Chapter Sixteen: For the Sake of his Love
Killian Jones does not wake easily when consciousness returns to him nearly 36 hours later in a cold, sterile hospital room. Muzzy-headed and lost, he peers around, squinting against even the small light of one bedside lamp after so long lost to the world, wondering where he is and what happened, trying to remember what shock has buried for his own protection. As several minutes pass, shards of memory trickle back into his mind with horrifying and startling clarity.
When he remembers being held down and seeing Cora shove the dagger into Emma's tender chest, he shudders, making an incoherent noise mostly stoppered by the tube down his throatand tossing weakly, but it is enough to bring a soothing hand to rest on his shoulder.
Ruby's concerned face appears, leaning over to smile at him gently as her hand trails from his shoulder down to brush his arm lightly. "Kil, you scared us," she breathes, eyes falling closed for a moment before she gazes back into her partner's face once more. "You don't even know how glad I am to see you awake."
"Mmphh…" Killian again tries to speak, his voice thick and hampered by the confusion that lingers, "I – I don't…"
"Shh," Ruby soothes, pressing her hand on his arm, still soft but holding him still as well, cautioning him to take it slowly. "It's okay. I've already sent for the doctor. He'll explain, just stay calm."
The tension and worry in his partner's eyes, and her obvious fear for him to get too upset, tell Killian there is more she isn't telling him. It clenches a knot of fear in the bottom of his stomach, only one thing he has to know now, that he manages to get out. "E-Emma?"
Ruby understands him easily, however garbled his words and gives a terse nod, though she also looks over her shoulder for the doctor's arrival, as if not wanting to tell him something she is still holding back. With a sigh, she responds lowly. "Emma's here too. Take it easy, Kil. I mean it. You lost a lot of blood and need to stay still. Everything will be alright, okay? I promise."
At his partner's reassurance, Killian finds himself blinking and swallowing a lump in his throat, a swell of emotion that startles him. But he takes Ruby at her word and trusts her. In that spirit, he goes to raise his hand to squeeze hers reassuringly, but when he tries, nothing moves.
Alarmed, his gaze falls sharply to Ruby's hand on his arm first, and then farther down. He sees for the first time that his forearm is encased in a pressure cuff and is also secured against any movement. However, what truly shocks him, makes him stare in revulsion, unable to accept what he sees, and his stomach roll, is that his arm ends abruptly at the wrist. There is nothing there beyond the cast. His hand is gone.
Now that he has seen it, Killian cannot look away; though it doesn't add up, and will not make sense. He feels as though he is caught up in some exploitative horror film. Bile rises in his throat, his whole body going hot, then cold, and the room spinning wildly before his eyes. A vortex of panic and disgust threatens to suck him down until he hears Ruby's worried voice calling him back to reality and then feels strong, unfamiliar hands – which must be the doctor's – grasping his shoulders bracingly.
"Agent Jones?" a steady, almost emotionless voice asks brusquely, clearly trying to break through his anxiety without causing further alarm. "Agent Jones! Can you hear me? I would hate sedate you, but you need to focus. Take deep breaths for me. There you are…that's it." The voice becomes less demanding, and therefore less antagonistic to Killian once he does manage to focus on the wiry, sandy-headed man in a white lab coat now leaning over him and taking his vitals.
Killian forces himself to try slower breaths, fixing his mind on a steady in-and-out rhythm, much like some of the coping techniques he was taught years ago while still a rookie at the academy.
"Now that I have your attention," the doctor continues, his voice surer as he smiles down at Killian in a way that feels a bit insincere but competent and relatively harmless. "I'm Dr. Whale," the man tells him. "You were brought in around seven in the evening, the night before last, already in an extreme stage of shock. At first, you were unresponsive – nearly catatonic – then something set you off. We're still not sure what, and you went into some kind of violent fit before you collapsed and lost consciousness."
Killian's eyes narrow at this new helping of information, not at all liking the picture it paints of him, or knowing how much time was lost when he didn't know where or how Emma was. He wants to growl at this oily physician, already under his skin just with his unperturbed, matter-of-fact delivery, but Jones knows without doubt that none of the glowering or snapping that might have usually cowed others and made them snap to attention would have any effect in the near future. He is weak as a newborn kitten, and knows he must look it as well. Heaving a sigh, that is arrested halfway by the contraption helping him breathe, he attempts to resign himself to this doctor and the pace assigned for him. Trying to speak with his eyes of his need to be up, on the mend, to know what is happening with his charge and see her for himself, he is relieved at last by Whale's next statement. "Since you're awake, and your vitals appear normal, let's try taking out the cannula to see if you can do without it. Then I can answer any further questions you may have."
