Here it is! The end of this journey! This has always been a gift for @teamhook, and my dear, I hope this ending brightens your day after all you have been through! I always knew this was where it would lead, with these exact bits of dialogue inspired by the song by Gabrielle Aplin that you shared with me. I even incorporated some lines from the song into the closing scene for you. Sending you lots of love, my friend!
Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is? Written for @teamhook on her birthday.
Rating: T
Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.
It was awkwardly silent in the elevator. Honestly, it had been awkwardly silent the majority of the time between her and Walsh ever since she got home. Yet it seemed to hang even heavier between them since the doctor’s appointment earlier.
The elevator stopped at her floor, and the ding when the doors opened only punctuated the silence. Emma dug in her purse for her keys, and wished like every other time Walsh rode up with her how to politely send him away. He hadn’t pushed her for anything physical - mostly. He just whined like an oversized baby about it, constantly asking her when things would get back to normal.
In that sense, today’s appointment was almost a relief.
“Well, thanks for walking me up,” Emma told him as she grasped her keys.
Walsh gave her a smile that he must have thought was charming. It wasn’t.
“Come on now, Emma, you can’t let your fiance in for a few minutes?”
She pressed her hand firmly to his chest as he leaned in. “You’re not my fiance.”
“Of course I am. You just don’t remember.”
Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, first of all, you heard the doctor today. Chances are, I won’t ever remember.”
“Chances is the word. You heard him, there’s always a chance. Especially if I jog your memory.”
He went to put his arms around her, and for the first time, Emma had to shove him off. It sent her heart beating erratically, and not in a pleasant way. It also sent anger flaring through her veins.
“God, do you even listen to me?” she shouted. She had tried so hard since she got back to New York to cooperate, hoping that following the lead of Walsh and Regina would bring her memories rushing back. Now she was sick of it.
“Actually I do,” Walsh snapped, “which is why I know you aren’t even trying to remember.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “You act like I’m doing this on purpose. And no, you don’t listen, because I wasn’t finished. Second, I don’t have a ring, Walsh.” Emma waved her hand in front of him.
“People don’t need a ring to get engaged.”
“I also listened to your message,” she bit out. “You proposed, but I never accepted. You may not need a ring, genius, but the girl has to actually say yes.”
“You didn’t say no.”
“Well, I am now.”
Walsh blinked. “Emma, seriously, this isn’t you.”
“No Walsh, it is me! Maybe this whole experience has changed me, maybe I’ll never fully remember who I was before, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have always been hesitant to marry you.” Emma pressed her fist, still clutching her keys, to her chest. “I know you and Regina keep treating me like a wounded puppy, but I do remember some things clearly. I was getting away to Maine because I was stressed and confused. I was unsure of so many things, including us.”
Walsh’s face fell, as if he were finally beginning to understand. “But I thought we were so good together.”
Emma was able to smile at him. She stepped closer, and laid a hand on his arm. “You were comfortable - safe. Being with you didn’t risk my heart because my feelings were on the surface. Your proposal brought all of that into focus.”
“So what you’re saying is, you were always going to say no.”
Emma nodded, truly feeling sorry for Walsh for the first time. “I’m so sorry. I don’t remember our first date or how we met, but I do remember that.”
Walsh nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping. He gave her a platonic hug, and Emma accepted it. Then he walked away from her, and when the elevator doors closed behind him, Emma sagged with relief against her door.
The phone in her jacket pocket vibrated, and she pulled it out to see text messages from her bandmates pop up one after another.
How did the appointment go? - Elsa
Did the doctor have good news? Are you getting your memories back? I’m dying with worry here! - Anna
Calling to check on you. And don’t take this the wrong way, but have you dumped Walsh yet? - Ruby
I wanna hear more about this hot vet you were snowed in with. And don’t tell me he wasn’t hot, I can read between the lines. - Ruby
Emma smiled as she scrolled through the messages. It was strange the way a brain injury worked. The moment she walked through her front door and saw her three best friends waiting for her, memories had flooded her. She didn’t remember anything but confusing feelings where Walsh was concerned, she couldn’t remember this supposed solo career Regina kept going on about, but she did remember these three amazing women. She couldn’t remember performing, but memories had returned of the times they spent together both on the road and before they hit it big. She also remembered the words to every single one of their songs. The doctor had explained to her that the brain was a complex organ. His theory was that she had retained her emotional memories, but not the details of her life.
