Mary Margaret stood before the mirror, and wondered. Her hand lingered over her bump, over the promise of a new life – a new start, and she wondered.
A lot could happen in a year.
And life was never simple – never had been – neither in the Enchanted Forest or Storybrook. It had a habit of twisting back on itself and distorting what should have been straightforward. Even the family tree was gnarled and warped. Their child would be younger than her own grandson; she was the same age as her daughter – older daughter – and as for Henry's other side of the tree... that wasn't something they brought up.
And there was so little family left now. With Emma gone – probably halfway across America by now, with new memories, a new life... and Henry – her family was only really left with David and the bundle of life she held inside her. She would do anything to protect what she had left.
And yet... she looked, and she wondered.
She doubted.
Familiar arms drew her into a loving – if careful – embrace. David still expected her to break now she was with child, even though they had gone through this all before. Then again, last time hadn't ended so prettily either. A small smile flickered across her features at the contact.
"How are my two beautiful girls doing?" He stole a kiss and Mary Margaret had to smile.
"We don't even know it's a girl, David."
"It could be."
"Another daughter? Don't you want a son?"
"After being Henry's grandfather?" David chuckled. "I think we both want a try at raising another daughter, for real this time." Finally, he registered the tiredness in his wife's eyes. "Mary Margaret, what's wrong?"
She shook her head. "Nothing, it's just..."
"If it wasn't nothing, you wouldn't be worrying about it. Now, tell me what's bothering you."
"It's just I'm worried for our child, David!" Mary Margaret blurted out. She turned away from her pregnant reflection to face the once-royal. "It's been a year – perhaps more – since we first stepped back in the Enchanted Forest, and none of us remember any of it! We don't know how we got here, we don't know who did this... for all we know, that person could be here in Storybrook. And what if there's something wrong?"
"Wrong?" David echoed. "You mean, more wrong that being cursed for the second time – third time, in your case – in our lives? You might have to be a little more specific than that."
"With our child, David! What if it's... cursed?"
David gave that same smile, the one he always gave when she was panicking. There was little movement at his lips, but the smile could be seen in his eyes; in the kindness of his gaze. "We don't know."
"How can you be so... so calm about that?!" Mary Margaret demanded. "When this is our child we're talking about – their future! We can't just sit by and do nothing!"
"Mary Margaret–" David shifted his hands to his wife's shoulders, preventing her from storming off "–remember how many curses we've gone through, and we've all come out okay." He paused, and added, "Almost all. But we're family," he continued, refusing to remember the friends they had lost along the way, friends absent, "and we always find one another."
"I just can't shake off this bad feeling. Something's... Something's wrong. What if the Dreamshade from Neverland, or Gold's cure, had a side-effect? What if it affects our baby? Magic always comes with a price," Mary Margaret added, before David could counter her argument. "You know that."
"Mary Margaret, Gold gave us that magic for free–"
"In exchange for a favour," his wife amended.
"Gold is dead," David said slowly. "We saw him go."
"Did we? Because all I remember is a lot of magic and smoke and... a lot can happen in a year. We've thought we've lost people before, and they've come back!" Mary Margaret reasoned. "Even if he isn't alive, someone sent us back to Storybrook and I'll bet it wasn't for any good intention," she hissed.
"Well, we're here now, so we'll just have to make the best of it. You know we're going to have to start looking at baby names, right?" David chuckled, suddenly bringing the conversation completely off-topic. Mary Margaret knew this was intention, but she tried to smile nonetheless.
"Why? Do you have any ideas?"
"Well, I once had an aunt called Dorothy..."
She had to laugh then. "Oh, no – not a chance!"
"Why not? I like the name – it's classic..."
"It's old!" Mary Margaret grinned and added, "David, our child will not thank us if we name her Dorothy."
"Well, it made you smile. Come on – I'll make you breakfast." David turned and started down the stairs, leaving Mary Margaret to glance back to her reflection. Her reflection had lost its smile.
"David?" Her gaze moved over to her husband, who had stopped halfway down the stairs of their tiny flat. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What if it's not ours?"
"What? Mary Margaret, of course it's ours! We were planning on a family – you know that; why is it so impossible to believe it's actually happening? How can it not be ours anyway? You're carrying it!"
"I know, David, I know..." She looked back to the mirror, her hand running over the bump that held such life inside. What if it wasn't even hers? Could it even be possible that magic could do such a thing? "But... a year is a long time," she eventually concluded. "A long time to remember nothing."
So Mary Margaret stood before the mirror, and wondered.
ooOoo
A/N: This sprouted from a discussion with a fellow fan - I think there's something ominous about Mary Margaret's child, she doesn't. Knowing OUAT, I doubt anything is going to be simple, so I played on that. Since (at this point in time) only the first episode of the second part of Season 3 ("Serenade in New York") has been released, I know nothing about the truth of the child. Perhaps there really is nothing unusual about it and I've just watched too much Doctor Who, but we shall see. (Feel welcome to say "I told you so" when the season finishes!) Anyway, you're welcome to review and leave your own thoughts (am I just paranoid or do other people feel the same way?) and I hope you enjoyed this oneshot.
To my regular TCR readers, I'll be posting the next chapter of "Reflections" this Friday, as per usual. Unless I get bombarded with relentless plot bunnies, I doubt I'll be wandering out of the TCR fandom again any time soon.
Anyway, thank you for reading, and God bless,
Cat.