#so please enjoy a Seattle-based magic AU

[sabraeal]

Shidan/Garrack and a love potion gone wrong

The Kit-Cat clock up on the wall’s been acting up again.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-purr-purr-tock. No wonder it’s been running slow.

Shidan tries not to notice – it just encourages the thing – but even with the pneumatic engraver going, even with the Quiet-Me he’s carved into the crown molding of the office, it’s obvious.

He lets out a huff. This is what you get with antiques: attitude.

“That’s what you get for letting mom practice spellwork on whatever she could get her hands on,” pipes a voice from behind him, back where there’s a cluster of what Yuzuri calls alternative seating options and Shidan calls expensive trash bags.

He doesn’t turn – Don’t-See-Mes are tricky things, and he’s just managed to get it anchored to the monogram; the last thing he needs is for the damn thing to get ideas and start turning the whole watch invisible as he’s working on it – but he does say, “That’s what I get for your grandmother letting her spell whatever she wants. God know why she thought a clock needed an opinion.”

“Knowing Mom? Probably so she could argue with it.”

That’s true, but Shidan knows better than to say. If there’s one way to make sure something will make its way to Crystal, it’s to tell Kirito right before he goes home. Won’t take more than an hour for the texts to start, asking why he’d give the kid ammunition for one of their neighborhood-famous rows, or whose side he’s on.

Shidan’s of the firm opinion that if you’ve got the gift, and you’re still putting crystals on your electronics and magnets on your light switches, you should probably expect some push back from your magic-minded son. But that’s not really his business.

“I’ll fix it,” he grumbles instead, trying to ignore the dubious chirp from above him. He wasn’t the one that spelled it for an opinion. “Probably just needs to get wound up again.”

If the next tick sounds like a hiss instead, that’s not his problem either.

“Can’t you just get it counter-charmed?” Kirito asks, somewhere between thoughtful and petulant, like most kids his age. “It’s not like Mom’s much good. Not compared to you.”

He’s too old to let that puff up his ego any, but he does allow a grin where his nephew can’t see. “Maybe so, but she wasn’t dumb either. All her charms at that age repel my magic. Didn’t like me meddling in her education, I gather.”

Or her diary. But that’s not a story for this audience.

Yet.

The kid’s not content to let it drop, of course. “Why not take it somewhere else? It’s not like you’re the only enchanter in the city, and anyone’s gonna be better than Mom.”

“Maybe I like it.”

He doesn’t. Nostalgia’s for your own mistakes, and having to live with a clock that thinks it’s too good for little things like accuracy or telling time at all doesn’t tickle the soft memories of his childhood. But taking it elsewhere means taking it to someone older, someone who remembers him as a know-it-all teenager or a kid who would cry when a pretty shop assistant talked to him. The last thing he wants is a walk down memory lane as he fixes yet another of Crystal’s mistakes.

That’s the problem with this town: it’s too damn small.

“Seattle is not small,” Kiritochimes in. Shidan finally twists to look at him, flipped around on a bean bag chair so old Shidan’shalf-convinced at least one of the people in this room was conceived on it.“You’re just cantankerous.”

He glances at the pattern – arainbow paisley that saw better days when Free Love was a principal philosophy– and amends his estimate. Both the people in this room would have been named Beanif their mothers hadn’t been so viscerally into the mystical Far East during theirpregnancies.

“It’s a flood plain six hundredthousand people are collectively too stubborn to leave,” Shidan grouses,putting the engraving tip back to the metal. “It’s small. And the Marinersnever win anything. Also, who is teaching you that kind of language?”

“High school.”

Shidan shakes his head. “Shameful.”

“Would you prefer ‘asshole’?”

“Just don’t let your mother hearyou. Also,” Shidan twists his head to look at his nephew, “shouldn’t you bein school?”

Kirito scoffs. “It’s three o’clock,man. What do I attend, prison?”

He glances up at the clock, wincing.Damn, he’d been hoping he’d finish this Don’t-See-Me charm tonight. “Some kidsdo extracurriculars.”

“Bugging you is my extracurricular.”

If that isn’t the truth. “I don’thand out college credits.”

“Neither does JV soccer.” Kirito jerkshis head back toward the shop. “By the way, you got strangers.”

“Strangers?” Shidan stands upso fast he bangs his knees. “Damn! Next time lead with that!”

“Nah.”

If there’s a perk to all this, it’sthat there’s not a single caster in this town he doesn’t know.

It’s also, most of the time, hisbiggest problem, but he knows every single person that has legitimatebusiness with him, and who just decided to poke in while their tea was steepingat Tea Republik. Or, more likely, who was trying to find the dispensary threestreets over.

These three don’t look like they fitany of the above.

He’s used to getting young girls in here, ones that look like they got their fashion sense straight from The Craft, but these ones have on tank stops and see-through cover-ups, baring far too much smile to be any of his usual high school hopefuls.

“I love your headband,” one girlsays to Yuzuri, lifting the giant frame of her sunglasses. “Those are like, catears right?”

“So cute,” another chimes in.“I love the little pearls. Where did you get it?”

Lab accident and some air-tightglamour, courtesy of the Emerald City’s Mistress.

“H&M,” Yuzuri offers coolly.

“Oh my god.” A girl presses a handto her chest. “I love H&M. Those are where your shorts are from too,right? I can tell.”

Suzu, trapped up against a displayof verbena, sends him a look that he’s only seen in war movies, just before theplucky sidekick gets taken out by a bunker buster.

Oh, for pete’s sake.

Shidan strides up to the group, hismost customer-friendly smile propping up his mouth. Not that he uses it forreal customers, but – there’s something about this town that enjoys surliness,and he doesn’t want to suddenly make himself interesting. “May I helpyou ladies?”

“Totally,” one tells him cheerfully,sinking her hands into the pockets of her high-waisted shorts. “Do you selllove potions?”

His smile pulls thin. “I’m sorry,this is an apothecary. If you’re looking for Harry Potter merchandise, there’sa toy store just down the –”

“No, no.” She waves a hand with alaugh. “We’re not looking for kid stuff. The real deal.”

He breathes in, letting the air runacross the roof of his mouth, huffing it out the canals of his nose. It’s justthe soft hum of Yuzuri’s magic, mixed with herbs and the more static fervor ofSuzu’s that settles on his tongue.

“The dispensary is over on –”

“Listen, I talked to a goth girl.”The girl leans hard on the counter, focused. “I know this place is the realdeal. How much?”

Shidan lets his smile slip, lets hisface turn as stern and annoyed at he is. “We don’t sell trash here. Who toldyou we would?”

“We just figured,” another girl sayswith a shrug. “The ones that lady is selling are so expensive.”

“Competitive markets,” the third girl peeps,looking not sure at all about the turn in conversation. “It drives down the price.”

His teeth grind in his ears. That lady.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who is huckingsnake oil and contraband spellwork.

“Well, you won’t find any of thathere,” he grits out. “Make sure to spread the word.”

The girl rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

“Now, boss,” Suzu starts as the doorchimes closed behind the girls. “Don’t jump to any –”

“That lady,” he snaps. “Weknow exactly which lady in this city would try to sell high schoolers –”

“College kids,” Yuzuri corrects.“Come on, Shidan, they were wearing U-Dub swag.”

“The point stands!” he huffs,folding his arms across his chest. “There’s only one person who would –”

The chimes tinkle above the door,admitting another three patrons. These, he knows.

“Speak of the devil–” Yuzuri giveshim a glare –”‘s apprentices.”

“Yuki!” his own calls out with apointedly friendly wave. Shidan scowls, hunching over the counter. Fraternizingwith the enemy, that’s what this is. “Can we help you?”

Garrack’s apprentices are a mixedbunch; they’ve been in here before for this-or-that, the woman having nevergotten much better at managing her stores than she was when she trained underArluleon. He knows them by look if not by name: a sullen, dark-haired boythat’s always poking his sharp nose into the belladonna and verbena, far tooyoung to be so advanced in his studies; a girl – woman, Yuzuri wouldinsist, though the both of them would barely be old enough for graduate studiesif they weren’t neck-deep in this world – with hair so red it should be dyed,only there’s no dye that can get that sort of color, not with chemicals alone,and –

And the last one. He’s tall,dark-haired, ethnically ambiguous, and curiously hard to look directly at. There’s something about the air around him, the way it presses down,heavy, when a body gets too close, the way it snaps and spits when someone’smagic gets a little too friendly.

Nothuman, would be Shidan’s guess, but it’s rude to ask, and even worse tosay. Good way to end up a frog or a lamppost, throwing that sort of talk around.