Bizarre didn’t begin to cover it.
Emma locked the door behind her, toed off her shoes, and dropped her keys in the catch all by the door. She collapsed onto a couch that was too hard in a room that was too cold. The view of the city skyline outside her window seemed foreign. With a sigh, she moved to her bedroom, shooting off texts to her friends as she went. She slipped into a pair of comfortable pajamas, collapsed onto her bed, and grabbed the tv remote.
This was apparently her life, and she simply had no idea what to do with it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Checkmate!” Liam crowed with satisfaction, but his face fell when he looked across the chess board to find Killian staring absently at the chess pieces. “Little brother? I beat you. Again.”
Killian sighed and knocked over some of the pieces in frustration. “Sorry. I guess I’m just not in the mood tonight.”
Liam frowned. “This is still about Wendy, isn’t it?”
“Emma,” Killian corrected him as he ran a hand wearily down his face, “her name is actually Emma. Emma Swan.” His hand dropped to his lap, and he studied his brother warily. “And please spare me the I told you so.”
Liam leaned back, both hands lifted in the air in surrender. “I’m not going to say that, trust me. This is a situation where I hate being right.”
Killian arched a brow. “My brother? Hates being right? Who are you and what have you done to my real brother?”
“Haha, very funny. Seriously though, I liked her. I liked how happy you were when she was here. If the situation had been different -”
Killian cut him off. “But it wasn’t. She has a life, a career, a fiance somewhere else. God, I was such a fool.”
“No, you weren’t. You were generous in offering your home to her. I was wrong, Killian. You did the right thing. I can’t believe I was so callous towards her.”
Killian drummed his fingers on the table as he regarded Liam. “You never seem to realize what an ass you’re being to the women in my life until it’s too late.”
Liam leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fisted hands. “With Milah, you’re right. When you adopted Henry, I still gave her hell. I worried a child was just another novelty to her. But then she was such a wonderful mother, then you got Alice, and . . . .”
Liam trailed off with a long sigh. Killian’s brow furrowed in shock.
“I thought you didn’t soften towards her until she got sick. Why didn’t you say anything? Try to mend things with her?”
“You know how bloody stubborn I am. I’m sorry, Killian, I would do it all differently if I had the chance.”
“I know.” Killian could never stay angry at his brother for long. He loved him too much.
“Besides, who says it's too late with Wendy - I mean Emma. She may be missing you just as much as you’re missing her.”
Killian absentmindedly picked up a pawn and twirled it between his fingers. “Doubtful. She’s a bloody rock star, for God’s sake.”
“The kids miss her too, don’t they?” “Aye.”
“She said she’d keep in touch.”
“People always say that. Then they never do.”
“Give her time. None of this can be easy.”
Killian was about to counter that Emma had no reason to think of them now that her memories had most likely returned, but before he could, there was a knock at the door. He gave his brother a confused look. It was late, and the kids were already asleep. Who could possibly be knocking? He hurried to the door, looked through the keyhole, then swore under his breath to find the view blocked by greenery. Alice had made a wreath for the door, and he couldn’t see a damn thing past her handiwork. He wrenched the door open, expecting it to be a local farmer with a livestock emergency.
It wasn’t a farmer.
“Emma,” he breathed in awe.
She smiled, and it was like the sun came out.
“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you call me that.”
Killian chuckled as he scratched behind his ear. “Well, I’m a bit embarrassed that I didn’t
recognize you. Let’s just say it’s mostly Radio Disney around here. And something about K-Pop which I don’t really -”
“I was never engaged,” Emma blurted out.
“Oh?”
Emma twisted her hands nervously and shrugged. “He proposed, but I never accepted.” She trailed off, her gaze darting to her feet. “It felt important for you to know that.”
“There’s no need to explain,” he told her gently. “I’m just glad you’re getting your memories back.”
“I’m not,” she said, her gaze flying back to lock on his.
“What do you mean?”
She bit on her lower lip. “I mean, I don’t have my memories back. I remember bits and pieces, feelings mostly.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Look, there’s something I just gotta say, alright?”
Killian nodded. He’d been sort of speechless anyway since he opened the door.
She licked her lips nervously before plunging in. “The doctors say I might never get my memories back. Not all of them, anyway. But I’m okay with that because what little I remember either isn’t that great or it’s fantastic.” She winced as she closed her eyes for a second. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”
“Not yet,” he admitted, “but I’m still listening.”
