And I'm back! I apologize again for the large gaps between updates but pfff... life. Anyways, this is quite an angsty chapter and I'm already going to apologize for that but it's where the muses lead me and who am I to ignore them. Thanks for not giving up on this or me 3

(A trigger warning for grave injuries and mentions of violence)

She couldn't sleep; her eyes wouldn't follow her command of staying closed. Emma couldn't even get her body to listen to her pleas to simply relax. Turning and twisting her limbs into every possible position, her sheets rustled with the movements. The plethora of fear haunted her, uttered whispers of distress into her head and they were all in a very familiar voice.

In the darkness of her room, Emma fumbled around to find her phone that was lying somewhere on her nightstand. As she sensed the device under her fingertips, her hand curled around it and brought it closer. The bright screen informed her that it was 2:09 am. Letting her eyes fall shut, she sighed.

You're imagining things, Emma. Killian's fine. He's at home, above the flower shop, sleeping soundly, maybe even snoring like last time. There's no reason to worry.

Her eyelids opened again and Emma rubbed over her cheek. She clicked the nightlight button, sparking it to life and illuminating the room. Reluctantly, she left her cocoon with the realization that sleep wasn't in the cards for her right now. First, her bare feet hit the cold floor, then her bare legs braced the chilled air, goosebumps following instantaneously. Emma wasn't sure if the cold was the sole to be blamed, however. She grabbed her robe, to protect herself from the cold or maybe to not be confronted with the small shivers afflicting her body.

With the minimal light of her phone's flashlight, Emma maneuvered to her couch, curling herself in it as soon as she reached it. One by one, she pulled her legs close to her chest. Her hands wrapped around her shins and Emma rested her head on her knees. A breath came and left with a lot of dramatics, her chest drastically expanding and deflating because of the air passing through.

"Tobias, am I going crazy?" she said in direction of her cabinet. The living room was still dark but Emma's orientation in her own apartment was impeccable. "Well, I am talking to a cactus, so probably." The huff that came out of her mouth after she answered her own question of sanity was something between amusement and despair. "You should have seen him yesterday. I just– I can't shake the feeling he's going to do something stupid."

Emma, stop it. The lack of sleep is making you paranoid. You have to go to work in the morning. You need to sleep, so no more distractions, no more worrying.

Her internal voice did have a point, taking on the role of voice of reason. She was basing all of this distress on a hunch, a combination of word choice and actions. What if it had just been an inconvenient moment? What if she was just blowing everything out of proportion?

Trying to expel the nerves upsetting her stomach, Emma took a gulp of air and released it again. There was nothing to worry about, absolutely nothing. After repeating that mantra just about fifteen times, her mind started to believe it and her body started to unwind. To keep herself from staying up and scrolling mindlessly through Facebook until the sun decided to color the world again, to force herself to drag her body back to bed and try to get some sleep, Emma put her phone on airplane mode. Shutting it off completely would mean taking the risk of not being woken up by her alarm in the morning but this was the next, best thing.

The bells of her alarm clock sounded extremely loud in the early morning and were violating her sleep. Though her dream had been anything but peaceful; Emma couldn't complain about the interruption. Her face contorted as she thought back to the nature of the dream, to the images that had flashed by during her sleep. Giant hands and blood and an earth-shattering scream. Not a bone in her bodythat wanted to experience that ever again. Nor in reality, nor in the back of her slumbering mind. Stretching her back and legs, she rolled around in her bed. Her throat tingled with dryness and her eyes stung, the common side effects of sleep. Coffee. Her body screamed for a dose to wake her up.

Emma sighed and lifted herself out of her sheets, her movements slowed down by slugginess and reluctance but countered by the thought of the smell and taste and instant rush of the caffeine. Her bare feet crossed her living room and halted when Emma reached her kitchen. A yawn sneaked up on her and her hand was just too late to cover her mouth. The coffee maker was plugged in and set into motion.

