The Queen moves in her metal carriage faster towards the cemetery than Hook can keep pace with. Drawn by the individuals moving in and out, investigating what trouble Emma Swan was stirring up in her town this time.
"Swan! Get out of there!" Killian shouts into the mysterious box he barely understands. He sprints across town, hurrying as quickly as he can to the cemetery.
A crackle sounds when he releases the button on the side, just as Swan told him. For a moment, he feels relieved. She got the message. She's out of the crypt. She's been gone for hours. Despite the veritable parade of citizens leaving their beds in the middle of the night, Emma has been out of the crypt. She's safe. The Queen moving towards the cemetery doesn't mean he's failed her.
The crackling picks up sounds of a struggle, a muffled sound of flesh connecting against bone. "I'm sure she appreciates the warning, Hook." Regina's voice crackles through the radio. Fear slams through him. His heart hammers in his chest. Before the sound cuts out completely, he overhears Swan's voice cursing and more scuffling. The abrupt cut-off terrifies him more than anything ever has. He runs faster, knowing he won't beat the metal carriage of the Queen's but knowing he has to try. He has to reach her.
His feet pound against the pavement. Strange orange lights illuminate his path. Down the street, through the darkened woods on the outskirts of the cemetery. He only runs faster at the sight of tombstones popping up from the ground.
Up ahead, he sees the strange metal carriage with the red and blue lights flashing on top that he knows belongs to the sheriff. For some reason, they separated. Ahead of him, he sees the sheriff running in the same direction. Killian is perhaps fifty yards away from the crypt when he hears a muffled, strangled cry shatter the night.
The sound pierces his heart. Filled with pain, her pain. It's Emma, he knows it's her.
"Swan!" he yells and charges forward faster, barreling through the door and stumbling down the stone steps in his haste. Around the corner, in the feeble light, he sees a pulsing heart on the ground and Regina on top of Emma. A blade protrudes from Emma's chest. Blood is already beginning to pool, thick and dark.
He sees red. Grabbing Regina's arm with his hook, feeling the metal pierce flesh, he rips the queen off Swan. He's heedless of Regina's exclamations of shock and pain as he slams her by the throat against the wall. With a twist of his arm, he wrenches his hook from Regina's flesh, reveling in the blood streaming from the wound, spraying across his face. His fist clenched around her throat is shaking.
Behind him, he hears a body moving against the concrete ground.
"Emma, leave it there, please." The sheriff pleads.
"It fucking hurts," he hears Emma grit through her teeth. Killian turns, unconsciously tightening his grip around the Queen's throat as he does. Swan lies curved protectively away from the sheriff, weakly swatting him away from her, using her legs to propel herself across the ground on her back. Her hand is gripping the handle of the knife, seconds away from extracting it from her chest. The sheriff is slowly moving closer, his hand hovering over her wrist.
"Emma, I know it hurts, but right now it's keeping the blood where it belongs."
Immediately, his priority shifts, away from the Evil Queen and toward Swan. He spares one glance to his namesake, considering ripping his hook through Regina's chest, then discards the thought. Satisfying as the thought of torturing her is, he knows it will waste what little time Swan has. She requires medical attention, now. Instantly, he strikes Regina's head against the stone wall and abandons her body to collapse against the pile of discarded wooden boxes.
Killian crouches down at Swan's side. Gingerly, he wraps his hooked arm around her shoulders to still her, then takes the proffered shirt from the sheriff and presses it down onto the wound, applying pressure. Swan hisses, flinching and twisting away as much as she possibly can. "Swan, lass, can you look at me?"
Her hand is shaking as it presses against the wound. Blood seeps in a growing red stain past her pale skin. Green eyes brimming with pain level his. "It hurts," she whimpers, clutching at her chest. "Make it stop. Please make it stop." Her cries tear at his heart. Her breath shakes and rattles, suggesting more pain than just the knife sticking in her chest.
"Alright, love. We're going to get you to a healer, aye? They'll take care of you. They'll make it stop hurting, love. Okay?" She nods, her tear-filled eyes meeting his own. Carefully, he slides his arm around and underneath her shoulders, then puts his hooked arm underneath her knees. "I'm going to get you out of here, alright?" She nods, breath hitching in pain as he slowly stands, hoisting her with him.
"Here, come on, we've gotta get her to a hospital," the sheriff says. Killian nods, following him quickly up the steps and back to the cruiser. He moves as quickly as he can through the graves without jostling his precious cargo. She hisses and flinches a few times, causing him to whisper nonsense apologies.
"No hospital, please no hospital," Emma's voice whispers.
"Love, we need to get you help," Killian answers gently.
Her teary eyes meet his. "Please don't," she whimpers.
"Don't what, Swan?"
"Please don't leave me there. I'll be good, I promise, just don't leave me. Please."
His heart sinks. Bloody hell. Is that what she thinks? "Swan, I'm not going anywhere. You have my word, Swan, I'll not abandon you." And I'll bloody honor it if it kills me this time. "But you have to promise me something too, aye? Promise me you'll stay with me. Just stay awake, okay, love? Can you do that for me?" She nods, then leans her head against his shoulder. "Talk to me. Can you tell me what happened?" he prompts gently.
"The hearts, I put 'em back." If he wasn't terrified for her safety, he'd be proud.
"You restored their hearts," he whispers. Emma nods against his shoulder.
"The boxes, I should prob'ly," she hisses in pain through her teeth. "I should prob'ly put those back. The boxes. They kinda made a mess." Sounding the youngest he's ever heard her, she continues. "Messes are bad."
"I don't think that'll be an issue, lass."
"I could," her breath hitches, "I could see stuff. Pieces of memories. It was weird."
They reach the cruiser as the sheriff opens the door to the passenger side, then runs to start the car. As soon as he starts it, red and blue lights flash and a siren howls in the night. Emma jolts in his arms, jostling the knife. She cries out in pain as Killian struggles to hold onto her.
"I'm sorry love," he whispers. "Hush, lass, it's alright."
"Promise?" she whimpers.
"Aye, I promise. Anything." Anything as long as she lives. As the sheriff drives, hands white-knuckled around the wheel, Killian prays to any god that will listen. Just let her live. Let her survive. The slowly growing stain of red terrifies him. Her shaking hand maintains pressure on the wound. Her breath comes out in shaking puffs of warm air against his neck.
"Is Sophie okay?" Emma mumbles.
"Sophie?" Killian asks. Is she hallucinating?
"A little girl, Emma restored her heart." The sheriff explains briefly without shifting his eyes from the road. "She's fine. Ruby's keeping an eye on her at the station. I don't know who her parents are yet, but we'll find them. Okay, Emma?"
"Okay," she mumbles.
"Stay awake, love."
The ride to the hospital is far more anxious than the previous one. Out of the corner of his eye, Killian sees the darkness, shadows on shadows whipping past. The sheriff whips the car into a spot, barely stopping before running around the other side to fling the door open for Killian. He scrambles after the sheriff, careful not to injure Emma further.
"HELP! SHE NEEDS HELP!" They both scream, entering the hospital in a panic. Two nurses take a look at them and run off in a panic. A mattress of some kind approaches them on wheels, pushed by two nurses.
