Chapter Text
Epigraph
I don't get it, I'm not drunk
A million people in the place and there you are
And I was like
Hi my name is
Whatever you call me
So let's get undressed
'Cause you look a little lonely
(Kim Cesarion – Undressed)
Prologue
Hell. No.
That's someone Emma recognizes. And not just because the woman has been here a few times before, but because of the very reason Emma didn't approach her any of those times – she's someone from there.
She's not someone Emma is very familiar with, but Emma has definitely seen her before. She remembers her in the way she remembers people she has repeatedly yet casually passed at school or on the street, someone a few years older so they haven't really moved in the same circles, someone she hasn't paid much attention to, but someone she has definitely noticed, however idly.
Beautiful. Dark hair. Full, red lips. Stylishly dressed. Now in her mid-thirties. Laughing at a cute guy with a beard. He's also someone Emma has seen before – not there, but here, with the woman. Boyfriend? Something about their body language doesn't add up with that conclusion, though.
Emma doesn't even remember her name, maybe she hasn't ever even learned it, but she knows for a fact that she has seen that face before. Years ago. Back there.
The hotel bar is Emma's favorite for so many reasons. There are always people who are between destinations there. They live transient lives, much like she does, even though circumstances have kept her in Boston for the past two years. This particular hotel attracts the kind of people who want to stay someplace decent but aren't willing to pay for penthouse suites with swimming pools. Business travelers. People looking for a bit of reasonably affordable luxury on special occasions.
People who are lonely and looking for temporary comfort where both parties recognize it for what it is. Temporary. Anonymous.
It's not exactly the kind of place where she expects to see someone from there, but then again, it does make sense. It's not that big of a coincidence even. It's only four hours away. And she doesn't even know if the woman lives there anymore. Why would anyone stay there? Or go back there? Maybe she lives in Boston. Maybe she just visits Boston often from the other side of the... world, and likes to stay in this particular hotel.
And yes, Emma does realize that she is using an awful lot of energy on making up excuses for why the woman might actually be fair game.
Of course there's the minor issue of the guy, but right now he seems to be having some kind of a minor meltdown. There are tears in his eyes, and the woman is smiling at him in a way that's compassionate, but also strangely impassioned. She puts a hand on his knee, but he stands up and speaks in a heated, hushed tone. She looks at him, shrugging, and says something in response. He closes his eyes for a second, looking pained, and then he just walks away, not looking back.
She is left staring after him. Something vulnerable flashes in her eyes, but then she turns her attention back to her glass of wine, apparently not interested in following the guy and causing any kind of a scene from a romantic dramedy.
The worst thing is, Emma recognizes the look. It's that of carefully masked loneliness.
She wishes she didn't recognize it, but she does.
Emma has found herself thinking about her hometown lately. It's probably no wonder considering... everything. Hell, she did, after all, even consider calling her mother just a few hours earlier. Emma has to close her eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. When she opens her eyes again, she feels calmer.
She keeps twirling her almost untouched drink around in the glass. She can't afford getting drunk because there's always the chance that, instead of dulling the pain, the alcohol will magnify it.
It's all so messed up. She has no idea how she has even ended up here. Was any of it ever worth it? Yes. One good, one perfect thing came out of everything.
But that's really not something she wants to think of now.
She just doesn't want to think.
And yes, Emma knows what she is about to do is quite possibly the worst idea in the history of the world, but when has that ever stopped her before? As soon as the idea forms itself in her head, she knows she has to act on it. There's no other choice. And the worst part is, she is fully conscious of the fact that it's partly because she has been thinking about her hometown lately, and she knows that the woman is from there.
"Rough night?" Emma asks the woman as she leans on the bar next to her.
"Not particularly," the woman says. She quirks an eyebrow and looks at Emma, her eyes sweeping over her body. It's a calculating look, but also mildly amused, and not altogether hostile. Her voice is quietly powerful, low.
"He a boyfriend of yours? The one who left you sitting here all alone?"
"Graham? No."
"Let me guess. He wanted more, but you didn't?"
"Where would you get such an idea?"
"I read people. It's my job."
"Who are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"I suppose not."
"I've seen you here before. With him."
"Oh? You don't look familiar."
Thank god.
***
There is something about trust between strangers that Emma has never understood.
She has gazed at many a naked form sprawled on various beds, and she has always been struck by how ridiculous it is that those people allow themselves to fall asleep just like that even though there's a stranger in the room.