The wait was excruciating, the slow trickle of water mocking her and somehow not advancing at all. Emma stared and her eyes kept falling shut, more slowly and with bigger time intervals, staying closed for a moment before opening anew. At this pace, she would fall asleep again before her coffee was even ready. She needed some sort of encouragement, a distraction, a figurative electric shock to awaken her senses. An idea formed, a plan which required her phone, or more specifically the Spotify playlist she made a few years ago filled with pumped up music.

Emma ran–or staggered–back to her room and yanked the charging cord out, bringing her phone closer. Her thumb swiftly tapped the airplane icon again to let the signals reach her phone again and make Spotify active–no way in hell she was going to pay every month to download songs. She immediately clicked on the familiar icon leading her to the app and waited until her phone had reconnected.

Suddenly, a buzzing sensation traveled from her phone to her hand, and another one, and another one. It was a shock so big and slightly overwhelming that Emma dropped her phone in response. She picked it back up, retrieved in from the fluff carpet it had nestled in and saw the notifications piling up, a constant flux of vibrations and boxes being stacked on each other.

Missed Call: David 2:36

New Voicemail: 2:37

Missed Call: David 2:41

Missed Call: David 2:43

Missed Call: David 3:07

New Voicemail: 3:07

Her breath hitched, got stuck somewhere between her lungs and lips as she read and counted how many times he had called her.

There was nothing to explain the urgency or the need for her. No text message to clarify it all. Something happened must have happened that's what her mind instantly concluded but with whom? With him? Mary Margaret? Baby Elliot? Emma didn't have the patience to call her voicemail, to listen to messages that were running behind on the current circumstances. With lightning speed, she pressed call, the dialer tone taking forever. The nail of her thumb became the victim of her anxiousness, getting bitten down on by her teeth.

"Emma."

She gulped air for the first time in actual minutes it felt when she heard his worried, yet relieved voice. The relief probably had to do with her finally being reachable again, showing a sign of life.

"David. What's wrong?"

Straight to the point, because she was not going to be able to stomach small talk, to let her worry increase even further.

"It's Killian."

Even though she hadn't mentioned him earlier, hadn't added him to the list before, he was always number one. She should have known to follow her gut, to listen to her premonition. It never ever failed her. She should have fucking known.

A certain scent clung to the hospital walls and spread into the halls. It smelled of disinfectant and of sadness somehow. Like if sadness could have a smell, a distinctive odor, it could be found in a hospital. She had always hated it; it never failed to bring a sense of lightheadedness, as if she was about to faint any second. To ensure that didn't happen, Emma had bought a can of Coke, to get her blood racing and her sugar levels spike. Her foot nervously tapped on the floor, a fast tick that surely annoyed the other people occupying a spot in the waiting room, but she couldn't stop. Nor could she stop shaking.

David had explained everything meticulously during their phone call–at least his take on the story and what he knew–and still Emma did not understand. Or could not comprehend, could not wrap her mind around it.

Killian had attempted to break in into Gold's shop.

That, she could process, didn't sound too surprising.

A silent alarm was triggered as he did, summoning Gold to his shop.

Which was logical.

David, already done with his shift at that time, was home, asleep, and got woken up by the same silent alarm Gold received. He dressed as soon as he could and made his way towards Main Street, towards the place of crime. When he entered the pawnshop, David found a bloody and battered Killian, his breathing shallow and wheezing. The floor was enameled with a pattern of crimson droplets and Killian lay in the midst of them, unconscious and cradling his left hand. Gold was nowhere in sight.

That was where Emma's mind refused to come to terms, refused to accept that that was what really happened.

Emma spotted a familiar face, a reassurance in the chaos of white, as he walked past her with a worried look troubling his eyes.

"David!" She jumped up, catching his attention and causing David to turn around again. "Why didn't you come to my apartment and wake me?" she asked when he stood before her.

"Emma, it was a whirlwind," he tried to reason. "I needed to call an ambulance and find Gold first and when I did that, I needed to make sure he didn't try and leave again. Besides, you weren't really the best person to have on this case."

She knew that objectivity was near to impossible for her when she was this involved. In the case, in Killian, and the thing they once shared–possibly still did–but the reason David didn't wake Emma up himself was also the reason he should have.

