"Henry, sweetie, hurry up we need to go or we're gonna be late again," Emma calls up the stairs to the response of an echoing crash and then the shuffling sound of approaching feet.
"Did you brush your teeth?" she asks as he appears on the top step, and the little brown-eyed boy freezes, brow furrowing momentarily in confusion before a look of determination sets across his features.
"Yes," he affirms, with a decisive nod of his head.
Emma narrows her eyes at him. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," he says again with certainty, jumping his way down the stairs.
"Come here," she instructs and he hops over, steadying his small hands on her shoulders and breathing gently on her.
"There, see," he says and she grins as the minty smell washes over her.
"Good boy." He grins back at her and hops down the final few steps. "Backpack," the blonde calls after her son and he whirls around - hand outstretched to take it from her. She hands it over and he shrugs it onto his back.
"Ready?" Emma asks, and he nods shyly. "Good, hurry up then - you can't be late for your first day, we don't need to give anyone in this town any more reason to dislike us." The last part is a mumble, let out quickly under her breath, but the little boy catches it, tiny forehead creasing. The blonde doesn't see it though, only drops a hand gently to the back of his head and starts to guide him down the hallway.
As they're walking out the door though, there's a cooing sound from above them.
"Oh my, is he leaving? Is he ready?" Aunt Mal comes sweeping down the stairs, purple dress flowing about her.
"Oh, Henry, my darling boy - look at you!" she cries, reaching out and squeezing his cheeks.
The little boy flushes, embarrassed, and Emma chuckles at him.
"He's been to school before, you know," Emma points out to her aunt.
"Preschool," Mal replies, fingers moving to stroke through Henry's disruly brown hair, "This is different - this is real school."
She stares at Henry for a good long moment, eyes going a little distant - teary almost - but she quickly pulls herself together and turns back the direction she came from.
"Lena!" she calls up the stairs, not taking her eyes from the little boy. "Lena, it's time! Come see before he goes!"
There's a moments silence and then Emma's other Aunt appears at the top of the stairs, red hair falling down her back in curls not dissimilar to Emma's - color the only real difference.
"Well, would you look at that," she smiles as she descends, moving a finger to stroke Henry's cheek. "You're a proper little gentleman now, Henry."
"Thanks, Auntie Lena," he grins up at her toothily, and Emma smiles too.
"Okay, okay, now we really have to go," she insists, guiding the boy by his shoulder to the door.
"Have you packed him some lunch?" Lena asks as the Aunts follow behind them.
"Of course," the blonde replies with a sigh. Anyone would think they thought her totally incompetent.
"What did you pack him?" Mal asks from her other side.
Emma shakes her head, she'd worried they might do this. "A sandwich, a bag of chips, and an apple," she tells them plainly.
Both Aunts give a mock gasp of horror, then Lena carries on in a disappointed tone, "I worried as much. That's why I took the liberty of staying up to bake this." She snaps her fingers and a large slice of chocolate cake appears, spinning in the air in front of Henry's face.
Brown eyes go almost comically wide, and his face breaks out into a delighted grin. "That for me, Lena?" he asks, awed.
"No, it most certainly is not," Emma says firmly, reaching out to grab the floating confection from the air. As she reaches, though, the cake dances just out of her reach.
Mal and Lena chuckle. "Looks like that cake's not for you, petal," Mal tells her.
"Of course it's not," Lena agrees, "I baked it just for my special boy - isn't that right, Henry?"
Henry nods violently, and the Aunts let out another chuckle.
Emma throws Lena a look, but the older woman just shrugs. "Well, you wouldn't let him eat it for breakfast."
The blonde lets out another long, exasperated sigh. "Fine, fine, alright. But we really have to go."
"Noted," Lena replies, with a comic wave of her finger. The slice of cake disappears, and then there's a rustling sound from Henry's backpack.
"There we are."
"Good, now we're leaving," Emma tells them sternly - though there's fondness beneath her exasperation.
"Have a lovely day, my darling boy," Mal says, leaning down to give Henry a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
"Don't be home late," Lena adds, "we're having muffins for supper."
Emma rolls her eyes and guides Henry out of the door, giving her Aunts one last long, pointed look over her shoulder. There's no real aggression in it though.
"Mommy, I don't wanna." Henry curls into her leg from where he's standing next to her on the sidewalk, staring at the school before him.
"I know, baby, I know."
"What if they tease me like before?"
Emma flinches at the memories of the way even preschoolers had picked up on their parents' prejudices - had invented the first new taunt in hundreds of years just for the first Swan son in generations.
