Chapter 1:
Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna make it home again
It's so far and out of sight
Henry's voice is that of a petulant teenager, which makes it impossibly easy for Emma to brush him off as such and tell herself he's just stubborn, and he'll get over it soon, just as she got over it. Well, not that there's anything she actually had to get over.
"But why do we have to go?" he demands to know for the fifth time as the old yellow bug makes mile after mile on the road to New York City. "Our family's in Storybrooke, it's our home!"
Emma sighs. "Henry, it's not like we will never see them again," she tries to soothe. "We can go back and visit anytime!"
The boy just huffs scornfully, "Visit!"
She points out, "Our home has been in New York for the last year, and it was good! You loved it there! You had a great school, friends, a big city, we had everything!" She cringes a little inwardly, thinking she's sounding like a used car dealer trying to con someone into buying the worst seller ever. Briefly, she contemplates if she should mention the library, which has always been one of Henry's favorite places, but then she decides against it; that would be too transparent.
"Yeah," Henry snaps in response, "we had everything – except our family!"
"We were happy!" she almost pleads.
"Repeating it over and over doesn't make it true," he states dryly and with an uncomfortable logic.
"But it is true!" she claims and doesn't realize that she's the one whose voice assumes a petulant tone now.
"Because we didn't know any better, Mom!" he replies in an exasperated voice, almost as if he's being the reasonable parent, and she the stubborn teen. "It was all fake!"
Emma's hands grip the wheel, feeling the need to hold on to something solid, something that doesn't threaten to slip through her fingers at any moment, like most things she cherished have done sooner or later in the past. "Our memories were fake," she finally admits, trying to change her tactics, because honesty always worked with Henry, "But our life was not! It was real, and it was good!" She realizes she's repeating herself, and yet, she doesn't get through to her son, not even remotely. "Henry, you deserve a good life without any... magical threats appearing out of the blue!" she argues. "A normal life, like a normal kid."
"But I don't want that!" he shoots back. "It's not me... it's not us!"
"But it should be!" she insists. "It's better for you."
His head snaps around, his brown eyes piercing her, she can feel it, even if hers are set on the road ahead. "Pretending to be somebody else?" he asks, and for a twelve-year-old he's nailing the sarcastic tone pretty well; she can practically hear him add an acid really? "Ah. I see. You're doing this for me, right?" he inquires. "You want what's best for me?"
Emma is too eager to make him finally see things her way to recognize the trap and stumbles right into it, head first. "Of course I do, kid!"
He nods bitterly. "Know where I've heard that before?"
For a second she closes her eyes when she realizes her mistake and understands immediately where he's aiming at. "Henry..."
"From my other mom!" he snaps.
Emma shakes her head. "That's not fair, you can't compare–"
"But it's exactly the same!" Henry interrupts. "Don't you see that? She always said she wanted what was best for me, but she just wanted to keep me from finding out the truth about the curse, so she could keep everyone in misery, just like she wanted them to be. She wanted what was best for her. And so do you!"
"That's not true!" She knows he's unfair and exaggerating, because he's angry at her, because he doesn't want this... but his words still hurt. Because of course what she's doing couldn't be farther from what Regina did to him, and yet... if she's honest, she can't deny there's a certain... pattern.
"Of course it's true!" he insists. "You're doing this because you're scared to stay! Because you're scared to belong somewhere, with someone!"
God, that kid is too smart for his age. Way too smart. "You and me, we belong together!" Emma tells him firmly. "And we will be!"
He huffs impatiently. "You know what I mean. You're so afraid that people will hurt you and that you lose the people you love, that you don't let anybody in in the first place." Emma is completely taken aback at his words that are just too close to home, and she remembers what Mary Margaret once said to her, before they knew they were mother and daughter. That wall of yours – it may keep out pain, but it also may keep out love. "You know what?" Henry continues angrily. "You don't need people to abandon you and make you miserable, you do that all by yourself, because you always push everyone away, like you did with me at first!"
Emma flinches, overflowing with guilt. "Oh kid... I promise, I will never push you away."
