A Little Thing Called Fate: Chapter 7

A Once Upon a Time Fanfic

Killian doesn’t particularly like the metal death traps this entire world seems to prefer as a conveyance, particularly after having been nearly killed by one, but he has grown accustomed to them, and can even appreciate the speed and convenience.

After eight hours trapped inside one, however, he’s reached his limit, especially with Lily right behind him, loudly expressing her anger issues and, as Emma described it, “backseat driving” the entire way.

(“Bloody hell, woman. Do you need to sit in the front so the other drivers can read your lips?”

“Shut up, Jones!")

They’re all worn out now, and the carriage has been thankfully silent for the past hour after Henry fell asleep. He’s even dozed off a couple times as the trees outside the window blur together into a distant haze.

Emma’s sharp indrawn breath startles him back into reality, and in the mirror he catches Lily sit up straighter as well. “This is it,” Emma says, and he scans the stretch of forest around them. It does look somewhat familiar, but he doesn’t know how she’s so certain. She is, though, and all three of the awake occupants of the vehicle tense.

“Wait,” Lily says, and Emma hits the brake, jerking to a stop. The two women meet each other’s eyes in the mirror, and he knows them both well enough to see they’re just as hesitant about this as him. Somehow, against all odds, the four of them have cobbled together something like a family and a life together in New York. This–going back to Storybrooke–is going to tear all that apart, and none of them are ready for that.

But the note burns in his pocket, reminding him that he was chosen as messenger, and he feels the responsibility of that. “They’re in trouble.”

Emma sighs, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. “They’re always in trouble.” But he knows she’s made her decision, and he reaches over to take her hand.

“Let’s go then,” Lily says, and he can’t read her tone.

Emma pulls forward, and a sign welcoming them to town appears in front of them, shimmering into existence.

They park in front of Granny’s, and Emma climbs halfway out, not meeting either of their eyes. “Can you go get rooms? I need to–to check on something.”

He smiles. “Go see them, love. We’ll take care of things here.”

“Thanks.”

Killian is well aware that Neverland irrevocably ruined his sleeping habits, but he never ceases to be astonished by how deeply Henry sleeps. It makes him wonder if he ever truly slept that heavily as a boy.

He stares at the boy from the open side door and twists his tongue between his teeth, considering. Lily leans beside him and snorts. “Yeah, you’re not waking him up now.”

He sighs. “Aye, you’re probably right.” He leans into the car to unbuckle the boy, then scoop him up to carry him inside.

“Careful not to throw your back out, old man.”

He grunts in response, then nods at the still-open door. “Shut that for me, would you?”

She slams it shut with her him and follows him up to the inn door. “Sure he’s not too heavy for you?”

“I’ve carried rum barrels heavier.”

“I’m just saying, teenage boy, three-hundred-year-old man . . . I’d understand if you–”

“Shut up,” he complains, and she snickers.

They step into the inn, and he has “family vacation” on the tip of his tongue, the cover story they came up with on the way, when the lady Lucas herself looks up at him, then down to Henry still asleep in his arms.

Her eyebrows fly up, and she says, “Hook!”

And suddenly every bit of his carefully-prepared script goes flying out the window.

“You remember me?” He asks, startled.

Her lips press into a line, and she casts him that disapproving look that always makes him feel sorry for her granddaughter. “You might be new in town, but you’ve certainly shaken things up enough to be memorable.”

“That’s not–we were under the impression that there was another curse.”

She arches an eyebrow, looking Lily up and down before looking back at him. “By “we”, I take it you mean Emma too?”

“Aye. She’ll be back in a moment. She just went to check on her parents first.”

Lady Lucas nods, relaxing just a bit. “Another curse, you say?” She frowns as her eyes grow unfocused, staring over his shoulder. “I guess that makes sense. That would explain why none of us can remember the past few months despite some,” she clears her throat uncomfortably, “obvious signs of time passing.”

He’s not sure he likes that idea of “obvious signs”. He has more questions, but he wants to speak to Emma before asking them, so instead he asks, “can we have three rooms for the night? I think we’ll all need some sleep tonight before we determine what’s going on.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

Lady Lucas shrugs. “You know we don’t get any visitors here. We have no reason to keep up most of the rooms. We keep a couple open for emergencies, and you’re welcome to those, but you’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow to get a third.”

He glances at Lily, who shrugs. “Very well.” He turns slightly and nods down at his jacket pocket. “Lily, would you?”

She puts his wallet out and pays the older woman, then takes the keys and they head upstairs.

“I suppose I can share with the lad, and the two of you can share?” he suggests. He remembers well the rumor mill in this town, and he doesn’t particularly want to encourage it.

“Works for me,” Lily says. She stops at the first door and unlocks it, swinging it open for him. “I’ll go get our bags.”

“Thank you,” he calls after her as he lays Henry down on the bed. He pulls the boy’s shoes and jacket off, then covers him with the blankets.

