13
Mary-Margaret has been trained to deal with many things - after all, there is proper royal protocol for everything from being taken hostage to having someone spill soup all over a couture gown at a state dinner. Her training, however, has failed her right now.
The ride from the palace to the hospital should be a short one but it feels like an eternity: she keeps wishing she were already there and yet, wishing that she wasn't. She's not ready to deal with what happened in Rumpel Cassidy's basement, not ready to see her daughter in agony over a boyfriend that Mary-Margaret just learned existed (not to mention one that looks vaguely familiar). That's why she sent David ahead: she needed to catch her breath, to pull her thoughts together in the privacy of her royal car - to be poised and ready, like the Queen that she is.
(It's also easier to take Emma's friends to the palace, to find them rooms and get them situated, to play hostess instead of mother. It is a familiar dance, once that she has much experience with, and it allows her mind to slow down, her thoughts to collect; it is too much to deal with the enormity of what apparently has gone on in Emma's life without her.)
She has doted on Emma her entire life, and sending her to the United States was supposed to protect Emma from threats to her throne and to Emma's future. She never expected Emma to find someone from Eira there - not to mention someone also threatened by Cassidy, because clearly that young man (Killian, she thinks) has some history with him. She doesn't know how it was even possible, for Cassidy to have enemies outside Eira, but it had become apparent that she had seriously underestimated him.
Apparently you can learn multiple new things in one day.
On the ride to the palace, Robin and Regina (friends of Killian's who are have become friends with Emma, Mary-Margaret learns) filled in bits and pieces of how they ended up in Eira, from Belle's fake report that Emma was directed to return home to Graham's death and Granny's role (she smiles when she learns that Granny has helped her daughter, and for the moment tries not to picture that sharp young officer she sent with her daughter dead). They tell her about Killian's abduction and Belle's defection from Cassidy's camp, and finally their plan to record everything that was said at Cassidy's home and transmit it back to Ruby, where it would reach the proper authorities. Mary-Margaret did not enlighten them that she also entered Cassidy's home with her own back-up plan, a carefully concealed wire of her own that allowed David to hear everything, for it does not matter now.
What matters is that even as Cassidy has been brought down, her daughter is still suffering at his hands.
"Who is this Killian that Emma's dating?" she asks Leroy as they ride to hospital. Leroy shifts in the seat across from her and she can tell that he's a bit anxious, a bit uneasy with this question, but he sighs.
"He was an officer in your majesty's military until his brother, Captain Liam Jones, died in the Enchanted Forest Massacre," Leroy tells her and suddenly she can place exactly where she met him - at a memorial service shortly afterwards (she remembers his blue eyes and the sad look on his face, and how it broke her heart to see him suffer as she mourned the loss of so many good soldiers). "Apparently he was involved with Milah Cassidy, and the anti-Cassidy movement, and fled to the United States shortly after her death. I have a dossier here, your Highness."
He passes an iPad to her that has Killian's information pulled up, but she glances at it without really taking in the words. She places it on the seat next to her before looking out the window. She had heard rumors about the events surrounding Milah Cassidy's death, and the young boy-toy that she apparently acquired shortly before her untimely demise (Mary-Margaret always thought that Cassidy killed his estranged wife, and she wonders if whatever is on Emma's recordings proves it). To think that this young man who was involved with that woman – she remembers her as vivacious yet volatile at State events – is the same one whose prone body her daughter was lying over just a mere thirty minutes ago… there must be something special about him.
(She supposes, with only a small amount of bitterness, that Eira is a small country after all.)
"Your majesty - may I speak plainly?" Leroy asks, and Mary-Margaret looks over to see him playing with the zipper of his jacket – a tell she recognizes easily as whenever Leroy's keen to speak his mind. When she nods, he continues.
"You know I am one of the people who wanted to take Cassidy down?" Leroy asks, and of course she knows. There's little she doesn't know about the man - they've known each other since she became Queen - and there are few people she trusts like she does Leroy. "I knew about Killian Jones, and what he believed in and what he stood for, and I knew if Emma was safe with anyone, she would be safe with him."
"But she wasn't, was she? Nor was she safe with you," she points out sharply. Leroy hangs his head.
"Belle fooled all of us," he says, resigned. "I'm sorry that I failed to keep her safe."
Any anger that she might have about the situation fades upon considering how loyal Leroy has always been - after all, Belle did not only fool Leroy, she fooled Mary-Margaret as well (she can still remember the interview process, the way that the girl smiled so guilelessly in her sitting room, smoothing her skirt over her legs, eyes bright and eager and ready to go with the princess, to protect her at all costs). She grimaces, ashamed at the harsh tone she took just a moment before. "I know."
The car pulls up at the hospital just then, and she is escorted into the back door, down a hallway and up the stairs instead of the elevator. Her security team has decided that they will be discrete about this visit, since Cassidy is in emergency surgery (she feels only a small amount of pity over the man's critical wound, considering the danger he posed to her daughter and her friends). David is waiting for her in the hallway outside the stairwell, pacing back and forth, but he stops when he sees her.
