Disclaimer: Not mine!
AN: This show is eating my brain. idk where this came from. It started off as one idea, and ended up as another, as some fics do. I really just wanted an excuse to write fluffy AU scenes :D i blame Adam and Eddie, for not giving me some David/Emma fluff like with Mary Margaret, cause now I'm just coming up with it on my own :D I'm not gonna lie, it's the fluffiest fluff i've ever written. I hope it's to everyone's liking, but please, let me know! :)
When the Princess Emma is four, she asks her father if she is pretty.
In the small courtyard of the castle she lives in with her parents, she sits alone at a table with three small dolls and a very professional looking stuffed bear with a monocle. She speaks to them as if they are real, nods in agreement and sips at the non-existent tea in the cups as she lives in her imagination. She looks around from time to time to see if her mother or father are coming, but they are nowhere in site. No one seems to be.
She eventually decides she is done and her nanny escorts her back inside the castle and takes her to her room. She doesn't even ask where her parents are; they're probably with the new baby.
A boy, born only weeks before, has been a very unwelcome guest to Emma's world. She has, for so long, been the one who got all the attention and was the center of her parents world, but the arrival of her little brother has rocked it off it's axis, sending her asunder. She is young, still, but the afternoons are busy and so she wanders away at times. Her nanny is flirting with one of the men in the employ of her parents when she grabs her dolly and begins to head toward her mother's rooms. She knows better than to take the stairs; she has fallen down some once before and hurt herself enough. She doesn't want to do that again.
She comes to her mothers sitting room, where the sewing, conversation and leisure takes place. Like a proper lady, she sits herself upon a settee in the corner and grabs a comb as she begins a conversation with Dolly and brushes her hair. And that's when her eyes catching glinting gold in the sunlight.
A pair of scissors.
Dolly's hair is a bit tangled, and has always been long and boring. She's pretty sure her mother is away with Aunt Red, and she knows not where her father is. Even though she knows she is not supposed to touch her mother's things, she weighs her options and goes for it. Dolly needs her hair cut.
By the time she is finished, and her father wanders in to his wife's quarters to find her (at the panicked insistence of the nanny, no less, which sends his heart racing but sets his mind still-she could not have gone far, for she doesn't like the stone stairwells) he is struck first with shock, then amusement. She turns, green eyes wide with her hand caught in the cookie jar (or pair of scissors, more appropriately), her Dolly laying aside her with a crop cut and pieces of her own golden locks everywhere, the hair still attached to her head askew and uneven. He bites his lip to keep from laughing; he cannot encourage such behavior.
"Emma, baby, what are you doing? You had Nanny worried sick!"
She drops the scissors at the exclamation and her lip begins to tremble, mistaking his risen voice for anger. He scoops her up quickly and sits on the settee, placing her on his knee. Her beautiful, baby soft blonde curls are gone, but he still smiles, placing a kiss at her temple. "You shouldn't have wandered off, nor grabbed those sharp scissors from her table. You could've gotten hurt!"
"I sorry, daddy."
Her pitiful glance and the words together melt his heart. He cannot discipline her, much to Snow's chagrin most of the time. He cautions her to not do it again, and tickles her a bit to draw a smile. When she realizes she is not in trouble, she laughs and squirms to her feet. He lounges back as she twirls a baby fat finger in her hair and giggles.
"Do you like it, daddy? I pretty?"
He has not the heart. He smiles brilliantly. "You're beautiful, baby. Now, let's get you back to your room."
"Tea party, daddy?" She asks once he scoops her into his arms. "If Leo's sleep?"
The baby has bothered her, he's noticed a few times, and he supposes they've been spending much time with him. As luck would have it, Snow had taken him with her to the woods, leaving their eldest behind with him as he was in a meeting with King Uther. He smiles at her. "Of course, baby."
"Dolly come too!" She leans away from his body toward the floor so much so he has to catch her a bit, and he chuckles before pulling her toward him.
He kneels down, the little girl still at his hip as he bends to pick up the toy. "Dolly too."
Emma Swan has a much different experience. It seems, though, there is one continued experience through many different walks of life. When she is four, she too decides a haircut is necessary.
This is more severe. She's at a home for orphaned children, and there are many so it is difficult for the headmistress to keep everyone straight. During playtime, in a small, cramped crafts room with 15 other little girls, they fight over half used coloring books and ripped scraps of construction paper, mostly broken crayons and clogged glue bottles to amuse themselves. Emma gets bored and gets a hold of a pair of rounded scissors to make paper dolls out of.
She grows tired of that quickly though, much more preferring the lego's the boys have monopolized, and goes to the toy chest, sighing with boredom. She rifles though and finds an old naked Barbie with marker lines all over her body and a missing leg, and decides she needs a makeover.
By the end of it, she has one herself. She has shorn the side pony she was given that morning, wishing to herself she could rid herself of the oversized sweater too. The headmistress stumbles upon her and explodes.
"I just wanted to be pretty." She whispers through her tears soon after, her bottom sore from a spanking, hands at the small of her back. The headmistress scoffs.
"You look like a boy! So much for that!" She spits at her, before turning and stalking away, leaving Emma alone in the corner for a good 20 minutes with only her tears. She goes to bed without supper, and doesn't have her hair cut again for a good 4 years.
Emma knows she is going to be in an enormous amount of trouble.
She breaths hard as she sprints home, over fallen trees and through the overgrown brush. She feels the sharp needles of some branches scratch her face-her mother will not be happy with that-and swears as her toe hits a rock and she tumbles over herself, pausing only a moment to hiss in pain before she takes off once more.
Her tomboyish ways were not frowned upon by Snow White; but when they had an event to attend-like they did tonight, at Aunt Ella's and Uncle Thomas', she was expected to be washed and prepared to get ready early. Not to mention, with her newest sibling only months away in these humid summer days, her mother was less tolerant of her mischief than usual.
She had snuck away though, all the same, sure she would be able to get home in more than enough time to get ready and dressed before her mother even knew she had been gone. But the sky had grown overcast and hidden the sun, and she and some of the village children had gotten caught up in their games before one of them had mentioned having to go home for an earlier supper than usual. She had not even told most of them goodbye, but bolted right from the scene of their play.
