If she was being honest, Emma was a little relieved that Killian had to work that Saturday, and she felt guilty about that. She still believed in her resolution that they were better off with Killian in their lives, but after what happened last night, she felt like little space was okay.
She spent the day with Henry and Hope, running errands and going for a walk so that Hope could collect the yellow and brown leaves that had just started falling from the trees. She thought about Killian a lot though. The softness of his lips. The way his arm had tightened around her waist after she kissed him. The way he'd angled his head just right so that he could capture her mouth. The way he'd pulled back and looked into her eyes for confirmation before deepening the kiss.
The way he'd said that her heart would be safe with him.
She believed him; believed in him. Emma Swan didn't do believing in people, not anymore, but he had dug his way into her heart in a matter of weeks. Of course that was going to be scary for her.
She was thirty-five years old, and she knew herself well enough to know her own habits and tendencies. She knew that it would be just like her to run away from the intensity of her response to him. To throw up those walls and protect herself and her kids just like she had always done.
But she didn't want to do that. This time, she knew that was the wrong choice. She just...needed a day or two to think.
Hope asked about him throughout the day, of course. She wondered if he would be coming over for dinner again or if he could read to her at bedtime. Emma tried to ignore Henry's raised eyebrow when she explained to the little girl that Killian would be tired after work and wouldn't be coming by. Hope's face had fallen at that, and Emma felt all kinds of shitty and guilty.
She did text him, just to let him know that Hope had been nightmare-free once again. He'd texted back right away expressing how happy he was. He didn't ask for anything else though. Didn't assume he would see them today. He seemed to understand, in the way he always seemed to intuitively understand her, that she needed space. Of course, she felt guilty about that too.
Saturday night passed quietly. Miraculously, Hope experienced yet another peaceful night, and Emma started to let herself believe that her little girl had moved past this horrific phase.
Sunday was similarly relaxing and uneventful. The bump on Emma's face that resulted from her 'date' with the skip was barely noticeable now, and she smiled slightly when she touched it, remembering how sweetly Killian had tended to her with the bag of frozen peas. When she realized that her fears of the visions she'd experienced when kissing Killian had also started to fade, she was content to let them do so.
In the past, she would have talked herself into believing that she should stay on guard and hold onto her worries. But her gut instincts were shouting at her to trust Killian and that it was okay to be happy about her strong feelings for him.
So when Hope asked if they could see him that evening, she agreed that she would ask. She texted him in the afternoon, considering her words carefully and making sure she sounded as warm and friendly as possible. Then she awaited his reply.
As it turned out, Killian's boss at the museum asked him to work Sunday as well, and he'd agreed. He had no other plans and was grateful not only for the extra cash, but for the opportunity to get his mind off of Emma.
He was trying to believe her words from Friday night, that he had done nothing wrong, and that she was just afraid of losing control of herself. He knew that she had a lot at stake; more responsibility and more to lose than he did (although given that he was pretty certain he'd already lost his heart to her and her family, perhaps that last part wasn't entirely true.)
He did like his job, though, and the weekend crowds of tourists were fun and enthusiastic. Plus, he enjoyed the cool fall breeze coming in across the harbor. It invigorated and energized him. He also liked to think that all the personal frustration and nervous energy that he was channeling into his British officer gave the character a bit of an extra edge this weekend.
Of course, as much as he tried to throw himself into his work and his performance, it was only for moments at a time that he was able to push Emma and the kids to the back of his mind. Any child under the age of five made him think of Hope. Of how bright her eyes were. Of the brilliance of her questions and observations despite her young mind. Of how it felt when she clung to him, some magical alchemy of affection between them causing her to believe in him and need him like she would a parent. (But no, he couldn't let his mind go there, not yet.)
The teenagers reminded him of Henry, but none of them could match that boy's quiet strength and intelligence. Killian tried to imagine any of them enduring what Henry had been through in his young life and still becoming the responsible, steadfast young man that he was for his mother.
Henry's mother.
When he wasn't thinking about the kids, of course he thought of Emma.
When he closed his eyes, he could see the desperate intensity on her face Friday night as she placed her hands on his cheeks and willed him not to think the worst of himself. He imagined that he could smell the clean and flowery smell of her hair as she leaned closer to him. He could still feel the press of her lips, the slide of her tongue. He could hear the sound she made when he'd deepened their kiss. It had all been intoxicating, and more wonderful than he'd even dreamed it would be since he'd met her and started daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss her.
But something had happened to both of them during that kiss. Whatever had happened to her had made her pull away and jump up in fear. For his part, as the kiss drew on, he had seen in his mind flashes of other (future?) kisses with her and of other even more pleasurable acts. It was similar to the deja vu he'd experienced a few times since he had met Emma and her children, but even more vivid and certainly more erotic.
The flashes didn't scare him though. He was beginning to get used to the side effects that came with these feelings, this pull that Emma had on him, and this one certainly wasn't unpleasant. On the contrary, he'd been quite willing to accept the visions as part of the heady experience of kissing her.
Until she'd pulled away.
Now, he was trying not to hate himself for losing himself to the bliss of kissing her. He must have pushed too far, and now she was pulling away again.
As the day drew on, depression started to settle onto him like a heavy mantle as he considered the prospect of another quiet evening at home alone. It's quite likely that this was why, when he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket as he was tying down the sails of the Tea Party ship a little before five o'clock, he nearly got himself permanently tangled in the ropes and rigging as he hurried to grab the device.
The message was from Emma (Of course it was. Nobody else texted him except for work, and he was already at work.) She was asking him to join them for dinner that evening whenever he got home. His heart leapt with joy and relief, and he nearly did a silly little jig of happiness right there on the deck of that faux-historic vessel. He took ten more minutes to finish his work before texting her back that he would be there shortly after six.