"This is not about me," he tells her decidedly, "and you know it." He snorts. "I'll tell you what's not fair. Forcing me to leave our home and our family, just because you're a coward."
Now that is a sucker punch, if she ever felt one. "I–"
But Henry is apparently done talking, because he abruptly turns away from her, ostentatiously popping in his ear plugs, and ignores her for the rest of the drive. Helplessly, Emma grips the wheel and fixes her eyes on the road.
Sure, she knew before that it wouldn't be easy, that Henry didn't want to leave Storybrooke. That he thought after defeating Zelena they would of course pick up their old life, and everything would go back to normal... except, there never had been anything normal where their life in Storybrooke was concerned. Living in Storybrooke meant madness, stumbling from one magical crisis into the next, struggling to defeat one villain just to find out there was already another one lurking around the corner. It meant having to deal with constant threats to their happiness, her son's life. Having his heart almost crushed by Peter Pan, who also happened to be his great-grandfather? Being almost choked to death by the freaking Wicked Witch of the West? How could anyone in their right mind think of preferring such a life over the one they had in New York for the past year, with everything the big city could offer, schools, bars, friends, stores, multiplexes, people who knew nothing about the feeling of someone else's hand in your chest, cold fingers wrapped around your heart.
No, she's doing the right thing, she's sure about that. Her son deserves a normal, happy life. Heck, she deserves that, too. She knows it's gonna be a rough start, because of course Henry is confused, hurt, all in all a stubborn teenager; but once they'll have settled back in and everything's gone back to their normal daily routine, he'll realize it, too, and even if it will take him a little longer to admit it and accept it, he will get there – and then they'll be again where they were before that unnerving man knocked on their door, dressed from head to toe in black leather and confidence.
Emma rolls her eyes at herself; she doesn't even want to go there, doesn't want to replay their last real conversation in her head, at that bench with his eyes full of melancholy and his voice tinged with brokenness when he asked her if she didn't care at all about her parents... or anyone in this town? Of course she knew what he was talking about, whom he was talking about. And of course she cared. When she told him she had to do what was right for her and Henry, he was surprisingly fast to give up, suddenly leaning back and putting physical distance between them she could almost feel in her bones.
"Of course you have to do what you have to do," he replied matter-of-factly, all vulnerability gone from his voice, and without being aware of it, she raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Swan," he finally told her with sincerity in his tone before pointing to the storybook still resting in her lap. "Do me a favor, please, and give that back to your lad."
"Sure," she murmured, "thank you. For understanding."
He nodded one last time before he turned around and walked away, leaving her to her thoughts. She knew it was silly, but she had expected him to be a little more persistent; but apparently he knew when a cause was lost, and... well. It was better this way. She knew she'd already have to deal with her parents', her son's, and Regina's disapproval for her decision. She didn't need Hook's sad eyes to follow her for the time left.
She saw him only one more time – was that really only an hour ago? – when a few people had come together on Main Street to say goodbye to her and Henry.
"Fare better than last time, Swan," he said and nodded curtly before he stepped back from the car, and a minute later he was fading from her view when she drove out of town and towards the town line to leave it all behind for good this time.
And now she's here in her car with Henry, heading to a new life. She should be excited. She should feel good. She doesn't; not yet. But she'll get there, of course she will.
It was the strangest feeling when he saw her trademark yellow vessel depart – like a déjà-vû, but then again, not quite. The last time he'd seen her leave Storybrooke, she had been forced to by Pan's curse, hadn't wanted to leave her family behind, her friends – him. Had protested that she wasn't done yet. And he had provided her with that extra bit of strength, had tried to make it easier for her, to lighten up things – and had even dared to hint at his feelings, feelings that had scared and confused even him. He'd offered reassurance, and she'd gladly accepted it with that teary-eyed "Good".