Now, as she approaches the castle, the sky has cleared a bit and she can see the remnants of sunlight fading as the big ball of yellow begins it's descent beyond the horizon. She curses to herself, even at 8-a habit she has picked up from listening in on her father's war council, something that she would be sorely punished for if her mother ever heard-and heads toward a small passage in a tower closest to her rooms. She estimates that she has a little more than an hour to bathe and be dressed. She is thankful that dinner will be a late one at her Aunt and Uncle's.
She makes her way up a servants stairwell, knowing it will be easier to sneak around that way and hopes to herself that her mother is so tied up with her two smaller brothers to be worried about her. When she slides into her rooms, they appear empty, a basin sitting behind a screen full with water-probably lukewarm now, if not chill, she thinks to herself with a frown-and she breathes a sigh of relief. She heads toward the screen, preparing to peel off her shirt when a sharp voice rings out behind her.
"And where in the Gods names have you been all day, young lady?"
She squeezes her eyes shut tightly. She was so, so close. She stands straighter and swallows hard, a pit developing in her stomach.
"I was out with the other children in the village." She replies quietly as she turns, her eyes downcast. "I thought I could get back earlier, but I lost track of time..."
"That's apparent. I thought I told you to stay in today, that this dinner was very important to your Aunt." Her mother's voice was tight, her face placid. Her hands rested on the swell of her stomach, folded together tightly. Oh, she is furious.
"You did. I'm sorry."
Her mother sighs. "One day, you will learn how to act like a real princess." She tsks with her tongue, shaking her head, and Emma can almost see her shaking with anger. "Hurry now and get clean. You look like you've been rolling around in the mud. I'll send Elsie in to help. And wear the red gown."
Emma's head shoots up. The dress is her least favorite, cut high on the neck with long sleeves, and lots of itchy, wool material. "But that's so heavy, and it's hot!"
"Well you should've thought about that before you went and got yourself all scratched up." Her mother snaps back, for a moment allowing her irritation to show, but it soon is masked once more. "I will not tell you again, Emma."
"Yes, mama."
The words sting, but she knows how angry she has made her mother so she lets her leave without a word, letting the hot tears well in her eyes for but a moment before talking to herself softly, trying to keep them at bay. Her mother has never been so angry, not that she can remember, but she did deliberately disobey her; she usually just laughed and would shake her head at her daughter's antics. It really would not have hurt her to stay in this one time.
As she calms herself down, not even realizing some tears have escaped down her dirt streaked cheeks, she readies for her bath. She starts when she hears her door open, ready to tell Elsie she is not ready yet, when the she sees the soft eyes of her father. She looks away, feeling foolish because she feels like bursting into tears all over again.
"You know she doesn't mean it." He starts quietly, closing the door behind him as he takes in the sight of her. All of 8, but she holds herself tall and strong, despite the fact that he can see tear tracks on her face. She is folding linens, getting ready to hop in the tub, but he has heard a bit of what Snow has said to her and Emma needs to understand it's not true.
"I have to get ready. Mother will..." She puts her towel down next to the bath.
"Your mother will be fine. Emma, come here." He beckons her softly, reaching out for her wrist. She lets him take it and pull her toward him where he has sat down across from the basin. He sets her on his knee; she may sometimes act like an adult, but she is still small enough for these sorts of talks. He puts his finger under her chin and raises it so she's looking into his eyes, blue like his own; his heart breaks to see them shiny with tears. "Oh, Emma...she doesn't it mean it. She's just tired."
Emma bursts into tears then, falling into her father's chest as she sobs. He rubs his hand on her back soothingly, his chin resting atop her head as he lets her cry. The issue is really that Emma is so close with Snow, and is not used to the criticism-he knows how important it is to his daughter that her mother be happy with her.
"Listen to me, listen." He says when her sobs abate, and she pulls back with a sniff. Her face is a mess of snot, and tears and dirt and he wipes them away without thought as she hiccups softly, gulping air as she calms down. "You are very beautiful, and ever a princess. She knows that. She is very proud of you and she loves you very much, but this is important to her and the boys have been testing her patience. She is sorry already, I assure you."
"No she's not." Emma rolls her eyes, settling against his shoulder. "I really shouldn't have snuck away."
"No, you shouldn't have." James replies with a nod. "But you did and now you must get ready soon. Here." He lifts her up and stands her in front of him with a smile. He lets down her hair and wipes her face once more before leaning in and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Ever my beautiful princess."
Emma throws her arms around his neck. "I love you, Daddy."
He presses a kiss to her temple. "I love you too, sweetheart. Now get in the bath and meet us downstairs when you're ready. I'll send Elsie in soon."
She hurries over behind the screen where she begins to disrobe and he leaves quickly and quietly, giving the nursemaid a nod as he walks down the corridor to let her know she can go in. He arrives at he and Snow's room, noticing the door cracked just a bit and let's himself in.
"She's getting ready now." He assures his wife, who sits at her vanity, staring at her hands. She looks up at him, her lips pressed tightly together in worry.
"I shouldn't have been so harsh. But I was so angry, James, I told her..."
"She knows, she knows." He replies, holding his hands up. "She will be alright, but I think you should speak with her later."
When the night has come and gone hours later, Snow sets out to do just that. In her nightgown, she creeps to the kitchen and collects two mugs of hot cocoa-one with extra whipped cream, just for Emma-and makes her way back to her daughters room. A bit nervous, she knocks softly first before letting herself in a few moments later.
Emma sits at her window, staring out across the water that sat below her tower. The castle sits on pillars in a great lake, over looking the mountains and sea; they had chosen this room for their first born, for the calm and serenity it would bring her. Snow sets the mugs down softly.
"I brought cocoa." She offers, almost a whisper. "I thought we could talk."
Emma huffs as she curls closer to the stone wall. Snow doesn't know what to do, to be honest; she and Emma almost never quarrel, and she supposes she should be thankful for this, that as Emma get's older, they are bound to argue at one point or another, and she wonders to herself if part of her earlier outburst was just a result of signs that she is beginning to lose her daughter, just a little bit, just now.
"Emma, please."
It's the pleading that finally gets her. She chances a glance at her mother, sees the sadness on her face and the soft tears in her eyes and rushes over, indignation forgotten as she throws her arms around her narrow middle, right above the baby.
