It was quite an impressive hall for so small a chamber music group. She shrank back against the door she had just come through feeling like an ant amongst the ocean of steep red velvet seats; the stage looming in front of her was a huge half circle ringing with majesty. Oh, of course, she reminded herself that this was also the hall where the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, one of the largest orchestra's in the country, rehearsed and performed so – there was that. Still when a hall could dwarf an average orchestra of fifty to one hundred and fifty people the measly group of twenty or so suddenly seemed comically small.

She bounced her shoulders and unconsciously rolled her head on her neck. She spent the better part of her life with a cello strapped to her back like a child's backpack and while it only weighed thirty pounds, it left her shoulders and neck aching constantly. She didn't even notice the discomfort anymore; it was just a way of life.

Stepping out of the way of a new person coming through the door she checked her phone again nervous. She hated the stress that came with leaving Henry with a stranger, something she rarely did. Unfortunately, they had only been in the city for forty-eight hours; anyone she would have left him with would have been a stranger. There simply was no other choice so she had hired an online babysitter that she had only just met this afternoon.

Get your head in the game, Swan. This is it, get in there and do your job. You want steady work? You want to stop freelancing? This is what it means. Let's go, let's go – stop worrying.

She clicked on her usual crooked half smile and started toward the stage, hands shoved deeply in the pockets of her jeans.

It is common practice when a job was won in the world of classical music someone somewhere posted the results online. It was just one of those unspoken rules, like taking down a for sale sign when a property had been purchased. A few people eyed her as she approached but, for the most part, the small group knew she was coming and, therefore, she was not of interest. She was thankful; she hated the times she would walk into the rehearsal space and everyone would turn and stare as if she were a zoo exhibit.

She introduced herself first to a number of official looking people in suits and ties, all wearing clear marks of being board members and then turned to the others, clearly musicians, who looked a bit more like her in their jeans and tee shirts. The casual wear helped to settle Emma's nerves a bit further. She had been worried that the performers in a chamber music group of this prestige would always be in professional wear, concert blacks even during rehearsals. It had happened to her before. She had shown up to a new orchestra job in her typical jeans and tee to find the lot in ties and cocktail dresses. Emma had to admit she had pretty thick skin but that had been humiliating.

Still, for the sake of looking her best, she ran a hand through her blonde tangles wishing she had thought to style it better and smiled politely at those around her, releasing her cello from its case and beginning her warm up.

Slowly the seats around her began to fill as people joined her, freeing their instruments and plucking or tooting away, warming their muscles like athletes stretching before a game.

"You look nervous." A slightly bored voice said behind her. Craning her neck a little, her cello supported between her knees, she smiled a little at the man behind her, his body hidden behind his huge upright double bass. His expression matched his tone, as his bored hooded eyes seemed to stay closed for just a moment too long each time he blinked as if it was all he could do to stay awake. He was handsome in a traditional tall, dark and handsome kind of way, his light British accent only supporting his looks. He was attractive enough, she noted, that the horn player just to the left of him kept shooting furtive glances at his way as if begging him to look over and notice her. The problem was the near smug boredom on his face told Emma that he was fully aware of the fact that he was good-looking, just as he was fully aware - and ignoring - the hopeful glances of the horn player. She couldn't decide if she instantly liked the man despite his arrogance or if he instantly annoyed her.

Both. Definitely both.

"Uh, I'm not nervous, exactly." It was more that she wasn't entirely sure she was supposed to be there. She had won the job, of course, but she still wasn't sure they meant to pick her instead of some other thin blonde with her initials. It wasn't a new feeling, she was always somewhat sure that someone somewhere had checked the wrong box passing her forward in the audition instead of kicking her to the gutter where she belonged. After nearly ten active years in the world of classical music, she was still a bit unsure of how exactly she fit into it. She had seen minutes into her first year of undergrad that the noble stereotypes movies and television put on classical musicians were not exactly true. They weren't a group of highly educated elitist assholes that only cared for wine and Beethoven. As a matter of fact, she had never seen a group of people smoke so much pot or do quite as many keg stands as she had seen those people do. Still, it took her a few weeks in a new job to let go of the feeling that her background of foster homes and neglect had given her, sure she would be discovered for the interloper that she was and they would quickly throw her butt out.

She, of course, wasn't going to tell this man all of that. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, "It's kind of scary to know that if any mistakes are made they are all me. There's no one else to blame in a group this small."

The man shrugged, "We all make mistakes, love."

She just smiled, noncommittally.

The man eyed her for a moment before leaning over; his bass clutched tightly in one arm and offered his hand, "Killian."