She returned his smile with a wobbly one of her own. “Right. So, I remember that I was a foster kid. I must have been since I was a baby because that’s all I remember. I don’t remember any of the places I lived or who I lived with. All I remember is that I never had a home.”
His heart broke for her and the sheen of tears in her eyes, but he didn't interrupt.
“I remember I ran away all the time. I just figured that when you really have a home, when you leave, you just miss it. So my whole childhood, I just kept running waiting to feel that, but I never did. Then I found my band. And I got to keep running, on the road you know? But it was okay because my family was running with me. I think that’s why they’re the only people I remember. Except -”
She paused, and a look of fear flashed over her face. He took a step closer and took her hand. “Except?” he prompted.
“Except you. And the kids.” She winced again, shaking her head and laughing. “Not that I wouldn’t remember you, I mean I met you after. What I’m trying to say is . . . I miss you. When I left here, I missed it all so much. My band - the people in it - were home, but that was ending. And then I met you - and Alice and Henry. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s like my life got a reset that day you found me. I want to start time, right here. With you.”
Killian searched her face, scarcely daring to believe this was real. He reached up with a shaking hand and traced her jaw with his finger.
“What about your career?” he asked softly. The last thing he wanted was to take advantage of her while she was in a vulnerable place.
She smiled at him as a single tear slipped down her face. “I never wanted that career. I loved the band - the people, I mean. But not the performing or the limelight. I just want to play and write songs on my guitar. I can do that anywhere.”
He let hope expand his heart for the first time. He cupped her face with both hands, catching her tear with his thumb.
“Stay with me?” he asked her.
Emma’s eyes crinkled at the force of her smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Killian bent slowly to press his lips to hers in a tender kiss. She sighed and tilted her head, allowing him more access. He threaded his fingers through her soft hair as his tongue lazily explored her mouth. Emma pulled back and smiled with such blinding happiness, he could hardly take it in. Then her eyes fluttered closed, and she captured his lips again. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He never wanted to let her go.
I'm an atom in a sea of nothing, looking for another to combine. Maybe we could be the start of something. Be together at the start of time.
Rolling Stone Magazine - Two Years Later:
. . . The Grammy’s this year brought one big surprise: Emma Swan Jones, former member of the female rock band Wendy Sewed it On, took home the Song of the Year award for penning Ruby Lucas’s number one smash hit “The Song in Your Heart.” The romantic power ballad was a slight departure for the normally angst-filled alternative rock Swan-Jones was known for when she was part of Wendy Sewed it On. Yet her new hyphenated last name along with her acceptance speech may give her fans a hint for the change. In her speech, she thanked “my true love, my husband Killian. Words can’t say enough how much you mean to me or how you’ve inspired me. I wouldn’t have this award without you, babe.” Judging by the baby bump she was proudly showing off beneath her Elie Saab couture gown on the red carpet, Emma Swan Jones is very happy with her man which may mean more romantic ballads from her in the future . . .
Here it is finally, the second chapter of this fic!! Sorry it’s taken me so long to get this up, @teamhook ! I also have no idea how long this is going to be. Looking at my outline, it should be at least six chapters.
Remember that Emma can’t remember her name in this, so Emma is just “she” at first in this chapter, then “Wendy” later on. (You’ll see why once you read the chapter). I won’t lie, writing a story in which Emma can’t remember her name and no one else knows it either has been a big challenge. Hopefully I wrote it a way everyone can follow!
Rating: T
Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this but is Killian’s adopted daughter with Milah, and so is Henry. Henry has no relation to Emma in this. There is also positive past Millian.
Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist.
When she awoke again, the sun shone brightly through the curtains. She struggled to sit up, her mouth dry and tasting of cotton. Her head still ached, but it no longer throbbed. How long had she slept? Was the sun this bright when she woke up before? She heard sounds outside her door as she swung herself slowly around and stood up. The room spun a bit, but once she took a few deep breaths, she was able to walk across the room easily enough. Her clothes were folded neatly on top of a white dresser, and she made quick work of changing out of the pajamas. The fabric was warm and smelled of fabric softener - someone had washed them.
Speaking of washing, she suddenly realized how greasy her hair was. She could actually smell her own body odor, which was never good. It made her wonder again just how long she had been asleep. A shower would be nice, but she wasn’t about to ask such a thing of complete strangers. They had been kind, she understood that, but she couldn’t stay here any longer.