The girl is the one the approaches. The boy peels off seconds from the door, bee-lining for where Suzu’s started restocking the verbena, but the man hugs toher like a shadow, the eerie gold of his eyes tracking over the shelves like he half expects an ambush.

Gosh, what do kids even get into these days?

She gives Yuzuri a smile when she hits the counter, exchanging polite how-are-yous, but it’shim her eyes are fixed to, focus never wavering.

“Can I help you?” he ventures when the conversation comes to an uneasy pause.

Her hair bobs brightly under the lights. “I’d like to make a commission.”

He blinks, and in the second of hesitation, her shadowsnaps, hand banding around her arm and pulling her into a low but clearlyintense personal conference.

���Just give ‘em a minute.” Yuzuri sighs, turning back to theshelves. “Obi hates anyone spending anything on him.”

The never quite finish; Shidan loses his patience first.

“What for?” he asks finally,interrupting a low argument from the man. It earns him a reproachful look he’d rather not be on this side of, but – he’s running a business, not couples’ counseling. Time is money.

“I need a Don’t-Look-Here.” Hermouth purses, thoughtful. “Or a See-Me-Not?”

“I don’t need to get hit by a car,”her shadow grumbles, “a glamour would do.”

“If you want a glamour, you shouldbe asking the Mistress for that.” Five years ago it would have pained him toadmit it, but there’s no use pretending he can weave light like she can. Notnow.

She winces. “Ah, we – we tried that.Apparently Obi’s magic isn’t…harmonious with Haki’s.”

His gaze cut towards the kid. Notexactly a surprise. “Ha.”

“She thought a charm would workbetter – or, some metalworking?” The girl offers him an embarrassed smile. “Shesaid there was no one better on this coast.”

Shidan puffs up at that, but he’snot in his twenties, to be swayed by a little flattery. “I can see what can bedone. For a price.”

Yuzuri huffs. “Shidan –”

The girl though, she just gets focused.“What were you thinking?”

“She would never!” Shirayuki gaspswhen he’s done. Her reaction is so over the top – hand pressed her her chest,mouth and eyes gaping – he’d think it’s fake, if he wasn’t so sure this girlwas incapable of a lie.

“That’s banned magic!” she explains,affronted. “Garrack would never.”

Behind her, Ryuu and Obi exchangelooks.

Shidan points. “I want to talk tothem.”

The apartment is the third floor ofa cramped craftsman, sandwiched between a 24-hour laundromat and a store thatsells vegan foods for either humans or pets, Shidan can’t tell. The steps creakas he tip-toes up the narrow stairs, having to duck under low-hanging wallsevery flight. It’s a contrary little pile; just likeGarrack Gazalt herself.

The ‘3′ hanging on her door iscrooked, missing a screw at the bottom, at the mercy of her guests andGarrack’s mood. When he knocks, it skitters another quarter inch to the right,and he uses the interminable time she takes to answer to straighten it. All itneeds is a ninety-nine cent trip to the hardware store and it’d be good as new,but –

The door swings open. The woman whostands there can nearly look him in the eye.

“Well, well,” Garrack drawls,leaning against the door. “Shidan Weise. What did I do now?”

As always, she leaves him scramblingfor an answer. “Love potion,” he manages, gritting his teeth when she grins.

“You better come in, then,” shetells him, turning her back. “This could take a while. Tea? I have a pot on.”

“Yes. Wait –” she always does this –“No, I’m here to tell you to stop –“

“–Sullying Arluleon’s name, being ashame to the profession, et cetera, et cetera.” The kettle whistles – she musthave spelled it hot, which is not the proper use of her gift – and hestrains to hear her over the banging in her kitchen. “You know that’s not hisreal name, right? It was Kevin. Also he’s been dead for ten years, but who iscounting.”

“He still commands –”

“A decent following despite thewhole being-dead thing, yes, I’m aware.” She sets a mug in front of him, chippedon the rim. “I’m not doing anything he wouldn’t, the sly old dog.”

“Love potions are prohibited by thecouncil,” he manages, finally, wishing he didn’t sound so – so pedantic.“If you’re caught selling one – to mundanes no less –”

“I’m not making love potions,Shidan,” she scoffs. “I’d never.”

“I had some girls in my shop thatthought otherwise.”

“My apprentices wanted to raisemoney for something, and a girl came in looking for something to make herboyfriend stop playing Call of Duty.” Garrack shrugs, her sweater slipping offher shoulder. It’s…distracting. “So we brewed some rose hips with an infusionof Come-Hither, and suddenly we’re making love potions.”

She levels him with a look thatmakes his heart pound, that makes his skin feel two sizes too tight. “It’s allin good fun, Shidan.”

“I don’t –” she shifts, frecklesvisible right where he’s sitting and – “you put something in my tea.”

“You were concerned,” she tells himsimply. “So I thought I’d give you a dose. Easy to control, isn’t it?”

That is…optimistic of her. “Yes. Ofcourse. Very.”

“Unless…” She slips fromher chair to the couch he’s currently trying to disappear into, mouth curled with amusement. It isn’t embarrassing enough to be – to be half hard just looking at her, oh no; she has to know too. “You’re havingsome reaction.”

Typical. he should have expected she’d try something like this.

“Is that –” she leans forward just enough to for his gaze to flirt with what might be beneath; he licks his lips – “isthat common?”

“Hmm. Yes.”

Her arm stretches along the back of the couch, the skin of her forearm electric against the thin material of his shirt. His throat makes a dull thunk when she crosses her legs, when her foot accidentally brushes along the seam of his trousers, making every hair stand up on his calf.

This is interminable. He’s in hell. It’s the only explanation.

“But,” she murmurs, so close he can see the freckles in her eyes, brown and gold against blue, “only when there’s an attraction already in place. Hence why it worked sowell on the boyfriend.”

“A-ahh…”

“And of course,” her eyelashes flutter, and he has a front row seat to when her gaze drops straight to his mouth, “when it’s served with intent.”

“Oh, Jesus,” he pants, grabbing ahandful of sweater and pulling. “Fuck it.”

Garrack grins against his mouth. “Finally.”

[beca-mitchell]

never grow up (winter wonderland) (1/1)

Summary: A series of snippets—Beca and Chloe spend their holidays in Seattle. A rare heavy snowfall makes for baby Emma’s first white Christmas.

Please see @asimplefavors’ winter photoset here. the captions/headings match up with her captions on the social media AU. An impromptu collab!

Also yes, please listen to Taylor Swift’s “Never Grow Up” in the background.

Word count: 3521

Read below or on AO3.

chloebeale: pretending that it’s not 20° outside #hellowashington

Beca is stunned as the plane lands and Emma continues to sleep contentedly in Chloe’s arms. 

“What?” Chloe asks, a light laugh escaping her when she takes in Beca’s bewildered expression.

“She’s perfect,” Beca says, a hint of awe creeping into her voice.

“You’re such a nerd,” Chloe teases.

“That’s my line,” Beca parries back, but she is sufficiently distracted when Emma blinks awake, almost on cue. “Hi,” she says softly. “Hi, we’re in Seattle now. Can you say Seattle?”

Emma’s fist shoots out—shockingly agile for a baby—and she attempts to immediately grab onto Chloe’s hair.

“She’s already nervous,” Beca comments.

Chloe snorts. “Are you sure that’s not just you talking?”

Beca ignores her, reaching out to hold Emma in her arms. “Can you say Washington?” Emma makes a sound that sounds happy enough. “Good job,” Beca praises. “You’re so talented.”

“Your mom’s going to love her,” Chloe says softly. “She loves you and she’s going to love Emma.”

— — — — —

chloebeale: mama refused to wear the matching socks

“Please,” Chloe tries again. She barely resists from laughing because Beca looks legitimately afraid of the animal socks.

“Chloe, you know fuzzy socks make me feel weird. Like the sound styrofoam makes. But for my feet. I hate it.”

At that, Chloe frowns in sympathy because she does know that. The socks admittedly are fuzzy, but not horrendously so and Chloe hadn’t really thought about it when she bought the matching set for their family. Emma kicks her feet out, clearly delighted by the cartoon animal on her feet. 

Emma babbles happily then looks up at Chloe, leaning all the way back into her stomach from where she sits, perched between Chloe’s outstretched legs. “Yes,” Chloe replies cheerfully. “A penguin!”

Beca falters as she watches her wife and daughter interact. Chloe is talking animatedly to Emma—Emma who is trying to grab at her own feet, clearly invested in the socks decorating her feet.

All at once, Beca is amazed at how fast Emma has grown—it was definitely only just yesterday when a small, squirming bundle was handed to her and Beca hadn’t realized she was crying until a small tear had landed on the wrap surrounding her baby.