"Oh, baby, i'm sorry for being cruel earlier." Snow wraps her arms around the girls back, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the top of her head. "I was just mad, and tired, and so uncomfortable..."
"I shouldn't have left." Emma's voice is muffled against her mothers side. "I'm sorry, I should've listened. This was important."
If it were possible for a heart to literally break, Snow's would've. She led the girl closer to her bed, pulling a rocking chair that had been there since her youth closer so they would be able to talk some more. She sits her on the bed, giving her the drink and Emma's face lights up at the mountain of sweets at the top of it. Snow cannot help but laugh.
"I thought you deserved it after I yelled at you." She pauses, smiling wistfully. "I am sorry."
"I know." Emma replies, a swipe of her finger deliver the delicious light treat to her mouth. She grins, and Snow reaches up after licking a finger to wipe some from the corners of her daughters lips. "Daddy talked to me earlier."
"I heard that. You have him quite wrapped around your finger." She says it mockingly, although it is true, and Emma just grins all the more.
"I know." Snow laughs and Emma sips at her chocolate before setting it down, a serious expression taking over her face. "I did deserve it a bit. You always let me go out. And this was important. I won't do it again." She sighs. "I will be a good princess for you."
Snow shakes her head quickly. "Emma, no!" When her daughter regards her questioningly, she grabs her hands gently. "You, my love, are perfect. And not quite unlike how I myself was. When you are older, I will tell you everything, but when I was younger..." She smiles. "Well, let's just say I wore breeches quite often."
Emma's eyes widened. "Really? Can i then? I hate these long dresses."
Snow's laugh is musical. "We will see my dear. My point, though, is I do not want you to be anything but what you are. You are my Emma, you are my beautiful princess, and you are wonderful, just the way you are. Just...don't disobey me, when I ask you to stay close." She frowns, remembering the fire she felt when Emma had snuck back. "I just hate being cross with you."
"I don't like it either." The girl says seriously, wide blue eyes like her father boring back at her mother. Snow cannot resist but take her in her arms once more, kissing her forehead before sitting back once she releases her and they continue to enjoy their drinks, discussing the nights earlier events before the younger falls asleep, leaving her mother to pull up the covers, place a kiss at her temple and slip away quietly, the row from earlier forgotten.
Emma Swan, however, doesn't have such a good go of it.
The troubles she gets herself into are similar. She spends all day riding her bicycle around the block with Becky, a girl from her school, and playing tag and capture the flag in the woods a few miles from her foster mother's home. She's been living with the woman for a few months now, a woman who tolerates her ward because she's getting money from the state, but seems to have little patience with children overall, and she remembers too late that Cecelia, her social worker, is coming for a late afternoon visit before supper.
She races home on her bike, dreading the meeting. Her face is covered in dirt, her blonde hair in a dirty ponytail upon her head and to make matters worse, as she goes to stand on the pedals and glide for a few moments, the one of the them snaps off beneath her and she goes skidding to the gravel road. She cries out and sits down, biting her lip for a moment, bemoaning the giant cut on her knee that has now appeared, causing the blood to spill down her shin. This will not go over well with Cecelia, she thinks to herself with a sigh.
By the time she wheels her one pedaled, hand me down bike home, the sun has set and Cece's car is in the drive way. Her foster mother, Ruth, is glaring out of the front window between blinds, and her eyes only narrow to see the girl approach. Her stomach begins to flip flop and she swears she's gonna throw up as she leans the broken bike against the car park and trudges inside.
She knows by the aghast look on the social worker's face that she probably looks worse than she expected. Of course, by now, she has walked the last half mile back to the home, so the blood from her knee is pooled in her socks and is dripping to the linoleum beneath her. Ruth looks about ready to explode.
With a quiet greeting, she bolts to the bathroom to wash her face and grab a band-aid and some gauze before racing into her bedroom and changes. The meeting is mechanical, the same questions asked as they always are, apologies given from herself for her tardiness and disheveled appearance. When Cece leaves later that night, Emma braces for the worst.
It doesn't come. Ruth is dismissive; she doesn't seem to care either way, as Emma has been the one to come out of this looking like the troublemaker, and Ruth the patient caregiver. She still sends Emma to bed without dinner though and tells her she ought to think twice again before showing up looking like a hobo again to her home.
She should be grateful it's not worse, and that Ruth doesn't have a temper and that she pretty much as gotten off scot-free since Ruth seems indifferent to her as long as it doesn't look like the money will stop.
She's not sure why, but she cries herself to sleep that night.
James hears the footsteps rush past his quarters, followed quickly by a slam of heavy doors and frowns. It has been made clear that the children are not to rough house in the castle halls ever since Emma was a small child and split her forehead quite badly on the broad stone winding staircases. He rises from his seat to investigate, and heads to where he knows Abigail's and Ella's boys have come to visit, and play with the children as the ladies took their tea in the garden.
He is met by a gaggle of boys, Abigail's fourteen year old twins fighting back and forth with wooden swords alongside the younger boys. Emma seems to be absent. He frowns.
"Hello boys." He announces himself and they stop their sparring, laughing and pushing each other back and forth. Leo, his eldest son, looks up at him with wide green eyes.
"Hello papa. We're practicing to be knights!" He crows and sets back into a fighting stance, thrusting his wooden sword at the King. James laughs at the precocious 9 year old, then ruffles his hair. Leo relaxes, a hint of indignation on his face at the gesture.
"Boys, have you been running up the stairs in your adventures? You know we'd prefer if you're to climb, you do it where there's a softer landing."
"No, sir." Ella's son Thomas speaks up, casting a glance at the older boys. Thomas is younger than the twins, but older than Leo and has a tough time fitting in with them. James purses his lips; something is going on here. The boys look nervous, and are fidgeting much too much to be completely innocent, but he cannot place what is wrong.
"Then why did I hear someone running past my offices?" He glances around again. "Where is Alexandra? And your sister?" He asks his boys. The guilty looks and downcast eyes are enough of an answer and he glares at the older boys. They should know better.
"We were only having a bit of fun." Arron, one of the twins speaks up. Fredrick, his brother, glares at him, but Arron ignores him and steps forward. "We didn't mean to make her upset."
