Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time.
Chapter Two: The Lies and Life of a Superhero
Emma yawned, stretching her arms as she awoke. Her mouth felt thick and fuzzy, and her face felt warm. Overall, she felt as if she had just woken from a very bad dream. Blinking, she took in the sight before her. Mary Margaret and David were staring down at her, a worried look about him. Mary Margaret's slim black eyebrows were drawn close together, her clear green eyes locked on Emma's face. David had one hand on Emma's shoulder, one hand on Mary Margaret's. He squeezed Emma's reassuringly as Emma glanced around in confusion.
"Uh, morning?" Emma questioned, pushing herself into a seated position. From the couch, Emma had a perfect view of the window. Normally, brightness would be filtering lazily through that window, staining the room with buttery yellow sunshine. At the moment, Emma could only see the glittering lights of the building across the street. No morning sunshine.
"Not morning," Emma groaned, falling back against the couch. She pressed her palms into her eyes, feeling a headache start to bud. Just another one of the many after-effects of using her ability. Was saving that woman worth it? Emma wondered. It was a no-brainer; of course it was worth it.
"How are you feeling?" Mary Margaret asked as she sat down near Emma's feet. Emma drew her knees to her chest, trying to take deep breaths.
"Like crap," Emma groaned. "Do we have any aspirin?"
"I'll go get some," David offered. Emma mumbled a thank-you, rubbing her temples slowly. "What happened, Emma? We found you passed out against the door. Mary Margaret says that you were several hours late home from school."
"I was just worried—we were going to watch Sleeping Beauty today," Mary Margaret explained. "Are you feeling all right? Your temperature was a bit high, but nothing serious. Do you feel nauseous, dizzy, short of breath?"
David was back with the aspirin. Emma took it gratefully, downing it with a glass of water slowly, giving herself time to come up with an excuse. It wasn't as if she could up and say 'hey, sorry I worried you, my powers over light just kind of knocked me out. But don't worry! This is the first time I've used them in years!' That would only serve to lose her housing. Emma knew David and Mary Margaret cared about her, but everyone had their limits. Emma had learned that lesson well, growing up as she did.
But she pushed those thoughts aside. Now was not the time.
"I feel okay now; I think it was just exhausted. I haven't had anything to eat all day and—" But that did the trick.
"Oh!" Mary Margaret exclaimed, jumping up. "I was just finishing up with the spaghetti—we wanted to wake you for dinner."
"Do you need any help with anything?" Emma wondered, guilt welling up in her. She hated lying, especially to people who she regarded as friends.
"Nope!" Mary Margaret declined, spooning noodles and sauce onto plates—four plates, Emma noted. Giving the living room more than a cursory glance, Emma noticed that she and David were not alone. Sitting at the center of the love seat was an unfamiliar man.
He wore a leather jacket over a cobalt blue button-up shirt, and a pair of dark-wash blue jeans. His ankle was crossed loosely on top of the opposite knee, and his hands were folded in his lap. The man's dark blue eyes were trained on the television, which was on some news channel, though they weren't moving—he obviously was not paying attention to what was happening on it. Emma didn't blame him.
He must have felt her eyes on him, because a moment later she found herself locking eyes with the man. His eyes were much more beautiful than she'd originally assumed; framed by thick black lashes, complimented by his scruffy black five o'clock shadow and messy black hair. Emma felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach. A name was on the tip of her tongue, one of David's friends that she'd yet to meet. But she couldn't catch it.
The man cleared his throat—Emma looked away quickly, feeling her cheeks heat up. She'd been staring.
"All right! Everything's ready!" Mary Margaret cheered. David and the other man stood, David holding a hand out to help Emma up. Emma took his hand gratefully, smiling.
"Thank you for dinner, Mary Margaret. It looks delicious!" Emma said as she sat down across from the other woman. David took a seat to her left, the stranger to her right.
"Of course! Before we start eating—Emma, I don't think you've been introduced to Killian yet." Killian, Emma remembered at Mary Margaret's words. Killian Jones, the superhero reporter, and one of David's best friends.
"Ah, allow me," the man said smoothly, and by god his voice! It was official; Emma was crushing. Forget about Mr. Walsh, the cute teaching assistant—Emma only had eyes for Mr. Jones. "Killian Jones, at your service love," Killian stuck out his hand. Emma took it, smiling slightly—then felt her cheeks light up again as he bent down to actually kiss her hand. David cleared his throat obnoxiously, but Killian only have a roguish smile before sitting down again.