There are few things that are as pitiful as the sight of a sleeping, naked human being. So vulnerable. So unsafe.
But this woman isn't sleeping. She's staring at Emma from under the covers.
"You are leaving?" she asks, but not in an accusatory tone. It's more of an observation than anything.
"Yeah," Emma says, pulling on her jeans. She's in a rush to leave, because it's too risky to stay in one place for too long at four a.m. when there's a deluge of thoughts and emotions threatening to overcome her.
She can already feel a sting in her eyes, and she definitely doesn't want the woman to notice it.
"You are crying," the woman says, and, shit, too late.
Shit shit shit.
"No, I'm not," Emma says.
She pulls on her last item of clothing, a leather jacket, and then she's gone.
***
Emma stares at her phone, wanting to press 'End call' so fucking much, but some outside force seems to be stopping her.
"Hello?" a voice says suddenly.
Emma can't form words. It's too much. Her mother's voice is too much. It's the same and it's different. And it's her mother.
"Hello?" her mother asks again.
"Mom?" Emma says, quietly.
Her hands are shaking almost as much as her voice.
I
"What's this?"
"It's a chicken salad."
"I think I told you to get me a cheeseburger."
"Come on, Emma. That salad's not gonna kill you."
"Neither would the burger."
"It might. Eventually. Eat your salad."
"How did you get so annoyingly health conscious, kid?"
"Dunno. Maybe I just don't want you to die of heart disease at forty."
"I think I'm gonna order a maternity test online."
"Haha. Very funny."
They eat in silence. Gas stations are clearly not equipped with the freshest of ingredients but whatever, the salad's actually not that bad. Though she's not about to tell Henry that.
It almost feels like one of their regular road trips (and there have been many of those – so many that knowing what "Stay in the car!" or "Don't open the door for anyone but me!" mean has become second nature to Henry), but then Emma hears a small sniffling sound. When she glances at Henry, she sees that the kid's clearly holding back tears. She sighs because this is the part of motherhood she's not very good at. "What is it?" she asks.
"I... I just don't want to lose you, too," he says quietly, and Emma feels a sharp pain in her chest.
"Oh, kid. You are not going to lose me." She has to blink a few times as she pulls Henry into a one-armed hug. It's extremely awkward in the cramped space in the yellow Bug. Besides, they aren't really huggers.
"So what are your parents like?" Henry asks eventually when Emma lets go of him. Right. Emotional mother-son moment over.
"Well..." It's a good question. And pretty damn hard to explain to an eleven-year-old, however smart he is. "They are... okay. I mean, they are pretty nice people."
"How come I have never met them then?" Henry looks suspicious. He really is way too smart for his own good.
"Err. My relationship with them is... complicated."
"What did they do?"
"They didn't do anything, I guess. I kinda ran away..."
"Why?"
Emma sighs. "I will explain later. We really have to get going if we want to be in Storybrooke before it gets dark."
***
"This place is pretty... quiet," Henry says, peering out of the car window.
"Tell me about it."
They are driving along Main Street towards the address Emma's mother had given her on the phone during their incredibly awkward conversation a week earlier.
How on earth she had let her mother talk her into visiting them is still a mystery to Emma, but whatever, any place is better than Boston right now. Maybe even Storybrooke.
The town hasn't changed much at all in the almost twelve years she's been gone. The streets are slightly less bumpy and the signs above store windows look like they have a fresh coat of paint, but that's pretty much it. The clock above the library is still stuck at 8:15.
Her palms are sweaty on the steering wheel when they finally turn into the driveway that leads to an innocent-looking yellow house. That's one thing that's changed. They used to live in a pretty crummy loft, the three of them. But now her parents have a yellow house with flowerbeds and birdhouses and all. How perfectly lower middle class.
"Okay, kid. This is it. Unless my mother gave me a fake address."
"Why would she do that?"
"I don't know..." Maybe because she doesn't really want to see me? But now is not the time to get paranoid. She takes a deep breath. "Let's go meet your grandparents."
***
The door flies open almost immediately after the first knock.
Her mother is standing there, looking very much like herself, though older. There's some more gray in her dark hair. Her father is close behind, still tall and in shape though there are wrinkles around his eyes.
For a moment they all just stare at each other. Then her mother pulls her into a bone-crushing hug. "Emma," she whispers in her ear, "I can't believe you are really here."