When she exited her door, she was struck by the quaint log cabin style of the home. Her bedroom was at the end of an open hallway that looked out over a great room with high beamed ceilings of exposed wood. On the other side of a stone fireplace, she could see the dark haired man named Killian at the stove in the kitchen.
She made her way quickly down the stairs and through the living area. She paused at the threshold of the kitchen, and when she did, the family’s chattering stopped abruptly. Little Alice sat at the kitchen island spreading jam on toast. A boy with dark hair just a shade lighter than Killian’s stood by the sink pouring glasses of orange juice. A woman with a dark pixie cut stood with mouth agape clutching a fistfull of silverware. For some reason, the domestic scene made a lump rise in her throat.
“You’re up!” Killian exclaimed with a wide grin. He lifted the pan of scrambled eggs he was stirring. “Would you like some breakfast?”
“Um, no thank you,” she replied nervously. “I um . . . I thank you and your wife for everything you’ve done -”
The woman interrupted her with an exuberant laugh. “Oh no, I’m not his wife. My husband David and Killian are best friends. Killian was delivering a foal at our farm last night, so I came over to babysit Alice.”
“I am not a baby,” protested Alice with a pout that said otherwise.
“Excuse me,” the woman corrected with a pointed smile at the little girl, “I was having girl time with Alice, my favorite seven year old.”
Alice tilted her chin with satisfaction than started slathering jam on another piece of toast.
“I’m Mary Margaret,” the woman said as she turned her attention back to their visitor. She extended her hand.
“I - um, that is, I . . .” Shit! What was the social protocol when you didn’t remember your own damn name?
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Mary Margaret exclaimed snatching her hand back. “I forgot.”
“Sooo, what are you doing here if you two aren’t married? At breakfast?” She shook her head and rubbed her temple. Why was she still talking? “Um, I’m sorry. How long have I been asleep?”
All four of the people before her spoke at once, but only Mary Margaret’s words penetrated her brain.
“Awhile.”
“You slept forever!”
“I was worried you were dead!”
“Oh honey, we’re snowed in.”
She shook her head as she tried to comprehend Mary Margaret’s words. “Um, okay, that’s a problem, I know, but I can’t stay here. I mean, I don’t . . . that is to say . . . I’m just, um, gonna go, okay?”
She inched her way backwards towards the front door as she spoke, stumbling once over a toy lightsaber. Killian rushed forward, and that only made her dart for the door faster.
“We really are snowed in, love,” Killian insisted as she reached for the doorknob.
“Well, I’ll just walk to the nearest town, or -” her words ended abruptly as she opened the door to a wall of white. The snow was packed in hard, letting in not a trace of light, yet the snow on the threshold had melted enough to tumble inside over her feet. She let out a gasp as the cold seeped through the leather of her thin, stylish boots.
“I told you we were snowed in,” Killian told her with a lopsided grin and a sparkle in his eyes.
She sheepishly tried to kick the loose snow back outside, amazed that he wasn’t at least irritated with her. Shoving the door shut was something else entirely, and it took both of them to get it done.
Hands shaking, she made her way over to a cozy armchair angled towards the roaring fire. She stared at the flames as fear clawed at her chest. Killian came over and sat on the edge of the wide hearth, tilting his head a bit so he could look into her eyes.
“I know you’re confused and frightened, but I promise you you’re safe here. We’ve got plenty of firewood and food, even a generator if the power goes out -”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she whispered.
He nodded in understanding. “We’re strangers, and I can’t imagine how terrifying this all must be. I know it takes trust to believe this, but we really just want to help you and make you feel at home.”
She glanced up to see Mary Margaret perched on the arm of the chair, smiling down at her encouragingly. Alice sat down next to her father, and he put his arm around the little girl and brushed a kiss to the top of her head. Surely a man with such obvious affection for his daughter couldn’t be dangerous. Right?
The boy stood a bit shyly behind Alice and Killian, shuffling his feet a bit before stepping forward to offer her his hand. “You were passed out when you met me in the truck. I’m Henry.”
She merely nodded as she took the child’s hand, still not sure how to respond with no memory of who she was.
“That does it!” Mary Margaret exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “We have to call you something. You sure you don’t know your name?”
She scrunched her face up, thinking as hard as she could, but all she could come up with was darkness, snow, and pain. She bit her lip as she shook her head in the negative.
Mary Margaret shrugged. “So we give you a name!”
