Hide Yourself Away

Emma Swan was six years old the first time something – weird – happened. One of the older foster kids had been chasing after her. She couldn't remember what she had done to make him angry. She ran as fast as she could, but she was small for her age, the other kid was ten and big. He caught her easily.

His first push knocked her to the floor. Then he got on top of her, raising his fist to lay into her. That was when the light above them exploded, showering him with glass. Emma flinched, but none of the glass hit her, instead falling to the sides around her. But the boy had had several deep cuts requiring stitches.

He'd tried to blame Emma, saying she'd done something, but luckily for her, their foster parents didn't believe him. Emma didn't believe him. She'd thought it was a miracle, that something or someone had saved her from the beating she had surely been about to receive.

The boy was gone a few days later. Emma only stayed a couple months longer.

She never lasted long anywhere.


Nothing strange happened to Emma again until she was ten. She was in a new foster home, one she didn't like at all. Her foster dad drank a lot. And when he drank too much, he got mean. Most of the time, he focused on his wife, but sometimes, Emma was the closest thing to him, and she took the brunt of his anger. She bore it for a month. But then one day, he didn't stop with his hands and fists.

They had been in the kitchen. She'd been washing the dishes, and she dropped a knife. It landed point down in the floor, not six inches from where her foster dad was walking to the refrigerator to get another bottle. Emma froze, petrified, as he looked down at the knife, then slowly up at her, murder in his eyes.

She turned to run, but he grabbed her by the arm in a grip hard enough to bruise. He held her still as he slapped her in the face. Emma wanted to cry out, but she had quickly learned that making noise made the punishment last longer. So she stayed silent, waiting for it to end.

But that time it didn't. He kept hitting her, screaming at her all the while. "You clumsy, dangerous little brat!" he yelled at her as another fist rained down, this time on her forearm. He was usually smart enough to hit the girl where the bruises wouldn't show, but he was too angry. "You could have taken off my toe! But you meant to do that, didn't you? That's what you wanted!" He hit her arm again, and that time, Emma heard something crack. Agony raced up all the way to her shoulder and past. Despite her best efforts, Emma couldn't hold back a whimper of pain.

"You weak, cowardly little menace!" her foster dad shouted. "None of you ever learn!" That was when he reached for something a little more substantial to hit Emma with. She didn't know what he was going for, but all of a sudden, flames came out of nowhere, leaping from the stove and encasing his arm. Her foster dad screamed in pain, forgetting all about Emma and letting her go as he beat out the flames.

She huddled on the floor, cradling the arm she was pretty sure was broken. Emma didn't know what had happened, but she had felt something just before the flames had appeared. It was like all her fear had balled up in her chest and then jumped away from her, and she hadn't been so scared anymore, and then the fire had burned her foster dad.

"What did you do!" his yelling got her attention again. Emma looked up at the man from her spot on the floor, terrified. "You did this! I know you did! Did you plan it? Distract me with the knife and booby-trap the stove? Is that what you did?!"

He grabbed her bad arm and yanked her up, causing her to scream in pain. He let go quickly, but still jerked her out the door and to the car. "We're going to the hospital and you're gonna tell them what you did to me," he threatened. Emma flinched away from him, curling up in a ball on the back seat floor, making herself as small as possible.

The wait in the emergency room had seemed endless. Her foster dad had calmed down, no longer able to yell at her without causing a scene. Emma sat in a seat across the aisle from him, rocking in place as she held her arm still. Finally, he had been called back to be seen, and she had gone with him and the doctor, staying as far behind them as possible.

As her foster dad was being seen, a nurse walked up to where she sat. "Do you want anything sweetheart?" the older woman asked kindly. Emma shook her head mutely, still holding her arm. "Did you hurt yourself sweetie?" the nurse asked, reaching for her arm.

Emma jerked it away but gasped in pain at the movement, causing the nurse to frown. "Honey, I want to show you something. Will you come with me?" she offered, holding out her hand. Emma stared up at her for a moment before silently standing up, ignoring the proffered hand. The woman let it go and place a hand behind Emma's back to usher her away.

"Where are you taking the girl?" her foster dad yelled from his bed.

"To get some coloring books and crayons. It's going to be a little while longer," the nurse answered firmly over her shoulder as she took Emma away.