Oh heavens. James sighs as he eyes his own boys, who look even guiltier. "I will deal with you two later," He admonishes, thankful the five year old is out with his mother. He knew it was common for younger brothers to tease their sisters, but if she had fled to her rooms, it must have hurt her feelings.
He makes his way back upstairs, the boys beginning their fun once more and he shakes his head. He arrives at her door and knocks hesitatingly, wondering if this is something he should let Snow deal with, but he knows she is busy in the garden. It will occupy his mind too much if he just leaves it alone, as knowing she is upset always plagues him.
"Go 'way." He hears behind the door. He pauses, considering, but ignores it and opens the door. His heart sinks at the scene.
Emma is laying on her bed, head buried in her folded arms and Alexandra sits beside her, her face sad as she pats her friends head. She looks up at him as he approaches. "Alexandra, can I have a moment with my daughter?"
The girl doesn't object and lets herself out with a nod and a light curtsey. When the door clicks behind him, he walks to the bed and sits next to her.
"I told you to go away." Her voice is muffled against her arms, turning her head away from him. He feels at a loss. He has faced countless enemies on the battlefield, fought dragons and trolls, but the brush off from his almost 13 year old threatens to crumble him. He puts her a comforting hand on her back.
"I'm not going to leave until you tell me what happened." He says softly. "If you're miserable, then so am I, and I don't like being miserable." He says it with a playful smile, trying to get her to chuckle or laugh. Instead, she turns her face to him and he sees her red face, fresh tears spilling out of the corners of her eyes. Oh! he thinks. I will not survive these next few years.
"It's nothing. They're just being dumb, stupid boys!" She snaps. He fights a laugh.
"That I do not doubt. Here, sit up." He scoots to give her room to swing her legs up and hands her a handkerchief he pulls from his pocket. She takes it with a sniff and wipes at her nose, nuzzling close to his side, and he puts his arm around her to draw her close. "Now, whatever happened? This isn't like you."
"I just...it's stupid. I just wanted to play with them, but..." She shook her head. "I'm a girl, so I could never be a swordsman."
James frowns. "Not a swordsman, but a swords-woman for sure. Just like your mother."
She shrugs. "It doesn't matter. I'm tall, and awkward, and ugly." She spits the last word, her eyes closing. "I can't do anything. I'm skinny, and my arms are too long. They said if I don't get prettier, I'll never be married, so I should work on that instead of bothering them."
James has to consciously stop himself from rising from the bed to go throttle them. Right now, it is more important to listen to her, to comfort her and if he's honest, let the fury in his chest abate so he doesn't accidentally kill his heirs.
"Oh, Emma. As you have said, they are merely being stupid boys." He tips her chin up, and his chest tightens as he really looks at her. Her baby fat is still rounding her face, but he knows she has gotten taller and leaner; he thanks the Gods that she has not matured further, for he does not know if he could handle it. He doesn't know if he can handle losing her in the future though either, because that is what will happen-she will meet a boy, and fall in love, and she will not be his little girl any longer and he doesn't know he will react when that happens. But she is beautiful; her eyes and her hair are his, but she is all her mother from her high cheekbones down. He will not have her thinking any different.
"I have told you too many times that I fear you will not believe me, but you are beautiful; and you will be even more so when you are grown. I live in fear of it every day."
"You're my father, you have to say that to me."
He gasps in mock offense. "I do not! Are you calling me a liar, Princess? I don't say that Leo or Christian are beautiful, do I?"
That draws a tiny giggle from her as she shakes her head. "And what did you mean, you're afraid?"
At this, he grows more somber, and pulls her closer still, placing a kiss upon her head. "That you will be too grown up for me." He feels the need to be honest, because it's the only way for her to trust she can be honest with him. The corner of her eyes droop.
"I will never be too grown up for you daddy." She hugs him tight, and he closes his eyes to soak it in and remember as he smooths her hair, because although she means it with all her heart, she will grow up and he won't be the only one her life and that frightens him terribly.
But she is not crying anymore, and seems to feel better. He pulls so he's look down at her. "You know, sometimes boys are dumb, and they don't understand the things they feel and so they are mean because they are really afraid."
She giggles at him, shoving him softly. "You think they are afraid of me?"
"Well, you are an expert swords-lady." He replies with a smile, happy to see her smiling as well. He hugs her once more then stands. "Will you be alright now baby?"
She nods. "Thank you for talking to me. I feel better."
"If you would like, I can talk to Lady Abigail and Aunt Ella about the boys..."
"No!" She's emphatic and shakes her head. "I don't want them to know they got to me. Plus...Arron tried to get them to stop. I don't want him to get punished too."
James is watching her closely, her hands twisting in her lap as she looks away from him, a slight flush on her cheeks and he realizes that she may have a little bit of a crush but says nothing. He only nods and rises, planting yet one last kiss on her head before he takes his leave. She wraps her thin arms around him and squeezes as she stands, already almost as tall as her mother.
"I love you daddy."
"I love you too, sweetheart. Now, go back downstairs and show the boys who's boss."
She follows him out of her quarters and goes down the stairs. He will speak with his own boys in private later, after the company has left, but he still cannot help but watch from the second floor to see how they approach her. He decides he will go easy later, as he sees Leo approach her with a guilty face, his second son Christian following his lead. Thomas apologizes as well, and even Fredrick politely nods his apology to Emma and hands her a wooden sword; James notices a bruising on the boys face from where he was struck during the swordplay.
The only one who does not approach her is Arron, who hangs back and watches her begin a sparring session with Leo, a soft smile on his lips. James stomach twists as he wonders who gave Fredrick that mark on his cheek, and realizes that Emma may not be the only one with a crush.
Emma Swan stands in front of the mirror in the cramped bathroom of her foster family's home. There are two other kids that need to get ready-one older than her, one younger, but she can't help but stare at everything she feels is not...right.
School is not fun for her. She is taller than most of the other girls, with thin arms and even skinnier legs, and the clothes she wears are older and if she's honest, too small after her recent growth spurt. She has mentioned it to her foster parents once or twice, but they wave her off, telling her they'll get around to it, and she wonders if they've even heard her at all.
