Thank you again for the lovely reviews and follows. To the two anons to whom I could not answer personally:
Anon 1: Pinocchio will be making a reappearance in the future. His character is fairly different from the one portrayed in the show for two reasons: 1.) in the book of Pinocchio, he redeemed himself after 5 months of caring for his father. He made several sacrifices in which he changed from his greedy, gullible, and weak-willed puppet persona. This is more like my Pinocchio. Plus, my Pinocchio had the benefit of being reared by his father for four years, not just one (and maybe not even that). Whether he and Emma would be romantically involved…I'm not sure. My general inclination would be to say no, that they are more like siblings but I can't say for sure.
Anon 2: Thanks! Glad you are enjoying it!
Ch. 6: Found
Emma's heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. The surge of adrenaline she received, compelled her to run to her mother as fast as she could. She took breaths to calm herself and sharply pulled in the impulse. She needed to think. She needed to be careful. It looked like a quiet little town, but she couldn't forget that somewhere…the Evil Queen lurked. Emma scrutinized the street again. She could at least follow her mother, maybe find a quieter place to confront her.
Emma slid out of the tree and shouldered her backpack. Her weariness and hunger slid off her like a discarded blanket. Eagerly she tracked her mother, paralleling her by hiding behind the other buildings. She watched her mother hesitate, look at her wrist, then look at the grocery store, sigh, walk in.
Emma waited impatiently for her mother to reappear. Within twenty minutes, her mother reemerged, awkwardly holding two bags of groceries in her arms. Emma watched, brow furrowed, as Snow walked down the street, running into several people and tripping over an uneven part of the sidewalk. Her mother was never that clumsy. Her mother was graceful, and moved like a creature of the forest. Emma watched in dismay as a can fell, and rolled unnoticed while her mother rubbed her head in weariness. She turned into a building, shoulder slumped, and walked in. How had the Evil Queen made her mother so different?
Emma darted out to pick up the can, and followed her mother up the steps of the building. She soon realized that she was in an apartment building, and she had no idea which apartment her mother belonged in. She sighed unhappily and drew her hand across her face. She stood still, trying to figure out where her mother had gone. Her ears caught a faint noise, and she began moving down the hall, tilting her head to better hear the sound. It was humming. Her mother. She knew it. Emma got to a green door, took a breath, and knocked.
Emma felt her knees tremble as she faced her mother for the first time in five years.
The woman who opened the door looked down, confusion and other undecipherable emotions crossing her features, "H..hello?" she asked.
Emma tried to speak, but not a sound escaped. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Hello?" she questioned back. She searched her mother's eyes, desperate to see recognition in their depths.
Something seemed to spark, then disappear. "Is there something you need honey?"
Unwillingly, Emma felt her eyes fill with tears. Her mother didn't know her. She didn't recognize her at all. She began backing away.
Her mother reached out to grab her wrist. "No, don't run away. What do you need?"
Emma lifted her other hand dispiritedly, showing her mother the can. "You dropped this," she whispered sadly.
"Oh," surprise crossed her mother's features. "That was very sweet of you. Thank you."
Emma nodded quietly.
Her mother didn't release her grip. "Why don't you come in?"
Emma started to shake her head.
"I have hot chocolate," her mother said with a gentle smile.
Emma brushed the tears quickly from her eyes. "Okay," she said in a small voice. "Hot chocolate sounds good."
Her mother released her and ushered her into the apartment.
Emma looked around with wide eyes. It was…it was not like home. At all. The furniture and the rest of the interior looked shabby. There were brave touches of hominess: lace curtains, flowers, a pretty tablecloth. Emma looked unhappily at her mother. This wasn't where she belonged.
Her mother bustled around, taking steaming milk from the stove and adding chocolate powder to it. Her hand reached up to pull something down from a cupboard, then hesitated. "Do you like cinnamon on your hot chocolate?"
Emma felt a tiny smile appear on her face. "Yes, I do. A lot."
Emma's mother returned her smile. She poured the hot chocolate into two mugs, and motioned Emma over to the table. Sitting down, a small frown crossed her features. "How rude of me, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Mary Margaret Blanchard. You can call me Miss Blanchard."
'Mary Margaret?' Emma thought. That was like the name her mother gave Auntie Red when she was a runaway. "I'm Emma Swan," she returned quietly.
"Emma," said her mother, looking like she savored the sound. "That's a beautiful name."
Emma looked at her mother hopefully, watching that same, look of almost-recognition pass over her face. But then, she took a drink of hot chocolate. Emma sighed and sat, lifting her cup of cocoa to her lips.
"I haven't see you before," her mother said. "You look a little young for my class though. Are you in Miss Anderson's class? A new student?"
Emma shook her head slowly. "My family just moved here."
Her mother looked thoughtful. "We don't…have a lot of new people come to town," she said with some interest.
"W-We've just been here a day or so," Emma said.
Her mother scrutinized her carefully. Emma tried to hold her gaze, she really did. But she wasn't good at lying to her mama. Never had been.
Her mother waited a beat, like she was telling Emma she didn't believe her. "Well, I hope you're family is happy here," she said, choosing not to confront her.
Emma looked at her, surprised. It was so hard to understand. This woman looked so much like her mother. But she didn't act like her mother. It was confusing. It actually made her more homesick for her parents.
"I hope so. I really want my family to be happy again," said Emma honestly.
Her mother smiled encouragingly. "Sometimes it's hard, when we find ourselves in new places. We worry about fitting in, or making new friends. But those things do happen. Pretty soon, we've made a home."
Emma looked around again, noting the absence of male trappings, or even pictures of any sort of relationship. She knew in her heart, the Evil Queen would want to make her mother as miserable as possible and never would have left them together.
"Ma-Miss Blanchard, do you have any friends?"
A shadow passed over her face and her mother took a little breath. "Of course," she said, too blithely. "Everyone has friends."
Like Emma, her mother was a terrible liar. No friends and that meant no…"Do you have a boyfriend?"
At this, her mother blushed. "Not that it's any of your business, but no." She cleared her throat a little, obviously trying to regain some innate, adult authority. "Why all the questions?"
Emma didn't answer. She was too busy being heartsick about her papa. Where would he be? The last time she had seen him, he had been wounded. Terribly wounded. She felt her lips tremble. Emma felt a warm fingers reach out across the table and hold hers. The touch was nearly as familiar as her own. She couldn't stop herself, she lay her head down on the table and began to cry. It was too much. Too much to think about. Too much to feel in one tiny girl.
"Oh Emma," she heard her mother say, "honey."
Emma cried harder and tipped over her mug as she bumped into it and moved automatically into her mother's arms. She felt herself being lifted slightly, then pulled onto her mother's lap. She let herself cry for what felt like forever. After awhile she became aware of her hair being steadily stroked and the light, musical humming that had drawn her to this apartment in the first place.
A coach had once told her that people have muscle memories. That even when they forgot everything else, their muscles could remember previous motions, as long as it was deeply ingrained. As she felt her hair stroked, she relaxed. She knew that this came from her mother. Whatever state the curse had left her in, this was something that couldn't be taken away. She felt herself slipping into sleep and her last thought was 'I'll find you papa. I found mama. Now it's your turn.'