When they got to a closed door, the nurse opened it and waved Emma inside, closing and locking the door behind them and shutting the blinds. "Now, sweetheart, we're alone and nobody can hear us," she assured the frightened girl. "My name is Jackie. I want you to tell me: how did you hurt your arm?" Jackie asked.

"I fell," Emma replied immediately in a small voice.

Jackie nodded sadly. "You fell," she agreed. "And do you maybe have other places that hurt from when you fell?"

Emma's eyes widened and she hesitated. What if the nurse got her in trouble? Could they do that? Weren't they supposed to help people? She was silent for a few more moments before she quietly lifted up her shirt to show the lady the patchwork of bruises littering her stomach, chest, and back. Several of them were deep enough to show discernible finger outlines of her foster dad's fists.

Jackie looked and walked around Emma for several minutes before nodding to herself. "Okay. What's your name, honey?"

Emma took a little time to answer. "Emma Swan," she finally murmured, barely above a whisper.

"That's a lovely name, Emma. Now, can you sit up on the bed for me?" Emma nodded and clambered onto the tall bed one-handed, holding her injured arm tightly to her body. "Good girl. I'm going to go get somebody I want to look at your arm, but I'm going to be right back. Is that alright?" Jackie asked.

Emma looked up at the nurse, terror in her eyes. "I promise he doesn't know where you are, and I'm going to make sure you never have to see him again," Jackie quickly reassured her. "Do you believe me?" Emma nodded, not replying. "Two ticks, and I'll be back."

Emma was left alone with her thoughts. She hardly dared to hope that she would never have to go home with her foster father again, that she was going to be rescued. But that thought quickly turned to what had caused them to be at the hospital in the first place. She remembered the fire, and her fear, and maybe she had been a little mad? Angry at her foster dad for hurting her all the time.

He had blamed her for the fire, but it couldn't have been her fault. Could it? No way, she told herself. That would be like magic, and Emma had learned long ago that magic didn't exist. There were no fairytales, no Prince Charmings or dashing knights coming to her rescue. It had to have been a freak accident. It couldn't have been anything else.

Soon enough, Jackie had come back with a doctor. They'd put her arm in a cast, and by the time they'd finished, the police and her social worker had arrived. They'd asked her all sorts of questions, and finally taken her away to be placed in a different foster home. She'd hugged Jackie on her way out, quietly muttering a thank you before running to catch up with her social worker. She'd looked back once to see Jackie wiping away a few tears, and waved.

Her foster father, while being arrested, had tried to claim that Emma had set a trap for him and tried to kill him, but no one believed someone that slapped kids around. Besides, even if they had, they probably would have just applauded the little girl brave enough to stand up to the man that hurt her.

Emma tried to forget the whole thing had ever happened, but sometimes, fire haunted her dreams. And in some of them, she controlled the flames.


Over the next few years, unusual incidents became more common around Emma. Lights would flicker when she was angry, or shatter, and sometimes people mysteriously got hurt when they teased Emma or went after her, kids and adults alike. Without fail, every time something weird happened, Emma was upset or angry. The strange events were what usually ended Emma's time in a specific foster home, sending her packing to a new one. She had been in nine different homes in the last three years, and it was in the tenth, when she was thirteen, that Emma finally decided that maybe there was something wrong with her.

She hated her new school. With all of her soul she hated it. Her entire class made fun of her all the time for her secondhand clothes, for riding the bus everyday, for not having lunches packed for her, for not having parents that wanted her. The list was endless.

One rainy day during a break, a few of the meaner kids ganged up on her, cornering her and gathering around to block the teacher's view. They'd started in where they had left off that morning, taunting her about not being good enough for her parents, and that's why she was an orphan.

"Maybe she was an ugly baby," one boy snickered.

"Or maybe her dad wasn't even her dad, and that's why they didn't want her," another one whispered gleefully.

"Stop it," Emma pleaded. "Just stop."

"What, don't like hearing the truth?" the second boy jeered. "Don't want to hear about how your mom didn't even love your dad, so how could she love you?"

"Hey, leave her alone," a quiet girl who was one of the only ones that never teased Emma said from behind them.

