A/N: I've been chewing on a couple of story ideas, so I wasn't going to update this week at first, but I changed my mind and wrote this quick one shot to tide you all over till next week. :) The idea for this came from Emma's line to Walsh in New York City Serenade about how Hook's "...more like a ghost." Anyways, enjoy as always!
~Earial
Emma sighed, pulling back the bedcovers as she faced the prospect of another long and sleepless night.
It had been four months since the bail bonds woman and her son had moved to New York, eager to have a fresh start. Up till this point, life in the Big Apple had been going well; Henry enjoyed his school, Emma loved her job, and a new boyfriend named Walsh also added another item on the figurative 'pros' list.
Everything was, quite literally, perfect…until the dreams started. Well, more like 'dream', singular. For the past fortnight, Emma's sleep had been plagued with a bizarre vision night after night that afforded her neither peace nor slumber. Always exactly the same, the fantasy reoccurred, prolonged and more vivid, every night it was dreamt.
"Maybe tonight I'll get some real rest." Emma muttered to herself, swallowing some pills before slipping underneath the blue cotton sheets. Despite the various methods employed to bring blissful unconsciousness, minutes, then hours, slowly ticked by before she succumbed to the forthcoming wall of blackness.
Immediately, her mind was pulled towards the path she'd walked so many times now, and no amount of kicking and screaming could stop that irresistible force.
She was in a large forest, in the middle of nowhere, as a cool wind swept throughout the small clearing in which she was situated. She shivered and waited, knowing what would happen next, yet powerless to control it or her swirling feelings.
Suddenly, a strange man came running up, his features blurred save for the expression of joy that resided there. "Swan!" He cried, grasping her arms as he endeavored to pull her into an embrace.
In spite of the hazy outlines, the feeling of knowing him and who he was never left all throughout the dream. Yet, that didn't mean she'd let him hug her. Surprise and alarm surged through Emma as she pushed him away and backed up, tripping over a root in her haste. "Who are you?"
The dark haired man bent over her, his closeness doing nothing to alleviate his indistinct face, as he gently brushed aside a lock of her hair. "Emma, don't you know me?" He questioned softly, poignant sorrow feeding into his tones as he helped her up.
Like every other night, Emma responded in a decisive attitude, "No, I don't."
At this point, the man was supposed to fade and the dream to dissolve, bringing her back to her bedroom in New York. However, what is supposed to happen rarely ever does.
The dream continued as Emma asked the prevalent question burning on her tongue. "Why do you keep bothering me?"
A pain-soaked sigh was her only response as the man took a step back, studying her with discomforting earnestness.
"Answer me!" She demanded, annoyance seeping through her voice.
"One day you'll understand why." He replied, the quiet agony in his countenance intensifying as he spoke. "I won't leave you like this, cursed to this life."
"What do you mean?" The blonde queried, abrupt fear and panic, its source unknown, flowing through her veins.
Any words the man might have said were lost in the unexpected and tumultuous wind that arose, driving the two apart.
"Farewell, Swan." The man's rich, distant voice called.
"Wait!" Emma cried, desperate for him to stay as the feeling of forgetting and losing something grew stronger with the likelihood of his departure.
The dark shape that represented his form continued to recede, while his final words floated on the air, vibrating in her mind as if to signify their importance. "I'll find a way to see you again, Emma. I promise, I will save you."
On that climactic note, the dream ended and Emma sat up with a gasp, left with numerous questions and no answers. She took a couple of deep breaths before throwing off the sweat-soaked sheets and walking over to the kitchen. Sleep was not an option when such unexplainable ghosts haunted every minute of it.
The golden-haired mother rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out the cocoa and a mug. She gazed reflectively out the window at the iridescent city lights while her water heated up. The dream, always so exact and the same, had suddenly taken a new turn with this extended version.
"Why? What made it change?" She mused, stirring her hot chocolate as she liberally applied some whipped cream. "I've seen that man before, outside of this weird dream. What'd he mean that he'd 'save me'? Save me from what?"
No reasonable explanations presented themselves, and eventually, the calming effects of both the drink and the reality of the apartment soothed her frayed nerves.
"It's just a dream; it isn't real." She reminded herself. "Just a dream that means nothing, absolutely nothing. You're over thinking this, Emma, that's all. This, this, is real: Henry, Walsh, this cocoa."
By the time the cup was finished, the former savior's mind was at peace and indifferent to the vision's messages. The stark existence of the everyday and ordinary only served to further impress the foolishness of holding the dream as something worthwhile. Fantasies don't pay the bills or give warm hugs on cold nights.
Emma smiled, heading back to bed as she thought of what the dawning day would bring: time with Henry, a date with Walsh; real events with real people that cared about her. This was her life, and it was a good one. So she slept, letting her weary mind wash away the troublesome memories from her dream and the ghosts from her past.
Hook awoke with a start, allowing the sounds of his ship's gentle creaking and the waves splashing to bring him back to reality. He sighed as he leaned his head against the weathered wood.
It had been four long months since that bloody curse had ripped everything he'd cared about from him. If that wasn't enough, now he had to be dreaming about the woman he loved as well.
The captain rubbed his eyes with his remaining hand, striving to wipe away the memory of the frightened look in Emma's eyes when she stated she didn't know him. The fear in her face gnawed at him, as the actuality of his situation burned ever deeper into his soul.
Hook clenched his fist, recalling the last words he'd spoken in the dream. He reiterated them now, fiercely vowing with full and aching heart. "I will see you again, Emma, despite the odds. I will save you."