"We'll take her from here," the doctor's voice says composedly.
"I'm not leaving her," Killian answers.
"Just set her down on the gurney, we'll take her from here, alright?" Gently, Killian sets Emma down on the gurney, following as far as the operating room when they wheel her away. Two nurses and the sheriff prevent him from following further.
"I promised her."
"I know, but this is as far as you can go," the sheriff answers.
"I should have been there with her," Killian whispers.
He should have. He promised her he'd keep an eye out for the Evil Queen. He promised he'd follow Regina's movements and warn Swan if anything were amiss. And instead, he decided tonight would be a fantastic night to antagonize the Dark One.
Hook had entered the pawnshop, perusing the items at leisure, all while feeling the glare from the Crocodile on the back of his neck. He smirked at the feeling. "It appears when I bought that closed sign I was just throwing my money away," he said.
Hook faced the merchandise while looking out of the corner of his eyes. There should be some sign, some signal, that he remembered. As Swan said, no one hates a stranger to that extent at first sight.
For weeks, he'd been in Storybrooke. Hook had only confronted the Crocodile once, after the fire, and that was more Swan's doing than his own. He came here to this bloody town with a purpose. Feasibly, with all of her work in weakening the curse, she weakened it enough that the Crocodile remembers. Conceivably, he's remembered this entire time. Whatever the case, he can delay this confrontation no longer. He simply needs to know whether or not the bastard bloody remembers.
It's altogether possible the bastard remembers and has indeed been playing it close to the chest. The coward would undoubtedly recognize how to save his own hide. Should he remember, he'd surely realize the sole purpose Hook could have in this town was to skin himself a Crocodile. Continuing to behave as the cursed proprietor would be in his best interest.
There was just a moment where Killian hesitated. He recalled what were apparently years during the curse, back in the Enchanted Forest, where getting the bloody bastard to remember remained his driving goal. Getting the bastard to remember constitutes the entire reason he delivered Swan here, doesn't it?
"Can I help you with something?" Gold asked.
"Well, I'm told this is the only place in town that exchanges gold for currency."
"Come back during business hours and I'll see what I can do," he answered.
"See, now, that was just an excuse." Hook walked down the aisle between glass showcases as if he owned the shop, glaring at the proprietor. Gold glared back. He was feeling impatient. Centuries pass, and finally, he's face-to-face with the monster. There was absolutely nothing to prevent him from killing himself a Crocodile, save the bastard's memories. Swan's observations, his own, the Crocodile's own behavior and tactics. Everything seemed to point to the Crocodile retaining his bloody memories. So Hook decided to go for broke. "What exactly do you remember?"
"I remember pursuing a law degree that would be incredibly helpful in obtaining a restraining order against you." Hook cocked an eyebrow and smirked. A charming piece of paper for the coward to hide behind.
"Is that so?" Gold's smirk unnerved him for a moment.
"That law degree was equally beneficial in other aspects. Investigating backgrounds, for instance." A stack of papers on the counter riveted Hook's eye. Another image rendered in incredible detail, of a familiar-looking face with his throat ripped out. Hook smirked in satisfaction. In his periphery, he noted the cold look on the Crocodile's face, tempering his anger. "Yours, for example. Which, let me tell you, is quite the daunting task, considering your utter lack of identification. Which makes at least one thing concerning. The sort of identification you lack is the exact kind necessary for adoption." Hook's smirk didn't falter. What he did would be deemed kidnapping by any judge worth their salt. The Crocodile tapped the image on the counter. "Does this man look familiar to you?"
"Very much so, yes." Hook answered with a smirk.
"Interesting," Gold whispered. "He was actually Emma Swan's last foster parent, you know." Hook only smirked. Yes, I do. Everything she's since told me about him made me only regret killing him as quickly as I did. "Interesting that you would recognize him. He was found murdered a few days before you and Miss Swan came to town."
"Shame about that," Killian remarked, completely unconcerned, not even attempting to appear sympathetic. It was far from a denial of the implied accusation. I made no effort to conceal the body. "Any particular reason for your interest in her case file?"
The Crocodile shrugged. "A vested interest." Hook elevated his eyebrows. A vested interest in Swan, something he recognized the Dark One possessed. In Swan's own words though, the 'creepy, cursed pawnbroker' shouldn't care. "She was discovered just outside of town as a baby. Poor girl." Hook nodded, hummed his acknowledgment, then turned to look at some rings on display underneath the glass of the counter as they caught the overhead light and sparkled.
"You ever been married, mate?" Hook asked. Narrowed brown eyes glared into his.
"Leave," he grit out. The Crocodile's hatred seems more palpable than before.
That seemed like an indication in the right direction. "Yes or no?"
Gold stared at the counter as he answered. "Yes. I was. Long ago. She left."
Left a coward. A man she no longer desired to be lashed to. He saw the reflection of his tattoo on the glass of the counter, just the corner of a red heart. It doesn't mean he remembers, Hook cautioned himself. A black metal carriage, screeching as it passed by, jerked his attention away. He knew that carriage. It was the Queen's. He made a promise to keep an eye on the Queen for the evening.
"Shame about that," Hook remarked, leaving with a chime of the repaired bell.
He spent the night perched in his usual place across the street from the Dark One's shop. With his spyglass, he maintained an unimpeded view of the cemetery. He watched as the Queen entered with flowers and left. Maybe ten minutes later, he followed the strange carriage with the lights on top as it departed the sheriff's station. "Godspeed, Swan," Killian whispered, breath puffing in the cool night. The Dark One locked up his shop, got in his metal carriage, and drove away. Much the same routine as every night, with no deviation to indicate any recognition Hook so desperately wished to see. Hook turned to the rest of the town.
One at a time, citizens began vacating their homes, pulled forwards by their chests. After the first three passersby, Hook slipped down from his rooftop perch, directed his eyes over either shoulder, and forced the lock to the Dark One's shop. Really, after two separate instances now, the Crocodile truly should acquire better security for his shop. A more difficult lock to pick, at least. There had to be something in there, some proof. He set his eyes around the wares of the store, the strange items catching the dim lamplight from outside. Hook stalked into the back of the shop and rifled through the office. Paperwork, ledgers, nothing more. The stench of lanolin lingered faintly in the air, reminding him of the night of the fire. Hook rifled through the papers in the desk, the cabinet, through the cot. Nothing. If there was any proof, the bloody bastard buried it. Likely in the woods. Underneath the register, he tore through with his hook, rifling through files there. Nothing. Some ledgers, some inventory files, receipts, and tax forms. Nothing to suggest he's anything but a businessman in this world. For good measure, and to say tonight wasn't a complete bust, Hook pocketed a roll of green paper bills. Pirate, after all.
The screeching of tires on the road outside drew him back to the front of the shop. Staring out of the door as it hung ajar, he identified the Queen's carriage. His widening eyes tracked her path for just a moment as his promise to Swan rang through his ears again. His heart began to thunder in fear. His stomach fell with dread.
He was already running, hand gripping the strange radio and issuing the warning.
Bloody hell. I should have bloody been there!
