This story is basically a 4A Redux. I'm writing it the way I would have done the first half of this season. I may take a few elements from the canon, but for the most part this will not follow the 4A plot exactly.
It seemed like years since Emma had been able to sit down; it had been. Or maybe she'd never been able to relax, between moving from home to home and then running from the law before going to jail and becoming a bail bondsperson. Now it was villains and magic. Go figure. She hadn't even been back for ten minutes and it had all hit the fan already. She'd made a snap decision to alter the past and ruined Regina's life in the process. It wasn't like she'd known that the woman was Robin's dead wife. If she had to do it over again, well…she'd probably do it again. Which made her feel like a horrible person, really. Especially because she knew that Regina could see how happy she was with her parents, and Henry and…whatever it was she had going on with Hook.
She knew better than to go chasing after Regina when she'd fled the scene though. And it hadn't exactly helped when Marian had called her a monster. But what could she have done? Let Regina – no – The Evil Queen kill the woman? She wouldn't have been able to live with herself. The guilt she felt over hurting Regina was nothing compared to what it could be if she'd sat idly by and watched Marian die in the past. She was the freaking daughter of Snow White, for goodness sake, not to mention the Savior.
Man, was that ever getting old.
"Let her go, love," Hook's voice came from behind her. Emma sagged in defeat, hugging her arms around herself.
"Some Savior, huh?" She sighed glumly, glancing back at her family. Henry looked torn between running after Regina and staying with her. She wanted to tell him it was okay to go to Regina, but she suspected Regina was in no mood for company, so she gave him a sympathetic smile. "Give her a little space and go check on her in the morning, Kid."
"This isn't your fault," Mary-Margaret assured her, adjusting the baby in her arms. "You made the right call."
"For who? Regina? For Robin?"
Mary-Margaret gave her a reassuring look. "It's one less life on Regina's hands," she reminded Emma. "That's something, isn't it?"
"I guess," Emma shrugged miserably, looking at Robin, who was staring forlornly down the street where Regina had just disappeared. Marian was attempting to soothe her young son, who looked nearly as upset as his father was.
"Where is Regina?" He cried, breaking free of his mother's grasp and running to his father's leg. "She promised to read me a story tonight!" Robin seemed to come back to himself at the sound of his voice, stooping to pick up the boy and managing a smile at his returned wife, even if it looked forced.
"Tell you what, Roland," he said, "your Mum and I will read you a story. Yeah?"
"But, what about Regina?"
Emma cringed, seeing the hurt cross Marian's face before it was replaced with anger. She stalked past Robin, walking in the opposite direction that Regina had. Robin ran after her, clutching his son and calling out to his wife.
Again, the whole Savior thing was really getting old.
She tried to push past her family to go back inside, but David caught her by the arm gently. "Hey," he told her, "this is not on you, Emma. You did something wonderful today. You saved someone's life."
"I also ruined another person's happiness," she pointed out.
Hook reached for her. "Swan—"
"Guys, seriously," she sagged in defeat. "Just…back off right now, okay? I just want to go home." She met Killian's eyes, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat like a bitter pill. He nodded knowingly, though she could see the sadness in his blue eyes. She'd have to be careful with him. It would be too easy to fall prey to that deceptively angelic face and get hurt again. She couldn't let her guard down with him. Not yet. "Tomorrow," she told him, taking pity. "Okay?"
He gave a nod, slightly appeased. "Tomorrow."
This was most certainly not Arendelle. This land was cold and unnervingly flat, though she was certain she could smell the sea in the air. Elsa's muscles ached as she walked forward, leaving the strange little barn she'd found herself in. It was as if she'd been asleep for years, decades even and she felt a certain grogginess as the effects of being inside an urn for however long it had been came rushing forth. Her head was pounding, but for the life of her, Elsa had no clue what had happened or how she'd come to be inside the urn.
The last thing she remembered was visiting her parents' grave markers with Anna the day before Anna's wedding. Elsa's eyes widened in worry as she wondered about her sister; where she was and whether or not Anna was safe. Hopefully, she was somewhere with Kristoff, though Elsa could not shake the nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong.
