A/N: Only two more chapters to go! I should have the next one up in the next few days. Reviews and comments help me work faster!
Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.
Chapter Nine
He felt a hand on his forehead before he was even fully awake, the warm fingers brushing against his hair lightly. Killian managed to pry open his eyes and blinked against the bright morning sunlight that filled the room.
Grace stood beside him, her small hand on his cheek.
"Oh!" she jumped in surprise, pulling away quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
He shook his head, smiling gently. "It's ok," he said softly.
"Papa just went to lie down," she said, her voice quiet as she adjusted the blankets around him. "He said your fever broke about an hour ago. He and Emma were up all night taking care of you." She nodded toward the window.
He turned his head in the direction she indicated. He couldn't remember what happened throughout the night, but Emma must have been exhausted to be resting in such a position. She was curled up in the chair beneath the window, a blanket tucked under her chin as she slept. Her blonde hair was fanned across the top of the heavy quilt, shining golden in the bright light from outside. She looked so peaceful, her long eyelashes resting on her cheeks as she breathed slowly and evenly, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath.
"Papa said she refused to leave your side," he heard Grace say. "At least, not until the fever went down."
He turned back to the girl. "You look much better," she said quietly.
Killian nodded. He did feel worlds better already, though a heavy tiredness persisted. Whatever poultice the healer had applied the night before had definitely helped; his back ached with only a gentle throb and his breaths were deeper and more even, with just a sharp twinge of pain in his chest to remind him of the stab wound.
"I was just making some soup, do you feel up to eating anything yet?" she asked.
He was surprised to find that he was actually a bit hungry. "I'd love some," he whispered with a grin.
Grace's eyes sparkled happily. "That's good!" she exclaimed. "I'll go get a bowl for you." She stood and went to the kitchen.
Killian looked back at Emma, sleeping soundly in the chair. His heart clenched tightly in his chest. This woman, this beautiful, strong woman loved him, he didn't think he'd ever get used to that thought. He wanted to believe that everything she and Henry had told him was true - that he wasn't a coward, that he had people who cared about him, a life, maybe even a family - but her, them… He just couldn't picture someone actually caring for him like she did, no matter how much he wished it.
He must have dozed off for a few minutes because, when he opened his eyes again, the room was empty. He heard voices from the other room, and he smiled when he heard Emma laugh loudly. Henry stepped into the doorway just then and grinned when he saw he was awake.
"Mom! Hook's up!" he called over his shoulder. He held a steaming bowl in his hands as he walked over to the chair at the window. "Mom said you had a long night," he said. "How're you feeling now?"
"Better," Killian answered hoarsely, his voice still not quite back to itself. The smell of the soup wafted over just then, his mouth watering instantly, and he was suddenly sure that nothing had ever smelled so amazing.
Emma came in then carrying another bowl as she came to sit beside him on the mattress. Grace followed, pulling up a chair of her own on his left.
"Good morning," Emma smiled, touching his forehead gently. "You gave us quite a scare last night."
"Sorry," he whispered. She seemed tired, dark shadows under her eyes. Because of me, he thought.
She looked to the bowl in her lap and reached for the spoon that stuck out from it. "Grace said you wanted something to eat?"
"Aye," he answered. "Please." The smell of the soup was beyond distracting now, all he wanted was a taste, his stomach rumbling suddenly in anticipation.
"Do you want me to…" she trailed off, a question at the end of her words as she indicated to the spoon.
He nodded. As strong as he'd have liked to pretend he was, he knew he was too weak to feed himself without spilling most of it.
Emma lifted the spoon to his lips and he opened his mouth, the warm soup slipping onto his tongue. He was sure he'd had better food than this simple soup sometime in his life, but at that moment, it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. He could feel the warmth travelling to his belly, calming the protests his stomach.
She fed him about half the soup in the bowl in silence, small sips that he could swallow easily without losing his breath. She stifled a yawn every few sips and he wished he could adequately apologize for being the cause of her obvious exhaustion, but he wasn't sure what happened last night. Henry and Grace were talking animatedly at the other end of the bed about their adventure rescuing Emma from the tower, Grace laughing at something he had just said about his former captain. Killian chuckled softly.
"What?" Emma asked, putting down the bowl on the table as she yawned again.
"I realized something," he said quietly, his voice already stronger than before. He met her eyes, the deep green in them mirroring the forest outside the window. "Blackbeard. I don't ever have to work under him again. Whatever happens, I can go anywhere now, be anyone. I can finally travel the realms, see the world." With you, if you wish. He swallowed hard, aching to add those silent words, not sure if she wanted to hear them.
"I'm free," he said simply, his fingers twisting in the blanket. He didn't want her to think he was giving up on her, on them, on fixing the story and saving everyone, but this was a new chance, an opportunity he'd never experienced - to start over somewhere, anywhere, and live life on his own terms.
She didn't say anything right away, her gaze uncertain. Just as she opened her mouth to respond, he heard a noise outside. While the general sound of it was familiar, something was off.
He held up a hand, listening. Emma raised an eyebrow, but didn't say a word, the sound of the wagon getting louder as it approached.
"Grace, are you expecting anyone?" he asked the girl.
She shook her head, eyes wide. "Whale said he'd come over tonight to check on you, and Red had errands to run in town today."