She took it, willing to be friendly, "Emma. Emma Swan."

Her attention was drawn back to the front of the room as the leader of the group, Mary, called for silence and began running them through a few new notices, "and of course, as you all can see our new cellist has finally made it. Emma Swan. Welcome!"

Emma nodded her head politely, not surprised by the quick introduction. She had spent the past years since she graduated from college fluttering through city after city, freelancing, taking any temporary contract from any orchestra or music group and working until they didn't need her and she was forced move on to the next. She was familiar with the way new people were treated.

Mary spent a while going over the plans they had for the upcoming season, what they would be playing for the first concert and explaining who would be playing with whom, something that was indeed new to Emma. Typically an orchestra of fifty or more players all played together however things were different in a chamber music organization. While the organization had around twenty people to choose from they never played together as a group instead different pieces of music were picked and then people were singled out into groups of three to six to perform together.

Emma was pleased to find that she was placed within a number of the small groups. She hated it when the new person was held back for a while to 'learn the ropes'. She was very much a grab life by the balls, all or nothing girl.

Mary lectured a bit longer, clearly a fan of her own voice and it was beginning to bore Emma to tears. Why go on and on about pieces that were well known in the classical music world? It wasn't as though they hadn't played the music before - ten or more times. Her eyes were just beginning to lose their focus as they slipped into an undetectable daydream when a flurry of motion caught her eye just to the left of the stage. She squinted, trying to see through the glare of the overpowering stage lights. At first, she saw only an average height brunette standing there, back perfectly straight, chin high and glaring into the face of a man as if she wanted to claw his damn eyes out. Emma watched as the man cowered back a step or two and she couldn't blame him in the slightest; that woman was fierce. Then she noticed next to the fierce looking woman was a tall, clearly leggy and slightly younger brunette with a wide grin on her face staring in clear concentration at the man, her hands jumping and dancing as he spoke as if she were copying the man word for word.

Hmm, interesting.

She had been all over the country in different halls and studios throughout and she had never before seen a deaf person in the hall during a rehearsal. What was a person who couldn't hear doing in a music rehearsal? The leggy brunette finally let her hands fall still to her stomach as if in a rest position, her face blank as she turned toward the fierce brunette, expectantly. The fierce brunettes face grew ever more lethal her lips curling back in fury as she pinned the man with her eyes, saying something that seemed to make the man quake in his boots. He nodded quickly and without hesitation turned on his heels to escape. The leggy brunette's eyebrows shot into her hairline as her hands flew into action again in fluid beautiful motion. The fierce brunette rolled her flashing eyes and with quick stabbing motions of clear anger she answered the woman.

Two deaf people?

She would have to ask Killian about this, she was intrigued.

Her attention was drawn back to the violinist as she finally readied them to play.

The rehearsal went as smoothly as she could have hoped for. The group played beautifully and at once she was pleased and validated by her co-workers. She had known they would be good and it was a confidence boost to be amongst them.

On occasion as she played her eye would be drawn from her music to the flying hands somewhere around the room but she never had a moment to really look as she wanted to, her concentration filled by her task.

"So where did you come from?" Killian appeared at her side as she shoved her cello back into its confines at the end of the night.

"Err, well. The last place was Pittsburgh; I had a one-year contract with a few of the smaller groups around there. Before that, I was in southern California and before that I was in Utah." She clicked her tongue and chuckled, her hands burying themselves in the pockets of her red leather jacket. Though the snow had been off the ground since long before she arrived, the wind was still chill in early May coming directly off of Lake Michigan and roaring through the wind tunnels of downtown so fast that the average sixty-five-degree air felt like forty.

Killian smiled devilishly, "Ah the life of a freelancer. Constantly moving, constantly unsure of how you will get by. We've all had to do it at some point in our career and I don't miss it."

Shrugging Emma laughed, "Well I'm looking forward to not missing it. I am happy to stay in one place, for a little while anyway. Who knows what's next when this contract is up."

The job had been well worth moving them from Pittsburgh but unfortunately, it was simply a two-year contract. That was longer than some, but she would still need to keep an eye out for something more permanent.

"Aye, well love," Killian said as the laughter died, "you sound great. I'll see you tomorrow. Welcome to the group."

She nodded and returned to her things. Just as she was pulling the instrument onto her back to head toward the El Train she remembered the question she had for Killian.

Oh well, there is always tomorrow.


She hopped on her train as soon as it arrived, teeth chattering. If she was this cold now, how would she handle the snow next winter?