She realized that she was creating a trail of ice as she walked, which would clearly lead the inhabitants of this odd little kingdom straight to her. She doubted they would be any more receptive to her icy gift than the people attending her coronation had been. How long ago that seemed. How far she had come…until now. The uncertainty of her sister's fate left her in a lurch, full of dread. How had she come to be in this land? Who was her savior? Were they friend or foe?
Stumbling out of the forest, Elsa's eyes fell upon a large sign displayed at the side of what appeared to be some sort of paved road.
Welcome to Storybrooke.
Storybrooke? What an odd little name. She wondered if it was very far to the town or perhaps even a castle where she might ask for help getting back to Arendelle. Hopefully it was a benevolent ruler that presided over these lands.
A shining light nearly blinded her, rounding the bend in the road. Elsa gasped, seeing a large object hurdling toward her. It was neither carriage nor horse and it was loud. She braced herself for impact, squeezing her eyes closed and feeling an icy blast of magic burst forth from her palms. When there was no collision, she opened her eyes to see she'd frozen the thing solid, though she could see the distorted form of two strange little fellows gaping back at her through the ice. She could see the fear on their faces, the accusing looks. Same as her coronation. It made her feel like that frightened young girl again, hanging on the brink of desperation as she tried to conceal her secrets behind gloves.
"I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed in horror, darting past the hulking thing that was still humming beneath the ice. It appeared to be some sort of machine. She only hoped she could get far enough away before they escaped it and found her.
Who could possibly sympathize with a stranger who possessed such power?
Emma sat on the edge of her bed, fresh from one of the hottest showers she had ever taken, feeling slightly better than she had an hour ago, though that wasn't really saying much other than she didn't feel like one of the gross poor people in Les Miserables anymore. The Enchanted Forest of the past hadn't been quite as desolate as when she and Mary-Margaret had ended up there just after she'd broken the curse, but there was still an alarming amount of toothless people. (And mildly disturbing cleavage, but that was neither here nor there.)
She could hear the soft murmur of her parents and Henry below, though she wondered for a second where Hook would be spending his night. Maybe Granny would take pity on him. She wasn't going to worry though; he'd probably had it a lot worse before. He was a grown man, he could fend for himself. Emma found mild comfort at the sound of Mary-Margaret's voice.
"Sweetie, go brush your teeth before bed, okay? Do you want me to tuck you in?"
"Grandma, I'm almost thirteen," Henry laughed, "I have it covered. Although I'm getting a little too tall for the couch."
"So I see," Mary-Margaret chuckled. Emma heard the sound of Henry's footsteps before she heard the bathroom door shut below.
"He's growing up so fast," David's voice came wistfully.
"Don't they all?" Mary-Margaret's voice changed from amusement to melancholy, filling Emma with another wave of strange guilt. She had the eerie sense that her mother was referring to her. She tried to imagine, just for a second, what it would have been like to be raised by them, with her little brother two years younger than she was rather than thirty. She tried to picture what it would have been like to have her mother tuck her in at night and bring boys home to meet her overprotective father.
Well, that part was still happening, which was both endearing and hilarious to Emma. He'd been muttering something about 'asking Hook what his intentions were' after seeing them kissing through the window. Emma didn't have the heart to tell her father that they were just making out.
Hell, they hadn't even been on a date.
What if she hated the way he chewed his food? Or he ended up ordering his steak rare? Because frankly, that was a deal breaker. She did not want to watch somebody eating a bleeding cow carcass while she was trying to enjoy her meal. It had to be at least medium. What if he picked his nose and ate it? Her first boyfriend had done that and she'd dumped him immediately.
And then there was the fact that he was completely in love…with himself. Hook made no secret of catching his own reflection any chance he got, which was both irritating and weirdly hot, which pissed her off, because the last thing she wanted was some self-involved turd. She'd dated enough of those. But there was something about Killian; he was in love with himself, but it was almost at his own expense. Almost like he was trying to make her laugh.
Or he just really liked the way his butt looked in a pair of leather pants. (She really couldn't fault him for that one.)
Emma heard Mary-Margaret talking quietly to the baby and couldn't help her curiosity as she crouched near the stairs. It was like a window into what could have been. *Henry was already half asleep on the couch, sprawled out like the overgrown teenager that he nearly was.