Her chest is flat. Like, desert prairie-land flat. Now that they're in junior high, she changes into her gym clothes every day and tries to turn away so that the other girls can't see everything she doesn't have; it doesn't help, and they've taken to taunting her about that along with the fact that she doesn't wear the right clothes, or have the right jewelry or supplies.
Her hair is her favorite part of herself, if she's honest. It's a light golden color, and waves always just in the right places. She looks into her own blue eyes. Her face is round with baby-fat still, and she wonders if this will ever get any better. Not for the first time, she wishes she could talk to her mother about this, but she chases the thought away before it really has time to take root. She is torn from her thoughts by a pounding at the door, so she wraps her towel tight around her body and prepares to dash to her room. She is lucky the other foster kids are boys and that they haven't placed anyone else with this family; she, for the time being, has the room all to herself.
"Emma, come on! We have to get in too!"
She swings the door open to face the 17 year old, a scowl on his face. "Hold on, Alex, i'm coming right out. Jesus." She retorts as she slides past him. He slams the door behind her. He's such an ass.
School goes about how she expects it to. She tries to stay off other people's radars-she never answers questions in class, and she sits in the back, slid down in her seat. In their locker room, though, it cannot be avoided.
"You don't have a training bra?" One girl asks obnoxiously from behind her, a laugh in her voice. "Is that just cause you don't need it...or because you can't afford it?"
Her cheeks burn hot with the questions, along with a few other girls laughs behind her, and she rushes out of the room without a glance back. She doesn't stop until she's outside the gymnasium doors, with the cool air whipping her in the face. She crosses her arms over the shirt and hangs her head.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
She groans. She doesn't want to deal with him right now, but when she looks up, Alex is walking towards her, throwing his cigarette on the ground. He's in high school, but the schools are next to one another, so it's not rare that they run into each other often, especially with his proclivity for skipping.
"Nothing. I'm just getting some air."
"Oh yeah?" He asks, his eyes on her in thought. They dart toward the open door of the gym, then back to her face where he sees the red rimmed eyes that could either be a result of the heavy gusts around them or tears she's holding back. He shakes his head. "Come on, let's get out of here."
"What?" She asks, dumbfounded. "I can't...I can't leave, I have class."
"Oh yeah?" He repeats. "Then what are you doing out here?" She doesn't answer, just glances back at the building in hesitation. "C'mon, forget those bitches. We'll go by the food court and hang out for a bit before I gotta go to work."
"But won't we get in trouble?"
He grins now. "What are they gonna do?"
She really doesn't want to go back, so she shrugs and tosses one last look toward the building before she jogs after him as he heads toward a side street where his car is parked. It is an old piece of junk, and Emma is honestly surprised it even runs, but he got it after saving up forever, and is extremely protective of it. There's a hole in the floorboards and the faux leather seats are cracked and hard, and it almost turns over before it starts. He grins. "Seat belt!"
Emma has never been close to many of her foster siblings. She has bounced around enough to know that by the time they become friends, they get tossed around once more and never see each other again. It's easier to just not get attached. Alex is the same; their age difference along with the fact that he's a guy that runs with a certain crowd has given them little time to get to know one another, but he is being really nice right now and for the first time, she feels like they could be friends.
He buys her a milkshake and some fries, and they walk around the mall making jokes about the story displays and eventually end up back at the tables. He needs to drop her off soon, but first, his face grows serious. "Look, Em...all I'm saying is, I've been where you are before. Kids are assholes, they just are. Don't listen to them. Just...push through it, and when you're 18, you're done. Or better," He grins. "Work your ass off and free yourself when your 16. That's what you should do. If I was smarter..." He shakes his head. "You're gonna be fine, kid. One day, you're gonna be beating off the guys with sticks. Don't listen to those girls."
She is blushing. There's nothing in his words that hide an agenda; he is being genuinely considerate. "That's...really nice, Alex. But...why are you being so nice to me? I mean, we barely even talk to each other at home."
He chuckles and leans back in his seat, licking his lips. His eyes are sad when he looks at her. "I was 10 when they took me from my mom. She was a druggie, and an alcoholic and God knows what else, honestly." He shrugs, leaning forward. Emma's intrigued; it's common for them to share their stories-misery loves company-but Alex has always been more of a sarcastic kid that never let's anyone know what he's really feeling. She waits for him to continue. "My sister was 4. So she's 11 now, wherever she landed. They're not great about keeping families together, you know? I took care of her though; I raised her practically. My mom was always so strung out..." He shakes his head. "Anyway, wherever she is...I hope she has someone to look out for her. Kids are mean. I guess...this makes me feel better. It's like I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing. We orphans gotta stick together, right?"
She laughs, nodding. It makes her feel better to know he sees her like a younger sister, almost. It's nice to have someone want to take care of her. He smiles at her, the begins to push himself up. "C'mon, i'll take you home. I gotta get to the shop for my shift."
They gather into his car after she follows him out of the mall and he soon pulls up to the home, car still running to drop her off for the night. She leans back into the car after she gets out. "Alex?"
"Yeah, Em?"
"...thanks. Thanks for taking me out. I really had fun."
He nods at her with a smile. "It really is no problem. We'll do it again some night. Have a good night, Em. Stay out of Rosa's way, the school may be calling about this afternoon."
She merely laughs. He's right though; she enters the home and she barely hears his car down the street when she encounters her foster mother, who is yelling at her about being a truant and a troublemaker, but she brushes it off. She goes to sleep early-again, without supper-but this time it's with a smile. It feels good to have a friend.
In the Enchanted Forest, it is customary for young ladies, as they come of age at 16 to be presented to society. Such ceremonies and gatherings are not unusual for rites of passage, but those who are of royal descent often trigger more excitement than others. Emma is a few months older than her best friend Alexandra, and although she is not a traditional princess-she prefers breeches to skirts and riding to tea parties-but she the idea of a party with close friends, with dancing into the night, it's exciting to her. She's not crazy about having all the attention, but she supposes it comes with the territory.
Her mother has commissioned a gown for her, but will not hint at what it looks like. She trusts her completely, but cannot help being a bit nervous at the idea. At 16, she has blossomed; she has grown into her height, curves newly developed and baby fat having all but gone. She is fit and strong from her riding lessons and tomboyish ways, activities that have left her with a healthy color on her skin. Her hair is being dried and cared for carefully, tiny blue flowers being placed sparsely in her hair, a signature look of her mother's. When they bring the dress in, she worries fade quickly.