Her commute from downtown to her apartment in the area of town known as Wilson was only about thirty minutes long, assuming there were no delays but it was long enough for her to begin to lose the feeling in her toes.

Worst heater ever in here. What's the point of even having one?

"Hello?" She called into her quiet apartment, hoping with everything she had that she wouldn't find the unknown babysitter doing something she shouldn't.

"Hi! I'm sorry, Ms. Swan!" The young girl appeared from Henry's room, the little boy draped over her shoulder, half asleep. He grumbled and reached for his mother. "I've been trying to put him down since bedtime but he's been so upset."

"It's okay," she said, rubbing his back, "It's usually a problem with a new babysitter. Don't worry about it." The babysitter didn't look as though this information made her feel any better.

With a smile Emma held her getting to be kind of too long to be held four-year-old, paid the babysitter and headed back to his bedroom, maneuvering around the boxes still to be unpacked. "Hey, kid." She smiled and rubbed his belly.

"You were gone," he said with a big sigh that rocked his whole little body.

"I know, I had to work remember?"

He nodded, rubbing his face.

"You're sleepy. Close your eyes."

"You home?"

"Yes," Emma sighed, understanding, "I'm home for the night."

Henry rolled and Emma softly rubbed his back until his breathing became deep and even. Then she quietly got up and stretched, he was going to be tired in the morning.

It was hovered around ten, earlier than she had planned to be home so she took advantage of the time to get in a quick but vigorous living room workout before slowly brushing her hair and teeth and changing into her pajamas, banging her shins on a few boxes as she went. They had only been in the apartment for two days and Emma was already tired of the boxes. No, if she was being honest she was always tired of boxes. She hated them. She hated what they represented for her son and herself. She hated the way they looked. She even hated their smell. At least she and Henry didn't have a lot of boxes; they had moved six times since Henry was born. After a while you simply stopped accumulating belongings that weren't absolutely necessary. After a while all belongings were measured by 'is this worth packing into the car?'

Deciding to ignore the boxes for another day she fell into bed with a sigh, exhausted as she was every single day.


The next morning Henry slowly crawled into the room, doing his best not to wake her before diving headlong under the covers.

"What? No!" She groaned, "Go back to sleep, kid!"

He refused, pulling her eyelid back and smiling, nose to nose with her, "But it's time for cartoons! Where's the TV mommy?"

Since Emma had a job that was primarily in the evenings their early mornings were often spent in bed, Henry nestled tightly against her as he watched cartoons on the bedroom TV and she got a little more sleep. "It's not set up yet."

Henry looked stricken despite the fact that she knew he could see it still under the blanket sitting dormant.

"Tell you what," she said pulling herself up onto her elbow, "I'll get up and we'll clean up the kitchen, like Snow White, and then we'll walk to the store and get some more groceries. What do you think? You wanna go for a walk?" Henry grinned at the idea of the time outside. "Yeah?" He nodded, "Yeah?" He nodded again, giggling at his mother's silliness. "Oh yeah?" Emma buried her face in her little man's stomach, blowing raspberries and making him scream with giggles.

Henry sang no specific tune lightly as he 'helped' his mother by pushing dirt from one side of the room to the other, grinning as he went. Once they were done Emma draped Henry in a coat and they started off, hand in hand, down the street.

"What about some bananas?"

He giggled, "No!"

"Apples?"

"No!"

"Some peanut butter?"

"No, silly!"

"Bread? I don't know kid; what food are you thinking about?"

"Chic'in noodle!" he cooed as if this was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Oooh, you want me to make some chicken noodle soup?" She checked her watch. They had spent a lot of time cleaning out the kitchen, which had turned into cleaning the living room and Emma wasn't completely sure if they would have time before the babysitter returned and she went to work. "Maybe I can, but you might have to eat it with Becca."

He scowled but when she let him pick out the funny shaped noodles for his favorite soup he perked back up again.


A teary snot-laden face followed her through the house as she threw on her jeans and tee shirt, high pitched whines fumbling from his soggy lips. "Buddy, look," she pointed into the kitchen at the large pot on the stove, "you get to have your soup with Becca. You like Becca, remember? You said she's funny."

"But I don't wanna!" He wailed, throwing his arms around her knees, his head back as he hiccupped morosely. With a sigh she lifted him, kissing his temples. She hated this part, the part where her sweet little boy crumbled at the thought of his mother leaving him for yet another night. It was the worst part of the night. "Hey, I'll be home soon, kid and you get to have your soup. Do you want your soup? Maybe Becca will put on Snow White." She caught the babysitter's eye and the girl understood she had permission to put the movie on. "Do you wanna watch Snow White?"