"How is he?" Mary-Margaret asks immediately. "How's Emma?"
"Emma is waiting outside the operating room - they're trying to do what they can to save his hand," David tells her, reaching for her and Mary-Margaret steps forward, letting him hug her briefly before she pulls away.
"Did you know about him?" David asks softly, and Mary-Margaret shakes her head.
"I didn't, but Leroy did," she tells him. She takes a deep breath. "Take me to Emma."
David leads her down the hallway to where Emma waits in a small room with several chairs and a table, magazines stacked next to a bright green plant. She can see her daughter through the glass of the door: she is curled in on herself, her knees tucked against her chest, staring off into space, and it breaks her heart.
"How long do you think it's been since she slept?" David asks. Mary-Margaret shrugs.
"Not since yesterday." She takes a step back from the glass, suddenly unsure. She turns to David. "There's someone in her life that she loves, and we don't even know him. We meet him when he's about to lose a hand."
There are tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and a lump in her throat when she swallows. This is her own daughter (this is Eira's future queen) and not for the first time in her life, Mary-Margaret struggles where her daughter is concerned.
It's hard, being the Queen, having to meet everyone's expectations while setting an entirely different set for her daughter and heir. She was always busy, always working when Emma was young - remembers carving out time for her from her schedule, but it was never without tension. Emma is so much like her, stubborn and strong, and she will be a good queen when it is her time. But for right now she is young, and she is lost, and Mary-Margaret worries that it is her fault - that protecting her daughter has only hurt her in the end.
"He hasn't lost it yet." David's hand comes to rest on her shoulder, pulling her into another hug.
Mary-Margaret rests her head against his shoulder, takes a deep breath. "I don't know what to do," she admits, feeling a shred of her resolve crack. "I thought we are sending her away to give her the best chance we could, and then she finds this boy and falls in love and they come here and he's hurt - "
"Mary-Margaret," David says softly. "Life happens. Emma doesn't need to hear your apologies right now. She needs to hear that her mother loves her, and that she cares about her."
"You're right." Mary-Margaret sighs. "You're always right about Emma." She's grateful for David, for the steady support he has always given her throughout the years of their marriage. He has been the rock that she has built her reign on - the other piece of her heart. She leans forward and places a kiss on his cheek with a smile.
"I'm right, but I'm not sure I'm ready for Emma having a boyfriend...what happened to the plan to keep her locked up in a tower until she was thirty?" David teases, and Mary-Margaret smacks him lightly.
"She'd find a way out," she tells him, and David nods.
"Stubborn, just like her mother," he says, and Mary-Margaret takes a deep breath. Her daughter needs her.
She pushes through the glass door and heads towards Emma.
…
Emma shifts on her chair, tucking her legs underneath her as she tries to get comfortable. There is no clock in the room, and she doesn't have her phone, so she has no idea how much time has passed but with every breath she grows more and more anxious (she remembers Killian's face in the ambulance, his eyes closed tight in pain, and her stomach hurts).
If something happens to him, she will never forgive herself - it was her foolish idea to come here, knowing the risk, hoping that things weren't as bad as they were. She is so foolish.
"Emma?"
She looks up to find her mother standing in the doorway, hands folded neatly in front of her. Mary-Margaret approaches, looks at the seat beside her. "Would you mind terribly if I joined you?"
Emma smiles wearily and pats the chair. Her mother sits down, and within moments she has her arms around Emma, and it feels so nice to be able to rest her head on her mother's shoulder, to feel her mother's hands in her hair, stroking the hair around the braid that Regina had fixed this morning (oh god, she hasn't showered in so long, she must reek).
"I must say, this color on you was a bit of a shock," Mary-Margaret admits, and Emma fidgets, remembering Regina dying it, remembering their mad rush away from the airport.
"It's a shock for me too," she admits, settling closer in to her mother.
"What did the doctors say?" her mother asks, hands moving along Emma's brow and behind her ear in the comforting motion that has soothed Emma since she was a child.
Emma sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. The doctor had been reluctant to tell her anything, but Emma had pulled rank, explained that Killian had no family and she was the Princess and her mother the Queen would be here any minute to see to his medical care and finally the woman relented.
"She said that Killian should be all right - it was a low-velocity injury so it should be easy to fix." She swallows – the terms are foreign, their meaning unclear to her. "He'll probably have to have physical therapy so he can use his hand again." The thought of Killian not having full use of his left hand - of Killian not being able to play guitar again, makes tears come to her eyes and she wipes them away quickly. He's lost so much in his life, and to think that he would lose his music, how they met - it breaks her just a little.
"Oh Emma," her mother says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I am so sorry."
"I am too." She closes her eyes tight. "If he never met me, he would be safe."