Killian narrowed his eyes at his friend. “MM, we can’t just name her like she’s our pet.”
“Why not?” Mary Margaret shot back. “Alice doesn’t have a creature in this place for more than five minutes without it having a name.”
“I have a white rabbit named Tick Tock,” Alice told her eagerly, “and a turtle named Mossy, and a frog named Prince, and two goldfish -”
“You can introduce her to your menagerie later, Starfish,” Killian chuckled as he ruffled Alice’s hair.”
“We can pick a name from one of our favorite books!” Henry exclaimed. “Alice is already taken, but what do you think of Lucy like the Narnia books?”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Fern like in Charlotte’s Web?” Alice suggested.
“Fern!” Henry exclaimed. “Seriously? Charlotte would be better!”
“Charlotte is a spider,” Alice shot back before sticking her tongue out at her brother.
“What about Wendy?” Killian asked.
“Dad’s favorite is Peter Pan,” Henry explained.
“Yeah, but he like’s Hook best, not Peter,” put in Alice.
“Hey!” Killian chuckled, poking each of his children playfully in the tummy. “Hook is just misunderstood.”
She narrowed her eyes. Wendy . . . “That name sounds familiar,” she told them softly.
Killian smiled at her. “Perhaps because it’s yours?”
“Or maybe it’s someone you know?” Mary Margaret put in helpfully.
She shook her head, frustrated. Every time she thought of the name Wendy, it was as if she were squinting into the fog, trying to make out a figure in the distance.
“I don’t know!”
“It’s okay,” Mary Margaret said gently, patting her hand, “it will come to you, I’m sure of it.”
“And we’ll get the doctor out here just as soon as the weather clears enough for the snow mobiles,” Killian added, “as well as the sheriff. I’m sure someone you love is looking for you.”
She nodded and attempted to give him a small smile.
“So, are we gonna call her Wendy or what?” Henry asked.
“Don’t be so rude!” Alice yelled.
“I’m not!”
“Get along, please,” Killian admonished, and she couldn’t help but smile at the bickering siblings and their father’s resulting exasperation.
“It’s okay,” she told them, “it will be nice to have a name, even a temporary one.”
“So . . . “ Killian prompted with arched brows.
“So, Wendy it is!”
A wide smile filled her face despite her circumstances as the four people around her cheered. If she were snowed in, there were worse places she could be. And if she had to join a temporary family, this seemed like a pretty happy one to stumble upon.
*************************************************
The strong scent of cedar filled Killian’s senses as he opened the long forgotten trunk shoved into the far reaches of his walk in closet. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the woodsy aroma wash over him. Not only would the cedar have protected the clothing inside, it would also have eradicated the scent of the former owner. He could do this.
Killian opened his eyes and looked down at the sweaters and leggings that Milah once wore. He lifted one of deep purple from the trunk and pressed it to his face. All he could smell was the cedar. Not the lingering scent of the citrusy shampoo Milah had preferred nor the hazelnut creamer she always used in her coffee. Surprisingly, it didn’t make him sad. Instead, he was relieved. Relieved that her scent no longer clung to the clothing but also relieved that he still remembered details about her. He would never be able to forget her, and the truth of that finally brought him comfort after four long years.
He rose from the floor of the closet with a pile of clothes in his arms and made his way down the hall to Alice’s bedroom. He hated that Wendy had to use his daughter’s room, but Mary Margaret was already set up in the guest room. He also hated that Alice was sharing his bed. The girl was a cuddler who hogged the bed, and Killian was simply exhausted after two nights of sleeping on the very edge of the mattress.
Killian knocked on the door, but there was no answer. However, he could hear the shower running from the jack and jill bath that Alice shared with her brother. He eased the door open, calling out that he had the clothes he had promised. There was no answer, though he did hear a voice drifting from the bathroom. The voice was singing.
Killian let the door swing open and couldn’t help stepping into the room, mesmerized by the voice. Wendy was belting out The Pretenders “Brass in Pocket” with the powerful voice of a rock star. He drew closer to the sound as if he were a sailor and she was a siren calling out to him. As he rounded the bed, however, he fumbled and dropped the clothes in his hands. Wendy had left the door to the bathroom half open, and through it he could see into the bathroom. He spun away quickly, not wanting to be a voyeur, but he wasn’t fast enough to miss the silhouette of Wendy’s figure through the frosted glass of the shower door. He fumbled again as he picked up the clothes and set them on the bed. They now looked like Henry had folded them, but he didn’t care. He rushed from the room before Wendy caught him and thought he was a peeping tom.