Through the glass window to the operating room, he sees the doctor's white uniform stained with red. Swan's lifeblood. He can barely glimpse her, just the soles of her shoes as she lies on the hospital bed. The commands and orders issued by the doctor are incomprehensible to him. He barely attends to them. What he can see of her legs, she isn't moving. Swan's always moving, constantly fidgeting.
Once again, in his mind, he imagines the nightmare that has plagued him. Swan's corpse, motionless. Lying so still, as still as he's ever seen her. Her heart, not ripped from her chest by the Crocodile, but carved from her by the Evil Queen. The result remains the same, the death of the brightest light Killian's ever known. Only this time, he allowed it to happen. She's asked so very little of him. He burdened her with breaking the curse and one of the few times she actually requests help, he neglected her. He might as well have killed her himself.
She's still alive!
"I should have been there." Killian hears a voice echo his own thoughts and regrets. He turns to the sheriff beside him, standing in a pale, short-sleeved shirt stained with blood, leaning on the wall. "I should have taken her with me to the station. She could have restored that last heart there."
I have to bloody do something! I can't just bloody stand here!
"Her father," Killian mutters before he even knows why. His eyes flick to Swan, surrounded by frantic doctors and nurses. One nurse dressed slightly differently than the others shepherds both Hook and the sheriff out to a waiting room filled with chairs. Both are dazed enough to allow the move. "Her father, he should know. He deserves to know." Killian approaches one of the speaking contraptions against the wall. Glaring at it, slamming the buttons, twisting the parts until the sheriff grabs his arm. "How the bloody hell do you operate one of these infernal contraptions?" He shouts, slamming the damned thing for good measure. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a nurse walking away quickly, a nervous expression on her face.
"Allow me." The sheriff takes over. "You mentioned her father. Who is he?"
"David Nolan, in this land."
"Prince Charming," the sheriff responds. "Guess that makes sense." The sheriff's voice is far more composed than Killian feels. Operating the damned talking device whose name Killian can't bloody remember, the sheriff's hands are steady. Killian turns with narrowed eyes. "I remember the other land. All of it. As you said, I knew her mother." News such as that should surprise Killian, but his focus is wholly on Emma. As he's no longer where he can see her, his mind cycles through the worst.
The sheriff sighs. "Here, I'll call her father. You should probably," he gestures down to Killian's hook. Killian raises narrowed eyes from his namesake to the bloody sheriff. "It's covered in blood." The sheriff states the obvious as if that should suffice.
"Aye, and it's about to be covered in more." He threatens.
"Believe me, I am the last person to stand in anyone's way of killing Regina. Hell, I'd tell you to get in line," the sheriff hisses. "However, you brought in a girl with a stab wound, and here you are with a sharp, metal object covered in blood. What assumption do you consider anyone, including and especially her father, will make?" The quick, whispered explanation takes the wind from his sails. Killian sighs and concedes the point, stowing his hook in his pocket.
The sheriff speaks quickly and quietly into the talking device on the wall, explaining the situation as delicately as he can. Killian paces back and forth, tugging at his hair, anxious for bloody something to do in this situation. Even from a slight distance, Killian can hear muffled shouting and distinguish a few curse words before the sound is cut off.
"With your memories, you still follow the workings of this world?" Killian asks soberly to occupy the time, awaiting anything from the doctors. News, a report, anything. The sheriff nods uneasily, pacing back and forth in the hall. "Your memories?"
"They returned fully when my heart was restored. It seemed to be the same for everyone else." Killian glances in the sheriff's direction, away from his pacing, with wide eyes. The man nods.
"Everyone else? So she…"
"Restored all but one, apparently."
Not long after, David Nolan comes sprinting down the hallway, looking around frantically. The man is already demanding answers the second he spots both the pirate and sheriff. "Is Emma okay? What happened? Is she going to be okay?"
Were the situation not as terrifying as it is, Killian might consider antagonizing the royal. It might be a pleasant bit of fun for the pirate. However, they're here because Swan's life hangs in the balance. He's hardly in a joking mood. "The Queen," Hook starts, dreading what comes next.
"Emma and I broke into Regina's vault." David's desperate attention darts between the sheriff and the pirate, frantic for answers that neither truly wants to deliver. "Regina, she…" the sheriff shakes his head to punctuate his statement, seemingly no more enthused to inform her father than Hook feels.
"Regina what? What the hell did she do?" David grits through his teeth.
"Stabbed Swan," Hook answers hollowly, the words tasting vile in his mouth.
David pales for a moment. The man reels back in shock. "She…" His face falls. His eyes flick between Killian and the sheriff, both painted in drying blood. He shakes his head in quiet denial. "No, no, Emma can't, she's not…"
"In surgery right now." The sheriff whispers.
David collapses in a chair, running both hands over his cropped hair. Killian unintentionally mirrors the behavior, tugging at his own hair in his frustration, his worry. The sheriff occupies a third chair, and all three men sit in silence, listening to the hustling goings-on of the hospital. After many minutes that drag on like hours, the prince finally looks up with red-rimmed eyes, wipes his hand down his face, and unsteadily speaks. "What, ah, what were you doing down in Regina's vault?"
"Emma was restoring hearts to their rightful owners," the sheriff answers soberly.
David's terrified face splits into a shaky smile that fails to soften his eyes. "Atta girl."
Footsteps coming from the operating room have all three jumping to their feet and whipping their heads around. Doctor Whale approaches, his uniform incomplete, his eyes narrowed. "Sheriff, can I talk to you? In private." There's a pointed look in Killian's direction. He feels a glare on the back of his head from David as the sheriff rises and approaches the doctor.
In lowered voices that Killian can't attend to, the two converse quickly. Killian spots a few pointed glances in his direction that he doesn't care to fathom the purpose of. If something were amiss with Swan, the doctor surely wouldn't have pulled the sheriff aside to converse alone. He sees the sheriff shake his head just before a fist slams into his nose. Killian's head snaps back with the force of the blow. He's rocked back a step. Sharp pain radiates through the rest of his face.
"What the-"
"Bruises," David hisses. Hellfire blazes in his eyes. "What the hell did you do to her?"
"Bruises? What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Killian demands. David punches him again, this time in the jaw. His reeling mind prevents his reflexes from blocking or returning the blow. "I'd never hurt her." Killian's mind must be working far slower than it customarily does. He's dazed as David Nolan tackles him to the ground, pressing his forearm against his throat. His oxygen-deprived mind functions even more sluggishly, processing whatever the hell the prince is attacking him for. The injuries, the ones she was clearly covering up and struggling to hide. I should have pressed harder for her to explain. I should have demanded answers.
In the next instant, he sees the sheriff hauling David Nolan from on top of him.
"It wasn't him," the sheriff hisses. David's eyes widen from his glare.
"Then who?" David hisses in return. "Who was it? Who hurt her?" Killian's eyes shoot to the sheriff as well as he regains his feet. He'd like to know who as well.
"A man whose heart Regina commanded. One of the ones Emma returned. Didn't get a name. Middle-aged, solidly-built, and profusely apologetic the second his heart was restored and he was in command of his own actions again." The sheriff reports under his breath.