"But you should have," Emma said. Her hands rubbed over her forehead, fingers eventually ending in her hair as she combed through it. "I mean, he's been here for hours, all alone. He could have died." She moved her weight from one foot to another.

"He didn't, Emma," David reminded her, his voice soft and kind. "Have you seen a doctor yet?"

"No." Her head moved from left to right. "A nurse told me they're still operating."

"Hmmm," David made a sound in thought, his hand settling on her upper arm. "You stay here. I'll take over your shift." Emma felt a small squeeze as he spoke.

There was no way Emma would agree to that, not when she could discern the blue color under his eyes.

"No, David," Emma protested, "You've been up the entire day and night. Go home. Go sleep. I'll just be on call."

David tried to object; she could derive that from the small, discontented sigh he let out and she could see that in the movement of his eyes. To go home, to sleep during such precarious times felt unnatural, it would to her as well. They had to help people, always be on standby; that was what a job as sheriff entailed. David had to be reasonable, however, and understand that she was right. He could rest now, take a step back and let Emma take over, regardless of how emotionally compromised she currently was.

"I'll stop by the station on my way to the loft to put up a sign that we're only handling emergencies today." It was a last attempt to be useful, not wanting to capitulate completely.

Who was she to deny him that?

Emma shaped her lips into a smile. "Thanks, David." It was simultaneously a permission as a genuine sign of gratitude. He was the best colleague and friend anyone could ever wish for.

"Send me a text when he's out, will you?" he requested, making her notice David's affinity towards Killian.

He had said they were friends and maybe Emma was being a bit too self-centered on how this was affecting her, that she forgot that David had to be struggling as well. Even more reason to let him go home.

"I will," Emma reassured, summoning every ounce of sincerity she possessed and inserting it into those two words. Anything to make him catch his sleep quicker and worry less.

She sat back down on the uncomfortable chair, the plastic squeaking in response, and watched David get into the elevator, his departure leaving her alone again with her worry.

Her head rested on her arm, arm on the thin bar of metal of the chair. It was imprinted into her skin, a red line running from her elbow to her upper arm, but she couldn't seem to muster the energy to switch her position.

A white coat appeared in front of her, Emma hurriedly looking up and meeting the eyes of the person approaching. Dr. Whale came closer, a facade of neutrality preventing Emma from reading him, from concluding how it went before Whale even opened his mouth.

"Sheriff," he greeted her with a small nod. Emma practically jumped out of her chair. "We've finished Mr. Jones' operation with success and he's stable again."

Her shoulders sagged in relief, the tension leaving her body in one big swoop.

"Can I see him?" she asked, trying to control her eagerness in front of Whale.

It didn't seem to completely work as Whale slightly narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

"Oh," is his surprised response. "We only allow family into the ICU before visiting hours."

She was barely holding on as it were, barely able to calm herself, waiting even longer would make that impossible. Her mind would conjure images of unrecognizable Killian, the only indication of his identity the color of his empty gaze, and would flash them across her closed eyelids.

"I'm his girlfriend," she blurted out, so adamant on seeing him that she would even admit that there was something going on between them, that Emma's concern went further than just a worried sheriff. Whale almost succeeded in hiding the shock from his face but didn't question her admission.

"Oh," he repeats, the sound even more befuddled than the last. "I wasn't aware. No problem if that's the case. I would like to warn you that it will be a shock to see him."

Dr. Whale lead her through the maze of hospital hallways and hospital rooms until they stood still before a door. Emma felt the doctor scanning her, assessing if she was ready, if she wasn't going to faint or break down and apparently, he was more sure of that than she was.

Even though Whale had warned her, she still felt the tingle through her body as the door opened and revealed Killian. He had a cracked lip, a discoloration on his eye, a gash on his forehead, but the most pronounced thing, the thing that made Emma silently gasp as she covered her mouth was his left hand–or rather the lack of it.

"We tried to salvage his hand but it was completely crushed," Whale explained.

She couldn't seem to be able to stop staring at the white bandage.

"How could that happen?"

"To cause this sort of damage–," Whale gestured to Killian. "–you would have to hit the hand with a very heavy object and multiple times.