He shut the bedroom door quietly behind him and sagged against it, his heart pounding like a teenager. Yes, four long years. Four long years since Milah passed. Four long years since a woman had been living in this house. Killian drew in several deep breaths and ran his hand wearily down his face. He had to get a grip! Wendy needed his help. This was no time to become sexually attracted to her. She had been through something traumatic to leave her wandering injured on a remote snowy road. She had amnesia and was understandably frightened and confused.
Mentally listing all the reasons he couldn’t be attracted to her helped his blood cool considerably. Besides, he had made a vow to Milah when she was sick that he would make fatherhood his highest priority. Making sure Henry and Alice were happy and thriving left little time for anything else. Hadn’t that been made abundantly clear after that disastrous blind date he’d let Mary Margaret set him up on?
Wendy had a life somewhere to get back to, and he had his kids to think about. He wouldn’t let her sultry voice, inviting curves, or golden hair distract him from those two hard, cold facts.
Happy birthday, @teamhook ! You have been a faithful reader of my fics from long before I came over to tumblr, and I appreciate your support so much! As a matter of fact, you were the first one to encourage me to get a tumblr blog. Anyway, I hope you have a marvelous day, my friend.
You told me this Gabrielle Aplin song was one of your favorites that reminded you of CS, so I wanted to incorporate it into a fic. Then, just a few days ago I watched a Hallmark Christmas movie (yes, I’m already watching them, don’t judge) called a Christmas to Remember. It had Elle McKinnon in it, who played young Alice Jones on Once, and the whole thing gave me CS vibes. Then I realized the song really fit the movie’s plot, and this fic was born. Unlike the movie, however, this doesn’t happen at Christmas. I also couldn’t finish it in a one-shot, so here we go, another MC/WIP. It’s worth it for you though, @teamhook. I hope you enjoy it!
Many thanks to the CSRT discord chat for helping me brainstorm parts of this, especially @shireness-says for giving me the idea to make Emma part of a rock band. I was having a very difficult time coming up with a band name that hasn’t been used yet in the fandom, when the name of a band from my college came to mind - Wendy Sews it On. It suddenly hit me what that band name is a reference too, and I was giddy with excitement!
Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is?
Side note: Has anyone else written from the point of view of someone who can’t remember her name? Well it’s hard, ya’ll - lol!
Rating: T
Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and both Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.
Words: about 2,500 in this chapter
Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist
Oh today I’m just a drop of water and I’m running down the mountain side. Come tomorrow I’ll be in the ocean. I’ll be rising with the morning tide.
The road stretched before Emma’s tiny yellow bug, she was sure, for miles upon miles of the thick forests of northern Maine. Yet all she could see out her windshield was about a car’s length in front of her through the thick swirling snow. Her tires kept sliding on the slick roads, and more than once she had trouble keeping the car pointed in the right direction. It didn’t help that she was completely and utterly lost, her GPS losing signal at some point miles back.
Emma cursed rural Maine, cursed the snow, and even cursed Regina for suggesting this week of r&r to begin with. A cabin with all the amenities next to a spa sounded like heaven. Or maybe anything secluded sounded like heaven - a place to get her head on right again, maybe even write a new song.
She just wasn’t sure it would be a love song like Regina and the record label was hoping for. She added Walsh to her list of stuff to curse.
Her headlights, for a brief moment, illuminated a sign up ahead: “Welcome to Storybrooke.” She cursed again as she squinted down at her phone which still mocked her with the little swirling icon and the word “buffering.”
“Come on,” she muttered. She started to type in “Misthaven Resort and Spa” again, glancing from her phone screen to the road and back again. She knew it was dangerous to use her phone while driving, especially in weather like this, but if she didn’t figure out where the hell she was, she might run out of gas and die out here in the snow anyway.
It was a cost benefit analysis, really.
God, she needed to start spending time with people besides Regina and Walsh. She hadn’t even seen her former bandmates since this solo career train had catapulted out of the station.
Anna would have loved that mixed metaphor. It was the kind of line Emma’s red-headed, bubbly, almost little sister would have put into a song. Like the Beatles, every member of Wendy Sewed it On wrote songs for the band. Anna’s were quirky and upbeat, Elsa’s were soaring, epic ballads, Ruby’s were tongue in cheek and driving.