He wasn't trying to play it cool or make her think he wasn't interested. Well, he was sort of playing it cool. He just didn't want to scare her by responding within twenty seconds with an all caps YES and all sorts of exclamation points and emojis that involved hearts. (Not that responding as such hadn't been his first instinct.)
There was certainly a skip in his step as he walked down the gangway to the bridge and back into the museum to pack up his stuff and say good night to the rest of the staff.
Xanathusa studied the two vials in front of her. She felt herself sneering at how tiny they were; at how little magic she had to work with. The dark fairies expected miracles to happen in a land without magic, but they were unwilling to part with any meaningful amount of the magic needed to make miracles occur. Othrall had allowed her to extract just a small, ephemeral cloud of light, no larger than her fist, from the receptacle containing what they had gathered from the girl so far. How it had shimmered and swirled, emitting pure warmth and the light of two generations of true love. As she had channeled it into the vials, she'd craved more of its power. What she'd be able to do with just a touch more.
But she had enough, she thought. When concentrated and properly channeled, the girl's magic was potent enough to work in this land, and Xanathusa had ages of experience with magic and spells. So, she had worked for days.
First, she'd conceived of a plan that would remove the pirate and allow Xanathusa to repair the conduit so that she could reenter the child's dreams and continue the extraction process that had been halted days ago. Next, she had needed to split the magic into two vials so that she could cultivate both portions into what she needed for each part of her plan.
She had to bend and manipulate one portion into a spell to use on the pirate. That part was relatively simple.
She needed the magic in the second vial to repair the conduit, and that was more complicated and was going to require some help from the girl to reach its full effect. When it did, however, the conduit would be even more powerful than before. It would speed up the extraction process and with any luck would finally shut up those self-aggrandizing fairies.
What side effects the faster extraction would have on the girl, however, she couldn't say.
In all, it was a delicate plan. It relied as much on her wits and ability to portray this frail old woman character almost as much as it required the two vials of magic before her.
All Sunday afternoon and evening, she watched and listened by her door, knowing that the opportunity to strike was close.
Killian still felt the lightness in his step and in his heart as he quickly walked from the T stop to their building. He had texted Emma back asking what he could bring to dinner, but she had quickly replied that he only need bring himself.
He would normally feel that it was bad form to attend a dinner empty-handed, but he was in such a rush to see Emma and the kids, and their interactions had become so warm comfortable, that he made an exception in this case.
He unlocked the front door of the building and strode across the first floor to the steps, only to feel his heart sink when he heard Mrs. Xavier's door open behind him.
"Oh, good evening Mr. Jones," she said as he turned around to face her.
"Hello, Mrs. Xavier. Nice to see you," he replied with as much kindness as he could summon.
"And I'm quite glad that I heard you come in. Could I trouble you for a small favor?" she asked meekly. "It should only take a minute."
Killian mustered what he hoped was a charming and patient smile, "Of course, love. What can I do for you?"
"Oh thank you. I just need some help getting a jar of sauce off of a high shelf in the kitchen. I don't trust myself with a step stool these days."
She beckoned Killian inside and he followed. Her apartment was dark and predictably musty. The shades were drawn even though dusk was approaching outside, but he could just make out a sparsely furnished living room with crocheted blankets laying across the small couch and chairs. He followed her through the entry way to the kitchen, which was off to the right. He looked up at the shelf she indicated after she opened a cabinet.
"I just need that jar of tomato sauce on the top shelf. Oh, and maybe grab the cooking sherry while you're up there."
Killian nodded, reached up to procure the requested items, and placed them on the counter.
"Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Jones!" she exclaimed. "You saved my night."
"Of course," Killian replied, giving her a gentlemanly little bow. "Any time." He turned to go and she followed him to the door.
"I hope I wasn't keeping you from any plans!" Mrs. Xavier mused from behind him.
"No, nothing urgent. I was just heading up to dinner myself." They were in her doorway now, and his compelling desire to get upstairs to see Emma, Hope, and Henry had reawakened with a vengeance.
"Oh, by yourself?"
Killian winced. It appeared that he wasn't getting out of this encounter easily. "Um, no actually," he stammered. "I'm having dinner with Emma and the kids."
Mrs. Xavier clapped her hands together and cried, "Oh how lovely for you. Such a nice family. It's so fortunate for everyone that you happened to move in across the hall."
Killian nodded absently and considered whether he should invite her to dinner. He hated to think of someone being all alone all the time, and he thought the gentlemanly thing to do would be to invite her. He took a breath and asked. "Would you...like to join us? I'm sure Emma wouldn't mind..."
She shook her head quickly and clamped her hand down onto his left arm. "No no. You're sweet, but I'm just fine. No need to worry about me." To his surprise, she then moved her hand from his arm to his face, resting it on his left cheek.
Her palm was cold at first, but he felt an odd warming sensation in the middle of it, right where it rested against the top of his trim beard. He forced himself to smile. "If you're certain then. I'd best be on my way."
She removed her palm and smiled. "Of course, Mr. Jones. Have a lovely time." Her eyes were warm but had an underlying hint of knowing something that he didn't. He suddenly needed to be upstairs with Emma, Henry, and Hope even more than he did before.
As he turned and started up the first flight of stairs, he heard Mrs. Xavier's door click shut behind him.
He hurried up the stairs, but as he turned on the landing and started up the second flight between the first and second floors, he began to feel unwell. Suddenly, a blackness crept into his vision from all sides until he could only see a dark blur. At the same time, a sense of powerful vertigo overwhelmed him. He had just a second to muse darkly that this was worse than the worst seasickness he'd ever felt on the most violent of seas, before he stumbled backwards towards the flight of steps he'd just climbed. Too late, he realized that, one: he was about to faint and fall backwards, and two: he was closest to the left railing and unable to grasp it for stability with his small hook.
