"Good God..."
The doctor stands frozen in the doorway as he struggles to comprehend the scene before him. Gold sits awkwardly in chaotically creased clothes on the throw of a dingy, blood-dirtied bed, his hair sticking up ludicrously as he stares down at the Sheriff of all people; the woman lying bloodied and bare but for simple cotton underwear.
"What the hell's going on!?"
He turns- wide-eyed- to Jefferson, who simply shrugs as he pops up from behind, raising an amused brow at the blonde's semi-clad state.
"Don't ask, don't tell, Dr Whale, is the name of the game. All you need to know is that your very future may just rest in getting this young woman better, so I'd suggest you start sorting her out if I were you."
Whale balks slightly at the Pawnbroker's rough tone, edging closer to the bed uncertainly. He has seen numerous injuries while studying his profession, but this... Well, this is something else entirely.
"Is she... Has she been communicative at all?"
"Wh-why don't you just ask me... Dumbass..."
The Sheriff grumbles irritably- her eyes remaining closed and her breathing dangerously shallow- and the madman lets out a short bark of laughter. Raising an eyebrow, Gold turns to the doctor who blushes in his confusion.
"Yes. I'd say she's more or less communicative."
"I see."
Placing the small bag which contains all he could think of to bring from the hospital, Whale moves to sit on the bed; clearing his throat as he tries to ignore the little man that perches opposite him, but Gold shows little sign of moving from the blonde's side.
"I'm going to take off these... Uh... Dressings, Miss Swan... It may sting a little..."
"Pretty sure I can handle it, asshole."
Frowning at the gleeful smirk Jefferson offers from the corner, the doctor plucks the soiled cotton gently away from her wrists and hisses through his teeth.
"Jesus..."
"Fix her."
"I... I mean... Her hand... I can't just-"
"-You can. And you will. Never mind her hand right now. Set it. Stitch it up. Do whatever you need to do. I don't care if she's never going to be able to take up playing the damned piano. Just make it so that she at least has a chance to live and begrudge that fact."
"Sh-it at piano..."
"Well, there you go. Fix her."
Whale looks from Emma to the greying pawnbroker and frowns, leaning forward to better inspect her injuries before pulling a pair of thin, latex gloves from his pocket and reaching for his bag.
"How long ago did this happen? She should have been brought to the hospital straight away! I mean... She... She's lucky she hasn't bled out! And here, look, her right arm's infected and her first and second metacarpals are completely shattered! I can... I can set her hand... But there's a good chance she'll have limited use of her fingers as you've left it so long... As for the wounds... Really, she needs blood... But... The human body is resilient... I will clean them and close them, but, without anesthetic... Sheriff, this isn't going to be much fun I'm afraid..."
"Because up 'til now... I-it's been a walk in the p-ark!?"
"I think the Sheriff is giving you her go ahead, Whale. As am I. Do what needs to be done. I just want her alive. And I want her coherent."
"I... I like those odds too..."
Whale nods, offering the blonde what he hopes resembles a reassuring smile as her eyes flutter open to regard him blearily. Judging from the scowl she manages to muster, he guesses his attempt has fallen a little short.
"Alright, dearie, let's see what the good doctor can do."
Beckoning that the Hatter should accompany him out of the room, Gold limps out through the door to leave the doctor in peace.
"You're sure you can trust him not to just blurt this all out when he leaves?"
"... I never said anything about letting him leave."
"No answer?"
Ruby enquires tentatively as the Mayor slams the phone back down in its cradle.
"I don't understand! Where the hell is he?!"
"Well... It's like the middle of the night... Maybe he-"
"-Miss Lucas, it could be the man's own funeral and Mr Glass would make it his priority to attend to my needs... You want to know what I think? I think the bastard is drunk! I think the lowly no-good piece of-"
"-Maybe!... Ok, maybe he is... But whatever the reason... He's not answering the phone."
"Well that's not good enough!"
The older woman cries angrily; slamming her hand down forcefully on the table between them.
The table both she, and Emma, have explored each other on.
Glancing over at the silver letter-opener that peeks hauntingly at her from its stationary pot, she shudders.
"I can't... I need to go look... I can't just sit here."
"Look... I'll go check the building, okay? You can trust me! You stay here with Henry and I'll call you as soon as I-"
"-No."
"Why 'no'? Why?"
"Because, it has to be me."
"Regina... I know you feel-"
"-Quiet! You know nothing about how I feel! I accept that a woman you call a friend- a good friend- is missing, and I imagine that's a terrible thought, but it is in no way the same as how I feel... It has to be me. I have to find her!"