The three boys turned to look at the newcomer. "What?" the third boy who hadn't spoken yet asked. "Do you have something to say about the stupid little orphan too?"

"Shut up," Emma whispered, but they either didn't hear her or ignored her.

The smaller girl had been cowed by being confronted by all three bullies at once. She stood silent, fear plain on her face.

"I didn't think so," the first boy said smugly. "No one would have anything good to say about a dirty foster kid. Everyone knows they carry all kinds of things."

"I said shut up," Emma repeated, a little louder this time.

The three boys turned back to face her. "Did you say something, orphan?" one of them asked.

"I said stop it," she replied, glaring at them.

They all looked at each other before bursting into laughter. "And why would we listen to someone like you?" the largest boy taunted. "A stupid, dirty, unwanted, unloved orphan. That's all you'll ever be," he continued. Emma clenched her hands. "I heard they found you on the side of the road, is that true? They couldn't even bother to take you to a hospital?"

"SHUT UP!" Emma shouted.

She felt something go through her and leave, and then the windows of the classroom shattered. Glass sprayed everywhere. Several students screamed in pain and others cried out as rain came lashing in through the now open windows. The teacher leapt up and quickly ushered them out the door and down the stairs before calling 9-1-1.

Emma had never felt so guilty in her life as she watched an ambulance drive up. She had done this. She knew she had. She felt it as it happened. And while she couldn't make herself feel bad about the cuts the three bullies had received, the girl that had stood up for her and been caught in the blast as well, along with several other students. And that Emma could and did feel guilty about.

School officials eventually called it an accident: claiming that a particularly forceful gust of wind from the storm had been enough to break the old windows. But Emma knew the truth. She was dangerous. She could hurt people – had been hurting people her whole life. And she knew what caused it.

After that incident, Emma shut down. She kept a tight control on her emotions, tucked herself away, not allowing herself to be angry or scared, ever. She didn't let people in, didn't make friends – because when they left her behind like everyone eventually did, she couldn't be responsible for injury to someone else.


For four years, Emma was good. She didn't have another incident, as far as she could tell. She managed to keep everything under wraps. She was moved from foster home to foster home, staying at an orphanage while between homes, and never once did she make a mistake. Finally, she ran away when she was seventeen.

She met Neal, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt happy. She felt safe. She let herself allow someone in behind her walls, and he stayed. For months, they were happy.

But then he set her up, left her behind, just like everyone else. Only this time, she ended up alone in prison, pregnant at eighteen. And when Emma gave birth, she was chained to a bed, and she watched in horror as the light's above her flickered. She quickly stamped on her emotions, shutting them down. No way in hell was her "condition" going to harm her child. No chance.

The flickering lights just reinforced Emma's decision to give her little boy up. Not only could she not give him his best chance, but she was a danger to him.

She deserved to be alone.


Eleven years passed, and Emma wasn't bothered by her little problem again. But then her son appeared out of nowhere, taking her to a tiny little town called Storybrooke and calling her the Savior. He claimed that her parents were Snow White and Prince Charming, that magic was real, and that she needed to bring back the happy endings.

His words set Emma into a tail spin of panic. She'd spent the last eleven years of her life convincing herself that what she had didn't exist. Pretending nothing weird had ever happened to her. And for someone who could nearly always tell when a person was lying, Emma was excellent at lying to herself.

So when she finally believed in the curse and broke it by saving Henry, she nearly had a panic attack. All of it was true. People had magic – she had magic.

But then there was too much going on, and she could forget about it. First she was pulled into a portal and dragged to her parent's old realm, met the Evil Queen's evil mother, and Captain freaking Hook, who was far too good-looking for his own good. Then she and Mary Margaret were back, and there was so much else to deal with: Neal, Tamara and Greg, Hook, and Rumpelstiltskin. And when Gold had said she had magic, Emma almost blurted out that she knew that already, but at the last second, held her tongue. That knowledge was dangerous.

So she played it like she had had no clue. And when they went to Neverland to rescue Henry from freaking Peter Pan, Emma learned that maybe different emotions could affect her magic. When Hook was pulled away from her by Pan's shadow, she nearly lost it. But by concentrating on her fear of losing him, she was able to save him.