And Emma . . . well, fans said her songs were sad and haunting, but deep. Wendy Sewed it On had their biggest hits with Emma’s songs, even though it was Elsa who belted them out. Being all alone on that stage, laying her soul bare with those lyrics . . .
Emma’s thoughts were cut off and a scream flew out of her mouth as a wolf bounded onto the road in front of her. It was all a blur after that: breaking glass, her continuing screams, pine trees surrounding her on all sides as she plowed off the road and down an embankment of snow.
There’s a ghost upon the moor tonight. Now it’s in our house. When you walked into the room just then it’s like the sun came out.
A severe winter storm warning has been issued for central Aroostook County. Visibility will be extremely low, roads impass-
Killian switched off the radio in his pickup, not wanting to alarm Henry. His windshield wipers were on the highest setting, his lights on bright, and for now, he could still make out the road far enough ahead of them that he was fairly confident they would get home long before the storm reached its peak. Part of him was second guessing bringing a ten year old along on this call, but Henry had been so excited at the prospect of helping deliver the foal at the Nolan farm.
“Dad,” Henry said, picking at the aluminum foil Mary Margaret had used to wrap up a plate of her famous chocolate chip cookies, “why doesn’t Uncle David work with you anymore?”
“Well, he and Mary Margaret had been saving up for years to buy that farm. I always knew horses were his dream, not the animal shelter.” He glanced from the road to grin at his son. “And you’re dying to have one of those cookies, aren’t you?”
Henry’s eyes widened. “How’d you know?”
Killian laughed. “I’ve been a dad for a decade now. I have a sixth sense.”
“So can I have one?”
“No, you have to share with Alice.”
“Aw man,” Henry pouted, but it was short lived. Both of his children were extremely curious and regularly peppered him with questions. “Why couldn’t Uncle David just deliver the foal himself? He knows animals.”
“Because it was breech - that means it was upside down inside the mother horse. David’s not a vet, so he called me.”
Henry arched his brows. “And they pay you in cookies?”
Killian chuckled again. “David and Mary Margaret, yes.”
“They are good cookies,” Henry agreed, taking a big whiff of the plate in his lap. “Maybe Alice wouldn’t mind if we - DAD!”
Killian saw the figure in the road at the same moment his son did, so before the word even left Henry’s lips, Killian was swerving to avoid the person. The roads were wet and slick enough to send his tires sliding, and if Killian didn’t have so much experience driving in such dangerous conditions, they may have ended up in the ditch. When the truck finally came to a stop, he turned first to Henry.
“Are you okay?” Killian asked him, running a hand nervously over the boy.
“Yeah,” Henry gasped, “I’m good.” The boy twisted around in his seat. “What was that?”
That was a good question. It had looked like a person, but who would be out in this weather? Unless they were in trouble. Killian quickly unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Stay here,” he instructed Henry, giving him a steely look lest his overly curious oldest child be tempted to disobey. Thankfully, Henry nodded, his face a mask of intensity.
After Killian exited the vehicle, he could clearly see a woman stumbling around in the middle of the road. He approached her cautiously, fully aware that a man appearing before the woman in the middle of the forest could be frightening to say the least.
“Are you okay?”
She turned then, and he could tell from the blank expression on her face that she was in shock. She had obviously experienced some sort of trauma, and his heart plummeted at the thought. He walked slowly closer. The woman was now turning in a circle, unsteady on her feet as if she might be inebriated. Her gaze was lifted to the tops of the trees, as if she were trying to make sense of her surroundings. When he was close enough, Killian reached out tentatively to rest his hand on her upper arm. She was wearing a red leather jacket; not the smartest choice of outerwear for snow like this.
“I’d like to help you,” he said in the same gentle voice he used on injured animals. “What are you doing out here?”
She blinked, as if trying to focus on his face. Her skin was almost alabaster, her hair completely coated in a layer of snow, and he wondered how long she’d been out here in the elements. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She looked down at it, almost in confusion. When she did, he noticed the blood matting the top of her head.
“You’re hurt,” he whispered.
“I - am?” she whispered back.
He smiled, relieved to hear her voice finally. “Aye, you have a rather nasty gash on your head there. Were you in an accident?”
“Was I?” her voice sounded thready and far away as she reached a trembling hand up to touch her head. “Ow, that hurts,” she gasped. Yet she kept patting at the wound frantically.
“I’m not surprised, so let’s stop touching it shall we?” he took her slender, ice cold hand in his to still her nervous movements. “What’s your name? Can I call someone for you?”