The people feared the witchcraft in the Swan family - and had as far back as her ancestor Maria. Maria who had cursed all her descendants to kill men just by loving them. For any man that loved a Swan woman would undoubtedly meet an untimely demise.
Emma shivers as thoughts of the curse swim through her head. She doesn't want to think about it, can't think about it. Not right now, certainly.
"I can't promise they won't say nasty things to you, Henry," she tells her son, apology in her tone, "but remember what we say about nasty words?"
"Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me," he repeats and Emma shakes her head.
"No, Henry sweetie, that's what normal people who never have anything bad happen to them say and it's stupid. What do we say about nasty words?"
His eyes light up and he grins. "Throw 'em right back?"
Emma grins at him too, "That's right, little man. They call you names and you call them some right back, okay?"
He nods, cheered up considerably, and Emma holds up a hand for him to high five. Okay, she knows this isn't a great lesson. It probably comes under '101 things never to do while parenting', but normal parenting rules just can't always apply to her.
Normally, yeah, she'd tell a kid to ignore it. But the kids in this town have been taunting Swan children for far too long to even remember, and certainly don't seem inclined to stop anytime soon. And her son needs an education, so he has to fight the bullies somehow.
"You gonna be okay in there?" Emma asks then, face turning serious once more.
Henry nods, determination coming over his little face.
"Alright then," she takes a deep breath. "Give momma a kiss before you go."
He reaches up on his toes, and she leans down, pulling her little boy into a brief hug as he plants a big sloppy kiss on her cheek.
"I'll pick you up at 3, okay?"
"Okay, mom, I'll see you later."
"See you later, baby," she replies, straightening up and watching as he potters across the schoolyard with the other kids.
There's a tightness in her chest that she tries to ignore as she watches him go. She can't let her mind wander away. She doesn't want to think about the thing it keeps trying to remind her of. For now she's just a mother watching her kid go to school for the first time. There's no other emotions playing out within her. There aren't.
With a sigh, Emma turns and heads back off down the street. She needs to get to work anyway.
Regina Mills is new in town. It wasn't her first choice, coming to this strange little place shrouded in mystery, but jobs are jobs and teaching positions are hard to find. Storybrooke Elementary, however, had a single job going teaching Kindergarten, and since that was her preferred age range - she'd snapped it up immediately they offered.
She doesn't know much about the town, only that it's a rather insular population, but once she'd got there she'd found herself wondering if she'd inadvertently stumbled into the twilight zone. For all anyone talked about there was witchcraft. Not just witchcraft though - specifically one family in town, and how they're all known to be witches who killed their husbands.
She'd been incredibly curious, given all the gossip, to then look at her register for the upcoming year and find that she would be teaching one of the so called witch's children. Regina had never been one to concede to preconceived notions, she had always liked to meet people and form her own opinions. But she had to admit, from everything she had heard, the idea of teaching Henry Swan was more than a little daunting.
Regina sighs as she fiddles with the things on her desk, straightening everything up until it's perfectly aligned in her attempt to keep nerves at bay. She wants to do well here, strange or not. It's a job, and she needs one.
The sound of excited chatter reaches her ears and her back straightens instinctually, readying herself for the onslaught of childish energy about to enter her classroom.
The door swings open a moment later and a slew of brightly clothed little boys and girls spill inside, pulling and pushing at each other to get to the cloakroom. They're all laughing and chattering at each other, except for one boy - trailing behind the rest. His dark eyes are nervous, fingers wrapped so tightly around the straps of his backpack that his small knuckles are white.
Regina's heart twists slightly at the sight of it.
She moves forward with little thought, crouching down before the small boy and offering him a smile. "Hello there. I'm Miss Mills," she introduces herself hesitantly.
The boy gives her a shy smile in return, one that inexplicably makes her heart flutter, and reaches out a little hand - apparently for her to shake.
She does so with a tiny chuckle and his smile widens.
"Hello, Miss Mills," he replies. "I'm Henry."
Regina's breath catches in her throat slightly as he says the name. There's only one Henry in her class - but of course he doesn't know that so carries on anyway.
"I'm Henry. Henry Swan."
"Oh," she can't help the sound coming out of her mouth. From everything she's heard of the Swan family, from all the crazy images her mind has provided her, she'd practically imagined that Henry Swan would be a devil child. The kind you find in horror movies, darkness following them around like a cloud.
This little boy though, he seems, well, sweet.
"Are you going to be my teacher?" he asks with wide, curious eyes.
She hesitates, then nods, "Yes, Henry, I believe I am."
"Okay," he nods himself, "then I should tell you that I'm good at math, but my spelling is 'bismal," he tells her seriously, and she can't help the incredulous chuckle that leaves her mouth.