"I don't know if that's entirely true," her mother remarks. When Emma looks up sharply, she smiles sheepishly. "Leroy filled me in on the details. It sounds like your boyfriend has led quite the adventurous life."
Emma looks down at her pants, which are stained with Killian's blood (his eyes, so blue, his face so pale, his mouth moving and nothing coming out, and she remembers when he kissed her the first time, the noise of the party and the taste of beer on his lips). She shakes her head. "He's not my boyfriend."
Her mother chuckles. "Did you really bring him here to meet your parents?"
"Who told you that?" Emma asks sharply, then she purses her lips. "Regina."
"And Robin - who are at the palace, resting." She looks down at Emma's jeans. "I'll have someone fetch you some clothes, if you plan on staying here for some time."
"Until he's out of surgery." Emma sighs, sitting up straight. She's been up for over twenty-four hours, she's exhausted and gross and she wants to shower but she also wants to talk to Killian and...is he really her boyfriend? Are they a couple? They've never defined themselves, and they've only just gotten back to together (if you can call their time apart breaking up) and she's not even sure how she feels about him, if she can qualify anything and if -
"How did you meet him?" Mary-Margaret asks, and Emma recognizes it as a distraction, and she's actually quite grateful for it (it's easier to talk about meeting him then what she feels).
"At a party," she says, turning to face her mother. "His accent is weak, and I didn't know at first he was from Eira." She shrugs, slightly embarrassed. "I thought he was cute."
"He's not your father, but he's not bad looking," her mother tells her with a grin, and Emma rolls her eyes and shakes her head, saying "Mom!" before covering her face with her hands.
"I'm being honest," Mary-Margaret admits, and Emma can't help but smile. "Your father is quite handsome."
"We are not having this conversation right now." Emma tucks a strand of loose hair from her braid behind her ear. "I just like him."
"You more than like him," her mother points out, and Emma can feel a blush creeping up her neck. She does, she really does, and even if she doesn't know if she can call him her boyfriend, or what she feels about him, she does likes him.
"I do," she says. "I didn't know how much until recently." She remembers his face when he arrived at Regina's parent's house, the way she felt when she wasn't talking to him, and she knows that she may not have words to describe what they are but...yeah.
"I look forward to meeting him." Mary-Margaret smiles at her, as the doctor enters. She sees the Queen first, and stops in the doorway, bowing her head before approaching.
Emma stands up, suddenly less tired. "How is he?" she asks nervously, and the doctor smiles.
"We were able to save his hand," she says, "but the young man is in pretty bad shape. Broken ribs, bruises and lacerations..." she glances at the Queen, who nods for her to continue, but Emma interrupts.
"When can I see him?" Emma asks, and the doctor looks grim.
"It'll be some time until he comes around. When we move him into a private room, then we'll send for you." She pauses. "He'll need time. He'll have to learn how to use his hand again."
Emma thinks about the long road ahead, the recovery period spend learning to move fingers and thinks about Killian and music - how he loves his band, how he'll have to stop playing guitar.
She nods. She feels her mother's hand on her shoulder, and her mother saying something about sending for a change of clothing, of making sure that Emma can shower. The doctor and her mother talk around her and all she can think of is how very tired she is and happy she is that Killian is alive, and that his hand will be okay, and she is not moving - not leaving - until he wakes again.
The nurses take her to a private room with a shower, and bring her some soap and shampoo. She undoes the braid that Regina plaited earlier that day, running her fingers through her hair, glancing up at her reflection in the mirror (it is still so strange to see herself with brown hair). She is so exhausted, but she will not rest until she can see Killian, can see that he's all right with her own eyes.
The shower is a godsend, the warm water enveloping her and she takes a moment to just stop and let all of the events of the past day(s) hit her, from Graham's death to Killian's injury to Gold and Belle and -
The sobs come, hard and heavy, and she covers them with her hands, terrified that someone will hear her and send for her mother. The water pounds against her back, her stomach clenches, and she thinks about Graham and Killian and the adrenaline falls away with the water, and she slumps against the corner of the shower with a shudder.
Her body demands rest, but she cannot give in until she can see Killian again.
The nurses have fetched her a pair of scrubs (she refused anything from the palace, doesn't care about her own jeans and sweaters, just wants to be near him, and so she rakes her hair back into a wet ponytail, lets the nurses take her to Killian's private room.
He's not awake - he won't be for some time, they explain to her, but she sits beside him, fingers resting against the metal of the hospital bed. His left hand is bandaged, the cuts across his body cleaned and bandaged as best they can be for now. There are bruises forming on his face, and as she studies him, the doctor tells her that he has a broken rib and some severe swelling in his knee.
What's happened to Gold since the time he came to the hospital? What will happen with Regina and Robin, and the recordings that they made - did their plan work? The questions run through Emma's head but she knows that these are not questions she'll get the answers to immediately, and she will just have to be okay with this.
The machine beeps beside him, his pulse strong, and Emma can't help but be grateful at that fact (he's so resilient, and she will always admire his ability to survive despite all odds).
