The Pawnbroker limps to stand beside Jefferson and lets out a low cry. Scarlet streaks smear the blonde's face and bedding from the blood-drenched rags around her wrists where crimson gore paints the exposed skin up to her elbows. Gold muses horrifiedly that the Sheriff looks as though a young child has taken it upon themselves to apply her makeup; her eyelids bruised a deep violet and her pale skin having taken on a grayish, chalky pallor, apart from at her cheeks where twin spots of fever stand out in stark relief.
"Emma?!"
No response and he doesn't think it has anything to do with the tea. Placing his calloused hand over her forehead, he hisses through his teeth at the sheer heat emanating from her.
"Damn it! Why didn't you say something?!"
The Hatter scowls as the little man yells at him, wiping blood-dirtied fingers on a nearby swatch of bedding with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose.
"You came barging in only a few moments after I did! I heard a noise and came in to check on her, and the woman was in the middle of some sort of seizure! You're a damned fool to have left such injuries unattended!"
"I didn't think she'd get sick so quickly!"
"Sick?! She's fucking dying! Look at her! Look at the amount of goddamned blood staining the sheets!"
"Enough! Go get some ice!"
"She doesn't need ice! She needs to go to hospital!"
"Well she can't! Alright?! So shut up and help me bring her fever down!"
Gold snarls as he pulls at the blonde's limp form so that she lies flat on her back. Brushing sweat-dampened hair away from her flushed cheeks, he watches the madman scurry from the room with glittering brown eyes. Growling beneath his breath, he pushes the Sheriff's dress up about her hips clumsily and wrestles her woolen tights down slender legs in attempt to try and keep her cool.
"Oh, you stupid girl! You stupid, stupid girl!"
Ignoring the flash of her pale thighs distractedly, he strips the sodden makeshift bandages from the blonde's wrists carefully and yells over his shoulder into the kitchen.
"Where's the damn ice?! Get me a bowl of warm water and some clean fabric while you're out there! There's a shredded shirt next to the sofa! And see if there's any bleach!"
Turning back to the young woman before him, he grimaces at the butchered flesh of her skinny arms nauseously.
"What the hell have you done to yourself, Emma? Oh, god, what have you done?!"
He is glad the Sheriff seems completely out for the count, hoping dully that the reason lies in the drugged tea forced upon her and not in the amount of blood she has lost, but unable to say for certain. Glancing up as the younger man reenters the room with a bucket of ice and the remains of the clean, blue shirt he has been using to patch her up, he nods distractedly in his thanks.
"You can't seriously be thinking of using this on her..."
Jefferson states- his tone both unsure and tinged with alarm- as he holds out a residue-crusted bottle of bleach. Gold regards the offering with a furrowed brow, pulling at one of the blonde's arms to expose the delicately veined inside of her elbow.
"The skin is all infected. I don't have any antiseptic..."
"Then get some! Call someone! Shit! I don't know! But you can't pour bleach over the woman's arms!"
"You seem mighty concerned for a man willing to kill her not half an hour ago!"
"Yes! I want to kill the Savior! I want to get Grace back! But I don't want to torture some poor idiot who's torn her damn arms to shreds! Give me a gun and I'll shoot her in the fucking head! Put her out of her misery! Fine! But I'm not going to just stand here while you inflict that kind of pain on the girl; Saviour or not."
"Then what do you want me to do?!"
"Get her help, Gold! She needs medical help!"
"Fine! Take this..."
The pawnbroker reaches for his ruined jacket which hangs at the end of the bed and plucks a small clip of bills from the breast pocket.
"Go to the hospital and look for a man named Whale-"
"- That's... That's Victor-"
"-Yes, but he doesn't know that! Find him and tell him that if he comes back with you, this money is his. No questions, and not a word to anyone or he receives nothing. Understand? Tell him to bring whatever medical devices and gadgets will fit in that little suitcase of his, but not a mention of the Sheriff or of her condition! Yes?"
"Yes."
"You better hurry... As had the Queen... Now go! And remember to cover the door back up when you leave!"