Lily returns in a minute to toss his and Henry’s bags into a corner, then disappears into the other room with a hasty “good night” over her shoulder.

He slips his own jacket off and sets both onto a chair, then steps out into the hall to wait for Emma. He shuts the door most of the way behind him in hopes of keeping Henry asleep.

He had expected her to be back quickly, but that was before he realized the residents of Storybrooke had their memories back. She’s missed her family, and he knows she’ll want to catch up with them, so he settles in to wait for a while.

To his surprise, she comes back rather quickly, and her expression . . . isn’t good.

He reaches out to catch her elbow. “What happened?”

She stares at him blankly for a few seconds, then seems to pull out of her thoughts enough to process the question. “I . . . I thought you’d be in bed.”

A year ago, he’d assume she was trying to brush him off, but her fingers twist in his shirt, and though she stares fixedly over his shoulder, he sees the red around her eyes. “Did something happen to your parents?”

She starts to shake her head, then stops, a humorless laugh suddenly spilling from her lips. “Well, I guess something did happen, but–” She cuts herself off, biting her lip. “They remember, which is good, but they–”

“Forgot the last year,” he finishes. “Aye, Lady Lucas told us. But that’s not what’s bothering you.”

She chews her lower lip, her eyes slowly dragging back to his, before she tries to force a smile. “It’s not, well, it’s not important. Not like the curse–”

“Swan.” He squeezes her arm, and her eyes falls closed.

She swallows. “Mary Margaret’s pregnant.”

All the breath leaves his lungs in a sharp breath, and he tugs her gently, pulling her into his embrace. Her arms come up to wrap around him just as quickly, as though she’s just been waiting for him to do this. He smoothes his hand over her back and pretends not to notice the tears soaking into the collar of his shirt.

Perhaps they should have expected this. They both heard her mother’s words in the Echo Caves, her desire to “try again”, and it’s been over a year. They should have known their lives weren’t the only ones to move on.

“It’s stupid,” she says when she pulls away. “There’s so much to actually worry about, but I just can’t stop thinking about it, and I’m just so, so . . .”

“Angry?” he finishes, thinking of his father and an unfamiliar little boy with a name he knew too well.

She closes her eyes, and another tear slips out. “I don’t want to be angry at a baby. None of this is their fault, and–” She swallows and lets her head fall back to his shoulder. “I don’t think I can do this.”

He presses a kiss to the side of her head as he runs his fingers though her hair. “Of course you can. I haven’t seen you fail yet.”

She steps back and shakes her head. “No, not–not this new curse. I mean my parents. I don’t know how to talk to them. It was hard enough before when I was just trying to figure out how to have parents when I never have before, but now, after Lily, after this–this kid, I don’t think I can do it.

“They did so much, they ruined Lily’s life, all just to make sure I was the perfect kid they were looking for, but I’m–I’m not. I’m not the kid they wanted, the perfect princess who takes all their advice and wants to marry my kid’s dad just because he waltzed back into my life. I’m a thief and a lost girl and a pirate, and they–they can’t understand that.

“I couldn’t tell them about Lily while I was there, couldn’t tell them about you, because I know they won’t be happy about it, and what if . . .” her voice trails to a whisper. “What if they give up on me completely?”

He feels so helpless, unsure of what he could possibly say to help. “Your parents love you.” It sounds so insufficient. He knows it as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

“I know that,” she says softly. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not disappointed.”

Mary Margaret feels off-kilter.

Being so pregnant has thrown her off balance, and she has trouble even walking short distances. She remembers feeling this last time too, but at least then the change was gradual and she had time to adjust. As far as she can remember this time, she just woke up a few days ago almost nine months pregnant.

But it’s not just physically. Once again, she was in Storybrooke with missing memories, separated from her daughter. For a while, she had hoped that they were here because Emma found a way to bring them back, but when days passed with no sign from her little girl, she was forced to agree with Regina’s dire assurances that Emma and Henry were still lost to them, with no memories of their family and no way to bring them home.

Up until last night, when Emma showed up at their front door.

There had been something not quite right with the way she came in, offered a vague explanation of how she got there, and promised to be back in the morning so they could figure out what was going on, but she was probably just overwhelmed. Mary Margaret was feeling the same just knowing Emma was home.

But as eager as she is to see her, she doesn’t expect Emma to come quite so early the next morning. Her daughter is not exactly what she’d call a morning person.

“Oh, Emma, you’re here!” David beams, looking up from the pancakes he’s making. “Do you want some breakfast? I can make some more. I didn’t realize you were coming so early.”

Emma stuffs her hands in the pockets of her jacket and shifts from one foot to the other. “No thanks. We already had breakfast.”

“We?” Mary Margaret is just about to ask, when Hook steps into the room after her. “Oh! Hook.” For a moment, all she can do is stare. She’s so used to seeing him dressed like he’s still in the Enchanted Forest that it’s a shock to see him in blue jeans and a fitted leather jacket that barely reaches his hips instead of falling past his knees.

