The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 2/11
I should have mentioned that the last chapter was kind of just an intro and the chapters going forward will be much longer. Here Emma and Killian get to know each other, but fate also starts being a cruel mistress to our precious babies. I did say this has a lot of angst, right?
I also took off the major character death tag because the only deaths in this will be canonical deaths of secondary characters or deaths of original minor characters. In short, Emma and Killian will have tragic lives, just like in canon. So buckle your seat belts and grab your tissues, folks . . .
Major thanks once again to the mods of the @captainswanbigbang for organizing the CSRT, and my crew of betas: @shippingtheswann, @optomisticgirl, and @distant-rose. This fic would be a mess without them. This chapter in particular owes massive thanks to @shippingtheswann . For those of you who read the original, there is more of Emma and Killian bonding as children thanks to her encouragement and input.
Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …
Rated: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape
Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and eventual positive Millian
Words: 4k and some change in this chapter
**Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3
Emma: Age 10
The next morning Martha is beside herself with worry to find Lindsay gone. Emma lies and says she must have been asleep when the teenager left, and a lie has never made her feel so guilty. Children’s services are already there when the school bus comes for her and Tyler. Emma so badly wants to tell the social worker that it wasn’t Martha’s fault; that Martha is nice and she wants to stay here. But she’s too afraid of her lies to open her mouth.
At the end of the day, the school bus drops them off at Martha’s, and everything seems normal. Martha has even unpacked Emma’s suitcase. Inside the wardrobe are not only Emma’s meager shirts and jeans, but a couple of new outfits as well. There’s also a new pillow on the bed covered in bright flowers. A fluffy white bunny with a bright pink ribbon is propped up against the new pillow. Emma hugs it with delight.
She wants to tell Martha thank you for the things she got her when they gather around the dinner table, but for some reason the words won’t come.
Tonight, Emma’s Bible verse is “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.”
Emma can’t sleep that night. All she can do is keep glancing at the wardrobe, wondering if it really opened last night, if the eyes were really there. Finally, Emma tells herself she’s being silly. She rolls away from the wardrobe, and pulls the covers up to her chin. She closes her eyes and wills herself to go to sleep. But then her heart stops. There it is. The creaking again. The sound is longer this time, as if the door is swinging open, and Emma gasps.
She whirls around and screams when she sees a dark shape through the half open wardrobe, blue eyes reflecting the moonlight as they gaze at her. The door flings open and Martha rushes in.
“Emma, sweetie, what is it?”
“There’s something in the wardrobe!” she cries, turning and pointing. But the door to the wardrobe is completely shut.
Martha chuckles as she brushes back Emma’s hair. “Oh, that’s just your imagination running away with you.” To prove her point, she goes to the wardrobe and flings it open. Emma yelps, expecting to see the blue-eyed monster standing there, but all she sees are her clothes lined up in a row.
Martha tucks her in and kisses her goodnight, but Emma knows the truth. Something is in that wardrobe, and tomorrow night, she won’t let it scare her.
**********************************************
The next morning, children’s services are there again, this time to pick up Tyler and take him to his aunt who lives in the next county. At dinner that night, Emma secretly loves that it’s just her and Martha. Her Bible verse reads, “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born to comfort us in our sorrows. - Proverbs 17:17”
After Martha tucks her in that night, Emma crawls out from under the covers and pulls her knees up to her chest. She rests her chin on her knees and gazes intently at the wardrobe. Her heart is thumping wildly in her chest, but she won’t hide in fear. Not tonight. She isn’t imagining things; and she’ll prove it.
Sure enough, just as she thinks she might nod off where she sits, the door of the wardrobe creaks slowly open. Through the half open door, she first sees those blue eyes, the bluest she’s ever seen. Then the dark shape is there. Emma’s heart is pounding, and her breaths come fast as she stares at the shadow. Part of her wants to duck under the covers, and hide, but instead she closes her eyes and counts to ten until her breathing evens out. When she opens her eyes, the shadow is still there. Maybe it’s just one of Emma’s shirts? Her eyes playing tricks on her, like Martha said? Emma eases to the end of the bed slowly on her hands and knees, and when she reaches the edge, right next to the wardrobe she can almost make out the shape . . .