But today? Today was different. No curse or threat was driving her out of town – she left because she wanted to. Went away willingly, eagerly even, eager to run. Killian knows she didn't leave because Storybrooke doesn't feel like home for her – he knows she left because it does. Even if she doesn't like it, she's still an open book to him, now maybe more than ever before. And when she tried to sell him her story about not being a part of any of it, about running until she'd find a place she'd just miss after leaving? Oh, she knows bloody well that she's an integral part of this magical microcosm named Storybrooke, has been for a long time. But her walls that always bring her to push away the people she loves, to run from them, won't allow her to accept it. He knows he was right when he told her two days ago that she was afraid to stay because she could see a future in Storybrooke, a happy one. But she wasn't ready to hear it then, and she isn't ready to accept it now. So, she needs to run.
He knew any display of feelings from him would have made her feel uncomfortable, and she didn't need any reassurance or encouragement from him, like last time, and so, he didn't provide it. She claimed she was having no regrets leaving everything behind, and he wasn't going to give her any regrets now – she was going to have to come by them the hard way. He just gave her a short nod and told her almost casually to fare better than last time, before he stepped back like everyone else and let her go.
He's not completely certain now that it's not wishful thinking on his part, but he might have caught the slightest hint of disappointment flashing across her face, just like the day before when he accepted her statement of having to do what was best for her and Henry. Even though he hates the thought of having given her the impression he's giving up on her, he knows it has to be this way.
But this isn't over; another reason because this felt like a déjà-vû only to a certain extent is that this time – unlike one year ago – he knows he will see her again, and soon.
With a sigh – because he's sure this isn't going to be a pleasant conversation – he raises his hook to knock at the pristine white door of the Queen's mansion.
The moment she opens the door he can see she's in a foul mood. Wonderful.
"You!" she huffs. "What do you want?"
Due to the circumstances his temper is dangerously short, too, but a glimpse on her slightly puffy eyes softens his annoyance about her rudeness, and he just replies calmly, "I came to seek advice."
Regina waves her hand dismissively. "Seek elsewhere, pirate," she spits. "I'm not in the mood. In case you haven't noticed, I lost my son today." Her stare is piercing him. "Again." Her hand grips the handle of the door, ready to slam it in his face.
Now, her rudeness and venom he can take, being already used to it, but he honestly has no time for the whiny self-pity everyone else seems to put up with and cater to so effortlessly.
"Ah yes, right, I forgot," he snarls, his voice as hard as the steel of his hook, "your pain is always the hardest to bear, compared to everyone else's." Her eyebrows shoot up at his cutting tone, and she stops mid-move, staring at him incredulously, but he isn't done yet. "Sorry for disturbing you, Your Majesty," the sarcasm in his voice is accentuated by the feral baring of his upper teeth, "I'm sure the prince and Snow White will try their best to help, even if they lost their daughter, too – again." He underlines the last word with a sharp head tilt and then whirls around, his leather coat swooshing behind him.
Regina wakes from her stupor and rolls her eyes – at the pirate's dramatics, and a bit also at herself. That has happened on occasion lately, and it surprises her every time. Self-critique is not something she's used to.
"Hook, wait," she calls after him, the annoyance in her voice mixed with something like genuine concern. He roots to the spot and looks over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question. She sighs. "What do you want?" she asks again, but this time there's no edge to her voice, and she steps aside, opening the door a little further, motioning her head towards the hall inside in a reluctant invite.
He hesitates for a mere second, before he fully turns around again and steps inside, acknowledging her gesture with a curt nod. He waits for her to close the door and turn to face him.
"When you cast the first Dark Curse," he begins without further ado, "I wasn't affected, as you know. I came over with your mother, after Emma broke the curse." Briefly, a shadow flickers over her face when she remembers her mother's time in Storybrooke, and what a fatal chain of events she'd set in motion. "And this latest curse," he continues, "well, I outran it."
Regina frowns. "You outran a curse," she echoes doubtfully.
He tilts his head. "I'm a hell of a captain," he informs her smoothly, and she rolls her eyes again. "Anyway," he goes on, "given the fact that – unlike everybody else – I have never been brought to Storybrooke by a curse, I was thinking that maybe..." he sways his head, drawing out the moment before asking his question, because a part of him is afraid of the answer. "Maybe I'd be able to leave Storybrooke without being affected by any of the dreaded consequences that crossing the town line normally brings."