Her baby.

Hers and Chloe’s. 

“Where are you going?” Chloe asks, from where she is still sitting in the middle of Beca’s mother’s living room. Beca rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, still unable to keep the smile off her face.

“Going to get the socks so we can match.”

Chloe gasps excitedly and Emma, clearly not wanting to be left out begins to giggle, though it comes out more as a gurgle.

“Mama’s going to match!” Chloe is telling Emma happily.

The things Beca does for this family.

— — — — —

chloebeale: YOU’RE KIDDING ME!!!!

Chloe swears she turns around for two seconds.

Beca is contentedly playing with Emma in the snow, making full use of Emma’s new—and very expensive—snow suit on the porch of Beca’s mother’s home. 

“Chloe!” Beca yelps suddenly, making Chloe drop her mittens when she whirls around.

“What?” Chloe demands, eyes immediately searching Emma’s rosy cheeks and her face for any sign of injury. She is so concerned that for three seconds she doesn’t notice that Emma is making delighted cooing sounds and flailing her arms around. Then she notices that Emma’s face is smeared with snow that has already started to melt off her cheeks and nose.

“She just put her whole face into the snowman we were building,” Beca explains in awe.  “Like just. Put her whole face. Into the snow.”

Chloe squeals when Emma grabs a handful of snow and crushes it in her gloved hands. “She’s so cute!” Chloe almost reaches out for her, but then holds herself back. “Wait, we should see what else she does,” she explains in a whisper to Beca. 

“I hope she eats the snow,” Beca says helpfully.

 — — — — —

chloebeale: it’s a lot less romantic when I tell you that we used the timer setting

All Beca can see is white. Sheets and sheets of snow, freshly fallen from the sky. She nurses the mug currently in her hands, allowing the heat to warm her chilled fingers—chilled from where they had been pressed against the window when she had gotten out of bed and dragged her hands along the cold windowpane with a child-like glee. 

Being back in Seattle, being able to see all the wonders Washington has to offer again, Beca wonders why she finds herself staying away so often. She sits, swaddled among fluffy sheets while Chloe continues to snooze behind her.

The memory of the previous night sends a pleasant shiver down her spine without any help from the cold beyond the glass.

(Chloe’s lips, hard and bruising against her lips. Beca gasps for breath, but barely has a chance to do much else than whimper against Chloe’s mouth when Chloe’s hands pick her up, gripping tight under her thighs and carrying her to the bed. 

Chloe’s lips, so soft and delicate as she kisses and licks between her legs, desperation and lust blending into one. Beca’s eyes fixated on the ceiling while Chloe gently licks and sucks at wet flesh—almost embarrassingly wet—while taking small pauses to whisper words of love into Beca’s thighs; to smile against warm, wet skin.

The ceiling is so white—bare, like the fresh snow outside. So much snow—more than Beca's used to, even for Seattle standards—but it is incredibly beautiful. 

Beca gasps out a chorus of Chloe’s name before blinding white consumes her.) 

A strong arm slides around her waist. “What an unnecessarily gigantic window,” Chloe mumbles. A hand comes up to tangle in Beca’s hair, gently sweeping the unruly strands away from her neck.

“Look at the view,” Beca teases.

Soft lips gently touch her neck. Beca shivers.

“I am,” Chloe finally says in a tone that clearly indicates that she is in fact not looking at the view. Her lips continue to tease the increasingly-warm skin at the base of Beca’s neck before trailing just under her jaw. “I’m enjoying the view.” Her hands join at Beca’s belly. “So much.” Chloe begins to rub teasing circles into Beca’s midsection, slowly drifting lower as she goes.

Beca loses herself to the sensation. She loves the feeling of Chloe’s hands on her body—the striking familiarity and sure, confident touch—as a reminder that she is still so, so desired and Chloe’s love for her knows no bounds. The feeling is entirely mutual. Beca somehow feels like an emotional mess and a teenager again, with how quickly her body is reacting to Chloe’s touch. “That feels nice, baby,” Beca rasps, reaching up with her free hand to lazily grip at Chloe’s hair.

“Mm…we should take a photo.”

Beca is distracted, primarily by the feeling of Chloe’s ministrations on her body. She is barely cognizant of the mug of tea in her hands and quickly places it on the closest coffee table.

Then, suddenly, Chloe’s warmth is leaving her. “Wait, where are you going? You weren’t serious were you?” Chloe giggles from behind her. Beca twists to follow the sound, highly alarmed. “We are nude!”

— — — — —

chloebeale: we got drunk then cried over missing our baby too much #momlife

Chloe trails the tips of her fingers up and around Beca’s neck and shoulders, enjoying the comforting weight of Beca leaning against her heavily. Full from dinner and exhausted from socializing with Beca’s family, they sit quietly in their room, watching Emma babble happily while crawling around their bed. They had gone out the previous night, just the two of them as a last impromptu date night while Beca’s mother looked after Emma. It ended up being just the two of them looking through photos on Chloe’s phone and deciding which ones to send to their friends.

The night had ended early and Chloe had been all too eager to cuddle with her wife and baby the moment they got home.

Now, sitting in their temporary room in Beca’s mother’s home, this feels like the first moment of quiet since landing in Seattle, just the three of them.

Chloe zones out momentarily, thinking about how much of her life had been so incredibly magical over the past decade. She thinks, silently pondering over every last moment, every last second, with Beca Mitchell in her life. Loving Beca and loving Emma are the easiest things Chloe has ever done and she is never giving that up.

“Hey,” Beca murmurs. Chloe can tell she’s tired, based on the sleepy way she tilts her head up to nuzzle into Chloe’s neck. “What are you thinking about over there?”

“Thinking about how much I love you,” Chloe whispers. Emma is lying still now, looking fairly tired, but her face is turned towards them and she blinks, as if she is fascinated by their conversation. 

“Me?” Beca seems to perk up with the knowledge. “What about me has you so distant?” she questions, skimming her fingers along Chloe’s hip.

“I’m just so happy to be married to one of the best people in the world,” Chloe says honestly. She loves how flustered Beca gets whenever she talks about her love. “And how this person is also the mother of my child. And my best friend.” Chloe sighs. “I lucked out.”

“God,” Beca complains. “She sounds lame. Sounds like she’s the lucky one honestly.”

“Is that so?”

“Definitely.” Chloe can’t help the grin that overtakes her face when Beca gets out of bed to gently lift Emma and tuck her into the little cot they brought along. “What are you staring at, weirdo?” Beca asks when she turns around and catches Chloe’s full-blown grin and soft eyes.

“A hot mom,” Chloe responds instantly.

“Is that so?” Beca echoes, before climbing over Chloe’s lap and straddling her thighs.”Are you just going to stare, or…?”

Chloe runs her hands up Beca’s back, smoothing the wrinkles in the light sleep shirt she’s wearing. “I could,” she murmurs. She tilts her head up obligingly for a kiss. Beca sighs happily, immediately tilting her head to deepen the kiss briefly while her fingers reach up to scratch at the back of Chloe’s neck. 

The kiss is familiar, as are most of their kisses. With time, Chloe has mastered the art of interpreting Beca’s kisses, knowing when her wife craves more than just affection. This is one of those moments where Beca simply craves closeness, but chooses to not express that in so many words. Chloe moves her hands to Beca’s hips, holding her steady while allowing Beca to guide their kiss at whatever pace she chooses. Again and again, their lips meet, eventually slowing into gentle, languid presses of lips against lips.

Beca smiles into the kiss, leaning back in Chloe’s lap.

“Better?” Chloe asks, voice a little hoarser than usual.

Beca nods, leaning in to brush her nose against Chloe’s, an unexpected giggle escaping her when Chloe immediately pulls her close for a tight hug and rolls them around on the bed until they’re lying in a messy, tangled heap amongst their pillows and sheets. “Thank you,” Beca murmurs when her breathlessness dissipates.

“For what?”

Beca hesitates. “For picking me. For this family.”

That response is so unexpected and so quick, but spoken with such reverence and tenderness that Chloe is instantly overwhelmed. Though Chloe never doubts Beca’s love for her and Beca’s love for their family, small, tender moments like these never fail to make every last emotion well up in Chloe and spill out of her in a fit of passion. She immediately can’t help herself and cups Beca’s cheek, pulling her in for one last, lingering kiss.

After a moment, Chloe pulls back, heart pounding at the sight of Beca’s eyes staring back at her intently. Just for a moment, however, because then, Beca’s eyes flutter closed.

Both of them finally exhausted, Chloe can’t help but gather all the strength she can from this holiday; from her wife; from their baby snoozing in her own cot—all to murmur one last sentiment before Beca drifts off completely.

