A/N: Clearly, when in the middle of one story for a completely different fandom, the best thing to do is to start something else. But the plot bunnies called and I had to answer. Any Moment will still be updating, but I can't speak to which fic will update more often. Enjoy.

Janine DiMarco was a landlady. 57 years old, twice divorced, and- the neighborhood gossips said –on the hunt for Husband Number Three. Despite her predilection for young bodybuilders, loud daytime television, and doilies on every available surface, she kept her apartment building clean and in good repair. The rent was surprisingly reasonable. And it seemed that no lifestyle could be too bizarre for her to tolerate; she allowed same- and opposite-sex couples alike, with no fuss as to whether those couples were married, and she was remarkably "4:20 friendly." In fact, she had but one stipulation for her tenants besides good credit history and no violent homicides.

No children.

So if a young bartender happened to have an infant son, and happened to occupy the apartment just above Ms. DiMarco's own, and that baby happened to start crying…

"Henry, please. Hey. I'm serious. Please be quiet." Emma bounced the child gently, with a fearful glance at the faded kitchen rug. Nothing was coming up through the floor but the sounds of The Late Show- yet. Henry continued to wail, his face red.

The 18-year-old bit her lip. "Kid, if Janine comes up here, we're on the street. Do you want that?" she said, an edge of panic creeping into her voice. "I've fed you, burped you, changed you twice, and you don't have a fever. For the love of god, what's wrong?"

As most almost-one-year-olds would, the baby replied only with more crying. Holding him closer, she sighed and started pacing the room. After the third circuit around the thrift shop table with its two mismatched chairs, Henry still showed no signs of calming down. His mood seemed to have grown worse, if anything. It was nothing short of a miracle that footsteps hadn't yet pounded up the stairs, followed by shrill demands to know what was going on.

"That's one good thing," Emma muttered under her breath, looking down at her son. "No matter how loud you get, that cougar never seems to catch on. Granted, I have no idea how."

In their three months of living in the apartment, never so much as a close call. It would have been a miracle, if Emma believed in miracles.

"But the real miracle would have been Daddy not skipping out on us," she said, half to herself and half to Henry. The young woman lifted her baby slightly and looked into his big, watering eyes. "Daddy was a real bastard, you know that? How could he leave someone as cute as you?"

Good thing no-one ever asked about that. Having a baby at 18 was bad enough by most standards, but a single teenage mother- a single orphan teenage mother –had almost no chance at all of a decent life. There had been a few in women's correctional facility. The same women who'd initially scorned Emma for her youth and standoffishness spared her a few pitying glances when the prison doctor had confirmed it.

"I want to keep him."

"Hon, you have no idea what you're getting into."

And she hadn't. Emma Swan left prison with no job, no home, no prospects- and no son. Barely a high school diploma to her name, and thus not exactly the kind of person the Arizona foster care system was eager to return a baby to. But as she'd stood there on the sidewalk with $20 in her pocket and a backpack with one change of clothes, a man came out of the grocery store across the street. He pulled out a piece of paper and a Sharpie and began scribbling.

NOW HIRING, the sign read. Taping it to the window under the faded awning, the man turned to go back inside. Almost like a voice in her ear, something spurred Emma on.

"Wait!" she called. He turned in the doorway.

"What?"

"You're hiring?" Her voice was hoarse, but loud enough to be heard over the driving rain.

"Yeah, one of our cashiers just quit," he said. "Why? You interested?"

After what seemed like a remarkably short interview process, she suddenly found herself with a job. Not a good one, exactly, but it was better than nothing. The employee who'd put the sign out listened to her quest to regain custody of Henry, thought for a moment, and offered her use of his spare bedroom.

"It's not much," he said, "but my wife is pregnant right now. I'd hate to think of a little baby out on the street, especially if the mom was as young as you are."

"I don't have a baby."

"Not yet. But you seem like a good kid. They'll come around."

Emma smiled wryly. "You've known me for an hour, Mr. Alvarez."

"Julio, please. And I'm good at reading people," he said. "You definitely seem like mommy material."

She tried to pay, or at least offer, but he waved her words away like flies. "Nah. Don't worry about it. It's like karma, you know? Just don't bring any drugs or bad boyfriends into the house and we're good."

Almost nine months later, he'd come home with the number of a friend with a restaurant up in Maine. Mr. Thomas Lynne, it seemed, was in need of a bartender. And it just so happened that Emma had gotten her license the week before; further, her remarkably short parole was over.

"I like living here."

"It's a small town," Julio said. "Better place to raise a kid for sure."

Emma glanced over at the bassinet on the counter. That was the other big change, one she could barely believe was real. Yes, there had been paperwork and visits from a social worker, but it had been surprisingly easy to get Henry back. Almost too easy. It seemed like, overnight, she had regained both her son and her freedom.

Henry gurgled and shifted in his blankets. "Maine, though?" she asked, walking over to the bassinet and picking him up. "That's a pretty long trip."

Julio shrugged. "Change of scenery, might be good for you. And the job pays a hell of a lot more than working at the Safeway."

That was three months ago. And all of it, from getting Henry back to finding her first and second job, had happened almost like magic. She would have been suspicious, but-

"-I don't believe in magic," she said to the still-crying baby in her arms. Right before taking one step too far to the left and stubbing her toe on something flat, but sharp.

"Ow! Son of a-" Glancing down, she stared reproachfully at the item in question. It was a fairly innocent book, small and bound in red leather, that she'd been reading to Henry earlier. The title was printed on the cover in gold-embossed lettering: The Labyrinth. Henry's favorite book, if his relative calm while she read it was any indication.