Regina puts her hands to her hips. "Ah, now I get it!" she exclaims, surprise in her voice, and also a little disdain, because somehow she'd never expected it from him. "Abandoning ship, are we?"
He tilts his head and plucks an invisible lint from the sharp tip of his hook, intensely studying the shiny metal. "Only temporarily, I hope," he retorts casually.
She frowns briefly, but then it slowly dawns on her, and she draws a sharp breath when she understands... and of course, she should have known sooner: the pirate wasn't one to give up easily, has never been. "You... are planning to go after them!" she blurts out.
Slowly, he focuses his eyes on hers again. "Is it possible for me?" he asks instead of an answer.
"Indeed," she replies pensively, her lips curling into an impressed smile. "Seems I never gave you enough credit for your tactical mind."
New life, new hope crawls into her bones, and her limbs seem to lose the numbness that slowly paralyzed them after seeing Henry drive out of her life again earlier. She knew he wasn't lost to her forever, not like the last time, but she also had a feeling that Emma – damn her indecisiveness – wouldn't return so soon, not even for a visit. Yesterday, the pirate didn't manage to convince her to stay, in spite of her obvious feelings for him... but maybe he can accomplish something if he follows her.
"So, all I have to do is leave town, and some time later, I can find my way back and enter again?" he makes sure.
"You won't even need any magic," Regina confirms, and he gives a final nod and turns to the door to leave. "Wait!" she calls after him, and he whirls around again, door knob already in hand. "When are you planning to leave?" she demands to know. "You'll need instructions. I wouldn't advise you to take a pirate ship to the modern world."
Briefly, his eyes flicker away, and he scratches behind his ear. "I won't," he replies almost curtly. "And I shall be on my way as soon as possible, probably tomorrow, after getting properly equipped for the Land Without Magic."
She raises her chin. "I'll be happy to provide you with anything you'll need. Instructions for the road."
Killian nods. "I'll have you know."
His mood has improved a notch when he walks away from the Mayor's mansion; even though he already had imagined that he could indeed leave town and come back again unharmed and with all his memories untouched, a hint of doubt had remained until Regina confirmed his thoughts. The tiny bit of insecurity flew out of the window, and now he can actually start to make plans.
Right after leaving Regina, his steps direct him towards Emma's parents' loft. He isn't 100% sure what they will think of his plan and if they'd maybe prefer him not going. Even though they both seem to have warmed up to him a little lately, the fact remains that he's a pirate and former villain, and surely not what they want for their daughter. They might even find his whole mission quite presumptuous.
But anyway, they deserve to know it, that there's still hope they'll see their daughter again before she can disappear into the confusing void that is the Land Without Magic.
He doesn't have to wait long after he knocks before Emma's mother opens the door. Her eyes widen in surprise, but it's not a displeased surprise, and her mouth curves into a wide smile.
"You!" Mary Margaret exclaims and steps immediately back, pulling the apartment door open wide, welcoming him in. "Please, come in. I'm so glad you came!"
He raises his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised himself. "You are?"
"Of course!" When he doesn't move at once, she ushers him in with impatient waves of her hands and closes the door behind him. "You disappeared so early from the naming ceremony yesterday, that I didn't even have the opportunity to talk to you..."
Killian steps nearer, feeling a little overwhelmed by this unexpected enthusiastic welcome, and looks around the loft. "Speaking of which," he picks up the thread, "how's the little prince faring?"
Mary Margaret sighs. "Finally asleep," she informs him and leans into his personal space in a conspiratorial way. "Whoever said that infants sleep all the time was lying." She motions toward the kitchen table for him to sit down, and he obliges. Without asking, she fills a mug from a steaming pot, and when she puts it in front of him, he sees and smells it's tea, dark, strong and aromatic.
"Thank you," he murmurs and acknowledges her hospitality with a nodded bow.
"So... what brings you here?" she asks when she sits down opposite him, her fingers curling around her own mug.
Before he can reply, heavy footsteps are heard as Emma's father descends the stairs from the upper floor.
