Snow had so much she wanted to say to Emma, so much she needed to say if these were truly going to be the last things she said to her daughter. She was, of course, trying not to believe that these were in fact the last things she was going to be able to say to Emma. She and Charming would find a way to cut through the spell keeping Emma hostage and help her find her way back to them; she was certain.
Mostly certain. There was still a niggling little bit of doubt, a little voice in her head saying, "But what if you don't?"
Emma's life was in their hands, and Snow was absolutely terrified. And even with all his faith, Charming was terrified, too; she could see it in his eyes.
Despite his fear, when he met her eyes, he looked at her in such a kind and caring – and, most importantly, trusting – way that the niggling little voice of doubt went silent. Charming trusted Snow to be able to reach Emma, and he trusted Emma to be able to find the strength to find her way back to them. His trust and his faith was more than enough to bolster Snow's own faith, in herself and in her daughter and in her husband.
They would succeed. There was no other option.
She settled down on the bed next to her sleeping daughter, propping herself up on one elbow so she could see Emma's face, and grasped her baby girl's hand in her own. On the other side of the bed, Charming slid the chair back into proper position up by Emma's head and took his daughter's other hand.
Snow smiled; as was typical, the two of them didn't even need to discuss anything aloud to be on the same page. Both assumed that a physical connection among the three of them would help to strengthen the emotional connection needed to overcome the spell.
"Emma, my sweet girl," Snow began, watching her daughter's serene face for any hint that what she was saying was reaching her. "I loved you from the day I found out you were going to be born. From the moment I first felt you move inside me, I knew you were the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me. Before you'd even come into this world, I knew you were going to be the light of my life. And you have been, Emma. You brought light to Storybrooke and you brought light into Mary Margaret's life. You gave me a spark when one was missing. You and I were family before we even knew we were related. I need you, Emma. Please come back to me. Please come back to us."
There was no response from Emma. Tears filled Snow's eyes as she looked to Charming. He swallowed hard and gave her a slight nod, silently telling her that he was going to try.
"When your mother told me we were going to have a baby, I couldn't have been more thrilled," Charming said as he brushed a finger down his daughter's cheek with his free hand. "I must have run around the castle and told everyone, which wasn't proper, by the way. But I didn't care. I was so proud that I did it anyway. I had all these grand plans for you. I was going to teach you how to ride a horse and how to wield a sword. You were going to be my little princess. Then the curse happened and took you from us, and we never got to do any of it. You have no idea how sorry I am for that, Emma. You should have had us, and we should have had you."
He glanced up at Snow when he saw her brush a tear off her cheek, but she just nodded at him, telling him to continue.
"It's not too late, though, Emma," he went on. "I can still teach you how to ride a horse and how to wield a sword, if you want. You just have to come back to us first. Please, Emma, I can't lose you before I've even really gotten to know you."
For a long beat, Emma was still, but then Snow felt something miraculous: Emma's fingers twitching in her hand. She held her breath, hoping it wasn't simply wishful thinking that made her feel a phantom muscle spasm. When Emma's fingers moved again, she looked up at her husband excitedly. "Charming, I just felt her fingers twitch!"
"That's it, Emma," Charming said encouragingly, a bit of excitement in his voice. "I know you can find your way home. You're a lot stronger than you think you are. Think of all the obstacles you've already overcome. You can do anything you set your mind to, sweetheart. You just have to believe in yourself. We trust you, and we know how strong you are. Now it's time for you to know it, too."
Emma's brows furrowed and knit together. Charming looked up at Snow, utterly amazed. It was working! Their words were indeed finally reaching her. "Follow our voices, Emma," Snow said, picking up the mantle from her husband. "Come back to us, honey. You are our happy ending."
For a brief moment, Emma was still. Then she turned her head, and her fingers closed around both her parents' hands. "She's doing it, Charming," Snow whispered, looking up at her husband with eyes shining with pride, love, relief, and joy. "She's fighting the spell."
Complete and total darkness surrounded Emma. She couldn't see her hand in front of her face, never mind anything around her. She had been walking for what seemed like forever in an effort to find her way out of the darkness and into some light but she was reasonably sure she'd been walking in circles.
Not that she had any idea where she was. It was just that she hadn't found any light whatsoever and she was pretty sure she should have by now.
Even more cruelly, sometimes she could hear voices, voices that were familiar to her. Sometimes the voices didn't say actual words she could understand; they were simply mumblings. When the voices did speak loudly enough for her to understand, they said awful things to her. Terrible things.
It was the worst when the voices sounded like her parents. The voices would say things that she was sure her parents would never say. Things like, "We never wanted you." Things like, "We were so much happier before you came back into our lives." Things like, "We hope you stay lost."