And Emma can't believe it either. The plan was, after all, pretty simple – to never come back. She pats her mother on the back, more than a little tensely.
When her mother finally frees her from the embrace, Emma looks at her father and says, "Dad."
Her father just smiles at her in that dopey way of his, and he looks like he is actually happy to see her. He doesn't hug her, which doesn't surprise her one bit, but at least he doesn't seem to be harboring any plans of punching her (not that he ever would, really) either so things are pretty good on that front.
Emma hears a small cough from behind her and it brings her back to reality. She puts a hand on Henry's shoulder and says, "Henry, these are Mary Margaret and David, your grandparents. Mom, dad, this is Henry."
"Hi," Henry says, looking uncharacteristically shy. His hands are in the pockets of his green hoodie.
"Hi, Henry. It's nice to finally meet you," Mary Margaret says, tears in her eyes, and cups Henry's cheek affectionately.
"How do you do," David says, mockingly formal, and offers his hand for a handshake. When Henry tries to shake it, though, David pulls him into a bear hug, a huge grin on his face.
Henry looks at Emma in alarm. Poor kid. He's so not used to hugs. Emma feels pretty lousy about that, but yeah, at least it seems her parents are willing to accept Henry regardless of where the other half of his genes come from.
And that's a relief and pretty much all that matters right now.
***
Dinner is... almost pleasant.
It's easier with Henry around, because, after the initial shyness, the kid is a surprisingly good conversationalist and there seems to be an instant connection between him and his grandparents. They chatter about random stuff, like Henry's school, and the kids Mary Margaret works with, and when Henry finds out that David is the Sheriff, he can't stop asking questions about the details of the job.
"I think I will take you on a ride-along one of these days," David says and Henry's eyes shine with glee. Emma thinks about how totally unexciting it's going to be because nothing exciting ever happens in Storybrooke, but it's been a long time since Henry last smiled like that so she doesn't say anything.
At some point Henry sneaks an extra spoonful of green beans to Emma's plate, and Mary Margaret winks at him and gives him a fond smile. So, great, they have known each other for a whopping two hours and already they are unified in the quest to change Emma's eating habits.
There's one thing they are not talking about and Emma is grateful for that. Because she's sure the questions about Henry's father will come sooner or later and she'd prefer later. Or never.
***
Never is too much to hope for.
Henry is sound asleep in the guestroom when David approaches Emma, holding two beers.
"Thanks," Emma says and takes the offered bottle. She sits down on the floral couch and David flops down on the armchair opposite her.
"So. Gold told us what happened to... his son."
"Yeah, I figured that's how you knew." Emma stares at the paintings of baby deer and birds on the walls. Her mother's artwork, most likely. She remembers her mother's alarmed tone on the phone ("Emma, how are you dealing with what happened? Please, tell me you are okay.").
She expects a barrage of questions and accusations, but definitely not the question David asks, "Were you happy with him?"
"I..." But Emma doesn't know what to say. "Ask me something easier," she finally says, feeling awfully tired.
David looks sympathetic. "Henry is a great kid."
"Yeah. I guess I haven't managed to mess him up too much. It's a fucking miracle, really."
"You could have told us right away, you know. We would've been there for you."
No, you definitely wouldn't have been there for me. That's her first thought. And it's... it's not something that she wants to think about right now anyway. It's no use speculating how different things could have been if she hadn't been so messed up and so in love with someone both so wrong and so right. "Right," is all she says.
"Did he treat you two... okay?"
For some reason the question makes Emma a little angry. "You know what, dad? If there's one thing that was good about Neal it was that he was a good father. He loved Henry more than anything and always took care of him. And yes, sometimes his ways of taking care of him weren't... exactly legal, but yeah, he did treat us okay." The words come out in a pretty heated tone but Emma doesn't care. She definitely doesn't want David to think that she would have actually stayed with someone who didn't treat Henry okay.
"Good. That's... That's good to hear." David looks a little taken aback.
"I... I think I need some fresh air. It's been a long day."
"Okay. Just..."
"Just what? Just don't run away and leave the kid here with you?"
"That's not what I was going to say."
"Then, just what, David?"
"Just be careful."
And Emma actually laughs a little. "Yeah, because you never know what dangers lurk in the dark back alleys of Storybrooke."
"Yeah, you never know," David says, and he smiles, too.