She hasn’t seen him in the past few days since they woke up right back in their beds in Storybrooke as though they never left (and maybe they haven’t). But he was never part of the original curse, never part of Storybrooke, so it never really occurred to her to look for him.

He gives a small nod. “Your highness.”

Emma must have invited him, but she doesn’t even spare him a glance as she walks over to the sitting area of the loft. Mary Margaret can’t help but be a bit relieved. They’d had a strange sort of camaraderie back in Neverland that always made her nervous.

She sits up a bit, sliding her feet off the couch and smiling an invitation at Emma to join her, but Emma doesn’t see it, instead sinking into the chair across from her.

Hook elects not to sit, instead hovering by the wall and glancing frequently out the window as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. Thankfully David finishes with the pancakes quickly, and sits on the couch, passing off one of the plates to Mary Margaret.

Emma sits up a little straighter when he joins them, finally looking at them both. “So, how much do you remember?”

Mary Margaret sucks in a sharp breath, because she knows that tone, knows that look, from their interviews back when she’d been arrested for Katherine’s murder, and she knows, whatever was wrong with Emma last night has not gone away.

David is silent for a minute, and she wonders if he’s thinking the same thing she is, but she can’t look to check, because if she does, she might break. And she can’t break right now, not while their people are in danger once again, from possibly another curse, because this is always the problem, isn’t it? Always having to put everyone else first before they can take care of Emma.

David clears his throat. “We–we remember you and Henry getting in your bug and driving across the town line. One second we were watching you disappear, and the next we woke up back in our beds in Storybrooke, like no time had passed.

“Except, obviously it did,” Mary Margaret says, with a gesture at her swollen belly. The joke falls flat.

“We don’t even know if we went back to the Enchanted Forest,” David continues.

“You did.” She looks up at Hook, both surprised to hear him speak, and grateful to have somewhere else to focus that’s not her husband or daughter. “I was with you.”

She strains for a minute, trying to remember anything of being back in the Enchanted Forest, trying to picture being home, and so it takes her a moment to realize the problem with Hook’s statement.

“You were?” David is quicker to catch on. “So how do you remember? Did you not get caught in the curse?”

It’s only because she’s watching him so close that she catches the way his eyes flick back to Emma, the way his jaw tightens slightly, before he looks back up at them, grinning a little too openly. “I outran it, of course.”

She frowns, and David’s dubious tone echoes her own thoughts. “You outran it?”

His grin grows smug. “The Jolly Roger is the fastest ship in the realms, mate. She can outrun any curse.”

“So why come here?” she asks. “If you knew we were cursed again.”

“I received a message. A note and a vial of memory potion tied to a seagull. It told me to find Swan, give her the potion, and bring her here.”

Hope rises at this unexpected development. Is it possible that someone remembers? Someone who was able to bring Emma back to them, who knows what they’re up against?

She leans forward eagerly. “Who sent it?”

Hook winces in what looks to be apology, which she doesn’t understand until he says, “I assumed you did.”

She sinks back, disappointed, as David casts her a sympathetic look. “You have to admit, note by bird does sound like you.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, wishing her past self had included a little more information in the note.

She frowns, her gaze drifting back over to Hook, and she remembers his glance at Emma before he claimed to outrun the curse. Was there a reason she hadn’t trusted him with more information? But if so, why send the note to him in the first place?

“Is everyone here?” Emma asks, startling her out of her thoughts, and she can’t help but smile.

“There are a lot of new people here,” David says, “people who weren’t caught up in the first curse. There are plenty missing too, but we don’t know how many of them disappeared after getting to Storybrooke, and how many never came back to begin with–”

Mary Margaret cuts him off with a hand on his arm. As helpful as the thorough explanation is, she’s sure that wasn’t what Emma was asking, and she gives her daughter a knowing, sympathetic smile. “We haven’t found Neal yet, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here.”

Sudden comprehension lights up David’s face, and she wants to laugh. “Yeah, yeah we have a lot more people now, and there’s a whole camp out in the woods. He might be out there.”

Emma’s face is blank, but she sits stiffly in her chair, as though ready to bolt any second, and Mary Margaret remembers what it’s like to be afraid to hope. She’s just about to reassure her that, wherever Neal is, they’ll find him, but before she can, Emma stands up. “Well, if that’s everything you remember, I should probably get going.”

“Oh, but–” Mary Margaret stammers.

“Henry will be up any minute,” she explains. “And I have . . . other things to do.”

Other things, that don’t involve them or the new curse?

Mary Margaret starts to stand, starts to follow her out the door, because maybe she can help with those things. Maybe they can work together? But standing isn’t quite as easy as it was a few months ago, even with David beside her supporting her arm, and Emma’s nearly out the door before she’s fully off the couch.

“I’ll see you guys later,” she says, and then she’s gone.

Mary Margaret stares at the closed door behind her. “What–?”

“You saw that, didn’t you?” David asks. “Hook?”

“He was lying,” Mary Margaret agreed. “And watching to see if Emma noticed.”

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