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jarienn972 · 8 years ago

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Only a Little Superstitious - Chapter Nine

As revealed in the previous installment, Emma has spilled everything to Ranger Littlecreek and now she’s faced with learning just how serious Killian’s injury was. Things are not going to be easy for our pirate - which I’m sure will bring a smile to the face of @killian-whump.

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"Mrs. Jones?"

She heard the voice but from where? Was this part of a dream?

"Mrs. Jones?" the voice repeated, this time snapping Emma awake as she was struck with the realization that she'd fallen asleep on a battered faux leather sofa here in the dreary hospital waiting room. Her eyes gradually opened to see the face of a woman with deep olive skin and jet black hair pulled into a loose bun atop her head standing before her.

"Yes…?" she replied drowsily, not yet fully alert but already feeling the protest from her back, neck and shoulders as she tried to straighten her body from the awkward position she'd slept in. "Sorry – fell asleep, I guess…"

"It's alright," the nurse answered with a sweet smile. "Happens all the time. I just came to let you know that your husband is out of surgery and has been moved into recovery. The surgeon would like to speak to you for a moment."

"Is Killian okay?" Emma wondered, jolted fully awake with renewed concern as the thought of the surgeon wanting to speak with her didn't sound promising.

"He's very critical, but stable at the moment. Dr. Pineda will tell you more. Please, follow me."

Emma stood and retrieved the backpack, having used it as a pillow apparently, then followed the raven-haired nurse along a narrow corridor to what could pass for a smaller version of the waiting room they'd just left. This room held only six wooden armchairs that looked even less inviting than the furniture in the larger room. There were two chairs positioned against each of the windowless walls, a square table topped with months old magazines next to each pair. The room was certainly anything but cozy – feeling decidedly cold as she noticed there wasn't even a single piece of artwork or a television and she couldn't help but wonder exactly what this little room was typically used for.

The nurse gestured for Emma to have a seat then left her in the strange little room but Emma didn't have a chance to sit down in one of those seemingly uncomfortable armchairs before a tall, dark haired man sporting a crisp white lab coat and pale blue surgical scrubs appeared behind her in the doorway.

"Mrs. Jones?" he asked with a glance down at the metal clipboard in his hand.

"Yes – that's me," Emma replied, trying to ignore the growing lump in her throat as she awaited her husband's prognosis.

"I'm Dr. Pineda, part of the surgical team who just finished patching your husband back together," the doctor stated with a very polite smile, obviously attempting to lighten the mood. "Why don't you have a seat?" He motioned toward the nearest pair of armchairs, but Emma didn't really want to sit down.

"I'd really prefer to just stand right now."

"That's fine. Whatever is more comfortable for you. I just have to tell you that your husband is a very lucky man. We brought him back to recovery about twenty minutes ago after removing this nasty little thing from against his spinal column…" He reached into the right-hand pocket of his lab coat and brought out a small specimen jar which contained a metal triangle that was discolored by rust and probably blood. It was about a half-inch long and even from a distance, Emma could see that its edges were jagged and most likely, very sharp. "This appears to have broken off of the blade used to stab him and while that initial puncture wound certainly caused extensive damage itself, this tiny little razor blade was making things worse. Any movement your husband made was causing this thing to shift around, nicking whatever was around it causing heavy internal bleeding and some nerve damage. Thankfully, nothing was completely severed so there shouldn't be any permanent damage."

"So, his inability to move his legs this morning wasn't due to paralysis?"

"No. There's a lot of swelling around the site of the wound due to infection and pooling blood from those internal injuries and there was damage to the cartilage disk between his T-12 and L-1 vertebrae, but that will heal. We've drained most of the excess fluid, but honestly, it was a good thing you got him here when you did. The homeopathic remedies were a good start to treat the infection, just not strong enough and there was no way for you to know how extensive the internal bleeding was. With the amount of blood loss, he might have only made it a few more hours…"

"He'll be okay now though, right?" Emma asked with a noticeable, horrified gulp.

