Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time
Chapter One: The Consequences of Utilizing Darkness and Light
It was a cool, foggy night. The residents of Mist Haven—a relaxed town in Maine, where everything remained perpetually stagnant (though wouldn't be remaining stagnant for very much longer)—were all asleep, save for two young parents, who went by the names of Mary Margaret Charming and David Charming. Those weren't their real names, of course, but they were close enough that no one would suspect them of being tied to Marion Magdalena Nolan—also known as 'White Out'—and Daniel Nolan—or 'The Shepherd'. Two of the most famous (to the Eastern Seaboard, at least) superheroes in superhero history, living in the sluggish town of Mist Haven.
Lulling their newborn baby to sleep.
The baby smacked her lips sleepily as she gave in to her exhaustion and fell into a dream. Mary Margaret smiled softly, cradling the infant closer to her chest. Six months old. She was only six months old, but she'd already made Mary Margaret and David the happiest parents around. At six months, both she and David had already developed their powers. But Emma was normal, and the couple couldn't have been happier.
And they couldn't have been more fatigued. Because, with their baby, it was finally time for them to put away their masks and give up the life of saving the world. It didn't matter that the Evil Queen was still at large, still terrorizing citizens of the world, stealing and killing and ruining lives. They had to think of their daughter.
So they packaged away their costumes in the late hours of the night, and went to sleep, dreaming peacefully of their daughter.
It was a cool, foggy night. The residents of Storybrooke—a relaxed town in Maine, where everything remained perpetually stagnant (though wouldn't be remaining stagnant for very much longer)—were all asleep, save for the town's mayor, who went by the name of Regina Mills. That wasn't her real name, of course, but it was close enough that no one would suspect her of being tied to Reyna Millerton—also known as the Evil Queen. One of the most notorious and infamous (to the Eastern Seaboard, at least) of villains in villain history, mayor of the sluggish town of Storybrooke.
Thinking of the one thing that might possibly give her life meaning.
She'd tried, many times, to get pregnant by herself, but had always taken a morning after pill the next day. She couldn't very well terrorize the world while dealing with a pregnancy. And her peers—the Queens of Darkness, they called themselves—would take her place as the most notorious and infamous (to the Eastern Seaboard, at least) of villains in villain history in an instant, and she couldn't very well have that. She had a reputation to uphold.
So Regina scanned articles of births in Maine, until she finally found one that was close enough to make a trip to, but far enough away that no one would suspect Regina's new daughter to be connected to—Regina glanced at the article again—the Charming's missing daughter.
Regina smiled. She'd always wanted a daughter.
It was a cool, foggy morning. The residents of Riverton—a relaxed town in Massachusetts, where everything remained perpetually stagnant (though wouldn't be remaining stagnant for very much longer)—were all asleep, save for the young son of a fisherman. He lay in bed, restless, his older brother curled around him protectively. His name was Killian Jones, and this was his real name. He was not notorious in any way, was simply the dark-haired toddler who followed after Liam Jones wherever his older brother went.
He was playing with the shadows around him. Where he wanted them to go, they went, and what he wanted them to do, they did. Killian had been doing this for as long as he could remember—though he could not remember very far—and had made a game of it. How long could he keep it up before the shadows played with him?
On this cool, foggy morning in Riverton, it did not take very long. The shadows were waning, but the fog was drawing them closer to Killian and his brother than they had ever been allowed to go. The fog was spilling through the cracked window, reaching, seeking, ready to touch Killian and his brother as soon as Killian lost control.
And he did lose control. But he was not the one who paid for it.
Killian didn't notice when his brother's arms tightened around him, didn't notice when they started getting cold. He only drifted off, finally, and slept soundly without the nightmares that came when the shadows decided to play with him.
The next morning, he woke up to his father's screams.
Seventeen Years Later
Growing up, Killian Jones never really understood the fact that his powers had killed his brother. He'd been too young to understand, too young to truly comprehend the gravity of what he'd done. His father never mentioned anything, though he'd had his suspicions, and had never treated Killian different afterwards. So Killian went on with his life, none the wiser that his playing with the shadows had ended Liam's life.
It wasn't until Milah, Killian's fiancée, spent the night in his arms in his apartment that Killian truly understood what a menace he was.
He'd never liked the nightmares that came after he exercised his power—never liked how heavy he felt for days afterwards, weighed down by the darkness. But it only lasted a short while, and it gave him such a thrill to use his talent that he'd always just said 'screw the consequences' and played with the shadows anyways.
