Oneshot. Hope you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own OUaT, nor the characters. Only Michelle is actually made up.
A/N: so i don't really know how to make paragraphs shorter. That just doesn't seem to work out for me. Sorry D:
At the age of seven, Michelle Lia Jones liked to think that she had a pretty high tolerance level, even for her family circumstances. She never minded the fact that she had grandparents the same age as her mother, nor how they were the real-live mythical Snow White and Prince Charming. She had no qualms about having the Evil Queen for a step-aunt/step-adopted-mother/ great step-grandmother (?) and didn't bat an eye (much) to the rest of the messed-up family tree. She even found her princely half-brother and three-years-her-senior Uncle Neal to be pretty cool (but boys will always be boys and no matter how nice Henry was to his younger sister, Michelle would never understand how they tick). She embraced her father's position as "bloody Captain Hook" and would wave her mother's status as the lost-princess saviour of the Enchanted Forest around like the national flag (much to Emmas's chagrin). But one thing she truly did not understand was her grandmother's irrational need for her to attend a ball.
"Humour her, kid," her mother flashed a tight smile at her daughter, secretly rebelling against the idea of royal parties as much as her pouting child. "Your grandmother never really had a chance to spoil her daughter into a princess. Now that you're around, she's looking forward to a bit of fun." Michelle's scowl deepened, her dark eyebrows drawing together harshly. "I'm not a toy," she spat venomously, putting all her hereditary revulsion for fairytale extravaganzas as she possibly could into her words. "And I'm not—" she paused, giving her mother a look so alike Killian's exasperated expression that Emma had to stifle a snicker "—a little princess. I'm a pirate." She finished off with as much emphasis on pirate as she could. Emma sighed, a little exasperated. They had been going around this argument for two whole weeks, and her stubborn daughter still refused to accept the idea of herself in a frilly pink dress. Emma sympathized with her hatred of all things princess-y, but for the sake of Mary Margaret, she had hoped that the fiery seven-year-old would be a bit more cooperative. It seemed, however, that little Michelle's pirate pride had been severely insulted as soon as the word ball was mentioned, and she had taken it upon herself to force every single conversation into full-blown arguments and tantrums aimed specifically against the idea of "Princess Michelle". Emma knew that she shouldn't really have been surprised—she was, after all, the daughter of both the saviour and Captain bloody Hook, and if there was one thing that they both had (and passed on to their daughter), it was pig-headed, insanity-level stubbornness.
"Please, Michelle," Emma was on the verge of whining. This was honestly getting old. Her daughter only crossed her arms and aimed her best glare at her. Emma threw up her hands, and rolling her eyes, she spun around and turned her frustration on her husband. "Killian," she all but growled. "Do something." Killian Jones was seated in a way that could only be described as "lounging" across a kitchen chair, watching with amused eyes at the animosity their daughter was exuding. Cocking his head in Emma's direction, he raised an eyebrow high, smirked, and, in his best infuriating voice, "I think not, love." The pirate-turned-father had found his daughter's tantrums and hatred highly entertaining, remarking every now and then before they went to bed how Michelle's little rants were more worthy of his attention than any Captain Hook impersonation movie Emma and Henry had ever shown him (but then again, he was Captain bloody Hook, so his opinion was quite invalid). He was quick to admit how much pride he had in his daughter's adamant refusal of royalty. "A pirate through and through" Killian had grinned broadly. Emma had then sweetly told her husband to "shove your bloody pirate pride up your arse and help convince their daughter" or else she'd find the most perfect Storybrooke pawn shop to sell his bloody hook to. Killian had been scowling and scaring Storybrooke citizens left and right throughout the rest of the day.
Emma glared at him, and none too discreetly, pointed a menacing finger to her left hand and mouthed Rumplestiltskin before indicating with her head towards their glowering daughter. His smug smirk dropped as fast as the temperature around him did: lightspeed. Purposely avoiding his wife's face, Killian sighed inwardly before pasting on a plastic smile and kneeling in front of an instantly suspicious Michelle. "Michelle, darling," Killian began, fighting to keep his smile in place as the full brunt of her glower was directed at him. He sighed. Woe was the day his daughter labelled him the enemy. "We know how much you hate these things,"—"and how much they insult me," Michelle snappily interrupted before her father continued, waving her comment away—"But don't you think it'll be better for everybody if you complied this once? Your sweet grandmother has already planned this ball and she's so excited to see you there. Just this once? Please, love?" Killian pleaded with his kin, hands out and eyes imploring, looking the very definition of earnest. Michelle took her time assessing her father, arms still crossed and posture still rigid as if Elsa had accidentally frozen over her spine. "Just this once," Michelle began, eyes narrowed, "and then never again?" Killian winced. He knew a pirate proposition when he heard one and his child had it down to the dot. He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, dragging it across his stubble as he tried to stall for more time. "Weeeelll…." He grimaced as Michelle's expression turned downright stormy and her hazel eyes flashed something dangerous. "No deal" she ground out before spinning around with a strangely adult huff as her father called desperately after her. "Michelle, darling, you're going to have to comply with your relatives a few times at the very least, and we can't always try to get you out of there she's your grandmother, and Michelle Lia Jones GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT, YOUNG LADY!" Killian watched helplessly as his daughter stomped away, leaving him behind to face the wrath of her mother ("Way to go, Killian. You just sealed our fate," Emma muttered and Killian was left feeling the brunt of another painful glare.)