"So... What? I'm supposed to just wait 'til morning when you find yourself a babysitter to go look for her!? And then what?! If anything bad happens to her, I just apologise and say 'Gee, I'm sorry, Emma, but it turns out we were playing a game of who loves you more, and Regina won and I-"
"-Shut your mouth you foolish, ridiculous girl! No! I will not have such insolence in this house! It has to be me that finds her, because that woman, along with Henry, is the closest thing I have to a family, and if something happens to her, then I risk losing not just Emma, but him as well! If something happens to her... I need to be the one that stops it... It has to be me, because I... I have to prove how I feel..."
"To who!?"
"Emma!"
"Emma knows how you feel! You both love each other very much, and while that's just great, I don't think it's a good enough reason to-"
"-No. We don't. And that's precisely the reason I need to do this. She needs to understand what went on here tonight... That people sat and fought and fretted about her. That she matters. That she is loved... I can't let it be you who makes her realise that... I just... Can't..."
The waitress shakes her head in frustration, but proceeds to regard the older woman with silent respect as dark eyes glitter with tears and the Mayor's usually impeccable composure comes crashing all the way down as she puts her head in her hands, her mouth trembling tellingly under the shadows cast by her palms.
"Okay... It has to be you... Fine. Then go. Go find her."
"I can't! Henry-"
"-Will be fine. He's asleep... And besides, if he wakes up... I'm good with kids."
"You're... What?"
Regina raises her head slowly, her eyes pink and face white. Ruby smiles at her sweetly.
"Just go... You're right. It has to be you."
"You'll... You're going to..."
"I'm going to stay here and try to get some sleep on this sofa, and if Henry wakes up or cries out or anything like that, I'll deal with him."
"... You will?"
"Of course! I'd do it for Emma, so I guess... I'll do it for you. Just... Promise me you'll find her, okay?"
"... I will... I will find her if I have to burn this hateful town to the ground..."
If she had expected Ruby to treat such melodrama with a sarcastic retort or giggle, she had expected wrong. The waitress merely nods, expression grave and mouth drawn.
She has no doubt the brunette means every word.
And that's why it has to be Regina.
"Hold still, I'm almost done."
"I am holding still! Stop going so fucking slow!"
Whale glares up at the blonde as the young woman watches him work with gritted teeth and glittering eyes. He has learnt in the last half an hour that the Sheriff is quite the force to be reckoned with; weak with blood-loss and fever or not. She seems almost oblivious to the pain she must surely feel as the sharp flash of the needle works with practiced precision through her broken flesh; seeming more intent on growling at him than with biting back the screams of agony he would have expected given her condition.
"You're s-supposed to be working on my arms..."
"I am working on your arm!"
"Then quit fucking looking at the rest of me!"
He scowls at her irritably, but can't deny that he has rarely gone about his work in the presence of such a splendid view.
If you don't want me looking at you, then don't look that way in your fucking underwear, sweetheart... Because you are one tight, fuckable little piece of-
"-Ah! What the fuck are you doing!?"
She yells at him; teeth flashing in a primal display of defence as the needle dips in just a little too rough and a little too deep.
"I'm doing my goddamned job! I didn't realize you were a doctor, Sheriff! I didn't realize you knew how to do this better than me-"
"-I know when someone's butchering a p-piss easy job! I've had fucking stitches before, you asshole!"
His eyes wander briefly to the scar at her ribs and she snarls at him angrily.
"Yes... It looks like you're somewhat of a veteran..."
"Fuck you..."
It's low, and for that he is glad. This pattern to the Sheriff's behavior has become somewhat predictable; a schizophrenic natural disaster of hate and rage before she tires herself out and succumbs to pain for a few minutes in which he carries on his work in merciful silence.
"Where... Where are we?"
He glances up distractedly, her words a low whisper- her eyes flickering nervously to the door as if in fear of being overheard- and he comes to the sudden realisation that a vast amount of the crap she has given him since being left to deal with her alone has been an act.
Well.
Partially.
Now, as she speaks in a voice so low he has to lean towards her to make out her fear-filled words, he frowns; desisting with the needle.
"What do you mean?"
"Where is this place?"
"You don't know?"
"Would I be fucking asking if I did?"
"How can you not know!? Miss Swan... What the hell is going on here? What happened?!"
"I don't know... I d-don't know... I... Please just tell me...Help me... Please?"
"Of course I will, but Emma, I mean, what the hell is-"
"-How's she doing?"
The pawnbroker sweeps into the room with more grace than a man with a cane should possess; dark eyes finding the blonde's and piercing her sternly. She looks away, lashes fluttering and limbs going instantly limp, but she suspects it may be too little too late.
"You're looking better, dearie..."