Author's note: I wanted to post this chapter last night, but kinda got wasted with a few friends, sorry guys : ) Anyway, I know the story doesn't really follow the events in the episode, and there are probably inconsistencies, but since its main focus is on Emma and Hook, and Emma's decision at the start, I don't think it hurts the story.
If you have any suggestions , or notice gramatical errors, feel free to point them out so I can fix them.
I cut out a few parts I was originally going to post in this chapter, but that means half of the next is already written. So you can expect it soon : )
...
It's almost morning and Emma is asleep, awkwardly sprawled over three chairs in the waiting room when a hand lands on her shoulder. She jerks awake, looks around, remembers where she is. Her neck and back hurt from sleeping as she was. A nurse smiles sympathetically at her, informs her that Greg Mendell is awake. She can question him now.
She finally gets a good look at the driver. A stranger. In Storybooke. It still makes her uneasy.
"Nurse?" He sounds weak, and Emma realizes she never actually got the details on him from Dr Whale.
"Sheriff Swan, actually." She hands him a glass of water, puts his personal belongings on the desk next to the bed.
"So, Mr. Mendell, I want to talk to you about the accident."
"Did I hit someone?" And he must see something in her face, because he sucks in a breath. "Oh my God, I hit someone. Is he okay?"
Her hands twitch, mind goes momentarily blank. But the guy is starting to panic, and she's saying words before she has time to think about them. "Don't worry about him." And she thinks, the guilt on Mr. Mendell's face is a shadow of what she's trying desperately not to show.
After that, it doesn't take long. She gets the answers she came for, and gets out. Looking at his face makes it nearly impossible to pretend nothing's happened, and Emma can't afford to cave under the weight of her guilt. There's still so much to do.
She's on her way out, texting everyone the good news. He didn't see anything, their secret's safe. For now, anyway.
And that's when she notices it. A patch of dark hair amongst the white hospital sheets. Almost stumbling, Emma puts the phone away.
Some habits are hard to kick. For Emma Swan, it's running away.
But she doesn't give in to it, not this time. Even though her insides are twisted into knots and her limbs shaky, she stays put. There's something to lose now, something valuable to leave behind.
So she doesn't get her car, doesn't go to a new town. Instead, she finds herself in Hook's room, unable to look away from his still form.
It's strange seeing him out of his leather armor. In the hospital bathrobe, he looks- real. Less like a fairytale villain and more like a regret. Her regret.
There are tubes and wires, and she is glad she doesn't know what they're for.
When she sits down on the single chair in the room, she feels like an intruder. Like she has no right to be there.
The mask over his mouth is see-through, and his lips are still stained red, here and there.
There's a dark bruise on his chin, and if she looks at it long enough, she can almost see the shape of Gold's shoe. It's hidden underneath the clothes and sheets, but she knows there's a line of matching color stretching across his throat.
A piece of paper, left on the desk, catches her attention. The paper –no, parchment- is stained with age, unfamiliar underneath her fingers. There's this fear of it turning to dust if she tries unfolding it, but Emma pushes it away.
She has never seen Liam Jones' face before, but she knows she's looking at it now. Smiling, both brothers are behind the wheel on the Jolly Roger. Emma can't help but notice how different, even though tehnically he is just a bit older, Hook looks today. It's hard to believe the cocky, revenge driven pirate is the same smiling boy who has his arm over his brother's shoulder.
Once again, she feels like in intruder, adding a bit more fuel to her guilt. She stands to leave.
Emma doesn't do apologies. Not since she was a girl whispering "I'm sorry"s into the wind, sorry for whatever she'd done that made her parents not want her. Now, with no one to apologize to, she wishes she could. But there is no one outside Hook's room blaming her. There is no one outside Hook's room.
...
That night, after everything is dealt with for the day, she orders rum. Ruby's brows do this weird thing where they almost reach her hairline, but she doesn't comment, and Emma is silently thankful. Because she has no answers, for whatever questions the brunette might have.
An hour ticks by, and she's a few rounds in. The place isn't crowded, and that suits her.
It's when she realizes that she's seeing Liam's face swirling at the bottom of the glass that she decides it's time to go home.
She's standing outside her apartment, hand on the doorknob. And even though Emma Swan used to be the farthest thing from a believer, she lets the words out, hushed. "I'm sorry." She hopes he can hear her, and she hopes he can't. "I'm sorry Liam." She goes in, lips awkwardly modelled into a smile.
...
She gets the call at around eight the next morning. Most of the words don't even reach her sleep muddled brain, but she hears the "he's stable" and "he's awake" quite clearly. Emma is on her feet the next second, and she stops. There are car keys on the desk nearby, and her fingers itch for the second time in two days. It would be so much easier to just run for the hills. To run so she wouldn't have to face her mistake.
'Stupid, Emma, thoughtless, it was-'
"Thank you, I'll be right over." She hangs up the phone, gets dressed. Enough is enough. Running is no longer an option. If nothing else, she owes him that much.
She is entering the hospital and the ride's been too short.
And as she's standing by the open door to his room, one last time she squashes the urge to turn and sprint.
He looks almost as bad as he did yesterday, but the mask is gone and his eyes are open.