(Just as fair warning: I don't think it is graphic enough to warrant a rating change for the whole story, but there is more violence in this chapter than I usually write. I don't think it will upset anyone; jury's still out on how successfully I managed it anyway. Yet, I wanted to give readers a heads-up just in case. Better safe than sorry…)
Chapter Fifteen: What We Stand to Lose
Emma Swan honestly isn't sure whether she dreads the return of their two shadowy captors or wishes for it to put her out of the anxious misery of waiting. She certainly does not welcome more pain, nor the guilt that injury to her clearly causes Killian, but sitting helpless and wondering when no out is available to her is horrifying in its own right. The jagged gash along the side of her face stings and burns painfully though she tries not to visibly react in front of Jones. Still, it nearly pulses with every beat of her heart as her blood pounds erratically.
She looks up and across the table at him once more, trying to steel herself for whatever is coming at them next and to draw strength from his flinty resolve. She may not have always been on the right side of the law in her life, she might not be high class with a good name, or even have been doing a job that most people would consider respectable and upstanding, but Emma has no intention of caving to these reprobates to save her own skin. That is not how she works first of all, but she has also seen the seedy underbelly of the world for most of her life. She has learned through painful experience that dealing with rough and dangerous people is likely to get one burned. She could promise not to testify, she could tell them everything about Killian, Ruby, and the FBI's plans to protect her and get her to the trial safely, but even if she would be so cowardly as to betray those who have tried so hard to protect her, Emma knows better than to cling to any naïve delusions. Gold has no plans to let her leave here, not unless he is absolutely certain she cannot speak to incriminate him in any way. Shuddering at that thought, and just how far a heartless mob boss might be willing to go to incapacitate a witness against him, she shakes the lingering cobwebs of doubt and worry from her mind. Licking her bottom lip, forcing herself to speak and even attempt to sound lighthearted, she asks, "You still with me over there, Jones?" while giving him a crooked smirk.
"Aye, Lass," he mumbles, shooting her a reassuring smile and an arch of the brow as he speaks, holding her gaze just long enough to ignite a spark of hope in her chest and an improbable flare of heart in her belly, both despite their current dire straits. "Hang in there, eh Love?" he continues, as she notices him twisting and pulling an arm against its confines.
"What are you doing?" she hisses, equal measures concerned and curious as she shoots a nervous glance toward the closed door the two criminals had exited and then back to what her protector is doing, leaning forward to see better in the dim light.
He speaks low, gruffly, most of his concentration on his movements more than his words. "The binding feels a mite looser on this arm. I'm trying to shimmy or stretch enough slack to either slip my arm out or break the rope," he grits quietly enough so that Emma has to strain her ears to catch his words and surely anyone outside the room attempting to listen in would be hard pressed to overhear.
She nods, trying not to let an anxious thrill at the possibility overtake her. She needs to stay calm, unmoving, and not give away his attempts if they are somehow being observed. "What can I do?" she asks after a moment, willing her voice to remain steady and composed.
"Nothing yet, Swan," he replies, and she can see that he is indeed managing to work some slack into his bonds. She draws in a tight, deep breath, almost mesmerized as she watches his painstaking progress, both their lives quiet possibly hanging in the balance. When he speaks again, the lilt that sounds somehow endearingly comforting, even through the gritted strain, and she almost jolts as it pulls her back into the moment. "But if this works, as soon as I get you free, be ready to run like hell."
She chuckles, though it sounds tense and nervous to her own ears, but Killian makes no comment, quite possibly because there is clearly good reason for her state. Though she says nothing else out loud, Emma finds herself silently praying for his success, and as quickly as it can be managed.
It almost appears as though Killian's arm will break free on his next pull, and she is choking back an exclamation of relief, when the door flies open on its hinges once more, swinging wide on creaking metal like a movie thriller cliché. Jerking to stare at their tormenters and several back-up lackeys besides as they re-enter the room, Emma hopes she has not been so avidly watching Killian's motions as to draw attention to them. Instead, she recklessly bargains to draw their attention to herself in a gamble that he may soon be loose and able to spring a surprise on their foes. She draws in a breath to speak and thinks for a fleeting, hysterical moment that she wishes she had told him how she feels one more time – just in case they don't get out, just in case this backfires on her in ways she cannot even guess.
