Janus' Sincerity
Author: yeknodelttil
Show: Once Upon A Time
Rating: T
Genre: Romance/Angst
Pairing: Captain Swan
Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon A Time. This is purely for the enjoyment of its fans, created by a fan.
Spoilers: Series 1 & 2
Summary: AU When Emma Swan arrives in Storybrooke she meets someone who has just as many walls as she does; luckily his cursed state is something they can both hide behind. Soon a question begs to be answered… why is everything saying he shouldn't be there?
A/N: I've been wanting to write this story for a few weeks, usually I write for a different and much smaller fandom. I fancied branching out into a new fandom which I feel nervous about. It's been a number of years since I wrote for a large fandom and I feel rusty, although it's making me feel more excited to write than I have for a long, long time.
I apologise in advance for my spelling, I'm British so some words will slip through and be spelled our way. We're only just finishing season 2 over here… you're all so lucky.
Thank you to everyone who read Perspective, I hoped you like it. Thanks for your support.
Chapter 1: Cursing
He was a good kid.
Henry.
She hated to crush his dreams but she couldn't stay here.
For the last few hours he'd talked nothing but nonsense about saviours and curses and fairy tales… bringing up her own past. A past she'd rather forget.
A longing for a family and the regret she'd tried so hard to bury.
Emma slammed on the brakes, she couldn't drive like this.
Her whole body jolted forward as it was thrown forwards by the sudden halt. The pain was refreshing as the taut seat belt dug into her torso. It gave her the blissful respite of forgetting about everything that night – if only for a few seconds.
All too soon her thoughts returned, blazing at the front of her mind and almost swimming in front of her eyes.
Emma yanked open the car door not caring if the force was too much for the door. The car had survived worse; it was tougher than it looked.
Like her.
She slammed her hands down on the roof of her yellow Volkswagen Beetle, the dull thunk as her hands impacted the metal sending a wave of comfort to her before pain raced through her muscles at the jolt.
She shoved herself from the car and paced, she couldn't calm herself down. She could feel the tension leaving her with every slap of her feet against the road. She didn't show her emotions and here she was in a town that she didn't know where everyone could see her heart on her sleeve. She felt vulnerable and isolated, something she despised and hadn't felt in just over ten years.
How could she – someone who knew a thing about tracking and more importantly how to avoid it – be found by a ten year old?
A ten year old with a mother who controlled a town.
The woman loved her son she could see that, although part of her wanted to believe otherwise. The Mayor – Regina – had secrets but who didn't. Emma was concerned though at the thought that he wanted to run away from her in the first place.
Emma Swan knew a few things about escaping homes and families from her own time in the system. It was natural for adopted or foster children to rebel, to push the boundaries but guilt clouded her at the knowledge that it was her fault.
The kid did have one thing she didn't – a stable home from the day he was born. She had done the right thing, no matter how much it haunted her. She shook her head to try and get rid of the thoughts that usually led her down the path to misery.
Henry. The name was a good one, he'd simple been baby boy, ten years ago. He wanted a fairy tale, the kind she'd dreamed of before she'd had the dream metaphorically smashed out of her. The dream of being reclaimed by a parent that was some kind of hero.
There were no heroes in this world, if there were she'd only ever attracted villains.
"Jesus Christ." Emma exclaimed as loud as she could, everything becoming too much for her and lifting her frustration towards the heavens as no one else seemed to be around to take it out on. This whole town was like a ghost town at night, it was probably the way it was in small rural towns but it certainly wasn't her kind of town.
"Is Lord." A smooth but masculine English accent chipped in without a moment's hesitation, making her heart jump into her throat. She almost pressed a hand to her chest but that would show that she'd reacted to whoever it was and she certainly wasn't one for expressing emotion freely. Emma knew the consequences of showing any kind of emotion all too well.
As calm as she could she spoke. "What?"
"Or at least that's what people usually add when they see me, clearly you haven't yet." The words were spoken with amusement and slight smugness. A slight Irish lilt injected into certain syllables made the words seem slightly gruff but mesmerising.