However, magic was still much more dangerous than it was useful. Emma could lose control at any time, and she knew it.


When Emma brought Killian back to life after Gold had almost drowned him, she'd lost her magic. And she had never felt so relieved. Now she wouldn't hurt someone without meaning to. Maybe she could stop being the Savior, because didn't the Savior need magic to actually save people? She could go back to New York, with Henry, and not have to worry anymore. She could give him a normal life. She could give herself a normal life.

But then she and Killian had their little adventure in the past, and all of a sudden she needed her magic to work. To come back. Because Killian had called her out on her walls, and her fear, and she just wanted to see her family again. And when Killian pointed out the glowing wand to her, Emma felt her magic roaring through her body again, and it made her positively gleeful.

And they'd gotten home. She'd gotten them home. And she and Killian had finally started something real. Emma let her walls down for the first time in years, and kissed Killian like she'd been wanting to for what felt like months. There was a fiasco later when the woman she'd rescued turned out to be Robin's long-lost wife, but Emma could deal with that when Killian was standing right next to her, offering his support.

However, the next morning, everything fell apart once again. Emma had been feeling so damn good. Killian had met up with her and her family while they were walking to Granny's for breakfast and pulled her away for a "word", which mainly involved a lot of flirting on both sides. And just as he had stepped in even closer, Grumpy of course had to come screaming down the street that the world was ending yet again.

Someone was causing a freak cold spell in the town, and that person was quickly revealed to be Elsa. Emma couldn't hold back a groan when she learned the girl's name. Of course Frozen was real had made her watch that movie during their year in New York without memories, and she had actually found herself loving it. Something about Elsa had really resonated with Emma, although she hadn't been able to figure out what it was.

Now, with her memories back, Emma realized that it was her understanding of not feeling in control of the power inside of you that had drawn her to Elsa's character. And now, here the girl was, in the flesh, apparently still not in control. It brought all of Emma's fears back to the fore of her mind, but she pushed them away as she tried to keep Elsa calm. She managed this with only a few minor mishaps – a frozen window, an icicle breaking through Doc's windshield – and set her up in one of Granny's rooms, promising the young girl that she and David would help her find her sister and Kristoff. That seemed to finally reassure Elsa.

But Emma trudged back to her own room down the hall, lost in dark memories. Killian was in his room, but Emma ignored it in favor of being alone. She knew exactly how Elsa felt. She remembered all the times that she had lost control and hurt someone unintentionally, as Elsa had done with Anna. Her power was based on the magic of True Love, but Emma had known from an early age just how quickly that motivation could turn to anger and fear – how easy it was to lose control.

Emma let herself into her room and closed the door behind her, not even bothering to lock it. She moved to a corner of the room across from her bed, huddling down, making herself as small as possible – just as she had done as a child. Her memories took her straight back to the time when she was small and, she thought, defenseless.

Despite the last couple days of acceptance of herself she'd experienced since her return from the past, meeting Elsa threw Emma's walls right back up. She had to close it down, turn off the emotions. She was getting too worked up, she could hurt someone. And Storybrooke couldn't afford to have two uncontrollable witches out there. One, with ice powers, was bad enough.

"Swan, are you in there?" she heard Killian's voice come in through the door. "I thought I heard you coming from the Elsa girl's room."

Emma wanted to answer, but she didn't have a handle on her emotions yet. She didn't want to accidentally set Killian on fire or something else just as drastic, so she stayed silent.

But Killian wasn't having any of it. He opened the door slowly. "I know you're in here," he warned, but stopped halfway into the room, surprised at the darkness that met him. "Swan?" he asked, looking toward the bed. But it was empty. He scanned the room before his eyes finally fell on her curled up body, hunkered in the corner.

"Emma!" Killian quickly knelt by her side, taking her hand and feeling the tremors that shook her.. "Emma, love, what's wrong?" he asked gently. "Did Elsa hurt you?"

Emma shook her head quickly. She didn't want Killian storming out of there and making Elsa cause a blizzard or something. Killian relaxed a bit at that, sat down beside her, and tried to pull her into his arms, but she held her body stiff against the wall, refusing to move.

"Emma, something is wrong. Did I upset you in some manner?" he asked earnestly.

Emma just shook her head again. "It's dangerous," she finally said.