"Hey!" she calls out. "Back so soon? Can't you find any other way to entertain yourselves?" She smirks with mocking sweetness at them, and when Gold's eyes gleam coldly and Cora Mills' cruel smile splits her face, Emma knows she has their full attention, just as she intended – even if that cause her stomach to bottom out in fear.
She hears Killian suck in a harsh breath at her words, voice rasping as he spits, "What are you doing?!" at her behind their backs.
However, Gold merely hisses his response silkily, moving closer to Emma than he has up until this point. "Do you seriously think it wise to antagonize me?" he queries, the threat clear in his voice.
Emma wills herself not to blink or drop her eyes, but to meet his stare defiantly.
In the next instant, both of the villain's hands are clamped around her throat, squeezing like a vice until she cannot draw in a single breath. Struggling, floundering, but hardly able to move a muscle, tied down as she is, black spots begin to swim in Emma's vision as time stretches on, and her surroundings blur at the edges. Vaguely, as if through a tunnel, she can hear Killian roaring at Gold, hurling imprecations and trying alternately to goad the beast into attacking him instead.
With an insidious smile, Gold's grip suddenly releases her, just as Emma knows she was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. Instead, she is awake and aware to watch in horror as the monster of a man before her, moving so quickly she gasps in surprise, whirls and swings his cane, whipping it around with deadly precision for the gold-topped, heavy grip to strike Killian across the face with a crack. Emma can literally hear the impact along with the whoosh of air that escapes Killian unbidden, causing him to momentarily slump in his bindings. They will be lucky if a blow like that didn't shatter his cheekbone.
Gold is on him before Killian can recover himself or his bravado, fists a handful of that thick, soft, black hair Emma loves to run her hands through, turning her stomach now as the heartless fiend uses it to jerk Killian's head back up and sneer into his face. "Don't go weak on me now, Dearie. We're only getting started." With a laugh that sets Emma's every nerve to jangling in alarm, Gold swings once more and lands a satisfying punch to Killian's gut.
Tied up as he is, Killian cannot dodge the blow nor shield his softer organs from the assault. She can tell it was a heavy hit from the grunt of pain that flies past Jones's lips on impact and the way his body instinctively attempts to curl in on itself in protection. Emma can only stare in revulsion as Gold steps back and allows the burly thugs he brought in with him to take over raining blows on the man she loves. Their punches land on the disarmed and bound agent like rain, battering indiscriminately over his chest, stomach and ribs.
To her terror and disgust, Emma loses count of how many times Killian has been hit the moment his sturdy form seems to slump forward, limp enough that he would fall to the floor if he were not tied to his chair. When the sinister little man steps into the melee again, forcing his henchmen to fall back and plants a ringed fist into Killian's nose with a sickening crack, Emma can no longer silence the hysterical scream that tears itself from her throat. "Stop it!" she begs, desperate and panting wildly. "Please, stop! You're going to kill him!"
Gold turns to peer at her with twisted amusement. "Precisely," he murmurs in a voice soft and deadly, his expression reflecting sadistic delight at her obvious fear. "I want to silence you both. Permanently."
Killian tries to raise his head and gaze at her, one eye already beginning to blacken and swell shut, blood dripping from what is likely a broken nose, and even though the panic within her has begun to crest at the shady kingpin's answer, the glint of Killian's eyes darkening to midnight in anger and determination is unreasonably comforting. Growling low in his throat, Jones still manages to sound menacing to her ears when he warns Gold, "Don't count your victory too soon. I'm not dead yet."
Emma cringes, ready for the beating to continue at Killian's show of rebellion and already turning her head and closing her eyes tightly, unable to watch him be hurt any more, even if she cannot avoid hearing the hits land. Unfortunately, her instinctive movement is brought to a halt at a nod from Gold himself. Icy cold and grasping fingers clutch her face, hold her firmly and force her to continue facing forward. Nails dig into her skin, and Emma knows it is Cora Mills who holds her still.
"Take a nice long look, Sweetie," the horrible viper croons in her ear, her false brightness dripping poison and making Emma's skin crawl. "Trust me when I say you won't even recognize him by the time they finish."