"I think you mean abysmal," she corrects gently, "and who told you that?"
"I heard mommy say it to Aunt Mal," he tells her, expression serious,, and Regina frowns. Maybe the child is the only exception to the town's stories - because that statement certainly isn't winning the mother any points in her book. You don't tell children they're bad at things.
"And why did she say that?"
"Because Aunt Mal was letting me play with her in the greenhouse when she was meant to be doing work with me."
"And what was she meant to be working on with you?" Regina asks, unintentionally riveted by this little boy and his large brown eyes.
"My spellings," he gives a sheepish little grin that's half-smile half-grimace.
"But she wasn't doing that?"
Henry shakes his head. "Nope, just my spells. No ings."
Regina freezes.
"Your Aunt was teaching you spells?" she asks carefully, and he nods.
"Yep," he says - like it's the most normal thing in the world. "That's why I'm so good at math, see, cos the Aunts let me measure out all their 'gredients."
The brunette just stares at the boy, shocked, but then the rest of the class come pouring back in from the cloakroom and she shakes her head, standing up again to greet them.
Henry disappears to the back of the classroom, choosing the desk furthest from everyone and stowing his backpack carefully underneath it, looking around warily as if someone might try to steal it. It's a move she's seen in children before - though normally a good deal older than him - the move of those who are used to being picked on.
It makes her heart ache for him, despite the weird conversation they might have just had. The rest of the class take their seats, and eventually start to quiet down - at which point she grabs a piece of chalk off her desk and turns to the board.
This is probably going to be a very odd day.
Emma's jolted from her task of grinding lavender by her cell ringing obnoxiously in her pocket. The small device buzzes against her thigh with a vengeance and she gives a frustrated sigh before setting aside the pestle and mortar and yanking it out.
"Hello?" she asks into the phone as she answers it.
"Miss Swan?" a female voice she doesn't recognize asks her in response. There's something about it though, deep and velvety.
"Yes?" She can't help the way her hackles go up slightly, she's not unused to getting random hate calls.
"My name is Regina, Regina Mills."
Emma says nothing, merely waiting for the woman to elaborate. She doesn't know if this is a hate call or not, but she's certainly never received one from someone with so lovely a voice.
"I'm Henry's teacher," the woman clarifies - and Emma's heart sinks a little bit. For the woman to be calling after just the first day, this can't be good.
"Oh," Emma replies, tone measured, "what can I do for you, Miss Mills?"
"Well, I was wondering," the woman starts, beautiful voice tentative, "might you be able to come in and see me when you pick Henry up today?"
"Why?" Emma asks bluntly - even the woman's beautiful voice isn't enough to counter her annoyance. "What's he done this time?"
"He hasn't done anything," the woman replies, voice turning a little icier, "I just wanted to discuss some things with you."
"Oh," Emma says again, slightly taken aback. She's certainly confused. "Well yes, I suppose that'll be okay."
"Good," the other woman replies, "well then, I'll see you at 3."
With that she hangs up, and Emma frowns. She's never heard of this Miss Mills - and she thought she knew all the teachers at the school. But the beautiful voiced woman wants to talk to her about Henry - and so far hasn't accused him of trying to curse the entire class during recess, so that must be something. She'll just have to wait until three to see what happens.
Regina hates that she's nervous about meeting Henry's mother. She knows she shouldn't let the rumors get to her, but there's something about the woman - about the mystery surrounding her. Something about the mystery surrounding her son.
She hasn't managed to get a clear answer on what exactly happened to the boy's father, all she knows is that he died - like every husband in the Swan family had for as long as anyone could remember. She'd heard someone say they thought it was a family tradition - some sort of ritual sacrifice or something. Regina sincerely hopes that isn't the case.
There's a knock on the door, rousing her from her thoughts, and then the door's opening and Regina finds herself just a tiny bit breathless.
The woman who's just entered her classroom certainly doesn't look the type for ritualistic murder. For runway, maybe. She's tall and lean, with striking green eyes and shining blonde hair that falls in loose curls halfway down her back. She's dressed in dark, perfectly fitted skinnies, there's a leather jacket slung lazily over her shoulder in a way that makes the muscles on her arm pop - considering she's only wearing a black tank - and jesus if the woman doesn't have guns.
"Miss Mills?" she asks and Regina has to shake herself quickly, snapping back to the matter at hand.
"Yes," she replies, standing and walking across to the woman, extending a hand towards her, "and you must be Miss Swan?"
"Emma," the blonde replies, staring at Regina's hand warily - as if it might be some sort of trick - before finally reaching out to shake it, "call me Emma."