"Hey," he greets him, a little surprised, but definitely welcoming. "Everything okay?" He kisses his wife on the top of her head and fetches himself a mug, filling it with tea. Leaning against the kitchen counter behind Mary Margaret and resting a hand on her shoulder, he scrutinizes him closely, a sympathetic expression on his face.
"Actually..." Killian rubs the spot behind his ear. "I came here to ask a favor."
Emma's parents exchange a glance before David looks at him again expectantly. "What can we do for you?"
"I'm planning to leave Storybrooke," Killian says firmly, and the princess bandit lets out a little gasp whereas the prince's brow furrows dangerously. Quickly, he continues, "And I need your help to get me equipped for the world outside."
"Planning to leave," David snaps acidly, "again?"
"David," Mary Margaret reprimands quietly and turns to Killian again. "Hook, I just want to say – don't think just because Emma..." –she pauses for a moment, and a shadow flies across her face, before she braces herself and continues, "Don't think because Emma left, you're not welcome anymore. If it wasn't for you, we would have lost our second child, too."
Her voice quivers the tiniest bit, and it warms his heart that even though she must be in pain because of losing her daughter for the third time, she still makes the effort to reassure him of something he's never really felt – his place in this community. Yet, her praise makes him uncomfortable, as he feels it's undeserved.
But even Emma's father nods in agreement. "She's right," he admits, mollified.
On its own accord, Killian's hand reaches up to scratch behind his ear again. "That's hardly true," he contradicts, embarrassment tinting the tips of his ears, "I couldn't accomplish much to help with the defeat of the witch–"
"Yet, you risked your life," David interrupts, "again."
"And don't forget," the princess bandit adds, "we managed to break the curse and get our memories back only because you brought Emma and Henry to Storybrooke. Without that, we'd never have suspected Zelena, and she'd have taken away the baby. So yes, I'm sticking to my statement that thanks to you I still have my son with me, and you have earned your place here."
Arguing with Emma's headstrong mother seems pointless, and so he just tilts his head in defeat. "Well, thank you, Milady, I very much appreciate the sentiment." Firmly, he looks up at her again and adds with determination in his voice, "But I'm still leaving."
"But why?" she inquires, while her husband shakes his head with a melancholy smile. "I've never been outside Storybrooke," she continues, "but I gather the Land Without Magic can be very difficult to live in for someone like us." She reaches across the table and puts her hand on Killian's, surprising him with that somewhat motherly gesture. "I'm not saying you couldn't deal with it, but why would you want to? You'd be surrounded by... strangers, at best." She seems genuinely concerned for him, and that really touches him. "If you don't mind me asking, what are you hoping to find?"
"As you well know, I'm a pirate." He looks her in the eyes, the jade-like green reminding him very much of Emma's suddenly, and tilts his head in a conspiratorial way. "I've been known to find treasure in the unlikeliest places."
The prince frowns, and she narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Where did you say you were going?"
Killian cocks his eyebrow. "The only place outside Storybrooke I've ever been to in this world. The city of New York."
"You... what?" David gasps.
But his wife just smiles in triumphant disbelief. "You sneaky–"
"Why didn't you just say that?" Emma's father interrupts, his voice a little exasperated.
Killian crinkles his nose. "I wasn't so sure if you approved, in all honesty."
The princess bandit shakes her head. "Nonsense!" she contradicts firmly and turns to her husband. "Why didn't we think of it, David? This is perfect!" Emma's mother is positively excited. "You managed to bring her back once, you can do it again!" And there it is, Snow White's trademark, utter optimism as she nods vigorously. "Of course we approve!"
David nods more slowly, but with a quiet, warm smile. "We'd be crazy not to." He squeezes his wife's shoulder and puts down his mug. "Well, then I'd say, let's equip you for the world out there... even though the world should probably prepare for you." He points his finger at Killian. "First of all, you need a phone."
Killian gives a fatalistic nod. "I was afraid you'd say that."
David is slightly exasperated as he sits there on an uncomfortable chair, watching the pirate parade back and forth in front of a huge mirror, sporting a pair of black (what else?), skin-tight denims that look like they're painted on. Really, sometimes he asks himself how he can even stand the man... but the surprising thing is – he found he can. Somewhere between saving his life in Neverland (in spite of I didn't do it for you, mate) and being tossed around in the dirt in Zelena's barn by the witch and the Dark One while trying to save his baby son, he's started to somehow... grow on David, in a weird way.