She pulls up a chair to his bedside and slips her hand into his right one, around the heart monitor (she tries not to look at the left, tries to focus on his face, how young he looks in his hospital gown). She moves, just slightly, so that she can lay her head against his right arm, and then she closes her eyes, allowing the soft beeps of the machine and his ragged breathing, to lull her to sleep.
She sleeps restlessly, in fits and starts until she hears him murmuring in his sleep and her eyes snap open, confused and uncertain and worried.
"Killian," she says, squeezing his right hand gently. "It's me. It's Emma."
"Emma." He speaks her name like a prayer. "Love," he exhales, and every muscle in her body is on high alert, very aware as he falls back to sleep, snoring lightly in the dim hospital room.
She knows it's just a part of his vocabulary, an affectionate way of referring to her that doesn't mean much of anything, but the word sends a shock through her system and she lets go of his hand, leans back in her chair.
Emma doesn't know what they are, if they are boyfriend and girlfriend or something else. She doesn't know if they're meant to be together forever, or if this is just temporary. She doesn't know what he thinks about her or how he feels, but she knows how she feels about him, even if there aren't the right words (or maybe there are, and she's been afraid to say them).
Seeing him hurt has put everything in perspective, and she can't stomach seeing him hurt again - and if she has to, she doesn't want to be the cause of it. She doesn't want to break his heart, doesn't want to bring him pain, doesn't want to be anything other than a source of happiness for him. She wants to make him as happy as he makes her, she wants to be there for him, and she doesn't particularly care who knows it.
Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she does love him.
If that's the case, she's going to have to try – to not run when things get difficult, to stay here, with him.
"It's me," she says softly, reaching for his hand again. "It's Emma. And I'm not going anywhere."
…
The first time he wakes, the room is dark and there is a pressure on his right arm that pins him down (he cannot feel his left but he will worry about that later). He turns his head just slightly to find someone (Emma) laying across his arm, still and quiet, and he realizes that she is sleeping. He watches her breaths go in and out loudly, her lips slightly parted, following a rhythmic beeping somewhere off in the distance.
He studies her, the way that she is folded over herself, seated in a chair but leaning onto him, her fingers resting on his hand. She is beautiful when she sleeps, something he knows but feels guilty about knowing, because it's not his place to know such things about someone like Emma (though he can't remember why). He smiles, content to watch her all night, if it wasn't for the fact that he's thirsty. He usually keeps water by his bedside, he'll just reach for it without disturbing her and -
The fingers in his left hand won't move.
Killian looks down to find them wrapped tightly in a bandage (is that why he can't move them? is that why he can't feel them?) and as he shifts, trying to get a better idea of what is going on, that is when the pain in his ribs starts. He cries out, the beeping intensifying, and he can feel something - the fingers of Emma's had withdrawing from his own.
"Killian?" she calls out but it's far away - there is so much pain coursing through him and he can only glances over at her once before she's calling out his name again (KILLIAN!) and now there are others rushing to his bedside, adjusting dials, faces blurred in the haze of all the burning, searing, shooting pain that races through his entire body and -
- There is a moment where it starts to subside, and then, the pain is gone and he is so very tired.
The last thing he thinks before he falls back asleep is that there is something wrong with his left hand.
He wakes, later - how much later he really doesn't know - and finds himself alone, the rhythmic beeping his only company (he recognizes it now as a heart monitor, clasped onto the middle finger of his right hand). Emma is gone, and he is not sure how long he has been out, only that it feels like forever. He doesn't feel well rested, just drugged, woozy and discombobulated and nervous about what has happened to him (he remembers Gold's house, the torture, the searing pain through his left hand - was he shot?).
A nurse enters - a small, quiet woman who smiles at him when he looks at her and adjusts the doses of his medicine. That is the last thing he wants, not when he needs answers, not when he needs to know what happened to him - what is happening to him.
"Please," he says, "no more." He sounds petulant, so he adds, "where am I?"
"Queen Ava Memorial Hospital," she responds in his native tongue, and he realizes he's still in Eira, in Emma's kingdom. "You've been shot, not to mention beaten pretty badly. You have a few broken ribs, and your hand..." she trails off, before adding, "your hand is where you were shot."
Killian lets his head fall back against the pillow, inhaling sharply through his nose, feeling his ribs protest at the movement. He remembers the beating, barely remembers the gunshot - it must have been shock.
"Thank you," he tells her, grateful for an answer. The nurse smiles, reaches over with a glass of water and holds it while he takes a sip. His throat is so parched, his body so sore, and he doesn't know hat to think at the moment - doesn't know what to think because it's a lot to take in at the moment and he's not sure what to make of it. He knows about gunshot wounds, knows that there's rehab to follow and that he might not ever regain the use of his hand -
"The princess gave strict orders to let her know when you are awake," the nurse says as she fills out his chart. "But your doctor wishes to speak with you first."