"Pleased to meet you, Killian," Emma said with a smile. "I'm—"
"Emma Mills, my eighteen year old—roommate," David cut in, smiling stiffly. Emma felt someone kick her in the leg, a blow that was probably aimed at David. Whether it came from Mary Margaret or Killian, Emma couldn't be sure.
"I've heard so much about you—Dave might as well be your own father, from the way he talks about you," Killian mused, smiling. He took a bite of spaghetti, congratulating Mary Margaret on an excellent meal. "Though I'm sure you're used to it—your own father dotes on you often, does he?"
Emma frowned, shrugging noncommittally. Her mother was all she had, really, though she'd come to look upon Archie, her therapist, as a sort of father figure. It was odd conversation to make on first meeting, though. Emma looked down at her plate, started cutting her spaghetti.
"How was your day, Emma?" Mary Margaret asked. Emma looked up, feeling a bit odd—they normally were all seated on the couch for dinner. This formal setting was messing with her.
"Uh, it was okay," Emma replied around a bite of garlic bread. "My presentation went well, I guess." I saved a woman in an alleyway. "You know, same old. I think it was just the stress and—uh, low blood sugar or something that had me passing out."
"Does your family have a history of hypoglycemia?" Killian wondered casually—or at least it sounded like he was trying to be casual. To Emma's ears, though, it sounded too…blasé.
Emma cast a strange look towards David. "Not that I know of," she replied cautiously. "My mother never likes to show weakness, so if she had it I would never have known," Emma continued. Not that her mother's history really mattered—Emma was adopted, after all. There were no medical records of who her real parents were, though, so she didn't see fit to mention anything of her adoption. And anyways, it wasn't as if it was any of Killian's business whether or not her family had a history of hypoglycemia.
Mary Margaret was staring at Emma with a worried look. David, too, cast a glance in her direction, and even Killian seemed to be affronted.
Apparently it was her turn to act blasé—Emma took another bite of spaghetti, chasing it down with a drink of water.
The rest of the dinner continued in the same manner. Emma would make a comment, Killian would take that comment and try and turn it into a question about her past, Emma would answer, not even trying to hide her offense, and Mary Margaret would try to diffuse the situation. David went back and forth between the two; sometimes egging on Killian's questions, sometimes working with Mary Margaret to ascertain that Emma wasn't going to strangle Killian.
Needless to say, it was an interesting dinner, and Emma was glad when it was over. Instead of sticking around to say goodbye to the guest, Emma turned in early, rushing off to her room. It was official; her short time crush on Killian Jones was over.
"What is going on?" Mary Margaret demanded furiously as Emma rounded the corner.
"Nothing," David replied. Too quickly; he'd basically confirmed that there was something going on. And Mary Margaret would find out what it was, of that David was certain. She had a knack for such things.
Rounding on Killian, Mary Margaret crossed her arms and gave him a stern look. Lesser men had quailed under such a look, and it was having the desired effect; Killian looked very close to spilling the beans. David could not have that. Not when he wasn't certain Emma Mills was their Emma. He couldn't do that…couldn't give his wife such hope, only to have it disappear when they found out his instinct was wrong.
"Nothing is going on," David repeated, taking Mary Margaret by the arms. "If it were anything important, I would tell you. I simply wanted Killian to finally meet Emma."
Mary Margaret frowned. She could always tell when he was lying; that was another thing she had a knack for. Her pink lips turned down, her forehead wrinkled, and her arms tightened. David opened his mouth to continue, but finally she relaxed, letting her arms fall to her sides. David took her soft hands in his.
"All right," she muttered, turning her gaze to her feet. But then she looked up, her eyes sharp. "But if something were to become important, I expect to be the first to know." Standing on the tips of her toes, she leaned up for a kiss. David obliged, pecking her on the lips.
"I'm going to walk Killian out," David told her. Mary Margaret nodded, releasing his hands. David turned to Killian, jerked his head to the door.
"It was a lovely meal, Mary Margaret. My thanks," Killian grinned, tilting his head. Then, he followed David out.
"What do you want in return?" David asked once they were in the stairwell. "You are going to find out for me, right?" He couldn't keep the anxiety out of his voice; he needed to know. More than anything, he needed to know if Emma Mills was the daughter he'd lost eighteen years ago.
It wasn't just David, though. Mary Margaret needed her daughter as well. Ever since she'd been taken, the woman he'd fallen in love with was not the same. Neither of them were. It had taken years for their lives to even return to something resembling normalcy—normal enough for retired superheroes, anyways—and their relationship only recently had taken a turn for the better. But even now, there was strain in the relationship, strain in their lives. They weren't living to the fullest.
