storybrooke hospital

The Recreant - Part Three

Here’s the next chapter where Emma is finally back home so yes - this one brings on the angst.  This also delves into the first of a couple of slightly controversial topics as the mystery that led to the attack deepens.

Complete Story on AO3  or  FF.net

Part One and Two on Tumblr


7:01pm

Situated on the third floor, Storybrooke Hospital’s tiny Intensive Care Unit was just steps away from the elevator. Designed for the care of no more than four patients needing special care and round the clock monitoring, the unit had its own dedicated nursing staff and even its own operating room. While it didn’t see a lot of traffic - even with the town’s isolation and often torrid developments - it was a necessity in a magical town where it wasn’t exactly possible to airlift patients to another facility. They’d had to adapt to take care of their own and currently, Killian was the only patient they were tending to. He’d come out of surgery only a few minutes earlier so the team was scurrying about, darting in and out of the doorway off to the left of the nurse’s station that was positioned in the middle of the floor, right in front of the elevator doors as they parted for Emma.

Her heart was heavy with uncertainty and she was both physically and mentally tired as she glanced around for Dr. Whale, tempted to poke her head into the room she knew her husband occupied, but she resisted – for now. She’d spoken to the doctor not fifteen minutes ago and he’d implored her to meet him as soon as possible, again not really getting into a lot of detail. Just the mention of the words “Intensive Care” gave her chills and she wasn’t feeling any less uneasy as she stood here now, slightly nauseated by the overwhelming scent of disinfectant in the air, even as she caught sight of Dr. Whale strolling toward her.

“Emma,” he greeted her while tugging off a pale blue surgical cap and tossing it into a bin labeled soiled linens. “Why don’t we talk over here?” He directed her toward an almost claustrophobic waiting room off to the right of the elevator which was spartanly furnished with only a battered black leather sofa and a scarred wooden armchair that appeared to have been borrowed from someone’s office (sometime back in the mid-1990’s maybe).

She nodded, moving slowly and apprehensively as she awaited Whale’s assessment of her husband’s injuries. She lowered herself onto the sofa and steeled her composure, finally looking up at Whale to make eye contact as he sat down in the chair across from her. If she hadn’t already been so upset, she might have been distracted by his ridiculous spiky platinum hair, but she fought to remind herself that she was here for his medical expertise, not for a fashion lecture.

“Okay,” she began, taking a deep breath to prepare herself for all that he would have to say. “You wouldn’t really tell me anything over the phone. I know this must be bad or you wouldn’t be so evasive.”

“I wasn’t intending to be evasive,” Whale replied sincerely. “I simply intended to have this conversation in person and in private.”

“Then be honest with me – how serious is this?” Her question was blunt, but that was not unexpected.

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Look at Where You Are (Where You Started)

These past few episodes have been pretty angsty, so here’s some fluff. After the birth of his and Emma’s daughter, Killian and Regina commiserate about how far they’ve come on their personal journeys. Title shamelessly stolen from Hamilton.

[AO3]

The few times Killian has been in Storybrooke’s hospital, it was always a hustle of bodies running about to wage their own battles with death. Of course, every time he was here, some sort of crisis was embroiling the town, setting the hospital staff on edge. Tonight, however, the hospital is quiet, a sense of calm enveloping the halls.

Or maybe it isn’t calm.

Maybe the hospital is just like every other time he’s been before and he’s surrounded by a cacophony of raised and worried voices of the wounded and their physicians. Killian hardly knows at the moment, attention instead focused on a room that he is not allowed to enter, only observe, a wall of glass separating him from the object of his desires: the small infant sleeping in the third bed from the left in the hospital nursery.

She’s wrapped in a pink blanket patterned with tiny ducks and wearing a matching hat that obscures her tiny tufts of dark hair. Her swaddled form is laying in bassinet that does not look as comfortable as she deserves, especially an infant of her station, but Killian can briefly forgive the hospital nursery if only for the small sign signifying her parentage – the name “Jones” scrawled across the pink label in large block letters.

She’s his. Theirs, he mentally corrects thinking of Emma, his heart bursting with barely concealed awe and love. The labor had been blessedly quick and uneventful – “a first for the family,” Dave had remarked in the aftermath, his voice filled with unconcealed relief. There’s a small bit of guilt that tugs at Killian for leaving Emma asleep in her hospital room, but he is unable to draw himself away from the partition separating him and his daughter.

He wants to hold her. He doesn’t quite understand this realm’s insistence on separating a infant from its parents for long periods of time – something about allowing the mothers to sleep, he thinks – but since pregnancy and childbirth isn’t a near-death sentence here, he chooses not to protest. Much. Still, he doubts anything or anyone can stop him from keeping a brief vigil over her.

She looks so peaceful sleeping here, he thinks. It’s difficult to believe that hours ago she entered the world screaming. Even the nurses commented on the strength of her tiny lungs. Killian felt a tiny surge of pride when he heard that compliment, not that there should be any surprise that the child of the Savior wouldn’t be strong. Still, his daughter’s tiny cries broke his heart a bit, a wave of protectiveness overcoming him at the thought of anything causing her stress or discomfort. He’s quickly beginning to understand Dave a bit more, not that Killian will admit it to the prince.

A shuffling and a series of whispered statements break Killian out of his reverie. He turns quickly, body tensing and ready for a fight to see Regina moving behind him, hands raised and a light glow emitting from her fingertips. He raises an eyebrow in question when he sees her, body relaxing at the sight of his ally and friend.

“You’re losing your touch, Guyliner,” she teases, after she finishes whatever incantation she had been performing.

“As you can see, I have reason to be distracted,” he responds, titling her head toward the glass wall separating them from the babies. “And just what were you doing behind my back, Your Majesty?

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Glutton for Cheese

“Emma!  Emma!”

Regina walked briskly and purposefully down the hall of Storybrooke Hospital’s Emergency Ward. “You!”  She pointed to a nurse’s aide.  “Where is Sheriff Emma Swan?”

The young girl opened her eyes wide and shuffled her feet.  “Um… um…”

“Speak up!  I haven’t got all night!”  

Seeming to remember hospital policy the young woman answered, “Are you family?”

“Am I… what?” Regina eyed the woman who looked like she was 19 or 20.  Placing an intimidating smile on her face, Regina cooed, “You’re new. I haven’t seen you around the hospital before.”

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