"Okay, Neal…," she was saying, "we need to try to figure out how to cheer up your sister. I know that's a lot of pressure for someone who's not even a week old, but I'm open to ideas."
Emma knew she should probably resent the baby, or feel some kind of irrational jealousy toward him, but she couldn't help it. She loved that kid. Maybe it was the fact that she'd given up her own baby once, but every time she looked into his chubby little face with the little wisps of blonde hair at the crown of his head, she just melted. She liked to think at thirty, she'd matured past that way of thinking, but the reality was that even though she loved her parents and she knew in her heart they were "Mom" and "Dad", they were still the same age as she was, figuratively speaking. There was still a little resentment over her lost childhood that she'd pushed to the back of her mind, but for now, she was just happy to be home with them. She would deal with her own petty demons on her own.
A quiet rap at the window nearly made Emma scream, but she held back, instinctively reaching for her gun, which she drew and pointed at her would-be intruder. Her eyes narrowed on the silhouette of Killian Jones standing on her fire escape and she had to suppress a groan. Of course the idiot pirate would climb the damn fire escape instead of just knocking on the front door like a rational human being.
Rolling her eyes, Emma set the gun aside, putting the safety on and putting a finger to her lips before opening the window to let him inside.
"Are you kidding me?" She hissed in a whisper.
"Aren't you adorable when you're angry, love?" He whispered back with a wink.
She scowled at him. "Can I remind you that my parents, brother and son are all within earshot?"
"Oh, I can be very discreet when I need to be," he returned, sitting on her bed with his feet crossed and grinning that ridiculous grin at her. Bastard. Beckoningly, he patted the bed beside him and Emma reluctantly glanced down the stairs to make sure all was quiet before she crept to her bed and sat beside him, giving him a withering look.
"What are you doing here?"
"Couldn't leave things like that," he explained, "You were so upset."
"Don't tell me you've gone soft on me, Hook," she replied, though she couldn't suppress a smile.
"Aye, you've ruined me, Swan," he chuckled. "Tomorrow wasn't soon enough. Not when we've just…well, you know."
She snickered quietly. "Well, as much as I enjoy the whole West Side Story scenario, I think next time, you should just use the regular, boring stairs. If my father caught you up here, he'd probably castrate you."
He winced slightly, crossing his legs at the thought and making her snort. "To be fair, Swan, aren't you thirty?"
"Aren't you like, a thousand?" She countered, raising a brow at him.
"Touché, Darling," he agreed, giving her half a grin. She rested her head against the brick wall of the apartment, suddenly realizing how exhausted she was. "Quite a heavy weight you're carrying on those shoulders of yours, isn't it?"
"Aren't you going to tell me you told me so?" Emma inquired bitterly. His eyes dilated momentarily, but he shook his head. "Why not?"
"Well for one, I value my well-being and you do have a certain affinity for that pistol," he began, "but for another, I think you made the right decision to save that woman."
"Why?"
"Swan, isn't it bloody obvious?" He asked in disbelief. "Because I trust your judgment and, well…I believe in you. Probably more than anything I've ever believed in. Being with you is different. When I'm with you, I want to be…more than a just a pirate. I want to be a good man again."
Emma managed a small smile, ignoring the obnoxious pounding of her pulse in her ears as she crossed her legs Indian style and took his hand into both of hers, long blonde hair falling into her face. "Killian, isn't it bloody obvious? You are a good man. You don't need me for that. You always have been…you know, underneath all of that leather and…chest hair."
"Ah, so you do notice," he smirked, though his eyes were full of sincerity.
"Shut up," she laughed softly, swatting at his arm, which he caught carefully in his hook and pulled her into his lap, cradling her cheek with his hand. Swallowing her pride, Emma made a decision. She was tired. She was tired of running; tired of chasing; tired of being the effing Savior. Right now, she just wanted to be a girl.
So, she kissed Killian Jones with everything she had. And it was good.