”I’ll always pick you, Beca.”

— — — — —

 chloebeale: never grow up..

When Beca wakes, Chloe is nowhere to be found. She inhales steadily for a few more moments, intently considering whether she ought to return to sleep, but the distinct lack of her wife snoring next to her as well as the distinct lack of any sounds from Emma’s cot ensure that her body automatically begins to fully awaken so she can search for her missing family.

Yawning, Beca quickly scrubs her face and brushes her teeth as the last vestiges of sleep fade away from her. Padding through her mother’s home, Beca feels both familiarity and distance. She has long considered L.A. to be her home, even more so now that she and Chloe have a relatively new addition to their lives, but Beca still feels every bit like a moody teenager creeping around creaky floorboards and tiptoeing down the stairs based on instinct.

Her mother is cooking already, pleasant smells and sounds coming from the kitchen. Beca can tell that breakfast will be a good spread and her stomach twists in reaction to both the memory of her mother’s food and literal smells she picks up.

For a moment, Beca forgets the past decade and a half of her life. It feels like a weekend; a surprisingly white Christmas in Seattle; another morning alone because Beca opted not to go to her father’s again and Beca’s mother is smiling at her from across the kitchen table. “It’s just us,” she says, eyes bright with both happiness and sadness as she gazes at Beca. “Never grow up,” she continues.

Beca hadn’t understood anything about that then. Just that she was tired and needed some food or she’d be grumpy for the rest of the day.

But now, still stuck in the memory, Beca freezes in the doorway. She wonders how time somehow slipped through her grasp so quickly. Her mother, all grey hairs and slumped shoulders, continues to cook, but everything has changed.

“Beca,” her mother greets happily. “Good morning. You're up early.”

And all at once, it is like sound crashes around them and Beca’s cousin is pushing past her into the kitchen, tiny bodies immediately following him with high, excited voices chiming in whenever they deem necessary.

“Can you go fetch Chloe? She stepped out with Emma for just a few minutes into the back.”

Beca nods, still a little dumbstruck. She finds Chloe immediately. Chloe, who looks everything like a snow princess: cozy white sweater and white jeans with cascading red hair flowing out from under a warm hat. In her arms, Chloe holds Emma in her arms. Emma, who is wrapped in a makeshift swaddle, is gazing up at Chloe with all her attention.

Chloe appears to be singing to her, which becomes clearer as Beca opens the sliding glass door and steps outside in a pair of stolen boots.

It’s an old Taylor Swift song, Beca thinks, but she can’t quite place the name. She’s sure Chloe will remind her of it soon enough. The melody is both beautiful and haunting, but Chloe’s voice is so light and airy that Beca can’t interpret it as anything but totally loving and happy.

By the time Chloe finishes, Beca has made her way over completely and stands close by Chloe’s side.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” Chloe greets.

“Was that to me or the baby?” 

Chloe giggles. “Both. What’s got you up and about?”

“Just thinking,” Beca murmurs. She tucks her cold hands around Chloe’s waist and hooks her chin over her wife’s shoulder. 

“Not too hard, I hope,” Chloe replies, continuing to gently rock Emma back and forth. Emma coos, tilting her head to gaze at Beca contentedly before resting her head against Chloe’s chest. The fluffy hat brushes Beca’s nose, but she makes no move to shift away.

“Just...I never want her to grow up,” Beca admits. Her throat feels tight. “I just want it to be like this forever. Is that selfish?”

Chloe’s stance seems to soften even more. "No, absolutely not," she promises. Chloe adjusts her hold on Emma’s bundled body and uses her now-free arm to wrap around Beca’s shoulder to pull her into more of a side hug. “Is everything okay?”

Beca smiles, leaning in to kiss the corner of Chloe’s mouth. “Everything’s perfect.”

— — — — —

 chloebeale: we feed her, I swear

“We need to socialize her more,” Beca says, holding Emma in her arms while her cousin carries his own daughter across the field. “I don’t think she’s ever seen another baby before.”

“She’s fine,” Chloe insists. She twists to greet Chris and his daughter Nicole. “Hi you,” she greets, kissing Nicole on her cheeks. “You’ve grown so much!”

“Hi Chloe, always nice to see you again,” Chris greets with a laugh. “Beca, still as short as ever I see.” 

Beca scowls from behind Emma’s hat. “Shut up. Where’s your better half?”

“She’s inside with our other kids,” Chris says. “This one,” he says, lifting Nicole slightly. Nicole, who is staring at Emma with interest and curiosity. “Loves the snow.”

“Emma,” Chloe says, reaching to pull Emma into her arms. “Do you want to play?”

“My kid’s cuter than yours,” Beca says once Emma leaves her arms. 

“Beca!” Chloe exclaims. “Behave.” She turns to face Nicole again and kisses her on the cheek once more, this time with Emma in her arms. “She didn’t mean that,” she whispers conspiratorially, evidently not noticing Emma’s suddenly wide eyes.

When they set both of them on the ground, both children looking adorable and extremely huggable, Emma immediately takes a few short toddler steps towards the other baby and immediately reaches out to—

“Emma!” Chloe yelps while Beca laughs hysterically. Emma is licking a line up Nicole’s face—poor Nicole is frozen, but not entirely displeased—in order to lick up bits of snow and ice.

“She didn’t learn that from me,” Beca calls from behind Chloe.

 — — — — —

chloebeale: Beca told her that Santa wasn’t real

Chloe loves hearing Beca converse with Emma. Beca hasn’t quite mastered the art of baby talk and she believes—correctly, Chloe thinks—that babies ought to be spoken to like a regular person

Beca is pretending to use Emma’s stuffed bunny to talk to her, which is exceptionally amusing considering Beca is telling Emma about where snow comes from. Chloe is filming as discreetly as possible on her phone because she is constantly in awe at how incredibly awesome her family is at any given moment.

“Ice crystals,” Beca explains patiently. “It’s kind of cool. Each snowflake is different.” She adjusts the hat on their daughter’s head, grinning at the way the pompoms wobble with how large they are.

Emma stares, transfixed, at the stuffed animal in Beca’s hands, like it holds all the secrets to the universe. It was a gift from Beca’s uncle and Chloe has yet to see it leave Emma’s zone of perception. In fact, Chloe notes, Emma looks a little wary that Beca is manhandling the bunny at all. If babies somehow are able to master a look of distrust and suspicion, Chloe thinks Emma is verging pretty close.

“When you grow up, we’re going to have to explain Santa,” Beca continues. “That’ll be harder, but if you want to continue believing in him, you bet we’ll go along with you.” She smiles at Emma while Chloe tries not to laugh. Suddenly, Emma begins to cry and Beca’s smile drops right off her face. “Wait, no!” Beca turns to face Chloe in panic. “I didn’t mean that. Do you think she understood me?”

Beca’s genuine fear paired with their baby’s increasingly loud shrieking causes Chloe to finally put down her phone and stand so she can comfort her poor, distressed family. “Yes Beca,” Chloe says, taking the bunny from Beca’s hands and putting it back next to Emma. It’s cute how they’re pretty much the same size. Emma’s crying ceases nearly instantaneously. “I’m sure she understood every word.”

 — — — — —

chloebeale: wifey <3

“Beca, swings are for children,” Chloe teases.

“And we have a child,” Beca points out. “C’mere,” she says to Emma, holding her arms out to take her from Chloe’s arms. Chloe laughs when Emma immediately moves to grab Beca’s hair. “She’s so obsessed with my hair.” She smiles slyly at Chloe. “Another thing she gets from you.” 

Chloe blushes, pink from embarrassment and the cold. “Shut up.” She squeals suddenly. “Wait, you two are so cute!” She fumbles with her bag to pull out her phone. “My two puffy babies.” Emma is delighted by the strands of Beca’s hair tangled in her tiny fingers.

“Puffy?” Beca looks down at her Michelin Man-esque coat. “Oh, I see. Haha, very funny.”

Chloe leans in to steal a kiss. “Okay, now go get on the swings you big baby.” She pulls Emma back. “I’m giving you five minutes.”

“That’s all the time in the world as long as you’re here.”

[unfolded73]

The Nonlinear Property of Time (1/4)

A Season 7 AU story with time travel. Eventual Explicit rating; this part rated G. 

This fic is dedicated to @allrightfine -- you finally wore me down.

A few important notes:

1. I came up with this fic before 7x02 aired based on a lot of the speculation going on in fandom, and even after it was no longer consistent with canon, I couldn’t resist writing it. It just became more involved to fully describe the time travel scenario. Anyway, the point is Wish Hook isn’t in this. But that does not mean I’m anti-Wish Hook -- surprisingly, I’m pretty psyched for that story now. So please don’t compliment this fic by slamming that character and his storyline, because I don’t really want to see that.

