Chapter 21:

The Road to Recovery

Storybrooke General Hospital

An indeterminate amount of time later…

When she next knew something aside from darkness, she thought she was in purgatory. She could not move, and she could not feel. But there was a reddish haze in front of her eyes, and her throat and mouth were dry as if she had spent some time in a land not too distant from hell's flames.

She tried to lick her parched lips, but her tongue was so swollen and heavy that it wasn't worth the effort. She was ready to drift back into the land of oblivion when she did begin to feel something. Pain. Not sharp pain, but an increasingly noticeable dull ache in her chest, in her side, and throbbing in her temples.

She groaned. And then wished she hadn't because that hurt too.

There was a sudden shout that sent a spike of agony from behind her eyes to the base of her skull and back again. It was a rumbling thunderous voice, and all she could discern was "T…bluv!"

'T…bluv? … To bluff? ... That can't be right…'

It took too much energy to decipher the voice's meaning, so she succumbed to the peaceful darkness once more.

~0~

When she next surfaced to the realm of painful awareness, the dull ache was swiftly felt and she had just enough energy to swallow and lick her lips as well as blink her grainy eyes.

She was able to discern a hazy glaring white, and the noises she was hearing – the soft whirs and beeps – all told her that she was in the hospital. Still purgatory, but one with painkillers if she played her cards right.

When she blinked again, she saw a dark form standing near her. If she could have, she would have flinched. This time, however, when he spoke it was not a garbled roar but the distinguishable familiar and comforting lilt of one Killian Jones.

"Drink this, lass." He instructed as held out a cup with a straw to her.

"Mhmm…rum?"

"No," he chuckled, "Water. For the cottonmouth that you are no doubt enduring if your experience in this place is anything like mine."

After taking a few restorative and refreshing sips, she focused her attention on him. He was scruffier than normal and had deep dark bags under his eyes, which colorfully contrasted with the nasty yellow bruises that decorated his cheekbones. She wondered which of her captors had gotten in a lucky shot before he got in his calculated and ruthless one. She also wondered if he had left her bedside for longer than the prerequisite bathroom breaks. He was a right mess.

His beautiful blue eyes were dark with anxiety and pain. She wanted to reach out and sooth him, but she had to be content with squeezing his hand that was gently holding hers.

"How are you feeling?"

She tried to give him a reassuring grin but only managed to twitch one half of her face into a grimace, as she huffed a dry chuckle, "Like a – survivor of a – stampede."

Images of what she had survived and what she had avoided flashed through her mind. Steel-toed boots, meaty fists, and vile threats…"Hence the words 'toddler' and 'young'. And such sweet, high-pitched screams they'll make."

Her anxiety spiked, causing her heart to pound and consequently her monitor to beep faster and shriller.

"Lass, what is it?" Her dear pirate asked her. "Do I need to get the nurse? Shouldn't they have been in here by now?"

Squeezing his hand hard in an attempt to focus him and to convey her urgency, she asked breathlessly, "The – the girls? Safe?"

"Yes, lass, safe and sound." He reassured, and with a chuckle added, "Mother Snow and Granny Wolf were there to protect them."

She didn't quite follow that last bit, but she trusted him and relaxed into that feeling. She smiled up at him to tease him about something…which is when she, of course, lost her battle with consciousness again.

~0~

When she woke for the third time, Dr. Whale and his posse of nurses were present and waiting to begin their poking and prodding.

She learned the extent of her injuries, the surgeries necessary to patch her all up, and what she could expect her life to be like for the next few days – lots of short distance walking, breathing exercises, napping, and being an all-around pincushion for various medical staff.

After her medical team had left, she utilized the facilities, went on her first of many walks around the unit, dragging her I.V. pole with her, and then returned to the bed that was far too springy. All the while, she listened to Killian tell his side of the events of the past few days.

He had just gotten to the point of questioning Foxworthy, when she could feel the curtain descending once more. Halting his recitation of the man's resulting injuries, she whispered, "Jones?"

"Yes, lass?"

