#nerve block

The word floated above the general hubbub of questions and reassurances, pained moans, and beeps and hums of machinery. But he recognized the voice easily, even in his slightly drugged state.

“Alice?”

There came the sound of metal on metal somewhere nearby, and then a surprised,

“Oh. Sorry, sorry--wrong curtain.”

With a fond smile that was somewhat lopsided by the swelling in his cheek, Jones called,

“Over here, love.”

A few seconds later, the curtain to his own little alcove fluttered tentatively, then billowed open as Alice ducked inside. She took in his condition with apprehensive eyes, inching closer, obviously restraining the urge to throw herself into his arms.

“Sheriff Emma called and said you were hurt, and I… well, I thought…”

He held out his hand and relaxed into as placid an expression as he could muster. Alice came closer and grasped it, but he could see she feared hurting him.

“I’m okay, Starfish. Just a bit sore.”

“But you’re bleeding; maybe… shall I fetch a nurse, or…?”

Jones tightened his grip, ignoring the spikes of pain from lacerated skin above shifting muscles. Emma's assessment of the stab wound in his chest had been correct: the sword point had cracked his sternum, which was the source of the most severe pain, but required little more than rest and pain medication as treatment. After imaging to rule out deeper injury, the chest laceration had been repaired; the more minor of his cuts, however, had only been temporarily covered and still needed stitching. Ruefully, he pointed out,

“So are three quarters of the other patients in here right now. I can wait.”

Alice looked like she wanted to protest, but he gave a decisive nod and pulled her closer. As she moved, the fingers of her free hand splayed of their own accord. When nothing happened, she vented a tiny groan of frustration.

“Ugh, I hate not being able to help you!”

“You are helping, just by being here.” He thought once again of that lonely night in Seattle, of freshly restored memories drowned out by crippling pain in his chest, with no one there to bolster his spirits, to give him hope for any sort of future happiness. On impulse, and despite protesting muscles and painful friction on half-clotted gouges in his skin, he pulled her into a tight hug. “I will never take this for granted. Not ever.”

“So you keep saying,” she teased, but her answering embrace was just as fierce.

“I do?”

“Oh yeah. Only every time we do this?”

“Well then it must be true.” Jones allowed her to gingerly extricate herself, then he settled back with a wince. Alice perched lightly on the edge of the bed, gracing him with a watery smile.

“I, uh, heard that the other you is in pretty rough shape.” She fidgeted with the coarse cotton blanket, her eyes sad. “Is it true, then? He was slave to that… killer-monster that took Hope?”

“Aye, he was.” Jones sighed, but strove to exude confidence. “But he’s safe now; Emma won’t allow him to fall back into the killer’s clutches.”

“But…” She trailed off, though her unspoken words were not difficult to guess at. Despite Dr. Whale’s best efforts, there had yet to be a single survivor of the neurological side effects of enslavement.

“He’ll be all right,” he said firmly. In a lighter tone, he added, “We’re made of strong stuff, he and I. All tempered steel and elegance. Though we both know which of us is the handsome one.”

Alice giggled at his attempts to show off his good looks, which were more than slightly marred at present by the blood and bruised swelling all down one side.

“‘Course; no contest there.” She squeezed his hand, reveling it its warmth, its size and strength. The way he could make her feel safe even with so simple a touch. Sensing her thoughts, Jones stroked his thumb along her fingers.

“Why don’t you tell me how the preparations are coming?” he suggested. “I could do with a bit of good news at the moment.”

Just as Alice had drawn a preparatory breath, about to embark upon an enthusiastic update, a scrub-clad man ducked into the alcove, carrying a draped tray.

“Mr. Jones?” After confirmation, he continued, “Kermit here. We’re catching up out there and should be able to get you taken care of very soon.” He set his burden down on a stand and glanced at Jones’ wrists, encircling his own with finger and thumb in demonstration of what he sought.

“Ankle?” he guessed, and Jones nodded.

“The right one.”

Kermit quickly confirmed his identity via the ID band around his ankle, then announced,

“I’m just here to numb you up a little; someone else will do the actual suturing.”

