#how she managed to stay upright and NOT immediately murder someone is beyond me

[ike-mcswains-mortician]

thinking about all the horrifying, traumatizing shit hero had to go through all in the name of being “the chosen one.”

thinking about lark and sparrow watching her sob for weeks after one of their “trips” and seeing her with blood on her hands, because she has to be ready to do what “the chosen one” needs to do.

thinking about normal being so, so scared of doing this without her, because she was “the chosen one” and not him.

and thinking about them both watching hermie holding out the prophecy, looking oh-so-official, signed at the bottom by scam likely.

there was no prophecy. there was no “chosen one”. hero went through all of that for a fucking scam.

thinking about hero oak…

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (23 of 40?)

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Present (Friday, continued)…

“Bloody hell.”

Fidgeting with the stack of useless scouting photos on the dining room table, Detective Jones did not seem inclined to elaborate, so Emma could only sigh in agreement.

“Yeah.”

A moment later, Jones added,

“Stark raving mad, the both of you.”

“So do you understand a little better now? We had a chance, and had to take it.”

“Because the two of you are thought to be immune.”

“Or at least better protected.”

“And he couldn’t just kill the bastard on the first day because of a lack of weapons.”

“That, and Rumplestiltskin thought that, at close range, the monster might still be able to sense murderous intent even with our immunity.”

Jones remained silent for a long time, studying Emma’s face, though he seemed very far away. Feeling the need to justify their deception, Emma said,

“Do you see, now, why it had to be a secret? We weren’t sure how far the Vocivore’s emotion-sensing abilities extended, and now that we know for sure he’s watching on the security cameras, it’s even more important that people believe Killian is firmly under his control.”

“Hold on, back up a tick; what was that about security cameras?”

Emma grimaced. “Apparently, the Vocivore is watching us through security cameras; possibly even hacking into webcams. Oh, and his slaves’ collars have one as well. That’s why Killian had to… you know…”

She waved vaguely toward his chest. He raised an eyebrow and she made a face.

“He feels really bad about that. So do I.”

“Then you did speak with him? The other day, at the hospital?”

Emma squirmed in her seat, nodding. “Sorry.”

Jones sighed in resignation. “I suppose it’s safe to assume he had help in his escape?”

“Guilty. Don’t look at me like that. We have a plan that we think will work. I wouldn’t have let him go otherwise.”

“Care to fill me in on the details? And what makes you feel as if he’s not planning to come back?”

At her hesitation, he leaned forward and placed both hands on the table. “I’m a part of this now, Emma. Your ally. Maybe I can help. But you’ve got to tell me all of it.”

The relief of finally having a confidant, coupled with all of the exact expressions and mannerisms of her endangered husband, caused tears to leak from her eyes. She wiped them viciously away.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She sniffed. “Sorry. It’s just been hard, facing all this alone. And I’ve gotten used to the hiding. But if we had to trust someone with it, I’m glad it’s going to be you.”

Jones responded with a sad smile. She drew a huge breath.

“So. The rest of the story… and the plan.”

5 weeks ago, continued...

The blasted portal spat Killian out, not in the alleyway closest the sheriff station, as intended, but several blocks beyond that. He cursed quietly and staggered to his feet, hand pressed tightly to the wound in his side. Damn that Crocodile; Killian couldn’t imagine what he’d have to gain by sabotaging the portal, but he wouldn’t put it past him anyway.

The trek to the sheriff station was grueling, made twice as long by the fact that he was trying to avoid being seen. To hell with Rumplestiltskin’s plan; Killian wanted Emma’s healing before they reported the kidnapping.

In the middle of the day, however, that proved to be a major challenge. By the time he’d rounded the corner that would take him to the station’s door, his shirt was soaked with blood, front and back. He could even smell it, sickeningly evocative. But the scent was not the main contributor to the wild spinning of his head as he lurched along the sidewalk, now in plain view, using his hooked arm to steady himself against the outer wall of the building. There were exclamations from blurred faces, some garbled words that could only be offers of help. Killian continued forward with a dazed sort of determination. Emma. He had to reach Emma. She would heal him, and then it wouldn’t matter that he had forgotten what had happened or what he needed to tell her…

His shoulder crashing into the door kept him upright long enough to fumble the knob open with fingers dyed crimson. Some onlookers had their phones to their ears, pointlessly tying up emergency lines: he’d be healed in just a few more seconds. Killian followed the swing of the door inside with just as much of a parabola to his path; his hook, wrapped around the handle, supported most of his weight.