Desperate, he reached his right hand across to try to grab the railing on his left, but that was the fatal blow to his balance. Utter dread consumed him as he began to fall back, his arms flailing helplessly in the air. Then he passed out.
Emma and Henry were topping the pizza they'd made with pepperoni and green peppers (except for about one eighth of the pie, which was topped with sauce and cheese only for Hope.) Emma felt keyed up and full of nervous energy about seeing Killian again. She had been thinking a lot about their kiss on Friday and the visions that accompanied it. Even though she still carried some wariness about the intensity of her reaction to him, it certainly wasn't an unpleasant thing to think about.
She did, however, worry that there was a very good chance that her cheeks would turn bright pink as soon as he walked in the door.
Oh well, she could blame it on the heat from the oven.
Henry placed the pizza in the oven, and Emma had begun to clean up, when she noticed that Hope was standing up against the front door with her ear pressed to the metal as if she was listening for something. Emma watched her for a moment, and then Hope suddenly grabbed the knob and began to open the door.
"Hope!" Emma jogged around the kitchen counter and caught the little girl by the arm before she could open the door all the way and step into the hallway. "Sweetheart, you know you're not supposed to open that door. What are you doing?"
"I heard something!" Hope replied forcefully. "I think someone fell."
"What?" Emma stuck her head out the door and looked down the steps leading up to the third floor. "Honey, nobody is out there," she said, looking back at Hope.
"Someone fell. I heard it. I know it. What if it was Killian?" Hope was sure, and Emma could tell immediately that the little girl was going to stand her ground on this one. She recognized the stubborn little chin jutting out in determination as a trait that she'd passed on to her daughter. "I'm going down to look!" Hope continued, moving to open the door again.
Emma sighed, gently picked up her daughter, gave her a comforting squeeze, and put her down a few steps inside the apartment. "Stay here, I'll look." Emma stepped all the way out of her apartment to the staircase and looked down through the center hole made by the right-angled design of the steps. Sure enough, below the very bottom step all the way down on the ground floor, Emma could just see the toe of a shoe belonging to a person laying on the floor. Shit.
Hope appeared at her side. "Mom, I think it's Killian." The little girl's eyes were wide with panic and her lip was trembling. She grabbed at Emma's wrist as if to lead her down the steps.
"Wait, sweetie. Stay here. I'm going to go check." She quickly but gently guided Hope back inside once again. "Henry, can you watch your sister for a second? I think someone might be hurt downstairs." She grabbed her phone off the coffee table and slipped on some shoes.
"Mommy!" Hope pleaded, increasingly panicked by whatever she thought had happened.
"What did you see, mom?" Henry asked, picking up his sister, who was on the verge of tears.
"Someone might be laying down there. It's going to be okay." She gave Hope a quick, comforting stroke on the cheek and then rushed down the stairs.
As she went, the familiar nausea of dread started to overwhelm her. She knew that someone was really wrong. She felt it. Later she would think that in those seconds before she saw him, she'd felt a sickening apprehension that was worse than the feeling she'd had when a Massachusetts State Police officer knocked on her door the night Neal died.
When she got to the landing between the first and second floor, she could see him fully, laid out at the bottom of the steps. He was laying motionless on his back. She had her phone in her hand and and dialed 9-1-1 as she flew down the stairs. Kneeling beside him as she waited for an answer, she crazily wondered if somehow she had entered into one of Hope's bad dreams.
Because he looked dead. And if he was, then this could only be a nightmare.
"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"
Emma replied as best she could. That her friend had fallen down the steps. That he was unconscious but there was no visible bleeding. She gave her address. Her mouth was dry and her brain was a shambles, but the operator seemed to understand her.
The operator instructed Emma to feel for a pulse, and she carefully placed two fingers against Killian's neck to see if she could detect one. Her heart rate continue to quicken with stress as she felt along his skin and didn't detect anything at first. He's still warm though, she told herself. Thank God.
She dared a look at his face as she searched for the beat. He was so beautiful; so soft and kind. And now he was broken.
She choked back a sob. She just wanted to wrap him up in her arms and fix him.
After holding her own breath for a moment and fighting to keep calm, she finally felt his pulse. It seemed weak and slow to Emma's untrained touch, but it was there. She told the operator as much, and the woman replied that the ambulance had an ETA of four minutes. She said that she would stay on the line. Emma stammered "okay" in response.
She removed her fingers from Killian's pulse and placed her hand on his cheek. "Killian, wake up, please!" she said loudly, even though she could tell that he was out cold. "Please be okay," she added in a soft plea. Her heart was racing, and she forced herself to calm her breathing. She continued to study his face for any sign of consciousness, and she began to gently stroke his hair away from his forehead as she waited.
Suddenly, Henry's voice rang out through the stairwell from above. "Mom, what's going on?"
Emma panicked, terrified that the kids might see him like this. "It's okay, Henry. I called 9-1-1. They're coming. Go back inside."
"Is it Killian?" he called back.
She paused, but what could she say? "It is," she replied, and she heard the tears in the back of her voice. "I think he fell. But he's going to be okay. Don't come down. I'll be up soon."
"Mommy?" That was Hope. Her tone was urgent but not hysterical and Emma was thankful for that.
"It's okay, baby," Emma called, amazed by the calm tone she had mustered. "Killian just took a bad step and bumped his head. The ambulance is coming."
Emma heard a soft command from Henry to Hope and then was relieved when she heard their apartment door shut.
