#torture flashbacks

"it's alright. We don't expect you to rush into any decisions," the nurse assured her. "He's stable, but he won't be conscious for a while yet. It will do him good to have family support so why don't you go ahead in to see him?"

"Thanks," Henry responded for his mother when Emma hesitated, steering her towards the floor to ceiling glass partition that defined the room that his stepfather occupied. The sliding door was open and even from this distance, the unnatural sounds emitted by the machines inside attacked her senses.

Emma wasn't certain what she really expected but there was nothing to hide behind. Everything was transparent – no real door and no opaque walls – only a barrier of crystal clear glass that wouldn't prevent her from seeing the battered, broken shell of her husband. Her knees didn't want to hold her upright anymore and every nerve ending in her body was itching with the instinct to flee.

She could barely bring herself to look at Killian as he lay motionless on the narrow bed. He looked so small and frail, nearly engulfed by the plethora of monitors and intimidating machines surrounding him. His closed eyes appeared sunken with deep, darkened circles defining them (as if he'd smudged his kohl far too thick), the blackness standing out starkly against the pallid, almost grayish tone of his skin. The tube that extended down into his windpipe protruded from between his lips and from six feet away, she could hear the distinctive, rhythmic hiss of the ventilator that was essentially breathing for him while his perforated lung healed.

She knew he couldn't see her, couldn't see the tears welling in her eyes as she wallowed deeper into her own guilt. Flashes of her actions began to flood her in increasingly disturbing waves. The baton repeatedly lashing at his back, flaying open skin with every blow, bruising muscle and cracking bone below. And that had merely been the prelude as she'd taken the second torture session to even more depraved depths - leaving him chained, gagged and humiliated for over an hour while she'd prepared.

She'd gone on to shackle him to a metal table and electrocute him, all before committing the ultimate insult by burying his own hook into the sinew of his left shoulder. She'd turned his deepest insecurities against him as she'd forced that cold, steel prosthetic down to the bone – relishing his screams into the gag while she'd grinned and laughed at him. How on earth could she face him? Whatever would she be able to say to defend herself? Would his unconscious ears even hear her beg for forgiveness and say how sorry she truly was?

It was too overwhelming and she wasn't prepared. "I can't do this… I can't do this right now…" she sobbed, yanking herself away from her son's supportive arms. She drew her sleeve across her face in a feeble attempt to erase the tear tracks as she backed away, darting for the relative safety of the elevator.

36 hours later

After a little coaxing and a very serious heart to heart conversation with her family, Emma finally reclaimed the strength that had forsaken her earlier. While it hadn't been even the slightest bit easy to sit at her husband's bedside, she knew it was where she belonged. Dr. Whale had warned that the first night could be rough and he'd not exaggerated. Killian's blood pressure seemed to rise or fall randomly as his overburdened heart struggled to keep pumping and even with the ventilator aiding his breathing, his impaired lungs were barely drawing in enough oxygen, triggering alarms all evening.

But he held on.

By the next evening, he'd made enough improvement that he could breathe on his own and Whale had removed the breathing tube. A less intrusive, narrow cannula tucked beneath his nostrils replaced it, still providing his unconscious body with supplemental oxygen as he recovered from the myriad of wounds. Now, neither Killian's condition nor the inclement weather outside seemed as dire as they'd been just twenty four hours ago.

As the second dawn broke, Emma was awakened by a tendril of hazy sunlight peeking between the window blinds and the gleeful chirping of a little bird perched on the ledge outside. Together, they'd weathered the storm, but first, she had to convince herself that this wasn't a dream. She'd stretched as she planted her feet on the floor, glancing over at the clock hanging on the wall which revealed the time to be nearly 9am. Had she actually slept that soundly? The last thing she remembered was a nurse checking Killian's vitals around 1am. Or maybe it was 2?