Killian remembers Emma, her sleeping form beside him, the way that she called out his name (there was fear in her voice, she was scared) and he nods. "I'll speak with the doctor when they're available."
The doctor comes in shortly, her expression grave, and she tells him about his injuries: the ribs will heal, the bruises will fade, but his hand is another story. She throws out all the words he expects, about rehabilitation and therapy, about time and patience, and he listens, somewhat. There are words that she is saying but they don't register, or if they do it's just barely, nothing settling into his mind. All he keeps thinking about his hospital costs, and his degree, and his debts, and rent, and Emma and he doesn't even notice when the doctor leaves him alone.
He does, however, notice when Emma enters, but that is because she is not alone.
She is flanked on either side by bodyguards - members of the house staff, he recognizes, because they are dressed in suits and not military uniform. They wait by the door, backs to Killian, as Emma approaches. She is a vision even in jeans and a long sweater, hair long and shining in shades of brown and (surprisingly) gold in the dim hospital light. She tugs at the sleeves that cover her hands. She looks worried, and that makes him nervous.
"Do I really look that bad?" he asks (well, croaks) and Emma grins, shakes her head as she finally reaches his bedside.
"You look better than you did yesterday," she tells him. She forgoes the chair, perching on his bed instead, and he shifts over, painful though it is, to accommodate her. She is so close that he can smell her shampoo and it calms him immediately, as does her touch. Emma leans into him, sliding her arm around him, and he rests his head against her shoulder, reveling in the feel of her.
"I'm sorry," he says, because he is, because he shouldn't have gone to Jefferson's, shouldn't have put himself in this predicament.
"Don't be," she responds. "We have enough evidence to get Cassidy for good now - he'll never hurt anyone again."
"What do you mean, evidence?" Killian asks, and Emma shifts against him.
"We had a plan," she tells him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before launching into the story. Killian listens in awe as she replays everything, from Belle's arrival at Granny's to Regina's idea to record the entirety of Emma's conversation with Gold.
"Everything your mother said," Killian remarks, remembering only some of the Queen's promises, which he heard as he floated in and out of consciousness, "none of that will happen?"
"He forced her to make promises while holding a gun to your head, after beating you badly. And anyway, the promise was for a forced marriage, which is illegal in Eira, so - " Emma says carefully, like she is trying to remember what she was told, but Killian understands (vaguely) what she is saying.
"Her promises are legally unenforceable." When Emma looks at him quizzically, he shrugs. "Robin went through a phase where he was really into crime dramas. Courts don't enforce illegal contracts or ones made at gunpoint." Emma laughs, pressing a kiss against his forehead, snuggling closer to him in the small bed.
"Smart man. Anyway, Cassidy also admitted that he was actively plotting treason, that he killed his wife, and that he abducted you. We saw him assault you. Those are all serious charges, and when he gets out of the hospital, he'll be formally charged and imprisoned pending trial."
"He's a lawyer with unlimited funds and connections, Emma," Killian says, suddenly very concerned. "Won't be find some way out of this?"
He feels rather than sees Emma shake her head. "I don't think he can. He's ineligible for bail due to admitting active treason. My mother and I can testify about what we saw at the mansion. Belle is willing to testify against him about everything she saw over the years, as is her father. And when Cassidy was taken to the hospital under police escort, all of his cronies pretty much came out of the woodwork and went to the police to confess and seek plea bargains." Emma pauses. "Even Jefferson."
Killian swallows sharply, thinking about Jefferson and his ill-advised quest for information. He was foolish to have gone there and put himself in danger, and he knows it. Regardless of Gold's current predicament, regardless of the fact that Emma and her family are safe -
"I should never have put you in danger," he says softly, looking down at his bandaged hand. His impetuousness had nearly ruined Emma, and did a number on himself in the process. "I should have known better - "
"Shush," Emma says, maneuvering herself so that she's looking at him, her green eyes intent and her mouth a soft smile. "You did what you thought was right. To protect me." She looks down at his hands (one bandaged, one whole, both in his lap) and traces her finger against his knuckles. "You're an honorable man, Killian Jones."
Emma's quiet compliment makes his breath catch and he loves her, loves everything about this woman, from the way that she is looking at him now to the way that she forgave him, and every smile and grin and laugh in between. Her fingers find his, threading between them, entwining together and at first he's unsure of what to do. Emma's not one to shy away from affection but here she has been more affectionate than usual, slipping into their intimacy easily despite the fact that she is royalty, that there are guards outside the door -
He closes his fingers around her own, takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. His hand may be lost (for now), his body may be broken, but he is here, with her and that is all that matters.
...
The road to recovery is a long one.
The first week he spends in his bed, breaths shaky, visitors frequent. Emma, Robin, Regina - even Leroy, Ruby, Granny with scones and tea - all of them come to visit him, all of them wishing him well. There is even an audience with Emma's parents, and while he feels ashamed, trapped in bed, unable to greet them appropriately, the hour he spends in their company with Emma by his side is easier than he would have thought.
