self there and god, how she's missed that.

She takes a sip of her coffee, humming to hide the sudden tears in her eyes. "Good?" he asks, nodding toward her drink.

"Yeah. I'd forgotten how lovely a vanilla latte is. I haven't had one since before Leo was born."

"You feeling okay?" he asks, holding out his hand to her, concerned as ever for her health. She shuffles forward, settling on the couch with her legs curled under her. Balancing the cup on her thigh, she picks at the plastic lid and gives a half-hearted shrug in response.

"I'm okay. Tired, of course, and worried."

"I know. Me, too." He reaches over, taking her hand in his to prevent her from prying the lid off the cup with her restless tugs. "I feel so guilty," he murmurs, fingers squeezing hers as if he needs her strength to admit it. She faces him fully, catching the grimace of shame that shadows his features. He drops his gaze away, looking to their interlocked fingers.

"This isn't your fault, David," she reassures him. Squeezing his hand, she leans forward, forcing him to lift his eyes to meet hers once again. "Let's put blame where blame belongs - at Gold and Graham's feet...at Teach's. They're the true villains here."

He returns her smile with a forced, halfhearted one of his own, an echo of his normal brilliant smile. She'll take it, though, knowing it'll be a while before he can get past his guilt at not seeing through Graham's lies. She's not sure what else to say, other than repeating he's not to blame for any of this. Perhaps if she repeats it often enough, he'll start to ease up on the self-recrimination and cut himself some slack.

She'll be there until he does, holding his hand and reminding him as often as she can that he's her hero and always has been.

"I still can't believe Graham was alive all this time..." Her voice trails off and they stare at each other, both trying to process what they've discovered over the past week.

"It'll be a while before we know all the details, but I think he had a place in the woods, high up in the mountains, if I had to guess. You know how he was. He would disappear for weeks at a time, living off the land. Teach will confirm it eventually. It seems he was the only one who had any knowledge Graham was alive."

"How is our little songbird?" He grins at that.

"Singing away. I've turned over the evidence we've collected to my FBI contact. They have Teach and Gold in custody now, along with half a dozen of their employees and Graham's. It would appear that our small town police force has managed to take down not one, but two international crime rings."

It's so impossible to comprehend and the more details that emerge as Teach turns on his former employers, the less she can wrap her head around it all. At the center of this whole mess were two men obsessed - with power first and foremost and then with Killian and Emma. The darkness in their souls had taken over and any goodness they'd once possessed fled once jealousy had filled their hearts. The damage they've done will take a long time to move past, both for those directly involved as well as the community of Storybrooke.

"Is he...is he really dead?" she asks, doubt making her question what once they'd known to be fact. David sighs as he rubs tiredly at his temple, exhaustion coming off him in waves.

"Yeah," he confirms. "He's dead. I stayed to watch the autopsy. I had to...be sure this time."

"Oh, David." She feels the blood drain from her cheeks at his confession. He lifts his head, smiling gently to soothe her anxiety. He loosens his grip on her hand, reaching up to brush the apple of her cheek with his knuckles.

"You know, I told Emma that she hadn't been wrong about Graham...that he was a good guy, even if he kept secrets from her."

"You didn't have any idea, David. How could you know who he truly was? He lied to all of us."

"Oh, I don't know. I saw glimpses of his mental instability, his anger, but I didn't question it. He started recording conversations and I explained even that away, said it was part of the investigation and necessary to catch the people threatening us." He sighs, shame written into every line of his face. "I'm kicking myself for ignoring it all now. I mean, look what happened because I didn't push back. Killian's in a coma and Emma's mourning him. None of this would've happened if I had just admitted I was in over my head and brought in the FBI."

"David, you have to stop blaming yourself for this." Setting her coffee cup aside, Mary Margaret turns to him, both hands clasping his. "We did the best we could under the circumstances. Emma doesn't blame you. I don't blame you."

"I can't help thinking that if I'd never asked either of them for help, we wouldn't be sitting here waiting to hear if Killian is going to - " She refuses to let him finish, not wanting him to tempt fate by speaking the words aloud.

"Of course we wouldn't be here, but who is to say we wouldn't be in a worse position?" Leaning forward, she peers into the loveliest blue eyes she knows and gives him a hopeful smile. "I have to believe he's going to pull through this. You know how powerful hope can be and right now, Killian and Emma need as much of it as we can give them." Tears fill her husband's eyes and she leans into the hand he now presses to her jaw, his touch comforting her despite his own need for reassurance.