She made her way to the window and gently tugged at the cord to open the vertical blinds, blinking at the brilliance and welcome beauty of the blue skies beyond the glass. There wasn't a grey cloud in sight and there was no doubt that the curse was broken. Fiona's dark magic had been vanquished by the simple act of Killian Jones surviving. Physically, she now had the confirmation that he was going to be fine, but so much healing was going to be necessary and with the curse broken and magic returning, she knew she could help him, should he allow it. She certainly could remedy the physical ailments, but she was wise enough to realize that a discussion of magical healing wouldn't be the first subject broached when he woke. Inevitably, she'd have to face him, and after two nights thinking of little else, she was ready to prepare for their uncertain future – at least she thought she was ready.

The buzzing and rattling of her phone against the metal nightstand brought her back down to earth and as she retrieved it, she wasn't the least bit surprised to discover that it was her father calling. Waking up to bright, blue skies probably had everyone in town celebrating another curse defeated, but Emma wasn't exactly ready to celebrate anything just yet, so she hoped he wasn't too overly excited. She answered the call with every expectation of hearing queries about Killian's status but what she ended up hearing caught her entirely off guard.

"Good morning, Dad."

"Emma, I'm so glad you answered. Do you think you can make it down to the station right away?" David asked and Emma could hear the urgency and anxiety in his voice.

"Uh, yeah… I suppose so…" she replied, dragging her boots out from beneath the chair.

"Great! I think the curse broke and things got weird."

"Weird? What sort of weird – giant snowman weird or flying monkey weird?"

"I suppose you'll have to see this one for yourself… I wasn't even sure what to do next…"

"Okay, then… I'll be there in a few minutes. Killian hasn't woke up yet so I don't think he'll miss me…"

"Thanks! See you in a few!" David said before disconnecting the call. She had no idea what could be so pressing at the station but something definitely had David flustered. She sat down for a moment to tug on her boots then grabbed her leather jacket that she'd draped over the back of the fold-out chair. She considered flipping it back into chair form, but decided she'd better not take the extra time. Before leaving, she stooped over to plant a tentative, but tender kiss onto Killian's forehead and then scurried out the door. The curse might have been broken but there was still apparently never a dull moment in Storybrooke.

Emma didn't even need to take that first step through the doorway of the Sheriff station to understand exactly why David had called. The wail of an unhappy infant echoed throughout the squad room and she immediately spotted her exasperated father pacing the floor in front of the holding cell cradling a screeching newborn against his shoulder.

"Uh – Dad?" she asked, struggling to wrap her brain around what an infant might be doing here in the station. "Why are you holding a screaming baby?"

"I don't really know… I came in this morning around eight and went into your office with every intention of helping catch up on some paperwork. After checking the answering machine for any reports that might have come in overnight with the storms, I sat here listening as Gideon was in the cell grumbling about breakfast being late. I was ignoring him, but just as the rain finally let up and the skies cleared, I heard this little one squawking from inside the holding cell."

"The baby was inside the cell?"

"Yes, and only Gideon was in there before. I think this is him."

"Baby Gideon?" Emma asked incredulously, realizing that in Storybrooke's timeline, Gideon would have only been a few weeks old. The Dark Realm of the Black Fairy had aged him abnormally and it appeared that breaking Fiona's curse had reverted him back to his true age. "Have you tried calling Belle?"

"You were the first person I called - well, second person. I tried your mother first but she didn't answer so I wasn't sure what else to do."

"Sounds like he's hungry," Emma commented as she decided this would be a good time to test that her magic was restored, conjuring up a bottle full of baby formula. "So nice to have magic back," she smiled as she handed the bottle to David who repositioned the baby into the crook of his elbow. The hungry infant instantly latched on and gulped the milk greedily. "Yep – he was hungry."

"I guess we really should call Belle and maybe Gold," David stated as he stared at the infant in his arms. "Although, since this whole mess with Fiona began after Belle tried to send Gideon away from Rumplestiltskin, maybe calling him isn't such a great idea…"

"I'll leave that up to Belle. You feed that little guy and I'll give her a call. If our hunch is correct and this really is Gideon, hopefully she'll be able to identify him. He was only a few hours old when she handed him over to the Blue Fairy."