At that moment, one of the apartment doors in front of her opened, and a figure stepped out. Emma's mind was a mess but eventually she registered that it was old Mrs. Xavier. She glanced up at the woman as she continued to kneel beside Killian.
"Oh dear. Oh no. Mr. Jones!" she cried. "I was just talking to him! What happened?"
Emma didn't take her eyes off of Killian's face. "He fell," she said shortly. "Wait, you talked to him just now? Did he seem okay?" Emma finally looked at the woman's face, searching for an explanation.
"He did. He seemed fine! He helped me get something off a shelf in my kitchen. Such a nice man!"
Emma grunted her assent and went back to starting at Killian, willing him to wake up.
Finally, she heard the sirens, and the ambulance pulled up in front of the building.
There was a flurry of activity as the EMTs bounded up the front steps to enter the front doors that Emma had jumped up to open. She answered the few questions that she could. (No, she hadn't seen it happen. No, she didn't know if he was on any medications. Yes, the injury to his arm was quite old.)
They placed a neck brace on him and slid him onto a stabilizing backboard to lift him onto the gurney. Emma had been standing back to give them room to work, but she suddenly realized that they were going to take him away. She was torn for a moment, wanting to jump into the back of the ambulance with him, but there were a lot of EMTs, and they needed room to work. Plus, she needed to get back upstairs to talk to the kids and get them settled before she went to the hospital.
She picked up Killian's discarded messenger bag and clutched it to her chest. One of the EMT's told her that they'd be taking him to the trauma center at Mass General. She nodded and instinctively grabbed Killian's hand, squeezing it gently and holding on to him as long as she could before they wheeled him out. She prayed that he would feel her and know that she was there. That she would be coming for him soon.
She watched them load him into the ambulance before realizing that Mrs. Xavier was still standing in her doorway.
"Poor man," the old woman said as Emma turned towards her.
Emma tried to organize her thoughts and remembered something the woman had said a few minutes earlier. "So you just saw him?" Emma asked. "He helped you with something?"
"Yes," she replied. "Such a gentleman. I needed help getting something off of a high shelf and he did it for me. Such a nice man."
"But he was okay? He was himself?" Emma asked, still half in a daze but needing to understand how her strong, agile friend who had spent most of his life on the sea could have lost his balance and fallen so badly.
"He seemed fine!" the woman insisted. "Please, is there anything I can do for you?"
"No, no," Emma said absently, already turning back to the stairs. She needed to see the kids. "Thank you," she said finally and began to ascend as quickly as she could.
The old woman's reply was lost to her as Emma made her way up. When she entered the apartment, she found Henry and Hope sitting on the floor by the front door. Henry held Hope on his lap. She had apparently been staring daggers at the door waiting for Emma to return, and Emma found herself the target of the little girl's intense and tearful gaze as she entered.
"What happened to Killian?" Hope asked fearfully.
Emma gently placed Killian's messenger bag next to the door and squatted down in front of the kids. "He fell down the steps by the first floor. He might have bumped his head, but the paramedics came, and they're going to take him to the hospital to check him out."
Henry squeezed Hope tightly as the little girl processed the information. "So he went in an ambulance?" she asked.
"Yep," Emma replied, "with sirens and everything. They're going to get him to the hospital super fast to make sure he's okay. And I'm going to go there now to check on him."
Hope continued to nod seriously. "I want to go too," she said firmly.
"I know you do, bean," Emma said, reverting back to a nickname she'd called the little girl when she was younger. "But the hospital doesn't let kids visit after dinner time, at night. So I have to go myself. Henry is going to stay with you. You guys can eat the pizza and get ready for bed, and I'll call you as soon as I see Killian."
Hope looked crestfallen, and Emma was worried that she would melt down over not being able to accompany her to the hospital.
But Henry gave Hope another squeeze and said, "We'll be fine, kid. We can watch whatever movie you want while we wait for Mom to call. Time will go by quick."
Emma smiled at her son, marveling again at his sweetness and maturity beyond his years. She grabbed her purse and fixed her disheveled ponytail before kissing them each goodbye and heading out.
Henry was worried. His mom was the toughest person he'd ever met, so when she was rattled, it scared him. She put on a brave face for Hope, but Henry knew his mom well enough to know that whatever had happened to Killian was serious.
He was kind of pissed, too. He felt like this was just another instance of shitty luck that seemed to befall him and his mom. They met somebody really nice, who clearly liked all of them, and something terrible had happened to him.
Henry didn't realize he was stomping around the kitchen, taking the now slightly burnt pizza out of the oven to cool and preparing snacks until he noticed that Hope was standing in the doorway glaring at him.
"Henry," she said forcefully, although it still sounded cute because she replaced the 'r' with a 'w.' "I want to call Mom."
Henry finished dumping a bag of Pirate Booty vegetable puffs into a bowl and looked at her with a sigh. "Hope, she just left a few minutes ago. She probably hasn't even gotten to the hospital yet."
"But hoooooowwwwww loonnnnnnng will it take?" Hope whined, with a little stomp of her foot. "When will she see Killian?"
Henry picked up the snack bowl and walked over to his little sister. He took her hand and led her to the couch. He put down the bowl, picked up Hope and put her down next to him so that they were closer to eye level.
He knew that trying to put her off was pointless, and that talking to her like a grownup was his best chance of getting through to her. "Hope," he said seriously, "Killian did get hurt. But he's young and strong, and he got medical help right away. They are taking care of him, and Mom is going to tell us as soon as she finds out he's okay. It just might be an hour or even two or three. Hospitals are busy."
She looked him in the eye with an expression that was mature beyond her years. "Okay," she said quietly. "I get it." She paused, seeming to remember something and added. "He'll be all right. He's a survivor."