Ruby squeezes her way back into Killian's line of sight, clutching his arm in her small hand and pressing her support into his skin. He focuses on her warm, caring brown eyes and encouraging smile while he coughs as the doctor instructs him to do, then gags for a moment until the tube pulls free, sputtering and heaving until he is breathing on his own once more. His throat is raw and burning, and he gratefully accepts the cup of water his partner tilts to his lips the very second she offers it. After gulping down a cool drink that feels like pure paradise to his parched and aching esophagus, he clears his throat with a wince and raggedly makes his voice croak out the words, "Where is my hand? What happened to it?"
Dr. Whale shows the first true glimmer of regret his face has reflected so far at these words. His eyes flick to his feet, then over to Ruby, who nods either to convince the doctor that Killian can handle the truth or that there is no other option, Killian can't be sure which, and then the other man is once more returning Killian's stare head on. "Your hand had sustained such devastating injury that repair was not feasible," Dr. Whale explains at last, a slump of defeat to his shoulders. "The muscle, bone, and tendons had been so thoroughly crushed that the hand would never have regained function. With that sort of massive injury and that much paralyzed portion of limb, there is too great a risk of infection in the narrowed blood vessels to leave the remaining limb attached. We had to amputate, Agent Jones."
Sensing the apologetic pity in the doctor's eyes, Jones brushes it aside gruffly, giving a curt nod of understanding even as he has to look away for a moment, turn his face from both of them to regain control. The hideous sight, to himself at least, of the ruined arm lying at his side doesn't fade; however, he has to close his mind against the knowledge that Emma has already seen it while he was unaware, and may have been so disgusted that she couldn't stay here with him. A larger part of him wants to believe when his conscience whispers that cannot be true, he knows her better than that, but it is overwhelmed once more by the wave of nausea that hits him as soon as he catches another glimpse of his own handless wrist, heaving ineffectually with nothing to bring up.
Clamping his jaw, Killian drags in several breaths through his nose and again forces himself to calm. Looking past the doctor to Ruby, he asks in a relatively steady, if rasping, voice. "Where is Emma? Is she alright? I…I need to see her."
Ruby clearly understands, not showing any of the maddening pity or condescension that the physician had exhibited, and that Killian suddenly knows with startling clarity he will be receiving from others for the rest of his life. Nodding, she offers him the information he needs most. "They think she'll be fine, Kil. You know I wouldn't lie to you, right? By the time she got here, her pulse was thready, and she was slipping in and out of consciousness. Apparently, when they thought she was stabilized she almost crashed again. That was when they found that one of her arteries had been nicked and she was bleeding internally as well. They put her under to repair it, but with the blood loss, the shock and strain, they've kept her in an artificially induced coma. They needed to make sure she didn't wake up and become upset or agitated until her body had enough time to heal. They especially wanted to be sure you would come around before they had to report something of that nature to her, if it could be avoided. Last time I was down in her room, they were talking about easing off the meds tonight and letting her body start to naturally regain awareness."
Killian digests all of this silently, pain constricting his chest at the thought of Emma both so seriously injured and so distraught as well, not to mention now lying unconscious somewhere in this drab, impersonal building.
"Is someone with her?" he murmurs brokenly, eyes closed against the crushing guilt and shame that he isn't there for her, can't do her any good at present as broken as he is himself. "Where's Henry?" he then adds, picturing the lad's innocent, sweet face and hating that he has seen such harsh cruelty and nearly lost his mother to it.
"Hey," Ruby soothes quietly, only nodding her understanding to the doctor when the man says he must leave to make his rounds and will return within the hour. "Henry's safe. I was with him in Emma's room until I came up here to see you. His teacher is there sitting with him. Ms. Blanchard – Mary Margaret's her first name – the one he was with when I didn't find him at school that day, remember?"