One brief phone call to an overjoyed mother and her instant recognition of a very distinct birthmark allowed Emma to reunite Belle with her son. Apparently, this was what the fairies had meant when they'd referenced restoring Gideon's innocence – giving him back a clean slate by reverting him back to his actual age. This time, he'd be raised properly by a loving mother instead of a manipulative, psychotic fairy, but no one really knew if he'd retain any memories of his upbringing under Fiona's control. There was always a chance it could lead to nightmares or some sort of mental disassociation later, but for now, he was a happy baby in his mother's arms and truthfully, Emma was a tiny bit jealous.

What she wouldn't have given to be able to turn back the clock on her own ordeal - to forget every toxic thing she'd said and done while languishing under the control of Fiona's curse. Gideon might not have killed anyone while serving as Fiona's lackey, but he'd hurt a lot of people and somehow, he was still deserving of a restart? She seriously considered taking a dream catcher to strip herself of those hurtful memories, but feared it wouldn't be enough. She'd have to do the same to Killian, to Henry, and to anyone else who knew the truth and where was the fairness in that? No, there wasn't going to be a reset button for her or anyone else who'd been harmed and that fact just stung bitterly.

She'd made her way back to the hospital as soon as she could after the joyful parent-child reunion. As a mother, she was truly happy for Belle – she really was – but she couldn't bear to be surrounded by someone else's joy while she was still so miserable. There was a definite degree of unfairness to it, but Emma supposed that as long as the curse was broken and Killian's life was spared, it wasn't her place to question the fates.

When she arrived, she was almost relieved to find her husband still sleeping soundly, grateful to delay the inevitable confrontation a little while longer. She peeled off her jacket and tossed it casually across the back of the chair before slumping down into the seat that someone from the staff had folded back into a chair. After two nights here, she'd grown accustomed to the constant blips and beeps of the machines, comforted by the fact that fewer devices were necessary and that the sounds had grown increasingly consistent. She found herself watching his chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, noting that normal color was returning to his skin as her eyes drifted upward to see the rosy flush across his cheeks.

Perhaps he was a little too warm? She could see that he had two blankets draped over him, one ivory and another that was a faded pale blue. His brow also seemed to be covered with a faint sheen of sweat so she decided to tug the top blanket off of him, tossing it to the foot of the bed. It must have been a relief to him as he seemed to take a deeper breath and she thought she heard him return a little moan of gratitude when her fingertips stroked his stubbled jowl. She ran a fingernail through his thicker whiskers that had grown nearly into a full beard speckled with flecks of ginger and silver, certain he'd be anxious for a shave once he awakened.

Despite her own lingering doubt, she permitted a ghost of a smile to lift the corners of her lips as she rested her hand atop his, gently curling her fingers around his while cautiously trying not to disturb the IV catheter taped to his wrist. She then prepared herself for what would likely be another long day of waiting by tipping her head back and squeezing her eyes shut before her ears perked at the rustle of fabric. Instantly alert, her eyes flew open as she felt a minute twitch against her fingertips.

"Killian?" she called out expectantly, eager to witness his eyelids flutter open or hear his voice for the first time since she'd regained her senses. She tried to squeeze his fingers to reassure him that she was there with him, but instead of welcoming the gesture, his fingers jerked away from her grasp. "I'm sorry…" she stammered as that single, reflexive motion drove a dagger straight through her already aching heart. "I didn't mean to…"

"Swan?" his gravely, confused voice asked. "Is that you?" The question came with such skepticism that it almost made her want to slink away. She knew he'd already recognized her voice but in her heart, Emma knew why he'd asked that particular question. He wanted to know if it was really her, not the vicious cursed persona waiting to do him further harm.

"Yes, it's me," she replied shyly, her eyes welling both with tears of joy and uncertainty. "It's really me, Killian, and I owe you the biggest apology… What I've done…" She swallowed down the lump forming in the back of her throat and just let it all out. "You have every right to hate me for it and if you don't want me to stay, I understand but I wasn't going to leave until I had the chance to tell you how sorry I am."