"Actually," Gold intones, stepping inexorably closer to her as he does so, nearer than he has come thus far. "I think our old friend Agent Jones may learn more from this lovely lady's punishment than his own." When the living embodiment of a demon leans close enough to look her right in the face and reaches out to run a finger along a soft strand of her hair, Emma cannot hold back the shudder that runs through her, despite how desperately she aches to appear strong. She cannot move a single muscle of her own accord, her body locking down against her beyond her being tied up. "This time the man may finally learn that opposing me only gains him more pain and the loss of yet another person he loves."
Emma's breath is coming in harsh pants now, her chest rising and falling as if trying to survive a marathon. She only just manages not to make a sound or cry out as Gold strikes her hard across the face. Her head rings even though it cannot fall to the side as it would if she were free. Nearly biting through her own lip to hold in the groan of pain that wants to escape, she forces herself to glare back into those unfeeling, reptilian eyes.
The older man shakes his head as if puzzled by her, insidious lies winding around dizzily in her brain. "It didn't have to be this way," he tsks with seeming dismay. "If you hadn't run to the police you would be free right now. You would be safe with your boy at this very moment if you had not planned to testify against me."
Suddenly and inexplicably, rage and helpless, unstoppable adrenaline rise in Emma until she simply erupts. Seeing Graham's lifeless body fall to the floor in a seedy Vegas back room, the terrified run through the night with Henry thinking monsters are on their trail, sets her to practically vibrating with anger. A quick flurry of further horrors plays over her mind in just a few short seconds: losing her one distinguishing feature to her new identity, calling her son by a name that isn't his in order to keep him safe, the fear that gripped her the afternoon Henry hadn't met Ruby after school, and the denial she and Killian had put each other through, all the way to the pain she has just seen him endure for her sake. It all culminates in one jarring crescendo to make her reckless enough to throw her all her fears, all her losses, all the suffering and worry she has borne in the past several months and in the life she has scraped together ever since leaving jail at eighteen, back into the face of this monster. The whole world has continually crushed her, trying to hold her down, trying to take and take and take, no matter how she fights back. This psychopath before her is the worst by far, but he is also only the last in a long line, and Emma finally snaps – beyond all caution or reason. "Do you honestly think I would simply play along? That I would continue to aid those who killed the first person who ever cared anything for me?! I would never have knowingly been part of your organization to begin with – no matter what you do to me now."
The villain actually takes a step back, as if stunned at someone countering him in such a manner. Without thinking, still almost out of her head in anger, Emma spits in his face. They are doomed anyway, and she truly has nothing to lose.
No one moves, or even seems to breathe, for one endless, strained minute. Killian's eyes across the room widen in a strange mixture of disbelief, pride, and helpless fear for her, and Emma finds that torn expression on his battered, achingly handsome face to be what brings her back to herself and shakes her to the core.
"You might just live long enough to regret that," Gold seethes, his voice choked with fury before he turns away, nodding to Cora for her to step back as well. The next thing Emma knows, Gold is handing a glittering, dagger-like knife to his second in command and the woman beings to stalk around Emma's chair as if sizing her up for the most vulnerable place to strike.
When Cora Mills attacks, it is like the first savage dart of a rattlesnake, swift and lethal, and the pure, unexpected savagery of it does make Emma cry out against her will. The blade slices into her side, severing skin and sinew.
Jones is bellowing, cursing bloody murder and rocking the entire chair he is bound to as he tries to get loose and come between Emma and the Queen of Hearts before she is wounded any further. The harsh metal next tears up her arm, laying it open to what feels for Emma nearly to the bone. Another stab in quick succession pierces her thigh, plunging into the muscle, and then she is unable to help herself, screaming and also hearing herself as if she's listening to some other person's torment.
Only when the sadistic viper moves in closer, do her movements grow slower and more deliberate as she puts the knife to Emma's collarbone, slashing through the sweater she wears and baring her chest in merely a thin tank top. Cora allows the edge of steel to trace dangerously along her captive's skin, as if flirting with this last bit of violence, the moment she has been truly, sickly craving all along. In a blinding shot of clarity, Emma knows why this woman must be called the Queen of Hearts, and that she is truly and absolutely about to meet her end.
A howl of raw animal frenzy meets her ears, just as they also register the sound of splintering wood and a heavy chair crashing to the floor. Killian has somehow finally gotten himself loose from his bindings through gargantuan, dogged effort, and he flings himself across the space between, too rapidly to be stopped, bowling over Gold in his way and going straight for Cora Mills before she can cut into Emma's flesh again.