But then those sparkling blue eyes widen in fear and the shape shuffles backwards quickly, slamming the door shut. Inside, Emma hears a thud followed by desperate shuffling and gasping. Then another thud followed by the sound of crying. Emma jumps from the high bed and pads the three steps across the cold wood floors to the door of the wardrobe. She reaches up for the handle, hesitating only a moment before slowly pulling it open.
All she can see at first are ten small toes peeking out from beneath the clothes hanging in the wardrobe. Emma reaches up and pushes the clothes hangers aside. Now she can see a head of dark hair resting atop two skinny arms that are folded around two skinny legs. It’s just a little boy! A little boy curled up into a tight, frightened ball. His sniffling and crying echo in the small space.
“Who are you?” Emma asks.
The little boy lifts his head, revealing those blue eyes she has seen the last few nights, this time shining bright with tears. His dark brown hair is in need of a trim and falls across his forehead, hanging almost in front of his eyes. His thin face is sprinkled with freckles. He lifts his hand and rubs it across his nose.
“I’m Killian,” he tells her.
“I’m Emma.” She cocks her head as she studies him. “Why are you crying?”
He blushes at her question, and straightens up, pushing his legs forward. “I can’t get out the way I came,” he tells her simply.
Emma offers him her hand. He crawls forward, taking it, and she helps him hop down out of the wardrobe. He wears a nightshirt made of scratchy brown fabric that reaches his knees. He shivers and wraps his arms around himself.
“Come on, I’ll give you a blanket,” she tells him, hopping up on the bed. He follows her, and she wraps a giant patchwork quilt around the two of them.
“This is warm” Killian says, holding it close.
“Martha makes them for the children she takes care of,” Emma explains.
“Is she your grandmother?”
Emma shakes her head, “No. Just a lady who’s taking care of me. I never knew my mother.”
Killian’s head drops, “My mum died.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma frowns. “My parents left me when I was a baby.”
“My father left me,” Killian says, “that’s why I’m a slave now.”
“A slave!” Emma exclaims. Killian winces, and she feels bad. She hadn’t meant anything against him. “We learned in school that slavery ended,” she hastens to explain.
Killian shakes his head sadly. “Not where I come from.”
Emma worries that she really did hurt his feelings, especially when he keeps his eyes on the quilt and won’t look at her. Then the grumbling of his stomach breaks the silence.
“Are you hungry?”
He shrugs. “I’m always hungry.”
Emma understands that. This home and her last one had plenty of food, but there have been others . . .
“Come on,” she says, jumping up from the bed, “let’s get a snack.”
Killian keeps the quilt wrapped around himself when he slides off the bed to follow her. She slowly inches the door open and motions him to follow her as she tiptoes into the hallway. Emma pauses at Martha’s door; she can hear the elderly woman snoring on the other side.
“You know,” she whispers to Killian, “I think Martha would let you stay.”
“No!” he protests in a loud whisper, his eyes going wide.
“But then you wouldn’t have to be a slave anymore. And she’s really nice.”
“I have a brother,” Killian says. “I can’t leave him.”
Emma’s face falls, but she understands. If she had any family, any at all, she would stay with them. She would never let them go. So instead of reaching for Martha’s doorknob, she grasps Killian’s hand through the quilt and tugs him down the hallway.
The linoleum is cold beneath Emma’s feet as they tiptoe into the empty kitchen. She reaches for the lightswitch, and when the fluorescent bulbs flicker to life, Killian gasps.
“What . . . what kind of magic are these lights?”
Emma giggles. “It isn’t magic. It’s lightbulbs, silly.”