("They liked you," she tells him later, when it's the two of them, and she's stealing kisses while her guards back are turned and the curtains around his bed are drawn tight. "I knew they would," she adds, resting her forehead against his own, and he hates that she has to kiss the corner of his mouth because his lip is still swollen.)
Bruises fade, broken ribs heal, but his hand is another story.
There is swelling, and threat of infection, antibiotics pumped into his system. His hand is cleaned each day, the wound tended carefully, but his hand feels like it is not a part of him, like it is something that belongs to someone else.
He misses it, even though it is still there, with a pain that is indescribable.
One afternoon, Robin comes alone, pulling up a chair to sit by his bedside.
"Where's your better half?" Killian asks, and Robin merely smiles.
"With yours," Robin says, putting his feet up on the bed, leaning back in his chair. "Shopping."
"I'm sure that Regina is thrilled."
"That is an understatement," Robin admits. "So how are you feeling?"
It's a good question. Frustrated? Angry? Confined? Killian doesn't have an answer, so he chooses the best one that he can think of.
"A bit helpless," he admits, because his mind keeps going back to the cost of all of this, not just in regards to his health, but the time away from class, his rent that is due, his band that has studio time coming up. All of his obligations weigh him down, as does the absolute indecision he feels about not knowing what will happen to him when he leaves the hospital, which will be soon, he knows, once they stop worrying about infections. He doesn't have an apartment here, doesn't know what he'll do about his degree or his –
Robin frowns. "What do you mean, helpless?"
Killian shrugs, swallows, tries to come up with the words, stumbles over them – "I don't want to be a burden to anyone – "
"You know that's not true, right?" Robin asks, resting his elbows on his legs and leaning forward. "You know you're hardly a burden to Emma, or anyone else."
Killian blows out a harsh exhale but before he can say anything else, Robin continues. "Emma's here every day, right?"
Killian nods. She's been monitoring his bedside with a vigilance that is surprising to him, especially when she is home, with other duties, with other obligations, with family and friends.
"She care a lot about you, Killian," Robin tells him. "A lot."
"She's never said – "
"If you haven't noticed, your girlfriend isn't exactly the best at expressing how she feels. She pretty much ran away when you told her the truth, and spent the better part of the week trying to figure out how to talk to you. The fact that she's here, day after day, Killian…" Robin trails off. "I wasn't sure about her at first, to be honest – she seemed cute, sure, but I was worried she'd get tired of you, or something, and she'd break your heart. I'm starting to come around."
Killian looks up, catches the faint smile on Robin's face. "So you're Team Emma now?"
Robin pauses, then nods, just slightly, and it's more than enough for Killian. Somehow, between the understanding that Emma cares (from what Robin says, from what he's seen with his own eyes) and the knowledge that she has won over his friends, Killian finds a sense of peace. Maybe he can find some way to survive in this country again after all – especially if he has Emma (and that, he thinks, is not a problem).
…
Regina's flown by private jet before - her parents have one, as do most of their friends, so it's not like this is new for her. But being flown on the Official Royal Jet (she assumes the name is capitalized) of the Queen of Eira...well, that's something else entirely.
She doesn't want to leave but each moment they linger here brings the threat of Cora's arrival. Her mother already knows that she is friends with the Crown Princess of Eira, is already aware that Regina has been staying at the palace (it's a small miracle that she hasn't left Boca to fly here with some bullshit story of wanting to comfort her daughter who has just been through a terrible calamity).
Regina can remember the phone call that the Queen asked her to make once they were settled in the palace. She smiled kindly at Regina, and said softly, "If my daughter were caught up in international intrigue, I would like to know," and then left the room, her handlers trailing behind her. Alone for the first time in what felt like days, Regina stared at the gilded, fancy phone on the desk in this gilded, fancy bedroom (Cora would die if she saw the amount of gold filigree used so casually in this place) and thought about actually talking to her mother.
She took a shower, then a nap, instead.
It was dark in Eira when she finally called Cora, and she listened to her mother's gasps and exaggerated cries over the situation that Regina found herself in...and yet, by the time that Regina mentioned she was now staying in the royal palace, that's when Cora finally volunteered to come help her.
"They're dealing with treason," she reminds her mother, "and we'll have to stay as key witnesses, I'm sure." She bites her tongue when she says we because she's opened the door for a line of questioning that -
"Who's 'we', darling?" Cora asks, and Regina takes a deep breath. She can't believe she let that slip, but maybe she doesn't care to keep him secret anymore.
"His name is Robin. We're dating. He's not from wealth, or anything like that so don't bother asking his last name. All you need to know is that he makes me happy."
As if on cue, Robin is in the doorway of the ornate bedroom she's occupying, knuckles pressed against the door, eyebrows up as he stares at her. "The Queen has asked that you be discreet, and keep this to yourselves," she lies, knowing just what her mother needs to hear to keep her quiet. "I'll call again when I can." She pauses for a moment, then adds, "Goodnight," before hanging up the phone without waiting for her mother's reply.