Henry was giving her a funny look, wondering how she came up with this stuff, when he heard a light knock at the door.
He walked over and looked through the peephole warily, then sighed when he saw old Mrs. Xavier outside. She was carrying what looked like a box of crackers. He opened the door and greeted her as politely as he could.
"Oh, hello, young man," the old woman replied. "I was downstairs when the paramedics came for Mr. Jones. I was so sorry to see he was hurt. I thought your mom might have gone to the hospital, so I wanted to come check on you children."
Henry knew that she was just trying to be nice, but he also thought she was a little weird and didn't want to invite her in. Plus, he still thought the best way to distract Hope was with food and movie, so he wanted to get back to it.
"I didn't have time to bake cookies," Mrs. X continued, holding up her box of generic butter crackers. "But I had some crackers! I wanted to bring something."
Henry accepted the box with a nod and said, "That was really nice of you. We're fine, though. We're just going to watch a movie and wait for my mom to call."
"I see. What a good big brother you are."
He nodded, expecting her to leave, but she didn't. She craned her neck so that she could look past him inside the apartment at Hope, who was now standing behind Henry near the the dining table.
"Oh hello, lass," the old woman called.
"Hi," said Hope quietly.
"Well," Henry said, "thanks for checking on us. Have a good nigh-"
"I wonder, young man," the woman interrupted. "Could I trouble you for a glass of water? I'm not used to that climb up the stairs."
"Of course," Henry replied politely. "Do you want to come in and sit down for a second?" It was clear they weren't getting rid of this woman that easily, so he figured he might as well just accept it and do his best to be polite. She was just lonely and trying to be helpful.
"Oh, thank you, young man!" she said gratefully as she walked past him to the table. He hurried behind her to pull out a chair so that she could sit. Hope took a couple steps back and eyed her warily.
Oh well, Henry thought. At least this was a distraction. He headed into the kitchen to put down the box of crackers and get a glass of water.
"How are you, little lass?" the woman asked Hope. "I'll bet you are worried about your friend Mr. Jones."
Henry watched out of the corner of his eye and noticed Hope's little lip quiver as she answered that yes, she was.
"Well, I'm sure he'll be fine. Big strong man like that has certainly survived worse!"
Henry raised an eyebrow at the woman's weird choice of words as he walked over and handed her the water. She thanked him profusely and took a couple of slow sips.
From the seat Mrs X had chosen, she could see into the kitchen, and Henry realized too late that she had clear view of the broken butterfly jar at the end of the counter.
"Oh, dear," she said when she noticed it. "Miss Hope, what happened to our butterfly friend?"
Hope glanced into the kitchen and shrugged. "It fell down and broked."
"Well, we can't have that!" Mrs. X exclaimed. "I'm sure I can fix it while I'm here. Would you like that?"
Hope shrugged at first, but Henry gave her a 'be polite' glare, and she added a nod and said "Okay."
Henry figured that the faster the jar was fixed, the sooner they could send their visitor on her way, so he brought it over to the table along with a tube of glue from a drawer in the kitchen.
Mrs. X thanked him and then patted the seat next to her so that Hope could sit and watch the repair. Henry only paid a little attention to what the woman was doing as he set about cutting the pizza into slices and scraping off the burned parts of the crust.
When he looked back at the table, the old woman had finished gluing the butterfly back onto the branch and reattaching the plastic bell jar to the base.
Hope was still eyeing her warily when the old woman addressed her. "Now, young miss," she said to the little girl. "There's just one final step to make sure that our little silken friend is as good as new." Carefully, she reached over and took Hope's little right hand and placed it on top of the plastic jar. Mrs. X covered Hope's hand with her own.
"Now," she said, "We close our eyes and say the magic words! Do you know the magic words?"
Henry watched as Hope shrugged and said, "I don't know. I guess abracadabra?"
"That's right!" the old woman replied. "On the count of three. One, two, three..."
"Abracadabra!" they both said, Mrs. X with enthusiasm and Hope with boredom, clearly just humoring the woman.
Henry smiled and was turning back towards his pizza when he thought he caught a flash of light coming from the direction of Hope and Mrs. X, almost as if it had emanated from their hands. He watched them closely as they removed their hands from the butterfly jar and inspected it to make sure it was fixed. The flash he thought he'd seen did not reoccur. He shrugged it off as a reflection or a trick of the light from the lamp.
Mrs. X stood and ceremoniously placed the butterfly jar in Hope's hands. "Now, young miss, our winged friend is all fixed! It's even almost dry already! Just be very, very careful from now on!"
Hope nodded solemnly, but Henry thought she still looked a little wary of the woman.
"I almost forgot!" Mrs. X continued before she turned to leave. "In many cultures, butterflies are good luck! If you take good care of this and wish very hard on it, maybe your Mr. Jones will get better soon!"
Hope's eyes widened in wonder at that. Clearly, Mrs. X had hit upon the motivation that his little sister needed to truly appreciate the gift. Henry was annoyed. This weird woman was playing on the fragile emotions of a small child because of a stupid decoration.
He walked over and opened the door pointedly. "I should get Hope her dinner," he told Mrs. X.
"Of course, young man! I wish you all the best. Please let me know if I can help you while your mom is out."
Henry didn't know why, but in his mind he suddenly saw a picture of the Evil Queen from the cartoon version of "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" when she was disguised as an old crone to trick the young princess. Something about Mrs. X's overly sweet, generous demeanor towards him, and especially towards his sister, was rubbing him the wrong way. He couldn't wait to get her out of their apartment.
With a final creepy smile and wink at Hope, the old woman left.