It is a deep, hunter green, tiny jewels and gold stitched on throughout the bodice with a wide, woven leather belt over the middle. There is velvet as well as silk and cotton, and black stitching up the middle. The skirts are long, but light; it will complement her coloring perfectly.
"Mother, this is..." She's speechless, fingering the fabric in awe. "This is beautiful."
Snow smiles tightly, eyes brimming with happy tears. "For my beautiful young woman. It is your day. You will be gorgeous, baby."
When she is dressed and her bodice is laced up and finished, her ladies pull out a three paned, full length mirror. They have pinned her hair up in various places, the waves falling down past her shoulders. She can scarcely believe her own reflection. Alexandra is standing off to her side squealing with excitement, absolutely beside herself as Snow stands with Ella, hands clasped tightly in front of her as even her Godmother looks to be misting up. A knock comes at her closed doors, and one of the ladies answers it.
"My lady," Her father's page stands at the doorway, bowing as he addresses her. He smiles as he straightens up; he has been in her father's service since before she was born and has always looked after her fondly. "Oh, my dear...you look lovely."
She smiled widely. "Thank you, Joseph." She curtsies with a laugh. "How may we help you?"
"My dear, I was just sent to let you know that guests are arriving now. Your father also requests a word before you head downstairs."
"Of course, Joseph. You may send him in when it's best for him. We are just about ready." Snow answers, a hidden smile on her lips. Alexandra leans into give her friend a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze on her arm. She knows Emma is not crazy about being the center of attention, but she will join her soon after her presentation. Ella leads her daughter out with a word of good luck, and Snow approaches her once more, tears thick in her eyes. She hands her two silk gloves that will reach her elbows. "For the lady." She says softly.
"Oh, mama, I'm so nervous." She whispers, grasping her mothers hands as she takes them from her. Snow squeezes back with a small laugh, shaking her as she blinks quickly.
"My love, you are...more beautiful than I could've imagined. Your father wants to have a quick talk though, and I still must get dressed quickly. I will meet you at the head table downstairs." She cups her daughters cheek, rising up on her toes to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. "I am so proud of you, Emma."
She is fiddling with her dress when the knock comes at her door a few minutes later. Her heart is racing; she worries that he will not like the dress, or that he will find it too form fitting, or too low; it is, admittedly, cut quite lower than she's used to. "Come in!" She announces softly.
She is staring in the mirror when the door opens, then closes softly behind her. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, turning to face him.
He has paled considerably, his hand still on the curved doorknob. He releases slowly, taking a few steps into the room as he stares at her, his eyes never blinking. Her heart plummets to her stomach. Oh, no, he hates it! Did mother not check with him?
"It's a bit much, isn't it? I wish she would've checked..."
He shakes his head. "No, no, she did. Or, she mentioned it..."
She is taken aback, lifting her skirts a bit to step off the stool she is on. "Well then, do you like it?" She lifts her arms slightly. "Do I look pretty, daddy?"
He smiles now, very softly, walking toward her to take her hands in his own. "Pretty is an understatement, baby." He kisses her forehead. "You have grown too fast for me, my love. Too fast."
"Aw, daddy..." She breathes, because there are tears in his eyes that threaten to fall. He shakes his head with an abbreviated laugh.
"No, no, none of this. It's your night." He settles for a soft, sad smile as he looks down at her. "I brought you an early gift." He grabs something from his pocket, his fist closed. "Happy Birthday, baby."
He opens his hand to reveal a gold pendant with a diamond fixed in the middle on a gold chain. It is smaller than many of the jewels that the royal family wears, but she gasps at the intricate detail it holds. It is woven almost in patterns around it's center piece, which glints of the light just so. She turns, lifting her hair, understanding that this is why he has presented it to her. "It was your grandmothers...I know it's small, but..."
"Oh, daddy, it's gorgeous!" She exclaims, turning back to him once it's clasped, reaching up to plant a kiss on his cheek. A tear has escaped his eyes, and he shakes his head.
"And they call me the king." He jokes, brushing the tear away with a laugh.
"And you are a great one." She says seriously, straightening his dinner jacket. "Okay, well, I'm ready when you are."
He leads her towards the grand stone staircase, one that Emma has had quite a mixed relationship with throughout her years in the castle. Joseph has run ahead of them and let the men at the foot of the stairs know to announce them, and before they prepare to make their way down, James takes her hand in his own and squeezes it.
"You look beautiful." He whispers, a smile on his face. "And you will do wonderfully."
And she does. She greets her guests with all the presence of royalty, and makes small talk better than anyone would've guessed. The ceremonies go smoothly, from her blowing out the candles on her cake, to the dance with her father to kick off the festivities. As they glide across the polished floor, he can barely believe she has grown to be such a beautiful woman that carries herself so well, especially since he still so often sees her as the young girl who preferred wrestling to dance lessons.
He releases her as the song ends and returns to his own seat at the head table with a soft kiss to her cheek Alexandra appears from the sidelines with a laugh, pulling her friend to dance. Thomas, his old friend and confidant, sits down beside him with a knowing smile.
"I can't believe it either." He remarks, watching the two girls as well. "Seems only yesterday they were in the pen together with their blocks, eh?"
James can only shake his head. "Almost doesn't seem fair. But she seems so happy so..." He trails off as he watches Arron, one of Abagail's twin sons, now 17, come from the crowd and approach her. He bows low to her, a smile on his lips that seems to say something else, for she laughs at him as he rises and takes her hand in his own. James can see her cheeks color and hears Alexandra laugh, something teasing in her glance as she watches them go and begin dancing with one another. They are a little too close for his comfort as he watches Arron's hand on her lower back. James bristles, sitting up in his seat, but Thomas's hand touches his forearm lightly.
"Calm down, James." He reminds him softly, bringing his friend back to the ground. "It's her party, they are doing nothing inappropriate." He pauses for a moment. "You must have seen it already."
He supposes he has. He remembers back to a few years before, when the two were merely close friends. He has to wonder when it began to be more than that. But Arron is a respectful boy; James can see him whispering into her ear, causing her to laugh as she throws her head back, which conveniently leads to him dipping her to the music, making her laugh even more.