It wasn't the first time Milah had spent the night, but it was the night that Killian had decided to show her what he could do. It would either make or break their relationship, and Killian had faith that Milah would stick with him, even after knowing the truth.
And he'd been right, reveling in the excitement and joy she'd experienced after watching Killian's shadow-play. When they'd fallen to sleep, Killian had drifted under with a smile plastered to his face, unaware that his fiancée would become his second victim.
It wasn't until Milah's cause of death had come back that she'd been scared to death that Killian realized he was the problem.
Four months later, Killian moved to Boston, intent to leave his past behind him, intent to atone for his sins.
Growing up, Emma Mills had to walk on eggshells around her mother. Most of the time, she didn't know what to say to her, and what she did say was always wrong. She knew her mother loved her—Regina had chosen to be her mother, and that counted for something, right?
It did count for something, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to keep Emma in the stagnant town of Storybrooke after she graduated high school and turned eighteen. She knew she would visit, but in the meantime she needed to figure things out for herself—needed to figure out who she was, and why she was…well, the way she was.
She left in the middle of the night—not running away, she told herself, just leaving in a way that will keep my mother from keeping me from leaving. She packed a change of clothes, some cash, a toothbrush, and food in her backpack, hopped in a yellow bug that she'd easily broken into, and left without a second thought.
Not knowing where to head, she finally ended up in Boston, Massachusetts.
It took Emma a day and a half to get a job as an intern at the police station. She'd always been interested in law enforcement, so it was lucky for her that the Chief of Police, David Charming took one look at her and decided that they needed an intern.
It took Emma three weeks to settle in to her new apartment, where she'd been generously offered lodging with David Charming and his wife, Mary Margaret Charming, on three conditions; that she agreed to apply to Boston University for the fall, that she not bring any boys over, and that she consider them her friends, not just her boss and the boss's wife. They'd been easy enough terms to agree to, so three months later Emma found herself taking several different classes at Boston University—she'd gotten a full scholarship—and generally just enjoying her new life.
She often thought of her mother, and thought of calling her, but then she would decide against it. If she told her mother where she was and what she was doing, Regina would drag her straight back to Storybrooke. So, instead, Emma stayed under the radar for four blissfully long months.
The months would not remain blissfully under the radar for very much longer.
Now
Emma was exhausted. It had been a long day at school; she'd taken two exams, and had had to stand in front of her classmates to do a presentation on Byzantine art history. She was extremely thankful that it was a Thursday, because she didn't have to go to work on Thursdays, and could go straight home. Mary Margaret would be waiting at home with a cup of cinnamon hot chocolate and a Disney movie—it had been their Thursday and Sunday ritual ever since Mary Margaret learned that Emma's mother had never let her watch any Disney movie's as a child.
She was lethargically hailing a cab, hoping that someone would see her, when she heard it. It was quiet, almost nonexistent, but it was there; the sounds of a scuffle. Emma whirled around, looking for the source of the noise. It wasn't very crowded, and she must have been the only one who heard it—or the only one who cared—because no one else seemed slightly concerned.
Following the noise to the alleyway behind the Grinning Goblin, an eclectic tattoo parlor, Emma finally saw the cause of the noise. A woman was being held by her neck, at least a foot of the ground, by a large man in dark clothes.
Emma was conflicted for two seconds. On the one hand, she wouldn't be able to fight off a man of that size by herself, and if she called the cops it would probably be too late by the time they arrived anyways. On the other hand, she could use her powers and—incapacitate—the man in a split second…but her powers always turned on her, and she probably wouldn't get home in enough time to collapse unless she used them some more and worsened the after-effects for herself.
But when she heard the woman's strangled pleas for help, she knew her decision was made.
Sprinting into the alley, Emma checked to make sure there was no one else around, no one looking at her, before she raised her hands and called forth the sweet, sweet magic that lay dormant beneath her fingertips. It sang to her as the light flowed brilliantly through her hands, eager to please, ecstatic that she had finally used her power after nearly nine years of not touching the bubble of lightness that weighed down on her mind.
As the strands of thin white light danced towards the woman's attacker, Emma incited them to solidify, to become a physical attack.
Within a moment, the attacker was lying unconscious against the nearest dumpster.
