Chapter 16
A/N. And this chapter is for the Dearies.
Emergency Room 3:20 pm
His body convulses. Air is forced into his lungs. Some force he can't identify—it's not human, not magic—is pulling him back roughly, without respect for his condition, without regard for the shock to his nervous system. Fire races through his bloodstream, bursts into his heart, busting down its walls and laying it open flat. The fire leaves behind in its wake an icy chill. His brain floods with light, blinding his inner eye. He is jerked back from the silent, empty room.
His eyes fly open. A narrow beam of light pierces his vision; just behind the light is a shadow. His nostrils take in the stench of stale Playboy Cologne and he gags, throwing his arm up to shield his eyes. "Get that f—ing light of out my eyes! Back off, Frankenstein!"
Except it comes out more like "glub grrrb fumm bubbb rntn" because something's been crammed down his throat.
A pair of nurses, one on each side, grab his arms and in their angel voices urge him to relax, everything's fine, he's in the hospital and Christmas is coming and the goose is getting fat. Or something like that. One of the nurses is a petite brunette with blue eyes and a fearless smile, and he reaches for her. "Bbbb?" When he blinks he sees her eyes aren't blue after all and his head drops back onto a pillow as he groans in disappointment.
"Mr. Gold? Can you hear me, Mr. Gold?"
"Well of course I can hear you, you dumb ass. I may be 346 years old but I don't need a hearing aid yet." Except it comes out in glurbs and blubs and mffs again.
Whale says something over his shoulder, then orders—orders! Who does he think he is, ordering the Dark One around?—his patient to close his eyes and relax. Gold closes his eyes, but not because Whale told him to; he can't see worth a damn anyway. He feels tape being removed from his mouth—they've gagged and taped him? What is this, a kidnapping?—and the blockage being withdrawn from his throat.
He sputters. "What the fu—"
"Language, Mr. Gold! There are ladies present."
He blinks hard several times to clear his vision; when he can see again, he doesn't like what he's seeing: Whale smirking at him. "I win!" the monster-maker crows.
"What did you do to me, you gravy-slurpin' son of a toad stool?" Gold tries to sit up. "My chest feels like you dropped an anvil on it—repeatedly."
Whale laughs. "Science, Mr. Gold. That weak, feeble stuff you peddle just took a trouncing from King Science. Now—pay up."
"Never." Gold turns up his nose.
"You owe me."
"Tell me, doctor, what miracle brought about my recovery?"
"CPR and defibrillation."
"And?"
"Atropine and assorted other drugs."
"Atropine. . . given to man by Atropose of the Moirai. Atropose, it's said, is the Fate who decides when we die. But doctor, what got rid of the poison?"
Whale begrudgingly mutters, "That stuff you had in the vial."
"Magic stuff." It's Gold's turn to smirk.
"Yeah, well, if it wasn't for the Hippocratic Oath, I never would've brought you back to life, so it's science you owe your debt to, you old buzzard, and if you don't admit it, Nurse Kellie here is going to give you an enema."
The brunette winks and Gold shrugs. "If that's what you call punishment around here, I can see why you became a doctor."
The brunette wiggles a finger and an orderly brings a bundle of black cloth to her. She holds the cloth up for Gold to see: these long strips of fabric were once a pair of Armani trousers that it took Mr. Browning three weeks to get to fit Gold just right. The nurse cocks her head in mock pity. "So sorry, Mr. Gold, but it was an emergency."
Gold gulps. "And my silk shirt?"
She shakes her head mournfully. "We put it out of its misery."
"The jacket? The tie? The shoes? My Ferragamos, imported from Florence? Oh gods, not the Ferragamos!"
Whale shrugs. "In all the rush to save your life, Mr. Gold, it seems those articles just disappeared."
"Of course, we could trace our steps; perhaps we'd find them," Kellie says sweetly. "If we had a little motivation."
Gold grits his teeth. "Snail-slime lickin', machine-worshippin' witch doctors." He sucks in a breath. "Fine. Bring me the shoes and then I'll say it."
Whale consults Kellie in a sidebar. When the little conference breaks up, the orderly brings the Armani jacket to Kellie, who drapes it lovingly over Gold's knobby knees. His bare knobby knees and his messed-up ankle, he realizes, exposed by the twisted hospital gown. . . which has ridden up to his waist. He squirms and with his single free hand (the other being hooked up to some sort of beeping machinery) he spreads the jacket across his lap, protecting his precious assets.
"Would you like a little help with that, Mr. Gold?" Whale chortles.
"Don't worry," Kellie adds. "You don't have anything we haven't already seen before. By the way, I know now why you have to have your trousers tailor-made."
"Somebody get me out of this torture chamber."
Whale chuckles. "Oh, your ass is ours for the next three days, at least. And we've sent off to the Boston Zoo for the hypodermic they use on elephants, because Kellie's going to be giving you lots and lots of injections."
"All right, all right!" Gold squeezes his eyes shut in anticipated agony. "Science is more powerful than magic. Now give me my shoes."
Whale cups his hand to his ear and leans in. "What's that? I didn't quite catch it."
Gold bites off each syllable for the moron. "Sci-ence-is-more-pow-er-ful-than-ma-gic. Did you catch it that time, you bolt-necked flathead?"
"That didn't sound sincere to me. What do you think, Kellie?"
