Generally speaking, Emma Swan is irreligious. That is not to say that she is anti religious by any stretch of the imagination; for the most part, she gives no thought to anything beyond her everyday life in Storybrooke. Given all that she has seen, Emma has learned that there are spiritual beings beyond her knowing, even other worlds, possibly without end. As the daughter of two of the most beloved fairy tale figures in loral and literary history, she'd have to be delusional to not believe in some Higher Power.
Every clan and culture has its own unique way of relating to this Higher Power, its own system of beliefs and rituals associated with the worship of, and its own name for, said Higher Power. For Emma, the Higher Power is called "God" and the system of beliefs and rituals she was sporadically exposed to as a child is Roman Catholicism. At three years old, when adopted by the Swan family of Springfield, Massachusetts, Emma was christened and formally made a member of the one, holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church.
In her two short years with them, Emma attended Mass every week. She learned by rote the Latin phrases of the liturgy, hummed convincingly as the Swans sang songs out of the pretty black hymnal. For her fifth birthday, Emma received her very own Bible, a small black book with creamy white pages, her name engraved on the cover in looping gold script: Emma Marie Swan. She couldn't yet read the words, but she liked to hold the book in her hands, rapidly flipping through the pages and smelling them, the unique scent of newly printed paper that she came to associate with safety and the sacred.
When Mrs. Swan's belly began to swell, Emma was excited at the prospect of being a big sister. She hadn't quite figured out what sort of sister she'd be when the stern, doleful woman with the clipboard and the high heels came and took her away. To this day, Emma can't remember the last words Mr and Mrs Swan said to her, if they said anything at all. With such a turbulent history, the strong connection of the Church to her tragic childhood, Emma can't quite figure out why she's here, sitting in the back pew of a church in rural Maine on Ash Wednesday, at 7:00 PM EST.
In her hands she clutches the Bible given to her so long ago, its cover cracked and the pages yellowed with age. Over all her years of being shifted from one place to another, her Bible was her one constant. As she grew, Emma read it in bits and pieces, finishing the last page as she sat in a cell, awaiting the birth of her son. When the music starts, she is startled, but she composes herself as the priest makes his way down the aisle, the sleeves of his dark purple robes nearly trailing the ground.
The priest briefly kneels in front of the altar, walks round it, and presses his lips to the altar table itself. Emma's eyes brim with tears as the priest makes the sign of the cross. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit . . ." Emma murmurs a quiet "Amen" with the rest of the congregation, then stands for the invocation and the Scripture readings, her Bible already marked with the selected passages.
In a blur, the Scriptures are read, the songs sung, and before long Emma is standing before the priest, who tells her to remember that she is dust, and to dust she will return. He makes the sign of the cross on her forehead, the black ashes stark against her pale skin. Emma turns to walk back to her seat, then abruptly passes the back pew, and walks straight out the door.
"Emma, what. . .what's that on your forehead, love?"
Killian's eyebrows raise, his lips curved in a half-smile as he takes in her disheveled state. Her beautiful blonde hair is a tangled mass on her shoulders, the strange sooty mark on her brow smeared almost to her nose. Emma doesn't speak. She grabs Killian by the shoulders, pulling him toward her, kissing him so passionately that when she breaks away she's left him gasping for air.
"That is a cross, the symbol of my religion - well, the symbol of the religion I was forcibly made part of when I was a child." Killian opens his mouth, but before he can ask Emma adds, "It's a cross drawn in ashes. Today is Ash Wednesday, an important holy day in the religion, which is Christianity by the way, in case I haven't told you."
"Aye, you have mentioned it, a time or two. It's not too often, but once in a great while you feel compelled to cross the town line so you can attend the Mast, whatever that is."
"The Mass, Killian. It's hard to explain the particulars, but in a nutshell, it's a time when Christians gather to worship God."
"Aye, love. I'd never begrudge you the chance to be among fellow believers, though I do miss you when you're gone." Killian grins and wraps his arm around her, pulling her inside and shutting the door. He presses her up against the refrigerator (stainless steel, a brand new model given to them by the Golds as an extravagant housewarming gift) and kisses her, careful not to smudge the ashes. "This thing," he mutters when he breaks their kiss. "It's already a goner. May I?"
Emma nods in assent, and Killian gently wipes the soot away, then wipes his fingers carelessly on his jacket. Emma takes his hand in hers and threads her fingers through his. "You poor baby," she croons, her voice laced with gentle teasing. "My poor, sweet Killian. . ." She trails off, turns her head aside to kiss his neck. Killian gasps, and Emma feels his pulse beating rapidly as she kisses him again. "I'm never gone for more than a few hours. It's sweet that you miss me, though. I miss you, too. It's no surprise I find it hard to keep my hands off you."
Emma lifts her head from Killian's neck, awed as she often is by his beautiful baby blue eyes. She sees love there, and lust, his pupils blown. She's seen this look before: Are you alright? Yes, love, why? If you look at me any harder, you're gonna drill a hole in my head. While she is lost in thought, Killian presses up against her. She's pinned to the fridge, and Killian kisses her, roughly, his mouth suffocating and his hips grinding her against the appliance almost brutally.
"Wait," she gasps, when Killian comes up for air. "Wait, Killian, I wanted to ask you something."
"Aye, love, anything." Killian presses his lips to her temple, cheek, and chin. He looks her in the eyes, and the way he loves and trusts her makes Emma want to cry. "There's a custom that many Christians observe this time of year, and I haven't done it in so long -"
"Well you shall observe it this year. If it's important to you, it's important to me."
"Well. . ."
"Well what? What's to stop you?"
"This particular custom would require your cooperation, and -"
"I'm game, love. I promise you'll have my full cooperation and support. Now, what sort of custom is it that you're so hesitant to tell me?"
Emma laughs and wraps her arms around him. "Well, since you asked. This time of year is called Lent. For 40 days, Christians give up something they love to get closer to God. Spiritually speaking, of course." Killian scoffs, his breath tickling Emma's hair. "And what would you be giving up, love? Spiritually speaking."
"Um." Emma coughs, clears her throat, then coughs again. "This year I thought I'd try being celibate. . ."
Killian groans.
Author's Note: I don't know where I'm going with this, if I go forward at all. I'd thought to make a series of drabbles about Captain Swan during the Lenten season, set in the vague near future, but honestly I don't know yet. I have made quite an assumption that Emma was christened into, and had any familiarity with, the Catholic Church. I made this assumption based on my own complicated Anglo-Catholic inclinations (which I have shamelessly projected onto my favorite TV heroine), the fact that Roman Catholicism is the dominant faith in both Maine and Massachusetts, and the overall spiritual/supernatural themes of the show.
Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think.
- faithxhopexlovexmusic ✌