"Was that you finally telling your mother about me?" Robin asks, taking a step forward, then another, and Regina crosses her arms over her chest.
"Accidentally," she admits.
"But you still told her," Robin presses, and then he's standing right in front of her, smelling like expensive soap, strands of damp hair curling on his forehead (he must have passed out immediately when he reached his room, then showered later and she doesn't mind much when he pulls her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss on her nose).
"Regina, Regina, Regina," he says, "it does things to me when I hear that I make you happy."
"Really now," she responds, but her voice doesn't drip as much sarcasm as it could, and for that she blames him. She blames every second of every day that she's not bitter and angry at his presence in her life, but it's not a bad thing, she realizes, as she feels his hands stroking between her shoulder blades, the way that she sinks into him with each brush of his fingers.
"Really," he says, and she smiles against his shoulder, her fingers griping the plain cotton tee he wears.
Cora doesn't come, but give her time, and even though they only say two weeks, it's two weeks where Regina worries that any moment her mother will appear at the palace gate. It's a busy two weeks - multiple meetings with prosecutors and police who want to hear her side of the story, trips to visit Killian in the hospital, a shopping spree or two, courtesy of Emma and Daddy's Amex.
When the two weeks are over, and the jet is ready to take them back home, where Cora is...Regina's not sure she's ready to be grilled about Robin and Eira and Emma and everything else. But she goes all the same, because this is senior year and there are internship application deadlines approaching and work to catch up on. There's the radio station, but she'll need to find someone to cover Killian's shift, because he isn't coming home (there's Killian's room to pack up, too, and Emma's, and even through Ruby says she'll take care of the princess, the thought of trying to put all of Killian's possessions in boxes to send back to Eira makes her uneasy).
So she goes, but she doesn't want to, not really.
Their flight is early in the morning, and so they arrive at the tarmac when the first rays of light are starting to peek over the horizon. It makes Regina remember the first flight, two weeks ago, the way that Graham fell when Belle shot him (there was a memorial service for him, and she may have teared up during it, Robin's hand in hers, gripping her tightly). She knows Belle is in custody, that she's being offered a deal for her help in bringing Cassidy down, but that will never bring Graham back.
As they leave the car, they all seem to realize what time it is - Robin takes a sharp breath, Emma stops short, Killian wipes his eyes with his good hand (the other is in a sling, pressed against him). He still can't use his left hand - at least, not yet, and Regina knows it frustrates him to be unable to do anything, to have to stay for therapy - but the way that Emma slips her arm through his, the gentle touches that she gives him now that they're here, together, Regina thinks he probably doesn't mind those.
Emma's surprise, though - Regina isn't really sure what he'll think about that. She spent all of yesterday helping Emma with the finishing touches, hanging clothes in closets and placing things in drawers, and she's made the princess promise that she'll tell her how the big reveal goes, even if they'll be wheels up when it happens.
There's a moment when the four of them look at each other, not quite ready to say goodbye, not quite ready to leave, but it's Emma who steps forward and embraces them both, Robin then Regina.
"My family is forever in your debt," she tells them, and Robin shakes his head.
"We just did what was right," he tries to tell her but she refuses to listen, just smiles at him as she turns to Regina.
"Don't be a stranger," she says softly, and Regina can't help but smile, just a little. A few months ago, Emma was the girl (the princess) that Killian was dating. Now, Regina thinks, she is actually a friend, and Regina doesn't have many of those.
"We won't," she promises for both of them, and when she glances over at Robin, he and Killian are giving each other an awkward hug (Killian's injured hand is a major obstacle to their goodbye). They exchange some words in a tone too low for Regina to hear and then Killian turns towards her.
She hugs him carefully, and before she can say anything snarky, he tells her, "Make sure that whoever gets my spot appreciates mope rock, okay?"
Regina laughs, the sound sharp in her ears in the stillness of the early morning, the only other sounds on the tarmac the low hum of the car and the chatter of the ground crew as they ready the plane. "I'll do my best, but I don't think we'll ever be able to replace you."
"Of course you won't - who else do you know that's both devilishly handsome and understands the true meaning of mope rock." There's a glint of something in his eyes that Regina has seen rarely - that really didn't appear until he met Emma, and she wonders if this is who Killian was, before his brother died and he got involved with Milah Cassidy. He's always been sarcastic and self-aware, especially when he was with his band, but this is different. This is a new Killian, and she likes it.
"Just keep telling yourself that," she says, and behind her the engines of the plane start up, and she realizes that they need to go. She grips her bag just a bit tighter, smiles at Killian and Emma one more time, and turns towards the plane.
