#its easier to call him david than it is to call snow mary Margaret

[depressedstressedlemonzest]

I love that snow and david are older than emma for once.

😭😭😭😭 neal

Grumpy is just an announcer at this point.

This one is backwards but it's okay.

Love deranged rumple here.

Reminds me of the scene in V for Vandetta

Evie? E. V. of course you are.

[captain-emmajones]

Love, Emma (4/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem​ <33)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014). Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They’ve always been – until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn’t know what. Until she does. He’s fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they’re kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.

Title is from Taylor Swift’s Peace – which clearly inspired the mood of this chapter. 

A huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuff who beta’d this and gave me her usual precious advice, and also big thanks to @carpedzem who screamed at me in the best way possible <3 

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3

Last scene of the last chapter was Killian arriving in NYC after the whole Neal stole watches and Emma impulsively runs away thing. This chapter opens on Killian, Emma, MM and David in MM’s kitchen -- right after Emma and Killian’s hug.

Part 1 - Mirrorball , Part 2 - AUGUST, Part 3 - HOAX, Part 5 - This is me trying, Part 6 - Cardigan,  Part 7 - INVISIBLE STRING

PART 4 - PEACE 

Would it be enough

If I could never give you peace?

.

Four years before Emma’s wedding – New York.

As Killian makes small talk with David and Mary Margaret in the kitchenette, Emma is quite thankful she cried this hard. While she really went all in, wept with both her eyes and her nose for a good ten minutes and clearly smeared Killian’s sweater for life in the process, Emma must confess that she does feel better.

Scientists didn’t lie about dopamine. The grey feeling in her chest is twirling in a salt puddle, but Emma knows it won’t be drowned forever. (Not when hazel lingers behind her eyelids, anyway.)

As she sits next to Killian, in front of a plate of scrambled eggs, Emma feels like she might be floating on a cloud. She’s almost tempted to close her eyes, and get some well-deserved rest, but Killian might leave again and her eyes shoot open at the thought.

She did not forget his text. He said he would be busy. Why isn’t he, suddenly?

Her fork slides to the right, and nearly stabs her cheek. Emma sighs, embarrassed, but they don’t notice her, engulfed in their conversation. That’s for the best.  

A nasty hope raises her heart. Maybe, just maybe …

But then, no. No. She deserves better than this, better than being left hanging for him to look back at her. Knowing he never does.

“Well, I’m glad to see you two are still the most infuriating couple in town.”

Emma looks up to see a smile on Killian’s face. He is peeling an orange, and its smell fills Emma’s lungs with Christmas memories and Ingrid’s tender smile. She must be worried sick.

Guilt circles Emma’s throat, until she gets distracted by the orange peels dropped next to her. They look like petals.

Emma thinks, as Killian sits next to her, all upright and proper and Navy, that she sees him for the first time in ages. That the strawberry cloud surrounding him has blotted – somewhere between their last goodbye and the moment she realized she was blaming him for her grey, fuzzy feeling. She doesn’t know if she is allowed to blame him. Probably not. But it still itches.

David and Mary Margaret obviously like Killian. She sees it in the way David presses his shoulder when he reaches for butter, and Mary Margaret makes sure his cup of coffee is never empty. She thinks they always did like him more than they liked her. But that’s fair. She also liked Killian better.

“Aha, thank you, mate ,” replies David, and he has a green apron on his right shoulder and he looks very much so adult and Emma frowns, feeling like she missed an important step from teenagerhood to adulthood. “What about you, any lovebird?”

Well, now that was quick.

Mary Margaret’s swiftly elbows David in the ribs, but it’s too late. The eggs are already stuck down Emma’s throat, and it feels like a strong hand is strangling her. She coughs loudly, and a glass of water is pushed in front of her. Killian.

He won’t let her be mad, will he?

“Careful, Swan.” He even dares to smile. She wants to yell at him but Mary Margaret and David would stare, and she would have to explain why she’s yelling, and then she would have to talk about this funny, funny feeling in her belly when she thinks about M, and… She drinks up.

Killian gives a small chuckle then, but Emma barely hears it. She only hears the fickle buzzing of her heart.

“Sorry mate, I’m not the type to kiss and tell.” Killian’s words are sure and calm.

Without a glance, Killian hands Emma an orange slice, as if it were the most natural thing in the world – and sure, for a while it was –  and she shoots him a death glare but she takes it all the same.

What does he think he’s doing? Does he think she’s just his to pick whenever he feels like it?

The small slice is very delicate and it leaves tangy, sugary drops on her fingers, but she does not think too much about it and shoves it in her mouth. It explodes in orangey sweetness.

“Can we change the subject?” asks Mary Margaret, and Emma isn’t looking up but she knows she’s staring at her with all of the compassion and the pity in the world and it makes Emma even madder.

Everything is so bitter. She doesn’t know where to look, where to be, for the pain to flatter.

“I need to get out,” Emma exhales suddenly. She doesn’t mean to say it like that, but those are the only words her brain comes up with.

“Oh. Alright. Well, David and I were thinking about going to the Christmas market but—”

“— It’s fine. You guys can go to the Christmas market, I’ll stay with Emma.”

Emma doesn’t offer Killian a glance, instead buries her nails into her palm. How dare he.

“Are you sure, Emma?” asks Mary Margaret, and Emma wants to snap back that she should have thought about it before inviting Killian over, but then she sees the gentle glint in Mary Margaret’s eyes and she can only sigh.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Killian and I need to talk, anyway.”

She hopes Killian’s heart makes a loop in his chest and the tip of his ears turn scarlet, as they always do when he is embarrassed. It’s all he deserves.

“Well, then it’s settled.”

And Emma wishes it didn’t smell like oranges and Christmas in the room, because then it would be easier to hate Killian Jones, for sure.

.

Bare are the trees of Central Park as Killian and Emma walk in, their boots crushing the fresh snow. Crunch, crunch, it sings. Emma loves that sound.

She is wearing her biggest red coat and a huge beanie but she is still shaking. She buries her hands in her pockets, walking ahead of Killian, and when she looks back he isn’t by her side. Panic rises in her mind, until she gets a glimpse of him a little down the street, queuing next to a coffee shop.

As she walks to meet him, her stomach twists. He’s getting her a hot cocoa. A green and viscous fury creeps from Emma’s toes to her heart. When he hands her the steaming cup, his fingers brush against hers and she blames the cold for the shiver that tingles her skin.

“Thanks,” she hisses, but still will not look at him. Twirls of chocolate steam escape the cup, it smells like heaven.

But Emma is very determined to hate Killian, from now on, and she hides her grin behind her cup.

“Should we sit on the bench?” offers Killian, and she loathes the gentle tone of his voice.

“Yup.”

Down the park, families are strolling and Emma’s heart sighs loudly. Oh, this is very much so unfair. What’s even more unfair, though, is the fact that when Killian presses one hand down her back, she doesn’t want him to stop.

She wants him to linger there. And when his hand quits her back as he sits down on the bench, it leaves frostbite.

She licks her lips, squeezing her thighs together. “Are you alright, Swan?”

She nods and sips the hot chocolate. Clouds of cinnamon tickle her nose. It makes her smile against her will, and then it makes her sad. He knows her by heart. Can you really leave someone you know by heart behind?

“I’m fine. So, we said we would talk,” she quickly mutters, and takes another sip of her warm drink.

Ah, this hot cocoa is definitely soothing her soul.

Killian crosses his legs, and she knows he only does so when he is uncomfortable and she is glad. He better be.

“What do you want to talk about?” Christmas lights twinkle in the trees behind him. They form the shape of a snowflake.

“First, who called you?”

They are green, red and yellow, the lights. Their sight should not tighten her throat like this.

“Ingrid. She was worried about you. She wants you to come back, Emma.”

She nods, a small, quiet cloud of white smoke escaping her lips.

“I thought she’d hate me. I thought she wanted to get rid of me.”

Killian’s furious stare burns the side of her cheek, and Emma blushes but she won’t look back at him.

“Why would she hate you, Emma? Ingrid’s always cared for you.”

She wants to tell him that he cared and he still left, but then she would start to cry, and she does not want that.

“Yeah, right. Well. I’m not used to someone putting me first.”

It’s hard to shake Neal’s smile from the cobweb of her thoughts. She thought he liked her. Hell, she thought he was in love with her and she was the one incapable of moving on from her teenage crush. She thought she was the one throwing away their chance at happiness. She was wrong.

And Killian reaches for her then, breaks their secret and unspoken oath of distance and loneliness and grabs the hand she let linger on the cold, wooden bench, and Emma can’t control the great dive of her eyes into his.

And blue are his eyes, icy blue, and so full of warmth, and she wants to drown in them. She clenches her jaw.

“I’m sorry for what happened, Emma. You deserve so much better than that scumbag.”

Well, does she? Anger burns deep within her. It’s a wicked flame.

She snatches her hand away from him and in that gesture she catches a smell of peeled oranges and everything sucks again.

“You were with her, right?” she attacks then, pushed by this bold fury in her heart, and they have to talk about it or it will kill her.

He opens his mouth then, but no sound comes out, and Emma swallows frozen stones.

“I…I was.” A pause. “How long have you known?”

She shakes her head then, blonde hair dancing over her eyelids. “Since this summer.”

But also, far before that. She thinks she knew the moment he stopped answering her calls at midnight and their texts got more scattered. That was probably the moment she knew.

She buries her hand in her pocket, so that he will not grab it again, and she drinks long mouthfuls of her hot cocoa. She swallows too fast and the vindictive liquid burns her throat. She winces.  

“I see. And since we’re talking great revelations, how long has this thing been going on with Neal?”

So much for friendship, she thinks. So much for loyalty and comfort and trust. It nearly hurts as much as the savage burn left by the hot cocoa down her throat. Liar.

“This summer,” she lies.

She wants him to think she never cared, even if she most clearly does, or she wouldn’t be clinging to her hot cocoa this way.  

There’s a scoff next to her. “I see.”

And then silence falls, and Emma doesn’t want this battle to end. But when she glances at him, his hands are calmly spread out on his lap, his cup of cocoa long forgotten, and she wants to shake him, to tell him to fight for her, for them, but he is already defeated and he doesn’t care.

“That’s it?” she asks, and her voice is hoarse with tears.

He looks at her then, shrugs. “What do you want me to say, Swan?”

Anything. Anything but his silence and his mature smile and his soft eyes that don’t see her.

“We’ve made mistakes, both of us, in keeping secrets from each other.” A pause. “I made a mistake. I should have talked to you. You’re my best friend, after all.”

“But we didn’t, Killian.” And this is very dangerous, because there is a sob curled up in her throat that is very eager to come out, and she cannot, she cannot let it out.

She needs him to understand.

“Why didn’t we talk about it, Killian? Why didn’t you say anything? Why?”

And he’s staring at her with his big blue eyes, and she feels miles away from him.

He must feel it, he must know how wrong this whole situation is, for them to be with anyone else, he must feel it or she’s been wrong all along.

“Because –” he starts and she’s glad to hear his voice is quivering, too. “— because I care too much about you. I didn’t want it to change anything between us.”

The Christmas lights are so very sad suddenly. “But it has changed everything, Killian.” A snowflake lands on his black, tousled hair. It’s snowing.

“Are you mad at me for leaving?” he asks then, and it’s such a quiet whisper in the snow, she barely hears it.

Anger turns to sadness. It always does.

She peers at him through her eyelashes. “No. Yes. ” A pause, the cold is biting her lips. “I tried to hate you for leaving.” And then he looks sad, and she remembers his own sorrow, and guilt circles her throat. “But I couldn’t.”

Her tiny cold hand leaves the safety of her velvet pocket to grab his palm, and she hopes he hears it. I’ll love you until the end of time.

And in a heartbeat, she presses her lips against his scruffy cheek, discovers his skin cold and damp, and there is a stubborn, stubborn hope in her chest – the hope that he might turn his face at the last moment and drink her breath.

He doesn’t.

When she backs away, her hand lingers on his face as she gazes at him intensely – to remember the gentle shadow dropped by his thick eyelashes on his cheekbones, his cheeks that have turned crimson, and his lips, vibrantly red and tasting of chocolate, his entire face as she allows herself to run after him, one last time.

Her hand leaves his face for the cold wetness of his coat, the bracelet at her wrist ringing, ringing, but she cannot let go, not quite now.

“I’m sorry, Emma.” He whispers, and finally turns his face towards her. It’s unfair. He is twenty seconds too late.

Her heart skips a beat. She thinks it echoes all through the park.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

She nods, and she should find peace in that, but she doesn’t. And it’s fine. She doesn’t need peace, not when this soft flame burns within her. Not while it keeps her alive.

“I know that, Killian.” And she glances down at his lips, stares intensely at them, and she is this close from kissing him, this close, but he backs away, and she smiles – defeated. “Thank you for coming, even though you were busy.”

And she watches him lick his lips, frown. “I’d drop everything for you, Emma. I will always have your back.”

She nods, her heart bursting. Her hand falls down his arm, a pink petal dropped in the snow, and reluctantly settles for holding her cup of hot cocoa. It feels like something is being ripped from her flesh. But that is also fine.

She stares straight ahead, at the Christmas trees and the families, and she exhales: “Let’s go see that Christmas market, huh?”

“Aye.” And he stretches his hand for her to hold, and the tip of his fingers is red and frozen and, before she knows it, his lips are pressed against her cheek, and a flower blooms in Emma’s chest.  

And when she looks up, she swears she sees him bend towards her, a liquid flame burning in his gaze, and her breath gets caught in her throat. But then he stops, and snow melts on her lips.

The distance between their bodies, the unfinished course of his lips towards hers, the heartbeat she misses, all of this is fine.

She links their arms as they walk, muffling the voices in her head. They tell her she shouldn’t play with fire, but she has nothing to lose anymore.

.

Killian throws their now empty cups of hot cocoa in a nearby bin while Emma calls Ingrid. A weird pang lingers in his chest. This crisp winter day carries Christmas smells with it that fill Killian’s lungs with nostalgia and a strange kind of hope.

As he watches Emma pace restlessly in front of him, unaware of her surroundings, he feels proud of her for reaching out to Ingrid first.

Killian watches as Emma clenches onto the phone, throws a strand of hair behind her back and frowns, heels clacking on the pavement, and he notices just how different she looks. Her hair has grown, and she styled it to form golden curls over the red of her coat. She’s wearing lipstick as well, a bright red shade, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her with it.

She’s changing. Evolving without him. It shouldn’t feel like this, in his throat, but it does, and in a blink he looks down at his feet to conceal his feelings.  

His thoughts go back to Neal then, Neal who’s hiding somewhere and he desperately wants to find him and smash his pretty, pretty face.

But then he hears the click of Emma’s black boots on the snow coated pavement, and he looks up, forcing a smile on his face. There’s not much else to do but smile.

“Come,” she smiles and grabs his arm, “Everything we need is right in front of us.”

Oddly enough, they spend a good day together, one that brings Killian back to summer nights and long walks along the beach, and her hand in his, and the feeling, the conviction that this would last forever.

As they eat crepes and toasted marshmallows and somehow their laughter echoes between New York’s brick buildings, forever is merely a word and they are fighting against the passing of time.  

All of this is ephemeral. But then again, everything is. Perhaps it is the reason why he wraps his arms quite as hard around her when she whines “I’m so cold, so cold” by a street corner, and she is so small in the crook of his neck, and his lips linger on her forehead as a chuckle shakes both of their shoulders.

(They never join Mary Margaret and David.)

And when nighttime falls, and they’ve finally reached Mary Margaret’s building, and it is time to say goodnight and goodbye, always goodbye, he makes a conscious effort in memorizing the features of her face. The pavement shines, glints, glistens under New York’s street lights, wears its prettiest fluorescent feathers.

And Emma’s face is inhabited by that same green, wet light. Her curls have loosened throughout the day and a crown of baby hairs is escaping from her beanie. She only looks more beautiful and touching. Her cheeks and nose are red from the cold and her eyes are two green lakes shining with gentle sparkles and her mouth is wet and he desperately wants to kiss her.

It would be easy to cave in, lean forward and drink her breath. Easy to take advantage of her broken heart and mold it with his hands.

And then what? Emma does not like him like he does, Emma is in love with Neal, she always has been it seems, and kissing her wouldn’t lead anywhere but to more heartache.

And he thinks of Milah then, Milah who’s betrayed him but whom he deeply cares for and who is willing to be with him. Milah who loves him, and whom he might love, if only he allowed himself to.

He wants to tell Emma then, join me in my hotel room, I did not come all the way here just to spend a few hours with you, come lie next to me and we’ll – Sweet, sweet fantasy.

Where would that bloody lead them?

“So, this is it. I’m expecting you to call me once you’re safe and home at Ingrid’s,” he finally whispers, and he sees it, this strange glimmer in her eyes.

She’s smiling, nods, seems at peace.

“You never told me her name. What is it?” she suddenly asks.

Frozen, frozen snowflakes fall all around them. The fire burning between their two bodies is still excruciating.

“Milah.”

She nods again. Breathes in and, he’s starting to understand as well, lets go. Very resolute, very brave when she kisses his cheek – for just one instant. And then her lips vanish.  

And she smiles again, and Killian finally understands he is losing her forever.

He watches as she carefully cuts the golden string tying her to him, and his hand has a small jolt but he is not quick enough to stop her.

“I’ll see you around, next summer, I guess,” she simply mutters and does not wait for his reply to turn around.

The din of her boots echo on the pavement, until it does not.

And just like that, he’s lost her.

.

Watching Ingrid’s yellow bug park in front of Mary Margaret’s building, this Sunday morning, really stirs something strange and unfamiliar in Emma’s chest. She doesn’t know quite why but suddenly there is this heavy, heavy weight on her chest and it is hard to breath.

“It was nice to have you here, Emma. Do come back, when you are not in trouble, some day,” smiles Mary Margaret, and then she’s wrapping her arms around Emma’s body.

And Emma breathes into her, and she thinks everything is terribly overwhelming, but maybe it is a good kind of overwhelming for once. She clutches onto her friend.

“Thanks, Mary Margaret. I’ll be more than happy to come back.”

And then David’s pulling her into another hug, and Emma starts to think life doesn’t suck as much as she wants to believe it.

Ingrid gets out of the car, rubbing her hands together. “Well well, they don’t lie about New York weather.”

And Emma cannot tell but her face is definitely splitting into a ridiculous, ugly smile, and her chin starts quivering. An ocean of unfamiliar emotions is swallowing her. But maybe, just maybe, as Ingrid’s green eyes find hers and shine so very softly, maybe she is allowed to feel them.

“Emma.”

“Ingrid.”

And then Emma doesn’t know who reaches first, it’s her, it’s her stretching her hand and grabbing Ingrid’s shoulder and pulling her against her, until the weight on her chest explodes into thousands of strawberry bubbles of happiness.

And it’s really hard to swallow the tears that threaten to come out of her eyes when Ingrid’s hand finds her scalp and gently massages it, and her smell fills her lungs, and she never realized Ingrid had a smell and that it smelled like home.

And then Ingrid’s lips are on her temples and Emma is nowhere to be found, melting into a puddle of glittering happiness.  

And when she looks behind her back, Mary Margaret and David have disappeared.

“I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, Emma.”

And then Emma shakes her head, nods, laughs a little. “It’s fine, Ingrid. It’s fine. It was equally my fault.”

Ingrid grins, her hands cupping Emma’s face, and Emma feels safe and loved, and she forgives both of them.

Emma learns during their car trip back to Storybrooke that Ingrid found the jewelry store where the watches were stolen, and she gave them back, and the shopkeeper was so happy he withdrew his complaint.

Neal is nowhere to be found. But Emma thinks that’s quite alright, because this pain will fade away with time as well.

And when Killian sends her a text “Safely landed. Already missing you”, Emma ignores it and shoves her phone down her bag.

This pain will fade away with time as well.

.

Six months before Emma’s wedding.

Emma’s running. She’s running like she’s never run before. Mind you, as deputy Sheriff of Storybrooke, for two years now since David left for New York, running is part of her job description. But she’s never run with this kind of fervor before.

She’s running as if Killian Jones might close his eyes and never wake up.

“Family?” asks the hospital nurse without a look at her.

Big, big pearls of sweat roll down Emma’s temples as she stares at the nurse with eyes wide open, trying to catch her breath. “Y-yes,” she lies, in the blink of an eye.

And then the nurse glances down at her left hand and Emma knows she sees the ring on her finger and thinks –  but she is mistaken and it is fine.

“Alright. His room number is 815.”

And Emma turns around like a devil, like she’s possessed really, and she thinks she is, she is possessed by a fear that’s tearing her heart down and setting it on fire.

“Miss?”

“Mmm?” What again?

“You might want to prepare yourself. He was given a huge amount of morphine, to lessen his pain. He probably won’t be awake when you come in. ”

Emma nods, swallows downs a disinfectant smell that burns her tired lungs. If she could prepare herself she would. But there’s no preparing for that.

.

As she steps into Killian Jones’s hospital room, Emma feels like her heart is thrown at her feet and the whole world is joyfully trampling on it.

Her entire universe stopped spinning when she received the call. (She’s still his next of kin. That thought alone infuriates her.)

But as she faces him, lying still on this small bed, his skin, so pale, so pale he nearly seems dead, with his eyes resolutely closed and this enormous, horrendous bandage around his wrist, she wonders by which miracle her legs manage to hold her.

“Killian…”

She tries to convince herself she won’t cry then, but her eyes do not care for her pride and are soon filled to the brim with tears as a smile crinkles her face, but it’s not a smile, it’s a terrible, terrible sob that won’t come out.

She drags her boneless legs towards the bed, and then she’s faced with an awful dilemma: where to touch him, where to tether herself, and not to hurt him in the process?

Her eyes twitch, she blinks, and settles for brushing slightly his cheek.

“Hello there,” she whispers then, “Heard you had a very bad fall. I came as soon as I could.”

Flashes of Neal’s anger and disappointment and anger and more disappointment linger behind her eyelids. He was furious.

He couldn’t understand why she would drop everything, why she would drop him on the spot, just to save this childhood friend she hasn’t seen in a year.

“When, Emma, when are you going to choose me over him?”

And he tried to take her engagement ring away, the one she is turning around her finger, swirl, swirl, the golden ring, the golden cage.

A very viscous bile climbs back up her throat.

“I missed you,” she exhales, and clenches onto his bruised knuckles.

She gathers all of her willpower not to stare at the void, the void where his hand is supposed to be, and she licks her lips because she is scared this is one blow will simply be too much to withstand.  

Life has a peculiar fondness for punching Killian Jones straight in the face, it seems.

.

Opening one’s eyes is really the most natural thing to do. Until one’s eyelids seem as heavy as lead, and there isn’t much for one to wake up to.

His life really fell apart, in those last months, huh. Which is why, as this bloody machine closed on his wrist during the ship’s inspection, Killian Jones really wasn’t that surprised. He would have chuckled if not for the pain, taunting Fate with a very sharp “Oh, is that what we’re going for now?”

That’s what he got for being promoted to Lieutenant. Any good Lieutenant made sure the ship’s mechanics were properly checked before sailing away. And he did, bloody hell.

It was the worst ship launching the Navy had seen in years. Killian would be proud if not for the pain, again.

And then he hears her voice. “Hello there,” and for a minute he fears he is dead.

But then her hand is on his face and the sun couldn’t possibly shine in hell, could it?

He wants to reach for her, but the only hand he has left refuses to move, and it is driving him mad. Her smell fills his lungs, fills it with ginger and herself and meaning.

And then she leaves the room and it is darkness and void and silence. And he wants to scream.

.

David and Mary Margaret stand up as one in the waiting room, as Emma shuts Killian’s door behind her.

Seeing them is such a relief, it makes her forget the pebbles in her belly for one instant.

“Emma, honey,” and Mary Margaret’s arms are around her, and it’s a wave of comfort. “We came as soon as we could.”

Emma drove all night from Storybrooke to Portsmouth and coffee is starting not to be enough to keep her eyes open.

“He still hasn’t woken up?” asks David as he presses his hand on Emma’s shoulder.

She shakes her head. “Nope. He went through surgery last night. He should wake up any time now.” This bitter taste in the back of her throat will not fade and the thousands of coffees she’s had only worsen it.

“How…How did Neal take it? Considering he was opening his pawnbroker’s shop this weekend?” risks Mary Margaret, in a very small voice.

Right. Neal.  

Mary Margaret doesn’t mean to hurt Emma any further, but there it is, the weight on her finger, swirl, swirl, swirl.

“Bad. Very bad. But he’ll manage.”

Emma tries to ignore their concerned eyes then, because they know too much and she doesn’t want to prove them right. Although every inch of her being is probably giving her away anyway.

Swirl, swirl, swirl.

But she wants to belong to someone, and Neal knows her, in spite of everything, he knows her and he chose her, and it is enough. Hell, he fought for her, for two years, showing up every day at the sheriff station once he learnt Graham had taken Emma under his wing, he showed up and he showed her he cared.

And she quite literally put him through hell before giving him a second chance after his first betrayal.

“I never meant to let you go, Emma. I swear it to you, but the police were at my back and I couldn’t bring you into all of this. But I never stopped loving you, I never did, and I’ll love you until the end of time – only if you’ll let me.”

And sometimes, all one really wants is to be wanted, after all.

“Do we… Do we know if she’s coming?” asks Mary Margaret in a very quiet tone, as if she doesn’t want to utter the words.

