You Have No Idea What I'm Capable Of

Chapter Twenty-One

The walk home was colder than Emma expected. After the surge of adrenaline had worn off, she felt the muscles in her jaw tighten and then her teeth begin to chatter. If she had a mirror, Emma could see that her lips were turning blue and the tearstained skin on her face was raw from the chill. Her red leather jacket was a flimsy barrier to the Maine November morning. The freezing stroll was making her whole body spasm from the exposure, and Emma feared that she might not make it home before she acquired frostbite or dropped dead. The prospect of just lying down and giving up on everything was mildly enticing. She let herself fantasize about it for a moment before shaking the thought loose. Emma had never been anything less than a fighter and she was dammed if she was going to change now. The thought of Henry finding out that she had frozen to death on the street forced Emma to continue the rest of the way.

It wasn't until she reached her apartment door that the blonde realized she must have left her keys at the mayor's house. Emma could see them clearly in her mind's eye lying under the four-poster bed where they must have landed when she took off her clothes. She rolled her eyes at herself. Swan, why do you always let this shit happen? Now what are you going to do? Emma didn't have an ounce of energy left, not even to pull her hands out of her pockets and knock. She turned to face the road, her back sliding down the front door. She had a sudden vision then of her keys, lying in the dark under Regina's bed, miraculously personified, the ring forming a twisted little mouth, laughing at her, her cell phone joining in, both mocking her, cackling with derision. She threw her head back in frustration, a loud thud banging against the wood. She pulled her legs into her chest, making herself into a little ball. She slumped forward onto her knees, closed her eyes. Her fight with Regina combined with the freezing cold and complete lack of sleep left Emma utterly empty.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret shrieked in surprise upon seeing the red leather ball of woman hunched over on her doorstep. She had come to investigate the strange thump she'd heard against her door and was mortified to find her roommate in a heap on the floor, barely alive.

"Are you hurt?" Without hesitation or waiting for a response, Mary Margaret rushed down to embrace Emma, taking the other woman's face in her hands, desperately seeking signs of life. She scanned Emma's face, her mouth a thin line of concern, and quickly evaluated the blonde's blue and red chapped skin. It was then that Emma noticed the gentle pressure and subtle warmth on her face and half-opened her eyes in response. The schoolteacher gasped in horror as she noticed her friend's typically bright green eyes had taken on a dull bluish hue.

"Come on. Let's get you inside." Mary Margaret spoke softly, her heart silently breaking as she once again picked up the mess Regina Mills had made of Emma Swan. Emma had somehow managed to regain enough sense of self to help the brunette carry her weight as best she could, but collapsed on the couch as soon as they were inside. She felt completely depleted, her mind incapable of real thought, her blood replaced with cement.

"Let me get more blankets." The brunette quickly covered Emma with a thick wool throw she'd been using herself just minutes earlier before scurrying deeper into the apartment in search of reinforcements. Emma made a grateful murmur and burrowed into the warmth. Mary Margaret returned shortly with a mound of sheets and blankets, all of which she placed over the shivering blonde. Next, she took Emma's legs one-by-one and replaced the sheriff's cold leather boots with thick winter socks. By the time the brunette had finished the makeshift cocoon, Emma was snoring lightly and returning to her normal pallor. Mary Margaret breathed a small sigh of relief and hoped desperately she'd find out what happened when Emma woke.

"How are you feeling?" Mary Margaret spoke softly, brushing back strands of blonde hair from her roommate's forehead. She had waited anxiously for several hours perched on the coffee table, staring at the sleeping figure on her couch, silently begging the blonde to rouse, and had finally hit her limit. She desperately needed to know Emma was ok. Slowly, the sheriff stirred awake at Mary Margaret's touch, brain struggling to process her surroundings. Failing that, she tried to focus on the short-haired brunette.