Emma waited just inside. She had David with her. Bloody hell; that wasn’t good.

“Swan,” Killian croaked. His voice sounded strange in his own ears. Emma clawed at his hand, trying to see…

The sudden, white-hot bolt through his side somehow brought the plot back with surprising clarity. And the lump in his throat was not fully attributable to pain as he blurted the horrific lie to his father-in-law. His best friend.

“They’ve taken her,” he gritted out. The corners of the room were growing dark, as if the boiling clouds of a Dark Curse were rising from the four walls. “I’m so sorry. They’ve taken Hope.”

Perhaps it was a mercy that the ashes consumed him then, sparing him the sight of David’s very real reaction.

*****

Floor.

Pain.

David.

A kidnapping?

“Lie back, Killian; you’re hurt.”

Swan?

“...she can’t heal you…”

Shit.

Medics.

Lies.

Were they lies?

Reassurances. A promise. So much guilt.

Ambulance.

Hospital.

Bloody hell.

*****

Killian had been feigning sleep for the past half-hour. Emma was there, sounding dazed as she interacted on his behalf with various visitors and medical staff. In between the phone calls, of course. Guilt gnawed at him for leaving her to deal with the chaos alone, but he feared the blasted drugs coursing through his veins would cause him to say something that would give the game away. Although, if he was lucid enough for that to be a concern, perhaps he could trust himself not to say something he would regret.

He had been mostly awake for Dr. Whale’s report to Emma: the physician had sounded confident that Killian would make a full recovery, as long as he could avoid infection. Apparently, the Crocodile’s blade had done no damage to any vital organs. Not that Killian would ever thank him for his precision.

Since then, Emma had been dealing with concerned friends anxious to begin the hunt for the allegedly kidnapped Hope. Impressive, how she handled it all. It sounded as if she had sent people to their house to search, not yet having heard the agreed-upon story that Killian would tell. Those eager volunteers would find no clues there, but it would keep them occupied and seem plausible enough of an effort that, in a real scenario, Emma could feel justified in keeping Killian company until he “woke up.” So much deception already, and it was only fated to get worse.

Finally, enough of a period of silence convinced Killian that he and Emma were alone. He shifted carefully under the covers and peeled his eyes open. Emma got to her feet, wearing a relieved yet concerned expression. After confirming that they were truly unsupervised, Killian indulged in a weary sigh, winced, and smiled sheepishly at his wife.

“What the hell?” she hissed.

Killian scowled and was immediately reminded of the cuts and bruises decorating his face. “The bloody Dark One took it upon himself to provide you with a genuine shock. Believe me, being gutted was not part of the plan.”

Now at his side, Emma brushed some hair from his forehead. “Thought he was trying to change.”

“Apparently, justifying stabbing an old enemy as ‘for his own good’ is exempt from Dark One Rehabilitation.”

He stretched, grimaced, then asked,

“What the bloody hell is going on with your magic? Did I not hallucinate the part where David told me you've lost your healing abilities?”

Emma made a face. “Nope, not a dream. Sorry.”

“Bloody awful timing,” growled Killian. “The Vocivore, do you think?”

“I can't think of any other reason. Regina, too,” she added to forestall his possible next question. She continued to stroke his hair. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to hear the majority of Whale's self-important speech."

"So you know he wants you to at least stay overnight."

"Aye," he sighed. "Sorry, love; I didn't intend for you to have to handle the tumult on your own."

She shrugged. "It may be better this way. Less chance for either of us to give something away. Speaking of which... it might be time to start spreading the story." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Assuming we're still going through with this..."

"No question." Somehow, he managed to sound more determined than he felt. "After all, we can't allow the Crocodile to stab me for naught. It may simply take a bit longer before I’m capable of…” Killian swallowed and forced himself to finish the thought. “...Facing the monster’s attentions."

A skeptical Emma gave him a once-over, taking in the gruesome state of his face as well as the thick bandage on his side that was apparent even under the blanket. "Maybe we can work something out with Rumplestiltskin; send you back through and make him heal you."