"Yes!" He wailed in her ear, deafening her for a moment.

"Okay well, I have to go so that you can do that."

It was a fight getting the screaming child off of her neck but finally with a guilt-ridden kiss she slipped out the door and down the hall as quickly as she could go.

She hated this. She hated this. She hated this. She hated this.


Two nights later she had spent the day unpacking every box with Henry and doing her best to make up for his recent tearful nights with silly singing and dancing...but it was time for her to join a handful of people at her first performance. Henry was a little better at letting her go this time around. He understood that when she pulled her hair into a tight ponytail and put on her all black clothes and heels, her concert blacks, that it was time for mommy to go play music for someone.

She went in through the stage door feeling her heart beating hard in her chest. It almost wasn't fair that her very first performance with the group included a solo piece. She had liked the sink or swim attitude originally but now she was beginning to think someone was messing with the new girl.

The gig was a small one; a fundraiser benefit for some local arts high school but that didn't mean that there weren't fifty or more impressionable little faces watching her.

"You ready, Swan?" Killian asked, handing her a bottle of water.

She scoffed, "Are you kidding? I was born ready." She wasn't sure if he could hear the slight wobble of her voice.

The small group of five gathered on the stage far too soon and before she knew it they were playing, the evening suddenly on fast-forward. The audience of children from the school sat upright in the seats in front of the stage eyes wide in wonder while their parents lingered in their party best just behind them, enjoying the entertainment but ready for the party to begin again.

A fluttering just off to the side of the group continuously pulled at her attention as she tried to focus on her task at hand, unable to look up from the music.

What the hell is that?

The first piece ended and with polite applause and the other four players cleared the little makeshift stage leaving plenty of room for Emma and her nerves she was refusing to acknowledge.

She was announced and the room fell into a hush, all eyes on her waiting for her to swoon them.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly let her bow arm slide across the strings, pulling a low deep moan from the instrument as she began.

Typically when she played she had something to focus on, the conductor, the music sheets in front of her or the players around her but playing from memory in front of the large crowd she had nowhere to look. The fluttering from her left side started again and before she could stop herself her attention was pulled to the wildly flying hands of the fierce brunette Emma had noticed days before. Scowling she did her best to dismiss the commotion as she played but the longer the hands flew, the less she could ignore them. The fierce brunette was standing against the wall, only kind of watching Emma as she clearly was chatting with the leggy brunette next to her. Emma had to admit despite her frustration building that the brunette was obviously beautiful. Her skin was a light olive that shone in the tinted light of the gala, her chin and cheeks angled around the full red lips. Noticing the woman's beauty only made her more distracting. She scowled, mumbling in her mind about the rudeness of strangers as she saw that all eyes, adults and children alike, near the woman were turned to her, watching her hands move instead of the performance happening in front of them. It wasn't that Emma was so self-centered that she had to have all eyes on her but these were children! They were still learning how to behave during a performance from the adults around them and a bad example was being set.

She was pleased to sway her last note out and made a small nod of thanks to those clapping, anger pulsing in every vein at the constant distraction.

When the performers were released from their duty after two more pieces and free to mingle or return home she paused, knowing the first thing she wanted to do.

I won't be rude. I'll just say something about how distracting it can be. I won't be rude, I won't be rude, I won't be rude. I know I would want to be told if I were distracting those around me, right?

She made her way to the fierce brunette, remembering the look she had held a few days ago as she crushed the man beneath her designer heel. Perhaps she should have been intimidated but she just wasn't. Agitated she looked back at the other members of The Windy City Chamber Group and found that Killian was watching from the bar. She smiled half-heartedly and approached the woman who was staring intently at her phone screen, unaware of anything around her.

"Um, hi."

The woman did not look up and Emma rolled her eyes at herself, had she really just tried to speak to a deaf person?

Softly she touched the woman's hand and fell under the magnified gaze of those rich dark chocolate eyes. Emma blinked for a moment, just slightly dizzy and smiled. She went to speak she realized she had no idea how she would communicate with the woman. She didn't speak Sign Language, what had she been thinking? She brunette saw her hesitate and smiled with cold professionalism. With two fingers, she made a circle around her mouth and stared intently at Emma's lips as if trying she say she would be able to pick up on what Emma was saying.

"Okay, hi," She said offering her hand. "Emma."

"Regina Mills." Emma was taken back for a moment by the fact that the woman had spoken. She didn't know that deaf people could do that. How could you speak if you couldn't hear? Though, now that she thought about it, hadn't she seen the woman speak to the cowering man?