***
It's fucking weird being back in Storybrooke. It's a clear night, the fall air crisp with the feeling of impending doom. The streets are wet from the rain that fell earlier in the evening.
Nobody's out and about this late except for a lone figure less than a block away, walking a dog. And, shit, Emma is pretty sure she can identify the figure as Archie Hopper. She definitely doesn't want to run into her former shrink so she takes a left turn.
She walks past her old high school and remembers all the times she used to sneak out of school grounds to smoke a stolen cigarette right there, behind that old oak. She also remembers the way her mother looked at her the second time she had been caught doing just that – so sad and powerless before the monster her daughter had somehow turned into.
For a minute she considers paying The Rabbit Hole a visit for old times' sake, because yeah, it would actually be legal this time around (the place always was pretty lenient about fake IDs, though...) but then she remembers how she is supposed to be a rational adult.
She has to be a rational adult, because she is the only adult her son has these days.
It's a terrifying thought.
She's walking on the empty streets of her hometown, and she is the only adult her son has these days, and her parents have a house with flowerbeds, and she has no idea how any of this has happened.
She feels horribly, terribly alone.
***
"Did you have a good walk?" Mary Margaret asks when Emma gets back. She's sitting in the kitchen, holding a steaming mug of something that smells a little disgusting.
"Yeah, I guess," Emma says.
"Do you want some chamomile tea?"
"No, thanks, mom. I think I'm just... gonna get some sleep."
"Okay. Good night, Emma," Mary Margaret says.
"Night."
"I'm happy you're here," Mary Margaret says, sounding a little hesitant.
Emma manages a tiny smile. A "Me, too," would be an exaggeration, though, so she doesn't say anything.
***
It's Monday morning and both her parents have already left for work. (And Henry really should be at school in Boston but luckily his teachers are pretty understanding with kids who have just lost a parent. Besides, Henry is smarter than most pupils in his class anyway.) The past two days have been kind of a blur, but it has been surprisingly nice, exploring Storybrooke with Henry. Emma's parents haven't asked her any uncomfortable questions or any questions at all, actually, and Henry has been so excited about the most random things like the docks or Granny's diner.
For... various reasons Emma had been a bit nervous about seeing Granny, but, strangely enough, she looked a little misty-eyed when she said, "Well, you have grown a lot, girl. I still won't leave the cash register unattended when you're around, though." Other than that, Emma hasn't really run into too many people she knows, and for that, she is eternally thankful. Sometimes it pays to be kind of a loner.
Henry is happily munching on the pancakes either one of Emma's parents has apparently left in the oven to keep warm. And how is it fair that Emma is supposed to eat vegetables these days and Henry is still allowed to pour that much syrup over his pancakes? Between bites he says, "Your parents seem pretty cool."
"Yeah. They seem to think you are pretty cool, too."
"I'm glad we came here," Henry says and he smiles at her with such genuine joy that the ever-present pain in her chest lessens a little.
"Yeah..." she says. "I'm sorry I didn't bring you here ever before."
"No, I get it. There are issues you need to discuss with your parents. You are pretty weird around them."
"I know."
"Is that... because you ran away?"
"Yeah. Pretty much."
"Why did you run away?"
But there's no way Emma can explain that without saying something negative about Neal and she doesn't want to do that because Henry doesn't know even close to the whole truth about his dad. "I was pretty young. And stupid."
Henry looks skeptical, again, but he doesn't say anything.
"What do you say after breakfast we go say hi to David at the station?"
Henry's eyes light up. "Yeah. Sounds cool."
***
The sheriff's station is a place Emma is pretty familiar with. And not just because of the fact that her father happens to be the Sheriff.
"Hey," she says.
"Hi!" David says, smiling happily at Henry. "Have you ever been at a sheriff's station before?"
"No..." Henry says, looking at the holding cells in wonder.
"That's good. I see Emma has managed to keep you from trouble." David actually winks at Emma.
"Does that surprise you?" Emma asks before she can stop herself.
"No, definitely not," David says, fixing his gaze on Henry. Emma doesn't totally buy it.
"Anyway, I think you promised him a ride-along," Emma says.
"Yes, I did, didn't I? Henry, do you want to see Storybrooke from a cruiser?"
"Can we have the siren on?"
"Okay. But maybe not the whole time. People might get alarmed."
"You're probably right. But let's go!" Henry looks positively ecstatic.
"Alright then," David says. "Are you gonna be okay here?" he asks Emma.
