Disclaimer: I do no own OUAT or any of its characters. I'm just borrowing some of Adam and Eddie's toys.
A/N: Special thanks to my beta-reader archaeodonnell, who despite not watching OUAT occasionally still agrees to give my stuff an once-over for the sake of an outsiders' perspective.
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She is winter and spring. She is summer and autumn.
She is at once, the harshest cold of winter's freeze and the caressing warmth of summer's blaze. She is the reawakening of the spring and the final joyous palette of ecstatic color in autumn.
The whole world revolves around her, though they do not know it. But he does, he's always had a knack for recognizing such things; the centre of a given universe, and the most important beings in all creation.
All who meet her are drawn into her gentle orbit, and he is no different.
But of all the wondrous orbs who revolve in and around her heavenly sphere, it was him she chose to single out for her special attentions. A fact that marvels him even after several years of it being the case. But Jefferson has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth (though perhaps he should start, as this tendency has gotten him into trouble in the past…) and so he simply watches, and loves, and basks in the attention and love that Emma bestows upon him and his daughter.
As the seasons pass, summer to fall, winter to spring, and spring back around to summer once more; Jefferson muses that his lovely muse bears resemblance to all the cycles of the year.
He can see her in the brilliance and intensity of the summer sun, which coaxes out even the most reclusive to come and imbibe her radiance. Her golden hair is a halo about her head as she gently guides their children around the out-door market that has been set up in their sleepy town. Emma has shaken it up, woken all those in it to the truth, and they love her for it. Jefferson is no different, and he knows it's no less than she deserves.
In the autumn, as Emma's musical laughter floats to him as she plays in the fallen leaves with their children. Jefferson can see her reflected in the vibrant oranges, fiery reds, and golds of the leaves around her. Even as the world prepares to sleep the whole winter long it is still lively, and wows its viewers with one last spectacular show. So too does Emma surprise him every day with brilliant smiles, and the warmth of her affection being directed towards him. One such smile lights up her face, and the world around her, as she bursts forth from within the pile of leaves their children have covered her with. Their shrieks of delight and mock-fear put a smile on his own lips.
Even the harshness of winter can be said to have a poetic resemblance to their Savior. For she can be as harsh and unforgiving to her enemies as the winter is to all within its grasp; deadly even, but undeniably, impossibly beautiful even in this pristine coldness. He has seen her be thus whenever Henry is threatened. And even more recently she has afforded Grace the same protection, pushing both into her shadow as he and this Valkyrie-woman stand shoulder-to-shoulder against whatever evil would dare to threaten their babes. Her face is a mask of righteous fury, and Jefferson finds himself quite transfixed until the danger of the moment pulls him back into current awareness.
But it is the spring wherein Jefferson sees the closest parallel. Emma too has known periods of dormancy like winter; the pain of her childhood, lonely adolescence, even her brief stint in a county prison only made her all the more lovely now that she has had the chance to bloom. For the residents of Storybrooke she is the very embodiment of spring herself, the Savior who brought about the reawakening of the town from its curse. But Jefferson is the one who gets to see it all up close. And as they lie luxuriously in their warm bed one morning, and as Emma gives him a devilish smirk and begins to press herself against his body suggestively, Jefferson wonders how he ever came to have such good fortune.
Jefferson has come to love her in all her guises, be it the warmth of summer, the rebirth of spring, the vibrancy of autumn, or even the cold of winter. He would follow her to the end of his days, content to simply offer her his affections for as long as she will have them, but secretly hoping that she will never tire of him so that he may pass all the seasons of his life by her side. For those very same seasons have never seemed quite so lovely or miraculous as they do now that he can see her image embodied in their features.
Fin.
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A/N: Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! Why not leave a quick review or comment if you did? Mad Swan isn't a terribly active ship anymore, and any love I can get is what keeps me writing for this pair. (Critique is welcome too. I'm always looking to improve.)