"Bloody hell," Hook exhales. The Queen exploited one of her bloody puppets to assault Swan.
David shakes his head in disgust. "We should have killed her when we had the chance." Killian indicates his agreement silently. In the back of his dazed mind, he wonders when Snow White and her precious Prince Charming ever had the chance. Or why they would choose to show mercy. Hero types are strange. The sheriff, for all his law-enforcement leaning, offers no objection to the statement. He actually nods as well.
"Mr. Jones," the doctor calls from behind him. "We managed to get Emma stabilized. She's still unconscious, but she's a resilient kid. She'll pull through. Not clear when she'll wake up. Maybe a few hours?" The doctor sighs before continuing. "No vital organs were hit, which is something of a miracle. The same can't be said for muscle tissue, but we managed to patch that up. Three broken ribs, we managed to patch those up as well. She'll be on the mend for a little while, six weeks or so. Then there are concerning bruises on her sides, her back, and around her neck. The sheriff explained." The man frowns slightly. "The ribs, they weren't broken in the places corresponding with the bruises. Typically, we expect to see breaks like that from CPR. That's what it looked like."
"Thank you, doctor," Killian sighs in relief. He hears David and the sheriff both do the same. "Doctor, is there any risk of infection? Any complications?"
The doctor nodded. "Risk of infection is common but low. We've got her on antibiotics, which should suffice to mitigate it." Killian nods as if he understands what antibiotics are. He'll likely ask Swan when she wakes. Presumably, he'll receive a similar explanation to the 'walkie talkie', that it's science and it works. "No other complications so far. It's a case-by-case basis with these things. She's young, she's tough. She'll pull through."
"The blood loss," Killian asks soberly.
"Got her hooked up to a transfusion, she's taking to it just fine." Once again, Killian nods as if he fathoms what the bloody hell the first part means. The second part sounds sufficiently reassuring.
"She's being moved to a different room now. Room twenty-five. We'd like to keep her for a while. Not clear how long yet, we'll see when she wakes up." Killian nods, dazed, sagging against the nearest available surface. David collapses in a chair, running his hands over his head.
"Sheriff, I'll get you the, um, evidence." The doctor says delicately before turning around and walking back the way he came.
"Evidence?" David asks.
"The knife," the sheriff answers. David pales.
Killian takes a deep, bracing breath. All the intoxicating relief he experiences at knowing Emma is, if not well then at least alive, is dampened and dragged down by the crushing guilt. Had he warned her sooner, had he done the one thing she asked of him, she wouldn't be in this mess. She would be safe, probably snoring or devising her next plan to throw against the curse. The way she wakes every morning with a new idea, he wouldn't be surprised to discover she does both concurrently. His steps are reluctant, deliberate as they echo down the hallway. As though he's approaching the gallows.
Three separate times, he hears the clicking of heels moving down the hallway around him. Each time, he reaches for his cutlass and tenses, readying himself for an attack, glaring at the source of the sound. Three women cast wary eyes in his direction as they pass down the hall. Killian continues his gallows march to Room 25, dreading what will happen when he reaches the room.
Why the bloody hell does he feel the need to explain himself? To justify his actions? Why the bloody hell does he feel so damn guilty about this? He came to town with one goal, one purpose. He told Swan as much. So why the bloody hell does he feel guilty…
You're significantly past the point of pretending you don't care whether she lives or dies, mate. And you're well past the point of pretending you don't much prefer the former to the latter. You've already admitted you care about her. You've already admitted you want the best for her. You should have been there. You should have at the very least kept watch and warned her sooner. You failed her. Quit being such a bloody git and face her. Tell her.
Stepping silently through the open door, he sees her lying on the bed, motionless. So many wires and tubes, attached to her hand and her nose. More trail down the collar of the thin, blue shirt issued by the hospital. Swan looks small like this, unassuming. Not quite the spitfire, filled to the brim with energy and constantly moving he's come to know. That light he's come to recognize, what got her dubbed Sunshine, doesn't shine from her like this. Her normally pale skin appears to have a deathly pallor in the harsh light. Dark bruises cast a stark contrast, wrapped around her neck in a specific, distinctive pattern. Once more, he's reminded of just what kind of burden he's shouldered a child with. He's confronted with just how much danger he's placed a child in.
"I never considered it before," Killian whispers before he can stop himself. "It never occurred to me that the Savior would be just a child." He sighs. "The Savior, pretentious, as you consider it. A lofty title, to be sure. Hardly seems like something to attach to a child. There was a time I sneered at the thought. An entire kingdom, hinging their faith and their fates on an infant. When I realized you were the only way the curse would break, I realized I needed to place my faith in you as well. But somewhere in there, I lost sight of the fact that you're a child." He huffs out a breath. "Hardly an excuse, but spend enough time in Neverland, fighting bloody children and you forget what the innocence of childhood is. You overlook what a child really is." He sighs. "Even after meeting you and getting to know you, I still burdened you with your destiny far earlier than you were prepared to accept the task. Lass, you're in over your head and it's my fault."
His whispered confession is answered by the continued steady, hushed beep of the machines monitoring Swan's vitals. The sheer lack of movement or reaction from Swan unnerves him. A knock echoes on the door behind him before a nurse enters the room.
"Sorry sir, just here to check her vitals," the woman explains gently. He tracks her every movement like a hawk as she checks the machines and the tubes around Swan. "She's, um, probably not going to wake up for a little bit." He indicates his understanding. "According to the doctor, she's gonna be here for a little while. She might want something familiar when she wakes up," the nurse suggests with a slight half-smile, turning back to him. "Sir, she'll be fine."
"Aye, you're right."
As the nurse leaves, her nut-brown hair bobbing behind her in a knot at the top of her head, Killian collapses into a chair at Swan's bedside. He considers what the nurse commented about something familiar. Swan told him about her blanket. Odds are, she'd like that here.
Her face begins to scrunch up. Her nose scrunches, her brow furrows. She lets out a quiet moan. Lightly, she twists in either direction, breath hitching as she does. "Swan," he calls, reaching for her shoulder. "Emma, love, it's okay. You're safe." She stills for a moment, then shivers.
The cold, he thinks, and immediately shucks his coat and lays the heavy leather across her like a blanket. Killian has no idea why Swan keeps half a dozen blankets every night. He didn't inquire why, and she's never explained. Lightly, Emma curls into the coat with a contented sigh that draws a faint smile to his face.
"She's okay?" David's voice asks from the door.
"Still unconscious." Killian answers. "I was just…" What? Just what? What explanation is he planning on providing her father? And since when does Killian Jones, Captain Hook, give half a rat's arse about answering to anyone, let alone a bloody royal?
"Graham explained what actually happened. I'm sorry about punching you," David grits through his teeth, as though the words taste like vinegar.
"Don't worry about it, mate. I'd've done the same."
"You really meant it." Killian quirks a brow in question. "When you said you care about her." The prince nods his chin in Swan's direction, curled up under his coat. Ordinarily, the answer would have come far easier. Now, guilt churns in his stomach. He tastes bile in the back of his mouth. Does he really? Does he really care, if he allowed this to happen? If he allowed her to get away with lying to him and concealing injuries? If he allowed his drive for vengeance to command his attention for the night instead of keeping watch on the Evil Queen?