Multiple times. And intentional.

"So this couldn't have been accidental," Emma concluded.

While the deduction was mostly meant for herself, Whale still shook his head.

"Definitely not. Someone heinous really must've held a grudge against him."

You could call him that.

"Emma," Whale said, turning towards her and surprising her with the use of her first name. "He's going to be fine. He'll have to do a lot of adjusting as can be expected with the loss of such a vital limb. It will take a while for his face to heal and his bruises to disappear, but besides that, he will survive."

"Thanks." It came out mumbled and despondent. Emma wasn't doubting his survival; it was his mental state she was worried about.

Whale must have realized that as well as his hand squeezed her shoulder in one final act of consolation before he left the room, before he left her alone with him.

"Let one of the nurses know if you need anything."

I just need him to wake up and really be okay.

There were about three instances where Killian began to stir and his face contorted and Emma prepared herself for his rousing, sitting straight and leaning towards him, only to be disappointed when his eyes stayed closed and his body turned limp again.

She attempted to make the wait less excruciating and more bearable; Emma played games on her phone, texted with David and Mary Margaret, scrolled through Facebook and watched a couple of videos. She had to tell Leroy that a lost ax was not an emergency and that he shouldn't bother her if he hadn't exactly that. He had rumbled a grumpy reply and had ended the call.

Because of the lack of change or progress in the last hour or so, and the abundance of hungry outcries her breakfast-and-lunch-void stomach was making, Emma decided to check out the hospital cafeteria for some bad to mediocre coffee and maybe some pastries. Who was she kidding: a lot of pastries.

Choosing a table in the corner, right by the window and far away from the bustle, Emma sat down. She did some contemplating, her hands curled around the steaming cup of coffee. She thought of the last twenty-four hours, of the last few months. Of all that had happened, of how her life had been a rollercoaster. The fear, the heartbreak, frustration, and anger but, above all, the love. The nail of her index dented the soft cardboard of the cup.

You love him.

Yeah… she did.

The feeling had been lingering around her for most of the time they spent together, approaching with every smile, every flower, every kiss. It had nearly taken over her entire body, settled into her mind and heart when Killian had forced her to pull up her walls again, denying it access. It had somehow managed to creep up on her anew, only becoming clear as she faced losing him, as she came this close to not having him around anymore. Distress revealed important things sometimes.

Not knowing what to do with all of this newly acquired knowledge, Emma sighed and stood up. She threw her wrappers in the trash and made her way to the elevator. Her finger pressed the button, sparking a little light, and she waited, teeth nervously nibbling on her lip

The elevator doors opened after notifying Emma that she had arrived at her destination. Rubbing her hand over her face, she got out. She felt tired. Both mentally and physically and both could be blamed on the man lying unconscious in the hospital bed three doors down. She took a moment to gather her courage again, to prepare herself for the upsetting sight she still hadn't grown used to.

The room looked exactly like she had left it–bed in the middle, two chairs on the side, a small table, lots of wires and machines–with the exception of a now awoken Killian Jones.

She couldn't've been gone that long, could she? For him to wake up and to calmly and lucidly be staring at his left arm.

Emma closed the door, causing Killian to look up at her. His eyes were empty of emotion; no tears, no anger, no pain and it only reaffirmed her worry about his mental state.

There was silence, a long, outstretched, awkward silence. It was Emma's fault because she couldn't think of anything to say, couldn't open her mouth and let out a word. And Killian just watched her.

Say something, Emma. Anything.

"Hi."

Killian cleared his throat and swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Hello," he rasped.

The sound instantly made Emma search for a remedy of his discomfort and she found one, a bottle of water and a plastic cup on the small, wooden table. The water was poured into the cup, the cup was handed to Killian, who had a look of relief written all over his face.

"Thank you," he said, the sound less raspy than before.

"Don't mention it."

Emma sat down on the chair next to his bed, clasping her hands together and rubbing her thumb over the surface of her palm.

"How long have you been awake?"

Or how long ago did he discover his left hand was gone.

"About half an hour."

She nodded in understanding.

"How long have you been here?" he asked in return.