Henry settled down in front of the TV with Hope and tried to get her to eat some dinner. She took a couple bites then pushed her plate aside. Instead of concentrating on the movie they were watching, she asked him every five minutes whether their mom had texted with an update on Killian. She kept the butterfly next to her on the couch and insisted that, tonight, she would keep it on her nightstand. "Because the lady said it would be good luck for Killian. He has to get better."
"I know, kid," Henry assured her. "He will."
When Emma arrived at the ER, the woman at registration could only tell her that Killian was being worked on in a trauma room, but she didn't have any information on his condition. She did hand Emma a clipboard with a set of forms for her to fill out as best she could.
Emma sat down in waiting area chair and tried her best with the forms, but she couldn't put down much beyond his name and address. She didn't even write his place of employment, because she didn't know if he had health insurance through the museum. Plus, he wasn't from the United States, and she worried that there was a chance he didn't have a proper work visa and was being paid off-books. She didn't want to get him in trouble, and she figured they could deal with it when he woke up. Because he would wake up. He had to.
The registration administrator raised an eyebrow at her when she returned the forms without insurance information, but Emma just mumbled an explanation about how Killian had recently changed jobs, and she wasn't sure what his current insurance plan was. She took a seat in the waiting room after being told someone would find her when there was an update on his condition.
Emma sat in the waiting room, sick with worry, for 45 minutes before another nurse came out and asked for Emma Swan. Emma stood to meet her, trying to mentally prepare herself for bad news. This was her life after all.
The nurse was in her late 40s with reddish hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She looked as Boston-Irish as could be, and when she spoke, it was with a thick Boston accent.
"So, you're the wife?" the nurse asked, a little brusquely.
"What? No," Emma replied, off kilter. "I'm a friend. We live across the hall from Killian."
"Ah. I'm sorry," the nurse replied. "I was on the trauma team when they brought him in. He had just regained consciousness in the rig, and he was asking if Emma was here. His said you were his wife," she added matter-of-factly.
"Oh, no. We're just friends. We haven't even known each other that long."
"I see. He was probably just out of it when he first woke up. Anyway, if you had any doubt about his intentions towards you, I guess you don't anymore!" She punctuated that last part with a braying laugh.
Emma felt like she was going crazy. Killian was badly hurt. Hope thought he was her father. Killianapparently thought Emma was his wife. And this nurse was actually joking with her.
"So, he was conscious?" Emma finally asked, trying to focus back on the matter at hand.
The nurse returned to 'all business' mode and nodded. "Yep. He was conscious when he got here, which is a good sign. He seemed lucid, other than letting it slip that he thought you were his wife. They have him up in radiology now. There were contusions in multiple spots on his head, so they're doing a head CT. He's probably got a concussion. They're also going to do some x-rays to check for fractured ribs, because he was complaining of pain there. But, there's no paralysis or anything, so it seems like he avoided a serious back or spine injury, which is very fortunate."
Emma nodded, trying to process it all. Her relief at the good news was heavily tempered by the worries that remained. He wasn't paralyzed. That was good. But he had head injuries, a concussion.
Emma had a rough and tumble type of job, AND she had kids. She knew a little bit about head injuries, and she knew that a bad enough blow to the head could result in a brain bleed, or even just a concussion that was serious enough to have lasting effects.
"When can I see him?" she asked.
"Soon," the nurse replied. "He should be back down within an hour, and someone will come find you so that you can see him and talk to one of the doctors."
Emma nodded and replied that she'd stay right there in the waiting area. She was surprised when the nurse put aside her 'seen it all' bedside manner for a moment and squeezed Emma's arm in a comforting gesture. "I know it might not feel this way right now, but it looks like he was lucky. This could have been much worse."
Emma nodded again, not trusting her voice. Kind gestures from strangers always caused her to well up with tears. Maybe because such gestures had been all too rare in her life.
The nurse left, and Emma got out her phone to call Henry and let him and Hope know that Killian was going to be okay. Henry told her about weird old Mrs. X's visit, and Emma rolled her eyes and praised Henry for being as polite as he could. When she spoke to Hope, the little girl made her promise that she could see Killian tomorrow. Emma didn't know the hospital's visitor policy regarding kids, but she made the promise anyway. There was no way Hope was going to go to bed unless she knew for sure that she would see Killian the next day.
After 'I love you's' and 'goodnights' had been said, Emma set about the task of waiting. She rushed down to the cafeteria to grab some coffee then returned to her seat in the waiting area. She killed a little time going through the handful of work related emails she'd received over the weekend. After she stared blankly at a magazine for another 30 minutes, the red-headed nurse returned and told her that she could come back to see Killian.
The nurse told her that they were planning to admit him to the hospital for the night, but that they had returned him to the ER while they waited for a bed to be ready in a patient room.
The redhead led her back toward a curtained off area in the bustling ER, and Emma's heart beat a thundering tattoo in her chest as she prepared to see Killian with his injuries.
When the nurse pulled back the curtain, Emma found Killian laying in the small bed, staring at the ceiling, seemingly concentrating on something. When he heard the curtain move he looked at her and smiled slightly.
"Swan," he said, his voice thick and throaty.
"Hi there," she said dumbly, hearing the teary emotion in her voice. She wanted to run to the side of his bed, throw her arms around his neck, and cradle him. But that would probably hurt him. Or scare him. Or probably both.
Instead, she walked to his bedside and patted his shoulder. She wanted to take his hand, but she was standing on his left. He wore no brace and his blunted wrist was visible in the short-sleeved hospital gown.
She felt awkward until, to her relief, he reached over with his right hand and partially covered hers resting on his shoulder. Then he leaned his head to his left so that his cheek was resting against both of their hands. He closed his eyes and seemed to simply appreciate her presence, and she took the opportunity to take stock of his injuries.