"Of course," Killian answers hoarsely. He clears his throat. "The, ah, the nurse suggested bringing in something of Swan's. Figured the lass might want a clean shirt of her own, or something familiar. Her things are back on my ship. I was…" He scratches behind his ear.
The prince nods. "I'll tell her if she wakes up before you're back." Killian balks for a moment. It draws a shrug from the prince. "Make no mistake. I don't like you. But she does. So for her sake, I'll tolerate you. To me, you're nothing but a pirate. But she seems to think of you as a friend." The words draw a wan smile to his face. "You ever give me any reason to believe otherwise," the prince begins the threat without concluding it.
Killian nods. From its place with her deputy badge, he takes the remarkable talking device and sets it beside Swan. He vacates the room without diverting his eyes from Swan's face, then moves quickly down the hall. The sun has peaked over the horizon, bright, blazing orange fire in the sky. Squinting against the harsh morning light, he moves quickly to the docks. Passing a few men going to work in the cannery, he cautiously notes their eyes on his ship.
"No singing this morning," one remarks quietly. He seems upset at the news as he adjusts his red cap and begins his day.
No singing indeed. What Killian wouldn't give to have this be like the morning before. To hear Swan quietly singing a song from the repertoire he's only beginning to recognize as he completes his rounds. He shakes his head. It's his own damn fault.
Sighing, he ascends the gangplank. The Jolly's usual hum, her enchantment, is practically frantic. "I know, neither of us came back last night," he explains. He recounts the events of the night as well as where Swan is. She jolts in response as Killian descends below deck towards Swan's cabin. A mother hen missing the girl. "She'll be fine. She'll be back soon." I hope.
Stepping through the door, he glances around. The quarters are kept neat as a pin. The only signs the quarters indeed have an occupant are the bag and the binder, both by the desk. The bed sits made with rigid, military corners, just as he instructed her. Nothing kept out of place. Her gray bag is still packed just as it was when he met her, save the white-knit blanket he can see underneath her pillow. Securing the blanket carefully in her bag, Killian turns back and departs for the hospital. "She'll be back soon," he promises the Jolly once again.
Moving back down the streets and alleys, he wonders which of these was where Swan was hurt. What exactly happened? The only time he detected any blood or injury was the night she made a deal with the Dark One. It's been what? Two weeks since then? That would give any bruises time to heal. They certainly wouldn't be as deep as the ones around Swan's neck right now. How unobservant has he been? Swan is in his charge and his care. How negligent was he to allow this to happen?
From his hip, he hears a crackle before an unctuous voice speaks. "Mr. Nolan, I'd be happy to arrange it for you. A child needs both a mother and a father." The Crocodile. Killian picks up his pace, urging himself forward to the hospital.
"Since when am I a child to you, Mr. Gold? A week ago, I was a grown-up, playing with the big boys and girls." Swan's voice answers. "Is it cuz I refuse to solve my problems by setting fire to government property?"
"Regardless, if it's a mother and a father you're talking about, I can't provide that. Katherine and I are in the middle of getting divorced." Even crackling through the strange device, the prince's words ring false. The prince would clearly love nothing more. Understandably so. "Besides, I can't pay you. Not the legal fees that would be involved in a custody battle."
He hears the Dark One chuckle. "The bar association requires a certain number of pro bono cases per year. As a personal favor, I'd be happy to take on your case, free of charge. I'm certain I could win against Mr. Jones." Killian stalks through the doors of the hospital. "It would appear that living with Mr. Jones is far from an adequate situation, especially for a young woman." He's half-tempted to respond, defend himself in some way, but he knows the Crocodile is right in that regard.
"Really? Cuz living with Jones is hands-down the best situation I've been in since I was a toddler." Killian stares at the device in shock at Swan's words, actually faltering in his stride. Is that right? Bloody hell, that bar must be a tripping hazard in Hell if I'm managing to clear it. Swan continues with a bite to her words he's rarely heard. "Hell, if anyone would know that, Mr. Gold, it'd be you."
"Are you aware of this, then, Miss Swan?" The crackle of the talking device cuts out and he hears the Dark One's words from around the corner to Swan's room. Stalking through the door, he spots the Crocodile handing Emma a familiar-looking image. Her face remains impassive, a complete mask. Her father goes slightly green around the gills at the sight of the gore.
"Hardly an appropriate thing to show a child and I'll thank you not to."
The Crocodile turns with a satisfied smirk.
David looks up with a glare and moves to bar Hook's path to Swan. "Was that your handiwork?" He asks in a low voice. Hook nods without shame or hesitation. "Stay the hell away from her," David hisses between his teeth.
"Hey, Mr. Gold?" Emma asks, slicing through the tension and finally glancing up from the image. Her face remains impassive. The Crocodile turns his satisfied smile to her. "Did you want this back or can I keep it?" All three men balk in shock at her simply spoken question, none more so than the Crocodile.
"I'm sorry dearie, what was that?"
"I asked if you want this back or if I can keep it," Emma replies pleasantly.
"Dearie, it's-"
"Oh, I know exactly what it is. He told me. I knew about this going in, but the image is so much better." Killian blinks in shock and shakes his head in denial. The prince seems to be experiencing a similar reaction. There's definitely some key detail missing. He's never prodded about what exactly Nelson did. Whatever that bastard did, it's enough to make this kind-hearted lass want a picture of his gory corpse. As what? Proof of his demise?
"Feel free to keep it, then." The Crocodile answers roughly, clearly not pleased about the turn of events. "Well, I wish you a swift recovery, Miss Swan. Mr. Nolan, I do hope you'll consider my offer. And Mr. Jones," he turns and looks Killian in the eye. "Stay the hell away from my shop." With that, the bastard limps out the door and down the hall.
It's exactly two seconds before a hand grips his throat and forces him to the wall.
"What the hell did you do? You killed her previous foster father. What, did you murder him then kidnap my daughter?" Essentially, yes, that's precisely what he did. "Why the hell did you even bring her here? What the hell do you get out of it, Hook?" David demands.
"Stop!" Emma yells before he can answer. He hears her hiss as she reaches forward. David turns but doesn't release his neck. "Let him go. Please." She stares down her father, an impressive feat while in bed covered in bandages. But the prince releases him. "Yeah, he killed Nelson. I knew he did. This," she holds up the picture in demonstration, then turns to look Killian in the eye. "This is the entire reason I agreed to come with you in the first place." He had wondered. "I thought you were batshit." A madman. He supposes it's a reasonable assessment. "Far as I'm concerned, this makes you a hero." Killian balks at this assessment.
"Swan, I just confessed I killed a man in cold blood. You can see for yourself that it was far from a quick, merciful death. His arm's nearly off. I all but severed his neck. That doesn't make me a hero. Nothing I've done in centuries has been considered heroic. I'm a villain, Swan. Have been for an incredibly long time." Allowing her to entertain some misguided notion of his heroism seems like bad form. He'd just as soon disabuse her of the delusion.