“I . . . I . . . “ she began to sway as her words turned to incoherent mutterings, then she crumpled against Killian’s chest. He scooped her up in his arms, turning his gaze nervously to the sky as the snow fell in fat, thick flakes. He followed the tail lights back to the truck. He had no choice but to take the mysterious woman home with him before the storm got worse.
She awoke in a strange bed in a strange room with a strange little girl staring at her. She hurt everywhere, but her head especially throbbed with a sharp, jabbing pain. The sunlight pouring through the window made her wince, and the image of the little girl sitting at the end of the bed went fuzzy.
“This is my room,” the child told her, “but you can use it until you get better.”
She looked around her, evidence of a child everywhere from the dollhouse in the corner to the childish artwork tacked all over the walls. What was she doing here?
“My name is Alice,” the girl continued, bouncing on the bed a bit, making its injured occupant wince. “I’m seven. How old are you?”
“Alice,” another voice gently rebuked from the doorway, “let our patient rest, please.”
“Okay, daddy,” the little girl sighed, but obeyed, skipping out of the room.
A man drew closer to the bed, and her heart thudded wildly in her chest, the urge to flee overwhelming. He lifted both hands, slowing his approach, a gentle look in his eyes. It didn’t help - she didn’t know this man or where she was.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in my family’s home,” he explained, “my name is Killian Jones and my son and I found you wandering in the road. We’re in the midst of a bad storm, so I had no choice but to bring you here.”
She had never been so confused in her life, and she let her head fall back on the pillow. A sharp pain caused her to cry out, and she reached up to find a bandage on the top of her head.
“What happened to me?”
“Well,” Killian told her patiently, “you had a gash on your head and some other cuts and bruises. I bandaged you up.”
“You’re a doctor?”
He smiled, and despite the situation, she found it charming. “A vet, but the principles are largely the same. Nevertheless, I’ve called the town doctor and he’ll be coming out once the roads are cleared.”
“The roads?”
“We’re snowed in.”
She moaned. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and shame washed over her. She couldn’t let this stranger see her cry.
“Listen,” he said softly, “you were hurt and wandering around. Do you remember what happened?”
She lifted both hands to cover her face. “No, I have no idea where I am or how I got here.”
“Well, how about your name? Let’s start there.”
“My name is -” Suddenly, her chest tightened and she couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning. “Oh my God. I don’t know! I don’t know my name!”
“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Killian soothed, laying a hand tentatively on her shoulder, “you hit your head, so it’s understandable. I’m sure it will all come back to you soon.”
How could he be so damn calm? She didn’t know who she was!
“I . . . I . . . “ she looked down at herself and saw a pajama top covered in pink roses, “I’m in pajamas.”
The man smiled again in that way that made her heart flip like a damn teenager. “And you look good in them, so that’s a win.”
“I hate pink,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose. “And flowery shirts.”
Killian’s eyebrows quirked up. They were quite expressive, she noticed. “Well there you go, you remember that!”
“Wait,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, “how did I get into pajamas?” Surely she wasn’t wandering the road in her pjs.
His eyes grew large and he lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “It wasn’t me! My friend Mary Margaret did that. She’s a volunteer down at the hospital.”
“I helped!” Alice called out, popping up from the foot of the bed. “Cause I want to be a nurse. Or an artist. Or a pilot.”
“Alice Milah Jones,” her father scolded, “I thought I told you to give our patient some peace and quiet?”
“Sorry, Daddy.”
Killian looked back at her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime? Anything I can get you?”
She bit down on her lip, those damn tears threatening to spill over again. “No. I think I just want to go back to sleep.”
He frowned, the pity on his face clear. She hated pity. How did she know that? And that she hated pink? And flowered shirts? But not her own damn name?
“Okay,” he told her softly, patting her foot gently through the down comforter on the bed. He was handsome too, she noted. Dark hair, a strong jaw covered in nicely trimmed scruff, bright blue eyes tinged with a bit of sadness that somehow made them more piercing. Suddenly, taking him in from head to toe and thinking of quirky but sweet little Alice, she was sure that she was in a safe place. How she knew she wasn’t sure, but it settled deep within her and took root.
Killian left, closing the door silently behind him. She slid beneath the warm blankets as her eyes fluttered closed. She dreamed of snow and blue eyes and strong arms but not of who she was or where she came from.