She smiled at both his concern and his aura of ever-ready willingness to help. The feeling of warmth that flooded her being upon knowing she was his sole focus was as good as, if not better than, the stuff they had her on. It was far more addicting too. So she was going to wean herself off of it.

"Do me a favor?"

"Anything."

She opened her eyes at that. He, her pirate, never agreed to a favor carte blanche. Seeing her expression, he smiled, amending, "Within reason."

"Go get some sleep in a real bed, and by 'some', I mean a good eight hours," she urged.

"Lass – " he began to protest, but she cut him off.

"I'm not dying. Yes, I nearly did," she admitted at his grunt of objection, "But I'm not. Whale's happy with my progress. There are nurses here to monitor me. All I'm going to do is sleep, and if I'm lucky they'll let me shower later – which a nurse will help me with, thank you very much." She added that last part upon seeing a familiar glint appear in the rascal's eyes.

His cheeky grin faded as he gazed at her solemnly. Only when she was at the fidgety stage did he finally reply with, "On one condition."

"If it is within reason," she cagily agreed.

"I am here in the room when Swan questions you. I don't get sent out because you have some need to 'spare me' of whatever it is you went through, or because you are too ashamed," he declared.

She was overwhelmed at the intensity of emotion that was behind his request, at his need to be near her, to protect her. She supposed this was in reaction to the helpless feeling that he had had when looking for her, and so now he was going overboard and shielding her from any threat, even if it was from the tenacious sheriff.

She didn't know how to respond or deal with it, so she deflected with a humorous snort, "I'm a selfish bitch, Killian; so even if you, the big bad pirate, needed to be 'spared', I would still have you there to hold my hand."

He smirked, "Not a bitch, kitten. A chit, a wench, a minx, maybe, but never a bitch."

She rolled her eyes. Before she could refocus them, he was bending over her and bussing her on the forehead, saying, "We have an accord."

~0~

After Killian had left, she did exactly what she had said she would. She slept. She showered, being careful not to irritate her incisions, and slept some more.

She was eating breakfast, when he joined her. He continued his tale of his hunt for her, eventually confessing that he had revealed her fairy tale identity.

At his apologetic yet pleased (for being able to figure out her password) expression, she interjected, "Eh, no worries. I'm actually kinda surprised no one had figured it out. Between the name you call me and my record, there were enough clues…"

Killian slumped in his chair, most likely relieved and believing he was off the hook. How greatly mistaken he was. Narrowing her eyes at him, she asserted sternly, "I'm more upset that you revealed my passcode to – what? A dozen or so? – people, and didn't tell me until now." Scanning around her, she asked, "Speaking of the devil, where is my phone?"

Reaching into a knapsack, Killian pulled it out and handed it to her, saying, "I picked it and your computer up from Conroy on my way over here."

"Thank you," she mumbled, distracted by her thoughts of what she should change her password to.

She had finally decided upon one, when a nurse came to take her to get x-rays. Surprisingly, the man who had been glued to her side for days didn't follow. She couldn't decide if she was a put out about it or not.

She decided on 'or not' when she returned to her room to find Jefferson and Ashley there with their respective darling daughters.

It was a brief visit, as she was still tiring very easily and had already pushed herself with her walk to the x-ray room and back. It was filled with kisses to the cheeks, as hugs that the two girls were fond of giving were not conducive to her ribs' health, and with laughter. Xandy had chattered about her new friend 'Ri-el', and Grace had crowed about her victory over Henry at Super-Mario, when she had spent the night at the Charmings'.

As Killian was escorting them out of the room, she mouthed a 'Thank you' to him, knowing that he had arranged the visit so she could see that her girls were happy and healthy and unharmed with her own two eyes.

While she waited for him to return, she flipped through the hospital's channels and discovered that two of her favorite sci-fi dramas were playing simultaneously. She debated between watching the adventures of Mad-Man-with-a-Box and Captain Tight-pants and decided upon the latter, thinking that Killian might be able to relate better as the two rogues-of-honor shared a fondness for form-fitting trousers and long coats.

She had guessed right, because he swiftly became engrossed to the point of shouting "Bad form!" at the selling out of a crewmate, when Sheriff Swan made her official appearance.