A soft knock broke the dangerous quiet of her room. Hoping she could set the door on fire by will just like her half-brother's adopted mother could, Michelle silently willed for whoever was behind the door to go the bloody hell away. She apparently had no affinity for the art of pure hatred when she heard her half-brother's soft voice muffle through the heavy wood. "Shelly? Are you in there?" She didn't respond, smothering her stuffed pirate ship deeper into her arms. Henry called out an "I'm coming in" before he gently swung the door open. Her brother stepped in quietly, careful to shut the door behind him. "Hey, Shelly," Henry smiled at her, dimples appearing as he carefully made his way next to her on her bed. "…m'not Shelly. It's Michelle." She replied back scathingly, voice muffled by her mangled toy. Henry chuckled, reaching out to brush some of her dark hair back. She didn't duck away as she normally did, so Henry took that as a sign of wary trust on her part. "You'll always be Shelly to me." Michelle shot him a brief glare before going back to staring intensely at the ground.
They sat there for another moment of near-comfortable silence before Michelle spoke up, voice more tentative and soft when faced with someone she considered an ally. "Do I really have to go?" She sounded so sad and defeated that Henry turned around, a little bewildered. "Well," Henry began, wrapping his arms around his little sister and coaxing her to lean in. "You don't have to. It IS your choice, in the end. No one will really force you to go. But—" Henry raised a finger, interrupting his sister before she had a chance to argue. "It would really make Grandma and Grandpa happy. If you went, I mean." Henry smiled down at her when her brows furrowed, a contemplative frown on her lips.
"…Are you going to go?" Michelle asked instead. Henry laughed. "Of course I'm going to go! I'll be right there by your side! Will that make you feel better?" Michelle took another moment to think. "Will you have to wear a suit?" she questioned, her attention fully trained on him now, eyes so serious Henry tried to stifle his amusement. "Well, maybe. I think Grandma would like that, so I'll probably wear one." He watched again as his little sister took even longer to think through these facts. Almost twenty minutes passed, and he was about to tell her not to force herself when she finally responded.
"…I get to pick the dress. And I get to bring my sword. And Daddy has to give me a piggy back after. And you've got to stay by my side." Michelle crossed her arms, looking so stubborn and Emma-like that Henry's expression split into a grin. "Yes, your highness," he laughed, picking her up and ignoring her indignant squeals. "And no calling me 'highness' or 'princess' or 'your majesty'!" She shouted down at him, clutching onto her pirate ship. "You are to treat me with the respect a captain deserves!" She barked down as her half-brother laughed up at her.
Tonight might actually be enjoyable if her brother was going to stay by her side.
Emma and Killian were still staring at their daughter, laughing and whooping haughtily at her uncle and great-grandmother, an hour after their attempt at making her go to the party.
"Mom, Killian, your mouths are about to catch flies." Henry told them calmly, watching his little sister bully her uncle into getting her a drink ("Arr! To the drinks, ye gremlin!" Michelle called loudly, swinging her arm as if she were holding a sword). "I still can't believe my eyes." Killian remarked, sipping at his rum indiscreetly. Emma was going to drive so he didn't have to worry too much about staying sober. "You managed to get the most stubborn, pig-headed child alive to go to this bloody party in less than an hour while we tried everything we bloody well could for two bloody weeks." He paused in his drinking, then turned to Emma and raised an eyebrow. "We need to make this boy in charge of her from now on." Emma looked exasperatedly at him before turning back around to resume her dumbfounded staring. "…How did you do it?" Emma finally questioned, eyes still on her daughter (who had finally found Roland and convinced him to give her horse-y ride). Henry only shrugged, sipping peacefully at his OJ. "I did what Grandpa did" and he left it at that.
Emma turned to him. "What did David do?" she asked. Henry blinked before elaborating. "Rumplestitskin, I mean Rumplestiltskin. And I made her a deal. Or rather, a few deals." He smiled gently before he turned to his stepfather and broke the news. Emma was back at staring at her daughter. Whatever torture for Killian that had been agreed upon had nothing to do with her. "You should probably stay sober, Killian. You'll be expected to give her a long piggyback ride home" to which Killian promptly and ungracefuly choked on his rum. "You agreed to what?! You know how rowdy she is!" Killian turned wide eyes of horror on his stepson, before his gaze darkened and he muttered something along the lines of "of course he knows, that little bit of the crocodile's showing never should've let him spend time with the beast…" Meanwhile, Emma's eyes were growing steadily wider. "…Did you by chance also agree to helping your sister smuggle her sword along?" Henry nodded serenely and Emma cursed, running at full speed into the fray (that consisted of her maniac daughter wielding a sword, poor Roland as her slave steed, a laughing Regina and a flustered Mary-Margaret and David Noland trying to stop their son from strangling his niece).
Laughing to himself, Henry quietly mused, going unnoticed by his frantic mother and despairing step father. It doesn't take much to get Michelle Lia Jones to agree to anything. All it takes are promises of trouble and magic—all the ingredients needed to make Storybrooke the town it is.