"Whenever I feel like hope is lost, you show me otherwise." He returns her smile, leaning in for a kiss. It's the kind of kiss that makes her toes curl, one that shows her how much he loves her with barest brush of lip to lip. Pulling back after a few stolen seconds, she rests their foreheads together, breathing through their worry in a simple give and take of air. The worry in her heart eases at his touch, at the attentive sweetness in the press of his fingertips to her skin. And she thinks in that moment that if Emma and Killian have even half of what they share, then there's nothing the two of them can't conquer together.

A coma included.

"I don't believe Emma would say her life is better off without Killian in it," she says then, pulling back to stare into her lover's eyes. He sighs, something still bothering him. "What is it?"

"It's just...I created this elaborate plot to catch the bad guys. I thought I had it all figured out, but at the center of it all were Killian and Emma. It seemed so simple back then, bring them together and make them partners, force them to trust each other. I was too involved to be able to step back and see the flaws in the design, to see the fragility of it all. I never bargained on them falling in love with each other...I never envisioned losing them to a madman's jealousy."

She understands what he means; his plan had been a house of toothpicks built on a fault line, but there's something more there that he's failing to see.

"David, you can't look at it like that. You simply can't. I think if you asked Killian and you asked Emma how they felt about their partnership, they wouldn't tell you that it was of a fragile design. They wouldn't see the flaw in putting together two damaged souls. They would tell you that they hold each other up and have each other's backs, that they make each other better. Emma loves him, David, and he loves her. Something beautiful did come out of all the craziness."

"How can you be so sure?" She can't help it; she smiles, leaning into him again as she whispers, "I'm sure because that's what I feel whenever we're together. That's what I've felt since the day I met you. You help make me the best version of myself. I look at the two of them and I see the same. And that, my love, could never be an imperfection, could never be a flaw."

David stares at her, his mouth slack, tears in his eyes. Then he's leaning into her and telling her that he loves her before pressing another one of those amazing toe curling kisses to her mouth. They spend a few more minutes together before Mary Margaret finally pulls away to check on Emma. Handing David the last of her coffee, she gives him a kiss goodbye, watching as he hobbles down the hallway towards the parking garage. When he turns the final corner, she stands and makes her way to Killian's room.

The nurses have already come and gone after checking on Killian's vitals, murmuring good mornings to her and David on their way past. They don't bother telling them to go home or that only Emma, as Killian's wife, is allowed to visit this early. They'd learned the first day he was admitted that the Sheriff and his wife are tenacious friends and not ones to back down when their friends are in need.

As far as Emma being considered Killian's wife, well...Mary Margaret and David had followed her lead in that regard. She hadn't bothered to correct anyone when he was wheeled into surgery and it doesn't look like she's going to be exposing the truth any time soon. The paper trail Killian had created all those months ago had done its job well. He'd wanted to ensure that no one would discover that their marriage was a sham, but he'd done such a wonderful job, Emma is now in charge of all the medical decisions regarding his care, including the one to keep him on life support.

Mary Margaret shudders, remembering the rage Emma had gone into when she and David had tried to talk her into contacting Liam Jones after the first horrible night in the hospital. After all, the man was Killian's closest living relative, but Emma...she'd refused.

"Liam hasn't seen him in years, you can't possibly think he's going to do what's in Killian's best interest," she'd declared, green fire in her eyes. "I want what's best for him."

"Liam's his brother, Em," David had reminded her. "Of course he'll make the best decisions for Killian."

"And I'm his wife. I'm the one that's supposed to do this. I'm the one that has his back."

"But Emma, you're not really his wife," Mary Margaret had chimed in, stepping closer to Killian's bed where Emma was sitting, staring up at the two of them in outraged anger. Mary Margaret's words seemed to loosen her grip on her rage and she'd straightened in her seat, repeating several vehement no's, all the while gripping Killian's slack hand in her own.

Frowning at the painful memory, Mary Margaret pushes the door to Killian's room open a few more inches, peering inside the gloom. The blinds are drawn, keeping out the morning light and it takes her eyes a second to adjust. When they do, she could cry at what she finds.

With tears in her eyes and a hand pressed over her mouth, she stares at Emma curled up in Killian's bed, her hand resting over his heart, her head nestled on his shoulder. There's really not room for both of them, but she's managed to cram herself in beside him. Killian lies beside her, his beard thick and his hair a dark mop against the white pillows.

They look like sleeping beauty and her prince in reverse, this version more tragic and heart wrenching. Despite the circumstances, the beauty of them together tingles under Mary Margaret's skin. It's a shame to see them like this, to feel that electricity flare with sadness instead of heat. Sniffling, she wraps her arms around herself, rocking back and forth on her heels as she contemplates the lovers before her.