"I suppose these will do," Killian comments and throws a glance over his shoulder. "What do you think?"
David shrugs. "Honestly, these jeans look as uncomfortable as your leather pants."
"Uncomfortable?" the pirate whirls around, sounding almost insulted. "My breeches are as soft as butter, mate." He points at himself in the mirror. "Now, these... jeans? They'll soften with time."
The prince rolls his eyes. "Or you could just pick a larger size?" he suggests, his voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm.
Killian tilts his head and admires for a second the flattering way these modern pants cling to his arse, bringing out the strong curve of the muscles. "I like a snug fit."
"I'm well aware," David mumbles grumpily.
"Keeps the valuables where they belong," Killian comments matter-of-factly and then picks up one of the small cotton garments Emma's father has brought him. "Are these underthings really necessary?"
David runs his hand through his hair, trying to hide his annoyance. There are some things he just doesn't want to know. Hook's obvious habit of going commando is one of them. "You just said your old leathers are... butter soft, right?" he asks.
"Right."
"Well, denims aren't," he tells him almost triumphantly. "Especially not when they're as tight as you picked them. And trust me, you do not want your..." –he waves his hand vaguely in Killian's direction and crinkles his nose– "valuables to get intimately acquainted with your zipper while you're... bare."
Killian points his ringed index finger at Emma's father. "Fair point, mate. Underthings it is then, I guess."
A little later, they load David's truck with a few bags and boxes, and Killian is already wearing one of his brand new attires that are completely up to date and fashionable, yet look on him like he's never worn anything else. But then, of course, it's almost entirely black, complete with a leather jacket that makes him look like – yes – a modern pirate, and a waistcoat. Even the fabric of the jeans has some smooth shine to it, so that it almost gives the impression of leather.
While they drive back to Granny's to unload the purchases, Killian takes out the new device David made him buy and stares at the small screen, a frown creasing his forehead.
"Are you sure I can contact you with this when I'm no longer in Storybrooke?" he asks doubtfully, swiping his thumb across the screen tentatively.
David chuckles. "Yes, I'm sure, Hook. That's kind of the point." He motions to the device in Killian's hand. "That way you can keep in touch and keep us... adjourned."
"Hmm," the pirate mumbles, "we'll see if it's as clever a telephone as it claims to be."
"Smart," David corrects, "it's called a smart phone. Don't worry, Henry will gladly help you use it, if you have problems."
Killian nods, and David clears his throat, obviously having something on his mind. "Hook, listen," he begins, and Killian faces him warily, bracing himself for a princely warning about how to not approach his precious daughter. "I don't know what's going on between the two of you," he continues, and Killian sighs quietly – there it is – but then Emma's father surprises him. "Maybe Emma ultimately decides she wants to stay in New York," he says, "with you." Killian waits for a judgment, a warning or something like that, but it never comes. Instead, David nods, his jaw set in a grim determination. "I just want to make it clear that her mother and I just want her to be happy, and if that means she needs to keep her distance–"
"Emma's happiness is also my foremost priority," Killian interrupts, completely taken by surprise by the prince's display of selfless love and trust, obvious trust that he – nothing but a pirate – will have Emma's best in mind; he deserves to be reassured. "Look, mate. I... I love her," he blurts out. David scrutinizes him in earnest, stunned but somehow not really surprised, and Killian suddenly feels embarrassed. He surely didn't plan to reveal his feelings so openly to Emma's father; it's not like he's ashamed of them, but this is not the moment, and it's not about him. A little hastily, he goes on, "But whatever shall or shall not come out of that, I truly believe that she cannot be happy without accepting who she is and where her home is."
David nods slowly, appreciatively. "Do you think you can bring her back?" he asks.
Killian raises his eyebrows pensively. "I think she will realize sooner or later that her home is here, with her family. But she might... deny it out of sheer..." he hesitates, not wanting to offend Emma's father, but apparently he's well aware of his daughter's flaws.