"No, not at all sincere. I think it's going to be a long time until we get around to looking for those shoes."
Whale and Kellie turn to walk away, but Gold grabs Whale's white coat sleeve. The sorcerer forces a smile and softens his tone. "Magic, despite all its ancient lore and mystery, is but a candle flickering in the darkness of ignorance, compared to the blazing sun of science."
Whale scribbles furiously on his clipboard. "Well said, Mr. Gold, well said! I must get that down word for word. 'Ancient lore and mystery'. . . 'flickering candle'. . . 'darkness of ignorance'. . . ."
Gold sighs and sinks back into his pillow.
Giggling, Kellie and Whale walk from the room.
"My shoes!" Gold shouts after them, and Whale pauses on the threshold. The surgeon lifts a foot and wiggles it, catching the fluorescent light in the layer of polish of the black shoes. "They're a bit sand-scuffed, but they look nice just the same, don't you think? A bit snug, though. I'll have to get the cobbler to stretch them." He lowers his foot. "You know what they say about men with small feet, don't you, Mr. Gold? Scientifically proven to be true." The Ferragamos clatter on linoleum as Whale walks out.
Storybrooke General Hospital Room 666 3:23 pm
Regina's stilettos clack on linoleum as she makes a quick stop in Cora's private room on the farthest corner of highest floor of Storybrooke General's east wing. Leroy plants himself at the threshold as Regina tries to enter. "No visitors."
"Doctor's orders?" Regina asks.
"Sheriff's. She's under arrest. And I'm pretty sure you will be too, soon as my boys find some fairy dust to line the jail with."
Regina flicks her hand and Leroy goes splat against the open door. She steps over him and approaches Cora's bed. A nurse, who's been adjusting the IV drip, pauses to glare at Regina. "No visitors, Ms. Mills."
"No visitors except her daughter," Regina answers. "Unless you'd rather live the rest of your days as a cockroach?"
The nurse clamps her mouth shut and returns her attention to the IV.
Cora is asleep or unconscious, Regina's not sure which, but Regina leans in and brushes a stray lock of hair back from her mother's cheek. "Really, Mother, things are going to have to change when you get out of here." She kisses Cora's cheek. "And you will get out of here, I promise. Jail cell, my sweet fanny! What does that blonde bimbo think she is?" She studies Cora's wrinkled forehead, her crow's feet. "As soon as you get out, we'll both take a full day at the spa. A sea salt scrub, a mani-pedi, a little Botox and you'll feel like a new woman." Regina wonders, now that Cora has a heart inside her for the first time in a century, will she feel like a new woman? Or will all the suffering of her days as the miller's daughter come rushing back?
More importantly, will she greet Henry as a loving grandmother? Will she take her daughter into her comforting open arms?
"Sleep well, Mother."
Regina sneers at the nurse, who's spying on her. "That's Madam Mayor to you." With a flick of her wrist, Regina vanishes.
Room 304 3:25 pm
"Aw for cryin' out—"
"Sorry, Mr. Gold, my foot slipped," the orderly apologizes for nearly dropping the patient as he and his partner transfer the old man from bed to gurney. "Guess I need some new shoes, huh?"
Gold growls, "Very funny."
The gurney rumbles and one of its wheels squeaks as the two orderlies steer it out into the hallway and into the elevator. "You are giving me a private room, are you not?"
"Yes, Mr. Gold."
"Fine. There will be a substantial donation to the building fund next week—assuming I survive my stay in this hellhole."
"Thank you, Mr. Gold."
He closes his eyes, allowing the swaying of the gurney to ease him into relaxation. The orderlies wheel him up to room 304, next door to Belle's room, though if he gets his way, she'll never return to it. As soon as Whale rears his pea-brained head again, Gold's going to start a ruckus about freeing Belle from this rat-trap, which he's sure can't be doing her any good and in fact, may be doing harm. He's had his eye on that one nurse for some time now, the one that keeps hovering over Belle like she's afraid Belle will bolt for the exit at the first opportunity. It's time to get Mr. Dove to make some inquiries about that nurse. . . .Meanwhile, a nice check deposited in Granny's bank account will ensure Belle a comfortable room at the inn, hot meals, and plenty of friendly attention while she struggles to find an identity for herself.
All his fault. Every predicament she's fallen into since leaving Avonlea has been his fault. He must accept that truth now; no more excuses. He must make things right for her and for Bae. He will begin to figure out how, as soon as the last of the poison has left his system and he has rested.
But the peace and quiet lasts only a few blessed moments, for as soon as he's wheeled into 304, he's pelted with greetings, handshakes, shoulder-slaps, balloons, potted plants (from Game of Thorns?! These people lack the intelligence that Pan gave a gnat). Someone, good gods, even tries to hug him. The orderlies rescue him (all right, there will be two pairs of Ferragamos delivered to their locker room tomorrow). Everyone is pushed back and, indignity upon indignity, his gown rides up again as the orderlies lift him from the gurney to the awaiting bed. He snatches the sheet up to his chin and releases a small whimper as the Armani jacket is taken away, draped over a chair.
"You can only stay a minute," the orderly announces. "He needs his rest. He's been through quite an ordeal, and he is getting on in years."
Gold snorts. That one's just done himself out of a new pair of shoes.