Hesitating in the doorway with an amused smirk on her usually dour face, she inquired, "Is this a bad time?"

Ignoring Killian's grumble of protest, Tawny muted the television and assured, "Not at all. Come on in, Sheriff."

"Emma," the blond woman corrected, being more approachable to her than she ever had been, even asking solicitously, "How are you feeling?"

"Great," she replied honestly, "Except for having no energy."

At that last admission, Emma immediately offered, "Oh. In that case, I can come back another time…"

The woman's diffidence and solicitude was disconcerting. Tawny didn't know if it was because of her now being a 'victim' or because she was utilizing an interviewing tactic, but Swan's, er, Emma's change in attitude towards her was off-putting.

Not wanting to reveal how much this affected her, she acted with false bravado and waved dismissively, asserting, "Eh. If you do, I'll just lay here. I'm at that point where you're tired but unable to sleep because all you've done is sleep or lay around, ya know?"

Emma nodded in understanding and then finally settled down to business, beginning with a brisk, "Well, I'd like to start off with saying thank you for all that you have done as the Concerned Citizen. I – "

Tawny's head shot up at that, completely taken by surprise. It explained Swan's attitude change, but how…?

Whipping around to face Killian, she accusingly asked, "You told her?"

The pirate did his coquettish hair, ear, and earring fiddling thing (a sure sign he was guilty as charged), while searching for an answer that would least (or most) offend, depending on his goal.

"You didn't tell her that you let the cat out of the bag?" Swan asked in disbelief, her gaze flicking back and forth between the two of them.

"I hadn't gotten that far, Swan," he grumbled defensively.

"What have you told her?"

"That I'm the infamous blond porridge stealer," she answered for her betrayer while not taking her eyes off of him. She wasn't excessively angry with him. She knew he had probably had his reasons for doing so, and if he hadn't, her captors would have. She was just feeling vulnerable, having not expected her unmasking coming from this quarter.

Swan, either unaware of the tension or in an attempt to dissipate it, babbled, "Oh! Which reminds me. Henry will be hounding you about your backstory when he comes to visit you. Regina is going to drop him off after school, if that is okay."

"Yeah, sure," she agreed amicably. Surprisingly, she was looking forward to it. She kinda missed the conversations she had had with the comic-book reading boy.

Swan then gave her the cliff-notes version of the events that had transpired after the password cracking, leaving out the embellishments of storytelling that was Killian's forte. During which, Tawny finally learned what she was and why she was 'seeing what she wasn't supposed to.' She took silent but smug satisfaction upon learning that her paranoia of true names was justified.

The sheriff also informed her of what happened with the various villains and what is going to be done with them. Gisbourne had been killed. Frederick had ended him before the wretched whoreson could skewer Charming from behind. A few others had died in the takedown unwilling to be taken in. However, Stromboli, Driver, King George, and his interrogator were all in her custody as well as Reeves, who was turning on his fellow inmates as fast as possible to decrease the unpleasantness of his fate.

What that fate was to be the Council was still currently debating. Tawny didn't really care. It wasn't her problem anymore, and as long as they were kept far away from her, that worked just right for her.

It was at this point that there was a loll in the conversation. Everyone knew that it was her turn to begin her half of the tale, but neither Killian nor Swan wished to pressure her. Tawny didn't want to. She knew it would be good for her soul to get it off her chest, but she had been so enjoying just not thinking about it.

But had she really? Hadn't she been jumping at every shadow? Or flinching whenever she heard any male voices that had a resemblance to her captors?

Glancing up at the TV screen, she saw her favorite anti-hero's ear being severed by his tormentor. She was torn between wincing in sympathy and snorting at the irony that she was to tell her war story while this episode was playing.

Sighing with resignation, she opened with, "I assume the bastards figured out my being the Citizen and an Angel because of my immunity to their Cloaking Charms, an immunity that they must have discovered by my reacting to things like Larue standing on a corner and waving when no one else did."