Emma consoled the petrified woman, who thanked her profusely before hurrying off, not bothering to get Emma's name or even to look at her twice. It was for the better, this way—Emma could feel the light turning its attention from the unconscious man to Emma.
Emma sighed, took a deep breath, and focused, again, on her powers—this time forcing them to carry her home. This took up the most of her energy, and she'd probably end up regretting her decision to run home at the speed of light, but collapsing in her room was better than collapsing in an alleyway. Not that it mattered to her. However, one way she would be vulnerable and missed after the light took its penance, and the other way Mary Margaret and David would at least know where she was, eventually.
Emma fumbled with her key to get the door open, but couldn't manage it. Her fingers were shaking, her breath was coming too quickly, and the light was ready. A breath later, Emma vanished from sight.
Mary Margaret and David found her five and a half hours later, collapsed against the door. Emma had awoken as soon as she felt the other woman touch her shoulder, and stood up too quickly, felt the blood rush to her head. She saw a third figure standing awkwardly behind David, but had to close her eyes again as she fell back down.
Emma felt Mary Margaret steadying her, and a moment later she was in someone's arms—probably David's, since she doubted Mary Margaret would be able to carry her— as she was carried to the living room couch. There, she passed out again—more from exhaustion than anything else—just as a blanket was being wrapped around her shoulders.
Earlier that Day
Golden Swan Saves Woman: Thursday afternoon behind the Grinning Goblin tattoo parlor, at the corner of Bagger and Thirty-Seventh, thirty-two year old pastry chef Carolina Johannes was saved by a mysterious woman described as "…graceful as a swan, with cool golden light surrounding her." Johannes told the Boston PD. Later, they found Johannes' attacker unconscious in the same alley Johannes was attacked in. Police have apprehended the suspect, though they've yet to release his identity, and he is being questioned.
Who is this Swan? Where has she come from? Will she be the next White or The Shepherd? You'll get the answers here first, in the Superhero Spotlight with Killian Jones.
Killian submitted the short article, to be printed in the Saturday paper, and went back to his desk to work on his blog. It didn't take him long to figure out that he would be getting no work done, however; thoughts of this Golden Swan were heavy in his mind. Who was she? Where did she come from? From Johannes' description, she'd been plainclothes, not a suited superhero at all. So why did she have powers, and where had she been hiding?
Killian intended to find out.
"Jones!" Killian looked up, and grinned. "You need to take back what you said in yesterday's blog about the Shepherd."
"David," Killian greeted the taller man. "Charming as always. May I ask what the problem is?"
David crossed his arms, frowning. He glanced around, saw that there was no one within earshot, and leaned close to Killian. His blue eyes were stern as he said "I never wore spandex, it was a poly-cotton blend."
Killian's grin widened. "Never said you wore spandex, mate—"
"The implication was there, mate," retorted David.
"—nevertheless, I can't take back my statement. Number one rule of journalism; always tell the truth."
David's eyes narrowed. "It wasn't the truth, Jones."
Killian shrugged. "Number two rule of journalism; if the truth isn't interesting enough, fabricate."
David sighed. Killian could tell he was about to argue, but was surprised when he steered the conversation in a different direction.
"I need you to find out all you can about Emma Mills. Where she comes from, what she does in her spare time, why she came to Boston, the whole deal. If she threw up in class when she was eight on a Friday, I want to know."
Killian raised an eyebrow. He waited for the punch line of the joke, but David was dead serious. "Your housemate? Can't really find out about her if you and Mary Margaret have forbidden me from even laying eyes on her."
David glared at him. "You don't need to meet her to learn about her past, Jones." David hesitated, his glare faltering. "Come for dinner. You can meet her, and then get to work. Use any methods at your disposal—the Boston PD may not turn a blind eye if they find out, but in this case, I will."
"Are you saying—"
"Any and all, Captain."
Killian nodded, but he wasn't thrilled about the 'permission.' His power-using—and abusing—days were short-lived and behind him. He'd sworn never to use his powers again, and he was a man of his word. So he would meet this Emma Mills, learn about her, and give his report to David. But he wouldn't become that man again.
Author's Note: Tell me what you think! Or don't. I hope you enjoyed this chapter either way! I still don't really know where I'm going with this, so updates will probably be really slow. But I hope to have caught your attention enough that it's worth the wait ;)
Also, let it be known that I know nothing about Boston, and anything/place/street mentioned in this story are purely fictional and imagined. Thank you.
-Ashlee Frame