From the sound of it, the wagon was too big to be a regular country cart, and there were at least two horses pulling it, rare in these poorer villages. Which could only mean one thing.
No, it can't be.
Emma understood immediately. "Killian, they couldn't have found us here," she whispered quietly. She stood and went to the door, peering through the kitchen to the front room beyond it. He watched as she left the room, moving silently through the doorway.
A few seconds later, she came rushing back in and closed the door behind her. She was trembling, he could see her fingers shaking.
"It's them," Emma whispered. "My parents."
Fear raced through Killian with those words, his gut twisting at the thought of seeing the Evil Queen and her loyal black knight. The knight, Charming. The man who stabbed him in the back. His chest throbbed painfully in time with his racing heart.
Henry stood quickly and made his way to his mother. "What do we do?" he asked.
Killian wished he knew what to say. At the moment, the terror at meeting with his attackers again was too overwhelming to think of anything else.
He watched as Emma took a deep breath, and then came over to the table beside him. She grabbed the sword that had been propped up against it, the sword Killian had tried to use earlier in his unsuccessful fight with the Queen's guard. She strapped it around her waist as she spoke.
"I'll take care of them," she said, focusing intently on the buckle. "Killian, they think you're dead, so just stay right here. Grace, Henry, climb out the window and run to Whale's house. Do not come back, not until I come and get you, do you hear me?" She reached for her son, kissed him on his head and pushed him toward the window. "Go."
Henry didn't budge. "I'm not leaving you, Mom," he said, a note of defiance in his voice. She sighed, but didn't argue.
Grace stayed as well. "My Papa, he's still sleeping…" she whispered, tears filling her eyes. Emma went over to her and touched her cheek. "Your papa will be fine, I promise. They won't even get inside the door. Go to Whale, you'll be safe there." The girl nodded, went to the window and climbed out with one last look back.
I can't stay and do nothing, Killian realized suddenly. I won't just sit here and hide like a coward. He pulled the blanket off and tried twisting his legs off the bed. He winced at the movement, his arms trembling with the effort of holding himself up, but he didn't stop until his feet touched the floor. Emma noticed and hurried over to him, crouching beside him.
"Killian, what are you doing?" she asked, panic lining her voice. "You can't fight them, you can barely even sit up."
He shook his head. "You need to run. Get far away from here, both of you. You can find another way to break this curse, but I'm not going to let you fight them for me."
"I'm not leaving you here to die," she said, her eyes flashing brightly. "Don't you dare ask me to do that, not again."
"Emma," he said, reaching trembling fingers to touch her face. "They're your parents. You can't kill them, it'll destroy you."
She blinked quickly, her voice hard. "You won't let me save you but I'm supposed to just let you sacrifice yourself for me? How is that fair, Killian?"
He smiled sadly, running his hand into her hair. "It's not," he whispered. "Please, let me protect you, give you some time to run and find another way home."
Emma wiped her arm across her eyes, her sleeve erasing the last traces of moisture from her eyes, as she pulled away from his touch and stood.
"No," she glared. "I'm done watching people I care about die for me. It's my turn to save you." She turned and ran out the door, Henry close behind.
There's got to be another way, he thought desperately. He could see Liam in his mind, his final moments replaying over and over. His brave brother, his captain, had ordered him to hide while he went out on deck to deal with the pirates who'd stolen aboard the ship. Killian had obeyed, terrified, as he climbed into the small space below the quarterdeck. But Liam had known, he knew all along, that he wasn't going to survive the encounter, his final smile to Killian one that said goodbye without words. His brother died to save him, and he couldn't lose anyone else like that while he cowered in a corner, least of all the beautiful blonde who, in some reality, loved him with all her heart.
He glanced at the window, remembering how far Grace had dropped as she climbed out to safety. I can do it, he thought. He grabbed his brace from the table and quickly strapped it to his arm, clicking his hook into place in one smooth twist. There was no other weapon in the room; it would have to do. He took a few breaths, readying himself as he prepared to stand. He held the table and the bed as he pushed off the mattress. He swayed precariously, the room tilting alarmingly, but he stood. Steadying himself on the wall, he made his way around the bed to the open window. His legs were weak from disuse, muscles trembling as he moved slowly, his strength barely supporting his weight, but he pressed onward.
Killian approached the window and grasped the frame. He lifted one leg up and over the sill, then the next. He rested briefly, balancing on the edge, breathing fast and hard, careful to keep his back away from the walls as he held the window frame for support. His back hurt, the dull ache growing with each movement he made. He ignored it. He could hear Emma's voice from the front of the house, but he couldn't make out her words. Hurry up, he berated himself.
The ground was only a couple of feet below his dangling feet. He eased himself toward the grass, stifling a cry as he tumbled to his knees. He could feel the stitches pulling at his skin, the pain flashing across his entire back. Sweat covered his skin in a fine sheen as he worked on catching his breath. He couldn't stop, couldn't think about the damage, not when he was so close.
He slowly got to his feet and held onto the outside wall of the small cottage, leaning his shoulder and hook against it far more heavily than he would have liked. Keeping the solid logs to his left, he gradually made his way to the end of the wall, the soft grass crunching quietly beneath his bare feet. He cautiously peered around the corner.
A/N 2: CLIFFHANGER! MUHAHAHAHAHAHA! Want more? Comment!