Immediately the tone had her head tipping to her left as annoyance took over. Her jaw shot to one side as her eyes narrowed. She hated smartasses and she was really growing to hate this town and she hadn't even been in it an hour yet. Whoever it was, they were standing far too close to her, hell the other side of the road would've been too close after the night she was currently suffering through.
"Listen…" Emma turned around as fast as she could as if her life depended on it, her eyes swept to one side as she realised who exactly had heard her utter those words. An instinctive wave of embarrassment swept over her but it didn't show on her face, or she hoped it didn't.
The first thing she was drawn to was his face. He was about the same age as her, ruggedly handsome with thick, jet black hair that fell into his cerulean eyes. His eyes were hypnotising, she could feel herself falling into them, and a familiar buzz forced itself to the front of her chest. A feeling she hadn't felt in far too long a time. He held her gaze and she could literally see the emotions flittering through them, softening as he looked at her. He was studying her just as intensely.
She blinked rapidly breaking eye contact with him as a thrill raced up her spine. The thrill was uncomfortable; she didn't like the implication of what it could mean. His eyes gazed back at her with hints of amusement and friendliness but also secrecy that only served to lure her in as if *he* was a siren.
Emma slowly traced her eyes over his features before noticing his playful smirk across two soft lips that gave him a boyish quality. A light dusting of shadow lay on his cheeks, almost caressing the pale skin there.
Something reflected the light, catching her eyes like a flare.
Her eyes moved down his neck, strong like a singers or perhaps he was a singer before noticing the tell-tale white collar peeking through his tightly buttoned black trench coat, shining like a beacon on a foggy night.
There was no mistaking what that symbolised. She was the kind of person who avoided people wearing that particular costume like the plague.
A Priest.
She'd just cursed in front of a Priest – although he might be a Reverend.
In her mind being a Reverend made it just that bit better. A less damning offence.
She looked upwards for some assistance before facing him again, "I… er… I…" She sounded like a school girl speaking to her first crush.
What was it about Priests and cursing that made people tongue tied?
She wondered silently, because she was certainly sure it had nothing to do with his good looks and playful manner. She'd been around enough good looking guys on her honey trap dates and they'd never tongue tied her before.
However there was something different about this priest, curate, vicar, whatever the hell he was. Something beneath the surface.
For the first time she wasn't sure where she stood with someone.
He didn't fit into one of the neat little boxes she had in her mind when she met someone for the first time. He didn't come under liar or crook. Yet he didn't come under professional or law abiding. He didn't fit into the typical box that was reserved for religion either.
His face said one thing, his lips said another and his eyes contradicted them both.
Hell, he wasn't even what she pictured for a Priest. He was far too young and far too… She shook her head imperceptivity to stop that thought before it even started.
It all came down to one thing.
He was a puzzle and Emma Swan didn't like puzzles.
"I've heard worse." He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with pure laughter even if he didn't express it out loud. "And I've said worse." He stepped closer to her and Emma found herself feeling uncomfortable at her personal space being breached. She physically created a barrier between them by folding her arms over her chest as if it would protect her. He noticed but it didn't stop him immediately, he moved a fraction closer to her physically testing her defences. As he expected she tightened her arms even more across her chest.
As his eyes flickered to her folded arms Emma realised what he was doing, the sneaky bastard was testing her defences. No one had dared try that before without facing consequences. Unfortunately it was probably punishable by 'going to hell' to punch a man of the cloth in the face – then again with the life she'd led she was probably going there anyway.
"So what brings you to Storybrooke?"
Emma shook herself, leaning back against her yellow car relishing in the comfort the hard shell gave her. What was it with this town and their need to have conversations in the street? The shrink, the Sheriff and now the Priest slash Vicar. People in this town were too friendly and she didn't like that. She was outside her comfort zone; she liked keeping herself to herself. It kept you better protected.
The sooner the conversation was over the better for her, then she could go back to her life in Boston and spend the next ten years trying to forget how the past reared its ugly head and stirred up emotions and memories she'd rather kept buried.
"I brought back the Mayor's kid." The words slipped from her lips before she could sensor them. She should've said brought 'someone' back because any second now he would piece it all together as something inside her told her she needed to protect her secrets better from this man in front of her.