She was happy. James smiles, although inside he is screaming. All that matters to him is that she is happy.
"Fredrick has taken a shine to Alex," Thomas speaks up, drawing James from his thoughts. "Be happy you got the nice one. He's nothing but trouble."
"Aw, come on. He's a good kid...a bit of a rogue, but don't you think it's charming?" James says with a grin. Thomas glares back at him, but he knows it's all in good fun.
"As they say, misery loves company. These two will be our deaths, James."
He laughs at his friend, then turns his gaze back to the dance floor, watching his daughter spin around with a boy that she was so obviously taken with, and cannot help but smile. Not our deaths, he thinks, but our lives.
He gives it a few turns before he gets up and seeks out his wife. They dance for a time as well, trading jokes and stories-she's been corralling the boys to make sure they behave on their sisters special night, and he cannot help but vaguely question Emma's seeming attraction to the prince. Snow smiles.
"Charming, don't be jealous," The old nickname makes him frown. "She's been quite taken with him for a bit now, but I feel like Arron has always admired her. She has a fire inside of her that is unlike many of the other girls he gets the chance to be around."
James huffs as he spins her, and although he can't see it, he knows she is rolling her eyes at him. "I am her father, Snow, of course I know why he likes her. That dress certainly helps as well, I'm sure."
She shakes her head with a laugh. "She does look stunning, does she not?"
He nods, a contented smile finding it's way to his face. "That she does."
When the music ends, Snow begs off to check on their sons and James seeks out his daughter once more, coming across her and Arron standing to the side, laughing at a joke he is sure he would never get. He bows as he approaches and Arron stands, returning it. "Your Majesty, tonight's festivities have been delightful."
James grins at the formality, and the fact that the boy looks somewhat terrified. "At ease, young man. I was just hoping I could steal my daughter away for one more dance, if it's not too much trouble?"
He acquiesces without question, bowing as he walks away, throwing a smile in her direction that she returns. Emma takes her father's arm and walks with him to the dance floor, smiling softly as they begin to move with the crowd.
"Are you having a good night?" He asks, looking down at her. She nods.
"More fun than I thought I would." She admits, following his lead. "Thank you so much for the party, it's so perfect."
"I noticed you and Arron were having quite a good time together." He cannot help but bring it up, but as soon as the words leave his lips, he feels ridiculous. She laughs again. When she stops, she is looking up into his eyes, and he is worried to see a light film of tears in them.
"Daddy, you know you'll always be the most important man in my life."
There is nothing he knows to say, afraid too that his voice will betray him, so he plants a soft kiss on her forehead and pulls her closer as they dance, closing his eyes as he tries to soak as much of this in as he can.
Later that night, when all the guests have gone and the princess falls asleep, thoroughly exhausted from the nights events, he will watch her drift off, then kiss her goodnight without her knowing. He returns to his shared bedchamber, to his wife who is waiting up and curls up with him in the dark.
"Do you feel better now?" She asks, laying on his chest.
"I do." He kisses the top of Snow's head, snuggling closer. He is still amazed, after all these years and all they've been through, that she is able to know him so well. Maybe that is what Emma has to look forward to; he hopes she can find it. If it is with Arron, then all the better. But for right now, he can still pretend she is still only his. He wraps his arms around his wife, closing his eyes. "I really do."
But, in truth, Emma Swan did not grow up in an enchanted land. She never played with the village children, or had her own ball at 16; when she is 16, she skips her homecoming to go out with a boy that doesn't treat her right and leaves her pregnant and alone at 17, with barely a GED to support herself. There was no Prince Charming to sweep her off her feet, and she decided then and there that she didn't really believe in those kind of men, or in true love.
Well. At least not until she was older.
"I honestly cannot believe I found this!" Snow exclaims excitedly, a box in her hand as she reaches the living room. "I didn't even know where to look, to be honest, but I was at the seamstress getting some shirts darned and would you believe it, she had it in the back of the shop hung up, and of course now we know it's mine, but I obviously would've never recognized it before..."
29 year old Emma holds up her hands with a laugh. "Slow it down, slow it down. What, are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about this!" Her mother opens the box to reveal a white lace dress, neatly folded up so as not to wrinkle. There is a scent with it Emma cannot quite place, but it has obviously been in storage for awhile. She has not held it up yet, but she can tell it's beautiful. "For your wedding!"
Emma flushes. The curse has only been broken for a few months time, and she is still getting used to the idea that this woman is her mother and that her father is one of the heads of the City Council, and that she is actually marrying a man who used to live in an Enchanted Forest. "Snow, slow down. The wedding is still...months away, if it even happens..."
Snow shakes her head. "Of course it will. Try is on at least? For me?" Her mother sticks out her lip in a mock pout and Emma cannot help but roll her eyes.
"Fine. For you."
She slips into the gown easily and she is surprised at how well it fits her; she wonders what Snow meant in her rambling, but guesses that her mother had eyeballed the size just right. She spins slowly in front of her full length mirror. She's never been one for dresses but it's very pretty and she wears it well. When she walks out of her room, Snow gasps and sinks to the couch, her eyes shiny with tears. Her mouth opens in a wide grin.
"Oh, Emma..." She nods, pressing her fingers to her lips. "Oh, you are...that's beautiful."
"I do actually really like it. Whatever made you decide on this one though?"
Snow bites her lip, taking a deep breath as she swallows hard. "Well...it was, kind of, mine."
The reality of the words make Emma's stomach flip flop, her body going cold. "Yours? This is your wedding dress?"
"No, now it's yours." Snow's given up trying to not cry, allowing a tear to fall that she promptly wipes away. "I always hoped I'd get to see you in it one day, but with everything that has happened..." She trails off. "You don't have to wear it if you don't want to, I just..."
"No!" Emma exclaims, her hand on her abdomen. "No, I want to, I'm going to, I just...I never thought..."
When James walks in a few moments later, he is oblivious at first to the two women in his life embracing tightly in the living room. He begins to complain about zoning restrictions for a new business, and how Grumpy is being, well, Grumpy, when he looks up and finds them pulling apart as they laugh, wiping at their eyes. He stops speaking, his mouth agape.