Her parents would never say those things to her. Never. Still, hearing those words in their voices was far too much for her to bear. She was ashamed to admit that she'd already cried once because she'd heard her mother's voice saying, "You were too much of a burden. That's why we gave you away. We couldn't wait for you to be born so we could be rid of you."
The more the voices talked, though, the more she started to wonder. Why would her mother and father say those things if they weren't true? Why would they tell her they never wanted her if they really did? Why would they hurt her like that if they didn't really mean it?
Maybe her parents hadn't wanted her after all. Maybe all that stuff in Storybrooke was just an act and now that they were in Neverland, they could leave her here amongst all the other lost children.
Sometimes she thought she could hear Hook and Regina, too. Hook reiterating what he'd said to her when she was locked in Rumpelstiltskin's cell, only even more cruelly. That she was worthless, that she had no right being the savior because she couldn't even manage to save herself. That he never cared anything at all for her and that all the flirting and innuendo had been nothing more than simple amusement.
The Regina voice would break in sometimes, telling her that she was nothing. That she wasn't even a worthy adversary, never mind a hero. That Henry had once confessed that he didn't even like her and was sorry he'd found her in Boston. "He feels sorry for you, Ms. Swan," the Regina voice had said. "It's pathetic."
And then sometimes the voices would fade and she would hear nothing. The silence was a bit creepy but, considering that the only voices she could hear were berating her, most welcome.
The voices were back now, though, and this time they sounded like her parents. She couldn't bear it any longer, didn't want to hear anything else her parents had to say. She pressed her hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the voices but they continued to talk. She eventually had to drop her hands when her arms began to get tired. It was her mother talking this time, telling her how she cried when she found out she was pregnant with her, not because she was happy but because neither she nor David wanted a baby and she knew he was going to be upset.
Just as she was about to press her hands against her ears again, tired arms be damned, she heard something that froze her in her tracks: "You brought light to Storybrooke and you brought light into Mary Margaret's life."
Those words were so heartfelt and honest, so different from everything she'd heard since she'd been in the darkness that she couldn't help but stop and listen. There was a quiet murmuring, as if the voice had turned away, and then she heard her father's voice, promising to teach her how to ride a horse and wield a sword if only she would come back to them.
But … she thought that they didn't want her! That's what they'd been saying the entire time she'd been in the darkness. Unless it hadn't really been them to begin with.
She resumed walking with renewed determination. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe she'd just been hearing things. Maybe someone was tricking her. Either way, she was going to find her way out of the darkness.
Her father's voice continued, telling her that she was strong. Telling her that he believed in her and telling her that all she needed to do to find her way back to them was believe in herself.
Then her mother's voice came back to tell her that she was their happy ending. She wanted to break down and cry right then and there, tears of joy and relief. Her parents did want her, her parents did love her.
Her parents needed her.
And if those voices had been lies, maybe the others had, too. Maybe Hook hadn't really said that she was worthless. Maybe Regina hadn't really said that Henry didn't like her.
Maybe everything had been a lie.
A pinprick of light poked its way through the darkness. It was the first sign of light Emma had seen since she woke to find herself in the darkness, and she ran towards it at top speed. The light grew bigger and bigger, a combination of her approach and the light itself increasing, until suddenly it was surrounding her. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden brightness and when she opened them again, she was looking right up into her parents' teary and relieved faces.
"You did it, Emma," Snow sniffled, cupping Emma's cheek in her palm. Emma reached a weak hand up to grab her mother's in a desperate need to make sure she was real. A tiny smile curled on her lips when she felt the warmth of her mother's skin underneath hers. "You found your way back to us."
"I knew you could do it, kiddo," David whispered, sniffing back tears of his own. He was holding her hand, she realized after a moment, and she tightened her hand around his in an effort to make sure that he, too, was real. He squeezed back, and the gesture filled her heart with love and comfort.
"The voices weren't real," she murmured to herself as she struggled to sit up. Her parents moved with her, allowing her to sit but not leaving her side. She felt Snow stroking her hair as David rubbed circles on her back. For once, she allowed herself to be held. She needed the comfort, and something told her that her parents needed it, too. It was the way they were touching her, the same way she'd needed to touch them. They needed to prove to themselves that she was real, that she was okay.
As she glanced around, though, she suddenly realized where she was and what she was wearing. "All right, why the hell am I in Hook's room, in Hook's bed, and wearing Hook's clothes?"
Her parents both chuckled, their laughter tinkling in each of her ears. Snow wrapped her arm around her baby's shoulders and smiled. "Oh, Emma, do we have a story to tell you."