"Now that the broken shard is out of his chest and no longer opening new wounds, he should recover fully. We've repaired all of the major damage, but he did lose a lot of blood. He'll likely need a few more transfusions to help his system stabilize, but from the look of his numerous scars, he doesn't appear to be a stranger to traumatic injuries. I saw that his chart lists his occupation as Deputy Sheriff, but these injuries sure don't look like they came from that profession…"

Emma nearly choked as she thought about how to explain all of Killian's battle scars in a way that would be believable. It had been so much easier to just spill it all to Carlos Littlecreek.

"He was a Captain in the Navy – the Royal Navy – years ago. Saw more than his fair share of battle until he lost his hand… He didn't become Deputy Sheriff until long after that."

"I see. That would certainly make sense to explain all of that trauma. I hope for his sake that it means he's a survivor."

"You could say that. He's led an interesting life," Emma replied. "Will I be able to see him soon?"

"I don't normally allow this, but since you are both law enforcement officers, I'll make an exception and have Patrice take you back there for a few minutes. It's been a slow morning so far, so he's the only patient in recovery right now. He isn't going to be conscious yet."

"It's okay. I just need to see for myself that he's alright. Thank you for everything you've done to help him."

"You're very welcome, Mrs. Jones, but your husband definitely has the most work to do. The next 24 hours are going to be critical and while he is stable at the moment, that could change in an instant so just be prepared for anything…" Emma nodded in response but didn't say anything else. She understood how precarious the situation was, finally lowering herself into one of the armchairs in that windowless room, staring pensively at the blank wall opposite her as the doctor departed, stopping to say a few words to the dark-haired nurse who had escorted Emma to this room before he disappeared down the corridor. A moment later, that same nurse, presumably Patrice, stepped through the doorway and approached Emma, a very professional, yet empathetic smile on her lips.

"Dr. Pineda just told me he'd given you permission to spend a few minutes with your husband. He's this way so you can follow me and you can go ahead and leave the backpack here. No one will bother it." Barely waiting for Emma to get to her feet, Patrice headed back out of the door and made a right turn. Emma sprang up and stayed right behind her as they passed several rooms on each side of the hallway, most with their doors closed. Patrice finally paused as the corridor ended at a set of double doors. "Wait here for just a moment while I let Rosa know that you've been authorized to stay a few minutes. There's a sink just to the left if you'd please wash your hands before going inside. I'll be right back…"

Emma stepped toward the huge steel double sink while Patrice pushed open one of the doors they'd been standing in front of and quickly scrubbed her hands while attempting to get a glimpse inside the room through the little windows in each door. She could see Patrice walking back toward her from the other end of the room but she couldn't make out much else except a bunch of beige and pale blue curtains that cordoned off the room. She finished drying off her hands just as the door swung open and the nurse gestured for her to enter.

Emma timidly accepted the invitation, suddenly awash with overwhelming emotion - including a feeling of awkwardness that she was entering an area that would normally be off-limits. She couldn't yet see where her husband lay, but obviously he was shrouded behind one of these many curtains and the increasing butterflies in her stomach reminded her he was near. Patrice had stopped next to the third curtain and was now facing Emma, preparing to go over a few instructions.

"Your husband is right back here and as you can see, even when we don't have a lot of patients, it's a little bit close in here so there's nowhere to sit down. It's okay to touch him but try not to disturb any of the monitoring devices. You'll see that he is still intubated until his vitals stabilize, but we plan on being able to remove the tube before we bring him upstairs. It might look a little worrisome, but his lungs are technically fine - he's just still coming out of very heavy general anesthesia. I think that covers it. Do you have any questions for me?" Emma shook her head, barely able to think of anything while so tense. "Alright then – I'll give you fifteen minutes. You'll see Rosa just to the left should anything happen."

Patrice tugged the privacy curtain aside, allowing Emma to step through before leaving them alone and the first thought that crossed Emma's mind was that the nurse hadn't been exaggerating when she warned that Killian might look a little frightening. She tried hard to fight back the little gasp that escaped her lungs at the moment she laid eyes on her husband laying silently on the narrow bed which actually looked more like a gurney with the metal safety rails raised on both sides. A pale blue blanket was draped over him, tucked loosely around his legs and hips and pulled up to his chest where it obscured her view of the thick gauze bandages covering the surgical incision that would soon become his latest scar. His arms were positioned straight atop the blanket and she could see that there were bundles of wires extending out from beneath the blanket toward various electronic devices and several tubes stretching from the transparent bags of donated blood and intravenous fluids which led into a spot on the inside of his right forearm.