2. This story is going to eventually have a present-Killian/future-Killian/Emma threeway. If that’s not your thing, this fic might not be for you, and that’s okay!

3. This whole scenario turned out to be way more angsty than I anticipated going in. (No wonder the Doctor is such a big mope.) Which I love but also it makes me glad this isn’t what happened canon.

Hyperion Heights, Present Day

The curse broke with a kiss, as these things so often do.

Killian blinked away the prismatic flash and gasped as centuries of memories crashed into his mind in a millisecond. Henry (gods, his stepson) and Jacinda’s lips parted, and he could tell that it was hitting them too, the fact that they’d fallen in love years ago in another realm, the fact that Lucy really was Henry’s daughter after all, just as she’d been telling them all along. Killian sat down heavily on the chair behind him and put his head in his hands while everyone else enjoyed a happy reunion.

He struggled to put the pieces of his life together in his mind, but he had lived so many years, it was like a 5000 piece puzzle had just been dumped out on a table in front of him. Fragments of memories flashed before his eyes: Smee clapping him on the shoulder, Liam issuing a command from the helm of the Jewel, his father hitting him hard enough to knock him to the floor, Milah laughing over a dice game, crossing dulled practice swords with a younger Henry, waking up in bed with his wife. Emma. He gasped as his worst fear struck him. Emma was back in Storybrooke, and he wasn’t with her.

“Grandma!” he heard Lucy say, and he looked up to see her run into Regina’s arms. The touching sight brought to mind more recent years in the realm where Henry and Cinderella’s story had begun, years when he had longed for Emma and yet somehow had not been worried that she was alone. Shaking his head in confusion, he struggled to remember when he’d left Storybrooke, and why.

Then it hit him, and if he hadn’t already been sitting he probably would have collapsed. The other him. He could remember coming to Henry’s rescue and being confronted with another version of himself.

“Do you remember?”

Killian looked up to see Henry had come over to check on him.

“It’s… I fear my memories are playing tricks on me, lad.” His voice was hoarse.

“Yeah, you told us that you would have trouble piecing it together, right before it was time for you to go back to Storybrooke.” He smirked. “Rude of your future self not to mention that we were all going to get cursed, though.”

“That… that was real? I met myself… from the future?”

Henry nodded, his eyes full of compassion, and sat down next to him. “It was real. A decade ago, you and my moms came through a portal because I needed help, and…” He paused, his eyes closing briefly as something like guilt washed over his face. “And then not long after, future you showed up and told all of us that he would have to return to Storybrooke with Emma, while present you would have to stay here.”

“Why? I haven’t seen my wife in ten years just because of some…”

“Time travel paradox? I know.” Henry’s hand settled on Killian’s back in a comforting gesture. “But if you hadn’t been with us… Remember when Lucy was born? It took everything you and Regina had to keep us safe. I’ll… I’ll never be able to repay you for everything you sacrificed for us.” Killian’s eyes followed Henry’s gaze over to Jacinda and Lucy.

“Repayment doesn’t enter into it when it’s family.” He could remember a little more now — could remember the certainty that he would willingly sacrifice anything for Henry’s safety, even his happy ending with Emma — but much of it was still fuzzy.

“So how do you get back to Mom?” Henry asked.

Killian clenched his jaw, still feeling anxious even though he remembered now that if things went according to plan, Emma wouldn’t have to be without him the way he’d been without her. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Well, we should probably talk to Grandpa, then.”

“I assume you mean Rumpelstiltskin and not Charming,” Killian said, even as he was internally reeling once again. All of that time he’d spent with Weaver, not knowing what he really was. What their history really was. It was enough to drive a person completely mad.

“Yeah.” Henry looked over at his family again, his expression full of longing. It was obvious that he was torn between his desire to reconnect with his wife and child and an obligation to help his stepfather reunite with his own family.

“Go be with them,” Killian said. “I’ll find the Crocodile.”

“Wow, I haven’t heard you call him that in a while.” Henry’s face once more swam with guilt. “I can come with you; it’s the least I can do.”

Killian shook his head firmly. “You need to be with your wife and daughter right now.” He clapped his stepson on the back. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay, just… don’t do any time traveling without saying goodbye, all right?”

“I won’t, my boy.”

“I haven’t heard you call me that in a while either,” Henry said with a smile. “I missed it.”

~*~

“I wondered when you’d turn up,” Rumple said, sitting at the bar and swirling dark liquor in a glass. A half-full bottle of whiskey sat at his side.

Killian walked forward. “Why am I not surprised you broke into Roni’s when it was closed?”

“I don’t think Regina will mind.” He tipped the remaining contents of his glass into his mouth. “Join me for a drink?”

“I’ll pass, thanks all the same.”

Rumple spun around on his barstool and regarded him impassively. “Ah yes, I suppose you’ve got no time to waste, eh? You’ve got a time loop to close.”

“I was hoping you would know something about that, Dark One. How do I do it? How do I get back in time to meet Emma when we came through the portal to help Henry all those years ago?”

Rumple’s eyes widened, and then he threw back his head and laughed.

Killian felt a sharp pain in his jaw as he clenched it. “What’s so bloody funny?”

Just as quickly as he had laughed, Rumple’s face dropped back into a sneer. “What’s funny is that you somehow stumbled into a way to not be separated from your wife and to help your stepson simultaneously, and you don’t even know how you did it. If that’s not textbook Captain Hook, then I don’t know what is.”

“Are you implying that my life has been easy?” Killian said, narrowing his eyes and clenching his fist.

“I’m implying that you’re far too stupid to have lived as long as you have.” He turned back to the bar and refilled his glass. “In any case, I haven’t the slightest idea how you traveled in time in the first place, only that you did. I locked off Storybrooke, and lo and behold there was one Captain Hook there, and one in the realm where Henry met his bride. As if one of you weren’t more than enough.”

“What do you mean, you locked off Storybrooke?” Killian said, stepping up to the bar next to his old enemy.

Rumple raised an eyebrow at him. “This curse really scrambled your brain, didn’t it, old man? Or was it existing in two places in this realm at once that did it? In any case, yes, when I realized the dark power that was rising, thanks mostly to my grandson’s taste in women, I locked Storybrooke off. No portal passage, no mirror messages, no magical sea shell telephone calls, nothing. Not until that dark power was defeated.”

Killian slammed his fist down on the bar. “So the reason I’ve had no contact with my wife in a decade is because of you?”

“I’m fairly certain you are the architect of your separation from your wife. And if I hadn’t protected Storybrooke, then everyone you know and love there would have been destroyed. So you’re welcome. Not to mention, every moment you and your future self exist in the same realm destabilizes the universe. It’s a miracle you didn’t cause a paradox that resulted in everything just winking out of existence. But yes, by all means, blame me.”

“I apologize,” Killian forced himself to say, his throat constricting as if to keep the words in.

“You aren’t the only one with a family in Storybrooke. And unlike you, I don’t get to travel back in time and experience all the things with my son that I missed.” Rumple blinked balefully at him.

Killian felt sudden sympathy for the Crocodile, which was a foreign emotion when it came to this man. “You could come with me.”

His glass slamming on the table, Rumple stood up. “No, I can’t. I can’t, because I didn’t. Don’t you get it? You being in Storybrooke for the last few years may be in your future, but it’s in my past. I can’t be there because I wasn’t there.”

Running his hand over his face in frustration, Killian exhaled sharply. “Well, I can’t be there either if I don’t figure out how it works.”

“And that will create a paradox that will tear apart the realm. You must have left yourself a message. Instructions. A magical object. Think. Is there something in your apartment here in Seattle? Something you couldn’t identify while you were cursed?”

He thought about the sad little place that Detective Rogers had called his home. “No, nothing.”

“Here you are, finally,” Zelena proclaimed as she marched through the door. “I’ve been looking all over for this place.” Regina was following close behind her. “Imagine my surprise, running into my sister on the street and finding out she owns a bar!”

“I was cursed,” Regina muttered, glaring at the two men. “You’re gonna pay for what you drank.”

“Since when does the Evil Queen care about a little bit of cheap booze?” Rumple said.

“Can we focus, please?” Zelena interrupted. “Hook, I have something for you.” She held out a wooden box that sparked a memory of the Jolly Roger. He could almost smell the salt air, looking at that box.

“Where did you get that?”

“You gave it to me in Storybrooke. Along with a date and a location: Roni’s bar, in a little neighborhood called Hyperion Heights in Seattle, Washington. Robyn and I decided to make a cross-country road trip out of it. I have to say, Mount Rushmore was a bit of a let-down. Too many dicks on the dance floor.”