Emma has a big sigh then. “No, she’s not. Killian definitively broke up with her three months ago.”

David and Mary Margaret both stare at her with something terrible in their eyes. Emma pretends she does not see it.

“He found out she’d been cheating. Again,” she lies. It’s easier this way.

Emma doesn’t tell them that Killian didn’t tell her about the breakup, and she just learnt about it from the mouth of Killian’s superior, doesn’t tell them they have hardly spoken since she started dating Neal again, and especially doesn’t tell them that Neal proposed three months ago and she sent Killian a text to which he never replied.

Nope. That’s a cross for her to bear.

.

He moves. Emma’s eyes shoot open. He moved . It wasn’t really perceptible, but she felt it, the small clench of his fingers around hers.

Emma sits up straight. She thinks he is frowning. This is good. This is good. He is waking up.

“Come on, Killian. You can do this. Push through this.”

And finally, finally , his eyelids flutter, flutter, until blue emerges and his eyes go wide. She smiles, and it’s the most genuine smile she’s had in months.

“Ems’,” he begins, a hoarse whisper. His throat must be dry.

She presses her fingers softly, swiftly, against his dry lips. “Shush, Killian, it’s going to be okay.”

She rushes to the small sink in his bedroom. A plastic cup was left there, and she fills it with water, before tenderly pushing it against Killian’s lips.

He closes his eyes, drinks slowly as her other hand cups the back of his head.

And then the cup is put down with her bravery, and she grabs his fingers. She sees the waves of terror in his eyes, the waves exhaustion cannot quite hide, and it reminds her of their childhood and she desperately wants to mend him, to soothe his soul, but there is so much to heal and he won’t let her.

She presses a very trembling kiss onto his forehead. She sees him close his eyes into her touch, and her entire being is screaming.

“Feared you wouldn’t come,” he manages to whisper. She watches as he swallows down.

She shakes her head. “Of course I’d come.” A pause. “You absolutely do not have permission to ever scare me like this again.”

He manages to smile, somehow. “You don’t have to worry about me, Swan. I’m a survivor.”

Her chin quivers then, and she hates herself because she should be the strong one. But it is exhausting to remain brave when he seems completely, utterly defeated.

“Fancy that red-leather jacket of yours.”

And he makes her chuckle, the bastard, he is the one lying on a hospital bed and he makes her chuckle.

“Thanks, Killian.” And she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and she sees it. The glint of her ring under the yellow ceiling light. And he sees it too.

And he stares at her ring then, that glints, glints, and a lightning bolt shatters the blue of his gaze and she wants to throw it away so that she will never have to stare at this deep, dark blue sea of sadness.

Instead, she smiles. There is not much else to do but smile.

.

“Neal?”

“Emma, I’m so glad you called. I wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and I understand, I really do…”

“Don’t bother apologizing. I just wanted to warn you that I’m going to stay a while with Killian. He needs me.”

“…He needs you? He needs you? What about your job? What about me, Emma?!”

“Graham agreed to this. He owes me so many days off. And I will ask you this once, Neal: quit talking about Killian as if he doesn’t matter, or I swear to god, I will give you back your ring. And there will be no third chance.”

“See? See how you react, Emma? As if I’m the villain in this stupid little story of yours and I am tired of th—”

She hangs up.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[mariequitecontrarie]

To Make You Feel My Love

Summary: Rumplestiltskin returns Belle’s heart at the pawnshop. This time, Belle goes after him. Notes: Hey guys, long time, no see! This S4 fix-it has been occupying real estate in my brain for ages.  What if Belle had gone after Rumple and we had more than the rushed scene on the pawnshop floor? Thanks to @galactic-pirates for making this a better story! Rating: T Word Count: 7600

On AO3

WILL SCARLET

Will Scarlet is running late, but even though he’d kept Belle waiting at the pawnshop long past supper, his circular thoughts make his steps down Main Street plodding and uncertain.

He wants to resent Rumplestiltskin for ruining his relationship with Belle, but he can’t find fault where there is none. Gold had kept his distance, giving Belle a wide, respectful berth. From what Will had seen, he hadn’t been near the pawnshop, Granny’s, or the library, nor any of Belle’s favorite places.

Hell, he’d been an absolute gentleman.

Until this morning, when Belle had gone to babysit Mary Margaret and David’s Neal Junior. Only then did Rumplestiltskin make his move, cornering Will in the pawnshop. And what Gold told him had changed everything. Learning that Regina was controlling Belle twisted Will’s stomach with disbelief. Is he worried about Belle and what Regina might do next? Certainly. But that isn’t the problem. The blow to his pride is the real sucker punch.

Will pats the precious cargo tucked inside his jacket. His ego doesn’t matter now. He has a job to finish.

Of course, Will cares for Belle. When he met her at Archie Hopper’s birthday party, her sparkling smile and wit had captured his attention right away, and he hadn’t been able to resist asking her to join him for pizza and a pint later that week. They’d chatted long into the evening, and although they didn’t find much common ground, she was fun to talk to. Who wouldn’t enjoy keeping company with a fine lass like Belle? She’s kind, thoughtful, and intelligent. But she’s also more complicated than he anticipated. Too independent, too strong-willed.

Still too in love with her husband.

For the first time in months, Will allows himself to think of Ana. Even though she was often plotting and scheming, being with Ana had been easier somehow. He’d been needed, appreciated. But Belle French Gold didn’t need anything Will Scarlet could offer.

Three weeks into their awkward romance, it’s becoming more obvious by the day that Will is little more than a placeholder.

Like any dating couple, he and Belle spend time together, but always on her terms. Mostly at the pawnshop, sometimes at Granny’s, but always in public and usually with a mountain of chocolate cake between them. It’s Belle’s favorite dessert, and she’s always trying to push a forkful down his gullet. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her he’s allergic to chocolate. She loves her books, stashes them everywhere. There’s even a stack of them at his apartment, although she’s never crossed the threshold. But he’s not much for reading, which is another point against him. Unlike Gold, who clearly shares Belle’s passion for words.

Last week he was searching through the shop drawers for a misplaced ledger when he discovered a book war tally between them, with little notes and quotations scribbled in the margins in two sets of handwriting. He’d quickly buried it in the back of the drawer.

Yeah, the Dark One has more in common with his girlfriend than he does.

Now, as he’s trudging back to the shop with Belle’s heart in a box, he’s still processing the knowledge that without her heart, any emotion or affection she showed him wasn’t real. The worst part is, he didn’t know. He hadn’t seen the difference in a heartless Belle anymore than he would know the difference between Guinness and Beamish when he’s a dozen pints in.

Gold’s visit had blown him out of the water. Concern from someone who really knows her, and for all his sins, truly loves her. Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t have approached him to get Belle’s heart if he hadn’t been desperate.

Much as it irked him to hear the truth from the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin is right; Will doesn’t know Belle as well as he believes. Perhaps he doesn’t know her at all.

So much for boasting about stealing his wife’s affections.

Continuing his plodding pace down Main Street, Will passes the library, then Granny’s. The recent rain has left large cold puddles on the street and his boots make a sloshing sound as he wades through them. The sun is beginning its evening descent, leaving a chill in the dusky air. His wool socks are damp and cold and starting to smell.

Every step brings him closer to his meeting with Rumplestiltskin and the inevitable end of his relationship with Belle. A moment he both dreads and anticipates.

He sidesteps a deep puddle in the middle of Main Street, pausing to take stock of the shop and the box in his hands. The store lights glow from within, casting a message of welcome onto the gloomy, shadowed streets. Through the blinds, he glimpses Belle, standing sentinel over Gold’s domain. Other than its dust-free shelves, everything is as it had been while she and Gold had run the store as husband and wife. If asked she would deny it, but Belle had taken to spending more time puttering around in here than she did at the library with her books.

All along she’d been waiting for Gold to come back. She’d banished him from Storybrooke and then planted herself at the one place to which he would always return. Almost as if daring him to find a way back into town and into her heart.

And today Gold had stormed the shop with a plan to literally win her heart back. It was a fairytale come true, romantic to even the harshest cynic.

Will takes a deep breath and opens the door. As he wipes his sodden boots on the mat inside, Belle greets him with a weary smile. A bag of Granny’s takeout awaits his return on the top of one of the display counters. He tries to croak out a hello, but the box behind his back holding Belle’s heart is slick in his damp palms. He digs his blunt fingernails into the wood, scratching the grain.

May as well get this over with. He shows Belle the box, revealing the crimson heart within. She spreads her hand across her breastbone, her body recognizing its missing heart.

Gold enters the shop through the back door, executing the plan exactly as they had discussed. His power and presence are magnetic, and the lamps seem to flicker in homage. All the energy in the room rushes toward him, ready to obey his every command. Belle’s eyes widen like the saucer that matches her favorite teacup, and Will clamps down on his back teeth. She takes a few steps back, raises a hand in protest, asks Gold why he’s here. The objection is token at best. Even without her heart, Belle’s emotion for Rumplestiltskin is a tangible force.

Will drops back to stand in the shadows, watching, listening, playing his part. Gold commands Belle into Will’s care, his tone laced with resolve and regret.

He’s so stunned by the naked adoration on the Dark One’s face when he returns the heart of the woman he loves, Will barely hears a word.

With Belle’s heart returned to its rightful place, Gold promises not to bother her anymore, but not before another moment passes between them that is so raw and private, Will is embarrassed to have witnessed it.

When he lifts his head, Rumplestiltskin is out the door, and Belle is staring after him like her whole world is gone. Will grasps her hand--a feeble attempt to offer comfort--but she shakes loose of his grip and stares off into the night after Rumplestiltskin, worrying her naked ring finger with her other hand.

Will is resigned; maybe even a little relieved?

There’s nothing left to do but say goodbye.

xoxo

BELLE

What Belle really wants is to feel alive again, to show herself and everyone else in town how capable she is of moving forward, of living a life that doesn’t include Rumple.

Since she banished him from Storybrooke six weeks earlier, advice for nursing her broken heart had come from all sides. Archie prescribed exercise and healthy eating; Granny suggested throwing herself into work; Snow thought she needed to slow down and take more naps.

For a little while, she tried following the suggestions of her friends, but every antidote left her stumbling through her days like a child lost in a fog. Food has no taste, her work at the library seems meaningless, and on the rare nights when she can fall asleep, Rumple follows her into her dreams.

She hasn’t seen him since he came back to Storybrooke, but last night’s dream of standing next to him at the well was so real. When she woke, she felt the warmth of his lips on hers and a peculiar pain in her chest. A royal blue coat she hasn’t worn in ages was draped across the foot of the bed. Odd. She stuffed it into the back of the closet and pulled out the new light pink one.

Eventually, people claimed, it would get easier. Nothing more than a silly platitude, really, but for the last couple of days, she’s struggling to care. She can’t pinpoint when she started to feel this way. All she knows is she would rather sit in the dark with a blanket over her head than face the world.

Will, bless him, is the one bright spot lately. Only he is without judgment; the only person who simply sits quietly at her side without talking, and without offering “101 Ways to Get Over Rumplestiltskin.” Maybe it’s because he loved Anastasia, the Red Queen, who had also made many wrong choices. Maybe it’s because deep down, they’re not expecting anything from each other.

Whatever the reason, he doesn’t demand anything of her, and for that, Belle owes him her gratitude.

xoxo

Granny’s, Last Night Belle sat in a booth opposite Ruby, sipping on her second glass of a new concoction called a Long Island Iced Tea.

Granny promised the combination of cola, liquors, and lemon tasted just like the real thing, so she gave it a try.

Belle doesn’t know why it makes any difference if the fake tea tastes like the original, but Ruby showed up at her house tonight demanding they relax and have a girls’ night. Too tired to argue, she put on the emerald green top and leather skirt Ruby fished out from the back of her closet and here they are.

At least the strange prickling sensation on her tongue and the curious humming in her veins means she’s feeling something. She’s been not quite right for the last few days. Not sick, but not well either. Maybe she should pay a visit to Doctor Whale.

Ruby took a long swig of her drink, a bright red fruity one called a Cosmopolitan. “So, are you still seeing Will?”

It was an odd question, considering she’d had dinner at Granny’s in this exact same booth with Will the night before. Ruby had even been their server.

“We were here together last night,” Belle said. “You swiped some of my curly fries, remember?”

“Oh yeah!”

“Will and I are doing fine,” she said. “Honestly, it’s refreshing to be with someone who’s simple and honest about who they are.”

Ruby giggled around her straw. “A super sweet way of saying he’s boring.”

Belle frowned. Was Ruby trying to confuse her? No one else has questioned her choice in dating Will, and several people have volunteered the viewpoint that both she and the town are better off without Rumplestiltskin in the picture. She hadn’t asked, but since when did that stop anyone?

“You’re always friendly to Will,” she pointed out.

“It’s one thing to be kind to a customer and a member of this town. It’s another to think he’s good for my best friend.” Ruby laughed again, but the shrewd tilt of her head made Belle feel strange and transparent.

She searched for something to say, a way to make Ruby stop giving her that look. “Will is kind. He gave me a rose.” There, that was something.

Ruby snorted. “I’ve read your story in Henry’s book. He’s not the first. Gold-”

Belle held up a hand, cutting her off. “I know who the roses came from.” When they were dating and when they were married, Rumple used to bring her flowers all the time. Often he brought home roses, but sometimes it was peonies and other times wildflowers. They used to enjoy discussing their different meanings. She toyed with the lemon slice floating on top of her drink. Surely she and Will had many things in common, she was just too tired to list them right now. “Will and I both like hiking.”

“Mmmmm. And has Will read any good books lately? If I remember right, you and Gold used to compete to see who could get through the Great Books first.”

“I had no idea you were such a big Rumple fan,” Belle said sarcastically.

She was starting to feel like a contestant on one of those bizarre game shows people watched during the day. Ruby hadn’t objected to her marriage to Rumplestiltskin, but she hadn’t been supportive, either. More like a silent bystander. Suddenly she was jockeying for position as president of his fan club? Belle waved Granny down, hoping to order some chips. Crunchy, salty chips might make her feel better. “So Will’s not a reader, so what?”

“So call me crazy, but I want to see my best friend happy. And with someone who’s happy with her. But Will doesn’t look like a doting boyfriend. Every time I see him, he looks like he’s in pain or halfway to the bottom of a keg.”

“He’s had a tough time,” Belle said, still trying to catch Granny’s eye. “Besides, some people aren’t comfortable expressing emotion.”

“Rumplestiltskin could be the coldest bastard alive,” Ruby said. “But when it came to you, there was never any question about his feelings. His love for you was written all over his face.”

Belle wasn’t sure what to say. Normally, such an impassioned speech would have started the tears yet again. A few weeks ago, she’d even cried in front of Hook, and they were hardly best friends. Being reminded of Rumple always made her chase her choices down the rabbit hole, wondering if she’d been too hasty in sending him away.

Now she only felt tired.

“Come on, Belle. You can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me. Wasn’t it at least a little bit exciting?” Ruby leaned her elbows on the table, her eyes sparkling with secret conspiracy. “Being married to Rumplestiltskin?”

Belle gnawed her lip, trying to decide how to answer. The drink was starting to make her forehead feel numb. Perhaps she was imagining it, but Ruby seemed to be looking at her with an expectation akin to hope.

“I suppose...yes, I guess it was,” she admitted. Rumple had vexed her, confused her, but when she was with him, her nerve endings were always on fire. He’d made her feel alive, and she was transfixed by his darkness as much as she had celebrated the light.

Ruby nodded, shifting further forward in her seat. “You loved the excitement, the idea of rehabilitating a monster. Told me so yourself.” She took a long pull on her drink.

“He’s not a monster!” Belle snapped. The denial was a reflex, charged with an emotion she didn’t feel. A few other patrons in the diner turned to look at her, curious about who was yelling, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Jumping to Rumple’s defense was a habit. A meaningless habit. She took a deep breath. “But that wasn’t...Rumple is...there’s no excuse for what he did but he’s still not...that.” What had he done, anyway? Belle couldn’t seem to remember.

She pushed her drink back and forth, wanting nothing more than to abandon this ridiculous evening and go home. But her legs were numb and if she left the table, she might not make it to the door before collapsing in a heap.

What was wrong with her? She really did need to call Whale, but then she would have to explain her symptoms. Difficult, considering she doesn’t know what the problem is, and she dare not bring up the word ‘depression.’ She’s not taking any more of those wacky antipsychotics he had her on when she was in the hospital last year.

At the cash register, Belle noticed Regina picking up a to-go order. It was the first time Belle has seen her today or had she been in the shop earlier? Awareness flickered on the edges of Belle’s consciousness but the feeling floated away as quickly as it came.

Across the table, Ruby snapped her fingers. “Belle? Did you hear me?”

Belle blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“I said I didn’t mean what I said about Gold. I’m sorry.” Ruby gave her hand a squeeze. “Are you okay? Maybe I shouldn’t have dragged you out tonight. I just miss you. We haven’t hung out in a while, but you don’t seem to be having much fun.”

“Forget it, I’m fine.” Belle let her eyes drift shut. “Just tired.”

“I know, sweetie,” Ruby soothed. “And I know you miss Gold. No matter what he’s done, you love him. I worry about you now that he’s back in Storybrooke, though. If he comes to find you, you won’t be able to stay away.”

Annoyance flares for a moment. Ruby thinks she’s weak. They all do.

She could stay away from Rumple if she really tried. She has a new boyfriend; Rumplestiltskin was no longer the only man in Belle French’s life.

“It’s over,” Belle said. “Rumple won’t get to me again.” She lifted her chin, daring Ruby to contradict her, but it didn’t matter.

How could she expect anyone else to believe her when she didn’t believe herself?

xoxo

Belle’s heart feels right inside her chest, strong and sure. Her ribs wrap around the familiar organ, holding it safe and snug. And when she holds her breath, she can feel the warmth of Rumple’s fingers on her heart, his fingers cupping her shoulder, strong yet tender.

She takes another lungful of air, holds it close to feel his phantom touch again.

Yesterday’s memories come surging back, and she almost falls to her knees with their force. At Regina’s urging, she had called Rumple to the well. He came, of course, as he always did when she asked. She’d seen his wounded husk of a heart. Then she’d kissed him. Seconds later, she’d ruined the tender moment with nasty words she didn’t mean to say. Words Regina put in her mouth.

The dream she thought she had was real.

It’s tempting to blame Regina for this mess, but she had walked right into this with her offer to help. Still, she is beyond weary of playing the ‘Use Belle to Get to Rumple Game’. Can’t anyone think of a better way to solve problems?

Fingers reach for hers, seeking to comfort, startling her. Will. She’d forgotten he was there.

His hand is warm but wrong, the fingers too short and thick, the palm too square. It doesn’t fit; they don’t fit.

She shakes him off, her full focus on watching her love walk away until he’s swallowed by the night.

How like Rumple to return her heart and then walk out the door with it all over again.

“Belle,” Will says, breaking into her thoughts again. “What can I do?”

This she recognizes--the consuming need to be something other than helpless. It was what drove her to help Regina yesterday. That, and she hadn’t seen Rumple since he’d been back in town. Regina had given her an easy excuse.

“Rumple’s sick,” she answers, staring at the outline of her reflection in the glass front of the shop. “I didn’t understand what he meant about his black heart. Not until he returned mine. Then I remembered. I saw him yesterday in the woods, by the old well.”

She decides it’s better to leave out the details, like how she’d compared their kisses and told Rumple he was lacking. The truth is, the brief pecks she’s shared with Will don’t come anywhere close to what Rumple makes her feel, and there’s no reason to hurt him.

“Figured it was something like that.” He takes a step closer but doesn’t attempt to touch her again. “Gold was the one who told me your heart had been stolen. He asked for my help.”

“Thank you.” She isn’t sure if she is grateful for his part in returning her heart or because he had allied with Rumple to do it. Rumple prided himself on working alone, and it was entirely out of character for him to trust anyone else with what needed doing. More than suspicious, Rumple asking Will for help was downright frightening.

A sign, she fears, of how weak his heart is becoming.

The idea of Rumple hurting and alone makes her dizzy with worry. Outside, droplets from this afternoon’s rain roll down the windows, little pin drops of light in the blackness. In the glass, she sees the bloated reflection of Will’s takeaway dinner from Granny’s sitting on the counter, the turkey melt and fries within long since gone cold.

It’s only been a few minutes since Rumple left the pawnshop, but it feels as though a lifetime has passed.

“What would you do if Anastasia was in trouble?” she asks Will, still facing the dark street. They haven’t talked much about each other’s past loves. Belle only knows that Will left Wonderland heartbroken and came to Storybrooke to heal and find a fresh start. She’s been equally quiet about Rumple.

“If this were Ana, I would give anything to be there for her.” Will sounds wistful. “For all her faults, there’s still good in her. In Rumplestiltskin, too, I’d wager.”

Will is quiet for a long moment, then asks the question. “Do you still love him?”

It’s an out, Belle realizes. He’s setting her free.

A tear runs down her cheek, and she turns to face the man who made her first few weeks without Rumplestiltskin a little easier. Will is a wonderful person, he’s just not the person for her “I do love him,” she whispers.

“Then fight for him. Go.” He nods toward the door.

Belle wastes no more time in hurrying after Rumple. They both know Will won’t be there when she returns.

The cold air hits her face and she squints into the dark, half-expecting Rumple to have vanished into thin air in one of his impressive parlor tricks. He’s nowhere in sight, so she picks a direction on instinct, splashing through frigid puddles as she runs on sheer hope, mindless of her soaked shoes.

It doesn’t take her long to catch him, and she pulls to a stop right outside the library doors.

“Rumple, wait!”

He stops walking away and turns, his forehead wrinkling with worry. “Belle, what are you doing out here in the cold? Are you okay?” He glances at her chest, where he’d replaced her heart mere moments earlier, and Belle looks down at her blouse. She’d run out of the shop without her coat.

“I should be asking you that question.” His face is ashen and his breathing shallow, pale fingers clutching the edges of his overcoat.

His rigid jaw softens at her concern and he looks at her like he's her husband, instead of someone she used to know. The way he looked at her scant minutes ago when he returned her heart. “Yes, well. Poison consuming your heart from the inside out will tend to have that effect.”

“Where are you staying?” She waves back toward the shop where the car is parked around the side. “I’ll drive you.”

“The cabin.” He tries to disguise a shiver.

“With Cruella?” She suddenly remembers hearing from Snow and David that Maleficent and Ursula had also been there with him. His evil dream team.

Taking in the worn sight of him, she tamps down on the urge to remind him that more nefarious plans won’t fix the current mess. To anyone else, he would appear healthy. Only she sees the brokenness behind his proud, well-dressed exterior. In all the years she’s known him, he’s never needed sleep, never felt the bite of winter air. Tonight his eyes are dark shadows, reflecting exhaustion, and he’s shivering in the cold.

“Come on.” She takes his arm, steering him in the direction of the car, and he allows himself to be led down the sidewalk.

He hadn’t asked for her help; then again, he never does. No expectations mean no disappointments.

Belle can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever trust her enough to take what she offers. This, she supposes as they walk arm-in-arm down the block together, is a start. xoxo

RUMPLESTILTSKIN

Rumplestiltskin isn’t sure what he expected when Belle chased him down the street and insisted on driving him somewhere, but coming back to their old home wasn’t on his list of possibilities.

The weakened state of his heart has made him careless and he’d nodded off in the car, his forehead pressed against the passenger side window. He’d woken up to find the car already parked in the driveway as if by magic, then followed Belle into the house as docile as a lamb.

Out of habit, Rumplestiltskin heads for the den and crouches before the hearth to start a fire. Back when life was good, relaxing in front of a good blaze was one of their favorite ways to spend a quiet evening. Belle would read, stopping now and then to laugh or read a passage aloud for his entertainment; he would make tea for her and pour whiskey for himself, then settle in the leather armchair to review paperwork from the shop. Occasionally, he would simply stare into the flames and think.

He hasn’t been here since she banished him from Storybrooke, and he’s surprised to see how little has changed. He expected Belle would have moved into the apartment above the library. But from the piles of books stacked on the floors and the warm, comforting aromas of paper and vanilla in the air, he can tell she’s been living here. Half-burned candles are clustered on the dust-free coffee and end tables, and a throw blanket they bought together is slung over the back of the leather sofa. He wonders if his suits are still hanging in the master bedroom closet.

Belle has been living here where they’d lived as husband and wife. Hope kindles in his spirit like the embers glowing in the grate. Maybe Belle still feels something for him, or perhaps all these creature comforts tell of evenings she’s been spending here with Will.

Will is the better man, that’s certain. Honorable, strong, caring. Rumplestiltskin simply counts himself a lucky bastard for having Belle in his life for as long as he did. How he talked her into marrying him, he has no idea.

In truth, he never expected her to say yes.

Knowing his failings as a husband doesn’t remove the sting of feeling replaced. Will is such a better kisser than you are. Those were the exact words Belle said to him yesterday at the well.

And gods, do they hurt.

He can’t fault Belle when Regina played puppeteer with her heart, forcing her to do and say things she didn’t mean. But what if she had meant it? Wasn’t there a grain of truth in every lie?

He focuses on the fire, punishing the log as he pretends Will Scarlet’s skull is on the other end of the hot poker clenched in his fist. The embers stir to life and before long, he has a strong blaze going. At least he can still do this right.