She reached between the metal rails to grasp his hand and unexpectedly noticed that it was secured to the bed by a soft white fabric cuff - which had her wondering why they would have him restrained. She assumed it had to be for one of two reasons – either they needed to keep his arm immobilized due to the unusual location of the IV or they were concerned that he'd awaken and in a semi-conscious state possibly attempt to yank out the IV or maybe even the breathing tube. She did her best to ignore the restraint and wrap her hand around his, finding herself somewhat unnerved by the sensation of his bare, ring-less fingers. It was almost surreal to see him like this – his skin a pale, pasty white; the unnatural rise and fall of his chest as his breathing was aided by the ventilator.

Her left hand found its way to his cheek, caressing the side of his face while being mindful of the breathing tube that marred her view his still handsome features. Her fingertips drifted down to his jawline until she found herself absentmindedly playing with the tendrils of dark hair along the nape of his neck.

"I love you," she whispered to his ear as she leaned in as close as she could to him as she anticipated the inevitable tears coming on. Why hadn't he let her know how much pain he'd been in? He had to have been in complete agony every time that broken piece of dagger moved and inflicted pain anew, but he hadn't complained. If she'd known she never would have made the decision not to go directly to a hospital – but he knew that. He'd suffered in an attempt to keep both of them safe, but for how long? "Hang in there…"

She hadn't expected any response so when she glanced back up at his face, she wasn't expecting to see a pair of blue eyes staring back at her. His gaze was glassy and she saw no hint of recognition as he was still deeply under the effects of anesthesia and morphine but she took it as a good sign even if those eyelids didn't stay open for long and unconsciousness quickly reclaimed him. She waited patiently, hoping for another moment of wakefulness, but none came. It was disappointing, but she knew not to expect much – honestly, he hadn't been out of the operating room that long. It was going to take time for him to get well – to get strong enough for them to return home, but for now, she had to be strong to keep both of them alive and stay one step ahead of Nehemiah Kronk.

Emma had been so lost in thought that she barely noticed when Patrice returned, gently tapping her on the shoulder to garner her attention.

"Has it been fifteen minutes already?" Emma wondered, time barely relevant to her train of thought right now.

"I'm afraid so," the nurse replied. "Don't worry – I'll come get you when we're ready to move him to a private room upstairs. That way, you can ride up with him, okay?"

"Okay. You obviously know where you'll be able to find me," Emma sighed dejectedly. She wanted so much to kiss her husband right now, but with the railings in the way, she had to settle for a transferred one – pressing her lips against her own fingertips then tenderly touching them to his cheek. "See you in a little while, my love," she assured him, hoping that the nurse hadn't just seen the tear that just tumbled across her own cheekbone – not that the damp, shiny trail it left on her skin wouldn't be evidence enough. She wanted to give some semblance of strength even if it was ridiculous to think that a nurse would be bothered by the sight of a patient's wife crying. It was more her pride getting in the way than anything else.

"Come on," Patrice spoke up. "I'll walk you back to the waiting room where you met Dr. Pineda so you can collect your things."

"Thank you," Emma responded, giving Killian's hand one last squeeze before letting go. "May I ask you a question though? Why is his hand restrained like that?"

"We had such a horrible time keeping a viable IV line. The one that the paramedics started collapsed and he was so dehydrated that it took multiple attempts to located a useable vein. The best one that we could get was that one on the inside of his forearm but it's a location that's easily dislodged and since we didn't have a way to explain that to him before we put him under, we had to use the restraint so that if he woke, he wouldn't pull it free accidentally. Once he's conscious, we can explain it to him and remove it."

"Okay, that makes sense. He might put up a bit of a fight when he wakes though. He tends to take offense to being tied up…"

"I'll make a note of that," the nurse stated with a slightly raised eyebrow, "but I doubt he'll be up to fighting for a while…"

"I'm hoping you're wrong about that," Emma replied with a half-hearted grin. She needed Killian to be his usual stubborn self and start fighting back because it would be the first step in returning their lives to normal.