Mary Margaret frowns, watching as Emma shifts closer to Killian in her sleep. She's wearing a baggy sweater and a pair of yoga pants, both twisted around her small frame. She makes a mental note to have David stop and buy some new clothes for her. It's been days since Emma has changed out of her borrowed clothes, everything she'd owned burned in the fire Graham had at set.

She hasn't been out to see the remains yet, but David has confirmed there's little left but smoldering ruins now. Thankfully, all the records on the case had been backed up on a secure server, all of it now turned over to the FBI. Everything else in the cottage, though, had gone up in flames. There's nothing left except the two people before her, two damaged souls that found refuge in one another.

Oh, and their cat who is currently eating the Nolans out of house and home, she thinks with a fond smile. Leo is never going to stop asking for a kitten now.

After everything they've learned, maybe it's a good thing the cottage is gone, Mary Margaret reflects. As happy as Emma and Killian had been there, the life they'd lived inside those four walls had been built on lies and misdirection, not to mention a madman's intentions. Nothing good could ever come from such evil, she thinks, hugging herself a little tighter and watching as Emma's hand curls over Killian's heart, her nose catching at the line of his jaw.

Despite the trauma they're dealing with right now, Mary Margaret has found peace. Gold is finally locked away, the evidence against him piling up. Graham, the true threat to her family, is dead. Teach is not sparing any details as he sings for his freedom, giving away names in both Gold's and Graham's camps, causing both criminal networks to disband. Eric Prince is on his way back to the states to testify against Teach while August Booth continues to heal in town, eagerly awaiting the day he can testify against Teach as well.

It's all unraveling, taking with it the stress and fear that had ruled her for months. Things are beginning to feel normal again and the thought of their impending child fills her with joy instead of unknowing dread.

The exception to all that happiness is Killian.

As she continues to watch Emma try and burrow herself into Killian's side, she wonders what the future holds for them all, but most especially for the man who lies prone in that hospital bed, his life held in the balance by the fickle winds of fate.

David returns to the hospital after lunch. It's become his habit to force Emma out of the hospital for a few hours each day to shower and spend time with Wendy at the loft. He's going to take her shopping today, too, Mary Margaret has decided. While she can pass along a few of the outfits she's going to outgrow in the coming months of pregnancy, Emma needs her own underwear and socks to wear. Even if she ends up buying the same things in several different colors, Mary Margaret will be happy.

David hobbles past the doorway to Killian's door on his way to her side, pausing with his head cocked towards the darkened room. He frowns then waves her over.

Emma hadn't exited the room so far today and Mary Margaret has left her alone. They'd had a bit of an incident the day before and she suspects Emma is feeling raw today. They'd tried to convince her that perhaps it was time to let Killian go, to allow nature to take its course and to shut down the machines keeping him alive. She'd had a meltdown, clinging to Killian with a tenacity that had brought tears to both their eyes.

She can still hear Emma's cries, can still see the way her eyes had filled with tears and the way the blood had rushed from her face. She hadn't let them near Killian the rest of the day and today, Mary Margaret had given her space, not venturing into the hospital room. She's hesitant to disrupt the peace they've found, but as she shuffles closer, she realizes he doesn't want to enter the room, but rather listen outside it. Putting his finger to his lips, he shakes his head and pulls her close.

She hears Emma whispering and she leans forward, peering into the room to see Emma sitting with her blonde head bowed and her hands wrapped around Killian's. Her shoulders shake, but her voice is remarkably steady, carried out to the two interlopers listening in the hallway.

"It's just you and me, remember?" she says softly, eyes on his impassive face. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she drops her forehead to his hand and whispers, "You promised you'd always have my back. You made that vow when you put these rings on my finger. Do you remember? You were trying to be all suave and debonair, cracking jokes so I wouldn't see how much it meant to you. And I was pretending that the way you stared across the gear shift didn't affect me. I wanted it to be real so badly, wanted all of it to be real. And when I asked you to promise you'd always have my back...I was asking for more than that. You've always been able to see through me...did you see through me then?"

She lifts her head, staring at him with tears streaking her face, her bottom lip trembling. She continues, her voice a mere whisper. "Do you remember what you said? 'It's just us, Swan, you and me.' And I repeated it back to you...and I've repeated back a dozen times since, but did you know what I was really saying? What I've said nearly every day since?