“Thank you,” Belle says quietly, coming to stand beside him. Her shoes are gone and she’s bundled into the old blue sweater she keeps tucked in the foyer closet. She holds out her hands, letting the fire warm her chilled fingertips. Her hands are always cold; such an odd contrast to her warm, generous heart.

Why she’s brought him here, he has no idea, but he’s helpless to do anything but wait for an explanation. His heart aches with the sort of physical pain he hasn’t felt in two hundred years and he can barely keep his feet. Moreover, he doesn’t have the strength to teleport away even if he wanted to escape.

Belle’s heart now restored, he doubts she is a pawn in another trick. Besides, this is Belle. Guileless, compassionate, beautiful Belle. Not for a moment does he believe she would hurt him of her own volition. Darkness and pain changed a person, though. He knows this better than most. He also knows he exposed her to harsh amounts of both. His wife. The one he’d sworn to love and protect until death. He is unworthy of her, which is why he returned her heart and entrusted her to Will.

So why isn’t she with him now?

“Shouldn’t you...where is Will?” He turns toward her, using the light of the fire to search her expressive face for answers. Is she smiling, frowning, biting her lip? He loves every little sign that tells him what she’s thinking.

She presses her lips together as if measuring her words. “You and I have things to say to each other.”

“But I thought the two of you were getting on.” Gods, he sounds like a village matchmaker. All he wants is for Belle to be happy, even if it’s not with him.

Her forehead crinkles the way it does whenever she’s thinking. “We’ve gone out a couple of times. Our relationship is simple. No complications. With Will, what you see is what you get.”

“And with me?”

Her laughter is tired, but at least she is smiling. “With you, nothing is simple.”

The truth in those words is indisputable, but it’s also one of the reasons she loves him or at least used to love him. He has no idea how she feels about him anymore, and her passionate kiss at the well yesterday has left him even more confused.

“Long ago, you told me love is layered. A mystery to be uncovered.” He smiles a little, remembering that day in his castle with fondness. He presented her a rose with a flourishing bow, and she’d not only accepted it, she’d liked it. And he’d fallen stupidly, hopelessly in love with her.

“And so it is.” She lifts her hands toward him, the arms of her too-large sweater sagging down to brush the top of her ribcage. “May I take your coat?”

She folds his overcoat neatly, the way he likes, and drapes it over the side of the leather armchair in the corner. His old chair. Does she mean for him to sit there? Before he can ask, she moves to the sofa and sits, patting the cushion beside her. Inviting him closer, but not too close.

“You look like you need to sit down,” she says. “Maybe you could tell me about New York?”

“All right.” Gold sinks slowly into the opposite cushion of the sofa, trying to make it look more like a choice than a need. The weakness of his heart is making harsh demands on his body and his legs wobble like a new colt, even when he’s off his feet. He rubs his fingers together, considering where to start his story. He’s not proud of the craven alliances he made with Ursula and Cruella, or of tricking Belle into thinking he was an Oxford linguistics scholar, or of releasing a Chernabog to get back into town. As for his hellish five weeks in the city, he’d rather forget about flatlining in a hospital bed and nearly dying at Zelena’s hand.

But Belle’s face is alive with interest, the way it had been in the Enchanted Forest when he returned from errands in far off kingdoms like Camelot and Arendelle. She would pour tea for both of them, steaming and sweet, and beg him to tell her about his adventures. It dawns on him that he’d promised her a honeymoon; that trip was meant to be the first leg of her long-cherished dream to see the world.

Until he’d stolen her hopes with his deceit.

When he looks at her again, she’s huddled beneath her blanket with her feet tucked under her knees, waiting for him to begin.

Belle relishes nothing more than a good story, and the least he can do is describe a place he’s been to that she longs to see, even if his visit was anything but a vacation. So he reclines against the back of the sofa and begins to talk, describing the flashing lights, bright yellow taxi cabs, and bustling sidewalks. Buildings so tall they chased the stars. Theatres, food trucks, Central Park bursting into bloom. The wonderful, lively madness of New York.

Belle listens with rapt attention, her shoulders hunched toward him in anticipation. And so he digs deeper, into the darker aspects of the city, telling her of roaming the streets without magic, seeking warmth from a fire in a trash can under a bridge, microwaving ramen noodles swathed in a ratty bathrobe, sleeping on a sagging couch in the dank, third-floor flat he shared with Ursula.

He tells her the skies are blacker in New York than in Maine because the bright billboards and digital signs eclipse the starlight. He even admits to collapsing in Neal’s old apartment and almost dying in the hospital, stopping short of telling her how frightened he’d been. How he’d longed to call her like he had the last time he was dying, but he didn’t think she wanted to hear from him. Details about Zelena and the potion that jump-started his heart will have to wait.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Belle,” he says when he finishes his tale. They both know he doesn’t mean his talking tour of New York City.

“But I do understand, Rumple. I do.”

While he’d been speaking, she’d come closer, until she’s almost sitting on his side of the sofa. Now she reaches for him, lightly resting her palm over the back of his hand. “All you really wanted was to come home. And if all those decisions led you here, then I’m grateful.”

So she hadn’t wanted him banished for good. Relief at being welcomed, even in this small way, eases the burden of hurt he’s carried all these weeks.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says. “And for getting my heart back. I didn’t get a chance to say it back at the shop.”

He averts his gaze from the compassion in hers. Those angel eyes saw the good in many devils, him most of all. “I deserve everything that happened to me. That’s why I left you with Will. I-” he stops as his chest hitches with another pain and she squeezes his fingers “-soon my heart will be completely black and there will be no love left inside me. The man you saw good in will be gone. I’m not worth...you shouldn’t bother.” He finishes with a wheeze.

“When it comes to you, you’re fond of telling me what I’m supposed to want and think and feel.” She wags a finger, her frustration a tangled web between them. “Why don’t you let me decide what is and is not worth the bother?”

The boldness of her devotion continues to astound him.

When he held her heart in his hands earlier tonight, he’d felt the strength of it. A heart untouched by dark deeds, young, strong, so full of love. Each heart has a unique life force, an imprint of the one to whom it belongs. He’s used, stolen, and crushed more than his share. Tonight was the first time he’d ever returned one. Restless, he shifts on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. When that fails, he tries to rise. “I really need…” He falls back against the cushion. Damn this infernal weakness! His focus needs to be on getting that wretched Author to rewrite his story, to keep the Dark One from overtaking his soul, but he can’t control his own limbs. Even magic, his oldest, darkest friend, is failing him.

“What you really need is to let me help you,” she says. “Will you?”

His breath is growing short, and he shrinks into the corner of the sofa with a groan. Gods, his chest burns, but he doesn’t want to be an obligation or a heroic duty she feels honor-bound to carry out. “You want to help me for the sake of the town? To protect them from the beast? Or because a hero always helps people?”

She puts her hands on his shoulders, the pressure of her fingers demanding that he look at her. He does, only to find bright blue eyes swimming with tears.

“This isn’t about being a hero,” she says. “I want to help because I care about you. It’s like I told you at the well yesterday and again tonight, I’ve seen your heart and I do understand. Despite everything, I have faith in you.”

She lets go of his shoulders, and he wants to weep with the loss of her touch. Instead, he focuses on her offer of help. “What do you have in mind?”

“Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to see this Author of yours. But first, rest. You’re in no condition to go anywhere tonight, Rumple,” she says. “ Take off your jacket.”

He almost laughs at her order. Despite the cloak of sadness and exhaustion surrounding them, Belle is unflinchingly direct. He attempts to struggle out of the garment, nearly ripping it before she smooths her hands down his arms again, easing him out of the sleeves.

Her hands fall to unbutton his waistcoat and tie, her teeth scraping her lower lip in concentration. “What are you doing?” he asks, though it’s fairly obvious she’s disrobing him here in the den.

“Don’t worry.” Aware of his sense of propriety, she shrugs. “I’m making you more comfortable.”

Again he wonders what Will would think about them being here together. He wants to ask again, but with the new understanding building between them, their intimacy is as fragile as a chipped china cup.

Belle edges to the far end of the sofa, then pats her legs in invitation. “Stretch out.”

Too tired to argue, he unlaces his shoes and removes them, then eases down until his head and shoulders are cradled in her lap. He settles on his side, accepting her comfort, but facing away from her to watch his red striped socks flicker in the firelight.

Their bodies throw shadows on the wallpaper as evening melts into night, enrobing them like a warm blanket. They’re quiet for a long time, and only the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock and the crackle of the fire enter the silence.

Staring into the fire with the warmth of Belle’s body cradling his head and her faint scent of roses and vanilla, he feels safe for the first time in many months.

Safe enough to ask the question that’s been puzzling him since he came back to town.

He shifts in her lap so he faces the ceiling, turning his head upward to see her face. “Why did you stay here in Storybrooke after I left? You could have traveled, seen the world. You still can. Will and you could-”

“There is no Will and me,” she interrupts, her fingers brushing back the annoying piece of hair that always falls across his forehead. “There never really was.”

He sucks in a breath, a rush of hope making his ruined heart beat triple time. “What do you mean?”

“Will is a good man.” He studies her expression. She smiles fondly when she talks about him, but no excitement lights her features the way it does when she talks about her books or learning something new. “Spending time with him was pleasant, but I think what we were both looking for was an escape from past hurts.”

The reminder that he is the cause of Belle’s pain makes him wince. “I’m sorry, Belle. And I know no number of apologies can make up for what I’ve done.”

He feels the weight of her hurt in her sigh. “I know, Rumple. I’m not angry with you, but I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive, either. After I saw your face again for the first time, with my heart, Will and I both knew it wasn’t right. I knew I could never love him the way…” She trails off, pressing her lips together. “I’m not saying I’m ready to be with you again, I’m not. And I might never be.”

They fall silent again, leaving him plenty of time to think over her words. What she’s given him tonight is enough. Time is the ultimate healer. Someday he might have the chance to earn her love, to become worthy of her. If he can get his heart working properly again.

Her cool fingers stroke his forehead in rhythmic motions, and he lets his eyes drift closed, savoring this stolen moment of peace.

“Can I see it again?” she whispers. “Your heart?”

“You’re the only one I trust with it,” he answers. He sits up to remove it from his chest--ugly, black, and cold--and gives it to her. She curls her fingers around it, cradles it in her palms like a precious object. Tears sting his eyes and he can almost feel her holding it.

With her eyes on his, she lifts the husk to her mouth and places a kiss on the flickering red core. The tender brush of her lips touches his soul. Perhaps he merely conjures the image of his heart glowing brighter with her kiss, but there’s no mistaking the surge of energy he feels. True love is potent magic indeed.

She places his heart back against his chest, and he guides her movements, allowing her to press it home.

“Let me do something for you now; something I should have done long ago,” he says. “Your heart, I want to protect it.”

It had been foolish of him not to have done this years ago. Blinded by the arrogance of power, he assumed he would always be by her side, protecting her. Now he must ensure that no one--not Regina, nor anyone else--will ever be able to control Belle again.

More importantly, he must make Belle feel his love in the only way he can while he still has the strength. Before the darkness consumes him for good, leaving nothing more than a black void, wretched and evil. “But the price. You’re so weak.” She bites her lower lip, no doubt confused by his urgency.

“I’ll pay any price. To me, the cost of you being hurt again is far greater.” Weeks, days, maybe mere hours remain before his heart turns to stone. And the weaker his heart becomes, the more volatile and unstable the darkness inside him will become. If the darkness escapes, not even he knows what will happen next. “Please sweet-” he stops, swallowing the endearment. He has lost the right to speak words of love. “Belle. Allow me to do this.”

A wobbly nod signals her acceptance, and he leads her to stand facing him between the sofa and the fireplace.

“Close your eyes, my love.” He places both hands in the center of her chest, careful not to touch the upper swells of her breasts even through the layers of fabric she wears. The powerful thrum of her heart seems to burn through her clothing, singeing his fingertips. It’s as though her heart has a mind of its own and understands what he must do.

Calling on all the love he feels for her, he channels the purest of magic. No darkness tonight. Soon a shimmer flows from his hands and into her body, and he sees a light so clear and true the den is illuminated as a brilliant summer day. Even the air is warm and sweet.

The force of the magic knocks them both backward and they reach out, catching each other. Together they stagger back to the sofa where he collapses, wrung dry from the exertion of conjuring the spell.

Sweat has beaded on his brow, and he feels Belle wiping it away with the soft hem of her sweater. Arms encircle him, pulling him close against her body.

“I feel warm,” she murmurs into the top of his head. “Safe.”

“The protection spell,” he slurs against her chest, his words thick and drowsy. “Makes you warm. Makes me tired.”

“Sleep now,” she urges, beginning to once more stroke his hair. “I’ll protect you. And tomorrow we’ll see the Author.”

He smiles through his exhaustion--his darling, wonderful, brave Belle--and lets his eyes drift shut.

They are far from whole, but with the truth out in the open, they are better tonight than they’ve been in a long time, maybe ever. Despite his many sins, she chooses to see the best in him. So he honors her choice with one of his own: he chooses to keep fighting, trying to be the good man she sees.

In truth, he’s terrified of tomorrow. He doesn’t want to die. But with Belle’s love on his side, this old husk of a heart will never give up.

###

THE END

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Storybrooke, Maine

Chapter 6:  Parents

The magic in Snow's necklace was working, but there was a problem. As far as the rest of Storybrooke was concerned, magic was a fairy tale…at least for now. Still, it meant that he couldn't very well open the door and let the magical flying necklace out into the World Without Magic. Regina was out there, he didn't know how much of this she was aware of, but he wanted to remain as anonymous in the situation as possible. So he pocketed the necklace, locked the shop, and hobbled into his car.

His car. The car he knew how to drive despite never being taught.

The Dark Curse was so much more amazing than he'd ever imagined.

But he couldn't allow himself to be distracted.

As he turned the key, he let the necklace out of his pocket. It floated up into the air and knocked against his back window. It wasn't ideal, but at least it would be contained and not as obvious to those he drove by. He drove off the lot angling his car to face whatever direction the necklace wanted to go was a challenge, especially once the necklace led him out of the main town. He was nervous. They were close to the town line, and it only made him feel like he was running out of time. And then, just before he could get on the road out of town, the necklace turned back into the forest. It was something of a relief, but not by much. Snow and David weren't playing around. If they could get the magic in that flower to work, to form a portal to their daughter, they'd be gone in a heartbeat.

This was going to be difficult. Finding them was only half of the fight. After he found them, he had to convince them to take the potion. If they were back in the Enchanted Forest, he could overpower them or erase their memories, but he didn't have those abilities here. He'd have to get them to take the potion willingly. He tried to control his breathing as he drove on. He knew Snow White and Prince Charming well. He'd watched them both nearly their entire lives. He knew how to make deals with them. He'd make them see, leave them with a very clear choice. They could be heroes, or they could help Regina and actively participate in leaving the town, and all their friends, trapped in a terrible curse for the rest of eternity. He couldn't force them to do anything; he just had to trust it would be as it was supposed to be.

The Locator Potion led him to a farmhouse just on the edge of town. Mr. Gold knew that no one lived there or had for years. Oh, he hated not having magic. The Seer, in the back of his head, he could feel her there, taking up space, but he couldn't hear what she was trying to say, what she wanted to warn him about! He couldn't even make out the voices of the Dark Ones; they were but shadows to him now. And the voices. It was like they were trying to call to him through a thick sheet of ice. He could feel them and their desire to scream…but he heard nothing but white noise. Still, the Locator Potion indicated the royal couple he sought was close. Warning or not, he couldn't lose this opportunity.

So he got out of the car, checked the jewel in his hand, and went in the back door. If the voices he heard coming from the front room were any indication, he'd come just in time.

"Regina's onto us. It won't be long before she finds out," Snow was muttering quickly.

"Did you bring it?" David asked. There was a pause and some heavy breathing before he heard David continue. "Rumple said its magic is strong enough to lead us to Emma."

"Let's go find our daughter," Snow whispered. Just in time, as he'd feared…

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," he explained, sauntering into the room.

The couple looked shocked to see him. Their hands were joined, and in David's other hand, he held a flower that he recognized all too easily. It was the pixie. That was the source of trouble. He hoped that whatever had occurred to make it grow didn't happen again. They couldn't do this over and over again until the girl came of age. He understood that. But now he had to explain it to her parents. He doubted they'd take it as well.

"It appears we've only been cursed for ten years. She's still years shy of her 28th birthday, the day she's destined to become the Savior."

"No, she doesn't have to be the Savior anymore. We're awake," Snow argued.

"Well, Snow White and Prince Charming may be awake, but the rest of this town is very much asleep. Find Emma now, and she will never fulfill her destiny, the Curse will never be broken, and everyone will be trapped here forever."

"What do you expect us to do...just leave her out there?"

He took a breath and reached into his pocket. "Drink this, like I'm going to," he explained. "It'll put you back under, and then, when the time is right, Emma will find us."

"That's easy for you to say. You don't have a child who's out there by herself."

"You have no idea what's out there for me," he growled. If he had his magic, he would have choked him to get his point across or even make him back up. David stepped up to him so close that they were nearly toe to toe. "You can't stop us. You don't have magic in this world. Here, you're just a man," he proclaimed.

"I don't need magic to stop you," he commented as David moved around him. And he hoped those words were true. He couldn't appear to be an antagonist to them now. He had to be a friend, someone who appealed to their lighter side. David was hot-headed and always would be. But his wife, the lovely Snow White…there were tears gathering in her eyes at this moment. She was the weaker of the two. She'd understand. She'd sent their daughter here to save everyone…they'd already done what he was asking them to do once. They could do it again. David would just need the convincing of his wife. His potion was going to make it easier. For all of them.

"You see," he muttered, stepping up to Snow. Was she the weaker of the two…or was she the stronger? This would give him that answer. "This potion...is the only way forward…for everyone. That flower in your hand, the dust will open a portal. It'll allow you to see your daughter and get to her if you choose. You and your husband and your daughter, you will live happily ever after. But the rest of us, everyone else in this town…we'll all be doomed. No happy endings. Just the same day over and over again, just as it's been for the last ten years."

Snow's face was iron, a mixture of every possible emotion frozen on her face. The eyes were angry but also still wet with tears. Her mouth was puckered with frustration, but the corners were turned down in sorrow. And her breathing...it was calm, but too even to suggest true peace; it was as if she were counting her breaths out. Oh, she wanted to say something to him, but she didn't know what. She was conflicted to the very marrow of her bones. A seed was planted. With her, that was all it would take.

He heard heavy footfalls on the floor behind him, and suddenly he felt David over his shoulder. "And who's to say you don't deserve that?" he asked. "Everything you've done, who's to say you don't deserve to stay in this town and rot?!"

"Perhaps I do," he answered, keeping his gaze firmly on Snow White. "But you can't say the same about your friend Red, or her dear old Granny. You can't say the same thing about the dwarves you've known and loved so well."

"We'll come back for them."

"For everyone? All the children in your classes, the mechanic, your next-door neighbor? Or just your friends. Even if you did, they don't even know who or what they are right now. Only that something is missing and they can't find it. Taking them out of town won't change that. Only a Savior will. The only one with the power to stop it is Emma."

"We'll bring her ourselves." Suddenly David moved around him and pushed himself between him and Snow, breaking their contact. It didn't matter. Before he'd been shoved aside, he'd seen her face. It was already done. "Snow, we can bring her back ourselves when the time is right. We can come when she turns twenty-eight."

"Are you sure about that?" he interjected before Snow could reply. "You've been asleep for the last ten years. You know nothing of this world or how difficult it is for young people to take vacations and get away from their lives. Who's to say she'll want to come? Or that she'll stay once she's here? Or that she'll be strong enough? It's a difficult path she has to trod ahead of her and a delicate one. But Emma is our best chance and her best chance at besting Regina…it's not with the two of you."

David whipped around so quickly that he had to bite his cheek to keep from reacting. "That's enough! We know what's best for our daughter! She needs her parents. And now we're leaving. Snow, let's go." He grabbed his wife's hand and pulled her around him so that they only locked eyes one more time for a brief second. His heart raced as David pulled her away. The potion was still in his hand.

"You're not leaving with something that belongs to me, dearie!" he called after him.

"What?!" David inquired, pausing in the doorframe.

"That sword."

"What about it, it's mine?!"

"In another world, maybe. But in this world, I have the paperwork that says it belongs to me. I have the appraisal for what it's worth and the bills from the insurance company. That's a lot of money there. I'm sure Mary Margaret would be happy to explain what happens to people in this world who steal such precious objects. I'm sure she'd also be happy to explain my reputation for protecting what's mine."

"David…" Snow breathed, tugging on his arm. "He's right. It's not worth it."

"Here…an exchange, not that I'm owed one as it belongs to me, but I'm willing. The sword for this potion…do we have a deal?"

David squared his eyes at him, and his nostrils flared in anger. He didn't mind. It wasn't really him he was making this deal with. It was his wife.

"David, let's just…let's just take it and leave. We can toss it in the flower bed on the way out," she sighed. Then she stepped forward in an attempt to take the potion from him, but he quickly pulled it away.

"The sword…" Snow White turned around to look at her husband, and after a few seconds of staring at one another, he tossed it onto the floor with a huff. "Excellent choice. Just remember…do this my way, and you may wait a while longer to see your daughter, but the town will be saved, and Emma will fulfill her destiny."

Snow made another reach for it, but he pulled it away again and took her hand in his own.

"Do this your way, and…well…let's just say…it would be an awful thing to deprive a Savior the opportunity to save," he muttered, placing the bottle in her hands and folding her fingers around it. They locked eyes for a second longer, then David grabbed her hand, pulled her free, and the pair wandered out through another door.

[welllpthisishappening]

Carol of the [Wedding] Bells

It all happens fairly quickly and he doesn’t remember much of it, which, really, seems fairly unfair from where Killian is sitting. Or, laying. Technically. He’s still laying in bed. With Emma next to him. And matching rings on either one of their fingers. On Christmas Eve. In Vegas.

Rating: Like a pretty solid T Word Count: Just under 8K. The prompts, they’re getting longer. Let’s all act super surprised. AN: So, in an effort to make things look a bit nicer, I’m going to post the Festive Fic Prompt a Thon stories on their own, outside of the asks. Today’s prompt from a lovely anon is: "we accidentally got married in vegas oops.” We’ve got pining, we’ve got friends to lovers, we’ve got opinionated Ariel, we’ve got thoughts on the Rat King in the Nutcracker.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

-------

His head is going to snap in half.

He kind of hopes it does. It will presumably be more comfortable than whatever is happening behind his right eye, a dull throb and pounding that times up far too closely with his pulse, making Killian’s stomach heave and his mouth is very dry.

He’s not entirely sure where he is.

It’s not very warm.

That is...surprising.

The whole schtick of this place is its warmth. A dry heat and whatnot. He swallows, feeling like his mouth is full of cotton balls with a tongue that is questionably large, blinking against the light streaming in through unfamiliar curtains and—

Bouncing off the band of metal sitting on his finger.

Maybe his head has already cracked. Maybe he’s cracked.

In a psychological sense.

Killian blinks. Once, twice, three times, but the metal doesn’t move and the pain behind his eye appears to be drifting down his spine and he’s so goddamn cold because the other person draped across the majority of the bed has stolen nearly all the blankets.

There’s a bit of fabric clinging to his left heel.

“Holy fu—” he breathes, the rest of the word getting caught in a throat that suddenly feels as if it’s collapsing in on himself.

He can hear his heart pounding against his rib cage, another noise his head does not appreciate and his eyes are starting to water.

He’d blinked enough already. He assumes he’s physically incapable now.

Because now things are starting to piece together, even through the fog and the metaphorical cotton balls, smiles and laughter and far too much alcohol, missed flights and East coast snowstorms, changed plans and new plans and—

Emma mumbles something in her sleep.

So, maybe he’ll just die here.

That would probably be easier to deal with.

“Swan,” Killian says, but his voice doesn’t even sound like him. It scratches its way out of his throat, rough and maybe still a little drunk and...married.

To Emma Swan. Presumably.

God, he really can’t remember.

That is...disappointing.

“Swan,” he repeats, and it takes more than a moment to flip over, another twist of his stomach and clench of his jaw, and Emma makes more noise. Less disappointing. Endearing, even. This is a problem. A bad problem. The worst problem. “Swan, c’mon, love—”

Killian reaches his hand out, lets the pads of his fingers drift over the curve of her elbow, even when it’s still covered by blankets with an astoundingly high thread count. He’s going to choke on his tongue.

It’s growing.

He’s positive.

Taking up far too much real estate in his mouth, a biological defense mechanism because love has always seemed to roll right off that same tongue when Emma Swan is involved, but now it sounds far too big and much too heavy, and Killian cannot think about both his tongue and Emma Swan in the same sentence.

Not when he’s— “Why are you talking to me?” Emma grumbles. He laughs. He doesn’t mean to, but that’s apparently par for the course of the last twelve hours and at some point he’s going to promise that this is all Will’s fault.

And global warming.

If it hadn’t been snowing in New York and Boston, then everyone else would have been able to get to Las Vegas. For Christmas. As planned.

Mary Margaret’s plan, really. There was a schedule and we’ve never done this before and that had been reason enough for everyone to buy plane tickets and book hotels and Emma had called Killian almost immediately to ask do you think we can bribe a hotel clerk to put us in rooms next to each other. Which had almost led to his heart bruising his ribs.