Time seemed to drag on excruciatingly slow as Emma sat alone again in the waiting room. She figured she should call their family with an update but since she didn't know exactly how much time it might be before news came that Killian was being moved out of recovery, she just stayed there, staring blankly at whatever old sitcom rerun was playing on the television mounted on the opposite wall. The actors seemed vaguely familiar but she wasn't really focused on the show as it was merely providing a mindless distraction to keep her brain at least semi-occupied – not that it was working.

Nearly forty minutes passed before she saw the raven-haired nurse's face again and the moment Patrice stepped through the doorway, Emma sprang to her feet.

"Mrs. Jones – my apologies for the delay in coming to get you," the nurse began as she gestured for Emma to join her in the corridor. "We had a minor setback that altered plans a little…"

"Setback?" Emma didn't like the sound of that word. "What exactly do you mean by 'setback'?"

"Come with me. I'll take you upstairs and try to explain on the way…" She led Emma over to the elevator bank to the right of the waiting area, pausing to press the UP arrow before she would continue the report.

"What exactly is going on?" Emma wondered, the unknown making her fearful that her husband may have taken another turn for the worse.

"Your husband's temperature spiked quite suddenly just as we thought his vitals had stabilized enough to move him upstairs and he suffered a minor seizure," the nurse stated as they entered the opening elevator. "We went ahead and moved him upstairs so that we could get him situated with cold compresses and medication to try to bring down the fever. We've also given him an anti-convulsive, but until his temperature returns to normal, he's definitely still susceptible to seizures which become increasingly dangerous for him due to the extent of internal injury he suffered because a violent seizure might tear open sutures or worse."

"How high was his fever?"

"It jumped to over 104 degrees in minutes and while it had been a little high before surgery due to the infected wound, this was rather unusual. Dr. Pineda even doublechecked his X-rays to ensure there wasn't another fragment we might have missed, but didn't find anything else. We're going to have to closely monitor him so that combined with the extra security that was requested due to the nature of your situation led us to the decision to place him in Intensive Care."

"Wait – Intensive Care?" Emma repeated, stunned at how far this had progressed.

"Right now, it's mainly precautionary," Patrice insisted as the elevator doors parted at the fourth floor. "It'll give us a better environment to evaluate him so we can get to the bottom of what caused his temperature to rise so drastically and hopefully, get it under control before he suffers any additional seizures. We just don't want to take any chances. I'm sure you understand that."

"Of course, I understand," Emma replied. All too well, she thought to herself as she was reminded once more of the dangerous gamble she'd undertaken. "It doesn't mean it doesn't still worry me though."

"I know," the nurse empathized. "He's been through a lot and that has to be frightening. That fragment really caused a lot of damage and honestly, he's really lucky he's still alive." Yeah, luckiest damn pirate in the universe Emma chuckled to herself.

Patrice headed to the left as they exited the elevator and Emma lagged behind, listlessly taking each step as so many unpleasant thoughts assaulted her mind. All she wanted right now was for Killian to be alright. She couldn't think about Nehemiah Kronk out there pretending to be a Federal Marshal as he hunted them. She couldn't think about Regina back home trying to figure out how to make that stupid scepter work to get the portal reopened and she certainly couldn't think for one second about their family – likely wrought with worry as they were too far away to comfort her at this moment. No, she couldn't allow herself to think about any of that. She just wanted to be with her husband and do whatever she could now to make up for her poor choice yesterday. She should have allowed Ranger Littlecreek to bring them straight here – should have done exactly that, but she hadn't made that decision. Until Sarah Bending Willow had mentioned the broken piece of the dagger, Killian's wound hadn't seemed quite as serious as it instantly became.

"Are you okay, Mrs. Jones?" Patrice asked, concerned that the woman following behind her had become so quiet.