“Oh,” Killian says in wonder, but he’s barely paying attention to her. The quilt slips from his shoulders and to the floor as he wanders around the room, wonder upon his face. “It’s all so clean . . . and shiny. This is your galley?”
“Uh . . . I don’t know what that is, but Martha does clean alot.”
Killian stops in front of the white refrigerator. He tentatively reaches out a hand and pulls the door open. The cold air causes him to startle back.
“It’s so cold!” he cries out.
“Shh!” Emma warns him.
“Sorry,” Killian whispers.
Emma tilts her head. “You’ve never seen lightbulbs or a fridge? Are you a time traveler or something? I saw that in a movie once.”
His brow furrows. “What’s a movie?”
“It’s . . . like a . . . pictures. That move . . . and talk.” She shrugs, not sure how else to describe a movie.
“I’ve never heard of magic like this,” Killian tells her in wonder. “I don’t know what time travel is, but this is definitely a different realm.”
Emma’s about to ask him what he means by realm, but then both their stomachs growl at the same time, and they both laugh. She grabs the carton of milk, closes the refrigerator, then carries it to the table.
“There’s glasses next to the sink,” she tells Killian, pointing. While he gets the glasses, she gets the Oreos out of the pantry. Martha had let her have two with a glass of milk when she did her homework. Something else Emma only thought happened on TV.
Emma doesn’t bother with plates, just sets the package of cookies in the middle of the table. Killian carefully pours the milk.
“I haven’t had milk since Papa left,” he tells her, “and never this cold.”
“You’re definitely a time traveler,” Emma states as she slides the plastic tray of cookies from the package. She takes out a cookie and hands it to Killian, then takes one for herself. “I’m gonna guess you never had an Oreo, then. People eat ‘em different ways, but I like to dunk em.”
She plunks her cookie in the milk, and Killian imitates her.
“I like to leave it in the milk for a bit so it gets real gooshy.”
Killian watches her intently, and she smiles. Then she pulls out her cookie and eats the half that’s soaked with milk. Killian follows suit, and his eyes brighten with delight.
“Mm, that’s good!” he turns the cookie and eats the rest without milk. “It’s good crunchy, too.”
Their only conversation for a few minutes is smiles and laughter as Emma teaches him all the ways to eat an Oreo: twisting it in half and licking the cream, taking bites followed by sips of milk, quick dunks. Then they both get a bit silly, crumbling the cookies in the milk and drinking it all up. Before they know it, the entire package is gone.
“Oh no!” Killian explains. “Will you get in trouble?”
Emma frowns as she brushes cookie crumbs from the table. “I don’t think so. I mean, Martha probably didn’t want me to eat the whole pack, but she’s too nice to hit me or anything.”
Killian nods, his shoulders relaxing. Emma props her chin on her hand and taps her lips as she studies him.
“This whole thing reminds me of a book I read,” she tells him. “These kids went through a wardrobe to a magic land with dwarves, a witch, and talking animals and stuff.”
Killian retrieves the quilt from the floor and wraps himself up in it again. “I’ve never seen any talking animals, but I’ve seen dwarves in the Misthaven port. And there’s a witch in the Glowerhaven port who sells potions and stuff.”
He says it so casually, and her jaw drops. “You live in a place that has magic?”
“Of course,” Killian says before finishing the last of his milk. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “You do too. The lights, the magical cold box, and the pictures that move.”
Emma shakes her head. “That’s not magic, that’s . . . um, inventions or whatever. Like in school we learned about Thomas Edison inventing the lightbulb.”
“Oh,” Killian said, “so people don’t cast spells or anything like that?”
“No.”
“And there are no dwarves or witches?”
“No. And if you told anyone you saw that stuff, they’d call you crazy!” Emma leaned forward eagerly. “What else magical have you seen?”
“Well, we see mermaids a lot -”
“Mermaids!”
“Uh huh, and Cook says he saw a kraken once.” Killan shudders. “I don’t ever want to see one of those monsters.”