What with all the faster-than-normal beating and being in love with Emma Swan and whatever.

Whatever.

Emma Swan. His wife.

Holy fuck.

“Seriously your voice is so loud,” Emma continues. “Are they doing construction outside or something? It’s too early for that.” “I have no idea what time it is, actually.”

“It’s probably not construction, is it?” “No, I don’t think so.”

“But...you’re here. Yeah?” Killian hums, pointedly ignoring the flicker of hope that appears in the back of his brain at those particular words in that particular order. As if she’d want that.

As if she’d want— They’re friends.

They’re...best friends. He knows things about her. She knows things about him. Good things, not so good things, things they’ve shared together, quiet moments and easy smiles, the growing sense that it’s just a bit easier to breathe around Emma Swan than any other human being on the planet.

They text. They FaceTime. On a schedule. One that Killian would argue is far better than Mary Margaret’s Christmas in Vegas extravaganza. He and Emma have known each other forever, have settled into their roles in the friendship group; the tag-alongs. The extra pairs, third wheels and sad ones with no designated other and this is really Will’s fault. He was supposed to get to Vegas before Mary Margaret and David.

“Here, Swan,” Killian whispers when he realizes Emma is still waiting on an answer.

He needs to find his phone.

He needs to Google things.

“Ok, good. That’s good, just—go back to sleep, ok?”

Her lips barely move when she speaks, burrowing further into the cocoon of blankets she’s created for herself, hair a riotous mess on multiple pillows and the smudges of black in the corners of her eyes make it obvious that neither one of them did much more than collapse into bed the night before.

They’re still wearing clothes.

So, that’s something.

Killian licks his lips. He’s not sure when he started breathing out of his mouth, but he’s suddenly all too aware of it, like every inhale is a particular challenge and he briefly wonders if she can feel whatever it is he’s feeling because the pinch that appears between her brows is rather sudden.

“Swan, Emma, it’s a—” Her eyes fly open, a blazing gaze that Killian swears cuts him right down the middle and stitches him back together. All at the same time.

“Wait,” she snaps. “You’re here.” “Yuh huh.” “In my room. This hotel room.” “Yup.” “And a bed.” “Also true.” “What are you—” “—I, uh,” Killian cuts in, and that’s probably not the best course of action. He bites back the urge to make another golf-related pun. To himself. Emma hasn’t blinked yet. “What do you remember about last night?” She shrugs, lower lip jutted out slightly. He’s got to stop staring at her lips. “I don’t—we were...did we come up with a song to go with the slot machine?” “Yuh huh.”

“Seriously, what is your deal right now? That’s—I mean, we were drunk, but—” Emma stops so abruptly Killian is fairly certain the world has also stopped spinning for a second. Until her hand jerks forward, as if she’s going to swat at his shoulder like it’s any other morning and any other day and he bites down on the side of his tongue. It’s bleeding.

The whole thing is oddly poetic in an entirely depressing sort of way.

Because Emma’s eyes bugs. Her jaw drops. Her exhale is impossibly loud.

“What is that?” Emma exclaims, jumping up and taking the blankets with her. She sways when she gets to her feet, gritting her teeth, and Killian reaches out on something like instinct.

She hisses.

The light glints off his ring again, casting weird shadows across Emma’s face and the dress she’s wearing and she’s still wearing a dress. It’s not white. It’s red and good and great and Killian feels some of the tension that had lingered between his shoulders dissipate as soon as his eyes sweep across her.

This is bad.

And not—

No, bad. Horrible, terrible, an absolute mistake.

Emma runs a hand over her face, fingers moving to pinch the bridge of her nose as she tries to catch her breath. Killian can still taste blood in his mouth. “Ok,” she says, all forced calm, “so, uh—we made up the jingle, song thing and then—” “—Jingle implies that it was an advertisement for the slot machines, doesn’t it?” “Oh my God, you’re making jokes.” Killian nods. “Yeah, a few.” “They’re not funny.” “Has that ever been the case, though?” One side of her mouth tilts up. “I hate you.” “That seems reasonable, all things considered.”

Emma huffs, tugging on the end of her hair like she does when she’s nervous and Killian doesn’t want her to be nervous around him, but he also didn’t expect to wake up married to the best friend he’s spent years pining for, so. Maybe nothing makes sense anymore.

“This is real?” Of all the questions Emma could have asked, standing barefoot in her own hotel room, with, Killian assumes, her own fairly awful hangover, that is not the one he expected to hear.

He expected more shouting.

If he’s being honest.

He nods again, slower that time. “Yeah, I think so.” “Ok, so, uh—” She clicks her teeth, more than once, as if she’s trying to work out some sort of residual energy and that dress is incredibly distracting. Being in love with her is incredibly distracting. “Did we win money last night?” “Quite a bit, if memory serves.” “And does it? Serve?” “Comes and goes in waves,” Killian admits, propping himself up on his elbows. Emma’s mouth does something else. “Scarlet called, do you remember that part?” “To tell us that he was stuck at JFK with Ruby and Belle?” “Yeah. And David and Mary Margaret couldn’t get out of Storybrooke—” “—Well, that’s because the entire town probably has like two pounds of road salt available, so—” “—Four pounds, maybe.” “The jokes,” Emma groans, but there’s not really any frustration to the words and that’s always been the case. The problem, maybe. It’s all too easy.

With her.

And them.

As a unit.

Killian’s eyes flicker to his ring. “Anyway. Scarlett called, gave a progress report on the great Nor’easter of 2019, Mary Margaret might have shed a few tears over her schedule and—” “—Wait until she finds out what we did,” Emma mutters.

The tension returns. Tenfold. It sinks under Killian’s skin and wraps around every one of his bones, slinks through his veins and settles between muscle fibers, threatening to push him into the mattress.

A muscle in Emma’s jaw jumps. ‘I just—” she starts, both hands waving in front of her. “Well, it’s not exactly like getting—”

That muscle is going to fly out of her face. That wasn’t on Mary Margaret’s schedule either. Emma flushes when she can’t finish the sentence, tugging both of her lips behind her teeth. Killian tries not to lift his eyebrows.

It doesn’t work.

He knows as soon as Emma sighs.

“So,” she continues pointedly, “we got the phone call, decided to—” “—Take in the sights of the strip. That’s a verbatim quote by you.” “God, did we start drinking here?” Killian points a finger towards the mini-bar, door still half-open and most of the shelves empty. “Context clues.” “And that led to the casino and the slots and then we won, so…” “I believe the term celebration was used several times.” Emma hums noncommittally, color still dotting her cheeks even when she does her best to bore her eyes into the tiny bit of carpet between her feet. And Killian holds his breath.

He counts to ten. Twenty. Forty-seven.

Backwards, too.

Because the memories keep settling into place, quick flashes of moments and earnest conversation, roaming hands and smiles that would put even the most rhinestone-covered outfit to shame.

Her hand had been very warm in his all night.

And there’d been—

He wishes he didn’t know how soft Emma’s lips were when he kissed her.

At least not like that.

“Right, right,” Emma mumbles. “And, uh—Chapel of the Bells?” “There was a Christmas joke involved there.” “Oh my God, by you or me?” “I honestly can’t remember.” Emma makes a noise previously never heard by human ears. It leaves her whole body bent in half and Killian’s heart shattering in his chest, far too much emotion for a drunken-fueled elopement, but he’s still having a very hard time coming to terms with the dress and the way she keeps twisting strands of hair around her finger and—

He’s already spent too much time thinking about this.

It seems exceptionally unfair that it ended up like this.

“How did we get a license? Don’t you have to have a license in Vegas or is that just for responsible cities with real rules?” “It’s a pretty scathing review of Las Vegas,” Killian says with half a grin. “We looked up that place, didn’t we? The Bell place.” “Oh call it the Bell place from now on, please.” She glares. “The jokes have got to stop. This is—ok, so the Bell place had packages. That’s...I remember that. We went in and we signed things and I had flowers. Like...roses, did you pick those out?” He’s the one blushing now, a heat in his cheeks and lingering at the base of his spine. Whatever inhale Killian takes does not do much to assuage the tightening in his lungs. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I wanted you to have something nice.”

It’s not an admission, per se.

It’s a fact, really.

But Emma’s eyes flicker up and he would swear in front of a variety of judges that there’s a hint of emotion on the edge, her own brand of want that he’s coveted for far longer than he’s willing to admit.

“And now we’re….” “Yuh huh,” Killian repeats, not able to say the actual word. So, he’s really a giant coward is what he is.

“How do we not be that?” It’s for the best that his heart has already cracked because the rest of him feels like it’s falling off in rather large hunks and that’s a disgusting thought, but Killian can still taste blood in his mouth and Emma won’t meet his gaze anymore and—

HIs phone is ringing somewhere.

“Do you need to get that?” Emma asks, soft enough that he can barely hear her. Killian blinks. Multiple times. Again.

“No, that’s—” “—You should probably get your phone, Killian. It’s, um...I mean we need to figure this out, right?” He makes a noise, is only aware that he nods when the muscles in his neck ache with the movement. Emma squeezes her eyes closed. “Because,” she continues, “it’s just a drunken thing. Yeah? That’s—I bet it happens to people all the time. This is like Vegas’ slogan.” “Drunk things brought about by delayed flights and the Christmas spirit?”

Emma’s lips twitch. “That’s verbatim too, huh?” “Something like that.” HIs phone stops ringing. And immediately starts again.

“Get that,” Emma repeats. “I’m, uh—why did we come back here, though?” “You were very certain you had the best sheets in the entire hotel.” “They’re stupid soft, aren’t they?” “I wouldn’t know, you stole all of them in the middle of the night.”

“I’m sorry.” And he can hear the apology for what it is, far more than bedding or questionably cold internal body temperature. For everything.

A mistake neither one of them wanted to make for entirely different reasons.

Killian stands up slowly, careful when he steps into Emma’s space and he’s at least eighty-two percent positive the sun is doing this reflecting thing on purpose. He ignores it, lets his head drop half an inch until his forehead is nearly resting on hers and his heart has made a miraculous recovery, hammering away in his chest like it’s trying to prove a point and—

She turns her head when his fingers graze her cheek, eyes fluttering shut.

“We’ll fix it, Swan,” Killian promises, the words like acid on his tongue. He’s really being the most dramatic groom.

She hums, a quick nod and hint of a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

And, really, it’s stupid.

It’s idiotic and dumb and wrong, on some sort of fundamental level, but Killian’s moving before he’s even processed any of those words and Emma doesn’t do anything more than exhale softly as son as his lips brush over the crown of her head.

So, points.

Or whatever.

His phone vibrates off the table a few feet away.

By the time Killian reaches his phone Ariel has called fourteen times, which seems a little— “Excessive,” he says, but that only gets him a screech-like sound and he’s not sure how much more of this his body can take.

As a whole.

“Are you kidding me?” “Say words.” “These are words,” Ariel sneers. She’s pacing. He can hear the floor creaking in what he can only imagine is her living room or bedroom and the specifics don’t really matter because she’s far too preoccupied with yelling at him to be concerned with the structural integrity of her house. “These are very—”

“—Opinionated words?” Killian suggests.

“You told me.” “Wait, what?” “Oh not so high and mighty now, are we?” “Ariel, I really do not have time for this. I’ve got to look shit up and—” “—You know it’s Christmas Eve, right? You probably won’t be able to talk to a lawyer today. Or tomorrow for that matter.”

His legs lock, glancing down to make sure his stomach has not actually fallen on the floor. No such luck. That would have been a good excuse for getting off the phone.

“Got you there, don’t I?” “Are you playing games, right now?” “No,” Ariel says, but the way her laugh clings to her voice makes Killian wonder all sorts of things he shouldn’t. If only because they make his blood run a bit cold. Or, colder. He still hasn’t really recovered from the blanket theft.

“Are you?” she adds.

Killian’s going to bite his tongue in half by the end of the day.

Maybe the end of the morning.

“Did I call you last night?” he asks softly, ducking further into the corner like that will stop his voice from traveling across the room.

Emma’s on the phone too.

“Several times,” Ariel replies, not bothering to disguise her laugh anymore. “Each one got progressively more excited. It was honestly almost nice.” “Almost?” “Almost. Because, uh—did you really actually do it?” He’s frozen. Stuck. Stock-still in the corner with the shadow and his own regret and he’s already lost track of the number of times he’s looked at his ring.

Killian’s got to stop thinking of it like that.

It’s far too possessive.

“Your silence is deafening,” Ariel murmurs.

“Shut up.” “The honeymoon’s over, huh?”

“Seriously, shut up.”

“Killian,” Ariel says, voice going placating. He narrows his eyes at open air. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Right now? No.”

“You might want to reexamine your priorities.”

“Oh, don’t be a dick. I’m worried about you.”

“Me? Why?”

The breadth of Ariels’ reactionary noises would be impressive in any other situation. As it is, they’re mostly just annoying and Killian needs to take a shower. And down a fistful of Ibuprofen.

“You’re really kidding me, aren’t you?” Ariel challenges. “Oh my God, that’s—how long would you say you’ve been madly in love with your best friend?”

Silence. It’s not his first choice, but his tongue is doing that thing again and Emma’s voice is getting sharper on the other side of the room.

Ariel hums. “It’s so obvious. Even before the elopement. I mean—I was not joking about the messages. You should probably make sure you didn’t take out ad space in whatever the major Las Vegas newspaper is.”

“The Las Vegas Review Journal.” “God, you’re such a dweeb.” “Was this the worry?”

“You love that girl,” Ariel says matter of factly. “And you have forever. And it’s—she is so ridiculously into you—” “—What?” Killian growls, hand going tight enough around his phone that he’s worried he’s going to snap it in half. That might not be the worst thing in the world.

“People do not just marry their best friends.” “There was a lot of alcohol involved.” “What’s that saying about drunk thoughts and actions?” His eyes flicker towards Emma, swallowing back his retort because he wants, wants, wants, with every single fiber of his being and every reason why he hasn’t taken his ring off yet and—

“Silence,” Ariel mutters. “You should tell her at some point that you’d like to date her while you’re married.” “We’re not staying married.” “That’s stupid.” “That’s practical.” “When is romance practical?” “Ariel.” “Killian,” she says, and he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. It hurts. “You really did sound happy last night.” “You’re getting sentimental on me.” “You’re a martyr, you know that?” “Nah,” he objects. “It’s just—” “—Oh say, it’s complicated, please.” “It is.” Ariel clicks her tongue. “Sure it is. Seriously, you may want to double check on the newspaper ads. And other voicemails. From both of your phones.” He’s going to say something. It will be scathing and it will get the smile he’s sure is taking up most of the space on Ariel’s face to disappear, but then Emma is walking towards him, nerves practically rolling off her in waves. “I, uh—I called Mary Margaret last night.” “Told you,” Ariel yells. Killian snarls into the phone. She cackles.

Emma scrunches her nose. “So, she’s called me like forty-seven times. They’re still trying to get to Logan and apparently Scarlet did get on a flight. Ruby yelled and Belle pleaded and it was a whole thing, so they’re on their way here and—” “—They’re probably bringing gifts,” Ariel shouts.

“Is that Ariel?” Killian hums. “She’s very bored on Christmas break. Mind gone soft and so now she’s just determined to do permanent damage to my hearing and—” “—You are a dick,” Ariel says, making sure to pause between each word. For emphasis.

“Did you call Ariel?” Emma asks.

“Something about good news and it traveling fast.” She lets out a strangled sound between gritted teeth, nose still scrunched and far more attractive than any nose has any right to be. “Keep that in mind because Mary Margaret in all her overprotective wonder passed our tidings of great joy—” “—Look who’s making jokes now.” “She told Regina.”

Killian curses.

“Who was,” Emma continues, “as judgmental as you’d expect her to be, but also full of legal advice and promises that an annulment isn’t just possible, but is exactly what we should be doing and—are you ok?” “Hmmm?” “You’re doing that thing with your face.” “I have no face thing.” “Killian.” “Swan.” “Didn’t we do this before?” “Oh my God, how we were you not already married?” Ariel cries. Killian hangs up on her, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. It buzzes immediately.

“Where’s the inevitable but in this string of instructions?” Killian asks.

Emma smiles. Honest. Real. A little nervous, still, but something almost close to the expression Killian has started to consider his and that’s insane. He’s insane.

God, they’re married.

They are married.

He’s not sure he doesn’t want to be.

“Mind reader.” “Regina wouldn’t be able to make it easy.” “I’m not sure if it’s her or national holidays and our timing,” Emma shrugs. “But, uh—well, she said that we talk to lawyer, figure out the right reason for the annulment and then it shouldn’t take more than two weeks. We just—need it to not be Christmas.” “Meaning?” “Meaning our friends are on their way and we won’t be able to do much about this,” she nods towards his hand, hanging limply at his side, “until December twenty-sixth.” “Right.” “The face.” “No face, love,” Killian says, another slip of the tongue and he’s got to stop. That seems harder than not being in love with her.

Emma quirks an eyebrow. “Mary Margaret said they should be here tonight. But that leaves us—” “—A schedule for today?” “The Nutcracker.” “A ballet?” Emma nods. “And she thought Scarlet would agree to go to that?” “I don’t think he did. There are only four tickets and she’s already sold hers and David’s, so it’s just—” “—Us.” “Us,” Emma repeats.

Killian takes a deep breath, forcing a smile. It doesn’t do much to convince Emma, he knows, but his phone is making noise and his heart is doing its best hummingbird impression.

She hasn’t taken her ring off.

He dimly remembers picking out rings.

With her.

They are married.

“So,” Emma says, “if you want to get ready, then—maybe we could get some breakfast or something?” “Yeah?” “Sounds like you’re double checking that I want to.” “I mean—” “—We’ll fix it,” she cuts in. “But there’s nothing we can really do now and if I don’t shower soon, I may go insane. Killian barks out a laugh. “That’s fair. I’ll meet you—” “—Back here?” “Ok.” “Ok.”

Approximately 12:30 a.m. Christmas Eve

“That one.” “Yeah?” “Is this you double checking?” Emma asks, glancing over her shoulder and there’s something about that exact shade of green in her eyes that has Killian leaning forward, catching her lips with his. They’re definitely in the double-digits, kiss-wise now. He’s not all that inclined to stop, a rush that moves through both of his arms and settles in the base of his heels every single time it happens, like it’s grounding him and sending him into orbit at exactly the same time.

It’s better than he thought it would be.

The way her head tilts and that soft sound she makes, like she’s breathing out any sense of worry or fear, just trying to inhale him instead, light scratches of her nails when her fingers find their way into his hair.

That keeps happening.

He curls an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

It leaves them impossibly close, like they’re trying to occupy the same few inches, or maybe just take up a bit more space in each other’s lives and Killian swears his head spins as soon as he feels her tongue brush his.

And the words bubble. They threaten. They rise up the back of his throat, feelings and desire and some rational part of him knows he should say them before they do this, but this seems to be happening and it kind of feels like a roller coaster.

Terrifying and exciting and he hopes he doesn’t lose his sunglasses when they flip upside down.

It’s admittedly a slightly jumbled metaphor.

But.

Then Emma is kissing him and the chapel worker coughs and she might giggle. He hoards the sound away. For later.

Forever.

“That one,” Emma repeats, tapping on the glass case it’s not much more than a thin band of white gold, but it could be her band of white gold and—

“Perfect,” Killian says.

From: Scarlet_Will@yahoo.com To: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com Subject: AHAHAHAHAHAHA

AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA

IDIOT.

From: sherrif@storybrooke.gov To: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com Subject: [Empty]

If you mess this up, I may scream. God, you’re an idiot. Did you at least tell her you love her yet?

From: Scarlet_Will@yahoo.com To: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com CC: sherrif@storybrooke.gov

Subject: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

David says you didn’t tell her you love her yet?????

Seriously, do you have a brain cell????? Like. One????

From: sherrif@storybrooke.gov To: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com Scarlet_Will@yahoo.com Subject: Re: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

Braincell is one word, isn’t it?

From: Scarlet_Will@yahoo.com To: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com sherrif@storybrooke.gov Subject: Re: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

Are you….are you kidding me?

From: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com To: Scarlet_Will@yahoo.com sherrif@storybrooke.gov Subject: Re: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

Did you both pay for in-flight wifi to do this?

From: Will@yahoo.com To: sherrif@storybrooke.gov Subject: The Idiot

I don’t think he told her he loved her.

From: sherrif@storybrooke.gov To: Will@yahoo.com Subject: Re: The Idiot

Idiot.

He keeps glancing at her.

It’s not all that covert, despite Killian’s best efforts. And, really, he refuses to admit that it’s even remotely his fault, because Emma keeps making quiet sounds that catch his attention, eyes wide whenever a ballerina does something particularly impressive and he’s not sure she’s blinked the entire second act.

He’s cataloguing her reactions.

In a way that isn’t nearly as creepy as it sounds.

In...drunkenly married his best friend on Christmas Eve and can’t unmarry his best friend because of legal bullshit and might be falling a bit more in love with that same best friend while she watches The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies.

He thinks that’s what this is.

Like ninety-six percent positive.

“You’re missing everything,” Emma mumbles out one side of her mouth.

“No, I’m not.” “If you stare at me any harder, you’re going to drill a hole into the side of my head.” “You’d look weird then.” She muffles her laugh with her hand, sliding further into her seat, but then her eyebrows are flying up her forehead and he can still hear the exact way she gasps when even more dancers appear on stage, a sea of color and swelling music and—

Killian grabs her hand.

Instinct. More than instinct. Head over heels in love with her.

Any of those excuses work, really.

And Emma doesn’t pull her hand away, doesn’t flinch or do anything except lace her fingers around Killian’s, thumb brushing the back of his palm.

Her eyes don’t leave the stage.

Her hand doesn’t leave his.

He genuinely doesn’t remember how Clara got back to her house.

Magic, he assumes. Something about Christmas and—

“Mary Margaret is going to be so disappointed she didn’t see that,” Emma breathes as soon as the curtain falls, head snapping towards Killian. Her eyes are bright again, an excitement there that doesn’t match up with the nerves of the last few hours, but he assumes it might just be more magic, or some kind of something that is inherently them and the power of friendship.

Or, whatever.

He kind of hates that last part. “That was,” Emma says, “Just—God, that was so...pretty.” He grins.

“Oh, don’t make fun.” “I’m not,” Killian objects. “It was very pretty.” She clicks her tongue, thinks he’s teasing her, but it might be the most honest thing he’s said all day. Idiot, Idiot. Idiot. “You didn’t even watch any of it. You laughed at the Rat King.” “Well, that was kind of funny.” “They were threatening!” “I’m sure if I got shrunk down to the size of a toy, I would also think a rat wearing a crown was a threat. And Uncle Drosselmeyer was—” “—Let’s not talk about Uncle Drosselmeyer.” “Because he’s a giant creep?” Emma mutters something that sounds like bah humbug under her breath, standing up to starting moving towards an exit. Her thumb taps against Killian’s. “You’re mixing references, love.” She squeezes his hand.

He thinks. He doesn’t want to imagine that.

But he’s also getting very greedy and he hadn’t taken his ring off and she’s wearing a different dress. Blue this time.

He might give Uncle Drosselmeyer a run for his creep-type money. There’s a joke about slot machines in there, Killian is sure.

“So,” Emma says when they reach the lobby, “what do we do now?” “What else was on Mary Margaret’s schedule?” “I don’t know actually, um—probably dinner, but they all land around seven anyway and—” “—You don’t want to eat without them?” “That’s not a secret me avoiding you thing.” “No?” Killian asks, and he hopes she doesn’t hear the added emotion behind both letters. That would be embarrassing.

More than everything else.

He probably shouldn’t have spent an entire ballet matinee staring at her.

“No,” Emma echoes. She tugs on the front of his jacket, like will make the words ring truer. He’s admittedly staring at her still, though. So.

“You want to play slots again?”

Killian presses his tongue to the inside of his mouth, a flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach. “A dangerous game, don’t you think?” “We were good at it.” “I don’t know if you can be good at slots, Swan. That’s just—luck and spin ratio and—” “—Oh my God, say spin ratio again please.” “I’m serious.” “I know, so am I.”

He considers that for a moment—lets the sound of her voice settle in the darker corners of his brain, the places only Emma is really aware of, lost moments and could-have-been and Killian is breathing out of his mouth again, but for as fucked up as this whole thing is and will be for the next forty-eight hours, existing in the same space as her has been as easy as ever.

Maybe better.

With white-gold shine added in.

“We’re going to have to get more coins.” “We’re capable of doing that.” “You don’t want to try blackjack or something?” Emma shakes her head. “Nah, the house is always going to wind up screwing you at all those table games and I don’t know how to count cards.” “Is that a requirement?” “Hollywood would suggest it is.” Killian chuckles, the desire to kiss her senseless rushing up his spine. As if that’s not his constant state of being. “Plus,” Emma adds, rocking forward until her head bumps his collarbone, “the slots are more fun with their lights and showmanship and it’s not quite so—” “—So what?” “Serious?” She asks it like she’s not sure she actually wanted to say the word and Killian’s answering inhale is far too sharp, his nod far too brusque. “Right,” he says, and he’d let the analogy go on for too long anyway. “You want to walk to a casino, or—” “—Yeah, that’s fine.” “Cool. Let’s go.”

Approximately 10 p.m., December 23rd

The lights are very loud.