"Yes – yes, I'm fine," Emma stammered as the nurse's words brought her back into this reality. "I was just trying not to think too much and managed to get myself thinking WAY too much…"

"I understand," Patrice responded in a calm, heartfelt tone as she approached the nurse's station for this wing. A man and woman stood on either side of the desk – one filing patient charts while the other was taking inventory of what appeared to Emma to be medications. "One moment. I'll introduce you to Bernadette and Tobias here…" Patrice stepped up to the desk, saying a few words to her colleagues that Emma couldn't make out but she saw the male nurse, Tobias, point toward a room just steps ahead before resuming his task. The female nurse, Bernadette, tucked the last clipboard back onto the rack then turned toward Emma with a solemn, professional smile on her face. It seemed genuine but this was obviously a place where the staff wasn't going to wear their emotions so openly. "Mrs. Jones, this is Bernadette," Patrice stated. "She's going to take over from here. I've got to head back to my own post, but I'll leave you in her capable hands."

"Thank you, Patrice," Bernadette said with another cordial smile as Patrice nodded and turned back toward the elevator. "Mrs. Jones, we're going to take good care of your husband. I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me and I'll be happy to answer any that I can."

"Right now, I really just want to spend more than fifteen minutes with him. I'll worry about questions later," Emma answered honestly.

"Of course. He's right over here in room 406. I'll give you some time alone and then I'll come back to answer any questions you might think of or help you out with anything you might need. Do you have any family or friends here with you?"

"No – they're all back in Maine. Closest we have to a friend here would be the Park Ranger and his grandmother who helped us out…"

"I see," Bernadette replied but she didn't comment further. This had to be stressful enough to deal with alone without unnecessary commentary from a stranger. "You can go on in. He's still unconscious but it will do him good to hear your voice."

"Thank you," Emma responded with a forced smile as she found herself fighting against a sudden trepidation – her heart nearly leaping into her throat to suffocate her as she stared at the room's entrance just feet away from her. Why was she suddenly trembling? She'd seen him just a few minutes ago and it hadn't been this scary. Maybe it was the seizure that changed her outlook with its unpredictability or maybe it was the very basic fact that she wished she weren't alone right now.

He didn't really look much worse than he had in the recovery room. Maybe it was just the harsh florescent overhead lights that were giving his skin a ghastly pale cast, intensifying the contrast to the deep purple bruising spreading beneath the surface where the failed attempts to secure an IV line had been made. They really looked painful, but of course, they were the very least of his problems right now and if there was one positive note she could see, it was that he was at least breathing on his own, even if it was supplemented with additional oxygen being funneled directly to his nostrils via a transparent tube stretched across his face. However erratic it might be, just seeing his chest rise and fall unaided brought her a little bit of peace.

She tenderly drew her fingertips across his temple, allowing them to drift over his cheek down to the scruff along his jawline, feeling the heat radiating from his body. She glanced over at the numerous electronic screens positioned to his left trying to make sense of the blips, bleeps and numbers displayed and find the one that indicated his current body temperature as she made out ones registering his current heart rate of 76 beats per minute and what looked like his blood pressure. She finally located the number that looked most like a temperature – a number that was fluctuating between 102.3 and 102.4. No wonder he was so warm but what had her somewhat alarmed was the fact that unlike yesterday in the cabin or at Grandmother Bending Willow's home, he wasn't sweating. Did he even know he was so feverish?

"I'm so sorry, Killian…," she whispered. "I wish I could heal you right now and take away all of this pain…" She pressed her lips to his forehead, unable to hold back the tear that fell onto his cheek when the overwhelming emotion flooded over her yet again. Her already bloodshot eyes welled with seemingly uncontrollable tears as she stopped trying to hide them behind the bulletproof façade. They were thousands of miles from home, being stalked by a cunning mercenary and Killian was barely clinging to life at one of the few moments she needed him to hold her more than ever.

Author's Note: The pirate is definitely going to have some rough times ahead of him as they'll soon learn that the physical injury might not be his only battle. This story has the word Superstitious in the title for a good reason and the chapters ahead will start delving into the more supernatural aspects of this tale as we start seeing myths and legends coming together to reveal the true nature of the portal Yzma and Kronk were seeking.

#cs ff #cs fanfics #cs fan fiction #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfiction #only a little superstitious

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