“It sounds so exciting!”
“Not really,” Killian says, “most days at sea are long and boring.”
His eyes flutter and he shivers under the quilt, so Emma jumps up and grabs his hand again. She leads him back to her room where they climb back into the warm bed. It’s very late, and she knows they should probably try and sleep, but they keep finding things to talk about.
Suddenly, Emma’s eyes have drifted shut and her head has dropped to Killian’s shoulder, when a shaft of light falls across the bed. Emma and Killian turn their heads in surprise towards the wardrobe. The light is unusually bright as it falls through the open door.
“That’s weird,” Emma comments, her brow furrowing.
The two of them scramble down from the bed to peer inside the wardrobe.
“Woah,” Emma breathes, for no longer does she see her clothes or the back of the wardrobe. Instead, she sees a room of wood, rocking gently back and forth. Barrels and boxes fill the room, and men and boys sleep in hammocks hanging from the beams of the ceiling. Everything is damp, and Emma can smell salt and something musty. The air blowing through feels warm and wet against her face.
“That’s the hold of the ship,” Killian tells her.
He scrambles inside the wardrobe, but Emma grasps his arm, “Wait, you can’t go yet!”
He shakes his head, “My brother will worry. We’re all each other has.”
“Will you come back tomorrow night?” She asks, tentatively biting her lower lip.
Killian grins brightly. “Aye, lass.”
He turns to go, but then seems to hesitate. He spins back towards her, his face flaming red, and pecks a quick kiss against her cheek. Then the light is shining so bright in the wardrobe that it blinds Emma and she has to look away. Then Killian is gone, and Emma stands there with her hand to her cheek.
**************************************************
The next morning at breakfast, Martha seems different. Her eyes seem distant, and her words make no sense. Then half her smile falls down unnaturally, and she slumps against the table. Emma shouts her name, trembling all over, then dashes for the phone to call 911.
That evening, a social worker stands in Martha’s living room waiting for Emma to pack. Emma pulls her suitcase from the wonderful bed covered in Martha’s bright quilt. She grabs the bunny and buries her face in the soft fur. Her eyes catch the wardrobe, and she frowns. Killian won’t understand when she’s not here. She takes a deep breath and before she can change her mind, she dashes to the wardrobe and sets the little bunny inside.
When she walks out of the room, she can’t help giving the wardrobe one last look over her shoulder.
Killian: Age 10
Killian can scarcely believe that the fates have smiled upon him by sending him the wardrobe, nor that he’s had the honor of making a friend like Emma.
He also can’t believe he kissed her. He’s not even sure what came over him. His face had burned so that he feared his cheeks would be reddened permanently. Her cheek had been so soft, and her hair had tickled his nose. She was so pretty -
“Killian!” his brother hisses. Liam punctuates his reprimand by flicking Killian with the rag he’s using to swab the deck.
“Ow, what was that for?”
“What is with you, little brother? The captain will give you lashes again if he catches you mooning.”
“I’m not mooning,” Killian grumbles as he concentrates on scrubbing at the fish blood staining the slick boards.
The brothers fall silent as the ship’s captain and first mate walk past. Killian’s back throbs with pain, and he trembles from head to foot remembering the last time he’d been caught daydreaming. He stares at the stains upon the deck, scrubbing as if his life depends on it. The tension across his shoulder blades don’t lessen until the captain heads to his quarters to go over navigation with the first mate.
Killian glances up at his brother. Not only is Liam two years older, he’s taller, broader, and stronger. He also doesn’t go around daydreaming and earning himself lashes.
“Liam,” Killian finally dares ask, “have you . . . kissed many girls?”
Liam’s eyes widen as he lifts his gaze, then he arches his brow and seems to be holding back a teasing grin. Killian pretends to concentrate even harder at his menial task.
“Why, Killy? Has a mermaid flopped on deck lately?”