Regina gives a tight smile. "I'd rather call you Miss Swan for now, it's probably more appropriate."
It's a difficult sentence to get out, because she finds she doesn't really mean it. From first glance there's nothing she'd like more than to get on first name terms with this woman, but she's at work, this is her job. She's meant to stay formal.
A look of annoyance crosses the blonde's features and she pulls her hand back. "Very well, Miss Mills." There's a slight inflection over the name that tells Regina she hasn't won herself any favors. "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Well..." Regina returns to her seat behind her desk, gesturing for Emma, Miss Swan, to take the one opposite. "Obviously it's about Henry."
"What about Henry?" Emma - she's stuck in her head as Emma - asks snappily.
"I take it you're aware that he seems a very lonely child?" she starts, cautious. "It's been made clear to me even just from this first day that he's different from the other children."
Emma's eyes narrow dangerously and Regina takes a deep breath, hoping that the tales of the Swan women's abilities are just that. She doesn't much feel like being turned into a toad today.
"What I mean to say," she carries on quickly - before Emma can interject, "is that the other children seem to have a misplaced hatred for your son, as evidenced by the, erm," she coughs, "the taunts."
Emma's face takes on an expression of shock. "Misplaced?" she asks and Regina startles. She thought the woman might have some sort of reaction to the fact her child was being taunted with bad rhymes all day.
"Miss Swan, you are aware that the other children have rhymes, yes? Surely this is something you want to address? This kind of bullying can have terrible effects, and it's clear he's already a very lonely little boy."
"Yeah yeah yeah, they've had those rhymes for hundreds of years, we just deal with them in our family," the blonde shoots back, waving her hand dismissively before turning purpose-filled green eyes directly to Regina's. "You said 'misplaced'?"
Regina's brow furrows. "Well...yes?"
The look of consternation, and slight amazement, quickly turns to a look of comprehension passing over Emma's face, and then she grins - the action not exactly a joyous one - and leans back in her chair, fingers folding together over her flat stomach.
"You're new in town," she remarks, and it's not a question.
"I don't much see what that has to do with anything."
Emma shakes her head, letting out a low chuckle. "I suppose the rumor mill hasn't caught up to you yet, then. Don't you know that we're all witches?"
Regina's mouth falls open.
"Oh you do," Emma laughs back at her. "Well, l you must be awfully brave, Miss Mills, confronting a known witch about her child. We turn people into frogs, don't you know?"
The teacher bristles, not liking the aggression in the other woman's tone. "Do you now?"
Emma's eyebrows raise, a predatory look crossing her features. It could almost be mistaken for flirty if it weren't for the true threat hanging in her vivid green eyes. "Kill our husbands too," she says, completely straight faced. The brunette curses herself inwardly for the gulp she takes around the lump forming in her throat.
"I'm not sure I believe that, Miss Swan," she replies, though her voice is a little shaky, considerably quieter than it was a moment before.
The so-called witch stands, pushing up from her chair and leaning forward with hands steadied on the desk in front of her. "How sure are you?" she challenges, eyes narrowing.
"As sure as I am that witches do not exist," Regina leans forward too, arms folded on top of the desk, finding her voice again. She won't let this woman intimidate her - no matter how much like an angry supermodel she looks.
Emma laughs, the sound deep, reverberating in her chest and throat. It sends a little shiver down Regina's spine. There's a smile on her face at the end of it that is most assuredly not friendly. "You've come to the wrong town, Miss Mills," she says, straightening up again and turning for the door.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Regina asks, becoming increasingly infuriated with how the other woman seems incapable of straight answers.
"It means," Emma turns long enough to catch her eye again, the green in them burning hot like fire, "don't talk about my son. You don't know him, you don't understand who he is or what his life is. You're his teacher, Miss Mills, so teach him. His spelling really needs some work. We won't be talking about anything else about him again, understood?"
Regina opens her mouth in shock to reply, but then the door swings open on its hinges - seemingly of its own accord - as the blonde sweeps towards it and she feels her eyes widen slightly in their sockets. Emma shoots her a wicked little grin as she exits, the door blowing shut again behind her, and the brunette is just convincing herself it was the wind - or Henry hiding on the other side - when the items on her desk start to shake violently and then her open laptop slams itself shut of its own accord, nearly trapping her fingers in the process.
She lets out a startled little yelp of surprise, eyes turning to the closed door as she hears an annoyingly beautiful chuckle disappearing down the hallway, and then back to the laptop. She looks from one to the other again several times and then slumps back in her chair, eyes still a little wide.
She may or may not have a major problem on her hands.