Her apology came in rapid fire rambling that had Killian's still-fuzzy brain overloading. He forced his heavy eyelids open, blinking a few times as his sight adjusted to the brightness of the room. He quickly discovered that his weary muscles didn't want to respond but he somehow managed to grasp her wrist, causing her to pause for a breath. "Love, please…," he pleaded with her as he agonizingly shifted his weight enough to enable him to look her in the eye. "That wasn't you."

"You didn't even want me to touch you a moment ago," she sobbed. "I get it – you're still afraid I might hurt you again…"

"What? What do you mean?"

"You pulled your hand away from me when you woke and heard my voice."

"Emma, I was startled. I guess I flinched – probably would have at anyone's touch out of sheer self-preservation instinct…" He had to take a brief pause there as his body reminded him why he was lying in a hospital bed. "I awoke in a strange place with my last waking memory being nothing but pain…" He winced when trying to find a position where he didn't ache, unsure how much longer he could withstand the physical toll that this conversation was taking on him. Everything hurt – the searing ache in his chest, the burning sensation from the countless welts on his back and the dry, scratchy flames licking at his throat, making it agonizing just to swallow, let alone talk. He was beginning to feel his body coaxing him to return to the deep slumber, but he wasn't ready just yet. "Is there something here I could drink?" he finally asked when he couldn't bear the sensation that he'd swallowed a sandbar any longer.

"Um, yeah, I think so…," she answered, almost thankful that he'd changed the subject. She glanced over to the rolling side table where the nurse had earlier left a cup filled with ice chips as they'd anticipated Killian might experience a dry, sore throat when he came around. "Victor wasn't sure how well you'd be able to swallow so he didn't want you drinking too much but he did say you could have some ice. I know it's not much, but…"

"It's fine, Love," he assured her as she scooped up a flat, round chunk of ice onto the plastic spoon the nurse had left for them and raised it to his mouth. She let the ice slide off onto his tongue without saying a word and while he would have preferred to chug a fifth of rum, he thanked her for helping this little bit.

"Try not to talk so much for a while," she advised. "Maybe use some shorter sentences? Victor said your throat might be irritated for a few days from the breathing tube. Are you in a lot of pain right now?"

"Delightful," he grumbled in response to her comment about the breathing tube, whatever that was, but he wasn't quite certain how to reply to her query. He wanted to tell her that of course, he was in a lot of pain, but even in his compromised state, he could tell how much guilt was eating away at her, so he lied for her sake. "I'm sore, but I'll survive." Now it was his turn to ask a question. "What about Fiona?"

"She's gone – sent back to her miserable, lonely realm that she'll never be able to leave again. She won't be back."

"Your family?"

She'd forgotten that he'd been unconscious and bleeding out in the center of Main Street when he'd broken that portion of the Black Fairy's curse by committing an act of True Love as he'd shielded Henry from Gideon's bullet. She didn't think that this was the best time to delve into those darker details so she left out a bit of the tale. "They were all freed from Fiona's snow globe prison when the curse broke. They're all safe and sound and looking forward to seeing you recover. We didn't quite get to finish our wedding reception, or get to our honeymoon for that matter – provided you still want that…"

The insecurity in her voice made him ache even more than all of his wounds. "We'll get there, Love," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere…" He was gradually losing his tenuous grip on consciousness as his body's craving for sleep intensified.

"Why don't you get some rest and we'll talk more when you're feeling stronger?" she urged as his head sunk back against the pillows once again. Emma doubted he'd even heard the last few words as his eyes fell closed. He'd learn soon enough what an important role he'd played, how his sacrifice had freed their family and how his survival (and a tiny pinch of magic) had saved them all. For now, she knew it was best to let him sleep and revel in how much this man loved her – so much that he'd apparently forgiven all the atrocities she'd committed against him. There hadn't been a hint of animosity in anything he'd said and despite her initial fear of rejection, he'd not sent her away. This man who'd once doubted that he could be a hero had prevented all of their undoings and as far as she was concerned, had earned himself a new chapter in the stories Fiona has sought to destroy.