Casinos by their very nature seem very loud. There are people and more people, roulette wheels and sound effects. Drink orders and music playing, shouting and cheering and booing, as if the cards give a fuck about human emotions and Killian’s feeling almost too existential with Emma plastered to his front, demanding more coins for the slot machine they’ve claimed as they’re own.

They win.

They keep winning.

It makes more noise.

And then—

“I like you,” Emma announces, spinning on the spot and her arms are draped over his shoulders and— “Yeah?” “Is this you double checking?” “Something like that,” Killian mumbles. His vision swims, half convinced this is a dream he’s had more than once. “Yeah.” “That was the answer, then?” “Yeah.” “A little more loquacious, love.”

Emma lets out a shaky laugh, color rising in her cheeks and the side of her neck, shuddering slightly when Killian tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. And it all kind of—

“I’d really like to kiss you,” he whispers. “Do it, then.”

He does.

They don’t win.

It seems almost too heavy-handed, an unnecessary message from the universe that they can’t have nice things or simple things and this isn’t either one of those things, but Killian found himself hoping somewhere during the curtain call of the Nutcracker and he’s starting to wonder if they can get their money back from the Chapel of the Bells. He should make a list of everyone he has to call.

They will all be monumentally depressing phone calls.

And Emma keeps sighing, his jacket hanging heavy on her shoulders because it’s Las Vegas, but she’s constantly cold and he’s nothing if not a glutton for punishment. She stuffs another coin into a machine that’s different than the one they played last night and the signs have got to stop. Killian is going to scream.

“Ah, shit,” Emma hisses, kicking a frustrated leg out when the machine shows three different fruits. “That’s—it’s garbage.” “Scathing.” “I’m losing all your money.” “Eh, some of it is yours.” “Is it?” “Mmhm, you didn’t want to carry your wallet and I took some of your cash.” Killian shrugs when Emma gapes at him. “We don’t really have much left, honestly.”

“God, that is so sad.” “Scarlet owes us drinks.” “How do you figure?” “I told him sixteen times he should have gotten on an earlier flight, but—” “—He’s a stubborn ass?” “That, exactly.” Emma chuckles, a little more watery than Killian would like it to be, but he also assumes most casinos are used to crying. Just in general. He needs to stop giving the casino a personality. “He thought it’d be cheaper to fly closer to the holiday. And flying makes him nervous, so—” “—No way.” “Did you not know that?” “No. Although I bet Ruby mocked him mercilessly for that the entire flight.” “What would you bet?” She smiles, teeth finding her lower lip like she’s worried the action is too big. For them. And this moment.

Of complete and utter awkwardness.

Someone wants to use their machine.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Killian growls, an arm around Emma’s waist when he pulls her away. The woman, her coin bucket jangling noisily when she plops onto the plastic seat, grimaces at them, but she doesn’t actually speak and—“Let’s play a different game, love,” he says.

They don’t.

Killian didn’t really expect them to, what with their decreasing funds and a ring on his hand that seems determined to pull him into the Earth and he’s got to say something. He needs to say everything, but saying anything is suddenly the biggest challenge in the world and it is so goddamn loud.

Emma says something anyway.

“I’m sorry.” Killian’s shoulders sag. “What? For...what do you have to be—” “—Is that a joke?” “I’m out of jokes, I think.”

“This isn’t normal.” “No, but—” “—There are no buts here? We got married!” “I was there, Swan.” “Where you? Really? Because we’re just acting like it’s nothing and—” “—What would you rather do?”

It’s another big question. Far too big. Epically big. God, he hopes he doesn’t have to talk to Ariel for a week. She’s going to be insufferable. “Do you honestly not remember how this went?” He can feel his eyebrows lower, confusion rattling down his spine. Emma looks close to distraught. “I just—this made sense. Last night and even before last night and—” She drags both her hands down her cheeks, leaving streaks in her wake and Killian is not breathing. “I asked you to kiss me, Killian! That was—it was all me and—” “—Stop that.” “What?” “We’re going in circles, I think.” “I don’t understand.” “Are you under some impression that I don’t want to kiss you? Constantly?” “What?” “Emma, love, you’ve got to say something else.”

Her whole body sags. She wins. “I don’t—” she stammers, fingers curling around the back of her neck and the chain there and something in the back of his brain startles at that, not used to seeing the metal or the light imprint it leaves on her skin. “You can’t double up on nicknames like that, it’s cheating.” “That’s just your name.” “Yeah, but you’ve got your own thing, don’t you?” “Is that you double checking?” “It might be,” she admits, and there wasn’t that much space between them, but she rocks forward anyway, the toe of her shoes brushing Killian’s. “I—I don’t really remember how we got to the chapel.” “Neither do I, honestly.” “So, no idea who asked who, then?” “Maybe some hope.” The words fall out of him. It feels that way, at least. Part admission, part want, again, Emma’s eyes going wide enough to do damage and Killian doesn’t think. It’s too loud for that, anyway.

He ducks his head, swallowing down his groan when Emma steps on his foot. It’s easy to do that when he’s kissing her instead. His hands find her waist, holding on like he’s battling some kind of romantic tide and he’s barely cognizant of Emma’s eyes fluttering shut before her fingers curl around the front of his shirt, tugging him forward. Killian tilts his head, lets himself fall into a rhythm, far easier than anything else he’s done and if he’s keeping with the water puns, it feels like cresting the surface of a particular strong wave.

That he’d be all too content to drown in.

Emma pushes up again, lets her fingers card through the hair at the back of his neck and he can’t stop moving his own hands, desperate to blaze some kind of path that he’ll think about for the rest of forever.

The word bounces around his brain, leaves bruises and brands and another word that’s inherently more positive than that and— “Heyo, what are we doing here?” Killian is going to commit murder on the first floor of the Bellagio.

Andy Garcia’s character from Ocean’s Eleven will be pissed off.

And the whole lot of them are still holding their luggage, coats draped over arms and matching looks of surprise on their faces. Or so Killian assumes. He’s still staring at Emma, watching the dismay cloud her gaze.

She swallows.

“I’m going to get some air,” Emma announces, not bothering to hand Killian back his jacket. He doesn’t ask for it.

Mary Margaret mutters something undoubtedly encouraging, Ruby’s hand over mouth and Belle swatting at Will while he continues to laugh uproariously. David looks at Killian, stuck to the spot with his heart crumbling and his stomach on a different floor and he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to—

Something hits him.

Not literally. Metaphorically.

Memory...y.

“Did you tell her you love her?” David asks knowingly, and Killian doesn’t nod or shake his head, just kind of twists his neck because— “I’ll be right back.” He runs.

Approximately four in the morning, Christmas Eve

They got married.

Married.

To each other.

Killian’s whole body is thrumming, excitement mixing with everything he’s ever felt for Emma Swan and the questionable amount of alcohol either one of them has ingested. They haven’t taken their clothes off, which he’s sure he’ll be disappointed by eventually, but for now he’s content to lay there, staring up at the ceiling with his wife curled against his side, fingers tracing idle patterns over her arm.

He’s fairly certain she’s asleep.

It’s really why he says what he does. “I love you, Emma.” She doesn’t still, so much as she takes a deep breath, Killian hoping and wanting and—“I love you too, Killian.”

She hasn’t made it very far.

And he shouldn’t take much joy from that, but Killian’s desperate and greedy and he skids to a stop in front of a fountain that isn’t doing fountain things yet. He supposes it’s only a matter of time.

It’s another clunky metaphor.

“Hi,” Killian breathes, Emma’s lips curling up even when she tugs on the chain around her neck. He realizes what’s on it.

Her ring.

He’s glad he didn’t waste time killing Scarlett. It’d be hard to profess his love from jail.

“If I apologize again are you going to freak out?” “Undoubtedly,” Killian nods.

“That’s dumb.” “Your apology? Yes.”

Emma huffs, the ring falling over the front of her dress and the side of his jacket zipper and that kind of messes with his head a little. “This is insane.”

“Unorthodox.” “They all saw us making out in the casino.” “I’d imagine a lot of people did,” Killian reasons, dropping in front of her. “The degenerates come out in droves on national holidays, you know.”

“What happened to being out of jokes?” “It’s a defense mechanism.” “From me?”

She whispers the question, trepidation and nerves and Killian hopes he doesn’t fall over when he lifts his hand. His balance is better sober, though. “I didn’t want to—” “—Marry me?” He’s not holding his breath, so whatever sound he makes is absurd, leaving his forehead resting on Emma’s and her fingers brushing over the side of his jaw, familiar and not and normal and unexpected and absolutely goddamn perfect.

In an unorthodox sort of way.

“Say that again.” “You first.” “God, you’re stubborn, you know that,” he mutters, and Emma smiles, a kiss between his eyebrows. “I—ok, you want to be honest? Let’s be honest. That’s how Christmas works, right?” “Something about naughty and nice and rats.” “No rats, Swan.” “Nutcracker princes?” “Look who’s making jokes now,” Killian grins. He noses at her cheek, like some dam of emotional upheaval has been broken and he can’t stop touching her if he tries. He doesn’t try.

“You didn’t take it off.” “What?” “Your, uh—” Emma says, “your wedding ring. You haven’t—God, I keep looking at it. You’re sure it’s not a magnet?” “Not that I’m aware of, no.” “Weird.” “The weirdest.” “Why didn’t you take it off?”

Killian takes a deep breath, not as nervous as he probably should be because this is the moment and he’s almost surprised they don’t have a larger audience. Mary Margaret might be hiding behind a bush.

“I didn’t want to,” he says. Strictly speaking he wishes he said he more. He wishes there were some ridiculously romantic speech with adjectives and adverbs and every promise he’s ever made to himself when it comes to Emma, but that’s the important part and she’s kissing him.

He can feel her smile against his mouth.

And that’s enough.

By a long shot.

Gambling puns.

Emma pulls him up when she stands, Killian’s palm flat on her back and her fingers tracing as much of him as she can, rocking back and forth until they find a rhythm that might just be them and—

They both yelp when the fountain goes off behind them.

He nearly falls over her. She kicks him in the ankle. They laugh. Loudly. And he’d been right about Mary Margaret.

They’re all there, another round of smiles and practically giddy laughter, hands in the air and shouts of triumph that sound suspiciously like winning the jackpot.

Killian feels that way.

“I didn’t want to,” he repeats, soft enough that only Emma can hear. “I just wanted—” “—Me?” “You, Swan. From the very start. For as long as I can remember. And it’s—you want to go on a date or something?” “Honestly?” “No jokes.” She leans back, eyes wide and as hopeful as he’s ever wanted them to be. About him. And them. Collectively. “I’d like to go on several dates. That end with less clothing. I was really upset about all the clothing last night.” “We can probably work on that.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Killian nods. “And I—well, we don’t have to stay this—” “—No, no, that’s...I mean, it’s not the worst thing in the world.” “High praise.” “Something like that,” she agrees. “Just, you know...maybe we can date while we’re—” “—Married,” Killian finishes.

“That’s the first time you’ve said that.” “Why do you know that?” “As if you didn’t.” He kisses her again. He can’t help it. Scarlet whistles. And they do go to dinner eventually, but then Killian’s tugging Emma down a hallway, a mouth against her neck and her fingers working buttons and—

It’s even colder the next morning, a distinct lack of clothing and bedding, but there’s a body against his and a small smile on her face and he lets his eyes close again, hopeful for whatever else they may want together.

Approximately 5:15 p.m. April 17th

He asks her.

For real that time.

It’s sooner than he plans on, but they’ve been married for months and Emma smiles when she kisses him.

He figures that’s the response.

[swanqueeneverafter]

The Long Way Back, Pt.2

Enchanted Forest. Several Weeks Later. Dark Palace. (David wanders through the palace until coming to a door. Entering the room he finds Emma’s proposed nursery. There’s a cradle standing in the middle of the room with toys laying around everywhere.) David: (Confused:) “This… This is impossible. This shouldn’t be here. (Steps closer to the cradle:) This is all wrong.” Emma: “You’re right. (Startled, David turns around. He notices his daughter standing behind him wearing a ball grown:) A full-grown princess still living in her nursery? I don’t even have a proper vanity.” David: “Emma, what… What are you doing here?” Emma: “I was looking for a place to practice. I’m a little nervous about tonight.” David: “Tonight? What’s tonight?” Emma: “The ball. You know, I’ve never been to one before. I don’t even know how to dance. (Takes David by the hand:) Teach me.” (Together they practice a few dance steps.) David: “You’re a natural. Just like your mother.” Emma: (Chuckles:) “And you’re the best teacher a daughter could hope for.” (David lifts Emma up and spins in a slow circle.) David: “Oh Emma, this is everything I ever hoped for you.” Emma: “Me, too. It’s a shame I never got it.” David: “What do you mean?” (They continue dancing around the room and finally stop in front of the magic wardrobe.) Emma: “I’m not really here. I was never here. I should be, but I’m not. All for one reason. (Backs away from her father:) You failed me. (Suddenly, the room darkens and thunder can be heard outside. Toys are falling off the shelves. Furthermore, the magic wardrobe’s doors fling open and a spinning portal opens. David grabs Emma’s hand, desperate to prevent her from going through:) Goodbye, daddy.” David: (Desperate:) “I’m sorry. I’ll save you.” Emma: “No, you can’t save me. You failed me. (David tries harder to pull Emma back into the room:) There’s nothing you can do.” David: “No, Emma!” Emma: “Don’t fail the next one.” (Letting go of his hand, Emma gets sucked into the portal.) David: “Emma!”

The Charming Bedchamber. (Waking up with a start, David opens his eyes. Emma’s words still echo in his ears. Panting, he sits up.) David: (Notices his wife is not in bed beside him:) “Snow?” (Snow White stands at the window looking over the landscape.) Snow White: (Cheerful:) “Look, who’s awake. (David gets out of bed:) Come, look at this view, Charming. I’d forgotten how beautiful it was here.” David: “Someone’s in a good mood.” Snow White: “I am. I have some pretty wonderful news. We’re pregnant.” David: “You are?” Snow White: “Are you not happy?” David: “No. No, I’m not. I’m thrilled.” (Chuckling, Snow White hugs Prince Charming. Unseen, David wears an anxious look on his face.)

Neverland. Past. Operation Cobra Rescue Camp. (Moments after finally speaking to Henry to let him know they're searching for him on Neverland, Regina, Emma and Mary Margaret discuss what just happened.) Mary Margaret: “You think he’s okay?” Emma: “He’s fine.” Regina: “You know this how?” Emma: “Because he’s our son and he’s a survivor, and now he has something to survive for. He knows we’re coming and we’re not gonna let him down.” Mary Margaret: “I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m just… (Sighs:) I know how easy it is to give in to the darkness. I didn’t want you to…” Regina: “She didn’t. I did. That’s what I’m here for. One happy family.” Emma: (As Regina walks past a few steps, to Mary Margaret:) “You should be apologising to Regina, without her we’d never have spoken to Henry.” (Before Mary Margaret can begin an assumed apology, she is spared acknowledging her own shortcomings when there is a sound in the bushes. All three women turn, prepared to fight. Emma with her sword, Snow with her bow and Regina with a fireball.) David: (Emerging through the foliage:) “Stand down, it’s me.” (The trio lower their weapons of choice as David walks purposefully toward Mary Margaret, kissing her deeply. Disgusted, both Emma & Regina turn away.) Emma: (Cringing:) “That’s one thing I’m glad I missed growing up.” Mary Margaret: (Breaking the kiss momentarily:) “Mmm. I’m not complaining, but what was that…” (David kisses her again.) Emma: “Okay, I’m complaining.” Elsewhere In The Jungle. (Hook sits alone, drinking.) Pan: (Clears throat:) “You really should’ve taken my deal.” Hook: "It doesn’t look like I need your help with Emma after all, mate. Saving her father’s life will make her see me for the man I am.” Pan: “What? (Scoffs:) A one-handed pirate with a drinking problem? I’m no grown-up, but I’m pretty sure that’s less than appealing.” Hook: “A man of honor.” Pan: “Once, perhaps. We both know those days are long gone. But, seeing as Emma’s current… situation cannot be allowed to continue, I suppose you’ll do as a substitute.” Hook: “Emma’s ‘situation’? You mean her dalliances with the Evil Queen? I’m not worried about that.” Pan: “That’s because you think only of your carnal urges and not the bigger picture. You think that just any shared magic could’ve saved Storybrooke from my trigger? I’ve destroyed countless realms trying to find the heart of the Truest Believer. Not one of those Kingdoms had anyone powerful enough to stop their destruction once I gave the order. The Savior and the Evil Queen have shared magic more powerful than anything I’ve encountered before.“ Hook: (Watches Pan for a long moment:) "It’s been said that there’s only one type of magic that can break any curse. (Sits up:) Are you meaning to tell me that their magic is-” Pan: (Cutting in:) “If their combined power is forged from True Love, thankfully, they aren’t yet aware of it. Which is where you come in.” Hook: (Frowns:) “You want me to come between them? My pursuit and, lets face it, eventual triumph in winning Emma’s heart would, in turn, protect you from that magic you fear?” Pan: “Does that put a damper on things for you?” Hook: “It does a bit, yes.” Pan: “Well not to worry, I’m not pitting all my hopes on you. I just need someone to come between Regina & Emma so that they’re powerless to stop me doing what I must to their son. So tell me… What would a man of honor like yourself do with a big, fat secret?” Hook: “Um. Well, that depends what the secret is.” Pan: “Baelfire. Neal. Whatever name he goes by these days. Henry’s father.” Hook: “What of him? He’s dead.” Pan: “No. I’m afraid not. He’s alive. And that’s not even the best part. He’s in Neverland.” Hook: “Is he?” Pan: “Oh yes. Can you believe it? I’m sure Emma would love to know that Henry’s father is still alive. But, considering their history, I’d hate for that to get in the way of budding romance. So you see, I do have other options. (Begins to walk away:) Oh, I’ll leave it up to you… to tell her or not. Let’s see what kind of man you really are.” Enchanted Forest. Present. Dark Palace. The Stables. (Prince Charming enters and walks over to a saddle bag, taking out a flask and takes a long drink from it.)

Robin Hood: (Standing at the doorway:) “I used to keep a bottle hidden in my quiver.” (Hood carries arrows with him. The arrow heads are gilded.) Prince Charming: “I… (Sighs then changes the subject:) Are those gold-tipped arrows?” Robin Hood: “Payment for helping the Queen break into her castle. (Walks further into the stables towards his own saddlebag:) Never thought I’d be paid to break in somewhere. It just feels wrong somehow.” (He places the arrows in his quiver.) Prince Charming: “It’s very generous. The Queen must like you.” Robin Hood: “It’s a pity she wants me out of her castle as soon as possible, but for now, it’s the best place for my boy. With that witch on the loose, my first priority is keeping my family safe. I’m sure you understand that.” Prince Charming: “I do.” (Sighs and takes another drink.) Robin Hood: “If you don’t mind me saying, you, uh… you look like a man who needs some sleep more than a drink.” Prince Charming: “I would, if I could.” Robin Hood: “Mm. Yeah, I’ve been there. (Prince Charming offers Hood the bottle. Hood takes a sip:) Is there anything you want to talk about? Or not talk about?” Prince Charming: “It’s just… I’ve always known everything would work out for the best. When I was last in the Enchanted Forest, I dueled a Black Knight to put my newborn in a magic wardrobe to flee a curse and never once did my confidence waver.” Robin Hood: “Then, what’s changed?” Prince Charming: “That’s just it. I don’t know. I just can’t seem to escape this feeling of dread. And I really need to be there for Snow, right now. And I can’t be distracted by this… This fear.” Robin Hood: “So, don’t be.” Prince Charming: “Easier said than done.” Robin Hood: “After my wife died, Friar Tuck told me of a root, that if digested would help one overcome any and all fears.” (Prince Charming prepares to leave.) Prince Charming: “Where do I find it?” Robin Hood: “It’s said to grow under the white moss at the edge of Sherwood Forest. Just south of here.” Prince Charming: “White moss. Anything else?” Robin Hood: “It has flecks of crystal within its flesh. It looks like stars.” Prince Charming: “Stars?” Robin Hood: “That’s why they call it ‘Night Root’.” Prince Charming: “Did it help you?” Robin Hood: “I don’t really dabble in magic unless I have to.” Prince Charming: “Well, I may not have that luxury.” (Prince Charming exits the stables carrying a saddle.) Robin Hood: “You should know they uh… say that that part of the forest is haunted.” Prince Charming: “Haunted?” (Stops in the doorway.) Robin Hood: “You may need the night root to handle the fear of your journey to stop your fear. Perhaps the flask was the right idea.” Prince Charming: “I’m not afraid of a ghost story, not when my family is at stake. Thank you.” Dark Palace. (Meanwhile, Snow White has just given Regina the good news.) Regina: "Pregnant? (Scoffs:) Well you didn't waste any time did you?" Snow White: "What do you mean?" Regina: "Tell me something, when you saw your daughter drive out of our lives forever, did you and Charming jump each other that same hour or did you wait the entire afternoon out of respect?" Snow White: "How dare you?!" Regina: (Shaking her head:) "I don't know what I expected from the woman who put her own daughter through a wardrobe." Snow White: "To save her from you!" Regina: (Laughs mirthlessly:) "Oh yes and you've been trying to 'save' her from me ever since, haven't you?" Snow White: "You cast the curse that ruined our lives and you're reason we're back here right now. If you hadn't left that curse in your vault as a monument to your maliciousness, Pan would never have been able to use it." Regina: (Scoffs again:) "Ruined your lives. What did I do that was so terrible, really? I brought you to a land without magic, I gave you a home, a life, a purpose. Running water, electricity - I even kept your mortally wounded husband alive." Snow White: "You watched me sit by his bedside for twenty eight years!" Regina: (Leaning forward:) "At least you were together." (With these words, Snow is reminded of her own memories of Emma.) Storybrooke. Main Street. Past. (Hours after breaking the Dark Curse, Emma is stopped on the streets by her parents.) Emma: “You guys ready?” Mary Margaret: “We need to talk.” Emma: “I- Well, I don’t… I just- I don’t wanna talk.” Mary Margaret: “But I do, okay? Gold can wait. I can’t. You’re my daughter. And I wanna talk to you.” Emma: (Sighs:) “Okay. What do you want to talk about?” Mary Margaret: “We’re together, finally. And I can’t help but think you’re not happy about it.” Emma: “Oh, I am. But, see, here’s the thing. No matter what the circumstances, for twenty eight years I only knew one thing, that my parents sent me away.” Mary Margaret: “We did that to give you your best chance.” Emma: “You did it for everyone. Because that’s who you are. Leaders, heroes, princes and princesses. And that’s great and amazing, and wonderful, but it doesn’t change the fact that for my entire life, I’ve been alone.” Mary Margaret: “But if we hadn’t sent you away, you would’ve been cursed, too.” Emma: “But we would’ve been together. Which curse is worse?” Enchanted Forest. Present. (Coming back to herself, Snow takes a deep breath and a lighter tone.) Snow White: "This baby isn't some attempt to replace Emma. Nothing ever will. This child is our chance to do things differently, to be the parents we should've been for Emma. Regina, I know there's a lot of history between us, a lot of it bad, but there's also a lot of good. I'd like us to enter this next chapter of our lives together, as a family." (Regina stares at Snow for a long moment before giving her a small nod.) Regina: "Just tell me one thing. Would you really have preferred Emma to be with Neal or the pirate over me?" Neverland. Past. Continued. (Disgusted by the sight of the Charmings continued kissing, Regina looks around for Hook.) Regina: (Rolls her eyes:) “What I wouldn’t give for another sleeping curse. Where’s the sextant, where’s the pirate?” David: (Finally ceasing the kiss:) “Hook’s hanging back, drinking I assume… he saved my life. On our trek, we were ambushed by Lost Boys. Pinned down, outnumbered. But Hook, he risked his life to stop me from getting hit by a poisoned arrow. But if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be alive.” Regina: (Nonplussed:) “Well how about that.” Hook: (Returning to camp:) "It was nothing, really." David: (Walking towards him:) "Your flask, please. (Hook reaches into his back pocket and produces his flask. Taking it:) I thought he deserved a little credit." Hook: "Thank you." (David takes a drink, then coughs at its strength. Returning to Mary Margaret he hands over the flask.) Mary Margaret: (Holding it up:) "To Hook." (Hook gives her an awkward wave as Mary Margaret takes a drink.)

Regina: (When offered the flask:) "I don't do rum." (Regina turns and walks away. Taking the bottle from her mother, Emma watches Regina leave then gives the pirate her own toast of acknowledgement.) Emma: "To Hook. (She drinks. Walking a short distance away, Emma wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before turning around to find herself alone with Hook:) You really save his life?” Hook: “Does that surprise you?” Emma: (Handing back the bottle:) “Well, you and David aren't exactly... (Inhales deeply:) How do you say it? (Imitates British accent:) Mates.” Hook: “That doesn't mean I'd leave your father to perish on this island.” Emma: (Sincerely:) “Thank you.” Hook: “Um... Well, perhaps gratitude is in order now.” (Hook motions towards his lips with his finger.) Emma: (Smirking at his mannerisms:) “Yeah. That's what the ‘thank you’ was for.” Hook: “Mm. (Moving closer to her:) That all your father's life is worth to you?” Emma: “Please. You couldn't handle it.” Hook: (Whispers:) “Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it.” (Emma pulls Hook towards her by the lapels of his jacket.) Emma: “You ready?” Hook: “Absolutely.” Emma: “Then close your eyes. (Smiling, Hook closes his eyes. In the next instant, they spring open and he emits a groan of pain, staggering backwards. Emma’s knee having made firm contact with his ‘treasure chest’:) That’s for working with Tamara, for allowing her to torture Regina and for letting her bring Henry to this godforsaken island to begin with! (Snatching the flask from his pocket, Emma turns and walks away, to Hook:) Don't follow me. Go get some firewood or something.” Hook: (Wincing in pain:) “As you wish.” (Once Emma is out of sight, he collapses to the ground.)