Killian nodded sullenly. "It would be the least of what he owes me. Though we then run the risk of exposing our plot to everyone. Monster included."

"Hmm. We'll have to think about that one." She leaned down and placed a gentle, careful kiss on his forehead. "Need anything?"

"No thank you, love. I'll likely just sleep."

She nodded. "That would be good. I'll tell people it's the drugs."

Emma made sure his call button was within reach, gave him one more tender caress, and headed for the door.

"Good luck," called Killian after her.

Time for more lies.

[writesandramblings]

The Captain’s Secret - p.43

“Tumbling Down”

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 42 - The Buran 44 - When the Bough Breaks >>

The escape pod's transponder blipped into the darkness until it was finally picked up by a Federation starship investigating the disappearance of the Buran. The life sign within was so faint it barely registered on sensors.

In all that destruction, one single survivor.

He was crumpled up like a fortune that had been thrown in the trash. His face and hands were blue and dusted with ice crystals. A damaged data core was clutched in his fingers so tightly they could not pry it loose. He was so cold, he barely shivered, and his breath did not register in the air as even the faintest bit of fog.

But he was alive. Somehow, by some miracle, Gabriel Lorca was alive.

He could hear voices talking over him.

"...his authorization codes."

"He blew up his own ship?"

"I can't believe he abandoned his crew."

"Abandoned them? He killed them."

They did not realize he was awake yet. He groaned and immediately the voices were beside him, hovering over him. "Captain Lorca," one was saying, "stay still. You're on the..."

"I had to," he gasped, writhing with his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. "We were overrun—the Klingons—captured everyone—what they do—to prisoners—"

The medical technicians had not seen the unedited pictures, only two heavily redacted ones that had gone public. In those picture, it was impossible to tell for certain what was happening to the bodies, but everyone knew by rumor and reputation what lay beneath the censorship.

"Stay calm, sir, just try to relax. You're safe now."

Someone injected him with something and everything faded away.

The next time he awoke, he was in a sickbay, the lights a blaring fire against the surface of his eyes. The pain was excruciating. He yelled, "My eyes!" and thrashed, covering his face with his arm in agonized frustration. "The lights! Get them off! Turn them off!" It was a command, it was a plea, it was pure, unbridled desperation.

They did not turn off the lights. They injected him again and he collapsed once more into an empty hole of unconsciousness.

He could not see, but he could tell he was no longer on a starship. There was no subtle thrum of ship engines, no sounds of beeping monitors or faint rustling of the uniforms of busy personnel. His nostrils flared. The sterile smell of sickbay had been replaced by something slightly dusty. The air was filtered, but wherever he was, there were enough solid particulates floating around that some quantity of them escaped the filters. There was something over his eyes. A bandage.

A voice, soft and high and translator-rendered, spoke his name: "Gabriel?" He turned his head, trying to discern the direction of the source with his eyes covered. "I am here." He located her, somewhere off to his right. Distance unclear.

Something brushed against his hand and he jerked back in surprise. His voice was hoarse and whispery. "I can't—I can't see you."

"They said you damaged your eyes."

"Ship... exploded," he managed. "I saw it." He leaned his head back against the pillow. "I saw it. It was..." He shook his head faintly. Then he jerked upright with a gasp. "Data core!"

It had taken them hours to thaw it out of his fingers safely, but for naught. "It was destroyed. The data was not retrievable."

He sank back down with a long, weary sigh. "Everything was for nothing."

"It was not. You are here. That is something."

It was hard, being unable to see her.

"Do you want me to take off the bandages? They said I could. The lights are dim."

"Yes," he said, with a sense of urgency. He hated being blinded. He hated feeling helpless, unaware, diminished by the loss of a key sense. Slowly, she undid the closure of the bandage, her touch feather-light, and the gauzy cloth fell away.

The light was dim and blue, and so was she, save for the unblinking intensity of her giant green eyes. She was perched on a chair an arm's length away from his bed. The long curve of her tail stretched up behind her.

They stared at each other. She asked, "Why did you send me that message? That you needed me to come and get Da Hee?"

He stiffened. "We don't need to get into that now." Or ever, if he had any choice about it.