"Since this morning so about eight or nine hours."

Killian didn't reply and Emma didn't know if she should continue to carry the conversation or if she should just let it die down, if that was what he needed; peace and quiet to let him absorb everything.

Her eyes roamed the room, painfully aware of the tension and avoiding him, his eyes, his bruises, his stump, with determination.

"Go ahead," Killian suddenly spoke up, forcing her eyes to stop darting around and settle on him again.

"What?"

Emma assumed that she looked startled and confused, eyes wide and eyebrows creased. Did she miss something while being so focused on evading more awkwardness and speechlessness?

"Scream, shout, do whatever you'd like." It was hopeless, careless and yet again Emma would give everything to know what was going on in his mind; she simply wanted to understand.

"I'm not going to yell at you, Killian." She sounded a bit indignant at his suggestion that he would think she was capable of yelling at him in the situation he was currently in.

"Emma," and Killian seemed to share her exasperation. "you have every right to. I know you're angry and feel like venting. So vent."

He was right. The anger lay under a layer of worry but now that he was okay, he was doing as good as he could in this situation, the layer was thinning, only a fine sheet, fragile and breakable.

Her eyes stared at him, a harsh gaze without any blinks. She licked her lips and pressed them together so hard that her tongue picked up the iron taste of blood that came out of the dents her teeth created. Her view became dark as she closed her eyes and attempted to control her breathing. It didn't help, however. Emma felt layer crack, felt it break under the weight.

"You are a fucking idiot, Killian Jones." Her lips barely moved as she whispered the words while shaking her head.

Her voice slightly rose with her next words but never passed a normal conversational tone. He wanted her to yell, to scream in outrage and lose control but she was not going to, because she knew the words would carry more of her sincerity, of her disapproval this way. Killian knew too.

"You could've gotten yourself killed and you are so lucky David found you in time. You promised me you wouldn't do fucking shit like this and scare the hell out of me."

He didn't answer for a while, settled for watching her with attentive eyes. He waited until she calmed down, until breathing came less in spasms.

"If it makes you feel better, I've paid a price for my mistake."

By shaking it, he pulled her attention towards the bandaged stump.

"Don't, alright?" she bit and a warning finger got pointed his way. A shiver traveled through her body and Emma knew what this meant. Sure enough, the water started gathering at the ridges of her eyes. Tears of fear. Tears because and for him.

"Don't make jokes about that. Nothing about this is funny. I can't even trust you anymore, Killian. Do you even know what you put me through?" Emma clenched her teeth, trying to stop the flood but it was in vain. The tears quickly multiplied and ran in great numbers down her cheeks as she thought not only of the stint that had landed him here but of everything he had done. "I thought you were gone for good, that I'd lost you like everyone else," she admitted, her voice unsteady.

"I'm sorry, Emma." And it seemed like the guilt was too much to bear in that moment, like he couldn't face her because he was ashamed and that was why he closed his eyes.

Emma roughly wiped her tears away and averted her gaze.

"So am I."

She didn't want to dwell in this mix of anger and fear, not while he was okay and alive but it was proving to be a challenge to extinguish the fire, to assuage the distress raging inside.

"I'm going out for some air," she announced, standing up immediately and not even staying long enough to let him respond.

The automatic doors rolled open for her, granting her access to leave the hospital, and the cold air immediately hit her skin. The sky was slowly turning dark, a last color burst of purple and orange and pink being painted before Emma's very eyes. A small stone bench stood not far from the entrance and she sat down, crossing her legs under her body and resting her hands on her knees. Her eyelids closed as Emma focused on her breathing again. In and out. Let the panic out and the calm in. Let the racing thoughts out and the silence in.

It helped.

How much time passed before it helped, Emma wasn't sure, but at least it did.

The sun had completely set by the time she felt ready, the streetlights buzzing to make up for the lost light, but Emma didn't immediately return inside; she didn't rush to rejoin Killian. There was something else she needed to do first.

She stood up, stretching her legs. Her hand dove into her pocket, in search of her phone and when she found it she dialed David's number. He had asked for an update of how his friend was doing and Emma owed it to him.