She and Robin are the only two passengers aboard, so she curls up with him, their bodies pressed tightly together, headphones in her ears as the flight attendant brings them mimosas and pastries. She watches Killian and Emma, who wait until the plane starts to move to get into the limo again. When she closes her eyes and rests her head against Robin's chest, she swears she's not crying.
(She totally is, so she just turns up the volume and pretends not to notice how Robin holds her a little more closely.)
…
It's her idea, she knows it, so why is she so nervous?
Her palms are sweaty as she watches Regina and Robin board the plane, Killian at her side. Every bit of this has been planned out, from Robin arranging for Killian to say goodbye, to the limo which will take them to the palace. Killian does not know that his meager belongings - what was with him when he was admitted to the hospital - are being sent home even as their friends disappear into the plane.
He agreed to come with them to the airport, but doesn't know that he won't be returning.
This is a surprise, but hopefully a good one, right?
She knows how anxious he is about the fact that he's a stranger in his own land – that he left here with the thought that he could never come back. She's seen the worry grow on his face the longer that it takes for his hand to heal, to regain movement, and she hopes that if he knows she wants to help him, that things will be better for him.
She wants him here. She wants him to stay. She never wants to lose him again.
She doesn't know how to say everything that she feels in regard to him, but she knows how to show it, and she hopes against hope that he understands exactly what she's trying to do with this (rather grand) gesture.
As the plane starts to taxi down the runway, Emma turns to Killian. "Do you mind if we stop at the palace first?" she asks.
He shrugs in response, allowing her to get into the limo before climbing in after her (it is so big now without their friends, and even though they sit next to each other on the seat, the space between them feels vast). She reaches out, places her hand on his left arm - he cradles his hand against his chest - and smiles at him.
"I'm going to miss them," she admits, and Killian nods, but doesn't say anything. She wonders if the medicine he takes daily for pain is wearing off but doesn't ask. He's too stubborn and wouldn't want to admit that he was struggling in front of her, she knows that much.
The drive to the palace takes them through Sagobok. "You'll have to show me the places you like besides Granny's," Emma remarks, and Killian laughs.
"Are you kidding? Granny's is the best thing about this place," he protests and she smacks his arm lightly, smiling all the while.
They pull into the palace shortly thereafter, and Emma realizes that this is the first time she's brought him here - the first time that she's brought any boy home, really (Walsh was a boarding school mess, and no boyfriend or dalliance or otherwise has been in her space, seen her room or her house aside from the royal receiving rooms and ballrooms, things that the public sees). She is suddenly nervous, and Killian seems to notice.
"What do you need?" he asks, and Emma tries to focus on him, not on her fears.
"This way," she tells him, leading him down the hall towards the private wing reserved for guests. The staff bow slightly as she nears them and she smiles (she feels like a smile is plastered on her face all of the time these days, and the only real smile are the ones she reserves for him). When they get to the room she's spent all of yesterday preparing, she takes a deep breath and opens the doors wide.
It's not a large space - small and the least ostentatious of her parents' guest suites. There is a small sitting area that leads into a small bedroom with a private bath. The colors are muted grays and greens and blues ("was this a mid-century renovation? This room doesn't look like a Rococo master threw up in it," Regina had remarked when Emma brought her in for the first time) and comfortable couches.
"What do you think?" she asks, turning to face him, butterflies in her stomach. Killian is frowning, brow creased, eyes taking in the space.
"Is this your room? I wish you had mentioned something about wanting quality time, love, and I would have showered," he says, eyebrow arching upwards, and she can't help but smile. She takes a step towards him, reaches for his hand, and pulls him towards her.
"Killian, I want you to stay here," she says. "I want you to stay with me, until you're better. I don't want you to worry about anything, not while I can give you this."
There is a flurry of emotions that cross his face after she speaks and she can only place some of them – frustration, anger, worry. "Emma - " he says. He takes a deep breath. "I don't need your charity."
She can see his hackles raise, and suddenly all the things he said about consorting with anarchists and not being a fit companion for a princess come back to her, slamming into her with their impact, and she needs him to understand this is because she wants him here – because she loves him, even if she struggles with the words.
"This isn't charity," she says. "I just want you to stay, with me." She swallows. "If you want to think of it as a 'thank you' for saving my crown, then think of it as that. Think of it as me trying to say 'thanks'. For everything."
She squeezes his hand again, feeling desperate to get him to understand how she feels. Her words feel jumbled and she starts to panic - how is he going to know how much he means to her if he refuses this, refuses this gesture, when the gesture is the best she can do when the words won't leave her lips - but something happens. There is a shift in Killian's features, and instead of being defensive, he purses his lips, then nods. His eyes soften when he looks at her, and it's like he understands her, without words, like the words aren't even needed, not right now.
"Thank you," he tells her, pulling her towards him, letting go of her hand so he can brush his fingers against her cheek, along the dent of her chin.
Emma doesn't say anything else; she closes the distance between them, brings her lips to his. There are no other words that she needs to say right now, and no other words that she thinks he needs to hear because after all, in the end, they understand each other.