“Zelena, can you please get on with explaining what brought you here?” Regina said.

“There’s not much else to tell.” She took a deep breath. “Hook came to me several weeks ago in Storybrooke. He had this box, which was locked, and asked me to bring it 3000 miles and deliver it right here, right now. Said that the fate of his family and possibly the entire realm depended on me doing this.” She squinted at Killian. “So are you a clone? An alternate universe version of yourself? Or did you take an airplane here just to fuck with me?”

“He’s the same person, just earlier in his timeline than the one who gave you that box in Storybrooke,” Rumple supplied.

“Ah, that explains the other thing you told me, which was that when I got to Seattle, I was not reveal anything about Emma or… anyone else in town. I suppose you were afraid it would muck up the timeline if you knew too much.”

“Can you unlock the box?” Regina asked him.

“It's keyed to my hook, which I don't have,” he said, looking down at the functional prosthetic hand he'd worn when he thought his name was Rogers. “Oh, right, I have that too,” Zelena said, snapping her fingers and reaching into her handbag. She rooted around for a minute before finally producing the shiny metal appendage. Taking the hook from Zelena, Killian turned it around and slid the key in the base of it into the keyhole on the chest. Giving it a ninety-degree turn, the lock clicked open.

“That’s a handy trick,” Zelena commented as he opened the lid.

Everyone peered inside.

“Is that the Black Fairy’s wand?” Regina reached in and took it out.

“That it is,” Rumple said darkly, staring at it. “Taken out of my shop, I’d wager.”

Killian was already reading the instructions that were also in the box, written out in his own careful handwriting. “You’re welcome to keep it, once it gets me where I need to go,” he said, his eyes on the page. Once he’d digested the directions, he passed them over to Regina to read. “Think you can handle it?” he asked her once she’d also read them.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” She eyed him. “How much do you remember about that day you’re returning to?”

“Almost nothing. It’s like…” He tried to remember it again, tried to force his mind to go back and imagine it, facing another copy of himself, and he squeezed his eyes shut at a sharp pain in his forehead. “It’s like every time I try to think about it, my mind slides away. Trying to force myself to remember makes my head hurt.”

“Probably a side effect of time travel. Or of meeting yourself. It’ll be interesting to see how your mind processes it once you’ve experienced it from the other side,” Regina said, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“Well, I suppose you can ask me yourself, if you’re going back to Storybrooke,” he said to her.

She didn’t respond to that, consulting the spell instructions again. “Are you ready to do this?”

“I need to see Henry again first,” he said, his heart pounding in his chest. “I won’t be able to see any of you for a long, long time, and…” He could hardly process what he was feeling, impatience about finally being with his wife again but a deep sadness that he’d be saying goodbye to his stepson.

“Call him,” Regina said, her eyes full of sympathy. “We can wait.”

Henry came barreling through the door of the bar only a few minutes later with Lucy on his heels.

“It’s time?” he asked Killian.

“Yeah.” Killian pulled Henry into a hug, squeezing as hard as he could. “I’m going to miss you, son.”

“You’ll see me in the past, before you return to Storybrooke with Emma. As I recall, it takes a day or so for the portal to Storybrooke to reopen.”

Killian digested that information. He honestly couldn’t recall what had occurred on that day. “I’ll need to keep my distance, though, lest I reveal anything about your future,” he said, tilting his head down toward Lucy.

“Good point,” Henry conceded.

“Will you bring the family to Storybrooke soon? Your mother will have been missing you terribly. And she’ll want to meet your family.”

“I promise, I’ll see you soon,” Henry said, his voice raspy from barely restrained tears.

“Bye, Grandpa,” Lucy said, and Killian bent down to hug her.

“Bye, Petal,” he said, the nickname he had for her prior to the curse coming easily to his tongue. “From your perspective, you’ll see me again in no time.”

“Finally I’ll get to visit Storybrooke!” she said excitedly, looking up at her dad. “And I’ll get to meet my aunt or uncle, right?” she said.

At the mention of his own child, Killian turned to look at Zelena, but she turned purposefully away. He wasn’t going to get even a hint about his future out of her, it seemed. “After I’ve gone, Zelena can tell you if it’s an aunt or an uncle,” he said cheerfully to Lucy, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that it might be neither. Emma had only been a few weeks pregnant, and any number of tragedies might have befallen his family. There might not be a child at all. He wanted to grab hold of Zelena and shake her until she at least told him if his baby had been born. Instead, he gave his granddaughter a kiss on the cheek and stood up.

“I’m ready, Regina.”

~*~

Storybrooke, Years Ago

“I’m afraid to tell people,” Emma whispered, her chilled hand resting against the open V of his shirt. She kept her eyes trained on the flames dancing in the fireplace. Killian reached down and adjusted the afghan over their legs with his hook while he pulled Emma closer with the arm wrapped around her. He returned his hand to stroking her hair. “We don't have to tell anyone until you’re ready, my love.” “I have a feeling it’ll be obvious way before I’m ready.” To him, it was obvious already. He’d seen the small swell of her belly that morning as she stood before the closet in her underwear, and the sight had been so arresting, it had made him stumble over his own feet. “I just know the minute I tell people, something will go wrong,” Emma sighed. “Nothing will go wrong. The doctor said everything is fine.” “She said that last time too. A few weeks later…” Emma didn’t have to remind him what had happened a few weeks later. The way she’d started to bleed, and how by the time he’d gotten her to the hospital, there was so much blood that Killian had been terrified he’d lose them both. But Emma hadn’t been in any danger, the doctor had told them, even as she had broken the terrible news that the pregnancy was over. These sorts of miscarriages likely indicate that something was wrong with the fetus, she’d said. This is a common occurrence, and it doesn’t mean you won’t get pregnant again and have a healthy baby.

But it had taken them so long to conceive in the first place, and as Emma had sobbed into his chest that night, she’d expressed the fear that was in his own heart: that they weren’t meant to have a child of their own. Seven months later there was another positive pregnancy test, and a tentative, terrified hopefulness bloomed between them as they contemplated the future. “Everything's going to be fine, love.” He ran the flat of his hook over her abdomen. “We're going to have a baby.” “Yeah.” Emma sighed heavily. “I just—” There was a knock on the door. Killian looked over his shoulder and glared at the painted wood, wondering who was disturbing their peaceful evening, while his wife untangled herself from him to go and open the door. “Henry needs us,” Regina said without preamble, marching into the room with little concern for niceties. “What do you mean?” Emma asked. “He sent one of your bottle messages.” She pulled the clear, glass bottle out of her purse and uncapped it. “Help, I’ve been captured by Lady Tremaine,” Henry’s voice projected from the bottle clearly. “Send Emma, Regina, and Captain Hook!” Emma was already reaching for her jacket. “You stay, love. Regina and I can go.” He opened an end table drawer and pulled out two iridescent beans, tucking one in his pocket for later. At least eight others were nestled in the drawer. Once nearly impossible to come by, the restored crop of magic beans was finally flourishing, and he had collected a nice cache of the tiny passports that allowed them to cross realms. “Why wouldn’t Emma go?” Regina said indignantly. Killian met his wife’s eyes, trying to think of an excuse, but Emma just rolled her eyes.

“I’m pregnant, and Killian’s being overprotective,” she explained. “Because of the miscarriage.”

Regina’s eyes softened; she’d been a surprising source of comfort (albeit her own brand of pragmatic, analytical comfort) when they’d lost the baby. “That’s wonderful, Emma.”

“We don’t know what we’re getting ourselves into in Henry’s realm,” Killian said.

“All the more reason to go in with as much firepower as we can,” Emma replied.

“Regina and I can handle it.” The thought of his wife rushing into danger right now made him sick to his stomach. “If I don’t have to worry about you, then I can focus on Henry. Please, love.”

Emma groaned. “Way to guilt trip me. Okay, fine. But hurry, please?”

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m sure we’ll make all haste, darling.”

“Just don’t tell Henry yet, okay? Especially about… you know. What we’ve gone through. I don’t want him worrying and rushing back here just for me.”

“He’ll want to know he’s going to have a sibling, Emma,” Regina pointed out.

“I know, but I’m not ready to tell him yet.”

“I promise, not a word to Henry,” Killian said, cutting off any further protestation from Regina as he went to stand beside her, hastily buckling on his sword belt. “Are you ready?”

“Don’t open a portal in here,” Emma said, collapsing on the sofa and covering herself up with the afghan again. “It’ll blow everything around and make a mess. “Go out in the yard. And be careful! And tell Henry I love him!”