Enchanted Forest. Present. (Searching for night root, Prince Charming rides through the forest. Coming to a spot where white moss grows, he dismounts and digs up a root. Chopping off one slice of the root, he takes a closer look at it.) Prince Charming: “Just like stars. Night root.” Woman: “Help! Please, help. (Drawing his sword, Prince Charming decides to follow the sound. Stepping through a gap in the undergrowth he finds himself in a clearing. At the edge of the clearing there stands a tall tower:) Up here! Please. (Slowly, Prince Charming climbs up the tower’s wall. Panting, he finally climbs through a window:) You’re… you’re the first person I’ve seen in such a long time.” Prince Charming: “How long have you been up here?” Woman: “I’ve lost count of the years. Are you a prince?” Prince Charming: “Yes, you can call me David. Are you a princess?” Woman: “No... You can call me Alice.”

[lilacmoon83]

Clarity

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 8: Denial

"I can't believe it...I just can't believe you ran off again. Do you have any idea how worried I was?" she questioned.

"I was with Emma and Gramps, so I was fine," he said, as something occurred to him.

"Actually, I guess I was with both my grandpas. I have two now, you know," he retorted. Regina took a deep breath to keep from exploding in rage at that.

"Henry…" she started to say.

"You can save the lectures on how the book isn't real. That jig is up, even if Emma refuses to believe," he replied.

"My grandparents are awake, Mr. Gold is awake, and I have a dad now," he said.

"David and Mary Margaret are not your grandparents...they are absurdly young for that," she replied, but he only shrugged.

"That's only because of your curse and they didn't age," he shot back, frustrating her further.

"Well...you're grounded for a very long time, so you're not going to be seeing anyone," she warned, but he smirked.

"Except my dad...and I bet he'll let me see my grandparents," he retorted. Regina pursed her lips, but remained silent, as she kept driving.

~*~

Jefferson curiously flipped through the book that Henry had lent to him upon his request, with the promise to return it once they were home, of course.

"This is...amazingly detailed. Did you do this?" Jefferson asked.

"That wasn't me either, dearie. I believe it appeared one day in the fair Mary Margaret's closet. Not even I am privy to how," Gold replied.

"Well, that has to bug the life out of you," Jefferson snorted.

"Normally yes...but the book has served its purpose quite well. Young Henry already knew something was off and the book led him down the right path," Gold said. Emma snorted in annoyance.

"You really like denial, don't you?" Jefferson asked.

"You're asking me to believe in fairy tales," Emma replied.

"No, I'm asking you to believe in history...history of a different world. Are you so arrogant as to think this one is all there is?" he asked.

"No...but other worlds aren't my concern, because I'm in this one," Emma retorted.

"I've been alone in this world...for my whole life and all the sudden, I'm supposed to just accept all this?" she asked.

"You know, you act like you're the only one that's had a rough life," Jefferson argued.

"Well, my supposed parents are a Prince and a Princess. Yeah...that sounds rough," she argued back. He snorted.

"You really need to read your own history," he said, as he handed her the book, with a picture of David in tattered clothes on a small farm. Her brow furrowed and she found herself drawn into the story.

~*~

"She hates us," Snow sniffed, as she rested her head on David's chest. Neal had offered to drive and they were cuddled together in the backseat.

"She doesn't hate us...certainly not you. She's just confused and angry right now," David assured her.

"I...I don't want to intrude into this conversation, but I know Emma pretty well and I guess I'm kind of the reason you didn't get to raise her. For that, I'm sorry. I hate what my father did to all these innocent people, but I know Emma. She loves denial, but she'll come around," he offered. David stared at him for a moment and then nodded.

"Thank you," David replied, as he pressed another kiss to Snow's hair.

"If you're Rumpelstiltskin's son that he lost so many years ago...how are you still as young as you are? You weren't cursed like us," David inquired.

"No…I wasn't, but unfortunately, I ended up in Neverland. It was hard to keep track of time there, but I was probably there for a couple hundred years before I escaped to this land," Neal answered.

"I had nothing...so I stole to get by. I'm sure you know Emma did too...and that's probably not something you like," he said.

"Actually…I know a little bit about stealing to survive," Snow murmured.

"Really? Doesn't sound like your typical Princess story. Guess I'll have to read Henry's book," Neal said fondly.

"We met, because she stole my mother's ring and sold it to some trolls," David said fondly.

"I was trying to get enough gold to escape and get to a land beyond Regina's reach," she reminded him.

"Yeah...but after that day, despite having the gold, you didn't leave," he said. She smiled up at him.

"I guess, deep down, I knew there was something to stay for, though I wasn't about to admit it," she said, as she thought for a moment.

"I guess we know where Emma gets her denial from," she mentioned. He smiled.

"She gets a lot from you," he promised.

"Maybe...but she has your tunnel vision," she teased, getting him to smile. Neal was silent, letting them have their moment. He was happy for Emma that she had found her parents, especially since they seemed like such great people. He just hoped she was ready to be happy for herself soon.

~*~

Tamara stared into the empty apartment and pursed her lips. She had chosen this empty apartment, a couple floors above Neal's, for a drop off and pick up point due to the easy access. But obviously something had gone wrong and the subject had been rescued. Worst of all, Neal told her, with no notice, that he had to go out of town for a while. It was suspicious at best and knew there was likely a connection between the two incidents. She took out her phone and dialed a number.

"Hello?" a man answered.

"We have a problem...she's not here," Tamara reported.

"She escaped?" he asked.

"Or was rescued…" she replied.

"They won't be happy about this...they have been waiting a very long time to get someone from there," the man said vaguely.

"I know...but I think my "fiance" is involved and is with them. That means I might have an in," she replied.

"Getting into the honeypot itself might redeem you then. I hope you can pull it off for your sake," the man said, as he hung up. She clenched her teeth and pocketed her phone.

Magic...she hated it. But she was no longer working for the Home Office. Her new employers had clued her in that the Home Office had no intention of ever destroying magic and that she had simply been a pawn. She had been infuriated and hated that her new employers didn't want to destroy magic either. However, they did want to control it and exploit it, which was better than letting magic run rampant. She got her phone out again and dialed another number, which unfortunately went to voicemail.

"Hey honey...it's me. I got your message and I was hoping that wherever you've gotten off to...maybe I could join you. Call me back. Love you," she said, as she hung up the phone. Now she just had to wait for Neal to call and hopefully give her the directions to the treasure trove that would certainly get her back into the good graces of her employer.

~*~

They arrived home in Storybrooke late that night and they got to the loft a little after Emma did. When they didn't see her downstairs, they assumed she had already gone up to the loft.

"Listen…" David said, as he took her hands in his own.

"Maybe it's best if I go stay up at the cabin for a couple days while all this sinks in for Emma," he suggested.

"But...before I was abducted, she was finally accepting the idea of you moving in," Snow replied.

"I know, my darling...but a lot has changed since then. You two need time to talk and I think it's easier if I'm not here getting in between you," he said.

"No...you're her father. You're my husband!" Snow insisted hotly.

"I know...I know, but that's just to us right now. To everyone else...I'm the scum that cheated on his "wife" and divorced her to be with another woman," he said.

"Don't talk about yourself like that…" she whimpered and he hugged her tightly.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry this is so hard," he apologized. She sniffed.

"It's not your fault...it's mine. Maybe I shouldn't have gone all in on the book. Maybe I should have played dumb when Neal and Henry insisted it was all real," she murmured.

"No...that might have been worse in the end. When she does accept it...it's better that she knows we tried to be truthful with her from almost the beginning," he said. She nodded, knowing he was probably right.

"This is such a mess...it's not supposed to be this way," she said, as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"It's going to get better...even if it has to get worse to get there," he assured her. However, even he couldn't realize how stunningly right that statement was at the moment.

They heard Emma come down the stairs and came out from behind the curtain around the bed. But Snow's heart dropped into her stomach when she saw her set her bag down.

"Where...where are you going?" Snow squeaked.

"I think it's better if I move out for a while...and stay at Granny's," Emma told her.

"Emma...if this is about me, then I'm more than willing to stay somewhere else. You don't have to leave," David said.

"It's not...I just can't be here right now," Emma replied.

"Emma please...can we talk?" Snow asked.

"It's late...and I have an early shift. I'm just gonna go," she replied, as she walked out and closed the door. It was at that moment that Snow burst into tears, as it all came crashing down on her. David was there to catch her and hold her, letting her sob almost uncontrollably against his chest.

~*~

Neal stood at the check in desk, as his father stood beside him.

"You know...I have plenty of guest rooms," Gold offered.

"Yeah...that's not happening," Neal replied.

"Bae…" he started to say.

"Neal," Neal corrected in a measured tone.

"I want to talk...you have to know how much I regretted not going with you through that portal," Gold said.

"No…I don't have to know that. You chose power over me and you have to live with that choice. Except then I find out that you didn't and instead wreaked havoc on an entire population to try to fix your mistake," Neal replied. He opened his mouth to speak, but Neal continued.

"Emma grew up alone...because of you. We both did, because of you," Neal said.

"Regina may have cast the curse, but I know the story. August is a liar, but I know what he told me about the curse was true," he continued.

"I had to find you…" Gold insisted.

"Not at the expense of innocent people!" Neal hissed.

"And Regina? You created a monster that has hurt hundreds of people, maybe more, for me!" he said.

"Do you have any idea how that feels? How it feels to know that innocent people died just so you could get here?" he asked.

"I regret that all of that had to happen...but I don't regret that it got me back to you," Gold admitted. Neal scoffed.

"Of course you don't," he deadpanned, as Ruby returned with his room key.

"Um...here you go," she said. He offered a kind smile.

"Thanks," he replied, as he turned back to his father once she left.

"Look, the only reason I'm even here is because of Henry, so if you think it's for you, then you're delusional," Neal said. Gold was about to speak again, but the door opened, revealing Emma with a bag in hand. Her eyes met Neal's and she sighed, as she approached the desk.

"What are you doing?" Neal asked. She looked at him like it was obvious.

"Getting a room," she answered, as Ruby went to get a key.

"Don't you live with Mary Margaret?" he asked.

"Not anymore," Emma replied. He sighed.

"Emma...if you're looking to blame someone for all this then look no further than my father and Regina," he said.

"I'm not blaming anyone and if it wasn't for Henry, I'd blow this town like a popsicle stand," she replied.

"Well, I'd say we have that in common, except I don't believe that about you," he said. She snorted.

"You'd be wrong," she said.

"No…I know you. You have looked for your parents your entire life and now that you had a chance to be under the same roof as them, you do what you do best," he said, staring her dead in the eyes.

"You run," he said, as Ruby returned with her key.

"Go to hell," Emma spat, as she grabbed the key and stormed upstairs. He rolled his eyes and looked at his father.

"Same sentiment to you," he said, as he went to find his room for the evening. Gold was silent for a moment, before he slowly left the Inn for the evening, more distraught than he had been in a very long time...

[dani-ellie03]

Fic: Wednesday’s Child (13/?)

Title: Wednesday’s Child Summary: The next time Emma Swan wanted magical help, she was on her own. Because now they were stuck with a pint-sized savior who clearly had an attitude problem and a terrified but pretending not to be pre-pirate. Spoilers: If you’re current, we’re good. Rating/Warning: PG-13, mostly for safety. Family angst/fluff, as per usual. Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddy Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I’m just borrowing them but I’ll put them back when I’m finished! —–

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At ff.net and below.

Tagging @shealivedarnit (If anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know!)

-----

Even with the added complication of dealing for five, Go Fish could only carry a family for so long. After two full games – make that three for Henry and Killian, who'd played the first game on their own – it was clear that Henry's impromptu playmates were getting antsy. Poor Emma was trying her hardest to settle a wriggling Neal while, seemingly in response to their shared discomfort, Killian shifted position on the blanketed floor every few minutes.

Henry caught his grandparents' eyes, who both nodded their permission. Yes, it was high time they found another activity to occupy the children. "I don't know about anyone else," Henry said as he collected everyone's paired cards, "but I'm all Go Fished out."

"Yeah, same here," Emma agreed. "I think the squirt's done, too."

A touched smile lit David's face at his little daughter's use of the affectionate nickname her adult incarnation had given her baby brother. "It certainly looks like he is," he agreed, his voice soft. "Let me see if I can settle him."

After slipping his little prince from his little princess's arms, David did a quick check of the baby's diaper. Neal must have been wet because David excused himself to go change him.

Oh, there was no way in this world or any of the others that Henry was going to tell his ten-year-old mom that her baby brother had been fidgeting because he'd wet his diaper while sitting on her lap. An adult would have been able to take that news in stride, of course, but a ten-year-old would more than likely be grossed out.

Henry should know. He'd been a ten-year-old not that long ago.

With David gone,Snow and Henry were left to figure out the family's next activity. The thunder seemed to have let up a bit but since whipping wind splattered the pouring rain against the windows, outside activities were a no go. Heck, any activities that required leaving the blanket fort were probably a no go. Whether little Killian's fear of storms was restricted to thunder and lightning, Henry wasn't sure, but he was not about to put it to the test.

Although, how adorable was it that little Killian was afraid of storms? This little boy would eventually grow up to be a fearsome pirate captain who could sail through the worst storms the ocean had to offer. When had he outgrown the fear? And how?

Knowing what he did of his stepfather's past, though, Henry wondered if he even really wanted to know.

A heavy sigh escaped Henry's lips. None of this mental meandering was helpful. It would be a good hour before his grandma would even consider getting lunch ready and they still had two little kids to occupy until then.

Thinking up family activities was hard.

After another moment of thought, it came to him. "Mary Margaret, you still have all those art supplies, right?"

A smile lit his grandmother's face. "I do indeed. Everyone who wants to draw, please raise your hand."

As Henry had hoped they would, both Emma and Killian stuck their hands in the air. After all, what little kid didn't like to draw?

Teaching elementary school for twenty-eight years during the first Curse had pretty much left Snow with enough leftover art supplies to open a craft store. She kept the bulk of her collection in a big green plastic tote, the kind used for storing things in attics or basements. In the apartment, she'd kept the tote tucked into a corner of her bedroom closet but Henry didn't know where she'd stored it in the farmhouse.

"I'll be right back," Snow said now and ducked out of the blanket fort, presumably to retrieve the tote.

"What are we going to draw, Henry?" Killian asked as he rearranged the blankets and pillows on the floor around him to make himself a little drawing nest.

"We're going to draw whatever we want," Henry replied with a smile. Sometimes it was hard to believe that this little boy was Killian. The innocence in the boy's eyes was so different from the Killian Henry knew. How many awful things had the boy experienced to tear that innocence away piece by piece?

"What if we're not very good at drawing?" Emma asked, her voice soft.

In some ways, it was easier to believe that this little girl was Emma. Though she was sometimes unsure of herself in a way that adult Emma wasn't, she still had the same manner of searching for sincerity, of feeling people out before letting them in. Very little of the innocence in Killian's eyes remained in Emma's.

"It doesn't matter if you're not very good at drawing," he said, swallowing a lump that had unexpectedly arisen in his throat. "You can color or do whatever you want. You could even try to draw what you're comfortable with. You just might end up surprising yourself."

Emma gave him a tiny, grateful smile.

Footsteps trailed down the stairs, quieting the children. The footsteps bypassed the living room and headed to the kitchen. A moment later, the radio in the kitchen snapped on, tuned to the oldies station. "We need some working music!" Snow called on her way back to the blanket fort, much to the children's amusement.

Playing the oldies station was a pretty smart idea on his grandmother's part, Henry figured. Going by simple math, little Emma's musical knowledge ended at the early 90s. Hearing songs produced after the grunge era might have made her ask too many questions.

Snow returned to the blanket fort then, plastic tote in hand and old copies of The Daily Mirror resting on the closed lid. She set the tote down and removed the lid as she plopped down next to Emma. "Wow," Emma whispered when she spied the veritable art supply hoard in the tote.

"If you've ever wondered what happens to the art supplies in your classroom when the school year is over, now you know," Snow laughed.

"You're a teacher?" Emma asked, raising her gaze to Snow's. When Snow nodded, Emma smiled. "I should have guessed. You're good with kids."

The girl resumed digging through the tote, completely oblivious to the touched smile lighting Snow's suddenly watery eyes. Henry saw it, though, and gave his grandmother a smile. She returned the smile, blinked back her tears, and rested her hand on the small of her little girl's back. "All right, everyone, let's get to it."

True to her concerns, Emma chose a coloring book and a ninety-six-count box of crayons. Killian dug out a sketch book and charcoal pencils while Henry grabbed a pad of drawing paper and a package of colored pencils. Snow handed out sheets of newspaper, while instructing the children to put them underneath their chosen canvases. "I'd rather not have to wash crayon or pencil out of my linens."

"Yep, totally a teacher," Emma teased.

Henry looked up, wide-eyed. That was the first time little Emma had joked with them! The progress must have given Snow courage because she rubbed a couple of circles over Emma's back before asking, "May I share your crayons?"

"Sure," Emma shrugged, shifting the box so that both she and Snow could reach it. Snow smiled, snatched a coloring book from the tote, and settled down next to her daughter.

As everyone got to work – and Emma hummed along with the songs on the radio, which was in all honesty as too adorable for words – Henry snapped a quick picture of the kids and Snow and texted it to Regina with the caption, "Family art time."

Moments later he received a text not from his mom but from his formerly wicked aunt: Tell your grandmother that I've changed my price after that picture. I need to see these two in person.

Henry chuckled and handed the phone over to his grandmother. "Tell them to come over at 12:30 for lunch," Snow said, smirking as she handed Henry his phone back. "We're having grilled cheese."

He relayed the message and swallowed a laugh when the reply came in: Why does the menu not surprise me? We'll be there.

Thinking quickly, Henry also texted his mom to ask if she could bring him some of his old chapter books. Crayons and coloring books wouldn't hold two antsy children for very long, either.

"Who's coming over for lunch?" Emma asked as she frowned down at the picture of a cartoon witch seated on a broom with a cat on her lap that she'd chosen to color. The book she'd grabbed was filled with pictures for all the annual holidays. Somehow it didn't surprise Henry that his little mom had gone straight for the Halloween pictures. She did seem to be having trouble deciding what color to use for the embellishments on the witch's dress, though.

"Regina and her sister," Snow answered. The coloring book she'd chosen depicted birds and forest scenes, also not a surprise to Henry.

"Will they be able to fit in the blanket fort, too?" a somewhat distracted Killian asked. On the paper in front of him, a sketch of a tall-masted ship on a roiling ocean had begun taking shape. Idly, Henry wondered if the weather outside had at all played a part in Killian's chosen scene.

"Of course they can," Emma replied, smiling up at the little boy. "This is the hugest blanket fort ever!"

Killian laughed and returned his full attention to his drawing.

Henry smiled as well and looked down at his own drawing. He and Killian – well, adult Killian – had started having a kind of art class during the evenings after homework and deputy duties were done for the day. Killian's style was realistic while Henry's lent itself more to cartoon illustration but he certainly appreciated the advice his stepfather had given him. And he was using that advice now, working on a cartoon depicting his grandmother and his little mom lying side by side on their stomachs as they shared a box of crayons. A napping Wilby taking up residence on Emma's other side made the entire scene that much cuter.

Something told him that the drawing would end up on his grandparents' refrigerator from now until he went off to college.

For a couple of minutes, the only sounds were the rain pattering the roof and windows, the wind whistling outside, and Emma humming along with the radio. When David returned to the blanket fort with a freshly changed and calm Neal, the baby's babbling broke the comfortable semi-silence. "What did we miss?" David asked as he sat down cross-legged on a pillow and nestled Neal in his lap.

"Free art period," Henry said with a nod towards the tote. "Grab some supplies and have at it. Oh, and Regina and Zelena are coming over for lunch."

As David retrieved a thick red crayon, a sheet of white construction paper, and a page of newsprint, he chuckled. "Someone's price changed, I take it."

"Indeed it did," Snow laughed, causing Henry to smirk and Emma and Killian to exchange a bewildered frown. After a beat, though, the kids shrugged at each other and returned to their artwork.

Henry didn't go back to his drawing, though. He simply sat back and took in the little family scene in front of him. Little Emma and Killian lay head to head on their stomachs, their feet in the air. Snow had taken her attention off the coloring book and was now focused on her little daughter beside her as if trying to memorize her like this.

David sat with his back to the entrance to the fort, guiding little Neal's hand with the crayon gripped in it along the paper. Clearly he hadn't felt right about Neal watching the other kids color without participating in the activity himself. Without calling attention to it, Henry snapped a picture of them to use as a reference after he finished the drawing of Emma and Snow.

Just as Henry was about to get back to his drawing, a little voice singing stopped him. It took him a moment to realize that Emma was singing along to Dusty Springfield's "Son of a Preacher Man."

Henry exchanged a surprised look with his grandparents. As a general rule, Emma Swan did not sing – though there had been certain exceptions here and there – and here she was, singing along as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Henry noted with amusement that David also looked vaguely uncomfortable, as if hearing those lyrics in his little girl's voice was raising his overprotective-dad hackles. (Not that little Emma had any idea what the words she was singing actually meant.)

The magic was broken when Emma changed out her crayon and spotted the three of them staring at her. "Why are you all looking at me like that?" she asked, frowning.

Oh, crap. How could they explain that they were simply fascinated by the sound of her little voice? Thankfully, Snow once again managed to strike the perfect balance between not giving her the complete truth and not telling a lie. "That song came out years before you were born. How do you know it?"

Emma shrugged. "One of the ladies at one of my group homes liked the oldies and this one was her favorite. I only know it so well because she played it over and over and over again."

Everyone chuckled. "Well, don't let us stop you, kiddo," David said softly.

Emma smiled, plucked the black crayon out of the box, and set about coloring the cat while finishing out the song in a soft murmur.

"Mary Margaret?" Killian said after a beat.

"Yes, Killian?"

"Even though it's storming out, I'm having fun a lot of today."

"Yeah, me too," Emma added.

Snow, Charming, and Henry all shared a touched look. Talk about heartwarming! "I'm very glad," Snow said, smiling tenderly at the children, "because we are, too."

-----

Chapter Fourteen

[cianmars]

Kiddo Chapter 21 Moodboard

FF.net Mary Margaret has to try and get her stubborn husband and daughter to stay in bed with their colds, David and Emma have very different ideas...

Emma woke up cuddled up on her dad’s chest, it moved slowly up and down, even with her upon it. She could smell his aftershave faintly on his t-shirt, and skin, despite not having put it on for a few days, and the faint smell of something which she could only now associate with the Enchanted Forest, what he had smelt like there, it was one of the same smells that her blanket had always smelt like. It was comforting on her blanket, it was why she always liked to have it near her, she knew she was safe in her dad’s arms. She realised that she didn’t even take up all of the length David’s chest. She just snuggled closer to him, feeling a weird mixture of an adult and a child, well… the child she had never got to be.

She looked over at her mother who was reclined back against several pillows with Neal asleep on her chest, obviously her baby brother had fallen asleep while feeding, and Snow must have fallen back asleep along with him. Emma didn’t want to admit it to herself, or anyone else, but she felt a little jealous of the bond her mother and brother got to have – it was one they had never got to have or would, in all likelihood, ever get to have. She fidgeted on David’s chest, as she continued watching her mother and brother sleep.

David felt a baby fidgeting on his chest, with his eyes still closed he thought that it was Neal, but there was too much fidgeting which is when he opened his eyes and realised it was his older baby. He stroked his hand through Emma’s hair, making her look up at him with her chin resting on his chest. There was just enough light for him to see her adorable little face staring up at him. “Hey, kiddo, how you feeling?”

“I’m bored.”

David chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I meant how’s your cold?” Emma opened her mouth to answer but David quickly interrupted. “And before you tried to deny anything, I’ll remind you that you’re going to be resting anyway, and that I can hear your voice.” He gave her a knowing look and saw how sheepish she looked in response. He chuckled again and kissed her head again. “That bad, huh?”

“Better than I felt in the hospital.” Emma admitted. She looked down at the lion toy which had stayed firmly in her arms, along with her blanket, as she slept and even as she woke. She started to move around the soft toy, making its arms and legs move and its head.

David watched her moving about the toy, he could tell that something was on her mind and that she’d say it when she thought through it, but even if she wasn’t having to think about something it was adorable watching her take comfort in the toy he bought her.

“…. Thank you for finding me…” She mumbled. “…You didn’t have to, put erm, you did, so like, thanks.”

David frowned, and sat up more as he thought about how to word his feelings, he hated that she even felt the need to thank him for doing what literally any moral human would do, let alone that she thought that he didn’t have to. “Oh, kiddo, Em. I did have to. You’re my daughter, I love you, I would do anything for you – and I’ll always find you, no matter how far away you are, or whether you want me to find you or not.” He placed his hand on the back of her head and gently pulled her so that she was cuddled close to his chest again.