Watching as the Hatter collects his coat and makes for the door, Gold turns back to Emma and soaks fresh fabric in warm water and cleans away the worst of the blood from her face and arms. He doesn't dare touch the damaged flesh at her wrists in fear of opening up drying wounds, but wraps two strips of fabric loosely in place to protect them. Using the remaining scraps of his shirt, he fills the fabric with ice and creates a makeshift cold-compress before fishing out a loose chip and running cool ice over burning, chapped lips.
"I daresay I'm going to be in a small spot of trouble once the Mayor finds you, dearie. Just promise me you'll hold up until then?... Don't ruin things for me now...This was all for my him... All for my boy... And if you give up on me now, well, then everything was a waste... Not just my life for all these hateful years, Emma, love, but yours too... I don't regret suggesting the Queen cast her curse, Miss Swan, but do not think for a second that I take joy from the fact that in doing so you were raised the way you were... Or weren't as the case turned out to be. It was never about you. It was all for Bae. Magic... Just always comes at a price."
Regina pulls her nightgown closer to her as she slowly turns the page; dark eyes drinking in curious words as her mind struggles in its battle with her hateful duel realities.
That which she remembers. That which exists on the page.
She has forbidden herself from reading any of the tales that refer to the Queen- to herself- save for those in which her story and that of the golden imp are intertwined. It is a peculiar feeling, reading a narration of events she can recall vividly... Visually. More peculiar still is the way the book serves to fill in the blanks... The parts of the story where she- where the Queen- was busy enjoying her dinner or washing her hair while someone else took centre stage.
Another 'character'.
Most bizarre.
She has learnt a lot since settling down with the heavy hardback and a glass- which all too soon became a bottle- of wine. It is only now though that she finds herself reading the chapters she imagines to be key to this whole situation.
To the curse in general.
She reprimands herself for the hundredth time for not insisting Henry allow her to inspect the book sooner.
Such fancies are fickle however, and inside, she knows it. The boy would no more have let her read the pages of his book a few weeks ago than she would have given the information they yielded the attention she does now.
It seems the Savior needed to be present for more than just the breaking of the curse.
I need you. I need you. I need you.
As she repeats these words over and over in her mind, she is painfully reminded of a time not a week gone by when she had barged into the younger woman's office unannounced- as was, by then, customary- to find the blonde singing along to some truly awful rock song; long hair tumbling wildly as she had beat out an idiotic drum solo on the desk.
"I want you to want me! I need you to need me! I'd love for you to love me! I'm begging you to beg me!"
Shaking her head to clear such thoughts away, the Mayor sighs as she goes back to her reading.
She had known, of course, that the Dark One's son had disappeared at some time long before she was born. Such a story was legend amongst her people, and certain rumors and whispers had concluded it to be true.
But the way in which Baelfire had lost his papa is something she is finding out only now. And suddenly everything makes a horrible amount of sense.
The curse.
Gold's curious go-between behaviour when dealing with herself and the Sheriff; a puppet-master between his two starring acts.
Bae is here. In this land. And everything she had thought was for her benefit has been for Gold's.
The thought angers her. Infuriates her. Almost ruins her. But as she seethes loathsomely within the lonely, cavernous space of her drawing room, she realizes that one of the reasons it bothers her so is the fact that Emma ended up the pawn in all this. She knows her own heart well enough to be aware that the fact she is even able to even think upon such a thing while dealing with her own serving of betrayal goes to show just how much she has grown.
"He needed me to get him here. And now he needs you to bring him his son."
And to know where to send the blonde to look... He will need magic.
Everything she has worked to build up will crumble down.
Snow and Charming and the rest of those hateful idiots that sought to ruin her in that other world will do the same in this.
For she is the Evil Queen.
And they will all know it.
And, it's not just them who will know it- remember it- is it?... No... Henry... And Emma... They will know it too... And to see it with their own eyes will be little like reading about it in a storybook...
"What happens if I find you... If I get you to love me... Only for you to realise who I really am... What I am..."
She'll leave you.
No... No she won't... She can't... Surely...
Care to wager on that one?
Didn't think so.
"What will be, will be. I will find her for myself and I will find her for Henry. If... If she needs my help... I will give it to her... Even if the consequences end up hurting my best interests in the process... I will do what I can to help her."