“We were just in port a month ago,” Killian grumbles.
“Aye,” his brother chuckles, “and you spent the entire time running around on the sand with the other village boys like the child you are.”
“It’s just a bloody question!”
“Okay, okay, calm down,” Liam capitulates. “Truth be told? No, I haven’t. I’ve seen just as many lasses as you have.”
“What about that one girl in Glowerhaven?”
“I . . . well . . . “
It’s Killian’s turn to laugh as his brother’s face turns red and he stumbles over his words.
“I was just leaning in when her father showed up and chased me off.”
Killian’s laughter rings louder, and he falls over, holding his middle. Liam scowls and flings his rag again with a snap. Killian frowns and rubs at the new welt on his arm.
“Guess you can’t help me then,” Killian snaps. He knows it’s immature, but he can’t help it - he sticks his tongue out at his brother.
**************************************
Killian stands nervously in front of the wardrobe that night, smoothing his hair down. The bosun always greases his hair when he goes to court the farmer’s daughter in Arendelle, so Killian has swiped a little from his trunk. The bosun also likes to take his lass flowers, so Killian grips a handful of wilted buttercups in his hand. They had been fresh when they were picked days ago at port. He hopes the captain doesn’t notice them missing from the vase in his quarters - Killian only swiped three.
He’s also hoping to steal another kiss from Emma tonight, and this time he’ll aim for her lips instead of her cheek. Killian’s a little nervous that she’ll slap him, though. Emma seems like the type of girl who just might. It’s one of the things he likes about her, actually. He lets out a deep breath and opens the door of the wardrobe.
Killian cocks his head and frowns when he sees the fluffy white plaything sitting inside the wardrobe. He pulls it out - it’s a stuffed rabbit with the softest, whitest fur he’s ever seen. It’s glass eyes are so bright they shine. Around the toy’s neck is a silky pink ribbon. He sets the rabbit down and climbs into the wardrobe. He slowly opens the door.
“Emma?”
The room is eerily quiet and empty. Emma is nowhere to be seen. He crawls down out of the wardrobe and looks all around at the large, strange room. The quilt he and Emma had shivered under is folded on the bed, yet a foreboding wind seems to blow through the entire house.
“Emma?”
Killian walks around, looks under the bed, behind a dresser. He stops at the door to the room, tentatively reaching out to touch the door knob. He’s just about to open it when a shaft of light shines behind him from the wardrobe door. His heart ricochets wildly in his chest as he dashes back to the magical piece of furniture. He has no idea what might happen if he gets stuck in Emma’s world, nor can he bear the thought of being forever separated from his brother. He drops the buttercups as he dashes across the room, accidentally crushing them beneath his bare feet.
He scrambles back into the wardrobe, tucks the rabbit under the crook of his arm, and hops out of the door on the other side. As he lands back in the ship’s hold, a small rectangle of paper flutters to the floor. He picks it up and reads it, thankful for once that Liam had nagged him to continue his studies after mother had passed. Emma must have left the toy for him. Maybe the note is from her!
“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born to comfort us in our sorrows. - Proverbs 17:17”
Killian knows what a proverb is, but he’s never heard this one before. It must be common in Emma’s realm. His heart sinks that the words aren’t Emma’s own, but he takes comfort that she chose to leave her toy. He also hopes she meant that she was his friend and that she would never forget him.
After all, Liam is his brother, and he always comforts him. Just like the proverb said.
*******************************************
Killian jolts awake from a nightmare. He blinks his eyes to banish the images of blood splashing onto the deck, his brother crying, the fire across his back. His scars, though healed, still itch and pull at times. He reaches around to touch them gently, half expecting to find blood on his fingers. His body shakes as he releases a ragged breath. Just a dream.