Emma opened her hand up enough so that she could cling onto David’s pyjama sweatshirt as well as her lion and blanket. “Love you daddy.” She mumbled against his chest.

“I love you to the moon and back.” David responded hearing her call him that, in conjunction, with the words made his heart melt.

Emma stayed with her head against his chest for a few beats before she looked up at him once more, pouting a little. “I’m bored.” She repeated.

David sighed sympathetically. “I know, but we can’t get out of the bed, you’re sick.” He watched as Emma’s face fell, he felt bad when he saw how disappointed she looked, he glanced over at Mary Margaret and saw that she was still peacefully asleep and would probably remain so for several hours – it had been a long few months- he looked back at Emma and ran his hand through her hair to get her to look back at him. “But, I mean, we do have to do all your medicines still, and mine I guess… and I’m sure you’re hungry, so we could get some cereal too, we may as well eat it on the couch.” He watched her gasp with excitement, he tried to not smile at her kid like way of acting that morning, he just rolled with it as he and Mary Margaret had decided. “I mean, only if you want to, I don’t wanna force you.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling and looking amused. He quickly put his finger over his mouth before Emma got too excited. His eyes darted to Mary Margaret. “Shhh, we have to be quiet, we don’t wanna wake mommy.”

Emma copied him, putting her finger on her lips, she nodded her head in agreement and whispered. “Yeah, mommy needs to sleep.” She was starting to realise that she had begun to copy calling David and Mary Margaret ‘Daddy and Mommy’, but she didn’t mind, she had been referring to them as that to Neal before she deaged anyway, plus David and Mary Margaret didn’t care if she called them that so she would carry on calling them that until he told her otherwise.

“Okay, let’s go then kiddo,” He collected her into his arms, grabbed her Nemo hoodie from the chair beside the bed and put it onto her. “You got your special things?”

Emma looked at him, she made sure that he wasn’t teasing her, then down at the soft toy lion and her blanket in her hands, she nodded her head. “I got them.”

“Good girl.“ David smiled warmly at her and grabbed his own hoodie, he slipped it on, then stood up with her in his arms. He gently pulled the blanket so it was covering Mary Margaret and Neal a little better, before padding out of the room with Emma still in his arms. “Medicine first then I dump you onto the couch, or I dump you onto the couch then I grab your medicine?”

“Couch first.” Emma decided after a brief deliberation.

“Good choice.” David nodded and walked over to the couch, he sat her down onto the couch and covered her up with the throw, Mary Margaret had already set the heat to turn up automatically at about 5am but David turned it up a little more now that they were both awake. “You find us something to watch, anything you want, I’ll be back in a moment with your medicines.”

“And yours.”

David smiled at her reminding him, he had been planning to take his out in the kitchen but he figured that there wasn’t much difference with him taking it in front of Emma, to try and make a good example in taking it without complaining. “And mine.”

As David disappeared to get the medicines and drinks Emma went to grab the remote from the coffee table where it usually was but it wasn’t there, she turned her head looking around the living room for it, she spotted the remote on top of one of the tallboys beside the couch where she was sat. She stood up on the couch but when she couldn’t reach despite how hard she tried to stretch with her arm up towards it.  She dropped back to sit on the couch with a small frown and pout.

David came back through to the living room, he had figured that it would be easier to place everything on one of the very ugly trays Regina had cursed Mary Margaret to own, he saw that Emma was frowning and her things and the throw were to one side. He placed the tray down on the table and crouched in front of her. “Did you try to wander off and avoid your medicine?” He raised his eyebrow as he spoke.

Emma shook her head, seriously, despite the pout on her face. “No. I was tryna get the stupid remote but it’s too high.” She pointed up at where it had been abandoned.

David’s eyes followed Emma’s finger to where it was pointing. He smiled at Emma and nodded his head. “I’ll grab that for you in a moment, let’s just get this medicine done.”

“You first.” She said determinedly, she crossed her arms over her chest as best she could with her cast still on her arm, and pouted at the sight of the inhaler and spacer along with the other medicine.

David quickly took two of the cold and flu tablets with some juice from his own glass, at least his was tablets, it wasn’t like it had a bad taste or a weird one like Emma’s did. “Okay, I took mine, now it’s your turn.” He told her, giving her a look to show her that he was supporting her but that she couldn’t just get out of it.

They made quick work of her inhaler, and although she complained a little, she otherwise took her medicine fairly quickly – mainly at the promise of being given the remote so she could watch whatever she wanted. David passed her the cup of juice to get rid of the taste of medicine in her mouth, as he was twisting the cap back onto the bottle, Emma lifted the small plastic cup to her lips to drink the strawberry juice, but as she drank she managed to spill half of the drink down her pyjamas, luckily avoiding her lion and blanket as well as the throw.

David saw Emma tipping the drink down herself but wasn’t fast enough to be able to stop her pyjamas from getting soaked. He watched her bottom lip start to wobble as he took the empty cup from her. He stood up, and picked her up into his arms, she hid her head against his shoulder, her wet pyjamas were soaking into his own pyjama top but he didn’t care.

“Sorry.” Emma sniffled.

“Hey,” David soothed as he picked up the tray of thing and carried it to the kitchen, “it’s okay, it was just an accident. You probably needed to be changed anyway, right?”

Emma’s cheeks tinged with pink not so much at David knowing that she needed a new pull up on, but that he had noticed and she hadn’t.

David kissed the top of her head knowing she was probably embarrassed by both things, but it was just one of those things, David and Mary Margaret had no problems at all helping her with anything she needed. “It’s okay.” He walked into the bathroom and placed her down and knelt in front of her. “Em, honestly it’s okay, it’s not a big deal.”

Emma looked up at him and nodded but sniffled a couple more times. “I didn’t mean to it just kinda was too hard to control.”

David nodded his head in understanding. “It was just an accident. Here, let’s get you out of those wet jammies then I’ll quickly grab you some clean things.” As he helped her out of her pyjamas, leaving her in her pull up and vest, he spoke carefully to her. “Maybe it would be easier for you to use that sippy cup Mary Margaret found yesterday?” He suggested wrapping a big fluffy towel around her. “It’s not like Neal needs it just yet, it was just in some gift set, and we get let off bed rest we can get some of your own, you can choose whatever style or patterns you want and feel most comfortable with.”

Emma bit her lip, feeling drowned and vulnerable wrapped in the fluffy towel with her dad still trying to make sure she had some choices in her life. She nodded her head. “Okay.”

David gave a loving smile at her quiet approval, he kissed her curls which had been made crazier with sleep, before he gathered her wet pyjamas and stood up. “I’ll be back in a minute, I’ll just be in the bedroom, I know your mommy left some bits for you in there. If you need me shout.” He waited for her to nod again before he quickly left the room.

He threw the pyjamas into the machine, along with his own damp shirt, then dashed into the bedroom. Before long he was back in the bathroom, with a new pyjama shirt on, and a new pullup and diaper rash cream, an undershirt, and pyjamas for Emma. “Okay, kiddo, let’s get you changed then we can have some breakfast.” He made quick work of changing the diaper, having Neal had given him the ability to quickly change diapers, though Neal’s were normally quick so the baby didn’t try to pee on him (David was sure he did it on purpose and only on him never Snow), this time it was to make Emma not feel quite as embarrassed.

Emma looked down at the pullups as David switched her undershirt for a clean one. “Dory?”

David took a second to realise that Emma was on about the pullup. “Oh, sorry, I just grabbed one from our wardrobe. We got some, well I got them, two packs I figured that it’d be easier to get you to wear this one or the other depending on which age you felt. Sorry, I didn’t even think, do you want me to run up to your room and grab a different pair or are these okay for now?”

Emma shrugged her shoulders still looking down at them. “These are okay, you don’t have to go get different ones.” She actually rather liked Finding Dory since she had seen it, she had watched it with her parents so they knew how much she actually liked it, even if she pretended otherwise. “It has the purple shells on it.”

David smiled, he pulled the long-sleeved pyjama top over her head, it was yellow and had a circle of dark blue with a rocket on it and the words space on it. “It does. I like that bit of the movie, where Dory finds her parents, it reminds me of how happy I was when I opened the door and found you there when you came back from New York. These purple shells stay purple if it’s dry.”

Emma let David put the pyjama pants on her, they were blue like the circle on the top, but were covered in white constellations. “What if they don’t stay dry?”

David shrugged making sure that she was aware that it was no big deal. “Then me or your mother will change you, just let us know, we don’t want you getting diaper rash.”

Emma looked a little worried as David picked her up in his arms again, he dumped the pullup into the bin in the bathroom, they were back into the living room by the time she spoke. “What if I don’t let you know? If I… can’t?” David looked down at her intently as he sat her down on the couch again and covered her in the throw. “I didn’t, couldn’t, really tell when I…” She trailed off awkwardly, “I had trouble learning how to, erm, to be potty trained.”

He saw her cheeks tinged pink and he brushed a curl from her face. “Is this because you’re so small?” He asked her kindly, she nodded her head, obviously embarrassed. “That’s okay, it’s not your fault, Em. Did you have any other,” he purposely searched for a word other than problem, “difficulties, or challenges?”

“A couple of different things, I guess, like I’m sure you’ve noticed my speech isn’t always too good at saying some words and stuff…”

David smiled gently, he and Mary Margaret had noticed that her ‘r’s sounded a little more like ‘w’s, and sometimes she substituted different letters for ones in words – they had worried a little bit but when they had looked into a couple of the parenting and baby books they got when they had gotten back to Storybrooke they had found it was common in younger kids. “That’s okay kiddo, me and your mother can understand you still, and we’ll help you in any way you need.”

“Thanks daddy.”

“No thanks necessary.” David told her sincerely. He gently tapped her bright yellow cast with a smile at her. “Hey, guess what? You get to get this off soon, that’ll make it easier when you have baths, you won’t have to have use reminding you to keep it out of the water.”

Emma smiled but then looked worried. “Will it be scary?” “If it is you’ll have me and mommy right there with you.” He told her, he had never actually broken a bone in this realm so he wasn’t actually sure what the standard practice was, but he knew no matter what Emma would probably be scared of the hospital. “Now, Cap’n Crunch or Lucky Charms?”

“Lucky Charms.”

David smirked. “Are you sure, I managed to convince Mary Margaret to get the peanut butter Cap’n Crunch.” he saw the amused look on her face and rolled his eyes good naturedly, “Okay, I smuggled them in when she wasn’t looking, but she didn’t give me too much grief about them.”

“Lucky Charms have marshmallows in them.”

David rolled his eyes, in his mind Cap’n Crunch were at least a little healthier, especially considering that Emma normally just picked the marshmallows out. “Worth a shot.” He kissed her forehead and stood up.

“Whatever I want?” She asked when the remote was placed into her hands.

“Whatever you want, just no chick flicks, I beg you.”

~OUAT~

David grabbed a normal bowl and a plastic one, the ones they had gotten which would be easier for Emma to hold, not just because she had broken her arm. He figured that if Emma was having Lucky Charms then he may as well have them too, at least he thought about being healthy, plus his had milk on them which was healthy in his eyes. He opened the fridge and grabbed one of the bottle of the PediaSure chocolate milk, there were a couple of other flavours but he figured this one would go down the best.  He poured it into the sippy cup, he was about to make himself some coffee but his eyes flickered to his and his wife’s bedroom, he knew she wasn’t going to be happy about he and Emma not adhering to the bed part of bed rest. He topped up his juice instead, better to play that part on the safe side, and not completely worry his wife.

When he walked back over to her with the food and drinks Emma was sat where he left her, the remote was pointed at the screen, but this time the screen was playing something. It took David a few seconds to register that it was cartoons on the screen. He watched Emma’s eyes flickered to him so he gave her a small smile. “Do you want to watch this?” David asked carefully.

“I…” Emma shrugged her shoulders as she trailed off.

“Okay.” David said cheerfully. He settled down onto the couch beside her, he was a little surprised when Emma moved and sat on his lap without taking her eyes from the screen, when she was comfortable he passed her the smaller bowl of Lucky Charms which he knew better than to put any milk onto. “Comfy?” He asked and smiled as she nodded. “Good. What’s this show then?”

“It’s called Recess.” Emma told him, she quickly launched into an explanation about the show and what it was about, and how she had found a channel doing a marathon of older cartoons from the early 2000’s.

“Do you think that this is what your mommy’s school is like?” David asked her, he knew that she was the Emma who was the Emma whose past he knew… well knew some of… but it was like she was a combination of an adult and a little kid, especially with the enthusiasm she was talking about some cartoons with, and how she giggled at his joke.

“Maybe.” She had been wolfing down her cereal but she was clearly finished. She moved to cuddle closer to David, she felt him holding onto her to make sure that she wasn’t about to fall off the couch as he leant forward to place their bowls down and passed her drink. “Do you think mommy’s going to go back to being a teacher?”

David was still getting used to Emma suddenly feeling comfortable enough to call he and Mary Margaret mommy and daddy, something which would probably have been normal in the Enchanted Forest and even if it hadn’t been they would have been cool with it, so the childish sounding question threw him for a second. “Hmm, I’m not sure.” And he wasn’t. She was still getting recovering from having Neal, and that he was safe, that nothing was going to happen to take him from her, as well as the whole situation with Emma which neither of them were sure how it would culminate, but then he also knew that she genuinely loved teaching. “How would you feel if she did?”

“If… If I’m still like this?” Emma asked, knowing there was a possibility of that, and received a hesitant nod. She wiggled her mouth from side to side as she thought. She sipped her chocolate milk smiling a little at the perfect taste, she couldn’t remember her mom ever buying chocolate milk, so she figured that it was the PediaSure drink- she remembered the off-brand versions she would sometimes be fortunate enough to be bought, though those were normally instead of meals. “She liked it, likes it, teaching kids.”

“But?”

Emma wasn’t sure that there was a but until David asked that she figured what it was which was in the back of her mind. “I’d miss her, lots, and I wouldn’t like not really seeing her or you.”

“I would miss working with you, it might not happen, but if it did your mom and I would make sure that we weren’t working too much. We already have a couple of people helping us out, I’ll hire more people to work there even if you change back. We’ll have more time together as a family, you won’t ever be without at least one of us at some point, we’ll juggle everything about but I can promise you that much.”

“I guess I can live with that.” Emma stated cuddling closer to him. “I mean, for Neal, he’d miss you.”

“I’d miss Neal too, and you, but I’d make sure that I’m mostly with my two favourite people in the world.” He watched her raise her eyebrow. “Your mommy’s a close third, she doesn’t mind, she feels the same – you and Neal are joint first no matter what.” He felt her cuddle closer but her attention was then captivated by the new cartoon starting. He chuckled as he spotted the cartoon version of his wife in the opening of House of Mouse, and was relieved to see the rather useless Disney version of himself was missing.

He knew that they should probably both get back to bed, but Emma was actually watching a cartoon while cuddled up to him and he was reluctant for that to end, they were still resting they were just on the couch. He swivelled around so that his legs were up on the couch and he was reclined as much as he could be in the limited space. They’d move soon, they just had some cartoons to watch before they did.

~OUAT~

Mary Margaret didn’t mean to sleep for as long as she did, but with her husband and daughter tucked safely beside her, and a baby sleeping on her chest, she was very comfortable. She woke up slowly, feeling Neal still asleep on her she kissed the top of his head as she opened her eyes and slowly turned her head toward David’s side of the bed, she gasped and her eyes widened when she didn’t see Emma asleep on David’s chest like she expected to. The bed was empty.

“No. No, no, no.” She felt her heart stop as she thought that Emma had run away again and David had gone to find her. She stood up on autopilot, she placed Neal into his bassinet beside the bed as fast but as safe as possible, then raced out to the main part of the loft to find her phone to be able to ring and try and find out where the hell her husband and daughter were.

Her hands were trembling as she raced to the kitchen island to grab her phone, she was already starting to dial David’s number, when she finally realised that the television. She sprinted over and saw David and Emma cuddled up asleep lying on the couch with some kids cartoons playing.

Her fear was gone, replaced with a brief relief, then frustration at the pair. They were meant to be staying in bed, but more importantly she thought they had gone, that Emma and/or David were missing and hurt, at the very least. She leant down and poked David’s shoulder.

David’s eyes flickered open and was met with his wife’s very displeased face, a face he was sadly only too familiar, it was even worse this time as it was turned onto him. “…Mary Margaret…” His voice was a little crackly from his own cold and it was slurred with sleep. He felt his daughter waking on his chest.

“You’re both going back to bed.” She said firmly without realising that it came off a little cold, taking Emma who was now awake into her arms, she started to walk to the bedroom with David trailing behind.

“…Mommy?” Emma’s voice was just as crackly and slurred as David’s was, but worry filled her at Mary Margaret’s tone, she also felt bad that she had been the one to convince David to let them both to get up.

Mary Margaret took a deep breath. “Emma, this isn’t up for debate or discussion, and right now I just need for you to listen to me and do as I say. I’m very disappointed in both of you, you’re both meant to be on bed rest because you’re ill and it’s a miracle that you’re not still in the hospital with hypothermia or worse. So I really, really, recommend that you just do as I say without talking.”

Emma shrunk into herself, it stung to know that her mother was disappointed in her, she didn’t say a word even as Mary Margaret placed her into the bed and piled blankets onto her.

Mary Margaret left without saying another word, she needed to take a minute, but she was almost certain that David would follow her but she’d much rather that than Emma following her.

Emma fidgeted in the bed, she wanted the blanket and lion which had been left on the couch, but didn’t want to say it. She wanted to be better and to be able to go out, she kind of wanted to go to the park and play on the swings, she wanted to watch cartoons with her dad again, and to introduce her mother and brother to the cartoons she and David had been watching – but most of all she didn’t want her mom to be disappointed or upset with her.

David watched the curtain ‘door’ shut again behind his irate wife. He looked at Emma and gave her a sympathetic smile, before he placed his hand onto her head as a sign of comfort, though it did little to help. “It’s okay Em.”

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I made you get out of bed.” She mumbled a quick but sincere apology.

David shook his head. “You didn’t make me do anything. I’m your daddy, and we were resting, just…” He sighed. “Just stay here while me and Mary Margaret talk, we’ll both be back in a few minutes, I promise.”

~OUAT~

“Go back to bed David.” Mary Margaret said firmly when she heard her husband’s footsteps leaving the bedroom heading towards her. She didn’t bother to turn around from where she stood in the kitchen to face him as she spoke.

“Mary Margaret?” He sighed as she ignored him. “Mary Margaret. Snow.”

Mary Margaret sighed in frustration but finally turned around. “What?” She felt a little bad when she realised how venomous she sounded but David already started to speak so she couldn’t take it back no matter how much she wanted to or felt bad about it.

“I’m sorry I scared you. It was my choice to let Emma get out bed because she looked so disappointed when I said that we had to rest, I didn’t think of how worried you would be after yesterday, and I shouldn’t have let Emma get out of bed before you were awake…”

“But?”

David took a deep breath. “But…” He took a few steps closer to Mary Margaret and took hold of her hands it was a good sign when she didn’t shake him off or step away. “I made sure Emma was resting, she didn’t even take a single step, I carried her the entire time, and resting on the couch is just as good as the bed. I know that it was worrying, and I am sorry for worrying you… but I made sure she had her medicine, and gave her some breakfast, changed her diaper, and her pyjamas when she spilt her juice down herself, I even gave her one of those PediaSure shakes and got her to drink it in the sippy cup without kicking up a fuss because she can’t properly control the little plastic cup. We were only a room away from you.” He gave her his loving but firm smile. “I’m her parent too. I would never put her in danger, you trust me so trust that I would always look after her, I didn’t do anything wrong other than scare you.”

Mary Margaret gave a big sigh, then gave him a nod and looked down, disappointed in herself. Emma was just as much his child as she was hers, he was an amazing father to her daughter no matter Emma’s age, she shouldn’t have taken her fear out on him. She glanced over at the closed curtains and bit her lip, it was only now that she was calming herself that she realised how she had spoken to Emma, she needed to talk to her again.

David gently moved and tipped her chin back to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Mary Margaret sighed gently, she wrapped her arms around his waist, and he responded in kind, she leant up on her tiptoes and kissed his lips gently. “I’m sorrier. I should have checked the other rooms before I started to freak out, I just assumed the worst after yesterday… but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you or Emma.” She managed to hold off at least a few seconds before asking her husband how their daughter seemed to him that day. He, of course, told her how she was health wise, but Mary Margaret knew her husband was thinking of how to tell her something, so she just watched him and let him figure it out.

“She’s…” he sighed as he searched for the right words, his hand rubbed the back of his neck, and he sighed again. “She’s changing. She’s like a mixture of the two Emma’s. She keeps calling the two of us mommy and daddy, and wanted to watch cartoons, and then told me all about them. She won’t put the lion toy I got her down, or her baby blanket… she seemed rather uneasy when you put her to bed without them.” He smirked when she looked a little guilty at his mock accusatory tone, even when annoyed she wouldn’t have left them on the couch had she known how attached to them Emma had become.

“We’ll have to remember to grab it for her before we go join her again.” There was no way that she was going to forget that if it made Emma feel more comfortable. “It was pretty adorable, seeing you two cuddled up… did she really pick cartoons?”

David grinned his charming smile, the one which still made her legs go weak. “Yeah…She also asked if you were ever going to go back to being a teacher too, even if she stays a little kid.” Her eyebrows shot up at that. “I told her that you enjoy it, so you might one day. But if that happens that we’re going to make sure that at least one of us are always with her and Neal. And that we’d make time to be together as a family… if Emma stays the size she is…”

“Or becomes more like a little kid.” Mary Margaret finished. They were silent for a minute. “David?”

His wife’s voice was barely above a whisper and he didn’t have to ask what her question was going to be, he felt the same, but he asked regardless. “Yes dear?”

“What do we do if Emma changes into a child completely.”

David had been wondering the exact same thing especially as he and Emma watched the cartoons. He could tell that Mary Margaret was trying not to worry, he knew her as well as he knew himself, she needed to be given a plan. “I guess… I guess we just finally get to raise her. If it does happen Regina will have shown us Emma’s fake memories, so at least she won’t feel hurt that we don’t know what she’s talking about, we’ll adapt the loft because Emma’s already a hell raiser so can you imagine how much trouble she’d be if she’s this size and a kid?” He smirked and let out a breath of laughter but was glad to see her give a small smile. “If you want to work part time, or full time, or be a stay at home mom, or I want to do any of that, we’ll sort it out later. We can do this. But, but maybe Regina will find something, or Belle, or Gold. Or even Blue.” That bit sounded stronger in his head. “We can do this, together, as a family.”

“We always do.” She leant up and gently kissed his lips and placed her hand upon his chest. “We need to get you to bed, you’re sick too, but just let me talk to Emma first? Please?”

“Of course.” David agreed, she started to walk back to the room, but David quickly took hold of her hand pulling her back to him. “I’m guessing Emma and I aren’t going to be allowed out of bed again today?”

She gave him a patient smile. “You can tomorrow.” She quickly grabbed the lion and blanket from the couch, and passed David, she headed into the bedroom through the curtains which hung closed.

~OUAT~

Mary Margaret almost ran into Emma as she entered the master bedroom. Instead of lying in the bed where she had been left, Emma was stood at Neal’s crib, she looked up at Mary Margaret sheepishly when she realised that she was there.

“I… I’m sorry.” Emma mumbled, she didn’t want to let her mother down any more than she had by getting out of the bed in the first place. She bit her lip and fidgeted, looking up at her mom as though she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and she felt as young as she looked. “Nealy woke up, and you and daddy were still talking, I was just talking to him, I’m sorry for getting out of bed again.”

Mary Margaret frowned realising that Emma really thought that she was angry with her. She crouched down in front of Emma, she placed the toy and blanket under her arm and gently took hold of Emma’s hands so she could keep her attention. “I’m not mad sweetie. Emma, you don’t have anything to apologise for, I do. I was just scared when I didn’t wake up with you beside me, I thought that you had disappeared again,” she held her hand up to stop Emma from apologising again, “it’s okay you don’t have to apologise again.”

She gently picked her daughter up and carried her over to sit on her lap on the bed so that she was facing her. She handed Emma her lion and blanket before brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Sweetie, you know when Neal was born and Zelena took him, and then it was very hard for me and daddy to put him down or let him leave our sight?” She asked slowly and carefully, she knew Emma was acting like a mix of an adult and a child so she was trying pitch it for a suitable tone.

“Yeah.” Emma nodded remembering how only a select few were even allowed to hold him, they had both gotten better with him, and now they weren’t overprotective of him out of the ordinary. “You only let me hold him, or sometimes Henry, but we had to be careful ‘cause he’s only a baby.”

“Yes, and you’re very good with him, he loves you so much.“ Mary Margaret smiled gently at her, she really was talking like a little kid, but her memories hadn’t changed so Mary Margaret was beginning to wonder if this was just the next stage in the deaging. She stroked her thumb down Emma’s knuckles, to get Emma to look back at her instead of at her brother’s crib, she kept the loving smile on her face. “But it took some time for us to get used to knowing that Neal would be safe if we weren’t always around him and that he wasn’t going to disappear again. We feel the same about you, it really scared us when we couldn’t find you, we would feel the same no matter how old or young or big or small you are. So, it’s going to take us a little time to get used to letting you out of our sight too. I’m sorry for freaking out at you and your father, I can’t promise that I won’t get worried again but I will try my best to think things through and actually search for you if that does happen-“

“-Then you’ll freak out.” Emma lightened the mood with a small joke, but there was a touched look on her face which couldn’t be hidden, she already knew her mother loved her as much as Neal… but there was just something which suddenly seemed even more to her – as though the love was completely filling her up. It was so uncomplicated, pure and selfless love, Emma led her head against Mary Margaret’s chest.