From there she described how they got the drop on her, Stromboli's plan for her, her move from the Spencer estate to the theater, her chat with Larue, Driver's threats, Taggart's 'rescue' of her, and how she got the drop on him and subsequently killed him, freed herself, and took out the other two thugs.

And the whole time, Killian held her hand. She probably cut off his circulation on more than one occasion, more so when she was describing the nearly conducted auction of herself than of Taggart's assault. At that point in her narration, it was her hand in a vice-grip.

At the end of her tale, Swan asked her a few clarifying questions, including, "So why was it that this Taggart guy had it in for you?"

Tawny was not at all astonished that the sharp woman had picked up on her previous ambiguity of the topic. The only reason she had attempted to get it passed her in the first place was because she did not want Rumplestiltskin to learn of her involvement in the near killing of his love. She didn't think the man would be very forgiving, even if he knew she had thought she was helping with a rescue at the time. It was a true sign of Regina's reformation that she hadn't revealed Tawny's part in that fiasco – yet.

Knowing of Swan's lie-detecting skills, she answered truthfully, "Back in the Forest, my Goldilocks' actions got his best mate killed."

This seemed to satisfy her, and not long after she bade her goodbyes, saying, "I'll let Henry know you are up for visitors."

As soon as she had left and the nurse aid had taken her lunch order, Killian went on the offensive and stated, "Lass, that was a rather guarded explanation. If I were to ask you how the late and unlamented Taggart discovered your involvement in my killing of his friend, would you tell me?"

She was too emotionally-drained and exposed to reveal that part of her history to him, but she didn't want to completely shut him out either. So she sighed and admitted, "Not today."

Perceptive as always to her moods and needs, he accepted this with a nod, before changing the topic, lightly declaring, "As your mentor, I feel compelled to ask what it is that you have learned from this experience."

Relieved at his backing off, she sank back into her pillows and gave his question careful consideration. Or at least she tried to. She was slightly distracted by the soothing circles he was rubbing into her hand with his thumb.

Eventually, she was able to answer, "Not to try to out-drink a werewolf, pay attention not only to my surroundings but other people's reactions to them as well, to not get cocky."

"How about to not get three sheets to the wind without your partner to watch out for you?" he suggested helpfully but with an edge of urgency that betrayed his own vulnerability. His eyes were dark with desperate pleading.

"Yeah, I can do that," she promised softly.

He looked away towards a blank spot on the wall, and she could see his jaw working, as he tried to put his walls back up. But she wasn't ready for that. She knew that if she didn't say anything now, when they were so emotionally raw, she wouldn't have the courage to say it later.

Tugging his hand, she drew his attention back to her and declared, "I'm going to say this now before I go all bitchy-patient and whine about being smothered and such, but… thank you."

"For?"

Taking a deep of breath as she could manage, she admitted, "For coming and getting me, but just as importantly, for being here. It has been a long time since someone has cared for me the way you have been, treating me as if I was your sole priority."

"Always, love," he promised softly. They sat there in silence, gazing at each other. Their eyes saying what yet their lips could not. And then, a mischievous glint appeared in his, which was followed with an amused, "You know, lass, I do have this problem with letting go."

She couldn't help herself. A smile twitched at the corner of her lips, as she wryly stated, "Yes, I was aware." And then a wave of curiosity hit her and she asked without thinking (she blamed the drugs), "Am I an obsession or an addiction to you?"

Her flirtatious question was so out of the blue that he wasn't as quick as he normally was in responding, but then a slow contented grin spread across his face and he replied, "Your question has a faulty assumption, lass."

Her eyebrows lifted in question, while her heart fluttered and warm, fuzzy tingles formed in the pit of her stomach in nervous anticipation. Oh, how she was so grateful that she had survived. It made her heart hurt to think that she had been so close to not, and that instead of exchanging witty banter with her, Killian would be standing over her grave - if her body had been found that is.

"Your words imply that my desire for your company is unhealthy," he answered her unspoken query, the teasing light in his eyes giving way to earnestness.

Swallowing nervously, she dared to ask, "And what word would you use?"

Never taking his eyes off of her, he leaned in close to whisper huskily, "Passion."