Is it really his favorite, though? Have you ever even seen it before today? a voice in the back of her head asked quietly. She shook her head as if to chase it away. Of course this was Henry's favorite book. The fact that she couldn't quite remember when she'd last read it to him was immaterial.

"The Labyrinth, huh? Okay, let's give it a try." Shifting Henry to her other arm, she began to read.

"Once upon a time, long ago, there lived a beautiful princess. Royalty though she was, her life was far from happy, for she lived in exile…"

Time wore on as she read, and the young woman found herself becoming engrossed in the story. She barely even noticed when Henry stopped crying to watch her intently. The TV clicking off in the apartment below didn't even register. Nor did a car full of presumably drunk men speeding past outside, trailing shouts and thumping bass in its wake.

"The princess raised her infant son, and…" Emma paused for the first time to look at her own child. Henry was now sucking intently on a strand of her long, blonde hair; she smiled at him.

"Hey, little guy. Mom's been ignoring you, hasn't she? Mom's just as bad as this princess- who, between the two of us, is kind of a bitch," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you know what she's about to do?"

Thunder rumbled outside, almost making her jump. Her brow creased slightly in confusion. "Huh. Weird. The weather channel didn't say anything about a storm."

With a shrug, she went on. "She raised her infant son-" Emma lifted Henry up, setting the book down; she'd already skimmed the next few passages, and words stuck in her memory easily. "-and said, I wish-" Another peal of thunder interrupted. This time, there seemed to be low, velvety laughter under the sound; Emma shivered, but told herself firmly that her mind was playing tricks.

"She said, 'I wish the goblins would come and take you away right now'."

At that moment, lightning flashed at the window, brighter than any the teenage mother had ever seen before, and accompanied by thunder louder than any she could have imagined. The wind picked up, howling around the eaves of the house-turned-apartment-building, and for a few terrifying seconds, she was certain something had gone very wrong. Henry twisted in her hands; twisted, squirmed, and then-

-nothing. The sudden storm outside fell silent. Henry made an indistinct noise and closed his eyes. With a sigh of relief, she brought him slowly down again to cradle him in her arms.

"Your mom's afraid of shadows, kid." Gently, she planted a kiss on his tiny forehead. "And the goblins can't have you. Not ever."

She placed Henry in his crib, moving slowly so as not to wake him, and tucked the blanket around his still form. With a fond look at her sleeping child, she tiptoed out of the room as quietly as possible and flicked off the light on her way out.

I'll have to find a bigger place someday. He can't keep sleeping in the living room/kitchen space forever. A two-room works now, but...

Lost in thought, she almost didn't notice the strange, cackling laugh that echoed through the dark room behind her. Almost. And upon hearing it, she almost wished she hadn't. Emma turned, slowly, breath caught in her throat.

"H-hello?"

No response.

"Hey, whoever you are, get the fuck out of my apartment. I've got a crowbar and I know how to use it." Oh, very intimidating, Emma. She winced, but continued across the living room.

Out of the corner of her eye, a flicker of movement. The dust ruffle on the painfully old-fashioned sofa rippled, as if something was running just behind it. And then, she heard it again: that inhuman laugh.

"Cut it out!" Her fists clenched, as if grasping the crowbar that was still under her bed in the next room. A smart person would have kept it closer to the baby than herself, but- Oh my god. Henry.

More lightning flashed outside as she approached the crib. Suddenly, the blanket moved, and she heard the spine-chilling laughter yet again- this time, coming from the spot where Henry lay. For a moment, her heart almost stopped.

No.

Steeling herself, she reached in, grabbed a corner of the blanket, and pulled it away in one quick motion. What she saw made it feel as if the bottom had dropped out of the world.

Henry was gone.

Not dead, not transformed into some kind of goblin- why did I think that? - but simply not there. The crib was empty. Emma struggled to breathe, struggled to think, struggled to regain the voice that had gotten trapped in her throat.

Finally, she managed words. "Give me back my son!"

And the room went crazy.

Cabinet doors seemed to open and shut of their own accord. The newspaper on the table began to flip its pages. Not just the dust ruffle, but the entire plaid couch started to shake. Underscoring all of it was the strange laughter, accompanied now by squeaks, chirps, and derisive muttering. It seemed to her that she could make out snatches of conversation.

"Oooh, she's not gonna like this-"

"-give back, give back, like she's earned it!"

"Boss lady!"

That particular phrase filled the room for a solid minute, it seemed. Just when Emma found herself wondering who or what "boss lady" could possibly be to disembodied voices, the entire invisible rabble fell silent. The only sounds in the room were her own ragged breathing and the storm outside.

There was no way to make this right. The landlady would throw her out for keeping a child here if she went to her for help. Even going to the police would bring trouble, because they'd certainly tell. Losing the apartment might bring the wrath of the still-vigilant Child Protective Services on her head, and then she'd lose Henry for the second- no, now the third time. Could a heart even still beat after being broken three times?

But better for him to be safe with someone else than missing. She'd do it. She'd call the police, face eviction, and give Henry up when they found him. When, not if. They had to find him; the alternative was unthinkable.

Just as she'd resolved this and started for the battered, wall-mounted phone, the storm started up again with a vengeance. A gust of wind blasted the window, forcing it open. The curtains danced, and for a moment she couldn't make out what was navy blue cotton and what was something both dark and light, and feathered…

The shadows around the window shivered, changed, and coalesced back into a humanoid shape. A long cape was thrown back dramatically, to reveal a tall woman unlike any Emma'd ever seen. What looked like armor hugged her body, apparently made of dark leather and studded with black gems. Her brown hair blew around her face in the gusts from the still-open window, and her face, though lovely, was set in a sneer.

"Hello, Emma."

A/N: More to come. Probably sporadically, but it will come.