"Yeah. I will handle any crises that come this way." Emma knows that there are never any crises in Storybrooke. And David knows it, too, because there's no way he would leave Emma alone at the station otherwise.
So David and Henry leave, both waving at her in a way that says, "Have fun with your boring desk job."
Emma sits down at her father's desk. Huh. It's weird, because she has never been allowed to do that. Then she realizes she probably still isn't allowed to do that, and stands abruptly.
There's a darts board on the wall so she picks up a dart from the floor, aims and throws it with no success. It just bounces off the wall. Damn.
What else is there to do at a sheriff's station?
For a minute she considers going through her father's files just to see if there's anything on anyone she knows. But then she remembers that, yeah, she should be a responsible adult, so she proceeds to take a nap on the couch next to the desk.
She is awakened way too soon by a voice calling from the hallway. "Sheriff? Are you here?"
Emma sits upright. She hopes this doesn't mean there's an actual crisis about to unfold.
"Sheriff?"
And suddenly Emma realizes who it is that is staring at her.
The woman. The one from the hotel bar. The one she had recognized as someone from Storybrooke.
And this is precisely the reason why approaching her was a horrible idea. These are the situations Emma has always done her best to avoid.
However homesick and lost and alone she had felt, sleeping with someone from Storybrooke was extremely stupid. Fucking idiotic actually.
"What are you doing here?" the woman asks, and all hope that she has somehow forgotten Emma's face is lost in the way her eyes narrow.
"I... nothing," is all Emma manages to say. Because, okay, play it cool, we are all adults here.
"Does the Sheriff know you are here?"
"Yeah, of course."
"And would you happen to have any idea as to where he is?"
"Yeah."
"Do you realize you are not making any sense?"
"Yeah."
"And do you also realize I'm the Mayor of this town?"
"What?" Because... what?
"Yes, so, whatever your name is, please, do tell me where I can find the Sheriff."
"He went for a ride around town with... someone."
"Just like that? He decided to spend town resources on just driving around town?"
"Yeah. Besides, I'm pretty sure when the Sheriff does that, it's called patrolling."
"There's something you are not telling me." The brown eyes bore into Emma's with startling intensity. They are very pretty eyes.
"Yeah."
"Who are you?"
"Does it really matter?" And with that, Emma moves closer to... to the Mayor, because she doesn't seem to be able to resist the electricity in the air that's pulling her towards the abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous woman dressed in an immaculate suit.
"I asked you a question," the Mayor says, but she's looking at Emma's mouth.
"I know," Emma says and she is pretty much about to push the woman against the wall by the time she suddenly hears the police siren coming closer. The sound makes her jump a little, because oh shit, that's her father and Henry and she feels like she's doing something forbidden even though she isn't doing anything at all really.
"I... I think the Sheriff is on his way here," she says as she takes a few steps back.
The Mayor's expression doesn't really give away anything, but she does sound a little breathless when she says, "How perceptive of you."
"Yeah," Emma says, staring at the brown eyes.
Lust at first sight. Maybe it is a thing.
And suddenly David is there and so is Henry whose eyes shine with an awful lot of excitement.
"Emma! We rescued a bird!"
"We did, didn't we, buddy?" David says, looking proud in a way that looks pretty genuinely grandpaternal.
"Lucky bird," Emma says, grinning at Henry, forgetting for a moment that there's someone else other than Henry and David in the room.
"Hey, Regina, what are you doing here?" David asks when he finally notices the Mayor just standing there.
"You are late with you paperwork, Sheriff. Again," the Mayor, Regina, says.
"I know. But like always, you will find all of it on your desk by Wednesday. You have my word."
"And why should I trust your word this time? Because usually Wednesday seems to mean Friday to you."
"Because I have my daughter and grandson here as witnesses," David says, awfully casually, like it's the most normal thing in the world.
"Really," Regina the Mayor says, looking at Emma sharply. "Your daughter didn't bother with introductions."
Emma feels a little flustered. Okay, not just a little. If only her father knew...
"Don't mind Emma. She's a bit rough on the outside," David says, grinning, and Emma looks at him in a way that hopefully dares him to say, "But soft on the inside." Because that would give her the perfect excuse to punch him.
"Really? I would have never guessed," Regina says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I hope you are enjoying Storybrooke, Emma."
And with that she turns on her heels and walks away.
Emma feels her spine tingle.