David reels back in shock. "You," he shakes his head. "No, Emma, this is darkness. You can't give in to that. You're the Savior. You're a hero. You have to rise above this kind of darkness. You…"
Swan sighs, then clutches at her side in pain. She glares at the image in her hand.
"What did he do to you?" Killian whispers the question he's wondered but never voiced.
Swan shakes her head silently. She winds her arms around herself, staring straight ahead. "Neither one of you are gonna like it," she warns quietly. David heaves a breath to brace himself, then returns to his daughter's bedside. Killian leans against the wall, setting her bag down lightly.
"Tell what happened anyway, kiddo."
She heaves a breath to brace herself, the same behavior as her father. Quickly, her eyes flick to Killian's, some small request for reassurance. He nods solemnly. "I was there for about two and a half months before I ran away. I'd been there about a week, and it was the middle of the night. He comes into the room, and," she pauses. Her eyes nervously flick in her father's direction before staring down at her lap and continuing, white-gold waves falling past her shoulders and obscuring her face. "Dragged me out of bed by the hair, out to the storm cellar." The screech of the chair against the floor as David immediately jumps to his feet in rage cuts her off. Her wide eyes jump up from her lap and she instantly starts pulling back into the mattress. Killian thumbs his hook, picturing it covered in the bastard's blood. Once again, he experiences the resistance he hit once he pierced the bastard's shoulder and the heat of the scumbag's blood spurting across his face.
David's angered pacing cuts off after a moment with a muttered apology as the chair screeches back in place and the prince settles back into it. Swan grabs a pillow from behind her and clutches it to her chest, staring down at it rather than at anyone.
"He threw me down the steps to the storm cellar. Followed behind and locked the door behind him. He," she hesitates, shaking her head and gritting her teeth. "He," she whispers, eyes clenched shut.
"It's alright, kiddo. You don't have to-"
"Yes, I do!" She shouts, then her breath hitches as she clutches her side. Her eyes are blazing fire as she stares down her father. "Because otherwise, you're gonna think Jones is a villain and Nelson was some great guy and you couldn't be more wrong! Jones may be many things you don't like but a pedophile's not one of them! You're gonna think Nelson didn't deserve exactly what he got or worse!" Killian draws back against the wall, shocked.
"Swan, you don't have to do this. Not on my account." He explains gently. "I'm a villain. I know that. Your father knows that. And I'd hate to leave you with some idea that I'm a hero. I'm not." Guilt he's been able to push down rears its head again. Here she is, defending him and calling him a hero, and last night, he couldn't carry out the one thing she asked of him.
"Yeah, I do. And it's," she sighs, clutching the pillow tighter and dropping her gaze to it, biting her lip. "It's not just for you. If I don't say this, I probably never will. And I think I have to." She moistens her lips before clenching her eyes shut, tensing every muscle, and spitting her words out quickly. "He ripped my clothes off and he touched me all over then he took his pants off and he put his thing-"
Something glass breaks. Shatters, loudly. Killian's wrenched from his remembrance of the feeling of hot blood showered across his face. I should have castrated the bastard. Helpless rage across his face, David stares at the shards of glass stuck in his hand from his grip around a cup. Crimson blood begins to dribble up.
Emma draws further into the mattress, shielding her head with her arms and the pillow, sheltering herself beneath his coat. "I'm sorry," she cries quietly. Underneath his coat, she draws her knees up, huddling close into a ball as best she can and attempting to hide behind them as well. "I'm sorry, I, I tried to stop him. I did. I told him I didn't want to, but it didn't matter. I'm sorry."
"Emma, oh God, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm not angry with you." David whispers while the pirate's still reeling in shock at Emma's reaction. If he thought her cringing away from the fallout of her questions when they met had him seeing red, this has him downright murderous. "Kiddo, no. No. You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing. You did nothing wrong, kiddo."
"Swan, he's right." Terrified, wide, green eyes peer up past the pillow.
"It gets worse, doesn't it?" Killian grits through his teeth. David's eyes flick to his, with helpless rage reflected in the man's eyes and a sickened expression on his face. Something in his expression demands how it could get worse. Silently, Emma nods. Killian withdraws a clean cloth and his flask from his pocket, handing them to the prince who accepts them both with a nod.
"He, the whole time, he kept saying how I," her fist curls tightly around the black leather, her knuckles standing out white against her pale skin. "How I owed it to him. How I deserved it. How he was the only one who was willing to take me in, therefore I owed him. And that was how he collected."
Killian tastes bile in the back of his throat. He already knew this, of course. The bastard had mentioned as much and implied what he'd done to Swan. But to hear her recount it… The helpless rage reflected on her father's face is something he strongly empathizes with.
"He, he said if I told anyone, he'd make it worse. He'd hurt me worse. He'd kill me." Swan bites down on her lip, still staring straight ahead of her. "That, uh, it happened a few times." Her voice is virtually silent. I should have fucking castrated him. "About two weeks later, he drags me out of bed by the hair, throws me down the steps to the storm cellar, but he just locks the door. Doesn't come down. One of his friends was down there. And he…" Emma cuts off, shaking her head rather than saying the words.
Killian knew this too. The son of a bitch had said as much. "I killed him far too quickly." David glances up at the words but doesn't disagree. "I should have gone inside and killed everyone in the room."
Killian turns to try and meet her eyes, but her focus is still on his coat, her fingers curled in fists around the collar. "It was, there were three of them. His friends. Nelson would drag me out of bed, throw me down the storm cellar, and I'd see him collect cash from the bastards. Or, he'd do it himself and remind me that I owed him." His stomach churns with disgust. She huffs out a breath in a growl. "I tried fighting back. Got beat, bad. I, I could barely move for days after that. Then he threatened to drag Lucy and Sarah down to the cellar instead. Two of the other kids living there. Lucy was seven. Sarah was five. Neither one of them deserved that, and he would have done it."
"You didn't deserve it either, Swan." She nods.
"Wait, there were other children living under that bastard's roof?" David asks.
"Yeah. Five others, three boys, two girls. They got removed from his care, and I was stuck for however long it was gonna take for social services to find somewhere to place me. No one else would take me. Criminal record'll do that." She shrugs lightly, but everyone in the room knows she doesn't mean it. She's nowhere near as nonchalant about this as she'd like to appear. "Didn't end up being that long. They, uh," she shakes her head, curling into herself once again.
"It gets worse?" Killian asks.
She nods silently, then braces herself. "All of them. Nelson threw me down in the cellar, and it was all four of them. For hours." Swan doesn't see the fist clutching a bloodied bandage from her father, or see Killian's fist clenched around his cutlass. "I managed to punch him that time, though. Got away, stole his car and a bunch of cash. Then you know the rest," she turns to him.
Her eyes flick to the bag, forgotten by his feet. They flick back to his own, then shutter over. Not that her expression was particularly open, but he sees absolutely nothing. Swan turns back to her father. "Drove up to northern Minnesota, crashed in a lake. I broke into a lake house, and that's where Jones found me." She glances down. "You should probably get that looked at," she mutters.
"Kiddo, I should…"
"Seriously, that looks bad. It's gotta hurt, I'm pretty sure there's glass in it."