He reaches beneath his itchy blanket and feels the soft toy Emma had given him a week ago. He pulls it out, holds it close, and breathes in the pleasant scent of it. Things in Emma’s realm are so clean and smell so lovely. How do they manage it? He tucks the plaything beneath his cheek, relishing the way it cools his skin. He hasn’t dared let anyone, even Liam, see the bunny. They would ridicule him for sure. He already receives more than his share of mockery for being the youngest on board; he certainly isn’t going to give the crew further reason to torment him.
Killian fingers the silky ribbon as more pleasant dreams fill his mind of comfortable beds, cozy quilts, and Emma’s smile. He’ll hide the bunny beneath his blankets before dawn, but for now, no one needs to know how he takes comfort from it.
Unfortunately, his nightmares have worn him out more than he had realized, and it’s long past sunrise when he blinks his eyes open again. He opens them to the sound of laughter.
“Look at the baby with his poppet!”
“What a pretty ribbon you have there, Killy-Cat.”
Killian shrinks in on himself at the nickname and the word “pretty.” The man adds kissing sounds to the insult, and fear swells in Killian’s chest that he might snatch him and drag him behind the supply barrels again.
A beefy hand reaches out, and Killian recoils. The sailor snatches the rabbit, thankfully, and not the boy. Killian’s relief is short-lived, however, when the men start tossing the rabbit to each other, mocking their little cabin boy with it.
“Stop!” Killian shouts, jumping from his hammock.
The sailors tease him, dangling the rabbit just out of his reach. He jumps up and races around, but he can never grab a hold of the toy. Panic grips him as he realizes how much he wants to hold onto his only tie to Emma. The wardrobe has disappeared again just as mysteriously as it had appeared, and that rabbit is all he has left of his only friend besides his brother.
One of the men grab Killian around the waist and toss him over his shoulder. Guffawing, they all head up the ladder out of the hold. Killian kicks at his captor, demanding he let him go. Where is Liam?
“Want your poppet, little girl?” Cook teases, dangling the rabbit over the railing.
“No, don’t!” Killian screams, which only make the men laugh harder.
“How bad do you want it?” the man who holds him asks, and before Killian can process what is happening, the brute of a man is dangling him over the railing. He holds Killian by the back of his nightshirt, and laughs as the boy kicks and flails.
“Let him go!”
Relief washes over Killian at the sound of his brother’s voice. But the huge sailor just knocks Liam aside as if he were no bigger than a gnat.
“What the bloody hell is this!” another voice thunders, and suddenly Kilian is being deposited with a thud back onto the deck. The crew scrambles to look more presentable as the captain marches forward, his face crooked and red with anger. “Ye scallywags have work to be doin’!”
“We was just teasin’ the cabin boy is all,” Cook explains.
“He got a poppet looks like, from the last port,” the bosun puts in. “It just tickled us, and I suppose we got carried away.”
“A poppet?” the Captain barks, and Liam steps in front of his little brother surreptitiously.
“See,” Cook says, tossing the toy to the Captain.
The Captain looks the white rabbit over, that permanent scowl that he always wears making it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. “Cabin boy!” he barks.
On trembling legs, Killian steps forward, his head down.
“Where did you get this?”
“A - a friend gave it to me.”
Killian is shocked when the back of the Captain’s hand connects with his cheek. The force of it sends his head snapping to the side. He bites down on his lip to keep from crying.
“Don’t lie to me, boy. First of all, no one on my crew is to be pilfering anything when we make port. It only brings trouble down on us all.”
There is a long, heavy silence as the man steps closer to Killian. He grabs Killian roughly by the front of his nightshirt and hauls him up. He shakes Killian until the boy sees stars.
“And second, this ship is no place for babies or little girls. If that’s what you are, then perhaps I’ll just keep your brother and drop you at an orphanage in the nearest port.”
“No!” Liam cries. “Don’t separate us, please sir!”
The captain drops Killian back to the deck with a thud, then unceremoniously tosses the stuffed toy overboard. When he turns to head back to his quarters, he stops and spits on the Jones boys.
“Then tell your brother to grow up.”
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