"I was saying I love you...every time." Smiling softly, bottom lip still trembling, she lifts one of her hands to his bruised cheek. Moving from her crouched position at his side, she stands and brings her forehead to his. "It's you and me, Killian. It's always been just you and me. Wake up. Come back to me. Don't you dare turn your promise into a lie."

Her voice falls away, her whispered words dying as she dips her mouth to his, pressing a loving kiss to his battered lips. When she finally straightens, she stares down at his closed eyes as if waiting for him to awaken. He doesn't and it's not long before fresh sobs wreck her on the shores of her grief.

Mary Margaret can't take it any longer; she moves into the room on silent feet, joining Emma at Killian's beside. Wrapping her arms around the now sobbing woman, she pulls her into her arms and rocks her like a child. Not able to keep her own tears at bay, she whispers apologies into Emma's tangled air, silently praying for a reprieve to the misery swirling around them.

David takes Emma to the cafeteria, the tears on her cheeks barely dried as he leads her from the room. Mary Margaret sighs, reaching for the same hand that Emma had gripped so tightly in her own. Killian has large hands, the calluses on them a testament to his work on the docks. His wedding ring is still on his finger, the silver decorated with several small nicks he's accumulated over the past few months.

She looks into his face, cataloguing the yellows, browns, and purples of his bruises. When he'd first been brought to the hospital, his eye had been swollen shut, blood dried thick along the side of his face. Miraculously, his nose hadn't been broken and the wound on the bridge is now scabbed over, matching the one above his eye. She knows the gaping hole in his abdomen is the worst of the lot, stitches holding together the sides of his wound. She's yet to see that particular injury and hopes she never does.

The doctors don't seem that optimistic about his recovery, the bleeding in his brain showing no improvement. Mary Margaret stares down at him, then reaches forward to brush aside the long fringes of hair over his forehead. Smiling softly, she settles into her chair and holds his hand, the echo of Emma's tears surrounding them.

She thinks over the past few months of getting to know this man. She'd been so reluctant to trust him with the lives of her family and look at what he'd done to protect them. He's lying here, barely hanging on, and while she knows he'd done it to save Emma, her entire family has benefited from that selflessness...

She owes him a debt she'll never be able to repay.

She plays with the ring on his finger, twirling it around and around, thinking over what she wants to say. Lifting her eyes back to his face, she smiles, brushing away a tear as it slips down her cheek. Finding her voice, she starts to speak.

"She loves you, Killian. She truly does. And I know you love her, but I think you're scared. Scared that maybe the man that made all those poor choices is still you. Scared you'll hurt her the way you've been hurt. Scared that you're not the man she deserves."

Squeezing his hand, she leans closer, hoping he can hear her.

"She needs you to fight, Killian. Her life hasn't been easy...you know that. No one has ever chosen her. I'm afraid that if you die, if you give up, so will she. She's worked so hard to take down her walls, to let you in to her heart. You've built something really special together. You could have a happy life with her, but you have to fight for it. You have to fight for her."

Leaning over the last few inches, she presses a kiss to his temple, finding the one spot not covered in bruises before settling back in her chair, eyes falling once again to the hand she holds.

"It takes a strong man to love Emma Swan, to love her despite her scars and I know you do. I know that no matter how scared you are, Killian, you love her more. So, it's time to start fighting back, to show her she's worth it. That she's not nothing. That she's never been nothing to you."

Lifting her eyes back to his face, she wills him to hear her next words. "Don't make me regret sticking up for you, pirate. You owe me."

There's no movement from him, despite how much she hopes for one. Silence falls and she continues to hold his hand, waiting for Emma and David to return. When Emma finally shuffles into the room, her eyes are a little brighter, her cheeks washed free of her tears. Her hair has been brushed and her ponytail redone, her wrinkled yoga pants straightened. David follows behind her, grimacing as he maneuvers into the room. Taking the chair across from Mary Margaret, he grabs the remote for the television hanging on the wall.

The sound of the evening news fills the room. Mary Margaret stands, letting Emma resume her normal seat. It's time for her to return home to see her son and do a few errands. She kisses David on her way past, her hand lingering on his shoulder. The last thing she sees as she exits the room is the three of them together, Emma's eyes on Killian's face, his hand held in hers while David watches them from across the room, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

Killian lays silent between them, the sound of his monitor beeping away, a reassurance that he continues to hold on, even if he's not ready to fight just yet.

Her phone rings as she's getting ready to leave the loft the following morning. She answers and hears Emma's tearful voice on the line, her heart stuttering in her chest until she realizes there's laughter mixed in with her tears.

"He opened his eyes, Mary Margaret! He smiled at me! He's gonna be okay! He's really gonna be okay!"