~*~

A Fairy Tale Realm, Years Ago

“I still think it’s a mistake, not telling him the truth about why Emma didn’t come with us,” Regina murmured to him as they followed Henry through the forest to his cottage.

“She’s feeling superstitious about it. As you recall, it wasn’t long after we’d announced the pregnancy to everyone that she lost the baby. She just hated…” He scraped his hook against a tree trunk. He wasn’t sure if he’d need to find his way back to the location where their portal had opened up, but he wasn’t taking any chances. “She hated people looking at her with pity. That’s why she valued your friendship during that time so much. You didn’t look at her that way.”

“That’s just my cold, standoffish nature,” Regina said with a sardonic smirk.

Killian chuckled. “Whatever the reason, she found it helpful.”

They moved in silence for a while. “So…” Regina drawled. “Henry’s fallen in love with another version of Cinderella?”

“Looks that way.” He scraped a mark in another tree trunk.

“I’m not sure I approve.”

“I’m not sure your approval matters, love. He’s a man grown, leading his own life.”

“I don’t approve of that either,” she said with another smirk, “especially in a realm without modern contraceptives.”

“Do I need to have a man-to-man talk with him about potions now? And here I thought I’d finished with all of that.”

Regina laughed, causing Henry to turn around and glance at them. She lowered her voice again and whispered. “You’re having a baby, remember? You’re starting it all over again. Perhaps with a daughter this time.”

Killian groaned.

“Here it is,” Henry called as he broke through into a clearing up ahead. “Home, sweet home.”

Regina and Killian emerged to see a small, rather run-down hovel. ‘Modest’ was probably the most charitable way it could be described.

“It’s… nice,” Regina said, visibly trying not to recoil.

“Come on in, I’ll get you something to drink and we can talk about what to do next.”

Before they could act on his invitation, a spinning golden portal opened up in the clearing, and Emma Swan rushed through it, her hair in disarray and her red jacket askew on her shoulders.

“Sorry, I couldn’t wait,” she said as the portal closed, and looked at Henry. “Oh my God, you’re so tall!” She ran into his arms.

“Mom!” Henry said, grinning widely and hugging her back. “I thought you were fighting a swarm of tiny dragons.”

Emma pulled away and eyed Killian. “Is that what you came up with? No, Killian wanted me to rest and I thought I could, but I had to see you.”

“Why did you need to rest, are you okay?” Henry asked.

“Yeah, I’m great.” She glanced at Killian and Regina, then back at her son. “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, Mom, that’s fantastic news!” He hugged her again and then glared at Killian. “You weren’t going to tell me this?”

“Emma asked me not to!” he protested.

“Sorry, sorry, I did,” Emma admitted. “We’re not telling people yet, but…” she paused, giving her son a grinning shrug. “I missed you, kid.”

“I missed you, too.”

Before they could hug each other again, or go inside Henry’s hovel for a drink, or strategize about how to handle Lady Tremaine, another portal opened.

And another Hook stepped out of it.

Chapter 2

[heroineimages]

Small-Town AU

So I ran across another Korra AU I wrote part of a scene for and decided to finish it last night. It’s kind of a small-town/roommates AU with Asami as the new girl in town. Basically, Ikki ships Korra and Asami from the start and gets pretty insistent about them getting together. If her exuberance comes across as a little annoying, I’m okay with that. But if she gets obnoxious, let me know, and I’ll tone it back. Feedback welcome. 

“Headed your way,” Asami texted as she shouldered her carry-on bag and made her way through the airport terminal.

“OMG cant wait 2 meet u!” came Ikki’s reply. “U want coffee?”

“Sure,” she texted back, “iced chi latte.”

“Cool, c u soon!”

Asami smiled as she slipped her phone back into the pocket of her blouse. Off and on for about a week now, she’d been texting back and forth with her new landlord Tenzin and his daughter Ikki. Tenzin and his family had already been incredibly welcoming, but Ikki was the one who seemed the most enthusiastic. Though, Asami was quickly learning that Ikki was enthusiastic about pretty much everything.

This was it, she kept telling herself—a chance to start over. She was escaping the mess that her father had made of her life. She was escaping the financial backlash, the hate, and the death threats that came with his crimes and mistakes. She was escaping the professional nightmare that her career became in the wake of accusations that she’d been involved in her father’s fraud and embezzlement charges. And she was escaping her ex and other fair-weather friends who’d bailed as soon as things got tough for her. Asami was putting all of that behind her. This was a new start in a new town on the opposite end of the country. She was someplace where no one knew or cared who she was or who her father was and wouldn’t judge her for that.

Granted, she smiled to herself, teaching Business Communications and Introduction to Mechanical Engineering courses at a community college in the unlikely named central-Washington town of Republic City was a criminal waste of her talents.

But at least she was free.

A bizarre sight awaited Asami as she stepped off the escalator leading to the pick-up and drop-off area. A sixteen-year-old girl held a sign over her head with Asami’s name on it, dancing to whatever song was playing on her iPod. The girl had dark brown-hair with dark-purple forelocks framing her elf-like face. She wore a rainbow bracelet, R2-D2 earrings, jeans, and a black tee-shirt that read, “Tell your mom thanks for breakfast.” Other people around gave the girl strange looks and a wide berth.

“Hi, I’m Asami,” Asami greeted, smiling and extending her hand as she approached. “You must be Ikki. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Ikki’s eyes widened as she looked up at Asami and removed her ear buds.

“Oh my god, you���re so pretty!” she squealed, rushing past Asami’s hand to hug her. Asami frowned and awkwardly patted Ikki’s back.

“Thanks. I’m… glad you think so…” Asami trailed off, looking down at Ikki’s head pressed against her shoulder.

“Will you be Korra’s girlfriend?” Ikki blurted, looking up at her.

“What?” Asami frowned again.

“Will you please be Korra’s girlfriend?” Ikki begged, stepping back and looking genuinely panicked that Asami might say no. She took Asami’s right hand in both of hers and looked up pleadingly. “Korra, your new roommate—I think my dad, Tenzin, told you about her—she’s getting us coffee right now. I really, really, think you should be her new girlfriend. She’s so pretty and nice and amazing and you’re pretty and nice and amazing, too. She’s my best friend ever, and I love her so much, and I really want her to find a girlfriend who’s as amazing and pretty as she is. So please will you be her girlfriend?”

“Well, I haven’t even met Korra yet, so it’s hard to say,” Asami answered, trying to placate her. “But since Korra and I will be living together, I’m sure I’ll have plenty of chances to get to know her better. We’ll see how things develop, alright?”

“Well, okay, but please, please consider it,” Ikki urged. She grabbed Asami’s right hand and dragged her across the terminal. “Korra went this way to get our coffee. Let’s go find her so you can fall in love at first sight and play videogames together and fall asleep on the couch and get married and make out in the hot tub and–and oh my god,” she turned around excitedly, walking backward and pulling Asami with her. “Just think of how cute your babies will be!”

Asami wasn’t sure whether or not to laugh. “Um, if we’re both girls we can’t exactly—”

“No, false,” Ikki insisted, turning back around. “They are working on that technology!”

“If you say so,” Asami chuckled in spite of herself at Ikki’s determination. A few passersby gave them puzzled looks. Asami didn’t really blame them.

“There’s my trusty sidekick!” Ikki declared as they neared the airport’s cute little cabin-themed coffeehouse. “See, that’s Korra,” she pointed to a woman around Asami’s age, leaving the coffee place with a recyclable drinks tray. “Isn’t she pretty?” Ikki whispered loudly to Asami. “Did ya fall in love yet? Huh? Are ya ready to show Korra the magic of romance?”

Asami had to admit that Korra was kind of hot. Athletic and fairly muscular, she wore a light-blue tank top and dark-blue work jeans with a Seattle Mariners baseball cap over short, dark hair.

“What’s that about the ‘magic of romance’?” Korra asked as she walked up, extending her free hand. “Hey, I’m Korra,” she greeted. “You must be Asami.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Asami smiled, releasing Ikki’s hand to accept Korra’s. “This little one’s been really selling you up for the last few minutes.”

“Isn’t she pretty, Korra?” Ikki insisted as Korra handed out drinks. Ikki had what looked like either a raspberry or cherry Italian soda while Korra’s latté smelled of caramel. “You two should totally be girlfriends and get married!” Ikki gushed.

Asami somehow managed not to choke on her latté.

“Ikki!” Korra scolded, frowning.

“It’s alright,” Asami assured her. “I’m sure Ikki tries to set you up with every pretty girl you meet.”

“Actually, no, this isn’t like her,” Korra said, scowling thoughtfully at her young friend. “Normally she’s super critical of anyone I take an interest in.”