Emma lightly maundered across the concrete while listening to sounds her phone was emitting. The call went straight to voicemail, something that Emma knew was Mary Margaret's doing. It was a reassuring thing, knowing that David had her to take care of him, to make sure he rested.

"Hi, David, it's me." She cleared her throat to get rid of the last remnants of the discussion with Killian. "Killian is awake." It was the first thing she said, the most important thing he needed to know. "Umm... he's doing good, considering the situation. Too good if you ask me." Her hand gently untangled her hair. "He was only awake for an hour when we already fought, but I think that I just really needed to get some stuff off my chest and he really needed the wake-up call. I'm outside right now to give us both some space and I'm planning to return in a bit. I'm probably going to stay at the hospital for the night as well. He needs someone to be with him and support him, I think. Umm… I'll take the early shift tomorrow, as usual, so definitely don't worry about that and don't worry about Killian either; he's in good hands. Yeah… I think that's it. Give Elliot and Mary Margaret a kiss from me and I'll see you tomorrow. Bye."

Emma quietly slipped back in the room, taking notice of the dimmed lights and closed curtains. As soundlessly as she could, Emma took off her jacket and sat back in the chair.

"You came back," he said, voice somewhere between a whisper and a breath. Emma startled as she thought he was asleep.

"I did."

Her words came out as quiet as his question but lacked the wonder his carried.

"What time is it?" Killian asked, eyelids still hiding his cyan irises.

Retrieving the device from her pocket, she clicked it to life again.

"It's… 9 pm," she answered.

"Are you allowed to stay here this late?"

"Um…" Secretly, she was hoping that he wouldn't ask about that, especially since they had already covered so many emotions today and how exactly was she going to explain this without creating more confusion? "Family is, and seeing that I told Whale I'm your girlfriend, I don't think he'll make a problem of it."

She should've been deaf or blind not to notice the sudden spike in Killian's heart monitor.

"Oh," was his simple reply.

He clearly had no idea if she meant it or if it was just a cover to get to him; if that was what she wanted or only a temporary thing.

Emma didn't know either, if she was being honest.

"Thank you, Swan."

"For what?" she asked, genuinely unaware of what he was referring to.

"For lying to Whale." Their eyes met. "For being here." And for the first time in twenty-four hours, Emma knew what he was thinking, knew that what he was expressing was what he truly felt inside. The look on his face was so sincere that it slightly took her breath away and that she sensed the familiar chills run over her skin.

They would be alright.

"Don't mention it." The corner of her lips gently went up. "Do you want me to stay the night?"

It was his decision, completely his to take; she would adjust herself to his needs, to what was best for him.

"Where would you sleep?" Killian replied to her question with one of his own. He attempted to lift his head to scan the room for any possibility of accommodation and Emma could see the strain in his neck, the effort it was taking to such a simple thing after such a complicated surgery and such an eventful day.

"In a chair." Her shoulders slightly went up. "It wouldn't be the first time."

Back in the day, when Neal was still her great and eternal love, they made it a sport to sleep in unusual spots, in places that seemed completely inept to slumber at first sight but they made something of it. They were good at that, self-sufficiency and ingenuity.

There still had been no actual answer to what she needed to know, so Emma tilted her head and lightly raised her eyebrows, repeating the question without any words. Even in the dimmed light, she could see the tips of his ears redden as he admitted his preference.

"I'd like that."

Her lips curled as she witnessed the return of bashful Killian and the familiarity of it felt like a warm embrace.

"Okay."

At first, she tried to fight the sleep, startling awake each time she realized her eyelids started slowly dropping. Emma tried to keep her them open, tried to be what he needed, someone to watch over him, someone to protect him, to soothe him but.

I can think of a word that describes all of that.

"Emma," Killian said softly, his voice a whisper of reassurance. "Close your eyes, love, I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

Emma nuzzled further into the small, white pillow, sighing with relaxation as she did.

"You better not," was mumbled right before the familiar lull took over and gently put her to sleep.

A/N: This is the penultimate chapter so we are very close to the end. I'd love to hear what you thought of this