"I daresay, whatever it is, we've faced worse, love," Killian joked.

Emma shook her head. "You have to go," she told him. "I just want to be alone."

Killian shot her a hurt look, but quickly composed his face into a smirk, trying to play it off. "May I ask why I am being so summarily dismissed?" he asked, using his pirate I-don't-give-a-damn voice that Emma hated.

"It doesn't matter. Just go," she said again.

"What happened, Swan?" he asked, switching back to using her last name. Emma wouldn't admit to herself that that hurt just a bit. "What has caused this sudden change of heart?"

"I don't want you here," Emma whispered, trying to get him to go before she inevitably lost control of her power and hurt him like she'd hurt the last person that had tried to help her. She thought people had always left her, but it wasn't true. She had been driving them away her whole life. And now she had to get Killian to go before he became another casualty in the long list that was the shit of her life.

"No, I don't believe that," Killian insisted. "You wanted me here this morning. What could possibly have changed in such a short span of time?"

Emma jerked to her feet and moved away from him, pacing back and forth across the room from him. "Nothing's changed. I just realized something that's always been true."

"Do enlighten me," Killian drawled.

Emma groaned and sunk to the floor again, her back against the wall. Killian crossed the room to sit beside her once more, but when she scooted away, he accepted it without a twitch. "I'm not in control," she finally whispered, her hands covering her face muffling the sound even more. "My magic comes from True Love, but that's not the only thing that brings it out. I knew I had magic years ago," she admitted. Killian stiffened, but remained silent. "I didn't know exactly what it was," she amended, "but I knew I had something. And it only came out when I was scared or angry. I caused – accidents."

"What kinds of accidents?" Killian asked softly when Emma didn't continue right away, slipping his hand into hers.

Emma allowed it. "Mostly glass shattering, a few light bulbs. But once, I made flames appear out of nowhere, and I burned my foster father pretty bad. Of course, he had just broken my arm, so I didn't feel too guilty at the time." Killian's hand tightened around hers to the point of pain. "But a couple of times, I hurt people who were kind to me and were just in the way, like Elsa has," she went on. "And that just made me realize that I am in no way in control of whatever this is inside of me. All of my success with it has been a fluke. So you need to leave before I do something I can't take back. Elsa freezes peoples' hearts. Who knows, maybe I can set them on fire," she muttered bitterly, burying her face in her knees.

"I refuse to believe that, Emma," Killian said firmly. "You say your magic is dangerous, very well. That may be so. All magic is, generally. But when was the last time you used it without intention? When was the last time you caused an accident?" he asked gently.

"Twelve years ago," she whispered in reply, eyes closed.

"Over a decade, love. And not once, since then, have you lost control. You made the decision to keep people safe by not using your power, and you accomplished that goal. Now, you use that power to do the same, and you have done that remarkably well also. As I said before, you do not fail," Killian told her, scooting closer to her carefully, and putting an arm around her shoulders when she didn't protest the movement.

This time, instead of pulling away, Emma leaned into his side, accepting the comfort Killian was offering. "I'm scared," she muttered. "I'm so scared of everything. I don't know how to do this: letting you in, being in a relationship, controlling my magic, any of it."

"For such an unknowing person, you do quite well," Killian smirked. "Nobody expects miracles from you, Emma. You do your best, and when it's not enough, other people pick up the remainder. I will be by your side, and if you somehow lose control, I will remind you of what you fight for. I promise."

Emma curled into him even more, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes despite her best efforts. "I always drove people away. I didn't understand why they didn't want me for a long time, but then I finally figured out that I scared them off. No one ever stayed. And now, I have all these people, and sometimes that's even more frightening," she said, finally telling him one of her deepest fears. "Because if I lose someone, if I lose you, it will be so much worse than ever before. And if I'm the cause, I couldn't handle that."

Killian shifted Emma onto his lap so she could bury her face in his chest. "I'm not going anywhere, lass. Not unless you order me away. So we'll just have to learn together."

He held her through the night, whispering reassurances to her as she told him some of the things about her childhood that she'd always kept hidden. And with every word, Emma felt a tiny bit of her fear slip away, because she had someone to hold her up. Killian believed in her with every fiber of his being, and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.