Meanwhile, across town, a blonde young woman sought refuge in an abandoned warehouse, hiding behind a pile of scrap metal and old tires. She sunk down onto the floor, sitting with her knees pulled to her chest and closed her eyes, praying for a miracle. She shivered, not from the chill in the air, of course, but rather, the hopelessness of her situation. She was far from home, perhaps even realms apart, and there was no sign of her sister anywhere. She had no one to turn to; no way to make these strangers trust her, especially after their found out about her freezing the vehicle of two men. She would be labeled a villain; a monster. A freak.
Elsa wished Anna was here. She would have known what to do. She would have had these people eating out of the palm of her hand with her vibrant personality and her warmth. But Anna wasn't here. Elsa was alone and goodness even knew whether Anna was safe or even if she was still alive. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed since her incarceration. For all she knew, centuries had passed, and judging by the strange town, she might not be so far off. Fighting tears of frustration and fear, Elsa tried to envision her sister's face; hear her voice. Beckon some happy memory to take her away from this awful place.
"Do you think somebody should fish the Prince out of the water, Your Majesty?" Kai asked kindly, trying unsuccessfully to hold back his amusement. Elsa shook her head, nonplussed.
"I'm sure he'll surface eventually," she told him, still slightly rattled over everything that had happened, between nearly being executed by a sociopathic, power hungry scoundrel and watching her sister freeze solid before her eyes and then, subsequently unfreeze.
"Elsa," Anna's voice came from beside her. Elsa turned to see her sister holding the hand of the shaggy haired ice harvester and suppressed the urge to groan. Not that she wasn't grateful to the young man; it was just that the last man her sister had presented to her had not exactly been a keeper. But, she managed to smile at him. "I'd like to properly introduce you to Kristoff. Without whom I would be dead. Like three times."
Elsa chuckled, despite her initial hesitation. "What a pleasure, Kristoff, er…what is your last name?"
"Oh, uh…it's Bjorgman," he explained, nervously removing his hand and fidgeting with it.
"Whoa," Anna exclaimed, looking up at him and laughing, "Your last name literally means 'Mountain Man'." She giggled, looking to her sister. "Isn't that hilarious?"
"I feel like I'm supposed to say yes…?" Elsa responded, looking to the ice harvester, who shrugged.
"Could be worse," Kristoff offered, "the snowman called me 'Sven' for a full day."
Elsa's brow furrowed. "Sven?"
"Sven is the reindeer over there," Anna pointed to the unfortunate creature that was currently headfirst into a barrel of carrots. "He's Kristoff's best friend."
"And if that doesn't scream red flag to you, I don't know what will!" Kristoff quipped, cringing. Elsa relaxed at once, realizing he was nothing like Hans. She could see that he wasn't going to hurt Anna. Although, she was hoping that they would at least wait a few months before talking marriage. It was also extremely obvious that Kristoff cared for Anna, despite the fact that they'd only known each other a few days. Maybe it wasn't quite love yet, but there was something there. It was the way their parents used to look at each other.
Kristoff excused himself after a moment to assist his reindeer friend in removing his gigantic head from the barrel of carrots, leaving the two sisters alone.
Anna started talking quickly, before Elsa could even open her mouth to speak. "Before you say anything about Kristoff, I just want you know—"
"I like him, Anna," she interrupted.
"You do?" Anna's jaw dropped momentarily, before her eyes lit up. "I mean, of course you do. Who wouldn't like Kristoff? Well, besides the reindeer smell and the whole sharing food with reindeer thin—"
Elsa's eyes grew wide. "Wait, what?"
"And I mean, sometimes he can get a little cranky with other people…" Anna went on.
"Whoa, slow down," Elsa cut in, "Go back. Shares food with reindeer?"
"Just Sven!" Anna assured her. "Don't worry, Elsa. Sven's family."
"Oh boy...," Elsa laughed weakly. Both sisters turned to the faint sound of a splash and moved to the side of the ship just in time to see the waterlogged thirteenth heir of the Southern Isles being hauled out of the water, whimpering like a baby and clutching his eye.
"Oh please. I didn't even hit him that hard," Anna mused, making a face and meeting Elsa's eyes.
Elsa opened her mouth to comment, but all that came out was a decidedly un-queenly snort of laughter.