"I am sorry I was not fast enough. I am sorry for all of your crew. I liked them very much, especially Da Hee and Reiko, but I was fond of them all."

He turned away, unable to look at her any longer. "I don't need you to remind me they're dead." His fists clenched. "I killed them. I had to. If I didn't, then the Klingons, they'd..."

"They would have ended up like Jack, and Eraldo."

"Go away," he said, voice almost choking. "I just want to be alone."

"Gabriel, look at me." He could not. She stretched her tail towards him and he flinched away. "I more than anyone understand why you would choose a death for your crew, given the alternative the Klingons would have presented. A captain bears a responsibility to his crew."

A responsibility he had failed in. "Just go away," he said. "I don't want you here."

She sat there, looking at him thoughtfully. It was not so long ago that she had recited for Lorca the entirety of Twenty Thousand Leagues from memory, which had impressed him. When your entire body was a brain, you had an ample quantity of memory storage at your disposal, and could remember those things which you found truly important.

It did not seem appropriate to repeat this story now. Instead, she chose another. "I am going to tell you a story," she said. "Once upon a time there was a lului named Lalana."

She began the story on Luluan, nine hundred and fifty years earlier, but there was not much remarkable in that. For many hundreds of years, she ran around the forest and observed the trees and insects and worms, until the fateful day that visitors came from above. News of their arrival spread like a ripple of water across the interior of the planet. Yet where her people saw heretical invaders, she saw something entirely different, something strange and beautiful, a possibility of the beyond. When she saw their spaceship return to orbit, "All she wanted from that moment was to see it herself," Lalana said. "She wanted to go to the place where they came from."

It was a story Larsson would have appreciated. Focused as he had been on the history of her people, he had missed many of the tiny wondrous details that were specific to her experience, details that did not matter in the grand planetary scheme of things, but mattered to her.

She told of how she stalked the hunters, hunting them in her own way, searching for the ones who did not kill, and then she had gone with Margeh and T'rond'n. The time she spent with them was a highly limited adventure, but satisfying in its own way. "Meeting so many guests and seeing so many strange animals at their compound, she realized the full extent of what was out there and she had to go and see it for herself. And so, she stole their spaceship and flew it to the stars."

"She knew how to do two things. She could make the engines go, and broadcast a transmission. She did both. She did not know what she would find or who she would encounter, but being able to run was enough. To run to the stars as she had long dreamed to."

"And then, in what humans would call a miracle, and what we lului would call a million tiny steps, he heard her. He heard her, and he answered."

It was not just her story, it was his, too.

"He had a halo of stars around him, and he was unlike every other human, because he did not merely feel things. When he laughed, he became laughter. When he smiled, he became joy. And he was warm to the touch, and so funny. She knew from that moment on that she could watch him forever and never tire of it."

She told him how he tricked the Dartarans with a plan so complex its simplest aspects would have eluded other Starfleet captains, how he led his crew into the dangerous jungle and protected them, how he tempted fate and took chances and convinced her not to give up after she had murdered the leskos. (Her term, of course, not his.) She told him how he hid in a shower, bested space pirates, danced at dinner, pretended a marriage, killed a Gorn, swam in a glowing hot spring, and attended a planetary conference, laughing every step of the way. How he never stopped, never looked back, always went charging forward. How they ate fortune cookies, spoke in fortune cookies, traded insights for jokes, and laughed so many times for so many reasons.

There were details, too, that would never have been known from his perspective. "She offered to go and get him, but when she found him, he was very much occupied with Serot!" She clicked her tongue. "It seemed to be quite enjoyable for them, and so she resolved to learn how to do such things herself."

Then, after a concert on Risa, came the goodbye she did not want, followed by Dr. Li's experiment gone awry. For much of that, she had been asleep, but when she woke, she made good on her resolution, and he took command of the Buran.

Lorca's face twisted with guilt and grief at the mention of the Buran. His ship and his crew were gone. Irreversibly and eternally gone. But even knowing the Buran's ultimate fate, he would not trade the memory of seeing it for the first time and knowing it would be his for anything.

"And he flew off to have many adventures, and she did the same." The story had been going three hours now. It sounded as if she was coming to the end. "Even though they were very far apart, they were in some sense always together, because so long as they were both surrounded by the stars, they were in the same ocean."