“Can I stay with my papa?” asked Alice. “I promise I won’t get in the way.”

Scrubbing his hands with sanitizer before donning gloves, Kermit shrugged. “As long as your papa doesn’t mind.”

Alice turned an anxious gaze on Jones, who smiled.

“Of course you can stay, Starfish. In fact, I’d prefer it if you did.”

“I will need you to go around to the other side, though,” Kermit told her.

“Alice,” she supplied, though he hadn’t asked. “I’m Alice.”

Her introduction made, she reluctantly let go of Jones’ hand and skirted the bed. Kermit was increasing the height to give himself better access, at the same time lowering its head.

“I’ll be performing a nerve block in this arm and probably the other one, too. Basically, what that involves is putting a small amount of anesthetic into a cluster of nerves in your upper arm, here.” He tapped a spot on his own bicep in demonstration. “And that deadens sensation all the way down the forearm and into the hand. It reduces the amount of anesthetic needed for larger injuries like this.”

By this time, the bed was at its highest position. Checking to be sure she wouldn't be hurting him, Alice slid her arms around her father’s upper arm in a possessive hug, stooping to rest her head on his shoulder. Kermit lay a drape on the bed near Jones’ right ear.

“I’m going to have you raise your arm up, just like… this… hand above your head… perfect.”

Jones now had his arm resting on the drape, his shoulder at an angle greater than 90 degrees, his elbow bent, and hand up near the headboard. As Kermit disinfected the underside of his patient’s upper arm, he launched into a more thorough description of the procedure, along with risks and alternatives. Jones indicated his understanding and didn’t have any questions, so Kermit said,

“Okay, great. I’ll go ahead and numb the skin here so you won’t feel the bigger needle. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.”

Jones turned his gaze upon Alice, who had lifted her head and was watching with a half-fascinated, half-apprehensive expression. He gave her a reassuring smile and gentle reminder.

“I believe you were about to tell me of Captain’s Smee’s Kiddie Cruise.”

Alice beamed at him. “We should call it that! I’ll have to remember that one.”

It had been her idea, after the gut-wrenching news of Hope’s disappearance. Get the rest of the vulnerables out of harm’s way, she thought, but in the least scary manner she could devise. Which turned out to be a sailing excursion on the Jolly Roger. Smee’s Jolly Roger, not the one currently berthed in Storybrooke Harbor. Although, with the rousing success of the first endeavor, the identical ship was now involved in plans for a similar voyage.

They had taken everyone down the coast, beyond the borders of the United Realms, along the shores of the Land Without Magic and, presumably, out of reach of the monster. Such a project had required a lot of careful planning, but had gone off without a hitch, and they were only back for a day or two while they restocked and recruited more families with young children.

Listening to his daughter chatter took Jones’ mind off of the mild discomfort of the procedure, the more moderate breakthrough pain of his injuries, and his fear for everyone he held dear. He felt a swell of pride as Alice recounted detailed preparations that would please even the most straight-laced captains. Of which category Smee was definitely not a part.

“That’s it,” announced Kermit some time later, smoothing a Band-Aid over the puncture and completely throwing off Alice’s train of thought. “Not so bad, right?”

“No.” Jones wiggled his fingers slightly, feeling a definite muting of sensation all along the torn flesh. “And worth it, without question.”

“Glad to hear that,” replied Kermit. “Cuz we get to do it all again on the other side!”

*****

It took almost two hours to thoroughly clean and repair Jones’ wounds, and by the time that was complete, Alice had curled up in a chair nearby to doze. Apparently, her duties as event planner were taking their toll on her energy. Jones himself came close to that state on several occasions, but was always brought back to awareness by a word of instruction, a twinge in one of his wounds, or an announcement over the hospital intercom.

With the tightening of the final knot and the placement of the last bandage came the inevitable instruction to dress and make his way to the reception area for discharge. Which meant more waiting. And eventually, though Alice seemed content to sit and gossip the afternoon away, Jones encouraged her to head home and spend some alone time with Robin. After all, he was intimately acquainted with the lack of privacy aboard his beloved ship. He knew they hadn’t had the opportunity for much one-on-one interaction during the cruise.