If she showed a sign of surprise she hoped she had wiped it away quickly, "So I'm the new performer with W.C.C.G.-"

The woman nodded in understanding, "Yes, the cellist." Her voice was unusual but not what Emma would have expected. While the pitch was perfectly ordinary, if not a little deep, it was almost as if the woman had a very bad head cold making all of her words nasal and constricted. One word seemed to flow a little into the next but otherwise she was perfectly understandable.

"Uh, yeah. So I was just up there a minute ago."

"Right. Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Swan?"

Emma scoffed, how was it the woman already seemed agitated to be spoken to? Wasn't it customary to give someone time to piss you off before being rude to them? She had assumed the man from the other day had transgressed in some way but maybe this woman was just a bitch. Emma's surprise at Regina's tone made her words come out a bit more bluntly than she had intended, "I have to say, you were really distracting."

"Excuse me?" Despite the slight distortion; her voice was cold, flat and dripping with venom.

"Forgive me for saying so but you were talking through the entire concert and it was very distracting. It wasn't just me, I noticed the other players glancing your way so -"

The woman looked dumbfounded, a flash of something that looked like familiar pain crossing her eyes before hiding away behind indignation. Her hands began to move in the alien language but before Emma could inform the woman she had no idea what the moves meant a voice from behind supplied her with the answer, "I'm deaf."

Emma looked around to notice the other brunette approaching with a drink in her hand, "Excuse me?" Emma was confused.

"Hi," the brunette gave her a toothy grin, "Ruby Lucas, I'm Ms. Mills' interpreter."

But Ms. Mills was having none of these pleasantries, feathers clearly ruffled by what Emma had said.

"Tell this idiot," Ruby read habitually as the graceful hands flew, "that I am deaf and Sign Language is my main means of communication. Oh-" Ruby blushed a little, "um-"

"Yeah, I got the gist." Emma grumbled and turned to Ruby, "I understand that she's deaf obviously," Ruby opened her mouth to say something but fingers snapped in front of her face, a sign which read clearly look at me exploding in front of her.

"Talk to her," Ruby explained, "Pretend I'm not here. Geez, she's really mad. What did you say?"

"I was trying to tell her that, all due respect, her hands going during the concert was really distracting."

"And I told you," Ruby read, "that I am deaf and this is how I communicate."

Emma bristled, knowing the woman was taking her words the wrong way but the clearly hostile attitude dried any possible guilt before it came, "I know that and I understand that but we're here teaching children how to behave while in a classical setting, right? So isn't it rude for anyone to talk during a performance? Whether it's with their voices or with their hands?"

Emma took a step back as the woman burst into speech, her hands moving so quickly that she wasn't sure how the other brunette was able to follow it at all. It was mildly intimidating to stand so close to the woman as she yelled in her language, her hands flying, slapping loudly into her other each other as she went. It was like standing next to a small silent explosion.

"Are we also not meant to teach these children about tolerance and acceptance of those around them? I apologize," her face clearly reading sarcasm, "if my language was distracting to you but just as handicapped rails are readily available on most buildings so all may enter, some allowances have to be made. Let us only hope that people with attitudes such as yours do not spend too much time with these children and, therefore, your archaic intolerances will not be passed on."

"Wait, wait, lady," Emma cried, irritated but the woman blew by her, chestnut hair bouncing as she went, "I wasn't singling you out because you're deaf, I was making a comment about anyone talking during the performance." But the woman had her back to her so didn't see her words and her interpreter friend didn't see to hear.

What the hell was that woman's problem? Why would she just assume that she was being rude because she was deaf?

She considered following, making sure the brunette and her interpreter knew exactly what her meaning had been but Killian stepped in front of her, an extra glass of wine in his hand for Emma. "I see you met the crocodile."

"What?"

"We call her the crocodile because she eats people whole in one bite. Were you fighting with her?"

"Yeah, I guess so. She was using Sign Language through the entire performance and it was really freaking distracting."

Killian laughed looking impressed, "Yeah, I noticed. Actually, we've all noticed but no one has ever had the guts to say something to her." From across the room, the brunette caught her eye again and glared a bit. "Well," he chuckled, clinking glasses with her, "good job, love. You just pissed off the boss."

Emma took a large gulp of the wine and scowled, "Of freaking course I did."


So I don't want to blow up people's emails with all the chapters at once. So I'll put up one or two (depending on time) a day until it's all up again.

Come find me on Tumblr: ioliviajanae
Happy to answer any questions or comments you might have!