He didn't look too bad, as it turned out. There was a bruise over his right eye, but otherwise his face was as perfect as it always was. When he finally picked up his head and pulled his hand back to his side, Emma could tell that the movement hurt him, and she winced as she remembered his possibly broken ribs.
The red-headed nurse cleared her throat, breaking them from their quiet reunion. "So, one of the doctors who treated him should be here shortly. Hopefully they will have had a chance to look at the scans and tell you if there are any breaks or other issues. But for now, he should just keep resting."
They nodded and she left.
"So," Killian started before the charged silence between them became awkward. "This is not part of my usual repertoire for a second date."
"Oh," Emma said, smiling. "So this is our second date now?"
"Aye. Although, I have to say, you've thrown me off my game, love, because neither of our dates have quite lived up to my usual standards."
"Really?" Emma teased. "You don't normally throw yourself down a flight of stairs to get a woman's attention?"
His smile faltered, and Emma was sorry for her joke. She made bad jokes when she was nervous.
"Killian-" she began.
"No, it's okay," he replied before she could apologize. "I'm still just rattled. I don't understand how this happened. What could have been so wrong with me that I passed out."
His eyes were searching again. He had the same look of serious concentration he'd had when she'd first walked in and seen him.
Emma spotted a small rolling stool in the corner and wheeled it over to the right side of his bed. She sat down, took his hand, and gently stroked it with her thumb.
"What do you remember?" she asked quietly.
He squeezed her hand a little as he began to speak. "I remember running into Mrs. Xavier and helping her in her apartment. I remember inviting her to dinner..."
Emma raised her eyebrows at that.
"Well, she seemed lonely. But she declined."
Emma rubbed his hand with a little more pressure. "You are a very nice person," she told him with a smile.
He cocked an eyebrow and winked at her. "You haven't known me that long, love."
She rolled her eyes and nudged him to continue.
"Then I started to make my way up the stairs," he went on. "The last thing I remember is that, after I reached the first landing, I started to black out. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced in my life. Well, sober at least. I can only describe it as an extraordinarily sudden fainting spell. Everything just went black, and I woke up in the ambulance. Thank you for calling them, by the way. For finding me." He squeezed her hand again.
Tears sprung to her eyes as she flashed back to the terror she felt at seeing him lying on that cold marble floor. "Well," she replied, "you're welcome, but you should really thank Hope and her weird supernatural hearing. She insisted that something was wrong until I agreed to look downstairs."
Emma saw the shine of tears in Killian's eyes as he took in the information that Hope had been his savior. "Then I suppose that Lady Hope is my little guardian angel," he answered, his voice thick with emotion. "I will have to buy her a whole cookies and cream sundae as a reward."
Emma smiled through her tears. She was so relived that he was, seemingly, okay. That she was sitting here talking to him and making plans for him to see Hope again. She couldn't even speak as she worked to gather herself. Briefly, she wondered if he remembered waking up and asking for 'his wife.' But then she realized, even if he did remember saying that, he didn't know that she knew he'd said it, so he wasn't likely to bring it up.
When she was able to look him in the face again, she saw that he was just as emotional as she was. He looked at her with deep, unbridled affection and gave her a small smile. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, and they just sat for a little while, enjoying a quiet moment.
A short time later, the curtain was pulled back, and a doctor wearing light blue scrubs and a white lab coat entered briskly. She had dark skin, short curly hair, and a slight African accent. She introduced herself to Emma as Dr. Okonedo and said that she'd been the resident on Killian's team.
"So," she said brightly to Killian. "How are you feeling after your tumble, Mr. Jones? I'm sure you gave Miss Emma quite a scare."
Emma watched Killian consider his response and guessed that he was struggling between the options of either telling the truth or downplaying his pain as part of some hyper-masculine idea of toughness. She gently nudged his arm and scolded, "Tell her the truth."
Killian sighed and rolled his eyes a little before looking back at Dr. Okonedo. "My head is pounding, and if I turn it too quickly, I get a sense of dizziness, even though I'm lying down. My ribs are sore, especially on the left side."
At his pause, the doctor and Emma simultaneously raised their eyebrows at him in "Is that really it?" expressions.
He sighed again but gave in to the two women who were ganging up on him. "And I feel a bit nauseous," he finished.
"Okay," the doctor replied in her brisk, but kind manner. "So the head CT did not detect any fractures or bleeding, which is good news. However, your head suffered two different significant blows during your fall." She walked over to Killian's left side, and gently felt the side of his head. "There is one here, on the side, and then a second one here in the back."
She motioned for Emma to stand and said, "Miss Emma, if you reach here, you can feel the two separate hematomas." Emma stood, and Dr. Okonedo gently took her left hand and guided it to the two spots on Killian's head that were sporting nasty risen bumps.
"Do you feel them?" the doctor asked.
"Yep. Yikes," Emma replied, taking the opportunity to gently stroke Killian's hair just above the center bump before she pulled her hand away. He rewarded her with another sincere, affectionate smile.
The doctor went on. "It seems likely that you fell and hit your head once when you fell, and then tumbled over and hit it again when you landed at the bottom. You were already unconscious when you fell, so it is likely that you hit the stairs and the floor quite hard. It is probable that you suffered a concussion, and your nausea and dizziness are consistent with that."
"And there's not much we can do to treat it, right?" Emma asked with concern. "Just rest?"
"That's right," the doctor replied. "We'll certainly keep him here tonight to monitor the symptoms, but given that the other X-rays showed no fractures to his ribs, only bruises, he can likely go home tomorrow. However, he'll have to rest and will need you to help monitoring his symptoms at home to make sure they continue to diminish."