"I'm not leaving you," David answers with far more intensity than the statement requires.
"You're going to a different room in the hospital to get that checked out by a doctor. It's not like you even need to leave the building. Besides, you can always come back when you get patched up." She sighs. "Seriously. You're clenching a fist and driving glass deeper into your hand. You should get that looked at. Your hand is oozing blood and freaking me out."
David glances at his hand. "I, ah, you're probably right, kiddo. Are you-?"
"I'll be okay," she answers simply. David's eyes flick to Hook's, then the door.
"Be right outside for a moment, lass." She nods as Killian follows David.
"Did you know?" The prince asks hollowly.
"I had some idea, but you won't like how."
David glances up. "She confides in you. Ideally, that person she confides in would be her mother or me, but this isn't an ideal world. I'd rather it be you than nobody."
"I appreciate that, but that's not how." David reels back with a confused frown. Slowly, the realization sets in from Killian's reluctance. He shakes his head, attempting to deny the idea. "The bastard practically bragged about it. Why do you think I nearly slashed his arm off? Pirate I may be, but there are lines I won't even approach, let alone cross."
David punches the wall with his bloodied hand and screams a curse. He keeps himself turned to the wall. "I should have protected her from this. From all of this," he whispers. It's the most broken Killian's ever heard a man.
"The bastard's dead." It's all he can really offer. He watches the back of David's head as he nods. The prince leans against the wall and sighs heavily before turning back around with red-rimmed, glaring eyes.
"I should probably," he holds up his hand. "Before there's a mess," he returns Killian's flask before going down the hall to find a doctor. Killian hesitates at the doorway and takes a bracing swig of rum. The familiar burn of the alcohol allows him to settle his helpless rage. With a far more controlled expression on his face than he feels, he walks back into the room.
"Your father's seeking medical attention for his hand. He'll be back." She nods mutely. Her eyes are by his feet, or rather on the bag by his feet. Seeming to get the message, he scoops it up and places the bag by her side.
Shuttered green eyes meet his. "This your way of telling me to get lost?" she asks quietly.
"What?" he balks, completely confused.
"This," she gestures to the bag. "Is this your way of telling me I'm more trouble than I'm worth and that I should get the hell out of your life?"
"What the bloody hell are you on about?" Killian snaps impatiently. "This is me attempting to be kind. If you don't-" he cuts himself off as he notes the plainly shocked expression on her face. "What is it, Swan? That surprised a villain actually can be kind?" She shakes her head mutely. "Then what?" he demands in a clipped tone.
"Not surprised you can be nice. You've been nice." She answers mildly. "Just used to this meaning I'm more trouble than I'm worth and that I'm going back to the system. Not used to this," she gestures down to her bag, "just being a way to be nice." He deflates at her explanation. His weary mind recalls her desperate request that he not leave her there. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Swan. And I apologize for my rudeness. It was hardly reasonable of me to snap at you." The corner of her mouth quirks in a smile.
"It's all good, Captain." She answers in a low voice.
"You can lose the formality if you like." She frowns and tilts her head in confusion. "Jones is perfectly acceptable, lass." Hearing it from her was the first time the name felt right since he became a pirate. She nods.
"Can I ask you something then, Jones?" He nods, dread building a feeling in his gut. "You weren't planning on telling me, were you?" His eyes widen slightly. She holds up the image of Nelson's bloodied corpse.
He releases his sigh of relief subtly. "Initially, no, I wasn't." It's hardly a sufficient answer, so he elaborates. "I opted for three distinct approaches. The first was to be as non-threatening as possible. Informing you that I murdered a man, regardless of what he'd done, would hardly be non-threatening. The second," he shakes his head and sighs.
"That was gonna be your way of making sure I behaved," she answers for him.
"Aye," he hangs his head. "Still quite perceptive, aren't you? Maintaining the threat of him over your head. It was apparent you feared him, though I didn't fully grasp why. Swan," he raises his head to meet her eyes. "I cannot tell you enough how truly sorry I am that I ever even considered doing that. And for what I did, threatening you, grabbing you, there's no excuse. I apologize."
"Apology accepted." He balks in shock at the simple words. As he scrutinizes her face, he finds no hesitation. "And I'm sorry too. Shouldn't've hit you over the head." Killian shakes his head, attempting to wave her off. "I'm serious," she insists.
"Then apology accepted, love. Hardly anything to forgive, but all's forgiven." She beams, and he knows he made the right decision. "Then, there was the third tack. As it turns out, it requires far less effort on my part and yields far better results. Simply being forthright with you has worked out the best." She shrugs with a smile. He sighs. "Allowing you to execute decisions on your own, however..." He sees the look in her eyes, bracing for a lecture. Just as soon as it's there, it's gone. That look of an errant child is gone. Once again, he sees the look that makes her appear far more adult, far more sure of herself. Were she not lying on a bed in an infirmary, he'd be willing to follow that look into battle.
"Those hearts are where they rightfully belong, in people's chests. Blow to the curse or not, I wouldn't change it. And this," she gestures down to her chest, still covered in the coat she's using as a blanket. "It's what it is. I'll heal. No biggie."
"Swan, you were stabbed in the chest. Three of your ribs were broken. You nearly died. That's hardly what I'd consider a trivial matter. Please, do not treat it as one." He replies sternly. She nods. He sighs. "Swan, I have a confession to make. Something you need to know." Hanging his head for a moment, he draws in a breath, then rises and looks her in the eye as he confesses his actions from the night before. Her face remains impassive until the end when she reaches out and flinches with a hiss. "Swan?" She waves him off, shaking her head.
"I'm fine. And hey, I knew you were staking out Gold's. Breaking and entering, probably not something you should confess to a sheriff's deputy," she shrugs. "But I knew you'd be doing something like that. I didn't expect you to give up your surveillance. And it's not your fault. I don't blame you for this. I don't think you should either. But if it's my forgiveness standing in your way, then all's forgiven." He's momentarily stunned by the utter lack of condemnation.
"Swan, I should have warned you faster. I should have been there with you. I should have protected you. I should have done more." She shakes her head.
"You carried me all the way here. You stayed. You got me something familiar and got David to come here. Your coat," she frowns momentarily. "Do you want it back, by the way?"
He shakes his head as she moves to hand his coat back. "You looked cold." She conceals the self-conscious smile in the collar as she curls further into the leather. "I know it's not half a dozen blankets, but it should keep you warm." She nods.
"Thanks," she smiles quickly. "Point is, stop beating yourself up, Jones. You came here with a mission. I knew that, and I don't want to stand in the way. You did what I asked of you last night. You warned me when Regina was coming. You're beating yourself up that you didn't run faster than a car. And you stayed. That, uh, that means a lot." Her voice is far quieter, muffled by his coat as she pulls the collar over her pink cheeks at the end.
He sighs and nods. He won't argue, not now. Her forgiveness hardly assuages his guilt. She should be condemning him. She should hate him. By all accounts, she should fear him. But she doesn't and she's not. Killian allows a few moments to pass in silence only broken by the machines tracking her steady vitals.
