"Can I get you anything?" Gideon offered, already moving into the kitchen. "Tea?" he called over his shoulder, "I have a lovely licorice root blend that I think you'd enjoy..."
"No, you doddering old fool," Elizabeth snapped, "We're not here for tea and chit-chat!"
He reemerged with three steaming mugs of tea in spite of her barked demands. For a long time, he said nothing, painstakingly adding sugar to his tea and stirring it before settling back in his armchair, taking a long sip of the warm liquid, swallowing dramatically, then finally asking, "So, what is it you come here seeking, Your Majesty?"
"Magic," she hissed, not bothering to beat around the bush with him, knowing full well that they both knew what was really at stake here.
He hummed a little note of interest, staring down into the tea as if it might reveal some long-hidden secret to him. "I'm afraid that's not possible. You knew the price of your curse when you cast it: a land without magic..." He glanced up at her then, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Elizabeth positively glowered at him, looking very much like she'd love nothing more than to curse him in that moment if she were only able.
"Don't fuck around, old man," Ian barked. He'd never had patience for Gideon – in this world or the last – and his speaking in riddles and double meanings. "You and I both know you stashed some away for a rainy day. Now, hand it over and I won't have to hurt you."
Gideon laughed, though it remained to be seen what exactly was humorous. "I'm afraid I can't do that," he said, smirking behind his mug of tea.
"And why the hell not?" Elizabeth asked.
Apparently ignoring the question, he asked, "Tell me, is our friend still in the library basement?"
Elizabeth arched one manicured brow. "What does she have to do with this?"
His grin became impossibly wide...
Emily's eyelids were impossibly heavy, her head a burden her neck could hardly bear. The chair beside Derek's bed was inhumanely uncomfortable, but she'd twisted herself into an impossible position in it to await the moment of his awakening, no matter how long she had to wait there.
More than one nurse had come in and tried to coax her into leaving – citing first visiting hours, then concern for her well-being – and she'd resolutely ignored them all. And, given that, as far as most of the town knew, she was still the Sheriff's wife, no one was all that keen on arguing with her, so they'd eventually given up and let her stay.
She wasn't sure exactly how long she'd been sitting there, struggling to stay awake, but she was finally losing the battle. The book she'd been reading to him – Slaughterhouse Five, of course – slipped from her loosening grip and landed on the floor with the delicate crunching of weathered pages against the linoleum.
She didn't know how long she'd been asleep when something landed on her back, startling her back to wakefulness. Looking about to see who or what had disturbed her, she found Clara standing beside her, in the process of draping a blanket over her shoulders.
"Sorry," the girl murmured, looking chagrined. "I just thought you looked cold – I didn't want to wake you..."
She shook her head, trying to clear the muzziness that had settled there. "I didn't hear you come in," she mumbled.
She shrugged. "How's he doing?" she asked, changing the subject.
She glanced down at Derek, sighing wistfully. "The same as before," she answered, "The doctors keep insisting there's nothing stopping him from waking up, but..." She shrugged. There was nothing left to say that his unconsciousness didn't already say.
"Can he hear us?" she asked, almost apropos of nothing.
She nodded. "They say he can...though, they might have just said that to make me feel better.
Clara's smile was weak in response. "I'm sure that if you just keep talking to him, he'll realize that there's something wonderful waiting here for him. I'm certain of it."
Emily nodded as if she'd like to believe that, but said nothing.
"You've been here kind of a long time," she said slowly, as if afraid of her reaction, "Maybe you should go home and get some rest, you look exhausted..."
"No," Emily cut her off almost immediately. "I'm going to stay. It's my fault that he's here..." She blinked back the threat of oncoming tears she refused to shed in front of an audience.
"Emily," Clara said gently, but firmly. "You need to rest. You're going to work yourself to a nervous breakdown and then you won't be any good to Derek or anyone else. Penelope is going to be here in a minute, at least come with me to get a proper meal, okay?"
She pursed her lips, thought on that for a few moments. "Fine," she eventually relented. "Just a quick dinner, then I want to come right back."
Clara didn't have the chance to protest that before Penelope burst into the room. "The fun has arrived!" she announced her presence in a sing-song voice.
Though she seemed reluctant to do so, Emily stood from her chair, stretched. "Thanks for doing this, Pen," she murmured, squeezing the other woman's shoulder. "I won't be gone long, but if anything changes..."
"You'll be the first to know," she confirmed. "Now, shoo. Only Derek can hear what's going to appear in tomorrow's headlines."
Emily reached down to squeeze Derek's hand, her gaze on his lifeless face. She looked like she wanted to say something to him, but couldn't muster the words in front of an audience.
Inexplicably, Clara felt the urge to say something to him. But like Emily, she couldn't have find the words. Instead, she bent down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.
There was a sudden and powerful burst of energy that rippled through the room, nearly knocking the three women off their feet.
Derek's eyes flew open.