Disclaimer: I own nothing no matter how much I wish I did. I just took them out of the cupboard to play.
A/N: As always, many thanks to Jo for making sure my writing is decent enough to see the light of day :)
*This story has been resurrected and I'm only just continuing on with it now - I will update regularly between this and 'Home' :)
o
Emma's head was pounding. It felt, possibly, more unbearable than the worst hangover she'd ever experienced – at least tenfold in its ferocity. She groaned as she moved to sit up, fighting the nausea and dizziness that threatened to take her under the crashing waves of unconsciousness.
Opening her eyes did surprisingly little in this kind of darkness and she struggled to remember what had happened.
She'd made a wish and blown out a candle and suddenly there was a boy at her door claiming to be her son. There was the drive to Maine, to a sleepy town, and she'd dropped the kid off at his home.
Emma squeezed her eyes shut as she held her stomach. Something was rebelling inside her and she could feel the bile rising through to her throat. Swallowing hard she managed to fight down the sick that was threatening to spill, but was unable to stop the solitary tear from slipping down her cheek.
He'd turned out to be the Mayor's kid and this had turned in to a fairly awkward moment. Biological mother meets adoptive mother. She'd followed the Mayor in to the house, had accepted her drink and…
Emma struggled to remember what had happened next. She'd had the drink, she was sure of it. She remembered being in a small study, remembered the Mayor giving her the drink, even remembered having some of the apple cider as they discussed Henry. After that it was just a blank.
She opened her eyes once more and found the dark wasn't quite as penetrating as she had first thought. Either that or her eyes were finally cooperating a little more with her. She fancied she was in a cellar of some kind, but as she made a move to stand up the pounding in her head increased and the waves of nausea and dizziness that had been threatening to overwhelm her came crashing down, dragging her under into blissful unconsciousness.
o
The second time Emma opened her eyes and took stock of her surroundings she noted that the sea of nausea was kept at bay, the pounding in her head had receded somewhat and she didn't feel as though she might be dragged back under the current at any given time. Gingerly she propped herself up on to her elbows and waited, waited to see if unconsciousness would claim her for a third time, but as the seconds ticked by with little threat of being dragged under she tested her luck again as she moved to sit.
The world began to swim in a sickening manner and she held to the cold ground in an attempt to not fall off. Hold it together, Em, hold it together she thought, and defying all odds, the room stopped swaying. Without standing she turned herself slowly around, the cold, dry floor offering her the illusion of support for she was unsure if it would start to sway again at any moment and throw her back in to the torrents. The lit torch she saw on the opposite wall threw sparse, flickering light – just enough light for Emma to see the contents of her stomach as she emptied it on the floor; just enough light to cast dancing shadows as the darkness encroached on the edges of her vision; just enough light for her to see the steel bars between her and the opposite wall.