Emma felt Killian squirm a little in his bed, and she realized he might be uncomfortable with the doctor just assuming that she was his wife or girlfriend and would be the one to monitor his recovery. She did not want him to worry or be embarrassed about that at all, so she took his hand again and said, "Absolutely. I'll make sure he rests, and I'll watch his symptoms."
"Good. We'll give you instructions about what to watch for when he is discharged." Dr. Okonedo looked at Killian again. "Now, Mr. Jones, we ran a toxicology screen on you, which I'm sure you already know came back negative. You told us before that you had eaten normally today and had no history of fainting. Can you think of anything at all that might have caused you to lose consciousness? Or any other medical symptoms you might have been experiencing lately? Any dizziness, things like that?"
Killian concentrated for a moment but shook his head. "I honestly can't," he told her. "I've been wracking my brain. Reliving that moment on the stairs. I had been feeling fine all day. I can't for the life of me understand what happened."
A horrible thought occurred to Emma. "Do you think there could be another problem that caused the fainting? Something you haven't detected yet?"
The doctor looked at her kindly. "I am not concerned that we are missing something serious. A stroke would have shown up on the head CT. I agree that there is no clear explanation for the fainting spell, but because it was just the one instance, I think that there is no need to continue to look for other causes. If it happens again, we'll reconsider."
The doctor patiently answered a few more questions for Emma and then bade them goodnight. Emma's mind was a mixture of relief and continued nagging concern about Killian's concussion and the mystery of why he fainted. But she forced herself to be upbeat and positive, joking with him when the orderlies came to move him to a patient room. Dramatically turning away when they moved him from the bed to a wheelchair (since those hospital gowns that close in the back leave little to the imagination.)
She texted updates to Henry as she followed the orderlies and Killian to his room. She told her boy she'd be home soon.
Once she made sure that Killian was settled in his room, she gathered up her coat and bag and prepared to say goodnight.
"Emma," he said, taking her right hand in his as she stood by his bed. His eyes were again full of emotion and sincerity as he spoke. "Thank you again, so much, for finding me. And for coming here and staying with me. I've been alone for a very long time, and if I didn't have you and Hope and Henry in my life now..." he trailed off, no doubt picturing himself laying at the bottom of the stairs for hours, or sitting in the ER injured and alone.
"Hey, Killian," Emma replied, squeezing his hand and looking at him intently, "I'm glad we were here too. Please don't scare us again like that, okay? Hope has been having a fit all evening."
He chuckled. "Please give the little lass a big hug for me, and tell her I owe her two sundaes now. One for saving me, and one for all the worry I caused her."
Emma laughed. "I'll come back tomorrow morning. Your phone is right here on the table, so text me if you get updates from the doctors about when they're discharging you, and call me immediately if your symptoms get worse." She gave him her sternest glare, the one she saved only for her scummiest skips or when she was reminding Henry never to get into a car with a friend who'd been drinking.
"Yes, milady," Killian replied cheekily.
Emma rolled her eyes. Then, in a moment of spontaneity, leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead. She suddenly pulled back. "Oh shit, that didn't hurt your head, did it?"
"On the contrary, love, I think that I've never felt better."
"What a charmer." She left him with one final eye roll and a small wave as she walked out the door. He grinned and waved back.
Emma sped home and made it back to the apartment before eleven. Henry told her that Hope had finally passed out around ten, but that she'd been anxious and upset all night, even after Emma texted the kids that Killian was okay. He also told her about "weird old Mrs. X's" visit and the repaired butterfly jar.
"Wow," Emma said, "I guess that was nice of her to stop by to check on you. But I'm not sure how much help she'd be, other than for fixing butterfly decorations. She seems pretty frail."
Henry chuckled and shrugged. "Mom," he then said seriously, "I'm really glad Killian's okay."
"Me too, kid," she replied. "Goodnight."
"Night."
Emma checked on Hope, went through her nighttime routine, then collapsed onto her bed in exhaustion.
She was in a deep, deep sleep when she realized that Henry was calling for her with panic in his voice.
Emma made it to the kids' room in about three strides and felt sick with fear when she saw Hope. The girl must have been suffering another nightmare, but this time, instead of screaming, she had sat up and pulled her knees into her chest so that she was curled into a little ball. Her hands were gripping the sides of her head. She was looking down at her knees and chanting, "No, no, no, please, please, please," in a moan of deep despair.
Henry had been trying to pull her hands away from her face to get her to look at him, and Emma joined in, finally succeeding in wrenching the girl's hands free.
"Hope," Emma cried in her most stern 'mom' voice (although now it was filled with panic.) "Please wake up. Now!" Emma grabbed Hope's chin firmly and forced her to look up at her. "Sweetheart," she begged. "Please! Open your eyes!"
The touch of Emma's hand seemed to help, and Hope began to blink slowly.
"That's good," Emma praised, her voice quavering. "Come on back to us. You're okay. You're home and safe. We're all safe. Just wake up, sweetie." She continued to hold her daughter's face and now gently rubbed her legs, which were still pulled in tightly. The little girl was like a ball of tension, but it slowly and gradually began to dissipate as she woke up.
"Mommy?" she said finally, in a groggy voice.
"Yeah baby, it's okay," Emma told her as she pulled her into a tight hug. "You're okay. We're here." Hope began to cry as she returned to wakefulness. Suddenly, she pulled away from Emma and seemed to look herself over for a minute, making sure that she was fully in tact. She blinked a few times and then looked at Emma and Henry, as if inspecting them for damage.
Finally she asked, "He's still okay, right? Da–I mean, Killian?"
"Yes, baby," Emma breathed. "Killian is fine too."
Hope nodded and returned to Emma's embrace. The little girl was still trembling with fear.
After days of relief, Emma felt the return of the horribly familiar sickening dread that something was really wrong with her daughter.