Killian nods, affirming that he does, but Ruby must see that he is not sure how the teacher got involved again, so she explains further. "David and I wanted to handle Gold's – and Cora Mills' – interrogations personally. There's not much they can argue or deny, since we caught them in the act after all. They aren't going anywhere until their trial. Still, we couldn't leave Henry by himself. One of the local PD's techs was looking after him, but she went back on duty, so we called Ms. Blanchard. She seemed so genuinely concerned for him when we'd met before, and she was in this instance too. She came within the hour. It was David's idea, actually. Henry looked so happy to see her, and she's been sitting with him ever since. David's been guarding the door himself."
It feels as though gravel is rattling through his windpipe when Killian tries once again to respond after he thoughtfully takes in all Ruby has told him. Gritting his teeth, he gets his words out, despite his tender throat. "I need to go to her, Ruby," he says firmly, determination in his tone and on every line of his face. "I have to see with my own eyes that she's still alive and that she's safe. I couldn't keep her out of their clutches, but I need to be there now, to let her know how sorry I am, and that she will not be hurt anymore. I just have to…" his voice trails off here, no other argument left him but his imperative need.
Ruby squeezes his arm once more in reassurance. "I'm going to ask a nurse or someone, alright? Stay calm until I come back. We'll get you to her; just let me find out what we need."
"Thank you, Ruby," he husks, eyes holding hers in sincere gratitude until Ruby is swallowing back a lump in her own throat. "A man couldn't ask for a better partner."
"You know it," she finally manages to joke in return with a cockeyed grin, even if her voice is a bit breathier than usual and her eyes more than a little misty. She winks, and then slips out the door and is gone. Killian settles in to wait hoping it won't be long before he can look on Emma with his own eyes.
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As it turns out, Killian is cleared to go down to Emma's room for a time, if he consents to stay in a wheelchair the whole while and take things slowly, as long as he first has his supper and can keep it down, then returns to his room before the shift changes for the night. That way he won't be out of bed for more than an hour and overtax his recovering body. Killian, for his part, was willing to agree to any conditions that got him to his Swan's side.
Now gazing down on her pale, lax face – as beautiful as ever, though perfectly calm and still – Killian wants more than anything to never see such fear or pain as he had in that basement cross her features again. Unable to help himself, he reaches out with his right hand to stroke his forefinger down the side of her face gently and then brush her hair back, savoring the feel of the silky strands against his rougher skin.
"Rest easy, Love," he croons in a voice nearly inaudible. There is no one else in the room at present, all of them having filed out to give him a moment alone with her. "Those monsters cannot harm you now. They are locked up, and we will see they stay that way for the rest of their lives. They'll not touch you again, mark my words."
Emma's face does not so much as move, no recognition of his words, no visible reaction, but Killian carries on baring his soul as he leans forward to press the lightest caress of his lips to the scar Cora had marked down her cheek. For one aching moment, he wants to touch the bandaged stump of his wrist to the healing wound in her bandaged chest; needing the contact of their scars as if they could somehow heal one another, but then he quickly recoils, fearing the touch of his blunted arm would frighten or appall her.
"I would do anything to go back and have kept all this pain from you," he continues haltingly, his voice choked with tears he dares not let fall. "I love you, Emma." Stopping to swallow hard, he shakes his head against the conclusion being drawn ever more firmly in his mind. It is a realization he has fought for years, tried to deny for the pain and loneliness it consigns him to, but looking at Emma so still and fragile, bearing the scars of torture that almost took her life, he cannot hold it back any longer. "You're safer without me, Lass. I failed you…just as I failed my mother, Liam, and…and Milah…all those years ago. Anyone I love…anyone who gets too close to me…pays a horrible price. You nearly died as well, and I won't see it happen again. Not this time. I am sorry you will wake and think that I have abandoned you like so many have before, but even if you hate me for what I'm about to do, I will bear that gladly if it means you are alive and well."
Bending with a grimace of pain, Killian presses one last kiss to Emma's forehead, lingering as long as he dares to gaze on her, hoping to memorize her beloved face. Then, he calls for Dave to take him back to his own room, just as his allotted time is running out.
Hours later, when the exhausted night nurses cede to their early morning replacements, when rounds are completed and will not be made again for at least two hours, and all his own people are finally elsewhere and otherwise occupied, Killian Jones makes his move. Knowing he doesn't have much time, he gathers every ounce of his remaining strength, along with his considerable stealth and skill, and slips from the hospital to vanish into the hazy early morning fog. Unsure where he is going or how he will give up the life he has made for himself and those he has come to love, he focuses only on the vow that no one else will pay the ultimate price for daring to love him in return.