"Stubbornness," he jumps in and nods gravely.
Killian tilts his head. "Maybe I can help her accept it."
David slaps his shoulder. "I'd never have thought I'd say that, but... I have faith in you."
Emma can barely keep her fingers from trembling, when she unlocks the door to the apartment she left only like two weeks ago – two weeks in which her life was turned upside down, and back again. No, she's doing the right thing; this is the life she wants for herself and Henry. Entering the place she's been living in for a year should feel like home, if everything she's been telling herself throughout the last few days is true – it should.
It doesn't.
She ignores that alarming fact and turns to Henry with a bright smile. "Come on, kid, let's just leave our bags here, and then go get some groceries." She nudges his shoulder. "Hey, you know what? I'm in the mood for ice cream. We could get some rocky road of your fave brand, what do you say?"
The look Henry gives her can only be described as defiant boredom. "My other mom promised me that, too," he replies pointedly, "when she threatened everyone, so I went home with her. She tried to bribe me, saying I could have everything I wanted, now that she had back her magic."
"Henry..."
"I'm tired," he interrupts. "Can I stay here, so I can put away my stuff and settle back in?"
"Okay, of course," Emma replies eagerly and drops her travel bag in the living room while Henry shuffles to his room without another word. "Hey," she calls after him and when he turns around again, she's relieved that he doesn't look openly hostile (as he did at times during their car ride). She smiles at him tentatively. "Will you at least try?" she asks, her voice almost pleading.
He shrugs almost indifferently. "Sure." Then he looks at her pointedly and raises his eyebrows, an awfully familiar gesture. "Like you tried."
Then he turns around and shuffles to his room, leaving her with her mouth hanging open. Welcome home.
The following days aren't easy; in fact, they're pretty difficult. The bailbonds agency she used to get most of her assignments from is rather understanding and tells her to take a few days' time to settle back in; they're just too happy to have their most successful hunter back to complain. So, she doesn't work for a few days and tries everything to recreate the happy routine she and Henry used to have before she remembered her old, her real life... was that only a few weeks ago? She acts like they have only been away for holidays, acts like their whole lives haven't been turned upside down, as if everything about their happy routine hasn't been a charade. She tells herself over and over again that, even though their memories were fake, their lives weren't. She tells herself that, eventually, Henry will get there, too.
At the moment, of course, he refuses to. He drops the open hostility, he goes back to school, even contacts and meets up with a few of his friends, but he openly lacks the enthusiasm, the zest for life and optimism that always has been such a prominent feature in him during their year together.
But Emma knows, he's just being stubborn, reminding her very much of her own mother in this trait. Well, she can be stubborn, too.
The fourth day, she decides it's time to pay a visit to the agency and see if they have an assignment for her; maybe an easy one, for starters. But she's got to pay for their rent and food, right? So she needs to go back to work soon.
After Henry has left for school, she puts their breakfast plates in the dishwasher and makes a round through the apartment to check that all windows are closed (this is New York, after all) before she picks up her purse and looks for her phone.
A sharp knock at the door startles her while she's crawling beneath the coffee table where her phone apparently dropped from the couch. She remembers that she's placed an online order for groceries and calls, "Just a moment! If you can't wait, put it on the floor, I'll pick it right up."
When she's retrieved the damn phone, she heads for the door, cursing as she stubs her toe, and opens the apartment door, eyes directed downward, already halfway diving down to pick up the box with the grocery delivery. But surprisingly, there is no box.
The first thing she sees as her eyes sweep upwards is black: black boots, black skinny jeans on lean legs, a black leather jacket. It's almost like... but no, she's being ridiculous. These are normal clothes, and there are two hands, and... when her eyes reach the man's face, she almost gasps, because for a moment there her stupid mind has almost fooled her, but that moment just lasts for the fraction of a second. It lasts until she realizes that her eyes, her mind haven't been fooling her at all. This might be rather a rock star attire than a pirate one, but the blue eyes with the crinkled skin around them and unmistakable smile confirm that the man before her is most definitely a pirate, a familiar one.
Well, shit.