“That’s because none of them were Asami!” Ikki insisted. “I mean, look at her.” She gestured to Asami with both hands, glaring as if Korra was the most clueless person on Earth.

“I mean, I suppose she has a point,” Asami added, mostly to cut through the awkwardness.

“Yeah,” Korra admitted, scratching at the back of her head. “You are super pretty.”

“Thanks, so are you,” Asami smiled back. She learned in that moment that Korra had a very lovely blush.

“Yes! Oh, my god, you two are so freaking cute!” Ikki squeaked.

“We should probably go get the rest of your luggage,” Korra suggested, still looking sheepish. “Luggage pickup is this way.”

“Lead on,” Asami smiled, rather enjoying watching Korra’s back.

“Those two matching dark-grey suitcases,” Asami pointed them out on the turntable when they arrived at pickup minutes later.

“Got ‘em,” Korra assured her, stepping over and picking up one in each hand. “Oh, these aren’t as heavy as I’d expected,” she frowned, sounding disappointed at how easily lifted them off the conveyor.

“Hehe, can’t show off as well that way?” Ikki asked, smirking bigger. “Not as much of a gun show as you were expecting.”

“I only needed clothes for two or three days until the movers bring the rest of my stuff,” Asami assured them. “Tenzin said you had an air mattress I could use until my bed gets here.”

“Yeah, it’s already set up in the living room, but we can move it, easily,” Korra said, leading the way through the automatic doors.

“We had Opal and Jinora over to watch all of the Toy Story movies the other night,” Ikki explained, skipping through the doors behind Korra. “Oh, I know! We should totally have them over again next weekend, but with Asami. And we can move the couch and recliners together and use some blankets to make a fort. And we can make popcorn and brownies and cocoa. And we can watch Return of the Jedi or Return of the King or maybe have a Mario Kart tournament instead! Or we can—”

“Alright, I get it, loquacious one,” Korra laughed.

“Does… Ikki live there, too?” Asami frowned as she followed them into the parking garage.  

Korra laughed again. “It almost seems that way, sometimes,” she agreed. “It’s about a ten-minute walk and a four-minute bike ride from our place to her family’s. She comes over regularly and tries to stay the night every chance she gets.”

“You’re way cooler than my sister and brothers,” Ikki shrugged, skipping to a halt beside a navy-blue ’67 Mustang Hardtop. “Shotgun!” she hollered, running around to the passenger door and trying to open it despite it being locked. “Open the door, Korra!”

“I’ll get right on that,” Korra answered, setting down one suitcase. She held her keys up and made a passable imitation of a keyless-entry noise while pushing the nonexistent unlock button.

“Still didn’t work,” Ikki informed her, still fiddling with the door handle.

Asami chuckled as Korra shook her head and unlocked the trunk on the Mustang. The trunk honestly looked too small for her suitcases, but Korra fit both in without issue. The Mustang intrigued Asami. It was in good condition, but not perfect condition—a few minor scratches and dents and a paint job that was at least twenty years old. It was a six-speed manual transmission as well, and Asami was pretty sure she remembered the base-model ‘60’s Mustangs all having automatics. And the stereo with CD player and MP3 hookup definitely wasn’t original.

“Sweet ride,” she commented as Korra shut the trunk.

“Thanks, though it’s technically my dad’s,” Korra said, leaning against the bumper. “Grandpa had one just like it back when Dad was a kid. Dad was about seventeen when my uncle wrecked it—lost control on an icy road and wrapped it around a power pole. Uncle was fine, but I guess losing that car broke Grandpa’s heart more than he let on. Dad bought and fixed up this one for Grandpa for his sixtieth birthday, then inherited it back when Grandpa died a few years later. I drive it now because Dad’s too tall to fit comfortably in the driver’s seat.”

“Hey!” an impatient voice piped up before Asami could reply. “You gonna unlock this or not?”

Korra chuckled and shook her head again as she circled to the passenger side. “You’re in the back, Ikki,” Korra told her as she opened the door. “I don’t care that you called ‘shotgun.’”

“Ugh, but there’s no leg room back there,” Ikki protested.

“Exactly, and Asami’s got a lot more leg to find room for,” Korra pointed out.

Ikki turned and looked at Asami’s knee-length skirt. “Yeah, fair point,” Ikki decided, turning back to Korra. “But I’m only doing this because I believe in the preservation of rare and priceless works of art,” she added as she climbed in the back seat.

“Set this in the seat beside you, Ikki?” Asami asked, handing her carry-on bag back behind the seat.

“Got it,” Ikki said, taking the bag. She made a show of buckling a seatbelt around it.

“Oh, thanks,” Asami raised her brows as Korra extended a hand to help her into the car. “What a gentlewoman.” The seats weren’t as comfortable as Asami was used to, but there was a ruggedness to the old Mustang that she found appealing.

“What kinds of music do you like, Asami?” Korra asked, sitting in the driver’s seat and plugging her smart phone into the MP3 hookup.

“Most kinds,” Asami shrugged. “I’ve got songs and artists I like and don’t like in most genres.”

“Here,” Korra offered, handing Asami the smart phone. “I’ve got a couple-dozen playlists, so take your pick.”

Asami skimmed the playlist titles as Korra started the car and backed out of her parking spot. Korra indeed had a diverse set of playlists. One was labeled “Celtic Rock,” another “Outlaw Country,” another for “Classic Rock,” and another for “Gaming Soundtracks.” Other lists were titled after activities, such as “Roadtrip Tunes” or “Workout Tunes” or “Reading Music.” Yet others were named after people she knew, such as “Dad Tunes,” “Bolin Jams,” or “Ikki Songs.”

“Do I dare ask what ‘Ikki Songs’ consists of?” Asami asked, largely to get to know her two new friends better.

“Oh, yeah!” Ikki insisted. “We totally have to play my list!”

“It’s about a two-and-a-half-hour drive,” Korra admitted. “So there’s time to play a decent chunk of it.”

“What kind of songs are on it?” Asami asked while Korra pulled out of the parking garage.

“Love songs, mostly,” Korra shrugged, “and from lots of different genres.”

“But there’s a theme to them,” Ikki said. “See if you can guess what it is. And you have to sing along to all the ones you know. It’s the rules.”

“Alright, I’ll try it,” Asami decided, pressing the playlist.

The first song was the Monkees’ “I’m a Believer.” Though she knew most of the words, Asami just listened to Ikki and Korra belt out the lyrics. Korra in particular had kind of a pleasant singing voice, and both of them bobbed their heads about as they sang.

The next song was Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight,” followed by Garth Brooks’s “That Summer.” Asami continued to just listen as she pondered what theme they had in common. Her first clue came during Janis Joplin’s rendition of “Me and Bobby McGee,” when Ikki and Korra both sang “I let her slip away,” instead of him. Asami felt her lip twist as she pondered the implications.

The next song was “The Star of the County Down,” by an Irish folk band Asami wasn’t familiar with. But during Chris Ledoux’s “Look at You, Girl,” she noted a change in the lyrics again during the chorus when both her new friends sang “I’m an ordinary gal” instead of “ordinary man.”

Asami laughed as she realized Ikki and Korra weren’t actually singing the songs themselves, they were singing lesbian covers of the songs. She didn’t know the words to Sinatra’s “You Make Me Feel so Young,” but the next song on the list was Neil Diamond’s “Girl, You’ll be a Woman Soon.”

Grinning and taking a chance, Asami joined in the song, belting the lyrics with them. When the song got to the line “He’s not your kind,” she replaced “he” with “she” right on cue. Ikki cheered, and Korra laughed and gave Asami a quick high-five.

The stories these songs told became so much more fun and interesting when sung this way, Asami decided. When Brad Paisley’s “Mud on the Tires” came on, Asami laughed, visualizing two lesbian cowgirls bouncing around in a new Chevy 4X4. Dean Martin’s “Standin’ on the Corner” became a story of a shy girl fantasizing about the pretty girls she saw walking about. Ray Kennedy’s “What a Way to Go” was instead about a humorous, self-deprecating butch sitting in a bar, laughing about her failed romances.

And Jennifer Saunders’s cover of “I Need a Hero” became the more fun—if slightly awkward to sing—“I Need a Heroine.” Instead of a “streetwise Hercules” it was a “streetwise Amazon” fighting the rising odds, and a super-girl sweeping her off her feet.

Asami spent most of the drive laughing or singing along to the songs that she knew. It was such a silly, geeky little game, and she wondered how Korra and Ikki came up with the idea. Asami honestly couldn’t recall when she’d ever had more fun hanging out with two other girls.

She decided that she really liked these two weirdos.