Though it takes them a moment, Gold's hired thugs snap into action quickly. They are on Killian before he can reach Cora and soon hold him, still kicking and bucking murderously, between three of them.
"Bring him over here," Gold seethes, levering himself to his feet and limping forward to stand beside the table. He smooths back his longish graying hair and straightens his rumpled suit jacket in an attempt to regain his poise. When he stands beside his men and the struggling agent, his next instruction is deathly cold and grim. "Hold his arm over the table and keep it still," he orders.
Leaning more heavily on his cane than before, Gold moves to a darkened corner of the room and returns with a heavy mallet, hanging like a looming threat from his hand. Despite it taking all of the Gold's extra brutes to restrain him and keep him still, Killian is inextricably held immobile now, his left arm forced straight out in front of him and flat against the surface of the table.
Emma can see what is coming from where she sits, unable able to move or help or make this play out any other way. In fact, the entire scene wavers in and out of focus before her eyes, almost certainly due to the blood seeping from her side and arm and pouring from the stab wound in her thigh. She forces herself to look in Killian's face, to stay present here with him, not to desert him to bear this alone. Clinging to consciousness for his sake, even if it makes the last thing she sees the stuff of nightmares.
Unerringly, Killian turns his gaze to hers, the beautiful blue of his eyes breaking her heart as surely as they have ever enchanted her. "Emma," he breathes in a strangled whisper. "I failed you…I am so sorry, Love."
Gold chuckles at the agony both in his voice and written over Emma's face. "Agent Jones, let this teach you once and for all to keep your hands out of other peoples' business. If you could have left well enough alone years ago, you would have saved yourself – and her – so much pain and suffering."
Emma has to close her eyes against those words for a moment, knowing Killian's pain has been made even worse with the extra heaping of guilt. But she jerks them open again at the desperate whine she hears escape Killian's throat quietly as he strains to move, to strike back, to get free – anything – and nothing happens. Vowing again that she will not fail him, even if all she can do is be his witness no matter what comes.
She sees Gold raise the heavy instrument, sees it fall through the air in an inexorable arch of doom, and tries to breathe through the panic upon impact as it crushes Killian's hand, landing with an unspeakably sickening sound. A guttural, unearthly keen of animal suffering spills from Killian that is almost unrecognizable as human, so wrenching that Emma cannot bear it silently.
"Killian!" she cries out, not sure if he is aware of her, or of anything but the pain. She has no other words, no way to spare him or even to reach him, but has to call out to him, has to tell him she is with him. "Killian, I'm sorry too! Killian! Please!"
She hears at least two more splattering thuds strike the table solidly, knowing his hand is still caught in between, along with the stomach-turning squelch as the mallet is pulled away each time. There is some sort of a huffing, wheezing struggle for breath lost between the inhuman whimpers and her own desperate pleas.
Though people move in and out of her line of sight, blocking Killian from her view, Emma can see that his hand is a bloody pulp, and wonders dumbly if he will ever use it again – if they somehow manage to escape this hell. Emma refuses to look at the ruin again, seeking Killian's face instead. But the sightless eyes that greet hers, his face blank and unseeing, shows her that physical shock is already setting in, shakes her to her very core, and unmoors her from the last bit of security she was clinging to.
Killian Jones does not move or make a sound when Emma strains futilely to reach out for him one more time. Suddenly, the Queen steps in to block her view and she feels the sharp, rending pain of the dagger in her chest. So much red floods her vision – from Killian and from her – that everything goes hazy but for the rush of crimson and darkness closing in. She is barely aware when a loud pounding, the heavy tread of footsteps, and the door to the hidden basement being pushed in, sounds. By the time Ruby reaches Emma's side calling her name insistently and seeking a pulse, and David Nolan rushes to Killian, gun still drawn and held at the ready, Emma has already closed her eyes and floated away.
(Okay, so I didn't want to put this at the front of the chapter and spoil what was going to happen, but I apologize for Gold finding a way to maim Killian, even in a modern, non-magical AU. I can't really help where the muse leads me; it was in the plot plan from the start, though very hard to actually write when I got to it! If you want to blame anything, blame the movie "Casino" that I was goaded into watching much too young. It had a scene where something like this happened to someone's hand and it scarred me for life!)