Mary Margaret hardly ever smiled, and had had to quit her job working with children because it was a near constant reminder of the child she had lost. The only time she really smiled anymore was when she was around Emma—which only served to reaffirm David's notion that Emma Mills was, in reality, Emma Charming.
Killian pressed his lips together and leaned against the railing. "I will learn more about her, David. But I will not use my powers—those days are behind me, the consequences are too severe, and I'm not willing to take the risk."
"Understood," David quickly agreed. Killian was his only chance. He and Mary Margaret had hired dozens of private investigators to find their daughter. All of whom had either disappeared days after having accepted the assignment, or had returned with no results to speak of. But now David didn't need a private investigator; he only needed someone to confirm what he already knew—what his heart already knew.
"But I will use the other means at my disposal. In return…" Killian grinned, and David felt his stomach drop. "Reporting has been slow as of late; what I desire in return is a scoop—a big scoop. From the major league heroes. Get me that, and I'll set out to proving Emma Mills is your daughter."
David worked his jaw, thinking. It was simple enough, really. He had pull in the Superheroes Guild, being a former major league superhero. What Killian was asking was a relatively simple task. So long as he kept his visit to the SG headquarters a secret from his wife. He'd go tomorrow, around his lunch hour at noon, so that Mary Margaret wouldn't have to know.
"It's a deal," he agreed. "I'll go in tomorrow. But do not mention me as your informant."
Killian grinned. "A deal, then."
As he turned to leave, David stopped him. "And Jones?" He waited until he had Killian's full attention. "If Emma is my daughter? That makes her off limits to you." To anyone, really, thought David. He didn't mention that though; the warning wouldn't have as much of an effect.
Killian's smile turned stiff. "Of course, mate. See you tomorrow with the scoop."
Emma tossed and turned all night, her body still smarting from the effects of using her powers—something she definitely did not plan on doing ever again. Years of not using them had certainly not made the after effects any better.
"Emma Mills," intoned a deep voice. "Pleased to meet you."
Emma shot up from her bed like a rocket, reaching for the can of pepper spray that David insists she carry with her. The small bottle she'd kept on her nightstand fit into her hand perfectly, and was even colored pink. Glancing around wildly, Emma searched for the source of the voice frantically, ready to scream at any moment. It was nearly seven o'clock in the morning, so chances were that David had already left for work. But Mary Margaret would undoubtedly still be home.
But there was no one there to scream at.
"Please, put down the pepper spray, I mean you no harm," the voice implored, coming from the walls themselves. Emma whirled every which way, looking for any sort of speaker or recording device. "You'll not see me; I am invisible, at the moment. Something I am sure you're…familiar with."
"Who are you?" Emma demanded loudly, hoping to catch Mary Margaret's attention. Her room was only down the hall. "What do you want?"
"I only want to talk," the voice soothed. "I am the recruitment Head for the Superheroes Guild; I'm sure you've heard of the organization?"
Emma didn't say anything. Of course she'd heard of the organization. However, she'd grown up being brainwashed with the idea that the people of the SG were bad, murdering, hypocritical people who did not deserve the government funding that they were allotted. She had no idea why they would want to talk to her, though; as far as she knew, the only person who'd seen her use her powers was the crying woman she'd saved. And she had no idea who that woman was, which meant that woman had no idea who she was.
"We have eyes everywhere," the voice explained, his tone amused. "We know of your power, Ms. Mills. We wish to recruit you as a new superhero. I've set up an appointment for you with Blue; on your nightstand is a card with an address, password, and time. Go to the address today at that time, use the password and you will be allowed to talk with Blue. Best of luck, Ms. Mills."
"I'm not interested," Emma grit out, glancing around the room for any sign of movement. But there was none, and the voice did not speak again.
Emma hurried to her nightstand, and did indeed find an address with a password on it, and a time; today at noon, in five hours.
Like hell am I going to the SG, Emma thought derisively, tearing the card in two. She glanced at her bed longingly and sighed; might as well get ready for the day.
Author's Note: So, what do you think? I'd hoped to write a bit more, but I think this chapter finished off nicely, and I can't continue without at least trying to gauge a response for one question; to Henry, or not to Henry? I think I might include him, not being Emma's son but playing the 'best friend' role, and motivator for superherodom. But anyways; thanks for follows/favorites/review!
Guest: It is sad, but not really any different than canon. I hope to give the Charming family a lot of bonding time, though, which is why I categorized this into family instead of romance. I hope you stick around to see it!
-Ashlee Frame