She fell silent. He spoke his first words in three hours. "And then what happened?"

Her tail drifted back and forth behind her, shifting as if touched by an invisible breeze. "You should rest."

"I'll rest, just keep talking." He finally looked in her direction. His eyes were tired, almost expressionless from weary exhaustion.

She tilted her head. "Do you want me to tell you about all the worlds we visited, or the Gabriella, or when we went back to Risa?"

"Yes," he said. "All of it."

Another hour went by. His face remained a void, exhausted and impassive, but he listened as she won a small fortune in a game of chance arranged by Peter Bhandary for her benefit. Bhandary fronted her the buy-in to sit at the table and rub elbows with people who were so rich and powerful they thought nothing of gambling away whole systems worth of wealth, or even considered the wealth she walked away with as anything worth remembering. She repaid Bhandary twice over and used the rest to buy herself the Gabriella.

A medical attendant came in, delivered food and water, said they were waiting on a transport to arrive. Lorca scarcely acknowledged the information. The attendant left and Lalana continued. Now they were on Risa, tricking a wedding officiate at the Winowa.

He ate very slowly, but he finished the food. He watched her now when she spoke, with a haggard intensity that erased all other thoughts. They were two people, in a room, listening to a story, and the rest of the universe was none of their concern.

"As they stood at the gates of the cemetery, she said to him, 'I will carry you, if I have to,' the same words he had spoken to her on the moon on Tederek. And then she found the graves for him, so he did not have to, and he knelt down..."

The war began. She went to Qo'noS, secreted away on a Klingon ship undetected, and escaped off the planet again with evidence of the Klingon's brutality and information on their ships.

"She had meant to comfort him for his loss, but he was angry. He did not see what she had done as a gift. He saw it as a betrayal. He yelled at her with a fury that seemed like the fury he described as his father's."

Her hands knocked and her fur began to writhe faintly. "He was so angry she did not know if he would ever speak to her again. Certainly, he did not contact her for several days, but then he wrote to her and asked her to come, and in his message he said he was sorry." Her fur had taken on a life of its own and she slid her tail down over her eyes. "And she wrote back to him and said, he had no need to be sorry. He only needed to live, so that she could see his face again. So that she could see his face again! Because all she wanted was to see his face!"

She shook violently and balled herself up on the chair, her tongue trilling softly.

He swung his legs down from the bed and reached towards her. "Lalana." His fingers brushed the wriggling mass of her surface and jerked back. It was impossible not to be startled by the sensation of the fur's movement. He swallowed and pushed past the fear. His hand settled against her back. "I'm right here."

She looked up and saw the face she had fallen in love with, the expression twisted with lonely desperation. In addition to this, she also saw in him something of a promise, and perhaps even the faintest glimmer of hope.

"I'm right here."

He was ready for transport. Back to Earth, they said, to see what could be done about his eyes and give him time to properly recover. Lalana had gone to make arrangements for her ship so she could travel with him. For the moment, he was forgotten in a dimmed section of sealed corridor, waiting for the medical transport to land. He lay in the mobile cot and closed his eyes, listening to sounds in the distance.

Someone walked by. He thought nothing of it at first, but then the safety doors slid open. He instinctively covered his eyes at the light beyond.

The doors slid shut again. He moved his arm to see who had entered.

It was Sarah Billingsley. She stood motionless at the foot of the cot, staring at him. "Captain Lorca."

There was something in her voice, something unkind, but the tone was inconsequential compared to the expression on her face. Of all the things she could have looked at him with, she had chosen by far the cruelest: pity.

"I was mad at you for so long, you know. The way you dumped me at Spacedock? What an idiot I was. I should have known better than to sleep with the captain."

He didn't say anything. There wasn't anything for him to say.

"I hated you for so long, but now..."

He waited for the other shoe to drop, for her to lash out and say he had gotten what he deserved, to call the loss of his ship and his crew some sort of justice for the way she had been treated, for her to tell him he had gotten exactly what he deserved.

He had fundamentally misunderstood what this conversation was about.

"You did me a favor. I didn't realize it then, but I do now." Her face was so calm, so perfectly poised and full of disdain for the wretched creature before her. "Everything you touch dies."

Billingsley punched the door controls so the light flooded in. He covered his eyes and she walked out.

Part 44