Emma is wearing Snow's wedding gown.
"Oh, wow..." He whispers, looking from his daughter to his wife, then back again. Snow stands back, a watery smile on her face as she crosses her hands in front of her. Emma looks as if she's been caught with her hand in a cookie jar and flushes under his dumbfounded gaze.
"James, hey! We thought you'd be a little later! We got a little caught up in...stuff." She shrugs her shoulder with an embarrassed laugh. They have plans to dine as a family tonight, something they've tried to do at least once a week as part of an effort to get to know one another better. He smiles back at her fondly.
"I can see that." He laughs, walking towards them. "You...you look amazing. That...I haven't seen that in so long..." He runs his fingers over the feathers that make up the skirt of the dress, the look in his eyes telling Emma is he is somewhere she will never know. She sees his Adam's apple bobble as he swallows a few times and takes a shaky breath.
Snow has snuck out quietly, begging off something about groceries and Henry, but James didn't seem to hear her. Emma shifts under his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable with the sudden emotionally charged situation. "I don't have to wear it, I can find something else."
"No!" His exclamation startles her, the fervent objection causing her to step backward. He reaches out for her arms quickly. "No, that's...there's nothing wrong with you wearing the dress. It just...it's strange, is all." He finishes the sentence in a near whisper, letting go of her arms slowly as he relaxed. "I mean, you're an adult, you're grown but..." He shakes his head. "It's no matter, really. You are beautiful in that though. Everything I'd ever believed you would be."
Emma is stunned, frozen in place with nothing to say. She feels like she should blush and sheepishly accept the compliment, then give him a hug, may a peck on the cheek but it really is strange. She and James have a odd relationship; she knows he is her father, and that he risked his life trying to get her out of the castle as Regina's men stormed it's walls to stop her escape, but she does not have the connection with him she does with Snow. They are friends, definitely, but she always feels as if it is forced, or awkward.
"But what?" She asks. He raises an eyebrow in question, looking back up at her as his eyes have been examining the floor. "You said but. I just want to know...why."
He thinks for a moment, and for a few moments, she thinks he will tell her no. But he chokes out a laugh, and sits on the couch, waving her to his side. She picks up the long skirt and sits next to him; she twitches as he takes her hand, but it does not deter him. His eyes find hers as he begins to speak.
"Your mother was absolutely positive you were to be a girl. I, of course, thought a boy, but she was convincing..." He smiles at the memory of Snow's obstinate insistence on their child's gender. "I eventually conceded. And when that happened, you know...you just imagine the way that your child's life will be like. The things you'll do with them, how they'll grow. Probably all expectations that will never come true exactly, but..." He shrugs. "There were some things."
"Like?" And she really wants to know. Being shuffled from home to home, picked on, having no friends, no one who ever wanted those special things for her, and although it may be bittersweet to hear, she wants to know what her life could've been. What it really should've been, even if it will make her sad.
"Well, for one, teaching you to ride a horse." He smiles softly. "Seeing who you'd be more like-your mother or I, or a good mix of both, as you grew. Your 16th birthday-a rite of passage, in our land. The first boy I was going to have to scare the life out of." He explains, then laughed with her as she choked on one herself; a father with a sword probably would've been useful as a teenager. "It just makes me sad that we could not give those things to you. That...your wedding day, something I thought about briefly but dreaded, is the first thing we will share with you." He patted her on the leg. "Wait here; I did have something I got for you, for the wedding, but I want to give it to you now rather than then. Don't want to be shown up by your mother."
He leaves quickly, but returns just as fast with a plain box in his hands. "Now," He begins, almost as if a warning. "This is for sometime down the road, but I wanted you to have it now."
She gasps as she removes the lid and pulls back the tissue paper. Inside lay about a dozen tiny glass unicorns, all intricately carved and styled, all connected with something like fishing line that shone like silver in the light. "Oh my God, James..." She whispers.
"It's a mobile." He explains, a proud, but almost bashful grin on his face. "I'm not trying to rush you there, but in time, I expect it will find use." He pauses as he watched her lift it from the box, a smile on her face. "It was yours."
That leaves her further speechless. She sets the mobile down carefully, the room quiet except for the crunch of the paper and tinkling of the decoration. She has always had her blanket, but throughout the years, while an object of comfort, she still believed she was abandoned. The dress she wears now, this mobile, the wonderful things James has said along with everything else that has happened in the past few months has proven her wrong. She is obviously best friends with Snow, and friends with James, but she has had a hard time thinking of them as parents; they're her age, of all things. James is looking down at his hands, now clasped together on his knees, fingers interwoven as he waits for her to say something. Anything.
This man is her father; he has had hopes and dreams for her before she could have any of her own, and although they have never really discussed it, this gown is proof that Snow did as well. She had been wanted; she had been loved, before she even took her first breath. Without warning, she wraps her arms around his neck. He is obviously startled by the unexpected gesture. It is not their first embrace, but it's not been a common occurrence and never really initiated by Emma. He tightens the hold as he becomes sure of it.
"I love you." She says softly, tears brimming in her eyes. She feels his head tilt back as he looks to the ceiling, taking a deep breath; she has never said this to him, not yet, not so directly. But she needs him to know, because right now, in this moment, is the first time she's really sure. "I do, I just want you to know that. I know this has been weird, and difficult, and not at all what either of us probably wanted, but I do. And I'm so happy I have you back in my life. The both of you."
His hand smooths over her hair and she ducks her head to his shoulder, embarrassed by this whole conversation, but weddings are big events, and this is really a long time coming; like its been said, they haven't really had a talk yet and this is the most she's ever really got that they missed out on something just like she did. She says a tiny prayer of thanks that she got Henry back when he was still young; she will still have those moments with him.
Emma Swan may not have had the life she should've, but in the end, she got her happy ending just the same.
AN #2: I couldn't help but draw some of my younger Princess Emma-especially the 8 year old version-from Arya Stark, as GOT has become a new obsession of mine, and teenage Princess Emma from the scene from "My Sister's Keeper" where Kate gets ready for her dance. I left the "man from the Enchanted Forest" kind of vague in that last bit, just cause I know people ship different people, and you can just imagine her with who you want. :) Hope it wasn't too disjointed for everyone. Leave me love! :)