Mary Margaret smirked at Emma’s joke but happily cuddled her daughter closer to her. “Then I’ll freak out, but Emma I won’t be mad at you, I promise.”

Emma just smiled and didn’t pull away from the closeness of the cuddle, she felt secure and comforted with having her mother not just near her, but her arms wrapped around her.

~OUAT~

Emma and Mary Margaret sat cuddling and listening to Neal gently cooing in his crib as he looked up at his sheep mobile.

Emma adored her little brother but she found herself loving the individual attention from her mother, it was quite nice not having to share her mommy for once, she relaxed even more as Mary Margaret stroked her hair it was something which always relaxed her.

Emma was just about to ask where David was, and why he didn’t have to stay in bed like she did, when suddenly he called through from behind the bedroom curtain.

“Are you two done talking now?” David called from behind of it. “I’m bored. Can you let me in?”

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Typical.” She whispered to Emma before she tucked Emma into the middle of the bed and walked over to the curtain. “And why can’t you let yourself in?” There was laughter in her voice as she walked over, she pulled the curtain open and smiled when she saw David standing holding the television box and screen in his arms.

“Em and I were enjoying watching our cartoons, weren’t we kiddo?” He placed the tv and box on the dresser which stood opposite the bed and between the curtained entrance ways. He turned back around and smiled as Emma was nodding enthusiastically and Mary Margaret tries her hardest to look displeased but he knew he was back in her good books from the smile in her eyes which was fighting to get onto her face too. “It’s either this or we revolt and I reckon we’d win the uprising.”

“Yeah, we can get Neal on our side too, he needs to watch them too.” Emma grinned as her mother scooped Neal up into her arms, headed back to the bed, then in one swift motion she picked Emma up and then sat back where she had been with both Emma and Neal on her lap.

David smiled at the sight of his wife and kids cuddled together, Mary Margaret caught his eye and they shared a smile, yes two of the four members of the family were sick, but it was still a nice day. David quickly set the television back up and the old cartoons returned to the screen. David climbed back into bed and Emma’s eyes stayed on the screen as she moved to cuddle up on his lap.

“Can I hold Nealy? Pretty please mommy?” Emma asked as the episode of The Rugrats came to an end.

Mary Margaret smiled gently down at Emma, she leant down to drop a kiss onto Emma’s forehead, then did the same to Neal. “Okay, but you let your daddy help you, okay?” She wasn’t sure if Neal would be too heavy in Emma’s little arm. She waited for David to get Emma into position then placed Neal onto Emma’s lap with both Emma and David supporting his head and body.

“Hiya Nealy.” Emma smiled down at his blue eyes, she beamed as he cooed up at her, though she was relieved when her mother saved her hair from being tugged on she was also happy Neal was becoming more curious and therefore more interesting. She started to talk to him about the new cartoon which was on the screen but eventually she drifted off into silence, only speaking every so often about the show.

But eventually she became lost in her thoughts. “I had a bad dream before I ran away.” She told them breaking her own silence, her parents looked down at her but stayed quiet to let Emma speak, so she continued. “I was at home, then my old social worker turned up and she had this big file, which the social workers always turn up with before I was moved. When I woke up I found the file by accident, I wasn’t snooping, I promise.”

“It’s okay kiddo, we know you weren’t, it’s okay.” David soothed her childish worry, he kissed the top of her head, and waited for her to continue.

“I found the file, and I couldn’t read it properly, just my name. But it was like the file in my dream, and the ones which were always around when I ended up in hospital… I tried to take some breaths and calm down, but then the pictures falled, fell, out. I thought you were sending me away,” her ending sentence was a whisper, “I don’t want to be without my mommy and daddy… I don’t want you to send me away.”

“That will never happen.” Mary Margaret told her firmly. “Ever.” David added.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret placed her hand on her cheek so she could look into her green eyes which were sparkling with tears, “please never run away from us again. Please come and talk to us, if any ever makes you want to run again, come and talk to us. It doesn’t matter what time of the day it is, you could wake us up on the hour every hour, during the middle of the night and we wouldn’t mind.”

“We’d just have to keep you in our bed with us so you actually get some rest.” David added with a jokey smile, though he wasn’t joking, in fact he would rather she stay in his sight at all times considering how worried he and his wife had been when Emma had run.

“I don’t have my real file here and I think they lied in it.” Emma told them as her eyes were fixed looking down at her baby brother who her father was still helping her hold. “They blamed me for everything, even if it wasn’t my fault, or I didn’t mean to.”

“Nothing that happened was your fault, baby.” Mary Margaret promised in a soothing voice.

Emma nodded her head, but it was a nice reminder, she found without them she would often start to blame herself for things. “Can you ask Regina to make another dreamcatcher for me, for my real memories, not my other ones? So that you can see what really happened… if you want… they can get pretty scary.”

Mary Margaret gave her a water smile, David took Neal from Emma’s arms, then Mary Margaret took her into her own arms and cuddled her baby girl close. “Of course we will Emma. Me and daddy are never leaving you, no matter what the bad people did to you, and you’re never going to have to go through that again.”

 ~OUAT~

They spent the rest of their day watching cartoons with Emma and Neal, along with some animated movies such as The Princess and the Frog, and Tangled which Emma was singing along with as best she could with her sore throat. Mary Margaret had both David and Emma eating soup for lunch and dinner, though at dinner she had deemed them both better enough to have grilled cheese with them, which also made it easier to convince Emma to take her night time medicine.

Mary Margaret had also left the room to talk to Regina when she called, Regina had found the person who had made the ice castle, a queen from a faraway land who had come through with Emma and Hook from Gold’s vault. Mary Margaret was proud to see the progress her step mother had made when she told Mary Margaret that she had become friends with the woman who specialised in ice magic, and was helping her to find her sister. Mary Margaret had also assured Regina that Emma was going to be okay, and Regina had assured Mary Margaret that Emma would be mostly a mixture of an adult (as much as Emma could ordinarily be described as one, Regina had quipped) and child, with completely childish days where Emma would have her separate memories. When she returned to the room she was slightly surprised that Emma hadn’t asked her who was on the phone or what it was about, but she was happy that Emma wouldn’t have another thing to worry about.

Both Emma and Neal were fast asleep by 7:30, it was as David and Mary Margaret cuddled in front of a movie more to their taste than their kids’ that Mary Margaret told him about the phone call, and that she had done as Emma had asked and asked Regina to make a dreamcatcher so David and Mary Margaret could see Emma’s true memories before they learnt of her fake ones. Regina had promised to be around the next day, with her new friend, Henry, and a dreamcatcher.

 ~OUAT~

As a knock at the front door thudded, gently enough to try not to wake the younger residents of the home but loud enough to announce their arrival, it was clear that it was a fellow set of parents knocking.. Emma stirred, Mary Margaret stood from the bed, with Neal still nestled in her arms, to answer it, and David was left to hope that Emma would fall back asleep then sleep through until night time.

“Who’s ’at?” Emma asked, as she stirred from her sleep, her voice slurred as she fought sleep which tried its hardest to reclaim her.

David’s voice was barely above a whisper but it vibrated through his chest as he quietly spoke and stroked Emma’s hair to try and get her back to sleep. “Shhh, it’s okay kiddo, it’s just Ella and Thomas.” He felt her head tilt to the side so he could tell she was confused. “Ashley and Sean.” He reminded her gently, after the second curse had broken some of the Storybrooke residents had decided to change their name back to their original ones, he knew that his wife had been thinking about changing her name back to Snow before everything with Emma had happened, but now she had bigger things to think about that deciding about a change of name. “Alexandra’s three but she’s pretty big for her age, and you’re pretty small, so Ella offered to drop some stuff around Alexandra’s outgrown just until we can take you shopping. Go back to sleep sweetheart.”

“Gonna go say hi?” Emma mumbled, but David stroking her hair was making her very sleepy, her thumb went up to near her mouth and she hesitated for a half second before putting it into her mouth.

David smiled down gently at her thinking she would be awake long enough for David to even carry her to the doorway of the bedroom. “Maybe next time.” He said softly, he felt his daughter nod her head and within a minute Emma was fast asleep once more.

David stayed awake until his wife was back into the room, he watched her place Neal in his crib at the end of the bed, and change into her own pyjamas before climbing into bed beside him. David turned his head and kissed her lips, just as softly and slowly as full of love, then rested his forehead against hers. Emma was still curled upon his chest, and Mary Margaret wrapped her arm around him, and Emma by extension. The next day they would be learning about their daughter’s real past. They wanted, no needed, to know. But it was going to hurt them, which they could handle, and their daughter even more so, which they couldn’t. They led for a while, enjoying the calm between the storm while it was there, until they too eventually fell asleep hoping that both of their kids would stay asleep for as long as possible.

[fantastic-fantasy-fanfics]

HALF CRAZY FOR YOU (Part two- Grace’s gift)

Series Summary: Jefferson had lost his wife years ago.  But, when some mysterious evidence of her survival appears, he must find her.

A/N: Again, I wrote this a while ago, like, last summer, so this writing is pretty mediocre.  And I’m only editing it a little, tiny bit, so that might also add to the suckiness of the fic.

Jefferson x Rapunzel (OC)

Word count: 1076

Summary: Grace helps out the citizens of Storybrooke, but why? (sorry, I suck at summaries)

Warnings: mentions of death

PART 1

(GIF not mine)

[Third person POV]

Storybrooke. A town that never existed until the curse was laid upon the people of the Enchanted Forest.  It was quaint and fairly quiet.  Everybody knew everybody.  Or so you would think.  Even years after the curse was broken, there were still a few stragglers.  People who hadn't found their family, friends, and/ or loved ones.

 It had been almost five years since the curse had been broken by the savior and almost everyone had found their beloved friends and family.  Snow White found Prince Charming, Rumpelstiltskin had reconciled with Belle, and Jefferson had been reunited with his daughter, Grace. The reunion of Grace and her father was the most beautiful one in all of Storybrook.  

Grace loved her father very much; possibly even more so than he loved her, which was quite a feat, considering how much Jefferson adored his little girl.  Grace's abundant love for her father was going to be shown in a gift she was planning to get her father.  Currently, she was going around town doing various tasks and chores for the various townspeople to raise money for that special gift she so desperately wanted to give her father.

 Knock knock knock.  Grace rasped on the door a few times before Mary Margaret answered the door. "Oh… hello, Grace.  What can I do for you?" Mary asked sweetly bending over so she was eye-level with the little girl.  A bright but shy smile appeared on Grace's face, "I was wondering if there were any chores I could do for you,".  A similar smile appeared on Mary's face, "I could use some help cleaning the kitchen," Mary chirped, "would you help me with that?", Grace nodded eagerly as she skipped into the little apartment.

           A half hour had passed and the kitchen was almost spotless.  Grace was a surprisingly good helper.  "Wow, you did a fantastic job!  Where did you learn to clean as well as you do?" Mary questioned, "Papa and I always have to clean our big house together," Grace explained.

Right as Mary was handing Grace a few dollars for her help, Emma and David walked in.  "Hello Mary and… Grace…" Emma gave Mary a questioning glance, silently asking for an explanation as to why the little girl was there.  "Oh uh, Grace here is trying to raise money by doing little tasks and such," Mary explained.  David got down onto his knees so it was easier to make eye contact with Grace, "y'know, my truck could use washing, would you clean it for me?" David smiled, "and while you're at it, if you could, wash my Bug?" Emma added.  Grace giggled and nodded again rushing to the door, "I'll bring down some soap and water," Emma called over to Grace, "and a step-ladder please?" Grace giggled closing the door behind her.

 Mary, David, and Emma stared down at Grace, who was thoroughly scrubbing David's truck, from the apartment window.  Grace was having a bit of trouble since she was so little, but she was determined to do the job well!

"Does Jefferson know about this?" Emma asked, waving to Grace who happily waved back.  "I'm going to assume no," Mary sighed sitting down at the kitchen table, "it seemed like Grace wanted this whole thing to be a surprise,". Emma sat down next to her mother and crossed her arms on the table’s edge, "why is she raising the cash?" she asked laying her chin on her crossed arms.  "I have no idea, she never said," Mary shrugged.  The click and squeak of the door alerted the three adults to Grace's presence, "I'm finished," She grunted placing the heavy, half-full bucket of water by the door.  David smiled and handed Grace her earnings.  The face that Grace was currently expressing could probably make flowers grow.  Her eyes were bright, her smile was wide and her thank yous were plenty.  Grace gave David a quick but grateful hug before rushing out the door.  "She's cute," Emma stated, "I wonder if she gets it from her mother,". A solemn silence fell upon the adults, "what?  What's wrong?" Emma asked with concern, "no one knows Grace's mother," David sighed, "she died shortly after Grace was born," "poor Jefferson was left to raise his daughter all on his own," Mary lamented, picking up the bucket of water and dumping its contents into the sink.

            As Grace skipped up the steps to her front door, just as Jefferson opened the door with panic written all over his expression. He stopped short in his tracks when he saw his precious daughter standing on the front porch. "Grace!" Jefferson let out a breath of relief as he tightly embraced his daughter, "where were you, I was so worried!" "I'm sorry Papa, I was visiting Miss Blanchard and her family," Grace explained as she led her father back into the house by the hand.  Jefferson was slightly confused, "why were you with Miss Blanchard?"  he asked taking off his hat and coat.  Sure, Grace was a fairly social girl, and she loved her teacher Miss Blanchard, but this was a bit unusual.  Grace would never wander off without telling him where she was going.  

"I was helping them clean," Grace was dancing around the surprise gift bit.  Jefferson was still slightly confused but it didn't matter.  Grace was now at home, and she was with someone he trusted, and not to mention she was being helpful, so he pushed his suspicion to the back of his mind.  "My sweet little girl," Jefferson chuckled taking off his gloves and embracing his daughter once again, "now c'mon, it's time for tea,".

            "Here you are bunny," Jefferson smiled handing Grace a cup of tea.  Poor Jefferson.  Every time he looked at his young daughter, he was reminded of his late wife.  Her big, brown eyes, her lighthearted laugh, her tiny freckles, even her long hair.  Everything reminded him of Rapunzel.  Grace was the spit ‘n' image of her late mother, why not pass down the affectionate nickname?

"Sugar?" Jefferson offered, "three cubes please," Grace accepted the offer with a grateful smile.  Both raising their cups in silent cheers before taking a sip of their tea.  Grace slid a hand-made drawing over to her father.  Jefferson looked down at the drawing that Grace had made depicting the two of them together with a small laugh.  "It's beautiful Grace," he laughed, to which Grace replied, "happy birthday papa,".

TAGLIST:

@paranoid-borderline-insane @buckyshattergirl @caplanbuckybarnes

[dani-ellie03]

Fic: Wednesday’s Child (2/?)

Title: Wednesday’s Child Summary: The next time Emma Swan wanted magical help, she was on her own. Because now they were stuck with a pint-sized savior who clearly had an attitude problem and a terrified but pretending not to be pre-pirate. Spoilers: If you’re current, we’re good. Rating/Warning: PG-13, mostly for safety. Family angst/fluff, as per usual. Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddy Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I’m just borrowing them but I’ll put them back when I’m finished!

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{1}

At ff.net and below.

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Snow White paced the length of the living room while bouncing a fussy Neal on her hip. The bouncing was an attempt to calm Neal's nerves but the pacing was an attempt to calm hers. The phone call she'd just received from her stepmother had sent her anxiety skyrocketing.

"Did Regina say what she wanted to talk to us about?" Charming asked softly. His concerned eyes followed Snow on her journey from one end of the room to the other and back again.

Snow shook her head. "She just said that something happened when she was with Emma and Killian and showing us would be easier than telling us." A heavy sigh escaped her lips. "She swore no one was hurt but she sounded kind of panicked, Charming."

It was precisely the distress in Regina's tone that had set Snow pacing the living room. A worried parent's mind could go from zero to crisis in under three seconds and after that phone call, Snow couldn't help but think the worst.

Regina hadn't said that everyone was all right, just that no one was hurt. Even after Snow asked, she hadn't put Emma or Killian on the phone. And she had insisted on driving over to the farmhouse with Killian and Emma in tow while refusing to tell Snow why they couldn't just poof there.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

A knock on the front door thankfully interrupted Snow's spiraling thoughts. She rushed to the front door, Charming hot on her heels. Since she still had a fussy baby in her arms, Charming wasted not a moment in reaching around her and pulling the door open.

On their porch stood Regina Mills, who was so nervous that she was literally wringing her hands. "Now, before you say a word, just know that I will find a way to set things right."

Oh gods, Snow thought, her heart dropping into her stomach, what's wrong?

"Regina, what the hell is going on?" Charming asked, his tone reflecting a combination of concern and impatience. "You've got us both thinking the worst."

Regina heaved a sigh. "There's no easy way to do this so I'm just going to do it. Wait here. Oh, and you might want to hide that welcome mat." With that, she turned on her heel and hurried down the steps.

Charming and Snow shared a perplexed frown. What on earth was happening and why did they need to hide their welcome mat, of all things? Their curiosity only grew when Regina poked her head into the open back window of her Mercedes as if talking to someone.

Or a couple of someones. A few seconds later, the back doors opened and a dark-haired little boy and a blonde little girl climbed out of the car. And as soon as Snow's eyed landed on the girl, she knew.

That little girl was her baby. That little girl was her Emma. She knew it in her soul. "Charming," she murmured.

"I see her, Snow," he said, his voice as low in wonder as hers had been. "I see her."

Oh gods, this was amazing. This was incredible. This was more than Snow could have ever dreamed. In front of her was her baby – her little girl, her pride and joy. She had lovely blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders, bright green eyes, Snow's chin, Charming's nose. She was so beautiful and absolutely perfect.

And then Snow came crashing back down to the ground. If the little girl was Emma, the little boy had to be Killian. Last Snow knew, they had been adults. Why on earth were they children?

"It doesn't work like this," young Emma was saying to Regina. Snow melted at the sound of her little girl's little voice. "I've been through this enough times to know. You can't just take me to a new house. Where's all the paperwork?"

"Like I said, I must do things a little differently than your last social worker," Regina replied with barely concealed irritation. Emma must have been arguing with her the entire trip from the vault. Still, Regina shored up her patience as she glanced nervously from the children to Snow and Charming. "Emma, Killian, allow me to introduce you to Mary Margaret and David Nolan."

So that was why she'd wanted them to hide the welcome mat. She hadn't revealed their Enchanted Forest identities to the children.

Poor little Killian looked lost and a little scared but he was clearly trying his best to go with the flow. "How do you do?" he asked politely.

Emma just crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Regina.

"Emma, your anger with me is no excuse for being rude," Regina chided.

The girl narrowed her eyes at Regina, sighed, and turned her attention to Snow and Charming. "Hi."

Both parents swallowed a chuckle at their little girl's attitude. They shouldn't encourage her but her entire demeanor was just so delightfully Emma. "Hello, Killian," Charming said, holding his hand out to the children in turn. "Hello, Emma. It's nice to meet you."

Snow watched both Emma and Killian shake Charming's hand, boggling at how he'd managed to pull himself together enough to speak at all. Fully aware that she had to say something, she cleared her throat and shifted Neal on her hip. "It's very nice to meet you both. Why don't we all step inside?"

As she turned in the doorway to allow Regina and the children entry, she kept her eyes glued to Emma and Killian. They were both adorable, of course, but it didn't take a genius to see that underneath Killian's forced politeness and Emma's attitude, they were both terrified.

Once inside the children darted their gazes around the foyer, taking in all the details of the space in the way that only children could. Over their heads, the adults all conducted a silent conversation. Charming nodded to Snow and Regina and then suggested, "Why don't I give you both a tour of the house? I'm sure Regina has some things to discuss with Mary Margaret, which would just be boring for the two of you."

Killian looked up at Regina, who nodded, telling him it was okay. Emma, on the other hand, shot Regina one more glare before turning away from her and facing Charming. "Yeah, sure."

Charming smiled down at his baby girl before shifting focus to his son-in-law. "Are you in, too, Killian?"

"Yes, please," the boy nodded.

"Right this way, then."

Charming led the children to the living room to begin the tour while Snow and Regina headed to the kitchen where they could sit down. As soon as she was sure the children were out of earshot, Snow practically hissed, "What the hell happened?"

Regina winced. Her stepdaughter cursing, even one as mild as "hell," was never a good sign. "Truth be told, I'm not a hundred percent sure. We were in my vault working on Emma's anniversary present for you. Ordinarily I wouldn't tell you what the gift is but I think it's a key part of the explanation for ..." She waved her hand in the direction the children had gone, "... that. She wanted to create a kind of home movie for you out of her good childhood memories, so when I fix this and she eventually gives it to you, act surprised."

Oh, her precious, precious baby. What a lovely idea for a gift! Snow nodded, indicating that she would follow Regina's instruction.

Regina nodded back, indicating her gratitude. "I asked them to start working on the potion for the memory extraction. Killian grabbed a wrong ingredient and the potion exploded, resulting in Mini-Savior and Mini-Pirate in there."

Snow took a breath and let the story settle a moment. "Do they remember anything about being adults?"

"Not as far as I can tell."

"What have you told them?"

"As little as I could get away with," Regina admitted somewhat sheepishly. "Tiny Guyliner is at least from the Enchanted Forest so he understands magical transport. He's certainly figured out that he's in a different realm. You should have seen the expression on the poor boy's face when I started my car. Unfortunately, I haven't had a chance to really explain much of anything to him. Emma, on the other hand …"

Regina let the sentence trail off for a beat, then sighed. "I told her that I was her new social worker, that she was being placed with a new foster family, and that she'd fallen asleep in the car, which is why she doesn't remember the trip to Storybrooke. As you can probably tell, she doesn't believe a word of it. I know I shouldn't have lied but I couldn't tell her the truth. She would have dug in her heels if I'd told her she'd been an adult ten minutes ago and she magically de-aged herself."

At that, Snow nodded. She couldn't imagine having to tell that little girl currently touring the house, a little girl who'd never experienced magic and had never had a wish come true in her young life, that a magical accident had taken twenty years from her.

"I'm truly sorry about this, Snow. I will fix it." When Snow nodded again, Regina pushed herself up from the chair at the kitchen table. "If you'll be all right with them, I want to swing by the house and see if I can find a few old outfits of Henry's to get you through the next couple of days. Their clothes shrunk with them today but you're going to need more than one outfit apiece."

"Wait, you think they could be like this for a couple of days?"

"I'm hoping I can figure out the reversal fairly quickly but I don't know what they did and it's not as if I can ask them. It might take me a little while."

Snow shifted a calming Neal in her arms, turning all this over in her head. Her baby and her baby's husband were children. They were going to need to be cared for and looked after for possibly days on end.

She was going to get to take care of her little girl as a little girl.

It was incredible. And confusing. And maybe a little nerve-wracking but also heartwarming.

Before either Regina or Snow could say another word, Charming entered the kitchen with Emma holding his right hand and Killian holding his left. They both looked at least somewhat calmer, though apprehension still lingered in their eyes. As soon as Regina left and the shock had worn off for everyone, Snow and Charming certainly owed these scared children an explanation. "And we conclude the grand tour in the kitchen."

"Wow," Killian breathed, his eyes wide as he caught sight of the unfamiliar appliances.

Emma, who'd grown up with modern kitchens, simply studied the adults in turn. She was evidently still a bit miffed with Regina (the resolving of which Snow vowed to work on with her) but Charming had at least … well, charmed her enough to get her to hold his hand. Her discerning gaze finally settled on Snow. "Is it really going to be just Killian and me and the baby living here? For kids, I mean."

A memory of a conversation Snow had had with Emma back before the first Curse broke surfaced, something about some of the foster families Emma had stayed with taking in children solely for the benefits. Little Emma, then, was trying to gauge how much attention she was going to get.

"There is an older boy who'll probably be staying with us, too," Snow allowed. Something told her that Henry was not going to want to miss out on a minute of his mom and Killian being younger than he was. "His name's Henry and he's fourteen. He's with friends now but he'll be home a little later. It'll be the four of you staying here."

The girl considered that for a moment as she studied Snow's face. "How do you know him?"

Snow felt her heart seize for the briefest of moments. Emma would never believe that Henry was her grandson but Snow knew she couldn't lie to her, either. That was why the girl was so annoyed with Regina, Snow now realized. Though Regina's mistake was completely understandable, she'd lied and Emma knew it. The poor little girl had grown up with nothing but lies and judging by the way she was carefully watching Snow, she was looking for them.

She was trying to figure out if she could trust these new people in her life.

"He's family," Snow finally said. It was the only truth she could give her little girl.

Again, Emma considered both her words and her facial expression. Then she seemed to relax a tiny bit. "Okay."

"Okay," Snow repeated, giving her little daughter a kind smile. She glanced up at Charming, who smiled lovingly back at her. Tentative though it may have been, they'd each made an inroad with their baby girl and it felt wonderful.

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Chapter Three