"Swan," he starts carefully. "I'd be remiss if I didn't ask." Over the collar of his coat, he already sees her cringing, as she knows exactly what he's going to say. The quiet creak of the door and the footsteps behind him don't deter him from his question. He spots David's reflection in one of the machines. "The bruises, love." She sighs.
"Got jumped in an alley. One sort of between town and the docks."
"How many times?" he asks.
"Four," she whispers, staring down at her lap, shoulders hunching inward.
Killian casts his mind back centuries, to what exactly Liam did, how his brother would handle this. Calmly and directly. Being precise and careful with his words. "Swan, you're not in trouble. I'm not angry with you. I wish you would have said something. But I'm asking you now. Can you tell me what happened?"
"First time was leaving the hospital after I," she visibly cringes as she whispers her next words, "made a deal with Gold." As if she didn't want to remind him. Her eyes meet his uncertainly, bracing herself. He nods for her to continue. "The blood you asked about, the guy had a switchblade. I hit him over the head and got away." A switchblade? She'd been stabbed. He smothers his reaction to keep her talking.
"Second time was leaving the hospital after getting Mary Margaret to read to John Doe, the coma patient. Got tackled, got smacked around, and the guy had me by the neck for most of it. Hit him over the head again and got away." He remembers that night, seeing the Queen angrily stalk into the Dark One's shop. It was the closest he's come to hoping the Dark One remembered. If Regina thought the Crocodile retained his memories, then surely he must. Somehow he hadn't noticed anything off about Swan that night.
"Third time was after running out of the hospital when I found out David was my father. He had the metal pipe that time and I got smacked around and roughed up pretty bad. Managed to get it out of his hands, hit him upside the head, and got away." He recalls that as well. He almost asked that night if she was okay, but assumed she wasn't. He hadn't thought she was injured, simply adjusting as she kept to herself. The following day, he supported her as best as he thought he could, encouraging her to read more of her own and her parents' stories within her storybook. While accepting a reason behind her abandonment certainly wouldn't erase the pain of all those years or everything that happened, it was an answer at the very least. It seemed to encourage her to speak to her father.
"The fourth time was leaving the sheriff's station yesterday," she pauses. "Damn, that was really just yesterday." She remarks. He nods his agreement silently. "Got smacked and kicked around. Managed to get away." Swan wrings her hands in the collar of his coat. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything."
"Swan, no." She meets his eyes, her own uneasy and frightened. He sighs. "Yes, I wish you would have said something. But it's not your fault it happened, aye? Regina sent a puppet to assault you. Hardly any fault of yours. But Swan, I can't help you, not if I don't know. Just please, promise me from now on, if anything like that happens, you'll say something. I know saying something wouldn't work in the past, but I assure you, it will now."
She nods. "I promise."
Liam's words from all those years before echo in his ears. "It doesn't make you a rat. It doesn't make you a coward. It doesn't make you a snitch, understood?" Swan nods.
He stands quietly, explaining he's going to secure some form of sustenance. On a tray at the end of the hall, he finds plates of some odd substance in varied, unnatural hues. Frowning at one in confusion, he picks up a plate. It's only quick reflexes that prevent him from immediately dropping the bloody thing in shock. It jiggles.
With a brisk stride, he returns to Swan, glimpsing her and her father playing cards. He overhears a subdued conversation and stands back, hesitating outside the room. "Kiddo, a father's most important job is to protect his child. And I, I didn't do that for you. I've been furious with myself. That's what happened here, that's what happened at the diner as well. But I never want you to think I'm angry with you. What happened wasn't your fault."
"I know. Jones kinda explained, in the diner. Didn't really believe him, but it made me feel better. A little." Killian feels a bit lighter at the thought. She sighs. "I didn't tell that to hurt you or anything. Besides, you did what you had to. If you hadn't sent me away, I'd be dead."
"Not really something to shrug off, kiddo."
Killian overhears cards shuffling around and a few beats pass without talking before he approaches the ajar door and raps lightly with his hook. "What the bloody hell is this?" He asks, holding up the plate.
"Jello. It's food. You eat it," Swan deadpans.
"Nothing like a blue blob to get the appetite going," David mutters.
"Here I thought it was a hallucination. Found it on a tray." Killian holds the plate up, frowning at it suspiciously. Flourishing his hand slightly, the 'gel o' continues to wobble unnaturally. Nothing about this bloody sustenance is natural. Swan quietly giggles at the display, green eyes sparkling and crinkling at the corners. The sound warms him until she grips her side lightly, the joy shifting to a grimace. She notes two pairs of concerned eyes on her and glares at both. "I'm fine. Laughing just hurts."
Killian smiles. "Well, I gather it has great medicinal properties." Swan shakes her head but pops one of the pieces in her mouth with a smile and a 'thanks' as he sets down the plate. "Swan, what happened to your ribs, if not the alley?"
"I felt it when I was putting the hearts back. Sort of just lined up and pushed." She takes another piece of the unfamiliar, apparently non-medicinal food. "It felt like being shoved really hard in the chest, about…I didn't count how many times. That, uh, might have done the trick, though. I could also see some stuff, just bits and pieces, when I picked up the hearts. Disjointed flashes, sort of like Graham described. They made more sense when the heart got put back." She frowns slightly into the distance in thought. "Did Gold use to have scales?"
Killian blinks in surprise. "Why do you think I call him a Crocodile?"
"Honestly, I thought it was the creepy smile. But, uh, the last heart, it was a woman's. She was in a stone room, somewhere up high, filled with straw and a spinning wheel. Scaly, creepy Gold showed up and offered her a deal, to teach her to spin it into gold. Then, he got all touchy-feely showing her how to do it. She ended up ripping her own heart out. All the others, I saw the moment Regina ripped their hearts out. Not her."
"Cora," Killian answers. "Regina's mother."
"She has her mom's heart in a box? That's kinda messed up." He can't help but chortle at the juvenile description and the oversimplification. She shrugs off his laughter and takes another piece of the 'gel oh'. Evidently, whatever it is, it must not be poisonous.
Forthright and direct. If he expects her to be forthright with him, he should be the same with her. "I mentioned the pseudo-alliance with the Queen of Hearts?" Emma nods. "That was Cora. Regina dispatched me to assassinate her mother. That, as you say, kinda messed up." She giggles at just how incongruous the phrase sounds from him. David glares.
"Your Highness," Killian turns to her father. David appears a bit astonished to be addressed so formally. "About what the Dark One mentioned earlier," David's face pulls into a frown. "I just wanted you to know I've absolutely no interest in ransoming a princess." He turns to Emma with a wink but a serious expression. "You know you're free to go or stay any time you like. We have a deal and I'll honor that. I've no interest in keeping you away from your father." Emma blinks in surprise.
"David Nolan doesn't have much of a case." The prince mutters.
"More of one than I'd be able to put up, I assure you." David quirks a brow.
"Oh my God. Would it really be called kidnapping if I chose to come with you?" Swan snaps impatiently. She takes another piece of the strange, jiggling food.
"Yes," David answers sternly, glaring in the pirate's direction. Killian scratches behind his ear. Swan deals him in and explains a childish game called 'Go Fish', while she soundly beats them both with a victorious little smirk.