The man looked at her almost as if he could see through her. "So you're the woman who gave him up." He noted with a small smile. There wouldn't be any other reason as to why Henry had run off, he wouldn't go for the thrill of it and it had never been a secret from Henry that he'd been adopted. Sometimes it was better for children to know the truth than find out intentionally, the betrayal could be too much.
If her jaw could tighten any further it would lock in place, she didn't come to the middle of nowhere to have her decisions questioned. "I had my reasons."
"I'm sure you did." He answered quickly, he wasn't judging her. It wasn't his role to judge, there was only one thing being that could do that – he could only advise and offer forgiveness for the Lord. It was his job, however, to ask the difficult questions. She was a puzzle if nothing else, he could see through her but there were many layers to her.
No not layers, walls.
Thick steel walls that he couldn't get through even if he had a blowtorch. Something had made her this way she couldn't have been born like it. He knew walls when he saw them; he had plenty of his own to deal with. The question was did she recognise that her walls were there or had it been so long since they'd been built that she'd forgotten about them completely?
He liked a challenge and he knew she could prove his biggest.
Emma shook her head trying to ignore the need to reason with him. A change of subject was clearly in order, although she was sure she wouldn't get any sleep tonight with the thoughts he'd nurtured from the seeds Henry had planted in her mind, whizzing around demanding to be listened to.
She didn't like the fact that a stranger felt like he could talk to her that way. Especially a Priest. She had never exactly been a religious person; she'd had too much crap in her life to think that someone out there cared about her. After all who would put someone through twenty eight years of misery?
Emma realised she'd let herself slip, she'd never entered a conversation as deep as this in her life without knowing who exactly she was dealing with. "Who are you?"
From the way his head tipped, he'd been waiting for her to ask that question. Fury prickled underneath the surface of her chest, spreading throughout her body like lightning. The only outwards signs were the way she straightened herself an inch while her head lowered half an inch to look thought slightly hooded lids at him.
He was one step ahead of her already. No one bested her it took her long enough for her to be in control of her own life and she wasn't about to relinquish that power to anyone.
"John Morgan." He held his right hand out, waiting for Emma to take it. She looked at it as if she wasn't exactly sure what would happen if she touched it. He had a small smirk as he read her easily; she didn't accept contact she preferred to initiate it. "Father John Morgan, actually." He was definitely a priest, now she definitely felt worse about cursing in front of him. "Although people prefer to call me Morgan."
Emma saw in his eyes that there was a reason for this, a guard much like her own snapped down as if she was looking through a glass window that had a curtain suddenly thrown behind it. He had his own secrets and she had hers, as long as he didn't pry any more she'd leave his well alone.
He continued speaking, seeing that he had to finish his introduction. "I'm the Priest in charge of St Christopher's." Although he was sure Mother Superior would contradict him if she were here. With his other hand he gestured vaguely behind him, trying his hardest not to use his left hand for too long before dropping it back to his side.
Emma followed his motion but she couldn't see anything in the blackness of the night and the streetlamps weren't exactly the most modern in the world more like something out of the eighties. Although she did note that his other hand had a strange sort of stiffness to it, almost as if he couldn't move it. Emma knew she was staring so she pulled her gaze from his left hand hoping that he wouldn't notice and smiled tightly at him.
"You are?" He asked, waiting patiently for her to return the favour. She didn't answer at first, "I know you curse in front of Priests so I guess you're this rude to everyone."
Did he do this with everyone? Get under their skin to annoy them to find out their deep dark secrets before doing his Pastoral duty of advising them?
He raised his dark eyebrows, gesturing to his hand which was still waiting for her to accept. He wasn't going to let her slip away that easily.
She let out a sigh, barely restraining herself from turning it into a growl. He'd issued a challenge and she was damn well going to accept it.
Emma shook his hand; his grip was firm, reassuring. "Swan, Emma Swan."
He leaned closer, a crooked smile crossing his lips. "Welcome to Storybrooke, Swan."
TBC
A/N: What do you think so far?
This story was born really from my stupidity. It concerns a certain film I've seen dozens of times including in the cinema when it came out and not really making a connection when someone else can look at the screen for a few seconds and go 'That's Hook'. I haven't lived it down just yet.
Thanks for reading.